Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition?: The Question of Change in Greek Orthodox Thought and Practice 978-1409420774

Table of contents :
List of Figures vii
Notes on Contributors ix
Preface xiii
ConCePtuaL overview
1 How Can We Speak of Innovation in the Greek Orthodox
Tradition? Towards a Typology of Innovation in Religion 3
Trine Stauning Willert and Lina Molokotos-Liederman
2 Orthodox Christianity, Change, Innovation:
Contradictions in Terms? 19
Vasilios N. Makrides
enCounters with other Christian
Denominations
3 Double-Identity Churches on the Greek Islands under
the Venetians: Orthodox and Catholics Sharing Churches
(Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries) 53
Eftichia Arvaniti
4 Religious Innovation or Political Strategy? The Rapprochements
of the Archbishop of Syros, Alexandros Lykourgos (1827–1875),
towards the Anglican Church 73
Elisabeth Kontogiorgi
aDaPtations to moDernity
5 Emancipation through Celibacy? The Sisterhoods of the
Zoe Movement and their Role in the Development of
‘Christian Feminism’ in Greece 1938–1960 101
Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou
6 The New Sound of the Spiritual Modern:
The Revival of Greek Orthodox Chant 123
Tore Tvarnø Lind
reform anD Power struggLe in
reLigious governanCe
7 Holy Canons or General Regulations?
The Ecumenical Patriarchate vis-à-vis the Challenge
of Secularization in the Nineteenth Century 143
Dimitris Stamatopoulos
8 An Innovative Local Orthodox Model of Governance?
The Shrine of Evangelistria on the Island of Tinos 163
Katerina Seraïdari
Change in ContemPorary soCio-PoLitiCaL
Contexts
9 A New Role for Religion in Greece?
Theologians Challenging the Ethno-Religious
Understanding of Orthodoxy and Greekness 183
Trine Stauning Willert
10 From Mobilization to a Controlled Compromise:
The Shift of Ecclesiastical Strategy under
Archbishop Hieronymus 207
Konstantinos Papastathis
BeyonD nationaL BorDers:
the greek orthoDox DiasPora
11 Innovation within Greek Orthodox Theology in Australia:
Archbishop Stylianos and the Mystique of Indigenous
Australian Spirituality 231
Vassilios Adrahtas
12 Continuities and Change in Greek American Orthodoxy 253
Effie Fokas and Dena Fokas Moses
Index 281

Citation preview

Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition? The Question of Change in Greek Orthodox Thought and Practice

Edited by Trine Stauning Willert and Lina Molokotos-Liederman

InnovatIon In the orthodox ChrIstIan tradItIon?

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Innovation in the orthodox Christian tradition? the Question of Change in Greek orthodox thought and Practice

Edited by trIne staunInG WIllert University of Copenhagen, Denmark lIna Molokotos-lIederMan Independent scholar, London, UK

© trine stauning Willert and lina Molokotos-liederman 2012 all rights reserved. no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. trine stauning Willert and lina Molokotos-liederman have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editors of this work. Published by ashgate Publishing limited Wey Court east union road Farnham surrey, Gu9 7Pt england

ashgate Publishing Company suite 420 101 Cherry street Burlington vt 05401-4405 usa

www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Innovation in the orthodox Christian tradition? : the question of change in Greek orthodox thought and practice. 1. orthodoxos ekklesia tes hellados--history. 2. orthodoxos ekklesia tes hellados--doctrines. 3. Church renewal--orthodox eastern Church. I. Willert, trine stauning. II. Molokotos-liederman, lina. 281.9'495-dc23 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Innovation in the orthodox Christian tradition? : the question of change in Greek orthodox thought and practice / edited by trine stauning Willert and lina Molokotos-liederman. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. IsBn 978-1-4094-2077-4 (hardcover) -- IsBn 978-1-4094-2078-1 (ebook) 1. orthodoxos ekklesia tes hellados--history. 2. orthodox eastern Church--Greece--history. 3. Change--religious aspects--orthodoxos ekklesia tes hellados. 4. orthodox eastern Church--history. I. Willert, trine stauning. II. Molokotos-liederman, lina. Bx613.I56 2012 281.9'495--dc23 IsBn 9781409420774 (hbk) IsBn 9781409420781 (ebk) IV

Printed and bound in Great Britain by the MPG Books Group, uk.

Contents

List of Figures Notes on Contributors Preface

vii ix xiii

ConCePtuaL overview 1

2

How Can We Speak of Innovation in the Greek Orthodox Tradition? Towards a Typology of Innovation in Religion Trine Stauning Willert and Lina Molokotos-Liederman Orthodox Christianity, Change, Innovation: Contradictions in Terms? Vasilios N. Makrides

3

19

enCounters with other Christian Denominations 3

4

Double-Identity Churches on the Greek Islands under the Venetians: Orthodox and Catholics Sharing Churches (Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries) Eftichia Arvaniti Religious Innovation or Political Strategy? The Rapprochements of the Archbishop of Syros, Alexandros Lykourgos (1827–1875), towards the Anglican Church Elisabeth Kontogiorgi

53

73

aDaPtations to moDernity 5

Emancipation through Celibacy? The Sisterhoods of the Zoe Movement and their Role in the Development of ‘Christian Feminism’ in Greece 1938–1960 Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou

101

vi

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Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition?

The New Sound of the Spiritual Modern: The Revival of Greek Orthodox Chant Tore Tvarnø Lind

123

reform anD Power struggLe in reLigious governanCe 7

8

Holy Canons or General Regulations? The Ecumenical Patriarchate vis-à-vis the Challenge of Secularization in the Nineteenth Century Dimitris Stamatopoulos An Innovative Local Orthodox Model of Governance? The Shrine of Evangelistria on the Island of Tinos Katerina Seraïdari

143

163

Change in ContemPorary soCio-PoLitiCaL Contexts 9

10

A New Role for Religion in Greece? Theologians Challenging the Ethno-Religious Understanding of Orthodoxy and Greekness Trine Stauning Willert From Mobilization to a Controlled Compromise: The Shift of Ecclesiastical Strategy under Archbishop Hieronymus Konstantinos Papastathis

183

207

BeyonD nationaL BorDers: the greek orthoDox DiasPora 11

12

Index

Innovation within Greek Orthodox Theology in Australia: Archbishop Stylianos and the Mystique of Indigenous Australian Spirituality Vassilios Adrahtas Continuities and Change in Greek American Orthodoxy Effie Fokas and Dena Fokas Moses

231

253

281

List of Figures

3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 6.1

Aghios Gheorghios, Htikados, Tinos: a. east side; b. north side Plan of the doors flanking the sanctuary of the church of Afendis Christos in Ierapetra, Crete. ASV, Provveditori da Terra e da Mar, b. 786 Church of the Transfiguration, Htikados, Tinos: the conches of the sanctuary Church of the Transfiguration, Htikados, Tinos: a. M(ater) D(ei); b. (ΕΛΕΗ)ΜΟΝΙΤΡΙΑ Aghia Ekaterini, Tsiknias, Tinos: two aisles separated by a middle colonnade Father Agapios, who in 2001 was in charge of the music department at Vatopaidi, attends the construction of the new landing stage, November 2001

59

59 60 61 62

130

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Notes on Contributors

vassilios adrahtas holds a PhD in Sociology, a PhD in Religious Studies and is currently completing a PhD in Theology. As a postdoctoral fellow he has conducted research in Political Science. He has lectured at St Andrew’s Greek Orthodox Theological College (Sydney College of Divinity), the University of Sydney, the National University of Athens, the Hellenic Open University and the Panteion University of Social and Political Sciences. He is the author of three books and a substantial number of articles in academic journals, and has delivered papers at international conferences. Currently he is a postgraduate research supervisor at the Hellenic Open University and an honorary research fellow at the University of Sydney. eftichia arvaniti received her PhD from the Institut für Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik, University of Vienna, with the thesis Orthodox and Catholics in One Church: The Symbiosis of the Dogmas in Common Churches on the Cyclades and Saronic Islands (15th–18th Centuries). Her research interests are Byzantine and post-Byzantine/religious and secular architecture, and the history and monuments of Latin rule (Venetians, Genovese, Franks, Catalans) in Greece (thirteenth– eighteenth centuries). She has presented her work at several international conferences and has published parts of her work in German and Greek. spyridoula athanasopoulou-kypriou (BA Athens; MA, PhD Manchester) is a lecturer in Theology at the Hellenic Open University. She specializes in contextual and political theology. Her publications include various articles on theology and literature and on feminist theology. Among her recent publications are: ‘The Essentials of Theology in Feminist – That Is to Say Ecclesial – Perspective’, in Many Women Were Also There … The Participation of Orthodox Women in the Ecumenical Movement, ed. Eleni Kasselouri-Hatzivassiliadi et al., Geneva: World Council of Churches (WCC) Publications, 2010; Texts for Nothing: An Encounter of Theology and Literature with Reference to the Works of Samuel Beckett, Athens: Armos, 2009 (in Greek); and Not I: Essays on Political Theology with References to Issues of Gender, Religion and Ideology, Athens: Armos, 2011 (in Greek). She is currently working on the history of religious women in Greece. Effie Fokas is a research fellow at the Hellenic Foundation for European and Foreign Policy (ELIAMEP), leading a project entitled ‘Pluralism and Religious Freedom in Orthodox Countries in Europe’. She is Director of the London School of Economics (LSE) Forum on Religion and holds a PhD from the LSE. Her

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research interests include religion and politics in Europe and the European Union (EU); the relationship between religion, nationalism and national identity; and Orthodoxy in Greece and beyond. Her publications include Islam in Europe: Diversity, Identity and Influence (co-edited with Aziz Al-Azmeh), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007; Religious America, Secular Europe? A Theme and Variations (with Peter Berger and Grace Davie), Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008; ‘Religion in the Greek Public Sphere: Nuancing the Account’, Journal of Modern Greek Studies (2009); and ‘Islam in Europe: The Unexceptional Case’, Nordic Journal of Religion and Society (2011). Elisabeth Kontogiorgi completed her DPhil at St Antony’s College, Oxford University (1996) and is now senior research fellow at the Research Centre for the Study of Modern Greek History, Academy of Athens. She is the author of the monograph Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. She has also published on the history of Greek nationalism, religion and politics. Current interests include history of the movement for reunion between the Anglican and the Eastern Orthodox Churches in the second half of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth century; and the social policy of the League of Nations in Greece, with the emphasis on the public health sector. Tore Tvarnø Lind is Associate Professor of Ethnomusicology at the University of Copenhagen. He has conducted extensive ethnomusicological fieldwork at various monasteries at Mount Athos and in Copenhagen on biomedical and heterodox healing practices with music. Since 2000 he has presented his work at numerous international conferences in Europe and the United States, and in 2002 he was research fellow at the University of Chicago. His research on music centres on questions of tradition, modernity, history, authenticity, identity, tourism and spirituality. Other and new areas of scholarly interest include music as torture in the so-called global war against terror; music and censorship during the Greek Junta; and punk/heavy metal in Greece. He has recently published The Past Is Always Present: The Revival of the Byzantine Musical Tradition at Mount Athos, Lanham, MD: The Scarecrow Press, 2011. Vasilios N. Makrides studied Theology at the University of Athens (1979–83), at Harvard University (1984–86) and at the University of Tübingen (1986–91). Since 1999 he has been Professor of Religious Studies (specializing in Orthodox Christianity) at the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Erfurt, Germany. His main research interests are the comparative religious and cultural history of Orthodox Christianity, as well as the sociology of Orthodox Christianity. Recent books include: Hellenic Temples and Christian Churches: A Concise History of the Religious Cultures of Greece from Antiquity to the Present, New York and London: New York University Press, 2009; and Orthodox Christianity in 21st

Notes on Contributors

xi

Century Greece: The Role of Religion in Culture, Ethnicity and Politics, Farnham: Ashgate, 2010 (co-edited with Victor Roudometof). Lina Molokotos-Liederman is a researcher specializing in international issues of religion and education, gender, migration, social welfare and humanitarian aid. Educated in Greece, France and the United States, she received her MS in Mass Communication from Boston University and her PhD in the Sociology of Religion from the École Pratique des Hautes Études (EPHE) in Paris. Her dissertation compared cases of religious expression by Muslim students in state schools in France and Britain. As a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Exeter, Centre for European Studies, she was the principal researcher for the project ‘The Religious Factor in the Construction of Europe: Greece, Orthodoxy and the EU’, funded by the Leverhulme Trust. As a member of the research teams of the ‘Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective’ (WREP) and ‘Welfare and Values in Europe’ (WaVE) projects (coordinated by the Uppsala Religion and Society Research Centre), she has also worked on the role of religion in social welfare. She is also affiliated with the GSRL/CNRS research laboratory in Paris. She lives in London, where she works on a project basis as an independent scholar and academic translator for universities and non-profit organisations (such as the IOCC, IOM and Open Society Foundation). She is the author of numerous journal articles and research reports. Dena Fokas Moses is a graduate of St Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary, New York, where her work concentrated on contemporary theological issues and her thesis focused on Orthodox responses to the war over Kosovo. She also holds an MA in Theological Research from Durham University and a BA in Political Science and Religion from Furman University, South Carolina. She is currently outreach coordinator for the Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions, and project coordinator for the Algernon Sydney Sullivan Foundation. konstantinos Papastathis (PhD) is currently a postdoctoral research fellow at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (2011–12). He has worked as an adjunct lecturer at the School of Political Science at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki (2008–11). He has studied theology, philosophy and political sciences at Aristotle University of Thessaloniki and Katholieke Universiteit Leuven. His main research interests involve contemporary history of the Orthodox Church, discourse analysis of religious discourse, as well as the ‘Jerusalem Question’ and its religious dimension. He has published his work in peer-reviewed journals, both international and Greek, and has participated in international conferences. Katerina Seraïdari is an associate member of the Centre d’Anthropologie Sociale, LISST-Toulouse (France) and member of the editorial board of the French journal Balkanologie. She obtained her PhD in Social Anthropology and Ethnology at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales – Toulouse, 2000. In 2007 she

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was awarded the Stanley J. Seeger Visiting Fellowship at the Program in Hellenic Studies, Princeton University. She has published two monographs: Le culte des icônes en Grèce, Toulouse: Presses Universitaires du Mirail, 2005; and ‘May Her Grace Be with Us!’ Devotional Practices and Ideological Conflicts in the Cyclades, Athens: Erinni (Philippotis), 2007 (in Greek). Dimitris Stamatopoulos is Assistant Professor at the Department of Balkan, Slavic and Oriental Studies, University of Macedonia, Thessaloniki. He was a member of the School of Historical Studies at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, for the academic year 2010–11. He is the author of numerous articles on the history of the Orthodox populations in the Late Ottoman Empire, as well as the relations between religion and politics in the Balkans. He has written the monographs: Reform and Secularization: Towards a Reconstruction of the History of the Ecumenical Patriarchate in the 19th Century, Athens: Alexandreia 2003 (in Greek); The Byzantium after the Nation: The Problem of Continuity in the Balkan Historiographies, Athens: Alexandreia, 2009 (in Greek). Trine Stauning Willert is Assistant Professor in Modern Greek Studies at University of Copenhagen. Her research has focused on national identity, religion and education in contemporary Greece and the cultural relationship between Greece and Europe in a historical as well as contemporary perspective. In her latest research project funded by the Danish Research Council she examined new agendas in Greek theology and religious education attempting to provide religion with a pertinent role in present-day globalized and multicultural Greece. In 2009 she was the organizer of the scientific symposium ‘Orthodoxy and Innovation in the Greek-Speaking World from Byzantium to the 21st Century’ at the University of Copenhagen. Recently, she has received a research grant from the Carlsberg Foundation for a project on representations of Ottoman heritage in Modern Greek literature and its relationship with western European literary trends. She is coeditor (with Catharina Raudvere and Krzysztof Stala) of the volume Rethinking the Space for Religion: New Actors in Central and Southeast Europe on Religion, Authenticity and Belonging (forthcoming by Nordic Academic Press). She has published chapters in edited volumes and is preparing a monograph under the title A New Role for Orthodoxy in Multicultural Greece? Nation, Europe and Pluralism in Greek Theology and Religious Education.

Preface

The inspiration for this volume originated in Copenhagen in June 2009, when Trine Stauning Willert initiated and organized a scientific symposium on ‘Orthodoxy and Innovation in the Greek-speaking World from Byzantium to the 21st Century’. The symposium was held in honour of the 40-year contribution of Sysse Engberg, Associate Professor of Modern Greek Studies at the University of Copenhagen. It was also held in memory of a close colleague of Sysse Engberg, Sophia Scopetéa who, until her death in 2007, was an important scholar of Modern Greek Studies and a translator of parts of the work of Søren Aabye Kierkegaard into Greek. The topic of the symposium was at the intersection of the research fields of two scholars: Sysse Engberg’s longstanding contribution to Byzantine palaeography and the study of Byzantine music and liturgy; and Trine Stauning Willert’s involvement in the research project ‘Between Conservative Reaction and Religious Reinvention: Religious Intellectuals in Central and South-East Europe on Community, Authenticity and Heritage’. This project, funded by the Danish Council for Independent Research in the Humanities, was under the direction of Professor Catharina Raudvere from the University of Copenhagen. Trine Stauning Willert was more particularly involved in a sub-project dealing with new discourses in contemporary Greek theological and religious space. Professor Charles Lock from the Department of English, Germanic and Romance Studies at the University of Copenhagen, and Karsten Fledelius, Associate Professor at the Department of Media, Cognition and Communication, also at the University of Copenhagen, contributed inspiration and practical advice to developing the concept of the symposium. The symposium was funded by the Greek Ministry of National Education and Religious Affairs, the Cypriot Ministry of Education and Culture, as well as various academic institutions at the University of Copenhagen: the Centre for Modern European Studies (CEMES); the Department of CrossCultural and Regional Studies; the Department of English, Germanic and Romance Studies; and the SAXO Institute. Lina Molokotos-Liederman was on the list of speakers of the symposium, but was unable to attend due to unforeseen circumstances. However, her research includes work on the innovative attempt by a group of Orthodox monks to create a rock band promoting Orthodox Christian values, which was included in the volume Orthodox Christianity in 21st Century Greece (Ashgate 2010), edited by Victor Roudometof and Vasilios N. Makrides. Following the success of the symposium, Trine Stauning Willert and Lina Molokotos-Liederman were eager to disseminate the original pieces of research presented at the symposium and decided to work together in the challenging task

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of bringing together into an edited volume some of the presented papers and entirely new pieces of research relating to the concept of innovation in Greek Orthodoxy. This was the beginning of a long process of expanding and enriching the original papers presented at the symposium and adding new pieces of research offering other perspectives on the theme of innovation. Seven chapters in this volume are based on expanded and reworked papers which were presented at the 2009 symposium. Four new chapters have been added to cover themes that were not part of the symposium. The editors wish to thank all of the authors working in different corners of the world (starting from Greece, Germany, Denmark and the UK to North America and going as far as Australia). Their hard work in writing, rewriting and editing multiple times the chapters of this book is what made this volume the result of a great transnational collaborative effort. The editors also extend a special thank you to Vasilios Makrides for his invaluable support and advice during the editing process. The editors also wish to thank Ashgate for their assistance in the production process. Last but not least, very special thanks must be extended to Povl Vedel Villumsen, former Associate Professor of Computer Science at the University of Aalborg, holding a BA in Modern Greek Studies from the University of Copenhagen, who has generously provided the economic funding for the realization of this book. The Greek titles of books and articles referred to by the authors have been transliterated and translated into English. Although every effort has been made to follow the same transliteration rules throughout the volume, some contributors have used different rules of transliteration.

Conceptual Overview

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Chapter 1

How Can We Speak of Innovation in the Greek Orthodox Tradition? Towards a Typology of Innovation in Religion Trine Stauning Willert and Lina Molokotos-Liederman

This book explores specific innovative attempts or achievements, as well as negotiations and power struggles over the issue of innovation within Greek Orthodox religious practice and thought. Through the prism of innovation we examine various case studies of innovation and change in Greek Orthodoxy in a historical and contemporary perspective. Rather than understanding innovation as a concrete event taking place at a specific point in time, the chapters in the book demonstrate how various actors use the concept of innovation and its indispensable counterpart, tradition, as rhetorical or symbolic markers to put forth specific ideological or political agendas. These agendas include Greek national identity, the Church’s administrative influence and power in the late Ottoman Empire, the right to local autonomy, as well as discursive and other strategies aimed at strengthening the relevance or the influence of the Orthodox Church. Given the long historical tradition of Greek Orthodoxy through the centuries and its emphasis on being and remaining an original, true and authentic Christian tradition, the tension between continuity and tradition on the one hand, and renewal and change on the other, is of particular interest. This tension touches on the question of innovation (which will be defined below), a concept that has often been related, either to sects and new religious movements, which seem to be inherently associated with the idea of novelty, or to the way in which established religions with long historical traditions progressively adapt to the effects of secularization and rational modernity. Religious systems, like all other cultural systems, are transformed over time despite the determination of their followers to maintain continuity through tradition. As noted by Earhart (1974: 180f.) in one of the few existing books on religious innovation, by Williams, Cox and Jaffee (1992), ‘crisis theories tend to assume that equilibrium is a permanent condition in religion, thus treating innovation as only a temporary response to the disruption of equilibrium’ (Earhart cited in Williams, Cox and Jaffee 1992: 9). Within this context, and in line with other non-essentialist analytical approaches to culture (Baumann 1999: 69, 83), the volume does not approach innovation or moments of change within Greek Orthodoxy as responses to critical situations, but rather as an inherent modality of this religious tradition. Innovation and change are thus conceived as inherent to

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any human activity and social structure, including a religious tradition. Therefore, the underlying assumption and thesis of this volume is that, contrary to general belief and to the self-understanding of Orthodoxy itself, Greek Orthodoxy has evolved and undertaken some degree of innovation throughout different moments in history and in response to specific circumstances in a variety of areas, including religious practices, theology and the structure or governance of Church institutions and organizations. As this book illustrates, innovative attempts or achievements have often occurred under the cover of traditionalist and conservative discourses, which, as Vasilios Makrides explains in the second chapter, constitute an intrinsic characteristic of Greek Orthodoxy. This is why, paradoxically, advocates of innovation in Orthodoxy have often presented their arguments in a traditionalist rhetoric, which often seems to act as a cover for more innovations (Roudometof 2010: 35 and Anastassiadis 2010: 39). Paraphrasing Halbwachs, Anastassiadis has noted that ‘a successful innovation has to appear as non-innovative as possible’ (Anastassiadis 2010: 52, note 11). Renewal and innovation in Greek Orthodoxy have up until now been addressed peripherally in studies on modernity or religious change and adaptation. More specifically, the relation between Orthodoxy and modernity has been considered only recently in Greek Orthodox theology. In these cases the use of the term ‘innovation’ has been avoided, as indicated by the titles of several works by Greek theologians who use other terms such as ‘modernity’, ‘metamodernity’, ‘the contemporary world’ or ‘modernization’ (Vasiliades 2002; Loudovikos 2006; Ioannis (Zizioulas) 2006). Another indicative example is the work of the theologian Pantelis Kalaitzidis, who has addressed in two Greeklanguage books the issue of change in Greek Orthodoxy, but through the prism of modernity (Kalaitzidis 2007; Kalaitzidis and Dodos 2007) rather than that of innovation per se. In a more historical and sociological perspective, the book by Victor Roudometof and Vasilios Makrides (2010), Orthodox Christianity in 21st Century Greece, addresses the issue of innovation through several cases, such as Church reforms and modernization, Orthodox rock music and the possible new role of the Church as a provider of public welfare. However, not all chapters in the volume deal directly with innovation and change. In this context, the present book attempts more specifically to make a contribution to the study of religious change and transformation by addressing the concept of innovation head-on and placing the question of innovation in Greek Orthodoxy at the core of the book’s scope. The concept of traditionalism, which has often been expressed as the opposition between east and west and through a typically anti-western perspective, is a feature of Greek Orthodoxy that illustrates how closely it is bound to tradition (Roudometof and Makrides 2010: 4). Such observations may confirm the widespread perception of Orthodox Christianity as closed, inflexible and heavily bound to tradition (Papageorgiou 2000). At the same time Greek Orthodoxy has been determined to a large extent by both history and geography. Greek Orthodoxy has remained in the periphery of most of the historic, political and socio-economic developments that shaped western

How Can We Speak of Innovation in the Greek Orthodox Tradition?

5

Europe and western Christianity, including the Enlightenment and the process of secularization. However, this does not mean that Greek Orthodoxy has remained a monolithic and unchanged religion. On the contrary, evolution and transformation, alongside tradition and continuity, have shaped the development of Greek Orthodoxy through the centuries, but in very specific and different ways, especially compared to western Christianity. As a result, Greek Orthodoxy has not been immune to the effects of globalization, which has pushed it to contemplate ‘its future direction and the mode of its participation in the globalized cultural universe of the times’ (Roudometof 2010: 35). The ongoing conflicts and debates that have taken place within the Church over the past few decades in Greece (for example, debates on the status of property owned by the Greek Church, the inclusion of religion on ID cards, the representation of the Church in Greek history textbooks etc.) bear witness to this point and illustrate how the Church of Greece, as an institution, and Greek Orthodoxy, as a faith, have responded to the various effects of globalization in different but overall traditionalist and defensive ways. Since Greek Orthodoxy exists in a socio-cultural context that is constantly changing, it is by default forced to adapt itself to new social, political and economic realities. In February 2008 the Church of Greece underwent a change in leadership, with a new Archbishop (Hieronymus) generating many academic, as well as lay discussions on his overall impact on the Greek Orthodox Church as an institution (e.g. Fokas 2008; Konidaris 2009). Expectations of how the change in leadership may possibly lead to a change in the Church’s overall outlook and role in Greek social and political life are due to the differences in the public persona of the new Archbishop and the differentiated discourse between the new Church leader and the previous one. However, as Konstantinos Papastathis explains in this volume, it is not yet clear from the Church’s new discourse whether or how the change of leadership may lead to deeper structural changes, let alone innovations, in the Church of Greece and its role in Greek public life. A key question at this point is whether, in a context of undeniable change and in the specific case of Greek Orthodoxy, one can speak about innovation as an intended durable or sustainable change or break from the past, or as a change occurring merely in response to specific circumstances at a particular point in time. In this book, we suggest that processes of innovation are more complex because innovation may at the same time involve changes initiated by human actors inside the religious tradition, as well as transformations taking place as a result of the need for adaptation to external circumstances. One cannot speak of intended change as a ‘purer’ form of innovation because internal changes will always to some degree have occurred as a reaction to external changes or as an inspiration or influence from external systems of thought or practice. In the following section we further discuss religious innovation and how it is defined and conceived in this volume.

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Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition?

What is Innovation? Concepts and Definitions Defining the meaning of innovation involves considering the meaning of related concepts such as continuity, change and tradition. Addressing these concepts generates a new set of questions: Does innovation mean change and/or renewal? How are they different? Is innovation the opposite of tradition or can innovation also be a part of tradition? What do we mean by tradition? According to Marshall’s Dictionary of Sociology, ‘[a]ny change in religious practice, organization, or belief is religious innovation’. Marshall explains that ‘religious innovation is seen as a departure from orthodoxy because it is a threat to tradition’ (Marshall 1998), especially in the major world religions that have developed orthodox bodies of belief, custom and practice which are regarded as part of a sacred tradition. Regardless of how religious innovation is evaluated within the framework of a religious tradition, it is inevitable as a social fact and, therefore, according to Marshall, ‘there is a permanent tension between belief in the unchanging nature of orthodox tradition, and the actual social change of religious organizations’ (ibid.). Religions, as tightly structured systems, are upheld through the preservation and reproduction of cultural elements and aspects of tradition such as origin myths, moral narratives and religious practices. However, as Gerd Bauman (1999: 25–6) reminds us, ‘all making of culture, no matter how conservative, is also a remaking. Even at its most conservative, it places old habits in new contexts, and it thus changes the significance of these habits. […] If culture is not the same as cultural change, then it is nothing at all’. When approaching religion as a social phenomenon and not as the expression of essential truths it makes sense to talk about religion as culture. Therefore, religion is just as likely to generate change as any other social and cultural system. The volume aspires to more than just analysing and describing change in a cultural system because the concept of change is very broad and vague. Our interest is more particularly focused on moments and topoi of substantial and even radical changes that in some way break or attempt to break from the previous context or way of doing things. Such changes, in certain cases, are presented not as the introduction of something new or modern but as reintroducing what is perceived as a traditional and original/authentic religious framework because the existing one is considered to have deteriorated or removed itself from its intended origin and mission. This is the case in the chapters by Katerina Seraïdari and Dimitris Stamatopoulos, where arguments for new models of governance are founded on the idea of going back to a local or original tradition. The chapter by Trine Stauning Willert illustrates how some contemporary Greek Orthodox theologians argue for a return to the ideals of Christianity in pre-national times, thus aiming to lead the Orthodox Church towards a change of direction by bringing it closer to what is perceived as a truer and more authentic tradition. These examples seem to point to cultural change as a deliberate human act involving will, power struggle and repositioning. Therefore, the advantage of using the concept of innovation, instead

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of change, is that innovation seems to indicate the active human role in the ‘making of culture’, while change can be used more impersonally as something happening outside the will of humans due to changing circumstances in the political or social environment. Therefore, we take innovation to mean a deliberate and intended form of change or break from the usual way of doing things. When trying to determine the degree of impact of an innovation across time and space there is a fine line between analysis and evaluation because innovation tends to be closely linked to progress. Therefore, in a modern western context there is a strong tendency to evaluate innovative events as positive because of the underlying perception of innovation as equivalent to progress and moving forward. Feminist approaches to theology (for example, equality of the sexes in all aspects of religious practices and traditions), as well as encounters with and openness toward otherness (for example, embracing diversity), are notable cases where innovation and progress overlap. In his chapter, Vasilios Makrides presents a comprehensive comparative study of tradition and innovation in Christianity. The issue of innovation and progress is particularly relevant to western Christianity and the rise of modernity in the west, which generated a more linear perception of history as a progression, whereas in eastern Christianity the focus has been more on the past than on the future, thus resulting in a more cyclical perception of time . Turning our attention to the relationship between tradition and innovation, both concepts are mutually interdependent in a dialectic relationship. Hence, innovation can only happen within tradition and we can only speak of innovation provided that there has been tradition. Tradition is a part of any cultural system, such as religion. It is a means to structure and facilitate cultural reproduction, thus creating a context for human actors to relate to the system and to each other within the system. If innovation is a deliberate human act and the counterpart of tradition, then it seems that innovation challenges a system that is upheld by tradition, even in cases where innovation may actually be intended to strengthen a tradition. Since no cultural system can be static, as mentioned above, an intended change, thus an innovation within a tradition, can also be seen as inevitable, even as vital and essential for the survival of the tradition. Within such an understanding, innovation becomes an important or even founding factor within the cultural system of tradition. Thus, an institution or group dealing in an innovative way with the traditional context of which it is part can be considered essential to the survival of the tradition. A key challenge when working with the concept of innovation is that it is a highly relative and contextual idea. Williams, Cox and Jaffee, in their work Innovation in Religious Traditions, point out that insiders and outsiders of a religious community may perceive tradition and innovation very differently. Therefore, even more important than defining the concepts, it is critical to define the perspective of the interpreter. Thus, ‘the outsider to a tradition may see innovation in instances where the insider sees continuity’ (Williams, Cox and Jaffee 1992: 3). An example of the different interpretation by insiders and outsiders can be seen in Katerina Seraïdari’s chapter, where local actors, who introduced a new model

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of governance believing that it corresponds to the local tradition, were confronted with the centralized institution of the Church that could not accept such a deviation from what it considered the true tradition. The chapter also illustrates how the conflict between a local shrine and the Church is a matter of power and economic privilege. Therefore, the tensions between innovation and tradition are activated as strategic negotiating points in order to legitimize various claims. This case study illustrates that the usefulness of religious innovation as an analytical concept ‘is dependent both on a careful establishment of context, as well as on a determination of what perspective(s) is/are in fact germane to a given analysis’ (Williams, Cox and Jaffee 1992: 4, italics added). It is unlikely that what was considered an innovation at a particular point in time would still be considered as such later on, thus further illustrating that innovation is highly contextual and deeply rooted in history. This can be exemplified by the role of nationalism in the history of Orthodox Christianity. In the first half of the nineteenth century the establishment of national autocephalous churches (e.g. the Church of Greece in 1830) was condemned by the Ecumenical Patriarchate as a deviation from the Orthodox tradition and, thus considered an unacceptable innovation. From the mid-nineteenth century national autocephalous churches became recognized and, today, many consider the close bonds between Church and state and between national and religious identities an integral part of the Christian Orthodox tradition (Vasilios Makrides, Elizabeth Kontogiorgi and Trine Stauning Willert address this issue in their respective chapters). However, as Willert illustrates more specifically, after the establishment of national Orthodox churches became something more of a tradition, contemporary theologians now seem to advocate a return to the values and traditions of pre-national times as a move that is innovative and progressive, yet also in accordance with tradition. Our intention in editing this volume has been to provide a point of reference for a methodological and conceptual reflection on innovation but not to introduce a common definition to be used by all of the contributing authors in the volume. The title of the volume itself and the titles of several of its chapters are formulated as questions. This indicates the ambiguities involved when discussing innovation in relation to Greek Orthodoxy. The chapters aim to illustrate the ambiguous relations between innovation and tradition within Greek Orthodoxy and, therefore, present various interpretations or versions of innovation. The chapters in the volume do not share an evaluative or normative mission (in favour of or against innovation), but rather an academic approach that aims to be as objective and neutral as possible by further illustrating a point that has been made by historians and sociologists (Roudometof and Makrides 2010), namely that Greek Orthodoxy is a religious tradition that is both strongly bound to tradition and also bound to some forms of change. In some cases the innovative aspect lies in moments of change in terms of religious practices or governance of the Orthodox Church (see for example the chapters by Eftichia Arvaniti, Katerina Seraïdari and Dimitris Stamatopoulos) or in terms of raising a new awareness or identity (see for example the chapters by Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou,

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Vassilios Adrahtas and Effie Fokas and Dena Fokas Moses). In other cases the innovative aspect could be understood as a revival of past traditional practices, such as reform through a return to the roots of the tradition (see the chapter by Trine Stauning Willert). Furthermore, in other cases the innovation could be oriented towards the secular world, thus outside the Church, suggesting that the Orthodox tradition has something to offer the world of today (see the chapter by Tore Tvarnø Lind). Finally, in some cases innovation takes shape in the form of change in the orientation of the Orthodox Church (see the chapters by Elisabeth Kontogiorgi and Konstantinos Papastathis).

Developing an initial typology of innovation in religion We have distinguished five types of innovation, which are defined below. Each case study may illustrate several types of innovation, and not all of the types can be defined in clear-cut categories, but share traits with some of the other types. This way of organizing the case studies highlights different types of innovations in an attempt to develop an initial typology of innovation in religious traditions, something that will hopefully inspire further research. 1. The first type is of innovation is a purist innovation that is promoted by actors who claim that the innovation is in fact a return to a more authentic tradition which has been neglected or rejected by the existing ‘tradition’. The arguments in favour of such a type of innovation are drawn from sources that are said to represent an ‘authentic’ and ‘purer’ tradition. Despite the adherence to traditional sources, the proposed changes represent innovations because in the historical and geographical context they are a deviation from a dominant form of tradition. This type of innovation is illustrated by Katerina Seraïdari, who discusses how local administrators of a religious shrine argue that their ‘untraditional’ way of governing the shrine is in accordance with a local and Godgiven tradition. Likewise, Trine Stauning Willert discusses the impulse of change towards a new direction for the Greek Orthodox Church as suggested by contemporary theologians on the basis of an authentic Christian and ecumenically oriented tradition, which has so far been mistakenly abandoned in favour of a nation-based tradition. 2. A second type of innovation is a strategic innovation that includes negotiations over innovation and tradition relating to the loss or retention of privileges and struggles over power and influence. Konstantinos Papastathis illustrates how the new Archbishop has strategically opted for a new way of communicating the goals and messages of the Church in Greece. However this ‘new way’ is merely a strategic move without any substantive changes in the ideology of the Church. Dimitris Stamatopoulos also shows in his chapter how the Greek Orthodox clergy reacted to the

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attempts by the Ottomans at modernization through the Tanzimat reforms. Instead of rejecting any form of innovation, Greek Orthodox clergy saw this as an opportunity for the Church to re-establish its power during a period of political reform. Elisabeth Kontogiorgi examines the attempts of rapprochement in the nineteenth century between the Orthodox Church of Greece and the Anglican Church that were initiated by an otherwise conservative prelate. The motives behind this form of rapprochement do not seem to originate in a wish to bring about innovation in the Orthodox Church, but rather stem from a strategic promotion of good relations between the two churches and the strengthening of western support for the political and military aspirations of the new Greek nation state. Innovations that belong to this category should not be viewed as less innovative or less important just because they are strategically motivated. They simply reinforce the fact that Church and religion are part of the social and cultural systems that surround them, and when it seems advantageous the Church and actors within the Church may take some innovative steps. 3. The third type of innovation has to do with innovations that happen due to specific external circumstances. Therefore, this type can be referred to as an adapting innovation that takes place as an adaptation to changes in the social, political or physical environment. Innovation of this type could also take place out of necessity; yet even in cases of necessity there is always a choice as to the degree and form of innovation to be made. Eftichia Arvaniti, in her chapter, shows how Orthodox rituals and church buildings were adapted to the presence of Catholic communities under Venetian rule, bringing about innovative constellations of shared rituals and church buildings. Effie Fokas and Dena Fokas Moses also describe such adapting processes in contemporary diasporic communities where the influence of Protestantism in the American context has influenced and brought about certain innovative approaches to religious identity within the Orthodox community, as well as in relation to individual religious practice. 4. Yet another type of innovation is one that is not intended, i.e. an unintentional innovation. This kind of innovation is the result of religious practice or thought taking inspiration from external sources without seeing this as a conflict with tradition. An example of such unintentional innovation is illustrated by Vassilios Adrahtas, who shows how the poetry of the Greek Orthodox Archbishop of Australia draws on indigenous Australian mythology and spirituality, thus creating a new image of Orthodoxy, but without intending to create an innovation. Tore Tvarnø Lind also illustrates how the monks at Mount Athos actually take part in the search and wish for the authentic, which is so characteristic of modernity (along with its desire for progress), by bringing their chant as close as possible to the Byzantine tradition. Transmission of the traditional chanting (through CDs and other multimedia), the traditional art of the monks, unintentionally becomes part of modernity and the commercialization that it seems to reject.

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5. Finally, another type of innovation represented in this book is one that relates to some form of spiritual or personal development, namely an emancipatory innovation, where the goal of new ways of thinking and practicing the religion constitutes a form of emancipation from earlier restrictive forms. Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou illustrates this type of innovation through the ways in which Christian women use their religious faith to create a free space where they can redefine their gendered roles in society. The innovation in this chapter lies in the creation of sisterhoods and coenobiums where women can contribute to society and live in accordance with their faith, but still break away from some of the societal bonds imposed on them by the patriarchal norms of the time. As noted above, these types of innovation are not impermeable, and several of the chapters that have been mentioned as representing one type of innovation also exhibit traits from other types. In this volume we have, therefore, discovered the multifaceted, complex and thought-provoking nature of innovation in Greek Orthodoxy.

Presentation of the Book The book is structured according to five thematic clusters that bring together relevant chapters and case studies. The chapter following this introduction is an overview by Vasilios Makrides introducing in a historical approach the issue of innovation in Greek Orthodoxy in the broadest of contexts by focusing on the parallel, competitive and contradictory trajectories of the three large denominations of Christianity in Europe: Orthodoxy, Catholicism and Protestantism. i) The first thematic cluster includes two chapters dealing with innovative practice and thought as a result of the encounter of Greek Orthodoxy with other Christian denominations. Eftichia Arvaniti introduces a very interesting phenomenon of Orthodox and Catholic shared churches on Greek islands. Her approach is based on architecture studies which help her provide detailed accounts of the physical and ritual adjustments and innovations brought about in the religious practice of the two denominations through their sharing of church buildings. The historic background to this unique phenomenon goes back to the beginning of Venetian rule on the Greek islands from the fifteenth century. Arvaniti’s fieldwork shows that the introduction of shared rituals several centuries ago has survived so these practices can still be seen today on islands with considerable Catholic communities. However, it is mostly the architectural modifications of the churches that are the main visible legacy on the islands. The above-mentioned religious practices were the result of a long symbiosis. These practices were consequently acts of an unavoidable syncretism under the specific historical circumstances. Believers

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and clergy must have perceived the need for a shared space without nevertheless perceiving it as innovative. What seems even more interesting is the fact that, after 300 years of coexistence, believers and clergy have pleaded to both Church and State the necessity to preserve this intermingling in the same ways and in the same buildings as the Venetians tolerated from the beginning of their rule, allowing this practice to become part of the tradition. Elisabeth Kontogiorgi illustrates how in the mid-nineteenth century the relation between religious and nationalist thought was dialectic and ‘clerical politics’ were interwoven with both international diplomacy and national affairs. She concludes this from her examination of the initiative by the Greek Orthodox prelate and Archbishop of Syros, Alexandros Lykourgos (1827–75), for a rapprochement of the Greek Orthodox Church with the Anglican Church. Her chapter suggests that, due to his political aspirations, Lykourgos appeared as an innovative prelate open to change and reconciliation with a western denomination, but on many local religious matters he was actually a traditional prelate. In both cases his motive for being, either innovative, or traditional was his purpose of preserving and strengthening Greek national interests. ii) The second thematic section includes two chapters presenting case studies on identity development and positioning in Greek Orthodox practice and spirituality as a result of adaptation to different aspects of modernity. In her chapter, Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou turns our attention towards the history of religious women in Greece. Through unpublished archival material, publications of the time and interviews with principal actors, the author tracks the development of the sisterhoods that were founded in the 1940s. The author highlights religious organizations such as the Zoe sisterhood and their importance in the development of a Christian version of feminism. This type of Christian feminism argued for women’s rights and active roles in the public sphere, but failed to challenge traditional gender roles and the conventional ‘natural vocation’ of women to motherhood and family life. Kypriou suggests, however, that the sisterhoods provided Greek religious women with a certain degree of emancipation, especially for unmarried women, whose particular celibate lifestyle, typically viewed as abnormal, was valued by members of their religious community. Kypriou argues that the Zoe movement and its sisterhoods provided women with a context where celibacy was viewed as a legitimate choice of lifestyle. Therefore, even if the sisterhoods and the emergence of a Christian feminist consciousness did not lead to innovations regarding women’s position in the institutional Church, they did provide pious women with a choice to break away from their traditional roles and create an independent life as active members of society. Tore Tvarnø Lind presents a stimulating report from his fieldwork at the Vatopaidi Monastery on Mount Athos.1 Using an ethnomusicological perspective, 1 Since 2008, the Vatopaidi monastery and some of its monks along with public officials have been implicated in a very public real estate scandal in Greece. A commission

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Lind explores the revival of Byzantine chant among Athonite monks and suggests that the revival can be seen as an attempt to strengthen the position of Christianity as part of the European Union and as a way of insisting that (Greek) Christian Orthodoxy is legitimately European in its own right. Related to this political, theological and cultural agenda, the revival of Byzantine music is a way to illustrate that Greek Orthodoxy is traditional but has a modern appeal: the new and cultivated Orthodox voice of Vatopaidi insists on a religion full of vigour and promise for the future of the tradition, not only locally and nationally, but also across Europe. iii) The third thematic cluster includes two chapters relating to religious governance that analyse more specifically the power struggles and arguments activated by the imposition of Church reform or centralization of power. Dimitris Stamatopoulos examines how the Greek Orthodox clergy dealt with demands for lay participation in the governance of the millets of the Ottoman Empire when the second phase of the Tanzimat reforms was introduced in 1856 with the Islâhat Fermânı. The institutionalization of lay participation was an attempt by the Ottomans to ‘secularize’ the empire. Through two case studies, Stamatopoulos illustrates how the Orthodox clergy succeeded in remaining almost untouched by the reforms through their invocation of the Holy Canons. The clerical elites, through the invocation of the Holy Canons, were able to renegotiate the Church’s position in relation to the state. Consequently the problem of ‘innovation’ was perceived, not only as a threat, but also as a great opportunity for the Church to re-establish its power in an era of political reform. The issue of lay participation, which was a key feature of Protestant churches, was dealt with in such a manner as to be exclusively concerned with the financial management of the Patriarchate. Lay participation was not to have consequences for the way the flock would understand the concept of the ‘Church’. The Church would continue as such, represented by the clergy, and the clergy would comprise its main core. Stamatopoulos, thus concludes that the question of innovation was not connected with a reversal at the theological/dogmatic level in the way the Orthodox clergy coped with the challenges of modernity, but with the means it discovered to retain its privileged position within the state mechanism. Katerina Seraïdari also presents a case study where religious actors attempt to establish a new model of Church governance. In contrast to the traditional style of governance of the Orthodox Church of Greece, the Tinos sanctuary of Evangelistria has been governed by both clergy and elected lay people. As Seraïdari’s study shows, the sanctuary became an arena where conflicting agents negotiated their rights and the issue of innovation functioned as a diachronic source of competition, where not only different administrative models but also important was set up to investigate allegations of fraud and embezzlement. The case is pending and remains in the hands of the Greek justice system. The chapter by Lind is based on fieldwork undertaken in 2000 and 2001, and has thus no relation to this much debated case.

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economic resources were disputed within the larger matrix of social relations and networks of power. Evangelistria has been viewed from its foundation, not only as a vehicle of modernization and change but also as the defender of local interests. This innovative model of governance has also been presented as an open-ended process that cannot become a fixed structure because of the reaction of the institutional Church. This has given the lay administrators the opportunity to develop and maintain a discourse of resistance by defining the Church of Greece as the dominant religious establishment and itself as a continuously threatened entity. After the recent initiative of the bishopric of Syros and Tinos to promote the option of an ‘electronic devotion’ of the Evangelistria icon, the struggle for control over this specific devotional space, as well as its use and funds, may take new forms in the future. While most of the chapters referred to so far present case studies in a historical context, the case studies in the last two thematic sections in the book include chapters that are situated in a fully contemporary setting. iv) The fourth thematic cluster includes two chapters addressing theological and ideological positions and strategies in the contemporary socio-political context in Greece. Trine Stauning Willert deals with changes in contemporary negotiations about the identity and image of the Orthodox Church. Her chapter provides an example of the crucial importance of context in evaluating religious change as innovative. The chapter illustrates the paradox that in one historical period, the nineteenth century, the Orthodox Church went through modernization by binding itself to the Greek nation state through the establishment of the autocephalous Greek Church in 1833. However, in a later historical period, the present, Orthodox theologians propose a modernization of the Church through its detachment from the nationstate and in particular from national ideology. Thus, what seemed innovative in the nineteenth century is interpreted as conservative in the twenty-first century. Through a discourse analysis, Konstantinos Papastathis provides a comparative study of the different communicative strategies of the previous head of the Church of Greece, Archbishop Christodoulos, and its current leader, Archbishop Hieronymus. Papastathis suggests that the ecclesiastic goal of both leaders has been to retain for the Church as many privileges and as much influence in Greek society as possible. However, his analysis indicates that they have attempted to reach their goal in very different ways. Hieronymus represents a new or innovative strategy in his choice of public appearance and ‘branding’ of the Church. Instead of interfering in political affairs, Hieronymus has respected the autonomy of the political domain; instead of maintaining a hostile attitude towards any modernist modification that enjoyed a large social consensus or was legally imperative, Hieronymus has adopted a flexible stance on the condition that the constitutional and economic privileges of the Church would not be abrogated. Consequently, Hieronymus’ policy is not based on breaking away from the traditional form of ecclesiastical conduct vis-à-vis the state (namely the functioning of the Church

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as its ideological apparatus in return for preferential status within Greek political space). Instead, his policy is articulated through a differentiation from the rigorist hierarchical group and from Hieronymus’ predecessor. Papastathis names this strategy a ‘controlled compromise’ which compared to the ‘mobilizing’ policies of the past may be labelled as innovative, since it constitutes a break from the ecclesiastical rule. The stance of Hieronymus, although not changing the longterm aims of the Church, has an innovative character because of the distinct means employed to pursue them. v) Finally, the chapters in the last thematic section examine, also from a contemporary perspective, case studies of renewal, change or innovation in contexts where Greek Orthodoxy is situated in a diasporic environment and is thus removed from the Greek context. Vassilios Adrahtas presents a literary analysis of the poetry of the Greek Orthodox Archbishop of Australia, Stylianos. He suggests that the poems, through their ‘dialogic’ with indigenous Australian spirituality, articulate new and challenging views on some of the most cardinal themes of twentieth-century Christian theology. Instead of perceiving innovation as some kind of great moment that constitutes a cultural rupture within a given historical situation, Adrahtas suggests that the poems are in dialogue with indigenous Australian spirituality through an unintentional and unexpected process. He, therefore, points to an often overlooked aspect of innovative processes, namely the field of everyday life experiences, which can partake in the process of innovation through small, imperceptible and continuous rearrangements. In their chapter, Effie Fokas and Dena Fokas Moses seek to identify elements of continuity and change over time in the way Orthodox Christian Greeks in America experience their faith and in relation to their ethnic identity. The chapter also examines continuity and innovation in terms of the link between ethnicity and faith, Greekness and Orthodoxy, and how intertwined religion and ethnicity can be for Greek Americans. Based on interviews with parish members from the Church of the Annunciation in Memphis, the authors conclude that belonging, as linked to Greek ethnic identity, does rank highly among the motivations behind participation in church life. However, they also distinguish an increasing awareness among parishioners to exhibit an element of choice: others have chosen to leave the church (though many of the latter still baptize their children in the Orthodox Church); some have opted to attend Bible studies in other churches but are otherwise committed to the Orthodox Church; and still others have ‘shopped around’ other Orthodox churches before settling on the Church of the Annunciation. The authors discuss whether the observed changes are part of an assimilation process that makes the Orthodox faith ‘more American’ (i.e. more focused on the Bible), especially because of the increased exposure of many parishioners to Protestantism through their children’s school experiences. However, the evidence is inconclusive as to whether being more American relates to a will to assimilate or is more a result of assimilation.

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It is our hope that the chapters included in this volume will contribute to ongoing academic discussions on change and agency in religious systems, from a historical and contemporary perspective. We hope that the thematically and methodologically broad spectrum of case studies presented in this volume will inspire further research on some under-researched areas on Greek Orthodox thought and practice. Furthermore, the pieces of research can foster more discussion and debate, not only on Greek Orthodoxy as a whole, but more importantly on the subject of innovation and religious traditions.

references Agadjanian, Alexander and Victor Roudometof. 2005. ‘Eastern Orthodoxy in a Global Age: Preliminary Considerations’. In Eastern Orthodoxy in a Global Age: Tradition Faces the Twenty-First Century, ed. V. Roudometof, A. Agadjanian and J. Pankhurst, pp. 1–26. Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press. Anastassiadis, Anastassios. 2010. ‘An Intriguing True-False Paradox: The Entanglement of Modernization and Intolerance in the Orthodox Church of Greece’. In Orthodox Christianity in 21st Century Greece, ed. V. Roudometof and V. Makrides. Farnham: Ashgate. Baumann, Gerd. 1999. Multicultural Riddle: Rethinking National, Ethnic and Religious Identities. London: Routledge. Fokas, Effie. 2008. ‘A New Role for the Church? Reassessing the Place of Religion in the Greek Public Sphere’. GreeSE Paper No. 17. The Hellenic Observatory. London School of Economics and Political Science. Retrieved 27 February 2009 from http://www.lse.ac.uk/collections/hellenicObservatory/pdf/GreeSE/ GreeSE17/pdf. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis. 2007. Orthodoxía kai neoterikótita: Prolegómena [Orthodoxy and Modernity: Prolegomena]. Athens: Indiktos Publications. Kalaitzidis, Pantelis and Nikos Dodos (eds). 2007. Orthodoxy and Modernity [Orthodoxía kai neoterikótita]. Athens: Indiktos Publications. Konidaris, Ioannis M. 2009. ‘Apopeira enos Protou Apologismou’ [An Attempt to Draw a First Balance]. To Vima tis Kyriakis, 8 February, p. A56. Loudovikos, Nikolaos. 2006. Orthodoxía kai eksygchronismós: Vyzantiní exatomíkefsi, krátos kai istoría, stin prooptikí tou evropaikoú méllontos [Orthodoxy and Modernization: Byzantine Individualization, State and History, in the Prospect of the European Future]. Athens: Armos. Makrides, Vasilios and Victor Roudometof. 2010. ‘Introduction: Tradition, Transition and Change in Greek Orthodoxy at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century’. In Orthodox Christianity in 21st Century Greece, ed. V. Roudometof and V. Makrides. Farnham: Ashgate. Marshall, Gordon. 1998. ‘Religious Innovation’. A Dictionary of Sociology. Retrieved 7 December 2011 from Encyclopedia.com: http://www.encyclopedia. com/doc/1O88-religiousinnovation.html.

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Papageorgiou, Niki. 2000. I Ekklisía stin Neoellinikí Koinonía [The Church in Modern Greek Society]. Thessaloniki: Pournaras. Roudometof, Victor. 2010. ‘The Evolution of Greek Orthodoxy’. In Orthodox Christianity in 21st Century Greece, ed. V. Roudometof and V. Makrides. Farnham: Ashgate. Vasiliades, Petros. 2002. Metaneoterikótita kai ekklisía: I próklisi tis Orthodoxías [Postmodernity and Church: Orthodoxy’s Challenge]. Athens: Akritas. Williams, Michael A., Collett Cox and Martin S. Jaffee (eds). 1992. Innovation in Religious Traditions: Essays in the Interpretation of Religious Change. New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

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Chapter 2

Orthodox Christianity, Change, Innovation: Contradictions in Terms? Vasilios N. Makrides The Greek Church does not need any renewal or aggiornamento. Our Greek Orthodox East rather needs a restoration. (Kostas Zouraris, in Orthodoxia kai Marxismos, Athens: Akritas, 1984, p. 124) Modernization for Greece, that means Hellenization. (Christos Yannaras, in the newspaper I Kathimerini, 2 July 1995, p. 29)

The above opinions of two contemporary Greek thinkers reveal from the outset the importance of the strong attachment to the past, one that draws on both Orthodox Christianity and Greek antiquity, having a programmatic cultural agenda and serving for the reorientation of modern Greeks. Although this is not only a Greek Orthodox phenomenon, the role of the Orthodox tradition in the present context generally is more than central, for compared with Roman Catholicism and particularly with Protestantism, Orthodox Christianity, in its various forms and local contexts, appears nowadays to be a religious system much more bound to tradition and to the Christian past, bequeathed by the early church, the Church Fathers and the Church Councils. After all, tradition has been a cardinal topic in early Christianity, in both theory and practice (Williams 2006). The importance attached to tradition is also connected with the notorious Orthodox traditionalism, which can be observed throughout history and which has repeatedly earned critical comments from various perspectives, theological and otherwise, in past and modern times alike. From an Orthodox perspective, though, fidelity to tradition and its intact preservation have mostly constituted an element of self-identification and a source of authenticity, as well as a cause of concomitant pride throughout the centuries. Such a tradition-boundedness, so the argument goes, by no means renders the Orthodox Church a custodian of dead and fossilized knowledge, but is a source of a constant creative and ingenuous modernization of the true Christian heritage (Lossky 1952; Florovsky 1972: 73–120; Boumis 1991; Ware 1997: 195– 207; Stylianopoulos 2008). Yet, from a contemporary social-scientific and cultural-historical perspective, Orthodox Christianity seems to be still living in many respects in a past, or better, in a pre-modern situation. This becomes particularly evident if we look closely at how it tries to address contemporary issues, such as pluralism, multiculturalism, tolerance and intellectual or scientific-technical developments. The Orthodox

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usually try to find pertinent answers or solutions with reference to a normative and binding past, which is somehow regarded as a panacea beyond time and space. To mention an example: a Greek Orthodox biblical scholar, Panagiotis Andriopoulos (1975), once attempted to deal with a modern theological problem by reference to the fifth century ad. It was about the question of the so-called ‘Historical Jesus’, which had especially bothered Protestant theology during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Yet, from an Orthodox perspective Andriopoulos addressed this issue by drawing on the writings of an early Church Father, Cyril of Alexandria (375/80–444). Such a procedure vividly shows the value attributed to the past within Orthodoxy today. Needless to say, the above problem did not exist at the time of Cyril; nor could Christians at that time conceive it in the way it was first posed in modern times. Similar examples can also be found today, for instance, in the way the Church Fathers and their presumed perennial authority and significance are treated by various Orthodox theologians (Zisis 1997). This kind of Orthodox tradition-boundedness has often been criticized by Western theologians. The Protestant theologian Adolf von Harnack (2007: 124–38) emphasized the formative influence that both tradition and Orthodoxy (understood as the correct faith) have had on the development of Eastern Christianity. In his attempt to contribute to a more ecumenically oriented Christian theology beyond old polarizations between Orthodox, Catholics and Protestants and with regard to what they could learn from one another, the theologian Hans Küng (1992: 67–85) has also commented upon the Orthodox view of tradition and the danger of its absolutization. In his view, the Orthodox should examine their tradition with a more critical eye, thus alluding to the pervasive impact of Orthodox traditionalism. A scholar of political science, Sabrina P. Ramet (2006), who dealt with the Orthodox churches in post-communist Eastern Europe, also identified this crucial Orthodox characteristic and formulated it as follows: ‘The way we were – and should be again?’ Here it is exactly about Orthodox traditionalism and the ‘idyllic past’ Orthodox Christians still dream of. Be that as it may, this fundamental orientation has often created the impression that Orthodox Christianity as a whole represents an inflexible, stagnating, fossilized and arid religious system which categorically denies any innovation and which basically rests upon the glory of elapsed times. Are then Orthodox Christianity, change or innovation contradictions in terms? In this chapter, my intention is to reassess this widespread view. While acknowledging the existence and the pervasive influence of Orthodox traditionalism, not only in past times but also at present, I shall try to show that changes and even innovations with significant repercussions are not altogether lacking in Orthodox history. In fact, Orthodox Christians have always flirted with novel things, even if they often camouflaged them under the protecting cover of tradition. Drawing on selected material from all periods of Orthodox history and culture, but mainly from the Greek-speaking world, this chapter will thus offer a differentiated view of the complex yet asymmetrical relations between the tradition-boundedness of Orthodox Christianity and innovative changes and challenges of all kinds.

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orthodox traditionalism: its historical Background and social impact In order to better capture the main orientation and significance of this phenomenon, the following biblical passage should be quoted from the outset: ‘Do not remove the ancient boundary markers, which your fathers have set in place’ (Proverbs 22: 28). It is worth noting that exactly this passage has been quoted in numerous texts and settings throughout the Byzantine (e.g., John of Damascus, On Icons, 11, 12, Patrologia Graeca 94: 1297B) and post-Byzantine Greek world (Makrides 1995: 139, 311–12), as well as in other Orthodox contexts (e.g., in Tsarist Russia: Crummey 1995: 130). The purpose of this continuous quoting was to justify traditionalist policies and orientations and to condemn various attempted changes or innovations. Characteristically enough, we are not talking here about religious and theological contexts alone. The same holds true for secular contexts as well, which were equally influenced by this kind of Orthodox traditionalism. The question is whether there is an intrinsic connection between the Orthodox and the social traditionalism or if these are simply parallel and coincidental phenomena. It appears, however, that there was indeed a strong interplay between Orthodox and social traditionalism in certain historical periods, although always in relation to the overall conditions of the time and numerous other factors. Let me mention an early example here: this pertains to the period of Ottoman domination in the Balkans (c. fifteenth–nineteenth centuries), a region that subsequently lagged behind in many domains in comparison to the West. When modern science started to be introduced there from Western Europe, it usually met vehement reactions from conservative social and Orthodox circles supporting a religiously motivated traditionalism. This led to significant ideological debates, especially in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries; for example, with regard to the heliocentric system and the plurality of worlds (Makrides 1995). The Orthodox ramifications of such traditionalist reactions should be especially emphasized. It was a period when the church was at pains to preserve the Orthodox faith without corruption and to survive in a predominantly Muslim environment. In general terms, Ottoman society was particularly conducive to the rise of traditionalism and suspicious of innovative ideas, practices and trends coming from the West. This can also explain the wider (and not only Orthodox) reactions against the introduction of modern science, which revolutionized the existing static worldview. Specifically according to the Orthodox traditionalism at that time, all kinds of truths, religious and otherwise, always had to be sought and found in the past, not in the future. This amounted to an intellectual stagnation that was completely contrary to the innovative spirit of the modern age. This traditionalism was best exemplified by the learned Nektarios, Patriarch of Jerusalem (1661–69). In a treatise against the perilous innovations introduced by the Reformation, composed around 1672, he also attacked the scientific innovations of Galileo and Newton as wrong, dangerous and misleading. His conclusion was:

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Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition? If we want to gain all kinds of knowledge, both religious and secular, it completely suffices us to look for them in the writings of those who have lived before our age. We can draw from them the true knowledge that we seek about all possible subjects. (cited in Makrides 1988: 270–71)

This is perhaps the most eloquent formulation of this pervasive traditionalist orientation and extolment of the past, in which the notion of progress or development in the future is completely absent. It is thus not accidental that innovators of all kinds were negatively evaluated at that time, while various plays on words in Greek circulated; for example, between καινός (‘new’) and κενός (‘empty, vain’). Their aim was to make fun of and condemn innovations. This is not to deny, however, the existence of a handful of progressively minded scholars, familiar with Western developments, such as Iosipos Moisiodax (Kitromilides 1992), who tried to dissociate the preservation of the Orthodox tradition from the overall social and intellectual renewal that was badly needed at that time. Yet, the predominantly traditionalist milieu represented the majority and was overwhelmingly powerful. As a result, significant changes and innovative developments happened only slowly and in the long run. Aside from this later example, let me go back to the Christian origins and try to reconstruct the entire background to this kind of traditionalism from the very beginning. We should note, first, that traditionalism and anti-innovation trends were not coterminous with the advent of Christianity. It is well known that already in Greek antiquity terms like ‘innovation’(νεωτερισμός), in political contexts and otherwise, had negative connotations, indicating a radical change of the existing socio-political establishment. In this respect, there is a clear preChristian anti-innovation background (Manolopoulos 1991: 137–59). All in all, the ancient Greek world had and worked with an idea of progress, expressed in various forms, although there are again major differences from the Christian sense of progress (Burkert 1997). Furthermore, Christianity, at least up to the fourth century, was not necessarily against innovation and change while developing its own concepts of newness and progress (Kinzig 1994). The ideas about the new world and life in Christ and the overcoming of old structures were obvious in many contexts: for example, in the novelty of the Christian message; the regeneration, improvement and perfection of the Christians; or the eschatological renewal of the whole creation (Mat. 14: 52; Mk. 2: 21–2; Rom. 7: 6; 2 Cor. 5: 17; Eph. 2: 15, 4: 24; Gal. 6: 15; 2 Pet. 3: 13; Rev. 21: 5). Jesus’ incarnation was also understood as a radical novelty. Such notions entailed a concept of development and progress, combined with a linear understanding of time and history. The same orientation connected with the novelty brought about by Christianity is also found in various forms in the early Christian literature, both in the Greek East and the Latin West (Kinzig 1994: 201–517; cf. Hunger 1994: 103). Even the word ‘innovation’(καινοτομία), which basically had negative connotations, was used by some theologians, especially of the sixth and seventh centuries, to describe the miracle of God’s incarnation in the

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person of Jesus Christ (Kazhdan and Cutler 1991b: 997). In general terms, during the period of Late Antiquity one may also observe quite a few innovations in a whole range of domains, even if they were sometimes connected with tradition (Brenk 1996). A classical example was the foundation of the new capital of the Roman Empire, Constantinople – the ‘New Rome’. This form of renovatio imperii did not mean, however, a complete break of relations with the Old Rome, whose numerous traditions were taken over by the new political entity (Bühl 1996). A decisive change in this climate took place in the wake of Emperor Constantine I’s (306–37) legitimization of Christianity, a fact that later on led to its becoming the ‘official religion’ of the Roman Empire under Emperor Theodosius I (379–95) in 380. This process was interpreted by Christian theologians, such as Eusebius of Caesarea (Kinzig 1994: 517–66), as the advent of a definitive, final stage in human history according to the will of God, in both religious and political terms, with universal claims. In fact, this universality formed the backbone of the ideology of the East Roman Empire/Byzantium (Saradi 2002), whose state of perfection and key role in history were further legitimized with eschatological interpretative schemes (Podskalsky 1972). The official standardization of church doctrine through the influential Ecumenical Councils (325–787) contributed further to the emergence of the central notion of Orthodoxy, the sole correct and normative religious truth, which had to be distinguished from deviations (heresies and heterodoxies). Through imperial political support, most incongruities and inconsistencies in the Christian dogma were ironed out and a unified Orthodox Christian doctrine emerged in the end. This long process implied a certain attitude towards the past, the present and the future. In other words, no change of the already established doctrine was expected in the future. On the contrary, such a change was seen as catastrophic, for it was equated with a distancing from the revealed and accepted divine truth. The rejection of innovations was explicitly stated in various Ecumenical Councils (e.g., of Nicaea II in 787). The established Christian doctrine had to be preserved without innovations (ἀκαινοτόμητα) and without any subtraction or addition (οὐδὲν ἀφαιροῦμεν, οὐδὲν προστίθεμεν) (Meyendorff 1993: 70). It is thus not accidental that the terms νεωτεροποιῶ and καινοτομῶ (both meaning ‘to innovate’) were mostly used in Patristic literature in connection with heretical innovations (Lampe 1961: 693, 907–08; Hannick 2010: 39–42). The later separation of the Christian churches between East and West was after all attributed by the Byzantines to such unacceptable innovations introduced by the Latin Church in the Orthodox doctrine. The ‘Synodikon of Orthodoxy’ of 843, a major synodal normative text formulated after the end of the Iconoclasm, castigated all the enemies of true Christian doctrine. It was afterwards celebrated in liturgy in the context of the feast of the ‘Triumph of Orthodoxy’, falling annually on the first Sunday of Lent (‘Sunday of Orthodoxy’). The list of the condemned deviations from the correct Orthodox doctrine and their promoters was successively enlarged in subsequent centuries (e.g., with the names of John Italos and Barlaam of Calabria, following their respective condemnations in 1082 and 1351). We are talking here about a climate of religious tradition-boundedness,

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which remained largely dominant and influential in the Orthodox East. This does not mean, however, that there were no challenges at all to the authority of tradition and the church, which can still be traced in various expressions throughout Byzantium (Constantelos 1970). But what can be said about the development and authoritative establishment of the Orthodox doctrine that took place between the fourth and the eighth centuries? Was that not a kind of theological progress that rendered the Christian doctrine more perfect and integral though the decisions of the many Church Councils? No doubt there is a sense of development here, yet this should not be understood from a contemporary perspective, pointing to a constant amelioration of Christian doctrine in the frame of continuous progress. The God-revealed truth of Christianity was not supposed to become better with the passing of time. In fact, the entire corpus of the Christian truth, so the argument went, had existed forever, yet humans simply were not aware of it. With Jesus’ incarnation and the church’s own development Christians started gradually learning the various facets of truth and enhancing their knowledge of it. This process was, however, neither a perfection of truth nor a new revelation altogether. Basil of Caesarea (Epistle 223 to Eustathios, Patrologia Graeca 32, 829B) had explained this process in the fourth century. As the church grows, he argued, there may be also an enlargement in its doctrine and tradition. This is not a change from the worse to the better, however, but an addition of the still missing items, as Christians grow in knowledge and better understand the entire faith deposit. In other words, there is a notion of religious progress here, but it is still closely connected with the past and the idea of the normative and unique Christian truth beyond time and space. This was a normal Orthodox strategy in dealing with theological problems, especially in late Byzantium. The justification of the Palamite doctrine about God’s energies in the Council of 1351 was thus enabled through the argument that it was a ‘development’ (ἀνάπτυξις) of the decisions of the Sixth Ecumenical Council on the ‘energies’ or ‘wills’ of Christ (Meyendorff 1993: 70, 79–80); in other words, a fuller exposition of a doctrine already existing and established in the church, thus pointing to the uninterrupted continuity in doctrinal matters. It is highly interesting that an anti-innovative spirit can also be discerned among intellectual currents that developed parallel to Christianity during its early formative period. We find it, for instance, in Neoplatonism, which supported its own ‘Orthodoxy’ (Athanassiadi 2006) and often attempted to normatize its doctrines with reference to past authorities (Markschies 2002). In another vein, the pro-pagan Emperor Julian (361–63), who was influenced, among other things, by Neoplatonism, disliked innovations in divine matters and pledged the exact preservation of the pagan tradition in his attempt to revive paganism and to combat Christianity (Makrides 2009: 204). Generally speaking, Byzantine society, especially from the period of Emperor Justinian I (527–65), became more and more traditionalist. It was about a social traditionalism that was widely spread and condemned changes and innovations of all sorts. It is thus not accidental that the term ‘innovation’ mostly has negative connotations after the sixth century, being

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used to denounce heretical doctrines, rebellions or illegal actions (Constantelos 1980; Hunger 1984: 26–7). ‘Reforms were usually couched in terms of the restoration of the past rather than of innovation’ (Kazhdan and Cutler 1991b: 997). Byzantium was a rather centralistic empire with a very close connection between church and state and a dominant political and religious ideology. All this impinged upon the free circulation of innovative ideas and currents and mostly had negative consequences for the dissidents, religious and otherwise (Beck 1993). This is not to deny, however, any developments, changes or new currents in various domains of Byzantine life; for example, during the first ‘Byzantine Humanism’ (ninth–tenth centuries) or the ‘Palaiologan Renaissance’ (thirteenth– fifteenth centuries). But the dominant and pervasive frame remained a strong traditionalist one that could not enable a serious break with the past and the introduction of innovations, whether moderate or radical. Changes were mostly accepted as long as they appeared to fit in the usual established frame, if they posed little threat to the veneration of the past. When the learned Nikephoros Gregoras (c.1294–c.1360) around 1323/24 suggested a necessary calendar reform to Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos (1282–1328), the whole plan was abandoned due to the fear of traditionalist reactions by the masses and subsequently of a potential schism (Beyer 1978: 132). It is thus interesting to see how some insightful thinkers of various orientations (Theodore Metochites, Demetrios Kydones, Cardinal Bessarion, Georgios Gemistos-Plethon) in late Byzantium were fully aware of its decline. In fact, they knew what the moribund empire really needed in order to be regenerated, namely innovations in the real sense of the word (Ševčenko 1961; Medvedev 1981: 530–32). This is why Kydones (Kianka 1995) and Cardinal Bessarion (Keller 1955; Nicol 1994: 26–7) turned to the Latin West (Italy) and looked for ways of introducing new ideas and technological developments to Byzantium. Due to the strong Byzantine anti-Latin sentiments at that time, their suggestions could not be accepted or implemented. Despite the obvious decline of their empire, many Byzantines were still characterized by an excessive sense of self-reliance, self-sufficiency and self-complacency. Concomitantly, this overestimation caused a reluctance to look for fresh ideas and to borrow from other cultures, especially from the West. In addition, some Byzantines even tried to find ways to compensate for the unquestionable progress of the West, as Michael Apostolis (c.1420–c.1486). He acknowledged, on the one hand, the cultural eminence of Italy in the fifteenth century, but on the other hand, he was generally convinced of the superiority of the Greek culture, even though the Byzantine Empire had already come politically to an end (Geanakoplos 1958). Given this overall background, it becomes understandable why the Orthodox tradition-boundedness became even stronger and influential during the subsequent Ottoman period. It was often transformed into an Orthodox traditionalism, coupled with social conservatism and widespread anti-Westernism, aimed at stopping changes of all sorts, even those related to the non-religious domain. But again the foundations of this traditionalism were clearly of a religious nature. Orthodox anti-innovationism was the main force setting the rules at that time.

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In an encyclical of 1477, issued by Maximos III, Patriarch of Constantinople (1476–82), and addressed to all Orthodox Christians everywhere, we find an interesting assessment of the new situation shortly after the fall of Constantinople. The priority set by the patriarch was the uncontaminated and full preservation of the ‘celestial’ Orthodox faith. The Orthodox should be ready to sacrifice even their lives for it (Paizi-Apostolopoulou and Apostolopoulos 2006: 57). Orthodoxy was thus regarded as the most valuable treasure that Orthodox Christians possessed at that time. We find a clearer formulation of this spirit in the correspondence between Jeremias II Tranos, Patriarch of Constantinople (1572–95), and the Lutheran theologians from Tübingen which took place between 1573 and 1581. Despite rather sincere efforts on both sides, the differences that divided them were unbridgeable. The most important gap between them was caused by their completely divergent approaches to and evaluations of the church tradition. In the end, Patriarch Jeremias reproached the Lutherans by describing their emphasis on critically examining everything and their constant drive for innovation in Christian matters as highly dangerous. Instead of being fully satisfied with the inherited Christian tradition, he argued, they always kept looking for the new, which is nothing but a source of major problems and of deviations from the already accepted Orthodoxy. Without respecting past authorities and established traditions, the Protestant experiment was in great jeopardy. Jeremias’ assessment was fully realistic, since he clearly indicated a major point of dissent between the two sides, namely between the Orthodox tradition-boundedness and the Protestant innovationism (Wendebourg 2000: 95–115; Makrides 2004: 329–34). The same Orthodox guideline can also be observed throughout this period, particularly during the contacts between Orthodox and Western Christians. We have already seen this in the aforementioned quotation by Nektarios, Patriarch of Jerusalem. In a letter written around 1714/15 to a young student in Western Europe, Alexander Helladius, his former teacher, Markos Porphyropoulos from Cyprus, tried to console him and show what really counted in life. Helladius should not admire, he argued, the vain progress of the West, for this is the product of a fallen world that had deviated from the authentic Christian path. He thus named the Western Christians ‘perennial innovators’ in a negative sense. At the same time, he extolled the real value and the superiority of the Orthodox East, which was trying to keep the Orthodox faith intact, even under the harsh conditions of Ottoman rule, a feat far superior to various mundane Western achievements. In this context, Orthodoxy, representing the sole right Christian faith and tradition, was used to compensate for the deficits in other non-religious domains and legitimize a general traditionalist, anti-innovationist stance (Skarveli-Nikolopoulou 2003; Makrides 2006: 270–73). The same spirit of Orthodox self-complacency and the wider significance of Orthodox traditionalism can be discerned from the correspondence of the Eastern Orthodox patriarchs with the Anglican Non-Jurors at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The Orthodox side appeared, among other things, to be fully satisfied with its status quo in religious and non-religious matters, namely

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concerning the uncontaminated Orthodox faith and Aristotelianism respectively. The Orthodox side was obviously unaware of the radical changes that had already happened in the West in the wake of the Scientific Revolution and still supported an outdated Aristotelianism as the most up-to-date and satisfactory philosophical and scientific system (Makrides 2006: 277–82). In other words, not only the Orthodox tradition but also the secular knowledge had to remain basically the same as in the past, without any change and innovation. This was a dominant attitude during this period, exemplified best in the conflict over the Copernican worldview, namely the heliocentric system and the plurality of worlds (Makrides 1995). All these developments cannot be understood solely with reference to the wider impact of Orthodox traditionalism. They are closely related to the longterm socio-historical repercussions of the particular concept of Orthodoxy (understood as the unique and exclusive right faith), a strong conviction with which the Orthodox have lived for centuries and which had a lasting impact upon non-religious realms as well. The satisfaction derived from possessing the sole true Christian faith was, for example, responsible for systematically neglecting mundane knowledge, and for avoiding the confrontation and challenges with new things (Makrides 2001/02). Needless to say, the same fidelity to the Orthodox tradition up to the point of traditionalism can also be observed mutatis mutandis in medieval Orthodox Kievan Rus’, which under Byzantine influence started developing its own theological trajectory (Podskalsky 1982: 83–278). Tradition (starina) as adherence to the Christian origins was highly valued in this context, while innovations were negatively viewed. An effort was later made to codify the particular developments within Russian Orthodoxy (e.g., in the ‘Council of Hundred Chapters’ in Moscow in 1551) (Niess 1977; Hösch 1986). Yet, in later epochs there were some serious breaks with this established corpus of tradition for various reasons, especially in the context of the reforms of Nikon, Patriarch of Moscow (1652–58). These finally caused the grave schism of the Old Believers that was to torment both the church and the state in the centuries to come (Meyendorff 1991). Strict adherence to tradition, regardless of what is actually hidden under this umbrella term, still constitutes a key characteristic of Old Believer communities until today (Scheffel 1991; Robson 1995). The study of this schism and its multifaceted repercussions can vividly illustrate the many implications that the ideal of preserving the Christian tradition intact may acquire in an Orthodox context.

the Differences with western Christianity and europe: a short Presentation Let us take now a short look at the situation in Western Christianity and Europe in order to make the previous elaborations more understandable from a comparative perspective. With regard to development and change in Christianity, we should mention first that up to the ninth century the Christian East enjoyed a leading role.

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In actual fact, all the Ecumenical Councils and the definitive formulation of the Christian dogma took place in the East. The same pertains to other fundamental events in early Christian history, such as the encounter between Christianity and Hellenism, the rise and the establishment of monasticism, the icon veneration and theology, and the cult of the Virgin Mary. It was rather the West that was following the East during this period and was profiting, although not fully, from such developments, not vice versa. Yet, as already mentioned, this initial productive period in the East was later followed by a tendency to preserve intact what had already been achieved in the past, a feature that became much stronger with the passing of time. This was due not only to religious but also to socio-political and cultural factors; for example, to the centralized administration of the Byzantine Empire, the absence of major breaks and discontinuities in its history, as well as the limited internal structural plurality and competition. The Christian West, on the other hand, experienced a quite different sociopolitical and cultural development during this long period. This was due to the end of the Western Roman Empire in 476 in the wake of the migrations of mostly Germanic peoples, roughly between 300 and 500. These not only took control, but also dissolved the unity of the Western Roman Empire by creating various minor political units, even though the Roman Catholic Church kept its supra-regional role and these peoples were gradually converted to Christianity. This ‘Germanization’ of Latin Christianity (Russell 1996) not only led to the dissociation between East and West, but also contributed to a greater structural plurality in the West, an important feature that came to characterize this part of Europe in the centuries to come. The absence of a centralized government and the continuous state of competition (between cities, political units, various social strata or between religious and political power) was, for the most part, a source of change and innovation for the involved parties. It is thus no accident that the West started experimenting with new ideas, not only in non-religious matters but also in the sensitive realm of Christian theology and practice. By doing this, the West was in a position to challenge the previous superiority of the East from the time of Charlemagne (768–814) and the ‘Carolingian Renaissance’ (late eighth–ninth centuries) onwards. Finally, it managed to develop further in an impressive way from the tenth century up to the end of the Middle Ages. Although the previous Christian tradition in general never ceased to play a role in this context, the Western mind, theological and otherwise, was less normatively bound to it and always flirted with the idea of breaking new ground. From the perspective of the Orthodox East, though, the Western theological innovations (e.g., the issue of filioque) were seen as clear deviations from the established Christian truth and doctrine. For the West, however, these were seen as legitimate developments of the Christian doctrine that were also grounded in the common Christian tradition. We are dealing again here with two different approaches to tradition, which have their roots in the respective theological trajectories from the time of the early church. Latin theology exhibited, for example, different characteristics from the very beginning. The influence of law upon it was

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much stronger than in the East, a fact that can be seen in the considerable degree of theological systematization and rationalization. No doubt, both in East and West, there was an emphasis on preserving the old, inherited church tradition, while any introduction of new things had to be in accordance with this norm (Stockmeier 1980). Yet there is early evidence showing that some Latin ecclesiastics refrained from automatically accepting any church prescription, simply because it stemmed from the inherited tradition and the past. Rather, they intended to examine it thoroughly from various angles, using, among other things, human reasoning. Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage (249–58), is a case in point (Stockmeier 1980: 16– 17). In fact, this is an early sign of a rational examination and analysis of the church tradition, not an uncritical submission to its unquestioned authority. This Western tendency was further corroborated by Augustine (354–430), the most influential Latin Church Father, and his immense theological production. Especially in his work De doctrina christiana (On Christian Doctrine) he laid the ground for theological hermeneutics, namely for a rational theological development based on systematic self-reflection and a critical discussion of the sources. His approach to the doctrine of God’s Trinity in his work De Trinitate (On the Trinity) also included many innovative elements, which had farreaching consequences in later Western theology (Webb 1992). In addition, in his Retractationes (Retractions) he exhibited a strong spirit of self-criticism and selfcorrection, which implied a distanced awareness of one’s own accomplishments, the search for truth and the drive to break new ground (Podskalsky 1983). The legitimate search for new theological knowledge in the West can be discerned by looking at how the emotion of curiosity (curiositas), as the drive to explore and know new things, was evaluated by Latin Church Fathers, even though some aspects of curiosity were negatively viewed and condemned (Bös 1995). We are referring here to features generally lacking in the East and the Greek Patristic world, which, however, attest to early Christian differentiations in dealing with church tradition. In general, it is argued that the role and the impact of philosophy in theology were instrumental in forging the different trajectories between East and West in the long run. Whereas the interaction between theology and philosophy was equally present on both sides, the East came to a halt after its very fruitful encounter with Hellenic philosophy, initiated by the Cappadocians (fourth century) and continued by later Church Fathers (e.g., Maximos Confessor, c.580–662). Thus, it did not develop significantly after the eighth century (Agourides 1998; Podskalsky 2002). Traditionalism prevailed and the orientation towards the past became gradually dominant. It is thus characteristic that a renewer of Platonic philosophy and a free spirit, Michael Psellos (1017/18–c.1078), who claimed to continue the work of the Cappadocians in bridging theology with philosophy and who attempted various intellectual innovations, did not enjoy the official church’s acceptance and was even accused of heresy (Duffy 2002). At that time, however, things were different in the West, where certain innovative developments could be better accepted within a legitimate plurality of

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voices, socio-political structures and cultural environments. This was related to the development and establishment of theological reasoning (ratio theologica), a method used to further corroborate the Divine Revelation, aside from the Bible, the Church Councils and the Church Fathers (Podskalsky 1981). This background finally led to radical breakthroughs in Western Christianity, culminating in the scientification of theology and the rise of Scholasticism (eleventh–fourteenth centuries). Suffice it to say that theology was never taught as a science in Byzantium. In sum, the West perceived the Christian doctrine and tradition as always needing continuous new support in accordance with the respective needs of the day, a fact that necessarily implied innovative attitudes and endeavours. Such processes had been well understood by several Byzantines, such as the aforementioned Kydones, who in his Apology was very critical of the widespread religious and social traditionalism of his Byzantine compatriots (Ryder 2010). Aside from this, the changes effected in the West at that time can also be observed in many other domains. In fact, from the High Middle Ages onwards there were fundamental developments and changes, ranging from the institution of papacy and monastic reforms to new artistic styles and Canon Law (Morris 1991; Robinson 1993; Papadakis and Meyendorff 1994; Cushing 2005; Diamantopoulou 2010). This is not to say that all this took place smoothly, since serious tensions and conflicts were mostly the rule. Yet we are talking about fermentations that included in nuce the potential for further evolution and innovation. If one compares all this with the situation of Byzantium at the same time, the differences, despite some productive interactions, are more than striking. It was in this overall spirit of innovation that later radical developments in the West took place (e.g., the Renaissance), but also developments that turned even against the Roman Catholic Church itself, such as the Reformation. In addition, the beginning of the modern age initiated a new period in West European history, emphasizing the break with the ‘dark’ Middle Ages and the discontinuity with the past (cf. the battle between the ‘ancients and the moderns’ in the sixteenth century), while later on acquiring universal significance. Although such strict dichotomies between the old and the new have been substantially reassessed today, it is nonetheless clear that this is about the rise of a new Western civilization, which was oriented towards the future and innovation in all domains and whose repercussions are felt worldwide until today. Yet, past authorities (e.g., from the Greek antiquity) did not lose all their significance within modernity. Reference was also made to them, although not in a normative way, but always with a view to future developments. It should not be forgotten that the Orthodox world experienced modernity very belatedly and not in the same way as Western Christianity, a fact that very much accounts for the still ongoing traditionboundedness of Orthodox Christianity. Western travellers to the Orthodox East in the modern period, regardless of their inimical sentiments, biases and stereotypes, often make reference to the ‘pre-modern’ stage of the Orthodox world and its characteristics (Wolff 2001).

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The Reformation meant a new stage in Christian innovation, and it is unthinkable without the previous analogous background in the West. After all, the issue of reform had been discussed in Western Christianity at great lengths long before. At this point it is important to remember that there was never a Reformation in the East. The Reformation constituted a radical innovation in the sense that it did not remain within the bounds of the church tradition, but finally led to the formation of a new church. It implied a break from tradition, yet not its complete disregard. Tradition simply ceased to be viewed normatively and authoritatively. The Protestant theologians did not reject the Church Fathers, but felt free to use their teachings in a critical way and eventually surpass them. In this respect, the Reformation unleashed massive waves of innovation that coincided with the beginning of the Early Modern era, which was equally characterized by an analogous innovative spirit. The mind of the Protestants ‘does not rest at all’ – this was an insightful remark by the aforementioned Patriarch Jeremias II (Makrides 2004: 332–3). It was, thus, the beginning of a new era in Western Christianity with far-reaching consequences (e.g., the establishment of historicity and modern theological hermeneutics), from which even the Roman Catholic Church has profited in the long run, even if in its own way. This is a fundamental difference from the Orthodox East, which has still not entered a true and fruitful interaction with modern developments, theological and otherwise, and mostly continues idealizing the Christian past. The above schematic comparison between the Christian East and West is not value-based or value-oriented, but simply intends to show the different trajectories followed with regard to tradition and the issue of innovation.

tradition, Change and innovation in orthodox Christianity: a Differentiated approach Do all the aforementioned cases and observations signify that Orthodox Christianity is a system devoid of any development, change or innovations whatsoever? Without denying the obvious Orthodox tradition-boundedness and traditionalism, the whole topic needs a more differentiated approach. First, the content and the role of the Orthodox tradition have to be substantially reassessed, for they can in many cases be misleading. Fidelity to tradition does not always signify a blind and servile attachment to a changeless past. After all, Orthodox Christianity in its many local variations hardly represents a uniform and homogeneous religious system, and this is reflected in the respective local ‘Orthodox traditions’. There is an overall traditional frame of reference in Orthodox Christianity, which is usually highly valued and extolled in official rhetoric. Yet, within this traditional frame a lot of changes and even innovations may take place, either in a traditional form or as novelties. The latter may also be legitimized or at least tolerated, although they may signify a major break with the previous Orthodox tradition and practice. For example, the Free Monks, an

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Orthodox Christian rock group in contemporary Greece, constituted one such novelty, which, although not enjoying official church backing, was fairly well tolerated within the overall Greek Orthodox culture (Molokotos-Liederman 2010). If we further consider the progressive and pervasive nationalization of the Orthodox world from the nineteenth century onwards, we realize a deep break with the previous long tradition, namely with the ecumenicity and universality of Christianity (Kitromilides 1996; Roudometof 2008). Nevertheless, most Orthodox Churches exhibit a ‘national face’ nowadays and proclaim it to be in accord with tradition, which is hardly the case historically. A usual strategy in this context is to present innovations as fully compatible with tradition or masterfully covered under the protective veil of tradition, which is interpreted in a more flexible way. Thus, the transition from Christian universalism to nationalism has been made possible in modern times with reference to the old administrative plurality of the Orthodox world, the connection of Orthodox and specific ethnic-cultural identities (e.g., the Slavic ones) in history, as well as the particularly close relationship between church and state/politics since Byzantine times leading to the ‘politicization’ of the Orthodox Church. In this respect, the nationalization of Orthodoxy was easily endorsed by almost all Orthodox Churches and interpreted without major difficulties as a ‘traditional’ transformation of Orthodox Christianity in modern times. Such ambiguous and flexible criteria enable traditional religious systems to develop and adapt themselves to new exigencies, which is what happened again and again throughout the long history of Orthodox Christianity. Second, from the point of view of religious studies and other disciplines dealing with religion from an empirical perspective (Engler and Grieve 2005), religious systems are not supra-historical entities that have nothing to do with the normal course of human affairs. They are also subject to the inexorable forces of change and evolution, like any other cultural unit or societal sector. This implies that changes, breaks and ruptures are not only unavoidable, they are rather the rule. In addition, innovation in religious tradition is a normal procedure across history and time (Williams, Cox and Jaffee 1992). Traditions may be also invented and are subsequently projected onto the past, and this relates to Christian history as well (Lewis and Hammer 2007). In this respect, it would be illusory to think of Orthodox Christianity in a way that classifies it as a changeless and motionless religious system. Naturally, the degree of and the proclivity to change may be different in various religious systems. Orthodox Christianity cannot be placed, for example, on the same level as Protestantism, yet its own potential for change and even innovation should be rightly assessed. Third, it is vital to consider the term ‘innovation’ in a diachronic way, simply because it has had quite distinct meanings across history. Since the beginning of the modern age until today people are more used to connecting innovation with novelty and originality, which is perhaps understandable in the context of a linear perspective on history and the concomitant idea of continuing progress. Yet, this was not necessarily the case with previous historical eras. For example, in Byzantium there were aesthetic preoccupations that differed from the modern sense

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of originality. There was, for instance, a clear preference for the great achievements of Greek antiquity in general and Attic culture in particular, which functioned as the highest measures of timeless value, able to judge all later developments. Originality was hence not coterminous with innovation and the constant look for novelties everywhere, but with an imitation (μίμησις) of the ancient originals and the copying of the prototypes (Kazhdan and Cutler 1991a). After all, the idea of plagiarism did not exist at that time. For a Byzantine rhetorician, thus, to compose orations matching those of Demosthenes in Greek antiquity was the non plus ultra of rhetorical accomplishments (Hunger 1969/70). In general, the linkage with the past, whether biblical or Hellenic, ‘created an imaginary stability. Each phenomenon had an analogy in the past and therefore a place in the historical process or, theologically, in the economy of salvation’ (Kazhdan 1995: 12). Aside from this, there are some modern scholars reassessing Byzantine traditionalism and conservatism by supporting the existence of traits of originality in the various aspects of Byzantine culture (Littlewood 1995). The past was always there for the Byzantines; yet, as Alexander Kazhdan argues, they did not imitate it mechanically, but purposefully. ‘The time has come to understand that the appropriation of ancient culture (and of the Bible) was an active process and both the choice and the rejection of certain parts of the legacy were an innovation in themselves’ (Kazhdan 1995: 12). After all, there were Byzantine scholars like Michael Psellos and Theodore Methochites (Beck 1952; Ševčenko 1962), who did not simply eulogize past authorities, but looked for new paths of further intellectual development. Be that as it may, it would certainly be false to criticize the Byzantine predilection for the past from a modern perspective, which clearly privileges originality (identified with novelty) by obeying other rules and preferences (Ševčenko 2001). This relates, among other things, to Orthodox Christianity, which grew out of this overall socio-cultural and political milieu and was accordingly influenced by it in articulating its own agenda of dealing with the past. For example, to be close and remain faithful to the ‘origins’ of Christianity was also equated with being ‘original’. This helps us to better capture the method of certain towering figures of Greek patristics who are considered today to be rather systematizers and compilers of previous Christian theology, not as original thinkers themselves. For example, John of Damascus (c.675–753/54) is considered to be one such figure; but, as Andrew Louth (2002) has shown, he was quite an ‘original’ thinker, of course in his own terms and in the context of his epoch. The same pertains to Orthodox iconography, which is today not considered to be an ‘art’ by some Western observers, precisely because it lacks innovation and creative spirit, which have constituted the main incentive of modern art since the Renaissance. The Painter’s Manual, written by the hieromonk Dionysios of Phourna in the eighteenth century, was adduced to prove this argument, particularly because of its stylistic traditionalism (Belting 2000: 28–30). Yet, one should not forget that Orthodox iconography exhibits quite a few stylistic variations and local developments, despite the preservation of certain common rules and traditional patterns. Further,

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it can still be called a sui generis form of art, because it follows other directives than those of Western modern art (Louth 1996). Fourth, the main question here is not about changes and innovations, but about the overall relationship to and evaluation of the Christian past. These two issues have to be distinguished because this is the area in which Eastern and Western Christianity differed from one another. Orthodox Christians still deal with their own past in a normative and authoritative way and operate on a rather timeless basis using many pre-modern categories. By contrast, Western Christians have developed and endorsed various modern tools in dealing with the past, such as historicity, literary theory and criticism, hermeneutics and discourse analysis. In this way, they were able to yield more differentiated results regarding the Christian past and its significance today than Orthodox Christians. All this becomes more obvious if we consider that for the Orthodox Christians the past is of higher significance than the present or the future, whereas Western Christians either support the opposite or at least keep a greater balance between all three main divisions of history (ancient, medieval and modern). Concerning our topic, one could thus argue that changes and innovations did and still do take place with varying frequency in all parts of Christianity, yet the differentia specifica relates to the way the past as a whole is treated and assessed by the various Christian Churches. It would, thus, be a mistake to diametrically oppose traditionalism and innovation a priori as two completely antithetical entities. The general context may remain a traditional one, but changes and innovations may still take place at various levels and may not be perceived as threats against tradition. Changes and innovations can also take place even within a traditionalist frame, as often happened within the Orthodox world. At the same time, the significance, the superiority and the normativity of the Christian past remained basically unchallenged. Here exactly lies the main difference to the Western theological and religious development, in which the drive for innovation was not only instrumental, but also led to a more critical attitude towards past authorities. Bearing all this in mind, it is not difficult to locate numerous cases of changes, including the ones exhibiting an innovative spirit, throughout Orthodox history. This pertains, first, to Byzantium. As Herbert Hunger (1984) characteristically noted, Byzantium was ‘a society with two faces’ in most domains. It appeared thus to be a traditionalist society in many respects, but at the same time it did allow or support numerous changes and reforms, even innovative ones. Scholars of Byzantine studies have found enough evidence for this in connection with monumental painting, art, liturgy, hymnography, music and literature (Wirth 1987; Meyendorff 1993: 75–81; Littlewood 1995; Lingas 2006; Galavaris 2007; Wolfram 2008; Hannick 2010). Even the sensitive area of Byzantine theology is not regarded today as a monolithic and opaque system, but one that includes various creative trends, insights and innovations, albeit within an overall traditional frame (Louth and Casiday 2006). The same applies to medieval Russia, where various developments and changes can be located, such as the liturgical reform introduced by Cyprian (c.1331–1406), Metropolitan of Kiev (Getcha 2010).

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The Ottoman period, despite its overwhelming traditionalism, was also rich in new developments beyond traditional patterns. There were many Orthodox clerics at that time who opened their intellectual horizons and benefited from Western theological, philosophical and scientific developments, although they still remained within the realm of the Orthodox Church. The polyhistor Eugenios Voulgaris (1716–1806) and his friend Nikephoros Theotokis (1731–1800), with their voluminous oeuvre and their career in the Greek/Balkan area under Ottoman rule and in Russia, are a case in point (Makrides 2011a). There are also cases of Orthodox clerics and monks (e.g., Nikodimos Hagioreitis, 1749–1809), who translated Western theological works into modern Greek and disseminated them within the Orthodox world (Tsakiris 2009). There is an apparent incompatibility here, especially with regard to the theological differences between East and West and the pervasive anti-Westernism of the Orthodox world at that time. This has led some contemporary scholars (Yannaras 2006) to postulate the alienation of such persons from the authentic roots of the Orthodox tradition. Be that as it may, it is still obvious that we are dealing here with individual Orthodox attempts to find new ways of theological expression and thus to move beyond already existing barriers and patterns. More importantly, when they attempted something like this, these persons never thought of themselves as deserting the Orthodox tradition and introducing dangerous innovations. Their adherence to Orthodoxy also remained mostly unquestionable, not only during their lifetime, but later on as well. Moving to the modern period, we can equally find several cases of innovative changes within Orthodox Christianity, even though some of them did not take place within a ‘strictly understood’ Orthodox traditional frame. The influential and multifaceted development of Russian Orthodox theology and religious philosophy of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries can be, thus, viewed as a fresh attempt to bring Orthodox Christianity and modern culture into contact and interaction; in other words, as an attempt to formulate the Orthodox Christian message with the language of contemporary philosophy, not to rely exclusively on the resources of the past (Kornblatt and Gustafson 1996; Stoeckl 2008: 79–119). Even if this had sometimes led to problems and condemnations, as in the case of Sophiology (Sergeev 2006), the innovative thrust of the whole endeavour cannot be denied. In addition, Russian academic theology in the late nineteenth century and up to 1917 was impressively receptive to Western theological production (Felmy 1983). It also moved towards formulating a ‘cultural Orthodoxy’, namely by bringing Orthodoxy and modern culture together (Wasmuth 2007, 2008). During the same period, there were significant reforms within the Russian ecclesiastical seminaries (Destivelle 2010). The All-Russian Church Council of 1917/18 is further generally acclaimed as a major breakthrough in the history of Russian Orthodoxy, which was left unfinished due to the political circumstances following the October Revolution (Schulz, Schröder and Richter 2005). The pioneer initiatives of the Patriarchate of Constantinople for the Ecumenical Movement since the beginning of the twentieth century (cf. the encyclicals of 1902 and 1920) reveal another aspect of an innovative contribution on the part of a major Orthodox Church to

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the promotion of inter-church and inter-Christian understanding (Basdekis 2006: 1–20). Contemporary social anthropological research on Eastern Orthodoxy has also amply shown the many existing local variations on the level of religious practice, which includes elements that could be certainly called innovative (Hann and Goltz 2010). Finally, if one takes into consideration a bastion of Orthodox tradition across time, the monastic community of the Holy Mount Athos, in which numerous radical modernizing changes (from technological to economic) took place during the last 30 years through subsidies from the European Union, one realizes how pervasive the challenges of the modern age are. This has already led the monks and others to seriously reflect on the long-term impact and the pertinent Orthodox evaluation of such innovations (see Lind, this volume). But this example makes clear that even the most traditional Orthodox places cannot escape the process of change and innovative adaptation today (Fajfer 2011). We should keep in mind here that some changes, or the Orthodox reflection on potential changes in the future, often entail innovative elements that may be in discontinuity with the already existing tradition. It is thus characteristic that the Orthodox world today is not afraid to discuss changes of all sorts, even those that seem to outspokenly contradict tradition. A classical example of such a case concerns the ordination of women to the priesthood, which was traditionally and still is not allowed in the Orthodox world. Nevertheless, more and more Orthodox theologians (both men and women) and clerics argue that basically there are no dogmatic reasons in the Orthodox doctrine that speak against the ordination of women. Therefore, this is an issue that the church may reconsider in the future, if a need for such a reform arises (Sotiriu 2004, 2009). It is obvious that in this case tradition, no matter how strong, is not seen as sacrosanct and changeless. But in most cases, as already indicated, innovative steps usually take place within an Orthodox traditional frame. The official document The Bases of the Social Concept of the Russian Orthodox Church of 2000, for example, provides ample support for this case. Indeed, it was certainly a new phenomenon within Orthodoxy, because it was the first text of its kind that has been officially promulgated by an Orthodox Church. Yet, its content and trajectory should be interpreted as a balancing move between a fairly conservative frame of reference and timid openings to the exigencies of the (post)modern world (Agadjanian 2003). Changes and innovations in this context are presented as being congruent in one way or another with tradition and are thus covered under the protecting veil of tradition. The potential for a ‘conservative modernization’ of the Orthodox Church in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Greece is also a case in point (Anastassiadis 2006). Furthermore, by looking at the various Orthodox diasporic communities around the globe, especially in the Western world, we may also realize a number of locally determined adaptations of the Orthodox tradition in many domains (from church architecture to religious practice), which amount in some cases to innovative developments (see Adrahtas and Fokas and Moses, this volume). The issue of tradition is thus variously and more flexibly regarded within such diasporic

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communities (Kizilos 2000), although reactions against such liberal attitudes are not out of the ordinary. The issue of women’s ordination to the priesthood arose in fact for the first time among the Orthodox in the diaspora and was due, among other things, to relations with or influences from various Protestant Churches (Makrides 2011b: 138–40). This coexistence with other Christian Churches or denominations has even led specific Orthodox Churches with a minority status to introduce changes deviating from the Orthodox mainstream; for example, the Orthodox Church of Finland, which follows the New Gregorian Calendar in all respects, even for the calculation of the date of Easter (Oeldemann 2006: 149). Interesting changes of innovative spirit (e.g., in the calendar, in liturgy) took place in two Orthodox Churches in the Baltic region, the Estonian and the Latvian, during the interwar period. These were minority churches within a broader Lutheran Protestant context and sought to modernize their structures in order to be accepted by their respective states and societies (Rimestad 2011). Finally, various changes and attempts at a renewal can also be observed among the Oriental Orthodox Churches, which are mostly found within Muslim majority societies and, thus, face major challenges; for example, through Sunday schools and various initiatives for the youth, as well as through extensive social services in the Coptic Orthodox Church (Reiss 1998). It is, thus, beyond doubt that Orthodox Christianity is not a stagnating or fossilized religious system, but one that includes numerous developments, changes and reforms, including innovative ones. Even if certain innovative attempts have been and are still criticized by the wider Orthodox Christian body, their implementation can attest to a past and ongoing critical dealing with the Orthodox tradition, which is, in fact, not considered a taboo. This concerns, for example, the ecclesiastical reforms of the Metropolitan of Kiev Petr Mogila/Mohyla (1596– 1646) (Ševčenko 1985); the church reforms introduced by Tsar Peter I the Great (1682–1725), which were also legitimized by various church officials, including Archbishop of Novgorod Feofan Prokopovich (1681–1736) (Cracraft 1971); and the unilateral declaration of the autocephaly of the Orthodox Church of Greece from the Ecumenical Patriarchate in 1833, supported by the cleric Theoklitos Pharmakides (1784–1860), who was known for his critical stance against the absolutization of church tradition (Pharmakides 1838). Such developments have been especially criticized as deviations from the Orthodox tradition in the context of the theory about the Western ‘pseudomorphosis’ of Orthodoxy, initially formulated by the Russian theologian Georges Florovsky (1893–1979) and later on by other Orthodox thinkers (e.g., Christos Yannaras). The Western influences upon the aforementioned reforms in the Orthodox world were more than decisive, yet the question remains if one has to consider all these changes as alien, intrusive and adulterating within the allegedly pure body of Orthodoxy. This is not to deny that such changes did mean a break with past tradition. Yet, this should be viewed as a normal process, or better as a challenge, because interactions and interferences between religious traditions were historically the rule and were unavoidable. The Orthodox world was never insulated against external influences, and its

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tradition thus experienced developments, changes and adaptations across history (Wendebourg 1996; Oeldemann 2005; Felmy 2010). Avoiding value judgements and normative interpretations, it is, thus, more interesting to examine the cases in which the Orthodox world learned from such external influences and developed further as a religious system, even in an innovative way.

Concluding remarks Talking about the Orthodox tradition-boundedness, we should also mention that the very notion of tradition has been substantially reconsidered and reassessed within the contemporary postmodern context. This process was instrumental in deconstructing and abandoning older essentialist comments about the evils and dangers of adhering to a tradition and optimistic ideas about progress and innovation as panaceas in every respect, which were the legacies bequeathed by the Enlightenment and its epigones. The Janus face of modernity and the numerous antinomies observed until today have led to much more moderate attitudes, as well as to attempts at integrating both tradition and modernity in various contexts and coming up with interesting syntheses (e.g., ‘glocalization’). The infatuation with progress and innovation is thus critically assessed today, whereas the importance of discovering one’s own tradition and its value is particularly stressed. The modern Orthodox have also become aware of this change in evaluations of tradition and have often voiced their critique against the obsession of innovation in various contexts. The well-known Russian writer and thinker Alexander Solzhenitsyn (1993) thus offered a review of the twentieth century and lamented ‘the relentless cult of novelty’ which, especially in the postmodern context, has dominated world literature, music, painting and sculpture at the expense of real beauty, spiritual values, moral precepts and appreciation of past achievements. Generally, it is evident that the issues of tradition, memory and the overall relation to the past are central topics in modern cultural studies: for example, in Hervieu-Léger’s (2000) theory about tradition and ‘amnesic societies’; in Assmann’s (1992) theory about ‘cultural’ and ‘collective memory’; or in other modern disciplines (Geertz 1993). In this respect, tradition is no longer seen as something repulsive, but as a vital element of cultures, while the ideas of progress and novelty have also undergone a considerable reassessment. Paradoxically enough, no matter how strong the Orthodox predilection for the past may be, this does not render Orthodox Christianity automatically unattractive. It is highly interesting that many outsiders discover in the Orthodox adherence to tradition something that they badly miss or they always longed for. Western theologians today take a different view of the Orthodox traditionboundedness and try to understand it more adequately than in the past (Fairbairn 2002: 18–47). Because of their own autonomous religious development outside the modern Western project, which has been mostly critical towards tradition, Orthodox Christians are sometimes considered to have an advantage over Western

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Christians, namely in being able to better understand ‘what it is like to think like a tradition’, as David Tracy once remarked (cited in Papanikolaou 2007: 527). It is thus highly interesting that an eminent scholar of the history of the ‘Christian Tradition’, Jaroslav Pelikan (1984), emphasized the importance of this particular feature of Christianity, while he finally chose to convert to Orthodoxy (Pelikan 2005) – in all probability because of its continuous search for and fidelity to the church tradition. If one further looks at the reports of numerous converts to Orthodoxy nowadays, one can realize that they decided to convert to a Christian Church that puts so much emphasis on the inherited tradition and the past and that eschews ‘dangerous innovations’ (Gillquist 1992; Schaeffer 1995, 2002; Harper 1999). No doubt the criteria for making such decisions vary, but we should not assume a priori that the strong attachment to tradition automatically renders the Orthodox image negative to the outside world. Given that terms like ‘innovation’ and ‘novelty’ traditionally had negative connotations, the Orthodox prefer today to talk more about ‘renewal’ or ‘renovation’ of their tradition (Bria 1994). These terms are thought to describe processes that remain closer to tradition and disprove discontinuities. The question remains, nonetheless, about the exact relationship between innovation and renewal and their concrete meaning in this context. What is often considered as renewal may well contain innovative elements of all sorts, a fact complicating a clear-cut semantic separation of the two terms. This holds true for the chapters collected in this volume, because it is not always clear whether they should fall under the category of innovation or that of renewal. Be that as it may, it is vital that the Orthodox begin to view the issue of innovation and novelty (including the terminological one) from another, more neutral perspective and avoid condemning them altogether. After all, their history is abundant with innovative actions of all kinds, despite the claims of official church rhetoric about thereby keeping the Christian continuity unbroken. Even more important, in my view, is the need for the Orthodox to begin considering their past from a non-normative and non-triumphal perspective. This is something that first the Protestants, and later on the Roman Catholics, have left behind in the long run, even if they also had to address various traditionalist challenges – the Roman Catholics in the form of traditionalist reactions to the Second Vatican Council (1962–65), and the Protestants in the context of fundamentalist movements. And this is exactly something that the Orthodox Churches should also attempt to do, albeit in their particular way. Of course, the discussion of tradition and renewal is not altogether absent in various Orthodox circles (Anastasiou 1972; Penteli 1972; Christianiki Enosis 1979; Bartzeliotis 1994; Metallinos 2011), yet it is hardly done with the above-mentioned presuppositions and objectives in mind and often serves to justify the perpetuation of existing structures and norms. One should also not forget the potential negative consequences that changes and reforms may foster within strongly tradition-bound Orthodox cultures, as seen in the aforementioned schism of the Old Believers in Tsarist Russia or in the schism of the Old Calendarists in twentieth-century Greece, where the New

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Calendarist Church was in fact called ‘innovationist’. If, for example, there was a reform in the existing clerical dress today, there would certainly be another schism condemning this innovation that allegedly would jeopardize the Orthodox tradition itself; and this despite the fact that the dress of the Orthodox clergy has experienced considerable changes and variations across history (Papaevangelou 1965). Traditionalist trends and reactions may also sometimes appear stronger in the Orthodox diasporic communities than in the original Orthodox heartlands (cf. the Center for Traditionalist Orthodox Studies in Etna, California; see also Cavarnos 1992). There is thus a negative background of innovative attempts in Orthodoxy, if we also consider the case of the Russian Orthodox Renovationist Movement (obnovlenchestvo) after the October Revolution. It consisted of a group of schismatic churches, formed in the Soviet Union after 1922, which tried to modernize the Russian Orthodox Church by adapting it ideologically to the new political situation and in close collaboration with the anti-religious Soviet regime. The whole endeavour ended, however, without success in 1946 (Shkarovskii 1999). Despite these problems, a more critical and pragmatic awareness of the Orthodox past and its vast resources with reference to the present and with a vision of the future is something that will contribute to a major break in the development of the Orthodox world and will unleash many creative and innovative forces (Kalaïtzidis 2008; Kalaïtzidis 2009). This may happen in the context of the Ecumenical Movement, which presents quite interesting challenges in this respect (Jean 2008). There are several signs that such attempts are already taking place, despite expected and understandable reactions. For example, the international conference ‘Neo-Patristic Synthesis or “Post-Patristic” Theology: Can Orthodox Theology be Contextual?’ (3–6 June 2010), organized by the Volos Academy of Theological Studies (Greece), should be regarded as a first step towards an Orthodox ‘deparentification’ from the heavy heritage of the Church Fathers, no matter how highly they should still be respected, esteemed and treated within the church (cf. Kalaïtzidis 2010; see Willert, this volume). Yet, it was about a quite difficult and thorny issue, given that the Church Fathers enjoy such an unquestionable authority in the Orthodox Church and are considered to be perennially modern (cf. Hilarion 2002: 109–10). This is precisely why this conference triggered such reaction in Greece, although it also received considerable support from many sides. After all, the defence of the Christian tradition in its normative aspect (predanie) is still undertaken today by many Orthodox hierarchs (e.g., in Russia) to combat the entire modern project as such (Agadjanian and Rousselet 2005: 36–9). Further, biblical studies in the Orthodox world still remain very traditional, which clearly distinguishes them from the huge development achieved in this domain in the Western Christian world, both Protestant and Roman Catholic (Makrides 2005). The significance of the past still remains almost unquestionable here and always reacts against attempted changes of all sorts, a fact reflecting the overall problematic relationship between Orthodox Christianity and modernity (Makrides 2011c). To conclude, these considerations signify that a fundamental change in

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orientation remains in fact a rather slow and long-term process in the Orthodox world. Yet, the major or minor changes and innovations that are constantly taking place, even if ‘traditional’ in many respects, may help Orthodox Christianity in the end to develop a new critical, reflective and fruitful attitude towards its own tradition and past.

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Engler, Steven and Gregory P. Grieve (eds). 2005. Historicizing ‘Tradition’ in the Study of Religion. Berlin: de Gruyter. Fairbairn, Donald. 2002. Eastern Orthodoxy through Western Eyes. Louisville and London: Westminster John Knox Press. Fajfer, Łukasz. 2011. Modernisierung im orthodox-christlichen Kontext: Der Heilige Berg Athos und die Herausforderungen der Modernisierungsprozesse seit 1988. Unpublished Dissertation, Universität Erfurt. Felmy, Karl Christian. 1983. ‘Die Auseinandersetzung mit der westlichen Theologie in den russischen theologischen Zeitschriften zu Beginn des 20. Jh.s.’ Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 94: 66–82. ———. 2010. ‘Die orthodoxe Theologie in der Begegnung mit westlichen Einflüssen: Zur Auseinandersetzung um die Theorie der westlichen Pseudomorphose der Orthodoxie.’ Ostkirchliche Studien, 59: 8–27. Florovsky, Georges. 1972. Bible, Church, Tradition: An Eastern Orthodox View. Belmont, MA: Nordland Publishing Company. Galavaris, Georges (ed.). 2007. Athos, la Sainte Montagne: Tradition et renouveau dans l’art. Athens: EIE/Institut de Recherches Byzantines. Geanakoplos, Deno J. 1958. ‘A Byzantine Looks at the Renaissance: The Attitude of Michael Apostolis toward the Rise of Italy to Cultural Eminence.’ Greek and Byzantine Studies, 1: 157–62. Geertz, Armin W. 1993. ‘Theories on Tradition and Change in Sociology, Anthropology, History, and the History of Religions.’ In Religious Transformations and Socio-Political Change: Eastern Europe and Latin America, ed. L. Martin, pp. 323–47. Berlin and New York: Mouton/de Gruyter. Getcha, Job. 2010. La réforme liturgique du métropolite Cyprien de Kiev. Paris: Cerf. Gillquist, Peter E. 1992. Becoming Orthodox: A Journey to the Ancient Christian Faith (revised edition). Ben Lomond, CA: Conciliar Press. Hann, Chris and Hermann Goltz (eds). 2010. Eastern Christians in Anthropological Perspective. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hannick, Christian. 2010. ‘Tradition et autorité dans la théologie byzantine.’ Ostkirchlihe Studien, 59: 28–43. Harnack, Adolf von. 2007. Das Wesen des Christentums, ed. C.-D. Osthövener. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Harper, Michael. 1999. A Faith Fulfilled: Why Are Christians Across Great Britain Embracing Orthodoxy? Ben Lomond, CA: Conciliar Press. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. 2000. Religion as a Chain of Memory. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Hilarion (Alfeyev), Hegumen. 2002. ‘The Patristic Heritage and Modernity.’ The Ecumenical Review, 54: 91–111. Hösch, Edgar. 1986. ‘Orthodoxie und “Rechtgläubigkeit” im Moskauer Russland.’ In Geschichte Altrusslands in der Begriffswelt ihrer Quellen. Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Günther Stökl, ed. U. Halbach et al., pp. 50–68. Stuttgart: Steiner-Verlag-Wiesbaden.

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Hunger, Herbert. 1969/70. ‘On the Imitation (Μίμησις) of Antiquity in Byzantine Literature.’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 23/24: 15–38. ———. 1984. Byzanz, eine Gesellschaft mit zwei Gesichtern: Eine J.C. Jacobsen Gedenkvorlesung. Copenhagen: Munksgaard. ———. 1994. ‘Byzantinische Rhetorik.’ In Historisches Wörterbuch der Rhetorik, 2: 92–118. Jean (Zizioulas), Métropolite de Pergame. 2008. ‘Quelques réflexions sur la relation entre l’engagement oecuménique et la recherche théologique.’ Contacts, 60: 259–72. Kalaïtzidis, Pantélis. 2008. ‘L’Église orthodoxe face au défi du renouveau et de la réforme.’ Contacts, 60: 212–55. ———. 2009. ‘Challenges of Renewal and Reformation Facing the Orthodox Church.’ The Ecumenical Review, 61: 136–64. ———. 2010. ‘From the “Return to the Fathers” to the Need for a Modern Orthodox Theology.’ St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly, 54: 5–36. Kazhdan, Alexander P. 1995. ‘Innovation in Byzantium.’ In Littlewood 1995: 1–14. Kazhdan, Alexander and Anthony Cutler. 1991a. ‘Imitation.’ In The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium. Volume 2, pp. 988–9. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1991b. ‘Innovation.’ In The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium. Volume 2, pp. 997–8. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Keller, Albert G. 1955. ‘A Byzantine Admirer of “Western” Progress: Cardinal Bessarion.’ The Cambridge Historical Journal, 11: 343–8. Kianka, Frances. 1995. ‘Demetrios Kydones and Italy.’ Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 49: 99–110. Kinzig, Wolfram. 1994. Novitas Christiana: Die Idee des Fortschritts in der Alten Kirche bis Eusebius. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Kitromilides, Paschalis M. 1992. The Enlightenment as Social Criticism: Iosipos Moisiodax and Greek Culture in the Eighteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ———. 1996. ‘Orthodoxy and Nationalism.’ In Ethnicity, ed. J. Hutchinson and A.D. Smith, pp. 202–08. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kizilos, Tolly. 2000. Tradition and Change: Concerns for Today’s Greek Orthodox Church of America. Minneapolis, MN: Light & Life Publishing. Kornblatt, Judith Deutsch and Richard F. Gustafson (eds). 1996. Russian Religious Thought. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Küng, Hans. 1992. Theologie im Aufbruch: Eine ökumenische Grundlegung. Munich and Zurich: Piper. Lampe, Geoffrey W.H. 1961. A Patristic Greek Lexicon. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lewis, James R. and Olav Hammer (eds). 2007. The Invention of Sacred Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lingas, Alexander. 2006. ‘Medieval Byzantine Chant and the Sound of Orthodoxy.’ In Louth and Casiday 2006: 131–50.

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Appearance of the Eastern Orthodox and Particularly of the Greek Clergy]. Thessaloniki. Papanikolaou, Aristotle. 2007. ‘Orthodoxy, Postmodernity, and Ecumenism: The Difference that Divine-Human Communion Makes.’ Journal of Ecumenical Studies, 42: 527–46. Pelikan, Jaroslav. 1984. The Vindication of Tradition. New Haven: Yale University Press. ———. 2005. ‘A Personal Memoir: Fragments of a Scholar’s Autobiography.’ In Orthodoxy and Western Culture, ed. V. Hotchkiss and P. Henry, pp. 29–44. Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Penteli. 1972. Paradosis – Ananeosis: Synaxi Orthodoxon Theologon, 17–21 Augoustou 1972 [Tradition – Renewal: A Conference of Orthodox Theologians, 17–21 August 1972]. Athens: Iera Moni Pentelis. Pharmakides, Theoklitos. 1838. Peri Zachariou, yiou Varachiou [On Zechariah, Son of Berechiah]. Athens: A. Angelides. Podskalsky, Gerhard. 1972. Byzantinische Reichseschatologie: Die Periodisierung der Weltgeschichte in den vier Großreichen (Daniel 2 und 7) und dem tausendjährigen Friedensreiche (Apok. 20): Eine motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung. Munich: Fink. ———. 1981. ‘Orthodoxe und westliche Theologie.’ Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik, 31/2: 513–27. ———. 1982. Christentum und theologische Literatur in der Kiever Rus’ (988– 1237). Munich: C.H. Beck. ———. 1983. ‘Die griechisch-byzantinische Theologie und ihre Methode: Aspekte und Perspektiven eines ökumenischen Problems.’ Theologie und Philosophie, 58: 71–87. ———. 2002. Zur Hermeneutik des theologischen Ost-West-Gesprächs in historischer Perspektive. Erfurt: Universität Erfurt. Ramet, Sabrina P. 2006. ‘The Way We Were – and Should Be Again? European Orthodox Churches and the “Idyllic Past”.’ In Religion in an Expanding Europe, ed. T.A. Byrnes and P.J. Katzenstein, pp. 148–75. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reiss, Wolfram. 1998. Erneuerung in der Koptisch-Orthodoxen Kirche: Die Geschichte der koptisch-orthodoxen Sonntagsschulbewegung und die Aufnahme ihrer Reformansätze in den Erneuerungsbewegungen der KoptischOrthodoxen Kirche der Gegenwart. Hamburg: LIT. Rimestad, Sebastian. 2011. The Challenges of Modernity to the Orthodox Church in Estonia and Latvia (1917–1940). Unpublished Dissertation, Universität Erfurt. Robinson, Ian S. 1993. The Papacy 1073–1198: Continuity and Innovation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robson, Roy B. 1995. Old Believers in Modern Russia. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press.

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Chapter 3

Double-Identity Churches on the Greek Islands under the Venetians: Orthodox and Catholics Sharing Churches (Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries) Eftichia Arvaniti

‘Shared churches’ or ‘churches of double usage’ emerged among Orthodox and Catholic flocks in areas of Greece under Venetian domination from the thirteenth to the eighteenth centuries. In these churches both Catholic and Orthodox rites were celebrated, regularly or on occasions, on the same altar or on two different ones. As this chapter shows, the double usage of Catholic or Orthodox churches and the embracing of different religious practices and new principal religious figures (saints, priests, monks) were reported by visitors on the Greek islands from the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries. Some of these churches can still be seen today. Why did outsiders – i.e., visitors, heads and emissaries of the two Churches and of the Venetian State – report and repeatedly refer to such practices in their correspondence? Because they were innovative in their eyes, thus, awakening feelings – negative or positive, depending on their perspective. After all, it is ‘the perspective from which we choose to measure the novelty of a phenomenon’ (Williams, Cox and Jaffee 1992: 3) that determines whether it is evaluated as a positive innovation or as a disturbing change. In this chapter I will examine shared- or double-identity churches and more specifically highlight the: (a) reasons behind such innovative practices; (b) actual innovative elements in the architecture and art, indicating a parallel usage of the churches by both Orthodox and Catholics living in the Greek islands under Venetian domination; and (c) related religious practices in and around these churches.

historical Background The Venetian presence on many Greek islands from 1204 to the sixteenth century – and in some cases up to the eighteenth century – shaped the religious history and identity of the local population. The tolerant attitude of the Venetian policy towards religion contributed to a long peaceful coexistence of the two

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confessions that lasted on some islands for almost four centuries. After 1400 and by the sixteenth century, both Venice and the Pope supported the autonomy of the Orthodox practices (Pangratis 2009: 29–37). The Apostolic Visitator A. Bernardo reported in 1652: ‘not only in the above mentioned Greek churches but, according to the circumstances, also in all the other churches the Latins celebrated freely’.1 Because under Venetian rule Orthodox clerics were placed under the authority of the Catholic Church, there was only one Catholic bishop on the islands. The Catholic bishop appointed a Greek Archpriest (Protopapás) as the head of the Orthodox clerics.2 From the reports of Catholic bishops and papal emissaries we see how the Catholic Church perceived the Orthodox as ‘Catholics of the Greek rite’,3 as a consequence of the union at the Ferrara-Florence synod (1439).4 Both the Pope and Venice knew that the synod was not viewed as valid by the Orthodox, but it strengthened their political and social influence on the Greek islands to some degree. They both used the Ferrara-Florence union as an excuse when reports from the Greek islands referred to repeated shared practices of sacraments, such as confession, or even the bilateral baptism and confirmation. Especially after the beginning of the seventeenth century and the establishment of the Propaganda Fide,5 interesting religious practices and customs developed on the islands, for example the right of Catholic missionaries to preach to the Orthodox population and to hear confessions.6 At the same time, Orthodox customs – such as the rituals of memorials (mnimósinon),7 the ordinary leavened bread (andídoron)8 and the physical veneration of icons – were adopted by the Catholics. Finally,

1

Hofmann 1941: 57. Bernardo includes in his report descriptions of shared churches. ‘According to the circumstances’ refers to the status of the Orthodox as ‘Catholics of the Greek Rite’ (cattolici di rito greco) and of their symbiosis with the Catholics. [All quotes from the sources are my verbatim translations. Sometimes I translate Latin(s) into Catholic(s).] 2 ‘According to the rite and the rules of the eastern church’ (iuxta ritum et canones orientalis ecclesiae) (Hofmann 1936: 48, 50). 3 Apostolic Visitator Sebastiani’s report of 1667, in Hofmann 1936: 18. 4 The synod had as its main objectives the reunion of the Catholic and Orthodox Church, reforms and the restoration of peace between Christian peoples. 5 The Sacred Congregation de Propaganda Fide, whose official title is ‘sacra congregatio christiano nomini propagando’, is the department of the pontifical administration charged with the spread of Catholicism and with the regulation of ecclesiastical affairs in non-Catholic countries (Metzler 1971: 79–111. 6 Indicatively for the Ionian Islands (Pangratis 2009: passim). 7 Memorial service where koliva (a ritual food of boiled wheat) is prepared and placed in front of an icon of Christ and blessed by the priest (Kallinikos 1969: 567–71). 8 The andídoron is ordinary leavened bread, which is blessed but not consecrated and distributed in the Orthodox Church (Kallinikos 1969: 373–4).

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mixed (inter-Church) marriages made things even more complex as the two flocks became more connected with each other. In 1775 Cardinal Andrea Corsini detected different types of Orthodox believers on the island of Tinos: a. the purely Orthodox; b. those who lived in Catholic villages and went to Catholic churches on a daily basis, but once a year during Easter they went to an Orthodox parish somewhere else; c. those who lived in mixed villages and went to various churches; d. those who often went to Catholic churches, but never dared convert out of fear or shame.9 We can observe analogous behaviour and categories of Catholics on most islands under Venetian rule.

the motivations behind the shared Churches and religious Practices What were the reasons for the attraction of both religious groups to the other’s churches and religious practices even after the end of Venetian rule on the islands? Syncretism10 could not be the only explanation of this complex phenomenon in view of the variety of practices and deliberate modifications of the church buildings, as outlined below. Having two aisles (or parts) and two sanctuaries offered a systematic flexibility11 accompanied by an interior decoration that underlined the double identity of these shared churches. At first, the reason, must have been the obligation (belonging to the Catholic Church and being under Venetian rule) of both Orthodox and Catholics to celebrate together at specific times. The subordination of the Orthodox bishop to the Catholic bishop meant that the latter had the power to intervene in religious matters, such as requesting a Catholic altar inside important churches, especially those with miraculous icons or relics. Such churches were great attraction points for both flocks. Later on, mixed marriages often produced bi-confessional families, who wanted to celebrate major feasts – like Easter – together and be buried together. Private chapels of mixed families demonstrated both their religious devotion and need for togetherness.

AKT, Επιστολές [Letters], Ι, fols. 70–72. Greek trans./ed. Foskolos 2000: 22. The term for the ‘borrowing, affirmation or integration of concepts, symbols, or practices of one religious tradition into another, by a process of selection and reconciliation’ (Stewart and Shaw 1994). 11 See further: churches of Aféndis Hristós in Ierapetra (Crete) and of the Virgin of Episkopí in Santorini (Cyclades). 9

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Long distances, in combination with a lack of priests (mainly Catholics) on many islands, forced small religious communities to employ the ‘others’ for their religious needs.12 Using the closest parish – even of a different confession – was a matter of convenience, not only for the inhabitants of the islands, but also for travellers (in the case of churches located next to ports or passages). Finally, rituals on feast days celebrating specific saints were very common and chiefly a social event for these island communities.

the architectural innovations in shared Churches The Venetians took control of Byzantine cathedrals and many important churches from the beginning of their rule. Common participation in official ceremonies mainly determined the linking of the two religious groups (Papadaki 1995; Nikiforou 1999). In order to have an intermingling of cultures in religious rituals during the annual Venetian festivities, as intended by Venice, the entire local population and clergy were ordered under penalty of law to take part in the processions and celebrations.13 In all major churches of the islands (cathedrals, ancient monasteries, Protopapás’ [Archpriests’] churches), both religious groups celebrated important festivities at separate altars within the same church. Modifications of the Sanctuaries The Orthodox had their own space inside major cathedrals, as indicated by the examples of St Titus in Candia (Hemmerdinger-Iliadou 1967: 580) or Santa Maria Maggiore (–1443), alias San Marco (–1623) alias St Sophia (–1715), in the Kastron of Tinos. Catholics had their own altar in the only Orthodox church – also in the Protopapás’ church in Aghia Paraskevi, also in Kastron in Tinos. All reports by bishops and papal emissaries speak of a second Catholic altar, devoted to the same saint (Santa Veneranda).14 On Santorini, in the village of Pyrgos, there was no Catholic church so the Catholic community preserved an altar inside the Orthodox Cathedral of the Virgin. It was built by Duke Domenico Crispo, who donated

Bishop Perpigniani of Tinos reports in 1601: ‘On the island there are fifty parishes in total, of them two are Greek, five are mixed and the rest are Latin; but there are more Greek priests than Catholic ones’ (Foskolos 2003). Cf. the majority of the missionaries’ letters to the Propaganda Fide in Pangratis 2009: passim. 13 Tafel and Thomas 1856–57: vol. 2, p. 124; Manousakas 1961: 154–5. Even the festivals that had a purely stately character were celebrated, either inside the Catholic churches or with processions and acclamations that venerated religious objects (Georgopoulou 2001: 214). 14 Hofmann 1936: passim. The church was destroyed during the fall of the island to the Ottomans in 1715. 12

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it to both religious groups after his death.15 The Byzantine church of the Virgin of Episkopi on the same island had two Catholic altars, where Catholic bishops held weekly masses.16 Likewise, in the early Byzantine church of Katapoliani, in the port of Paros, from the beginning of the Venetian rule Catholics preserved their own altar, which was dedicated to the Virgin, St Francis and St Anton of Padua; it was renovated during the War of Crete and preserved until the end of the eighteenth century.17 Separate altars were also reported in private churches (ius patronatus privato).18 The traveller Coronelli mentions that Duca Gerolamo Lippomano erected a Catholic altar inside the Orthodox chapel of Saint Nicholas in Candia. Also, Apostolic Visitator Giustiniani refers in 1701 to the church of the Nativity of the Virgin in Kontohori of Santorini: ‘Dug in underground … there are two altars, one for the Greeks and the other for the Latins’ (Hofmann 1941: 96). Around 1670 a Catholic altar was erected as a votive chapel inside the Orthodox church called Sto Kóma in the port of Faros, in Sifnos, by a pirate captain, Giovanni Maria Cardi, who also donated 100 Realli for holding masses in this church.19 This church is today’s Panaghía Hrysopighí, nowadays a monastery with a miraculous icon (Zoodóhos Pighí Assumption). ‘An ancient and miraculous icon’ is also mentioned by the Catholic Bishop of Zakynthos, Baldassar Maria Remondini, in his description of the church of Panaghía in the Kastron of Kythira,20 where several festivities took place in honour of Panaghía Myrtidiótissa. The Orthodox often celebrated masses on the Catholic altar of this church in order to venerate that icon (Panaghiota 2003: 453). In 1627 the Proveditor21 of Candia, Francesco Morosini, reports on the church of the Catholic bishop in Kato Episkopi, near Sitia: ‘In the town of Kato Episkopi

15

Apostolic Visitator Bernardo and Giustiniani’s reports of 1652 and 1700 respectively, in Hofmann 1941: 56, 97. 16 Apostolic Visitator Bernardo’s report of 1652: ‘Madonna of the Diocese, which is located by the possessions and vines of one and the other Bishop and whilst it was built the Greek way, there celebrate the Latins, and it has two annexed chapels with their small Latin altars.’ Cf. Apostolic Visitator Giustiniani’s report of 1700 (Hofmann 1941: 20, 56, 94–5). 17 Apostolic Visitator Giustiniani’s report of 1700, in Hofmann 1938: 146. 18 The right of patronage referring to churches belonging to private persons (Landau 1975). 19 Apostolic Visitator Angelo Venier’s report of 1678, in Simeonidis 2000: 171–2. 20 An icon from Panaghía Kastriní, depicting San Rocco together with the local Saint Theodor, probably had been ordered by the Bishop of Kythira, Dionysios II Katilianos (Coronelli 1696: vol. 1, p. 218 ; Gini-Tsofopoulou 1989–91). 21 Only certain local district governors in the Venetian empire had the title prov(v) editore [he who sees to things] for three to four years.

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I saw a Latin church, where the Greeks also celebrated frequently, with the mutual satisfaction and joy of one and the other rite.’22 The church is apparently Byzantine (probably tenth century; Gallas 1983: 269) and is dedicated to the Holy Apostles and St John. Its only altar is attached to a small niche in the eastern wall, which is flat on the outside. These flat eastern sanctuary walls are today key features indicating Catholic churches in larger island towns, where more Catholics lived.23 Many such churches even have small niches inside and only a flat wall on the outside;24 however, the size of the niche is only a marginal criterion of the Catholic presence in a church. Moreover, in the Catholic archives of Tinos we observe the following: Catholics started systematically building up the niches of the sanctuaries to flat walls, following the establishment of the Orthodox See there (1715) and the decisions of both Churches to prohibit common rituals (1748, 1757).25 This was a manifestation of the confession of the church on the exterior of the building. Whether a church had a Catholic or an Orthodox exterior ‘appearance’ was important, as we see in the case of the monastery of Aghios Athanasios in Naousa, Paros (today an icon museum), which was sold in 1675 to the Catholic community. They demolished the sanctuary (‘being a Greek church’), detached the iconostasis (‘as it was closing the sanctuary’) and put the icon of the saint in the middle of the altar (‘according to the customs of the Catholics’; Zerlendis 1922: 68). These acts of Catholic manifestation were more important and possibly frequent in areas with sizeable Catholic and Orthodox communities, and especially in shared churches with two separate aisles and two separate sanctuaries. The flat wall of one sanctuary in the two-aisled church of Aghios Gheorghios in Htikados, Tinos, is a fine example (Figure 3.1). The double usage of the church can already be seen in its exterior: two aisles with two sanctuaries, one ending in a flat eastern wall; two entrances – one in the west, the other in the south; and even two belfries, one over each door. Apart from separate main entrances, side openings were also necessary for shared churches in order to prevent disorder in the coming and leaving of clerics and believers, or even theft and vandalism.26 To support the symbiosis of Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASV), Provveditori da Terra e da Mar; cf. Gerola 1905–32: vol. 3, p. 14. 23 Cf. San Rocco in Hania and/or Catholic cathedrals, for example Santissimo Sacramento in Naxos. 24 Indicatively Aghia Ekaterini in Tsiknias of Tinos (not published); anonymous twoconch (with two recesses in the sanctuary wall) church of Flouriá in Marpissa of Paros (Dimitrokallis 1976: 124–8). 25 I would like to thank Fr Markos Foskolos for this oral information (April 2009). 26 As in the case of Aghios Panteleimon of Hatzirados in Tinos, which the Orthodox trespassed and desecrated its icon in 1787: ‘They ditched the saint’s icon in a kandouni, meaning a corner of that very church’, ΑΚΤ, file 52, fol. 206. Correspondence concerning the case in Foskolos 2000, docs 19, 20. 22

Double-Identity Churches on the Greek Islands under the Venetians

Figure 3.1 Aghios Gheorghios, Htikados, Tinos: a. east side; b. north side

Figure 3.2 Plan of the doors flanking the sanctuary of the church of Afendis Christos in Ierapetra, Crete. ASV, Provveditori da Terra e da Mar, b. 786

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the Orthodox and the Franciscans in the church of Afendis Christos in Ierapetra, Crete, the Signoria decided to expand the church with a second aisle and sanctuary. Nevertheless, in 1627, following a conflict – including vandalism – the Proveditor of Candia, Francesco Morosini, proposed instead the opening of two doors on both sides of the sanctuary, which would lead directly to each altar, church utensils and icons (Figure 3.2). A regulation on rituals supplemented this modification: the icons of the Déisis27 would crown the sanctuary during Orthodox rites, but be removed afterwards for the Catholic mass. Inspiration for this idea came from the above-mentioned church of Kato Episkopi near Sitia, Crete, where Morosini actually saw this configuration and found out that it was common also in other places around Crete (Arvaniti 2008: 35–40). In a central spot in the village of Htikados, Tinos, we can find a two-aisled church, dedicated to the Transfiguration of Christ, which is now Catholic; its existing wall paintings are rare in chapels around the islands and underline its double identity.28 Both apses are visible from the nave and decorated with the same theme: the Virgin with Jesus as a child (Figure 3.3).

Figure 3.3 Church of the Transfiguration, Htikados, Tinos: the conches of the sanctuary 27 In Orthodox art the Déisis (prayer or supplication) is a traditional iconic representation of Christ in Majesty or Christ Pantokrator: enthroned, carrying a book and flanked by the Virgin Mary and St John the Baptist, and sometimes by other saints and angels. It was originally placed on the templon beam in Orthodox churches, as well as above doorways (Kazamia-Tsernou 2003). 28 Aghia Ekaterini of Tsiknias in Tinos also preserves some remnants of wall paintings that could be linked to double usage.

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the Orthodox and the Franciscans in the church of Afendis Christos in Ierapetra, Crete, the Signoria decided to expand the church with a second aisle and sanctuary. Nevertheless, in 1627, following a conflict – including vandalism – the Proveditor of Candia, Francesco Morosini, proposed instead the opening of two doors on both sides of the sanctuary, which would lead directly to each altar, church utensils and icons (Figure 3.2). A regulation on rituals supplemented this modification: the icons of the Déisis27 would crown the sanctuary during Orthodox rites, but be removed afterwards for the Catholic mass. Inspiration for this idea came from the above-mentioned church of Kato Episkopi near Sitia, Crete, where Morosini actually saw this configuration and found out that it was common also in other places around Crete (Arvaniti 2008: 35–40). In a central spot in the village of Htikados, Tinos, we can find a two-aisled church, dedicated to the Transfiguration of Christ, which is now Catholic; its existing wall paintings are rare in chapels around the islands and underline its double identity.28 Both apses are visible from the nave and decorated with the same theme: the Virgin with Jesus as a child (Figure 3.3).

Figure 3.3 Church of the Transfiguration, Htikados, Tinos: the conches of the sanctuary 27 In Orthodox art the Déisis (prayer or supplication) is a traditional iconic representation of Christ in Majesty or Christ Pantokrator: enthroned, carrying a book and flanked by the Virgin Mary and St John the Baptist, and sometimes by other saints and angels. It was originally placed on the templon beam in Orthodox churches, as well as above doorways (Kazamia-Tsernou 2003). 28 Aghia Ekaterini of Tsiknias in Tinos also preserves some remnants of wall paintings that could be linked to double usage.

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Even though the church can be found on the list of Catholic churches of Tinos at the beginning of the eighteenth century, from its wall paintings we can assume that it was in fact a church of double usage. In the south apse we see the Orthodox Platytera ton Ouranon29 type: a Virgin orans (praying posture) with the child blessing in encolpion. In the north apse, a type between Maestà and Sacra Conversazione is depicted: the Virgin on a throne with the infant Jesus standing on her lap stretching out his arm.30 Both themes are inscribed: on one we see only the letter D, on the right side of the Virgin; and on the south picture only the ΘΥ and the local theotokonymion (ΕΛΕΗ)ΜΟΝΙΤΡΙΑ31 are readable. Apparently there must have been the letter M on the left, meaning MATER DEI, corresponding to the Greek MΡ ΘΥ (Figure 3.4).

Figure 3.4 Church of the Transfiguration, Htikados, Tinos: a. M(ater) D(ei); b. (ΕΛΕΗ)ΜΟΝΙΤΡΙΑ Modifications of the Aisles The ‘duplication’ of a church through an annex area for use by the other confession could either enlarge and unite the church or separate it, depending on the central system of support. There are numerous two-aisled churches on the Greek islands: these churches not only have two aisles, but also two sanctuaries (Figure 3.5). Many offer a simple architectural solution for housing two saints and accommodating more believers and clerics, but many can also be safely identified as shared churches. For example, the church in Spinalonga, Crete, donated by Luca 29

‘Wider than the Heavens’ from the Akáthistos [unseated] hymn of the Orthodox Church to the Mother of God: essential theme for the central apse of Greek churches from the twelfth century onwards (Sevcenko 1991: 2170). 30 Kaspar 1954. The flanking saints, who belong to the type, could have been painted over. 31 The Merciful. Cf. the icon in the Catholic parish of the same village. AKT, Htikados-Hatzirados, file I, 26 July 1855, p. 3.

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Figure 3.5 Aghia Ekaterini, Tsiknias, Tinos: two aisles separated by a middle colonnade

Michiel in 1580, was ‘divided in two parts, for the Greek and the Frankish (Latin) rite’.32 There were also similarly configured private churches (ius patronatus privato): for example Aghios Ioannis, the chapel of the Belonia tower, in Naxos (Kefalliniadis 1969). Sometimes, if the church was large enough, an aisle was offered to the ‘other’ confession for their own use, as in the three-aisled church of Panaghía Vlepousa in Isternia, Tinos. The small Catholic community found its place inside one of the aisles of the Orthodox parish. In 1753 the secretary of the Catholic bishop reports: The Bishop personally visited the church called Vlepousa in Isternia. This church consists of three aisles. Two belong to the Orthodox and one to the Catholics. There is a sanctuary where the icon of the Madonna del Rosario stands.33 32 33

ASV, Relazioni, LXXVIII: 1580, in Gerola 1905–32: vol. 3, p. 14. ΑΚΤ, file 21, p. 58, Greek trans./ed. Foskolos 2002.

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Shared Space There were only a few two-aisled churches, which completely separated the aisles with a middle wall, as did the above-mentioned Aghios Gheorghios in Htikados, Tinos. The majority of the two-aisled churches have a middle row of piers, which does not necessarily separate the room. What was the reason for this wall? The purpose of the later middle wall was not to divide the religious groups, but mainly to divide the properties, as the church is private and belongs to two different families. In this church, each family owns a different aisle – one Orthodox and one Catholic.34 Consequently, this practice touches upon a similar phenomenon: adjacent (i.e. neighbouring) churches of two different confessions as two different properties. The church of Faneroméni, below the foot of Mount Tsiknias in Tinos, is a place of pilgrimage for both Catholics and Orthodox. Therefore, we observe that the two churches of Panaghía Faneroméni are not only completely separated by a wall, but they also have different orientation – one facing east and the other facing north-west. A similar private chapel in Santorini is reported by the papal emissary Bernardo in 1652: Near the town of Emborio … the church of San Girolamo has one aisle and is engraved in the rock, in form of a cave with vault … it is joined with the Greek church of Saint John. (Hofmann 1941: 66)

Such neighbouring churches were apparently convenient, as for Marco Paulini, who in 1695 ordered his funeral to take place in the Catholic church of the Virgin in the citadel of the island of Kythira (Kástron), but his body to be buried in its neighbouring Orthodox church of Panaghía Orfaní, ‘in front of the icon of Christ and Panaghía Myrtidiótissa’ (Patramani 2007: 215). There are other similar cases of burials at the Augustinian monastery of Rhodes in the Orthodox funerary chapel of Aghios Nikolaos: we can observe the annexation of the south aisle with the apse and wall paintings of the life of St Nicholas according to the Orthodox tradition. The chapel was private (ius patronatus privato) and its owner was reported to be of ‘Greek-Latin’ confession (Tsirpanlis 1995: 82). Before the annexation, two extensions of the original building had taken place, which, because of their dimensions, may have served as burial chapels for the Catholic confession (i.e. without apse) (Dellas 2000: 43–54). In the churches mentioned above, where rituals of both confessions took place, there ought to have been time regulations for the safeguarding of peace and order among the flocks inside the shared space. For example, on the feast day of the church of the Virgin of Episkopi in Santorini – known as Goniá – Catholics

34 Two families also own the church of Aghios Vasileios and Spyridon in Prasteio of Mani, the two aisles of which are also divided by a wall (Tzavara 1982: 327–36).

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celebrated the first vespers, whilst the Orthodox were the first to celebrate the morning mass on the same day.35

The Subsequent Innovative Religious Behaviour Evidently, a ‘new genre’ of religious buildings and, therefore, of believers emerged for religious needs during the Venetian rule. But going beyond the architectural innovations highlighted above, in what ways was the religious daily life around the churches of the islands innovative? Some of these ways are to be found in reports where both the buildings and the practices left an impression. The Archdeacon of the Cathedral of Corfu, Giovanni de Rossi, wrote a letter to the cardinals of the Propaganda Fide on 28 August 1634, where he refers to the dogmatic questions that derive from the ecclesiastical communication between Greeks and Catholics in Corfu. He summarizes the innovative practices as follows: The Latins bring their children to the Greeks to baptize and the Greeks to the Latins … Sometimes the Greeks invite the Latin clergy and the Latins the Greek clergy to the funeral rites to honour their dead. The Greeks are used to giving alms for their dead to the Latin priests and the Latins to the Greeks. (Pangratis 2009: doc. 17, pp. 129–30)

This ‘new genre’ of religious exchange was indeed perceived as innovative by many of the outsiders of the small island-societies, some of whom criticized it abrasively, mainly because the Catholics were attracted to Orthodox churches and participated in Orthodox ceremonies. The Proveditor Giacomo Foscarini writes in his report (Relatio): ‘They keep the churches like swine, most of them without the sacrament, which they grab, drag along and preserve in their full of children houses.’36 Moreover, he passes criticism on the Greeks, who, when they use churches that have been used before by Catholics, actually ‘wash them off’ before they start their mass, because ‘they consider these churches excommunicated’.37 We cannot know how much of what Foscarini reports was the norm, but even islanders were sometimes opposed to innovative attempts by the Orthodox. For example, in the case of the Catholic church of San Giorgio in Zakynthos, the Orthodox community of believers wanted to erect their own altar but they were

35

Problems did arise because of this regulation: In the middle of the eighteenth century the Orthodox community ceased to acknowledge the right of Catholics to hold services in this church. An agreement on the erection of a Catholic chapel there (1767) never materialized. Apostolic Visitator Giustiniani’s report of 1700, in Hofmann 1941: 95. 36 Not dated (1576?). Greek trans./ed. Spanakis 1969: 144. 37 Ibid, p. 140. Cf. Alvise Grimani’s similar reports of 1585 in Tsirpanlis 1967: 170.

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prevented from doing so by representatives of both the Catholic Church and the Venetian State, who claimed to ‘have known the intentions of the Greeks’.38 It seems that it was a must for Venice that the Greek clergy and flock participate in their controlled Catholic religious and non-religious festivities, but it was considered disturbing for Catholics to participate in exclusively Orthodox festivities, especially in Orthodox churches. Therefore, in response to shared rituals, the Venetians published an official order (Ducale) in 1418 putting a ban on the disruptive practices of the Catholic flock and aiming to prevent that: they are baptized and buried, and celebrate other sacraments the Greek way. And therefore the Latins become Greeks: which incenses both God and human understanding, because, especially in the Latin areas, the Catholic faith is drained. (Flaminius 1755 [1971]: 171)

This reaction by the Venetian State was only a measure to prevent the extinction of Catholics on the Greek islands, thus, a measure for safeguarding the internal peace they always aimed for. Unexpected practices combining both Orthodox and Catholic beliefs ended up taking place, not only under Venetian but also later under Ottoman rule. One example is the admiration of St Francis and the Franciscans by Orthodox believers on some Greek islands: this is a phenomenon that has to be viewed in light of the fact that Venetians themselves supported the Franciscans (Pangratis 2009: 33). The Orthodox participated enthusiastically in Franciscan masses, and some who were unable to have children wanted to be accepted in their order, as Proveditor Benedetto Moro reports around 1600.39 The above-mentioned positive view of the Franciscan order by Orthodox believers is illustrated by the existence of St Francis on several wall paintings of Orthodox churches in Crete (Ranoutsaki 2006: 146–55). At the end of the fifteenth century the pilgrim Felice Schmidt witnessed a practice which could be viewed as shocking for the contemporary Orthodox believer:40 I saw in that church (church of the Monks of Sinai in Candia) a papal Bull on which Indulgences were given out freely from the helpers of the monastery. Close to me, Tithes (Decimae) (revenues paid by the clergy to the papal exchequer) 38 Frater Paris Maria Boschi reports on 26 September 1665 in his letter to the cardinals of Propaganda Fide about the Catholic Church in Zakynthos: ‘I have overcome equally the attempts of the same syndics to build a Greek altar in a Latin church of San Giorgio, which we principals would have opposed, while that one had to be the maggiore’; in Pangratis 2009: doc. 75, pp. 236–7. 39 ASV, Relazioni, LXXIX, in Gerola 1905–32: vol. 3, p. 14. 40 The Pope and the Catholics have been criticized by the Orthodox Church for that practice. It was – and is still – seen as a way of ‘bribing’ the flock; and, moreover, that ‘bribing’ was practised by Orthodox monks, who gave out indulgencies with the papal bull!

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Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition? and Indulgencies (Indulgentiae) were surprisingly given to non-Catholics. It has to be noted that the monks do not belong to the Latin Church, unless they pretend to profit from it.41

The enforcement of the Gregorian calendar (1582) by the Catholic Church and Venetian State was the most radical innovation that shook the island communities under Venetian rule. The islanders, both Orthodox42 and Catholic,43 reacted against this innovation with letters (October 1614) to their Venetian rector expressing their need to preserve the paleán synítheian [old custom] instead, which they perceived as a problem-free tradition.44 In these letters they stressed that the new calendar disturbed the peace because it went contrary to the usual practices and traditions. It, thus, created ‘confusion’ on the irregular feast days and ‘disorder’, igniting continuous conflicts inside churches and even within families (Hofmann 1936: 59, 63). The calendar remained a controversial issue in the Venetian-dominated areas until the end of Venetian rule. In the middle of the eighteenth century, the Patriarchs of Constantinople and Alexandria threatened Orthodox communities that were intermingling with Catholics with physical punishment and issued an official Anathema for the offenders. The Patriarch’s reasons for the Anathema were: ‘to preserve the Apostolic and Synodic rules immutable and indivertible as we received them; secondly, to reverse and completely eliminate their illegal Holy Scripture.’45 Even before the Anathema, Patriarch Cyril V had sent a letter warning the Orthodox communities of Sifnos and Mykonos in 1749 against mixing with Catholics because of the lack of understanding of the dogmatic differences, even under Ottoman rule (Foskolos 2000: 18–24). The practices of this type of ‘mixed worship’ mentioned by the Patriarch included weddings, memorial services, processions of relics, common rituals and godparenting, ‘which is a dare of blatant illegality and (lays) outside of the canonical ordinance and holy legislation of the Eastern Church … in this way confusing and overturning the holy and sacred sacraments of the Church.’ The Patriarch went on angrily: ‘They dare to glorify indifference and equality of respect between both nations, our own Orthodox Greeks and their Latins, and they

41 Faber 1843: vol. III, p. 282. An Orthodox synod legitimated indulgences (Sygchorohártia) in 1727, a custom related to the so-called Ziteíe that were carried out occasionally already in the fifteenth century by the Orthodox Patriarchs (especially that of Jerusalem) (Iliou 1983). 42 ΑΚΤ (copy), cod. 1, fols. 122–4v (Hofmann 1936: 58–63). 43 ΑΚΤ (copy), cod. 1, fols. 120–22 (Hofmann 1936: 63–5). 44 ‘So with these customs the Prince accepted and embraced us and so we always have been living here in peace … That is why we all desire … to live with our old and preferable habits’ (Hofmann 1936: 58). 45 AKT, file 27, int. 4 (Foskolos 2000: doc. 27).

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imagine idiotically that they mix the immiscible and that they bring together the opposites and the hostiles.’46 We have to assume that shared rituals during the eighteenth century took place on the Greek islands deliberately and were long-established before they were officially prohibited by both Churches. This was also understood by the Patriarch, who issued official orders against such customs, something that local bishops did not want or dare to do.47 Innovations, such as the enforcement of the Gregorian calendar and the prohibition of the common rituals that external bodies like the ‘foreign’ clergy and the Venetian State tried to launch from time to time, came into conflict with the insiders’ tradition.

Shared Churches as Focal Points of Innovation and Continuity: Perspectives Criticism, shock, threats, complaints, law enforcement, imitation, but also enthusiasm, unity and creativity were reactions and results of what constituted the approach from innovation to religious tradition of the islands. What happened on the Greek islands was ‘a deliberate, organized, conscious effort by members of a society to construct a more satisfying culture’ that inevitably had an impact. Anthony Wallace (1972: 504) termed such phenomena ‘classic processes of culture change (evolution, drift, diffusion, historical change, acculturation)’, which ‘do not depend on deliberate intent by members of a society, but rather on a gradual chain reaction effect’. In 1418 Venice viewed innovative shared rituals as a threat to Catholicism and felt that it had to protect the Catholic faith on the Greek islands with a new law. Around the same time, a pilgrim was surprised by the handing out of papal indulgences to the Orthodox believers. In 1577 the Proveditor of Crete revealed criticism, anger and loathing towards the ‘other’, as he felt that he had to blame someone for the turmoil taking place in Crete at the time of the Venetian–Ottoman war. What he failed to understand was what attracted Catholic believers to Orthodox practices, which he perceived as unconstructive superstitious behaviour. A Catholic bishop in 1601 complained about the religious ignorance and chaos in Tinos and felt compelled to include the ‘Catholics of the Greek rite’ in

46

Gedeon 1886: 140. Cf. Patriarch Matthaios’ orders (1747) in Amandos 1936: 158. Archbishop Neofytos of Tinos says in his letter of 29 December 1797, concerning such a case at the St Anarghyroi church: ‘Bishop Tobia and I are new archpriests and we should not invalidate the old custom. Before I came to Tinos as Bishop, there had been here six Greek archpriests, maybe as many as the Latin ones, who let the Greeks celebrate masses in the church of St Anarghyroi and give various votives. Therefore, how can we now hinder them?’ (Foskolos 2000: doc. 22; cf. ibid., doc. 6). 47

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his sacraments sub conditione and to intermingle even in the architecture of the buildings, both Orthodox and Catholic.48 In 1634, in the Ionian See, a Catholic cleric was enthusiastic about the devotion of the Orthodox to Catholic masses and sermons, but referred to the Propaganda Fide for guidance on the subject of shared rituals. In 1665 a Franciscan was proud of having sensed the insidious ‘intentions of the Greeks’ and prevented their interference in a Catholic church. After at least 400 years of coexistence (1204–c.1540/1715) churches, as key places for both Catholic and Orthodox rituals, seemed to also upset the heads of the Orthodox Church. Orthodox Archpriests saw the religious traditions of the islanders as ‘satanic innovations’ and ‘soul-breaking errancy’ (sataniká neoterísmata, psihovlavín plánin; Kotsonis 1957: 121). The situation escalated further after the re-establishment of Orthodox bishops on the former Venetian islands. Just like the Venetians, the Orthodox clergy perceived innovation as a source of disorder, confusion and anarchy, which in many instances was referred to in official documents as ‘heretic’.

Conclusions The shared rituals on the islands undoubtedly left an impression. The continuity of those practices can still be seen today on islands with sizeable Catholic communities – Syros, Tinos (Gavrielatos 2006). Catholics and Orthodox celebrate Easter simultaneously (following the Orthodox calendar) and Catholic believers venerate icons physically. Moreover, Orthodox decorative arts had adapted to western trends and continued on this path of alteration until the twentieth century. However, it is the architectural modifications of the churches that are the main visible legacy on the islands. Many churches on these islands, which, are still important to the local inhabitants, have two aisles or are attached to each other (e.g. Faneroméni, Aghios Konstantinos and Taxiarhis), where both Catholic and Orthodox believers continue to have rituals on different dates and/ or at different times. The above-mentioned religious practices were the result of a long symbiosis. These practices were consequently acts of a syncretism unavoidable under the specific historical circumstances. Initially they were acts of necessity. The change in the Orthodox architectural conceptions at the time of Venetian rule served certain needs and these churches are nowadays being used as liturgical spaces. Yet, what is still surprising today is the need, and hence resourcefulness, of believers and clergy to erect or modify buildings used by both confessions even though both religious groups had their own churches. The architectural modifications in fact reveal resourceful ways to solve in situ difficulties. Believers 48 Bishop Perpigniani’s report, ASV, Congregazione del Concilio, vol. 801, Greek trans./ed. Foskolos 2003: 177–248.

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and clergy must have perceived the need for a shared space without nevertheless perceiving it as innovative. What seems even more interesting is the fact that after 300 years of coexistence, believers and clergy plead to Church and State the necessity to preserve this intermingling in the same ways and in the same buildings as the Venetians tolerated from the beginning of their rule, allowing it that way to become their tradition.

References Alexiou, Stylianos. 1965. ‘To Kastro tis Kritis ke i zoi tou ston 16o ke 17o eona’ [The capital of Crete and its life in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries]. Kritika Hronika, 19. Amandos, Konstandinos. 1936. ‘Oi pronomiakoi orismoi tou mousoulmanismou yper ton Hristianon’ [The Muslim decrees beneficial for the Christians]. Ellinika, 9. Archives of Catholics of Tinos (ΑΚΤ), Htikados-Hatzirados, file I, 26 July 1855: ‘Relazione dello Stato Materiale e Formale della Chiesa di Cuticado’ [Report about the material and formal assets of the church in Htikados]; Epistoles [Letters], Ι. Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASV), Provveditori da Terra e da Mar [Proveditors of the continent and the sea], b.786, fol. 2: 27–9. Arvaniti, Eftichia. 2008. ‘Orthodoxe und Katholiken in einer Kirche. Das Zusammenleben der Dogmen und die Doppelkirchen auf den griechischen Inseln: 13.–18. Jhdt’ [Orthodox and Catholics in one church. The symbiosis of the dogmas and the double churches on the Greek islands: thirteenth– eighteenth centuries]. In Junge Römer – Neue Griechen: Eine byzantinische Melange aus Wien, ed. M. Popovic and J. Preiser-Kapeller, pp. 25–42. Vienna: Phoibos. Coronelli, Vincenzo. 1696. Historische und topographische ausführliche Beschreibung der Reiche Morea und Negroponte, wie auch der Insulen etc. [Detailed historical and topographical description of the kingdoms of Morea and Negroponte, and also of the islands …]. Frankfurt am Main. Dellas, Ghiorghos. 2000. ‘Nea stiheia ghia ena monastiri sti meseoniki poli tis Rodou’ [New information on a monastery in the medieval town of Rhodes]. Deltion Hristianikis Archeologhikis Eterias, 21: 43–54. Dimitrokallis, Gheorghios. 1976. Oi dikogchoi hristianikoi naoi [The two-conch churches]. Athens. Faber, Felix. 1843. Evagatorium in Terrae Sanctae … peregrinationem [Report (Book of digressions) of pilgrimage in the Holy Land …]. Stuttgart. Flaminius, Cornelius. 1755 [1971]. Creta Sacra sive de episcopis utriusque ritus graeci et latini in insula Cretae [Sacred Crete or about the bishops of both rites, the Greek and the Latin, on the island of Crete]. Venice.

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Foskolos, Markos. 2000. ‘Katholikoi ke Orthodoxoi stin Tino ton 18o eona’ [Catholics and Orthodox in Tinos in the eighteenth century]. Tiniaka Analekta, 4: 1–80. ———. 2002. ‘Ena engrafo apo ta Isternia’ [A document from Isteria, Tinos]. Tiniaka Minimata, January. Online ed. http://Catholic.gr/tiniakaminimata/ efimerida9.htm#_ftnref1. ———. 2003. ‘I episkopi Tinou-Mykonou stis arhes tou 17ou eona: O fakelos “episkopos Gheorghios Perpinianis (Perpigniani)”’ [The bishopric of TinosMyconos in the beginning of the seventeenth century: The ‘Bishop Perpigniani’ file]. Anno Domini, 1: 177–248. Online ed. http://Catholic.gr/Catholic_church. htm#_ftnref38. Gallas, Klaus. 1983. Mittel- und spätbyzantinische Sakralarchitektur der Insel Kreta [Middle and late Byzantine church architecture of the island of Crete]. Berlin. Gavrielatos, Aris. 2006. I Katholiki kinotita tis Tinou [The Catholic community of Tinos]. Athens. Gedeon, Manouil. 1886. ‘Symvoli eis tin istorian ton metaxy ton Ekklision sheseon’ [Contribution to the history of the inter-Church relations]. Ekklisiastiki Alitheia, 9. Georgopoulou, Maria. 2001. Venice’s Mediterranean Colonies: Architecture and Urbanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gerola, Giuseppe. 1905–32. Monumenti veneti nell’isola di Creta [Venetian monuments on the island of Crete], 4 vols. Venice. Gini-Tsofopoulou, Eleni. 1989–1991. ‘Sholia se eikona apo nao tou Kastrou tis Horas Kythiron’ [Comments on an icon from a church in Kastron, in Hora of Kythira]. Archeologikon Deltion, 44–6: 179–90. Hemmerdinger-Iliadou, Démocratie. 1967. ‘La Crète sous la domination vénitienne et turque (1322–1684): Renseignements nouveaux ou peu connus d’après les pèlerins et les voyageurs’ [Crete under Venetian and Turkish domination: New or less-known information by pilgrims and travellers]. Studi Veneziani, 9: 535–623. Hofmann, Giorgio. 1936–41. Vescovadi Cattolici della Grecia [Catholic bishoprics of Greece]: ‘Tinos – Mykonos’, ‘Paros – Naxos’, ‘Santorini’. Orientalia Cristiana Analekta, 107 (1936): 115 (1938): 130 (1941). Iliou‚ Philippos. 1983/85. ‘Sygchorohartia’ [Indulgencies]. Ta Istorika, I, 1 (September 1983); II, 3 (May 1985). Kallinikos, Konstantinos. 1969. O hristianikos naos ke ta teloumena en afto [The Christian Church and the rituals within]. Athens: Grigoris. Kaspar, Carl. 1954. Die ikonographische Entwicklung der Sacra Conversazione [The iconographical evolution of the Sacra Conversazione]. Diss. Tübingen. Kazamia-Tsernou, Maria. 2003. Istorondas ti ‘Deisi’ stis vyzandines ekklisies tis Ellados [Painting the ‘Déisis’ in the Byzantine churches of Greece]. Thessaloniki. Kefalliniadis, Nikos. 1969. O pyrgos tou Belonia [Belonia’s tower]. Naxos.

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Kotsonis, Ieronymos. 1957. I kanoniki apopsis peri tis epikoinonias meta ton eterodoxon (Intercommunio) [The canonical point of view on the Intercommunio]. Athens. Landau, Peter. 1975. Jus patronatus: Studien zur Entwicklung des Patronats im Dekretalenrecht und der Kanonistik des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts [Studies on the evolution of patronage in the decretal and canon law of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries]. Böhlau. Lassithiotakis, Kostas. 1981. ‘O aghios Frangiskos ke i Kriti’ [Saint Francis and Crete]. 4th International Cretological Congress, Β, pp. 146–55. Athens. Manousakas, Manousos. 1961. ‘Venetika engrafa anaferomena eis tin ekklisiastikin istoria tis Kritis tou 14ou–16ou ai. (Protopapades ke Protopsaltes Handakos)’ [Venetian documents referring to the ecclesiastical history of Crete of the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries]. Deltion Istorikis Ethnologikis Eterias, 15. Metzler, Josef. 1971. ‘Foundation of the Congregation “de Propaganda Fide” by Gregory XV.’ In Sacrae Congregationis de Propaganda Fide memoria rerum, vol. I/II (1622–1700): 79–111. Rome-Freiburg-Vienna. Nikiforou, Aliki. 1999. Dimosies teletes stin Kerkyra kata tin periodo tis Venetikis kyriarhias 14os–18os eones [Public rituals in Kerkyra during the time of Venetian rule, fourteenth to eighteenth centuries]. Athens. Panaghiota, Tzivara. 2003. ‘Eidiseis ghia tin parousia Latinon sta Kythira ton 17o ke ton 18o eona’ [News about the presence of Latins in Kythira in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries]. 1st International Congress of Kythirian Studies: Kythira: Mythos ke pragmatikotita [Kythira: Myth and Reality], vol. 3: ‘Kinonia–Ikonomia’. Kythira. Pangratis, Gerasimos. 2009. Ekklisia ke kratos sta venetika nisia tou Ioniou Pelaghous [Church and State on the Venetian islands of the Ionian Sea]. Athens: Papazisis. Papadaki, Aspasia. 1995. Thriskeftikes ke kosmikes teletes sti venetokratoumeni Kriti [Religious and public ceremonies in Venetian Crete]. Rethymnon. Patramani, Maria. 2007. ‘Orthodoxoi ke Katholikoi sta Kythira: Thriskeftiko esthima ke latreftikes syngliseis’ [Orthodox and Catholics in Kythira: Religious feeling and convergences in worship (seventeenth–eighteenth centuries)]. Nostos, 4. Ranoutsaki, Hrysoula. 2006. ‘Enas dytikos aghios sto Vyzandio: Apeikoniseis ke latreia tou agiou Frangiskou tis Assizis’ [A western saint in Byzantium: Depictions and cult of St Francis of Assisi]. 10th International Cretological Congress (Hania, 1–8 October 2006), proceedings in press. Sevcenko, Nancy P. 1991. ‘Virgin Blachernitissa.’ In A.P. Kazhdan, Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, p. 2170. New York: Oxford University Press. Simeonidis, Simos. 2000. ‘Apostoliki episkepsi tis Latinikis Ekklisias tis Sifnou tou Monsinior Angelo Venier, episkopou Tinou [Maiou 1678]’ [Monsinior Angelo Venier’s apostolic visit to the Latin church of Sifnos, May 1678]. Sifniaka, 8: 168–73.

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Spanakis, Sterghios. 1969. ‘I thriskeftiko-ekklisiastiki katastasi stin Kriti ton 16o eona’ [The religious/church situation in Crete in the sixteenth century]. Kritika Hronika, 21: 134–52. Stewart, Charles and Rosalind Shaw (eds). 1994. Syncretism/Anti-Syncretism: The Politics of Religious Synthesis. New York: Routledge. Tafel, Gottlob Lukas Friedrich and Georg Martin Thomas (eds). 1856–57. Urkunden zur älteren Handels- und Staatsgeschichte der Republik Venedig: Mit besonderer Beziehung auf Byzanz und die Levante vom 9. bis zum Ausgang des 15. Jahrhunderts [Documents about the early history of trade and State of the Republic of Venice: With special reference on Byzantium and the Levant from the ninth to the end of the fifteenth century], 3 vols. Fontes rerum Austriacum pt. II: Diplomataria et acta, XII–XIV. Vienna; repr. Amsterdam, 1964. Tsirpanlis, Zacharias. 1967. To klirodotima tou kardinaliou Vissarionos ghia tous filenotikous tis venetokratoumenis Kritis [Cardinal Bessarion’s heritage for the supporters of the Church Union in Venetian Crete (1439–17th century)]. Thessaloniki. ———. 1995. Anekdota engrafa ghia tin Rodo ke tis Noties Sporades apo to arheio ton Ioanniton ippoton, 1421–1453 [Unpublished documents about Rhodes and Southern Sporades from the archive of the Knights Hospitallers]. Rhodes. Tzavara, Paraskevi. 1982. ‘I didymi ekklisia ton Aghion Vasileiou ke Spyridona sto Prasteio Manis’ [The twin church of Aghios Vasileios and Spyridon in Prasteio, Mani]. Ekklisies stin Ellada meta tin Alosi [Churches in Greece after Alosis], vol. 2: 327–36. Athens. Wallace, Anthony. 1972. ‘Revitalization Movements’, American Anthropologist, 58 (1956): 264–81 [repr. in Reader in Comparative Religion: An Anthropological Approach, ed. William Lessa and Evon Vogt. New York: Harper & Row]. Williams, Michael, Collett Cox and Martin Jaffee (eds). 1992. Innovation in Religious Traditions: Essays in the Interpretation of Religious Change. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Zerlendis, Periklis. 1922. Istorika simeiomata ek tou vivliou ton en Naxo Kapoukinon (1649–1753) [Historical notes from the book of the Capuchin monks of Naxos]. Ermoupolis.

Chapter 4

Religious Innovation or Political Strategy? The Rapprochements of the Archbishop of Syros, Alexandros Lykourgos (1827–1875), towards the Anglican Church Elisabeth Kontogiorgi

Alexandros Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros (1866–75), was the figure behind Greek Orthodoxy’s most important initiative towards a rapprochement with Anglicanism in the nineteenth century. Reaching out to the Church of England on his visit to Britain (December 1869–March 1870), Lykourgos met considerable critical acclaim from the Anglicans, who praised him for his candour and openness of spirit. Could Lykourgos be considered a ‘Pro-Protestant’ or even more an ‘innovative’ prelate, as has been claimed by some of his contemporaries, or was he a traditional Orthodox Christian figure? In which milieu did his ideas and initiatives take form? Were the religious factors preponderant over other ideological, nationalist and irredentist factors that may have determined his initiatives? To provide an answer to the above questions the present chapter relates the initiatives taken by Lykourgos in the ecclesiastical domain to the assumptions which then prevailed about the threat posed to Hellenism and to the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s rights as a result of the Pan-Slavist plans. The analysis shows how convoluted were the relationships between religion and national aspirations in south-eastern Europe, and international politics in the second half of the nineteenth century. The approach of this chapter is above all a historical one. The study draws systematically upon the documents contained in Lykourgos’ unpublished archives and makes use of other conventional sources – such as Ieromnimon, a theological quarterly periodical over which Lykourgos had exercised editorial control in the late 1850s. The analysis draws also upon the perspectives developed by important historical research in recent decades on the complex nature of Orthodoxy and on the relation of religion to nationalism in the second half of the nineteenth century. The study will attempt to show Lykourgos’ shared common ground with the traditional hierarch Constantine Oikonomos and Lykourgos’ independent step forward; his anti-Pan-Slavism and Russophobia; and the process of his involvement in the dialogue with the Anglicans and Old Catholics in the aim of attaining intercommunion and eventually a union of the Churches. Although every

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effort has been made to make the account as linear as possible, the subject matter has involved an unavoidable degree of complexity. Part one of this chapter presents and analyses Lykourgos’ ideas concerning the renewal of theological studies in Greece, as well as the challenges he had to face whilst identifying his motives in the process. Part two discusses his contacts with the Anglicans during his visit to England. It also explores his involvement in the Bulgarian question in order to engage critically with the other factors that contribute to an understanding of the causes of his efforts towards a rapprochement between the Greek and Anglican Churches. Part three approaches Lykourgos’ ideas and actions in terms of the extent to which they can be considered ‘innovative’ or not. In Lykourgos’ writings, using the language of Greek conservative theologians and churchmen, the term ‘innovation’ was viewed as a concept concerning intellectual inquiries into new approaches towards the development of theology and religious knowledge, rather than any form of deviation from the strict traditional principles of the Eastern Church. It is within such a context that the term ‘innovation’ is used in the present chapter. The short biographical information on Lykourgos below is useful in showing his background and personal trajectory that led him to develop his overall rationale on the idea of a rapprochement with Anglicanism. Alexandros Lykourgos was born in Samos in 1827, the last son of George Logothetis Lykourgos, the revolutionary leader of the Samians during the Greek War of Independence. Growing up in the years of the national uprising, Lykourgos developed an intense patriotic zeal. From very early on he felt that the ideals of the liberation struggle had remained unfulfilled, when the Great Powers decided (London Protocol of 10/22 March 1929) that Samos would not be included in the newly formed kingdom. When in 1834 Samos became an autonomous state within the Ottoman Empire under a Christian principal, his family soon left the island and from 1836 they settled in Athens. In 1845 Lykourgos, who had an inclination towards the academic and clerical life, enrolled in the School of Theology at the University of Athens, from which he graduated in 1850 after studying theology and philology. In Athens, he benefited from the tuition of Constantine Oikonomos, who happened to be a close family friend. Under the guidance of Oikonomos, whom he henceforth always regarded and referred to as his ‘teacher’, Lykourgos was introduced to an in-depth and analytical study of ancient Greek writers and Church Fathers; during these years he was also involved in a particular study of the patriarch of Constantinople Photius (857–67 and 877–86), the Great Schism of 1054 and the relationships between the Churches.1 Lykourgos’ correspondence records details of Oikonomos’ close association with his pupils: he maintained contact with them even during the 1

Archive of Alexander Lykourgos (henceforth A.A.L.), File 34, doc. 3, pp. 1–6 and doc. 4, pp. 1–6: two drafts of a curriculum vitae of Lykourgos; Mpalanos 1923: 41–67, 180–201; Kourilas-Lavriotis 1927–28: vol. 5, pp. 135–56, 328–41 and vol. 6, pp. 65–80; Polakis 1927; Zafeiris 1988: 133–6.

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period when they went to further their studies in German universities, constantly reminding them of their duty to resist being spiritually influenced by Protestantism.2 Oikonomos’ personality and the views he held in favour of the religious unity of the Greek nation and the preservation of the ecumenical spirit and unity of the Orthodox Church, his tenacity to tradition and his opposition to liberalism and missionary movements strongly influenced Lykourgos during this period.3 In 1850 the Ecumenical Patriarchate, which had initially refused to recognize the autocephalous Orthodox Church of Greece founded in 1833, eventually issued the Synodal Tomos of recognition and restoration of the canonical relationship with the Church of Greece. Lykourgos was among the first to attack Theoklitos Pharmakidis, publishing a polemical article in the newspaper Aion,4 when the latter wrote a treatise proposing the rejection of the Synodal Tomos on the argument that it was humiliating and dangerous for both the nation and the Church (Pharmakidis 1852). Lykourgos also wrote a leaflet, published anonymously in 1851, against the American missionary Rev. Jonas King, whose educational work at the school he had opened in Athens was seen by many conservative churchmen, led by Constantine Oikonomos, as a great threat to Orthodoxy.5 In 1852 Lykourgos obtained a scholarship under the auspices of Queen Amalia and, as was common among the majority of theologians of the time, went to continue his studies in Germany (Oikonomos 1896: 26–7), where he took courses in theology at Halle, Leipzig and Berlin between 1852 and 1858, obtaining his doctoral degree at Halle.6 In 1860 he was appointed assistant professor in the Faculty of Theology at the University of Athens, and in 1864 he was elected full professor. Nevertheless, his election took place in a climate of severe antagonism from other theologians who had studied in Russia and coveted the post at the university, accusing Lykourgos of being Pro-Protestant. In 1862 he had travelled to Jerusalem, where he was ordained deacon, priest and archimandrite by Patriarch Cyril II. He became Archbishop of Syros in 1866 (Kourilas-Lavriotis 1927–28; Konstantinidis 1962: 112–13). Lykourgos’ aspirations to broaden both the scope and character of theological studies at the University of Athens were opposed by several members in the Theology Faculty and the Holy Synod. He was accused of being a ‘Pro-Protestant rationalist’ and of ‘introducing innovations’ that ultimately could only lead to 2

A.A.L., File 16, doc. 10a, C. Oikonomos to Alexander Lykourgos, 15 April 1853. Lappas and Stamouli 1989: Introduction by K. Lappas, pp. μδ΄–μζ΄. 4 Aion, no. 1257 (1852); Mpalanos 1933: 42–8. 5 Elegchos tis kakodoxias tou psevdapostolou Iona King [Assessment of the misbelief of pseudoapostle Jonas King], Athens 1851; A.A.L., File 34, doc. 4. Lykourgos indicates that he wrote this leaflet following C. Oikonomos’ instruction. For Jonas King see Frazee 1969: 184. 6 Lykourgos’ doctoral dissertation was: Enthüllungen über den SimonidesDindorfschen Uranios [Disclosures regarding the Simonides-Dindorfschen Uranios], Leipzig: C.L. Fritzsche 1856. 3

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leaving Greek theologians exposed to criticism by other Orthodox (Konstantinidis 1962: 112–13).

The Need for a Theological Revival During his stay in Berlin in 1858, Lykourgos had participated in an oratorical seminar held by Professor David Frederick Strauss. In the speeches he delivered, Lykourgos sought to respond to Protestant criticism that the living faith (zosa pistis) had never been fervent in the Greek Church and that Eastern Orthodox Christianity represented an inflexible and stagnant religious system.7 On his return to Athens, Lykourgos, being aware that in German universities many spoke of the long sleep of theological studies in the Orthodox world, decided that it was time to refute such criticism. In 1859 he co-edited Ieromnimon with Antonios Moschatos, a fellow theologian. The journal aimed to provide a forum for Greek theologians to discuss ‘the promotion and development of theology’ and, in so doing, to fan pious sentiment among the faithful of the Eastern Orthodox Church. In the introduction the two editors, obviously concerned and provoked by Protestant criticism, called upon Greek Orthodox theologians to develop afresh a philosophical analysis of the patristic texts and Holy Scriptures as a means of rescuing the Eastern Church from its present stagnant condition and restoring it to the status it deserved (Ieromnimon 1859: ‘Preface’, pp. γ΄–ε΄). In the extended preface to the first issue of Ieromnimon – which, although unsigned, can be safely presumed to have been written for the most part by Lykourgos – he presents his main critique of the very concept of theology among his contemporary Greek Orthodox prelates and scholars, and explains how he conceives the development of theology and the means by which it could be attained. He subsequently provides a critical approach to one of the most important issues raised in the development of theology by the Protestants, namely the relationship between scientific thought and methodology as applicable to theology. Lykourgos also states that in Orthodox Christianity, and particularly in Greek academic circles, there are many who believe that the Eastern Church should remain intact and that Orthodoxy has no need of breaking new ground or of further development because of its linguistic immediacy to the scriptures and its intimacy with sacred tradition transcended from the early Fathers of the Church and the ‘divinely assembled holy Synods’. As a result, there is general intolerance towards different views among the circles who had established such a powerful and pervasive rhetoric, scorning and deprecating ‘innovations’ – that is, novelties – on sacred issues and all those who deviate from the traditional line, as well as any who attempt further analysis of the Holy Scriptures (os kainotomountas peri ta theia kai pros neoterismon apoklinontas) (Ieromnimon 1859: γ΄–δ΄). Lykourgos argues that this attitude originates either from ignorance or from an inclination 7

A.A.L., File 25, doc. 19, A. Lykourgos to B. Margelos, Berlin, 26 February 1858.

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of the proponents of the above ideas to constrain the theology of the Christian faith in its entirety in order to preserve the doctrines and customs as originally handed down to subsequent generations.8 He, therefore, calls for ‘a more precise understanding of the truth contained in the divine teaching’, and for philosophy to once more play a guiding role in Orthodox theology. Lykourgos goes on to suggest that the belief in the superiority of the Orthodox Church compared to other churches is rightly rooted in the preservation of Orthodoxy as a venerable evangelical faith. He also indicates that the continuation and preservation of doctrines and tradition by the faithful is both indispensable and beyond debate. However, he points out that religious sentiment can grow and faith can become a ‘living faith’ only when the faithful acquire a precise knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. This is clear, he argues, from the very history of the Church which flourished in periods when the Church Fathers, who were wise men with a profound knowledge of ancient philosophy and strength endowed to them by the Holy Spirit, elevated Christianity to a position of glory. He subsequently attributes the decline of the Orthodox Christian Church to the adverse or unfavourable conditions in the East during the long-lasting period of Ottoman occupation, which inhibited the development of a scientific approach to theology (Ieromnimon 1859: ε΄–στ΄). Even though Lykourgos asserts that the dogma and the holy truth of the faith are eternal and perpetual, he considers that the human mind can receive and comprehend them according to the degree of its development. This is contingent on context, he states, and if the Church is to consolidate truth and cast out anything that prevents the faithful ‘from attaining the Lord’s knowledge’, then it must develop a proper scientific approach to theology. Quoting the Church Fathers Clement of Alexandria and Origen in support of his arguments, he argues that philosophy is an inherent and pertinent aspect of science, so theology cannot fulfil its purpose as a science without the former (Ieromnimon 1859: ε΄–ιζ΄, passim). Lykourgos proceeds on a systematic presentation of issues related to the interpretation of the Scriptures, and argues in favour of an interpretive framework based on reason and philosophical analysis. However, he faithfully adheres to the approaches used by the Church Fathers, as designated by the Patristic texts themselves, whereby he views philosophy, which he considers as the source of all sciences, and reason as the means for promoting a more profound understanding (Ieromnimon 1859, pp. ζ΄-κθ΄). Lykourgos further writes that the development of theology is possible only after the reintroduction of philosophical methods and concepts and in a spirit of liberty, but he is setting a limit to that freedom by stating: ‘we shall need the Church Fathers as our guides in all things’ (Ieromnimon 1859: ‘Preface’, pp. λγ΄). This was not the only instance of Lykourgos’ prolific way of thinking. Equally interesting is the correspondence he maintained while in Germany with Vasileios 8 Ieromnimon 1859: δ΄ and λστ΄ (Notes in the Preface). Lykourgos characterizes as ‘idiots’ those ‘who orated on matters they totally ignored’.

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Margelos, his brother-in-law, on a point of importance for the revival of a ‘living faith’ which reveals an implicit approval of the rationalism and liberalism of German Lutherans.9 In one of these letters, where Lykourgos expressed his views on improving the education of pupils studying for the priesthood at the Rizarios School, where he was offered a position upon his return from Germany, he pointed out that: where Lutherans have reason as a measure of research, Catholics have the Church. The Lutherans’ reason proceeds towards the truth, unhindered and free, but the Catholic Church restricts the mind and enslaves it to superstition and illusion. This is why, wherever there are Catholics, the theoretical sciences are dimmed by superstition.10

In his proposals concerning teaching procedures at the School, he extended his critique to the way in which Orthodox clerics were trained in Russia. He stressed that the Rizarios School should not seek an exact imitation of the Russian seminaries, where the students acquired a limited knowledge pertaining more to practical than academic matters. However, since it was the mission of the Rizarios School to produce clerics who would serve the Church and subsume all notions to the teachings of Christ, Lykourgos suggested that the mind must not be given maximum freedom in the Lutheran manner because this would jeopardize that goal. In his opinion ‘one must select the middle way, thereby avoiding the hazards of both extremes’.11 The influence of Western Protestantism, and through it the presence of a conservative version of Enlightenment, as described by Jonathan Israel – in which ‘the main emphasis was on finding ways to reconcile reason and faith, innovation with tradition, and individual freedom of thought with authority’ (Israel 2005: 99) – is readily discernible in Lykourgos’ writings. He clearly distinguishes himself from conservative Orthodox religious circles, which viewed any changes to established practices with great suspicion. On the other hand he stresses that the preservation of doctrine and tradition is essential. Although his arguments are not always free from contradictions, they clearly indicate that he was in favour of theological renewal and progress, his primary goal being for the Protestants to acknowledge both the contributions of the Greek Orthodox Church to Christianity and its potential for further development. With its open horizons for research, Berlin undoubtedly helped Lykourgos broaden the scope of his education. His ideological choices were, however, 9

A.A.L., File 25, doc. 5, A. Lykourgos to B. Margelos, Leipzig, 17 January 1855; and doc. 20, Lykourgos to Margelos, Leipzig, 7 May 1858, where he expressed his admiration for the Protestant professor of theology Georg Benedikt Winer. On Lykourgos’ applause for Winer see also Ieromnimon 1859: ‘Preface: notes’, pp. μβ–μγ΄. 10 A.A.L., File 25, doc. 6, A. Lykourgos to B. Margelos, Halle, 30 May 1856, pp. 1–4. 11 Ibid.

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moulded according to two other factors, apart from his awareness of the Greek Orthodox Church’s far from positive image in the Western imagination. Firstly, the urgent need at that historical juncture for the inclusion of Modern Greece in a ‘civilized and enlightened’ Europe, which had formed its cultural and political doctrines in the light of classical Greece. Secondly, the determination of Russian Pan-Slavists to undermine the position of the Ecumenical Patriarchate by stirring up Balkan nationalisms against Greek national interests. Lykourgos’ determination to connect theology (or Orthodox Christianity) with philosophy should be analysed in the context of efforts made by Greek intellectuals in Athens and Constantinople during the 1850s and 1860s to articulate a convincing interpretation of their national past through a reconceptualization of the relationship between classical civilization and Christianity and the incorporation of Byzantium into the national narrative. Philosophy was considered a field of knowledge through which Greek ancient wisdom could be reclaimed (Makrides 2009: 177–80). Modern Greeks needed to overcome the contradictions which had emerged around the concept of ‘Hellenism’. In 1852 Spyridon Zambelios coined the term ‘Helleno-Christian’, which referred to the privileged relationship developed through a long process whereby pre-Christian and Christian elements intermingled and interacted between the Modern Greek nation and ancient Greek civilization and Orthodoxy (Zambelios 1852). In 1853 the national historian Konstantinos Paparrigopoulos established the idea of the continuity of Hellenism since ancient times, highlighting the importance of the Greek Byzantine period. Paparrigopoulos argued in his major treatise History of the Greek Nation (1860–74) that, far from being mutually exclusive, the concepts of Hellenism and Christianity were actually mutually inclusive (Dimaras 1986). Byzantine controversies, which had been prevalent in the Church since the time of Patriarch Photius over the possible threat of an overly zealous interest in classical philosophy to Orthodox dogma, were thus reinterpreted in the 1850s and 1860s in light of new interpretations of the term ‘Helleno-Christian’ (Gazi 2006: 144–9). Moreover, in 1853, in an article published in the journal Pandora, Paparrigopoulos ventured to compare the Greek Orthodox Church to the other two main Christian churches in his endeavours to defend Orthodoxy and Hellenism; and, in so doing, to reinstate both on historical grounds to their justly deserved privileged position in the East (Pandora 1853: 17). At the end of his article, Paparrigopoulos states that the Greek nation has a threefold mission to accomplish in its historical progress and ‘it is this nation that is to preside over the revival of the East in modern times’ (Pandora 1853: 17; Skopetea 1988: 181). The comparison of the three churches and the mission of the Helleno-Christian civilization were further elaborated by Gregory of Byzantium, Metropolitan of Chios in the following decade.12

12

Gregory of Byzantium (Alexandros Pavlides, 1860–77). In 1863 he was the Chief

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In the context of the Eastern Church’s efforts to block the progress of the various proselytizing groups, Gregory of Byzantium published the treatise Voice of Orthodoxy in 1863, a theoretical polemic against Papism and Protestantism – which it describes as ‘heresies’. In this work he examines the relationship between faith (authority) and reason (logos) and argues that only Orthodoxy achieves harmony between them; for its part, Papism is dominated by ‘an intellectual tyranny and a refutation of logical and academic inquiries’, while in Protestantism ‘reason prevails over faith’. The Anglican Church was exempted from the criticism addressed to Protestantism for it alone had vigorously resisted Calvinism, respected the ancient Greek tradition and accepted the first four Ecumenical Synods. Although Gregory of Byzantium notes that the Orthodox leanings of Anglicanism were inhibited by the introduction of the 39 chapters under Edward VI and Elizabeth, he nonetheless believes that the Anglican Church, as being closest akin to Orthodoxy, could reinitiate the negotiations on union.13 His conviction that union could be achieved ‘through dispassionate discussions conducted in a spirit of Christian love’ was bolstered, he writes, by numerous English scholars who described themselves as fascinated by and drawn to the Eastern Church in their works (Gregory of Byzantium 1863: 7–13). Gregory’s essays on the project of union of the Anglican and the Orthodox Churches were translated into English by Rev. George Williams and were published in the journal Occasional Paper of the Eastern Churches Association (nos. 3 and 4, 1866 and 1867). Gregory’s writings highlighted the close spiritual bonds between the English and Greek nations and contributed to the dissemination among the English people of the idea that the Greeks were superior to the other Orthodox in the East. As he argued, the New Testament was written in Greek, a language preserved untainted by Orthodoxy, and Greek people were charged with the unique mission of safeguarding the fundamental principles of the Helleno-Christian civilization. Moreover, he promoted the ideology that the Church could, if not should, play a central role in Greece’s national and social life during the second half of the nineteenth century. Lykourgos was of the same opinion, as we shall see below. In the nineteenth century, with the advent of nationalism and romanticism, nationalistic discourse in both centres of Orthodoxy, Russia and Greece, assigned new meanings to century-old bonds, common traditions and the mutual exchange that typified the relationship between post-Byzantine Hellenism and the peoples of eastern and south-eastern Europe (Kitromilides 1989: 29–46). By the third decade of the nineteenth century, according to Slavophile discourse in Russia, it was the

Secretary of the Holy Synod in Constantinople and responsible for drawing up the ‘General Regulations’ for the Ecumenical Patriarchate. 13 Such negotiations were interrupted in 1723 under the Patriarch of Constantinople, Ieremias.

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Russian Church alone that had kept Orthodoxy ‘alive and pure’. A. Khomyakov14 conceded that Orthodoxy (during the Byzantine period) had provided old Russia with a spiritual homogeneity and coherence, and ushered in a better era for the Russian people, but stressed the difference between Greek and Russian Orthodoxy. In 1839 Khomyakov sought to detract the contributions of the Byzantine and post-Byzantine Greek world to the Russians by stressing the moral superiority of Russian Orthodoxy, which broke off from Greek Orthodoxy, thus forcing the latter to take second place; it also simultaneously depicted Greek people as devoid of any virtue, characterized by egotism and individualism (Dialla 2009). The Anglicans were aware of Khomyakov’s views through direct correspondence and discussions with him.15 In the late nineteenth century, other Russian ecclesiastical writers attempted a systematic and radical reworking of Russian Church history with a view to minimizing the contributions of Greek clerics and underscoring every instance of corruption (Kitromilides 1989: 45–6). In the context of a flourishing Greek nationalism boosted by the rivalry created by the Bulgarian question, the Greek side emphasized the spiritual contribution of Hellenism to the Orthodox world; at the same time it disparaged the Russian contribution in order to draw attention to the rights of the Greeks in the area to which the Bulgarians also laid claim, and to have these rights acknowledged, primarily by the British.

Lykourgos’ Encounter with Polyssadof and Anti-Pan-Slavism In Berlin Lykourgos was obliged not only to refute the accusations of the Protestants, but also those of the priest at the Russian Embassy, Polyssadof. He was apparently displeased with Lykourgos because of his speech at the Strauss seminar, which, according to Polyssadof, had underrated, the significance of the Orthodox Confession of the Catholic and Apostolic Eastern Church, produced in 1640 by Peter Mogilas, Metropolitan of Kiev and father of Russian theology.16 In retaliation, under a pseudonym, Polyssadof circulated libellous accusations in 1858 and wrote in Greek that Lykourgos was a ‘Protestantizing rationalist’. Two years later, Lykourgos wrote in Ieromnimon that Polyssadof was motivated solely by Pan-Slavist theories and his aspiration to have the rights and privileges enjoyed by the Greek Church transferred to the Russian Church on the grounds that the 14 Alexey Stepanovich Khomyakov (1804–60) was the co-founder of the Pan-Slavist movement along with Ivan Kireyevsky and one of its most distinguished theoreticians. The Russian intelligentsia used the term Slavophile movement – or Slavic issue or Slavic idea – instead of what was called aggressive expansionary Pan-Slavism in Greece and Europe. See Dialla 2009: 46–9, 125–9. 15 The ‘Eastern Church Association’ had translated and disseminated Khomyakov’s views in Britain through its journal Occasional Paper. 16 See http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/creeds1.v.vi.html.

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latter was numerically the largest Orthodox Church. Moreover, by emphasizing the significance of Mogilas’ Orthodox Confession, he wanted to prove that the Russian Church had further developed theology, as the Protestants had already done, whereas the Greek Church was comparatively static and devoid of any theoretical enquiry (Lykourgos 1860: 170–224). Convinced that the greatest threat to the Eastern Greek Church and Hellenism’s ‘rightful’ interests in the southern Balkan regions under Ottoman domination came not from the West but from the North and the Pan-Slavist Russians, Lykourgos became henceforth one of their most acerbic opponents, throwing himself heart and soul into weakening their influence, foiling their ‘machinations’ and protecting the Greek Church from the Slavic threat. Ieromnimon was founded to provide a journal for scholarship which was on a par with German or European standards, but ultimately to combat the Pan-Slavists and condemn Greek theologians who had adopted a pro-Russian or moderate stance.17 The journal expressed anti-Pan-Slavist views in the context of the discourse on the Slavic threat and Russian policy, which was well developed in both centres of Hellenism (Athens and Constantinople) since the anonymous publication of the pamphlet Hellenismos or Rossismos in 1854.18 Lykourgos played a noteworthy role in shaping these views. He condemned Russian foreign policy and the ambitions of the Pan-Slavists in two polemical articles in Ieromnimon, denouncing Russian and pro-Russian theologians and their attempts to lessen his influence by branding him a ‘Lutheran’ and a ‘rationalist’ and condemning his teachings on the divine inspiration of the Scriptures. He furthermore tried to counter Polyssadof’s argument that the Greek Church was so weak numerically that it had to recognize the Russian Church’s superiority and seek Russia’s diplomatic support by claiming the unique spiritual foundations of the Greek Church (Lykourgos 1860: 219–20). Moreover, Lykourgos underlined how for the Europeans their contact with the Greek Eastern Orthodox Church was indispensable for understanding the essence of both the language and the spirit of the Greek world. ‘The more fervently people communicate with our church,’ he wrote, the more their understanding of Christianity will be perfected. A foreigner, even one who numbers among the wisest, will understand the spirit of the language and Hellenism itself more easily if he enters into meaningful contact with the

17 Lykourgos’ fervour was fuelled by his stand-off with Polyssadof, but also by the fact that his appointment to the Theology Faculty at the University of Athens had been obstructed by pro-Russian circles, and by Panagiotis Rombotis in particular. On that issue see Ieromnimon 1861: 353–444 and passim. 18 Dimaras 1982: 383–8; the author of the pamphlet was K. Dosios from the milieu of Theoklitos Pharmakides. For specific developments in the ideological, political and ecclesiastical spheres in Greece following the publication of this pamphlet see also Skopetea 1988: 287–336 and Kremmydas 2010: 49–57.

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Greek nation in which both Hellenism and its language are still preserved and continue to be passed down from generation to generation. (Lykourgos 1860: 219–20)

In 1861, while Lykourgos was visiting Constantinople before moving to Jerusalem to be ordained, he met Gregory of Byzantium, who was a childhood friend;19 the Patriarch, Gregory VI; and Heroklis Vassiadis,20 a fervent supporter of Greek attempts to get closer to England. During his stay in Constantinople, Lykourgos was informed of the unfortunate position the Patriarchy found itself in as a result of the Bulgarian question.21 From this time on he undertook the mission to attempt to muster English support for the Greek nation’s struggles against the Pan-Slavists, who were sowing discord and division among the Orthodox peoples of the East in order to promote their own political ends. In December 1869, as Archbishop of Syros, he sailed to England following a request to the Holy Synod by the Greeks residing in Liverpool to send a Greek hierarch for the consecration of the newly erected Orthodox Church of St Nicolas. The next section shows that in England he undertook a more important task, that of bringing about an improvement in relations between the Anglican and Greek Orthodox Churches and persuading the religious and political leadership of the British Empire of the veracity of this Greek line of policy.

Lykourgos’ Visit to England (1870): The Rapprochement between the Anglican and the Greek Eastern Churches during the Period of the Bulgarian Question The first significant theological encounter between the Orthodox and the Anglican Churches took place in 1870 during Lykourgos’ visit to England.22 His welcome in Britain was exceptionally warm. At the urging of the Eastern Churches Association, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Archibald Campbell Tait, appointed George 19 The two prelates had met when they were children and corresponded regularly at least between 1866 and 1875. A.A.L., File 47. 20 Vassiadis played the principal role in founding Constantinople’s Greek Philological Society in 1861 in the aim of spreading the Greek language to all the Orthodox peoples of the Ottoman Empire, irrespective of race or language, thus preparing them for fraternal union and the formation of a unitary and indivisible Christian Orthodox state (Vassiadis 2007). 21 As Gregory of Byzantium has analysed it in his ‘Essay on the canonical jurisdiction of the throne of the Ecumenical Patriarchy over the Bulgarian Church’, published in The Voice of Orthodoxy (Constantinople, 1863). Lykourgos often referred to this work in his anti-Pan-Slavist writings in Ieromnimon. 22 On Orthodox–Anglican relations see Karmiris 1937, Stavridis 1961: 475–95, Altholz 2002/03: 1–14, Kontogiorgi 2008.

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Williams as official guide to Lykourgos. In the span of the three months he stayed in England, the Greek prelate was received by the Archbishops of Canterbury and York and numerous other bishops and distinguished theologians. He was also invited to dinner by Gladstone, and met Lord Salisbury, Stratford Canning and several eminent members of the English laity. He was also presented to Queen Victoria and received doctorates from both Oxford and Cambridge Universities. (A.A.L., File 3, Skene 1877: 74–105, 116 and Akylas 1901: 64–71). The most important event towards the rapprochement of the two Churches was a conference at the palace of the Bishop of Ely, Harold Brown, on 4 February 1870.23 During this conference the prelates of the two Churches systematically discussed the points on which Anglicanism and Orthodoxy differed. A broad range of issues emerged, some of which (such as the celibacy of prelates) it was agreed were to take second place to issues that were more favourable for discussion. It was also agreed to discuss what had long been the ‘apple of discord’ between East and West, the ‘filioque’ clause of the ‘Credo’ causing the Schism of the Roman Catholic Church from the Eastern Orthodox in 1054.24 There was discussion on issues ranging from the holy Eucharist and the Sacraments, from transubstantiation25 and sainthood to issues, such as prayer and iconography. Lykourgos expressed his earnest desire for the unification of the Greek and Anglican Churches, and thought that both could overcome unessential objections (even transubstantiation), but pointed out that the Procession of the Holy Spirit (filioque) remained a fundamental problematic issue because ‘there cannot be unity without harmony of creed’ (Williams 1872). There were several reasons for the exceptionally warm reception of the Archbishop of Syros in England. The Tractarian movement26 and the midnineteenth century renaissance of Roman Catholicism in England – coupled with the rise of Ultramontanism,27 the First Vatican Council (1870) and the dogma of papal infallibility, as well as frequent contacts between many notable 23

Ta Praktika tis Synentefxeos tis labousis choran en to palatio en Ely, tin Paraskevin 4 Febrouariou 1870 [Proceedings of the Conference held at the Palace of Ely on Friday 4 February 1870] (Constantinople, 1874). 24 The addition of filioque (the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Son) to the Creed of Nicaea-Constantinople was the most serious cause of the 1054 Schism. 25 Transubstantiation, in Christianity, is the change by which the substance (though not the appearance) of the bread and wine in the Eucharist becomes Christ’s real presence – that is, his body and blood. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/603196/ transubstantiation. 26 The Tractarian or Oxford movement began in 1833 with the Rev. John Keble’s sermon ‘National Apostasy’, which attacked Parliament’s plan to disestablish the Anglican Church of Ireland in that largely Roman Catholic country. See Nockles 1994 and Skinner 2004, where a rich bibliography is provided. 27 Ultramontanism is a religious philosophy within the Roman Catholic community that places strong emphasis on the prerogatives and powers of the Pope. It was reinforced with the pronouncement of papal infallibility – that is, the ability of the Pope to define dogmas free from error ex cathedra – and of papal supremacy at the First Vatican Council.

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figures among the Anglican and Old Catholic clergy and laity28 – had prepared a fertile ground for a rapprochement and true communication with the Eastern Church. This rapprochement may be seen as the climax of long-standing Anglican concerns regarding the Church of Rome. The foundation in 1864 of the Eastern Churches Association in England, under the influence of John Mason Neale, and the publication of its journal, Occasional Paper of the Eastern Church Association, had contributed in spreading a sympathetic understanding of Orthodox Churches and theology in England. Furthermore, the Anglican favourable inclination towards unity with the Eastern Church, culminating in 1870 during Lykourgos’ visit to England, was most likely linked to the formation of a British ‘national identity’ during the nineteenth century, as well as with a growing belief among members of the liberal conservative circle around Gladstone, philhellenes, HighAnglican churchmen and eminent laymen, that the prospect of Ottoman dissolution was neither faint nor unrealistic. Therefore, Britain had to consider an alternative variable in the Eastern question to the dogma of the preservation of the Ottoman Empire (Robbins 1993: 85–103; Kontogiorgi 2008: 35–109). Before his return to his duties in Syros, Lykourgos went to Constantinople to report to the Patriarch of Constantinople, Gregory VI, and to the eminent prelates and laymen the result of his contacts with the Anglicans. On 20 April 1870 the Patriarch wrote to the Archbishop of Canterbury that Lykourgos had conveyed to him at length ‘all the good things that were said of our unworthy self, both by your holiness, whom we highly regard in Christ’ and amongst others ‘by the most eminent and distinguished Lords, Gladstone and Stratford Canning. … These things’, he concluded ‘straighten, smooth, and prepare before hand, the ways and paths of the Spiritual Unity of the faithful everywhere’ (Report 1871). Most of the Patriarchs of the Eastern Churches and the Holy Synod of Greece also wrote to Archbishop Tait to express their gratitude for the honour paid to the Archbishop of Syros.29 It is interesting to note that these letters refer only to the conversations that Lykourgos had with Gladstone and Stratford Canning, thus indicating that for the Eastern Church the rapprochement between the two Churches was viewed as a matter of political expediency. This is further illustrated in the letter sent by the Patriarch of Constantinople to Lykourgos on 21 July 1870 in which he applauds his zeal and efforts to inform British politicians on the political implications of the Bulgarian question (see below), and to protect the Greek Eastern Church During the nineteenth century the Ultramontanist movement acted as a counterbalance to increasing state power and secularization in Europe. 28 The Old Catholic movement arose from the refusal of many Catholic bishops and laymen, mainly in the Germanic countries, to accept the new dogma of the infallibility and universal ordinary jurisdiction of the Pope of Rome as defined by the Vatican Council of 1870. The most well-known spokesperson of the movement was J.J.I. von Döllinger (1799–1890) (Moss 1948). 29 A.A.L., File 3, doc. 117α΄–117δ΄, pp. 1–19, A. Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros, to the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, Syros, 12 May 1870.

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from rivals by dispelling rampant rumours in Great Britain which accused the Patriarchate of intransigence.30 The Bulgarian question, although it comprised an ecclesiastical issue, was essentially political and dramatized the impact of nationalist ideas upon Balkan politics. The advent of Bulgarian nationalism, seeking to establish a separate church as a first step towards the accomplishment of its independent state, provoked the strong opposition of the Patriarchate, which condemned such an initiative as uncanonical and as being motivated merely by nationalist considerations instigated by the Russian ambassador in Constantinople, N.P. Ignatiev, acting in the interest of Pan-Slavism (Meininger 1970; Dialla 2009: 177–83). The Patriarch referred the Turkish ministers to the canons (ecclesiastical rules) of the Orthodox Church, pointing out that the establishment of the Bulgarian Church constituted a defiance of these canons, according to which an autocephalous church could be created only within the boundaries of a sovereign state with each diocese having only one bishop. However, on 11 March 1870 a firman created a Bulgarian Exarchate comprising the vilayet of the Danube (except Varna and several other non-Bulgarian towns), but including Nish and Pirot. Bulgarian prelates were put in place by the Exarchate alongside the prelates of the Patriarchate. More importantly one of the political repercussions was a provision in the firman that allowed other regions to pass under the jurisdiction of the Exarchate, given that two-thirds of their inhabitants had so desired. The Patriarchate attempted to annul the execution of the firman and was successful in postponing the appointment of the first Bulgarian Exarch for two years. However, in 1872 the Exarchs resided in Constantinople, thus, accentuating their claim for an ecclesiastical jurisdiction over all the Bulgars of the Ottoman Empire. In August 1872 the Ecumenical Patriarch – along with the other Patriarchs of Alexandreia, Antioch and Jerusalem and the Archbishop of Cyprus – convened the Great Synod that condemned the Exarchists for having introduced ‘phyletism’ in the Church, which essentially meant nationalism, and excommunicated the Exarchate and its clergy and followers as schismatics.31

Lykourgos’ Anti-Pan-Slavist Efforts, 1870–75 On his return from England, Lykourgos was convinced that the Church’s involvement in the political and diplomatic sphere was the only hope for the promotion of Greek national goals since the politicians were either ‘corrupt or incapable of carrying out their task’.32 As early as February 1870, he wrote to A.A.L., File 3, doc. 117β΄. Gregory VI, Patriarch of Constantinople to A.C. Tait, Archbishop of Canterbury [June 1870]. 31 On the Bulgarian question see Dontas 1966; Kofos 1975; Matalas 2002; Stamatopoulos 2003. 32 A.A.L., File 44, doc. 168, A. Lykourgos to M. Sakellarios, Cambridge, 5 February 1870. 30

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Sakellarios, a close friend and journalist: ‘Behold all the activity brought about by the presence of a humble representative of the Eastern Church, such as all the politicians in Greece together would not rouse were they to visit England. So let the Greeks realize that if anything of benefit to the nation is to happen, it will come about through the Church.’33 In the following years he made every effort to reassure England that both Greek society and the Church were favourably predisposed towards the seafaring island. His correspondence with Gladstone continued and the two discussed the implications of the Bulgarian question and the issue of rapprochement and unity of their two Churches with the Old Catholics. It is within this changing socio-political and ecclesiastical context that Lykourgos’ subsequent proposal to the Holy Synod could be understood, which otherwise could have been readily misconstrued as being a display of his inclination towards Protestantism. In January 1872 Lykourgos received a letter from Gladstone informing him that the Prince of Wales, who had caught typhoid and was desperately ill for the first two weeks of December, had miraculously been cured before Christmas. Under the Queen’s orders a national service of thanksgiving for his recovery was to be held at St Paul’s Cathedral (London) in February 1872 (Shannon 2007: 243–4). Lykourgos responded by immediately informing the President of the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece and suggesting that a similar doxology take place in Athens. He proposed that such a gesture ‘would not only be harmless, but could constitute an indication of unforgettable gratitude to England’ since two years earlier in England his person was treated with significant honours through which was expressed the extreme respect of the Anglicans towards the Greek Orthodox Church.34 Lykourgos’ proposal was rejected by the Holy Synod of Greece as being entirely out of compliance with the canons of the Church.35 The president of the Holy Synod responded that the members of the Synod had decided against the request ‘so as to avoid the potential misunderstanding of supplication in favour of a Protestant, who is not the ruler of Greece’.36 Nevertheless, a festive service of thanksgiving for the Prince’s recuperation was duly held with full grandeur in Constantinople on Easter Monday in April 1872 with the full support of the Patriarch, who in fact forwarded a letter to the British Embassy expressing the gratitude of the Greek community and Patriarchate towards the English nation and 33

Ibid. A.A.L., File 46, doc. 287, p. 1, A. Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros, to the President of the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, Theofilos, Metropolitan of Athens, n.d. [10 February 1972]. 35 A.A.L., File 46, doc. 288, pp. 1–2, Theofilos, Metropolitan of Athens, President of the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, to A. Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros, 11 February 1972. 36 A.A.L., File 46, doc. 164, pp. 1–4, Antonios, Archbishop of Corfu (Athens), to A. Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros, March 1872. 34

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the Anglican Church for their benevolent attitude and cordiality. The service was ministered by the fervent supporter of the Bulgarian Schism and recently elected prelate to the Metropolitan throne of Caesarea, E. Kleovoulos, who praised the virtues of the English nation, the English state and the Anglican Church in his opening speech. He also made reference to Lykourgos’ visit to England, which he termed an ‘engagement of the two churches desirous of rapprochement, discourse and union’.37 In July 1872, in response to the Great Synod convened by the Patriarch of Constantinople, Lykourgos travelled to Constantinople to take part unofficially in talks among the Patriarchs on the issue created by the establishment of the Bulgarian Exarchate and on the measures to be adopted. The ‘mission’ of his travel to Constantinople was to exert his influence on his spiritual father, Cyril II, Patriarch of Jerusalem, not to oppose the condemnation of the Exarchists. Ignatiev and the Russian ambassador in Athens tried to impede Lykourgos’ visit to Constantinople. When King George put pressure on Dimitrios Voulgaris’ government to send the Russophile metropolitan of Corfu, Antonios Chariatis, to Constantinople instead of Lykourgos, Voulgaris resigned. The new Prime Minister, Epameinontas Deligiorgis, supported Lykourgos, who obtained a passport in order to travel to Mount Athos via Constantinople.38 Lykourgos was involved, though unofficially, in the procedures of the Great Synod and collaborated with Theophilos Vryennios, professor of theology, Nikiforos Kalogeras, professor at the University of Athens and Secretary of the Holy Synod, and the poet Elias Tantalides in the composition of the Oros (term) in which the Synod condemned the introduction of ‘phyletism’ into the Eastern Church and declared the bishops, clerics and secular supporters of the Bulgarian Exarchate as schismatics.39 Lykourgos corresponded with Gladstone throughout this period, informing him of developments in Constantinople and striving to convince him that the efforts on the part of Bulgarian nationalists to establish a Bulgarian Church independent of the Patriarchate had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with politics and Pan-Slavist Russian expansionist objectives. In June 1872 he wrote to Gladstone: 37 Matalas 2002: 37, 315–16; the Patriarch’s letter to the British Embassy was published in Ecclesiastiki Epitheorisis, 2nd period, vol. 2, pp. 167–70. In the A.A.L. there is no direct evidence of whether this event was proposed by Lykourgos or was the Patriarch’s own initiative. From Lykourgos’ correspondence with the pro-Schismatic circles in Constantinople contained in files 42 and 43 it is clear that he was in constant contact with the Patriarchate and all the Protagonists of the Bulgarian Schism. 38 Cyril II argued against the Schism and insisted on maintaining good relations with the Russians because the financial support they provided to the Patriarchate of Jerusalem was greatly needed after the considerable losses of its income following the confiscation of its land property (metochia) in Romania by Kuzas. See A.A.L., File 43, doc 118. 39 A.A.L., File 42, doc. 41, Anthimos VI, Patriarch of Constantinople to the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, 4 October 1872.

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I venture to repeat that it is most necessary that England should direct the greatest attention towards all the movements of Pan-Slavism, and that by its influence it should shield the Patriarchate in Constantinople from all infringements of its rights by Turkey. If Russia is allowed to pursue its way unchecked, the consequences will before long be most sad, and a remedy will be very difficult.40

Lykourgos, furthermore, pointed out that if Britain persisted in its indifference, Russia would remain unhindered to increase its influence in Antioch and Jerusalem, while Thrace and Macedonia would undoubtedly become Slavic provinces, which he equated with Russian domination. His aim was to secure the support of the British Embassy in Constantinople while the Great Synod convened by the Ecumenical Patriarchate was in session, or at least to prevent British reactions during the drafting of the Oros. Lykourgos’ views, which were in discrepancy with his efforts to bring about the union of the Churches, troubled Gladstone, who would write to him: ‘I am convinced that without powerful reasons for doing so, you would not want to pursue an unconsidered policy … that would lead to an official schism’ between the Orthodox Churches. Lykourgos replied that it was the Russian Church that was responsible for destroying Orthodox unity by supporting the Bulgarian Church and Bulgarian national aspirations.41 He then pleaded with Gladstone to act immediately and to assist him in fulfilling his mission in Constantinople (Skene 1877: 144–6). Lykourgos’ arguments had a marked influence in shaping the British statesman’s views on the Bulgarian Schism. This is clear from a confidential letter that Gladstone sent to Lykourgos informing him that he had corresponded with the British Embassy in Constantinople drawing special attention to the Pan-Slavist threat to British interests in the East and putting forward the Greeks as counterweight.42 Over the next few years Lykourgos worked systematically to undermine Anglican and Old Catholic interests in the Russian Church, which was numerically larger and exerted a greater influence on unionist Europeans. Drawing his arguments from the different cultural and ethnic traditions of the Greek and Russian Churches and stressing the differences between the Greek and the Scythian (that is, Russian) spirit, he disparaged the Russian Orthodox Church, which he presented as incapable of understanding the texts of the Greek founding fathers, whose spirit was accessible only to enlightened (meaning European and Greek) peoples. Following the Bonn conference in 1875, Lykourgos had his close friend and journalist, Sakellarios, publish a phrase Gladstone had used in a letter 40

A.A.L., File 2, doc. 13, Letter by Alexander, Archbishop of Syros and Tenos, to W.E. Gladstone, Syros, 28 June 1872, pp. 1–11. It has been translated from German into English and published in Skene 1877: Appendix I, p. 146. 41 A.A.L., Files 1 and 2, Correspondence between A. Lykourgos and W.E. Gladstone. See also Skene 1877: 144–6. 42 A.A.L., File 1, doc. 9, W.E. Gladstone to Alexander, Archbishop of Syros and Tenos, 27 November 1871, pp. 1–7 (confidential letter).

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addressed to him in which he expressed his certainty that it was the Greek Church that could best provide the support needed by the Old Catholics and all those struggling against the Vatican and for the union of the Churches. ‘All in all, as I have seen and understood, the spirit of the Russian Church is more narrow than that of the Greek, which is so much more ancient and official. These works (that is the rapprochement of the churches) are the products of a less narrow and more enlightened spirit.’ 43

Can Lykourgos’ Ideas and Actions Be Considered ‘Innovative’? Lykourgos was a prominent Greek Orthodox hierarch and few of his contemporary fellows were more widely known or esteemed more highly by the Protestant Churches of Europe and America.44 As the following examples illustrate, the English prelates and politicians praised the openness of his mind, his zeal and his efforts to bring the Anglican and the Eastern Churches together. The Bishop of Lincoln, Christopher Wordsworth, wrote that, although Lykourgos was adamant on issues regarding the doctrine and the canons of Orthodoxy, he nevertheless demonstrated an open spirit.45 Gladstone remarked that Lykourgos promoted communication between the Anglican and Greek Churches and dispelled differences and prejudices present in both churches. On learning of the prelate’s death, Gladstone wrote that he considered his absence an ‘inestimable blow’ not only for the Greeks and their Church, but also for the whole of Christendom.46 Frederika Bremer, the Swedish feminist writer and traveller who had met Lykourgos in Athens in 1859, praised his efforts to reawaken the recumbent spirit of the Greek Church and invigorate theological studies by applying the methods used by the Evangelicals to his own approach of teaching at the University of Athens.47 Friedrich August Hildner, the German Anglican missionary who was director of the Philhellenic Paidagogion in Syros, had also commented that Lykourgos, as Archbishop of the Orthodox Church, had always been favourably predisposed towards him and the school; therefore, Hildner felt they were connected by an ‘internal relationship’.48

43

A.A.L., File 32, doc. 59, A. Lykourgos to M. Sakellarios, Syros, 1875. See A.A.L., File 31, docs 4 and 20. 45 Wordsworth 1879: 285. 46 A.A.L., File 44, doc. 1, pp. 678–80: Extract from the newspaper Asty [The City], E. Roidis’ article ‘Mia epistoli tou Gladstonos’, 29 Μay 1898. 47 See Bremer 1863; translated into Greek by Maria Kyriakidou, I Ellada kai oi Ellines tin epochi tou Othona (Athens, 2000), vol. 1, p. 339. 48 The Philhellenic Paidagogion, an educational institution established by the Anglican Church Missionary Society in Hermoupolis (Syros) in 1830, was based on the pattern of the European Enlightenment and, over its period of operation until 1877, was 44

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In the works discussed in the first part of this chapter, Lykourgos stressed the importance of analysing and understanding the scriptures because he was convinced that rigid dogmatic belief was insufficient in itself for the development of theology and that the individual could attain a true Christian experience not simply through faith, but through in-depth theological understanding. Whatever arguments presented by Protestant theologians whose lectures he had attended during his studies in Germany Lykourgos may have absorbed, he did so with a critical mind. The main thrust of his argument was that Greek theologians should adopt the methodology of the Lutherans, adapting it to the needs of Orthodoxy. Lykourgos would always maintain that his aim was to introduce reforms in ecclesiastical matters, which he felt were vital to the regeneration of the spirit of the Orthodox flock and essential for the prosperity and proper functioning of the Church and its recovery from stagnancy. He expressed his wish for reform in a letter to his close friend Sakellarios, where he also explained that the reforms he proposed respected the Orthodox tradition and model that the Church had inherited from the first Christian period.49 He envisaged a Church free from the superstition and relics of the past that are obstacles to individuals who are trying to surpass their ignorance in an effort to experience the Lord and so become conscious Christians. It is worth citing his views on the subject of icons, which he discussed in his meeting with the Bishop of Ely (4 February 1870): ‘The whole man must be sanctified. His senses must have their objects as well as his affections, sentiments, and thoughts. For this reason icons were introduced for the eyes, as music for the ears, and incense for the smell’, and he continues: Forty years ago there was much superstition in this respect which has now disappeared. I have had an icon taken out of my own church and put a stop to offerings being made to it; and I have many icons, supposed to be miraculous, taken out of private houses, and brought to my residence, where I have retained them until the idea of their performing miracles had passed away. (Skene 1877: 60)

The fact that Lykourgos strongly held these views after his return to Greece is illustrated by another, as yet unpublished, document that is contained in his archive. It is an extensive confidential report addressed to King George of Greece, in which he accused the lay committee of the Church of the Holy Virgin on Tinos (which, at the time, came under the jurisdiction of his Archbishopric) of mismanaging very active in the promotion of literacy among the Greek youth of the island, both males and females (Smyrnaios 2006). 49 A.A.L., File 31, doc. 47, A. Lykourgos to M. Sakellarios, 18 July 1871; and doc. 49, A. Lykourgos to M. Sakellarios, 27 July 1871. In his proposals for the regeneration of the Orthodox Church he would make explicit in the ‘History of Doctrines’, a voluminous work on which he had been working but left uncompleted due to his early death. Unfortunately his manuscript has not yet attracted the interest of theologians.

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funds. He stated that the ephor and church wardens in Tinos ignored his repeated warnings that, although they had been entrusted to manage the affairs and property of the Holy Church so as to provide for the maintenance of the various other religious institutions connected with the church in Tinos (namely a convent of nuns, several educational institutions and a free guest-house), they had used the revenue for their personal economic gain and political ends, presenting false statements of accounts.50 He also accused the lay committee of the Church of the Holy Virgin on Tinos of exploiting the ignorance and naivety of the faithful who flocked to Tinos for the annual pilgrimage to the celebrated miraculous icon of the Holy Virgin on 15 August, resorting to staged miracles in order to lure the ignorant faithful into making offerings of jewellery and money. As a prelate, Lykourgos called for the King’s intervention on the matter by bringing the culprits to justice or creating a see of their own.51 Although there were political as well as ideological motivations behind this issue, because Lykourgos wished the entire control of the funds of the Church of the Holy Virgin on Tinos to pass under the jurisdiction of the Church, his opinion of the ‘miracles’ and the naivety of the faithful could be considered liberal and Western. Nevertheless, although his outlook towards the above-mentioned religious matters was liberal, as it was in his early written works, he followed a more traditional, even conservative, line on matters which he considered closely linked to Greek national interests. This is exemplified by his stance on the reform of Church music, which was in line with C. Oikonomos’ views on that issue. In 1870 Lykourgos staunchly opposed an attempt to introduce a new four-part vocal form (tetraphonia) in the service at the Metropolitan Church of Athens. He described this ‘innovation’ as Westernizing and insisted that not only was it unnecessary, but also that it could endanger the very issue of Greek national identity. He defended the preservation of Byzantine music on the grounds that it was connected both to the Greek ethnic character (therefore, like the Greek language, it was expressive of the sentiments of the people) and to the Orthodox tradition.52 Another instance that illustrates his nationalistic feelings and conservatism is the following incident. In 1870 he invited Apostolos Makrakis to preach during the consecration of the Church of St Nikolaos in Syros and on several other occasions.53 Apostolos Makrakis (1831–1905) was a lay preacher who was popular because of his personal charisma and his accounts of the history of Orthodoxy and of the Greeks. He envisaged the Greeks as the heavenly appointed trustees of Cf. Seraïdari’s chapter in this volume, dealing extensively with the conflict between the local lay administration on Tinos, the Church of Greece and the state. 51 A.A.L., File 41, doc. 1 (n.d.); see also File 15, docs 6 and 113. 52 Mpougatsos 1993; A.A.L., File 40, doc. 5 (n.d.), draft of a fragmentary epistle ‘On the recently raised issue re the introduction of tetraphonia in the service of the Greek Orthodox Churches’, pp. 1–4. 53 A.A.L., File 14, doc. 6, and File 31, doc. 2, A. Lykourgos to M. Sakellarios, 31 October 1870. 50

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Christianity and the Great Idea, which he thought in due course would culminate in the world becoming fully Hellenized through his own peculiar form of Christian Hellenism. Makrakis was a prolific writer, notorious not only for his extreme opinions, but even more so for his readiness to voice them openly and without restraint or inhibition, which eventually led to his demise as he was imprisoned and excommunicated.54 As this chapter has tried to illustrate, Lykourgos’ commentary on theology and his efforts towards a development of cordial relations between the Greek Orthodox and the Anglican Churches are best understood in terms of the specific crises and ideological changes confronting the Hellenic world in the 1860s and 1870s. In the span of these two decades the Greek Church improved its status and Greek nationalistic aspirations were linked to the Greek Church’s mission against the Slavic threat. As a result the Greek Church, as a state institution, would play henceforth an ever more central role in the country’s spiritual, intellectual and social life. An event which combines the national with the ecclesiastical components of this new trend was the transfer of the remains of the Patriarch Gregorios V to Athens in 1871; he was venerated as the first martyr of the Greek national liberation struggle and the honour of the Church was identified in his person because of his exceptional contribution to the Greek nation, which the state had recognized by paying special honours to him and leaving in oblivion his opposition to the outbreak of the Greek uprising against the Ottoman Empire (Exertzoglou 2001: 153–82). Lykourgos displayed his oratorical skills and nationalist spirit by delivering a speech on the fiftieth anniversary of the Greek liberation struggle,55 addressing the Patriarch’s martyrdom and including him among the ranks of ‘heroes and martyrs who took part in the struggle for the freedom of the Greek nation’. Lykourgos was above all a patriot and a Romantic nationalist, inspired by the ideology of the Great Idea. The Romantic scheme that emerges from his correspondence is clear: the highest value is the nation and its protection and prosperity is the noblest aspiration; he thought this could be accomplished by the Church because he considered politicians unable to do it. In the period of the Cretan uprising against the Ottoman Empire (1866–9) it is evident from various indications in Lykourgos’ correspondence with the politician A. Lombardos that he may have even supported the Cretan cause with dispatches of arms and

54 There is an analysis of Makrakis’ views in Brang 1997: 113–339; see also Makrides 2009: 259–60. 55 A. Lykourgos, ‘Logos Panigyrikos eis tin pentikontaetirida tou yper Anexartisias Ellinikou Agonos kai tin ex Odissou eis Athinas anakomithin tou ierou leipsanou tou aoidimou Patriarchou Constantinoupoleos Gregoriou tou Ε’ [Panegyric on the fiftieth anniversary of the Greek Liberation Struggle and on the transference of the revered relics of the ever memorable Patriarch of Constantinople Gregory V], delivered on 25 April 1871 in the Metropolitan Church (Athens), in A.A.L., File 45, doc. 4.

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supplies.56 He felt greatly disappointed by the Russian stance, which he regarded as virtually treacherous, and by the attitude of the ‘Franks’ (mainly French and Italian Catholics). As circumstances changed and a new version of the ideology of the Great Idea prevailed in the 1870s – according to which the extension of the borders, the liberation of enslaved Greek brethren in the Ottoman Empire and the development of the small and young Greek state could only be effected through diplomacy and the financial support of the Great Powers (Kremmydas 2010: 63–78) – Lykourgos sided with those who regarded the interests and fortune of Hellenism as bound with those of England. From the above analysis we can infer that in the mid-nineteenth century the relation between religious and nationalist thought was dialectic and ‘clerical politics’ were interwoven with both international diplomacy and national affairs.

References Akylas, Parthenios M. 1901. O Archiepiskopos Syrou kai Tinou en Agglia kata to 1870 [The Archbishop of Syros and Tinos in England in 1870]. Athens: Ar. Z. Dialismas. Altholz, Josef L. 2002/03. ‘Anglican–Orthodox Relations in the Nineteenth Century.’ Modern Greek Studies Yearbook, 18/19: 1–14. Brang, Leon. 1997. To mellon tou Ellinismou ston ideologiko kosmo tou Apostolou Makraki [The future of Hellenism in the ideological world of Apostolos Makrakis]. Athens: Armos. Bremer, Frederika. 1863. Greece and the Greeks: The Narrative of a Winter Residence and Summer Travel in Greece and Its Islands, trans. Mary Botham Howitt, 2 vols. London: Hurst and Blackett. Dialla, Ada. 2009. I Rossia apenanti sta Balkania: Ideologia kai politiki sto devtero miso tou 19ou aiona [Russia towards the Balkans: Ideology and politics in the second half of the nineteenth century]. Athens: Alexandreia. Dimaras, K. Th. 1982. Ellinikos Romantismos [Greek Romanticism]. Athens: Ermis. ———. 1986. K. Paparrigopoulos. Athens [in Greek]: Morfotiko Idryma Ethnikis Trapezis. Dontas, Domna. 1966. Greece and the Great Powers, 1863–1875. Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies. Exertzoglou, Ch. 2001. ‘Politikes teletourgies sti neoteri Ellada: I metakomidi ton oston tou Gregoriou Ε΄ kai i pentikontaetirida tis Ellinikis Epanastasis’ [Political rituals in Modern Greece: The transference of the relics of Gregorios V and the fiftieth anniversary of the Greek Revolution]. Mnemon 23: 153–82. Frazee, Ch. A. 1969. The Orthodox Church and Independent Greece 1821–1852. London: Cambridge University Press. 56

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Gazi, Effi. 2006. ‘Reading the Ancients: Remnants of Byzantine Controversies in the Greek National Narrative.’ Historein, 6: 144–9. Gregory of Byzantium (Metropolitan of Chios). 1863. I Phoni tis Orthodoxias [The voice of Orthodoxy]. Chios: K.M. Prokidis. Ieromnimon, itoi Epistimonikon Theologicon Syggramma periechon ylin ek panton ton kladon tis Theologias kai ekdidomenon periodikos [Ieromnimon, that is, a scientific theological essay containing material from all branches of theology and issued periodically]. 1859–61. Athens: Typois X. Nikolaidou Filadelpheos. Israel, Jonathan. 2005. Europe and the Radical Enlightenment: A Typology of Modernity’s Intellectual and Cultural Roots. C. Th. Dimaras Annual Lecture, 2004, trans. into Greek by Maria-Christina Hatziioannou. Athens: Institute for Neohellenic Research (INR/NHRF). Karmiris, I. 1937. Orthodoxia kai Protestantismos [Orthodoxy and Protestantism]. Athens. Kitromilides, P. 1989. ‘Apo tin Orthodoxi Koinopoliteia stis ethnikes koinotites: Ellinorosikes pnevmatikes scheseis’ [From the Orthodox Commonwealth to national communities: Greek–Russian intellectual relations]. Historika, 6, 10: 29–46. Kofos, Ε. 1975. Greece and the Eastern Crisis, 1875–1878. Thessaloniki: Institute for Balkan Studies. Konstantinidis, I. Ch. 1962. ‘Alexander Lykourgos (1827–1875).’ Thriskeftiki kai Ithiki Encyclopaideia [Theological and moral encyclopedia], vol. 2, pp. 112–24. Kontogiorgi, Elisabeth. 2008. ‘I proseggisi tis Agglikanikis Ekklesias me tin Elliniki Anatoliki Ekklesia kata tin periodo tou Voulgarikou Zitimatos: I Symboli tou Archiepiskopou Syrou kai Tenou, Alexandrou Lykourgou’ [The rapprochement between the Anglican and the Greek Eastern Churches during the period of the Bulgarian question: The role of the Archbishop of Syros and Tenos, Alexander Lykourgos]. Neoellinika Istorika, 1: 35–109. Kourilas-Lavriotis, E. 1927–28. ‘Alexandros o Lykourgos’ [Alexander Lykourgos]. Theologia, 5: 135–56, 328–41; 6: 65–80. Kremmydas, B. 2010. I Megali Idea: Metamorfoseis enos ethnikou ideologimatos [The Great Idea: Transformations of a national ideological doctrine]. Athens: Typothito. Lappas, K. 2004. Panepistimio kai foitites stin Ellada kata ton 19o aiona [University and students in Greece during the nineteenth century]. Athens: Historical Archive of Greek Youth, General Secretariat for Youth 39, Institute for Neohellenic Research (INR/NHRF). Lappas, K. and Rodi Stamouli (eds). 1989. Konstantinos Oikonomos o ex Oikonomon, Allilografia [Constantine Oikonomos of Oikonomos, Correspondence], vol. 1 (1802–17). Athens: Academy of Athens, Center of Research into Medieval and Modern Hellenism.

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Lykourgos, A. 1860. ‘O Rossos ierevs Polyssadof elegchon kai elegchomenos’ [The Russian clergyman Polyssadof criticizing and criticized]. Ieromnimon, period A΄, issues E΄, Στ΄ and Ζ΄: 170–224. Makrides, V.N. 2009. Hellenic Temples and Christian Churches: A Concise History of the Religious Cultures of Greece from Antiquity to the Present. New York and London: New York University Press. Matalas, Paraskevas. 2002. Ethnos kai Orthodoxia: Oi peripeteies mias schesis. Apo to ‘Elladiko’ sto Voulgariko Schisma [Nation and Orthodoxy: The adventures of a relationship. From the ‘Greek’ to the Bulgarian Schism]. Heraklion: Crete University Press, Foundation for Research and Technology. Meininger, Thomas A. 1970. Ignatiev and the Establishment of the Bulgarian Exarchate 1864–1872.A Study in Personal Diplomacy. Madison: The State Historical Society of Wisconsin for the Department of History, University of Wisconsin. Moss, C.B. 1948. The Old Catholic Movement: Its Origins and History. London: SPCK. Mpalanos, D.S. 1923. ‘O Archiepiskopos Syrou, Tinou kai Milou Alexandros Lykourgos’ [Archbishop of Syros, Tinos and Milos Alexander Lykourgos]. Theologia, 1: 41–67, 180–201. ———. 1933. Theoklitos Pharmakidis (1784–1860): Logos lechtheis, kat’ entolin tis Sygklitou, en ti megali aithousi ton teleton tou Panepistimiou ti 30i Ianouariou 1933 [Theoklitos Pharmakidis (1784–1860): Speech delivered, on the Senate’s order, in the Chamber Hall of the University on 30 January 1933]. Athens: University of Athens. Mpougatsos, I.D. 1993. Ai apopseis tou Konstantinou Oikonomou tou ex Oikonomon peri tis tetraphonias kai tou lesbiou systimatos [Constantine Oikonomos’s views on the four-part vocal form and the Lesbian system. Athens: Idryma Neoellinikon Spoudon: Meletimata 2. Nockles, P.B. 1994. The Oxford Movement in Context: Anglican High Churchmanship, 1760–1857. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oikonomos, Ieronymos. 1896. Istoriki sygkrisi metaxy dyo andron: A. Makraki kai Alexandrou Lykourgou Archiepiskopou Syrou [Historical comparison between two men: A. Makrakis and Alexander Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros]. Patrai: Kadmos, Andr. B. Paschas. Pharmakidis, Theoklitos. 1852. O Synodikos Tomos i peri Alitheias [The Synodal Tomos or concerning Truth]. Athens: Typois Nikolaou Aggelidou. Polakis, P. 1927. Alexandros Lykourgos, Archiepiskopos Syrou kai Tinou [Alexander Lykourgos, Archbishop of Syros and Tinos]. Jerusalem: Ieron Koinon tou Panagiou Tafou [The Holy Community of the All-Holy Sepulchre]. Ta Praktika tis Synentefxeos tis labousis choran en to palatio en Ely, tin Paraskevin 4 Febrouariou 1870 [Proceedings of the Conference held at the Palace of Ely on Friday 4 February 1870]. Constantinople, 1874.

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Chapter 5

Emancipation through Celibacy? The Sisterhoods of the Zoe Movement and their Role in the Development of ‘Christian Feminism’ in Greece 1938–1960 Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou

This study1 stems from an ongoing research project examining the history of the religious sisterhoods and women’s Christian associations of the Zoe movement.2 The focus of the research is on their multiple roles within Greek society from 1938 – when the first sisterhood, ‘Efsevia’, was founded – to 1960, when the Zoe movement was split into two factions. After 1960 the movement started to decline and its conservative stance on contemporary issues and challenges, its traditionalism and fundamentalist, nationalistic and anti-ecumenical rhetoric started to become apparent. To achieve the Christian missionary and revivalist aims of the reawakening Christian faith among the Greek population, archimandrite Efsevios Matthopoulos, founded in 1907 a brotherhood of theologians named ‘Zoe’. The members of this Greek Orthodox brotherhood lived a coenobitic life, sharing a single household in Athens. In the 1930s the movement developed rapidly and a number of lay associations affiliated with the Zoe brotherhood were created to support its missionary work. Towards the end of the 1930s, it had become clear that the time had arrived for the active involvement of women in the movement. The foundation of the first Greek Orthodox sisterhood in Greece was a means of reviving the faith among women and children. The first sisterhood was named ‘Efsevia’ after the founder of the Zoe brotherhood and movement, Efsevios Matthopoulos.3 1 I am greatly indebted to the editors for their comments on earlier versions of this chapter. 2 The major difference between a sisterhood and a women’s Christian association is that the members of a sisterhood are consecrated and live a celibate and coenobitic life, whereas the members of other Christian associations are laywomen who do not devote their whole life to God and can have their own families. For the Greek State, both sisterhoods and Christian associations are established and recognized as unions. 3 Unlike men, who founded a single brotherhood of theologians, women created more sisterhoods – probably for two reasons: (a) the number of women who wanted to be

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Under the auspices and supervision of this sisterhood a number of Christian women’s associations that had been founded in the meantime undertook extensive philanthropic and missionary work. Greek Orthodox Church historians and sociologists of religion who have researched the Zoe movement in Greece tend to overlook the importance of women in Greek religious life, in particular their role in the Zoe movement. Extensive studies on the Zoe brotherhood mention only briefly, if at all, the foundation and existence of the sisterhoods and other religious women’s associations affiliated with the Zoe movement. Furthermore, such studies do not expand on the role of the sisterhoods in Greek society and in the lives of the women who decided to join them or to be involved in the welfare activities of the movement.4 Looking at the history of the sisterhoods and their members, one has to ask why Christian women’s associations in Greece have not yet been examined thoroughly and why their lives have been of so little interest, not only to Church historians and ethnographers, but also to scholars of women’s history. One reason is certainly the fact that until recently scholars and historians have tended to be sceptical of the intellectual and feminist credentials of devout women since the popular conception of feminism is that it is irredeemably anti-religious.5 In Greece, however, this type of suspicion does not originate only from certain antireligious academic circles; it can also be traced to the so-called ‘neo-Orthodox’ theological movement that began in the late 1960s, developed in the 1970s and 1980s, and flourished in the 1990s. In fact, the influential ‘neo-Orthodox’ movement developed to a certain extent out of a strong opposition to the morality and mentality of the Zoe movement. The most prominent and influential figure in this neo-Orthodox movement is the prolific contemporary Greek writer and philosopher Christos Yannaras. In his youth Yannaras used to be a member of the Zoe brotherhood, but later became very critical towards it and portrayed women in the sisterhoods in a very negative way. Yannaras published a personal account of all religious organizations in Greece and his own experience from the time when he was himself involved in the Zoe brotherhood until he left the coenobium and renounced its communal way of life

consecrated and join a sisterhood was greater than that of men; and (b) women founded sisterhoods exclusively for women who had a profession, i.e., for nurses and teachers. 4 The following references exemplify how much has been written on the male organization of the Zoe brotherhood, at the expense of an interest in the female organizations and the sisterhoods and their role in Greek society; see Psilopoulos 1966: 258–89; Jioultsis 1975: 67–83; Yannaras 1992; Gousidis 1993; Giannakopoulos 1999; Maczewski 2002: 53– 62. Recently, Vasilios Makrides has shown a clear interest in the role that the sisterhoods played in the welfare activities and anti-Communist propaganda of the Zoe movement; see Makrides 2004: 159–74 and 2008: 148–68. 5 For a few examples of the anti-religious tendency in the academic and popular feminist discourse see Wolf 1991 and Nicholson 1990. For a critique of these two works see Lelwica 1998: 108–23.

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in a dramatic way (Yannaras 2001: 382–90). On a few occasions, in his book Katafygio Ideon (Refuge of Ideas), Yannaras refers to women in the sisterhoods and offers some historical information on their activities (Yannaras 1992: 373–5; Yannaras 2001: 81–3, 200–04, 264–5, 284, 286, 363).6 Apart from one instance, Yannaras tends to portray the female figures of the Zoe sisterhoods as ‘unsuspicious provincial girls’ and ‘deceived creatures’ ‘damaged by puritanism’, who ‘hid any trace of femininity under the mask of the pious woman’ (Yannaras 2001: 202–3). The Greek term used to describe the pious woman is the derogatory slang word theousa, which refers to a marginalized new type of God-girl stripped of all femininity (Yannaras 2001: 83).7 For Yannaras these women were not only policed and oppressed by what he calls ‘privileged maenads’, but they also suffered from a ‘repressed eroticism’ and ‘unsatisfied maternal instinct’ (Yannaras 2001: 203). According to the author, the repressed sexuality of these religious and hypocritically pious women, together with the rivalries between them, affected their psychological state and corrupted their character (ibid.). He views the lifestyle of these women as not only unnatural, but also theologically unthinkable, for it is the physical bond of the heterosexual couple that becomes an image of the Triadic Archetype (Yannaras 1970: 118). Being actively involved in the movement and having met personally many members of the sisterhoods, Yannaras is considered by historians of that period an indispensable and reliable source of information. However, as I will argue below, his account of the Zoe sisterhoods, though influential due to his prominent position both in Greek society and in the Greek Church, is not objective, definitive or complete. His depiction of the members of the sisterhoods ignores their role in Greek society or in the Church and fails to recognize the empowering and innovative elements in their life and practices. Yannaras’ account of the sisterhoods reflects the widespread androcentric (male-centred) view of celibate women as being in some way sexually repressed, obsessed with religion and unattractive. Looking at the women who joined the sisterhoods from a very different perspective, I present a different account of the sisterhoods with the aim of highlighting their social role and some of the innovative elements of their life, work and practices in a Greek Orthodox context. I first explain the theoretical underpinnings of the research and the methodology used. I subsequently examine the foundation of the sisterhoods, considering it as part of a negotiation process with the Greek Orthodox tradition, which had not experienced this type of union of consecrated women before. 6 Giorgos Ioannou, a well-known Greek author, also testifies to the work of the religious movement of Zoe in Thessalonica between the years 1943 and 1948. His account of the Zoe movement is less passionate, his opinion on the sisterhoods less negative and his judgement on the celibate life that these women had decided to live seems more objective than Yannaras’; Ioannou 1984: 113–81. 7 For more information on the widespread meaning of the slang word theousa see http://www.slang.gr/lemma/show/theousa_3617, accessed 20 February 2011.

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Finally, I discuss briefly the innovative elements in the life and practices of the sisterhoods and their discourse on the place of women in the Greek Church and society. I conclude with some remarks on the social role of the sisterhoods in Greek Church life and society.

The Members of the Sisterhoods as Agents of Social and Religious Action: Theoretical Underpinnings and Methodology A number of anthropological studies on various aspects of women’s religiosity in Greece testify to the empowering role that popular religion and religious rites have played in their lives (Dubisch 1983: 185–202; Hirschon 1983: 113–30; Rushton 1983: 57–70). Participation in religious pilgrimages or other festivities appears to act as a way for women to gain social standing in the public space, thus extending their domestic presence and power outside the traditional environment of the home (Papataxiarchis 2006: 57–8). We can shift our perspective beyond an androcentric analysis of the sisterhoods and see their members as social agents and actors who are able to make their own choices, negotiate with their religious tradition, set certain goals and adopt specific strategies to achieve them. For Jill Dubisch, ‘the strength of an actor [agent]-oriented approach … is that it grants a “creative” role to women’ (Dubisch 2006: 105). Recognizing the social agency of the women who were part of the sisterhoods suggests that their celibacy and chastity – along with their everyday life, religious practices, piety and discourse – are not those of abnormal or repressed naïve women. As Sally Cline has argued, celibacy is an act of heresy in a society that thinks so highly of sex (Cline 1993: 254). By joining the sisterhoods and embracing celibacy, women could make their own choices about what to do with their bodies and explore intimacy beyond the compulsory confines of heterosexuality, motherhood and marriage (ibid.). The theoretical argument used in the research consists of presenting a new perspective: viewing sisterhoods and recognizing their role in Greek society, in the religious advancement of Greek Orthodox women and in the formation of a Christian feminist discourse in Greece. It is often claimed that it is meaningless to discuss a group or an individual in terms of feminism if this group or individual would have rejected the ‘feminist’ label. However, as Susan Mumm, who has researched the Anglican sisterhoods in Victorian Britain, argues: ‘this is an example of the “no name, no thing” fallacy’ (Mumm 1999: x). In other words, religious sisterhoods can legitimately be placed, as Mumm (1999: x–xi) has shown, ‘within the story of the advancement of women, as an example of feminist practice’. Mumm adopts the definition of feminist practice used by Jane Rendall, that is to say, ‘the association of women together for a feminist purpose … the organization of a range of activities … around the claims of women to determine different areas of their lives’ (Rendall 1985: 1–2, as cited in Mumm 1999: xi). By this definition, as in the case of the Anglican sisterhoods in Victorian England, the sisterhoods

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of the Zoe movement in modern Greece can be considered part of the Christian feminist tradition, both through their commitment to women-created unions and associations, and through their dedication to improving the living conditions of women and children from all socio-economic classes. In order to support this theoretical perspective I have examined the Zoe sisterhoods by collecting as much available data as possible. The written biographies of leading female figures of the movement and various publications by the sisterhoods and other unions of the Zoe movement are useful sources of information on not only the foundation of the women’s associations, their aims, activities and aspirations, but also on their everyday life. Unfortunately, the archives of both the Zoe brotherhood and sisterhoods are not accessible to researchers, nor have the minutes of the meetings that the sisterhoods held in the 1940s and 1950s been published. The overall reluctance of the sisterhoods to allow any outsider full and unrestricted access to the community’s records and archives is the greatest problem facing researchers in this area. A number of informal conversations I had in the summer of 2007 and in the spring and summer of 2009 with members of the sisterhoods, members of their families, the former Superior, a prominent figure of the Zoe brotherhood (archimandrite Ilias Mastrogiannopoulos) and former members of women’s unions associated with the movement provided me with a great deal of information on the sisterhoods’ everyday routines and their role in Greek society and the Greek Orthodox Church. In the summer of 2009 I also spent some time with members of the Zoe movement during visits to their summer estate in Agia Paraskevi on several Sundays, when there was a mass open to the public. I should highlight two interviews with the elected principal and spokesperson of the Efsevia sisterhood, Theodora Dogani (May 2009 and February 2011). She was an invaluable source of information on the creation of the sisterhoods and the profiles of their founding members, their professional lives, their leading and influential positions in the movement, their life aspirations, their motives for joining the coenobitic life and the role of community life in the formation of their identity.

History and Background of the Sisterhoods: Negotiating Their Place within the Orthodox Tradition The life, devotion and activism of religious sisterhoods differ from the traditional female monastic orders of the Eastern Orthodox Church in that their members are not nuns but devout ‘semi-nuns’, living and working in and for the sake of the world. The celibate women of the Zoe sisterhoods lived in coenobiums in Athens and took vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. They dressed modestly in normal clothes, followed a code of behaviour and led a pious lifestyle in an

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attempt to act as role models for Christians, as required by the Statutes of the sisterhood.8 The sisterhoods of the movement were not subject to or controlled by either the brotherhood or the local Church authorities. Their independence was well rooted in their establishment as associations recognized by the State and in accordance with the Greek legal system. The sisterhoods maintained a spiritual bond with the brotherhood and with the Superior of the movement, who was the spiritual leader of all the associations affiliated with the Zoe movement. The running of the sisterhoods’ household was democratic: there was an elected committee consisting of the representative, the secretary and the treasurer, who were all responsible for the administration of the sisterhood.9 A general assembly took place annually. Though not unknown in the Christian tradition, the existence of sisterhoods is a rather recent phenomenon that emerged in the 1930s. The type of monastic life for women introduced by the sisterhoods appears as an alternative to traditional monasticism. Whereas traditional monasticism involves living in the ‘desert’, the monastic life introduced by the Zoe brotherhood and sisterhoods is about living in the real world of everyday life. Moreover, whereas nunneries are closely affiliated to the local Church and bishop, the sisterhoods, though Christian Orthodox, are established as unions independent of the hierarchy of the Greek Orthodox Church. There is a vivid discussion among theologians on the ecclesiological status of the religious brotherhoods and sisterhoods within the Greek Orthodox Church, and a debate on how much in accordance they are with the Greek Orthodox tradition.10 Founders and leading figures of the Zoe movement have always defended the Orthodox faith of the brotherhoods and sisterhoods, placing them within the tradition of the Greek Orthodox Church, while acknowledging that there are certain elements of their lifestyle that are of recent origin and, thus, innovative (see e.g. Mastrogiannopoulos 1975: 79). The involvement of women in clerical matters was an innovative element for that period whose legitimacy was negotiated between leading theologians of the Zoe brotherhood and the official Greek Orthodox Church. The creation 8 Statutes of the association ‘Sisterhood Efsevia’ 11306/40 and revised version 16218/92, p. 3. 9 Statutes of ‘Efsevia’, p. 4. 10 Two major Greek works arguing for the Orthodoxy of the brotherhoods are Tsamis 2005 and Bozovitis 2006. On the other hand, Yannaras accuses the Zoe brotherhood of deviation from the Eastern Orthodox tradition and puts them outside the Church, labelling them as ‘exo-ekkliasiatikes’ (ecclesiastical outsiders) (Yannaras 1992: 348–405). Jioultsis (1975: 83) includes the associations of the Zoe movement in the sociological category of sects that is autonomous religious groups. Gousidis (1993: 99) understands the religious associations and unions affiliated to the Zoe movement as a continuation of the religious corporations in the Ottoman Empire. Finally, Makrides (1988: 179–87) argues that, although there was often tension between the Zoe movement and the official Church, the brotherhoods cannot be labelled as sects, thus refuting Jioultsis’ position.

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of sisterhoods and the involvement of women in the activities of the movement were strongly encouraged by the male leaders of the movement. The principal of the Zoe movement and Superior of the brotherhood, archimandrite Seraphim Papakostas, and the founder of the Zoe brotherhood of the movement, Efsevios Matthopoulos, were both in favour of female associational activity within the Church. They apparently not only approved of, but also supported and encouraged, the active involvement of laywomen in catechism, missionary work and welfare activities from the moment of the foundation of the Zoe brotherhood of theologians at the beginning of the twentieth century (Papakostas 1963: 29–30; Kolitsaras 1980: 72–5). Women’s Bible study circles operating in the cities of Patras and Aegion during the early 1900s, though encouraged by the leaders of the movement, were viewed negatively by the Holy Synod, which demanded an explanation from the Zoe brotherhood. In 1923 the archimandrite Efsevios Matthopoulos and the lay theologian Panagiotis Trembelas defended this practice, which was perceived as an innovation at the time, and explained that it was not in fact a novelty. They argued that the active role of women in catechism (as long as it was not part of the liturgy) was a common practice in the early centuries of the Church. Their argument was accepted by the Holy Synod, which subsequently praised the work of the Zoe movement (Psilopoulos 1966: 272–4; Kolitsaras 1980: 72–3; Maczewski 2002: 65). Admittedly, they encouraged the participation of women in the missionary work and welfare activities of the movement because of women’s perceived effectiveness in spreading the Christian message, since they could enter into people’s homes more readily than men.11 This meant that the propagation of the Christian faith among Greek families and the success of reviving Orthodox Christianity throughout Greek society largely depended on the active role of women. Serving the purposes of the movement was a way for religious women to gain a purpose in their life and have an active social role. Otherwise, these women would not have been allowed to play any significant part in the revivalist movement and thus gain some access to clerical matters. It seems that in the 1920s and 1930s a significant number of women participated willingly and enthusiastically in women’s Bible study circles, and some even considered living a celibate life. Celibacy was a difficult choice, which had to be made freely by the women themselves. Women who felt they had an inclination for celibacy needed to wait a few years, often six or more, before they were accepted as members of a sisterhood. Often a woman had to work as a teacher, for example, for a few years before she could be consecrated to dedicate her life to the activities of the movement. This period was thought necessary as a time of self-reflection

11 Earlier on, in the 1920s and 1930s, the Christian movement of father Georgios Makris and Angelos Nissiotis had used women and their zeal in reviving Christian faith (Karamouzis 2004: 317–19).

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on the decision to join a sisterhood.12 The women who joined a sisterhood in the 1940s and 1950s also had to spend some time as novices before they became full members of a sisterhood.13 The members of the sisterhood were free to leave the coenobium and the sisterhood at any time if they so wished, or if they could not comply with the rules.14 For example, in 1959 a woman left the coenobium of a sisterhood in order to get married and her decision was simply recorded in the register.15 This incident testifies to the fact that no woman was forced to stay in the sisterhood and live a coenobitic life. According to the memoirs of Giorgos Ioannou on the Zoe movement in Thessalonica, practising temporary sexual abstinence is possible, but total abstention from marriage and sexual pleasure is extremely difficult (Ioannou 1984: 163–4). Women would not, therefore, make this decision unless they felt a true inner call with no real urge to pair with a man. What Ioannou is implying is that if these women had not genuinely wanted to live a pious and devoted life, they would not have done so. Being a homosexual himself, not complying with the norms of heteropatriarchy that involve marriage and procreation, Ioannou sympathizes with the lifestyle of these women and stresses that they deliberately opted out of a heterosexual relationship in marriage. Three sisterhoods were founded between 1938 and 1960. The first sisterhood, ‘Efsevia’, was unofficially founded in 1938 when the first five women who joined it shared a household in Athens. On 14 July 1940 the sisterhood was formally established as an association with ten founding members who signed the Statutes of the sisterhood as required by law. The goal of ‘Efsevia’ was the spiritual and moral improvement of its members, as well as the re-Christianization of Greek women and the Christian education and strengthening of the Greek family according to the traditions and customs of the Eastern Orthodox Church.16 ‘Efsevia’ was the most ‘prestigious’ and respected sisterhood, being the first to be established and the one to mentor and spiritually guide those that followed and to supervise the activities of all women’s associations affiliated with the Zoe movement (Zoumbouli 1995: 42–3). From the outset, most of the members of ‘Efsevia’ supervised different aspects in the work of the movement. For example, different members would supervise and be responsible for various activities, such as the members of the women’s associations visiting prisons, hospitals and families; the publications of the sisterhood; the all-women Bible study circles; girls’ summer camps; women

12 Theodora Dogani, interview, 4 February 2011. During this interview, which took place in the coenobium of the sisterhood in Athens, the interviewee briefly showed me the register of the sisterhood. 13 Statutes of ‘Efsevia’, p. 2. 14 Ibid., pp. 2–3. 15 Register of ‘Efsevia’ accessed 4 February 2011. 16 Kolitsaras 1980: 77; Statutes of ‘Efsevia’, p. 1.

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university students, teachers, nurses and mothers etc.17 Therefore, a good education and faith in Christ were the two prerequisites for joining the sisterhood.18 Among the founders of the ‘Efsevia’ sisterhood were the philologist Stamatia Mastrogiannopoulou, who was the sister of archimandrite Elias Mastrogiannopoulos; her mother, Maria Mastrogiannopoulou; and the musician and composer Eleni Iconomopoulou.19 The ‘Efsevia’ sisterhood has kept a detailed register of all its members (including their profession, date of birth, date of joining the sisterhood).20 About 24 women joined the first religious sisterhood of ‘Efsevia’ in the 1940s and 1950s (Maczewski 2002: 53). They were women between 20 and 45 years of age, with most of the founder members being over 25.21 They were teachers, doctors, philologists, historians or physicists with higher education degrees, or graduate students. For example, Tasia Theofilaki, one of the first female doctors in Greece, who ran her own maternity clinic in Athens, was a member of the sisterhood (Mastelou-Giannakena 2009: 142). Although she was a member of the sisterhood, she did not live there: she was always very busy working as a doctor so she had to live at the clinic.22 Eleni Koukou, another member of the sisterhood, received her doctorate in history from the University of Athens, where she later became a professor (Papaevaggelou-Papadimitriou 2009: 145–6). Although some members pursued their careers, the majority focused on the missionary work and welfare activities of the movement and on supervising its women’s associations. As the sisterhood grew, there was a need to move to more spacious accommodation to house more members. A new house was built and the sisterhood moved there in the 1950s (Zoumbouli 1995: 71). Although researchers do not have access to their records in order to determine how the sisterhoods financed the construction of this new house, one can assume that since they lived a coenobitic life sharing everything, each member put her salary (provided she had a job) and any other income she had into the sisterhood’s common account. In this way they could fund the construction of new premises. According to one sisterhood member, many women in the 1950s had such a strong wish to be consecrated that they viewed the subsequent division of the Zoe brotherhood movement (see below) as a unique opportunity to join the prestigious ‘Efsevia’ sisterhood. After the division of the Zoe movement in 1960, some women

Theodora Dogani, interview, 4 February 2011. Some of the aims of the sisterhood were to create libraries, run Sunday schools, establish schools and boarding schools, publish books and journals and organize cultural events. Statutes of ‘Efsevia’, pp. 1–2. 19 For these three members of ‘Efsevia’ see Zoumbouli 1995, Georgoulea 2000 and Anonymous 1984. 20 Theodora Dogani, interview, 4 February 2011. 21 Register of the sisterhood ‘Efsevia’, accessed 4 February 2011. 22 Theodora Dogani, interview, 4 February 2011. 17

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left ‘Efsevia’ to form a new sisterhood and some places, thus, became available for new members to be able to join ‘Efsevia’.23 Two more sisterhoods and other women’s religious associations affiliated with the Zoe movement were founded after the establishment of the first sisterhood (Maczewski 2002: 53, 60). ‘Evniki’ was the name of the second sisterhood, which was founded in 1947, though it had unofficially started its activities in the early 1940s. Approximately 500 women nurses became members of the ‘Evniki’ sisterhood (Maczewski 2002: 60). The aim of this sisterhood was focused on bringing together women who wanted to dedicate their lives to welfare activities, nursing and the mutual support of its members in order to achieve the women’s philanthropic goals (Kolitsaras 1980: 167). In the late 1950s, another 200 women founded a third sisterhood, named ‘Elpis’, made up of teachers in primary and secondary education who all shared the same pedagogical aims and were involved in the missionary activities of the movement (Maczewski 2002: 60). Regardless of the individual priority areas of each sisterhood, all sisterhoods and women’s associations aimed at reviving Orthodox Christianity within Greek society and offered social welfare services, including nursing and social care to the sick, imprisoned women and underprivileged men and women. But at the same time they also supported the anti-Communist cause and propaganda during the civil war (1945–49) and in the 1950s, as evidenced in the publications of the sisterhoods.24 At that time many prisoners were Communists and it may seem contradictory that, on the one hand they supported prisoners through their visits, while on the other hand they subscribed to the anti-Communist cause. According to testimonies of the women visiting political prisoners that were published by the movement, their aim was to strengthen hope among the female prisoners. ‘We wanted to make them [women prisoners] happy,’ wrote one visitor (Papakonstantinou-Malami 2005: 50). Yet another admitted that women political prisoners were suspicious of the visitors and often refused to talk to them, thinking that their aim was to make the Communists ‘repent’ (ibid.). Without using political rhetoric to convince the prisoners to renounce Communism, their agenda was to ‘help’ them gain freedom by embracing Christ, which implicitly presupposed denouncing their Communist identity and signing a declaration of repentance. The Zoe brotherhood broke up in 1960 when the most ‘traditional’ and ‘conservative’ members of the brotherhood could not accept the liberalism of some younger members. In explaining their reasons for leaving the Zoe brotherhood to form a new one, older members wrote that within the brotherhood a secular spirit was growing, together with a tendency to speak foreign languages, learn new things and use foreign words (Yannaras 2001: 284). The older members condemned ‘the new direction’ of the movement and disapproved of its young men and women members who socialized and worked together for religious purposes (ibid.). Wishing to distance themselves from the liberalism, secularization and 23 24

Theodora Dogani, interviews, 10 May 2009 and 4 February 2011. For the anti-Communist activities of the movement see Makrides 2004: 159–74.

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gradual modernization of the Zoe movement, the older members founded a new brotherhood and established a new revivalist movement with a more conservative identity. The subsequent division of the ‘Efsevia’ sisterhood in 1963 and the unavoidable division of the whole Zoe movement was the beginning of a new era for revivalist brotherhoods in Greece, a topic that would have to be examined separately in another publication.

The Innovative Elements in the Life and Religious Practices of the Sisterhoods and Their Multiple Roles in Greek Society At the beginning of the twentieth century, the women of the Zoe movement who were involved in teaching and discussing religious ideas were usually looked upon with suspicion by the hierarchy of the Greek Orthodox Church. Later on, the neoOrthodox movement viewed the women who joined the Zoe sisterhoods as a threat to tradition. From the 1960s onwards, the consecrated women of the movement were described in a derogatory way and called ‘theouses’, that is, groups of naïve and frenzied women who turned their backs on the pleasures of the world in order to serve God. Therefore, the roles that these women had assumed within Greek society were overlooked or disregarded by public opinion. In the following section I examine their social roles, mapping out some innovative elements in their work and life and the social impact that the revival of women’s religious communities, such as sisterhoods, had on the Greek Orthodox Church. Association Activities and Religious Life An in-depth examination of the female association activity within the Orthodox Church of Greece reveals two key points:25 on the one hand, it occupied a marginal part in the history of modern Greece, one where ideas about proper roles for women, their emerging public roles, the influence of religion and the power of philanthropic work and anti-Communist initiatives were all inter-related; on the other hand, the sisterhoods played an active part in the involvement of laywomen in religious matters, such as missionary work. The latter was considered an innovation in the Greek Orthodox Church, which for the first time saw women having an active role and assuming positions of responsibility within a Greek Orthodox institution. The emergence of the first sisterhood in 1938 was a novelty for Greek Orthodoxy and, therefore, for the Orthodox Church of Greece, which eventually acknowledged their existence and worked with them on many philanthropic projects after the 1940s (Papakonstantinou-Malami n.d.: 17). Interestingly, in his well-known book on the Zoe movement, Christoph Maczewski (2002: 60) refers to members of the 25 The sisterhoods and all affiliated women’s associations were autonomous groups of Orthodox women who considered themselves within the Greek Orthodox Church and identified themselves as Greek Orthodox. See note 10.

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‘Efsevia’ sisterhood as being women theologians. Strictly speaking they were not theologians. However, they were perceived as being theologians because of their active role in the movement and their public preaching, writing and publishing on theological issues.26 In fact, in the context of the religious community of the Greek Orthodox Church, the sisterhoods were the only female religious voices that could be publicly heard. Their unique place in Greek society was also recognized in a 1947 report on the place of women in the Greek Orthodox Church by the World Council of Churches (WCC). According to the report, as presented by the historian Leonie Liveris, ‘the Sisterhood “Efsevia”, in many of its activities and functions, used the example of women’s work of past centuries as they offered assistance to the Church’ (Liveris 2005: 35). The report was resolute that the sisterhood was on good terms with the official Church and the local clergy in Greece, but was not subject to the official Church’s orders as regards the procedures of its work (The Life and Work of Women in the Church, Greek Report, No. 1, cited in Liveris 2005: 35). Accommodating Greek Orthodox Women to Societal Changes While referring to the charitable societies that existed in the USA and Britain in the nineteenth century, Leonie Liveris offers an account of the role of sisterhoods in Greek society. She writes that ‘an evangelical zeal, voluntary service and reasonable education of the members led to many social reform movements for women, although there is little evidence to indicate that the sisterhood in Greece led to any calls for the right to vote, for example, among Greek women’ (ibid.) Liveris is right to point out that the sisterhoods in Greece did not call for the right to vote. But by the time the first sisterhood was founded in 1938, Greek women could vote in local elections. The decade between 1940 and 1950 was a difficult period for Greece and the sisterhoods focused on the welfare activities of the Zoe movement and on their further development and establishment in Greek society. They were not opposed to the call for women’s rights, as both the Zoe brotherhood and the official Greek Orthodox Church were in the 1920s and 1930s.27 It seems that after the 1940s, and especially in the 1950s, there was a progressive change in the Zoe movement’s attitude towards women’s rights. During the 1940s, associations affiliated with the Zoe movement published several articles on issues concerning the role of women in Greek society. In 1944, in an effort to encourage and highlight the diversity of women’s public roles and their role as mothers, Aktines, the official journal of the Christian Union of Scientists – a union closely linked to the Zoe movement – dedicated a whole issue to women and their place in Christianity and modern society, in the workplace and the legal system, in Greek 26 A member of the ‘Efsevia’ sisterhood, Amalia Farazouli, is seen as the first woman theologian in modern Greece. Ekdosis Christianikis Stegis Patron 1984: 13. 27 Karamouzis 2004: 198, 340. For the antifeminist rhetoric of the Zoe brotherhood in the 1920s and 1930s see Gazi 2011: 289–309.

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and European literature, and in the family (Aktines, 40: 1–48). Almost half of the articles in the issue were written by women. Indicative of the progressive change in the attitude of the Zoe movement towards women’s rights is an article on the place of the woman in the family. The article comments on the newly introduced family law. In the article, the author, an anonymous lawyer (possibly a female lawyer), argues for a legal system that does not unfairly favour male authority. For the author, Greek legislation needs to take into account the differences between the two sexes only in order to protect women from the authority and power of men (ibid.: 14, 13). In general, during the 1940s a high proportion of articles were written by women in Aktines. The editors deliberately included contributions by women, such as articles, short stories and poems, and explicitly highlighted the important contributions and presence of women in the journal.28 In 1949 a woman writing under the pseudonym Despina Akyla started her article on the mission of women as follows: ‘We, as modern women, are looking forward to a renewed society where we expect to have a new place’ (Akyla 1949: 521). The point of the author throughout the article is that, although women are different from men, they are equals. Women have different potentials and skills that need to be developed; they have a voice that needs to be heard in public in order to build a renewed society. The 1950s was a time when women in Greece gained more access to the public sphere, including working in public institutions (schools, hospitals, retail, government etc.). More women than at any other time since the foundation of the Greek State could receive an education and enter a profession. In 1952 they also gained the right to vote in national elections. These advancements were gradually viewed more positively by the Zoe movement, and especially by its sisterhoods and its more academic associations, such as the Christian Union of Scientists and the Centre for the Social Education of the Greek Woman, as evidenced in their publications. A considerable number of articles in the publication O Cosmos tis Ellinidos [The World of the Greek Woman] – the official journal of the Centre for the Social Education of the Greek Woman founded in 1950 and closely affiliated with the Zoe brotherhood and sisterhoods – argued for an increased public role of women in Greece, including social responsibility and rights in education, as well as a clear emphasis on women’s rights in the workplace. According to the editorial in the first issue of this journal: ‘Anything concerning the woman as a mother, spouse, social person, social worker … will be published in our columns. … The journal addresses all women … in order to support them in their first timid efforts to gain their own place in society’ (O Cosmos tis Ellinidos, November 1953: 1). It was also during the 1950s that the Social Security Institute in Greece began to provide social insurance and protection for all working people. However, not all employers respected the newly introduced legislation on a number of 28 In an account of the first ten years of the journal Aktines, the editors celebrated the presence of women in its pages and claimed that the journal helped many women gain a reputation as journalists and writers (Aktines, 77 (1948): 79).

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issues concerning work safety and unhealthy jobs, especially those carried out by women. The journal disclosed the difficulties women had in exercising their rights in the workplace and highlighted any violations of their rights (Aktines, 77 (1948): 27–8). In 1958, an article by the lawyer Sasa Moschou on women who try to combine family life with work outside the home, called for more social support and nurseries in order for women to be able to succeed in fulfilling their multiple social and professional roles (Moschou 1958b: 392–3). Similarly, in an article on the role of Greek women as citizens, the same author argued for equality and celebrated the participation of women in most professions. She specifically noted three professions that up until then had excluded women, namely the army, the priesthood and the diplomatic service, expressing her wish to see women diplomats in the future (Moschou 1958a: 325). Moschou’s positive attitude towards advancements in the social roles of women illustrates an effort made by members of the Zoe movement to adapt to modern ideas and new circumstances. Similarly, the publication of articles and literary works written by women who were members of, either a sisterhood or another association of the Zoe movement reflects the movement’s gradually more positive stance towards active women’s roles in Greek society, their visibility and rights. Moreover, Zoe sisterhoods were the source of creative adaptation to the new societal circumstances that occurred after the Second World War in Greece. Through, not only their involvement in various aspects of communal life and the publications of the movement, but also by encouraging women to receive good education, the sisterhoods attempted to strengthen their nursing skills and to improve their social behaviour, personal hygiene and housekeeping practices in Greece. They also placed emphasis on the psychology of women since they were influenced by the work of a specific institute for the study of psychological issues affiliated with the Zoe movement, the Institouto Iatrikis Psychologias ke Psychikis Ygieinis [Institute of Medical Psychology and Psychological Hygiene]. Education in particular was viewed as crucial in helping women to overcome difficulties in their lives, think for themselves, make their own choices and, eventually, fulfil their life aspirations (Aspiotis 1960: 37). Introducing ‘Christian Feminism’ Under the spiritual guidance of the sisterhoods and the writings of Alexandros Tsirindanis – professor at the Athens Law School, founder of the Christian Union of Scientists and leading member of the movement – the publications of various Zoe movement associations introduced the idea of ‘Christian feminism’ among Greek Orthodox women. The sisterhoods were not feminist organizations with a political and an overtly liberal agenda, and their idea of ‘Christian feminism’ was not as radically feminist as one would expect by contemporary standards. The sisterhoods did not attempt to formulate a feminist consciousness and impose it on their members and Christian women. Rather, they were part of and participated in a newly formulated Christian feminist discourse that was created as an alternative

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to the secular feminism with its more left-wing political agenda. Moreover, trying to catch up with the aspirations of secular feminism and with the gradual and unavoidable modernization of Greek society, they did in fact facilitate the reception of feminist ideas, such as the independence and emancipation of Christian women and the ideal of self-actualization within religious parameters. They did that, as I have already mentioned, through their active involvement in clerical matters, their publications and their argument in favour of women’s rights to receive good education and choose their lifestyle. To be able to understand the concept of ‘Christian Feminism’ in the Greek context, one has to acknowledge two factors: a. Between the 1920s and 1960s, according to secular feminists in Greece, women and men had to accomplish different yet equally important roles. Greek feminists called for women’s rights on the grounds of the special ‘natural’ features: that is, motherhood and housekeeping as being inherent to their sex, to being female (Papataxiarchis 2006: 15–16, 74). b. Anti-Communist agenda and rhetoric were part of the Zoe movement, especially under the influence of the leading figure of Alexandros Tsirindanis. Therefore, from the 1940s onwards, while acknowledging the importance of feminism as a movement supporting women’s rights, the publications of the Zoe movement argued for the equally important but essentially different roles of the two sexes. This means that men and women were considered equal (especially in the eyes of God), but women were better qualified by nature for doing housekeeping and certain jobs, whereas men were suitable for others. According to this Christian feminist discourse, the legislation had to help women fulfil their roles as mothers and housekeepers. The Christian feminist discourse of the movement followed to some extent the footsteps of secular feminism, especially as far as women’s rights to recognition, education and self-actualization were concerned. However, the writings in the Zoe publications fiercely attacked secular feminism, dismissing especially its politically leftist version as being closely related to Communism and, thus, viewing it as irredeemably atheist and anti-spiritual, dangerous for the morality of women and responsible for most cases of divorce and the disintegration of family life (Tsirindanis 1944: 18–22 and 1946: 167–74). As a result, it was up to the sisterhoods and the women of the movement to promote and encourage a Christian version of feminism that, as previously indicated, argued for women’s rights, their role as citizens and professionals, better education and special women’s rights in the workplace. Yet, at the same time they had to support the patriarchal family model and never challenge the idea of women as being solely responsible for looking after children and the home. According to their version of Christian feminism, as formulated after the 1940s in the publications of the Zoe movement, women can have an active role in society and a place in public life as long as they

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can still take care of the household. The husband was still considered the head of the household and, thus, responsible for the protection of his spouse and children. In the rhetoric of the Zoe movement, the hierarchy inside the home was closely linked to stability and order, rather than to recognizing the basic inequality of the sexes or the superiority of men (Mastrogiannopoulou 1974: 287–8). The Power of Celibacy: Fighting for Self-Actualization Although the Zoe movement was clearly in favour of the traditional family unit, it valued celibacy, especially when unmarried women dedicated their lives to the activities of the movement and became members of women’s religious organizations and communities. Unless an unmarried woman joined a sisterhood and, thus, got a sense of purpose in her life, she usually ended up as the domestic servant of her parental family having no say in her own life (Papakostas 1963: 41–2; Kolitsaras 1980: 161). By choosing celibacy and community life, devout women could leave the family home without getting married and participate in the governance of a democratic organization in so far as they became members of an independent community of equals among women. They could also undertake challenging and meaningful work and have leading positions and responsibilities related to teaching, catechism, female associational activities, publishing, missionary work and welfare activities, at a time when women had no say or involvement in religious affairs. Celibate women who were members of the sisterhoods were typically looked upon with suspicion in Greek society because their lifestyle and ideas challenged the stringent gender roles of the time. Very often celibate women had to face rejection by their families that opposed the idea of celibacy and condemned their choice to join the sisterhoods (Georgoulea 2000: 19–20). Their celibacy, modest dress code, religious piety and devotion, independence from their family, rejection of mainstream habits and customs and resistance to any kind of objectification by refusing to attract male attention were strongly disapproved of as evidenced by: (a) the difficulties some women had to get their parents’ approval to join a sisterhood;29 (b) the negative way that consecrated women were represented in literary works of that period and testimonies, such as that of Yannaras; and (c) the fact that the derogatory term theousa was used by public opinion to characterize these women and diminish their choices and personalities. Besides, celibate women who were members of the sisterhoods symbolized an alternative way of living and, like any other lifestyle that was not institutionalized, it was perceived as a threat because it challenged society’s constituting elements, particularly the traditional family unit. Though some members of the Zoe sisterhoods were wealthy and attractive women with every possibility of finding a husband and creating their own family, they fiercely refused to do so (Ekdosis Christianikis Stegis 1984: 10). Therefore, 29

Theodora Dogani, interviews, 10 May 2009 and 4 February 2011.

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the strong will of women in the sisterhoods to overcome the obligatory social norm of getting married and creating a family, their rejection of the parental home and family in favour of experimenting with an alternative, religious communityoriented lifestyle suggest that celibate life and community life were often viewed as an expansion of women’s spaces and a place to achieve equality in the name of Christ (Isherwood 2006: 73).

Conclusions The sisterhoods of the Zoe movement were founded, developed and reached their peak between 1938 and 1960 until they were formally split up in 1963, three years after the break up of the Zoe brotherhood. The 1940s and 1950s were a time of progressive changes in the attitude of the Zoe movement towards the place and rights of women in Greek society. It was a time when more liberal ideas were introduced in the public discourse of the Zoe movement, when some of its members started opening up to Western ideas – such as human rights, political liberalism, democratic governance, personal growth and self-actualization, cosmopolitanism and interfaith dialogue –thus, attempting to realise the aspiration of the Greek State towards the Westernization of Greece.30 The sisterhoods were founded and developed during the most liberal period of the Zoe movement, which preceded the eventual division of the brotherhood. Without challenging patriarchy and its symbolism, without effecting any significant Church reform – especially as far as the place of women in the institutionalized Church is concerned – the members of the sisterhoods were able to find a space and a certain authority within their religious communities in order to argue for women’s rights, encourage women’s social roles and be part of a Christian feminist discourse. Being free to speak in public religious gatherings and encouraging religious independent associational activity, emancipation from the parental family unit, modernization of social manners, good education, participation in public life and self-actualization among a community of women, the sisterhood members had an impact on other Greek Orthodox religious women, who became more receptive to new ideas and to the progressive democratization and modernization of Greek society.31

30 For the role of the Church in helping the Greek State in its effort at modernization see Dimanopoulou 2010: 121–46. 31 In a study of the formation of modern Greek identity, the well-known Greek philosopher Stelios Ramfos (2000: 311–16) examines the Greek guides to good manners published in the 1960s, one of which is Mastrogiannopoulou’s book I Gyneka sto Vasilio tis, and writes extensively on the role of the religious sisterhood ‘Efsevia’ in the Westernization and urbanization of the Greek society and especially in the process of individuation of Greek women.

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Albeit in a Christian environment, the sisterhoods reintroduced coenobitic life to Greek Orthodox religious life and encouraged women’s involvement and the right to be heard in religious matters; they also contributed to the formulation of ‘Christian feminism’ in Greece. This Christian version of feminism argued for women’s rights and active roles in the public sphere, but failed to challenge traditional gender roles and the conventional ‘natural vocation’ of women to motherhood and family life. The sisterhoods provided Greek religious women with a Christian version of feminism, thus satisfying their developing need for a certain degree of emancipation. They also provided a sense of purpose to unmarried women, whose particular celibate lifestyle, viewed as abnormal by popular opinion, was appreciated by the members of their religious community. Celibacy was an empowering option for religious women, who did not want to marry but still wished to live a meaningful and respected life. The Zoe movement and its sisterhoods provided women with a context where celibacy was not seen as abnormal, but as a legitimate choice of lifestyle. Through their commitment to women’s unions and associations and their dedication to improving the lives of Greek women from all socio-economic backgrounds, the sisterhoods can be considered the first Greek Orthodox feminists. From the foundation of the first sisterhood in 1938 until the division of the whole Zoe brotherhood movement in 1960, the Zoe sisterhoods can be regarded as part of Greece’s first few steps towards developing a form of Greek Orthodox feminist tradition: a modest beginning that never developed further into a Greek Orthodox feminist movement.

References Akyla, Despina. 1949. ‘I Gyneka ke i Apostoli tis’ [Woman and Her Mission]. Aktines, 98: 521–4. Anonymous. 1984. Maria Mastrogiannopoulou: Pente Chronia apo tin Ekdimia tis [Maria Mastrogiannopoulou: Five Years Since Her Death]. Athens. Aspiotis, Ar. 1960. To Koritsi ke i Morphotiki Agogi tou [The Girl and Her Education]. Athens. Bozovitis, Stavros. 2006. Sylogi ke Adelfotites sto Soma tou zontos Christou [Unions and Brotherhoods in the Body of the Living Christ]. Athens: Sotir. Cline, Sally. 1993. Women, Celibacy and Passion. London: Optima. Dimanopoulou, Pandora. 2010. ‘L’œuvre de la propagation de la foi et de la morale chrétienne dans la société grecque: L’action de la confrérie Zôè en Grèce, 1907–1938.’ Revue d’ Histoire Ecclésiastique, 105/1: 121–46. Dubisch, Jill. 1983. ‘Greek Women: Sacred or Profane.’ Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 1: 185–202. ———. 2006. ‘Kinoniko fylo, sygenia ke thriskia: “Anaplathontas” tin anthropologia tis Elladas’ [Gender, Kinship and Religion]. In Taftotites ke

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Fylo sti Synchroni Ellada [Identity and Gender in Modern Greece], ed. E. Papataxiarchis and Th. Paradellis. 3rd ed. Athens: Alexandria. Ekdosis Christianikis Stegis Patron. 1984. Amalia Farazouli 1884–1954: Mia Agia Morfi [Amalia Farazouli 1884–1954: A Saintly Figure]. Patras. Gazi, Efi. 2011. Patris, Thriskia, Ikogenia: Istoria enos Synthimatos 1880–1930 [Country, Religion, Family: History of a Slogan 1880–1930]. Athens: Polis. Georgoulea, Evaggelia. 2000. Eleni N. Ikonomopoulou: I Mousourgos (1912– 1999) [Eleni N. Ikonomopoulou: The musician (1912–1999)]. Agia Paraskevi: Kalamos. Giannakopoulos, Angelos. 1999. Die Theologen-Bruderschaften in Griechenland. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Gousidis, Alexandros. 1993. I Christianikes Organosis: I periptosi tis adelfotitos theologon I ‘Zoi’: Kinoniologiki prosegisi [Christian Associations: The Case of Zoe Brotherhood: Sociological Approach]. Thessalonica: Pournara. Hirschon, R. 1983. ‘Women, the Aged and Religious Activity: Oppositions and Complementarity in an Urban Locality.’ Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 1: 113–30. Ioannou, Giorgos. 1984. I Protevousa ton Prosfygon [Refugee Capital]. Athens: Kedros. Isherwood, Lisa. 2006. The Power of Erotic Celibacy: Queering Heteropatriarchy. London: Continuum. Jioultsis, Basil. 1975. ‘Religious Brotherhoods: A Sociological View.’ Social Compass, 22: 67–83. Karamouzis, Polykarpos. 2004. Kratos, Ekklisia ke Politiki Ideologia sti Neoteri Ellada: Kliros, Theologi ke Thriskeftikes Organosis sto Mesopolemo [State, Church and Political Ideology in Modern Greece: Clergy, Theologians and Religious Organizations in the Period between the Two World Wars]. Unpublished PhD Thesis, Pantion Panepistimio. Athens. Kolitsaras, Ioannis. 1980. Seraphim Papakostas (1892–1954) Biography. Athens: Zoi. Lelwica, Michelle M. 1998 ‘From Superstition to Enlightenment to the Race for Pure Consciousness: Antireligious Currents in Popular and Academic Discourse.’ Journal of Feminist Studies, 14/1: 108–23. Liveris, Leonie. 2005. Ancient Taboos and Gender Prejudice: Challenges for Orthodox Women and the Church. Aldershot: Ashgate. Maczewski, Christoph. 2002. I Kinisi tis ‘Zois’ stin Ellada: Symvoli sto Provlima tis Paradoseos tis Anatolikis Ekklisias [Die Zoi-Bewegung Griechenlands], trans. Father G. Metallinos. Athens: Armos. Makrides, Vasilios. 1988. ‘The Brotherhoods of Theologians in Contemporary Greece.’ Greek Orthodox Theological Review, 33/2: 167–87. ———. 2004. ‘Orthodoxy in the Service of Anticommunism: The Religious Organization Zoë during the Greek Civil War.’ In The Greek Civil War: Essays on a Conflict of Exceptionalism and Silences, ed. Philip Carabott and Thanasis D. Sfikas. Aldershot: Ashgate.

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———. 2008. ‘The Greek Orthodox Church and Social Welfare during the Second World War.’ In Bearing Gifts to Greeks: Humanitarian Aid to Greece in the 1940s, ed. Richard Clogg. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Mastelou-Giannakena, Elina. 2009. ‘Tasia Theofilaki.’ O Cosmos tis Ellinidos, 559: 142. Mastrogiannopoulos, Ilias. 1975. ‘I thriskeftikes organosis: Proistoria ke fenomenologia’ [Religious Organizations: Their Prehistory and Phenomenology]. In To Politevma ton Christianon [The polity of Christians]. Thessalonica: Pournara. Mastrogiannopoulou, Stamatia, I Gyneka sto Vasilio tis [The Woman in Her Kingdom]. Athens. Moschou, Sasa. 1958a. ‘I Ellinida os Politis’ [The Greek Woman as Citizen]. O Cosmos tis Ellinidos, 51: 325. ———. 1958b ‘To Gynekio Zitima’ [The Women’s Cause]. O Cosmos tis Ellinidos, 53: 392–3. Mumm, Susan. 1999. Stolen Daughters, Virgin Mothers: Anglican Sisterhoods in Victorian Britain. London and New York: Leicester University Press. Nicholson, Linda (ed.). 1990. Feminism/Postmodernism. New York: Routledge. Papaevaggelou-Papadimitriou, Aggeliki. 2009. ‘Eleni Evaggelou Koukou.’ O Cosmos tis Ellinidos, 559: 145–6. Papakonstantinou-Malami, Anastasia. 2005. 55 Chronia sto Keli tis Filakismenis [55 Years in the Woman Prisoner’s Block]. Athens: Damaskos. ———. n.d. To Odiporiko tis Pronias: I kat’ Epistimin Askisis tis Empraktis Agapis [The Welfare Course]. Athens: Damaskos. Papakostas, Seraphim. 1963. ‘To Zitima ton kata Christon Agamon en to Kosmo’ [The Issues of Celibacy in the Midst of the World]. In Monachismos ke Synchronos Kosmos [Monasticism and the Modern World]. Athens: Zoi. Papataxiarchis, E. 2006. ‘Isagogi: Apo ti skopia tou Fylou, Anthropologikes theorisis tis Synchronis Elladas’ [From the Point Of View of Gender, Anthropological Studies on Modern Greece]. In Taftotites ke Fylo sti Synchroni Ellada [Identity and Gender in Modern Greece], ed. E. Papataxiarchis and Th. Paradellis. 3rd ed. Athens: Alexandria. Psilopoulos, Emmanuel. 1966. ‘Le Mouvement “Zoï” dans l’église Orthodoxe de Grèce.’ Revue des Sciences Religieuses, 40/3: 258–89. Ramfos, Stelios. 2000. O Kaimos tou Enos: Kefalea tis Psychikis Istorias ton Ellinon [The Yearning of the One: Chapters on the Spiritual History of the Greeks]. Athens: Armos. Rendall, Jane. 1985. The Origins of Modern Feminism: Women in Britain, France and the United States 1780–1860. London: Macmillan. Rushton, L. 1983. ‘Doves and Magpies: Reflexive Perspectives in Anthropology.’ In Women’s Religious Experiences, ed. P. Holden. London: Croom Helm. Statutes of the association ‘Sisterhood Efsevia’ 11306/40 and revised version 16218/92.

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Tsamis, Dimitrios. 2005. I Orthodoxes Adelfotites: Apo tous Protochristianikous Chronous Mechri to telos tis Byzantinis Periodou [Orthodox Brotherhoods: From the Early Christian Years until the End of the Byzantine Period]. Thessalonica: Lydia. Tsirindanis, Alexandros [P. Melitis]. 1944. ‘Gyneka ke Feminismos’ [Woman and Feminism]. Aktines, 40: 18–22. ———. 1946. Dia Kathe Ellina: Diakyriksis tis Ellinikis Enoseos Epistimonon [For Every Greek Person: Manifesto of the Greek Union of Scientists]. Athens. Wolf, Naomi. 1991. The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty Are Used against Women. New York: William Morrow. Yannaras, Christos. 1970. I Eleftheria tou Ithous [The Freedom of Morality]. Athens: Athina. ———. 1992. Orthodoxia ke Dysi sti Neoteri Ellada [Orthodoxy and the West]. Athens: Domos. ———. 2001. Katafygio Ideon [Refuge of Ideas]. Athens: Ikaros. Zoumbouli, Matoula. 1995. Stamatia Mastrogiannopoulou: Mia Synchroni Fivi [Stamatia Mastrogiannopoulou: A Modern Phoebe]. Athens: Tino.

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Chapter 6

The New Sound of the Spiritual Modern: The Revival of Greek Orthodox Chant Tore Tvarnø Lind

The Orthodox monastic community at Mount Athos often positions itself as antagonistic to a modernity that believes in progress and is marked by secularization and rationalization. What the monastic tradition, as a harbour of faith, offers in its place is the salvation of contemporary man. In this line of thought, Byzantine chant, or the liturgical musical tradition of the Greek Orthodox Church, is seen as traditional and sacred in itself. Yet, as part of contemporary society, how can a living tradition not be part of modernity? How is a revived musical practice supposed not to be influenced by modern discourses and the means of modern monastic musical research and restoration? Based on ethnomusicological fieldwork carried out in the Great and Holy Monastery of Vatopaidi (or Vatopedi), Mount Athos, in 2000–01, this chapter examines the music-revival activities at the monastery since the middle of the 1990s in the light of a critical discussion of tradition and modernity. The concepts of tradition, authenticity, modernity and music revival will first be discussed, followed by an analysis of how the revival of the musical tradition has been reproduced as part of the Athonite cultural heritage and as historically authentic, and how the musical past seems to be a source for reinvigorating contemporary Orthodox concern for life and the afterlife. The chapter will also trace how the past has indeed been reinvented to serve not only the Orthodox spirituality and rite but also other domains, including politics, well into the twenty-first century.1

Tradition ‘Plenitude’ is a term that describes well the many shortcomings of the usual distinction between tradition (stability, authenticity, faith) and modernity (change, innovation, secularization). As a living tradition, the Byzantine musical tradition is part of modernity (rather than having developed into modernity); it has always renewed itself in the past when ‘looking back’ at its own history. As the music 1 The fieldwork material and the study of Byzantine chant at the monastery of Vatopaidi presented in this chapter are discussed at greater length and with further details in The Past Is Always Present: The Revival of Byzantine Chant at Mount Athos (Lind 2011).

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revival at the monastery of Vatopaidi shows, modern mediation technology2 has merely made it possible to use new ways for reviving and disseminating the authentic musical tradition. However, tradition at the monastery of Vatopaidi may be understood in two contradictory ways. First, tradition is religious dogma defined in terms of prescriptions of believing the right (Orthodox) way and living the right way in God (orthopraxis): the notion of a right practice and spiritual attitude leave a profound mark on correct musical performance practice (Engelhardt 2009). Second, tradition is something that is discussed in terms of, for example, how to improve the standards of musical performance. At the monastery, ‘cultivating the God-given gifts (ta tálanta)’ is a monastic virtue, also when addressing vocal and musical skills. Tradition describes ‘something’ that cultural insiders do, feel, reflect, mean, evaluate and identify with in a specific socio-historical context carrying ideas of cultural continuity over time. I make use of the anthropological term ‘cultural insiders’ to designate people or communities whose life and tradition become the object of academic study. The traditional is not synonymous with the habitual, or the usual, and yet it is deeply related to those things. Tradition involves repetition and, therefore, implies both stability and change. Means of passing on knowledge, skills and the spiritual significance of chanting is part of the monks’ involvement in the sacred musical tradition. The process of passing on is generally known as ‘transmission’. The ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl offers a useful definition of how these terms are often understood in the discipline of ethnomusicology: The term most used to lump together all of the various processes that may be found in the history of a musical repertory is tradition, a concept that combines the stable nature of a culture’s way of life within the implication that by its very existence over long periods of time this way of life is subject to change. The way in which tradition is passed on is called transmission, and the two terms are sometimes used, informally and perhaps colloquially, to emphasize two sides of the character of a culture or indeed of a music – its stability on the one hand, its tendency to change on the other. (Nettl 1982: 3, underlining original)

The repetition of musical performance is understood to take place within a continuously changing process in which various parameters and elements of the tradition, and the meanings of these, are put to play in a culturally negotiated space. Each musical performance either re-establishes and reconfirms the value of the tradition and the way to live and express it, or certain aspects of musical

2

The term ‘modern mediation technology’ refers in general to LPs, CDs and other analogue and digital formats by which music is mediated and marketed. Understanding music as implicitly mediated challenges perceptions of music as an object (the music is not the LP or the CD; these are mere means of mediation).

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performance practices become subject to change in order to meet the needs and expectations of performers and audiences – modern and anti-modern alike. Whereas Hobsbawm and Ranger’s much acclaimed work, The Invention of Tradition (1983), must be recognized for its influence on studies of traditions, particularly in relation to nation-state formations, this approach alone does not seem satisfactory for ethnomusicological tampering with traditions. It follows from Hobsbawm’s distinction between invented traditions and traditional societies that it is possible in research to distinguish between the unreal and the real: when a (modern) culture claims tradition and puts emphasis on age and authenticity, it is symptomatic of the absence of precisely those things – age and authenticity. Allegedly, some traditions are more invented (the modern) than others (the pre-modern). This questionable distinction is based partly on the illusion of a privileged, neutral position of the researcher, partly on the premise that in premodern ‘traditional societies’ things were simply part of ‘human nature’. Rather, and this is more in line with the position taken here, academic theorizing itself seems to have formed the distinction between modern and traditional societies. Arjun Appadurai reflects on this distinction: One of the most problematic legacies of grand Western social science (Auguste Comte, Ferdinand Toennies, Max Weber, Émile Durkheim) is that it has steadily reinforced the sense of some single modern moment, which by its appearance creates a dramatic and unprecedented break between past and present. Reincarnated as the break between tradition and modernity and typologized as difference between ostensibly traditional and modern societies, this view has been shown repeatedly to distort the meanings of change and the politics of pastness. Yet the world in which we now live […] surely does involve a general break with all sorts of past. What sort of break is this, if it is not the one identified by modernization theory? (Appadurai 1996: 2–3)

Traditions are invented, everybody agrees, yet there is no way of speaking of the ‘real’ past as opposed to a reinvented past; or, as the anthropologist Michael Herzfeld (1991: 12) puts it, ‘if any history is invented, all history is invented’. Therefore the ‘invention school’ can hardly serve as a general principle for understanding how tradition is conceptualized in different cultures and how cultural practices work by implication of repetition through and within processes of innovation and reinvention. Thus, we can direct our attention to the central issues: why tradition and authenticity are important to so many cultures, including the Orthodox tradition, and how the aspiration for the traditional is embodied and practised. This approach is based on an understanding of the traditional and the authentic as values ascribed to cultural phenomena and as markers of ethically proper behaviour and virtue (cf. Shannon 2006: xxiii). Thereby it challenges preconceived ideas about invention and innovation as inauthentic and signs of contrivance and insincerity. When I speak of invention and revival in relation to Byzantine chant in the monastic community of Mount Athos, these could be better

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(for academic understanding) understood in terms of innovation or creation, by which I mean to suggest that the monks’ creative engagement with the Byzantine, Greek-Orthodox and Athonite heritage is real and sincere.

Authenticity and Consciousness Hobsbawm and Ranger’s invention logic sees cultural awareness or consciousness of tradition as a disqualifying parameter for being a ‘real’ tradition (Kvaale 2004: 307). Following this line of thought, the monks’ consciousness of their musical tradition would disqualify it as genuinely traditional. This is problematic to say the least: consciousness is hardly guilty in transforming traditional societies into inauthentic replica. Accordingly, we may ask whether we really believe that consciousness (as a psychological property) did not exist prior to the modern invention of it. As cultural institutions and actors, monasteries represent and position themselves and participate in the discourse on questions of identity, authenticity and history. The monastery’s representation and self-representation in videos and CDs should not be confused with a substitute for real social and spiritual life; rather, these representations ought to be included in ethnomusicological approaches to music as real if we truly want to bring the study of musical traditions beyond perceptions of monks (and others) as strategic ‘violators of natural life’ (Kvaale 2004: 307). Important for (historical and otherwise) ethnomusicology is the very inclusion of the cultural insiders’ consciousness and their perception of the past, as well as how they claim, narrate and celebrate history. Therefore, what deserves academic attention is why and how cultural insiders (as well as scholars) tend to use and make visible, as well as audible specific traditional elements in order to claim authenticity. Present forms and practices of musical traditions are always interacting with the past. Various traditions may emphasize this interaction with the past more or less openly. Musical change is the result of an ongoing process of changing the musical behaviour of the performers and their decisions on music and performance. Turning to the Vatopaidians and their interaction with the Byzantine past (as a wanted past), musical change is initiated as a conscious decision-making process relating to current musical practices.

Multiple Modernities Musical events and practices eventually have to be repeated in order to create a continuum forming what we (in a popular sense) understand as ‘tradition’. Monastic musical practice in lived life does not fit into neat a priori categories and binary oppositional theorizing. As fieldwork at Mount Athos revealed, religious traditions are real and modern. This is nothing new, although it is commonly believed that

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religious traditions are often exceptions; many studies on musical traditions point to concepts, such as tradition and authenticity, as particularly problematic because they are often intertwined with the quest of scholarly disciplines for real, authentic traditions. In line with the views on modernity as presented in the work of Faubion, Prodromou, Eisenstadt and others, I argue that the revival of Byzantine musical tradition at the monastery of Vatopaidi is shaping or is part of a particular modernity among other modernities.3 Faubion insists that modernity ‘is not one but many things’ (1993: xvi) and not exclusively based on the Western idealization of progress and technical rationalism. ‘Countermoderns’, Faubion notes, ‘believe in spite’ of the postulated decline of a ‘divinely preordained and fated cosmos’; he argues that Weber, in his sociology of modernity, ‘does not even assert that “modern European culture” is a “secular culture.” [Weber] is perfectly aware […] that both religious commitment and religious belief are still “modern”’, only it has no more legitimacy than any other worldview or ideology (1993: 115, with reference to Weber 1946: 351). Eisenstadt (2000: 592–3) proposes an alternative to mainstream Eurocentric sociology and its presupposition of a one-sided structural modernization paradigm: he believes that modernity is a flexible concept, which, as a social phenomenon, is conditioned by specific historical and socio-cultural contexts. This is also reflected in Roudometof’s notion of glocal modernities (2003) that allow global and local factors in the production of a plurality of the modern. With specific concern for the religious domain, Prodromou notes how conventional approaches to modernity in Greece tend to conclude ‘that the Church, Orthodox Christianity and, most broadly, religion, are impediments to the realization of modernity in Greece’ (2004: 476). Prodromou demonstrates that the ‘Greek case is part of the ample empirical evidence that supports the claim that modernity and secularity are not synonymous’ (2004: 481), thus suggesting that within different varieties of modernity it would be possible to address issues concerning religious aspects of Greek political and cultural identity as part of modernity (2004: 482). Traditions exist right in the middle of modern worlds – sacred music revivals are modern manifestations like revivals of folk music, early music and so on. Today, the ways in which it is possible for us to even think about traditions are inextricably modern.

Music Revival: Learning How to Remember Tradition For the study of the revivalism of Byzantine chant, it is useful to gain more insight from the realm of music revivals in general. Music revivals are a characteristic feature of music history in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Most 3 I wish to thank Trine Stauning Willert, from the University of Copenhagen, for our discussions on Greece and modernity, notably the plural concept of modernity (Willert 2009).

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commonly associated with music revivals are folk music and dance traditions, but classical and sacred musical traditions have also witnessed revivals. Studies of early music revivals (see for example Shelemay 2001) have been concerned with issues of material and formal authenticity, musical notation and historical musical instruments striving for original modes of production. Music revival is a cross-temporal activity, a present engagement with history that wishes to influence the future; it is based on how a group of revivalists begin to imagine the past, which is expressed and embodied later by assigning specific values to the revived practice and identifying with it. In her outline of a general theory of music revivals, Livingston (1999: 66) defines these as ‘social movements which strive to “restore” a musical system believed to be disappearing or completely relegated to the past for the benefit of contemporary society’. The monastic brotherhood at Vatopaidi strives to restore the musical system and practice beyond the reform of the Byzantine musical system in the early nineteenth century, resulting in the Néa Méthodos (New Method).4 This makes the revival a present, or modern, activity, itself a part of the musical business of the monastery aimed at bringing back to life specific historical moments in the tradition of Byzantine chant. Past Byzantine composers, cantors and teachers have been kept alive in the memories of the monks. In this sense, the music revival at Vatopaidi is a memory project aiming to begin to ‘remember’ music and things past, which must be based on a common musical practice. Remembering the past is a social act, which already belongs to the present. In ritual life and performance, ‘an individual in the present [may] re-sing, re-hear and re-experience the past’ (Shelemay 1998: 223). The legitimacy of music revivals is grounded in authenticity, historical selfidentification and the cultural, religious and political values of the revivalists. Music revivals often divide culture into modern and traditional, and as Ronström argues, often ‘revival is a process of traditionalization’ (Ronström 1996: 18). Traditional culture, therefore, is an idea evolved in modernity as a conscious point of opposition to modernity. The purpose of sacred music revivals is twofold: to serve as a cultural opposition to mainstream performance practices and to ‘improve existing culture through the values based on historical value and authenticity expressed by the revivalists’ (Livingston 1999: 68). Thus, a revival movement is often marked by conflicting models. On the one hand, the revival of the past takes shape by cultivating what is believed to be ‘authentic’ or original ‘old’ forms, as opposed to the forms of mainstream culture. On the other hand, ‘involvement with the modern is a transcendence of old concepts in that the local is syncretically blended together with new ideas […] The dynamic of tradition lies precisely 4

The reform of the musical system was carried out by the ‘Three Teachers’, implemented in the Patriarchal School of Music in Constantinople in 1815 and marked off by Chrysanthos’s work Theoritikón Méga tis Mousikís in 1832. Among other things, the number of musical notational signs was diminished, and diverse local uses and styles homogenized.

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in the musical relationship between the local and the global perspectives, regression and emancipation, and between retrospection and future outlooks’ (Baumann 1996: 71).

The Revival of Byzantine/Orthodox Chant at Vatopaidi Now let us turn to the monastery of Vatopaidi. In 1990 a group of monks left their kellía5 in Nea Skiti6 in the south-western part of Mount Athos and went to the monastery of Vatopaidi with the elder Joseph as their spiritual father. They had a vision of rebuilding the monastery, which they found in a miserable condition, and as chanting was stagnant, they also wanted to create beautiful chanting to fill the space of the monastery again. This group of new Vatopaidians started the restoration of the monastic buildings, including the buildings outside the walls of the monastery that house the 120 workers engaged in the restoration work (a considerable number in comparison to the 90 monks that live in the monastery).7 In 2000, when I started to do fieldwork at the monastery, the kitchen, guest quarters and some of the parekklésia (chapels) had been completed, but the establishment of the new arsanás (landing stage) was in progress (Figure 6.1), the overseeing of which was appointed to Father Agapios, who was also at the time responsible for musical research, teaching and practice. As Father Ephraim was elected the new Hegoúmenos (abbot) in 1990, the Great and Holy Monastery of Vatopaidi turned coenobitic.8 Until then, the monastery had been idiorrhythmic9 since its foundation in the tenth century from 972 to 980 (Gothóni 1994: 14). In Mount Athos: Renewal in Paradise (2002), Graham Speake – the founder of the British-based society, Friends of Mount Athos – has characterized this turn towards the coenobium as renewal in itself as the change 5

A kellíon refers here to a smaller monastic establishment with a chapel and a piece of land usually inhabited by a small number of monks. A kellíon is also the cell of a monk in a monastery. 6 Skíti (pl. skítes): a skete is a monastic village or hermitage under the dependency of a ruling monastery. The Nea Skiti (New Skete) on the south-western shore of the peninsula consists of 37 kellía (see note 5) and kályves (huts) and is subordinate to the monastery of Agios Pavlos. 7 Figures are unofficial; conversation with Fathers Nyphon and Agapios (Field Diary II, 11 November 2001). Speake (2002: 169) registers the number of monks living at the monastery of Vatopaidi as follows: 1903: 966 monks; 1959: 129 monks; 1968: 83 monks; and 1971: 74 monks. This decline forms a general tendency at the monasteries at Mount Athos during the period. 8 In a coenobium (koinos vios) the monks share all duties (as opposed to an idiorrhythmically organized brotherhood). The monasteries of Vatopaidi and Iviron were among the last Athonite monasteries to turn coenobitic in 1990. 9 In an idiorrhythmic monastery each monk follows a daily ‘rhythm of his own’ (as opposed to a coenobium).

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Figure 6.1 Father Agapios, who in 2001 was in charge of the music department at Vatopaidi, attends the construction of the new landing stage, November 2001

has consequences for the administration. Applying this idea of change towards the coenobium as a form of renewal to the music, it could be argued that when the newly arrived monks started working with the music they began to imagine and define the new musical style of the monastery. Music revival, therefore, is also a process of learning to remember: The monks who undertook the task to revive Vatopaidian tradition were not heirs to this tradition before their arrival at the monastery. They ‘took over’ and started identifying with the monastery by learning (and defining) whatever constitutes the particular ‘Vatopaidian’ in the tradition. Thus, the monks’ involvement with early recordings, musical manuscripts, treatises on music theory etc. is at least in part a means of creating memory. Manuscripts, musical notation and recordings represent the past in the most complete way. The pastness of these musical objects becomes an assurance of their validity and aesthetic qualities (Trilling 1942: 192), which has a profound bearing on the very act of perception of music in its unfoldings (Dahlhaus 1983: 60). Father Ephraim was among the monks coming from Nea Skiti, as were the music teacher Father Agapios and Fathers Nyphon and Theophilos, among others. Since then many others have joined the brotherhood from other monasteries. Among the young monks who came to the monastery in the wake of renewal during the 1990s are Fathers Nikodemos and Bartholomeos, both skilled psáltes

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(cantors) with an extensive knowledge of both Western classical and Byzantine music theory and notation. Music as a primary concern at Vatopaidi helps attract new monks and pilgrims, but others find the choir ‘too big’, ‘too modern’ or ‘too professional’. Chanting has not always occupied Vatopaidian monks with the same intensity as today. During its time as an idiorrhythmically organized monastery, every monk lived his daily life according to his own rhythm. When it turned into a coenobitic monastery there was more chanting and every monk now follows the same daily routine. Services are longer and there are more agrypníes (all-night vigils), which demand more skill, discipline and stamina of the chanters.

Monastic Music School and Musical Genealogy In 1993 a music teacher from Athens, Kostas Angelidis, visited the monastery and started teaching the monks how to chant in unison, rather than as a group of individuals. The choral effort to improve the musical standard symbolizes in a strong way the sociality of coenobitic life, as musical activity is a means of creating and embodying a strong sense of group solidarity and identity. Father Agapios describes Angelidis’s effort this way: Kostas taught us how to work in a more organized way, and he taught us to chant monophonic hymns homophonically, many monks, each with his own voice, but as if we were chanting with only one voice … (Field Notes, 11 November 2001: 53)10

Later, Georgos Konstantinou – one of Angelidis’s colleagues, also an expert in Byzantine chant from Athens – joined the teaching practices at the monastery. Konstantinou organized the digital photographing of the many Vatopaidian musical manuscripts, some of which are located in other Athonite monasteries, including the manuscripts of the local composer Matthaios Vatopaidinos (born in the middle of the eighteenth century), who is believed to be crucial to the continuation of the musical tradition of the earlier local monk and composer Damianos of Vatopaidi (c.1670–1700), who is believed to be among the main representatives of the Byzantine musical tradition in the late seventeenth century. The music revival can be understood as a return to tradition, which is more than symbolic: it is ritually embodied. Moreover, the reintroduced traditional elements are made visible and audible on digital media portraying the traditional character of the monastery, but not the modern facilities and means of restoration and mediation. As a traditionalized practice, the music revival at Vatopaidi has 10 The term ‘monophonic’ describes the Byzantine musical melody or monody (as opposed to polyphonic music such as in four-part singing); the term ‘homophonic’ describes a choir actually singing together; monophony does not necessarily imply homophony.

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been strongly influenced by the ethno-religious puritanism of Simonos Karas (1903–99), who had an immense influence on the transmission and reception of Greek ecclesiastical and folk music by and large via popular radio broadcasts of musical performances and theoretical writing, among other activities in the second half of the twentieth century. The Vatopaidians have been greatly influenced by the theories of Karas, as their teachers and associates from Athens are his followers. Before this new era of Vatopaidi there were only two cantors at the monastery (1987–89): Father Dorotheos in the choir to the right and the elder Father Germanos to the left. From 1990 Father Germanos continued to chant to the right until his death in 1995 and the new monks to the left. Father Dorotheos had already left the main monastery in favour of a solitary life in one of the monastery’s dwellings – he is remembered as a cantor with a somewhat wild and hard voice. Father Germanos is considered one of the last figures in the chain of the ‘old and great Vatopaidian chanters’, as Fathers Agapios and Bartholomeos characterize him with reverence (Field Notes, 11 November 2001: 52–3). He was the pupil of the skilled teacher (didáskalos) and composer (melopoiós) Romanos (1889–1966) from Jerusalem, who came to the monastery in 1919; and Father Romanos’s teacher was protopsáltis Zagkliverinos, famous in Greece. In this manner, the genealogical chain of psáltes and teachers can be followed back into the history of Byzantine music to prominent figures such as Panagiotis Chalatzoglou (protopsáltis in the Great Church 1727–47) and Petros Bereketis (peak 1680–1710). According to Livingston’s (1999) notion of reliance upon historical sources as a basis for the formulation of a revival, any study of music revival should take into consideration the impact of (early) recordings and current trends in performance practices. In that sense, the recording technology, and even the recording industry, is of vital importance to the definition and distribution of the specific musical style in question. This can be helpful for understanding why listening to both ‘historical’ recordings and performances of elders (gérontes) occasionally visiting the monastery is a valuable experience to the monks in their work with the aesthetics and politics of ‘right’ performance practices and the interpretation of past and present musical notational signs.

Musical Palaeopoíisi (‘Making It Sound Old’) Central to musical revival activities are ideas of correct performance practices, expressed as a concern for the right ‘sound’, the right notational signs and the right way of understanding the music theoretically. Examples of reinventing a ‘classical’ Byzantine style of music performance – virtually an innovation of making (parts of) the ritual ‘sound old’ – include hymns in old modes, the use of classical intonation formulas and the implementation of a simple drone (íson) practice with only few shifts, as well as liturgical replies in the old Athonite and Constantinopolitan fashion. Most notably (though less audibly) is the reintroduction of some of the old musical notational signs that were abolished in the reform of the Byzantine

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musical system with the introduction of the New Method as mentioned above.11 The justification for reintroducing abolished signs is to be found in the monks’ belief that the musical ‘energies’ of these musical signs have been alive orally and must properly be realigned in notational and performative practice. At first, these modern musical reinventions seem to suggest that the music should sound ‘old’ and right, and even appear historically correct in terms of musical notation (although this is a matter of revision). Yet, there seems to be more to it than a mere concern for historical faithfulness to the past. Shelemay notes, ‘the early music movement, while drawing on music of the historical past, is powerfully informed by the creative impulses of its practitioners and the aesthetics of the present’ (Shelemay 2001: 9). This dynamic is equally applicable to the case of the revival of Byzantine chant at Vatopaidi. What is new about the revived practice is perhaps not so much the echo of pastness, as ‘the new sound of the spiritual modern: the revived musical practice at the monastery of Vatopaidi is a performance style based completely on contemporary ideas of sounds past. The historical references are used to legitimate new practices, yet it is the new way that these sources are put to play in the modern monastic setting that render the tradition its renewed strength, not the antiquity of the sources themselves’ (cf. Taruskin 1988: 152). Musical Blossom Various terms might be used to describe the process of revitalizing the musical tradition at the monastery: ‘revival’ is the term of the academic outsider; another, favoured by the monks, is ‘blossom’. Arguably, there are signs of musical renewal, expressed in terms of aesthetic concern, choir rehearsals, musical training, studies in Byzantine music theory and notational signs, production of CDs and mapping out the musical genealogy; they all put renewed focus on the monastery’s position in Byzantine music history with respect to both its written documents and its oral tradition. During my conversations with Father Agapios it became clear that the monks themselves were reflecting on their engagement with the music and the massive restoration work of the buildings. They were well aware that their decisions and actions were responses to a monastery in decline. However, Father Agapios does not approve of the terms ‘revival’ (anagénnisi) and ‘renewal’ (ananéosi):12 I think perhaps “blossom” or “bloom” (ánthisi) is a better word because there was never really a break in the tradition in the sense that we had to revive it “from scratch” [using the English words “from scratch”]. We were also chanting in Nea Skiti, you know … If you look at the monastery itself, it is being restored, repaired and rebuilt. It never really fell completely apart. But we are, in a sense, 11

See note 4. The Greek term ananéosi can be translated in a variety of ways, as renewal, revival and change. 12

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The monks, therefore, prefer the terms ‘blossom’ (ánthisi) or ‘re-blossom’ (epanánthisi) to describe the music renewal: after all, they did bring their style of chanting with them from Nea Skiti and these musical practices have served as a point of departure for the blossom or reinvention of a distinct ‘Vatopaidian’ style. At this point, the boundaries between local monastic styles – an ‘Athonite’ style, a Greek or a ‘universal’ Orthodox ecclesiastical style – do seem quite obscure: how is the Vatopaidian style different from other musical practices at Mount Athos (what, if anything, is particularly ‘Vatopaidian’ about it)? While reflecting on what these designations mean to the monks, it may be useful to consider monastic music revival discourse, that is, the way the monks verbalize and conceptualize their chanting and the changes it has led to. As Father Agapios argued, the monks did not introduce a totally new music. The new Vatopaidians cultivated the music anew as a gardener does in an old garden, as he explained by using an organic metaphor for the music. Father Agapios explained that the meaning of the term ‘blossom’ is related to the value of Orthodox tradition that emphasizes coherence with the past. Also, the monastery’s physical position in the Garden of the All-Holy Mother of Christ (to Perivoli tis Panagias), as Mount Athos is often called, suggests that anything that grows here is spiritually as well as organically connected to the divine heritage or inheritance. In this sense, the musical organism has simply blossomed again at Vatopaidi, so it could never become obsolete. As Father Agapios argues: ‘the monastery has experienced many musical “blossoms” (pl. anthíseis) with composers such as Matthaios Vatopaidinos (1774–1849) and Damianos (peak 1670–1700).’

Revival Discourse in the Cover Notes of the Monastery’s CDs: An Example The music revival discourse (alongside the music revival practices) proves useful in understanding the value and meaning of the musical concern at Vatopaidi monastery. Browsing through the cover notes of the monastery’s CDs, one sees that the metaphorical language used is strikingly romantic in the sense that it allows the musico-religious tradition to be spoken about as an orange tree growing out of the dirt. In the booklet accompanying one of the CDs the terms ‘revitalization’ and ‘flourishing’ are used: The Holy Mountain of Athos, an ark of Orthodoxy for more than a thousand years, can truly be said to be a womb which brings forth and nurtures Byzantine musical composition and the cantor’s art [psaltikí téchni]. Today, after a period

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of crisis and decline, the monastic community of Mount Athos, flourishing again, is shaping a new period based on the spiritual heritage and the religious charge of this place, and is cultivating that climate which rejoices the souls and gives rest to the spirit not only of each monk, but also of the visitor and pilgrim. It is in the spirit of this revitalization of the Athonite monasteries that the Mousikodidaskaleíon (music school) of the monastery of Vatopaidi, which for centuries gave monks their musical training, has started to function again. […] [The] systematic study of music, which combines knowledge of the written with experience of the oral tradition of chant, has already begun to bear fruit. It is, moreover, the basis for the present undertaking […] a CD for each day of [the] Holy Week. These editions contain all the classic compositions […] sung according to the old Athonite use. (Vatopaidi CD 2000: 14–15)13

These are the words that accompany the result of almost ten years of monastic scholarly systematic work with musical performance at the monastery. The text above leaves no doubt that we are dealing with the creation of a musical profile for the monastery, conscious of its impact on the spiritual and musical tradition. Contrasting with this overt musical and historical self-awareness, the notion of ‘old Athonite use’ blurs the current involvement with the music: what does ‘old use’ refer to here? By emphasizing historical depth and religious heritage, the CD produces an authenticity that the new Vatopaidians claim as their own musical past. However, this interpretation of how the monastery positions itself on its own musical products does not stand unchallenged: the emphasis on a timeless past is not new to the Christian Orthodox tradition, as it has been part of the technology of musical writing for centuries.14 So why should it be any different just because the monks have made a record? The videos, CD-ROMs and CDs (and even the reproduced musical manuscripts in colour) released by the monastery help document and disseminate the revived musical tradition of the monastery, convincingly demonstrating that modern means of mediation and transmission do not contradict the ways of Orthodox spiritual life and performance of its sacred voice.

Conclusion: Voicing the Sacred Modern The issues addressed in this chapter are intended to contribute to a more balanced view of how sacred musical traditions are part of modernity in terms of dialogue with the sacred musical tradition itself and with the surrounding secular world. As 13

The English text (the text is also presented in Greek and French) quoted here was written by the Director of Musical Publications, Nikos Dionysopoulos, Crete University Press. 14 In musicology, musical notation is perceived as an early stage in the technological mediation of music.

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tradition and authenticity are strong rhetorical markers of ideological arguments (Herzfeld 2002; Stokes 1997: 7), they gain their strength from the same postEnlightenment secularization narrative that dooms them as obsolete. To view modernity and tradition as discursive tropes, rhetorical markers (Herzfeld 2002: 202) or narrative categories (Jameson 2002: 40) is a way of discrediting and disenchanting ideological arguments of modernity and tradition. Yet, sacred tradition is more than mere discourse, belief in God more than rhetoric, and lived life more than narrative. This is the story told by the living monks and their chanting. The Vatopaidian and other Athonite musical traditions are modern in the sense that moments of the past are rewritten while existing and dominating versions of the past are challenged. Rational modernity symbolizes a Western European ideology of concepts that imply an Orthodox devaluation of Western (non-Orthodox) beliefs, values and practices. Having recourse to a spiritual past, Orthodoxy easily becomes a metaphor for everything that is not modern. In the case of the Greek Church and State, they have been joining forces and competing in trying to represent the Modern Greek nation in what they believe to be the truest way. This has led the Church to represent Greek ethnoreligious nationalism, or ‘cultural fundamentalism’ (Herzfeld 2002) and the State as standing for modernization aiming to link national self-understanding and European ideals, subsumed in the notion of Eurohellenism (Begzos 2007). However, this distinction between Church and State only serves to maintain an opposition between Orthodoxy and modernity, a modernity in opposition to which the Church positions itself in exile in an (imagined) ‘Byzantine’ past. The desired coherence with this Byzantine past strongly influences modern concerns for music performance practices and sacred musical identity at the monastery of Vatopaidi. To many Athonite monks, notably among those who live in the smaller settlements (sketes) outside the main monasteries, the modernization of the monastic society seems contrary to the monastic ideal and ‘some have even gone so far as to equate the European Union with the Antichrist’ (Speake 2002: 184). These monks speak of a spiritual past, alluding to the idea that spirituality and faith were stronger in the past, and they reject European secular modernity. The revived musical tradition of the Orthodox Church is in a sense a living example of the commitment to Orthodox faith and spirituality as part of the present and part of modernity, amidst a changing modern and European Greece. Therefore, spiritual sentiment and embodiment may constitute the basis for multiple ways of defining European modernity. In this way, the notion of a spiritual past is a way of insisting on a spiritual present in a secularized Europe (secularized at least in terms of legislation and government administration). Moreover, as Greece is a member of the European Union (EU), Mount Athos is part of the European cultural heritage. The restored monastic complexes at Mount Athos (with the exception of the Russian and Bulgarian monasteries that do not enjoy EU support), as well as the revived musical tradition, testify that Orthodoxy, as a prime example of the cultural aspects of Greekness, is

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slowly changing how it views its own role in the EU: the revived music makes Orthodoxy heard far beyond the borders of the Holy Mountain. The reawakening of the voice of the Byzantine past, thus, becomes a means to negotiate the place of Orthodoxy in the religious space of European modernity. The revival of Byzantine chant can be seen as an attempt to strengthen the position of Christianity as part of the European Union and, simultaneously, as a way of insisting on (Greek) Christian Orthodoxy, in particular, as legitimately European in its own right. Related to this political, theological and cultural agenda, the revival of Byzantine music is a way to illustrate that the Orthodox tradition is traditional, but has a modern appeal: the new and cultivated Orthodox voice of Vatopaidi insists on a religion full of vigour and promise for the future of the tradition, locally, nationally and across Europe. In line with the so-called neoOrthodox movement in Greece, which has advocated a return to the traditions of the Greek Orthodox Church, the ideology of the musical revival at the Monastery of Vatopaidi seems to favour traditional elements and historical depth to bolster an authentic musical performance. But the process of redefining and reinventing this sacred musical tradition is circumscribed by a fundamental paradox: on the one hand, the aim is to demonstrate an Orthodox sacred vocality untouched by musical research and restoration, devoid of innovation and detached from contemporary, political concerns; on the other hand, the monks insist upon the relevance of their spiritual voice, tradition and prayers to contemporary modern society.

References Appadurai, Arjun. 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Baumann, Max P. 1996. ‘Folk Music Revival: Concepts Between Regression and Emancipation.’ The World of Music, 38/3: 71–86. Begzos, M. 2007. Eurohellenism: The Philosophy of Religion in Modern Hellenism. Athens: Ellinika Grammata [in Greek]. Bergeron, Katherine. 1998. Decadent Enchantments: The Revival of Gregorian Chant at Solesmes. Berkeley: University of California Press. Bohlman, Philip V. 1988. The Study of Folk Music in the Modern World. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Dahlhaus, Carl. 1983. Foundations of Music History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 2000. ‘The Reconstruction of Religious Arenas in the Framework of “Multiple Modernities”.’ Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 29/3: 591–611. Engelhardt, Jeffers. 2009. ‘Right Singing in Estonian Orthodox Christianity: A Study of Music, Theology and Religious Ideology.’ Ethnomusicology, 53/1: 32–57.

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Faubion, James D. 1993. Modern Greek Lessons: A Primer in Historical Constructivism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Feld, Steven. 1994. ‘Communication, Music, and Speech about Music.’ In Music Grooves: Essays and Dialogue, ed. Charles Keil and Steven Feld, pp. 77–95. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gothóni, René. 1994. Tales and Truth: Pilgrimage on Mount Athos, Past and Present. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Hastrup, Kirsten. 2004. Kultur: Det fleksible fællesskab [Culture: The flexible community]. Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag [in Danish]. Herzfeld, Michael. 1991. A Place in History: Social and Monumental Time in a Cretan Town. Princeton: Princeton University Press. ———. 2002. ‘Cultural Fundamentalism and the Regimentation of Identity: The Embodiment of Orthodox Values in a Modernist Setting.’ In The Postnational Self: Belonging and Identity, ed. Ulf Hedetoft and Mette Hjort, pp. 198–214. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press. Hobsbawm, Eric and Terence Ranger (eds). 1983. The Invention of Tradition. Past and Present Publications. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jameson, Fredric. 2002. A Singular Modernity: Essay on the Ontology of the Present. London and New York: Verso. Kvaale, Katja. 2004. ‘Tradition: Det oprindeliges modernisering’ [Tradition: Modernizing the indigenous]. In Viden om verden: En grundbog i antropologisk metode [Knowledge about the world: An introduction to the method of anthropology], ed. Kirsten Hastrup, pp. 303–24. Copenhagen: Hans Reitzels Forlag [in Danish]. Lind, Tore Tvarnø. 2011. The Past Is Always Present: The Revival of the Byzantine Musical Tradition at Mount Athos. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Livingston, Tamara E. 1999. ‘Music Revival: Towards a General Theory.’ Ethnomusicology, 43/1: 66–85. Nettl, Bruno. 1982. ‘Types of Tradition and Transmission.’ In Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Music: Essays in Memory of Mieczyslaw Kolinski, ed. Robert Falck and Timothy Rice, pp. 3–19. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Prodromou, Elisabeth H. 2004. ‘Negotiating Pluralism and Specifying Modernity in Greece: Reading Church–State Relations in the Christodoulos Period.’ Social Compass, 51/4: 471–85. Ronström, Owe. 1996. ‘Revival Reconsidered.’ The World of Music, 3: 5–20. Roudometof, Victor. 2003. ‘Glocalization, Space, and Modernity.’ The European Legacy, 8/1: 37–60. Shannon, Jonathan H. 2006. Among the Jasmine Trees: Music and Modernity in Contemporary Syria. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Shelemay, Kay K. 1998. Let Jasmine Rain Down: Song and Remembrance among Syrian Jews. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 2001. ‘Toward an Ethnomusicology of the Early Music Movement: Thoughts on Bridging Disciplines and Musical Worlds.’ Ethnomusicology, 45/1: 1–29.

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Speake, Graham. 2002. Mount Athos: Renewal in Paradise. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Stokes, Martin. 1997. ‘Introduction: Ethnicity, Identity and Music.’ In Ethnicity, Identity, and Music: The Musical Construction of Place, ed. Martin Stokes, pp. 1–27. Oxford: Berg. Taruskin, Richard. 1988. ‘The Pastness of the Present and the Presence of the Past.’ In Authenticity and Early Music, ed. Nicholas Kenyon, pp. 137–207. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Trilling, Lionel. 1942. The Liberal Imagination: Essays on Literature and Society. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Willert, Trine S. 2009. ‘Will Greece ‘Modernize’ through Orthodoxy?’ Paper presented at Mediterranean Research Meeting, Workshop on Culture, Religion and Territory with Olivier Roy, European University Institute, Florence, Italy, 25–28 March 2009 (unpublished manuscript). Discography Vatopaidi CD 2000. Holy Saturday: Service of the Epitaphios. CD, C.U.P. 26 (The Great and Holy Monastery of Vatopaidi, Mount Athos and Crete University Press, 2000). Unpublished Fieldwork Material Field Diary, 2–25 November 2000 (189 pages); Field Notes, 28 October–1 December 2001 (89 pages).

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Reform and Power Struggle in Religious Governance

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Chapter 7

Holy Canons or General Regulations? The Ecumenical Patriarchate vis-à-vis the Challenge of Secularization in the Nineteenth Century Dimitris Stamatopoulos

The ‘innovation’ of the spiritual and institutional tradition in the Orthodox Churches of Eastern and South-Eastern Europe was always inextricably bound with two interrelated issues: (a) the relation of these Churches to the state; and (b) the relation of the Orthodox East to what we have learned to call the ‘West’. Consequently, it forms a point of intersection for two thematic discussions. The first concerns the subject of secularization, i.e. the limitation of the religious element to the private sphere (or, correspondingly, the secularization of state structures; see e.g. Turner 2011). The second refers to the question of orientalism, i.e. the ideological predominance of the West, which in imposing rules for ‘modernization’ on an undeveloped ‘East’ actually contributed to the creation of a worldview of the latter that would continually deviate from its ideal model, even if it followed the footsteps of continuing retrofit.1 The problem in the definition of ‘innovation’ could, thus, promote a substantialization of the ‘West’ as such, as long as it entails a Western canon which was constructed during the age of the religious wars in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (as Samuel Huntington supposed)2 and was considered the yardstick of other non-Western European models of relations between Church and state. The supposed contradiction between the Churches of the West (especially the Protestant ones), characterized by a general spirit of innovation against the Churches of Eastern and South-Eastern Europe (mainly Orthodox), 1 See the classic work of Edward W. Said, Orientalism (2003, first published 1978). For how the ‘East’, namely the continental empires of the Eastern and South-eastern Europe, confronted the problem of their ‘orientalization’ through the incorporation of religion (Christian Orthodox in the case of Russia, Islam in the case of the Ottoman Empire) as the core of a distinguished civilizational paradigm against the ‘West’, see Stamatopoulos 2012 (forthcoming). 2 Huntington (1996) who defines the West as the result of the Religious Wars and the struggle between the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, Protestants and Catholics.

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which must always adapt themselves to the spirit of ‘modernity’ through institutional reformation, hides the danger of the reproduction of an orientalist dichotomy stereotype. Taking into consideration the orientalist endangerments of this bipolar scheme, we can more easily trace the peculiarities of the Eastern Orthodox Church defining the historicity of this complex dialogue between East and West. As early as the late Byzantine period, the Orthodox Church based the creation of its collective identity on differentiating itself from the Catholic West. The concept of ‘Orthodoxy’ was related to a defence of the old principles on which it had presumably been formed since the time of the seven Ecumenical Councils, but which became obvious following the Schism in 1054 and even more so after the fourteenth century, when Constantinople was internally split into unionists and anti-unionists.3 The Orthodox East, rejecting the challenge of the Union with Rome, was coerced to undergo ‘innovation’ under the pressure of its new masters. The Ottoman conquest – a solution favoured by the anti-unionist faction – also provided the opportunity to its leadership (especially in the case of Gennadius II Scholarius, the first Patriarch of Constantinople after the Fall) to legitimize the new regime through a renewed theology of ‘Divine Providence’: the conquest was imposed by God as punishment for the sins of the Byzantines. Therefore, the Orthodox Patriarchates of the East4 found a formula for compromise with Ottoman legitimacy, while simultaneously confirming their break with the theology and ecclesiastical practices of the late medieval West. However, the challenge by the West against the real existence of Eastern Orthodoxy did not so much appear as the threat of expansion of the Catholic or Protestant influence, but as the advent of the age of modernity. Generally speaking we could say that this challenge unfolded spiritually (through the emergence of the Enlightenment ideas in the eighteenth century) and institutionally (through the establishment of the new nationalized autocephalous churches in the nineteenth century). The Patriarchate of Constantinople constantly fought both of them, although it was finally forced to display a spirit of compromise in order to secure its hegemony over the Orthodox populations of the Ottoman Empire. But the problem of hegemony became more complicated during the period of the Tanzimat reforms (1839–76), the most serious modernization movement in the nineteenth3

The Orthodox Church, and especially the anti-unionist wing, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries produced a new type of theology, with Hesychasm at the forefront, that not only wished to confront the scholasticism of Thomas Aquinas (though many ‘Hesychasts’ were also influenced by his spirit; see for this issue Kakridis 1988) but also to reconsider the dogmas of classical Byzantium, primarily as regarded the relation between God’s essence and energy. See e.g. Meyendorff 1974; Clucas 1980. 4 This category includes the Orthodox Patriarchates of Constantinople, Jerusalem, Alexandria and Antioch. They were all successively conquered by the Ottomans in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

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century Ottoman state: while the Orthodox clergy would refuse to accept the Western ideas of modernization and innovation, it would be obliged to undertake the task of modernizing the administrative structures of the Patriarchate, accepting the institutionalization of lay participation. The object of the modernization was at the same time subject to the same process. The solution that the Orthodox clergy had found to this unsolved problem (how to keep controlling the Rum millet’s administration giving consent to lay participation) was the invocation of the Holy Canons: the Orthodox clergy defending its ‘ancient privileges’ and the holy tradition would be able to renegotiate its position in the interior of the Ottoman state mechanism. This was the cost of its modernization: the clerical elite, through the invocation of the Holy Canons, renegotiated its position in relation to the state.5 Consequently the problem of ‘innovation’ of the religious institution was perceived not only as a threat but also as a great opportunity for the Church to reestablish its power in the era of political reformation.

Ottoman Reforms and the Ecumenical Patriarchate The nineteenth century, with the creation of the first nation states in the European territories of the Ottoman Empire, posed a major dilemma to the Ottoman leadership: to confront the internal crisis with reforms that would lead the Ottoman state to assimilation with the West (e.g. Davison 1963). Naturally, an essential facet of this ‘assimilation’ was the separation of religion and politics, a demand for the promotion of secularization within a classical ‘theocratic’ political system. Though the empire’s pro-reformist elite had no difficulty providing its own answer to this dilemma, the leaders of the religious communities that coexisted within it, including the Ottoman Ulema, were sceptical at the very least (Stamatopoulos 2006). Particularly in the case of the Orthodox clergy – whose collective identity, as we have seen, was formed on the basis of a fundamental differentiation from the West (even if many Patriarchs of the Orthodox East had been attracted by the papal model of ecclesiastical rule) – the dilemma posed by secularization essentially called into question their place within the context of Ottoman legitimacy (Stamatopoulos 2003). The Orthodox clergy appeared reluctant, at least initially, to assume the work of introducing reforms that the Ottoman authorities chose to promote with the participation of the laity in the election of religious leaders and the administration of religious communities. In other words, the Ottoman state chose to laicize its own institutions and not necessarily to proceed to the radical reform of abolishing religious communities and consequently religious divisions; hence, religious identity remained an essential component in defining Ottoman citizens. In the 5 For this reason sometimes the invention of ‘privileges’ as ‘old’ or ‘ancient’ seemed to be necessary. For this important issue see Konortas 1988, where he confirmed the evaluations of Braude and Lewis (1985, vol. I: 69–88).

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case of the nineteenth-century Ottoman reforms, we could say that the concepts of laicization and secularization were not necessarily identical. This was precisely the point, as the clergy, and not only those of the Orthodox Church, chose to defend themselves to ensure whatever spiritual, governance or taxation benefits they had been accorded in previous eras. It was the defence of the Holy Canons that was designed to block or undermine lay participation. To avoid its own further dissolution, the shaken Ottoman Empire consented to the imposition of reforms, one essential aspect of which concerned the reformation of the already-existing religious communities (the millets). After the relatively effective initial phase of the Tanzimat reforms, inaugurated by the Sultan’s firman in 1839, the Crimean War and the Paris Peace Conference marked the start of a second phase, with the issuing of the Islâhat Fermânı (firman) in 1856 (known in Western scholarship as Hatt-ı Hümâyûn). One of the substantive provisions included in this edict concerned the institutionalization of participation by the lay element in the governance of the millets, which had been well known during previous centuries.6 This time, however, lay participation was connected to an experiment in the ‘secularization’ of the empire, as a substitute for the Sultan’s refusal to accept any forms of parliamentary representation, and, therefore, of constitutional limitations to his power. The implementation of this decision called forth powerful tensions and conflicts within the Greek Orthodox (Rum), Jewish and, above all, Armenian millets, since the decision about lay participation in the election and elevation of Patriarchs, and the management of economic affairs, would mean limiting the power of the clergy. Specifically, in the Rum millet a ‘National’ (namely millet-i) Assembly, convened in 1858–60, voted on a series of Regulations that remained known in history as the General or ‘National’ Regulations, and these were ratified by the Sublime Porte in 1862. The political innovative spirit that permeated them was that there should be a differentiation between spiritual and material responsibilities within the Ecumenical Patriarchate, as well as throughout the entire pyramid of governance in the millet. The Patriarch, the Holy Synod and the provincial bishops would have to confine themselves to their spiritual duties; in contrast, ‘material’ (basically, ‘economic’) affairs would pass into the control of mixed councils in which the laity would also participate. Within the Patriarchate itself, such a 6

Τhere were two reformist attempts in the Patriarchate inspired by the 1839 firman: the first in 1843 and the second, and more serious, in 1847 during the first term of Anthimus VI (1845–48); see Gedeon 1910a: 58–9; 1910b: 60–61. By virtue of the ‘autocratic behaviour’ of Anthimus VI and the ‘complaints against the metropolitans’ about abuses that were expressed by the Orthodox (chiefly, however, Bulgarians) in various parts of the empire, in February 1847 the Porte ordered Patriarch Anthimus and the Holy Synod to proceed to reforms that would satisfy these demands; see Sokolov (1904: 715), where the latter dealt negatively with the issue of the laity’s entry into the administration of the Church.

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Permanent Mixed Council, with eight (out of a total of 12) lay members, was created. It was obvious that the Orthodox clergy would wish to ensure its own interests, above all its leadership role in the governance of the millet. One of its weapons was the vague threat that the new reforms would lead to ‘Protestantizing’ of the Orthodox Church and put the Holy Canons at risk. It is not by coincidence that one Russian intellectual of the late nineteenth century considered the Ottoman reforms in the Ecumenical Patriarchate as the beginning of efforts by the ‘ProtestantMuslims’ to undermine the privileges of the patriarchal institution (Sokolov 1904: 715). In this way, the political dispute over implementation of the reforms was reduced to religious terms, equating two otherwise contradictory concepts: Ottoman authority and the West. This category, however, was not so contradictory, as it implied that the British Embassy wanted to undermine the foundations of Orthodoxy, concealed behind the measure to introduce the laity. However, it was strange that in the conflict between the two factions of the Assembly, those who invoked the Holy Canons first were the reformers (primarily, lay members), and not representatives of the higher clergy. This was because one of the proclaimed goals of the reformers – beyond the introduction of the lay element – was to do away with the old Holy Synod, which from the mid-eighteenth century was permanently composed of those occupying metropolitan sees near Istanbul. More specifically, the so-called ‘Elders’ (Gérontes)7 formed the permanent membership of the Holy Synod. Thus, to nullify the administrative regime of the Elders, it was necessary for the Sublime Porte to replace the old-style Holy Synod with a new one in which all the metropolitans within the ambience of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, above all those from the provinces, would sit in turn. As was natural, to take such a decision it was necessary for the Elders (the seven metropolitans) to be excluded from the proceedings of the Assembly. The influence they exercised not only over the bishops of provincial sees but also over many lay representatives could prove decisive for the course of reforms. The reformers, mainly Stefanos Karatheodoris – the personal physician to the Sultan Abdul Mecid and an ideological supporter of the Tanzimat reformers – maintained that it was anti-canonical for the seven metropolitans to remain in Constantinople since, as the Holy Canons foresaw, a metropolitan could not abandon his see on a permanent basis. The seven Elders, permanent members of the Holy Synod, stayed in the Patriarchate on a permanent basis.8 Although the reforms temporarily succeeded in their purpose, barring the seven metropolitans for the greater part of the Assembly proceedings, the fact that they These were the metropolitans of Herakleia, Derkon, Chalcedon, Kyzikos (Cyzicus), Nikaia, Nikomedia and Ephesus. 8 The phenomenon of the Elders’ expulsion from Constantinople was repeated four times over the course of a quarter-century: during the patriarchies of Agathangelus of Chalcedon, Constantius I of Sina, Anthimus IV of Nikomedia and Anthimus VI of Ephesus; see Gedeon 1910a: 71. 7

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based their reasoning on the logic of the Holy Canons would have very significant consequences for the final decisions. The argumentation that the reforms were not overthrowing the authority of the Holy Canons, but on the contrary were restoring lost prestige, had many analogies with the ideological legitimation of the Tanzimat reforms (and previous reform efforts like that of Selim III): the goal of the reforms was not the modernization and, consequently, Westernization of the Ottoman Empire, but the restoration of its ancient (Islamic) renown. Thus, distinguishing the more modern goals of reform was not only a matter of the rigid adherence of individual subjects to past experience, but also of the internal limits of reforms. In other words, the reformation of the millets and the institutionalization of lay participation in their governance was actually a substitute for constitutional-style reforms (i.e. the creation of a parliament and the corresponding limitations on the Sultan’s responsibilities), which the empire was not prepared – or perhaps better, not disposed – to make. However, the essential thing is that for every measure proposed by the reform faction to the Assembly, it was necessary to determine the extent to which the proposed reform did or did not oppose the logic of the Holy Canons. Finally, this gave the political advantage to the higher clergy to safeguard, as far as possible, their own interests through the new conditions that had been created. We could say that the key points around which the conflict revolved with regard to the prestige and validity of the Holy Canons were the following: (1) during the National Assembly proceedings (1858–60), the question of the election of the Ecumenical Patriarch and whether he should serve for life; and (2) during the patriarchy of Joachim II (1860–63), who was elected immediately after the Assembly’s proceedings were completed, the question of the election of bishops.9 These points will be analysed in detail in the following corresponding sections.

9 There was also a third case in which the Holy Canons became the centre of public confrontation. However, this was not related to the question of reproducing the power of the higher Orthodox clergy, but to the very survival of the Rum millet as such: the demand by the Bulgarians for the establishment of an ecclesiastical body autonomous or independent of the Patriarchate, i.e. the question of the establishment of the Bulgarian Exarchate. Here too there were two major issues related to the Holy Canons, which the Patriarchate of course highlighted in order to vitiate the arguments of Bulgarian nationalists: (a) that it was impossible to repeat in the Bulgarians’ case the concession to the right to an autocephalous church as in the Greeks’ case, for the simple reason that it had not been preceded by territorial secession and the formation of a State independent of the Ottoman Empire; and (b) that the right to co-exist in the same city could not be given to metropolitans belonging to the Patriarchate and metropolitans of the Exarchate, since there was not the slightest doctrinal difference between them. Anything of this sort was proscribed by the Holy Canons. However, a full presentation of the Bulgarian issue would require us to extend our analysis beyond the scope established for the present volume.

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Life Tenure and the Election of the Patriarch of Constantinople The question of whether the Patriarch should serve for life was certainly taboo for those participating in the Assembly. This was not just because during four centuries of Ottoman rule there had been only a handful of Patriarchs who were not expelled from their office or who had died of natural causes. It was also because it was one of the main demands of the Russian Admiral Menshikov when he visited Constantinople in March 1853, a visit generally viewed as the prelude to the Crimean War. In contrast, the Hatt-i Hümâyûn went much further in clarifying the privileges which the Orthodox millet would enjoy. Thus, in addition to issues involving the guarantee of religious tolerance, freedom of worship, the clergy’s judicial areas of competence, as well as the safeguarding of its portable wealth and landholdings, Hatt-i Hümâyûn introduced the principle of life tenure for Patriarchs (article 2) and for the first time foresaw the replacement of the traditional incomes of the higher clergy with a salary paid by the state (article 3) (Papastathis 1984: 22). These two principles were not arbitrarily introduced. Actually, they were based on a common foundation, which was no other than the principle that Menshikov had renounced and British policy had criticized at the time:10 the principle of separation of the spiritual and political responsibilities of the Patriarch and, consequently, the Holy Synod. Thus, in reality, the fact that from 1858 to 1860 the Assembly made the principle of the separation of the spiritual and political responsibilities of the Patriarch one of its central questions was by no means unrelated to a core objective of the reformist faction: to isolate and eliminate support for Russian policy within the Patriarchate.11

Earl of Clarendon to Sir G. Seymour, doc. no. 195, Foreign Office, 31 May 1853, in Correspondence, Part 1, pp. 200–204. 11 Russia too, through its ambassador, Lobanov-Rostovsky, had initially supported in a discreet fashion the reformist faction in the National Assembly while simultaneously endeavouring to maintain its relations with traditional sources of support in Constantinople, e.g. the Aristarchis family. However, there were two poles on the part of Russian foreign policy that influenced the course of the work of the Assembly: the Russian Embassy in Constantinople, headed by Ambassador Lobanov, and the Russian Holy Synod, led by Philaret, Metropolitan of Moscow. According to Sokolov, although these two decisionmaking centres looked favourably on the prospect of reform, they were not synchronized in their moves and decisions regarding the direction of reforms, especially as regarded the question of lay participation in the governance of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Thus, while Philaret viewed the system of Gerondismos as antithetical to the Holy Canons, he also considered institutionalized participation by the laity in the governance of the Great Church as anti-canonical. In contrast, Lobanov favoured the goals of the reformist wing of the National Assembly; consequently, he favoured the aspirations of its lay members to create a permanent field for political intervention in the Patriarchate (Sokolov 1904: 731–2). 10

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The first major question considered by the Assembly was that concerning the means of election and the ensuring of the principle of life tenure for the Ecumenical Patriarch. Basically, three views were advanced by the delegates to the Assembly concerning the question of election: those expressing the first view supported retaining the previous status quo, in which the election of the Patriarch fell within the exclusive purview of the Holy Synod. Those expressing the second view maintained that his election should remain within the jurisdiction of the clergy, but that the electoral body should not be confined to the Holy Synod; rather, it should include all the hierarchs belonging to the ecumenical throne. Finally, supporters of the third view promoted the participation of the laity, even (oddly enough) Greek Ambassador A. Kountouriotis, who was generally displeased with the reforms because they threatened to postpone the national self-determination of Greek Orthodox populations in the empire; he considered this proposal the ‘most serious and democratic’.12 According to the ‘hard core’ of the clericalist faction (the first view), the election of the Patriarch relied upon the Fourth Canon of the First Ecumenical Council and the Third Canon of the Seventh Ecumenical Council, which confirmed the first.13 Thus, approaching the issue of the Patriarch’s election as a question 12

Further he points out that the delegates who were advocating for this view drew their arguments, not only from the history of the early centuries of the Church, but also from recent practice in patriarchal elections, which included the participation of ‘notables’ and guild leaders. Even though he considered the latter view as the most advisable one, he pointed out that it could prove ‘bold’ in the present circumstances because it opened the way for further reforms, which would offend ‘the privileges of the Nation and the unity it (enjoys) through the Church’. See Historical Archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, [Ι.Α.Υ.Ε.] 1858, αακ Α 1–2 (19/1), doc. no. 83, Ambassador A.G. Kountouriotis to Foreign Minister A.R. Rangavis, Constantinople, 22 October 1858. 13 The Fourth Canon of the First Ecumenical Council announced that: ‘It is most fitting that a Bishop should be installed by all those in his province. But if such a thing is difficult either because of the urgency of circumstances, or because of the distance to be travelled, at least three should meet together somewhere and by their votes combined with those of the ones absent and joining in the election by letter they should carry out the ordination thereafter. But as for the ratification of the proceedings, let it be entrusted in each province to the metropolitan’, while the Third Canon of the Seventh Ecumenical Council confirmed that: ‘Every appointment of a bishop, or of a presbyter, or of a deacon made by (civil) rulers shall remain void in accordance with the Canon which says: “If any bishop comes into possession of a church by employing secular rulers, let him be deposed from office, and let him be excommunicated. And all those who communicate with him too.” For it behooves anyone who is going to be promoted to a bishopric to be appointed by bishops, as was decreed by the holy Fathers assembled in Nicaea, in the Canon saying: “It is most fitting that a bishop should be installed by all those in his province. But if such a thing is difficult either because of the urgency of circumstances, or because of the distance to be travelled, at least three should meet together somewhere and by their votes combined with those of the ones absent and joining in the election by letter they should carry out the

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falling exclusively within the purview of the Church, this faction considered the Assembly incompetent to deal with it. The most significant intervention in favour of lay participation in the election of the Patriarch was that by Stefanos Karatheodoris.14 In letters he addressed to the metropolitan of Moscow, Philaret, and the Russian agent and late Procurator to the Holy Governing Synod, Andrei Murav’ev– who had endeavoured to highlight the anti-canonical nature of participation by the laity (though Philaret also accepted the anti-canonical nature of the governance system of the Elders) –attempted to set the basis for lay participation in the ‘ethnarchic’ nature of the patriarchal office. Here, he especially stressed that lay participation did not influence the final stage of election and, consequently, it was in accordance with the Holy Canons (Fourth Canon of the First Ecumenical Council).15 According to the reasoning of Karatheodoris in the Assembly, there were two ‘absolutely necessary qualifications’ required for the election of the Patriarch. The first qualification concerned the candidate’s general religious and spiritual training, as well as his ability to form a connecting bond with the hierarchs whom he led, but also with the other Patriarchs: ‘The purely spiritual side of the Church demands this.’ The second concerned the political dimension of the issue, both in relation to the Patriarch’s responsibilities ‘concerning spiritual and lay matters’ and in connection with safeguarding the privileges that had been granted by Mehmed II and his successors to the Patriarch ‘as a representative of the genos (millet) of the Greeks (Rum).’ Karatheodoris understood the political element in the office of Patriarch as the obligation of loyalty to the Ottoman authority. For this reason, he described his role as one of mediation both for the orders of the Ottoman administration towards its citizens ‘with the appertaining paternal counsel’, as well as for the demands of the latter towards the Ottoman government – ‘with the pertinent observations and clarifications, and fair judgement and defence of the matters that arise’ – provided that Christian legal processes were maintained in matters, such as marriage, inheritance etc., that belonged traditionally to the Church’s jurisdiction. According to Karatheodoris, the political dimension of the role of Patriarch was what posed the need for lay participation in his election,

ordination thereafter. But as for the ratification of the proceedings, let it be entrusted in each province to the Metropolitan.”’ 14 See Stefanos Karatheodoris, ‘Stochasmós oti kai oi laikoí échousi dikaíoma i dýnantai échein dikaíoma kanonikós eis tin anagórefsin tou Patriarcheíou’ [Reflection on the possibility or the right of the laity to participate in the election of the Patriarch], Archive of Alexandros Karatheodoris (Institute for Neohellenic Research, Athens), file 01/1, doc. no. 1052. 15 Archive of Alexandros Karatheodoris (Institute for Neohellenic Research, Athens), file 01/10, doc. no. 1501, ibid.

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since his political stewardship should be grounded in the consent of the latter (‘the common trust and esteem of the laity’).16 Karatheodoris’s reasoning was based on observation of both the religious and political aspects, precisely in order to differentiate them. He, thus, supported lay entry into Church governance, connecting it directly with the legitimacy offered by political authority to the patriarchal institution. He, therefore, broadened the base of the problem: it was not simply about the participation of the laity, but about the participation of Ottoman subjects. He defended a demand for modernization related to the reorganization of the Orthodox millet, in accordance with the principle of the separation of Church and state. However, in this case, the separation occurred within the millet. Karatheodoris reminded the Assembly that lay participation in the election of the Patriarch was already a historical reality that he considered to be the result of the eclipse of political (Phanariot) leadership after the Fall of Constantinople. He acknowledged that in the past there had been excesses and undue interference on the part of the laity, but believed that these could be interpreted due to precisely this absence of relevant legislation that would have regulated their participation in the Patriarch’s election. Finally, Karatheodoris proposed that lay participation concern the election of one of three candidates proposed by the Holy Synod. This was a crucial point for it left the final determining vote in lay control. Nevertheless, the response of the Elders, while failing to prevent the introduction of the laity into the election process, thwarted this particular point, and with longterm results. As we know from the final text of the Regulations, it was decided that the body of electors would consist of both clergy and lay members: three candidates for the Patriarchy, nominated by the metropolitans belonging to the Ecumenical throne, would be selected, but the final election would be assumed by the Holy Synod.17 Consequently, the inverse process prevailed over the one proposed by Karatheodoris: instead of the mixed electoral assembly of lay and clerical members having the final word, this right was unexpectedly acquired by the Holy Synod. This seemed odd from the moment when the number of clerics had decreased in the composition of the new committee that proposed the final plan for the relevant Regulation and members of the reformist faction held a clear majority. It appears that in this phase of the discussion an essential compromise was reached. Acceptance of lay participation on the part of the Elders seems to have been in exchange for the retreat on the part of the reformers with regard to their consenting to the final election of the Patriarch by the Holy Synod. However, the concession they made would have decisive consequences for the frequent changes in Patriarchs that followed, and, consequently, for the policies implemented by the Patriarchs who followed the question of the General Regulations. 16 Archive of Alexandros Karatheodoris (Institute for Neohellenic Research, Athens), file 01/1, doc. no. 1052, ibid. 17 Papastathis 1984: 86, ninth and eleventh articles of the first chapter of the Regulation concerning the election of the Patriarch.

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While the clerical faction managed to confront with relative success the problem of the final nomination for election of the Patriarch, the results were very different as regarded the question of securing his life tenure. According to the relevant Regulation, if two-thirds of the two bodies in the Patriarchate – the new Holy Synod and the Mixed Council – determined that the Patriarch was not fulfilling the presuppositions for remaining in office, they could lead to his overthrow. Consequently, the principle of life tenure was undermined by the ‘democratic’ principle of majority rule.18 Accordingly, the principle of life tenure – which was a priority for Menshikov’s mission, as well as one of the main concessions of the Hatt-i Hümâyûn – was threatened, not directly by the Porte but by the balance in favour of the laity, which the Porte, however, would have the power to mould.19 As already mentioned, the problem of the Patriarch’s election was also discussed by Karatheodoris in his correspondence with Andrei Murav’ev. The Russian official reversed Karatheodoris’s reasoning about the laity’s penetration into the administration of the Great Church. Since lay participation was occurring with the approval and oversight of the Porte, this participation amounted to complete control of the Patriarchate by the Ottomans, precisely because it corresponded to the political dimension of the patriarchal institution. At the same time, the predominance of the lay element over the clergy would tend to give the Church a generally Protestant character, contrary to Orthodox tradition. He noted that the proportion of clerics to lay members in the Assembly was 1:4, and that its work was being conducted under the supervision of a representative of the Sublime Porte. The same logic also prevailed in the formation of the Mixed Council, of which two-thirds of the members were lay. According to Murav’ev, the enhanced responsibilities of the Council and its prevalence of lay members weakened the position of the Patriarch since his tenure on the throne depended on this two-thirds majority. In contrast, the metropolitan of Moscow, Philaret, employed a different line of reasoning. His view of the matter was particularly original since he reversed Karatheodoris’s argument concerning the political dimension of the patriarchal institution from a different perspective to that of Murav’ev (he did not seem to have been especially concerned about the ratification of the Patriarch’s election by the Sultan). According to Philaret, the institution of Patriarch had both a spiritual and a political character. However, since the Assembly had undertaken to differentiate secular from spiritual authority within the Patriarchate – and the Patriarch was confined to exercising his spiritual duties, since its ‘material’ affairs would be assumed by the Mixed Council – the laity’s involvement in the election of the Patriarch was unjustified. 18

Specifically, in the case of a Patriarch’s termination, the twelfth article of the Regulation on the formation of the Synod foresaw a two-thirds agreement by members of both the Holy Synod and the Mixed Council; see Papastathis 1984: 94. 19 See Archive of Alexandros Karatheodoris (Institute for Neohellenic Research, Athens), file 01/6, doc. no. 1454.

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The Sublime Porte, however, wished not only to control the fall of a Patriarch but also his ascent to the patriarchal throne. This was precisely why, before the conclusion of the proceedings of the Assembly, it introduced for discussion an amendment on the basis of which it could exempt from the list of eligible candidates all those who did not adhere to the ‘political’ criterion (for election), viz. those whose trust in the Ottoman legitimacy was open to doubt. At this point, just as on the question of imposing the principle of salaries, for the first time the positions of the members of the clerical and reformist factions coincided. In the course of discussions at the Assembly, Karatheodoris, precisely because he was taking into consideration the recommendations of Foreign Minister Fuad Paşa, agreed in principle on the matter of intervention. The final wording agreed upon by the Assembly concerned the right to exclusion of one or two candidates. However, Fuad Paşa insisted that this right should be unrestricted, which according to Karatheodoris would lead to a decisive change, one that would result in the election as Patriarch ‘not one whom the Church and the Holy Canons and the people wanted, but one whom the (Foreign) Minister and his circle wanted’.20 In what followed, he attempted to prove that the Porte did not have sufficient criteria to judge candidates for the office of Patriarch and, therefore, to reject them, since candidates were judged by their previous ecclesiastical life and the positive testimony of the faithful rather than by their (in any event) extremely deficient political experience, especially given conditions in the Ottoman Empire, where the Orthodox clergy were in no case to be included among state functionaries in an equivalent political position, as implied by Fuad’s analysis of the ‘ministerial’ dimension of the institution of Patriarch. For Karatheodoris, any political incompetence on the part of the Patriarchs was the result of how the regime operated, viz. by not producing clerics capable of political stewardship, rather than as a matter of the personal abilities of candidates for the Patriarchy. Finally, he considered that it behoved all the above clerics to act in order to overturn the article in question. Stefanos Karatheodoris’s struggle for this particular amendment and his possible tactical alliance with the higher clergy, as he himself implied in the conclusion to his speech, forced Fuad to backtrack. Thus, when the suffragan of the ecumenical throne made known to the Porte the content of the final decision of the Assembly, which insisted on Karatheodoris’s solution and made a final resolution of the question a condition for the upcoming election of Patriarch, two decrees were sent to the Patriarchate on 10 September 1860. The first decree ordered procedures for the election of Patriarch to be hastened in accordance with the provisions of the new Regulation. This meant that this Regulation automatically became the first to be prepared by the Assembly and approved by the Porte. The second decree, which reinterpreted the Porte’s right of exclusion, did away with the controversial

20 Archive of Alexandros Karatheodoris (Institute for Neohellenic Research, Athens), file 01/16, doc. no. 1471.

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amendment. Consequently, the Porte would not have the right to exclude more than one or two candidates and in no case more than three.21 Therefore, institutionalizing lay participation in the election of the Patriarch – while it seemed like a renewal of the relation between the clergy and people, legitimized by historical references to the early years of Christianity – was actually the vehicle for a political recasting of relations between the Ecumenical Patriarchate and the Sublime Porte. The problem was, not only that of the separation of the spiritual/pastoral and the material/economic responsibilities of the institution of the Patriarchate, but also that of ensuring the loyalty of both the laity, who would assume the former, and each individual who would become Patriarch.

General Regulations or Holy Canons: The Problem of Electing Hierarchs Joachim II was elected Patriarch in 1860 against the background of the Assembly’s vote on the General Regulations. His election gave rise to expectations among the clerical faction and the Elders (from which he himself emerged, having served in the Metropolis of Cyzicus before becoming Patriarch) for a review of the General Regulations or even for their de facto annulment. However, a cautious observer, had he looked more closely at the disparate forces supporting his election, would have assessed anything of the sort as difficult to impossible. In fact, Joachim was supported in the absence of a better candidate by the Greek Embassy, which was upset by the reforms in the Patriarchate. However, his main supporters were a group of bankers led by Georgios Zarifis and Christakis Zografos, who would continue to support him in the following years during the subsequent changes in the Patriarch’s throne. However, this group – with its close ties to the ‘Francophile’ Neo-Phanariot22 Ioannis Psycharis and his political patrons, the Grand Vizier Âli Paşa and Foreign Minister Fuad Paşa – was committed to a policy of supporting the reforms. It was, therefore, extremely difficult for Joachim to contest the provisions of the General Regulations as a whole, particularly those that concerned lay participation. On the contrary, it appears that Joachim was more concerned about the possibility of the reinstatement of the system of Elders, which naturally would have weakened his own position (for, as noted above, the presence of the Elders on the Holy Synod limited the Patriarch’s power). Promoting a patriarchal model of centralization and simultaneously endeavouring not to undermine the ‘sacred cow’ of reforms (i.e. lay participation via the establishment of the Mixed Historical Archive of the Foreign Ministry 1860, 76.1β, doc. no. 1, P. Zanos to Foreign Minister A.G. Kountouriotis, Pera, 21 September 1860. 22 The Neo-Phanariots have been described as the families that dominated the public sphere in Istanbul after the end of the Greek Revolution, as well as after the collapse of the old Phanariot class, because of the involvement of some of their members in the revolutionary process (Alexandris 1980: 365–404). 21

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Council), Joachim preferred to concentrate his polemic on a single chapter in the Regulations, that concerning the means of electing hierarchs in case a bishopric or archbishopric became vacant.23 On the question of the election of prelates, the text of the General Regulations foresaw something entirely comparable to that of the Patriarch. That is, just as the prerogative was given to members of the Holy Synod to elect the Patriarch from among three candidates (and not the mixed lay–clerical assembly, which, as we saw above, was a victory of the higher clergy over the reformers that would have long-term consequences), the same prerogative was given to the Holy Synod in the election of prelates: instead of the Patriarch choosing the metropolitan or bishop from among three candidates, he was to be elected by the Holy Synod by secret ballot, as in the election of the Patriarch. In some way this was the price for the abolition of the old Holy Synod of Elders: the new, ‘democratic’ Holy Synod would retain the right to promote all higher clerics to their office. This tactic was forced on Joachim for many reasons: first, because he had publicly committed himself to the strict implementation of the Assembly’s decisions and, thus, he could not backtrack without provoking strong reactions; second, because of his commitments to the circle of Georgios Zarifis, who had supported him throughout this period; third, because (as was noted above) his political objective was to strengthen the institution of the Patriarchy and not to reinstate the system of Elders. Consequently, the choice to contest the canonicity – i.e. the agreement between the given Regulation and the letter and spirit of the Holy Canons – was in no way accidental, since in this case the point in dispute was whether the election of a hierarch would in its final stage depend on the will of the Patriarch or that of the Holy Synod. The General Regulations, while enhancing the Patriarch’s power by foreseeing the abolition of the system of Elders, simultaneously endeavoured to balance his power in two main ways: through the establishment of the Mixed Council as a statutory body providing for lay participation in the administration of the Patriarchate; and by revoking his right to select provincial metropolitans by himself, in order to avoid the phenomenon of simony that had characterized earlier eras and reinforce the role of the third pole of administration of the Patriarchate, viz. the Holy Synod. Certainly, the establishment of the Mixed Council was a novel element with which the higher clergy, especially the Patriarch, could not easily reconcile themselves. For this reason (and since conflicts with the laity and the reformist wing would now be on the agenda), each Patriarch – and not only Joachim – would attempt to control the process of the election or transfer of prelates. The problem of the selection or transfer of hierarchs had first arisen in a conflict between Joachim and the Elders of Nikomedia and Ephesus in September of 1861. Joachim reacted to the pressures the Elders had exerted on him not to advance 23 Specifically, in the fourth article of the second Regulation, concerning the qualifications required of those eligible for election to the primacy and concerning the means of their election; Papastathis 1984: 89.

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to the faithful implementation of the General Regulations, but to show that he could not be replaced by his former compeers in the critical role of controlling elections. An initial example of his intentions was revealed in the election of the new Bishop of Aleppo.24 In the course of the election process, Joachim posed the issue of whether his election should take place in accordance with the Holy Canons (‘the bishops shall meet as one to select three [candidates], but the final authority as to which one of the three is elected shall remain with the Patriarch or metropolitan’) or according to the General Regulations, which foresaw that the Holy Synod would elect one of the three candidates through secret ballot. In the end, the first solution prevailed, since most of the Synod members who were present preferred ‘canonicity’ over ‘constitutionality’, and all (‘unanimously’) consented to the Patriarch’s candidate, the Bishop of Ilioupolis. Although neither case concerned important sees, it was obvious that Joachim wished to produce fait accomplis. For this reason, at the meeting of the Mixed Council on 31 August,25 in response to a related publication in Omónoia, Konstantinos Karatheodoris, Stefanos’s nephew, referred to the subject, remarking that he was not so much bothered by Joachim’s choice of selecting the Bishop of Halepius (Aleppo) in accordance with the ‘ancient customs’ and for coincidental reasons (the change in status of Halepius from subordination to the Patriarchate of Antioch to subordination to Constantinople), as by the fact that the Holy Synod questioned the General Regulations, on the basis of which the Synod itself had been established. This was a clear jab at the Holy Synod: even if the Patriarch promoted by exception the violation of the Regulation for specific reasons, the Holy Synod – on which the Elders sat as a minority – ought not to follow suit, since in this way it was relinquishing one of the most important benefits it was granted by the Assembly. Karatheodoris continued by reminding his audience that the Assembly had proceeded to this decision because, on the basis of the old system, the elected bishops were obliged to pay a substantial amount (the ‘philotimo’)26 to the Patriarch who elected them. However, it was obvious that they extracted this sum from their congregations via taxation, thus, further increasing the financial burden on provincial Orthodox populations.27 Thus, Karatheodoris, in a very clear fashion, reminded his audience that reforms of the Patriarchate were part of the wider Tanzimat reforms, aimed at mitigating or eliminating financial abuses by the higher clergy, especially Patriarchs. If the Holy Synod rather than the Patriarch Newspaper Omónoia, no. 32, 25 August 1862. The bishopric of Aleppo belonged to the ambit of the Patriarch of Antioch, but due to the financial difficulties he was encountering, he became subordinate to the Patriarchate of Constantinople. 25 Newspaper Anatolikós Astír, no. 51, 18 September 1862. 26 The philotimo was a tax paid by bishops and metropolitans to the Patriarch when they elected or transferred to their sees. The revenues of the Patriarch depended on the number of elections of new bishops or the transfer of those already elected. 27 Newspaper Anatolikós Astír, no. 51, 18 September 1862. 24

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controlled the election of prelates, then the root cause of corruption within the Church would be eliminated. During the discussion that followed, Joachim insisted that this provision was contrary to the Holy Canons. Karatheodoris responded that the provision was passed in the presence of two serving Patriarchs and many representatives of the higher clergy; thus, it posed no question of ‘canonicity’. Joachim in response challenged not only the ‘canonicity’ but also the usefulness of the provision, since abuses could also arise in cases where the election of hierarchs depended on the Holy Synod. In contrast, Gavril Krâstovic, the only representative of the Mixed Council with Bulgarian origins, took the part of Karatheodoris, noting that the General Regulations (however imperfect) should be implemented in their present state until the convening of a new National Assembly, the sole appropriate authority for reviewing them. Summing up past history (Early Christian period/Age of Justinian-period of the Elders), he endeavoured to show that the election of hierarchs was not an issue concerning a conflict between the Holy Canons and the laws of the state at a dogmatic level; rather, it concerned the level of the management of ecclesiastical affairs. Following the expression of similar views by the Metropolitan of Raskopresreni,28 the most important lay members of the Mixed Council made it clear to the Patriarch that the discussion was pointless since the Holy Synod could not overturn the Regulations without convening a new National Assembly. The Patriarch responded by observing that ‘freedom of thought is inalienable’. It was of course odd that a representative of the traditional conservative clergy should invoke freedom of speech to impose his views, but this is indicative of the contradictory content of the reforms, viz. that their implementation depended on the mediation of such old-style metropolitans who had to embrace new ideas. From this standpoint, Joachim was at a crossroads: instead of forwarding the political agenda of his backers and, thus, supporting the letter of implementation of the General Regulations, he chose to support the spirit of political change within the Patriarchate. That is, he understood that if the right of election to the Holy Synod was surrendered, then it was very probable that the Elders would be restored to power. Only the control of elections by the Patriarch and the imposition of a centralized model of patriarchal authority would prevent this and ensure the survival of lay participation. 28

The Metropolitan of Raskopresreni was clearly referring to the Twenty-first Canon of the Fourth Ecumenical Council, which said that ‘the validity of the election is given to the Metropolitan (in this case, to the Patriarch)’ According to Raskopresreni, ‘this idea has been interpreted in different ways by different interpreters. The Canon means that the bishops will elect, and the Metropolitan will validate [the election].’ In other words, the intervention of the metropolitan/Patriarch concerns the validation of the election, not the election per se. The reformist faction would make extensive use of Raskopresreni’s interpretation in the interminable theological discussions that ensued.

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Ultimately, Joachim failed to impose his views. In 1863 he was deposed from the patriarchal throne because of his involvement in the Monastery Question.29 His fight on the issue of the final appointment of bishops by the Patriarch would leave a powerful legacy: a model of centralized patriarchal authority as an alternative both to the reinstatement of the system of the Elders within the Patriarchate and to the complete dominance by the laity in its administration. However, even if this was not Joachim’s intention, the clerical faction benefited from his stance and essentially managed to reframe the discussion, shifting the focus from matters involving the political representation of the laity in the administration of the Church to matters involving religious and dogmatic canonicity. It is characteristic that at the Mixed Council’s next meeting, the main topic of discussion and concern on the part of both clerics and lay members was the extent to which the General Regulations were compatible with the Holy Canons. Although the Mixed Council ultimately determined that there was no evidence of any conflict between the General Regulations and Holy Canons, the discussion that preceded this decision was characterized by the ease, perhaps even pleasure, with which the lay members engaged with theological questions.30

Conclusions: The Flawed Content of Innovation The instrumental use of the Holy Canons in the debate over the implementation of the Tanzimat reforms had unforeseen consequences. Their invocation by reformists like Stefanos Karatheodoris to persuade the higher Orthodox clergy to accept lay participation resulted in the focus of the ideological debate shifting to theological discussions, which, though they led to an impasse, reflected an existing reality: the pre-eminent position of the Orthodox clergy in the Rum millet. The dissolution of the governing system of Elders did not mean an immediate challenge to the primacy of the clergy. On the contrary, even reformers in the National Assembly of 1858– 60, whether Neo-Phanariots or bankers, were counting on the implementation of reforms by higher clergy who had emerged from the mould of the ‘ancient regime’. At the very moment when it became necessary to implement the General 29 Joachim was accused of consenting to the confiscation of monastery properties in Moldovlachia by the Romanian government of Alexandros Ioannis Kouzas. 30 The main topic of discussion, where the laity paradoxically took the lead, was the compatibility of Article IV of the Regulations with the Fourth Canon of the First Ecumenical Synod (‘Validation of what has transpired [viz. the election] is given to the Metropolitan in each province’) and the Twenty-first Canon of the Fourth Ecumenical Synod (‘Clergymen and laymen bringing charges against bishops or clergymen are not to be received loosely and without examination, as accusers, but their own character shall first be investigated.’) and other issues, such as e.g. whether the Patriarch had the right to be present in the church during the nomination of a metropolitan in order that his right to election should be recognized.

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Regulations in order to legitimize lay participation in the governance of the millet, invoking the compatibility of the Holy Canons and General Regulations was no more than a metonymy for the political mediating capacity of the Orthodox clergy to rule within the millet. The fact that the higher Orthodox clergy succeeded in remaining almost untouched by the reforms is clear, invoking in both cases the Holy Canons that we have examined. The statutory problems that arose concerning the regulation of spiritual questions, such as the election of Patriarch or prelates, gave the higher clergy an opportunity to confirm its hegemonic position both ideologically and politically, whether vis-à-vis the laity (in the former case) or the Patriarch (in the latter). This interesting reversal of roles and intentions clearly highlighted the limits of secularization/laicization within the Patriarchate. That is, while the Elders had fought against the secularist reformers for the right to elect the Patriarch to be assigned to the Holy Synod by the clerical-lay assembly, availing themselves of reformers’ arguments concerning the Holy Canons, they also successfully wrested from the Patriarch the right to the selection of prelates, in this instance by invoking the text of the General Regulations. The older Holy Synod of Elders had been abolished, but there was no doubt that the metropolitans of dioceses near Constantinople would continue to play a key role in the governance of the Rum millet, even if they had to cope with the increased weight of lay participation or the strengthening of patriarchal centralism. This formidable capacity for flexibility by the higher Orthodox clergy cannot be abstractly reduced to the capacity for ‘innovation’ of its dogmatic/theological arsenal. Besides, such ‘innovation’ often passed through the defence of the logic of the Holy Canons and, thus, through a type of immersion in the springs of Orthodox tradition. It was mainly connected with the clergy’s ability to continually adjust to new political circumstances, as well as to espouse ‘foreign’ ideologies. Thus, for example, the issue of lay participation, which was a basic feature of Protestant churches, was dealt with in such a manner as to be exclusively concerned with the financial management of the Patriarchate. Lay participation was not to have consequences for the way the flock would understand the concept of the ‘Church’. This was accepted even by the ‘reformers’. The Church would continue as such, represented by the clergy, and the clergy would comprise its main core. Consequently, the question of innovation was not connected with a reversal at the theological/dogmatic level in how the Orthodox clergy coped with the challenges of modernity, but with the ways it discovered to retain its privileged position within the state mechanism. As we pointed out in the introduction, this was something that formed a constant in the actions of the Orthodox clergy from the Byzantine age down to the founding of nation states in the Balkans.

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References Alexandris, Alexis. 1980. ‘Oi Ellines stin ypiresía tis Othomanikís Aftokratorías, 1850–1922’ [The Greeks in the Service of the Ottoman Empire]. Deltion Istorikis kai Ethnologikis Etaireias tis Ellados, 23: 365–404. Braude, Benjamin and Bernard Lewis (eds). 1985. Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire: The Functioning of a Plural Society, vol. 2. New York: Holmes & Meier. Clucas, Lowell. 1980. The Hesychast Controversy in Byzantium in the Fourteenth Century: A Consideration of the Basic Evidence, vol. 2. Ann Arbor, MI. Davison, Roderic. 1963. Reform in the Ottoman Empire, 1856–1876. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gedeon, Μ.Ι. 1910a. Epísima grámmata tourkiká anaferómena eis ta ekklistiastiká imón díkaia [Ottoman Official Letters in Relation to our Ecclesiastical Rights]. Constantinople. ———. 1910b. Ai Fáseis tou par’imín ekklisiastikoú zitímatos [The Phases of Our Ecclesiastical Issue]. Constantinople. Huntington, Samuel. 1996. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York: Simon & Schuster. Kakridis, Ioannis. 1988. Codex 88 des Klosters Dečani und seine griechischen Vorlagen: Ein Kapitel der serbisch-byzantinischen Literaturbeziehungen im 14. Jahrhundert. Munich: Sagner. Konortas. Paris. 1988. ‘I ekséliksi ton “ekklesiastikón” veratíon kai to Pronomiakó zítima’ [The Evolution of the Ecclesiastical Berats and the Privileges Issue]. Ta Istorika, 9: 259–86. Meyendorff, John. 1974. Byzantine Hesychasm: Historical, Theological and Social Problems: Collected Studies. London: Variorum Reprints. Papastathis Ch. 1984. Oi Kanonismoí ton Orthodókson Ellinikón koinotíton tou Othomanikoú Krátous kai tis Diasporás [The Regulations of the Greek Orthodox Communities of the Ottoman State]. Thessaloniki. Said, Edward W. 2003. Orientalism. London: Penguin. Sokolov, Ι.Ι. 1904. Konstantinopolskaja cerkov v 19veka: Oput istoriceskovo izsledovanija [History of the Church of Constantinople in the Nineteenth Century: An Attempt at a Historical Study], vol. 1. St Petersburg. Stamatopoulos, Dimitris. 2003. Metarýthmisi kai Ekkosmíkefsi: Pros mia anasýnthesi tis Istorías tou Oikoumenikoú Patriarcheíou ton 19o aióna [Reform and Secularization: Towards a Reconstruction of the History of the Ecumenical Patriarchate during the Nineteenth Century]. Athens: Alexandreia. ———. 2006. ‘From Millets to Minorities in the 19th-Century Ottoman Empire: An Ambiguous Modernization.’ In Citizenship in Historical Perspective, ed. S.G. Ellis, G. Hálfadanarson and A.K. Isaacs, pp. 253–73. Pisa: Edizioni Plus – Pisa University Press. ———. 2012 (forthcoming). ‘From the Vyzantism of K. Leont’ev to the Vyzantinism of I.I. Sokolov: The Byzantine Orthodox East as a Motif of

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the Russian Orientalism.’ In Héritages de Byzance en Europe du Sud-Est à l’époque moderne et contemporaine, ed. Olivier Delouis, Anne Courderc and Petre Guran. Mondes méditerranéens et balkaniques. Athens: Ecole française d’Athènes. Turner, Bryan S. 2011. Religion and Modern Society: Citizenship, Secularization and the State. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 8

An Innovative Local Orthodox Model of Governance? The Shrine of Evangelistria on the Island of Tinos Katerina Seraïdari

The Cycladic island of Tinos in Greece is the home of a famous sanctuary, dedicated to one of the most venerated icons of the Virgin Mary. From the very beginning, the so-called miraculous discovery of the icon in 1823 has been invested with a patriotic dimension: its symbolic significance for the Greek War of Independence against the Ottomans. As the newly found icon represented the Annunciation,1 an analogy was established between this biblical theme and the annunciation of the Greek victory and subsequent liberation from Ottoman domination. The analogy was reinforced by the fact that the name of the local bishop, who directed the excavations that led to the finding of the icon, was Gabriel: his name was considered equally symbolic, a reminder of the homonymous archangel of the Annunciation. As Jill Dubisch states, ‘two rebirths – of humankind and of the Greeks – are combined’ in the case of Tinos (1995: 164). Throughout the nineteenth century, the town of Tinos became the centre of Hellenism and was visited by war heroes, ministers and kings. After the discovery of the icon, various booklets published by the sanctuary and distributed to pilgrims for free have recounted its history and its thaumaturgic qualities in curing the sick. As one of the booklets notes,2 ‘the little and insignificant Tinos became the new Jerusalem of God’s chosen people and the meeting place of Hellenism. Through the discovery of the sacred icon, Tinos became a sacred island’ (Perigrafi 1995: 1). However, what the booklet does not mention is the fact that the local history of Tinos diverges from the national narrative of 400 In Greek: Evangelismos, which gave the name to the icon and, consequently, to its sanctuary: Evangelistria. In this text, I use the terms ‘sanctuary’, ‘Evangelistria’ and ‘Tinos Foundation’ interchangeably. When referring specifically to the icon, I have resorted to using the term ‘Evangelistria icon’. 2 I use here the 39-page anonymously written booklet, which was printed in 1995: ‘Description of the discovery of the miraculous saint icon of the Evangelistria in Tinos in 1823. Goals and activities of the saint Foundation’ [Perigrafi tis evreseos tis thavmatourgou agias eikonas tis Evangelistrias stin Tino kata to etos 1823. Skopoi kai drastiriotites tou Ierou idrymatos]. All translations in this paper are made by the author. 1

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years of Ottoman occupation. Tinos was the last island to be conquered by the Ottomans in 1715, after being ruled by the Latins for five centuries. Since the middle of the fifteenth century and up until today, two important religious groups have lived on the island: Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholics, the latter constituting nowadays more than one-third of the island’s population. Many historians associate the Catholic community with the sacking of Constantinople during the Fourth Crusade in 1204 and the installation of prominent Latin families throughout the islands in the Aegean. However, the majority of Catholic members claim a Greek origin. Pilgrims who visit the famous sanctuary and pay their respects to the Evangelistria icon are not always aware of the multiconfessional reality of the island; nor are they aware of the fact that Evangelistria has constantly been a bone of contention between the Church of Greece and the Greek State, each party claiming its own rights over the sanctuary. This chapter discusses the conflict between the Church of Greece and the Orthodox founders and consecutive administrators of Evangelistria who wished to create new forms of participation in its governance. Evangelistria is the only site of pilgrimage in Greece not to have been under the authority of the Church of Greece, despite the latter’s multiple efforts to establish such control. From the very beginning, the lay founders of the sanctuary were conscious of the fact that they introduced an innovative Orthodox model of governance, mixing clergy and laity and giving a pre-eminent role to the latter. Interestingly enough, Evangelistria was established during a transitional historical and political period in Greece characterized by ‘a vacuum of power’ at the national level and by a ‘profound crisis at both the regional and the local level’ of the Orthodox Church (Mazower 2008). Because archive research was not feasible in writing this chapter, I have opted instead to juxtapose different secondary sources in addition to the sanctuary’s booklet mentioned above. These secondary sources include: the book by Filaretos Vitalis (1957), a clergyman, whose aim was to criticize the unjust expulsion of Bishop Gabriel from the governance of the sanctuary and parts of the book by Alexandros Lagouros (1965),3 a former President of Evangelistria, who defended the lay administrative model. The first text illustrates the discourse of the Church of Greece and the second the internal discourse of Evangelistria on the issue of governance; the 1995 booklet offers additional relevant insights on the internal discourse. I also refer to an article by a local scholar, Kostas Danoussis (2005), who offers a more balanced view of the conflict. I will also base my analysis on testimonies collected during my fieldwork on Tinos in July 2006 and July 2009.4 Lagouros was President of Evangelistria from 1933 to 1935 (and also during the Greek Civil War) and at the same time a parliamentary deputy (also from 1933 to 1935). 4 The fieldwork was funded by the Agence Nationale de la Recherche (ANR) between 2009 and 2011 in the framework of the research project The Balkans from Below: Local Reconfigurations and Individual Practices since 1990 (Albania, Bulgaria, Greece) under the direction of Gilles de Rapper (ANR-08-JCJC-0091-01). 3

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The majority of the Orthodox Tinian informants whom I interviewed are proud of the work that the lay administrators of Evangelistria have accomplished and consider the icon as a God-sent gift; many of them work on a voluntary basis in Evangelistria during the summer, trying to assist pilgrims and assure their well-being during their stay on the island. In this chapter, I particularly refer to information provided by a key Tinian informant: born in 1938, he was a member of the Evangelistria Commission for 15 years and also mayor of Tinos between 1999 and 2002 (interview, 13 July 2009). The aim of this chapter is to examine from a socio-anthropological perspective the various interpretations of the Evangelistria governance model illustrated in the texts mentioned above, as well as the relevant ideological positions of the Church of Greece, the Greek State and the local community. As we will see, even if there was no crucial innovative moment, there has been a long process of multiple reformulations and negotiations between social actors and institutions. The great majority of the inhabitants of Tinos defend the lay administration of Evangelistria as a communal inherited right, which provoked a rupture with the traditional model of institutional Church control over religious sites in Greece. As for the Church of Greece, it still considers the sanctuary’s lay administration as a transgression disrupting the normative balance of authority between ecclesiastic institution and laity. What is primarily at stake is the management of the proceeds from donations and offerings to the miracle-working icon, reaching more than 5 million euros in 2007. The duration of the confrontation between Church and laity is an indicator of the degree of novelty of the Evangelistria governance model – or, according to institutional Church representatives, the level of deviance from officially sanctioned rules on the administration of religious sites. In this chapter I also highlight the ideological ambiguity of innovation: the changes in the mode of governance of the sanctuary in Tinos have been justified by resorting to both progressive and conservative arguments. Finally, the recent initiative of the local bishopric to offer the possibility for devotees to send a prayer to the Evangelistria icon via the Internet will also be part of this discussion.

Construction of a Contested Local Governance Model According to the 1995 Evangelistria booklet, Bishop Gabriel ‘in a biblical way, well before the finding of the icon, called the members of the first Commission and charged them with the mission of building the church’ (Perigrafi 1995: 16). According to Vitalis (1957: 30–31), Bishop Gabriel announced to the local population the creation of a Commission, with himself as President, on 27 November 1822. The icon was discovered two months later, on 30 January 1823. Three years later, on 2 January 1825, the four lay administrators [epitropoi] of the Commission wrote the ‘Owners’ Testament’ [Diathiki ton ktitoron], which was conceived as a document containing the future regulations for the governance of

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the sanctuary; the document was also perceived as a title of ‘communal property’. With its ‘Testament’, the Commission ‘transformed the Shrine into a Foundation [idryma]’ whose function was to look after the communal schools built by the lay administrators and pay for the schoolmasters (Perigrafi 1995: 16). Hence, from its foundation, the sanctuary supported the cost of the local education system – an initiative that, according to my fieldwork, is still perceived as progressive and pioneering by the island’s inhabitants. The Evangelistria icon was discovered on 30 January during the feast day of the Three Hierarchs: three emblematic figures that officially became the protectors of Greek National Education in the middle of the nineteenth century (Gazi 2004; Seraïdari 2005: 54–67). Some people interpreted the ‘revelation’ of the icon on 30 January as God’s will, thus encouraging Tinians to pay special attention to education. Hence, both conservative and progressive arguments – pointing either to a divine plan or to the value of education for young people – have been used in this case. The ‘Testament’ stipulated that the priests, schoolmasters and cantors of Evangelistria should fulfil their responsibilities by complying with the lay administrators’ instructions without interfering in the affairs of the sanctuary; at the same time, it specified not only those who were to be responsible for the governance of Evangelistria, but also those who had legal rights over its ownership, namely the Orthodox community of the town of Tinos. The administrators who were designated to act on behalf of the sanctuary had to be Tinian and Orthodox. These ‘communal rights’ should ‘stay untouched and unchanged until the end of time [eis aiona ton apanta]’ (Lagouros 1965: 83). Thus, the innovations introduced by the ‘Testament’ were considered to set a new and long-lasting tradition for the sanctuary’s administrative future. Below, I explain how the governance model established by the ‘Testament’ could be interpreted as traditional in a local context, but innovative in a national context. The administrative status of Evangelistria seems to have been based on the traditional private or family ownership rights of churches and chapels in the Cyclades. Until the nineteenth century most of the parish churches in this region were private and their owners [ktitores], who had complete financial control and whose rights were fixed by the initial ‘Testament’ of the church’s founder, could employ or dismiss priests; they were also buried inside the church or in its surroundings (Seraïdari 2007: 161–83; see also the chapter by Arvaniti in this volume).5 In 1828, Bishop Gabriel requested the modification of this status and the abolition of private rights over churches, which were being used as parishes. However, many chapels on Tinos continue nowadays to be private since the restrictions imposed concerned only parochial churches and the most important centres of worship. From that point of view, Evangelistria’s mode of governance was not radically different at a local level: it simply reproduced a customary and familiar model. What made it innovative at a national level was 5 The first lay administrators of Evangelistria were also buried within the precincts of the sanctuary after their death.

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the fact that a sanctuary, which gradually became important for the whole Greek nation, continued to function according to a model that institutional Church representatives viewed as contrary to ecclesiastical rules. In a period when the private status of churches in the Cyclades was about to be abolished, Evangelistria managed, on the one hand, to maintain its communal status and, on the other, to link its lay administrative model to the increasing demand for developing local educational structures. The fact that the Commission supervised a sanctuary whose reputation was based on its miracle-working icon offered the possibility for the lay administrators to distance themselves from the institutional Church. As we will see below, both sides evoked the will of God in order to legitimize their position.

Building a Framework for Legitimacy The reaction of the institutional Church to the ‘Testament’ is echoed in the text by Vitalis. He characterizes the mentality of the first lay administrators, which was expressed in their ‘Testament’, as ‘impious and erroneous and totally anticanonical and anti-Orthodox’ [anierou kai sfaleras kai olos antikanonikis kai antiorthodoxou nootropias] (Vitalis 1957: 38). Through this document, which authorized lay administrators to decide on the employment and dismissal of priests, ‘the official administrative prerogatives of the Church were ignored’, since priests ‘were deprived of their God-given right to administrate holy things’ (Vitalis 1957: 39). Vitalis’ argument is based not only on the ‘God-given rights’ of priests, but also on ‘age-old rules, ecclesiastical Orders and the Holy Rules of Ecumenical and local Synods’, which in his view were transgressed. The institutional Church and its representatives used exclusively the argument of ‘tradition as authority’. For the first lay administrators, the ‘Testament’ aimed to establish an authoritative new order which was specific to the Tinos Foundation. References to the direct divine protection of Evangelistria and its administrators have functioned as an argument justifying the new administrative model. According to Danoussis, the Commission became progressively estranged and independent of Bishop Gabriel, as illustrated by the ‘Testament’ and the subsequent change in the relations between the two (2005: 461). In the ‘Testament’, which introduced ‘an original model of governance and election of lay administrators’ [ena prototypo tropo dioikisis kai eklogis ton Epitropon], the first lay administrators declared their intention to continue their mission ‘as long as it is the will of Our Lady the Virgin Mary’ (Danoussis, ibid.). The booklet also mentions that ‘the main characteristic of all the lay administrators of this Holy Foundation has been their devotion to the Virgin Mary’ (Perigrafi 1995: 16). Caught between the ‘prophetic pole’ and the ‘ecclesiastic pole’, according to the classical theory of Max Weber, the first Commission and its successors chose from the very beginning to legitimize their resistance to ecclesiastic pressures by positioning themselves as ‘elected’, not by an ecclesiastical authority (such as Bishop Gabriel), but by the Virgin Mary

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herself. In the same booklet the governance of Evangelistria is said to be ‘a miracle in itself’ and ‘according to God’s will’ [theofilis dioikisi] (Perigrafi, ibid.). Hence, the transfer of power from the bishop to the lay Commission was not considered a departure from ecclesiastical tradition, but the direct manifestation of God’s will. As we have seen, the evocation of educational needs invested the Foundation with both a religious and a civic mission, giving it an enlightened and forward-thinking dimension; on the contrary, the reference to a divine plan added to the Foundation a traditional rhetoric, which was often interpreted as conservative. Caught between these two (apparently contradictory, but presented as complementary) tendencies and dynamics, Evangelistria constitutes an interesting case for the study of the ideological ambiguities of innovation. There is a third legitimizing argument that points to the pragmatic need for modernization in order to fulfil the Foundation’s national mission. The sanctuary’s revenues have assured a good level of public education on the island and an important public infrastructure (roads and port, waterworks and creation of a hospital and home for the elderly), thus functioning as a substitute for the State and a powerful local benefactor. As we will see below, the lay administrators have been able to justify their holding of power by referring to the island’s development and modernization to which Evangelistria has contributed considerably.

The National Mission of Evangelistria In the 1995 Evangelistria booklet (Perigrafi 1995: 17–24), several pages are dedicated to a description of the activities of the Foundation; they are divided into five categories: 1. national activities (where there is a reference to the Evangelistria’s financial support to the foundation of the University of Athens6 in 1839, p. 18); 2. local and national religious activities7 (such as, missionary work or organization of theological conferences);

6 The National University of Athens was established in 1837 and was the first institution of its kind in the Balkans. According to Kitromilides, it was founded with two basic objectives: to train necessary personnel in order to staff the institutions of the newly formed Greek State; and to assure the role of the university as transmitter of Western culture to the East (1989: 166). 7 The section starts like this (Perigrafi 1995: 18): ‘From the first moment of its foundation, the sanctuary’s Commission reinforced people’s religious feelings, especially in the Cyclades, where people, during those years, were subject to various propagandas.’ This is a hint to the subsequent arrival of Protestant missionaries in the Aegean at the beginning of the nineteenth century, but also to the presence of Catholicism and its specific place in the Cyclades.

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3. educational activities (for example, ‘when the inauguration of the High School of Tinos took place in 1957, there was no other educational establishment in Greece with such high standards’, p. 19); 4. charitable activities (such as, caring for orphans or poor people); 5. social activities (for example, investments in the island’s infrastructure and plans for financing the construction of an airport on Tinos, pp. 22–4). According to the booklet, the mission of Evangelistria and the construction of public infrastructure works are interrelated since their aim has been to facilitate the arrival of pilgrims and assure them good living conditions during their stay on the island. These expenses are presented as being beneficial not only to the local population but also to the whole nation. The booklet highlights not only the sanctuary’s role as a source of local pride but also its broader national and pan-Orthodox dimensions. The constant mixing of local and national interests illustrates the will of the sanctuary’s administrators to refute any potential accusation of monopolizing and misusing its revenues. For the local community, what is ‘local’ in the case of Tinos is also ‘national’, since Evangelistria has always been viewed as a religious destination on a national scale. But for Tinians, what is ‘national’ cannot function if its local dimension is not taken into consideration, which is why the Church of Greece should respect the principles of the first administrators’ ‘Testament’ and accept the model of governance they originally introduced in 1825. In this context, modernization has been an argument legitimizing both the taking over of the sanctuary’s control and the need to assure relative independence from the Church of Greece; since Tinians are aware of the gaps in the island’s infrastructures and all lay administrators are Tinians, the latter present themselves as the most appropriate group to make decisions of this type. At the same time, the local population has been able to assume the cultural function of a guardian of tradition, guaranteeing respect for the ‘Testament’. However, the price to pay for the relative independence of the sanctuary from the Church of Greece was to accept a direct dependence on the Greek State, as we will see in the following section.

The Intervention of the State In 1834, a new State law was enacted that provoked the reaction of the local Orthodox community, which felt deprived of what it considered to be its legitimate rights. According to the legislation, administrators were no longer to be elected: they were to be appointed directly by the government, which could easily impose its own political allies. On 30 April 1834, the Commission that had been elected by the Orthodox community of Tinos was replaced by a new one; its five members were appointed by the Chief of the administrative province [Nomarchy] of the Cyclades (Danoussis 2005: 463). The measure went into effect four days before

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King Otto’s Royal Decree demanding the dissolution of 394 Orthodox monasteries and confiscation of their properties. As Kokosalakis writes: Soon after the arrival of the young Bavarian King Otto the regent Maurer appointed a seven-member commission8 to prepare a report aiming towards a constitutional charter for the church of Greece. His main objectives were: to declare the church independent of the Ecumenical Patriarchate and to subject her to the monarchy according to the Bavarian prototype where the King was also the “supreme Bishop”. […] The church thus became absolutely subordinated to the state, an act which has influenced crucially not just church and state relations to the present day but also the church’s attitude to modernization and social reform. (1987: 235–6)

The national reforms introduced during that period (which constituted transgressions of the Church’s canonical ecclesiastical order) certainly encouraged the lay Commission to insist on its particular mode of governance. Therefore, it was not surprising that Bishop Gabriel, with a few other ‘wise Hierarchs’, initially refused to sign on 1 July 1833 the document declaring the ‘totally anti-canonical and violent administrative separation of the Church of Greece from the Mother Church of the Ecumenical Patriarchate’ (Vitalis 1957: 41).9 Using a quotation from the Ecclesiastical History by the bishop of Didymoteiho, Filaretos Vafeidis, in 1928, Vitalis characterizes the transgressions and ‘innovations’ [kainotomiai] against the institutional Church under the reign of King Otto as ‘unacceptable’ (ibid: 42). Even if the ‘Testament’ of Evangelistria was written seven years before the Convention of London, which confirmed the offer of King Otto’s ‘hereditary Sovereignty’ over Greece, its subsequent application must be viewed within the overall turbulent spirit of this historical period. Kokosalakis argues that ‘the Orthodox Church is not just the established church but has been since 1833 virtually a department of the state’ (1987: 224). According to Mouzelis, the Church of Greece became ‘a branch of civil service’ and according to Skopetea and Dimitropoulos, ‘a mere ideological weapon in the hands of the Greek state’ (as cited by Stavrakakis 2003: 165). However, for the lay administrators of Evangelistria, these reforms did not remove the danger of making the Tinos Foundation dependent on ecclesiastical authorities. During the autumn of 1833, after having exercised his functions on Tinos for 23 years (1810–33), Bishop Gabriel left the island definitively to take charge of the bishopric of Naxos. In December 1833, the bishopric of Tinos merged with that of Syros (the neighbouring island which was administratively the capital of the Cyclades) and the new bishop kept his headquarters in Ermoupolis, Syros. On Maurer’s Commission consisted of three clerics and four laymen. Bishop Gabriel ‘was forced’ to sign it 15 days later, on 16 July 1833 (Vitalis 1957: 42). Vitalis considers that his decision was probably influenced by what was happening in Tinos (that is, the autonomization of the Evangelistria lay administrators). 8 9

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28 September 1836, the Orthodox community of Tinos addressed a resolution to King Otto requesting the return of Bishop Gabriel since the presence of a local bishop was considered necessary ‘for the feasts and ceremonies’ taking place at the sanctuary. The request was turned down and since then Bishop Gabriel has been the last bishop that resided in Tinos. Until 1861, the Greek government appointed three lay administrators at the head of the Commission, which was to be renewed every two years; after 1861, this status changed and a lay President replaced the three lay administrators. For the local population, the problem was how to find a balance between the authority of the State (assigning a political dimension to the governance of the Foundation) and that of the institution of the Church of Greece. But for the Church the main task was to place Evangelistria under its control and limit the role of laypersons, as we will see in the following section.

Clashes between the Church and the Foundation The bishop of Syros and Tinos, Alexandros Lykourgos (1866–75), did not hesitate to accuse the lay administrators of abusing the ‘sacred funds’ [ieron hrima] collected at the sanctuary and spending them to support the election of deputies in the Greek Parliament (Vitalis 1957: 49, note 40). As a means of exerting pressure, Bishop Lykourgos decided to abstain from all religious ceremonies taking place in Evangelistria. In August 1907, when the lay Presidency was assumed by Konstantinos Alavanos, Athanassios Leventopoulos, who had been the bishop of Syros and Tinos between 1907 and 1929, asked the priests serving there not to hold any masses at the Evangelistria. They abstained from their duties for two months, and during that period the Evangelistria bells rang only to mark a religious feast (Lagouros 1965: 82). These clerical protests were intended to prove the inevitable dependence of Evangelistria on priests from the institutional Church: without their presence, the sanctuary could not fulfil its spiritual role. In October 1909, the local community once again had to defend its rights over the Foundation against the government’s decision to place it under the control of the State’s general ecclesiastical treasury. The objection letter, addressed to the President of the Greek Parliament and to the Minister of Ecclesiastical Affairs, indicated that the management of the sanctuary could not be granted to individuals who ‘were totally unfamiliar with and indifferent to our home place’ since this was perceived as hubris and a great injustice towards Tinos, which ‘had become the religious centre of all Greeks through divine revelation’ (Lagouros 1965: 84). Once again, the ‘communal rights’ over the sanctuary were justified on religious terms and presented as part of a divine plan. Vitalis also refers to the vote of the Greek Parliament on the introduction of the 1910 Law imposing the control of the State ecclesiastical treasury over the Evangelistria’s revenues; he writes that ‘the danger was avoided only after the synchronized efforts of the politicians of Tinos’ (1957: 50). Danoussis notes that it was the first time that the Church of

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Greece claimed the proceeds of the Foundation; after a final compromise, the lay administrators accepted to concede to the ecclesiastical treasury 5,000 drachmas per year (2005: 464). If the future of the sanctuary’s governance depended on several occasions on the Parliament’s vote, the development of national political careers by those who were in charge of the Foundation was viewed by the Tinians as their only chance to defend what they considered their community’s own rights. The fact that, by the middle of the twentieth century, many lay Presidents of the sanctuary also became parliamentary deputies illustrates the particularly close relations of the sanctuary with the State. The governance of Evangelistria gave the opportunity to important local laypersons to change roles, from administering a religious foundation to building a political career. This was the case of Alexandros Lagouros (see note 3) and Konstantinos Alavanos, who was President of Evangelistria in 1903 and from 1907 to 1909 and who started his political career as deputy in 1910. During the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the governance of the sanctuary functioned according to personalized clientelistic relations, which illustrated the complex web of powerful family relations and local interests. From the point of view of the Church of Greece, the mixing of sacred and secular interests, on the one hand, and the intersection between national parliamentary structures and local political networks, on the other, could not but alter the function of Evangelistria. From the Tinians’ point of view, this compromise was perceived as a means of defence against the threat of subordinating the sanctuary to the authority of the Church of Greece; for them, getting involved in the national political arena was the only way to maintain and ensure Evangelistria’s administrative autonomy. However, according to my fieldwork, many Tinians acknowledge the fact that the governance of Evangelistria reinforced existing links of patronage based on the exchange of services for votes. The elections of Evangelistria’s administrators have been, neither representative, nor democratically regulated, with the exception of the passing of an act in 1912 stipulating that the Commission should be elected by the lay councils of all the Orthodox parishes of Tinos (Danoussis 2005: 465). This reformulation in Evangelistria’s election rules was influenced by an important ecclesiastical reform at the national level: the ecclesiastical law of 1910 on parishes [Peri Enorion], which defined conditions for the formation of lay councils. It was the first time that laity was introduced into the administration of the Church of Greece. Laypersons were granted the right to participate in the election of priests: lay councils were elected by male parishioners who were heads of a household and over 21 years of age. Nevertheless, the law changing Evangelistria’s election rules was never applied since in 1925, after the intervention of the deputy, Konstantinos Alavanos, it was decided that the Orthodox villages of Tinos and their inhabitants had no rights over the governance of the Foundation10 (Danoussis 2005: 466). From this 10 Danoussis refers also to the local dispute that emerged at the end of the nineteenth century concerning the delimitation of the Orthodox community of Tinos and, consequently,

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perspective, the Evangelistria administrative model contributed to the political empowerment of certain members of the local population, while a large part of the island’s inhabitants (not only Catholics, but also Orthodox) found themselves totally excluded from participation in the lay administrators’ elections. The situation changed again during the Greek Civil War: in 1948 the Church of Greece managed to assure for itself 5 per cent of Evangelistria’s revenues, which was granted to Apostolic Diakonia.11 Under the military junta (1967–74), whose self-proclaimed mission was to defend the supposed traditional values of the ‘Helleno-Christian civilization’, the established balance between the sanctuary, the State and the Church was once again modified, as we will see below.

The Sanctuary under Church Control Tinos was officially designated as a ‘sacred island’ on 28 May 1969. On 11 September 1970, a Patriarchal and Synodal Act recognized the sanctity of Pelayia, the Tinian nun whose visions had led to the discovery of the long-buried Evangelistria icon.12 In 1971, during the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Greek War of Independence, special honours were given to those who had contributed to the ‘regeneration’ of the nation. The recognition of Pelayia’s sanctity was included in the national celebrations and rhetoric. On 25 July 1971, a chapel of Evangelistria was dedicated to the newly recognized Saint Pelayia. The event took place two days after the first official celebration of Saint Pelayia at the monastery of Kehrovouni (where Pelayia served as nun) on 23 July. Therefore, the political impact on the Foundation under the military junta was contradictory: on the one hand, the military regime granted Tinos a new honorary title (‘sacred island’) and its first and only local saint; on the other hand, as we will see, it dealt a severe blow to the lay governance of the sanctuary. During that same period, the Church of Greece took control of Evangelistria for the first time – that is, after more than 150 years of local lay alliances, Church

those who had the right to nominate the administrators: should it include all Orthodox villages of the island or only the Commune of the town of Tinos, where the sanctuary is situated? (2005: 464). 11 This institutional Church organization was created in 1936 to provide missionary, charity and educational work on a national and international level. My principal informant explained that, for a long period of time, the money was destined to assure the running costs of the Ecclesiastical High School on Tinos. After 1985, when employees of this High School started to be paid by the Greek State, problems with Apostolic Diakonia were aggravated. Today, Evangelistria owes a large sum of money (the equivalent of 1 billion drachmas) to Apostolic Diakonia, and the issue remains under court judgment (interview, 13 July 2009). 12 The Tinian female writer Eleni Karita (see also Kontogiorgi in this volume) wrote a ‘biographical novel’ about Pelayia after her sanctification. For an analysis of this biography, which has feminist overtones, see Seraïdari (2010).

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officials and the State competing for control over the sanctuary. In 1973, a commemorative monument representing the bishop of Tinos, Gabriel, was erected within the grounds of the sanctuary. The Church of Greece, which was behind the erection of the new monument, used it as a means to emphasize the bishop’s contribution and the role of the institutional Church in the icon’s discovery.13 A year later, in 1974, the last lay President, Pamfilos Alavanos (1965–67 and 1970– 74), decided to have the bells ring in mourning for the whole day in order to protest against the control imposed by the institutional Church, which violated the ‘Testament’ of the founders and their will to establish a lay administration. Despite the sanctuary’s conservative rhetoric (evoking God’s will as a source of legitimacy), the fact that Evangelistria’s communal rights were scorned under the junta transformed it into one of the numerous victims of this period, whose liberty was repressed. It also revealed that the sanctuary’s mode of governance was still perceived by the Church of Greece as a disturbing source of disorder and an unacceptable exception to the rule. Today the sanctuary is under the supervision of the Ministry of Education and Religion; it is governed by a nine-member Commission14 with the bishop of Syros and Tinos as President and an elected layperson as Vice-President. As we have seen, there are only two criteria of eligibility, to be Tinian and Orthodox. Elections take place every three years. On 7 December 2008, there were 39 electors,15 of whom only two were women. According to my informants, the bishop in reality has limited powers as he heads the Commission only symbolically: ‘he is only one and we are nine. If he says “yes” and we say “no”, it is all over, it is our “no” which is validated. And he does not come to all the meetings: he is present only for the most important sessions’ (interview, 13 July 2009). This informant also explained that in 1975, after the end of the military junta, Tinians faced a serious dilemma: accept remaining under the ecclesiastical control of the Church of Greece while keeping a lay President as head of the Foundation, or return to State control with the bishop as President. They finally chose the model of State control, keeping the bishop as President. When the bishop of Syros and Tinos came to the first session of the Commission in 1975, my informant (who was a member at the time) made 13 Until then, there was only a commemorative slab with the names of Bishop Gabriel and the four lay administrators that President Konstantinos Alavanos had commissioned and placed at the sanctuary after the Second World War. 14 Six of its members are elected. The other three are civil servants and have access to this post ex officio: the Magistrate of the island, the Director of the High School and the Director of the Tax Department of Tinos. 15 The electors are: the bishop of Syros and Tinos; the President of the Eparchy and the Eparchy’s councillors; the mayor of the town of Tinos and his councillors; the mayor of Exombourgo and of the Commune of Panormos; and the elected committee of the Brotherhood of Tinians in Athens. If some of the councillors are Catholic, they are replaced by Orthodox representatives. This means that today only elected authorities from Orthodox villages participate in the procedure.

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a speech, where he declared that he was ready to fight against the rights of the bishop on the sanctuary’s Presidency.16 The almost heroic spirit of this declaration illustrates how Tinians perceive the lay mode of governance: its perpetuation constitutes a moral obligation, since what has been an innovative model assuring emancipation from the institutional Church is now perceived as a historical and consecrated local legacy. At the same time, the threat of possible Church control serves to legitimize a discourse of resistance, which conceals the fact that the Foundation has itself become a powerful religious structure. I will now examine a recent initiative of the bishop of Syros and Tinos, which may have an impact on the established relationships between the sanctuary and the institutional Church.

New Forms of Worship In 2008 the bishop of Syros and Tinos offered to those who are not able to visit the sanctuary the possibility of emailing their requests and ‘heart-felt prayers’ [kardiaka aitimata] addressed to the Evangelistria icon, promising to commemorate their names both in front of the miraculous icon and in front of the altar. The Reuters news agency published an article on this issue (22 July 2008) entitled: ‘Too poor or sick for Greek pilgrimage? Email a prayer’. The article highlighted the fact that ‘in recent years, Greece’s Orthodox Church has striven to find ways to stem declining attendance, particularly among young Greeks’. The option of sending email requests was presented as a way of making the icon more accessible, not only to young and educated people (who are more familiar with modern technology) but also to the Greek Diaspora (since the majority of the messages come from Cyprus, the USA and Germany). Only 10–11 per cent of the emailed prayer requests come from Greece, from believers who are unable to travel to Tinos due to poor health, economic reasons or advanced age. Many believers have already been sending prayer requests via regular post, so the only novelty here is the transition from conventional letters to emails via www.paraklesis.com. The initiative has been criticized by some as useless: the electronic news portal Cyclades News (www. kykladesnews.gr, 12 August 2008) published a statement by a theologian at the Theological School of Athens, encouraging believers who cannot visit Tinos to pray at their local parish.

16

He was elected as member of the Evangelistria Commission but was also appointed to this post ex officio at a different time (since he was the Director of the High School). He is emotionally very attached to the sanctuary, since it was thanks to a grant of 300 drachmas offered by the Foundation (which also today offers student grants to young people from Tinos, but also from other parts of Greece) that he managed to study classical literature at the National University of Athens. He thinks that the risk of placing the sanctuary under the control of the Church of Greece is still high, but he hopes that this will not happen – at least, during his lifetime.

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According to an article from the Greek popular tabloid newspaper Espresso: ‘in our era of “cyberspace”, you no longer need to crawl on your knees [gonypeteis] to the Virgin Mary of Tinos and be bathed in sweat, or buy and light a candle that is as tall as the devotee who offers it’ (14 August 2008). The article describes the bishop as a ‘modernizer’ [eksyghronistis], whose initiative has managed to ‘mentally’ [noïta] and virtually bring together every year a large number of believers. During a ‘mental’ or virtual visit (as opposed to a visit in person) the ‘mental’ process can easily become ‘spiritual’: the semantic transition allows the insertion of this technological innovation into a familiar rhetoric stressing mystical experience. Hence, the ecclesiastical use of the Internet for devotional purposes has been justified in two ways: by referring to its ‘mental’ dimension and by emphasizing its practicality, as I will show below. Various newspapers have noted that the bishopric of Syros was one of the first in Greece to launch an email service in 2003 offering a broad range of services. On its Internet site, the bishopric indicates that it faces challenges in the fulfilment of its mission because the bishopric consists of 12 Cycladic islands (including Syros and Tinos, but also Andros, Mykonos, Kea, Milos and Amorgos) dispersed across the Aegean Sea. Therefore, the use of the Internet is presented as a practical solution: electronic technology enables the formation of links between and among populations in the dispersed islands that can overcome geographic ‘determinism’ and remoteness. If we consider the prayer that takes place in front of an icon as a moment of conversational exchange, the email initiative has the potential to change the whole structure of the devotional relation by including a mediator in the process, namely the bishopric of Syros. ‘Electronic devotees’ neither kiss nor touch the icon. Hence, this new mode of devotion makes the icon’s material presence irrelevant and minimizes the importance of physical contact, transforming the icon into a virtual and de-territorialized object. Pilgrims coming to Tinos also visit the chapel where the icon was found and take some of the soil (supposed to have covered the icon for centuries until its unearthing), as well as holy water from a fountain. After having accomplished their religious duties, pilgrims wander around the shops and buy religious items. These memorabilia are signs, not only of their personal religious experience, but also of the holy essence of the icon. Pilgrimage requires sacrifice and investment, it imposes conditions of discomfort and creates bonds between those who participate; therefore, the experience of communitas is a major motivation for pilgrimage (Turner and Turner, 1978). All these gestures, efforts, goals and habits become insignificant in the framework of ‘electronic devotion’. In a certain way, this new form of devotion seems to conform to the contemporary sensibilities and expectations of urban-dwelling devotees, who often opt for more restrained and less spectacular forms of worship. If icons are ‘premodern cultural products’ (Kokosalakis 1995: 445), the presence of the Evangelistria icon in ‘cyberspace’ makes it a postmodern cultural product, ready to be worshipped electronically. In the new ‘religious market’, the icon is liberated from geographical and economic constraints and its accessibility is ‘democratized’, at least for those who have access to a computer and the Internet;

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it becomes a handy ritual artefact that cannot be monopolized. Hence, the ‘sacred island’ is no longer the sole owner of this precious object of worship. As for the devotees, there is a certain shift from the religious obligation of pilgrimage to the virtual and solitary consumption of a religious symbol considered as miracleworking. The recent initiative of the bishopric (whose decision is not seriously contested at any level) offers a dynamic and renewed image of the Church of Greece. This new possibility for worshipping the Evangelistria icon challenges, however, the current administrative status of the Foundation, since it places the electronic devotion of the icon directly under the clerical authority of the bishopric of Syros. Through this technological innovation, the bishopric reaffirms its rights to the sanctuary and its icon. If people can worship and pay their respects to the icon without travelling to Tinos, this also undermines the claim for relevant expenses associated with ensuring easy access and the well-being of visiting pilgrims.

Conclusion After the discovery of the Marian icon in 1823, Tinos became a ‘blessed place’ and was turned into the new religious and symbolic centre of the imagined Greek nation;17 it became the representation of ‘a divinely sanctioned Greekness […], a Greekness founded on a common faith, legitimated by miracles, and experienced through pilgrimage’ (Dubisch 1995: 166). Both the newly found icon and the novel local model of governance supposedly incarnated God’s will. Imagined and imposed by its first lay founders, the initial innovative plan for governing the Foundation has been defined by a diachronic competition between lay local alliances, the State and Church officials. Each party in the negotiation has advanced its own arguments: for the local population and the lay administrators the proposed governance model is based on the 1825 ‘Testament’ of the sanctuary’s founders; for the Greek State it is founded on legislation; and for the Church of Greece the governance of Evangelistria should be based on ecclesiastical law and tradition.

17 Tinos has also become a political centre because, after the end of the junta in 1974, Greek Prime Ministers used to visit the island and participate in the Dormition Feast (15 August). Andreas Papandreou broke the tradition on 15 August 1988, when he decided to visit another Marian shrine in northern Greece and to ignore Tinos; during this period, he had a very difficult relationship with the Church of Greece over economic issues relating to monastic lands that the State wanted to confiscate. Every year, Greek media give an account of which political leaders visit Tinos on this occasion and of their declarations. For example, in August 2007, there were so many State officials and representatives from the governing right-wing party (Nea Dimokratia) on Tinos that, according to a local newspaper (O Arnados Mas, August 2007, no. 3, p. 9), all the details of the national elections, which took place one month later, were supposedly arranged during this festival.

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As we have seen, the sanctuary was progressively transformed into an arena where conflicting agents negotiated their rights. In this case, the issue of innovation has functioned as a diachronic source of competition, where not only different administrative models but also important economic resources have been disputed within the larger matrix of social relations and networks of power. For certain Church officials, religion has not only been politically instrumentalized in Tinos, but also the worship of the Evangelistria icon has been excessively commercialized. In the first case, the close relationship between the sanctuary and the Greek State has been criticized; in the second case, the fact that the Foundation very quickly became the most important economic source of the island has been judged as incompatible with its spiritual mission. Its localistic orientation has also been criticized. Two kinds of arguments were used to respond to these accusations. On the one hand, reference to God’s protection over this lay model of governance and to the inherently ‘natural’ religiosity of the island’s inhabitants18 marked the Foundation’s discourse of resistance against attempts by the institutional Church to impose its control over the sanctuary. Hence, ‘divine revelation’ was used as an argument for consolidating the exceptionality of the lay model of governance. On the other hand, Evangelistria has been viewed from its foundation not only as a vehicle of modernization and change but also as the defender of local interests. The island’s economic development and the living standards of its inhabitants are closely related to the sanctuary’s lay administration. This model of governance had a concrete social and ideological impact at the local level: not only has Evangelistria improved local conditions of life, but it has also encouraged Tinians to endorse themselves as a ‘chosen community’ who could be permitted to develop an exceptional governance model. The Evangelistria lay model has been consecrated by time, which progressively transformed it into a developing and respected tradition for the majority of the local community, even if it is still contested by the Church of Greece. Nevertheless, this innovative model of governance has also been presented as an open-ended process that cannot become a fixed structure because of the institutional Church’s reaction. This has given the opportunity to the lay administrators to develop and maintain a discourse of resistance, which continues to cover the fact that the sanctuary has gradually become a powerful religious structure. By defining the Church of Greece as the dominant religious establishment and itself as a continuously threatened 18

According to a local scholar, Savvas Apergis, it was not the unearthing of the Marian icon that made the island sacred (Apergis 2006: 283). He thinks, on the contrary, that there is on Tinos an ‘indigenous’ [eggenis], ‘authentic’ [afthentiki], ‘lived’ [viomatiki] and ‘spontaneous’ [pigaia] religiosity that had prepared the locals to receive the divine message: ‘the residents of Tinos were ready for many centuries to find Her icon. It had prepared them from the depths of the earth itself’ (ibid.: 293). The discovery of the icon and the foundation of the sanctuary are presented here both as the result and the cause of this ‘natural’ religiosity.

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entity, Evangelistria has managed to build an authority that persists in concealing its own dominant position. After the recent initiative of the bishopric of Syros and Tinos to promote the option of an ‘electronic devotion’ of the Evangelistria icon, the struggle for control over this specific devotional space, its use and its funds may take new forms in the future.

References Apergis, Savvas E. 2006. ‘I viomatiki thriskeftikotita ton Orthodoxon Tinion’ [The Lived Religiosity of the Orthodox Inhabitants of Tinos ]. In Tinos. Istoria kai politismos [Tinos: History and Civilization ], vol. 2, ed. Markos Foskolos. Tinos: Dimos Exomvourgou Tinou. Danoussis, Kostas. 2005. ‘Dioikisi tou Panelliniou Idrymatos tis Evangelitrias Tinou’ [The Governance of the Panhellenic Foundation of Evangelistria of Tinos ]. In Tinos. Istoria kai politismos [Tinos: History and Civilization], vol. 2, ed. Markos Foskolos. Tinos: Dimos Exomvourgou Tinou. Dubisch, Jill. 1995. In a Different Place: Pilgrimage, Gender, and Politics at a Greek Island Shrine. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gazi, Effie. 2004. O defteros vios ton Trion Ierarhon. Mia genealogia tou ‘EllinoHristianikou politismou [The Second Life of the Three Hierarchs: A Genealogy of the ‘Helleno-Christian Civilization]. Athens: Nefeli. Kitromilides, Paschalis. 1989. ‘“Imagined Communities” and the Origin of the National Question in the Balkans.’ European History Quarterly, 19: 149–92. Kokosalakis, Nikos. 1987. ‘Religion and Modernization in 19th Century Greece.’ Social Compass, 34, 2–3: 223–41. ———. 1995. ‘Icons and Non-verbal Religion in the Orthodox Tradition.’ Social Compass, 42, 4: 433–49. Lagouros, Alexandros S. 1965. I Istoria tis Tinou [The History of Tinos ]. Athens: Ekdoseis ‘Tinos’. Mazower, Mark. 2008. ‘Villagers, Notables and Imperial Collapse: The Virgin Mary on Tinos.’ In Networks of Power in Modern Greece: Essays in Honour of John Campbell, ed. Mark Mazower. London: Hurst and Company. Seraïdari, Katerina. 2005. Le culte des icônes en Grèce. Toulouse: Presses Universitaires du Mirail. ———. 2007. ‘Megali i hari tis’. Latreftikes praktikes kai ideologikes syngrouseis stis Kyklades [‘May Her Grace Be With Us!’ Devotional Practices and Ideological Conflicts in the Cyclades]. Athens: Philippoti-Erinni. ———. 2010. ‘The Virgin between Orthodox and Catholics: Religious Mediations on Tinos.’ In Religion and Boundaries: Studies from the Balkans, Eastern Europe and Turkey, ed. Galia Valtchinova. Istanbul: Isis Press. Stavrakakis, Yannis. 2003. ‘Politics and Religion: On the “Politicization” of Greek Church Discourse.’ Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 21: 153–81.

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Turner, Victor and Edith Turner. 1978. Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture. New York: Columbia University Press. Vitalis, Filaretos. 1957. O Mitropolitis Tinou Gavriil [The Bishop of Tinos, Gabriel]. Athens: Editions of the Holy Bishopric of Preveza.

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Chapter 9

A New Role for Religion in Greece? Theologians Challenging the Ethno-Religious Understanding of Orthodoxy and Greekness Trine Stauning Willert

A Greek historian noted that ‘without modernization within the Church, it will be difficult to achieve modernization within [Greek] society, in the mentality and ways of behaviour’ (Liakos 2005).1 Even if modernization of society can be implemented without the participation of the Church, it is true that the history of Greece modernization – or the lack thereof – has always been associated with the role of religion and the institutional Church. As part of its efforts to implement modernizing reforms in Greece the PASOK government of Costas Simitis decided in 2000–01 to remove the religious affiliation from citizens’ ID cards, thus complying with EU standards regarding the protection of personal data. This attempt to modernize and symbolically differentiate between the affairs of the Greek state and the Church of Greece, between citizen identity and religious affiliation, was met, as is well known, with strong protests from the Church,2 which emerged as a tradition-bound reactionary institution out of step with modernity. The relationship between modernity and the Greek Orthodox Church is a complex and multifaceted issue. When the Orthodox Church, in 1833, was identified with the modern Greek nation state it was seen by conservative hierarchs and theologians as an attempt for the modernization and Westernization of the Orthodox Church.3 Throughout the history of the Church of Greece there have been several attempts to introduce various reforms, but, as Anastassiadis (2010: 52) has pointed out, innovation in religion has to appear as non-innovative as possible in order to be successful. Therefore, proposals for change in the Church are often presented as a return to an ‘authentic’ tradition. This is also the case in Unless otherwise indicated, all translations from Greek are by the author. The scholarly literature on this dispute between the state and the Church is very extensive. For a thorough analysis of various aspects of the issue see Molokotos-Liederman 2003, 2007a, 2007b. 3 Paraskevas Matalas (2003) provides a detailed account of the various actors and interests at play in the period of nationalization of the Church from 1833 to 1872. 1

2

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the recent modernizing trend within Greek Orthodox theology which proposes a contemporary and renewed theology that is able to embrace cultural diversity and living conditions in late modernity. The arguments put forward in support of such modernization are, however, drawn from what is perceived as prenational authentic religious identity. This chapter illustrates the paradox when in one historical period, the nineteenth century, the Orthodox Church underwent modernization by binding itself to the Greek nation state through the establishment of the autocephalous Greek Church in 1833, while in another historical period, the present, Orthodox theologians propose a modernization of the Church through its detachment from the nation state and in particular from national ideology. Against the backdrop of previous theological positions on the national interpretation of Orthodoxy in Greece, this chapter analyses recent attempts to renew theological discourse in Greece. A review of the Greek historical context is useful in helping to explain the new theological positions, but the chapter also suggests that these positions reflect broader global trends in religious traditions, therefore indicating a new religious culture that is detached from national frameworks. Such global trends of religion in late modernity have been extensively studied by Olivier Roy (2010), who has put forth a theory of ‘religion without culture’.4 It is important to define beforehand some of the key concepts underlying the concept of innovation, including the terms modernity, late modernity, postmodernity and modernization are often used interchangeably and arbitrarily and can be difficult to define. In this chapter, modernity refers to the historical, economic and social processes that have led to the establishment of nation states and the subsequent introduction of ‘imagined communities’ through national identity politics. Late modernity is understood as a term describing societal conditions brought about by ever-increasing mobility (e.g. migration and tourism), the IT-revolution (e.g. high levels of information access and hyperconnectivity through the internet and social media) and the dissolution of life-long primary identity markers, such as nation, religion and profession, towards several fluid sub-identities (e.g. consumerism and the ‘religion market’). The term postmodernity is avoided since it primarily refers to an ideological framework. While modernization is a concept used to indicate processes of change related, sometimes, but not always, to rationalization, in both modernity and late modernity.

4

I use the expression ‘religion without culture’ from the original French title of Roy’s book (2008) La sainte ignorance: Le temps de la religion sans culture. In the English edition of the book (Roy 2010) ‘religion without culture’ has been translated as ‘when religion and culture part ways’.

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The Progressive Theological Scene in Greece There are three ideological spaces and intellectual milieus that currently advocate a modernization of Greek Orthodox theology and Orthodox Christian identity: the theological journal Synaxis; the Volos Academy for Theological Studies of the Holy Metropolis of Demetrias; and the Greek Theological Association for the Improvement of Religious Education (KAIROS). Since its foundation in 1982, Synaxis has been associated up to a point with the neo-Orthodox revival of theological thought in Greece in the 1980s and 1990s. Since the late 1990s, when the theologian Thanasis Papathanasiou became editor in chief, the journal has been less associated with the neo-Orthodox current and has covered many new theological voices and controversial issues have been covered, thus exhibiting an openness and willingness to discuss, change and rethink the so-called inherited traditions in Orthodox Christianity. The Volos Academy was founded in 2000 with the aim of addressing controversial theological issues in an alternative progressive academic spirit based on the principle of dialogue. The association KAIROS was created in early 2010 as the culmination of a year-long discussion on the status of religion in public education and the position of theologians as school teachers. The association wishes to represent a progressive theological voice as an alternative to the established conservative Panhellenic Union of Theologians (PETH). Many of the individual actors that are associated with one of these bodies of progressive theological discourse also contribute to the other two, and all three act as forums of new theological discourse in Greece showing signs of an ecumenical understanding of Christianity, openness towards cultural and religious diversity and a rapprochement between Greek Orthodox theology and Western Christian theology as an alternative to the neo-Orthodox anti-Western position. Because the Theological Association KAIROS is a very new organization and Synaxis was not founded with the purpose of being innovative vis-à-vis contemporary theological challenges, this chapter will focus exclusively on the Volos Academy and in particular its director, the theologian Pantelis Kalaïtzidis. It is obvious that such a limited approach has its weaknesses, but the Academy in Volos is considered a particular and unique institution in the history of Greek theology and in the context of the Church of Greece. Therefore, its long-term influence may not be that limited after all. The foundation of a theological institution that operates independently of the two theological schools of the state universities but also independently of the theological colleges under the authority of the Church of Greece, was an initiative by the bishop of Volos, Ignatius, who was also candidate for the Archbishopric in 2008. This means that the Academy holds an established position within the Church of Greece, even if, viewed from the outside, it has not yet been recognized as such. The influential position of the Academy is also reflected in the other theological forums, such as Synaxis and KAIROS. The first article by Kalaïtzidis (2001) criticizing the ethno-religious identity of the Church of Greece was published in Synaxis. By organizing seminars on new teaching methods targeted

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towards theologians teaching religion in secondary education, the Academy became an important factor in the creation of a common platform of progressive theologians, i.e. KAIROS. Thus, the Academy seems to be central to several new initiatives related to a rethinking of Orthodoxy in Greek society in terms of the relationship between national and religious identity and the teaching of religion in public education. The innovative aspect of these recent tendencies in Greek Orthodox theology lies in their firm assertion on the need to renew and modernize the Greek Orthodox Church and religious practices in accordance with late modern Western societies that have been transformed by ongoing religious, ethnic and cultural diversity. This ‘new’ theology in Greece appears innovative in its attempt to overturn an earlier Orthodox modernization, the creation of a nationally defined Greek Orthodox Church as a result of the Greek uprising against the Ottoman Empire and the creation of the modern Greek state. The current ‘innovation’ is essentially a proposed return to pre-national times for the Church, exemplified through a renewed focus on Bible studies. According to advocates of this new discourse, the Bible, as the most authentic Christian source, has been neglected in Greek theology at the expense of patristic studies and concerns over the Greekness of Orthodoxy.5 The proposed ‘new’ theology claims a Christian identity with a global and ecumenical outlook, independent of national imaginations. By presenting and analysing selected texts by contemporary Greek theologians and intellectuals, this chapter will shed light on the recent anti-nationalistic and pro-multicultural discourses that have become increasingly more visible in progressive theological and religious milieus in Greece over the past decade. The analysis of such new religious discourses will demonstrate how they draw on global discourses of late modernity and globalization, including discourses of post-nationalism, in order to advance the message of a Christian ‘universal truth’. On the one hand, these discourses may exemplify a local Greek project of religious innovation or modernization; on the other hand, they can also be seen as local expressions of a global phenomenon, namely the detachment of religion from culture through the disassociation of faith communities from ethnic and national identities. Before turning our attention to the Greek case, the next section will briefly introduce Roy’s (2010) concept of ‘religion without culture’ in late modernity. This will set the theoretical framework for interpreting recent demands for renewal or innovation in Greek Orthodox theology as not only expressions of a local pattern of 5 Patristic studies, i.e. the systematic study of texts by mainly Greek theologians (Church Fathers) from the fourth to the fourteenth century, experienced a revival in Greece from the 1960s onwards following inspiration from the influential Russian theologian Georges Florovsky (1893–1979) who, in the 1930s, argued that the way forward for Orthodox Christianity was to ‘return to the Fathers’ – i.e. to study the Greek Church Fathers of the fourth century – and thereby to ‘retrieve the Christian (or holy) Hellenism’ (Papalexandropoulos 2009).

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theological positions, but also as part of a larger global trend of change in religious practices. After introducing Roy’s thesis regarding religion in late modernity a short historical and theological background will illustrate the fusion of religion and national identity throughout Greece’s modern history, building up to its ultimate expression in the Church leadership of Archbishop Christodoulos (1998– 2008). Subsequent sections provide preliminary analyses of the recent trends in Greek theology by introducing key elements and themes from the new religious discourses, especially as these have emerged from the Academy for Theological Studies in Volos and its director, Pantelis Kalaïtzidis. The material presented in this chapter forms part of a larger research project which, apart from published texts, includes interviews with central figures associated with the Academy and participant observation of its seminars and conferences. This chapter mainly refers to written material, but some references will be made to interviews.

Religion in Late Modernity Using the concept of deculturation of religion, Roy (2010: 5) refers to contemporary fundamentalist tendencies where religious movements, such as Pentecostalism and Salafism, turn against the secular culture because it is viewed as profane and pagan. The aim of fundamentalist movements is to reach a pure religion, free from its embeddedness in secular culture (Roy 2010: 9–11). Fundamentalism, according to Roy, is, among other things, a reaction to the nationalization of religion during the centuries of nationalism and to the political secularism that was a consequence of the establishment of modern nation states. Immigration, Americanization and the relativization of culture through globalization (Featherstone 1995) have paved the way for the detachment of religion from a specific cultural context. The fundamentalist position is also characterized by a desire to revive ideals of earlier epochs where religion was supposed to be pure and authentic. In this context, it would be wrong to suggest that the recent turn in modern Greek Orthodox theology is motivated by a traditional fundamentalist position. First, the theologians and intellectuals advocating a renewal of Greek theology and Orthodox Christian identity in late modernity embrace both the Christian cultural tradition inherited from Byzantium and the Western European Christian culture and tradition. These new voices illustrate only in part Roy’s deculturation thesis, namely their objection to the close bonds between a secular national identity and a religious (Orthodox) Christian identity. Roy (2010: 8) observes that the deculturation of religion leads to larger gaps between believers and nonbelievers because the ‘in-between’ positions such as ‘cultural Jews’, ‘atheist Muslims’ or ‘moderate Protestants’ disappear from the religious/cultural map, at least in the eyes of fundamentalists. The modernizing Greek theologians do not adopt such an entrenched position, even if they present themselves as passionate believers and claim that being born a Greek does not automatically impart a person with an Orthodox religious identity. They rather advocate a dialogic and open

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attitude towards non-believers and believers from other religions. Therefore, this new trend in Greece is not an example of Christian fundamentalism, yet it has some elements of religious purism because it argues against an ethnic or cultural understanding of the Christian identity. In this way it calls for a theology based on the earliest Christian testimonies in the New Testament and the experiences of the early Christian Church and Christian communities that were not defined by their cultural, ethnic or racial (i.e. ‘national’) affiliation. Personal salvation, which is the aim of fundamentalist movements, such as Pentecostalism, creates a direct bond and communication between God and the individual, thus bypassing the social expression of religion. Praising the Eucharist as the ultimate (Orthodox) Christian event (Academy 2007), the new voices in Greek Orthodox theology are certainly not those of religious individualists. Even though they dispute the assumption that a person gains his/her Orthodox Christian identity by being born a Greek national citizen they still attach importance to faith as a personal choice – something that has not been previously emphasized in Greek Orthodoxy (Kalaïtzidis 2003a, 2004). As illustrated above, there are some common features between global tendencies towards the deculturation of religion and new trends in Greek theology today. However, rather than identifying the Greek case as a deculturation of religion it is preferable to use the term ‘de-nationalization of religion’, which means that some contemporary Greek theologians propose a new cultural framework for Orthodox Christianity in Greece. A new cultural dimension of this de-nationalized version of Greek Orthodoxy is, as we shall see below, the culture of reflexivity intrinsic to the relativization of identities, especially national identities in late modernity. However, the intellectual contribution and activities of contemporary, progressive theologians and religious thinkers should also be seen in the context of the role of religion in contemporary Greek society, as well as against the backdrop of earlier theological contributions and activities. Therefore, the next section introduces the role of religion and the Orthodox Church in relation to Greek national identity and the main currents in popular Greek Orthodox theology since the 1960s.

The Ethno-Religious Identity Paradigm Considering both its local and global dimensions, Greek Orthodoxy has been constructed as being linked to an age-old tradition rather than to modernity, if this dichotomy is useful at all (Mouzelis 1996). Nevertheless, it is a fact that Greek Orthodoxy, through the autocephalous Church of Greece, became a vehicle for one of the most central symbols of modernity – the nation state (Mavrogordatos 2003). The constant competition between the state and the Church to symbolize the ‘true’ eschatological vision of the modern Greek nation has sometimes led to alliances between the two. In the last decades of the twentieth century this competition resulted in the Church representing an ‘old-fashioned’ modernism based on a

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romantic (religious) nationalism and the state representing the modernization process of secularization and Europeanization.6 Modern Greek Orthodox theology has always had a strong local rooting in the diachronic Greek language and the geographic lands of the Byzantine Empire, while at the same time being in constant dialogue with or in opposition to other Orthodox Churches and Christian Churches of other denominations across the globe. Greek Orthodoxy has come to represent at one and the same time the ‘right’ Christian dogma in an ecumenical sense, and the dogma of the specific ‘Greek’ way of being Christian within a concrete national space and time.7 The tensions between the global and local dimensions of Greek Orthodoxy are intense, deep and manifold. The historical roots of this tension go back to the early years of Greek independence where many different scenarios regarding the future of the Orthodox Church in the lands liberated from the Ottoman Empire, flourished. In his analysis of the parallel trajectories of nation and Orthodoxy in the nineteenth century Matalas (2003: 47 and 54–62) distinguishes an internal competition between two interpretations of the future of Orthodoxy in the post-Ottoman era. The division into two camps was prompted by the establishment of an autocephalous Church in the newly founded Greek state, which created an entirely new situation for the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Constantinople and the Church hierarchy. The creation of an autocephalous Church, defined specifically as Greek, challenged the Greek identity of the Patriarchate and created a dispute over which Church would have the right to represent at once the true Orthodoxy and the true Greekness. The two forms of Orthodoxy were the ecumenical but still Greek (through the language of the holy texts) Orthodoxy and the national Greek Orthodoxy grounded in the newly created modern Greek state. Before turning towards the theological scene of the twenty-first century, it is useful to consider the theological milieu that preceded the current modernizing attempts, especially since the ideology developed in this milieu laid the groundwork for the ethno-religious strategy of the former Archbishop Christodoulos (see Papastathis’ chapter on Church discourse strategies in this volume). Based on inspiration from Russian émigré theologians, and especially Georges Florovsky’s call for a ‘return to the (Greek) Fathers’, a theological revival developed in 6 The conflict between the attempts at secularization and Europeanization by the Greek state and the Church’s wish to maintain an ethno-religious nationalistic role for Orthodoxy became clear during the ‘ID cards crisis’ in 2000–01 (Stavrakakis 2002; Molokotos-Liederman 2007a; Halikiopoulou 2011). Eventually, the state did not bend to the demands of the Church. Five years later, in 2006, the Church contributed, however, to protests that succeeded in making the Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs withdraw a textbook for history classes because it apparently diluted the positive contribution of the Church and clerics in the Greek National War of Independence against the Ottoman Empire (Halikiopoulou 2011). 7 The literal meaning of the Greek word ‘orthodox’ is a correct (true, authentic) belief or practice, orthos meaning correct and doxa meaning belief or practice.

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Greece during the 1960s.8 Central to the theology of the 1960s was its opposition to Catholic and Protestant theology and its attempt to provide an Orthodox alternative to the perceived privatized and individualized religious practices in Western Europe. In the rapidly changing Greek society from 1974 to 1992, some theologians and other public actors, such as musicians and intellectuals, inspired by the Greek Orthodox tradition and the theological revival of the 1960s, were successful in highlighting a particular Greek uniqueness and a set of values in opposition to Western societies and lifestyles. This popular version of religion in Greece, as an identity marker that was opposed to the West, led to the ethnoreligious interpretation of Greek Orthodox patristic theology of the 1960s. With the restoration of democracy in 1974 and the subsequent legalization of the Greek Communist party (KKE), political leaders, as well as laypeople, in Greece were in need of national narratives that could bring cohesion and community to the divided country. A revival of the Orthodox monastic tradition,9 the Church’s collaborative role during the Junta and Greece’s entry into the European Economic Community in 1981 were all factors that encouraged the trends towards a unifying national interpretation of the Orthodox tradition in Greece. One of the most productive and publicly visible representatives of the theology of the 1960s and, in particular, its popularization as cultural identity in the 1980s is Christos Yannaras. In an interview with the theologian Stavros Yangazoglou (Yannaras and Yangazoglou 2002) Yannaras estimates that his book Modern Greek Identity, from 1978, worked as a manifesto of the new popular religious awareness in those years. Yannaras states that his book presents the Greek Orthodox ecclesiastic identity as the ‘genuine’ and ‘authentic’ Greek identity while calling other Greek identity markers mimetic, folkloristic or aesthetic, rhetorical or 8 It should be said that there are several individual exceptions to the general trends of the theological revival in the 1960s, but they have all remained individual contributions and as such isolated from the academic as well as lay Church community. Philosophical theologians such as the ecumenically oriented Nikos Nisiotis (1924–86) and the Metropolitan in the Ecumenical Patriarchate Ioannis Zizioulas (born 1931) are Greek Orthodox thinkers who have avoided the traditionalism and ethno-religious nationalism of many of their contemporaries. 9 The monastic revival in the 1980s was a local expression of the global resurgence of spiritual search but in the local Greek context it also had a national identity dimension since a large number of Orthodox monasteries, which during Byzantine and Ottoman times had been numerous, were closed in 1833–4 under the regime of the newly appointed King of Greece, Othon of Bavaria (Kokosalakis 1987: 236; Roudometof 2001: 103). The closure of monasteries was part of the state administration’s efforts to exercise control over the Church, but in the Greek national narrative it has also been interpreted as an insult to Orthodoxy and the Greek national identity. The King was a Roman Catholic and his council of regency consisted of Bavarian Protestant councillors, among them the influential Georg Ludwig von Maurer, who passed many reforms that were perceived as detrimental to the survival of the Greek Orthodox Church. Thus, the revival of monasticism, apart from a spiritual quest, also symbolized a protest against Western influence.

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psychological. He also claims that the true Greek identity is revealed ‘beneath the rust of alienation’ as the Greek way of perceiving and inducing meaning into reality, expressed through the Greek Orthodox theological tradition (Yannaras and Yangazoglou 2002: 124). It is this cultural-theological paradigm that today’s progressive theologians wish to question. Their main arguments, ideas and themes related to a change in the Greek Orthodox religious identity and the modern Greek cultural identity will be outlined in the section below.

Challenging the Ethno-Religious Paradigm The Volos Academy for Theological Studies The director of the Volos Academy and other progressive theologians (such as Thanasis Papathanasiou and Stavros Yangazoglou) were critical of the ethnocentrism of Archbishop Christodoulos. His style of Church leadership provoked the publication of critical articles and the organization of activities questioning the role of the Church in Greece, thus proposing an alternative understanding of an Orthodoxy that is detached from the national project. A crucial period was between 2000 and 2001, when Christodoulos’ ethno-religious and populist attitude became overly clear through the conflict between the Church and the PASOK government over the removal of religious affiliation on Greek citizens’ ID cards.10 The appearance of three new theological journals,11 though short-lived, shows the growing interest in the role of religion in the Greek public sphere during this period. The academic year 2000–01 was also the inaugural year of the Volos Academy for Theological Studies under the direction of the theologian Pantelis Kalaïtzidis. The Volos Academy is associated with the metropolis in Volos and is, therefore, closely related to the institutional Church.12 However, this does not 10

See Stavrakakis 2002; Molokotos-Liederman 2003, 2007a; Halikiopoulou 2011. These are Theós & Thriskeía/God & Religion (1998–2000), Thriskeiología Ierá/ Vévila (Religious Studies Sacred/Profane) (2000–05) and Analógion (Lectern) (2001–03). The first two hosted mainly young progressive theologians and sociologists of religion, while the latter was associated with a metropolitan bishop and also hosted progressive theologians of older generations. The aforementioned periodical Synaxis, founded in 1982, is well known for its dialogic attitude and high quality; it published thematic volumes in 2000 and 2001 on the relationship between Church and state and Church and nation, with articles criticizing the popular ethno-religious and political policies of the Church. 12 The building that houses the Academy is a conference centre that was built by the previous bishop of Volos. It is ironic that the previous bishop was Christodoulos and that the critical voices against him were flourishing, so to speak, in his own house. It is also ironic that the conference centre was built with funds from the European Union, to which Christodoulos was strongly opposed. 11

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mean that the Academy is restricted to following the official line of the Church or the attitude of the local bishop. According to the Academy director, the local bishop does not interfere with the Academic programmes,13 and from the outside the connection between the Academy and the metropolis seems a harmonious one.14 The Academy is not an officially recognized educational institution and does not provide academic degrees. Rather it functions as a space where contested theological matters – such as the position of women in Greek Orthodoxy, Islam and fundamentalism, religion and literature, and religion and modernity – have been discussed during lectures, roundtables and conferences. In line with its founding principle of dialogue, the Academy has invited speakers from other Christian denominations and other religious communities, as well as secular intellectuals. The proceedings of the Academy’s lectures and conferences are published by a private, commercial, Athens-based publishing house, Indiktos, which apparently is independent of any official Church involvement. Recently, books from the Academy have also been published internationally through the World Council of Churches (Kalaïtzidis 2012; Ware 2012). Judging by Kalaïtzidis’ publications and activities since the late 1990s, he emerges as a dynamic figure in the Greek public sphere, even if his sphere of activity has been limited to ecclesiastical and theological spaces. Recently, the activities he has organized in Greece seem to have a broader reach and they increasingly involve scholars and intellectuals from non-theological academic circles. Furthermore, Kalaïtzidis and the Academy are building an international profile through participation in academic activities abroad and through the organization of academic events in Greece in cooperation with international theological institutions. The ecumenical Paris-based journal Istina published in January 2010 a special issue on ‘Church and Culture in Contemporary Greek Theology’, with seven translated articles by Greek theologians. In April 2010 the Volos Academy co-organized an international conference which was held at the Institute Saint Serge in Paris on the topic of ‘Renewal of Contemporary Greek Theology: From the Generation of the 60s to the Challenges of Today’. 13

The Metropolitan of Demetrias, Ignatius, is considered one of the more progressive bishops of the Greek Church. He has openly discussed the matter of separation of Church and state (Ignatius 2010); he preaches against religious fundamentalism and partakes in ecumenical activities through the synodal committee for inter-Orthodox and inter-Christian relations. 14 Kalaïtzidis (2007b: 15) expresses gratitude towards the Metropolitan for ‘the vision of the Academy’ and for his ‘daring to bless an attempt towards dialogue between theology and the progressive secular intelligentsia and especially only shortly after the crisis of the ID cards’. At his closing address of the conference Ecclesiology and Nationalism in the Postmodern Era, Volos 24–27 May 2012 Metropolitan Ignatius stated, in a playful manner, that he ‘endures’ the director of the Academy, but the director also ‘endures’ him. The Academy has the full support, economic as well as moral, of the Metropolitan even if he may not agree with all the theological positions expressed there.

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The Academy hosted a large-scale international theological conference on ‘Neopatristic Synthesis or ‘Meta-patristic’ Theology: The Demand for a Contextual Theology in Orthodoxy’ in June 2010. In May 2012 the Academy co-organized an international conference on ‘Ecclesiology and Nationalism in the Postmodern Era’ with the participation of Greek and international scholars from disciplines other than theology. In contrast to the foremost advocate of the previous theological revival in Greece, the ‘neo-Orthodox’ Christos Yannaras, representatives of the current generation of progressive theologians do not often appear in mainstream Greek media. For Kalaïtzidis the absence of any popular Greek media coverage is a deliberate choice, since by appearing in Greek media, such as television programmes or writing weekly columns in large Greek dailies (as Yannaras has being doing since the early 1990s), he would have to address the public as a national community – and this is exactly what he wishes to avoid (telephone interview, July 2009). For his part, Kalaïtzidis wishes to avoid becoming the initiator of a mass movement defined according to national criteria. The National Role of the Church Although Kalaïtzidis is concerned with the role of the national Church of Greece, he also does not hesitate to offer his criticism on it for acting as an obstacle to both the modernization of religious life in Greece and the meaningful engagement of Greek Orthodoxy with modernity and the present: our usual ecclesiastical discourse seems to be more interested in preserving the unique character of the modern Greek identity than in the catholicity and ecumenicity of Christianity. It is a discourse that is ethnocentric and dependent on the state, rather than a word of witness to the living and prophetic presence of the Church in the world. It is a nostalgic discourse, which sanctifies the theocratic structures of the past but lacks openness towards the future and trust in the future. […] and above all it is a discourse that insists on ignoring or dismissing the historical, social and cultural expression of the modern and modernity. (Kalaïtzidis 2007b: 21, italics in original)

The above quote is clearly a comment on the Church discourse under the leadership of Archbishop Christodoulos, but a similar critique is also obvious in Kalaïtzidis’ publications after the change of Church leadership in 2008. Apart from a general interest in bringing the Greek Church into the twenty-first century, a central theme in Kalaïtzidis’ work has been to examine and show the damage of nationalism on the ethos of the Orthodox Church. Kalaïtzidis explicitly addresses the relationship between the Church of Greece and Greek national identity as one that has harmed the Church:

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The idea of a national synthesis of the three major periods of Greek history, i.e. Antiquity, Byzantium and Modern times, was originally coined by the historian Paparrigopoulos in the mid-nineteenth century (Kitromilides 1998). Kalaïtzidis (2003c: 84) claims that Paparrigopoulos ‘replaces the Church with the metaphysical idea of the eternal nation’ and that he ‘reverses the history of salvation and turns it into the history of Hellenism […] and its final restoration’. The incorporation of Byzantine history into the Greek national narrative facilitated the creation of the ideological term ‘Helleno-Christianity’ to designate the specific Greek civilization. This ideological interpretation of Greek national history and culture has been dominant since the mid-nineteenth century and has shaped national activities as different as warfare, authoritarian regimes and art.15 In a speech entitled ‘Nationalism and Worship of the Forefathers: Two Obstacles to the Re-Evangelization of the Contemporary Greek’ Kalaïtzidis claims that by becoming a national Church the Church has forgotten its ecumenical mission: ‘The worship of Christ and the transgression of all sorts of disunity and splitting up were replaced by the worship of the nation and the sanctification of various national egotisms’ (Kalaïtzidis 2005: 68). Kalaïtzidis argues that such national and religious ‘egotism’ hinders the Church from facing one of the main challenges of late modernity – namely the multicultural society which has been a reality also in Greece since the 1990s, when the country became gradually a country of immigration rather than emigration, thus receiving rather than exporting immigrants. Therefore, according to Kalaïtzidis and other progressive theologians, the Church must develop a ‘theology of multiculturalism’: ‘The Church must get used to the circumstances and rules of the contemporary open multicultural, multifaith societies, realizing that it is no longer the exclusive or privileged interlocutor of the authorities or of society, but one interlocutor and one actor among many others’ (Kalaïtzidis 2009: 113–14).

15

Helleno-Christianity formed the foundational ideology behind Greek irredentist politics known as the Great Idea to include all unredeemed Greek Orthodox populations in the Greek state from 1844 to 1922. Helleno-Christianity was also the core ideology of the two dictatorships in the twentieth century: the Metaxas regime from 1936 to 1940 and the military junta from 1967 to 1974. Finally, the Helleno-Christian interpretation of modern Greek culture has been a central concern of much Greek artistic production from the 1880s to the 1950s, especially in poetry (Kostis Palamas, Angelos Sikelianos, Odysseas Elytis, Georgios Seferis and Yannis Ritsos to mention just a few) and painting (Fotis Kontoglou).

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Christian Globalism and Cosmopolitanism Kalaïtzidis (2007a) recognizes the historical role of religion and of the Greek Orthodox Church as a way of preserving Greek language and culture during the Ottoman Empire and the first phases of nation-building; but he argues that contemporary Greece is a well-established nation state which does not need the symbolic (and political) support of religion. In Kalaïtzidis’ terms the nation state is an earthly and necessary institution that can be liberated from its dependence on religion. Taking this argument a step further, he asserts that religion can also be liberated from its ‘obligations’ towards the earthly, territorially and historically bound social order. He argues that Christianity represents globalism (Anastasios 2005), which bypasses the nation state but which also acts as a local anchor that bypasses the homogenization of persons inherent in the construction of national identities. Obviously, Kalaïtzidis’ approach is theological, and only if one accepts religion as the expression of an absolute truth can it be dissociated with the territorially and historically bound social order in eschatological terms.16 Kalaïtzidis regards eschatology as a central notion in Christianity (2003c), and it is from this perspective that he concludes that the Church does not need the historical entity of the nation as a support mechanism (2003a: 366).17 Furthermore, identity, according to Kalaïtzidis (2004), is a crucial concept for the new understanding of Christianity: ‘identity in the theological language refers to […] ecumenism’ and ‘identity does not refer to the things that separate us […], to personal and collective characteristics like national, cultural or religious-confessional features’. The emphasis on the ecumenical outlook of the Church is also characteristic of another theologian, Stavros Yangazoglou (2006), who makes associations with certain versions of secular cosmopolitanism, but also with socialist or humanist ideals. Cosmopolitanism is a contested concept with a philosophical definition as well as a political or ideological dimension. The philosopher Martha Nussbaum uses more or less the same words as Kalaïtzidis to describe the ideals of a post-national humanity when he refers throughout his texts to the biblical quotation: ‘There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus’ (Galatians 3: 28). Nussbaum (2002: 31) writes: ‘A Greek male [Diogenes] refuses the invitation to define himself by lineage, city, social class, even free birth, even sex. He insists on defining himself in terms of a characteristic that he shares with all other human beings, male and female, Greek and non-Greek, slave and free.’ She continues: ‘[t]he accident of where one 16 Eschatology literally means ‘the knowledge of the last days’ and comprises the anticipation of the second coming and the promised Kingdom of God. Therefore, eschatology entails a future-oriented understanding of Christianity in contrast to the pastoriented focus on tradition as the exclusive source of authenticity in Christianity. 17 As an example of the centrality allocated to eschatology, the first series of lectures and seminars at the Volos Academy was focused on the over-arching theme of eschatology (Kalaïtzidis 2003a).

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is born is just that, an accident; any human being might have been born in any nation. Recognizing this, we should not allow differences of nationality or class or ethnic membership or even gender […] to erect barriers between us and our fellow human beings’ (ibid.: 37). Through the biblical quotation, Kalaïtzidis speaks from the point of view of ecumenical Christianity, while Nussbaum, through the quote from the stoic philosopher, speaks from a ‘long tradition of cosmopolitan political thought in the Western tradition’ (ibid.). The aim of overcoming nationalistic exclusiveness in both cosmopolitanism/humanistic and eschatological Christian universalism seems close, but what separates the two universalisms is that the Christian universalism presupposes that human beings take part ‘in the event of the Church’ which ‘supersedes any kind of physical binding (blood, race, language, social class etc.)’ (Kalaïtzidis 2005: 54). Therefore, Kalaïtzidis rejects cosmopolitanism (he uses the term ‘internationalism’) and calls it ‘unreal’ and ‘a poorness of daydreaming’ (2003a: 340). This shows that, despite an apparent progressive and dialogic outlook, the theological proposal is exclusively directed towards a specific part of humanity, namely those who choose to believe in Christ and participate in the Church. Affinities with Protestantism Individuals or group movements attempting to introduce changes or reforms in the Greek Church have been typically accused by traditionalists of being Protestants. This was the case when traditionalists in the early years of Greek independence saw the autocephalous Church as an innovation and a Protestant deviation from the Orthodox tradition (Matalas 2003: 54–62; see also the chapter by Elisabeth Kontogiorgi in this volume) and when modernizers, such as the priest Theofilos Kaïris (1784–1853), advocated the separation of Church and state and, in the spirit of Enlightenment, the teaching of modern science (Matalas 2003: 62–72). In the 1920s Archbishop Chrysostomos was also accused of transforming the Orthodox Church into a Protestant denomination because he introduced reforms, such as the Gregorian calendar, and was engaged in the ecumenical movement and in secular activities (Anastassiadis 2010: 50–51). Moreover, private ecclesiastic organizations, such as Zoe, founded in the early twentieth century, have been accused of Protestantization after they organised lay activities, including Bible study circles, social work and pietism (Yannaras 2006: 398–400; see also the chapter by Spyridoula Athanasopoulou-Kypriou on Zoe and Greek Orthodox sisterhoods in this volume). Therefore, it is not surprising that the director of the Volos Academy has been accused of being a Protestant or a ‘Luther’, i.e. a heretic in the Greek Orthodox context.18 Nevertheless, Kalaïtzidis regards himself as a true and faithful member of the Greek Orthodox Church (telephone interview, 18 Such accusations from contemporary religious traditionalists against progressive theologians and especially against the Volos Academy flourish on private internet sites and blogs, for example: http://amethystosbooks.blogspot.com/2009/09/blog-post_16.html.

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February 2008) and his activities, hosted by the Church, are not directed towards a radical break with the institutional Church, but rather towards a renewal and change of consciousness. One aspect of the new theological discourse that does have affinities with Protestantism is Kalaïtzidis’ emphasis on Christian identity as a personal choice rather than as a cultural and family-related tradition into which a person is born: The admission into the ecclesial body does not happen on the basis of the communities of the people and the nation, but on the basis of an entirely personal action, free of any kind of biological, cultural and national predetermination. Therefore, the radically new thing that the ecclesial way of life brings is the personal call which God directs through Jesus Christ. (Kalaïtzidis 2003a: 369, italics added; see also Kalaïtzidis 2004)

Even if Kalaïtzidis does not advocate a privatization of religious life as in the case of Protestantism, he does emphasize the concept of metanoia (repentance) (Kalaïtzidis 2005: 73–4), meaning the individual’s personal responsibility vis-à-vis his or her faith, which is also, according to Weber, a characteristic of the Protestant ethos. Kalaïtzidis (2008) has also helped to introduce the Greek public to works of Protestant theologians, for example History and Eschatology by Rudolf Bultmann. Another point where this new theological proposal also challenges the Orthodox ‘tradition’ is on questions of traditional forms in the Orthodox liturgy and the clerics, i.e. modernization of language, rituals and dress codes (Kalaïtzidis 2003b).19 In contrast to the official Church’s ethnocentric discourse during Christodoulos’ leadership, progressive theologians attempted to address sociocultural problems, such as racism and xenophobia, from a religious perspective, but at the same time retain an ‘authentic’ religious identity and protect it from what they perceive as a ‘contaminated’, syncretized, ethno-religious identity.20 The contemporary theological proposal for a theology of otherness or diversity can also be seen as a project of purifying religion (Willert 2012) by eliminating what is regarded as ‘inauthentic’, national cultural elements from ecumenical Kalaïtzidis has also received telephone calls from individuals who seek to insult him by calling him a Protestant and a heretic (Interview, May 2008). 19 Upon an initiative of the director, Pantelis Kalaïtzidis, in 2008 the Volos Academy hosted a Protestant female priest and scholar and a monk from an Orthodox monastery in the USA who has made changes to its liturgical practices. The Academy also hosted the Arab Metropolitan of Byblos and Botrys, who conducted the Sunday liturgy in the metropolis of Volos in Arabic. In January 2012 the Academy organized a one-day conference on the issue of liturgical language, an event that was also attended by critics who tried to obstruct the meeting by loudly protesting against any change in the language of the liturgy. 20 Papathanasiou 2002; Kalaïtzidis 2003a; Thermos 2005; Yangazoglou 2006; Begzos 2007; on syncretism in Greek Orthodox history, see Stewart 1994.

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Christianity. The purifying aspect also manifests itself in a ‘return’ to fundamental biblical messages that, according to the new theology, have been neglected in favour of patristic studies and studies on the relationship between ancient Greek and Christian philosophy.21 According to Zoumboulakis (2002), the preference given to patristic studies has resulted in a poor contemporary tradition of biblical studies in Greek Orthodox theology. Fundamental evangelical quotations, such as ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus’ (Gal 3: 28), are repeated throughout the texts of contemporary progressive theologians and refer to conceptions of identity, otherness, equality and social solidarity. The critical attitude of progressive theologians towards the nationalistic leadership of the Church created a silent alliance between secular voices, which were sceptical of the Church’s political influence and ethnocentric discourse, and religious voices. The main concern of the secular voices was for the Greek state to modernize through institutional secularization. At the same time, the religious voices advocated that the Church free itself from its symbolic integration with the modernist project of the nation, which according to them has brought about a secularization of the Church in the sense that it has become overly settled in this world, thus in a ‘this-worldly’ context.22 This alliance between religious actors and secular intellectuals is in fact not new in the history of modern Greece. In the eighteenth century, as Kitromilides (2010) points out, there was a common belief in the ecumenical values of both the transcendental outlook of Orthodoxy and the secular philosophy of the Enlightenment, which placed these two otherwise contradictory intellectual currents on the same side, in opposition to the parochial and non-inclusive values of nationalism. Nationalism eventually secured a leading position both in the Orthodox Church of Greece, which proclaimed its autocephaly from the Ecumenical Patriarchate in 1833, and in the Greek Enlightenment movement, which ‘took root and grew in Modern Greek culture mostly in the form of a reorientation toward classical Hellenism’ (Kitromilides 2010: 45). Kitromilides (2010) distinguishes between two opposing dominant visions of the collective destiny of the Greek people during the Enlightenment. One is termed ‘Westernization’ and is based on liberal 21 This focus has been called the ‘Return to the Fathers’ and was advocated in the 1960s as a reaction against the pietistic biblical religiosity of private religious organizations in Greece and under the influence of Russian Orthodox émigré theology (e.g. George Florovsky and others). 22 This chapter does not address the possibility of the institutional Church of Greece to ‘de-nationalize’. At present it is not likely that the Church as an institution is ready to give up the privileges connected with its close relations with the Greek state representing the constitutional ‘prevailing religion’. Thus, when in 2008 the newly elected Archbishop Ieronymos was asked his opinion on a separation of Church and State he did not speak directly against separation, as his predecessor Christodoulos had done. Instead he suggested a referendum that would leave the decision to the Greek people.

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aspirations, while the other is called ‘a vision of purity in faith’ and considers the future of the nation exclusively within the framework of Orthodox authenticity. In current theological developments in Greece there is a fusion of both, but without the nationalist dimension of the latter.23 A Late Modern Theology? Apart from similarities to cosmopolitanism, the influence of typically late modern identity discourses such as constructivism, fluidity and self-other relations can also be distinguished in the new theological discourse. This is exemplified in the focus on the Christ-believer’s identity as an exile-identity (Kalaïtzidis 2007b: 19). Referring to a second-century Christian text, Kalaïtzidis (2003a: 49) explains how this ‘feeling of exile’ does not leave Christians the space for ‘their occupation with questions regarding the nation and national identity’.24 This self-understanding may be seen as the religious equivalent of late modern identity as the identity of migrants, tourists or wanderers (Bauman 1993) and a way of adapting religious discourse to late modern conditions and modes of expression.25 The perception of an unsteady, earthly identity also corresponds to late modern sociological discourses on individual as well as collective identities as ever-negotiable constructions and self-sufficient projects. Christianity/Orthodoxy then offers a true, authentic, inalienable identity of the person being ‘the image of God’ and ‘living with Christ’, not in order to succeed with that identity in ‘this world’ but in the eschatological expectation of the ‘other’ world, the Kingdom of God, which has been promised by the Incarnation. Furthermore, the focus on journey and constant movement as a believer in Christ is also in accordance with the academic discourse on late modern life conditions, as well as with the media-produced images of successful lifestyles. The theological interest in eschatology and transcendental identities can also be paralleled to life conditions in late modernity with the movement away from fixed identities and ‘conditions of being’ towards fluid identities and ‘conditions of becoming’: 23 Matalas (2003) speaks of the existence of ‘two Orthodoxies’ during the early postOttoman era and further examination of the contemporary ecumenically oriented trends in Greek theology, as successors to the ecumenical positions in the nineteenth century, may be fruitful. However, a direct comparison is not possible because of the different historical circumstances and the crucial development of the national project in the intervening years. 24 A Greek theologian blogger gives this characterization of his blogger identity: foreigner, temporary resident and third-generation refugee without a homeland. The first two refer to the ephemeral character of his identity in the earthly world, while the third most probably refers to the time when his grandparents’ fled from Asia Minor. (http://e-lithi. blogspot.com). This blog was closed in November 2011 due to anonymous accusations of ‘unethical content’. 25 In the New Testament Jesus is described as a guest, a foreigner (Matt. 25: 35; Rev. 3: 20).

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Innovation in the Orthodox Christian Tradition? That is whereas the first age of modernity defined identity as given and fixed (usually by national or ethnic groups) in the second age identity becomes “a creative achievement” (Beck 2000: 92). Similarly Stuart Hall (1996: 4) has described cultural identity as: “… about questions of using the resources of history, language and culture in the process of becoming rather than being: not ‘who we are’ or ‘where we come from’, so much as what we might become, how we have been represented and how that bears on how we might represent ourselves.” (Stevenson 2002)

According to the above characterization of two ages of modernity, the first age of Greek Orthodox modernity was tied to the nation and the second age of Greek Orthodox modernity is a late modern period where religion is a matter of becoming rather than of being tied to a specific historical time and space. The processes of detaching oneself from time and space are characteristic of late modernity, where the Internet and other virtual and social media have provided people with the possibility of interacting more flexibly in relation to the dimensions of space and time. Based on these observations, it can be suggested that there are attempts in contemporary Greek Orthodox religious discourse to adapt to late modern secular cultural practices.

Conclusions The theological underpinnings for the modernization of Orthodoxy in Greece differ from the religious modernity of the ethno-religious nationalism of the modern era defined by the nation state. It is a claim for a religious modernization that draws on the identity discourses of the post-national global era; through its intellectual, reflexive and simultaneously pious perception of religious identity it attempts to adapt a religious world view to the late modern living conditions in multicultural societies. The theological proposal for modernization, especially as put forward by the theologian Pantelis Kalaïtzidis, has a fundamentalist vision in its perception of the absolute identity of Christians. However, at the same time it is progressive in its attempt to acknowledge secular identities and complex fluid life conditions in contemporary multicultural societies, Greece being among them. The new theological proposal to Greek Orthodoxy is late modern through its ecumenism which resembles a religiously grounded cosmopolitanism. The ethno-religious paradigm is depicted as outdated and past-oriented (e.g. in its glorification of Byzantium), in opposition to the new theological paradigm of a pure ‘de-nationalized’ religiosity which is future-oriented (i.e. eschatological) and, therefore, apt to face the challenges of a globalized world. The strength of the new theology appears to be its openness, in contrast to the defensive strategies of the previous generations, and wish to bring Greek Orthodoxy into the contemporary globalized world away from a perceived or real parochial position entrenched in religious and, at times, extreme form of nationalism.

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Whether this new paradigm will succeed in influencing larger parts of the Greek Orthodox community towards a transformation of values and outlook will depend on many factors. Greece’s position on the international political and economic scene is not irrelevant since it will affect the population’s own self-understanding. The pressures from the current economic and social crisis on Greece may lead to a strengthening of nationalistic and defensive positions. Also, the position of the institutional Church and its leadership will have a crucial effect on the possibilities of whether a new paradigm will settle. It may be too early to say, but the first years of the new Church leadership have not shown radical changes in the close relationship between Orthodox Christianity and the Greek nation.26 This chapter has attempted to demonstrate that religious culture is in flux and that transformation processes have a global reach but also a local expression, even in a country like Greece where the religious culture has been particularly conservative and tradition-bound. The new theological tendencies illustrated in this chapter may represent attempts at a de-nationalization of (Greek) Orthodox Christianity, but they do not exemplify a deculturation of religion in the sense suggested by Roy (2010). The tendencies rather show how religious actors change their focus from a national cultural framework to a cultural framework defined by transnational global structures in late modernity. The theological discourse is itself a product of contemporary post-national and constructivist, reflexive discourses; Greek Orthodox theologians themselves also advocate an ‘authentic’ religious identity which enters into dialogue with contemporary society. Following the phrase ‘necessity is the mother of invention’, one may say that contemporary late modern living conditions, creating an ever-increasing competition within the sphere of religion, force churches and dedicated believers to think innovatively. The theologians who suggest changes to the self-understanding of the Greek Church do so out of necessity. They believe that if the Church does not change its focus from the nation to the Gospel it will lose its ‘authentic’ mission, which, according to Kalaïtzidis, can be best carried out in a multicultural environment: ‘the Church […] will re-find its most authentic form of mission […], since Christianity was born and grew up in a particular “multicultural” environment of the Roman Ecumene, while Orthodoxy itself at its height (e.g. Byzantium) was always ecumenical (and multiethnic/multicultural) and not ethno-centric’ (2009: 114). Thus, proposals for change and innovation are presented as demands for a return to an original ‘authentic’ purpose of religion, thereby rejecting all deviations , such as the nationalization of the Church, from the ecumenical and transnational origins of the faith. What we can conclude is that even though contemporary theologians appear and perceive themselves as progressive religious actors, the underlying 26

See for example Ieronymos (2009). For an analysis of the present Archbishop and his overall world view see the chapter by Papastathis in this volume. Despite a change in the public appearance and style of the current Archbishop compared to his overly nationalistic predecessor, it does not seem that he will be the one to lead the Church of Greece in a direction close to the new theological proposal of de-nationalization of Church identity.

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ideological argument for change is the fulfilment of a perceived authentic and original tradition.

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Stewart, C. 1994. ‘Syncretism as a Dimension of Nationalist Discourse in Modern Greece.’ In Syncretism/Anti-Syncretism: The Politics of Religious Synthesis, ed. C. Stewart and R. Shaw, pp. 127–44. London: Routledge. Thermos, V. 2005. Oi dikoí mou oi ksénoi [My Familiar Foreigners]. Athens: En plo. Ware, K. 2012. Orthodox Theology in the Twentyfirst Century. Geneva: WCC Publications. Willert, T.S. (2012). ‘Cultural Religion or Religious Purism. Discourses on Orthodoxy, Authenticity and National Identity in Greece.’ In Rethinking the Space for Religion: New Actors in Central and Southeast Europe on Religion, Authenticity and Belonging, ed. C. Raudvere, K. Stala and T.S. Willert. Nordic Academic Press. Yannaras, Ch. 2006. Orthodoxía kai Dýsi sti Neóteri Elláda [Orthodoxy and the West in Modern Greece]. Athens: Domos. Yannaras, Ch. and S. Yangazoglou. 2002. ‘Ellinikótita os nóima víou (synéntefksi)’ [Greekness as Meaning of Life (Interview)]. Indiktos, 16: 124–9. Yangazoglou, S. 2006. ‘Prósopo kai eterótita – Dokímio gia mia theología tis eterótitas’ [Person and Otherness – Essay on a Theology of Otherness]. Indiktos, 21: 87–125. Zoumboulakis, S. 2002. ‘I diplí adiaforía gia tis vivlikés melétes: Ena ekdotikó parádeigma’ [The Double Indifference towards Biblical Studies: A Publishing Example]. In O Theós stin Póli: Dokímia gia ti thriskeía kai tin politikí [God in the City: Essays on Religion and Politics], ed. S. Zoumboulakis, pp. 125–32. Athens: Estia Publications.

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Chapter 10

From Mobilization to a Controlled Compromise: The Shift of Ecclesiastical Strategy under Archbishop Hieronymus Konstantinos Papastathis

One of the broadly acknowledged aspects of Greek political life is the prominent role attributed to religion. This state of affairs has not emerged out of nowhere; it is a reflection of the deep-rooted identification of the clergy with the political interests of the ruling elites. The function of ecclesiastical bureaucracy as the ‘state’s ideological apparatus’ (Althusser 1971) or the nationalization of Orthodoxy for the development of the Greek political entity (Lekkas 1996: 183) illustrate the strong interplay between State and Church. This kind of relation has resulted in the reproduction of the social dominance of religion in a period when other European countries have been undergoing a secularization process (Barker, Beckford and Dobbelaere 1993; Bruce 1993). The so-called ‘state-law rule’ system that constitutionally defines the close State–Church relationship (Alivizatos 1999; Papastathis 2005), the tax exemptions enjoyed by the Orthodox Church, the special standing of the religious bureaucracy within the armed forces, as well as its electoral influence, are merely some manifestations of the prevailing status of the clergy within the Greek social space. In a Gramscian approach (Phillips and Jørgensen 2002: 32), this status has a hegemonic character, since the Church’s social position has been perceived (at least until recently) as ‘natural’, as an integral part of ‘common sense’ and, thus, ‘unquestionable’ for the vast majority of the Greek population. As a consequence, the Church has used State power to protect its authority. The political elites, on the other hand, have taken advantage of the symbolic status of religion for the collective imaginary, in order to ‘organize the social consent’ (Barrett 1991: 54) through the construction and consolidation of a modern civic identity based on the invented myth of the essentialist equation between Orthodoxy and the Greek nation. This sacralization of the ‘political’ (Mouffe 2005) and, inversely, the politicization of the sacred have not allowed the creation of a cleavage, the ‘big ditch’ in Gellner’s words (Gellner 1992: 50–51), between traditionalism and modernization within Greek political culture. In other words, Greek political culture cannot be portrayed as a space within which the progressive and modernizing forces have been advancing at the expense of traditionalist premises, but as a peculiar condition of inverted syncretism (Demertzis 1995: 27). In general

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terms, this means that pivotal conceptions of modernist thought and discourse have not been able to obstruct the reproduction of traditionalist political ideas and behaviours. This paradoxical articulation explains why the late Archbishop Christodoulos remained unchallenged (at least at the beginning of his office) in expressing his ideas and discourse signifiers, such as social ‘modernization’ and ‘change’ (Manitakis 2000; Molokotos-Liederman 2003; Prodromou 2004). These, however, as empty signifiers (Laclau 1996), did not suggest the adjustment of religious activity to the contemporary need for political reform, but promoted a reactionary political agenda. However, within the operation of the same paradoxical articulation, the recent Church leadership (since 2008) has been more inclined towards the adoption of modernist ideological premises rather than traditionalist ideas, as was the case with Christodoulos and his predecessors. In this respect, the role of the new Archbishop Hieronymus has been perceived by both religious rigorist and secularist circles as crucial. The articulation of a moderate discourse by Hieronymus, his sense of responsibility in handling social questions that the religious bureaucracy considered to be within the Church’s exclusive competence, as well as his efforts to restore the Church’s relations with the centrist and leftist parties, have been generally regarded as indications of coming to terms with the call made by the secularist circles for the modernizing of Greek political life. Does such a conclusion epitomize correctly the prospects of the new leadership of the Greek Church, or do its new orientations constitute a policy whose strategic aim remains, nonetheless, the reproduction of ecclesiastical power within the actual political setting? Does Hieronymus’ policy constitute a real change of the perceptions of religious elites concerning the position of the Church within Greek social life, or does his policy differ from the conservatives only as regards the means that should be employed for the protection of ecclesiastical privileges? Overall, could this policy be characterized as innovative (taking into account the limits imposed on this term by the rigid ecclesiastical tradition) or not? This chapter addresses these questions by decoding and interpreting the discourse articulated and the views adopted by the new Archbishop on issues concerning the Church or generally considered as tangent to its interest. In general lines, it is argued that Hieronymus’ conciliatory or even compliant stance towards the State, in contrast to the attitude of his predecessor, does not imply the acceptance of a major ecclesiastical reform. Instead, his line of action forms a sine qua non condition for the avoidance of such a reform. This policy, as it does not entail a renunciation of the traditional signifiers of the previous ecclesiastical discourse, may be characterized as an accommodation, as an adjustment or even as an innovation, depending on the perspective according to which it may be examined. For, although Hieronymus is partly differentiating himself from the traditionalist religious discourse, he manages effectively to protect the legal and economic privileges of the clergy. The analysis is limited to the period when the right-wing party ‘New Democracy’ was in power, from the enthronement of Hieronymus in February

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2008 until October 2009 and the election of the centrist party PASOK. The reason for choosing this time span is that a discourse analysis on the stance of the Church, and especially of Archbishop Hieronymus, requires some time distance in order to be able to clearly view his actions and to judge them. Furthermore, taking into account that the PASOK era coincided with great economic and socio-political events that have probably marked a new historical period for Greece as a whole (it could be characterized as a ‘structural break’ from an economic perspective and possibly as a ‘cultural trauma’ from a social one), one should be very cautious judging the stance of the Church’s policy during that time, since it has evolved in accordance with the emerging circumstances – not to mention that this era has not finished yet. Before proceeding to the analysis, some remarks should be made on the methodology of the analysis. The discourse analysis model adopted for this research is the so-called ‘post-structuralist’ one introduced by Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe in their seminal work Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (Laclau and Mouffe 1985: 105–20; Howarth and Stavrakakis 2000: 2–16; Phillips and Jørgensen 2002: 24–59). According to that model, ‘articulation is called any practice establishing a relation among elements such that their identity is modified as a result of the articulatory practice. The structured totality resulting from the articulatory practice, we will call discourse’ (Laclau and Mouffe 1985: 105). The privileged discursive points that are the privileged signifiers, which fix the meaning of a signifying chain, are called nodal points (ibid.: 112). Therefore, ‘a discourse is formed by the partial fixation of meaning around certain nodal points. A nodal point is a privileged signifier around which the other signifiers are ordered; the other signifiers acquire their meaning from their relationship to the nodal point’ (Phillips and Jørgensen 2002: 27). In this chapter the analytical tools ‘signifier’ and ‘nodal point’ are employed in order to specify the political strategy of Archbishop Hieronymus as it was articulated on questions generally perceived as being of religious character. That is to say, these tools are used in order to examine and interpret contextually the ideological background and the socio-political propositions of certain views of Hieronymus. For instance, the discursive formula of the ‘distinctiveness of roles’ between Church and State may be perceived as the nodal point of Hieronymus’ discourse in a given historical context, overriding other privileged signifiers of orthodox discourse, whose meaning had to be fixed exactly by their relation with it. Therefore, the stance of Hieronymus concerning a question, such as the religious education class reform, has to be interpreted within a context over-determined by the concept of the ‘distinctiveness of roles’. This, however, is not a stabilized condition, since the nodal point of the religious discourse may be superseded by another signifier in proportion to the circumstances. This is why the religious discourse, like any other, has a ‘contingent’ character. Another important introductory remark is that, within the context of the Orthodox Church, concepts such as ‘accommodation’, ‘adjustment’ or ‘innovation’ have a relativistic meaning. Even if Hieronymus’ course of action is conceived

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as accommodating or innovative, due to its distance from the traditionalist views promoted by a part of the religious apparatus, it should not be perceived as indicating a fundamental change of ecclesiastical presence and activity. This is because the concept of change embeds a special ideological and political significance and presupposes a rupture with the traditional structures of social function, which the institutional role of the Church along with the conservatism and the interests of the ecclesiastical elites do not allow. This would essentially jeopardize the hegemonic presence of the Church within the Greek political and social system. Therefore, the degree of innovation or of adjustment of a religious discourse is based not on the renunciation of the structural ideological constants of the Church, namely its privileged discourse signifiers, but mainly on the addition of one or more new discourse signifiers. According to the circumstances, these privileged signifiers may surpass the pre-existing ones and become the new nodal points of the religious discourse articulated. Before examining whether this was the case with Hieronymus, it is important to give an account of the conditions under which he assumed his office as well as the political and ecclesiastical stakes that he had to handle.

The Need for a New Ecclesiastical Strategy The election of Hieronymus (7 February 2008) occurred while the official Church was in the peak of a serious internal crisis. The involvement of the late Archbishop Christodoulos’ close collaborators in judicial scandals, the financial scandal of Vatopedi Monastery on Mount Athos1 and the imprisonment of the former Bishop of Attica Panteleimon, who was convicted for embezzlement of monastery funds, had led to the collapse of the prelates’ public prestige per se. These events have also produced cracks in the positive public image of the ecclesiastical institution. In other words, during the past few years the Church of Greece has lost much of its social influence and credibility as an important cultural and ideological actor in Greek public affairs. If the high religiosity and church attendance rates2 are taken

1 The scandal of Vatopedi (Vatopaidi) Monastery refers to the illegal real estate exchange between this ecclesiastical institution and the State at the expense of the latter. Members of the Government as well as the leadership of the monastic community were charged and prosecuted for corruption. 2 Although there is a differentiation between the various surveys, we can safely assume that religiosity is a strong variable in Greek social life, especially in comparison to the data on other European countries. According to the survey of EKKE (National Centre for Social Research) and European Social Survey-ESS (November 2003), the average rate of religiosity in Greece is 7.7/10, while about 27 per cent of the sample attend religious services at least once a week and 28 per cent at least once a month. Furthermore, 46.9 per cent of the sample pray every day and about 26 per cent at least once a week (http://www. ekke.gr/ess/ess_results.doc). See also: Georgiadou and Nikolakopoulos 2002.

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into account, the delegitimization of the Church as an institution is probably no longer confined to secular circles, but seems to have extended to active religious strata as well. The shift of public opinion concerning the demand for separation between State and Church is a typical example: in a 2001 poll approximately 46.5 per cent (Metron Analysis for Flash Radio 30 August–1 September 2001) and in 2005 48.8 per cent (Metron Analysis for the newspaper Ethnos 5–12 April 2005) of the sample was in favour of separation; in October 2008 affirmative answers reached 60 per cent (Public Issue for the channel Sky and the newspaper Kathimerini, October 2008) and two years later, in December 2010, 74.8 per cent (the newspaper Apogevmatini, 2 January 2009). Thus, there was a significant increase of 20–30 per cent that took place in only seven years and was in favour of reforming the privileged constitutional position of the Church. It should be noted that this question, though it is generally believed to be of the utmost importance, has rather a symbolic character, since a probable separation between Church and State would not entail the loss of the socio-political role of the Church (Stavrakakis 2003: 160–63). Furthermore, except for the public questioning of its credibility, the special financial treatment of the Church by the State was no longer considered to be beyond criticism. At the same time, the percentage in favour of taxation of ecclesiastical property increased from 83 to 92 per cent (Metron Analysis March 2009; Public Issue for the channel Sky and the newspaper Kathimerini, October 2008). It is worth mentioning, however, that the aforementioned statistical evidence should not lead us to definite qualitative judgements; neither should it be perceived as indicative of a social shift in favour of the secularization thesis in Greece. In contrast, within the context of inverted syncretism and taking into account the high religiosity of the Greek population, the unfavourable climate against the official Church could be reversed in its favour, on condition that its organs follow an efficient policy. To this end, it is noteworthy that even within this historical context, about half of the Greek social body was still expressing its trust in the official Church as an institution (Public Issue for the Sunday newspaper Kathimerini, December 2008; Metron Analysis, June 2009; Metron Analysis, March 2009). The new Archbishop, Hieronymus, was therefore confronted with two major challenges: (a) an ideological one, namely reducing negative public reaction towards the ecclesiastical organization by restoring religious credibility in order to confirm the predominant role of the Church in the Greek socio-cultural space; (b) a political one, i.e. the preservation of the Church’s privileged position within the Greek power structure. These two issues are interrelated, since the privileged constitutional and economic status enjoyed by the Church depends, at least to some degree, on its participation in the articulation of hegemonic discourse and on its capability to affect and express collective consciousness. In the current social setting, the strategic options available to Hieronymus to protect the Church’s religious authority are limited to the following two:

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1. A mobilization strategy, i.e. calling the religious masses into action against any reform perceived as being of a secular nature, through the invocation of discursive elements, such as the nation or the people, bearing high symbolic significance for the collective imaginary, thus following his predecessor Christodoulos’ discourse strategy. However, the inevitable crisis generated between the secular and religious spheres could possibly lead to the opposite result, namely, corroborating the dynamics of the secularization agenda, leading to a complete change of the existing status quo. 2. A strategy of controlled compromise, i.e. the rejection of rigorist views within the Synod and the flexible management of issues that have so far been perceived by the former ecclesiastical administration as ‘sacred cows’. This selective acceptance of certain minor secular reforms simultaneously sets the limits beyond which the Church would not give way. This precautionary tactic allows the Church to build a moderate and modernizing self-representation and to improve its relations with the ruling elites. The achievement of harmonious cooperation between the Church and the political apparatus would in turn repulse the intentions of a fundamental religious reform against the Church’s interests. Within this context, however, the strategy of Hieronymus would not constitute a substantial change of the hegemonic aims of the Church, but just a conversion of the means undertaken in order to fulfil them; nor would it cause the loss of the Church’s socio-political status, but it would in fact be the medium to restore it. This strategy of controlled compromise, which has been gradually transforming the public image of Orthodox leadership, was structured on the following overlapping principles: (a) the restoration of the ecclesiastical symbolic capital and the recovery of the religious authenticity of the Church hierarchy; (b) the establishment of links with groups from the totality of the Greek political spectrum, this being a crucial condition for avoiding a complete modification of the Church’s legal and economic status. The following section presents Hieronymus’ discourse and political behaviour since his election as bishop in 1981 and discusses the political interests in the Archbishop election of 2008. This is important in order to draw attention to the fact that the shift of Hieronymus to a pattern of political pragmatism has not so much been the result of an ideological consensus on the necessity of cooperation between State and Church, but has been mainly determined by the historical circumstances and stakes, as well as the rivalry within the hierarchy for the acquisition of ecclesiastical power.

The Discourse of Archbishop Hieronymus Retrospectively In the course of his episcopal term (1981–2008), Hieronymus’ political perspective seems to have been rather contradictory. As Metropolitan of Thebes and Levadeia,

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he was a representative of the rigorist Orthodox mechanism against the reforms put forward in 1987 by the Minister of Education and Religious Affairs, Antonis Tritsis (along with the Metropolitan of Demetrias, later Archbishop Christodoulos, and Metropolitan Anthimos of Alexandroupolis, later of Thessaloniki).3 The proposed reforms aimed at the nationalization of monastic property; at the democratic functioning of Church organization through the participation of lay members in ecclesiastical councils; and, finally, at putting an end to ‘despotocracy’4 in the ecclesiastical judicial system, limiting the absolute power of the local bishop, who is both prosecutor and judge in the same case (Hierarchy of the Church of Greece 1987; Konidaris 1991). As a prominent member of the then ecclesiastical bureaucracy, Hieronymus actively participated in this mobilization, the outcome of which was the withdrawal of the proposed law and the resignation of Minister Tritsis. Hieronymus still considers this affair ‘an arbitrary intervention of the State in matters concerning ecclesiastical property’ (the newspaper To Pontiki, 22 October 2009). Furthermore, another instance of his reactionary attitude can be traced in the campaign against the intention of the Jehovah’s Witnesses community to open a religious centre at his diocese in Thebes. The Jehovah’s Witnesses were accused by Hieronymus of being ‘invaders … who make war on the State and the Greek Nation, who fight to the death against the Orthodox faith’ (Hieronymus 1992: 11). Because, he argued, ‘the Greek land belongs to the Greeks’, that is the Orthodox Greeks, and not to the ‘organs of dark forces’, ‘Greece should not be sold off’ and therefore the project of the Jehovah’s Witnesses should be suspended (ibid.: 20). On the other hand, and contrary to the aforementioned ultra-nationalistic and rigorist discourse, Hieronymus adopted a different stance after the election of Christodoulos as Archbishop of the Church of Greece in 1998. He distanced himself from Christodoulos’ reactionism; he openly disagreed with the ecclesiastical mobilization against the government; he sided with the Patriarchate of Constantinople against Christodoulos’ arbitrary intention to modify the ecclesiastical status of the New Lands;5 he did not identify himself politically with any party, but followed a neutral stance, even towards the pro-secular leftist 3 Christodoulos and Anthimos are regarded as the leading personalities of religious rigorism within the Orthodox Church of Greece. From a political perspective, they have supported reactionary, if not fundamentalist, approaches concerning the position of the Church within the Greek political system, perceiving the religious power as equivalent to the secular one. 4 This concept refers to the absolute power of the bishop within his diocese, namely that he alone rules without any external control all the administrative and financial affairs at the expense of the clergy, who are thus compelled to obey him in order to keep up their ministry. 5 The term ‘New Lands’ indicates the dioceses of Macedonia, Epirus and Thrace that were annexed to Greece after the Balkan Wars (1912–13) and the First World War (1914– 18), but until then were under the administration of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Together

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parties. This is why the election of Hieronymus was not only accepted without any obstacles by the conservative government, but was also highly welcomed by the modernist political establishment. His recent conciliatory attitude guaranteed the avoidance of ecclesiastical interventions that could threaten the Greek two-party system, which was anyway undergoing a major crisis after the elections of September 2007 and the subsequent tendency of the electorate to move away from bipartisanism (Vernardakis 2008; Tsirbas 2009). Taking into account the traditionally right-wing political stance of the upper echelons of the Church hierarchy, the election of a rigorist prelate to the archiepiscopal office might have caused the formation of another powerful and not directly controlled political faction within the right-wing bloc, as was the case with the interventionist Christodoulos. In other words, the election to the archiepiscopal see of a charismatic personality who could potentially rally around him the masses could function as the antagonistic ‘other’ for the ruling political elites, especially those of the right. From a realistic perspective, this scenario was not very attractive either to the leadership of ‘New Democracy’ or to the centrist and leftist parties. Thus, the avoidance on the part of the government of any active involvement in the elections in favour of the ultra-conservative candidate Eustathios, Metropolitan of Sparta, as was generally expected by the electorate, did not come as a surprise; nor did, by all means, the open support for Hieronymus by the other political parties. The acceptance of Hieronymus by the ruling parties undoubtedly gave an impetus to his candidature by indirectly compelling the uncommitted bishops to side with him. This clear sign of the political establishment against the continuation of rigorist behaviour made the application of a new ecclesiastical strategy, in our case that of controlled compromise, quite an imperative in order to improve relations between the political and the religious spheres. In the following section I present an analysis of the discourse through which the strategy of controlled compromise was articulated by the new leadership of the Orthodox Church of Greece.

The Discourse of Hieronymus as Archbishop Hieronymus’ discursive strategy of controlled compromise has been grounded on the idea that religious and secular powers are separate spheres, whose competences nevertheless overlap. This view is based on the rationale that the collective subject upon which both the State and the Church exercise control is the same, i.e. the whole of Greek society. This perceived identification of the political with the religious body in the Greek social space – according to the age-old ideological obsession of ‘Helleno-Orthodoxia’6 – renders mandatory the cooperative spirit with the ‘Autocephalous Church of Greece’, they form the ‘Orthodox Church of Greece’ (Papathomas 1998: 114–23; Roudometof 2008: 81–7). 6 Helleno-Orthodoxia is the fallacy according to which the Greek nation is identified with the Orthodox religion and vice versa. In other words, an individual can be regarded as

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between State and Church and the consensus of both in respect of issues of mutual interest. In the opposite scenario, namely in case of a rupture between the two spheres, there would be social divisions with negative effects for both sides. As Hieronymus put it in his inaugural speech: We are not politicians, but clergymen … This means that the Church has the duty to express its discourse, not in order to question the institutions, neither to embroil in political and party controversies, but to produce spiritual antibodies, protecting the social organism … It is therefore of vital importance that the Church and the State walk together with love and peace, protecting and preserving our distinctive roles, in order to serve jointly our people and our country, being aware of the difference in our missions. (viotia.blogspot.com)

Consequently, the refraining of the Church from any dynamic interference in everyday socio-political life and a neutral stance on party politics were for Hieronymus the primary prerequisites to be fulfilled for the implementation of the new ecclesiastical strategy. Simultaneously, this speech signalled the distancing of Church leadership from the communicative ‘aggressiveness’ of Christodoulos, stressing Hieronymus’ moderate stance, as opposed to the arrogance of his predecessor. The distance, however, of Hieronymus from Christodoulos’ rigorism does not imply the acknowledgement of a legal separation between State and Church, but a shift towards the acceptance of their ‘distinctive roles’. The autonomous function of the two spheres, the secular and the religious, may have been adopted by Hieronymus (the newspaper Eleftherotypia, 28 May 2008) according to the apostolic saying ‘render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s’, without however entailing a break of the links between them. This shift of ecclesiastical emphasis has, subsequently, a disorientating effect for the social body, since it does not signify the Church’s consent to the modernist agenda, but the reproduction of the Church’s political power. For, according to the normative vocabulary of discourse theory, the modernist signifier of the ‘distinctive roles’ has as its signified the maintenance of the traditionally predominant function of the Church. In other words, the compliance with governmental proposals and measures should extend to the

a member of the Greek ‘imagined community’ only if he/she is a Christian Orthodox. This perception, which was constructed theoretically in the middle of the nineteenth century, was directly linked with the political struggles of the time and the national aspirations of Greece. The concept of Helleno-Orthodoxia, after the First World War and the actual end of Greek expansionism, took on various forms and discursive expressions, such as the slogans ‘Greece belongs to the Orthodox Greeks’ or ‘Fatherland, Religion, Family’, which were instrumentally used by the military juntas of Metaxas (1936–40) and PapadopoulosIoannidis (1967–74). The latest discursive form of Helleno-Orthodoxia was that epitomized by Archbishop Christodoulos to the slogan ‘Greece spells Orthodoxy’. For more details: Matalas 2002: 8–35; Stamatopoulos 2003; Gazi 2011.

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point that these do not impair the Church’s social, legal and economic status. Hieronymus has shown his inclination towards reconciliation with the political elites by adopting a compromising stance on a number of proposed minor reforms that had previously been points of major disagreement. Some of these issues and their flexible handling by Hieronymus will be presented below. The Law on Registered Partnership (a common legislative act in the European Union) caused the reaction of the Orthodox hierarchy, but no intervention by Hieronymus. While the Synod’s press release characterized cohabitation as an act of ‘whoring’ (Eleftherotypia, 18 March 2008), the Archbishop stated that the Church should not exercise control through policing measures (Eleftherotypia, 14 March 2008). Having ensured the commitment of the government not to extend this provision to ‘gay’ couples, Hieronymus rejected any further insistence on this issue by the Church, denouncing such an effort as ‘isolated quixotic exaggerations’ (the newspaper Ta Nea, 25 June 2008). It should be noted that the major stake in this affair was in fact the legal recognition of homosexuality that is perceived by the Orthodox clergy as a major threat to traditional family values, the protection of which is considered to be its duty. Hieronymus, therefore, by indirectly backing up the State’s legislation against the rigorist elements within the religious bureaucracy, took in return guarantees for the respect of a core moral belief of the Church and, thus, countermanded a potential complete modification of the Family Law in force. The issue of religious education classes in school and the government’s introduction of a measure to make it optional for students, after a conviction of Greece by the European Court of Human Rights (Ta Nea, 22 August 2008), was another instance of Hieronymus’ compromising manner. It should be noted that for the Greek Orthodox collective imaginary, the Church has been the social medium, with the aid of which the primordial myths of the nation have been preserved over time against its political and ideological enemies. Since the Orthodox religion is perceived as the guardian and guarantor of social cohesion and national continuity, the mandatory religious education class in primary and secondary education is considered a condition sine qua non for the moral and cultural well-being of Greek society. This hegemonic perception has also taken an institutional form through article 16 of the Greek Constitution, which defines the development of the religious conscience of pupils as a primary aim of the Greek educational system (Sotirelis 1998; Karamouzis 2007; Rerakis 2007; Willert forthcoming). Furthermore, the instrumentality of education as an ideological apparatus for the formation as well as for the maintenance of the ‘customers’ of the Orthodox ‘firm’ within Greek ‘religious economy’ (Yamane 1997: 111) is self-evident. Contrary, however, to the view according to which the governmental reform signalled an imagined ‘persecution’ (Eleftherotypia, 24 August 2008) against the Church and a ‘mockery’ (ibid.) of the Synod, the Archbishop did not adopt the same discursive strategy. On the one hand, he denounced by all means the de-sacralization of education and demanded the reinstatement of the mandatory religious education class (Ta Nea, 30 March 2009). Hieronymus also requested an increase in the number of teaching

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hours for religion and the appointment of theologians in primary education (ibid.). On the other hand, Hieronymus actually respected the government’s authority to decide on the religious education issue. He stressed his disagreement, but he did not proceed to any radical mobilization, even though he was asked to do so by other prelates. On the contrary, he castigated that kind of practice and its exponents, ‘who create factions and transform Christian doctrine into an ideology; but Christianity is an experience and a way of life’ (Eleftherotypia, 12 February 2009). The rejection of a discourse claiming a role for the Church within the political system equivalent to that of secular power calmed down the fears of political elites. It also presented Hieronymus as the accommodating ecclesiastical leader with whom they could meet half way, preventing possible conflicts that could lead to dangerous paths for both poles of the Greek power structure. The novel aspect of Hieronymus’ liberal stance is becoming even more evident compared to his predecessors, as regards their political behaviour towards secular power over educational matters. Bearing in mind that the Church’s energetic intervention has been an old habit, as the so-called ‘Evangelika’7 affair or the adoption of ‘Demotike’ as the State’s official language indicate, Hieronymus’ approach could be at least characterized as an exception to the ecclesiastical rule – all the more so if we take into account the demand of the late Archbishop Christodoulos, who maintained that the Church should have a say in (in other words, control) the content of the religious education class and also approve the instructors (Vasilakis 2006: 220). This is probably the reason why the ruling parties were not eager to promote measures of an ultra-secular character. For, in such a case Hieronymus would have found himself compelled to react energetically in order to avoid the delegitimization of his authority within the traditionalist camp of society. Not to mention that the rigorist hierarchical faction would have come to the fore (Papastathis 2011), which would undoubtedly be a retrogression for the political life of Greece. Consequently, a polarizing climate would have created negative effects for both State and Church. The probable loss of a valuable ally such as Hieronymus within a monolithic institution like the Church at a time when the adjustment of Greece to the secular norms was more than a necessity would be a great mistake for the political establishment. To put it otherwise, since the mitigation of religious objections to reforms was a condition for their success, a possible deconstruction of Hieronymus’ image would have been a negative development. For the application of the reforms without the consent, or at least the forbearance, of the Church would have put at risk a condition which was guaranteed up to a point by the new Archbishop. This is why the positive attitude 7

The ‘Evangelika’ affair (1901) refers to the initiative of Queen Olga for the translation of the Gospels into ‘Demotike’ (vernacular language), in order to be understood by the uneducated. This initiative, perceived as a danger for religious purity, was confronted vigorously by the Church (Maroniti 2009: 327–75).

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of the government towards the financial requests of the Archbishop (newspapers: To Vima, 3 October 2008 and 20 August 2009; Kathimerini, 20 August 2009), the maintenance of ecclesiastical privileges (Eleftherotypia, 7 November 2008) and even the unacceptable, for a democratic State, censorship of Costas Gavras’ film for the Acropolis Museum – which was perceived as offensive to the clergy (Eleftherotypia, 25 and 29 July 2009; Kathimerini, 28 July 2009) should be interpreted as manifestations of the new ‘give and take’ context inaugurated between the political elites and the Church. This meant that the Archbishop would not contest governmental measures, on condition that these were not ultra-secular, while the government would not touch the financial and institutional status of the Church, reciprocating the Archbishop’s conciliatory disposition. The rupture of Hieronymus with the ultra-nationalist circles should be placed within this context. His stance, however, does not lie in the renunciation of nationalism or anti-Westernism per se, which actually constitute the historically privileged signifiers of Greek ecclesiastical discourse (Yannaras 1992; Chrysoloras 2004; Lipowats 2008: 24–28; Makrides 2009). The new element, when compared to earlier positions of the Church, is the recognition of the exclusive competence of the government to handle the foreign affairs of the State. To this end, the objection of Hieronymus to a demonstration in the city of Thessaloniki against the reactivation of diplomatic talks between Greece and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM) in spring 2008, organized by Metropolitan Anthimos, is characteristic. It should be noted that similar protests were organized in the early nineties by the then government and the local ecclesiastical bureaucracy, upgrading the social influence of the latter. This involvement of the Church had led to the perception that the local bishop should have ex officio a say in the mapping out of State policy on the Macedonian Question – to say nothing about the standpoint of Christodoulos, who was self-represented as the only authentic expression of the nation’s will and put forward his views on all political questions of diplomatic interest. Consequently, by following the ruling elite’s line of not stirring up nationalistic sentiments and by avoiding the identification of the Church with obsessions of the extreme right, Hieronymus diversified himself from the stereotypical views of the ecclesiastical body not only on a political but also on an ideological level. As he put it: ‘The Church is not legitimized to speak meaningless words … but is obliged to have an essential, endearing and redeeming discourse, not a chanting, secular and disruptive one’ (Ta Nea, 25 June 2008). This statement from a modernist perspective could be deemed as common sense. Taking into account, however, that a considerable part of the clerical apparatus has been at the forefront of jingoist movements, thus providing moral legitimization even to goals such as the occupation (‘liberation’ according to their normative vocabulary) of other States’ territories,8 the progressive standpoint of Hieronymus can at least be characterized as a novel one by Greek ecclesiastical standards. 8 It suffices to say that the founder and president of the movement ‘Pan-Hellenic Association of Northern Epirus’, whose aim is the occupation of southern Albania by

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Overall, through this public discourse Hieronymus avoided lending a hand to a risky political instability. This is because nationalism, as a dominant ideological constant in Greek society, may have lost some of its social influence and political legitimacy, yet it still mobilizes considerable parts of the population and constitutes a privileged field of propaganda for the hierarchy. Therefore, by not siding with the ultra-nationalist camp and thus partly preventing its possible social inflation, Hieronymus made a step towards bridging the gap with the political parties of the centre and the left, a relation which did not exist in Christodoulos’ time. Furthermore, he showed in practice his inclination to restore contact with the cosmopolitan intelligentsia, namely the secularist educated and academic elites, which are traditionally hostile towards Church interference in political affairs as well as towards the political views of the extreme right. Hieronymus’ public self-criticism that the Church should neither have opposed nor excluded many inspiring, bright and talented intellectuals and artists (Kathimerini, 12 May 2009) was characteristic of the re-orientation of ecclesiastical behaviour towards a social category which was accused by the former Archbishop Christodoulos as Western agents, national traitors and so on (Vasilakis 2006, passim). The uprising of December 2008, on the occasion of the murder of 15-year-old A. Grigoropoulos by the police, is another instance of Hieronymus’ instrumentality in the political establishment while strengthening his social visibility and penetration. Without deviating from the line of civic legality and power equilibrium, his discourse could be characterized as genuine and self-criticizing. The Archbishop did not handle the issue in a manner similar to that of the majority of the (upper) Church hierarchy, namely through a simple condemnation of violence. On the contrary, as head of the Church he assumed his share of responsibility for the moral, financial and political decline of Greek society, which actually caused the ‘just’ demonstrations of the ‘betrayed’ youth, that should not, however, have taken on or acquired a violent form (Cosmos tou Ependyti, 13 December 2008). The novel element of his intervention lies mainly in the legitimization of the social reactions, while not criticizing the ruling parties. This paradox was reflected in the inversion of the political conduct towards Hieronymus by the ultra-traditionalist and ultra-modernist social clusters. Whereas the ruling parties chose not to comment officially on Hieronymus’ interview, the extreme right wing (http://www. stoxos.gr/2009/01/blog-post_26.html) and the police (the newspaper To Vima, 25 January 2009), which are traditionally close to the Church, publicly disavowed the statement of the Archbishop, while leftist secularist parties and groups expressed their sympathy (Eleftherotypia, 16 December 2008; http://athens.indymedia.org). The major example of the controlled compromise strategy introduced by Hieronymus, however, has been the concept of the ‘distinctiveness of roles’ between the secular and the religious spheres, which actually operates as the ideological shield against any modification of the status quo. The reasoning of the Greece, was the Metropolitan of Dryinoypoleos, Pogonianis and Konitsis Sevastianos, who handed over this office to his episcopal heir.

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Archbishop is based on the idea that since, theoretically, there is no dispute between Church and State, as the Law on Registered Partnership or the religious education issues have proven, and since each respects the authority and competence of the other, there is no need to modify the existing state of affairs. In this context, he was ready to compromise with respect to minor issues, such as the oath question (see below), while he threatened vigorous protests in the case of a separation of State and Church, which would signify a modification of the privileged constitutional position of the Orthodox institution and any other organization under its control. According to the Archbishop, the question of the separation of State and Church is in fact ‘fictitious’ (Eleftherotypia, 17 December 2008) because it has already taken place (Kathimerini, 28 December 2008). Taking into account that there was no relevant constitutional change, Hieronymus aimed essentially at the social legitimization of the status quo by demystifying its practical effects; he tried to invalidate the problem by veiling it. This is why, bringing up memories of Christodoulos’ era, he threatened to proceed to a mobilization of the flock if a legal reform took place. The articulation of his discourse was actually based on the same privileged signifiers, the ‘nation’ as well as the ‘people’, symbolically intimating the essentialist equation between Orthodoxy and Greek national identity, i.e. the acceptance of their organic bonds. Consequently, he reproduced the ‘invented’ (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983: 1–15) hegemonic ideology of Helleno-Orthodoxia and reconstructed an imagined representation of the Greek Orthodox as the elected people. Hieronymus has stated that a probable modification of the status quo would be ‘disastrous for the nation and the race’ (Eleftherotypia, 10 November 2008). Therefore, he maintains that only the ‘people’ have the right to decide on such a matter through a referendum, instead of ‘certain ideological circles, which serve other expediencies’ (Kathimerini, 28 December 2008); To Vima, 8 November 2008). He continues by saying that ‘these circles aim primarily at the elimination of the spiritual influence of the Church upon Greek society and seek an onerous separation of the Church from the State, which certainly indicates the violation and breaking of promises and responsibilities of the State to the Church’ (Kathimerini, 28 December 2008). Hieronymus’ intervention had a twofold result: on the one hand, through its instrumentalization by the Church, the signifier ‘people’ was estranged from its civic dimension, that is, from a democratic perspective the whole society or the electoral body, but was conceptualized solely as the body of the ‘faithful’. Thus, it called into question the principle of religious neutrality, which is a prerequisite for the democratic functioning of a modern state. On the other hand, through Hieronymus’ demand for the holding of a referendum, a second equivalent political option was constructed, which was self-represented as truly expressing the Greek social body in its totality, in contrast to that of the elected Members of Parliament, who were portrayed as obeying ‘ideological circles’, which allegedly conspire against society. It may be said that through this populist discourse the Church was practically notifying the political elites in advance that such a reform would signify its transformation into the antagonistic other

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of the dominant political system (Pantazopoulos 2000; Stavrakakis 2002). This discourse, therefore, had a paradoxical character: in essence, it denied the public/ private distinction, while calling upon the neo-liberal premise of referendum democracy; it was articulated on the modernist nodal point of the ‘will of the people’, while this was put at the service of a rigorist development; it aimed at reproducing ecclesiastical power and immunity, while invoking its ideological opposite. To summarize, the discourse of Hieronymus was based on modernist privileged signifiers, but it was traditionalist in its ends. This political behaviour, however, should not be interpreted as a sign of inconsistency on Hieronymus’ part, compared to his liberal stance on other questions of religious interest. In contrast, within the context of a controlled compromise strategy, the one presupposes and complements the other. This is why Hieronymus’ vigorous rejection of any separation of Church and State was accompanied by a proposal for the elimination of the religious oath in the civil service (Kathimerini, 28 December 2008), which has been an old practice in Greece but has been condemned in recent years by the secular strata and the legal circles. The Archbishop’s stance was not founded, however, on the acceptance of the secular demand for the confinement of religion to the private sphere, but on the authority of the Christian doctrinal tradition, according to which oaths are prohibited (Matthew 5: 33–4). Consequently, a paradox of Hieronymus’ discourse is the use of Orthodox tradition for the benefit of the secularity of political life, and of modernist privileged signifiers for the prolongation of the non-secular constitutional framework that determines State and Church relations in Greece. His originality, therefore, is not grounded on the renunciation of old religious principles that constitute pre-existing signifiers of the ecclesiastical discourse, but on the construction of different discursive articulations of the same privileged signifiers, which are contingently displaced in proportion to the issues at stake. Hence, through the ad hoc interchange of its privileged signifier, as its nodal point, Hieronymus’ discourse is differentiated from Church traditional discourse in its previous form, especially that under Christodoulos. However, this does not signify a change of the objectives Hieronymus is out to achieve, namely the reproduction of ecclesiastical power.

Conclusions The interrelationship between the secular and religious sphere in the discourse of Archbishop Hieronymus is indicative of a shift of strategy. While the strategic aim of the official Church seems to be the same, namely the protection of its privileged status, the instruments for its accomplishment have changed. Taking into account the social de-legitimization of ecclesiastical bureaucracy during the last years of Christodoulos’ term, the new Church leadership had to follow a different line of thought – that of controlled compromise. Instead of interfering in political affairs, Hieronymus respected the autonomy of the political domain; instead of maintaining

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a hostile attitude towards any modernist modification that enjoyed a large social consensus or was legally imperative, Hieronymus adopted a flexible stance, on the condition that the repercussions for the Church would be of minor importance. This means that the constitutional and economic privileges of the Church, which have been highly questioned during the last decade by legal and academic circles as contrary to the principle of religious equality, would not be abrogated. In other words, Hieronymus accepts the primacy of the ruling elites in political life and does not oppose them, on condition that the latter will not diminish religious power and that the political advantages of the Church will essentially remain intact. Consequently, Hieronymus’ policy is not based on rupture with the traditional form of ecclesiastical conduct vis-à-vis the State (namely the functioning of the Church as its ideological apparatus in return for preferential status within Greek political space); instead it is articulated through his differentiation from the rigorist hierarchical group. Hieronymus’ differentiation, however, does not consist in the aims to be served, which are more or less the same, but in the discursive means adopted for their achievement. This strategy of controlled compromise has not, therefore, led to the ‘depoliticization’ of religious discourse – a status de facto impossible, considering the role of religion in political life. Its articulation is closer to a normativization of the political function of the Church within the present social conditions. This adjustment of religious discourse, in connection with the development of a moderate media policy and the focusing on the social work of the Church, has resulted in the construction of a positive image of Hieronymus and, thus, the partial restoration of religious authority. According to various polls, Hieronymus enjoys high popularity (70–77 per cent), while the Church is considered to be the second most trustworthy socio-political institution, ranking ahead of the Unions, the Parliamentary or the Judicature (Metron Analysis, December 2009, March 2010, June 2010). But does the ‘controlled compromise’ strategy constitute an ‘innovation’ as far as the socio-political presence of the Church is concerned? On the one hand, the flexible stance and the cooperative spirit towards the ruling elites, the justification of social reactions to a murder or the renunciation of ultra-nationalistic ideas probably sound like mainstream and sensible religious behaviour. It could be characterized more as an adjustment or accommodation of ecclesiastical discourse on certain social and political conditions rather than implying a structural alteration of ecclesiastical function. From a modern and secular perspective, this may be considered as being original, but by no means innovative. On the other hand, it can be argued that the concept of innovativeness is something relative. For what may be labelled as innovative in a specific social or historical context does not have the same validity in another one (Williams, Cox and Jaffee 1992: 3–7). Going back to Christodoulos’ era and even further to his predecessors, and judging their stance with respect to various questions, it was always observed and broadly acknowledged that the Church claimed and pursued its targets in an ‘aggressive’ manner. Therefore, the ‘controlled compromise’ strategy of Hieronymus with

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respect to the ‘mobilizing’ policies of the past may be labelled as innovative, since it constitutes a break from the ecclesiastical rule. Taking into account that for rigid institutions such as the Orthodox Church even minor deviations from the traditional standards are time-consuming and not highly welcomed (if not condemned), the stance of Hieronymus, though not changing the long-term aims of the Church, has an innovative character because of the distinct means employed to pursue them. In other words, the aforementioned simple ‘adjustment’ or ‘accommodation’ of religious discourse is innovative as such because it signals a shift from the customary ecclesiastical practices. Let alone that in some cases the compromises made by Hieronymus, though an imperative from a legal perspective, were far from being characterized as minor according to the Orthodox tradition – i.e. the Law on Registered Partnership would have probably been out of the question in the past. In conclusion, Hieronymus’ strategy and discourse may take distinct characterizations – such as novel, accommodating, conciliatory or innovative – depending on the various perspectives from which they may be interpreted. What can be hardly denied, however, is that Hieronymus’ stance is different from the stereotypical views of the hierarchy and that this differentiation has an objective political significance per se. Considering that under the aggravating economic situation of Greece the huge property of the Church is still, in essence, not taxed – contrary to the declarations of the government of PASOK (Eleftherotypia, 10 June 2009, 13 September 2009) – Hieronymus’ strategy seems to be paying off. This conclusion is corroborated by the fact that 83–89 per cent of the aforementioned poll samples are in favour of the taxation of ecclesiastical property (Metron Analysis, December 2009, March 2010, June 2010). The nature of future legal and financial relations between Hieronymus and the Greek government remains to be seen. Bearing in mind, however, that in the current historical context of social unrest and economic recession the ruling elites cannot afford to open a major dispute with the Church because of its importance in social cohesion, the modification of the existing state of affairs towards a more secular orientation appears to be, from a political perspective, a rather difficult enterprise. To this end, Hieronymus’ strategy of controlled compromise has played a major role.

References Secondary Sources Alivizatos, Nicos. 1999. ‘A New Role for the Greek Church?’ Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 17: 23–40. Althusser, Louis. 1971. ‘Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes towards an Investigation).’ In Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays, pp. 127–86. New York and London: Monthly Review Press.

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Barker, Eileen, James A. Beckford and Karel Dobbelaere. 1993. Secularization, Rationalism and Sectarianism: Essays in Honour of Bryan R. Wilson. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Barrett, Michèle. 1991. The Politics of Truth: From Marx to Foucault. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bruce, Steve (ed.). 1993. Religion and Modernization: Sociologists and Historians Debate the Secularization Thesis. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chrysoloras, Nicos. 2004. ‘Why Orthodoxy? Religion and Nationalism in Greek Political Culture.’ Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism, 4: 40–61. Demertzis, Nicos (ed.). 1995. The Greek Political Culture Today. Athens: Odysseas [in Greek]. Gazi, Efi. 2011. Fatherland, Religion, Family: The History of a Slogan, 1880– 1930. Athens: Polis [in Greek]. Gellner, Ernest. 1992. Postmodernism, Reason and Religion. London: Routledge. Georgiadou, Vassiliki and Elias Nikolakopoulos. 2002. ‘Dimensions of Religious Commitment, Ecclesiastical Practices and Political Preferences: An Empirical Analysis.’ In Religions and Politics in Modernity, ed. Thanos Lipowats, Nicos Demertzis and Vassiliki Georgiadou, pp. 254–79. Athens: Kritiki [in Greek]. Hierarchy of the Church of Greece. 1987. The Uncanonicity and Unconstitutionality of Law 1700/1987. Athens [in Greek]. Hobsbawm, Eric and Terence Ranger (eds). 1983. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Howarth, David, Alleta Norval and Yannis Stavrakakis (eds). 2000. Discourse Theory and Political Analysis: Identities, Hegemonies and Social Change. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Karamouzis, Polycarpos. 2007. Culture and Inter-Religious Education: The Comparative Teaching of Religions and Religiosity in the Contemporary School. Athens: Ellinika Grammata [in Greek]. Konidaris, Ioannis. 1991. Law 1700/1987 and the Late Crisis in Church and State Relations. Athens: Sakkoylas [in Greek]. Laclau, Ernesto. 1996. ‘Why Do Empty Signifiers Matter to Politics?’ In Emancipation(s), ed. Ernesto Laclau, pp. 36–46. New York and London: Verso. Laclau, Ernesto and Chantal Mouffe. 1985. Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics. London and New York: Verso. Lekkas, Pantelis. 1996. The Nationalist Ideology: Five Case Studies in Historical Sociology. Athens: Katarti [in Greek]. Lipowats, Thanos. 2008. ‘Nationalism and Religion in Modernity.’ In Imagined and Genuine Freedom, ed. Thanos Lipowats, pp. 21–8. Athens: Plethron [in Greek]. Makrides, Vasilios N. 2009. ‘Orthodox Anti-Westernism Today: A Hindrance to European Integration.’ International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church, 9/4: 209–24. Manitakis, Antonis. 2000. The Relation of the Church with the Nation-State, in the Shadow of the Identity Cards. Athens: Nepheli [in Greek].

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Maroniti, Niki. 2009. Political Power and the National Question in Greece, 1880– 1910. Athens: Alexandreia [in Greek]. Matalas, Paraskevas. 2002. Nation and Orthodoxy: The Vicissitudes of a Relationship: from the ‘Greek’ to the Bulgarian Schism. Heraklion: Crete University Press [in Greek]. Metropolitan of Thebes and Livadeia, Hieronymos Liapis. 1992. The Facilities of the Millennialists in Beotia or How is Greece Sold Out. Athens. Molokotos-Liederman, Lina. 2003. ‘Identity Crisis: Greece, Orthodoxy, and the European Union.’ Journal of Contemporary Religion, 18: 291–315. Mouffe, Chantal. 2005. On the Political. London and New York: Routledge. Pantazopoulos, Andreas. 2000. ‘Differentialistic Populism: The Orthodox Mobilization for the Identity Cards (June 2000).’ Nea Estia, 157: 879–905 [in Greek]. Papastathis, Charalambos. 2005. ‘State and Church in Greece.’ In State and Church in the European Union, ed. Gerhard Robbers, pp. 115–38. BadenBaden: Verlagsgesellschaft. Papastathis, Konstantinos. 2011. ‘Authority and Legitimisation: the Intraecclesial Strategy of Archbishop Ieronymos of Athens.’ Religion, State and Society, 39/4: 402–19. Papathomas, Gregorios. 1998. Le Patriarcat Oecuménique de Constantinople (y compris la Politeia monastique du Mont Athos) dans l’Europe Unie (Approche nomocanonique). Katérini: Epektasis. Phillips, Louise and Marianne W. Jørgensen. 2002. Discourse Analysis as Theory and Method. London: Sage Publications. Prodromou, Elizabeth. 2004. ‘Negotiating Pluralism and Specifying Modernity in Greece: Reading Church–State Relations in the Christodoulos Period.’ Social Compass, 51/4: 471–85. Rerakis, Heracles. 2007. The ‘Other’ in the Greek School: Orthodox Christian Pedagogical Perspective. Thessaloniki: Pournaras [in Greek]. Roudometof, Victor. 2008. ‘Greek Orthodoxy, Territoriality, and Globality: Religious Responses and Institutional Disputes.’ Sociology of Religion, 69/1: 67–91. Sotirelis, Yorgos. 1998. Religion and Education. Athens: A. Sakkloulas [in Greek]. Stamatopoulos, Demetres. 2003. Reform and Secularization: Towards a ReComposition of the History of the Ecumenical Patriarchate in the 19th Century. Athens: Alexandreia [in Greek]. Stavrakakis, Yannis. 2002. Religion and Populism: Reflections on the ‘Politicised’ Discourse of the Greek Church. Discussion Paper No. 7, The Hellenic Observatory–The European Institute, London School of Economics (May 2002) [http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/5709/1/StavrakakisPaper7.pdf]. ———. 2003. ‘Politics and Religion: On the “Politicization” of Greek Church Discourse.’ Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 21: 153–81. Tsirbas, Yannis. 2009. ‘The Decline of Bipartisanism after the 2007 Elections: The Characteristics, the Causes and the Strength of this Phenomenon.’ In

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Parties and Politics in Greece: The Contemporary Developments, ed. Yannis Konstantinidis, Nicos Marantzidis and Takis Pappas, pp. 103–32. Athens, Kritiki [in Greek]. Vasilakis, Manolis. 2006. The Curse of God. Athens: Gnoseis [in Greek]. Vernardakis, Christoforos. 2008. ‘Social Alliances and Electoral Correlations: The Voting Results of 2007 and Their Long-Term Repercussions for the Party System.’ In V-PRC. The Public Opinion in Greece: Parliamentary Elections, Party System, Political Culture, Left-Right Today, ed. Christoforos Vernardakis, pp. 15–39. Athens: Savvalas [in Greek]. Willert, S. Trine. Forthcoming. ‘Religious, National, European or Multi-Cultural Awareness: The Religious Education Class as Cultural Battlefield in Greece.’ In The Sites and Politics of Religious Diversity in Southern Europe, ed. Ruy Blanes and Jose Mapril. Leiden: Brill. Williams, Michael A., Collett Cox and Martin S. Jaffee (eds). 1992. Innovation in Religious Traditions: Essays in the Interpretation of Religious Change. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Yamane, David. 1997. ‘Secularization on Trial: In Defense of a Neosecularization Paradigm.’ Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 36: 109–22. Yannaras, Christos. 1992. Orthodoxy and the West in Modern Greece. Athens: Domos [in Greek]. Newspapers Apogevmatini: 2 January 2009. Cosmos tou Ependyti: 13 December 2008. Eleftherotypia: 14 March 2008; 18 March 2008; 28 May 2008; 24 August 2008; 7 November 2008; 10 November 2008; 16 December 2008; 17 December 2008; 12 February 2009; 10 June 2009; 25 July 2009; 29 July 2009; 13 September 2009. Kathimerini: 28 December 2008; 12 May 2009; 28 July 2009; 20 August 2009. Ta Nea: 25 June 2008; 22 August 2008; 30 March 2009. To Pontiki: 22 October 2009. To Vima: 3 October 2008; 8 November 2008; 25 January 2009; 20 August 2009. Opinion Polls and Surveys National Centre for Social Research (EKKE) and European Social Survey-ESS, Greece-Europe: Society-Politics-Values (November 2003) [in Greek] [http:// www.ekke.gr/ess/ess_results.doc] (accessed 1 September 2010). Opinion Poll of Metron Analysis for the newspaper Ethnos (5–12 April 2005) [http://www.metronanalysis.gr/web/html/index.asp?language=greek&page=s aurveys] (accessed 1 September 2010).

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Beyond National Borders: The Greek Orthodox Diaspora

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Chapter 11

Innovation within Greek Orthodox Theology in Australia: Archbishop Stylianos and the Mystique of Indigenous Australian Spirituality Vassilios Adrahtas

Archbishop Stylianos of Australia (b. 1935) is a prominent theological figure within the Greek Orthodox Diaspora. His literary work in Australia spans four decades and covers a wide range of genres, from poetry through systematic presentations of dogmatics to a variety of articles in the media. Coming from the island of Crete, a place with a rich oral and literary poetic tradition, Archbishop Stylianos seems to have been predisposed to the lure of words and rhythm. This predisposition of his was fostered by and through the liturgical poetics of the Greek Orthodox Church, since from a very young age he went to study at the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s school at Chalki. In the early 1960s he started publishing his first poems and ever since his poetry has been acclaimed within Greek literary circles. At the same time – perhaps thanks to poetry – he has always been an open-minded thinker, one who is not afraid of encountering, interacting with and learning from various worldviews and life-perspectives. In this respect, although adherence to the Orthodox tradition has always been his most cherished consideration, he has not failed to interact with the new and challenging Australian milieu – especially its indigeneity.1 This fact has rendered his thinking and writing quite innovative at certain points, inasmuch as he has aspired to be creatively receptive of indigenous Australian religious concerns

1 The term ‘indigeneity’ constitutes an integral part of postcolonial discourse: on the part of former colonial institutions it allows for the accommodation of otherness, while on the part of former subjugated peoples it stands for the integrity of otherness. Thus, in a way it perpetuates a dialectical tension inherent in modernity between the ‘same’ and the ‘other’. For a critical engagement with this tension from an indigenous point of view, see Tuhiwai Smith 1999. From the substantial bibliography on the issue of Australian indigeneity, see Lattas 1993.

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and bring them into a dialogic2 relationship with the Greek Orthodox patristic, ascetic and liturgical legacy. However, Archbishop Stylianos’ interest in the ways of indigenous Australians should not be viewed only as a personal tribute to an age-old tradition, but also as part and parcel of a general cultural attitude conditioned by specific historical and social circumstances. Firstly, one has to bear in mind that the appreciation of indigenous Australian religiosity within Archbishop Stylianos’ literary production during the 1980s and 1990s correlates to a worldwide intellectual fascination with alternative spiritualities, dating back to the mid-1960s,3 and especially to a number of attempts to renew Christian theology through the utilization of indigenous spiritual perspectives.4 Secondly, the period from the mid-1970s up to the late 1990s coincides in Australia with a growing public awareness and reappraisal of indigeneity as the nation’s indispensable cultural heritage.5 In light of this, one could hardly imagine an intellectual figure not responding positively to such an imperative. Lastly, Archbishop Stylianos belongs to a generation of Greek theologians who since the 1960s have in various ways addressed the issue of renaissance in Orthodox theory and practice.6 Thus, his fascination with indigenous Australian spirituality could be regarded as his personal contribution to this wider process. My contribution to the present volume attempts to delineate the trajectory of Archbishop Stylianos’ dialogic with indigenous Australian religious concerns, and at the same time demonstrate both the conscious and unconscious dynamics that underlie it. I focus on Archbishop Stylianos’ poetry – with only one exception pertaining to an essay of his in a collective volume – but at the same time I limit my study to those poems that either explicitly or implicitly offer the material necessary for my examination. The latter consists in a hermeneutical approach to the study of religion that utilizes content analysis, comparative literature and modern theological insights. The structure of my examination is on the one 2 Regarding the notion of ‘dialogic’ I rely on Bakhtin 1981. I find Bakhtin’s term quite apposite for the purposes of my study, since ‘dialogic’ presupposes and entails specific utterances that are informed by and function within a certain context, regardless of their explicit and/or conscious intention. Written within the language context of Australia, Archbishop Stylianos’ poetry by necessity takes into account and becomes responsive to fixed utterances, among which certain indigenous ones constitute an integral part of mainstream thinking and perception in Australia. 3 For this shift in Western society, and by extension global multiculture, commonly referred to as ‘New Age Spirituality’, see Glock and Bellah 1976. 4 For an example of such attempts, see Gira, Irrarazaval and Wainwright 2010. 5 This change in Australian public opinion dates back to the 1967 Referendum. For details on the social and political factors that determined the shift in indigenous Australian affairs, see Markus 1994. 6 This process has often been dubbed ‘neo-patristic’ or ‘neo-Orthodox’. See Makrides 1998.

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hand chronological, in order to stress the development of Archbishop Stylianos’ thinking, and on the other hand thematic, in order to put forward the cardinal issues that have occupied his literary dialogic. The latter is traceable thanks to certain distinctive signifiers/utterances in Archbishop Stylianos’ poetry; a number of parallel spiritual concerns within his work and indigenous Australian sources; and the proclivity of his poetic theology to the mythopoeic aspect of indigenous beliefs and practices. Essentially the argument in this chapter is that, although Australian indigeneity has invigorated Archbishop Stylianos’ personal quest for an ecumenical and integral vision of humanity in an innovative way, this very quest has opened up potentialities and prospects to be explored, rather than worked out a fixed view of humanity. Nevertheless, this evidence suggests that the impression one might have that there is no indigenous influence whatsoever on Greek cultural and intellectual life in Australia is both deceptive and superficial. This study particularly aspires to challenge such misconceptions and at the same time foster a more sophisticated approach to the complexities of Greek diasporic reality. Moreover, the terms and limitations under which Archbishop Stylianos has responded to the challenge of indigenous Australian sensitivities constitute an important aspect of the critical assessment of his work.7 Finally, in order to substantiate my argument, I have used a case study approach that focuses on ten texts by Archbishop Stylianos: nine poems and one essay. These are among the most representative of his ‘responses’ to indigenous Australian spirituality, and correlate to the major issues of modern theology, either Orthodox or Christian in general. In particular, there are six parts, which successively pertain to the topics of nature, history, the human condition, the presence of otherness, globality and cultural innovation. In this very order, the substantiation of my argument also takes on a progressive as well as a culminating effect.

A New Vision of Creation In this section the poems ‘Aborigines’ and ‘Visual Australia’ are treated as examples of how Archbishop Stylianos conceptualizes the interconnection between people and land, a feature so prominent in indigenous Australian traditions. At the same time, his approach not only brings forth some of the cardinal aspects of the indigenous Australian appreciation of nature, but also enables him to suggest certain analogies with the cosmology or creation theology of the Orthodox Church.

7 Apparently, at this stage such an assessment must remain more or less tentative, since within his ongoing literary production Archbishop Stylianos is still writing poems that in one way or another relate to indigenous Australian religious concerns.

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‘Aborigines’ (1979) Aborigines, you are the original the most authentic children of the earth; you palpably preserve its colour and soil leaving us all either white in colourless shame or yellow in the climate of hatred!8

This poem was written four years after Archbishop Stylianos’ arrival in Australia as Primate of the Greek Orthodox Church; it most probably constitutes his earliest reference to the indigenous peoples of the continent. It is fashioned as a salutation, as if Archbishop Stylianos is addressing the entirety of indigenous Australians on behalf of non-indigenous people (‘us all’). The use of the term ‘Aborigines’, although objectionable nowadays9 but prevalent at the time, is to be understood as ‘you are the original’. The latter retains in the Greek text a multiple sense, for pīgaíoi (‘original’) means at the same time ‘those of the source’, ‘those who come from the source’, ‘those who deal with the source’. Thus, Archbishop Stylianos avoids the negative connotations of the term ‘Aborigines’ – though not intentionally – and unexpectedly hints at the most fundamental aspect of indigenous Australian religiosity: its preoccupation with ‘source hierophanies’.10 Nevertheless, from a theological point of view, Archbishop Stylianos’ unintentional and unexpected emphasis on the indigenous Australians’ most cherished religious concern, namely their identification with the land11 (‘children of the earth’), is intentionally – though allusively – related to the Christian 8

Charkianakis 2002: 183. Although Archbishop Stylianos has published his poetry under his ‘secular’ name, Charkianakis, he does not distinguish between his role as poet and his role as Archbishop and/or theologian. I have witnessed his poetic performance as an everyday activity amidst the responsibilities of his ecclesiastical service. For him poetry and theology are one and the same thing, culminating in prayer. For this reason I have chosen to refer to Charkianakis the poet as Archbishop Stylianos throughout the present study. 9 Basically the term ‘Aborigines’ is regarded by many as reflecting nineteenthcentury evolutionism and, thus, having pejorative connotations. During the last decade the term ‘indigenous Australians’ is being preferred by federal and state agencies, as well as academia. However, it should be noted that indigenous Australians themselves opt for neither ‘Aborigines’ nor ‘indigenous Australians’, but use instead their own designations, such as Koori, Murri, Nyungah and Yolngu. 10 For the neologism ‘hierophany’ as a religionswissenschaftliche term referring to the core of any given religion, see Eliade 1958: 1–33. For ‘source hierophanies’ as a categorization referring to the indigenous Australians’ experience of the land as the source of their whole life, see Adrahtas 2006: 19–20. 11 For an introduction to this foundational aspect of indigenous Australian religiosity, see the most comprehensive Swain and Trompf 1995: 21–4.

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understanding of God as the source of all life. In other words, indigenous Australians as ‘those of the source’ are portrayed as those of God; not just as any people could be said to be of God, but in a very distinctive way, that is, as those who are the people of God par excellence (‘the most authentic’). Archbishop Stylianos’ reasoning at this point is plain and simple: ‘You palpably preserve its colour and soil.’ One cannot resist suggesting that Archbishop Stylianos’ mentioning of ‘soil’ is related to God’s original creation of Adam as one of soil (Gen., 2: 7; 3: 19). If this reading is correct, then according to Archbishop Stylianos indigenous Australians are the most potent and vivid symbol (‘palpably’) of Adam/humanity as a creation of God’s power revealed within and bestowed upon the earth. What at first sight could be regarded as using rather outdated romantic motifs about indigenous Australians12 is actually articulated by Archbishop Stylianos into a quite bold theology of ethnography. The implications of this are rather clear: human alienation is most palpable in the case of non-indigenous people, since they are the ones experiencing ‘shame’ and ‘hatred’ against indigenous Australians. More specifically, it is the latter’s hierophanic connection to soil/ land/earth that reminds – excruciatingly and unbearably – the so-called ‘civilized’ of their experiential disconnection from their natural habitat. Thus, Archbishop Stylianos’ theological assessment of ethnography becomes the basis for an ecology critique: the hierophanic experience of indigenous Australians serves as a token of humanity’s inherent need to experience the Sacred13 through and within the palpable and embodied entities of nature. ‘Visual Australia’ (1983) You must see her body in the desert from a distance on a plane; then you will admit a new triumph to the consubstantial: a colourful opal magnified! (Charkianakis 2002: 167)

This poem focuses on ‘the desert’, understood as a privileged location of Australia’s indigeneity: it is ‘in the desert’ that one can ‘see her [Australia’s] body’. It seems that Archbishop Stylianos is not referring to an ordinary sensory seeing, but to an exceptional mental seeing, a spiritual Anschauung (an act of perceiving). Thus, his verse is about a vision one ‘must’ attain, and not about a spectacle one can enjoy. Most likely Archbishop Stylianos has in mind the Byzantine mystical physikí theoría (the contemplation of nature), that is, the spiritual stage in which one is enabled by the Holy Spirit to perceive the lógoi ton ónton (the referentiality of 12 The romanticization of indigenous Australians – especially through the idea of the ‘noble savage’ – has had a long-lived effect on the ethnography and anthropology of indigenous Australian religions. For this effect, see Hiatt 1996; Swain 1985. 13 Regarding the notion of ‘the Sacred’ I draw upon the work of Otto 2004.

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created beings to the Divine Logos).14 In other words, the ‘desert’ as a hierophanic source of Australia’s indigeneity has invited an equally hierophanic response on the part of Archbishop Stylianos’ personal experience of the Orthodox tradition; in this perspective two different religious attitudes – namely, one based on immanent self-realization and another one based on transcendent charisma – have come to be conceptualized as compatible. A further noteworthy detail is that this compatibility requires ‘a distance from a plane’. One cannot perceive Australia as the hierophanic source of her own living being (‘body’) unless one sees ‘the desert’ from above. Apart from the fascinating effect that any flight may have, Archbishop Stylianos – again unintentionally and unexpectedly – draws our attention to two intriguing and interrelated aspects of indigenous Australian religiosity: the maban experience and indigenous ‘art’ as topography. Indigenous Australians use the term maban for fully initiated males who see, know and are in communion with the dreamings of their land.15 What needs to be stressed here, however, is that the mabans experience a visionary flight, a flight that enables them to be aware of both the particulars and the totality of a given land.16 On the other hand, what is most often regarded as indigenous Australian ‘art’17 is actually a practice in hierophanic topography: indigenous Australians do not paint their dreamings for aesthetic purposes, but out of a need to sustain their connection with them. In doing so they perform an aerial topography,18 that is, they depict the land as seen in a special way from above, as if they were putting in colour the vision of their mabans. Thus, the aforementioned ‘distance’ not only allows for Archbishop Stylianos’ Byzantine theology and indigenous Australians’ hierophanic experience of the land to be seen as compatible, but also turns his poetic receptivity into a medium of maban topography. Indeed ‘Visual Australia’ reveals Archbishop Stylianos being fully immersed into maban topography as an Orthodox theologian, since he relates his vision of the Australian ‘desert’ to ‘the consubstantial’. But how does the most fundamental term in Triadology, namely, the ‘homooúsion’ (‘consubstantial’) come to describe an experience of the Australian ‘desert’? The key to answering this question lies in the image of the opal: a semi-precious stone sprinkled with colours that give the impression of recreating themselves according to the point of view and light available. In other words, Archbishop Stylianos takes the opal to be a sort of natural

14

This aspect of the Byzantine mystical tradition, of which St Maximus the Confessor is perhaps the most famous exponent, is discussed thoroughly in Louth 1996. 15 For details on mabans, see Elkin 1977. For an introduction to dreaming(s), that is, the hierophanic manifestation(s) of the land, see Morton 2000: 9–16. 16 For the maban flight, see especially Eliade 1973: 159–67. 17 For a critique of the notion of ‘art’ in the context of indigenous Australian religiosity, see Swain 1991: 32. For a similar but more elaborated position, see Langton 2000: 16–24. 18 For a detailed analysis of indigenous Australian ‘art’ as topography, see Adrahtas 2006: 166–245.

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symbol,19 which, thanks to being one and at the same time many, enables the reader to get an idea of what Orthodox Christian theology means when it confesses a God who is experienced simultaneously as One and Three (homooúsios): a God as the Son and the Holy Spirit coming forth from the Father (monarchía) and three Divine Persons relating to and revealing each other (perichórīsis).20 Now the whole Australian ‘desert’ is ‘seen’ by Archbishop Stylianos as a single huge opal that springs forth its own self in a multiplicity of instantiations; ultimate unity and sheer diversity at once! Most strikingly, Archbishop Stylianos uses in the Greek text of his poem the word homologó (‘confess’) with regard to the ‘vision’ of the ‘desert’; that is, by employing a term with an overtly religious meaning he is at least implying that the Triadology of Orthodoxy and the indigenous Australian Dreaming21 are not in principle incommensurable or experientially incompatible with one another.

Indigenizing Orthodox Christian Eschatology In this section, Archbishop Stylianos’ reflections on creation are broadened towards the notion and experience of history. He uses the poems ‘Western Australia’ and ‘Unheard Request’ as tokens of the Orthodox ‘liturgical time’, namely, the experience of moving backwards and forwards in time or, better, of fusing the past, the present and the future, in view of Christ, the resurrected Lord of history. Thus, Archbishop Stylianos brings into Australian indigeneity an element that emphasizes and expands its own fluid perception of time. ‘Western Australia’ (1984) On your supine lying body triumphantly are verified all shapes and visions of the Aborigines as they painted them several days ago on the walls of the Redfern train station: crocodiles immobilised in blooming salt-mines 19

For natural symbols – among others – as a means of theologizing, see Adrahtas 2002: 15–34. For a number of natural symbols (such as the sun, the intellect or flowers) used by the Church Fathers in order to elucidate some of the issues raised in Triadology, see for example St John Damascene’s Discourse against the Manicheans, in Migne 1857–66: vol. 94, col. 1513A. 20 For the history of homooúsios, see Dinsen 1976; for an ontological interpretation of monarchía, see Zizioulas 2006: 113–54; for both ancient and modern elaborations on perichórīsis, see Durand 2005. 21 Conventionally, when dreamings are seen as an all-encompassing unity, they are called the Dreaming.

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In this poem Archbishop Stylianos reiterates the flight motif we have already seen, but this time what is ‘seen’ from above has already been encountered down here. The aerial topography of Western Australia is identified with the indigenous graffiti ‘on the walls of the Redfern train station’. Redfern, a suburb in the Inner West of Sydney, is where the indigenous ‘Block’ lies, while the headquarters of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of Australia is only half a mile away. Archbishop Stylianos is implying that within his personal experience the most ancient and the most recent (‘several days ago’) fuse and the exceptional and the common become one and the same. This peculiar transcendence of time resonates with what has been termed atemporality or timelessness in the context of indigenous Australian religions.22 The Dreaming, as W.E.H. Stanner (1979: 24) has so aptly put it, is an ‘everywhen’: it is whenever it is, then and now, always and any time. For his part Archbishop Stylianos is on the one hand inspired by the indigenous Australian coalescence of spatiotemporal instantiations, and on the other he is most likely led to a re-appreciation of Christian eschatology. In particular when he visualizes – thanks to the elusive Dreaming – Western Australia (somehow there and then) as Redfern (right here and now), he surprisingly recalls images of the coming Kingdom of God, which according to Orthodox theology was then and is now equally and ‘triumphantly … verified’.23 However, this re-appreciation of Christian eschatology seems to be ambiguous, since the way in which it is ‘seen’ as being inscribed within the Dreaming remains open to evaluation. On the ‘living body’ of the Australian Dreaming ‘triumphantly are verified / all shapes and visions of the Aborigines’, but ‘above all sky-piercing lines of Europeans for trains and cars!’ Undoubtedly the latter are now part of the Dreaming, but were they always meant to be part of it? Furthermore, by being part of the Dreaming are they to be understood as an enhancement of its self-manifestation or as an irrevocable defect in its destiny? It seems that Archbishop Stylianos remains silent at this point but silent in amazement. Indigenous Australian Topos

22 For a comprehensive assessment of the most typical examples of this view, see Swain 1993: 13–22. 23 For Christian eschatology as an experience of transforming the properties of time and history, see for example the very insightful Moltmann 1995. At this point one should not fail to notice that Moltmann’s eschatological theology is in many regards cognate to Orthodox Christian eschatology, especially the latter’s understanding of eschatology as a ‘foretaste’ (prógevsis), ‘prefiguration’ (proeikónisis) and ‘engagement’ (arravón) of the coming Kingdom of God.

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has accommodated the Christian Utopia,24 but in doing so it has so profoundly transformed itself that one wonders whether Australian indigeneity has entered – for bad and for worse – a phase of meta-indigeneity. Archbishop Stylianos, to be sure, is fully cognizant of the implications involved therein (as ‘above all’ in the last line suggests): the incorporation of the European ways, that is, the everyday practical realizations of the Christian eschatological Utopia, into the Dreaming present the latter with the challenge and risk of radical self-transcendence. ‘Unheard Request’ (1986) I am afraid that I wouldn’t be a poet if I didn’t ask You for the most unheard of requests: I know that each one of us comes only once to this boundless world and probably this is why – by the way – we love it so frantically. But I would ask the grace to be granted and be incarnated again as many times as You allowed human languages to be created and taste thus the magic of each tongue the names bestowed on everything created everything that glorified You in the seventh day and only then I’ll believe that I was born only once a complete human! (Charkianakis 2002: 145)

Two years after ‘Western Australia’, Archbishop Stylianos made an ‘Unheard Request’: he asked God ‘the grace to be granted’ so that he may ‘be incarnated again as many times / as … [God] allowed human languages to be created’, and ‘taste thus the magic of each tongue’. This poem is not concerned with anything indigenous in particular – although the reference to reincarnation can be taken as an allusion to analogous beliefs held by indigenous Australians25 – but in its general tone it does create a sort of context that enables one to understand Archbishop Stylianos’ universal perspective, and by extension his attitude towards indigenous peoples. For Archbishop Stylianos no one can be ‘a complete human’ if s/he does not partake equally in all life-worlds signified by the multitude of

24

For a proposed phenomenological typology with regards to this accommodation, see Adrahtas 2006: 246–53. For a very useful historiographical guide on the idea of ‘Utopia’, see Manuel and Manuel 1979. 25 Regarding reincarnation, the Arrernte people of Central Australia are the most frequently cited example. For their beliefs on this matter, see Strehlow 1957; Strehlow 1970: 92–140.

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languages; no one can be truly human if s/he has not abandoned his/her own self in order to become time and again the other. But if this ‘most unheard of requests’ is also futile and unrealizable, since for a Christian the option of reincarnation is out of the question, what then is the purpose of making it in the first place? One could say that it may be futile and unrealizable physically, but not experientially.26 But again how can anyone partake equally in all languages or become the other indefinitely? Archbishop Stylianos is in a very unusual and personal manner alluding to the eschatological mystery of Christ: the coming Lord will be revealed in glory as Adam par excellence, as the true human who is one and all simultaneously. By partaking in this eschatological mystery hic et nunc, one is able to ‘taste’ this ‘most unheard of requests’ that Archbishop Stylianos is dealing with. But the whole issue can be put inversely as well: only when one is striving to be receptive of the other can one be on the right path regarding the eschatological mystery of Christ. In this perspective Archbishop Stylianos seems to be suggesting that the experiential openness of a Christian to the life-world of indigenous Australians – among others – is to be regarded as a true sign of his/her eschatological calling.

Inspired by a Dialectics of Life In this section only one poem is analysed – namely, ‘The Value of Shapes’ – not because the topic it refers to is exclusive to it, but because it is one of the few poems of Archbishop Stylianos in which he deals with a topic very dear to him through explicit indigenous signifiers/utterances. The dialectics of life, that is, the fact that human life presents itself in a highly paradoxical manner, is one of Archbishop Stylianos’ most cherished truths – one that enables him to empathize with the indigenous Australian understanding of the human predicament. ‘The Value of Shapes’ (1989) If straight line stands for sincerity, curved line is not hypocrisy. In most cases life passes by avoiding dead-ends; only that prudence of patience can draw angled lines and curved. The width of embrace is expressed likewise when arms are verdant and fluid extended unprejudiced and unshamefully move forwards 26 By ‘physically’ I mean to be born again as a different person, whereas by ‘experientially’ to empathize with different persons.

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or backwards like those rivers around Mildura which you saw flying over like colossal boas convoluted. (Charkianakis 2002: 117)

Likewise, these verses could be read as a poem with no indigenous Australian referent, if it were not for the last three lines: ‘like those rivers around Mildura / which you saw flying over / like colossal boas convoluted’. The middle line once again refers to the flight motif we have already discussed, while the first mentions only an indigenous name.27 Thus, the reader is left with the third and last line of the poem to understand what Archbishop Stylianos has in mind and develop a perspective through which the whole poem can be appreciated. What are the ‘colossal boas’ he is referring to? It could be just a figure of speech, but then he would not have to link it to ‘those rivers around Mildura’. The explicit indigeneity of this line is intrinsically related to the word choice in the last line of the poem. More specifically, it is hard not to relate these ‘colossal boas’ to the belief – widely spread among indigenous Australians – concerning the ‘Rainbow Serpent’.28 The rivers of the Australian landscape, and by extension all natural features consisting in the visibility of the indigenous Topos, are but the self-manifestations of the invisibility of this very Topos,29 of which the ‘Rainbow Serpent’ has become a most eloquent symbol. However, what we need to emphasize here is that Archbishop Stylianos – perhaps again unintentionally and unexpectedly – is drawing upon the symbol of the ‘Rainbow Serpent’ in order to present some of his cardinal views on the ethics of life. ‘The Value of Shapes’ is about geometry or, to be more precise, it is about life more geometrico – to recall Spinoza.30 Archbishop Stylianos is interested in a deeper meaning that can be ascribed to the ‘straight line’ and the ‘curved line’, as well as to ‘angled lines’, ‘width’, extension and movement ‘forwards / or backwards’. The realities and potentialities of spatial configuration give him the opportunity to address insightfully issues such as ‘sincerity’, ‘hypocrisy’, ‘prudence’, ‘patience’, prejudice and shame. On the other hand, anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of indigenous Australian ‘art’ can immediately associate this quasi-mystical attitude of Archbishop Stylianos with the symbolic subtleties

27

There are also whole poems by Archbishop Stylianos that relate to Australian indigeneity only by title. ‘Boomerang’ (1997) is one such example. See Charkianakis 2002: 41. 28 For an introduction to the mythic theme of the ‘Rainbow Serpent’, see Berndt 1987. 29 For the dialectics between the visibility and invisibility of the indigenous Australian Topos, see Adrahtas 2006: 13–14. 30 The geometrical manner of analysis employed by Baruch Spinoza is most evident in his Ethica, ordine geometrico demonstrata (1677).

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of the ‘artistic’ expression of indigenous Australians.31 Not that indigenous lines, circles and dots signify the same things Archbishop Stylianos has in mind, but in both cases it seems that we are dealing with commensurable attitudes towards life. Deliberately or not, in a poem with a conspicuously serpentine countenance Archbishop Stylianos is addressing the dialectical paradoxes of life in a manner very familiar to the sensitivities of indigenous Australians.

(Self-)Criticizing (through) the Other In 1990 Archbishop Stylianos turned his discourse on indigenous Australians from poetry to prose, and wrote an essay titled ‘Faith and the Promised Land: Theological Perspectives of the Land’ (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 128–36). This essay does not refer exclusively to Australian indigeneity, but it is rather a general theological consideration of God’s creation – in terms of ‘a sacramental understanding of the world’ (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 134) – offered as a guideline to the ongoing process of Australia’s construction as a new and promising multicultural society. Insofar as creation involves the earth and particular lands, indigenous Australian spirituality is also discussed. This is done in a little over a page at the end of the essay, which in total consists of approximately nine pages. At first Archbishop Stylianos acknowledges the feeling of sacredness thanks to which indigenous Australians identify themselves with their land;32 by extension he denounces the imposed alienation that the indigenous population has suffered due to their physical dislocation by white Australians.33 He then continues by listing data, which, according to him, have conditioned the current situation between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians: a. The life-world of indigenous Australians ‘had as much to do with the rest of the world as a dream with reality’ (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 134). b. Non-indigenous Australians have proved to be inconsistent with both their faith and ideals (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 135). 31 For an introduction to the symbolic ‘logic’ of indigenous Australian ‘art’, see Sutton 1988. Archbishop Stylianos’ interest in the ‘mystical’ meaning of shapes is evidenced in many of his poems. The following lines from ‘Sydney’ (2001) most probably betray an indigenous Australian influence: ‘So is the magic from the aeroplane / that I can’t distinguish any parts / of your erotic totality. / I only see streets stretched like snakes … / Squares like an open smile …’ (Charkianakis 2002: 25; my italics). 32 Archbishop Stylianos writes: ‘indigenous inhabitants … feel and respect the land as if it were their own body … Thus, sacred links with the natural environment and land are very powerful’ (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 134; my italics). 33 In Archbishop Stylianos’ own words: ‘the Aboriginal people of Australia have the right to believe that they have been done great injustice in losing their land’ (ibid.; my italics).

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c. Non-indigenous Australians are most responsible for ‘living conditions of the fifth continent’ (ibid.). At the end Archbishop Stylianos concludes by mentioning the pressing needs of Australia as a multicultural society in which indigenous inhabitants have no choice but to accept a whole new situation and stand up to its moral demands.34 The last page of Archbishop Stylianos’ essay does not seem to correspond with the previous eight pages because the theological consideration of creation presented therein is rendered in terms of faith; in fact it is a kind of commentary on the eleventh chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews – something that has no resemblance whatsoever to anything in the hierophanic experience of indigenous Australians. Therefore, when it comes to the latter, Archbishop Stylianos does not discuss the distinctiveness of the indigenous Australian experience of the land and its potential implications for theology, but rather limits himself to some general – although pertinent – remarks. Even in this way, however, he cannot forget his vocation as a theologian. More specifically, his essay focuses on the indigenous hierophanic ‘feeling’ of a ‘balance’ between people and nature (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 134), which in turn is related to the so-called ‘dreamtime’ as if the latter were something paradisiac.35 And if that should sound like hyperbole, Archbishop Stylianos is unequivocal when he states that ‘[t]he aboriginal sense of the sacredness of all natural elements is more reminiscent of the spirituality of the great Christian mystics, than are the doctrines and deeds of most white Australians’ (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 135). When one chooses to use words such as ‘balance’, ‘dream’ and ‘sacredness’ in order to capture the gist of a different Weltanschauung (worldview), the suspicion arises whether one is actually describing a different life-experience rather than reflecting one’s own. Most likely it is dialogue that takes place in such an endeavour, but that is what really counts in any inter-religious communication. Archbishop Stylianos might not be entirely correct if one were to say that he identifies nyampe

34 Archbishop Stylianos’ essay under discussion seems to have been conditioned by a specific socio-political agenda, namely that of multicultural Australia. Keeping up with political correctness, he undermines alternative or dissident views in order to promote the major objective of the nation. On the other hand, he cannot but bring forth the distinctiveness of indigenous Australians, inasmuch as this is required by multiculturalist discourse. Thus, he finds himself in a position of balance, reserve and cautiousness. His stance renders the section of his essay that deals with indigenous Australians rather superficial and trivial; most certainly it lacks the suggestiveness of his poetry and the potentiality that the latter presents for a bold and elaborate dialogic between indigenous Australian religiosity and Orthodox theology. 35 Most probably this is how one should read his rather vague reference to ‘dreamtime’ as having ‘as much to do with the rest of the world as a dream with reality’.

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with balance, and tjukurrpa with dream and sacredness,36 but for that matter his purpose is spiritual rather than academic. In other words he does not want to – or even cannot – describe the other, but instead aims at showing that the other stands in all its elusiveness as a critical reminder of beliefs cherished, and most of all taken for granted. It is in this sense that he can boldly write that ‘Aboriginal Australians are justified in believing that with their “dreamtime” culture, they are closer to the spirit of the Christian gospel than Christians themselves’ (Ferguson and Chryssavgis 1990: 135).

From Indigeneity to Ecumenical Vision From nature and history through the human condition and the presence of otherness, Archbishop Stylianos comes to the quite (post)modern issue of globality. In a way, his considerations bring him back to the great macroscopic perspective, but this time the latter is not so much abstract as it is pragmatic and experientially identifiable. The poems ‘Reading’ and ‘Zeitgeist’ allow Archbishop Stylianos to express himself as a poet who lives in a real world and can identify with all sorts of fellow human beings, including indigenous people. ‘Reading’ (1991) … Thus in any verse let us see a reserved insinuation which extends the given phonemes to the ulterior vibrations of the collective psyche. (Charkianakis 2002: 85)

These lines come to corroborate what we have already discussed: the truth of the other beyond our inevitably incorrect perceptions. Archbishop Stylianos is fully aware of the limitations of his poetic ‘phonemes’, but at the same time he urges the reader to ‘extend’ them ‘to the ulterior vibrations / of the collective psyche’. Despite the fact that these lines do not refer explicitly to indigenous Australians, they are inherently related to them: the ‘collective psyche’ in order to be truly ‘collective’ must include Australian indigeneity. However, at this point Archbishop Stylianos is saying something more profound. In the context of the 36 I have chosen the indigenous Australian notions of nyampe (used by the Ngarrindjeri people) and tjukurrpa (used by the Warlpiri people) only as examples that might be regarded as approximating the meaning of ‘balance’ and ‘dream’/‘sacredness’, respectively. For nyampe, which denotes any kind of physical bond and by extension any kind of intrinsic relationship, see the tale by the same title in Unaipon 2001. For a good introduction to tjukurrpa, see for example Glowczewski 1987.

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whole poem, it is clear that ‘reserved insinuation’ stands for what the poets have ‘felt’ but have not put into words. It is this ‘unspoken’ ‘feeling’ that constitutes the ‘collective psyche’ (Charkianakis 2002: 85).37 Thus, for Archbishop Stylianos the indigenous Australian ‘feeling’ and ‘the spirit of the Christian gospel’ – as we have already seen them being correlated in his essay – are equally located within the ‘collective psyche’. But what exactly is this ‘psyche’? The Greek text reads syneídīsis, which literally means ‘consciousness’, and it is this detail that allows the reader to suggest that Archbishop Stylianos does not have in mind some kind of ontological depth where all human particularities are fused into a homogenous unity. Rather he is signifying something utterly ‘unspoken’, which is revealed when all human particularities have collectively crumbled down, as the Greek kradasmós (quake, shock, tremor, ‘vibration’) implies.38 In this respect, one could say that the indigenous Australian and the Christian hierophanic experiences meet each other when they both disintegrate before and due to ‘the wholly Other’ (das ganz Andere),39 which thus allures everything into a true collectivity. ‘Zeitgeist’ (1991) If we are children of one era it means that we are not born yet. Whoever had the fate to be born once was born human for all ages. Like the eye adjusts to light or to undulating darkness thus soul and word move onwards the endless ladder of human destiny irrespective of any other designations. (Charkianakis 2002: 81)

‘Reading’ and ‘Unheard Request’ express Archbishop Stylianos’ ecumenical and integral vision of humanity in apophatic and eschatological terms, respectively. His vision is further elaborated in the poem cited above, and in a way that seems to be contradictory to that espoused in ‘Unheard Request’: he emphasizes the fact 37 At this point I am referring to the second line of the poem under discussion, where Archbishop Stylianos uses ‘emotion’ instead of ‘feeling’. For a critique of ‘feeling’ (and other related terms) as a category that is not pertinent to the understanding of the Dreaming, see Swain 1989. 38 Thus, a slight but decisive difference is perceived when the English translation of the poem is compared to the Greek text: while the former acquires a more or less cataphatic tone, the latter retains its apophatic connotations. 39 For details on the experience of the Sacred as ‘the wholly Other’, see Otto 2004: 28–37.

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that being necessarily ‘born once’ means that one partakes in the totality of human experience. What is seen in ‘Unheard Request’ as a frustrating limit is envisaged in ‘Zeitgeist’ as a liberating potentiality. Moreover, eschatological implications are reflected in ‘Zeitgeist’ as well, since the humanity Archbishop Stylianos has in mind stands ‘for all ages’. Thus, in his version of history40 indigenous Australians seem to have their rightful place; or, to phrase it more aptly, the indigenous Australian hierophanic experience is in a sense part and parcel of ‘the endless ladder / of human destiny’. But in what sense should one understand this? Archbishop Stylianos is rephrasing the patristic notion of recapitulation:41 ‘irrespective of any other designations’ – for example, race, culture or religion – humanity is always realizable in any given person thanks to the faculties of ‘soul and word’. Can the ‘soul and word’ of indigenous Australians be an exception?

The ‘Rainbow Spirit’ Lives On In this last section the poems ‘Within Dreamtime’ and ‘Individuality’ illustrate the resilience that indigenous Australians have shown time and again with regard to their identity. Archbishop Stylianos acknowledges this resilience and ascribes it to a spirit that is located within and at the same time beyond the particulars of indigeneity. This enables him as an Orthodox theologian to see indigenous Australian culture as a living proof of Divine Providence. ‘Within Dreamtime’ (1994) He carved his name on the trunk of a tree; then he started playing his ancestral Didgeridoo taking out of his chest the bitterness of a race which didn’t condescend to abandon dreaming simply to defend birds in the hands which always thought as wasted milk. (Charkianakis 2002: 57)

40

This is indirectly but clearly meant by the employment of the German term Zeitgeist. 41 The notion of recapitulation, namely, the completion of the entire creation in Jesus Christ, is one of the cardinal theological perspectives of St Irenaeus of Lyon. For details, see Fantino 1994.

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This poem brings the reader to the core of indigenous Australian religiosity. The poem is seemingly melancholic, but in effect it has a triumphant tone. On the one hand, the indigenous person is portrayed as defeated, crushed and pitiable, while on the other it gives the impression of being resourceful, unbroken and admirable. As a consequence the reader is faced with a dialectic that can only be suggestive. But what exactly is Archbishop Stylianos suggesting? Although the overall attitude of the indigenous person is rather passive – carving names pointlessly and playing music to get rid of ‘bitterness’ – there is something very active. The act of carving itself, the fact that the music comes from an ‘ancestral’ Didgeridoo and the acknowledgement that indigenous people ‘didn’t condescend’ but chose ‘to defend’ collectively allude to a certain spirit of resistance.42 More to the point, Archbishop Stylianos has touched the issue of endurance or abidingness that so aptly has been ascribed to the character of indigenous Australian life-worlds.43 In other words, despite the fact that the Dreaming as a hierophanic experience has suffered an unprecedented rupture due to its encounter with Christian European culture, the agents of this experience are seen by Archbishop Stylianos as remaining within the ‘Dreamtime’, thus, refuelling it with new life. This, according to Archbishop Stylianos, is a development against all odds, a feat of heroic proportions which unreservedly deserves admiration. ‘Individuality’ (1995) The breath in each one of us an irregular rhythm a wind cut off from the common hearth of the ever-living fire; it begins and ends without factors of dependence irregular to anarchic like the snake which the Aborigines see moving in horizontal undulations but always like tongues of fire. (Charkianakis 2002: 53)

The poem concluding this study is rich in intertextual allusions: from Old Testament narratives on the creation of humans (‘The breath in each one of us’) 42

For a thorough introduction to the issue of indigenous Australian resistance, see Reynolds 2006. 43 For an elaboration on this aspect of the Dreaming, see Swain 1993: 13–68. Note also the following lines from ‘Epic Resistance’ (2000): ‘One way or another, space has the stability / of an arrested dream …’ (Charkianakis 2002: 29; my italics).

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through ancient Greek philosophical views on the cosmic fire (‘hearth of the ever-living fire’) to the story of Pentecost in the New Testament (‘like tongues of fire’). However, for the purposes of this study I will concentrate on the Pentecost story. Archbishop Stylianos returns to the image of the ‘Rainbow Serpent’ in order to advocate unity in diversity. His poem is about individuality, emphasized as something ‘irregular’, ‘cut off’ and ‘anarchic’, but at the same time all these characteristics allow for unity rather than reject it. The indigenous ‘snake’ itself is visualized as a symbol of the individuality condition, which at the end of the poem is unexpectedly reversed in order to bring forward the common factor in all individuals: a tongue of fire is allocated to everyone. Archbishop Stylianos’ poetic pneumatology44 co-opts the ‘Rainbow Serpent’ in a manner that allows the reader to appreciate the surprisingly subversive activity of the Holy Spirit: it comes and goes ‘without factors of dependence’, and thus – as I think Archbishop Stylianos would say – if it is present within the Church, it certainly is present everywhere.

Conclusion This brief study has attempted to trace and elaborate on Archbishop Stylianos’ dialogic with indigenous Australian spirituality. In order to do so, it has offered a content analysis of some of his poems, along with one of his essays. At the same time it has drawn comparisons between a number of Archbishop Stylianos’ recurring signifiers/utterances and some of the most distinctive indigenous Australian beliefs and practices. Finally, the whole approach has substantially utilized modern theological insights. What has come forth is a truly innovative and highly creative reworking of traditional theological issues in response to indigenous Australian religious concerns. More specifically, Australian indigeneity has given Archbishop Stylianos the opportunity to articulate new and challenging views on some of the most cardinal themes of twentieth-century Christian theology. Eschatological awareness, Creation theology, postmodern criticism, ecumenical concerns, as well as the empowerment of Third World peoples, have been collectively enriched thanks to Archbishop Stylianos’ Greek Australian Orthodox perspective. Although Archbishop Stylianos’ prose stops short of the bold and intriguing considerations found in his poems, his basic outlook remains the same: indigenous Australians should be regarded as a peculiar symbol of God’s ongoing revelation through creation; their hierophanic experience of space and time is in line with Christian eschatology; they perceive life in a more complicated, paradoxical and tragic way than most non-indigenous peoples, constituting, thus, a constant critical reminder for the latter; and finally, as Archbishop Stylianos suggests, the spirituality of indigenous Australians enables one to appreciate the ecumenical character inherent in any given human particularity. Nevertheless, one could say 44 For an elaborated cognate pneumatology on the part of indigenous theology, see The Rainbow Spirit Elders 1997.

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that Archbishop Stylianos’ contribution remains mostly allusive and fragmented, and to a certain extent unnoticed – even more so outside the Australian continent.45 The allusive and fragmented nature of his contribution can most likely be ascribed to the poetic medium through which he has chosen to articulate his outlook regarding Australian indigeneity, while the relative neglect of his response to Australian indigeneity is due partly to the fact that indigenous Australian themes do not constitute a conspicuous aspect of his oeuvre and partly to the fact that he writes basically for a Greek audience, which by being over-attached to its own ethno-parochialism has not always been appreciative of Archbishop Stylianos’ dialogic with Australian indigeneity. That notwithstanding, Archbishop Stylianos has offered Orthodox theology a unique guideline, a guideline full of potentialities and prospects to be further explored in response to indigenous peoples all over the world. Furthermore, it is perhaps worth noting that Archbishop Stylianos’ innovation of Greek Orthodox theology thanks to his dialogic with indigenous Australian spirituality has been effected basically through an unintentional and unexpected process. Although this rendering may seem as a rather negative way of presenting Archbishop Stylianos’ dialogic with Australian indigeneity, my intention is the exact opposite: we often perceive and conceptualize innovation as some kind of great moment that constitutes a cultural rupture within a given historical situation, and, thus, overlook the field of everyday life experiences which equally if not more so partake in the process of innovation through small, imperceptible and continuous rearrangements. The notion of ‘dialogic’, which I have utilized throughout the present study, should be understood as encompassing both intentional dialogue and unintentional dialectics: intentional dialogue at a more or less macroscopic socio-historical level; and unintentional dialectics at a more or less microscopic socio-experiential level. Archbishop Stylianos is a thinker who inhabits the hic et nunc of everyday encounters and circumstances and, thus, his quite personal and distinctive way of bringing about innovative changes stems from his direct, empathetic and unmediated aptitude in syncretizing his mood and perspective with those of others. Through this study I have attempted to show how his work reflects an unintentional and compelling sýnkrasis (merging) that has opened up an unexpected prospect for Greek Orthodox theology.46

45

When Archbishop Stylianos’ Australian Passport was published in 2002, it had a highly positive reception on the part of Australia’s mainstream literary critics and has been read widely ever since by second- and third-generation English-speaking Greek Australians. However, although the Australian character of the poems in this collection has been duly acknowledged, to my knowledge there has been no mention whatsoever of the possibilities of reading them as a peculiar form of dialogue – that is, as a subtle and implicit dialogic between Greek Orthodox theology and indigenous Australian religiosity. 46 For ‘syncretism’, employed here as an analytical religious-studies category, see Adrahtas 2003: 33–44.

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References Adrahtas, Vassilios. 2002. ‘The Notion of Symbol as a Logical/Aesthetic Category According to the Theology of St John of Damascus.’ Phronema, 17: 15–34. ———. 2003. ‘Towards a Re-Conceptualization of Syncretism: A Hermeneutic Approach to Inter-Religious Contact (Part I).’ Thriskeiología – Ierá/Vévīla, 4: 33–44. ———. 2006. Prophecy Dreamings: Hermeneutic Approaches to Some Instances of Indigenous Syncretism in Post/Colonial Australia. PhD thesis. Sydney: The University of Sydney. Bakhtin, M. Mikhail. 1981. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays by M.M. Bakhtin (1965–1975), trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. Austin: University of Texas Press. Berndt, C.H. 1987. ‘Rainbow Snake.’ In The Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade, vol. 12: 205–208. New York: Macmillan. Charkianakis, S.S. 2002. Australian Passport, English–Greek edition, trans. Resides Karalis. Blackheath, NSW: Brandl & Schlesinger. Dinsen, Frauke. 1976. Homoousios: Die Geschichte des Begriffs bis zum Konzil von Konstantinopel (381). Diss. Kiel. Durand, Emmanuel. 2005. La périchorèse des personnes divines: Immanence mutuelle – réciprocité et communion. Paris: Cerf. Eliade, Mircea. 1958. Patterns in Comparative Religion. London: Sheed and Ward. ———. 1973. Australian Religions: An Introduction. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Elkin, P.A. 1977. Aboriginal Men of High Degree. St Lucia, Queensland: University of Queensland Press. Fantino, Jacques. 1994. La théologie d’Irénée: Lecture des écritures en réponse à l’exégèse gnostique. Une approche trinitaire. Paris: Cerf. Ferguson, Graeme and John Chryssavgis (eds). 1990. The Desert is Alive: Dimensions of Australian Spirituality. Melbourne: Joint Board of Christian Education. Gira, Denis, Diego Irrarazaval and Elaine Wainwright (eds). 2010. Oceania and Indigenous Theologies. London: SCM Press. Glock, Y. Charles and Robert N. Bellah (eds). 1976. The New Religious Consciousness. Berkeley: University of California Press. Glowczewski, Barbara. 1987. ‘Totem, rêve et langage: Les Warlpiri du désert central australien.’ Annales de la Fondation Fyssen, 3: 59–67. Hiatt, L.R. 1996. Arguments about Aborigines: Australia and the Evolution of Social Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Langton, Marcia. 2000. ‘Religion and Art from Colonial Conquest to PostColonial Resistance.’ In The Oxford Companion to Aboriginal Art and Culture, ed. Sylvia Kleinert and Margo Neale. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Lattas, Andrew. 1993. ‘Essentialism, Memory and Resistance: Aboriginality and the Politics of Authenticity.’ Oceania, 63/3: 240–67. Louth, Andrew. 1996. Maximus the Confessor. London and New York: Routledge. Makrides, Vasilios. 1998. ‘The Neo-Orthodox Trend: Figures, Ideas, and Evaluations of Byzantium.’ Cassandra, 15: 83–100. Manuel, F.E. and F.P. Manuel. 1979. Utopian Thought in the Western World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Markus, Andrew. 1994. Australian Race Relations, 1788–1993. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Migne, J.P. (ed.). 1857–66. Patrologia Graeca. Paris: Imprimerie Catholique. Moltmann, Jürgen. 1995. Das Kommen Gottes: Christliche Eschatologie. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Morton, John. 2000. ‘Aboriginal Religion Today.’ In The Oxford Companion to Aboriginal Art and Culture, ed. Sylvia Kleinert and Margo Neale. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Otto, Rudolf. 2004. Das Heilige: Über das Irrationale in der Idee des Göttlichen und sein Verhältnis zum Rationalen. Munich: Beck. The Rainbow Spirit Elders. 1997. Rainbow Spirit Theology: Towards an Australian Aboriginal Theology. Blackburn, Victoria: HarperCollins Religious. Reynolds, Henry. 2006. The Other Side of the Frontier: Aboriginal Resistance to the European Invasion of Australia. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press. Stanner, W.E.H. 1979. White Man Got No Dreaming. Canberra: Australian National University Press. Strehlow, T.G.H. 1957. ‘La gémellité de l’âme humaine dans les croyances en Australie Centrale.’ La Tour Saint-Jacques, 11–12: 14–23. ———. 1970. ‘Geography and the Totemic Landscape in Central Australia: A Functional Study.’ In Australian Aboriginal Anthropology: Modern Studies in the Social Anthropology of the Australian Aborigines, ed. R.M. Berndt. Nedlands, WA: University of Western Australia Press. Sutton, Peter (ed.). 1988. Dreamings: The Art of Aboriginal Australia. New York: George Braziller. Swain, Tony. 1985. Interpreting Aboriginal Religion: An Historical Account. Adelaide: Australian Association for the Study of Religions. ———. 1989. ‘Dreaming, Whites and the Australian Landscape: Some Popular Misconceptions.’ The Journal of Religious History, 15/3: 345–50. ———. 1991. Aboriginal Religions in Australia: A Bibliographical Survey. New York: Greenwood Press, 1991. ———. 1993. A Place for Strangers: Towards a History of Australian Aboriginal Being. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Swain, Tony and Garry Trompf. 1995. The Religions of Oceania. London and New York: Routledge.

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Tuhiwai Smith, Linda. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London, New York and Dunedin, NZ: Zed Books and University of Otago Press. Unaipon, David. 2001. Legendary Tales of the Australian Aborigines, ed. Stephen Muecke and Adam Shoemaker. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Zizioulas, John. 2006. Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church. London and New York: T&T Clark.

Chapter 12

Continuities and Change in Greek American Orthodoxy Effie Fokas and Dena Fokas Moses The problem with “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” is that it makes Orthodoxy look like a Greek thing … If non-Orthodox see the movie and a man is referring to his baptism as his becoming Greek rather than his becoming an Orthodox Christian it’s confusing. (Sabbas 2004)

The above excerpt from a discussion on an Orthodox Christian website points to a tension between the social (specifically, ethno-national) and the theological in diasporic Greek America. The reference is to the popular American film that features certain stereotypes about the social and cultural life of Greek Americans, including their somewhat dependent relationship to the Greek Orthodox Church. The film resonated with many (Orthodox Christian) Greeks in the United States, but, as the above quotation indicates, it also problematizes an Orthodox Christian for whom Orthodoxy is not an ethno-national notion. This chapter explores the tension between these two broad conceptions of Orthodoxy – the ethno-national and the theological – seeking to identify elements of continuity and of change over time in how Orthodox Christian Greeks in America experience their faith and their churches in relation to their ethnic identity. The chapter also examines continuity and innovation (in its broadest sense, thus meaning change) in terms of the link between ethnicity and faith, Greekness and Orthodoxy, and how interlinked religion and ethnicity are for Greek Americans. This exploration is carried out through empirical research conducted in a Greek Orthodox parish in the United States. The inquiry engages with the notion, advanced by the sociologist José Casanova amongst others, that immigrant groups in the United States flock to their churches in large part in order to better assimilate into American society by imitating Americans in their church socializations. By such reasoning, Greek immigrants to the United States have congregated around their churches largely due to their will to better fit into their American surroundings. On the other hand, historical study and observation of Greek Orthodox parishes in the United States also bear evidence of generations of Greek immigrants using church life as a means to isolate themselves from, rather than to integrate into, American society and to preserve their ethnic Greek identity. In this version of the story, church attendance is a social tool more than a theological expression, whereby Greek

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Americans root their social lives – and significantly, that of their children – in Greek America. And, in so doing, they ‘protect’ themselves from the ‘foreign’ (kseno) and relatively fast-paced American society. Insight into which of these images is accurate, if either, and into whether we can trace changes over time from one to the other requires some grounding in theoretical discussions on religion, immigration and ethnicity, and a historical understanding of the place of ethnicity in the Orthodox Church, both globally and in the ‘new world’ setting. Such theoretical and historical considerations comprise the following three sections of this chapter and serve as the backdrop against which we examine, in a fourth section, empirical research conducted with members of a Greek Orthodox Church parish in Memphis, Tennessee. A series of interviews with parish members is employed to glean insight into the following questions: Do people participate in church life in order to assimilate into or to isolate themselves from the broader American society? And as subsequent generations of Greek Americans have inevitably integrated into American society, has a religion–ethnicity link been replaced as a focal point of church life by a theologically meaningful participation? In other words, to what extent can we speak in terms of innovation in the relationship between ‘Greek’ and ‘Orthodoxy’ in America? The responses to these questions of Greek Orthodox Memphians paint a rather more complicated picture than the questions suggest.

Theoretical Underpinnings The idea that immigrants become more religious as they become more American is a guiding thread in several sociologists’ work, from Will Herberg’s classic 1960 study, Protestant-Catholic-Jew, to more recent work by Stephen Warner and Judith Wittner (1998), Helen Rose Ebaugh and Janet Saltzman Chafetz (2000), and José Casanova (2007). That ethnicity (i.e., immigrants’ national origin) is closely intertwined with religion is a point on which most scholars agree; but the nature of this relationship and how it developed is in fact a point of scholarly debate (Smith 1978).1 For José Casanova, immigrant religiosity is an ‘adaptive response to the new world’ of the United States. It is not the general context of immigration, he argues, ‘but the particular context of immigration to America and the structural and institutional context of American society that provokes this particular religious response’ (Casanova 2007: 67). In this perspective Casanova follows Will Herberg’s thesis that immigrants in America tend to be religious because of social pressure to conform to American religious norms. With a ‘when in Rome’ reasoning, Casanova argues that since Americans in general tend to be ‘more religious’ (more than most in other modern societies), immigrants too will tend to 1 Here our focus is limited to first-generation immigrant trends and practices, but it broadens in the empirical research to include further generations and converts to Orthodoxy.

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be more religious in order to adapt to the prevalent trends in America. As a further extension of the same line of thinking, Casanova concurs with Stephen Warner that so strong is the pressure to conform that ‘all immigrant religions in America, irrespective of their institutional form in their traditional civilizational settings, tend to adopt a typically Protestant congregational form’ (Casanova 2007: 73), a central characteristic of the latter being the ‘growth’ of houses of worship to include community centres with a broad range of social and welfare activities. Though many sociologists, following Emile Durkheim and Max Weber, have emphasized links between religion, immigration and ethnicity, perspectives diverge on the reason behind those links. While Casanova et al. stress an explicit aim to assimilate into American society, Timothy Smith suggests that the relationship between religion and ethnicity comes from the fact that immigration itself is a ‘theologizing’ experience, quite independently of the end destination of immigration (in this case, the United States). He argues that the use of churches for social purposes, including to ‘define, rationalize and revitalize ethnoreligious identity’, was characteristic of the urbanization of migrating Europeans, whether they were migrating to cities near their birthplaces or to cities in the United States (Smith 1978: 1175, 1158). In other words, there is nothing specific about the United States that causes relatively high levels of religiosity amongst its immigrants; immigration itself – to whatever destination – makes immigrants congregate around their churches. Historical study and observation of Greek Orthodoxy in America give rise to a third possibility (beyond, that is, religiosity for assimilation purposes and/ or as a result of immigration as theologizing experience): namely, an increased religiosity – as expressed by participation in church life – for reasons of ethnic identity preservation.2 In other words, religion – and specifically, involvement in church life – serves as a means to preserve ethnic identification (the flip side, in a sense, of Timothy Smith’s argument). The latter trend could take place for at least two different though related reasons besides simple cultural preservation: either as a mirror of the strong relationship between religion and national identity characterizing Christian Orthodoxy in Greece (as in other countries of the ‘Orthodox heartlands’ – Russia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Romania etc.); or as a negative reaction to the American ‘melting pot’ and the sense of anomie it entails. In the latter case, ethnic identity serves as a unifying force providing a set of social norms and values common to the immigrant group, and the church serves mainly as a useful venue where that unification – and simultaneous isolation from the wider American society – takes place. 2 It is important to note that the scope of ‘religiosity’ of the Greeks in the United States examined in this text is by and large limited to expressions of the latter through church attendance and general involvement in church life. The study does not systematically examine other indicators of religiosity. Further, the phenomenon of church participation for purposes of ethnic preservation is certainly not limited to the Greek-American context but can be found amongst other immigrant communities of other faiths as well.

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A great deal of theoretical literature on Orthodoxy reinforces the point regarding the mirroring of trends in Orthodox heartlands, offering different variations of the two reasons above. Certain authors emphasize ‘organic’ links between religion and national identity in Orthodox contexts (e.g., Timothy Byrnes 2006; for critique of the latter perspective see Fokas 2009); and others emphasize the strong relationship between culture and religion which in majority contexts and beyond translates into churches acting as reservoirs of cultural and national identity (e.g., David Martin 2008). Related to the latter, a fourth possibility is the notion that in ‘collectivistic Christianities’, as are Orthodox contexts, religion is a constitutive element in people’s collective memory, so that the belonging of these individuals is ‘shaped by religious identification that is ascribed to individuals rather than chosen by them, and experienced as fixed rather than as changeable’ (Jakelić 2006: 136, emphasis ours). In other words, Orthodoxy is a key to a sense of belonging, and is an involuntary force, in stark contrast with the vibrant religious market of the United States. If we accept the latter, the question remains whether this involuntary nature of Orthodoxy also influences Orthodoxy in minority contexts, such as the United States. As noted by Peter Berger, Orthodox Christianity has existed in four social forms: as a state church (first in Byzantium, then in the independent states emerging from the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire); as a minority faith under Muslim rule in the Ottoman millet system; as a persecuted community under Communist rule; and as a diaspora community, principally in ethnic enclaves in Western Europe and America. Critically, though these forms of social existence are very different in character, they have one important thing in common: that noted above, ascribed versus chosen religious identification. ‘Nothing in this history’, Berger observes, ‘has prepared Orthodoxy for the possibility of functioning as a voluntary association’ (Berger 2005: 441). Berger indicates that in the ‘Orthodox heartlands’ there prevails a taken-forgranted unity between religion and community. In diaspora communities such as the United States, though, whether religion is experienced as voluntary or not depends on the strength of ethnic identification: Where ethnic ties are strong, the unity between religion and community can indeed be taken for granted. Thus, for example, for many Greek-Americans, being Orthodox is still a matter of course. But as ethnic ties weaken with assimilation, this taken-for-grantedness comes under increasing pressure. America is at the forefront of this development. The Orthodox churches, although still overwhelmingly organized in ethnically defined jurisdictions, are increasingly functioning as de facto voluntary organizations … Orthodoxy in the United States is still unprepared for this change, both institutionally and theologically. (Berger 2005: 442)

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The above theoretical approaches to religion, ethnicity and immigration raise a number of questions critical to our understanding of Greek Orthodoxy in America. What motivates participation in church life? Do Greek Americans congregate around their churches either in efforts to better assimilate into American society or to isolate themselves from the latter? Is church participation a factor of the involuntary nature of Orthodoxy (ascribed rather than chosen) and of the sense of belonging the latter generates? What role does ethnic preservation play in church life, and what role theological considerations? And to what extent is there an element of innovation in all of the above from one generation to the next? In order to address these issues properly in the case of Greek Orthodoxy in America, we require some insight into the history of the Orthodox Church in the United States.

Christian Orthodoxy in Historical Context Even a cursory glance at the Orthodox Church in the European ‘heartlands’ yields an image of ethno-national centredness, with a number of patriarchates and various national, autocephalous (self-headed) Orthodox churches, formally in communion with the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Istanbul (once Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire, and hence historically central to Orthodoxy), yet several of which are or have been in conflict with the Ecumenical Patriarchate, as with one another. The historical ethno-national divisions within the Christian Orthodox Church began especially with the national revolutions against the Ottoman Empire in the early nineteenth century, in conjunction with the French Revolution and the particular nationalism it spawned. These divisions became entrenched in the concept of cuius regio, eius religio (whose region, his religion; i.e., one nation, one Church). The historical trajectory of Orthodoxy in America replicates this intense picture of division, though with different parameters, and to a large extent offering a much more complicated mosaic in the end. The first Orthodox presence in North America consisted of a church mission from Russia in 1794 to the Alaskan territory, which was then governed by the Russo-American Trade Co. (Grigorieff 1972: 141). The first three Orthodox parishes in the United States proper were established almost simultaneously and independently of one another in the late 1860s: a Greek Orthodox parish in New Orleans, and Russian Orthodox parishes in San Francisco and New York, all of which though were international in their composition. According to Dmitry Grigorieff, Orthodox churches at that time tended to the spiritual needs of various Orthodox nationals who happened to have come to the United States. Further, though, for these individuals ‘the church was not just a house of prayer but also a place where they could meet their own people, have a chat about the old country, or inquire about a job’ (Grigorieff 1972: 142). Subsequently various other national churches established their own jurisdictions in North America in complete independence of each other. Orthodoxy became

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one of the fastest growing religions in North America (Stokoe and Kishkovsky 1995: 19). Greek, Syrian, Serbian, Bulgarian, Ukrainian, Romanian, Albanian and other national churches sent bishops to the United States with the express purpose of establishing their own ethno-national jurisdictions. A wave of ‘new immigrants’ arrived from southern, central and eastern Europe between 1870 and 1920 (especially in the later part of this period). These immigrants differed significantly from earlier immigrant groups in their relative lack of professional training, large percentages of illiteracy and, significantly, in their intent to stay only long enough to be able to secure a better lifestyle in their home countries. Accordingly, this particular wave of immigrants was relatively uninterested in assimilation and did not invest in learning well either the language or the customs of the host country. They did, however, invest in establishing social clubs and patriotic organizations in order to maintain a sense of cultural identity; mutual aid societies and brotherhoods for support in times of need; and parish churches. According to Erickson, these immigrants were not necessarily deeply religious people, ‘but in their home countries religion had been a part of life’. Hence, as one immigrant put it, for example, ‘there couldn’t be any Greek life without the church’ (Erickson 2008: 41–2). Establishment of these parishes generally proceeded based on the will and fund-raising efforts of community members – without, that is, formal approval or material support from church authorities. Only after the building of a church would the communities ask a bishop, usually one from their home countries, to send them a priest. But almost inevitably, according to John Erickson, these parishes tended to become closed ethnic enclaves: ‘Massive immigration was transforming what had begun as a small mission to America into a large but fragmented collection of ethnic parishes intent on giving newcomers a shelter from America’ (Erickson 2008: 41). There are several ways Orthodox communities utilized churches for preservation of ethnic culture and identity among their members. These include insistence on retaining the language of the mother country in the churches; organizing a system of one-day schools, separate from the religious Sunday schools, for tuition in the language, history, literature and geography of the mother country; establishing and maintaining nationwide Orthodox women’s and youth organizations; and employing restrictive policies with regard to mixed inter-Christian marriages (though recognizing ‘de jure’ rights to marry with non-Orthodox Christians, some Orthodox jurisdictions required the future spouses to sign an agreement to baptize the future children in the Orthodox faith) (Krindatch 2002: 556–7). Political events in Europe – namely, the First World War and the Russian Revolution – brought about drastic change to Christian Orthodox life in America. The Russian Church in America insisted on its own administrative self-government and independence due to the political situation in Russia. Each parish became independent of one another, ‘each caring about itself, and its “interests”’ (Stokoe and Kishkovsky 1995: 60–61). This trend of division was exacerbated both through the Second World War and the spread of communism

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in Eastern Europe. Similarly to the Russians in the 1920s, the Serbian (1963), Bulgarian (1963) and Romanian (1951) dioceses also divided into hostile factions due to political events in their home countries. During that time, many parishes denounced their resident bishops and the patriarchates they represented as ‘tools of communism’. The dissident parishes then formed new, independent jurisdictions of their own, whilst other parishes remained faithful to the mother church overseas (Krindatch 2002: 550, 543–5). In the Russian Orthodox case it should be noted that in an effort to unite the early Orthodox Christian churches in America, Archbishop Tikhon of Moscow had tried to create an American Orthodox Church, with a synod of Bishops from various ethnic traditions, as early as 1905. After administrative ties with the Church of Russia were cut until 1960, this effort resulted in the granting of autocephaly in 1970 to the ‘Orthodox Church in America’ (OCA).3 This brief historical overview suggests that the early Orthodox churches in the United States tended to be multiethnic and reflected the wish of various Orthodox peoples to worship in the Orthodox faith. According to these historical accounts, early Orthodox churches in America served as more than places of worship, tending also to immigrant needs such as networking for job search, socializing etc. Increasingly these churches were established in an ad hoc manner by immigrant groupings, resulting in a somewhat chaotic jurisdictional state of affairs whereby churches existed outside of any particular church jurisdiction. The latter helped exacerbate a situation in which churches were increasingly becoming ethnic enclaves for immigrant groupings from particular majority Orthodox countries – a fact which, in turn, tended to isolate the groups from American society at large. The ethnicization of churches was further entrenched by political developments in Orthodox ‘homelands’, so that political divisions in Europe were mirrored in Orthodox churches in the United States. In summary, ethno-national and political divisions tended to undermine Orthodox theological unity.

Greek Orthodoxy in the American Context As noted above, the first nominally Greek Orthodox parish in the continental United States was established in New Orleans in 1864 and, like other parishes before the period of mass immigration, this church was multiethnic, with Russian, Serbian and Arab members as well as Greeks. Services were conducted in English, Church Slavonic and Greek. In certain respects, this parish was an early example of what would become common in the following decades, particularly in Greek communities, in that there was no supervision by a bishop (which is contrary to Orthodox canon law). Future founders of Greek Orthodox churches would 3 The OCA represents a distinctive aim to be an Orthodox Church devoid of any particular national identity (though the particular relationship with Russian Orthodoxy remains evident in many contexts), and is especially attractive to converts to Orthodoxy.

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alternatively approach either the Orthodox Church of Greece or the Ecumenical Patriarchate to request that a priest be sent to their parish (Erickson 2008: 37–8, 53; Moskos 1990: 34; Saloutos 1973: 397). The speed with which churches were established – a reflection of rapidly increasing immigration rates – likely contributed to this jurisdictional chaos. By 1910 most immigrants arriving in America were from Greece. An estimated 300,000 Greeks arrived from 1890 to 1910, and an additional 300,000 between 1910 and 1920 (Stokoe and Kishkovsky 1995: 30). In 1900 there were only five Greek Orthodox parishes in the United States; by 1916 there were 60 and by 1923 there were 140. And much like other early Orthodox churches in America, most of these churches were established independently of diocesan supervision (Erickson 2008: 65; Moskos 1990: 34). A certain instability marked all levels of church administration. The Greek Orthodox Churches in the United States were formally placed under Church of Greece jurisdiction by a 1908 decree of the Patriarchate of Constantinople, but in 1922 a newly elected Ecumenical Patriarch (and former Archbishop of the Church of Greece) introduced a new decree placing the Church in America under the jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarchate (Erickson 2008: 67–8; see also Moskos 1990: 35–6). (And thus the jurisdictional situation remains, though there have been more recent efforts to negotiate a higher level of administrational independence from the Ecumenical Patriarchate.)4 Changes in immigration legislation entailed a significant development for the Greek Orthodox Church in America. The US Immigration Acts of 1921 and of 1924 were both designed to severely limit immigration into the United States, and particularly immigration from southern and eastern Europe, using a quota system. The immigration acts reduced the number of Greeks permitted to enter the country from the thousands to an annual total of 100 in the first instance, and then of 307; ‘a significant source of supply for the perpetuation of Hellenism in the United States had been shut off’ (Saloutos 1973: 399). Since many of the pre-1924 immigrants were single men, a further result of the immigration acts was increased mixed marriages and the assimilation which may result from the latter. The Church struggled to maintain its hold over the Greeks in America, as indicated by the words of the then Metropolitan of Athens Chrysostomos: ‘No force other than the Orthodox church will be able to save them in the ocean of the new world’ (Saloutos 1973: 400). The assimilation trends were also troubling to many parishioners. The editor of one parish yearbook wrote, in 1936: The barring of immigration, mixed marriages, the lack of churches in the small towns, the lack of adequate schools in the big cities, the division of Greeks here In 2000 the delegation of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese in North America made persistent requests to the bishops’ council of the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople to change the archdiocesan charter in a way that would yield a higher level of administrative independence for the Archdiocese. 4

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and in Greece into two fanatical political factions, the ever increasing complaints against the church and the nation, the utter liberty extended in this country, the so-called cosmopolitans, the students of the Bible, Communism, divorces, the inclination to slander and underestimate the administration of the affairs of the church, and the powers of the environment, are potent factors tending to bring about the destruction of our nationalism. (cited in Saloutos 1973: 401)

The assimilation trends embedded in the tendency towards mixed marriage were especially troubling to the Church. The official position of the Church, as recorded in the 1961 Almanac of the Archdiocese, was expressed as follows: ‘the wish of our Church is that Greek Orthodox Christians be joined in wedlock only with Greek Orthodox. It is the only way possible to secure the perpetuation of our religious and national traditions and also peace and harmony in the Christian family’ (cited by Saloutos 1973: 403). By 1971, nearly half the marriages were mixed. All of the above changed drastically with the Immigration Act of 1965, which abolished the quotas based on national origins and instead gave preferential advantage to those who were close relatives of citizens or residents of the United States. The new legal situation led to a fresh large wave of immigration from Greece to the United States, and new influences on the Greek Orthodox there: from 1966 to 1971 approximately 15,000 Greeks immigrated to the United States annually. This change in its own way entailed a challenge to the Church in America, with a mass influx of immigrant Greeks with little or no knowledge of the English language attending churches run by second- and thirdgeneration Greeks who preferred more English in the church service (Divine Liturgy, henceforth liturgy), and a church ‘more in harmony with the needs of an American society’ (Saloutos 1973: 401). The new Greek immigration gave rise to a serious division within the Church, and conspicuously so around the question of the language used in the liturgy. Disagreement over the language issue climaxed in 1970, so much so that it ‘paralysed and almost split this largest of American Orthodox jurisdictions’ (Krindatch 2002: 558). In a 1970 Clergy–Laity Congress of the Church, the delegates approved the substitution of English and other vernacular tongues for Greek in the liturgy: ‘Permission to use the vernacular “as needed” was viewed as “a bow to necessity”, and a concession to those who feared that unless this was done, “the pews could be empty in a generation”’ (Saloutos 1973: 405). A large furore over the issue ensued, though superficial in a sense, given that English had already been used by an increasing number of parishes and there were several translations of the liturgy already in print and used across the United States. In spite of assimilation trends evinced in mixed-marriage rates and decreased use of the Greek language, still, as late as 1990, one expert on Greek America writes: For the immigrant in America, the church community became the arena in which one worshipped, attained social recognition, and made friends – and sometimes

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enemies. Its major function was not so much religious as social – to confer a sense of bondship within the perplexity of American society. For the American born, even as the immigrant past fades, the church community becomes the prime definer of Greek ethnicity in this country … It is mainly though the Church that new generations continue to be aware of sharing a destiny somehow connected with other people called Greek Americans. (Moskos 1990: 67)

To what extent does this picture remain relevant some two decades later?

Portrait of a Parish – the Church of the Annunciation, Memphis, Tennessee In order to attain a more up-to-date and nuanced perspective on Greek Orthodoxy in America that will help us to address our research questions, we examine the case of a particular Greek Orthodox parish in America through research conducted with parishioners. Specifically, qualitative interview research has been conducted with three generations of members of the Church of the Annunciation in Memphis.5 Questions asked of parishioners pivoted around the central concepts of motivation for church attendance and the role of ethnicity in church life. Is church participation conceived of as an assimilating or an isolating force? Can we speak of a linear process of de-ethnicization (de-Hellenization) of the church from one generation to the next and, if so, of ethnicity yielding to more theological considerations? Before addressing our interviewees’ responses on these matters, it is useful to consider some general and historical information about the church. The Church of the Annunciation was established in 1920 by Greek immigrants. Today, the church has a membership of approximately 250 families. According to the current parish priest, roughly 50 per cent of the congregation members are of Greek origin, and the other 50 per cent either converts (from non-ethnically Greek backgrounds) or Orthodox from other ethnic backgrounds (namely, Russian, Ethiopian, Egyptian Coptic, Armenian). Immigration from Greece into Memphis more or less halted in the 1970s. There have been two waves of ‘defections’ from the church, both of which are particularly interesting from the perspective of the present research. The first occurred in 1962 with the establishment of St George’s Greek Orthodox Church. St George’s was founded by a handful of former members of the Church of the Annunciation who rejected the church’s inclusion in the Archdiocesan jurisdiction. Specifically, this group resisted the Archdiocese’s interference in the church’s independence, including its control and choice of priests and demand of certain fees to be paid to the Archdiocese for such religious functions as weddings, In-depth, semi-structured interviews were conducted with 18 individuals, roughly divided into the six age groups of under 20, 21–30, 31–40, 40–60, 60–70 and over 70. Of these, two interviewees are members not of the Church of Annunciation but of St George’s, a second Greek Orthodox church in the Memphis vicinity introduced below. 5

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baptisms and funerals. The new church attracted especially the newer immigrants from Greece.6 Today, the main popular distinction between the two Greek Orthodox churches in the Memphis area is that St George’s is much more ‘Greeky’ (‘extremely ethnic’, as one interviewee puts it). The church maintains 99 per cent Greek language in the church service; its priest in fact speaks English with some difficulty, and maintains that the Greek language is very important in understanding theology because with English much is lost in translation. The St George parish is by and large a ‘no frills’ church, with no youth association or Sunday school and limited organized social activities (apart from its annual Greek festival). However, traditionally it had (and today, less so) a very intense social dimension, providing a tight-knit community for the adults and the youth in the church. According to one parishioner: When we were growing up we were all from immigrant families and spoke Greek at home … We grew up together, did everything together … The parents of the group of friends at St George’s were off-the-boat; all of those kids were very close knit. Their parents were strict, “you can do anything, as long as you’re with the Greeks everything is safe”.

Such relative limitation of social lives to the church is common in contexts such as large US cities (e.g., New York, Chicago) where fresh immigration is more prevalent. A second exodus from the Church of the Annunciation took place in relation to the so-called ‘white flight’ – the migration of white people from urban regions to suburban regions to avoid racial integration. In the case of the Church of the Annunciation, the white flight took place especially following the forced bussing of the 1970s (transporting students to schools in such a manner as to redress prior racial segregation of schools). As a result of the forced bussing and the white flight, members of the Church of Annunciation were increasingly sending their children to private schools that were, in the main, Protestant faith schools. This development was influential first in exposing many Greeks for the first time to elements of Protestantism, and second in leading significant numbers of faithful eventually to switch to Protestant churches – a matter to be addressed below. The Church of the Annunciation exhibits several of the cultural preservation techniques noted above, and in this is typical in fact of most Greek Orthodox parishes across the United States: maintenance of some level of Greek language 6 The church is formally ‘not in good standing’, i.e. not in full communion with the Greek Orthodox Church in America. After much effort, the St George church community originally established Episcopal affiliation under an Independent Serbian Church in Illinois, but currently it has no official affiliation with any Episcopal authority. More about the history and developments of the St George community can be found in A Brief History of the Greek-American Community of St. George, Memphis, Tennessee, 1962–1982, by Speros Vryonis, Jr.

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use in the liturgy (regardless of how pertinent); an afternoon Greek school run by the church; a youth association (a branch of the national Greek Orthodox Youth of America, or GOYA); a young women’s group (a branch of the national Daughters of Penelope); a men’s group (a branch of the American Hellenic Education Progressive Association, AHEPA); a Greek dance troupe; and an annual Greek Festival. Yet still, from certain perspectives one can speak of a clear de-ethnicization (deHellenization) of the church over generations. Such de-ethnicization is reflected most conspicuously in the use and tuition of the Greek language. The liturgy at the Church of the Annunciation was conducted solely in Greek until the early 1960s. At this time, the Lord’s Prayer in English was introduced alongside the Greek, but in time other prayers began to be recited in English, and today the majority of the liturgy in the Annunciation parish is in English – with the Lord’s Prayer still recited in both languages and the Epistle, gospel readings, Nicene Creed and the homily in English only. Likewise, over generations the Greek language tuition, based at the church, was significantly limited: from congregating six days a week in the mid-1920s; to five afternoons a week (from 4 to 6 p.m.) in the 1930s; to twice a week for a total of three hours in the late 1950s; to twice a week for a total time of two hours today (Hatzigeorgiou et al. 2005: 48). So ‘how Greek’ can the church and its parishioners be described to be in light of the above? This raises a further question of how one defines a Greek, a notion Richard Clogg (1999) explores in his book on Greek diaspora. As a response, Clogg offers the words of a significant figure in Greek political history, Eleftherios Venizelos, spoken at the Versailles Peace Conference in the aftermath of the First World War: ‘A Greek is a person who wants to be Greek, feels he is a Greek, and says he is a Greek’ (Clogg 1999: 16). Indeed, self-expression is a key factor to be considered when determining the relative ethnic focus (the ‘Greekness’, as it were) of a parish and its parishioners. A book recounting the history of the Church of the Annunciation, Beyond Ellis Island. The Memphis Greeks: Our Faith and Heritage, is a useful resource in offering insight into church members’ self-perceptions: In this joyful history, one finds it nearly impossible to differentiate between the ethnicity and the faith of the Greek citizens of Memphis, Tennessee. Church and culture are so tightly woven … that they are warp and weft of the same fabric. (Hatzigeorgiou et al. 2005: front flap)

The intertwining of ethnicity (Greek identity) with Orthodoxy is one recurrent theme in the interview research conducted with Greek Orthodox Memphians. A second theme arising from the research is theological reflections on participation in church life. Third, there is a range of external factors referenced by interviewees, specific to the Memphis setting and influential over relative trends towards assimilation versus isolation aims amongst churchgoers. Fourth, the interview

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research offers evidence regarding the voluntary versus involuntary nature of Orthodoxy for Greek Memphians. Each of these themes will be addressed below.

The ‘Greek’ Part of Church Life – the Ethnic Dimension Greek was not just my heritage, but my church. (f, b)7

These words indicate one parishioner’s conspicuous equating of ethnicity and church life. In fact, several interviewees use the terms ‘Greek’ and ‘Orthodox’ almost interchangeably, indicating a lack of internal distinction between ethnicity and faith. A consideration of the sum of perspectives offered by respondents, though, is rather more complicated. Variation in perspectives on the relationship between ethnicity and church life is contingent on a number of factors, including for instance whether the individual is a ‘cradle Orthodox’ (Orthodox by virtue of parents’ faith), a convert or an other-ethnic Orthodox (e.g., Serbian, Egyptian etc.), and to which generation the individual belongs.8 For several respondents, the ethnic dimension is a desirable element of church life. According to the current parish priest, ‘Hellenism and Christianity are entrenched. There shouldn’t be a distinction’ (m, d). One parishioner’s response indicates just such lack of distinction: ‘My mother is not Greek, but she is Orthodox and it’s as if she is Greek’ (f, d). The same applies to one young respondent, for whom participation in church life translates into ‘partial Greekness’: non-Greeks somehow acquire ‘honorary Greek’ status by virtue of their participation in church activities (m, a). For yet another parishioner, ‘the Orthodox part’ is actually secondary in her vision of church life: the church is simply the venue where the Greek tradition is kept alive. In a contradictory fashion, she indicates her wish that Orthodoxy and Greek ethnicity would be kept separate, yet that the church would have a cultural centre ‘where only Greek tradition and culture were taught and not necessarily Orthodoxy’ (f, d). In other words, for the lack of other alternatives, she turns to the church for ethnic preservation. Even non-Greeks tend to support the maintenance of an ethnic Greek element in the church. One parishioner from an other-ethnic Orthodox background (with no Greek roots or knowledge of the Greek language) explains that, for her, church is ‘lacking something without the ethnicity’ (f, d). She tried attending a local Orthodox 7 The key used to refer to interviews is the following: ‘f’ indicates a female respondent, ‘m’ male; ‘a’ indicates the under-20 age bracket, ‘b’ 21–30 years of age, ‘c’ 31–40, ‘d’ 40–60, ‘e’ 60–70 and ‘f’ over 70. NB: Not all interviews are included in this text; the selection presented here is chosen simply to reflect the range of perspectives gathered through the research. 8 Other relevant factors are whether the respondent is first-, second- etc. generation immigrant Greek; when and for what reasons the original immigrants emigrated; and the educational status of each generation in question.

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Church in America (OCA) parish and found the lack of an ethnic dimension offputting. A youth of other-ethnic background (m, a) who also likes the element of differentiation feels the same about a church without an ethnic element. Often it is also the case that converts to Orthodoxy are ethnic enthusiasts: this applies to one respondent who feels strongly that effort must be exerted to support and maintain the Greek identity of the church, as long as the church remains as welcoming as it is to non-Greeks. A second convert respondent, however, adamantly opposes the notion that the Church of the Annunciation is an ethnic church; this is a label applied externally, he argues, but does not reflect the internal reality of the church. A closer view from an inter-generational perspective offers insight into change in the relationship between ethnicity and church life over time. Different generations take wholly different approaches to the ethnicity factor. Older respondents explain how their status as children of Greek immigrants translated into social lives necessarily based at the church. According to one such, ‘My best friends were all Greek … it was the way we were raised. We were raised with that 1950s mentality, and you weren’t really Greek, we weren’t really assimilated into the American culture either … so we were an anomaly one way or the other’ (f, d). Another indicates that her whole social life was centred on the church. She ‘could go to football games and took part in school activities, but beyond that it was church socials’ (f, e). When compared with the past, the church today is presented as highly assimilated into the dominant American culture. But we cannot speak of a linear development from more to less of an ethnic focus because there are examples of youth celebrating Greekness as based at the church. The youth addressed in the study tend to focus on whether or not it is ‘cool’, in their particular environments, to be Greek – again, automatically equating participation in church life with Greekness. Questions asked about parishioners’ participation in church life warranted responses about their Greek identity. Two brothers, whose mother is of Greek origin and father a convert, indicate that their identity at their high school is ‘as “the Greek kids”, and we love it … many of our friends are part this and part that, but we know precisely what our genealogy is and that we’re Greek, and that’s all that really matters to us’ (m, a; m, a). Certainly, that the ethnic focus remains at all vibrant even for third-plus generations entails a significant element of continuity in the intertwining of Greekness with Orthodoxy. However, many – perhaps the majority – of Greek-origin respondents indicate a sense of being torn over the ethnic factor: on the one hand, they recognize the decreasing relevance of Greek ethnic identity maintenance in the church, but at the same time they express a sense of nostalgia for all things Greek. One parishioner articulates this sentiment particularly well: ‘It’s about Orthodoxy, not about Greekness … but then, you don’t want to lose the Greek, the foustanella etc.’ (m, d).9 9 The foustanella is part of traditional Greek dress – a multilayered short skirt worn by men especially between the early and late nineteenth century. In ‘Greek America’ the foustanella is worn by Greek youth during celebrations of Greek Independence Day (25

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It is worth taking a closer look at two particular indicators of an ethnic focus as manifest in the Church of the Annunciation case – the ‘Greek fest’ and the use of the Greek language in the liturgy. The annual Greek festival is an especially conspicuous cultural preservation project based at the church. Greek fest is 100 per cent a church affair – fully executed by the church in practical and financial terms – and engages a large proportion of parishioners in some way or another. Though purely a social and cultural event, the festival is presented by respondents as a central function of the church. For one youth in fact, participation in the Greek fest is somehow on a par with churchgoing, as suggested in his having said in the same breath, when explaining his relationship to the church: ‘Greek fest is really important to us – we go to church every Sunday’ (m, a). Notably, the Greek festival is also presented as the main (and, by some, the only) form of outreach, or mission, of the Church of the Annunciation. The church’s current priest describes the Greek festival as the church’s central form of outreach because during the festival he offers tours of the church, and those who are interested to learn more are invited to a dinner one or two weeks later (m, d). According to one parishioner, ‘We’ve actually gotten converts because of Fr [X’s] tourism stuff’ (f, d). The same respondent proclaims that ‘I always say it is all about the Orthodoxy this is why we do it, to share our Orthodoxy.’ From this perspective then, the church, in celebrating Greekness, also celebrates Orthodoxy. A second conspicuous litmus test for the ethnic focus is the use of the Greek language versus English in the church service (liturgy). Amongst members of the Church of the Annunciation congregation one finds a range of perspectives on the use of Greek in the liturgy. According to the present and a previous priest of the parish, non-Greek members of the congregation (whether converts to Orthodoxy or other-ethnic Orthodox) tend to be the greater supporters of Greek language used in the services, while Greek-origin members tend to ask for more English in the services (m, d; m, f). As one Greek-origin parishioner expresses herself: There is still a lot spoken in the church liturgy. Sometimes I think more than it should be because so many more people don’t speak Greek. It upsets me. It’s ironic though, because converts want more Greek. And then there is me who understands it 100% and I want less Greek than is now spoken. I want the English. I want my grandchildren to understand what is going on. During Holy Week [when more of the church service is in Greek] I get very upset. The cantor just goes on and on in Greek during the services and nobody understands. (f, e) March), at Greek festivals and during Greek dance exhibitions and competitions. Today in Greece, the foustanella is mainly to be seen worn by the Presidential Guard (the elite ceremonial unit that guards the Greek Parliament, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Presidential Mansion). It is rarely worn during dance exhibitions, where specific dress relating to particular regions of Greece tends to be worn instead. In other words, it is telling of the reality in ‘Greek America’ that a symbol of the Greekness parishioners are resistant to lose, the foustanella, is something with little to no relevance in contemporary Greece.

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Still another Greek-origin respondent, though, a youth in this case who does not speak Greek, indicates that he does not mind not understanding: ‘I have no idea what I am saying … I just got used to it. It’s just normal for them to speak Greek in the church’ (m, a). True to the aforementioned priests’ description, the strongest supporters, amongst interviewees, of maintaining the Greek in the liturgy are two otherethnic Orthodox respondents and two converts. One of the latter interestingly explained the stance with the following: ‘I don’t want to see the church Americanized or modernized’ (f, d). Anglicization, then, and de-Hellenization are equated with Americanization and modernization. The second convert respondent worries about how much meaning is lost in the translation from Greek to English: ‘anybody who is serious should study Greek because they lose a lot if they don’t’ (m, c) (and indeed, both convert respondents indicate their plans to take Greek language lessons). One notably popular response on the matter references aesthetics in positing that ‘the service is a lot more beautiful in Greek’. In fact, even the place of worship preferences of the Russian parishioners at St George’s are explained with reference to the opinion that the Greek is ‘more beautiful’ than the English. By far though the most widely held view is that the Church of the Annunciation has struck a ‘good balance’ between the Greek and the English. In one parishioner’s words, ‘It would be upsetting to me if there was no Greek; on the other hand I hated going to churches where it was all Greek’ (f, b). In other words, several parishioners do not want much Greek in the church because the latter does not reflect the church’s current reality; but neither do they want to let go of the Greek completely – much like the foustanella comment cited above. There is, then, a powerful ethnic dimension with significant elements of change from one generation to the next in how it manifests itself, but a constant and conspicuous factor nonetheless. We gain further insights into the ethnic focus of the parish and its parishioners by examining where ‘the Orthodox part’, i.e., the more theological considerations, lies in relation to the ethnic factor.

‘The Orthodox Part’ of Church Life – Theological Considerations The parents and grandparents took their faith blindly; now parishioners want explanations. (m, e)

The above quotation, from a former Church of the Annunciation priest, suggests that the newer generations seek more theological understanding. One parishioner also sees change over time in this domain but one that has to do with ageing: ‘You crave it more as you get older, or you want more understanding … as you get older you want to get more into the theology’ (f, d). We also have evidence of older generations ‘thinking theologically’ (in the broadest sense of the term) on behalf of younger generations. For example, two mothers indicate that they participate

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in church life primarily for their children. For one, her children ‘got to the age where I felt they needed it. I want them to have a basis, a religious basis’ (f, d). The second mother expresses her desire for her children ‘to have something to fall back on, to learn that this is how we do weddings, baptisms, funerals … So the children can believe in something, for a sense of belonging’ (f, d). In this second case, belief in ‘something’ is mixed in with socio-cultural factors of how ‘we’ ‘do’ weddings and such. Given these diverse and divergent perspectives, can we draw substantive conclusions about changes and continuities over time in ‘the Orthodox part’ of church life for parishioners? And is there evidence of innovation in the form of an ethnic focus yielding to more theological considerations? In fact, respondents in all age groups make certain significant references to religious motivation for participation in church life: they invoke various aspects of religion, faith and theology in explaining their relation to the church. For example, one parishioner (a convert) articulates that his desire to be near God is great, hence his frequent church attendance: ‘if you love somebody you visit as much as possible’ (m, c). Another respondent describes the liturgy as ‘a really good time to pray … I prefer to sit up there [in the front]. It feels like it’s just you and God. It’s soothing’ (f, e). A third parishioner in the below-30s category exclaims ‘I love the liturgy. I like the opportunity to go to vespers. I just love being in church, so much of it is beautiful’ (f, b). Most of the theological reflections of parishioners hinge on two points especially, both of which offer insight into continuity and change over time. The first of these is the aforementioned language issue, regarding the use of Greek versus English in the liturgy. The mere fact that some parishioners choose understanding of the liturgy over preservation of the Greek language is an indication of elevation of religious concerns over those of ethnic preservation. One parishioner explains her feelings thus: ‘I went to a funeral recently and it was all in English and I was in tears it was so beautiful. It was so good to hear the translation – I think about what we have missed!’ (f, e) Recall also from the previous section the grandmother who expresses her desire for her grandchildren to understand the liturgy. And of course, the fact that most of the liturgy is now in English reflects a general preference for understanding over Greek identity maintenance. But the latter does not necessarily signify a change and a yielding of ethnicity to theology, since earlier generations understood the Greek and so had both the language and the access to the theological dimensions of the liturgy. Further, the same ardent supporters of maintaining the Greek language in the liturgy – two converts to Orthodoxy – are also those who incorporate more theological considerations into their explanations of their motivations for church attendance, thus upsetting any neat ethnicity–theology dichotomy. The second main theological expression of parishioners is a desire for more emphasis on the Bible than is the case in the Greek Orthodox Church of the Annunciation. This sentiment may derive from certain particular developments. One is the aforementioned white flight: with more Greek Orthodox children attending Protestant schools, a Protestant/Evangelical-influenced focus on the

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Bible has seeped more and more into many Greek Orthodox families as a whole. As two parishioners explain, some of the people who left the church in the 60s and 70s left because they felt there was not enough attention to spirituality; further, ‘they wanted more emphasis on the Bible and they felt that the Protestants had more to offer’ (m, d). Another respondent recalls that ‘there were a few people in the church, members that got all caught up in the evangelical movement and left our church and then turned around and called us a cult’ (f, e). To the dismay of the current priest (according to parishioners) is the interest of several parishioners in Bible study external to the church. The Church of the Annunciation offers Bible study, but several parishioners still seek such tuition outside the church. One parishioner thus explains her need to complement her experience of faith with Bible study: I felt unfulfilled. I decided I was going to supplement our faith. Generally I was not finding the homilies to be based enough on theology … so then I decided that what I need is more Bible study so I started going to this Bible study group. (f, d)

The respondent notes that there are five others from the Church of the Annunciation who also attend the same Bible study group, but ‘I don’t think the others have told Fr [X] [of the Church of the Annunciation], but I always tell Fr [X] I do it. He thinks it’s weakening my Orthodox faith and I keep telling him no, it is bolstering it’ (f, d). The perspective of another parishioner on the matter is lightly critical of such individuals who seek external Bible study. At the same time, though, she indirectly supports their choice by indicating the focus of the Greek Orthodox Bible study on Orthodoxy rather than on the Bible: Many people in the church want to go to Bible studies outside the church, with other churches. They don’t think we study the Bible enough, yet when our church holds a Bible study they don’t go. I went to a Bible study once. It was ok, but can’t say it was great. I studied my church. If you want to learn more about the church, the material is there …

From the parishioners’ responses on this matter, then, there is no evidence of a strict dichotomy between ethnicity and theology. Generally, the two coexist as foci of parishioners’ church experience, and we cannot assume a linear development from an ethnic to a theological focus. The emphasis on the Bible and the expressed desire for more spirituality in the church, however, are rather ‘new’ phenomena in the Annunciation parish. In this sense we see an important element of change, and one most certainly influenced by the ‘host community’ – i.e., by the broader religious trends in Memphis. Whether this and other changes can be interpreted as an effort to assimilate into the local society, however, is a matter to be addressed below.

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Assimilation or Isolation? The ‘Memphis Factor’ Part of it is just being from the South where everyone is freaking talking about religion all the time. (f, b)

What role does the host environment play? In the case of the Church of the Annunciation and its parishioners, what influence do the religious trends of the local American society have on the religious choices and patterns of Greek Americans? The interview research suggests a strong influence both on the ethnic focus (or lack thereof) of parishioners and on their theological considerations, but an influence that takes different forms over time. We will examine both these dimensions with a view to determining the extent to which church life choices are made expressly for assimilation into American society or for isolation from the latter, or in fact for neither. Two critical aspects of the ‘Memphis factor’ are the city’s particular history of racism and its position as part of the ‘Bible Belt’ of the USA.10 The effects of each of these dynamics on the religious patterns of Greek American Memphians – whether in the direction of assimilation or isolation – have varied over time. According to the book recounting the history of the Church of the Annunciation, Beyond Ellis Island. The Memphis Greeks: Our Faith and Heritage, regarding the early immigrant parishioners: The Greeks were so proud of their ancestry and heritage that they did not wish to be completely assimilated into American culture. Moreover, this was the period (approximately the 20s and 30s) when xenophobia and prejudice ran rampant throughout the country, and Greeks were experiencing the humiliating terror of organizations like the Ku Klux Klan, as were African Americans and other religious and ethnic minorities. It is no wonder that the Greek community in Memphis responded by trying to bolster its sense of ‘Greek pride’, using the church not only to celebrate its faith, but also as a safe harbour for preservation of its culture and heritage. (Hatzigeorgiou et al. 2005: 42)

In fact, a parish yearbook from 1928 cites as the church’s mission ‘to reinforce and preserve the religion, nationality and culture of its parishioners’ (cited by Hatzigeorgiou et al. 2005: 42). Thus the 1920s and the 30s are described as a period characterized by a ‘mutual xenophobia – Americans towards Greeks and Greeks toward the American culture’ (Hatzigeorgiou et al. 2005: 42). Several parishioners recall those early days, and much reference is made to the ‘KKK effect’. According to one parishioner, the church ‘did not feel comfortable sharing its cultural roots’ until the 1950s which, not coincidentally, is when the annual Greek festival originated (m, d). For some, the Memphis context led to 10 The ‘Bible Belt’ is a term referring to an area of the United States, mainly in the south-west, where conservative evangelical Protestantism is especially prominent.

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isolation during this period, but mainly through the ethnic, not the religious, factor. One respondent explains that when she was in school (in the 60s) she was looked down upon because she was Greek, whilst her sister, who was 10 years younger, had no such problem (f, e). For some, rather than finding a fortress in Greek pride, the KKK effect led to a will to assimilate into American society. The environment of racism in general is cited by a number of respondents as a factor reducing pride in being Greek and leading specifically to a preference for assimilation – both sentiments that are cited as fading over time. It should be noted that the will to assimilate due to racism is altogether different from a will to assimilate because of Memphis’s place in the Bible Belt where, as the above-cited parishioner notes, ‘everyone is freaking talking about religion all the time’ (f, b). Racism, though still present in the Memphis context, is not currently an influence on Greek Orthodox church life in either ‘direction’, isolation or assimilation. It is in reflections on the past that we hear of the local context driving assimilation efforts. And the examples of a will to assimilate in the past regard ethnicity mainly, not Orthodoxy. On the contrary, the ‘Bible Belt factor’ is both current and relating specifically to Orthodoxy. Today, several respondents experience Orthodoxy as an isolating force. In the current parish priest’s words, ‘the nature of the religion isolates you. If you say who you are – it isolates you, separates you from others’ (m, d). Meanwhile a young parishioner explains the difficulties entailed in communication with peers about Orthodoxy: ‘it’s harder for them [the nonOrthodox] to grasp Orthodoxy. We have received some questions about Zeus, etc. I find that I just don’t talk about it and when I explain it, I just say it’s a lot like the Catholic faith’ (m, a). (Note, this same youth has expressed an intense pride in being Greek, particularly in the school context.) Another under-30 parishioner describes thus her experience as a fifth-grader in the playground: ‘Kids would ask me “are you saved?” and that was not a question I had ever heard in my life. I would go home and ask my parents – “am I saved?”’ Growing up proved more difficult from this perspective, with fellow high school students telling her she would go to hell because she was not saved (f, b). Yet, the Church of the Annunciation itself is assimilated into American society, especially in comparison with the St George parish. As one parishioner puts it tellingly: Greek heritage is a ‘social club akin to Baptists and Episcopalians’ (f, d). For her then the church is not only assimilated but bears assimilating potential, given that membership in the ‘club’ is equated with that of the Baptists or Episcopalians. Clearly, much hinges on individual character. For one respondent, his rootedness in the Orthodox faith ‘teaches [him] to embrace all people of all different faiths’ (m, f). Orthodoxy then is neither isolating nor assimilating for this individual. From the above we can conclude that the ‘host’ environment may indeed significantly influence the patterns of religiosity of Greek American Orthodox, but environment should be broadly interpreted to include not only religious trends but

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also other social dimensions, such as the influence of racism. Further, in the case of the Church of the Annunciation parishioners, the environmental influences drive in different directions, assimilation and isolation, or neither as indicated by the above-cited respondent, thus precluding any generalizations about the influence of the American society’s patterns of religiosity on immigrant experiences of religion, including any potential innovation in this regard.

To Be or Not to Be Orthodox: Voluntary and Involuntary Elements People shop religion here, so we have a lot of converts that have no Greek in them. I find it wonderful that they want to be part of this religion, but I don’t understand it. Because the way we grew up, there was only one choice for us. (f, d)

Is there any choice to being Orthodox (and, by extension, attending an Orthodox church), or is it the non-negotiable factor of being of Greek origin in America? As noted above, certain scholars see in Orthodoxy an ‘involuntarism’ that derives from Orthodoxy being a source of community and belonging. Peter Berger’s assumption, referenced above, is that ‘where ethnic ties are strong, the unity between religion and community can be taken for granted’ (Berger 2005: 442). The implication is that Greek Americans, as long as they preserve their Greekness, will also stay faithful to the Greek Orthodox Church. In other words, assimilation leads, eventually, to voluntarism for Greek Americans, to an actual choice of where they will be churched. Do we see an element of change from involuntary to voluntary participation in Greek Orthodox church life, as predicted by Berger? And, if so, can we interpret this as a form of religious assimilation, i.e. Casanova’s idea that people adapt to the religious environment in order to assimilate? The above quotation suggests a lack of choice: shopping for religion is for others, not for us Orthodox. Involuntarism is certainly a clear characteristic of church life in the past. As one parishioner indicates, ‘the church back then was … nothing fancy, but that is all we did. We had Greek school every day. And Sunday school. Everything was in Greek’ (f, e). Or, as explained by another parishioner: ‘this is the difference in my generation and the generation below us – we didn’t work on Sundays. It was a given. It was never a thought. There was never a discussion. People have that conversation – are we going to church tomorrow? For us, it’s just part of what you do the next day on Sunday. It’s the beginning of the week’ (f, d) – i.e., again, a characteristic of church participation in the past, but in this parishioner’s case also an element of continuity with the present. In fact, there is further evidence of involuntarism in church life today. For example, one youth and one elderly woman indicate a lack of choice even today, in the form of an inability, for whatever reason, to imagine a church life outside the Orthodox Church: ‘it’s all we know’ (m, a); and ‘I could never think about going somewhere else’ (f, e).

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In the past in particular, the involuntary nature of church participation was intricately linked to the involuntary nature of Greek-based social life. One respondent claims that those who left the church in the white flight ‘weren’t proud of their Greek identity. We [those who did not leave the church] didn’t have a choice I guess’ (f, d). For some, this ‘involuntaristic trend’ is passed from one generation to the next. The above-cited parishioner who indicates ‘that is all we did’ also says of her children: ‘they just did it. It was their social life too’ (f, e). Another respondent describes thus why her nephews attend church: because they are guilted into it by their grandmother. If they missed church, she explains, her mother would ‘use that Greek guilt thing’ and say ‘“well I missed you in church on Sunday”’ (f, d). One step removed from the ‘no choice’ category is choice, but choice which is limited to within the Orthodox Church. The interview research yielded several indications of ‘shopping around’ between the three Orthodox churches in Memphis. One respondent explained that she ‘tried St George’s’ and found it ‘a little odd because it was so ethnic’ (f, d). She also attended the local OCA church, St John’s, in search of her ideal place to worship, and found it ‘overly zealous’; she thus settled on the Church of the Annunciation, which she found just right in both the ethnic and religious/zealousness dimensions. Likewise, another parishioner notes that though the Coptic and Ethiopian Orthodox have established their own new churches, many still choose to attend the Annunciation parish because of the Sunday school options (f, d). And the Church of the Annunciation is described by yet another respondent as having ‘something to offer’, as compared with St George’s, in terms of social and cultural activities, thus attracting more Orthodox faithful than does St George’s (f, d). These examples do indeed paint a picture of some type of religious market, albeit limited to the Orthodox faith, with people arriving at their church of choice based on a number of practical and social considerations. And then there are the clear expressions of an active choice being made for Orthodoxy over other faiths. For example, one parishioner explains: ‘yes, someone in my family came over from Greece; but at some point I have to make a decision. It is MY faith. It’s not just the faith of my parents and grandparents, which is great and I love that, but that’s not why I’m Orthodox’ (f, b). Another parishioner also expresses a clear, resolute choice for the Orthodox Church over others: ‘I don’t care what [Orthodox] church I’m at. The sacraments of the church … if it’s in your soul it’s in your soul and that is where I’m at’ (f, d). There is also the more ‘à la carte’ option chosen by some, to attend the Church of the Annunciation and be involved in church life there, but to ‘supplement’ their spiritual experience with external Bible study. Certainly there is a great deal of evidence of choosing the Church of the Annunciation for the sense of belonging and community it offers its parishioners. One parishioner notes that for him church life is ‘part of [his] identity, beyond religion and ethnicity’ (m, e). Another attends church for ‘a sense of belonging and having to be there’ (m, e). One other-ethnic Orthodox parishioner explains that if

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a new church of her own ethnic background were to be established in Memphis, she would find it difficult to leave the Church of the Annunciation because of the community (f, d). For still others, church is a force of habit: ‘it’s what I do … when I don’t go something is missing, it’s not quite Sunday … The social is nice, but that is NOT why I go (f, d). And, as another parishioner explains, ‘to me the church is everything. It has something for every aspect of your life … from when you are born to memorials. I like it when you can understand it. I feel for the people who can’t understand it’ (f, e). And of course, the research bears evidence of many having left the church for specifically Protestant options. One parishioner describes the situation similar to Peter Berger’s prediction: ‘generally if people were not immersed in the Greek, they left the church. They were already Americanized. Others who were very immersed in the culture, they kept their Greek heritage’ (and by extension, it can be assumed, stayed in the church) (f, d). In other words, church attendance is equated with maintenance of ethnic identity. Meanwhile, assimilation and loss of Greek ethnic focus lead to a more voluntary approach to church participation and, potentially, to defection to other churches. The move to Protestant churches during the ‘white flight’ also signals an element at least of voluntarism in church life. And, as the quotation below indicates, the reasoning behind the move is multifaceted: This [white flight] changed the face of the church because Greeks were taking their kids to private, religiously affiliated schools. We lost a lot of Greeks. They were interested in the all-inclusive school stuff – these schools offered school, athletics, youth groups, church, etc. These weren’t first-generation families – they were watered down. The schools and athletics pulled people away from the Greek Church. Their children wanted to hang out with the students they were going to school with. A lot of those churches/schools had so much to offer other than just the church and the GOYA and there was more entertainment and attraction than the Greek church. (f, d)

But, as the same respondent notes, ‘The irony is that they come, baptize their child and you never see them again’. If the latter can be taken at face value, then this is interesting indeed, suggesting a persistent connection to the Orthodox Church and a connection which is at least on the surface theological in nature, and a decision about actual participation in church life (i.e., a choice to attend a Protestant church) based on more practical and social factors. All of the above provokes reflection on the concept of voluntarism in church life: how voluntary indeed are religious choices if they are heavily influenced by social pressures? The question applies equally to Orthodox contexts as to other faith groups.

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Conclusions Clearly the caveats that apply to qualitative empirical case study-based research apply also to the present study: there is little that can or should be generalized from the Memphis Church of the Annunciation parish and parishioners to Greek Orthodoxy in America as a whole. As is suggested by the material presented above, the anatomy of a Greek Orthodox Church in America depends a great deal on a number of factors, including its geographic placement, the rates and dates of immigration etc. However, the case does offer useful insights that help us to address and fine-tune our guiding research questions regarding the relationship between ethnicity and theology, and assimilation versus isolation as motivation for participation in Greek American Orthodox church life. From the historical overview offered above it is evident that ethnicity forms a prevalent part of Orthodox Church history, beginning with the European context and extending to Orthodoxy in America. Further, that ethnic focus in the past has in many cases overridden theological considerations, in the sense that ethnicity has led to division within the Church that disrupted theological unity. Based on Greek Orthodoxy in Memphis, what is the relationship between ethnicity and theology? Do people participate in church life in order to isolate themselves from American society and, simultaneously, to preserve their Greek identity? Or is church life a means to assimilation into the wider (religiously active) American society? What changes do we see over time in these matters? From the research results we gather first that ethnicity is indeed a conspicuous and diachronic element in church life, so much so that, for many, Orthodoxy and Greek identity are interchangeable concepts. This linkage between Orthodoxy and Hellenicity is embraced by some and critiqued by others, but it is not negligible either way. But to what effect is ethnicity such a conspicuous element of church life? Is the ethnic focus in some way related to a trend towards isolation? Critically, the Memphis research suggests that we must distinguish between isolation and Greek identity preservation: church life can and does often aid in ethnic identity preservation without any isolationist intentions. And ethnic difference does not necessarily lead to isolation. In the past this was perhaps the case, in the context of racial tension in the South of the United States. Today however, we find only expressions of pride in relation to Greek ethnicity. Attitudes to the annual ‘Greek fest’ are a case in point: Greek identity is celebrated, cultivated and shared with the broader Memphis (American) society. Further, and related to the above point, one must also distinguish between intentions and consequences. Efforts towards isolation and isolation by default are wholly different concepts and must be treated as such. The same applies to assimilation. In the past (e.g., in the youth of those who are now above the age of 60–90) there is evidence of ethnicity leading to isolation: there is intended isolation in the case of some individuals whose parents used church life to isolate their children from broader American society; and non-intended isolation in the

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case of those who recall the ‘KKK effect’ of racism in excluding Greeks from mainstream Memphis society. Today there is no evidence of isolation, intended or not, on the basis of ethnicity. There is, however, indication of non-intended isolation on the basis of Orthodoxy, as expressed by certain respondents. For some such respondents, the feeling of isolation is accompanied by a keen awareness of the Bible Belt context characterizing Memphis. For others it is a mere observation on their religious life in relation to others, non-Orthodox, around them. The interview material communicates a sense of Orthodoxy viewed ‘from the outside’ as something out of place, exotic and difficult to comprehend. In terms of assimilation through church life, intended and non-intended, there is – notably – no evidence of churching in the Orthodox Church in order to assimilate. Intended assimilation is observed mainly in relation to those who left the Orthodox Church, including during the ‘white flight’, to join Protestant churches. The ‘typically Protestant congregational form’ of church life described by Stephen Warner and José Casanova (see above), in terms of the growth of houses of worship to include community centres featuring social and welfare activities, these elements were present in Greek Orthodox churches even during (intended) isolationist periods; they were less a mimicking of American religious life and more a functional attempt to ease the settling process for new immigrants. There is no indication, in other words, that there was an assimilation motive behind such developments. Further, such features making their way into immigrant religious practices could be a sign of immigrants having been influenced by certain trends typical in the American society in which they live, rather than reflecting any kind of awareness of, much less desire to mimic, Protestant forms. Yet the Church of the Annunciation, and its parishioners, seems fairly well assimilated into Memphis/American society, so much so that one interviewee described the church as a social club akin to that which ‘the Baptists and Episcopalians’ entail. This point raises an important question for scholars studying religion and immigration: how do we define assimilation and where does it begin? Immigrant assimilation may be a result of ‘churchification’, but was it the driving force behind it? In other words, assimilation could be an unwarranted, and in fact unwanted, result of immigrants’ embedding of their social lives in their churches. Or, to express it otherwise: what came first – assimilation or religiosity (as expressed through participation in church life)? Has religiosity been used as a way to assimilate, or is it rather a result of assimilation? These are two very different possibilities indeed, but the distinction is lost in certain theoretical perspectives on religion and immigration. As to whether ethnicity yields to theological considerations over time, as noted above ethnicity cannot be said to have ‘yielded’ at all, in any linear fashion: it has changed over time but remains a prevalent element of church life. However, significant developments have taken place insofar as theological foci are concerned, particularly in terms of increased attention to and interest in the Bible amongst parishioners. Certainly this trend is influenced by the Memphis/American religious

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environment, not least through the ‘white flight’ and the increased exposure of many parishioners to Protestantism through their children’s school experiences. However, and this relates to the previous point, the evidence is inconclusive as to whether this new Bible focus relates to a will to assimilate or is more a result of assimilation (i.e., the more that parishioners absorbed various aspects of American society, the more they absorbed this one as well). Our research seems to point more to the latter than to the former possibility. Finally, regarding Peter Berger’s prediction that as ethnic ties weaken with assimilation, the taken-for-grantedness of the relationship between religion and community weakens, and the where’s, when’s and how’s of church life become voluntary matters: belonging as linked to Greek ethnic identity does rank highly amongst the motivations behind participation in church life at the Church of the Annunciation. However, parishioners increasingly exhibit awareness of an element of choice: others have chosen to leave the church (though many of the latter still baptize their children in the Orthodox Church); some choose to attend Bible studies at other churches but are otherwise committed to the Orthodox Church; and still others have ‘shopped around’ other Orthodox churches before settling on the Church of the Annunciation. Whether, however, voluntarism in church life ought to be interpreted as a sign of assimilation into American religious trends is questionable: why should ‘religious shopping’ indicate a mimicking of American religiosity rather than a simple influence of the American spirit of capitalism? A further related question is whether ethnicity enhances a sense of belonging that is accessed through participation in church life on its own merit, or rather because religion in general generates a sense of belonging in America in general. In other words, does ethnic Greek identity, as based at the church, entail a sense of belonging because religion is a main source of belonging in American society? This is one amongst several new questions arising from the present research on the Church of the Annunciation in Memphis, Tennessee. These questions merit further research in the continued quest to better understand the relationship between immigration and religion, as well as the religious patterns within Orthodox Greek America.

References Berger, Peter. 2005. ‘Orthodoxy and Global Pluralism.’ Demokratizatsiya: The Journal of Post-Soviet Democratization, 13, 2: 437–48. Byrnes, Timothy. 2006. ‘Transnational Religion and Europeanization.’ In Religion in an Expanding Europe, ed. T. Byrnes and P. Katzenstein, pp. 283–305. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Casanova, José. 2007. ‘Immigration and the New Religious Pluralism: A European Union/United States Comparison.’ In Democracy and the New Religious Pluralism, ed. Thomas Banchoff, pp. 59–84. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Clogg, Richard (ed.). 1999. ‘The Greek Diaspora: The Historical Context.’ In The Greek Diaspora in the Twentieth Century, ed. Richard Clogg, pp. 1–23. London: Macmillan Press. Ebaugh, Helen Rose and Janet Saltzman Chafetz. 2000. Religion and the New Immigrants: Continuities and Adaptations in Immigrant Congregations. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. Erickson, John. 2008. Orthodox Christians in America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fokas, Effie. 2009. ‘Religion in the Greek Public Sphere: Nuancing the Account.’ Journal of Modern Greek Studies, 27, 2: 349–74. Grigorieff, Dmitry. 1972. ‘The Orthodox Church in America: An Historical Survey.’ Russian Review, 31, 2: 138–52. Hatzigeorgiou, Catherine Mezas, Cathe Hetos Skefos and Sophie Makris Sousoulas. 2005. Beyond Ellis Island. The Memphis Greeks: Our Faith and Heritage. Memphis: The Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church. Herberg, Will. 1960. Protestant–Catholic–Jew: An Essay in American Religious Sociology. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Jakelić, S. 2006. ‘Secularisation, European Identity, and “The End of the West”.’ The Hedgehog Review, 8: 133–9. Krindatch, Alexei. 2002. ‘Orthodox (Eastern Christian) Churches in the United States at the Beginning of a New Millennium: Questions of Nature, Identity and Mission.’ Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 41, 3: 533–63. Martin, David. 2008. ‘Is There an Eastern European Pattern of Secularization?’ In Religion: Problem or Promise? The Role of Religion in the Integration of Europe, ed. S. Marincak, pp. 129–44. Kosice: Orientalia et Occidentalia. Moskos, Charles. 1990. Greek Americans: Struggle and Success (2nd edn). New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Sabbas. 2004. Discussion of ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’, reply no. 4, 15 December 2004. Available at: http://www.orthodoxchristianity.net/forum/ index.php?topic=4806.0. Saloutos, Theodore. 1973. ‘The Greek Orthodox Church in the United States and Assimilation.’ International Migration Review, 7, 4: 395–407. Smith, Timothy. 1978. ‘Religion and Ethnicity in America.’ The American Historical Review, 83, 5: 1155–85. Stephen Warner and Judith Wittner (eds). 1998. Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Stokoe, Mark and Leonid Kishkovsky. 1995. Orthodox Christians in North America 1794–1994. Syosset, NY: Orthodox Christian Publications Center. Vryonis, Speros, Jr. 1982. A Brief History of the Greek-American Community of St. George, Memphis, Tennessee, 1962–1982. Malibu: Undena Publications.

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Index

‘Aborigines’ (Stylianos, 1979) 233, 234–5 adaptive innovation 10 Adrahtas, Vassilios 10, 15 American Orthodox Church 253–4, 255, 257–8, 257–61 Anglican Church 10, 12, 73, 74, 80, 81, 83–5, 88, 90 Arvaniti, Eftichia 10, 11–12 Athanasopoulou-Kypriou, Spyridoula 11, 12 Augustine 29 Berger, Peter 256, 273, 278 Bulgarian Church 74, 81, 83, 86, 88, 89, 148n9 Byzantine chant 10, 13, 92, 123–4, 125–6, 128, 131–4, 137 Byzantium 23, 24–5, 30, 32–3, 34, 79, 144 Casanova, José 253, 254–5, 273 celibacy 12, 101n2, 103, 104, 107, 116–17, 118 Christian feminism 12, 104–5, 114–16, 117, 118 Christianity 7, 19, 22–4, 195–6, 197, 199 Orthodox 4–5, 8, 19–20, 21–7, 28, 29, 30, 31–2, 33–8, 40–41, 256 western 5, 23, 26, 27, 28–31, 34 Christodoulos, Archbishop 14, 191, 208, 213, 214, 217, 218 Chrysostom, Archbishop 196 Church Fathers 20, 29, 31, 40, 77, 89, 186n5 Church of Greece 5, 8, 14, 37, 75, 144, 183–4, 185, 188–9, 193–4, 210–12 Shrine of Evangelistria 164, 165, 169, 171–2, 173–5, 177, 178–9 see also Greek Orthodox Church

Church of the Annunciation, Memphis, Tennessee, USA 15, 262–4, 265–70, 271–5, 276–8 controlled compromise 15, 212, 214–18, 219–20, 221–3 cosmopolitanism 195, 196, 200 Danoussis, Kostas 164, 167, 171–2 deculturation of religion 184, 186, 187, 188, 201 double-identity churches (Greek Islands) 10, 11–12, 53–5, 64–8 shared buildings 11–12, 53, 55, 56–63, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64–5, 68–9 shared rituals 11–12, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57–8, 60, 63–4, 65, 66–8 Dreaming 236, 237, 238–9, 247 Ecumenical Councils 23, 24, 28, 144, 150 ‘Efsevia’ sisterhood 101–2, 105, 108–10, 111, 112, 117n31 electronic devotion 14, 176–7, 179 ‘Elpis’ sisterhood 110 emancipatory innovation 11 ethnicity 15, 254, 255, 264, 265–8, 270, 276–7, 278 Evangelistria Shrine see Shrine of Evangelistria ‘Evniki’ sisterhood 110 exile-identity 199 ‘Faith and the Promised Land’ (Stylianos, 1990) 242–4 feminism 7, 102, 104, 114, 115 Christian 12, 104–5, 114–16, 117, 118 Fokas, Effie and Moses, Dena Fokas 10, 15 fundamentalism 187, 188 Gabriel, Bishop of Tinos 163, 165, 166, 167, 170, 171, 174

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General Regulations 146–7, 152, 153, 155–9, 160 Gladstone, W.E. 85, 87, 88, 89, 90 Greek identity 15, 117n31, 190–91, 253–4, 264, 265–6, 273–5, 276 Greek Islands double-identity churches 10, 11–12, 53–5, 64–8 shared buildings 11–12, 53, 55, 56–63, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64–5, 68–9 shared rituals 11–12, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57–8, 60, 63–4, 65, 66–8 Venetian rule 11, 12, 53–4, 56, 64–5, 66, 67, 68 Greek Orthodox Church 6, 195, 197–8, 201–2, 207–10, 211–12, 214–18, 220–21, 222 see also Church of Greece Greek Orthodoxy 3–5, 8–9, 19–20, 23–4, 26–7, 79–80, 186, 187–90, 200–202 Greek Theological Association for the Improvement of Religious Education see KAIROS Gregory of Byzantium 79–80, 83 Hatt-i Hümâyûn 13, 146, 149, 153 Helleno-Christianity 79, 194 Hieronymus, Archbishop 5, 9, 14–15, 198n22, 201n26, 208–10, 211–14, 215, 216–21 controlled compromise 15, 212, 214–18, 219–20, 221–3 Hobsbawm, Eric and Ranger, Terence 125, 126 Holy Canons 13, 145, 146, 147–8, 151, 156, 157, 158, 159–60 iconography 33–4 Ieromnimon 73, 76–7, 81–2 immigrant religiosity 253, 254–5, 256–7, 258, 259, 260–62 indigenous Australians 10, 15, 231–2, 233, 241–2, 246, 248, 249 ‘Aborigines’ 233, 234–5 ‘Faith and the Promised Land’ 242–3 ‘Individuality’ 246, 247–8 ‘Visual Australia’ 233, 235–7

‘Western Australia’ 237–9 ‘Within Dreamtime’ 246–7 ‘Individuality’ (Stylianos, 1995) 246, 247–8 innovation, religious 3–4, 5, 6–11, 13, 21–5, 28–31, 32–7, 143–4, 186, 222–3 Islâhat Fermâni see Hatt-i Hümâyûn Joachim II 148, 155–7, 158–9 KAIROS (Greek Theological Association for the Improvement of Religious Education) 185, 186 Kalaïtzidis, Pantelis 4, 185, 191, 192, 193–4, 195, 196–7, 199, 200, 201 Karatheodoris, Konstantinos 157–8 Karatheodoris, Stefanos 147, 151–2, 153, 154, 159 Khomyakov, Alexey Stepanovich 81 Kitromilides, Paschalis M. 168n6, 198–9 Kontogiorgi, Elisabeth 10, 12 Krâstovic, Gavril 158 Lagouros, Alexandros S. 164 lay participation 13, 145, 146, 148, 151–2, 153, 155, 158, 159–60 Lind, Tore Tvarnø 10, 12–13 Lykourgos, Alexandros (Archbishop of Syros) 12, 73–6, 77–9, 80, 81–3, 86–7, 88–90, 91–4, 171 Anglican Church 12, 73, 74, 83–4, 85, 88, 90 Ieromnimon 73, 76–7, 81–2 Makrakis, Apostolos 92–3 Makrides, Vasilios N. 4, 7, 11, 102n4, 106n10 millets (religious communities) 13, 146, 148, 160, 256 modernity 4, 10, 30, 38, 127, 136, 184, 200 Murav’ev, Andrei 151, 153 music revivals 127–9, 130, 131–2, 133–4, 137 musical tradition 123–5, 126–7, 135–7 nationalism 8, 12, 80–81, 93, 198, 200–201, 219

Index Nussbaum, Martha C. 195–6 OCA (Orthodox Church in America) 259, 265–6, 274 Oikonomos, Constantine 73, 74–5, 92 ordination, women priests 36, 37 orientalism 143, 144 Orthodox Christianity 4–5, 8, 19–20, 21–7, 28, 29, 30, 31–2, 33–8, 40–41, 256 Orthodox Church in America see OCA Ottoman Empire 21, 25–6, 35, 85, 144, 145–8 Joachim II 148, 155–7, 158–9 millets 13, 146, 148, 160, 256 Patriarch election 148, 149–55, 156, 160 Rum millet 145, 146–7, 149, 152, 159–60 Tanzimat reforms 10, 13, 144–5, 146 Pan-Slavism 73, 79, 81–2, 83, 86, 88–9 Paparrigopoulos, Konstantinos 79, 194 Papastathis, Konstantinos 5, 9, 14, 15 PASOK government 183, 191, 209, 223 Patriarch election (Ottoman Empire) 148, 149–55, 156, 160 Philaret (Metropolitan of Moscow) 149n11, 151, 153 Polyssadof (Russian clergyman) 81–2 Porphyropoulos, Markos 26 post-structuralist model 209 Protestantism 10, 20, 26, 31, 37, 39, 196–7 purist innovation 9 ‘Rainbow Serpent’ 241, 248 ‘Reading’ (Stylianos, 1991) 244–5 Reformation 21, 31 ‘religion without culture’ see deculturation of religion religious systems 3, 6, 32 Roman Catholic Church 28, 30, 31, 39, 84–5 see also double-identity churches Roy, Olivier 184, 186, 187, 201 Rum millet 145, 146–7, 149, 152, 159–60 Russian Orthodox Church 27, 34, 35, 36, 37, 40, 80–81, 89, 257, 258–9

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secularization 143, 145–6, 160, 198, 212 Seraïdari, Katerina 6, 7–8, 9, 13–14 shared buildings (Greek Islands) 11–12, 53, 55, 56–63, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64–5, 68–9 shared rituals (Greek Islands) 11–12, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57–8, 60, 63–4, 65, 66–8 Shrine of Evangelistria, Island of Tinos 7–8, 9, 13–14, 163, 164, 165–9, 170, 171–5, 176–7, 178–9 sisterhoods 11, 12, 101n2, 101n3, 102, 104–5, 106, 111–12, 114–15 ‘Efsevia’ 101–2, 105, 108–10, 111, 112, 117n31 ‘Elpis’ 110 ‘Evniki’ 110 Zoe movement 12, 101–2, 103, 105–10, 111–12, 114, 116–18 St George’s Greek Orthodox Church, Memphis, Tennessee, USA 262–3, 268, 274 Stamatopoulos, Dimitris 6, 9–10, 13 strategic innovation 9–10 Stylianos (Archbishop of Australia) 10, 15, 231–3, 248–9 ‘Aborigines’ 233, 234–5 ‘Faith and the Promised Land’ 242–4 ‘Individuality’ 246, 247–8 ‘Reading’ 244–5 ‘The Value of Shapes’ 240–42 ‘Unheard Request’ 237, 239–40, 245–6 ‘Visual Australia’ 233, 235–7 ‘Western Australia’ 237–9 ‘Within Dreamtime’ 246–7 ‘Zeitgeist’ 244, 245–6 Sublime Porte 146, 147, 153, 154–5 Synaxis 185, 191n11 Tanzimat reforms 10, 13, 144–5, 146, 159 ‘Testament’ (Shrine of Evangelistria) 165–6, 167, 169, 170, 174, 177 ‘The Value of Shapes’ (Stylianos, 1989) 240–42 Tinos sanctuary see Shrine of Evangelistria tradition 3, 6, 7–8, 19–20, 23–4, 25–7, 28–9, 31–2, 35–7, 38–9, 40–41, 125, 126–7

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traditionalism 4, 21–2, 24–5, 34 ‘Unheard Request’ (Stylianos, 1986) 237, 239–40, 245–6 unintentional innovation 10 Vatopaidi Monastery, Mount Athos 10, 12–13, 36, 126, 129–31, 134–5, 136, 137, 210n1 Byzantine chant 123–4, 128, 132–4 Venetian rule (Greek Islands) 11, 12, 53–4, 56, 64–5, 66, 67, 68 ‘Visual Australia’ (Stylianos, 1983) 233, 235–7 Vitalis, Filaretos 164, 165, 167, 170, 171 Volos Academy of Theological Studies (Greece) 40, 185–6, 187, 191–3, 195n17, 196n18, 197n19 ‘Western Australia’ (Stylianos, 1984) 237–9

western Christianity 5, 23, 26, 27, 28–31, 34 Willert, Trine Stauning 6, 8, 9, 14 ‘Within Dreamtime’ (Stylianos, 1994) 246–7 women’s associations 102, 110, 111 women’s rights 12, 112–14, 115, 117, 118 Yangazoglou, Stavros 195 Yannaras, Christos 102–3, 106n10, 190–91, 193 ‘Zeitgeist’ (Stylianos, 1991) 244, 245–6 Zoe movement 101, 102–3, 105, 106–7, 108, 110–11, 113, 114, 115–16, 117, 118, 196 sisterhoods 12, 101–2, 103, 105–10, 111–12, 114, 116–18