In this article, Erol demonstrates various complex “positions and discourses” (133) of cultural identity in the Greek Orthodox community of nineteenth-century Constantinople. She draws on sources from the press, secular songs, and musicological writings to explore musical discourse in the context of broader Ottoman, Orthodox, and Greek issues. Through this survey of diverse sources, Erol convincingly argues that the discourse surrounding Greek Orthodox music is intertwined with sociopolitical concerns of the time.
To begin the article, Erol lays out the background of the Greek Orthodox community in the nineteenth century. This period was dominated by the Tanzimat, a series of reforms that helped create a “μεγάλη αστική ρωμέικη τάξη” (135). In this context, the millet asserted its Hellenic identity through, for example, the projection of “its ecclesiastical (and folk) music as ‘remnants’ of an ancient past to distinguish its identity as a distinct cultural group” (136). Erol also mentions other contextual factors that influenced this process. These included Westernization and conspicuous consumption as well as the backlash to this movement. Another factor is the agitation for an independent Bulgarian church, which provoked mixed reactions from the Ottoman Greeks. All these contextual elements are crucial to Erol’s subsequent analysis.
The first source Erol treats is the 1860 satire by Ioannis Raptarhis entitled Πικρά η αλήθεια. In Erol’s analysis, the criticisms that Raptarhis levels at the Church are drawn precisely from the sociopolitical concerns of the time. For example, Raptarhis “pleaded that the divine melody should rule in ‘one voice and one language’” (139) – a direct rebuke to the Bulgarians who sought to use Slavonic as the liturgical language. In analyzing the music of liturgy, Raptarhis both reflects on current political events and admonishes authorities for their perceived disunity. In the same vein, Raptarhis criticizes the use of “novel and different” (141) ecclesiastical music because it indicates encroaching Westernization. Erol’s analysis of Raptarhis also reveals that judgments about music, especially in ecclesiastical contexts, are closely tied to class divisions. Drawing on Pierre Bourdieu, Simon Frith, and Theodore Zeldin, Erol reads Raptarhis as seeing “the lower ranks of society … as fundamentally unable to engage in the spiritual dimension of the music because of the coarseness of the bodily labor by which they earn their keep” (142). What may seem to be an aesthetic problem is clearly a social judgment. Furthermore, Raptarhis writes that the tract was motivated by a sense of collective insult – in his words, his motivation came “εκ της εθνικής ημών φιλοτιμίας” (143). In sum, Erol convincingly argues that the Greek Orthodox community of Constantinople perceived liturgical music as crucial in determining ethnonational dignity.
Next, Erol examines the Musical Society of Constantinople and its connections with Romanticism and Hellenism. By examining the documents of the Society, Erol demonstrates that Greek Orthodox music symbolized the continuity of Greeks from antiquity to modern times and therefore represented a powerful civilizing force. The best demonstration of both these elements comes from the Musical Society’s choice of logo – the lyre of Orpheus. The hero of Ancient Greek mythology was famed for his ability to tame nature with his music. By choosing his lyre as their symbol, the Greeks of Constantinople “affirmed their identity as Greeks by paying tribute to the ancient Greek ideal” (145) while simultaneously aligning themselves with the ancient and contemporary (European) association of music with a civilizing moral mission. The Musical Society thus exemplifies Hellenism – the synchronic and diachronic unity of the “Hellenic-Christian” Greek national identity. At the same time, Erol notes that “this phenomenon had its ideological and conceptual origins in German Romantic nationalism” (146), the society diverges from this movement in its attention to “recording the folk melodies of non-Greek neighboring peoples” (146).
Erol turns next to musicological debates and ecclesiastical music itself. She traces the development of the “musical question.” On one side were the Greeks who “aspir[ed] to ameliorate the unpleasant situation of music” (148, quoting an 1890 book) by introducing European characteristics, including polyphony, harmony, and even the use of musical instruments in liturgy. On the other side were those who cherished “the restoration of the hyphos of ecclesiastical music” (149) through the use of original ecclesiastical chants and the recognition of the Patriarch’s authority. Erol notes that this view is aligned with the narrative of Hellenism and the Orientalist descriptions of Orthodox hymns corrupted by “meaningless, barbarian, and foreign syllables” (151, quoting an 1881 article). In sum, Erol demonstrates that the “musical question” is inseparable from sociopolitical concerns of the Greek Orthodox community in Constantinople.
Overall, Erol convincingly argues that musical discourse in this context is closely related to “seemingly disconnected issues, such as the aesthetic judgment of religious music, the formation of social and national identity, the integrity of the Rum millet, and the Westernization of the Greek community’s lifestyle” (154). Erol successfully draws on a variety of sources to support her thesis. This article should be a starting point for a broader discussion about what the links Erol demonstrates between music, religion, and politics mean in context. For example, it would be wonderful to trace this thread through the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire or to adopt a comparative approach with Turkish musical discourse at the time.