The question
that should better be avoided
Some years ago there was
talk of building a new church in the centre of Athens to
alleviate the problems of the Metropolitan Church, which
became too small for the growing needs. But where could
an appropriate space be found in the town centre? Some
very orthodox Christians said there was a good space,
but unfortunately it was occupied by a temple dedicated
to demons. The idea was to destroy the Parthenon and
convert this land, that had been dedicated to Satan for
more than two thousand years, into a temple of God.
Almost at the same time, I
was present when one of the two most famous gerondas
of late twentieth century Greece told a small group of
his disciples how he had God’s gift (charisma),
which seemed rather peculiar even in his eyes: he felt
the existence of antique sculptures underground and
could indicate to archaeologists where to dig and what
they would find. He felt that those sculptures were
radiating positive energy. Was it possible, wondered
geronda, that there was some good in these
sculptures which we Christians took for demonic
sculptures? However, he added, things were not so
simple. With all respect to our Christian predecessors,
that is, with all understanding for their polemical
fervour against paganism, it was possible that God had
found a particular pedagogic way of talking to the
people who left us the sculptures that are to be found
all over Greece. And for geronda there was no
dilemma: God was talking to them in positive terms.
So, there are two
diametrically opposed ways of answering the question
posed at our symposium. And there is nothing new in this
situation.
One of the early fathers of
the Church, Clement of Alexandria, wrote that Plato was
“in all senses almost equal to Moses” (Pedagog,
3, 11). In other words, Plato was elevated to the
position of a Church profit. This is the best example of
continuity. At the same time, we have hundreds of
examples of the destructive attitude of Christian
activists towards antique sculptures, because they
considered them to be sculptures representing devils.
The destruction was generally followed by arguments
which were meant to demonstrate the falsity of pagan
gods: namely that sculptures were not capable of
defending themselves, an argument that could be easily
used in the case of iconoclast destruction of Christian
icons.
Sergey Averincev, who was
the reason for our gathering here in Ljubljana, once
wrote (U istokov poetičeskoi obraznosti vizantijskogo
iskustva; Drugoi Rim, Spb. Amfora 2005) that
the Greek world had a “strong nostalgia for Eastern
wisdom” (p. 229). Greek culture was capable of looking
at itself from a distance, capable of self-criticism,
capable of correcting itself using the experience of
others. Greek culture was open to Eastern influences. In
the beginning, Eastern Christian culture was also open
to the influence of Hellenic culture, which was dominant
at that time. But later, the new needs of the new and
growing culture prevailed, and with them came a
predominance of Eastern poetics and sensibility.
Classical Greek expression was gradually abandoned (with
the exception of certain philosophical concepts and
terminology that proved irreplaceable). So, there was
some degree of continuity, when and where needed, and
some degree of discontinuity, when and where the new
culture emancipated itself.
I wanted to be original and
to try and answer the question posed at our symposium in
the most direct way: like a good pupil in a secondary
school, if possible, with a simple yes or no. Was there
a continuity or was there a conflict? But, in all those
cases, what really matters is not the force of the
argument from which we could deduce whether the answer
is yes or no. We have to deal with a paradigmatic type
of relationship between different religions and
civilisations, and they are never simple. So I failed.
Human relations, relations between civilisations, are
such that they do not allow a simple answer. Those
relations do not include a single dilemma: there is
always a complex of dilemmas, the result of which is in
most cases some kind of compromise; and if there is no
compromise, then there is no question either: before any
question, one partner “in dialog” destroys the other.
To begin with, as we were
told at school, and as contemporary philosophy (of
deconstruction, for example) insists even more strongly,
before asking any question we should analyse the terms
of the question, the categories we use. What is
antiquity and what is Christianity? How do they conceive
their respective identities? Questions multiply
themselves. What relationship could so-defined entities
have? Whom are we questioning? Antiquity or
Christianity? In situations similar to this one
encountered in our symposium, the attitude of antiquity
is mostly neglected: antiquity is dead, and Christianity
still lives and needs to define itself. But, antiquity
had its answers too. To start with there was the answer
given by Celsus, then the Decree of Tolerance, and last
but not least the answer given by Julian Apostata.
Nevertheless, we are going
to stay with Christianity, not because antiquity’s
concepts of continuity or conflict are not interesting
to us, but because in such a matter I lack both
competence and experience. However, the Christian
answers are, as we know, multiple. At a certain stage
and in a certain field of activity, a civilisation, say
a Christian one, does not concern itself with the
question of compatibility, and happily utilises the
fruits of other civilisations; at other times, it gives
dogmatically clear and decisive answers, if the question
is also posed explicitly and clearly.
In the case of the
relations between different civilisations, cultures or
political entities, they either succeed one another (one
emerging out of the ruins of the others, or on the more
or less carefully preserved remains of others), or
harmoniously flow into each other, or live parallel
lives (in more or less conflict-free relations).
Conflict – or cooperation – depends on many elements,
not only on the logic of difference and identity. If the
only element for judgement were the persuasion that
one’s philosophy or religion were right and true, a
fight would always be inevitable because rightness
usually doesn’t recognise the notion of compromise.
A special case of relations
between different civilisations or religions (but not an
isolated case) was the one analysed by Assmann in his
book Moses the Egyptian (Jan Assmann, Moise
l’égiptien, Aubier, Paris, 2001), the very case of
self-persuasion in one’s absolute rightness. Assmann
wrote about Akhenathon’s religious reforms and continued
with the author of the Pentateuch, who had the same
attitude as the reformists, namely the attitude of
“anti-religion”, as Assman calls it. That is to say that
both the Pharaoh and Moses constructed their religious
concepts as systematically opposed to the religion
previously in place, persuaded by the absolute rightness
of their own and the absolute wrongness of the classical
Egyptian religion. That persuasion gave them the right
to destroy “the enemy” – without mercy.
Assmann demonstrated the
option that when one civilisation from the very
beginning defines itself as opposed to another, then
there is no room for compromise. However, such cases are
extremely rare. Christianity, even if disposed to
present itself as the “anti-religion”, in practice
mostly applied the art of compromise, as I shall attempt
to demonstrate in the case of the attitude towards
antiquity of one of the most uncompromising
late-Byzantine authors – St. Gregory Palamas.
So far as antiquity is
concerned, we have to deal with two different attitudes
of St. Gregory: when the question of attitude is posed
directly, his stand is adamantly strict; when the
question is indirect, we see Palamas entering into an
open-minded dialogue (such as his tolerant discussions
with Muslim theologians when he was captured in Turkey,
which were referred to in descriptions of his life),
freely using the conceptual apparatus of antique
philosophy from Aristotle to neoplatonism.
In the polemics against
Varlaam, the question of natural knowledge, Greek
philosophy and sciences was posed directly in terms of
their compatibility with Christian practice and
attitudes, and Palamas’ answer was as direct as
possible: “Plato himself, praising those he considered
the best amongst poets and thinkers, said that if
someone wants to create poetry without being inspired by
demons, neither he nor his poetry can have any success;
also, before starting to think about the nature of
creation in his Thimaius, (Plato) was praying not to say
anything that would be unpleasant to gods – but could
philosophy that was pleasant to demons be given by God?
Socrates had his demon, who certainly initiated him into
his secrets; obviously, this demon witnessed that
Socrates was the most wise among all men. Homer also
called upon the ‘goddess’ to sing through him the
murderous anger of Achilles, allowing that demon to use
him as a tool and attributing to the same ‘goddess’ the
source of his wisdom and literary talent. It seemed not
enough for Hesyodes, when he was creating The
Theogony, to be possessed by only one demon, so he
called upon himself no less than nine demons at the same
time...” (Triada I, 1, 15). In Triada II,
1, 13, Palamas wrote: “Paul said that no one could drink
from the chalice of demons and from the chalice of God,
so how can anyone be in possession of the wisdom of God
and be inspired by demons? Those who recognise that
their wisdom is inspired by demons, we call demonic wise
men.” I am not going to continue with quotations, but
the text goes on in the same manner.
And what about secular
knowledge in itself, not only Greek? “Do they (Varlaam
and his followers) ever think that, once we had turned
towards the tree of knowledge and eaten from it, we were
thrown out of the divine place of pleasure?” (I, 1, 6).
“Don’t you see that knowledge alone (that of Greek
philosophy) is of absolutely no use? ... Even worse, it
causes the greatest possible harm. ... The first of all
evils, the principal sin of the devil – haughtiness – is
caused by knowledge.” (I, 1, 9).
We see two different
arguments against Greek philosophy and culture in
general: one is based on a strict way of interpreting
original antique claims of divine inspiration (the demon
is the devil, all “gods” are satanic idols), the other
on the rejection of all secular knowledge, even if it is
not of “demonic” origin. For our argument, the second
case is even more important. It reflects the very
situation of “anti-religion” that says: the only true
knowledge is our revealed truth. The revealed truth
could only be complete truth, so there could not be any
partial truth – its very partiality proves that it is a
lie. Consequently, everything that is not the knowledge
of revelation is a lie, most directly opposed to the
salvific truth, and must be opposed by all means or
ignored. If and when we want to have any sort of
continuity with other cultures, any sort of compromise
with the surrounding world that doesn’t share all our
opinions, we had better not pose the question about
ultimate truth. Once posed, that question leads to an
everlasting conflict.
Now, I am not going to
analyse further the content of those declarations of
Palamas. My primary intention is simple enough: to draw
your attention to the attitude that is potentially
(always?) present in a (monotheistic) religious
discourse – the attitude of anti-religion.
I’d like to end with one
contemporary example. A month ago, at Easter, a
prominent Greek theologian and spiritual leader issued
an epistle with following conclusion:
“The risen Christ-Truth
could not be identified (equated) with the ‘truths’ of
other religions and faiths. Christ is the entire Truth.
He is not a half-Truth to be completed with other
truths. ...
Heresies were terrible
enemies of the Church. More terrible than any other is
Syncretism, that is the mixing and interconnecting of
all beliefs. Syncretism subverts not one dogma, but all
dogmas; it subverts all-Truth (panaletheia),
God-men and our Lord, with the ultimate goal of relying
on the force of the Almighties of this world, open the
way to all-religion (panthriskia) of the New Age.
Our answer to that total
war against the Christ-Truth should be our open
confession that only Christ is the ultimate Truth and
therefore the Saviour of the world, and that only the
Holy Orthodox Church is truly apostolic and the
continual presence of the Church of Prophets, Apostles
and Fathers.
We confess our faith even if we are
going, now or in the future, to suffer the worst social
isolation.
It is the time for
confession and suffering for the sake of the Crucified
and Risen Christ, our Truth and Salvation.
Christ is Risen! Truly He
is Risen!”
In the face of this confession I am
more than embarrassed. Yes, I am an orthodox Christian.
But at the same time, I would like to stay open to other
cultures and civilisations, to antiquity, among others.
Schizophrenia? Maybe.
But as we are still in the
Easter period, I will finish with greetings that, in my
eyes, should liberate us from any dilemma:
Christ is Risen! Truly He
is Risen!
For the Resurrection is far
greater than any conflict or even cooperation.
