Globalization and Orthodox Christianity: The Transformations of a Religious Tradition 9781135014681, 113501468X

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Gender and Power in Contemporary Spirituality Ethnographic Approaches Edited by Anna Fedele and Kim E. Knibbe Religions in Movement The Local and the Global in Contemporary Faith Traditions Robert W. Hefner, John Hutchinson, Sara Mels and Christiane Timmerman



William James’s Hidden Religious Imagination A Universe of Relations Jeremy Carrette



Theology and the Arts Engaging Faith Ruth Illman and W. Alan Smith



Religion, Gender, and the Public Sphere Edited by Niamh Reilly and Stacey Scriver



An Introduction to Jacob Boehme Four Centuries of Thought and Reception Edited by Ariel Hessayon and Sarah Apetrei



Globalization and Orthodox Christianity The Transformations of a Religious Tradition Victor Roudometof

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity



Victor Roudometof

ROUTLEDGE STUDIES IN RELIGION

ROUTLEDGE STUDIES IN RELIGION

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity The Transformations of a Religious Tradition Victor Roudometof

www.routledge.com

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity

“In this book Roudometof offers a brilliant examination of the manifold entanglements between Orthodox Christianity and globalization processes across history. Broad in scope and rich in material, this book fills a gap concerning a Christian tradition that remained, until recently, mostly untheorized. This is an indispensable book for all those interested not only in the relations between globalization and religion, but also in Eastern Orthodox Christianity and its historical transformations.” Vasilios N. Makrides, University of Erfurt, Germany With approximately 200 to 300 million adherents worldwide, Orthodox Christianity is among the largest branches of Christianity, yet it remains relatively understudied. This book examines the rich and complex entanglements between Orthodox Christianity and globalization, offering a substantive contribution to the relationship between religion and globalization as well as the relationship between Orthodox Christianity and the sociology of religion— and more broadly, to the interdisciplinary field of Religious Studies. Although deeply engaged with history, this book does not simply narrate the history of Orthodox Christianity as a world religion, and it does not address theological issues or cover all the individual trajectories of each subgroup or subdivision of the faith. Orthodox Christianity is the object of the analysis, but author Victor Roudometof speaks to a broader audience interested in culture, religion and globalization. Roudometof argues in favor of using globalization instead of modernization as the main theoretical vehicle for analyzing religion, an approach that displaces secularization to argue for multiple hybridizations of religion as a suitable strategy for analyzing religious phenomena. This approach offers Orthodox Christianity as a test case that illustrates the presence of historically specific but theoretically distinct globalizations that are applicable to all faiths. Victor Roudometof is Associate Professor in the Department of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Cyprus. His main research interests include religion, nationalism, culture and globalization. He is the author of over 30 scholarly articles and two monographs. He has also edited several volumes and issues of scholarly journals.

Routledge Studies in Religion 1 Judaism and Collective Life Self and Community in the Religious Kibbutz Aryei Fishman 2 Foucault, Christianity and Interfaith Dialogue Henrique Pinto 3 Religious Conversion and Identity The Semiotic Analysis of Texts Massimo Leone 4 Language, Desire, and Theology A Genealogy of the Will to Speak Noëlle Vahanian

10 Religion, Language, and Power Edited by Nile Green and Mary Searle-Chatterjee 11 Shared Idioms, Sacred Symbols, and the Articulation of Identities in South Asia Edited by Kelly Pemberton & Michael Nijhawan 12 Theology, Creation, and Environmental Ethics From Creatio Ex Nihilo to Terra Nullius Whitney Bauman 13 Material Religion and Popular Culture E. Frances King

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6 Sufism and Deconstruction A Comparative Study of Derrida and Ibn ‘Arabi Ian Almond

15 The Entangled God Divine Relationality and Quantum Physics By Kirk Wegter-McNelly

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19 Buddhism and Violence Militarism and Buddhism in Modern Asia Edited by Vladimir Tikhonov and Torkel Brekke

26 Gender and Power in Contemporary Spirituality Ethnographic Approaches Edited by Anna Fedele and Kim E. Knibbe

20 Popular Music in Evangelical Youth Culture Stella Sai-Chun Lau

27 Religions in Movement The Local and the Global in Contemporary Faith Traditions Robert W. Hefner, John Hutchinson, Sara Mels and Christiane Timmerman

21 Theology and the Science of Moral Action Virtue Ethics, Exemplarity, and Cognitive Neuroscience Edited by James A. Van Slyke, Gregory R. Peterson, Kevin S. Reimer, Michael L. Spezio and Warren S. Brown 22 Abrogation in the Qur’an and Islamic Law By Louay Fatoohi 23 A New Science of Religion Edited by Gregory W. Dawes and James Maclaurin 24 Making Sense of the Secular Critical Perspectives from Europe to Asia Edited by Ranjan Ghosh 25 The Rise of Modern Jewish Politics Extraordinary Movement C.S. Monaco

28 William James’s Hidden Religious Imagination A Universe of Relations Jeremy Carrette 29 Theology and the Arts Engaging Faith Ruth Illman and W. Alan Smith 30 Religion, Gender, and the Public Sphere Edited by Niamh Reilly and Stacey Scriver 31 An Introduction to Jacob Boehme Four Centuries of Thought and Reception Edited by Ariel Hessayon and Sarah Apetrei 32 Globalization and Orthodox Christianity The Transformations of a Religious Tradition Victor Roudometof

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Globalization and Orthodox Christianity The Transformations of a Religious Tradition Victor Roudometof

First published 2014 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2014 Taylor & Francis The right of Victor Roudometof to be identified as the author of the editorial material has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Roudometof, Victor, 1964– Globalization and Orthodox Christianity : the transformations of a religious tradition / by Victor Roudometof. pages cm. — (Routledge studies in religion ; 32) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Orthodox Eastern Church—History—21st century. 2. Globalization— Religious aspects—Orthodox Eastern Church. I. Title. BX106.23.R68 2013 281.9—dc23 2013013554 ISBN: (hbk) 978-0-415-84373-7 ISBN: (ebk) 978-0-203-75416-0 Maps by Sophia Vyzoviti Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of Maps List of Tables List of Abbreviations Preface Acknowledgments 1

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity: Preliminary Considerations

ix xi xiii xv xvii

1

2

The Fragmentation of Christianity

18

3

From Christian Orthodoxy to Orthodox Christianity

38

4

Transitions to Modernity

59

5

Nationalism and the Orthodox Church: The Modern Synthesis

79

6

Colonialism and Ethnarchy: The Case of Cyprus

102

7

Orthodox Christianity as a Transnational Religion

119

8

Territoriality, Globality and Orthodoxy

137

9

Religion and Globalization: Orthodox Christianity Across the Ages

155

Appendix Notes Bibliography Index

173 175 193 219

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Maps

2.1 4.1 5.1 5.2

The Eastern Roman Empire with border changes between the sixth and 12th centuries Eastern Europe in 1789: the Ottoman and Russian empires Eastern Europe under communism, 1945–1989 Eastern Europe after the fall of communism (2012)

21 60 90 92

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Tables

2.1 The vernacularization of Chalcedonian Christianity 2.2 Indigenizations of Christianity in the Eastern Mediterranean (300–1589 AD) 9.1 Historical eras of globalization and Orthodoxy’s glocalizations

26 31 158

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Abbreviations

EC-PATR EU OCA OCG OCL ROC ROCOR UAOC UOC-KP

Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople European Union Orthodox Church in America Orthodox Church of Greece Orthodox Christian Laity Russian Orthodox Church Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (also known as Russian Orthodox Church Abroad or ROCA) Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church Ukrainian Orthodox Church–Kievan (or Kyivan) Patriarchate

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Preface

This book represents nearly a decade of work in the field of the sociology of Orthodox Christianity. Attending and presenting papers at the conferences and congresses of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion (Houston, United States, 2000), the International Society for the Sociology of Religion (Zagreb, Croatia, 2005; Leipzig, Germany 2007; Aix-en-Provence, France 2011) and the Association for the Sociology of Religion (Philadelphia, 2005; New York, United States, 2007) offered me the opportunity to meet, talk and collaborate with the other scholars who form the relatively small but vibrant group of people interested in Orthodox Christianity. This interaction has been a source of inspiration and has contributed greatly to shaping my thinking about this project. My participation in the 2009–2010 workshop series on “Nation, State and Religion in the Mediterranean: From 1789 to 1960,” sponsored by the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute, helped me to further sharpen the scope and aims of this project. I should publicly express my gratitude to the University of Cyprus Library, whose resources were extensively used. In particular, my deep appreciation goes to librarian Evie Antoniou, for her invaluable assistance in delivering books and articles from other libraries. Many thanks also go to Aleca Spyrou, who supervised the library’s purchases. I further owe a debt of gratitude to Denise Rothschild for her expert professional assistance in proofreading and editing the manuscript’s final drafts. For their assistance with the manuscript’s final stage, I should thank the publisher’s staff. Of course, all mistakes or other shortcomings in the final manuscript are my own responsibility. For the cartography, I should thank Dr. Sophia Vyzoviti (Department of Architecture, University of Thessaly, Greece). Further thanks go to Robert Swanson for this professional assistance in the construction of the book’s index. The text contains numerous references to names, places, organizations and titles. These require rendering words into English or transliterating from several languages. This is always a challenging task. For some languages (such as Greek), no standard transliteration system exists. Sometimes, there are differences in the names of cities or places (for example, Kiev). Other

xvi

Preface

times, different citation styles render the same term differently. To the extent possible, these matters have been dealt with according to standard scholarly conventions, and an effort was made to achieve consistency. I would like to apologize in advance for whatever shortcomings the reader’s careful eye detects in the manuscript. The preparation of this manuscript has benefited from the work and advice of numerous individuals. I would like to thank my long-term collaborators and co-authors Vasilios N. Makrides (Religious Studies, University of Erfurt, Germany), Alexander Agadjanian (Russian University of the Humanities, Moscow, Russia), Michalis N. Michael (Department of Turkish and Middle Eastern Studies, University of Cyprus) and Anna Karpathakis (Sociology, Kingsborough Community College, New York) for their assistance, encouragement and help as I have sought their judgment, advice and expertise on numerous occasions. My warm thanks also go to my colleagues, Lucian Leustean (Aston University), Tassos Anastasiadis (McGill University), Effie Fokas (London School of Economics), Nicos Kokosalakis (University of Liverpool), Lina Molokotos-Liederman (London School of Economics), Roberto Cipriani (University of Rome III, Italy), Irene Dietzel (University of Erfurt, Germany), Dimitris Antoniou (Oxford, UK), Heinz Richter (University of Mannheim, Germany), Athena S. Leoussi (University of Reading), Catharina Raudvere and Trine Stauning Willert (University of Copenhagen), George Kourvetaris (Northern Illinois University) and Gavril Flora (Partium Christian University, Oradea, Romania) for all their generous offers of knowledge, expertise and assistance over the years. I should extend my gratitude to Elisabeth Arweck, editor of the Journal of Contemporary Religion; David Yamane, editor of Sociology of Religion; Khacig Tololyan, editor of Diaspora; and Gerard Delanty, editor of the European Journal of Social Theory, for their constructive role and useful feedback in the process of submission and evaluation of the articles published in these journals. Further thanks go to the anonymous reviewers of these journals for their sound criticism and useful remarks that contributed to improving the quality of the work. These articles offered me the opportunity to develop ideas and interpretations that ultimately coalesced into this manuscript. Finally, I would like to thank Dimitris Vogiatzis, Giota Politi, Marios Constantinou, Marianna Papastephanou, Nikitas Hadjimichail, Elisa Diamantopoulou, William Haller, Fabienne Baider, Monica Andreou, Daphne Halikiopoulou, Nikolaos and Panayiota Roudometof, Costas Danopoulos and Panagiotis Christias.

Acknowledgments

Scattered throughout the book’s chapters are paragraphs and sentences that have been previously published in various articles, chapters and books. This material has been extensively revised or extended into its current format to form part of this book’s broader arguments. In all these instances, references to the earlier publications are made in the text or in each chapter’s notes. It is nonetheless necessary to acknowledge that material previously published is included in all or parts of the following chapters. Chapters 1 and 9 include material from my article “The Glocalizations of Eastern Orthodox Christianity,” which appeared in the European Journal of Social Theory 2013 (Vol. 2) 2, pp. 226–45. Chapter 6 incorporates most of “Church, State and Politics in 19th Century Cyprus” (co-authored with Michalis N. Michael), published in Thetis: Mannheimer Beiträge zur Klassischen Archäologie und Geschichte Griechenlands und Zyperns 2010 (Vol. 16/17), pp. 97–104. Chapter 6 also includes material from “The Transformation of Greek Orthodox Religious Identity in 19th century Cyprus,” published in Chronos: Revue d’Histoire de l’Université de Balamand 2010 (Vol. 22), pp. 7–23. In Chapter 5, the section on Orthodox institutions in the Ottoman Empire includes material previously published in “The Evolution of GreekOrthodoxy in the Context of World-Historical Globalization” in Orthodox Christianity in 21st Century Greece: The Role of Religion in Politics, Ethnicity and Culture, edited by V. Roudometof and V. N. Makrides (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2010, pp. 21–38). In Chapter 7, a portion of the section on the Greek American experience includes material previously published in “From Greek-Orthodox Diaspora to Transnational Hellenism: Greek Nationalism and the Identities of the Diaspora” in The Call of the Homeland: Diaspora Nationalisms, Past and Present, edited by A. Gal, A.S. Leoussi and A.D. Smith (London: Brill/UCL, 2010, pp. 139–66). In the same chapter, the section on the dilemmas of ethnic and religious identity in the United States includes updated and revised material from the chapter “Greek Americans and Transnationalism: Religion, Class, and Community” (co-authored with Anna Karpathakis)

xviii

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in Communities Across Borders: New Immigrants and Transnational Cultures, edited by P. Kennedy and V. Roudometof (London: Routledge, 2002, pp. 41–54). Finally, Chapter 8 is a heavily revised and extended version of “GreekOrthodoxy, Territoriality and Globality: Religious Responses and Institutional Disputes,” published in Sociology of Religion 2008 (Vol. 69) 1, pp. 67–91.

1

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity Preliminary Considerations

With approximately 200 to 300 million adherents worldwide, Orthodox Christianity is among the largest branches of Christianity, yet it remains relatively understudied.1 Orthodox Christianity is still often cast in the role of the “subaltern Other” and falls victim to a latent yet widespread Orientalism. In Western Europe and North America, knowledge of Orthodox Christianity is all too frequently tainted by negative stereotypes, partiality and partisanship.2 This volume examines the variety of entanglements between Orthodox Christianity and globalization. At the heart of the arguments pursued in the book’s chapters lies an effort to show the rich and complex nature of these entanglements. With this effort, the book aims to make a substantive contribution to the relationship between religion and globalization as well as to the relationship between Orthodox Christianity and the sociology of religion—and more broadly, to the interdisciplinary field of religious studies. To the extent possible, the book has been written with the goal of rendering the arguments accessible even to nonspecialist readers. Although the book is deeply engaged with history, its objectives are not to offer a history of Orthodox Christianity as a world religion, to address theological issues or to exhaustively cover all the individual trajectories of each subgroup or subdivision of the faith. Orthodox Christianity is the object of the analysis, but the goal is to speak to a broader audience interested in the general themes of culture, religion and globalization. The broader objective is to use the historical record of Orthodox Christianity as empirical material to theorize the varied historical entanglements between local cultures and world religions within the context of world-historical globalization. This introductory chapter begins with a critique of widely held preconceptions about Orthodox Christianity. Rejecting these preconceptions, the chapter views Orthodox Christianity as capable of adapting to various eras and settings. To contextualize the book’s topic within the scholarly traditions on the study of religion in the social sciences, this chapter examines the recent re-evaluation of the secularization paradigm and the emergence of globalization as a distinct problematic for analyzing the relations among religion, culture and social change. The use of globalization as the overarching framework offers a new way to understand the historical trajectories of

2 Globalization and Orthodox Christianity Orthodox Christianity and has the potential to offer a more evenhanded treatment of this religious tradition. This chapter concludes with a discussion of various issues regarding historical periodization in relation to the book’s topic and outlines the themes pursued in the following chapters. Readers unfamiliar with the hierarchical order of the faith may consult the appendix for a brief outline of Orthodox Christianity’s hierarchal structure. BEYOND THE CONVENTIONAL IMAGE OF EASTERN ORTHODOXY Traditionally, most of the Orthodox countries have been included in the category of Eastern Bloc nations and, following 1989, in the ambiguous category of “postcommunist” Eastern Europe. Since the 17th century, Western observers have, in general, negatively evaluated the Orthodox religious tradition (Wolff 2001). These evaluations were part of the broader Western European prejudice against Eastern European countries, which were viewed as backward and failing the Western European standards of civilization (Wolff 1994). During the Cold War era, this long-standing assumption in public and academic opinion was expressed by holding the Orthodox cultural legacy, at least in part, responsible for the political imposition of communism. During the 1990s, influential commentators (Kaplan 1993; Kennan 1993; Huntington 1996) suggested a link between the cultural traditions of Eastern Europe and the failure of most of these countries to successfully transition to democracy or to successfully integrate into the new post-1989 Europe (Clark 2000). According to this essentialist approach, communism was but a temporary manifestation of an anti-Western and antimodern reaction that is deeply encoded in the Orthodox cultural tradition. Extended to the postcommunist era, this line of reasoning suggests that this cultural tradition has endorsed the two most recent forms of anti-Western and antimodern reaction: ethno-nationalism and fundamentalist protectionism. The special link of Orthodoxy with local national identities is frequently used to support this thinking. As Kitromilides (2007a: xiii) insightfully observes, “[Western] prejudice dies hard and is often rekindled by power politics and an inability to understand the Eastern half of a shared continent—to the point that iron curtains are imagined to be replaced by velvet curtains associated with the aesthetics of Orthodoxy.” With the collapse of communism, sociological research has to some degree focused on the contemporary situation within Orthodox Christianity (Borowik 1999, 2006; Borowik and Tomka 2001; Roudometof, Agadjanian, and Pankhurst 2005; Byrnes and Katzenstein 2006, part III; Naumescu 2007; Révay and Tomka 2007). In most cases, however, the combination of the experience of communism in the former Soviet Union, Romania, Albania, Bulgaria and former Yugoslavia and the cultural heritage of Orthodox Christianity in Eastern and Southeastern Europe has made it quite difficult

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity

3

to discern the role of Orthodox Christianity as such on contemporary political and cultural developments.3 Instead of focusing on historical specificity, in many cases, generalizations are made about the faith. Ramet (2006:148) writes, “Whatever changes may impact the world, the Orthodox Church refuses, for the most part, to accommodate itself to change, standing fixed in time, its bishops’ gaze riveted on an ‘idyllic past’ which serves as their beacon.” This statement aptly summarizes Orthodox Christianity’s prevailing image. The preservation of a presumed unbroken religious tradition has been the conscious goal of the overwhelming majority of religious movements, authors and activists in the Orthodox cultural landscape (Agadjanian and Roudometof 2005). By and large, the entire material and symbolic order of the faith has been used to preserve or even enhance a sense of difference that remains anchored in the preservation of such a (literal and/or constructed) religious tradition (for a discussion, see McGuckin 2008). In most nations of the Eastern European Orthodox heartland, this religious tradition is fused with local identities into a single genre of identity, whereby church, ethnicity or nationality become signifiers of a single collective entity. The phrase “religious tradition” in this book’s subtitle underscores precisely this feature of the faith, but it is also an acknowledgement that, as MacCulloch (2009:7) insightfully observes, “the Bible . . . embodies not a tradition, but many traditions.” In Orthodox Christianity, “there has been a taken-for-granted unity between religion and community” (Berger 2005:441). The Church, as Orthodox theologians tirelessly repeat, is not simply the religious hierarchy or the formal institution but the entire body of those who are publicly affiliated with the faith. The importance of the faith lies at the level of public culture—in contrast to individualized expressions of religiosity. Indeed, to the extent that Orthodoxy allows persons to navigate the symbolic universe of religious metaphors on their own, it promotes the individual privatization of religious experience (Kokosalakis 1995:259–60). However, the accommodation of individuality should not be conflated with the public role, function and importance of faith. Instead, the preservation of a dominant position in society and vis-à-vis the state has been a long-held objective for most Orthodox churches, which thus operate as national churches rather than as denominations. This finding should not lead to misguided perceptions that Orthodox Christianity is incapable of tolerating social change or of instigating new practices and institutions that can adjust to newfound realities. According to Orthodox theology, the ancient principle of expediency (oikonomia) allows for subtlety and flexibility in canonical procedures as these necessarily adapt to “popular faith.” Accordingly, the Church can “compromise in order to accommodate transgressions against established doctrine and practice on certain occasions” (Kokosalakis 1987:41). Even when there are texts that establish doctrine on specific issues, these may be subject to flexible interpretation under the principle of expediency. As a result, the Church

4 Globalization and Orthodox Christianity in general is not concerned with the imposition of strict rules of religious conduct and belief; it can afford accommodations to different situations as these arise. The Church can use popular forms of religious expression even when they seem at variance with its own doctrine and, in turn, can use them to strengthen its own position in society and in its relations with the state. Culture and religion intertwine in a reciprocal relationship in which change is both implicitly accommodated and explicitly refuted (for examples, see Roudometof and Makrides 2010). Although formal introductions of religious innovation are theologically refuted, their practice can be accepted thanks to the aforementioned principle of expediency. Therefore, it is important to separate practice from rhetoric. If religious rhetoric or the projected image of an unbroken religious tradition is taken at face value, the image of religious traditionalism is transformed into the observer’s reality. Orthodox Christianity is then cast in the role of an inherently conservative antidemocratic or antimodern religion that lacks the resources or the capacities to adapt to the realities of contemporary life. To combat such stereotypes, it is necessary to adopt a far more nuanced approach, one that recognizes the diversity of Orthodox Christianity—hence the reason I speak of transformations (in the plural) of Orthodoxy. Orthodox Christianity should be regarded as possessing the same mutability and capacity as other branches of Christianity to fuse into different contexts. SHIFTING PARADIGMS: FROM SECULARIZATION TO GLOBALIZATION Although the study of religion was previously marginal to mainstream sociology, the field has become far more central to sociology in the last 30 years.4 Until the recent past, sociology conceptualized religion mainly along two dimensions: the institutional and the individual. Lost in this dichotomy was the noninstitutional but collective and public cultural dimension of religion (Besecke 2005:179). This collective and public cultural dimension is particularly relevant to the study of Orthodox Christianity. The rise of globalization as a new central concept for the study of religion is related to the decline of the traditional secularization paradigm and the subsequent reframing of its use in sociology and related fields. For most of the 20th century, the agenda of the sociology of religion has been dominated by the debate over secularization (Turner 2009). Social scientists have heatedly debated the scope, nature, extent and parameters of secularization in an effort to unveil the overall patterns and/or trajectories of the modern world. These arguments have been superseded by reevaluations favorable to the skeptics of the secularization thesis (Berger et al. 1999, Berger 2002; Sociology of Religion 1999). In this reappraisal, Western Europe, once regarded as the paradigmatic case of secularization, is viewed as an exception to global patterns, whereas the United States, once regarded as an

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity

5

exceptional case, is viewed as more typical of global patterns of religiosity than previously thought (Davie 2002; for an exploration, see Berger, Davie, and Fokas 2008). As a result, the terms of the secularization debate have been reframed (Taylor 2007; for a critical assessment, see Torpey 2010). Ours is a secular age, not because of a mere decline of individual religiosity or a growing church–state separation, but because our framework of understanding has shifted radically. Whereas one could scarcely be ignorant of God in the Western world of 1500, that is certainly an option today. Secularization is understood as a shift in the overall framework of the human condition; it makes it possible for people to have a choice between belief and nonbelief in a manner hitherto unknown. This generalization remains based on the historical trajectory of the Western or trans-Atlantic world.5 Reconsidering secularity remains a project high on the agenda of the sociology of religion. In such reconsiderations, secularism is conceived of as an active project that is articulated alongside the Western modernity of the post-1500 world (Gorski and Altinordou 2008; Calhoun, Juergensmeyer, and Van Antwerpen 2011). Furthermore, Casanova (2006) argues in favor of refining secularization and addressing Eurocentric biases in the framing of that debate. He suggests that future revisions of the secularization paradigm must take into account the construction of both sides of the secular– religious dichotomy. To do so, one must inquire into the complex negotiations involved in defining the boundaries between them. In turn, this inquiry raises the issue of the role that cultural traditions and, more broadly, culture play in such processes. Western social theory has been based on the themes of modernity and secularity and has thus ignored Orthodox Christianity (Hann 2011). However, nearly all theories of religious modernity, including both sides of the secularization debate, have been in large part unable to recognize or evaluate the social and cultural power of religious expression (Robertson 2007). Instead, these theories accept as natural or self-evident culturally specific notions of religion, secularity and secularism. These notions have been deeply involved in the making of the Western self-image (Asad 1993, 2003). When one considers Orthodox Christianity, this cultural specificity is exposed, and as a result, the Western self-image becomes problematic (McMylon and Vorozhishcheva 2007).6 To consider the articulation of Orthodox Christianity, it is necessary to extend the historical framework further into the past—into Western Europe’s Middle Ages. Although various theological issues were involved in the Orthodox–Catholic disputes in these centuries, the divergent rationale of the two sides centered on two major points. First, “the conflict between East and West was . . . over the relation between the authority of the bishop of Rome and all other authority in the Church” (Pelikan 1977:272). The East rejected arguments in favor of papal primacy. Second, there were differences concerning the understanding of the relationship between sacerdotium and imperium or regnum, or the spiritual realm and the realm of the state

6 Globalization and Orthodox Christianity (Sherrard 1992). In the Orthodox tradition, imperium was juxtaposed with sacerdotium. For the Orthodox East, several papal practices overextended ecclesiastical authority into the realm of state authority.7 These two realms carry the connotations of sacred and profane—but not those of secular and religious per se. Emperor Justinian I (527–565 AD) succinctly summed it up in his Sixth Novella (535): There are two main gifts bestowed by God upon men: the priesthood and the imperial authority (sacerdotium et imperium). Of these, the former is concerned with things divine, the latter with human affairs. . . . Nothing is of greater importance to the Emperors than to support the dignity of the priesthood, so that the priests may in turn pray to God for them (quoted in Zernov 1963:66). Even if the quotation above provides only a very rough sketch, it is fair to say that in the longue durée, Orthodox Christianity is a culture with a profound understanding of the sacred–profane division but also one in which the secular–religious division became relevant only in the aftermath of the social and cultural modernization of Eastern and Southeastern Europe, whereby modern states applied the Western-inspired logic of secularism to their domains. It should therefore not be surprising that the theme of secularity does not occupy a central place in this book. The significance of culture for the study of religion and particularly of Orthodox Christianity is revealed in issues of worship, rituals and popular practices. In Orthodox countries, religious worship and rituals are not necessarily manifestations of individual belief, and religious practice does not necessarily reflect the depth of personal conviction or belief (Tomka 2006). A case in point is the celebration of the Orthodox Easter, which is the focal point of Orthodox Christianity’s religious calendar (Berger 2005). Far from a matter of individual religious self-expression, its celebration is quite public. The entire rhythm of social life is adjusted to follow the religious calendar of the Holy Week, culminating in the celebration of the Resurrection, symbolically set at midnight on Good Saturday but also involving the Epitaph possession on Good Friday along the streets of towns and villages. Public officials participate prominently in these rituals, and educational institutions go on a two-week hiatus, returning to classes one week after Easter Sunday (for additional examples, see Naletova 2009). Orthodox Easter reflects broader differences among cultures or traditions. In turn, these differences shape the role of religion in society.8 Far from engaging with this problematic, the overwhelming majority of work in the sociology of religion naturalizes the trans-Atlantic cultural context of its surroundings. Thus, the Orientalism of the past resurfaces as academic parochialism. Orthodox Christianity has been the object of academic and lay stereotypes precisely because it exposes the limits of theoretical paradigms that work only for a selected group of Western nations or religious

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7

traditions. Culture is thus often a means of exoticizing the Other, even when this is clearly not intentional. Eastern Christianity (both in its Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian variants) never experienced the trials and tribulations of Western Christianity, and as a result, it has long been exceedingly problematic to fit the experiences and cultural logic of this tradition within the generalizations made on the basis of the Western experience.9 For this reason, the use of globalization as the overarching concept allows less biased and certainly less Western-centered perspectives for studying historical events and contemporary developments. Globalization is a term that has been subject to multiple and often-competing definitions and perspectives that reflect differences in research foci (for overviews, see Robertson and White 2003; Ritzer 2007; Rossi 2008; Guillen 2001). In Robertson’s (1992:8) original statement, globalization is defined as “the compression of the world.” By “compression,” Robertson means the accelerated pace of contact among cultures, peoples and civilizations or the sense that the world is “shrinking.” Since the early 1990s, scholarship has explored various facets of the relationship between globalization and religion.10 Although researchers have examined the consequences of contemporary interconnectivity for religious expression, scholarship addressing the historical intertwining of religion and globalization has been far less prolific.11 In highlighting the historical dimension of globalization, the perspective adopted in this book does not view globalization as a consequence of Western European modernity (Giddens 1990:1) or as the result of a post-World War II “second” modernity (Beck 1992; cf. Holton 2009; Roudometof 2009b). On the contrary, it is the emergence of modernity in Western Europe and North America (typically referred to as the “rise of the West”) that is viewed as taking place within world-historical globalization (Hobson 2004)12 It is in this sense that the use of globalization offers the possibility of liberation from the conventional Western self-image that is implicit in the narrative of Western modernity and reproduced in the conventional framings of the secularization debate. This book aims to explore this hitherto relatively understudied conceptual link between a religious tradition and historical globalization—or the problematic that Obadia (2010) has termed “globalization and religion.” This problematic concerns the relations and the impact of globalization on religion. From this point of view, even religions—such as Orthodox Christianity—that are not conventionally considered “global” are nevertheless influenced by globalization (Agadjanian and Roudometof 2005). In pursuing a historical sociology of the relationship between Orthodox Christianity and globalization, there are some important scope restrictions: The objective is to study a single branch of a religion—and in fact an explicitly conservative one—in its public role. Privatized contexts of religiosity, individual expressions of religious piety and noninstitutionalized religious expressions are not under consideration. This stipulation clearly places specific scope restrictions on this inquiry. Although the following chapters primarily

8 Globalization and Orthodox Christianity concern institutionalized religion, institutions per se are not examined in isolation from their broader social environment. The use of historical globalization as the master heuristic device for this book’s organization implies that there is no single monolithic master narrative of modernization and secularization that is universally applicable. Globalization, not modernization, provides the overall framework for presenting and analyzing the transformations of Orthodox Christianity in world history. Globalization is not a process that can be easily accounted for within a single authoritative narrative—rather the very notion of various locales coalescing into the global promotes the construction of multiple narratives that reflect the manner in which each group, religious tradition or region contributes to the construction of the “global.” These multiple alternative pathways result from the combinations of different historical contingencies within contexts and cultures. The view of the global is always a view from somewhere, and in this book, it is the view from within the religious and cultural landscape of Orthodox Christianity.13 The paradoxical juxtaposition between the asserted immutable tradition that lies at the heart of Orthodox Christianity and the social change experienced in historical time forms the core of the inquiry. The development of different forms of Orthodox Christianity is viewed as a response to shifting contexts and historical periods. The notion of globalization entails a plurality of responses as outcomes instead of a single master narrative of secularization (Beyer 2007). The notion of transformations provides a means for capturing these plural religious responses of Orthodox Christianity. It offers a conceptual vehicle to examine the different ways in which globalization manifests itself in the historical record. Although certainly not intended as an exhaustive account, the following discussion sums up some of these ways. First, there is the issue of the worldwide spread (or “globalization” in the sense of spreading all over the world) of various religions—or what might be termed the “globalization of religion” (Obadia 2010). Although various religions are spread all over the globe, these are also simultaneously localized; that is, they are reconstituted in new locales and reconstruct communal attachments in new forms. This process might lead to global forms of religiosity or an ecumenical orientation that decouples particularistic attachments in favor of a global religious community, or it might lead to the construction of new branches of a religion or religious varieties. It is important to stress that this is not an exclusively contemporary phenomenon. The creation of distinct branches of Christianity—such as Orthodox and Catholic Christianity—bears the mark of this particularization of religious universalism. As Inglis (2010) suggests, this more historically oriented perspective on globalization is compatible with civilizational perspectives (Nelson 1981; Eisenstadt 2002). The interactions among different civilizational or cultural constellations or political–military empires offer the opportunity to account for the articulation of some cultural differences vis-à-vis others.

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Second, there are the processes whereby a religion’s links to territory are disrupted. Globalization entails a geographical component, which is best expressed in terms of the dialectic of deterritorialization and reterritorialization (Held et al. 1999; Scholte 2000). Old forms of territorial attachments are decoupled, and new forms of such attachments are forged. This dialectic is prominently displayed both in trends toward greater ecumenical orientation and in transnational religion. It is the mechanism by which globalization operates concretely to construct new forms of attachment. This dialectic reshapes the world’s religious geography through increased cross-cultural contact. It makes possible the lifting of social relations from their original setting, whereby a “locale” ceases to be always geographically circumscribed. The opposite trend is also present, as the same processes lead to the possibility of reconstructing, creating or recreating locality. In this sense, the construction of locality can be viewed as a global phenomenon (Robertson 1992; Appadurai 1995). A distinct feature of this dimension concerns the emergence of transnational religion, whereby communities living outside the national territory of particular states maintain religious attachments to their home churches or institutions. Third, there are the various processes referred to as indigenization, hybridization or glocalization (Roudometof 2003; Burke 2010; Canclini 1995; for specific examples, see Altglas 2010). These processes register the ability of religion to mold into the fabric of different communities in ways that connect it intimately with communal and local relations. Religion sheds its universal uniformity in favor of blending with localities. Global-local or glocal religion thus represents a “genre of expression, communication and legitimation” of collective and individual identities (Robertson 1991:282; Robertson and Garret 1991:xv). Groups and individuals use this religious tradition symbolically as emblematic of membership in an ethnic or national group. Both institutional avenues and private means are employed in this symbolic appropriation, and these are usually interwoven into a web of other associations and relationships. Although communities continue to be formed around the notion of “locality,” this category can be divorced from its connection to a specific geographical area. Locality can be constructed transnationally or symbolically alongside its traditional connection to a specific place (Kennedy and Roudometof 2002). These processes involve the construction of cultural hybrids that blend religious universalism with several forms of local (national or ethnic) particularisms. As the chapters in this book will show, Orthodox Christianity is particularly prone to developing such hybrids. Therefore, from a global–historical perspective, the basic theoretical issues are as follows: How does a religious tradition come into being in the context of the broader interactions and cross-cultural contacts that constitute globalization? How does a religious tradition respond and adapt to the challenges instigated by the two major forces of the last two centuries, namely, nationalism and modernity? What is the nature of the cross-national

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Globalization and Orthodox Christianity

entanglements that fall under the terms of “deterritorialized” and transnational religion? To effectively address these general theoretical issues, this book transforms the above issues into historically specific questions about the relationship between globalization and Orthodox Christianity. These questions are as follows: 1. How has Orthodox Christianity become a religious tradition in the context of historical globalization? What is its relationship to glocalization? 2. How has Orthodox Christianity responded to its encounters with nationalism and modernity? 3. Is Orthodox Christianity a “deterritorialized,” transnational or “globalized” religion? Can we perceive it as a “global” religion? To answer these questions, cases and contexts have been selected accordingly.14 The analytical strategy is to discuss different cases from the historical record stressing those dimensions and features that are thematically relevant for answering the above-mentioned central research questions. Both in this introductory chapter and in the chapters that follow, the issue of case selection is addressed, and the theoretical rationale for referring at greater length to specific cases or examples is spelled out. From this book’s perspective, the sheer numerical strength of Russian Orthodoxy—which accounts for nearly half of all Orthodox Christians today (Robertson 2008)—does not translate into a need to concentrate on that particular variant of Orthodoxy alone. Such a choice would unduly restrict the range of historical variation and would fail to include other historically relevant examples. Rather, the strategy pursued is to focus on different historical cases. The goal is to permit the emergence of a complex image of various historical configurations that would otherwise be silenced in favor of a single monolithic narrative. This strategy allows the placement of contemporary developments within Russian Orthodoxy into their proper historical contexts. After all, this book aims for an interpretation of the transformations of Orthodox Christianity through its encounters with globalization in the longue durée of world history. The goal is to compensate for recent tendencies to overemphasize the importance of communism and/or to identify the legacies of communism with the cultural features of Orthodoxy. PERIODIZATION AND THEMES Berger (2005:441) suggests that throughout its history, Eastern Orthodoxy has existed in four social forms: (a) as a state church—first in the Eastern Roman Empire (Byzantium), then in Russia and later in the independent states that grew out of the slow disintegration of the Ottoman empire; (b) as a tolerated minority under Muslim rule, as in the Ottoman millet system;

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(c) as a persecuted community under Communist rule; and (d) as a diaspora community in Western Europe and America. There are important advantages to this classification, such as the acknowledgement of the millet system and the diaspora as two major historical conditions in Orthodox Christianity. However, there are also limitations. For example, this book’s chapters show that a world of difference separated the status of Orthodoxy in the Eastern Roman Empire from its status as a national religion in the modern Eastern Orthodox nation-states. Thus, to come to terms with the transformations of Orthodox Christianity as a result of globalization and with the multiple modernizations pursued in the Orthodox religious landscape over the last centuries, the approach adopted in this book departs from Berger’s classification in the sense of connecting the historical stages or waves of globalization to Orthodoxy and tracing the ways in which Orthodoxy responded to the opportunities and challenges of each successive era. To explore the complexity of the historical interactions between globalization and Orthodox Christianity, it is necessary to frame the abovementioned questions in a conceptual scheme that offers both an operational definition of globalization and a historical periodization of the process. In the most comprehensive empirical study of globalization within the social scientific literature, Held et al. (1999:16) operationalize globalization as “a process (or set of processes), which embodies a transformation in the spatial organization of social relations and transactions.” This transformation generates transcontinental or interregional flows and networks of activity and interactions, influencing the exercise of power. In their book, Held et al. (1999) measure the shifts in spatial organization in terms of their extensity, intensity, velocity and impact upon the individuals’ life worlds. Held et al. (1999) argue that these indicators are rather “thin” during the pre1500 periods. Subsequently, globalization’s “thickness” (that is, its ability to penetrate and influence individual life-worlds) is a feature of the post1500 period.15 Although they acknowledge the reality of pre-modern or proto-globalization, Held et al. (1999) place greater emphasis on post-1500 developments, whereby a threefold periodization of globalization is developed: early modern globalization (1500s to mid-19th century), followed by the modern era of globalization (roughly from the mid-19th century to 1945) and the contemporary period (1945 to the present) (see Held et al. 1999:414–36). In this last stage, globalization’s effects are visible almost everywhere on the planet, and people have acquired an immediate awareness of it through electronic media and mass communication. This periodization offers important advantages. First, it allows one to include the notion of globality as a feature that becomes critically important for the contemporary era (1945 to the present), albeit without denying its existence in earlier times. This is a theme that will be addressed in Chapter 8 of this volume. Second, it allows one to treat historical globalization as a long-term phenomenon while simultaneously allowing for an examination of the impact of Western modernity on Orthodox Christianity and the way

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Globalization and Orthodox Christianity

in which this branch of Christianity has responded to modernization, nationalism and modernity. These themes are addressed in Chapters 4 and 5 of this volume. However, this scheme has its own shortcomings. Its temporality reflects the Western organization of history–particularly in terms of its division of globalization into early modern and modern eras. In the conventional narrative of the social sciences, a privileged place is reserved for Western modernity, and as a result, Orthodox Christianity “becomes a more marginal concern and only enters the story at a later stage” (Beyer 2006:122). However, the term “modern” itself is an ambiguous word that has been used to denote various historical periods (LeGoff 1980). Originally, the term “modern times” (temps modernes) emerged in approximately 1800 and denoted the three immediately preceding centuries. Still, this has never been simply a matter of chronology: The “modern age” was also a philosophical–historical perspective that was in turn shaped by the changes that the Age of Discoveries, the Renaissance and the Reformation brought to Western Europe and its trans-Atlantic territories (Habermas 1987:5–11). The periodization of globalization in terms of its status vis-à-vis modernity implicitly accepts modernity as the central organizational template of human history. In addition to this general and theoretical objection, there is also a specific one: Orthodox Christianity has a rather critical stance toward modernity, which is often identified with rationalization and Westernization (Clendenin [1994] 2002; Makrides 2005) and rejected on theological grounds. The use of the term “modern” as a central reference point inherently casts this branch of Christianity in the role of an agent working against the currents of history. The promise of using globalization as a heuristic device lies partly in enabling research to go beyond the centrality of modernity in the organization of history. It is also necessary to transcend the limits or biases of the aforementioned periodization to come to terms with the key periods in the history of Orthodox Christianity. In terms of considering pre-modern eras of globalization, theorists and historians have suggested that pre-modern globalization was both important and consequential for humanity (for examples, see Hopkins 2002; Robertson 2003; Hobson 2004). With regard to religion in particular, a long-standing argument concerns the Axial Age of civilizations and world religions (Eisenstadt 1986) as a period of an extensive trend toward religious unity. In Therborn’s (2000) account, this wave of globalization operated historically through the formation and diffusion of world religions and the establishment of transcontinental civilizations. Between the fourth and the seventh centuries AD, Christianity became the Roman Empire’s official and dominant religion—famously so—during the reign of Emperor Constantine I the Great (306–337 AD), who also founded Constantinople as the new seat of the Roman Empire. For the purposes of understanding the crystallization of Orthodox Christianity as a religious tradition, the pre-modern era of globalization is critically important. Chapter 2 of this volume offers an account of this historical

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trajectory. After addressing several important issues of social-scientific and historical bias with regard to the study of Byzantium, the historical narrative of this chapter concentrates on the manner in which historical globalization, particularly the social and cultural vernacularization of Christianity, accentuated the differences between the two parts of the Mediterranean. It thus argues that by the ninth century AD, the Orthodox East had achieved a level of self-awareness of its distinctiveness as a separate religious tradition versus the West (i.e., Western Europe). Christian Orthodoxy did not fully feature all the characteristics that later became part of Orthodox Christianity. Orthodoxy was deeply intertwined with the Eastern Roman Empire. The chapter further addresses the initialization of a long-term process of indigenization of Orthodoxy itself in the course of missionary activity among the Slavs. The creation of Church Slavonic, the establishment of a symbiotic relationship between religious authorities and Slavic leaders in Russia, Serbia and Bulgaria and the subsequent fusion of ethnic identities with religious adherence all led Orthodox Christianity to eventually become a distinct religious tradition. These processes also effectively circumscribed the importance of Greek as the ecclesiastical script language. Chapter 3 of this volume continues the discussion of the formation of this religious tradition by addressing the intercivilizational encounters between the two parts of the Mediterranean from the First Crusade until the second fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans (1453 AD). These encounters have been deeply implicated in the construction of the very fabric of both Eastern and Western Christianity. Orthodox Christianity as a religious tradition has emerged in the course of these historical interactions. Of key importance was the experience of the Crusades and, in particular, the first fall of Constantinople (1204 ) in the Fourth Crusade. In its aftermath, religious hierarchy was forced to operate in an environment of clearly diminished imperial authority. The chapter analyzes the actions undertaken in the post-1204 formative centuries and argues that it was in this era that Orthodox Christianity assumed its final form. It tracks institutional developments, theological articulation and ecclesiastical practices that coalesced to crystallize this religious tradition in the format that endures to this day. These two chapters’ temporal organization reflects (a) the necessity to inquire into the longue durée to trace the historical intertwining of globalization and the formation of the Orthodox religious tradition and (b) the fact that Orthodoxy did not experience the Protestant Reformation or the consequences of the discovery of the Americas with the same force as Western Europe did. In Chapters 4 and 5 of this volume, the discussion shifts to addressing the impact of Western modernity on Orthodox Christianity. The period covered in Chapter 4 roughly coincides with the era that Held et al. (1999) refer to as the era of early modern globalization (1500s to mid-19th century), whereas in Chapter 5, the period covered coincides roughly with the era of modern globalization (1840s–1945 ). That chapter, however, also addresses the Orthodox churches’ institutional arrangements and prevailing

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trends in the post-1945 era of contemporary globalization or Global Age (Albrow 1997). Nonetheless, in these chapters, the analysis does not follow a strict or mechanical chronological order: The impact of modernity on Orthodoxy has been uneven, and strictly temporal generalizations are highly problematic. For the purposes of these chapters, the terms “modern” and “modernity” are understood as shorthand expressions that denote the social transformations that were originally experienced by 19th-century European societies and that later extended to numerous other non-European contexts around the globe. Chapter 4 concentrates on the different historical trajectories of the Russian and Ottoman empires. The two empires included the majority of the post-1453 Orthodox population. The chapter addresses both the divergences and convergences between the two different contexts. In the Russian Empire, Orthodoxy was indigenized until Patriarch Nikon’s 17th-century reforms caused a major schism (raskol) within the Church and the formation of the Old Believers. In the Ottoman Empire, the Ecumenical Patriarchate revived the vernacularization that was typical of the earlier Roman Empire. This policy contributed to the cohesiveness of the Ottoman Orthodox confessional community known as the Rum millet. However, the chapter also identifies some convergences in the responses of Orthodox institutions to modernity. State-induced church modernization occurred in both the post-1721 Russian Empire and the 19th-century Orthodox nation-states of Southeastern Europe. Additionally, Enlightenment ideas were influential among Orthodox clergy and scholars. By far, the most influential response was the 18th-century Mount Athos monastic revival, which was successfully transplanted into the Russian Empire and has offered highly visible and popularized images of Orthodox spirituality. Another instance of such a transnational uniform religious response to modernity concerns the religious conservative response to the adoption of the Gregorian calendar. Chapter 5 examines the nationalization of Orthodoxy. Analyzing the historical encounter and intertwining of Orthodox Christianity and modern nationalism requires distinguishing between the notion of a state church (such as, for example, the post-1721 Russian Orthodox Church [ROC]) and the notion of a national church. National churches are a feature of the modern era of the nation-state. They claim a unity with the nation as such and gain leverage, prestige and legitimacy through this association. The chapter argues that a modern synthesis between church and nation was constructed in the course of the 19th century in the mostly Orthodox countries of Southeastern Europe. Of particular importance is the consequence of the modern synthesis for religious pluralism. Although religious diversity has been tolerated, religious pluralism—at least in Beckford’s (2003) interpretation of pluralism as a positive social norm or ideal—has not been part of the recent historical past of Southeastern Europe. Next, the postcommunist experience is analyzed in terms of this model. The chapter argues that postcommunist developments—especially in the former Soviet Union—can be understood

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as the result of ecclesiastical strategies that attempt to (re)assert the church– nation link that constitutes the hallmark of the modern synthesis. In this manner, the chapter employs the historical analysis of the 19th- and early 20th-century Southeastern Orthodox nations as a template for interpreting the post-1989 developments. Defending the modern synthesis of church and nation is the modus operandi of the overwhelming majority of national Orthodox churches in the 21st century. Chapter 6 of this volume complements the previous chapters’ discussion on the encounter between modernity and Orthodox Christianity by addressing the role of colonialism. Colonialism is a part of Western modernity, but Orthodox Christianity is generally not considered an institution impacted by colonial rule. However, there is a historical case in which the boundaries of an Orthodox church correspond to colonial boundaries, thereby allowing the interrogation of the relations among Orthodox Christianity, colonialism and nationalism.16 This is the case of Cyprus, which in 1878 was transferred from Ottoman control to Great Britain. The chapter analyzes the implications of British colonial modernity for the Orthodox Church of Cyprus (OCC) and the manner in which the Church emerged as the key political institution for popular representation in 20th-century Cyprus. The argument suggests that the post-1878 reassertion of ecclesiastical authority under the guise of Greek Cypriot nationalism was an effective strategy pursued by the hierarchy to preserve their important political role and prestige in the local society. It was a reaction to a colonial model of externally induced modernization. The newfound relationship between Church hierarchy and the people was expressed in the transformation of the archbishop’s office into a post of national leadership for the Greek Cypriot political community. This “ethnarchic” (e.g., nation-leading) role of the Church came to characterize Cyprus’s political life for most of the 20th century. However, it is also important to point out that this model was quickly dissolved when the island’s political life became sufficiently normalized. The Cypriot ethnarchy was effectively dismantled after the passing of legendary Archbishop Makarios III in 1977. By the early 21st century, the Church of Cyprus took further steps toward the organization of a full synod—in effect adjusting its organizational structure to standard Orthodox practice (Roudometof 2009c). Chapter 7 of this volume examines the transnationalization of Orthodox Christianity. The migration of various faiths across the globe has been a major feature of the world throughout the 20th century. One of these features is the “deterritorialization” of religion (Martin 2001; Roy 2004)— that is, the appearance and, in some instances, the efflorescence of religious traditions in places where these previously had been largely unknown or were at least in a minority position. International migration has provided the means to theorize the relationship between people and religion in a transnational context (Casanova 2001; Ebaugh and Chaftez 2002; van der Veer 2002; Hagan and Ebaugh 2003; Levitt 2003, 2004, 2007). Orthodox Christianity’s conventional form of transnationalism is that of transnational

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national communities typically associated with Eastern European immigrants and their descendants (Roudometof 2000b). A survey of the immigration patterns suggests that in many Western nations (Australia, Germany and Canada), numerically significant migration of Orthodox Christians is a post-World War II phenomenon. Orthodoxy accompanied immigrants from Southeastern and Eastern Europe into their journeys across the Atlantic and into the New World in the post-1870 period; hence, it found its way into North America. In this chapter, greater attention is placed on the United States, both because of the relatively long history of Orthodox institutions in this country and because such institutions had to adjust to a society with a vibrant religious economy. Still, most U.S.-based Orthodox communities remain connected to their original mother church. Religious institutions perform both secular and religious functions in most communities and are important agents for the preservation of the ethnic identity of second- and thirdgeneration immigrants. Chapter 7 focuses on the Greek American community precisely because it exemplifies these mixed functions of the ecclesiastical institutions. In the post-1990 period, the rise of an indigenous U.S.-based Orthodox movement casts doubt on the continuation of these conventional strategies of ethnic survival and reproduction. The case of the Greek American community is important because it makes abundantly clear that the reorganization of Orthodox Christianity into a universalistic religion under the influence of the North American culture of religious pluralism is not an easy feat. This example is therefore useful for assessing the potential and the difficulties of such a project. Thus far, the existence of transnational communities of Orthodox Christians has been overwhelmingly an experience identical to their experience as ethnic migrants. By and large, deterritorialized religiosity also has been the religiosity of these transnational national communities, but the link between deterritorialized religion and transnational national communities is neither apparent nor necessary. Chapter 8 of this volume argues in favor of a conceptual distinction between deterritorialization and transnationalism. The chapter explores the interplay between processes of deterritorialization and reterritorialization and the condition of globality. Specifically, the chapter contrasts the reterritorialization of the religious identities brought about by the 19th-century modern syntheses of church and nation with current alternative visions of deterritorialized Orthodox Christianity. To illustrate the autonomy of this problematic from other issues, the chapter examines the 2003–2004 dispute between the Ecumenical Patriarchate and the Orthodox Church of Greece (OCG) as an instance in which the divergent outlooks of these institutions clashed. In the final chapter, there is a general summary of the arguments developed in the volume’s chapters, which are framed in terms of answering the main research questions introduced in this chapter. Furthermore, the different cases examined are synthesized to present a comprehensive analysis

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of Orthodox Christianity in the longue durée. The book’s chapters offer detailed descriptions of the historical instances of Orthodoxy’s vernacularization, indigenization, nationalization and transnationalization. These processes exemplify the multifaceted entanglements between religion (in this book’s case, Orthodox Christianity) and historical globalization. Finally, based on the evidence presented in the book’s chapters, there is a critical overview and assessment of the conventional interpretations of Orthodox Christianity. In light of the evidence presented, this overview leads to a theoretical reassessment of the conceptual terminology capable of capturing Orthodoxy’s historical specificity without projecting stereotypes or totalizing logic on the faith and its practices.

2

The Fragmentation of Christianity

This chapter focuses on the emergence of a distinct religious tradition of Christian Orthodoxy in the context of Christianity’s fragmentation. The spread of Christianity was part of a wave of historical globalization that involved the rise and expansion of world religions across the globe. This wave entailed both Christianity’s spread and its fragmentation. Inevitably, discussing the emergence of Christian Orthodoxy as a religious tradition requires a comparison with developments in the western part of the Mediterranean. To a degree, the emergence of Roman Catholicism and Orthodox Christianity was shaped by their interactions. Through their contact, these two branches gained reflexive self-awareness, and in some ways, they defined themselves through mutual opposition. However, a complete comparative historical analysis of this relationship would require a full comparative history of Christianity covering nearly a millennium. This is clearly an impossible task. Hence, for current purposes, attention is focused more on the historical trajectory of Christianity’s Orthodox branch. This chapter’s opening section offers a reassessment of the conventional view of the Eastern religious tradition. Arguing that this view suffers extensively from the Orientalism of the past, this section spells out a different vocabulary for historical narration. In line with current perspectives from historical scholarship and religious history, this vocabulary has not yet penetrated the social sciences. Its use in the historical narratives in this volume aims to recast the reader’s view and offer a different perspective on the historical record. As will be shown, the conventional historical benchmark used to designate the articulation of Roman Catholicism and Orthodox Christianity—the Great Schism of 1054—does not reflect historical reality. Instead, the alienation of Christianity’s main branches was the result of protracted ecclesiastical controversies, political conflicts and military conquests. Two long-term forces shaped Orthodox Christianity’s crystallization as a religious tradition. The first is vernacularization, that is, Christianity’s division on the basis of high culture vernacular languages. In this chapter’s second section, there is an outline of the factors underlying the vernacularization of Christianity in the two parts of the Mediterranean until the turn of the first millennium. The discussion focuses on the analytically significant

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aspects of the division between the two main branches of Christianity—the “Greek East” and the “Latin West.” It is important for the reader to keep in mind that these terms designate both religious traditions and civilizational constellations. The chapter’s third section focuses on the other major long-term process, which is Christianity’s indigenization. From the eighth century until the fall of Constantinople in 1204, indigenization entailed the conversion of Slavs to the Orthodox branch of Christianity. Indigenization persisted through the centuries, as Serbian, Bulgarian and Russian rulers sought to use ecclesiastical autocephaly to enhance and legitimize their rule. Both vernacularization and indigenization provide long-term processes instigated and enacted by a multitude of actors across historical eras. Recognition of their significance offers a key to understanding the historical trajectory of the Orthodox religious tradition. By the ninth century, Christian Orthodoxy had emerged as a self-aware religious tradition, and there was already a list of religious differences separating it from emerging Roman Catholicism. BEYOND THE LEGACY OF ORIENTALISM For several centuries, Orthodox Christianity and Roman Catholicism did not form truly distinct branches of Christianity.1 However, to date, narrating the history of Christianity in the Middle Ages remains confined mostly to Western Europe (see, for example, Logan 2002). Orthodox Christianity’s contribution and participation in the history of Europe has been conventionally cast aside in large part due to the images that prevailed in past centuries over the role and status of Byzantium (Arnason 2000). The term “Byzantium” itself is a relatively recent invention: “The inhabitants of the Byzantine Empire called themselves ‘Romans’ and they would not have known themselves as ‘Byzantines’ ” (Gregory 2005:1). Hieronymus Wolf (1516–1580) first introduced the term “Byzantium” into scholarship (Kazhdan 1991a). George Findlay’s 1853 History of the Byzantine Empire From 716 to 1057 is reportedly the first English-language book that used the word “Byzantium” in its title (Mango [2002] 2006:22). Edward Gibbon’s multivolume The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire is generally held responsible for the wide proliferation of Byzantium’s negative image among the English-language public (Gregory 2005:3). To date, no uniformity or scholarly consensus exists in distinguishing the Roman and Eastern Roman empires, and there is no specific historical event that can be unambiguously used to signify such a differentiation. Scholarly periodizations typically reflect each author’s own perspective (Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:24–26). Although the historians who used this label were not necessarily negatively predisposed, Byzantium—viewed as a construct—has been used to foster an image saturated with Orientalist predispositions. Its use for the purposes of classification reflects a Western perspective that for several

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centuries refused to accept the legitimacy of the Eastern Roman Empire. The term Byzantine has helped to transform this claim into scholarly classification. The Eastern Roman Empire was written off, and its place was occupied by a different entity—Byzantium. From the 19th century forward, the word “Byzantine” has assumed its contemporary negative connotation in English. Its connotation was then connected back to its original region, not unlike “Balkanism” in this sense (see Todorova 1997). As a result, the prejudices, worldviews and negative images usually referred to as Orientalism (Said 1978) have tainted scholarship on Orthodox Christianity and Byzantium. These predispositions can be traced back to the “ways that Westerners viewed Byzantines and the Byzantine Empire in the Middle Ages. [Western attitudes] were characterized by suspicion, distrust, and a tendency to regard the Byzantines as haughty, dishonest, and not exactly ‘proper’ Christians” (Gregory 2005:2). Although no full-fledged historical account of the term’s employment can be offered in this context, the discussion above should offer sufficient evidence of the necessity to free social-scientific terminology from this negative heritage of the past. In reality, “Romania” was the Latin term that appeared in the fourth century AD to designate the Roman Empire (Kazhdan 1991b). It was later applied to all formerly Roman subjects under the control of the Arab and, later on, the Ottoman Empires. To this day, the memory of this identity remains alive in the Mediterranean, as Arabs and Turks refer to Orthodox Christians as “Romans” (Rum). This designation can refer to Orthodox Palestinians or Arabs or people of other nations. Although the Roman label remained in use, the Arab conquest of the Fertile Crescent in the seventh century AD forced the Eastern Roman Empire to merge the ancient Roman heritage with new features: a military government based on meritocracy and imperial patronage, new rural settlements and a Christian Greek-speaking society (Herrin 1987:138–40). The Eastern Roman Empire hence acquired new characteristics based on a fusion of Roman, Christian and Medieval features. In its contemporary employment in scholarly debate, the use of the term Byzantium most often signifies this fusion (Whittow 1996:97). To combat the negative heritage of the term, the term “Eastern Roman Empire” (instead of Byzantium) is used throughout this book. Map 2.1 shows the empire’s territorial shifts from the reign of Justinian I, prior to the Arab conquest and up to the era of the Crusades. Many of the empire’s neighbors used the word “Greek” to designate it. This was a reflection of the empire’s dominant language and culture, but this further reinforced stereotypes: “To Goths fanning Italians’ prejudices, ‘Greeks’ carried intimations of frippery and rapaciousness” (Shepard 2008:5). Following the establishment of the Carolingian court and its own claim to the Roman imperial title, Western Europeans employed the term Graeci to refer to all the inhabitants of the Eastern Roman Empire (McCormick 2008:397). For them, the Eastern Roman emperors were “emperors of the Greeks,”

Map 2.1

The Eastern Roman Empire with border changes between the sixth and 12th centuries

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even though, “a certain readiness to accept the empire’s claim to be ‘Roman’ surface[d] periodically among Frankish courtiers” (Shepard 2008:5). Within the Greek-speaking universe of the Eastern Mediterranean, however, another redefinition occurred: the term “Hellen” (which was rendered “Greek” in Latin) was gradually redefined to mean “pagan” (Rapp 2008:138). For Greek-speaking religious elites, the term had a negative connotation. The Orientalism of the past is certainly no longer explicit in contemporary scholarship. However, its legacy still clouds the social scientific perspectives on Orthodox Christianity, and its remnants can be readily observed in the classification system generally in use in North American and Western European scholarship. In this system, Christianity’s broad division is between Western (Protestant and Roman Catholic) and Eastern Christianity. Eastern Christianity is typically subdivided into the (Eastern) Oriental (also called non-Chalcedonian) churches and the (Eastern) Orthodox churches. This classification is but a retrospective interpretation that does not correspond to the chronological succession of the divisions experienced within Christianity, but it groups together two different families of churches (the “Eastern” churches) that experienced a split long before the Great Schism of 1054 between Orthodox and Catholics. After the Council of Chalcedon (451 AD) introduced the formula of Christ having two natures united yet completely distinct, a group of churches that did not accept the council’s formula broke away to form the non-Chalcedonian churches—including the Coptic, Armenian, Assyrian and Ethiopian Churches (Zernov 1963:64–65; Esposito, Fasching, and Lewis 2008:52–54). Some of them did not participate in that council or even in earlier councils. In this regard, Chalcedon was important in terms of self-definition: the Chalcedonian churches started using the term “Orthodox” (literally meaning the correct doctrine) to designate themselves (Clendenin [1994] 2002:34–37; McGuckin 2008:18–20). For both Catholics and Orthodox Christians, their Declaration of the Faith states that they believe in a single “Orthodox” (i.e., correct) and “Catholic” (that is, universal) Church. This common reality of a single universal Christian Church lasted for several centuries. It was only several centuries later that the Chalcedonian churches divided once more into Roman Catholics and Orthodox, whereby the terms “Catholic” and “Orthodox” gradually came to indicate specific branches of Christianity. To date, the Roman Catholic Church lays an equal claim to the term Orthodox, just as the Orthodox Church lays an equal claim to the term Catholic. The Orthodox Church’s full title is the “Holy Orthodox Catholic Apostolic” church (of the East). However, to avoid unnecessary confusion and in accordance with the conventions in the literature, the choice made here is to employ the less wordy term “Orthodox Church” (Ware 1964:16; Clendenin [1994] 2002:30). Most often, the general classification system currently used in the social sciences lumps together all the “Eastern churches,” which are set against the “Western” ones. The system thus contributes to making Orthodox

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Christianity appear exotic by explicitly using a label (Eastern) that marks its exclusion from the West, with all of the traditional negative implications. This is the case for the Eastern Oriental (that is, non-Chalcedonian) churches as well. To avoid the biases of this classification, the phrase “Orthodox Christianity” is used throughout this book. From the Council of Chalcedon (451 AD) until the gradual alienation between the two parts of the Mediterranean world, a single Chalcedonian Orthodoxy was set against the “heretical” non-Chalcedonian churches of the Eastern Mediterranean (as well as other minor groups); “Orthodoxy” did not imply religious conservatism or traditionalism—as often assumed due to the word’s contemporary connotation—but the sole correct Christian faith (Clendenin [1994] 2002:31). Chalcedonian Orthodoxy was a form of religious universalism bent on preserving the “universal and correct” Christian faith. The precise content as well as the administrative arrangements of this faith became contested with the division between Orthodox Christianity and Roman Catholicism. Thus, the terms Orthodox and Catholic to designate these two branches of Christianity are the product of historical progression and of conventions. The Great Schism of 1054 AD is the conventional symbolic demarcation point for Christianity’s division into Roman Catholicism and Orthodox Christianity; it entailed the condemnation of Patriarch Michael Cerularius “and all who followed him” by the papal delegates in Constantinople (Pelikan 1977:147; Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:368–70; Chadwick 2003:206–18). Afterward, the patriarch’s synod responded in kind by excommunicating the papal delegates (Harris [2003] 2007:45). Because the papal see was vacant at the time, this action was unauthorized. The condemnations were never endorsed or revoked by an ecumenical council or papal decision. Contemporaries did not attribute to that event the significance that is attributed to it today (Papadakis [1994] 2003:112). Contact between Catholic and Orthodox monastic orders continued, and Roman Catholic churches in Constantinople were not disrupted (Kolbaba 2010). Therefore, 1054 is a post hoc convenient historical benchmark.2 Nonetheless, it was only in 1965 that the pope and ecumenical patriarch alike cast aside these condemnations. However, as the historical record shows, the correspondence and communication between the two sides was not disrupted. Rather, “the events of 1053–54 were more symptomatic of a state of mind than a primary cause” (Chadwick 2003:218). The actual rift between the Greek East and Latin West has been the result of a long-term process shaped by historical events other than those of 1054. A word of clarification is required here to explain these terms. Because of the historical significance of the Greek letters in the Orthodox ecclesiastical tradition (as illustrated in the Bible and in liturgical language, the language of the Church fathers, etc.), Roman Catholic sources during the Middle Ages and even later on used to refer to Eastern Orthodox Christianity as the “Greek rite.” Similarly, Orthodox Christians in the Eastern Mediterranean used to refer to Roman Catholicism as the “Latin rite” (Romanides 1975;

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Sherrard 1992). For centuries, the terms used for the designation of Orthodox and Catholics were “Greek” and “Latin,” respectively; these indicated the specific liturgical language and reflected broader differences between the two parts of the Mediterranean. Hence, the shorthand expressions Latin West and Greek East came to signify the broader civilizational constellations of the two parts of the Mediterranean.3 To date, these expressions are part of historians’ vocabulary. Although these terms are employed in the following discussion, the reader should bear in mind that they refer to preReformation Orthodox Christian and Roman Catholic cultural contexts alone. These terms should not be construed or misinterpreted as identical to what in contemporary discussions is referred to as the “West” or “non-West.” VERNACULARIZATION EAST AND WEST As Therborn (2000:160) argues, vernacularization involved the rise of different vernacular high-culture languages with their own script. Even before the rise of Christianity, Greek and Latin were high-culture languages in the eastern and western parts of the Mediterranean. After the spread of Christianity, their status as vernacular high-culture script languages further amplified cultural differences that became encoded in religious categories. As a result of specific institutional, historical and cultural factors, Christianity was vernacularized differently in the two parts of the Mediterranean. A full account is not possible within the present scope restrictions and space constraints of this volume. As a result, for this book’s purposes, greater emphasis is placed on Christianity’s vernacularization in the Eastern Mediterranean. When Christianity became the Roman Empire’s official religion in the fourth century, complementarity provided the basic principle of governing the relationship between state and religious leadership. Justinian’s Sixth Novella (quoted in Chapter 1) offers a paradigmatic statement. This notion persisted over time and was reaffirmed in the ninth-century legal revision issued under Emperor Basil I under the name Epanagoge: The task of the Emperor is to safeguard and secure the strength of the nation by good governance, to restore the strength when it is impaired through watchful care, and to obtain new strength by wisdom and by just ways and deeds. The aim of the patriarch is . . . to preserve in piety and purity of life those people whom he has received from God. . . . The aim of the Patriarch is the salvation of the souls entrusted to him. . . . It is for the emperor to support, first, all that is written in Holy Scripture, then all dogmas established by the Seven Holy Councils, and also selected Roman laws (quoted in Gvosdev 2001:85–86). As the above quote shows, the ecclesiastical establishment assisted the emperor in the execution of his duties. The high clergy provided spiritual

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leadership and exercised moral control over state authority, whereas the Emperor was expected to play a role in protecting, expanding and serving Christianity. In his praise of Emperor Constantine I, Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea expressed this principle succinctly: Constantine I was praised because he succeeded in exterminating polyarchy at the political level and polytheism at the religious level. From that point on, the Roman Empire, having united all peoples under its power, would reclaim its central stage in ecumene and spread the Christian message according to divine providence and power (Gvosdev 2001:39–47; Shepard 2008:6; Makrides 2009:64). This sentiment was codified in the hymn of Cassia the Nun. On Christmas day, this hymn was sung in churches and stated the following: When Augustus reigned alone upon earth, the many kingdoms of men came to end; and when Thou was made man of the pure Virgin, the many gods of idolatry were destroyed. The cities of the world passed under one single rule, and the nations came to believe in one sovereign Godhead. The peoples were enrolled by decree of Cesar; and we, the faithful, were enrolled in the Name of Godhead, when Thou, our God, was made man. Great is Thy mercy; glory to Thee.4 Ideally, the ecumene should embrace the entire world; yet precisely because this notion functioned ideologically, practical curtailment of imperial rule did not invalidate the notion as such (Gvosdev 2001:50). The ideal persisted, and if it fell short of being realized this was attributed to human weakness. The Greek word basileus gradually came to replace the Latin imperator, and it was officially used beginning in 629, whereby the Roman emperor was “king [basileus] and emperor of the Romans” (McCormick 2008:409). In the Eastern Roman worldview, basileus was God’s vicar on earth (Harris [2003] 2007:13; Shepard 2008). This complementary relationship did not imply confusion between the different realms. Conventionally, complementarity has been misconstrued as caesaropapism, or the secular ruler’s undue intervention into the affairs of the Church (Weber [1922] 1968). This interpretation is predicated on the modern division between a “secular” and a “religious” sphere. Only from within this framework is it possible to deem that a political leader’s actions violate the separation of the realms. However, for the Christian Roman Empire, the understanding of the relationship between the religious order and the state was vastly different. The emperors were the guardians of the faith, and consequently, they were empowered to intervene in religious affairs. The emperors exercised this authority in full. Between 379 and 1451, 36 of the 122 patriarchs of Constantinople were forced into retirement under imperial pressure (Meyendorff [1982] 1990:20).5 Imperial authority was limited by the ruler’s religious adherence and the successful performance of his role as well as by his continuing observance of the “correct faith.” When imperial authority resorted to coercion,

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the result was protracted controversy—such as with the Iconoclast controversy (726–843) and later with the failed attempts at union with Rome. Both instances are discussed in this and the following chapters. For centuries, the Eastern Roman Empire was a paradigmatic case of this mutual agreement (symphonia) between Christianity and the state (Mango 1980). Between the sixth and 11th centuries, imperial authority contributed extensively to the prestige of the Ecumenical Patriarchate (Meyendorff [1982] 1990:25). Being the legitimate heirs of Rome made the Eastern Romans feel superior to other peoples and reluctant to confer the title of basileus to other rulers—such as Bulgarian Tsar Symeon, the Frankish King Charlemagne, the Saxon ruler Otto I or the Grand Prince of Moscow, Vasilij I.6 In the empire’s hierarchical order, the emperor “reigned supreme as the father of all other rulers” (Gvosdev 2001:44–45; Angold 2003:29; McCormick 2008:409). Recognition of this symbolic order was one of the main long-term objectives of the empire’s foreign relations and diplomacy (Harris [2003] 2007). The alienation between the two parts of the Mediterranean took several centuries to develop; from time to time, differences emerged regarding various ecclesiastical or political affairs, for religion and politics were deeply intertwined (Herrin 1987; Chadwick 2003). Christianity was vernacularized in a manner that exacerbated cultural differences; a list of such differences appears in Table 2.1. There were two main factors that contributed heavily to this result. The first factor concerned the difference in the number of patriarchs in the two parts of the Mediterranean and the institutional context in which ecclesiastical authorities were forced to operate. Whereas the pope was a single patriarch in the West, the existence of four patriarchs in the East made it more congruent to think in terms of conciliarity. In the West, the collapse of the Western Roman Empire in 476 allowed the pope to appropriate the formerly imperial title of pontifex maximus and to articulate the notion of a divinely sanctioned “apostolic see.” Although only the pope could successfully claim

Table 2.1

The vernacularization of Chalcedonian Christianity

Eastern Mediterranean • Multiple high primates • Conciliarity (all bishops are equal; decision making by consensus in ecumenical councils) • Complementarity/symphonia with the emperor, division of labor • Greek as predominant vernacular • Numerous Christological disputes

Western Mediterranean • Single high primate (the pope) • Hierarchal organization (notion of apostolic see) • The Papacy as ultimate ecclesiastical and political arbitrator • Latin as predominant vernacular • Absence of major Christological disputes

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such an apostolic see in the West, there were dozens of cities in the East that could make a similar claim (Meyendorff [1982] 1990:103, 274, 305). As a result, the notion of an apostolic see never developed in the East. Moreover, unlike the pope, the patriarchs of the East had to contend with a powerful political authority that played a key role in ecclesiastical affairs. The original symphonia between the Roman emperor and Christianity’s high clergy involved a conception of ecclesiastical governance by the so-called pentarchy—the participation of the five original or ancient patriarchates of Rome, Antioch, Alexandria, Jerusalem and Constantinople. To be acceptable, ecumenical church councils required the participation of these patriarchs or their representatives. From the imperial point of view, which subsequently also became the Orthodox viewpoint, the bishop of Rome was primus inter pares (first amongst equals). Pope Leo the Great (440–461) protested against this interpretation in the Council of Chalcedon (Clendenin [1994] 2002:99).7 The Papacy considered its status as deriving from St. Peter, the first among the apostles and first bishop of Rome. In due course of time, the Papacy developed the Petrine claim to primacy, namely, the notion that as St. Peter’s successor, the pope held a position above other bishops, who should yield to his authority. This claim was more forcefully expressed after the eighth century as northern European and Frankish converts to Christianity offered strong support for the cult of St. Peter to develop (Herrin 1987:105). Over time, attitudes shaped practices, and in turn these practices shaped each side’s ecclesiology. The two sides’ divergences were manifested in Rome’s refusal to recognize the 102 rules and regulations instituted in the 691–692 Council in Trullo as most rules were heavily in favor of the customs of the East and in conscious opposition to the customs of the West (Herrin 1987:250–90; Chadwick 2003:66–70; Louth 2007:30–33). From that point forward, mutual recognition of the councils became problematic.8 However, divergences in liturgical practices and differences in customs were initially deemed acceptable. As a result of the above-mentioned factors, the Latin West came to think in terms of a single universal authority. This divergence between the two sides in the conception of church–state relations might be summed up as follows: whereas in the East, a plurality of ecclesiastical institutions related to a single universal empire, in the West, a plurality of feudal states and rulers stood related to a single ecclesiastical authority (Gvosdev 2001:4). This difference was consequential in the way in which ecclesiastical institutions related to each other. In the Council of Chalcedon, the patriarch of Constantinople was elevated to second in order of seniority after Rome’s bishop. This was meant to offer the new capital’s bishop a comparable status, but the bishop of “New Rome and Constantinople” (as it was officially called) was and still is primus inter pares. The word “ecumenical” did not and still does not mean “universal” but only “superior” bishop (Papadakis 1991); for the Eastern Roman Emperor ruled over the entire ecumene— which was a concept similar to those of Western “Christendom” or the

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“House of Islam” (Harris [2003] 2007). Hence, the adjective “ecumenical” was a means of identifying the symphonia between the empire and the ecclesiastical hierarchy (Gvosdev 2001:87). It was a central component of the empire’s self-image.9 Nonetheless, in Orthodox ecclesiology, no bishop has universal authority. That is, no bishop can settle disputes over doctrine or pronounce doctrinal decisions unilaterally. Decisions on these issues can be settled only in ecumenical councils with the participation of patriarchs or their representatives. Hence, the Greek East acknowledged Rome’s seniority but did not recognize the pope as primatus potestatis. The correspondence between Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) and Patriarch John X Kamateros (1198–1206) is instructive: Papal claims to primacy are rejected as is the notion that Rome enjoys a special status vis-à-vis other churches because of the legacy of St. Peter, the first among the apostles. The patriarch stated the Orthodox view: that is, Peter is the rock of all of the Church, not just the Church of Rome; Christian unity is a matter of doctrine and not a matter of adherence to the pope; and finally, Rome’s prime status is derived from its status as former imperial capital (Angold 2003:39). Irrespective of the above, until the seventh century, both sides were united against their shared “heretical” adversaries.10 After the sixth-century Arab conquest of the Fertile Crescent, finding common ground with nonChalcedonian Christians emerged as an important geopolitical objective for the Eastern Roman Emperors (Zernov 1963:82–84; Herrin 1987:192–219). In the past, the emperors had persecuted the non-Chalcedonians. Arab rule offered them a degree of protection. In the sixth and seventh centuries, monotheletism and monoergism represented two lighter versions of nonChalcedonian theology. At different points, these were offered imperial support with the long-term objective that this might win back the allegiance of the non-Chalcedonians under Arab rule. The Papacy participated extensively in these ecclesiastical affairs and played an important role in preserving Chalcedonian Orthodoxy and in defeating such overtures. The second major difference concerned each side’s cultural milieu. The East was shaped by the fusion between Christianity and the region’s Hellenistic cultural tradition (Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993). The overwhelming majority of Christological disputes appeared in the eastern part of the Mediterranean. This was the direct consequence of a vibrant philosophical tradition inspired by ancient Greek philosophy. Unsurprisingly, Orthodoxy (i.e., upholding the correct doctrine) became the East’s paramount concern. In contrast, administrative unity was never formalized. The ecumenical patriarch enjoyed a privileged position vis-à-vis the other Orthodox patriarchs by virtue of his close association with the imperial government; for in the Eastern Roman worldview, the Empire’s realm was that of the ecumene (Harris [2003] 2007:13). In turn, the patriarchs under Arab rule were sufficiently marginalized to be content with that arrangement. After all, protection of the Holy Lands was an imperial responsibility: in 1027, a treaty with the Islamic caliphate provided for the rebuilding of the Church

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of the Resurrection (i.e., Holy Sepulchre) in Jerusalem and permitted the emperor to designate the Orthodox patriarch of Jerusalem (Harris [2003] 2007:24). In return, Muslim prisoners were released, and a promise was made to repair Constantinople’s mosque. Similarly, by the 11th century, the patriarch of Antioch was an imperial appointee. The East’s complementary relationship between church and emperor stood in sharp contrast to the Roman Catholic Church’s policy, especially after the 10th-century Gregorian reform effort. The crystallization of the “papal monarchy” (Zernov 1963:97–101; Morris [1989] 2001) entailed the standardization of numerous religious practices, but it also involved the initiation of and involvement in the Crusades and the attempt to remove secular control over religious estates, which caused the famous Investiture Controversy. The controversy concerned the authority of feudal overlords to offer themselves the right of possession of fields to bishops and was expressed with symbolic acts in the bishops’ coronation (Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:272–79; Morris [1989] 2001; Clendenin [1994] 2002:41; Papadakis [1994] 2003:44–77). The Catholic Church’s efforts to regain administrative control over the high clergy contributed to a policy orientation completely at odds with the Orthodox East’s traditional policy. In turn, in the Orthodox East’s view, the pope “exercised political privileges in the West” (Angold 2003:29) similar to those of the emperor; hence, it seemed that the pope was usurping imperial authority. The iconoclast controversy was a major factor that shaped the notion of Christian Orthodoxy and signaled the increasing distance of the Papacy from the Greek East. Iconoclasm condemned the practice of honoring icons as idolatrous and contrary to Christianity’s monotheism. As a movement, it registered the influence of Islam’s rigorous monotheism. Its official support and promulgation by Eastern Roman emperors caused an extensive controversy that lasted over a century (726–843). The Papacy’s support against iconoclasm—which for a long time was official imperial policy—caused the Eastern Roman emperor to remove the dioceses of Illyricum, Calabria and Sicily from papal jurisdiction (Herrin 1987:349–58, 370; Chadwick 2003:76). However, Lombard assaults weakened imperial authority on Italian soil, and by 751, the Lombards captured Ravenna, the seat of the Roman exarch. Until that era, the Papacy had remained under the influence of Eastern ecclesiastical personnel (monks, bishops, pilgrims) (McCormick 2008:410–12). Afterwards, the Papacy sought the political support of the Frankish rulers, who were asserting their authority in the western part of the Mediterranean. The Carolingian dynasty in particular developed strong ties with the Papacy, and the alliance between the two altered the Papacy’s traditional orientation. Crowning Charlemagne in 800 as Roman emperor was a facet of this involvement (Herrin 1987:379–460; Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:105; Chadwick 2003:84–87). Calling Charlemagne “Roman Emperor and Augustus” challenged the universality of the Eastern Roman Emperor.11 This reorientation of the Papacy also entailed a shift in attitude toward the East.

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The ancient Roman heritage was viewed as safeguarded by Roman Catholicism in the West. Westerners referred to the Holy German emperors as Emperors of the “Romans,” whereas the Eastern Roman emperors were called Emperors of the “Greeks.” It was within the broader context of this political realignment that the papal court (Curia) concocted the so-called Donation of Constantine—a powerful forgery, according to which Emperor Constantine I, prior to becoming a Christian, surrendered his authority to Pope Sylvester I (314–335), who returned it while retaining preeminence over the other patriarchates (Tyerman [2006] 2007:5; MacCulloch 2009:351). This forgery formed one basis for later papal claims and was considered authentic until the 15th century. In the East, the final resolution of the iconoclast controversy became the occasion for the consolidation of Christian Orthodoxy. In 843, after the second and final restoration of the icons, the Church constructed the Synodikon of Orthodoxy. This was a collection of documents containing the decisions of the eastern tradition’s ecumenical councils (Louth 2006:1–7). Organizing and at times updating the Synodikon became a means of consolidating and updating this tradition.12 The Synodikon was concerned with Christological matters, and its formulation registers a growing self-awareness of a distinct religious tradition. Although not all of the elements currently recognized as indispensable components of Orthodox Christianity were present, there was already an awareness of difference from the Latin West. In many respects, a similar development is also observed in the West. Christian Orthodoxy might be viewed as the cornerstone on which Orthodox Christianity was subsequently constructed. THE INDIGENIZATION OF CHRISTIAN ORTHODOXY The East–West contest also was political. Conversion of non-Christians to the Eastern or Western forms of Christianity entailed the growth of each side’s sphere of influence: to accept baptism from subjects of the Eastern Roman Emperor was tantamount to acknowledgement of the emperor’s sovereignty (Chadwick 2003:110, 170). It is instructive that the Bulgarian conversion to Orthodox Christianity in 864–865 was the consequence of an imperial military campaign combined with the effects of famine and drought (Ivanov 2008:318). In fact, missionary activity in its own right does not seem to have been the principal factor; instead, the conversion provided a tangible means for the Roman emperor to secure the Bulgarians’ allegiance and acknowledgment of his status. For example, when Catholic missionaries were invited to Bulgaria in 866, it caused a negative response in Constantinople (Pelikan 1977:183–84; McCormick 2008:421). The conversion of the Slavs to Christianity offers the historical context for the initialization of a long-term process that entailed the indigenization of Orthodoxy. Certainly, all world religions have experienced, at least

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to some degree, processes of indigenization. Nonetheless, the propensity and ability of different faiths to successfully undergo such a process vary widely. The experience of Christianity in the Eastern Mediterranean led to extensive indigenization—with several non-Chalcedonian Churches (Armenians, Copts, etc.) forming over time. Table 2.2 offers a list of these various indigenizations. For this chapter’s purposes, however, attention is focused more on the indigenizations of the Chalcedonian Christianity in the Eastern Mediterranean. This Chalcedonian Christianity—which in the previous section has also been described as Christian Orthodoxy—has been quite susceptible to such processes. In large part, this has resulted from two sets of practices. First, the established principle of ecclesiastical autocephaly for regions that constitute politically independent units connected state authority and ecclesiastical autocephaly from early on. Serb, Bulgarian and Russian rulers were offered such autocephaly as a part of their state building efforts and promptly proceeded to capitalize on this opportunity to construct autocephalous churches. This autocephaly became a real or imagined depository of ethnic difference and was seized upon in the 19th and 20th centuries as part of the Eastern European nations’ process of nation building. This process will be discussed in Chapter 5 of this volume. Most often, autocephaly instead of full recognition of patriarchal authority was offered to political leaders whose goal was to bolster their own authority by constructing an ecclesiastical administration under their auspices. Second, Orthodoxy has been willing to accept the use of different languages in liturgy for the purposes of conversion and in accordance with a region’s dominant language. Although Latin remained for centuries Catholicism’s liturgical language, the language of the Eastern Orthodox Church— ecclesiastical Greek—did not occupy a similar status. In Syria and Palestine, Aramaic or Syrian was used in liturgy, whereas the Orthodox Church of Georgia used (Old) Georgian in its church services.13 Therefore, in the Orthodox tradition, no sacred language per se ever existed (Gvosdev 2001:124–25). The dominance of the Greek language in services in the East

Table 2.2 Indigenizations of Christianity in the Eastern Mediterranean (300–1589 AD) Chalcedonian Churches • Bulgarian autocephalous Church (Patriarchate, 1242) • Serbian autocephalous Church (Patriarchate, 1375) • Russian Orthodox Church (Patriarchate,1589) • Georgian Orthodox Church • Assyrian Orthodox Church

Non-Chalcedonian Churches • Armenian Church • Ethiopian Church • The Church of the East (Nestorians) • The Coptic Church • Maronite Church

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was a reflection of that region’s Hellenistic culture and the fact that, after the seventh century, Greek was the main language used throughout the empire. Although the above-mentioned instances demonstrate Orthodoxy’s propensity to indigenization, the conversion of the Slavs to the Orthodox form of Christianity has been perhaps the most consequential of all the cases of indigenization.14 The legendary mission of Constantine (later Cyril) and Michael (later Methodius) is conventionally cited as the key historical event for the translation of the Gospel into Old Slavonic and the construction of the Cyrillic script. Nonetheless, their Moravian mission of 863 was a complete failure. After their followers were expelled from Moravia, by the 880s, Bulgarian ruler Boris invited them to settle in his territory. Boris’s reasons were pragmatic: Greek-speaking clergy did not know Slavonic; therefore, training the local clergy reduced their reliance on Constantinople (Ivanov 2008:316– 20). Translation of the Gospel into Old Slavonic was a major strategy for facilitating the absorption of Orthodox Christianity into the tradition of the South Slavs. Old Slavonic became the foundation of a literary tradition that further contributed to the creation and reproduction of ethnic difference (Picchio 1980; Meyendorff [1981] 1988:44). The application of these practices varied widely depending on the specifics of each of the three historical cases: Serb, Bulgarian and Russian. Because the Serb case came after 1204, it is discussed in the following chapter. The Serb case followed the Bulgarian and Russian precedents. The Russian indigenization of Orthodoxy was slow. Although sources refer to baptisms conducted in the 860s, the conventional historical benchmark is the baptisms and Christianization of the Russ under Prince Vladimir in 988—although this is based solely on Russian sources without corroboration by Greeklanguage sources (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:26–27; Ivanov 2008:325). The first evidence of a Russ metropolitan dates from 1039. In 1037, Prince Jaroslav erected the St. Sophia cathedral in Kiev—modeled after Constantinople’s cathedral—and appointed the first Russian metropolitan (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:40). These actions were most likely prompted by his designs to gain the title of king. Early sources refer to Christianity as such and not to Orthodoxy (pravoslavnyi) in particular (van den Bercken 1999:52:57). Initially, Rome was included among those lands that were part of Christianity, something actually quite reasonable for the standards of the era. The Eastern Roman influence was decisive, especially in personnel selection: of the 24 metropolitans between 988 and the 1240 Mongol invasion, only two were natives.15 It is only after the sack of Constantinople in 1204 that an anti-Western element enters into the Russian perspective. However, only a few decades later, the Russian principalities succumbed to the Mongol conquest. By 1240, Kiev itself had fallen to the Mongols of the Golden Horde. The result of the Mongol conquest was the gradual decline of Kiev and a period of division among rival principalities. Independent Russian principalities

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were squeezed between the Mongols and the German Order of the Teutonic Knights. The latter’s Crusade into Livdandia was halted in a defeat by the forces of the legendary Russian prince Alexander Nevksij in 1242 (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:86–88; van den Bercken 1999:123).16 Nevskij later became a symbol of Russian Orthodoxy, and the ROC canonized him in 1546. He rejected papal initiatives to side with the Western powers against the Tatars. His choice was similar to that of the Eastern Roman Empire’s antiUnion Orthodox constituency, which will be discussed in the next chapter of this volume. Thus, in addition to increasing anti-Western attitudes in Orthodox lands, which were provoked by news of the sack of Constantinople in 1204 AD, there were additional local factors contributing to increased tensions with Catholicism. In the 13th and 14th centuries, Orthodox and Catholics competed for the baptism of the Lithuanian princes, while the Papacy supported military inroads into Russian lands. By 1368, the pope offered absolution of sins for those fighting against the Russians, indirectly subsuming the Russians with non-Christians and schismatics (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:90–102). This turn of events reflects the post-1204 realities, which are discussed further in Chapter 3 of this volume. More immediate and consequential was the Bulgarian case. Although Catholic missionaries were invited to the Bulgarian court, in the end, its rulers chose the Orthodox rite (Chadwick 2003:110). This pattern of inviting delegates from both Constantinople and Rome and bargaining to gain autocephaly is repeatedly observed and reflects the desire of various rulers to negotiate a more satisfactory political settlement. Bulgarian rulers presented a formidable challenge to Eastern Roman authority in the Balkans. Under Tsar Symeon (893–927), the “first Bulgarian empire” spread over most of the Balkans. Symeon aimed to claim—by means of marriage— the title of emperor of Romans and Bulgarians, but his plans never succeeded. In 925, he proclaimed himself “king and emperor of Bulgarians and Romans” (Wolff [1949] 2007:270), but his title was never recognized. In 927, his successor, Peter, was offered the title of king of Bulgarians (but not that of Romans). Under Symeon, the use of (Old) Slavonic liturgical language was generalized throughout the Church, with attention given to translating ecclesiastical works from Greek (Gonis 2001:32–38). Several claims have been made regarding the construction of a Patriarchate or archbishopric under Symeon. What is definitely recognized, nonetheless, is that under his successor Peter (927–969), a local archbishopric was established. However, by 1018, Emperor Basil II was successful in crushing the Bulgarian state. In effect, that was the end of that archbishopric. Subsequently, the archbishopric of Ohrid was revamped and assumed jurisdiction over the “Bulgarian lands”—which in 11th- and 12th-century terminology included the central Balkans (i.e., the contemporary region of Macedonia) (Angold 1995:158–62; Gonis 2001:48–49; Papadakis [1994] 2003:364–69; Wolff [1949] 2007:173–80). Its autocephalous status was justified on the basis of its authority over Bulgaria. Still, because its status was granted

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by the emperor, the Ecumenical Patriarchate did not recognize it. This prompted local authorities to revive a factually incorrect claim of the see as successor of a see originally founded by Emperor Justinian in 553. Local archbishops used the title “Archbishops of First Justinian and Bulgaria,” although many of them were not of Bulgarian origin, and the see’s population did not consist exclusively of ethnic Bulgarians. The archbishopric represents an acknowledgement of the importance of religious authority for imperial rule. Its existence has provided a major cultural benchmark in the history of the South Slavs; and in modern national histories, it sometimes features prominently as a depository of the South Slavs’ cultural identity. However, its actual role for the indigenization of Orthodoxy is rather doubtful. RELIGIOUS TRADITIONS AND CIVILIZATIONAL CONSTELLATIONS This chapter conducted an overview of the fragmentation of Christianity as the faith spread across Europe and the Mediterranean. Additionally, attention has been focused on the fragmentation of Chalcedonian Orthodoxy, which constituted the overwhelming majority of the Christians—without an attempt to include non-Chalcedonian Christians. Within these broad scope restrictions, this chapter’s narrative has stressed the significance of two major processes: vernacularization and indigenization represent two central processes that are intimately connected to the fragmentation of Christianity. Vernacularization contributed to the construction of distinct languagebased high cultures in the two parts of the Mediterranean—and the subsequent creation of distinct spheres of influence marked by languages, cultural habits, customs and practices. The use of the two main vernacular highculture languages of the era—Greek and Latin—is responsible for the construction of the two religious traditions that have become embedded in the terms “Greek East” and “Latin West.” As explained in this chapter’s opening section, this inquiry must come to terms with the negative image of Byzantium, which has been deconstructed in the course of this chapter’s discussion. Instead, the term “Eastern Roman Empire” is used throughout this volume. Although both the Greek East and Latin West were united in their advocacy of Chalcedonian Orthodoxy, their divergences over time suggest the inevitable formation of two distinct traditions: By the ninth century, Christian Orthodoxy was a self-aware religious tradition with increasing differences from the Latin-based or Roman Catholic religious tradition. Use of the term Christian Orthodoxy is meant to highlight the extent to which this branch of Christianity had achieved a level of self-awareness and distinction, but it also suggests historical change and fluidity. Christian Orthodoxy is not yet Orthodox Christianity. It would take at least another five centuries for that to occur.

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Indigenization added an important component that further increased the difference between Christian Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism. Unlike Latin, Greek did not maintain its status as a sacred language. The construction of the Cyrillic script and the subsequent development of Slavonic literary production contributed to the dissolution of the link between Christianity and a single liturgical language. Orthodoxy’s indigenization also meant that autocephalous ecclesiastical institutions could be constructed in accordance with the will of political regimes. This strategy is quite different from the Roman Catholic premise of centralized ecclesiastical authority. The chapter also addressed the issue of the conversion of Bulgarians and Russians. However, indigenization never came to a halt; it continued in later centuries as Serbian, Bulgarian and Russian rulers sought to use ecclesiastical autocephaly to enhance and legitimize their rule. These early processes of ethnic indigenization should not be misconstrued as direct predecessors of Orthodoxy’s nationalization. As Chapter 5 of this volume will argue, that synthesis is a 19th-century phenomenon. Instead, claiming the imperial title was an important symbolic strategy, and gaining recognition of autocephaly or autonomy was another major component. However, the two Bulgarian empires or the Russian Duchy were not nation-states. Instead, these were ruled by divine monarchs, and it is for this reason that control over the ecclesiastical apparatus was an issue of paramount concern. In the modern era, the historical legacy of these efforts has been promptly exploited in local processes of nation formation and has been incorporated into national mythologies whereby these states are viewed as antecedents of modern-day statehood. The crystallization of distinct religious traditions must be considered within the context of the broader civilizational constellations in the two parts of the Mediterranean. That is, the Greek East was for a long period of time coterminous with the Eastern Roman (or Byzantine) civilization, whereas in the western part of the Mediterranean, the Latin West slowly emerged and became under Roman Catholicism the originator of the post-1500 transAtlantic civilization conventionally referred to as the West. However, during the European Middle Ages, the Latin West was a civilization still constructing its foundations. Roman Catholicism was shaped decisively by this process. The difference between the two civilizations’ worldviews is enshrined in the terms used to denote their own cultural universe: The Eastern Romans’ ecumene contrasts with the Western “Christendom” (which meant the preReformation Roman Catholic Christian lands).17 The growing rift between Latin West and Greek East was extensively impacted by the fact that after the eighth century, the consolidation of European feudalism (Bloch 1961) contributed to the Papacy’s changing attitude vis-à-vis the East. By the early ninth century, there was already a short list of East–West differences that had become contested. These involved the use of unleavened bread in liturgy, the Filioque, the administration of sacraments of confirmation and the lower clergy’s celibacy.18 Of the above, the Filioque became the

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focal point of controversy. Its story illustrates the decisive role of Western elites in the division of Christianity. The term Filioque comes from two Latin words: Filio que (“and from the Son”), which indicates a difference between the Catholic and Orthodox Creed. The Catholic formulation is that the Holy Spirit proceeds “from the Father and from the Son” in contrast to the Orthodox formulation that the Holy Spirit proceeds “from the Father.” In all likelihood, the difference results from a sixth-century tactical translation “error” meant to assist with the proselytism of the Visigoths in Spain (Zernov 1963:89–90; Papadakis [1994] 2003:345–47). It was duplicated as Christianity spread in France and Britain. Initially, Pope Leo III (795–816) refused to include it in liturgy, but the Carolingian court supported the Filioque and used it as a means of solidifying their alliance with the Papacy (Chadwick 2003:88–98). Pope Benedict VIII (1012–1024) eventually sanctioned the interpretation, which was subsequently absorbed into Catholicism (for an Orthodox theological view, see Pelikan 1977:183–98). The Filioque illustrates the manner in which religious texts can be reinterpreted as a means of redefining and offering legitimacy and cohesion to rising civilizations. In the mid-ninth century, the Photean schism provided the occasion to articulate these emerging differences. It is named after Patriarch Photeus (Zernov 1963:93–94; Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:156–58; Chadwick 2003: 124–92). Pope Nicholas I (858–867) supported the deposed Patriarch Ignatius and objected to Photeus’s ascent. The schism was subsequently mended in an 879 synod, but it was in this context that the Papacy used the doctrine of papal primacy and a claim to universal ecclesiastical jurisdiction, only to have both rebuffed. In turn, Photeus wrote his Mystagogia, a theological defense of Orthodoxy, which later became a reference point for anti-Latin authors. Photeus rejected papal primacy and considered the Western theological approach (inclusive of the Filioque) as a departure from Christian Orthodoxy. From this point forward, the lack of linguistic skills necessary for understanding the other side’s arguments became an important factor in the West– East dialogue. The barbarian invasions of the previous centuries caused an increasing decline in knowledge of Greek in the West and of Latin in the East. Lawyers were most often the ones who preserved language skills. Not knowing the other side’s language meant lack of access to their texts. Ignorance bred misunderstandings and increased prejudices and stereotypes (Pelikan 1977:179–83). This turn of events amplified cultural cleavages. For example, in the translation of Patriarch Michael Cerularius’s January 1054 letter to the pope, his title (“Ecumenical Patriarch”) was rendered as Patriarcha Universalis in Latin. Unsurprisingly, this was viewed as usurpation of the rightful universal jurisdiction claimed by the Papacy itself (Harris [2003] 2007:44). The 968 AD visit of Liudprand of Cremona to Constantinople offers a spectacular example of rancor, snobbery, mutual suspicion

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and mistrust (Pelikan 1977:147; Chadwick 2003:193–99; Harris [2003] 2007:22). Liudprand was an envoy to Western Emperor Otto I, whose claim to imperial status was promptly rejected by Constantinople’s imperial court. The above examples illustrate the growing antagonism between the two sides. The Crusades would soon further exacerbate these sentiments (Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:356). This issue is explored in the following chapter.

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From Christian Orthodoxy to Orthodox Christianity

By the ninth century, two distinct self-aware religious traditions already existed in the two parts of the Mediterranean. These could have evolved separately, and their religious divergences might not have become the subject of extreme conflict and polarization. However, these differences became embroiled in the intercivilizational encounters between the rising Latin West (what was construed as Western European “Christendom”) and the Eastern Roman Empire, which viewed itself as a universal Christian empire or an ecumene. After the turn of the first millennium, historical encounters between Christianity’s two branches were instrumental in highlighting their distinctiveness and constructing negative images of each other. Their legacy is felt to this day.1 This chapter analyzes these events—from the First Crusade until the end of the Eastern Roman Empire—and focuses on their consequences: the 14th-century crystallization of Orthodox Christianity and the formation of an “Orthodox commonwealth.” The first part of this chapter focuses on the contextualization of the intercivilizational encounters between the rising West and the Eastern Roman Empire during the first three Crusades. The convergence of political–military conflict and religious divergences hardened attitudes, and ecclesiastical conflict was linked directly to political and military contests (Gregory, 2005:3). The Crusades sharpened the political and military competition between the empire and the Western feudal lords involved in the Crusades. In this sense, the Crusades were “a struggle between two civilizations in the course of which each acquired a clearer sense of identity” (Angold 2003:24). An entire body of literature is devoted to this topic (for a recent synthesis, see Tyerman [2006] 2007). For this chapter’s purposes, however, it is necessary to focus on their impact on the ecclesiastical relations between Greek East and Latin West. The chapter’s second section covers the events of the Fourth Crusade, including the sack of Constantinople in 1204, the division of imperial lands among the crusaders and the creation of the Roman Catholic or Latin Patriarchate in Constantinople. Once again, political and military dimensions are addressed. However, the discussion highlights the religious consequences of the Fourth Crusade and particularly the failure to achieve the union of

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the churches. Instead, political and military subjugation increased the rift between the two sides and created insurmountable obstacles to post-1204 efforts for a union of the churches. The introduction of Roman Catholic clergy into the areas under Latin rule caused resentment among the Orthodox clergy, who viewed it as an attempt to forcefully absorb the Orthodox into Roman Catholicism. The Orthodox response to the post-1204 state of affairs is outlined in this chapter’s third section. Instead of focusing on the conventional narrative of the failed attempt to unify the churches, attention is given to the actions that contributed to the standardization and crystallization of Orthodox Christianity as a religious tradition. From the 14th century on, Orthodoxy did not have a single liturgical language or a single administrative structure and did not rely exclusively or even predominantly on the Eastern Roman Empire. The ecclesiastical establishment’s strong response to the dual pressures from Roman Catholicism and a weak imperial authority was the construction of a regional network of vertical and horizontal links. Thus, Orthodox Christianity emerged as a full-fledged religious tradition—with the long 13th and 14th centuries serving as a formative era for its historical crystallization. The chapter concludes with an assessment of the notion of an Orthodox or (post-) Byzantine commonwealth. INTERCIVILIZATIONAL ENCOUNTERS: THE EMPIRE AND THE CRUSADES The Crusades should be placed onto a larger historical canvas. Until the turn of the millennium, social life in both parts of the Mediterranean suffered extensively as a result of the barbarian invasions. Urban life and commerce recovered slowly. Around the turn of the first millennium, an economic and social ecumenical renaissance spread across Eurasia (Arnason 2004). In the same era, the consolidation of the initial cultural unit of “Europe,” i.e., the Roman Catholic or Latin Western Europe or “Christendom,” took place (Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:218–52; Moore 2004). “Crusading proved a tenacious feature of European politics because it served two of the powerful social and cultural forces of the High Middle Ages: the external expansion of western Christendom beyond its early medieval frontiers; and the internal development of structures of authority and order” (Tyerman 1998:42–43). In the course of the Crusades, there was an epic turning of the tables in the balance of power and wealth between the Eastern Roman Empire and the West (Shepard 2006:30). In retrospect, it is clear that the Eastern Roman Empire failed to respond successfully to the changing geopolitical and economic circumstances of the era. Although the monetarization of economic life allowed greater currency circulation, the rise of a landowning aristocracy challenged the foundations of imperial rule. The accumulation

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of money on behalf of the Church further intensified monetary pressures because the Emperor became increasingly unable to liquidate or confiscate the high clergy’s monetary resources. With the rise of the Comneni dynasty in 1081, this aristocracy assumed, in effect, direct control over the empire’s fortunes. This aristocracy offered material support and patronage to ecclesiastical institutions and particularly contributed to the strength of monasticism in the East. In the Eastern Roman Empire, the codification of monasticism was initiated by Theodore of Stoudios (759–826), who set forth a Typikon (order of services) for the Stoudios monastery, located in the outskirts of Constantinople. His work provided a model for the organization of monastic life (Papadakis [1994] 2003:415). Monasticism soon found a privileged place in Mount Athos; although the earliest monastic settlements can be traced back to the early ninth century, it was in 963 that St. Athanasius the Athonite founded the Great Lavra, which was Mount Athos’s first monastery. Its Typikon was based on that of the Stoudios monastery. This effort received the generous patronage of Emperor Nicephorus (Angold 1995:266). It was soon followed by the founding of four additional Greek-speaking monasteries on the Athos peninsula and by more monasteries for Serb, Russian, Bulgarian and Italian monks (Papadakis [1994] 2003:422). An imperial decree in 1046 made Mount Athos a monastic self-governed republic; each monastery was represented at the ruling council set up in the town of Karyes (Harris [2003] 2007:2). Imperial patronage contributed to the growth of the monasteries, especially under the Comneni dynasty: Alexius I Comnenus supported the Lavra monastery through several rulings. He further intervened to settle internal disputes among various monasteries (Angold 1995:280–83). At the end of the 11th century, St. Antony of Kiev familiarized himself with Athos’s monastic practices when St. Theodore exported the Mount Athos model for his own monastery in Kiev, which in turn became a cornerstone of Russian monasticism (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:31). In the 12th century, St. Savvas adopted a variation of the same model for the Serbian monasteries (Papadakis [1994] 2003:416). Monasteries were responsible for a great amount of charitable work and for running various institutions, such as almshouses, hospitals and pilgrim hostels, and for the maintenance of bridges, baths and bakeries (Angold 1995:308–9). Over time, the Mount Athos monasteries received additional endowments by several Orthodox rulers; this helped them solidify their status. The rise and expansion of monasticism is also observed in Western Europe. It is an expression of the Catholic and Orthodox religious institutions’ renewed strength. This strength was manifested in the application of religious rules, prohibitions against paganism or deviations from officially sanctioned dogma, the codification and expansion of the scope of canon law and increased authority over family matters.2 In the East, from the 10th century forward, the laity’s interference was actively resisted, and earlier practices that allowed individuals to control churches and monasteries were

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prohibited. Until the ninth century, it was customary to appoint laymen to the position of the patriarch, who were consecrated after their appointment to assume the rank. This practice manifested the extent of imperial control over ecclesiastical institutions. However, under the Comneni dynasty, imperial authority became increasingly dependent on ecclesiastical leadership (Angold 1995; Louth 2007). This shift registered the inability of the state to adjust to the social and economic changes of the era.3 In the 11th century, this inability of the state to protect its territories is illustrated by two major military defeats: the first was the 1071 battle of Mantzikert, and the second was the 1071 fall of Bari, which signaled the loss of southern Italy to the Normans (Harris [2003] 2007:34). These defeats represented key geopolitical losses as the Normans used Italy as a base for future raids into imperial lands, and as a result of the battle of Mantzikert, Asia Minor’s interior was exposed to persistent Turkish raids (Vryonis 1971). Magdalino (2008:648) observes that the empire’s problem was “one of survival in a world, where weak, wealthy Mediterranean societies were in the way of northern warrior aristocracy with slender means and big appetites.” The empire’s army became dependent on mercenaries, many of whom were Western Europeans. In due course, mercenaries and crusaders alike came to view the Eastern Romans’ lack of a warrior ethos as comparable to Western European chivalry and their “reliance on foreigners [as] proof of their decadence” (Angold 2003:61–62). In the aftermath of the 1071 defeats, Emperor Alexius I wrote to Pope Urban II requesting assistance in his fight against the Muslims. Alexius most likely was looking for mercenaries, who were recruited extensively at the time. The pope added to Alexius’s call the notion of liberating Jerusalem, thereby providing an essential ingredient that shaped the Crusades as such (Harris [2003] 2007:47–51; Tyerman [2006] 2007:67). The pope’s call to liberate Jerusalem provided the impetus for the First Crusade of 1095–1099. However, in contrast to the West’s Crusade mentality, the Eastern Romans, and Orthodox ecclesiastical circles in particular, explicitly repudiated the notion of “holy war” and the participation of clerics in warfare (Papadakis [1994] 2003:138–39; Harris [2003] 2007:102). It was shocking to see armed clerics, for that was considered contrary to their proper role in society. The Crusades were viewed as an intrusion into the empire’s sphere of influence. “From the start,” Angold (2003:31) states, the Eastern Romans “suspected with justification that, even if the Crusade itself was not directed [against them], it was used as a cover by Western rulers . . . who did have designs” on the empire’s territory. When the First Crusade passed through imperial lands, attention was focused on weakening the Crusade army and securing the leaders’ submission to the emperor. Alexius I secured the crusaders’ promise that Antioch—a deeply revered city of ecumenical councils and one that had been recaptured by the Arabs as late as 969—would be returned under imperial rule (Harris [2003] 2007:76). The city was under

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nominally imperial rule as late as 1084–1085 and had a large Orthodox constituency (McEvitt 2008:69). The crusaders, however, came to resent the lack of active imperial aid and believed that this lack of reciprocity freed them from their oaths to return Antioch to imperial rule. To Eastern Romans, this was an act of open defiance to imperial authority. The imperial policy of militarily harassing the crusaders while simultaneously asking for oaths of allegiance persisted throughout the Crusades. Angold (2003:31) states, “In many ways, the Second Crusade was more worrying than the first, because it brought home [the realization] that the Crusade was here to stay, that the Western presence was a permanent problem.”4 Magdalino (2008:648) observes, “The Second Crusade confirmed what [Emperor] John II had belatedly begun to realize in the late 1130s: that to succeed [the empire] needed to participate as an inside player in the power politics of Western Christendom.” The notion of the Christian ecumene, however, still guided the Eastern Roman political model: In 1141, John II called Pope Innocent II to reconstruct this universal authority under the emperor’s political rule and the pope’s own spiritual authority (Meyendorff [1982] 1990:88). His successor, Manuel II Comnenus, applied a more flexible approach and cultivated ties with the Western aristocracy, which in turn earned him a dubious “Latin lover” reputation (Angold 2003:31). In 1176, Manuel II was able to elicit from Pope Alexander III a call for military assistance to secure the road to Jerusalem (Tyerman 1998:14). The call was largely unsuccessful, as for most of the 12th century, the Crusades were still viewed as an exceptional occurrence. In the 12th-century Eastern Roman Empire, intermarriage with Western elites, their employment as advisors and the use of mercenaries—such as the famous Varangian imperial guard—all suggest a certain intermingling with warriors and Westerners. However, unlike the crusaders, the Eastern Roman imperial strategy involved a combination of military show with bargaining, trickery and negotiation as a means of gaining the recognition of the Emperor’s preeminent position. The use of deception in particular was a favorite ploy that infuriated the crusaders, who came to view the “Greeks” as full of deceit, deception and cunning (Phillips 2005:xxi; Harris [2003] 2007:32; Tyerman [2006] 2007:118–22). The growing mutual distrust between the two sides has been well documented. Part of the friction centered on customs, such as the fact that the Roman Catholic clergy were clean-shaven or that the Orthodox priests were married. Such dislike prompted the notion that the “Greeks” were not simply different but were heretics: they stood outside the boundaries of proper or acceptable Christianity (Papadakis [1994] 2003:161). On the Orthodox side, by the 12th century, Roman Catholics were effectively prohibited from participating in Orthodox mass, and gradually additional practices—such as requiring a second baptism for converts—followed (Papadakis [1994] 2003:309). These practices are clear indicators that “Greeks” and “Latins” placed each other outside their own in-group.

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Frustrated crusaders introduced the notion that an attack against the “heretical Greeks” was justified: Bohemond, a former leader of the First Crusade, returned to Western Europe, where he started a propaganda war against the empire, claiming that its policy was at loggerheads with the crusaders’ goals. His own military campaign against the empire received papal support, but his attack into imperial lands in 1107–1108 was a failure (Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:118–19; Tyerman [2006] 2007:261–67). Nonetheless, his version of the events became embedded in the Western chronicles, and in his letters to the pope, he is the first to suggest that the “Greeks” are heretics and represent legitimate targets (Harris [2003] 2007:88–90). There is also the crusaders’ letter to Pope Urban II in 1098 (McEvitt 2008:1–2), sent a few months after the fall of Antioch, in which non-Catholic Christians are also referred to as “heretics.” However, the word does not resurface regularly in correspondence (McEvitt 2008:101). This suggests that the rhetoric of “heresy” was conveniently employed by individual actors of the era to justify actions and objectives. As imperial policy continued to view the crusaders as potentially dangerous invaders, the idea of an attack against Constantinople resurfaced during the Second Crusade. This time, it was viewed as rightful retaliation for past imperial campaigns against the Latin prince of Antioch as well as the fact that the “Greeks” were “heretics” (Harris [2003] 2007:100). Unsurprisingly, the crusader states’ policy against the non-Western but Christian subjects was not one of equality. Although not strictly colonial or feudal, their policy remained flexible and at times accommodating; “tough tolerance” (McEvitt 2008) describes this model, which was neither legally formalized nor fixed. Initial settlements were accompanied by the establishment of Catholic bishops who also assumed military responsibilities—albeit without replacing Orthodox bishops (Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:62). In the crusader states of the Holy Lands, Orthodox bishops were occasionally replaced by Catholic ones in accordance with the principle of single ecclesiastical jurisdiction. In some cases, the Orthodox sees were vacant as the bishops had fled. In other cases, however, Orthodox bishops kept their sees (Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:68; Tyerman [2006] 2007:231; McEvitt 2008:110). Certainly over the 12th century, and as a result of the encounters between the two sides, Greek and Latin clergymen became aware of their liturgical divergences and their differences in customs (Kolbaba 2010). To understand the ecclesiastical situation, it is important to note that having Orthodox prelates implied a degree of recognition of imperial authority. For example, in the aftermath of the First Crusade, the Orthodox patriarch was enthroned in Antioch but left in approximately 1100 when military conflict ensued between the two sides (Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:63; McEvitt 2008:111). The fact that the Orthodox patriarchs lived in exile after the Latin occupations of Jerusalem and Antioch contributed to anti-Western sentiments among the clergy (for examples, see Angold 1995:306–9). Later imperial policy against the Latin states in the Holy Lands confirmed such

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fears. Imperial forces contested the Latin occupation of Antioch and the region of Cilicia in 1099, 1100, 1104, 1137, 1138, 1142 and 1158–1159 (Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:107; Tyerman [2006] 2007:193–94). By 1138, Emperor John II Comnenus’s expeditions earned him a papal edict in which he was accused of fragmenting the Church’s unity. The pope urged, albeit unsuccessfully, Latin mercenaries serving in the imperial army to quit (Harris [2003] 2007:90). It was only by 1176 that Emperor Manuel II Comnenus was able to secure the return of the Orthodox patriarch of Antioch to the city. This was part of a broader imperial strategy pursued by Manuel II: it involved marriage alliances and securing the allegiance of the Latin states of the Holy Lands as a means of restoring imperial power in the Mediterranean (Harris [2003] 2007:107; McEvitt 2008:158–59). The swing of the momentum in the wars against the Arabs did not favor the Westerners’ view of the empire. In 1187, Saladin defeated the crusaders and conquered Jerusalem. He favored the Orthodox claims of control over the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (or Church of the Holy Resurrection, commonly known as “the tomb of Christ”), which was a major Eastern Roman foreign policy objective as it confirmed the emperor’s preeminent role as guardian of Christianity (Angold 2003:59). In Western Europe, recapturing Jerusalem was the immediate goal of the Third Crusade (1188– 1192). In the meantime, Emperor Isaac Angelos made a pact with Saladin to delay and harass the crusaders’ army that was crossing the Balkans (RileySmith [1987] 2005:139). However, the impressive strength of the crusaders’ army (led by German Emperor Frederick I) rendered such attempts obsolete. Nonetheless, the imperial policy of harassing the crusaders and news of the alliance between Arabs and the Eastern Romans was noticed and added ammunition to the rhetoric that the “Greeks” were “heretics.” THE FOURTH CRUSADE AND THE 1204 SACK OF CONSTANTINOPLE In 1176, Emperor Manuel II Comnenus suffered an important defeat in Myriokephalon, which ended the drive to contain the Turks in Asia Minor. After his passing in 1180, the empire’s decline was swift, as political elites began to look inward and failed to respond to outside threats. In 1169, an imperial fleet of more than 230 ships was dispatched to Egypt, whereas by 1203 there was hardly a fleet to speak of. This was a decisive military drawback. Disintegration was a clear threat: in 1184 the governor of Cyprus, Isaac Ducas Comnenus, seceded from the empire; in 1186 there was a Bulgarian revolt; in 1188 the city of Philadelphia in Asia Minor seceded as well; in 1190 the crusaders of the Third Crusade bullied the imperial forces; and in 1185 the Normans of southern Italy sacked Thessaloniki, the empire’s second largest city (Phillips 2005:316). Between 1180 and 1204, a total of 58 coups, rebellions and conspiracies were carried out against the

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existing emperor, with at least five of them successful in 1182–1183, 1185, 1195, 1203 and 1204 (Tyerman [2006] 2007:536). Few political systems could have endured such extensive instability. The implosion of authority led to a sharp fall in tax returns, and this lack of funds became a major point of contention in the course of the Fourth Crusade. The empire’s implosion occurred when crusading was gaining momentum in large part because it served the self-interest and convenience of popes, lay rulers, clergy and laity. Crusading was adopted and adapted by them for reasons “pious, sordid, noble, selfish, heroic and hypocritical” (Tyerman 1998:33). By the 13th century, Crusades were waged in Syria, Egypt, Greece, Spain, France, the Baltic, England, Germany, Majorca and Italy (Tyerman 1998:32). The Fourth Crusade was an expression of this expansion of the original “crusading moment” beyond its original target.5 The idea of attacking Christian lands was slowly introduced in the course of the 12th century. In 1191, Richard the Lionheart captured Cyprus from renegade Isaac Ducas Comnenus (Phillips 2005:112). Generally speaking, although the crusaders of the Fourth Crusade were “heirs to the suspicion and contempt that the Latin world had displayed towards the Greeks” (Angold 2003:60), this hostility did not increase prior to 1204 and was not centered on purely religious factors (Tyerman [2006] 2007:533). Nonetheless, while preparations for the Fourth Crusade were under way, the correspondence between Patriarch John X Kamateros and Pope Innocent III reinforced the gap between the Orthodox and the Catholic sides. Innocent III’s correspondence contained an ominous warning that unless obedience to the Church of Rome was secured, “we shall be compelled to proceed . . . against you . . . and against . . . the Greek church” (quoted in Cleary 1993:65–66).6 After 1204, this statement was interpreted as “proof” of a papal ploy. However, during that Crusade’s initial preparations, Pope Innocent III had unsuccessfully attempted to reach an understanding with Emperor Alexius III Angelos (Tyerman [2006] 2007:509–10). The crusaders of the Fourth Crusade met in Venice, where they agreed to have the Venetians prepare a fleet for transportation to the Holy Lands. The 1201 Treaty of Venice became “possibly the most famous and notorious transport contract in European history” (Tyerman [2006] 2007:513). Unable to pay the Venetians, the crusaders agreed to attack Venice’s rival city of Zara instead. The city was under the protection of the King of Hungary, and that earned them stern papal condemnation. It also demonstrated the increasingly opportunistic nature of the enterprise (Tyerman [2006] 2007:501–24). Next, the Fourth Crusade was redirected to Constantinople after a request by pretender Alexius Angelos to help him capture the throne. Alexius promised to place the empire under the authority of Rome, to pay them 200,000 silver marks, to offer them provisions and to campaign with the crusaders to the Holy Lands with an army of 10,000 (Phillips 2005:127; Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:152–56). It was an attractive offer that seemed to solve all the crusaders’ problems. After extensive hesitation and doubts, they

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accepted, thus ignoring the pope’s cautious criticism that their course of action was wrongheaded (Phillips 2005:136; Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:157). After reaching Constantinople, Alexius eventually was returned to the throne, and he offered promises that he would secure the Orthodox Church’s obedience to Rome. In turn, this offered a religious justification for the Crusade’s diversion, and the crusaders capitalized on that to persuade skeptics—including Pope Innocent III—that their actions were indeed within the scope of crusading (Angold 2003:95; Phillips 2005:195). In fact, newly installed Emperor Alexius IV wrote to Pope Innocent III to “humbly recognize the ecclesiastical head of all Christendom, namely, the Roman pontiff” (quoted in Phillips 2005:198). Alexius added that he would try to persuade the clergy to follow his lead, an indirect admission of his inability to force the ecclesiastical leadership to do so. Relations between the two sides turned sour soon afterward as financial promises to the crusaders were not fulfilled. Alexius presented them with a total of 86,000 marks (Phillips 2005:200), but in spite of his own efforts, he was unable to secure the rest. Bitterness and hostility became widespread between the crusaders and Constantinople’s inhabitants, with the latter vehemently opposing Alexius’s course of action. While engaged in hostilities or in the context of smaller episodes, the crusaders were directly or indirectly implicated in setting several fires that significantly tarnished the capital. The largest was the fire of August 1203 (Phillips 2005:206–20), which destroyed a significant part of the capital, causing devastation and exacerbating the inhabitants’ negative stereotypes vis-à-vis the “Latins.” In the aftermath, the city’s Catholic constituency fled to the crusaders’ camp, joining forces with them. Eventually, Alexius was murdered, and a series of additional people were installed to the imperial throne. The quick succession of claimants to the throne further delegitimized imperial authority as it seemed that Constantinople’s mob was in charge of appointing emperors. Alexius’s murder shocked the crusaders and only confirmed the negative stereotypes they held. The union with Rome was not accomplished, and by early February 1204, the crusaders used this failure as further justification for attacking the city. In a major parlement of the crusader army, their prelates declared, “the battle is right and just. And if you have the right intention of conquering the land and placing it in the obedience of Rome, you will obtain the pardon which the Pope has granted to all of you who die having confessed” (quoted in Angold 2003:98). However, after their initial attack of April 9 failed, a sense of doubt prevailed. Both the clergy and the prelates were consulted as to the righteousness of their cause, which was troubling many crusaders. Both offered the opinion that the cause was undoubtedly just: The “Greeks” had removed themselves from their obedience to Rome, and that rendered the crusaders’ actions righteous (Angold 2003:100; Phillips 2005:245; Tyerman [2006] 2007:551). The Eastern Romans were schismatics and had murdered their

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ruler. Catholic clerics encouraged the soldiers, reassuring them of their actions’ morality and insisting that they would not have committed a sin by attacking the city (Papadakis [1994] 2003:304). By April 12, 1204, the crusaders captured the city, which subsequently was promptly sacked. With 375,000 inhabitants, it was a megalopolis of the era—20 times the size of London (Harris [2003] 2007:5). Although the city was already damaged by the fires, the subsequent looting and violence extensively tarnished the city’s glow. Hundreds of religious relics and numerous ornaments were seized and transported to Western Europe (Tyerman [2006] 2007:557). Numerous incidents demonstrated the crusaders’ religious intolerance (Angold 2003:188, 196). Some acts were particularly sacrilegious. The St. Sophia Cathedral, the symbolic center of the empire’s religious order, was ruthlessly sacked: the victors stripped it of its precious possessions, including the silver overlay from the pulpit gates. To move the haul, they brought pack animals into the building. The animals’ excrement fouled the church’s marble floors, on which men and animals slipped and fell as they were trying to make their way. The church’s altar was smashed to divide it into pieces. During the victory celebrations, a prostitute straddled the patriarch’s throne and then sang and danced around the altar. After the election of a Latin emperor, looting continued, targeting the emperors’ mausoleum in the St. Apostles’ Church. The crusaders even opened the sarcophagus of Emperor Justinian I in search of loot (Phillips 2005:258–80). The 1204 sack of Constantinople “entailed the shattering of a civilization” and was “one of those events that force societies to decide where they stand” (Angold 2003:221). The desecration of the St. Sophia Cathedral was symbolic of the empire’s effective demise. The Eastern Roman Empire’s participation in the intercivilizational interactions of the turn of the first millennium concluded with its own demise. The Fourth Crusade made it “the principal casualty of the emergence of Europe and resurgent Islam” (Stevenson 2004:210). It terminated the empire’s original unity. The empire’s short-lived post-1204 era (1261–1453) is increasingly seen as an afterword. The gap generated by the collapse of imperial authority also provided the broader context from which the new power of the Ottomans ascended. Orthodox Christianity emerged as a full-fledged distinct tradition in the centuries after the 1204 sack of Constantinople. Whereas up to 1204, the unity of the Church and empire was a given, the collapse of the empire meant that the Church could no longer depend on secular patrons but had to face up to the challenges of the era in its own right. Initially, Pope Innocent III’s response to the 1204 fall of Constantinople was joyful—a sentiment that disappeared upon careful consideration of the post-1204 arrangement (Angold 2003:113–14). The pope never ratified the crusaders’ treaty of division of imperial lands as this was done mainly without regard to ecclesiastical arrangements. After 1204, Venetian Thomas Morosini was installed as (Roman Catholic) patriarch in place of the Ecumenical Patriarch John X Kamateros, who

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had fled Constantinople (Cleary 1993:68–78). Although the patriarch did not abdicate or resign, his see was considered vacant. Pope Innocent III recognized this appointment. The installation of a Roman Catholic patriarch effectively signaled the initiation of a post-1204 policy of forced absorption of the Orthodox into Roman Catholicism (Cleary 1993; Papadakis [1994] 2003:317–18). Specifically, Orthodox bishops, clergy and monks had to take an oath of dependence (a vassal oath), recognizing the pope’s authority and that of the Latin Patriarch of Constantinople (Cleary 1993:201–3). In fact, after the 1206 passing of Patriarch John X Kamateros a local committee asked the Latin Emperor to allow them to elect a new Orthodox patriarch, their request was denied and the emperor refused to allow an election to take place. The principal reason was the persistent refusal of the Orthodox to accept the papal claim to universal jurisdiction as a precondition for imperial approval of an election (Hussey [1986] 1990:187–92; Cleary 1993:221–30; Angold 2003:180–88). In practice, however, aside from the Peloponnese, the newly installed Latin church failed to gain acceptance by the local Orthodox population (Angold 2003:189). Moreover, in the post-1204 Latin feudal states, practice did not always comply with papal wishes, resulting in a variety of ecclesiastical arrangements (Hussey [1986] 1990:192–200; Papadakis [1994] 2003:310–12). Pope Innocent III’s own preference seems to have been for either submissive Orthodox clergy or Latins (Cleary 1993:208). For the most part, it seems that Orthodox monasteries were not harmed. Catholic bishops were introduced in some places. Elsewhere, Orthodox bishops occasionally remained in place. Some Orthodox bishops took the required oath to maintain their seats, whereas others fled to avoid offering formal acceptance of papal supremacy (Cleary 1993:204–5). The result was a fluid and somewhat chaotic situation. Needless to say, for the Orthodox clergy, the above policy, although not fully or consistently implemented, amounted to straightforward Latinization. Following the establishment of a Roman Catholic archbishop in Constantinople, patriarchal authority was successfully claimed by the Niceabased bishop in close association with the local ruler. Constantinos Laskaris, the founder of the Nicea Empire, was elected emperor in Constantinople prior to the city’s fall. Realizing that the situation was unattainable, he fled to Nicea. The Nicea-based empire became a haven for the remnants of the fallen elite where refugees regrouped, forging an identity in exile (Angold 2003:200). The Nicea-based emperors were only one of the three Greek-speaking successor states of the Eastern Roman Empire, but by 1261, they eventually were able to recapture Constantinople. The empire resumed its existence, albeit fatally wounded, until 1453.7 For a short period, the rival Greek-speaking state of Epirus challenged the authority of the Nicea patriarch. The autocephalous archbishopric of Ohrid was implicated in this contest. Initially, it seemed that the Orthodox Church could

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split into a series of autonomous churches. The Nicea-based Patriarch Germanos (1223–1240) is credited with successfully asserting his authority on churches in Russia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Epirus and Cyprus. By 1232, all major ecclesiastical challenges were thwarted (Papadakis [1994] 2003:325; Angold 2006:54). The two long centuries between the 1204 sack of Constantinople and the second fall of Constantinople (1453) to the Ottomans was a period dominated by political urgency for union with Rome. After 1204, and even after the 1261 restoration of the Eastern Roman Empire, the pursuit of union was a prime political objective for most emperors: an alliance could preserve the empire and help recapture Jerusalem. This effort has been well documented in the literature. Two councils were held to bring about such a union: the first was the Council of Lyons II (1274), and the second was the Council of Ferrara—Florence (1438–1439). In both instances, the Eastern Roman representatives included secular members of the elite and a selection of clerics. The political imperative overwhelmed any serious attempt at discussion, and the union was declared both times on the pope’s terms (Hussey [1986] 1990:221–94; Chadwick 2003:246–59; Papadakis [1994] 2003:341–45; Angold 2006). Unsurprisingly, in both cases, the acts of union were never implemented. Although emperors were able to push through with the legal aspects of the union, they were unable to persuade or convince the monks, the majority of the clergy and the majority of the people that such an act was beneficial.8 In subsequent centuries, those Orthodox who agreed to accept the union but maintained Orthodox rituals came to be known as Greek Catholics. Sizeable constituencies in Ukraine and Transylvania chose that route. For the Orthodox, these “Uniates” (as they were pejoratively called) represented a mortal threat and were marginalized. The Catholic Church’s recognition of such acts of union and its policies became a major point of conflict with the Orthodox hierarchy. The political regime supporting the 1439 Union collapsed in 1453 with the conquest of Constantinople by the Ottomans; therefore, it is not possible to contemplate the pro-union policies’ chances of success. Nonetheless, the consensus is that the weight of ordinary public opinion in both lay and monastic circles was anti-unionist. This sentiment has been immortalized in a famous statement, perhaps falsely attributed to Grand Duke Luke Notaras, that the Turkish turban is preferable to the Latin mitre (Hussey [1986] 1990:285). In Constantinople, the lukewarm reception to the official proclamation of the 1439 union, established on December 12, 1452, aptly illustrated the lack of popular support (Angold 2006:53). Apart from theological and ecclesiastical reasons, it is clear that the experience of the Crusades and the 1204 sack of Constantinople contributed to growing suspicion and fear of the “Latins.” Although educated elites stressed cultural links with the West, for the majority, the fear of becoming “Latinized” was more than enough to render official proclamations ineffective.

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CONSTRUCTING A RELIGIOUS TRADITION It is a mistake, however, to view this effort as the key project in Orthodox Christianity. Rather, in the course of the internal disputes and disagreements, new developments were taking shape. Of key importance is the growing role of monasticism and of monks. After 1204, monks became increasingly involved in Orthodox Christianity’s public disputes. In part, their prestige rested on their monastic status and their reputation. By the 14th century, there was a full-fledged organizational structure that allowed monks to communicate with one other, to travel in different regions and to share ideas with one other. In large part, however, it is precisely because privileged knowledge of the divine had to be experienced that monasticism provided a privileged domain for the articulation of Orthodox theological specificity (Papadakis [1994] 2003:280). There are several developments that show the crystallization of a religious tradition capable of surviving outside the realm of the empire. The first development pertains to the elaboration of a distinct Orthodox theology vis-à-vis Roman Catholicism and its codification and subsequent spread in the Orthodox lands. Already in 1285, Patriarch Gregory (1283– 1289) convened a synod that drew a Tomos that contained the Orthodox response to the Filioque (Papadakis 1997b, 2003:348–60). The volume included some initial statements of the position St. Gregory Palamas developed in the 14th century (Hussey [1986] 1990:248). The theological differences with the West that were codified by Palamas were predicated on the Eastern tradition’s focus on the experiential knowledge of God. Such knowledge could not be fully obtained through human faculties, which were deemed inherently incapable of fully grasping the nature of divinity. As a result, the Orthodox theological tradition focused on experiential pathways for obtaining the believer’s union with God (theosis or deification). Unlike Roman Catholicism, Orthodoxy never formulated a synthesis whereby philosophy could be employed for the purposes of articulating theological thought (Papadakis [1994] 2003:275). Nonetheless, until the long 14th century, there was not a single, much less a theologically sanctioned, monopoly on this issue. The full-scale elaboration of Orthodox Christianity’s doctrinal distinctiveness occurred in the context of the Hesychast Controversy, which represents Orthodox Christianity’s defining theological moment (Pelikan 1977:10–12). On its surface, the controversy involved a dispute between monk Barlaam of Calabria and monk St. Gregory Palamas. Barlaam served as imperial envoy in ongoing negotiations with the pope. Barlaam initiated the controversy in the context of defending the Orthodox position on the Filioque against Roman Catholics. He criticized the hermits’ practices of asceticism and holy stillness (hesychia) and their claim that repetition of the Jesus prayer and psychosomatic techniques allowed them to experience the divine light of creation that had appeared around Christ on Mount Tabor. Undoubtedly,

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the development of these techniques was influenced by contacts with Islamic mystics (Meyendorff [1974] 1998a:59). Hesychasts claimed that they could know God while in this world. For Barlaam, this was a completely unacceptable claim because God’s essence is totally unknowable to humans (Hussey [1986] 1990:257–58). Gregory Palamas, himself an Athonite monk, criticized this interpretation and defended the practices of the monks. He articulated fully the notion of theosis or deification: That is, although the uncreated essence of God remains unknowable to humans both in this life and the next one, humans in this life can share in God through the uncreated energies bestowed by deifying grace. Palamas’s writings redefined the traditional Trinitarian dogma and became a central feature of Orthodox theology as such—comparable in many respects to Roman Catholicism’s Petrine doctrine. The Hesychast Controversy lasted approximately a decade (1341–1351), in part because the theological dispute became entangled in the civil strife among members of the Palaiologoi imperial dynasty.9 Consecutive synods held in 1341, 1347 and 1351 reaffirmed Palamas’s position and condemned all divergent viewpoints. These synods solidified the Orthodox theological tradition. After Isidoros ascended to the patriarchal throne at the conclusion of civil strife in 1347, he appointed 32 bishops, all of whom were members of Palamas’s party. Palamas himself was appointed bishop of Thessaloniki and passed away in 1368. He was canonized in the same year, with Patriarch Coccinus writing his encomium. To this day, he remains one of the key theological thinkers who contributed to the crystallization of the Orthodox theological tradition.10 Palamas’s theology was “part of a spiritual revival which spread via monasteries to all parts of the Orthodox world” and which “tilted the balance within the Orthodox Church to the monastic order” (Angold 2006:65). There were other contenders to the network of monks who were instrumental in Palamas’s victory. However, the monks “formed a tight-knit group and were able to subvert, appropriate or suppress well-established alternative models of spiritual life and to present themselves as the only true representatives of Orthodox monasticism” (Krausmuller 2006:125). Why were they so successful? Until 1204, the deacons of St. Sophia were the ones who staffed most major bishoprics, and the monks were tightly controlled. Yet after 1204, the system broke down: As a result, monks were less tightly supervised. In fact, from 1204 to 1453, a majority of patriarchs were monks of the hesychast tradition, and in 1312, the Patriarchate assumed oversight over Mount Athos (Papadakis [1994] 2003:458). The monastic party’s ability to gain public support, however, was more clearly established in the context of the pro-union policies pursued by Emperor Michael VIII Palaiologos (1259–1282). His support of unionist Patriarch Ioannis Vekkos led to broad opposition. The monks were among the main opposition leaders and thus were able to gain public acceptance of their moral authority (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:157).

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The second development concerns the extent to which both the Orthodox hierarchy and Mount Athos monks became ever more engaged in the political projects of the Eastern Roman Empire or in those of its rivals or promising would-be inheritors—ranging from Serb Tsar Dusan to Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II the Conqueror. The post-1204 reality produced a radical reassessment of the traditional worldview: Orthodoxy became selfsufficient, and an imperial regime became its appendage and not an integral part of its existence (Angold 2003:208). Increasingly, the ecclesiastical leadership took it upon itself to establish a network of contacts and relationships throughout the Orthodox lands (Hussey [1986] 1990:286–90). Patriarchal self-image assumed almost papal pretensions.11 Thanks to the preservation of the patriarchal records from 1315 until the 15th century, a full picture of the multitude of patriarchal activities has been reconstructed. These entailed the reorganization of bishoprics to fit new circumstances, answering inquiries from external potentates and churchmen as well as adjudging disputes and efforts at setting the law in ecclesiastical affairs (Shepard 2006:22). Strictly speaking, the religious zealots in charge of the Patriarchate after the Hesychast Controversies were religious activists concerned with moral and social issues. In their view, patriarchal authority could be used legitimately in support of the transcendental values to which they ascribed (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:153). They were neither hermits nor recluses. From the early 13th century, the patriarchs began anointing the emperor with chrism, thereby offering sacramental confirmation of his fitness to rule.12 This practice reflected the weakness of political leaders who increasingly relied on ecclesiastical leadership for their legitimacy. Once adopted into ritual, this practice persisted, even after the 1261 restoration of the empire. The weak political and military imperial authority thus contributed to the elevation of ecclesiastical authority. This provided a critical stepping stone for maintaining and preserving a religious tradition without having to depend on the empire. By the early 14th century, patriarchal jurisdiction involved 112 metropolitans (although many existed on paper) as the administrative autocephaly of Serb and Bulgarian churches meant diminished ecclesiastical authority (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:114). The patriarchal engagement with politics and ecclesiastical arrangements throughout Eastern Europe (Serbia, Bulgaria, Russia, Lithuania, Wallachia and Poland) illustrates the extent to which ecclesiastical issues constituted a critically important aspect of statecraft at the time. In Bulgaria, an 1186 tax uprising led by the brothers Peter and Asen successfully established the state conventionally referred to as the “second” Bulgarian empire, although just as with the “first” Bulgarian empire, the state’s population was multiethnic (Wolff [1949] 2007:180–203). The Third Crusade, consisting of approximately 100,000 people under German Emperor Fredrick Barbarossa, crossed the Balkans at approximately the same time. It posed a military threat that prevented the successful suppression of the revolt. Soon afterward, the Fourth Crusade terminated the empire altogether. After 1204,

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under Tsar Kalojan’s leadership (1197–1207), renewed contacts with Rome were followed by the (uncanonical) declaration of the autocephaly of the seat of Turnovo.13 Kalojan engaged in negotiations with Pope Innocent III to receive recognition of imperial status and the establishment of an independent church. These negotiations yielded only short-lived results. Most likely, they were part of the traditional pattern of rulers playing the Roman Catholic against the Orthodox ecclesiastical establishment to achieve recognition by one of them. By 1235, negotiations between the Nicea-based patriarch and the Bulgarian Tsar Asen II (1218–1241) produced results. The patriarch received recognition of his status as “ecumenical” in exchange for recognition of autocephaly and elevation of Turnovo to the status of an independent Patriarchate (Papadakis [1994] 2003:326–27; Gonis 2001:66– 69). Its ecclesiastical authority was carved out of the territory that used to be under the control of the autocephalous archbishopric of Ohrid. A total of 16 patriarchs occupied the throne until 1393, when the fall of Turnovo to the Ottoman forces meant the disappearance of both the second Bulgarian empire and the Turnovo Patriarchate. In the Serb case, the Nemanja dynasty developed strong ties with the monastic community of Mount Athos. These ties were developed in the course of a complex power game between Rome and Constantinople over the Serb lands. St. Savva (1175–1235), son of the Serb leader Stephan Nemanja, became the legendary founder of the Serbian Orthodox Church. He was instrumental in having Serbia enter into the Orthodox sphere of influence (Gonis 2001:184–91; Papadakis [1994] 2003:378–86). However, as was the typical pattern of negotiations at the time, the Serb leadership played both sides. In fact, in 1217, it was a papal envoy who crowned Stephan Nemanja. St. Sava was instrumental in establishing the Serb Orthodox Church and became its first archbishop (Gonis 2001:195–99; Papadakis [1994] 2003:327). In 1346, Serb prince Sephan Dusan was crowned “King of Serbs and Romans,” but his relationship to the Roman emperors does not appear to have been antagonistic (Cirkovic [1996] 2007). Rather, Dusan was included as co-emperor, which in turn allowed him to partake in the Eastern Roman notion of a single universal Christian empire. Dusan’s relationship with the Orthodox circles was multifaceted: he visited Mount Athos and met St. Gregory Palamas (Soulis [1954] 2007). Dusan asked Palamas to follow him back to Serbia and tried to win his allegiance. Additionally, Dusan settled a property dispute between the monasteries of Zografou and Chilandar and issued several decrees that guaranteed the monasteries’ income from various estates. Eventually, by 1351, Dusan instituted a Serb Patriarchate thanks to the support of the patriarch of Turnovo and the archbishop of Ohrid (Zernov 1963:109). The action lacked the patriarch’s approval, and in 1352, the Patriarchate excommunicated the uncanonically instituted Patriarchate (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:221). The schism was finally averted in 1375, whereby the patriarchal title of the Serb Church’s primate was confirmed (Gonis 2001:209). In terms of a relationship between the ecclesiastical and

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state leadership, however, the Serb kingdoms and principalities were soon afterward conquered by the Ottomans, which effectively removed any association of ecclesiastical with state independence. As a direct result of the 13th-century growth of independent principalities and of the Roman Catholic infiltration into Wallachia and Moldova, the Ecumenical Patriarchate instituted independent bishoprics in these regions (Papadakis [1994] 2003:393–401). Similar reasons underlie the patriarchal appointment of a bishop of Galicia, which was under Polish control at the time (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:255). The Patriarchate further mediated disputes over bishoprics in Lithuania and Moscow. Although this involved efforts at mediations in areas “far beyond [the] effective political reach” of the empire, local leaders in both regions “shared the assumption that patriarch and emperor, acting in conjunction, would have the last word in determining the ecclesiastical landscape” (Shepard 2006:30; for examples, see Meyendorff [1982] 1990:126, 1988:221–30). In this period, the Ecumenical Patriarchate continued the practice of appointing the Russian metropolitan, whose status was quite important in maintaining the generally amicable relationships between the Mongols of the Golden Horde and the Eastern Roman Empire. Under the reign of the Golden Horde in 14th-century Russian lands, the metropolitan was viewed as an imperial representative or envoy and therefore was allowed to intervene in disputes between rival Russian princes (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:107). The metropolitan was the recipient of considerable income and used his resources to financially support the Patriarchate. Metropolitan duties demanded movement across vast territories, leading to a pattern of increased geographical mobility, which in turn required the metropolitan to use multiple locales as his residences. As conditions were better in the north, the metropolitan seat eventually transferred to Moscow.14 By the 14th century, Russian Orthodox ecclesiastical jurisdictions became fragmented between those centered around Moscow and those in Ukraine. There was fierce competition between the Moscow principality and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania for gaining the right to have the metropolitan within their respective territories; a tug-of-war occurred with imperial and patriarchal decisions going back and forth (Gudziak 1998:4–7; Pospielovski 1998:43).15 Gradually, the Moscow Duchy’s leadership began challenging Eastern Roman imperial authority: The first occasion was in 1393 when the Russian Orthodox leadership claimed jurisdiction in Lithuania, thus preventing the ecumenical patriarch from appointing his own bishop in the region (van den Bercken 1999:133–37). Metropolitan Isidor of Moscow, the Russian delegate in the failed 1438–1439 Council of Florence, was in favor of union with Rome. Upon his return, Grand Prince Vasilij II had him arrested and then arranged for Isidor’s escape and flight. Unionist policies were thus thwarted. On the occasion of his replacement, Vasilij II called for a council to elect his successor, Ionas (1448–1461). The 1448 council also

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unilaterally established an autocephalous independent Orthodox Church in Russia, which from this point on did not have an appointed prelate.16 Both the establishment of an autocephalous Church of Serbia and that of the Turnovo Patriarchate departed from the principle of a single church within a single universal empire (Papadakis [1994] 2003:388). The creation of an autocephalous ROC followed the Serb and Bulgarian precedents. The establishment of these autocephalous institutions obeyed practical and diplomatic needs. Political rulers used the imperial hierarchical order to further their own legitimacy. In doing so, they accepted the hierarchy’s legitimacy and the emperor’s superior place within it; at the same time, they adopted titles, rituals, ceremonies, practices and rules for their purposes. For Russian or Bulgarian tsars, Moscow and Veliko Turnovo were a “new Rome” or new Tsargrad (the emperor’s city, i.e., Constantinople) (Shepard 2006:19). The long-term consequence of this turn of events was the gradual abandonment of the notion of a single administrative ecclesiastical jurisdiction under the aegis of a single universal Christian empire in favor of the notion of unity among churches that exist in a plurality of states. Already in the 13th and 14th centuries, several patriarchs in Turnovo, Constantinople and Kiev all belonged to the same movement while the hesychast tradition was transplanted to monasteries throughout the Orthodox cultural area (Papadakis [1994] 2003:460). The Ottomans’ rise to power was only a temporary setback. Until 1350, Mount Athos suffered extensively from their raids. In search of shelter, some monks moved to Thessaly where they established monasteries in the rocky region of Meteora. However, a modus vivendi eventually developed between the Ottomans and the monastic community, offering protection for the monasteries and their holdings. From 1350 forward, donations of property to Mount Athos monasteries increased, often “as a means of safeguarding property by placing it under the protection of a monastic foundation, which had a special relation with the prospective conqueror” (Zachariadou 2006b:160). Finally, the third major development of this era concerns the crystallization of spatial organization in Orthodox churches and the standardization of their liturgical practices. After 1204, the size of churches grew smaller, and the liturgy was no longer modeled on the previously elaborate imperial model like the one performed at the St. Sophia cathedral in Constantinople (Papadakis [1994] 2003:418; Taft 2006). The smaller churches reflected smaller congregations. Furthermore, between the ninth and 12th centuries, the two previously distinct liturgical models were fused to provide a new model that eventually became the standard throughout the Orthodox world (Sevcenko 2006:127). Until the 10th century, there were two liturgical models. On the one hand, there was the urban cathedral model based on the liturgy of St. Sophia cathedral in Constantinople; on the other hand, there was the monastic model based on the liturgy of the St. Stoudios monastery (Papadakis [1994] 2003:465–68). The two models eventually were fused in the Mount

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Sava monastery in Palestine, and the new fused model was adopted by the Jerusalem Patriarchate, where it became known as the Jerusalem order of services (Typikon). By the 12th century, the Jerusalem Typikon was accepted by the Ecumenical Patriarchate, and from that point on, it spread throughout the Orthodox territory. In the 13th and 14th centuries, the Patriarchate, through a variety of instructions, ensured that it was also adopted in the Russian lands (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:170–72). Religious symbolism came to permeate liturgy and iconography, and the architecture and interior decoration of the churches further incorporated symbolism into the shape, form and expression of the religious ritual. These examples illustrate the strong influence of monasticism in shaping Orthodox Christianity. Monasticism was also instrumental in the adoption of the hymnody in church services (Sevcenko 2006:146–52) and in the spatial organization of the Orthodox churches. The initially monastic custom of a temple separating the naos, or main part of the church, from the sanctuary was gradually extended to all churches: “By the 13th century, in many churches, much of the Eucharist celebration was visually obscured from the faithful by an opaque barrier” (Gerstel and Talbot 2006:85). In the 11th century, the usual temple screen was closed at floor level but still open above. Although originally “a low and fairly open parapet, by the 13th century [the temple] had become taller, consisting of colonnettes carrying an epistyle. Parapet slabs occupied the lower inter-columnar parts and curtains, and eventually icons in its upper parts” (Marinis 2010:293). The temple indicated the limits of the sanctuary. This practice served a dual function: it marked a sacred space inaccessible to anyone but the clergy, and because it obstructed the congregation’s visual contact with the sanctuary, it elevated the Eucharist’s sense of mystery and sanctity. By the 14th century, the closed temple was decorated with holy icons. Therein lies the birth of the icon screen (iconostasion)—a temple of icons from the floor to the top—which from that time forward has become a standard feature of Orthodox churches (Sevcenko 2006:133). The iconostasion offered a symbolic representation of the divine order and tangibly expressed the era’s pervasive symbolism (Taft 2006). The five-tiered icon screen reached its final form by the late 15th century (Bushkovitch 1992:13). It spatially distinguished Orthodox churches from Roman Catholic ones and stressed the centrality of icons in worship. Although these changes amplified the mystical and symbolic elements in liturgy, declining church attendance and infrequency of communion also became a characteristic pattern of lay participation (Gerstel and Talbot 2006:85). This pattern of lay participation is familiar as it is still observable in Orthodoxy today. By the 14th century, the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s standardization of these liturgical models, rituals and practices had been successfully implemented in the Orthodox lands. From that era forward, it has been possible to speak of a single liturgical model that becomes identified with Orthodox Christianity (Papadakis [1994] 2003:469).17 All these features offered a distinct format

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and rituals that discernibly separated Orthodox Christianity from Roman Catholicism. THE ORTHODOX COMMONWEALTH The move from Christian Orthodoxy to Orthodox Christianity involved a series of developments that were directly or indirectly a creative response to the challenges brought by the Crusades into the Greek East. The creation of Latin states in the Holy Lands and the 1204 sack of Constantinople offered the occasion to exacerbate the cultural differences from the West but also to use these events as rallying points for preserving Orthodoxy against Catholicism. The East faced the prospect of succumbing to Roman Catholicism—with secular leaders often taking the lead in forcing a union with Rome. However, the ecclesiastical authority of the Ecumenical Patriarchate survived the challenge, and Mount Athos and its monastic network played a critical role in shaping the Orthodox response to what was widely perceived as a Latin attempt to make the Orthodox submit to papal authority. The Orthodox hierarchy increasingly became less dependent on the ailing empire and more autonomous in its own policies. The establishment of a regional network, the articulation of Orthodox doctrinal divergences vis-à-vis Roman Catholicism and the increasingly important role of monks in defining the form and theology of religious worship are all important evidence of a major shift. Whereas until 1204, the Church looked upon the emperor and the state as guardians of the faith, the post-1204 situation demonstrated the inability of political authority to perform its old role. As a result, the Church began to act on its own to preserve its position against claims of papal supremacy and to maintain its ability to function within the post-1204 rather chaotic situation in the lands of the Eastern Roman Empire. From this point of view, key developments of this era include the growing connections with the southern Slavs and their leaders—both ecclesiastical and secular. Their newfound significance in light of the decline of the Eastern Roman Empire is not surprising. However, these ties already had a long history as they represent a case of the continuing indigenization of Orthodox Christianity itself. The notion of a (post-)Byzantine or, more accurately, of an Orthodox commonwealth (Kitromilides 2007a) offers a fundamental framework for describing the Orthodox lands, in particular with reference both to religious milieu and to political culture. In terms of religious milieu, this commonwealth entailed both horizontal and vertical links. The horizontal links involved pilgrimages, journeys to monasteries, translations of ecclesiastical texts and rituals as well as numerous other religious activities. Regional commercial links were also used as a means of fostering cross-regional communication. In spite of the decline and eventual collapse of imperial authority, the community of faith and of spiritual role models gained in strength.

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The vertical links entailed recognition of Orthodoxy’s hierarchical order. This order was initially predicated on the existence of a universal Christian empire. In the post-1204 reality, this notion was gradually superseded by the notion of a series of political units of roughly equivalent status united under the umbrella of Orthodoxy, in which the ecumenical patriarch became the dominant figure (Angold 2003:222). Serb, Bulgarian, Russian or Lithuanian rulers sought to replace ecclesiastical dependency on the Patriarchate through the creation of their own autocephalous jurisdictions or by looking to the Papacy. However, the tendency to look back to the Ecumenical Patriarchate, to Mount Athos and to the Greek language as a template for piety and correct doctrine is also present. The Orthodox commonwealth operated as a “cultural–religious” sphere or a “force field” (Shepard 2006:7, 52), pulling those within its orbit back into its fold. Certainly, these horizontal and vertical links were mostly a matter of high politics involving the elite or were paramount to the lives of the high clergy and the members of the various monastic orders. The multitude of social relations between the Eastern Roman Empire and its sphere of influence entailed both levels of cultural expansion and equally considerable isolation (Ivanov 2008:332). For the majority of the peasantry of Eastern and Southeastern Europe, it is far from certain that these ties were felt as thick relationships (Walzer 1994). In considering the notion of the Orthodox commonwealth, it is fair to admit as Shepard (2006:52) does, that this “supra-regional entity . . . may appear politically passive or negative, a source of inhibitions rather than a focus of active allegiance.” If the pre-1204 Eastern Roman Empire can certainly be viewed as a civilization with a single culture, language, religion and political order, the notion of the post-1204 Orthodox commonwealth as a separate Slavic–Orthodox civilization (Huntington 1996) cannot be easily dismissed. However, analyzing this issue based on the often incomplete or ambiguous evidence of past centuries is deeply problematic. To gain a better perspective on whether describing the Orthodox commonwealth as a civilization is a useful heuristic approach for explaining its historical developments, it is far preferable to examine the historical transitions of the Orthodox lands to modernity. This is addressed in the following chapter of this volume.

4

Transitions to Modernity

After the 14th century, Orthodox Christianity was clearly established in juxtaposition to Roman Catholicism. This chapter examines the manner in which Orthodox Christianity has made its transition(s) into modernity. Although a single ecclesiastical network united the Orthodox lands, most of these were divided between the Ottoman and Russian empires (see Map 4.1). Therefore, the analysis in this chapter must tackle both convergences and divergences in Orthodoxy’s route toward modernity. The chapter’s first section addresses Russia’s religious developments from the mid-14th century until Peter the Great’s abolition of the Moscow Patriarchate. In the Russian empire, indigenization proceeded to such an extent that the necessity of bringing religious practices in line with those prevailing in the rest of the Orthodox world brought about the breakup of religious unity. In contrast, as the chapter’s next section shows, the Ecumenical Patriarchate in the Ottoman lands revived the vernacularization of the earlier Roman Empire. It was thus able to reconstruct a sense of religious–political unity among the Ottoman Empire’s Orthodox subjects. In so doing, it also suppressed all trends toward greater indigenization. From the 17th century forward, the institutional control of the ROC by the state allowed the Russian tsars to act as guardians of Orthodoxy. In addition to these divergences in the historical routes of the Orthodox lands into modernity, there are also convergences. This chapter’s third section offers an overview of such responses. First, from the 18th century on, there is the adoption of the Lutheran state church model by Russia and eventually by the other Orthodox nation-states. Second, there is the 18thcentury influential monastic revival in Mount Athos. Through its Russian version, this revival has been instrumental in popularized understandings of Orthodox spirituality. Third, there is the conservative reaction to modernity over the issue of the Orthodox Church’s adoption of the Gregorian calendar. This action caused a rift in the Church and the subsequent formation of the Old Calendarist churches. The last two cases represent the most powerful historical examples of Orthodox conservative responses against modernity. Although illustrating the critical importance of tradition in Orthodoxy, these cases also attest to the ability of ecclesiastical institutions to restructure and

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Map 4.1

Eastern Europe in 1789: the Ottoman and Russian empires

adapt to changing historical circumstances. The chapter concludes with an overall assessment of these divergences and convergences in the Orthodox historical paths to modernity. Although there is a limited degree of convergence in Orthodox responses to modernity, it is clear that ecclesiastical arrangements in the Ottoman and Russian Empires followed distinct historical trajectories. These trajectories became ever more pronounced with

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the formation of nation-states, which was a slow and gradual process that concluded only with the breakup of the Soviet Union. THE CHURCH IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE: THE LIMITS OF INDIGENIZATION When Moscow’s 1448 unilateral proclamation of autocephaly took place, the Ecumenical Patriarchate was controlled by pro-union Patriarch Gregory Mamas. He eventually left for Rome in 1451. After the 1453 fall of Constantinople, his anti-union successors attempted to restore their authority, and in the course of these efforts, Russian jurisdictions were fragmented. In 1458, the pope, with the support of Gregory Mamas, appointed a prounion rival, Gregory (1458–1472), as patriarch of Kiev, Lithuania and tota Russia inferior (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:325; Gudziak 1998:45; Shubin 2004:132–39). The papal decisions adjusted ecclesiastical territories to the political division between the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth (which covered most of today’s Belarus, Ukraine, Lithuania and Poland) and the Moscow Duchy. Although the uncanonically elected Moscow-based Patriarch Ionas included Kiev in his title, after his death in 1461, his successors ceased to include “Kiev” in their own title (Lourie 2007:209). Most likely, the shift reflected practical acceptance of their lack of control over territories beyond the Moscow Duchy. Gregory, however, reverted back to Orthodoxy, and in 1467, the ecumenical patriarch officially appointed him as metropolitan of Kiev and all of Russ (Gudziak 1998:46–47; Pospielovski 1998:86; Lourie 2007:210). Patriarchal objectives included regaining territory from Roman Catholics and reasserting patriarchal authority over break-away Moscow. In the aftermath of the 1453 (second) fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans, the Grand Duchy of Moscow was the only surviving independent Orthodox state.1 The 1453 fall was perceived by Russians as divine punishment for the Greeks’ apostasy in the 1439 union (Rock 2006:272). When the patriarch appealed to Moscow to recognize Gregory as their head, Grand Prince of Moscow Ivan III responded by forbidding any contact between the Moscow metropolitan and the Patriarchate (inclusive of the Kiev-based hierarchs), thus initiating a period of isolation that shaped Russian Orthodoxy. Although in 1472, Grand Prince Ivan III (1462–1505) married Zoe Palaiologos, niece of the last Eastern Roman Emperor, and became de facto inheritor of the defunct empire, he did not claim the title of “Roman emperor” per se (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:51, 1991). Russia’s model of patrimonial statehood made it impossible to claim universal authority.2 The patriarchal decision also turned the ecclesiastical division along the Moscow–Lithuanian/Polish border into an entrenched reality that lasted until 1686. For the next two centuries, Orthodoxy existed under two

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very different states: the Polish/Lithuanian commonwealth and the Grand Duchy of Moscow. It is not possible to trace in detail here their histories; these have shaped the contemporary understanding of differences between Ukraine and Russia (for an overview, see Sysyn 1991).3 The Grand Duchy of Moscow is far more relevant: not only did it eventually transform itself into the Russian empire (and absorb the Kiev seat), but its ecclesiastical affairs shaped Russian Orthodoxy. Although Kiev was influenced by Western European intellectual currents—especially during the Counter-Reformation—the Moscow-centered Russian Orthodoxy offers perhaps the most extreme case of the indigenization of Orthodoxy. The Moscow Duchy’s road to successfully emerging as the main power among rival principalities was long and protracted. It also provided the occasion for millenarian interpretations. According to legend, the “fair people” (roussios, translated as rusyi, which in turn is close to russkij, i.e., Russian) would be the deliverers of the Orthodox people (van den Bercken 1999:138–39). Concomitantly, in approximately 1500, the claim of Moscow as the Third Rome was put forward (van den Bercken 1999: 143–44). In an epistle to Grand Prince Vasilij III, monk Philothei expressed the belief that “two Romes have fallen, but the third stands fast” (see the full text quoted in Gvosdev 2001:175–76; see also Zernov 1963:149). As van den Bercken (1999:147) observes, “Moscow, the Third Rome,” was a popular but principally eschatological notion: Russia was the last depository of the purity of Orthodox faith. In reality, historical documentation of this claim is at best sketchy as the evidence is piecemeal, and most often, the archival material can be interpreted differently (Rowland 1996; Ostrowski 2006). Moscow as a “third (that is, a new) Rome” should be placed in the context of similar religious fables—such as the Tale of the White Cowl4—which bolstered the claims of rival towns (Tver, Novgorod) to become the center for the reorganization of Russian statehood (J. Meyendorff 1991). Moscow’s claim was eventually stabilized in the 16th century, most notably under Ivan IV (1547–1584), who in 1547 claimed the title of Tsar of all Russia and modeled his coronation on the defunct empire’s model (Lourie 2007:212). His rule mirrored a new modus vivendi between state and ecclesiastical authority that was shaped in the course of the 16th century. From the 14th to the 16th centuries, a major shift occurred in which monasticism, initially dominant, was overtaken by the rising authority of bishops (Bushkovitch 1992). In the 14th century, hesychasm had a great influence on the Russian lands, and the strength and appeal of monasticism was most likely amplified by the fluid and disorderly situation in society.5 From the 1550s on, the Russian gentry (the boyars), a class closely associated with monasticism, gradually became less involved in the operation of monasteries (Bushkovitch 1992:32–50). The consolidation of state authority contributed to the ascendance of the bishops’ authority. The conflict between possessors and nonpossessors coincided with this shift. Nonpossessors objected to the monasteries’ possession of property (large estates in

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particular).6 The possessors justified large-scale landownership as necessary for providing the funding required for charitable work. The dispute exposed deep-seated differences over conceptions of church–state relations, with nonpossessors expressing mistrust of the role of state power (Gvosdev 2001:52–54). The nonpossessors’ strength came from the trans-Volgan region and the north, thereby expressing an initial reaction against central authority that would play an important role in Russian ecclesiastical politics during the following centuries. The rise of tsardom coincided with the eventual victory of the possessors, who offered support for Ivan IV’s notion of sacred imperial authority (Lourie 2007:216). The tsar in turn strengthened the possessors’ conception of Russian Orthodoxy as the only one that preserved the true and correct version of the faith (Buss 2003:24–25). It was not the Third Rome legend that was important in determining and aiding the consolidation of absolutist authority. Rather, Moscow was a New Jerusalem, a land of chosen people: In 1547, at the heart of Ivan IV’s coronation, the tsar was “declared to be the heir of David and Muscovy to be God’s new Chosen People” (Rowland 1996:597; see also Rada 1995). This conception combined the popular perception that the Russians were the only ones preserving the correct faith with the notion of a divinely ordained monarchy. The ecclesiastical program that emerged at the conclusion of the conflict between possessors and nonpossessors was expressed in the decisions of the 1551 Council of the Hundred Chapters (Stoglav), which strengthened the authority of bishops over their eparchies but also asserted the correctness of Russian liturgy over the Greek version.7 In its attempt to construct an indigenous tradition, the council codified, banished or tacitly accepted several indigenous practices and traditions. This might be viewed as the high point of Russian Orthodoxy’s indigenization. The court further used the occasion of the 1589 visit of Ecumenical Patriarch Jeremiah II to extract a patriarchal decision elevating the Moscow metropolitan to the status of a patriarch.8 Ivan IV’s passing was followed by a protracted era of invasions and civil strife, known in Russian history as the Time of Troubles. State authority was re-established in the early 17th century under the Romanov dynasty, and the impetus for state and church modernization came on the agenda. Patriarch Philaret Romanov (1619–1633) emerged as the key leader in the stabilization of the dynasty by serving as guardian of his son Tsar Michael (1613–1645). Philaret was a powerful boyar who could not claim the throne himself because he had been forcefully tonsured as a monk. For a period, he was in effect the state sovereign—codified in his title of Great Sovereign (Velikii Gosudar). He acquired estates throughout Russia and created a separate bureaucracy for their administration, finance and judicial matters, which was staffed by a corps of laymen and clergy (Crummey 2006:306–7). By the 1650s, the Church’s landholdings had contributed to a lack of popularity and eventually caused the state to create a monastery department.9

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In the 17th century, church modernization emerged as part of the broader necessity of the Russian state to effectively modernize its own structures. To successfully defend its territory from invasions (such as those experienced during the Time of Troubles) required the state to have the necessary infrastructure. This broader effort was expanded into the realm of the Church through two very different constituents: on the one hand, there was the court and the tsar himself (Alexis, 1645–1676); on the other hand, there were the zealots of religious piety, known as Bogoljubtsy (lovers of God). The zealots formed a group intended to “revive” the proper practices and rules of the Church. In addition to preaching, the zealots published a great number of books, including primers, school textbooks and translations of Western European works on geography, history and medicine (Pospielovsvki 1998:69). Printing was tightly controlled by the Moscow Patriarchate and the authorities; the printing office’s controllers were the ones responsible for producing and circulating the books. An early reform objective was to reverse the practice of polyvocality (mnogoglasie).10 Polyvocality meant that several parts of the liturgy were spoken at once, leading to confusion. The practice developed because unlike the rest of the Orthodox world, in Russia, the Church did not develop abbreviated versions of the liturgy. To place their objectives in a historical context requires a larger historical canvas. In past centuries, the marginality of the Russian metropolitan within Orthodox Christianity was not accidental. In spite of the institution of bishoprics in the previous centuries, the Russian Church’s organizational and institutional infrastructure remained incomplete. Mandatory annual confession and the practice of sermons were not institutionalized until the early 18th century. Parish registers and confessional books—necessary for tracking and controlling births, deaths, marriages and the administration of sacraments—did not come into active use until well into the 18th century (Kivelson and Greene 2003:8). Practically, the Church was unable to impose rigid conventions on its parishioners or to sanction violators. The lack of disciplinary apparatus contributed to inclusiveness but also meant that variations and peculiarities were produced systematically and tolerated by default. Part of the problem was the result of Russia’s huge size: by the mid-17th century, for example, the Moscow Diocese alone included 3,000 parishes, whereas that of Novgorod included close to 1,500 (Pospielovski 1998:71). The court and the Bogoljubtsy were not always in agreement. In particular, although both the court and the zealots, like the majority of Russians, believed that Russia possessed a privileged relationship to Orthodoxy, they were divided over the Orthodoxy of the non-Russians (P. Meyendorff 1991:90, 96–98). Many, including conservative zealots, doubted the Orthodoxy of non-Russians (Greeks and Ukrainians) for their past acts of union (1438–1439, 1596) and for their relations with the Catholics. In contrast, the court’s view was quite different. In any case, reforms initially had the support of both parties. In 1652, Nikon became a Russian patriarch; he

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was a member of the zealots and was the tsar’s favorite. By 1653, Nikon supported the publication of a new Psalter and instructed people to alter the number of prostrations and the Sign of the Cross, which Russians did with two fingers instead of three. This last point was legislated in the 1551 Stoglav Council (Zenov 1963:145; P. Meyendorff 1991:39–40). Essentially, Nikon was implementing the court’s program to align the Russian ritual with the Greek ritual.11 The program’s objective was to standardize liturgy and ritual as a means of bolstering Russian leadership among Orthodox Christians. Because liturgical books and practices had evolved over centuries, the goal was to have Russian Orthodoxy use texts identical to those used throughout the Orthodox world. These initial efforts prompted strong conservative reaction. Nikon called two local councils (in 1654 and 1655) in which reforms were approved and their critics silenced or persecuted. However, although changing the rubric of the ritual and standardizing the books were ongoing concerns, Nikon claimed the Russian books had to be “corrected,” which implied that past Russian practices and texts were wrong. That claim clashed with Russian ethnocentrism (P. Meyendorff 1991:45–64). It did, however, contribute to ecclesiastical unification with Ukraine. Although the reforms caused a bitter dispute in Russia, they triggered no opposition in Ukraine (Crummey 2006:316). Nikon’s choices infuriated a considerable portion of the zealots, who suspected the Kievans for their dealings with Roman Catholicism and the Greeks for their participation in the 1439 aborted union. The split might have ended up differently, but there were several factors that contributed in favor of the reform effort. First, as a result of journeys of other Orthodox Christians (many of whom were high clergy) to Russia, there was growing awareness of divergences in ecclesiastical practices. In his 1649 visit, Jerusalem Patriarch Paisius (and Arsenios the Greek, a scholar with Roman Catholic education) tried to convince both the tsar and the Moscow patriarch of the superiority of Greek liturgical practices. Their insistence led to an investigation that confirmed that Russian liturgical books lacked acceptance elsewhere—and especially among Mount Athos monks (Crummey 2006:315–16).12 By 1654, the ecumenical patriarch ordered the Russian Church to follow the Greek ritual in all cases in which the Russian ritual departed from it.13 Overall, the Orthodox patriarchs showed consistent support for the reforms. Second, the tsar regularly received a stream of pilgrims (monks, patriarchs, priests, merchants) from the Orthodox lands, all of whom stressed the tsar’s exalted position as the sole Orthodox divine monarch and imposed upon him the duty of protecting all the Orthodox people and of acting to liberate them from Muslim rule (P. Meyendorff 1991:98–101; Pospielovski 1998:72; Shubin 2005a:78). The tsar had good reasons to support uniformity with the rest of the Orthodox world as such uniformity enhanced the tsar’s own status and contributed to his international and domestic recognition and legitimacy as guardian of Orthodoxy. In fact, the court’s efforts at

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reform were evident even prior to Nikon’s ascend, and support for them persisted even after Nikon left the Patriarchate. It is indicative of the intertwining between the Church hierarchy and the tsar’s role as guardian of Orthodoxy that from 1676, the coronation ceremony included anointment, reciting the Nicea Creed and partaking of the Eucharist (Shubin 2005b: 91–92). These symbolic acts reflected the extensive use of Orthodoxy for the legitimacy of the divinely ordained monarch. Third, in the 1650s and 1660s, a series of successful military engagements against Poland significantly expanded the Russian empire’s territory. By 1667, all lands east of the Dnieper River were formally annexed to the empire. In spite of a 1653 agreement stipulating the independence of the metropolitan seat of Kiev and four eparchies, by 1686, the Kiev seat was annexed to the ROC—a decision approved in 1687 by the Ecumenical Patriarchate (Pospielovski 1998:99–100; Shubin 2005a:79–80). The establishment of Russian control over nearly half of current-day Ukraine increased the numbers of Orthodox believers. As a result, closer ties with Kiev were important for gaining legitimacy. Imperial support for Kiev-trained personnel was also a factor (Bushkovitch 1992:58:60; Crummey 2006: 311–12). In subsequent centuries, a steady stream of Kiev-trained clergy dominated ROC’s personnel posts. Due to all these factors, the patriarch’s reforms should be viewed as part of a court-inspired reform program. However, the reforms prompted a schism among the religious zealots, with a more conservative faction, led by priest Avvacum, opposing them. In the meantime, Nikon left his position and retired to a monastery without abdicating. To deal with the entire situation, the 1666–1667 Moscow Councils were convoked. Initially, the 1666 local council offered support for the reforms but maintained a conciliatory attitude toward dissenters by not condemning the 1551 council’s decisions or the continuation of old practices. However, the 1667 council, presided over by Patriarchs Paisius of Alexandria and Macarius of Antioch, excommunicated all those who opposed the reforms and henceforth cut off the Old Believers (staroobriadtsy) from Russian Orthodoxy. It declared invalid the 1551 council’s decisions and invalidated the notion of Russian Orthodox superiority.14 These decisions illustrate Russian Orthodoxy’s reversal of past indigenization. The decisions backfired: instead of defeating conservative opponents, the final result was to endure division. For the dissenters, “the adoption of the Greek models was . . . a condemnation of Russian past—a rejection, rather than an affirmation of the Moscow–Third Rome ideology” (P. Meyendorff 1991:223). Under Russian Patriarch Ioasaf (1667–1672), the rhetoric of heresy and of schism (raskol) proliferated as a means of forcing obedience to the Church’s official program (Michels 1999:112–14, 161). Monastic recalcitrance combined with the unwillingness and inability of the parish priests to accept the reforms. Eventually a new generation of dissenters emerged, including some members of the Orthodox hierarchy itself.15 This generation

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turned the rhetoric of schism on its head, declaring the official Church to be heretical. Ultimately, the deep alienation between ordinary Russians and the Church hierarchy led to the consolidation of the schism. According to Michels (1999:229), the schism represented an amalgamation of diffuse phenomena: a serious crisis in the monastic world involving the rebellion of numerous monasteries and monks; the emergence of a significant surplus of unemployed and defrocked priests; the existence of strong anti-church sentiments in isolated villages and towns; the fusion of social banditry and religious radicalism; the quasi-Protestant quests of individual peasants, artisans, and merchants for religious salvation; the disillusionment of women with the church; and a widespread lack of popular knowledge about the basic tenets of the Orthodox faith. Popular millenarian eschatology was a factor in their success: the Antichrist was expected anytime after 1660, and this offered dissenters the opportunity to cast the state and the official hierarchy in the role of anti-Christian agents (van den Bercken 1999:164–66; Buss 2003:59). Blending elements of social protest against autocracy, Orthodox millenarianism and an autochthonous-based sentiment, these dissenters provided the raw material for the formation of the group that came to be known as Old Believers by the 18th century. As Buss (2003:50) argues, for many among the peasantry, church rites were akin to magical performances; to accept reforms in such matters (such as the Sign of the Cross) was not only a violation of sacred tradition but also rendered the rites ineffective. In subsequent decades, the dissenters were harshly oppressed by the state as their actions were also viewed as an act of defiance against tsarist authority. In turn, this persecution contributed to their consolidation. From their modest beginnings, the Old Believers grew significantly, claiming large numbers of adherents until the late 19th century. By the late 19th century, it is estimated that perhaps 40 percent of the Great Russian peasantry were Old Believers (Bushkovitch 1992:54).16 From their ranks, a variety of additional dissident sects were formed (see Buss 2003:73–88; Shubin 2005b). The reform effort and the subsequent schism might seem odd to outsiders. The reform elements (ritual, liturgical books and so on) appear insignificant to them. Such a view disregards the importance of the external elements as cultural representations of the faith; hence, the dispute was not exclusively about external signs per se, but about their significance. The Old Believers’ version of Russian populism, ethnocentrism and xenophobia registered the entrenched power of localism. In contrast, the court’s perspective was construed with a broader audience in mind and reflected the necessity for international and domestic legitimacy of Russia’s newfound imperial status.17 Although Nikon’s reforms were approved in the 1666–1667 councils, the patriarch himself was officially deposed. Even though this might appear

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as a decision aimed against the person of the patriarch, the underlying reality was quite different. It reflected the growing ability of the state to gain control over Church administration and the state’s interest in gaining control over the extensive ecclesiastical estates. Under Nikon, the patriarchal estates grew from 10,000 to 25,000 households, making the patriarch the wealthiest man in Russia after the tsar (P. Meyendorff 1991:89). This turn of events forestalled the major reorganization of church–state relations, which assumed its final form under the reign of Peter the Great: the 1721 Spiritual Regulations abolished the Moscow Patriarchate and turned the Church into a department of the state, governed by a council of bishops, presided over by the tsar’s appointee, usually a retired general (Pospielovski 1998:111–12). The Moscow Patriarchate was revived only after the 1917 Bolshevik revolution. THE CHURCH IN THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE: VERNACULARIZATION REDUX The post-1453 Ottoman regime supported the ecclesiastical and political elites, who in the name of Orthodoxy and of maintaining the correct faith opposed the aborted efforts at union with Rome (Apostolopoulos 1995). In fact, in 1483–1484, the patriarch presided over a council that formally abolished the 1439 union (Zachariadou 2006a:185). Roman Catholic pressure on the Orthodox lands was persistent.18 The Church’s adjustment to the Ottoman-imposed reality was twofold. First, the Church’s mentality, attitude or ideology was adjusted to the practical aspects of the Ottoman regime. In the Ottoman era, the Orthodox ecclesiastical institutions fostered acceptance of the status quo and religious unity among the Orthodox peoples (Stokes 1979). To justify submission to a non-Christian overlord, myths and legends postponed the overthrow of Muslim rule to the End of Time. The popular religious millenarianism of the Ottoman era registers a cultural accommodation to the new realities: The Christian Empire collapsed as God’s punishment for the sins of the Christians, and it was said that it would reconstitute itself as part of the Second Coming or some other future mythological event (Roudometof 1998a). The folk tales that proliferated after 1453 offered a plausible account for this newfound reality. Second, the Church became more ecumenical in its own orientation. To explain this, it is necessary to contemplate the Orthodox Christians’ status within the Ottoman world empire. This was a status society in which religion offered the major political cleavage demarcating access to positions of power. Although non-Muslims were formally excluded from authority positions, they were not reduced to mere subjects. In accordance with Islamic custom and raison d’état, Ottoman rulers organized the non-Muslims under their respective religious leaders. Jews, Catholics and Orthodox Christians

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became incorporated into the empire within their own confessional associations (millets) (for details, see Stavrianos 1958; Sugar 1977; Inalcik 1978, 1991; Braude and Lewis 1982; Jelavich 1983; Sarris 1990). Under Ottoman rule, the formerly political identity of the Roman subjects became confined to the Rum millet. Its members called themselves “Christians” or kept using their earlier “Roman” (Rum) name. Western Europeans referred to them as “Greeks” (Greek Orthodox or belonging to the “Greek” [Orthodox] rite).19 Numerically, the Orthodox subjects (Rum) were a minority in the Arab lands even before the Ottoman conquest. However, in the Ottoman Balkans, the Rum millet gradually formed a numerical majority or came quite close to it. Although the Rum millet was quite significant for tax collection and for grasping the Ottomans’ mentality, the Orthodox community did not adhere to the millet organizational structure solely as a result of an externally imposed definition. Rather, the Rum millet coalesced into a political–religious or confessional “community” predicated on three factors: the exalted role of the Orthodox Church, the status of higher education and the role of commerce (Kitromilides [1999] 2007d:135). To avoid the fallacies of conventional historical perspectives, it is important to distinguish between the sense of unity that was articulated within the Rum millet and the sense of ethnic distinctiveness or awareness among the Balkan peoples. The sense of difference, or the awareness of belonging to different cultural units, was not erased.20 In itself, this awareness indicates the relevance of Smith’s (1986) concept of “ethnic community” or ethnie, but awareness of such differences did not entail attributing a national (or political) significance to them. On the contrary, in the fluid space created by the Ottoman employment of religion for the purposes of political classification and tax collection,21 the possibility of shifting labels was more than the result of personal preference; it was often a professional necessity (such as with the numerous “Greek” merchants) or the result of upward social mobility, intermarriage and migration. Although multiple ethnic identities connected with a diversity of languages co-existed in Orthodox communities, the shared identity of a common religious doctrine and membership in the same church united this diverse population. Irrespective of their native tongues, all Orthodox worshipped in the same shrines, focused on the same pilgrimage sites and revered the same monasteries (for examples, see Kitromilides 1996). This confessional community cherished the sacred places of the Holy Land, the monastic foundations of Mount Athos, Mount Sinai and the other great monasteries. Orthodox culture was constantly reinforced by monks who travelled the region collecting alms for their monasteries, carrying icons, holy relics and other symbols of veneration and distributing engravings and booklets about their foundations and the miracles associated with them. Through these means, the shared culture was reproduced, providing the Orthodox Church with a solid foundation (Kitromilides [1999] 2007d:135–36).

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In due course of time, the EC-PATR once more became the political and religious center of this cultural universe.22 Orthodox prelates assumed a personal appointment to act as administrators on behalf of the state, supervising the Orthodox flock (Kitromilides 2006b:191). As in the earlier Eastern Roman Empire, the ecumenical patriarch used his close physical proximity to the Ottoman government to reassert a privileged position. The expansion of Ottoman power into the Middle East brought the patriarchates of Alexandria, Jerusalem and Antioch within Ottoman boundaries and contributed to this outcome. Patriarchal authority was confirmed over the entire hierarchy, including the monasteries, the application of family law to the Orthodox flock and the right to collect taxes (Zachariadou 2006a:173, 178). By practicing and promoting this renewed ecumenical role, the Patriarchate was once more able to expand its own authority over an entire tapestry of Balkan peoples (Roudometof 1998a). The patriarchal model entailed a revival of the Eastern Roman Empire’s earlier vernacularization (discussed in Chapter 2 of this volume). It effectively sidelined the earlier indigenization expressed through the creation of autocephalous or autonomous southern Slavic churches. The use of the Greek language and the system of higher education ensured the prevalence of Greek in the Rum millet’s official public culture. However, the employment of liturgical Greek did not signify a preference for one group of people over another.23 Although it effectively circumscribed the use of southern Slavic dialects and languages and hence any possibility of reviving past indigenization, it was not a strategy used instrumentally or for nationalist reasons. After all, the Biblical language was practically incomprehensible to speakers of Modern Greek in the later centuries of Ottoman rule. As late as the 18th century, the Church opposed the rendering of the Bible into any modern Balkan language (including Modern Greek). Thus, the dominance of Greek in liturgical language reflected the fact that Greek served important communication needs (mostly in commerce), and knowledge of Greek was cultural capital that offered access to intellectual resources for those in search of higher education (Kitromilides [1999] 2007d:139). With the high strata of the Rum millet using Greek as the medium of communication, upward mobility required knowledge of Greek. Furthermore, it took several centuries for vernacularization to spread throughout the region. It was only by the 18th century that vernacularization was so extensive that “Rum” became a label effectively applied almost indiscriminately to all Orthodox Christians in the Balkans (Konortas 1998:299–303). The abolition of the two autocephalous seats of Pec and Ohrid in 1766 and 1767, respectively, was the high point of this process. In both cases, the seats were already occupied by Greek high clergy, and the abolition of their autonomy allowed the Patriarchate to cover outstanding taxation debts and to prevent further conversions to Islam (which were often a means of escaping the additional tax burden levied on non-Muslims) (Gonis 2001:229–32).

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The distinction between indigenization and vernacularization should be clearly established in this context. The patriarchal policy and the organization of the Rum millet did not signal indigenization, that is, a policy of absorbing various peoples into an emerging or consolidating ethnic or national Greek identity. The difference between the two is clearly revealed when addressing the status of Greek ethnicity. After 1204, Greek-speaking elites had to contemplate and decide over the imperial ideal versus a more narrowly defined ethno-national identity. In the post-1204 era, the term “Hellen” (used to designate the pagan) was employed in the discourse of intellectuals to signify the ethnic Greeks (or Ellines). Perhaps the most famous instance of such an intellectual is that of Georgios Gemistos or Plethon, a self-declared pagan (Livanios 2008:241; Rapp 2008:142). His archenemy on philosophical grounds was Georgios Scholarios (Gennadios), who became the first post1453 ecumenical patriarch. Gennadios, who opposed the 1439 Union of Florence, rejected the Greek appellation, opting for the Christian label. Endorsement of an ethnic label was antithetical to Orthodoxy. Certainly, intellectuals (including Gennadios) were aware of the lineage between the Eastern Romans and the ancient Greeks. In subsequent centuries, awareness of Greek ethnicity resurfaced in the writings of intellectuals.24 However, it never penetrated into the cultural universe of the common folk, the peasantry, who formed the overwhelming majority of Orthodox Christians. These people called themselves Romans or “Christians” (Livanios 2008:243). The Church’s universal jurisdiction was therefore ensured. Divisions of the faithful along ethnic lines would have been contrary to Christianity’s universalism. Moreover, maintaining the tradition of the Greek letters and Greek culture did not require an explicitly ethnic label as this tradition could operate within the Rum millet. In the course of the 18th century, the Enlightenment’s intellectual currents influenced the intelligentsia of the Rum millet and, with several other factors, contributed to the rise of nationalism among the Ottoman Empire’s Orthodox Christians (Roudometof 1998a, 2001). These new social currents entailed the secularization of worldviews.25 The 18th-century Grecophone Balkan Enlightenment was predicated on an Orthodox Balkan merchant class that offered material support for the intellectuals who transferred the new ideas from Western Europe to the Balkans. This was a class relatively wealthy and open to communication with Western Europe. These strata, generally referred to as “Greek” (Greek Orthodox), were of various ethnic stock. Their designation as Greek indicates the extent to which Greek cultural identity as such was subsumed under Orthodoxy (Svoronos 1981:58). It was among these groups—most often expatriates and diasporic communities—that modern nationalism found its first proponents. It is important to note the limits of this early secular trend. Within the Ottoman Balkans, the Enlightenment’s impact was related to the urban literate strata. With the exception of the Romanian boyar class of landowners, these strata were mostly Hellenized, Grecophone or ethnically Greek. After the 1750s, a new

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intelligentsia emerged among the Rum millet. This intelligentsia was predominately Grecophone and aimed at the diffusion of “enlightened reason” in the empire. The growing secularization and the influence of the French revolution led to the articulation of a new secular identity of Hellenism. For liberal intellectuals, such as Korais, Moisiodax and Rigas Velenstinlis, Hellenism represented the secular facet of the Rum millet (Roudometof 1998a; see also Kitromilides 1994). For them, the millet system was becoming increasingly outdated. As noted in Chapter 1 of this volume, in the Church’s discourse, Hellen meant pagan, and these new secular notions met with the Church’s harsh criticism and condemnation—especially after the 1789 French revolution revealed the political repercussions of the new ideas. Eventually, the 1821 Greek revolution violently and forcefully introduced the notion of a new secular Hellenic identity. However, even after the revolution’s conclusion and the establishment of an independent Greek state, patriarchal statements condemned ethnic divisions and rejected the application of the nation as a natural or generally acceptable model (Livanios 2008:248–52). From that point on, and as discussed in the next chapter, vernacularization was gradually superseded by growing nationalization. This discussion has offered a brief overview of some of the historical trends that clearly establish the difference between vernacularization and nationalization. This vernacularization of Orthodoxy is also quite different from the indigenization present in the Russian Empire’s lands. However, although the processes that shaped Orthodoxy’s role in the two empires are different, it is important to note that this did not prevent the existence of extensive ecclesiastical links across the entire Orthodox Commonwealth. As mentioned in the previous chapters, these links remained a hallmark of the era from the 15th to the 19th centuries. Orthodox patriarchates, monastic foundations and places of pilgrimage from the Baltic to the Red Sea remained focal points in the collective life of the Orthodox communities (Kitromilides [1994] 2007c:6–7). The interaction between the Russian Empire and the Rum millet—including its ecclesiastical institutions—was multifaceted. It involved extensive material support offered to the patriarchates and monastic foundations and a steady stream of pilgrims who toured the holy centers of Orthodoxy. The Russian tsar’s political protection was also complex. After the 1453 fall of Constantinople, the Grand Duchy of Moscow was the only independent Orthodox state. With that state’s transformation into an empire, the Russian tsars were viewed as the inheritors of the secular leader’s sacred responsibility to operate as guardian of the Orthodox faithful everywhere. The Russian court’s program of liturgical standardization to align Russian ritual with that of the Orthodox institutions in the Ottoman Empire was a well-placed policy objective that operated in the context of these transnational connections. The Russian tsars eventually claimed as their responsibility the protection of the people and the Orthodox Church, not only in Holy Russia but also in the Ottoman Empire. This claim was skillfully and tactically employed by Russian foreign policy but was never completely instrumental (see Jelavich

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1991 for an overview). In spite of this orientation—but consistent with the interpretation advanced in this chapter—the Third Rome myth was conspicuously absent, at least in terms of providing a guide or model for conducting foreign affairs. In the Russian context, such a myth was divisive and did not contribute to the broader imperial conception of the tsar as universal guardian of the Orthodox. The Third Rome myth became more commonplace in intellectual discussions and writings after the middle of the 19th century as Russian authors invoked this metaphor to attempt to debate Russia’s place in the world (Ostrowski 2006:176). In the second half of the 19th century, pan-Slavism facilitated bridge-building among the Russian Empire and the southern Slavs, but Russian policy remained committed to its own geopolitical designs. MODERNIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS This chapter’s overview of the Russian and Ottoman cases has revealed their divergences. Whereas in the Russian case, indigenization became a defining characteristic of Russian Orthodoxy, in the Ottoman case, the EC-PATR persisted in the vernacularization of Orthodoxy. In addition to these divergences, however, it is also possible to detect some historical convergences. The first major convergence concerns the impact of modernization. Modernization affected the Orthodox Church in both the Ottoman and the Russian Empires. Church modernization was institutionally expressed in reconstructing the relationship of the Church to the state—not in terms of complementarity (or symphonia) between sacerdotium and imperium but in terms of establishing the Orthodox Church as a state church. The institution of state churches in Western and Northern Europe offered a historical precedent to be emulated. Both in the Russian Empire and in the Orthodox nation-states of 19th-century Southeastern Europe, the Orthodox Church was established as a state church. Historically, this is a major convergence not only within Orthodoxy but also with the rest of Europe. This convergence developed over time, with the Russian case providing the historical precedent. The 1721 abolition of the Moscow Patriarchate reflected the first step in the reorganization of the Orthodox Church along the lines of the largely Lutheran model of the state church. This model eventually was applied to the regions later absorbed into the Russian empire—such as the Georgian kingdom—and in post-1833 Greece, where a state church was constructed using the 1818 Constitution of the Bavarian Protestant Church as its model (Gvosdev 2001:190–91). Although the absorption of the Lutheran state church model is itself one of the major indicators of church modernization, it is important to note the difference between a state church and a national church. As shown in the next chapter, the major cultural shift after 1800 was the rise of the national church. Although a state church might also be a national church, the two are not identical.

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Over the past 30 years, the conventional historical perspective that between 1721 and 1917, the Russian Church’s subjugation to the state rendered it incapable of meaningful action has been revised. As Englestein (2001:155–56) observes, through its bureaucratic incorporation, “the church was in a sense modernized against its will.” Clergy responded in markedly different ways, with some addressing the cultural challenges of their time and others promoting institutional reform as a way to enhance institutional influence and authority. Over the 19th century, the tsarist regime attempted to use popular religious piety for its own resacralization, yet the results remained ambivalent.26 In addition to the uneven and contested impact of state-sponsored church modernization, there are two additional historical examples that demonstrate a certain uniformity in terms of the Orthodox cultural response vis-à-vis modernity. The first of these concerns the Orthodox establishment’s response to the 18th-century Enlightenment and the 18th- and 19thcentury monastic revival prompted by this encounter. In the Ottoman lands by the mid-18th century, the Ecumenical Patriarchate also expressed a renewed interest in strengthening its own organizational infrastructure in the face of Islamicization among the rural and poorer Orthodox strata in the Balkans. The 1766 and 1767 incorporation of Ohrid and Pec was part of this patriarchal strategy. A second part of the same program was the institution and operation of Mount Athos Academy. Under the leadership of Evgenios Voulgaris, one of the major proponents of the Enlightenment in the 18th-century Balkans, the academy operated for a short period of time, and later, Voulgaris and his students moved to the Patriarchal Academy in Constantinople (Kitromilides 2006b:202–9; [1994] 2007b).27 Although Enlightenment-oriented scholars faced the wrath of conservative opponents, the high clergy’s general policy does not seem to have been systematically tainted against them. The events of the 1789 French revolution altered patriarchal orientation; especially after 1793, patriarchal policy assumed a more conservative orientation to actively oppose the political implications of Western intellectual currents. A third part of the same initiative concerned the strengthening of cenobic monasticism in Mount Athos. The subsequent 18th-century Mount Athos monastic revival provided the inspiration for the publication of Philokalia, a florilegium of patristic, ascetic and mystical writings dated between the 4th and 15th centuries. It was compiled and edited by Makarios of Corinth and Nikodimos of the Holy Mountain; both were intellectual leaders of the revival. The collection appeared in 1782, with copies mailed to libraries in both Eastern and Western Europe. Ukrainian monk Paisij Velickovkij was among the first to receive this collection. Paisij arranged for its translation into Slavonic. It was published in 1793 under the title Dobrotoljubie and shaped the Russian intellectual currents of Orthodox thought throughout the 19th century. According to lists, 177 monastic foundations and 212 individuals received copies of the publication (Pospielovski 1998:128–30; Kitromilides

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[2000] 2007f:363–64). The result was a monastic revival in 19th-century Russia, which provided the models of spiritual elders (starchestvo) who have been immortalized in Russian literature. However, although this spiritual model has been depicted as ancient or traditional, in reality, it was the product of a monastic revival prompted by the encounter between Orthodox spirituality and Western modernity (Englestein 2001:140–42). Another far more recent historical example of a religious movement inspired by the encounter of Orthodox spirituality and modernity concerns the adoption of the modern Gregorian calendar in the Orthodox religious calendar in the early decades of the 20th century.28 Initially, the Gregorian calendar was rejected by the Orthodox churches not only because it was viewed as a unilateral papal innovation but also because it was seen as violating apostolic and synodical decisions that prescribed the order of feasts in the religious calendar—including the calculations for Easter, Orthodoxy’s most widely celebrated holiday.29 Its implementation became the subject of controversy even when, some 400 years later, it was applied, this time by local nation-states and local synods. By 1920, the Ecumenical Patriarchate, after consultations with the other patriarchates and national churches, set up a patriarchal committee, which recommended the correction of the Church’s Julian calendar by 13 days while maintaining that this did not imply adoption of the Gregorian calendar. In its view, the solution was consistent with the Church’s canons. However, the patriarchates of Jerusalem, Antioch and Alexandria objected to these conclusions as did many other Orthodox churches. The solution sought was to view the committee’s conclusions as recommendations, and because the issue was not doctrinal, it was left up to individual churches to decide whether to adopt the recommendations (Paraskevaidis 1982:82–92). In 1924, the Church of Greece decided to proceed with implementation of these recommendations. This move was followed by the Romanian and Bulgarian Orthodox Churches and by the patriarchates of Antioch and Alexandria, whereas the Russian and Serbian Orthodox Churches and the Jerusalem Patriarchate continued to use the Julian calendar (Matsuzato 2010:275; Leustean 2007:723). The Orthodox Churches were not merely fragmented as a result of the adoption of the new calendar. The occasion also prompted a religious schism, whereby conservative elements of the hierarchy, monks and religious adherents viewed this action as a full-scale breach of ancient apostolic mandates, as Latinization of the Orthodox Church and as a rejection of Orthodoxy’s foundations.30 These objectors became known as Old Calendarists, and they formed separate hierarchies. Their steadfast defense against cultural “pollution” is an apt example of religious conservatism and of faith in the “literal” interpretation of tradition (Makrides 1991). In addition to their presence in Greece (as well as in other countries), organized groups of Old Calendarists also exist in the United States, where an association of several churches has developed (for a discussion, see Kitsikis 1995).31 Current global estimates report 261,000 adherents

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distributed in churches in eight countries, with the single largest constituency in Greece (Barrett, Kurian, and Johnson 2001:668). Although this movement is numerically small, its impact was felt within the most active religious adherents, and its failure to take off might be attributed to the decision of the rest of the Orthodox hierarchy to preserve the Julian calendar. The Old Calendarists’ transnational movement and organization demonstrates the strength of Orthodox religious fervor to mobilize people across borders. In this sense, these movements or reactions to modernity offer evidence suggesting a convergence of responses vis-à-vis modernity among Orthodox Christians. Nonetheless, it is necessary to qualify this statement by pointing out the limits of this convergence: The religious mobilizations of the monastic revival and of the Old Calendarist movement concerned people who were either monks or religious adherents closely associated with the Church. In other words, the convergence is observed only among those individuals whose personal and collective Orthodox identity is of paramount importance. These are only a small part of the majority of the people who define themselves as Orthodox Christians. The reactions briefly sketched in this discussion illustrate both the ability and the willingness of Orthodox institutions to change with the times or to respond to important currents of their era and the fact that whenever a major shift occurred, the major issue was the problem of conservative dissent or a rift with the most devout and conservative among the faithful. The fact that religious movements—from the Old Believers to the Old Calendarists— declared themselves more Orthodox than the official Orthodox establishment attests to the strength of tradition as a cornerstone of Orthodox Christianity. However, the fact that these movements were against the Church hierarchy also shows that the religious hierarchy has been sufficiently willing to modernize. The continuous challenge for the religious hierarchy is how to accomplish such a task without alienating its most conservative constituency. The practical solution to this dilemma is the major policy issue for the Orthodox institutions’ ecclesiastical leadership. REGIONAL VERSUS UNIFORM PATHWAYS TO MODERNITY: A BALANCE SHEET This chapter has analyzed the complex trajectories of the Orthodox lands’ routes into the modern world. By and large, it has addressed the situation between the 15th and the 19th centuries in the Ottoman and Russian Empires, the two empires in which the bulk of the Orthodox population lived. As this chapter has shown, the Orthodox lands’ route to modernity displayed both historical divergences and convergences. The chapter first highlighted the divergences. The Russian path to modernity was marked by Orthodoxy’s entanglement with landownership and indigenization. A partial reversal of

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Russian Orthodoxy’s indigenization caused the schism of the Old Believers. In contrast, in the Ottoman lands, the Ecumenical Patriarchate, on par with Ottoman authorities, revived the vernacularization of Orthodoxy that was also a characteristic of Orthodox Christianity in the region in previous centuries. The theoretically significant distinction between vernacularization and indigenization was stressed through an analysis of the manner in which Greek-speaking elites in the Ottoman Empire (including the ecclesiastical elites) adhered to the Ottoman Rum millet as the officially endorsed model of confessional organization. However, to take into full consideration the Orthodox response toward modernity, it is also necessary to examine the convergences in the Orthodox reactions to modernity and modernization. In the chapter’s third section, there was a brief overview of the various modernization projects pursued in the Orthodox lands. Church modernization “from above” entailed the reconstitution of the Orthodox Church along the lines of the Lutheran state church. This model was initially applied in post-1721 Russia and was further transplanted into the Orthodox states of Southeastern Europe. In the Ottoman Empire, the Ecumenical Patriarchate rekindled a religious revival through a short-lived experiment of the Patriarchal Academy in Mount Athos. The 18th-century Mount Athos monastic revival was far more influential. Transmitted into Russia, it offered the model of religious elders who became widely influential in 19th-century Russia. Another instance of such a conservative reaction to religious modernization is the 20th-century dispute over the Orthodox Church’s adoption of the Gregorian calendar. Religious conservatives broke with the Church and formed their own Old Calendarist network of churches. These instances represent the most powerful historical examples of uniform and transnational Orthodox responses to modernity. Their presence echoes the Orthodox commonwealth’s enduring power as a network connecting religious institutions and individuals. Nonetheless, these responses against modernity have been contained largely either in minorities of religious adherents or within monastic orders, two groups of people for whom religious identity is extremely important. Although illustrating the critical importance of tradition in Orthodoxy, these cases also attest to the ability of ecclesiastical institutions to restructure and adapt to changing historical circumstances. Overall, this chapter has suggested that there are both divergences and convergences in the Orthodoxy’s routes to modernity. If the scope of the religious field under consideration is not limited to religious adherents or monastic orders but is extended to include the general realm of relations between the state and society at large, it is certainly plausible to suggest that there has been far greater divergence than convergence. Hence, the notion of a single Orthodox response to modernity is not supported by the historical developments in the Orthodox lands. The complexity of these responses does not favor interpretations that privilege either civilizational unity or

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those who view Orthodox Christianity as a cultural–religious field that responds uniformly to modernity. Rather, there are two historically distinct routes or pathways to modernity: one in the Russian Empire and the other in the Ottoman Empire. As discussed in the following chapter, the differences between the two regions were further exacerbated in the course of the 19th and 20th centuries.

5

Nationalism and the Orthodox Church The Modern Synthesis

This chapter’s topic is among the most contested issues in social-scientific literature. Religion’s relationship to nationalism and the nation-state is multifaceted (Brubaker 2012). Orthodox Christianity is no exception. This chapter does not intend to offer an exhaustive account of this relationship or to describe in detail the precise nature of the entanglements between individual nation-states and Orthodox institutions. Space restrictions alone render such an attempt unrealistic. Instead, the chapter’s first section develops a theoretical approach that narrows the broad range of issues concerning the relationship between Orthodox Christianity and modern nationalism. It argues in favor of analyzing this relationship in terms of a model or blueprint. With the coming of the age of nationalism in the 19th century, Orthodox nation-states developed a modern synthesis of church and nation. The existence of this synthesis does not entail the endorsement of an “Orthodox exception” from broader European patterns. Most European states have articulated specific institutional frameworks for addressing the status of ecclesiastical institutions and faiths (Madeley and Enyedi 2003). The chapter’s subsequent sections explore the ways in which this modern synthesis has been articulated in the Orthodox nation-states in Eastern and Southeastern Europe. Analyzing the relationship between Orthodox Christianity and modern nationalism requires taking into account the differences in the historical trajectories of the territories inhabited by the majority of Europe’s Orthodox population. As noted in Chapter 4 of this volume, regional transitions to modernity occurred along two major historical paths: on the one hand, there was the path of the Russian Empire (which became the Soviet Union after 1917); on the other hand, there was the historical trajectory of the predominantly Orthodox countries of Southeastern Europe. The belated articulation of the nation-state in the former Soviet Union suggests that it is possible to use the experience of Southeastern Europe as a point of reference for the articulation of the modern synthesis of church and nation. The chapter’s second section offers a brief overview of the historical articulation of this synthesis and analyzes its major features. In the chapter’s third section, the discussion shifts to an analysis of the various challenges that this modern synthesis had to face in the course of

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the post-1945 Global Age. A major feature of the contemporary era is the destabilization of the hitherto taken-for-granted territoriality of the nationstate. In response, conservatives cling to the modern synthesis of church and nation as a means of safeguarding cherished traditions. The 19th-century engulfment of Orthodoxy with nationalism offers a means to accentuate this reaction. The collapse of communism in Eastern Europe is viewed through these conceptual lenses. In the post-1989 era, the Orthodox Churches of the former Soviet Union had to relate to modern (democratic?) nations for the first time in their history. The modern synthesis of church and nation offers a paradigm for analyzing the emergent patterns of this relationship—although obviously one must take into account the vast differences between pre-1945 Southeastern Europe and post-1989 Eastern Europe. Using Southeastern Europe’s historical experience as a road map makes possible the detection of some broad features concerning the manner in which Orthodox institutions have related to the modern nation-state. NATIONALISM, GLOBALIZATION AND ORTHODOXY To the extent that nationalism is regarded as an expression of modernity, it offers a context for assessing Orthodoxy’s relationship to modernity. Throughout Eastern and Southeastern Europe, a conventional tendency in 19th- and even 20th-century scholarship is to interpret Orthodoxy’s past indigenization (discussed in previous chapters of this volume) as evidence of a long-term historical intertwining between various nations and Orthodox Christianity. Kitromilides (2004:185) observes that this approach “is a product of anachronistic judgment and misunderstanding of the historical record.” Certainly, the encounter between Orthodoxy and modernity (including nationalism) is historically specific. Whether Orthodoxy is an essential ingredient of national identity depends on whether nations and nationalism are viewed as modern, pre-modern or primordial.1 Instead of dwelling on this real or imagined connection, this chapter adopts different lenses for assessing the relationship between Orthodoxy and nationalism. Nationalism is viewed as a new political, cultural and social form, a new master narrative for individuals and collectivities that is closely related to the wave of post-1500 historical globalization that was marked by the European discovery of the New World (Anderson 1991, Held et al. 1999). In the aftermath of the Europeans’ discovery of the Americas, the variety of cultural, economic and social changes brought about in the Old World drove a “harsh wedge between cosmology and history” (Anderson 1991:36). These changes caused a decisive shift in the people’s understanding of temporality, whereby the origins of the world and of humanity were sharply differentiated. In the aftermath of these major shifts, it became possible for humans to conceive of modern nations as conceptual categories of social existence. Gradually, these changes caused the dissolution of script languages (like ecclesiastical Greek

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and Latin) and of societies organized around divinely ordained monarchs (like the Ottomans or the French). This shift was not confined to “Europe” or “the West” (e.g., Western Europe and North America): “In several world regions, including non-European societies, such as northern Vietnam, Korea, Japan, and Ethiopia, leaderships steadily and over long periods transformed older sentiments of patriotic attachment to land into more aggressive and exclusive understandings of nationality” (Bayly 2004:218).2 Orthodox Christianity was altered in the aftermath of this historical encounter with modern nationalism. Compared with previous forms of Orthodox Christianity, its nationalized forms are no less real or consequential in the Orthodox nations’ history, society and culture. Of course, the doctrine of humanity divided into distinct nations seems inherently antithetical to Christianity’s universalism—and to the universalism advocated by most world religions. However, as Gorski (2000) argues, modern nations often emerge out of previously constructed religious categories, and the absorption of religion into modern nationalism and the blending of the two is far from an Orthodox peculiarity (Hastings 1997). The tension between Christian universalism and ethnic nationalism has been acutely felt within Orthodox institutions, in particular on the issue of national autocephaly. In the era of modern nationalism, the principle of territoriality was resurrected to offer justification for demanding the autocephaly of national churches. It was and still is routinely evoked in both secular and ecclesiastical discourse. In terms of ecclesiastical governance, the establishment of jurisdictional boundaries in Orthodox dioceses was based initially on a correspondence with the Roman Empire’s municipal system, as stated in Canon 17 of the Council of Chalcedon and Canon 38 of the in Trullo Council (Bogolepov [1963] 2001:11–15). In the modern era, this correlation of the territorial and the nationality principle essentially implied that an autocephalous church should be established within a nation-state. This principle was explicitly invoked by Ecumenical Patriarch Joachim III in his letter concerning the recognition of the Serb Orthodox Church in 1879 (Gonis 2001:242–44). On this basis, granting autocephaly is conditioned on a church’s location within a sovereign state. Although such independence is clearly related to national self-assertion, jurisdiction is grounded on the territoriality principle. For example, the Church of Serbia’s jurisdiction was confined to the domain of the Serb state and not to the other communities of Serbs lying outside the state’s boundaries. In Canon Law, however, ethnic principles have also been invoked when dealing with far-away places, nomadic tribes, pagans, non-Christian “barbarians” and so forth. A major historical example is the establishment of the original Kiev metropolitan seat, whereby its holder was metropolitan of Kiev and all of Russ (that is, the leader of a people and not of a territorially construed entity). In the modern era of nations and nationalism, the nationality principle as a foundation for autocephaly became contested. Orthodoxy’s ambivalence toward ethnic nationalism is well known. As early

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as 1872, the Ecumenical Patriarchate convened a synod that condemned the doctrine of ethnofyletismos—a term that practically means what is usually referred to as “ethnic nationalism” today. The synod was convened to address the Ottoman decree (firman) that established the Bulgarian Exarchate (1870). Because the decree did not set clearly defined territorial boundaries, competing claims by rival jurisdictions could be put forward with regard to the same locale. The decree left it up to the people to decide whether they would prefer to have Patriarchal or Exarchate clergy. The 1872 synod led to the official excommunication of the Bulgarian Exarchate and its followers, considered heretics who rejected religious unity in favor of ethno-national bonds. The subsequent schism (which lasted from 1872 until 1945) represented the recognition of a major shift in the nature of church affiliation, whereby the nationality principle was introduced openly as the foundation for constructing separate national churches even within the boundaries of a single state. Traditionally, the 1872 decision is viewed as part of the GreekBulgarian nationalist conflict over Ottoman-held Macedonia (Roudometof 2002:84–89; Walters 2002). Bulgarian nationalists viewed the 1872 decision as part of Patriarchal support for Greece’s claims, whereas Greek nationalists viewed the establishment of the Bulgarian Exarchate as a proxy for justifying the future annexation of pro-Exarchate regions into the Bulgarian state. The ecclesiastical grounds for the 1872 decision were largely ignored, and this is a tendency still present in local historiography (for a revision, see Stamatopoulos 2008/2009). The 1872 decision, however, was based on canonical grounds, and in the second half of the 20th century, it was viewed as an instance showing that Orthodox Christianity was not a subservient instrument to local nationalisms. As discussed in Chapter 8 of this volume, more globally oriented Orthodox clergymen and theologians currently criticize the idea of transforming the universal community of the faithful into a national community. Irrespective of whether or not modern nations require an ethnic core (and therefore can trace their lineage to pre-modern heritage), most scholars— with the exception perhaps of those holding hard-core primordial views— accept that modern nations must be understood not solely in terms of an ethno-national real or imagined lineage but also in terms of possessing a civil society that enables the people to govern themselves. The legitimacy of modern systems of governance depends on their claim to represent the “people” (the nation) of a specific, geographically bound state. The people as an active historical agent replace divinely ordained monarchs and become the foundation of rule in modern societies. This shift “from kings to people” (Bendix 1978) is an important aspect of nationalizing impulses. Ethnicity, heritage, culture, religion or their combination come into play in efforts to police the borders of the “nation” and to define insiders and outsiders. The construction of nation-states in the era of nationalism required the Orthodox Church to come to terms with these new political and social models. That is, the shift from societies ruled by divinely ordained monarchs

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to societies organized on the basis of the people’s nationality and in which authority was based on the “people” required the Church to adjust its own operation and to renegotiate the terms of its relationship with the state and society at large. The Church had to relate to the nation-state, that is, to redefine its own role and place within the new structures constructed by the nation-state. The major cultural shift that marks the nationalization of Orthodox Christianity entailed the relativization of traditional religious worldviews and their replacement by new modern national identities. Relativization is not relativism but rather the consequence of contact with hitherto alien traditions.3 Relativization offers a means by which individuals and collectivities adjust their own sense of identity construction in the different phases or stages of historical globalization. In past centuries, the post-1453 legends, tales and millenarian beliefs that were popular in the Orthodox part of Europe offered the means by which individuals and collectivities redefined their own place in the world. Such a redefinition occasionally involved claiming—as the Third Rome myth does—a special role for a specific group of people (such as the Russians). In other instances, such tales explained the 1453 fall of Constantinople as divine punishment for the Christians’ sins, an interpretation popular among Orthodox Christians in the Ottoman Empire. Therefore, relativization is not an exclusive feature of modernity per se. Nonetheless, relativization in the era of nations and nationalism meant that each fragment of Orthodoxy had to blend with national identities and nations that (re)asserted their place in history. To effectively do so, the Church had to engage with the newfound forces of nationalism and develop a narrative of legitimization or resacralization that would be meaningful in a cultural universe in which people were increasingly thinking of themselves as belonging to a nation. In several instances, some of which are discussed later in this chapter, Orthodox national churches are still in the process of articulating the bonds of this relatively newfound relationship. From within these lenses, there is a major difference in the historical paths of the two main regions already mentioned in the previous chapter of this volume. Whereas modern nationalism spread throughout Southeastern Europe in the 19th century, no similar development is observed in the Russian Empire (Hosking:1998b; Roudometof 2001; Rowley 2011). The absence of Russian nationalism is related to the absence of a civil society (Bendix 1978:515–64) whereby the people could articulate and negotiate their own relationship vis-à-vis political authority. In imperial Russia, the cult of the Tsar as an absolute and divinely ordained monarch excluded such political considerations. Imperial Russia was superseded by Soviet communism. By creating a federal structure, the Soviet regime tacitly contributed to growing awareness of the territorial connections between people and nationality (Brubaker 1996). However, it did not foster the establishment of independent national churches, and regarding the ROC, its policies oscillated between tolerance and persecution (see Chumachenko 2002; Pospielovski 1998; Davis

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2003). As a result, it was only after 1991 that the post-Soviet nation-states (Russia, Moldova, Belarus, Ukraine and the Baltic states) could begin a belated process of constructing their sense of nationhood in the context of modern nation-states. To the extent that democracy is an essential ingredient of such a process, it is also apparent that the post-Soviet nation-states still have a long way to go. Unlike this experience, the nation-states carved out of the European territories of the Ottoman Empire established some assemblages of democratic governance since the 19th century. In these nation-states, the local intelligentsia used the appeal to the nation to transform traditional and communal ties into commitments framed in terms of broader civil spheres. This way of framing the analysis is not accidental. A very different narrative would emerge if Russian Orthodoxy served as the main frame of reference. There are two methodological reasons for this theoretical choice. First, although it has the largest population publicly identified with Orthodoxy among all Orthodox Churches, the ROC is still only a single case. This limits the ability to generalize solely on the basis of its experience. Second, Russian Orthodoxy remained connected to an empire until 1917 and then had to face up to Soviet Communism until 1989. It never had to relate to a modern democratic state until 1991 (assuming that the post-1991 Russian federation can be viewed as such). Consequently, its historical trajectory offers an idiosyncratic picture of the tensions and rapprochements between Orthodox Christianity and nationalism. ORTHODOX CHRISTIANITY AS NATIONAL RELIGION4 During the 19th century, when Greece, Serbia, Romania and Bulgaria were territorially disaggregated from the Ottoman Empire and became either independent (e.g., Kingdom of Greece, 1833) or autonomous states (e.g., pre1878 Serbia, pre-1908 Bulgaria), they developed their own secular political leadership, which in turn led to a modern synthesis of church and nation. This synthesis was predicated on nationalism’s success as the principal legitimizing force in the modern world. It connected national churches in Romania, Serbia, Bulgaria and Greece with their respective nation-states and offered a model for cross-societal emulation. This synthesis was predicated on a church–nation link connecting the Orthodox confession with a nation. To construct such a link, it was imperative for religious markers and institutions to relate to the newly crafted national identities and to adapt to the emerging realities of the era of the nation-state. This altered the structural foundations and cultural significance of Orthodox Christianity. This model was not confined to these nation-states but was exported both to the Orthodox populations of the Ottoman Empire and overseas among the immigrant communities travelling to the New World (which are discussed in Chapter 7 of this volume). Crafting the modern synthesis was accomplished through a

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cultural and a structural transformation. To a degree, both transformations operated concurrently. First, the cultural transformation involved turning the meaning of religious affiliation into the equivalent of de facto national belonging. Accomplishing this goal required the production of national narratives that were gradually diffused throughout the population via the educational system. Between 1830 and 1880, a romantic nationalist intelligentsia shaped the Greek, Serb, Romanian and Bulgarian version of the “nation” via such devices as historical narrative, religious symbolism, the reinterpretation of folklore or the writing of nationalist literature and poetry. Cultural Romanticism, the dominant literary genre in 19th-century Europe, shaped Balkan national narratives (for discussions, see Roudometof 2001; Castellan 1985; Kiel 1985). Consequently, religious symbolism was redeployed as national symbolism, thus facilitating the redeployment of Orthodoxy as part of the peoples’ national identity (Roudometof 2005a). Days of initially religious commemoration—ranging from St. Vitus Day to Annunciation Day or to St. Cyril and St. Methodius Day—were transformed into occasions for national celebrations of the emerging Greek, Serb and Bulgarian nations (see Rohdewald 2008; Roudometof 2001:101–56). Using religion in the service of nation formation entailed the redeployment of Orthodox Christianity as a facet of consolidating national identities.5 Although the meaning of church membership shifted from membership in a universally defined church to membership in a particularistic national church, the church continued to serve as a basis of authority, prestige, power, cultural influence and legitimacy in local societies. The foundations of the church’s legitimacy might have shifted, but the local national churches could persist in asserting a privileged relationship with their flock on the basis of their privileged relationship with the nation. Therein lies the origins of the modern ecclesiastical rhetoric so familiar to anyone who has ever listened to religious leaders of national Orthodox churches; they claim that their respective institutions—which are in fact modern in nature and date back only a few centuries at most—are concurrent with the history of their respective ethnic communities dating back to the processes of Christianization. The flipside of this redeployment of Orthodoxy as an aspect of local national identities is the people’s tendency to accept and endorse Orthodoxy, whereas in their personal life, they might be secular or indifferent to religion or even atheists. For example, Ghodsee (2009:227) reports the following exchange with Krassimir, a Bulgarian taxi driver, in 2007: Question: Are you a Christian? Answer: Yes, of course. Q: Do you believe in God? A: No.

86 Q: A:

Globalization and Orthodox Christianity How are you a Christian if you do not believe in God? I am [Orthodox] Christian because I am Bulgarian. Boris baptized the Bulgarians to make a Bulgarian Kingdom. [So] Bulgarians are [Orthodox] Christians.

The exchange is noteworthy because it illustrates the “inevitability” of accepting Orthodoxy as part of the self-ascription that marks a person’s inclusion into his or her own national community (that is, as Serbs, Bulgarians, Greeks and so forth). The subsequent gap between public declarations of confessional association with Orthodoxy versus the figures of regular church attendance is a manifestation of the church–nation link, a link observed in other European non-Orthodox countries as well (Poland, Ireland) (Norris and Inglehart 2004; Agadjanian and Roudometof 2005:14). Second, the structural transformation of religious institutions was accomplished largely via the construction of separate national churches. It is important to note here that as the case of Cyprus shows (discussed in Chapter 6 of this volume), the construction of separate churches is not always necessary for Orthodoxy’s nationalization. Rather, the construction of new separate national churches reflects the historical experience of the nation-states of Southeastern Europe alone, where the religious categories of the Ottoman millet system were transformed into classifications of national membership (Roudometof 1999) as part of broader processes of modernization, state-building and nationalization. Given the predominately religious ties that connected the Orthodox population of Southeastern Europe, it is not surprising that the first step for local nationalist activists was to manipulate religious institutions to transform formerly confessional ties into national ones (Castellan 1984). This choice was dictated by the widespread illiteracy of the local peasantry: The shortest route for nation building was to shift the meaning of church affiliation and make it equivalent to national affiliation. For the overwhelming majority of people, religion was still the major cultural marker even after the establishment of the local nation-states. The impact of the earlier 18th-century secularization wave was confined to literary classes, influential but limited in numbers (Roudometof 1998a). Therefore, acculturating the “people” into the national “imagined community” (Anderson 1991) entailed turning religious markers into national ones. Moreover, the nation-states of Southeastern Europe were all too eager to expand territorially into the rest of the European part of the Ottoman Empire. To do so required sufficient support by the peasantry, and in most cases this support was lacking (for a discussion, see Roudometof 2000a). The local nation-states did not have the luxury of a prolonged nation-state formation process comparable to that of Western Europe. Within a few decades, Greece, Serbia and Bulgaria had to build a state infrastructure and homogenize their societies. These constraints required imaginative solutions: the shortest route for nation building was to shift the meaning of church affiliation and make it equivalent to national affiliation.

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The effective means by which this transformation was accomplished was the institution of separate national churches (Greece in 1833, Serbia in 1832, Romania in 1865 and the Bulgarian Exarchate in 1870). These new churches provided a medium through which the traditional ties of Orthodox peoples would be severed, and new national ties would be constructed. Although the institution of territorial autocephaly is part of the Orthodox tradition, the construction of national churches in Southeastern Europe did not serve ecclesiastical purposes alone but provided the material and ideological infrastructure for the nationalization of the masses. With the exception of Serbia,6 the process of establishing canonical autocephaly was protracted and full of disputes (for a review of individual cases, see Kitromilides 2006a). The issue of ecclesiastical estates was prominent in Romania, whereas in Greece and Bulgaria, there were issues of canonicity. With the unification of the Danubian principalities, an independent Romanian Church was proclaimed in 1865, but the Ecumenical Patriarchate recognized the autocephaly of the Romanian metropolitanate only in 1885. Following the conclusion of World War I and the creation of a greater Romania (including Transylvania and Moldova), the Romanian metropolitanate was united with the Moldovan dioceses in 1925 to form a Romanian Patriarchate (Gvosdev 2001:221; Leustean 2007:723–26). The new patriarchate cultivated a symbiotic relationship with the state. Although it issued a variety of church-related legislation, the Romanian state allowed the church to retain an important place in the country’s health system and in education. During the inter-war period, the strong collaboration between church and state served the mutual goals of religious and political leaders who were interested in molding the nation and strengthening their authority among the newly incorporated (post-1917) regions. This mutually beneficial promotion strategy shaped Romanian nationalism.7 In the case of the Kingdom of Greece, in 1833, King Otto’s Regency instituted the OCG uncanonically (i.e., without the consent of the Ecumenical Patriarchate). This turn of events provided the fuel for a deep religious rivalry between proponents of religious unity with the Patriarchate and advocates of the state-sponsored OCG. The dispute lasted from 1833 until 1850, when the Patriarchate issued a Synodical Tome that formalized the relations between itself and the newly created OCG (for details, see Roudometof 1998b; Matalas 2003). By far, the most problematic case was the Bulgarian one—precisely because the Bulgarians’ quest for ecclesiastical independence was practically inseparable from rising Bulgarian nationalism (for brief overviews, see Gonis 2001:122–44; Roudometof 2001:133–40). Unlike the cases of Serbia and Greece in which ecclesiastical autocephaly was offered after the establishment of a local government, the Bulgarian movement aimed at the creation of a separate Orthodox Church within the Ottoman territory, thereby violating the principle of a single church within a single state. The culmination of the Bulgarian “Church Struggle” was the foundation of the Bulgarian Exarchate in 1870. It lacked clearly demarcated geographical boundaries

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as the infamous Article 10 of the Ottoman decree that established it allowed different jurisdictions to be added if a majority of their inhabitants chose to do so (Gonis 2001:139–44). After 1878, an autonomous Bulgarian principality was created. It was elevated to an independent state in 1908. Its separate Bulgarian Orthodox Church remained out of communion with the Ecumenical Patriarchate until 1945. Between 1878 and 1913, the Bulgarian Exarchate continued its operation in the Ottoman-held parts of Europe (Dimitrov 2007:57–60). Its operation was linked to the mixed Serb– Bulgarian–Greek dispute over these territories, which were claimed by all these states as their irredenta. Use of ecclesiastical affiliation was used as a proxy for national affiliation and thus served the propaganda warfare of the era (Roudometof 2002:85–94). These claims centered on the ill-defined Ottoman-held regions of Macedonia and Thrace and formed a key aspect of the infamous dispute referred to as the “Macedonian Question.” This contest represented perhaps the high point of using church affiliation for the purposes of defining prospective nationals. It was not an isolated instance but rather emblematic of the use of ecclesiastical and confessional membership as a proxy for national membership. In their pursuit of national expansion into the territories of the Ottoman Empire, Bulgaria, Greece and Serbia all used religion first and foremost and language only secondarily as valid criteria for claiming the loyalty of prospective nationals.8 The Orthodox inhabitants of the post1878 Ottoman Empire’s European part were thus the targets of propaganda campaigns that used confessional association with the Ecumenical Patriarchate, the Bulgarian Exarchate and the Serb Orthodox Church as a proxy for considering the inhabitants as Greeks, Bulgarians or Serbs, respectively. This politicization of confessional association persisted over time and received official sanction in the post-World War I population exchanges among Greece, Bulgaria and Turkey. Furthermore, the 1923 Lausanne Treaty also dictated a forced population exchange between Greece and Turkey. Religion was explicitly evoked: Greek-speaking Muslims and Turkish-speaking Orthodox were deported to national homelands they had never before inhabited. These practices altered the nature of membership in a religious faith from the universal to the particular: A person linked by confessional membership to a specific national church was viewed as a de facto member of a given nation. The local constitutions of Southeastern European nation-states refer directly to Orthodoxy as a dominant or prevailing religion; hence, the necessity to integrate this formal criterion of national membership via the construction of national churches. This contested yet ultimately extremely successful process of employing religious affiliation to signify membership into new cultural entities (ethnic or national groups) has been the hallmark of Eastern Orthodox Christians’ transition into the modern era (see also Ramet 1989). It represents perhaps the most solid example of the creative use of tradition in Orthodoxy.

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For the most part, the synchronous nature of this dual cultural and structural transformation allowed the various national churches to reassert their role and significance. The redeployment of Orthodoxy in the era of nations and nationalisms allowed ecclesiastical hierarchies to maintain their privileged position as part of the new and expanding national bureaucracies, civil service and other state institutions. It is also important to stress that nation-building in Southeastern Europe has been a historical novelty (by the standards of the longue durée). Between 1913 and 1945, state boundaries were repeatedly contested. Their stabilization was achieved only with the end of World War II (1945), which also serves as a conventional benchmark for the inauguration of globalization’s contemporary era, or the Global Age (Albrow 1997). For the Orthodox countries, however, it is necessary to take into account the post-1945 experience of communism. The imposition of communist regimes was effectively part of the post-World War II settlements decided in the Yalta accords. As Map 5.1 shows, Eastern Europe was reorganized in a manner that enabled communist control of individual states. In the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia, individual republics were created and were the recipients of a putative independence—offered in theory alone, whereas communist control in practice made the exercise of state sovereignty fictional. The imposition of communism in the Orthodox states of Southeastern Europe did not lead to state policies that resembled the ROC’s pre-World War II full-scale persecution.9 Instead, the local communist regimes’ policies vis-à-vis the national Orthodox Churches varied widely.10 These policies were often shaped by the extent to which communist regimes could exploit the church–nation link to their own advantage. For example, in Bulgaria the communist regime promoted the elevation of its autocephalous church into a patriarchate (Gonis 2001:159–61). In Romania, the communist regime dismantled the Greek Catholic Church, transferring its institutions and property to the Orthodox Church. It further subordinated the hierarchy: In 1949, the Orthodox Church was instituted as a body under public law and thus came under the direct control of the state, which was able to supervise all activities, including the content of pastoral and clerical letters (Gvosdev 2001:224–25, 299). Between 1947 and 1958, the Church preserved a symbiotic relationship with the regime whereby Patriarch Justinian was able to pursue a program of church modernization, including monastic reform. By 1958, accommodation came to an end with the arrest of socially active monks and priests, the closure of monastic seminaries, the suspension of the publication of church periodicals and the reduction of enrollment numbers in theological seminaries. Later under Ceausescu’s autocracy, the Church was effectively controlled by the Securitatet, the infamous secret police, and was aligned with the regime’s ultra-nationalist policies. Overall, throughout the communist era, the regime used the Church to its own advantage with the collaboration of the Church’s hierarchy (for overviews, see Leustean 2010c, 2009).

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Map 5.1 Eastern Europe under communism, 1945–1989

Perhaps the most fascinating case that illustrates this seemingly paradoxical intertwining of communism and Orthodoxy is the post-1945 Macedonian communists’ promotion of the Macedonian Orthodox Church (Alexander 1979; Gonis 2001:270–80). Although initial plans were made as early as 1945, the successful campaign for gaining autonomous status took a long period of time as the Serb Orthodox Church refused to accept the separation of its Macedonian dioceses. In 1959, following a local laity– clergy congress in Skopje, the decision was made to revive the historical

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see of Ohrid, and the Serb Orthodox Church’s synod offered recognition of autonomy. However, good relations were short-lived, and by 1967, the Macedonian Orthodox Church uncanonically declared its own autocephaly. The Church remains to this day out of communion with the rest of the Orthodox churches. Membership in the Macedonian Church was a means of openly asserting Macedonian nationality (which did not have an official acknowledgment until World War II) and further exporting this association through the posting of priests in overseas immigrant communities (Ramet 1996:162–65; Danforth 2000; Payne 2007). This example aptly illustrates the enduring appeal of the modern synthesis—even for regimes formally hostile to religion. Of course, there were cases in which the communist regimes’ policies did not conform to this logic. Post-World War II communist-led Yugoslavia is a case in point: The regime’s careful strategy of containing Serb nationalism (famously expressed in giving Vojvodina and Kosovo an autonomous status) prevented the effective use of Orthodoxy toward policy objectives consistent with the communists’ strategy. Eventually, frustrated Serb nationalism found its expression partly in Orthodox rhetoric, but this is more an issue of nationalism than an issue of religion per se (Buchenau 2005). The cases of Greece and Cyprus, the only two non-communist Orthodox countries in Southeastern Europe, are discussed in Chapters 6 and 8 of this volume. In both states, Orthodoxy was also extensively used in the service of local nationalisms, consistent with the logic of the modern synthesis. THE POST-SOVIET CONSTELLATION The communist status quo remained in place until the 1989–1990 revolutions brought about the collapse of communist regimes throughout Eastern Europe. The subsequent “springtime of nations” entailed the fragmentation of three main multiethnic or multinational states (Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union) and the gradual creation of several independent states (compare Map 5.1 with Map 5.2). The process was sometimes peaceful (mostly in the former Soviet Union) and sometimes violent (such as in the case of the former Yugoslavia). The post-1989 creation of new independent states continued for several years. The most recent reconfiguration of political borders in the region is shown in Map 5.2. The collapse of communism impacted all the Orthodox countries of Southeastern and Eastern Europe. It ushered new destabilizing tendencies into the local societies; although bringing them closer to the rest of Europe, it exacerbated their declining economic fortunes and caused huge socioeconomic dislocation. Immigration offered the promise of escape and was undertaken by thousands. These currents coincided with a series of national disputes that either resurfaced or came into the open for the first time. The wars of the Yugoslav successor states were the most spectacular example of these currents. Their culmination was the creation of a practically

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Map 5.2 Eastern Europe after the fall of communism (2012)

partitioned but formally unified independent Bosnia-Herzegovina and, after 1999, a separate Kosovo (whose independence has not been universally recognized). The rise of nationalism and the resurfacing of national disputes also strengthened popular support for religion for a short period of time (Ramet 1996:173–79; Voicu 2011). In Southeastern Europe, this situation did not entail a radical departure from the past use of Orthodoxy in nation-building.11

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The collapse of communism was of paramount importance for the restructuring of the former Soviet Union. In the post-Soviet republics, the end of the Soviet Union left nearly 30 million Russians outside the borders of the Russian federation. Although Moscow remained the ROC’s administrative center, nearly half of the ROC’s parishes and clergy were relocated to other post-Soviet republics that lie beyond the post-1991 Russian Federation’s state borders. Most notably, in Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova, the ROC’s autonomous branches are the largest local churches (Krindatch 2004:118). The ROC responded to these considerable challenges to its pre-1991 canonical territory in a variety of institutional ways. In several instances (Ukraine in 1990, Moldova in 1992, Latvia in 1992 and Estonia in 1992), the ROC granted autonomy to its local branches. Henceforth, these churches became independent from Moscow as far as their internal affairs and daily lives. However, practically, the ROC’s impact remained considerable in several of these autonomous churches. In contrast, in Belarus and Kazakhstan, the ROC performed a rather formal change of administrative status and maintained strong ties with Moscow. Finally, in Armenia, Azerbaijan, Lithuania and the post-Soviet states of Central Asia—in which Orthodox Christianity is a minority faith—the ROC maintained the status quo. This administrative restructuring represents a major feature of the post-Soviet situation, and it is most often what is meant when the notion of transnationalism is invoked with reference to the post-Soviet religious landscape. Although the above discussion sums up the post-1989 administrative status quo, the major inter-state tensions of the post-Soviet era were caused by the extension of the cultural logic of the modern synthesis into the postSoviet space. The creation of new independent states led to the application of the age-old strategy of ecclesiastical autocephaly as a means of bolstering these states’ newfound independence. Prior to 1989, Estonia, Moldova, Ukraine and Belarus had not experienced national independence, or that experience turned out to be extremely short-lived. Practically, their post-1991 institutionalization meant that local societies were now capable of open national self-assertion. In several instances, the application of the cultural logic of the modern synthesis led to ecclesiastical disputes. These disputes are the latest application of the nationalization of Orthodoxy through the extension of this logic into post-Soviet space. Given that this cultural logic might be similar, but the context and the specifics of each case are quite different, these cases are reviewed here in greater detail. The most important cases are those of Estonia, Ukraine and Moldova.12 These cases also involved the EC-PATR and the Romanian Orthodox Church. In 1920, following the Bolshevik Revolution, Patriarch Tikhon of Moscow granted autonomy to the Orthodox Church in Estonia, on par with Estonia’s newfound independence from the defunct Russian Empire. In 1923, due to the Russian Church’s problematic status, the Estonian Orthodox Church came under the authority of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. When Estonia was forcefully incorporated into the Soviet Union in 1944,

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the ROC re-established its authority, but the local bishop fled to Sweden, where he established a separate synod under the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s authority. Nonetheless, the Ecumenical Patriarchate declared its 1923 decision “inoperative.” Although the post-1944 fait accompli was thus practically accepted, the EC-PATR retained the exiles under its protection. With the post-1991 rebirth of the Baltic nations, the ROC offered autonomy to the Estonian Church. In fact, the Estonian Church’s membership consists of mainly Orthodox Christians of Russian descent (Payne 2007:840–41). However, in 1993, the Estonian State Department registered the formerly exiled synod as the country’s official Orthodox Church with all legal rights (inclusive of property rights) as successor to the pre-1944 church. The resulting split and the ROC’s lawsuit to protect its own rights and jurisdiction led the formerly exiled church to petition for the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s intervention. On February 20, 1993, the EC-PATR officially recognized the formerly exiled church and appointed Archbishop John of Finland as locum tenens. The action prompted the ROC to temporarily suspend communion with the EC-PATR (see Chapter 8 of this volume). The ecclesiastical dispute in the post-1989 Republic of Moldova involved open confrontation between the Romanian and Russian Orthodox Churches. The intertwining of Orthodoxy and Romanian nationalism remained prominent after the collapse of communism. Its most prominent manifestations include the campaign for the construction of a Cathedral of National Salvation (Stan and Turcescu 2007:56–63) and the issue of the Metropolitanate of Bessarabia (in the post-1991 Republic of Moldova). The cathedral’s construction was contested by those who deemed the expenses and the choice of site controversial, whereas its defenders viewed its construction as justified in the name of the unity between Orthodoxy and nationality. The establishment of the Metropolitanate of Bessarabia offered the occasion to flag Romanian nationalism in cross-border ecclesiastical politics. The controversy lasted for an entire decade (1992–2002) (for discussions, see Turcescu and Stan 2003; Matsuzato 2009). The Romanian Orthodox Church resurrected the defunct metropolitanate with jurisdictions both in Romania proper and neighboring Ukraine. This move was widely viewed as an expression of Romanian nationalism. After all, Moldova was briefly integrated into the greater Romania of the inter-war period, and a large portion of the republic’s inhabitants are ethnic Romanians. The institution of a metropolitanate by the ROC—under whose authority the region was during the Soviet era—brought the Romanian and Russian churches into open conflict. The Moldovan government refused to register the metropolitanate of Bessarabia for nearly a decade, thus prompting an appeal to the European Court of Human Rights, and was practically forced to recognize it only under the explicit threat of a negative judgment and additional legal and political actions. The use of ecclesiastical jurisdictions as a proxy for national membership underlies the entire controversy, and it represents a repetition of similar contests in Southeastern Europe in the 19th century.

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Undoubtedly, Ukraine has been the most widely publicized case. This is due to numerous factors. First, although Ukraine’s population is one-third the size of Russia’s, the total number of all local religious communities in Ukraine is higher than that in Russia. Second, regular church attendance is higher in Ukraine than in post-1991 Russia (Krindatch 2003:37–38). Third, the intertwining of religion and politics in Ukraine is multifaceted: Regional and national identities often overlap with church membership, producing geographical and ethno-religious patterns (see Krindatch 2003; Mitrokhin 2010). This results from the different historical trajectories of Ukraine’s two parts: although the area of Ukraine on the right of the Dnieper River remained closely connected to Moscow, the area on the left of the Dnieper River evolved quite differently and displayed a distinct religious character (for a historical overview, see Tataryn 2001). Sermons are in Ukrainian; the Old Church Slavonic of the liturgy has a Ukrainian accent, and there is stable financial support for parishes and general respect for the clergy. Orthodox religiosity in this part of the country has been identified with Ukrainian (or more precisely rusinsky) identity. These differences, readily observable in contemporary politics, reflect the differential levels of integration in the Russian Empire of the past centuries: Regions on the left of the Dnieper River have had a longer association with the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, whereas those on the right bank of the Dnieper are far closer to Moscow. Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, three Orthodox jurisdictions emerged in post-Soviet Ukraine. These have been in competition with each other. The ROC granted autonomy to its post-1990 Ukrainian branch. This branch formed the Ukrainian Orthodox Church–Moscow Patriarchate (UOC-MP). It is the largest Orthodox Church in Ukraine with jurisdiction over 10,875 of the 15,762 Orthodox congregations in Ukraine. It is the only Orthodox Church in Ukraine that is canonically recognized by the Eastern Orthodox communion. Its parishes represent 40 percent of all parishes under the ROC. Its principal rival is the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the (Kievan or) Kyivan Patriarchate (UOC-KP), under Patriarch Filaret. It was founded in 1995 in response to the creation of an independent Ukrainian state and claims almost 4,000 parishes. The ROC views the UOC-KP as schismatic and uncanonical. The UOC-KP’s goal is to gain canonical recognition and to foster the unification of all Orthodox churches in Ukraine into a single Orthodox church. There also is a third but smaller (1,200 parishes) rival church, the Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church (UAOC), which traces its origins to the 1921 Kiev council (Sobor), when Ukraine declared its independence during the five-year civil war that followed the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution. That state collapsed after three years, at which time Soviet Ukraine became a republic within the Soviet Union. The UAOC was repressed in the Soviet Union and eventually outlawed, but it thrived among Ukrainian immigrants and war refugees in North America. Prior to 1995, the church had more parishes among immigrant communities abroad than it did in Ukraine, but that

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situation was eventually reversed. Because the North America-based UAOC was under the Patriarchate’s jurisdiction, the EC-PATR promoted this church as an agent capable of bringing about religious unification in Ukraine. Such a move would bring all or part of Ukraine under Patriarchal control.13 In the meantime, the involvement of Ukrainian political leaders in ecclesiastical politics and their support for these two rival churches (UOC-MP and UOC-KP) has caused further politicization of church membership.14 Although in the ROC’s view, Orthodoxy in Ukraine (just like in other postSoviet republics) is part of a “Russian world” whose unity should be maintained, in the Ukrainian church’s view, Orthodoxy in Ukraine should be unified in accordance with the principle of a single church for a single state. The practical consequence of these divisions is that membership in specific Orthodox churches has become a serious factor of national identity and of subsequent political and cultural mobilization. Although the average citizen’s religious behavior is akin to that of citizens in other European countries, the public role and significance of confessional membership has exacerbated notions of religious “belonging.”15 Church membership is publicly displayed not only by politicians but also by a wide variety of public figures (such as popular entertainers). In effect, the split among different confessions or churches reflects the use of confessional membership as a marker for different blueprints of Ukrainian identity, and insofar as Ukraine’s national identity remains marked by ambivalence vis-à-vis Russia, its ecclesiastical arrangements will most likely reflect and amplify this stance. The aforementioned cases aptly demonstrate the significance of the church–nation link for understanding the religious cleavages and disputes of the post-Soviet region. In these disputes, both sides involved—the ROC on the one hand and the various national ecclesiastical establishments on the other hand—have operated in accordance with the logic of the modern synthesis and the implicit acknowledgment of a church–nation link. Autocephaly was redeployed once more as a facet of the assertion of local national identities, whereas the preservation of a relationship with the ROC was viewed as an acknowledgment of a relationship with Moscow and Russia. In this connection, it is important to note that the church–nation link is not only used in ecclesiastical relations across post-Soviet borders but is also prominently displayed in the ROC’s newfound role in post-Soviet Russian society, culture and polity. With the collapse of communism, the Russian Church witnessed a spectacular recovery—at least in terms of numbers (for an overview, see Knox 2004). In spite of his past as a KGB agent, the ROC’s Patriarch Alexei II played a key role in the process of post-communist church reorganization: He successfully outmaneuvered more monarchical and autocratic elements within the Church; he further offered extensive support to Boris Yeltsin during the failed 1991 coup, and he supervised an extensive program of church reconstruction, with the construction of the cathedral of the Church of Christ the Savior as a highlight.16 The scale of institutional revival is evident in terms of statistics: In 1988, the ROC had close to 7,000

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parishes, 21 monasteries and five theological schools; its clergy included 74 bishops, 6,700 priests and 723 deacons (Krindatch 2004:116). According to the ROC (2010) itself, by 2010, it had grown to 160 dioceses, 207 ruling and auxiliary bishops, 28,434 priests and 3,625 deacons serving a total of 30,142 acting parishes. Additionally, there are 788 monasteries, including 386 male monasteries and 402 convents. As Knox (2005:1) notes, the great paradox of the post-Soviet Russian religious renaissance entails the transformation of the ROC from a suppressed institution tightly controlled by the communist regime into an institution that enjoys wide state-sanctioned privileges and uses its leverage to suppress religious pluralism and rival faiths.17 The ROC’s resurgence “was buoyed by renewed consideration of Russian identity. Russians have long regarded the ROC as the protector of national interests and the defender of national traditions” (Knox 2004:87). Although the statistical data show a dramatic increase in the public or confessional association with Orthodoxy, this increase, as Krindatch (2004) observes, is colored by the perception that Russians should be Orthodox, and hence, the people tend to identify with Orthodoxy as part of their national identity.18 Although the church–nation link is thus understood and deployed by the population, it does not translate into actual behavior as the majority of the people partake only occasionally in religious rituals. Russian discourse has attempted to articulate a religiously defined “national idea” that would strengthen national cohesion (Agadjanian 2001). That discourse, however, is articulated within several different constituencies ranging from pan-Slavists to Orthodox Communists to political fundamentalists (for a lucid analysis, see Mitrofanova 2005; see also Knox 2005). These groups’ boundaries are far from solid, but the existence of different viewpoints reflects a plurality of ideas and responses vis-à-vis the state, globalization, Russian culture, etc. Their followers do form a distinct subculture, and within these communities, key roles are played by influential leaders who are not high clergy of the official church. In contrast to these groups, the ROC’s hierarchy is careful to situate itself away from public endorsement of such activities. For example, the Church’s attempt to include a religious course on the fundamentals of Orthodox culture in the curriculum might be described as an effort to articulate such an idea. This proposal, however, failed to convince the state of the existence of a strong constituency favoring the course (Papkov 2009; Simons 2009). Instead, in its internal debates, a plurality of opinions and perspectives was revealed. Although the assertion of a church–nation link does not represent the only available point of view, it is definitely the majority perspective. In due course of time and to the extent that it is state-supported, such a viewpoint is more firmly established. Perhaps the most explicit public reference to the church–nation link can be found in ROC’s (2000) major post-1989 public statement on its role within post-Soviet Russia, the Bases of the Social Contact:

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The above is not an isolated statement but a codification of the ROC’s official viewpoint. This endorsement of the church–nation link is prominently displayed in the ROC’s internal affairs (for discussions, see Agadjanian 2003; Agadjanian and Rousselet 2005). Although this strategy might be described as one aiming for dominance within Orthodoxy as such (Curanovic 2007), it is also fair to add that the more the ROC is acting out its prominent role in international and national politics, the more it simultaneously affirms its own position as a national church, with all the restrictions that come from identifying with a single ethnic or national community. As early as 1993, the Russian Church promoted the image of Belarusians, Ukrainians and others as ethnic Russians (russkii). It further supported the notion that the conversion of non-Orthodox to Orthodoxy qualifies such converts for inclusion in the Russian ethnic community (Dunlop 1995:15–21). From the viewpoint of non-Russian nationalists attempting to use ecclesiastical autocephaly as a means to promote national self-assertion, the ROC’s actions appear as efforts to safeguard a Russian fallen empire. However, from the viewpoint of Russian nationalism, the Church’s efforts are in fact consistent with safeguarding the nation, and this is in fact an objective inherently antithetical to empire-building. In many respects, ROC’s entire standing over the post-1989 era should be viewed as an effort to act as a guardian of the “people” or the faithful or the Russian ethnic or national community, including its transborder faithful. Although the ROC’s overreaching posture aims to cast itself in the role of the guardian of tradition, the nation and the people, one must be careful not to conflate the ROC’s role vis-à-vis the nation with its attitude and stance vis-à-vis the state as such. Although this intertwining of the faith with national identity is prominently displayed, the relationship of the Orthodox leadership vis-à-vis the state is not necessarily one of obedience or subservience. Like the OCG (which is discussed in Chapter 8 of this volume) and many other Orthodox Churches, the ROC is cautious with regard to the role and power of the state, even more so in the post-Soviet context given that the ROC had particularly painful experiences in its treatment by the state during the Soviet era (Knox 2005:105–17). Unsurprisingly, the theme of church–state relations displays considerable complexity. In the aftermath of the collapse of communism, there was an initial turn toward a policy of religious liberalization. That turn was eventually superseded by the 1997 parliamentary act (O svobode sovesti i o religioznykh ob’’yedineniyakh

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[Freedom of Conscience and Religious Associations]) that offered Orthodox Christianity—alongside Islam, Judaism and Buddhism—a privileged position (Basil 2005). Such a privileged position is actually typical in several Orthodox nation-states throughout Europe. This decision was viewed as an effort to combat the growth of Protestant activities in post-Soviet Russia, thereby causing considerable complaints among U.S. policymakers and activists. By far, the most important role performed by state officials remains symbolic: The blessing of the new head of State by the Russian Patriarch, the consultation of high clergy with state dignitaries and a relationship of mutual understanding and support between the ROC and the state are all features typical of the church–nation link and are observed in several Orthodox nations. The 2009 election of Patriarch Kirill as successor to Alexei II should be viewed as an endorsement and continuation of this policy orientation. CONCLUDING REMARKS This chapter has addressed the nationalization of Orthodoxy. The analysis does not attempt to analyze the totality of the relationships between local nation-states and the Orthodox national churches. It is undeniable that these relationships are varied and complex. Rather, the chapter’s main objective has been to trace the modus operandi of the nationalized version of Orthodox Christianity. This version is the one that is most familiar to both laypersons and researchers in the world today. This chapter has further attempted to show that the nationalization of Orthodox Christianity offers a way to understand the historical trajectories of the various national churches from the 19th century on. It should be stressed that this nationalization was not always territorially based but also extended further into Orthodox transnational communities. This theme is further explored in Chapter 7 of this volume. Instead of attempting to address the totality of Orthodoxy’s multifaceted engagements with the nation, this chapter has sought to demonstrate the potency of the church–nation link for accounting for the contemporary developments within the Orthodox part of Europe. Its rise demonstrates the considerable ability of ecclesiastical institutions to adapt to new cultural and institutional forms. Unlike typical interpretations that view the nationalization of religion as an obstacle or impediment to secularization, the perspective adopted here views nationalization as the latest in a series of transformations of Orthodox Christianity. Although often viewed as a primordial tie, the nationalized version of Orthodox Christianity emerged as a result of the formation of nationstates in Eastern and Southeastern Europe. In most cases, the consolidation of the new nationalized forms of Orthodoxy throughout Southeastern

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Europe was accomplished via dual and mostly synchronous structural and cultural transformations. The major cultural transformation entailed the view of Orthodoxy as an essential ingredient for national self-image: In the new nation-states of Southeastern Europe, a modern synthesis between church and nation emerged in the course of the 19th century. Orthodox Christianity was thus redeployed for the purposes of local nation-building (Roudometof 1999). In Romania, Bulgaria, Greece and Serbia, this redeployment was accompanied by a major structural transformation: the construction of autocephalous national churches. These offered the practical institutional means by which new nation-based territorial divisions could be imposed on the Orthodox flock. Although this nationalization of Orthodoxy has its roots in the 19th century, it was largely implemented in the course of the 20th century. Post-1945 local communists often made extensive use of the church–nation link to bolster their own credentials, as the cases of communist Bulgaria, Romania and post-1945 Macedonia illustrate. Unlike the historical experience of Southeastern Europe, in the Russian Empire, no similar successful nationalization occurred in the 19th century. The Russian Empire was then superseded by the Soviet Union, which was officially opposed both to nationalism and religion as such. As a result, attempts to institute national churches in the Baltic region or Ukraine were short-lived. It was only with the post-1989 collapse of the Soviet Union that ecclesiastical issues resurfaced as part of the institutional challenges involved in the construction of new independent states in the Baltic region, Moldova and Ukraine. In these post-Soviet republics, Orthodoxy resurfaced as an important cultural marker: Although membership in the ROC became a proxy for Russian identity, the construction of autocephalous churches in the post-Soviet states registered these nations’ efforts to successfully assert their national independence and a distinct national identity. It was and still is a process that in many respects duplicates the cultural logic of the 19thcentury process of national churches gaining their autocephaly from a reluctant Ecumenical Patriarchate. However, the ROC’s concern with canonical territory is also an effort for that church to perform its own role as guardian of Orthodox Russians who reside outside the borders of the post-1991 Russian federation. The post-1989 conflicts therefore extend the application of the church–nation link into post-Soviet Eastern Europe. The consequences of the redeployment of Orthodox Christianity as a facet of the various national identities are far reaching. This is particularly important for considerations of the relationship of Orthodox Christianity with the notion of religious pluralism. As Beckford (2003) argues, religious pluralism is a value orientation reflected in state legislation and social attitudes, in contrast to religious plurality, that is, heterogeneity or diversity, which is a practical reality. For most of the 20th century, the nation-states of Southeastern Europe were obsessed with national homogeneity and viewed ethnic heterogeneity as a threat to national security. Such a political

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context was inherently hostile to expressions of religious pluralism. It is fair to conclude that the recent historical experience of the Orthodox national churches has not enabled them to develop the appropriate strategies for a constructive engagement with religious pluralism. This topic is a novel challenge for 21st-century Orthodox churches, and it is discussed further in Chapter 7 of this volume.

6

Colonialism and Ethnarchy The Case of Cyprus

Colonialism belongs to modernity’s dark side. It exposes the contradictions of the rhetoric of emancipation and renders visible the power inequalities between Western and non-Western powers. One enduring feature of colonialism is its hold on perceptions (Said 1978). Although postcolonial theory has delegitimized such interpretations, their legacy still survives in interpretations that concern Orthodox subjects. When Archbishop Makarios III became the first president of the newly instituted Republic of Cyprus in 1960, such interpretations seemed to fit the case. Orthodox Christianity seemed to outsiders a culture that forestalled democratic rule and strengthened rival nationalisms on the island. As suggested in Chapter 1 of this volume, this image is the conventional view that routinely casts Orthodox Christianity in the role of the subaltern Other. Certainly, the Orthodox Church’s primates played key roles in the rising Greek Cypriot nationalist movement. This ethnarchic (e.g., nation-leading) model united ecclesiastical and secular functions and projected the Church as an agent challenging British colonialism. However, instead of viewing the ethnarchic model as representative of Orthodox Christianity per se or as a relic of a religious tradition inherently unable to adjust to the times, it is far more accurate to examine its rise and fall as a response to historically specific situations. Therefore, through these lenses, Cyprus offers a particularly well-suited case for studying the entanglements between colonial authority and the Orthodox Church: The Church’s ecclesiastical boundaries coincide with that of the island, which means that the autocephalous Orthodox Church of Cyprus (OCC) had to adjust to colonial authority. For most countries around the globe and especially those like Cyprus with a colonial past, their modernities are entangled: that is, their encounters with colonialism forced externally induced modernization projects upon them, whereas their eventual modernization (or lack of it) was determined not solely by their own diachronic developmental path but also by their encounters with Western European modernity (see Therborn 2003). According to these lenses, Cyprus is a latecomer to social, economic and cultural modernization. Until the 1960s, the majority of the population lived in rural areas and engaged in agriculture and other traditional pursuits (Roudometof 2009a). Moreover, the social

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changes instigated by British colonialism were not manifested in the creation of new ecclesiastical institutions. The OCC was the supreme religious institution of the island’s Orthodox population before and after the imposition of British colonialism. This chapter offers an interpretation of the manner in which colonialism impacted Orthodox Christian institutions in Cyprus. To understand the nature of the changes instigated by colonial authorities, the chapter opens with a brief overview of the relationship between the OCC and the state during the Ottoman era (1571–1878). During the Ottoman period, the high clergy fulfilled administrative and political obligations, fusing religious functions and secular administrative tasks. The post-1878 British administration created new institutional structures. Church–state separation led to the collapse of the hierarchs’ political authority. The British refused to accept the Church’s ownership of land estates and property for those holdings that lacked proper documentation. Church taxes were no longer under the scope of the state, leading to considerable revenue loss. Effectively, the new system led to the redrawing of the boundaries between church and state, but the Orthodox hierarchy soon reasserted its position. Religious rhetoric adopted the markings of contemporary nationalism, thereby claiming that the hierarchs represented not only a community of the faithful but also an ethno-national group. In sharp contrast to the rest of the Orthodox nations of Southeastern Europe, the ecclesiastical institutions—and in particular the Office of the Archbishop—came to be viewed as representative of the political will of the Greek Cypriots. Therein lies the conceptual underpinnings of the Church’s function as “national authority” (ethnarchy), which characterized the island’s society during the most critical moments of the 20th century. THE CHURCH UNDER OTTOMAN RULE During the Frankish (1192–1489) and Venetian (1489–1571) periods, the Catholic rulers persecuted the OCC (see Hussey [1986] 1990:201–6; Papadakis [1994] 2003:324). Although some Orthodox bishops remained on the island, their ecclesiastical jurisdictions were limited. The Orthodox archbishop eventually left the island. The EC-PATR advised local priests and bishops to avoid actions that offered recognition and legitimacy to the Roman Catholic bishops, but at times that proved impossible for the local clergy. This situation persisted for a long time. Only after Cyprus’s 1571 Ottoman conquest was the EC-PATR able to fill the archbishop’s office. The archbishopric and the three traditional bishoprics of Citium, Paphos and Kerynia remained the three OCC sees during Ottoman and British rule. During the Ottoman period (1571–1878), the OCC’s archbishop and the three other bishops received privileges from the Sultan, resulting in their

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acquisition of significant spiritual, political and economic power. For the most part, their authority was established on par with their duties to act as tax collectors (Egglezakis 1995:237–55; de la Perrotine 1997). Under Ottoman rule, the power and authority of the religious hierarchy was significantly extended thanks to the various decrees (berats) issued by the Sultan (for the nature of these decrees, see Fekete 1986). In the mid-17th century, following an initiative of the Sublime Porte, the hierarchs were formally included in the state administration (see Alasya 1973; Michael 2005:133–37). That is, from 1660 onward, the OCC entered into the system of leasing state tax revenues (iltizam), and this development offered the prelates additional possibilities for gaining authority. In the Ottoman state, lifelong renting of tax revenues provided the framework for increasing the autonomy of local authorities from the Sublime Port (Inalcik 1980:334). One century later in 1754, once more as a result of an Ottoman initiative, the OCC’s prelates became life-long holders of the kodjabash (communal elder or representative) position for the Orthodox population on the island. Using this administrative title, they were able to present petitions to the sultan on behalf of the island’s inhabitants without having to go through the local governor. As a result of this new entitlement, the Church’s formal and informal power now rivaled that of the local governor (Michael 2005). This was certainly typical of the intertwining of religious hierarchy and Ottoman administration, and as noted in Chapter 4 of this volume, it is observed throughout the Ottoman Empire. However, whereas in many other places under Ottoman rule, secular community leaders took over at least a portion of these duties, no secular leadership emerged in Cyprus to challenge the prelates’ power.1 Henceforth, the island’s Orthodox population conflated the political authority of communal representation with the hierarchs’ religious authority (Çevikel 2001:100). This conflation forestalled the potential for secular community leadership because the kodjabash post (entrusted with tax collection) accrued financial rewards that remained under the Church’s exclusive control (Anagnostopoulou 1998:166). After 1754, many observers noted that the archbishop was in effect the island’s real ruler because his reign lasted far longer than any single appointed governor. An important dimension of the superimposition of the Rum millet system on the island’s inhabitants concerns the extent to which local identities, previously fragmented and hierarchal, became solidified (Demetriou 2007). That is, awareness of millet membership fostered collective identity construction for Muslims and Christians alike. The ecclesiastical institutions developed a multitude of economic and commercial activities. Some of them pertained to ecclesiastical practices that effectively transformed the Orthodox population’s financial obligations to the Orthodox prelates into obligations to the state. The practice of Ziteia provides a typical example: monks, clerics and sometimes laymen traveled to villages asking for the peasantry’s financial support on behalf of monasteries and bishoprics. During the 18th and 19th centuries, Ziteia was performed

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two or three times annually. Although initially voluntary, support gradually became an obligatory church tax. By the 19th century, the confluence of the authority of tax leasing with the political authority of the kodjabash post contributed to the OCC becoming the main economic and commercial factor on the island. Although Archbishop Kyprianos and several members of the Orthodox elite were executed in 1821 after having been falsely accused of being sympathizers of the 1821 Greek revolution, the state of affairs soon returned to the status quo ante (Roudometof and Michael 2010:4). The application of the post1856 Ottoman reforms (Tanzimat) did not challenge the basis of authority of the church hierarchs: although they lost their personal authority in the government structures of the Ottoman Empire, their participation in the authority structures was secure thanks to their role as representatives of the Rum millet. Based on the economic significance of the ecclesiastical institutions, it seems that the part of the laity that was introduced into the Ottoman administrative bodies was not in a position to threaten or otherwise challenge ecclesiastical authority (Michael 2005:262). In fact, after 1850, the ecclesiastical institutions’ economic activities became a significant factor in the Ottoman Cyprus’s economy. The ecclesiastical institutions were the first ones to employ permanent personnel for their agricultural and stockbreeding activities while they accumulated capital to invest in acquiring additional agricultural lands, operating markets in the island’s cities and expanding their commercial activities beyond the island’s shores. Thanks to their land management and their production and trading of agricultural products, the ecclesiastical institutions dominated local and export commerce. All these activities allowed the central funds of the various churches, bishoprics and monasteries—all of them referred to as Koinon (common) funds in the literature—to function as financial centers, lending money to land cultivators at a considerable interest rate.2 In the course of the 19th century, the expansion of modern economic activities contributed to the transformation of the city of Larnaca (the ancient city of Citium) into the island’s main commercial port over the same period. Thanks in large part to the concentration of all foreign consulates and European merchants (Katsiaounis 1997:242), the city attracted local merchants and professionals. Numerous intellectuals settled there after their studies abroad, mainly in Greece. In an effort to gain some level of political power, this newfound middle class attempted to control the bishoprics’ central funds. It was this effort that gave rise to the Citium Question (1855–1870), which concerned the activities of that bishopric’s central fund. On the surface, this dispute was over the compromises the local bishop was forced to make against the community’s wealthy laity. A closer look at the dispute reveals that the laymen attempted to control the fund’s management and thus usurp some of the prelates’ financial power (Michaelides 1992:206–40; Michael 2005:286–94). The archbishopric

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became involved in the dispute when the Larnaca and Limassol congregations were divided between the supporters and opponents of Bishop Meletios III (1846–1864). Letters were sent to the archbishop accusing him of poor financial management and calling for outside intervention. After a representative investigated the issue, the OCC’s Holy Synod forced Bishop Meletios III to resign. His successor, Bishop Bartholomew (1864–1866), also resigned after strong reactions by Larnaca’s laity, whereas his successor Bishop Kyprianos (1866–1886) eventually allowed laymen to control the bishopric’s finances. These events also signify the initial stirrings of an ideological conflict between those modernists who expressed a new understanding of community management and operated as carriers of Greek nationalism and those traditionalists who remained faithful to the Ottoman understanding of the millet system (Konortas 1999:169–79) and of the Church’s role in it and, hence, rejected nationalism. THE CONSEQUENCES OF BRITISH COLONIALISM At the Congress of Berlin (1878), the Sultan leased Cyprus’s administration to Great Britain in return for an annual rent. During the initial years after the British occupation (1878), the externally induced modernization project of the British administration extensively modified the OCC’s role. Although the British agreed to preserve the Church’s administrative independence,3 post-1878 colonial rule entailed a redrawing of the boundaries between the religious and secular spheres. That is, the British did not recognize the hierarchs’ traditional role of kodjabash (communal elder or representative). They further refused to accept the peasantry’s financial obligations vis-à-vis the OCC as part of legitimate state taxation. Finally, the colonial authorities did not recognize without proper documentation the religious institutions’ privileged position regarding their assets, their taxexempt status and, most important, their property claims over fields and forests. In their view, Church property should be subject to state law without exemption. The land reform was promptly implemented and deeply challenged the Church’s position. The result was the Ecclesiastical Question, a long-lasting dispute over the ecclesiastical property’s taxation and management (Zannetos 1911:379; Christodoulou 1993a:390–93, 1993b:594; Katsiaounis 1996:126). In February 1879, the prelates addressed a memorandum to the British administration in which they described the changes the British caused in the landowning regime and requested the continuation of past privileges with regard to Church property (Christodoulou 1993a:594). In the subsequent years, discussions persisted as the prelates unsuccessfully attempted to prepare their own regulations regarding ecclesiastical property. By 1885, the British administration passed the Titles and Registration Law, which extracted significant expanses of land from the ecclesiastical institutions.

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The courts rejected every claim not based on sufficient proof of possession. However, possession was difficult to prove: During the previous two centuries of Ottoman rule, the ecclesiastical institutions purchased state land (miri) from Ottoman officials without a title. Additionally, in several cases, they had only use rights, not land ownership, but thanks to the Ottoman registration system’s poor condition, they viewed these rights as equivalent to ownership. Litigation in the courts persisted for years, and the Ecclesiastical Question was eventually settled with the conclusion of the 1929 General Survey of Properties (Katsiaounis 1996:74). In the meantime, based on the 1885 law, the British managed to appropriate lands and forests, whereas the ecclesiastical institutions lost agricultural land they considered as their own. The colonial government’s plans for the island’s administration came in direct conflict with the privileges that the Church’s prelates had secured under Ottoman rule. By September 1878, the British instituted the island’s Executive Council composed of the high commissioner, the chief secretary, the treasurer, the king’s advocate and three locals appointed by the colonial government (Hill 1972:417). During the first months of the British administration, this body operated also as a legislative body to issue various decrees. The council’s substantial control was in the hands of the high commissioner and the British officers, whereas the role of the locals was advisory. The Executive Council continued to operate as an advisory body until the end of the colonial period, but in 1883, the British established a separate Legislative Council (Georghallides 1979:41–42). It became the island’s most important political body until its abolition in 1931. It had 18 members: six were British officers of the administration appointed by the high commissioner (official members), and the other 12 members were elected by the people, divided equally between Muslims and non-Muslims. The high commissioner served as chairman and also cast the tie-breaking vote. The queen could veto any decision of the Council. With the establishment of the first Legislative Council, the incompatibility of the Church’s traditional role with the new administrative structure became evident (Katsiaounis 1996:66). All the communal representatives (Richard Matei, Georgios Glykys and Mustafa Fouat) appointed to the first Legislative Council—for which no elections were held—were wealthy laypersons involved in commerce. For the British, communal leadership should come from elections. A British officer said the following in 1878 about the role of the archbishop during the Ottoman period and the change that occurred with the British administration: This order now belongs to the past[;] the unwritten agreement between the Archbishopric and the konaki has been terminated. In the composition of our new Legislative Council we have included only seculars. No priest or mullah has a place in our new Council. The church and mosque must march together their own way; therefore the power in Cyprus is a secular power (quoted in Pavlides 1995:1206).

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Although the above quote plainly shows the colonial view of Cyprus’s political administration, it also shows that the British had failed to grasp that in the Ottoman state, the high clergy did not simply participate in the political power due to an “unwritten agreement” between the administration and the prelates, as the British officer states above. Rather, at least since the Tanzimat reforms, the archbishopric and the bishoprics were institutionally included in the Ottoman administration. For the prelates, this was a complete overturn of their frame of action. They attributed their strained relationship with the state “to the general anti-clergy mentality of the British” (Zannetos 1911:127). The bishops’ speeches and their correspondence show that they were aware that in the colonial “modern” administration, they had no political authority per se, and there was no intention to give them any. In 1881, in a meeting of the prelates and lay representatives with the high commissioner Robert Biddulph, the archbishop asked the British administration to pass laws that would sanction the Church’s penalties for the Orthodox who committed crimes such as adultery. The high commissioner simply replied that this was impossible because the state could not interfere in such matters. Then, as Biddulph reports, the bishops complained that the British occupation brought too many liberties for the people, and as a result, the power and the prestige of the Church had been reduced (Zannetos 1911:289). The bishop of Citium, in an 1883 speech in Limassol, complained that since the British occupation of the island, “the political authority does not execute any decision coming from the ecclesiastical authority” (Zannetos 1910:384). In a January 1897 letter addressed to the archbishop, the Bishop of Paphos complains that the “Ottoman government respected the rights of the Orthodox Church and secured them through the berats. Because of that, [the prelates] must ask from the British Administration nothing more than the recognition of the articles of the Berats” (Archive of the Late Archbishops of Cyprus [ALAC]:289). In another letter to the archbishop, the bishop of Paphos wrote that due to the British policy on the island, the OCC’s situation was critical, and its finances were at a “disastrous point” (ALAC:288). In an April 1879 letter to the British administration’s chief secretary, Paphos’s Governor A. G. Woshop refers to the Orthodox people’s refusal to pay ecclesiastical taxes when he mentions the court’s decision that the inhabitants should continue to pay these taxes, but at a rate reduced by nine-tenths. In a comment typical of this incident, the governor observes that although the local bishop saw his income reduced as a result, his loss of legitimacy was far more important: “the Church may be capable of withstanding the losses of such statutes but it cannot stand the poisoning of relations between clergy and villagers” (quoted in Katsiaounis 1996:126). During the previous centuries, the prelates had been a continuous and undisputed political authority, but the British were reluctant to even discuss the so-called “quarters and privileges” (Egglezakis 1986:33) that used to be enforced during Ottoman rule. Consequently, the Church’s prelates were

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left out of the state’s framework; the local historian Zannetos’s (1910:166) comment that the British “stripped [the Church] of its privileged position” is an accurate reflection of the locals’ interpretations of the colonial government’s actions. The new situation further deteriorated the Church’s already shaken situation: Since the Taznimat, the number of young men joining the clergy or the monasteries was on the decline, whereas wealthy laypersons had emerged whose prosperity was independent of the Church’s financial activities, and therefore, these people could act irrespectively of the prelates (Katsiaounis 1996:15). Subsequently, the colonial government’s actions led to a crisis of legitimacy. The Church hierarchy’s reaction to its loss of legitimacy was twofold. On the one hand, the Church hierarchy challenged colonial legislation in the courts to legally safeguard its property holdings. This course of action was rather unsuccessful given that the 1885 legislation governing possession of fields and land contributed to the Church’s extensive property loss of those fields for which no definite proof of possession could be presented. On the other hand, the Church’s prelates attempted to rally their flock by portraying themselves as fighters for the political rights of the Orthodox community. In this turn of events, the high clergy’s actions were increasingly framed in terms of their national (as opposed to their purely religious) authority as communal representatives. With the 1883 establishment of the Legislative Council, the British brought to the island the fundamental structures of an urban society, such as equality before the law and respect for the subject’s obligations and rights. Although the high commissioner cast the deciding vote, the Legislative Council was a forum of expression for the Orthodox and Muslim Turkish communities’ political will. In the Council, the British duplicated the Ottoman millet model of ethno-confessional governance by distributing the council’s seats between Greek and Turkish Cypriots. Such a division allowed for the prima facie transformation of the prelates into political leaders, thereby tacitly facilitating the reassertion of their traditional political leadership. Of key importance for transforming their formerly spiritual roles into political ones was the high clergy’s undisputed influence over the Orthodox, about which a British judge stated, “The sacred role of a priest of the orthodox church secures him influence and powerful influence at that” (quoted in Zannetos 1911:731). In the first elections for members of the Legislative Council in June 1883, the Bishop of Citium Kyprianos was successfully elected in both areas in which he competed (Larnaca and Limassol), making his electoral triumph undisputed. Once the prelates were elected as representatives of the people through modern democratic means, the British were effectively forced to accept them as such. From this point on and for the entire colonial period, the prelates, thanks to their democratic election by the people, operated as political representatives of the Orthodox inhabitants.4 Once they became members of the Legislative Council, the three bishops (Kyprianos,

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Cyril and Nicodemos) and Abbot Gerasimos of the Kykkos Monastery all conducted bitter anti-British propaganda against the colonial government (Persianis 1978:22). In fact, the British government initially accepted their attacks with great tolerance. THE RISE AND FALL OF THE CYPRIOT ETHNARCHY The prelates’ participation in the elections meant that they were forced to develop political mentalities and to conclude alliances with the laity to maximize their electoral support. As a result, they were drawn into the orbit of rising Greek nationalism: Faith in the Church and its leaders was transformed into faith in the nation and an act of opposition to British colonialism (Anagnostopoulou 1999:198, 204). In this fashion, the OCC became the Greek Cypriots’ only national authority, a unique source of national and political inspiration. This was expressed by the term “national leadership” (Εθναρχία in Greek, or ethnarchy). The faithful Orthodox was also a patriot; therefore, national leadership had to be spiritual leadership (i.e., the prelates). Because the people’s nationalization occurred within the preexisting religious–political categories of difference, the result was not the construction of a unified national public sphere but rather the fragmentation of the public domain along ethno-confessional lines (Bryant 2004). Difference vis-à-vis Cyprus’s Muslims was preserved but was now based on secular nationalism and not on religious doctrine. This shift in mentality is shown clearly in the high clergy’s behavior toward their Muslim counterparts. Although during the two first decades of British rule, Christian and Muslim members of the Legislative Council collaborated on financial and local issues, from the dawn of the 20th century, this collaboration ceased, mainly as a reaction of the Muslim members to the Greek Cypriots’ increasing nationalist activities (Georghallides 1979:75). As the prelates assumed the political role of spokespersons for Greek Cypriot nationalism, they adopted an antagonistic position vis-à-vis the Muslim representatives. After 1909, when the OCC and the archiepiscopal throne in particular fully assumed its role as national authority for the Greek Cypriots and openly supported union with Greece, collaboration with the Turkish Cypriots became quite difficult. These developments should be placed within the larger context of the intellectual trends of the era and the manner in which these trends influenced institutional developments within the OCC. In the 19th century, two ideological tendencies gradually formed within the hierarchy and the broader society on the island: a traditionalist one, carrying on the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s mentality and attempting to preserve the Church’s traditional authority, and a nationalist one, which was a carrier of the irredentist national ideology of the Greek state. The two tendencies came into an open clash in the context of the infamous Archiepiscopal Question of 1900–1910. The

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Archiepiscopal Question was a continuation of the Citium Question but of greater importance in terms of duration, depth of divisions, animosity and extensive involvement of outside agencies (e.g., the British authorities, the kingdom of Greece and several patriarchates). The conflict was between the urban and intensely nationalized society of Larnaca and the conservative and traditional society of Nicosia. Allegiance toward the Greek nation and the Greek state was the basic criterion of patriotism for the Larnaca society, with the Bishop of Citium, Cyril (Kyrillos) Papadopoulos, in the leading role, whereas religious faith and allegiance toward the Ecumenical Patriarchate was the criterion of patriotism for the society of Nicosia, with the Bishop of Kerynia, Cyril (Kyrillos) Vasileiou, in the leading role. The fight was bitter and polarized the entire Greek Cypriot public sphere. On the ecclesiastical level, the main issue was the election of an archbishop after the death of Archbishop Sofronios (1865–1900) in 1900. The choice was between the two above-mentioned bishops. In the same way that the followers of the Bishop of Citium made the nation a political slogan, the followers of the Bishop of Kerynia made Christianity their own political slogan (Katsiaounis 1996:229). After a decade of intense conflict, the Archiepiscopal Question concluded in 1909 with the final election of the Bishop of Citium Cyril Papadopoulos to the throne. His election signaled victory for the nationalists and the beginning of a new period for the island’s society (for descriptions see Christodoulou 1999 and Frangoudis [1911] 2002). An important consequence of this bitter rivalry was that the colonial administration was called on to offer official recognition to the high clergy. This was one of the original demands of the bishops who, after 1878, had asked the colonial authorities to continue the Ottoman practice of officially recognizing the election of new bishops and to endow them with administrative competencies, essentially continuing the Ottoman practice of granting berats to the bishops. In 1890, when new bishops were elected in the bishoprics of Kerynia, Citium and Paphos, the archbishop presented a petition asking that the queen confirm their elections. However, for a long time, the British colonial government was reluctant to offer such recognition, which it regarded as undue interference in ecclesiastical affairs. In 1909, Cyril Papadopoulos (Kyrillos II) was successful in receiving the high commissioner’s formal approval of his election, but from this point on, the colonial authorities began intervening more in ecclesiastical affairs. In the next elections, the colonial government asked for the right to approve the archbishop prior to his enthronement (Persianis 1978:22). It would be a grave mistake not to include here another major factor that contributed to the Church hierarchs’ successful transformation into ethnarchs, or national leaders for the Greek Orthodox Cypriot constituency. This factor concerns the critical role of the OCC in the development of the local educational system and the manner in which this system further fostered bicommunal separation. The growing significance of education must

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be placed in the context of the nascent urbanization of the island. Although Cyprus became an urban society only after World War II, the island experienced its first wave of urbanization between 1878 and 1931. The population of the main cities (Nicosia, Larnaca, Limassol, Famagusta, Paphos and Kerynia) increased from 31,461 in 1881 to 65,585 in 1931 (Persianis 2007:47). In 1881, there were only 4,907 students in elementary schools (of whom 765 were girls), but by 1919–1920, this number was 34,523 (of whom 12,547 were girls). That is, the structures of urban society took root in Cyprus over this period, which also accounts for the rise in the popularity of nationalist discourse among the population. With regard to education, one way in which the Church kept and even increased its influence on the island’s Orthodox population was the expanded educational system. For nearly half a century after 1878, control of the schools remained in the hands of district committees presided over by the bishops (Persianis 1978:27). The teachers in the schools were expected to support the pro-union cause and to publicly support the union in their speeches in the villages in which they were appointed. Further developments within the educational system during the period of British rule in Cyprus (1878–1959) can be divided into two periods: from 1878 to 1929 and from 1929 to 1959. The principal feature of the first period is the management of education by community institutions. In contrast, in the second period, the British policy for educational centralization prevailed. As a result, education was strictly controlled by the colonial administration without, however, abolishing the role of the communal authorities. In accordance with the 1895 act, two supreme educational councils were formed. Both resided in Nicosia (on the 1895 act, see Myrianthopoulos 1946:53–55 and Weir 1952:25–26). The Greek Educational Council was composed of the chief secretary to the administration, who acted as the council’s chairman with the participation of the archbishop of Cyprus and nine elected members. Six of the members were elected by the Greek community: one from each of the district educational committees and three by and from the body of the Greek representatives in the Legislative Council. Their term of office was two years. As for the Greek Cypriots, the responsibility of the Church of Cyprus and the participation of the archbishop in the central council and of the bishops in the district committees placed education under the direct authority of the religious leaders. The most significant outcome of the bicommunal separation of education adopted during British rule was the complete reproduction of the ideologies of the institutions that controlled public education. On the one hand, for the Turkish Cypriots, Turkish nationalism reached the educational system mainly after the establishment of the Turkish state and the enforcement of the Kemalist national education. On the other hand, for the Greek Cypriots, nationalism became the most essential part of their education long before the Turkish Cypriots. Through the OCC, which in the post-1878 period became the main representative of the political will of the Greek Cypriots,

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and through the educational system, which was controlled by the Church and was constructed as an ethno-religious affair, Greek nationalism became dominant among the Greek Cypriot public. The Cypriot educational system’s dominant features were formed out of the political conflict between the OCC and the British colonial administration. Education was a means to attain each side’s political objectives (Maratheftis 1992:29). In 1931, a spontaneous peasant revolt that began in the island’s mining areas turned into a full-fledged anticolonial revolt (Oktomvriana), culminating in the torching of the governor’s house on October 21. Responding to the revolt, the colonial government exiled the metropolitans of Citium and Kerynia, who had sparked the events with their actions. On this occasion, the British also abolished the island’s Legislative Council and engaged in a policy of political suppression that entailed the prohibition of pro-Greek propaganda, suspension of civil liberties and censorship. Thus, Cyprus entered into a period of political suppression and authoritarianism referred to as Palmerokratia (Palmerocracy), after the British governor’s name. The British project pursued in this era entailed the reshaping of the island through a policy of Cypriotism, whereby the island’s local identity was put forth as an alternative model for political, social and cultural cohesion (Rappas 2008). The actions of the British administration from the 1930s onward also indicate an effort to usurp the Church’s power over education and a willingness to enforce effective control over the educational system. Until the end of colonial rule, friction on educational matters persisted both between the British administration and that of the OCC and among the other organized bodies. The administration’s efforts to control the local educational system came to a halt with the end of colonialism. The British post-1931 policy was quite unsuccessful because the Greek Cypriot nationalists were able once more to use the vacating of the archiepiscopal throne to challenge colonial authorities. That is, with the passing of Archbishop Cyril III in 1933, the issue of elections for a new archbishop was placed onto the agenda. Nevertheless, the continuing absence of the other two bishops—who had been exiled by the British—and the colonial government’s actions prevented the election of a successor. Leontios, the Metropolitan of Paphos, who was the only bishop left on the island, held the archiepiscopal throne for 14 years as locum tenens (1933–1947). After World War II, during which the OCC appeared to be loyal in the struggle against fascism, the Holy Synod was reinstated, and a new archbishop was elected. Although in the 1930s, the British authorities passed legislation making the appointment of the archbishop subject to approval by the island’s British governor, the right of the Church to elect its archbishop and to administer its internal affairs without any state intervention was confirmed by the local courts.5 With the end of the Civil War in Greece (1949), during which time the Church had suspended pro-union activities so as not to embarrass the embattled Greek government in the presence of its British allies, the demand

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for union with Greece began to be expressed ever more forcefully.6 In 1950, Makarios III was elected to the archiepiscopal throne, and his reign (1950– 1977) unquestionably represents the high point of the Greek Cypriot ethnarchy. Makarios III assumed the role of national leader, or ethnarch, of the Greek Cypriot community. Under his leadership, the Greek Cypriot nationalist movement demanded the island’s union with Greece, which in turn spearheaded armed confrontation with the British (1955–1959). Makarios III and the Church were generally supportive of General Georgios Grivas’s campaign to expel British rule (under the auspices of the National Organization of Cypriot Fighters). The unionists’ goal was frustrated as negotiations among Greece, Turkey and the United Kingdom yielded the Zurich agreement (1959), whereby the Republic of Cyprus was established. In 1960, Archbishop Makarios III became its first president and held office until his death in 1977. Subsequently, the formal division of political and religious leadership occurred, with the OCC and the Republic of Cyprus electing different individuals for their respective leadership posts (Roudometof 2009a). After the 1974 Turkish invasion and the island’s division into Greek and Turkish parts, the republic’s territory was the subject of extensive religious homogenization. In the 2001 census, 93.3 percent of the inhabitants were Greek Orthodox Christians (Republic of Cyprus 2003). With the post-1977 establishment of separate leadership for the Republic’s presidency and the OCC, the Church effectively lost its status as a nation-leading institution. Survey data suggest that although modest levels of confidence in the Church prevail among the public, the majority does not support religious political activism.7 Of course, abandonment of the ethnarchic model does not imply a church uninvolved in the public sphere. As with all the other bishops in Orthodox churches, the bishops and the OCC archbishop remain vocal public figures who occasionally disagree and argue with politicians or take controversial stances on public issues. However, this modus operandi is quite distinct from a position of actual leadership in an entire ethnoconfessional community, which was the pre-1977 pattern of affairs. In due course of time, the OCC’s Holy Synod was able to reassert its authority as the number of bishoprics increased. After the 2006 archbishopric elections, the synod was further expanded, allowing for a more even distribution of power among bishops (Roudometof and Dietzel, forthcoming). In effect, this turn of events signified an effective de facto change of the role of the archbishop from an undisputed ecclesiastical authority to the leader of a functioning synod—similar to the synods governing Orthodox churches in other countries. Therefore, summing up the historical record, it is fair to say that during the British colonial period (1878–1960), the Church assumed the leadership post of the Greek Cypriots’ nationalist movement. The 20th-century ethnarchy might be viewed as a response to historically specific circumstances and not as a transhistorical feature of Cypriot Orthodox Christianity. Although the Church’s strategy contributed to legitimizing its authority in the

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public’s eyes, it imposed a high cost on its own institutional infrastructure: the Church spent most of the 20th century lacking a complete synod. Only in the 1960s did Archbishop Makarios III begin the task of filling the vacant eparchies (Kleanthous 2005). This institutional deficiency was spectacularly manifested during the most important ecclesiastical crisis in Makarios III’s tenure. In 1971–1973, the other three OCC bishops (Gennadios of Paphos, Anthimos of Citium and Kyprianos of Kerynia) challenged the archbishop’s authority. Specifically, they charged him with caesaropapism, or the conflation of religious and secular powers (for advocacy of the rival perspectives, see Mitsidis 1973 and Mpilalis 1974). Their goal was to force him to resign either the republic’s presidency or the archbishopric seat.8 Given that caesaropapism is a feature often assumed to be an inherent characteristic of Orthodox Christianity as such, it might come as a surprise to outsiders that this accusation was strategically employed. In other words, the social actors mastered sufficient self-reflexivity to use such a religious stereotype to serve their own policy objectives. Ultimately, Makarios III prevailed: a pan-Orthodox synod convened on the island with the participation of the patriarchs of Jerusalem and Alexandria deemed the accusations unjustified. Subsequently Makarios III proceeded to purge the hierarchs who had questioned his authority. Furthermore, he sought to undermine their power base: a new eparchy was created in Morfu, thereby usurping part of the territory from the Kerynia eparchy, whereas Limassol was elevated to an independent eparchy and separated from the eparchy of Citium. These developments laid the foundation for the synodical model’s eventual return. Makarios III also handpicked Chrysostomos, a loyal supporter and graduate of the Philosophical and Theological Faculty of the University of Athens, for the post of bishop of Paphos. Chrysostomos eventually became his successor to the throne in 1977. By 2006, the revamped Holy Synod of the OCC comprised, in addition to the archbishop, the metropolitans of Kerynia, Morfou, Paphos, Limassol, Citium (Larnaca) and Kykkos as well as a few assistant bishops (referred to as choroepiskopoi). The territorial presence, wealth and resources of the eparchies were uneven and acutely reflected historical developments. The archbishopric seat controlled an extensive territory encompassing most of the metropolitan area of Nicosia, with over 200,000 inhabitants, or 25 percent of the Republic of Cyprus’s population. In contrast, the metropolitans of Kerynia and Morfu had nominal control over their territories as these came under the control of Turkish troops in 1974. After the 2006 archiepiscopal elections, additional eparchies were created and filled. Portions of the seat’s territory and its economic resources were diverted to the new eparchies to provide them with necessary resources (Roudometof 2009c). By 2010, the OCC possessed a complete 15-member Holy Synod fully capable of assuming all decision-making. This swift re-establishment of the synodical model is an apt rebuttal to all those who in the past have viewed the ethnarchic model

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as identical with Orthodox Christianity per se—and to the underlying implication that the faith itself is inherently incapable of adjusting to modernity. COLONIALISM AND ORTHODOXY: AN ASSESSMENT In Cyprus, as in many other Orthodox countries, religion and national identity have been intertwined in the island’s history. During the Ottoman era, the Church’s involvement in the administration and economic life mirrors the broader modus operandi of Orthodox institutions throughout the Ottoman empire. The major difference between Cyprus and other regions is that the OCC hierarchs monopolized the kodjabash post, whereas the ecclesiastical institutions were able to control the economy of the island. Both developments reflect Cyprus’s socioeconomic underdevelopment during the centuries of Ottoman rule. In the post-1830 Ottoman reform era, the prelates’ political authority received further institutional legitimacy through the creation of the local administrative council. As a result, even in the course of the 19th century, the OCC hierarchs retained various administrative functions. This was overturned as a result of post-1878 British rule. The British refused to include ecclesiastical taxes within the framework of state taxation and would not accept the Church’s property claims for those Church holdings that lacked proper documentation. The Legislative Council established by the colonial administration further marginalized the prelate’s institutional role. The hierarchy reasserted its authority by exploiting the electoral process for the Legislative Council and by adopting a nationalistic mentality. As discussed in Chapter 5 of this volume, the nationalization of Orthodox Christianity is perhaps the main characteristic of the postOttoman Southeastern European Orthodox countries’ path to modernity. In this respect, the nationalization of the OCC is not exceptional but rather typical of the broader regional patterns. That is, as in Greece, Bulgaria, Romania and Bulgaria, Cyprus’s own historical trajectory for entering into the modern world entailed the gradual but steady identification of religious confession with a potential nation (Kitromilides 1979; Roudometof 2001; Bryant 2004). In the case of Cyprus, this process was further complicated by the Church’s adversarial relationship with the British colonial government (whereas in Greece, Serbia or Bulgaria, the religious hierarchy had to face secular national governments that did not antagonize the Church). The bitter conflicts and disputes of the era—beginning with the Citium Question and culminating in the Archiepiscopal Question—show the contested nature of this transformation as different constituencies, ranging from rich laypersons to the ideological camps of the modernists and traditionalists, attempted to gain control over ecclesiastical institutions as a means of gaining authority over the single most important institution of the Greek Cypriot community. In Cyprus, the hierarchs’ role as popular representatives brought them increasingly close to the rising Greek Cypriot nationalism.

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In the course of the 19th century, Greek nationalism was gradually imported to the island’s society. The peculiarity of Cyprus lies in the weakness of civil leadership within the Rum millet. In turn, this weakness caused the redeployment of Orthodoxy in the service of nation building to occur within the institutional structures of the Church itself. The transformation of the OCC was first and foremost an internal transformation of the nature, character, orientation and scope of the Orthodox ecclesiastical institutions on the island (the bishoprics, the archiepiscopal seat and so forth). This internal transformation registered a radical departure from the modus vivendi of the Ottoman era and the development of an adversarial relationship with the British colonial authorities. This feature is a major divergence vis-à-vis the experience of the Orthodox nations of Southeastern Europe and is a direct consequence of post-1878 British colonialism. In terms of the difference colonialism introduced into the ecclesiastical affairs of the island, it is clear that the colonial experience extensively modified the nature of the Church, making it far more secular in a sense and far more willing to participate in political processes. The Cypriot ethnarchy, however, was a historically specific pattern of social relations that was sustained for a brief period of time and in response to the situations and demands of the period. It was dissolved soon after 1977, and within the next 30-year period, the OCC was able to reconstitute a full synod, in effect re-establishing a clear-cut pattern of synodical government, which does not allow for one-man rule. Consequently, what appears to outsiders as a continuation of past practices (such as the symphonia between secular and religious leaders) is in reality the paradoxical result of colonial modernization “from above.” As with the rest of the Orthodox societies of Southeastern Europe (and discussed in Chapter 5 of this volume), Orthodoxy in Cyprus was redeployed in the service of nation-formation processes. However, for Cyprus, unlike the rest of the Ottoman provinces of Southeastern Europe, the coming of modernity was coterminous with its transition in the colonial sphere. In turn, this means that unlike the rest of the Orthodox Christian religious institutions operating in the post-Ottoman Orthodox countries of the region, the relationship between church and state in Cyprus was also a relationship between colonized subjects and colonizers. The past incorporation of the Church into Ottoman authority structures was replaced by the modern doctrine of church–state separation. Reacting to this state of affairs, the religious hierarchs entered forcefully and with considerable success into the arena of contemporary democratic politics, ironically using the very institutions set up by the colonial authorities. British colonialism introduced both the notion of church–state separation (in effect, a derivative of Western European secularism) and the practice of democratic politics. Local ecclesiastical institutions and their leaders had to operate within the new state of affairs. In Cyprus, modernization, religious institutions and nationalism developed close relationships.

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The seemingly paradoxical situation that emerged in Cyprus is quite unlike the rest of the Orthodox nations. Although a large part of ecclesiastical property was confiscated, to this day, the Church is an institution of private law, not an institution of public law. Unlike the Orthodox Churches in neighboring countries, the OCC is not under the control of a national government; its statutes are not the subject of state legislation. The Church’s leadership routinely engages in direct negotiations with the government of the Republic of Cyprus on numerous issues ranging from disputes over taxation to issues of economic development. British-imposed secularism might have succeeded in separating the Church from the state, but the Church also preserved its own complete legal independence vis-à-vis the state, which is arguably not the case in most Orthodox churches throughout Eastern Europe. Moreover, ecclesiastical institutions were never formally deprived of their right to participate in the country’s economy through full-scale nationalization of their property or their assets. As a result, Cyprus’s ecclesiastical institutions retain to this day extensive involvement in various economic activities—another part of their colonial legacy.

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Orthodox Christianity as a Transnational Religion

This chapter is a preliminary attempt to inquire into Orthodox Christianity’s transnational dimension. The chapter does not address the broader theme of ecclesiastical institutions’ reach beyond a state’s political boundaries. This broader topic has a long history and is addressed throughout the book’s chapters. One of the most intriguing aspects of the dissolution of the former Soviet Union pertains to the overnight constitution of a Russian Orthodox transnational community of several million people who reside outside the borders of the Russian federation (Cava 2001; Curanovic 2007; Matsuzato 2009). Russian Orthodoxy’s contemporary predicament has been discussed in Chapter 5 of this volume. For current purposes, and in light of the broader agenda of transnational studies—as this agenda has been expressed in sociological literature since the 1990s—transnationalism refers to the newfound situations and conditions that result from international migration and not to changes caused by the mere redrawing of state borders where no population movement has occurred. Migrants and their descendants usually display their transnational connections in a range between two forms. In the first form, migrants use religion to maintain ties to their home country. Consequently, both religion and nationalism become part of their transnational practices. In the second form, migrants participate in religious multiethnic networks that connect them to their coreligionists locally and globally. Their main allegiance is not to their original homeland but to their global religious community: religion in this sense offers a means for “transnational transcendence” (Csordas 2009) of identities and boundaries. Although a global orientation is prominent, the host state is still in charge of regulating the people’s movement across borders, their religious expression and issues of diversity and pluralism. The experience of transnationalism in Orthodox Christianity belongs overwhelmingly to the first form (Hammerli 2010). In recent centuries, people and their faith have travelled across oceans from their original Eastern European heartlands mostly to Australia, Canada, Germany and the United States. The result has been the creation of parishes and communities connecting the immigrants back to their original homeland and their mother churches. The fragmentation into ethnic groups and

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separate ecclesiastical units has also contributed to the difficulties of studying these groups as many are too small to attract the attention of social scientists, and the existence of complicated ecclesiastical arrangements does not make things easier.1 In this chapter, close attention is given to the situation of U.S.-based Orthodox Christianity. This is one of the most sizeable groups of Orthodox Christians outside the original Orthodox homelands. However, this is not the only reason for focusing on this group in this chapter. Of equal importance is that Orthodox Christianity has more than a century-long history in the United States. In contrast, the large majority of the Orthodox population in Germany, Australia and Canada are post-World War II immigrants. Additionally, the United States is a country with a strong Protestant culture, which is quite different from the public cultures of the Orthodox nations. In the United States, the ethnic or national divisions of Orthodox Christianity are expressed through the interplay between ethnic membership and religious identity. This theme is explored in this chapter through a discussion of the dilemmas of the Greek American community. The discussion concludes with a consideration of the U.S. Orthodox community’s potential to articulate a vision of global Orthodox Christianity or to evolve into a denationalized version of Orthodoxy. These developments also connect to the relationship developed between the EC-PATR and the Greek American community in the course of the 20th century. Therein lies the principal reason for examining the United States more closely: it offers the opportunity to examine the extent to which domestic religious pluralism has modified the orientation of Orthodox Christianity and whether the U.S. influence could provide the impetus for an active and constructive engagement with pluralism (Clapsis 2004; Prodromou 2004). THE TRANSNATIONALIZATION OF ORTHODOX CHRISTIANITY Outside of its heartlands, Orthodox Christianity typically is identified with a particular nation or ethnic group. However, this is not a universal tendency for variation does exist depending on the social and cultural context. In some congregations in Western Europe or North America, people of diverse national backgrounds might share the same church. It is a foregone conclusion that the diversity of cultural environments leads to different constellations of the relationship between religion and nation, between church and state and between majority and minority communities. No comprehensive survey of these diverse populations exists in the literature, and it is not possible to provide such a survey here. For example, it is estimated that more than 2 percent of Germany’s population consists of Orthodox Christians.2 Most of them are relatively recent (i.e., post-1945) immigrants. To date, the theme of transnationalism with reference to the

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populations of Orthodox Christians has been relatively underdeveloped (for an exception see Roudometof and Karpathakis 2002). Although immigration is discussed within the boundaries of each group, there is no attempt to discern commonalities and patterns that relate Orthodox Christianity to the practices of transnational migration.3 In other words, although they are ethnic diasporic or transnational groups, these communities do not constitute a single, far less a uniform, Orthodox diaspora. Rather, the very notion of an Orthodox diaspora per se is not supported by Orthodox Christian theology, ecclesiology or history (Papadakis 1997b; Hammerli 2010). The Orthodox Church, unlike its Roman Catholic counterpart, operates through the “local” (most often national) churches and not independently of them; migrants are therefore connected to their mother church for that church in effect is an instrument serving both secular and religious needs. Given the global distribution of Orthodox Christian populations, this chapter is primarily concerned with the transplantation of Orthodox Christianity in the major overseas immigrant destinations (Australia, Canada and the United States). In Canada, the mostly immigrant Orthodox population experienced an early peak in the 1920s, with the numbers recovering slowly to approximately 1.5 percent of the country’s population by the early 21st century. According to 2001 statistics, the Orthodox population was over 400,000, with the majority of this population belonging to the Greek, Ukrainian and Serb churches (Wigglesworth 2010). According to the 2001 census, Australia’s Orthodox population was 529,400, or 2.8 percent of the country’s population, experiencing a 6.5 percent increase since the 1996 census (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2005). According to U.S. statistics, the Eastern Orthodox population increased from 502,000 to 824,000 between 1990 and 2008 (U.S. Census Bureau 2010). However, informal statistics and expert evaluations of the number of Orthodox Christians in the United States are at great variance with official census statistics. According to FitzGerald (1995), by 1994, there were over 1,500 Orthodox parishes serving over three million parishioners. FitzGerald (2007) later revised this number to five million. According to the National Council of Churches (2009), the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America has a self-reported membership of 1.5 million, whereas the Orthodox Church in America (OCA) has a reported membership of 1,064,000. However, North American Orthodox jurisdictions have shown a historical tendency to exaggerate their membership figures. Ethnic and religious politics encourage them to use increasingly inflated figures (Stokoe and Kishovski 1995, Chapter 2; Krindatch 2002). Thus, their actual membership is part of the substantive discussions concerning the boundaries of different ethnic groups and whether these boundaries are coterminous with church membership.4 Nonetheless, even if these figures contain only a grain of truth, one has to concede that the overall figures of Orthodox Christians in the United States are considerably larger than in the other two major trans-Atlantic immigrant destinations (that is, Canada and Australia).

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Moreover, in the United States, Orthodox Christianity had to adjust and survive in a society with an active religious pluralism and a vibrant religious economy, where supply and demand is determined by individual choice and where no church is offered the status of a state or national religion. Thus, the U.S. experience offers the opportunity to observe the adaptation of Orthodox Christianity in a cultural environment radically different from that of its places of origin. Orthodox Christianity arrived in the United States in the late 18th century, originally from Alaska, where Russian colonists and native Alaskan converts operated the first churches. Its spread in the 19th and 20th centuries is concomitant with the migration of various ethnic groups in the United States. In particular, between 1870 and 1920, Orthodox emigration from the Balkan countries (Greece, Serbia, Bulgaria and the Ottoman parts of the Balkan Peninsula) was directed toward the Americas (Lampe and Jackson 1982:196). From California (Russians and Greeks in San Francisco, Serbians in Jackson) to the coal mines and the steel centers of Pennsylvania (Serbians, Carpatho-Russians or Ruthenians from the Carpathian mountain regions of the former Austro-Hungarian Empire) to urban centers (Greeks in New York, Chicago and Boston; Arabs in New York; Romanians in Cleveland, Ohio; Albanians in Boston), different groups of Orthodox immigrants have spread across the country (Krindatch 2002, 2006; FitzGerald 2007). Within U.S. society, Orthodox Christianity has operated as a cultural marker that signifies membership in a respective nation or in an “ethnic group” (in U.S. vocabulary). Hence, the Serb, Russian or Greek version of Orthodoxy also serves the preservation and reproduction of the immigrants’ national identity or what is usually referred to as “ethnicity” in U.S. literature (Waters 1990). Orthodoxy has been called a “religion of ethnicity” (Kunkelman 1990; see also Patterson 1989) in direct reference to the close association established and maintained between ethnic identity and church membership. This is acutely reflected in survey data results in which U.S.based Orthodox Christians report that regular church attendance, obeying the priest and observing Great Lent are not significant for their own understanding of what constitutes a “good Orthodox” (Krindatch 2010). As a result, “Orthodoxy in America has had to endure a certain degree of anonymity and cultural invisibility” (Clendenin [1994] 2002:13). It was and to some extent remains “exotic” for the country’s dominant Protestant culture, and it was previously confused with the other two branches of Christianity. Orthodox outreach into the mainstream has had limited success, and the various churches remain relatively insulated from the U.S.’s religious economy (Krindatch 2002; Lukas 2003). In large part, this is because Orthodox congregations rely mostly on ethnic reproduction or new immigration. There is a notable lack of sizeable groups of new converts. In addition to occasional differences in ecclesiology, new converts often exhibit a strict understanding of Orthodox Christianity, which in turn makes them adopt a critical attitude vis-à-vis the Orthodox religious establishment.

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Furthermore, their pan-Orthodox stance clashes with the ethnic element prominently displayed at the parish level. Institutionally, most Orthodox jurisdictions in the United States have been related or subordinated to their homeland churches (for a list of these arrangements, see Krindatch 2002, 2006:Table 1a). In this sense, the U.S. jurisdictions operate as diasporic churches or as churches that serve ethnic populations that maintain links to their original national homeland. This is reflected in language use in liturgical services, which in this instance can be used as a rough indicator of the extent of ethnic assimilation. The ethnic diversity of Orthodox immigrants living in the United States increased greatly in the course of the 20th century as successive migration waves brought more groups to the country. The patterns of development of the Orthodox jurisdictions in North America mirror the history of the ethnically diverse communities of Orthodox immigrants. Because of this and due to ties to homeland churches overseas, the Orthodox jurisdictions in the United States have operated as transnational institutions that maintain ties with their home country, and as a result, they were affected by the political, social and religious transformations that have taken place in the Old World. Perhaps the best example is the 1917 Bolshevik revolution, which led to the formation in the United States and Western Europe of several Orthodox jurisdictions with historical connections to the ROC. On November 7, 1920, Russian Patriarch Tikhon issued Decree No. 362 to allow the creation of provisional administrations in territories originally controlled by the Moscow Patriarchate. His decision was prompted by the civil war between Whites and Reds. In response, Metropolitan Anthony (Khrapovitsky), one of the highest hierarchs in the White-controlled territories, established the Highest Church Administration of South Russia, which eventually became the core of the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad (ROCA, also known as the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia or ROCOR). With the victory of the Reds and the creation of the Soviet Union, the ecclesiastical divisions became entrenched. Two main splinter groups formed in the United States and Western Europe, respectively: the ROCA and the Archdiocese of the ROC in Western Europe, an exarchate of the Ecumenical Patriarchate (Hammerli 2010:102). It was only after the dissolution of the former Soviet Union that ecclesiastical institutions re-established dialogue in an effort to remove past divisions and to achieve reintegration.5 In Ukraine, the government of the short-lived Ukrainian republic passed a 1919 law for the establishment of an independent Orthodox church. In 1921, the establishment of the UAOC was proclaimed at a so-called “allUkrainian” council. Because the council consisted of priests and laymen with no Orthodox bishops, this church was not recognized by other autocephalous and autonomous Orthodox churches as canonical. By the late 1920s, the communist authorities in Ukraine viewed the UAOC as an expression of Ukrainian nationalism, and in 1930, under communist pressure, the UAOC declared itself dissolved and was integrated into the ROC. During World

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War II, the UAOC was revived in Ukraine for a short period of time by Polish Orthodox bishops with the support of the Nazis. The UAOC was once more revived in post-1990 Ukraine (see Chapter 5 of this volume). Meanwhile, in North America, Ukrainian communities supported a movement toward autocephaly. With the support of Ukrainian priests, two separate Ukrainian Orthodox churches were established in the late 1920s. By 1996, these were united to form the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the USA. The new church was offered autonomy under the jurisdiction of the EC-PATR (Krindatch 2003:55). A second round of divisions occurred in the aftermath of World War II. When the Communist governments in Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and Romania limited and supervised church activities, the result was further splits among the Serbian (1963), Bulgarian (1963) and Romanian (1951) U.S.-based Orthodox parishes. These parishes’ memberships increased significantly at that time due to the waves of refugees and other displaced persons who fled the “Iron Curtain” (Bogolepov [1963] 2001; Krindatch 2002; FitzGerald 2007). Reflecting these demographic and political changes, Serbian, Bulgarian and Romanian dioceses divided into opposing factions, and a majority of parishes denounced their resident bishops and homeland churches as “tools of Communism.” These parishes formed new independent jurisdictions, but other parishes remained faithful to the mother churches. As mentioned in Chapter 5 of this volume, in 1959 in then-communist Yugoslavia, the Macedonians separated from the Serbs to form their own Macedonian Orthodox Church, using the Macedonian language in church services, and this development was mirrored in the overseas churches, causing further splits and divisions among immigrants (Danforth 2000). By the mid-20th century, ethnic fragmentation among the U.S.-based Orthodox immigrants led to the institutionalization of numerous ethnically defined churches (for details, see Stokoe and Kishovski 1995). Although this process was consistent with the logic of transnational nationalism, religious hierarchs realized the necessity of coordination and cooperation within the context of U.S. society. In 1960, the establishment of the Standing Conference of the Canonical Orthodox Bishops of the Americas (SCOBA) was viewed as a sign of growing Orthodox transnational unity in the United States. In addition to the re-establishment of a limited sense of religious unity, this movement expressed a sentiment toward the creation of a U.S.-based single ecclesiastical jurisdiction, possibly in the form of a single American patriarchate or an autocephalous U.S. Orthodox Church. However, to this day, SCOBA remains a consultative body as each ecclesiastical jurisdiction maintains its own distinct independence and characteristic features (FitzGerald 1995). Networks of dioceses and parishes belonging to the independent Orthodox jurisdictions coexist and overlap on the same national territory. This has been a clear violation of the longstanding canonical rule that dictates the necessity of a single ecclesiastical administrative structure for each territorial community. However, most of these churches view themselves as diasporic churches, which therefore connect an immigrant population to its own home country.

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The Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America and the OCA are the two largest Orthodox religious bodies in the United States. The OCA was a metropolia of the ROC until 1970, when it was granted a Tomos of autocephaly. Unlike other religious groups, it did not receive a massive influx of newcomers, and its development since the 1960s gave priority to gaining a foothold in the U.S. mainstream. Over time, its membership has consisted more of the second and third generations of former immigrants and of new converts. This group was first to adopt English as a liturgical language. It also became the first and only (until today) U.S.-based Orthodox ecclesiastical institution that self-consciously de-ethnicized or Americanized itself to ensure its own survival (Stokoe and Kishovski 1995). Its experience suggests the possibility of a successful engagement between Orthodox Christianity and the religious pluralism that is a dominant feature of U.S. society. However, to this day, although recognized by the ROC, the OCA has not been recognized by the EC-PATR. As a result, its status vis-à-vis other churches remains ambivalent, and this is reflected in the literature, with some authors including the OCA among the Orthodox churches, whereas others do not. In the next two sections, the discussion focuses on the other major institution, the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese, and the related Greek American community. This is the largest of the various immigrant Orthodox churches in North America; it covers nearly half of the total U.S. Orthodox population. However, it is also nearly evenly split regarding the language used in services (50 percent Greek, 50 percent English), whereas the OCA uses predominantly English in its services and is thus far less ethnicized than the Greek Orthodox Church. Moreover, the Greek American experience can be used as a good proxy for the experience of the other, smaller ethnic Orthodox communities in the United States, and as we will see, the Greek American experience clearly illustrates the dilemmas between ethnic and religious membership. THE GREEK AMERICAN EXPERIENCE Between 1899 and 1911, 253,983 people emigrated from the kingdom of Greece to the United States (Zolotas 1926:40). It is impossible to accurately estimate the total number of Greek and other Southeastern European immigrants who arrived in the United States during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This is because many of them reached the United States from the Ottoman Empire and not the Balkan nation-states, and U.S. officials frequently did not succeed in accurately reporting their ethnicity. Official U.S. statistics indicate that there were approximately 500,000 Greek immigrants by 1932. However, the overall figure might be as high as 800,000, with nearly half of them eventually returning to Greece by 1920 (Zotos 1976:18; Hasiotes 2006:27; see also Moskos 2004). In the course of the 20th century, the EC-PATR expanded its authority into overseas Greek immigrant communities (Erikson 1999). By 1892,

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Greek immigrants established the first Greek parish in New York City (Stokoe and Kishovski 1995, Chapter 2). From 1909 to 1931, the Patriarchate and U.S. Greek immigrant communities were deeply influenced by the bitter Greek national division between “royalists” (followers of King Constantine) and “Venizelists” (followers of populist Greek leader and Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos). Initially, in 1908, the Patriarchate passed on the jurisdiction of the Western European and the overseas communities, over which it held jurisdiction to the Church of Greece. In 1922, and in the course of these controversies, the Patriarchate revoked that initial decision and re-established its own authority over the diaspora.6 Subsequently, a close connection was established between U.S. Greeks and the EC-PATR: in 1931, the Patriarchate appointed the legendary Archbishop Athinagoras to the leadership position of the Greek Orthodox religious community. Athinagoras eventually was successful in easing the bitter rivalries in the community. He superimposed a centralized system of control that secured his oversight over local parish boards and over the collection of funds necessary for the economic survival of the archbishopric (Bruneau 1993). Thus, Athinagoras united the fragmented congregations and organized the various U.S. Greek parishes into the Greek Orthodox Archbishopric of North and South America (headquartered in New York City). In 1948, he was even elected ecumenical patriarch. His successors, Michael of Corinth (1948–1958) and Iakovos (1958–1996), continued this close relationship between U.S. immigrant communities and the Patriarchate. Given the Greeks’ rapid demographic decline in the Ottoman Empire and later in the Republic of Turkey, the expanded patriarchal jurisdiction has contributed to the very survival of the institution. Additionally, the ECPATR has been able to use the overseas communities as pressure groups to secure its position against right-wing campaigns to have the Patriarchate expelled from its traditional base in Istanbul.7 In the course of the 20th century, the creation of charitable institutions offering language instruction in the original mother tongue and regular church attendance as a means of maintaining ties with co-ethnics have all been important communal functions that have helped the Orthodox Church to maintain a key position in the Greek American community (Bruneau 1993; Petrou 2008:417–67). Of special importance is the role of the clergy, who often teach young people in Sunday schools about the importance not only of faith but also of their ethnicity. Often, the posting of hierarchs in overseas communities makes such hierarchs transnational immigrants who embody the ethnic diaspora’s transnational connections to the homeland; such was the case of Archbishop Athinagoras in the United States. Both in the United States and in Australia, the title of “ethnarch” has been applied to hierarchs who successfully combined these ecclesiastical and communal functions. Nonetheless, the status of the church is often shaped by the social functions it performs for the immigrant or diasporic community and the significance of these functions for the immigrant group. Growing assimilation into the U.S. mainstream therefore alters the social importance of the church.

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For the Greek American community, this process—which is by no means unique to them but is observed in nearly all ethnic communities in the United States—is related to the different waves of Greek immigration and the existence of immigrant cohorts with different profiles.8 The first major wave of Greek immigrants (450,000 people) arrived between 1900 and 1917. In subsequent years, immigration was greatly reduced but recovered in the period from 1966 to 1977 when 160,000 new immigrants arrived in the United States (Moskos 1989a, 2004; Hasiotes 1993:106). Therefore, Greek Americans should be differentiated into two cohorts with quite distinct profiles. On the one hand, the majority of Greek Americans currently consist of the surviving elders of the pre-1965 period, but increasingly, this group consists of their descendants, that is, the second- and third- or even fourth-generation Greek Americans—who often speak no Greek and whose relationship to their hybrid identity fits the label of symbolic ethnicity (Gans 1979). In the Midwest and the West, and like German or Swedish or many other Old World identities, Greekness is expressed through the institution of the local Orthodox parish and is identified with the ethnic dishes, the annual Greek Festival and the traditional dances performed by groups of young people affiliated with the local church. People therefore self-identify as Greek, although they speak no Greek and have a fluid or passing and vague attachment to Greece. The original group of the pre-1965 immigrants (and their descendants) has developed its ethnic identity away from modern Greece for nearly a century. Their turbulent history is part of the American pattern of White ethnic immigrant incorporation, whereby specific groups of European immigrants (such as the Irish and the Greek), who were for a long period of time the subjects of racism, ethnic discrimination and violent attacks, eventually succeeded in gaining acceptance from the broader society (Papaioannou 1985; Ignatiev 1996). This group of Greek Americans has a higher socioeconomic status compared to their Canadian and Australian counterparts because they have had a longer period to acculturate into the U.S. mainstream and to achieve higher social mobility within their host society. Their own self-image as model Americans (Anagnostou 2003) highly suggests a pattern whereby home traits were decoded and reinterpreted to fit into the U.S. social fabric. Negative experiences were (and still are) often marginalized and left outside of the Greek American typical portraits of immigrants who came with nothing but became highly successful members of U.S. society (see Stavrakakis 1999). The conventional parade of successful Greek Americans—ranging from actress Jennifer Aniston to former Clinton aide and ABC journalist George Stephanopoulos—is characteristic of this self-image. In recent memory, the most highly visible representation of this self-image is the widely successful film My Big Fat Greek Wedding (Wilson 2002), which became emblematic of widely popularized images of successful immigrant incorporation into U.S. society. In contrast to this majority, the post-1965 Greek American immigrants arrived in the United States more recently and settled mostly in large urban

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centers (such as New York). They have a lower socioeconomic status, and unlike the pre-1965 cohorts, their transnational identity continues to play a key role in their socialization into the U.S. mainstream.9 Although arguments have been made to the effect that the pre-1965 cohorts are more akin to Orthodox Americans rather than a Greek diaspora (Moskos 1989a, 1993), the post-1965 cohort maintains a close connection between Orthodox religion and ethno-national Greek identity. This is most prominently displayed in protests against the substitution of English for Greek in church services (Karpathakis 1994). Additionally, and like Italian Americans, individuals remain acutely aware of their tentative Whiteness as racial stereotypes follow Greek rather than the U.S. categories of racial classification (Karpathakis and Roudometof 2004). In terms of its importance to the home nation, the Greek American community is among the most important groups of the Hellenic diaspora. Communities in Australia, Canada and the United States account for half of this diaspora globally, and the United States alone is home to approximately 30 percent of the diasporic population (Roudometof 2010b). The Greek state’s interests lie in promoting the diaspora’s transnational national identity, in effect hoping to maximize support for Greek foreign policy in countries with large diasporic constituencies (Australia, Canada and the United States). Greek language schools or classes are held in approximately 40 countries around the world, and the total number of students enrolled in such programs is approximately 105,000 worldwide—35,000 of these are in North America (Oikonomikos Tachidromos 1997). The Greek state also sponsors radio and television programs, academic programs in Modern Greek or Hellenic Studies and other forms of cultural organization. However, there are significant differences in the profiles of the Hellenic diaspora communities, differences most acutely observed in the attitudes of their communities toward marriage and the homeland. Whereas 57.1 percent of Australian and Canadian Greeks express longing for their homeland and wish to return, only 42.5 percent of the U.S. Greek Americans report similar feelings. Of the families who express a desire to return to Greece, the overwhelming majority consists of families in which both spouses are of Greek origin. Yet such families are far more typical in Canada and Australia than in the United States. Although intermarriage is typical in the U.S. diaspora (where 50 percent of the diaspora marry outside their ethnic group), the Australian and Canadian diasporas have lower percentages of intermarriage (24.5 percent and 36.6 percent, respectively; Katsikas et al. 1995:54– 55). The differences reflect the slower pace of assimilation for the Greeks of Canada and Australia, especially when compared to the U.S. Greeks. The former appeared in large numbers only in the second half of the 20th century, whereas the latter have a history dating back to the early 20th century. These differences are acutely reflected in the mobilization of immigrant communities around issues of Greek national interest.10 The “Cyprus issue”11 has been a traditional rallying point; the Greek American

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community and its organized lobbying efforts were partially successful in the late 1970s, leading to congressional legislation favorable to the Greek positions. However, the goal of turning Greek Americans into a long-term “interest group” never materialized as Greece’s state policy in the 1980s adopted positions at odds with established U.S. policy goals (for a discussion, see Constas and Platias 1993). In the 1990s, the dispute between the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia and Greece provided another occasion for transnational immigrant mobilization (Roudometof 1996). Australian and Canadian Greek communities took the lead, thanks to the fact that their communities were situated in cities that also hosted Macedonian immigrant communities (Danforth 1995). In these two states, there were large numbers of immigrants from northern Greece, the region most severely affected by the Greek Civil War (1944–1949). Although the majority of them originated from the same region (mostly western Greek Macedonia), the immigrants believe that their own particular national identity is the only one that holds legitimacy. As Danforth (2000:27) writes, in the post-World War II period, the Macedonian, Bulgarian and Greek Orthodox national churches operated as transnational institutions shaping immigrant identity. The Macedonian conflict illustrates the transnational nationalism of these immigrant communities and the instrumental role of the Orthodox national churches in defining membership in a deterritorialized nation. DILEMMAS OF ETHNIC AND RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN THE UNITED STATES12 As mentioned, the Greek American community has experienced successive waves of new immigration and thus has encompassed different waves of immigrants. Greek immigration declined dramatically between 1930 and 1950, rising again between 1951 and 1975 (Karpathakis 1994:102). The post-1965 immigration wave contributed to a slower pace of assimilation and to a rupture between the older, increasingly English-speaking and upwardly mobile second- and third-generation ethnics and the more recent immigrants and their children (Karpathakis 1993). This second group had more recent and complex ties to Greece but also a lower socioeconomic status compared to the older immigrants (see Tavuchis 1972; Dinnerstein and Reimers 1982; Scoubry 1984; Monos 1986; Moskos 1989b; Kopan 1990; Katsas 1992). The issue of how many Greek Orthodox Americans can be described as Greek Americans is contentious, but the number is probably over one million.13 The problem relates to the criteria employed: should second and third generations be considered Greek? What about the children of mixed marriages? To avoid potential loss of membership due to intermarriage, the U.S.-based Greek Orthodox Church has carved out an identity for the

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American born, such as the second and third generations of the original immigrants. These groups’ status interests predispose them to opt for a specific Greek American identity created by the Church. This diasporic identity is often referred to as a “Hellenic” identity as opposed to a Greek transnational identity. It should be noted here that the terminological and conceptual difference between “Greek” and “Hellenic” exists solely in English. In Greek, the word “Hellenic” is the adjective for the noun “Hellas” (which is Greece’s official name and the one used in everyday language). Various agencies and branches of the Greek state use the word Hellenic, including the Secretariat General for the Hellenic Diaspora.14 However, in the words of the former U.S. Greek Orthodox Archbishop Iakovos, Hellenism is not an ethnicity but “a history and a culture . . . an idea permeating history.” For Iakovos, “those who identify Hellenism with ethnicism make a great mistake” because “this culture, this civilization, has been shared by ancient Greece with everybody. Even non-Greeks would not hesitate to say that we’re all Hellenes. Even Jefferson said that” (quoted in an interview with Odyssey 1994:36). This ecumenical particularism allows the Church to appropriate American national heroes—such as Jefferson—into its own pantheon, hence facilitating a bridge between Greek and American identities. The Church’s construction of this Hellenic identity mirrors the needs of the upwardly mobile second, third or even fourth generations of Greek Americans. According to the Hellenic identity’s foundational mythology, it is the various generations of Greek Americans who have maintained the “true” Greek identity and heritage (for example, see Patrinacos 1982:131) while simultaneously possessing the “virtues” of “honest personal work” and “respect” they have acquired in the New World. The experience of living in America and the “cultural attributes” they have acquired in this society delineate their identity.15 It is not that other Americans lack this glory; that is simply assumed. Instead, the argument is that those left behind—that is, Greeks in Greece now—lack these virtues. It is the Greek Americans through the Church who have maintained the “true” Greek or Hellenic traditions and are thereby “more Greek” than the Greeks in Greece. The immigrants are now American because they have acquired American virtues and possess Greek virtues. This dual heritage also distinguishes them from other Americans.16 Although the myth of Hellenic identity offers a useful bridgehead that can operate successfully for the second or third generations of immigrants, it is by no means surprising that the final outcome of this Americanization is the complete shedding of the ethno-national bond in favor of a clearly demarcated Orthodox universalism.17 In the 1990s, U.S.-based grass roots activists organized in the Orthodox Christian Laity (OCL) called for ecclesiastical reforms to increase church activism (for an overview of this agenda, see Sfekas and Matsoukas 1993). The OCL’s agenda called for specific policy recommendations. These included a complete separation of the Orthodox Church and the Greek American ethnic community, the participation of

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laity in the election of the clergy, the inclusion of women in highly visible positions within church rituals, the development by the Orthodox Church of its own specific forms of religious education, the promotion of evangelism to spread the Orthodox gospel and the creation of an autocephalous American Church. This agenda registers the impact of the U.S. culture of religious pluralism on Orthodox Christianity; in the language of the OCL leadership, it is the Holy Spirit that “inspired a group of laypersons and clergy to draw together from different parts of the country to develop an independent educational ministry for Orthodox renewal” (Matsoukas 1997:1). The necessity of being open and competing in a religious economy is also reflected in these policy recommendations. To put things in perspective, such laity-based movements are neither new nor isolated phenomena in Orthodox Christianity. They reflect a longstanding underlying conflict between the laity and the ecclesiastical organization as represented by the Church hierarchy. Historically, the post-1931 centralization of authority in the archbishoprics of North and South America and that of Australia after the 1960s gave rise to complaints from the laity. In Australia, there was even a break with the official hierarchy (Bruneau 1993). The typical complaints concerned the rights of the elected lay representatives of the local parish boards and the ability of the church hierarchy to override them in decisions concerning their autonomy over a range of issues, such as the hiring of teachers or of priests, local elections of board members or the disposition of the funds collected by the parishioners. Often, the laity has protested the interference of the clergy in communal affairs not clearly related to church matters. Although disputes between the laity and the church hierarchy are not unique in the Orthodox communities settled in immigrant-based societies (Australia, United States, Canada), in the United States, this issue is closely connected to the growing indigenization of Orthodoxy and the subsequent desire to craft institutions no longer connected to “mother churches.” Matsoukas (1997:2) argues, “the episcopacy ignores the fact that our faithful missionary lay ancestors developed Orthodox Christianity within the cultural norms of the society in which they lived” [emphasis added]. In other words, Orthodox Christianity must adjust to and comply with the U.S. norms of religious pluralism. In fact, the OCL activists are mostly descendants of Greek immigrants, and having acculturated into the American mainstream, they support the creation of a pan-American Patriarchate. Such an institution would be autocephalous (Matsoukas 2008). Hence, the Greek Americans would no longer be under patriarchal administrative control. To argue their case, they submitted that the members of the various U.S.-based Eastern Orthodox churches (Greek, Russian, Romanian, Serbian and so on) no longer constitute immigrants but rather full-blooded Americans who need to relate as such to ecclesiastical authorities. Therefore, instead of keeping its transnational ties, the U.S.-based Greek Orthodox Church should transform into a universalistic Orthodox church. Although

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this pan-Orthodox movement could be viewed as representing a return to the pre-national tradition of the Orthodox Church, it also registers a renationalization of the Orthodox Church within the context of U.S. society. In effect, the OCL thesis has been that ethnic remnants ought to be set aside—such as, for example, the use of Greek in liturgy—and that U.S. Orthodoxy should assume a clearly religious character free of any association with particular immigrant communities or their descendants. Although this might seem like a true universalist vision that adheres to the very essence of Christianity, it is also a proposal that reflects the U.S. model of religious pluralism and the specificity of U.S. culture. The proposal to replace English for Greek in liturgy formed the basis of a controversial language question within the Greek American community. It exposed identity struggles within the community. Although the Greek used in church services is an archaic form, suggestions to replace Greek with English immediately led to heated debates.18 The strongest reaction against this pan-Orthodox movement has come from the post-1965 Greek Americans. These more recent groups of immigrants are currently in the process of organizing into lobbying groups and other associations, thereby gaining a voice in community affairs and U.S. society at large (Karpathakis 1999). For them, the use of Greek language in liturgical services is a key factor in maintaining their symbolic association with the homeland. In the 1990s, the language question became a central issue in the politics of the Greek American community. It thus rendered visible the gap separating the older, established, middle-class generations from the newer, post1965, lower-class generation. The entire situation placed the Greek Orthodox Church at the center of this confrontation. Even where the Church hierarchy might have endorsed the OCL agenda, it faced important constraints. The Church’s headquarters are located in New York City, which has the largest, most recent and most active fundraising Greek American immigrant community in the United States. Many of these New York City immigrants are working, lower middle-class and small-business owners who focus on cultural features (such as language) to lay their claims to the Church. They are culturally and socially opposed to the OCL’s leaders who focus on Orthodox Christianity to define a new higher-status identity. Many have predicted that in the long run, the OCL agenda will eventually become more attractive for the majority of the Greek Orthodox believers in the United States. According to Moskos (1993:17), by the second half of the 20th century, the Orthodox Church in the United States was not a diasporic or an immigrant church. Rather, the Church was evolving into an indigenous American faith whose promise is limited only by the vision of its congregations. Moskos (1993:21) estimates that of the approximately 900,000 Greek Orthodox Americans, only 200,000 are first-generation immigrants. In his view, the vast majority of Greek Orthodox Americans constitutes a religious congregation in which functional knowledge of the

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Greek language (which he uses as a marker of Greek ethnicity) is limited to the first generation. Moving forward with this issue required the endorsement of the ECPATR. In theory, the OCL agenda to create a unified Eastern Orthodox Church in the United States would appear to be in line with the Patriarchate’s tradition of Orthodox universalism. However, although the EC-PATR might have favored the establishment of a U.S.-based pan-Orthodox church as a further step to its own legitimization as a global institution, the OCL viewed itself as a representation of the body of the Orthodox Church and, hence, as a de facto more legitimate source of authority than the Patriarchate. In the OCL view, the EC-PATR was an ineffective agent for Orthodox mobilization because of its dependence on a shrinking membership and its obligation to cater to the wishes of the Turkish authorities. Such a view clashes directly with the Patriarchate’s own self-image as a transnational agent, an issue that is discussed further in the next chapter. In 1994, following the enthronement of Bartholomew I as the ecumenical patriarch, Archbishop Iakovos, the legendary head of the archbishopric of North and South America, convened a meeting of the SCOBA in Ligonier, Pennsylvania. In that meeting, 29 Orthodox bishops declared U.S. Orthodoxy to be a single church and not multiple jurisdictions (Stokoe and Kishovski 1995, postscript; Counnelis 1997:12–13; Roudometof 2000b:384–86). The meeting included representatives of 10 (of a total of 13) U.S.-based Orthodox churches. Its expressed purpose was the creation of a pan-Orthodox church in the United States under Iakovos’s leadership. However, this move was in violation of the Church’s canons and met the Patriarchate’s resistance. The EC-PATR reacted quite swiftly by forcing the resignation of Archbishop Iakovos but also, significantly, by fragmenting the archbishopric of North and South America into four jurisdictions (Konidaris 2000:13) on July 30, 1996, with additional bishoprics created in Toronto, Buenos Aires and Mexico City. In effect, the EC-PATR created several smaller administrative units that would be easier to control. The patriarchal position was that the creation of a unified ecclesiastical structure in the New World is as much its own responsibility as the responsibility of the U.S. parishes.19 These actions sparked extensive OCL criticism. At the OCL’s 10th anniversary conference, keynote speaker Counnelis (1997) argued that the patriarchal view is that of a state church in complementarity to an empire or a state, whereas in contrast, the U.S. cultural norms are explicitly based on a strict separation between church and state. In his view, these are two distinct ecclesiastical cultures (for a response, see Stylianopoulos 1997). The EC-PATR further appointed Spiridon as the new metropolitan of America (July 30, 1995), replacing Iakovos (who was forced into retirement). Although the first American-born archbishop, Spiridon was expected to work to bring the Greek Orthodox Church of North America under not only the spiritual jurisdiction but also the practical control of the Patriarchate. Patriarchal authority was thus reasserted, and the OCL’s intentions of

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creating an indigenous U.S. Orthodox Church were thwarted. Soon afterward, however, Spiridon became the target of a strong reaction by the U.S. Greek Orthodox community, leading to a successful campaign for his removal from office (for details, see Walsh 2000; Kourvetaris 2005). His successor, Dimitrios, was eventually able to stabilize the situation. The OCL response has been to directly challenge patriarchal authority. In its view, the archbishopric of North and South America was an institution bound by its own charter, and the patriarchal reorganization violated the 1977 charter. Decision-making should instead take place in common laity– clergy congresses in which elected representatives would echo the parishioners’ concerns. In fact, in 2004, a lawsuit was filed against what were claimed to be unilateral actions undertaken by the high clergy (Matsoukas 2008). The OCL further sponsored the revision and publication of Bogolepov’s book Toward an American Orthodox Church, in which the author explicitly argues in favor of a U.S. autocephalous church, suggesting that recognition of an autocephalous church by the EC-PATR is not an ecclesiastical necessity (Bogolepov [1963] 2001:29–37). Instead, recognition could be sought by a mother church. It is acknowledged that suspension of communion will occur as a result of a unilateral action, but it is argued that this will be a temporary obstacle given that past experience has shown that typically the fait accompli is recognized at a later time through the publication of an act or a Tomos formally granting autocephaly. In the OCL’s view, the EC-PATR conducted a violent takeover of the U.S.-based Greek Orthodox Church. In particular, resentment has been expressed over Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew’s active role in establishing the U.S.-based Greek Orthodox Church under his own authority and against the high clergy’s criticism that the OCL’s style and concerns reflect a “Protestantization” of Orthodoxy. Moreover, the OCL has been critical of the patriarchal strategy to intertwine the ethnic and religious elements of the Church (Matsoukas 2008). It is of course true that in the Patriarchate’s view, the Greek American community represents an important constituency. In effect, the Patriarchate has seized upon the Greek American lobby as a means for applying “soft power” (Yannas 2009) to the U.S. government to raise the issue of the protection of the EC-PATR in Turkey. The patriarchal strategy has been quite successful: in 2006, the U.S. State Department issued statements that clearly placed the Patriarchate onto the agenda of U.S.–Turkey relations. In addition to being in line with a long-term strategy of trans-Atlantic connections, the patriarchal strategy has effectively traded the traditional support of the Greek state (a rather weak geopolitical actor) for the support of a far more powerful patron, the United States. It is necessary to point out, however, that the patriarchal strategy is not pursued in an instrumental fashion. Rather, the Patriarchate has developed this strategy in accordance with its own vision of deterritorialized religiosity. This theme is explored fully in the next chapter.

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CONCLUSIONS Most current observers concur that it is unlikely that the U.S.-based Orthodox jurisdictions will be reorganized into a unified structure in the near future (FitzGerald 1995; Erickson 1999:126). Although many among the U.S. clergy might be in favor of such a turn or view it as a long-term inevitable conclusion, the current status quo is far more likely to persist at least for the foreseeable future. U.S.-based Orthodox Christianity is therefore bound to remain profoundly transnational but also connected to specific ethnic groups, albeit most often in the form of symbolic ethnicity. The development of transnational religion has been expressed in terms of the reproduction of the church–nation link in use in Orthodox Christianity since the beginnings of the modern era. Orthodox Christianity as a transnational religion in the New World has remained connected to the original immigrant cohorts and their descendants. Subsequently, whereas Orthodox Christianity can be described as a deterritorialized religion—in the sense of jurisdictions that operate across the Atlantic—its transnational connection continues to operate within the boundaries of specific ethnic or national groups. It has not developed or at least not fully developed either a form of transnational religiosity that would transcend the original ethnic boundaries or a reterritorialized or an Americanized version of Orthodox Christianity. In terms of the dialectic of deterritorialization and reterritorialization introduced in Chapter 1 of this volume (and further discussed in the next chapter), the propensity of U.S.-based Orthodox Christianity is to operate in a deterritorialized or transnational fashion. To this day, and much to the frustration of the OCL, no successful turn toward a reterritorialized Orthodox Christianity has emerged. That would involve the development of an autocephalous U.S.-based Orthodox Church. That step requires severing the transnational link between ethnic/national and religious identity—precisely what the OCL agenda suggested. This is a distinction quite meaningful in the context of the U.S. separation of religious and secular domains. It registers the impact of U.S. culture on Orthodox Christianity. This chapter’s discussion used the Greek American community, the most sizeable ethnic Orthodox Church in the United States, as the principal case study. The Greek Orthodox Church’s ability to move back and forth between a more symbolic definition of ethnicity (the Hellenic identity) and a more immediate sense of ethnicity (a transnational Greek identity) allows for the reproduction of religious identity. The Church practically maintains its strength by navigating across and adjusting to both interpretations. Although this narrative is specific to the Greek American community, it offers a good illustration of the situation in most of the U.S.-based Orthodox immigrant communities, with the obvious exception of the OCA. Over time, the nature of church membership gradually shifts from membership to a clearly demarcated national ethno-confessional community to a religiously

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defined community that does not discriminate in terms of country of origin. This shift registers profoundly with the understanding of church membership in the U.S. context of religious pluralism and of a functioning religious economy. Given the way events have unfolded within the Greek Orthodox Church, it seems reasonable to suggest that the Orthodox engagement with U.S.-based religious pluralism remains quite limited. As Prodromou (2004:750) has insightfully pointed out, the debate over Orthodox identity in the United States has been polarized between two competing perspectives. On one side, there are those who argue that the U.S.based Orthodox ecclesiastical jurisdictions have been successfully insulated against U.S. religious pluralism, in large part thanks to their ethnic, spiritual and ecclesial structures. For them, Orthodox institutions in the New World should continue to protect themselves from religious pluralism, and their long-standing ties with the mother churches should be preserved. On the other side, there are those who view U.S. religious pluralism as a challenge and an opportunity for Orthodox Christianity. In their view, Orthodox institutions should adapt to U.S. culture, with an implicit preference toward ethnic assimilation into the U.S. “melting pot.” In their view, Orthodoxy should join the U.S. religious market by creating a U.S.-based or American religious identity open to all without particularistic divisions based on ethnicity, language or origin. Acceptance of this route is simultaneously an endorsement of both the universalistic element of Orthodox Christianity and an Americanization of the faith. Such a development would certainly have the potential to revolutionize Orthodox Christianity not only in the New World but also in the Old World.

8

Territoriality, Globality and Orthodoxy

As noted in Chapter 1 of this volume, globalization operates through a dialectic of deterritorialization and reterritorialization (Scholte 2000). That is, on the one hand, increased cross-cultural contact and trends toward the construction of a global culture (Boli and Lechner 2005) lead to the possibility of lifting social relations from their original geographical setting, transforming a locale into a concept not always tied to a physical setting. On the other hand, the very same processes allow for the possibility of reconstructing, creating or re-creating locality. Both processes reshape the world’s religious landscapes. In this book’s previous chapters, the historicity of these processes has been highlighted. During the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century, this dialectic of deterritorialization and reterritorialization was expressed through the gradual fragmentation of the Ottoman Empire and the reterritorialization of authority within the emerging Southeastern European nation-states. In the post-1989 period, a similar process operated with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the reterritorialization of authority within the post-Soviet states. Thus, this dialectic continues to impact the world’s territories and to cause new developments. In the 21st century, the current era of contemporary globalization, this dialectic poses new dilemmas for ecclesiastical institutions. Before discussing these contemporary challenges, however, it is important to introduce the notion of globality and to connect this notion to the concept of globalization. This is necessary because these new challenges are intimately connected to the experience of globality in the world in which we live. As noted in Chapter 1 of this volume, the concept of globalization refers to the accelerated pace of contact among cultures, peoples and civilizations or the sense that the world is “shrinking.” Almost by definition, then, globalization is about speed, and speed involves both spatial and/or temporal shifts (speed = space/time). In Albrow’s (1997:88) work, for example, globalization is viewed as a temporal “historical transformation” whereby the world moves from the pre-1945 modern age to a post-1945 “global age.” This interpretation stresses temporality and views globalization and globality as superseding modernization and modernity. In contrast, Waters (1995:3) has defined globalization as a social process “whereby the

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constraints of geography on social activity recede and people are aware that they are receding,” a definition that stresses the connection between globalization and the reconfiguration of spatial boundaries. Globality is the social condition generated by globalization’s growing “thickness” over the last 200–500 years—its growing penetration into individual life-worlds. Globality refers to the simultaneous and/or synchronous experience of events and relationships by the people of the globe as well as the reflexivity generated by this awareness (such as the Millennium celebrations or the Olympic Games) (Short 2001; Flusty 2004). It involves the proliferation of hybridity and the experience of cultural pluralism and ethnic or religious difference in everyday life (see Clapsis 2004). These facilitate the empowerment of individual choice over social control mechanisms and communitarian thinking and further add to the relativization of identity (Robertson 1992). Post-1945 globalization is increasingly thick; it is felt in everyday life and makes globality a reality for most people around the world. This awareness of the global is translated into new efforts to develop institutions and mentalities capable of active engagement with the contemporary world. However, should these institutions be global in orientation, or should they be local in scope? Should national churches view contemporary globalization as a threat or an opportunity? These are some of the contemporary dilemmas that religious people face all around the globe (see Rifkin 2003). In this chapter, the analysis is concerned with highlighting the different religious responses to this problem and the different institutional responses that Orthodox ecclesiastical institutions offer to the challenges of the 21st century. In this chapter, I contrast the views and responses of the OCG with the response and viewpoints of the EC-PATR. This allows for effective disentanglement between the issue of “nationality,” which is often considered to be a (real or imagined) factor in disputes between the EC-PATR (often viewed as a “Greek” institution) and other national churches. Therefore, this contrast offers the opportunity to present underlying differences of perspective and attitude without the burden or the suspicion of nationalist motives hidden within religious rhetoric. Rather, the OCG serves as a proxy for the institutional perspectives and attitudes of many other Eastern European Orthodox churches. In the post1989 period, the OCG has come to view globalization as a threat to the modern synthesis of church and nation. Unlike the OCG, the EC-PATR, consistent with its history, has evolved into a transnational institution in the course of the 20th century. Over the post-1989 period, EC-PATR has further promoted its long-standing ecclesiastical status as a global institution representing all Orthodox Christians. The two institutions have adopted different views with regard to territorialization and globality. In this chapter’s final section, I analyze the 2003–2004 dispute between the OCG and the EC-PATR and argue that this institutional dispute can be explained in terms of the different religious responses to globality spearheaded by these

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two institutions. This dispute provides a splendid example of a controversy over the orientation of Greek Orthodoxy vis-à-vis globality. To the extent that the EC-PATR is also a key institution for future developments within Orthodox Christianity, this dispute sheds light on its attitude and possible actions in the course of the 21st century. DEFENDING THE MODERN SYNTHESIS During globalization’s contemporary period (1945–), modern societies entered a “second modernity” (Beck 1992), the basic characteristic of which has been the growing and persistent individualization of areas previously untouched by it—such as interpersonal relations, the family, sexuality, etc. (Beck and Beck-Gerhsheim 2002). Religion has been further individualized, leading to greater privatization in some cases but also leading to personalized bricolage, whereby the individual can approach religious practices in an eclectic manner (Beyer 1994). Simultaneously, religion has been transnationalized (Casanova 1994) with the growth of transnational institutions, the migration of religious faiths in new areas of missionary work and a nearly global religious revival (Bastian, Champion, and Rousselet 2001; Berger 2002; Rifkin 2003). During the second half of the 20th century, most of the developing societies of Southeastern Europe became, in effect, urban societies for the very first time in their modern history (statistics cited in Stoianovich 1994:212–15, 223–25). Their steadfast urbanization altered the traditional moral bases of their cohesion. In the Greek case, this trend is manifested in the post-World War II statistics on religious attendance that show a clear decline in religiosity rates (for data and analysis, see Makrides 1995; for more recent data, Halman 2003). During the 1967–1974 military dictatorship, the regime’s official policy of pursuing the creation of a “Greece of Christian Greeks” provided a spectacular example of applying the ideology of “Hellenic Christian civilization” to cultural matters (Gazi 2004:34–50). The next turning point was the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe, which had a dramatic impact on European social, economic and political affairs. During the post-1989 period, the most popular response among Orthodox national churches throughout Eastern Europe has been to cling to their version of the modern synthesis of church and nation in the face of contemporary globalization (for discussions of individual cases, see Roudometof et al. 2005 and Ivekovic 2002). Orthodox intellectuals and religious leaders in Greece are not an exception to this generalization. The Greek defensive worldview draws on the perspectives of two distinct groups that share this overall orientation, albeit in a quite different manner. First, there is a group of neo-Orthodox intellectuals aiming at a spiritual renewal of Greek Orthodoxy through a return to tradition (see Makrides 1998). Second, there are

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ecclesiastical organizations and church hierarchs who are uncompromising defenders of the modern synthesis. Left-wing Greek newspapers often accuse this group of close association with right-wing ideological perspectives and sentiments. This group sponsored the late Archbishop Christodoulos’s ascendancy to the archbishopric of the OCG in 1998. In their view, the OCG is an agent of moral regeneration for the Greek people. Christodoulos’s tenure (1998– 2008) was characterized by controversy as it exhibited all the contradictions of a period of rapid change and transition (Roudometof and Makrides 2010). By far, the most visible such case was the 2000 ID crisis, during which the OCG publicly disagreed with the Greek government over whether the new ID cards should include an entry for religious affiliation. Whereas the Greek government insisted that EU regulations prohibited such a disclosure, the OCG opted for voluntary disclosure, leading to a protracted public crisis (for analyses, see Roudometof 2005b; Danopoulos 2004; Stavrakakis 2003). The images of Greek bishops and believers protesting against the Greek government’s effort to institute new ID cards that would exclude an entry for religious affiliation were widely circulated among the European public (for discussions, see Molokotos-Liederman 2003, 2007a, 2007b; Makrides 2005). This affair also marked a turning point in the relationship between the OCG and the Greek public. Outside of Greece, the ID crisis also contributed greatly to the proliferation of a negative image of the OCG. The OCG’s image was that of an anti-modern institution set against the forces of modernization and Europeanization. To skeptics, it offered additional evidence of the incompatibility of Orthodoxy and modernity and of excluding Orthodox countries from the European Union (EU). To more knowledgeable specialists, the entire affair indicated that Greece is not isolated from the nearly worldwide religious revival and the deprivatization of religion observed in most developed or still-developing countries (Casanova 1994; Haynes 1998). Related research has suggested that Western Europe remains an “exceptional case” compared to worldwide desecularization trends (Davie 2002), thereby increasing the visibility of the Greek Orthodox case vis-à-vis the more “skeptical” West Europeans. It is important to note that the ID crisis was part of a broader range of topics that have marked the Church’s forceful engagement in public life in a new form under the late Archbishop Christodoulos. The OCG found itself in a new and evolving social and cultural landscape. The influx of close to one million legal and illegal immigrants into Greece since 1989 seriously affected the traditional fabric of Greek society by producing significant challenges related to religious plurality, multicultural coexistence and conditions on the ground as part of the reality of everyday life. Simultaneously, the EU and various Europeanization projects spearheaded by the state and other supranational institutions sought to provide a legal and institutional framework for registering this new situation in state legislature and administrative practice. Moreover, it is necessary to mention the cultural influx of new

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mass media that further added to the impression of a siege on traditional “local” institutions such as the Church—a siege allegedly waged by broader “global” forces. The OCG reacted to these multiple challenges by reentering the public domain forcefully to reassert its traditional privileged legal, social and cultural status. Its efforts have been variously referred to as “politicization” of the Church or “deprivatization” of Orthodoxy (Alivizatos 1999; Stavrakakis 2003; Roudometof 2005b). The politicization of Orthodoxy has been expressed in various issues raised in the context of church–state relations: cremation, catechism in Greek public schools, the status of civil versus church weddings, the OCG’s role in providing welfare for ethnic Greeks alone (vs. Muslim Greek citizens), the construction of a mosque in Athens, the status of the oath in public ceremonies and the rights of religious minorities; all are topics of great concern that involve the state and its relationship to the OCG. However, the deprivatization of religion has also been expressed in a tapestry of topics pertaining to the relationship between Orthodox Christianity and the broader Greek society and culture; for example, the OCG’s newfound role in welfare, the use of popular music to convey religious messages and the efforts to come to terms with the role of women in the OCG are all examples of a refashioning of the relationship between Orthodoxy and modern Greek society and culture (Makrides and Roudometof 2010). The late Archbishop Christodoulos was a key figure in this new chapter in the history of Orthodox Christianity in Greece, earning ardent supporters and vehement critics. His public reception within Greek society was marked by a strong and unusual polarization of views. Certainly, the Left has found in him an epigone of the nationalists’ mentality, the ultra-right wing faction of the Right and other anticommunist forces. Yet even neoliberal thinkers, such as former minister and free market promoter Andreas Andrianopoulos (2001), have expressed reservations about the strong advocacy of the church–nation link asserted in Christodoulos’s discourse and the siege mentality often evoked in his speeches and other forms of public communication. Nonetheless, the assertion of the church–nation link is less unusual than it might seem at first glance. In an analysis of the encyclicals of the OCG’s Holy Synod for the period between 1833 and 2000, Papageorgiou (2000) finds that this assertion has always informed the self-image of the OCG hierarchy. That is, the ecclesiology of the sender [that is, the Holy Synod of the OCG] is expressing a church that identifies with and walks along the Greek nation. The Church is always described as a national force. It holds the historical title of the national Church, and it is in this capacity that it faces contemporary problems and signals its presence in Modern Greek society (Papageorgiou 2000:279–80, Greek in the original, translation by the author).

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In the eyes of the hierarchy, religion, family and homeland are thus the cornerstones of Greek society. Consequently, Papageorgiou (2000:284) concludes that the Church’s image is that of traditionalism and the past, “a closed system that is connected to the values of the past without attempting openings toward . . . the present and the future.” The encyclicals reveal the synod’s identification of itself with the Church as an institution, thereby excluding the laity from being active members in the workings of the institution. In conjunction with the legal ethics that prevail in the texts, the Church’s self-image is that of a bureaucracy that exists in collaboration with the state and often acts as an extension of public authority in a hierarchical manner (“top down”) vis-à-vis its members. Subsequently, despite innovations, Christodoulos was far less exceptional in the substance of his approach and thinking than critics often assume. Defending the modern synthesis of church and nation is an approach consistently voiced by the Church hierarchy in Greece for most for its modern history—and this simply registers the continuation of the processes described in Chapter 5 of this volume, whereby Orthodoxy has been redeployed as a facet of modern national identity. Certainly, Christodoulos’s charisma lay in his ability to express opinions and views openly and directly in a manner highly effective for his audience. However, the OCG’s stance vis-à-vis various legislative efforts of the state has basically been to declare secularizing initiatives as inherently “anti-Christian,” only to find itself compromising on these fronts as time went on (see Nikolopoulos 2005 for a review of various cases). For the defenders of the modern synthesis of church and nation, Orthodoxy is a chain of national memory (Hervieu-Léger 2000), an interpretation consistently advocated by Archbishop Christodoulos (1999), who routinely reminded his audience of the critical role of religion in the preservation of Greek national identity in past centuries. In his own words, Hellenism cannot live without visions and hope. Only if the castle of our memory remains unconquered and maintained by our legends and those who incarnate our National Idea, only then can our Genos (Race or Progeny) become glorious. And our Genos can survive only if it embraces again the life-giving Greek-Orthodoxy” (Christodoulos 1999:52, Greek in the original, translation by the author). For Christodoulos (2001), Greek diasporic communities have failed to reproduce the church–nation link that forms an essential ingredient of modern Greek identity. In other words, this vision of defending the modern synthesis of church and nation has a strong territorial component: Orthodoxy can be properly experienced in the territory of the Greek nation-state alone and not in “alien lands.” Contemporary globalization should be resisted because it threatens to disrupt this link even within the Greek state. For Christodoulos (1999:127), globality means “a common hindsight and prospect based on the choices of the powerful. [It means] the decline and perhaps

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even disappearance of locality.” The Church is the only institution that is capable of resisting global forces that would otherwise undermine Greek national identity. Therefore, whereas on the surface, the archbishop’s rhetoric seems similar to the Left’s rejection of the New World Order, a great gulf separates the archbishop’s position from the position of leftist activists opposing free trade or the World Trade Organization. In the archbishop’s view, the nation must be preserved from the “globalization threat” through a revival of the modern synthesis of church and nation, a synthesis that is anything but modern for him. Given that this intertwining of religion and nationalism has been used in the course of 20th-century Greek history to justify the persecution of the Left by right-wing governments, it is not surprising that the Left viewed Christodoulos as a right-wing nationalist cleric more interested in partisan politics than in ecclesiastical affairs (see Stavrakakis 2003; Alivizatos 1999). However, the archbishop’s position was neither idiosyncratic nor isolated from the broader tenets of conventional ecclesiastical discourse. Through these lenses, it is the OCG that should be the legitimate bearer of the faithful of the Greek nation. This stance was manifested in Archbishop Christodoulos’s consistent efforts to claim for the OCG a standing similar to that of the Ecumenical Patriarchate—such as the ultimately successful attempt to open its own lobbying office in Brussels, which is discussed in the chapter’s next section. Following patriarchal visits to Rome and after the pope’s visit in Greece, Archbishop Christodoulos reciprocated the pope’s visit by traveling to Rome just two weeks after the widely publicized papal visit to the Ecumenical Patriarch in Istanbul.1 In so doing, the archbishop went against the expressed desires of conservative hierarchs but acted consistently with the OCG’s image of representing the Greek nationstate in interfaith dialogue. In the archbishop’s view, the Church has a critical role to play in the process of building a common European home. Given Europe’s moral decline, the Church should revive its missionary spirit and engage with the Western European audience (Roudometof 2005b:104, footnote 14). It is important to realize that this religious response does not imply the OCG’s endorsement of or subordination to the policies of the Greek state. On the contrary, by grounding its self-image in Greek national identity, the OCG can adopt a flexible strategy with respect to state policy. That is, insofar as the state legislature confirms the OCG’s privileged position in religious matters, the OCG does not complain about the “interference” by the state into its own affairs. As discussed in this chapter’s last section, the OCG is willing to invoke such legislation to protect its own interests. However, whenever the state dares to propose or enact legislation that would undermine the OCG’s privileged position, the OCG is capable of publicly criticizing state authorities or campaigning against the politicians who sponsor such legislation.2 Such was the case with the 2000 “ID Crisis.” Therefore, the overall strategy of the OCG for defending the modern synthesis of

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church and nation is expressed through a flexible or opportunistic use of the state apparatus and secular legislation. As will be shown in this chapter’s final section, the 2003–2004 crisis provides an application of this broader strategy. GREEK ORTHODOXY AS A TRANSNATIONAL AND GLOBAL RELIGIOUS CULTURE As discussed in Chapter 5 of this volume, after 1800, nationalism fragmented the religious unity of the Ottoman Greek Orthodox Christians. The patriarchal response to these events was twofold. On the one hand, the Patriarchate attempted to revive projects of religious unity: in 1902, for example, Patriarch Joachim III issued a call to sister Orthodox churches to consider interfaith dialogue and move toward religious ecumenism. This early call was quite unsuccessful for at the time, the Balkan Orthodox churches were deeply involved in the political rivalries of the Balkan states, leaving little room for such bold initiatives. Even Joachim III found himself in direct opposition to the Greek state’s policy of using religious institutions to conduct nationalist propaganda in the territories of the Ottoman Empire. Despite such difficulties, the Patriarchate persisted in this route, and throughout the 20th century, it played a key role in the articulation and institutionalization of the ecumenical movement and the creation of the World Council of Churches (Tsetsis 1988; see also Tsompanides 2008). On the other hand, in the course of the 19th century, the EC-PATR gradually aligned itself toward what can be termed a position of transnational Hellenism (Roudometof 2000b). That is, following the 1870s, with the gradual loss of its ecclesiastical control over Serbia, Romania and Bulgaria, the Patriarchal jurisdiction was reduced to the Greek Orthodox, Greek-speaking communities in the territories of the Ottoman Empire (for historical overviews of the 19th-century debates, see Matalas 2003 and Stamatopoulos 2003). Post-1923 Turkish legislation treats the Patriarchate solely through the lenses of its association with this ethnic community, and currently, this remains an obstacle to the revival of universalistic patriarchal claims.3 As discussed in Chapter 7 of this volume, in the course of the 20th century, the EC-PATR developed a particularly strong institutional relationship with the Greek American community. It was not an isolated phenomenon. In the second half of the 20th century, the Patriarchate emerged as a transnational organization representing Orthodox Greeks living around the globe. Thanks to extensive post-World War II Greek immigration into Canada and Australia, the areas under direct patriarchal jurisdiction have increased: by 2000, they included the archbishopric of Constantinople and four other bishoprics in Turkey, the prefecture of the Dodecanese islands, the semi-autonomous Church of Crete and the monastic community of Mount Athos, all of them in Greece, as well as all diasporic Greek archbishoprics and bishoprics in

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North and South America, Western Europe, Oceania and East Asia (for the full list, see Konidaris 2000:13–14). In addition to these regions, there are some Greek territories that remain under nominal patriarchal control (this will be discussed in this chapter’s following pages). This extension of patriarchal control allows the Patriarchate to have under its direct jurisdiction not only the few thousands of remaining Orthodox in Turkey but also a total of nearly 2.8 million faithful worldwide. This transnationalization or “globalization” of patriarchal authority also creates the following practical conceptual difficulty. Although in practical terms the EC-PATR operates as a transnational institution for ethnic Greeks alone, its self-image is that of a global institution. That is, although it accepts the autocephaly of national churches and the other patriarchates, the patriarchal view is that all remaining regions of the globe come under its own jurisdiction because the Patriarchate maintains its traditional status of primus inter pares (first amongst equals) within the Orthodox milieu. This authority rests on the decisions made in the second and fourth Ecumenical Councils (Konidaris 2000:11), decisions that are binding in theory for all Orthodox churches. Hence, the Patriarchate views itself as the sole authority capable of conferring or withdrawing canonical status to local churches and the high clergy. In the course of the 20th century, the EC-PATR used this authority to officially support the establishment and operation of expatriate Eastern European churches that were established by those who fled communist rule in Eastern Europe (already mentioned in Chapters 5 and 7 of this volume). In the second half of the 20th century, the Patriarchate further defended its universal self-image and its right to act as the supreme authority among Orthodox churches against post-1945 overtures by the Moscow Patriarchate, which attempted to informally assume such a central role (for an overview, see Kitromilides 2010). The post-1989 collapse of communism in Eastern Europe further contributed to the consolidation of the Patriarchate’s status as a global agent. As mentioned in Chapter 5 of this volume, this consolidation is related largely to the Patriarchate’s role as arbiter in cases of administrative disputes. In the post-1989 post-Soviet region, there were several instances—Estonia, Moldova, Ukraine, Abkhazia and South Ossetia—in which the Patriarchate’s status in confirming the status of newly reconstituted or created jurisdictions implicitly brought it into conflict with the designs of the ROC (Sysyn 2003; Payne 2007; Matzuzato 2009). The ROC’s efforts have been concentrated in preserving its ecclesiastical jurisdictions as a symbolic and practical means of maintaining connections with those Russians who have found themselves outside the borders of the post-1991 Russian federation. In so doing, the ROC has often been cast in the role of a villain attempting to preserve Russian hegemony to these areas. Unlike this generally defensive Russian Orthodox ecclesiastical worldview (Agadjanian 2003), in the second half of the 20th century, Orthodox theologians and clerics affiliated with the EC-PATR have elaborated an affirmative

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view of globality; that is, although they acknowledge the problematic nature of globalization, they tend to view it as a challenge and not as a threat. By far, the most open view toward globality is to be found in the writings of Anastasios (2003:194), the Orthodox Archbishop of Tirana and all Albania: “Christians in general, and we Orthodox in particular, are neither puzzled nor surprised by the process of globalization. The necessity for maintaining a worldwide perspective in spiritual matters has always been self-evident to us. This global dimension is a basic ingredient of Orthodoxy.” This stance aims to recast Orthodoxy as a “global religion”—in many respects transferring to Orthodoxy trends already present in other faiths and religious traditions (Casanova 1994; Berger 2002). In this particular interpretation, deterritorialized religiosity provides an opportunity to strengthen and adapt Orthodoxy to the 21st century. Although it is tempting to interpret his perspective as an extension of Anastasios’s status as a Greek national who serves as head of the Orthodox Church of Albania, it is worth pointing out that the majority of his theological writings were written prior to his appointment, and in many respects, his general orientation made him a suitable candidate for the post. The current Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew has explicitly supported this perspective (see Clapsis 2004:54–55) as a means of revamping the status of the EC-PATR and turning it into a genuine supranational institution capable of mediating among and coordinating the entire network of Orthodox churches. Since 1992, Bartholomew has revived the convention of synods with the participation of all Orthodox patriarchs and representatives of the autocephalous national churches, thereby facilitating a sense of pan-Orthodox unity (Konidaris 2000:43–45; Fajfer and Rimestad 2010:213–16). Furthermore, he has sponsored foundations and conferences to strengthen the interfaith dialogue and an ecumenical spirit. Bartholomew has also sought to play an activist role in environmental issues through the organization of conferences, lectures and other actions, thereby cultivating the reputation of a “Green Patriarch.” In the pursuit of such objectives, the Patriarchate explicitly rejects the papal model of governance, but it wants to relate to the Papacy as one global headquarter to another: Bartholomew visited the pope in Rome, and Pope Benedict XVI returned the visit on November 29–December 1, 2006 (causing considerable discomfort to the Turkish government in the process). Reflecting such a pan-Orthodox perspective, in the 1990s, the EC-PATR attempted to organize a unified representation of all Eastern Orthodox churches in the EU through the opening of a single lobbying office in Brussels under its control (for an overview, see Koukoulis 2004). The OCG’s strong opposition frustrated this effort. In the end, the OCG was allowed to open its own office as well (Roudometof 2005b:94). In this instance, the OCG gave priority to a territorially based national community instead of an ecumenical community of the faithful, providing for a clear endorsement of reterritorialized religiosity. On the contrary, patriarchal efforts favored

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deterritorialization, including that of ecclesiastical governance. This example shows that the two institutions have different self-images and attitudes vis-à-vis territoriality. These images and attitudes were instrumental in shaping the attitudes of the opposing sides and their argumentation during the 2003–2004 crisis, which is the focus of the chapter’s last section. For the EC-PATR, deterritorialization is not viewed as a process endangering Orthodoxy but as an opportunity to reassert Orthodoxy and, in practical terms, to strengthen the Patriarchate’s position as a global agent. The collapse of communism in Eastern Europe provided the opportunity to expand patriarchal administrative reach into Eastern European countries. The EC-PATR made extensive use of this opportunity by assuming the role of institutional arbitrator. In these cases, the patriarchal decision-making also entailed a strategy of strengthening its canonical status as primus inter pares. For example, in the 1990s, the Patriarchate decided to recognize the autonomous Orthodox Church of Estonia. This action undermined the ROC’s cherished concept of “canonical territory,” whereby its own jurisdiction lies outside the control of other non-Orthodox and Orthodox churches (Agadjanian and Rousselet 2005). It caused the strong reaction of the Patriarchate of Moscow, which ceased for a time to mention the patriarch’s name in the liturgy (Konidaris 2000:28; Payne 2007:840). These events suggest that the Ecumenical Patriarchate’s actions also aim to strengthen its own position rather than simply to protect national churches or to act as a completely impartial arbitrator. By far, the best example of such action is the patriarchal strategy to successfully thwart the possibility of creating an indigenous U.S.-based Orthodox Patriarchate, which was discussed in Chapter 7 of this volume. The patriarchal strategy for dealing with the OCL activists is therefore not one of a backward-looking institution but an extension of its own vision for 21st-century Orthodoxy. The U.S. case is indicative of the overall patriarchal institutional perspective: That is, the overall strategy of the EC-PATR is to advance a vision of deterritorialized religiosity expressed through a flexible or opportunistic use of national autocephaly. On the one hand, an autocephalous U.S. church would undermine patriarchal administrative reach, and efforts to create it were frustrated. On the other hand, the Patriarchate recognized the Orthodox Church of Estonia, and in this case, national autocephaly served patriarchal goals because it circumscribed Russian Orthodox canonical territory. As will be shown in this chapter’s next section, this patriarchal strategy was also followed in the 2003–2004 crisis with the OCG. In both the U.S. case and during the 2003–2004 crisis, the EC-PATR acted against attempts at territorial integration under a single ecclesiastical authority. In this respect, it should be noted that the OCG is not a church that is territorially congruent with the Greek state. The Patriarchate has not ceded all of its own ecclesiastical territory to the OCG; and because of the Greek state’s considerable territorial expansion over the last two centuries, the OCG’s ecclesiastical territory and the Greek state’s contemporary

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boundaries do not coincide. Patriarchal acts incorporated the regions of Thessaly and the Ionian islands into the OCG in 1866 and 1882, respectively (Konidaris 2000:18–20). However, to this day, the semiautonomous Church of Crete, the monasteries of Mount Athos, the Dodecanese islands, several patriarchal monasteries and the “New Lands” (the regions of Macedonia, Thrace, Epirus and several Aegean islands) have remained under the nominal/spiritual or actual jurisdiction of the EC-PATR. This ecclesiastical arrangement does not abide by the long-standing ecclesiastical rule of instituting a single jurisdiction for each state (Konidaris 2000:41). To explain this peculiarity, it is necessary to look at the historical record. The New Lands were originally part of the Ottoman Empire (and hence under patriarchal jurisdiction). Following the wars of 1912–1922, these regions were incorporated into the modern Greek state, hence their name (e.g., “New Lands”). In the aftermath of the 1923 Lausanne Treaty and after the resettlement of hundreds of thousands of Greek Orthodox refugees in these lands, the EC-PATR and the OCG reached an understanding about their stewardship. Codified in the 1928 Patriarchal and Synodical Act, the New Lands were entrusted to the temporary stewardship of the OCG provided that the Church respected the terms of the act. The act subsequently has been incorporated into several pieces of Greek legislation (Laws 3615/1928, 5438/1932, 599/1977 and article 3 paragraph 1 of the current Greek Constitution), thereby recognizing the ecclesiastical agreement between the two sides (for a legislative overview, see ValakouTheodoroudi 2003). Part of the act dictates that prior to the election of a metropolitan in a vacating seat in the New Lands, the roster of candidates should be submitted to the patriarch, who thus has the ability to strike undesirable candidates from or add names to the roster. This particular issue, however, was a controversial one from the beginning: the initial Greek legislation did not contain several clauses that were added post facto by the Patriarchate when it issued the act following the approval of the legislation by the Greek parliament (Printzipas 2004:87–90). In the late 1920s, the initial controversy took the form of an exchange of correspondence between the OCG and the EC-PATR, but eventually, the two sides reached an effective but informal understanding. Although this issue might appear at first glance to be one of mere semiotics (Printzipas 2004), this is far from the truth. At stake is the ability of the EC-PATR to circumscribe the independence of the OCG as well as its prowess as a supranational institution. THE 2003–2004 INSTITUTIONAL DISPUTE: OVERVIEW AND ANALYSIS The 2003–2004 crisis erupted when the OCG had to elect new metropolitans in initially two and then three vacated metropolitan seats in the New Lands. In his August 28, 2003 letter to the OCG, Patriarch Bartholomew

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asked that the terms of the 1928 act be rigorously observed and requested the submission of the candidates’ list (EC-PATR 2003a; HSCG 2003a). Although it submitted the list, the OCG maintained that it was under no obligation to receive patriarchal approval. Following an early failure to negotiate a solution, the issue soon became a major public confrontation.4 In the winter of 2003–2004, the two sides exchanged letters and used formal and informal channels to find a solution, but to no avail. It is worth pointing out that as evidenced by poll results, the position advocated by the OCG was more popular among the Greek public—albeit with a strong partisan bias. In any event, however, a reported 52 percent of the supporters of both main Greek political parties (the conservative New Democracy and the socialist PASOK) wished to see the Greek state intervene in case the two sides were unable to resolve the matter. Significantly, 53 percent of them wanted the state to intervene in favor of the OCG, and only 17 percent favored the Patriarchate.5 Consequently, the OCG hierarchs should have felt that their position was more or less endorsed by a significant plurality of the Greek public. Nonetheless, in the first months of 2004, the two sides appeared to be reaching toward a compromise, and the OCG sent yet another group of representatives to the Patriarchate (HSCG 2004). Eventually, the candidates’ roster was submitted for patriarchal approval. The Patriarchate subsequently did not exercise its right to propose candidates but instead asked for the exclusion of some candidates from the roster (EC-PATR 2004a, 2004b). The reason offered was that these candidates were monks serving at Mount Athos, which is under patriarchal jurisdiction, and the patriarch deemed that they ought to be removed for canonical reasons. Yet the OCG viewed these patriarchal requests as contrary to its constitutional chapter and proceeded with the election and installation of the new metropolitans in the vacant seats without resolving the legal—and ecclesiastical—disagreement with the Patriarchate (Printzipas 2004:128–29). The failure of a negotiated solution prompted Patriarch Bartholomew to issue an initial public warning (EC-PATR 2004c) that these actions would not go unanswered. Following this warning, Patriarch Bartholomew convened a pan-Orthodox synod in Istanbul. On April 30, 2004, the synod decided to proclaim the new metropolitans’ elections void and to suspend communion with Archbishop Christodoulos on matters concerning liturgy and administration. The decision also called on the (illegally) elected metropolitans not to assume their posts, or communion would be suspended for them, and it called on the Greek state not to issue the presidential decrees for the installation of the new metropolitans. Finally, after expressing displeasure and sorrow at the turn of events, the synod warned that if the deviation from the Orthodox Church’s canon law persisted, the Ecumenical Patriarchate would be forced to withdraw the 1928 Patriarchal Act, thereby assuming full administrative control over the New Lands (ECPATR 2004d).

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Hence, the new conservative Greek government (elected in the March 2004 elections) faced the possibility of full-scale ecclesiastical confrontation between the Patriarchate and the OCG. However, in May 2004, the Ministry of Education and Religious Affairs successfully negotiated a de jure resolution of the dispute between the two sides. Accordingly, the HSCG voted for a statement authored by the patriarch (Printzipas 2004:126–33) in which it affirmed its obligation to abide by the 1928 act, and a synod convened in early June by the patriarch cancelled the earlier decisions about Christodoulos and the other hierarchs (EC-PATR 2004e). Moreover, the patriarch offered a public apology to the New Lands’ bishops who were caught between the two sides in the course of the dispute, and the archbishop apologized to the patriarchal synod for his disregard of proper ecclesiastical procedure. Significantly, the dispute was not conclusively resolved, and there was no ecclesiastical decision that would resolve the issue of the underlying different attitudes and orientations toward globality and territoriality that the two sides had invoked in the course of their disagreement. Consequently, although the practical and administrative aspects of the difference were addressed, the broader conceptual issues remain unresolved. Perhaps the first misunderstanding that needs to be dispelled is that this situation is a mere case of “Byzantine” intrigue: Orthodoxy is a branch of Christianity identified with tradition as such, and its internal disputes and debates often appear to center on minute points, but their importance is derived from the social and cultural context. In this instance, even the OCG’s legal experts (Angelopoulos 2004a, 2004b; Mpoumis 2004), although in general favorable to the OCG’s official standpoint, did not offer a binding or conclusive suggestion based on analysis of the legal documents. In fact, one of them (Angelopoulos 2004b) concludes his critical review with a call for further dialogue to resolve the issues. This is because the semiotics of the 1928 act did not provide the real cause of the dispute—but rather the trigger for expressing the two institutions’ different strategies. Second, it is equally important to dispel the impression that this dispute was a personal squabble between two hierarchs. Although the press found it appealing to create caricatures of the two hierarchs and to treat the dispute as a contest, it is important to stress that in accordance with Orthodox governance, decisions are made by synods. Synods operate through majority rule (for administrative matters) and consensus (for canonical matters). In this affair, both hierarchs acted in accordance with the will of their respective synods, and this means that they did have institutional support. Additionally, the churches of Crete and of the Dodecanese islands, which are under direct patriarchal jurisdiction, publicly supported the patriarch. However, such support was rather lukewarm from the majority of the New Lands’ bishops, who were caught between competing allegiances. Next, it is important to stress that the two institutions (the OCG and the EC-PATR) invoked different principles of legitimacy for their stance. In fact, the protracted public debate among Greek journalists and clergymen in the

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print and electronic media offered a stark contrast of positions. Each of them reflected the viewpoint of each side. On the one hand, the OCG argued that its 1977 Constitutional Charter provides the overarching legal source that overrides any other traditional, legal or informal obligation (see Mpoumis 2003). The 1928 act is not necessarily a canonical decision but, rather, an administrative act. Its status is that of a legal document and not of an ecclesiastical decision. In this respect, the OCG’s official position was that no law other than the Constitutional Charter could be employed to determine its actions—not even ecclesiastical administrative regulations. Although a religious institution, the OCG viewed itself as a branch of the state, refusing to accept regulations outside those explicitly set forth in secular legislation. In so doing, it made a claim of legitimacy based on secular and not religious grounds. This claim is one application of the OCG’s flexible strategy vis-àvis the state, which was outlined earlier in the discussion. On the other hand, the Patriarchate argued that the maintenance of the ecclesiastical status quo in the New Lands rests with the OCG successfully abiding by the 1928 Patriarchal Act.6 In a letter to the 35 metropolitans of the New Lands (EC-PATR 2003b), Patriarch Bartholomew asked for their support in the November 4–6, 2003 HSCG meeting. In accordance with the 1928 act, although under the patriarch’s spiritual authority, these metropolitans are also members of the HSCG and must obey both authorities. In his letter to them, Patriarch Bartholomew (EC-PATR 2003b) writes that the “reasons of the confrontation are not spiritual” and that the 1928 act is questioned by people who are “possessed by a nationalist spirit, alien to ecclesiastical ethos.” The patriarch claims that Christodoulos wishes to claim the title of archbishop even in the New Lands, thereby usurping authority from the Patriarchate.7 In this instance, although the OCG sought to legitimize religious authority in terms of the service the Church has performed for the nation in the course of Greek history, the patriarch views the assertion of such a church–nation link as counter to the very nature of Orthodoxy per se. Nonetheless, the patriarchal argument is somewhat muted as it is does not question the nature of the link in its entirety, but only the extent to which the link between Orthodoxy and Greek identity is legitimately claimed by the OCG. The OCG was founded only in 1833, and strictly speaking, it cannot claim an institutional role in earlier periods of Greek history. For Bartholomew, it is the EC-PATR—rather than the OCG—that has played an institutional role safeguarding Greek Orthodoxy in earlier centuries. It is worth pointing out that in arguing along these lines, the patriarchal argument is not fully consistent because it accepts at least in part the logic of national affiliation. However, in terms of rhetoric, the patriarch seemed more concerned with undermining the OCG’s position than with consistency of argumentation. In his letter, the patriarch (EC-PATR 2003b) argues that the issue is canonical, and no simple majority decision can resolve it. This was an important argument because according to the Church rules, a canonical decision

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must be unanimous, whereas administrative decisions are based on majority rule. Moreover, patriarchal concern with canonicity shifted the issues in a domain in which the Patriarchate could successfully claim the right to be the ultimate arbitrator.8 However, the November 2003 HSCG decided in favor of a hard line supported by the archbishop, namely, that the patriarch’s requests contradicted the Constitutional Charter of the Church and that these requests were contrary to past tradition, thereby suggesting that past practice did not abide by the letter of the 1928 act.9 The most comprehensive response to this decision was given in the January 2004 patriarchal letter to the OCG. In it, Patriarch Bartholomew (2004) provided a lucid summary of the entire issue. The patriarch summarized his requests by taking into account the counter-arguments of the OCG as follows: first, he asked that the OCG abide by the 1928 act without interjecting a reference to the 1977 Constitutional Charter because such a clause de facto circumscribes the act’s scope; second, the OCG should summarily submit the candidates’ roster for patriarchal approval without a reference to the articles of the Constitutional Charter because the charter is then used to subordinate the patriarchal decision to HSCG decisions. By arguing along these lines, the EC-PATR postulated that its own chapters and regulations take precedence over secular legislation and that in the final analysis, a national church owed allegiance primarily to the Patriarchate as the supreme religious authority—and not to secular governments. As in the cases of Estonia and the United States, which were discussed in this book’s previous chapters, the EC-PATR claims the authority to intervene in ecclesiastical affairs irrespective of territorial constraints and without accepting the legitimacy of arguments that would otherwise subordinate such interventions to the rules of territorially based national legislatures. Such a stance is derived directly from its own conception as a supraterritorial institution that represents the entire community of the Orthodox and is bound by the Church canons and tradition, but not by secular legislation or territorial divisions of the faithful. CONCLUSIONS In this chapter, Orthodox Christianity has provided a case that illustrates broader theoretical links between globality and territoriality. This relationship between territoriality and globality is not a feature of Orthodox Christianity alone; it can be observed in other regions, faiths and cultures. Globalization involves processes of deterritorialization and reterritorialization, and the dialectic interplay between the two has played a critical role in shaping the Greek Orthodox responses to globality. As argued in Chapter 5 of this volume, during the 19th century, these processes led to the creation of a link between Orthodox national churches and the modern nation-states of Southeastern Europe. This chapter used the case of modern Greece to show

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how this link has been forged and how it operates in the post-World War II period. During this period, and perhaps more evidently after the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe, the national churches’ reterritorialized religiosity favors the maintenance and strengthening of local institutions that allow the preservation of the church–nation link. Like the OCG, national Orthodox churches are likely to defend the territorially based community of the faithful and thus tend to adopt a defensive attitude against what is perceived as a “globalization threat.” Their goal is to assert their modern synthesis of church and nation in the face of contemporary globalization. In contrast, the EC-PATR has adjusted to globality in a twofold manner. On the one hand, it has operated as an administrative institution for diaspora Greeks and has offered support for expatriate churches established by those who fled Eastern Europe’s Iron Curtain. On the other hand, it has maintained its global claims on canonical matters, and in the post-1989 period, it has used this traditional authority to revamp its position as the global headquarter for Orthodoxy. The EC-PATR views itself as a supraterritorial institution and therefore tends to support a positive engagement with globality. This stance is also a strategy for increasing its role in Orthodox affairs. The two institutions have developed strategies that help translate these religious responses into policy. The OCG’s self-image as the guardian of the nation is congruent with its use of the state as a means to maintain its legitimacy. The OCG’s reliance on the church–nation link allows it considerable flexibility against the Greek state’s policy. In effect, the OCG can counter the state’s decisions when it goes against its own interests, but it can also use the state’s legislation as a convenient shield to reject patriarchal efforts to thwart its autonomy, as was the case in the course of the 2003–2004 crisis. Contrary to such a view is the patriarchal strategy to promote its authority both as a transnational institution for overseas Greek communities and as a global religious institution that, at least in theory, rivals the Vatican in its status among the Orthodox ecclesiastical establishment. The patriarchal promotion of deterritorialized religiosity also allows it considerable flexibility when it comes to national autocephaly. The Patriarchate uses its own canonical authority to selectively accept or reject efforts at national autocephaly, as was the case with the Church of Estonia, the OCA and the efforts to create a U.S.-based Orthodox Patriarchate. This strategy also was applied during the 2003–2004 crisis, when the Patriarchate argued that its own canonical rules ought to take precedence over other forms of legislation. Both institutions draw on two groups of thinkers, Orthodox “globalists” and defenders of the modern synthesis, who espouse markedly different positions regarding the dialectic of deterritorialization and reterritorialization. Globalists like Archbishop Anastasios view deterritorialization favorably. In contrast, defenders of the modern synthesis, such as the late Archbishop Christodoulos, want to protect the nation from globalization. The coalescence of these viewpoints with the institutional perspectives of the two ecclesiastical authorities results in uncompromising attitudes on matters in which

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institutional prowess is at stake. In effect, the two institutions did not enter into the 2003–2004 crisis without a history that has shaped their own attitudes about territoriality. The two sides’ strategies, already outlined in the course of this discussion, were applied in the course of the dispute. These strategies led to a collision course between the EC-PATR and the OCG, and this is the reason that months of protracted negotiations led nowhere. In this respect, the meaning of specific clauses in the 1928 Patriarchal Act did not cause the 2003–2004 crisis. Rather, the interpretation of the 1928 Patriarchal Act was the trigger—but not the cause—of this ecclesiastical dispute. This occasion provided the historical conjuncture for the articulation of the different approaches spearheaded by the two institutions. However, the real or principal cause of this crisis was the application of the two institutions’ conflicting strategies to the issues at hand. In turn, these strategies have been generated out of the institutions’ different ways of adjusting to globality. The two institutions have sponsored conflicting visions about the nature of the Greek Orthodox response to globality, visions that entail opposite approaches to territoriality. Finally, the analysis pursued in this chapter is relevant for understanding past and future actions undertaken by the EC-PATR and/or various national churches. It is certain that future institutional disputes will evolve out of these different self-images of the ecclesiastical institutions. Ultimately, these disputes provide important means for shaping the overarching orientation of Orthodoxy vis-à-vis globality. Currently, the dominant trend within national churches is to maintain the church–nation link. As with many other Orthodox national churches, the OCG’s conventional image is that of an institution that is against modernity itself. Yet this image is misleading. As shown in Chapter 5 of this volume, the OCG’s institutional perspective is in many respects the result of a 19th-century modern synthesis between Orthodoxy and nationality. Moreover, this fusion between the two, although certainly typical of several Orthodox national churches, does not represent the entire range of Orthodox responses to globality. On the contrary, a global perspective could shift the conceptual ground away from national reterritorialization and toward a deterritorialized version of Orthodoxy. For such a vision to materialize, however, it is necessary to construct and maintain a transnational network of associations and religious councils responsible for coordinating and governing the Orthodox religious landscape. Furthermore, the various Orthodox diasporic communities would need to expand their ties and play a constructive and potentially critical role in the process. It remains to be seen whether such a course of action could be implemented in the foreseeable future and whether Orthodoxy could become a global religion unfettered by the particularistic impulses of various local nationalisms.

9

Religion and Globalization Orthodox Christianity Across the Ages

To this day, the image of Orthodox Christianity in the social scientific literature remains in large part tainted by Orientalist legacies and predispositions.1 This book is among the few publications that attempt to include Orthodox Christianity in scholarly conversations to offer new theoretical insights into the religion-globalization relationship. Reflecting this preoccupation, the final chapter adopts a broader view. Its goal is to outline both a theoretical argument concerning the relationship between religion and globalization and to synthesize the various threads of the arguments in this book’s chapters. This chapter’s opening section advances the book’s central theoretical argument. It argues that vernacularization, transnationalization, indigenization and nationalization are forms of glocalization, which serves as the major theoretical heuristic that allows comprehension of the religion–globalization problematic. Next, this argument is developed through a review of the arguments pursued in individual chapters. Orthodox Christianity therefore serves as a test case that offers a concrete historical illustration of the general argument. The main goal is to move beyond the historically specific descriptions provided in the book’s chapters and to offer a conceptual map that illustrates the entanglements between a religious tradition and historical globalization. This does not mean that historical specificity is ignored. As stated in Chapter 1 of this volume, this book’s main research questions pertain to the crystallization of Orthodox Christianity as a religious tradition in the context of historical globalization, its responses to the historical encounters with nationalism and modernity as well as the extent and manner in which it is possible to refer to transnational, deterritorialized or globalized Orthodoxy. To offer concrete historical answers to these research questions, the organization of the presentation stresses the different historical phases or stages of globalization and tracks the various glocalizations of Orthodox Christianity through the ages. The chapter’s last section addresses a major underlying theme with broader ramifications, namely, the choice of a conceptual metaphor most appropriate for Orthodox Christianity. Although this issue is related to whether

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Orthodox Christianity is viewed as a distinct civilization or as one of the “multiple modernities,” it is not addressed at the theoretical level. Instead, the congruity between the historical experience of Orthodox Christianity and these theoretical perspectives is explored. THEORIZING RELIGION AND GLOBALIZATION Theorizing religion and globalization has been subject to two different lines of interpretation: the globalization of religion versus globalization and religion (Obadia 2010). In the first problematic, the fundamental research question pertains to the spread of religions and specific genres, forms and blueprints of religious expression across the globe. Beyer (2006) proposes that the very notion of what constitutes a “religion” as commonly understood is the product of a long-term process of intercivilizational or cross-cultural interactions. The study of secularism and the adaptation of secularization in various cultures and faiths across the globe is an important facet of the same problematic. Transnational religion is often incorporated into this problematic through the notion of the “transnational transcendence” (Csordas 2009) made possible through migration and other transnational practices. Although acutely sensitive to issues of cultural specificity, this problematic sometimes exhibits a tendency to narrate a process of a primarily Western diffusion of cultural items from the West to the “rest”; this partly stems from accepting the master narrative of Western modernization or from simply using the post-1500 historical “rise of the West” as the main framework for historical periodization. In the second problematic, the position and place of religion is problematized within the context of globalization. Although a religion can reject globalizing trends and impulses, it is nevertheless shaped by them and is forced to respond to new situations. This problematic incorporates notions of resacralization as a response to secularizing agendas and views instances of transnational nationalism cloaked in religious terms as cultural expressions stimulated by globalization. This second problematic does not necessarily address the historicity of globalization—in large part because it is concerned with theorizing contemporary events and trends. This is the theoretical lacunae that this book has aimed to address. Both approaches reflect long-standing tendencies within mainstream sociology of religion, specifically its preoccupation with the notion of secularization as the field’s central theoretical focus—irrespective of whether scholars are in favor or against it. The secularization paradigm has been constructed based on the historical trajectories of a select group of Western nations and has ignored non-Western regions. The paradigm is in turn derived from the broader modernization paradigm that has been the target of numerous criticisms over the last 40 years. Because of its heavy reliance on Western European historical experience, the limits of the paradigm’s explanatory power are

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rather self-evident. One major shortcoming is its extensive reliance on the image of the “isolated individual” and its use of culture as a residual category invoked only as a defense against secularism (Martin 2005; Bruce 2011). Such a perspective fails to incorporate the cultural dimension of religion and instead offers a theoretical model that naturalizes Western cultural specificity. In contrast, the perspective adopted in this book aims to problematize cultural specificity by enabling an examination of the different ways in which world religions connect to specific cultures. In this book, religion is viewed as an important aspect of culture; religious institutions do not merely address questions that refer to the relationship between the individual and the supernatural but serve multiple cultural, political and social needs. Through these lenses, therefore, theorizing religion and globalization calls for transforming globalization’s historicity into a central research template. Instead of Western modernization serving as a master narrative of universal applicability, Western modernization is viewed as taking place within the context of broader long-term historical globalization (O’Brien 2006). The interpretation advanced in this book has combined two different periodizations of globalization that offer useful heuristics to tackle the historicity of globalization. The first is Therborn’s (2000) waves of historical globalization, whereas the second is the notion of the historical stages of globalization as presented by Held et al. (1999). Although both periodizations are not immune to criticism, these allow for the development of combined typology (see Table 9.1, which captures globalization’s historical stages). Nonetheless, to interpret the transformations of a religion (Christianity) and, more narrowly, those of a religious tradition (Orthodox Christianity), it is necessary to go further than a model of historical waves or stages of globalization. It requires resorting to a more complex image of the relationship between the local and the global. An intrinsic feature of the global condition is the mutual constitution of the local and the global (Robertson 2001). That is, global diffusion is accompanied by local adaptation, mutation and variation. The concept of glocalization is meant to express the dual nature of globalization as both empowering and constraining (Robertson 1994). The term “glocalization” explicitly incorporates at the linguistic level both “global” and “local” into a single word, thereby highlighting the extent to which the local is in many respects part of the globalizing process itself—and not an opposite trend. Glocalization requires revising the implicit territoriality of conceptual categories, including such categories as community (or its modern reincarnation, that of the modern nation). This is not an exclusively contemporary phenomenon but one that occurs throughout world history. As religions are thus reconfigured, new formations emerge in historical time. These new formations are cultural hybrids that blend religious universalism with several forms of local (national or ethnic) particularisms. Multiple traditions emerge, and these are intimately interwoven in the fabric of local cultures and identities.

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Table 9.1

Historical eras of globalization and Orthodoxy’s glocalizations

Waves/periods of historical globalization Christianity’s fragmentation (9th–14th centuries): the second half of a great wave of pre-modern globalization (referred to as the Axial Age) that involved the spread of world religions across Eurasia Early modern era of globalization (15th– 19th centuries)

Modern era of globalization (19th century–1945)

Global Age (1945–present)

Religious glocalizations • Vernacularization East and West; formation of Latin “Christendom” and of Christian Orthodoxy (843) • Crusades and articulation of Orthodox Christianity as a religious tradition (13th and 14th centuries) • Indigenization of Christian Orthodoxy/ Orthodox Christianity in Serb, Bulgarian and Russian principalities and kingdoms • Ottoman Empire: vernacularization of Orthodoxy • Russian Empire: indigenization of Orthodoxy • Russia: post-1721 state-sponsored Church modernization • Ottoman Empire: 18th-century engagement with Enlightenment • Nationalization of Orthodoxy in Southeastern Europe through a modern church–nation synthesis • Russian Empire: Lack of nationalization. Post1917 Soviet rule forestalls the ability to articulate a modern synthesis until 1989 • Monastic revival/Old Calendarists • Transnationalization of Orthodoxy in the course of the 20th century through immigration • Continuing nationalization: National churches cling to or openly assert for the first time their claims to modern synthesis • Renewed interest in the problematic of deterritorialized or global Orthodoxy

With regard to religion in particular, Beyer (2007) has argued that globalization involves multiple glocalizations of religion; universal religion is thematized alongside local particularity. These multiple glocalizations should not be viewed as mechanically connected to specific historical eras or periods but as occurring both across historical eras and synchronically, subject to the specific cultural and political conditions of a given milieu. Although this book does not claim to offer an exhaustive account, four distinct glocalizations have emerged as concrete historical processes that involve such a fusion between religious universalism and local particularism. These are vernacularization, indigenization, nationalization and transnationalization. Although further research can expand this list, these processes are specific

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forms of the broader notion of glocalization. Each of them represents a specific form of relating universal religion (e.g., Christianity) to particular human configurations (e.g., empire, ethnicity, nation-state and transnational migration). Thus, they offer concrete historical and empirical examples of the interpenetration of universalism and particularism (Robertson 1992). However, they are not distinct simply because of their historical specificity. They are distinct because each offers a discrete analytical ordering or combination of the “global” and the “local.” In other words, each offers a different means of negotiating and ordering the global/ local blend into cultural stable and concrete formats. Vernacularization blends religious universalism with specific languages, which are endowed with the privileged ability to offer communication with the sacred. This glocalization is certainly far more common in pre-modern or preliterate cultures in which access to sacred texts was limited, and religious efficacy could be tied to a specific language. Vernacularization is not identical and should not be confused with indigenization; the key difference is that access to a sacred language is an issue quite distinct from tribal or ethnic membership. Indigenization blends religious universalism with local particularism by adopting religious ritual, expression and hierarchies into the specifics of a particular ethnicity. Most often, the sense of distinction thus constructed blends religious and ethnic difference. Although pre-modern kingdoms and principalities have made regular use of this process to bolster their rulers’ legitimacy, the ties thus constructed have endured far beyond the specific regimes or states. Medieval Georgia, Bulgaria, Russia and Serbia are all examples of such indigenization. However, it is a mistake to view indigenization as simply the result of local rulers who used religion instrumentally; such indigenization has persisted for centuries in the absence of political authority. The presence of religious hierarchies has been instrumental in several instances because such hierarchies increasingly perform dual functions, both religious and civil/ethnic ones. They become representatives not only of a religious order but also of a particular group of people. Group membership is far more closed than in vernacularization. If vernacularization has demonstrated an elective affinity with pre-modern empires (such as the Eastern Roman or Ottoman empires), indigenization has demonstrated an elective affinity with ethnic reproduction and survival. Nationalization is another form of blending universal religion and local, national particularism. Its principal difference from the previous forms is that the nation serves as the foundation for the religious institutions’ claim to legitimacy. Although societies can become more secular, the semiotic significance of religion and its importance for public expression remain central to national life. People might belong to a national church without necessarily being religious adherents, thereby creating a conceptual obstacle for social researchers who cannot use indicators of religious participation as valid measurements for the importance of religion. To the extent that nations are

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viewed as identical to ethnic groups, the distinction between indigenization and nationalization is erased. For followers of modernist interpretations of nationalism, the difference between vernacularization and nationalization is self-evident. Yet even ethnosymbolist interpretations (Smith 1986, 2001) accept the existence of a conceptual distinction between ethnie (ethnic communities) and modern nations. Only primordialists could therefore argue against the salience of this conceptual distinction. Transnationalization is the counterfacet of nationalization: the global construction of nation-states and the nationalization of their citizens necessarily created the category of “transnationals,” i.e., all those currently residing within a host state. Transnational religion offers the opportunity for two quite distinct blends of religious universalism and local particularism: on the one hand, it is possible for religious universalism to gain the upper hand, whereby religion becomes the central reference for immigrant communities. In such instances, religious transnationalism is often depicted as a religion “going global.” In cases in which immigrants share the same vernacular or are members of a church with a centralized administration (such as the Catholic Church), the propensity for such a pattern inevitably increases. On the other hand, it is possible for local ethnic or national particularism to reclaim or maintain its centrality for local immigrant communities. In such instances, transnational national communities are constructed, and religious hierarchies perform dual religious and secular functions that ensure the groups’ survival. Eastern European Orthodox immigrants in the United States, Australia and Canada offer a paradigmatic case of such a process. The historical transformations narrated in the book’s chapters consist of these multiple glocalizations. These successfully capture Orthodox Christianity’s historical experience. Throughout its history, Orthodox Christianity has molded itself into the fabric of different groups; nearly all of its current adherents would add an ethnic or a national modifier (“Greek,” “Bulgarian,” “Russian” and so forth) to their identification as Orthodox Christians. Although this book has not narrated in detail the specifics of each subdivision of Orthodox Christianity, it has offered sufficient evidence for presenting a full picture of the nature of these processes and of the broad historical trajectories of the faith itself. Individual chapters have demonstrated that the thematization of glocalization has occurred both across historical eras and synchronically. Chapter 4 of this volume highlighted this synchronicity through a contrast of the different glocalizations pursued in the Ottoman and Russian empires. In turn, this finding means that it is necessary to resist the temptation to classify these four glocalizations vis-à-vis modernity per se. Although nationalization and transnationalization are historically connected to the articulation and spread of modernity, indigenization and vernacularization are historically connected to pre-modern cultural contexts. However, this generalization is empirical and not necessarily a universal tendency. In contrast, in other contexts (such as in the Caribbean or Brazil), religious indigenization has occurred within the broader context of these regions’ entanglement with modernity.

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THE TRANSFORMATIONS OF ORTHODOX CHRISTIANITY The book’s chapters have sought to offer specific historical vignettes that sketched these multiple but distinct glocalizations. Across the ages, Orthodox Christianity has been transformed under the influence of vernacularization, indigenization, nationalization and transnationalization. Their combination is represented in Table 9.1, in which four different historical eras or stages of globalization are cross-listed with Orthodoxy’s glocalizations. The great wave of pre-modern globalization (referred to as the Axial Age) (Eisensdat 1986) involved the spread of world religions across Eurasia. In its aftermath, Christianity was vernacularized, like other world religions. Vernacularization fostered the diffusion of world religions into specific cultural milieus and the establishment of distinct civilizations. Between the fourth and seventh centuries AD, Christianity became the Roman Empire’s official and dominant religion. Christianity’s vernacularization occurred concurrently with the growing Christianization of the Mediterranean and of Europe. Vernacularization impacted both parts of the Mediterranean, but not in the same manner and not with identical results. Orthodox Christianity emerged in the context of this differential vernacularization of Christianity in the two parts of the Mediterranean. The rise of the Papacy and the crystallization of pre-Reformation Roman Catholicism represent the other aspect of this vernacularization. A comprehensive comparative–historical analysis of the formation of Christianity’s two main branches would further illuminate their convergences and divergences. Parallel developments—such as, for example, the rise of monasticism and the growing ability of the religious hierarchy to withstand political interference—are observed. The principal differences identified in Chapter 2 of this volume include the difference in the number and status of ecclesiastical hierarchy, the role of Latin and Greek in serving as languages of communication, the differences in the two regions’ cultural milieu and the role of imperial authority in determining the extent and potency of ecclesiastical authority. These historically specific differences contributed to the articulation of differences in ecclesiology that eventually became entrenched. The rise of the Carolingian dynasty contributed to the reinterpretation of religious doctrine (in the form of the Filioque and the powerful forgery of the Donation of Constantine), which was used strategically to rewrite past traditions and to challenge the universality of the Eastern Roman Emperor. In the eastern part of the Mediterranean, the conclusion of the iconoclast controversy brought about the crystallization of Christian Orthodoxy, codified originally in the Synodikon of Orthodoxy (843). These developments marked the incipient crystallization of two distinct traditions in the respective parts of the Mediterranean. These two traditions were closely intertwined with two civilizations: the older Eastern Roman civilization, which still operated under the guise of Christian universalism, and the emerging Western European civilization, which ascended at approximately the turn of the millennium and coalesced around the notion of Western “Christendom.”

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The Crusades offered the historical episode that resulted in open conflict between the two sides. For the Orthodox East, this conflict ended with the West’s formal triumph in 1204: the Eastern Roman Empire was conquered, and a Latin Empire took its place. Nonetheless, the military victory initiated a series of further historical developments that contributed to the emergence of Orthodox Christianity as such. These developments included the abandonment of the former unity between religion and empire and the willingness of the Orthodox establishment to move beyond the imperial ideal. The notion of sister churches related to different rulers or states strengthened the sense of “unity in plurality” that henceforth became a foundational principle of Orthodox Christianity. Its application further pushed it away from the Catholic understanding of a single ecclesiastical hierarchy. Three major factors contributed to the final articulation of Orthodox Christianity in the post-1204 period: (1) the establishment of a regional religious network, (2) the articulation of doctrinal divergences vis-à-vis Roman Catholicism and (3) the liturgical and spatial developments in Orthodox liturgy and churches. These factors contributed to the transformation of earlier Christian Orthodoxy into Orthodox Christianity. That is, the faith assumed its fundamental defining features that are readily recognizable to this day. Orthodox Christianity was therefore itself produced or resulted from the context of broader intercivilizational encounters between Western European Christendom and the Eastern Roman Empire. The original symphonia or complementarity between the Emperor and the Orthodox hierarchy (that is, the relationship between the sacerdotium and imperium or regnum) persisted as an ideal and a reference model for the relations between church and state in the Orthodox lands. As argued in Chapter 4 of this volume, vernacularization is not confined to these early centuries. It operated in Southeastern Europe under Ottoman rule and contributed heavily to the crystallization of the Ottoman Empire’s Orthodox Christians’ confessional community (Rum millet). It might seem paradoxical that vernacularization operated under both Christian and Muslim rulers. However, both the legitimizing mythologies of the Eastern Roman and the Ottoman Empires involved the sacralization of authority. The Eastern Romans were under God’s protection; Ottoman rule was justified as punishment for their sins. Moreover, the Ottoman regime’s geopolitical interests coincided with the anti-Catholic agenda of the Church’s hierarchy. The second glocalization is indigenization, that is, the absorption of the faith into the ethnic identities of various peoples. It is important to stress the degree to which the Eastern Roman Empire, at least until 1204, was not an ethnically defined state. Its Hellenistic cultural heritage and Orthodox faith were features universally accessible to all those who entered its cultural universe. In this sense, the difference between vernacularization and indigenization emerges as crucial and consequential. Vernacularization made it possible to incorporate intruders and barbarian tribes—just as it

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made it possible to carry out “civilizing missions” in terms of conversions to Christianity. Indigenization as a process has a strong elective affinity with Orthodox Christianity. In contrast to Roman Catholicism, there are specific features of Orthodoxy (such as decentralized administration) that made it far more susceptible to indigenization. Moreover, in Western Europe, Latin remained the Church’s liturgical language, whereas in the eastern Mediterranean, Greek was an imperial language, but its status was never that of a sacred language. The use of Aramaic in Syria and Old Georgian in Georgia demonstrate this lack of sacred status per se. The construction of the Cyrillic alphabet and the use of Old Slavonic for liturgy also illustrate the flexibility of Orthodoxy when it came to the language used in liturgy. However, the indigenization of Orthodoxy in these cases was not predicated solely on the creation of a distinct liturgical language. It was further strengthened by the initial processes of granting autonomy or autocephaly to various archbishoprics related to or offered in direct negotiation with Bulgarian, Serb or Russian rulers. The foundation of these seats offered local rulers a sacred element to their authority and strengthened the acceptance and legitimacy of their rule. Sacred authority and public authority were used concurrently as elements that would therefore foster a sense of identity and cohesion among the population. In this sense, Orthodoxy contributed heavily to the construction and reproduction of ethnicity among Russians, Ukrainians and the southern Slavs. Undoubtedly, the historical experience of the Grand Duchy of Moscow offers the most spectacular instance of such indigenization. In the aftermath of the 1438–1439 aborted union and the 1453 second fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans, Moscow’s ascent and the consolidation of the Russian Empire were closely intertwined with the sense of Russia as the sole inheritor of the true and correct faith. Indigenization was thus officially sanctioned. It also advanced the Russian rulers’ notion of sacred imperial monarchy. Although the amicable relationship between the patriarch and the tsar echoed the pattern established in the Eastern Roman Empire, it is clearly a mistake to interpret this relationship as merely duplicating the original symphonia between the Roman Emperor and the religious order. The Russian tsars were eventually able to curtail the Church’s independent sphere of action and authority, paving the way for the 1721 abolition of the Patriarchate. Russians’ view of Moscow as the last depository of Christianity added legitimacy to various popular indigenized forms of Orthodoxy. With the ROC unable to effectively police its own parishioners, various local practices emerged. When imperial authority in the 17th century prompted the forced standardization of rituals and liturgical books according to contemporary Orthodox standards (as these existed in the rest of the Orthodox East), it caused Russian Orthodoxy’s major historical schism and the subsequent formation of the Old Believers. This forced realignment served the Russian tsars’ role as guardians of all Orthodox Christians and contributed to the

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absorption of Ukraine into the Russian Empire, but it weakened the ROC’s acceptance among its own parishioners. The post-1721 institutionalization of the state church model furthered this institutional compliance. Overall, during the early modern era of historical globalization (1500s— 1840s), Orthodox Christianity was influenced most by the enduring processes of indigenization (in the Russian Empire) and vernacularization (in the Ottoman Empire). In both empires, Orthodox institutions developed their own modes of adaptation to divinely ordained monarchies. In both cases there is a notable absence of complementarity. Increasingly, from the 17th century on, modernization and the impact of Western modernity became paramount in shaping the fate of these two empires. The Russian Empire’s modernization “from above” influenced extensively the ROC through its subjugation under direct state control. In the Ottoman Empire, the Church hierarchy and several intellectuals (including clergymen) were sympathetic to Western European intellectual currents. The Church’s official attitude shifted greatly in the aftermath of the French revolution. Ultimately, however, the most influential Orthodox response to modernity was the 18th-century monastic revival, which succeeded in obtaining a transnational following. During the modern era of historical globalization (1840s–1945), the impact of modernity was most acutely felt in the Orthodox lands. The introduction of the doctrine of modern nationalism as the world’s main legitimizing force altered the social bases of societies around the globe, and Orthodox Eastern and Southeastern Europe were extensively impacted. The adoption of the nation-state form is one of the major aspects of the diffusion of world culture (McNeely 1995; Meyer et al. 1997; Boli and Lechner 2005). In the case of Orthodox Christianity, this adoption of the nation-state inaugurated a third glocalization: the nationalization of Orthodoxy. Although indigenization connected a faith to a specific ethnicity and contributed to maintaining and reproducing ethno-national bonds, it clearly did not involve the Church having to relate to a nation. The conceptual difference between the two was stressed in Chapter 5 of this volume: a nation involves politically active citizens who confer legitimacy on the government but remain the ultimate source of authority. This form of democratic legitimacy was not present before the 1776 American and 1789 French revolutions. The adoption of the nation-state form in the Orthodox part of Europe was temporally uneven. Whereas the Orthodox nation-states of Southeastern Europe adopted this model in the course of the 19th century, the Russian Empire never successfully adopted it. The Soviet Union, which superseded the Russian Empire, remained formally opposed to modern nationalism. The exceptions involved short-term intervals during World War II and the tactical use of territorial sovereignty in peripheral states (Ukraine, the Baltic states, etc.), which was employed as a means of strengthening communist control. Therefore, Orthodoxy’s engagement with modern nationalism has a longer history in Southeastern Europe than in the former Soviet Union.

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For this reason, Chapter 5 of this volume presented a historically informed model of nationalization derived from Southeastern Europe’s historical experience. The formation of Orthodox nation-states in Southeastern Europe inaugurated a nationalized form of Orthodoxy. This form was predicated on a modern synthesis between church and nation. In the course of the 19th and 20th centuries, the religious markers of earlier centuries were reconfigured to relate to each local nation (Bulgarians, Greeks, Serbs and Romanians). Out of this geographical reterritorialization and the concomitant relativization of religious identity came the modern synthesis between church and nation. This modern synthesis entailed a fusion between local national traditions (“invented” or not) and a formerly universalistic religion, global in its scope and reach, in principle indifferent to a person’s national or ethnic identity. This model’s ascent was made possible through the strategic use of the principle of canonical territory, whereby each state authority was henceforth entitled to claim an autocephalous ecclesiastical institution. However, the quest for autocephaly has always been a means to an end in the modern world of nation-states. As noted in Chapter 5 of this volume, in the Orthodox nation-states of Southeastern Europe, the nationalization of Orthodoxy involved both a cultural transformation (expressed through the logic of a church–nation link) and a structural transformation (expressed in the construction of autocephalous churches). It is important to stress that the cultural transformation has been of critical importance, whereas the structural transformation was limited only in the cases of new state structures. In Chapter 6 of this volume, the example of Cyprus illustrates the fact that the Orthodox Church’s nationalization did not necessarily entail the construction of new administrative structures. Cyprus’s historical experience further illustrates a distinct historical route: an encounter with modernity mediated through colonialism. British colonialism altered church–state relations by imposing secularism in practice. Unlike Orthodox institutions in Southeastern Europe, the Church of Cyprus found itself formally excluded from public authority. The result was the politicization of the Church’s hierarchy and the use of nationalism as a means of reasserting public authority. The entanglement between Orthodoxy and nationalism under conditions of colonialism produced the institution of ethnarchy, whereby the archbishop became effectively the leader of the Greek Cypriot community. Unsurprisingly, after the stabilization of the political situation on the island and the passing of legendary Archbishop Makarios III in 1977, that institution effectively disappeared. This historical experience illustrates Orthodoxy’s capacity for adaptation and adjustment under different political regimes. Both in Cyprus and in the Orthodox nations of Southeastern Europe, the Orthodox Church’s nationalization caused these institutions to relate to the nation by adopting elements of past indigenization for the purposes of modern nation formation. This nationalization is very much a recent historical event, and in many cases, it is an ongoing affair. After all, nation-formation

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throughout the Orthodox part of Europe is—in terms of the perspective of the longue durée—a relatively recent phenomenon. This interpretation allows one to place Orthodoxy’s contemporary predicament in proper perspective and to avoid the conflation of its nationalized form with the faith itself.2 Although the Orthodox Church has officially condemned the doctrine of ethnic nationalism as antithetical to Christian universalism, the Church’s ability to develop theologically sanctioned and popularly accepted interpretations that would transcend national divisions remains relatively limited. As a result, Orthodoxy’s national role is prominent today in its historical heartlands (including Russia, Greece, Serbia, Romania, Bulgaria, the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia and much of the former Soviet Union). In these nations, a symbiotic relationship has developed between the faith and the nation. It is important to point out that this is not an Orthodox peculiarity given that this symbiotic relationship is present throughout European countries with large Christian populations (see Kunovich 2006).3 Orthodoxy’s modern synthesis might have originated in Southeastern Europe, but its logic has provided a portable cultural model that has expanded concomitantly with the successful implementation of the nation-state model in Eastern Europe. This model therefore offers a means for decoding and interpreting the former Soviet Union’s post-1991 ecclesiastical politics and specifically the relations of the Moscow Patriarchate with Moldova, Estonia and, most importantly, Ukraine. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, the modus operandi of the Orthodox national churches—already implemented since the 19th century in Southeastern Europe—has been transferred to the ecclesiastical politics of the post-Soviet states, especially in connection with the overnight construction of a (putative) “transnational” Russian Orthodoxy and the subsequent ecclesiastical disputes in Estonia, Moldova and Ukraine. The ROC of the post-Soviet era is employing the church–nation link to maintain its public influence and cultural authority. The extent to which this will be a successful strategy is contingent on post-1991 Russia’s successful nationalization. In contrast, national authorities in postSoviet successor states have sought the establishment, reconstruction and recognition of separate national Orthodox churches as a means of showcasing these nations’ formal and effective independence from Moscow (and the Russian sphere of influence). In several instances, these national Churches were originally established before 1945, concomitantly with the initial establishment of independent nation-states, but their operation was suspended once their respective countries were incorporated into the Soviet Union (for discussions of individual cases, see Leustean 2010a). As Chapter 5 of this volume has shown, both sides in these disputes accept and apply the cultural logic of the modern synthesis, although obviously, the specifics of each individual case are quite different. Summing up the current state of affairs, it is fair to say that for the majority of these newfound Orthodox national churches, the continuing

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cultivation of the church–nation link remains either an incomplete or a recently completed process. The absorption and use of nationalism in church discourse is the product of double pressure applied both within and outside the church’s structures. Cultural protectionism, a goal dear to most nationalists, is therefore often intertwined with religiosity in populist and church discourse, and it adds considerable leverage to the national churches’ ability to maintain their clout within local societies. That is not a characteristic of post-communist societies alone because as Chapters 6 and 8 of this volume show, similar trends are also observed in Greece and Cyprus, the two Orthodox countries that have never experienced communism. By and large, the international audience is most familiar with this image of Orthodoxy. The transnationalization of Orthodoxy is the fourth glocalization presented in this book’s chapters. To avoid terminological confusion, it is necessary to differentiate the various dispersed Orthodox populations into two groups: on the one hand, there are those groups who have operated as minority groups or national minorities of neighboring nations in Southeastern or Eastern Europe; on the other hand, there are those groups that were created as a result of Orthodox international migration. Most often, the first group did not cross borders to become transnational; the borders changed around them, with new nation-states emerging in the course of the 19th and 20th centuries. This group’s experience does not in fact fit well with the agenda of transnational studies. In contrast, it is the second group of Orthodox immigrants, who moved away from their original homelands and into new and often radically different cultural milieus, that most accurately resembles the groups of people referred to as “transnational” in the socialscientific literature. Historically and methodologically, transnational Orthodoxy emerged as a consequence of the spread of the Orthodox faith across the globe and farther away from its original European heartlands. In the modern and contemporary eras of globalization (as shown in Table 9.1), the extensive transoceanic population movements out of Europe and into the immigrant societies of Australia and the Americas contributed to the export of Orthodox Christianity into new social and cultural contexts. The prevailing pattern of transnational Orthodoxy has been the construction of immigrant communities in which Orthodoxy offers a prime source for maintaining and reproducing ethnonational identity in new, culturally different environments. The experience of the 1917 Bolshevik revolution and the post-World War II communist takeover of Eastern Europe contributed heavily to the proliferation of de facto or de jure ecclesiastical autonomy or independence among Orthodox immigrant populations. In the various diasporic or transnational communities, Orthodoxy is routinely identified with a particular nation or ethnic group, although this varies according to context. Although rarely mentioned as an example of transnational religion, the historical record shows that over the last two centuries,

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hundreds of thousands of Orthodox Christians have migrated outside their historical heartlands and were directed mainly toward the important destinations of European emigration (Australia, Canada and the United States). During the 20th century, Orthodox communities were also created in Western Europe, thereby creating an additional Orthodox constituency outside of the Eastern European heartland. In Chapter 7 of this volume, the experience of Orthodox Christianity in the United States is examined as the most useful illustration of this process. This transnationalization of Orthodox Christianity is associated with the migration of specific ethnic and national groups. A “religion of ethnicity,” Orthodoxy in migration has continued to be identified with specific immigrant groups. In the United States, Orthodox Christians have attempted to decouple the historic association between ethnicity and religion: both the OCA and the OCL represent efforts toward shedding ethnonational bonds in favor of an Americanized version of Orthodox Christianity. These examples suggest that Orthodox Christianity is not immune to U.S. religious pluralism; instead, it is capable of surviving in a cultural context far removed from that of the imperial religion or the established church in the nation-states of Eastern Europe. The American experience is not an isolated incident. Although the international audience is familiar with Orthodox responses that are mostly protective of national identities and local cultures, the spectrum of Orthodox responses to globality is by no means limited to a protectionist stance. The experience of globality has ushered in the possibility of deterritorialized Orthodoxy. Deterritorialized religiosity is threatening to most but not all national Orthodox churches. Chapter 8 of this volume forcefully argues this point. During the 2003–2004 dispute between the EC-PATR and the OCG, the territoriality of ecclesiastical governance became a contested point. However, this issue was clearly unrelated to issues of nationalism— the set of issues that in the 19th and 20th centuries have been dominant in such disputes over ecclesiastical governance. After all, this was a dispute within Greek-speaking Orthodox religious elites. Although in this case, the independence of this problematic from issues of nationalism is quite clear, it is important to note that this is not always the case. In fact, the post-1989 ROC’s strategy makes extensive use of deterritorialized religiosity for nationalistic purposes. Its deterritorialization is meant to offer the Church the opportunity to extend its own authority beyond the realm of the Russian Federation through the invocation of its cherished concept of “canonical territory,” which is viewed as superseding state boundaries. In contrast, as Chapter 7 in this volume shows, U.S.-based religious Orthodox activists favor reterritorialized Orthodoxy as a means of shedding ethnonational divisions and of developing a fully American (e.g., U.S.) version of Orthodox Christianity. Their arch-enemy has been the EC-PATR, which in the post-1989 period has made creative use of the affirmative relationship with globality and of sponsoring a vision of deterritorialized Christian unity

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that is meant to bolster its own credentials as primus inter pares among the Orthodox national churches. These widely different responses to deterritorialized Orthodoxy suggest that it should be viewed as a problematic distinct from the transnational Orthodoxy dominant among immigrant communities worldwide. Deterritorialized forms of Orthodoxy do not necessarily entail a displacement of the church–nation link even if they destabilize the claims of various ecclesiastical hierarchies regarding congruence between a state’s territorial boundaries and a church’s canonical territory. In the 21st century, this incongruence between the two will continue to persist as a thorny issue of ecclesiastical governance. In some cases, deterritorialized Orthodoxy might be strengthened as a result of the new cultural capacities present in contemporary societies. Deterritorialized Orthodoxy holds implicit potential for creating an awareness of ties and relationships with fellow Orthodox around the globe. In this fashion, globality transcends the centrality of the church–nation link to which so many national churches are deeply committed. It allows people and churches to reconsider the nature of their ties and to rethink the nature of their commitments. This process might lead to yet another relativization of relations, whereby Orthodox communities reclaim their past universalist credentials and strengthen their religious commitments across borders. For Orthodox globalists, such a turn offers new opportunities to Orthodox institutions. These opportunities are balanced against the emergence of newfound threats such as secularism and religious pluralism. These threats challenge the Orthodox institutions’ “traditional” (e.g., post-1800) self-image and lead to a defensive mentality. The combined effect of these threats and opportunities is bound to shape the Orthodox institutions’ future trajectories. ORTHODOXY AS A RELIGIOUS LANDSCAPE Throughout the longue durée, Orthodox Christianity has had the ability to fuse with different social, cultural and political contexts. Undoubtedly, its greatest strength lies in its ability to develop plural responses within these contexts. Its greatest weakness, its inability to have a single institutional authority and to speak with one voice, is also the result of this institutional flexibility and its capacity for adaptation. The existence and persistence of a faith molded into the fabric of different social configurations suggests that Orthodox Christianity is a religious tradition and that the Orthodox Church is an institution capable of continuous invention and persistent adaptation into eras with quite distinct cultural logics, ranging from the logic of divinely ordained monarchs to the logics of modern nationalism or that of religious pluralism and transnational institutions. Therein emerges a complex image of a religion unlike the caricature of fossilized faith that comprises Orthodoxy’s popular Western stereotype.4 This complex image

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opens up a theoretical space to include Orthodox Christianity among those religions with an active and ongoing engagement with the global condition—albeit not always in forms similar to those of its Protestant or Catholic counterparts. In this book, Orthodox Christianity is viewed as a religious tradition, not as a civilization (Huntington 1996) or as one of multiple modernities (Eisenstadt 2002). To assess the merits of these interpretations, it is necessary to distinguish between the more simplistic and often journalistic versions of such approaches and their more sophisticated theoretical treatments. In their most simplistic or popularized versions, these perspectives are evoked to justify the suggestion of immutable transhistorical cultural essences. Currently, however, Orthodox Christianity exists in a variety of different cultures across the real or imaginary boundaries of civilizations and modernities. This book’s objective is to outline Orthodox Christianity’s historical variations and not to succumb either to geographical or cultural determinism. Thus, although the issue of Orthodoxy’s encounter with modernity is addressed and the issue of different historical pathways to modernity is explored, there has been no attempt to postulate a priori the existence of a single or uniform Orthodox version of modernity or antimodernity. To do otherwise would turn historical contingency, variation and mutability into a caricature. In the book’s chapters, the evidence in favor of or against a single Orthodox civilization or other form of cultural unity has been assessed. It is entirely plausible to view the Eastern Roman Empire as a single civilization, and in this regard, it is entirely legitimate to view the initial formation of Christian Orthodoxy as a religious expression closely linked to that empire. However, as demonstrated in Chapters 3 and 4 of this volume, the Eastern Roman Empire’s Orthodox Commonwealth achieved in due course of time an independence from political authority. Orthodox Christianity emerged in the context of the transformation forced upon the Orthodox part of Europe in the aftermath of the 1204 fall of Constantinople. It constituted a flexible network of hierarchal and horizontal links, whereby a multitude of states and ecclesiastical institutions were connected. The endurance of this network has been further confirmed in the post-1453 period, in which the Russian tsar eventually became its focal political leader, albeit at the high price of alienating a good portion of Russian believers. However, when it came to their responses and routes to modernity and modernization, the divergences between the Russian and Ottoman Empires far exceeded their convergences. In itself, this finding suggests that the Orthodox Commonwealth did not respond uniformly to modernity and that the value of using it as a unit of analysis to assess these regions’ transition to the modern world is therefore rather limited. Instead, the historical examination performed suggests that if the civilizational label is warranted, then it is far more meaningful to speak of a single European civilization—a common European home as Mikhail Gorbachev once proposed. To this day,

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this image of a shared continent remains quite heterodox (for a rare exception, see Stoianovich 1994). In most instances, both civilizational analysis and the multiple modernities agenda attribute causal significance to Orthodox Christianity. Thus, they fail to capture the full range of Orthodox responses to modernity and modernization or to interpret these responses on their own terms and not as derivatives of the West (Schmidt 2006; Bhambra 2007; cf. Spohn 2003). Additionally, the era of nations and nationalism further contributed to the Orthodox lands’ fragmentation, leading to several additional autocephalous national churches. It is therefore necessary to revise the traditional historical metaphor of the Orthodox Commonwealth. In fact, there is a social-scientific concept that allows the incorporation of both past and contemporary horizontal and vertical linkages connecting institutions, communities, countries and individuals. This is Appadurai’s (1990; 1996) concept of religioscape or religious landscape. This concept offers a flexible heuristic device that allows the capturing of the myriad links among Orthodox institutions, communities, countries and individuals. The extent of these links has been well documented both in this book and in the historical and social-scientific literature. The notion of religioscape registers more accurately the fundamentally religious nature of these links. Instead of assuming that Orthodox Christianity’s responses to modernity and modernization or to globalization and globality are uniform or overdetermined by the content of the faith, by cultural propensities or by values, the notion of an Orthodox religioscape allows researchers to view Orthodox Christianity as a cultural landscape. Within this landscape, it is possible to observe not a single essence or culturally infused response but an entire spectrum of responses. For example, the historical paths of the Russian empire and of Southeastern Europe formed two distinct trajectories that in crucial ways have shaped the Orthodox response to modernity and modernization. This fact does not mean, however, that Orthodox Christianity did not respond at times in a uniform manner; for example, even in the current era, national Orthodox Churches tend to assume a defensive attitude toward contemporary globalization. Throughout historical periods, various glocalizations have influenced the Orthodox religioscape by forcing ecclesiastical institutions to relate to different cultural models and to deterritorialize and reterritorialize their organizational structures to accommodate different forms of statehood. Although in the past, the Ottoman, Eastern Roman and Russian Empires played a key role in relativization and reterritorialization, in the modern era of nations and nationalisms, a multitude of states has emerged. These have forced Orthodox ecclesiastical institutions to relate to them and to reterritorialize their administration within these more recent forms of statehood. In the post-1945 era, the reality of transnational Orthodox communities has further enabled these institutions to act in a deterritorialized fashion, whereby their administrative reach extended beyond their own state’s boundaries.

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Consequently, both nation-state formation and transnationalism should be viewed as having a decisive impact on the future trajectories of Orthodox Christianity. However, given that this book has been deeply engaged with the past, it is best to exclude an attempt to discuss the most recent trends within Orthodox Christianity or to speculate with regard to Orthodoxy’s course in the 21st century (on these issues, see Roudometof, forthcoming). This book is part of a broader intellectual movement among social scientists and religious studies scholars who explore different aspects of Orthodox Christianity in an attempt to demonstrate the vitality of and variation within this religious tradition. Far from being immune to globalization, Orthodoxy is a religious tradition or branch of Christianity that has been continuously shaped by it. Furthermore, this book is an effort to address a broad scholarly audience interested in the intersection of culture, religion and globalization. To address the issues raised by this intersection, the book’s conceptual strategy has involved historicizing Orthodoxy. This historicization illustrates the potency of globalization as a heuristic device capable of recasting Orthodoxy’s image by distancing it from past socialscientific perspectives, which to this day remain mostly tainted by modernization theories. This book has further demonstrated the heuristic value of using the concept of glocalization to analyze historical entanglements between universalism and particularism and to explore the tension between the universal claims of a world religion and the particular realization of this claim into concrete eras, cultural milieus and institutional contexts. In this sense, the book’s intended audience is not limited to those interested in the specifics of the particular religion that has offered the raw material for the theorizing and historicizing conducted in these pages. Instead, the book invites all those who are interested in using the concepts of globalization and glocalization as a means to interrogate the interplay between world religions and local cultures.

Appendix The Hierarchical Order of Orthodox Christianity

Orthodox Christianity’s hierarchal structure consists of the four ancient patriarchates of Antioch, Alexandria, Jerusalem and Constantinople plus several autocephalous and other autonomous churches—and various diasporic jurisdictions associated with them. These mutually recognize one another. They share a common doctrine and sacraments, and their majority is in full communion with one other. There is some disagreement about their exact number largely due to differences regarding whether some churches are recognized by the Ecumenical Patriarchate or by other churches. The list of autocephalous churches includes the Churches of Cyprus, Russia, Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, Romania, Georgia, Poland, Albania, the Czech lands and Slovakia (McGuckin 2008:30; Leustean 2010b:10–11). The monastery of Mount Sinai is also an archbishopric, with its spiritual elder elected by the brotherhood but consecrated by the Jerusalem patriarch. Although claiming a historical right to autocephaly, its current situation resembles that of an autonomous church (see The Holy Monastery of Mount Sinai n.d.; see also Leustean 2010b:10 and McGuckin 2008 for different interpretations). Some Orthodox churches are not recognized by the Ecumenical Patriarchate and/ or are not in communion with all or most of the other Orthodox churches (for a list, see Leustean 2010b:11). The status of these churches might change in the near or distant future as a result of their own actions and/or future agreements. For example, the Orthodox Church in America is recognized by the Moscow Patriarchate but not by the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Each of the autocephalous churches has clearly defined geographical boundaries of jurisdiction and is ruled by a synod presided by a primate, who might carry the honorary title of patriarch, pope, metropolitan or archbishop. Each autocephalous church consists of constituent eparchies (or dioceses). Some churches have given an eparchy or group of eparchies varying degrees of autonomy (self-government) or semi-autonomy. Leustean (2010b:10–11) lists a total of 14 such churches. These autonomous churches maintain varying levels of dependence on their mother church, usually defined in a written document of autonomy (an act or a tomos) (for additional discussion, see Bogolepov 2001 and Clendenin 2002). In addition, there are churches that for various reasons are not recognized by the Ecumenical

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Patriarchate and most other Orthodox churches. For example, the Old Calendarists—a group that does not recognize the Orthodox Church’s adoption of the Gregorian calendar—have their own churches that do not maintain communion with the aforementioned autocephalous churches. The above hierarchal structure explicitly rejects the principle of a single universal administrative authority. In Orthodox ecclesiology, no bishop has universal authority. No bishop can settle disputes over doctrine or pronounce doctrinal decisions unilaterally. Orthodox Christianity is based strictly on conciliarity and rejects the Petrine doctrine of papal supremacy. Decisions on issues of doctrine are settled only in ecumenical councils with the participation of patriarchs or their representatives. Orthodox and Catholics alike recognize the first five ecumenical councils of Christianity. Orthodox Christians recognize as ecumenical several councils that occurred afterward. Some Catholic councils are not recognized by the Orthodox Christians. To avoid confusion, in the text, councils are cited by their year and location and not in terms of their order of numerical succession. After the Great Schism of 1054 and the consolidation of Orthodox Christianity as a distinct religious tradition, the ecumenical patriarch has become first in order of precedence (seniority) within the Orthodox hierarchy. However, he remains primus inter pares as the word “ecumenical” did not and still does not mean “universal” but only “superior” bishop (Papadakis 1991). In the 20th century, the government of Turkey has also contested the use of the word “ecumenical” by the patriarch of Constantinople. There are several rights conferred on the patriarch by ecumenical councils, such as the right to mediate in ecclesiastical conflicts, to claim jurisdiction for regions outside the realm of established churches and to be the ultimate arbitrator in administrative disputes. These rights have not always been practically accepted by all churches. Execution of these rights has also been subject to creative reinterpretation of the original mandates.

Notes

NOTES TO CHAPTER 1 1. See van den Bercken (1999:1–6), Hann and Goltz (2010), and McGuckin (2008:1–3) for critical appraisals of Orthodoxy’s “exotic” nature. An important exception to this trend is MacCulloch’s (2009) history. Orthodox Christianity is the second largest branch of Christianity after Roman Catholicism if Protestant denominations are not grouped together. It is the third largest if all branches of Protestantism are counted as one. Estimates range from 180 to 300+ million worldwide (see Robertson 2008 and Krindatch 2000). 2. Clendenin ([1994] 2002:17) writes, “Most Christians in the West encounter Orthodoxy from the perspective of near total ignorance or mystification bordering on suspicion.” This perspective is reflected in textbooks: For example, Esposito, Fasching, and Lewis (2008:55) devote half a page to it. In the handbooks and companions to the study of religion that were published between 2001 and 2010, there is but a single chapter (Borowik 2007) specifically mentioning Orthodox Christianity. 3. For example, although statistics show considerable religious revival in the predominantly Orthodox countries of the region (Naletova 2009), researchers have expressed doubt regarding whether this rise in statistics reflects a new reality (Borowik 2002). According to Norris and Inglehart (2004), the rise was temporary. In this and many other instances, the intertwining of communist legacy and religious tradition is detrimental to the researchers’ efforts. 4. Hinnells’s (2010:6) statement that “sociology, psychology, history, philosophy departments in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries have moved religious studies towards the margins of their subject” aptly reflects past experience. 5. In a quantitative study of trends in Eastern Europe, Need and Evans (2001) found some qualified support for secularization claims with respect to religious membership, but this did not hold for church attendance; therefore, the authors came to the conclusion that it is necessary to examine “the institutional conditions under which general theories . . . apply” (243). 6. Riesebrodt and Konieczny (2010:159–60) note, “The sociology of religion must overcome its rampant parochialism. It must move beyond theoretical paradigms that work just for . . . a particular group of Western nations or religious traditions. . . . The great majority of sociologists of religion have . . . left the study of religion in non-Western countries mostly to scholars in disciplines outside sociology.”

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7. According to Orthodox theology, papal claims to primacy violate the conciliarity of the Christian tradition (see Pelikan 1977:163–70). This issue was deeply implicated in two other theological issues of contention: the question over the proper minister for the sacrament of confirmation—whether this could be done by a priest as in the East or only by a bishop as in the West— and the question of the compulsory celibacy of the clergy (Pelikan 1977:174). At stake was the pope’s right to unilaterally issue binding decisions on these matters, which was contested because in the Orthodox theological view, such matters could only be decided by a synod. 8. To cite an additional example, the Protestant “work ethic” remains powerful in many Western European countries—although the impact of a country’s religious culture is more potent than an individual’s religious beliefs (Giorgi and Marsh 1990). 9. Hann and Goltz (2010), for example, speak for an “emerging anthropology of Christianity” and explicitly situate the need for an engagement with Orthodox Christianity as a means of achieving such an objective. They correctly point out the legacy of Weber’s ([1922] 1968) perspective on Orthodoxy, whereby the complexities of its institutional and cultural setting are being reduced to caesaropapism. 10. See, for example, Bastian, Champion, and Rousselet (2001), Berger and Huntington (2002), Stackhouse and Paris (2000), Hopkins et al. (2001), Hedgehog Review (2002), Beckford (2003), Beyer and Beaman (2007) and, for a useful review, Obadia (2010). The rise of religious nationalism (Juergensmeyer 1994), the return of religion into public life or “de-privatization” of religion (Casanova 1994), the proliferation of international terrorism (Juergensmeyer 2001) and the personalized bricolage of individual religiosity (Beyer 1994) are some of the best known examples of religious-centered reactions to contemporary globalization. See Altglas (2010) for a compilation specific to religion and globalization. 11. Exceptions include Beyer’s (2006) general historical survey, Warburg’s (2006) study of the Baha’i and McMullen’s (2000) work. 12. “Europe’s acquisition of the adjective ‘modern’ for itself is a piece of global history,” Chakrabarty (1992:20–21) has argued. This viewpoint has provided the foundation for contemporary research and theorizing of historical globalization. 13. Flusty (2004:103) states, “All views of the global are views from the inside. We are the inscribers of globalisation, we are the participants in complex webs of emerging relationships that are simultaneously spatially extensive and psychically intensive.” 14. After a long period of decline, the revitalization of the relationship between historical sociology and the sociology of religion is once more a promising research area (Gorski 2005; Christiano 2008). To explore different historical trajectories, a strategy of contrasting different historical contexts is used (Bendix 1984). 15. On the distinction between “thick” and “thin” relationships, see Walzer (1994). For other efforts on the periodization of globalization and varied assessments of its influence in world history, see Therborn (2000), Hopkins (2002), Robertson (2003), Hobson (2004) and Campbell (2007). 16. The ROC also facilitated the absorption of various peoples into the Russian Empire—operating as an instrument of “internal” colonization (see Khodarkovski 2010; Geraci and Khodarkovski 2001; Kobtzeff 1986). Two additional cases of Orthodox people under colonial regime include the British regime in the Ionian Islands (1815–1864) and the Habsburg administration of Bosnia–Herzegovina (1878–1914).

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NOTES TO CHAPTER 2 1. If the reign of Constantine I the Great (306–337 AD) is used as the seminal reference point for the adaptation of Christianity as the Roman Empire’s official religion, then the fourth century AD is the original date for the creation of the universal Christian Church. Using the Council of Chalcedon (451 AD) as the reference point for the introduction of Orthodoxy as a label makes the fifth century AD the period in which Chalcedonian Orthodoxy emerged as a specific form of Christianity. 2. Several prominent church hierarchs considered the issues cited by Cerularius to be of secondary significance (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:101). Morris ([1989] 2001:137) suggests that it was a papal letter citing the Filioque in 1009 that led the Patriarchate to withhold formal recognition of the pope and hence not to include the pope’s name in liturgy. After Pope Urban II complained to Emperor Alexius I Comnenus that the pope’s name was not mentioned in the liturgy in Constantinople, a synod was convoked in 1089 to inquire into the issue. Its conclusion was that the pope’s name had not been lawfully omitted, for no such decision was made. The synod suggested that the pope could deliver an enthronement letter informing his brothers of his appointment—including a Confession of Faith—to officially notify the Church and the emperor (Chadwick 2003:222–24; Papadakis [1994] 2003:120–22). The pope never did so because that would have been against the notion of papal primacy and because such a confession would have included the Filioque. In 1112, in papal correspondence with Emperor Alexius I, a formal claim to primacy was made requesting that the emperor place the ecumenical patriarch under papal authority (Papadakis [1994] 2003:154). 3. Augustine of Hippo is reported to have used the notions of “Eastern” and “Western” Church (Chadwick 2003:31), suggesting his awareness of differences. However, Augustine endorsed the idea of a single universal church undivided by secular regimes, customs and different languages. 4. Quoted in Gvosdev (2001:41; see also Meyendorff [1981] 1988:37). 5. According to sixth-century Justinian legislation, the patriarch was elected by a joint clergy–laity body—but the emperor remained later as the sole laity representative. By the ninth century, the rules used entailed the selection of three candidates by the synod, with the emperor selecting one of them for the post (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:26). 6. See Shepard (2008:18) and Makrides (2009:64). See Geanakopoulos ([1979] 1993:108–18) on Charlemagne. For a historical example of the mutual suspicion and mistrust between Greeks and Latins, see Geanakopoulos ([1979] 1993:163–64). In 976, Emperor Basil I also protested to Louis the Pious against the use of the title “Imperator Romanorum” (Wolff [1949] 2007:272). 7. In the Ecumenical Synod of 381, the bishop of Constantinople was elevated to second in rank. It was deemed that the capital city’s bishop should have the appropriate rank. Chalcedon’s 28th canon confirmed the decision (Zernov 1963:76; Meyendorff [1981] 1988:22). It conferred jurisdiction in Pontus, Asia Minor and Thrace, creating a patriarchate similar in territorial authority to Rome, Antioch or Alexandria. By the seventh century, patriarchal jurisdiction included 424 bishoprics (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:26). 8. Rome also refused to recognize the 691–692 council’s affirmation of earlier councils’ decisions that the archbishop of Constantinople should be second in rank after it (Hussey [1986] 1990:27; Louth 2007:76). The Orthodox East’s principle of the pentarchy and its ability to decide doctrinal issues directly clashed with Rome’s central assertion that the pope stood above their

178

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10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

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Notes authority (Pelikan 1977:161–70). For a general assessment of the Papal claims from an Orthodox perspective, see Papadakis ([1994] 2003:78–96). Patriarch Acacius (472–488 AD) was the first patriarch to whom this title was attributed, causing the pope’s immediate complaints (Maximos 1976:251). Only in the sixth century AD, however, did the term come into regular use as a courtesy title for the archbishops of Constantinople. Patriarchs John of Cappadocia (518–520), Anthimos (535–536) and Menas (536–552) used the title (Maximos 1976:252; Geanakopoulos [1979] 1993:150). Meyendorff ([1981] 1988:25) argues that the title was adopted during the reign of Ioannis (582– 595) and that its use signified the authority of the patriarch to act as regent in case the emperor was a minor or in his absence. These included the members of the Church of the East (referred to as Nestorians), who had broken away after the Council of Ephesus (431), and the non-Chalcedonians: the Syrians (also referred to as Jacobites, after Jacob Baradeus), the Maronites and the Copts of Egypt (Zernov 1963:58– 59, 68–70; Louth 2007:23; McEvitt 2008:8–9). Orthodox Christians were referred to as “Melkites” from the Syrian word “malka” (emperor or king), which designated them as those who maintained their links with the empire. “In Constantinople, Charlemagne’s coronation . . . appeared as the latest in a long series of Italian usurpations” (McCormick 2008:417). Later, imperial ambassadors called Charlemagne basileus without specifying of whom or what; it was a diplomatic act of savvy that allowed both parties to maintain their claims. In 1082, new material was added to the Synodikon following the trial of John Italos for heresy (Angold 1995:69–61). The decisions of the 1351 synod that included the victory of the hesychasts were also included in the Synodikon (Papadakis [1994] 2003:439). See Gvosdev (2001:66, 137–48) for a lucid case study of Medieval Georgia. Georgia offers a critically important case that further documents the Orthodox route in church–state relations, including the notions of complementarity and symphonia as well as Orthodoxy’s propensity toward indigenization. As Meyendorff ([1981] 1988:49) notes, this indigenization remains confined to religious texts that were translated into Old Slavonic, but it did not extend into secular literature (such as Ancient Greek texts). That process stood in sharp contrast to the West, where knowledge of Latin also offered access to classical texts written in that language. According to Shubin (2004:38–40), who also provides the full list. Clergymen were thus invited from neighboring Bulgaria to advance the use of Slavonic in services (Shubin 2004:59). Meyendorff ([1981] 1988:46) reports 23 metropolitans, 17 of whom came from the “Greek lands” and only two of whom were Russian. In 1248, while in exile, the Nicea-based patriarch consecrated Kirill as metropolitan of Kiev. Upon his return, Kirill discovered that the Galician Prince Daniel Romanovich contemplated an alliance with the pope against the Tatars and promptly intervened against it. He then moved to the north where he supported Nevksij’s campaign (Pospielovski 1998:38; Shubin 2004:87–89). This course of action reflects the shift in post-1204 attitudes among Orthodox clergy. The notion of Christendom was introduced in Western Europe through a ninth-century Anglo-Saxon translation of the History against the Pagans by Augustine of Hippo (MacCulloch 2009:503). It offered a concept gradually identified with Latin or Roman Catholic Christianity.

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18. The last one was a belated addition: only by the mid-10th century did the papal reform movement attempt to enforce celibacy among priests and papal authority over bishops. The use of unleavened bread in liturgy alone was never a key issue but was often added to the list of disputed items (Pelikan 1977:177–79). The same holds for the dispute over whether priests or bishops could offer the sacraments of confirmation (the former did so in the East, but only the latter did so in the West).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 3 1. In 2001, Pope John Paul II issued an apology for the events of the Fourth Crusade, whereby he lamented the fact that “the assailants who set out to secure free access for Christians to the Holy Land, turned against their brothers in the faith. That they were Latin Christians fills Catholics with deep regret” (quoted in Phillips 2005, xiii). 2. From 1073 to 1118, the Papacy was continuously occupied by men with monastic training, which illustrates the importance of monastic orders at the time (Morris [1989] 2001:4). An entire disciplinary apparatus associated with the standardization of religious practices was gradually developed and applied. As Asad (1993) argues, these practices helped shape the Christian understanding of what “religion” means and, subsequently, the meaning of the word “secular.” 3. Formally, the Eastern Roman emperor seemed powerful as bishops and patriarchs were appointed and dismissed at his will. In his assessment of the relationship between imperial authority and canon law, Theodore Balsamon, the chartophylax of St. Sophia and later on patriarch of Antioch, argued that the emperor was not necessarily bound by canon law, yet his actions were deemed legitimate (Angold 1995:101–5). However, the underlying reality was quite different: “It is easy to see how the balance between church and emperor . . . shifted markedly towards the former since the death of Basil II” (Angold 1995:39). 4. It is worth pointing out that the contemporary numbering system is an invention of 19th-century historiography, and it applies only to the largest of the Crusades while ignoring lesser campaigns of similar orientation (Philips 2005, xix). As a result, the reader might get the impression that the Crusades were clearly demarcated and organized military campaigns. 5. Under Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) the Roman Catholic Church conducted a series of codifications over past crusading practices, and it actively encouraged the expansion of the Crusades’ scope (Tyerman 1998:35). Ecclesiastical taxation was also used to provide funds (Riley-Smith [1987] 2005:150). The notion of “Crusaders” consolidated and became clearly identifiable (Tyerman 1998:49–51). 6. Emperor Alexius III’s 1199 reply to this letter (quoted in Cleary 1993:215) succinctly and accurately summarizes the Orthodox point of view. The emperor suggests that the ecclesiastical dispute must be negotiated between the rival parties and refuses to use his own authority to force the patriarch to accept papal supremacy. From Pope Innocent III’s perspective (as analyzed in Cleary 1993), the “Greeks” were entirely culpable for the schism; they were the ones who refuted the authority of the apostolic see. 7. In Angold’s (2003:212) assessment, the localization of power, the ascendancy of the Orthodox Church and an allegiance to a common Hellenic culture separate the post-1261 “late Byzantium” from the earlier empire.

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8. “The Byzantine laity identified itself with the struggle against the union of churches. Victory came in 1285 when the new Emperor Andronicus II Paleologos publicly renounced his father’s unionist policies. This reflected the changing balance between church, society and imperial authority, amounting, at long last, to a measure of identification of orthodoxy and society” (Angold 1995:11). Another difference that emerged in the context of the post-1204 dialogue between the two sides concerned purgatory, which was rejected by the Orthodox. The first official mention comes from a 1235 exchange (Chadwick 2003:244–45; Papadakis [1994] 2003:595). Discussion led to further codification of purgatory as part of the Roman Catholic doctrine in 1254. 9. For a theological exposé, see Pelikan (1977:258–70) and Papadakis ([1994] 2003:439–57). For a historical narrative of the events, see Angold (2006:62– 69; Hussey [1986] 1990:258–60) and Papadakis ([1994] 2003:430–39). Papadakis ([1994] 2003:436) argues that there was no collusion between the sides involved in the Palaiologoi civil strife and the Hesychast Controversy other than that the controversy was dragged into the civil strife as part of the politics of the day. 10. Meyendorff ([1964] 1998b) offers the most detailed theological and historical study of Palamas. For more critical accounts, see Krausmuller (2006) and Angold (2006). An important predecessor to Palamas is Symeon the New Theologian, who lived in the 10th century. Symeon was later canonized, but his theology of divine light seems to have been marginally influential at the time (Angold 1995:269). His writings served as an inspiration for 14thcentury proponents of hesychasm. Palamas’s importance in the historical events does not mean he was the only important figure: Gregory of Sinai (Meyendorff [1974] 1998a:127) was arguably a mystic of similar stature. 11. By midcentury, the patriarch was described as “the spiritual image of Christ and source of the emperor’s authority” (Shepard 2006:21). In a 1370 letter to the Grand Prince of Moscow, Patriarch Filotheos calls himself “common father to all Christians,” and in a 1393 letter Patriarch Antonios declares that he is the leader “of all the Christians of the ecumene” and a vicar of Christ (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:161). Hussey ([1986] 1990:290) states, “At a time when the imperial position was being constantly eroded by the Ottoman advance and Latin military aid being implored, the Orthodox Church went its own way, strengthened in its spiritual life and emphasizing its own powers of jurisdiction and moral authority.” 12. The first such instance occurred with the 1208 coronation of Nicea-based Emperor Theorode I Laskaris and was mirrored in the 1224 coronation of his short-lived rival Theodoros Angelos (Meyendorff [1982] 1990:93–94). The practice was most likely imported in an attempt to mirror the coronation of the Latin Emperor in Constantinople. 13. On these negotiations, see Papadakis ([1994] 2003:371–76), Shepard (2006:16) and Gonis (2001:57–60). The archbishop of Turnovo received the title of “primas” in exchange for an oath of loyalty to the Pope as well as promises to defend the Pope and to partake in synods of the Roman Catholic Church. 14. According to Meyendorff ([1981] 1988:116–17, 123–24), by 1299, Metropolitan Maximus added Vladimir to his residences, whereas his successor Peter took residence in Moscow, where he also built a church. According to Shubin (2004:95–97), practically the shift had occurred even earlier. In 1299, the Mongols attacked Kiev, causing considerable devastation, and this was a major factor in Maximus’s 1299 move north.

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15. In 1415, with the support of the Grand Duke, a local synod elected Gregory Tsamblak (1415–1419) as metropolitan of Kiev and all Russ, thereby challenging the authority of Moscow and that of the ecumenical patriarch (Gudziak 1998:5). The challenge was short-lived, and the illegally elected metropolitan was excommunicated by the patriarch. 16. See Lourie (2007:209), Papadakis ([1994] 2003:526–29), Meyendorff ([1982] 1990:51), and Shubin (2004:124–30). For additional details on Moscow’s self-declared autonomy, see Chapter 4 of this volume. 17. Patriarch Filotheos played an important role in furthering this standardization by authoring a codification of liturgical rules and sending copies of it throughout the Orthodox world. By 1429, the new Typikon had reached as far as the St. Sergius monastery in Moscow (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:172–73; Papadakis [1994] 2003:468–69). Translations included mostly ecclesiastical manuals and theological treatises with little attention to more secular sources. In the 14th century, the Stoudios monastery was a source of books arriving in Russia (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:180). These influences underlie the 14thand 15th-century monastic revival when 150 monasteries were founded in northern Russia (Meyendorff [1981] 1988:182).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 4 1. According to the Eastern Roman imperial worldview, universal Christianity was linked to the idea of a world empire (ecumene). It was a notion given up reluctantly. Senior churchmen both in Mount Athos and the Ecumenical Patriarchate did not see “merit in the fragmentation of earthly powers [but instead they] upheld the idea of empire as an article of faith. . . . Allegiance to a Christian Roman emperor on earth and specifically in the ‘holy city’ of Constantinople, was a characteristic that distinguished true Romans from mere Latins” (Shepard 2008:47). This understanding is also echoed in the attitude of Georgian, Bulgarian and Serb rulers, who also viewed veneration of Mount Athos’s monks and patronage of individual monasteries as a means of gaining both God’s favor and their subjects’ respect (Shepard 2008:46). 2. The Russian state grew out of the administration of the ruler’s household, whereby people and land were held as possessions (Buss 2003:31–32). The practical necessities of state formation, its connection with Russian ethnicity and the gradual impact of Westernization and of Western European models and ideas of governance further removed the practical appeal of universal authority (Gvosdev 2001:182). Ivan III made increasing use of the title of tsar (Crummey 1987:96). 3. The 17th-century Orthodox bishop Peter Mogila (or Mohyla) played a key role in revitalizing Orthodoxy in Ukraine. His influence was decisive because his Greco-Latin school was used for the education of clergy who were later posted throughout the Russian Empire (see Pospielovski 1998:98–100; Shubin 2005a; Crummey 2006). 4. According to the tale, a white cowl worn by Rome’s popes was transferred to Constantinople after the popes’ fall into heresy. Because of the “sins of the Greeks,” it abandoned second Rome (Constantinople) and appeared in Novgorod to be worn by that city’s bishop (Pospielovski 1998:45; see also Crummey 1987:133–40; Hosking 1998a:47). 5. It is estimated that some 150 monasteries were founded in the 14th century, 250 or more in the 15th century and over 330 in the 16th century. Not all of them fared well in the long run. By the end of the 16th century, there should

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9.

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Notes have been over 500 monasteries functioning in the Moscow territory (Rock 2006:266). See Bushkovitch (1992:11–20), Pospielovski (1998:57–66) and Lourie (2007:211–15). The possessors (also referred to as Josephites) were followers of Joseph Voloskii, hegumen of the monastery of the Mother of God in Volokolamsk. The nonpossessors were followers of hermit Nil Sorskii (Bushkovitch 1992:14–15; Shubin 2004:176–79; Rock 2006:269–70). Their differences appear to be a matter of emphasis. Whereas Nil’s position was actually weaker on theological grounds, his stance responded forcefully to the prospect of turning the Church into a landowner. The nonpossessors’ program of religious reform was developed in consultation with Maxim the Greek, a monk who arrived in Moscow after the grand prince requested assistance from Mount Athos’s monasteries. He worked on translations from Greek books and was persecuted as a result of his involvement in the controversy. On the council, see Bushkovitch (1992:22–25), Zernov (1963:143), Hosking (1998a:51), van den Bercken (1999:16) and Lourie (2007:213). The council approved 100 statutes, hence its name (Pospielovski 1998:63). According to its decisions, jurisdiction over monasteries was transferred to bishops, bypassing the tsar’s court. It is worth noting that the number of bishops and archbishops between 1240 and 1551 increased by only one (Crummey 1987:116). On the 1589 events, see van den Bercken (1999:158), Gudziak (1998:168–87), P. Meyendorff (1991) and Shubin (2005a:5–36). In 1590 and 1593, two councils were convoked with the participation of representatives from the other Orthodox patriarchates. These offered a post hoc ratification of the patriarchal (uncanonical) decision. It was argued that Moscow’s elevation completed the original Pentarchy, which had been left incomplete since the split with Rome. For example, in 1600, the Troitse Sergeev Monastery owned approximately 2,500 villagers, and the Solovetskii Monastery employed 700 workers in salt works and owned its own fishing and merchant fleet on the White Sea (Buss 2003:44). The 1649 Law Code changed the monasteries’ legal relationship with the state by creating a monastery department, which was authorized to try criminal and civil cases involving clergymen and inhabitants of Church-owned property (Bushkovitch 1992:57; Crummey 2006:314). Moreover, under pressure by urban taxpayers, the government confiscated the Church’s tax-exempt urban settlements used by Church dependents for trade. In subsequent centuries, the monastery department eventually came under permanent state oversight. Under Peter the Great, an initial decision was made about the nationalization of Church property, but that decision was effectively implemented in 1763 (Shubin 2005b:23). This meant that either the parish liturgy would last for an unrealistic length of time, prompting complaints, or that parts of the liturgy would be spoken simultaneously. The zealots opted for the first option. The 1551 council had banned polyvocality, but most bishops opposed implementation of the decision. In 1649, a local council confirmed the practice and asked the tsar to persecute the zealots. The tsar was in favor of the zealots, and the Moscow patriarch asked the advice of the ecumenical patriarch. After the ecumenical patriarch condemned the practice, a 1651 local council reversed the earlier decision and banned the practice (Pospielovksi 1998:68–70). Nikon claimed that his reforms were based on corrections made on the basis of ancient Slavonic and Greek manuscripts, but this is not true. In reality, the new editions were based on the 1502 Venice edition of the Greek Euchologion (see P. Meyendorff 1991). That is, Nikon and his supporters

Notes

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13.

14.

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16.

17.

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made an innovative use of tradition, a tendency repeatedly observed in Orthodox Christianity. It was not the first time. During Patriarch Filaret’s reign, Tsar Michael ordered a committee to investigate the issue. The committee discovered several mistakes, but their work provoked a violent reaction. In 1618, a local synod attacked these early reform efforts to correct liturgical books, condemned the committee’s members as heretics and defrocked them (Crummey 2006:307). To be fair, the patriarchal reply also attempted to persuade Nikon to follow a slow and gradual rate of reform—precisely in order to avoid a schism. The Patriarchate’s response was that the type of uniformity sought was not always necessary as it concerned practices and rituals that were not doctrinal issues (P. Meyendorff 1991:57–59). See Zernov (1963:150), Crummey (2006:317–20), P. Meyendorff (1991: 68–72) and Shubin (2005a:116–25). Additionally, the manuscript used to establish the Third Rome legend was exposed as fabrication and condemned (van den Bercken 1999:164–67). The council and the entire affair have been controversial to this day, and typically, authors adopt different perspectives of this affair depending on their assessment of blame and on their own sympathies vis-à-vis the sides involved in the controversy. Conventionally, Nikon and the Orthodox patriarchs were criticized; but increasingly, there is growing realization of the decisive role of the tsar’s court in pushing forward with the reforms. As Michels (1999) shows, the old or initial generation of the religious dissenters was largely ineffective in their ability to gain popularity. Michels also dispels the notion that the early religious dissenters came from the lower classes; rather, they were part of the religious reforming circles, but they did not have printing at their disposal as printing was tightly regulated. Buss (2003:88) reports different estimates for the early 20th century, numbering up to 20 million as Old Believers and six million as adherents to various other sects. Shubin (2005b:207–10) offers some compelling information about the official hierarchy’s falsification of the counts of Old Believers. In contrast to the official numbers, by 1878, it was estimated that close to 14 million were included among the various sectarian groups and the Old Believers. Official persecution of Old Believers fostered the Russian tsar’s role as guardian of the faith, whereas political dissent was channeled into religious expression (for examples, see Gvosdev 2001:207; Shubin 2005b). By the 19th century, Old Believers were also present in urban contexts, where they gained good reputations thanks to their honesty and temperament (Buss 2003:61; for a detailed narrative and analysis of the specifics of the various groups, see Shubin 2005b). As Hosking (1998a, 1998b) has argued, the schism placed popular or demotic understandings of Russianness (russkij) against the imperial project (rosiiskii). The chasm persisted for the coming centuries, and the project of empiremaking meant that the two were impossible to reconcile. See also Trepanier (2007) for a similar interpretation. The 1581 foundation of the Greek College of St. Athanasius in Rome fostered the training of priests from Orthodox lands who, upon completion of their studies, would return to the East to preach in favor of the union (Kitromilides 2006b:188; see also Frazee 1983). The 1596 Union of Brest (Gudziak 1998) is yet another example. This was consistent with the broader philosophy of the millet system, whereby people were grouped according to their confession: Two other major examples of such group labels include the Latins (Roman Catholics of various nations and ethnicities) and Turks (Muslims of various ethnic backgrounds, including

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21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

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Notes Muslim Albanians or Muslim Bosnians, two major examples in which this label had nothing to do with ethnicity). Matalas (2003:23–24) cites two 16th-century examples that testify to the awareness of ethnic differences in Holy Mountain monasteries. In both cases, two Bulgarian monasteries were taken over by Greek monks, leading to a change in the liturgical language. The contemporaries duly noted this shift, a fact that testifies to the awareness of ethnic distinctions. Of course, the Greek Orthodox religious authorities at the time did not do so for nationalist reasons but for ecclesiastical reasons. Although religious authorities assumed the responsibility for performing civil functions (such as tax collection, disposing of legal matters and so on), it is a mistake to assume that the Orthodox clergy alone performed all such functions throughout the period of Ottoman rule. On the contrary, in due course of time, civil institutions did emerge (see Petrou 1992:81–94). The Serb Orthodox Church provided another organizational structure. The Serb Church was abolished when Serbia became an Ottoman province (pashalik) in 1459. However, in 1557, it was restored only to be abolished in 1766 (Gonis 2001:221–28; Radic 2007:234). The Serbs’ situation was extensively impacted by the 1699 great migration. During the Habsburg– Ottoman wars, the Serb Orthodox leaders supported the Habsburgs. When the Ottoman forces made a comeback, the Serb patriarch along with thousands of Serbs fled to Habsburg territories (see Ramet 1996:150–53 for a brief summary). The archbishopric of Karlowitz was subsequently established to minister this refugee population. Kitromilides ([1999] 2007d:139–40) states, “It is also an anachronism to ascribe to the Patriarchate of Constantinople a conscious policy designed to promote the “hellenization” of the Balkans in this period. The ascription of this motivation would certainly have scandalized the Christian conscience of pious prelates in the patriarchal synod since they might have understood it only as an attempt to revive ancient paganism.” See also Livanios (2008). For an example of such an awareness of ethnic identity among intellectuals, see the example of (17th century) Phanariot leader Alexandros Mavocodratos (Kitromilides [1998] 2007e:11). This awareness is voluntarily cast aside in favor of the more inclusive Orthodox identity of the Rum millet. It is important to distinguish among different connotations of the term “secularization.” Following Casanova (2006:7), I differentiate among (a) secularization as the decline of religious beliefs and practices, (b) secularization as religious privatization and (c) secularization as differentiation in the sense of emancipation from religious institutions and norms. The third connotation of secularization is relevant in the historical treatment of Ottoman-held Southeastern Europe, whereas the other two come into play only in the 19th and 20th centuries. See Pospielovski (1998) and Shubin (2005b:116–21) for an account of the institutional developments. Freeze’s (1983, 1985, 1996) invaluable studies illustrate the complexity of the interactions between popular religious piety and attempts to use this piety to bolster the regime’s own self-image. Voulgaris eventually moved to Russia and became metropolitan of Herson. His biography offers a great illustration of the interconnections among the Orthodox lands and the manner in which Enlightenment ideals were nurtured within the confines of the Orthodox hierarchy (see Batalden 1983). In 1582, a papal envoy met with Ecumenical Patriarch Jeremiah II to discuss the upcoming proclamation of the Gregorian calendar. Although the patriarch did not dismiss the proposal, the unilateral declaration of the calendar turned it into an object of controversy (Paraskevaidis 1982:20–23; Gudziak 1998:37).

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29. The Gregorian calendar remained very much a Western European calendar until the 19th century. In 1873 and 1875, Japan and Egypt became the first non-Christian countries to adopt it. Its adoption became fashionable with the conclusion of World War I, when Albania (1912 ), Estonia (1917) and the kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes (1919) also adopted it (Zerubavel 1981:99). 30. For the Church’s position and interpretation of the controversy, see Paraskevaidis (1982). For the Old Calendarists’ view, see Chrysostomos, Auxentios, and Ambrosios (1991). The movement was initiated by Mount Athos’s monks, who continued to use the Julian Calendar. They attracted the support of bishops and priests, arguing that what they stood against was not just the Gregorian Calendar but the ecumenist tendencies of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. The Old Calendarist movement became a formidable critic of the World Council of Churches. In the course of the 20th century, the movement eventually declined as there were several splits within their ranks (see Matsuzato 2010 for a lucid summary). 31. It is necessary to draw a distinction between Orthodox churches following the Old (Julian) Calendar and Old Calendarists. The former include the churches of Russia, Jerusalem and Serbia. These churches are in communion with the New Calendarist Eastern Orthodox churches. The latter include those Orthodox Christians who have broken off communion both with New Calendarist churches and with the Old Calendarist churches that continue to be in communion with the New Calendarists (Ware 2002:9).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 5 1. The general literature on nationalism cannot be reviewed here, but the general dispute over whether nations have historical antecedents is widely known. See Hobsbawm (1990), Gellner (1983), Anderson (1991) and Smith (1986, 1998) for rival perspectives. 2. In contrast to the new narrative of nationalism in past centuries, the colonial empires of Spain, Portugal and Britain (like the ones of Imperial Russia, the Habsburgs and the Ottomans) made no reference to any meaningful connections between “people” and “soil” but instead sought a close symbiotic relationship with various religions (Bayly 2004:32–35). In prenational narratives, people were united with a particular patria (hometown or village or region) and a religious community. 3. Such contact leads to individuals questioning the definitions, boundaries, categories and conclusions through which they have understood the world and established their identity (Campbell 2005:54). Such questioning applies to religious identity as well: For example, consider the 16th-century Roman Catholic debate about whether the natives of the New World were creatures of the same Creation and hence possessed souls that ought to be saved. At that time, the very notions of humankind and human nature were called into question. 4. Part of this section’s discussion of Orthodox institutions in the Ottoman Empire relies heavily on Roudometof (2010a). 5. For discussions, see Roudometof (1998b), Leustean (2008) and Castellan (1985). The replacement of the universalistic union of Rum millet by nationalist discourses was but one possible route toward modernization. This discussion cannot address this issue in all its complexity. See Roudometof (2001) for further discussion.

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6. In the Serb case, the progression from autonomy to autocephaly to the proclamation of revived Patriarchal status in 1920 followed the successive upgrading and expansion of the country from autonomy to independence to the formation of the post-World War I original kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes (Gonis 2001:242–51). 7. Leustean (2007:734) writes, “The Church and the state were engaged in winning the souls of the masses by combining religious and political discourses, thus influencing the political evolution of the state.” Orthodoxy was fundamental to Romania’s political culture, and as a result, both the extreme right Iron Guard and the short-lived royal dictatorship used the Church’s nationalist discourse. 8. For an overview of the Macedonian Question and additional literature, see Roudometof (2002). For a critical overview of the national propaganda campaigns of the local nation-states, see Ilchev ([1995] 2001). Ethnic homogenization involved the use of religion as a main marker, and its application in Southeastern Europe entailed extensive use of ethnic cleansing (for a general overview, see Lieberman 2006). 9. On the Orthodox churches in communist Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, see Alexander (1979), Buchenau (2010), Dimitrov (2007) and Gonis (2001). Albania was also among the communist countries, but Orthodoxy was a minority faith. In Albania, an autocephalous Orthodox Church was initially instituted during the interwar era (Ramet 1996:206–9). However, the postWorld War II communist regime practically destroyed the Orthodox Church (for an overview, see Pano 2010). The Church was revived only after the fall of communism and after the appointment of Archbishop Anastasios, an ethnic Greek, prompted complaints that the Church was effectively used as an instrument of Hellenization (Ramet 1996:223–24). In spite of these complaints, Anastasios turned out to be an effective administrator who managed to successfully navigate a careful course away from involvement with nationalist politics. 10. For example, the church in Russia was financially separated from the state with the clergy’s salaries paid by local congregations. In contrast, in Bulgaria, the priests received a small state salary, whereas the Romanian clergy received salaries roughly equivalent to those of the rest of the population (Leustean 2010c:47). 11. Certainly, the Serb Orthodox Church’s followers and some bishops were involved in nationalist rhetoric, whereas in Bulgaria, the Orthodox Church went through a major rift that entailed the creation of two rival synods. For Serbia, see Buchenau (2005, 2010) and Aleksov (2010). For Bulgaria’s schism, see Broun (1993, 2000, 2004). For discussions on postcommunist Romania’s religious politics see Flora, Szilagyi, and Roudometof (2005), Stan and Turcescu (2007) and Turcescu and Stan (2010). 12. In the case of Belarus, the early establishment of an autonomous Belarusian Orthodox Church under the auspices of the ROC forestalled any conceivable attempt to combine the themes of national and ecclesiastical self-assertion (Dunlop 1995:28). In the case of Latvia, the result was administrative fragmentation, with the Russian Church maintaining some control over local parishes. 13. All statistics in the above paragraph are adopted from Krindatch (2003). The Patriarchal effort was not successful, and the situation of multiple ecclesiastical organizations within Ukraine has persisted. See also Chapter 7 of this volume for additional discussion about the UAOC’s status in North America. 14. The 2009 visit of the Russian Patriarch Kirill II in Ukraine offered a spectacular example of the intertwining of politics and religion (Mitrokhin 2010;

Notes

15.

16.

17.

18.

187

Tonoyan and Payne 2010). The Patriarch’s call to maintain the Russian– Ukrainian links was framed within the context of contemporary nationalist politics in Ukraine, whereas Ukrainian political leadership sought the participation of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew in an effort to solicit the recognition of an autocephalous Ukrainian Orthodox Church. Yelenski (2010) argues that Ukrainian religious culture is deprived of a strict denominational connotation, whereas Warner (2010) argues that the result of religious competition in the Ukrainian religious market has led to a growing sense of “Orthodox pluralism.” In Warner’s view, religious attachment to parishes displays elements of mutability and variability that are not entirely consistent with monolithic church membership. See Garrard and Garrard (2008) for an evocative description of Patriarch Alexei II’s role in the Church’s revival and an overview of his actions. The Garrards masterfully analyze the Patriarch’s role in the complicated politics surrounding the canonization of the last Tsar Nicholas—who was eventually canonized as a “passion-bearer” saint of the Church. See also Knox (2005) for a lucid analysis of the ROC’s contribution to the construction of a civil society in post-Soviet Russia. The most important objectives of the ROC have included asserting its own political role within Russia, influencing society and maintaining its old jurisdictional boundaries (Fajfer and Rimestad 2010:218–22). For a discussion of the amicable and close relations between the ROC and the state under Putin, see Simons (2009:15–36) and Knox (2005:128–30). Although 82 percent of Russians call themselves Orthodox, only 42 percent self-identify as believers. Of those who do not self-identify as believers, 50 percent still call themselves Orthodox as do some 42 percent of atheists (statistics from Garrard and Garrard 2008:245). In short, as the Garrards observe, to be Orthodox reasserts the respondents’ pride in being Russian. What is rarely mentioned is that this is not a Russian peculiarity; see the text of Chapter 5 for several examples.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 6 1. During his tenure (1779–1809) as Dragoman, Hadjiorgakis Kornesios was the exception that confirms this rule. In a petition to the Sublime Porte, he is referred to as “the dragoman of the Cypriot reaya and representative of the vilayet” (Rizopoulou-Egoumenidou 1995:7). Kornesios was the only nonecclesiastical person who successfully claimed the role of institutional arbiter between the people and the Ottoman government. In a letter to the Istanbul embassy, Larnaca’s French consul wrote regarding Kornesios, “The Governor and the local agas had nothing more than a shadow of authority. Only the Dragoman existed. If sometimes the governors wished to govern, he could stop them based on his financial power” (Kyriazis 1934:19). 2. The Koinon fund was the original name for the central fund of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, which also served as a community bank given that it provided loans, and the largest part of the EC-PATR’s income was deposited there (see Moshovakis 1882:60). Copying that practice, the funds of various bishoprics and monasteries were also called Koinon. These functioned according to the same standards but on a smaller scale because they were used only for the local population. 3. See Cyprus Gazette (May 1, 1925) Notification No. 266. Great Britain agreed to preserve the Ottomans’ status quo concerning religious associations, and

188

4.

5. 6. 7.

8.

Notes that commitment was reiterated after Cyprus’s 1914 formal annexation and its 1923 recognition by Turkey. Kyprianos’s original electoral success in the 1883 elections was followed by the success of the Bishop of Kerynia, Cyril Papadopoulos, in 1889. Cyril remained in office until 1911. Gerasimos, the Hegumen of the Kykkos Monastery, was also a council member between 1893 and 1891. With the exception of the Legislative Councils of 1911, 1916 and 1921, there was at least one religious leader elected in all councils until the British abolished the institution in 1931. All information on the council’s elections is drawn from the Cyprus Blue Books (1887–1931). Michael Georgiou Manoli v. Makarios Archbishop of Cyprus, Decision of the District Court of Nicosia, No. 343/1948 in Gavrielides ([1950] 1972:72–76). The following paragraphs in this chapter’s section are based on Roudometof (2010c). Although 32.4 percent expressed some confidence in the Church, 13.4 percent expressed complete confidence, and 24.8 percent expressed very little or no confidence in churches or religious organizations (ISSP 1998). However, in the same survey, the overwhelming majority (82.4 percent) felt that religious leaders should not attempt to influence government decision making, whereas over two-thirds of the public (70 percent) felt that religious organizations and churches had too much power, with only 0.2 percent expressing strong disagreement over such a statement. According to Mayes (1981), the bishops’ revolt represented the political frustration of the nationalists over Makarios III’s policies. In contrast, Peristianis (1993) considers their actions as expressions of a conservative reaction to Cyprus’s modernization. It is worth pointing out that the bishops’ request that Makarios surrender the office of the president dates as far as back as 1968.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 7 1. See Krindatch (2002) for an overview of the variety of different ecclesiastical arrangements of Orthodox institutions in the United States. Additionally, see Volkov (2005) for a comparative ethnography of U.S.-based Greek Orthodox and Serb Orthodox parishes. 2. See Religion in Germany (n.d.). This population is divided into Greeks, Romanians, Serbians, Ukrainians, Russians, Bulgarians and other smaller groups. 3. The International Conference on Orthodoxy and Migration: The Establishment of Churches and the Integration of Orthodox Populations in the West (December 3, 2010, University of Neuchatel, Switzerland) and the subsequently planned volume of the conference’s papers (see Meyer and Hammerli, forthcoming) represent a recent effort to explore the Orthodox presence in Western Europe. 4. It is necessary to point out the divergent results that one obtains from selfidentification based on censuses versus individual self-reporting by specific churches versus third-party estimates based on criteria related to specifically performing religious rituals and practices. According to this third set of criteria, only small minorities of those who publicly self-identify as Orthodox can be meaningfully described as “adherents” (see Krindatch 2010 for the survey results). Krindatch (2011) has further calculated that by 2010, the sum total of all Eastern (Orthodox and Oriental) Christians in the United States

Notes

5.

6. 7.

8. 9.

10.

11.

12. 13.

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was 1,043,850. These were distributed in 2,373 parishes, but the percentage of those who regularly attended services was only 28.2 percent. This image, however, is constructed on the basis of criteria that are far better suited for the study of adherence among Protestants and Roman Catholics and do not necessarily reflect Orthodox sensibilities and predispositions. For this very reason, in this chapter, the data used are those of national censuses. See the ROCOR website (http://www.synod.com/synod/indexeng.htm). For further discussion, see Matsuzato (2010), Garrard and Garrard (2008:184– 206), Simons (2009:199–220) and Heckel (2006:550) for a brief summary. The situation is markedly different in the two regions due to their different ecclesiastical status. For the full text of these two decisions and commentary, see Tzortzatos (1977). For a general overview of the politics of the period, see Petrou (2008). According to the 1923 Lausanne Treaty, 103,500 ethnic Greeks were exempt from the compulsory population transfers between Greece and Turkey and remained in Istanbul, providing the Patriarchate with a community of faithful. After World War II (and especially in 1955 and 1964), pogroms and official actions (such as forceful deportations of Greek citizens) reduced that community to approximately 2,200 (Soltaridis 2006). As late as 2006, the nationalist group “Grey Wolves” called on the Turkish government to have the patriarch deported to Greece (NET News Broadcast, November 29, 2006). The remainder of the discussion in this section relies heavily on Roudometof (2010b). This is practically true also for the pre-1965 cohorts. See Laliotou (2004) for an evocative description of the images of Greek American immigrants at the turn of the 20th century. However, as the entire literature on the Greek American community suggests, this transnational experience has been suppressed due to their efforts to fit into the U.S. mainstream by adopting the habits of the New World. After 1925, the American Hellenic Progressive Association (AHEPA) played a key role in this process, facilitating immigrant assimilation into the U.S. mainstream culture (Moskos 1989b, 2004; see the AHEPA website, http://ahepa.org/dotnetnuke/). To this day, Greek foreign policy views these transnational communities mostly in terms of their possible use as a lobbying group. As Prevelakis (2000) writes, returning to the traditional galaxy-type model of diasporic organization and liberating the diaspora from the grip of the Greek state is of critical importance for constructing a 21st-century deterritorialized Greek nation. Since 1995, when the Council of Hellenes Abroad was initially founded, an effort has begun to accomplish this formidable task. The “Cyprus issue” is a term used to describe the unresolved situation of conflict on the island of Cyprus since 1974. The United Nations has used the term in various resolutions adopted by the General Assembly. In 1974, Turkey invaded the island, eventually occupying 38 percent of the island. The action was a response to a July 15, 1974 military coup that overthrew Archbishop Makarios, the republic’s president. This action was the latest twist in a series of protracted disputes between Greek and Turkish Cypriots, dating back to the first half of the 20th century. For details on the Church of Cyprus’s entanglement with this issue, see Chapter 6 of this volume. Most of the discussion in this section is an updated and revised version of Roudometof and Karpathakis (2002). The U.S. Census differentiates between first- and second-generation immigrants. Using U.S. Census information, Moskos (1982:19) estimated a maximum of 1.25 million Greek Americans, later revising this number to 900,000 (Moskos 1993:17). Hasiotes (1993:169) reports two very different statistics:

190

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

Notes approximately 1 million according to census and embassy reports and 1.2– 2.6 million according to the immigrant associations’ estimates. A similar number is used by the Secretariat General for the Hellenic Diaspora. The terminological confusion is deliberate. Conceptual clarity could lead to lower estimates for the diaspora. The employment of the words Hellas, Hellenic, and Hellenism in the Modern Greek language owes much to the nationbuilding efforts of the Greek nation-state in the course of the 19th century. See Roudometof (1998a, 1998b) for discussions on the employment of these terms and additional literature. As Strout (1963) states with regard to the northern and southern Europeans of the late 19th century, the New and the Old Worlds are juxtaposed. The virtues of the New World are compared to the decadence of the Old World, and of course, the immigrants view themselves as partaking in the virtues of the New World. The employment of the nostalgic paradigm (cf. Robertson 1992:146–63) allows for the preservation of the genealogical tie with the homeland while simultaneously making it possible to enhance the groups’ collective solidarity and status. Indeed, their nostalgia is a way of preserving a “tradition” intimately associated with a “Greece” that no longer exists. When Scourby (1994:123–33) asked community members to label the ethnic status of Michael Dukakis, candidate in the 1988 U.S. presidential election, the majority of the respondents opted for “Greek Orthodox” (40 percent) instead of “Greek American” (25 percent). This conceptual ambiguity between the two terms is characteristic of the broader question of belonging and identity. Proposals for an English liturgy were advanced in the 1950s, but Archbishop Michael allowed English in sermons only. In 1964, the clergy–laity congress allowed certain readings and prayers to be read in English (as well as Greek). In the 1970 clergy–laity congress, following the personal appeal of Archbishop Iakovos, an English liturgy was permitted (Moskos 1989b:34; see also FitzGerald 1995:77–98). See Papaioannou (1996) and Iakovos’s interview in the Odyssey magazine (November–December 1994). On January 8–10, 1996, after consultations between the two sides, agreement was finally reached, and an internal schism was avoided. The May 12, 1996 Encyclical of the Ecumenical Patriarchate stressed commitment to the principle of religious unity while making it clear that this could be created only under the auspices of the Patriarchate. The encyclical emphasized the need for religious unity in countries of mass immigration but argued that the creation of a canonical structure would require a great deal of time and effort.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 8 1. As reported in NET News Broadcast November 29, November 30 and December 15, 2006. 2. Since the 1990s, state policy became increasingly concerned with such matters: The list of “hot issues” includes the prohibition of catechism, the public operation of mosques and denominational churches, the issue of cremation and the issue of burial rites and baptism for individuals who have chosen to have a civil wedding ceremony (which the Church does not officially recognize as valid) instead of the religious ceremony. For details on these issues, see

Notes

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

191

Mavrocordatos (2003) and Dimitropoulos (2001). For a more recent update and discussion of some of these issues, see Roudometof (2011). For details, see Konidaris (2000:21–24, 33–37). For an assessment of the Patriarchate’s international status, see Karykopoulou (1979). On the entanglement of the Greek minority with the Patriarchate and Greek-Turkish relations, see the classic study of Alexandris (1983). The OCG’s representatives acknowledged the 1928 act’s validity, as modified by subsequent correspondence between the two sides (copies available at Ekklesia, Official Journal of the Church of Greece). The Patriarchate argued that the act could be modified only by another document of similar statute and not by correspondence. The Church of Greece’s representatives insisted that the EC-PATR accept a clause that would entitle it only to “subtract or add names” on the candidates’ roster instead of the broader “approval” sought by the Patriarchate. In their view, anything else could be construed as patriarchal intervention into the OCG’s internal affairs and, therefore, contrary to Greek law (EC-PATR 2003c). Poll results reported by Macedonian News Agency (October 20, 2003). The nationwide gallop poll was conducted by Global Link, Inc. and originally published in the newspaper Ta Nea. In it, 42 percent of the conservative voters aligned with the archbishop, whereas 48 percent of the socialist voters aligned with the EC-PATR. Underneath this polarization lies the legacy of the church– state confrontation over the “ID issue” (see Roudometof 2005b). During the 2000–2001 crisis, the archbishop and the socialist government clashed repeatedly; therefore, it is not surprising that the socialist voters did not support the archbishop. Careful commentaries pointed out that contrary to the populist opinions expressed on TV talk shows, the EC-PATR was probably correct in its position. See, for example, the commentary of Ecclesiastical History Professor Vlassios Feidias (2003) and the commentary of Sociology Professor Nicos Mouzelis (2003). For a full review, including interviews with the major participants in the debate, both clerics and laymen, see the TV documentary of the journal magazine Pandora’s Box (NET News Broadcast 2004). In 1999, the OCG considered whether the metropolitans of the New Lands ought to mention the archbishop’s name instead of the patriarch’s in liturgy. The ecumenical patriarch expressed his dissatisfaction about such plans, reminding that the issue is a canonical one and implying that Archbishop Christodoulos was attempting to change the status quo (Printzipas 2004:116– 18). For the patriarch, the omission of his name from the liturgies provided a good opportunity to assert his position on purely ecclesiastical grounds. See Rodopoulos (n.d.) for a theological treatise on this issue. The HSCG decisions, the patriarch’s official letter to the OCG (September 30, 2003), proposals made by the archbishop and other bishops as well as the archbishop’s reply to the patriarch are published in the November issue of Ekklesia, Official Journal of the Church of Greece (2003). For a summary of the synod’s decision, see HSCG (2003b). A few days later, on November 11, the HSCG (2003c) decided to send a three-person committee to the patriarch to submit relevant papers and to have informal consultations about the dispute. According to press reports (Macedonian News Agency 2003; Papoutsaki 2003), this decision added to the strain between the two sides. See Tsatsis (2003a, 2003b). See Antoniadou (2003) for the names and predispositions of the 35 metropolitans. The patriarch’s goal was to have enough votes for his own position to convincingly argue his case. In the November 2003 HSCG meeting, nine metropolitans abstained, and 10 voted in favor

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Notes of the patriarchal positions. The majority of the hierarchs supported Archbishop Christodoulos’s line.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 9 1. An important exception is MacCulloch’s (2009) history of Christianity, which includes Eastern Orthodox Christianity. Hence, the legacy of Orientalism in contemporary discourse seems far more pronounced within the social sciences than within church history. 2. In contrast, Ramet and Pavlakovic (2005:255) write, “What is distinct to Orthodoxy, as opposed to let us say, Catholicism or Islam or Buddhism, is its shying away from universalism. The Orthodox Churches, like the ancient religions, are the Churches of their respective nations, their myths being the myths of their respective nations.” Although Orthodoxy’s intertwining with modern nationalism is undeniable, it is quite mistaken to turn this historically specific tendency into a transhistorical characteristic. 3. Orthodox Christianity is not always a majority religion even in Eastern and Southeastern Europe. For example, in Albania, Orthodox Christianity is a minority religion. It is most often associated with the ethnic Greek Albanian minority, and this association, which is often the cause of discrimination, reflects the other side of the association between nationality and Orthodoxy. Although in Orthodox nations, membership in the Orthodox Church is a mark of inclusion in the imagined community, in other instances, Orthodoxy is identified with a specific ethnicity or nationality and signals a minority position. In Turkey, for example, the status of the Greek Orthodox minority has been marked by this association (see Alexandris 1983). In various post-Soviet states, the fragmentation of Orthodoxy into different churches has meant that some Orthodox churches are identified with minorities, whereas others are identified with majorities. 4. See also Willert and Molokotos-Liederman (2012) for an exploration of the theme of innovation in Orthodox theology and practice, albeit framed from a different perspective than the one adopted in this book.

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Index

Acacius (patriarch) 28, 178 Albania 146, 186, 192 Albrow, Martin 137 Alexander III (pope) 42 Alexandria: patriarchate of 70, 75, 173; patriarchs of 115 Alexei II (patriarch) 96, 99, 187 Anastasios (archbishop) 146, 153 – 4, 186 Andrianopoulos, Andreas 141 Angelos: Alexius III (emperor) 45 – 6, 179; Alexius IV (emperor) 46; Isaac (emperor) 44 Angold, Michael 41 – 2, 179 Antioch 66; Crusades and 41 – 2; patriarchate of 173 Antony (saint) 40 Appadurai, Arjun 171 Arab conquest 20, 28 Aramaic 31, 163 archbishops 33 – 4; British colonialism and 107 – 8; name in liturgies 191; see also specific archbishops Archiepiscopal Question 110 – 11 Armenian Church 31 Asad, Talal 179 Asen II (tsar) 53 Assyrian Orthodox Church 31 Athinagoras (archbishop) 126 Augustine of Hippo 177 – 8 Australia 128 – 9, 131 autocephalous churches 102, 173 – 4; nationalism and 81, 96; in Serbia 31, 55; UAOC 95 – 6, 123 – 4, 186 Axial Age 158, 161 Balsamon, Theodore (patriarch) 179 Barlaam 50 – 1 Bartholomew (bishop) 106,

Bartholomew (patriarch) 133–4; globalization and 146; New Lands and 148–52, 191–2; synod from 149 basileus (king) 25 – 6 Basil I (emperor) 24, 177 Basil II (emperor) 33 – 4, 179 Beckford, James 14, 100 Belarus 186 Benedict VIII (pope) 36 Benedict XVI (pope) 146 Bercken, William van den 62 Berger, Peter 10 – 11 Bessarabian, Metropolitanate 94 Beyer, Peter 156, 158 Biddulph, Robert 108 bishops 27 – 8, 43, 54; archbishops 33 – 4; authority of 174, 177; Citium Question about 105 – 6; Cypriot ethnarchy and 110 – 11, 113; in patriarchal jurisdiction 177; SCOBA 124; see also specific bishops Bogolepov, Alexander 134 Bogoljubtsy (lovers of God) 64 Bohemond 43 British colonialism: archbishops and 107 – 8; clerical authority under 109 – 10, 188; of Cyprus 15, 106 – 10, 114 – 15, 165, 187 – 8; Ecclesiastical Question under 106 – 7; ethnarchy and 106 – 10; Legislative Council and 107, 109 – 10, 116, 188; millet system in 109, 117; taxes under 108; see also Cypriot ethnarchy Bulgaria 30, 52 – 3, 82, 124; archbishops in 33 – 4; autocephalous church of 31;

220

Index

nationalism and 86 – 7; national religion in 84 – 5 Bulgarian Exarchate 87 – 8 Buss, Andreas E. 67, 183 Byzantium 19 – 20 caesaropapism (conflation of religious and secular powers) 25, 115, 188 Canada 121, 128 – 9 Casanova, Jose 5, 184 Cassia the Nun 25 Ceausescu 89 celibacy 179 Cerularius, Michael (patriarch) 23, 36, 177 Chakrabarty, D. 176 Chalcedon, Council of 22 – 3, 27, 177 Chalcedonian Christianity 22–3, 26, 31 Chalcedonian Orthodoxy 23, 28 Charlemagne 29, 178 Christendom 35, 161, 178 Christian Church: creation of 177; fragmentation of 18 – 19, 24 – 30 Christianity 12; anthropology of 176; fragmentation of 158; vernacularization of 13, 158, 161 Christian Orthodoxy 13, 18 – 19; indigenization of 30 – 4, 163; Orthodox Christianity related to 170; Roman Catholicism compared to 35 Christodoulos (archbishop): Andrianopoulos and 141; controversy and 140; globality of 142 – 3, 153 – 4; liturgies and 151, 191 Chrysostomos (bishop) 115 Church of the East (Nestorians) 31, 178 Church Slavonic 13 Citium Question 105 – 6 Clendenin, Daniel B. 175 colonialism 102, 176; see also British colonialism communism: collapse of 147; Eastern Europe under 89 – 91; Eastern Orthodoxy and 2 – 3; Orthodox Christianity’s nationalism and 80; policies of 89, 186; Russian Empire and 83 – 4 community 69, 169; indigenization and 9; in Orthodox Christianity 3 Comneni dynasty 41

Comnenus, Alexius I (emperor) 177; Alexius I 41, 45–6; for Antioch 41; monasteries from 40; Urban II and 41 Comnenus, Isaac Ducas 44 – 5 Comnenus, Manuel II (emperor) 42, 44 Constantine I the Great 177; Christianity for 12; Donation of Constantine 30, 161; Eusebius for 25 Constantinople: Alexius I for 45 – 6; debate over 46 – 7; fall of 13, 47 – 8; in Fourth Crusade 44 – 9; patriarchate of 173; recapture of 48; St. Sophia Cathedral in 47, 55; in Second Crusade 43; second fall of 49, 61; see also Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople Constantinos Laskaris 48 conversion 30 Coptic Church 31 councils 26, 30, 66 – 8, 145, 174; allUkrainian 123 – 4; of Chalcedon 22 – 3, 27, 177; of Ephesus 178; of Ferrara-Florence 49; of the Hundred Chapters 63, 182; Legislative Council 107, 109 – 10, 116, 188; of Lyons II 49; in Trullo 27, 81, 177 Counnelis 133 Crusades 162; for Alexius III Angelos 45 – 6; Antioch and 41 – 2; Europe and 39; Fourth Crusade 38 – 9, 44 – 9, 52 – 3, 179; Innocent III and 45 – 6, 179; proliferation of 45; role of 38; Roman Catholic Church and 179; Second Crusade 42 – 3; Third Crusade 44, 52 cultural hybrids 157 cultural models 171 – 2 cultural romanticism 85 culture 5; Orthodox Christianity and 6 – 7; protectionism of 167; Protestant work ethic as 176; religion related to 157 Cypriot ethnarchy 118; Archiepiscopal Question 110 – 11; bishops and 110 – 11, 113; Cypriotism in 113; education and 111 – 13; Greece and 113 – 14; Greek Cypriot ethnarchy 112 – 14, 116 – 17; Larnaca and Nicosia in 111;

Index Muslims and 110; nationalism and 110 – 11, 165 – 6, 192; revolt and 113; synodical model and 115 – 16; Turk invasion and 114; Turkish Cypriots and 112 Cyprus: British colonialism of 15, 106 – 10, 114 – 15, 165, 187 – 8; EC-PATR in 103; issue of 128 – 9, 189; kodjabash 104 – 6; Koinon in 105, 187; Kornesios for 187; Makarios III for 102, 114 – 15; metropolitans in 113, 115; modernization in 102 – 3; Rum millet system in 104 – 5, 117; secular leadership in 104; Ziteia in 104 – 6; see also Orthodox Church of Cyprus Danforth, Loring 129 deterritorialization 16, 153, 158; of EC-PATR 146 – 8, 168 – 9; of OCG 146 – 7, 168 – 9; universalism from 169 diaspora 121, 128, 189 Donation of Constantine 30, 161 East 29; Greek as 34 – 5 Easter 6 Eastern Christianity 13, 22–3, 177, 188 Eastern Europe 60, 80, 89 – 91 Eastern Mediterranean: disputes in 28; ecumene in 28; indigenization in 31 – 2, 178; Western Mediterranean compared to 26 – 7 Eastern Orthodoxy: communism and 2 – 3; as Greek 23 – 4; prejudice against 2; social forms of 10 – 11; tradition in 3 Eastern Roman Empire 42, 179; Byzantium and 19 – 20; economics and 39 – 40; as Greek 20, 22; indigenization of 162 – 3; term use of 20 Ecclesiastical Question 106 – 7 economics 39 – 40, 104 – 6, 187 EC-PATR see Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople ecumene 25, 181; Christendom compared to 35, 178; meaning of 27 – 8; for symphonia 28, 178 Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople (EC-PATR) 26, 54, 56 – 8, 73, 93 – 6,

221

103; Bulgaria and 33 – 4; for canonical decisions 151 – 2, 191; church recognition by 173 – 4; communism’s collapse and 147; deterritorialization of 146 – 8, 168 – 9; for Estonia 93 – 4, 147; ethnofyletismos and 81 – 2; globalization and 138 – 9, 144 – 8, 153; Greek Americans and 120, 124 – 6, 133 – 4, 190; HSCG and 151 – 2, 191 – 2; metropolitan selection controversy with 148 – 52, 191 – 2; Moscow Patriarchate and 145, 147; nationality and 138; New Lands and 148 – 52, 191 – 2; 1928 Patriarchal Act 148 – 52, 154, 191; OCG and 138 – 9, 146 – 54, 168, 191; OCL and 133 – 4; in Ottoman era 70; ROC and 145; status of 145 – 6, 153; transnational Hellenism of 144 – 8; UAOC and 95 – 6; in U.S. Orthodox Christianity 126, 133 – 4, 147, 168; vernacularization by 59 Ecumenical Synod of 381 177 emperors 177; anointing of 52, 180; basileus as 25 – 6; for 1439 union 49, 180; patriarchs and 24 – 5, 52; see also specific emperors Englestein, Laura 74 Epanagoge (Basil I) 24 Esposito, John L. 175 Estonia 93 – 4, 147, 166 Ethiopian Church 31 ethnarchy (national authority): British colonialism and 106 – 10; economics and 104 – 6; land and 106 – 7, 109; Legislative Council and 109 – 10; Ottoman era and 103 – 8; see also Cypriot ethnarchy ethnicities: for Greek Americans 127, 130 – 1, 190; nationalism related to 85; in Ottoman era 68 – 9, 183 – 4; ROC and 69, 71; in U.S. Orthodox Christianity 122 – 4 ethnie (ethnic communities) 160 ethnofyletismos (ethnic nationalism) 81 – 2 EU see European Union Europe 39

222

Index

European Union (EU) 140, 146 Eusebius (bishop) 25 Evans, Geoffrey 175 Fasching, Darrell J. 175 Filaret (patriarch) 183 Filioque 35 – 6, 50, 161 Filotheos (patriarch) 180, 181 Findlay, George 19 FitzGerald, Thomas 121 Flusty, Steven 176 Fourth Crusade 38–9, 44–9, 52–3, 179 Frederick I Barbarossa (emperor) 44, 52 Freeze, Gregory L. 184 Garrards, Carol 187 Garrards, John 187 Gemistos, Georgios (Plethon) 71 geography 9 Georgia 178 Georgian Orthodox Church 31 Gerasimos (abbot) 109 – 10, 188 Germanos (patriarch) 49 Germany 120, 188 Ghodsee, Kristen 85 – 6 Gibbon, Edward 19 Global Age 158, 165 globality 11 – 12; of Christodoulos 142 – 3, 153 – 4; definition of 138; globalization and 137 – 8 globalization 7 – 9; Anastasios on 146; Bartholomew and 146; ECPATR and 138 – 9, 144 – 8, 153; globality and 137 – 8; locality and 137, 142 – 3; modern era of 158; participants in 176; pre-modern 12 – 13; religion theories and 156 – 60; thickness of 11, 138; see also historical globalization globalization and religion: historical in 7 – 8, 155; modernization in 7 – 8, 156 – 7, 170 – 1, 176 glocalizations 9, 155, 157, 172; cultural models and 171 – 2; historical globalization compared to 157 – 9; indigenization as 158, 162 – 4; multiple 158 – 60; nationalization as 158, 164 – 6; transnationalization as 158, 167 – 9; vernacularization and 158 – 9, 161 – 2; see also indigenization Goldblatt, David 11, 157

Goltz, Herman 176 Gorbachev, Mikhail 170 Gorski, Philip S. 81 Great Schism of 1054 18, 23, 177 Greece: Cypriot ethnarchy and 113 – 14; diaspora from 128, 189; HSCG 151 – 2, 191 – 2; nationalism and 86 – 7; see also Orthodox Church of Greece Greek 43 – 4, 71 – 2, 130; connotation of 22; as East 34 – 5; Eastern Orthodoxy as 23 – 4; as Eastern Roman Empire 20, 22; language 31 – 2, 70, 125, 132 – 3, 190 Greek Americans 16; EC-PATR and 120, 124 – 6, 133 – 4; Ecumenical Patriarchate and 133 – 4, 190; ethnicity for 127, 130 – 1, 190; history of 125 – 6; as immigrants 127 – 9, 189 – 90; issues for 128 – 9, 134, 189; nostalgia of 130, 190; numbers of 125, 129 – 30; OCL and 130 – 5; unification for 131 – 4, 190 Greek Cypriot ethnarchy 112 – 14, 116 – 17 Greeks 42 – 4; see also specific Greeks Greek state 143 – 4, 153, 190 Gregorian calendar 59, 75, 77, 174, 184 – 5 Gregorian reform 29 Gregory (patriarch) 50, 61 Gregory of Sinai 180 Gregory Palamas (saint) 50 – 1, 53, 180 Gregory Tsamblak 181 Hann, Chris 176 Hasiotes, Ioannes 189 Held, David 11, 157 Hesychast Controversy 50 – 1, 180 Hinnells, John R. 175 historical globalization 155; Axial Age and 158, 161; canonical territory in 165, 168–9; early modern era of 158, 164; Global Age and 158, 165; glocalizations compared to 157–9; modern era of 158, 164–5 history 11 – 12 Holy Land 28 – 9, 41, 44 Holy Synod of the Church of Greece (HSCG) 151 – 2, 191 – 2 Hosking, Geoffrey 183

Index HSCG see Holy Synod of the Church of Greece hybridization see indigenization Iakovos (archbishop) 130, 133, 190 iconoclasm 29 – 30 iconostasion (icon screen) 56 imperium (realm of the state) 5 – 6, 73, 162 indigenization 9, 19; of Christian Orthodoxy 30 – 4, 163; in Eastern Mediterranean 31 – 2, 178; of Eastern Roman Empire 162 – 3; as glocalization 158, 162 – 4; language and 34 – 5; of Moscow Duchy 163 – 4; in Russian Empire 32 – 3, 59, 61 – 8; universalism and particularism related to 159; vernacularization compared to 71 – 2, 77, 159, 162 – 3 Inglehart, Ronald 175 Innocent II (pope) 42 Innocent III (pope) 28, 45–6, 48, 53, 179 Investiture Controversy 29 Ioannis Vekkos (patriarch) 51 Ioasaf (patriarch) 66 Ionas Kiev (patriarch) 61 Italos, John 178 Ivan III (Grand Prince, tsar) 61, 181 Ivan IV (tsar) 62 – 3 Jaroslav (prince) 32 Jeremiah II (patriarch) 63 Jerusalem 41, 44 Jerusalem order of services (Typikon) 40, 55 – 6 Jerusalem Patriarchate 56, 173 Joachim III (patriarch) 81, 144 John II (emperor) 42, 44 John Paul II (pope) 179 John X Kamateros (patriarch) 28, 45, 47 – 8 Julian Calendar 75 – 6, 185 Justinian (patriarch) 89 Justinian I (emperor) 6, 20, 24, 34, 47 Kalojan (tsar) 52 – 3 Kiev Council (Sobor) 95 Kirill (metropolitan) 178 Kirill II (patriarch) 99, 178, 186 – 7 Kitromilides, Paschalis M. 2, 80, 184 Knox, Zoe 97 kodjabash (communal elder or representative) 104 – 6

223

Koinon (common fund) 105, 187 Konieczny, Mary Ellen 175 Kornesios, Hadjiorgakis (dragoman) 187 Krindatch, Alexei D. 97, 188 Kyprianos (archbishop) 105 Kyprianos (bishop) 106 language 36 – 7; Greek 31 – 2, 70, 125, 132 – 3, 190; indigenization and 34 – 5; of liturgies 31 – 3, 70, 95, 132, 163, 178, 190; Old Slavonic 33, 163, 178 Latin 31, 43 – 4, 178; Roman Catholic Church as 23 – 4; as West 34 – 5 Latvia 186 Leo III 36 Leo the Great (pope) 27 Leustean, Lucian N. 173, 186 Lewis, Todd 175 Lithuania 54 liturgies 125, 177, 179; archbishops’ name in 191; Christodoulos and 151, 191; language of 31 – 3, 70, 95, 132, 163, 178, 190; polyvocality in 64, 182; in ROC 64 – 5, 70, 183; in traditions 55 – 6, 181 Liudprand of Cremona 36 – 7 locality 9, 137, 142 – 3 Lombards 29 Louis the Pious 177 Lutheran state church model 59 Macarius of Antioch (patriarch) 66 MacCulloch, Diarmaid 3, 192 Macedonia 129, 166; Macedonian Orthodox Church 90 – 1, 124; Macedonia Question 88 McGrew, Anthony 11, 157 Magdalino, Paul 41 Makarios III (archbishop) 15, 102, 114 – 15, 188 Mamas, Gregory (patriarch) 61 Markarios III 188 Maronite Church 31 Matalas, Paraskeuas 184 Matsoukas, George E. 131 Maxim the Greek 182 Mayes, Stanley 188 Meletios III (bishop) 106 Metropolitan Maximum 180 metropolitans 87, 94, 113, 115; in Russian Empire 32, 54, 61,

224

Index

63 – 4, 81, 178, 180 – 1, 184; selection controversy about 148 – 52, 191 – 2; in U.S. Orthodox Christianity 133, 178, 184 Meyendorff, John 178, 180 Michael VIII Palaiologos 51 Michels, Georg Bernhard 67, 183 military 41, 43 millet system (confessional associations) 11, 72, 106, 109, 117, 183; see also Rum millet system modern age 12 modern era 158, 164 – 5 modernization 6, 12 – 14, 102 – 3; in globalization and religion 7 – 8, 156 – 7, 170 – 1, 176; of ROC 73 – 8 modern synthesis 166 – 7 Mogila, Peter (bishop) 181 Moldova 94, 100, 145, 166 Molokotos-Liederman, Lina 192 monasteries 50 – 1, 56; Mount Athos 14, 40, 55, 59, 74; Mount Sinai 173; revival of 14, 59, 74 – 5, 77; in Russian Empire 62 – 3, 67, 74 – 5, 77, 181 – 2; in Western Europe 40 – 1, 179 monoergism 28 monotheism 29 monotheletism 28 Morris, Collin 177 Moscow Councils 66 Moscow Duchy 61 – 3; indigenization of 163 – 4 Moscow Patriarchate 64, 68, 95; abolition of 59, 73; American Orthodox Church and 173; Bolshevik revolution and 123; EC-PATR and 145, 147; Ecumenical Patriarchate and 145, 147; nation-state model and 166; for OCA 173 Moskos, Charles 132 – 3, 189 Mount Athos monasteries 14, 40, 55, 59, 74 Muslims 110 Mystagogia (Photeus) 36 nationalism 3, 71, 79, 188; autocephalous churches and 81, 96; Canon Law and 81 – 2; cultural romanticism and 85; Cypriot ethnarchy and 110 – 11,

165 – 6, 192; definition of 80; Estonia 93 – 4; ethnicity related to 85; Greece and 86 – 7; Macedonia and 88; Macedonian Orthodox Church 90 – 1, 124; New World and 80 – 1; in past centuries 80, 185; relativization and 83 – 4; ROC and 84; Roman Empire and 81; of Russian Empire 83 – 4; self-governance and 82 – 3; separate churches and 86 – 91; in Southeastern Europe 86 – 91; Ukraine 95 – 6; universalism and 81 nationality 138 nationalization 14 – 15, 35; as glocalization 158, 164 – 6; universalism and particularism related to 159 – 60; see also transnationalization Nazis 123 – 4 Need, Ariana 175 Nestorians 31, 178 Nevksij, Alexander 33 New Lands 148 – 52, 191 – 2 Nicea Empire 48 – 9 Nicephorus (emperor) 40 Nicholas (tsar) 187 Nicholas I (pope) 36 Nikon (patriarch) 14, 64 – 8, 182 – 3 1928 Patriarchal Act 148 – 52, 154, 191 Norris, Pipa 175 North America 95 – 6 Notaras, Luke (grand duke) 49 Obadia, Lionel 7 OCA see Orthodox Church in America OCC see Orthodox Church of Cyprus OCG see Orthodox Church of Greece OCL see Orthodox Christian Laity oikonomia (expediency) 3 – 4 Old Believers 66, 163, 183 Old Calendarists 59, 75 – 7, 174 Old Georgian 163 Old Slavonic 33, 163, 178 Orientalism 19 – 24, 155 Orthodox Christianity 3, 13, 170, 176; communist policies and 89, 186; culture and 6 – 7; deprivatization of 141; diaspora of 121, 128; division among 22; Easter in 6; emergence of 39; expediency in 3 – 4; in globalization and religion 7 – 8; as global religion

Index 146; hierarchical order of 173 – 4; horizontal links for 57 – 8; indigenization’s affinity with 163; laity-based movements in 130 – 1; as majority religion 192; Melkites in 178; modernization and 6, 12 – 14; modern synthesis of 166 – 7; national identities and 85 – 6; nationalization of 14 – 15; as national religion 84 – 91, 185; Orientalism and 19 – 24, 155; parallel developments of 161; perspective of 1, 175; post1204 162; practice compared to rhetoric in 3 – 4; religious landscape of 169 – 72; religious pluralism and 100 – 1; revival of 175; Roman Catholicism and 23; self-identification with 188; size of 1, 175; term use of 22; transformations within 8, 161 – 9; transnationalization of 15 – 16; universalism and 192; vertical links for 58; see also U.S. Orthodox Christianity Orthodox Christianity’s nationalism 3; communism and 80; post1945 79 – 80; Russian Empire and 79 Orthodox Christian Laity (OCL): EC-PATR and 133 – 4; Greek Americans and 130 – 5; U.S. Orthodox Christianity and 168 Orthodox Church in America (OCA): Moscow Patriarchate for 173; in U.S. Orthodox Christianity 125, 135, 168 Orthodox Church of Cyprus (OCC): Citium Question and 106; confidence in 114, 188; economics of 104 – 6, 187; in Ottoman Empire 103 – 6; privileges for 103 – 4 Orthodox Church of Greece (OCG) 16, 87, 98, 140; Constitutional Charter of 151; deterritorialization of 146 – 7, 168 – 9; EC-PATR and 138 – 9, 146 – 54, 168, 191; Greek state and 143 – 4, 153, 190; image of 141 – 2, 153; metropolitan selection controversy with 148 – 52, 191 – 2; New Lands and 148 – 52, 191 – 2

225

Otto I 36 – 7 Ottoman era 60, 107, 116, 158; Citium Question in 105 – 6; civil institutions in 69 – 70, 184; EC-PATR in 70; ethnarchy and 103 – 8; ethnicities in 68 – 9, 183 – 4; folk tales about 68; nationalism in 71; OCC in 103 – 6; privileges during 103 – 4; ROC in 68 – 73; Rum millet system in 14, 69 – 72, 77, 104 – 5, 117, 183, 185; Serb Orthodox Church in 184; Tanzimat in 105, 108; tsars in 72 – 3; vernacularization in 70 – 3 Paleologos, Andronicus II (emperor) 180 Papadakis, Aristide 180 Papadopoulos, Cyril (Kyrillos) 111, 188 Papageorgiou, Niki 141 – 2 papal reform movement 179 Paphos (bishop) 108 patriarchate 53, 55 – 6, 95, 173; of Alexandria 70, 75, 173; see also Ecumenical Patriarchate; Moscow Patriarchate patriarchs 41, 115, 178 – 9; appointment of 25 – 6, 47 – 8, 177; emperors and 24 – 5, 52; Greek and Latin 43 – 4; jurisdiction of 174, 177; Koinon for 105, 187; see also specific patriarchs Pavlakovic, V. 192 pentarchy 27, 177 – 8 Peristianis, Nicos 188 Perraton, Jonathan 11, 157 Peter (saint) 28 Peter (tsar) 33 Philokalia 74 Photean schism 36 Photeus (patriarch) 36 Poland 66 pontifex maximus (title) 26 – 7 popes 27, 176 – 8; monastic training of 179; pontifex maximus 26 – 7; white cowl of 62, 181; see also specific popes post-1204 39 Prevelakis, Georges 189 primatus potestatis 28 primus inter pares (first amongst equals) 27, 145, 147, 168–9, 174

226

Index

Prodromou, Elizabeth H. 136 Protestants 176 purgatory 180 Ramet, Sabrina P. 3, 192 religion 8 – 9; sociology of 4 – 5, 156 – 7, 175 – 6; see also globalization and religion religioscape (religious landscape) 171 religious-secular relationship 5 – 6 religious studies 175 Republic of Moldova 94, 100, 145, 166 Richard the Lionheart 45 Riesebrodt, Martin 175 Robertson, Roland 7 ROC see Russian Orthodox Church ROCA see Russian Orthodox Church Abroad ROCOR see Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia Roman Catholic Church 23–4, 29, 179 Roman Catholicism 23, 35, 42 Roman Empire 20 – 1, 81; see also Eastern Roman Empire Romania 84 – 5, 89, 124, 186 Romanov, Michael (tsar) 63, 183 Romanov, Philaret (patriarch) 63 Romanovich, Daniel 178 Romans 20 Rum millet system (confessional associations) 14, 77, 162, 183, 185; community of 69; in Cyprus 104–5, 117; Greek and 70–2 Russian Empire 52, 55, 60, 158, 176; Bogoljubtsy in 64; communism and 83 – 4; Council of the Hundred Chapters 63, 182; 1439 union and 54, 61, 64 – 5, 68; indigenization in 32 – 3, 59, 61 – 8; Ivan IV for 62 – 3; Kiev 61 – 2, 66, 95; metropolitans in 32, 54, 61, 63 – 4, 81, 178, 180 – 1, 184; monasteries in 62 – 3, 67, 74 – 5, 77, 181 – 2; Mongol conquest of 32 – 3; Moscow Duchy in 61 – 3, 163 – 4; Mount Athos monastic revival in 14; Orthodox Christianity’s nationalism and 79; Southeastern Europe compared to 100; Third Rome myth in 62 – 3, 66, 73, 83,

183; Ukraine and 62; see also Moscow Patriarchate Russian Orthodox Church (ROC) 31, 33, 176; believers in 187; ECPATR and 145; Enlightenment and 74; Estonia and 93 – 4, 147; ethnicity and 69, 71; 1439 union and 54, 61, 64 – 5, 68, 183; Gregorian calendar and 59, 75, 77, 174, 184 – 5; infrastructural limitations in 64; Julian Calendar and 75 – 6, 185; liturgy in 64 – 5, 70, 183; modernization of 73 – 8; as national church 97 – 8; nationalism and 84; non-Russians and 64 – 5; Old Believers in 66, 163, 183; Old Calendarists in 59, 75 – 7, 174; in Ottoman Empire 68 – 73; patriotism within 97 – 8; Poland’s annexation and 66; publications for 64 – 5, 74; revival of 96 – 7; schism within 65 – 7, 163 – 4, 183; state and 98 – 9; transformation of 97, 187; tsars in 65 – 6, 68, 72 – 3 Russian Orthodox Church Abroad (ROCA) 123 Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (ROCOR) 123, 189 Russian Orthodoxy 10 sacerdotium (spiritual realm) 5 – 6, 73, 162 sacrament of confirmation 176 St. Sophia Cathedral 47, 55 Saladin 44 Savvas (saint) 40 Scholarios, Georgios (Gennadios) 71 SCOBA see Standing Conference of the Canonical Orthodox Bishops of the Americas Second Crusade 42 – 3 secularization 4 – 5, 71 – 2, 184 Sephan Dusan 53 Serbia 53 – 4, 91, 124, 186; autocephalous church in 31, 55; nationalism and 86 – 7; national religion in 84 – 5 Serb Orthodox Church 81, 90 – 1, 184 Shepard, Jonathan 58 Shubin, Daniel H. 178

Index Sixth Novella (Justinian I) 6, 24 Sorskii, Nil 182 Southeastern Europe 99 – 100, 186; nationalism in 86 – 91; pre-1945 80, 89 Soviet Union 2 – 3, 95, 123 Soviet Union’s collapse 96, 186 – 7; reconfiguration after 91 – 2; religious liberalism after 98 – 9 Spiridon, Mpilalis 133 – 4 Standing Conference of the Canonical Orthodox Bishops of the Americas (SCOBA) 124 Stephan Nemanja 53 Stoglav Council 65 Strout, Cushing 190 Sylvester I (pope) 30 Symeon (tsar) 33 Symeon the New Theologian 180 symphonia (mutual agreement) 26, 28, 74, 117, 162 – 3, 178 Synodikon of Orthodoxy 30, 161, 178 synods 81 – 2, 115 – 16, 177; from Bartholomew 149; HSCG 151 – 2, 191 – 2; purpose of 150 Syrian language 31 Syrians (Jacobites) 178 Tanzimat (Ottoman reforms) 105, 108 Theodore (saint) 40 Theodore of Stoudios 40 Theodoros Angelos 180 Theorode I Laskaris (emperor) 180 theosis (deification) 50 – 1 Therborn, Goran 12, 24, 157 Third Crusade 44, 52 Third Rome myth 62 – 3, 66, 73, 83, 183 Thomas Morosini 47 – 8 Toward an American Orthodox Church (Bogolepov) 134 traditions 3, 13, 30, 170; church size in 55; Hesychast Controversy in 50 – 1, 180; iconostasion in 56; liturgies in 55 – 6, 181; monasticism in 56; politics and 52 – 5, 58 transnational Hellenism 144 – 8 transnationalization 35, 119, 158, 160; as glocalization 158, 167 – 9; modernization related to 156; of

227

Orthodox Christianity 15 – 16; of U.S. Orthodox Christianity 16, 135 – 6; see also specific countries Turkey 134, 174 Turnovo Patriarchate 53, 55 Typikon (order of services) 40, 55 – 6 UAOC see Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church Ukraine 62, 166; all-Ukrainian council 123 – 4; Kirill II for 186 – 7; nationalism 95 – 6 Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church (UAOC) 95 – 6, 123 – 4, 186 Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Kyivan Patriarchate (UOC-KP) 95 union (1439) 183; abolition of 68; emperors for 49, 180; Greek Catholics and 49; non-Russians related to 64 – 5; Russian Empire and 54, 61, 64 – 5, 68 universalism 81, 158 – 60, 169, 192 UOC-KP see Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Kyivan Patriarchate Urban II (pope) 41, 43, 177 U.S. Orthodox Christianity: Eastern Christians in 188; EC-PATR in 126, 133 – 4, 147, 168; ethnicity in 122 – 4; history of 122; identity in 135 – 6; metropolitans in 133, 178, 184; OCA in 125, 135, 168; OCL and 168; population of 121, 188; transnationalization of 16, 135 – 6; see also Greek Americans Vasileiou, Cyril (Kryillos) 111 Vasilij II (Grand Prince) 54 Vasilij III (Grand Prince) 62 Velickovkij, Paisij 74 vernacularization 59; in Christian Church fragmentation 18 – 19, 24 – 30; of Christianity 13, 158, 161; in early centuries 162; glocalizations and 158 – 9, 161 – 2; indigenization compared to 71 – 2, 77, 159, 162 – 3; in Ottoman Empire 70 – 3; universalism and particularism related to 159

228

Index

Voloskii, Joseph 182 Voulgaris, Evgenios 74, 184 Warner, Catherine 187 Waters, Mary C. 137 – 8 Weber, Max 176 West 24; Latin as 34 – 5 Western Christianity 6 – 7, 22 – 3, 177 Western Europe 40 – 1, 179 Western Mediterranean 26 – 7

Willert, Trine Stauning 192 Wolf, Hieronymus 19 Woshop, A. G. 108 Yelenski, Viktor 187 Yeltsin, Boris 96 Yugoslavia 91 Zannetos, Filios 108 – 9 Ziteia (church tax) 104 – 6