Religion and Nationalism

in Soviet and East European Politics

Edited b y Pedro Ramet

Duke Press Policy Studies Revised and expanded edition

Duke University Press Durham and London 1989

© 1989 Duke University Press
A ll rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper »
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
appear on the last printed page of this book.
For Sebastian and Ida Maria Ramet,
as a token of love and great respect.
C on ten ts

Preface to the Second Edition ix

Preface to the First Edition xi

PARTI COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS

1. The Interplay of Religious Policy and Nationalities Policy

in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe p e d r o r a m e t 3
2. The Historical Role of Religious Institutions in Eastern
Europe and Their Place in the Communist Party-State
PETER F. SUGAR 42

3. Jewish Nationality and Religion in the USSR and Eastern

Europe ZVI GITELMAN 59

PART II THE SOVIET UNION

4. The "Russian Orientation" and the Orthodox Church:

From the Early Slavophiles to the "Neo-Slavophiles"
in the USSR DIMITRY p o s p ie l o v s k y 81
S • Catholicism and Nationalism in Lithuania
K§STUTIS K. GIRNIUS 109

6. Religion and Nationalism in Ukraine va syl m a r k u s 138

7 - Religion and Nationalism in Soviet Georgia and Armenia
s. f . to n es 17 1
vi Religion and Nationalism

8. Islam and Nationalism in Soviet Central Asia

JAMES CRITCHLOW 1 96

PART III EASTERN EUROPE

9. The Luther Revival: Aspects of National Abgrenzung and
Confessional Gemeinschaft in the German Democratic
Republic d a n b e c k 223
10. Church and Nationality in Postwar Poland
VINCENT C. CHRYPINSKI 241

1 1 . Christianity and National Heritage among the Czechs

and Slovaks p e d r o r a m e t 264
12. Religion and Nationality in Hungary L e s l ie lâszlô 286
13. Religion and Nationalism in Yugoslavia pedro r a m e t 299
14. Religion and Nationalism in Romania tr o n d g il b e r g 3a8
15. Nationalism and the Bulgarian Orthodox Church
s p a s t . RAiKiN 352
16. The Fate of Islam in the Balkans: A Comparison of Four
State Policies z a c h a r y t . ir w in 378

PART IV CONCLUSION

17. Conclusion PEDRO RAMET 4 II

Notes 425
About the Contributors 499
Index 503
Preface to the Second Edition

Five of the chapters in this edition are new, viz., Peter Sugar's chap­
ter on religious institutions, Z vi Gitelman's chapter on Jews, Stephen
Jones's chapter on Georgia and Armenia, Dan Beck's chapter on East
Germany, and my chapter on Czechoslovakia. Several of these were
presented at the 1987 meetings of the American Association for the
Advancement of Slavic Studies (Boston), and I am indebted to Robert F.
Goeckel (s u n y , Geneseo) for his helpful comments on earlier drafts of
the Jewish and East German chapters.
In addition, all the other chapters have been updated. In some cases
revision and updating have been considerable; in other cases, the
changes are relatively minor.

Pedro Ram et
Seattle, April 5,1988
Part I Comparative Analysis
I

T h e Interplay of R eligious P olicy and N ation alities

P o licy in the Soviet U nion and Eastern Europe

Pedro R am et

Religion is not merely a set of beliefs about a "world beyond" but also,
and perhaps more importantly, a set of beliefs about how the present
world—its law, its authority, its hierarchical relations—should be orga­
nized. Liturgy and ritual, valued by participants for the feelings of rap­
ture and spirituality they impart, serve another function, clearly more
important from the organizational point of view, viz., that of commu­
nal reaffirmation of the authority of ecclesiastical leaders. The breadth
of that authority may be narrow, limited essentially to social behavior
(morality), or it may extend to prescriptions about attire, culture (as in
the proscription of certain kinds of music), civil codes, and political
behavior. Religion, as Talcott Parsons recognized, "is the point of ar­
ticulation between the cultural system and the social system, where
values from the former are embodied in the latter."1
The claims of the great monotheistic religions (Christianity, Islam,
Judaism) were traditionally absolute, not relative; the appearance in re­
cent decades of "nondenominational churches" is one sign of an attenu­
ation of this absoluteness, but even now, the moral injunctions of most,
if not all, religions are certainly intended to have absolute and universal
validity, and they are backed by the authority of a putative being said
to be omnipotent and omnibenevolent. More generally, no religion has
ever allowed that its doctrines might be only relatively true—not even
the polytheist Olympian religion of ancient Greece and Rome. More­
over, the relative toleration found in many modern societies probably
has more to do with compromise born in the mix of religions rather
than with the content of any one religion, and with the diminishing
ability of many religions to compel conformity among their own mem-
4 Comparative Analysis

bers (as seen in the widespread acceptance of contraceptives among

American Catholics). At the same time religion has always looked back
to its sources and read into those sources a particular meaning: that
meaning constitutes itself as a claim upon the loyalty of a community
as a community— Irish and Poles are expected to be Catholic, Russians
and Bulgarians are expected to be Orthodox, Arabs and Turks are ex­
pected to be Muslim. The Orthodox Pole, the Baptist Russian, and the
Protestant Turk are all, in a very real sense, viewed as nationally dis­
loyal.
Theocracy was one of the earliest forms of government, and perhaps
the first form of government to become institutionally developed. The
papal states, the caliphate, and the Orthodox churches under the Ot­
toman millet system all exemplify this principle in different forms. Re­
gardless of what religious organizations may profess to be today, their
incunabula were quintessentially political, and churches may, accord­
ingly, be regarded as vestigial political organizations par excellence.
Shorn of their governing function and, in recent centuries, increasingly
shorn of their monopoly in spheres of socialization (education, histo­
riography, literature, music, and the arts), the churches have retained
their political character by adopting a new countenance as the guard­
ians of discrete interests, even as interest groups. When we say, then,
that religion's claims are absolute, we perceive that religion has always
played a powerful role in cementing the loyalty of citizens toward their
national collectivities.2
This is only half the picture, however. To describe religion merely as
an epiphenomenon of political development would obscure the organic
nexus between religion and nation {Volk in German, naiod in Russian).
Religion was, in its origin, tribal and then national, and its gods were
the gods of the tribe and nation. Wars waged between ancient peoples
were assumed to have a supernatural dimension as the divine protectors
of warring peoples were presumed to contest among themselves. And
even when, in Greece, a polytheist universe became generally accepted,
the individual city-states retained their favorites (Athena for Athens,
for example). Religion, thus, was national before it was universal.
An early attempt by the Egyptian pharoah Ikhnaton (Amenhotep III)
to establish universalist ethics based on a monotheist creed fell through
for lack of support; when one of his followers, Moses, organized the
escape of Jewish captives and brought the universalist creed to them,3 it
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 5

soon became, in their hands, a national religion, and Adonai (Jehovah)

reverted to the traditional role of protector of his "chosen people."
Christianity was the first religion to make the transition from being a
national religion to being a universal religion to which national borders
are meaningless. But even for Christianity, the transition was incom­
plete. There are two chief reasons for this. The first is that in the east­
ern Mediterranean basin, where Christianity first established its roots,
it evolved a network of national patriarchs who, as spiritual leaders of
their nations, were inevitably cast also in the roles of national leaders
or potential national leaders. Second, in the West, where the bishop
of Rome established unchallenged primacy even before the demise of
the West Roman Empire, the fragmentation produced by the Protes­
tant Reformation allowed religion to once more become a source and
exacerbant of international discord. The principle of cuius regio eius re-
ligio codified a principle which only increased the likelihood that Span­
iards should think of themselves as Catholics, Genevans as Calvinists,
Dutchmen as Protestant-Reformed, and so on.
This identification of sundry religious affiliations with various eth­
nic and national identities has, however, made the self-appointed task
of the communist authorities everywhere more difficult. On the one
hand, religious organizations can less easily be tamed, suppressed, or
destroyed outright insofar as they are widely viewed as national institu­
tions. And on the other hand, among those regimes which either deny
ethnic heterogeneity (Bulgaria) or seek to assimilate and denationalize
the ethnic minorities (the Soviet Union and Romania), the religious
element infuses national survival with spiritual values, making assimi­
lation—perhaps especially where Muslims are concerned—a threat to
the religious community itself. Even in countries which have aban­
doned earlier assimilation programs (Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia),
the churches (in these cases, the Catholic church chiefly) are identified
in the popular memory with truncated national states and are viewed
by some as hotbeds of ethnic secessionism.
M ilitary conquerors and separatists alike have recognized the politi­
cal potency of national churches and their utility in weaning popula­
tions from earlier allegiances. Thus, the Germans allowed believers in
occupied Belorussia to organize a Belorussian Autocephalous Ortho­
dox church in 1941, with Metropolitan Panteleimon at its head,4 and
the Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox church, revived the follow-
6 Comparative Analysis

ing year, was to play an active role in fomenting anti-Russian Ukrai­

nian nationalism in German-occupied Ukraine during World War II.5
Similarly, Ante Pavelic, poglavnik of the wartime Independent State
of Croatia, established an autocephalous Croatian Orthodox church in
April r942, placing the old Russian bishop, Germogen, at its head, in
hopes of convincing some Orthodox believers that they were Croats.6
If the endeavor to break a people's link with its own past can take
the form of the establishment of new and "autocephalous" churches, it
can also manifest itself in the suppression of native liturgies. The Rus­
sian tsars wanted to sap Polish and Lithuanian nationalism and thus
demanded that the Catholic church in Polish and Lithuanian districts
substitute Russian for Latin as the official church language and lan­
guage of the liturgy: a Russianized Catholic church was supposed to
serve as the vehicle of the Russification of these non-Russian lands.7
The Austrian emperor Franz Josef adopted the opposite tactic for the
same end, persuading the pope to withhold approval for the introduc­
tion of Slavic-language liturgy in Croatia, in the belief that the Latin
rite was one of the most effective obstacles to Croatian-Serbian rap­
prochement. Contemporary Bulgaria affords a more radical example of
the same tendency; instead of merely suppressing a liturgy, however,
the regime set out to efface cultural heterogeneity at a blow. Muslims
in Bulgaria were ordered to adopt Christian names and to "adapt" to
Bulgarian culture. In 1980 Turkish sources claimed that tens of thou­
sands of recalcitrant Bulgarian Muslims, including many of Turkish
ethnicity, had been drugged and tortured at mental institutions for re­
sisting Bulgarianization.8 The Bulgarian ruling party, like most com­
munist parties, places a premium on homogenization: it views reli­
gious culture within this context.
Thus, if "national" churches can tangibly buttress the position of a
government, they can also undermine its stability where they advo­
cate the rights of ethnic minorities in multiethnic states. The exam­
ples of the Catholic church in Slovakia, Lithuania, Ukraine, Croatia,
and Romania, of the Lutheran church in Estonia, and of the Ortho­
dox churches of Serbia and Georgia all illustrate oppositionist politics
in defense of national minorities. By contrast, the Orthodox churches
of Russia, Bulgaria, and Romania and the Catholic church of Hun­
gary have all managed to accommodate themselves to the political
status quo, and church-state relations in these four instances are uni-
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 7

formly described by the authorities as good. It is worth noting that

three of these countries—Bulgaria, Romania, and Hungary—are ethni­
cally essentially homogeneous, with no large national minorities.9
This chapter w ill outline the differences in the policies of European
communist regimes toward the Orthodox churches, the Greek Catholic
(Uniate) churches, the Roman Catholic church, and the Muslim com­
munity, and it w ill argue that these differences are, at least in part,
explicable in terms of considerations of nationalism. The chapter w ill
also highlight the interplay of religious policy and nationalities policy
in multiethnic states and w ill suggest some ways in which nationali­
ties policy, conversely, is affected by considerations of religious policy.

CHURCHES AND NATIONALISM

Religion may be understood as an interrelated set of assumptions about

the nature and meaning of human existence, which are thought to have
absolute validity and which are actively propagated by an institution
or organized sect. Accordingly, the defense of national culture by reli­
gious organizations implies some superordinate value or right enjoyed
by the nation. And because the validity of religious assumptions is usu­
ally taken as a given—beyond scrutiny—religion, like national culture,
contains within itself the possibility of intolerance. At least until re­
cently, those holding other assumptions have been generally viewed as
errant and mistaken at best, as cursed and reprehensible at worst. Fol­
lowing Dimitry Pospielovsky, nationalism is defined here as collective
affectivity focused on the cultural-linguistic group, manifested in the
attribution of central importance to the national culture—including its
religion— and in the aspiration to promote the national culture.10 Thus,
when a religious organization becomes involved in nationalism, there
is a strong tendency to "spiritualize" the concept of national destiny
and to infuse the preservation of ethnic culture with intrinsic value. At
its most extreme this tendency is manifested in the neotribal revival
—consciously or unconsciously—of the primeval myth of the "cho­
sen people," a myth inextricably bound up with the concept of a his­
torical task entrusted to the "chosen people." Sarajevo archbishop Ivan
Saric, for instance, told Croatian nationalists and Ustase sympathizers
in r936 that "God sides with the Croats,"11 later adding in defense of
the Ustase program that it was "stupid and unworthy of Christ's disci-
8 Comparative Analysis

pies to think that the struggle against evil could be waged in a noble
way and with gloves on."12 More recently in a widely advertised book
published by the Serbian Orthodox church in the early rçyos, Ortho­
dox priest Dr. Lazar Milin claimed this special place for the Serbs,
associating it, however, with prolonged suffering. "The Serbian people
is Christ's people," wrote Milin, adding that "the Serbian people as a
whole has suffered more for the faith of Christ than many, many other
peoples."13 Among the Poles, Stanislaw Staszic (1775-1826), a Catholic
priest, claimed for Poland a special civilizing mission and argued for the
unification of Europe in a federation under Russian political leadership
and Polish cultural guidance. Similarly, the sixteenth-century Russian
monk Filofei (Philotheus) linked the fate of Christianity to the fate
of Russia, which he called the Third, and last, Rome.14 This convic­
tion of Russia's unique religiosity and special destiny would later in­
spire the nineteenth-century Russian Slavophiles, for whom the pu­
rity of Russian Orthodoxy constituted evidence of Russian chosenness.
And finally, the pattern repeated itself in fifteenth-century (Hussite)
Czechoslovakia, where, as Joseph Zacek has noted, "Catholic Europe's
characterization of the Czechs as 'a nation of heretics' provoked a feel­
ing of defensive solidarity permeated with a national religious messian-
ism, a mystical conviction that the Czech nation was the most Chris­
tian of all and had been elected by God to revive the fallen Church."15
National-religious messianism, which links religious "orthodoxy" to
a God-given national mission, appears to arise in contexts of confronta­
tion with external foes of rival religious affiliation. The consequences
of national-religious messianism are the reinforcement of the linkage
between national identity and a particular religion and the compul­
sion of state authorities to deal with certain religious organizations as
ethnic spokesmen.

SUPPRESSED GROUPS

Communist religious policy is adjusted to specific churches, and hence

within any given communist country one can expect to find differences
in policy, depending on which religious group is being examined. Since
there are some uniformities discrete to specific confessional groups,
it also becomes possible to identify patterns in communist religious
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 9

policy, across the region. Accordingly, I shall organize my discussion

by religious group, rather than on a country-by-country basis.
Communist religious policy is determined by at least six important
factors: (r) the size of the religious organization in question, (2) the
organization's disposition to subordinate itself to political authority
and its amenability to infiltration and control by the secret police,
(3) the question of allegiance to a foreign authority, (4) the loyalty or
disloyalty of the particular body during World War II, (5) the ethnic
configuration of the respective country, and (6) the dominant political
culture of the country.
What is clear from this listing is that although it w ill be argued here
that there are general patterns differentiating communist policies to­
ward Orthodoxy from those toward Uniates, toward Roman Catholi­
cism, and again toward Islam, there will be some variation from coun­
try to country, as determined chiefly by factors r, 4, 5, and 6. The
Catholic church in Poland, thus, with more than 30 million adherents,
is understandably less vulnerable than the Catholic church proved to
be in Bulgaria, where it numbers only sixty thousand believers (less
than 1 percent of the population). Again, while the Catholic church in
Slovakia and the Uniate (Greek Catholic) church in Ukraine are suscep­
tible to the charge of collaboration with the Nazis in World War II, the
Catholic church in Poland was active in anti-Nazi resistance, as were
many churches in Germany. Again, where the ethnic heterogeneity of
the USSR and Yugoslavia, and to a lesser extent of Czechoslovakia and
Romania as well, increase the likelihood that ethnically based confes­
sional groups w ill prove to be destabilizing factors, the relative ethnic
homogeneity of Poland and Bulgaria permits the Catholic church in
Poland and the Bulgarian Orthodox church to play integrative roles—
even if the former has been associated with opposition to the regime,
while the latter has been co-opted into a kind of "partnership." And
finally, where the political culture is both more quiescent and more
anticlerical (as in the Czech lands), the church w ill be more vulnera­
ble than in countries with a culture of defiance and religiosity (e.g.,
Poland).
In the USSR this differentiated policy is facilitated by the presence
within the Council of Religious Affairs (c r a ) of different departments
for Orthodox, Catholic, and Islamic affairs.16 In Yugoslavia the exis-
io Comparative Analysis

tence of individual offices for religious affairs in each federal unit means
that certain republican offices (Slovenia and Croatia) w ill be dealing
almost exclusively with the Catholic church, while others (Serbia,
Macedonia, and Montenegro) w ill be dealing chiefly with Orthodoxy.17

Uniates
To refer to Uniates and Jews as "suppressed groups" is not to deny that
other religious groups in the Soviet-East European area are oppressed;
but it w ill be argued that these groups are more oppressed than others.
Indeed, they are virtually unique in having been targeted already in
the late T940S for suppression and institutional extirpation. Only the
Catholic church in Bulgaria, the short-lived autocephalous Orthodox
churches of Ukraine and Belorussia (which functioned during the 1920s
and again during World War II), and all religious organizations in Alba­
nia have been so completely suppressed in communist Europe.
At the end of World War II the Greek-rite Catholic church numbered
about 4 million adherents in western Ukraine, 1.57 million adherents
in Romania, 320,000 adherents in eastern Slovakia, and smaller num­
bers of believers in Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Poland, and Hungary.18 The
larger churches (Ukraine, Romania, Slovakia) were targeted for suppres­
sion and forced into the Orthodox fold; Hungary's Uniate church was
allowed to continue to function, however, as it presented no political
threat, and Miklos Dudas, the Hungarian Uniate bishop of Hajdudorog,
was even allowed to attend the Vatican II council.19 Bulgaria's 15,000
Eastern-rite Catholics (1975) and Yugoslavia's 60,000 (1980), most of
whom are Ruthenes or Ukrainians, continue to enjoy toleration, though
the situation of Poland's 150,000 Uniates may be fairly described as dif­
ficult. The essential feature which distinguished the Uniate churches
of Ukraine, Romania, and Slovakia from other churches in communist
lands including the Hungarian and Yugoslav Uniate churches (though
not from the Roman Catholic church in Slovakia or, arguably, in Croa­
tia) was their strong identification with the nationalism of their respec­
tive peoples and, in the case of Ukraine and Slovakia, with separatist
projects feasible only within the framework of cooperation with the
Nazis.
Created through the Union of Brest in 15 96, which drew a number of
hitherto Ukrainian Orthodox into union with Rome, the Uniate church
had acquired standing as a national Ukrainian church by the end of
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 11

the nineteenth century, and eame to play a significant role in the cul­
tural and social development of Ukraine. The Soviets have always been
especially hostile toward the Uniate church, which they have accused
of promoting "the denationalization of the Ukrainian people [through]
their separation from the fraternal Russian people."20 Even before the
war the Soviets drew up plans for the liquidation of the Ukrainian
Uniate church;21 these plans were quickened by the addition of G ali­
cia and White Ruthenia to the Soviet Union in 1939, which had large
congregations of Uniates. As the Nazis rolled into the Soviet Union in
June 19 41, Soviet secret police rounded up a large number of Uniate
priests and variously murdered them or deported them to the Soviet
Far East. The Nazi occupation did not bring an end to the arrests of
Uniate clergy, and the Ukrainian church hoped ultimately to establish
an independent state free from both the USSR and Germany. Soviet re­
pression of the Uniates was resumed immediately with reoccupation in
1944, and in March 1946 an orchestrated pseudosynod of the Ukrainian
Uniate church, attended by 214 clergy, abrogated the Union of Brest
and subordinated the church to the Russian Orthodox church.22 Since
then, those Uniate clergy who have refused to be coerced into sub­
mission to a Russian Orthodox church heavily infiltrated by the k g b 23
have had to operate clandestinely, outside the law. Remarkably, under
the circumstances, the Uniates managed to hold an illegal congress in
Lvov in 1965, drawing delegates from all over Ukraine, as well as from
Belorussia and Moldavia.
Romania was next to ban the Uniates. Although decree no. 243,
issued September r8, r948, had expressly recognized the Greek-rite
Catholic church in Romania and had accorded it the right to organize
two eparchies, a subsequent decree issued less than three months later
(no. 358, December 1, 1948) placed the Uniate church under ban.24 Its
clergy were imprisoned, along with recalcitrant believers. Following the
Soviet model, the authorities endeavored to replace Uniate personnel
with party loyalists and then convoked a pseudocongress in Cluj on Oc­
tober r, 1948, which, predictably, voted "unanimously and with great
enthusiasm . . . the reentry into the bosom of the Romanian Orthodox
Church," as one communist party paper put it.25 Although the regime
used pay incentives to attempt to bribe the Uniate clergy into coopera­
tion, some two-thirds of Uniate priests, together with three-quarters
of the Uniate believers, resisted implementation of this decision.26 The
12 Comparative Analysis

authorities responded with force, and by the end of November, even be­
fore the Uniate church was formally banned, some six hundred Uniate
clergy were in Romanian jails, including Bishop Ion Suciu, vicar of the
Blaj metropolitan see, and Bishop Valeriu Traian Frentziu of Oradea.
As in the case of the Ukrainian Uniates, the determination and bru­
tality with which the regime suppressed the Romanian Uniates was a
reflection of the obstacle posed by that church to the Russificatory or
Slavicizing dimension of Stalinization. The Romanian Greek Catholic
church, which had come into being in 1698, on the strength of prom­
ises of concessions in education and elsewhere on the part of Austrian
emperor Leopold II, evolved into a cultural leader in Transylvania. The
Uniate clergy, remarking on the profound similarity of Romanian and
Latin, began to urge that Romanian was a Latin language and traced Ro­
manian linealogy to the Roman colonization of Dacia in a .d . 106.27 In
the early postwar period, however, this "Latinist" theory was distinctly
out of favor, as Stalin wanted the Romanian party to stress the Slavic
content and Slavic origin of Romanians, and to portray Romanian as
a Slavic language. Anything that drew attention to differences sepa­
rating Romanians and Russians was branded "reactionary bourgeois
nationalism."
Though the Roman Catholic church is still tolerated in Romania, its
adherents are mostly Hungarians and Swabians (Germans); it was the
Uniate church which had catered to ethnic Romanians (mostly of Tran­
sylvanian extraction). The suppression of the Uniates was thus aimed
specifically at cutting the links between ethnic Romanians and the
Vatican, between Romanian national identity and Catholicism. Roma­
nian Communist party chief Gheorghiu-Dej's subsequent defiance of
the Soviets in economic planning and the independent stance adopted
by his successor, Nicolae Ceau§escu, encouraged underground Uniates
to hope for change. More particularly, Ceau§escu's exuberant national­
ism and his rehabilitation of the Latinist theory of Romanian ethno-
genesis encouraged Uniates to press for relegalization. An early such
petition was one submitted by Reverend V. Vorobchievici to Ceau§escu
in 1968,28 but similar petitions have continued to be presented (thirty-
two by August 1977). The regime has refused to budge, however.
The Uniate church met a similar fate in Czechoslovakia, where its
union with Rome was abolished by order of the state on April 28, 1950,
and its adherents were pronounced Orthodox. The more than 300,000
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 13

Uniate believers of Slovakia's Presov diocese far outnumbered the

35,000 Orthodox believers scattered across three dioceses, and when
the Dubcek government began to discuss various liberal reforms in
1968, some 135 Uniate clergymen organized a committee which sought
and obtained the annulment of the pseudocouncil of Presov (which had
abrogated the union with Rome) and the rehabilitation of the Uniate
church. Though the revival of this church excited Uniate currents in
neighboring Ukraine, contributing to a renewal of Ukrainian national­
ism and to the Soviet decision to invade Czechoslovakia,29 the return
to the Uniate church in 1968-69 was so overwhelming and the symbio­
sis of religion and nationalism so potent that the authorities have been
loathe to attempt a second suppression.30 Despite this formal legality,
the Czechoslovak Uniates have had to endure severe pressure at the
hands of the authorities since 1970, and in the early 1980s Prague tar­
geted the Slovak villages for atheization campaigns.
In the late 1940s communists in several East European countries,
including Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, and Bulgaria, assumed that they
would very shortly be absorbed into an expanded Soviet Union. In a
typical expression of this anticipation Gustav Husak, current president
of Czechoslovakia, wrote in Nove Slovo (October 15, 1944):
Six years of the existence of the Slovak state have weakened the
w ill of the Slovak nation to live in one state with the Czech na­
tion. . . . The Slovak working masses have in recent years moved
politically and nationally in the direction of the Soviet Union and
the call for the incorporation of Slovakia into the Soviet Union has
frequently been heard.31
It is conceivable that the coercion of the Uniates into Orthodoxy was
designed to serve as a preparatory stage for Soviet annexation of Slo­
vakia, in the conviction that the Orthodox church would be both less
nationalist and more pliable, and thus coincided with the suppression
of the Uniates in neighboring Ukraine.

lews
Prejudice against Jews is endemic in the region. Jews, like Gypsies,
have traditionally been viewed as outsiders, and anti-Semitism remains
strong in the ranks of the Soviet, Polish, and other East European par­
ties. The etymological similarity of the Russian words for peasant [kie-
14 Comparative Analysis

styanin ) and Christian (khiistiyanin ) already provided a preconscious

bedrock for excluding the Jews from national life, and most experts
concur that Judaism is far worse off than any other "legal" religious
group in the USSR.32
In Russia, as elsewhere in Eastern Europe, the Jewish community
council (the kehillah) was traditionally the chief body responsible for
ritual baths, cemeteries, and the maintenance of the synagogue itself.
In the summer of 19 r 9 Stalin, then commissar of nationalities, decreed
the abolition of the kehillahs. A special section of the c p s u known
as the Yevsektsiia (Jewish section) was entrusted with the task of as­
sailing and ridiculing the Jewish clergy and religion: the section was
finally abolished only in 1930. Between 1948 and 1949 all secular Jew­
ish institutions in the USSR, including Jewish theaters, were destroyed;
authorities even melted down the type in the USSR's last remaining
Yiddish publishing house.33 In the 1950s Soviet propaganda exprobrated
Judaism as "the most harmful and most reactionary of all religious
cults."34 Traditional Slavic anti-Semitism was reinforced by the cre­
ation of Israel. Stalin had already created a "Jewish homeland" in 1934
when the town of Birobidjan, in the Soviet Far East, together with the
surrounding area, was designated the Jewish Autonomous Region: this,
for the Soviets, was the "solution" of the Jewish question. That few
Jews migrated there and that so many have been interested in Israel
have provoked Soviet doubts about the divided loyalty of Soviet Jews.
In a well-known episode Stalin exiled the wife (Polina Zemschuzina) of
his close colleague, Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov, after she had
shown too much interest in Israel during conversation at a diplomatic
party.
The training of rabbis is impossible in the USSR. There are no
Hebrew-language publications and, since 1961, only one Yiddish peri­
odical publication, the monthly Sovetish haimland. Within the Soviet
Union, only the Jews and the Uniates lack legal facilities for the train­
ing of clergy. Hebrew, because of its connection with Israel, is taught
only at the diplomatic schools of Leningrad and Moscow universities
and otherwise is identified as the language of Zionism. Hence, in the
USSR, even the newspaper of the Israeli Communist party can be pur­
chased only in its Arabic and Yiddish editions, not in Hebrew. How­
ever, in the summer of 1987 it was reported that a new Soviet law en­
couraging self-employment would permit private tutoring in Hebrew.35
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 15

During Khrushchev's antireligious campaign, 1959-64, large numbers

of synagogues were closed, and the practice of Judaism has become all
but impossible in the USSR. As in the case of the Uniates, the strong
linkage of Judaism with non-Russian nationalism (in this case identi­
fication with Israel) has marked out Soviet Jews for special repression.
Anti-Semitism has also been more or less constant in Eastern Europe,
playing a role in the factional infighting of the early 1950s in Czecho­
slovakia (the Slansky trial) and in Romania (the purge of Ana Pauker).
Later, when East European elites were compelled to revise their poli­
cies in the light of Khrushchevite de-Stalinization, the Stalinist ex­
cesses were occasionally, if spuriously, blamed on the Jews. There were
reports of anti-Semitic incidents in Hungary in the 1960s, including
the removal of some high-ranking Jews from the party, and in Romania
the regime began encouraging Jews to emigrate to Israel around 1958.
Some 650 Romanian rabbis emigrated by 1970, leaving only nine be­
hind and compelling the rabbinical seminary in Arad to close.36 By late
1982 there were no more than 30,000 Jews left in Romania, out of an
initial postwar population of 400,000. Hungary, with some 80,000 Jews
as of 1988, is the only East European country today with a rabbinical
seminary.37
In Bulgaria there are fewer than 5,000 Jews left today (compared with
an estimated 51,500 on the eve of the communist takeover in 1944).
The only legal Jewish cultural organization is the Social Cultural-
Educational Organization of Jews of the People's Republic of Bulgaria,
which functions under the direct surveillance of the Central Commit­
tee Propaganda Department. The organization publishes a fortnightly
newspaper, Evieyski vesti (Jewish News), which promotes the regime's
concept of the creation of "a single socialist nation," and serves as a fo­
rum for routine attacks on the state of Israel. A February 1985 plenum
of the Social Cultural-Educational Organization blandly endorsed the
assimilation of Bulgarian Jews into the Bulgarian nation, with not even
a glimmer of dissent.38
But it is Poland which has ironically demonstrated the most resilient
official policy of anti-Semitism—"ironically" because as of 1982 only
8,000 Jews remained in Poland out of a prewar community of 3.5 m il­
lion. In 1956 the Polish Communist party blamed "Zionists and Jews"
for workers' unrest, inciting large numbers of Jews to emigrate. Twelve
years later, General Mieczyslaw Moczar fanned the flames of an offi-
 16 Comparative Analysis

cial anti-Semitic campaign in a bid for power. More than 9,000 Polish
Jews were forced from public office and the Jewish population precipi­
tously dropped from r6,ooo in 1968 to its present level. More recently,
the political instability produced by Poland's economic chaos and the
refusal of Polish authorities to accept the independent trade union
Solidarity provided the occasion for yet another scapegoating of Pol­
ish Jews. The regime sanctioned the establishment of an overtly anti-
Semitic organization known as the Griinwald Patriotic Union, speedily
approved publication of a new newspaper, Rzeczywistosc, which has
been loudly anti-Jewish, and, within a week of the declaration of mar­
tial law (December 13, 1981), launched a series of anti-Semitic broad­
casts on Radio Warsaw in which the handful of remaining Polish Jews,
whose average age was seventy-one, were tarnished as the chief cul­
prits responsible for Poland's myriad of economic, political, and social
problems.39
r The roots of anti-Semitism are complex, and anti-Semitism is no cre­
ation of communism. But the persistence of officially condoned anti-
Semitism in the Soviet Union and Poland, if not elsewhere, requires an
explanation in terms of policy. The availability of Jews as scapegoats
can only be part of the answer, since numerous other scapegoats are
readily available. The traditional anti-Semitism of the Slavic world and
the symbiosis of ethnic and religious identity in the case of the Jews,
conveniently embodied in the pariah state of Israel, appear to provide
a fuller answer. Domestically, anti-Semitism is also useful in rallying
Russian nationalists of various political hues, as in buttressing tradi­
tional chauvinistic nationalism in the East European states.

CO-OPTED GROUPS

Orthodoxy
A complete enumeration of Chalcedonian Orthodox churches would
include six "co-opted" churches (Russian, Romanian, Bulgarian, Pol­
ish, Czechoslovak, and, to an extent, the Georgian), four independent
churches (Cypriot, Greek, Serbian, and Sinai), two schismatic churches
(Macedonian [since 1967] and Croatian [1942-45]), and three suppressed
churches (Ukrainian, Belorussian, and Albanian). (To these one might
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 17

add the schismatic émigré wings of the Serbian, Albanian, Belorussian,

and Russian Orthodox churches, and the Orthodox church in Amer­
ica.)40
The impact of nationalism on religious policy is most directly seen
in the schismatic and suppressed categories. In the case of the Cro­
atian Orthodox church, its creation by order of Croatian poglavnik
Ante Pavelié in 1942 was designed to denationalize Croatia's Serbs
and convert them into "Orthodox Croats." The establishment of the
Macedonian Orthodox church in 1967 similarly enjoyed the strong
endorsement of the Yugoslav communist regime, which saw in the
move a validation of its claim that Macedonians are a distinct nation­
ality group and not Bulgarians, as both the Sofia regime and the Bul­
garian Orthodox church insist. As for the suppressed churches, both
the Ukrainian and Belorussian autocephalous Orthodox churches com­
promised themselves in Soviet eyes by their linkage with nationalist
and anti-Soviet currents during the war. Both the Ukrainian and Be­
lorussian churches were actually suppressed twice by Soviet authori­
ties—once at the end of the r920s, when the cultural and social re­
laxation of the n e p (New Economic Policy) period was terminated, and
again in 1944, as the Red Army reconquered the western borderlands.
In the case of the Belorussian Orthodox church, some two thousand
clergymen were shot or sent to concentration camps in the wake of
the post-NEP retrenchment, and by 1937 the Belorussian church had
been completely destroyed.41 The Albanian Orthodox church was sup­
pressed in 1967, along with all other religious organizations in Albania,
with the explanation that Orthodoxy, like Catholicism and Islam, was
a foreign import and that the authentic and autochthonous Albanian
Weltanschauung was atheism—thus hypothesizing an antagonism b§>
tween religion and Albanian nationalism.
Of the remaining Orthodox churches, two (the Polish and Czechoslo*
vak) number only a few thousand adherents each and have therefore
played a negligible role in their countries' politics. These, together with
the Cypriot and Greek Orthodox churches, the Church of the Sinai, and
the Orthodox church in America, will thus be excluded from the en­
suing discussion. Those with which we shall be concerned here can be
divided into two groups, based on ethnic considerations. The Russian
(50 million believers in 1984), Romanian (15—17 million in 1983), and
18 Comparative Analysis

Bulgarian (3 million in 1978) Orthodox churches are the principal con­

fessional organizations of dominant nationality groups.42 By contrast,
the Serbian (10 million nominal adherents in 1987)43 and Georgian
(5 million in 1979)44 Orthodox churches are the principal confessional
organizations of minority groups (though with 36.3 percent of the popu­
lation in 1981, the Serbs constitute the largest group in multiethnic
Yugoslavia).
In the Soviet Union, Romania, and Bulgaria the communist par­
ties set out with two clear objectives: in the short run to tame and
control the Orthodox churches and exploit them for their own pur­
poses, and in the long run to destroy them altogether. In the first five
years of the new revolutionary order (1917-22) the Bolsheviks executed
twenty-eight Russian Orthodox bishops and 1,2 15 Orthodox priests.45
The clergy were declared déclassé and deprived of civil rights, including
even the rights to shelter and rationing (full citizenship was restored
to them only in 1936). Many were imprisoned or exiled. Most of the
theological schools were boarded up, and almost all religious publica­
tions were suspended. Between 1935 and 1943 there were almost no
religious publications in the USSR. The number of places of worship
of the Orthodox church also shriveled from a 19 14 level of 54,174 to a
mere five hundred on the eve of the Nazi invasion (excluding territories
annexed 19 3 9 -4 1 ).46 But in the regime's most critical hour the Russian
Orthodox church now lent strong support to the war effort and even
volunteered to sponsor a division to fight the invaders. At a time when
Stalin embraced Russian nationalism to rally his people, the Russian
Orthodox church showed that its nationalism was undiminished, even
if the Soviets were in charge. The result was a truce, the resumption of
church publishing activity, and a general revival of the church. Russian
nationalism had revived an ailing institution.47
More than 17,000 Orthodox churches were reopened between 1941
and the mid-1950s, church membership grew more than 50 percent,
and by 1957 Russian Orthodoxy had 22,000 churches in operation.
But there was no longer a foreign threat, and the armed guerrilla
movements in Ukraine and Lithuania had been suppressed. In 1959
Khrushchev launched a determined antireligious campaign which, by
the time he left office in 1964, had reduced the number of Orthodox
churches to a mere ten thousand. His successors have continued to
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 19

whittle away at the Orthodox church, and, according to West German

sources, that institution had no more than seven thousand churches
left in operation by 1975. By 1986, the number had further shrunk to
6,soo.48
Even as the Soviets chipped away at the Russian Orthodox church,
however, they co-opted its leadership by jailing those antagonistic to­
ward the Soviet state, supporting those disposed to cooperation, and
infiltrating the hierarchy itself with k g b agents. A secret report drafted
sometime between 1975 and 1978 by V. Furov, deputy chairman of the
Council for Religious Affairs (c r a ), set forth the c r a ideal in claiming
that the c r a , itself heavily staffed by k g b operatives, effectively "con­
trols the Synod [of the Russian Orthodox church]. The question of se­
lection and appointment of permanent members used to be, and still is,
completely in the hands of the Council."49 This co-optive relationship
provoked a backlash, in time, and since 1957 there has been an active
movement of opposition within the Russian Orthodox church which
finds itself at odds both with the regime and with its own hierarchy.
Despite this opposition, the Russian Orthodox church continues to
be useful to the Soviet regime in at least two ways. First, the church is
useful insofar as it supports Soviet foreign policy moves. The church's
frequent endorsement of Soviet peace plans, its regular denunciations
of the West for stimulating an arms race, and its unblushing approval of
the Soviet invasion and occupation of Czechoslovakia in 196850 have all
been of some utility to the Kremlin. Second, the Soviet regime has for
many years tried to use the Russian Orthodox Church to convince the
outside world that there is freedom of religion in the USSR. The 1988
celebrations of the millenium of the Christianization of Kievan Rus,
conducted amid signs of tangible liberalization, are a recent instance
of this.51
The Romanian Communist party initially mimicked the Stalinist
model, and mass purges decimated the Orthodox hierarchy. Three arch­
bishops of the Romanian Orthodox church died suddenly, after ex­
pressing opposition to the policies of the communist-controlled gov­
ernment, and thirteen more "uncooperative" bishops and archbishops
were arrested. By weeding out the anticommunists and setting up a
pro-regime "Union of Democratic Priests," the party endeavored to se­
cure the cooperation of the Orthodox hierarchy.52 By January 1953 some
20 Comparative Analysis

three hundred to five hundred Orthodox priests were being held in Ro­
manian concentration camps,53 and after the death of Patriarch Nicode-
mus in May 1948, the party succeeded in having the ostensibly docile
Justinian Marina elected to succeed him.
As a result of measures passed in 1947 and 1948, the twenty-three
hundred elementary schools hitherto operated by the Romanian Ortho­
dox church were closed, together with its twenty-four high schools, its
academy of sacred music, three divinity schools, and thirteen of the fif­
teen theological seminaries it had operated.54 A new campaign struck
the church in the period 1958-62 when more than half of its remain­
ing monasteries were closed, more than two thousand monks forced
to take secular jobs, and about fifteen hundred clergy and lay activists
arrested. Throughout this period Patriarch Justinian was Careful to say
the right things and to avoid giving offense to the government.
The situation of the Orthodox church in Romania began to improve
in 2962, when church-state relations suddenly thawed. This thaw co­
incided with the blooming of Romania's independent course.55 Hence,
Romanian nationalism became indispensable to the Romanian elite in
securing its position against Soviet pressure. The Romanian Orthodox
church, as an intensely national body which had made great contribu­
tions to Romanian culture from the fourteenth century on, was a natu­
ral ally. The result of this second co-optation, now as ally, was that the
church was able to stage a dramatic recovery. Its diocesan clergy num­
bered about twelve thousand in 1975, and it was, by then, already pub­
lishing eight theological reviews of high quality, including Ortodoxia
and Studii Teologice.56 Today, two Romanian Orthodox metropolitans,
affiliated with the Grand National Front of Socialist Democracy, have
seats in the National Assembly. Orthodox churchmen consistently sup­
port Bucharest's foreign policy, refrain from criticism of domestic poli­
cies, and, in what has evidently been most gratifying to the regime,
periodically speak out on various historical debates, upholding the Ro­
manian line against the Soviets (over Bessarabia) and the Hungarians
(over Transylvania).57
By contrast with the Russian and Romanian cases, Bulgaria's com­
munists seem to have been content, from the start, with whittling
down and controlling the Orthodox church and not to have sought its
demolition. But the early postwar years were, all the same, unsettling
to church hierarchs. During 1944-47 the Bulgarian Orthodox church
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 21

was deprived of jurisdiction in marriage, divorce, issuance of birth and

death certificates, and other prerogatives. Catechism and church his­
tory were removed from school curricula. Antireligious propaganda
was undertaken and some priests were persecuted. The years 1947-49
saw the height of the campaign to intimidate the church. Bishop Boris
was assassinated; Egumenius Kalistrat, administrator of the Rila Mon­
astery, was imprisoned; and sundry other clergy were either murdered
or tried. In short order, the communists replaced all churchmen who
refused to endorse the policies of the regime. Thus, Exarch Stefan, who
had coauthored a book in 1948 which was considered anticommunist,
was banished to a monastery in September of that year.58
Since then, the Bulgarian Orthodox church and the Bulgarian com­
munist party have coexisted in a closely symbiotic partnership, in
which each supports the other. The party thus supported the eleva­
tion of the Bulgarian exarchate to the rank of patriarchate (in May
1953); profusely celebrated the two hundredth anniversary (in 1962) of
the composition of The Slavic-Bulgarian History by Orthodox monk
Father Paisii of Khilendar; commemorated the hundredth anniversary
(in 1970) of the establishment of the Bulgarian exarchate, which it de­
scribed as "a necessary step in our national-liberation revolution";59
and regularly celebrates May 24, the saints' day of Saints Cyril and
Methodius. At the same time the Bulgarian Orthodox church has been
useful to the regime—by holding peace forums in Bulgaria and in other
ways making good propaganda for church-state relations in Bulgaria.
The very commemoration of the establishment of the exarchate served
to recall that that exarchate (which retained its jurisdictional borders
until after World War I) included not merely the territory of present-day
Bulgaria but also the districts of Macedonia and Thrace. The Bulgarian
Orthodox church for its own part has consistently refused to recog­
nize either the ethnicity of the Macedonians or the autocephaly of the
Macedonian Orthodox church (the legitimacy of which depends on the
distinctive ethnicity of the Macedonians) and has spoken out in defense
of the Bulgarian interpretation of Macedonian history.50
In each of these three cases co-optation has meant that Orthodox
church leaders serve as surrogate spokesmen for regime foreign policy
and as defenders of its internal policies. Co-optation has meant that,
in contrast to other churches, the Orthodox churches have enjoyed
a certain sufficiency of institutions and publications in Romania and
22 Comparative Analysis

Bulgaria and that the Russian Orthodox church has enjoyed periods of
respite and even institutional revival. In each case what the church in
question has been able to offer the regime was its nationalism; in each
case the price of co-optation was submission to a degree of control by
the regime.
Developments in Yugoslavia might have followed a similar course
but for two factors—the Soviet-Yugoslav rift in 1948 and the fact that
the Serbs do not comprise a majority in Yugoslavia (as Russians, Ro­
manians, and Bulgarians do in their respective countries). As a result of
these two factors, the Serbian Orthodox church today enjoys indepen­
dence and toleration unique among Orthodox churches in communist
lands.
Initially, however, the Yugoslav communists were, if anything, more
brutal toward the Orthodox clergy than their ideological bedfellows in
other countries. The Partisans, according to an eyewitness, regularly
made a practice of shooting down the priests in the villages they occu­
pied.61 An official U.S. government publication estimates that some
ninety-eight Serbian Orthodox priests were executed without trial in
1944-45 and that 90 percent of the Orthodox clergy were persecuted,
with many being confined at Lepoglava, Stara Gradiska, Goli Otok,
Sremska Mitrovica, and other concentration camps.62 A land reform act
stripped the church of 90 percent of its lands, and government agents
were dispatched to confiscate church valuables and place them in state
museums. In addition, the state nationalized some 1,18 0 church build­
ings. While the Serbian Orthodox church had put out fifteen periodi­
cal publications prior to World War II, it was permitted just three by
the communists, Vesnik, Glasnik, and Misionai—a situation that did
not improve until the late 1960s. Moreover, during the entire period,
1944-64, the Serbian Orthodox church was able to publish only three
liturgical/religious books and not a single theological tome.63
Patriarch Gavrilo, the head of the Serbian Orthodox church, and
Bishop Nikolaj Velimirovic, another leading Orthodox churchman,
were both ill-disposed toward communism in the first place, and, their
forebodings confirmed by the ensuing religious persecution, denounced
the Tito regime from their exile in occupied Germany. Metropolitan
fosip Cvijovic, administrator of the Serbian Orthodox church from 1941
to November 1946 (when Patriarch Gavrilo finally returned to Serbia),
was equally antagonistic toward the communists and, after comparing
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 23

communist rule unfavorably with the Ottoman imperium, was tor­

tured and beaten.
This situation began to change quite soon after the Soviet-Yugoslav
rift. Three considerations militated a change of policy vis-à-vis the
Orthodox church: first, Tito's need to rally the people of Yugoslavia
behind him to sustain his successful defiance of the Soviets; second,
Tito's need to make a favorable impression in the West, to whom he
now looked for economic aid, political support, and military hardware;
and third, Tito's desire to enlist the support of the Serbian Orthodox
church in the polemics over Macedonia which had abruptly begun with
Bulgaria. Indeed, Tito now supported the Serbian Orthodox church in
its quarrel with its Macedonian clergy. Rudolf Trofenik suggests that
Tito continued to nurture his dream of annexing Bulgaria for a num­
ber of years and claims that it was this consideration which impelled
Tito to oppose a Macedonian church schism which might alienate both
the Bulgarian Orthodox church and the Bulgarian party elite.64 Subse­
quently, when Tito realized that union with Bulgaria was quite out of
question and when Bulgarian officials became more vocal about their
belief (not voiced 1944-47) that Yugoslavia's Macedonians are simply
Bulgarians, Tito reversed himself and found it useful to back Macedo­
nian ecclesiastical autocephaly.
For its own part the Serbian Orthodox church remained strongly
opposed to the communist regime until 1958 when, after the death of
Patriarch Vikentije, German Djoric succeeded to the See of St. Sava.
Under Patriarch German, there has been a truce of sorts, and German
has since been chastised by Serbian émigré groups as "the red patriarch"
or "Tito's patriarch"—charges which he firmly denied65—but although
reticent and cautious in his public statements, Patriarch German has
never retreated on any fundamental points—not on his opposition to
the Macedonian church, not on his belief that Serbian nationalism is
legitimate and positive, not on his claims to protectorship over the
interests of the Serbs in Kosovo, and not on his open dissatisfaction
with the limitations on construction permits for Orthodox churches,
though the latter situation has dramatically changed since late 1984.66
The Serbian Orthodox church is a highly nationalistic church—prob­
ably more nationalistic than any other religious organization in Yugo­
slavia. Its clergy describes the church as a "bastion at the geographical
frontier of true Orthodoxy, defending the Holy Sepulchre against the
24 Comparative Analysis

false and barbarous Christianity of Rome," and sees itself as the most
loyal advocate of Serbian interests. The clergy also has a sense of des­
tiny, which is Serbian rather than Yugoslav. As one Serbian monk told
me, "only Serbs and Jews have a history in which God's interference is
obvious."67
The Yugoslav regime has very little use for the nationalism of the
Serbian Orthodox church, repeatedly complaining that its biweekly
newspaper, Pravoslavlje, tends to treat Orthodoxy and Serbdom as syn­
onymous, and has occasionally even charged that the Serbian Orthodox
church has been infiltrated by Chetnik and antisocialist elements.68 On
one occasion, the Belgrade weekly magazine NIN even referred to the
Serbian Orthodox church as one of the regime's "chief internal ene­
mies"—a charge which elicited the reply from Pravoslavlje: "Lucky is
the state if its greatest enemy is the Serbian Orthodox Church! In that
case, it can sleep peacefully."69

TOLERATED GROUPS

Roman Catholicism
Romanian party chief Gheorghiu-Dej expressed the sentiments of all
the Stalinist elites of Eastern Europe when he identified the Catho­
lic church, in a public statement of February 22, 1948, as one of the
few institutional obstacles to communization.70 Some of the parties,
viz., the Czech,71 Yugoslav,72 Polish,73 Hungarian,74 Romanian,75 and
Albanian parties, tried to persuade their Catholic churches to break
off ties with the Vatican and to reconstitute themselves as "national"
churches. These attempts to isolate the churches, as a prelude to sub­
jugating them, were rebuffed in all cases including in Albania, though
the Albanian communist press succeeded in perpetrating the fiction
that the Albanian clergy had agreed to the creation of an Albanian
National Catholic church.76 Subsequently, Catholicism was outlawed,
along with other religions, in 1967, when Albania's rulers declared A l­
bania the world's first atheist state.
Throughout the region, as World War II drew to a close, the com­
munists proceeded with a campaign to decimate and intimidate the
church. The highest prelates were sent to prison (Stefan Cardinal Wy-
szynski in Poland, Josef Cardinal Beran in Czechoslovakia, Jozsef Car-
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 25

dinal Mindszenty in Hungary, Alojzije Cardinal Stepinac in Yugoslavia,

Archbishops Gasper Tha^i and Vincenc Prennushi in Albania, and
Bishop Vincentas Borisevicius in Lithuania), just as Archbishop Baron
Eduard von der Ropp of Russia had been in 1919. Archbishop A lex­
ander Cisar of Romania was fortunate: he was merely removed from
office and forcibly retired. Monseigneur Evgenii Bosilkov of Bulgaria,
on the other hand, was executed, after a show trial in 1952,. Catholic
priests in Lithuania, Latvia, Belorussia, and Bulgaria were sentenced
and deported, and churches closed down. In every country in which
the communist regimes took control after World War II, except East
Germany/7 the Catholic church lost its hospitals, its orphanages, its
charitable facilities, most or all of its schools, and much of its press. In
all but Hungary and Poland/8 Catholic religious instruction in schools
was banned. In Bulgaria permission to maintain higher schools of theol­
ogy was granted on the condition that mandatory courses on Marxism
be incorporated into their curriculum.79 Several of the parties simulta­
neously offered to put the clergy on state salary, as a device to encourage
ecclesiastical docility.
Catholic priests were harassed and arrested in all these countries,
and murders of Catholic clergymen were reported in several of them.
Clergy in Albania, Romania, Czechoslovakia, and Lithuania were sen­
tenced to hard labor in forced labor camps, the Lithuanians being de­
ported to Soviet Central Asia for that purpose. In the case of Romania
a 450-man labor brigade made up entirely of Catholic priests was de­
tained to work on the Danube—Black Sea canal project; almost half the
brigade died at the work site.80
As of 1926, after the imprisonment and deportation of the church's
highest clerics, there was not a single Roman Catholic bishop left in
the USSR, and by May 1941 only two of the 1,19 5 churches operated
by Catholic clergy in 19x7 were still operating.81 After a series of im ­
prisonments and even some executions, there were, according to one
source, only about fifty Roman Catholic priests at liberty in the en­
tire USSR by 1932.82 The annexation of the Baltic republics and the
western Ukraine brought new Catholic populations under Soviet sover­
eignty, and the Kremlin quickly set about the business of imprisoning
its upper clergy, closing some of its seminaries, and enrolling secret
police agents in the remaining Catholic seminaries in order to infil­
trate the church and destroy it from within. The subsequent post-Stalin
 thaw eased church life briefly but proved to be only a tactical conces­
sion, and by 1957 the anti-Catholic pressure was resumed. Some five
hundred clergy were removed from priestly work in Lithuania alone
between 1944 and 1967.
In Bulgaria the jailing of the country's three Catholic bishops in 1952
and subsequent expulsion of large numbers of priests, monks, and nuns
virtually obliterated the church. A 1965 source included an obituary for
the Bulgarian Catholic church,83 but after a visit by Bulgarian strong­
man Todor Zhivkov to the Vatican in the summer of 1975, church-state
relations improved somewhat, and the pope was able to install two new
bishops in Bulgaria, to replace two who had died in prison (one in 1952,
the other in 1974).
In Albania, of the ninety-three Catholic priests active in 194s,
twenty-four were murdered, thirty-five imprisoned or sentenced to hard
labor, ten were missing, eleven were drafted, and three fled the country,
leaving only ten by 1953. In the heat of Albania's anti-Catholic crusade!
Albanian party chief Enver Hoxha denounced one of the leading figures
in the Central Committee (in 195 S) for not hating the Catholic clerey
enough.84
Io Yugoslavia more than a third of the Catholic clergy were quickly
removed from the scene. Out of a total of twenty-seven hundred Croa­
tian priests, more than four hundred had been killed by the summer of
1946, another two hundred had fled abroad, and several hundred were
in jail. The same scenario repeated itself in Czechoslovakia and to
a lesser extent in Hungary and Poland. In fact, in Czechoslovakia the
party moved especially quickly, expropriating church property within
a month of seizing power and suppressing both the Central Catho­
lic Agency in Bratislava (the bishops' executive organ) and the League
of Catholic Women by the end of the year. The Catholic church in
Czechoslovakia lost its monasteries, seminaries, and theological col­
leges in 1950, and several bishops were either sentenced to life impris­
onment or transferred to physical labor. The convents were closed and
the nuns sent to labor camps, where 52.2 percent of them died, mostly
of tuberculosis.86 There, as elsewhere, a priests' association of fellow
travelers was set up by the regime in order to provide a mechanism
of control and in order to divide the church from within. The result
in Czechoslovakia, as among the Uniates in Ukraine, was the devel-
 interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 27

opment of an underground ecclesiastical network which continues to

endeavor to elude the authorities.
In Hungary the Catholic religious orders were banned, and several
bishops were placed under house arrest. Seven of the church's thir­
teen seminaries were closed, and the new regime required that the
church submit prospective hierarchical appointments to the State Of­
fice for the Church for approval. In the last two decades, thanks to
State obstructionism and pressure, the number of priests in Hungary
has dropped by two-thirds, dwindling to about 2,790 in 1982, and each
successive year the number of priests declines by about fifty.87
Only in Poland where a large and powerful Catholic church seemed
inseparable from the people did the communist regime hesitate. Not
until 1949 did the authorities create a "patriot priests" movement, and
only in August 1949 were church-run hospitals, nursing homes, and
orphanages belatedly nationalized.88 This hesitation was the product of
a combination of factors—chiefly, the initial weakness of the Polish
communists (decimated by Stalin's prewar purge and dissolution), the
strength of the church, and the fact that anticommunist Poles con­
tinued armed resistance against the communists for some two to three
years after the war officially ended. Aside from the question of the
newly acquired territories in the West, in connection with which the
regime found itself sympathetic to the Polish hierarchy's efforts to have
the Vatican transfer jurisdiction from the German Episcopate to the Pol­
ish, the regime viewed the church with essentially unmixed hostility.
Indeed, until 19 s 6 the regime aimed at no less than the obliteration
of the church, to which end it employed a variety of means, including
outright slander and the imprisonment of four bishops and Primate
Wyszyriski in 1953. With the accession of Wladislaw Gomulka to the
party helm in 1956, the church's situation improved somewhat, though
Gomulka was uneven and unpredictable in his religious policy.89
In the German Democratic Republic, by contrast, where political de­
velopment has been exceptional in other ways as well, the Catholic
church, which claims only 1.2 million adherents out of a total popula­
tion of 17 million, still maintains some forty hospitals and 167 nurs­
ing homes, freely offers religious instruction to children on church
premises, publishes two weekly newspapers, and has even been able to
broadcast Sunday services on state radio. With Poland's church under
 28 Comparative Analysis

considerable pressure since December 1981 (when Solidarity was sup­

pressed),90 the Catholic church in East Germany may well enjoy more
freedom than any other Catholic church in Eastern Europe, aside from
Yugoslavia.
The late 1960s—the era of détente and papal Ostpolitik—brought re­
lief in a number of cases, reinforcing autocthonous liberalization trends
that touched most of Eastern Europe in one way or another. Yet not
all the East European states have experienced religious liberalization.
TThose countries in which the Catholic church finds itself distinctly op­
pressed in the 1980s, in Eastern Europe, are Romania, Czechoslovakia,
the Soviet Union, and Albania; leaving aside ideologically fanatical A l­
bania, all are countries in which the elites have been troubled by the
presence of ethnic minorities whose interests have been championed
by the church. Those countries in which the Catholic church enjoys
greater security and in which the authorities show greater respect for
the rights of the churches are the German Democratic Republic, Poland,
Hungary, and Yugoslavia; with the exception of Yugoslavia, all are eth-
Inically homogeneous states.91 However, where the Soviet Union is con­
cerned, Mikhail Gorbachev's accession to power has led to a series
of initiatives which promise to improve the situation of believers in
the country. And in June 1988, at regime prompting, Russian Ortho­
dox Metropolitan Filaret of Kiev announced that he would open dis­
cussions with representatives of the Ukrainian Greek-Rite Catholic
church about the latter's status in the USSR.
If we observe that official policy singles out the Roman Catholic
church (i.e., among legal church organizations) for particular discrimi­
nation in Romania,92 and observe at the same time that this organiza­
tion is more or less the exclusive preserve of Hungarians and Saxons,
themselves the victims of a cultural Romanianization campaign, it is
tempting to conclude that nationalities considerations have something
to do with religious policy in Romania. One can presume that the Ro­
manian elites are fully aware of the important role that the Catholic
church has traditionally played for these people as a bulwark against
denationalization.
r Again, the brutal campaign launched in Czechoslovakia in 1980 spe­
cifically against the Catholic church is only partly explained by refer­
ence to Prague's fear of a "Polish model." The fact that the antichurch
campaign has been especially strong in Slovakia, and that the Slo-
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 29

vak security forces had to be augmented by agents from Bohemia for

the duration of the campaign, suggests that the traditional linkage of
nationality and religion in Slovakia, made more potent by the 80 per­
cent attendance rate at Sunday mass in Slovakia, may also be a part
of regime worries. It is clear that the regime remains very much con­
cerned with relations between Slovaks and the numerically predomi­
nant Czechs.93 Few Slovaks are really satisfied with their union with
the Czechs, and this grudging reconciliation to what was imposed by
force is no doubt shared by the Catholic clergy of Slovakia as well.
It was, after all, Catholic clergy who promoted the Slovak language
and Slovak consciousness in the first place, fashioning a local dia­
lect into a national language. Autonomist sentiment remained strong
among Catholic clergy in the First Czechoslovak Republic (193:9—39),
and the clerical Slovak People's party created by Fr. Andrej Hlinka
ultimately became the vehicle for the establishment, in 1939, of a
quasi-independent state of Slovakia, under Nazi protection. Although
in keeping with communist hostility to all forms of nationalism the
Prague regime has denigrated Msgr. Dr. Jozef Tiso, the president of Slo­
vakia (1939-45), as a "clero-fascist" and Nazi stooge, certain church
circles view him as a nationalist patriot and have sought to excul­
pate him.94
In the Soviet Union as well, the Roman Catholic church, while
legally tolerated, appears to be severely discriminated against. The Rus­
sian Orthodox church, the Evangelical church, the Baptists, the Pente-
costalists, and certain other denominations, for instance, all have been
granted the prerogative of operating regional administrative centers;
this prerogative has been withheld from both the Roman Catholics and
the Jews. The situation is especially severe in Belorussia and Ukraine,
where there is no local seminary and where k g b agents have attempted
to infiltrate the ranks of the clergy.95 The political logic here parallels
that in the Slovak case in three important respects. First, the Soviet
authorities believe that religiosity among Belorussian Catholics and
Ukrainian Catholics is more "fanatical" and more "convinced" than
among other groups.96 Second, the Soviets perceive the link between
nationalism and Catholicism in these areas.97 And third, the Ukraine
and Belorussia were, in Khrushchev's and Brezhnev's time, specifically
"targeted" by nationalities policy formulators for speedier and more
intense Russification than other regions.98 As national churches, they
30 Comparative Analysis

serve as bulwarks against Russification. If Ukraine and Belorussia stand

at the top of the list of areas to be Russified, then the nationalistic
Catholic churches of Ukraine and Belorussia require "special treat­
ment."
The dilemma repeats itself also in Lithuania, where some 75 per­
cent of the Lithuanian population is Catholic and where the church
has reacquired its historical role of guardian of the national identity
of the Lithuanians. The authorities have indicated quite openly that
they view the campaign against Catholicism in Lithuania as a cam­
paign against Lithuanian nationalism.99 The underground Chronicle of
the Catholic Church in Lithuania, created in 1972, explained Soviet
logic in this way:

By fighting religion in Lithuania, the atheists attempt to break the

spirit of the Lithuanian nation, to deprive it of its spiritual val­
ues, to enslave the Lithuanians' personality and to denationalize
the believing people. When Lithuanians will become atheists, start
entering into mixed marriages, disparage their own Christian cul­
ture, then conditions will be achieved for them to submerge in a
homogeneous mass of people who adopt Lenin's native language.100

Catholic belief is Lithuanian. Atheism is Russian. To become an atheist

is to draw closer to Russian/Soviet culture and to lose a vital part of
the Lithuanian Volksgeist.
The Catholic church has been quite concretely involved in the de­
fense of Lithuanian national identity since incorporation into the So­
viet Union. During the national resistance movement, 1944-5 3, at least
250 of Lithuania's 1,300 Catholic clergy are said to have been actively
involved in the anti-Soviet resistance, with two of them (Ylius and Lele-
sius) serving as brigade leaders. (In retribution, the Soviets deported
about 30 percent of the priests, four bishops, and almost all monks and
nuns to forced labor camps.)101 More recently, the Chronicle, which
enjoys the tacit support of the Lithuanian church hierarchy, has eulo­
gized Mindaugas Tamonis, who committed suicide in protest of Soviet
occupation of Lithuania, after demanding a referendum on the reestab­
lishment of an independent Lithuanian national state. Chronicle called
Tamonis's protest "the cry of our generation."102 The Lithuanian Catho­
lic church stands squarely against Soviet Russification efforts. For this
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 31

reason, as a Belorussian party organ put it, "it is not mere happen­
stance that Soviet Lithuania has become one of the principal centers of
[communist] criticism of Catholicism."103 Soviet authorities are deeply
vexed by what they call the church's "fables about the alleged danger
that is threatening Lithuanian culture,"104 and determined to remove
any obstacle to their nationalities policy. Thus, religious policy must
be adjusted to serve the needs of nationalities policy.
The authorities regularly interfere in the operation of Lithuania's one
remaining Catholic seminary. In 1980, for instance, Petras Anilionis,
a c r a commissioner, disapproved admission of fourteen of thirty-six
candidates accepted by the Kaunas seminary and subsequently forced
the expulsion of seminarian Aloyzas Volskis on the grounds of "spread­
ing anti-Soviet rumors among the clerics." That this charge signified
Lithuanian nationalism on the part of Volskis seemed implicit in A nil­
ionis's simultaneous attack on Radio Vatican for aiming to "convert
Lithuania into a country of clerical domination and exploitation."105
Various reports confirm that the election of Karol Wojtyla to the pa­
pacy in 1978 stirred Lithuanian religious consciousness and that the
papal visit to Poland in 1979 both contributed to the explosion of work­
ers' unrest the following summer and stimulated religious dissent in
Lithuania. The Czechs, themselves worried about the influence that
the Slavic pope was having in Slovakia, repeatedly denounced him for
fostering "counter-revolution" and clericalism.106 In the Soviet Union
Pope John Paul II has been attacked in the Russian, Belorussian, Ukrai­
nian, and Lithuanian regional press. In May 1982 the Soviet literary
journal Literatura ii Menas published an abrasive assault on the pope,
charging him with supporting "religious extremism" in Lithuania and
calling him "the hope of reactionaries all over the world."107 For the
Soviets the Catholic church is not merely a threat to their program
of ideological socialization but also a threat to their policy of ethnic
homogenization.

Soviet Muslims
Muslims can be found throughout Eastern Europe, including some two
thousand in each Czechoslovakia and East Germany, at least two thou­
sand in Poland, and 38,000 in Romania.108 But it is in Yugoslavia, Bul­
garia, and the Soviet Union, which along with Albania have the largest
concentrations of Muslims in the area, that Islam has become an eth-
32 Comparative Analysis

nic, as well as a religious, question. But different nationalities con­

siderations have resulted in widely differing policies among the three
countries. In Yugoslavia, where the regime has a stake in fostering a
separate Muslim ethnicity, Muslims (2 million in 1981) have enjoyed
considerable freedom of action and operate eighty-five mosques in the
city of Sarajevo alone (as compared with two hundred mosques in all of
Soviet Central Asia). Yugoslavia's Muslims have had their own theo­
logical faculty since 1977, publish a biweekly newspaper, and, since
early 1979, have been publishing as well a monthly theological journal,
Islamska misao.
In Bulgaria, where Muslims make up around 15 percent of the
population (700,000-900,000 Turks, 120,000 Pomaks, 5,000 Tatars, and
r 20,000 Muslim Gypsies), the regime's drive to Bulgarianize its popu­
lation has dictated a very different policy toward the Muslims. A Kes-
ton College report reveals accordingly that "Muslim villages [in Bul­
garia] are reported to have been pillaged, mosques and Koran schools
demolished, and countless copies of the Koran burned, [while] men
and women trying to remain loyal to their beliefs have been detained
in cam ps."109 Regime pressure on Bulgaria's Muslims to assimilate—
Turk, Pomak, and Tatar alike—has a long history, with a 19 71 Bul­
garian publication explicitly describing atheization as a prerequisite
to "Bulgarianization" of the Turkish, Pomak, and Tatar populations.110
As early as 1974 all Turkish language teaching was terminated. But in
late 1984 the Bulgarian regime stepped up pressure on these peoples to
assimilate. In early 1985, the longtime bilingual (Bulgarian/Turkish)
newspaper New Light stopped publication in Turkish. Turks were or­
dered to adopt Bulgarian (Christian) names, and some Muslim villages
were surrounded by tanks to compel "Bulgarianization."111 By the end
of 1985, Muslim culture in Bulgaria was shattered.
The Soviet Muslims enjoy a status somewhere between these two
extremes. They are discouraged to practice their faith and have a gro­
tesquely inadequate number of mosques, and they are certainly not
encouraged, as Yugoslav Muslims are, to develop a sense of Muslim
identity. But they are also far too numerous—44 million or 17 percent
of the total Soviet population in 19 79 112—to be coercively assimilated
in the Bulgarian style.
Imam Najmuddin of Gotzo and Sheikh Uzum Haji (who led the
Daghestani revolt of 1920-21) and many leaders of the Basmachi revolt
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 33

in Central Asia (1918-29) were, like Sheikh Shamil (in the nineteenth
century) and other leaders of anti-Russian revolts in the pre-Soviet era,
muishids or murids of the Naqshbandi Sufi brotherhood. The Basmachi
rebel movement of the 1920s reinforced Bolshevik apprehension of Pan-
Turkic and Pan-Islamic currents and induced the Kremlin to attempt to
solve its Muslim problem by depoliticizing Muslim consciousness. To
accomplish this, the Soviets undertook the very opposite of what Marx
had urged. Marx had considered it both natural and progressive for peo­
ple to draw together into larger regional collectivities. Muslim leaders
in Central Asia were overwhelmingly in favor of the creation of a uni­
fied, autonomous "M uslim " political unit, whether the basis for unifi­
cation be religion or Turkic language.113 But instead, the Soviets estab­
lished a series of smaller traits and encouraged ethnic differentiation
among the Muslim peoples. In 1919, though Muslim leaders pressed
for the creation of a unified Tatar-Bashkir republic, Moscow divided
the Muslims of the middle Volga into separate Tatar and Bashkir repub­
lics. Later, as Ronald Wixman notes, "although the Soviets could have
created one unified Turkestani people, to be consolidated around the
Uzbeks, who clearly dominated the region both culturally and linguis­
tically, . . . they instead chose to create six distinct nationalities."114 Ac­
cording to Bennigsen and Wimbush, "before the Revolution, the Tajiks
were not conscious of forming a nation different from the Uzbeks, or
of belonging to a specific Iranian culture."115 Ethnic differentiation was
the conscious goal of Soviet policymakers in Central Asia. The Sovi­
ets have encouraged ethnic identification based on language and have
systematically combated ethnic identification based on religion.
Until 19 4 1 the Soviets attempted to suppress Islam by force. With
the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union in June of that year, however,
came a reversal of policy and the legalization, in 1943, of the Mus­
lim Spiritual Directorate for Central Asia and Kazakhstan. Although
the party continues to rail against underground Muslim associations
operating illegally, party policy since then has been one of toleration
of "official Islam" (i.e., the officially registered Islamic institutions),
combined with continued efforts at atheization.
The Soviets' great concern here is the tangible anti-Russian strain
in Central Asian Muslim nationalism. As one Soviet writer put it, the
ideology of the "united Islamic nation" is "irreconcilable with true
internationalism."116 The difficulty is that even nonbelievers in Central
34 Comparative Analysis

Asia are apt to identify themselves as "M uslims" and to view any as­
sault on Islamic religious traditions as a threat to their ethnic and cul­
tural identity. What Soviet propagandists believe they must do in order
to accomplish their goals is thus to deny that their campaign against
religion has anything to do with Muslim national identity (though that
is the heart of the issue), to insist that their concern is only the ob­
stacle constituted by Islam to the emancipation of women and other
progressive programs,117 and to portray the identification of Islam with
national identity as a "trick" of reactionary ulema.m Having staked out
this position, the Soviets have created commissions in the kolkhozes
and sovkhozes for the introduction of new traditions and civil cere­
monies (to displace religious traditions), organized atheism classes at
the level of the collective throughout the region (eight thousand such
centers in Kazakhstan alone), and tried to undermine various Islamic
customs by tracing them to pagan origins. But various recent writings
have indicated that this campaign has often been sloppily carried put
and that it has made no real headway in disassociating ethnic identity
and Islam, and thus in dissolving the specter of Muslim nationalism
in Central Asia. The late M. G. Gapurov, then first secretary of the
Turkmenistan Communist party, called in 1976 for "a stepped-up strug­
gle against the religious psychology and especially against the Muslim
cult," calling attention to the fact that "Islam, like any religion, often
plays the role of 'custodian' of reactionary national customs and tra­
ditions and arouses feelings of national exclusiveness."119 The Soviets,
on the other hand, would like to refocus national identity on language,
permitting them to foster Sovietization by promoting the knowledge
and use of Russian.
Efforts to detach the Central Asians from Islam have met with lit­
tle success, however, and in 1987 Piavda declared, "We cannot simply
brush aside the obvious fact that the overwhelming majority of be­
lievers were born in the Soviet period and were brought up in an atheist
environment," and urged a "fundamental restructuring of the system of
atheist propaganda."120 A month after this article appeared, Kommu­
nist Tajikistana admitted that the Turkmenistan state farm in Vakhsh
district had come under the influence of a self-styled mullah—in fact,
the brother of the local party committee's deputy secretary. As a re­
sult of the mullah's preaching, farm residents and workers had stopped
listening to the state radio, watching state television, or reading state
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 35

newspapers. Religious revival was thus alienating them from Soviet so­
ciety. Between January 1985 and June 1987 some 1 17 party members in
Turkmenistan were issued warnings, and another fourteen were simply
expelled from the party for participating in religious rites.121

DEVIANT CASES
The importance of the ethnic factor for religious policy is underlined
by the two deviant cases in this region: the Georgian Orthodox church
and the Catholic church in Hungary. The former, despite Orthodoxy's
tradition of cooperation with political authority, has recently champi­
oned Georgian national rights against Soviet-Russian encroachment—
behavior incongruous with co-optation. The latter, on the other hand,
with no nationalist cause to champion except the persecution of Hun­
garians across the border in Romanian Transylvania, has, since the
death of Cardinal Mindszenty, enjoyed a cooperative relationship with
the regime unparalleled in Eastern Europe.

Georgian Orthodoxy
The Georgian Orthodox church, which had enjoyed autocephaly from
the eighth century until 18 1 1 and which regained de facto autocephaly
in March 19 17 (and de jure recognition by the Russian Orthodox church
in 1943), has fared far worse under Soviet rule than has the Russian
Orthodox church. For one thing, out of some twenty-five hundred Geor­
gian Orthodox churches in operation in r9i7, only about two hundred
remained open in 1984.122 Second, Georgian Orthodox believers are un­
able to practise unmolested outside their republic. And third, the k g b
rigged the election of the patriarch of the church in 1972, going so
far as to destroy the w ill of his deceased predecessor, Eprem II Sida-
monidze (which had endorsed Ilia Shiolashvili as his successor), and
to forge a new will, thus ensuring the election of the more pliable
David V Devdariani (1972-77) as patriarch.123 Under Devdariani, ser­
vices of the Georgian Orthodox church were increasingly being con­
ducted in Old Church Slavonic, rather than in Georgian, and a Georgian
source claimed that upon his enthronement as patriarch, Devdariani
promised that he would eventually renounce the Georgian church's au­
tocephaly.124
But if the patriarchate seemed thus unmistakably co-opted by the
36 Comparative Analysis

regime, the Georgian church itself was not, and the gathering move­
ment to resist Russification of Georgia found some support within the
church.125 The corruption and moral depravity of the Georgian clergy
came to public attention in the 1970s, stirring resentment, protests,
and efforts to force reform upon the hierarchy. Increasingly, Georgian
nationalists came to view the struggle for their church as a part of a
more general effort to preserve Georgian culture. As the Georgian dis­
sident nationalist Zviad Gamsakhurdia put it, "the struggle against
the Georgian Church is a struggle against the Georgian language and
culture. . . . Surely it must be clear that atheist propaganda today . . .
fights the very idea of Georgia."126
Ultimately, Ilia Shiolashvili, whom the Soviets had tried to keep out
of office, became patriarch in 1977. Under his leadership, the Geor­
gian church has become somewhat more assertive. In early 1980, for
instance, Ilia II Shiolashvili defied both the Kremlin and the Moscow
Patriarchate in signing a declaration of the World Council of Churches
condemning the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.127 And in his Christ­
mas message that year, the Georgian patriarch defiantly stated, " 'with­
out Christianity we would not be a distinctive nation, and we would
die/ and went on to praise the Georgian language, warning his listeners
that 'where language declines, so the nation falls.'" 128 Later, in August
19 8 1, the Georgian Orthodox church held a memorial service in the
Cathedral of Mtskheta, the ancient capital of Georgia, to commemo­
rate the third anniversary of the 1978 demonstrations, when Georgians
successfully forced retraction of an amendment to remove a constitu­
tional clause designating Georgian the official language of Georgia and
demanded cultural, religious, and national autonomy. More than five
hundred persons (and perhaps as many as a thousand) participated in
the church service, which ended with the singing of Georgian national
songs.129

Hungarian Catholicism
Hungary, where some two-thirds of the population is Catholic,130 is an
even more exceptional case, in that Cardinal Laszlo Lekai (who died
in July 1986) showed himself willing to come to terms with the Kadar
regime. In 1964, even before Lekai's accession (in 1976), the Vatican
had signed an agreement with the Hungarian People's Republic accept­
ing Budapest's demand that the state Presidential Council's consent be
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 37

required for the nomination of bishops. This was followed in 1977 by

the ground-breaking visit of Janos Radar, first secretary of the Hun­
garian party, to the Vatican for talks with Pope Paul VI. Since then, the
Catholic church has been able to reestablish a full hierarchy, to operate
some eight Catholic high schools, to send priests to Rome for studies,
to open a Catholic Academy of Theology in Budapest, and, in 1986, to
establish a new order of nuns, the Sisters of Our Lady of Hungary. In
return for these concessions, the church has been compliant and has
kept a low profile. Some charge that the Hungarian church has been
co-opted on the model of the Orthodox churches—an exaggeration that
nonetheless highlights the distinctive relationship established in Hun­
gary.131 Three elements have made this modus vivendi possible: papal
Ostpolitik under Paul VI, Radar's brand of liberalization, and Hungary's
ethnic homogeneity, which relieves the church of the necessity of de­
fending imperiled minorities. However, the price of this modus vivendi
for the church has been high. In particular, the church in time adopted
the practice of promoting and honoring those priests who would ad­
vance the interests of the state, even if at the expense of the church.132
Lekai's successor as primate of Hungary is Archbishop Laszlo Paskai,
the former coadjutor archbishop of Kalocsa and head of the "peace
priests" organization, Opus Pacis. In the latter capacity, Paskai had
earned the government's trust by mobilizing the clergy's support for
the foreign policy of the Warsaw Pact. Within months of his elevation
to the primacy, Paskai issued a statement deploring the oppression of
the Hungarian minority in Romania.133 Imre Miklos, chairman of the
State Office for Church Affairs, praised Paskai for this statement; eccle­
siastical nationalism here was fully in tune with Budapest's new policy
of being more critical of Romanian treatment of its ethnic Hungarians.
Shortly thereafter, in June 1987, Rezso Banyasz, chairman of the Infor­
mation Bureau of the Council of Ministers, congratulated journalists
of the religious press for being even more supportive of government
policy than those of the secular press and reminded them that all Hun­
garian journalists "are expected to represent and explain the standpoint
of the party and the measures the government is taking; they should
propagate experiences that are favorable and take us ahead, argue with
wrong points and faint-heartedness, and criticize [any] practice which
is in opposition to party policy."134
38 Comparative Analysis

RELIGIOUS POLICY AND NATIONALITIES POLICY

For Marxists, religious policy and nationalities policy are parts of an

organic whole and neither should be thought to be autonomous or
independently elaborated. There is a considerable area in which they
overlap, in which issues and problems arising in the one sphere have
consequences in the other, in which policies undertaken at one level
can yield a payoff at the other. Moreover, in the communist view, both
are but aspects of the process of the formation of the "new man," and
hence, for communism, the "resolution" of the religious "question"
(i.e., the liquidation of religion) is "closely linked" with the "resolu­
tion" of the national "question" (i.e., with ethnic homogenization).135
This chapter has been concerned specifically with delineating the way
in which nationalities considerations affect religious policy and iden­
tifying broad patterns in this policy linkage in the region.
The conjunction of religious and national culture is a particular
prism through which the past may be refracted into the present. As
such, the religious figures of the past offer possibilities for reinterpre­
tation by either church or state, and reintegration into present con­
sciousness on a new basis. Sofia's glorification of Fr. Paisii has al­
ready been mentioned. Likewise, one might mention the attempt by
the Czechoslovak regime to reinterpret St. Methodius in terms of his
contribution to "cultural" life and state-building. For Rolnicky noviny,
for example, "the Cyril-Methodius tradition represents a significant
cultural-historical fact in the cultural history of the Slav peoples. How­
ever, it can fulfill its socially progressive function only if it is cleansed
of the sediments of pseudohistoric and unscientific deliberate m isin­
terpretations." 136
Similarly, the East German regime's rehabilitation of Martin Luther
illustrates continued communist interest in the religious past.137 Not
only could Luther's rehabilitation play its role in the regime's recent
reclaiming of its German past—and thus of its Germanness—but it
could also provide a kind of historical anchor for present policy in­
sofar as Luther could be portrayed as "the initiator of a great revo­
lutionary movement," suggesting that he was a kind of forerunner to
socialism.138 Further, the rehabilitation of Luther also plays a role in
the regime's strategy vis-à-vis the independent peace movement. That
movement, which has to some extent been nurtured and sustained by
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 39

the Evangelical-Lutheran church's annual "Peace Decades" each N o­

vember, has in fact been engaged in a project of redefining German
identity: if pacifism can become a "national task," then the nation can
overcome the guilt of militarism which is rooted above all in the Nazi
epoch.139 East and West German pacifists have even talked of reunifi­
cation and the creation of a new Heimatsgefühl, ending the postwar
"hostage consciousness."140 The East German regime now plays its new
"nationalist" card against this pacifism and insists that "on the ques­
tion of peace, Martin Luther always adopted a militant partisan posi­
tion. Neutralism or pacifism were foreign to him. He called the danger
to and the opponents of peace by name and placed them in the dock
of public opinion."141 Nor is Luther the only religious figure available
for reinterpretation: the sixteenth-century religious reformer Thomas
Müntzer is now warmly remembered for his calls for the "radical and
total restructuring of society."142 In this way both Luther and Müntzer
are reinterpreted as forerunners of se d rule and thus as part of a dis­
tinctly East German history.
Earlier in this chapter I identified six factors affecting communist
religious policy. The first mentioned, the size of the religious organi­
zation in question, insofar as size translates into power of resistance,
quite simply provides a kind of insurance against suppression; hence,
while the Bulgarian Muslims are being subjected to forcible Bulgari-
anization, a similar policy in the USSR is obviously ruled out. The
religious organization's disposition to subordinate itself to political au­
thority and its amenability to infiltration and control by the authorities
(factor 2) define the broad patterns of church-state interaction. In prac­
tice, Orthodox churches have been far more amenable to infiltration
and far more disposed to subordination than Catholic churches, though
the fiery Serbian Orthodox church, which in the interwar period had
exercised considerable influence over state policy,143 remains an impor­
tant exception. This is the explanation for the fact that Orthodoxy has
proven more apt to serve as an instrument of nationalities policy than
has Catholicism. In other cases (Judaism, Islam), the identification of
religion and nationalism, of cult and culture, is so close that except
where the collective identity thus produced has been viewed with favor
(as in the case of the Yugoslav Muslims), the religious institutions have
been viewed as impediments to socialist construction and, depending
on the size of the community, subjected to one degree or another of
40 Comparative Analysis

persecution. Allegiance to a foreign authority (factor 3) arises princi­

pally in connection with the Roman Catholic church and, as a guaran­
tee of institutional autonomy, reinforces differences already outlined
in factor 2. Such allegiance is automatically viewed as anathema by the
Soviets and their East European imitators.
Disloyalty and support of secession and of armed resistance to re­
incorporation (factor 4) connect a religious body directly to secessionist
nationalism. The Ukrainian Uniates and the Roman Catholic church
in Lithuania have suffered the most as a result of their wartime nation­
alism, and the cooperation of some of the Franciscans with the Ustase
in war-torn Yugoslavia has since been cited as a basis for charging
virtually the entire Croatian Catholic church with wartime collabora­
tion with the Axis. The Ukrainian Orthodox and Belorussian Orthodox
churches certainly cooperated with the Nazis. But these two churches,
like the Ukrainian Uniate Catholic church, cooperated with the Nazis
because they had been persecuted by the Soviets, rather than the other
way around.
Again, the ethnic configuration of each given country (factor 5) af­
fects the religious policy which is apt to be adopted. Communist elites
of ethnically homogeneous states can embrace the church leaders of
the past as national heroes (e.g., Martin Luther in the GDR and Fr.
Paisii in Bulgaria) and find it useful to do so to reinforce national pride,
communal solidarity, and "socialist patriotism." Communist elites in
multiethnic states are faced with a very different situation, and vaunt­
ing religious leaders of the dominant group could prove dangerous by
inciting religious organizations of minority groups to revive their own
religious leaders of the past, thus stirring up ecclesiastical involvement
in nationalist politics—the very thing elites in multiethnic societies
want most to avoid.
Finally, the political culture of a country (factor 6) has a direct impact
on popular attitudes and behavioral responses to activities and poli­
cies of either church or state. An ever-evolving blend of past historical
memory and new influences, political culture is the sum total of popu­
lar beliefs about politics and society and may affect attitudes toward
pacifism (the East German case being illustrative), ecclesiastical co­
optation, and the role of the church in relation to national culture. The
presence and degree of religio-national symbiosis is likewise an aspect
of the political culture.
 Interplay of Religious and Nationalities Policy 41

While multiethnic societies are not necessarily unstable, illegitimate

regimes in multiethnic states are, because the illegitimacy of their
rule reinforces the natural desire of peoples to live apart from those
of other languages, religions, and cultures (what is sometimes called
the "right of self-determination"). Religious organizations, as vestigial
political organizations, are by nature disposed to involve themselves in
politics. Indeed, a Serbian monk confessed to me that when it comes to
being "satisfied" with the religious situation in Yugoslavia, the church
would only be "fully satisfied" if it ran the state, if it reestablished the
theocracy.144 Religious organizations thus constitute, insofar as they
manifest themselves as guardians of particular peoples, a particularly
acute threat to communist regimes in multiethnic states. One might
even put this conclusion in propositional form and suggest that the
greater the ethnic heterogeneity of a society, the more threatening the
nationally linked religious organizations of minority groups w ill be to
illegitimate regimes.145
2

T h e H isto rical Role of R eligious Institutions

in Eastern Europe and T heir Place in
the C om m u n ist Party-State

Peter F. Sugar

According to Karl Marx, religion "is the 'opium of the people,' because
it holds out hopes of an illusory happiness and thereby diverts them
from the struggle for their real happiness."1 Happiness in this life is
achievable and superior to the "illusory" happiness in the afterlife. I
doubt very much that this issue of real happiness bothers any com­
munist, let alone the leaders of the various ruling communist parties
in Eastern Europe today. Bothered by the "materialism" and "hooli­
ganism" in their societies, especially among the younger generations,
they would certainly have no objections if these people lived in accor­
dance with principles like those stipulated by the Ten Commandments.
Christ's command, love thy neighbor as thyself, was repeated although
in different words by the communists' principle, from each according
to his ability, to each according to his needs. There is no reason why a
follower of any of the monotheistic creeds could not live in accordance
with its commands, hoping to save his or her soul and, at the same
time, be a model member of a communist society.
Feuerbach and all those who followed him, including Marx, Engels,
and their disciples, were atheists on philosophical grounds in a world
which, until 19 17 , did not force them to test their principles in the
"real world." By that time they had a tradition and a vast literature
which they could quote or misquote, interpret or misinterpret, in their
efforts to make themselves masters of states in which they achieved
supremacy irrespective of the manner in which they came to power. It
was, therefore, the easiest to base action on this material and, among
other things, turn atheism into something like the religion of the com­
munist state.
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 43

Atheism, a denial of the existence of God, is not what interests com­

munist regimes. They are not even antireligion or anticlerical when
practical considerations supplant theoretical ones, as they do when the
parties become governing parties; what they are under these circum­
stances is antichurch. This statement requires some clarification.
Religion has several explanations in our dictionaries. The one I have
in mind, "one of the systems of faith and worship,"2 demands more
from a religious person than simply a belief in God or gods; it de­
mands an intelligent and deep understanding of the basic tenets, the
dogmas, on which faith rests and, equally important, the proper inter­
pretation of the services. A true Christian must not only accept on
faith but understand the dogmas of Virgin Birth, the nature of the
Trinity, etc., and the meaning of transubstantiation and other aspects
of the services. To be truly religious, in this sense, demands not only
faith but a certain insight of which relatively few people are capable
and which religious instruction and catechism classes alone cannot
provide. Without this understanding, religion becomes folk religion, a
combination of half-understood or misunderstood tenets and practices,
local traditions, and even superstitions, and—at least in some cases—
the survival of premonotheistic traditions survive. Folk religion is based
on the fear of God's anger and on the hope of eternal life in paradise;
it has little to do with the true understanding of the essence of any
given religion to which its practioners theoretically belong. The great
peasant masses of Eastern Europe lived out their spiritual lives on this
level. It presented no real danger to anybody or to communism, because
by its very nature it is adaptable to local circumstances and demands.
An intelligent communist would not and could not be afraid of it.
Anticlericalism is much older than Voltaire's famous battle cry, Écra­
sez l ’infâme! The infamous thing which Voltaire attacked was in part
folk religion, "bigotry, intolerance and superstition," but it was mainly
what he saw as upholding these horrible things: "the power of the
organized clergy."3 The power of the organized clergy that challenged
the state, forcing the emperor Henry IV to go to Canossa in 1077,
that dominated education and publishing in Voltaire's day, and that,
in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, brought the emergence of
Christian Socialism and numerous other political parties was always
resented by the laity. Bismarck based his entire Kulturkampf on the
44 Comparative Analysis

assumption that the Center party would obey the orders of the pope
and not those of the emperor.
Where were the limits of the clergy's legitimate concern? Did they
use their influence over the faithful, people whose understanding sel­
dom went beyond the described folk religious level, and the strength
which their organization gave them to become dominant in fields
which had nothing to do with their legitimate concern, the saving of
the souls? What was, for that matter, the limit of anybody's legitimate
activity? The ancient Romans already gave their answer: ne sutor supra
crepidam ,4 Clearly the clergy went too far for the liking of modern
political man, who invented the principle of the separation of church
and state. This is the answer to successful anticlericalism; it defines
the role of the priest, minister, rabbi, etc., as the old Romans defined
the shoemaker's. In this sense the communists are anticlerical too, but
not more so than numerous other political parties were and are.
Any religion claims to have "the truth" and, therefore, to be able to
tell those who are willing to listen how to live on this earth to earn
or hopefully be predestined to eternal happiness in the thereafter. This
"truth" is absolute and demands the undivided loyalty of those who
accept it. What Bismarck asked from members of the Center party was
not undivided loyalty to emperor and state; he asked that they give to
Caesar what belonged to him, and he was quite willing to allow them
to give to God what was his. The Second Reich was not totalitarian in
the sense that it demanded the undivided, total devotion of its citizens.
The communist party and any state in which it gains power is totali­
tarian in this sense. The party's "truth" demands undivided loyalty.
This is the reason for its antichurch stand irrespective of which church
is involved. Party, state (dominated by the party), and church are in ­
stitutions claiming total loyalty and, therefore, they are inevitably in
conflict. The church does not ask, Are you truly religious or do you
follow a version of folk religion? It simply says, You are officially a
member of this church, you must give it your undivided loyalty unless
you want to end up in hell, purgatory, limbo, or some other similarly
pleasant place. The party does not ask, Do you understand and believe
in what is today the officially sanctioned version of Marxism (Marxism-
Leninism, communism, bolshevism, etc.)? It simply says, Unless you
cooperate with us you are an outlaw and must suffer the consequences.
The problem is that nobody can owe undivided loyalty simultaneously
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 45

to two institutions. Probably most people would like to owe such loy­
alty to nobody but this is an alternative unacceptable to those who
make claims on their devotion.
As far as successful communist parties are concerned, they can
tolerate no organization or institution that might possibly offer an
alternative focus of loyalty—even if it were not the primary one—in
the countries in which they govern. Other institutions must either be
eliminated altogether, as were the Boy Scouts, or they must be trans­
formed and absorbed by the party aparatus in a manner for which the
German National Socialists invented a perfect term: Gleichschaltung.
Only the Albanians claim to have abolished religion, meaning that they
have abolished all religious organizations, institutions, and manifesta­
tions, and even their claim must be questioned when taken literally.
True believers in Albania are still true believers. The other East Euro­
pean communist regimes recognize that the various churches could
neither be eliminated by fiat nor be gleichgeschaltet and must, there­
fore, be constantly watched and disciplined.5
In Eastern Europe at present the party is the institution that has
enough power to enforce its will, threatening the very existence of all
other institutions, and the church is the one resisting Gleichschaltung,
asking this modern political shoemaker to stick to his last. The church
— irrespective of which one it is—has to strive, before anything else, to
safeguard its existence, dogmatic base and unity, contact with the be­
lievers, and the freedom of those functions that make this contact pos­
sible and meaningful. Only if it is able to achieve this primary function
can the church get interested in protecting other principles and rights
in which its members and the population at large might be interested.
When it tries to do this, any church acts in a manner which the com­
munist party w ill consider an intervention into affairs which are none
of the church's business. The churches are not the only institutions
or organizations capable of challenging the party-state in this manner
— Solidarity played this role in Poland for sixteen months in 19 8 0 -
8 1—but they have been the most important ones in Eastern Europe
since World War II. Their roles and effectiveness vary greatly. Historical
development is one of the factors which account for this difference,
and the following pages of this chapter will be devoted to a summary
overview of the churches' place in East European society.
46 Comparative Analysis

ORTHODOXY

Nationalism is the tradition or ideology which created the greatest dif­

ficulties for the novel and internationalist creed which the communists
tried to introduce into Eastern Europe. It would be a logical expectation
to see the various Eastern Orthodox churches in the forefront of nation-
centered resistance to communism, with Roman Catholicism and the
various Protestant churches playing a less important role. While the
final break between the Eastern and Western church occurred in 1054,
the developments which separated the two were much older and, be­
sides theological differences, rested on church-state relations which
were very different. At the famous and important Council of Nicaea,
in 325, Emperor Constantine I (305-37) played an important role and
laid the basis for his successors' dominance of the Eastern church. He
was a strong and effective ruler who deserved being called the Great
by historians. At the same time the rulers of the West were weak.
When, in 452, the Huns of Attila neared Rome, the defense was not
organized by Emperor Valentinian III (425-54), but by Pope Leo I (the
Great) (440-61). In the East the emperor protected the church, in the
West the pope protected the emperor. The Attila episode can be placed
in the broader context of the centuries-long Great Migration of People
(Völkerwanderung). It sapped the strength of the Western Roman Em­
pire, which gradually lost its provinces and then even Italy to the new­
comers before the Herulian king, Odoacer, deposed the last emperor in
476, leaving only the church as a universal institution in Europe out­
side the borders of the Byzantine (Eastern Roman) Empire. The West­
ern (Roman Catholic) church did not give up its claim to supremacy
and universality even after Pope Leo III (795-816) crowned the king
of the Franks, Charles the Great (771-814), emperor in 800. Because
of this universalist claim that never recognized national differences or
boundaries, it is rather surprising that the Catholic church became the
“ most nationalistic" of churches in states under communist rule; the
Protestants and Orthodox were—in theory—better suited to play this
role.
The Byzantine emperors not only increased the influence which Con­
stantine the Great established over the church, but they were much
more successful in dealing with the various new elements streaming
into Europe from Asia. They either defended their borders success-
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 47

fully or allowed the wandering people—in their case mainly the future
southern Slavs—to settle in their domain as their subjects or vassals.
The first major influence that changed the life of the new arrivals was
Christianity. By the end of the tenth century most Serbs had become
Eastern Christians, while the Bulgarians date their conversion from
even earlier, the end of the ninth century. The Croats lived outside
Byzantium and, therefore, became Western Christians.6 What these
people saw was a powerful ruler who was also master of his church.
Thus, when they attempted to break away from Byzantium, they not
only called their rulers emperor (tsar), but to prove their might and
independence established national churches. The first Bulgarian tsar,
Simeon (893-927), assumed this title in 924 and to justify it changed
the title of the head of the Bulgarian church from archbishop to patri­
arch (Preslav patriarchate). At the same time Ohrid (in Yugoslavia to­
day) became an important center of Bulgarian culture. This city became
the site of the second Bulgarian patriarchate in 1232 during the reign of
Ivan Assen II (12 18 —41).7 These two patriarchates are the prime indica­
tors that under Simeon and Ivan Assen the Bulgarians had important,
independent states of their own. The story of the Serb Orthodox church
is also closely connected with Serbia's most glorious moments in the
late Middle Ages. Stefan Nemanja I (1168-96) established a strong,
united state, and his son, Stefan Nemanja II (119 6-1223), completed
his work. The brother of the latter, Saint Sava, became the head of the
Serbian church with a traditional center at Pec (Ipek).8 The somewhat
similar relationship between Muscovite (later Russian) rulers and the
church is well known.
The Byzantine (Greek), Bulgarian, and Serbian lands were gradually
absorbed into the Ottoman Empire between 1354 and 1453. The
religious institutions of these people also had to adjust to the dictates of
the new political masters. After several steps taken by earlier sultans,
the full-fledged "Ottoman system" emerged after 1453 when Mehmed II
(the Conqueror) (1444-46; 14 5 1-8 1) gave it its final form.9He followed,
in many ways, the Byzantine model, considering himself the new em­
peror whose capital city he had just conquered. Not bound by Christian
tenets, dogmas, customs, and traditions, it was even easier for him than
it had been for the rulers of Eastern Rome to consider clergymen who
were inferior to himself to be members of a branch of government. His
Muslim worldview forced him, in a sense at least, to pay attention to
48 Comparative Analysis

the clergy, religious "functionaries" whom he had to recognize and re­

spect following the Prophet's dictum, while he not only could disregard
but also strove to eliminate lay officeholders and hereditary masters,
who could lead the various conquered people against him.10 The result­
ing millet system recognized no nationality, only differences between
the sultan's subjects along religious lines. One of these millets was
the Orthodox whose head, the patriarch of Constantinople (Istanbul),
whom the sultans considered to be an administrative functionary, was
responsible to them for the good behavior of all Orthodox.11
This well-known development in the life of the Balkan Christians
reinforced the already established rank order—emperor (sultan) fol­
lowed by the patriarch. The millet system did not differentiate between
ethnic groups; it recognized only Orthodox people who had to obey one
religious leader, whose powers went way beyond the traditional and the
purely religious. A stronger institution emerged that was clearly acting
in the name of the state.
Unity of dogma, organizations, and even ceremony are basic con­
siderations for ecclesiastic leaders at the best of times and even more
so when the lay authority to which they owe allegiance is of a different
faith. The patriarchs of Constantinople always resented the establish­
ment of other patriarchates by the Balkan peoples and in the name of
safeguarding church and faith used the power given to them by the m il­
let system to recentralize the Orthodox church, eliminating even the
usage of Church Slavonic in the services.12 The church became "Greek"
to the point that modern Serb, as well as Bulgarian, historians speak
of the double "Ottoman-Greek yoke." The reemergence of the indepen­
dent Balkan states was either followed by the establishment of their
own "national" churches (Serbia) or followed the reestablishment of
independent ecclesiastical institutions (Bulgaria).13 Clearly, this Greek-
dominated establishment did not lend itself to "nationalistic" move­
ments by Slavs. That some of the early nationalists were clergymen is
understandable because one had to be literate to become familiar with
new ideas.14 The Greeks also established their own national church
as soon as they gained their independence because Constantinople re­
mained subject to a foreign ruler. These new Balkan Orthodox churches
became what they had been prior to the arrival of the Ottomans— state
institutions.
The Romanian story reflects this "eastern tradition," although the
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 49

Romanians were neither Slavs nor subjects of Byzantium. They re­

tained their internal independence as vassals of the Ottomans. The
formation of the Wallachian state is usually dated from the reign of
Basarab (ca. 1330-52) and that of Moldavia from roughly the same
time, when King Lajos I (the Great) of Hungary (1342-82) liberated the
territory of the future state from the Mongols' rule and established
a march district there.15 Following the by then well-established prac­
tice of Orthodox rulers, the princes of these states organized their own
churches. More interesting is the story of Transylvania. In this multi­
national region, under Hungarian rule since the early tenth century,
Hungarians, Germans known as Saxons, and Szekelys were "political
nations" with full and equal rights. The Orthodox faith was not "recog­
nized" but only tolerated, and its followers had no freedoms. In Transyl­
vania, the Uniate church was formally established by the Act of Union
of 1698.16 Orthodox clergymen who joined the new church became the
most privileged and best educated Romanians of Transylvania and, by
the eighteenth century, the main spokesmen demanding equal treat­
ment for their conationals. The Orthodox, still the majority of Transyl­
vania's Romanians, had to do something to produce a "national church"
of their own, independent from the Serb-dominated archbishopric of
S. Karlovci. This they achieved in 1865. There were now "two Roma­
nian national churches" working for the equality of Romanians in the
Habsburg Empire and after 1867 in Hungary.
Just as the Constantinople patriarchate was considered the "Greek
church," so all other Orthodox establishments were "national
churches." Ironically, this very fact made them relatively ineffective
as centers of national (or any other) opposition to communism. They
were considered to be institutions of the "ruling establishment" of
which they were a part. This view was not simply something "taken
for granted," but—with few notable exceptions prior to and since the
communist takeover—corresponded to reality. While the Bolsheviks in
Russia were much too weak and preoccupied with other affairs when
the Russian patriarchate, in abeyance since 1700, was reestablished on
October 30, 19 17 , they did not abolish it subsequently but tried to
make it, once again, a governmental institution. After World War II the
successful East European communists did the same in Orthodox lands.
The only seeming contradiction, the popularity of the Orthodox
church in Macedonia, does not negate but rather confirms the evalua-
50 Comparative Analysis

tion presented. Macedonia, a republic in the Yugoslav Federation, the

first Macedonian state in modern times, had to ward off both Bul­
garian and Serb claims and propaganda after Tito established it at the
end of World War II. In the roughly twenty years that followed, some­
thing like a true Macedonian self-identity developed in this republic
whose citizens must have looked at the establishment of the Macedo­
nian Orthodox church in 1967 as a confirmation and legitimation of
their existence as a separate nation. Now they too had their national
church, although this should not have been important to them, as true
communists.
The populations of countries with Orthodox majorities have become
accustomed to equating the "national church" with the "church of the
establishment." When the establishment fell into communist and thus
theoretically antireligious hands, the Orthodox clergy, with few nota­
ble exceptions, did not know how to act as members of a nonestab­
lishment institution and did not take the stance that would have made
them the leaders of national resistance to either communist inter­
nationalism or Soviet domination.

ROMAN CATHOLICISM

The Roman Catholic prelates were even more a part of the estab­
lishment than were their Orthodox colleagues. Anybody even vaguely
familiar with the role the clergy played during the Middle Ages and
the early modern period anywhere in Catholic and later Catholic/Prot­
estant Europe knows this too well to require any argument. The arch­
bishop of Esztergom was not only the primate of the church in Hungary,
but also was entitled to the rank of prince and the position of first baron
(zaszlosur) of the realm. The position of the primate in Poland, the
archbishop of Gniezno (later Gniezno/Warsaw) was comparable. Both
states considered themselves the regnum marianum and the savior of
western Christendom, facing the Orthodox and the Muslims threat­
ening from the East. While the position of the church was seriously
challenged during the Reformation, the Counter-Reformation was suc­
cessful in both states and reestablished the eminent position of the
Catholic church. The clergy's role in administration and politics was
always of primary importance.17 Therefore, the most important bishop­
rics, if not all of them, were usually entrusted to those segments of the
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 51

aristocracy that those in power favored whenever a given see became

vacant. When the role and importance of the church in the history of
these two countries is considered, the conclusion cannot be avoided
that they were an integral part of the establishment; but at the same
time it should be remembered that the church always stressed its supra-
nationality and universality and strongly resisted any attempt aiming
to create national Catholic churches.
The situation in Croatia comes closest to that in Poland and Hun­
gary. This is the case not only because of the long period during which
Croatia was a land of St. Stephen's Crown—although not an integral
part of Hungary—worn for some four hundred years by the members
of the House of Habsburg, but also because most of those heading its
most important dioceses (Split, Zagreb, and later also Djakovo) were
aristocrats and very active in politics. It is, therefore, of some inter­
est to compare the position of these three churches in their respective
lands in their communist period.
Without any doubt, the Polish Catholic church offered the most for­
midable opposition to a communist government anywhere since 1945.
This has several reasons, but the historical is the one that is discussed
in this chapter. It was after the partitions that the Polish church be­
came the symbol of Polishness in the eyes of practically all Poles. Mas­
sive Russification following the uprising in 1832 practically eliminated
all Polish institutions and made Russian dominance of public life in
the Russian areas practically universal. What was left was the Catholic
church. It became the symbol of Polishness and Polish resistance, with
every move taken by St. Petersburg to weaken it interpreted as a further
attempt to eradicate the Polish nation from the face of the earth. After
the insurrection of 1863 the situation became even worse. The estab­
lishment of an Orthodox archbishopric in Warsaw and the transfer of
the Roman Catholic seminary to St. Petersburg were deeply resented
by everybody, not only the clergy. Under these circumstances, being a
Catholic was not only a religious but also a nationalistic "duty."
The Catholic church became the symbol of Polishness in Prussian
held lands also. Here the "enemy" was not Orthodox but Lutheran.
This was made obvious to the Poles by Bismarck's Kulturkampf. This
"struggle" was political not religious in essence, and while it could be
considered anti-Catholic it was certainly not anti-Polish. Yet, having
watched the events in Russian Poland, by the 1870s the Poles saw in
52 Comparative Analysis

every anti-Catholic move an anti-Polish one. The church was, here too,
the persecuted victim of anti-Polish sentiments and thus the living
symbol of Polishness.
In the Austrian part of Poland, Catholicism was not persecuted. The
growing liberalism of the Austrians, especially after 1867, made possi­
ble the growth of Jewish emancipation and the emergence of Ukrainian
nationalism (often associated with the Uniate church), two manifesto -
tions which threatened the Polishness of the Galician lands. Again, the
Roman Catholic church emerged as the bulwark of pure Polishness. To
these local developments must be added another, very important fact.
After the Third Partition, the only Polish institution that remained
intact and could unite all Poles was the church, despite its universal-
ist claim. If for no other reason than this, it had to develop into the
national symbol which it had become by 1918 when Poland was reborn
as a united state.18 After the Fourth Partition, in 1939, the Catholic
church was, once again, the only surviving "Polish" institution and
quickly reverted to the role which it ceased to play only some twenty
years earlier. It continued to see itself in this light once the hostilities
ended in 1945, and many Poles agreed with this assumption. Thus the
Polish Catholic church had a strong historical base on which it could
base its struggle and the Poles a long-established symbol of resistance.
The Croatian Catholic church has to be ranked in second place should
anybody try to rank Catholic churches in terms of effectiveness as
national symbols. Here the long-term historical factors are less impor­
tant than they were in the Polish case, but the shorter-range events play
a more important role. In Croatia Catholicism became important after
the modern ideology of nationalism made its entry into the Balkans
and, especially, after the Illyrian movement set in motion the Yugo­
slav movement.19 In a united southern Slav political unit (irrespective
of its location in or outside the Habsburg domain) Catholics were in
the minority. Catholicism, as both a religion and a cultural orienta­
tion, differentiated Croat and Slovene from the Orthodox, mainly Serb,
brethren. Croatianism became equated with Catholicism. True enough,
the Slovenes were Catholics too, but they did not have the long his­
tory of independence and political activity which the Croats had, and
when they entered politics, in the second half of the nineteenth cen­
tury, their parties were clerical and, thus, usually pro-Habsburg. This
left the Croats to carry the national/religious banner both before and
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 53

after the creation of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, later
renamed Yugoslavia. A Serbo-Croat-speaking Catholic is still automati­
cally considered to be a Croat, and the Croats have still not settled
their differences with the Serbs. Yet the Catholic church plays a less
important role as a symbol and institution of resistance here than in
Poland. I believe that two major factors account for this. First, the
great nineteenth-century leaders of the church, including bishops Josip
Stadler (1843-1918) and especially Josip Juraj Strossmayer (1815-1905),
were not followed by similarly outstanding people with true leadership
quality in the interwar period. Second, the role of the Catholic church,
or at least some of its priests, during World War II made the position of
this institution as a Croat—and not Ustase—symbol somewhat ques­
tionable. Consequently, the church was forced on the defensive for too
long to be able to play a leadership role.
The fact that the Hungarian Catholic church is the least prominent
today of the three churches being compared has its historical reason
too. Three important events took place almost simultaneously in Hun­
garian history. The great defeat of Mohacs and the beginning of uninter­
rupted Habsburg rule both occurred in 1526, and the beginning of the
Reformation in the country came soon thereafter. It should also be re­
membered that from 1526—when a Habsburg and a non-Habsburg were
both elected as king—until 1699, the Hungarian nobility, the politically
important segment of the population, had a choice: they could support
the ruler in Vienna or the one in Cluj (Kolozsvar, Klausenburg)—the
successor of the second king elected in 1526, the prince of Transyl­
vania. The nobility, therefore, had a choice, something which nobles
elsewhere did not have.
Two of the major goals of the Habsburgs were the creation of a cen­
tralized empire and the support of the Counter-Reformation. Therefore,
in the mind of the Hungarian nobility, Catholicism and the elimina­
tion of Hungary's special status within the Habsburg domain became
two undistinguishable entities associated with Habsburg, that is, "for­
eign" rule. When they adopted and fought for the principle of reli­
gious equality and freedom, they fought the Habsburg-supported Ro­
man Catholic church and, most importantly, they fought for the rights
and privileges of their country, that is, their estates. This is why both
before and after 1699, princes of Transylvania, even those who were
Catholics themselves, fought for the rights of Protestants as an impor-
54 Comparative Analysis

tant part of the national liberties which they wanted to safeguard.20 In

this manner protonationalism became identified with anti-Habsburg
sentiments and a distrust of the Habsburg-protected and, therefore,
Habsburg-loyal Catholic church. This opposition centered east of the
Tisza river, where the largest city, Debrecen, became known as the Cal­
vinist Rome. The Reformed church became the symbol of opposition
and of national independence because the nobility of eastern Hungary,
and to some extent Transylvania, followed it.
Today there are far too few members of the Reformed church in Hun­
gary to make it the institution that can challenge the supremacy of
the Communist party. The Catholic church was always the establish­
ment church, even after the Habsburgs had to relinquish the throne
of Hungary after World War I, and the role played by Jozsef Cardinal
Mindszenty (1892-1975), especially after 1956, certainly did nothing
to change the population's image of its role in society.
Czechoslovakia is the one remaining country in which the over­
whelming majority of the population is, at least nominally, Roman
Catholic. The masters of Prague certainly do their best to make the
activities of the Catholic church as difficult as possible, and Josef Cardi­
nal Beran (1889-1969) more than earned his reputation as the defender
of his church and human rights. Yet, the Czech nation does not look at
the Catholic church as the institution that symbolizes its historical or
present identity. The most glorious days in Czech history are connected
with the Hussite-Taborite period.21 This fifteenth-century movement
was not only a forerunner of the Reformation but also a true social
revolution at the same time. It was defeated after a long struggle, as was
the Reformation a century later, at the Battle of the White Mountain
in 1620. The Counter-Reformation made the Czech lands practically
solidly Roman Catholic but failed to eradicate what many experts have
called the "Hussite spirit" of the people. Even if this spirit, which sup­
posedly dominates even the Czech Catholic church, has become noth­
ing more than a myth by now, it is hardly possible for a people which
sees the moments of its most glorious national greatness in a reformist
movement to transfer this feeling to an institution that rests on the
defeat of this historical event.
While the Taborite forces of Jan Zizka (d. 1424) operated in Slovak
territory too, the religious development and, consequently, the position
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 55

of the Catholic church to the present was very different. As has been
mentioned, the Croats had important bishoprics usually occupied by
Croat bishops. When the Uniates in Transylvania became the spokes­
men of the Romanians in this principality, the Orthodox, the majority,
successfully fought for an independent church of their own and, once
they got it, joined the Uniates in fighting for their people. The real
importance for a people in having its "own church" is not so much
this very fact, but the ability of this institution to maintain schools,
hospitals, and other social institutions through which it can influ­
ence its flocks' every weekday also. The Slovaks never had a Catholic
church— or any other church—of their own during the roughly one
thousand years they spent under Hungarian rule. After Zizka's troops
disappeared, the mastery of the Catholic church was only slightly chal­
lenged by Lutheranism, which was adopted by the German-speaking
minority in Slovak lands and also by a small proportion of the Slo­
vaks. The Lutherans had their church and, therefore, their schools. In
these, Lutheran Slovaks also studied, with the result that most of the
early Slovak "modernizers" and "nationalists" from Jan Kollar (1793-
1852) to L'udevit Stur (1815-56) and Pavel Jozef Safarik (1795-1861)
were Lutherans. The mainly illiterate masses, religious in the folk-
religious sense, distrusted if not these "heretics" then at least their
church, which could not become the symbol of Slovak revival. There
were Roman Catholic reformers too, beginning with Anton Bernolak
(1762-1856) and ending with the first truly popular political leader
Andrej Hlinka (1864-1938). They too had to struggle against the un­
educated, superstitious attitude of their people, and while these clergy­
men became very well known and liked, their church could not profit
from their eminence because the hierarchy remained Hungarian and,
therefore, anti-Slovak until the end of World War I. Thus, prior to 19 18
the Catholic church, while popular in the folk-religious sense, did not
emerge as a "national" institution. The symbol and major culprit (to
some extent, at least, unjustifiably) of the World War II period was
another clergyman, Jozef Tiso (1887-1947), placing the Slovak Roman
Catholic church in the same defensive position which the Croatian
faced after 1945. It was another Catholic church which could not func­
tion successfully as an alternate institution facing the Communist
party.
56 Comparative Analysis

THE MUSLIMS OF BOSNIA

So far, the "major churches" of the "major nations" have been covered.
This does not mean that the other religious or ethnic groups are less
important, interesting, or—at least to some extent—historically influ­
enced by their attitude toward their leading religious institutions. The
Roman Catholics of Bosnia and Slovenia easily come to mind, if for no
other reason than because they are members of a faith that has been
covered. I w ill not deal with these people because their ecclesiastical
leadership since 1945 has been relatively weak and because their posi­
tion within Yugoslavia makes any stand they might take secondary to
the resolution of conflicts emerging from the Croato-Serb controversy,
the country's major "national" problem. Jewish and Protestant commu­
nities are too small in Eastern Europe today to offer any challenge to the
communist-dominated state. More numerous than these are the Mus­
lims in the Balkans. A few words should be said about these, although
chapter 16 w ill discuss them in detail.
Muslims can offer a position of their own anywhere, but not as a
"church," although members of the ulema might be prominent among
the leaders. It should be remembered that while Islam is a very impor­
tant religion, it has no clergy, only learned men (ulema), and no official
"church." Islam came to the Balkans with the conquering Ottomans.
With the exception of some of the Muslims living in southeastern Bul­
garia, the Balkan Muslims, although often called Turks, were not and
are not Turks but converted members of the local population.22 They
had no reason for seeking an independent identity until the end of Otto­
man rule at various times in the nineteenth century. Even then they
did little because their leaders, including the important members of the
ulema, withdrew together with the Ottoman army and administration.
Thus, no Muslim community emerged capable of political action as a
distinct group. The followers of this religion became involved, often
prominently, in Albanian and Macedonian movements as members of
these nations, not as Muslims. If they oppose the ruling establishment
today as religious minorities—Albania, Bulgaria—then they do so be­
cause the regimes' decision to move against them for whatever rea­
sons prompted their actions. The one exception is that of the Bosnian
Muslims.
 Historical Role of Religious Institutions 57

The Muslims of Bosnia were numerous and powerful enough even

under Ottoman rule to govern their own province, although nominally
as appointees of the sultan. When Bosnia-Herzegovina was first occu­
pied (7878) and then annexed (1908) by Austria-Hungary, the position of
the Muslims was not altered because Vienna understood that it needed
their cooperation to rule the province without difficulty. Benjamin
Kallay (1839-1903), who as Austro-Hungarian common minister of
finance administered Bosnia-Herzegovina from 1882 to 1903, was espe­
cially favorable to them because he was aware of the Yugoslav problem
and favored a group that called itself Muslim and not Serb or Croat. It
was he who foreshadowed, in a sense, what occurred in Tito's Yugo­
slavia when the Muslims were recognized as a separate "nation." Kallay
wanted to create a Bosnian nation separate from Serbs and Croats and
for this needed the Muslims. When Serb and Croat national movements
and parties surfaced in Bosnia-Herzegovina, the Muslims moved also,
but their leadership was not clerical but laic. They moved as a separate
ethnic, not as a religious, group to safeguard their position in Bosnia-
Herzegovina.23 In acting in this manner, they stressed the socioeco­
nomic separation more than the religious one, justifying Kallay's policy
to some extent and foreshadowing the developments under Tito. Thus,
for something like one hundred years the Bosnian Muslims acted as a
separate group identified by its religion, but not for religious reasons
and not through an organized religious institution.

CONCLUSION

The number of factors and circumstances that have determined the

interaction since 1945 of two major institutions, church (irrespective of
the denomination) and party-state, are numerous. Timing is important,
as are personalities, the policy of the Soviet Union, the international
situation, correct or faulty assessment and tactics on either the party's
or the church's part, economic conditions, and reaction to unforeseen
occurrences. Thus, history and historically determined circumstances
are not crucial and decisive by themselves. Yet without taking them
into consideration some of the differences we observe in church-party-
state relations cannot be explained fully. Stefan Cardinal Wyszynski
(19 0 1-8 1), a personality of heroic proportions, could not have played
in Hungary or Croatia the part that he played in Poland because in
58 Comparative Analysis

these countries the populations' assessment of the importance of their

church, for them and for their nations, was and is drastically different
from that of the Poles. It was not and is not simply the contemporary
party and ecclesiastic leadership that determines the relationship be­
tween the institutions which they supervise; they cannot operate with­
out a certain popular acceptance, the "legitimation" which communist
leaders tried hard to gain and prove at least since 1956. The churches
too need a certain national "legitimation" to act effectively as spokes­
men of a great variety of ideals contradicting those of the party. In
striving for this popular recognition the historical tradition plays a very
significant role, and it was this role which was presented in outline
form in this chapter.
3

Jew ish N atio n ality and R eligion in

the U S S R and Eastern Europe

Z v i G itelm an

Among many of the peoples of Eastern Europe there is a strong con­

nection between religion and nationality. As Pedro Ramet points out,
"Poles are expected to be Catholic, Russians and Bulgarians are ex­
pected to be Orthodox, Arabs and Turks are expected to be Muslim.
The Orthodox Pole, the Baptist Russian, and the Protestant Turk are all
. . . viewed as nationally disloyal."1 For Jews, the connection between
religion and nationality is even stronger. While Christianity and Islam
are "universal" religions, Judaism is a "tribal" one. That means that
the only ethnic group which practices Judaism is the Jews, whereas
many different nationalities practice Christianity or Islam. Therefore,
policies which affect the Jewish religion ipso facto affect the Jews, and
vice versa, despite the fact that not all Jews practice their religion.
The oldest of Western religions, Judaism developed in the ancient
Near East at a time when no differentiation was made between religion
and ethnicity. The biblical account of the founding of Judaism is sim ul­
taneously an account of the genesis of the Jewish people. Abraham is
told by God, in the same breath, as it were, that he w ill be the father
of a great people and that this people shall worship the one and only
God. Abraham's descendants maintain their separate identity in Egypt
even before they emerge with a fully developed religious system, one
whose basic principles are established only at Sinai. Some have com­
mented that the fact that Judaism was fundamentally shaped in the
no-man's-land of the Sinai desert before they reached what was to be­
come their homeland symbolizes the nature of Judaism as independent
of a particular locale, unlike the other ancient Near Eastern religions,
even though it is linked exclusively to one people. More importantly,
60 Comparative Analysis

the historical survival of Judaism after the Temples of Jerusalem were

captured and destroyed proved that this religion is "portable." One of
the turning points of Jewish history was the request made of the Ro­
man conquerors of Palestine by Rabbi Yohanan Ben Zakkai that he be
allowed to establish a rabbinical academy in the small provincial Pal­
estinian town of Yavneh, thereby perpetuating religious learning and
authoritative religious leadership even after the center of worship had
been destroyed and the religious leadership of the priests rendered ir­
relevant. At the same time synagogues had developed outside of Jerusa­
lem. This decentralization of worship was another factor in the survival
of Judaism and of the Jewish people.
In the lands of their dispersal, whether in Europe or in Asia and
North Africa, Jews were generally isolated from the rest of the popu­
lation on religious grounds, whether by their own volition or, more
often, as a consequence of policies made by the majority religions and
nations. The denial of equality to Jews was generally more pronounced
in Christian than in Muslim countries, but, in general, Jewish separate­
ness was the norm.2 This reinforced Jewish identity and strengthened
the sense of Jewish distinctiveness, especially when dominant religions
and nations insisted that Jews wear distinctive dress, live in ghettos,
practice only certain vocations, and follow certain regulations which
applied to them alone. Thus, Jews could not consider themselves as
part of the general population, differing only in religion, because their
status was so radically different. Their separateness also perpetuated
their use of distinctive languages, musical and art forms, and social
mores. Therefore, when emancipation came to European Jewry follow­
ing the French Revolution—it was to come to Jews in Africa and Asia
only much later or never at all—the Jews discovered that they had many
of the characteristics which the new theories of the time attributed to
nations. Of course, they lacked one seemingly essential ingredient, a
territory and state of their own.
Not all Jews were pleased by this discovery. Emancipation offered
them the chance to escape their minority and subordinate status and
many eagerly seized the opportunity. Jews confronted four basic op­
tions: (i) assimilate completely through conversion to Christianity,
(2) assimilate as a nationality but maintain their religious identity,
(3) maintain their religion but assert themselves as a modern nation,
(4) abandon religion but assert their Jewishness as an ethnic or national
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 61

category. At first, many took the first option and converted to Chris­
tianity, especially in Western Europe, because despite the evolution of
secular nationalist ideas, most West European societies were still un­
deniably Christian in their character. A second form of escape was to
adopt the ways of the general society in all ways but religion, and to
reform the religion so that it would conform to "respectable" practices,
i.e., prevailing Christian ones. Thus, the Reform movement in Ger­
many, and later in the rest of Western Europe and the United States,
adopted the vernacular as the language of prayer, introduced the organ
into the synagogue, and abrogated the dietary laws and other restrictive
practices. Its more radical adherents shifted the Sabbath from Satur­
day to Sunday to conform with Christian practice. The idea was to
become, for example, "German citizens of the Mosaic persuasion." Jew­
ish nationality was denied, the local nationality was proclaimed as the
Jews' own, and the conception of Jewishness was narrowed to a strictly
religious one. Thus, all references to Zion and Jerusalem in the prayers
were expunged, and it was claimed that Jews no longer had any aspira­
tions to return to Zion and reconstitute themselves as a nation-state in
the modern sense. Jews were very eager to prove their patriotism and
loyalty to the states in which they lived, and they were careful not to
give any reason for suspicion of divided loyalties.
Illusions of integration into West European society were shattered
by repeated rejections of Jewish advances. Theodor Herzl was a highly
assimilated Viennese journalist (born in Budapest) who gave up the no­
tion that Jews would be accepted into European society when he cov­
ered the trial of Captain Dreyfus in France. The shock of mass French
anti-Semitism led him to develop the idea of the establishment of a
Jewish state, an idea which he propagated so successfully that he is
regarded as the founder of political Zionism.
In Eastern Europe there were parallel assimilatory trends in Hungary,
Czechoslovakia, and even Poland, though they were of more modest
dimensions. In the Russian Empire there was a much weaker assimila-
tionist or even conversionary movement, largely because the Jews were
never emancipated there. The Pale of Settlement can be thought of as
a huge ghetto, isolating the Jews from the rest of society and thereby
perpetuating their distinctiveness. Attempts to bring "enlightenment,"
that is, Russian culture, to the Jews generally failed, because most Jews
regarded these, not without reason, as but covert attempts at proselyti-
62 Comparative Analysis

zation. Reform Judaism never established itself in the Russian Empire,

and in Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Romania it was much
less radical and innovative than in Western Europe.
But with nationalist movements arising all around them, the Jews of
Eastern Europe began to sense a new option for the resolution of their
subordinate status. They began to consider the possibility of leaving
Europe—whose societies, many had come to believe, could never ac­
cept the Jews—and reconstitute themselves as a nation in the ancestral
homeland of Palestine. The comparative advantage of the Zionist idea
over others competing for the allegiance of the Jews was that it com­
bined traditional values and aspirations with modern ones. Whereas
assimilation and religious reform required Jews to give up cherished
values and familiar ways, Zionism could be understood as the modern-
day expression of the age-old yearning to "return to Zion," one which
religious Jews repeated three times every day in their prayers. Those
who were not so observant but who had an intellectual, cultural, or
emotional attachment to some form of Jewishness could share in the
aspiration of returning to Zion because for them it would be an eco­
nomic, cultural, or political solution. Thus, there was a confluence of
religious and pragmatic desires which broadened the base of the Zion­
ist movement. The movement founded by Herzl and supported by West
European Zionists largely as a solution to the problems created by anti-
Semitism was given a mass base by East Europeans spurred as much by
religious considerations as by political ones. Of course, this movement
horrified those whose greatest desire was to demonstrate to European
(and later, American) society that the Jews wanted nothing more than
to be recognized as full-fledged Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, etc.
Emancipation meant that Jews, for the first time, could choose to
be Jewish, and they could choose different modes of being Jewish. In
Eastern Europe that choice was not widely available, but Jews began to
redefine themselves nevertheless. Aside from those attracted to Zion­
ism, which explicitly proclaimed the nationhood of Israel in modern,
secular terms but could be given a religious character as well, there
was a minority which insisted that the only realistic solution for Jews,
and to the "Jewish problem," was for them to melt into the larger soci­
ety and lose their identity. For some, integration into the larger society
meant acceptance of its dominant religion as well, but others hoped
that adoption of its language and customs would suffice. These choices
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 63

were more common in the Austro-Hungarian empire than in the Rus­

sian one. In the latter a different form of assimilation proved more
attractive. Socialists, whether of the populist or Marxist variety, be­
lieved that the solution to the "Jewish problem" could be attained only
as part of the solution to the greater problem of society as a whole, the
political and economic exploitation of the oppressed. Socialism would
solve the Jewish problem by abolishing all ethnic and religious dis­
crimination. Moreover, since nations were a phenomenon of the capi­
talist epoch, they would disappear, along with religion, in the social­
ist one. The ultimate solution to the problems of the Jews, therefore,
lay in their disappearance as either a religious or ethnic group. Thus,
those who denied Jewish nationality, or at least the legitimacy of the
Zionist program, ranged from Orthodox Jews who opposed Zionism on
the grounds that it attempted to do what only God, working through
the Messiah, would do; to Jewish assimilationists who rejected Jewish
nationality; to socialists who predicted the disappearance of all nation­
alities.

LENIN ON THE JEWS

IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Lenin believed in the disappearance of all nationalities but also denied

that the Jews were a nation even in the presocialist era: "The Jews have
ceased to be a nation, for a nation without a territory is unthinkable.
. . . The idea of a Jewish nationality runs counter to the interests of
the Jewish proletariat, for it fosters among them, directly or indirectly,
a spirit hostile to assimilation, the spirit of the 'ghetto.' " 3 Lenin was
not entirely consistent in his definition of the Jewish entity, referring
to Jews in 19 13 as "the most oppressed and persecuted nation," but
in the same work defining the Jews of Russia and Galicia as a "caste"
and the Jews of the rest of Europe as assimilated.4 He regarded the Jews
as being in the vanguard of the assimilationists and showing the way
to other ethnic groups. Assimilation, he felt, would benefit the Jews
because they would no longer be treated as aliens. Stalin, in his Marx­
ism and the National Question, also ridiculed the idea that Jews are a
nation, and sharply criticized the anti-Zionist Bund as being national­
istic and separatist. Both Lenin and Stalin, as well as their Menshevik
rivals, voted to expel the Bund from the Russian Social Democratic
64 Comparative Analysis

Labor party (r s d l p ) because o f the Bund's insistence on organizational

autonomy and on the special needs of the Jewish proletariat.
Nevertheless, following the Bolshevik Revolution, Lenin agreed to
the formation of a Commissariat for Jewish Affairs, part of the People's
Commissariat of Nationalities headed by Stalin, and even allowed the
formation of Jewish sections of the Communist party, organization­
ally reminiscent of the Bund within the r s d l p . These concessions were
made in the face of the obvious lack of support for Bolshevism among
the Jewish masses and the need to work among them in Yiddish if they
were to be won over. These organizational changes were accompanied
by a recognition of the Jews as an official nationality, but not a nation.
This has remained their official classification in the USSR to this day.
Needless to say, the Jewish religion got no privileged treatment, and
there is evidence to suggest that at various times it was dealt with more
harshly than was Islam or Russian Orthodoxy.
One of the unusual, perhaps unique, features of the relationship be­
tween religion and nationality among Soviet Jews is that though they
have reinforced each other, they have also been pitted against one an­
other. In the 1920s the Jewish sections of the Communist party strug­
gled mightily against the Jewish religion in their attempt to make the
"revolution on the Jewish street." The leadership of the sections had
come mainly out of the prerevolutionary socialist parties, such as the
Bund and the Poalai Zion. They had struggled against the religious
establishment before the revolution, and their antireligious zeal was
intensified by their perception that, as "latecomers" to Bolshevism,
they had to prove their ideological and political mettle by showing that
they were ruthless against other Jews who still adhered to tradition.
The "bourgeois-clerical-Zionist" camp was attacked with ferocity. In
contrast to the anti-Judaism campaigns of the 1950s and r96os, those
of the r920s were conducted almost exclusively by Jews and in the
Yiddish language. To a considerable extent, this was an internal Jewish
battle. While Jews participated, often enthusiastically and out of pro­
portion to their numbers, in the general party campaign against other
religions, non-Jews did not take part in the anti-Judaism campaign. Any
taint of anti-Semitism was thus avoided. The editor of the main Yiddish
Communist daily, Moishe Litvakov, boasted that the antireligious cam­
paign "was not the cantankerous atheism of the small-town anarchists
against the small-town 'important Je w s'. . . but a revolutionary demon-
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 65

stration of the entire Jewish working class . . . against the tarnished

Assembly of Israel."5 The idea was that a Jewish nationality could and
should exist without any religious character. Nearly 650 synagogues
and over a thousand religious schools were closed in the 1920s, but at
the same time hundreds of state-funded Yiddish schools, imbued with
the spirit of the revolution, were being set up. Yiddish courts, trade
unions, and even party cells were established, as were Jewish collective
farms, theaters, publishing houses, academic institutes, newspapers,
and the like. The idea was to create a new Jewish culture and a Soviet
Jewish nationality, one which would be secular, socialist, and Yiddish.
This nationality would have nothing in common with the religious,
Hebraist, Zionist, bourgeois Jews in capitalist countries. In the view of
most, this nationality would be only a transitory phenomenon, a way
station on the approved path to assimilation.
For this reason the Jewish sections fought mightily against Zion­
ism and Hebrew as well as religion. The Zionist movement had more
members than any other Jewish one in 19 17, and it had emerged vic­
torious in elections to local Jewish self-governing bodies, a proposed
All-Russian Jewish Congress, and the short-lived Constituent Assem­
bly. Thus, it represented not only an ideological enemy but a strong
competitor to the Jewish sections. With the help of the general party
and the coercive instruments of the state, the Jewish sections harrassed
the Zionists, arresting and exiling many, finally driving the organized
movement underground or out of existence in 1928. The attack on He­
brew stemmed from several sources: the Kulturkampf between the two
languages before the revolution, and the association of Hebrew with
the Zionist movement and with religious ritual. The Jewish sections
argued to a puzzled party leadership that Hebrew must be a "bourgeois"
language because it was used almost exclusively by the class enemy,
rabbis and Zionists. Yiddish, on the other hand, was the language com­
monly spoken by the Jewish workers, and hence was a "proletarian"
language. Clearly, the Soviet regime would have to support Yiddish
against Hebrew. This is how Hebrew came to be regarded as a pariah
or semilegal language, while the Bolsheviks declared Yiddish to be the
exclusive Jewish language. The Jewish communists went so far as to
change the Yiddish orthography so as to eliminate Hebraic forms, tried
to reduce the substantial Hebraic element in Yiddish vocabulary, and
developed various terminologies which would replace traditional ones.6
66 Comparative Analysis

In the 192,0s an attempt was made to drive a wedge between the

Jewish religion and Jewish nationality. By the r930s, when the Jew­
ish sections had been abolished, the major tendency was toward direct
assimilation. As Jews streamed out of the shtetlekh (villages), ruined
by war, revolution, civil war, and nationalization, and moved into the
industrial centers springing up all over the country, they tended to
abandon their Yiddish language, traditional mores, and habits of dress,
mingle with non-Jews and marry them, and acculturate into the Rus­
sian culture. The proportion of Jews marrying non-Jews rose sharply,
enrollment in Yiddish schools fell drastically, and Jews embraced Rus­
sian culture enthusiastically. Religion seemed to survive only among
the older generation. Of course, the purges and the dangers of being
accused of "petit bourgeois nationalism" accelerated the move away
from positive and active identification with either religion or Jewish
cultural activity. Many were convinced that the age of international­
ism had really dawned and that the "Jewish problem" was being solved
by sblizhenie and sliianie, the drawing together and merging of the
nationalities.7
Events of the r94os rudely disrupted the dreams of acceptance and
integration. The Holocaust saw not only the murder of 1.5 million So­
viet Jews, but also the return of open anti-Semitism among sectors of
the Slavic and Baltic populations. Even in the Red Army there were
numerous incidents of anti-Semitism. A common canard was that "the
Jews fought the war in Tashkent," though half a million Jews served
in the Soviet armed forces and Jews were fourth among those who re­
ceived decorations for wartime service. After the war came the cam­
paign against "rootless cosmopolitans," the arrest of hundreds of Jewish
cultural figures and the murder of the most prominent Yiddish writers
and actors, the expulsion of Jews from institutions of higher learning,
and the difficulty Jews had in obtaining employment commensurate
with their skills and training. A ll these laid to rest beliefs about "inter­
nationalism." The "black years" (r948-53) saw a state-sponsored anti-
Semitism that could hardly have been imagined twenty years earlier.
Many Jews sought to protect themselves from the prevailing political
and social winds by hiding their Jewish identity the best they could
and assuming a generally low profile.
While Khrushchev abandoned the most egregious manifestations of
anti-Semitism, he carefully avoided criticizing Stalin for his anti-Jewish
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 67

acts and policies and permitted only a symbolic revival of Yiddish cul­
ture. An antireligious campaign, lasting from 7957 to 1964, saw the
closing of hundreds of synagogues and the public identification of those
institutions with economic crimes and with espionage on behalf of the
state of Israel. At the same time the more relaxed political atmosphere
allowed some Jews, especially in the Baltic areas, to revive Jewish cul­
ture on an amateur basis. Choirs and theatrical groups were founded
in Latvia and Lithuania, and other musical groups were formed else­
where. Jews also took pride in eminent Soviet artists of Jewish origin,
whose work was taken as evidence of the high cultural level of a people
deprived of its original culture.
Ironically, the two strongest forces for the preservation of Jewish
national identity were the official classification of Jews as a nationality
and social anti-Semitism. Official identification marked every Jew as
such, irrespective of wishes or self-perception. Anti-Semitism signaled
Jews that however they might regard themselves, they were seen as
Jews by others. Thus, the Soviet state and society succeeded in preserv­
ing Jewish identity while stripping it of much of its content. This left
many Soviet Jews in an anomalous position: they were Jews officially
and socially, but Russians culturally. They were acculturated without
being assimilated.
By the 1 960s, and especially after r967, many Jews decided to re­
solve the tension between their official identity and their culture not
by dropping their Jewish identity but by seeking to recapture their cul­
ture. If this could not be done in the Soviet Union, then it would have
to be accomplished in a Jewish state. The June r967 war, in which the
Soviet Union was vociferously and actively on the side of the Arabs
who seemed bent on eliminating a large segment of world Jewry just
twenty years after the Holocaust, convinced many that Jewish exis­
tence in the USSR was untenable. Jewish national identity now began
to take on forms which had nearly disappeared by the r930s. Large
numbers of people began applying to emigrate to Israel, thereby plac­
ing their Jewish nationality ahead of their Soviet citizenship, indeed,
saying that they are willing to give up their Soviet identity for their
Jewish one. This was not simply an emigration movement—though in
the late 1970s it became largely that when most Jewish émigrés did not
continue to Israel—but rather a conscious affirmation of national iden­
tity and culture. Hebrew study groups were organized; Jews delved into
68 Comparative Analysis

the few remaining available works on Jewish history; Jewish songs, lit­
erature, and even cuisine were revived. By the late 1970s the national
renaissance had resulted in the departure of more than 250,000 Jews
from the land of their birth.
In the 1980s, just when the doors of emigration were closed, young
Jews began to turn to religion. Several hundred people, mainly in the
largest cities, began to study religion and became religiously observant.
It is difficult to explain this phenomenon. Perhaps it arose as a result of
their study of Jewish history and culture and the discovery that these
were inextricably tied to the Jewish religion. Also, the closing down
of emigration may have led these people to a kind of "internal emigra­
tion," where they "dropped out" of the mainstream of Soviet society. If
one's Jewish life could not be lived in Israel, at least for the moment it
could be put together in an alternative community within the USSR.
Great ingenuity and determination led them to set up study circles,
arrange for kosher food, prayer, and other religious requirements. The
great majority of the newly religious have their sights set on emigra­
tion, and mostly to Israel. For the first time in many decades religion
and national consciousness were reunited.
It is clear that the Soviet attempt to mold a new type of Jewish
nationality—secular, Soviet, and socialist—has not succeeded. This
leaves Soviet Jews with only two options: emigration, either "exter­
nal" or "internal," or a high degree of acculturation, but in most cases
no assimilation. Since the legitimate expression of Jewish identity has
been so narrowed, the assertion of Jewish nationality, especially when
coupled with religious commitment, becomes almost automatically an
oppositionist statement. The attempt to drive a wedge between reli­
gious and national identification, one which preceded the revolution
and was launched by Jews themselves, was quite successful for a while,
but in recent years there has been a movement in the opposite direc­
tion. True, there are practitioners of religion who are not Zionists,
especially among the older generation, and there are larger numbers of
nationalistic Jews who are not religious. But the old antagonisms be­
tween nationalists and religionists have faded. While large numbers of
Soviet Jews are so highly acculturated as to be uninterested in either
the religion or an active national Jewish life, their passive identifica­
tion as Jews, which exists not by thejir choice but as a consequence of
state policy and social realities, preserves at least the form of national
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 69

identity. As the past two decades have shown, passive identity can be
transformed into active assertiveness, and some form can be filled with
content. Despite all the efforts of the Jewish sections and the regime
as a whole, Jewish identification was not extinguished but has been
forced into channels which the regime perceives as oppositionist.

JEWISH RELIGION AND NATIONALITY

IN EASTERN EUROPE

Surprisingly, the policies of the East European states toward their Jew­
ish populations have not followed Soviet precedents very closely, even
during the Stalinist period. To be sure, one can discern the same fun­
damental hostility to Zionism, religion, and Hebrew, but the history
of the regimes' relationship to the Jews is not a replication of Soviet
precedents, nor are their present policies. It is not altogether clear why
this is so, but it may be the result of a combination of relative Soviet
unconcern with the way the East Europeans treat their Jewish popula­
tions; different cultural traditions and historical precedents; the gen­
erally less important place of the Jews in the East European countries
following the Holocaust; and the mass emigration of the survivors.
Within Eastern Europe, we can see quite different policies toward the
Jews, so that not only is the Soviet model not replicated, but there
seems to be no single model which guides each of the states. Neverthe­
less, the processes by which Communist domination of the surviving
Jewish communities was achieved were remarkably similar, and also
closely followed patterns established earlier in the USSR.
After 1945 the nationalities issue, one of the thorniest problems of
the interwar period, was mitigated by the transfer of populations, the
shifting_of borders, and the physical elimination of whole peoples and
communities. The wholesale destruction of the Jews and the rapid emi­
gration of the survivors among them greatly reduced the dimensions of
what many East Europeans had seen as the "Jewish problem" before
the war. Moreover, the East European communists, following an initial
policy of thoroughly subjugating the religious establishments, seemed
to be less militantly atheistic than the Soviets, who, long after the
churches had been cowed, insisted on mobilizing the "League of M ili­
tant Godless" and spending a great deal of money, personnel, and time
on antireligious campaigns, even half a century after the revolution.
70 Comparative Analysis

After the 1950s most East European regimes seemed willing to work
out a modus vivendi with their churches and to allow people to pursue
religious ways, albeit at the price of restricting their life chances.
Within the Jewish communities, the prewar Kulturkampf between
religious and nonreligious elements was not as sharp as it had been
before 19 17 in the Russian Empire. In most of the East European coun­
tries, except Poland, the religious establishment was dominant, and
Jewish identity was generally conceived of in confessional terms. In
Poland there were significant socialist movements, both Zionist and
anti-Zionist, which were hostile to religion. In most of the other coun:
tries there were significant differences within the religious community,
as Orthodox were ranged against Reform and "Neolog," and within
Orthodoxy there were rivalries between Hassidim and "Misnagdim"
("Opponents"). Thus, after the war there was less reason than there had
been in the USSR to carry over pre-communist differences and settle
old scores. In addition, the Holocaust had demonstrated the fragility
of the Jewish people. Despite the brave words of some Jewish commu­
nists and assimilationists about rebuilding Jewish life in Eastern Eu­
rope, massive Jewish emigration made it clear that large numbers had
given up on Europe and were prepared to risk starting over elsewhere. It
was precisely the most Jewishly committed elements of the population
—Zionists, the religious, cultural activists—who were most strongly
represented among the emigrants. Thus, communal life declined due
to emigration, but emigration was also spurred by the decline in com­
munal life.
The process by which the communists subverted and took over the
Jewish communities of Eastern Europe followed closely the overall pat­
tern of the communist seizure of power. In the terminology of Hugh
Seton-Watson, this was a pattern which began with genuine coalitions,
followed by "bogus coalitions," which then gave way to communist
takeovers and unilateral rule, one which resulted in the imposition of
"dictatorships of the proletariat."8 In the Jewish communities the first
organizations to be formed after the liberation were coalitions of Zion­
ists, socialists, and communists, the last usually in a minority. In many
cases prewar Jewish leaders resumed positions of influence. In Poland,
for example, a Central Committee for Polish Jews was formed, and it
included almost all Jewish political movements and parties. Even the
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 71

Union of Religious Communities, a more narrowly based organization,

included representatives from three political movements, only two of
which were distinctly religious in outlook.9 In Poland, Bulgaria, and
Romania, both a national religious organization and a national com­
munal one were formed, whereas in Czechoslovkia and Hungary only
religious organizations were formed. These differences reflected prewar
patterns to a considerable extent. For example, as a consequence of the
recognition of Judaism as an "established" denomination in 1895 in the
Habsburg Empire, Jewish life in Hungary came to be centered around
religious congregations. "Jewry as a collectivity had only a religious
and never a political existence. To influence Hungarian Jewish affairs
meant to influence the congregations, the traditional and official cen­
ters of Jewish life."10 Because Jews living in Slovakia, the Vojvodina,
and Transylvania tended to prefer Hungarian to other local languages,
the Hungarian authorities preferred to regard them as a religious, not
a national, group, thereby "increasing" the number of "Magyars" in
the respective populations. By the same token the interwar regimes
in Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, and Romania encouraged the Zionist
movement and Jewish nationality in order to reduce the number of peo­
ple in their countries who could be classified as Magyars. This prece­
dent was followed after the war in Hungary, resulting in the ironic
spectacle of a communist government manipulating a religious body in
order to unite Orthodox and Neolog Jews under one roof. The resulting
organization, the only recognized one in the country, was a nominally
religious body, but under the strict control of the Communist party. No
secular socialist body was set up, in contrast to the USSR and several
other East European states.
In Poland, the stage of "bogus coalition" saw the Central Jewish
Committee's (cjc) representation system altered in such a way as to
increase the influence of the communists and their collaborators. Then
the Polish United Workers party (p z p r ) proposed a merger of the c t c
with the Jewish Cultural Society, a wholly communist organization.
Such a merger took place in 1950 and resulted in the formation of a
single secular communal organization, the Social and Cultural Society
of the Jews (t s k z ). In 1949 the name of the Union of Jewish Religious
Congregations was changed to Union of Congregations of the Mosaic
Faith, a name it has kept to this day, in order to eliminate any possi-
72 Comparative Analysis

ble national connotation which attached to "Jewish." This organization

was subordinated to the government, but existed alongside the more
powerful and more political t s k z .
In Czechoslovakia only a religious organization was permitted, the
Council of Jewish Religious Communities in Bohemia and Moravia
(r z n o ), with a parallel organization in Slovakia. These organizations,
too, were brought under tight government control. In Bulgaria a Central
Jewish Committee of the Fatherland Front was formed and it controlled
the Central Consistory of Jewish communities. The former organiza­
tion was soon abolished, and the latter quickly subordinated to the
government. In Romania, a religious organization with prewar anteced­
ents, the Federation of the Unions of Jewish Communities, was the first
organization to be formed, but it was soon followed by a Jewish Demo­
cratic Committee, based on the Communist and socialist parties. The
tactics of "bogus coalition" included the purposive formation of splin­
ter parties and then forced mergers with communist-controlled orga­
nizations. The religious Federation was reshaped and its name slightly
altered. It merged all religious communities, but all religious services
had to be approved by reorganized local Jewish communities dominated
now by the Jewish Democratic Committee.11
In contrast to the Soviet Union, where religious organizations were
abolished very soon after the revolution and have never been allowed
to reconstitute themselves, in Eastern Europe most regimes have per­
mitted the continued existence of such organizations, in some instances
to the exclusion of any other Jewish body. Moreover, unlike in the
USSR, Jews are not registered by nationality in the East European coun­
tries. However, the policies of the East European states regarding Zion­
ism, Hebrew, and Israel closely adhered to Soviet precedents and cur­
rent policies. When the USSR supported the creation of the state of
Israel in 1948, so did the East Europeans; when, a year later, the So­
viet line changed, so did the East Europeans'. In all the countries a
militant campaign was launched against Zionism, linking it to West­
ern imperialism. The American Joint Distribution Committee, whose
relief work had brought large amounts of hard currency to the region,
was everywhere expelled on the grounds that it was an agent of Western
secret services. The Slansky trial in Czechoslovakia, with its themes
of Zionist conspiracies and Jewish plpts to murder political leaders by
deliberate medical malpractice, was a foreshadowing of the "Doctors
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 73

Plot" "uncovered" in the Soviet Union. Jewish cultural life was severely
restricted in all the countries, though Yiddish newspapers appeared in
Poland after the last one in the USSR had been closed down.

EAST EUROPEAN JEWRY

IN THE SOCIALIST ERA

By the time socialism had been firmly established in Eastern Europe,

even the remnants of the Holocaust had been further reduced by emi­
gration. Nowhere in Eastern Europe could the Jewish population be a
significant national or religious minority, though individual Jews did
play significant public roles in most of the countries, at least until
1956. People "of Jewish origin" among the communist elites in Poland,
Romania, and Hungary were completely estranged from the Jewish
communities, and the latter usually feared them more than they did
non-Jewish communists. Some secular institutions struggled to keep
up publications, cultural events, and other activities, but their audience
was diminishing and they were constantly nagged by the fear of heresy
and political deviation.12 In Poland and Romania Yiddish theaters were
propped up by government subsidies, foreign audiences, and in the case
of Poland, an increasing proportion of non-Jewish actors. The religious
organizations, too, became skeletal remains of once viable communi­
ties. By the 1960s there was not a single rabbi in Bulgaria and Poland;
the last rabbi in Czechoslovakia passed away in 1965 and was not re­
placed until nearly twenty years later. Only in Hungary and Romania
were there sizable religious communities.
Yet, despite the relative absence of Jews, the "Jewish issue" did not
disappear. Some communist regimes could not resist linking Jewish
issues to their relations with the state of Israel. When the Polish popu­
lation displayed embarrassing pleasure at the Israeli victory in the 1967
Middle East war, party secretary Wladyslaw Gomulka publicly criti­
cized not Poles but Jews who sympathized with Israel and who, in his
view, constituted a "fifth column" within Poland. The issue was picked
up by Gomulka's political rival, Mieczyslaw Moczar, who turned it
against the Polish leader by accusing him of harboring many "Zion­
ists" in the upper echelons of the Polish regime. The result was a
massive purge of Jews and the emigration of all but about six thousand
of the sixteen thousand or so who were still in Poland in 1968. Ironi-
74 Comparative Analysis

cally, those purged were generally people with only the most tenuous
links to Jewish culture or even Jewish nationality, and hardly a single
one of them had Zionist inclinations. They were simply pawns in an
intraparty struggle for power, one which exploited Polish anti-Semitic
traditions.
In Czechoslovakia, too, Zionism became a domestic issue when some
writers, Jewish and non-Jewish, condemned the Czechoslovak leader­
ship for slavishly following the Soviet Union in breaking relations with
Israel. This, they said, was but one manifestation of the bankruptcy of
the Czechoslovak policy, for it was obvious that the sympathies of the
population lay with Israel, not the Arabs. Not only was the Czechoslo­
vak leadership rocked by the revolt of the writers, but following the
overthrow of Dubcek's reformist regime, anti-Zionism became a major
theme in domestic Czechoslovak propaganda. From that time on the
leadership of the Czechoslovak Jewish community has become perhaps
the most cautious in Eastern Europe.
In Hungary great care has been taken not to allow the government's
position on Middle Eastern issues to spill over to the domestic arena.
While the Hungarians have generally been dutiful in following the So­
viet line on the Middle East, nothing resembling the Soviet domestic
anti-Zionist campaign has been observed in Hungary.
East European policies differed from Soviet ones also in the area of
emigration. In 1957 the Polish authorities permitted large-scale emi­
gration. The Jewish émigrés included several thousand former Soviet
citizens who had held Polish citizenship before 1939, had been allowed
to reclaim their Polish citizenship, and had used Poland as a revolv­
ing door through which to pass to Israel and other countries. In 1968
large numbers of Jews again left the country, this time mostly against
their will. In Romania significant Jewish emigration from the com­
munity that survived the war better than any other in Eastern Europe
began already in the mid-1950s. According to some reports, Romania
permitted this emigration because Israel was paying a ransom of hard
currency for each emigrant.13 Whatever the case, by the 1980s there
were some 300,000 Jews of Romanian origin in Israel, making them the
single largest group among the Ashkenazim. Of course, Romania was
the only socialist country that did not break diplomatic relations with
Israel following the 1967 war, though the absence of such relations did
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 75

not impede the USSR from allowing 270,000 Jews to emigrate in the
1970s, most of them going to Israel.
By the 1980s the organized secular Jewish communities had largely
disappeared. In Hungary, where the estimates of Jewish population
range between 35,000 and 85,000, the Jews have become increasingly
invisible through cultural assimilation and intermarriage. In Romania
large-scale emigration and high mortality rates have reduced the pop­
ulation to less than 25,000. According to Chief Rabbi Rosen, about a
thousand Jews emigrate every year and a similar number die, so that the
community is expected to shrink rapidly in the near future.14 In Poland,
Bulgaria, and Czechoslovakia the Jewish populations are probably less
than 5,000 in each country.
Ironically, as the Jewish populations have begun to disappear, sev­
eral states have taken steps to prop up the religious institutions that
remain. Their motivation seems to be that the existence of Jewish com­
munities is useful for the images of these states in the West and also
has the potential for attracting tourism and other sources of hard cur­
rency. For example, the sole surviving synagogue in Warsaw, once a
city of 300,000 Jews, was abandoned and neglected in the late 1960s. By
1976 a sign was erected near it which announced its imminent remodel­
ing. Nothing was done until shortly before the fortieth anniversary
of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising was commemorated, in the presence
of numerous foreign delegations, in 1983. Since that time, the Polish
authorities have permitted the restoration, with private Jewish funds
from abroad, of Jewish cemeteries and other sites. They have been ac­
commodating of foreign Jewish tour groups and have engaged in some
limited cultural exchanges with institutions abroad, including in Israel.
The study of the history of Polish Jewry had become quite fashionable
in Poland, and institutions and individuals are vying to attract foreign
visitors and invitations to conferences abroad. Of course, the fact that
Poland, along with Hungary, has established an "interests section" in
Israel w ill help in these efforts.
Czechoslovakia has long used the State Jewish Museum—actually a
collection of Jewish sites in the former ghetto of Prague—as a tourist
attraction, and not for Jews alone. After many years without religious
leadership, the Prague community is now being served by a young rabbi,
ordained at the Budapest Jewish Theological Seminary, the only such
76 Comparative Analysis

institution in the socialist countries. (There are less than a score of

students there, including the half dozen or so from Hungary itself.) A
Yugoslav-born rabbi was called back to that country several years ago,
giving Yugoslavia one more rabbi than Bulgaria. The main synagogue
in Sofia is under restoration after many years of disuse and neglect.
In Hungary, aside from the seminary, there is a Jewish museum, a
Jewish high school, and several old-age homes and other institutions.
Most of them are designed for an aging population. In 1987, however,
with the assistance of the Memorial Foundation for Jewish Culture, a
Center for Jewish Studies was opened under the Hungarian Academy of
Sciences. This is designed to serve not only scholars but a broader Hun­
garian public interest in Jewish matters. The Dohanyi Utca Temple,
the second largest synagogue in the world, has been refurbished, and
several Jewish publications of significance have been issued. A ll these
activities have been made possible with external financial assistance.
The most spectacular use of foreign support has been made in Ro­
mania. Aside from the possible external subvention of emigration, the
Joint Distribution Committee and the Memorial Foundation for Jewish
Culture have long been sources of hard-currency income for Romania
through their subsidization of the material and cultural needs of the
community. The central figure in the community is Chief Rabbi Moses
Rosen (at present there is only one other practicing rabbi in the coun­
try). As a member of parliament and with excellent connections to the
highest echelons of party and government, Rabbi Rosen has been able
to create and maintain a national network of educational institutions
—admittedly, operating on a very elementary level for the most part
—eleven kosher restaurants, a Jewish periodical which appears in He­
brew, Yiddish, and Romanian, synagogues in every city with even a
modest Jewish population, and an extensive network of welfare institu­
tions which provide health care, old-age homes, and material assistance
to the needy. This network of institutions has become a showcase for
foreign visitors and continues to attract external support in the m il­
lions of dollars even as the community continues to shrink. The Ro­
manian authorities have reached the conclusion, long resisted by the
Poles, that support for Jewish institutions brings in more benefit than
any problems it might cause.
In sum, at the present time several of the East European states are try­
ing to salvage what remains of their Jewish communities because they
 Jewish Nationality and Religion 77

realize that those communities pose no threat to them but rather repre­
sent potential sources of Western capital and goodwill. The Czechoslo­
vak authorities are still holding to the policies of the 1960s, though
they have great potential to attract Western support.15 In a word, the
Jewish communities of Eastern Europe, if they survive at all, w ill sur­
vive largely as museum pieces. Neither the Jewish religion nor Jewish
nationalism poses any threat to the East European systems, though one
should not discount the possibility that in the future "anti-Semitism
without Jews" could once again reappear in the region. As we have seen,
the socialist regimes have adopted rather varied policies toward their
Jewish populations, and that is another reason to allow for unexpected
twists in the future.
Part II The Soviet Union
4

T h e "R u ssia n O rientation " and the O rthodox

C hurch: From the Early Slavophiles to the
"N eo -Slavo p h iles" in the U S S R

D im itry Pospielovsky

"Neo-Slavophilism" as applied to the contemporary currents of thought

or climate of emotions in the USSR is an umbrella term that may in­
clude the following categories:
1. Rusity or Russites, which in its turn is an umbrella term for
the officially tolerated trends of Russian nationalism and patriotism.
This can then be subdivided into: [a] Soviet-regime-oriented National
Bolshevism, a secular anti-Christian orientation of aggressive state-
nationalism with racist, i.e., neo-Nazi overtones; and [b] cultural-his­
torical pochvennichestvo ("soil-boundism" or nativism) with at least a
respect for the historical, cultural, and moral legacy and contribution
of Orthodox Christianity to Russia past and present. It expresses itself
in such phenomena, for instance, as the All-Russian Society for the
Preservation of Historical Monuments and the Ruralist school of Rus­
sian literature. In its midst there are many sincere religious believers,
practicing members of the Orthodox church.
2. The above trend, in its turn, unofficially merges and overlaps with
the unofficial Christian neo-Slavophilism or Christian pochvenni­
chestvo. The distinctions between the two are not very clear-cut and
are more a matter of degrees than categories, as w ill be shown in this
chapter. But the difference between the tolerated "Russitism " and the
openly and professedly Christian national orientations is that the for­
mer is found in the Soviet press, and is therefore censored and incom­
plete, while the latter is in samizdat alone and therefore much more
fully reflects the proponents' genuine views and ideas. As I shall point
out, there also have been samizdat expressions of the pro-Soviet na­
tional bolshevism.
82 The Soviet Union

When the term "Slavophilism" first appeared in the nineteenth cen­

tury, it merely meant "a Russian orientation."1 This orientation was
not originally colored or shaped by adherence to the Orthodox church
necessarily or, in fact, to any form of Christianity as a personal reli­
gion. The secular Decembrists, whom both Andrzej Walicki and Peter
Christoff see as proto-Slavophiles of sorts,2 while using Christianity
in their propaganda for the soldiers, were mostly deists at best, treat­
ing Christianity as a convenient bridge between themselves and the
masses. So it appears also to have been with the early Slavophiles per se.
According to Aleksandr Koshelev, along with the young Ivan Kireevskii,
who was a member of the Lovers of Wisdom Society (Liubomudiy ) and
later one of the leading Slavophiles, members of the society "esteemed
Spinoza particularly . . . and considered his works much superior to
the Gospels."3 It was in the course of their intensive study of Russia's
cultural heritage and values, that is, an Orthodox Christian culture
and Orthodox Christian values, that the Slavophiles gradually became
converted to a personal Christianity.
A similar process appears to have taken place in the course of the
last twenty years or so. Individuals and groups of "a Russian orienta­
tion" first accepted the church in many instances as a part of Russia's
historical-cultural past or as an instrument for mobilization of the na­
tion, but then gradually became converted themselves. One of the most
salient illustrations was the All-Russian Social-Christian Union for the
Liberation of Peoples (v s k Ii s o n ), the largest known Russian conspirato­
rial organization of the post-Stalin period. There are parallels between
them and the Decembrists: most vsichsoN members came from the
"new aristocracy," that is, from well-established communist families,
and had themselves been strong Stalinist communists in the past;4 like
the Decembrists, they aimed at a military putsch against the regime;
and the v s ic h s o N in its program, too, appealed to Christianity while
most of its members had not been practicing Christians at the time.
It would not be correct to think that the v sic h so N saw the church
only as a state-subordinated instrument under an obeipiokuior. Their
program ascribed to the church the function of moral supervisor over
the government, with veto powers for a special body of church rep­
resentatives.5 In fact, the v sich so N program stressed that the church
would have to be wholly independent of the government in order to
act as a moral /ethical force in society. However, there were other
 The Orthodox Church 83

more self-serving attempts to use the church, e.g., the attempt by the
Antonov-Fetisov National Bolshevik "Russian Party" to marry Lenin­
ism with Slavophilism; or the use of the document called "A Nation
Speaks: A Manifesto of Russian Patriots," to achieve a compromise be­
tween Slavophilism and the racist National Bolshevism.6 As in the case
of the vsithsoN, whose members later became practicing Christians,
so also the ideologue of the Fetisov group, Mikhail Antonov, after a
spell of tortures in psycho-prisons became a deeply religious Orthodox
Christian and apparently has drifted away from his neo-Leninist theo­
cratic theories.7 Even such outwardly secularist discussion on Russian
culture and its past as that which took place in the Komsomol monthly
Molodaia gvaidiia in the late 1960s was in fact an expression in the
only permissible terms of "the spiritual vacuum [of Soviet society]
in search of spirituality. . . . We are in search of the lost ideal. Our
youth cannot find this ideal." The author, an official Soviet literary
critic, Anatolii Petrovich Lanshchikov, then says that this ideal is to be
found in Dostoevsky, Berdiaev, and Leont'ev and concludes, "the role of
Orthodoxy cannot be denied; I don't know what would have happened
to Russia without Orthodoxy."8
There seems to be a repetition of Russian weltanschauung-like
thought patterns: however much a nativist initially may regard reli­
gions as something to be used for secular purposes, the balance tends
to tip eventually in favor of the church, of Christianity. They are seen
as the essentials of any social construction, with all the other politi­
cal, social, or economic elements merely derivative. It is in this sense
that a parallel can be seen between the nativist patterns of thought in
the 1 960s and 1970s and the Russian or Slavophile orientation in the
nineteenth century; or, even more directly, between the nativists and
the thinkers of the religiophilosoph*cal renaissance of the first decade
of this century. They also had started out as Marxists but became con­
verted to Orthodox Christianity.
Russian Westernism, at least since the 1840s, has been predomi­
nantly secular, materialistic, positivistic, and ahistorical in the sense
of rejecting culturally Russian continuity and values. Westernism
preached revolution, i.e., a break with the past.9Therefore, a historical-
religious tendency in Russian thought, a growth of interest in Russia's
past and culture, necessarily meant a turn to some form of Slavophile,
"soil-bound," or similar orientation. As opposed to the imitative char­
84 The Soviet Union

acter of Russian Westernism,10 the Slavophile tradition led to a wealth

of more or less authentic Russian thought, drawing its inspiration not
only from Schelling's philosophy and Goethe's poetry, but also from
"the Russian folklore and traditions . . . the study of the thought of the
Eastern Church Fathers with the subsequent concepts of sobornost', in­
ner freedom and wisdom of heart."11 Slavophilism replaces the abstract
idealism of the German philosophy with existentialism: the pragmatic
observation of life as the starting point for philosophizing. "Russia's
self-consciousness," in the words of Berdiaev, "begins only from the
moment when Ivan Kireevskii and Alexei Khomiakov daringly posed
the question: 'what is Russia, wherein lies her essence, her role and
place in the world?' " 12
The other motive driving many thinking Russians to a Slavophile
orientation rather than to Westernist liberalism is the appreciation
of Marxism as the manifestation of the impasse of the materialistic-
utilitarian school of thought, in the final analysis as an impasse of
the liberal tradition of thought and social construction, albeit in its
extreme (and hence, perhaps, most logical) and utopian reduction. A
person rejecting Marxism out of an existential experience of its appli­
cation often also rejects liberalism, treating Marxism as a branch of the
tree of liberalism, with its materialism, relativism, utilitarianism, and
religion of progress.13
When we speak about the contemporary Slavophile or soil-bound
orientation we must remember that it is the more religiously inclined,
often those who formerly religiously believed in communism, who turn
to religious interpretation of history and culture. Therefore they turn
to the Slavophiles who "were the first to formulate clearly [the idea]
that the core of Russian spiritual [geistig] life is religious, that concern
for Russia and Russian ideals is in essence religious"14 (in the sense of
being theological or value-oriented, tending toward an absolutization of
the goal).15 It follows that a contemporary Russian intelligent in search
of a nationally rooted conceptual framework, turning to the intellectual
world of Khomiakov, Kireevskii, et al., would also enter the world of
their Orthodoxy. In particular, Khomiakov's theology is opposed to the
petrified, imitative Westernist, state-controlled church establishment,
preaching instead broad participation of a free laity in a free communal-
sobornaia church.16 This activist attitude to the church, by no means
 The Orthodox Church 85

displayed or shared by today's official church establishment, often leads

the educated Soviet reader of Khomiakov to some of the following
discoveries:

1. The Orthodoxy of Khomiakov and the church fathers is in sharp

contrast to the enslaved and static official church and in this ideal
Orthodoxy he or she can feel at home. This often leads to conver­
sion.17
2. In the real church, however, he faces the frustrating contradiction
between the ideal church and the reality. On entering the church he
thus faces a new crisis.18
3. Very occasionally this leads to the neophyte's retreat from the
church.19 More often familiarity with Khomiakov et al. invites the
neophyte to be an active Christian, to contribute to the existing
religiointellectual ferment or dissent within the church, or on the
fringes, as it were, of the official church. Intellectually and spiritually,
however, these fringes may be the very core of the church's existence
and of its future, as was the case with the Slavophiles and with the
religiophilosophical renaissance of the early twentieth century.

Such converts found or join unofficial missionary, religiophilosophical,

theological, and social Christian circles, brotherhoods, and movements
that are within or around the church, but structurally independent
from it. This idea was formulated in a 1969-70 samizdat obviously
written by Christian neophytes from a communist establishment back­
ground. This document blamed the current depressed condition of the
established church, its subservience to the regime, on the apostasy of
the radical intelligentsia who had been indifferent to the religious per­
secutions of the past fifty years:

Since we had turned our backs on her in her most difficult hour . ..
we must now on our own regain a Christian way of thinking . . .
without involving the church in our political struggle. Her current
situation . . . precludes the Church from any form of activity. . . .
We are for the Church, but we do not want our hands to be tied
by the same rope as those of the Church. . . . Simultaneously we
are against all forms of sectarianism which leads to an atomiza­
tion of all Christian forces. The early Christians are our model:
86 The Soviet Union

risking only ourselves we are forming tiny fraternities, which w ill

eventually merge together into a single Church Militant.20

Four years later, two religiophilosophic seminars appeared indepen­

dently of each other— one in Leningrad, the other in Moscow. Evi­
dently, Khomiakov, V. Solov'ev, and Vekhi (Signposts) have been among
the main influences in bringing these young people both to God and to
an awareness of Russia.21
Whether the neophyte comes to Christianity via Khomiakov et al.
or encounters the Slavophiles in all their forms after having joined the
church in the above fashion, he draws historiosophic and conceptual
lessons from Slavophile and other similar writings. The neophyte at­
tempts to apply Slavophile models of thought, albeit in a revised form,
to the Russia of the present and the future. He travels again the road of
the liberal Russian intelligentsia later associated with Vekhi who, using
the Slavophilism purged by Solov'ev of its extremist and parochial ele­
ments, moved "from legal Marxism to a Slavophile interpretation of
Orthodoxy"22 and to a soil-bound appeal to the Russian intelligentsia.23
In view of the recurrent interest in Slavophilism in Russia we can
summarize those ideas that have far outlived the original Slavophiles
and some of their utopian dreams and fantasies. These ideas are

1. the philosophical concept of sobornost', i.e., the idea of a free inter­

play between the individual human being and society when both are
sublimated by a common hierarchy of spiritual values;
2 . a n o r g a n ic W e lta n s c h a u u n g , p a r t ly in h e r ite d fr o m th e G e r m a n r o ­
m a n t i c s : r e je c t io n o f r e v o lu tio n a r y d is r u p tio n s o f th e h is t o r ic a l d e ­
v e lo p m e n t o f s o c ie t ie s a n d a c c e p ta n c e o f o n ly e v o lu t io n a r y o r " o r ­
g a n i c " p ro g re ss, e m a n a tin g fro m w i t h i n th e s o c ie t y a n d its e v o lv i n g
in s t it u t io n s .

These ideas and the belief that Russia and Slavdom or the Byzan­
tine Orthodox world have an autonomous historical destiny, different
from that of the Roman-Protestant West, have outlived the original
Slavophilism.24 The concept of the free person in an organic unity with
society, in place of the Western notion of an isolated free individual,
has already appeared in the works of Ivan Kireevskii.25 Overshadowed
by Khomiakov's lapses into collectivism,26 it was revived by Dosto­
 The Orthodox Church 87

evsky, Konstantin Leont'ev, Vladimir Solov'ev, S. Trubetskoi, and, par­

ticularly, N. Berdiaev, Semen Ludvigovich Frank, and Nikolai Losskii of
the Russian religiophilosophical school of this century. It was the "dis­
covery of the Slavophiles as philosophers" that revived and preserved
Slavophilism as a school of thought for the contemporary Russian,17
despite the verdict of both Nikolai Berdiaev and Andrzej Walicki that
Slavophilism was finished for good in the second half of the nineteenth
century.18 It is this revived Slavophilism that has come down to the
neo-Slavophiles of our days, mainly via Vekhi.

THE OLD AND THE NEW

As early as 1905 the experience of the horrors of that year made Ber­
diaev say, "The Slavophiles . . . were idealists . . . influenced by the
idyllic and Schonseeligkeit, whereas it has been our fate to become
tragic realists. . . . The Slavophiles knew nothing . . . of this terror or
sense of tragedy; the ground did not tremble under their feet, nor did the
earth burst into flames as it did under us."29 Today these words seem
even more relevant, and this is precisely what makes contemporary
neo-Slavophilism such an interesting phenomenon. After all the hor­
rors of the twentieth century it still finds inspiration in the optimistic
doctrines of the nineteenth-century Slavophiles—or is it because of the
horrors? Is it a search for escape in dreams?
Elements of dreamy romanticism indeed occasionally can be found
in some neo-Slavophile writings, dreams of a future re-Christianized
Holy Russia, repurified through the bloody sufferings of a revived and
regenerated Russian people.30 But more typically, in contrast to the
original Slavophiles' optimistic faith in the Russia and the Russian
people they knew, there is realistic pessimism in the contemporary neo-
Slavophiles. They fear that the Russian nation is disintegrating both
physically and morally: witness the catastrophic decline in birth rates,
the unprecedentedly high and still growing rate of alcoholism, and
the disintegration of traditional morality and ethics under the impact
of the relativist materialistic Marxist education. The only hope they
express is in an eleventh-hour spiritual and national regeneration. Igor'
Shafarevich believes that nothing short of a divine miracle w ill do and
sees hope in the national and religious revival that is taking place.31
Others believe in the prior necessity of awakening patriotic awareness
88 The Soviet Union

of national traditions and culture that would then awaken an awareness

of Christianity and its values as sources of the national culture.32
Now these fears are expressed quite openly in the Soviet media. Wit­
ness, for instance, such works as V. Rasputin's Fire, V. Astafiev's Sad
Detective Stoiy, and his cycle of short stories under the title of Place of
Action, which all depict a terrible state of moral decline of the nation
and its intelligentsia under the impact of the godless materialistic up­
bringing.33 Even Gorbachev in his informal talk with a group of Soviet
writers on the eve of their All-Union Congress in June 1986 (charac­
teristically unpublished but distributed through samizdat) appealed to
them to help him "save the nation, especially the Slavs, . . . because no
one is suffering [from alcoholism] as much as the Slavonic part of the
nation."34
What even the pessimistic "neo-Slavophiles" share with the original
Slavophilism is the belief that salvation cannot come from the West,
where religion has been reduced to a secular moral normativism,35
and that the two-dimensional world of unprincipled, hedonistic, self­
ish politicking prevents the Western mind's penetration into and real­
ization of the real depth of the contemporary crisis, a crisis requiring
metapolitical solutions.36 Thus the contemporary neo-Slavophiles see a
certain fulfillment of the nineteenth-century Slavophiles' predictions
regarding the West, much more so than did the generation of Vekhi
and Iz glubiny (From the Depths), whose experiences of the Russian
revolutions made them view the West much more optimistically than
their own nation.37
The original Slavophiles maintained that the Russian people were
patriarchal, conservative, antirevolutionary, communal, deeply reli­
gious, and had very strong family ties and family life.38 Vekhi still saw
many of these characteristics in the Russian peasantry but warned that
they were rapidly being destroyed by the secular and morally licentious
Russian intelligentsia (who, as primary schoolteachers, were affecting
the young peasants) and the revolutionary and/or popular scientific
brochures for the people.39 The neo-Slavophiles today regard the nation
as being in a demoralized state, with the villages dying, the peasants
disappearing, and the "strong patriarchal peasant fam ily" practically
nonexistent. ,
In contrast to the early Slavophiles, the neo-Slavophiles do not share
their idealization of the commune. Similarly to their predecessors they
 The Orthodox Church 89

do not occupy themselves too much with economic problems, seeing

these, just like the Polish Solidarity movement, as a derivative of the
general state of society, soluble in the conditions of greater freedom
and autonomy for the individual.40 However, where the neo-Slavophiles
differ considerably from the original Slavophiles is in their attitude
toward the state. As children of the historical experiences of r9r7
and its aftermath, they do not share Aksakov's optimistic anarchism;
they are much closer to Danilevskii's and Leont'ev's etatist revision of
Slavophilism. The typical attitude of the neo-Slavophile or pochvennik
is a recognition of the state's necessity, a pragmatic acceptance of a
strong authoritarian (not totalitarian) state as a pragmatically preferred
alternative to chaos, and a recognition that democracy cannot appear
like a phoenix out of the ruins of totalitarianism. This is the essence of
Solzhenitsyn's message in his famous Letter to the Soviet Leaders, so
tragically and wrongly misinterpreted by Western liberal journalism as
defense of dictatorship.41
In contrast to the "conditional authoritarianism" of the pochvenniki
and the neo-Slavophiles, the National Bolsheviks or neo-Nazis are to-
talitarians. Among the earlier overt expressions of this trend had been
the Fetisov-Antonov group and the wing in the Komsomol represented
by Valerii Skurlatov and his like. The problem of affixing labels is that
even within the National Bolshevik trend the important difference is
between the pro-Christian and the heathen wings, as it were.42 Thus,
the Fetisov-Antonov group and the so-called A Nation Speaks mani­
festo associated with that group had high regard for Christianity, in
particular for the historical Orthodox church, but strictly as a national-
cultural phenomenon, as a national ideology, i.e., subordinate to state
interests; whereas the Komsomol National Bolsheviks have expressed
themselves in racialist terms combined with the cult of force, in the
"best traditions" of National Socialism. Ivan Samolvin's samizdat let­
ter to Solzhenitsyn with its condemnation of "Judeo-cosmopolitan"
Christianity and praise for the allegedly Russian national paganism
should be seen as belonging to that "school of thought."43 It may, in
fact, have originated from or been produced in collaboration with the
professional Soviet atheistic establishment, alarmed by the growth of
attraction of the nation toward the pre- and non-Marxist spiritual cul­
ture, Russia's history, and its religious art and architecture. Rightly
fearing that these are but outward manifestations of a thirst for the
90 The Soviet Union

faith in God, Soviet antireligious publications have not only tried to

separate religious art from Orthodox Christianity, but, particularly on
the approaches toward the Millennium of Russian Christianity, have
been presenting the Orthodox church as a consistent enemy of Russian
national interests and the Russian culture. Contrary to the writings
of such great Soviet culturologists as Dimitry Likhachev, Sergei Aver­
intsev, and a host of lesser scholars and literary figures44 who stress
the fundamental contribution of the Orthodox church to the formation
and development of all aspects of the national culture and the primi­
tive and static character of paganism,45 the professional atheists have
been trying to present paganism as a true representative, creator, and
promoter of the genuine Russian culture 46
The pro-Christian line of the mentioned Fetisov-Antonov group and
A Nation Speaks, on the other hand, has been inherited by Gennadii
Shimanov and the samizdat almanac Mnogaia leta (Many Years), pro­
duced in 1980 -81 by him with a tiny group of associates—inherited,
but also developed and diversified. In contrast to Antonov's attempt to
marry Leninism with Slavophilism, Shimanov and his associates are
no friends of any brand of Marxism, but they are totalitarians inas­
much as they see the Soviet state structure of total control as the only
appropriate one, the only one that would be capable of achieving a re­
conversion of the whole Russian nation back to Orthodox Christianity.
A ll that has to be done is an ideological reconversion of the state leader­
ship from Marxism, which they see as an anti-Russian Judeo-Masonic
internationalist plot, to Russian nationalism, which is inconceivable
without the Orthodox church. But the state machine, its effective po­
lice system, must be left intact in order to effect a reconversion of
the rest of the nation. Although Many Years contains many attacks on
the Jews, even on such Jewish converts to Orthodox Christianity as the
famous Moscow priest, Fr. Aleksandr Men', it is not anti-Semitic in
the conventional meaning of the term. Shimanov has been advocating
the creation of a national home for the unassimilated Jews in Crimea.
His thesis is that the Jews have played a nationally destructive role
in the Bolshevik Revolution and its aftermath (including the "League
of the Militant Godless") because they have lacked a national home
within the confines of the Russian Empire or the USSR (no one, ap­
parently, takes Birobidjan seriously). This is basically a pochvennik
thesis that creativity and constructive contribution to national life
 The Orthodox Church 91

begin with the soil, a sense of belongingness, while cosmopolitanism

breeds disloyalty, indifference, and destructiveness, particularly toward
a national organism with strong traditions and a hierarchy of values
to which such a rootless group does not belong. The attacks of Many
Years against Fr. Men' belong to the same system of reasoning. He is
accused of being too sympathetic toward Roman Catholicism (which
allegedly collaborates with Zionism) and of proposing to Jews con­
verting to Orthodox Christianity not to completely integrate within
Russian Orthodoxy, but to form a Judeo-Christian church which would
retain all the Judaic traditions, like the early St. Jacob's Christian com­
munity of Jerusalem. This, according to the article, makes Fr. Men' an
agent of Zionism whose aim is to prevent full assimilation of Chris­
tian Jews, to preserve them for the subversive Zionist work.47 Lately,
this "semi-Christian" anti-Zionist National Bolshevism has come into
the open in the so-called Pamiat’ (Memory), one of the "nonformal
associations," unofficial but tolerated by the Gorbachev regime. The
movement proclaims Masonic-Zionist internationalist forces as Rus­
sia's enemy number one, allegedly aiming at the destruction of Rus­
sia, Russian culture, and Russian spirituality, including the Orthodox
Christian church. It seems to be a mixed bag of defenders of the church
as a church of God, as well as of extreme nationalists, defending and
trying to preserve church buildings and iconography only as art, as ex­
pressions of the national genius. According to some unofficial reports,
at their meetings speakers have on occasion condemned Christianity
as a Jewish legacy and as too internationalist to serve Russian national
interests, preferring a revival of old paganism. But according to attacks
in the Soviet press, Pamiat’ spokesmen demand return of the church
buildings to the church for the purpose of worship. In the spring of 1987
it was unofficially reported from Moscow that a Pamiat’ street demon­
stration marched on to the city party headquarters to demand official
legislation. Representatives of the organization were received by Boris
Yeltsyn, the first secretary of the Moscow City Party Committee. So
far the organization has not received official recognition, and according
to reliable although unofficial sources, four of its leaders have been ex­
pelled from the Communist party. Pamiat’ condemns the destruction
of churches. Not daring to blame the anti-Russian and antihistorical
policies of the Lenin era on Lenin personally, it accuses the Masons
and Zionists, citing the Jewish names of Kaganovich, who had been in
92 The Soviet Union

charge of Moscow's "reconstruction" from the late 1920s and responsi­

ble for the destruction of most of Old Moscow, Gubelman-Yaroslavsky,
the founder and head of the League of Militant Godless, Ginzburg, the
chief Moscow architect, etc. D. Vasil'ev, the leader of the movement,
however, claims in his public speeches that he is not an anti-Semite,
but an anti-Zionist, which is an anti-Christian and anti-Russian ideol­
ogy, allegedly.48 The movement, no doubt, has defenders and protectors
in high places; it may have been at least to some extent inspired by
Yeltsyn's April 1986 speech at a meeting of the Moscow party's ideo­
logical workers. There he condemned the destruction "of the historical
face of Moscow, in the course of which 2,200 historical monuments had
been annihilated," and complained that the remaining "monuments"
were mostly in a sorry state and "are not being used for the purpose for
which they were built."49 This is a veiled form of saying that churches
should be used as churches—precisely what Pamiat’ has been calling
for, according to the Soviet media. But in May 1987, Pamiat’ was at­
tacked in Komsomol'skaia piavda, a mouthpiece of Yegor Ligachev, the
Communist party central committee second secretary, a hard-line Gor­
bachev antagonist in the Politburo and its chief of ideology.50 Less than
three months later, an unprecedented anti-Yeltsyn outburst appeared
on Piavda's front page. In it, Yeltsyn was criticized for permitting "the
use of streets and squares in Moscow . . . for public meetings of extrem­
ists who kindle international hatred."51 By November 1987 Yeltsyn
was out of office. Whether this is a blow to the fortunes of Pamiat' as
well, it is too early to say. The reactions of the "informal associations"
to Yeltsyn's fall suggest that he had taken a benevolent attitude not
only to Pamiat’ but to all expressions of independent public opinion in
his attempts to speed and deepen the reforms and to curb the overall
monopoly of the nomenklatura. Whereas a 1987 internal Komsomol in­
struction to its cells indicates that just like the National Bolshevism of
the r96os, which had centered on the Komsomol publication Molodaia
gvardiia, so too its new incarnation in the form of Pamiat’ evidently
enjoys the support of the Komsomol leadership. The letter instructs
local Komsomol organizations to render support to and infiltrate those
informal youth associations which "have a patriotic character," but
"actively resist careerists and human-rightists." 51
Now, with the fall of Yeltsyn and Gorbachev's vocal attacks on his
 The Orthodox Church 93

former henchman, the regime seems to be adjusting its position vis-à-

vis both reform in general and Russian nationalism. Further, the pro­
motion of the antinationalist A. Iakovlev to full Politburo membership,
where he is Ligachev's chief lieutenant for ideological matters, does
not seem to strengthen either the religious or the nationalist "lobby."53
The above should illustrate to the reader how the subject of Rus­
sian neonationalism in whatever aspects, and its relationship to the
church, has "suddenly" moved in the last three to four years from what
had seemed to be a purely academic matter to the position of a cen­
tral theme in internal party politics and power struggles. We shall yet
throw a look at how "Russian nationalism" affects the nationality poli­
cies in Gorbachev's Soviet Union. But in the meantime, let us turn to
the more moderate and the more genuinely Orthodox Christian nation­
alists. Even these elements cannot entirely avoid the temptation of
abusing the church for statist-nationalist purposes. Zemlia (The Na­
tive Soil being perhaps the closest translation), a pochvennyi samizdat
periodical published by Vladimir Osipov, a wholly honorable Russian
Christian pochvennik, just before his second arrest and condemnation
to eight years in a strict regime labor camp, contained the following
passage by his wife, Mashkova, cozily misquoting the first chapter of
St. John's Gospel to fit Russia: "Russia is different.. . . In her beginning
there was the Word, the Church, and through her all things were made,
and without her was not any thing made that was made. In her 'was
life; and the life was the light of men.' " She even gave the "appropriate"
gospel reference.54 This is an extreme case; probably more typically rep­
resentative of the neo-Slavophiles is historian Vadim Borisov, who tried
to build a theory of "eternity" and evangelical legitimacy of nations
as collective persons on the basis of such gospel quotations as "Go ye
therefore and teach all nations."55
The nationalist temptation remains strong and often results in a
confused and confusing identification of the nation with its govern­
ment, i.e., what commonly is known among Russians as the tempta­
tion of National Bolshevism in the Soviet context.56 Father Dimitry
Dudko's repentant statement with its anti-Westernist and etatist over­
tones came as the culmination of a long evolution (or, rather, degra­
dation) from Christian love and compassion for the humiliated and
oppressed Russian people, his flock (both real and figurative), to the
94 The Soviet Union

idealization of Nicholas II and imperial Russia. Those close to him be­

gan to notice long before his arrest in January 1980 that he was reacting
positively to the state-nationalist game played with him by the k g b
during periodic interrogations.57 Essentially, the rules of this game are
not unlike those of many contemporary Western Sovietologists who
claim a direct continuity from the czars to the Soviets.58 The k g b N a­
tional Bolshevik line is that a patriot, whether he agrees with Marxism
or not, should support the Soviet state in order not to play into the
hands of Russia's historical enemies.

FROM THE UNDERGROUND TO

"OFFICIAL NATIONALISM"?

The collective or umbrella term for the various brands of Russian nativ-
ists or nationalists trying to operate within or at least on the fringes
of the Soviet establishment, either in the cultural-preservationist or
even a political context, has been the Russites ("The Russian Party"
having a strictly political, predominantly National Bolshevik conno­
tation). The Russites appear to have first come into the open in ^ 6 4 ,
when a group of Moscow University students with Komsomol support
founded the Rodina (Homeland) Society, organizing student pilgrim­
ages to Russia's ancient towns, monasteries, and churches, and collect­
ing donations to restore some of them. Two years later the All-Russian
Society for the Protection of Historical Monuments was founded.59 The
well-known artist Il'ia Glazunov, a Russite with a rather controversial
reputation among the dissidents, appears to have been active in launch­
ing both societies. In this Glazunov seems to have had the backing of
the armed forces and the Komsomol—both concerned with the dimin­
ishing patriotism and growing cynicism of Soviet youth.60 One of the
signs of this backing was a 1967 article by Marshal Konev, who was en­
trusted with the national-patriotic education of youth, complaining of
its pacifism and cosmopolitanism. Soon after this, articles began to ap­
pear in Molodaia gvardiia praising the patriotic role of some medieval
Russian saints. Slavophiles also began to receive sympathetic attention
in some Soviet journals.61
The party leadership seems to have given lusity its support as long as
it appeared that this secular nationalism might be a substitute for the
 The Orthodox Church 95

dying Marxist ideology, a replacement Soviet patriotism with claims

to a national-historical continuity—even to the extent of restoring old
churches as historical monuments to the genius of the first nation of
socialism. But confessions like the one by Lanshchikov cited earlier,
indicating that beyond restoring shells of churches there was a genuine
search for God, began to disquiet Soviet leaders. Also, it soon became
known widely that the Society for the Protection of Historical Monu­
ments counted among its several million members many practicing
Christians trying to preserve churches and religious art as museum
pieces for the time being, in the hope of better times to come. Realizing
this intimate connection between the national-patriotic and religious
orientations in Russian thought, the party attacked Russian nationalist
tendencies in 1970,62 removed the Russite editor of Molodaia gvaidiia
from his job in 19 7 1,63 and once again allowed a particularly vicious
attack on Russian nationalism by the Central Committee's ideological
apparatchik, A. Iakovlev, in r972.64
Also in 1972 harassment of Vladimir Osipov and his samizdat pub­
lication Veche was intensified. The appearance of Veche in the year in
which Molodaia gvaidiia was purged had not been coincidental. Ac­
cording to a source very close to Osipov, the idea was suggested to
him by relatively highly placed lusity, most likely with k g b blessing.
They hoped he would continue the National Bolshevik line of Molodaia
gvaidiia without the commitment of the state and party establishment
to it, since Veche would be a typewritten samizdat publication without
any formal official sanction.65 But Osipov, a genuine Christian and a
Russian patriot (in that order of priorities), resisted National Bolshevik
pressures the best he could. In 1974 he officially closed the publication,
declaring his disagreement with the National Bolshevik chauvinists,
and started, with his Christian Slavophile accomplices, a new journal,
Zemlia. A few months later he was arrested on k g b orders and sen­
tenced by the local Vladimir court to eight years at "strict regime" hard
labor, the shortest term possible as he had already served a seven-year
term under the same article. According to one source, the judges, being
Russian patriots, later sent their apologies to Osipov for being forced to
incarcerate him for actions with which, apparently, they sympathized.66
Some intellectuals see a direct connection between Osipov's arrest
and the downfall of Aleksandr Shelepin and Dimitri Polianskii, two
96 The Soviet Union

former Politburo supporters of the rusity.67 Characteristically, it was

not only the rusity protectors who fell. Iakovlev, likewise, soon after
his attack on Russian nationalism was shipped off as Soviet ambas­
sador to Canada.68 Andropov recalled Iakovlev to Moscow and made
him the head of the Propaganda Department of the Central Commit­
tee. Although Iakovlev has been acting as the Politburo's chief press
spokesman for perestroika, Gorbachev's marked timidity and ambi­
guity regarding the party reform and other concrete aspects of it, as
well as the nonfulfillment of the promises made by Kharchev, head of
the Council of Religious Affairs, to release all religious prisoners, indi­
cate the weakening of the reformist wing with the expulsion of Yelt-
syn.69
Among Veche's supporters and financiers from the influential Russite
circles was the enigmatic Il'ia Glazunov, a nationalist painter. In 1977
he became internationally known with the scandal over his monumen­
tal painting The Mystery of the Twentieth Century, with its idealistic
depiction of Nicholas II, Stolypin, Solzhenitsyn, Einstein, and even
Adenauer, along with the leaders of most other Western states. Sepa­
rated from them by a sea of blood and emerging from it are the figures
of Stalin, Mao, Lenin, Hitler, Mussolini, Roosevelt, and Churchill.70
Above them there is an iconographic, weightless figure of Christ. When
his first one-man public exhibition was about to open, his condition
was that his Mystery be included. When this was rejected, he refused to
hold the exhibition—an unprecedented event in the history of Soviet
art.71 Rumors began to circulate that it was an act of protest against
Osipov's incarceration. This raised Glazunov's credibility in the dis­
sident, nationalist, Christian, and general intelligentsia circles, where
for many years he had been suspected of close links with the k g b . Soon,
however, it transpired that Glazunov's act may have been a publicity
gimmick.
Owing to all these factors, when his one-man exhibition finally
opened at the Moscow Manezh in 1978, organized by the Ministry
of Culture (since the Union of Artists continued to snub Glazunov's
programmatic art, often akin to quasi-iconographic posters), it caused
a sensation. Probably the unprecedented mass of potential viewers
waiting in queues for hours on end (some 700,000 did manage to see
the four-week exhibition) had expected to see the Mystery. But this
 The Orthodox Church 97

time Glazunov agreed to hold the exhibition without it. The viewers
were gratified by large numbers of paintings with religious and biblical
themes, often with Russian national overtones (e.g., The Return of the
Prodigal Son, in which the Son is in jeans and the Father looks like a
traditional Russian peasant surrounded by saints and heroes from Rus­
sian history). The visitors' book at the exhibition was filled to the brim
with nearly 1,500 comments, many signed by groups of visitors. In ad­
dition, according to reports, there were over 3,000 comments on sepa­
rate sheets of paper that, in contrast to the book, have not reached the
West. My own study of 190 random samples from the book produced
at least 32 percent of comments of a clearly national and church orien­
tation. In 8 percent of the cases the religious sentiment predominated;
in others it was nationalism expressed in a context of sorrow for the
state of the Russian nation under the Soviet regime, thanking the artist
for "rehabilitating" the historical Russia and its culture, church, saints,
and other historical figures. It was a clear contraposition of the nation
and the contemporary Soviet state. Twenty-nine percent in this sample
praised Glazunov, 3 percent expressed irritation and lack of confidence
in his sincerity and his kind of patriotism. In the remainder, less than
7 percent of the comments were clearly procommunist and antireli-
gious; of these less than 1 percent (i.e., one-seventh of this 7 percent
category) approved of Glazunov.72
According to samizdat, the visitors' book was taken for special scru­
tiny by a team set up for the purpose by the c p s u Central Committee
Ideological Commission. Perhaps the greater tolerance of nationalisms,
Russian as well as that of other Soviet nationalities, by the Gorbachev
regime and the particular privileged status of Glazunov is a result of
some secret decisions taken after the above study.73 A telling aside may
be in order here. As soon as he sensed that Pamiat’ might be in hot
water, Glazunov disowned it in a Pravda article. He rejected all rumors
and western press allegations as to his leading position in the Pamiat’
movement:

I have always been and remain a Russian, a Soviet citizen and a

patriot, an internationalist. I have no relation to "Pam iat'".
There are many good people among the "Pamiat' " members, pa­
triots of our country, of the Soviet people. It is a pity that occasion-
g8 The Soviet Union

ally opportunists and chauvinists hang on to these healthy forces

of our society.74

Just as he had washed his hands of Osipov when he was in trouble,

Glazunov has now washed his hands of a movement which, if anything,
has been inspired by his chauvinism and anti-Semitism, known to any­
one who had privately spoken with him, and seen by many in some
of his paintings—for instance, the Piodigal Son, where the latter is in
Western jeans while Satan, thrown into the picture, has clearly distin­
guishable Semitic facial features.75

NATIONALISM AND MESSIANISM

Veche has claimed that the rise of Russian nationalism was a reaction
(i ) to the anti-Russian nationalist separatist movements in the national
republics, and (2) to such anti-Russian writings as The Program of the
Democratic Movement, V. Grossman's Forever Flowing, Amalrik's Will
the Soviet Union Survive until 1984, and the "Metanoia" symposium.
A Nation Speaks is said to have been the first immediate response
to these writings.76 This could be compared to the effect of Chaadaev
on the birth of Slavophilism in the nineteenth century as a coherent
school of thought. Indeed, if Amalrik, the Program, and Grossman can
be seen as successors to the various brands of the secular and posi­
tivist Westernism of the nineteenth century, the "Metanoia" authors
are closer to Chaadaev. They appear to be Orthodox Christians, reli­
giously oriented, who see no hope for the future outside a historical
Christian context. Like Chaadaev, they are pro-Western in their "histo-
riosophy" and highly critical of the Russian church-state history; they
criticize Russia's imperial expansion, subjugation of other nations, and
other historical aspects. Like Solzhenitsyn, they call for repentance for
these national sins and for a spiritually regenerated intelligentsia. In
contrast to Chaadaev, however, they condemn messianism, seeing in it
a rationale for imperialism.
The relative absence of messianism (in the sense of a national call­
ing to save the world) in much of the neo-Slavophile and pochvennye
writings distinguishes them from their nineteenth-century forebears.
 The Orthodox Church 99

Although Veche, a free forum for any Russian-oriented thought, had

published a number of articles with clearly messianic overtones, its
editor, Vladimir Osipov, declared full support for Solzhenitsyn's Letter
to the Soviet Leaders. The Letter condemned all aggression in foreign
policy, preached withdrawal from all foreign territories and noninterfer­
ence in the affairs of other states (at least until Russia's own house had
been put in order, spiritually and morally), and advocated secession of
all those Soviet territories that so desired. Veche itself editorially con­
demned Soviet abuse of Russian national interest in suppressing other
nations and proclaimed the principle of voluntary association based on
respect for the interests, culture, and autochthonous identity of each
nation, however small.77 Even writers with Slavophile overtones who
do cherish some elements of messianism clearly reject its Pan-Slavist
or Katkovian-Danilevskian model of military conquest. One writes
that Russia is a broader concept than the area speaking the Russian
language or than the borders of the Russian Soviet Federated Socialist
Republic (r s f s r ). He says that it is a cultural subcontinental phenome­
non, but able to attract and assimilate other nations only through its
spiritual culture: the church, music, and literature. Once these are sup­
pressed and the official state deprived of these categories, the Soviet
Marxist state can only disseminate antagonism and anti-Russian seces­
sionist feelings among the other nations held together by the regime.78
Another author foresees a regenerated Russian Orthodox state born out
of the present suffering as a moral attraction to other nations in the
future, not at all as an aggressor subordinating other nations by force.79
M. Agursky, a Jewish sympathizer of the moderate Russian Slavo­
philes, explains the revival of Russian nationalism and Slavophilism
as the defensive action of a great nation in danger of biological and
moral drowning in the Soviet sea, helped by the deliberate melting-pot
policies of the Soviets.80 Osipov and other Veche and Zemlia contribu­
tors visualize the Russian nation as being in danger of biological and
moral extinction because of drunkenness and low birthrates as well as
the factors named by Agursky. This is how Osipov justifies his appeal
to patriotism and nationalism: it is necessary to regenerate the na­
tion morally to stop its national suicide. For him personally, he writes,
Christ and Christianity are much loftier than the ideas of nation and
nationalism. But, writes Osipov, the nation en masse has been system­
ioo The Soviet Union

atically de-Christianized for too long to respond to a direct Christian

appeal; the immediate need is the interlinked problem of biological
and moral survival of the physically (low birth rates) and morally (alco­
holism, high crime rate) declining Russian nation.81
Another Veche author takes an even dimmer view: "The national
emotions of the Russians . . . have been more undermined than those
of other nations; therefore, it is hardly possible to unite Russians under
the colors of patriotism. But . . . there is simply no other way out. . . .
The Russian nation . . . m u st. . . purge itself of its ignorance of nation­
alism, return . . . to the Orthodox Church and its national culture."82
The identification of the Russian nation and Orthodox Christianity is
incontrovertible in his eyes.
Many argue that even in a purely Soviet context the Russian nation
is more underprivileged than others: it alone lacks a national capital
and a national Russian communist party, i.e., it lacks a channel for
the presentation of national grievances and for the defense of the local
interests of ethnic Russia within the Soviet power echelons.83
The concern for self-preservation caused some subtly racist articles
in Veche, including some by and about Lev Gumilev, the Leningrad
history professor who in his "ethnos" theories argues that "overhybrid­
ization" leads to loss of a sense of national identity and culture in a
nation, eventually depriving it of its self-preservation instinct and the
w ill to stand up for itself. Veche also picked up K. Leont'ev's theories
according to which the survival and development of human culture
depend on the dynamic flowering of individual, different local and na­
tional cultures, while mechanical assimilation, cultural fusion, and
homogenization of all kinds lead to the death of culture.84 Favorable
comments on both authors and their frequent citation in Veche should
indicate where many of the contemporary neo-Slavophiles' sympathies
lie. It ought to be stressed, however, that Leont'ev was a defender of
national individualism and opposed artificial Russification of the other
nationalities of the empire. He died an Orthodox monk, but philosophi­
cally was a proto-Nietzschean and proto-Eurasian. His pessimistically
prophetic visions regarding the twentieth century fit the moods of the
contemporary Russian patriot more than the optimism of the classical
Slavophiles.
 The Orthodox Church ioi

THE SEMINARS

The short-lived Zemlia, replacement for Veche, in its "programmatic"

article signed by the editor Osipov and his deputy V. S. Rodionov, stated
that (i ) in isolation from Christianity nationalism is satanic and would
throw the Russian nation into a new abyss; (2) the main aim of Zemlia
was the regeneration of ethics, morality, and the national culture; (3)
these national aims could not be achieved without constitutional guar­
antees of human rights and without freedom of expression.85 This triad
is characteristic of the religiophilosophic seminars mentioned earlier.
Although there is no evidence of personal or organizational connec­
tions, there is continuity and evolution: vsxhsoN was rounded up in
1967, and the following year the Chronicle of Current Events began to
be published. Although the democratic movement it represented was
apolitical and areligious, its emphasis on the autonomous human per­
son (the struggle for individual human rights) stemmed from Chris­
tian ethics and eventually led many of its participants to the church.86
The samizdat document discussed earlier on the necessity of founding
Christian seminars and fraternities organizationally independent from
the church came from the grass-roots democratic movement around
1970 and can be seen as a forerunner of the religiophilosophic seminars
In i97r Osipov began to publish his neo-Slavophile Veche. Although
the journal was critical of the democratic movement's secularism and
cosmopolitanism, its editor (and probably many of its contributors)
continued to cooperate with the "democrats" by signing petitions on
behalf of those persecuted and oppressed. In 1974 the genuine Christian
Slavophile Veche participants87 parted with the National Bolsheviks.
The sterility of the latter is illustrated by the fact that after producing
only one issue of Veche (mostly made up of materials prepared by Osi­
pov) they folded. The same year saw the publication of the much more
genuinely soil-bound Christian Orthodox Zemlia and the appearance
of the religiophilosophic seminars in Leningrad and Moscow.88
The Leningrad seminar was inspired, in part, by the very popular lec­
tures of the young Professor Boris Paramonov of the Leningrad Univer­
sity Faculty of Philosophy (1969-74). He incorporated into his courses
"topics from the history of Russian religious thought," causing a sharp
rise in students' interest in the subject. (There were long waiting lists
for Bulgakov's and Berdiaev's books at the university library.) In the
102 The Soviet Union

spring of 1972 Paramonov even was allowed, as an experiment, to give

a specialized seminar on Russian religious philosophy; the following
year it was not allowed to be repeated. In 1974 Paramonov was dis­
missed from his teaching post and soon compelled to emigrate.89
The topics raised by Paramonov in the overcrowded auditorium at the
university now moved to a basement apartment occupied by Lev Rutke-
vich, a young philosophy and psychology lecturer. It was there that the
religiophilosophic seminar started to meet as a regular central event of
an unofficial Movement for Spiritual Culture. The movement began to
issue literary, artistic, and religiophilosophic samizdat journals, to or­
ganize unofficial exhibitions of unofficial art, etc. At first the seminar
topics included non-Marxist philosophy in general, Oriental religions,
and Freudianism, but the greatest interest was evoked by studies of the
church fathers.90 From there it moved on to the study of the Orthodox
church, Slavophilism, and Russian religious philosophy, merging again
with the traditional Russian Christian pochvennichestvo. The move­
ment also gave birth to a feminist movement and its journals: Woman
and Russia, which included both Christian and secular orientations,91
and Maria, its title alluding to Mary Magdalene and the myrrh-bearing
women, emphatically stated the strong Christian persuasion of its con­
tributors.92
The Movement for Spiritual Culture did not enclose itself in the
ivory tower of abstract intellectualizing. Beside the facts that its activi­
ties and exhibitions embraced over two thousand people (including visi­
tors) and led most of its participants to the church, its members also
participated in general human rights activities. Two of its members,
artists, were imprisoned for painting slogans in huge letters on the
walls of Leningrad public buildings and public transport vehicles de­
manding freedom for Tverdokhlebov, the imprisoned founder and secre­
tary of the Moscow branch of Amnesty International. Another member,
the poet Iuliia Voznesenskaia, was sent into Siberian exile; later she
was imprisoned for refusing to incriminate the painters and eventually
emigrated in 1980.93
The founder of the Moscow seminar was Aleksandr Ogorodnikov, a
former student at the All-Union Institute of Cinematography, expelled
in 1973 for "ideological reasons." From its very beginning the Moscow
seminar had a more activist orientation than the Leningrad one. Its
Statement of Principles declared, inter alia, the following aims:
 The Orthodox Church 103

III.
1 . Fraternal Christian communion of love . . . re-establishment
of Christian communities [on the basis of existing parishes
and otherwise],
2. Construction of an Orthodox Weltanschauung and . . . theo­
logical education. The Russian émigrés have preserved the
very depth of our national soul, the Russian religious thought.
Familiarizing ourselves with their help with the depths of
Orthodoxy, we must carry its burden.
3. The duty of missionary service . . . [to be realized by the] laity
who are the freest members of the Church. The consolida­
tion and restoration of the Christian community . . . inside
and around the church walls is necessary for a more fruitful
service to God and. to fellow-man. . . .

V. On Russia. . . . The Imperishable beauty of the Church revealed

Russia for us. . . . To love Russia means to take up its Cross.
. . . We are united in our:
1. Love for Mother-Russia.
2. Fraternal love for the Christians of all nationalities.
3. Respect for the national dignity of different ethnic groups.94
In one of its meetings the seminar planned a tentative program that
was to include summer camps for children and youth to be run as
Christian communes. The seminar published a journal, Obshchina
(Commune), and bought a village hut for Ogorodnikov not far from
Moscow with the aim of establishing it as an embryonic Christian com­
mune. Ogorodnikov tried to register on this property as an individual
farmer living off the garden plot, but the application was refused and
in 1978 he was sentenced to one year at hard labor allegedly for para­
sitism. A year later he received an additional sentence of six years at
"strict regime" hard labor to be followed by three years' internal exile,
allegedly for antistate propaganda while in camp. Nevertheless, the
seminar attempted to continue to function even after Ogorodnikov's
incarceration. At least eight other members of the seminar were also in­
carcerated, while others were expelled from colleges or fired from jobs.95
The seminar received harsher treatment than its Leningrad counter­
part, which continued to publish various literary and philosophical
104 The Soviet Union

samizdat symposia, and where the artists' offshoot was even allowed to
register officially in 1981 as a "Fellowship of Experimental Representa­
tive A rt" (t e ii in its Russian acronym), which in 1987 joined the newly
formed Leningrad Cultural-Democratic Movement, whose council rep­
resents a host of nonformal groups in the city, and which publishes the
samizdat bulletin Meikurii (Mercury).
The reasons for the particularly harsh treatment of the Ogorodnikov
seminar may have been its emphasis on social activism, on a wide
social-Christian mission, and its greater geographical expansion, en­
compassing Moscow, Leningrad, Ufa, Kazan', Smolensk, etc.96
The declaration of the Moscow seminar on Russia and its practi­
cal striving for the soil and community soboinost’ (the village hut,
the attempt to found Christian communes) indicates its rootedness in
Russian Slavophilism in its purer form. This was articulated further
by its leader, Vladimir Poresh, a bibliographer from Leningrad, after
Ogorodnikov's incarceration. At his trial in Г979 he declared that by
participating in the seminar he acted "in the national interest of Rus­
sia." The national interest is neither chauvinistic nor collectivistic in
this context, for in his last statement Poresh spoke about a distant aim
of creating "a Christian community outside national boundaries," ex­
pressing full solidarity with the struggle of the Italian Catholic youth
movement Communione e Liberta to liberate humanity from the col­
lectivistic tyranny of society.97

IN LIEU OF A CONCLUSION

To recapitulate the main features of the neo-Slavophile or soil-bound

trends in Russia, in the broad sense of these terms:
x. They do not share the optimism of the early Slavophiles, only their
hopes—hopes of regeneration.
2. Their nationalism is predominantly defensive; we may call it a na­
tionalism of survival.
3. Apart from the National Bolsheviks or neo-Nazis, the soil-bound and
neo-Slavophile elements are not messianically expansionist and are
opposed to the retention of the empire by coercion and to any forms
of imposed or accelerated assimilation. They uphold the views of
K. Leont'ev that reducing nations, national cultures, and individuals
 The Orthodox Church 105

to a faceless common denominator would end human development

and spell its moral death.
4. Again, except for the extremists, the neo-Slavophiles and pochven-
niki generally have more faith in constitutional guarantees and the
rule of law than did the original Slavophiles. In this they follow the
Solov'evian-Vekhian revision of Slavophilism. The experience of So­
viet arbitrariness may also have taught them a lesson. But like their
forebears, they attach more value to personalities in social life and
politics than to institutions.98
5. They have no faith in collectivism per se.
6. There is no trace of Aksakov's "conservative anarchism" (Walicki's
term) in any of the variants of neo-Slavophilism, nationalism, or
pochvennichestvo. All of them recognize the necessity of a strong
government with broad regulatory powers in the social and eco­
nomic life of the nation.

Is the movement important? A movement that tries to root itself

in national traditions, culture, and spirituality has more chance of a
response from the nation than one that propagates concepts, however
attractive, that have no backing in national traditions (e.g., Western lib­
eralism). Although all these groupings are unofficial, the toleration of
the so-called nonformal groups by the current regime, their prolifera­
tion, and their public support by such influential figures as Likhachev
adds new importance to them. The victory of the ecological group in
their hard and bitter ten-year struggle against the reversal of northern
rivers and the positive response of the Soviet media, praising this ini­
tiative "from below" and encouraging such activization of the public
for the future, is another pointer to the unprecedented importance of
unofficial or nonformal movements in the era of perestroika."
The potential "mass platform" envisaged by the pochvenniki is reli­
gious believers, members of the historically national Orthodox church,
rejuvenated by neophytes.100
Whereas in the past explicit discourses on the interrelationship of the
national and religious regeneration could be found only in samizdat,
and implicit ones only in some Ruralist writings, explicit apologia for
the church and her positive contribution to the nation and its moral
health now appear in the official media and public statements.101
Except for the already discussed fringe groups, such as Pamiat’,
io6 The Soviet Union

which, as we have seen, has at least so far been held in check by

the Soviet leadership, both samizdat and officially published nativists
(pochvenniki) condemn nationalistic exclusivism of all kinds. Whereas
cosmopolitanism, in their view, is a materialistic category of indiffer­
ence to fellow man and hence to one's nation and its spiritual culture,
treatment of the nation as an aim in itself leads to Nazism.
Dimitry Likhachev, presiding over the semigovernmental Culture
Fund (which, for the first time in the history of the USSR, includes a
churchman in its Presidium, Metropolitan Pitirim), draws a distinction
between patriotism and nationalism. A patriot, writes Likhachev, loves
his country and equally respects and loves the cultures and national
expressions of other nations. A nationalist has an atavistic pride in his
country, while hating or despising other nations.1“ In another article,
a few months later, he declares the church, the monasteries, religious
art, and music as the sources and the most fundamental elements of
Russian culture, condemns atheists as cultural nihilists and ignora­
muses, and makes clear his agreement with those multiple writers to
Soviet newspapers who "maintain that formerly it was the Church who
resisted evil, she possessed the experience of moral upbringing."103
Another author praises the Holy Trinity-St. Sergius Monastery and
its fourteenth-century founder, St. Sergius, as the greatest contributors
to the national culture and to the formation and salvation of the Rus­
sian nation, both morally and in terms of participating in its physical
defense or directly supporting it from the time of the Kulikovo Battle
against the Tatars in 1380 to the Napoleonic Wars. The article con­
demns the forced closure of the monastery and its seminaries in 1919,
the liquidation of its great library in 1935, and writes with great re­
spect about its present monks and seminarians, claiming that today's
"life is . . . so mysterious and multifaceted, that even now at the end
of the 20th century there is room for a monk in it." The monks he
chooses to describe are veterans of World War II, who had been ordi­
nary Soviet kids, went to war, fought bravely, gained many medals, but
when demobilized chose to join the monastery and/or to study at the
seminary.104
The above statements should not be seen as the equivalent of the
opinions or policies of the present Soviet leadership. In fact, most of
the pro-Christian writings have been subsequently attacked in the So­
viet press, not only by the atheistic establishment but even by such
 The Orthodox Church 107

party leaders as Egor Ligachev, the c p s u Central Committee second

secretary.105 What is significant, however, is not only that Christian
apologia continue to be tolerated in the Soviet media, although so far
as an exception rather than the rule. Moreover, rebuttals to some of the
atheists' writings and general criticism of the primitive level of official
atheism are also printed.106 This seems to indicate that somewhere at
the top of the Soviet leadership there is a recognition that the national
moral crisis is a very serious one and that the "code of communist
morality" is unable to cure it. In despair their eyes may be turning to
the church, similarly to Stalin's during World War II.107
The other related topic—the existence of national tensions in the
USSR—is now quite openly admitted by the establishment. What is
particularly important is that not everything is blamed on the "bour­
geois nationalists." Nationalistic demonstrations on the anniversary
of the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact in the Baltic Republics and the lay­
ing of wreaths with "bourgeois" national Latvian colors at the Riga
Monument of Liberty in 1987 were condemned in the Soviet press. But
the demonstrations were not brutalized, the wreaths were not removed
(at least not immediately after the ceremonies), and the subject was
discussed in the Soviet press in an apologetic-defensive tone for the
pact. Moreover, many articles have appeared criticizing those Russians
living in the non-Russian republics who do not bother to learn local
languages. Speakers at the May 1987 plenary meeting of the board of
the Soviet Union of Writers openly condemned attempts to Russify
non-Russian nationalities, while at the same time admitting that the
Russians of all nationalities of the Soviet Union are the least permitted
to express their national identity. Every time a Great Russian writer
"confesses a natural admiration and love for his people . . . whispers
accusing him of Great Power—'isms' can immediately be heard." Yet,
says the Ukrainian writer Borys Oleinyk, similar statements by authors
of other nationalities are taken for granted.108
At that plenum and elsewhere in the Soviet press it has lately been
suggested that the teaching of the local languages in the Russian schools
situated in the relevant republics be made obligatory from the first
grades of the primary schools, and Russians living in the non-Russian
republics must become absolutely bilingual.
To conclude, it should probably be mentioned that the current So­
viet government is ethnically dominated by the Slavic group of the
io8 The Soviet Union

Soviet population, with probably a higher proportion of Great Russians

than ever before in Soviet history. The Russite "lobby" in that new
ruling elite is more influential than ever before, even if Gorbachev per-
sonally is not a part of it, which is not certain.
So where are the "prophets" who were predicting a doomsday for
the whole world once the Russian nationalists replaced the allegedly
"internationalist" Brezhnev cohort?
5

C ath o licism and N ation alism in Lithuania

K estu tis K. G irn iu s

It is widely held that nationalism and the Catholic church in Lithuania

are intimately related, that their interests are virtually indistinguish­
able, and that Lithuanian nationalist activity is to a large degree the
defense of the church and religious rights against the repressive policies
of the Soviet regime. Several factors are responsible for the prevalence
of such beliefs. Lithuania is, or once was, a predominantly Catholic
nation. Catholic priests and laymen have been the prime catalysts of
an opposition movement that accounts for a disproportionately large
share of dissident activity in the Soviet Union. The first new wave of
broadly based protests in the republic, the mass petitions of the late
1960s, centered on religious rights.1 The Chronicle of the Catholic
Church in Lithuania was the first, and remains the most prominent,
Lithuanian samizdat publication, although more than fifteen samizdat
journals saw the light of day in Lithuania before most were repressed
in the early 1980s. The Communist party has frequently noted that
the church portrays itself as the true guardian of the nation's cultural
heritage2 and has frequently accused priests of instigating nationalism
among the faithful. In turn some Catholics insist that only believers
can be Lithuanian patriots.
Nationalism and Catholicism are indeed related in contemporary
Lithuania, yet the relationship is more complex and more contingent
than popular belief would have it. Considering both to be among the
most pernicious vestiges of the bourgeois past whose expeditious eradi­
cation is the ideological order of the day, the party has used its power,
propaganda apparatus, and ability to control the sources and flow of
information to place both Lithuanian nationalism and Catholicism on
no The Soviet Union

the defensive. Lithuanian dissidents are, and know themselves to be,

engaged in a holding action, a dogged attempt to forestall further en­
croachments of the regime on either the national consciousness or the
rights of the church. They are militant, but chiefly in the defense of
a narrow range of minimal rights and vital interests whose continued
preservation they believe to be necessary conditions for the survival
of the nation and the church. The defensive position into which they
have been forced accounts for much of their interaction and the rec­
ognition of the mutuality of their interests. The long-range goals of
many Catholics and nationalists are by no means identical and can
be defined without reference to one another, but in the present cir­
cumstances nationalist and Catholic aims converge because of mutual
self-interest, in particular because of each group's need for allies and
friends. The church has the support of many nationalists, not so much
because of a belief that Lithuanian nationalism and Catholicism are
inherently related, but because the activity of the church directly or
indirectly furthers nationalist goals. In turn, the church welcomes the
efforts of nationalists to preserve Lithuanian historical consciousness
and traditions, a process that in present circumstances frequently em­
phasizes Lithuania's ties to Western Europe and Catholicism's central
role in national life.
Patriotic slogans find ready resonance in most strata of Lithuanian
society, while even many atheists quietly wish the church well. Esti­
mates of the number of Catholics have been available for some time,
but it was difficult to determine the extent to which the specific con­
cerns of nationalist dissidents were common to a broader spectrum of
the population. The number of active dissidents has always been quite
small, while Lithuanian intellectuals have been particularly averse to
falling from the party's good graces and had diligently eschewed dis­
cussion of Soviet nationality policy. Gorbachev's campaign for glas-
nost’ and perestroika has changed matters somewhat. In particular the
freedom granted to openly discuss many aspects of Lithuanian history
and its cultural heritage has shown a remarkable unanimity between
the arguments of anonymous contributors to samizdat and some of
the most eminent men of letters in the republic. Yet Gorbachev's re­
forms are not without danger to the alliance between Catholics and
nationalists that is a salient feature of the Lithuanian dissident move­
ment. Greater government toleration of criticism may encourage hith­
 Lithuania 111

erto silent individuals to enunciate views on national questions that

challenge the importance of Catholicism as an element of national
identity.

NATIONALISM AND COMMUNISM DEMARCATED

Communist dogma insists that both nationalism and religion are ves­
tiges of the bourgeois past doomed to an inevitable, albeit perhaps not
immediate, demise. The destruction of the antagonistic relations of
production characteristic of capitalist society should have eliminated
all or most of the objective conditions necessary for the flourishing
of religion and nationalism.3 According to Lithuania's communists,
the continued viability of religion and nationalism is not to be ex­
plained by the fact that they are components of the superstructure and
thus most independent of the economic base. Religious and nationalist
sentiments are said to be incited by the actions of external reactionary
forces, for whom religion, and even more nationalism, serve as basic
weapons for spearheading the ideological assault on communism.4
The party has made little effort to give a clear definition of national­
ism, preferring to use it as a broad brush with which to tar opponents
of Soviet nationality policy. According to a leading Lithuanian theore­
tician, Genrikas Zimanas, manifestations of nationalism include the
failure to appreciate the achievements of Soviet nationality policy or
those of the other Soviet republics, distrust of the exchange of cadres
among the republics, "localism," false pride in national achievements,
cosmopolitanism, national nihilism, failure to actively struggle against
bourgeois ideology, excessive ardor in the fight against bourgeois ves­
tiges, and others.5 Each of these broad categories is further subdivided
into more specific acts of commission and omission. This conception
of nationalism is not only so encompassing that almost any disagree­
ment with government or party policy can fall under the rubric of
nationalist activity, but also extremely equivocal. The commendatory
characteristic of struggling against nationalism can easily become, or
be classified as, excessive ardor in fighting against bourgeois vestiges,
while condemnation of false national pride can be construed as na­
tional nihilism, and so on.
If communists consider nationalism a pernicious but doomed ide­
ology, Lithuanian dissidents identify nationalism with a patriotism
112 The Soviet Union

whose object of loyalty is the nation and not the Soviet state. Attitudes
condemned by communists gain the approval of nationalists, but both
use the term "nationalism" even more loosely than the diffuse nature
of the concept warrants. In order to bridge the gap between commu­
nist and dissident conceptions, the following definition of nationalism
w ill be used in this chapter: nationalism is a set of beliefs and atti­
tudes according to which certain political and cultural values believed
to be essential for the flowering of a nation are considered to have such
intrinsic worth that actions and policies that endanger them are held
to be impermissible in most circumstances, no matter how beneficial
their economic and other consequences may be. The idea underlying
this definition is the nationalist's belief that certain actions fostering
national values should be granted protection similar to that which the
constitutions of many Western nations extend to the freedom of speech
and of the press, to the right of free assembly and worship, and others.6
For example, nationalists may proscribe large industrial developments
in their homeland if they require a large influx of non-native workers
who sharply reduce the share of the indigenous nationality and thus
inhibit the development of the national culture. The various economic
benefits of such industrial developments, including a rise in the stan­
dard of living of the native population, are considered to be inadequate
compensation for the perceived harm to certain cultural values.7
The proposed definition has its advantages. It captures the insistence
of Lithuanian nationalists that values, such as the preservation of the
native language, cultural traditions, and historical consciousness, can­
not be treated as ordinary inputs when calculating the burdens and
benefits of possible government decisions or policies. Greater satisfac­
tion of interests in other fields or gains accruing to other groups of
individuals cannot be considered adequate compensation for the harm
caused to these values. The definition accounts for an important aspect
of the Soviet conception of nationalism, namely, that the nationalist is,
as the Soviets claim, a localist for whom all-union interests are subor­
dinate to local concerns that warrant special consideration. Finally, in
contrast to definitions suggesting that nationalism is somehow morally
suspect, the proposed conception is compatible with the widely ac­
cepted metaethical view that moral principles must be universalizable,
i.e., they must be applicable to all relevant persons in similar circum­
stances. Nationalists do not claim that only their nation's cultural and
 Lithuania 113

political values need special protection but rather that similar values
of all nations deserve like consideration. Universalizability is violated
only if nationalists claim for their nation rights and privileges that they
are unwilling to grant other nations that are in similar circumstances.
Although the term Catholic, unlike nationalism, can be given a more
straightforward definition, confusions and ambiguities arise if one as­
sumes that there is a clearly circumscribed set of nontheological beliefs
that can be classified as Catholic, and that most Catholics do indeed
profess such beliefs. Both assumptions are false. Catholics do not be­
long to an ideologically monolithic organization whose members es­
pouse identical or nearly identical beliefs concerning most important
political, cultural, or social questions. Catholics need assent to only a
limited number of theological dogmas. There can be and are Catholic
socialists and fascists, chauvinists and cosmopolitans. Even in cases
where tradition or popular opinion classifies as Catholic some of the
nontheological teachings of the church, adherence to such beliefs is
neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for being a Catholic. A
practicing Catholic may reject most of the political views commonly
associated with the church, while an atheist can have sympathy for the
church as an institution and respect for its social doctrines.
The Lithuanian nationalist movement can be considered to be Catho­
lic in two ways. On the one hand, it can be held to be Catholic, or
predominantly Catholic, because most nationalists are more or less
practicing Catholics. On the other hand, the nationalist movement
may be called Catholic because most nationalists, irrespective of their
religious beliefs, support the church as an institution that is fostering
national values. Practicing Catholics constituted an overwhelming ma­
jority of the editors and contributors of samizdat articles and journals,
even those that did not openly identify with the purely institutional
or religious concerns of the church.8 Catholics probably constitute the
majority of active nationalist dissidents, usually interpreting national­
ism in a secular fashion that does not make Catholicism a necessary
condition for true patriotism.

THE CATHOLIC CHURCH

Some Lithuanian Catholics would, I suspect, assent to the rather radi­

cal view expressed in samizdat that the Lithuanian nation w ill never
1 14 The Soviet Union

become atheist because it w ill die out if it does not remain Chris­
tian.9 A more moderate view claims that Catholicism is an important
barrier to Russification and thus a major, if not the chief, defender of
national interests.10 Yet several decades ago even the more moderate
claim would have been controversial. The church's ability to promote
such a self-image is an impressive and recent accomplishment.
The Catholic church has not always been a unifying factor in Lithua­
nian life, nor has its role vis-a-vis Lithuanian nationalism been un­
equivocal. In the second half of the nineteenth century many priests,
in particular most of the church's hierarchy, viewed the Lithuanian
national renaissance with a great deal of skepticism, fearing that a
separate national identity, based to a large degree upon a conscious
opposition to Polish influence in social and cultural life, would lead
to a weakening of Catholicism. For many of the older and thoroughly
Polonized priests, being a Catholic and having a pro-Polish orientation
were virtually indistinguishable, and renunciation of Polish influence
was tantamount to apostasy.
The left wing of the Lithuanian national renaissance movement, edu­
cated in Russian universities, generally espoused a materialist world­
view. Many of the liberal intelligentsia not only objected to the church
being granted a leading role in Lithuanian life but also avowed mili-
tantly anti-Catholic views. They claimed that the Lithuanian nation
could flourish in cultural matters only if it were freed from the influ­
ence of "religious superstition."
While being wary of the pitfalls and inaccuracies that plague broad
historical generalizations, one can nonetheless claim that from about
r8<?o to 1945 a deep-seated conflict between Catholics and anticlericals
about the rightful role of the church in Lithuanian society permeated
much of Lithuanian cultural and political life.11 Catholics insisted that
the church should be granted various rights and privileges, such as
financial support for religious instruction; the right to register births,
marriages, and deaths; as well as the right to perform other secular
functions because the overwhelmingly Catholic population was said
to support such measures. The first constitution of the newly inde­
pendent Lithuanian state extended such rights to the Catholic church
and other denominations. The anticlericals condemned the bestowal of
these privileges as unjustified encroachments of the church upon civil
society, incompatible with true freedom of conscience. The polemics
 Lithuania 115

between Catholics and anticlericals were strident, often bitter, gen­

erally unfruitful, and to some degree responsible for the failure of
democracy in Lithuania. So deep were the divisions that even during
the Nazi occupation resistance organizations were divided along ideo­
logical lines. Communist agents, who infiltrated the postwar partisan
movement, tried unsuccessfully to revive the old ideological discords.12
In the postwar period a number of factors have contributed to bring­
ing about a reassessment of the Catholic church that has led to the
almost universal recognition, outside party circles, of its role in foster­
ing Lithuanian national interests. First, even during the darkest days
of Stalinist terror the church retained some independence from the
dictates of the Kremlin. The church suffered, its members were per­
secuted, its rights transgressed, but its functioning remained uninter­
rupted and was never banned by the authorities. The church was and
remains the only important institution in Lithuania not subject to di­
rect party control and having genuine historical traditions and ties to
Lithuania's noncommunist past.13
Second, some Soviet measures directed against the church as a secu­
lar institution have inadvertently strengthened its moral authority. The
church's financial power and political influence during the years of in­
dependence (1918-40) led to a number of real and imagined abuses that
were criticized by Catholics and anticlericals alike. A significant per­
centage of priests were perceived to be more concerned with secular
affairs and their personal finances than with their pastoral duties. By
expropriating church lands and property, eliminating all forms of in­
come other than voluntary donations from the faithful, and banishing
priests from public life, the party made moot many of the previous
criticisms. Priests could no longer be accused as easily of worldly am­
bitions and indifference to spiritual matters.
Third, the church has become a symbol of the nationalist opposition
in part by default. Since the defeat of the Lithuanian partisan move­
ment, no other significant center of opposition has emerged. Lithuanian
liberals and intellectuals have refrained almost universally from open
dissident activity, even more so than their colleagues in other Soviet
republics where dissidents do not have popular support.14 The reasons
why Lithuanian intellectuals have so assiduously avoided involvement
in the opposition movement remain unclear, although misconceptions
about the possibility of greater freedom under party rule may have
116 The Soviet Union

played a role. During the 1960s Lithuania enjoyed relative economic

prosperity, and intellectual freedom was at its peak. Although the party
had renewed its assault on religion,15 large segments of the intelligentsia
apparently believed in the possibility of greatly improved life prospects
and substantial changes in the method of party rule. They stated pri­
vately that further liberalization would be endangered by thoughtless
and most likely counterproductive demands for more comprehensive
and inclusive improvements. Thus, liberals who may have attempted
to find a via media between communism and Catholicism managed to
satisfy both conscience and self-interest by convincing themselves that
the quiet performance of their duties served not only their own but
also the nation's best interests. These halcyon days of relative content­
ment with party rule were shattered in the early 1970s; yet Lithuanian
intellectuals as a whole remained aloof from the dissident movement.
Lithuanians willing to express openly their dissatisfaction with govern­
ment policy naturally turned toward the church among whose members
they can find support and understanding. They had no place else to go.
Matters may change if as a result of the Gorbachev reforms the gov­
ernment continues to show greater toleration of attitudes it previously
castigated as nationalistic. Those whom the reforms are encouraging
to speak out openly on the nationality question and other important
matters might be indifferent, if not hostile, to the fate of the church
and yet succeed in mounting a credible challenge to Catholic claims of
a unique role in defending national values. What is more, government
concessions to the church and the slightly improved ties between the
Catholic hierarchy and the authorities have led to fears among some
Catholics that the bishops might eventually become as subservient to
the Kremlin as their counterparts in the Russian Orthodox church. In
either case there is an increased possibility of friction arising between
the more nationalist and more Catholic wings of the Lithuanian oppo­
sition movement.
It cannot, however, be stressed enough that so far the church has
resisted the regime's efforts to deny it the rights and liberties necessary
for fulfilling its mission. Although some priests and bishops have been
overly enthusiastic in submitting to the realities of Soviet rule, the
majority have been steadfast in their convictions. The church's moral
authority remains unimpaired, and the population at large has never
considered the church to be a pliant tool of the regime.
 Lithuania 117

In the early 1970s the more militant Catholics, fearful that continued
silence in the face of repression would lead inevitably to the enervation,
if not the demise, of Catholicism in Lithuania, launched a remarkably
successful counteroffensive. Its achievements are many. The Chroni­
cle of the Catholic Church in Lithuania has celebrated its fifteenth
year of uninterrupted publication, averaging about five issues per year.
The Catholic Committee for the Defense of the Rights of the Faith­
ful, founded in 1978, was Lithuania's most effective defender of human
rights until its suppression in 1983. In 1978 the committee managed
to convince an unprecedented 70 percent of the republic's priests to
support its repudiation of the government's "Regulations on Religious
Associations."16 The church's ability to mobilize support for its causes
is best shown by the fact that 148,149 individuals signed a petition re­
questing that the illegally confiscated church in Klaipeda be returned
to the faithful.17 Equally remarkable is the government promise in 1987
to hand back the church within two years.18
The struggle between the church and the government has focused
on two main areas: (1) the church's demand that it be free to regulate
its internal affairs, and (2) the church's desire to be allowed to carry
out its evangelical mission. Catholics have been quite successful in
minimizing the interference of the civil authorities in internal church
matters. Since 1982 the number of bishops permitted by the govern­
ment to carry out their duties has increased from three to six. What
is more, protests from Lithuania seem to have played a significant role
in blocking the appointment as bishops of several suspected collabora­
tors or overly pliant individuals, while Pope John Paul II forced Bishop
Kriksciunas, the most compromised of all bishops, to resign in 1983.
Catholics successfully pressured the regime to increase substantially
the number of seminarians—from 48 in 1973 to 130 in 1986.19 No effort
has been spared in attempts to foil the government's efforts to intro­
duce the Soviet system of parish committees (dvasatki) that would take
most religious and financial matters out of the hands of the priest. A l­
though in 1984 only eighteen Catholic congregations had not signed
contracts with the government for use of the church, a large number of
priests were supervising the work of the committees and thus foiling
the aims of the authorities.20
The church has had little success in gaining greater freedom to fulfill
its evangelical mission. The authorities have consistently harassed all
118 The Soviet Union

public m anifestations of religion. Great efforts have been expended in

trying to disrupt the major annual pilgrimages at Siluva and Zem ai-
cip Kalvarijij, perm ission is almost never granted for local religious
processions, and priests have been fined for the religious instruction
of children. In a secret government report on the state of religion as of
January i, ^ 8 4 , Com m issioner for Religious Affairs Petras A nilionis
urged local government organs to ensure strict compliance w ith gov­
ernment regulations restricting religious activity. He emphasized that
"it is important not to let the least infraction go by without necessary
attention" since otherwise further transgressions would follow.21 In a
m ove intended as a clear warning to Catholic m ilitants, the authorities
arrested and imposed long sentences in 1983 on two members of the
Catholic committee, the Rev. Sigitas Tamkevicius and the Rev. Alfon-
sas Svarinskas .22
The government's restrictions on catechization remain a source of
great concern for the church, reinforcing the conviction so aptly ex­
pressed in the first issue of the Chronicle that government policy aims
at "granting it [religion] the right to live, while preventing it from
being born." Nonetheless, Catholics believe that the church is in the
midst of a major spiritual renewal. On the tenth anniversary of the
founding of The Chronicle of the Catholic Church in Lithuania, its
editors, whose statements are usually pessimistic and reflect a siege
mentality, rejoiced that in the last decade the church had regenerated
itself and improved qualitatively.23 The celebration of two major anni­
versaries, the five hundredth of the death of Lithuania's patron saint
Kazimieras in 1984 and the six hundredth of the Christianization of
Lithuania in 1987, further strengthened the self-esteem of Catholics.
The church's achievements and the growing feeling of confidence
among Catholics have contributed to increased respect for the church.

LITHUANIAN NATIONALISM
In the 1 970s there was an upsurge in the activities of Lithuanian nation­
alists: more nationalist-oriented samizdat was published, demands for
the restoration of Lithuanian independence were voiced more fre­
quently, and national holidays and historical anniversaries were cele­
brated more openly. In the early 1980s the government cracked down
hard, arresting a number of influential defenders of national rights,
 Lithuania 119

while most samizdat journals ceased publication. But even in the 1970s
nationalist activity was but a mere shadow of the armed resistance
to Soviet occupation in the postwar years.24 The partisans controlled
large rural areas, while the Soviets could assert their authority only in
the larger towns and only during the day. Soviet sources indicate that
roughly forty thousand individuals died between 1944 and 1952.25 Per­
haps another quarter of a million Lithuanians were deported to various
regions of the Soviet Union.
The partisan insurgency left a very deep imprint on the national
consciousness.26 Its central aim and primary justification was the res­
toration of Lithuanian independence. The futility of a direct challenge
to Soviet rule is apparent to all, but even dissidents with the most
pronounced socialist views insist upon the need for the eventual recov­
ery of national sovereignty.27 Demands for the restoration of Lithuanian
independence are considered to be timely and necessary reminders of
the subjugation of Lithuania, a means of educating the younger people,
an expression of hope, but hardly the material for a program of practical
political activity. Moreover, calls for the restoration of independence
are not at all tolerated by the authorities; the government reacted very
harshly to the so-called Baltic Appeal that demanded that the conse­
quences of the Molotov-Ribbentrop treaty be repealed. Contemporary
Lithuanian nationalists place a greater emphasis on the defense of those
cultural values that must be preserved if any dreams of future inde­
pendence are to remain meaningful. Russification is considered to be a
real and present danger. For example, the samizdat journal Alma Mater
states in its declaration of purpose: "This is a difficult period for our
nation, perhaps even the most difficult in its history. The existence of
the whole nation is threatened."28
Many Lithuanian nationalists believe that their nation and national
identity are threatened in three ways: (1) linguistic Russification, (2) the
destruction of national and historical consciousness, and (3) the weak-
ening of the biological foundations of the nation. Opposition to each of
these perceived dangers is an integral element of the Lithuanian nation­
alist program.
The fear of forced Russification is a mixture of cognitive, emotional,
and evaluative elements, strongly influenced by historical conscious­
ness. Even under normal circumstances, the nationalist would insist
that special efforts be taken to foster the flourishing of national cultural

«4., «. ,
120 The Soviet Union

values. Yet the nationalist perceives that this overriding goal is not
actively pursued but actually repressed by the authorities. The Com ­
munist party is held to be consistently inimical to the aspirations of
the non-Russian nations of the Soviet Union; the Russians are clearly
the anointed people, privy to privileges and perquisites, openly anxious
to enjoy the fruits of preferential treatment. Lithuanian nationalists are
conscious of several moments in the nation's past, especially the m ili­
tary prowess of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania from the thirteenth to
the sixteenth centuries, the efforts made in the nineteenth century by
the czarist authorities to Russify Lithuanians and by the Polish gen­
try to Polonize them, the brief years of independence, and the bitter
postwar partisan struggle. Nationalists believe they are members of
an intellectually and politically mature nation with a long history of
political sovereignty and defiance of oppressors. Yet pride in the na­
tion's past is tempered by a deep uneasiness for its future. If in the
Middle Ages Lithuania was one of the largest states in Europe, then
during the last two centuries, except for the years of independence, it
has borne a foreign yoke while the area of ethnically Lithuanian lands
has diminished substantially. In the past assimilation by more power­
ful neighbors and not genocide has constituted the gravest danger to
the nation's further existence. The threat to national existence has re­
ceded but can gain power again, if vigilance is lacking or if the Soviet
authorities try to force the pace of the so-called merging of nations. The
Soviet government is perceived as a direct descendant of czarism, seek­
ing to implement its predecessor's goal of Russifying the borderlands,
while resistance to Soviet nationality policy is but a new phase in a
centuries-old struggle for national identity in which Lithuanians must
persevere as did their forebears in equally difficult circumstances.
These factors combine to heighten the nationalist's sensitivity to
perceived abuses and injustices and increase skepticism of official
assurances that Lituanian national values are no longer in danger.
Because the elements of the Lithuanian nationalist program, outlined
above and to be discussed in greater detail below, were enunciated origi­
nally by Lithuanian samizdat authors, it was difficult to estimate the
extent to which their views were representative of broader segments of
Lithuanian society. Recent discussions made possible by Gorbachev's
reforms indicate that Lithuania's literary elite shares many of the same
concerns and frustrations, although remaining more sanguine about
 Lithuania 121

the possibility of fundamental reforms in Soviet nationality policy. The

similarity between their positions discloses the profound hold that the
nationalist cultural program has on the nation's consciousness and the
degree to which it has become the idiom of national protest. While
intolerance, frustrated ambition, and competition for advancement are
but a few of the manifold causes of national discord and friction, it
seems safe to predict that for many years expressions of dissatisfaction
w ill be clothed in terms of the nationalist cultural program.

The Lithuanian Language

"It is our greatest treasure and the foundation of our national cul­
ture."29 This description of the Lithuanian language, offered by the Ini­
tiative Group for the Defense of the Lithuanian Language, expresses
sentiments shared by most Lithuanians. The state of the language is
considered one of the most accurate indicators of the fate of the nation
itself, and changes in Soviet linguistic policy are excellent barometers
of future trends in overall nationality policy. In the 1970s the fate of the
language was widely discussed by Lithuanian samizdat, but concern
lessened when it became clear that some of the worst-case prognosti­
cations were exaggerated.
Presently the Lithuanian language is not endangered. Lithuanians
make up 80 percent of the republic's population, almost no Lithuanians
consider Russian to be their first language, and about 85 percent of the
republic's youth attend schools in which Lithuanian is the language of
instruction. Yet to many Lithuanians this relatively satisfactory situa­
tion is not due to government policy, but an achievement attained in
spite of it. Soviet efforts to promote the learning of Russian are viewed
with extreme suspicion as the first step of a process intended to replace
the Lithuanian language with the Russian.
In the 1 970s deep fears were aroused that the authorities had
launched a new wave of Russification, directed chiefly at small children
and students of institutions of higher education. Ostensibly concerned
with the spread of bilingualism, the party, it was claimed, planned
to push the Lithuanian language out of schools as well as public and
intellectual life, transforming it into the argot of the uneducated and
the backward. Lithuanian nationalists reacted with great anxiety to
the recommendations of a major all-Union scientific-practical confer­
ence on the teaching of Russian, held in Tashkent May 22-24, 1979.30
122- The Soviet Union

Two different Lithuanian groups obtained the then secret draft recom­
mendations and sent them to the West. The recommendations were
denounced as aimed at assimilating the non-Slavic people of the So­
viet Union and preparing their spiritual demise. Extreme anxiety was
caused by recommendations to teach Russian to five-year-old children
in kindergartens, urge non-Russian families and students to practice
speaking Russian among themselves, and to instruct institutions of
higher education to devote more of their curricula to the teaching of
Russian.31
Even before the Tashkent conference Lithuanian samizdat had ex­
pressed concern about efforts to increase the use of Russian. In 1978 the
journal Ausra announced that the Ministry of Education was preparing
to introduce the teaching of Russian in preschool classes.32 Samizdat
published excerpts from a set of instructions issued by the rector of the
University of Vilnius demanding that the Russian language be given
more attention at the university.33 There have been complaints about
other manifestations of the increased use of Russian: street signs and
directions now must be bilingual, train and bus station signs are be­
coming predominantly Russian, and senior party and government offi­
cials are said to have been unofficially instructed to read part of their
talks in Russian.34
To counter government efforts to foster the increased use of Rus­
sian, nationalists urge Lithuanians not to send their children to kinder­
gartens, to use Lithuanian in official correspondence, and to demand
that the Lithuanian language be given a greater role in public life.

History and National Consciousness

Lithuanian nationalists and communists agree that history is not
simply a discipline concerned with determining the chronological and
causal relations among events. According to the current ideological
secretary of the Lithuanian Communist party, Lionginas Sepetys, his­
tory is a profoundly ideological subject and its teacher more than just
an ordinary worker on the ideological front. As an integral part of the
ideological education of every communist, the teaching of history must
assist in inculcating Soviet patriotism, the friendship of nations, and
socialist internationalism. Lithuania's past must be evaluated from a
class and party position, purged of all elements of bourgeois national­
 Lithuania 123

ism, chauvinism, and all that elicits feelings of national superiority or

contempt for other nations.35
Lithuanian nationalists are just as convinced of the preeminent im ­
portance of history for national life. History is the nation's memory and
thus an essential component of national self-identity. For Lithuanian
nationalists, knowledge of one's past is a major patriotic duty because
it enables one to discern the machinations of the regime and draw upon
the experience of the generations that successfully resisted tsarist ef­
forts to throttle Lithuanian national self-identity. According to Ausra,
Lithuanians w ill cease to be a nation if the regime succeeds in cutting
the ties that bind Lithuanians to their cultural and spiritual heritage.36
The imposition of the communist interpretation of history is con­
sidered a key element in Soviet plans to denationalize the Lithuanian
people.37 Nationalists roundly condemn the official interpretation for
its portrayal of the history of Lithuania as being to a great extent the
history of the Communist party and its ideological ancestors; for its
excessive glorification of the timely and unselfish help that the Rus­
sian people, or at least its democratic and progressive elements, have
supposedly extended to Lithuanians; and for the distortion or denial
of facts that cannot be readily integrated into the party's model of the
past.
Lithuanians have grudgingly accepted the inevitability of their na­
tion's history being rewritten according to Soviet specifications, for
they recognize that even Russian history is subject to some distortions.
Lithuanian samizdat have frequently argued that the unequal treat­
ment of the military achievements of the Grand Duchies of Lithuania
and Muscovy as well as the attempts to downplay Lithuania's feudal
past are the fruits of Russian chauvinism and discrimination against
Lithuanians. It has been asked why Aleksandr Nevsky's victory in the
Battle of the Ice, during which twenty German knights were slain, is
celebrated as an important event, while the battle of Durbe in 1260, in
which Lithuanians killed 150 German knights, is deemed unworthy of
mention.38 The anniversary of the battle of Kulikovo is celebrated on
an all-Union scale, while Lithuanian victories of similar magnitude are
passed over in virtual silence. Samizdat have complained that the writ­
ings of major Lithuanian authors remain unpublished if they castigate
the tsarist regime for oppressing the Lithuanian nation, while Russians
12 4 The Soviet Union

who denounced czarism are hailed as democrats and "the best sons of
their nation."39 Bitterness is also caused by the government's failure to
honor properly many Lithuanian writers of the precommunist era and
failure to celebrate publicly major political and cultural anniversaries.
Such complaints may seem petty, but they are motivated by resent­
ment and fear: resentment that even the victories that Lithuanians had
won more than six centuries ago and the few eruptions of genuine lit­
erary talent in the nineteenth century must be sacrificed on the altar of
the new Soviet man who w ill be a Russian in new dress; fear that these
cases of differential treatment form a consistent pattern of discrimina­
tion that is part of the party's concerted effort to denigrate Lithuania's
past, to destroy the memory or reinterpret the meaning of significant
national achievements as a prelude to denationalization.
In November 1986 Lithuanian writers, critics, and historians em­
barked on a wide-ranging and open discussion of Lithuanian history
and historical prose that dominated cultural life for six months. The
participants were almost unanimous in lamenting the abnormal con­
straints on the writing of Lithuanian history. Aleksandras Krasnovas
rued the shortage of serious historical studies, "the scandalously im ­
poverished program" for teaching history, and excessive deference to
Russian sensibilities, warning that previous policy turned the natural
pride in one's history into strange and distorted forms. The noted poet
Sigitas Geda demanded an end to the falsification of Lithuanian history
and the overemphasis on Lithuania's peasantry and the nation's politi­
cal disasters.40 Participants in a discussion of Lithuania's literary heri­
tage, held in April 1987, condemned the failure to publish important
literary works of the nineteenth century, called for an end to the con­
stant interference of the censor in the literary process, and demanded
a change in the criteria used to evaluate the nation's literary heritage.41
In many cases the specific examples the literary establishment used to
lambaste the folly of previous ideological constraints were those that
samizdat had been mentioning for more than a decade.

Weakening Biological Foundations

Lithuanian nationalists express in varying degrees fears concerning the
weakening of the biological foundation of the nation. The major causes
of this concern are the spread of alcoholism, the decrease in the rate of
 Lithuania 125

growth of Lithuanians, and the movement of non-Lithuanians into the

republic.
Alcoholism is a very serious problem in Lithuania. In a recent arti­
cle Jonas Gecas, the secretary of the Commission for the Fight against
Drunkenness at the Lithuanian s s r Council of Ministers, noted that
Lithuanians had been increasing their consumption of alcohol at a pro­
digious rate. In i960 per capita consumption of alcoholic beverages,
converted to 100 percent alcohol, was 2.9 liters, 25 percent less than
the USSR as a whole, but by 1984 consumption had increased to 10.9
liters, a third more than the per capita rate for the USSR.42
The government ignored the problem until Gorbachev came to power,
but even then it published few hard data about the scope and effects
of alcoholism. Yet a philosopher claimed that alcoholism has claimed
more lives than World War II and the partisan struggle combined and
has created for centuries "a society within society of thousands of poor
freaks incapable of caring for themselves."43
Lithuanian samizdat, especially the journal Ausra, have written ex­
tensively on alcoholism, which it considers responsible for the increase
in various social ills, including violent crimes, child abuse, and divorce.
Dissident authors have urged their countrymen to form temperance
societies similar to those the Catholic church founded in the mid­
nineteenth century. Lithuanian priests, including the majority from
the archdiocese of Vilnius and the Catholic Committee to Defend the
Rights of the Faithful, asked the church's hierarchy to proclaim 1980 a
year of temperance in Lithuania.44
The government's response to such private initiatives has been sin­
gularly inept. Failure to take any effective measures to curb the use of
alcohol despite the obvious economic and social disutility of excessive
drinking reinforced distrust of the authorities, while state interference
in attempts to found private temperance societies45 fueled suspicions
that the party was actively promoting the use of alcohol as a means of
keeping Lithuania enslaved and its people enervated.
The demographic situation is more favorable but changing for the
worse. Lithuanians still account for 80 percent of the republic's popu­
lation, although the annual rate of natural increase in the republic has
decreased sharply in the last twenty years, from roughly 15 percent
per thousand population to 5 percent in 1986. By 1985 Lithuania actu-
126 The Soviet Union

ally was experiencing negative population growth.46 At the same time

net immigration has grown, accounting for a 12 percent increase of the
population during 1959—70, 24 percent during 1970—79, and 42 percent
during 1979-86.47 However, demographers do not expect the number
of non-Lithuanians migrating into Lithuania to increase in the fore­
seeable future because the neighboring Soviet republics have an even
lower birthrate and face similar shortages in the labor force.48
Authors of samizdat articles have raised alarms about the decline
in the birthrate, the increase in the number of ethnically mixed mar­
riages, and the suspected sharp increase in the immigration of non-
Lithuanians. An article in Tautos kelias presents a graphic argument
to show why Lithuanians should not seek solace in the fact that they
constitute 80 percent of the republic's population. Tautos kelias points
to a study published by the Soviet demographer Boris Urlanis in 1963
in which he showed that from an initial population of a thousand in­
dividuals who formed families having but two children, only eight de­
scendants would remain after three hundred years. Because the current
birthrate is even lower than the one Urlanis uses in his example, the
contributor to Tautos kelias fears that ceteris paribus there might be
only about twenty thousand Lithuanians left in less than three hun­
dred years.49 Some nationalists have suggested that Lithuanians have a
patriotic duty to have three or four children.50
The nationalists' fear of being inundated by Slavs is stimulated by the
fate of Lithuanian villages in Belorussia and the decrease in the last two
centuries of ethnographically Lithuanian territory. Compact Lithua­
nian settlements and villages are dying out in Belorussia. The process
is not unexpected, but many Lithuanians think that communist offi­
cials have hastened the process by discrimination and oppression. The
denationalization of Lithuanians in Belorussia is considered by some
to be a harbinger of Lithuania's future, a glimpse of its demise.51

PARTY RESPONSE

The Communist party's efforts to challenge nationalist sentiments

have been ineffective. Nationalist feeling is sufficiently deep that even
a superlatively organized propaganda campaign would have only a lim ­
ited chance of success. For decades internationalist and antinationalist
propaganda was decidedly conservative, based on a threadbare ideo­
 Lithuania 127

logical arsenal, and often undermined by the heavy-handed actions of

security organs and party activists. Some changes are now in the offing.
Soviet propaganda is double-edged, combining litanies of praise for
real and supposed Soviet achievements with strident criticisms of na­
tionalism. The party spares no effort to convince the population that
life under the Soviets is better than it was during the years of inde­
pendence and that this is the fruit of Soviet nationality policy. Eco­
nomic achievements usually are highlighted with constant reminders
that current annual industrial production is more than sixty times as
great as in 2939. This economic argument has always been met with
great skepticism because increased industrial production is not usually
translated into more and better consumer goods.52 The frustration of
the rising expectations that were common in the 1960s and the wors­
ening economic situation of the late 1970s did not make the claims
more convincing. More important, these paeans to Soviet economic
achievement miss the target; nationalist dissatisfaction is not focused
primarily on economic policy or the standard of living.
Official propagandists have been unable to alleviate the anxieties
and resentment generated by the perceived indifference of the party to
national cultural values and the preferential treatment granted to Rus­
sians. The party was unable to formulate a coherent justification for
the decisions of the Tashkent conference concerning the teaching of
Russian to the very young. No public explanations were forthcoming
to justify the requirement that all doctoral dissertations, even those
concerning Lithuanian language and literature, be submitted in Rus­
sian, although travelers from Lithuania hint that this requirement was
intended to counter the failure of Central Asian and Caucasian univer­
sities to uphold high academic standards.
Criticism of Lithuanian nationalism, mostly focusing on the inter­
pretation of the nation's past, remains ineffective and even counter­
productive. Even many youths remain impervious to party propaganda.
At a plenum of the Central Committee of the Lithuanian Commu­
nist party, held on August 16, 1982, First Secretary Griskevicius com­
plained that Lithuania's youth supposedly had too rosy a picture of the
interwar years and did not appreciate the "anti-people character of the
whole bourgeois system."53 Two weeks later Genrikas Zimanas com­
plained that some Lithuanian nationalists were trying to transform
hatred of czarism into distrust of the Russian people.54 He pointedly
128 The Soviet Union

argued that special measures must be taken to improve the ties of

friendship among Lithuanians and Russians and to convince Lithua­
nian youths to appreciate the central role that Russian has played in
founding and preserving the Soviet state. The party hierarchy does
not seem pleased with recent discussions about Lithuania's history. In
February 1987 Griskevicius warned writers not to idealize Lithuania's
past and declared that "there can be no talk of a noncritical view of the
past, much less about a revival of its reactionary tendencies."55 What
is more, the unprecedented propaganda campaign aimed at denounc­
ing the organizers of a demonstration in Vilnius on August 23, 1987*
to commemorate victims of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact showed un­
equivocally that much of Lithuania's recent history remains subject to
the old taboos and prohibitions.
Much of the blame for the ineffectiveness of the party's efforts to
combat nationalism can be placed squarely at the feet of individuals
responsible for the clumsy repression of activities that could neutralize
much of the popular resentment against Soviet cultural and nation­
ality policy but that would not endanger either the hegemony or the
authority of the party.
The harassment of private temperance societies is a clear example of
the government's intolerance of even the most beneficial activity, if it
remains free of the party's control. Another example is the fate of the
Lituanistine biblioteka, a series of books reprinting literary and his­
torical classics. In the early 1970s party officials had pointed proudly
to this series as a sign of change in Soviet policy toward Lithuania's
cultural heritage. In 1979 the series was halted for almost five years
because, according to samizdat, party functionaries were incensed by
some anti-Russian sentiments expressed by the seventeenth-century
historian Albert Kojalowicz-Wijuk, whose works were being printed in
the series.56 In April 1987 Lithuanian writers condemned the action.
Preparations are now under way to publish this and many other for­
merly forbidden books, but great damage has already been done.57
Ethnographic groups also fell under the party's interdict. Apparently
some of their members began collecting information about the Lithua­
nian partisans, developed ties with colleagues in other republics, and
concerned themselves with the fate of Lithuanians in Belorussia. In
1973 several groups were disbanded, a few amateur ethnographers im ­
prisoned, and others thrown out of work or school.58 The party pro­
 Lithuania 129

ceeded to throw an ideological straitjacket on almost all ethnographic

activity. The Ethnographic Society elected a new presidium packed
with party functionaries and published new guidelines, demanding that
ethnographic groups focus their attention on gathering data about the
struggle for Soviet power, the victories of the Red Army, and the de­
velopment of socialism.59 In the words of samizdat, "ethnography has
become Partography."60

CATHOLICISM A N D NATIONALISM

Because a large percentage of active Lithuanian nationalists are either

Catholics or are sympathetic to the church as an institution whose
preservation is a task of the first importance, one may be tempted to
identify Catholicism and Lithuanian nationalism. Such a move can­
not be justified; some nationalists are neither Catholics nor favorably
disposed toward the church, while not all Catholics are nationalists.
Individuals can consider Catholicism and national values to be inter­
nally or externally related. The tie is internal if one believes that being
a Catholic is a necessary condition for being a Lithuanian nationalist or
patriot—in other words, if one believes that being a Catholic is some­
how an essential or inherent feature of being a "good" Lithuanian. The
tie between Catholicism and nationalism is external if one believes
that in the present circumstances the church promotes and defends
values central to the nationalist program, but need not necessarily do
so in fulfilling its pastoral mission. The church, as it is now, opposes
Russification and attempts to falsify history, condemns abortion and
alcoholism, and seeks to perpetuate Lithuanian traditions. It is because
of these aspects of its activity that the church wins the approbation
and support of the nationalist. Of course, to say that the alliance of the
church and the nationalist is contingent is not to assert that the tie is
either temporary or fortuitous.
Proponents of the internal-tie theory sometimes assert their posi­
tion rather bluntly. The editors of Ausiele insist that every Lithuanian
should be a Catholic, living according to the precepts of the Bible. They
also state that "the nation w ill remain alive only as long as the Catholic
Church remains alive."61 A contributor to Ausia has made a similar
claim, writing that the Lithuanian nation will remain Christian or not
exist at all, i.e., if Lithuanians renounce their religion, they w ill re­
13o The Soviet Union

nounce their national identity.62 The Chronicle of the Catholic Church

in Lithuania suggests that if Lithuanians become atheists and forget
their Christian traditions, they will bring about conditions conducive
to the loss of their nationhood.63 Another samizdat author claims that
a Lithuanian Catholic w ill not become a Russian but that Lithuanian
atheists ignorant of their nation's past may promote Soviet schemes
of Russification, if such action is personally advantageous.64 The exis­
tence of proponents of the internal-tie view also can be inferred from
statements to the effect that there are atheists genuinely concerned
with the welfare of the nation, an assertion so obvious that it would
not need to be made if there were not those who denied it.
Adherents of the internal-tie theory seem ready to equate conversion
to atheism with opportunism. Individuals are thought to become athe­
ists for personal gain and increased career opportunities. If a person
is ready to renounce God for personal advantage, then he is liable, so
the argument goes, to disavow his national identity for similar reasons,
the party being anxious that its members be "good internationalists"
as well as active atheists.65 It should be noted that Lithuanian samizdat
often use the term atheist to refer to militant atheists, i.e., to party
officials, propagandists, and others who aggressively seek to undermine
religion and intimidate believers, and not to those who simply dis­
believe God's existence. Thus, the general condemnation of atheists
should be understood as denunciation of militant proselytizers of athe­
ism, although some Catholics probably disapprove of all atheists.
Proponents of the external-tie hold that the church serves the inter­
ests of nationalism but does so contingently and indirectly. Although
the church could perform most of its pastoral mission while remaining
aloof from nationalist affairs, it has become a major defender of nation­
alist values, and its concerns have converged with many facets of the
nationalist program. Catholics and nationalists are mutually interested
in strengthening one another's value systems. In seeking converts or
support from the people the church can appeal to national sentiments
by arguing that Catholicism is the traditional faith of Lithuanians and
that by becoming or remaining Catholics they distance themselves
from the party and its internationalist aims. Catholics also claim that
Lithuanians opposed to the church are digging their nation's grave be­
cause the church is the only legal institution struggling for the preser­
 Lithuania 131

vation of national traditions.66 Many nationalists would second a decla­

ration signed by a group calling itself the Lithuanian Youth of Vilnius
that states that the church is the nationalist's greatest ally in the strug­
gle against Russification.67
An excellent example of the external-tie view can be found in Tautos
kelias. The author of one article claims-
Even now religion and the Catholic Church are the most important
sources for rejuvenating the national spirit and strengthening the
nation's morality. In defending the stability of the family, fighting
against alcoholism, promiscuity, the killing of unborn life, and
other negative phenomena, the Church strengthens the nation's
vital and moral forces and makes the struggle for national existence
easier. . . . Religion means so much to the Lithuanian nation that
one can boldly assert that as long as the people remain religious,
they w ill be neither totally denationalized nor demoralized.68
The nationalist can remind Catholics that the weakening of Lithua­
nian national self-identity would undermine much of the popular base
of the church and increase the danger that the authorities could coerce
the church to become as submissive as the Orthodox church. While
only a few believe that good Catholics invariably become conscious
nationalists, most would assent to the claim that a practicing Catholic
is more likely to be impervious to party propaganda about the benefits
of Soviet nationality policy.
Catholics and Lithuanian nationalists hold similar views about the
central importance of resisting party efforts to reinterpret Lithuanian
history and suppress the nation's historical consciousness. Both are
adamant in insisting that Lithuanian history cannot be reduced to the
history of its communist party, and in emphasizing the continuity of
Lithuanian history, its deep ties to Western Europe. Their general con­
ceptions are similar, although the nationalist is more liable to praise
the grandeur of the feudal Grand Duchy, which was pagan during most
of its expansionist phase, while Catholics emphasize the church's role
in Lithuanian cultural and spiritual life. In contrast to the party's con­
ception of Catholicism as a foreign and malignant growth upon the
Lithuanian nation, Catholics point to the founding of the University of
Vilnius by the Jesuits, the building of churches, and the spread of art as
132, The Soviet Union

proof that the church has had a beneficial influence and that Catholi­
cism is an organic part of Lithuania's past. Catholics are evidently quite
successful in propagating such a view because the party propagandists
have begun to pay more attention to it and are attempting to marshal
more sophisticated arguments against it.69 Nationalists are not averse
to such Catholic arguments, for they also make much of Lithuania's
uniqueness in comparison to the rest of the Soviet Union, its indepen­
dent cultural development, and other factors that distinguish its past
from Russia's.
The nationalist's interest in strengthening the biological foundations
of the nation is furthered by Catholic teaching and the activity of lay
Catholics. The church has always been in the forefront of the fight
against alcoholism. An increase in the birthrate of Lithuanians would
be ensured if Catholics acted upon church teaching on contraception
and abortion. Marriages between Lithuanian Catholics and non-Lithu­
anian Slavs are disapproved of by both the church and nationalists—
the former on religious grounds, the latter for fear of denationalization.
For the external-tie theorist, it is the church's activity and its stand
on questions of fundamental national importance that make it a bas­
tion of nationalism, and not any intrinsic tie between Catholic beliefs
and patriotism. And it is because, and insofar as, the church furthers
nationalist aims that adherents of the external-tie view urge their fel­
low nationalists to defend it from the onslaughts of the party. For in
undermining the church, the regime is weakening the major ally of
nationalism. Unlike supporters of the internal-tie view, the external-
tie theorists can conceive of circumstances, however unlikely at the
moment, in which church and national interests would be at variance.
A church subservient to Moscow would not retain the support of the
external-tie proponents.
A final note on the relationship between the two views: many of the
internal-tie adherents would agree with most of what the supporters
of the external-tie view assert about the church's positive influence
on the implementation of nationalist aims. Yet they would insist that
two propositions, not part of the external-tie view, are true: (i) the
church's activity always w ill have beneficial consequences for Lithua­
nian nationalism; and (2) Lithuanian patriots, with a possible but quite
limited number of exceptions, must be Catholics.
 Lithuania 133

The Relationship between Catholics

and Lithuanian Nationalists

Although data are limited, it would seem that a greater number of

Lithuanians accept the external- rather than the internal-tie concep­
tion. Not only is the external-tie view inherently more reasonable, but
the actual relationship between the more nationalist and more Catholic
wings of the opposition movement is compatible with the state of af­
fairs suggested by the external-tie model. According to it, nationalists
should feel free to devote themselves to more immediate national­
ist concerns, confident that such activity also w ill indirectly aid the
Catholic cause, while Catholic activists should immerse themselves
in religious matters, assured that their devotion w ill be beneficial to
the nation. In fact, nationalists and Catholics have pursued indepen­
dent, although parallel, courses of action. The rather common belief
that the Chronicle of the Catholic Church in Lithuania from its incep­
tion reported on concerns of both Catholics and nationalists is without
foundation. The Chronicle has restricted itself almost entirely to reli­
gious matters, not even granting much attention to the Kaunas riots of
r972. Although the church has projected itself as the true guardian of
the cultural heritage, national traditions, and customs, the bishops and
even the more militant priests in general have eschewed direct involve­
ment in strictly nationalist activity. A more public embrace of nation­
alist aspirations would give the authorities an added excuse to crack
down on Catholic activists, justifying the action as the repression of
political clericalism fully compatible with the freedom of conscience
guaranteed by the constitution.70
In 19 7 9 -8 1 some Catholic priests began to support nationalist causes
more openly. During an unofficial commemoration in 1980 of the 5 50th
anniversary of the death of Lithuania's most respected feudal ruler, Vy-
tautas the Great, several members of the Catholic Committee for the
Defense of the Rights of the Faithful celebrated mass and by their ser­
mons gave a decidedly religious tone to the whole celebration.71 But
this remained an isolated incident, for the authorities soon suppressed
open nationalist dissent and increased pressure on the Catholic com­
mittee.
In the 1980s the party became quite concerned about the growing
134 The Soviet Union

acceptance of the church's claims about its role in national life. The
party press began to claim more insistently that the church has been
hostile to national aspirations and that any ties between nationalism
and the Catholic church are at best accidental. In their effort to drive a
wedge between the church and nationalism, Soviet authors have even
mentioned criticisms of the church's stance toward Lithuanian nation­
alism by the two most important figures of the national renaissance as
well as by supporters of the nationalist regime that ruled Lithuania for
most of the years of independence.72 Government propagandists have
resorted to the traditional divide-and-conquer method, trying to con­
vince nationalists that Catholics are indifferent to their cause, while
suggesting to Catholics that the defense of national aspirations is a
purely political and dangerous activity.
In general, relations between nationalists and Catholics are very har­
monious. The Lithuanian opposition movement is rather unanimous
in holding the church to be an institution beneficial to the national
cause. Criticism of the church generally has been criticism of the hier­
archy and priests accused of collaborating with the regime. The critics
have been primarily other priests, including the editors of the Chroni­
cle. Samizdat have reported only two cases of dissidents criticizing
the church. The first criticism, of which only a secondhand account
is available in the West, was printed in the samizdat journal Laisves
sauklys ;73 the second was voiced in a press conference dissidents had
organized with foreign journalists.74 Priests were accused of being too
arrogant and fostering illusions of infallibility and of placing too much
emphasis on religious matters in contrast to national concerns. But the
criticism of the church was not a quarrel between Catholics and non-
Catholics, for a practicing Catholic, Antanas Terleckas, uttered both
criticisms.
This is not to deny that conflicts can arise. Some dissidents felt that
priests should have allocated more of their greater financial resources
to aid nationalist samizdat publications. There were other sources of
tension. However, the amount of disagreement between nationalists
and the church is substantially less than that among priests, most no­
tably between the editors of the Chronicle and the hierarchy. Since
1978 the Chronicle has become quite vocal in its criticism of particular
priests, even mentioning their names.75 The appearance of criticism di­
rected against the Chronicle and other leading elements of the Catholic
 Lithuania 13$

wing of the opposition movement does not necessarily imply that non-
Catholics have become more active in nationalist circles; it could be
but a sign of greater disagreement among Catholics.
While it is most unlikely that a non-Catholic nationalist would es­
pouse the internal-tie view, a proponent of the external-tie concept
could easily be a non-Catholic. A favorable evaluation of the church's
activity is quite compatible with disbelief of the central dogmas of
Catholicism. However, the available evidence suggests that most dis­
sidents are Catholics. Many of the more than fifteen samizdat journals
published in Lithuania were associated with the church: either their
main topic was religion and religious rights, or many of their editors
or contributors were Catholics. Even such journals as Laisves sauklys,
Vytis, and Perspektyvos, which some observers in the West classified as
non-Catholic,76 now are known to have had strong Catholic representa­
tion among their editors or contributors. One knows far less about the
membership of clandestine organizations that issued in the 1970s proc­
lamations, mostly political in nature. Yet these groups, even the more
prominent ones such as the National People's Front and the Lithuanian
Freedom League, have had little or no popular support and presumably
were the work of a few individuals, writing proclamations for publica­
tion in samizdat.77 Even their limited activity has long ceased.
Because of the predominance of Catholics in the Lithuanian opposi­
tion movement as a whole and probably in the nationalist wing as well,
it is misleading to talk of Catholics and nationalists, as if they consti­
tuted two different groups of individuals. Often the same dissident is
both a Catholic and a nationalist. The distinction, however, is useful
as a means of categorizing the concerns and actions that are motivating
an individual at a particular time and for classifying, however roughly
and tentatively, articles by unknown samizdat authors.
Two factors contribute to the preponderance of Catholics among ac­
tive members of the opposition movement, even its nationalist wing.
First, Catholics are subjected from childhood to various kinds of dis­
crimination, mockery and injustice. Thus, they are likely to be skepti­
cal of party claims about the equality of all Soviet citizens and, by gen­
eralization, of assertions about the party's equal solicitude for all Soviet
peoples. Second, Catholics who openly express their beliefs have less to
lose materially. They face active discrimination in the job market and
are barred from many professions, such as teaching and administrative
136 The Soviet Union

work. Skeptical of party propaganda, impervious to blandishments of

better jobs, perhaps even embittered by discrimination or ostracized by
neighbors, Catholics are Lithuania's proletariat with little to lose.

CO N CLU SIO N

The ties that bind Catholicism and nationalism in Lithuania are deep
and multifaceted. Many dissidents are both Catholics and nationalists.
Even the nonbelievers are supportive of the church as a public insti­
tution fostering national aspirations. While nationalist and Catholic
goals converge significantly, they are neither identical nor perceived as
such. Catholics and nationalists share many concerns. Yet with very
few exceptions most dissidents seem to invest most of their energy de­
fending either religious or national rights, but usually not both. This
division of labor is understandable in view of the idea, prevalent in dis­
sident circles, that defending the church is helping preserve the chief
guardian of the national heritage and that the fostering of nationalist
aspirations contributes to the strengthening of the church.
The intimate tie between Catholic goals and nationalist aspirations
is temporary and conditional on a number of factors. A church subser­
vient to Moscow would lose favor with Lithuanian nationalists, while
the influx of many militant agnostics or atheists into the ranks of the
nationalists would jeopardize relations with Catholics. Although the
conditions necessary for cooperation among Catholics and nationalists
are likely to persist for some time, the unique position of Catholics as
spokesmen for national aspirations may be challenged indirectly. Glas-
nost', the reduced fear of imprisonment for criticizing the system, and
the newly emergent possibility of affecting some aspects of the govern­
ment's ecological and social policy might convince individuals without
any ties to the church to criticize publicly and offer alternatives to
party nationality policy. Given the depth of nationalist feeling, such
individuals could attract a popular following, but it is unclear if they
would persist in their course if the security organs threatened a new
crackdown.
In recent years the decline in the percentage of Catholics has ceased.78
The Catholic counteroffensive has achieved some of its more impor­
tant goals. Many Catholics no longer are cowed by the authorities and
 Lithuania 13 7

express their beliefs more openly. A ll indications suggest that nation­

alism is very deep-seated; it may even be gaining strength. Thus, the
existence of a more self-assured and militant church and strong nation­
alist sentiments ensure that Catholicism and nationalism w ill remain
the central inspiration for dissidents in Lithuania.
6

R eligio n and N ation alism in U kraine

V asyl M arku s

The Soviet sociopolitical landscape of the present day Ukraine has been
shaped by forces and an ideology that deny both the religious value sys­
tem and the national aspirations of the Ukrainian people. In the view
of the architects of this social engineering, religion as a state of mind
and its institutionalized expression, the church, should have yielded
to a new enlightened Weltanschauung: scientific communism, embrac­
ing also atheism. In spite of massive efforts on the part of the political
establishment, the process of substitution of a secular religion for a re­
vealed one has had limited success. Similarly, nationalism, allegedly
a product of class antagonisms in presocialist society, has maintained
its vitality and constitutes a formidable challenge to the supranational
Soviet Russian societal model.
Moreover, religion and nationalism, labeled reactionary vis-à-vis the
"progressive” new social and international order that the communist
party of the Soviet Union intends to shape, have succeeded in forging
an alliance against their common enemy. This might be viewed as a
simple expediency, a tactical maneuver in the face of a common threat.
Yet a closer historical investigation and cultural-psychological analysis
of the two phenomena will attest to an interdependence and, at times,
to a symbiosis of religious and national ideas. Judaism is certainly a
prototype of such a coalescence of the religious and the secular. Chris­
tianity, although a universalist religion with a new message according
to which "there is no room for distinction between Greek and Jew, be­
tween the circumcised and the uncircumcised, or between barbarian
and Scythian, slave and free man" (Col. 3:11!, was not immune to the
nationalist contamination. Certainly, Western Christianity succeeded
 Ukraine 139

for a while in creating a multinational empire in the form of the Holy

Roman Empire of the German nation. But the empire succumbed to
new ideas and to forces generated within the same Christianity in its
pristine reformist incarnation. Likewise, Eastern Byzantine Christian­
ity attempted to construct its own supranational model, although with
even less success. Particular national-cultural entities soon emerged
and threatened the ideals of the universal Byzantine Empire, as later
they would challenge Islam.
Church and religion often have been articulators and supporters of
imperial universal designs. But within the same church, and among
adherents of the same religion, movements have emerged to hinder
such designs in the name of national self-assertion and cultural self-
actualization. Eastern Europe and the orbit of the Third Rome served
as another example of the perplexing interplay between religion and
nationalism, church and public power. In certain periods some church
organizations and religious leaders have supported larger political struc­
tures with one nation in a privileged position while other Christians,
Orthodox or Catholic, fought against such structures and articulated
rival national ideologies. In most cases among the ruling and the ruled
national entities we find a coalescence between religion and national­
ism. A tendency toward a closer relationship between them within the
same society is prevalent when both, or just one of them, are threatened
from the outside.
The Ukrainian case concerning the nationality-religion relationship
demonstrates some similarities with, and differences from, analogous
cases in Eastern Europe, e.g., the Polish, Russian, Lithuanian, and Ro­
manian cases. In periods of Ukrainian political autonomy the insti­
tutionalized religion tended to support secular power and vice versa
(Kievan Rus', the Ukrainian Cossack state). At times when Ukraine
was deprived of its independence, as has been the case throughout most
of its history, the church either remained a catalyst of the national con­
sciousness (and its last refuge), or was forced, even manipulated, into
being an instrument of assimilation with foreign ruling nations and
serving their interests in Ukraine.
Potentially an assimilative role could have been assigned to the
Uniate church by the Polish sponsors of the Union of Brest (1596),
which brought Ukrainians and Belorussians under the authority of
Roman pontiffs. Yet there were strong forces operating within that
140 The Soviet Union

church, as well as outside it—mainly among the non-Uniate branch of

the Church of Rus'—which molded it into an expression of Ukrainian
(Ruthenian) nationhood.1 There were periods and situations when some
segments of that church served as mediators of a supranational Polish
ideology. This has been expressed in acceptance of the imperial-feudal
national identification (natione Polonus, gente Ruthenus) and in close
rapprochement with, if not in the absorption into, Roman Catholicism.
The latter, theoretically, was universal and non-national. In reality it
was imbued with Polish culture and national pride. This Polish op­
tion of the Brest Union materialized only partly, scoring individual
successes in absorbing some members of the Ukrainian political elite
or, exceptionally, in bringing over to Polish Catholicism a few hun­
dred thousand people, as in the Cholm region. The Uniate church, as a
whole, did not prove just an ephemeral creature and instrument of con­
version (or transmission); it had developed into a Ukrainian national
institution and has remained so to the present day.
It was the strongly anti-Catholic Orthodox church in Ukraine, which
restored its hierarchy in 1620 under the authority of Constantinople,
that remained for over a century a more dynamic articulator of national
aspirations. However, common religious bonds with Russian Ortho­
doxy and incorporation of the Ukrainian church into the patriarchate
of Moscow in 1686, basically a political act, brought about the neu­
tralization of Ukrainian Orthodoxy's national character and function.
It was this neutralization that became a real menace to the Ukraine's
national existence. Throughout the eighteenth century, Russian eccle­
siastical and political authorities succeeded in enlisting the services of
the Ukrainian hierarchy and clergy in pacifying autonomist currents.
This was achieved by co-opting the human resources and absorbing the
cultural values of the Kievan Orthodox heritage in the name of a higher
"Pan-Russian" unity. Subsequently it brought about an accelerated Rus­
sification and integration of the Ukrainian church of the former Kiev
Metropolia into the Russian church.
The nineteenth century witnessed almost a complete alienation of
the Russianized Ukrainian clergy from the emerging modern national
movement in Eastern Ukraine. Unlike other European societies, none
of the ecclesiastical figures is known to have been active in the pro­
cess of national revival in Eastern Ukraine. (In Bukovina, which was
under Austrian domination, a few Orthodox priests did participate in
 Ukraine 14 1

it, however.) In contrast, the Galician (West Ukrainian) revival largely

was promoted and led by the Uniate clergy. But some clerics there—
particularly in Hungarian Transcarpathia—partly due to foreign influ­
ence and partly in reaction to menacing Polish and Hungarian nation­
alism, looked to Russia as the "protector of the Slavs" and promoted
the Russification of local Ukrainians ("Little Russians" or "Carpatho-
russians"). Even in that capacity, representatives of the church served
as agents of nationalism—in this case, Russian nationalism. The so-
called Russophile (Moskvofily ) movement among Western Ukrainians
in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries collided with the dynamic,
popular Ukrainian nationalism and plainly lost this historic cultural
and political confrontation. The religious dimension of this struggle
made itself evident through the support given to the Russophiles by
the Russian church and the synod, as well as by the fact that the Uniate
church and, later, the Ukrainian autocephaly constituted the spiritual
backbone of the secular national movement.2
Early in the twentieth century and during the Revolution of 1 9 1 7 -
20, in the Russian-ruled Ukraine only a minority of the lower-rank
clergy embraced the Ukrainian national cause. Slowly, they came to
realize that Ukraine, if it was to survive as an independent nation,
needed a separate church organization and its own religious ideology.
This brought about the movement to create an autocephalous Ukrai­
nian Orthodox church. Autocephalists invoked the period of relative
autonomy and the traditions of the Kievan church under Metropolitan
Petro Mohyla and his successors prior to 1686 as their frame of refer­
ence. Ukrainian autocephaly also was inspired by the democratic and
popular nature of the Ukrainian liberation movement during the revo­
lution that culminated in the establishment of the Ukrainian National
Republic.3
The autocephalous church has been, in its substance, politically na­
tionalist and ideologically anti-Russian and antiauthoritarian, while
the Russian church remained Russian nationalist and imperial. The
Russian Patriarchal church acted on the Ukrainian territory through
the native Ukrainian and Russian clerics or laymen who abhorred the
nationalist inspirations of the autocephalists, without admitting Rus­
sian nationalist motivations in their own stand. Certainly, those na­
tionalisms were diverse in form and in certain expressions but the same
in substance. Thus, two trends in the Orthodox religion in Ukraine
142. The Soviet Union

existed side by side, often indulging in conflict and mutual recrimi­

nations inspired by hostile nationalisms, viz., a separatist (Ukrainian)
and integrationist (Russian) organization. The latter was, under certain
circumstances, willing to admit an autonomous (as opposed to auto­
cephalous) status for the Orthodox church in Ukraine.
The Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox church, formally estab­
lished in 19 2 x, was initially tolerated by the Soviet regime, even viewed
for a while as a more "progressive" force in opposition to the "re­
actionary" Russian Orthodox church. It soon established itself in the
Soviet Ukraine not only as a protector of the Ukrainian Orthodox peo­
ple against the authoritarian and monarchist church of Moscow, but
also as a stronghold of national aspirations when Ukrainian separatist
nationalism failed to prevail over Soviet power. Many former political
activists joined the ranks and even the leadership of the Autocephalous
church, which was becoming increasingly popular. As a result, the
church was attacked by the party and by the Soviet government, which
saw in it a real danger to the multinational Soviet state. In 1930 the
Autocephalous church was suppressed and its leadership decimated.
It was not accidental that a major show trial in 1929-30 against the
Union of the Liberation of Ukraine implicated also the leadership of
the Autocephalous church.4
The Uniates or the Ukrainian Catholic Church of the Eastern Rite,
which before 1944 acted outside Soviet control, played an even larger
role in the modern national movement. The towering figure of Metro­
politan Andrei Sheptytsky, who for forty years headed the see of Lviv,
personified the close relationship between the religious life and the
national aspirations of Western Ukrainians. The government of the
short-lived autonomous state of Carpatho-Ukraine (1938-39) was led
by a Uniate priest, Msgr. Avhustyn Voloshyn. The Soviet regime, which
took these territories under its rule in 1944-45 in a new historical
effort to "collect all Russian lands," moved naturally against the Uniate
church. Between 1946 and 1949 it was outlawed and cruelly suppressed
in what was not so much a drive against religion as such, but one
against a church that fostered a nationalism hostile to the regime.
Lacking only the formal act of dissolution, the same fate befell the
Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox church, which had been restored
on German-occupied territory during World War II. During the two or
 Ukraine 143

three years of relative religious freedom under the Germans, the idea of
an autocephalous Ukrainian church had rallied a significant following
among Soviet Ukrainians, thus becoming an important channel for re­
vived Ukrainian nationalism. It was logical for Stalin to move against
both national Ukrainian churches and to favor their absorption into
the Russian Orthodox church. The latter succored the new Russia#
nationalism revived during World War II by the Kremlin in its search
for legitimation. With the changed nationality and religious policies of
the c p s u , Soviet leaders have preferred a conservative and nationalist
Russian church in Ukraine to the local, autonomous national churches
because the latter proved themselves to be potent instruments of Ukrai­
nian consciousness.

PRESEN T STATUS OF RELIGION A N D

NATIO N ALISM IN UKRAINE

Today's Ukraine is divided vaguely into two camps in terms of reli­

gion: those who believe and those who do not. It is difficult to assess
numerically the two constituencies; yet, on the basis of sundry claims,
one may infer that probably about half of the Ukrainian population
still considers itself religious in the broadest sense. Most of the rest are
flatly indifferent, ignorant, religiously passive, or intellectually areli-
gious, but not necessarily militantly atheistic or antireligious. Only a
slight minority of nonreligious individuals profess antireligious zeal
and commitment to combat religion as a hostile ideology, though this
is the main concern of those institutions and individuals of the sys­
tem that specialize in antireligious propaganda. In Ukraine, as in other
Soviet-ruled territories, only the high priests of secular atheism and
their salaried lower-rank preachers are truly antireligious.
Despite massive effort and tremendous financial input into antireli­
gious work, religious communities in Ukraine have survived and are
thriving. Soviet antireligious workers also have to face in some way
the issue of nationalism that affects, though sometimes marginally, the
sociopolitical fabric of present-day Ukrainian society.
I have broken down the religious communities into four categories:
(1) religious entities controlled by the regime but enjoying some pref­
erential treatment due to political expediency, (2) controlled and rela­
144 The Soviet Union

tively restricted organizations, (3) organizations controlled with ex­

cessive restrictions, and (4) organizations that are banned and openly
persecuted.5
The Soviet totalitarian system does not recognize the autonomous
existence of any religious body. Thus, the classic principle of the lib­
eral church-state separation is not valid in the USSR; there the state
is not neutral. Religion is not autonomous, but subject to control and
manipulation for political purpose by those in power.

Preferentially Treated Religious Groups

The Russian Orthodox church is the only member of category 1 in
Ukraine. Although the c p s u and the Soviet state are committed to the
objectives of scientific communism, including the promotion of athe­
ism, the Russian Orthodox church has, nevertheless, occupied a some­
what special place among religious bodies of the USSR since World
War II. Having discovered that the Russian people were not giving up
their ancestral religion, but had preserved it despite years of severe
persecutions, and having realized that religion could strengthen the pa­
triotic feeling of the masses, Stalin decided to stage a reconciliation
with the church and its hierarchy. Instead of combating the church, he
used it, particularly in those areas that were in the Russian Orthodox
church's historic sphere of influence, and where non-Russian national­
ism operated, actively or latently. In this regard, Ukraine was a primary
target.
The first task of the Russian Orthodox church in Ukraine was to ab­
sorb the Ukrainian Autocephalous parishes and clergy which had been
restored for a short time from 19 4 1—44. Soviet authorities were ada­
mantly opposed to the continuation of the petluxite church6 that had
emerged again under German auspices. The latter fact certainly was
a serious liability, even though the church's promoters were no more
pro-German than were their counterparts in the "autonomous" Ortho­
dox church who supported unity with the Moscow patriarchate. The
de facto suppression of Ukrainian autocephaly, without any formal act
or pronouncement, was facilitated further by the mass exodus of that
church's hierarchy and of the most outspoken clergy. The patriarchate
and the government had to deal with only the lower echelons of clergy
who reluctantly accepted the new state of affairs, tacitly joining the
ranks of the Russian Orthodox church.
 Ukraine 145

A more serious issue was the Russian Orthodox church's successful

"reunification" of Ukrainian Catholicism with the see of the Moscow
patriarchate. Despite a long and difficult struggle, the Russian Or­
thodox church and the Soviet regime eventually were able to sever
local ties with Rome. The Russian church easily extracted concessions
from the regime, in payment for its role in the pacification of Western
Ukraine. The perseverance of nationalism in Ukraine and its continued
identification with the Uniate church are the guarantee of the con­
tinued usefulness of the Russian Orthodox church in Ukraine to the
regime.
As a result, the benefits are encouraging for the Moscow patriarch­
ate. The territory of the Ukraine, and particularly Western Ukraine, is
one of the most religiously active areas of the USSR. There are about
three thousand parishes operating in the Ukrainian s s r , representing
some 42—45 percent of all the parishes of the Moscow patriarchate in
the USSR. The number of eparchies is eighteen, with fifteen bish­
ops in 1986 (one metropolitan-exarch, two other metropolitans, five
archbishops, and seven bishops). Among the hierarchs, there are ten
or eleven ethnic Ukrainians, three Russians, and one Russian born
in Ukraine.7 About 60 percent of the Ukrainian congregations are lo­
cated in West Ukrainian eparchies, underscoring their importance in
the total structure of the Russian Orthodox church. With the excep­
tion of Lithuania and possibly Moldavia, the percentage of individuals
practicing religion here is the highest in the USSR. For some statistical
data and comparisons of Russian Orthodox churches in Ukraine see
table 6.1.
This does not mean that atheist work is not carried on in West­
ern Ukraine or that church activities are not hindered. Some churches
have been closed, registered priests are restrained and closely moni­
tored, and bishops and other ranking church officials, being a part of
quasi-nomenklatura appointments, are regulated thoroughly in their
administrative activities and church personnel policies. But as long as
there are other, more immediate targets—the tolerated, but socially
dangerous, sectarian religious groups or politically "obnoxious" facts
or people to be neutralized—a conservative and conventional religious
community tends to become politically acceptable to the regime.
The marriage of convenience of Russian Orthodoxy in Ukraine with
the system has, however, imposed a certain price. The very fact that the
146 The Soviet Union

Table 6.1 Russian Orthodox Church in Ukraine (ukrssR) in the Mid-1980s

51 million population, 18 percent of the USSR

1986 18 eparchies (15 bishops)
5 vacant eparchies
27% of the USSR eparchies, 28% of resident bishops
late 1970s ca. 155 deaneries out of 326 in the USSR
47% in Ukraine (42% in Western and Right Bank Ukraine)
late r97os ca. 3,000 parishes (registered churches) out of 7,062 (total
USSR)
42.5% in Ukraine
ca. 2,500 priests out of 5,995 (total USSR)
42% in Ukraine
9 convents and monasteries in Ukraine
50% of total
1974-75 118 theology students (Odessa seminary) out of 566 (total
USSR); 2 1% . A considerable number of Ukrainian students are
enrolled in two academies and two seminaries in Russia. One
Soviet Orthodox source gives the figure of the enrolled
students at Odessa seminary for mid-1980s as 240-50; half of
them are most probably studying by correspondence.“
1974 134 ordained priests out of 297 (total USSR)
42% in Ukraine;

Eparchies in order of number of parishes and servicing priests (population

rank in parentheses)
r. Lviv-Ternopil (4) ro. Khmelnytsky (13)
2. Volyn-Rivne (9) 1 r . Zhytomyr (r 1)
3. Ivano-Frankivske (6) r2. Kirovohrad-Mykolaiv (7)
4. Mukachiv (r 7) 13. Kharkiv (6)
5. Kiev (3) 14. Poltava (12)
6. Chernivtsi (r 8) 15. Sumy (r 5)
7. Odessa-Kherson (5) r6. Dnipropetrovske-Zaporizha (2)
8. Chernyhiv (14) r7. Symferopil (8)
9. Vynnytsia (10) 18. Voroshylovhrad Donetske (r)
So u rce s: See n. 7.
“ I. Nikitenko, M. Novosad, and Yo. Oksiiuk, O rth o d o x Eastern Faith in U k ra in e (Kiev:
Ukraina Society, 1986), p. ro4.
 Ukraine 14 7

church initially embraced over twenty-five hundred Uniate parishes and

close to fifteen hundred Uniate priests manifested itself in a new ethnic
composition of the Orthodox church in Ukraine. The Ukrainian iden­
tity of the former Uniates, now forced into conversion to Orthodoxy,
did not disappear; it remains visibly present and has to be tolerated.
The language used in the liturgical functions is a Ukrainianized vari­
ant of Old Church Slavonic; the language of the sermons and of local
administration is standard Ukrainian. Most of the local bishops are na­
tives of Western Ukraine, and 95 percent of the clergy consist of local
people. A number of West Ukrainian rituals and ceremonies, different
from those practiced elsewhere by the Russian Orthodox church, are
tolerated.
In the 1950s the Moscow patriarchate attempted to "orthodoxize"
the newly incorporated congregations by eliminating the so-called La­
tinizing influences and practices. In this respect several measures were
introduced vis-à-vis West Ukrainian clergy with few results.8The ques­
tion of language, as the primary indicator of national perseverance,
still remains crucial. When Metropolitan Filaret Denysenko, the patri­
archal exarch of Ukraine, visits Western Ukraine, he addresses local
congregations in Ukrainian. Piavoslavnyi Visnyk (one of the two Or­
thodox monthlies in the USSR) appears in Ukrainian. It also services
substantially Russianized eparchies and parishes of Central and East­
ern Ukraine. The only prayer book published in the Ukrainian s s r since
World War II features Old Church Slavonic texts in the Ukrainian vari­
ant, together with some prayers in the Ukrainian vernacular.
An excessive zeal about Ukrainian language is viewed with suspi­
cion. According to a samvydav source, a certain priest, Father Sava,
started to preach in Kiev's St. Vladimir Cathedral in Ukrainian. He was
removed shortly thereafter and sent to a village church.9 The use of
the Ukrainian language in the cathedral in the capital of Ukraine ap­
pears to have been more than regime officials and representatives of
the Moscow patriarchate could stomach.
Nevertheless, the status of the church in Ukraine clearly was up­
graded. Although not an autonomous branch of the patriarchate, the
Ukrainian eparchies constitute an exarchate, the only one within the
Russian Orthodox church in the Soviet Union. This might be due
to the traditional prestige of the metropolitan see of ancient Kiev.
The present exarch, Metropolitan Filaret, enjoys a particular position
148 The Soviet Union

within the Russian Orthodox hierarchy. He is second in rank to Patri­

arch Pimen and often represents the Russian Orthodox church and the
Moscow patriarchate on ecumenical and foreign missions. The role
of Filaret and of the exarchate was underscored when, in 1969, a de­
partment for the external relations of the Russian Orthodox church
was established in Kiev.10 This measure pursues a long-range objective,
especially in dealing with the issues of the Ukrainian Catholic and
Autocephalous Orthodox churches active in the diaspora.

Relatively Restricted Religious Groups

Among the churches in Ukraine that are tolerated and controlled, but
not excessively restricted, are the Evangelical Christian-Baptists, the
Reformed Church of Transcarpathia, and the Old Believers. The last
group consists of the remnants of once flourishing isolated commu­
nities, mostly in ethnic Russian rural settlements in Bukovina (the
so-called Lvpovany ), in Chernihiv, and in the Kherson regions. N u­
merically and organizationally, it is an insignificant group, without any
political relevance. Since the Old Believers, scattered in a few rural
communities, are self-centered and do not display missionary zeal, the
regime does not treat them any more harshly than it treats religion in
general. The Old Believers do not play any supportive or adversary role
vis-à-vis the Ukrainian national cause, and only a few individual ethnic
Ukrainians share their beliefs.
Reformed Church of Transcarpathia. An organization of ethnic Hun­
garians, this church is a traditional national denomination of Magyars
that historically was an advocate of Hungarian nationalism, mainly
in the borderlands. It embraces about half of the Magyars in the area
(about sixty thousand) and maintains about forty operating churches
with about thirty pastors, who are trained in Hungary. Since the Hun­
garian minority in the Ukrainian s s r belongs to a relatively privileged
ethnic group, this church is tolerated, although closely watched; it has
not been upbraided for Hungarian nationalism. Given a change in the
international context, it could resume its former role as spokesman for
Hungarian territorial revisionism.
Evangelical Christians and Baptists. These groups constitute orga­
nizationally one body but historically have belonged to various Prot­
estant denominations and sects. When in 1944 the Soviet government
decided to legalize Protestant activities, it preferred to deal with one
 Ukraine 149

rather than several groups. As a result, Soviet Baptists, along with Pen-
tecostalists and Adventists, formed the All-Union Council of Evan­
gelical Christians and Baptists. In 1966 the council was joined by the
Mennonites, ethnic Germans who had had a sizable following among
Germans in Ukraine prior to the war. Individual congregations of the
two Protestant communities in Western Ukraine, the Reformed (Cal­
vinist) church and another Church of the Augsburg Confession, also
joined the council. But the bulk of the faithful of this new church body
consisted of Baptists who had acquired a growing following in East­
ern Ukraine and who had attempted before, in the 192,0s, to create an
all-Ukrainian organization of their own.
Presently, the community has its central authority in Moscow, super­
vising between 1 and 1.5 million believers, half of them in Ukraine.
There is a chief presbyter in Kiev for the Ukrainian republic and a
district presbyter in each oblast (province). Over 80 percent of the
communicants in Ukraine are ethnic Ukrainians. For a long time, the
Evangelical Baptist community was, in terms of national identification,
indifferent. The congregations, mostly in the Eastern Ukraine, followed
the pattern of the Russian Orthodox church—that means that they
were Russianized and used mostly Russian as the language of religious
functions. In the Western Ukraine, primarily in Volhynia where there
are numerous congregations of Evangelical Christians, the language
used in church is prevailingly Ukrainian.
However, no Ukrainian language publications are being used, and
only recently has the Ukrainian character of these communities be­
come more pronounced. The New Testament and a hymnal were pub­
lished in a limited number of copies by an underground printing shop,
Khristianin. More frequently than before, prayers and services are con­
ducted in the Ukrainian language. It appears that the tendency to revive
cultural ethnicity is connected with the internal ferment within the
Christian-Baptist community. The emergence of a more radical group,
known as Initsiativnyky (action group), was connected to the awaken­
ing of national consciousness among some activists and rank-and-file
believers. Yet the Initsiativnyky as a whole do not identify themselves
with the Ukrainian cause and avoid involvement in political and cul­
tural nationalism. At the same time, they are not instruments of Rus­
sian nationalism, as the Russian Orthodox church in many ways tends
to be.11
 ISO The Soviet Union

Excessively Restricted Religious Groups

A denomination that can be classified as tolerated but excessively re­

stricted is the Roman Catholic church, which has not yet been sup­
pressed in Ukraine. It exists on the parish level without any central
authority in the republic. All former dioceses on the Ukrainian terri­
tory are vacant, the archdiocese of Lviv being only the latest vacancy.
There are now only three historical-ethnic and jurisdictional Roman
Catholic groups in the Ukrainian s s r .
Catholics in Western Ukraine. The remnants of the Polish Roman
Catholics living in the dioceses of Lviv, Lutsk, and parts of Peremyshi-
Przemysl make up a dozen or so congregations with a score of priests.
Here Roman Catholicism is strongly identified with Polish national
consciousness. Their number does not exceed a hundred thousand po­
tential followers.
Catholics in Kiev, Odessa, and right-bank Ukraine. A second group
includes those right-bank Ukraine and east Ukrainian cities with some
Polish and German minorities, i.e., the territory where Soviet rule was
established in r920. Here, the once-flourishing Roman Catholic m i­
nority dwindled ethnically (caused by the decline in the numbers of
Poles and Germans) and organizationally to a token presence. There
may still be as many as r 50,000-200,000 nominal Roman Catholics,
i.e., those who are baptized or whose parents were baptized. However,
organizationally this community finds itself in a sorry state. Only a few
itinerant priests service large areas between Kiev, Odessa, and Kami-
anets Podilsky. The existing congregations have minimal contacts with
the better-organized Roman Catholic communities in Lithuania and
Latvia, and even less with Poland. Yet it is known that a majority of
the priests servicing this community in Ukraine came from Latvia.
, For the declining Polish nationality in Ukraine the Roman Catholic
church could become a source of ethnic maintenance and revival. So­
viet authorities are aware of this and are inclined to speed the process of
assimilation of the Poles and, eventually, achieve obliteration of their
national church.12
Catholics in Subcarpathia. A small group of Roman Catholics in Sub-
carpathia consists of ethnic Hungarians, Slovaks, and Germans. Again,
the group lacks hierarchical ties with larger communities; some practi­
cal working relations exist with the Roman Catholic church in neigh-
 Ukraine 1 51

boring Hungary and Slovakia. This community is able to operate on a

more or less normal basis. The number of registered Roman Catholic
parishes in Carpatho-Ukraine is higher than that in any other region
(more than forty).
The fate of Roman Catholics in Ukraine in a peculiar way is tied to
that of the Ukrainian Eastern-rite Catholics and to the policy of the
Holy See vis-a-vis all the Catholics in the Ukraine and, ultimately, in
the USSR, since they are parts of the same church.
Jews and Muslims. Two non-Ukrainian and non-Christian religious
communities in the Ukrainian s s r fall into the excessively restricted
group: the Jews and the Muslims. The first group numbers over half a
million potential adherents, but only a fraction of these, mostly in the
western oblasts, are practicing Jews. There are no more than twenty
to thirty registered Jewish congregations. Allegedly there is only one
active rabbi in Kiev; in other cities, the congregations are presided over
by cantors or other elders. However, Judaism is part of the ethnic heri­
tage of even nonpracticing Jews and is therefore a vital component of
Jewish national identity. With the exodus of most active members of
the Jewish population to the West in the 1970s and 1980s, not only
religion but also the cause of ethnic Jewish survival in Ukraine has
been weakened.
The Muslim community in Ukraine used to consist of Crimean
Tatars who were uprooted after World War II. Today there are individu­
als who were transferred here from the Muslim areas of the USSR and
live mostly in Donbas (some seventy thousand). They do not constitute
any organizational base or community. Their individual religious ex­
pression, if any, is tied with their ethnic-religious homelands: Azerbai­
jan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, the Tatar area, etc. The Crimean Tatars,
forcibly resettled in Central Asia in 1944, have not been permitted to
return to Crimea.

Banned Religious Groups

The fourth category of religions consists of those organizations that
have been outlawed by Soviet authorities and are therefore actively per­
secuted. This category includes the two historic churches—the Ukrai­
nian Autocephalous Orthodox church and the Ukrainian Greek-rite
(Uniate) Catholic church—and smaller sects—the Pentecostals, the Ad­
ventists, and the Jehovah's Witnesses. Besides these, there are two other
 152, The Soviet Union

religious organizations in the Ukraine that operate outside the law. The
Truly Orthodox church (Istinno-Piavoslavnaiia Tseikov ) was set up in
opposition to the legalized and submissive Russian Orthodox church.
Its followers (among whom few ethnic Ukrainians are to be found)
are fanatical zealots mostly withdrawn from public life and sometimes
openly defying the system. The other was the Initsiativnyky, a branch
of Evangelical Christians and Baptists who broke with the docile leader­
ship of the All-Union Council in the early 1960s. The Initsiativnyky
called for a more independent stand vis-a-vis Soviet authorities, criti­
cized the regime's religious policy, and defied all restrictions imposed
on church activities. Georghi Vins, pastor of Kiev, became secretary-
general of its underground central authority, the Council of Churches
of Evangelical Christian Baptists. As mentioned before, the group was
strongly supported by Ukrainian congregations. Thanks to this group,
the Ukrainian national factor has been recognized among an otherwise
cosmopolitan Baptist community. The Initsiativnyky also maintain
contacts with the exile-based All-Ukrainian Fellowship of Evangeli­
cal Christians, a group known for its clear national position. In recent
times the Soviet government appears to have adopted a more lenient
attitude toward Baptist opposition, showing a willingness to register
the churches and even tolerate independent activities not subordinated
to the obedient Moscow All-Union Council of Evangelical Christian
Baptists.
The other outlawed sects— the Pentecostals, the Adventists, and the
Jehovah's Witnesses—are quite militant, based mostly in the rural
areas, and consist of 95 percent ethnic Ukrainians. They maintain a
closely knit organizational network of small congregations with elected
preachers, use private homes or secret outdoor gatherings for religious
functions, and, therefore, cannot be easily controlled. Their "home
churches" refuse to register. The members often defy strict legislation
* about religious activities and challenge certain civic obligations (e.g.,
the draft, atheist schooling of children, blood transfusions). Nation­
ally they are indifferent, although part of their literature, reproduced
secretly in the USSR, is in Ukrainian; e.g., the Pentecostal monthly
Vaitova Bashta (Watchtower) appears in the Ukrainian language. These
groups tend to develop their following in certain areas: the Ukrainian
Pentecostals are in Volhynia, Podilia, Polisia, and Ternopil oblasts; the
Adventists in the Chernivitsi oblast; and the Jehovah's Witnesses in
 Ukraine 153

the Transcarpathian and Crimean oblasts. These sects are also spread
among Ukrainians dispersed in Siberia, the Kuban region, and Central
Asia.13

TH E U K RAIN IAN HISTORIC

N A T IO N A L CHURCHES

The Ukrainian Orthodox and Ukrainian Greek-Catholic churches are

referred to as historic and national churches in the common perception
of Ukrainians in the free world as well as in the writings of samvydav.
These are the traditional churches, in contrast to the new Protestant-
inspired denominations and sects that appeared in the second half of
the nineteenth and the twentieth century. They are perceived to be
specifically Ukrainian in their cultural context; in fact, the membership
of these two churches has been exclusively Ukrainian. Ethnic Russians
naturally prefer the Orthodox church integrated with Moscow or, in
extremis, the Ukrainian Autonomous Orthodox church under the patri­
archal jurisdiction. The two national churches are now outlawed and
are considered reactionary, hostile, anti-Soviet, and anticommunist.
Although unrecognized by the regime, prohibited, and persecuted, they
continue to exist under adverse conditions: the Ukrainian Catholic
Uniate church retaining a formal underground structure, and the auto-
cephalists retaining an alternative church ideology and a potential
following within the folds of the official Orthodox church.14

Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church

The journalistic labels attached to the Uniate church in the USSR such
as the "Church of Silence" or the "Catacomb Church" do not convey
its true situation. It is neither a silent religious community nor are
its "catacombs" entombed in the underground caves as some would
have it. The Eastern-rite Catholics in Ukraine have adopted various
modes of existence for the sake of survival. Some consider themselves
a "church within a church," while others view themselves as consti­
tuting a marginal religious community.
The "church within the church" is the prevalent form of existence.
The bulk of the Uniates, forcibly converted to Orthodoxy, still con­
sider themselves Eastern-rite Catholics, even though formally under
the jurisdiction of the Moscow patriarchate. They have remained in
154 The Soviet Union

pectore, and often publicly, Catholics. To average believers, their pres­

ence in the Russian Orthodox church is made less embarrassing by
the fact that their former priests are serving there, as well as their
local successors (who frequently refer to themselves as Catholics), and,
given the opportunity, they would return to their ancestral church,
which was equally Catholic and Eastern (in rite and spirituality). The
liturgy, the services, the customs, the language, and the entire spiritual
atmosphere have not changed considerably from what it was before.
Moreover, the church is trying hard to preserve its ethnic Ukrainian
characteristics.
The now-outlawed Uniates also embrace the status of "a church
within another church." Some of them, especially in urban communi­
ties where the Latin-rite Catholic churches still operate, attend these
churches to satisfy their spiritual needs (confessions, baptisms, even
sometimes nuptial rites). The number of such Ukrainian Catholics is
not very high for several reasons: Roman Catholic parishes are sparse;
the spiritual needs of those who refuse to attend Orthodox churches
are, to a great extent, being taken care of by the Ukrainian Catholic
nonregistered or "secret" priests; and identification with Roman Cath­
olicism (which in Ukraine is equivalent to Polish nationality) might be
viewed as unpatriotic.
One should consider this option not only an accidental component
of a complex religio-national situation, but also a possible concept to
preserve Catholicism against apostasy. It is noteworthy that Soviet au­
thorities do prefer such a possibility to the separate operation of illegal
Ukrainian Catholic communities. Several sources, including the Vati­
can, have suggested that under certain conditions, the Soviet govern­
ment might consent to the registration of Ukrainian Roman Catholic
communities in Western Ukraine or, eventually, to the Ukrainianiza-
tion of existing Roman Catholic parishes. The implications of such an
' option are serious. Still, the concession undoubtedly would be limited
to only a few parishes and thus would not cause a general reversal of the
post-1946 trend. Such a solution would be divisive for the Ukrainian
Catholics since the majority would decline to embrace this solution.
Finally, such a minuscule "splinter" church would not and could not
be in a position to claim spiritual and jurisdictional unity with the
Ukrainian Catholic church structure abroad.
 Ukraine 155

Much more interesting and also more troublesome for the regime
is the phenomenon of the so-called Uniate “ marginal community/' or
the nonofficial church. These groups are not easy to assess numerically
but are present in each major locality and even in some smaller ones.
Usually, the followers are organized informally around unregistered
priests, itinerant monks or nuns, and activist lay people. The groups
maintain contacts and communication among themselves and commu­
nicate with distant congregations as well as with their leadership. The
spiritual leadership tends to preserve the canonical hierarchy that, of
course, is not recognized by civil authorities. Secret bishops have their
jurisdictional territories, although they may live as workers or pension­
ers in a small town or village. Moreover, the communicants outside
the Ukraine, but still in the USSR, keep in touch with their brethren
in the homeland.
The number of priests in Ukraine was estimated in the 1970s at
between three and five hundred. However, as a result of the recent
upsurge of Ukrainian Catholic activity, the number of priests, both
monastic and secular, has doubled. There is a continuous addition of
new priests ordained by secret bishops. Soviet sources report on "secret
seminaries," which are in reality no more than private training courses
conducted by qualified priests for willing candidates. The underground
church allegedly has many religious vocations. A great deal of pastoral
work is done by the nuns. They usually live in small communities
and earn their living as factory workers, medical personnel, or work­
ers on collective farms. Their identities are, in most cases, known to
the authorities. Because they do exemplary work at their places of em­
ployment, they are harassed but usually tolerated. Still, from time to
time arrests do occur. The priests are watched, called to police sta­
tions, fined, and even arrested for transgressing legislation concerning
religious cults.15
It seems that there is a tacit understanding on the local level that if
religious activities of the recalcitrant Uniates are not provocative, are
not widely known, and are conducted semiprivately (e.g., celebration of
holy mass at a private home), they can be overlooked. Periodic impris­
onments, searches, trials, and public "unmaskings" of illegal activities
serve to compel, or at least encourage, the Uniates to restrict them­
selves to low-key and subdued religious work.
156 The Soviet Union

Pokutnyky
Along with the moderate underground Uniate church, there are more
radical followers to Uniatism. There is a Uniate dissenters' group, called
neo-Uniates by Soviet sources, whose fanatical spokesmen disagree
with the established and hierarchical Uniate church. They question the
apparent readiness of the Uniate clergy and laity to accommodate the
system if it w ill grant them recognition. They totally reject the Soviet
regime, refuse to cooperate with it, and call for disobedience.16
This radical religious movement started in the obscure village of
Serednia (in the Ivano-Frankivske oblast) where in 1954, allegedly, the
Mother of God appeared to a local woman. The "miracle of Serednia"
soon attracted many pilgrims to the site, on some occasions as many
as several thousand worshipers. It is known that at least three ille­
gal Ukrainian Catholic priests actively promoted this religious move­
ment. Soviet media and antireligious propaganda initially referred to
this group as the Ihnativtsi sect, derived from the name of its first
leader, Fr. Ihnatii Soltys, who was later imprisoned and sentenced. He
was succeeded by another itinerant Uniate priest, Fr. Antin Potochniak.
The group's adherents prefer to call themselves Pokutnyky (the Peni­
tents), because they preach that the Ukrainian people must repent their
sins of the past in order to be delivered from their present yoke.17
The established underground Ukrainian Catholic church questioned
the veracity of the miracle and reacted even more critically to certain
postulates and practices of the group, such as preaching the end of the
world (announced for 1962), prescribing a nine-day penitence and a pil­
grimage to the "Holy Place of the Virgin's apparition" in order to be
saved, anathematizing Rome for its cooperation with "antichrist," and
proclaiming the "Holy Mountain" in Serednia as a "New Rome" along
with the announcement that a "true pope" had appeared in Ukraine
in the person of Arkhierei Emanuil as a "visible Peter II on earth."18
This led to an actual break between the regular Ukrainian Catholics
and the Pokutnyky sect. The latter maintained some of its following
among the fanatical and desperate opponents of both the regime and
Russian Orthodoxy, mostly among the peasants, and most particularly
among peasant women. The influence of the Pokutynyky weakened in
the late 1970s, however.19
Soviet sources admit the challenging nature of the Pokutnyky move­
 Ukraine 15 7

ment, particularly its nationalistic-messianic undercurrent. This as­

pect was especially singled out by a Soviet author who asserted that
the Pokutnyky

are playing on national feelings by asserting that Ukraine, which

has been oppressed in captivity and serfdom for long centuries, is
being now resurrected by God. Thus, they try to foment hatred
of other peoples, primarily of the Russian nation which, allegedly,
introduced atheism in Ukraine. Although the Pokutnyky are not
widely spread, this nonetheless means that under particular con­
ditions, there is a possibility of close interaction between religion
and nationalism.20

The unofficial or marginal church has been surrounded by an aura of

martyrdom that might, for certain individuals, become an additional
stimulus to be a part of a repressed group or at least to sympathize with
the underdog.

New Wave of Catholic Activism

The situation has noticeably changed in the 1980s. Ukrainian Catholics
have become more vocal and organized. Like Lithuanian Catholics,
they intensified their pastoral work, extended their influence to larger
segments of the population, publicly demanded the legalization of their
church activities, and started to publicize Soviet reprisals against be­
lievers. In 1982 an Initiative Group for the Defense of the Rights of
Believers and the Church in Ukraine was founded under the leadership
of Yosyf Terela. A few priests and nuns joined the group, among them a
veteran church activist, Rev. Hryhorii Budzinsky, and a former Pokut-
nyk, Rev. A. Potochniak. The group started to publish the Chronicle of
the Ukrainian Catholic Church, patterned on the Lithuanian Chroni­
cle. The Initiative Group is also known as the Central Committee of
Ukrainian Catholics.
The group initiated writing letters to the Soviet authorities with the
request to legalize the Ukrainian Catholic Church in the USSR. In Au­
gust and October 1987 two petitions were addressed in this regard to
the Supreme Soviet with the signatures of bishops, clergy, and laity. A
press conference was held in Moscow, so that the activity of the group
was sufficiently publicized outside the USSR. Simultaneously the Ini-
158 The Soviet Union

tiative Group solicited the support of Pope John Paul II, urging him to
help the restoration of the suppressed Ukrainian Catholic church.21
Moreover, three other events marked the recent and dramatic strug­
gle of Catholics in the Ukraine. In the spring of 1987 the news spread in
the Ukraine and throughout the USSR that there had been a miraculous
apparition of the Holy Virgin in a small village of Western Ukraine,
Hrushevo. The site soon became the place of many pilgrimages, some­
thing on the scale of Medjugorje in Yugoslavia, and was acknowledged
by the Soviet press.22
Another event worth mentioning was the appearance of the samvy-
dav work by Reverend Mykhailo Havryliv entitled Every Person Is First
of A ll a History, an account of the conversion of an Orthodox priest to
Catholicism and of his pastoral activities. The book was smuggled out
of the Soviet Union and published in Ukrainian and English in Rome.
Soon the Reverend Mr. Havryliv was subjected to harsh sanctions. He
was drafted into the Soviet army at the age of thirty-eight, although he
had completed his military service when he was a young man.23
The third important event was the sudden grant of a visa to Terela
and his family so they could leave the USSR. Allegedly, this religious
activist faced the option of leaving the Soviet Union or of being impris­
oned again. With the departure of Terela to the West (he now resides
in Canada), the Catholic resistance in the Ukraine did not cease. The
group is now chaired by Ivan Hel.24
The problem of Ukrainian Catholics acquired special significance in
view of a possible papal visit to the Soviet Union. The Vatican continu­
ously maintains that such a visit is possible only if the pontiff would
have an opportunity to visit Catholic communities, including those of
the Ukraine. Moscow places considerable value on a papal trip for
political reasons, and for a while it seemed possible that the pope might
come for the millennial celebration of Christianity in the Soviet Union.
But the Vatican would not compromise on its preconditions, and hence
the pope did not accompany the high-level Vatican delegation that at­
tended the millenial celebrations in June 1988.
Metropolitan Filaret of Kiev, the spokesman for the patriarchate, re­
cently made a public statement that the papal visit to the Soviet Union
cannot take place because the pope supports the Uniates and is appar­
ently involved in the "alternative" celebrations of Christianity in Rus­
sia, i.e., the Millennium of Christianity of Ukraine. The same prelate
 Ukraine 159

admitted the fact that in the USSR there are several thousand Uniates
and three bishops. Even more revealing was the statement by another
Russian Orthodox prelate, Archibishop Irinei Susemil of Vienna, who
confirmed the existence of Ukrainian Catholics in the USSR, stating
that "in the new wave of democratization also the Uniates should find
their place." Still Archbishop Irinei underscored the political nature of
the Uniate problem in the USSR. It is not excluded that the archbishop
may have expressed the official view when he mentioned that the gov­
ernment might take a more liberal stand on the issue. He added, how­
ever, that this might be the case if the Soviets were convinced that the
emancipated church would not become "another political underground
organization."25
As a result, the Catholic church in the Ukraine finds itself at a very
critical juncture. It can expect some gradual improvement in its status
in view of the domestic and the external situations. Yet there might be
new dangers in store to its precarious existence. Some Soviet political
quarters indicate that some uncertainty on the part of the regime was
motivated by consideration of the millennium celebrations. Now that
that occasion has passed, some radical elements in the government and
in the Russian church may return to the previous policy of repression
against the Uniates.

Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox Church (u a p t s )

When it comes to the Ukrainian Orthodox church, it is not so much its
present situation that gains attention as the role of the Autocephalists
in the past. A Soviet author, writing in the atheist journal Liudyna
i svit, described Ukrainian Autocephalist ideology as a "synthesis of
clericalism and Ukrainian bourgeois nationalism." The same author
specifically singled out the use of the Ukrainian language in liturgical
services as an element of nationalism.26
Bishops of the second autocephaly (1942-44) are attacked, especially
the outspoken Metropolitan Mstyslav Skrypnyk, who now heads the
most representative branch of the Ukrainian Orthodox church in exile.
The continuity of the autocephaly as an alternative concept to the
present Russianized Orthodox church is obviously troublesome to the
Soviets. Although presently not threatening, it is potentially an alter­
native to the Russian Orthodox church and might become as attractive
as it was in the 1920s or early 1940s. Therefore, those who shape na­
l6o The Soviet Union

tional and religious policies in the Ukraine would prefer to see the
Ukrainian Orthodox congregations in exile absorbed by other national
Orthodox church structures, including the newly established Ortho­
dox Church of America (o c a ). Incidentally, the nominally nonethnic
Orthodox Church of America is in reality still very much Russian, and
AS such it is strongly opposed by Ukrainians in the United States and
Canada.
Most recently, on the eve of the millennial celebrations of Christian­
ity in Kievan Rus', Patriarch Pimen addressed Orthodox faithful outside
the USSR, and among them those "who call themselves members of
the Ukrainian Autocephalous church" to join in the celebration with
the mother church and break with separatism. As expected, this call
was rejected by the Ukrainian Orthodox churches abroad.27
Any work of religious self-promotion on the part of autocephalists
in the Ukraine is rebuffed by the Soviets, as are the contacts of Ukrai­
nian Orthodox quarters in exile with the ecumenical patriarchate and
other churches. The elaborate structure of the official Russian Ortho­
dox church outside of the USSR, with many exarchates and missions
in the Western world, is designed equally to counteract exiled Russian
Orthodox churches, as well as Ukrainian ones. It is noteworthy that
the patriarchal jurisdictions abroad with the majority of the faithful
of Ukrainian descent are staffed by ethnically Ukrainian bishops and
priests (in Canada and Argentina).

TH E ROC'S A N D THE SOVIET RESPONSE

The existence of the "second church" in the Soviet Union is evidenced

not only by political or antireligious sources, but also by Orthodox
religious figures and publications. In an article, "The Truth about the
Union," Bishop loan of Zhytomyr and Ovruch wrote:

Even now a certain number of people in Halychyna stay under the

Uniate influence, considering that the Union forcefully imposed
on their ancestors, and not the Orthodoxy shared by our fore­
fathers, is the true religion. These people look at Orthodoxy as on
a foreign faith, lacking grace. It is a grave mistake. This causes
us great sorrow. It is difficult to explain why certain priests and
laity in Halychyna, while keeping in mind the servility of the
 Ukraine 16 1

Uniate leadership toward the enemies of the Ukrainian people, are

still unable to free themselves from the Uniate yoke. . . . Those
believers in Halychyna who are still in the Uniate captivity . . .
should reunite with their Mother Orthodox Church, and she w ill
embrace them with love as her faithful sons.28
Many secular sources bring home the reality that the Uniate church
is alive, its followers even taking initiatives to change their illegal sta­
tus. A Soviet student of religion, M. Mchedlov, admitted already in
1970 that in the USSR there was

a certain revival and activization of former Uniates. They spread

rumors among the populace, particularly among those who were
converted to the Orthodox Church. They often slander Soviet re­
ality, inspire all kinds of letters to be sent to Soviet authorities
demanding the registration of Uniate congregations. They urge the
restoration to Ukraine of the Greek Catholic Church, etc.29
Mchedlov was commenting on the efforts of the church in the 1960 s,
but these efforts have continued through the 1970s. The movement
of petitions and calls for legalization of the outlawed Uniate religious
community has become even more insistent, as has been amply docu­
mented in religious and national samvydav literature of the period.
Equally revealing is the concern of Soviet policymakers in the
Ukraine, as illustrated by the same author. Mchedlov charges "U ni­
ate churchmen" with promoting nationalist ideals. He condemns this
activity as being "diversionist," anti-Soviet, and antisocialist in na­
ture. "It is not accidental that artificial attempts to revive the Greek
Catholic Church in the Ukraine, to establish it as an organization,
and to unite all existing Ukrainian church entities, have found support
equally among the counter-revolutionary émigré clergy and among the
secular bourgeois nationalists."30
The campaign of defamation of the Uniates conducted by atheists
and party agents, also echoed in the writings of the official representa­
tives of the Russian Orthodox church, focuses on the national-political
role of the Ukrainian Catholic church, now and in the past. It is not the
purpose of this chapter to present a full account of the anti-Uniate cam­
paign in the Western Ukraine or to analyze its themes and arguments.
Suffice it to say that there are a large number of publications devoted to
1 62 The Soviet Union

the problem; it is also a major topic of lectures, seminars, broadcasts,

films, and exhibits in the museums of religion and atheism. An author
specializing in the anti-Uniate struggle summarized the tasks of vig­
orous Soviet propaganda against the "remnants" of the Uniates in this
manner:

In this connection it is indispensable to expose continually and

pointedly the shameful history and pernicious role of the Greek
Catholic Church in the social life of our people. It is necessary to
disclose the anti-communist substance of the alliance between its
leaders and Ukrainian bourgeois nationalism, to prove the futility
of attempts by Western reactionary-bourgeois-clerical quarters to
revive artificially Uniatism and to exploit religio-nationalist sur­
vivals in the struggle against the USSR, the forces of peace and of
social progress.31

The leaders of the Ukrainian Catholic church have been charged with
collaboration with the Germans during World War II. Even the figure of
Metropolitan Sheptytsky, who is well known for his clear stand against
the Nazi Holocaust and who personally contributed to saving the lives
of many Jews, has not been spared.32 The attack has been particularly
strong on the former spiritual leader of the Ukrainian Catholics, Josyf
Cardinal Slipyj in Rome, who himself spent eighteen years in Soviet
prisons and camps. Slipyj's successor, Cardinal Myroslav Lubachivsky,
who also claims to be leader of all Ukrainian Catholics including those
in the Soviet Union, has become a special target of Soviet invective.33
Soviet propaganda attacks the efforts of Ukrainian Catholics to orga­
nize their church as a particular structure with autonomy and restored
traditional institutions, including a patriarchate. That, of course, is
anathema to the Kremlin. Agitprop condemned the cause of beatifi­
cation of Metropolitan Sheptysky, and it accused Cardinal Slipyj of
not keeping his promise to stay away from anti-Soviet activity (al­
legedly made when Khrushchev agreed to release him in 1963). The
present pope also is attacked indirectly for his "generous" treatment of
Ukrainians in exile: granting them synodal rule, appointing an arch-
bishop-coadjutor to Slipyj with the right of succession to the see of Lviv-
Halych (where the union with Rome was declared dissolved over four
decades ago), or sending special messages to the Ukrainian Catholic
 Ukraine 163

hierarchy on the eve of the millennium of Christianity in the Ukraine.

Radio Vatican Ukrainian-language programs beamed to the Ukraine are
labeled "nationalist" and accused of sowing national hatred.34
In this regard the church hierarchy of the Russian Orthodox church
also takes issue with the Vatican. On two recent occasions there was a
strong intervention of Russian hierarchs with the Holy See. One protest
was in response to the pastoral letter of Pope John Paul II on the m illen­
nium of Ukraine's Christianity; the second protest came in response to
the decision of the Ukrainian bishops' synod to solemnly reject the so-
called Soboi of Lviv, which had declared the Uniate church dissolved.35
Both Ukrainian national churches are thorns in the side of the re­
gime: the existing Russian Orthodox church is tolerated as the lesser
"evil" while the Orthodox church in the Ukraine is granted some in­
significant concessions (e.g., displaying its Ukrainian features) in order
to neutralize "nationalist" propaganda emanating from the Uniates and
Autocephalists.
Soviet writers have outlined some of the motivations of those still
religiously active in Ukraine. First—according to these writers—there
are forces (primarily from outside Soviet society) that use religion in
an attempt to disseminate among the Soviet people bourgeois ideas
and ways of life. Second, the same agents, along with some internal
foes of the Soviet regime, intend to use religion to revive the remnants
of bourgeois nationalism. To this end, according to Soviet spokesmen,
some churchmen pretend that religion preserves the national tradition.
It is, according to V. Tancher, presented as the champion for the con­
servation of national traditions. The religiosity of a people, the author
argues, is further portrayed as the virtue of national selfhood, while
the performance of religious rituals and the observance of holidays are
valued as expressions of a national character.36
The same author specifically singled out Ukrainian Catholics to
criticize their nationalist attitude, in particular their attempts to foster
opposition between Ukrainians dnd Russians. As long ago as 1968
Tancher wrote that

all churches serve the interests of the exploiting classes. But the
Uniate Church played a particular reactionary role. Uniate believ­
ers desired opposition between the Ukrainian and Russian nations.
They wanted to see these countries quarrel; they attempted to iso-
1*4 The Soviet Union

late these two friends from each other. Religious differences shook
fu the foundations of Ukraine's national unity.37
Religion and nationalism are serious obstacles and ideological foes to
two programmatic values of Soviet communism, internationalism and
Atheism. They are presented as reactionary prejudice, still alive in So­
viet society, trying to counter Marxist-Leninist ideas. Because of their
"reactionary" nature and the survival of past traditions, they interact
and support each other. "Religiosity motivates national isolationism,
and nationalist vestiges frequently stimulate religious prejudices," ac­
cording to another Soviet author.38
This is relevant in particular in the Ukrainian case, where two "tra­
ditional" churches oppose the Russian character of the communist
regime and its Russificatory nationalities policy. The idea has been
spelled out by an author specializing in antireligious and antination­
alist pamphlets. "The Ukrainian bourgeois nationalist ideologists," he
writes,
assert that religion (in its Uniate and autocephalous variants) con­
stitutes, so to say, the "spiritual support" of the Ukrainian na­
tion and impedes its assimilation into the Soviet multinational
state. From this erroneous assumption, they arrive at the con­
clusion about thp anti-national character of atheism which sup­
posedly aims at the denationalization and Russification of the peo­
ple within the USSR.39
That observation is apropos. Not only representatives of church orga­
nizations but also secular critics of Soviet religious policy point to the
fact that the Soviet ideological struggle in the Ukraine is aimed simul­
taneously at both religion and nationalism.

DISSID ENTS' VOICES

In its first issue (January 1970) Ukrainsky Visnyk (the Ukrainian Her­
ald) published a detailed, documented survey of the reprisals against
Ukrainian Catholics in the late 1960s. It mentioned two dozen Uniate
priests who were arrested, tried, or harassed in other ways for their
priestly activity.40The same issue featured a lengthy statement by a per­
secuted Ukrainian Catholic priest, Hryhorii Budzynsky, in which the
author questioned charges raised against him that led to his sentencing
 Ukraine 165

in 1945 and resentencing in 1957. In the same article, Fr. Budzynsky

criticized the Soviet government and the Russian Orthodox church for
their roles in the forcible dissolution of the Ukrainian Catholic church
in 1946. It was the atheist government and its police agents (of the
n k v d ) that convened the Lviv Synod with a view to the formal sup­
pression of the union with Rome, argued Budzynsky. He also indicted
the Russian Orthodox church for its regrettable service to the secular
regime, simultaneously spelling out his nationalist sentiments:
In the past, the Russian Church truthfully and faithfully served the
robber imperialism of the Russian czars and in the long course of
its history, has specialized in criminal acts. Its leadership severely
persecuted the best sons and daughters of the Ukrainian nation; it
hated the Ukrainian language and fanatically fought against it.41
A short note in the journal's second issue illustrated how religion
and national culture are intertwined in everyday relations. In Visnyk's
account,

fines of 30 rubles were imposed on some 30 villagers of Kosmach

by the decision of the Kosiv raion executive committee of Ivano-
Frankivsk oblast for having gone carolling on Christmas. About a
hundred persons were interrogated in this connection. As a result,
the priest of the Kosmach church, Vasyl Romaniuk, was prevented
from performing his priestly functions for a month. Such was
the decision of the plenipotentiary for religious affairs in Ivano-
Frankivsk oblast. The reason for the charge was that Father Ro­
maniuk had been telling people, in his sermons, to dress in their
Hutsul folk garb, not to sell antique objects to tourists, and, in gen­
eral, to preserve Hutsul traditions. When asked what is wrong with
that, the plenipotentiary replied: "Eto pakhnet natsionalizmom ! "
[This smells like nationalism.]42
It was Valentyn Moroz who, among national dissenters, most strik­
ingly demonstrated the close ties between the traditional Ukrainian
church and the nationalist idea in his essay "Chronicle of Resistance."43
Religion and religiosity, in Moroz's view, are chiefly expressed through
the national spirit and national culture. Although disseminated only
as samvydav writing and published only in the West, the essay made a
strong impression on the dissident movement in the Ukraine.
1 66 The Soviet Union

Moroz, a historian and writer, views the role of the church in Ukrai­
nian society as an essential component of national life. "The Church
entered so deeply into the civilization and spirituality of the Ukrainian
people that it is inconceivable to get at it without destroying the entire
spiritual structure of the nation," he declared, and urged his contem­
poraries to resist any encroachment against religion and the beliefs of
the people.44
In addition to Budzynsky and Moroz—the former a Uniate priest,
the latter an Orthodox layman—other prominent religious dissenters
of the 1970s include Orthodox priest Vasyl Romaniuk, Orthodox lay­
man Lev Lukianenko, and two Catholic laymen, Josyf Terela and Vasyl
Barladian.
Romaniuk, a baptized Uniate from Western Ukraine who embraced
Orthodoxy, experienced difficulties early on with the regime and the
church hierarchy. Before his imprisonment, and even more after, he
voiced his opposition to the regime's repressive policies. He sent many
petitions to the pope, the World Council of Churches, the Ukrainian
hierarchy abroad, and others, calling for intercession on behalf of reli­
gious freedom in the Soviet Ukraine.45
Lukianenko, a lawyer from Eastern Ukraine who had spent fifteen
years in prison for nationalist activities, joined the Kiev Helsinki moni­
toring group in 1977. In 1978 he was arrested again and sentenced for
a second time. Among his known writings are two pieces on religious
subjects. The first, "A Christmas Message to the Stubborn Atheists,"
presented Lukianenko's severe criticism of atheism and Marxism. The
second, a letter to Metropolitan Filaret, urged the defense of religion
against regime discrimination. The author challenged the submissive
prelate to intervene in the debate over the constitutional draft to en­
sure that the legal rights of all religions would be incorporated in it,
and that the right of atheistic propaganda would be counterbalanced
by a right of religious propaganda. Incidentally, both dissenters made
their profession de foi as adherents of Ukrainian autocephaly.46
Terela's and Barladian's many letters and petitions reflect the fate
of persecuted Catholics of the Eastern rite in the USSR. In a lengthy
letter to Yuri Andropov that reads like an indictment of the system
itself, Terela wrote: "I am a Christian—more specifically, a Ukrainian
Catholic, to whom it is prohibited, under the threat of imprisonment,
to take part in religious functions, that is, to confess, to christen chil­
 Ukraine 167

dren, to repent, and to celebrate religious holidays without being la­

beled a 'militant Catholic/ The Ukrainian Catholic Church is in the
catacombs."47 Religious themes have entered into samvydav literary
works of the 1970s. Mykola Rudenko and Oles Berdnyk, two writ­
ers and poets active in the Kiev monitoring group, have enriched the
religious samizdat by their philosophical-mystical writings, promoting
theistic and libertarian thought. Other poets, like Ihor Kalynets, Vasyl
Stus, and Mykola Horbal, are motivated by religious symbolism.48 In
the unofficial visual arts being created in Ukraine today, Christian mo­
tifs serve as an inspiration to many artists, including Borys Soroka and
Opanas Zalyvakha.
Along the same lines, religious values have been assessed by a lit­
erary critic, Yevhen Sverstiuk, in his inspiring essay The Cathedral in
Scaffolding. In the author's view, religion, spirituality, and culture con­
stitute primordial values that constantly enrich humanity and give real
and genuine dimensions to existence. "How many sacrifices our people
made in order to pass to posterity the true human ideals, beliefs, self­
less love of truth and devotion to God of our forefathers!" exclaimed
Sverstiuk.49
Throughout the many works of literature and art of the new Ukrai­
nian generation, a close relationship between religion and nationality is
reflected as a signum temporis, a writing on the wall amid the gloomy
reality of our times.

CO N CLU SIO N

The religious-national panorama of Ukraine, analyzed in its past and

present dimensions, provides us with several models of underlying
spiritual-ideological values, the type of organization based on them,
and finally, certain political concepts resulting therefrom.
In the first model, the Ukrainian national churches, viz., the Ukrai­
nian Greek-Catholic (or Uniate) and the Ukrainian Autocephalous Or­
thodox, represent a single pattern: religiosity is treated as the "national
character" of Ukrainians; and a separate, indigenous Ukrainian cul­
tural development, as opposed to the Russian one, is stressed. Here, it
is implied, national culture has been inspired by religion for over one
thousand years, and therefore a symbiosis of religion and nationality
is taken for granted. Religion has also affected the revival of national
1 68 The Soviet Union

consciousness in modern times and the awakened nationalism contrib­

utes to the articulation of national church ideology. This then becomes
a challenge to broader universal ecclesiastical communities (Roman
Catholic or Orthodox). Religion, in principle, tends to identify with
ethnic nationalism in this model. Politically the first model expresses
itself in the quest for national statehood.
The proponents of Russian Orthodoxy, in the next model, also as­
sume the religious nature of Eastern Slavs as a starting point and see an
essential cultural factor in the millennium-long common Russian past
of Eastern Christianity. Kiev Rus', as the cradle of all-Russian religious-
cultural heritage (and, even more so, Muscovite Russia), molded its own
unique expression of Orthodox spirituality that was simultaneously
Russian-national and supranational (in a regional Slavic context). From
this there developed a Russian national church with Slavophile and
sometimes universalist overtones. The Russian Orthodox church was,
in many ways, the Eastern counterpart of the Roman Catholic church.
The difference is that the Roman Catholic churph became international
over time, claiming the fidelity of numerous European sovereigns. Rus­
sian Orthodoxy, on the other hand, closely identified itself with one
sovereign, the tsar of Russia. The Russian church became nationalist
— not in a narrow ethnic sense, but in a pan-Russian and pan-Slavic
sense, integrating many ethnic elements in the process of their gradual
Russification.
Other Christian religions in today's Ukraine hardly parallel either of
these patterns. Their motivating values are purely religious ones and
are not rooted in the ethnosocial past of the nation. When the Ukrai­
nian national movement and consciousness appeared as a reaction to
the dominating nationalisms of neighboring countries, all Protestant
groups and denominations maintained neutrality. Some of them may
have been responsive, for practical reasons, to the use of the Ukrainian
language, but their motivation in this regard was not to strengthen
Ukrainian ethnic consciousness and national aspirations, but simply
to establish as broad a presence as possible in the Ukrainian commu­
nity. Moreover, these sectarian groups were in their very nature inter­
national and addressed themselves equally to all ethnic groups. The
result is non-national religious organizations. Their civic attitude is
loyalty to any system willing to tolerate religious pluralism. Cosmo­
politanism is their preferred concept insofar as international relations
 Ukraine 169

Table 6.2 The City of Man on Earth (Soviet religious-political scene

Institutional-
Underlying sociological International
values concept concept Political concept
Model i: Nationalist
Religious National or Ethnic Nationalism/
psychology particular church Ukrainian Separatism
Culture rooted Church membership Indepelldent
in Christian autonomy/ exclusively national state
traditions autocephaly Cooperation
with Democracy
National
consciousness non-Russians

Model 2: Imperial
Russian religious Orthodox Religion of all Soviet-Russian
heritage pan-Russian East Slavic nationalism
Common church with (Russian) peoples .. . ,
ecumenic ^ Unity or
Russian
aspirations p i, Historical Russia
ethno-cultural non-Slavs A
unity Autocracy

Traditionalism/
messianism

Model 3 : Internationalist
Pure religious International Open to all Loyalty to any
consciousness church regime
Anti. organization
International
respecting rights
cooperation,
establishment brotherhood Cosmopolitan
subculture
Democracy
National
neutralism and
pluralism

Model 4: Communist-Hegemonic
Scientific "Soviet people Rapprochement Soviet
atheism and mutual commonwealth
"New Soviet
Internationalism man and cultural
Continuity of
society" enrichment
Primacy of Russian Empire
Russian culture Merger of
Totalitarianism
nations
Friendship
170 The Soviet Union

«re concerned. It is understandable, then, why rigid Ukrainian, Russian,

or Polish nationalists would view Protestantism with much suspicion
as an alien body.
Finally, the fourth model, Soviet secular antireligion, possessing
some quasireligious features and functions, fits our analysis in this
way. Its underlying values are scientific atheism and the claim of inter­
nationalism (so-called proletarian internationalism). Yet within the
definite historical context the Soviet model replaced initial Marxist
rootless internationalism with Russian culture, the historical and geo­
political heritage of imperial Russia, as a more tangible mobilizational
value to shape a new man and society. These values materialize in the
notion of the Soviet people as a new sociocultural and psychological
entity, consisting of many ethnonational elements. The formation of
a "Soviet people" (Sovietskii naiod ) is now an expressed goal of So­
viet social engineering. Since it is, at least under present conditions,
inconceivable that such an entity would be a nationless hybrid, the So­
viet people is being shaped around the Russian national culture and
language. From a religious standpoint the pretension is to be the ideal
form of the City of Man on earth (see table 6.2).
As much as the two Ukrainian national churches coalesce in one
model, the two others, the Orthodox-Russian and the secular commu­
nist, also tend to converge, at least on a political level, partly for practi­
cal and partly for more serious ideological reasons. The case of present
Soviet nationalities and religious policies largely proves it. As a result,
a protracted tension between the two ensues, with the intermediary
model being temporarily neutral.
7

R eligion and N ation alism in

Soviet G eorgia and A rm enia

S. F. Jones

Contrary to the predictions of Marx and most modernization theorists,

ethnic and religious differences have proved resilient to the power­
ful forces of "modernity" such as industrialization, urbanization, mass
education, and social mobility. Since the 1960s both communist and
noncommunist states have experienced an ethnic revival among their
minorities, and students of national identity have reevaluated the im ­
pact of premodern collective ties and ethnoreligious solidarities on
modern consciousness.
Religion was crucial to the formation of ethnic identity in the pre­
modern world and remains pivotal to many "modern" national iden­
tities today. Ironically, communist regimes, despite considerable suc­
cess against religious practices, have often reinvigorated ethnoreligious
identity by a combination of religious repression and, in the search for
national legitimacy, encouragement of church patriotism. The national
churches in the USSR,1 along with other religious organizations, are
uniquely isolated from communist state structures and relatively in­
dependent both ideologically and morally; in a situation where there
is no other significant ethnic organization opposed to the "internation­
alist" communist worldview, they often become a focus for national
identity and tradition among the minorities.2 They are important for
nationalist movements because they provide one of the only mass bases
for an alienated national intelligentsia seeking political change.3 How­
ever, support for the church is not simply a substitute for nationalism;
many adhere to the church for spiritual reasons, or because the religion
has been handed down with the family. Nationalists, on the other hand,
are often hostile to religion.
17 2 The Soviet Union

Nationalism is a notoriously difficult concept to pin down; for our

purposes, it may be defined as a set of beliefs which attribute intrinsic
or supreme worth to the nation defined by certain common cultural
and ethnic attributes and attitudes. This is a very wide definition and
may include "nationalists" who differ profoundly in their attitudes and
behavior. Nevertheless, for the sake of analysis in this chapter, we can
accept Teresa Rakowska-Harmstone's description of two basic nation­
alist trends in the Soviet Union: "orthodox nationalism," which seeks
"maximum accommodation" to national demands within the system;
and "unorthodox nationalism" (dissidence, public demonstrations, ter­
rorism), which rejects systemic limitations on national rights.4
For those nations such as Georgia and Armenia, where historically
religious distinctiveness was interwoven with national survival, com­
munist atheist policies imposed by a Russian-dominated government
take on a national character. Throughout the Soviet period both state
and national church leaders in the USSR have recognized this religio-
national symbiosis, and Soviet nationality policy in its long-term at­
tempts to "homogenize" the Soviet population differentiating less and
less between the religious and secular aspects of minority national
identities. Inevitably this has drawn secular nationalist and traditional
religious elements, who both feel threatened by Soviet policies, closer
together, although the degree of religio-national symbiosis is dependent
on the role of the church in national formation and its past contribu­
tion to group identity. For this reason, an analysis of the relationship
between nationalism and religion under communism must begin with
a discussion of premodern solidarities.

RELIGION A N D ETH N ICITY IN GEORGIA A N D ARM ENIA:

A HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

There are similarities in the history of these two countries which pro­
duced strong ethnoreligious identities. Both peoples, who were evolv­
ing into distinct cultural units by the fourth century, were among
the first converted to Christianity.5 Their geopolitical position placed
them in the frontier zone of Christian resistance to Islam. Constant
wars with adversarial Islamic powers reemphasized the links between
communal and religious identity and cemented the interdependence of
church and state. As frontiersmen they became especially conscious
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 173

of their religious and cultural differences. Both had strong priesthoods

which in a hostile environment were the carriers of distinctive lan­
guages with unique alphabets, the transmitters of culture (including
myths of common origin traced to biblical antecedents), and the guard­
ians of laws and sacred texts. Both belonged to the Eastern Chris­
tian tradition of decentralized national patriarchs, rapidly attained au-
tocephaly, and adopted ethnographical names (the Armenian church,
Georgian Orthodox church).
However, there are also crucial differences which may explain in
part the relatively stronger ethnoreligious identity in modern Armenia.
After the fall of the Armenian Cilician kingdom (1375), the Armeni­
ans possessed no state of their own. In the absence of native kings the
church became the only tangible focus of ethnic identity, with a sacred
geographical center at Echmiadzin (at present in Soviet Armenia). It
maintained social, fiscal (rights of taxation), educational (through an
extensive system of parish schools), and a degree of political control
over its flock scattered throughout Turkish Armenia. These powers
were institutionalized by the creation of an Armenian church millet
within the Ottoman Empire in r86o. Similar religious (but not civil)
autonomy was granted to the Armenian religious community in Rus­
sian Armenia by the "Supreme Regulatory Statutes" (Polozhenie) of
1836.6 Religion, as with the more familiar Jewish diaspora, became
central to the preservation of Armenian identity.
In contrast, Georgians, who maintained independence until the be­
ginning of the nineteenth century, were increasingly mobilized around
territorial and dynastic issues as the church went into decline after
the seventeenth century. The Georgian church was not recognized as
a nationally representative organ by tsarism and was considered suf­
ficiently weak to be absorbed by the Russian church in 18 ir without
risk of social disorder.7
The Armenian church was also a more democratic organization than
its Georgian counterpart. The laity was involved at all levels from elec­
tion of the parish priest to the appointment of the catholicos. This
intermingling of congregation and clergy at every level reinforced iden­
tity with the national church even among illiterate Armenian peas­
ants who had little understanding of the Christian faith.8 Although the
Georgian church was also interwoven with every part of the peasant's
life, evidence from travelers of the seventeenth century onward points
174 The Soviet Union

to a growing rift between a demoralized clergy and parishioners who

infrequently attended church.9
Finally, Armenian ethnoreligious identity is underlined by the
church's doctrinal specificity. This goes back to the early Christian
theological disputes which led the Armenians to abandon Eastern Or­
thodoxy after they had rejected the rulings of the Council of Chalce-
don in 45r.10 The sectarian doctrinal practices of the national church
led to repression by the Byzantine emperors as well as the Sassanid
Persians and encouraged the use of specific rites and symbols centered
on the Armenian language (rather than Greek). Georgians, however,
remained within the Orthodox fold, which may partly explain the ease
with which their church was absorbed by Russian Orthodoxy in the
nineteenth century.
Notwithstanding these differences, on the eve of 19 17 crucial ele­
ments of ethnic identity such as shared memories, common myths,
symbols, and other cultural distinctions were inextricably bound up
with both the Georgian and Armenian national churches. Although
faith may have been weakened by the new secular ideologies of social­
ism and nationalism, consciousness of the church as a cultural bond
was still embedded in the minds of the vast majority of the native popu­
lation.

Tsarism and Renationalization

By the end of the nineteenth century, although rural life still centered
on family, village, and, among Armenians in particular, on the church,
there had been a shift from a religious to secular ethnic identity among
urban dwellers, including the intelligentsia. The "new motor of ethnic
revival" in the nineteenth century, as Anthony Smith puts it, was "gen­
erated by the historical, philological and anthropological researches of
the scholars, and the literary and artistic achievements of the poets,
musicians, dramatists and painters."11 The penetration of the market,
the development of internal communications and mobility, the break­
down of traditional communities, the expansion of public education
and study in Russia or abroad, the rise of a bureaucratic state, and in
the Armenian case the "internationalization" of relations with the de­
clining Ottoman empire produced an increasingly politicized and so­
cially mobile population prepared to support the new secular priest­
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 175

hood of nationalists and socialists. By 1905 socialist parties with strong

nationalist overtones had acquired mass ethnic bases and dominated
political life in both nations.12 However, despite a mood of anticlerical­
ism among the intelligentsia (not necessarily shared by other classes
such as Armenian merchants in Constantinople or Georgian nobles),
repression of the national churches continued to arouse popular anger
and, in the Armenian case, open revolt.13 Intelligentsia representatives,
largely educated in native religious schools and seminaries, almost al­
ways sprang to the defense of national church rights, and churchmen,
particularly in the Armenian case, took an active role in nationalist
politics.14 During World War I Transcaucasian national church leaders
encouraged the formation of native volunteer units to fight their tradi­
tional Muslim foe.
Nevertheless, the overall trend was toward a more secular ethnic
identity. The war mobilized the mass of Armenian and Georgian con­
scripts (as well as the public at home) around issues of territory and
national defense (Transcaucasian irredentist claims against the Turks
were encouraged by the tsarist authorities). The Armenian millet in
Turkey, increasingly persecuted by Ottoman leaders with a new m ili­
tant Turkic ideology, was compelled to respond in kind and, following
the example of other Ottoman Christian minorities, began to organize
nationalist resistance movements. In the chaos following the revolution
and the Ottoman genocide against the Turkish Armenian population
(which left a million dead in 1 9 1 5 ^ 6 and subsequently became a vital
element in Armenian self-perception), Georgia and Armenia gained
independence under the leadership of monoethnic socialist govern­
ments. The churches continued to decline in importance (although the
Georgian church regained its autocephaly) as the new leaders launched
secular programs of education and excluded the church from national
decision making. The experience of independence in the midst of civil
war and continued Ottoman invasions of Transcaucasia (1918 and 1920)
produced fierce nationalist governments which rallied their citizens
around the flag of self-determination. The legacy left by these indepen­
dent governments to the new Soviet conquerors of Armenia (January
1920) and Georgia (February i92t) was exhausted but politicized na­
tive populations led by intelligentsias strongly committed to national
ideals.
176 The Soviet Union

Soviet Renationalization and

the Armenian and Georgian Churches, 1920—53

One result of Soviet rule over non-Russians, despite the regime's stated
aim of "homogenization," has been an increase in national differen­
tiation. The processes of modernization, which in the last century be­
gan to produce a secularized national culture among the Georgian and
Armenian population, were accelerated by the communist policies of
mass education and economic development. The promotion of national
equality and the policy of korennizatsiia (the preferential employment
of native cadres and expansion of native language use in government
and educational institutions), and the freedom given to national forms
of expression which lasted until the early 1930s and legitimated a form
of cultural nationalism, were accompanied by the repression of tradi­
tional patriarchal attitudes connected with the family and church.
Leninists, unlike Marx, attributed primary importance to combating
religion ,15and church life in Armenia and Georgia (if judged by the num­
ber of working churches, clergy, and attendance) continued to decline
as a result of intense atheistic campaigns, including the confiscation of
church property and expulsion of priests, backed by economic and legal
restrictions on religious activity. According to Georgian Communist
party secretary V. Lominadze, by 1923, 2,355 churches had been closed
in the republic; in Armenia similar measures by 1932 had reduced the
once-thriving monastery at Echmiadzin to twenty monks and the num­
ber of priests in Erevan, the Armenian capital, to two.16 Churches and
their representatives, particularly in the rural areas, suffered intensi­
fied repression during the collectivization campaign and the purges of
1936-38, when all "bourgeois" or "national" elements were singled out
for elimination. Deprived of financial means (due to nationalization or
confiscation of property) and the right to propagate religion (by a 1929
decree on religious associations), to teach in schools, or to take part in
charitable work, the churches of Armenia and Georgia, as elsewhere in
the USSR, lost influence with their flock. Despite some evidence that
both churches, in particular the Armenian, continued to maintain sup­
port in the countryside in the 1920s, the "nationalist" intelligentsia in
both republics did not come to the defense of their churches' national
rights (partly out of fear of course) and were more concerned with re­
publican autonomy and the status of the native language. In the 1930s,
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 177

as Stalin drove for uniformity and Russification, both church and in­
telligentsia were terrorized into submission. In short, between 19 2 1
and 1941 the forces of state propaganda and coercion against religion,
combined with accelerated urbanization and mass education, probably
weakened the nexus between ethnicity and religion among the popu­
lation and increased the trend toward a secular national identity. The
Soviet leaders, by classifying their citizens on ethnic lines (in pass­
ports) and by creating national administrative units and governments,
formalized the growth of this "secularized" national identity.
However, the thaw in church-state relations during and after World
War II revealed that the national-religious nexus was not broken in A r­
menia, although in Georgia the church failed to reestablish a popular
base until the 1960s. Both Hitler and Stalin tried to harness Soviet
minority nationalisms to their cause during the war and in doing so
exploited the patriotic influence of the national churches.17 Along with
praise for Armenian and Georgian antiquity, publication of previously
banned patriotic works (Raffi in Armenia, Constantine Gamsakhurdia
in Georgia), the granting of republican ministries of defense and for­
eign affairs, the official glorification of national figures such as the A r­
menian epic hero David of Sassoun and the Georgian King David the
Builder (after whom armored divisions were named), both the Arme­
nian and Georgian catholicoses were encouraged by the Soviet authori­
ties to express support for the patriotic cause.18 In return they were
granted numerous concessions. The Armenian church seems to have
been either more favored or more capable (aided by money from the
diaspora abroad?) as it produced a new journal (Echmiadzin ) and re­
opened a seminary immediately after the war, both of which the Geor­
gian church failed to achieve.
From the end of the war until Khrushchev's deposition, the Geor­
gian church barely functioned. In 1956 there were only seven students
training for the priesthood,- in 1980 the Georgian church calendar de­
clared that during this period "there were so few Georgian clerics that
the service in the native language was rarely taken."19 The intensifi­
cation of the antireligious campaign under Khrushchev hardly affected
a church already in desperate straits. When the Georgian Orthodox
Church joined the World Council of Churches (wcc) in 1962 (Soviet
authorities seemed to be seeking influence in this international body
at the time), Catholicos Eprem II announced that ten of the fifteen
178 The Soviet Union

dioceses were unfilled and that 105 working priests served a Georgian
republican population of 4 million.20 This is not to assert that religion
held no place in the population's consciousness; the local antireligious
campaign and the church's subsequent revival suggests it was not ab­
sent, but that its role in the new ethnic nationalism expressed in the
more enlightened atmosphere of the de-Stalinized 1960s was compara­
tively weak. Georgian church leaders were feeble; they had been co­
opted as Soviet foreign policy spokesmen since the war and were little
respected. At this stage, state control of a subservient and demoralized
church alienated potential support for a new ethnoreligious national­
ism. On the other hand, state co-optation of the church (Eprem II was
a member of the Georgian Society for Friendship and Cultural Rela­
tions with Foreign Countries and the Society for the Preservation of
Cultural Monuments, and appeared frequently at state occasions or at
celebrations of national figures) did give the church some legitimacy
and a higher profile in Georgian national affairs. Membership of the
w c c also added to the church's status and politicized the church leader­
ship, which was forced to take stands on international issues ranging
from racism to repression of national liberation movements. This offi­
cial toleration of the church may have indirectly led to its growing
influence among Georgians in the 1970s and the rejuvenation of the
ethnoreligious link.
The situation of the Armenian church was more favorable after the
war for a number of reasons. First, the church continued to play a role
in Soviet expansionist aims in Turkey. The Soviet government, after
abrogating the Soviet-Turkish treaty in March t945, called for the re­
turn of the former Armenian territories of Kars and Ardahan lost to
Turkey in 1920. This received the full public backing of Catholicos
Kevork VI, of the mass of the Armenian population, and of the Arme­
nian communist leadership until the USSR dropped the idea in 19 5 3-21
Second, the church also supported the Soviet government's policy of
encouraging the Armenian diaspora to return to the Soviet Armenian
"homeland." Approximately a hundred thousand did so, mainly from
the Middle East, between r946-48. Kevork VI became one of the main
spokesmen for this national irredentism. The Soviet motive was to re­
place much-needed personnel after the war (although the new influx
must have been a serious drain on scarce resources), to build up Soviet
Armenia as the natural "homeland" and thus increase Soviet claims to
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 179

represent Armenian interests abroad, and to use the policy as a pro­

paganda weapon within the influential diaspora and the West. Finally,
the relative success of the Armenian church compared to its Georgian
counterpart must have been partly due to financial aid provided by the
diaspora (40 percent of 1955 church income) and to the latter's role
as a publicizer of antireligious repression in Armenia which could be
damaging to the Soviet image abroad.22
Concessions to church patriotism and the courting of church offi­
cials had drawbacks for the state as it encouraged Armenian ethno­
religious identity both at home and abroad. Support for church influ­
ence in the diaspora increased church status at home as pilgrimages,
delegations, and gifts flowed in from coethnics abroad. Soviet champi­
oning of the Echmiadzin catholicos against rival claimants abroad also
emphasized his special importance to all Armenians. Throughout the
Khrushchev period the Armenian church under its popular Catholicos
Vazken 1 Baljian presented itself publicly as a defender of national in­
terests. This was despite the intensified antireligious campaign and a
disastrous start to his office when he attempted to secure Echmiadzin's
(i.e., Soviet) control over the Armenian diaspora catholicosate of Cilicia
in 1956.23 The church was given a prominent place in official anniver­
saries of national or historical importance. Thus, in t962, during the
sixteen-hundredth anniversary celebrations of the Armenian alphabet,
its clerical inventor, the monk Mesrop Mashtots, was raised by both
church and government to exalted status; Armenian writers later re­
called the "incredible atmosphere of national intoxication" during the
festivities, and one Western scholar remarked that "religion and more
specifically the Armenian brand . . . were singled out as the incubators
of national genius."24

Nationalism and Religion in

Georgia and Armenia since 196s
After Khrushchev the antireligious campaign slackened. The national
elites in Georgia and Armenia consolidated their position, extended
republican autonomy and native control in their republics, supervised
a period of rapid expansion in higher education monopolized by in­
digenous youth, permitted extensive native networks in the economy
and state (including unofficial black market activities), consented to a
greater expression of national sentiment in the cultural field, expanded
i8o The Soviet Union

contacts abroad, and achieved genuine social and economic advances,

notably in living standards, among the republican populations. These
factors together with the increasing disillusionment among the intel­
ligentsia with the stale ideology of Marxism-Leninism encouraged the
growth of a new ethnic nationalism among the native intelligentsias.
Both played increasingly prominent roles in the post-Stalin politics
of Georgia and Armenia, shared similar concerns (language, history,
demography, and, in Armenia's case, territory), and sometimes sup­
ported church interests. The church in both republics benefited from
the revival of interest in ethnicity. Republican Societies for the Pres­
ervation of Cultural Monuments were formed in the mid-1960s whose
activist student membership enthusiastically restored churches, histo­
rians and writers took advantage of the ideological relaxation to ex­
plore (and praise) the role of religion in national history, well-publicized
archaeological expeditions confirmed the churches' importance to cul­
tural development, and the churches themselves were given more op­
portunities to reassert their role in popular customs and traditions. In
a sense, as Alan Scarfe has noted elsewhere, nationalism (in terms at
least of the defense of national culture) became "a natural dimension
of church activity."25
This dual process of increasing indigenous autonomy and religious
revival began to seriously alarm the authorities in Moscow, and they
took action in the 1970s on three fronts in an attempt to reassert cen­
tral control: first, a crackdown on the increasingly complacent native
elites and their networks; second, a reemphasis on Russification mea­
sures, particularly in the area of language; and third, an atheistic cam­
paign centering mainly on religious festivals. Religion was seen as an
obstacle to the reintegration of Armenians and Georgians into inter­
national Marxism-Leninism, and the government, as we shall see, was
clearly aware of the mutually reinforcing relationship of religion and
ethnicity.

RELIGION A N D NATIO NALISM SINCE 1 9 6 5 :

TH E STATE'S VIEW

Communist governments attack religion on the one hand as an errone­

ous ideology and superstition, and on the other as a social and political
force with a popular base outside communist control. Soviet religious
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 181

policy in Armenia and Georgia is more concerned with combating the

church as an autonomous ethnic organization than as a propagator of
an alien spiritual ideology. Religion is seen as a central support of eth­
nic resistance to assimilation, but as Pedro Ramet points out, the style
and method adopted to fight church influence vary and are determined
by such factors as the ethnic configuration of the congregation and
the history, size, and cooperativeness of the church.26 As the Armenian
and Georgian cases present different problems and led to different ap­
proaches by the state, it is best to deal with them separately.

Armenia
In many ways the Armenian church has been treated relatively mildly
since the war. Possible reasons have been noted above: its use as a pro­
paganda weapon, the role of the diaspora as an economic and political
resource (to the Armenian government as well as to the church), its
traditionally wide base of ethnic support, and the absence of a spiritual
focus abroad (unlike the Catholic church). One might add to these the
cooperativeness of the church leadership with the authorities and its
lack of anti-Russianism. Muslim Turks have always presented a greater
danger to Armenian nationhood than Russia, and the Armenian church
shares the overwhelmingly anti-Turkish and traditionally Russophile
sentiments of the native population. Toleration of the church was part
of a general pattern, which developed from the 1960s onward in A r­
menia, of a growing political autonomy and pride in national achieve­
ments.
Under these conditions the church has reasserted its traditional role
as a representative of the nation. A veritable cult has been built around
Vazken 1, who has overseen significant growth in church influence
among the population. On his seventy-fifth birthday, for example, amid
wide public acclaim, he was awarded a "Scroll of Honor" by the Presid­
ium of the Armenian Supreme Soviet for his "patriotic activity in de­
fense of peace." Fadei Sarkisian, the prime minister, described Vazken
as "one of the most highly recognized and authoritative figures in the
Christian world."27 On another occasion the chairman of the Presid­
ium of the Armenian Supreme Soviet praised his service "to the Ar­
menian people and our Fatherland, Soviet Armenia," and one Western
resident in Armenia in the 1970s reported that "his portrait is seen
on the walls of many shops and homes."28 The church is also invited
18a The Soviet Union

to take a prominent part in official celebrations of critical events in

national history such as the Battle of Sardarabad (in which a Turkish
army was repelled by a smaller Armenian force in 1918), and joint an­
nual pilgrimages by government and church leaders are made to the
Martyrs' Monument which commemorates the genocide of 19 15 -16 .
Liturgical music is often played on official occasions.
In return for these concessions the state expects church support for
government policies, particularly in the field of foreign policy. Vazken
has obliged with pro-Soviet statements on Cuba, China, Israel, and
Lebanon.29 However, there is no evidence that these pro-Soviet decla­
rations diminish Vazken's popularity or public support for the church.
One suspects that they might actually enhance the church's status,
especially when they concern problems of the diaspora, as in Lebanon.30
In short, the Armenian government policy of co-optation probably
strengthens rather than diminishes the ethnoreligious link in Soviet
Armenian identity.
Official toleration of the church is accompanied by atheistic cam­
paigning and continuing restrictions on church life.31 Armenian gov­
ernment leaders control an extensive atheistic organizational network,
but as in neighboring Georgia, the success of the government's antireli­
gious campaign has been limited. At a press conference in Geneva in
1978 Vazken 1 noted that atheist propaganda over the last two decades
on radio and television had dwindled to "one or two programs a year."32
Armenian party leaders themselves constantly criticize the "serious
deficiencies" in atheistic work and its lack of progress.33 Since October
1984, when a c p s u Central Committee resolution condemned the A r­
menian party's poor ideological record, the antireligious campaign has
intensified, and in 1985 a House of Scientific Atheism was created.34
Party leaders in both Moscow and Armenia classify religion under
the general rubric of "relics of the past," alongside "petty-bourgeois psy­
chology" and "national narrow-mindedness." Religion and nationalism
are clearly linked in the campaigns for an "international atheist edu­
cation."35 The Armenian leaders are particularly keen to repudiate the
view which equates "ethnic values with religion and the traditions of
the Armenian church."36 There is little indication that they have made
any headway in achieving this, even among members of the party, and
religion and nationalism continue to be targeted for attack as mutually
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 183

sustaining ideologies, in the process driving them closer together in

the public mind.

Georgia
As in Armenia, Georgians after the war went through the same pro­
cess of native consolidation, increasing their demographic and political
domination of the republic. Under First Secretary V. P. Mzhavanadze
(I 954—'72), a long period of political stability, ethnic favoritism, and
growing prosperity coincided with a new freedom to explore the na­
tion's past and publicly express pride in national achievements. The
growing confidence of Georgian nationalism was expressed in major
patriotic demonstrations in 1956 (against the denunciation of the Geor­
gian Stalin) and r978 (against an attempt to remove Georgian as the
state language from the new 1978 republican constitution). Although
the Georgian church benefited from the Georgian government's en­
couragement of secular ethnicity (which led to a growing interest in
Georgia's Christian past), it was also subject to increasing state interfer­
ence in its affairs. Crippled by the Stalinist repression, suffering from
a chronic lack of cadres, finance, and support from at home or abroad,
the church was isolated from a Soviet Georgian flock that had already
been extensively secularized in the nineteenth century. Unable to re­
sist k g b penetration, it suffered from the spread of corruption among
the republic's political and economic institutions. Lacking a leader of
Vazken's stature, its moral decline culminated in a series of trials and
scandals involving former church leaders in 1978-79.37
The enfeebled Georgian church required little supervision from the
state, and the antireligious campaigns were not pursued with great
vigor by Mzhavanadze. At the twenty-third congress of the Communist
party of Georgia in 1966, Mzhavanadze made no mention of religion in
his attack on "relics of the past." However, there were indications by
the end of the 1960s that a small religious revival was taking place38 and
after the fall of Mzhavanadze, the new first secretary, Eduard Shevard­
nadze, incorporated the antireligious campaign into a vigorous attack
on corruption and ideological deviationism in the republic. Antireli­
gious propaganda concentrated on religious festivals, church marriages,
and baptisms, but by the end of the 1970s, as believers began to estab­
lish links with nationalist and civil rights movements and as the new
1 84 The Soviet Union

dynamic catholicos, Ilia II, began to rejuvenate the church and take a
far more visible role than his predecessors in national life, the Geor­
gian government concentrated much of its fire on the national-religious
link, especially among youth.39 The church's attempts to identify itself
with the nation were condemned as "ambitious self-interest" and a
"masked ideological diversion" by the Georgian press.40
One suspects that the coupling of religion and nationalism as "joint
enemies" of the state, as in Armenia, made Georgian nationalists in­
cline toward the church and vice versa. At the same time the Georgian
government, by continuing to devote considerable sums and space in its
press to the restoration of churches, and by inviting Ilia II to important
national functions such as World War II victory celebrations or opening
sessions of parliament, increases the church's status and strengthens
the link between religious and national interests.41

RELIGION A N D NATIONALISM:
TH E CH URCH ES' VIEW

Religion and nationalism are not natural allies; the secular and egalitar­
ian ideology of nationalism is often resisted by patriarchal and conser­
vative church leaders, as in the Armenian case in the nineteenth cen­
tury. On the other hand, as the Balkan experience showed, the church
may take a leading role in nationalist movements from an early stage.
Whatever the degree of ecclesiastical involvement in nationalist move­
ments—which is contingent on a host of historical and political factors
—the church frequently claims to be the defender of national interests
and demands the loyalty of its flock to a national religion. This does
not necessarily make it "nationalist," although as the Georgian and
Armenian cases demonstrate, under communism the churches often
become highly politicized bodies which share the concerns of nation­
alists. Church and nationalist interests coincide in particular in the
spheres of language, territory, and in the interpretation of national his­
tory. Human rights concerns are shared by believers and "unorthodox"
nationalists in which the official church rarely gets involved.

Armenia
In Armenia the religious and language community have always co­
incided. The church played a major role in the formation of the alpha­
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 185

bet; its guardianship of this distinctive sacral script and promotion of

the Armenian language made religion and language inseparable parts of
Armenian ethnicity. The church continues to exalt the Armenian lan­
guage (one of the oldest living languages in the world), and although it
plays a much more cautious role in the public defense against Russifi­
cation measures than the secular intelligentsia, unlike Armenian civil
life, it remains a bastion of the Armenian language, largely immune
to linguistic Russification.42 The symbolic religious-linguistic link is
maintained not only during religious services and in church literature,
but in the broader public sphere. In 1962 the church played a prominent
role in the sixteen-hundredth anniversary festivities of the Armenian
alphabet, and when Vazken 1 celebrated his twenty-third anniversary
as catholicos in 1979, he presented the nation with a tablet of the Ar­
menian alphabet with each letter made of gold.43
As noted earlier, the church was active in territorial claims against
Turkey after World War II. Today the most volatile issue for Armenians
is the situation of their coethnics in the Nagorno-Karabagh Autono­
mous Region (81 percent Armenian) and Nakhichevan Autonomous
Republic, both under the jurisdiction of the Soviet Socialist Republic of
Azerbaijan (a s s r ). Given the sensitivity of this question and Moscow's
categorical refusal to return the areas to Armenia despite a series of
petitions and protests, the church has refrained from publicly interven­
ing on the issue.44 This has led to considerable dissatisfaction among
Armenian nationalists, but the church's frequently expressed concern
for the almost 2 million diaspora abroad (in Cyprus, Lebanon, and other
trouble spots) and its role as the spiritual guardian of all Armenians
make it clear that its passivity on Karabagh is an involuntary one. In
the meantime the church supports the continuing native consolidation
of Armenia by encouraging immigration from abroad and discourag­
ing emigration from the "Mother Homeland"—policies which coincide
broadly with Soviet wishes.45 It also shares the symbolic attachment
of all Armenians to Ararat, the mountain on which Noah's Ark was
alleged to have rested and which is now in Turkey, visible from the
Armenian capital of Erevan and a constant reminder of Armenia's ter­
ritorial losses during World War I.
The restrictions on religion and nationalism make human rights
of obvious common interest for believers and "unorthodox" nation­
alists, but the church leaders have avoided any involvement in this
1 86 The Soviet Union

question (except in the w cc when it applies to other countries) for

fear of losing the church's privileged position in Armenia. Thus, "un­
orthodox" nationalists do not necessarily gravitate toward the church
(although many are regular churchgoers) where they w ill find little
support, and Armenian samizdat is overwhelmingly concerned with
secular nationalist themes of language, irredentism, and the genocide
of 19 15 -16 .
History has always been important to national consciousness, and
the party in its attempt to undermine non-Russian national identities
has played down their past national achievements or inflated the role
of class and the Russian people. Until the 1960s events such as the
19 r 5—16 genocide or the battle of Sardarabad had no place in the Ar­
menian official calendar, and native historians were firmly controlled.
Since then, although historians and writers are routinely condemned
for glorifying the Armenian past and overemphasizing the role of the
church, there has been a much more distinctive Armenian interpreta­
tion of their national history. The church, naturally, stresses its own
role. In 1979 Vazken 1 declared: "It is on our church that the essential
task of the preservation of Armenians rests. . . . When we did not even
have a cultural center . . . it was the church that conserved the unity
of the Armenian people."46 The view that the church preserved Arme­
nian ethnicity in the six centuries since the loss of statehood is widely
accepted by Armenians despite the party's emphasis on the anticleri­
cal nature of the Armenian national revival in the nineteenth century.
A student of the Armenian church has noted that Vazken in his other
statements repeatedly alludes to the Armenian question from a "terri­
torial and anti-Turkish point of view " which is much in line with the
convictions of "orthodox" and "unorthodox" nationalists.47

Georgia
The Georgian church has taken similar positions to its Armenian coun­
terpart. It identifies itself with the defense of the Georgian language.
In his 1980 Christmas message Ilia II warned his flock that "where
language declines, so the nation falls,"48 and in his 19 8 1—82 Christ­
mas sermon declared, "The one main source where Georgians receive
their spiritual strength is from the ancient and merciful Georgian lan­
guage."49 The official church calendar and journal (Jvari Vazisa) are full
of articles and sermons glorifying or defending the native language. For
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia r87

example, the 1976 church calendar carried a speech by the nineteenth-

century Archbishop Gabriel which declared that "the union of a small
people with a larger one . . . is possible in spirit, heart and mind, but
the destruction of its language is impossible."50 The church officially
celebrated Georgian language day (April 26) in 1986 by publishing a
booklet entitled Glory to the Georgian Language, the name of a poem
by a tenth-century Georgian churchman.51
Language, homeland, and faith are seen by the church as the three
pillars of Georgian nationhood. However, the conjunction of Chris­
tianity with Georgian territory is not one that can easily be made by
the church. A significant minority of Georgians in the Adjarian Auto­
nomous Republic (in the southeast of Georgia) or in the southern region
of Meskheti are Muslim. Other Muslim coethnics reside in Azerbai­
jan (the Ingilos). The Ingilos and Meskhians have been defended against
discrimination (particularly the latter who were deported at the end of
the war to Central Asia) by Georgian "unorthodox" nationalists, and
the church, although insistent that Christianity and Georgian culture
are inextricably linked, also accepts the Georgian ethnicity of these
Muslims.52
The church regards Georgian and church history as one and the same.
In a view clearly unacceptable to official Soviet Georgian historians
Ilia II declared in his 1980-8r Christmas sermon that "we preserved
Christianity in Georgia, and so preserved our being and national exis­
tence."53 In another Easter Epistle he declared, "What would Geor­
gia be without Christianity?! We defended Christianity and Christian­
ity saved us. . . . Our soul is by nature a Christian one."54 Although
this view may differ from the more secular nationalist version, it does
stress, like the latter, an ancient lineage of national unity which is re­
jected by official Soviet histories.55
On the question of human rights the Georgian church finds itself in
the same vulnerable position as the Armenian church. It expresses no
sympathy and gives no support to dissident activities. Many nationalist
dissidents are believers and demand better religious rights, but their
campaign evokes no (public) solidarity from the church. The church is
not prepared to traverse the limits of "orthodox" nationalism.
In conclusion, both the Georgian and Armenian churches share many
of the positions defended by native nationalists. They take a moral
stand on issues such as abortion, alcoholism, and drug taking, which,
1 88 The Soviet Union

although not specifically nationalist issues, underline concern for the

nation's biological well-being. However, the coincidence of church and
nationalist concerns does not mean church followers are necessarily
nationalist or vice versa. Most of the samizdat in both republics are
concerned with secular issues, unrelated to religious questions. Never­
theless, church activities and statements on the one hand and "ortho­
dox" or "unorthodox" nationalism on the other are mutually reinforc­
ing elements in the continuing vigor of national consciousness in both
republics.

RELIGION A N D NATIONALISM:
TH E N ATIO N ALIST VIEW

We can get a limited idea of the strength of belief in a Soviet republic

from observation and the Soviet press (although there must be many
secret believers), but the reasons for religious belief and its interaction
with nationalist sentiments—which is what we are really interested in
—are almost impossible to ascertain. Neither can we assume, of course,
that nationalists or believers are homogeneous groups. Some believers
w ill be driven by a personal faith, others by a sense of cultural com­
munity within the church. Some nationalists want autonomy, others
independence. Remembering these difficulties, for reasons of analysis
we shall stick to the two categories of Teresa Rakowska-Harmstone
— "orthodox" and "unorthodox" nationalists—and try to determine,
however unsatisfactorily, their perception of religion and the church.

Armenia
We have already noted the growth of Armenian national assertiveness
since the 1960s in connection with the combined forces of moderniza­
tion and Khrushchevian "liberalization." Recent statistics show that in
the republic (as distinct from the Soviet diaspora) there is continuing
ethnic homogenization, an extremely high attachment to native lan­
guage, high fertility rates, low exogamy, and the second highest rate
among union republics in the USSR (Georgia is the first) for per capita
number of "specialists with higher education."56 Since the signal given
by Anastas Mikoyan in Erevan in 1954 when he rehabilitated a number
of former "nationalist" writers and attacked the "harmful nihilism "
shown toward Armenian culture, there has been an explosion in the
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 189

publication of works exalting Armenian culture and history.57 Arme­

nian party leaders have regularly warned the creative intelligentsia
against "national narrow-mindedness," resorting to intense ideologi­
cal campaigns in their attempts to control it, as in 1964-66, the mid-
1970s, and, more recently, since 1984.58 However, as the latest Moscow-
initiated campaign demonstrates, little progress has been made against
"orthodox nationalism" in either literary or government circles. At a
July plenum of the Armenian central committee in 1987, First Secretary
Karen Demirchyan reiterated the problem: "Isolated individuals dem­
onstrate pseudo-patriotism in their speeches and publications, specu­
late on national feelings, and do not receive the necessary rebuff."59The
most articulate "pseudo-patriots" are the writers who, whatever the
latest statistics might suggest, are anxious about the loss of Armenian
national identity. They focus in particular on the use of Russian in
Armenian educational institutions, which has been slowly advancing
since the 1930s. An unidentified female speaker at the eighth congress
of the Writers' Union of Armenia in 1981 saw Russian language ad­
vances as a long-term threat to the Armenian nation. "Deprived of
language and the past, a person's national character is barren and use­
less to humanity," she declared.60 Silva Kaputikian, a famous Armenian
poet, took up the theme in the pages of Pravda in May 1987. "With
every passing year," she wrote, "the sphere of application of our native
language is narrowing in Armenia." She went on: "True patriotism,
inspired by a people's history and culture, is a reliable shield protecting
young people from alien outside influences."61
The other major issue for Armenian nationalists, both "orthodox"
and "unorthodox," is Karabagh, where there has been a history of resis­
tance by the local Armenian majority to Azerbaijani rule. There were
petitions from the local Armenians in 1963, 1967, and 1972 demanding
incorporation into the Armenian republic, and serious conflicts with
the native Azerbaijanis in 1967 and 1975. One source claims that Ar­
menian party leaders went to Moscow in 1969 to support the claim for
incorporation.62 One of the latest manifestations of Armenian irreden­
tist concern was an open letter in 1978 to Brezhnev from one of Soviet
Armenia's most popular novelists and a prominent party member, Sero
Khanzadian. He called for the return of Karabagh to Armenia and de­
scribed its present status as "an instance of injustice which calls for
liquidation."63
190 The Soviet Union

Armenian writers and officials are regularly harangued by party rep­

resentatives for their obsession with lost Armenian territory. At the
ninth congress of the Writers' Union of Armenia in June 1986, Vardges
Petrosian, chairman of the Writers' Board, upbraided his listeners: "We
all . . . feel nostalgia for the lost part of our homeland," he said, "but
this is nostalgia, not fever." He criticized the parochialism of Armenian
literary criticism and noted that less than one-quarter of the output of
the Armenian publishing house Sovetakan Grogh dealt with contem­
porary (i.e., Soviet) themes.64
"Unorthodox nationalists" have similar concerns to the "orthodox"
—language, Karabagh, and the past, although one may add human rights
and the church. Since April 1965 when thousands of Armenians demon­
strated against the genocide of 19 15 -16 and demanded the "return
of their lands" from Turkey, the "unorthodox" nationalist movement
in Armenia has grown. In 1966 an Armenian National United party
(n u p ) was formed with a program of self-determination for Armenia. In
1967-75, as a result of eighteen trials, fifty of its members and fellow
travelers were convicted for six months to ten years of prison and exile.
Three of its members were executed in 1979 for allegedly planting a
bomb in the Moscow subway.65 In 1977 a human rights group was set
up to monitor Soviet observance of the Helsinki Agreement of 1975;
concerned with broad civil rights, it included demands for freedom of
worship, the right of national self-determination, and the incorporation
of Karabagh and Nakhichevan into the Armenian republic.66 In 1978
there were demonstrations against an attempt to remove the clause in
the Armenian constitution guaranteeing Armenian as the republic's
state language. In 1981 there were arrests in connection with a new
underground nationalist organization called the Union of Armenian
Youth.67
The articulated concerns of "orthodox" and "unorthodox" national­
ists in Armenia are largely secular. The nup , which declares the inter­
est of the nation "higher than class, religion, [or] party," w ill accept any
member "regardless of political or religious convictions."68 "Orthodox
nationalists" are animated by linguistic and educational Russification
rather than by the rights of Armenian believers. However, there is a
complex interplay between national and religious issues in Armenia.
The church remains a national symbol which attracts popular loyalty.
It is the most important institution in Armenian history, and its lead­
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 19 1

ers share the nationalists' concern for their coethnics. Most Armenian
national or historical events are inseparable from religion. In July 1983,
for example, there was a nationalist demonstration to mark the eighti­
eth anniversary of the confiscation of Armenian church property by
the tsarist authorities, an event which in 1903 had united all Arme­
nian classes in defense of the church. Some Armenian dissidents such
as Robert Nazarian, member of the nup and founder of the Armenian
Helsinki Monitoring Group, obviously see church and nation as in­
separable. In a letter to Vazken 1, he wrote: "Beginning with the fourth
century, the Armenian has allied his fate with that of the church and
found it not only a spiritual center but also the means of saving his
own national individuality, a means of saving all that which is tied to
and which tied him to the past."69
This view is probably shared by a broad section of the Armenian popu­
lation. Most Armenians, if Vazken 1 and the observations of Western
visitors are to be believed, are in some sense followers of the church.
In 1975 Vazken claimed there had been a fourfold increase in bap­
tisms in his time as catholicos and estimated the baptized population
at 65-70 percent. Eighty percent counted themselves as believers, he
declared, and 60 percent attended church.70
As to why Armenians continue to follow the church is difficult to
answer. People "believe" for different reasons; it could be for emo­
tional support, for moral and ethnic guidance, a sense of community,
or for none of these motives. Despite the difficulties in determining
why people adhere to the church, perhaps we can divide believers into
two rather crude but overlapping categories: those for whom religion
is primarily a personal faith, a belief in the metaphysical, and those
for whom religion represents a sense of community and belonging.
The latter emphasize religious ritual and custom rather than a personal
communion with God.71 One suspects, as does Robert Kaiser, that most
Armenians belong to this latter category and that, for them, the church
"is more important as a symbol of their nation than as a tie to God."72

Georgia
Georgia went through much the same processes of ethnic consolidation
and advance in the 1960s as Armenia. The 1979 census showed that
98.3 percent of Georgians in their republic considered Georgian their
first language and that 96.1 percent lived within the republic's borders.
192 The Soviet Union

The Georgian proportion of the republican population continued to in­

crease (from 61.4 percent in 1939 to 68.8 percent in 1979) as Armenians
and Russians began to move out (from 1959 at least)/3 Georgians have
overwhelming dominance in republican economic, administrative, and
educational institutions, so much so that Yegor Ligachev, the party's
leading ideologist, during a visit to Tbilisi early in 1987 demanded a
reduction in the proportion of Georgian students in the university.74
Orthodox nationalism pervades republican public life. Books, the
media, and theater are full of paeans to Georgian nationhood, and Geor­
gian literature is unashamedly patriotic. Since 1972, when Eduard She­
vardnadze was appointed first secretary of the Georgian party to put an
end to ethnic protectionism and nepotism, a campaign against "half-
baked nationalism" and "harmful traditions" (religious marriages, bap­
tisms, and festivals) has continued. At the twenty-sixth congress of the
Georgian Communist party in 1981, Shevardnadze warned against the
"lack of ideological content, triteness, provincialism and elements of
nationalism and chauvinism" in republican literature.75
Orthodox nationalism extends to the neglect of Georgia's own m i­
norities such as the Abkhaz and Ossetians76 and to concern over envi­
ronmental issues such as the latest project to build a railway across
the Caucasus, which has aroused officially expressed fears of pollution
and destruction of national monuments.77 However, in common with
the Armenians, the greatest anxiety is linguistic Russification. At the
congresses of the Writers' Union of Georgia in 1973 and 1976, writers
N. Tsuleiskuri and R. Djaparidze openly condemned Russifying educa­
tional policies, and in 1980 an open letter to L. I. Brezhnev signed by
364 members of the Georgian intelligentsia denounced language poli­
cies which were "leading essentially to a gradual loss of the national
rights of the Georgian people."78 In 1986 the Georgian Young Com ­
munist League paper Akhalgazdra komunisti launched a campaign to
preserve the purity of the Georgian language.
"Unorthodox nationalism," evident during the 1956 and 1978 demon­
strations in Tbilisi, developed in the 1970s among professionals and
students frustrated with the failure of political reform and the anticor­
ruption drive. The samizdat that emerged in the 1970s concentrated
on language, the treatment of coethnics in Azerbaijan, the Meskhi-
ans, the preservation of monuments, and corruption in the church. A
small group of these nationalists see the church as playing a vital part
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 193

in the struggle for national self-expression. Tengiz Janelidze declared

in a samizdat article, “the war against religion is also a war against the
culture which embodies it," and in February 1978 leaflets distributed
at Tbilisi university identified “ language and the Georgian church"
with the “nation's spiritual buttress."79 Zviad Gamsakhurdia, one of
the most active Georgian dissidents and founder of the Helsinki Moni­
toring Group in Georgia (1977), puts forward a similar argument to
Nazarian's on the relationship between church and nation: "The strug­
gle against the Georgian church is a struggle against the Georgian lan­
guage and culture, because Georgian culture has found its highest ex­
pression in the Christian religion."80 Other demonstrations have taken
place in the 1980s which show a more secular concern with problems
of Russification,81 but there is clearly an active section of nationalists
for whom religion and nationalism are inextricably linked.82
Despite the small number of nationalist dissidents in Georgia, the
Georgian party is alarmed at a possible fusion of religious and nation­
alist sentiments. A recently published collection of public opinion sur­
vey results on religion and youth in Georgia suggests they have good
reason.83 Although there are serious problems associated with opinion
surveys in the USSR (and in the West), particularly in areas such as
religion where there is a reluctance to admit one's "deviance," the sur­
veys in the book probably give an approximate picture. They confirm,
as both party and church leaders admit, that the church has significant
influence among Georgian youth.84 One survey of Tbilisi students by
T. Panjekidze revealed 28 percent firm believers and 20 percent "indif­
ferent," with the rest categorized as atheists of one kind or another (one
suspects in rural areas the figure may be more favorable to "believers").
A survey of urban fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds found only 5 percent
firm atheists with 21 percent firm believers and a further 63 percent
who denied religion was a negative phenomenon.85 More revealing was
the close association made by both groups between the church and eth­
nicity. According to Panjekidze, a "majority" of the students believed
that the church played a decisive role in the preservation of Georgian
culture and saved the nation from destruction. He cites a typical re­
sponse: "Georgian culture was more or less forged from the heart of
the church. The church today is the keeper of the ancient rich treasure,
of which Georgians . . . are still proud, from the gospels to the many
unique icons adorned with the master-work of our ancestors."86 In an­
194 The Soviet Union

other typical reply a high school pupil declared, "If there had not been
Christianity, the Georgian people would not have survived."87 When
asked why they were attracted to the church, the students tended to cite
ritual and tradition. The growing interest in the church was not caused
by faith, one student answered, but "by interest in culture. A great role
is played by national feeling."88When the fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds
were asked the same question, 47 percent declared they went to church
because "the church pays attention to the historical monuments of our
national culture, to our architecture and painting."89 One of the con­
tributors to the book admits that it is young people's "interest in the
nation's ancient roots" which attracts them to the church and argues
that the church's success is a result of its influence on young people's
"national feelings."90 From other examples in the book it is clear that
many young Georgians regard the church, not so much as a place to
pray, but as a place for communion with one's past and national cul­
ture. This ethnoreligious basis of identity for large numbers of Geor­
gian youngsters may prove troublesome to the Soviet government in
the future.

CO N CLU SIO N

The modern national identities of both Georgians and Armenians are

intimately linked with the national church. The geopolitical position
of both countries on the frontier of Christianity and Islam produced a
particularly powerful ethnoreligious identity. This began to give way in
the nineteenth century (earlier in Georgia) to an ethnolinguistic iden­
tity. But under communism two separate tendencies have combined to
reassert to some degree the national-religious symbiosis among the two
populations. On the one hand, the failures of the Brave New World and
the transformation of Marxism-Leninism into a rationalization of the
status quo has stimulated the educated but alienated Soviet Armeni­
ans and Georgians, in their search for self-definition, to seek spiritual
satisfaction in nonmaterial spheres of life. On the other hand, Soviet
nationality policy, with its contradictory principles of cultural differ­
entiation (the "blossoming" or rastsvet of national cultures) and its
long-term aim of "homogenization," has produced non-Russian citi­
zens increasingly sensitized to their ethnicity. In the relatively "liberal"
years since the death of Stalin with a population no longer terrorized
 Soviet Georgia and Armenia 195

into conformity, these two streams have come close together, united
by a nationality policy that attempts to repress both as alien to Soviet
integration.
In the context of Russian ethnic dominance of an antireligious state,
nationalist and religious elements have many common concerns. In
Georgia and Armenia, although both "orthodox" and "unorthodox"
nationalists adhere to nationalism's secular tenets, there is a growing
symbiosis with religion, particularly among "dissident nationalists."
Thus, after a continuing decline in the religio-nationalist nexus in both
Armenia and Georgia from the nineteenth century onward, we have
seen a certain revival in its strength over the last two decades. This
is particularly significant in Georgia, where ethnoreligious identity,
for historical reasons, has always been weaker than in neighboring
Armenia.
However, despite the national-religious link in the ethnic identity of
large sections of the population (particularly among youth for which
we have some evidence), there has been no support (as in Lithuania)
either from the clergy or the population at large for a broad national
movement united around the church. Thus, although nationalists may
see the church as the natural font of national culture and tradition, and
believers support nationalist concerns for moral and political rejuvena­
tion, the relationship is not as yet sufficiently politicized. This may be
in part due to the special conditions of tolerance shown the national
churches in Armenia and Georgia (especially the former), but it must
also be a result of the continuing domination of a secular ethnic iden­
tity among the majority of the population.
8

Islam and N ation alism in Soviet Central A sia

Jam es C ritch low

Islam in Soviet Central Asia, with its millennial roots, has for more
than sixty years been tenaciously resisting attempts by the communist
regime to extirpate it. Despite some reverses in the face of persecution,
coercion, and hostile propaganda, it is maintaining its grip in different
ways at different levels of society. Its greatest strength is its identifica­
tion as an ethnic symbol for the Turkic and Iranian nationalities that
compose the indigenous population of the area.
Thus, Islam continues to play its historic role as an international
symbol of resistance on the part of Muslims to domination by non-
Muslims, especially Europeans. Simultaneously, Islam as a broad social
concept has developed into a bulwark of the new local nationalisms in
the Muslim Soviet republics. In the process, it gives evidence of assur­
ing its future by adapting to the outlook and goals of the Soviet-trained
but nationalistic elites who are emerging as leaders of the region.
In the face of this challenge to ideological purity and social integra­
tion the most conspicuous response of the Gorbachev regime has been
to target religious backsliders among the native Communist elites who
are supposed to serve the regime as "conveyor belts" of ideology. A
Politburo member who is close to Gorbachev, Aleksandr N. Iakovlev,
has decried the "strange" fact that "the influence of Islam on the cre­
ative intelligentsia has been strengthened." Gorbachev himself, in a
stopover in Tashkent when returning from a trip to India, complained
to the local leadership of the Uzbek Communist party about party
members who pay lip service to communist ideals but themselves take
part in religious rituals. Party sanctions have been used against mem­
bers involved in religious services: in one six-month period of 1987
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 197

fifty-three members were expelled from the Uzbek Communist party

for "organizing religious rituals and taking part in them ."1
The Gorbachev leadership has also deplored growth of the Islamic
clergy. At a 1987 party plenum in Tashkent it was revealed that in the
preceding ten years the number of official clergy had doubled, and that
some two hundred unofficial "self-styled mullahs" were also active.
The latter, Islamic activists who operate outside the "official" religious
framework, are subject to criminal penalties. As of June 1987 more
than a dozen imprisonments of Soviet Muslims for such transgressions
as creating Koranic study groups or "trading in Muslim literature" had
been documented by a human rights group; in all cases the victims
were under criminal confinement.2
At the same time the Gorbachev leadership, like its predecessors,
has apparently shrunk from all-out attack on religion among the main­
stream Muslim masses, evidently in unwillingness to destabilize the
system at a time of economic and social crisis. Indeed, the policy of
glasnost’ has helped to create an atmosphere of uncertainty, if not tol­
erance, that may actually favor low-key religious observance.

GEO GRAPH ICAL A N D HISTORICAL SETTING

Geography
Central Asia, with a population of more than 40 million whose Asian
component (already a large majority) is increasing steadily due to a
high rate of natural growth, is demonstrating its potential to shake off
the torpor of past centuries. This gives to the five Soviet republics of
Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrghyzystan
the potential to exercise leadership of their Islamic neighbors, many of
whom were once economically and culturally more developed.
Peripheral to these five republics, and a part of the same religious
and cultural world, are:

- Tatar settlements along the Volga and in Siberia. The Volga Tatars,
whose intelligentsia were once leaders of reform and revolutionary
movements among the Muslims of the Russian Empire, are handi­
capped today by their position as an enclave within the giant Russian
s f s r and their inferior political status as a second-ranking "autono­

mous republic" in the federal structure. However, with a socially ad­

198 The Soviet Union

vanced population of more than five million, they are still a force to
be reckoned with among Soviet Muslims.
- Azerbaijan, lying westward across the Caspian. As the only major
Shi'ite people of the Soviet Union (about 4.5 million) and with an
equal or even greater coethnic group across the border in Iranian
Azerbaijan, the Soviet Azeris have come into special prominence
with the Iranian revolution.
- Muslim peoples of the northern slopes of the Caucasus. Perhaps too
small in number to be a major political force today, the fiercely
nationalistic North Caucasian Muslims and their militant mullahs
have historically played a disproportionately large role in keeping the
faith alive.
- Just beyond the Soviet borders, the Muslim communities of Turkey,
Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and northwest China.

The position of the Central Asian Muslims at the heart of this vast
Islamic territory enhances their challenge to the Slavic minority in
their midst.

History
Following the Middle Ages, the once vital civilization of Central Asia
became mired in stagnation. It is only in the last one hundred years that
the region has begun to shake itself—or be shaken by outside forces
— into catching up with the modern age. The territory occupied today
by the five Central Asian Soviet republics once sat astride a great land
caravan route, the "silk road," from East to West. This vast expanse,
half the size of the continental United States, has been for thousands of
years of recorded history a theater of successive invasions, varied hege­
monies, and shifting cultural influences. The implantation of Islam by
the Arabs more than a thousand years ago must be seen in the perspec­
tive of a much older history: the city of Samarkand recently celebrated
its twenty-five hundredth anniversary and Tashkent currently is mark­
ing its two thousandth. Alexander the Great, who marched through
Central Asia with his armies in the fourth century b .c ., is still re­
membered popularly by his Eastern name "Iskander" or "Iskander Ru-
m ii" ("Iskander the Greek"), particularly in place names and in legends
where he figures as the ideal ruler, often with religious overtones.3
Before Islam first took root in the seventh century a .d ., the area
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 199

already had been exposed to other religions: shamanism, Hellenism,

Manichaeanism, Buddhism, and Zoroastrianism. Traces of the pre-
Islamic religions still impinge on the popular consciousness through
vestiges found in contemporary Islam, in folklore, or in the nostalgic
evocations of modern Central Asian writers.4
Still, Islam had dominated the religious and cultural life of the cities
of this territory for more than a thousand years when they were oc­
cupied in the last century by invading Russian armies. The faith had
come later to the nomads of the steppes, deserts, and mountains, but
they too had embraced it firmly.
Enlivened by their strategic position astride the East-West trade route,
the communities of Central Asia played their part in producing some
of the great figures of Islam's dynamic early civilization. Among them
were al-Khorezmi, credited with elaborating the principles of algebra;
al-Biruni, whose travel book on India was recently reissued by an En­
glish publisher; or ibn-Sina (Avicenna), the philosopher and natural­
ist whose medical treatise remained for centuries a standard reference
work in both Christian and Islamic worlds. A ll of these men were born
before a .d . rooo. Later, Central Asia rose again from the devastation
wrought by the Mongol invasions to give Islam a new crop of historical
figures. They were men like the conquerors Tamerlane and Babur (the
latter the founder of the Moghul Empire in India) who, although both
reputedly descended from the cruel Genghis Khan, cultivated scholar­
ship and the arts. There was also a leading astronomer of his time,
Ulugh Bek, whose observatory in Samarkand is preserved today with
loving care.
It was the decline of the great land route caused by competition from
a new age of sea transportation that forced Central Asia into centuries
of stagnation, interrupted only by the Russian advent in the last half
of the nineteenth century. During that retrograde period Islam was
stigmatized by the ignorance, fanaticism, and venality of many of its
religious figures.
Although the Russian Empire had since the eighteenth century come
to exercise a loose hegemony over the Turkic nomads of the steppes
extending southward from Siberia, its conquest of the sedentary heart­
land was not completed until the second half of the nineteenth cen­
tury. A Russian Governate-General of Turkestan was formed, with the
emirate of Bukhara and the khanate of Khiva becoming autonomous
2,00 The Soviet Union

protectorates under their native rulers. There were some attempts by

the Russians to convert Muslims to Orthodox Christianity, but by and
large they remained free to practice their own religion and customs,
except when provisions of the shaii’a (Koranic law) were "repugnant"
to Russian justice.
At the time of the revolution there were in this predominantly Sunni
region one mosque for every 700 to 1,000 inhabitants of the territory,
595 religious seminaries (mediesas ), and 6,300 religious schools.5 Cul­
tural influences from more advanced Muslim areas of the empire, no­
tably the Volga region with its affluent and sophisticated Tatar popu­
lation, and Shi'ite Azerbaijan where the new petroleum industry was
boosting development, helped to offset the impact of Russification. In
particular, the grip of religious obscurantism was challenged by the
spread to Turkestan of the Muslim usul jadid (new method) reform
movement whose central purpose was creation of schools where secu­
lar subjects could be taught in modern fashion.
An Uzbek Muslim who left his homeland during World War II has
described the indigenous religious tradition in Central Asia prior to the
revolution in these terms: "Turkestan was a land of Islamic dervishism
which strived to strengthen the spirit of Islam." He listed four Sufi or­
ders (tariqa ) that had existed there, the Naqshbandiya, the Qadiriya, the
Kubravia (founded by Kubra, who fell in an attack by Genghis Khan),
and the Qalandariya; the differences among these four orders were de­
scribed as slight. The orders were said to concentrate on disseminat­
ing the teachings of early Islamic mystics, prominent among them the
twelfth-century Sufi philosopher Yassawi. This source also described
as common among people a belief in the chiltan, forty spirits regarded
as protectors of Islam from evil who were thought to be present at the
graves of "saints."6

SOVIET POLICY

Through seven decades of Soviet power, official policy toward Islam,

while fundamentally hostile, has been marked by unevenness. In the
early period the party's initial assault on Muslim institutions and reli­
gious figures was softened at times so as not to antagonize the faithful,
whose support or neutrality vis-à-vis the Basmachi rebels was needed.
By 1935, however, the call of the muezzins had been silenced; mosques
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 201

confiscated for use as "atheist museums," clubs, or prisons; waqf (reli­

gious property foundations) confiscated; mullahs arrested in large num­
bers; and resistance driven underground or inward. The slogan " Komso­
mol bu dunya uchun, murud ahirat uchun" ("The Komsomol for this
world, muridism [a Sufi acolythate] for the next one") was the order of
the day.7 World War II brought for Islam, as for other Soviet religions,
a temporary remission of the regime's implacable hostility. During the
war a Muslim spiritual directorate was organized in Tashkent as head­
quarters for the officially "registered" religious establishment in Cen­
tral Asia.
Writing in 1980, Bohdan Bociurkiw, the Canadian authority on re­
ligion in the Soviet Union, distinguished six stages of policy toward
Islam. In the most recent of these, the Brezhnev era, he found: "the anti-
religious campaign in the USSR lost much of its violence and vulgarity;
yet it continued at a much slower rate, by more sophisticated means,
aided by various sociological surveys designed to identify the main tar­
get audiences and the most appropriate methods to reach them, as well
as to monitor the effectiveness of various anti-religious measures."8
The Brezhnev period saw an overall softening in the tactical han­
dling of Islam. In 1975 the religion was still being viewed, despite
some concessions, in a decidedly negative light, both ideologically (its
"superstitious" nature) and because of its perceived harm to the goal
of “rapprochement of the Soviet peoples."9 By 1978, however, on the
eve of the Iranian revolution and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan,
an official writer went so far as to declare, with unprecedented per­
missiveness and in seeming disregard of the party's jealously guarded
role as preceptor and guardian of ideological purity, that "Islam is a
matter of the individual conscience" (Islam—delolichnoi sovesti).10 In
retrospect, one can discern practical reasons for this softening: (1) ex­
cessive zeal in antireligious campaigns has been found to trigger social
unrest while failing to achieve ideological goals; and (2) a posture of
tolerance toward domestic Islam has been useful to Soviet purposes
in dealing with Muslims abroad. (This posture did not prevent most
Muslim countries from boycotting an international Islamic conference
hosted by the Soviets in Tashkent after the invasion of Afghanistan.)
In Brezhnev's final years there were signs of further softening. The
official stance on Islam was cautious, ambivalent, and at times almost
friendly. The net effect was a degree of acquiescence in, if not actual
202 The Soviet Union

encouragement of, discreet Islamic activity. This suggested that a still

newer phase of policy toward Islam might have been entered, linked
quite possibly to the leadership's nervousness over the explosive poten­
tial of the troubled situations in Iran and Afghanistan on its south­
ern border, immediately adjacent to the Central Asian republics. Both
countries are tied to the Soviet Muslims not only by common religious
bonds but by the presence of sizable coethnic groups straddling the
frontier.
To be sure, Islam still was perceived as a competing ideology and
therefore one that must be ultimately erased. Propaganda and agitation
against it were still conducted in the name of "scientific atheism," if in
lower key, and the media continued to denounce attempts by the "impe­
rialists" to manipulate Islam for their own ends. But with respect even
to domestic Islam, a new note of permissiveness seemed to be sound­
ing. Typical was a 1980 expression of the official attitude toward Islam
in Pmvda which, while stipulating that, "Of course, we Communists
are atheists and do not welcome religious aberrations," adopted a rela­
tively conciliatory tone with regard to Islam: "Making wide use of the
rights and freedoms accorded them under the USSR Constitution, the
Muslims of our country are also conscientiously fulfilling their civil
obligations."11
A rationale for this spirit of conciliation, so out of keeping with tra­
ditional Soviet hostility to Islam, can be found in a 1982 Soviet book on
the subject.12 The author was relatively forthcoming toward domestic
Islam and, in particular, contemporary Islamic religious figures in the
USSR. If in tsarist days the mullahs' forebears had been staunch sup­
porters of the "exploiter regime," and after the revolution had organized
"counterrevolutionary mutinies" and collaborated with Allied inter­
ventionists, the author asserted, their attitude was not one of immu­
table antagonism toward the regime. Within a few years, he declared,
some of the Muslim leaders had begun to urge acceptance of the new
regime. He quoted a 1923 fetwa (pronouncement) of the Ufa spiritual
directorate as declaring: "By the great grace of Allah, the Revolution
which has taken place in Russia has destroyed a brutal, despotic au­
tocracy which persecuted the religion of Islam ."13 (This Soviet author's
historical perspective naturally differed from that of Western writers
like Bociurkiw.) In adopting a new, more pro-Soviet stance, religious
figures were seen as influenced by believers among the toiling masses.
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 203

The book identified the late 1930s (the period of harshest repression)
and early 1940s as a time when "a new political course of loyalty to
the Soviet state and socialist system came to prevail among Muslim
religious organizations and clergy." Another phase in the evolution of
domestic Islam was said to have begun in the 1960s (corresponding
to Bociurkiw's sixth or "Brezhnev" period), characterized by "normal"
relations between Muslim organizations and the state, by support from
believers and their spiritual leaders for Soviet policies, and by an "in­
tensive process of modernization." In sum:

While socialism was "only" a theory, the Muslim ideologists in our

country came out against it, and considered it a great evil that de­
stroyed the order of things established by Allah. They intimidated
believers with various fantasies ascribed to socialism. When, how­
ever, the social teaching of Marxism-Leninism was transformed
into a mighty real force revolutionizing the entire structure of life
not only in the USSR but in tens of other countries, when thanks
to that teaching a new social order was created which was the
highest achievement of social progress, then the religious leaders
began to "discern" in Islam ideas consistent with the principles of
scientific socialism.14

By 1982 a striking manifestation of the new milder tone was to be

found in no less a vehicle than the theoretical journal of the Soviet
Communist party, Kommunist, one of the most authoritative purvey­
ors of the party line whose readership is mainly domestic. In publishing
its version of a speech by the Soviet Union's Marxist Afghan ally Babrak
Karmal, Kommunist chose to include references by him to "holy" Is­
lam and "its historical appeal to justice, equality and the eradication
of man's exploitation of m an."15 Despite the foreign context, the au­
thority of the journal was such as to give such dicta universal applica­
tion. This was a far cry from Soviet treatment of Islam in earlier days,
and its appearance in Kommunist meant that it was not to be taken
lightly.
Even in retreat, Soviet policy toward Islam continued to be manipula­
tive. The regime seemed to be placing its hopes for eventual disappear­
ance of Islam less on direct confrontation and more on the long-term
consequences of industrialization and urbanization, with their disrup­
tive effects on the large, extended-family structure and other indige-
 ' J 04 The Soviet Union

n o u s institutions, especially in the conservative rural areas that are the

ldof traditional Islam. These desired trends have been slowed,
h
g
n
stro
however, by economic and social problems, and it is questionable in
a ny case whether their impact on the survival of Islam is decisively
negative. For example, the influence of urbanization on traditionally
! large Muslim families seems to be less than expected.16
Another tactic was the creation of new "civil rituals" meant to re­
place traditional religious observance of holidays and life-cycle events
with secular activities more compatible with a regime that preaches
atheism. To increase the acceptability of these so-called new traditions,
some of the trappings of religious ceremonies were preserved, such as
traditional wedding costumes. Still, the official media complained of re­
sistance to the innovations and the continuing sway of what are termed
"harmful survivals" of the past.17
The initial aggressiveness of Brezhnev's successors toward the Mus­
lims suggested that the relative mildness of his era might be at an end.
Whether a tougher policy can be sustained in the long term, given the
cost in terms of Muslim morale and ability to make dissatisfactions
felt, remains to be seen.

TH E R EALITY

Despite decades of antireligious campaigns under Soviet rule, Islam

remains today a powerful social force in Central Asia. Soviet writers
on domestic Islam now generally concede that, particularly in the case
of such life-cycle rituals as circumcisions, weddings, and funerals, Is­
lamic practice among members of the Muslim nationalities remains
very widespread, if not universal. Many who observe such rituals may
not take active part in communal worship, or even be believers, but
they are nonetheless tied in this way to the Muslim umma (totality of
believers). Religious fasting, prescribed for the faithful during the Mus­
lim month of Ramadan, remains common, despite official objections
that it saps labor productivity. Feasting on religious holidays (iftai ) and
ceremonial occasions (toy) also prevails, despite complaints that it is
a cause of worker absenteeism. Certain taboos of the shaii’a also are
widely observed, such as the ban on intermarriage between Muslim
females and non-Muslims.
Official opposition creates political and social pressures that compli-
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 2,05

cate open adherence to Islam, especially for those actively employed in

the work force and thus vulnerable to criticism from superiors, either
directly or through manipulation of their "collectives." One of the most
informative Soviet writers to date on questions of Soviet Islam is T. S.
Saidbayev, whose work is based in large part on empirical surveys of
the population. Saidbayev points to pensioners, illegal private business­
men, and others not belonging to the regular work force as most active
in the practice of Islam.18 By the same token, he indicates that among
private entrepreneurs who do not depend on a collective, religion may
be more freely practiced: "There are families with great material afflu­
ence gained by private initiative, speculation, etc. who preserve a high
degree of religiosity."19 Official strictures are offset to some extent by
countervailing grass-roots pressures, exercised through the extended
fam ily and the ethnic community in general, which cuts across social
divisions created by differences in status and educational level, rural vs.
urban residence, etc. These pressures constrain people to demonstrate
their continuing fidelity to Islam: "Of course, in this [phenomenon]
there is a sharp reflection of conformism of such people" (i.e., even
those with superior education and culture) "a desire 'not to stand out,'
not to put oneself in opposition to the nation."20 There is also the role
of Islam in people's quest for social acceptance: "On the whole, the
micro-environment is well disposed toward those who regularly fulfill
religious rituals and obligations, who frequent the mosque."21
Pressures to conform socially are by no means the only motivation
for adhering to Islam. Many continue to do so for reasons of belief, for
example that Allah can ward off natural disasters. The 1966 Tashkent
earthquake was a case in point: it was reported that in the first months
after the earthquake, especially in April and May 1966, there was a
sharp upsurge of religious activity, manifested in the conduct of long-
forgotten religious rituals. The earthquake was followed by "massive
ritual collections (zhertvoprinosheniia) in public places—streets and
cemeteries" accompanied by doling out of ritual foods to passersby and
those specially invited.22
The role of the Muslim religious leadership is ambiguous. The offi­
cially sanctioned spiritual directorate in Tashkent (the leading one of
four in the country, and with the largest flock) unquestionably serves
the regime in various ways. First and foremost is its role as apologist
for Soviet foreign policy, even in Afghanistan. The presiding mufti also

.»«»V
2o6 The Soviet Union

aligns with the regime from time to time in denouncing the more exu­
berant or "superstitious" religious practices, many of them linked to
Sufism in its more fundamentalist manifestations: performance of the
zikr accompanied by frenzied singing and dancing or pilgrimages to the
graves of "saints." At the same time official Islam, however submis­
sive to the regime in some areas, does provide an institutional frame­
work for aggregation and articulation of Muslim interests. This writer
has been told by Muslims otherwise outspokenly antipathetic to the
regime that in their view the function of the officially sanctioned reli­
gious leadership is on balance a positive one. As with other religions
in the USSR, there is also an unofficial "grass-roots" religious leader­
ship that eschews ties with officialdom and whose members are said to
enjoy greater trust on the part of the faithful, while being denounced
regularly in the press as harmful influences, often as confidence trick­
sters who raise money from believers for spurious purposes. It may be
noted, however, that official as well as unofficial religious leaders have
been criticized on occasion in regime media.
The Piavda article cited earlier23 rather defensively denies allegations
attributed to "bourgeois ideologists" that Muslims are forbidden to
pray and fast, that they are kept in "artificial isolation" from their
foreign coreligionists, or that they oppose the socialist system as a kind
of "counter-society." It says they have several hundred large cathedral
mosques and thousands of apartment (kvartal’nyye ) and rural mosques.
(It is difficult to obtain independent corroboration of such claims, which
frequently appear to be inflated in order to impress foreign Muslims.)
Islam in the Soviet Union is linked closely with ethnic values and
conflicts which set the Central Asians, often scorned by Russians for
their non-European characteristics, at odds with the Russocentric So­
viet political culture. It is especially in this context of ethnic conflict
that the role of Islam is significant. The list of distinct ethnic values
that differentiate the Islamic Central Asian culture from that of the
Russian and other European cultures is a long one, including language,
literature, architecture, dress, food, pottery, and music. A key ethnic
value, often expressed as such in the media, is the Central Asian pro­
pensity for prolific childbearing. As Saidbayev puts it, "We share the
opinion of demographers who see the influence of Islam on the stereo­
types of national behavior also in connection with the phenomenon of
multiple childbearing."24
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 207

In the vernacular literature the term miras (heritage) subsumes all

of these traditional aspects of ethnicity.25 Miras as a bulwark against
the encroachment of alien cultures has a special meaning for the Cen­
tral Asian Muslims. It relates to the belief that in those things that
contribute to the beauty of human existence—not only the arts and
philosophy, but also the regulation of human relations on a basis of
equality and justice—the Islamic world was at its high point centuries
ago, that, paradoxically, the essential goal of progress is to recapture
what was positive in the past. How to reconcile this goal with the need
for material advance is a problem faced in common with other Islamic
lands.
That there is a close relationship between Islam and ethnicity or
"nationality," despite the supposedly secular nature of the latter, is ad­
mitted freely now by Soviet authorities. There are criticisms that the
mullahs, once blamed for refusing to recognize any nationality but that
of an all embracing, supranational "Islamic nation," have espoused not
only the concept of individual nationality for Soviet Muslims but are
now playing on Uzbek, Kazakh, or other ethnic awareness to rally sup­
port for Islam.26
There have been recurring complaints by official spokesmen that
many people lose sight of the religious roots of some traditions, m is­
taking them for secular ethnic customs. For example, "not only from
the mouth of an illiterate old-man believer but also from that of a
young educated man one can hear: 'He who is not circumcised is not an
Uzbek' (or Turkmen or Tajik or Azerbaijani or Tatar, as the case may
be)."27 This blending of ethnic and religious values, which the mul­
lahs have been charged with aiding and abetting, naturally complicates
the task of propagating "scientific atheism." On the other hand, even
more pernicious in the view of official critics of Islam is the fact that
many purely secular ethnic attributes (history, language) are held in the
popular mind to be "Islamic."
Of special concern to officialdom is the persistence of Islamic prac­
tices among the youth. The newspaper of the Uzbek Komsomol has
complained that in addition to atheists in the population and those who
are indifferent to religion, as well as those who waver between religion
and atheism, "there are even some [young] persons who consider purely
religious rituals and prayers (including circumcision [sunnat], funeral
services [janaza], weddings [nigah], fasting [rozah]) to be useful and nec-

».
2 o8 The Soviet Union

essary, an important element of the spiritual side of the national life."28

Among youth, it was admitted that about io percent participate in the
iftai, the data taken from an official survey conducted "under the di­
rect supervision of the Central Committee of the Uzbekistan Commu­
nist Party." Some wedding couples, dissatisfied with the official civil
ceremony performed in "Houses of Joy" {"Baht uylaii ") were said to
"continue to say their religious vows, openly or in secret." Observance
of fasting and feasting, it was said, is believed by some youths to be
a "means of cultural satisfaction." Such practices are viewed as harm­
ful because, given that half the Soviet population is under thirty (in
areas of high fertility like Uzbekistan the proportion in that age cohort
is still higher), "the basic productive resources are youths." Yet "the
overwhelming majority of religious youths do not take an active part
in public work," and "the more people's religiosity increases, the more
their social activism slacks off." In the writer's opinion, the remedy for
such problems was ideology—indoctrination in "scientific atheism."29

ISLAM, SOCIAL STRATIFICATION, A N D

TH E NEW IN TELLIG EN TSIA

Saidbayev has shown that, compared with other Soviet religions, Islam
is not only more widely practiced by its adherents but is also more
uniform, i.e., less stratified in terms of social variables. According to
his data:
1 . "Religiosity" (religioznost’) is markedly more persistent among Mus­
lims than residents of Christian areas of the country. On the pre­
dominantly European state farms of one of Kazakhstan's "virgin
lands" zones the ratio of atheists to believers is 9 to i, whereas in
the Karakalpak "autonomous republic" in Uzbekistan the number
of believers exceeds that of atheists by a ratio of 5.5 to 4.5.
2. If in non-Islamic areas of the Soviet Union the "overwhelming ma­
jority" of believers are women, in Islamic areas the sex difference
evens out "due to the heightened religiosity of men."
3. In the Islamic regions the age profile of religious persons is "much"
younger, i.e., there is less cleavage between young and old.
4. In European areas the level of religiosity among those with higher
and secondary education is only 1 - 1 .5 percent. In Islamic areas the
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 209

corresponding figures are tenfold: 10 - 15 percent (showing that edu­

cated Muslims are religiously less differentiated from their society
than are the educated groups of other nationalities).30
Saidbayev ascribes these differences to "peculiarities of structure,
demography and cultural development" of the Islamic peoples, and to
the specific nature of the "functions" fulfilled by Islam compared to
other religions. Some "peculiarities" are the prevalence of the large ex­
tended family, as well as vestigial clan and tribal affiliations that tend
to unite Muslims across economic and social lines. There is also the
widely reported fact that nominal differences in individuals' economic
levels (in terms of the official economy) may be to a large extent offset
by the leveling effect of participation in the unofficial private or "sec­
ond" economy. Above all, there is the common link of a distinctly Cen­
tral Asian identity in the face of the Russian (or European) challenge,
with adherence to Islam a prime symbol of resistance or rejection.
Sovietization has raised educational levels greatly. It is claimed that
illiteracy, at the beginning of this century pandemic, is now virtually
nonexistent. The 1979 Soviet census gave the number of persons in the
labor force in the Central Asian republics (all nationalities) who had
at least some secondary education as from 770 per thousand employed
in the lowest-ranking republic (Tajikistan) to 848 per thousand em­
ployed in the highest (Uzbekistan).31 In a recent year the total univer­
sity population of the five Central Asian republics was about 700,ooo.32
Breakdowns of such figures by nationality no longer are published, but
even making allowances for a disproportionately large representation
of Russians and other nonindigenous groups, it is clear from the pattern
of previous years that the overwhelming majority are native Central
Asians.
At the pinnacle of the new intelligentsia is a modern professional
elite that is coming increasingly to dominate important areas of the so­
ciety, especially culture and the media. In 1980 the number of holders
of advanced degrees, corresponding roughly to the American Ph.D. or
higher, in the five Central Asia republics was more than three thou­
sand.33 Even though the exact number of degrees belonging to members
of the indigenous nationalities is not published, it is plainly consider­
able. It is from this new indigenous intelligentsia, whose intellectual
heritage combines the Islam of their forefathers with Western ratio-
no The Soviet Union

nalism as filtered through the works of Marx and Lenin, that future
leadership at the republican level will have to come, even if ultimate
control rests with Moscow.
The members of this new intelligentsia are the survivors of the
shocks, disillusionments, and exterminations of the twentieth cen­
tury. They are spiritually descended from the jadids and other forward-
looking Muslim intellectuals who greeted the Russians at the turn
of the century as bearers of a new and more enlightened culture that
would help to free their own from the intransigent grip of narrow and
reactionary mullahs. They are also the heirs of the Muslim leaders who
cast their lot with the Bolsheviks in the struggle against the Basmachi
and other enemies of the new regime, only to experience arrest and
sometimes execution as "Turkish spies" and "bourgeois nationalists."
They themselves have witnessed the penchant of the central authority
to subject their peoples to Russification and other forms of discrimina­
tion. The linkage between the present generation and the traumas of
the earlier Soviet period is typified by the fact that an emerging literary
figure in Uzbekistan is Kamil Ikramov, whose father, Akmal Ikramov,
first secretary of the Uzbek communist party, was executed after a Stal­
inist purge trial of March 1938; or that Faizullah Khojayev, chairman
of the Uzbek Council of Peoples Commissars, who was liquidated in
the same trial, is now lionized in the Uzbek media as a "true son of the
people" (while Nikolai Bukharin and other Russian communists who
perished with him had to wait until 1987 to be rehabilitated).
It is abundantly clear from a variety of sources that many members
of this educated group are rediscovering Islam as a vital part of their
heritage. As previously noted, Saidbayev's data indicate that from to
to 15 percent of Soviet Muslims with higher education are possessed
of "religiosity," a term for which he does not give precise definition.
From a sufficiency of qualitative indicators, it would seem that an even
higher proportion participate in some form of Islamic practice, at least
in a secular way. How then does this elite relate to Islam, or Islam to it?
The evidence shows that Central Asian intellectuals are reexamining
Islam from at least two different and, seemingly, contradictory perspec­
tives, one rational (modernist) and the other mystical, as exemplified
by Sufism in its early metaphysical phase.
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 211

ISLAM IC MODERNISM IN CEN TR A L ASIA

In the early part of this century the typical (or stereotypical) portrayal
of the Central Asian religious scene was one of reactionary mullahs
feeding on the ignorance, prejudice, and superstition of the illiterate
Muslim masses. Those masses are today experiencing a much greater
degree of social mobilization, with the accompanying education, mo­
bility, and exposure to media.
It would seem predictable that the new native elites, highly edu­
cated and increasingly assuming leadership roles in various walks of
life, would regard Islam from a perspective of special sophistication.
And indeed, although there are still references in the literature on So­
viet Islam to such dervishist survivals as "patron saints" of doctors
or chemists,34 horizons have broadened. Nor has Islam itself remained
stagnant. It has shown the flexibility to adapt to new conditions.
A revealing glimpse of modernizing trends in Central Asian Islam,
and of the evolution of official policy toward them, is to be gained
from the official literature. Back in 1963 an "atheist" commentary on
the Koran published in the vernacular by the Uzbekistan s s r "Bilim "
("Knowledge") Society, counterpart of the all-Union "Znanie" Soci­
ety, asserted plaintively: "In our country and abroad many priests and
bourgeois Islamologists are striving to modernize the Islamic religion,
including the tenets of the Koran, i.e., to adapt them to the various
requirements of contemporary social progress."35
"Islam ic modernists" were said to be relying heavily on a verse of the
Koran's Sura 2 (The Cow) as justification for their work of adaptation:
"Whatever verse we cancel, or cause to forget, we bring a better or its
like. Knowest thou not that God hath power over all things?"36
A more recent source in Uzbek has listed the ingredients of "Islamic
modernism":
-- Idealization of pristine Islam;
- Portrayal of Muhammad as a "democrat, reformer, revolutionary, even
as a socialist";
- Affirmation of Islam as a bulwark of progress, disseminator of knowl­
edge and education, preceptor of equality, bearer of freedom;
- Identification of Islam with socialism and communism;
- Equation of religious and communist morality;
- Defense of Islamic rituals as of scientific value;
112 The Soviet Union

- Modernization of Islamic doctrine and shah’a rules with regard to

women, the family, and daily life;
- Placing the hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca) on the level of "international
congresses."37

Further, the modernists and their ideas have been described by the
same Central Asian source as occupying a decisive and dominant place
in contemporary Islam and are considered to be defenders and propaga­
tors of true, pure Islam. ("Islamic" or "Muslim" socialism is viewed by
the Uzbek encyclopedia as an offshoot of the modernizing movement
that seeks to respond to the popularity of socialism and socialist ideas
in the world. Two different directions are identified: (i) equation of
socialism and Islam; (2) differentiation between contemporary social­
ist ideas and Islam, but with the belief that the socialism of original
Islam represents a "third way" between capitalism and modern social­
ism. Islamic socialism, dismissed as "antiscientific," is portrayed as a
phenomenon of the Muslim world in general, and the Uzbek encyclo­
pedia is vague as to the possible extent of its following among Soviet
Muslims.38)
The modernists are depicted in Soviet commentaries as playing down
Koranic teachings that do not meet contemporary political, scientific,
or ethical criteria, and softening the more stringent religious require­
ments placed by the faith on believers. Their fetwas and other religious
writings, as well as their sermons in the mosques, reportedly give a new
interpretation to Koranic theology on such subjects as "a one and only,
almighty Allah, predestination and fate, heaven and hell, the universe,
religious obligations, and resurrection."39
Islamic modernization in the USSR is seen as part of an international
phenomenon, a movement among Muslims in many countries to bring
the precepts, taboos, and restrictions of the Koran, the hadiths, and
the shaii’a up to the level of contemporary scientific and social prac­
tice, and to meet the "needs of religious people," even at the expense
of renouncing to some extent the principles formulated in the early
period of Islam and the Middle Ages. According to an Uzbek source,
this movement is spearheaded by "the imams and readers of the official
mosques, members of the trusteeship boards (mutawalliat), functionar­
ies of the spiritual directorates, and students at religious seminaries."40
Initially, Soviet critics were skeptical of or outspokenly hostile to-
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 213

ward the idea of a modernization of domestic Islam. In all probability

this was because the trend made Islam more palatable to the new pro­
fessional elites on whom the system is dependent, thus rendering it
ideologically more competitive in the eyes of a group that already was
showing a perverse tendency to cling to the old Islamic traditions. Mod­
ernization undercut the regime's best argument for wooing the pro­
fessionals away from Islam: its retrograde character and superstitious
basis. It also made it possible for the once backward clergy to reach that
group more persuasively.
Thus, the writer of the 1963 commentary had asserted that the "Is­
lamic modernists" had tried after the October Revolution to co-opt
Marxist-Leninist nationality policy and put it "on the path of Pan-
islam ism ." Foreign "bourgeois" publications on Islam were quoted to
the effect that the "Muslim ulema" in the USSR were seeking to "con­
nect" or "reconcile" Koranic dogmas with scientific teaching on nature
and society, although the two things were as antithetical as "fire and
water." In this, he charged, they were using the experience of Catholi­
cism in adapting science to religion. He disclosed that the Islamic
modernists were depicting God as a depersonified, faceless symbol
(.ramz), invoking in particular verse 34 of Sura 24 (The Light): "God is
the LIGHT of the Heavens and of the Earth."41
In 1963 the official line was that Islamic modernizers were hypocriti­
cal, aiming deviously at gulling those sophisticates who were critical of
the religion on rational grounds. The point was made that the number
of people in the USSR who can read the Koran in the Arabic original
and analyze it "from a position of Marxism" is small, and that a major­
ity of believers either cannot read the original at all, or read it without
understanding it. However, subsequent years have seen a softening of
this indictment, just as they have witnessed a general softening of the
overall treatment of Islam.42
By 1975 a commentator hinted that modernization was at least in
part positive since it was a response to social reforms and enhanced
public awareness due to Sovietization. He listed with seeming approba­
tion some Islamic reforms: a tendency to criticize excessive and overly
expensive observance of religious holidays, ceremonies, and rituals; re­
vision of past condemnation by Muslim theologians of famous histori­
cal figures like the philosopher Avicenna, who had once been branded
a heretic; renunciation by the clergy of preaching antipathy to non-
2 14 The Soviet Union

Muslims, even to the point of performing religious marriages between

Muslims and non-Muslims; holding of joint Sunni-Shi'a religious ser-
vices; and support for science, technology, and art, for "mutual en­
richment" of Muslim and non-Muslim cultures, for "friendship of the
peoples." At the same time it was charged that such reforms were made
under pressure and not only did not flow from the nature of Islam but
were actually in contradiction to it.43
By 1982 another writer was much more forthcoming, taking the
positive view that the hallmark of domestic Islam was its "intensive
process of modernization of the socioethical outlook, of a number of
theological (veiouchitel’nyye ) aspects, and religious (kul’tovaya) prac­
tice."44

C E N T R A L A SIA A N D SUFISM

While the modernist trend offers Islam a means of adapting to the needs
of a literate, media-rich, and increasingly professionalized society, the
native religious tradition is not rationalistic but mystical. This hardly
can be expected to change overnight. In that connection, there is ample
evidence that Central Asian interest in the mystical aspects of Islam,
and in Sufism in particular, remains very much alive.
Many of the religious practices of the Central Asian Muslims, espe­
cially the less orthodox ones, have Sufist associations; these exist on
a sufficient scale to be regular targets of official criticism, not only by
secular officials but also by the establishment clergy. They include pil­
grimages (said to be advocated by the mullahs as substitutes for the
hajj 45) to the tombs of Muslim saints like the Sufi philosopher Yas-
sawi, who is buried in Turkistan, a town in Kazakhstan. It is paradoxi­
cal that the state, while criticizing such pilgrimages, often contributes
to them through upkeep of their sites as "historical monuments," as
at such well-known tourist attractions as the fourteenth-century Shah-
i-Zinda necropolis in Samarkand or the tenth-century Ismail Samani
mausoleum in Bukhara.
Alexandre Bennigsen, the pioneer of Western study of Islam under
Soviet conditions, has found intriguing indications in Soviet sources
that the mystical Sufi orders are still active in Muslim areas, espe­
cially the North Caucasus (where in the past century Sufism was im ­
portant as a political force, animating the struggle against Russian rule
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 215

by Sheikh Shamil and his murid followers).46 With respect to Soviet

Central Asia, there is sporadic confirmation in official sources of the
activities of Suflst brotherhoods, especially in the western part of the
territory. One book gives details of certain practices associated with
Sufism at a rather primitive fundamentalist level (dervishism, zikrism)
that have persisted to the present day in Turkmenistan on the Caspian,
but their extent there is uncertain.47 Bennigsen and his collaborator
Chantal Lemercier-Quelquejay have found evidence of such activities
as far east as Kyrghyzystan.48 However, the diligence with which the
Soviet security organs pursue any organized activity not sanctioned by
the regime casts doubt on the possibility of a widespread Sufist move­
ment at the level of concerted practical action to achieve political or
social goals, whether overt or clandestine.
What is certain, on the other hand, is the interest of Central Asian
intellectuals in the Sufism of its earliest period (seventh through thir­
teenth centuries a .d .) as a philosophical teaching, possibly even as an
ideological alternative to the materialism of Marxist-Leninist society.
This is implicit in the illumination given it in their specialized media,
if usually with the requisite few words of criticism. Since practically
no Russian ever learns the vernaculars, these media have what is essen­
tially an exclusively native readership. The fourteen-volume Uzbek
Soviet Encyclopedia, the first of its kind ever to appear in the native
language, and not available in Russian, devotes generous entries to Su­
fist philosophy, to its various philosophers (e.g., Yassawi), and to the
Sufist orders. Despite the routine criticism of religion required by the
official ideology, these articles manage to convey much positive infor­
mation about Sufism as, in dealing with Yassawi: "in quite a few of his
poems restraint, compassion for the needs of the people, and decency
are propagandized."49 Sufism in its theoretical aspect, at least, seems
to be impinging in a way that may have far-reaching consequences for
the future of Soviet Central Asia.
Sufist philosophy has been traced by some scholars to the influence
of Christian neo-Platonism. In its early form it preached self-denial and
asceticism in reaction to the growing materialism of Arabic society
engendered by the bounty of conquest. The object of the early Sufis
was to go beyond reason and emotion, striving to become one with
God through mystical contemplation; in this respect, Sufism had been
compared with Zen Buddhism and other Eastern religions. Later it de-
2 i6 The Soviet Union

scended from a spiritual plane to a more earthly one: the "ecstasy" to be

found in communion with the divinity came to adopt more corporeal
form. The hedonism of classical Persian verse, to this day a strong in­
fluence among both Turkic and Iranian people in Central Asia, is said
to derive from Sufi influence. Various Sufi "orders" devoted to this or
that teacher came into being, some of them concerned with aggregating
interests of questionable religious content.
Northeast Persia, of which Turkestan oases like Bukhara and Samar­
kand were culturally an integral part, was one of the two early centers
of Sufism (the other being Mecca).50 Thus, Sufism, in addition to pre­
senting a nonmaterialistic alternative to Marxism-Leninism today, has
particular Central Asian roots. It is perceived by some in the region as
very close to their own present concerns through the role attributed
to it as an anti-Arabizing, autochthonous force drawing on Zoroastri­
anism, Buddhism, and Islam. A critical work on Sufism published in
1978 in Ashkhabad is explicit on this point.51
In a recent Uzbek short story a contemporary mullah who is a fol­
lower of the Sufist Yassawi is portrayed with respect, and a Soviet youth
who mocks him is held up to derision.52 A nationalistic preoccupation
with the native pre-Islamic religious heritage also is to be found in
modern literary works published in the Central Asian vernaculars.53
Something of the difficulty faced by promoters of "scientific atheism,"
even in official circles, is reflected in a recent novel by the Kyrghyz
writer Chingiz Aitmatov entitled And a Day Is Longer Than an Age.
Much of the significance of this sympathetic treatment of Islam lies
in the fact that its author, a well-known establishment figure whose
books are read all over the Soviet Union, has been a member of the
Communist party since 1959 and is holder of one of the USSR's highest
decorations, Hero of Socialist Labor. In Russian alone, magazine and
book editions of this latest novel of Aitmatov's have totaled more than
three million copies. The work is a sentimentally supportive portrayal
of efforts by an elderly Kazakh, Buranny Edigey, who had long been a
devoted Soviet worker, to perform a ritual Muslim burial for a deceased
friend, in the face of difficulty caused by the fact that his clan's ances­
tral burying ground was fenced off as part of a Soviet space launching
site. When someone objects to his intention to hold a religious service
complete with prayer, pointing to the anomaly that the Soviets have
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia %1 7

been in power for some sixty years, Buranny Edigey rejoins: "Come
on, what's Soviet power got to do with it? People have been praying
over the dead from time immemorial. It's a human being that died, not
an animal!" At another point in the novel, the hero, setting off on his
camel to conduct the religious burial service himself, reflects on the
value of prayer:

Thinking it over, Buranny Edigey repeated to himself the half-

forgotten prayers to get them in the proper order, to fix more clearly
in his memory the sequence of thoughts addressed to God, for only
He alone, unknown and invisible, could reconcile in the human
consciousness the irreconcilability of the beginning and the end,
of life and death. Probably, that was why prayers were composed.
After all, you couldn't reach God by yelling, you couldn't just ask
Him why He fixed it so people were born and died. Man had lived
with that as long as the earth had been there, not accepting, but
reconciled. And the prayers had been unchanged since those days,
and what was said in them was always the same—to keep man
from grumbling in vain, so that he might be comforted. But these
words, polished by the thousands of years like gold bars, were the
last of the final words that the living were required to pronounce
over the dead. Such was the ritual.54

How is it conceivable that modern Central Asian intellectuals, prod­

ucts of secular education and indoctrinated almost from birth in an
atheistic, materialistic ideology, can make the spiritual and intellec­
tual jump to acceptance of a mystical religious philosophy? Pertinent
in that connection is an article written in another Islamic context, that
of the Iranian revolution, by an Israeli Arabist. Commenting on the per­
sistence of religious feeling even among the educated classes in Islamic
countries, a phenomenon that in his opinion is too often overlooked
by Western observers, the author says that, "having reached a stage of
social development where religion is conceived more in terms of moral
values than in terms of theological precepts, most Western visitors to
Islamic countries are led to believe that the educated classes have ac­
cepted their own attitude toward religion." This mistake, he writes, "is
easily made because many of those educated Muslims speak European
languages, dress like Westerners, frequently visit Western countries
2 i8 The Soviet Union

and in many cases have had Western educations." And "what seems to
baffle many experienced observers is that individuals known to have
been quite Westernized revert to fundamentalist belief."55

CO N CLU SIO N

Certain apparent similarities have invited comparison between the Rus­

sian Orthodox church and Islam in the USSR: the fact that they are the
two most populous religions, the relative tolerance that is enjoyed by
at least their official exponents, and the disposition of the latter to give
public support to the Soviet regime, especially on questions of foreign
policy. Yet the comparison breaks down in one key respect: Russian
Orthodoxy is identified historically with the interests of the superordi­
nate Great Russians who, if not exactly beneficiaries of the system,
may at least be said to be its major building block. Islam, on the other
hand, is the symbol of a group whose ethnic interests lie somewhere in
the opposite direction. In its role vis-a-vis Moscow, Soviet Islam might
more aptly be compared with the Catholic church in Poland than with
Russian Orthodoxy.
Pedro Ramet points out elsewhere in this volume that if "national"
churches "can buttress tangibly the position of a government, they also
can undermine its stability where they advocate the rights of ethnic
minorities in multiethnic states." Islam, while not organized like a
church, is with its concept of jihad (more accurately translated here as
"patient struggle" than as "holy war") ideally suited at all social levels
to rally the native peoples in resistance to encroachment by a power-
wielding non-Muslim presence. Indeed, the relative lack of a formal
hierarchical organization in Islam makes it less susceptible to manipu­
lation or eventual extermination, thus adding to the dilemma of the
Soviet leadership.
Modernization of the five Central Asian republics, and other changes
associated with Soviet rule, have vastly transformed the economic and
social landscape. Yet despite new patterns of social stratification, Islam
remains for the Muslim nationalities a unifying force that cuts across
social barriers, deriving its strength from deep roots in indigenous eth­
nic values.
In fulfilling different needs and performing different functions, Cen­
tral Asian Islam assumes today a variety of forms: modern and tradi­
 Islam and Nationalism in Central Asia 219

tional, secular and spiritual, rational and mystical. In particular, Islam

seems to be evolving so as to adapt to the emergence of a new and more
sophisticated Muslim umma, one whose members have been trained in
Soviet schools and universities but cling stubbornly to ethnic tradition
and ancient loyalties.
With little sign that ethnic differences are on the wane, but more
that demographic trends indeed may be deepening them, Islam appears
to be assured of a continuing vital role in the society, at the levels of
both overt and covert adherence. In addition, the region's deepening
economic crisis, made all the more serious by the growing needs of a
mushrooming Muslim population, and compounded by a water short­
age that has begun to have a directly deleterious effect on infant mor­
tality and other aspects of public health, means that perestroika can
offer little promise for a better life. This adds to the potential of Islam
as both a rallying force and a source of solace for its followers.
Part III Eastern Europe
9

T h e Luther R evival: A spects of N ational Abgrenzung

and C on fession al Gemeinschaft in the G erm an
D em ocratic Republic

D an Beck

In the years surrounding the celebration of the Luther Quincentenary

in 1983 a peculiar mixture of both Abgrenzung and Gemeinschaft has
taken root in the relationship between church and state in the German
Democratic Republic. While pronouncements by the Socialist Unity
party (s e d ) during the Luther Jubilee pointed to an Abgrenzung of na­
tional heritage between the German Democratic Republic (GDR) and
the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG), the leadership of the Evangeli­
cal church in the GDR pursued a policy of Gemeinschaft, an attitude
of integration and advocacy that has extended beyond its own bor­
ders into the FRG. The coexistence of two such contrasting policies
of national identification for Christians in the GDR—one stressing
historical uniqueness and division, the other a sense of community—
reflects the delicate balance that the Honecker regime has created in
its relationship to the church. A vital element in this balance has been
the s e d ' s use of prominent figures from German history to reinforce its
policy of national Abgrenzung. Although reaching into the past is not
without precedent in Germany,1 the s e d has faced the additional chal­
lenge of reconciling resurrected individuals with Marxism, an ideology
that had previously damned many of them. Such, indeed, was the case
with Martin Luther.
Just as if a pontifical wand were waved over the abused memory of
Luther in Marxist historiography, Luther's heritage experienced a grad­
ual redemption from Engels's bourgeois purgatory in the decade or so
before the quincentenary. Once derided as "the gravedigger of German
freedom," Luther was praised by s e d leader Erich Honecker as "one of
the greatest sons of the G D R" dufing the quincentenary.2 This ideo­
224 Eastern Europe

logical revision has, understandably, posed serious questions for the

Christian community within the socialist borders of the GDR. Specifi­
cally, the Luther Jubilee served to focus attention on the role religion
plays in defining what officially constitutes "national identity" for citi­
zens of the GDR. Although Christians were called upon "for friendly
coexistence and mutual understanding" during the nation's formative
years under Ulbricht,3 the experience of this time was not as amiable as
the invitation. Since the hostile era of Ulbricht, however, the Honecker
regime has sought to improve church-state relations, to the point where
it wishes to dispel any suggestion that it is antireligion, much less the
"Antichrist."4
Yet to return the focus to the issue of national identity, just where
has the church in socialism found itself amid the s e d ' s professed con­
version from antagonism to altruism? What message did Christians in
the GD R confront during the Luther Jubilee in regards to their relation­
ship with the state? Should one view this development under Honecker
as syncretism or sham?
By using these questions as a framework for inquiry, it w ill be shown
that the s e d has engaged in a selective and careful reconstruction of
history which envisions the present German socialist nation as the sole
recipient of all that is humanistic and progressive from the German
past. To the degree that this related to Christians, the Luther Jubilee
in 1983 represented a diligent effort by the s e d to confirm the church's
recognition of the party as the legitimate authority in the GDR, exer­
cising its divine right to govern society, especially in the area of m ili­
tary policy. Since it is to the past that the s e d initially returned in
its recovery of Martin Luther, so shall the past be the first topic for
examination.

RETH INKING HISTORY?

An unavoidable issue in approaching the alchemy of Luther, religion,

and national identity in the GDR is the relationship of the two German
nations to each other. Since the GDR did not exist—in name, at least
—until 1949, the s e d ' s understanding of its place in German history
becomes crucial for the historical background against which this inter­
play of people, ideas, and allegiances must operate. To what degree,
 The Luther Revival 225

one then asks, is there an East German nation [Volk) distinct from the
German nation of the FRG?
The answer to this question reveals the evolution of s e d policy it­
self. Since 1952 the s e d has been developing an interpretation of Ger­
man history which attempts to evoke "a patriotic state consciousness" >
(Staatsbewusstsein) from its own citizens. This interpretation is also
aimed at convincing inhabitants of the FRG that the GDR, under the
direction of the s e d , is the only advocate for the German people.5
In the initial years of this policy it may have proven sufficient to em­
ploy a standard Marxist formula for describing the East German state:
"The most progressive class line in German history, which finds ex­
pression above all in the history of the German workers' movement,
reached its apogee in the history of the G D R ."6 A clearer vision of a
distinct East German identity, however, appeared after the ninth party
congress of the s e d in 1978. At this point it was announced that with
the establishment of the GDR "a new type of nation arose in German
history: the socialist German nation. Out of the previous uniformity
of a capitalist nation arose two nations of an opposing socio-historical
type."7 More recently, the chairman of the Council for Historiography
in the GDR, E. Diehl, declared that "not until the working class and its
Marxist-Leninist Party took over, not until the socialist revolution—
the first successful people's revolution in our history—could our peo­
ple's destiny be resolutely turned for the good forever."8
As these quotes demonstrate, the existence of another German state
has been a continuing concern for the s e d in its effort to establish the
GD R as a legitimate state. The task of affirming a distinct national
identity for citizens of the GDR would, therefore, require historical
evidence to authenticate the evolution of socialism before the actual
creation of a socialist, German nation. To accomplish this, the s e d has
sought to identify those revolutionaries, democrats, humanists, poets,
and thinkers in German history who, in their own manner, allegedly ^
yearned for the type of humane society now taking shape in the GDR.
The troublesome aspect of the other Germany plays a prominent role
in this process. Such was underscored by Diehl in his statements which
stressed that the progressive and humanitarian currents in German his­
tory bore no relationship to the imperialist German state of the FRG.
Lest one be tempted to envision any common bonds between the two

■ »S'.
2,2,6 Eastern Europe

German nations, Diehl subsequently described such a view as noth­

ing more than historical blindness, for these "speculations can make
no difference to the permanent existence of the GDR and its role as a
reliable bulwark of socialism and peace in Central Europe."9
As part of the GDR's thirty-fifth anniversary celebrations in 1984, the
official newspaper of the Freie Deutsche Jugend, funge Welt, published a
"fam ily tree," listing the names and portraits of 102 distinguished Ger­
mans—the "best sons and daughters of the German people."10 While
among this honored family such names as Luther, Johannes Gutenberg,
Johann Sebastian Bach, Wolfgang von Goethe, and Immanuel Kant can
be found, those names absent provide an insightful glance into the
dynamics of shaping a socialist consciousness of history (Geschichtsbe-
wusstsein). Though officially rehabilitated, neither Otto von Bismarck
nor Friedrich the Great was mentioned in funge Welt. One might at
first suggest it is only a matter of political whim that decides the mat­
ter of complete acceptance into socialism's heritage. A more cautious
response, however, should consider the delicate position in which the
s e d finds itself. Although the party has, as previously mentioned, taken

steps to refute claims of its opposition to religion, many in the church

nevertheless assert that the state continues to view religion as "un­
scientific, false, unprogressive, and condemned to a gradual death."11
Thus, while there are still those in the s e d who give some credence to
this Marxist tenet, the continued existence of the church in socialism
should be considered as a factor in the process of determining who re­
ceives complete acceptance into socialism's heritage. Even though this
is not necessarily a consideration in every case, the awkward coexis­
tence of church and state played an influential role in the s e d ' s decision
to include Luther's legacy in the construction of a national identity.
However, the road to incorporating certain elements of Christianity as
part and parcel of the GDR's progressive and democratic heritage lies
strewn with polemical potholes.

LU TH ER A N D THE PAST

In assessing the ideological preparations for the Luther Quincentenary

in 1983, it is interesting to note that the actual amount of material
written by Marx and Engels concerning Luther is relatively small. He
 The Luther Revival 227

receives the greatest attention in Engels's The Peasant War in Germany

(1850), which paints an essentially negative view of Luther's role in the
rebellion. Within Engels's concept of the "early bourgeois revolution,"
Luther's primary significance lies in his promotion of the bourgeois
state from feudalism, the necessary precursor to socialism. There is,
however, no intrinsic worth in Luther's actions. Even when Engels does
detect a positive contribution, the reader is not allowed to forget the
reformer's true legacy:
Luther had given the plebeian movement a powerful weapon—a
translation of the Bible. . . . The peasants had made extensive use
of this weapon. . . . Now Luther turned the same weapon against
the peasants, . . . extracting from the Bible a veritable hymn to the
authorities ordained by God—a feat hardly exceeded by any lackey
of absolute monarchy.12
In the introduction to Engels's Dialectics of Nature (r882), Luther
escapes with a short accolade, but only in reference to his stand against
the Roman church and his linguistic accomplishment: "Luther not
only cleansed the Augean stable of the Church but also that of the
German language; he created modern German prose and composed the
text and melody of that triumphal hymn which became the Marseil­
laise of the sixteenth century."13 One may confidently say that from
Engels's perspective, Luther himself is not considered a progressive fig­
ure; his actions contributed but indirectly to the ineluctable march of
socialism which was taken up by the peasants and Thomas Miintzer.
This view is reflected by early Marxist historiography of the GDR.
In the period just after World War II Luther's writings were linked
with the anti-Semitic fascism of Nazi Germany.14 He received perhaps
his harshest judgment at the hands of Alexander Abusch, later min­
ister of culture in the GDR, when he was labeled "the gravedigger
of German freedom" and "the biggest intellectual figure of the Ger­
man counterrevolution."15 True to Engels's interpretation, Luther is
seen as a traitor toward Germany's progressive peasant movement and
Muntzer's socialist vision.
It was in the 1960s that one noticed a new stance toward an under­
standing of Luther. For both the 450th anniversary of the Reformation,
celebrated in Eisenach and Wittenberg in October 1967, where "he was
228 Eastern Europe

portrayed as a German national hero, a progressive force, a forerunner

of socialism, a kind of spiritual godfather of the G D R ,"16 and the 900th
anniversary festival of the Wartburg fortress in Eisenach, his refuge for
translating the New Testament into German, a less critical interpre­
tation was bestowed upon him. At the latter event Hans Seigewasser,
then GDR state secretary for religious affairs, stated that "the histori­
cal events connected with this Luther festival belong to the progressive
humanist tradition and the revolutionary tradition of the German peo­
ple." 17 Gerald Gotting, secretary general of the Christian Democratic
Union in the GDR, took an additional step forward by calling the bat­
tles of the Reformation "the greatest mass revolutionary movement of
the German people until the Spartacus [Communist] uprising. In the
first German workers' and peasants' state we have achieved what the
leaders of the Reformation really aimed for."18
Two events in 1978 played a vital role in laying the basis for a
working partnership involving church and state in a joint celebration
of Martin Luther. First, the rapprochement in March of that year re­
vealed Honecker's readiness for a relationship with the church that
espoused increased interaction and visibility. Second, the appearance
of Ingrid Mittenzwei's biography of Bismarck reflected the increasing
willingness on the part of the s e d to confront controversial figures and
their ideas from Germany's past. While these events were undoubtedly
meant to serve purposes well beyond the festivities of any one person,
the timing could not have been better; on June 13, 1980, the "Luther
Committee of the G D R " was formally activated as the official body to
oversee the Luther Jubilee. Marxist historian Horst Bartel, a member
of this committee, delivered a speech that called for a "deeper inves­
tigation of the early burgher revolution."19 One notes that Bartel was
not calling for a shift away from Marxist principles. Rather, he sought
to fit Luther "into the complex revolutionary matrix of the sixteenth
century" and secure a respectable position for him within a Marxist
framework. Erich Honecker, who assumed the post of president of the
Martin Luther Committee, further declared that
the enveloping transformations of our times in and of themselves
demand party engagement for that which is historically progres­
sive, rational and humanistic. In the battles of his times Martin
Luther exerted great influence upon the development of history.
 The Luther Revival 229

He was one of the most prominent humanists, whose efforts were

of value to a more just world.20
This revised, positive appraisal of Luther highlights the broader con­
text of reclaiming the past within the GDR, which also includes "the
so-called 'Prussian w ave.'"21 However, given the fact that the Luther
Jubilee far outshone the celebrations for Karl Marx in the same year,
one should not be content to consider Luther as but an example of
historical renovation. The following section thus seeks to identify the
political purpose behind a revitalized Luther. Just how did the Marxist-
Leninist s e d hope to tip the delicate balance between church and state
in its favor during celebrations honoring a famous Christian theologian
and reformer? What, if anything, can one conclude concerning an at­
tempt by the s e d to foster a national identity among Christian citizens
favorable to objectives of the state?
Addressing the question of Luther's legacy and the two German
nations at his quincentenary, Jürgen Moltman, a Protestant theolo­
gian residing in the FRG, opined that the GDR "is denazified but not
denationalized, and West Germany is denationalized but not denazi­
fied."22 Moltman went on to state his belief that the FRG has been
stripped of any sense of nationhood while trying to come to terms with
its Nazi past. The GDR, on the other hand, having been cleansed from
the guilt of war atrocities by disassociating itself from "the menda­
cious and misanthropic ideology of imperialism" as well as "the fascist
Wehrmacht,"23 hungers for the national identity that remains after its
historical purification. While this drive for a national identity in the
GD R has taken the heritage of Luther seriously—a man whose theis-
tic writings pose a challenge to the foundational beliefs of a Marxist
state—Moltman submitted if he told his students at Tübingen Uni­
versity that Luther was the greatest of all Germans, "they would all
laugh." Moltman's comment causes one to speculate that the persistent
specter of Nazism in the FRG has enabled the GDR to seize the initia­
tive in asserting a cultural lock on a selective, sanitized German past.
In applying this idea to Christians and national identity in the GDR,
one objective of the s e d would include disentangling Martin Luther
from the sins of Nazism in order to utilize that which could be inter­
preted as contributing to the progressive, humanistic evolution towards
socialism.
||0 Eastern Europe

LUTHER A N D MARX:
A SHARED N A TIO N AL IDENTITY?
In his address to the Conference of the "Christian Circles" in Halle,
Gerald Gotting revealed that the project for creating a secular Luther
as a bridge between Marxist ideology and church doctrine—a bridge
that might foster an East German national identity—required the task
of "critically separating and overcoming" the vagaries of Luther to af­
firm his "vital place in the progressive traditions of German history."24
In order to become a positive addition to the desired national identity,
the s e d ' s image of Luther had to be sufficiently historical to achieve a
sense of legitimacy among the Christian population. This authentica­
tion would in turn serve as a basis from which the s e d could promote
specific policy concerns, such as the role of the military. The sustained
effort exerted by party officials and scholars attests to the importance
assigned by the government to this issue. The task now at hand is to
expose the manner and words used in the attempt to integrate Martin
Luther into a socialist identity for Christians in the GDR.

T H E LUTH ER JUBILEE

The creation of a "secular Luther"25 required first and foremost histori­

cal legitimacy. The Honecker regime learned a lesson from the 1967
fiasco, when church representatives withdrew their support from cele­
brations for the 450th anniversary of the Reformation due to the s e d ' s
hostile attitude toward church-sponsored activities.26 The absence of
church leadership figured as a significant blow to this attempt by the
s e d to selectively incorporate church history into the socialist legacy of

the GDR. In other words, the official presentation had failed in the act
of "critically separating" Luther the theologian from Luther the con­
tributor to socialism's evolution without losing the participation of the
church. The Luther Jubilee in 1983, however, witnessed a concerted
effort to address both parts of the man, thereby seeking a total, legiti­
mate Luther indelibly etched in the GDR's history. Part of this process
involved a Marxist renovation of Christian terminology. In a speech by
Kurt Novak, theologian and church historian at Karl Marx University,
one discovers that
 The Luther Revival 231

Luther's experience of salvation gains new importance for us. The

fate of the human race is promised a good ending because of God's
acts of salvation. It is not possible to transfer in a naive fashion
this experience of faith to the process of history. But impulses of
encouragement that come from this experience, the hope that it
gives and the challenge that it evokes point the way to the future.27

Without implicitly rejecting the authenticity of Luther's fideism, No­

vak gently nudges the importance of salvation and the hope it engen­
ders into the materialist's domain, as "impulses of encouragement"
direct energies and attitudes toward a blessed Marxian hope on earth.
Adolf Laube, a member of the GDR Academy of Science's Central
Institute for History, performed a similar manipulation by adapting
Luther's understanding of priestly intercession to the vocabulary of
revolution: "Luther . . . in order to legitimize the social forces calling
for change, challenged the necessity of the church institution per se
as a mediator between God and man. This was the decisive impulse
which . . . made it possible to change this movement into a broad popu­
lar uprising."28 Laube conveniently placed the cart before the horse in
identifying another socialist "impulse" from Luther's theological con­
tribution to the Reformation. While one may well argue that Luther's
call for spiritual freedom from the Roman church had an impact on the
peasants' growing desire for social freedom,29 it is quite another mat­
ter to transform Luther's belief in the priesthood of the believer—as
Laube has done—into a scheme designed to justify the liberation of the
masses.
Beyond the adaptation of specific terms, one also notices the ap­
pearance of a subjective and objective Luther as a further method
for gaining historical legitimacy—a perspective on Luther that sepa­
rates his personal being from his alleged significance for socialism.30
With this technique Luther the man remains as one person, while the
legacy inherited from him is divided by a factor of socialist accept­
ability. However, before such a division could be instituted with any
real expectation of its acceptance by the citizenry of the GDR, the
government realized the necessity of dealing frankly with Luther in a
Christian context. Among the scholarly works published in the GDR
for the Luther Jubilee, Gerhard Brendler's contribution served as an
232, Eastern Europe

example of acknowledging and integrating, rather than dismissing, the

reality of Luther's spiritual crises as a necessary factor in understand­
ing his life.31 Further evidence of the s e d ' s effort to present an impar­
tial encounter with Luther was seen during a five-part, seven-and-one-
half-hour television series covering Luther's early years (1517-27) in
which "Luther's theology as the driving force in his life is presented
more clearly than has previously been the practice in the G D R ."32
No ideological mishap, the film intended to narrow the gap between
revolutionary and reformer by emphasizing the latter. Indeed, with the
new interpretation of Luther one discovers that "the writings of Mar­
tin Luther show that socioeconomic reform ideas as well as political
concepts belong to the essential character of the Reformation and can­
not be separated artificially from religious-theological concepts."33 By
acknowledging the "religious-theological" nature of both the Reforma­
tion and Luther, party historians confronted the political implications
of this movement. However, the s e d has attempted an application of
this differentiation of forces within the Reformation itself to the intent
and effect of Luther's writings alone. Thus, even if one maintained an
orthodox interpretation of Luther's works as a Christian reformer (the
subjective intent) it would not be accurate to "artificially" separate this
from the "socioeconomic reform ideas" (the objective result) that sub­
sequently transpired. Although this argument may not in and of itself
appear biased, in actuality only the objective results vis-à-vis social­
ism's progression found praise. The Peasant Wars are a prime example.
No attempt is made to forgive Luther's support of the princes against
the progressive peasant movement, for Luther could not have been
conscious of the real significance of the resistance. Nevertheless, "his
attacks on the Roman church challenged the question of power, the
central question of any revolution."34 Luther's antisocialist stance can
be overlooked as but a subjective reaction of his medieval understand­
ing of the world. The objective result of his actions during the time of
the Peasant Wars was to shake the centralized authority of the Roman
church—a revolutionary advancement that pointed toward socialism's
inevitability from the perspective of current Marxist historiography in
the GDR.
In viewing this division of Luther one is uncomfortably compelled
to admire the ingenuity of s e d theoreticians. Whereas Luther's life w ill
undoubtedly continue to generate controversy as attempts are made
 The Luther Revival 233

to reconcile his diversity amid his genius, the s e d ' s interpretation of

Luther has sought, in oversimplified terms, to separate the good from
the bad without dismissing the individual as a whole. By this means
the state was able to share a podium with the church and partake in
discussions on Luther with a greater degree of legitimacy than previ­
ously possible. While not all the celebrations included state participa­
tion (a matter considered in subsequent discussion), the church-state
balance that did emerge created an opportunity for Christians in East
Germany to consider Luther as a legitimate contributor to the progres­
sion of a social system in which they now exist. Thus, the process of
establishing one's identity as a Christian in the GDR, a Christian in
socialism, need not exclude identifying with a great church reformer
such as Luther. From this basis of historical legitimacy (both for Luther
as a contributor to the evolution of the socialism and, ultimately, the
s e d ' s role as the appointed authority for all citizens under its domain),

a Christian should confidently identify with the GDR as his or her own
nation. Indeed, as a nation founded upon the objective achievements
of Germans throughout history whose subjective individualities mani­
fested a markedly different nature, the GDR acknowledges the value
of a Christian worldview as a vital component of modern Germany's
maturing socialist society.35
One of the most significant issues coinciding with the Luther Jubilee
was the question of peace in the GDR. The disagreement among church
and party officials over how "peace" is to be understood reveals the
different results Abgienzung and Gemeinschaft can have on the forma­
tion of a national identity. The first question, then, is how did the state
interpret Luther during the Jubilee Year on the question of peace?
As a Soviet ally, the GDR leadership opposes any escalation in n a t o
forces and supports those initiatives that share a similar commitment
to a deescalation of nuclear weapons. The official rehabilitation of
Luther reflected this reasoning with timely pronouncements that ap­
pealed to a modern application of the reformer's thought. Recalling
Luther's fresh appraisal of the importance each individual has in con­
tributing to the cumulative good of the church, Kurt Novak declared:
"In our time the question about the concept of man has received a
new impetus of elementary importance. . . . The threat of a European
or global holocaust does not simply imply the fears and hopes of the
individual. Individual destiny cannot escape into imaginary niches of
234 Eastern Europe

history."36 Luther's belief in the responsibility of the individual Chris­

tian to the corporate good of a church body is used to convince citizens
that a sense of individualism in one's personal, spiritual life does not
relieve her or him from involvement in the concerns of real existing
socialism. No eschatological hope should be used to justify an escape
from the present threat of nuclear escalation; Luther's concept of an
individual's commitment to the betterment of the whole opposes such.
An additional opportunity for the s e d to utilize Christians in the
peaceful promotion of socialism was found in Luther's work ethic (Be­
rnfsethik) and his emphasis on caring for the poor. While the Evangeli­
cal church has demonstrated a continuing commitment to providing
medical care for GD R citizens,37 the government has further attempted
to use attributes often associated with Luther's work ethic for broaden­
ing the historical consciousness identified with the GDR.38
For the Honecker regime, however, the pursuit of selective peace pro­
grams became increasingly difficult. The official peace initiative vis-
à-vis nuclear weapons became unavoidably entangled with an indige­
nous peace movement that opposed the military policies of the s e d ,
particularly the growing commitment by the party to the militariza­
tion of society.39 While the Evangelical church leadership has avoided
public solidarity with this movement, Ronald Asmus has noted that
"the critical role the [Evangelical] Church as an institution has played
in fostering the emergence of the unofficial peace movement cannot be
underestimated."40 This role carries an additional implication for the
question of national identity and Gemeinschaft for Christians in Ger­
many. In recognition of the war guilt that all German Christians share
from their silence during the Nazi terror, Manfred Stolpe, head of the
Berlin Consistory of the Evangelical church, has urged a joint, inter-
German peace effort aimed at confronting questions that in the past
have been divisive for German Protestants. By using "a special sense
of community" of the German Protestant churches, Stolpe hoped that
Christians would educate their fellow citizens on the need to avoid an
arms race, risk trust instead of armed security and limit their politi­
cal support to those leaders who share the church's commitment to
peace.41 This desire on the part of the church in the GDR to speak
on matters involving a shared German identity has resulted in a spirit
of Gemeinschaft which has gained the acceptance of the s e d , 42 even
 The Luther Revival 2,35

though this action may prove counterproductive for the party's efforts
to attain a separate national identity for Christian citizens in the GDR.
In spite of the inter-German initiative that has come from church
leaders in the GDR for peace, the Luther Jubilee provided the s e d
with opportunities to seek the support of Christians for its own peace
policy. The state sought to present itself as an authority given the
divine right to defend itself with military force. In the words of Gerald
Gotting, "Referring to Romans 13 [Luther] states: 'Worldly authorities
have been established by God not to destroy peace and start war but
to manage peace and avoid war.' . . . Luther thus has a very realistic
view of the contrasting realities of this world—the contrast between
the forces protecting peace and the forces that for questionable reasons
are willing to start a war."43 By drawing directly from Luther's pen,
Gotting is able to succinctly define one's duty to the state's political
objectives: "Socialist foreign and military policy is therefore essentially
peace policy. Christian citizens of the GDR are in agreement with it
and support it."44
The above references serve to make at least two critical points for
the Christian in a socialist society: the GDR is a state with a distinct
political system that is distinguished by its appeal for peace; and, as
a "worldly authority," the s e d has the divine right to loyalty from its
citizens. By combining the concerns of legitimacy and authority, the
regime has apparently sought to quell matters of conscience. Criti­
cal dissent by the unofficial peace movement strikes at the heart of
Luther's own belief in the subjection of a Christian to those who have
political authority in society.
In the wake of the s e d ' s preparation and direction of the Luther Quin­
centenary as one vital part of the GDR's reclamation of the past, a
movement identified in this interpretation as the attempt by the state
to direct the attitudes of Christians toward identification with and loy­
alty to their government as the legitimate heir of a progressive, hu­
manitarian Luther, it is necessary to examine the church's response
during the jubilee. Did a genuine church-state reconciliation take place
in the manner desired by the s e d ?
While the s e d did gain the church's participation in its own official
ceremonies, the ability of the party to co-opt Luther in achieving a
socialist, national identity for its Christian citizens is in doubt. The
236 Eastern Europe

preceding pages have shown that the Luther year displayed greater de­
signs than a mere attempt to placate Christians in the GDR and as such
must be judged by a more piercing light.
Following Erich Flonecker's speech at the official dedication of the
Luther Committee, Evangelical Bishop Werner Leich, one of the church
members of the official committee, recalled that Martin Luther "wanted
to confess nobody but the Lord Jesus Christ alone."45 He went on to
state that the church in the GDR "w ill not laud Martin Luther as a
great human being, but pay tribute to his instruction . . . the joyful
message of Jesus Christ."46The motto chosen by the Evangelical church
for its celebrations of Luther at the Kiichentage (the church congresses
—seven separate meetings in different cities representing the various
regions of the GDR) was Luther's own: "Above all, fear, love, and trust
God." When literature from the Kiichentage is examined, one does not
find the same ideological intrusion upon Christian doctrine which was
evident in party pronouncements. Rather, there was a commitment to
Luther the theologian, exploring issues such as "Faith as a basis of our
life; Confession and pastoral affairs; the renewal of the Church, and
the consequences of such renewal."47 A similar sense of commitment
seeking a better understanding of the situation facing the church in
socialism could also be detected in questions used to generate group
discussion.48
This general concern for awareness among Christians was exhibited
as an "increased self-confidence of the GDR churches" at the Potsdam
Union Synod of September 1983.49 At this gathering Bishop Johannes
Hempel reflected a spirit of frustration by denouncing "the growing
disappointment and embitterment" in the country. Bishop Hempel not
only cited persistent discrimination against Christians, but included
in his concerns "the middle and lower cadre" who have expressed dis­
may over "the wasting away of creative potential in our society."50 This
vision of the church as a voice for those experiencing disenfranchise­
ment—members of the social classes for which Marxism theoretically
brings a bright message of hope—poses a challenge to the s e d in its
role as caretaker of the people. While this extension of the church's
prophetic mission is not without its potential costs,51 it does indicate
an attitude wary of an overly comfortable ideological partnership with
the state. Indeed, as Arvan Gordon surmised after the Luther Jubilee:
"The term 'the Church in Socialism' involves constant pitfalls. The
 The Luther Revival 237

experience of 1983 underlines the fact that the Protestant leaders can
never relax."52
Such pitfalls apparently continue to remain in the minds of church
leaders. In February 1986 the retired Lutheran Bishop Albrecht Schon-
herr reflected upon the Church's initial meetings with the Honecker
regime and the moral imperatives of the Barmen Declaration which
preceded them by forty-five years and concluded that
phrases such as "Church in socialism" and satisfactory talks and
meetings like the one of 6 March 1978 cannot conceal the fact
that state and Church will always be subject to tensions. . . . [The
Church] must "preach the free mercy of God to all the people"
. . . it must be prepared to accept that it is going to be prevented
from using the word and the work of its Lord in the service of any
high-handedly chosen desires, goals and plans [Barmen 6].53
That the Barmen Theological Declaration, a document embedded in a
period of German history which supposedly has no moral connection
with socialism, would be summoned to the consciousness of Christians
in the GD R today sounds a cautionary note to those in the church who
might consider their national identity to be distinct from the FRG.
In an interview in the spring of 1987 Bishop Gottfried Forck of the
Evangelical church in Berlin-Brandenburg (East) responded to a ques­
tion concerning the relationship between "the anti-clerical socialist
government" and the church in this manner: "I believe the Church
stands by the witness of the New Testament, that it should follow in
the steps of Christ. Christ said: If they persecute me, they w ill also
persecute you. It is therefore normal for the Church to be under pres­
sure." 54 Forck's reflection on life in the church at its inception points
to Luther's own understanding of this matter. For the Christian in the
GDR, Forck's answer is that the church recognizes socialism as God's
appointed place "where we as Christians must persevere," but without
allowing this acceptance to be understood as "a meaningless affirma­
tion of socialism."
History, however, can be as one wishes to perceive it. A second glance
at the genesis of the church reveals a different emphasis: "Recalling the
'communities of fighting spirit' of early Christianity can justify 'active
propaganda, incessant battle against the enemy without and within,
proud confession of the evolutionary viewpoint before pagan judges,
238 Eastern Europe

a martyr's death of certain victory.' " 55 When juxtaposed with Forck's

comments, these words of Engels—quoted in an East German article
promoting the cooperation of communists and Christians—compel one
to reaffirm the necessity of distinguishing and defining the components
in any system of belief that contribute to its significance or distinctive­
ness. Just such a recognition merits even greater attention when two
worldviews traditionally at odds with one another are seen in a new,
conciliatory light.
The examination of the Luther Quincentenary contained in these
pages has sought to shade this light and probe its source. In the case
of the Luther Jubilee this chapter has focused on the reasons for the
s e d ' s selective emphasis and, to a degree, outright distortion of Luther's

words and intent. The Honecker regime hoped to manufacture and

adapt the figure of Luther in such a way as to contribute to its policy
of national Abgrenzung, thereby addressing the s e d ' s concern for both
its own legitimacy and its military policy in the eyes of the church.
The church's response to this was one of limited cooperation with the
state, a partnership which nevertheless rejected the concept of a his­
torical or ideological identification with socialism on the basis of re­
vised interpretations of Luther and Christianity. The church neither
demonstrated a willingness to acquiesce to the state's integration of
Luther into a distinct socialist heritage nor abandoned its support for a
peace movement that targeted its own nation as well as the FRG—indi­
cations of its rejection of a unique East German identity. Furthermore,
statements made by leaders of the East German church at the Frank­
furter Kirchentag in 1987 denounced the s e d ' s use of Abgrenzung to
hamper inter-German peace efforts. As East Berlin theologian Joachim
Garstecki noted, "Abgrenzung is a political anachronism. . . . The con­
ciliatory process envisions the responsibility of Christians to build a
dialogue of trust regardless of borders; the renunciation of the principle
and practice of Abgrenzung; the strengthening of an ecumenical con­
sciousness which promotes the community [Gemeinschaft] of people
above class, race, ideology and differences in historical development."56
In the wake of the church-state partnership that did occur for the
Luther Jubilee, one discovers what may be the crucial concern in the
relationship between the church and the regime in the GDR: the degree
to which Christians w ill be willing to actively participate in social­
ism's development while recognizing and asserting the quiddity of
 The Luther Revival 239

Christian Gemeinschaft vis-à-vis Marxist Abgrenzung. With the s e d ' s

desire for "a political integration of Church and state" clearly evi­
dent, the 1986 pastoral letter of the Catholic bishops in the GDR clari­
fied this point, stating: "It is, therefore, understandable that the key
question at this time concerning the place of Catholic and Evangeli­
cal Christians in society does not seem to be one of Weltanschauung.
Rather, it concerns the readiness of Christians to build up and defend
the state and socialist society under the direction of the s e d ." 57 Thus,
one of the many tasks of the church in the GDR w ill be deciding its
degree of involvement in the construction of socialism without relin­
quishing an active role in this period of Heilsgeschichte—the church
as a witness for Christ, treading the narrow road of coexistence with,
but not in conformity to, a socialist state.
From the state's perspective the s e d faces its own set of challenges.
Not only must it contend with the church as, in Bishop Forck's words,
an independent "authority of faith" (Vertraueninstanz); it must also
face this "authority" on issues that have shown no sign of abating: edu­
cation and parental authority in matters of religious training; military
service; and a commitment to human rights for all of society.58 Further­
more, the Honecker regime may well confront unsettling ideological
questions of its own making; within the "complex GDR conception of
history," notes a party historian, there exists a "conceptual weakness
in the historical picture of the origin and growth of the G D R ."59
Whether or not historiography ever becomes a troublesome topic
for the s e d remains to be seen. Perhaps the state will find a greater
ideological kinship and comfort in extolling the virtues of Thomas
Miintzer during the upcoming festivities planned for his quincente­
nary than it has found in contending with the legacy of Martin Luther.
But there is, perhaps, a warning from the past for the s e d ' s toiling
in history. In his work on the Luther Jubilee of 1883, West German
church historian Hans Diifel concluded that the festivities of that year
reflected the influence of the Enlightenment which tended to empha­
size the secondary themes of Luther's impact during the Reformation.
The final paragraph is most instructive:

Reinhold Schneider wrote in an essay on Pope Alexander VI: "The

Reformation unfolded, at least in Germany, not due to moral indig­
nation, but due to a religious emergency—the fear of God." Every
240 Eastern Europe

endeavor with the Reformation and with the person of Luther has
to commence from this point; should it not do so, it fails in its
task. This genuinely religious criterion is and remains the stan­
dard by which all past and future Reformation and Luther festivals
are to be judged.60
Like the church, the Honecker regime has its own balance to maintain.
Should the s e d fail to apply genuine religious criteria in its relation­
ship with the church, especially as the party strives to gain legitimacy
for itself and the acceptance of the GDR as "a spiritual, political, and
ecclesiastical homeland" for Christians,61 the s e d may unwittingly con­
tribute to an unintended Abgrenzung within its own borders.
IO

C h u rch and N ation ality in Postwar Poland

V incent C. C h ryp in ski

For the majority of Poles, Catholicism has become the core of their
national identity. The convergence of religious and national conscious­
ness nursed both Catholicism and nationalism, and created for both
advantageous conditions for a viable existence. Over centuries past,
Catholicism became a national necessity in Poland and fidelity to the
church became synonymous with faithfulness to the nation.
The communists, who acquired rule over Poland after World War II,
perceived neither the nature of Polish Catholicism nor its peculiar re­
lationship to Polish nationalism. Motivated by atheism and monistic
ambitions, they opened an offensive against religion and the Catholic
church in the belief that administrative measures would provide a final
push toward an ultimate destruction of the "remnants of capitalism."
To their great disappointment, these "relics of the past" not only sur­
vived but actually became stronger and have come to enjoy greater
moral authority than ever before.
This development was associated with the continuation by the
church of close bonds with the people and by its great concern for Pol­
ish national aspirations. Among the latter, three were, in my opinion,
of special significance: (i) the integration of the western territories; (2)
the preservation of Polish national culture; and (3) the struggle for the
freedom of people.

TH E CH URCH A N D TH E "RECOVERED TERRITORIES"

Among the multitude of formidable tasks facing the Poles after World
War II, none was more inspired by a sense of historical mission than
242 Eastern Europe

the integration of formerly German provinces assigned to Poland by

the victorious Allied powers. When, in 1945, Poland took over these
lands, dubbed "Recovered Territories," they presented a picture of utter
destruction and chaos. Immense human and material losses, caused by
the ferocity of the war, were aggravated by the arbitrary behavior of
military commanders and their troops, as well as by the inability of
Polish officials to get control of a fluid and stressful situation. The ex­
pulsion of German inhabitants, ordered at Potsdam, created additional
problems and tensions. To make matters worse, the devastated but still
opulent lands became an object of often senseless "revindication" by
Soviet authorities and of ordinary plundering by looters from central
Poland.
But this was not all. Before the seething cauldron began to simmer
down, a massive migration of Poles, expelled from the eastern border­
lands taken over by the Soviet Union, streamed into the western terri­
tories. They were brought by trains, with the meager remnants of their
personal belongings, unloaded at railroad stations determined by the
Polish Repatriation Office, and sent to villages and towns that often
were destroyed or still occupied by Germans. In addition to this forced
migration, there also came voluntary Polish returnees from other Euro­
pean countries, especially from France, Belgium, West Germany, Yugo­
slavia, and Romania. Finally, there was also a significant influx of set­
tlers from the overpopulated villages of central Poland, augmented by
thousands of returning prisoners of war, inmates of concentration and
labor camps, and soldiers released from the Polish army in exile.1
In these circumstances it was only natural that a great many of the
newcomers, as well as the old inhabitants, suffered extreme poverty
and faced the specter of famine. Food, medicine, and clothing were all
in short supply, along with many other items of vital importance. Alco­
holism, disease, and licentiousness spread among the people, causing
irreparable harm. A ll these matters combined confronted the people
with the problem of sheer physical survival.
In this grim situation the church took the initiative and started
manifold charitable activities, covering basically two broad areas. The
first involved not only the provision of food, clothing, and shelter, but
also the aiding of people in the reactivation of farms, crafts, and small
industrial enterprises. The second area involved the provision of health
services and the organization of custodial and educational institutions.
 Postwar Poland 243

In order to handle the demanding job properly, the episcopate created in

1945 a special national organization called Caritas. Its work, supervised
by an episcopal commission, was carried out through diocesan and
parish branches that extended to all corners of the country. In the
recovered territories Caritas developed very rapidly and, in spite of
many difficulties, was able to meet the basic needs of the indigent
population.
The statistics, though not giving a complete picture, are impressive.1
For instance, by providing food, clothes, and pocket money, Caritas took
care of 35,000 people in the Opole Apostolic Administration, 75,000
in Wroclaw, and 87,000 in Gorzow. Without this assistance, thousands
certainly would have perished. Field kitchens, orphanages, shelters for
the aged, outpatient clinics, nurseries, sewing workrooms, homes for
unwed mothers, boarding schools, summer camps, clubrooms, travel­
ers' aid stations, etc., were operated by Caritas in the recovered terri­
tories with the help of thousands of volunteers, most of them priests
and nuns.
A ll these activities were, in the early period, financed exclusively
from perpetual collections conducted throughout Poland and from as­
sistance by the u n Relief Administration and other charitable organi­
zations throughout the world. Much help came from the United States
where Americans of Polish descent played a leading role in organizing
the Catholic League and the Polish Relief Council.
The church's contributions to the welfare of the recovered territories
were not limited to the material necessities of life but extended also to
an area whose dimensions escape full statistical measurement: social
relationships.3 Each group coming to the recovered territories, as well
as the autochthons, represented a specific set of characteristics, a sub­
culture acquired during years of habitation in a particular cultural m i­
lieu. As might be expected, their mingling in the newly obtained lands
resulted, at first, in a number of tensions and confrontations detrimen­
tal to the cohesion of the community and to joint efforts for economic
recovery. That the explosive situation did not end in catastrophe and
that gradually an organic unity was created out of this kaleidoscopic
admixture was due, to a great extent, to the efforts of the church.
A speedy re-creation of the network of parishes led to the formation
of parochial communities. The building and strengthening of human
interrelations followed. They were facilitated greatly by the fact that
244 Eastern Europe

a great majority of the newcomers professed the Catholic faith or at

least observed Catholic customs and traditions. The churches provided
recurrent opportunities for peaceful meetings and for the discovery of
common virtues. This, in turn, led to other contacts and to closer co­
operation in other fields. The common religion induced people to work
for the common good.
By preaching spiritual and humanist values, the church greatly accel­
erated the dynamics of this development. At the same time, by using
the Polish language, by offering behavioral models taken from Polish
history, by presenting the most attractive features of Polish culture, and
above all by stressing the strong links of Poland and Catholicism with
these lands, the church laid solid foundations not only for the social
unification of the people residing in the recovered territories but also
created a deep sense of identification with the entire Polish nation.
This influence was of special significance in regard to the autoch­
thonous population, especially in the Opole region where it numbered
around 800,000. This people, though exposed to intensive Germaniza-
tion, preserved a consciousness of their Polish origin and of the Polish
cultural heritage. And, of course, they remained faithful to the Catholic
religion. Yet their way of life was influenced greatly by German proto­
types that, though mostly beneficial, were different from the Polish.
Consequently, the autochthonous group was set aside from the rest of
the population, especially from those who came from the eastern prov­
inces long exposed to Russian models of behavior. Luckily, the church
had at its disposal in the Opole region a team of about four hundred
priests who had shared the years of German occupation with their con­
gregations and who had remained with them during the war. Thanks to
their posture of equanimity toward all groups, the antagonism gradu­
ally subsided. Speaking in March 1963, the late Cardinal Kominek,
himself a native of an Opole village, could point out that the situation
at that time was much calmer and could claim that his people excelled
not only in religious practice but also in meeting the obligations of
good citizenship.4
Such a description does not, however, tell the complete story. An­
other element, equally important, also must be mentioned here. The
Potsdam decision, which had assigned the formerly German provinces
to Polish administration, created a vague political situation to be final­
ized by a pending peace settlement. Quite naturally, this circumstance
 Postwar Poland 245

produced a feeling of impermanence and insecurity, especially among

the newcomers to the recovered territories. Propaganda conducted in
the British, French, and American zones of occupation of Germany,
by refugees and expellees from the East, against the Potsdam decision,
added fuel to the uncertainty.
The dismal situation was aggravated even more by the stand of the
Vatican, which consistently refused to adjust ecclesiastical adminis­
trative borders in the recovered territories to correspond with the new
Polish borders, to change the anomalous church structure,5 or to ap­
point regular residential bishops. As late as 1970, Annuaiio Pontificio
listed "Breslavia, Breslau, Wroclaw" metropolis together with German
dioceses and enumerated Polish church administrators as acting “ad
nutum S. Sedis" (by the grace of the Holy See). While the position of
the Holy See could be explained by the well-established practice of
waiting until the conclusion of a peace treaty before redrawing dioce­
san boundaries in territories transferred as a result of war, the ensuing
delay threatened to have a very adverse impact on the process of inte­
grating the recovered territories into the rest of the country.
However, the Polish bishops, and especially the primate, August Car­
dinal Hlond, were convinced that the Potsdam award was final and that
the integration of the recovered territories had to proceed without de­
lay. The cardinal hoped that the Holy See would establish a normal
church organization in these lands within two or three years.6 Acting
in this spirit and vested by the pope with the power to set up a pro­
visional administration in the five newly acquired western districts,
Cardinal Hlond appointed apostolic administrators for these areas in
August 1945, aligning jurisdictional borders generally with the new
administrative divisions of Poland. Thus, Rev. Karol M ilik received
jurisdiction in that part of the Wroclaw archdiocese that at the time
belonged to the Lower Silesian province; Rev. Boleslaw Kominek, Up­
per Silesia with the seat in Opole; Rev. Edmund Nowicki, the north­
ern part that belonged to the Poznan province, prelacy "nullius," and
those portions of the Berlin diocese that were now within Polish bor­
ders; Rev. Andrzej Wronka, Gdansk diocese; and Rev. Teodor Bensch,
Warmia diocese (within Polish borders), with the seat in Olsztyh.7 The
nominating decrees were issued by Cardinal Hlond on the basis of a
special authorization of the Holy See dated July 8, 1945, and received
by him personally while in Rome on the way back to Poland after the
246 Eastern Europe

long wartime exile. Each nominee assumed the rights and obligations
of a residential bishop.
The new apostolic administrators followed the cardinal's admoni­
tions, and during September 1945 all of them managed to find suit­
able locations for themselves and their staffs and to arrange solemn
ingress ceremonies attended by public officials, hundreds of priests and
nuns, and many thousands of faithful. Hlond gave the new administra­
tors complete personal and institutional support, and they became full-
fledged members of the Polish episcopate. Faced with a great shortage
of priests, the apostolic administrators also received Hlond's assistance
in recruiting augmentées from the monastic orders.
The Polish church viewed the taking up of the responsibility for the
Oder-Neisse regions as a patriotic calling. While the Vatican allowed
the bishopric of Gdansk to be occupied by a German until 1964, and
refused to recognize the permanence of existing clerical administration
in Poland's western and northern provinces until June 28, 1972, the
Polish church hierarchy adopted, early on, a defiant posture vis-à-vis
the Holy See and avidly defended Poland's claim to the territories.8

TH E DEFENSE OF N A TIO N AL CULTURE

Polish culture was formed under the great influence of the Roman
Catholic church. Consequently, it acquired a Christian character and
became an element of Western civilization. While the impact of the
church was especially strong during the Middle Ages and most particu­
larly among the peasants, it extended to all periods of Polish history
and to all social groups. The church's unique leadership role was visibly
manifested in 14 5 1, when the primate of Poland acquired the right to
crown the Polish kings.9 Later, when the partitions carried out by Aus­
tria, Prussia, and Russia (1772, 1793, and 1795) removed Poland from
the map, the Catholic church
was one of the links which maintained the sense of nationhood
across dividing frontiers. In the part of Poland under Russian
rule, religious differences between Orthodox Russians and Roman
Catholic Poles helped to shield the national identity against Rus­
sification. After the Polish insurrection of 1863 in particular, the
Russian government attempted to strike back at the Poles through
 Postwar Poland 247

their church, by resorting to curtailment of religious instruction

in schools, the reduction of enrollments in Catholic seminaries,
and the enlistment of priests to the government's side.10
The church penetrated national life in both cultural and social spheres.
Polish religiosity blended with traditional Polish culture and customs.
Polish Catholicism was instrumental in inspiring Polish literature and
art, especially during the period of the partitions, and the entire na­
tional ethos.
To the ruling communists this situation was intolerable, and there­
fore they decided to deal with the problem by eliminating from school
curricula and from publications all inconvenient items, especially in
the fields of history and literature. By blotting out the past, the com­
munists hoped to destroy the historical continuity of Polish culture
and thus clear the ground for an easier acceptance of socialist reality.
They expected that by imposing the highly rigid framework of state
monopoly on education and publishing, and by exercising restrictive
censorship, they would be able to undermine the influence of religion
and nationalism, the twin forces whose unity gave the Polish nation a
very unique ability to resist foreign intrusion.
The communists' attempts to falsify Polish history and pillage Polish
literature met with strong resistance. The most pronounced subject of
controversy was the question of the interpretation of national history.
While Marxists saw in the Polish past only a dimension of the interna­
tional class struggle, their opponents insisted on the recognition of the
pivotal role played by individuals in history and on the affirmation of
Poland's glorious past. In the forefront of the struggle against Marxist
attempts to subvert history was the church, which openly and coura­
geously fought for the nation's right to know its true and complete past
and to draw from its entire cultural heritage, "unpurified" by commu­
nist censors. The position of the church was expressed in several let­
ters of the episcopate, in numerous pastoral messages and sermons of
Stefan Cardinal Wyszynski (Hlond's successor), and in official remon-
strations presented to the government. Their contents clearly indicated
that the defense of national culture and of its Christian character was
considered a matter of utmost importance by Poland's bishops.11
As might be expected, special attention was paid by the episcopate
to the upbringing of Polish youth. A pastoral letter issued on April
248 Eastern Europe

15, 1948, warned young people of the official educational approach,

that insisted that Polish history be viewed through materialistic lenses.
It reminded them of the inadequacy of evaluating the deeds of their
Christian forefathers exclusively in terms of class interests. Finally, the
epistle expressed the conviction that the young Polish generation "w ill
live and act for the good of its Nation, state and Church in the Catholic
spirit of our past."12
The same concern moved the episcopate to intervene when, in 1973,
the authorities were preparing a new educational reform. The bishops,
unhappy with several questionable features of the project, designed to
paralyze catechistic action and to circumscribe greatly parental influ­
ence over their children, debated the issue at every plenary session
of the Bishops' Conference, presented their comments to the govern­
ment, and sent memoranda to the Council of Ministers and to the Sejm
(Parliament). Not finding a positive response to their objections, they
finally brought the problem to the attention of the general public in
three pastoral letters on May 5, June 17, and September 14, 1973.13
While these documents concentrated on the issue of comprehensive
community schools and all-day classes, they also included vigorous
protests against atheist indoctrination and school curricula that com­
pletely omit the role of the church in Polish history and culture.
The party's distortion of Polish history and culture was strongly at­
tacked by Cardinal Wyszynski in a letter of June 10, 1978, to Kazimierz
Kakol, chief of the Office for Religious Affairs. The primate not only
condemned the perniciousness of dialectical materialism as a method
of interpreting the Polish past but also resolutely defended the activi­
ties of individuals and groups, such as the "flying university," that tried
to correct the deplorable situation by private initiatives.14
A special chapter in the church's struggle on behalf of national cul­
ture was written by the episcopate acting in defense of the Catholic
University of Lublin (k u l ). This institution, the only one of its kind
in the Soviet sphere of influence, was founded by private initiative in
19 18 . Closed by the Germans on November 17, 1939, k u l was reopened
in 1944. Its activities were, however, threatened constantly by the com­
munist authorities, who attempted to undermine the university's aca­
demic freedom and curtail its work. Governmental intrusions came in
a variety of forms. The authorities interfered with the elections of rec­
tors (in 19 5 1 and 1965), imposed limits on the admission of students
 Postwar Poland 249

(1952 and i960), ordered the liquidation of the School of Law and Socio­
economic Sciences (1952), prohibited the admission of students to the
first year of English, German, and Romance Philology (1963), dictated
the transfer of senior classes to other universities (1963), and suspended
the right to lecture of several well-known professors, including Rev.
J. Pastuszka, C. Strzeszewski, and I. Czuma. In addition to these dif­
ficulties, the government tried to suffocate the university by refusing
to allow the construction of additional facilities, ignoring the school's
financial problems, and imposing heavy taxes.15
The episcopate never abandoned the assailed university and through
unyielding resistance16 was able to ensure its survival. An important
aspect of the struggle was the bishops' ability to organize massive pub­
lic support, moral as well as material, for the school. Five times a year,
during all masses in all Polish churches, collections were taken up for
the upkeep of k u l . The results were overwhelming, and each year m il­
lions of zlotys were transferred from parishes to the university, cover­
ing about two-thirds of the expense of running the institution.17
While defensive activities occupied the constant attention of the
bishops and other clergymen, they were able to muster enough initia­
tive and ingenuity to fill, at least in part, the gap created by the rul­
ing communists toward national history and culture. Not surprisingly,
the special concern of the episcopate was to remind the people of the
role the church played in the Polish past. Thus, the church solemnly
celebrated the m illennium of Poland's Christianity in 1966, openly re­
ferred to Poland as the "Bulwark of Christianity and Western Culture,"
emphatically recalled the vows of King Jan Kazimierz, who, in Pol­
ish Lwow, had pledged the nation to the care of the Mother of God,
pointedly commemorated St. Stanislaw, the patron saint of Poland, and
Pawel Wlodkowic, who had opposed the use of the sword in ideologi­
cal conversion. The church proudly recapitulated its contributions to
the growth of Polish science and education (e.g., on the five hundredth
anniversary of Mikolaj Kopernik and fan Kanty, both in 1973), and
stressed the sacrifices of many priests in the struggles for national in­
dependence.
With equal devotion, the church commemorated nonreligious events
of Polish history and saluted lay personalities who had made important
contributions to the national life. Of special significance were com­
memorations of the rebirth of the Polish state in 1918, anniversaries
250 Eastern Europe

of the Polish victory in the war against the Bolsheviks in 1920, obser­
vances of the deaths of interwar leaders such as Pilsudski, Dmowski,
and Witos, commemorative plaques for them in the Warsaw cathedral,
and the expressed readiness to place the funeral urn of General Sikorski
in the vaults of the Wawel cathedral next to the royal tombs.18 Such
acts not only promoted knowledge of the nation's history but also con­
tributed to the national ethos. The Poles, made aware of their heroic
past, regained their sense of self-esteem.19
In attempting to describe the church's efforts on behalf of national
culture, one should not forget the essential contribution in the form
of solid humanistic education provided for seminarians in the dioce­
san seminaries.20 During their early years of study, the candidates for
the priesthood acquire substantial familiarity with Polish history and
literature.
There were also other, more visible, manifestations of the church's
input into the contemporary cultural life of Poland. It seems that two
deserve special mention. One found expression in the organization of
the "Days of Christian Culture," the other in the initiation of so-called
Sacro-songs. The idea for the "Days of Christian Culture" came, in
1974, from Rev. Tadeusz Uszynski, chaplain of the Warsaw Campus
Ministry. With the blessings of his superiors, he organized the first
"Week of Christian Culture" in Warsaw in 1975. The initiative proved
to be a huge success and spread very rapidly to other dioceses, including
Krakow, where Karol Cardinal Wojtyla, the present Pope John Paul II,
became its ardent promoter.21 Once started, the Days established them­
selves as an annual feature of Catholic cultural life.
The Weeks usually were held in local churches but often they ex­
tended to other places such as the Clubs of Catholic Intelligentsia,
the offices of cultural periodicals, and the abodes of campus m inis­
tries. Their programs were, as a rule, framed by opening and closing
holy masses offered by high religious dignitaries, including Cardinals
Wyszynski, Wojtyla, and Macharski. The backbone of activities con­
sisted of lectures delivered by noted specialists and covering a wide
range of topics that touched on religion and historical/cultural prob­
lems. In addition, there were concerts; poetry readings; films; art ex­
hibits; meetings with scholars, writers, and artists,- as well as informal
discussion groups. The benefits of the Weeks were many. Perhaps the
most important was that they provided a forum for creative authors
 Postwar Poland 251

ostracized by Polish officialdom for refusing to conform to directives

issued by party ideologues. Banished from theaters and lecture halls,
from magazines and books, they found in the churches an outlet for
their creativity and eager customers for their works. Undoubtedly, such
meetings were beneficial for both sides, especially as a platform of con­
vergence and cooperation between clergymen and lay people.
Another significant input into contemporary Polish cultural life took
the form of the "Sacro-songs." This was a bold postconciliar attempt to
adapt the church's pastoral work to new styles of life and to establish
a closer relationship with Polish youth. The first Sacro-song, initiated
by Rev. Jan Palusinski,22 took place in 1968, in todz; it was moved each
subsequent year to a different diocese. The venture became an instant
success and each time attracted thousands of performers, both Catholic
and non-Catholic, from Poland and abroad, and tens of thousands of lis­
teners, mainly youth.23 From its inception, the Sacro-songs became also
an inspiration for many eminent poets and composers who responded
with enthusiasm to the desires of the masses of believers who craved
poetry and music with religious content. The works produced for and
executed at the Sacro-song festivals included not only light composi­
tions but also serious symphonies and cantatas, among them more than
twenty masses. Together they filled a vacuum created by the planned
atheization of mass culture.

TH E CH URCH A N D H U M AN RIGHTS

There can be little doubt that the struggle for human rights and free­
dom, manifested especially strongly in the 1970s and 1980s, has ex­
pressed the aspirations not merely of a single social class but of the
entire Polish nation. The spontaneous growth of the independent trade
union Solidarity in 1980 and the broad support given to it by all seg­
ments of the population proved it beyond any doubt. The church could
not remain aloof in the face of popular yearning for moral and social
renewal; the bishops backed the movement from its inception. Their
posture resulted not from the pressure of Catholic radicals but from a
recognition that it was a genuine creation of the working people. The
fact that the inspiration for the Solidarity movement came not from
priests but from laymen and that it was a surprise to the clergy24 did
not restrain the prelates from giving it their wholehearted support.
252 Eastern Europe

As might be expected, the novel situation raised a number of theo­

retical and practical problems. In the doctrinal sphere, the principal
consideration was the controversy between theocentric and anthro­
pocentric concepts of Christianity. In the area of daily practice, the
most important was the issue of the relationship with the government
and with the opposition. It seems that in both realms, a sort of "third
position" was worked out. The notion of "radical anthropocentrism
within the framework of theocentrism" provided assurance to those
who were afraid that a contemplative stance might be relegated to a
secondary priority by the more mundane efforts exerted on behalf of the
Polish people. Acting on principle, the church unhesitatingly fought for
human rights for all members of Polish society, nonbelievers included.
The Polish church has been active in the defense of human rights
throughout the period of communist rule. A communiqué issued on
May 24, 1946, by the plenary conference of the episcopate25 raised the
issues of personal freedom, the protection of human life, the tortur­
ing of prisoners, and the deprivation of religious assistance for them.
The bishops pointed out that these offenses, committed by the holders
of power without any legal basis and directed against individuals and
entire families, constituted an unprecedented violation of the innate
rights of humanity and the humiliation of human dignity. They also
warned that the effetts of such action would adversely influence the
f uture of the nation.
In a 1947 appeal26 the episcopate called attention to the fact that the
authorities continued to transgress human rights by depriving people
of their rightful holiday rest; it protested job discrimination against be­
lievers and condemned excessive and groundless limitations of liberty.
Prejudicial censorship, drastically and injuriously curtailing freedom of
the press, was underlined as one of the most harmful and humiliating
forms of governmental abuses of power.
The cause of human rights found a valiant proponent in the person
of the late Stefan Wyszynski, bishop of Lublin from May 1946, and
primate of Poland, 1949-8 1. His credo was enunciated clearly in his
pastoral letter issued on the first Sunday of Advent 1946, entitled "On
the Christian Liberation of Man." This epistle began with a vivid de­
scription of the human suffering caused by the Nazis, and Wyszynski
appealed for "reverence for each man, for each brother, regardless of
religion, language, uniform, or party."27 He underlined that human dig­
 Postwar Poland 253

nity comes from God himself and that no state can take it away since
no earthly power has an absolute dominion over humanity.
The same motifs were repeated in his pastoral teaching, in the pro­
grams of the Great Novena, in the celebrations of the millennium of
Poland's Christianity, as well as in his sermons and speeches in the
19 80 -81 period. Wyszynski openly criticized the violations of human
rights in Poland during the anti-Semitic campaign of 1968,28 and in
many instances raised specific issues with governmental officials. After
the tragic events of December 1970, when Polish workers demonstrated
against the regime to protest proposed meat price hikes, the episcopate
solemnly stated that the fatherland belonged to all and that all have a
sacred right to enjoy peace and security. In April 1976 the episcopate
took up the cause of the rural population and demanded the extension
of the nation's social security system to private farmers. In the wake
of the June 1976 riots the bishops openly sided with the workers and
called on the authorities to stop the repression, to return to the strikers
the rights and privileges taken from them, and to start a dialogue with
society.
The establishment of Solidarity in August 1980 seems to have been
received by the primate as a momentous step toward the realization
of his hopes. Other bishops, even if less optimistic, could not refuse
to accept the labor movement. Two considerations weighed heavily in
favor of this attitude. First, cooperation with Solidarity could not be
branded as an alliance between the altar and the throne, and thus was
not inconsistent with the tradition of the Polish church. Second, it re­
affirmed the traditional stand of the church in favor of human rights.
The new relationship between church and Solidarity was described as
a "partnership" founded on mutual understanding and brotherhood.29
In entering into this relationship, the church was willing not only to
provide the movement with religious services and advice regarding the
church's stand on social problems, but also to defend the trade union
and its members if and when their rights should be endangered. How­
ever, the bishops insisted that priests should not get directly involved
in its organizational activities and should act primarily in a pastoral
role.
Consequently, Bishop Lech Kaczmarek of Gdansk responded posi­
tively to the strikers' requests for priests in the locked-out shipyards
and, undoubtedly in concert with the primate, initiated talks with the
254 Eastern Europe

authorities aimed at encouraging negotiations and averting bloodshed.

Later, the interventions concentrated on Warsaw. Although they were
conducted by the episcopate's secretary, Bishop Bronislaw Dabrowski
and members of the reactivated Joint Church-Government Commis­
sion, Cardinal Wyszynski showed deep interest in the problems dis­
cussed and on several occasions personally interceded with government
officials. Thus, in August r98o, he met with Stanislaw Kania and Ed­
ward Gierek; on October 21, 1980, and February 7, 1981, he met again
with Kania who had, by then, replaced Gierek as party first secretary;
and on March 26, already ill, he met with the new prime minister,
General Wojciech Jaruzelski. Meanwhile, the bishops and the primate
himself gave many public demonstrations of their moral support for
independent movements that adopted for themselves the name of Soli­
darity. In particular, it is worth recalling the audience of Solidarity
chairman, Lech Walgsa, with the pope, and the fact that the last group
received by the primate before his demise was a representation of the
national organizational committee of private farmers. It is beyond any
doubt that the episcopate's pressures and demonstrative acts on behalf
of Solidarity contributed to the restrained behavior of the authorities
and to the legalization of independent social organizations.
The church gave full moral support to Solidarity. Yet while Cardinal
Wyszynski appointed Professor Romuald Kukulowicz, of the Catholic
University of Lublin, as a liaison with the trade union, and the bishops
(as well as some theologians, such as Rev. Jozef Tischner) were always
ready and willing to share their views on social issues with the workers'
leaders, the church was abstaining purposely from direct involvement
in the internal affairs of the organization or from claiming a right to in­
fluence its program. This attitude was expressed unequivocally by the
prelates on several occasions (for instance, Cardinal Wyszynski stated,
in his April 198T speech to representatives of the independent farm­
ers, that he did not want to form "confraternities or sodalities"). The
current primate, Jozef Cardinal Glemp, indicated several times that he
viewed Solidarity as a labor organization aggregating people of various
outlooks and serving the whole nation.30
In one respect the bishops and Cardinal Wyszynski in particular were
not reluctant to invoke their prestige and authority: the episcopate was
aware of the revolutionary potential of the opposition movement and
feared that the escalation of demands might lead to a violent encounter
 Postwar Poland 255

with the government, to bloodshed, and to Soviet military interven­

tion. The examples of Hungary and Czechoslovakia were still fresh
in the prelates' memories. For this reason, the church appealed to the
Polish people for calm and moderation, for public spirit and national
unity.31 In the same spirit, the pope exhorted his countrymen to w is­
dom and prudence. Cardinal Wyszynski advised Solidarity leaders to
concentrate on concrete social and economic goals and to beware of
people seeking to "entangle Poland in certain political situations."32
As might have been expected, these requests did not evoke uniform
reactions. The communists were, naturally, pleased because the bish­
ops' voices acted soothingly on the perturbed public opinion and gave
them time to mobilize preventive measures. On the other hand, the
episcopate's posture met with sharp criticism from the radical wing of
the opposition movement. In the view of the radicals, Solidarity faced
the danger of "Khomeinization" growing out of a peculiarly Polish syn­
drome identifying patriotism and Catholicism. The peril needed to be
combated by eliminating the influence of the church and by providing
more room in the organization's leadership for activists with a left­
ist and anticlerical pedigree, such as Adam Michnik.33 The purpose of
such tactics was to extricate Solidarity from the moderating influence
of the church and to use the organization's revolutionary potential as
a main political weapon in the struggle against the existing system of
government.
The disapprobation of the church's behavior marked a significant de­
parture from the earlier posture of the secular Left, which in the 1970s
had praised the church as the chief defender of human freedoms and
which had advocated, at the time, a dialogue with believers.34 It seems
that the radicals decided that in the new situation, the umbrella of Soli­
darity provided them with a better and more convenient protection. It
is interesting to note that some Polish circles in the West, especially
around the Paris periodical, Kultuia, also adopted an openly critical
posture and predicted the inevitable decline of the church's role in Pol­
ish society.35
The church remained unswayed in its moderate conduct. The death
of Cardinal Wyszynski on May 28, 1981, did not alter that course, and
the church continued in its role as mediator. The impasse in negotia­
tions between Solidarity and the government that developed after the
Bydgoszcz confrontation (March 19 ,19 8 1), as well as the growing polar­
256 Eastern Europe

ization of society, made the conciliation increasingly difficult, how­

ever. The church was especially sensitive to the problem of societal
cleavage and tried to prevent it by bringing about honest discussion
between the government and Solidarity. The bishops saw that as a step
toward overcoming the existing political crisis and as a preparation for
future reforms based on solid institutional foundations.
In the course of his endeavors the primate met several times with
Lech Walgsa, for example on November 21, 1981, and conferred with
General Wojciech Jaruzelski, to whom he apparently presented a com­
promise proposal meeting halfway the postulates of the government
and of the opposition. It was rumored that the scheme attempted to
reconcile the principle of the so-called leading role of the party with
guarantees for popular participation in the process of governing. It is
possible that the project was discussed at the three-way meeting ar­
ranged by Archbishop Glemp with Jaruzelski and Walesa on November
4, I98r. Shortly before the December 1 0 - 1 1 , r98i session of the Soli­
darity coordinating commission in Gdansk, Archbishop Glemp sent
Walgsa a letter, warning him against rashness and urging the union to
seek a dialogue with the authorities. On December n , 1981, the pri­
mate issued a dramatic appeal for national unity and peace in the face
of domestic unrest.
Taking on itself the necessary but highly responsible and difficult
role of mediator, the episcopate categorically declined to take part in
the political infighting and made it clear that the church's aim was
neither a "historical compromise" with the Marxists nor participation
in a ruling coalition. Instead, the bishops repeatedly recalled that the
church's goals were strictly religious and transcendental. In one of his
sermons in Bydgoszcz, Primate Glemp reiterated that the church did
not want to become a "third power" in the configuration of social forces
but wanted to serve all Poles through prayer and sacraments.
The military coup of December 13, 1981, presented the church with
a new situation and new problems. The most urgent was the preven­
tion of bloodshed. To this end, the bishops urged the people to retain
their composure and abstain from violent resistance. At the same time
the episcopate explicitly identified and condemned those responsible
for the state of war and the interruption of the renewal process.36 The
bishops were of the opinion that the Jaruzelski putsch did not solve the
crisis and that the military rule must, sooner or later, come to an end.
 Postwar Poland 257

Consequently, while critically evaluating the imposition of the martial

regime, the episcopate insisted that a positive program for the solution
of existing problems must be found and that a search for it must involve
all significant social forces, including the suspended union, Solidarity.
At the same time the prelates warned the junta of the dire consequences
of acts dictated by revenge and the desire to settle accounts with the op­
position. They also insisted that the agreements of August 1980 should
be respected and workers' gains preserved. The pope, who on a number
of occasions had reminded the ruling communists that the Poles would
never accept slavery, also advised resumption of negotiations.
Since the military coup, Polish society has been polarized sharply
into two camps: the forces of order and proletarian internationalism,
and the forces for reform and democratization. In this situation, the
church has tried to reconcile the two sides and to help to bring about
a new social covenant. In an episcopal communiqué released February
26, 1982, the bishops requested that the authorities abandon martial
law and the policy of repression and open serious negotiations with
advocates of reform. The idea of a social covenant also was aired in the
theses issued on April 5, 1982, by the primate's Social Council, a thirty-
member body headed by Stanislaw Stomma, a well-known member of
the old "Znak," the Catholic parliamentary faction. The council called
for the relegalization of Solidarity and other suspended organizations,
the removal of restrictions in the area of human rights, and the drawing
up of a general program of social and economic reform. The council
emphasized that if the government were to regain the people's trust, it
would have to embrace the program of 1980 and to convince the people
that it would sincerely revive the reform process started then.
Despite this pressure from the church and despite certain flurries
of arrests or harassments of priests, the regime by and large refrained
from attacking the church. It is a moot question whether the authori­
ties showed such restraint because they were not certain of victory
or because they needed the church to tranquilize the waters if things
became stormy. Whatever the answer, a period of relative peace pre­
vailed, though more and more often one could hear anticlerical voices
and a few direct attacks on individual bishops (like Bishop Tokarczuk
of Przemysl). Clearly, the example of Moscow's criticism of the Pol­
ish church and of the Polish pope37 was being followed by anticlerical
zealots in Warsaw. But the episcopate was not frightened into silence

_>2i
258 Eastern Europe

or deterred in its efforts toward national reconciliation. In fact, the

bishops increased their pressure on the government. In the middle of
September 1982 the episcopate issued a communiqué condemning the
use of violence against peaceful street demonstrators and openly accus­
ing the junta of not having made any attempts at accommodation with
the society.
In subsequent years the church continued its efforts for national
reconciliation as well as for civil rights and democratic reform of
the political system. Again and again, the episcopate emphasized that
"without full respect for the rights of a human being, of social and
vocational groups" and without "a real and honest dialogue,"38 it is
impossible to solve the economic problems facing the country. While
not offering specific solutions to current political and economic issues
and strenuously avoiding any direct forays into politics, the bishops
preached what constitutes a good society and reminded Catholics of
their right and duty to apply Catholic social principles to existing cir­
cumstances.
The church's endeavors took place amid growing social crisis, aggra­
vated by economic hardships and a deep moral depression, leading to
a renouncement of civic responsibilities and craving for revenge. The
brutal murder by members of the state security apparatus of Rev. Jerzy
Popieluszko on October 19, 1984, stirred a powerful ingredient of ha­
tred into the popular mood.
Polish bishops were fully aware of these destructive attitudes and
decided to concentrate the pastoral work of the church on a moral re­
newal of the Polish society and reawaking of the national will. The
arrangement of John Paul II's visit to his homeland in June 1983 was a
conscious step in this direction. The intentions of the episcopate were
associated not only with the effervescence of the papal presence but,
first and foremost, with his teaching that stressed the dignity of the
human being as the foundation of Christian faith.
Facing his frustrated countrymen, whose valid claims for justice and
well-being he undoubtedly shared, the pope emphatically called on
them not to give up hope and to abstain from the use of violence. His
appeals for social peace were, without question, motivated not only by
compassion for those who could become the victims of revenge but
even more by a deep concern for possible avengers who would lose
 Postwar Poland 259

their human dignity and destroy themselves morally.39 The message,

consonant with the earlier encyclicals Redemptoi hominis (1979) and
Laboiem exercens (1981), proclaimed a universal truth that the only
way in which the problems of this world could be solved is the one that
would not impinge on the integrity of human beings, which rests on
the foundation of personal subjectivity and self-determination.
In the context of the pope's teaching, the church in Poland oriented
its pastoral activities toward "the sanctification of individuals and the
moral renewal of the nation."40 This did not imply, however, that the
church resigned from the defense of human rights or gave up attempts
to restructure the existing sociopolitical system in accordance with
Christian values. During the disturbances of April/May 1988, the bish­
ops once again pointed out the pressing need for including nonparty
people in the political life of the country.41

TH E TH EO LO G Y OF NATIO N

The support of the national aspirations of Poles by the Roman Catholic

church, undoubtedly a spontaneous expression of a long historical tra­
dition, found a theoretical basis in the Polish "theology of the nation."
Its main exponent was the late Cardinal Wyszynski, who realized that
such a direction of religious activities required a normative way of
thinking. Unfortunately, his pastoral and administrative duties did not
allow him to develop his ideas into an articulate system, and what we
know about his thought comes mainly from his numerous sermons,
pastoral letters, and other public pronouncements, which reflected par­
ticular situations. They have become the object of scholarly research,
resulting in the publication of a few pertinent studies that form the
basis for this section.42
Even before World War II, Father Stefan Wyszynski was interested pri­
marily in social questions. Wyszynski viewed the early postwar phase
as perhaps the most critical and dangerous period of Poland's entire
history, because of communist attempts to destroy the church, to inter­
rupt religious and cultural continuity, and even to undercut biological
existence by an ill-considered population policy. Since there were no
political means to defend the nation, the primate believed it was neces­
sary to engage all the spiritual and institutional resources of the church
in struggle. In order to live up to the task the church had to redeem
26o Eastern Europe

the war losses, improve the operational efficiency of the clergy, and
synchronize the whole rhythm of religious activities with the changed
national life. The church had to prove its strength and social useful­
ness not only for Catholics, but for members of other denominations
and even for nonbelievers who could find in it a spiritual asylum and
protection against incursions on human dignity and individual rights.
The change of attitude created a need for formulating a new notion
of the nation. It is important to keep in mind that Wyszynski's con­
ception was influenced greatly by a long Polish tradition of differen­
tiating between the nation and the state, and by nineteenth-century
Polish messianism. With time, the cardinal's perception moved away
from a juridical and sociological perspective to a more historical and
religious one.
According to Wyszynski, a nation is a product of natural develop­
ment with God as its primary source. It is one of the basic structures
of divine creation, and has temporal and transcendental dimensions.
No nation is innately good, for, like a person, it is not a fulfilled being,
a creature in an ultimate form, but a living thing striving to develop
to its own perfection and completeness. Teleologically, the movement
evolves into national integrity that overrides socioeconomic and politi­
cal divisions, and, therefore, none of these structures can decide singu­
larly for the entire nation.
It is not surprising that Wyszynski conceived the idea of the nation as
a new ecclesiological category: the Church of the Nation. Being novel,
the concept soon encountered criticism. Some imputed to it the pro­
motion of "religious nationalism." In fact, however, the accusation was
unjustified insofar as, for Wyszynski, church and nation could never be
identified. Between the church and the nation, according to Wyszynski,
there existed a unique relationship, similar to the one between body
and soul.
Since, in the temporal order, the nation was the most perfect human
community, it became a particularly appropriate subject for the em­
bodiment of the universal church. Thus, with God's will, there came
into existence a truly authentic "Church on the Vistula"—the "Pol­
ish church," and not just the Church in Poland. This church formed a
locus for the creative convergence of religious and secular life and, in
the course of common history, developed great social awareness, close
communication with the community, and a unique ability of adapta­
 Postwar Poland 261

tion to the changing environment. It also acquired considerable influ­

ence among the people.
But the church was bound to respect the autonomy of the nation
and intervene in the nation's life directly under specific circumstances
only, as regards the deterioration of social behavior (the "spread of sin"),
and in response to catastrophes and other pathological conditions. Nor­
mally, the church should exercise its influence indirectly on the nation
by preaching the gospel, educating the people in the values of Chris­
tianity, providing examples of moral behavior, and helping people spiri­
tually. Of course, Cardinal Wyszynski did not consider autonomy an
open gate to secularization. On the contrary, he strongly maintained
that the nation was subordinate to God in all respects and that secular­
ization was extremely dangerous to national life, not only in its tran­
scendental, but also in its temporal dimension.
The primate constantly preached the need for the sanctification of
the nation, but he did not mean that the church should try to impose
its authority on any sphere of national life. Even in the name of noble
religious aims the church should not turn the nation into an instru­
ment of its own will. Quite the contrary, Wyszynski saw the role of
the church as serving the nation. He treated this service as the highest
honor.
At the same time the cardinal readily admitted that the church was
also a beneficiary of the close relationship with the nation, for it was
able to draw from the riches of national values and accomplishments.
While stressing the importance of the nation and insisting on the im ­
plantation of the church in national life, Wyszynski treated the state
as a political convention, inferior and subservient to the nation. In his
opinion, the functions of the state were of secondary importance, and
even its very existence formed not the foundation of national life, but
merely an external manifestation of the sociopolitical segment of that
life. The state could never use the nation as a volitionless tool, because
the purpose of creating the state was not domination but service.
Such views made it self-evident that the church should affiliate its
life not with the state but with the nation. Such affinity, being more
natural, was conducive to unity and to the common search for sal­
vation. Moreover, Polish historic experience demonstrated that there
were periods when the state disintegrated, existed in a vestigial form,
or was incapacitated. The lessons of the past dictated the unquestion­
262 Eastern Europe

ably momentous imperative for the church, viz., the maintenance of

close relations not with the state but with the nation. Clearly, in times
of crisis, the retention of inseparable bonds created the best possible
conditions for the survival of both the church and the nation. It should
not be forgotten, however, that the superiority of the nation on which
Wyszyhski insisted was not tantamount to the denial of the state's im ­
portance for national life (that, in his opinion, could never be perfect
without the state). Needless to say, in such a situation, the church had
a moral obligation to assist the nation not only with its religious ser­
vices, but also with national and social service. Most important, the
church had a duty to preserve national existence and the historical
continuity of national life.
According to Wyszyhski, the nation has the inherent right to form
its state in a free and peaceful way. In a Christian nation, like Poland,
Christian values have to be expressed in the totality of social and politi­
cal life. Where the nation is homogeneous in religious belief, the state
should not be indifferent to the devotional needs of the people, keep
them apart from the church, or propagate atheism.
Should the state be confessional in that case? Wyszynski's answer,
especially since the Vatican II council, was definitely negative. While
he considered religion an indispensable element of national life, the
state legitimately could be secular. The religiosity of the nation did
not have to be expressed in a "Catholic state" or lead to the ostracism
of members of other denominations or unbelievers since they belong
to the nation as well. On the very sensitive issue of church-state rela­
tions Wyszynski's views obviously were influenced by the monopo­
listic aspirations of the communist state. The essence of his thought
consisted in the acceptance, however reluctant that acceptance might
be, of the principle of separation of church and state. At the same time,
however, he strongly promoted the idea of the freedom of the church
and resolutely fought against interference by government officials in
the internal life of the church. He considered this struggle not only a
necessary, but also a beneficial phenomenon, that stimulated the social
awareness of the people and contributed to reciprocal adaptations. Con­
sequently, he believed that the creative condition of strained relations
should not be terminated either by the outbreak of an open conflict or
by the conclusion of a false peace.
 Postwar Poland 263

CO N CLU SIO N

It may be assumed quite safely that nationalistic sentiments are very

strong among Polish Catholics, bishops and clergy not excluded. A l­
though this circumstance is not much different from the situation that
prevailed over most of the years between the two world wars, one must
keep in mind that not everything remained as before.
Of the numerous changes that occurred during and after World War II,
unquestionably the most momentous were those in Polish national
culture. The tragic experience of the double occupation and of the
communist rule caused a definite evolution of many of its component
elements, including that of nationalism. Polish chauvinism waned in
strength, and the defensive character of Polish nationalism was under­
pinned. The leaders of the Polish church have enhanced the transfor­
mation by words and deeds. The famous letter to the German bishops
of December 1965 proved convincingly that the Polish episcopate in­
tends to keep Polish nationalism away from the spell of chauvinistic
temptations. Equally significant is the fact that the church, clearly the
institution that could easily employ Polish nationalism for utilitar­
ian purposes, shows no tendency to intertwine religion and philosophy
with current politics. Instead, the bishops are influencing public con­
sciousness by the promotion of Christian ethics and morality in private
and public life. Hence, while nationalist traditions still form a substan­
tive segment of Polish consciousness, they are infused primarily with
humanistic values that the past centuries created and bequeathed to
posterity.
I I

C h ristia n ity and N ation al Heritage

am ong the Czechs and Slovaks

Pedro R am et

A national community's self-image is a factor, in part at least, of its ori­

entation toward its national heritage, which may be defined as the col­
lective memory of a community focusing on those people, events, cul­
tural products, and symbols which are seen as formative of the nation
and its place in the international order. The more elements (people,
events, cultural products, symbols) that are incorporated into an active,
conscious sense of national heritage, the more secure the sense of na­
tional identity and the stronger the nationalism of the group. Hence,
when the English begin to boast of the post-Cromwellian restoration,
of the First Reform Act of 1832, and of the sundry English scientists,
playwrights, and authors, they reveal a very secure consciousness of
what it means to be English. By extension, the nineteenth-century na­
tional revivals among the peoples of Eastern Europe necessarily focused
on recalling past glories as a means of securing the sense of national
identity.
Insofar as religion is, or aspires to be, the dominant channel for
the spiritual life of a community, i.e., the channel and purveyor of
its values and symbols, it is an organic part of the national heritage.
Hence, when there is harmony between the religious tradition and the
national heritage as a whole, the national identity is at peace and secure.
But when there is a tension between the two—as in the case of the
Catholic Czechs, whose national heritage is closely bound, at a crucial
stage, with Protestantism—there may be an attenuation of nationalist
defiance or of religious devotion or of both. Conventional wisdom holds
that both have been weakened among Czechs.1 Among the Slovaks, for
reasons which w ill be explored, the situation is completely different.
 Czechs and Slovaks 265

For the purposes of this chapter nationalism w ill be understood as

the collective attitude toward the national heritage. Since the past may
be recalled in very different ways, nationalism assumes a quite different
character among different peoples. I would like to distinguish among
five kinds of nationalism, emphasizing that the list is not meant to be
exhaustive and that they are understood here as ideal types (in the We­
berian sense), so that there are perhaps no pure examples of any ideal
type, although numerous illustrative examples, whose content is, one
may hope, illuminated by the ideal type, may be identified. The first
type is heroic nationalism, in which history is recalled, whether ac­
curately or not, as a more or less steady unfolding of glories, with a
stress on the victorious struggle against external challenges. The na­
tionalisms of the English and French come to mind. A second type may
be called defiant nationalism; here history is recalled as uncertain and
full of menace, with stress on uncertainty in struggles and on the exis­
tence (to the present) of external threats. The nationalisms of Poles and
Lithuanians come to mind.
Nationalism may also take a traumatic form, when history is read
with an emphasis on defeat in struggle. The Serbs, by riveting on
the fourteenth-century Battle of Kosovo polje (which they lost) and on
the past and present "martyrdom" of the Serbs, exemplify traumatic
nationalism. The Flungarians and Armenians, with their awareness of
being small and vulnerable, the former recalling even now the defeats
of 1526 and 1849 and the territorial losses after World War I, and the
latter unable to forget the genocides suffered at the hands of the Turks
in the early part of this century, likewise show a traumatic attitude.
The Czechs, I shall argue, similarly display a traumatic nationalism,
and their behavior is unmistakably colored by this fact.
The fourth form that the collective attitude toward the national heri­
tage may take I call taboo nationalism. Here nationalism is overladen
with guilt, with historical memory entangled with incessant charges
from foreigners that the given nation bears responsibility for war crimes
and other inhumanities. To the extent that the reprehensible side of
a nation's history comes to seem to be a dominant or major theme,
its nationalism inevitably becomes tainted, taboo. German national­
ism since World War II—especially in West Germany—illustrates this
category very well. One might note parenthetically that in communist
Yugoslavia the regime has been trying since World War II to stir up col­
266 Eastern Europe

lective guilt among the Croats for the war crimes of the fascist Ustase
party and thereby to give Croatian nationalism a taboo character. In
this endeavor, however, the Yugoslav regime has failed.
And finally, there is a category of muted nationalism, which is not
nonexistent, only less strident, with less historical longevity, so that
members of the national group feel a weaker inclination to view them­
selves as distinct from their neighbors. In cases of muted nationalism
there is typically much less stress on the role of struggle in national
history. The emphasis shifts to pride in cultural achievements or in
economic productivity, or even to pride in a way of life. I believe that
Austrian, Canadian, Slovenian, and Slovak nationalisms all illustrate
this ideal type.
The contrast between traumatic and heroic nationalism was high­
lighted in the results of surveys conducted simultaneously among Hun­
garian and French high school students in 1981. The French were over­
whelmingly proud of being French, proud of their history, found ample
people to admire, and felt completely confident that the French nation
would still be around in the year 2500. The Hungarians, by contrast,
had trouble finding sources of pride, expressed shame of the precom­
munist political system, tended to look up to sports stars if anyone, and
became confused and uncertain when asked if the Hungarian nation
would survive to 2500.2
Psychoanalytical studies have amply demonstrated the role that
trauma plays in shattering the individual's worldview and mode of re­
lating to the world, and in coloring subsequent behavior. An individual
who has experienced trauma approaches phenomena associated with
the trauma experience with trepidation, and responds to the new phe­
nomena in terms of the earlier trauma, even if the present circum­
stances are different. To the extent that a specific person or institution
is held responsible, whether justly or not, for causing or contributing to
the experience of trauma, the traumatized individual is alienated from
that person or institution. If the person or institution is one with whom
the traumatized individual cannot make a complete break—such as a
parent or one's church—the result is internal tension and the risk of
alienation from self. In the case of trauma associated with a church,
religious apathy and conversion emerge as the obvious solutions—the
former in cases of self-repression and the latter in cases of heightened
self-awareness.
 Czechs and Slovaks 267

I shall argue in the following pages that the strength of Catholi­

cism and appeal of Protestantism among the Czechs and Slovaks today,
and hence also the context in which the Communist party fashions
its religious policy, are very much conditioned by the presence (in the
Czech case) and absence (for the Slovaks) of national trauma associated
with religion. For the Slovaks, who lost their national state around
a . d . 900 and whose experience of bogus independence during World
War II was brief and uncertain, nationalism is not associated with any
sense of tragic loss, though, as numerous observers have pointed out,
the Slovaks' most immediate rivals are the Czechs. For the Czechs,
by contrast, despite the fact that the present state is of their making,
there are painful recollections associated with a double defeat in the
seventeenth century: a political defeat at the Battle of White Moun­
tain on November 8, 1620, which turned the tide against Bohemian
(Czech) independence, and a religious defeat immediately thereafter as
the Catholic church unleashed its (second) Counter-Reformation in a
program to weed out "heresy." Trauma cannot nurture itself without
some symbolic focus, and White Mountain provides just that focus. Ac­
cordingly, Victor Mamatey did not exaggerate when he wrote, in 1981,
that
in modern Czech national consciousness, the Battle of the White
Mountain of 1620 holds an analogous place to that held by the
Battle of Kosovo Field in 1389 in the minds of modem Serbs or
that held by the Battle of Mohacs of 1526 in the sentiments of
modern Hungarians. Like these two historic battles, the Battle of
the White Mountain spells stark, irreparable national tragedy. The
Czechs regard it as marking the end of [the] independence of their
medieval state, the kingdom of Bohemia, and the beginning of the
most humiliating period in their national history which they call
their age of "Darkness" (Temno).3

TH E HUSSITE OVERTURE

The Czech religious awakening must be dated to winds of reform which

blew across the Bohemian church in the late fourteenth century. One
source for reform ideas was the English reformer John Wyclif of Oxford
University, whose philosophical works were reaching Prague by 1390.
268 Eastern Europe

Jan Hus (1369-1415), who would be preaching at Prague's Bethlehem

Chapel by 1402, earned money in the 1390s by copying Wyclif's works,
and in the process, imbibed his logic.4Hus, who became dean of the phi­
losophy faculty of Charles University, began to preach Wyclif's ideas,
calling into question the doctrine of transubstantiation, rejecting the
concept of the church as a papal monarchy, and describing the church
instead as a spiritual fellowship of the redeemed (thus embracing the
idea of predestination). The ideas became controversial and the dispute
polarized along national lines, with the German theologians condemn­
ing Wycliffian-Hussite heresy, and the Czechs rallying to what they
viewed as reform. Hus wrote tracts in both Latin and Czech, thus giv­
ing himself a wider readership among the Czech population, and in
September 1410 , when Rome demanded that Hus appear before a papal
court on suspicions of heresy, Hus refused and sought the protection of
King Wenceslaus IV of Bohemia. Two years later, Hus was excommuni­
cated, but he continued to preach, by now writing exclusively in Czech,
and told Czechs that an evil pope was not worthy of obedience and
that the true church should disdain material wealth. He subsequently
refused to attend the Council of Constance, but in 14 15 , deceived by a
promise of safe conduct, he fell into the hands of Emperor Sigismund
of the Holy Roman Empire, who had Hus burned at the stake on July 6.
By 14 14 , followers of Hus had revived the long-abandoned practice
of giving both bread and wine to the congregation during the liturgy
— a practice known as Ultraquism. This development, combined with
the execution of Hus, contributed to a feverish kind of religious ex­
citement, and reformist and chiliastic preachers found receptive audi­
ences in Bohemia in these years. In July 1419, followers of Hus stormed
Prague's Town Hall and threw several of their adversaries out the w in­
dow—an event that has come down in history as the First Defenestra­
tion of Prague. Hussites went on rampages now, sacking monasteries
and destroying priceless Gothic paintings and sculptures, in the righ­
teous conviction that the church should not be wealthy.
In these volatile times the story spread among Hussites that the
world would end on February 14, 1420. When nothing happened, the
radical wing of the Hussite movement, which included landless peas­
ants and country squires who felt powerless before the wealthy barons,
gathered in south Bohemia and decided to build a town. This town,
 Czechs and Slovaks 269

which they called Tabor, was characterized by communal ownership of

wealth, and a military code of conduct. The Taborites were borne along
by religious enthusiasm, and in the areas where they asserted their con­
trol, the existing hierarchy was removed from the scene, bishops were
elected by the people, the faithful read and explained the Scriptures for
themselves, and liturgy, conducted without the traditional vestments,
became simple. The Taborites combined religious millenarianism (ex­
pressed in their belief that most of the world would shortly be de­
stroyed, except for five cities which would be spared) with heightened
sexuality and permissiveness. The movement came under the de facto
leadership of Jan Zizka of Trocnov (d. 1424).5 Under Zizka's capable
leadership, the Hussites went to war in 1420 "to liberate the truth of
the Law of God and the Saints and to protect the faithful believers of
the Church, and the Czech and Slavonic language."6
Emperor Sigismund joined with the pope in sending mercenary
armies to suppress the Taborites. But "God's Warriors," as the Tabor­
ites called themselves, went into battle singing hymns, and that alone
was often enough to strike terror into even militarily preponderant
Catholic forces.7 After a string of victories, the Taborites suffered a
reversal at the Battle of Lipany in 1434. A negotiated settlement fol­
lowed. Under the terms of an agreement reached at Kutna Hora in 1485,
Hussite parishes were allowed to function in the absence of papal rec­
ognition and their pastors were not subordinate to Rome. From 15 17
until 1620, Protestants enjoyed toleration in Bohemia. As late as 1609,
Emperor Rudolf issued a patent on religious toleration, which seemed
to bode well for Czech Protestants. The patent went farther than pre­
vious decrees in that it permitted Protestants to build their churches
on the estates of Catholic barons, as well as vice versa.
A few years later, Czech Protestant nobles saw the chance to improve
their lot and, on the pretext that the patent on toleration had been
violated,8 launched a rebellion against Holy Roman Emperor Matthias
(16 12-19 ), electing Friedrich, the Calvinist elector of the palatinate,
as their king. They miscalculated. The Catholic Habsburgs were not
as weak as the Protestants had thought, the Protestant world was not
able to provide assistance, and the Protestant peasantry no longer felt
(as they had in the early fifteenth century) that they shared a com­
mon Protestant cause with their Protestant nobles. The result was
270 Eastern Europe

the routing of Protestant forces at White Mountain. Ironically, Pope

Paul V (1605-21) suffered a stroke during the procession to celebrate
Friedrich's defeat and died of a second stroke the following year.9
Although the rebellion had been launched by the Protestant nobles
for largely political reasons, with the religious remonstration serving
but as a fig leaf, the defeat had dramatic effects on religious life in
the Czech lands. The patent on religious toleration was revoked, and
the several Protestant sects were banned, beginning with the Union of
Czech Brethren. Catholicism was declared the only legal religion in
Bohemia in 1627, and in Moravia in 1628. Where more than 90 per­
cent of Czechs may have been Protestant prior to White Mountain,10
rapid attrition now occurred. Protestant nobles were driven into exile,
and "reliable" Catholics, including many foreigners, came in to take
their place. The Jesuits, placed in control of higher education in Bo­
hemia, burned large numbers of books and manuscripts. Reconversion
to Catholicism was enforced by arms, and the population of Bohemia
and Moravia plummeted from about 3 million to some 900,ooo.11 Ger­
mans now dominated the towns, and German became the language
of government and business. Re-Catholicization was associated, thus,
with Germanization, and the Catholic church was implicated in the
national trauma. Indeed, the Catholic Counter-Reformation was in it­
self a large part of the Czech trauma of the seventeenth century. Tomas
Masaryk, who would become the first president of Czechoslovakia, told
an audience at Kozi Hradek in 1910, "The Counter-Reformation . . .
was a terrible period in the history of the Czech people and in the an­
nals of the human race. Three-quarters of our land was confiscated and
squandered away to foreigners."12 Forced to accept the religion of their
foreign overlords, the Czechs became emotionally detached from their
religion.

REVIVAL A N D PROTESTANT RESTORATION

The course of development among the Slovaks was, to a point, rather

similar. Certainly, as of 1600, most of Slovakia was Protestant.13 And
the process of Catholic restoration inevitably met with resistance.
But when Czechs and Slovaks began to rediscover their national her­
itage and national culture in the nineteenth century, they took differ­
 Czechs and Slovaks 271

ent directions. Among the Slovaks, Catholic priests such as linguist

Anton Bernolak (1762-1813), poet John Holly (1785-1849), and Bishop
Stephan Moyses (1797-1869) played a significant role. In fact, where
Bernolak developed a western Slovak dialect as the Slovak literary lan­
guage, Slovak Protestants (such as Frs. Jan Kollar [1793-1852] and Pavel
Jozef Safarik [1795-1861]) looked instead to Czech, their liturgical lan­
guage since the sixteenth century. The result was a "linguistic schism"
between Slovak Catholic and Protestant intellectuals. Indeed, the idea
of Czechoslovak unity had its origin among Slovak Protestants, for
whom a common language seemed a natural accompaniment of na­
tion building. Only when Slovak Protestant intellectual L'udovit Stur
(1815-56) accepted a central Slovak dialect as a basis for the Slovak lit­
erary language—a concession to Catholic sentiment—did Protestants
come to accept the idea of a separate Slovak literary language.14
After the 1867 Ausgleich, which created the Dual Monarchy of
Austria-Hungary, the Slovaks found themselves ruled by Hungarians,
at whose hands they had not suffered anything remotely resembling
White Mountain. Moreover, Slovak sentiments would find resonance
in the clerical Slovak Catholic People's party, founded by Fr. Andrej
Hlinka (1864-1938) in 19 13 , though Hlinka was actively defending Slo­
vak culture much earlier than that.
The Ausgleich created an anomalous situation. In the Austrian half
of the empire, where the Catholic faith remained the favored creed,
Czech national revival took on an anti-Catholic hue, and there was
an attempt—never fully successful—to wed Czech nationalism to
Protestantism, in particular to the Hussite tradition. By contrast, in the
Hungarian half of the empire, the Catholic church lost its preferential
position as religious liberalization extended certain benefits to other
churches as well. Magyarization was vigorously pursued in Slovakia,
as elsewhere in the "Kingdom of Hungary," and by 19 14 there was not
a single high school in Slovakia, for example, where Slovak was being
used. Furthermore, in all Slovakia there was not a single Slovak bishop
at that time: the Catholic hierarchy was uniformly Hungarian. But the
majority of Slovaks—by and large Catholic and uneducated—looked
not to the hierarchy for inspiration, but to their local parish priest.
The parish priest was Slovak, espoused anti-Hungarian Slovak nation­
alism, and tended to be antihierarchy as well. The post-1867 wedding
272 Eastern Europe

of Catholicism and Slovak nationalism is a direct result of the relation­

ship of priest and flock at the parish level.
A Los von Rom (Away from Rome) movement had taken hold among
German-speaking liberals in Austria and Sudetenland in response to
Austrian religious legislation of 1868 and 1874, but when the Los von
Rom current spread to the Czechs, it assumed a nationalist character.
For Masaryk and other Czech intellectuals, conversion from Catholi­
cism to Protestantism served as an act of nationalist defiance, an asser­
tion of the Czech national spirit. Indeed, Masaryk specifically looked
to the Hussite era for inspiration. In his view,
As a great historical process our reformation can only be under­
stood in terms of Czech national spirit. For this reason, it is impor­
tant for us to be clearly aware of the issue involved in the Czech
Reformation movement, its principal ideas and directions. . . . The
entire Czech nation, as one single body, defied Rome; this is the
special significance of the movement. Ultimately, of course, the
Reformation spread all over Europe, but it took a century before
other peoples followed in our footsteps. . . . How can we belong
to the Catholic church, yet acknowledge Hus as a national martyr,
honor and revere him? My answer is this: Hus, the Taborites, [Petr]
Chelcicky and [Jan Amos] Komensky gave us a better, a higher
form of religion than was given to us by this Roman theocracy.
We see in the Czech Reformation a deeper manifestation of the
Czech soul and of our national character.15
Masaryk was accordingly hostile to the Catholic Cyril and Methodius
Association which had been founded in i860 to promote Slavic unity
under a Catholic banner.
The Catholic clergy tried to take part in the Czech revival. Pope Leo
XIII (1878-1903), for one, was sympathetic to the nascent Czech na­
tional movement and considered its demands legitimate, and supported
Czech demands for linguistic equality in a speech in 1889. Even earlier,
Catholic "awakeners" such as Vaclav Matej Kramerius, Frantisek Jan
Tomsa, and Jan Rulik tried to foster the ideas of the Catholic Enlight­
enment and promote Czech language and culture.16 But the Catholic
awakening among the Czechs must be seen as largely "defensive."17
Ultimately, it was not able to prevent the divorce of Czech nationalism
from Catholicism.
 Czechs and Slovaks 273

RELIGION IN NON CO M M UN IST

CZECHOSLOVAKIA

In November 1918 , as the Habsburg Empire collapsed and advocates

of the "Czechoslovak" idea prepared to set up a new state, exultant
Czechs tore down and demolished the statue of the Virgin Mary, "Our
Lady of Victory," in the Old City Square of Prague. The statue was seen
as a reminder of White Mountain, and at this historic moment—the
birth of a new state— Czech nationalism expressed itself in a symbolic
act of vengeance against the Catholic church.18 Nor did it stop there.
In the first year after the war, hundreds of statues of the Madonna, of
St. John Nepomucene, and of St. Wenceslaus were destroyed, and about
three hundred churches were expropriated by the authorities. Signifi­
cantly, as Ludvik Nemec notes, these acts of vengeance were confined
to the Czech parts of the country; the Slovaks did not succumb to the
anti-Catholic temper of their Czech compatriots.19
The new Czechoslovak government showed unmistakable antipathy
toward the Catholic church and encouraged the re-creation of a Hus­
site church which, in accordance with its nationalist self-image, called
itself the "Czechoslovak Church." At the time of its establishment in
1920, the Czechoslovak church claimed 150,000 adherents. The new
church grew rapidly and as of 1930 numbered some 793,000 adherents.
In the same time span the proportion of Catholics in Czechoslovakia
declined from 95 percent to 75 percent.20
In the Czech lands society became polarized and priests were held
up for contempt by Czech "progressives." Church attendance became
unpopular or controversial and fell off. Catholic priests were publicly
ridiculed, came to feel estranged, and hence cut back on the frequency
with which they ventured beyond church property. The Catholic church
responded by organizing a youth movement, an academic league, and
a new publication, Doiost. In 1935 the Catholic church convened a
congress in Prague; 1 million Catholics from all parts of the repub­
lic converged on the capital. This demonstration of Catholic strength
impressed Masaryk, and he subsequently moderated his policy of pro­
moting Protestantism as the Czech national heritage.
In Slovakia the relationship of nationalism to Catholicism was en­
tirely different—itself a danger signal to politicians who thought that
Slovaks were merely eastern Czechs, common members of a "Czecho-

JIl
274 Eastern Europe

Slovak" nation. Here, Hlinka's Slovak People's party was the only Slo­
vak party with a nationalist cast, and was above all fearful of the infil­
tration of Slovakia by Protestant or, worse yet, atheist Czechs. In 19 21
Hlinka's party placed third in Slovak elections, after the Czechoslovak
Social Democrats and the Agrarian party. But its nationalism—which
had a clerical coating—gave it strong appeal. In the elections of 1925
the People's party established itself as the largest vote-getter in Slovakia
—a position it retained until the dissolution of the First Republic.21
Subsequently, when Adolf Hitler declared the annexation of Bohemia
and Moravia to the Third Reich, Slovakia was proclaimed an indepen­
dent republic on March 14, 1939. The new state was 14,693 square
miles in size, claimed 2.69 million inhabitants (according to the 1940
census), and had, as its head of state, Hlinka's successor as head of
the People's party, Msgr. Jozef Tiso (1887-1947). The Slovak Repub­
lic evoked a mixed reception among the population, divided in large
part along confessional lines, most Catholic clergy and believers sup­
porting Slovak statehood albeit under Nazi sponsorship, while Protes­
tants often reacted negatively to the regime's close identification with
Catholicism. Most Slovak Lutheran ministers, accordingly, joined the
anti-Tiso resistance.22 Despite the controversial character of the Slovak
state, the "overwhelming majority" of Slovaks did not want to see the
reestablishment of Czechoslovakia and were loathe, at the end of the
war, to lose their Slovak statehood.23
Because of their domination of the Slovak resistance, Protestants
dominated Slovakia's political scene in ^ 4 5 . Anticlerical measures fol­
lowed. On May 16, 1945, the Slovak National Council issued a decree
nationalizing all private and ecclesiastical schools. This cost the Catho­
lic church in Slovakia some eighteen hundred elementary schools,
twenty-three high schools, and twenty vocational schools.24 Important
publishing houses of the Catholic church were confiscated, several
church newspapers were suspended, and when the Catholics protested,
Slovak police arrested two bishops and many priests and laypersons.
Czech-Slovak tensions were stirred up in r947 when the Czechoslo­
vak government, in which communist ministers already played a lead­
ing role, put Msgr. Tiso on trial for "war crimes." The trial was carried
out in Bratislava on orders from Prague, but was unpopular from the
beginning among Slovaks. The court predictably found Tiso guilty, and
he was hanged on April 18. But Slovaks continued to venerate him and
 Czechs and Slovaks 27s

view the trial as an anti-Slovak and anti-Catholic act.25 In consequence,

when Archbishop Josef Beran (appointed to the Prague archbishopric
in 1946) organized festive celebrations of St. Adalbert that year, the
Slovak bishops refused to allow the Slovak provinces to take part.
A few months later, in February 1948, the Communist party car­
ried out a coup and removed noncommunists from the government.
The Communist party could now proceed with its program of social
transformation without regard to the sensitivities of uncertain coali­
tion partners.

RELIGION A N D NATIONALISM IN
CO M M U N IST CZECHOSLOVAKIA

In a census taken in r95o, 94.6 percent of the total population of

Czechoslovakia was religiously affiliated; in Slovakia the figure was
99.6 percent.26 A study of religiosity in northern Moravia conducted by
Erika Kadlecova in 1963 and published in Prague in ^ 6 5 found that
while there was more stability in the ranks of Protestants—a finding
consistent with the argument I have developed thus far—the Catholic
church continued to claim more adherents. Of the total adult popula­
tion in the region, about 30 percent described themselves as "atheists,"
30 percent admitted they were "practising believers," and 40 percent
said they were "undecided."27 A subsequent survey (in 1968) among
fourteen hundred residents of Slovakia found that 70.7 percent of the
sample remained religious.28In Kadlecova's sample, religion was strong­
est among the oldest, atheism was strongest among those in their thir­
ties and forties, and young people were most inclined to a general in­
difference to both religion and atheism.
In 1984, according to official statistics, only 36 percent of the Czecho­
slovak population over age fifteen were religious believers—breaking
down into 30 percent of those in Bohemia and Moravia and 51 per­
cent of the inhabitants of Slovakia. On a regional level the two most
religious areas are East Slovakia (57 percent religious) and Central Slo­
vakia (53 percent); the two least religious regions are North Bohemia
(15 percent) and West Bohemia (2t percent).29
Statistics for 1982—84 show that out of a total population of 15.4
million, io,024,36r are adherents of the Roman Catholic church, with
another 353,991 affiliated with the Greek Catholic church. Among
276 Eastern Europe

Protestant churches, the largest church is the Czechoslovak Hussite

church once favored by Masaryk, which claims 500,000 adherents. The
next largest Protestant church is the Slovak Evangelical Church of the
Augsburg Confession (369,363), followed by the Evangelical Church
of Czech Brethren (230,000), which grew out of missionary efforts
by American revivalists in the nineteenth century. The Czechoslovak
Orthodox church claims the next position, with 150,000 believers. The
only other religious bodies with more than 20,000 adherents are the
Christian Reformed Church of Slovakia (100,000) and the Silesian Evan­
gelical Church of the Augsburg Confession (46,725), most of whose
members speak a "Silesian" language similar to Czech, but a minority
of whom speak Polish.30
Within the context of this multiconfessional environment, the
Czechoslovak communists took a page from the Soviet Bolsheviks
(who had initially encouraged smaller sects in the 1920s, while at­
tacking the largest denomination, the Russian Orthodox church) and
determined to concentrate their energies on confrontation with the
Catholic church. Accordingly, secret instructions from the Central Ac­
tion Committee of the Communist party in Prague in 1948 advised
party officials that the Czechoslovak (Hussite) church and the Evan­
gelical church were to receive privileged treatment, while Catholic
properties were to be confiscated, and some of them reassigned to
these "favored" churches. The Orthodox church was also to be treated
well.31 Further instructions added that "closest cooperation with the
Czechoslovak Church is necessary. Encourage participation of their
bishops on the occasion of any celebrations; welcome them with full
honor."32
The Evangelical Church of Czech Brethren, despite its modest
strength, also came to be favored by the communists and became, in
fact, the most influential church in at least some arenas in Czechoslo­
vakia.33 This was due in great part to the efforts of one of its leading
theologians, Fr. Josef Hromadka, dean of the Komensky Theological
Faculty of the Evangelical church. Hromadka decided right from the
beginning that he had nothing against communism and was prepared
to cooperate in building a communist society in Czechoslovakia.34
Where the Catholic church was concerned, the Communist party
hoped to draw favorably disposed priests into outright collaboration
with the regime (giving them parliamentary seats or, as in the case
 Czechs and Slovaks 277

of Fr. Josef Plojhar, a ministerial portfolio), to create a series of state-

controlled parallel church organizations ranging from a shadow "Catho­
lic Action" to a Peace Committee of Catholic Clergy to a surrogate
"church" press which would replace the original, authentic church in­
stitutions, to assert the right of approval of all significant ecclesiastical
appointments, and to exploit nationalism in the endeavor to persuade
part of the Catholic clergy to break with Rome and create a schis­
matic "national" Catholic church. In line with the last strategy the
authorities began encouraging clergy to demand that religious services
be conducted in Czech and Slovak, rather than in Latin, and playing up
the tradition of Cyril and Methodius.35 To achieve this goal of creating
a schismatic "national" church it was necessary, the communists were
convinced, to foment a rift between the hierarchy and the lower clergy,
isolating the former from the flock.36
The communists failed to achieve their most ambitious goals, but in
a series of measures, 1949-50, they compelled the churches to submit
their budgets for approval to the Bureau for Church Affairs (which had
been established on October r4, 1949), established government regu­
lation of the teaching of religion including the requirement that all
teacher appointments, syllabi, textbooks, and equipment be approved
by the bureau, put the clergy on state salaries, and seized Catholic
monasteries and convents on the grounds that they were "centers for
espionage and subversive activities."37 Finally, to back up its policy, the
regime incorporated the following provision in the penal code passed
in July 1950:
Section 174
1. Whoever intentionally frustrates or obstructs the governmen­
tal supervision over a church or religious association shall be pun­
ished by confinement for from one year to five years.
2. Whoever intentionally violates in any other manner the pro­
visions of laws protecting the churches and religious associations
by the government shall be punished in like manner.38
By r9SO three thousand of the seven thousand Catholic priests were
either in prison or in labor camps. Of the twelve thousand female and
male members of religious orders, eight thousand were locked up for
an average of five years. Tens of thousands of Catholic lay activists,
including teachers, scout leaders, journalists, and novelists, received

J* L
278 Eastern Europe

jail sentences. Thirteen of the Catholic Church's fifteen seminaries

were closed. And from 1950 until the late 1960s there was almost no
publication of religious literature.39
The situation changed overnight in March 1968 as the "Prague
Spring" gathered steam. To begin with, the proregime Peace Commit­
tee of Catholic Clergy, headed by Plojhar from the time of its forma­
tion in 1950, collapsed, and a new organization with new officers and
headed by Bishop Frantisek Tomasek took its place. The party began
to take a new attitude toward religion and appointed sociologist Erika
Kadlecova to take charge of the Bureau for Religious Affairs. The Greek
Catholic church, suppressed in the early 1950s, was once again given
legal status. The Theological Faculty in Olomouc was reopened. And
from March on, Catholic newspapers were once more able to expound
Catholic views on matters of concern to the church.40

PACEM IN TERRIS A N D
RELIGIOUS "NO R M ALIZATIO N "

After the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in August 1968, it was only

a matter of time before the churches would feel the effects of "normal­
ization." In July 1969 Kadlecova was dismissed from office and replaced
by her hardline predecessor, FIruza. In June 1970 M. Valek, the Slovak
minister of culture, appointed a committee to form a new priests' asso­
ciation, and the resulting body, Pacem in Terris, came into being in Au­
gust 19 7 1. This association has been, like the earlier Peace Committee,
completely open to communist manipulation. Illustrative of Pacem in
Terris's orientation is the declaration passed at its first congress (in
Brno, June 3-4, 1975), which was attended by more than four hundred
members. According to this declaration, the members of Pacem in Ter­
ris "are convinced that the socialist social system satisfies the ethical
requirements of our faith much better and respects the values of every
person, including her or his natural rights, far better than the capitalist
system has done, either in the past or in the present."41
Pacem in Terris has three chief tasks: to be "socially engaged" in
the construction of socialism, to work for peace and for good relations
between peoples, and to advance the professional interests of its mem­
bers.42 But Pacem in Terris has done very little, if anything, for the
,church. It has kept silent about state insistence that priests not cele-
 Czechs and Slovaks 279

brate liturgy without a state license. It has kept silent when security
police have contacted young seminarians to recruit them as inform­
ers. It has never helped to ease the conditions for religious instruction.
When Slovak priest Fr. Aloyz Tkac dared to tell an assembly of the
priests' association in the mid-1970s about the difficulties in regis­
tering Catholic children for religious instruction, he was punished by
being stripped of his right to practice his trade.43
Pacem in Terris traces its tradition to earlier priests' associations: a
nineteenth-century Jednota (disestablished in 1907) and a twentieth-
century association of the same name, whose radical wing broke away
in 1920 to revive the Hussite church. These earlier incarnations were
in part animated by Czech national consciousness, and the concept of
"patriotic priests" represents, in the view of Pacem members, a devel­
opment of this earlier national awareness.44
But the association's de facto betrayal of the church earned it eccle­
siastical censure in 1982. In that year, on March 8, the Vatican news­
paper, L ’Osservatore Romano, published a condemnation of priests'
associations which support a specific political ideology or which as­
sume the functions of trade unions, thus reducing the local bishop to
a mere "employer."45 The condemnation, which had been ratified by
Pope John Paul II on March 6, was specifically aimed at Pacem in Ter­
ris. In the months that followed, the membership of Pacem in Terris
declined rapidly.46
In the meantime, post-Spring "normalization" saw the establishment
of an Institute for Scientific Atheism in Bratislava in 19 7 1, the estab­
lishment of an Atheism Faculty at every university in Slovakia, and
other measures concentrated in Slovakia—in recognition of the fact
that Catholicism, thanks to its positive correlation with Slovak nation­
alism, is much stronger among Slovaks than among Czechs. Pressure
was also applied on schoolchildren who attended religious instruction.
But regime efforts suffered a serious setback—at least among Slovaks
—when fellow Slav Karol Cardinal Wojtyla of Krakow was elected pope
in October 1978. Slovaks took heart at this development, and numer­
ous reports emerged confirming that unlicensed priests, debarred nuns,
and even illegally established seminaries were continuing church work
in Slovakia.47 In the autumn of 1980 the Slovak secretariat for internal
affairs established a special secret police unit and brought in an addi­
tional three hundred agents from Bohemia and Moravia. Their task: to

bs
2 8 o Eastern Europe

Table 1 1 .1 Catholic Dioceses in Czechoslovakia (as of December 1987)

Diocese/status Name (age) Administrator (age) PIT3

Bohemia
1 Prague Cardinal Frantisek — no
Archbishopric Tomâsek (88)
2 Litomerice vacant Josef Hendrich (65) yes
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
3 Hradec Kralove vacantb Karel Jonas (79) yes
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
4 Ceske Budejovice vacant Josef Kavale (?) no
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
Moravia
5 Olomouc vacant [Bishop Josef Vrana,
Archbishopric the apostolic
administrator, died
December 1, 1987, at
the age of 82. His
successor was not
immediately
announced.]
6 Brno vacant Ludvik Horky (74) no
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
Slovakia
7 Trnava vacant Jan Sokol (54) no?
Archbishopric Administrator
8 Banska Bystrica Jozef Feranec (77) — yes
Bishopric Resident Bishop
9 Nitra Jan Pasztor (74) — no
Bishopric Resident Bishop
10 Kosice vacant Stefan Onderko (71) yes
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
11 Roznava vacant Zoltan Belak (74) yes
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
12 Spis vacant Stefan Garaj (72) yes?
Bishopric Vicar-Capitular
Eastern Rite
13 Presov vacant Jan Hirka (65?) no
Bishopric Provisional Ordinary

Czechoslovak Situation Report, R a d io Free E urope R esearch , November 27,

S o u rce s:
1987, pp. 23-24; and K eston N e w s Service, no. 289 (December 3, 1987), p. r8.
"Membership in the proregime priests' association Pacem in Terris (p i t ).
hThe consecration of Karel Ocenasek as resident bishop of the bishopric of Hrade Kralove
in April 1950 was not acknowledged by the state.
 Czechs and Slovaks 281

ransack religious buildings, search for "incriminatory" material, and

arrest priests and believers.48 But even two years later, the party orga­
nization at the University of Bratislava was said to remain concerned
about the strength of the "underground church" in Slovakia, particu­
larly about the growing number of believers among medical students.49
Furthermore, with the state regulating the number of students per­
mitted to enroll in the seminary, the number of Catholic priests ac­
tively engaged in pastoral work in the Slovak dioceses is steadily de­
clining. An average of fifty priests die each year in Slovakia, while only
thirty new priests are ordained there on the average. In addition, the
average age of priests in Slovakia has risen from 59.9 in 1980 to almost
62 in January 1987.50
Slovak Catholics who want to evade state regulation must be careful.
Small groups are organized, surreptitiously, to study the Bible or to
receive religious instruction from priests—this despite the fact that
priests are no longer allowed to give religious instruction. Accordingly,
these groups are not centrally organized and members of one group are
usually unaware of the members or activities of other groups. In recent
years more than ten thousand people, mostly young people, have taken
part in such secret religious study groups in Slovakia, and only a small
percentage of the groups have been uncovered by secret police.51
In such conditions it is clear that the demand for religious material
w ill remain high. Hence, when an interdenominational edition of the
New Testament was put on sale in late 1987, all fifty thousand copies
were sold out within a few days.52
Of Czechoslovakia's 4,336 Catholic parishes, only 1 ,1 3 1 had their
own priests as of mid-1986. Of the thirteen Czechoslovak dioceses, ten
were vacant as of December 1987 (see Table 11.1), because the regime
refused to approve the Vatican's candidates, and the Vatican refused to
approve the regime's candidates.53 Believers have suffered job discrimi­
nation; for example, they are excluded from the teaching profession.
Likewise, there have been insuperable obstacles to the construction of
new churches.
In late 1987 the West learned of a letter sent by Frantisek Cardi­
nal Tomasek, primate of Czechoslovakia and archibishop of Prague,
to Milan Klusak, the Czechoslovak minister of culture. In this letter
Tomasek presented some sixteen demands, including
282, Eastern Europe

- that the state refrain from interfering in admissions to the two ex­
isting Catholic seminaries, and that a third seminary be allowed to
open in Moravia;
- that students who enroll in religious instruction should not suffer
discrimination in secondary and university education;
- that the suppressed religious orders be allowed to reestablish them­
selves;
- that the Catholic church be allowed to establish youth associations
and that these associations be able to hold activities both on and off
church premises;
- that the church be allowed to operate an independent religious press,
and arrange Catholic radio and television broadcasts;
- that priests and believers arrested for their religious activities be freed
from prison and exonerated;
- that the construction of new churches be permitted;
- that the church be allowed to fill the vacant episcopal sees;
- and that church be separated from state.54

On December io, 1987, about a thousand young people gathered at

the statue of Jan Hus in downtown Prague. The assembly took place
implicitly in defiance of the authorities who had forbidden a planned
demonstration there by the human rights group Charter 77. On the
square the young people shouted "Husak out!" and called for Gor­
bachev. In fact, matters were drifting in just that direction, and only
a week later, Gustav Husak was forced out as party secretary and re­
placed by economic specialist Milos Jakes. That same week the Vatican
and Czechoslovakia resumed high-level discussions after an interval of
almost four years.55
The continued strength of Catholicism among Slovaks was very
clearly demonstrated in 1985 during celebrations of the eleven hun­
dredth anniversary of the death of St. Methodius, bishop of Moravia. A
petition signed by between seventeen thousand and twenty thousand
Czechoslovak believers asked the pope to visit Czechoslovakia during
the celebrations,56 and the pope himself sought to obtain regime con­
currence in such a visit. When the regime refused, the pope sent a letter
to Czechoslovak believers, praising Methodius's role (with his brother,
Cyril) in introducing the Slavic liturgy and "strengthen[ing] the founda­
tions of Czechoslovak cultural history."57 A confidential Czechoslovak
 Czechs and Slovaks 283

Communist party directive criticized the pope for attempting to prose­

lytize in Eastern Europe, instructed party cadres to debunk the celebra­
tions in whatever means available, and revealed that the Academy of
Sciences and the archaeological institutes of Brno and Nitra had been
instructed to "demonstrate the colonial character of the mission of the
two brothers among the Slavs and the nonexistence of Methodius's
grave at Velehrad."58
When the commemorative day of July 7 arrived, the difference be­
tween Czech and Slovak religiosity was once again demonstrated. A l­
though Methodius had lived and worked in the traditional Czech lands
and was buried in the Moravian town of Velehrad, some r 00,000 to
250,000 Slovaks swarmed to Velehrad for the occasion, while only a few
Czechs turned out.59 The commemoration of the death of a missionary
to the Czechs had become a Slovak national religious event.
The regime had tried hard to impose its own meaning on the Method­
ius celebrations. But when the crowds gathered at Velehrad in July
r985, they sang the well-known protest song "We Shall Overcome,"
clearly expressing their determination to defeat the regime's subversive
actions. When a local politician got up before a microphone and tried
to welcome the people to "this peace assembly," he was booed off the
stage. Police circulated among the crowd and took photographs, and
there were provocations all during the event. But the crowd refused to
be provoked into any overt antiregime statements which could provide
a pretext for the police to close it down. The believers spontaneously
chanted, "We want the pope! We want freedom!"—and this again sug­
gested a link between the desire for religious freedom and the desire for
political self-determination.60 For the Slovaks it was perfectly natural
that a religious event should assume a nationalist character.
It is no doubt above all its continued frustration at its inability to
curb religiosity among the Slovaks that lies behind the regime's prepa­
rations, in the course of 1987, for a complete restructuring of the ap­
paratus for supervising religious affairs. According to reports first sur­
facing in the Czech Catholic samizdat journal Informace o Ciikvi, the
projected changes w ill include the creation of ten regional secretariats
for church affairs, to replace the existing one hundred district secretari­
ats. Each office w ill be administered by three officials: one responsible
for supervising the Catholic church, one responsible for all other de­
nominations, and one responsible for financial management. A further
284 Eastern Europe

provision, which underscores the importance with which the regime

regards its church-monitoring apparatus, calls for the elevation of the
secretaries for church affairs in Prague and Bratislava to the rank of
deputy minister. Infoimace o Cirkvi interpreted these plans as indica­
tive of the state's intention to increase and improve its supervision of
religious bodies.61

CO N CLU SIO N

For the first twenty years of communist rule the Slovaks were animated
by resentment at their loss of autonomy and at the relatively less ad­
vanced state of their economy compared with Bohemia and Moravia.
The federalization of 1968-69 by and large satisfied the first of these
desiderata, while a steady program of development of the Slovak econ­
omy has gone a long way toward eliminating the sense of economic
relative deprivation. Hence, for the past two decades Slovak national­
ism has certainly been muted.
But Slovak nationalism has also been muted in a broader histori­
cal sense. Unlike Czech nationalism, it is neither heroic nor tragic, it
lacks a traumatic focus, and only the stillborn Slovak state of World
War II provides a rather pale object for nationalist reverie. To the ex­
tent that Slovaks have a natural vehicle for their nationalism it lies in
their Catholic faith; for the Slovaks, Catholicism is inseparable from
the national heritage, and religious celebrations figure simultaneously
as a protest against Czechoslovak and Soviet communists, and against
Czech Protestants and atheists. Nor have the Slovaks forgotten the ef­
forts of Hlinka and Tiso on behalf of the Slovak national heritage, as
Slovak historians Samual Cambel and Marian Skaldany recently ad­
mitted.62
The Catholic Czechs may of course look back to Masaryk, or be­
fore him, to the nineteenth-century historian Frantisek Palacky (1798—
1876). But there is certainly some irony in the fact that for a forceful
embodiment and symbol of the struggle against foreign domination,
whether spiritual or political, Catholic Czechs tend to look back to a
fifteenth-century Protestant.
I have described Czech nationalism as traumatic and have provided
statistical indicators of the decline of religiosity among Czechs, tracing
this decline to the antagonistic nexus between Czech nationalism and
 Czechs and Slovaks 285

the dominant religion among the Czechs. The relationship between

Catholicism and nationalism is almost the "opposite" among Czechs
from what it is among Slovaks. For this reason, communist preoccupa­
tion with religion has focused very much on Slovakia, and the inten­
sified antireligious drives of the early 1970s and the 1980s have been
concentrated there.
Finally, I have suggested that the contrasting relationship between
Catholicism and nationalism must be traced not merely to the Hussite
legacy and the Battle of White Mountain, but further to the different
conditions in which Czechs and Slovaks had to practice their faiths
in the nineteenth century (the Czechs under Catholic Austrian rule,
the Slovaks under liberal but Magyarizing Hungarian rule), to the dif­
ferences in historical focus between the Czech and Slovak national
revivals in the nineteenth century, and finally to the particular role
played by the Slovak People's party of Frs. Hlinka and Tiso.
For the communists, who speak of wanting to develop "ways of over­
coming religious prejudice and ensuring religious freedom,"63 and who
identify Christianity, and especially Catholicism, with political plural­
ism,64 the legacy of the interaction between national ethos and religious
organization provides an opportunity where the Czechs are concerned,
and a considerable challenge for the Slovaks.
12

R eligion and N ation ality in H ungary

L eslie Laszlö

Before 1918 Hungary was a multinational state where religion and the
churches played an important role in all the nationalist movements.1
There were national groups in Hungary, such as the Serbs, Romani­
ans, and Transylvanian Saxons, which had their autonomous churches,
but there were also nationalities with divided religious allegiance, such
as the Slovaks. Moreover, there were churches, most prominently the
Roman Catholic church, which had followers among several nation­
alities. The dominant Hungarian (Magyar) nation, numbering about
half of the population of some 20 million in Old Hungary, was itself
divided along religious lines: roughly two-thirds were Catholics, the
rest Protestants. Jews, almost all of whom considered themselves Hun­
garians, accounted for about 5 percent of the total population.
Historic rivalry embittered relations between the two most impor­
tant Hungarian churches. The members of the Presbyterian, or Calvin­
ist church—less than a quarter of the nation—claimed for themselves
the distinction of being the only true bearers of Magyar nationalism.
They called their denomination the "magyar vallas," the Hungarian
religion; the implication being that their Catholic conationals, i.e., the
two-thirds majority of Hungarians, were following an alien religion and
were ready to subordinate the nation's interest to foreign powers, be
that the Habsburgs in Vienna, or the pope in Rome.
The self-consciousness and grossly inflated self-importance of Hun­
garian Calvinism dates back to the religious wars of the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries. The Habsburgs were bent on forcibly re-
Catholicizing their domains (including Hungary) and the defense of the
Protestant Reformation became inextricably linked with the struggle
 Hungary 287

to safeguard both Transylvania's precarious independence and the tra­

ditional autonomy within the Empire of the Kingdom of Hungary, in
order to preserve the Hungarian character of "both fatherlands" against
the encroachments of a centralizing and Germanizing Vienna. The Cal­
vinist princes of Transylvania—Istvân Bocskay, Gabor Bethlen, George
Râkôczi—were the paragons of this double mission: defenders of the
faith and champions of Hungarian liberties. Of course, Catholics too
could marshal equally glorious names among the defenders of Mag-
yardom, such as Istvân Bâthory, prince of Transylvania and king of
Poland, or Péter Cardinal Pâzmâny, statesman, writer, founder of Buda­
pest University, or Ferenc Râkôczi II, last prince of Transylvania and
the head of the greatest revolt against the Habsburgs. Moreover, if the
Protestants pointed to Lajos Kossuth, the fiery leader of the 18 4 8 -
49 Revolution and War of Independence, the Catholics could glory in
Count Istvân Széchenyi whose lofty ideals, coupled with superhuman
achievements in the practical fields of law reform, industry, and com­
merce, earned him the epithet "the greatest Hungarian" from Kossuth
himself. Nevertheless, the myth of the preeminence of Calvinism in
Hungarian nationalism prevailed and, indeed, survives until today.
There is, of course, more to it: it is not only a myth. There is no
denial that in spite of Habsburg oppression and their dwindling num­
bers, the Protestants in Hungary continued to play a disproportionately
important role in politics, business, and culture. Indeed, the religious
differentiation within the social stratification of prewar Hungary was
rather curious. The high aristocracy who together with the prelates of
the Roman Catholic church owned the great latifundia were Catholic.
The noble landowners of the middle-sized estates, as well as the many
impoverished "gentry" who found employment in the army, the civil
service, and the free professions, were mostly Protestants who, after the
1867 constitutional compromise with Austria, dominated Hungarian
politics and culture. Finally, banking, industry, and commerce, and a
progressively larger share of the free professions, academic life, and the
arts, became the preserve of the Jews whose numbers steadily increased
after the middle of the nineteenth century by free immigration from
Austrian Galicia.
The so-called Compromise Era, 18 6 7-19 18 , was not only a period
of feverish railroad building and industrialization, but also a time for
Hungarian self-assertion that, after the 1880s, manifested itself in an
288 Eastern Europe

unbridled chauvinism and a determination to "Magyarize" the non-

Magyar half of the population, by force if necessary. Catholics and
Protestants, but also the Jews, vied with each other to prove who
was a better Hungarian, who could "convert" more "heathen" Slovaks,
Swabians, Romanians, etc., to true Magyardom. The churches played
a vital role in the assimilation process by virtue of their control of
the majority of the schools, the primary instruments of "Magyariza-
tion." Their effectiveness was not inconsiderable among the Slovaks,
Ruthenes, and Swabians. However, among the Serbs, Romanians, and
Saxons, who possessed their own strongly nationalistic churches, the
impact of the Magyarization drive remained negligible.2
Following World War I, two revolutions, and a counterrevolution,
Hungary was deprived of two-thirds of its territory and more than half
of its population. The losses included nearly all of the non-Magyar
nationalities, together with some 3 million Magyars who became the
new minority in the successor states. Nationalism in the much reduced
but now nearly homogeneous Magyar country took the form of an em­
bittered irredentism, a passionate desire to reverse the terms of the
Treaty of Trianon and regain the lost territories and population. To aid
Hungarians suffering under foreign yokes across the borders became a
sacred duty.
Bickering continued among the churches during the rule of the Cal­
vinist Regent Miklos Horthy. The Protestants complained about the
quasi-established church role and privileges of the Catholic church and
its great landed wealth, while Catholics resented Protestant prepon­
derance in public life and the proportionately greater state subsidies to
their churches. However, all churches, as indeed all Hungarians, were
at one in supporting the revisionist irredentism of the government,
while in the lost territories religion became—especially through the
parochial schools—the bulwark in the defense of the national language
and culture.3

N ATIO N ALISM OR INTERNATIONALISM?

A partial realization of the irrendenta, the recovery by Hungary of some

of her lost territories between 1938 and 1941, was made possible only
through alliance with the Axis powers. That, in turn, placed Hungary
on the side of the losers once more. As the price of defeat, Hungary's
 Hungary 289

territory and population again was reduced to the confines of the Tri­
anon borders. More significantly, the entire socioeconomic system of
the semifeudal prewar period was swept away by the conquering Red
Army. A whole new set of values was imposed abruptly on the beaten
nation. Revisionist nationalism, the irredentism of the Horthy era, was
now outlawed. With the communists rising to power, nationalism be­
came a dirty word, linked in tandem with another malodorous category
as "bourgeois nationalism." Internationalism of the Soviet communist
type, i.e., solidarity with the world proletariat, but above all, love for
the first socialist country, the great Soviet Union, was to replace Hun­
garian nationalism in the hearts of the people. History was rewritten
according to Marxist philosophy, with emphasis on economic factors
and class struggle. The Hungarian past was reduced to the recounting
of incidents of social protests, glorifying obscure leaders of revolting
peasants, while the heroes of the thousand-year-old Christian kingdom
were neglected, even vilified as the oppressors of the common peo­
ple. Desperate attempts were made to present the Soviets, not only as
true friends and liberators, but also as the role models whose example
should be emulated to the last detail as the only true way for the future
evolution of the Hungarian nation. All this represented a wrenching
away of a whole nation from its past values, based on European Chris­
tian culture, and forcing it into a new mold of Soviet life-style.4
This proved to be far from easy. Contrary to Soviet wishful think­
ing, the Hungarians continued to perceive them as conquerors and op­
pressors. Moreover, because the Magyar language belongs to the small
Finno-Ugric family, Hungarians always felt alone and threatened in
their national survival, on the one hand by the Germans, but even
more by the Slavic sea surrounding them and dominated by the Rus­
sians.5 Suspicion and distrust of the latter is exacerbated by the pro­
found sociocultural differences in which religion plays an important
role. In contrast to the Russians who follow Christianity of the East­
ern, Byzantine rite, Hungarians, whether Catholic or Protestant, belong
to the Western religious cultural tradition. Orthodox Russian culture,
symbolized by the Cyrillic alphabet and onion-domed churches, was
and remains totally alien to Hungarians. Thus religion represents a
powerful obstacle to the grandiose plan of cultural transformation, the
magic "Operation Switch" from West to East.
National resistance to Sovietization and Russification found its great­
290 Eastern Europe

est champion in the person of Jozsef Cardinal Mindszenty, archbishop

of Esztergom, prince-primate of Hungary. Coming from a family of
small farmers, this immensely energetic and courageous prelate re­
garded himself as the first dignitary of the realm, the spiritual leader
and teacher of his nation. Deliberately ignoring the changing times, he
refused to renounce his claim to political influence and responsibility
in public affairs, as these had been granted to his predecessors under
the old monarchical constitution.
During the early postwar years the "Muscovite" leader Matyas
Rakosi, using his famous "salami tactics,"6 silenced one by one all
voices of opposition until, by 1948, the cardinal remained virtually
alone, a fearless advocate of legality and respect for human rights,
ceaselessly castigating the government for the excesses of the ever-
increasing police terror.7 For the new communist rulers Mindszenty
became the personification of The Enemy, but for the great majority of
Hungarians, regardless of their religious conviction, he was the symbol
of resistance against alien domination, indeed, the nation's conscience,
her only true voice.
In his frequently issued pastoral letters and speeches delivered to im ­
mense crowds while tirelessly touring the country,8 he used examples
from the nation's history to recall its sacred mission as the defender
of Christianity and Western cultural values. In order to reinforce his
listeners' national spirit and pride, he rallied them around national
religious symbols. He reminded them that Hungary was once called
the Regnum Marianum whose quasi-miraculous survival amid its ene­
mies for over a millennium was due to the special protection of Mary,
the Magna Domina Hungarorum, to the wisdom and statesmanship of
King St. Stephen, to the prayers of St. Margaret of the House of Arpad,
as well as to the noble deeds of countless other national heroes imbued
with Christian virtues. The activities of the prince-primate, however,
were not confined to religious and moral exhortations. In the face of
government inaction he took it upon himself to protest in the name
of all Hungarians against the punitive Paris Peace Treaty of 1947/ and
also against the forcible resettlement and expulsion of Hungarians by
Czechoslovakia.10
Outraged by the cardinal's presumption to speak in the nation's
name, but even more embarrassed and mortified by his immense popu­
 Hungary 291

larity, the communists did their best to discredit him and thereby to
undermine the impressive unity of the resistance. In their propaganda
they called the prince-primate a Swabian, a Nazi sympathizer, an anti-
Semite, a reactionary who wanted to restore the great latifundia to the
former landlords, and a religious fanatic who would want to reintro­
duce the inquisition and forcibly reconvert Protestants and agnostics
to Catholicism. Mass rallies of workers were held against "clerical re­
action," clamoring for the blood of that "enemy of the people," the
traitor Mindszenty. By various means of physical and mental coercion
even some prominent Catholics were persuaded to disassociate them­
selves from the primate's policies and denounce him as the greatest
obstacle to peace and social harmony.11 Still, the cardinal's great moral
authority remained intact. When Rakosi finally decided to silence him,
he was arrested and tried as a common criminal on charges of for­
eign currency speculation, antipeople conspiracy, and treason against
the motherland. At his famous show trial the communist propaganda
machine contrived to project an image of him as a feeble, confused,
repentant petty criminal, and not as a heroic martyr revered the world
over.11
The following years, 1949-5 6, were times of great economic hardship
and brutal oppression. Religion was persecuted, and the churches—like
all former opposition—were thoroughly purged and domesticated. It
should be noted that the communists from the very beginning master­
fully applied the age-old maxim of "divide and conquer" not only to
their parliamentary opposition, but also to the churches. The Protestant
churches, whose Presbyterian constitution allows for greater lay repre­
sentation in their governing synods, presented an easier target for infil­
tration and soon had their leadership dominated by crypto-communists
and fellow travelers.13 They made their peace with the regime and
signed the required "agreements" in the early fall of 1948. In this way
the united front of Christians, forged by Cardinal Mindszenty with
Calvinist bishop Laszlo Ravasz and Lutheran bishop Lajos Ordas, was
broken. Left thus alone, traumatized by the fate of the prince-primate,
and with thousands of recently arrested monks and nuns threatened
with deportation to forced labor in Siberia, the Catholic episcopate too
succumbed and signed an "agreement" in August 1950, only by this
time the terms were much harsher than those granted to the Protes-
2Ç2 Eastern Europe

tants. Besides accepting total subordination to the state, the church

had to pledge support for communist policies, such as collectivization
of agriculture and other steps in the "building of socialism ."14
In this bleak picture there was, however, one consolation. Religious
fervor and loyalty to the church had never been as intense and visible as
during these times of trial. True, the church hierarchy—both Catholic
and Protestant—was brought to heel and forced to pay lip service to the
regime and its practices. At the same time the bond between the perse­
cuted clergy and the oppressed population was strengthened greatly by
the common suffering. By all accounts the churches were never so full
as during the darkest years of Stalinism. Moreover, those priests and
ministers who had fallen in disfavor with the regime and as a conse­
quence were deprived of all material sustenance found generous sup­
port among their parishioners, no matter how hard pressed and poor.
In contrast the communist dictator Rakosi and the "Muscovite" clique
around him were regarded as aliens, more Soviet than Hungarian, who
reaped only distrust and hatred for what they had sown.
The intolerable repression resulted in the explosion of 1956. The
revolution of that year was fought for freedom and independence
under the national flag against the Soviet occupying forces and their
Hungarian satraps.15 Revolutionary councils sprang up nationwide and
pressed a reluctant Imre Nagy—the reformist "national communist"
premier installed in the first days of the revolution with Moscow's
blessing as a compromise—for far-reaching reforms. These would have
amounted, in effect, to the dismantling of the communist system in
Hungary. Perhaps Bennett Kovrig summarized best the demands and
aspirations of Hungarians in 1956 in writing:
1 The goal of the revolution was pluralistic democratic socialism,
encompassing retention of some central planning and national­
ization (perhaps with workers' self-management) within a mixed
economy; aid to independent farmers and free choice in the for­
mation of agricultural cooperatives; elimination of police terror;
economic and political sovereignty and state neutrality; and such
basic rights as free unions, the right to strike, and cultural and reli­
gious freedom. Unfettered multiparty contests would determine
government policy, and the influence of a reformed national Com­
munist party would be proportional to its electoral appeal.16
 Hungary 293

The mounting wave of nationalism fueled the anti-Soviet and anti­

communist passion of the masses17 and drove Nagy to abandon the
monopoly rule of the Communist party, to bring representatives of the
resurrected "bourgeois" parties into his cabinet, to promise free elec­
tions, and, on November 1, to declare Hungary's neutrality and with­
drawal from the Warsaw Pact, while simultaneously asking for United
Nations recognition and protection.
During those glorious autumn days Cardinal Mindszenty was freed
from detention and recognized and honored by the Nagy government
as primate of Hungary. The churches purged their leadership of col­
laborators and pledged support for the cause of national independence
and pluralist democracy. Church bells were ringing again at noon to
commemorate the victory of Janos Hunyadi over the "infidels" in 1456
and the national anthem "God Bless the Hungarians" was on every­
body's lips. Alas, the euphoria of regained liberty and national pride
was cut short by the Soviet invasion on November 4, 1956. This was
followed by the merciless punishment of thousands of the best patriots,
including the judicial murder of Imre Nagy and several of his closest
associates.

RESURGENCE OF NATIONALISM

The lessons of r956 were not entirely lost on the new leader Janos
Kadar. He—and his Soviet sponsors—must have learned about the dan­
gers inherent in pent-up tensions due to existential fear, economic
hardship, and repressed national sentiments. After a period of severe
retribution the controls gradually were eased. In art, literature, theater,
and cinema, humanistic and nationalist themes reappeared. In this re­
laxed atmosphere of Radar's "goulash communism" people, especially
young students, began to ask, ever more boldly, how it came that while
they were marched to the streets to demonstrate for the national inde­
pendence and human rights of the Vietnamese, Angolans, black South
Africans, etc., they were forbidden to commemorate Hungarian inde­
pendence on March 15, the anniversary of the glorious revolution of
1848, and why was it that nobody spoke out about the violation of
human rights of the Hungarians just across the border in Romania?
By the mid-1960s, apparently unable to ignore the popular pressure
2 9 4 Eastern Europe

any longer, the party decided to tackle the ticklish issue of national­
ism. After several attempts at redefinition, party ideologues and histo­
rians did produce a new hybrid of the old Stalinist concept of "socialist
patriotism." It now was proclaimed that in a one-class system socialist
state patriotism was serving socialist national interest while simulta­
neously serving international, i.e., Soviet, interest too.18 In this way
nationalism, within the admittedly ill-defined parameters of "socialist
patriotism," received the party's blessing. The question became what
this would mean in practice. Subtle changes had been occurring for
some time that now became more pronounced and readily apparent.
r National history was "rediscovered" and in it the positive role of
Christianity, King St. Stephen, and the Reformation. The regime, of
course, continued to espouse the Marxist-Leninist materialistic world­
view and to educate young people in an atheistic spirit, but the pres­
sure on religion was eased and a certain modus vivendi was worked
out with the churches. In fact, one could argue that after the Rakosi
period of open hostility and confrontation, church-state relations in
Hungary have developed beyond simple peaceful coexistence to active
cooperation in the "construction of socialism."19 Members of the gov­
ernment ostentatiously participate in church festivities, such as the
four-hundred-year jubilee of the Hungarian Presbyterian church (cele­
brated in 1967 in Debrecen, the city nicknamed "the Calvinist Rome"),
or the one-thousand-year anniversary feast of the birth of St. Stephen,
the first Christian king, that was held in 1970 in Budapest and in the
ancient capital, Szekesfehervar. Furthermore, leaders of the churches
are given prominent roles in the communist-sponsored Patriotic Peo­
ple's Front, the official representative body of all societal organizations.
More interestingly, government representatives praise the churches for
their positive influence on people's morality and for their role in the
preservation of the national heritage through their continuing interest
vin and support of art, literature, music, folklore, and customs.20
A word of caution is in order here. These positive gestures toward the
churches should not be assigned undue significance. The fact is that in
the past thirty years Hungarian society has undergone unprecedented
radical transformation. The mass migration from rural to urban envi­
ronment, the repression of the churches, the atheistic education of the
youth, the disintegration of the family, have caused profound alienation
and disruption of the traditional religion-oriented life-style, resulting
 Hungary 295

in rapid secularization. In consequence, the importance and influence

of religion and the churches on the thinking and behavior of the masses
has diminished to near insignificance.21 Thus, it should be no surprise
that the recent reawakening of national self-consciousness among Hun­
garians is a purely secular phenomenon whose chief apostles are the
writers, historians, composers, ethnographers, and folklore enthusiasts.
Even the amazing success of the Csiksomlyoi Passio, a stage adaptation
of an eighteenth-century passion play from the Szekely district of Tran­
sylvania which was performed before full houses at the Castle Theater
of Buda for several seasons, was more likely due to the transcendent
beauty of Transylvanian folklore embodied in the text and the sets—
i.e., to nationalistic appeal—rather than to its religious content. The
same can be said of the rock opera Istvan a Kiialy, which was the great­
est hit of the 1980s not only on stage but in the cinema and on cassette
recordings. The mass demonstrations that accompanied its open-air
performances were triggered not so much by allusions to the religious
zeal and missionary work of the protagonist, St. Stephen, the first king
of Hungary, as by the lines in the songs glorifying him as the builder of
the nation, the champion of freedom from foreign rule, and defender of
Hungary's national independence. Unlike the situation in neighboring
Poland, in today's Hungary nationalism has precious little to do with
religion or the churches.
There is, however, a significant exception to the above observation.
Reassured of their national identity by Kadar at home, the chief mo­
tivating force and focal point of interest of contemporary Hungarian
nationalism has become concern for the survival of the approximately
5 million compatriots (i.e., one-third of all Hungarians) living outside
Hungary, and that is precisely where the churches render an invaluable
service to the nation. The most burning issue agitating Hungarians
everywhere today is that of Transylvania where over 2 million Hungari­
ans (and nearly half a million Germans) must endure cultural depriva­
tion and forcible denationalization and Romanianization.22 True, it was
Gyula Illyes, the Nestor of Hungarian poets, who sounded the alarm
about the fate of his compatriots in the neighboring countries and sen­
sitized his fellow writers and the general public to the cause.23 However,
the churches alone were able to translate indignation and sorrow into
effective help. Both the Catholic and the Protestant press, in Hungary
and in the West, devote much space to the discussion of the plight
296 Eastern Europe

of the minorities. They were the first to open their columns to con­
tributions from Magyar writers and scholars in the successor states.24
Among the Hungarian parishes in Western Europe and overseas, collec­
tions are taken that, together with the donations of the churches in the
Western world, are transmitted to their beleaguered sister churches.25
Since in Transylvania the dominant Romanians are Eastern Orthodox,
while the Hungarians are Catholic and Calvinist (the Germans are
Lutheran and Catholic), religion remains the strongest bulwark against
assimilation. In the words of Robert Bacsvary:
Independently of their involvement with the church, all Catho­
lic Germans and Hungarians agree on one thing: they see in the
church their last hope and the only guarantee of their identity. As
long as their children are taught the gospel in their mother tongue,
as long as some religious instruction is still given in the mother
tongue, as long as they can still pray and sing in their churches
in German or Hungarian, they preserve their identity and are also
bound together as a people.26
Needless to say, the same applies also to the Protestants of Transylva­
nia, be they Calvinist, Lutheran, or Unitarian, Hungarian or German.
The Kadar regime, apparently restrained by the Soviets and also by
its own ideology of "socialist internationalism," had ignored the issue
for many years, until it was forced by a mounting wave of popular indig­
nation to take action. This was done at first in behind-the-door nego­
tiations, but when it became evident that the 1977 agreement resulting
from the Oradea and Debrecen meetings between Kadar and Ceau§escu
did nothing to improve the situation, prominent government figures
began to voice their concern more openly. By 1986-87 they went so
far as to denounce Romania publicly—without actually naming it—
before the international forum of the Helsinki Review Conference on
Human Rights in Vienna. There Hungary, alone among the Warsaw
Pact countries, supported those resolutions by Canada and Yugoslavia
which called for respect of the rights of national minorities.27 At the
same time the churches of Hungary, petitioned by hundreds of their
parishioners to take an open stand and apparently authorized by the
government to do so, issued strong statements in support of the human
rights for the Hungarian minorities in the neighboring countries. Both
the document issued by the seven Protestant and Orthodox churches
 Hungary 297

belonging to the Ecumenical Council of Hungary28 and the message

of the Roman Catholic bishops to their flock29 expressed special con­
cern over the fate of Hungarians in Romania and insisted that national
minorities should have the right to preserve their language, culture,
and religion and be able to communicate freely with their conationals
across the border.
It should be noted that the sustaining role of religion and the churches
in the preservation of Magyar culture is applicable equally to Czecho­
slovakia, Yugoslavia, and the USSR; however, because of the smaller
numbers involved30 and the relatively greater freedom enjoyed by them
(notably in the case of Yugoslavia), their situation is not perceived with
as much pain and urgency by the Hungarian public. The point is though
that in each and every case it is clear that support given to the minority
churches reinforces the minority nationality. This fact is increasingly
acknowledged by all Hungarians, be they religious believers, agnostics,
or atheists.31
Interestingly, since the early 1970s the communist regime also has
paid increasing attention to the nearly 2 million Hungarians living in
the free world. It promotes cultural exchanges, fosters dance and folk­
lore groups, provides teachers and textbooks for the needs of the émigré
children, and, every two years, sponsors a Conference on the Mother
Tongue to which participants from the five continents are invited, all
expenses paid. In its praiseworthy effort to preserve the Magyar lan­
guage and national identity among the Hungarians in the diaspora, the
regime has had to rely on the cooperation of the churches, whether
it likes to or not, since in practice only the churches maintain a visi­
ble institutional presence among the emigrants abroad.32 Nearly all
Saturday and Sunday schools where children are taught the Hungarian
language and culture are maintained by the churches.33 Similarly, the
great majority of social clubs, cultural societies, youth organizations,34
and charitable associations are church-affiliated or, at least, hold their
meetings and celebrations on church premises.
While many of the émigrés continue to distrust the Budapest regime
and keep their distance from its diplomatic representatives and official
emissaries, the majority of priests and ministers today maintain con­
tact and exchange visits with their confrères in the old country and,
what is more important, open their churches and auditoriums to bona
fide visiting writers, scholars, and performers coming from Hungary
298 Eastern Europe

and, occasionally, from Transylvania. As a result, anybody who speaks

or writes today about the survival of Magyardom, or about Hungarian
literature, art, and culture alive and flourishing anywhere in the world,
inevitably is bound to add a few words in praise of the churches for
their invaluable contributions.
Perhaps therein lies today the role of religion in relation to nation­
alism in the Hungarian context: within Hungary religion has retained
little significance in forming national attitudes. However, there is a
growing realization and appreciation by both the regime and the gen­
eral public of the crucial role that religion and the churches play in
sustaining the Hungarian language and nationality under the extremely
difficult conditions of minorities and diaspora abroad where roughly
one-third of the nation lives.
13

R eligio n and N ation alism in Yugoslavia

Pedro R am et

Religion is a constitutive element in the group identity and nationalism

of most nationality groups for several reasons. First, it is the historical
core of the culture that shaped the evolution of primitive tribes into
politically conscious nations. Second, it is a badge of group identity,
distinguishing "u s" from "them," establishing a basis for identification
or distance (so that in Yugoslavia it is possible to speak of Slovenes
and Croats as being Catholic nations, and Serbs, Montenegrins, and
Macedonians as being Orthodox). Third, religious groups always have
been in the forefront of the development of national languages, national
literature, and the dissemination of literature in the national tongue
through the printing press. Fourth, being more highly educated, more
respected, and more politically conscious, the clergy naturally stepped
into leadership roles and does so even today. Finally, encounters with
other nationality groups with different religious practices encourage
the group to think of its religion as particularly its own, even as essen­
tial to its national survival.
In multiethnic Yugoslavia religious organizations may be divided
roughly into three groups, in terms of their relation to national iden­
tity and nationalism. The first group consists of the historical churches
that have acted as the cultural guardians of their respective peoples for
more than a millennium. There are only two churches in this group:
the Roman Catholic church, closely identified with the Slovenes and
Croats, and the Serbian Orthodox church. The second group consists
of the ethnic churches and comprises church organizations linked with
particular groups but lacking the claim to historical guardianship.
Claiming only a small minority of the nationality groups to which
300 Eastern Europe

they cater, they are “national" in form without having any chance of
playing the role of national guardians. In this group I would include
the Czech Brethren, the Slovak Evangelical church (headquartered in
Vojvodina), the Hungarian Evangelical church (Subotica), and the Old
Catholic church (Croatia). The third group consists of non-national
churches, usually of recent vintage, which tend to be disinterested in
national culture as such. Among this group one finds Seventh-Day Ad­
ventists, Baptists, and Jehovah's Witnesses.
This categorization, however, excludes two very important religious
organizations which, I believe, are more accurately viewed as special
cases: the Macedonian Orthodox church and the Islamic community.
The former, which came into being only in 1967 as a product of a
schism still repudiated by the Serbian Orthodox church, is indeed na­
tional but it is not historic, since official affirmation of Macedonian
ethnicity is of recent vintage (a postwar phenomenon) and since Ortho­
doxy has variously treated Macedonians either as Serbs or as Bulgarians
(depending on whether the clergyman in question was Serbian Ortho­
dox or Bulgarian Orthodox). The Islamic community, on the other
hand, is distinct both because its institutional organization is looser
and less politically conscious, and because the enveloping Islamic cul­
ture (which is, in today's Yugoslavia, taken to be constitutive of a dis­
tinct Muslim nationality) is perhaps entirely a product of the synthesis
of the peculiarly religious element (i.e., Islam as a way of life) and of
Ttirkish culture (i.e., the culture of a conqueror whose very conquest
was inspired in large part by the drive to spread Islam). While Yugo­
slav Marxists painstakingly emphasize that there are ethnic Muslims
in Yugoslavia who are not religiously Muslim, and that some of those
who are Muslim by religion are of Turkish, Albanian, or even Macedo­
nian ethnicity, the identification is a close one.
This chapter w ill argue that Yugoslav policy toward the various reli­
gious groups is, to a significant extent, affected by the relationship that
the latter bear toward nationalism and that, at the same time, the policy
adopted by the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (l c y ) toward each
nationality group determines in large part the policy that is adopted
vis-à-vis the "local" religion. This claim has only one point of contact
with what l c y apologists portray as party policy and is otherwise at
considerable variance with the official party version. For the party has
always insisted, in spite of policy reversals, inconsistencies, and vari­
 Yugoslavia 301

ous discriminatory decisions both positive and negative, that its policy
both in the religious sphere and in the nationality sphere is a mono­
lithic whole, consistent over time and space and ruffled at most by
the headstrong deviations of local party cadres. This picture is almost
completely false. The one point of contact, however, in which there is
an element of truth lies in the party's admission that it takes umbrage
at any involvement by church organizations in interethnic relations,
either as the guardian of national values, as the purveyor of interethnic
hate, or even as the conduit for interethnic communication and har­
mony. For the l c y the churches are to be banished to the liturgical and
strictly ritual sphere as their exclusive domain, a banishment termed
the "privatization" of religion, in which the party recognizes religion
as a "private affair" but denies it any legitimate place in public life.1
Obviously, however, while religious belief is certainly in some sense
a "private affair," churches have always been public organizations in­
volved in the public life of the community. To deny the churches any
place in the public sphere is not merely to assail the linkage of religion
and nationalism at a pivotal point but also to undercut the very basis
of church life altogether.
Yugoslav nationalities policy, while described by its apologists Kar-
delj, Purivatra, and others2 as a cohesive and unified whole, is a logical
whole only in theory. In practice, the party both denies the existence
of a Yugoslav nationality and applauds the denationalization of those
who declare themselves "Yugoslavs" at census time, both encourages
the ethnic self-consciousness of some groups (Macedonians and Mus­
lims, and to an extent Montenegrins) and condemns the ethnic con­
sciousness of other groups (Croats, Albanians, and sometimes Serbs),
both preaches "brotherhood and unity" (bratstvo i jedinstvo ) and stirs
up, without respite, the memories of the civil war of 19 4 1-4 5 , the
vivid recollection of which is the surest guarantee that brotherhood
and unity w ill never be achieved.3 Even the chief insight of Yugoslav
nationalities policy, viz., that a multiethnic community can only be
harmonious when far-reaching powers are devolved to federal units co­
terminous with constituent ethnic groups, is undercut by the party's
refusal to consider the extension of federalization to its own apparatus.
Religious and nationalities policy interact in party favoritism toward
the religious organizations of favored nationality groups (especially
where the Macedonian Orthodox church is concerned) and in the esca­
302 Eastern Europe

lation of church-state frictions in cases where the church retains the

role of defender of its nationality group (e.g., the Catholic church in
Croatia and the Serbian Orthodox church in Serbia,4 though not the
Catholic church in Slovenia, except insofar as that archbishopric, espe­
cially under the late Archbishop Joze Pogacnik, became involved in the
defense of human rights and the assertion of church claims to a role in
education).

HISTORICAL ORIGINS

Orthodoxy and Serbian Nationalism

The period of the Great Migrations, between the fourth and tenth cen­
turies, coincided with the institutional entrenchment of Christianity
in the Balkans as elsewhere in Europe. By the ninth century Chris­
tianity had acquired a dominant influence in both Croatia and Ser­
bia,5 though Christians and pagans continued to live side by side in
both lands for some time. It is understandable then that the process
of the formation of ethnic-national identity (ethnogenesis) was asso­
ciated with Christianization. Moreover, since it was the church that
gave definition to the content of human culture and social mores, di­
luted tribal identities were supplanted readily by "national" identities
founded on the conjunction of church and state. Orthodoxy became the
badge of Serbdom, just as Catholicism was the mark of a Croat. The
ethnogenesis of the Bosnian Muslims is a tangled web, however, whose
various threads historians have failed to untangle. Croatian national­
ists (such as Ivo Pilar) usually have described the Muslims as Islami-
cized Croats who, through conversion, acquired a new locus of cultural
identification that entailed the loss of Croatian national conscious­
ness; similarly, for Pilar, as incoming Vlahs and local Croats con­
verted to Serbian Orthodoxy, they became part of a community whose
heartland was Pec and Milesevo and came to regard themselves as
Serbs.6
Far from being an accidental by-product of the expansion of politi­
cal power, confessional homogenization was consciously sought by the
Balkan princes. Prince Bodin (10 8 2 -110 1) sought to strengthen church
organization in Serbia and, still looking West at that time, obtained
papal recognition of the elevation of the bishopric of Bar to the status
 Yugoslavia 303

of metropolite. Later, Sava, youngest son of Serbian Prince Stefan Ne-

manja, who had united Serbia, obtained recognition of the Serbian
church as an autocephalous member of Orthodoxy in 1219 . Neman)a
himself vigorously suppressed the heretical Bogomil sect, which he
viewed as a threat to civil order, and the Bogomils fled from Serbia. In
Croatia, too, King Tomislav (910-c. 928) aspired to make the church
liturgically more monolithic and organizationally more unified and
therefore allied with the pope and with the bishop of Split in the early
tenth century to assert the primacy of the bishop of Split throughout
Croatia and to ban continued use of the Old Slavic Glagolitic liturgy,
requiring the use of Latin instead.7 In the principality of Bosnia, where
an autonomous Christian church functioned which was neither Roman
nor Orthodox, both Bogomils and Dalmatian Catholic priests who re­
fused to give up the Glagolitic liturgy found safe haven in Bosnia's
relatively tolerant atmosphere.8 In a certain way the Bosnian church
figured as a national religion, synthesizing disparate elements from
Catholicism, Orthodoxy, Bogomilism, Islam, and even paganism. But
the Bosnian church was never strong institutionally and thus the Bos­
nian regional identity that began to develop lacked a confessional
anchor.9 By the second quarter of the fifteenth century energetic pros-
elytization by the Franciscan order had seriously eroded the adherence
of the Bosnian peasantry to the Bosnian church. By 1460, according to
Fine, "most of the nobility seems to have been won over to Catholicism
[and]. . . the Bosnian church stood alone without mass popular support
and without the backing of nobility. . . . Even within the Church itself
loyalty and interest were lacking."10 This same institutional weak­
ness facilitated the penetration of elements of Islamic culture and faith
after the Turkish conquest (1463), but that conquest also led Bosnian
Catholics and Orthodox to identify with the neighboring states of Cro­
atia and Serbia, respectively.
During the Turkish occupation the Serbian Orthodox church as­
sumed the role of guardian of the national culture and traditions of
the Serbian people. It fostered education and cultivated resentment of
the Islamic conquerer. In 1593, as Austria and Turkey went to war, the
Serbs staged a major rebellion in Banat. Patriarch Jovan II of Pec (whose
patriarchate had been reestablished in 1557) "directly stimulated" the
uprising and blessed the banners of the insurgents. In retaliation—
and perhaps in the conviction that if you demonstrate your power
304 Eastern Europe

to destroy the religious shrines of a people, you destroy as well the

power of that people to resist—the Turks opened the grave of St. Sava
at Milesevo, removed the corpse, and on April 27, 1594, burned it in
Vracar, near Belgrade.11 When the Austrians made peace with the Turks
in 1606, the Serbian revolt caved in. Yet in 1689, during a subsequent
Austro-Turkish war, when the Serbs once more rose against the Turks
and joined in collaboration with the Austrians, the patriarch of Pec,
Arsenije III Carnojevic, egged the rebels on, invited the Venetians to
send in troops in support of the rebellion, and, after the collapse of
the Austrian campaign, led a large migration of Serbs from the area of
present-day Kosovo through Belgrade into what is today Vojvodina.
The Turks tried to dampen the nationalist temper of the Serbian
Orthodox church, abolishing, in 1766, the Serbian patriarchate at Pec,
and, in the years that followed, banning everything Slavic or national in
Serbian liturgy and church life. They subjected the church to thorough
hellenization, but this policy only ensured that the Serbian clergy
would give their strongest backing to the Serbian liberation movement
that began in 1804. Archpriest Matija Nenadovic procured ammunition
and served in the cavalry during the First Serbian Insurrection (1804-
13), and Serbian monasteries were regularly used as meeting places and
safe havens for anti-Turkish Serbian rebels, as headquarters for Serbian
commanders, and even as weapons storehouses. In fact, the rebellious
Serbs several times set up "command posts" in Serbian monasteries. In
1830 the sultan reluctantly conceded Serbs the right to internal self-
government, and the following year the Serbs freed their church from
Greek supervision.
Both in Ottoman Bosnia and in Habsburg Vojvodina, the Serbian
Orthodox church and the Roman Catholic church competed for the loy­
alty of the population; in both cases confessional loyalty was equated
with ethnic loyalty. As a result of the 1848 revolution, Patriarch Josip
Rajacic of the Serbian Orthodox church was named "patriarch of the
Serbian nation" by the Viennese court that same year. Rajacic tried to
live up to the title by demanding in i860, for example, that the Aus­
trian Ministry of War change the name of the Romanian-Banat border
regiment to the Serbian-Banat border regiment.12
Subsequently, as the Serbian state consolidated its independence, Ser­
bian nationalists continued to emphasize the importance of Orthodoxy
for the state and the nation. The symbiotic strength of the linkage of
 Yugoslavia 305

religion and nationalism was so alluring that no less a figure than Vuk
Karadzic, the linguistic reformer and Serbian nationalist, declared that
not only were the Serbs "the greatest people on the planet," but in
fact Jesus and his apostles were themselves all Serbs.13 Church leaders
themselves became spokesmen for national expansionism. Already in
1794 a Serbian monk named Jovan Rajic had laid claim to Bosnia-
Herzegovina as ethnically Serbian. Drawing back with horror at the
concept of an ancient "Illyrian" people inhabiting the eastern shore
of the Adriatic, a concept being propagated by some Croatian Catho­
lic writers, the Serbian Orthodox church insisted that Serbs would not
give up their name and their identity for some artificial Illyrian idea.
Teodor Pavlovic, a particularly vociferous opponent of Illyrism, asked
in 1837 why "Serbs of the Roman law do not call themselves Serbs." By
his count, there were five million Serbs, but only four thousand "true"
Croats.14

The Croats and Catholicism

The active involvement of the Catholic clergy on behalf of Croatian
nationalism was somewhat later in coming, though some parish priests
openly supported a Croatian peasant rebellion against Emperor Maxim­
ilian in 15 7 3 .15 Vinko Pribojevic (Vincentius Priboevius), a Dominican
priest, was one of the first clergy to write on national themes and
hypothesized, in a work published in 1525, the existence of an Illyr­
ian people, understood by him to be Slavic in language and culture.16
Another Dominican priest, Juraj Krizanic (1618-83), developed Illyr­
ian ideology further by identifying Serbs, Croats, and Bulgarians as
three stems of the "Illyrian branch" of a still broader "Slavic nation"
that also included Russians, Poles, and Czechs. Influenced by Lev-
akovic, Krizanic tinkered with a project of patching together elements
of the speech patterns of these different peoples to produce a synthetic
South Slav language—what Lauer calls "a kind of Slavic Esperanto."
Krizanic, like most of his ecclesiastical contemporaries, viewed Croa­
tia as merely a geographic part of Illyria.17 Numerous other Catholic
clergy became vehicles of Illyrian ideology, especially the Franciscans,
who spread the political credo throughout Bosnia-Herzegovina. Many
of the clergy viewed the Illyrian mythology as an effective tool in
propagating Catholicism, and the efforts by Jesuit priests F. K. Pejacevic
and K. Pejkid to introduce Illyrism in Bulgaria in the mid-eighteenth
306 Eastern Europe

century can be understood best as serving the purpose of propagating

Catholicism.
Josip Juraj Strossmayer (1815-1905), appointed bishop of Djakovo in
1849, has come to personify the Illyrian movement because of his active
endeavors to create a political union of Croatia and Serbia. Strossmayer
negotiated with the Serbian government, orchestrated an uprising in
Bosnia, and championed the autochthonous Glagolitic liturgy (which
had reemerged as an issue in 1848 during the revolutionary upheaval,
when it was taken up as a cause by Illyrian nationalists). Strossmayer's
close friend, Friar Franjo Racki (1828-94), spelled out the essence of
Illyrism when he declared that Croats and Serbs had no basis for claim­
ing to be ethnically distinct and that only the Vatican was hindering
the rapprochement of Catholic and Orthodox "Illyrians."18
Strossmayer has come to symbolize the integrative, embracing
strand in Croatian national ideology, in which the common language is
stressed and the religious divide is overcome by drawing the Catholic
and Orthodox churches together into a "national church." Not surpris­
ingly, Yugoslav communists have repeatedly held up Strossmayer as a
true Yugoslav.19
A second strand of Croatian national ideology also evolved in the
course of the nineteenth century, however, and ultimately became more
closely identified with the Catholic church than the Illyrian strand.
The alternative to a broader South Slav state was seen by most Croats
to lie in a restoration of Croatian independence. The Croatian Party
of Right, created by ex-seminarist Ante Starcevic, was in essence a
Catholic movement working for the political independence of a Catho­
lic Croatia.20 Thus, from the mid-nineteenth century until the 1920s,
the church in Croatia was riven into two factions: the progressives,
who favored incorporation of Croatia into a liberal Slavic state and en­
visioned union with Serbia on lines drawn by Strossmayer; and the
conservatives, who preferred the ecclesiastical security of union with
Austria-Hungary if outright independence could not be secured, and
who were loathe to bind Catholic Croatia with Orthodox Serbia. By
1900 the latter (exclusivist) faction appeared to have gained the upper
hand and the First Croatian Catholic Congress, held in Zagreb that
year, was implicitly anti-Orthodox and anti-Serb. "As a Croat," Baron
Miroslav Kulmer told this convention, to resounding applause, "I iden­
tify Catholicism with Croatian national identity. [We must] safeguard
 Yugoslavia 307

this foundation of the Croatian nation, which is the only [institution]

capable of preserving our consciousness and nationality."21 So conso­
nant were the aims of the church's Croatian Social party and Starcevic's
Croatian Party of Right that the two organizations were merged in
1910 .
After the Habsburgs annexed Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1878, there were
some efforts made in the direction of encouraging the development
of a Bosnian national consciousness and a distinctive Bosnian lan­
guage, in order to cut the Bosnian Croats off from their ethnic kin
to the north. The Croatian Franciscans in Herzegovina played a de­
cisive role in resisting both this policy and the endeavors of Serbian
nationalists, mainly through their weekly newspaper, Glas Heicegovca
(1885-95). Croatian Franciscans played an active role in the literary
life of Herzegovina, Dalmatia, and Croatia proper, working on Naio-
dni list, Katolicka Dalmacija, and other periodicals.22 Catholic clergy
were tangibly involved in the foundation of Matica hivatska (the Cro­
atian Cultural Society, originally named Matica iliiska ), the Croatian
National Museum, and even the first Croatian savings bank. Bishop
Juraj Dobrila also contributed to the growth of national consciousness
by founding the newspaper Nasa sloga-, and two other Catholic clergy­
men; Ivan Antunovic and Boza Sarcevic, established the Bunievacke i
sokacke novine. When World War I broke out, Archbishop Josef Stadler
of Sarajevo and Bishop Antun Mahnic of Krk pressed for Croatian in­
dependence, with the former stressing that Bosnia-Herzegovina should
be fully absorbed, administratively and economically, into Croatia.23
In the interwar kingdom the church remained sympathetic to Cro­
atian separatism, with Archbishop Ivan Saric of Sarajevo lending strong
support to clandestine preparations for Croatian secession.24 Singleton
reports that Saric himself joined the secessionist Ustase organization
in 1934, and Bishop Josip Garic of Banja Luka may have also been a
member.25 Katolicki list, the leading Catholic newspaper of Croatia at
the time, greeted the proclamation of the Independent State of Croatia
[Nezavisna Drzava Hivatska, or n d h ) by the Ustase in 19 4 1. "The
Croatian state is a fact," wrote Katolicki list.

The Catholic Church, which has served as the spiritual leader

of the Croatian people for 1,300 years in its difficult, sickly and
joyous days, accompanies the Croatian people with joy and glad­
308 Eastern Europe

ness in these days as its state independence is restored. . . . A ll

members of the Croatian nation . . . find, in the Croatian state, the
fulfillment of their legitimate aspirations.26
Even Zagreb's Archibishop Alojzije Stepinac, though not affiliated with
the Ustase, initially welcomed the establishment of the n d h . But while
the local hierarchy had thus reaffirmed their support for Croatian state­
hood, Stepinac's repeated criticism of Ustase excesses and his repeated
efforts to circumvent n d h policy and save Serbs and Gypsies from liqui­
dation confute the postwar communist claim that he had collaborated
with the Ustase27
The linkage of Catholicism and Croatian nationality was underlined
by various actors. Vlatko Macek, head of the Croatian Peasant party
from 1928 to 19 41, for instance, openly described Catholicism as the
foundation stone of Croatian nationality,28 while Dr. Nikola Rusinovic,
the n d h representative at the Vatican, returning to Zagreb on February
8, 1942, after visiting the Vatican on official business, would report that
"the Holy See cannot imagine a Croat who is not a Catholic."29
In the early postwar years Tito tinkered with the idea of encouraging
the establishment of a schismatic national Croatian Catholic church
that might be more amenable to regime manipulation and pressure.
Instead of pursuing this, however, the communists decided to attempt
to brand the Catholic church as fascist and thus to sever it from the
wellsprings of Croatian nationalist feeling. The attempt failed, and the
assaults on the good name of Archbishop Stepinac produced a back­
lash, transforming a sincere and reputable churchman into a Croatian
national hero, a symbol of Croatian national aspirations.30 Worse yet,
from the regime's point of view, the crushing of the so-called Croatian
Spring in December 19 7 1, and suppression of all institutions (such as
Matica hivatska and the newspapers Hivatski tjednik and Tlo ) that
had served as forums for Croatia's exclusivist nationalists, had as a by­
product the strengthening of the church's role as guardian of Croatian
national interests.

The Muslim Community

At the time of the Austrian occupation of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1878,
the Muslims were the least nationally conscious of the three principal
confessional groups under survey. Their position within the Ottoman
 Yugoslavia 309

Empire had been a privileged one, and it was only with the imposition
of rule by Catholic Austria that collective identity was stimulated by
cultural threat. The Austrians harbored no intention to suppress Islam
or to discriminate against Muslims, but, as Joint Minister of Finance
Szlavy observed in a report to Emperor Franz Josef in r88i, Bosnian
Muslims were dissatisfied—at least in his opinion—because after en­
joying a privileged position under the Turks, they objected to being
treated as equals with Christians by the Austrians.31
The Austrians' hope was to reinforce tendencies toward regional
identity, to cut the local population off from ethnic kin abroad, and,
above all, to block any spread of Serbian nationalism among the Mus­
lims, even while impeding the development of a national consciousness
among the Bosnian Muslims: they should think of themselves as Bosni­
ans, as Austrian subjects, but not as ethnic Muslims. The Austrian
authorities were, in particular, eager to instill in the population a feel­
ing of "Bosnianness," which would weaken the ties of Orthodox and
Muslims to Serbia and the Ottoman Empire respectively. They there­
fore welcomed the founding in r89i, by Mehmedbeg Kapetanovic and
several other pro-Austrian Sarajevo Muslims, of a weekly newspaper,
Bosnjak, whose underlying principle was that all Bosnians, regardless
of faith, had a common nationality. The paper was written in Serbo-
Croatian, which the editors, in harmony with local custom, identified
as the "Bosnian" language.32
The Austrians also endeavored to insulate Bosnian Islam from the
Ottoman caliphate and, in October 1882, created the new office of Reis-
ul-ulema, as head of Bosnian Islam, with a state salary of 8,000 gulden
per year. But a series of conversion incidents in 1893, 1897, and 1899 in
which Muslims converted to Catholicism mobilized the Muslim com­
munity and catalyzed the Muslim autonomy movement. In December
1900 a group of prominent Muslims drew up a proposed autonomy
statute and presented it to Benjamin von Kallay, joint minister of fi­
nance and ipso facto chief administrator of Bosnia-Herzegovina (1882-
1903). The petition enumerated Muslim complaints, including the con­
version of a number of mosques into Christian churches, the neglect
of Muslim cemeteries, and alleged aggressive Catholic proselytization
among Muslims, said to have been inspired by Archbishop Stadler of
Sarajevo. Finally, the Muslims complained that the Austrian-created
institution of the Reis-ul-ulema and Austrian control of appointments

ft;
3 io Eastern Europe

to the Medzlissi-ulema and the Vakuf Commission had usurped control

of religious affairs from its rightful charge, the "Islamic nation." The
Muslims demanded religious autonomy and self-regulation.33 This pe­
tition marked the beginning of the era of party politics among Bosnian
Muslims and the de facto beginning of the Muslim National Organiza­
tion that was formally established six years later. The groundwork had
been laid for the emergence of Muslim ethnic consciousness.
Muslim religious identity had, of course, been heightened by the
Austrian occupation and the conversion incidents, but it was still pos­
sible for Muslims to declare themselves Serbs or Croats when it suited
them, and "some Muslims changed from one camp to the other on
several occasions," calculating their tactics on the basis of shifts in
the political wind.34 But most of these affirmations and alliances were
largely tactical and Glas slobode, the organ of the Social Democratic
party in Bosnia-Herzegovina, could report (on May 24, 19 11) that "the
endeavors of Serbs and Croats to see the Muslims adopt their [respec­
tive] names have been, to date, completely unsuccessful. Only a few
individuals call themselves Serbs or Croats. The rest are simply Mus­
lim s."35
With the establishment of the interwar kingdom, the Muslims were
relegated, both by the regime and by the socialist opposition, to the
position of one branch of the "Yugoslav nation" or even, in the eyes of
some Serbs, of confessionally deviant Serbs. Jovo Jaksic, an apologist
for the theory of the "tri-named people" ("Serb," "Croat," and "Slovene"
being, in this view, alternative names for a single "Yugoslav" people),
denied thus that there were any differences besides religion to differ­
entiate the people of Bosnia-Herzegovina—as if that were not potent
enough—and suggested that Muslims be viewed as a fourth "tribe"
of the Serbo-Croato-Slovenian nation.36 In spite of this, when the first
Yugoslav Parliament was opened, twenty-two of the twenty-four Mus­
lim deputies from Bosnia declared themselves Croats, and the Yugoslav
Muslim Organization, the strongest Muslim party, was tangibly closer
to Croats than to Serbs. Later, at the fifth national conference of the
Communist party of Yugoslavia (November 1940), Mose Pijade told
delegates that Bosnian Muslim consciousness was largely religious and
not ethnic. This judgment would later receive some corroboration in
the wartime split among the Muslims, with many actively supporting
 Yugoslavia 3 11

the Croatian Ustase, even identifying themselves as "Croats of Muslim

faith," and many joining the communist Partisans.

RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONS A N D
CU LTU R A L HOMOGENIZATION

In the case of both "historical" churches and Bosnian Islam, religion

proved a defining factor in ethnic differentiation, perhaps even the sin­
gle most important factor. By the end of the nineteenth century, if not
long before, it appeared almost inconceivable that a Croat could be any­
thing but Catholic, that a Serb could be anything but Orthodox, and
the rival claims made upon the Muslims could not conceal the fact that
Islam likewise had come to define an ethnocultural collectivity.
Paul Brass has outlined four sources of elite conflict that may stimu­
late the development of ethnic self-consciousness in early modernizing
societies. These are (1) conflicts between local elites and an alien con­
queror, (2) conflicts between rival religious elites from different ethnic
groups, (3) conflicts between a religious elite and an ethnically indige­
nous aristocracy, and (4) conflicts between indigenous religious elites
and an alien aristocratic elite.37 It is seen at once that three of the four
conflict patterns listed by Brass involve religious elites. The fourth pat­
tern (indigenous religious elite vs. alien political elite) characterizes the
historical evolution in both Serbia and Croatia, while the second pat­
tern (rival religious elites) defines what was probably the central feature
in the situation in which Bosnian Muslim identity arose.
Religious organizations reinforce the tendency to identify religion
and nation, of course, by endeavoring to have the state suppress or
discriminate against adherents of other faiths. In Serbia, for instance,
proselytism among Orthodox believers was forbidden first in 13 49,38
while in the case of the Catholic church the reforms of Austrian Em­
peror Josef II, extending religious freedom to Protestants and Greek
Orthodox in 17 8 1 and requiring monarchical consent before any papal
bull could be made public in his lands, so agitated Pope Pius VI that he
hurried to Vienna in 1782 to admonish the emperor to reconsider his
reforms.39
Religious organizations also have been forces for cultural homoge­
nization— and thus nation-building—in other ways, by dictating dress
3 12 Eastern Europe

codes and social mores and molding the national language. The Serbian
Orthodox church, for instance, backed promulgation of the Serbian
language in its antiquated church variant, and both the Orthodox and
Catholic churches ardently advocated discrete alphabets. But where the
Orthodox clergy was united in its promotion of Cyrillic, the Catho­
lic church was divided between Glagolitic and Latinic supporters. The
appearance of an Old Croatian Catholic sect in 1923 may be taken as
a culmination of this long-simmering rift between papal loyalists and
those inclined to resist papal regulation. But where the restoration of an
independent Serbia placed the Serbian Orthodox church in a politically
dominant position, the fact that Croats always have been a minority
(in Hungary, in Austria-Hungary, in Yugoslavia) has tended to place the
church in Croatia, insofar as it defends the interests of Croats, in the
role of opposition. In an early instance of this, church leaders and lower
clergy fought Magyarization in Croatia and lent support to the nascent
Croatian national movement in the mid-nineteenth century.
The consequences of this evolution were that religion took on a
nationalist coloration, that religious tensions could easily spill over
into ethnic tensions and vice versa, and that the Yugoslav communists,
hostile to religion of all kinds, found that they could not launch an
assault on religion without inflaming nationalist temper.

ORTHODOXY UNDER THE COMMUNISTS

Of all the religious organizations in Yugoslavia the Serbian Orthodox

church was the first to reach a modus vivendi with the communists,
and its relations with the l c y have almost always been described, by
both regime and church representatives, as "satisfactory," even "good."
The one exception is that murky frontier zone where religious affir­
mation spills over into national sentiment and where an unmistak­
ably Serbian church speaks out for Serbian interests while a Yugoslav
regime endeavors to balance the interests of its sundry peoples, al­
ways safeguarding the interests of the ruling party itself. Thus, almost
the only criticism the regime ever lodges against Serbian Orthodoxy
is that it is nationalist40—and indeed it is unabashedly so. The Ser­
bian Orthodox church has become involved in nationalist causes on
all its frontiers: in Macedonia and Montenegro, where the church con­
tinues to view the local populations as Serbs; in Croatia, where the
 Yugoslavia 3 13

Croatian nationalist euphoria of 19 71 stimulated anti-Croatian senti­

ments among the Serbian minority within Croatia, provoking a strong
reaction on the part of the Serbian Orthodox church; and in Kosovo,
where the church takes a strong stand in defense of church monuments
and the rights of Serbs threatened by Albanian nationalist riots and
violence.
The long-standing controversy between the Serbian Orthodox church
and the Macedonian Orthodox church is the most serious issue affecting
the Serbian patriarchate's relations with the Belgrade regime. Far from
being merely an interchurch dispute, it impinges directly on Yugo­
slav nationalities policy, undermining the basis for the interethnic bal­
ance that legitimates the Yugoslav federal system. The crux of the
matter is that the regime welcomed the creation of the Macedonian
Orthodox church as a validation of its claim—contested by Bulgaria—
that the Macedonian people is ethnically distinct from the Bulgarian,
while the Serbian church, having already suffered one schism in the
secession of the overseas dioceses, was loathe to endure yet another
schism in what it considered its heartland.
After the abolition of the eight-hundred-year-old archbishopric of
Ohrid in r767, the first demand for a revived independent Macedo­
nian church was made in 1891 by Metropolitan Teodor of Skopje, when
the Macedonian eparchy of Veles was administratively part of the Bul­
garian exarchate. With the creation of Yugoslavia after World War I,
jurisdiction for Orthodox church affairs in Macedonia was transferred
to the Serbian patriarchate. The demand for an independent Macedo­
nian church was revived only twenty-five years later when, in March
1945, a council of local clergy and laity met in Partisan-held Skopje
and adopted a resolution proclaiming the right of the Macedonian na­
tion to a national church. Though this demand was brushed aside, the
government of the new Yugoslav republic of Macedonia backed con­
tinued efforts to establish an independent Macedonian church. In 1958
a council of Macedonian clergy took a first step toward autocephaly
by reestablishing the archbishopric of Ohrid, declaring the Macedo­
nian church autonomous, though in canonical unity with the Serbian
Orthodox church, and electing Bishop Dositej Stojkovic, a native of
Smederevo, archbishop of Ohrid and metropolitan of Macedonia. The
Macedonian government publicly supported these moves.
Finally, in the autumn of 1966 the Macedonians made a formal re­
31 4 Eastern Europe

quest for autocephaly, warning the Serbian patriarch, in a memorandum

of December 3, 1966, that they would act unilaterally if he should deny
his concurrence.41 When the patriarch nonetheless turned them down,
the Macedonians summoned an ecclesiastical soboi in Ohrid in mid-
July r967, on the bicentennial anniversary of the abolition of the arch­
bishopric of Ohrid, and proclaimed the autocephaly of the Macedonian
Orthodox church, seceding from the Serbian church.42 The government
attended the sobor in force, sending two members of the Macedonian
government, the heads of the Federal and Macedonian Commissions
for Religious Affairs, and the mayor of Ohrid. Once the proclamation
of autocephaly had been read, moreover, the president of the Federal
Commission for Religious Affairs announced that President Tito had
awarded the cordon of the Order of the Yugoslav Flag to Metropoli­
tan Dositej. Macedonian party chief Krste Crvenkovski telegraphed his
congratulations, and the Macedonian party daily, Nova Makedonija,
wrote that the proclamation would strengthen the brotherhood and
unity of Yugoslav peoples.43 Another Yugoslav writer, expressing the
official line, described the declaration as an important step in "the
full establishment of the independence of the Macedonian people and
nation."44
The Serbian Floly Synod denounced the secession and condemned the
schismatic clergy. In a series of articles in Pravoslavlje and Glasnik the
Serbian Orthodox patriarchate cast doubts on the existence of a sepa­
rate Macedonian people.45 Even today some Serbian Orthodox clergy
(among them certain bishops) dispute the existence of a Macedonian
nation and insist that Macedonians are in fact simply "south Serbs," as
they were called in the interwar kingdom.46
This allegation is intolerable to a regime that has long treated the
Macedonians with particular solicitude. The Yugoslav press reports
Macedonian cultural exhibits abroad far more often than it reports
exhibits of all its other peoples combined, gives excellent coverage to
Macedonian church events, and in July 1982 celebrated the fifteenth
anniversary of the church's autocephaly with laudatory articles in
Borba, Vjesnik, and elsewhere.47 The authorities applied pressure on
the Serbian Orthodox church to give in and, at regime insistence,
church commissions of the two Orthodox churches met for talks in
Prokhor Pchinski and Kalishta in 1978 and 1979. The meetings evi­
dently proved fruitless, and in early 1980 the Macedonian Commission
 Yugoslavia 315

for Religious Affairs warned that in addition to authorities of the Ser­

bian and Macedonian republics, governmental bodies of other republics
and of the federation itself might become involved if the Serbian pa­
triarchate remained incalcitrant. Subsequently, in October 1981 Nova
Makedonija pointedly noted that
the unresolved problems between the two Churches have caused
widespread displeasure not only in the Macedonian Orthodox
Church but also beyond it. . . . This matter is of political signifi­
cance as well and . . . its faster resolution is in the interest of the
entire Yugoslav community, the strengthening of fraternity and
unity among our peoples and nationalities and our community. . . .
[Moreover,) this matter w ill have not only domestic political but
also international consequences.48
Even as the Macedonian church was pulling away from the Belgrade
patriarchate, rumors began to surface that the party was favorably dis­
posed toward staging an encore in Montenegro. After all, if Macedonian
nationhood entitled Macedonia to its own autocephalous church, then
one could not deny the Montenegrins a church without denying their
nationhood—and to do that would destabilize the federation. Patri­
arch German Djoric of the Serbian Orthodox church was not prepared
to witness a third schism and evoked the party's displeasure in 1970
by asserting in a public speech in Montenegro that Montenegrins are
simply Serbs. The church felt itself threatened and its leading clerics
were vocal in their opposition to the planned erection of a secular
mausoleum on Mount Lovcen, a historical shrine in Montenegro, since
they feared that the design of the building could have provided a facile
first step toward the establishment of a separate Montenegrin Orthodox
church.49
It would be inaccurate to conclude from this that tfie Serbian Ortho­
dox church's nationalism consists only of obstructionis'm. Quite the
contrary—there is an active side to this nationalism as well. This ranges
from celebrating the Serbian literary language,50 to underwriting a
120,000-dinar loan to help finance construction of the Belgrade-Bar
railway (a project of vital importance for Serbia and Montenegro alike),51
to commemorating Vuk Karadzic and other heroes of Serbian history.52
In one of its most dramatic evocations of nationalist spirit the Ser­
bian patriarchate ceremoniously buried the remains of Tsar Dusan
3 i6 Eastern Europe

the Mighty (1308-55) in an ornate sarcophagus weighing 1.5 tons in

St. Mark's Church in Belgrade in 1968, as tens of thousands watched.
Dusan, who had usurped the throne from his father, had no claim to
sainthood, and Patriarch German made no such claim for him. The
church interred Dusan as a national hero, recalling its own earlier role
as guardian of Serbian culture. Patriarch German admitted as much
when he told the crowd that he was laying Dusan's remains to rest in
the cathedral to serve "as a perpetual sentinel at this outpost of Ortho­
dox Serbianism, to be a vigilant protector of religion and patriotism."53
More recently, after violent Albanian riots in Kosovo in April 1981
destroyed a whole wing of the ancient patriarchate of Pec, including
the living quarters of the patriarch, a nuns' refectory, a sick ward, a
workshop, and a large number of icons and books, and sent thousands
of Serbs and Montenegrins streaming out of Kosovo, Pravoslavlje pub­
lished an "Appeal for the Protection of the Serbian Inhabitants and Their
Holy Places in Kosovo," signed by twenty-one priests. The document
assailed the regime's policy in Kosovo as inadequate and reminded
its readers that Kosovo's importance for the Serbs is comparable to
Jerusalem's importance for the Jews. "The question of Kosovo," the ap­
peal declared, "is a question of the spiritual, cultural, and historical
identity of the Serbian people. . . . Kosovo is our memory, our hearth,
the focus of our being." And in ominous tones the appeal added that if
"Kosovo ceases to be ours . . . we cease to be what we are!"54 Vesnik,
the Serbian church's other newspaper, amplified this in its May 1982
issue, defending the church's right to speak out on Kosovo as "a right
founded not least on the fact that the Serbian Church is an inalienable
element of the national identity, conscience, and honor of the Serbian
people."55 The regime does not concede the church this right, however,
as it is incompatible with the party's policy of restricting religion to
the "private" sphere and of keeping the churches out of politics; not
surprisingly, then, Pravoslavlje was quickly rebutted in the Yugoslav j
press.56
Yet instead of retreating, the Serbian church continued to speak out
on the subject of Kosovo, criticizing the regime and expressing concern
for the welfare of the Serbian population of Kosovo. In May r987, for in­
stance, Vesnik, the organ of the Serbian Orthodox priests' association,
fired a volley, charging that "even after six years of open counterrevolu­
tion in Kosovo, there is still no Yugoslav program to assure Serbian
 Yugoslavia 3 17

and Montenegrin survival in Kosovo." After enumerating the number

of Serbs and Montenegrins who were forced to flee the province in
1986 and recalling how many physical attacks on Serbs, explosions, and
various acts of sabotage had occurred that year, the paper added, "The
Serbian Orthodox Church has the legal and moral right to rise energeti­
cally to the defense of its vital interests in Kosovo."57 The church has
been quite open about its nationalism, identifying it as "the devotion
and loyalty of a people to the principles by which it lives."58 Not sur­
prisingly, one hears Serbian clergy say, "We, in the Serbian Orthodox
Church, think nationalism is a good thing. We think it is good to be
nationalist."59
Ironically, the regime may, in a sense, be pleased that the Serbian
Orthodox church has taken such a clear stand against the Albanian
irredentists whose actions have destabilized the province of Kosovo.
Regime and church obviously have a common enemy. In fact, by early
1987 regime spokesmen began to pressure the Catholic church and
the Islamic community to speak out against Albanian irredentism,
even going so far as to insinuate that the Islamic religious community
in Macedonia and Kosovo was sympathetic to the Albanians.60 The
Supreme Council of the Islamic Community hurried to set the record
straight and to publicly disassociate itself from the Albanian national­
ist upheaval,61 while the Catholic newspaper Glas koncila commented
several months later, somewhat elliptically, that since Kosovo was in­
habited essentially by Orthodox and Muslim believers, it was above all
for those religious groups to comment to the extent that the situation
was a matter for religious organizations. The Catholic paper added that
the Catholic church naturally believed that every people had a right to
live in its own homeland and should not be driven from that homeland
by force.62
Hence, on the one hand, the regime has been happy to put the nation­
alism of the Serbian Orthodox church to work in Kosovo, and has even
asked the other religious organizations to get politically involved. On
the other hand, the regime has not shied from exploiting the charge of
"nationalism" to brand clergy it wished to undercut or, as periodically
happens, to imprison. Thus, the prominent Serbian Orthodox theo­
logian Bishop Nikolaj Velimirovic, who founded a highly successful
pietist movement in Serbia and Bosnia, and who died in the United
States in 1956, was attacked in a series of articles in Oslobodjenje in
318 Eastern Europe

September 1981, essentially because Velimirovic was an articulate anti­

communist and—as both church people and regime officials privately
admit—in order to provide a "balance" for regime attacks on Croatia's
Archbishop Stepinac. The charge leveled against Velimirovic, however,
was not anticommunism but nationalist chauvinism.63 Similarly, Fr.
Sava Bankovic, who had served twenty years in prison for having al­
legedly sympathized with noncommunist guerrillas during the war,
was returned to prison in 1973 on charges of "hostile propaganda" after
making an autobiographical entry in the guest book at the Sremski
Karlovci monastery.64 Bishop Vasilije of Zica was imprisoned for thirty
days in October 1972 after having allegedly made nationalist remarks
in a church sermon. And on December 30, 1980, Nedjo Janjic, another
Serbian priest, went to prison for six years for singing nationalist songs
during a party to celebrate the baptism of his son.65
The Serbian Orthodox church has long been as much a political orga­
nization as a religious one, and its nationalist demeanor has always
been more important than its liturgical role. To expect it to voluntarily
relinquish its historic role as guardian of the Serbian people, as the
party demands, is to expect it to concur voluntarily in its own atrophy.

CATHOLICISM A N D NATIONALISM

Throughout the nineteenth century Catholic clergy championed the in­

terests of Croats and Slovenes. In Croatia the Catholic church actively
backed the struggle for national autonomy (threatened by Magyariza-
tion), and in Slovenia the church fought to protect the Slovenian
language in the face of cultural Germanization, defending the use of
Slovenian in church liturgy. The church continued to act as the guard­
ian of the secular interests of its Croatian and Slovenian flock. In
practice the linkage of Catholicism and "nationalism" is manifest in
the church's protection of (r) the interests of Croats in Croatia, (2) thei
interests of Slovenes in Slovenia, (3) the interests of Croats in Bosnia,
Vojvodina (where it has remonstrated against "the danger of Hungari-
anization threatening Croats in Backa"),66 and elsewhere in Yugoslavia,
(4) the interests of Croats abroad, and (5) its own interests (in which it
finds important symbols of ecclesiastical achievements denigrated by
the l c y ).
The missionary expansionism that fueled the church's earlier equa­
 Yugoslavia 319

tion of Croatian or Slovenian national identity with adherence to the

Catholic faith is a thing of the past. Lately, most of the important
contemporary church leaders in Yugoslavia, including Franjo Cardinal
Kuharic of Zagreb, Archbishop Frane Franic of Split, Franciscan theo­
logian Tomislav Sagi-Bunic, and Fr. Zivko Rustic, editor of the weekly
Catholic newspaper Glas koncila, have at one time or another publicly
repudiated the equation of national identity with Catholicism.67 This
has not prevented party representatives from portraying the church's
protection of its flock as "clerical nationalism." In a typical statement
of the party line a Vjesnik commentator insisted that the church was
still filled with
proponents of the idea of the identity of the religious and the
national [who] in every way and on every occasion are trying to
prove that the national and religious history are identical, for exam­
ple, in other words, an organic link of the Church with the Croatian
people, and accordingly, the thesis that the Church is the only true
bearer of the nation and interpreter of national interests. . . . The
meaning is clear: Catholicism is interpreted as the basis of the
Croatian nation, its culture and history, and therefore as an alter­
native future of the Croatian people. The political consequences
of this clerical-nationalism become obvious when one links it to
its original thesis: that considering the century-long link of the
Catholic Church in Croatia with Rome, the Croats as a nation are
definitely oriented to the West. And it is indeed not difficult to
discern what is hidden behind such a position.68
The insinuation that the Catholic church operates as a de facto seces­
sionist organization—coupled with regular accusations that leading
Catholic clergy have fascist sympathies and are linked with terrorist
(Jstase organizations abroad—is patently absurd, since if it were true,
it is clear that the regime would not hesitate for a moment to launch
an all-out campaign against the church.
The heart of the matter is that the party resents the presence of any
independent institution representing the interests of a sector of the
population. The party ascribes to itself exclusive legitimacy as advocate
of the interests of Yugoslav society. The church's concern for human
rights in Slovenia and Croatia, and for national rights in Croatia, is a
challenge to the party monopoly. In order to buttress its position the
320 Eastern Europe

party frequently reiterates its ritual incantation that "every national­

ism is dangerous." But this is a proposition that the Catholic church
refuses to accept. In his papal encyclical Populorum piogressio, Pope
Paul VI condemned "exaggerated nationalism," i.e., racism, but empha­
sized that some nationalism is constructive. In the same vein Croatian
theologian Sagi-Bunic distinguished between "healthy nationalism,"
which he allowed might also be termed "patriotism," and "unhealthy
nationalism," and argued that Christianity "must be national, must be
patriotic; Christians must be patriots."69 The church, moreover, views
itself as the legitimate representative of Catholic peoples in general,
and thus of Croats and Slovenes as well. "If anyone can speak of the
history of the Croatian people," Zagreb's Archbishop Franjo Cardinal
Kuharic declared in 1983, "it is the Church which lives in their midst
and which has been present in all the centuries of this often difficult
and painful history so that this Church simply becomes the soul of that
history."70 Kuharic returned to this theme in a 1987 interview with the
Catholic monthly Veritas, arguing there that "freedom is indivisible:
religious, social, [and] national freedom are one freedom and the right
of every human being. That," he added, "is the teaching of the [Sec­
ond Vatican] Council."71 Even among the small number of Albanian
Catholics in Kosovo (7 percent of the province's Albanian population),
the Catholic clergy have shown sympathy for national culture.72
The Croatian Catholic church's defense of Croatian interests en­
meshed it in the politics of the Croatian Spring, 19 6 7 -71. Some clergy­
men, perhaps most, welcomed Matica hrvatska's more active profile
and encouraged Croats to join the nationalist organization. The church
entered into negotiations with the Croatian government of Savka
Dabcevic-Kucar and Miko Tripalo and was confident that Catholics
soon were to be granted greater equality with atheists and wider
opportunities in Croatia.73 Clusters of Catholic clergy in Rijeka, Split,
Zadar, and Zagreb literally were swept up by the nationalist euphoria
and became involved in what came to be called the "Croatian mass
movement." "Franciscan priests and reactionary intellectuals" had
been rebuked already in 1970, by Borba, for having collected data on
the number of Croats occupying positions of political responsibility in
Herzegovina,74 and several priests were criticized for claiming that the
party discriminated against Croatia. Dr. Ive Bagaric drew fire for writ­
ing, in the regional church periodical NaSa, that "Croatia for several
 Yugoslavia 321

years has had more graves than cradles—it is dying!" 75 Legal proceed­
ings were initiated against Friars Jeronim Setka and Krsto Krizanic,
together with Mate Marcinko, for publication of a "Croatian Prayer"
in a 19 7 1 issue of Vjesnik Sv. Nikole Tavelica, in which Croatia was
portrayed as "wretched and nameless."76 In the midst of the Croatian
nationalist euphoria, Archbishop Franic of Split organized a "double
anniversary of the Croatian people" in Solin, celebrating the thirteen
hundredth anniversary of Croatian Christianity and the thousandth
anniversary of the construction of the first Croatian university at
Solin. The ceremonies were attended by seven cardinals, thirty bishops,
and three hundred priests and were described as having a nationalist
dimension. Regime representatives commented that this nationalist
dimension was designed to win converts to Catholicism.77 The removal
of Dabcevic-Kucar and Tripalo from power in December 19 7 1 and the
subsequent suppression of many periodicals and institutions that had
adopted a nationalist position, including the venerable Matica hivatska
society, represented a setback not only for those Croats who had
hoped to improve Croatia's position within the federation but also for
Catholic-Marxist dialogue, which had been pursued with some vigor
until then.78
A high-ranking Croatian clergyman told me in 1982 that a number
of clergymen, including himself, were convinced that Croatia con­
tinues to be discriminated against, that Croats are underrepresented
at all levels of government, that the laws of Yugoslavia are applied
nowhere as strictly as in Croatia, that the Serbs are ruling Croatia to­
day, and that Croatia was better off in the Habsburg Empire.79 This is, of
course, a typical expression of the Croatian nationalist position.80 After
Archbishop Kuharic told a crowd of 250,000 Croats gathered at Nin
to celebrate the eleven hundredth anniversary of papal recognition of
Croatia that ninth-century Croatian Prince Branimir had "understood
that the young baptized Croatian nation had the right to its own life,
and the right to be free,"81 compounding this by his regular practice of
talking about "our Croatian homeland," while rarely, if ever, mention­
ing Yugoslavia, the official Yugoslav news agency Tanjug reprimanded
Kuharic for attempting to revive "counterrevolution," "clericalism,"
and "fascist bigotry."82 Predictably, a proposal to establish a "Catholic
Croatian Day" was turned down, with the explanation that the church
was trying to stir up nationalist hatred.83 In addition, there is the annual
322, Eastern Europe

New Year's reception of religious leaders at the Croatian Assembly.

Kuharic, as a hierarch whose jurisdiction is restricted to Croatian ter­
ritory and who is addressing on these occasions representatives of the
government of the Republic of Croatia, typically wishes "you and all
your co-workers in the government of S.R. Croatia every fortune in
the execution of your tasks and responsibilities for the progress, honor,
and dignity of the Croatian people and all the inhabitants in the area
of Croatia."84 And typically he is subsequently attacked in the press
for not mentioning Yugoslavia (even though no representatives of the
Yugoslav federal government attend, and even though he could scarcely
wish the government of Croatia success in carrying out tasks outside
Croatia) or the Serbs in Croatia (even though they are only one, albeit
the largest, of a number of minorities in that republic).
Almost as unpopular with the regime is the Croatian church's resolve
to maintain contact with Croats abroad—whether in Germany, Aus­
tralia, or elsewhere. When Archbishop fosip Pavlisic of Rijeka and Senj
made a private visit to South and North America in December 1974 he
was upbraided for being a guest of "notorious Ustase exiles," a charge
later denied by the Episcopal Conference of Yugoslavia. Again, in late
1986, Boiba tried to portray a routine pastoral visit by Cardinal Kuharic
to the Croatian community in Peru as an Ustase event. In this instance,
the Croatian daily Vjesnik sprang to Kuharic's defense and cited Yugo­
slav diplomats in Peru to the effect that Boiba's claims were "without
foundation."85 The Catholic church is in some sense nationalist, but
not in that sense. Kuharic and others in the Croatian church are nation­
alist in the sense that they want to nurture and protect the spiritual
values and historical memory (embedded in culture) of the Croatian
people. But even this form of nationalism is vulnerable to regime criti­
cism. Hence, publication by the Croatian church of the book Katolicka
cikva i Hivati izvan domovine [The Catholic Church and Croats Out­
side the Homeland] in 1980 drew criticism from Vjesnik for its em- |
phasis on ties of language, culture, and tradition, rather than on the
political system.86 It is revealing that when Archbishop Kuharic visited
Australia in late 1981, he addressed a crowd of seven thousand people
as "m y Croatian brothers of Catholic and Muslim faiths," giving the
lie to the regime's claim that Kuharic equates Croatian ethnicity with
Catholicism and at the same time directly challenging the regime's
assertion that Bosnian Muslims are a distinct nationality group.87 The
 Yugoslavia 323

overt nationalist temper associated with ecclesiastical events among

émigré Croats was illustrated during Pope John Paul II's visit to Austria
in summer ^ 8 3 , when Catholic Croats residing in Austria turned out
in force, displaying Croatian flags shorn of the communist red star and
slogans such as "The Croats w ill always be loyal to the pope and to
Croatia."88
Finally, the church has become entangled in nationalist issues
through the defense of its own interests. Specifically, since some of its
leading clerics of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, attacked by
the party for genocide and other sins, have also acquired the status of
Croatian heroes (Archbishop Stepinac being the most important exam­
ple, but Catholic Action activist Ivan Merz and wartime Bishop Kvirin
Klement Bonefacié of Split-Makarska having figured in recent debates
also), the defense of its own prelates becomes, ipso facto, a "national­
ist" position.

M USLIM NATIONALISM

Muslim nationalism's situation is different for at least three reasons:

(1) the absence of an institutionalized hierarchical church infrastruc­
ture; (2) the difficulty in denying the link between Islam and Mus­
lim ethnicity (though that has not prevented the l c y from doing just
that, albeit obliquely); and (3) the l c y ' s interest in reinforcing Muslim
national consciousness as a foil against the Serbs and Croats of Bosnia.
The third reason is tantamount to saying that the Muslims are both a
necessary and a favored group in Yugoslavia, and thus Muslim nation­
alism poses a much more complex dilemma for the party than either
Croatian or Serbian nationalism. Indeed, up to the mid-1970s it was
evidently a widespread assumption among party people that Muslim
nationalism was somehow "different," that it was "more naive," and
perhaps "not dangerous."89
Although a separate Bosnian republic was created precisely to pre­
vent either Croatia or Serbia from dominating the postwar federation,
Belgrade was slow to accord the Muslims status as a nationality group.
The 1948 census allowed Muslims to list themselves as "Serbian Mus­
lim s" (161,036 did so), "Croatian Muslims" (29,071), or "Macedonian
M uslim s" (37,096), and it was only in the .1961 census that Muslims
were permitted to declare themselves "Muslims in an ethnic sense"
324 Eastern Europe

(and 842,247 did).90 Muslims (and Croats) continued to be treated as

second-class citizens in Bosnia, however, until the reversal of policy
signaled by the removal of police chief Aleksandar Rankovic in July
1966.91 Finally, in February 1968 the central committee of the League
of Communists of Bosnia-Herzegovina elevated Muslims from "ethnic
group" to "separate nation" status.
Despite outspoken criticism from some disbelieving Serbs, who re­
fused to believe that the Muslims were a distinct nationality, the Mus­
lims enjoyed almost unqualified party support from r966 to early 1972.,
when two leading Muslim politicians in Bosnia, Avdo Humo and Os­
man Karabegovic, were dismissed from their posts for alleged Muslim
nationalism. In the wake of the 1971 census, Muslim nationalists in
Bosnia had become inflamed with the desire to have Bosnia redesig­
nated a "Muslim Republic" in the same way that Serbia is the Republic
of the Serbs and Macedonia the Republic of the Macedonians.92 The
Muslim clergy (the ulema) became outspoken advocates of change, and
time and again they applied for permission to establish Muslim cul­
tural institutions.93 But despite l c y eagerness to have Muslim national
identity entrench itself and thus cut the Muslims off from Catholic
Croats and Orthodox Serbs, it has consistently refused to allow the
establishment of a Matica muslimanska, even though a Matica sip-
ska continues to function. This apparent inconsistency is due to l c y
fear that expanding the sphere in which the Bosnian ulema can exert
pressure on the regime would only complicate its endeavor to retain
its monopoly as representative for all nationalities. The regime, in ef­
fect, wants to have it both ways: to use religion as a base for Muslim
ethnicity and yet to deny the link.
The ulema, by contrast, note forthrightly the link between Islamic
religious culture and the sense of Muslim ethnicity. From this, they
conclude that they have a role to play as the communal leaders of their
people.94
Some Bosnian ulema have argued publicly that religious organiza­
tions can engage in "positive political activity," but the party has always
insisted that any political activity on the part of religious organizations
is, by definition, negative. Most observers ascribe little importance
to the Islamic revival abroad in stimulating Muslim nationalism in
Bosnia. But it is clear that in the 1970s, in the wake of the proclama­
tion of the "Muslim nation" in 1968, Muslim nationalism has become
 Yugoslavia 325

a political factor in Bosnia, and the ulema, as well as the staff of

the Islamic newspaper Pieporod, have repeatedly shown their indepen­
dence where Muslim collective interests are concerned. By late 1980
the Yugoslav Islamic revival was affecting Croatia as well. In October
certain Croatian Muslims demanded the right to "organize themselves
as a separate nation" and to set up autonomous cultural organizations in
Croatia— this despite the fact that there had been only 18,457 Muslims
registered in Croatia in the previous census.95 In January 1981 Imam
Serko Omerbasic, president of the Ilmija Association of S.R. Croatia,
felt constrained to disassociate himself from these currents and to urge
Croatia's Muslims to "energetically oppose" Pan-Islamism.96
The Islamic revival in Yugoslavia is in part a reaction to processes of
assimilation and Westernization which threaten the integration of the
Islamic community. If the Yugoslav Muslim awakening ought not to be
viewed as an ancillary of the Islamic awakening in the Middle East, then
it is clear, on the one hand, that Bosnia's special relationship with the
Middle East has served to reinforce Muslim consciousness. Numerous
Sarajevo enterprises have been active for years in bilateral deals with
Iraq, Syria, and other Middle Eastern states. Moreover, Libyan leader
Muammar al-Qaddafi, who describes the Libyan system as "Koranic
socialism," has displayed keen interest in the fortunes of Yugoslavia's
Muslims. In November 1982, for instance, Qaddafi met with the mufti
of Belgrade and other Islamic dignitaries during a visit to Yugoslavia
and promised financial assistance for the construction of mosques in
Belgrade.97
Relations between the ulema and the regime remain uneasy. Illus­
trative of this is an article that appeared in Vecernje novosti, reporting
that Muslim children in Bujanovac "are being overburdened with reli­
gious instruction" and claiming that religious instruction was being
used as a vehicle for the dissemination of Muslim nationalism.98 The
party wants to reinforce Muslim ethnic identity, to be sure. But the
ulema views itself as the representative of the Muslim people, whereas
the l c y wants the ulema to resign itself to the role of liturgical asso­
ciation.
In 1983 a lengthy Pan-Islamic declaration came to light. Written by
a fifty-eight-year-old Bosnian lawyer, Alija Izetbegovic, the declaration
rejected both socialism and the concept of coexistence with other peo­
ples. According to Izetbegovic, "there is no peace or coexistence be­
326 Eastern Europe

tween the 'Islamic faith' and other non-Islamic social and political sys­
tems. . . . Islam clearly denies the right and opportunity of activity in
its own domain to any alien ideology." He went on to reject as alien
any nationalism based on folklore and language, linked authentic Mus­
lim self-identity exclusively with Islam, and concluded that "in the
Muslim world there is no patriotism without Islam."99 Izetbegovic and
twelve other Muslim intellectuals, including an imam and a teacher at
a Muslim religious school, were subsequently arrested for having con­
spired to execute the principles set forth in the "Islamic Declaration"
and ultimately sentenced to terms averaging eight years in length.100
A new trial of alleged Muslim nationalists was conducted in spring
1987. The accused—Fadil Fadilpasic, Munib Zahiragic, and Ibrahim
Avdic—were tried for conspiring to overthrow the Yugoslav political
system and establish an "ethnically pure Islamic republic" in Bosnia-
Herzegovina, if necessary by means of a jihad (holy war). They were
also said to have made contact with "hostile émigrés" in Turkey and
to have obtained, from those émigrés, a copy of the "Islamic Declara­
tion." Given the gravity of the charges, it is somewhat surprising that
they were sentenced to terms ranging from only two to five years in
prison.101

CO N CLU SIO N

Yugoslav religious policy is affected by ethnic and nationality con­

siderations in at least three ways. First, the linkage of religion and
nationalism strengthens the religious organization, reinforcing its le­
gitimacy as a political actor and compelling the regime to calculate the
effects of religious repression on individual nationality groups. Second,
the l c y ' s desire to reinforce Macedonian and Muslim ethnic identi­
ties has led the regime to adopt a very cooperative attitude vis-à-vis
the Macedonian Orthodox church and to tread softly where Muslims
are concerned (e.g., far fewer Muslim clergy have been imprisoned—
if any—than either Catholic or Orthodox). Regime endorsement of the
religion-nationalism linkage in Macedonia is corroborated by the fact
that while other universities are named for Yugoslav socialists and com­
munists (e.g., the Edvard Kardelj University of Ljubljana, the Veljko Vla-
hovié University of Titograd, the Djemal Bijedic University of Mostar,
and the Svetozar Markovic University Library of the University of Bel­
 Yugoslavia 327

grade), the University of Skopje is named for the medieval monks, Cyril
and Methodius. In a further concession to Macedonian sensitivites the
l c y ruled in 1970 that it was legitimate for a Muslim who spoke Mace­

donian to declare himself a Macedonian—a prerogative that had been

contested by the Bosnian party.102 Third, insofar as the l c y may fear
that ethnic tensions in one republic will spread to other republics (as
was said to be the case after the massive Albanian nationalist riots
in the province of Kosovo in April 1981), the linkage of religion and
nationalism may serve to stimulate an antireligious campaign.
This chapter has reviewed the position and activities, as they impinge
on nationalism, of three religious bodies in Yugoslavia—the Serbian
Orthodox church, the Catholic church, and the Islamic community—
describing, as well, the unique position enjoyed by the Macedonian
Orthodox church. The relation of the Catholic church to Slovenian
nationalism was passed over chiefly because Slovenian nationalism has
been fainter, so that aside from making a few declarations ruling out
Slovenian secession, the Catholic hierarchy in Slovenia has concen­
trated on the defense of human and ecclesiastical rights. Of the re­
maining religious organizations in Yugoslavia, none make any tangible
impact on Yugoslav nationalities policy. The l c y continues to instruct
the churches to abandon politics, of course. But in a multiethnic state
it is inevitable that ethnically associated churches will play political
roles.
14

R eligion and N ation alism in Rom ania

Trond G ilberg

Historians and anthropologists have long puzzled over the seeming dis­
appearance of the Romanians after the withdrawal of the Roman out­
posts in Dacia around a . d . 2 7 1 . There is little documentary evidence
of their habitation over the next millennium, and this has resulted in
a number of allegations by other, competing, ethnic groups that there
was no continuity in historical tradition between the descendants of
the Roman legions and the "Wallachs," (Romanian-speaking people of
Wallachia), who reappear in the historical record in the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. Romanian nationalists, on the other hand, claim
that there was indeed such an unbroken link; the descendants of the
Dacians and the Romans retreated to the mountain redoubts of Tran­
sylvania and other inaccessible places and there nurtured their culture,
their habits, and, above all, their language. In fact, the extraordinary
staying power of the Romanian nation was demonstrated by the sur­
vival of this culture and the Romanian language (which is clearly Latin
in structure and much of its vocabulary) in the face of severe repres­
sion by a number of rapacious invaders and occupiers. The Romanian
nationalists increasingly argue that the only reason for such linguistic
and cultural survival was, in fact, the superiority of Romanian culture \
in relation to that of the cultures of the occupiers. This argument in­
deed represents a mainstay in contemporary Romanian historiography,
and it has become a main point in the contemporary national chauvin­
ism of the Ceau§escu regime.1
When the Romanians do reappear in the historical records of the
Middle Ages, their ethnic homogeneity is fortified by the massive ac­
ceptance among them of the Orthodox religion. Throughout the dark
 Romania 329

centuries of Turkish overlordship, with its endemic corruption and hor­

rendous exploitation of the Wallach peasant masses, this religious ad­
herence provided the peasants with a guiding light in the darkness of
oppression, representing one of the most important elements of their
astonishing ability to survive even the most brutal of overlords. The
orthodox priests and the church hierarchy, in turn, became the chief
protectors of the Romanian language and cultural tradition. It was the
village priests that provided secular leadership as well, as the subju­
gated nation faced the exploiters, who came from other nations and
other religions. The churches also provided the Romanians with the
education (what little there was of it) of the peasants, and the priest­
hood became virtually the only vehicle of upward social mobility for
ambitious individuals in the peasant masses.2
The importance of religion and the Orthodox church for the main­
tenance of national consciousness in Moldavia and Wallachia was
matched by a similar function in Transylvania, which was under Habs-
burg rule for centuries. The Magyars and the Saxons had a privileged
status in Transylvania, in political, socioeconomic, and religious terms,
as "accepted" nations with "accepted" religions, while the Romanians
and their Orthodox religion were merely "tolerated." This religious
discrimination took various forms. Financially, the regime provided
adequate subsidies to the Catholics, while the Saxon Protestants on
the crown lands provided for their own churches and educational in­
stitutions from a base of relative economic prosperity. When Protes­
tantism made serious inroads among elements of the Magyar popula­
tion in Transylvania, it had significant support from the nobility, and
thus received rather generous allotments from them. The Orthodox
masses, primarily Romanians, on the other hand, lived in utter m is­
ery, discriminated against in socioeconomic and political terms, and
certainly in religious matters as well. The Orthodox church was forced
to maintain itself by means of the meager resources of the exploited
peasantry. Furthermore, the Romanian Orthodox were under the juris­
diction of the Orthodox cardinal at Karlowitz in ethnic Serb territory
—an unhappy fact that led to numerous complaints among the Roma­
nian clergy of discrimination against them and corresponding favorit­
ism shown toward Serb congregations. Finally, in the second half of
the eighteenth century the Catholic hierarchy of the Habsburg Empire,
strongly supported by the secular authorities, launched a major offen-
330 Eastern Europe

sive against the established Orthodox church in Transylvania and suc­

ceeded in founding a rival organization, the so-called Uniate church,
that accepted the jurisdiction of Rome and not of Constantinople, even
though much of the doctrine and liturgy of the Uniates remained close
to that of the Orthodox.3
The severe political and religious discrimination perpetrated against
the Romanians of Transylvania indicated that the leaders of the Habs-
burg Empire, and especially the Hungarians, fully realized the potential
for a confluence of ethnicity and religion into a powerful nationalistic
combination that might prove fatal to the chauvinistic aspirations of
Budapest in Transylvania. The Hungarians wanted to keep the Roma­
nian masses in a state of economic and political helotry and used the
Orthodox church and religious doctrine to maintain political quiet in
the despised Wallach masses; at the same time the establishment of
the Uniate church showed the strong proselytizing tendencies emanat­
ing from Budapest (these tendencies became markedly more powerful
during the nineteenth century, in favor of direct conversion to Roman
Catholicism). Conversely, there were strong measures against any real
Romanian nationalism based upon religion and the existing Orthodox
hierarchy. The urgency of this "blocking policy" can be understood
from the fact that the Romanians constituted the largest ethnic group
in Transylvania; their growth rate was consistently higher than that of
the Magyars and Germans throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries.4
It seems clear that religion in general, and Orthodoxy in particular,
represented a vital element of national defense for the Romanians
in Moldavia and Wallachia, and also Transylvania, in the face of
severe repression suffered in all three provinces by the Romanian
peasant masses. But religion also became an important element in the
occasional periods of greatness that the otherwise dismal Middle Ages
represent in Romanian history. The political and military exploits of
Michael the Brave and Stephen the Great, extolled in contemporary
Romanian historiography, were undertaken with liberal references to
God, the church, and the faithful, and there is little doubt that this
connection helped inspire the peasant masses and soldiers who manned
the victorious armies against Turks and other "infidels." Up until the
second half of the eighteenth century, when a secular national revival
 Romania 3 31

began in earnest among the ethnic Romanians, religion still repre­

sented the most cohesive force in this group.5
The establishment of the Uniate church, sponsored by the Catholic
rulers in Vienna as an important source of political influence in Tran­
sylvania (as well as a mechanism for proselytism), was an important
development for the masses of ethnic Romanians in that troubled re­
gion. Instead of becoming a willing instrument in the hands of Vienna,
the Uniate church leaders used the emperor's need for a reliable ally in
Transylvania against the recalcitrant nobility there to gain advantages
for the Romanians in religious, socioeconomic, and political matters.
The first Uniate church leader to use the political situation for this pur­
pose was Ion Ionochentie Clain, who became a forceful spokesman for
Romanian rights in all areas of activity. Clain's multifarious activities
on behalf of the Romanian nation included frequent trips to Vienna
to plead the case of his conationals in Transylvania; the "spreading
of the word" of Romanian nationalism from the pulpits of a church
that was no longer merely tolerated but, in fact, part of the established
order in the empire; and a wide variety of publishing ventures, includ­
ing grammars, dictionaries, and historical works, designed to enhance
the use of the Romanian language and to maintain the idea of histori­
cal continuity in Romanian national life. The Uniate church center at
Blaj became a major focus of Romanian nationalism in the eighteenth
century, and it was from this center that the confluence of clerical
and secular Romanian nationalism, often known as the "Transylvania
School," emerged to become a most important political phenomenon
in the nineteenth century.6

N A T IO N A L REVIVAL A N D RELIGIOUS COHESION

During the second half of the eighteenth century a number of trends

combined to produce a revival of national consciousness in much of
Europe. The Balkans became a veritable hotbed of this development,
fueled by the fact that many ethnic groups, with different religions,
lived interspersed with each other under the political and military
control of three major empires—the Habsburg, the Ottoman, and the
Romanov—each autocratic and in no small way corrupt, each possessed
332. Eastern Europe

of a religious establishment bent upon its own expansion into the

hearts and minds of the subjugated peoples of the region. The Ottoman
Empire was already in an advanced stage of decomposition, ruled by
dissolute and corrupt sultans who sold thrones and taxation rights
throughout the still far-flung empire, thus stimulating all manner of
venality and rapacity. Nowhere was this more evident than in the prov­
inces of Moldavia and Wallachia, ruled by the exploitative Phanariot
Greeks in the name of the Ottoman sultan.7
This undesirable political system had a few major, if unintended,
effects. First of all, the repression of the Romanian peasantry inspired
thoughts of rebellion that occasionally were transformed into actual
uprisings, the most famous of which was the violent peasant revolt
of 18 2 1 led by a boyar, Tudor Vladimirescu. The repressive measures
undertaken on this and other occasions helped radicalize the peasant
masses still further, while the martyrdom of Tudor and others produced
the legends of nationalism so necessary for future political mobiliza­
tion. Second, the Turkish and Phanariot regimes, notoriously corrupt,
were also limited regimes: the princes and their tax collectors cared
little about political developments in the "dark masses" as long as
they managed to extract their numerous taxes and contributions. This
made it possible for the emerging nationalism of the Romanians to de­
velop further, guided and pushed along by the religious leaders and the
nationally conscious lay leaders of the villages and some of the cities.8
The history of Romanian nationalism in the nineteenth century is
indeed the history of these two trends coming together: the trend of
emerging national sentiment, fortified by the abiding hold of religion,
among the masses of the Romanian population; and the joining of
hands between the religious and lay leaders of the Wallachs to propel
the downtrodden masses toward a national state of their own, with a
national church established in the Romanian capital (be it Bucharest
or Ia§i) as the ultimate symbol of the union of nationalism and reli­
gion. These trends were clearly evident during the revolutionary year
1848; in the mid-i850s, when the principalities of Moldavia and Wal-
lachia achieved political union with only a minimal tie to the Porte;
and in 1876-78, when the two provinces finally were joined in the
Kingdom of Romania. The first prince, Alexander Ion Cuza, accepted
the crown as a manifestation of political nationalism and the blessing
of the faithful, and the first king, King Charles, exhibited similar sen­
 Romania 333

sibilities toward the church and the faithful as he ruled in the name
of both religious and secular authority. His successors adopted much
the same attitude as Romania struggled through the difficult decades
after independence. When the Balkan Wars reduced the Ottoman Em­
pire to utter political and military helplessness and very nearly drove
the Turks from Europe, Romanian foreign policy was influenced heav­
ily by the regime's commitment to furthering both national aspirations
and the cause of Orthodoxy. And when Transylvania finally was joined
with the rest of Romania on December 1, 1918, this momentous devel­
opment was hailed as the spiritual as well as the temporal fulfillment
of Romania's destiny.9 Throughout the decades between independence
and unification, nationalism and religion remained the mainstays of
the political elite in domestic affairs as well, regardless of the liberal or
conservative coloration of the many ministries that came and went in
Romania.10
In Transylvania the importance of the Orthodox church as a de­
fender of religion and promoter of Romanian nationalism was even
more marked than in the Old Kingdom (Moldavia and Wallachia). The
Habsburg Empire, and especially its Hungarian branch, was bent upon
converting the Romanian peasant masses. In the second half of the
nineteenth century active Magyarization of other ethnic groups was
official policy. A ll kinds of discriminatory practices were undertaken
against the Orthodox Romanians in the socioeconomic, political, and
religious realms, and the haughty representatives of Budapest's chau­
vinism repeatedly denied the existence of a Romanian nation, demand­
ing instead the acceptance of Magyardom in all fields. It fell to the
Orthodox church and its leaders to defend both the secular and the
spiritual dimensions of the Romanian nation against the ferocious on­
slaught. In this struggle the leader of the Orthodox church in Transyl­
vania, Andreiu §aguna, occupied the most important position.11
§aguna's political and religious strategy was extremely resourceful,
given the restrictions under which he operated. He pledged firm alle­
giance to the throne of Habsburg and frequently appealed to the sensi­
bilities of Vienna against the excesses of Magyarization perpetrated by
Budapest. At the same time he assiduously expanded the religious, edu­
cational, and political activities of the church in the Romanian peasant
population, gradually enhancing both religious and political conscious­
ness. This approach met with many problems, including the arrogant
334 Eastern Europe

nationalism of the Magyar political leadership in Transylvania and the

chauvinism of their superiors in Budapest; furthermore, the rivalry be­
tween the Orthodox under the leadership of §aguna and the Uniates
under Bishop §ulu{iu was debilitating politically, but §aguna succeeded
in furthering the cause of Romanian nationalism in a number of ways,
both in the secular and spiritual realms. His ambitions were crowned
with the establishment of a Romanian Orthodox seat at Alba Iulia in
1864, thus freeing the Romanian Orthodox from the control of Kar-
lowitz, the seat of the Serbian Orthodox. This great religious victory
was celebrated in the Romanian population as a major political vic­
tory as well.12 The preeminence of religious leaders in the Romanian
national movement in Transylvania was not challenged by lay person­
alities until the 1870s, shortly before the death of the great bishop.13
The Uniate church also played a major role in the Romanian national
movement of the nineteenth century. As discussed above, the reli­
gious and political activities at Blaj had represented a most significant
inspiration for Romanian nationalism in the eighteenth century, and
this continued in the nineteenth. In 1848-49, the revolutionary period
that challenged the established order throughout most of Europe, the
Uniate church leaders joined hands with their Orthodox colleagues, ap­
pealing for joint political action by all Romanians. The most dramatic
manifestation of this unified approach was the mass convocation of
church leaders, secular leaders, intellectuals, and peasants in Blaj in
May 1848 in response to the demands issued in Budapest for the com­
plete union of Transylvania with Hungary proper. The Blaj convocation
decisively demonstrated the importance of both the Uniate and Ortho­
dox churches as major vehicles of Romanian nationalism. It resulted
in a declaration known as "the Sixteen Points," a major document in
the history of the Romanian national movement.14
The traditional position of the Uniate church as a major inspirer of
secular nationalism is illustrated further by the fact that some of the
most important forces in the national movement during the nineteenth
century were intellectuals whose early inspiration had been Blaj and
its cultural and educational activities. Among these famous national­
ists were Simian Barnutiu, Samuil Micu-Clain, Gheorghe Sincai, Petru
Maior, Gheorghe Baritiu, and Timotiu Cipariu; even loan Ratiu, who
objected to church domination of the national movement, had derived
some of his inspiration from both Uniate and Orthodox sources.15
 Romania 335

During the remainder of the nineteenth century and indeed up to the

final collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire at the end of World War I
the leaders in Budapest continued their arrogant but futile policies to­
ward the Romanians of Transylvania. The harsh measures undertaken
could not undo one fundamental fact: the religious and secular leaders
among the Romanians had joined hands in a powerful coalition dedi­
cated to the goals of, first, political and religious autonomy within the
empire and, subsequently, political freedom and eventual unification
with the rest of Romania. When unification finally was achieved in
19 18 it was greeted with the utmost enthusiasm among religious and
secular leaders alike, while the masses rejoiced in the fusion of throne
and pulpit in the restoration of "Historic Romania."16
Just as religion and the church had been highly important in the
Romanian national movement in its ascendancy, they became crucial
factors in the degeneration of Romanian politics during the 1920s and
1 930s, culminating in a fascist dictatorship based ideologically upon
the notion of ethnic and religious supremacy of the Romanians over
other "races." The obscure (but forceful) ideologies of Corneliu Zelea
Codreanu, leader of the fascist Iron Guard, and the Guard's kindred
organization, the "League of the Archangel Michael," which accepted
the necessity of committing violence for God and Romania, demon­
strated the explosive force of combined religious and nationalistic fer­
vor in combination with doses of anti-Semitism and other forms of
racism. This destructive combination of religion and nationalism came
to an end with the coup d'etat of August 23, 1944, and the advent of
the Communist Party of Romania (p c r ) to power.

CO M M U N ISM A N D NATIONALISM
BEFORE CEAUÇESCU

The communist leaders who ascended to power in Romania in 1944

and consolidated their hold over the country up until 1952 could not be
classified as nationalists, even though some of them exhibited certain
"domesticist" tendencies. These leaders were in large measure either
non-Romanian in ethnic origin (many of them were Jewish) or doctri­
naire Stalinists who had no intention of voicing national aspirations of
any kind in defiance of Moscow. On the contrary, the Communist party
leadership in this period repeatedly denounced the excessive national-

mrr*::
336 Eastern Europe

ism of the prewar regime and endorsed the detachment of Bessarabia

from Romania in 1940—a sore point with Romanian nationalists of
all stripes. The internal power struggles of the party frequently took
place in the context of mutual accusations and recriminations con­
cerning "nationalist" and "domesticist" deviations, and these charges
figured prominently in the purge of Lucretiu Patrascanu and his fol­
lowers. We now know that one of the ringleaders against Patrascanu,
Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, was a "nationalist in disguise"; he became
the chief inspirer of the concept of a "Romanian road" to socialism and
communism that culminated in the so-called Romanian declaration of
independence in April 1963 (refusing Khrushchev's plans for economic
integration and specialization within the c o m e c o n ). The trial of Vasile
Luca and Ana Pauker in 1952 represented a breaking with the Mus­
covites within the party leadership and therefore at least theoretically a
resurgence of domesticist elements on the political scene, but this was
still 1952 and the height of Stalinism, and the new leaders preferred to
demonstrate their loyalty to the Kremlin in no uncertain terms.17
Scholars differ as to the year in which nationalistic tendencies be­
came important in the Romanian leadership, resulting ultimately in
serious strains in the relationship between Moscow and Bucharest. Ex­
panding nationalistic tendencies were unfolding constantly during the
1950s, so that Gheorghiu-Dej was ready and willing to take advantage
of the Sino-Soviet rift to enhance Romanian autonomy within the So­
viet bloc, in ideological, economic, and foreign policy matters. There
was also in this period a steady increase in references to national tra­
ditions and the historical links with ancient Rome and Dacia, with
Trajan, Burebista, and Decebal. At the time of Gheorghiu-Dej's death
in 1965 the nationalist revival in the political realm was thus well
under way. The advent of Nicolae Ceau§escu and his family was to
make nationalism (albeit in a special form) the most important politi­
cal manifestation in Romanian political life.

RELIGION A N D NATIONALISM
U N D ER CEAUÇESCU

The political and socioeconomic system inherited by Nicolae Ceau­

cescu in 1965 was characterized by considerable ethnic and religious
diversity and a legacy of harsh regime policies toward many of the
 Romania 337

churches of the country. In 1948 the Uniate church had been disbanded;
there were repressive policies against Roman Catholics, Lutherans,
and even many elements of the Orthodox church, not to mention the
smaller Protestant organizations, such as the Baptists. Many priests and
ministers were jailed, and the regime produced massive campaigns of
atheism and promoted a "scientific" world outlook among the masses.
As the regime became entrenched more firmly in the political sphere,
there was a gradual relaxation of control over some churches, notably
the Orthodox hierarchy, which was co-opted and increasingly used as
the spokesman for the regime in the dialogue with the people at home
and with other regimes beyond Romania's borders.18
The religious heterogeneity inherited by Ceau§escu was matched by
ethnic diversity and particularism, and a confluence of religion and
nationalism harking back to the centuries-old traditions and outlooks
that had prevailed in Transylvania and the principalities. The over­
whelming majority of Romanians were Orthodox, while the Hungari­
ans were either Catholic or Protestant; the Germans were also a m ix of
Catholics and Protestants. The still sizable Jewish population was an­
chored in its religion, while other, smaller, ethnic groups represented
yet different combinations of nationalism and religious preferences.19
For the new leader this kaleidoscopic political and religious situation
made policy-making in this realm a difficult undertaking, presenting
him with only limited options. On the one hand, the regime could ac­
cept the existing proliferation of religious preferences and ethnic diver­
sity, thus allowing a fair amount of religious and cultural autonomy for
the major nationality groups. This practice had been established under
Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej in the form of the Magyar Autonomous Re­
gion (even though the regime countered such concessions with actual
discrimination against all religions). On the other hand, the new leader­
ship could attempt assimilation and focus on the need to break down
the religious exclusivism of the minorities, thus enabling the regime
to establish and maintain better political and socioeconomic control
and reducing the danger of irredentism, especially among the Magyars.
A third alternative would be a renewed and sustained atheistic offen­
sive against all believers, regardless of denominational preference; such
a policy would be consistent with the ideological dicta of Marxism-
Leninism and also would enable the regime to establish closer control
over the population without undue interference from competing struc-
338 Eastern Europe

tures and allegiances, provided it could be successful. Finally, the new

leader might attempt the time-honored practice of "divide and rule"—
expressing and executing preferential policies in favor of one religious
group at the expense of others, and thus presumably solidifying his hold
over the preferred group.

Regime Policies
Nicolae Ceau§escu's policy toward believers and their organizations
represents a mixture of the above alternatives. The policy has not been
based upon a clear program, but rather has evolved over time, taking
its cues from existing opportunities and the exigencies of the day. It
therefore represents a curious mix of opportunism and ideological pref­
erence, coupled with the individualistic peculiarities of the "Supreme
Leader." There is, in short, a "Ceau§escuism" with respect to religion,
just as there is such an "ism " in the field of development theory, and
yet another in foreign policy.
The Ceau§escu era can be divided into subperiods in terms of policies
toward religion in general and individual churches and organizations in
particular. During the period 1965-68 the new leader was concerned
primarily with consolidating his hold over the party apparatus, fend­
ing off challenges from various rivals, and expanding the hold of the
p c r over the societal elites and the population in general. This was a
period of coalition-building, during which Ceau§escu held numerous
meetings with groups and individuals representing important tenden­
cies and structures in Romanian life. Examples include writers, artists,
actors, and sculptors, "the cultural intelligentsia" of Romania; here,
Ceau§escu allowed more autonomy and some experimentation, both
in the themes discussed and in the artistic techniques utilized. Other
groups in the dialogue included the largest ethnic minorities, which
were granted some cultural autonomy during this period, and church
leaders, with whom Ceau§escu met on several occasions, particularly x
in 1968. That year may have been a special case, as the p c r leader
sought to establish the broadest possible national coalition in face of
the Czechoslovak crisis and the Soviet-led invasion of that country.20
The year 1968 may have been the high-water mark of relative politi­
cal "pluralism" in Romania, and it also represented a turning point. It
was in 1968 that the new party leader effected a change that removed
the last vestiges of ethnic autonomy in administrative terms. The en-
 Romania 339

tire country was reorganized on the basis of the prewar county (judet )
system; this, in turn, meant the abolition of the Magyar Autonomous
Region and its division into a number of judets, in which a significant
Romanian population was also present. Furthermore, the administra­
tive reorganization provided Ceau§escu with the opportunity to staff
the new administrative structures with his own loyal followers, thereby
enhancing his power over the territorial party bodies. This was indeed
a crucial step in the consolidation of his power, demonstrated at the
tenth p c r congress in 1969, where Ceau§escu emerged as the unques­
tioned leader of Romania. The support he received from the regional
party organizations was a crucial factor in consolidating power.21
The events of 1968-69 were important for the church organizations
in Romania, and they established the general situation for religious
believers in the population. The consolidation of Ceau§escu's power at
the center and in the regional party apparatus made it possible for him
to proceed to the next step in his political program: the implementation
of the p c r leader's ideas in the fields of politics, ideology, economic
developments, cultural affairs, and ethics and morality. Religion and
religious institutions and structures in Romania were fundamentally
affected by these developments, insofar as the years since 1969 have
been devoted to the practical implementation of "Ceau§escuism" in all
aspects of Romanian life.
Ceau§escuism is an all-encompassing hybrid of Marxism-Leninism,
traditional Romanian nationalism, and personal views held by the p c r
general secretary. This highly original package of thought is eclectic,
at times contradictory, and peculiarly vulnerable to the excesses of the
personality cult that reached dismaying, even ludicrous, heights by the
end of the 1970s. Since so many of the dicta of Ceau§escuism are inter­
related, it is almost impossible to separate out those elements that
specifically relate to religion; it becomes necessary, therefore, to exam­
ine the package in toto, to distill from it those elements that have a
special analytical and practical effect upon the status of religion, reli­
gious practices, and church organizations in contemporary Romania.
The most important elements of Ceau§escuism follow.
Increasing nationalism , even chauvinism , based upon the Romanian
national heritage. Almost from the beginning of the Ceau§escu era the
new leadership injected an element of nationalism into its domestic
and foreign policies. This tendency was enhanced dramatically by the
340 Eastern Europe

decision to launch a major ideological offensive during the summer

and fall of 19 7 1. One of the most important elements of that offensive
was an effort to integrate the current regime with major Romanian
historical traditions and personalities. The nationalistic elements of
this campaign came to the fore in 1972-73, and were expressed in the
Congress of Political Education and Socialist Culture in the summer
of r976, then built up again to a crescendo during the celebration of
the centenary of Romanian independence in 1977—78. It has continued
unabated until the present time.22
The campaign has several major themes. First, it asserts that the
present regime is a natural outgrowth of Romanian history; that the
current leadership, particularly Nicolae Ceau§escu, is in the tradition
of Michael the Brave, Stephen the Great, and even Vlad T ePe§» ar*d
that Ceau§escu is dedicated to Romanian greatness and the achieve­
ment of Romania's just position in the world—a position denied her
by the designs of foreign rivals and occupiers. This theme has become
standard in any and all Ceau§escu speeches; all major party documents
reflect the same preoccupation with the historical tradition of "Greater
Romania"; the educational system has been geared up to sound the
theme at all levels; and the cultural intelligentsia and academia have
been harnessed for the task of researching and extolling this particu­
lar version of Romanian history. The nationalistic, even chauvinistic,
elements of this campaign have ominous overtones for the ethnic m i­
norities, whose historical memories are attached to Budapest, Vienna,
Germany, or other non-Romanian sources, but not to Bucharest and
Ia§i.23
Another major theme of the nationalistic campaign is the concept of
the "socialist nation." The socialist nation is, presumably, characterized
by a high level of political consciousness, cohesion, and a popular w ill­
ingness to execute the socioeconomic, political, and cultural policies of
the leadership. The culture of such a nation is superior to "bourgeois'2'
culture, and it also represents a synthesis of the positive elements of
ethnic cultures, without being directly derived from or controlled by
these elements. In other words, the culture of contemporary Romania
is neither Romanian, Magyar, German, nor any other ethnic configu­
ration, but "socialist." In this kind of nation the ethnic groups must
loyally cooperate in the fulfillment of the party's programs, as defined
by its leader, Nicolae Ceau§escu.24
 Romania 341

The policies discussed above represent the main aspects of "Ceau-

§escuism." During the last few years all of the tendencies of this ideo­
logical hybrid have remained, but have become intensified to a point
where they dominate daily life for all citizens of Romania. The nation­
alism expressed earlier has been developed further into an exaggerated
form in which it no longer serves mainly as a tool to unite the popu­
lation internally but also extends beyond the borders, making claims
about the superiority of Romanian culture and its extensive contribu­
tions to world civilization. The intensity of these claims as well as
their scope has produced a number of reactions elsewhere, thus fur­
ther heightening the controversy surrounding the Ceau§escu style and
alleged Romanian chauvinism.25
Ideologization of all aspects of life in Romania. Starting in 19 7 1,
and continuing unabated to the present, is a massive ideological offen­
sive designed to envelop the entire population and thus help produce
the "new socialist man and woman." This campaign has resulted in
increasing party interference in all aspects of human existence in Ro­
mania. In practical terms it has produced much tighter party control
over the economic and cultural scenes; the p c r has intervened mas­
sively and drastically in the writing of novels and plays, in music, in
cinematography, in theater production, and in other areas of artistic or
cultural activity. The press, television, and radio increasingly have been
subordinated to a variety of control mechanisms. One of the chief goals
of this campaign has been the "proletarianization" of culture and re­
lated areas, where art, literature, etc., are produced for their educational
and doctrinaire usefulness rather than for any intrinsic value. In order
to ensure compliance with these ideological directions the Ceau§escu
regime has established special boards of review in many theaters, news­
papers, and periodicals as well as other cultural media; many of the
members of such boards are workers or peasants, whose task it is to
ensure the "folksy" nature of Romanian art and culture, and, thereby,
the p c r ' s control over the artistic intelligentsia.26
An important part of the campaign for Romanian greatness is the
continued, indeed intensified, emphasis on ideology and the need to in­
still increased ideological vigilance in the population. Since the advent
of Mikhail Gorbachev to power in the Soviet Union and the ensuing
campaign there for glasnost’ and perestroika the p c r general secretary
has repeatedly refused to contemplate economic and political reform,
342 Eastern Europe

persisting instead on the need for ideological commitment and tighter

control. Ceau§escu has made it clear that he considers Soviet sugges­
tions for change an unwarranted intrusion into the domestic affairs of
Romania, and he has made it equally plain that such interference w ill
be rejected. Romania, therefore, remains a citadel of ideological cen­
tralism in the swirling change that now engulfs much of the rest of
Eastern Europe.27
Expanded campaigns against religion and for a “rational and sci­
entific” world outlook. In the expanded and accelerated ideological
campaign one can find a stepped-up emphasis on atheistic propaganda
and education and the crucial need for more determined defense against
"m ysticism " and superstition. This campaign, which has been con­
ducted through the educational system and the youth organizations, in
the press and other media, nevertheless seems to lack the intensity of
the ideological effort. During the last decade Ceau§escu has allowed in­
creased contact between Romanian church leaders and other religious
persons and organizations abroad, while the Vatican has been granted
better access to Roman Catholic clergy inside Romania; Ceau§escu
himself visited the Vatican in 1973 in an effort to broaden the Roma­
nian government's foreign policy on disarmament and arms reduction
as well as a security agreement for Europe. During this decade there
has been an expansion of church building and a cautious upgrading of
the status and prestige of some existing bishoprics, both for Roman
Catholics and the Orthodox churches. This contradictory policy clearly
expresses Ceau§escu's own ambivalence on the subject of religion and
ideology: on the one hand, the general secretary is one of the few
remaining communist leaders in Eastern Europe who believes in the
feasibility of creating the "new socialist man and woman" through
ideological indoctrination, while on the other hand, the party leader
recognizes the enduring importance of religion for the masses and the
need to enlist church leaders in his quest for personal and regime
legitimacy.28
The emphasis on ideological orthodoxy has had deleterious effects on
religious life and church organizations as well. During the last few years
the Ceau§escu regime has razed a number of historic church buildings
and monasteries in downtown Bucharest as part of the plan to remake
the central parts of the city into a lasting architectural monument to
the achievements of socialism and the greatness of the Ceau§escu era.
 Romania 343

Furthermore, there is increasing control over those Protestant churches

in the country which are officially recognized and increasing persecu­
tion of the so-called underground churches. The Roman Catholics have
also experienced increased persecution; the Uniates are still considered
"null and void" and subordinated to the Orthodox church since the
forced merger of 1948; even the Orthodox church itself has experienced
the wrath of Ceau§escu's newest campaign against religion. The Ortho­
dox hierarchy has been forced further into submission and obsequious
support for the regime. Most commentators with some knowledge of
these developments contend that the situation is deteriorating for all
believers, regardless of church affiliation.29
These developments can only be glimpsed because evidence is scanty.
The razing of churches in the provinces has received little publicity, but
the process is certainly under way. We know of a few highly publicized
cases of regime persecution of religious groups and individuals; there
are doubtless more examples. It is also likely that the known cases
of courageous individual expressions of opposition represent merely
a tip of the iceberg of frustration, silent opposition, and embittered
apathy that must engulf ever-widening circles of believers and others
as a result of the present campaign. This level of frustration, taken
together with the deepening alienation of the general citizenry, augurs
ill for Romanian political stability in the years to come.30
The quest foi the supeiior “moral” citizen. A fundamental point in
Ceau§escuism is the quest for the new socialist man and woman in the
field of ethics and morality. This campaign must be seen in the context
of the long traditions of regime corruption for which the principali­
ties and Transylvania were known; these traditions were upheld (and
in some cases expanded) during the period of Romanian independence
up to the point of unification and indeed beyond. At the same time the
population, ruled by one rapacious clique after another for centuries,
developed defense mechanisms against such misrule—bribery and bak­
sheesh prominent among them. The present regime is committed ver­
bally to rooting out such detrimental behavior. The new citizen is to be
honest, thrifty, "clean-cut" in personal behavior, and dedicated to hard
work, family, and sacrifice for the collective good; undesirable traits
such as corruption, squandering of resources, immoral sexual conduct,
and egotism are remnants of the past and thus have no place in the new
Romania.31
344 Eastern Europe

Many of the elements of this campaign in ethics and morality are

also present in the teachings of churches. There is indeed an interesting
confluence of emphasis in "ascetic" Marxism and many of the religious
faiths in existence today. The general secretary would never admit this
openly, of course, but the existence of such common ground between
the party and the church is likely to make a dialogue and a modus
vivendi possible.
The campaign for the superior moral citizen has also intensified dur­
ing the last few years. The themes are the same, but the intensity of
the agitation and sloganeering has increased. At the same time evi­
dence of corruption and malfeasance in high places abounds, some of
it discussed by Ceau§escu himself. Under these circumstances popular
apathy turns to cynicism, and cynicism to the search for other values,
often religious ones. Thus, religion becomes a viable option for in­
creasing numbers of individuals, many of them apparently young—a
particularly troublesome development for the regime.32
The personality cult of Ceau§escu. A very prominent aspect of Ceau-
§escuism is the emphasis on the general secretary and his wife, and the
extensive nepotism of the regime that has placed many relatives in high
positions in the government, the party, the youth organizations, and the
armed forces. Nicolae and Elena Ceau§escu are extolled as the greatest
inspirers of all Romanians (and, presumably, of the rest of humanity
as well): they also hold pride of place in science, art, literature, ide­
ology, economic analysis, and moral standards. This personality cult,
which has elements of pathology in it as seen from the vantage point of
a Westerner, nevertheless is consistent with the Romanian historical
tradition, in which the Domn, or Leader, lived in Oriental splendor and
claimed control over all aspects of people's lives; the church leaders,
especially in Orthodoxy, often enhanced this tendency by crowning
the princes and generally submitting to the secular authorities. Once
again, history intrudes firmly and decisively upon the making of thh
"new " political and ethical order.
The attitudes and policies of Ceau§escuism have a considerable im ­
pact on the churches of Romania. The atheistic campaign is clearly
detrimental to churches and their flocks, and it reveals the depth of dis­
criminatory attitudes held by the general secretary. On the other hand,
the fervent nationalism of the regime cannot be sustained without ref­
erence to religion and the churches—a point repeatedly made by the
 Romania 345

Orthodox church in Romania. Also, Uniates have pointed to the Latin

origins of their doctrine and made efforts to demonstrate these origins
of the Romanian population and its culture; these are points that have
been made repeatedly by political leaders as well, without attribution
to the churches. The seeming confluence of attitudes on the point of
nationalism and the national experience may produce a possible modus
vivendi for the churches and the regime. At the same time it repre­
sents a threat to the party's dedication to the notion that it (and not
the churches) represents the true link with the past. And Ceau§escu, a
devoted nationalist in the tradition of the Old Kingdom, is not likely
to reestablish the Uniates to respectability because their origins and
influence are tied in so intimately with the history of Transylvania.33
The personality cult, too, has intensified during the last few years
and reached heights unknown elsewhere in Eastern Europe. The same
can be said for the concentration of power in the hands of the Ceau§escu
"clan," which is extended through co-optation and marriage. There can
be little doubt that this process w ill continue as long as the present
elite remains capable of ruling. And that means even less autonomy for
others, including religious believers and church organizations.34

THE EFFECT OF REGIME POLICIES

O N TH E POPULATION

The effects of the massive ideological campaign and of Ceau§escuism

on the people of Romania have been profound and contradictory. The
emphasis on ideology and the attempt to create greater popular com­
mitment in this field have been rather unsuccessful, judging from
the critical comments voiced by the p c r leader himself on numerous
occasions. The leader's dissatisfaction with the performance of party
cadres in this field is shown further by the frequent purges, personnel
reassignments, and reorganizations of elements in the p c r hierarchy
during the last decade.35 There is little evidence to sustain claims of
success in the making of new socialist men and women; on the con­
trary, corruption, mismanagement, waste, and violations of "socialist
ethics and morality" continue to be prominent features of everyday life
in Romania. The personality cult of the Ceau§escus is ridiculed now
by elements of the population, and the discrepancy between bombas­
tic program statements and actual political and socioeconomic perfor-
346 Eastern Europe

mance clearly has produced a good deal of cynicism and withdrawal

from politics—the process of "privatization." There is no reliable sur­
vey evidence of this available, of course, but the frequent denunciations
of political apathy by Ceau§escu and others indicate a real "spiritual"
crisis in the population at the moment.36
One element of Ceau§escuism has had a considerable impact upon
the general population, resulting in responses that are seen as favorable
by the regime. The strongly nationalistic overtures of the ideological
campaign of the last decade, coupled with the open association of the
present regime with the Romanian past, have elicited positive responses
among the ethnic Romanians and have helped shore up a regime whose
economic performance has remained abysmal. The nationalistic and
chauvinistic aspects of Ceau§escu's domestic and foreign policies have
fed into traditional Romanian attitudes of a separate (and superior) past
and a special future, both in the Balkans and in Europe in general.
But the message of nationalism, so assiduously propounded by the
Ceau§escu regime, lacks an essential ingredient if it is to be fully
credible to the ethnic Romanians; for them, the link between history
and religion is firm and cannot be snapped simply by avoiding the
subject, as the Ceau§escus largely have tried to do. Thus, this element
of Ceau§escuism has a hollow ring to it, and the regime has an uneasy
approach to the whole question of religion and its continuing firm
position in the masses. This is not a unique problem for the Ceau§escu
regime, for all communist leaders who wish to legitimize themselves
by means of history and nationalism eventually must come to grips
with the integral link between the national patrimony and religion, but
the problem is exacerbated in Romania because of the regime's heavy
emphasis on this nationalism in both domestic and foreign policy.
Ceau§escu's dilemma is further exacerbated by the fact that there
appears to be a revival of religion in the general population of Roma­
nia. A careful study undertaken by Earl Pope certainly points in this
direction, and similar observations have been made by other students
of this phenomenon.37 Once again, this is not a unique Romanian phe­
nomenon but represents a general trend in many communist-ruled sys­
tems. The political apathy, the popular cynicism, the lack of legitimacy
of the secular order, the incessant ideological bombardment, and the
meaninglessness of frustrated materialism have combined to produce
a climate in which increasing numbers of people, even young people,
 Romania 347

have turned to religion for comfort and emotional sustenance. Religion

has become once again a refuge and defense mechanism against a secu­
lar order that is less than desirable, in fact highly exploitative and, in
many cases, corrupt. History seems to be repeating itself in Romania
The Ceau§escu regime must find ways to live with this phenomenon,
but the problem is so complex that available options appear highly con­
tradictory and probably counterproductive. A frank recognition of the
integral link between nationalism and religion would run counter to
Ceau§escu's emphasis on the need to reduce mysticism and to promote
a "scientific" Weltanschauung; but ignoring the importance of religious
feeling among the masses reduces the chances for popular legitimacy
even further. If the emphasis on ideological indoctrination and the cre­
ation of new socialist men and women could be scaled down, the exis­
tence of other allegiances, such as religion, that interpose themselves
between the regime and the people, would be tolerable, but such a de­
velopment would rim counter to Ceau§escu's populism and his vision
of "direct rule" over the population.
These contradictions have produced vacillating regime policies to­
ward the Orthodox church and religion in general. The p c r leader has
occasional dialogues with church leaders, and the government appears
to run the administrative relations with various church organizations
with relative competence and fairness,38 but at the same time the anti-
religious, atheistic, and "scientific" campaign continues in order to
satisfy the ideological constituencies of the regime and the personal
preferences of the general secretary himself. In this context it is dis­
turbing that some of the dissident activity manifested in Romania dur­
ing the last decade has come from Orthodox Christians challenging the
very heart of Ceau§escu's program of ethics and morality; even more
dangerous to the regime is the fact that some of these individuals have
argued along the lines of ethnic minority dissidents. Until now the
differences between the religious groups and denominations in Roma­
nia have made it possible for the regime to "divide and rule," but the
possibility of religious believers making a common front against the
atheistic campaign cannot be discounted.
The effects on the population discussed above are long standings and
the last few years have seen little change in this regard. The intensi­
fication of the Ceau§escu offensive against religion, coupled with the
heightened emphasis on ideology and the increased concentration of
348 Eastern Europe

power and wealth in a select group of individuals, has further alienated

the masses of the population. This process of alienation is enhanced by
the abysmal economic performance of the regime, which has produced
a further reduction in the low standard of living and cases of hunger,
malnutrition, and inadequate health care. The repressive nature of the
regime must also increasingly take its toll on the population in psycho­
logical and emotional terms. A ll of these factors go a long way toward
explaining the upsurge of religious faith and religious practices during
the last few years. Religion provides the population with a mechanism
to escape the dread reality of life; it furthermore establishes and main­
tains a set of values that seem to exist independently of the vicissitudes
of political life and the antics of secular leaders. Finally, it provides a
mechanism for withdrawal and quiet protest against a political order
that has become repulsive to some and unacceptable to others. The
story of religion in Romania in the 1980s is the story of alienation and
hope, rejection and acceptance, decay and rebirth. And as such, it is a
story of the amazing staying power of faith in a time and place of severe
secular challenge and, even at times, outright repression.

RELIGION A N D NATIONALISM AM ONG

TH E ETH N IC MINORITIES

The heavy emphasis placed by the Ceau§escu regime on nationalism,

further Romanian nationalism, is perceived as a threat by the ethnic
minorities, whose history is vastly different from that of the Romani­
ans. In fact, the Magyars and the Germans, the two largest and thus
most important minorities in contemporary Romania, were once the
rulers of Transylvania and a privileged nation within the territory, re­
spectively, while the Romanians were the despised helots. The tables of
power have now been turned, and this reversal has created dissatisfac­
tion within these two groups, especially since they were more higliiy
"mobilized" on a number of indicators of social mobilization (such as
urbanization, education, and functional specialization). There had de­
veloped a sense of ethnic and cultural superiority among the Magyars
and the Germans, and religion was part and parcel of this outlook.
Thus, these two groups considered themselves superior to the Roma­
nians not only in educational, socioeconomic, and cultural terms, but
in religious preference and practice as well.
 Romania 349

Given these preconditions, the policies of the Ceau§escu regime have

been unsettling for these minority groups, though the extent of their
discontent is impossible to measure, given the tight control over in­
formation on such matters exercised by the current political leader­
ship. Occasional information does slip through, however; during the
1970s, particularly after the signing of the Helsinki Accords by Presi­
dent Ceau§escu, there developed a small number of groups whose mem­
bers complained about the violation of several civil rights clauses, chief
of which were cultural and religious rights for all ethnic groups in­
habiting Romanian territory. Some of the representatives for the Mag­
yar minority (including a former high party official of ethnic Magyar
background) were quite explicit in their criticism of regime violations
of civil rights,- implicit in some of these statements were demands for
more religious freedom. In any case, since religion is an integral part of
the cultural patrimony of the Magyars (or any other ethnic group), reli­
gious attitudes and structures have become important defense mecha­
nisms against the nationalistic policies of the Ceau§escu regime and
the Romanian majority. As for the ethnic Germans, their quest for emi­
gration to the Federal Republic is eloquent proof of their commitment
to a separate ethnic heritage, of which the free exercise of religious
preferences is an integral part.39
There has also been an upsurge of Protestant activity in Romania dur­
ing the last decade or so, paralleling developments elsewhere in Eastern
Europe. A considerable stimulus for this activity has originated with
various groups of fundamentalists, whose doctrines are clearly con­
tradictory and detrimental to the current mobilization regime in the
country. While these groups represent only a small fraction of the popu­
lation, their dedication and the fervor with which they hold and dis­
seminate their views may spark increased religious activism in other,
larger, religious groups. Such a development would represent a major
problem indeed for the Ceau§escu regime.40

CO N CLU SIO N

The communist leaders of Romania in the period since August 23,

1944/ have adopted ambivalent attitudes and policies toward religion,
believers, and religious institutions. On the one hand, Marxist-Leninist
dicta demand a vigorous campaign against manifestations of such
350 Eastern Europe

"superstition" and "mysticism," and a number of campaigns have been

conducted against religion and the churches, both in terms of admin­
istrative repression and ideological arguments. On the other hand, reli­
gion, in many forms and in many denominations, has survived through­
out the population and has, in fact, experienced a relative revival in the
1970s and 1980s. A transformationist regime, openly dedicated to the
creation of a new socioeconomic, political, cultural, and moral order,
is caught on the horns of a dilemma in such a situation: should one at­
tempt to eradicate such an important remnant of the old order, so that
the new society can be established more easily, or must one come to
an understanding with this phenomenon that has shown such amazing
staying power in human history?
The painful dilemma is further exacerbated by the fact that in Ro­
mania (as in much of the rest of Eastern Europe) nationalism, ethnic
particularism, and religion are inextricably intertwined; no effort to
separate one from the other can be expected to achieve real success.
Thus, when the Ceau§escu regime attempts to use history and Ro­
manian nationalism as a mainstay of its own quest for legitimacy in
the masses without coming to grips with the position of religion, and
especially Orthodoxy, in nation formation and ethnic consciousness­
building, this essential omission becomes glaringly evident, detracting
from the credibility of the entire campaign. Furthermore, the conflu­
ence of ethnicity and religion among the minorities in Romania makes
the chauvinism of the present regime doubly unacceptable, for it im ­
plies an attack on both the secular and spiritual nation of the m i­
nority groups (at least in the perception of many members of these
groups). The result is that the current nationalistic policies of Nico-
lae Ceau§escu and his party carry their own abundant contradictions
within them, enhancing the potential for greater dissent, privatization,
and political instability in the future.
As indicated above, the regime's practices and policies have been
vacillating and at times contradictory, illustrating the inherent contra­
dictions in such a complicated situation. Perhaps no better illustration
can be found of this than the self-styled propagator of a national brand
of Marxism-Leninism, the chief ideological tribute of the Communist
party, participating in the church funeral of his own father—a funeral
that was conducted according to the full rites of the Orthodox church,
under the leadership of several high clergy.41
 Romania 351

Given the importance of both ideological and religious orthodoxy

in the Romanian political and cultural system, these contradictions
and the vacillating policies that emanate from them can be expected
to continue for the near, and perhaps even intermediate, future. But at
some time the communist regime must come to a reconciliation with
its own people, and this reconciliation must include a more positive
attitude toward religion and religious structures, so much an integral
part of the consciousness of both the Romanian majority and the ethnic
minorities.
The regime clearly has a hard time accepting this need for "peaceful
coexistence" with religion and religious organizations. A major arti­
cle in the main p c r theoretical journal Era Socialista in April 1982
discussed the persistence of religion in the Romanian population and
indeed its growth, especially among elements of young people. The
same article examined ways to combat this problem, essentially focus­
ing on the need for increased "scientific" propaganda and education.42
The student paper Viata Studenteasca published evidence in the same
month of considerable growth in various forms of neo-Protestantism
among youth in academia.43 And during the spring and summer of 1982
the daily newspaper Scinteia conducted a full-fledged campaign against
various religious practices and antisocialist tendencies.44
These articles (and many others), coupled with the increasingly re­
pressive policies produced by the Ceau§escu regime in several areas,
including religious affairs, demonstrate the quixotic disregard of exist­
ing realities currently characterizing the present leadership, and the
corresponding difficulties that Romania now is experiencing in a num­
ber of fields. Without a considerable change of heart, the Ceau§escu
clan can be expected to continue its dysfunctional policies in socioe­
conomic, cultural, and religious affairs. Believers in, and practitioners
of, religion thus face a bleak immediate future in Romania.
15

N atio n alism and the Bulgarian Orthodox Church

Spas T. R aik in

Bulgarian nationalism was born, bred, nursed, and sustained for eleven
hundred years by the national Orthodox church. Patriarchs, bishops,
and priests have served this cause under tsars and sultans for centuries.
Today, with eagerness and dedication unparalleled in history, they serve
the same cause under a communist government in Sofia. Nationalism,
Christianity, and Marxism, by a curious twist of historical circum­
stances, have joined in a common front over which hovers the shadow
of the Soviet Union. Nowhere in Eastern Europe is acceptance of Soviet
domination manifested with greater conviction than in Bulgaria. The
Orthodox church actively supports the communist government and its
pro-Soviet policies. To understand this paradox one has to look more
deeply into the problems of Bulgarian nationalism and the predicament
of the Bulgarian nationalists in the present configuration of political
forces in Europe. This predicament is exemplified best by the behavior
of the church leaders during the past three decades. Behind this behav­
ior lies a long history of church nationalism, a leadership crisis in the
late 1940s and early 1950s that brought to power an ultranationalist
faction, and an accommodation with the communists on a common
program based upon traditional Bulgarian aspirations over Macedonia.

H ISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

The Bulgarians were converted to Christianity by Prince Boris (8 52.

88). Their first concern was to obtain a national church and a patriarch.
The Greeks refused to satisfy their demand and they turned to Rome.
Pope Nicholas I patiently explained why he could not bestow this dig­
nity upon the Bulgarian church, but his correspondents did not listen
 Bulgaria 353

to him and went back to the Greeks. A council in 870 settled the mat-
ter of jurisdiction in favor of the ecumenical see, over the objections
of the West, but Boris of Bulgaria still did not receive a patriarch. His
successor, Simeon I (892—927), however, had no scruples of canon law
and in 9T8 elevated the Bulgarian church to the status of patriarchate.
In 927 Constantinople recognized this unilateral act of the Bulgarians
In this way the ethnic principle was introduced as a consideration for
establishment of an autocephalous church. This revolution in the prac­
tices of the Eastern church prepared the way for the Orthodox churches
in the East to turn into vehicles and tools of nationalism. This nation­
alist revolution was carried further with the introduction of the Slavic
language into the religious services in Bulgaria and, later on, in the
other Slavic countries.
The patriarchate founded by Tsar Simeon I lasted for a century. In
972, when the eastern part of Bulgaria collapsed under the combined
forces of Byzantium and Russia, the national patriarchs moved from
Preslav to Sofia and then on to Macedonia—to Voden, Muglen, and
Ohrid. Emperor Basil II (963-1025), known as "Killer of the Bulgarians,"
because he had T4,ooo captured Bulgarian soldiers blinded in ror4, de­
creed that the bishops of Ohrid, as successors of the patriarchs, should
continue as heads of the autocephalous church with the title of "arch­
bishop." The archbishopric of Ohrid finally was closed by the Ottoman
government in r767. Even though the upper hierarchy of the diocese
was taken over by the Greeks, the archbishops never relinquished their
title as heads of the Bulgarian church. A second Bulgarian patriarchate
was established in m3 5 at Turnovo and it also was recognized by the
Eastern patriarchs. With the fall of Bulgaria to the Turks in 1393, how­
ever, the Bulgarian patriarchate came to an end. After the fall of Con­
stantinople in 1453 Sultan Mehmed II (1451 —8x) extended the jurisdic­
tion of the ecumenical patriarch over Bulgaria. The Bulgarians found
themselves saddled with a double yoke: under the political authority
of the Turks and under the cultural and spiritual domination of the
Greeks. This state of affairs continued for five centuries. Deprived of
institutions of their own, and socially, economically, and culturally
impoverished, the Bulgarians were pushed to the periphery of Ottoman
society. By the middle of the eighteenth century they were on the verge
of extinction.
Bulgarian history took another turn. In 1762 Paisii Khilendarski, a

. -rm.
354 Eastern Europe

monk from Mount Athos, born in the village of Bansko in the Pirin
district of Macedonia, completed a Slavo-Bulgarian History—a brief
pamphlet that was in essence a manifesto of Bulgarian nationalism.
Paisii traveled all over Bulgaria and gave his history to be read and
copied. He urged his countrymen to study Bulgarian history, to learn
about their "fathers, ancestors, kings, patriarchs and saints," as other
nations do. He was hurt by the fact that some Bulgarians did not wish
"to know about their Bulgarian nation and turn to foreign culture and
foreign language . . . learn to read and speak Greek and are ashamed
to call themselves Bulgarians." "Oh, you stupid fools!" he exclaimed.
"Why are you ashamed to call yourself Bulgarians, and to speak and
read your own language? . . . Didnh the Bulgarians have their own
kingdom and State? . . . Of the entire Slavic nation the Bulgarians have
been the most famous. They were the first to have tsars. They were
the first to have patriarchs. They were the first to be converted. They
conquered more land than anybody."1
The movement started by Paisii brought the Bulgarian nation back
to the stage of history. By 1830 the Bulgarians were battling the Greeks
for control of their local churches. During the following decades their
energies were absorbed in a bitter struggle for an independent national
church. "From the Danube to the estuary of Vardar," wrote P. R.
Slaveikov, editor of Makedonia, organ of the Bulgarian liberal national­
ist intelligentsia in Constantinople, "there lives one nation. . . . What
does the Bulgarian nation demand? [It demands] that every nation
should have its own independent church. . . . Why should we not pro­
claim loudly that under the name of an independent Bulgarian church
we seek the totality of our personal and national rights? . . . We want
our Bulgarian patriarch, our Bulgarian Synod, our Bulgarian Council,
which w ill represent our secular interests."1
By 1869 all avenues for a negotiated settlement with the Greeks were
exhausted. The key issue splitting the two nations into irreconcilable
camps was the distribution of territories between the Greek and the
Bulgarian churches. The Greeks would not accept any plan that would
not push the Bulgarians north of the Balkan. The Bulgarians would
not accept any arrangement that would not include Macedonia in their
share. The decision ultimately rested with the Turks. On February 28,
1870, the sultan issued his famous Finnan (decree) favoring the Bulgari­
ans.3 The Greek patriarch met it with consternation and on September
 Bulgaria 355

i6 ( 1872, excommunicated the Bulgarians for the sin of "philetism,"

i.e., nationalism.4 A ll during the Greek-Bulgarian church quarrel the
ecumenical patriarchate argued that if he allowed the organization of
a Bulgarian Orthodox church—he repeatedly objected to the use of the
term "Bulgarian" in the official documents—it would introduce a nov­
elty in Orthodox doctrine and practices: it would admit the ethnic
principle, as opposed to the territorial delimitations, in church orga­
nization. The term "philetism," literally "clannishness," in those days
stood for what we today call nationalism.
The bitter denunciations by the patriarch notwithstanding, the Bul­
garians accepted the Firman with jubilation. Ivan Snegarov, church his­
tory professor at Sofia University and an Ohrid native, later wrote:
"The entire Bulgarian nation, from Tulcha to Struga and Ohrid, felt
that it had risen for a new life and glorified in one voice and one heart
the justice achieved."5 The Greek-Bulgarian church quarrel was a test
for the Bulgarian Orthodox church and its Bulgarian nationalism.
The schism proclaimed by the Greeks was ignored by the Bulgarians
They proceeded to organize their independent church. Exarchs were
elected, bishops were appointed, schools were opened, plebiscites were
held, and in a few years the Bulgarian exarchate was functioning as
an independent national institution. Church leaders, however, focused
attention on Macedonia, where they were challenged by the Greeks. In
thirty years they produced statistics that showed the Bulgarian element
preponderant in this province. Certainly statistics of population groups
of those days are hopeless exaggerations and generally dismissed, but
they show the state of mind motivating people in positions of leader­
ship on a national level. The distribution of nationalities in Macedonia
at the turn of the twentieth century, based on data collected by the Bul­
garian church, was as follows: Bulgarians, 1,458,902; Greeks, 265,340;
Wallachians, 57,042; and Albanians, i9,836.6 It is significant that the
Bulgarians did not count any Serbs at that time.
The exarchate proceeded to organize the Bulgarians as well as it
could. Its work was interrupted by the Congress of Berlin (1878), which
returned Macedonia and much of Bulgaria to Turkey, but it continued
its mission for Bulgarian nationalism in the territories still under
Ottoman rule. By 1902 it maintained four high schools, two pedagogical
schools, a seminary, eighty middle schools, 950 local schools, 1,481
teachers, and 50,000 students.7 This mission, however, ended with the
356 Eastern Europe

Balkan wars and World War I. On the eve of these wars, the exarchate
was in charge of 1,3 3 1 churches, 294 chapels, 275 monasteries, 7 bish­
oprics, 1,13 3 priests, 1,373 schools, 2,226 teachers, and 78,854 stu­
dents.8But all of this was wiped out. All Bulgarian churches and schools
were taken over by Greeks and Serbs. The Bulgarians in Greece were
proclaimed to be Slavophone Greeks and those in Yugoslavia, Southern
Serbs. A ll Bulgarian clergy and teachers were either expelled or had to
accommodate to the new order of things. The mission of the Bulgarian
exarchate for Bulgarian nationalism was all but finished. All that re­
mained of the exarchate was an office in Constantinople that served as
a symbol of Bulgarian nationalism, though an agreement between the
governments of Bulgaria and Turkey during the war abolished it. The
church did not dissolve it, however, and continued to appoint exarchal
representatives to reside in its old headquarters. Church nationalists
never gave up hope that one day the exarchate would be restored in the
ethnic frontiers of a Greater Bulgaria.9
These hopes came close to realization in 1941. With the collapse of
Yugoslavia and Greece, Bulgaria stood the chance to achieve the long-
cherished dream of absorbing Macedonia. All of Macedonia, except the
Salonica district, was occupied by Bulgaria. Bishops and priests fol­
lowed in the steps of the civil administration. Pilgrims from the Bul­
garian Academy of Sciences, from Sofia University, and from the Holy
Synod traveled to Ohrid, kissed the land and pored over tombstones
and libraries, frescoes and manuscripts to discover new information to
prove the Bulgarian character of Macedonia. However, for some reason
still unexplained, the Bulgarian Orthodox church never moved to inte­
grate Macedonia permanently into its diocese and stake out, or restate,
its historical and canonical claims. The exarchate was not restored. In
1944 the Bulgarians had to evacuate the occupied provinces in a hurry
and things returned to the way they had been before the war.

LEADERSHIP CRISIS IN EARLY COM M UNIST TIMES

On September 9, 1944, with the invasion of Bulgaria by the Soviet army,

the government of Sofia passed into communist hands. For decades the
Bulgarian communists had branded the policies of nationalism pursued
by the prewar regimes as great Bulgarian chauvinism. The church was
guilty of the same sin. The time had come that every vestige of this pol­
 Bulgaria 357

icy had to be dismantled. In addition to philosophical and ideological

considerations, Bulgarian church nationalism, with the schism as its
symbol, appeared to be an obstacle to Soviet foreign policy objectives in
the Middle East where its strategists were preparing to use the Russian
church as a tool to attract friends among the Greek-dominated patri­
archates of Jerusalem and Alexandria. As a first step in this direction
Moscow was arranging a Pan-Orthodox conclave on the occasion of the
enthronement of Patriarch Aleksii. Numerous delegations from Near
Eastern Orthodox churches were invited to attend. They could not be
expected to share the honor with the Bulgarian church, which, in their
eyes, was still schismatic. The Soviet government would not let the
Bulgarian schism interfere with its interests. Hence, the schism was to
be lifted. Some authorities suspect that the initiative for this act came
from as high as the Politburo of the Communist Party of the Soviet
Union. The message was passed to the Bulgarians by the commander of
the southern flank of the Soviet armies, Marshal Tolbukhin. Arrange­
ments were made with all deliberate speed. The Holy Synod passed
the decision; the government changed the laws; an exarch was elected
on January 21, 1945; a delegation was dispatched to Constantinople;
some perfunctory negotiations were conducted; and, on February 22,
I 945/ the schism was lifted. Similar negotiations were attempted in the
early 1930s, but brought no results. Constantinople had demanded that
the Bulgarians move the exarchate to Sofia. They had refused and the
matter was dropped. Now they came to the patriarch with their hands
over their heads and the ecumenical see obliged them. Sofia had elected
Exarch Stefan I, with his exarchal seat in Sofia.10 It all amounted to a re­
pudiation of nationalism on behalf of the Bulgarian church. It was done
on orders from Moscow. The man who performed this antinationalist
act on behalf of the Bulgarian Orthodox church was Metropolitan Ste­
fan of Sofia. But by the midsummer of 1948 he apparently had served
the purposes of the government.
On September 6, 1948, Stefan suddenly resigned, toppled from power
by the Holy Synod. A long statement was issued by the synod to explain
the resignation. It was a scathing denunciation of the exarch that did no
credit to anybody.11 The government was faced with a difficult choice as
to the man who could do its bidding. The synodal bishops were a cast
of ultraconservatives, nationalists, and reactionaries. In 1946 Georgi
Dimitrov had called them "old men with ossified brains." The Priests'
358 Eastern Europe

Union, led by Rev. Georgi Bogdanov, was hysterically pro-government,

but had no influence within the church. Outright suppression of reli­
gion would have been a political liability in the international arena,
where the communists were trying to win friends. The best alterna­
tive was to tame the Holy Synod and pick a man who would cooperate.
Church-state relations were to pass through a number of obstacles until
this man emerged.
Stefan was succeeded by Mikhail of Rousse. Very soon he offended
the government and his place was taken by Paisi of Vratsa. It was Paisi
who had toppled Stefan from power. Solid like a rock in defense of
the church, conservative to the last fiber of his body, Paisi had a repu­
tation of being an effective manager and disciplinarian who ruled the
church single-handedly. In precommunist times he was the man of the
government: when King Boris was on his deathbed they called Paisi to
administer the last communion,- when the communists came to power,
it was he, and the metropolitan of Plovdiv, Kiril, who were arrested and
jailed for six months. Now it was he who was called to preside over the
church when the government was moving to dismantle it.
On February 24, 1949, the Law of Confessions was promulgated,
strapping the church in iron chains. Article 12 of this law stipulated:
At the recommendation of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, each
minister of religion or other official who infringes the laws, public
order, and morality, or who works against the democratic regime
of the State, can be provisionally removed from his functions or
suspended, independently of his responsibilities. This removal or
suspension is carried out by the leaders of the respective confes­
sion on receiving the recommendation of the Minister of Foreign
Affairs. If the official concerned is not removed from office by the
leaders of the confession, he w ill be discharged through adminis­
trative channels.12 \
This policy had been put into effect even before the law was issued.
In February 1948 Metropolitan Andrey of the New York diocese was
suspended on orders from the Bulgarian government. It is possible that
behind the fall of Stefan there also may have been such an order.13
This law made the church hostage to the government. It required
that the confessions submit to the foreign ministry their bylaws for
approval within three months, as a condition of their future existence.
 Bulgaria 359

The Bulgarian Orthodox church took close to two years to fulfill this
demand. The committee in charge of preparing the statutes of the
church was chaired by Paisi. The government closely watched its work.
Paisi stood like a rock and remained immovable in defending the tradi­
tional and canonical foundations of the church from the pressure of the
government exerted through the representative of the Priests' Union.
He would not budge from the position that the synod was the ultimate
authority on all matters of church government and that this authority
could not be diluted for whatever reasons. The final text, approved by
the government on December 31, 1950, bears witness to his resistance,
but in the process of this struggle he made many enemies, wasted
himself, and soon after that resigned.14
The bylaws of the church are a remarkable document, inasmuch as
they provide for a broad participation of clergy and laity in its govern­
ing bodies. But they also contain the ingredients of their destruction
through manipulation of the electoral processes. The statutes provided,
as a first step in the erection of a church government, for election of
parish councils. Such elections were held on May 27, 19 51. The much-
heralded democratization of the church proved to be a sobering shock.
Naioden pastir, organ of the union, made the following comment: “ The
27th of May brought us the bitter disappointment, that we are generals
without an army."15 But the apathy of the electorate did not prevent
the union leaders from going ahead with their plans to take control
of the governing bodies. They were determined to elect "only indi­
viduals with clear and positive attitude towards the present people's
government."16 "It should not be permitted under any circumstances,"
another article commented, "to elect persons . . . [who are] strangers to
the spirit of our times and are secret enemies of the People's Govern­
ment." 17 The outcome of the balloting for diocesan electors (September
30, 1951), showed that the union had taken control of the national elec­
toral college of the church. The synod had made some inept efforts to
block union candidates, but had failed.18
The most important provision of the new statutes concerned the res­
toration of the Bulgarian patriarchate. A Church National Council met
in Sofia and on May 10, 195 3, elected Metropolitan Kiril of Plovdiv as
patriarch of Bulgaria. The restoration of the patriarchate was a national
affair, the ultimate consummation of Bulgarian church nationalism.
The powerful historical symbolism of the event overwhelmed all the
360 Eastern Europe

factors involved and wiped out all the dissensions that had appeared in
church life since 1945. It was the final triumph of the nationalist forces
in the church that overshadowed and swept aside all the claims and
bids for power of the radicals. The Church National Council elected a
first-class nationalist with indisputable credentials.

TH E NEW N ATIO N ALIST LEADERSHIP

Constantine Markov, the secular name of Patriarch Kiril, was born on

January 16, 1901, the son of Bulgarians from Macedonia.19 Having re­
ceived a solid theological education, at home and abroad, he served
the church in a variety of important positions. In 1938 he was elected
metropolitan of Plovdiv. In 1944/ following the communist coup of
September 9, he was arrested and kept in jail for six months to be tried
as a war criminal by a people's court, but the trial never took place.
About this time he turned away from public concerns and dedicated
himself to historical studies. The titles of these studies are a testament
of nationalism at its best and their contents represent a documented
record of Bulgarian nationalism. The total volume of his published
works amounts to over sixty-six hundred printed pages. The theme of
his studies is the justice of Bulgarian aspirations over Macedonia. His
heroes pose as majestic figures, like Davids and Moseses in Michelan-
gelian style, and cast their titanic shadows over the pale of modern
Bulgarian history to guide the destinies of the Bulgarian people even in
our times. The main hero, however, is the Bulgarian Orthodox church,
towering over princes and princelets, political leaders and political in­
stitutions, with its services to the nation. Kiril's scholarly work is pure,
unadulterated nationalism.
After his release from jail Kiril for a while kept a low profile. He re­
turned to prominence on August 28, 1946, when he addressed a public
meeting at the Bachkovo Monastery on the subject of the forthcoming
referendum on monarchy or republic. The next day the national press
printed his long exhortation in favor of the republic. It was claimed
privately that the published text was a pure invention but, as far as
the public was concerned, Kiril of Plovdiv had joined with the gov­
ernment of the Fatherland Front. Explanations for his turnabout were
never lacking. It was claimed that in his adolescent years he had been
a classmate and a very close friend of Vulko Chervenkov, the son-in­
 Bulgaria 361

law of Georgi Dimitrov. He was even said to have been for a while an
anarcho-communist.
Kiril never joined with the radical forces pressing for church reforms,
but he did not show hostility to them either. He allied himself with
the moderates in the Priests' Union and carefully directed the Plovdiv
delegation behind the scenes. In 1947 and 1948 he visited the Soviet
Union and published several articles and a book praising the commu­
nist system. While the Holy Synod was being torn apart by conflicts,
Kiril was busy publishing books, was preoccupied with the shattered
finances of the church, and was waiting in the wings for his time to
come. He was confident that his reputation as a hierarch and a scholar
would make him a formidable candidate for the patriarchal position.
His time came in 1953.
The election of Patriarch Kiril in 1953 brought the internal crisis of
the church to an end. The awesome prestige of his title, his competence
as an administrator, and his credentials as an outstanding scholar over­
shadowed every ambition and every jealousy still lingering in the halls
of the church. A ll dissidence in the church vanished, once and forever.
Union leaders, who once led a nasty campaign against the synod, either
left the priesthood or were integrated into the structure. During his
eighteen years of leadership all passions in the church'subsided and
eventually died out. When he passed away on March 7, 19 7 1, the patri­
archal throne was occupied quietly by the present tenant, Patriarch
Maxim.20 The event passed virtually unnoticed. Things were settled in
a pattern that has not changed for the past thirty years. There are no
indications that anything will change in the foreseeable future.
There is something ominous in the pattern of church life in Bul­
garia today. Seen through the speeches of patriarchs and bishops, this
life represents a strange, uneventful, surrealistic dream. One has the
feeling of walking through the Zimmermann's Die Wiese church in
Bavaria, where angels, saints, and biblical figures, in the swinging style
of the rococo world, are swept in song and dance into a fairy-tale cast
of fantasy. Even the faintest glimpse of the ordeal that the church is
going through could hardly be caught in the servile accounts of bless­
ings and praises, sung by the highest functionaries of the church. One
has to read the address of the newly elected Metropolitan Ioanikii of
Sliven, made on the occasion of his investiture on May 20, 1980, in
order to understand the dismal abyss to which a spiritual leadership of

a«r-r~' jt f t -i _L h
362 Eastern Europe

a nation could fall. His address is a political manifesto that even Karl
Marx could not have composed without blushing. In his address Metro­
politan Ioanikii spoke of his "feelings of gratitude towards the people's
democratic government," of the "positive attitude of the civil authori­
ties towards the Bulgarian Orthodox church," of the "profound respect,
the high honor and heartfelt gratitude which the entire Orthodox flock,
jointly with our entire beloved nation, honestly and sincerely feels to­
wards our people's government." He further spoke of "the memories of
pre-war Bulgaria . . . for the suppressed civil liberties . . . [that] provoke
a just indignation in every honest man."21
Metropolitan Ioanikii is a member of the new leadership of the Bul­
garian Orthodox church that emerged on the scene in the 1960s and
1 970s, following the bitter struggles for power of the late 1940s and
early 1950s. These struggles were fought between two nationalist fac­
tions, those of Kiril of Plovdiv and Paisi of Vratsa. The party of Kiril
won a big advantage when it joined forces with the new metropolitan of
Sliven, Nikodim, elected in 1947 with government support. Nikodim
had a strong following within a faction of monks associated with the
Triavna monastery and its amiable Abbot Clement. The good abbot
kept them together and turned them into a tightly knit power center
that effectively influenced all future church appointments. Nikodim
promoted the members of this group to high positions in the church
administration. He placed Metropolitan Filaret at Vidin, Metropolitan
Pancrati at Stara Zagora, Metropolitan Maxim at Lovech (and made him
also a patriarch of Bulgaria in 1971), Metropolitan Gregori at Lovech,
Metropolitan Kalinik at Vratsa, Metropolitan Ioanikii at Sliven, and
Prof. Todor Subev as Bulgarian representative at Geneva. Patriarch Kiril
placed his former protosyngels Stefan and Varlaam, respectively, at
Turnovo and Plovdiv, and Metropolitan Pimen at Nevrokop.
The group of Paisi lost ground and was pushed to secondary posi­
tions. Bishop Parteni was dispatched for five years or so to the U nitedv
States and then recalled. Bishop Joseph was sent to America to battle
with exiles and Macedonians and then isolated in New York with one
single parish. Bishop Simeon was sent to the United States, then was
recalled and appointed patriarchal vicar in Western Europe, with head­
quarters in Budapest. While abroad these bishops acted as tourist agents
for the government, arranging pilgrimages to Bulgaria. Archimandrits
Serafim and Vassili, at one time the most promising young leaders of
 Bulgaria 363

the church, vanished into oblivion—Serafim managed to become pro­

fessor of dogmatic theology, while Vassili, after a tour of the concentra­
tion camps for his outspoken sermons at Alexander Nevsky, retired in
obscurity. Archimandrit Miron, protosyngel of the Sofia diocese, was
dragged in the middle of the night out of diocesan headquarters and
for a long time his whereabouts remained unknown. He reemerged in
retirement. Bishop Nikolai, once considered the most brilliant clergy­
man of the church, who in different circumstances would have been
a worthy successor to Patriarch Kiril, could not go further than the
rectorship of the Theological Academy and peaceful retirement. Theo­
logically conservative, this group espoused the most extreme, the most
ultranationalist line in politics.
The equally ultranationalist Kiril-Nikodim group, which gained
power in the 1950s and 1960s, consisted of opportunists who conve­
niently posed as anticommunists. They skillfully exploited the argu­
ment that they had no other choice but to play the game of the govern­
ment, while, at the same time, taking advantage of every opportunity
and privilege extended to them. There are no valid criteria to determine
whether they fool the government or the public, but they obviously
have the best of two worlds. On the other hand, the group of Paisi con­
sisted of intellectuals and theologians, most of them having published
several books. The followers of Kiril-Nikodim are intellectual medio­
crities. These men pick the new metropolitans of the church and thus
perpetuate a kind of leadership that they themselves represent.
The most tempting advantage that accommodation to the political
realities in Bulgaria offers to the younger church leaders is the chance
to study theology in the Soviet Union. Having received free educa­
tion at the seminary and the Sofia Theological Academy, the young
monks, the future bishops and metropolitans, can look confidently for
a scholarship to go to Moscow. Another reward for accepting the com­
munist regime is an appointment as patriarchal vicar in Russia. Metro­
politan Joseph of New York has served there. Bishop Simeon has been
a patriarchal vicar in Moscow. Bishop Dometian, former vicar of the
patriarch in the United States, has spent years in the Soviet Union.
Metropolitan Ioanikii of Sliven, Metropolitan Filaret of Vidin, Bishop
Gelasii, Bishop Nestor, and Bishop Joseph (present patriarchal vicar in
the United States and Canada) have all studied for two or more years
in Moscow.22
364 Eastern Europe

TH E N ATIO N ALIST LEADERSHIP'S

PROPAGANDA MISSION

This government-supported and Moscow-educated Bulgarian clergy

serves the communist regime as an effective tool for communist pro­
paganda. While the world tends to excuse them for parroting the party
line in order to secure for themselves a place in the system, sometimes
they go so far overboard in their zeal that it is impossible to distin­
guish between the fakery, the servility, and the genuine conviction. In
1978 Metropolitan Nikodim published an article in Tsuikoven vestnik,
official journal of the church, insisting that "almost all American sen­
ators and congressmen are descendants of slaveowners. . . . It is for this
reason," insisted the Oxford-educated metropolitan, "that they seek to
enslave the Third World nations, to make them slaves of the United
States."23
The central preoccupation of the church leaders in Bulgaria in this
regard seems to be the promotion of propaganda issues important to
the Soviet government, where Sofia and Moscow share identical views.
Church leaders seem to be the most suitable representatives for the
Soviet line at international gatherings on questions of disarmament
and peace. Patriarch Maxim is a member of the World Peace Council
and deputy chairman of the Bulgarian National Peace Committee. He
has attended numerous World Peace Conferences.24 The leaders of the
Bulgarian church w ill never fail to attack the United States, in one form
or another, for its policies on the subject of peace and disarmament.
On November 13, 1979, Metropolitan Pancrati addressed seventy-six
delegates at the Sofia conference of the Christian Peace Movement and
while congratulating the peace initiative of Brezhnev, he had only scorn
for the Western powers.15 Particularly obsessed with such ideas is the
metropolitan of Vratsa, Kalinik, who wrote several editorials on the
subject.26 Metropolitan Pancrati delivered a long address on the sanle
subject at the World Peace parliament conference in Sofia, September
23, r98o, attended by two thousand delegates from 120 countries.27
The international activities of the Bulgarian Orthodox church are
conducted through the World Council of Churches where it has emerged
as one of the chief agents of communist-sponsored functions. The Bul­
garian representatives have been highly lauded for their services. The
leader of the Christian Peace Movement, introduced to Todor Zhivkov
 Bulgaria 365

by Patriarch Maxim after the conference at Sofia, assured the first party
secretary and president of the republic: "Our Bulgarian friends, ecu­
menical friends, are not only the best, but also the most capable diplo­
mats." Metropolitan Filaret of Kiev seconded him.28 The Bulgarian gov­
ernment most generously supports these activities. It extends every
courtesy and every technical and financial assistance to the synod to
organize international conferences in Sofia.
One of the side effects of these activities is, of course, the impression
that the Bulgarian Orthodox church is a living body and, thus, alleged
acts of persecution of religion are pure nonsense. The appearance of the
patriarch with his long white veil, accompanied by metropolitans, at
international gatherings is an impressive testimony to a vigorous living
church. At the World Peace Parliament of Nations, mentioned above,
Metropolitan Pancrati made an impromptu speech to dispel "some quite
offensive . . . biased allegations of interested countries in the West, to
the effect that in the Socialist world there is a systematic violation of
religious freedoms. . . . I state categorically," continued Metropolitan
Pancrati, "that the religious freedoms in our country . . . and the rights
of all believers are guaranteed indeed." He proceeded to deplore the
suppression of the "basic rights and freedoms for tens of millions in
the Western World."29 This statement was made without any apparent
reason. Its obvious purpose was to strengthen the credentials with
which the church speaks in promoting the foreign policy objectives of
the communist powers.
No less important a mission assigned to the Bulgarian Orthodox
church by the government of Sofia is its work among emigrants and
exiles residing in the Western countries. The objectives of this mission
seem to be to inspire among them a spirit of loyalty and affection for
the motherland; to explain to them in a credible manner the policies of
the communist authorities in Bulgaria; to counter and muffle all sug­
gestions of religious persecution and oppression, of lack of freedom at
home, of social and economic misery; to encourage pilgrimages to the
homeland; and to play on the deep-seated feelings of nostalgia. The pur­
pose of this mission is to divide, to confuse, to discredit, to demoralize,
to paralyze, to restrain, and to immobilize any and all antigovernment
activities conducted by political exiles. Without the church serving as
a natural leader and catalyst of such activities, as a recognized sym­
bol and inspiration for national unity, with credibility and respect sup­

-«w. «nr-r*: .It s iL .:..? '* » :'.

366 Eastern Europe

ported by a centuries-long faithful service to the Bulgarian people, the

exile cause has lost a powerful lever for an all-out effort and united
front against the communist regime in Sofia. In this respect the Bul­
garian Orthodox church, guided by the communist government, has
been eminently successful. The Bulgarian Orthodox churches abroad
have been all but eliminated as a factor in the exile resistance to com­
munism.
During the Stalinist times the church, on orders from the govern­
ment, did not interest itself in ecclesiastical affairs abroad and severed
relations with the then Metropolitan Andrey of New York. In 1963 he
was reinstated in a reversal of policies, was offered attractive financial
inducements, and was given several assistants from Sofia. In a few years
these emissaries—Bishops Joseph, metropolitan of New York (1972—
87), Parteni, and Simeon, subsequently patriarchal vicar in Western
Europe—managed to split every single Bulgarian community in Amer­
ica and Canada, expelled the American priests from their churches
and set up two dioceses—New York and Akron—under the jurisdic­
tion of the Sofia synod. They brought priests from Bulgaria to take
charge of the synodal parishes and took firm control of Bulgarian reli­
gious life in America. The Holy Synod in Sofia passed a decision that
only Bulgarians, born and educated in Bulgaria, could serve the par­
ishes in the United States and Canada. In parish after parish the local
parishioners were challenged by the agents of Sofia and in parish after
parish the pro-Sofia faction won the majorities. This faction exploited
accumulated resentments in the Bulgarian communities against the
Macedonian Patriotic Organization, the only surviving legal arm of the
old im r o (Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organization) that had
dominated the Macedonian-Bulgarian church communities in Amer­
ica and Canada for decades. It also played the tune of a nonpartisan,
nonpolitical, apolitical, and purely religious interest in church affairs,
where the Bulgarians would find shelter under the wings of the mother
church. The most powerful component of this argument was the sense
of ethnic identity and nationalist feelings underlying it. The antisyn-
odal congregations were organized by Bishop Kyrill as an independent
diocese under the jurisdiction of the Russian Synod in Exile. In 1979 it
joined the Orthodox church in America.
To strengthen the work of the Sofia church in America, Patriarch
Maxim paid a long visit to the New York and Akron dioceses in 1978.
 Bulgaria 367

He led an impressive delegation of three metropolitans (Filaret of Vidin,

Pancrati of Stara Zagora, and Kalinik of Vratsa), his ever-present private
secretary protodiakon Dr. Vasil Veliyanov, and Prof. Todor Subev. He
gave to this visit a highly patriotic appearance, and at almost every stop
appealed to the nationalistic feelings of the Bulgarians in America and
Canada. He recalled the glorious past of the Bulgarian nation and called
to all to "bow down with humility before the altar of Bulgarian sanctity,
the heroes of spirit and self-sacrifices in the name of faith and church,
of nationhood and Slavic brotherhood." He implored the American Bul­
garians: "You, while away from the borders of the motherland, are also
her beloved children in virtue of your ancestral faith, of your blood and
the unbreakable spiritual bonds with the mother church." There was
an air of hidden hostility and disdain, resentment and reserve in his
speeches and sermons throughout the visit. There were no meaningful
references to America for the sake of American-born Bulgarians, and an
obvious lack of knowledge and references to the blessings and virtues
that American Bulgarians enjoy in their country. The patriarch treated
his listeners as if they were held prisoners in a foreign land, longing to
come back home and escape this most disagreeable place. At least this
was the impression left by the published account of this visit, written
by P. V. Veliyanov.30
How important a tool for attracting and holding the Bulgarian dias­
pora the church is, is evident from the profusion of articles and pictures
of churches, monasteries, icons, saints, and heroes of its past, promi­
nently displayed in issue after issue of Slaviani, a publication of the
government circulated among Bulgarian emigrants. At a time when the
church at home is treated with a total blackout, where no pictures of
patriarchs, metropolitans, and bishops, no mention of church activi­
ties, and no articles on church events ever appear in the public press,
Slaviani continually shows the white-veiled patriarch, the cassocks of
metropolitans and bishops, and an endless array of religious objects in
a patriotic setting. Slaviani is not circulated in Bulgaria. The Bulgarian
abroad is saturated with reminders of past church glory. This crescendo
of publicity for the church and religious subjects and topics of histori­
cal and artistic content must have something to do with the mission
assigned to the church outside of Bulgaria: to win and hold the emi­
grants, if not in support of the government, at least in a political limbo,
in safe neutrality.
368 Eastern Europe

To achieve this objective Slaviani, in cooperation with the church

in Sofia, tries to convince the Bulgarians abroad that religious life in
Bulgaria proceeds under normal conditions. In its May 1978 issue it
published an article by Subev alleging that the patriarchate in Bulgaria
conducts its affairs in conditions of freedom, as guaranteed by the con­
stitution of the country and the Law of Confessions. The theology pro­
fessor sought to persuade the Bulgarians abroad that regular religious
services are held freely, that sermons are delivered freely in thousands
of churches and monasteries, that religious periodicals and books are
published and circulated freely, that theological schools are functioning
freely, and that synodal businesses producing church goods are operat­
ing freely. The church, he continued, is subsidized by the state. This
statement also was published, verbatim, in the church journal, as the
metropolitan of Stara Zagora Pancrati's speech, on May 10, 1978, at the
solemn celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the patriarchate.
Other statements with similar content and more specific information
have been printed in Slaviani. It was reported that the Theological
Seminary and the Theological Academy were training, respectively,
120 and 130 students, that the church publishes Tsuikoven vestnik
and Dukhovna kultura, and that the church has 2,600 parishes, 3,720
churches, and about 120 monasteries.32 All this information, however,
published in 1980, does not differ from the statements made by Patri­
arch Maxim in an interview published in Slaviani in 1977.33 Apparently
nothing changed in three years.
Some information offered by Patriarch Maxim was highly signifi­
cant. He specified that the church was served by 1,700 priests and 400
monks. Even in the best of times the Bulgarian church has never had
400 monks. Even if the number of active priests, 1,700, is accepted,
though it seems to be an exaggeration, it is a 30 percent or more decline
in comparison with 1948 when the Bulgarian church reportedly was
served by over 2,446 men.34 Patriarch Maxim did not tell the truth, (k
he did not know it, which is improbable. Around the same time as this
interview Metropolitan Pimen of Nevrokop spoke on Mexican televi­
sion where he was visiting and gave different figures. He said the num­
ber of priests was "about fifteen hundred" and the number of monks and
nuns two hundred. These numbers, given by Bishop Pimen for 1978, are
repeated in a government propaganda publication circulated in August
1987. It would appear that in ten years the rank and file of the Bui-
 Bulgaria 369

garian Orthodox church has not changed at all.35 The truth, certainly
known to Maxim and Pimen, is probably worse, considering the fact
that a large number of priests were inherited from prewar times and
many of them have either died by now or have retired. Many of them
have abandoned their positions and settled in other, more lucrative and
less deprecated, professions. The synodal bishops in America openly
complain that many of those who graduate from the seminary today,
after serving in the army, never return to the church. The theological
schools graduate at most fifty students a year, half of them already or­
dained priests. They never could meet the demands for new clergy (e.g.,
the Varna diocese recently advertised seventeen vacancies).36 This indi­
cates that there is a shortage of qualified priests. If this number holds
for all of the eleven dioceses, which in all probability it does, then the
church is faced with extinction. There is no way to determine the crisis
afflicting the rural parishes. The fact that very few, if any, of the semi­
narians opt for ordination shows the dimension of the crisis facing the
nationalist leadership of the Bulgarian Orthodox church. In a matter of
ten, or even five years, by the natural course of events, the clergy of the
Bulgarian church could be decimated. The existence of the church, as
a viable institution, is in jeopardy indeed.
The claim for the existence of religious publications is not better
founded. Tsurkoven vestnik and Dukhovna kultuia are highly pro­
fessional theological journals in which, besides official addresses and
statements of church leaders, stylized sermons replete with biblical
quotations, and a few historical essays, there is nothing for the ordinary
reader. Dukhovna kultura was once a highly respectable journal. Now
it is monopolized by theology professors for consideration of highly spe­
cialized topics in academic style, inaccessible to the common reader.
Two thousand copies of this monthly periodical of twenty-two pages are
distributed to the professionals. Such is also the case with Tsurkoven
vestnik, a bimonthly of eight pages; it circulates only among the clergy.
The case with the theological schools is no more encouraging.
The financial status of the church is, likewise, pathetic. Much is
made of church monopolies and church industries, but they are in­
volved merely in the production and sale of candles, incense, icons,
vestments, and liturgical utensils for priests and churches. At one point
the salaries of the priests were paid with candles allotted for sale. The
worshipers, however, could avail themselves of these goods, candles

* p -m r.
370 Eastern Europe

particularly, only when they attended religious services. Considering

the fact that church attendance is nowhere near capacity, to put it
mildly, and that Bulgarian Christians are not the most generous donors
in Sunday collections and fund-raising drives, the only reliable support
for the church comes from the state's subsidy. In the 1950s, when the
subject of financing the church was still under consideration, represen­
tatives of the pro-government line in the church argued that the accep­
tance of money from the state in precommunist times amounted to
political commitment. This issue no longer is discussed in the church
press, since all support of the church is coming from the communist
state. The state subsidy must be of quite a substantial amount to pay
the salaries of the patriarch, the eleven or twelve metropolitans, the
twelve bishops, the synodal and diocesan personnel, and the theologi­
cal and seminary professors, plus room, board, and fees of students,
travel, conferences, visits from foreign dignitaries, etc. No figures ever
have been published by either the church or the government, beyond
the admission that the total amount of the subsidy constitutes 13 per­
cent of the entire budget of the church, but the exact amount of the
subsidy remains a secret. Whatever it is, it obviously must be supple­
mented in the form of other allowances, in order to enable the church
to carry on activities outside its concerns and to survive as a showcase
for communist propaganda. This answers the question as to why the
state should foot the bill of the church, when the Communist party has
waged, and continues to wage, a relentless struggle for the extinction
of religion.
It is a simple deduction to suggest that the generosity of the commu­
nist government in subsidizing the church is merely a payment for its
services with the audiences that it addresses. What makes these ser­
vices particularly valuable to the communists is the credibility with
which the church speaks on the issues in question. The issues of peace
and disarmament are vested in the very nature of the church and ifs
message. When the black cassock and the patriarchal veil appear behind
the Soviet line in international gatherings of unsuspecting Western
churchmen, they are worth more than any eloquent peroration at a rally
of the Communist party. The credibility of the church leaders with the
Bulgarian emigrants is of even greater value. The political system in
Bulgaria may be questioned, but who could question the established
credentials of the Bulgarian Orthodox church as a symbol of ethnic
 Bulgaria 371

and cultural identity, as a pillar of national unity and as the ultimate

refuge of Bulgarian nationalism and patriotism? Any other institution
and ideology of the Bulgarian past and present may be criticized and
questioned, but who would find anything for which to criticize the Bul­
garian Orthodox church? This credibility has been used to serve the
cause of Bulgarian nationalism in a communist disguise.

IN SERVICE TO BULGARIAN NATIONALISM

The Bulgarian Orthodox church has served Bulgarian nationalism for

a thousand years in conditions of infinite diversity. It is a service that
it has agreed to perform for the present communist regime in Bulgaria
with enthusiasm and without reservations. It is not the gospel that the
patriarch and bishops in Sofia hold high for the Bulgarian people at
home and abroad. It is the national cause in its church wrappings that
they, jointly with the communist government, propagate today. Patri­
archs, metropolitans, bishops, and theologians have become heralds of
traditional Bulgarian nationalism. This is the one theme that domi­
nates their speeches and their writings, and where they appear to be
honest, sincere, and loyal proponents of traditions and ideas held by
the Bulgarian church without reservation for centuries, transcending
political regimes, social systems, and historical destinies.
It is an incontrovertible dogma for Bulgarian church leaders that Bul­
garian religion and Bulgarian nationhood are identical realities, two
streams running close to each other, in parallel with each other, de­
pending on each other, interacting with each other, with the Bulgarian
nation providing the body and the Orthodox church providing the soul
of one and the same Bulgaria. The doctrine of the close identity of
church, state, and nation in Bulgarian history has been held by every
Bulgarian historian from Paisii to our days and by every leader of the
Bulgarian Orthodox church, past and present.37
One of the recurrent themes in the Bulgarian church press today is
the parallel continuity of church and nation. Church leaders do not
spare any effort to repeat for the thousandth time the claim that the
patriarchate of 1953 is canonically and historically directly related to
the patriarchates of the first and second Bulgarian empires and the
archbishopric of Ohrid.38 The historical continuity of the patriarchate
Is extended further over the territorial integrity of the Bulgarian lands.
372. Eastern Europe

The church is perceived as a guardian and repository of Bulgarian

national values that transcend political frontiers and historical contin­
gencies. The centerpiece of these values, an integral part of the Bul­
garian historical heritage entrusted to the church, is Macedonia. The
present leaders of the Bulgarian Orthodox church—patriarch, metro­
politans, bishops, and theology professors—are wallowing in this per­
ception of their mission and repeatedly point to numerous examples
from history to evoke the authority of heroes in ecclesiastical garb.
The most often recalled are the images of Saints Cyril, Methodius, and
Clement of Ohrid.
Nowhere in the Slavic world is the cult of these saints celebrated
with greater solemnity and national fervor than in Bulgaria, both in
religious and secular festivities. By engaging in these nationalist ex­
hortations the church seeks to project the idea that the founders of
Bulgarian culture and civilization were, before anything else, clergy­
men, and, second, that they were born in Macedonia and spoke and
wrote in the language of the Macedonian Slavs, the Old Bulgarian Lan­
guage. By trudging along the path of traditional Bulgarian nationalism
the leaders of the Bulgarian Orthodox church thus hope to win, for the
church and for themselves, a place of dignity and respectability in the
communist society of today.
There is no public occasion where church leaders would not praise
the work of Saints Cyril and Methodius as Bulgarian contributions to
Slavic and world civilization. Metropolitan Pimen of Nevrokop spoke
of them as "born Bulgarians from a Bulgarian family."39 Metropolitan
Pancrati led a high-powered delegation of academicians and diplomats
in a pilgrimage to the grave of St. Cyril at the San Clemente Church
in Rome. His speech, published as an editorial in Tsuikoven vestnik,
called the two brothers "Slavo-Bulgarians."40 The same journal pub­
lished a long article from Prof. Emil Georgiev, the most prominent
member of the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences and specialist on fhe
subject, in which he spoke of the work of Saints Cyril and Methodius
as an "achievement of the Bulgarian genius . . . a contribution of the
Bulgarian nation to the common Slavic, and general European evolu­
tion."41
It has become a means of swearing loyalty to the Bulgarian church
and to Bulgarian nationalism for all bishops and metropolitans, when
addressing an audience, to repeat again and again the now famous
 Bulgaria 373

appelation of St. Clement of Ohrid: "the first bishop of the Bulgarian

language." This phrase was coined by a Greek archbishop of Ohrid,
Theophilactus, in the eleventh century. Bishop Simeon, addressing
Patriarch Maxim during his visit to this country in 1978, spoke of St.
Clement as "the first Bishop of the Bulgarian language in our holy
church, enlightener of the beautiful Macedonian land."42 Patriarch
Maxim himself, addressing a large congregation at Detroit, implored
the almost exclusively Macedonian-born audience: "We are called to
follow this path of light by the great patron of your church— St.
Clement of Ohrid—the first bishop of the Bulgarian language . . .
founder of our national hierarchy and splendid culture."43
Macedonia figures in every statement and article by high church
functionaries in reference to historical and patriotic occasions. It is
viewed always as the cradle of Bulgarian culture. The Academy of St.
Clement at Ohrid in the ninth century, in the words of an official
statement of the Holy Synod, was "organized in the bosom of our Holy
Church."44 Addressing the church congregation at Indianapolis, Patri­
arch Maxim said: "We, emissaries of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church,
have come to this far-off [country] . . . because here we find living
zealous patriots of ours, beloved children of our Holy Church . . . from
golden Macedonia, flat Moesia and aromatic Thrace." Bishop Simeon
responded: "Their faith is the faith of our ancestors from Macedonia."45
Five Bulgarian metropolitans—Joseph of Varna, Nikodim of Sliven,
Pimen of Nevrokop, Stefan of Turnovo, and Varlaam of Plovdiv—and
the patriarchal secretary, Dr. Veliyanov, issued a statement, published
both in Tsurkoven vestnik and Slaviani, to refute some allegations of
a Skopje priest, Dr. Slavko Dimevski, and said, in reference to the late
patriarch Kiril: "The Holy Patriarch is a Macedonian Bulgarian, while
Dr. Dimevski is a 'Macedonian' from a Macedonia which is Bulgarian
in history, language, spirit, culture and church life."46
The Bulgarian Orthodox church still maintains symbolic claims over
Macedonia by ordaining bishops (metropolitans-to-be) with titles of in­
active ancient sees located in that region. Presently, such titles are held
by Branitski Gerasim (rector of the Theological Seminary), Velichki
Iosif, Lefkiiski Partheni, Stobiiski Arseni (secretary-general of the Holy
Synod), Znepolski Dometian (patriarchal vicar in the United States),
Dragovitiiski loan (former rector of the Theological Academy), Krup-
nlshki Gelassii, Glavinitski Simeon (patriarchal vicar in Western Eu­
374 Eastern Europe

rope), and Smolenski Nestor, among others. Of course, these are only
symbolic titles, but symbols are kept alive in support of the Bulgarian
aspirations vis-à-vis Macedonia. It is the driving force of Bulgarian
nationalism. The Bulgarian church is serving this cause with all its
heart and all its soul, and all the energy and credibility it can muster.
Although the Bulgarian government evidently has shelved all its
demands vis-à-vis Greek Macedonia, Yugoslav Macedonia remains an
open question. The war of words between Belgrade and Sofia over
Macedonia these days often reaches a deafening pitch. Sofia contests
the Yugoslav claim that the Macedonians constitute a distinct ethnic
group. If this claim were admitted by the Bulgarians, then the entire
population of the Pirin district of Bulgaria or much of it, at any rate,
might have to be recognized as Macedonian and be granted appropriate
legal status, with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto, as was
reluctantly done between 1944 and 1 948-47 No Bulgarian government,
acting on its own free will, would ever do that.
The Bulgarian Communist party, always forced to adapt its stand on
the subject to Soviet interests in the Balkans,48 has changed its position
at every turn after World War I. In the interwar period, it tried every
possible subterfuge to meet the standards of the Com intern.9 In I 94 1
it used Metodi Shatorov to integrate the Macedonian Communist party
into its structure.50In 1944, pressured by both the Yugoslavs and the So­
viets, the Bulgarian party agreed to permit the dispatch, from the Yugo­
slav side, of ninety-three teachers to Pirin Macedonia. These teachers
offered classes in Macedonian language and history, introduced courses
for illiterate peasants, and lectured on life in Yugoslav Macedonia. They
also established a Macedonian publishing house, created a Macedo­
nian newspaper (Piiinski vestnik ), and founded a Macedonian National
Theater at Goma Djumaja for the presentation of Macedonian plays.51
Not surprisingly, the 1946 Bulgarian census allegedly recorded a high
concentration of Macedonians in the Pirin district, though the precise'
figures never have been revealed.52 In 1956, prior to the April plenum,
at a time when Nikita Khrushchev was still hoping to entice Yugo­
slavia back into the Soviet orbit,53 and when any attempt of Bulgaria to
repudiate Macedonianism in the Pirin district would have been tanta­
mount to sabotage of Soviet foreign policy, the Bulgarian census still
showed 187,789 Macedonians. The census of 1965 showed only 8,7so.54
 Bulgaria 375

By 1975 there were only 1,400 of them left.55 The failure of the Soviet
Union to attract Yugoslavia back to the fold apparently freed the Bul­
garian Communist party to reassert itself.56 But the Bulgarian Ortho­
dox church never wavered in its nationalism and never conceded this
point. In 1946, when Macedonianism came to reign at the university,
the theological faculty became the refuge for recalcitrant nationalist
professors of philology and linguistics. When the Macedonian clergy in
Yugoslav Macedonia organized an autocephalous Macedonian Ortho­
dox church in 1967, claiming to be the restored archbishopric of Ochrid
from earlier times,57 the Holy Synod in Sofia turned a cold shoulder.
Modern Bulgarian nationalism, ever since the liberation of 1878, has
been torn between East and West. Bulgaria, led by German princes,
sided with Germany in two great European wars, and lost. During
World War II London considered plans to liquidate it as an indepen­
dent country.58 It was only the Soviet occupation in 1944 that saved
Bulgaria from partitioning and annihilation. If Bulgarian nationalism
today has any chance, it is with the Soviet Union. The Bulgarian nation­
alists who oppose communism and the pro-Soviet orientation of Bul­
garia these days are the most tragic figures on the Bulgarian politi­
cal stage. They either must give up their nationalism and throw their
lot in with the uncertain West, or, for the sake of nationalism, em­
brace the Soviet Union and communism. This seems to be the choice
made by the leadership of the Bulgarian Orthodox church, which has
become the most ardent proponent of Russophilism in Bulgaria— evi­
dently, in the hope and with the expectation that the Soviets would
endorse Bulgarian nationalism.
The Bulgarian Orthodox church has long served the cause of Russo­
philism. Bulgarian hierarchs fought the German princes of Battenberg
and Coburg and were, in turn, imprisoned or exiled. Today they sing
praises to “Grandfather Ivan" who "shines as an eternal bright sun of
freedom." "Today," claimed an article in Tsurkoven vestnik in 1978,
"the entire happy Bulgarian nation enjoys a well-being built on the
fidelity and friendship of Diado Ivan."59 That same year Metropolitan
Kalinik spoke of the "common destiny of Bulgarians and Russians" and
quoted the late Patriarch Kiril as having said that "the brotherhood
between the Soviet Union and the Bulgarian nation w ill be forever in­
separable."60 Patriarch Maxim never misses the opportunity to swear
376 Eastern Europe

allegiance to Russia and the Soviet Union. The leaders of the Russian
church reciprocate with similar assurances of their affection for Bul­
garia and the Bulgarians. When Patriarch Maxim arrived in Moscow for
the celebration of the sixtieth anniversary of the Russian patriarchate
— these festivities seem to be purposely staged—he was met at the
airport by Patriarch Pimen himself, six Russian metropolitans, and the
Soviet Minister for Religious Affairs at the head of this massive display
of attention.61

CO N CLU SIO N

Nationalism has been a deeper faith for the Bulgarian Orthodox church
throughout the centuries than the gospel truth. It is its saving grace
now, when its leaders have placed all their energies, their prestige, and
their credibility to serve a system that has vowed to destroy the church.
It has been argued that, faced with the hopelessness of its position, the
church has discovered in nationalism its last refuge for survival. By es­
pousing this philosophy and actively working for the Bulgarian national
cause in a communist environment, the church, at least, could stand
with dignity before its centuries-long history and claim respectability
in a society that denies the value of its message. Bulgarian church lead­
ers could claim confidently that they are not doing anything less than
their predecessors have done in feeding, sustaining, and keeping alive
their secular faith—Bulgarian nationalism. It is the only, and the last,
service that they still can perform for the Bulgarian people, even if they
do not find public recognition for it at the highest levels of government
in Sofia. On October 2,0, 1981, at the official celebration of the thirteen
hundredth anniversary of the Bulgarian state, Todor Zhivkov, president
of the People's Republic of Bulgaria, failed to mention the Bulgarian
Orthodox church, except in a brief derogatory reference to the popovete
(the priests). He gave credit to all forces, institutions, individuals, £ind
movements that have inspired and sustained the Bulgarian nation in its
long history, but omitted the church.61 While he was delivering his ad­
dress, Patriarch Maxim was sitting far behind, in the fourth row, some
1 1 4 party and other leaders ahead of him in the place of honor for this
historic occasion. The patriarch should have been the first among the
most honored guests. By this official snub, by no means an accident,
 Bulgaria 377

the leader of the Bulgarian communist state indicated to the nation­

alist leadership of the Bulgarian Orthodox church that its services to
the government and to the nation are dispensable and that even for the
sake of nationalism and history the church would not be spared, that
it is marked for extinction.
16

T h e Fate of Islam in the Balkans:

A C om parison of Four State Policies

Z ach ary T. Irw in

The situation of Islam in the Balkans reflects the legacy of Ottoman

rule and the recent political history in four socialist states. Existing
scholarship about Balkan Muslim peoples does not suggest a simple
comparison.1 Recent policies toward the Muslim peoples of this area
have attracted relatively little attention, and there is no systematic ac­
count of the Ottoman impact on the Balkans. Even to speak about a
"M uslim policy" in southeastern Europe requires great caution in order
to distinguish ethnic from religious questions. In this chapter I w ill de­
scribe some political aspects of Islam in Albania, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria,
and Romania and ask whether these aspects have a larger significance
for Islam and socialism.
There are great disparities in the size and character of Balkan Muslim
communities, a fact that complicates the most simple description. In
Yugoslavia, Muslims of different nationalities constitute about 1 6 per­
cent of the population and include the federation's third largest nation­
ality, the Slavic "M uslim s" of Bosnia-Herzegovina.2 Until recently
Yugoslavia pursued a policy of relative tolerance toward most Islamic
religious expression and granted considerable autonomy to Islamic or­
ganization. Yugoslav policies are contrasted with the situation in Alba­
nia, the world's first avowedly "atheistic" state.3 Since 1967 Albania's^
vigorous campaigns of "atheization" have fallen equally hard on the
Sunni Muslims of the north and the less numerous Shi'ite Bektashi in
the south. But Albania is a predominantly Muslim country (70 per­
cent), an important consideration in comparing the Muslim situation
with that of the smaller Catholic and Orthodox sects. In Romania,
Muslims belong predominantly to two ethnic groups, the Tatars and
 Islam in the Balkans 379

Turks (amounting to about 0.2 percent of the population).4 Like Roma­

nians of the Jewish faith, Romanian Muslims enjoy religious privileges
comparable to Muslims in Yugoslavia. Bulgarian Muslims include ap­
proximately 700,000 Turks, 18,000 Slavic Pomaks, and 12,000 Gyp­
sies.5 Nearly one out of ten residents of Bulgaria is a Muslim.
Bulgaria's situation highlights the complex relation of religious and
national identity. Bulgarian Turks have been the object of virtual ex­
pulsion, negotiated repatriation with Turkey, and enforced "Bulgarian-
ization." Slavic Pomaks differ in language and settlement from Turkish
Bulgarians and, because they are Slavic, have endured intense pressures
of assimilation from the Bulgarian authorities. Religious Orthodoxy is
a key component of Bulgarian identity, and it appears that the Bulgarian
leadership views Islam as a denial of Bulgarian nationality. Albania's
repression of religion reflects its relative insignificance for Albanian
national consciousness—which is not to deny that official persecution
of the adherents of any faith is intolerable. However, the comparison
becomes more striking by considering Yugoslavia. Belgrade has pro­
moted a "M uslim " identity among Slavic Muslims as a countervail­
ing national identity to Serbo-Croatian rivalry both in the federation
as a whole and within the republic of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Yugoslav
Muslims of all nationalities, including Albanians and Macedonians,
have enjoyed ecclesiastical autonomy unique under socialism, despite
Yugoslav insistence that Muslim ethnicity exists independent of Is­
lam. Both Yugoslavia and Romania have been relatively tolerant toward
organized Muslim religious expression, and both have endeavored to
exploit an Islamic association in relations with foreign states.
In comparing policies adopted toward Balkan Muslims one must
acknowledge the absence of a single pattern of "church"-state relations.
In order to systematically probe the differences in regime policies to­
ward the Muslims in these states, I shall focus on three questions:
(x) Which relevant features of Ottoman rule and Islamicization have
a bearing on the current composition of the Muslim community and
its place in the state's national history? (2) How does the communist
parties' conception of "socialism" affect their religious and ethnic poli­
cies in general and toward Muslims specifically? (3) How do interstate
or transnational considerations affect both state policy and attitudes of
the community itself?
380 Eastern Europe

THE O TT O M A N LEG ACY

Broadly speaking, Balkan Muslims consist of both Slavic Muslims and

non-Slavic immigrants from imperial times. With the exception of the
Albanian Bektashi, all are Sunnis of the Hanafite rite.6 Among Slavic
Muslims it is difficult to exaggerate the role of religion in maintaining
a Muslim identity. This assertion is not a simple redundancy. Quite
aside from communist party pressures toward national homogeneity,
few Muslims—Slavic and non-Slavic alike—have shown much attach­
ment to secular Turkey. Religion (and religious culture) remains the
sole component of their distinctive identity. Although there are nearly
ten thousand Turkish borrowings in modern Serbo-Croatian, Ottoman
rule had only marginal linguistic impact on Bulgarian and Romanian.7
To be sure, Turkish Balkan Muslims have continued to speak Turk­
ish, although their lower levels of education and predominantly rural
status account for less social integration. As the Balkan states gained
national independence, Muslims experienced a reversal in their social
status. Under Ottoman rule many had been relatively privileged land-
owners, civil servants, or urban craftsmen. Within a few generations
of Balkan independence most Muslims had become peasants, except
for some in certain areas of Albania and Yugoslavia. There was little
except religion to promote a separate identity among Slavic Muslims.
The Jelaviches refer to the "striking lack of physical evidence of the
almost five-hundred-year [Turkish] occupation."8
The important role of religion was the single greatest legacy of the
Ottoman Empire. The tenacity of religious belief among Muslims under
socialism may be traced to the challenge of a faith that refuses to dis­
tinguish religious from social and political institutions. The Ottoman
system of administration reinforced the absence of a secular-religious
distinction. The Muslim dhimmi (protected people, viz., Christians
and Jews) system exchanged the autonomy of non-Muslim religious
communities for tribute and recognition of Muslim suzerainty, and it
became the basis of the Ottoman religious millets (administratively
autonomous units based on religious organization). It is difficult to
make accurate generalizations about the millet system without respect
to time and place, but historians generally consider it to have been an
obstacle both to mass conversion as well as to the development of a
distinctive ethnic identity.9 The empire had little sustained interest in
 Islam in the Balkans 381

religious conversion as long as the Muslim overlord received payment

in land or discriminatory tax. Only the Orthodox millet was subject
to the child levy or devshirme. Peasants [raya] who converted to Islam
avoided both the devshirme and the discriminatory tax, but as Stanford
Shaw observes, "the Muslim rayas were no closer than the non-Muslim
rayas to the Ottoman rulers in language, culture, customs, and mores
[so that] the upper class Ottomans were equally far from both, and
treated them, as a result, with equal scorn."10 Religious bonds between
Balkan Muslims and their Turkish rulers were strained by the ten­
dency of many Balkan Muslims to incorporate Christian and pagan
practices and beliefs into their religious practice. It is likely that the
millet system reinforced religious peculiarities among local Slavic and
non-Slavic Muslims alike. The greatest distinction for a Slavic Mus­
lim was to rise to the status of a tax farmer, an administrator, or a
Sipahi (cavalryman). These privileges were reserved for relatively few
individuals, but a striking number of Christian converts became grand
viziers in Istanbul.11
The cases of mass conversions to Islam are limited to the Albanian
and Bosnian Slavs. Recent work by John Fine casts doubt on the iden­
tification of Islamic conversion and the persecuted medieval heresy of
Bogomil Manichaeanism. Fine considers it possible that the heresy had
so weakened Catholic and Orthodox influence that the Bosnian popu­
lation was susceptible to Turkicization and Islamicization. There is
evidence of the synthesis of Christian and Muslim practices among be­
lievers.12 A smaller number of Slavic Muslims trace their origins to the
assimilation of the Turkish conquerors and the devshirme. At the time
of the Austrian occupation of Bosnia there were between 6,000 and
7,000 aristocrats {begovi and age)-, 85,000 serfs, including 60,000 Or­
thodox Serbs and 23,000 Catholic Croats; and 7,000 free Muslim peas­
ants.13 As in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Albanians converted to Islam rather
than submit to Orthodox pressure from the Slavic north. Prior to the
Türkish conquest, the ghegs (the chief tribal group in northern Alba­
nia) had found in Roman Catholicism a means of resisting the Slavs,
and though Albanian Orthodoxy remained important among the tosks
(the chief tribal group in southern Albania), many lords chose to retain
their lands through religious conversion. In addition to these factors,
Albanian conversion was affected by the character of Albanian soci­
ety and the role of the Bektashi dervish orders. The tribal structure of

■■îwrrg! . )■■#***>
382 Eastern Europe

social organization and allegiance encouraged mass conversion follow­

ing the conversion of a gheg leader. Bektashi missionaries undertook
vigorous efforts in the South. Shi'ite Bektashism affirmed the unity of
God in all monotheistic religion and the brotherhood of all men. This
universal strain appealed to Albanians owing to their weakly defined
sense of religious identity. It is not unusual for a single Albanian fam­
ily to include both Muslim and Christian members or, as some Slavic
Muslims, to profess both faiths depending on circumstances.14
The empire settled Tatars and rebellious Turcoman Yuruks in Thrace,
Macedonia, and Dodrudja. Turkish immigrants were settled around
Skopje and on frontier marches. There is some excellent documenta­
tion concerning the Islamicization of the march around Skopje. Fol­
lowing the battle of Marica in 13 7 1, Skopje became a march for the
conquest of Serbia and Bosnia. The picture that emerges from Ottoman
registries between 1450 and 1544 indicates a gradual process of con­
version.15 Between those dates the number of households in Skopje
increased 140 percent, and the relative share of Muslim households
increased from 69 percent to 81 percent. In Tetovo the Muslim share in­
creased from 27 to 40 percent, and in Prilip Muslims increased from 2.7
to 3 1 percent of the total number of households. Ninety-three percent
of all Christian households were engaged in agriculture, while Mus­
lims were predominantly involved in military, religious, or craft occu­
pations. While the larger cities were confessionally mixed, the villages
were confessionally homogeneous (Catholic, Orthodox, or Muslim).
The importance of the gradual process of conversion in Macedonia con­
sists in its meaning for mixed populations. Balkan Muslims were geo­
graphically, socially, and religiously separated from other millets; they
failed to develop a sense of ethnic consciousness. For non-Muslims,
ethnic consciousness was associated with the culture preserved in their
Orthodox churches and the memory of a political unit existing before
the conquest. Balkan Muslims became intensely parochial, and rela­
tively few returned to Anatolia as the empire dissolved into indepen­
dent states.

A LB A N IA N MUSLIMS

Albania presents a paradox: despite the fact that a majority of the popu­
lation is Muslim (70 percent), the Albanian authorities have "abolished
 Islam in the Balkans 383

religion." Elsewhere in the Balkans, Muslims are far more likely to

maintain their religious practices and beliefs.16 According to Article
37 of the 1976 constitution, "the state recognizes no religion what­
ever and supports atheist propaganda for the purpose of inculcating the
scientific materialist world outlook in people."17 However repressive
the Albanian regime, its openly declared war against religious expres­
sion may be understood within the context of Albanian history. Un­
like other Balkan peoples, Albanian nationalism could not look to a
pre-Ottoman political unit associated with the church. Originally the
Albanians had been Orthodox Christian, but some northern gheg tribal
leaders converted to Catholicism as a means of resisting Slavic pres­
sures of assimilation. Stavro Skendi has associated the receptivity to
Islam of Catholics and Orthodox alike to the "confessional vacillation
of the lords and the weakness of the clergy."18 Albania was converted
to Islam between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries; northern and
central ghegs accepted Sunni orthodoxy while the southern tosks be­
came both Sunni and Shi'ite Bektashi Muslims.19
It is commonplace that travelers in Albania found its Muslims to be
less devotedly religious than conscious of their common language. In
the words of one observer, "Albanian Muslims were no fanatics, they
were Albanians first and Muslims afterwards, and they vied with their
Christian fellow-countrymen of both the Greek and Latin rite in devo­
tion to the rugged country of their birth."20 Of course, such descriptions
are idealized. An important firsthand account of the 1920s relates a pro­
found intolerance on the part of the Sunni Muslims toward Christians
and Bektashi.21 In a deeper sense religious diversity was an obstacle to
national unity.
Initially nationalism grew under the Roman Catholic and Bektashi
leadership of the Prizren League, an association organized to defend A l­
bania against territorial losses envisioned in the Treaty of San Stefano.
But the nationalists sought an independent state following the Young
Turks' repression of the movement in 1908. Bektashi nationalists in the
south and Catholics in the north confronted an inert Sunni peasantry in
the central lowlands.22 The Bektashi nationalist Naim Frasheri sought
to make Bektashism into a bridge of common interest toward indepen­
dence between Christians and Muslims.23 He was not successful, for
Albania's independence relied less on an internal movement than on
a means to afford a counterbalance to the designs of Italy, Greece, and
384 Eastern Europe

Serbia. According to the secret Treaty of London (April 26, 1915), A l­

bania was to have been divided among those powers. Woodrow Wilson
found the plan not only an affront to self-determination, but also likely
to aggravate relations between Muslims and Christians should they be
ruled by a foreign power.24
Independent Albania's first constitution (1920) guaranteed religious
freedom and declared no official religion. When the Turkish Repub­
lic suppressed the dervish orders and closed Bektashi monasteries, the
dede (grandfather) moved the sect's headquarters to Tirana. In January
1922 an assembly of five hundred Bektashi clerics formally renounced
allegiance to Turkey.25 Sunni Muslims showed no affinity for secu­
lar Turkey, and both sects were organized under a single Sunni grand
mufti. In 1929 the community was reorganized into a general coun­
cil of a president and four grand mufti. The significance of the statute
was principally to subordinate shaii’at law to Albania's adoption of
the Swiss Civil Code and to obligate the Muslim clergy to carry out
the directives of the state. In particular, the clergy were ordered "to
contribute to develop the national brotherhood among Albanians of
all faiths" and "to encourage Muslims to conform to modern civiliza­
tion."26 Regardless of whatever objections the reorganization provoked
among the clergy, or the success achieved in suppressing undesirable
social practices, the statute established the principle of secular control
of the Muslim hierarchy.
Upon assuming power in 1944, Albanian communists found the reli­
gious situation relatively well suited to their purposes. Albania's first
two postwar constitutions (adopted in 1946 and 1964) guaranteed the
citizens' freedom of "conscience and faith," separated church and state,
and prohibited the establishment of confessionally based political orga­
nizations.27
The Albanian Muslims scarcely resisted communist authority. Enver
Hoxha acknowledged that Islam was "not a serious obstacle" to com­
munist power in the postwar years. "Even before the occupation of the
country, but more so afterwards, the hierarchy of the Muslim faith was
weak, without the least experience to give us trouble."28 A ll religious
communities were to be recognized by the Council of Ministers and
their laws approved by the state. Decree 723 on Religious Commu­
nities provided that their leadership be responsible to the state and
"through activities develop in their followers a sentiment of loyalty
 Islam in the Balkans 385

towards the peoples' power and the Peoples' Republic of Albania."29 To

ensure absolute obedience to the law, the communist leadership acted
harshly. As early as August 1945 all church properties were seized,
including libraries and printing facilities. The muftis of Tirana, Durres,
and Shkoder were imprisoned or shot for alleged wartime collaboration.
Even two Bektashi leaders who had fought with the partisans died mys­
teriously with the grand dede.30 Compliant Sunni and Bektashi leader­
ships were appointed separately. Muslim educational institutions or
charitable organizations were proscribed. No contacts were permitted
with Muslims in predominantly Muslim countries. Instead, the grand
mufti of the Sunni community led a delegation of Albanian Muslims to
the USSR, where he supported the Stockholm Peace Appeal and urged
that all Muslims follow the example.31 The Bektashi dede echoed his
support.
By the early 1960s Islam appeared likely to pass away beneath a for­
mal structure of four Sunni "first-class" muftis and a single chief Bek­
tashi dede. In 1963 an observer reported, "it is rare today to see any of
the faithful acknowledging their faith by public prayer. Albanian Islam
is in its death throes." He added that of the 530 mosques active prior
to the war, only a few dozen were active by the early 1950s.32 Prior to
Albania's "Cultural Revolution" in 1967 there had been little to dis­
tinguish Albanian antireligious propaganda from that of other social­
ist states. The antiprogressive character of "religion" was argued often
by examples from all faiths in Albania. But Albania's situation in the
socialist bloc, her affinity with China, and the Albanian communists'
cultural radicalism laid the basis for Albania's equivalent of the Great
Proletarian Cultural Revolution. In 1966 Politburo member Ramiz Alia
submitted a report calling for a struggle against "bureaucracy," as well
as against "liberal" and "revisionist" ideas.33 By implication the report
extended to religion. In his speech of February 6, 1967, Enver Hoxha
asserted that all religious sects had come into Albania through foreign
invaders and "served the ruling classes of the country. . . . The his­
tory of our people demonstrates clearly how much suffering, distress,
bloodshed, and oppression have been visited upon our people by reli­
gion."34 A 1977 penal code provided for imprisonment for three to ten
years for the possession of religious literature; Amnesty International
reports recent cases of individuals imprisoned for this offense, as well
as of Muslims convicted of "anti-state agitation and propaganda."35 Fol­
386 Eastern Europe

lowing the speech a series of organized meetings and confrontations

demanded the closure of all religious institutions and their conversion
to other purposes. Religious expression was depicted as antinational.
Compared with the apparently successful struggle against "bureau­
cracy" in Albanian political life, the assault on religion would seem less
successful. A recent article concedes "confusion between the abolition
of the material and organizational bases of religion . . . [and] eradica­
tion of the religious world view, mentality and practice."36 The article
anticipated a "long and difficult" struggle because of "numerous and
complex factors" that would "keep alive" religious viewpoints "and
from time to time reactivate them." There are no active mosques or
churches, but religious life has not been snuffed out entirely. Yugoslav
Albanians have observed that Albania's Muslims continue to celebrate
holidays openly in rural areas and in some towns.37 Periodically, the
press denounces evidence of religious practice with the added criticism
of inadequate propaganda. Recently it admitted, "in some areas and by
some people religious customs, standards, and rites are still preserved
and expressed in various forms. . . . We must accept the fact that reli­
gious concepts still wrench the feelings of some young people. There
are whole regions and villages where this difficulty is not being over­
come properly."
The examples given of "backward customs" and religious influence
do not, of course, amount to any form of public worship. In fact,
the principal evidence of the article consisted of instances of parents
obstructing the marriages of young people "of different ex-religions."38
One source admitted that in 1980 some 96 percent of registered
marriages took place between partners of the same "former" religious
faiths; it extolled mixed marriage as "defiance of religion" and a "fac­
tor for strengthening the moral, political and ideological unity of our
people."39 Additional religious "remnants" include the use of religious
names, burial customs, and unwritten "patriarchal laws" concerning
women.40 Albania's emphasis on persuasion of believers rather than
outright persecution has meant a continuing assault on the vestiges of
religious consciousness. Albanian history has been rewritten to asso­
ciate religion with "submission and humiliation by foreigners," and
national poets, such as Pashko Vase, affirm that "the religion of the
Albanian is Albania."41 It is impossible to know how effective Alba­
nia's "atheization" has been. A French journalist, Michel Sidhom, spent
 Islam in the Balkans 387

several weeks in Albania late in 1981. His report revealed a society

without any outward sign of active religious life. Initial attempts to ask
Albanians about Islam were met with silence or hostility. But another
foreigner, a visiting Algerian scientist, disclosed that the five pillars of
Islamic faith were secretly practiced among many Albanians, despite
the draconian punishment for making "religious propaganda."42
There has been no fundamental change in Albania's antireligious
policy since Enver Hoxha's death in 1985. Renunciation of "atheism"
as state policy would require a formal constitutional change. Hoxha's
successor, Ramiz Alia, is closely associated with Albania's 1967 cul­
tural revolution, and he has committed the country to a continuation
of Hoxha's policies. A lengthy article in the party's theoretical journal
Ruga e Partise before the ninth party congress called for the "intensifi­
cation" of struggle against religious "remnants." Certain religious "pre­
conceptions and practices" were "still sufficiently extreme and harmful
to merit the attention of the party." The sources of such behavior were
depicted in the family, certain "declassed" elements, such as former
clerics, and "certain recent degenerates." At the same time Albania's
interest in diplomatic relations with West European states may co­
incide with a less strident antireligious line. Hamid Beqja, a psychology
professor at the University of Tirana, admitted to a British journalist
that "religious consciousness" could not be prevented "through legal
means." "Every man in his own house may practice religious rites."43
Whether or not Beqja's remarks indicate a softening of religious pol­
icy is uncertain, but the fact that the interview was given indicates an
accommodation not present before Hoxha's death.
Albanian religious life shows no indication of a renewal because
of the repression, and because Islam is not associated with national
revival. It is significant that among the recent Yugoslav Albanian dem­
onstrators in Kosovo very few protested by expressing allegiance to
Pan-Islamic sentiment.44 There have been rumors that the portrait of
Ayatollah Khomeini appeared in occasional demonstrations. Albania
enjoys good relations with Iran, but it has consistently denied the
significance of "religious ideology in the revolution."45 Nevertheless,
an examination of Albania's antireligious propaganda has revealed a
distinctive absence of examples from Islamic tradition, and according
to Stephen Bowers this feature is a result of Tirana's wish to avoid a
"direct Albanian-Arab confrontation."46 There is little doubt that A l­
388 Eastern Europe

banian authorities value diplomatic relations with Middle East states;

yet less harsh attacks on Muslims relative to those against Orthodox
and Roman Catholic Albanians may be alternatively explained by a
less defiant Muslim attitude toward "atheization."

YU G O SLAV MUSLIMS

Muslims in Yugoslavia include Albanians, Macedonians, Montene­

grins, and Serbs; but Muslims of the Slavic nationality (Muslimani)
are the largest group adhering to Islam, 1.99 million of the estimated
3.6 million Yugoslav citizens of the Muslim faith.47 I will deal with
the ethnic Muslims. Official policy recognizes the Muslims as one
of the constituent peoples of Yugoslavia, but in practice the distinc­
tion between religion and nationality has not been maintained easily.
Distinguishing nonreligious Muslims from other peoples in Bosnia-
Herzegovina invests the national component with marginally different
patterns of speech and customs (see table 16 .x). Prior to 1968 the League
of Communists had not even accorded the Muslims the distinct status
of a nation. The confusion and inconsistency about Muslim nationality
is reflected in postwar counts of the republic.
From the first census Yugoslav authorities approached the question
of nationality in the republic with caution, owing to its potential to
aggravate relations between Serbs and Croats and because of disagree­
ment within the League of Communists concerning the status of Mus­
lims. In 1948 Muslims were represented poorly within the league's
leadership. Between 1948 and 1971 the Muslims' status varied from
"ethnically undetermined" (Neopredjeljeni) to simple denial of a dis­
tinct status [Jugosloveni neopredjeljeni) in 1953, to Muslims in the
ethnic sense (etnicka pripadnost) in 1961, and finally to Muslims in
the national sense (u smislu narodnosti) in 19 7 1. The transition rep­
resents the consequences of several factors: the abandonment of "Yu-
goslavism" as a satisfactory approach to interethnic relations, the in­
creasing political consciousness of Muslims in the republic and their
growing status in the league, and finally an apparent decision that a
vigorous Muslim identity represents the best means of preventing Ser­
bian and Croatian rivalry over the republic as well as among the peoples
within it.
According to the 1981 census, 81.5 percent of all Muslims reside in
 Islam in the Balkans 389

Table 16.1 Population of Bosnia-Herzegovina48

19 48 19 53 1961 i97i 1981

Total 2,565,277 2,847,790 3 ,2 7 7 ,9 3 5 3,7 4 6 , m 4,r25,ooo
Serbs i,i3 6 ,r i6 1,264,372 1,406,053 i , 3 9 3 T 48 1,320,000
Scrb-Muslims 7 i, 9 9 i — — — —

Croats 614,123 654,229 711,660 772,491 758,000

Croat-Muslims 25,295 — — — —

Muslims (ethnically
undetermined) 788,403
Yugoslavs (ethnically
undetermined) 891,800 275,883 4 3 ,7 9 6 326,280
Muslims (in the
ethnic sense) _ 842,247
Muslims (in the
national sense) — — — 1,482,430 1,630,000

Bosnia-Herzegovina, where they constitute a plurality of the popula­

tion, 39.5 percent. Over the last decade the percentage of Muslims re­
mained virtually unchanged within the republic, although the share of
Serbs decreased from 37.2, to 32 percent and that of Croats from 20.6 to
18.4 percent. Surprisingly, those declaring themselves "Yugoslavs" in­
creased sevenfold (to 7.9 percent of the republic's population) between
19 7 1 and 19 8 1.49 The sources and significance of the increase in Y u ­
goslavs are uncertain but, by 1981, the question of Muslim nationalism
had become politically divisive. Representatives of different nationali­
ties disputed the danger of Pan-Islamic nationalism for the federation.
Traditionally, Muslims distinguished themselves from Catholic
Croats and Orthodox Serbs on religious grounds but, unlike these
nationalities, they demonstrated little ethnic consciousness. Muslims
showed no affinity for Turkey but called themselves "Turks."50 They
did not play a particular role in the movement for an independent Yugo­
slavia. According to the Yugoslav historian Enver Redzic, the absence
of a strong national consciousness among Muslims was a result of sev­
eral reinforcing factors, including the division of the Muslim intelli­
gentsia among the Serbian and Croatian national movements, as well
as the national movement of their own coreligionists; the absence of a
Muslim bourgeoisie or working class; and the cohesiveness of Muslim
390 Eastern Europe

religious organizations.51 After 1918 a Yugoslav Muslim Organization

(y m o ) was organized to protect the cultural and religious interests of
Muslims, especially the inherited right of the aristocracy. Prior to the
assassination of Stjepan Radic in 1928, the y m o allied with the Cro­
atian Peasant party, but under the royal dictatorship the y m o joined
the Yugoslav Radical Union. The y m o opposed Serbian dominance and
in 1939 endorsed the Cvetkovic-Macek Spoiazum (understanding) that
attempted to solve the problem of Croatian autonomy by creating the
self-governing ban (province) of Croatia. The y m o became alienated
from the Spoiazum when its leader, Dzufer bej Kulenovic, failed to ob­
tain a separate Muslim ban that included the Sandjak region claimed by
Serbia.52 Dissatisfied Kulenovic joined the Ustase regime and Bosnia-
Herzegovina was incorporated into Croatia.
The conservatism of the y m o reflected a defensive and inward­
looking attitude of most Bosnian Muslims. But unlike any other Balkan
Muslim group, they enjoyed the combination of religious cohesiveness
and political significance. In the judgment of Ivo Banac the y m o en­
joyed "total mastery" of politics in the Bosnian Muslim community,
but it did so as a confessional rather than as a nationalist party, and as a
"necessary answer to the discriminatory policies of centralist [Serbian]
administrations."53 A minority identified with fascism—enough to cre­
ate an ss brigade—but many were passive victims of Serbian forces
acting independently of Draza Mihailovic. Muslim parochialism had
been a political liability, but in wartime it ensured that the community
did not become identified with fascist Croatia. The Muslim religious
establishment produced no leader associated with forces opposed to the
partisans, and in the postwar era avoided the liabilities that hampered
Catholic and Orthodox accommodation with the new regime.
However, the problem was more complicated in Yugoslavia than
elsewhere in the Balkans. In Albania the Muslim organization could be
approached from a religious viewpoint, and institutional Islam could
be subverted and transformed into a pliable tool of regime policy. In
Bulgaria and Romania the initial communist policy was to accept Mus­
lims as a national minority according to the Stalinist criteria of nation­
ality, i.e., that they possessed a language, territory, economic life, and a
community of culture. Yugoslav communists could not consider Slavic
Muslims a "community of culture" based on religion, nor recognize a
distinct Muslim language where none existed. The dilemma was ad­
 Islam in the Balkans 391

mitted in 1938 by Edvard Kardelj when he acknowledged that while the

Muslims could not be considered a nation, they did not consider them­
selves Serbs or Croats. He insisted that "from the viewpoint of every
factor, they consider themselves a special ethnic group."54 Nonethe­
less, the "special group" was not accorded any distinct recognition for
two major reasons: individual Muslims were undistinguished among
the ranks of the partisans and the partisan leadership could not reach
a consensus.55 Muslim identity continued to be defined in strictly reli­
gious terms.
In 1945 the Islamic Religious Community (i r c ) was reorganized. Be­
cause of the i r c ' s initial anticommunist composition, a confrontation
with the authorities seemed inevitable; instead, communist authorities
simply ceased financial support and prevented the i r c from collect­
ing funds.56 The approach was effective. By August 1947 the Reis-ul-
ulema met with Tito to offer cooperation and promises of loyalty. A
new religious statute was adopted that created a Supreme Vakuf A s­
sembly headed by the Reis-ul-ulema along with the regional assemblies
in Bosnia, Serbia (including the Kosmet), Macedonia, and Montenegro.
The community was granted a subsidy, permitted to manage its remain­
ing property, and spared the abusive antireligious propaganda current
elsewhere in Eastern Europe at the time.57 In return the i r c leader­
ship assisted the state in suppressing Islamic practices considered in­
compatible with socialism, such as the veiling of women. In addition,
the i r c supported Yugoslavia's nonaligned foreign policy by the leader­
ship's reception of Presidents Nasser and Sukarno during state visits.58
Muslim delegations visited Islamic nonaligned countries, and as early
as 1950 individual dignitaries made the hajj to Mecca.59
The issue of a Muslim nationality was not resolved easily, as the
changing status of Muslims in the first three postwar censuses indi­
cates. The Republican League of Communists admitted the existence
of "difficulties and confusion" among Muslims because of the denial of
national choice.60 Only after the ouster of Vice President Rankovic in
1966 was national choice assured. In May 1968 a league communiqué
stated: "Practice has shown the harm of different forms of pressure and
instances from the earlier period when Muslims were determined to be
ethnic Serbs or Croats. It has been shown and present socialist practice
confirms that Muslims are a distinct nationality."61
The Yugoslav regime continues to affirm Muslim ethnicity, the sin­
392. Eastern Europe

gle most important doctrinal innovation in Yugoslav nationality policy

since 1945. The decision is mainly the result of three factors. First,
the ouster of Rankovic, a Serb, removed a major obstacle both to A l­
banian and Muslim national self-assertion. Subsequently, the Serbian
and Croatian party leaderships recognized the Muslims. Second, the
19 7 1 census registered a plurality of Muslims in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
This was significant in that a vigorous Muslim identity offered the best
long-term prophylaxis against irredentist claims and conflicts of Croa­
tia and Serbia. A Croatian communist considers that a "developed"
Bosnia-Herzegovina has helped to "neutralize Great-Serbian and Great-
Croatian aspirations"62 toward the Republic. The Croatian nationalist
historian Franjo Tudjman has given some indication of these potential
claims in a recent work. Tudjman says that "large parts" of Croatia
were incorporated into Bosnia-Herzegovina by the Turks and that the
two republics make up an "indivisible geographic and economic entity."
He adds that "the majority of the Muslims is in its ethnic character
and speech incontrovertibly of Croatian origin."63 Finally, the decision
to recognize the Muslims' new status was part of a general devolution
of authority to the republics that required that Bosnia-Herzegovina
preserve a balance between Croatia and Serbia, preventing these two
republics from dominating the federation.
The change in national status has left several undesirable features
from the communist viewpoint that will not be resolved easily. Affir­
mation of the Muslim nationality has created problems for other re­
publics. The 1981 census revealed an increase of Muslims elsewhere
amid reports of pressures on the Muslims to declare their nationality
in some other way. Nova Makedonija put the question bluntly more
than a decade earlier: "If Muslims in the S.R. Macedonia who speak
the Macedonian language are part of the young Muslim nation, why
should not Orthodox Macedonians be part of another nation?"64 A l­
though there is no apparent likelihood that Macedonian national iden­
tity was being threatened, Nova Makedonija had called into question a
basic assumption of the league's Muslim policy: that it would be a self-
evident matter to distinguish nationality and religion. But by the 1980s
Albanian nationalism confronted Macedonian authorities with a less
tractable problem. Alleged Albanian "irredentists" were more threaten­
ing than the consequences of Muslims in Macedonia choosing not to be
Macedonian. In 1986 the Macedonian Socialist Alliance celebrated the
 Islam in the Balkans 393

"Muslim Renaissance" in the Debar municipality where "Islamicized

Macedonians represent a good portion of the population."65 The report
acknowledged prior "misconceptions" of considering the local popula­
tion Albanian—a fact that "greatly damaged the national awakening
process of Macedonian Muslims."
The reaction of Serbs and Croats to national developments in Bosnia-
Herzegovina has been more unsettling. A member of the Republic's
Commission on internationality relations refers to the "very danger­
ous phenomenon" of "negative polarization" among the three nation­
alities. Serbs and Croats, in this view, turn for support to Belgrade
and Zagreb "because of a quite subjective or simulated feeling of being
oppressed by the Muslim intelligentsia."66 In fact, the sense of "op­
pression" may have promoted trends of Serb and Croatian migration
from Bosnia-Herzegovina. According to Serbian demographer Miroslav
Lalovic, the overwhelming majority of migration from the republic
since 19 7 1 has consisted of Serbs and Croats, while only "a very small
share" were Muslims. Lalovic maintains that since 1981 the direc­
tion of migration has been "influenced more by nationality than by
jobs and higher earnings."67 In fact, some 2,6,000 Muslims have m i­
grated to Bosnia-Herzegovina from other republics. Little doubt exists
that convictions for Serbian nationalist offenses in Bosnia-Herzegovina
represent an anti-Serbian mood similar to that among Albanians in
Kosovo. The Orthodox newspaper Pravoslavlje recently reported on a
case against a priest in Tuzla with the question, "Is Bosnia-Herzegovina
becoming another Kosovo for Orthodox Serbs and Serbian priests?"68
Yet nowhere has the association of religion and identity been more
complete than among Muslims, who see little non-Islamic basis for
a "M uslim " nationality. In 19 71, for instance, certain clerics had re­
jected the distinction and at least one imam had insisted pointedly
that Islam is the foundation of Muslim ethnicity.69 In calling for the
"steadfastness" of the Muslims not to abandon their religious iden­
tity, voices in the ir c offered their first direct challenge to the l c y .
What is perhaps more interesting is that such assertiveness on the
part of the clergy before 1979 sharply contrasted with the caution of
Catholic and Orthodox representatives. But in that year communist au­
thorities initiated a campaign against Muslim "clericalism." Hamdija
Pozderac, the sole ethnic Muslim in the l c y Presidium, sharply con­
demned the concept of a "Pan-Islamic" consciousness.70 Fuad Muhic, a
394 Eastern Europe

professor of law at the University of Sarajevo, identified the source of

such ideas as "Khomeini-style socialism."71 The editorial staff of the
Islamic organ Piepoiod was replaced along with several less coopera­
tive imams. Throughout 1980 and 1981 there were repeated attacks
on Islamic "clericalism" along with criticism of similar forces in the
Catholic and Orthodox establishments.71 Broadly understood, "clerical­
ism " involves any religious expression that infringes on the league's
monopoly of political expression. Muslim dissent has become as great
a problem as other forms of nationalism, but, unlike others, it retains
an almost exclusively religious identity.
It appears, however, that the league itself has become divided over
the issue of Muslim nationalism. The Croatian intellectual, Milan
Kangrga, has alleged that Pan-Islamic tendencies are rooted within the
Bosnian League itself and enjoy the "direct protection of official policy"
in a bid to dominate the republic as an ideological "vanguard."73 Need­
less to say, the assertion is rejected vigorously by Muslim spokesmen
from the regime who continue their criticism of Islamic "clerical­
ism ."74 The polemics are not unusual in Yugoslavia, but, coming in
the wake of the Albanian demonstrations in 1981 and 1982, such
disagreement poses a potential threat to the federation. In particular,
Bosnia-Herzegovina could become a focus of Serbo-Croat conflict if
nationality disagreements about Islam outside the republic should pro­
voke fragmentation along nationality lines within it. Evidence exists,
however, of a tacit compromise about the future of Bosnia-Herzegovina
among some dissenting nationalists. A member of the Republic's
League Presidium, Hrvoje Istuk, has acknowledged a nationalist "op­
position" seeking to reorganize the regime as a "confederation of sev­
eral Yugoslav States." Istuk alleges that a territorial redivision would
provide for "annexation" of the heterogenous area of the Sandzak to a
Muslim state, probably in exchange for the surrender of other territo­
ries to Serbia and Croatia.75 Presumably religious organization would
serve as the basis of national identity in a reorganized confederation,
i.e., Muslims would be considered the "sole bearers" of statehood in
Bosnia-Herzegovina; Croatian communists would negotiate a "pact"
with the Catholic church with both Croatia and the New Muslim re­
public; Orthodox Serbs in eastern Bosnia would be recognized as "the
most Serb in its spirit of all Serb regions."76 It is difficult to general­
ize about the support of such ideas in Yugoslavia, but it is possible to
 Islam in the Balkans 395

interpret construction of Zagreb's "magnificent" mosque as Croatia's

implicit acknowledgment of Islamic political significance and of the
legitimacy of foreign Islamic interest in Yugoslavia.77 After six years
of construction, a destructive fire, and great controversy, the mosque
opened in the fall of 1987, and, according to Yugoslav sources, 75 per­
cent of the building's costs were borne by "believers" within Yugo­
slavia and the balance from abroad.78
Acceptance of funds from foreign Islamic states seems inconsistent
with the official criticism of Pan-Islamic doctrine; yet it is consis­
tent with both federal and republican interest in maintaining normal
economic and political relations with the Middle East. Although gov­
ernment and league officials condemn Pan-Islamic influence in Yugo­
slavia, Muslim religious officials respond to foreign allegations of m is­
treatment of Muslims by Yugoslav authorities.79 "Khomeini socialism"
is condemned without depicting it as an obstacle to Belgrade's rela­
tions with Teheran. Nevertheless, foreign involvement in Pan-Islamic
dissent is unmistakable. In July 1983 the trial of thirteen "Young Mus­
lim s" revealed an underground organization allegedly linked to Iran
and European émigrés. The defendants were charged with attempting
to "turn Bosnia-Herzegovina into a purely Islamic Republic."80 The
prosecution produced a detailed program for this objective, an "Islamic
Declaration." The trial handed down sentences of up to fifteen years for
acting against Yugoslavia's "brotherhood and unity . . . with a view to
destroying Bosnia-Herzegovina as a socialist republic and thus under­
mining Yugoslavia's social order."81 It is difficult to determine exactly
what the conspirators had accomplished, for the chief defendant, Alija
Izbegovié, had allegedly drafted the declaration in 1970. Yet only six
months before the trial he had visited Iran.82 The declaration makes no
reference to Yugoslavia. Instead, it addresses all Muslims in the asser­
tion that "Islam is not a nationality, but a supranational community."
Within that community a society was Islamic to the degree to which
Islam determines its internal relations and to which pan-Islam deter­
mines its foreign policy."83 To be "Islamic" meant a rejection of the
"dogmatists" among existing clergy unwilling to lead the community
in "moral renewal" and the "modernists," typified by Kemal Atatürk,
who had in fact betrayed Islam. A new Muslim intelligentsia must arise
to found an Islamic order that would be "neither socialist, nor capital­
ist."84 An analysis of the declaration suggests certain points of com­
396 Eastern Europe

parison with the thought of Muhammad Iqbal (1875-1938) and earlier

Indian Muslims.85 Iqbal's ideal for Pakistan is cited in the declaration
as a "dress rehearsal for the creation of an Islamic order." Significantly,
Iqbal had envisioned a Muslim state within an Indian federation—a
possible model for the Young Muslims' plans for Bosnia-Herzegovina
in Yugoslavia. None of those convicted were accused of "separatism,"
an omission indicating that the "Islamic state" would exist within a
confederation.
In early 1987 Yugoslav authorities announced the arrest of several
more "Young Muslims." The charges were similar, as were the age and
background, to those convicted in 1983, and again there was evidence
of foreign involvement (Libya).86 In view of the overall deterioration
of national relations in Yugoslavia, it is likely that Pan-Islamic senti­
ment w ill continue to appeal to the country's Slavic Muslims. Many
Yugoslav Muslims have traveled or been educated in foreign Islamic
states, and they continue to be poorly represented within the league's
top leadership. Since the 1985 resignation of the ir c Reis-ul-ulema,
Dr. Ahmed Smajlovic, several successors have been appointed, amid re­
ported objection within the Higher Islamic Council that the body had
been overly compliant with communist policy.87

BU LG AR IAN MUSLIMS

Bulgarian Muslim life presents a sharp contrast with the cases of A l­

bania and Yugoslavia. Religious expression is not proscribed but suf­
fers from political repression similar to that practiced in the Soviet
Union. In 1984 Bulgarian authorities initiated a policy of compelling
Muslims to adopt Slavic names along with further measures against
Islamic practice. According to Amnesty International the campaign
designated many "non-official" mosques to be closed or destroyed and
prohibited Islamic customs such as circumcision.88 "Clericalism " in
the Yugoslav sense is unimaginable in Bulgaria, as is the nationalist
expression of Slavic Muslim Bulgarians, the Pomaks. Far from being
irrelevant to identity, Islam is a core component of Bulgaria's Turkish
and Slavic Muslims. There are four major Muslim peoples in Bulgaria:
about 700,000 Turks, 120,000 Pomaks, 5,000 Tatars, and 120,000 Mus­
lim Gypsies.89 It is impossible to make an exact determination because
of the absence of census figures on nationality. At the time of its inde-
 Islam in the Balkans 397

pendence Bulgaria's population was about 28 percent Muslim.90 Fluc­

tuations in the size of the Turkish population reflect peculiar features
of Bulgaria's situation: (1) the loss or acquisition of territories with a
high Turkish population such as Eastern Rumelia in 1885, and the loss
of Southern Dobrudja in 19 13 and its return in 1940; and (2) the forced
or voluntary repatriation of the Turkish minority.
Bulgarian nationalism suffered from several historic liabilities. Com ­
pared with the Greeks and the Serbs, the Bulgarians had been relatively
separated from Western influence. Bulgaria's accessibility to the cen­
ter of Tlirkish power gave the empire a great advantage in repressing
a Bulgarian national movement.91 It is difficult to overemphasize the
formative role of the struggle with the Turks, and later the Greeks,
in shaping the Bulgarian consciousness. According to Marin Pundeff,
the Turkish removal of Bulgarian national leaders had the consequence
of "democratizing" the movement's struggle against the Turks.92 Anti-
Turkish sentiment became a key element in the Bulgarian renaissance
of the nineteenth century, following the rediscovery of Bulgarian iden­
tity in the work of Father Paisii and Bishop Sofroni. An autonomous
exarchate was created in 1870. In the judgment of a communist writer,
religion became "more or less the vehicle of national sentiment"; Islam-
icization was equivalent to "denationalization," and Bulgarians clung
to Orthodoxy "under the threat" of forced conversion.93 The obvious
question is whether those who were converted to Islam were any less
Bulgarian, especially after a generation of socialist rule. Clearly there
was no basis to declare Slavic Pomaks Turkish, and the constitution
(in Article 71) guarantees all citizens equal treatment without respect
to "nationality, origin, faith or property status." A Bulgarian tract has
called for a struggle against Islam and asserts that the faith "still
poisons the consciousness" of believers and "impedes their national
self-recognition."94
Bulgarian communist historians emphasize the involuntary nature
of conversion. "Pomak" was held to be derived from the word po-
muka (torture) and the verb pomuchvam (to torture, torment, or tease)
instead of from the Slavic word pomogach (helper) derived from po-
mogam. A Pomak was one "forcefully made to do something."95 Is-
lamicization of the Bulgarians in the official view occurred in several
\ waves of violence in 1422, 15 12 , 15 12 -2 0 , and 1666-1700, each time
in "greater duration and cruelty."96Although the manner of conversion
398 Eastern Europe

of Bulgarian Pomaks is uncertain, one standard work affirms a process

similar to that in Bosnia and Macedonia, i.e., gradual conversion com­
bined with conversion of some Bogomils, and Fine's work demonstrates
the influence of the Bogomil heresy in Bulgaria.97
However much the Turks had been associated with Bulgaria's op­
pression, the first constitution (1879) guaranteed all Bulgarians equal
treatment before the law and recognized the role of separate ecclesi­
astical administration in managing the affairs of non-Christians. As
many as fifty thousand Turks may have returned to Turkey in 1878,
i.e., about one-tenth of the total. The same religious autonomy under
Bulgarian law remained in effect during the interwar period. Recalling
that 18 percent of the population was Turkish in the early 1920s, one
observer found "little racial [sic] hostility manifest between Turks and
Bulgarians. When Turkey and Bulgaria fought side by side in the World
War some of the animosity that remained from the Turkish oppression
passed away."98 The same observer found the Pomaks less accepted be­
cause of their "fanatical mohammedanism" and their association with
the most brutal aspects of Turkish rule. Like Yugoslav Muslims, Bul­
garia's Turks were politically active, holding ten seats of 246 in the
1923 sobmnie, some top positions in the government, and leadership
positions in well-developed clerical institutions.99
The Turkish and smaller Pomak communities posed no serious prob­
lem to Bulgaria's national integration. A 1925 treaty with Turkey pro­
vided for voluntary immigration and for Turks to leave without re­
strictions on their property. Between ten and twelve thousand persons
emigrated annually until 1940.100 When the Communist party came to
power, emigration fell off sharply. All national privileges of Turks were
abolished in schools and along with vakuf (religious endowment) prop­
erty, making the Muslims dependent on the state. Article 10 of the
Law on Religious Denominations provided that "only persons who are
Bulgarian nationals and who are honest, reliable and have not been de­
prived of their rights by a final judgment of a court may be ministers of
denominations and hold office in any denomination."101 Religious pol­
icy treated the Muslim hierarchy without particular distinction at first.
A new chief mufti was appointed by the state to preside over two kadis
and twenty-six local mufti, and leading clergy joined the Fatherland
Front.102 The 1947 constitution included provisions concerning free­
dom of religion, minority rights, and the prohibition of using religion
 Islam in the Balkans 399

for political purposes. Henceforth, Turks were considered a national

minority rather than a religious group.
The regime decided to deal with the majority of Muslims through
forced repatriation to Turkey rather than by political domination. On
August 12, 1950, the government decreed that 250,000 Bulgarian Turks
were to leave the country within three months. Within fifteen months,
when Turkey closed its frontier to further migration, some 140,000
Turks had resettled in Turkey.103 The forced emigration removed the
two Turkish groups least acceptable to communist Bulgaria: the reli­
giously devout Muslims and the prosperous landowners from Dobrudja.
Bulgaria's policy was not unprecedented, for at the same time millions
of Germans were being expelled to the western zone from East Europe.
In Bulgaria the expulsion gave impetus to agricultural collectivization
and social "modernization."
Between 19 51 and 1968 Turkish immigration virtually ceased; from
1952 to 1961, an official source reports only sixteen Turkish emi­
grants.104 Bulgarian-Turkish relations followed in close tandem with
improvements in Soviet-Turkish relations in 1968. In that year Turkey
and Bulgaria signed an agreement permitting the emigration of cate­
gories of relatives of Bulgarian citizens of Turkish origin who had emi­
grated to Turkey prior to 1952.105 By the end of 19 7 1, 2,3,000 Turks had
left, and by the time the agreement expired in 1978 a total of 81,299
had emigrated—almost three times as many as the 30,000 reportedly
specified in the agreement.106 However, at the present rate of emigra­
tion it is unlikely that the problem of the minority could be resolved.
Within the last six years Bulgaria's overall birthrate has grown at only
2.8 per thousand, while that of provinces with a high concentration
of Pomaks or Turks has reached as high as 17.9 per thousand.107 After
a halt in immigration in 1979 Bulgaria announced a resumption early
in 1982.108 In April a Turkish-Bulgarian communiqué recognized the
"expiration" of earlier agreements for "mass immigration," adding the
signatories' commitment to "resolve favorably, individual requests for
joining separated fam ilies."109 Shortly after the visit of the Turkish for­
eign minister to Sofia in 1983, Rabotnichesko Delo acknowledged that
the consular section of the Bulgarian Foreign Ministry had received
"several individual questions" from Bulgarians of Turkish origin con­
cerning emigration.110 Without further comment the paper maintained
there had been "no change" concerning the principle of "fam ily reuni­
4oo Eastern Europe

fication." Obviously Turkish interest in the matter had not diminished.

The 1984 campaign for "Bulgarization" of Muslims emerges from
decades of assimilative pressure. Bulgarian Muslims, Turks and Po-
maks alike, have been the object of intense pressures to assimilate and
to abandon their faith. Between 1956 and 1965 there was a drastic re­
duction in the number of priests, from 2,393 to 462 for Turks and from
322 to 95 for Pomaks.111 In 1964 a party decree on the “ Improvement
of Work of the Komsomol among Turkish Youth" organized detach­
ments of Komsomol workers in Muslim provinces to combat bourgeois
Turkish antinationalism and to strengthen fraternal relations among
Bulgarian youth.112 There have been reports of Turks convicted for dis­
tributing propaganda for “ Turkish nationalism" and for slandering Bul­
garia.113 On July 17, 1970, a party decision to further promote "patriotic
education" for Slavic Muslims compelled them to change their names
to Slavic equivalents.114 One Turkish emigrant claimed that the cam­
paign was extended to Turks as well, and that those resisting had their
identity cards seized or were threatened with arrest.115 One publication
has attempted to depict a process of rapid atheization among Bulgarian
Pomaks (the term is no longer in use) and their assimilation as an "indi­
visible part of the Bulgarian nation."116 In 1976 Amnesty International
reported the imprisonment of more than five hundred Pomaks for re­
sistance to assimilation.117
As recently as November 1984 a Bulgarian official admitted the
existence of "Turks" in the party Central Committee and publication
of a "bilingual [Turkish-Bulgarian] newspaper."118 But the campaign
for assimilation, for a “unified Bulgarian socialist nation," had started,
perhaps in August of that year when the municipality of Stambolovo
adopted a local ordinance forbidding the wearing of Shalvari, traditional
Turkish trousers, and the use of the Turkish language in public places.119
Reports date the start of the name-changing campaign to December
1984 in southern regions; it extended north to Varna and Dobrudzha
in February 1985.120 Subsequently, party secretary Dimitar Stanishev
claimed that the "process of voluntary assumption of Bulgarian names
by our compatriots had gained a broad momentum . . . spontaneously
and comprehensively throughout the country."121 With the elimination
of worship and other religious customs in Turkish areas, distinctive
names remained the last vestige of separate identity. Multiple sources
refer to a campaign of force, often by encirclement of Turkish villages,
 Islam in the Balkans 401

in which individuals are compelled at gunpoint to sign affidavits

requesting the name change.122 Various estimates of those killed range
in the hundreds.123 The émigré Halil Ibisoglu, a former member of
the Bulgarian National Assembly, was warned that if he opposed the
party's decision, he would not only lose his assembly seat but "never
be able to see my wife and child."124 Bulgarian spokesmen specifically
warned that emigration was forbidden.
Communist motives for the campaign's timing are uncertain. Ac­
cording to Ibisoglu, high Turkish birthrates relative to Bulgarian Slavs
provoked official concern that "the Turks might sue for autonomy
someday or possibly even a separate state within the context of Bul­
garia." 125 In early 1985 a Yugoslav journalist reported an attempt in the
Bulgarian province of Khaskovo "to create a special republic and [or­
ganize] its secession, as in Cyprus."126 The report is unconfirmed, but
if correct, it suggests a certain parallel with dissent in Yugoslavia, de­
spite the difference of Bulgaria's official violence. Diplomatically, the
campaign has provoked expressions of official concern from the Turk­
ish government and a sharp deterioration in bilateral relations.127 Bul­
garian sources in turn have accused Ankara of human rights abuses
against Turkish Kurds and Bulgarians.128 Following extensive interna­
tional protest Bulgarian authorities permitted a delegation of the Orga­
nization of the Islamic Conference to visit Bulgaria in June 1987, after
several delays, but there has been no indication of a softening of estab­
lished policy.129

R O M AN IAN MUSLIMS

The origins of the Romanian Muslim community date from the

fourteenth century, when Tatars migrated from the declining Empire of
the Golden Horde, and from successive settlements of Tatar, Turcoman,
and Turkish peoples organized by the Ottoman settlement.130 According
to the 1977 census, Romania's Muslim population consists of 20,750
Turks and 20,508 Tatars, most of whom are concentrated in the prov­
ince of Constanta in northern Dobrudja.131 The natural rate of increase
of the Tatars is nearly double that of the Romanian population as a
whole; however, census figures for the Turks register a slight decline
between 1956 and 1966 (211 persons) suggesting moderate emigration.
But between 1966 and 1977 the Turkish population in Constanta in­
402 Eastern Europe

creased by 19 percent, from i 4,i t 8 to 17,387- Romania strongly dis­

courages the emigration of the more professionally "developed" ethnic
Germans, and it is likely that this policy extends to other nationali­
ties. About two-thirds of the Turkish population is identified as "ur­
ban" or "suburban," and more than half of the Tatars are "rural." Both
nationalities have remained in the part of northern Dobrudja retained
by Romania after the loss of southern Dobrudja (Sillistria) in 1940. The
latter territory was more than 50 percent Turkish.
Although Romanian nationalism was no less anti-Turkish than any
Slavic national movement, territories with Muslim peoples were not
arenas of national struggle but of great power intrigues. Between the fif­
teenth and eighteenth centuries the Voivoda (governor) of Moldavia and
Wallachia enjoyed considerable autonomy under Ottoman suzerainty.
Ottoman attempts to exert greater control in the provinces ultimately
led to Romania's proclamation of independence in r877 and its al­
liance with Russia in the Russo-Turkish war of that year. The subse­
quent Treaty of San Stefano awarded northern Dobrudja to Romania
and provided for the passage of Russian troops in transit to Bulgaria.
The transit provision was struck at the Congress of Berlin, although the
congress confirmed independent Romania's possession of Dobrudja,
imposing the condition that confessional differences not exclude any­
one from the enjoyment of civil and political rights.132 The clause was
directed against Romanian anti-Semitism, but it also benefited Roma­
nian Muslims. Following Bulgaria's loss of southern Dobrudja in 19 13,
Romania emerged from World War I with over 200,000 Muslims out of
a total population of 7 million. The majority of Muslims were Turk­
ish (178,000), apolitical, and well-organized religiously. Travelers in in­
terior Romania noted how much "religious freedom" Muslim Turks
enjoyed. A Constanta mediesa boasted an enrollment of 150. Descrip­
tions of local customs suggested a highly conservative community that
rhing to tradition.133 When the communists assumed power in 1945,
Romanian Muslims experienced less dislocation than any other Balkan
Muslim people.
In accordance with Decree r76 of 1948, all of the property of religious
organizations passed to the state.134 The four Muslim muftiliks were
reorganized into a single organization in Constanta. But Romanian
Muslims, like the Muslims of Yugoslavia, escaped serious confronta-
 Islam in the Balkans 403

tion with communist authorities. Unlike Romanian Roman Catholics

or Protestants, Muslims had no ties with any foreign state or religious
body. The loss of southern Dobrudja to Bulgaria spared Romania the
potentially disturbing effect of an additional large minority besides
the Magyar and German populations. Unlike these peoples, Romanian
Muslims were able to avoid the centripetal impact of Romania's "socio­
economic mobilization" that promoted the assimilation of other m i­
norities.135 (In 1966, only about 5 percent of Magyars and Germans
identified Romanian as a "mother tongue.")136 In 1949 separate schools
were established for Tatar children, intended for Turkish pupils as well,
but because of a decline in educational standards and apparent neglect
the schools were closed in 1957—a decision that "caused little com­
motion" in the judgment of one expert.137 In practice, the regime was
able to reach accommodation with the Muslim religious community
because the Turkish and Tatar minorities were politically and numeri­
cally of little significance. Compared with other religions, there are
unmistakable signs of official favor. In Romania there are more than
seventy mosques, mostly in the province of Constanta and elsewhere
along the Black Sea. Turkish and Tatar languages are used for religious
services, and the government has printed a Romanian edition of the
Koran.138 The chief mufti in the city of Constanta presides over a synod
of twenty-three members. The grand mufti, Iacub Mehmet, is a mem­
ber of the National Council of Socialist Democracy and Unity Front,
and the Bucharest imam, Regep Sali, is a member of the Central Com­
mittee.139 Yugoslavia and Romania alike have given a prominent place
to Muslim clerics in their national front organizations and, as in Yugo­
slavia, Muslim students have traveled abroad to study for the imamate.
Despite the outwardly impressive establishment, Muslim religious life
shows little vitality. An eyewitness account found that major Islamic
celebrations, "although still observed . . . were confined to the fam­
ily home with an almost total neglect of the formal ritual observances
required on these occasions."140 However, there is an important differ­
ence: a Romanian Muslim delegation has been received in Iran141 and
has joined the Libyan Muslim organization "The Call of Islam" and the
Saudi "World Islamic Solidarity." While the l c y has attacked the idea of
"Khomeini socialism" and would not sanction religious contacts with
x Iran, it is apparent that the Romanian party perceives no danger. There
404 Eastern Europe

is no evidence available of opposition to the confinement of religious

practice to the mosque and home in exchange for clerical cooperation
in official contact abroad.

CO N CLUSIO N

Islam in the Balkans is preeminently a religious phenomenon that has

lacked the prerequisites of national identity. Muslims could not look to
a preexisting political unit for national identity in the way that Chris­
tian Serbs and Bulgarians were able to draw inspiration from medieval
empires. Unlike the Romanians and Albanians, they lacked national
heroes who had challenged the Turks. Moreover, Muslims lacked the
class structure of a bourgeoisie or a proletariat that Marxists have
associated with a national movement. Muslims were predominantly
peasants without an aristocracy, with the exception of those in Bosnia-
Herzegovina and southern Dobrudja. Work conducted by William Lock-
wood in Skopje Polje among Muslims revealed that nacija (nationality)
often was used to refer specifically to religion.142
As an ethnic group, Muslims share a religious tradition, but only
in Bosnia-Herzegovina and southern Dobrudja did they ever compose
more than half the people in a specific territory. In Bosnia they eventu­
ally gained recognition as a group by political fiat, but in Dobrudja they
were denied recognition by expulsion. With the exception of these in­
stances, Muslims pursued what Anthony Smith has described as a strat­
egy of "isolation," i.e., the community remained aloof from society as
a whole.143 Muslims in Bulgaria and Romania, regardless of nationality,
may be compared with Armenian, Druze, and Ba'hai communities in
the Middle East: they have sought little more from the state than au­
tonomy in the management of their communal affairs. Although Alba­
nian Muslims were a majority, the tribal structure of Albanian society
and Sunni-Bektashi differences created a similar fragmentation. Bek-
tashi leaders who gained distinction in the national movement were
identified as Albanians rather than Muslims.
With the exception of Bosnia-Herzegovina and southern Dobrudja,
Muslims have failed to develop a separate ethnic consciousness. The
Islamic faith could not be compartmentalized from the experience of
daily life, and Islam offered a comprehensive worldview. Where Mus­
lims were politically involved, as in interwar Yugoslavia, they sought
 Islam in the Balkans 405

autonomy rather than confrontation with the non-Muslim majority.

Muslim passivity was overcome only when Slavic Muslims were mobi­
lized by communist authorities to act on behalf of "Muslim interests."
Even in Yugoslavia, Muslims were undistinguished among the League's
leadership, and, until his death in 1977, Prime Minister Djemal Bi-
jedic was the sole Muslim to emerge as a major political figure in the
federation. Although Muslims comprise 37.5 percent of the total popu­
lation of Bosnia-Herzegovina, they constitute only 33.9 percent of the
Republican League membership. Serbs, with less than 35 percent of the
population, constitute 47 percent of the membership.144 Resignation of
Hamdija Pozderac, the country's leading Muslim official, from the fed­
eration's vice presidency in September 1987 further deprives Muslims
of representation at the federal level.145
There are two possible explanations for the lack of Muslim political
involvement. The Ottoman millet system discouraged wider political
involvement; more fundamental, however, was the anomalous relation
of Muslims to national movements. Muslims could not regard a secular
nation-state as a terminal community of identity while it was governed
by non-Muslims. Among non-Muslims, religious Orthodoxy became
the basis for the Balkan peoples' national response to the Ottoman
rule, and where Orthodoxy was lacking (Albania), the national move­
ment was relatively retarded. Conversely, in Asia and the Arab world,
Islam became an important basis for the national response to colonial
rule.146 Muslims in the Balkans, regardless of their attitude toward the
Ottoman Empire, suffered from their historic association with imperial
rule.
Communists have found little of value in the Muslim peoples. R. V.
Burks has documented the Turkish populations' relative lack of sup­
port for communist parties in interwar elections.147 One-fifth of the Y u ­
goslav Turks had emigrated to Turkey by 1954.148 The Bulgarian Turks
have been mentioned. Pomaks were nomads who were compelled to
give up their Muslim identity. Bosnian Muslims were too numerous to
be incorporated as Serbs, Croats, or Yugoslavs, despite the confusion
about their identity. Romanian Turks and Tatars were too small a popu­
lation to pose a challenge to the Romanian Stalinist regime. They were
ignored safely until it became desirable to display their group as a sign
of religious toleration or as evidence of Romania's allegedly tolerant
nationality policy. Albania's Muslim majority afforded the only possi­
406 Eastern Europe

ble challenge to the creation of a "new Albanian man." The Bektashis'

political activities were a particular danger because of the sect's uni-
versalism. Crawford Young has observed the "overriding moral purpose
and sanction" claimed by the centralized authority under socialism, an
authority incompatible with the "compartmentalized solidarities" of a
cultural pluralism.149
The absence of a strong tradition of Pan-Islamic or Pan-Turkish sen­
timent among the Muslims confirms the importance of religion over
national identity. Despite an active political interest in the "outside
Turks" manifested by Ankara,150 there was relatively little emigration
prior to communism. Secular Turkey was a Turkish refuge, not a cho­
sen homeland. It is possible that only the extraordinary repression
practiced in Bulgaria has compelled the Turkish population to look to
Turkey both as a refuge and a homeland. Significantly, there was no evi­
dence of Pan-Islamic sentiment in Yugoslavia prior to the 1970s. With­
out the leadership of certain Bosnian imams and Belgrade's tolerance of
contacts with the Muslim world, it is unlikely that Yugoslav Muslims
would have shown much interest in transnational Islam. Yugoslavia
(before 1979) and Romania have shown little concern that contacts with
Muslim dignitaries could have undesirable consequences.
Finally, the situation of individual Muslim communities has been
bound up with general political conditions within each state. Yugoslav
Muslims are the most integrated of the four communities and the most
sensitive to broader political trends. Disagreement within the League
of Communists about nationality questions tends to ensure that the
question of Pan-Islamic sentiment likewise will become a subject of
debate within its ranks.151 Conversely, federation-wide questions con­
cerning the place of "technocracy" in politics and women in social life
have been echoed in Yugoslav Muslim doctrine.152 It is unlikely that
the recent prosecution of the "Young Muslims" in Yugoslavia would
have been politically significant apart from the general deterioration
of nationality relations in the 1980s. The cases of Albania and Bul­
garia are fundamentally different from that of Yugoslavia. Both of these
countries appear subject to Stalinist practice concerning nationality.
According to Mihailo Markovic, Stalinism in nationality relations
has meant that "the biggest nation drastically dominates the center
and represses any resistance, no matter how justified, as a bourgeois-
nationalist deviation." Markovid also points out Stalin's acceptance of
 Islam in the Balkans 407

the "strange doctrine" of a "dictatorship of 'revolutionary' over 're­

actionary' nations."153 In view of the lingering Stalinist and pro-Maoist
influences within the Bulgarian party through 1967,154 and its similar
presence in Albania, their policies toward Islam become more intelli­
gible. From the Stalinist viewpoint Bulgarian Turks and Pomaks repre­
sented a reactionary contradiction to the necessary role of the leading
nation. In Albania it was necessary for that role to be created by elim i­
nating the rival and divisive influence of religion. Finally, the case of
Romania is especially interesting in that only in 1954 did Romanian au­
thorities formally abandon any attempt to assimilate Romania's small
Tatar minority by developing a Tatar literary language, with the re­
sult that the overwhelming majority of Tatars and Turks have avoided
assimilation and continued the use of their language.155 Nevertheless,
even the case of Romania suggests the utter incompatibility of commu­
nist rule and transnational religious sentiment, for there is evidence of
a policy of favoring Tatar identity over Turkish identity.156 As long as
Turkey remains noncommunist, the Romanian regime can be expected
to view pan-Thrkic sentiments with hostility.
Part IV Conclusion
C on clu sion

Pedro R am et

The contributors to this volume started from the premises that reli­
gious organizations in the communist world have served as vehicles for
the preservation, defense, and reinforcement of ethnic sentiment and
that the religio-nationalist symbiosis thus entailed has been a source of
particular frustration to the communist elites. Communism's hostility
toward religion has multiple sources, the symbiosis with nationalism
being only one of them. More particularly, communism views religion
as a threat to its organizational and ideological monopoly and as an
impediment to its utopian program.
Religion, like nationalism, is a highly complex social phenomenon,
capable of assuming sundry forms. One might speak, for instance, of
folk religion, with its strong communal emphasis and a clergy com­
mitted to the national culture: Polish Catholicism would seem to be a
good example of this. Again, one might be justified in speaking of cul­
ture religion (like the Shinto), or civic religion (as in Protestant groups
of England and the United States), or again of state religion, where the
hierarchy functions as an agency of the state (with post-Petrine Rus­
sian Orthodoxy being a fair example).1 Finally, one may wish to speak
of transcendental or mystic religions which are other-worldly and con­
templative in orientation.
Given this plethora of religious forms, the risk of oversimplification
when it comes to defining just what is meant by "religion" is great.
Yet the issue must be confronted, since we use the word meaningfully
and obviously mean something quite specific by it. Although chapter i
pointedly excluded belief in a god from the list of prerequisites that
constituted the definition of "religion" offered there and although one
4 12 Religion and Nationalism

contributor observed that "religion does not have to refer to a belief in

the supernatural [since] it is only a link between you and the ideal in
which you believe,"2 all contributors to this volume are in agreement
that empirically, belief in a supernatural realm has been a central orga­
nizing factor for religions. Therefore it seems appropriate to revise the
definition of religion offered in chapter I of this book and to define it,
rather, as
an interrelated set of assumptions about the nature and meaning of
human existence, which are thought to have absolute validity, and
which are actively propagated by an institution or organized sect
which locates the legitimacy of those assumptions, and of certain
behavioral imperatives derived from them, in the commands of a
superior being or group of superior beings, existing in a supernatu­
ral realm.3
This rather cumbersome definition draws attention to a curious para­
dox that has divided religions—viz., if morality has absolute validity
in and of itself, then what, if anything, does the command of God
add to it? Alternatively, if the validity of morality stems exclusively
from God's command, then does not a religion of that species reveal
itself as barefaced authoritarianism? I believe that suppositions about
the existence or nonexistence of particular beings, although elevated
to centrality in religious dogmas, serve as the underpinning of a moral-
cultural system and not, as is often alleged, as its source. But the recur­
rence of the derivation of morality from divine command in popular
religion prompts the caution that religion is apt to be what people think
it is; it may be a form of human liberation for some, even as it remains
a form of authoritarian reductionism for others.
It was noted earlier that insofar as the claims of a religion are
absolute, those who do not subscribe to the given religion and observe
its rituals are viewed as outcasts, as reprobates. Religions maintain
their hold on people by claiming to be "best"; the claim has unavoidable
consequences for the attitude toward those who refuse the "best,"
the "one, true religion." Likewise, for Marxists, the possession of
the "best" ideology—"scientific" dialectical materialism—disposes
Marxists to treat non-Marxists and, more particularly, nonatheists, as
second-class. Indeed, Marxist-Leninist ideology requires that theists be
treated as second-class citizens.
 Conclusion 4 13

Marxist elites are, of course, hostile to religious organizations not

only because their autonomy places them beyond the c p 's organiza­
tional hegemony but also because they are apprehended, rightly, as
ideological rivals. Numerous observers, both East and West, have re­
marked that Marxist ideology has evolved into a "state religion" in
communist countries.4 It is for this reason that church and state in the
Eastern bloc have searched for no more than a modus vivendi—bare
mutual tolerance—and again for this reason, in part, that any modus
vivendi thus achieved will be pragmatic and tenuous.
There is a third source of church-state mutual antagonism in the
communist world, viz., the programmatic utopianism that dictates so­
cial homogenization as the key to achievement of full communism.
The logic of programmatic homogenization rims as follows. For Marx,
as is well known, the central problem that constitutes the cunabula of
the socialist enterprise is the problem of human alienation.5 Marx ar­
gued that an individual could not hope to achieve self-realization (the
positive value supposedly being advanced in Marxism) unless alien­
ation (whereby a person becomes estranged from the means of produc­
tion and from his own products, from others, and ultimately from his
own nature) be eliminated. Moreover, Marx continued, the elimination
of alienation entailed the elimination of mediation, for it is the media­
tors—capital, state, and church—that perpetuate economic, political,
and social alienation, and which must therefore be destroyed if the in­
dividual is to achieve self-realization and express his own uniqueness.
There is a further problem with mediators, viz., that they "invariably"
(according to Marx and Engels) are the tools of the dominant class,
instruments, thus, of class oppression.6
In order to eliminate mediation, however, it is necessary to over­
throw the class system of which it is an integral part, i.e., to elim i­
nate conflicts of interest. But the elimination of conflicts of interest
entails, for Marx and his successors, the elimination of those social
differences that give rise to conflicts of interest,7 under the rubric of
the single legitimate interest. But the elimination of social differences
amounts to no less than a program of social homogenization whereby
ethnic, linguistic, class, and religio-ideological differences are to be
eroded steadily in the interest of creating a "new socialist man." Ro
manian President Nicolae Ceau§escu gave conscious expression to this
Marxist-Leninist oestrus when he observed (in 1972): "We must con-
414 Religion and Nationalism

stantly think of the necessity . . . for an increasing homogenization of

society, both in the social and [in the] national sense, in order to work
for the creation of a unified communist order."8
There is an important difference between Marx's attitude regarding
social homogenization and that of contemporary Marxist-Leninists.
Whereas Marx viewed homogenization as an ineluctable, if progressive,
historical tendency in which religious difference figured as but the epi-
phenomenon of class oppression, revealing that the assault on religion
was, for Marx, neither a sufficient nor even an especially worthwhile
enterprise,9his successors have targeted religious organizations for con­
centrated repression, persecution, or subversion through co-optation.
Marx's "historical necessity" has been transformed, at the hands of
Marxist-Leninists, into "programmatic necessity," and the suggestion
of determinism in Marx has been suppressed in favor of an active pro­
gram of social transformation.
Given the sundry sources of communist hostility toward religion,
it is of some interest to observe systematic differences in policy to­
ward different religious groups, most particularly the ambiguous posi­
tion of glorious impotence enjoyed by the leading Orthodox churches.
The position of the Romanian and Bulgarian Orthodox churches, for
instance, as pointed out in the chapters by Gilberg and Raikin, has
been "glorious" in the sense that they can conduct liturgy openly, can
publish various theological and church periodicals, and can meet with
foreign clerics at home or abroad. But they, like the Russian, Polish,
Czechoslovak, and Georgian Orthodox churches, are impotent when
it comes to being able to assert their prerogatives against the govern­
ment. Moreover, even "glorious" co-optation does not provide secu­
rity against arbitrary governmental policies, as the Romanian Ortho­
dox church has discovered: in the last ten years that church has lost
many historic places of worship, and in Bucharest alone at least twenty
Orthodox churches have been razed. There are other sources of fric­
tion in the Romanian church-state nexus, and in August 1987 Patriarch
Teoctist joined the leaders of other denominations to complain about
the "lack of allocations from the government for the construction and
maintenance of religious facilities."10 In this respect the situation in
Yugoslavia is quite different, and in the past few years the Serbian
Orthodox church has been permitted to undertake a number of impor­
tant church construction projects, including resumption of the con-
 Conclusion 4 15

struction of the St. Sava Church in Belgrade.11 Part of the reason for this
general impotence is that, in contrast to the Catholic and Protestant
churches, the Orthodox have few champions in the West and cannot
count on Western support in a showdown with the regime.
Yet despite their impotence, or perhaps in fact because of it, the
Orthodox churches have been drawn into a kind of collusion with the
regimes in this area. There are, of course, historical reasons for the dif­
ference between Orthodox churches and other religious organizations
in this regard. In one sense the Marxist system appears as an inversion
of the centuries-old tradition of Caesaro-papism, in which the state
was dominated by the church. More particularly, the tradition must be
traced, in the Balkans, to the millet system adopted by the Ottomans,
which did not merely delegate administrative and educational duties to
the churches, but in fact made them adjuncts of the state, the appointed
administrative partners of the Sublime Porte. In Russia the so-called
Spiritual Reglement promulgated by Peter the Great in 17 2 1 effectively
gave the government control over the Russian Orthodox church's orga­
nization, possessions, and policies, reducing it likewise to a kind of
office of state.12 These developments cultivated a tradition in Ortho­
doxy of partnership with the state.
The Catholic church, on the other hand, found itself thrust in the
nineteenth century into the role of advocate of suppressed nationali­
ties—in Croatia, Slovenia, Slovakia, Poland, Ukraine, Lithuania, and to
an extent in Romania—which encouraged a posture of opposition to
political authority and reinforced the fusion of religious affiliation and
nationality in these regions. Only in Hungary and Bohemia-Moravia
did the Catholic church enjoy a partnership with political authority.
In the former, where the Magyars were culturally favored and politi­
cally assertive, the church maintained its strength; in the latter, where
the Czechs were culturally despoiled and politically suppressed, the
church's hold on its people slackened.13 Today it is only in Hungary that
the Catholic church has entered into a "co-optive" relationship with
the state, while among Czechs the church is viewed as antinational.
Symptomatic of this difference in political heritage between Catholi­
cism and Orthodoxy is the fact that whereas the Catholic church
became actively involved in creating and sustaining political parties
throughout East Central Europe, the Orthodox church declined to cre­
ate an Orthodox political party in the belief that this would only serve
4 i6 Religion and Nationalism

to foster division within the nation. Meeting in the Yugoslav town of

Karlovci in 19 2 1, hierarchs and representatives of the Russian church
(ninety-two in all) debated adoption of a unified political program; Fr.
Sergei Bulgakov and his associates entertained notions of founding a
Christian-Socialist party, but were opposed in this by a group inspired
and led by Metropolitan Eulogi, with the result that the Russian church
failed to devise a unified policy at all.14
In the initial phase of Bolshevik rule the Russian Orthodox church
was accorded no special privileges. Indeed, through the sponsorship
of the "Living Church" movement and the encouragement of splin­
ter groups, the regime showed itself eager to weaken the church in
any way possible. The church's utility in rallying Russian nationalism
led to a partial rehabilitation of the church during World War II, and,
at war's end, with Eastern Europe newly occupied, the Kremlin saw
potential utility in the Russian Orthodox church promoting bloc cohe­
sion in the new territories. Soviet President Mikhail Kalinin sounded
the new theme in 1945, telling Patriarch Aleksii: "Our government es­
teems the great public service rendered by your Eminence. But the peo­
ple expect much more from your Eminence and the Church. Moscow
is already the world center of international politics. It must also be­
come the spiritual nucleus."15 The Kremlin hoped that the forced con­
version of the Uniates to Orthodoxy16 and the subordination of East
European Orthodox churches to the Moscow patriarchate would under­
cut religious-based resistance and thereby further the consolidation of
Soviet hegemony in the area. The church, for its part, was eager to
play this role. This Kremlin strategy elevated the Russian Orthodox
church to primacy among Orthodox churches of the bloc.17 In a typical
expression of this policy, a decree issued by Tirana on May 4, 1950,
encouraged the Albanian Orthodox church to maintain contacts with
fraternal Orthodox churches in the socialist camp but implicitly for­
bade any relations with Orthodox churches in noncommunist lands,
and in effect placed the Albanian Orthodox church under the authority
of the Moscow patriarchate.18 The Orthodox churches in the Soviet
Union, Slovakia, and Romania were of course happy to take over the
Uniate parishes they suddenly inherited, but, as Khrushchev's antireli­
gious campaign showed, co-optation is best thought of as a phase in
communist religious policy. It clearly provides the church no guarantee
against persecution.19
 Conclusion 4 17

Despite Paul Vi's active policy of Ostpolitik, the Kremlin has always
recognized in the Catholic church an ideological and political rival—
a sentiment certainly reinforced by the election of Karol Wojtyla to
the papacy in 1978. The Kremlin similarly distrusts Protestant groups
and has achieved a most uncertain modus vivendi with "official Islam"
(while Sofia has shown itself to be blatantly hostile toward Islam in
Bulgaria). But Orthodoxy has appeared in a different light. There was,
in addition to the factors already discussed above, further reason for
this, viz., the affinity for things Russian that was felt and fostered by
Orthodox churches throughout Eastern Europe. Rooted in nineteenth-
century Slavophilism, this affinity linked religious messianism (still
alive among Orthodox churchmen) and Moscow-centrism (visions of
a Third Rome) to provide a basis both for Russian nationalism and
for Pan-Slavic solidarity. In a recent expression of this Pan-Orthodox
affinity (and of Kremlin sympathies), the Soviet consul in Zagreb turned
out for the ordination in early 1982 of the new Serbian Orthodox bishop
of Zagreb.20
While it is possible to identify certain broad patterns or tendencies in
church-state relations in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, and pos­
sible to speak of the identity of long-range goals, one must be careful
not to underestimate the importance of local factors in the framing of
religious policy. In Poland, for example, the sheer power of the Catholic
church exempted it from repression and postponed the confrontation
With the communist regime for three years.21 When, moreover—to take
a more specific example—the Krakow publishing house Wydawnictwo
Literackie published C. Soloukhin's book Meeting with Icons in 1975
(a treatment of religious culture in the USSR that had already been
published in the Soviet Union), the Instruction, Evaluation, and Con­
trol Group of Poland's Main Administration for Control of the Press,
Publications, and Public Performances (Guxppiw) complained that the
decision to permit publication in Poland did not take into consider­
ation the stronger presence of the church in Polish national life. "The
granting of approval for the publication of this book is a great mistake
on the part of the censors," the control group wrote.

The fact that it was published in the Soviet Union cannot be used
as justification, because inhabitants of the Soviet Union take this
subject differently from the way the Polish reader does. Every gov-

1"""TT T ft
4 i8 Religion and Nationalism

em inent in conducting its own domestic policy handles its own

problems in different ways. The officials of a given country, in per­
mitting sensitive subjects to be raised, [must] have first of all their
own citizens in mind.22

Similar considerations of local conditions could be multiplied, but the

essential argument being made here is that nationalism takes on a dif­
ferent configuration in different contexts. It thus functions differently,
say, in multiethnic versus ethnically homogeneous countries, and fig­
ures as a pivotal variable in the Soviet—East European region, shaping
the social and political role of religious organizations and coloring the
religious policies of communist elites.
Among the sundry issues touched upon in this volume are three focal
analytical questions: (i) Should the symbiosis of religion and national­
ism be viewed principally from the standpoint of the religious organi­
zation in question, or is it more usefully viewed from the vantage point
of the nationalist? In other words, is the subject more usefully probed
by stressing how nationalism is a natural activity of the church and
how it may serve church purposes, or is the subject better served by
stressing how religious organizations serve the purposes of national­
ism? (2) Is the interface of religion and nationalism static or dynamic?
(3) Does religion temper or absolutize nationalism?
At least four alternative definitions of nationalism have been offered
in this book. Drawing upon Dimitry Pospielovsky, I defined nation­
alism (in chapter 1) as "collective affectivity focused on the cultural-
linguistic group, manifested in the attribution of central importance to
the national culture—including its religion—and in the aspiration to
promote the national culture." Thus defined, the religionational sym­
biosis appears completely natural. I offered a second definition in chap­
ter 1 1 , describing nationalism there as the "collective attitude toward
the national heritage," with national heritage defined, in turn, as "the
collective memory of a community focusing on those people, events,
cultural products, and symbols which are seen as formative of the na­
tion and its place in the international order." As can be seen, these
two definitions are in reality equivalent. Along related lines, Kgstutis
Girnius (in his chapter on Lithuania) defined nationalism as "a set
of beliefs and attitudes according to which certain political and cul­
tural values believed to be essential for the flowering of a nation are
 Conclusion 419

considered to have such intrinsic worth that actions and policies that
endanger them are held to be impermissible in most circumstances."
And finally, in chapter 7, Stephen Jones defines nationalism as "a set
of beliefs which attribute intrinsic or supreme worth to the nation
[as] defined by certain common cultural and ethnic attributes and atti­
tudes." A ll of these definitions highlight the importance of national
culture, the first three placing culture in a primary position, and the
fourth viewing culture as constitutive of nation. The first two defi­
nitions interpret nationalism as affectivity; the latter two definitions
portray it as beliefs. All of the definitions are metaethically neutral.
A ll of them are, finally, sufficiently broad to encompass both "posi­
tive" nationalism (the kind of cherishing of culture and concern for the
national community described by Chrypinski) and "negative" nation­
alism (exemplified, for instance, in the rabid excesses of the Croatian
Ustase during World War II or in the coercively assimilatory Romanian
nationalism of the Ceauçescu period).
With respect to the first analytical question (point of view), most of
the contributors to this volume chose to approach the subject essen­
tially from the standpoint of the religious organization. Chrypinski
probably best exemplifies this approach in comparing the relationship
of church and nation to the relationship between body and soul. In
this approach, emphasis is placed on the fact that the church grows up
among the people and is thus a national body, a tribal-national church,
so that nationalist concerns are intrinsic to it. For Gilberg, thus, "reli­
gion in general, and Orthodoxy in particular, represented a vital ele­
ment of national defense for the Romanians." And again, as Chrypinski
put it, so intrinsic to the local church's concerns has the welfare of the
Polish people been that one must speak of the Polish church, rather
than the church in Poland.
Pospielovsky and Girnius, on the other hand, have tended toward the
other approach, i.e., to ask how nationalists find the church useful or
not useful. The reasons for this choice certainly have to do with the na­
ture of the historical context. The Slavophiles, after all, represent a dis­
crete nationalist current, while, as Girnius notes, "the Catholic church
has not always been a unifying factor in Lithuanian life; nor has its role
vis-à-vis Lithuanian nationalism been unequivocal." In the Lithuanian
case it is "a contingent fact that contemporary Catholicism is benefi­
cial to nationalism." In this connection Laszlo's observation that the
420 Religion and Nationalism

national reawakening in Hungary is "a purely secular phenomenon" is

interesting, insofar as it suggests that it is possible to divorce religion
and nationalism in Hungary, though Laszlo emphasizes that for Hun­
garians living in minority situations, this nexus remains a symbiotic,
fundamental, unbroken, living reality.
Beck and Raikin take yet a third approach, asking how the regime
views the nationalist mythos of the church and to what extent the
regime can exploit the glories of the church's past for its own purposes.
Beck, for instance, finds that the Honecker regime fostered a revival of
Luther in order to interpret Luther in a "progressive" light and thereby
give present East German socialist reality historical depth and legiti­
mation.
Those authors who explicitly address the second question (static or
dynamic) uniformly view the religion-nationalism nexus as dynamic.
Markus, for instance, describes variations in church attitudes in
Ukraine, revealing that the Catholic church espoused Polish nation­
alism during Russian and Soviet occupation. He also identifies alter­
native currents—separatist and integrationist—in Ukrainian Orthodox
circles. Critchlow points to a surprising aspect of this dynamic in his
identification of a recent tendency of certain mullahs in Central Asia
to appeal to regional consciousness (Turkmen, Uzbek, etc.). And Gitel-
man notes that while Soviet Jews in the r950S "were Jews officially and
socially, but Russians culturally," there was a tendency in the 1960s
and 1970s for Soviet Jews to seek to rediscover their Jewish culture.
My own chapter on Czechoslovakia, while not denying the dynamism
of the religio-national relationship, places the stress elsewhere, viz.,
on the emergence of patterns in that relationship over the course of
centuries and on the difficulty of escaping from deeply rooted patterns.
There was less agreement23 on the third question, the effect that reli­
gion has on nationalism, though part of the reason for the complex
panoply of explanations advanced reflects not concrete disagreement,
but the sheer complexity of nationalism. Certainly, it makes all the
difference if one speaks of the church's role in sustaining national cul­
ture, in promoting the national language, and in caring for its ethnic
congregation ("positive" nationalism) as opposed to the church's puta­
tive relationship toward a nationalist frenzy of chauvinistic excesses
("negative" nationalism). The latter clearly needs to be tempered; the
former does not.
 Conclusion 421

Chrypinski, Critchlow, Gilberg, Gitelman, Irwin, Jones, Markus,

Raikin, and I all depicted contexts in which religious organizations
have promoted the national culture. As Chrypinski put it, in describing
the Polish case, the church believed it had a duty to work "to pre­
serve national existence and the historical continuity of national life,"
while also exerting its influence "on the nation by preaching the gospel,
educating the people in the values of Christianity, providing exam­
ples of moral behavior, and helping people spiritually." This association
with the nation is apt to entail an overt hostility toward forms of "in­
ternationalism" or "cosmopolitanism." The Russian samizdat journal
Veche, for instance, commented as follows:
Cosmopolitanism is spiritual slavery. The universal man is a lie.
Only God, Jesus Christ, can be the universal man; but man as a
universal is an idol, which puts itself in place of God. It is Anti­
christ who arises out of cosmopolitanism, who promotes freedom
to all but enslaves everybody. Cosmopolitanism is the preparation
of the road for Antichrist.24
When it comes to negative nationalism, contrary examples were
cited. Pospielovsky, for instance, cited the fact that a strong religious
revival in Poland has been accompanied by a movement away from the
intense nationalism of the interwar period. He argued that once the
religious element is removed from nationalism, nationalism is apt to
be negative and to dissolve into fascism. Chrypinski lent support to
this view, citing church opposition to the 1968 anti-Semitic campaign
in Poland. On the other hand, as Peter Merkl noted at the conference,
the clerico-fascist movements of the interwar period demonstrated that
the clergy are not immune to fascism and that religion can be ma­
nipulated even in the service of negative nationalism. Again, Gilberg
and I provided additional examples of the activity of specific religious
organizations in fueling ethnocentric attitudes. Markus, finally, struck
an integrative chord, noting the internal complexity within churches
and synthesizing both propositions to argue that "church and religion
have often been articulators and supporters of imperial universal de­
signs. But within the same church, and among adherents of the same
religion, movements have emerged to hinder such designs." This oppo­
sition may arise from ethical motives or from cultural motives. With
respect to the latter, it is important to remember that supranational-
42.2 Religion and Nationalism

ism, the homogenizing ideology of imperial states, tends to threaten

the religious organizations of minority groups to the extent that the
culture and survival of those groups, in general, is threatened; thus,
a church is apt to base its attitude vis-à-vis the nationalism of a par­
ticular group on considerations of the confessional changes likely to be
effected by imperium. The upshot of this is that there is no necessary
mode in religion's attitude toward nationalism.
Finally, these chapters bring home the point that although the
churches' concern for national values is genuine, it is the regimes that
most emphasize the nationalist aspect of church behavior (as Beck, in
particular, makes clear), while the churches typically view themselves
as chiefly spiritual institutions. The churches are by nature, as noted in
chapter r, political actors as well; hence, the assault on religion tends,
where successful, to drive the church into a largely liturgical strait-
jacket, and, where unsuccessful, to increase the politicization of the
church. Where the church styles itself the guardian of national culture,
the program of social homogenization makes the church a central foe.
Just as Muhammad's gospel was as much a political ideology serving
to lay the basis for a new social system as a new theology, so too the
early Christian church
was not just a voluntary association for "religious" purposes. It
was rather the New Society, even the New Humanity, a polis or
politeuma, the true City of God, in the process of construction.
And each local community was fully aware of its membership in
an inclusive and universal whole. The Church was conceived as
an independent and self-supporting social order, as a new social
dimension, a peculiar systema patiidos, as Origen put it. Early
Christians felt themselves, in the last resort, quite outside of the
existing social order, simply because for them the Church was an
"order", an extra-terrestrial "colony of Heaven" on earth.25
Islam and Christianity constituted, in their cunabulas, social revolts
with political aspirations and, at least for the latter, a strong utopianism
inspired the early converts.
Contemporary religious organizations thus may be seen as vestigial
political organizations in at least two ways: in the sense that, primor-
dially, religion arose as the primary vehicle of sociopolitical organiza­
tion,26 and in the more specific sense in which Islam and Christian-
 Conclusion 423

ity per se were developed—to challenge the moral/social systems of

their day, positing new mores and laying new foundations for political
legitimacy and political behavior. If religious organizations are vesti­
gial political organizations, then the cultural ethos and social identity
evoked by religious ties are genetically traceable to political purpose,
and the clash between church concepts of nationality and state con­
cepts of nationality becomes intelligible as the insoluble rivalry be­
tween alternative bases of collective loyalty. The state may of course
exploit and manipulate religious feeling as a foundation for nation­
alism, just as the church may exploit and manipulate the state as a
guarantor of confessional/ethnic homogeneity, so that both institu­
tions may find their purposes served in nationalism. But the concepts
themselves remain at variance. The situation is different in multieth­
nic and multiconfessional societies where such a symbiosis of purpose
can only be accomplished at the expense of certain "minority" groups
—witness the tsarist doctrine of Orthodoxy and Nationality.
The cultural engagement of religious institutions generally, which
characterized also the activity of religious bodies in the Slavic world
until the advent of communism, reflects the arrogation of formative
and socializing functions to institutional authority, and thus is latently
political. The steady assumption of cultural and educational functions
by state mechanisms reflects the steady erosion of the direct political
power of churches and their retreat to the spiritual. This retreat has
not been total and is capable of reversal, according to particular cir­
cumstances. The Marxist drive to accelerate this process and to drive
it to its "logical" conclusion would divorce spirituality from morality
(turning the churches into anomalous, nonmoral, cosmological soci­
eties serving the state) and would divorce church from nation. But one
might reverse Esad Cimic's comment that "religion is an integral part
of national culture"17 and observe that, conversely, national culture is
also an integral part of religion.
N otes

CHAPTER 1
1. Barbara Hargrove, T h e S o cio lo g y of Religion (Arlington Heights, 111.: a h m Publish­
ing, 1 9 7 9 ), P- 4 -
2. See Jean Jacques Rousseau, A D isco u rse on P o litica l E co n o m y , trans. G. D. H. Cole
(Chicago: William Benton, 1952), pp. 371 —75; and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel,
T he P h ilo so p h y o f Right, trans. T. M. Knox (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952), p. 168.
3. Sigmund Freud, M oses an d M on oth eism , trans. Katherine Jones (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1939), pp. ar-43.
4. Ivan S. Lubachko, B elo ru ssia u n d er S o viet R u le, 1 9 1 7 - 2 9 5 7 (Lexington: University
Press of Kentucky, 1972), p. 159.
$. Vasyl Markus, "Religion in the Soviet Ukraine: A Political Problem of Modernizing
Society", in N a tio n a lism a n d H u m an Rights in the U S S R , ed. Ihor Kamenetsky
(Littleton, Colo.: Libraries Unlimited, 1977), p. 156.
6. Ironically, however, as D. Kasic has pointed out, many Serbian Orthodox believers
in Pavelic's Croatia were suspicious of the new church and felt that if they were
going to change churches, they preferred to convert to Catholicism, which offered
more reliable protection from U sta se liquidations. See Fikreta Jelic-Butic, U sta se
i N D H (Zagreb: S. N. Liber and Skolska knjiga, 1977), p. I78n; also Ante Pavelic,
H rv a tsk a P ravoslavn a C rk va (Madrid: Domovina, 1984)-
7. V. Stanley Vardys, T he C a th o lic C h u rch , D issent, a n d N a tio n a lity in S o v ie t L ith u a ­
n ia (Boulder, Colo.: East European Monographs, 1978), pp. n - 1 3 .
8. T e rcu m a n (Istanbul), April r, 1980, p. 3, trans. in Joint Publications Research Ser­
vice (j p r s ), E ast Europe Report, no. 75548 (April 23, 1980), p. 15.
9. Hungarians constituted 96 percent of the Hungarian population in 1980, while Ro­
manians accounted for 88 percent of the population of Romania in 1977. The Bul­
garian regime denies the existence of any significant minorities in Bulgaria, but an
impartial western observer estimated in 1976 that ethnic minorities accounted for
13.8 percent of the Bulgarian population. See Laszlo Ribanszky, "Nationalities in
Hungary: Few in Number but Pampered," R a d io Free E urope R esearch , October 28,
1980, p. 2j Romanian Situation Report No. 20, R a d io Free E urope R esea rch , June
426 Religion and Nationalism

22, 1977; and John Georgeoff, "Ethnic Minorities in the People's Republic of Bul­
garia," in T h e P o litics of E th n ic ity in Eastern Europe, ed. George Klein and Milan J.
Reban (Boulder, Colo.: East European Monographs, 1981), p. 79П.
ro. See Dimitry Pospielovsky, "Some Remarks on the Contemporary Russian Nation­
alism and Religious Revival," C an ad ian R e v ie w of Stu d ies in N a tio n a lism r r, no. r
(Spring 1984), p. 73.
i i . Quoted in Viktor Novak, V elika optuzba (M agnum C rim en ), vol. 2 (Sarajevo: Svjet-
lost, 1960I, p. 56.
Г2. K a t o M k i tje d n ik , quoted in Fred Singleton, T w en tieth C e n tu ry Y u goslavia (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1976), p. i 9 7 -
13. Lazar Milin, R azgovori o veri, quoted in N I N , February 20, 1972, p. 16.
14. See Hans Kohn, P a n -S la v ism : Its M ean in g a n d Ideology, 2d ed. (New York: Random
House, 1960I, especially p. 127.
15. Joseph F. Zacek, "Nationalism in Czechoslovakia," in N a tio n a lism in Eastern
E urope, ed. Peter F. Sugar and Ivo J. Lederer (Seattle: University of Washington
Press, 1970), p. 173.
16. The council has seven departments: for Orthodox churches (Russian, Georgian, Old
Believers|; for Islam and Buddhism; for the Catholic, Protestant, and Armenian-
Apostolic churches, Judaism, and sects; for "international contacts"; the legal de­
partment; bookkeeping; and a general department. See Albert Boiter, Religion in
the S o vie t U n io n , Washington Papers, vol. 8, no. 78 (Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage,
Г980], p. 48.
17. On the structural aspects of Yugoslav religious policy, see Pedro Ramet, "The Dy­
namics of Yugoslav Religious Policy—Some Insights from Organization Theory,"
in Y u g o sla via in the 1980s, ed. Pedro Ramet (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1985).
18. There are some 500 thousand Polish Uniates, mostly of Ukrainian descent. See
Markus, "Religion in the Soviet Ukraine," pp. 155-56; Gerhard Simon, "The Catho­
lic Church and the Communist State in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe," in
R e lig io n a n d A t h e is m in the U S S R a n d Eastern Europe, ed. Bohdan R. Bociurkiw
and John W. Strong (London: Macmillan, 1975), p. 202; Rudolf Grulich, "Unierte
Gläubige in kommunistisch regierten Ländern," D igest des O sten s, no. 11 (1980),
pp. i-5 ; D ru z in a (Ljubljana), August 17, 1975, p. i ; and K eston N e w s Se rvice ,
no. 155 (September 1, 1982), p. 10.
19. Michael Bourdeaux, "Roman Catholics and Uniates," in T he So viet U n io n a n d E a st­
ern E u rope: A H a n d b o o k , ed. George Schöpflin (New York: Praeger, 1970), p. 476.
20. R a b o ch a y a gazeta (Kiev), April 17,1981, p. 3, trans. in jprs , So viet Report, no. 78159
(May 26, 1981), p. 22.
21. Denis Dirscherl, "The Soviet Destruction of the Greek Catholic Church," Jou rn al
o f C h u rc h a n d State 12, no. 3 (Autumn 1970), pp. 423, 426.
22. See ibid., pp. 427-28; Yaroslav Bilinsky, T h e S eco n d S o vie t R e p u b lic : T h e U k ra in e
after W o rld W ar I I (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, Г964), pp.
97-98; Bohdan R. Bociurkiw, "Religion and Nationalism in the Contemporary
i> Ukraine," in N a tio n a lism in the U S S R a n d Eastern Europe, ed. George W. Sim-
monds (Detroit: University of Detroit Press, 1977); Vasyl Markus, "Religion and
Nationality: The Uniates of the Ukraine," in Religion a n d A th e is m , ed- Bociurkiw
 Notes to Chapter i 427

and Strong; and "Zur religiösen Unterdrückung in der Westukraine," G la u b e in der

2. W elt 8, no. 9 (September 1980).
23. See Jane Ellis, T h e R u ssian O rth o do x C h u rc h : A C ontem p o rary H isto ry (Blooming­
ton: Indiana University Press, 1986).
24. T h e C h u rc h a n d State u n d er C o m m u n ism , vol. 2 (Rumania, Bulgaria, Albania),
prepared by the Law Library of the Library of Congress (Washington, D.C.: U.S.
Government Printing Office, 1965), pp. 1-2 , 12.
25. U n ive rz u l, October 15, 1948, as quoted in Emil Ciurea, "Religious Life," in C a p tiv e
R u m a n ia , ed. Alexandre Cretzianu (London: Atlantic Press, 1956), p. t95.
26. "Zwischen Anpassung und Unterdrückung," H erder K orrespondenz 32, no. 8 (Au­
gust 1978), p. 414.
27. Ion Ratiu, "The Uniates in Romania," T he Tablet, February 27, 1982, p. 199.
28. "Die Lage der griechisch-katholischen Ukrainer in Rumänien," G la u b e in d e r 2.
W elt 5, nos. 7-8 (July-August 1977), p. D54.
29. See Pedro Ramet, "Innenpolitische Determinanten der sowjetischen Interventions­
politik: Zu den Auswirkungen der tschechoslowakischen und polnischen Krise auf
den Westen der UdSSR," O steuropa 35, no. 3 (March 1985).
30. Michael Bourdeaux, "The Uniate Churches in Czechoslovakia," R e lig io n in C o m ­
m u n is t L a n d s 2, no. 2 (March-April 1974), pp. 4-6; R u d e Pravo (Prague), April 12,
1968, trans. in R eligion in C o m m u n ist D o m in a ted A re a s 7, nos. 7-8 (April 15 -
30, 1968), p. 78; Galia Golan, T he C z e ch o slo v a k R eform M o v e m e n t (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1971), p. 292; and Markus, "Religion and Nationality,"
p. 113.
31. Quoted in Eugen Steiner, T he S lo va k D ile m m a (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1973), p. 74.
32. Boiter, R e lig io n in the S o viet U n io n , p. 72.
33. Zvi Gitelman, "Moscow and the Soviet Jews: A Parting of the Ways," P ro b le m s of
C o m m u n is m 29, no. 1 (January-February 1980), p. 21.
34. Boiter, R e lig io n in the S o viet U n io n , p. 74.
35. Los A n g e le s T im es, December 22, 1976, p. 19; and K eston N e w s Se rvice , no. 281
(August 6, 1987), p. 14.
36. Michael Bourdeaux, "Jews," in S o viet U nion, ed. Schöpflin, pp. 489-90. See also
Bennett Kovrig, T he H ungarian People's R e p u b lic (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Uni­
versity Press, 1970), p. 144.
37. N e u e Z ü r c h e r Z e itu n g , August 15-16 , r982, p. 6; and F in a n cia l T im e s (London),
March 31, 1988, p. 2.
38. Maxine Pollack, "Anti-Semitism in Poland," T he Tablet, January 30, 1982, pp. 99-
100.
39. G.S., "Bulgarian Jews—A Doomed Minority," R a d io Free E urope R esearch , May 3,
1985.
40. For a listing of Monophysite churches and a discussion of the difference between
Chalcedonian and Monophysite churches, see Pedro Ramet, "Autocephaly and
National Identity in Church-State Relations in Eastern Christianity," in Eastern
C h r is tia n ity a n d P o litics in the T w en tieth C entu ry, ed. Pedro Ramet (Durham,
N.C.: Duke University Press, 1988).

. .*rar:.
428 Religion and Nationalism

41. Peter J. Babris, S ilen t C h u rch e s (Arlington Heights, 111.: Research Publishers, 1978),
P- 158.
42. All statistics from Ramet, Eastern C h ristia n ity.
43. Interview, Belgrade, July 1987.
44. C. J. Peters, "The Georgian Orthodox Church," in Eastern C h ristia n ity, ed. Ramet,
P- 3 ° 7 -
45. Official figures of the council of the Russian Orthodox church, as given in Salo
Wittmayer Baron, M od ern N a tio n a h sm an d Religion (New York: Harper, 1947),
p. 200.
46. If the annexed territories are counted, then, as official Soviet figures show, there
were some 4,225 licensed Orthodox churches in the USSR in 1941. Ibid., p. 206; D.
Konstantinow, "Die Russische Orthodoxe Kirche heute," O st-P ro b le m e 18, no. 13
(July i, 1966), p. 388.
47. One of the best studies of the Russian Orthodox church is Dimitry Pospielovsky,
T h e R u ssian C h u rch u n d er the S o viet Regim e, 1917-1982, 2 vols. (Crestwood, N.Y.:
St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1984.).
48. Boiter, R eligion in the S o viet U nion, p. 17-, Konstantinow, "Die Russische Ortho­
doxe Kirche," p. 388; Otto Luchterhandt, "Geknebelt, und dennoch lebensfähig: Die
Russisch-Orthodoxe Kirche in der Ära Breschnew," H erder K orrespon den z 36, no. 5
(May 1982), p. 235; and Philip Walters, "The Russian Orthodox Church," in E astern
C h ristia n ity , ed. Ramet, p. 91.
49. "Cadres of the Church and Legal Measures to Curtail Their Activities," a secret re
port by the Council on Religious Affairs, part x, Religion in C o m m u n is t D o m in a te d
A r e a s 1 9, nos. 9 - 11 (198°)/ P- l 4 9 -
50. Novosti Press Agency, September 20, 1968, trans. in R eligion in C o m m u n ist D o m i­
n a ted A r e a s 7, nos. 17-18 (September 15-30, 1968), pp. 149-SO.
51. N e w Y o r k T im e s (June 10, 1988), p. 3; and Fin an cial T im e s (London, June it, 1988),
p. 2.
52. Raoul Bossy, "Religious Persecutions in Captive Romania," lo u rn a l of C en tral E u ro ­
p e a n A ffa irs 15, no. 2 (July 1955), p. 162; and Ciurea, "Religious Life," p. 167.
53. Rumanian National Committee (Washington, D.C.), In form ation B u lletin , no. 46
(January 1953), p. i i ; and Radio Vatican, January 6, 1953, as cited in Ciurea, "Reli­
gious Life," p. 173.
54. Bossy, "Religious Persecutions," p. 164.
55. Kenneth Jowitt, in R e v o lu tio n a ry Breakthroughs an d N a tio n a l D e v e lo p m e n t: T h e
C a se o f R om an ia, 1944-1965 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California
Press, 1971), p- 198, insists that Romania's independent course be dated from 1962,
and not from 1945 or even 1955.
56. Keith Hitchins, "The Romanian Orthodox Church and the State," in R elig io n a n d
A th e is m , ed. Bociurkiw and Strong, pp. 314-25; and Miranda Villiers, "The Roma­
nian Orthodox Church Today," R eligion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 1, no. 3 (May-June
I 9 7 3 ), PP-4 - 5 -
57. See, for instance, the review article by Mircea Muthu in Steaua (Cluj-Napoca|,
February 1982, p. 39, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. 80679 (April 27, 1982),
PP- 50 - 5 3 -
 Notes to Chapter i 429

58. Djoko Slijepcevic, D ie b u lgarisch e orthod oxe K irche, 1 9 4 4 - 1 9 6 5 |Munich: R. Old­

enbourg, 1957), pp. 9, 18.
59. N a ro d n a m la d e z , March i i , 1970, quoted in Wolf Oschlies, '"Überwundene Reli­
gion? Zur Gegenwartssituation von Religion und Kirche in Bulgarien," E v a n g e ­
lis c h e T h eo lo g ie 35, no. 5 (September-October 1975), p. 442.
60. Thus, in early 1979 a Statement signed by five Bulgarian Orthodox metropolitans
attacked an article which had appeared in the Yugoslav daily Borba for having as­
serted that the Kresnen-Raslog uprising of 1878—79 had been Macedonian in char­
acter rather than Bulgarian. T su rk oven vestn ik , February 1, 1979, pp. 4—6.
61. Vladimir M. Rodzianko, "The Golgotha of the Orthodox Church in Yugoslavia,
1 9 4 1—1 9 St.” E astern C h u rch es Q u arterly ro, no. 2 (Summer 1953), p. 71.
62. Subcommittee to Investigate the Administration of the Internal Security Act and
other Internal Security Laws, The C h u rch a n d State u n d er C o m m u n is m , vol. 3,
Yugoslavia (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1965], pp. r8, 21.
63. Ibid., pp. 2 1-22; and Radovan Popovic, "Iza crkvenih dveri," N I N , no. 2588 (June 7,
1981), p. 25.
64. Rudolf Trofenik, "Staat und Kirche in heutigen Jugoslawien," O steuropa 8, nos. 7—8
(July-August 19 58J, p. 496.
65. Sec Patriarch German's interview with 8 N o vo sti, June 6,1981, excerpted in V esn ik :
O rgan Saveza u dru zen og P ravoslavn og svesten stva [ugoslavije, July 1981, p. 3.
66. For an elaboration, sec Pedro Ramet, "The Serbian Orthodox Church," in E astern
C h ristia n ity , ed. Ramet, pp. 232-48.
6 j . Interviews, Belgrade, July 1982.
68. Tanjug, October 20, 1982, trans. in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (pbis),
D a ily R ep ort (Eastern EuropeJ, October 21, 2981, p. I5.
69. P ra vo sla vlje, September 1 and 15, 2972, trans. in jprs, East E u rope R eport, no. 57287
(October 28, 2972).
70. Ciurea, "Religious Life," p. 274.
72. Peter A. Toma and Milan J. Reban, "Church-State Schism in Czechoslovakia," in
R elig io n a n d A th e is m , ed. Bociurkiw and Strong, p. 280.
72. Trofenik, "Staat und Kirche," p. 497. See also G la s k o n cila , September 23, 2981,
p. 2.
7 3 - Simon, "Catholic Church," p. 20S; and Stefan Rosada and Jozef Gwozdz, "Church
and State in Poland," in C h u rch a n d State b e h in d the Iron C urtain , ed. Vladimir
Gsovski (New York: Praeger, 2955), p. 298.
7 4 * Emmerich Andrâs, "The Cultural Lag in Society and Church in Hungary during the
Post-War Period," in C h u rch e s in So cia list So cieties o f Eastern Europe, ed. Norbert
Greinacher and Virgil Elizondo, Concilium: Religion in the Eighties (New York:
Seabury Press, 2982], p. 8.
7 5 • George N. Shuster, R eligion b e h in d the Iron C urtain (New York: Macmillan, 2952!,
pp. 240-42; George Rosu, Mircea Vasiliu, and George Crisan, "Church and State
in Romania," in C h u rch a n d State, ed. Gsovski, p. 284; and Jean G. H. Hoffmann,
É g lise s d u S ile n c e (Paris: La Table Ronde, 2967), p. 253.
76. Bernhard Tonnes, "Religious Persecution in Albania," R eligion in C o m m u n is t
L a n d s 10, no. 3 (Winter 1982), p. 249; Bernhard Tonnes, "Der Glaube an Gott lebt
43° Religion and Nationalism

auch in Albanien," K irch e in N o t 29 (1981), p. 206; and Gjon Sinishta, "Grave Vio­
lations of Religious Rights in Albania," O cca sio n a l Papers on R eligion in E astern
E u ro p e 3, no. 5 (July 1983), pp. 9-12.
77. See Caroline Ward, "Church and State in East Germany," Religion in C o m m u n is t
L a n d s 6, no. 2 (Summer 1978), p. 89.
78. Ü i E m b e r, February 3, 1980, p. 1, trans. in j p r s , East E urope Report, no. 75414 (April
i, 1980), pp. 22-25; and Vincent C. Chrypinski, "Church and State in Gierek's
Poland," in B a ck g ro u n d to C risis: P o lic y an d P o litics in G ie r e k 's P olan d, ed.
Maurice D. Simon and Roger D. Kanet (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1981), pp.
245-47.
79. T h e C h u rc h a n d Slate u n d er C o m m u n ism , vol. 2, p. 22.
80. D e u tsc h e Tagespost, December r8-i9, 1953, as cited in Ciurea, "Religious Life,"
p. 190.
8r. Paul Mailleux, "Catholics in the Soviet Union," in A sp e c ts o f R eligion in the Soviet
U n io n , 1917-1967, ed. Richard H. Marshall, Jr. (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1971), pp. 363-64.
82. Albert Gaiter, as cited in Roman Solchanyk and Ivan Hvat, "The Catholic Church in
the Soviet Union," in C a th o lic ism an d P olitics in C o m m u n ist So cieties, ed. Pedro
Ramet (manuscript under review).
83. T h e C h u rch a n d Stale u n d er C o m m u n ism , vol. 2, p. 29.
84. Ibid., pp. 35, 37.
85. Ibid., vol. 3, p. 22. For a more detailed discussion of the early phase of church-state
relations in Yugoslavia, sec Pedro Ramet, "Catholicism and Politics in Socialist
Yugoslavia," R eligion in C o m m u n ist Lan ds to, no. 3 (Winter 1982); and Stella Alex­
ander, C h u rc h a n d Stale in Y u goslavia sin ce 19 4 5 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer­
sity Press, 1979).
86. R h e in isc h e r M erk ur, February 1 7 , 1978, p. 13; Frankfurter A llg e m e in e , June 18,
1 9 7 5 / P- 7 ; and Anton Hlinka, Freedom D e n ie d : C ze ch o slo v a k ia after H e lsin k i,
trans. H. E. Oborg (Uhldingcn-Muhlhofen: Stefanus, 1977), p. 27.
87. Andräs, "Cultural Lag," pp. 8-9; and Emmerich Andräs, "The Situation of the
Catholic Clergy in Hungary," in C h u rch es in Socialist So cieties, ed. Greinacher and
Elizondo, pp. 58, 60.
88. Jan Nowak, "The Church in Poland," P ro b lem s of C o m m u n ism 3 t, no. r (January-
February 1982), p. 5.
89. Karl Hartmann, "Der Polnische Episkopat und die Oder-Neisse Gebiete," O ste u ­
ropa 21, no. 3 (March 1971), pp. 165-67; and Michael D. Kennedy and Maurice D.
Simon, "Church and Nation in Socialist Poland," in R eligion a n d P o litic s in the
M o d e rn W orld, ed. Peter H. Merkl and Ninian Smart (New York: New York Uni­
versity Press, 1983), pp. 133-34. See also Joachim Piegsa, "Die Rolle der Kirche in
Polen," P o litisc h e Stu d ien 33, no. 264 (July-August 1982).
90. See Janusz Bugajski, "Poland's Anti-Clergy Campaign," W ashington Q u a rte rly 8,
no. 4 (Fall 1985).
91. I have omitted Bulgaria from this listing since its Catholic church is so small as
to be insignificant—which makes the Bulgarian Catholic church unique among
Catholic churches of Eastern Europe.
 Notes to Chapter i 4 31

92. Rudolf Grulich, "Katholische Kirche in Rumänien," K irch e in N o t 26 (1978), p. 145.

93. Pravda U k ra in y , October T9, 1977, pp. 3-4; and Z iv o t stia n y, February 13, 1978,
pp. 46-49, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. 70937 (April 12, 1978), pp. 37-45.
94. Pro fratrib us, 1980, no. 34, p. 6.
95. C h ro n ic le o f the C a th o lic C hu rch in Lithuania, June 29, 1977, reprinted in Vardys,
C a th o lic C h u rch , pp. 270-71.
96. Christel Lane, C h ristia n R eligion in the S o viet U n io n (London: George Allen and
Unwin, 1978), p. 2 1 1; and Bohdan R. Bociurkiw, "Religious Dissent and the Soviet
State," in R elig io n an d A th e is m , ed. Bociurkiw and Strong, pp. 71, 73-74.
97. Malik Sabirovich Fazylov, R eligiya i n a tsio n a l’n y y e otn osh en iya (Alma Ata: Ka­
zakhstan Publishing House, 1969), pp. 39, 71-74, 80.
98. I have developed this argument systematically, using statistical measures from all
the Soviet republics, in my essay, "Linguistic Assimilation in Ukraine," U k ra in ia n
Q u a rterly 35, no. 3 (Autumn 1979). See also Ivan Dzyuba, In tern ation alism or R u s-
sifica tio n i (New York: Monad Press, 1974); and Stephen M. Horak, "Belorussia:
Modernization, Human Rights, Nationalism," in N a tio n a lism a n d H u m a n R igh ts,
ed. Kamenetsky, pp. 144, 149.
99. E.g., I. A. Matsyavichius, "Katolitsizm i sovremennaya ideologicheskaya bor'ba,"
V oprosy filosofii, no. 8 (August 1976), p. 162.
100. Quoted in Vardys, C a th o lic C h u rch , pp. 158-59.
10 1. N a u k a i religiya, no. 4 (April 1980I, p. 60, as cited in Oxana Antic, "The Soviet
Press on the Catholic Church in Lithuania," R ad io L ib e rty R esearch , December 29,
1980, p. 211; and Marite Sapiets, "Religion and Nationalism in Lithuania," R e lig io n
in C o m m u n is t L a n d s 7, no. 2 (Summer 1979), p. 78.
102. Sapiets, "Religion and Nationalism in Lithuania," p. 82.
103. V eslsi A k a d e m ii N a v u k B ela ru sk a i SSR , Sryya Gramadskikh Navuk, no. 5 (1981),
p. 137.
104. N a u k a i religiya, no. 6 (June 1980J, trans. in j p r s , S o viet Report, no. 76263 (August
20, 1980), p. 65.
105. E lta In form ation B u lletin , May 1981, p. 15, and February 1982, pp. 10 - 11.
106. See, for instance, T vorba, March 24, 1982, p. 6, trans. in j p r s , East E u rope Report,
no. 80972 (June 3, 1982), pp. 10—11; and Pravda (Bratislava), March 25, 1982, p. 3,
trans. in f b i s , D a ily R eport (Eastern Europe), March 29, 1982, pp. D4-D6.
107. K eston N e w s Service, no. 15 1-5 4 (Augüst 31, 1982), pp. 5-6.
108. The figures for Czechoslovakia and East Germany are as of 1971, as reported in
Smail Balic, "Eastern Europe: the Islamic Dimensions," fourn al In stitu te o f M u s ­
lim M in o r ity A ffa irs 1, no. 1 (Summer 1979), p. 31. The figure for Poland is as of
1987, as reported in K eston N e w s Service, no. 272 (April 2, 1987), p. 11. The Ro­
manian figure, for 1977, is an estimate given by Frederick De Jong in his "Islam
at the Danube: History and Present-Day Conditions of the Muslim Community
in Romania," R eligion in C o m m u n ist D o m in a te d A re a s 25, no. 3 (Summer 1986),
p. 136.
109. "News in Brief," R eligion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 5, no. 4 (Winter 1977), p. 272.
n o . See the chapter by Zachary Irwin in this volume.
i n . T im e s (London), February 8, 1985, p. io; February 16, 1985, p. 6; February 20, 1985,
432 Religion and Nationalism

p. 9; and April 17, 1985, p. 9; Frankfurter A llg e m e in e , March 15, 1985, p. y } and
A ra b ia , March 1985, pp. 10 -13 .
112. Author's calculations from V estn ik statistik i {Moscow), 1980, no. 7, pp. 41-42.
Tallying up the figures of all the traditionally Muslim groups listed by the Soviets,
deducting 20 percent of the Kurds (who are non-Muslim), and adding in half of the
Abkhaz yields a figure of 43,768,973, or 16.7 percent of the Soviet population of
262,084,654 in 1979. But this figure excludes the Muslim South Ossetians (who are
listed together with Orthodox North Ossetians in the census report), a small group
of Muslim Georgians (once known as Ingiloy), Dungans, Iranians, and Adzhars,
as well as Muslims among the Mari, Mordvins, Udmurts, and Chuvash, and less
numerous Muslim peoples.
113 . Alexandre Bennigsen and S. Enders Wimbush, M u slim s of the S o vie t E m p ire (Lon­
don: C. Hurst, 1985), pp. 32-33; confirmed in Ronald Wixman, "Applied Soviet
Nationality Policy: A Suggested Rationale," in T urco-Tatar Past, S o vie t Present, ed.
Ch. Lemercier-Quelquejay, G. Veinstein, and S. Enders Wimbush (Paris: Editions
Peeters, 1986), p. 453. See also Alexandre Bennigsen, "Islamic or Local Conscious­
ness among Soviet Nationalities?" in So viet N a tio n a lity P ro b lem s, ed. Edward All­
worth (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), pp. 178-79.
114. Wixman, "Applied Soviet Nationality Policy," p. 455.
115 . Bennigsen and Wimbush, M u slim s o f the Soviet E m pire, p. 92.
116. N. Ashirov, "Islam i natsional'nyye otnosheniya," N a u k a i religiya, 1974, no. 2,
trans. into German under the title "Islamische Probleme in Sowjetasien," O ste u ­
ropa 25, no. 4 (April 1975), p. A207.
117 . R. Mavlyutov, "Musulmanskie prazniki i obryady," N a u k a i religiya, 1978, no. 9,
trans. into German under the title "Der Islam in der Sowjetunion," O steu ropa 30,
no. 5 (May 1980), pp. A273-A277.
118. N. Ashirov, "Musulmanskaya propoved segodnya," N a u k a i religiya, 1978, no. 12,
trans. into German under the title "Der Islam in der Sowjetunion," ibid., p. A269.
119. T u rk m e n sk a ya isk ra, May 30, 1976, trans. in C urren t D ig est of the S o vie t Press
(C D S P ) 28, no. 23 (July 7, 1976), p. I.
120. P ravd a, January 16, 1987, trans. in c d s p 39, no. 3 (February 18, 1987), p. 8.
12 1. K o m m u n ist T adzh ik ista n a, February 12, 1987, trans. in c d s p 39, no. 9 (April 1,
1987), p. i i ; and K eston N e w s Service, no. 284 (September 24, 1987), p. 18.
122. Peters, "Georgian Orthodox Church," pp. 290, 308.
123. David Koridze, "Über die Verbrechen im grusinischen Patriarchat," G la u b e in der
2. W elt 5, no. 10 (October 1977), pp. 124-25; and Peter Reddaway, "The Georgian
Orthodox Church: Corruption and Renewal," R eligion in C o m m u n is t L a n d s 3, nos.
4-5 (July-October 1975), pp. 17, 19.
124. Reddaway, "Georgian Orthodox Church," pp. 16, 21.
125. Fra n k fu rter A llg e m e in e , August 25, 1981, p. 3.
126. Quoted in Peters, "Georgian Orthodox Church," p. 305.
127. Ibid. See also Peter Hauptmann, "Aus der Georgisch-Orthodoxen Kirche," K irch e
im O ste n 24 (1981), esp. pp. 183-85.
128. Peters, "Georgian Orthodox Church."
129. K eston N e w s S e rv ic e no. 130 (September n , 1981), pp. 5-6.

«ÉAMIMte
 Notes to Chapter 2 433

130. "La Situation du Catholicisme en Hongrie," L ’Est E uropéen 20, no. T79 (September-
October 1981 ), p. 14 .
132. See Pedro Ramet, C ro ss a n d C o m m issa r: T he P o litics of R eligion in Eastern E urope
a n d the U S S R (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), chap. 4.
132. Andrâs, "Catholic Clergy," pp. 60-61.
t33. K eston N e w s S e rvice , no. 271 (March 19, 1987), p. 25.
134. Ibid., no. 280 (July 23, 1987), p. 22.
135. S lo vo Lektora, May 1982, pp. 41-42; and Makhmadula Kholovich Kholov, "The
Vital Force of the Fraternal Union," N a u k a i religiya, 1982, no. 8, trans. in j p r s ,
So viet Report, no. 82124 (October 29, 1982), pp. 45-46.
136. R o ln ic k y n o v in y (Bratislava), July 4, 1985, trans. in j p r s , East E urope R eport, no.
EPS-85-083 (August 14, 1985), p. 55.
137. Re East German rehabilitation of Friedrich the Great, Bismarck, and Luther, see
James M. Markham, "Who Owns the Past?" N e w York T im e s M agazine, April 27,
1986.
138. Erich Honecker, as quoted in R h ein isch er M erkur, May 22, 1981, p. 20. See also
Wolfgang Geierhos, "Die DDR und Luther," D eu tsch e Stu d ien 20, no. 80 (December
1982).
139. Re German efforts to overcome the past, see Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann, "Do
the Germans Have a 'National Character'?" Encounter, March 1987; and Peter
Schneider, "Hitler's Shadow: On Being a Self-conscious German," H a rp er’s, Septem­
ber 1987. For discussion of the independent peace movement, see Klaus Ehring
and Martin Dallwitz, Sch w erter zu Pflugscharen (Hamburg: Rowohlt Taschenbuch
Verlag, 1982); Ramet, C ross a n d C o m m issa r, chap. 5; and Pedro Ramet, "The Evan­
gelical Church, the State, and the Peace Movement in East Germany," C ro ssro ads,
no. 22 (1986).
140. Joyce Marie Mushaben, "Swords to Plowshares: The Church, the State, and the
East German Peace Movement," Stu d ies in C om parative C o m m u n is m 17, no. 2
(Summer 1984), p. 133.
14 1. Radio DDR, November 8, 1981, quoted in Ronald D. Asmus, "The GDR and Martin
Luther," S u r v e y 28, no. 3 (Autumn 1984), p. 133.
142. Friedrich Winterhager, "Thomas Müntzer und die Gegenwart in Beiden Deutschen
Staaten," D e u tsc h e Stu dien 24, no. 96 (December 1986), p. 384. See also F ra n k fu rter
A llg e m e in e , February 3, 1988, p. 4, and March 12, 1988, p. 4.
143. I am thinking of the struggle over the state's proposed Concordat with the Vatican.
144. Interview, Belgrade, July 1982.
145. This proposition makes sense of the tendencies within the co-opted Georgian
Orthodox church to sympathize with nationalist currents.

CHAPTER 2
1. Gustav A. Wetter, D ia le c tic a l M aterialism , trans. Peter Heath (New York and Lon­
don: Praeger, 1963), p. 23.
2. This is the second definition of religion given by W eb ste r’s N e w C o lleg ia te D ic t io ­
n a ry, 2d cd.
434 Religion and Nationalism

3. R. R. Palmer and Joel Colton, A H isto ry of the M od ern W orld, 6th ed. (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, Г984), p. 309.
4. The shoemaker should not go beyond his last. Two other versions of this proverb
are also known: n e sutor ultra crepidam and n e supra crep id a m su tor iu d ic a re t.
5. G le ic h sc h a ltu n g was a "process . . . accomplished step by step in the first months
after the National Socialist seizure of power. The assumption of the office of Chan­
cellor by the Führer of the movement formed the basis for this development. . . .
By this system of union (of party and state functionaries] . . . the unity of party
and state was achieved." Ernst R. Huber, C o n stitu tio n a l L a w o f the G rea ter G e r-
j m a n R e ich , as quoted in Carl Cohen, ed., C o m m u n ism , F a scism , D e m o c ra c y : T h e
T h e o re tica l F o u n d a tio n s (New York: Random House, 1962), pp. 403-4.
6. For the early history of the Slavs, see Francis Dvornik, T he Sla vs in European H is ­
to ry a n d C iv iliz a tio n (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1962).
7. After Simeon's death the First Bulgarian Empire collapsed and the patriarch of Con­
stantinople reasserted his supremacy over the Bulgarian dioceses.
8. It is not quite clear what title Saint Sava assumed, archbishop or patriarch, but he
was considered the head of a national church. When the Nemanja state fell apart,
the patriarch of Constantinople again assumed supremacy over the Serb Christians.
The See of Pec was closed after the Ottoman conquest but was reestablished in r 5 57
due to the intervention of the famous Grand Vizier Mehmed Sokollu (1564-79),
who had not forgotten his Serb origins. It was Archbishop Arsenijc III Carnojevic
who, in 1690, moved from Pec to S. Karlovci, where this archbishopric continued
to be the center of Serb ecclesiastic and cultural life.
9. Mehmed II first ruled when his father retired, gave up the throne when his father
resumed the rule, and ascended the throne again when he died. On his reforms the
best short study is Halil Inalcik, "Mehmed the Conqueror and His Time," Sp e cu lu m
26 (i960), pp. 408-27.
10. The policy of Muslim toleration in dealing with Christians and Jews is based on
Muhammed's dictum found in verse 62 of Sura 2 of the Koran.
11. On the m ille t system see H. A. R. Gibb and Harold Bowen, Isla m ic S o c ie ty a n d the
W est (London: Oxford University Press, 1950), chap. 14 (vol. 1, pt. 2, pp. 207-61).
12. A short summary of the position of the Orthodox church in the Ottoman Empire
can be found in Timothy Ware, T he O rth o do x C h u rch (Baltimore: Penguin Books,
1963), PP- 9 6 -111. The authoritative work on the subject is Stephen Runciman, T h e
G re a t C h u rch in C a p t iv it y (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971).
13. The Serb patriarchate in Pec was reestablished by the Ottomans in 1557, but moved
to S. Karlovci under Habsburg rule in 1690. The Serbs, therefore, considered the
archbishop of Beograd as the head of their church after 1815. The Bulgarian exar­
chate was established as a result of heavy Russian pressure in Istanbul in 1870,
eight years before the reemergence of an independent Bulgarian state.
14. The most famous "nationalist" churchman is Father Paisii of Khilendar (1722-
98), who finished his Slavo -B u lgarian H isto ry in 1762. Bulgarians consider him
the father of their renaissance, but the direct influence of this work, handwritten
at the Zograf Monastery on Mount Athos, is questionable. While those Bulgarian
 Notes to Chapter 2 435

clergymen who became nationalists used his work in their sermons, modern Bul­
garian scholarship credits the hajduk movement with the establishment of an effec­
tive, strong, modern nationalist movement. See Velcho Velchev, P aissi o f H ilen d a r,
Fath er o f the Bulgarian E n ligh ten m en t (Sofia: Sofia Press, 1981), for a recent but
old-fashioned evaluation of Paisii; and Bistra Cvetkova, H a jd u tstv o to v B ’lg a rsk ite
Z e m i p r e d 1 3 / 1 8 ve k (The Hajduks in the Bulgarian Lands in the i5-i8 th Cen­
turies] (Sofia: Nauka i Izkustvo, 1971), for the newer view of the origins of Bulgarian
nationalism.
15. For the origin of Moldavia and Wallachia see, among others, R. W. Seton-Watson,
H is to ry o f the R u m a n ia n s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1934), chap. 2;
and Andrei Otetea, ed., T he H isto ry of the R om an ian People (New York: Twayne,
1970), pp. 163-80.
16. For events in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Transylvania, see the following
two works of Keith Hitchins: T he R u m an ian N a tio n a l M o v e m e n t in T ra n sy lv a ­
n ia, 1780-1849 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969) and O rth o d o x y
a n d N a tio n a lity : A n d r e iu §aguna a n d the R u m a n ia n s of T ra n sylva n ia , 1 8 4 6 - 1 8 7 3 ,
Harvard Historical Studies, vol. 94 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1 9 7 7 )-
17. For example, for the crucial decade in Polish history preceding the First Partition,
the role of the episcopate in politics is well presented by Diane B. Bailey, "The Poli­
tics of the Roman Catholic Episcopate in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth,
1762-1772" (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 1977).
18. The best single-volume treatment of the history of partitioned Poland is Piotr S.
Wandycz, T h e L a n d s of Partition ed Polan d, 1795-1918, vol. 7 of A H isto ry o f E ast
C en tra l Europe, ed. Peter F. Sugar and Donald W. Treadgold (Seattle: University of
Washington Press, 1974).
19. The Illyrian movement dates from the activities of Ljudevit Gaj (1809-1872]. For
this and the Yugoslav movement in general, see Ivo Banac, T h e N a tio n a l Q u estio n
in Y u g o sla via : O rigins, H istory, P o litics (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press,
1984); and Mirjana Gross, "Social Structure and National Movements among the
Yugoslav Peoples on the Eve of the First World War," S la v ic R e v ie w 37, no. 4
(December t977), pp. 628-43. Also useful is Ivo J. Lederer, "Nationalism and the
Yugoslavs," in N a tio n a lism in E astern Europe, ed. Peter F. Sugar and Ivo J. Lederer
(Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1971), pp. 396-438.
20. The most important anti-Habsburg military actions originating in Transylvania
were those led by Istvan (Stephen) Bocskay (1604-6), Gabor (Gabriel) Bethlen (16 18 -
22), and Ferenc (Francis) II Rakoczi (1704-n).
21. The best work on the Hussite-Taborite movement is Howard Kaminsky, A H isto ry
o f the H u ssite R evo lu tio n (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967). For a
good short summary, see R. W. Seton-Watson, H isto ry of the C ze ch s a n d S lo v a k s
(Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1943; reprint, 1965), pp. 56-75.
22. For the history of conversion to Islam in the Balkans, see Peter F. Sugar, S o u th ­
eastern E u ro p e u n d er O ttom an R u le, 1 3 3 4 - 1 8 0 4 (Seattle: University of Washington
Press, 1977), PP- 50 - 55 -
436 Religion and Nationalism

23. On Muslim politics under Austro-Hungarian rule, see Robert J. Donia, Isla m u n d e i
the D o u b le E agle: T h e M u slim s of B osnia a n d H ercegovina, 1 8 7 8 - 1 9 1 4 (Boulder,
Colo.: East European Monographs, 1981).

CHAPTER 3
1. Chapter 1 of this volume.
2. See Bernard Lewis, T h e Je w s of Islam (Princeton, N.f.: Princeton University Press,
1984); Norman Stillman, T he Je w s of A ra b L a n d s (Philadelphia: Jewish Publica­
tion Society, 1979); Jeremy Cohen, T h e Friars a n d the Je w s (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell
University Press, 1982); and Malcom Hay, T he Foot of P rid e (Boston: Beacon Press,
1 9 5 °)-
3. Iskra, no. 51 (October 22, t903).
4. See his C ritic a l R e m a rk s on the N a tio n a l Q uestion (Moscow: Foreign Languages
Publishing House, 1951).
5. "D i anti-religieze kampanie," Ernes, October 18, T922.
6. See Zvi Gitelman, Je w ish N a tio n a lity an d So viet P o litics (Princeton, N.J.: Prince­
ton University Press, 1972), chap. 5.
7. For details, see Zvi Gitelman, A C e n tu ry of A m b iv a le n c e : Je w s in R u ssia a n d the
S o v ie t U n io n (New York: Schocken, 1988), chap. 3.
8. Hugh Seton-Watson, Eastern Europe b etw een the Wars (New York: Harper Torch-
books, 1967].
9. For details, see Bernard Weinryb, "Poland," in T h e le w s in the S o vie t Satellites, ed.
Peter Meyer, Bernard Weinryb, Eugene Duschinsky, and Nicolas Sylvain (Syracuse,
N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1953).
10. Eugene Duschinsky, "Hungary," in Je w s in the S o viet Satellites, ed. Meyer et al.,
p. 440.
11. Nicolas Sylvain, "Rumania," in Je w s in the Soviet Satellites, ed. Meyer et al., pp.
5 2 7 ff.
12. The memoirs of one of the most important secular Jewish leaders, the veteran Polish
communist Hirsh Smolar, have been published as O if der letzter pozitsie, m it der
le tz te r h ofenu ng (Tel Aviv: Y. L. Peretz, 1982).
13. According to a former deputy chief of the Romanian intelligence services, Israel
paid a "basic price" of $2,500 in cash for each person allowed to go to Israel. "Ru­
manian Recalls Deal for Emigres," N e w York T im es, October 14, 1987.
14. Personal interview, Bucharest, March 1985.
15. Several years ago an exhibit of artifacts from the State Jewish Museum in Prague
toured England and the United States under the title "The Precious Legacy."

CHAPTER 4
The original incarnation of this chapter was "A Comparative Enquiry into Neo-
Slavophilism and Its Antecedents in the Russian History of Ideas," S o vie t S tu d ie s
 Notes to Chapter 4 437

31, no. 3 (1979). Reprinted here with the kind permission of S o vie t S tu d ie s. The
author wishes to thank the Summer Russian Workshop of the University of Illinois,
the Inter-University Centre for European Studies (Montreal), the Social Sciences
and Humanities Research Council of Canada, and the Harvard Russian Research
Center for research support at the time this essay was being revised for the first
edition of this book. The author wishes to thank the Faculty of Social Sciences
of the University of Western Ontario for a small grant, permitting research at the
University of Toronto library, in connection with updating for the present edition.
1. Peter Christoff, T h e T h ird H eart (Paris: Mouton, 1970), pp. 27-28.
2. Ibid., p. 46; and Andrzej Walicki, T he Sla vo p h ile C o n tro versy (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1975), pp. 64-67, 69-75.
3. Christoff, T h ird Heart, p. 53.
4. "Vserossiiskii sotsial-khristianskii soiuz osvobozhdeniia naroda," P osev, no. 1 (Janu­
ary 1971), p. 38.
5. John Dunlop, T h e N e w R ussian R evo lu tio n a ries (Belmont, Mass.: Nordland, 1976),
pp. 243-93.
6. Mikhail Antonov, "Uchenie slavianofilov—vysshyi vzlet narodnogo samosoznaniia
v Rossii v doleninskii period," Veche, January 19, May 19, and September 19, 1971,
in Radio Liberty, A r k h i v sam izdata, AS 1013, pp. 16-35; AS 1020, pp. 4-27; AS
1108, pp. 5-49. On "A Nation Speaks," see my "The Resurgence of Russian Nation­
alism in S a m iz d a t," Su rvey, no. 1 (Winter 1973), pp. 59-63.
7. Oral testimony of former vsxhsoN members' acquaintances.
8. "Na seminare literaturnykh kritikov" (at the Moscow Central House of Writers),
P o litic h e sk ii D re v n ik (Amsterdam) 1 (1972), pp. 502-8. Also V. Pavlov, "Spory o
slavianofil'stvc i russkom patriotizme," G rani, no. 82 (197r), pp. 18 3 -2 11.
9. S e m e n Frank, "De Profundis," Iz g lu b in y (illegal Moscow pub., 2921,- reprint, Paris:
ymca Press, 1967), pp. 328-30. Also "Na seminare kritikov," pp. 502-6.
10. Frank, "De Profundis," pp. 324-26.
11. Christoff, T h ird H eart, pp. 106-7; Walicki, S la vo p h ile C on troversy, pp. 198-99 and
passim.
12. A le k s e i Step a n o vich K h o m ia k o v (Moscow, 1912), p. 2; see also pp. 110 -20 and 13 8 -
43-
13. The organic connection is depicted excellently in Donald Treadgold, T h e W est in
R u ssia a n d C h in a , vol. 1 of R u ssia 1 4 7 2 - 1 9 1 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1973), pp. xix-xxi. According to Andrei Siniavsky, the communist ideal is the
loftiest achievement of the secularized human mind, hence its bloody catastrophe.
"Chto takoe sotsialisticheskii realizm," Pan tastich eskii m ir A b ra m a Tertza (Inter-
Language Literary Associates, 1967), p. 405 and passim.
14. Veche, no. 8, AS 1665, pp. 37-39.
15. Berdiaev, K h o m ia k o v, p. 4.
16. Vladimir Solov'ev reproached Khomiakov for juxtaposing "ideal Orthodoxy with
the real Roman Catholicism"; see Berdiaev, K h om iak ov.
17. Fr. Dimitry Dudko, "Kreshchenie na Rusi," V estn ik R S K h D , no. 117 (1976), pp.
188-208. Also, Siniavin on the Leningrad movement, P osev, no. 3 (March 1977),
pp. 9-14.

■' ■
43 8 Religion and Nationalism

18. Fr. Sergii Zheludkov, P o ch em u i ya k h ristia n in (Frankfurt/M.: Possev, 1973), pas­

sim.
19. Dudko, "Kreshchenie na Rusi," passim.
20. I. Denisov, "Slovo otstupnikov," Vestnik R S K h D , no. 99 (1971), pp. 112 - 13 . On Mos­
cow Orthodox religiophilosophical discussion circles of young intellectuals and
their persecution, see "Delo Argentova," Vestnik R S K h D , no. 119 (1976), pp. 28 r-
308. Fr. Dudko held unofficial religious discussions with his parishoners at his
home on Sundays. Bienshtock, a former participant in Moscow religious circles,
converted to Orthodoxy from Pentecostalism on his arrival in the United States.
In his report at a Russian Students Christian Movement retreat (Sea Cliff, N.Y.,
April 15, 1977 ) he provided information on interconfessional and intercity agape
meetings.
2t. Valerii Leviatov, "Kak ia prishol k Bogu," G rani, nos. 1 1 1 - 1 2 (1979), pp. 324-29;
Zoia Krakhmal'nikova, "Vozvrashchcnic bludnogo syna," N a d ezh d a . K h ristia n sko e
ch te n ie (Samizdat, no. 2; reprint, Frankfurt/M.: Possev, 1979), pp. 386-436; oral
testimony to this author by Tat'iana Goricheva, Frankfurt/M., September 1980,
one of the founders of the Leningrad religiophilosophic seminar and of the Christian
feminist M a ria movement, a professional philosopher who returned to Orthodox
Christianity at twenty-six years of age. She was expelled from the Soviet Union in
1980. See also her T a lk in g about G o d Is D angerous (London: s c m Press, 1986].
22. Walicki, S la vo p h ile C o ntroversy, p. 578.
23. Dimitry Pospielovsky, "Vol'nye mysli o sbornike lz -p o d gl y b ," G ran i, no. 97 (1975)/
pp. 174-222 and passim.
24. Glimpses of the idea of some union of the Orthodox rather than the purely Slavic
nations appear occasionally in Khomiakov. It replaced the concept of a united
Slavdom in L. Leont'ev and in 1920 was adopted by the émigré movement of the
Eurasians. See also Walicki, S la vo p h ile C ontroversy, p. 320.
25. "O novykh nachalakh filosofii," in Poln oe sobrain ie so ch in e n ii 1. K ireevsk o g o 1,
ed. M. Gershenzon (Moscow, 1911), p. 209.
26. For Berdiaev's critique of Khomiakov's collectivism, see K h o m ia k o v, p. 200. Also
Walicki, S la vo p h ile C o ntroversy, pp. 198-99.
27. Walicki, S la v o p h ile C o ntroversy, p. 577.
28. Ibid.
29. Berdiaev, K h o m ia k o v, p. 28.
30. E.g., passages on patriarchal ruralism in Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Letter to the S o ­
v ie t L ea d ers (New York: Harper and Row, 1975), pp. 32-54.
3r. "Does Russia Have a Future?" in From u n d er the R u b b le, ed. A. Solzhenitsyn (New
York: Bantam Books, 1975), pp. 280-95.
32. Vladimir Osipov, "Pis'mo v redaktsiiu zhurnala V estn ik R S K h D ," V estn ik R S K h D ,
no. 106 (1972), pp. 294-95. Also, Melik Agursky, "Mezhdunarodnoe znachenie
Pis'ma k vozhdynam," V estn ik R S K h D , nos. 112 - 13 (1974)/ PP- 218 -2 1.
33. Comparing a drunken bout of Soviet fishermen at Easter with the way the Christ's
Resurrection had been celebrated in his youth, Astafiev exclaims: "What has hap­
pened to us? Who has thrown us into the abyss of evil and misfortune? Who has
extinguished the light of virtue in our souls . . . the icon-lamp of our conscious-
 Notes to Chapter 4 439

ness. . . . The present light leads us only to a fiery Hell. . . . To whom should we
address our prayers asking for forgiveness? Didn't we once possess . . . the ability to
forgive, even to forgive our enemies?" In another story he calls "for rain of molten
lead . . . to pour on the modern desecrators of churches, the blasphemers, haters of
mankind, persecuters of pure morals and culture." N a sh so vre m e n n ik , no. 5 (May
1986), pp. ir8, r33.
34. "Beseda chlenov s p s s s r s M. S. Gorbachevym" (Moscow, samizdat t9.6, t986, AS
5785). Compare with the report on that meeting in P ia vd a , June 21, 1986, which
talks only in general terms of Gorbachev's stress on the importance of a multi­
faceted and revolutionary perestroika.
35. Leonid Borodin, "O russkoi intelligentsii," G rani, no. 96 (1975), pp. 248-49.
36. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, D v e p ress-k onferentsii (Paris: y m c a Press, 1975), pp. 59-
87.
37. Sec my "Vol'nye mysli/' as well as the two above-mentioned symposia: V e k h i and
Iz g lu b in y .
38. Bcrdiaev, K h o m ia k o v, pp. 32, 53; Walicki, Sla vo p h ile Controversy, p. 249; Stephen
Lukashevich, Iva n A k s a k o v : A R eluctant S la vo p h ile (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1965), p. 29.
39. It was in this context that Berdiaev and other V ek hi authors said that the atheistic
and agnostic Russian intelligentsia was on "a different wave length" from the rest
of the nation, was incomprehensible to the nation, and was leading it toward the
abyss.
40. This attitude toward the economic problems was stressed to this author by both
officials and regular members of Solidarity in Poland in the summer of 1981. There
are many other similarities between the Solidarity and the Russian soil-bound and
neo-Slavophile orientations. Dimitry Likhachev, a leading scholar of Russian cul­
ture, a practicing Orthodox Christian, the president of the state-supported Culture
Fund, and generally recognized as a moral leader in Russia today, summed up suc­
cinctly the general tenor of the contemporary reform-oriented intelligentsia and
scholars in the Soviet Union when he stated: "Without a change in the climate of
our culture, our economy will not be able to move a single step ahead." "Trevogi
sovesti," Literaturnaia gazeta, January 8, ^87, p. ri.
4r. See n. 30 above. This author has recently encountered Soviet reformist intellectu­
als with access to very high establishment circles who maintained that the current
perestro ik a is the first step in the realization of Solzhenitsyn's program: a grad­
ual transformation of ideocratic totalitarianism into pragmatic authoritarianism.
Whether they are right is one issue, but the most important point is that this
opinion (without being called for by me) indicates that in these important circles
Solzhenitsyn's Letter to the S o viet Leaders has not been forgotten and is being used
as a measuring stick of the actual Soviet reforms.
42. Strictly speaking, both wings are heathen, because even the "pro-Christians" see
the church as an ideological tool, not as the Mystical Body of Christ.
43. See Dimitry Pospielovsky, "Nationalism as a Factor of Dissent in the Soviet Union,"
C a n a d ia n R e v ie w o f S tu d ies in N a tio n a lism 2, no. r (1974), pp. 100-106) Ivan
Samolvin, "A Letter to Solzhenitsyn," in The P o litica l a n d R eligiou s T hought of
440 Religion and Nationalism

R u ssia n “ S a m iz d a t "— A n A n th o lo g y , ed. Michael Meerson-Aksenov and Boris Shra-

gin (Belmont, Mass.: Nordland, 1977), pp. 420-37.
44. E.g., Iurii Loshchits, "Vzyskuiushchaia pravdu"; Apollon Kuz'min, "Pisatel' i is-
toriia"; Vladimir Shubkin, "Neopalimaia kupina"—all in N a sh so vre m e n n ik , no. r
(1981), pp. r63—69; no. 4 (1981), pp. 148—65; no. 12 (1981), pp. 176-88, respectively.
This was the same year that Vladimir Soloukhin's famous "Kameshki na ladoni" ap­
peared in the same journal (no. 3). Subsequent attacks in K o m m u n ist on Soloukhin
and the whole trend of apologia for the church forced the journal to discontinue the
most outspoken publications of this kind until 1986.
45. See Dimitry Pospielovsky, So viet Stu d ies on the C h u rch a n d the B e lie ve r's R e ­
sp o n se to A t h e is m (London: Macmillan, 1988), p. 50; and Likhachev's article in
Sre d n e ve k o v a ia R u s ' (Moscow), 1976 (unavailable to this author for the exact page
reference at the time of this writing).
46. Pospielovsky, So viet Stu dies, pp. 50-51 ; particularly Z. Tazhurazina, "Lad'ia na
gorodskom gerbe," N a u k a i religiia, no. 9 (1982), p. 23; also N. S. Gordienko,
"K re sh c h e n ie R u s i” : F a k ty p r o liv leg en d i m ifo v (Leningrad: Lenizdat, 2984), par­
ticularly pp. 34-52.
47. P. I. Ivanov (?), "Pis'mo sviashchenniku Alexandru Meniu," M n ogaia leta, no. r
(1980), samizdat ms., pp. 217-28; G. M. Shimanov, "Lie Abramson," M n . leta,
no. 2 {1981), samizdat ms., pp. r 3 1—6 3; Shimanov, P ro tiv tech en iia (Keston College
Samizdat Archives; Moscow, samizdat, 1975), passim.
48. V. P. (Moscow), "Zashchita russkoi kul'tury ili bor'ba s 'zhido-masonami'?" R u s-
sk a ia m y s l', May 15, 1987, p. 5; E. Losoto, "V bcspamiatstve," K o m s o m o l’skaia
p ra vd a , May 22, 1 9 8 7 , p. 4; Zeev Vol'fson, "Kto unichtozhil tscrkvi v Rossii?"
R u ssk a ia m y s l', September 4, r987, p. 13; oral unofficial information to this author
from an informed Soviet citizen. Vol'fson, a Zionist now living in Israel, was the
author of a samizdat photo album on the destroyed churches in Moscow and its
vicinity, dedicated to Solzhenitsyn's sixtieth birthday. In the article he describes
how during the preparation of the album he tried to enlist the assistance of the pro­
fessional photographer Dimitri Vasiliev, now one of the leaders of P a m ia t’. Vasiliev
refused, claiming his interests were academic, not factual-topical. Neither did he get
any help from the "great patriot," Il'ia Glazunov. Now, attacking Jews and Zionists,
Vasiliev quotes from Vol'fson's text in that album. See A l ’b om ra zru sh e n n y k h i
o sk ve rn e rm y k h k h ra m o v (Frankfurt/M.: Possev, 1980).
49. "Vypiska iz vystupleniia t. Yeltsyna B. N. n aprelia s.g. pered propagandistami
Moskvy," R u ssk a ia m y s l ’, July 25, 1986, pp. 4-5. A few weeks earlier a shorter
version of this speech (circulating in samizdat alone) appeared in French translation
in L e M o n d e (Paris).
50. The Soviet journalist Losoto (n. 48 above) says that for the P a m ia t’ people "the
fatherland is Orthodoxy, . . . not socialism" and they request "the reopening of
churches with the chiming of bells, now."
51. Iu. Kaz'min, "Men'she slov, bol'she dela," Pravda, August rr, 2987. What was un­
precedented was that the article reported that Yeltsyn's "central report" of the day
"was interrupted in according with the wishes of the conference participants. A
 Notes to Chapter 4 441

sharp and businesslike criticism followed. The speech was concluded only after
those who had wanted to speak spoke up."
52,. Aleksandr Ginzburg, "Davat' otpor kar'eristam i pravozashchitnikam" (a summary
of material from the Moscow E x p ie ss-k h io n ik a and other neosamizdat periodicals),
R u ssk a ia m y s l ’, no. 3701 (November 27, 1987), pp. 1-2.
53. Report in O g o n io k , no. 27 (July 4 -11, 1987), p. 1. On Iakovlev's "fame" as an enemy
of the Russian orientation, see the main text and notes 64 and 68 below. Gor­
bachev's attacks on Yeltsyn were reported widely both in the Soviet press and in the
Western media in November 1987. See also Gorbachev's n b c interview, November
30, 1987.
54. "Kto dolzhen pokayat'sia?" Z e m lia , no. 2 (November 25, 1974); V ol'n o e slo vo , no. 20
(i 9 7 S), PP- 30-31.
55. V. Borisov, "Personality and National Awareness," in From u n d er the R u b b le , ed.
Solzhenitsyn, pp. 202-28.
56. For a more detailed study of National-Bolshevism from the early days of Soviets
in power, see M. Agursky, Ideologiia N a tsio n a l-b o l’sh e v izm a (Paris: y m c a Press,
1980). Alexander Yanov, T he R u ssian N e w Right (Berkeley, Calif.: Institute of Inter­
national Studies, 1978), sees National Bolshevism as a simple repetition of Pan-
Slavism and envisages a similar degeneration of neo-Slavophilism into an imperi­
alistic pro-regime doctrine. What he fails to recognize is that Slavophilism had
fundamental common ground with the tsarist government of the nineteenth cen­
tury, such as the reforms of Alexander II, Orthodoxy, faith in monarchy, promotion
of the national culture, and traditions and history, although their interpretations
of these differed from that of the official policies. No such common ground exists
between the Soviet state and the soil-bound and/or neo-Slavophile currents.
57. Such interrogations are a regular feature in the lives of priests in the USSR, accord­
ing to the oral testimony to this author by Fr. Konstantin Tivetsky (San Francisco,
June 1980), a 1980 émigré from Moscow, where he had served as priest for over
twenty-five years. Testimony on Dudko's reactions to k g b "conversations" prior to
his arrest was by Valentina Lass (Boston, June 1980), a close friend of the Dudko
family who had emigrated in early 1980. See also Nikita Struve, "Chto sluchilos'
s.o. Dimitriem Dudko?" V estn ik R S K h D , no. 132 (1980), pp. 230-32.
58. For example, Richard Pipes, Robert C. Tucker, and Stephen F. Cohen.
59. See my "Nationalism as a Factor of Dissent"; and my "Resurgence of Russian
Nationalism."
60. Osipov, "Russkii khudozhnik Il'ia Glazunov," Veche, no. 9 (1973), AS 1665.
6r. V estn ik R S K h D , nos. 91-92 (1969), pp. sr-S2. See also Pavlov (n. 8 above), pp. 18 3-
2tr. On the whole, the cruder, more inaccurate, and more chauvinistic articles on
the subject appeared in M o lo d a ia g vardiia, the more sophisticated ones, in V oprosy
literatu ry.
62. Unsigned editorial, K o m m u n ist, no. t7 (1970), pp. 97-99.
63. At the time L. Rebel, a French journalist, argued that the Russite Nikonov's removal
from the M o lo d a ia gvardiia editorship was ideologically more significant than that
of Tvardovsky from N o v y m i r (N o u v e lle critiq ue, no. 53 [1972]). V ech e agreed. Only
44 ^ Religion and Nationalism

whereas Rebel was jubilant over this victory over Russian "chauvinism," V ech e
lamented this as suppression of Russian patriotic revival (no. 6, AS r599, p. 123).
64. "Protiv antiistorizma," Literaturnaia gazeta, November 15, 1972.
65. Mikhail Kheifets, "Russkii patriot Vladimir Osipov," K ontinent, no. 28 (1981), pp.
140-70. What must have raised k g b hopes that Osipov would play the role were his
erroneous approvals of Stalin's alleged rehabilitation of Russian nationalism. Ibid.;
and Osipov, "Ploshchad' Maiakovskogo, stat'ia 70-ia" (Maiakovsky Square, Art. 70),
G ia n i, no. 80 (1971), p. 135.
66. Kheifets, "Osipov," pp. 170 -71; and n. 48 above.
67. This view also is shared by Agursky, who was subjected to k g b interrogations in
connection with the Osipov case. Agursky's oral testimony to this author, Stanford
University, April 1983.
68. Peter Reddaway, "The Development of Dissent and Opposition," T h e So viet U n io n
s in c e the F a ll of K h ru sh ch ev, ed. Archie Brown and Michael Kaser (New York: Free
Press, 1975 1, p. 14s. Another illustration of a strong anti-Russitc line was the case of
the brutal beating by k g b thugs of academican Dimitry Likhachev, a leading Russian
medievalist and one of the founding members of the Society for the Preservation
of Historical Monuments. He also provided Solzhenitsyn with firsthand informa­
tion on the Solovki concentration camps. See K hronika te k u sh ch ik h so b y tii, no. 41
(August 3, 1976), p. 68.
69. Kharchev's U.S. statement in Keston N e w s Service, no. 283 (September 10, 1987),
pp. 23-24. For Gorbachev's ambiguity on reforms see above, n. 53. The main change
is in relation to the party. Whereas in the January r987 c e s u Central Committee
plenum he spoke about the necessity of democratization within the party and re­
placement of appointments by true and secret elections from several candidates to
administrative positions (this passage did not appear in the Soviet press, only in a
t a s s report distributed to foreign press agencies), now he has ceased to speak of any

reforms within the party, let alone on any curbing of its privileges and monopoly.
70. Churchill and Roosevelt are seen in Eastern Europe and the USSR as the great
villains of Yalta responsible for the postwar crucifixion of Eastern Europe and for
the mass repatriation of Soviet citizens by force from the West.
71. P o se v , no. 8 (1977), pp. 54-57.
72. See also M. Nazarov, "Stavte voprosy konkretnee" ("Ask More Concrete Ques­
tions"), P o sev, no. 10 (1978), pp. 9—i i ; and Fr. Dudko's praise for Glazunov in
R u ssk a ia m y s i'/L a p e n se e ru sse (a Paris Russian weekly), August 24, 1978. In
Struve's view, Dudko's praise for Glazunov is a landmark in his National Bolshevik
temptation: "Glazunov . . . is a vicious phenomenon. It is impossible to paint saints
and portraits of Brezhnev at the same time, like it is impossible to serve two masters
simultaneously." See V estn ik R S K h D , no. 132, p. 232.
73. As far as the moderate nationalists-p o ch ve n n ik i are concerned, it is significant that
their top authority and spiritual leader Likhachev has become the top spokesman
on morals and history of culture in the Soviet media; the leading ruralist writers
have been "elected" to the governing bodies of the Soviet Union of Writers in 1986.
The more opportunistic nationalist Glazunov has had more personal exhibitions of
 Notes to Chapter 4 443

his art both inside the USSR and abroad since Gorbachev came to power than ever
before. On the P a m ia t' Losoto significantly writes: "because of certain reasons . . .
the Lenin District Party Committee of Moscow w as fo rce d [emphasis mine] to pro­
vide its hall to the P a m ia t’ meeting." Numerous speakers at the May 1987 plenum
of the Soviet Union of Writers board, both non-Russians and Russians, spoke up in
favor of local republican patriotisms and the right of their expression, favoring the
spread of all levels of education in the republican languages, making their mastery
obligatory for Russians living in the non-Russian republics. See "Sovremennost' i
literatura," Literaturnaia gazeta, May 6, 1987, pp. 2 -11, particularly the speeches
of Nil Gilevich (Belorussian), Borys Oleinyk (Ukrainian), Viktor Rozov (Russian/
Jewish), Ulmas Umarbckov (Uzbek), Stanislav Kuniaev (Russian), Iurii Bondarev
(Russian). Kuniaev condemned all attempts at Russification using precisely that
term. See also Janis Peters (chairman of the Latvian Union of Writers), "Edinstvo
ravnykh," Pravda, September 16, 1987; and the relatively tolerant reports on the
August 23 (1987) public demonstrations of protest against the Ribbentrop-Molotov
pact and the subsequent Soviet occupation of the Baltic republics in Riga, Tallin, and
Vilnius. E.g.: O. Meshkov, G. Ovcharenko, and D. Shniukas, "S chuzhogo golosa/'
Pravd a, September 1, 1987, pp. 3, 6.
74. I. Glazunov, "Poisk cherez traditsiiu," Pravda, September 27, 1987. The editors of
M o s c o w N e w s at their meeting with Moscow writers characterized P a m ia t’ as a re­
sult "of the extremely high price the Russians have had to pay for internationalism,"
and said that there were all sorts of tendencies in it, including clear anti-Semitism.
The attempt of P a m ia t’ to incorporate a Leningrad patriotic, nonformal group,
"Society for the Salvation of Leningrad," met with the latter's refusal. "Vstrecha
redkollcgii i avtorov gazety 'Moskovskie novosti's moskovskimi pisateliami" (June
10, 1987), R u ssk a ia m y sP , September 4, 1987, pp. 6-8.
75. Zoia Krakhmal'nikova, "Vozvrashchenie bludnogo syna," N a d e zh d a , no. 4 (1980),
pp. 3 47 - 4 8 .
76. O. Altaev's key article from this symposium appeared in English translation in
Su rvey, no. 1 (Winter 1973), pp. 92-122.
77. See "Bor'ba.s t.n. rusofil'stvom . . .," Veche, no. 7 (V oPnoe slovo, no. 17), pp. 19 -5 1;
Osipov, "Piat'vozrazhenii Sakharovu," April 1974, AS 1696; and "General Skobelev
kak polkovodets i gosudarstvennyi deiatel'," Veche, nos. 2-4 (AS 1020, 1108, 1140).
Here the great general is praised for his condemnation of the partition of Poland
and for his vision of a strictly voluntary confederation of the Slavic nations with
autonomy of each constituent state. See V oPnoe slovo, no. 4 (1972), pp. 64-65.
78. P. Derzhavin, "Zametki o natsional'nom vozrozhdenii," V estn ik R S K h D , no. 106
(1972), pp. 261-62.
79. Borodin, "O russkoi." His former coprisoner Anatoli Radygin told this author that
this conception, only implied in the cited article, is in fact his pro fessio n d e foi.
Borodin was one of the most influential members of v sk I is o n . See Dunlop, N e w
R u ssia n R evo lu tio n a ries, pp. 39-40.
80. See n. 32 above and Agursky's "Otkrytoe pis'mo v zhurnal V e c h e " (Moscow, 1973,
AS 1481).
444 Religion and Nationalism

81. See n. 32 above.

82. N. V., "Otryvki iz dnevnika," Veche, no. 4 (January, 1972], AS 1x40, p. 43. "N. V."
may be one of Osipov's own pseudonyms.
83. Many grievances to this effect are found in Veche. A N a tio n Sp ea k s stresses that be­
cause Moscow is simultaneously a capital of Russia and the USSR, even the Russian
republican offices are not free from non-Russians, with the Ukrainians in particular
dominating. Belov, "Spasut il Kaspii Vozhe i Lacha?" R u sskaia m y s l ’, July 15, 1982,
pp. 10 - 11. For further development of the same theme defending Russian national
culture through ecology and condemning plans to divert northern Russian rivers
southward, allegedly to irrigate Central Asia, see Likhachev and V. Ianin, "Russkii
sever kak pamiatnik otechestvennoi i mirovoi kul'tury," K o m m u n ist, no. 1 (Janu­
ary 1986), pp. 115 -19 . Oleinyk (n. 73 above) adds to the Russian grievances the fact
that of all Soviet republics only the Russian one lacks its own national academy of
sciences. These protests succeeded in procuring a government decision to scrap the
project in 1986.
84. E.g., "Rol' N. Ia. Danilevskogo v mirovoi istoriosofii." Veche, no. 5, AS 1230, pp.
5-32; Mikhail Ruzhenkov, "Passionarnaia teoriia L. N. Gumileva," Veche, no. 8
(V o l'n o e slovo, no. 17), pp. 92-96; A. Vaniagin, "Rozhdenie nauki," ibid., pp. 96-
119. See also Walicki, S la vo p h ile C ontroversy, pp. 4, 520-21.
85. Z e m h a , no. 1 (August 1974).
86. "Religiia v SSSR" (Moscow, samizdat, November 20, 1981) in R u ssk a ia m y s l ’, De­
cember 24, 1981, p. 7.
87. No other publication in the USSR, official or unofficial, has given as much space
and attention to the study, presentation, analysis, and revision of the Slavophile
and similar patterns of thought as did Veche and Z e m lia .
88. Osipov on the liquidation of Veche, AS 1725 (March 7, 1974); the anti-Osipov's
group statement of V ech e's liquidation after having issued only its no. 10, AS 1792
(July 9, 1974).
89. Paramonov's written and oral testimony to this author, April 1978.
90. Oral testimonies by former members of this seminar: Tat'iana Goricheva, Frank-
furt/M., September 1980; Vadim Filimonov, Vienna, January 29, 1979; Lev Rutke-
vich, Vienna, January-February 1979. Their periodicals included C h a sy , K h u d o zh -
estve rm yi a rk h iv, and 37. See Posev, no. 3 (March 1977), pp. 9—1 1 ; V estn ik R S K h D ,
no. 123 (1977), PP- 70 - 1 7 4 -
91. Z h e n s h c h in a i R ossiia, no. 1 (St. Petersburg, 1979), reprinted in V o l’n o e slo vo , no. 38
(1980), pp. 3-34. The full text of the journal includes some poetry clearly inspired
by Indian occult traditions (Hindu, Buddhist). According to most Christian neo­
phytes from the ranks of Soviet Russian intelligentsia, Oriental occult is a typical
transition period from materialism and/or nihilism to Christianity. It also was no
coincidence that Hinduism was among the subjects studied in the initial stages of
the Leningrad seminar.
92. M a ria , no. 1 (Leningrad and Frankfurt/M., 1981).
93. Igor' Siniavin, "Iuliia Voznesenskaia v edinoborstve s KGB," P o se v, no. 3 (March
1 9 7 7 )/ PP- 12 -14 ; and "Novye prigovory," Posev, no. 7 (July 1977), p. 15.
 Notes to Chapter 4 445

94. "Khristianskii seminar," V o l'n o e slovo, no. 39 (1980), especially pp. 70-77; and
V e stn ik R S K h D , no. 127 (1978), pp. 248-51.
95. "Khristianskii seminar," pp. 108-16.
96. "O seminarakh A. Ogorodnikova," Posev, no. 2 (February 1979), pp. 5-6; and "Khris­
tianskii seminar," pp. 3-12, where a joint conference of the Moscow Seminar with
the Leningrad one in February 1979 with the aim of coordinating their activities
also is mentioned.
97. "Iz zapisi suda nad Vladimiron Poreshem" ("From a Transcript of the Poresh Trial"),
V o l’n o e slovo, no. 39 (1980), pp. 87, 99.
98. When Solzhenitsyn writes about an (enlightened) authoritarian system for Russia,
he does not do so out of any idealization of authoritarianism but out of the belief
that a nation's development evolves only out of its native historical experience, and
that democracy is the apex of such gradual progression, a fragile flower that cannot
be expected to appear overnight and to survive in a country lacking the necessary
traditional institutions and historical experience. See his television interview ( c b s ,
June 17, 1974) cited in A. Solzhenitsyn, M ir i n asilie (Frankfurt/M.: Possev, 1974),
pp. 89-92.
99. Likhachev and Ianin, "Russkii sever" (n. 83 above); "Im neobkhodimo doverie,"
Litera lu rn a ia gazeta, May 20, 1987. For the decree scrapping the project, see Pravda,
August r6, 1986. See also R. Vorob'ev, "Porazhenie perebroschikov," P o sev, no. 10
(1986), pp. 41-44-
100. K. Vol'nyi, In telligen tsia i D em o k ra tich esk o e d v iz h e n ie S S S R (USSR, samizdat,
1970), AS 607; also E. Vagin (a leading ex-member of vsichsoN), "Seminar 'Budush-
chaia Rossia'" (Rome, November 15, 1976), N a sh a strana (Buenos Aires), nos. 14 10 -
12, p. 3, and Denisov, "Slovo otstupnikov," passim.
tor. See proceedings of the 8th Congress of the Union of Soviet Writers in L itera tu r -
n aia gazeta, July 2, 1986 (practically the whole issue). See also E. Mirkovich, "Soiuz
pisatelei," P o sev, no. 8 (August 2986), pp. 3-4; R. Redlich, "Po povodu s'ezda sovet-
skikh pisatelei," Posev, no. 9 (September 1986), pp. 41-46; and n. 33 above.
102. A samizdat philosopher, A. Borisov (perhaps this is a misprint, the author being
the same Vadim Borisov from Solzhenitsyn's From u n d er the R u b b le 7.), develops
a theologicophilosophical thesis on the nation. See his "Opyt teleologicheskogo
opravdaniia natsii," in M o sk o v sk ii sbo rn ik , ed. Leonid Borodin (samizdat, 1974), pp.
88-92. Vadim Pigalev, a historian, stresses that the Slavophiles were against Russi­
fication and in favor of retention of national cultures and identities of each people.
See his "Chto oni ishchut u slavianofilov?" N a sh so vre m e n n ik , no. 10 (October
1986), pp. 157—62. Likhachev distinguishes between nationalism and patriotism in
his Z e m e t k i o ru ssk o m (Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossiia, 2984), pp. 39-44; and again in
his article in defense of the "nonformal associations": "Im neobkhodimo doverie,"
n. 99 above.
203. "Ot pokaiania k deistviiu", Literaturnaia gazeta, September 9, 2987, p. 2.
204. Aleksandr Nezhnyi, "Russkaia sviatynia," M o sk o v sk ie n ovosti, June 7, 2987, p. 26;
"Veka istorii i chudo krasoty," Literaturnaia gazeta, September 2, 2987, p. 22. Vasil
Bykov, a leading Soviet prose writer on war themes and himself a heroic officer
446 Religion and Nationalism

in World War II, declared in an interview that the moral standards by which we
live to this day are those of the Ten Commandments: "Pravda zhizni," K n izh n o e
ob o zren ie, June 20, 1986, p. 8.
105. E.g., I. Kryvelev, "Koketnichaia s bozhen'koi," K o m so m o l’skaia pravd a, July 30,
1986, p. 4; Editorial, "Protiv religioznogo durmana," Pravda vo sto ka (Tashkent),
September 2, 1986, p. r; "Vospityvat' ubezhdennykh ateistov," Pravda, Septem­
ber 28, 1986, p. i; "Rech tov. E. K. Ligacheva na Vsesoiuzom soveshchanii zavc-
duiushchikh kafedrami obshchestvennykh nauk," Pravda, October 2, 1986, pp. 1-3 .
106. Kryvelev took particular exception to Astafiev's prayer for a rain of lead to fall
upon the heads of the desecrators of churches and blasphemers (n. 33 above), "in
other words, atheists," adds Kryvelev. And another Soviet author (tongue-in-cheek)
attacks Kryvelev: "Does this mean that for Kryvelev 'desecration' and 'blasphemy'
are synonyms of scientific atheism?" Andrei Nuikin, "Novoe bogoiskatel'stvo i
starye dogmy," N o v y i m ir, no. 4 (1987), p. 250.
Felix Kuznetsov, the chairman of the Soviet Union of Writers' Moscow branch,
complained of the cultural nihilism of K om so m o l'sk a ia p ravd a at the above 1987
Writers' Board Plenum. It had refused to publish his rebuttal to Kryvelev on the
grounds that the prochurch writings of some literary figures were harmful to Soviet
society. Literaturnaia gazeta, May 6, 1987, p. 2.
107. Among the indirect pointers in this direction may be mentioned an article in the
chief academic historical journal dedicated to the fortieth anniversary of the "Soci­
ety for the Dissemination of Political and Scientific Knowledge" [Z n an ie, for short)
without once mentioning atheism or antireligious struggle, whereas the main pur­
pose and one of the chief activities of the society ever since its foundation has been
struggle against religion. The other indicator is an article on Chernobyl in which
the author visits the Kiev St. Vladimir Cathedral and secs the deep worship of a
packed congregation which reminds him of the Battle for Stalingrad when he had
dropped into a suburban church filled with similarly worshiping Christians. The
article also contained what was then the first interview since World War II with
a bishop (the metropolitan of Kiev); it was very sympathetic to the church and its
positive response to national tragedies. See, respectively, Iu. K. Fishevsky, "Vazhnyi
rychag priobshcheniia trudiashchikhsia k znaniiam," Voprosy istorii, no. 4 (1987),
pp. 29-39; Iu. Shcherbak, "Bez domyslov i ncdomolvok," Literaturnaia gazeta, July
23, 1986.
108. N. 73 above (Oleinyk's speech on p. 2); see also K. Markarian, "Po chuzhomu stse-
nariiu," K o m so m o l’skaia pravda, August 26, 1987, p. 4. On November 18, 1987,
there was the third wave of nationalist demonstrations in Latvia, on the occasion of
the sixty-ninth anniversary of Latvia's independence. This time there were numer­
ous police brutalities and arrests of probably several hundred demonstrators (who,
apparently, were all later released). But the fact is that the demonstrators openly
called for the restoration of full independence to Latvia. This is something that the
Soviet regime would never tolerate.
Even then, on the eve of the demonstrations the leader of the Riga Fluman Rights
unofficial organization was invited by the Soviet Novosti Press Agency to address an
international press conference defending the right of Latvia to full sovereignty, and
 Notes to Chapter 5 447

subsequent issues of M o s c o w N e w s and L iteia tu m a ia gazeta criticized the police

brutalities of November 18. This is all unprecedented. See Ginzburg, "Davat' otpor
kar'eristam."

CH APTER 5

1. For the best accounts of the activity of Lithuanian Catholics in the postwar period,
see V. Stanley Vardys, T he C a th o lic C hu rch, D issent, a n d N a tio n a lity in S o vie t
Lith u a n ia (Boulder, Colo.: East European Monographs, 1978]; and V. Stanley Vardys,
"Lithuania's Catholic Movement Reappraised," S u rve y 25, no. 3 (Summer 1980), pp.
49 - 7 T
2. For example, the recommendations of a theoretical-practical conference on "The
Practice of Ideological Work and Methods of Improving It," sponsored by the Central
Committee of the Lithuanian Communist party and held in March 1974, asserted:
"The Church portrays itself as the true guardian of the cultural heritage of the
past, of national traditions and customs. It frequently identifies religious traditions
with national ones and portrays itself as a defender of national interests." Id e o lo -
g in io d a rb o pra k tik a ir jos to b u lin im a s (Vilnius, 1974), p. 337.
3. Some more independent philosophers have claimed that the continued existence
of religion must be due to still-existent conditions in society itself. See Jokubas
Minkcvicius, "Istorinis religijos likimas," in R eligijotyros iva d a s, ed. A. Rybelis
(Vilnius, 1981), p. 165. Jonas Repays argued for an even more radical position, sug­
gesting that the continued existence of religion is to be explained by imperfec­
tions in the structure of Soviet society itself. Jonas Repsys, "Marksizmas, ateizmas,
zmogus," P ro b le m o s 1, no. 2 (1968), pp. 20-22.
4. A statement to this effect was made by Antanas Snieckus, then the first secretary
of the Lithuanian Communist party, at the Sixteenth Party Congress in 1971. See
L ie lu v o s K o m u n istq partijos X V I su va zia vim a s (Vilnius, 1971), p. 50. The current
first secretary, Petras Gri&kcvicius, made a similar claim at the eighteenth congress.
T iesa, January 30, 1981.
5. Genrikas Zimanas, Per su k le ste jim q i vie n y b q (Vilnius, 1971), p. 310.
6. One could say that nationalists believe some of their activities to be protected by
rights similar to those Robert Nozick attributes to individuals. According to Noz-
ick, rights should be considered inviolable side-constraints on morally permissible
actions that cannot be overridden on utilitarian or consequentialist grounds. A per­
son with a right is free to act on it even if the consequences of the action are not
maximally beneficial to all affected by it. Nozick, A n a rch y, State, a n d U topia (New
York: Basic Books, 1974), pp. 25-36.
7. Such a claim seems to have been implied by the Catholic dissident Vytautas Skuodis
in his trial, described in the samizdat publication P erspektyvos, no. 22 (1981J.
8. Although P e rsp e k tyv o s published many articles of a socialist orientation, the Catho­
lic Skuodis seems to have had a leading role in publishing and editing the journal.
It should be noted that if only a very limited number of beliefs can be classified as
expressing "a Catholic point of view," then their presence or absence in a particu­
448 Religion and Nationalism

lar samizdat journal or article does not provide sufficient inferential grounds for
asserting or denying that the author is or is not a Catholic in the sense of being a
member of the church.
9. This kind of radical claim can be found in the samizdat journal A u sra , no. 23 (July
1980).
10. A u sra , no. 8 (October 1977).
n . The period 1890-1945 is the only one in recent history during which Lithuanians
had different political and ideological outlooks as well as the opportunity and ability
to express them. The term "anticlericals" is awkward but will have to do for want of
a more felicitous expression. The anticlericals included most atheists and socialists
but also a number of practicing Catholics who opposed what they construed to be
the church's desire to dominate Lithuania's social and political life.
12. The Soviet agent Juozas Markulis, who infiltrated the upper echelons of the re­
sistance movement, insinuated to the partisans that the Catholics in their ranks
intended to get control of the whole movement and to "clericalize" it. The most
complete account of Markulis's treachery is given by the partisan leader Juozas
Luksa in his " m g b pinkies Lietuvos rezistencijoje," published in the 3d edition of
his Partizan ai (Chicago: J laisvg fondas, 1984!, pp. 462-509.
13. The party also recognizes this. Thus, Genrikas Zimanas writes, "The Church is
the only haven for nationalist ideology, the only legal political organization in our
society that supports nationalist ideology." See Zimanas, Per su ld estejirn g , p. 327.
14. The most notable exception is Vytautas Skuodis, an associate professor of geology at
the University of Vilnius, sentenced in r98o for his role in publishing the samizdat
journals P e rsp ek tyvo s and A lm a M ater. The Lithuanian Helsinki Group, which at
its founding was clearly a secular organization, played only a secondary role in the
development of the Lithuanian opposition movement. Even here Catholics had the
most active role.
15. A concerted atheist drive was begun in Lithuania in February 1963.
16. The declarations, in which priests of the various dioceses of Lithuania announced
their intentions not to comply with the regulations, arc published in the C h ro n ic le
o f the C a th o lic C h u rch in Lithu an ia (hereinafter C C C L ) , no. 38 (May 1979).
17. C C C L , no. 41 (January 1980). Another petition campaign for the return of the
church had garnered 76,000 signatures by January 1987.
18. Tass, July 23, 1987.
19. C C C L , no. 67 (July 1985).
20. See the classified Soviet document on religion in Lithuania published as a supple­
ment to C C C L , no. 66 (April 1985).
21. Ibid.
22. Ordinary Catholics recognized the contributions of Tamkevicius and Svarinskas.
More than 80,000 persons from 134 localities signed petitions calling for their re­
lease. Information concerning the protests is in C C C L , nos. 58-60.
23. C C C L , no. 51 (March 1982).
24. For information on the partisan war, see V. Stanley Vardys, "The Partisan Move­
ment in Postwar Lithuania," in Lithu an ia u nder the So viets, ed. V. Stanley Vardys
 Notes to Chapter 5 449

(New York: Praeger, 1965), pp. 85-110. A more detailed account is contained in my
P a rtiza n y k o v o s L ie tu v o je (Chicago: I laisvg fondas, 1987).
25. Thomas Remeikis mentions some Soviet statistics in O ppo sition to S o vie t R u le in
L ith u a n ia 1 9 4 5 - 1 9 8 0 (Chicago: Institute for Lithuanian Studies Press, 1980), pp.
39-41.
26. It is noteworthy that when Lithuania enjoyed its greatest amount of literary free­
dom, in the 1 960s, the partisan war was the favorite topic of prose writers.
27. In "Trecias, kurio nera," published in Perspek tyvos, no. 20 (1980), Gintautas Ies-
mantas, an avowed socialist, disputed the Soviet claim that there is no third road
between capitulation to Western capitalism and membership in the Soviet Union.
He argued that national independence is both possible and desirable. Iesmantas was
tried and sentenced in 1980 on the charge of anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda.
28. A i w a M ater, no. 1 (January-March, 1979).
29. The appeal was printed in A u sra , no. 19 (November 1979).
30. Kfstutis Girnius, "The Draft Recommendations to the Tashkent Conference: A
New Wave of Russification?" R a d io L ib e rty R esearch, June r9, 1979.
31. Ibid.
32. Au&ra, no. 11 (May 1978).
33. Au&ra, no. 12 (August 1978).
34. A u ir a , no. 15 (Summer 1979).
35. Lionginas Scpetys, "Kilni istorijos mokytojy pareiga," in S iu o la ik m e id e o lo g in e
ko va ir isto rijo s d e s ly m o u z d a vin ia i m o k y m o jstaigose, comp. Liudmila Faturova
and Antanas Raupys (Kaunas, 1979), p. 5.
36. A u Sra, no. 19 (November 1979).
37. A lm a M ater, no. 1 (January-March 1979).
38. The comparison can be found in AuSra, no. 10 (March 1978) and A u sra , no. 20 (Janu­
ary 1980I. The original account is to be found in the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle,
written at the end of the thirteenth century, lines 2225-63. The chronicle is now
available in an English translation by Jerry C. Smith and William L. Urban, T he
L iv o n ia n R h y m e d C h ro n icle (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1977J.
39. Such complaints are aired in A u sra , no. 16 (May 1979) and no. 19 (November 1979),
as well as A lm a M ater, no. 1 (January-March 1979).
40. The statement of Krasnovas, Geda, and several other writers are published in
"Istorine proza: dabartis ir perspektyvos," Pergale, no. 2 (February 1987), pp. 10 1 -
13. From January to July 1987 hardly an issue of the cultural weekly Literatura
ir m e n a s did not contain one or more statements on Lithuanian history or the
historical novel, most quite critical.
41. A summary of the discussion concerning Lithuania's cultural heritage was pub­
lished in Pergale, no. 7 (July 1987), pp. 139-58.
42. Jonas Gecas, "Kada ateis svente," in S v y tu ry s, no. 21 (November 1987], p. 10.
43. Romualdas Ozolas, "Neviltingosios tiesos sviesa," Literatura ir m en as, no. 8 (Feb­
ruary 21, 1987], p. 2.
44. C C C L , no. 42 (March 1980), and Ausra, no. 23 (July 1980).
45. A u Sra, no. 19 (November 1979).
450 Religion and Nationalism

46. Maryte Karaliene, "Moterys ir seima Taryby Lietuvoje/' K o m u n ista s, no. 2 (Febru­
ary 1985), pp. 63-64.
47. Ann Sheehy, "The Preliminary Census Results of 1979 for the Baltic Repub­
lics," R a d io L ib e r ty R esearch , June 26, 1979; and Saulius Girnius, "Demographic
Changes," Baltic Situation Report no. 8, R ad io Free E urope R esearch , December 9,
r986.
48. Antanas Mercaitis, "Kas paaiSkejo, kai mus surase . . . ," S v y tu r y s, no. 13 (1980),
p. 16.
49. T au tos k elias, no. r (April r98o).
50. A u sra , no. 23 (July 1980).
51. The fate of Lithuanian villages in Belorussia has been analyzed extensively in
Lithuanian samizdat, including two special publications devoted to this question.
One, entitled "Apie lietuviy padetj Baltarusijos respublikojc" (1978), claims that
Lithuanian history is being written now in Belorussia, i.e., what is happening in
Belorussia today will happen in Lithuania in the future.
52. Lithuanian samizdat have argued that the standard of living in independent Lithua­
nia was comparable or even superior to that of Soviet Lithuania in 1978. Sec "Gyri-
masis, faktai ir tikrove'," Tautos kelias, no. 1 (April 1980).
53. T iesa, April r8, 2982.
54. Genrikas Zimanas, "Internacionalistinis ir patriotinis auklejimas," T a ry h in is
m o k y to ja s, May 1, r982.
55. Petras Griskevicius, "Persitvarkymo centre—zmogus," Pergale, no. 2 (February
1987), p. 9. Similar disapproval was expressed in May. See his "Dcmokratija ir
menine kultura," Literatura ir m enas, no. r9 (May 9, 1987), p. 3.
56. A lm a M ater, no. 4 (Octobcr-December 1979).
57. The poet Eugenijus Matuzevicius asserted that cowardice was responsible for the
work not being published, while the novelist Juozas BaltuSis, a candidate member of
the Central Committee of the Lithuanian Communist party, admitted publication
was stopped but insisted that he could not find out who was responsible for the
decision. The comments of Matuzevifiius, BaltuSis and other writers and critics are
recorded in "Literaturinis palikimas: Rupesciai ir problcmos," Pergale, no. 7 (July
1987), PP- 139-58.
58. See Vardys, C h u rch , D issent, a n d N atio n ality, pp. 180-81.
59. Vytautas Uogintas, "Lietuvos t s r paminkly apsaugos ir kraitotyros draugijos centra
tarybos ataskaita V suvaziavimui," Krastotyra, 1978, pp. 7-16.
60. A u sra , no. 15 (February T979).
6r. A u s re le , February r978.
62. A u sra , no. 23 (July 1980).
63. C C C L , no. 10 (n.d.). This issue was published at the end of 2974.
64. A u sra , no. 12 (August 1978).
65. Some proponents of the internal-tie view insist that although the nation as a whole
cannot survive after renouncing Catholicism, there can be and are some patriotic
atheists.
66. C C C L , no. 17 (n.d.). This issue appeared in 1975.
 Notes to Chapter 6 451

67. A u sra , no. 26 (February 1981I.

68. "Kam tarnauja ateistine akcija Lietuvoje," Tautos kelias, no. 3 (1981).
69. The new trend was first evident in articles, such as Antanas Balsys, "Lietuviy tauta ir
katalikybe'," T a ry b in is m o k y to ja s (July 28-30, 1982); and Jonas Anicas, "Klerikali-
nis antikomunizmas ir 'Lietuvio kataliko' koncepcija," Literature ir m e n a s , May 1,
1982. This approach has become more sophisticated. For example, Protestantism
is credited with the major contribution in the development of a written language.
Other cultural achievements that have occurred under the auspices of the church
are no longer denied, but Soviet authors argue that the innate creative talent of the
people, and not religious inspiration, was the primary motivating force.
70. The fear is not groundless. During the Central Committee plenum, April 16, 1982,
First Secretary Petras GriSkevicius studiously used the word "political" to charac­
terize the activities and goals of the more active Catholic dissidents. T iesa, April
18, 1982.
71. See the account in the samizdat journal V ytis, no. 6 (1980).
72. Balsys, "Lietuviy tauta."
73. Au& rele, 1978.
74. P e rsp ek tyvo s, no. 9 (1979).
75. In its earliest the C h ro n icle was very circumspect in its criticism of various priests,
preferring generalities to explicit condemnations.
76. Remeikis, O p p o sitio n to So viet R u le, pp. r6i-63.
77. Gintautas Icsmantas admitted in his trial that he was responsible for writing the
proclamations of the Association of Lithuanian Communists (for the Secession of
Lithuania from the USSR]. An account of his trial is in Perspektyvo s, no. 22 (1981).
78. C C C L , no. 51 (March 1982). For some Soviet statistics that indicate a cessation in
the decline in the number of Catholics, see Kystutis Girnius, "Some Soviet Statis­
tics on the Number of Catholics in Lithuania," R a d io L ib e r ty R esearch , October
18, 1979.

CHAPTER 6
1. The antiquated terms Ruthenia, R u then ian (Rus', Rus'kyi) are synonymous with
the modern terms U k rain e, U k rain ian , and preceded the latter.
2. A comprehensive treatment of church history in Ukraine in relation to East Euro­
pean developments can be found in A. M. Amann, A b r is s der o stsla w isch e n K itch en
(Vienna: Verlag Herder, 1950); for a condensed treatment see "Church, History of
the Ukraine," in E n c y clo p e d ia of U k rain e, vol. 1 (Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1984), pp. 472-85.
3. The founder and ideologist of Ukrainian autocephaly, Metropolitan V. Lypkivskyi,
emphatically stressed national particularities of religion in Ukraine. He stated that
"the popular enthusiasm for the Ukrainian church derives from a typical national
feature: the people started to like their own church for its national particularism.
This means that even now the people continue to view their church through the
45^ Religion and Nationalism

eyes of their seventeenth century ancestors who considered their Ukrainian church
as their national attribute." See Istoriia U k xain skoi T s e r k v y (Winnipeg: Trident
Press, 1961I, p. 55.
4. Close ties between Ukrainian autocephaly and the nascent national revival were
demonstrated by Bohdan R. Bociurkiw in "Soviet Church Policy in the Ukraine,
r9 i9 -i9 39 " (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1961), as well as in his article
"Ukrainianization Movements within the Russian Orthodox Church and the Auto­
cephalous Orthodox Church," H arvard U k ra in ia n Stu d ies 3-4 (1979-80), pp. 92-
n i .

5. Vasyl Markus, "The Suppressed Church: Ukrainian Catholics in the Soviet Union,"
in M a rx ism a n d R eligion in Eastern Europe, ed. Richard T. George and ). P. Scanlan
(Dordrecht, Holland, and Boston: D. Reidel, 1976), pp. 119-20.
6. The label comes from the name of national leader Symon Petlura, who led the strug­
gle for independence in 1918-20 in Ukraine and with whose name the aspirations
for an autocephalous church are connected.
7. In 1980 fifteen eparchies had administering bishops and three eparchial sees were
vacant (i.e., other bishops were in charge of their administration). That status of the
Orthodox hierarchy in Ukraine was compiled on the basis of the monthly journal
P ra vo sla vn yi V isn y k (Kiev, 1976-79) and P ra vo sla vn yi T se rk o v n y i K a len d a r 1979
(Moscow, 1979). The 1987 status is based on information given by O. Zinkevych
and O. Voronyn, M a rtyro lo h iia U k ra in sk y k h T serkov, vol. 1 (Toronto and Balti­
more: V. Symonenko, Smoloskyp Publishers, 1987); from the so-called Furov Re­
port, "Iz otcheta Soveta po delam religii—Chlenam t s k k p s s , " published in V estn ik
R u ssk o g o K h ristian sko go D v iz h e n iia (Paris, New York, Moscow), no. 130 (4) (1979);
and also based on the perusal of P ra vo sla vn yi V isn y k (1984-87).
8. Archbishop Makarii Oksiiuk of Lviv issued a pastoral letter in 1950 to the West
Ukrainian eparchies reminding the former Uniate priests of "sixteen points" to be
corrected in church rituals and liturgical use. See V. Markus, "Religion and Nation­
ality: The Uniates of Ukraine," in R eligion a n d A th e ism in the U S S R a n d Eastern
Europe, ed. Bohdan R. Bociurkiw and John W. Strong (London: Macmillan, 1975),
p. 107.
9. U k ra in s k y V isn y k , 7- 8 , 197 4 (Paris, Baltimore, London: Smoloskyp, 1975), p. 143.
10. An optimistic official view of the Russian Orthodox church in Ukraine was pre­
sented by Archbishop Makarii Svystun in Pravo slavie na U k ra in i (Kiev: Ukraina
Society, 1980). The pamphlet also has appeared in English under the title O rth o d o x
C h u rc h in U k ra in e (Kiev, 1980).
11. Scattered information on the present situation of Evangelical Baptists and other
Protestant denominations in Ukraine can be found in the bimonthly journal P isla n -
ets P r a v d y (Chicago), the quarterly Prisoner B u lletin (Elkhart, Ind.), the monthly
L iu d y n a i s v it (Kiev), and in samizdat sources.
12. Valuable data on Roman Catholics in Ukraine were reported by J. Mirski, "O sytu-
acji katolikow w z s s r , " K ultura (Paris), no. 6 (1977), pp. 26-44. This author covered
the subject in "The Religious Situation of Ukrainians in Poland and of Poles in
Ukraine," in P o la n d a n d U k ra in e: Past a n d Present, ed. Peter Potichnyi (Edmonton
 Notes to Chapter 6 453

and Toronto: Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, 1980). The article has been
republished in the Polish samizdat journal O bo z (Warsaw), no. r (September 1981).
13. This author presented a survey of religious groups in present-day Ukraine in a
paper entitled "Current Religious Movements in the Soviet Ukraine," delivered
May 25, 1979, at the annual conference of the Canadian Association of Slavists,
Saskatchewan.
14. Today there is no formal organization or an underground organized community of
the Ukrainian Orthodox Autocephalous church in the USSR; its sympatizers are in
the official Russian Orthodox church trying to Ukrainianize it, although they voice
a preference for a national church. See the names and writings later in the text.
15. The sad situation of Ukrainian Catholics is described in a collective letter (signed
by the "faithful of the Ukrainian Church in the USSR") to Pope John Paul II, first
published in the Polish samizdat Spotkania, no. 16 (1981), and in G la u b e in der 2.
W elt ro, no. 4 (1982), pp. 127-30. It also has been covered in a moving illustrated
report by Cardinal Josyf Slipyj, late head of that church in exile, in "The Church of
the Martyrs," T h e M irror (Konigstein), no. 2 (1981).
16. V. Bodnar, "Osobennosti razvitiia ateizma v kulturnoi revoliutsii v natsionalnoi
respublike (na materialakh zapadnykh oblastei Ukrainskoi s s r ) ," in A t e iz m i sot-
sia listich e sk a ia kultura (Moscow, 1971), pp. 51-52.
17. Markus, "Religion and Nationality," p. r n .
18. P o k u ln y k y are briefly but comprehensively discussed by Bohdan R. Bociurkiw,
"Religion and Nationalism in Contemporary Ukraine," in N a tio n a lism in the U S S R
a n d Eastern E urope in the Era o f B re z h n e v a n d K osygin, ed. George W. Simmonds
(Detroit: University of Detroit Press,1977), pp. 86-87. Information on "Arkhierei
Emanuil" is found in the P o k u tn y k y document "Letter from Heaven," to which
Bociurkiw makes references.
19. See Soviet attacks against P o k u tn y k y in a pamphlet by A. Shysh, U n ia ty-P o k u t
n y k y : K h to v o n y f (Uzhhorod, 1978); and L iu d y n a i svit, no. 4 (1978).
20. Bodnar, "Osobennosti," p. 52.
21. These activities are amply documented by the U k ra in ia n Press S e rvice , published
in Paris, and by V isti z R y m u , published monthly in Rome.
22. Local and regional papers described in detail "public hysteria" of pilgrims coming
from far places to pray and to see the "miracle." One of the reporters attributes such
unusual reaction of common people to the "instigation of the Uniate zealots." Cf.
R a d ia n sk e S lo v o (Drohobych), May 6, 1987. See also N e w York T im es, October 13,
1987, p. 1.
23. Rev. M. Havryliv, E v e r y Person Is F irst o f A l l a H isto ry : A u to b io g ra p h y o f a U k r a i­
n ia n C a th o h c Priest in C o n tem p o ra ry U k ra in e (Rome: Ukrainian Press Service,
1987).
24. Interview with Yo. Terela, November 26, 1987.
25. K irch e Intern (Vienna), November 1987.
26. L iu d y n a i sv it, no. 9 (1980), pp. 60-61.
27. U k ra in s k e P ra vo sla vn e S lovo |South Bound Brook, N.J.), September-Octobcr 1987.
28. P ra v o sla v n y i V isn y k , no. 12 (1980), pp. 26-27.
45 4 Religion and Nationalism

29. M. Mchedlov, K a tolitsizm (Moscow, 1970), pp. 242-43.

30. Ibid., p. 245.
31. I. Myhovych, U n ia tsk a T serk va i u k ra in sk y i b u rzh u a zn yi n a tsio n a lizm (Kiev,
1981), p. 141.
32. In 1981 a film titled T he Secret of Saint G eorge C athed ral was produced for showing
in Western Ukraine. It was a strong attack against the late Metropolitan Sheptytsky.
33. A. V. Biskup, P ro p o v id n y k vorozh n ech i (L v i v : K a m e n ia r , 1986).
34. A. Biskup, "Uniatski radiodyversanty," L iu d y n a i svit, no. 12 (1980), p. 59.
35. The letters exchanged between the patriarch of Moscow and the Holy See concern­
ing the latter issue are found in In form atsion n yi B iu le le n , no. 2 (Moscow patri­
archate, Department of External Relations), April 8, 1981.
36. V. Tancher, "Ateizm i ateistychne vykhovannia," Filosofska d u m k a , no. 2 (1974),
p. 5 3; see also Tancher, R elig io zn ye p e re z h ilk i i ik h p reo d o len iia (Kiev, 1979).
37. P ra vd a U k ra in y (Kiev), no. 28 (1968).
38. V. Mykhailov, "Internatsionalnc i ateistychne vykhovannia u trudovykh kolekty-
vakh," L iu d y n a i svit, no. 4 (1978), p. 7.
39. I. Myhovych, "Rozvinchuiuchy ideolohiiu uniatstva," L iu d y n a i sv it, no. 10 (1981),
p. 56.
40. U k r a in s k y V isn y k , r - 2 , 1 9 70 (Paris and Baltimore: Smoloskyp, 1971), pp. 56-63.
41. Ibid., p. 71.
42. Ibid., p. 205.
43. English translations of Valentyn Moroz's works: C h ro n icle of R esista n ce in U k ra in e
(Baltimore: Smoloskyp, 1970); Report from the Beria R eserve (Chicago: Cataract
Press, 1974); B oom erang: T he W orks of Valentyn M oroz (Baltimore: Smoloskyp,
1974). French edition: C h ro n iq u e de la résistan ce (Paris: Éditions piuf, 1977).
44. Moroz, C h ro n iq u e de la résistance, p. 131.
45. Romaniuk, V oice in the W ilderness, pp. 19-69.
46. Z u p y n i t ' k ry v o su d d ia . Sprava L e v k a L u k ian en k o , ed. S. Sadovsky (New York: Su-
chasnist, 1980), pp. 86-91; letter to Metropolitan Filaret in S v o b o d a (Jersey City,
N.J., October 27, 1978).
47. J. T e re la , N o te s fro m a M a d h o u se (B a ltim o re , W a s h in g to n , T o ro n to : S m o lo s k y p ,
1 9 7 7 )/ P- T q u o te d h e re an d tra n sla te d b y a u th o r fro m Su ch a sn ist (M u n ic h ), n o s.

7-8 ( 1 9 7 7 ) , P- 2 I 7 -
48. Some s a m v y d a v literary works of Ukrainian poets and writers were published
abroad: I. Kalynets, P o ez ii z U k ra in y (Brussels: Lettres et Art, 1970) and P id su m o -
v u iu c h y m o v ch a n n ia (Munich: Suchasnist, 1971); M. Rudenko, K h rest (Baltimore:
Smoloskyp, 1977), Prozrin nia (Baltimore and Toronto: Smoloskyp, 1978) and Z a
gratam y, P o e z ii (Munich: Suchasnist, 1980); O. Berdnyk, B la k y t n y i k o va l (Balti­
more: Smoloskyp, 1975), U k rain a S ich i V ichn oi (Baltimore: Smoloskyp, 1977),
S via ta U k ra in a (Baltimore and Toronto: Smoloskyp, 1980), and P ro m etei (Munich:
Ukrainske Vydavnytstvo, 1981); V. Stus, Z v m o v i dereva (Brussels: Lettres et Art,
1970), S v ich a v s v ic h a d i (Suchasnist, 1977), and P a lim p sesty, V irsh i 1971-1979
r o k iv (Suchasnist, 1986); M. Horbal, D etali pish ch a n o h o h o d y n n y k a , p o e z ii ta p isn i
(Suchasnist, 1983).
 Notes to Chapter 7 455

49. Y. Sverstiuk, S o b o i u ly s h to v a n n i (Paris/Baltimore: p i u f and Smoloskyp, 1970].

Sverstiuk wrote his essay T he C a th ed ra l in Scaffold ing to defend O. Honchar and
his novel T he C a th ed ra l (1969] against unjustified criticism and to expand his
own humanistic and national views on Ukrainian culture. The novel, which exalts
Ukrainian past and national traditions, has been published in three editions in the
Soviet Ukraine (the fourth was confiscated after publication) and in four editions
outside the USSR. Sverstiuk evaluates Honchar's work thus: "The fundamental
meaning of O. Honchar's novel lies in the search for the support point of spirituality
and for the sources of humanness, as well as in the exploration of traditions and
sacred places to which, in a world of disrupted standards, people cling in order to
preserve their being and essence" (p. 29). As a result of g la sn o st’, Honchar's novel
was rehabilitated in 1987 and its Russian translation was scheduled for publication.

CH APTER 7

1. A national church is one that claims to represent the religious interests of a sin­
gle ethnic group. In the USSR, apart from the Georgian and Armenian examples,
we might include the Lithuanian Roman Catholic church, the Ukrainian Greek
Catholic church, and the Lutheran churches of Estonia and Latvia.
2. This is not always the case. The Lutheran churches of Latvia and Estonia, for exam­
ple, have not fulfilled this role. For discussion of possible reasons, see Tonu Pann­
ing, "Nationalism in Soviet Estonia since t964," in N a tio n a lism in the U S S R a n d
Eastern E u ro p e in the Era of B re z h n e v a n d K osygin , ed. George W. Simmonds (De­
troit: University of Detroit Press, 1977), pp. 116-34; and Bohdan R. Bociurkiw,
"Institutional Religion and Nationality in the Soviet Union," in S o vie t N a t io n a li­
ties in Strategic Perspective, ed. S. Enders Wimbush (London: Croom Helm, 1985),
pp. 181-206.
3. Sidney Monas, in his article "Religion and the Intelligentsia," in R elig io n a n d M o d ­
ernization in the S o viet U n io n , ed. Dennis J. Dunn (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press,
1977), pp. 105-35, makes a similar point.
4. Teresa Rakowska-Harmstone, "The Study of Ethnic Politics in the USSR," in
N a tio n a lism in the U S S R , ed. Simmonds, pp. 21-22.
5. Christianity became the state religion of the Armenian kingdom of King Tiri-
dates III in a . d . 301. Georgia was converted a little later, in a .d . 330.
6. The Armenian m ille t, also known as the National Constitution, was directed by an
elected Armenian National General Assembly. The president of the assembly was
the Armenian patriarch of Constantinople. The P o lo zh en ie was more restrictive
than the National Constitution and ensured greater subordination of the church to
the state; however, it did give the Armenian church certain privileges and broad
control over Armenian educational and ecclesiastical life. For discussion of both the
m ille t and P olozh en ie, see K. V. Sarkissian, "The Armenian Church," in R elig io n
in the M id d le E a st: T h re e R eligion s in C o n co rd a n d C on flict, ed. A. J. Arberry
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), vol. 1, pp. 482-520; and Manuel

SEL
45 6 Religion and Nationalism

Sarkisyanz, A M o d e m H isto ry o f T ran scau casian A rm e n ia (Nagpur, India: Udyama

Commercial Press, 1975], pp. 55-57.
7. The Georgian catholicosate was abolished by imperial decree in July r8 n . Ecclesi­
astical reforms by the newly appointed Russian exarch in West Georgia did produce
some unrest among the peasantry in 1819, but remained restricted to the west­
ern regions. See S. F. Jones, "Russian Imperial Administration and the Georgian
Nobility. The Georgian Conspiracy of 1832," S la vo n ic a n d East European R e v ie w
65, no. 1 (January 1987), pp. 53-76.
8. For the best discussion of the internal organization of the Armenian church, see
Malachia Ormanian, T he C h u rch of A rm e n ia : H er H istory, D octrin e, R u le, D is c i­
p lin e , Liturgy, Literature, a n d E xistin g C o n d itio n , trans. from French by G. Marcar
Gregory (London: Mowbray, 1912I, esp. chap. 31.
9. See, for example, the account of Sir John Chardin, "The Travels of Sir John Chardin
through Mingrelia and Georgia into Persia," in T h e W orld D isp la y e d (London: Car-
nan and Newberry, 1777), vol. 15, pp. 97-100. For a general assessment of the Geor­
gian church during this period, see W. E. D. Allen, A H isto ry of the G eorgian P eop le:
F ro m the B eg in n in g D o w n to the R ussian C o n q u e st in the N in e te e n th C e n tu ry
(London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Tribner, 1932), pp. 272-73.
10. For a discussion of the Armenian doctrinal differences with Eastern Orthodoxy
which led to the split in 451, see Ormanian, C hu rch of A rm e n ia , pp. 10 1-4 ; and
Christopher J. Walker, A r m e n ia : T he S u rviva l of a N a tio n (London: Croom Helm,
1980), pp. 26-27.
11. Anthony D. Smith, T he E th n ic O rigins o f N a tio n s (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986),
p. 160.
12. The Hai Heghapokhakan Dashnaktsutiun (Armenian Revolutionary Federation) in
Armenia and the Georgian section of the Russian Social Democratic and Labor
party in Georgia.
13. In 1903 the Russian governor-general of the Causcasus, Prince Grigory Golitsyn,
removed Armenian church control of its properties. This produced enormous resis­
tance throughout the Armenian community, leading to a spate of terrorism. The
measure was rescinded in 1905. In May 1908 the Russian exarch of Georgia was
assassinated (by suspected nationalists) and a number of outspoken clerics were
exiled as a result. Georgians continued to petition the tsar for the return of auto-
cephaly until 1917.
14. The bishop of Tiflis (Tbilisi) and future catholicos Nerses Ashtaraketsi (1843-57)
campaigned throughout his office for an autonomous Armenia and led Armenian
volunteers against the Turks in the Russo-Tiirkish war of 1827-28. Catholicos
Mkrtich I (Khrimian: 1871-92), patriarch of Constantinople, also became a major
spokesman for Armenian nationalist aspirations on the international stage. Geor­
gian clerics took a less prominent position in national politics, but a number were
exiled for their continuing resistance to Russification measures against the Geor­
gian church. The future catholicoses of Georgia, Kirioni II (1917-18) and Ambrosi
(1921-27), were both in exile in 1908-17. Sarkissian, "Armenian Church," pp. 485-
87. Walker, A rm e n ia , pp. 398-99 and 405 gives short biographies of the two Ar­
menian catholicoses. On the activity of the Georgian clergy in this period, see
 Notes to Chapter 7 457

M. Tamarati, L 'É g lis e géorgienne des origines ju s q u ’à nos jours (Rome: Société Ty-
pographico Éditrice Romaine, 1910), pp. 384-96.
Г5. For a discussion of the differing attitudes of Marx and Lenin toward religion, see
J. M. Bochenski, "Marxism-Leninism and Religion," in R eligion a n d A t h e is m in
the U S S R a n d Eastern Europe, ed. Bohdan R. Bociurkiw and John W. Strong (Lon­
don: Macmillan, 1975), pp. 1-17 .
16. Figures cited by the Reverend Dr. Rafael Ivanitsky-Inguilo, "The Georgian Auto­
cephalous Orthodox Church," in R eligion in the U S S R , series 1, no. 59 (Munich:
Institute for the Study of the USSR, July i960), p. 78; and Mary Matossian, T h e
Im p a ct o f S o viet P o lic ie s in A rm e n ia (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1962), pp. 147-48. For dis­
cussion of Armenian and Georgian church-state relations in this period, see C. J.
Peters, "The Georgian Orthodox Church," in Eastern C h ristia n ity a n d P o litic s in
the T w e n tie th C en tu ry, ed. Pedro Ramet (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press,
1988), pp. 286-308; and Matossian, Im pact of Soviet P o licies, pp. 90-95, 147-51.
17. In 1941 the Nazis allowed the formation of a Belorussian Autocephalous Orthodox
church and a Ukrainian Autocephalous Orthodox church the following year. Both
churches were useful instruments in the stimulation of anti-Russian nationalism
among Belorussians and Ukrainians.
18. In 1941 Catholicos Kalistrate of Georgia called for the "strength to expel the enemy
from our midst" and declared that "God is with us." The church also sent 150,000
rubles to the Red Army. ]vari vazisa (Journal of the Georgian patriarchate), no. 1
(1 98 5 ), pp. 15 -17 . There was similar cooperation between church and state in Arme­
nia; in return for church political and financial support during the war, priests were
allowed to return from exile and churches were reopened. See Sarkisyanz, M o d e rn
H isto ry, pp. 323-24; and R. G. Suny, A rm e n ia in the T w en tieth C e n tu ry (Chico,
Calif.: Scholars Press, 1983), pp. 64-65.
19. S a k a rtve lo s e k le siis kalen dari (henceforth SEK) (Tbilisi: Sakartvelos sapatriarko,
1980), p. 3 9 4 -
20. For these figures, see Michael Bourdeaux et al., R eligiou s L ib e rty in the S o vie t
U n io n . T h e W orld C o u n c il of C h u rch es a n d the U S S R : A P o st-N a iro b i D o c u m e n ta ­
tion,Keston Books, no. 7 (Kent: Center for the Study of Religion and Communism,
1976), pp. 4-5. There was indication of some recovery in 1963 when a New Testa­
ment and prayer book were published and a two-year religious training school was
opened.
21. Gerald J. Libardian, "Armenia and the Armenians: A Divided Homeland and a Dis­
persed Nation," in S o viet A s ia n E th n ic Frontiers, ed. William O. McCagg, Jr., and
Brian D. Silver (New York: Pergamon Press, 1979), p. 37. There was some consterna
tion in the Armenian community when Deputy Foreign Minister Andrei Vyshinsky
claimed the same territories for Georgia at the u n in Г947. R.D., "The Question of
the Armenian Boundaries and the Repatriation," A rm e n ia n R e v ie w 1, no. 1 (1948),
pp. 103-7.
22. A large Jewish diaspora did not prevent Soviet anti-Jewish policies, however. On the
income of thé Armenian church, see USSR/Arm.c (no title, 4 pages of A4 longhand)
in file SU/Arm at Keston College, Kent.
23. For an account of the conflict with the catholicosate of Cilicia, see Sarkissian,
45 8 Religion and Nationalism

"Armenian Church," pp. 516 -17 ; and R. Darbinian, "Soviet Efforts to Control the
Armenian Church Abroad," A rm e n ia n R e v ie w 9, no. 2 (June 1956), pp. 3-15.
24. V. N. Dadrian, "An Appraisal of the Communist Formula 'National in Form, Social­
ist in Content' with Particular Reference to Soviet Armenia," A rm e n ia n R e v ie w
16 , no. 3 (September 1963), p. 12; and V. N. Dadrian, "Nationalism in Soviet Arme­
nia: A Case Study of Ethnocentrism," in N a tio n a lism in the U S S R , ed. Simmonds,
p. 225.
25. Alan Scarfe, "National Consciousness and Christianity in Eastern Europe," in R e li­
g io n a n d N a tio n a lism in S o viet an d East European Politics, ed. Pedro Ramet, *ist
ed. (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1984), p. 35.
26. See chapter 1.
27. K eston N e w s Service, no. 187 (November 17, 1983], p. 8; and Elizabeth Fuller, "Mos­
cow Critical of Ideological Shortcomings in Armenia," R ad io L ib e r ty R esea rch ,
November 14, 1984, p. 2.
28. Reverend Raymond Oppenheim, "Comment" on E. Oganessyan, "The Armenian
Church in the USSR," Religion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 7, no. 4 (Winter 1979), pp.
242-43.
29. See "The Echmiadzin Catholicos Subscribes to a Petition on Cuba," A rm e n ia n R e
v i e w r6, no. 1 (Spring 1963), pp. 6-8; C urren t A b stra cts, 1979, no. 4, p. 11 (condem­
nation of Chinese invasion of Vietnam]; and Keston N e w s Se rvice , no. 146 (April
2982!, p. 4 (a call for Israeli troops to withdraw from Palestine).
30. The diaspora in Lebanon amounts to approximately 135,000, although this num­
ber has decreased since the eruption of civil war in the 1970s. Armenian church
and government authorities have shown a united concern for the Lebanese Arme­
nian community. Roman Solchanyk, "Armenians Protest Against Developments in
Lebanon," R a d io L ib e rty R esearch, November 29, 1978.
31. The Soviet government through the Council of Religious Affairs (Armenia has its
own council attached to the Armenian Council of Ministers) controls the number
of working churches and the seminary intake, and regulates travel by the clergy.
Vasken 1 admitted in 1979 that "the state docs not permit the construction of
any churches." (A rm e n ia n W eek ly, January 13, 1979). The churches have not been
allowed to teach religion or take part in charitable work since the 1920s.
32. R e lig io u s F reed o m , August 1978. See also file SU3/Arm at Keston College, Kent.
33. See, for example, K o m m u n ist (organ of the Communist party of Armenia), July 1,
1973, and June 3, 1975; and Fuller, "Moscow Critical." See also Elizabeth Fuller,
"Ideological Sector in Armenia Under Fire," R a d io L ib e rty R esearch , October 23,
1986; and "Armenia's Demirchyan: Reforming Indifferently?" R a d io L ib e r ty R e ­
search , August 23, 1987.
34. For the text of the c p s u resolution, see "V tsentral'nom komitete k p s s , " Pravda,
October 21, 1984, p. 1. For an up-to-date account of atheistic organizational work
and progress in the Armenian s s r , see "Shkola Ateizma," K o m m u n ist (Armenia),
April 4, 1986, p. 4.
35. For an excellent discussion of the Soviet state's interpretation of the national-
religious nexus among Soviet minorities, see Hociurkiw, "Institutional Religion and
Nationality," pp. 181-206.
 Notes to Chapter 7 459

36. See Dadrian's discussion of two antireligious articles in the Soviet Armenian press
which exemplify this concern: "Nationalism in Soviet Armenia," pp. 239-40.
37. The extent of corruption and demoralization in the Georgian church is cataloged
in a report by a former assistant procurator in Tbilisi, David Koridze. The report
alleged the illegal election of Catholicos David V in 1972 and the falsification of
his predecessor's will, embezzlement of church property (in which government offi­
cials were involved), and simony. The scandal eventually came into the open in
1979 when Bishop Gaioz was convicted of selling 288,000 rubles' worth of church
valuables and sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment and exile. For an analysis of
Koridze's report see Peter B. Reddaway, "The Georgian Orthodox Church: Corrup­
tion and Renewal," Religion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 3, nos. 4-5 (July-October 1975),
pp. 14-23. For an official report of the trial, see Z a ria Vostoka (the Russian-language
organ of the Communist party of Georgia), June 14, 1979, p. 4.
38. See Michael Bourdeaux, "The Georgian Orthodox Church," R a d io L ib e r ty S c rip t ,
no. 246 (December 22, 1976); and "Dr Gamsakhurdia Writes to r c l , " R e lig io n in
C o m m u n ist L a n d s 4, no. 4 (Winter 1976), pp. 48-51, in which the Georgian dis­
sident claims that "between 1965-69, I and my friends drew many young people
toward an interest in religion [and] at Eastertide . . . all the churches overflowed.
The income of the church increased . . . and so did the number of those applying to
enter the Seminary." Ibid., p. 48.
39. Sec S. Jornarjidzc, "Sakartvelos komunisturi partiis morhvatseoba akhalgazrdebis
atcisturi arhzrdis sakmeshi" (The Activity of the Georgian Communist Party in
the Atheist Upbringing of Youth), in A k h a lg a z rd e b is ateisturi arh zrdis s a k itk h e b i
(Tbilisi: Tbilisis universitetis gamomtsemloba, 1985), pp. 14-29.
40. G. Bandzcladze, "Ra movitsonot da ra davgmot?" Sak artvelos k o m u n isti (the theo­
retical journal of the Georgian Communist party), 1981, no. 4, p. 62.
41. See, for example, Ilia's speech at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier on the fortieth
anniversary of victory over Nazi Germany, /van vazisa, 1985, no. 1, pp. 15 -17 ,
where he associated the "nation's joy" with the "church's joy."
42. In one interview with Western reporters Vasken 1 confessed his own Russian was
poor, and a senior cleric at the Echmiadzin Seminary admitted he knew no Russian
at all. T h e T im e s (London), March T7, T970, p. 10.
43. A r m e n ia n W e e k ly , January 13, 1979.
44. One Radio Liberty report claims that the half million Armenians in Karabagh do not
have a church and have not been visited by the present catholicos. R a d io sv o b o d a :
M a te ria ly is s le d o v a te l’nogo otdela, 1985, no. 209.
45. In 1979 Vazken 1 condemned the "treason" of Armenians who left their "mother
country" for the West. "Armenians do not have the right to diminish the population
of the Mother Country," he declared. Cited in Anahide Ter Minassian, "Nation et
religion: L'eglise arménienne," É tu des, June 1980, pp. 809-10.
46. Cited in Ter Minassian, "Nation et religion," p. 810.
47. Claire Mouradian, "Problèmes linguistiques et culturels en Arménie depuis Staline:
Résistance nationale ou intégration soviétique?" Slovo, 1984, no. 5, pp. 111-3 8 .
48. Jva ri vaz isa, 1980, no. 2, pp. 5-6.
49. jva ri vaz isa, 1981, no. 2, pp. 7-8.
460 Religion and Nationalism

50. SEK , 1976, p. 32.

51. S a in p o rm a tsio b iu le tin i (Information Bulletin of the Georgian Patriarchate), 1986,
no. 2, p. 5.
52. Jva ri vazisa, 1985, no. 2, p. 19.
53. T. Khandareli, "Kartuli martlmadidebeli eklesia tanamedrove etpapze da akhalgazr-
doba," in A k h a lg a z rd e b is ateisturi arhzrdis sa k itk h e b i, p. 146.
54. Ibid.
5 5. For the official Soviet stance against the thesis that Georgian nationhood existed
in the premodern period, see A. Surguladze, "Kartveli eris chamokhalibebis
shesakheb," M atsn e (Historical Series), r967, no. 5, pp. 342-70; and Abel Kikvidze,
S a k a itv e lo s istoria 1 8 0 1 - 1 8 9 o (Tbilisi: Tbilisis universitetis gamomtsemloba,
1 9 7 7 )-
56. Brian D Silver, "Population Distribution and the Ethnic Balance in Transcaucasia,"
in T ra n sca u ca sia : N a tio n a lism a n d S o cia l C hange, ed. R. G. Suny (Ann Arbor: Uni­
versity of Michigan Press, 1983), p. 383. For an analysis of the nationality and lan­
guage aspects of the 1979 census in Armenia, see Elizabeth Fuller and Ann Sheehy,
"Armenia and Armenians in the USSR: Nationality and Language Aspects of the
Census of 1979," R a d io L ib e rty R esearch, June 11, r98o.
57. For an account of Mikoyan's speech, see Matossian, Im p a ct o f So viet P o lic ie s,
p. 201.
58. For an assessment of the latest campaign, see Fuller, "Moscow Critical," "Ideologi­
cal Sector," and "Armenia's Demirchyan."
59. Fuller, "Armenia's Demirchyan."
60. Elizabeth Fuller, "Armenian Writers' Congress Focuses on Language Teaching,"
R a d io L ib e r ty R esearch , June 16, 1981.
61. "Rodina—bol'shaia i malaia," Pravda, May 7, 1987, pp. 3, 6.
62. Libardian, "Armenia and the Armenians," p. 41.
63. Cited in Suny, A rm e n ia , p. 81.
64. Elizabeth Fuller and Anoush Petrossian, "The Ninth Congress of the Armenian
Union of Writers," R a d io L ib e rty R esearch, June 24, 1986.
65. See the report in R u ssk aia M y s l', February 8, 1979, p. 1. For an analysis of the
strength and program of the n u p , see David Kowalewski, "The Armenian National
Unity Party: Context and Program," A rm e n ia n R e v ie w 31, no. 4 (April 1979),
pp. 362-70; and "Organizatsiia nezavisimosti Armenii 'Natsional'no-Ob'edinienaia
Partiia' v 10-i godovshchine svoego sushchestvovaniia" (Erevan, 1976), samizdat
article filed in SU3/Arm, Keston College, Kent.
66. "Armianskaia gruppa sodeistviia vypolneniiu polozhenii zakliuchitel'nogo Akta
Khel'sinskogo soglasheniia," R F E -R L : M a teria ly sam izdata, no. 3059 (November 28,
1 9 7 7 )-
67. Anahide Ter Minassian, La q u estion arm én ien n e (Paris: Editions Parenthèses,
1983), pp. 228-29. Little is known about this organization apart from its basic
programmatic aim of an independent Armenia.
68. "Organizatsiia nezavisimosti Armenii," p. 7.
69. "V.S.P.V.V. Katalikosu vsekh Armian Vazgenu 1 d'iakona sviatoi Echmiadzinskoi
 Notes to Chapter 7 461

tserkvi Roberta Khachikovicha Nazariana," M a teria ly sa m izd a ta N03165, February

13, 1978.
70. "The Armenian Apostolic Church," undated typescript, file SU/Arm, Keston Col­
lege, Kent. One Armenian cleric told a Western reporter that half of all marriages
take place in church. See J. Wilkins, "Armenia's Religion," T he T ablet, August 6,
1977, p. 741.
7r. See John H. Miller, "Ethnicity and Religion under Communism: USSR," in R elig io n
a n d P o litic s in C o m m u n ist States, ed. Robert Miller and T. H. Rigby (Canberra:
The Australian National University, 1986), pp. 28-48.
72. Robert Kaiser, in T he G u ardian (Manchester), January 4, r972, p. 3.
73. For an analysis of the 1979 results of the census relating to Georgia, see Ann Sheehy,
"Data from the Soviet Census of 1979 on the Georgians and the Georgian ssr ,"
R a d io L ib e r ty R esearch , May 2, 1980. In 1959-70 there has been a net outflow from
the republic of Russians and Armenians. The Russian proportion of the population
has declined from 10.1 percent to 7.4 percent. For a discussion of the tenacity of
Georgian national consciousness, see J. W. R. Parsons, "National Integration in
Soviet Georgia," S o viet Stu d ies 34, no. 4 (October 1982), pp. 547-69; and R. G.
Suny, "Georgia and Soviet Nationality Policy/' in T he So viet U n io n S in c e Stalin , ed.
Stephen Cohen, Alexander Rabinowitch, and Robert Sharlet (London: Macmillan,
1980), pp. 200-26.
74. "National Problems of the USSR," in G la sn o st’, a samizdat insert in R u ssk a ia
M y s l ’, no. 3690 (September 1987).
75. Bohdan Nahaylo and C. J. Peters, The U k ra in ia n s a n d the G eorgians, Minority
Rights Group, Report no. 50 (London, 1981), pp. 17-18.
76. The Abkhaz perception of discrimination and neglect by the Georgians led to pro­
tests and petitions to secede from Georgia in the late 1970s. See Suny, "Georgia
and Soviet Nationality Policy," p. 220; and Roman Solchanyk and Ann Sheehy,
"Kapitonov on Nationality Relations in Georgia," R ad io L ib e rty R esearch , June 1,
1978.
77. See, for example, A. Bakradze, "Chven," Literaturuli Sakartvelo, March 20, 1987;
and "Kavkasionis saurheltekho," K om u nisti, May 6, 1987, where concern is ex­
pressed for the possible loss of unique national monuments.
78. Nahaylo and Peters, U k ra in ia n s a n d G eorgians, p. 17. See also Elizabeth Fuller,
"Appeal for the Retention of the Georgian Language in Academic Life," R a d io L i b ­
e rty R e se a rch , December 17, 1980.
79. Nahaylo and Peters, U k ra in ia n s a n d G eorgians, p. 17; Ann Sheehy, "The National
Languages and the New Constitutions of the Transcaucasian Republics," R a d io L i b ­
e rty R esea rch , May 3, 1978. See also C h ro n icle of C u rren t E ven ts, no. 48 (March
1978), p. 26; and K eston N e w s Service, no. 132 (September 1981), p. 4.
80. This citation is taken from an open letter from Gamsakhurdia to the editors of a
Georgian newspaper, M e b rd z o le (The Fighter). The document recently reached the
West. The full title of the undated article is "The Fingerless Policeman and the
Crazy Congregation (Open Letter to the Editors of the Zugdidi Newspaper, The
Fighter)." The document is available at Keston College, Kent (in Georgian).
462 Religion and Nationalism

81. See Elizabeth Fuller, "Expressions of Official and Unofficial Concern over the Future
of the Georgian Language," R a d io L ib e it y R esearch, April 7, t98i, and L e M on de,
April 6, T98r, p. 3.
82. The latest indication of this is the production of a new underground journal entitled
S a m k re lo (The Bell Tower). The journal has not reached the West yet, but the title
carries significant symbolic meaning. Gudja Abuladze, a dissident imprisoned in
1985 for "extortion," was described in the charge laid against him as an "activist of
the national-religious movement of youth in Georgia." G la sn o st’, p. 4.
83. A k h a lg a z rd e b is ateisturi arhzrdis sa k itk h e b i. Public opinion surveys in the USSR
must be treated with caution. However, this collection gives unpalatable facts about
the religiosity of Georgian youth, which suggests a relatively frank approach. This
does not mean, of course, that the respondents answered honestly.
84. Shevardnadze, for example, at the twenty-fifth congress of the Georgian Commu­
nist party in r976 talked of "a certain reorientation in the convictions of a part
of our population, particularly our youth" [Zaria Vostoka, January 23, 1976), and
S a k a rtve lo s k o m u n isti admitted in r98r that under Ilia II "the churches have come
to life" (Sak a rtvelo s k o m u n isti, t98r, no. 4, p. 62).
85. A k h a lg a z rd e b is sa k itk h e b i, pp. 82-83, rr9.
86. Ibid., p. 86.
87. Ibid.
88. Ibid., p. T2r.
89. Ibid., p. 122.
90. Khandareli, "Kartuli martlmadidebeli eklesia," p. r45.

CH APTER 8

1. Iakovlev speech, K o m so m o lets T adzh ikistana, April 8, r987, p. 2. Iakovlev was

speaking at a plenum of the Communist party of Tajikistan in Dushanbe. Gor­
bachev speech, P ravd a Vostoka, November 25, 2986, p. r. Expulsions from Com­
munist party of Uzbekistan, Pravda Vostoka, August T2, 1987, p. 2.
2. V esti iz S S S R , no. 6 {1987) pp. 1-4 . The source is a human rights news bulletin
published in Munich by Cronid Lubarsky, a former Soviet dissident.
3. Alexander also is called by the Arabic name "Zulqarnain" ("Two Horn") from the
mythical belief that he had horns concealed beneath his helmet. A mention of
"Zulqarnain" in Sura XVIII of the Koran is thought to refer to Alexander, who has
sometimes been held to be a "prophet" or "Muslim saint." See O z b e k ista n d a liti-
m a ii F a n la t/O b s h c h e s tv e n n y y e N a u k i v U zb ek ista n e, no. 1 (1980).
4. A contemporary vernacular short story by a young Uzbek writer depicts the di­
lemma of an eighth-century Turkic warrior who clings to fire worship, resisting
Islam as an "alien" religion despite efforts of fellow Turks to convert him in the
name of ethnic unity. He maintains that it is not fitting to pray in a tongue different
from that bequeathed by his ancestors, saying that religion is the fatherland (v a ta n )
in your heart, and language the fatherland on your tongue. The story expresses
 Notes to Chapter 8 463

nostalgia for a day of earlier glory when the empire of the Turks extended "from
Korea to Greece, from the Altay to Beijing," and they had their own gods, being
not yet divided among Zoroastrianism, Manichaeanism, and Buddhism. See Alisher
Ibadinov, "Quyash ham alav" (Sun and Fire), C u lista n (Tashkent), no. 9 (1980).
5. V. I. Massal'skii, R ossiia, Tom XIX (Turkestanskii krai) (St. Petersburg, 1913), pp.
3 3 6 - 3 7 , cited in Baymirza Hayit, Turkestan im X X . Jahrhundert (Darmstadt, 1956),
P- 3 0 5 -
6. Hayit, T u rkestan , pp. 304-5.
7. Ibid., p. 309.
8. Bohdan R. Bociurkiw, "Changing Soviet Image of Islam: The Domestic Scene," Jo u r­
n a l In stitu te o f M u slim M in o rity A ffa irs 2, nos. 2 and 3, no. 1 (Jeddah, Winter 1980
and Summer 1981), pp. 9ff.
9. Nugman Ashirov, Islam i n atsii (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo politicheskoi literatury,
1 9 7 5 ), PP- 87-88.
10. T. S. Saidbayev, Islam i o b sh ch estvo (Moscow: "Nauka," 1978), pp. 179, 226.
11. Pravda, July 14, 1980, p. 3.
12. A. Akhmedov (Ahmedov), S o tsia l’naia doktrina Islam a (Moscow: Izdatel'stvo politi­
cheskoi literatury, 1982), pp. 113-33.
13. Ibid.
14. Ibid.
15. From a version of Karmal's report to a national conference of the People's Demo­
cratic Party of Afghanistan, March 14, 1982, printed in K o m m u n ist, no. 5 (1982),
translated in Joint Publications Research Service, U S S R R ep ort (Political and Socio­
logical Affairs), June 11, 1982.
16. L. F. Mongarova, "Struktura sovremennoi gorodskoi sem'i Tadzhikov," So vetska ia
etnografia, no. 3 (1982), p. 13.
17. O z b e k ista n d a ijt im a ii fanlar (The Social Sciences in Uzbekistan), 1979, no. 11, and
1981, no. 11.
18. Saidbayev, Isla m i o b sh ch estvo, p. 186.
19. Ibid.
20. Ibid., p. 202.
2 1. Ibid., p. 19 1.
22. Ibid., p. 189.
23. Pravd a, July 14, 1980, p. 3.
24. Saidbayev, Isla m i o b sh ch estvo, p. 200.
25. See J. Critchlow, "Minarets and Marx," W ashington Q u a rterly 3, no. 3 (Spring 1980).
26. Ashirov, Isla m i n atsii, pp. 45-46.
27. Ibid.
28. Gh. Nabiyev, "Ilmii ateistik tarbiya" (Scientific Atheistic Indoctrination), Yash
le n in c h i, July 8, 1982.
29. Ibid.
30. Saidbayev, Isla m i o b sh ch estvo, p. 181.
31. N a s e le n iie S S S R p o d a n n y m vseso yu zn o i perep isi n aselen iia 1979 goda (Moscow:
Izdatel'stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1980), pp. 21-22.
464 Religion and Nationalism

32. (Moscow: Finansy i statistika, 1981), pp.

N a io d n o ie k h o z y a istv o S S S R na 19 8 0 g o d
466-67.
33. Ibid., p. 96.
34. Saidbayev, Isla m i o b sh ch estvo , p. 184.
35. A. Artykov, "Qur'an haqida tanqidii mulahazalar" (Critical Thoughts about the
Koran) (Tashkent: "Qizil Ozbekistan," "Pravda Vostoka," va "Ozbekistan Surkh"
birlashgan nashriyati, 1963), pp. 27-33.
36. T h e Koran, trans. J. M. Rodwell (London: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1909), p. 349.
37. " I s l a m m o d e r n iz m i " (Is la m ic m o d e rn ism ), O z b e k Sovet E n tsik lo p e d iia si (O SE ),
v o l. s (T a s h k e n t: O z S S R F a n la r A k a d e m iia s i, 1 9 7 4 ) , P- 9 8 .
38. "Islam sotsializmi" (Islamic socialism), ibid., p. 99.
39. Artykov, "Qur'an haqida," p. 28.
40. OSE, vol. s, p. 98.
41. Artykov, "Qur'an haqida," p. 30.
42. Ibid., p. 29.
43. Ashirov, Isla m i n atsii, pp. 48-49, 58, 60-61, 79, 81-82, 87-88.
44. Akhmedov, S o ts ia ïn a ia d o k th n a Islam a, p. Г23.
45. Ashirov, Isla m i n atsii, p. 65.
46. Alexandre Bennigsen, "Muslim Conservative Opposition to the Soviet Regime: The
Sufi Brotherhoods in the North Caucasus," in S o viet N a tio n a lity P o lic ie s a n d P ra c­
tices, ed. Jeremy R. Azrael (New York: Praeger, 1978), pp. 334-48.
47. S. M. Demidov, Su fizm v T u rk m e n ii (Ashkhabad: "Ylym," 1978), p. 5.
48. Alexandre Bennigsen and Chantal Lemercier-Quelquejay, Les M u su lm a n s o u b lié s:
L T s la m en U n io n s o v ié tiq u e (Paris: François Maspero, 198Г), p. 242.
49. "Dinii-mistik adabiyat" (Religious-Mystical Literature), OSE, vol. 4, p. 49. See also
"Ahmad Yassawi," in ibid., vol. 1, p. 617.
50. A. J. Arberry, "Mysticism," in C a m b rid g e H isto ry o f Islam , vol. 2 (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1970), p. 606.
51. Demidov, S u fizm v T u rk m e n ii, p. 5. Demidov cites I. P. Petrushevskii's 1966 work
Isla m v Itan e v V I I - X V vv. (Leningrad), as a source for foreign scholars' views cor­
roborating the Central Asian influence in the origin of Sufism: "Dozy (Г904) and
Carra de Vaux 11902) saw the origins of Sufism in Iranian (Zoroastrian-Manichaean)
influence and in an 'Aryan' (Iranian) reaction against Arabism and Islam as the reli­
gion of the Semitic Arabs, in which there can be found a suggestion of racist theories
of religion. The researchers Hartmann (1916) and Horten (1927-28) linked Sufism
with Indian sources: Hinduism, Vedantic philosophy and Buddhism. R. Hartmann
considered that the starting region of Sufism was Central Asia, the meeting place of
Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, and Islam, whence the influence of Indian mysticism
and its ascetic practices had penetrated via the Persians into Islam."
52. William Fierman, "Uzbek Feelings of Ethnicity: A Study of Attitudes in Recent
Uzbek Literature," C a h iers du m o n d e ru sse et so v ié tiq u e 22, nos. 2-3 (1982), pp.
182-229.
53. Ann Sheehy, "Uzbek Novel Found Ideologically Unsound," R adio L iberty Research,
August 2$, 1982. The author analyzes the controversy around Mamadali Mahmu-
 Notes to Chapter 9 465

dov's novel O lm a s q ayalar (Immortal Cliffs) published in 1981 in the Uzbek literary
monthly Sh a rq y u ld u z i, nos. ro and ri.
54. Chingiz Aitmatov, I D o l'sh e vek a d litsya d e n ’ (Frunze: "Kyrgyzstan" Publishing
House, 198t), p. 83.
55. Matityahu Peled, "Islam and Revolution/' in Je m sa le m Post (international edition),
February 18-24, 1979. The author is a professor of Arabic literature at Tel Aviv
University.

CH APTER 9

I wish to express my thanks to Michael Ziemann for his guidance on understanding

Martin Luther in the sixteenth century as well as the German Democratic Republic
today. A note of special appreciation must also be extended to Pedro Ramet for his
unceasing assistance during the writing of this chapter.
1. In his book Weimar Culture: The O utsider as Insider (New York: Harper and Row,
1968), pp. 86-87, author Peter Gay noted how some German historians of the
Weimar Republic drew "on a widening repertory of heroes" to instill a spirit of folk-
ish enthusiasm among the people—"heroes" such as Martin Luther, Bismarck, and
Friedrich II of Prussia.
2. For an overview of early Marxist interpretations of Luther in the GDR, see Robert F.
Goeckel, "The Luther Anniversary in East Germany," World Politics 37, no. 1
(October 1984), pp. 114 -16 , as well as Michael J. Ziemann's unpublished paper
"Martin Luther—Forefather of the German Democratic Republic?" (Seattle Pacific
University, 1984).
3. "Neuorientierung der deutschen Christenheit," in H andbuch der D D R (Berlin/
DDR: V E B Deutscher Verlag der Wissenschaften, X 9 6 8 J , pp. 94 - 9 S-
4. D eutsche Z eitsch rift fü r Philosophie |East Berlin) 33, no. 10 (October 1985), p. 882,
trans. in Joint Publications Research Service (j p r s ), East Europe Report, no. EPS-85-
119 (November 29, 1985), p. 72. This article on "Current Problems of Collaboration
between Communists and the Faithful" by Hans Lutter and Olof Klohr repudiated
the claims of "conservative forces . . . particularly in the FRG," who believe that the
GDR is either an "atheistic state" which oppresses Christians or the "incarnation
of Antichrist."
5. Fritz Kapp, "Neue Ziele für DDR-Historiker?" D eutsche Studien 2 1 , no. 85 (March
1984) , p. 84.
6. Zdenek Vasicek, "A New Type of History," Index on Censorship 14, no. 6 (December
1985) , p. 20.
7. Ibid., p. 21.
8. E in h eit (East Berlin) 39, nos. 9-10 (September-October 1984), p. 920, trans. in ] p r s ,
East Europe Report, no. EPS-84-T44 (November 23, ^84), p. 19.
9. Ibid.,4). 23.
10. D ie Welt (Bonn), October 2, 1984, p. 5, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. EPS-
84-144 (November 23, 1984), p. 49.
466 Religion and Nationalism

11. Manfred Stolpe, "Kirche im Bewährungsfeld/' K irch e im S o zia lism u s 13, no. 4
(August 1987), p. 135.
12. Friedrich Engels, T h e Peasant W ar in G erm a n y, trans. Moissage J. Olgin (New York:
International Publishers, r966), p. 62.
13. Friedrich Engels, D ia le c tics o f N ature, trans. Clemens Dutt (New York: Interna­
tional Publishers, 1940), p. 3.
14. For more details on current interest in Luther's link to anti-Semitism, see the N e w
York T im e s, October 16, 1983, p. 37.
15. Quoted in Goeckel, "Luther Aniversary," p. 114.
16. John Dörnberg, T h e O th er G e rm a n y (New York: Doubleday, 1968), p. 334.
17. Ibid., p. 335.
18. Ibid.
19. Endel Kallas, "New Evidences of a Secular Luther," Lutheran F o ru m , Lent 1984,
p. 21.
20. N e u e H eim at, May 1983, p. 28. Honecker's choice of words adds an interesting
touch of irony,- the word translated as "transformation" (V e rw a n d lu n g ) also means
"transubstantiation"—a doctrine of the Roman church which Luther opposed.
2 1 . "Aus einem Interview mit Ernst Engelberg: Zur Bismarck-Renaissance in der DDR,"
In fo rm a tio n sd ie n st, no. 136 (November 1985), p. 14.
22. N e w York T im es, July 1, 1983, p. 2.
23. N e u e r W eg |East Berlin) 40, no. 2 (1985), p. 51, trans. in jprs , E ast E urope Report,
no. EPS-85-039 (March 28, 1985), p. 98.
24. N e u e Z e it (East Berlin), October 5, 1982, p. 2, trans. in jprs , E ast E u ro p e Report,
no. 82346 (November 30, 1982), p. 3.
25. Kallas, "New Evidences," pp. 22-24.
26. Pedro Ramet notes that "in 1967 the state had actually sabotaged the [Reformation]
celebrations by denying tourist visas to foreign applicants." See his article "The
Evangelical Church, the State, and the Peace Movement in East Germany," C ro s s ­
roads, no. 22 (1986), pp. 41-42. Another aspect of the Church's dissatisfaction was
found in the belief that the state "totally ignored the Christian and theologian [that]
Luther was." D er Spiegel, March 7, 1983, pp. 109, 113 , trans. in jprs , E ast E u rope
R eport, no. 83282 (April 18, 1983), pp. 30, 3 2-
27. So nn tag (East Berlin) 36, no. 48 (November 28, 1982), trans. in jprs , E ast E u rope
R eport, no. 82872 (February 16, 1983), p. 18.
28. S ä c h sis c h e Z e itu n g (Dresden), September 17, 1982, p. 2, trans. in j p r s , E ast E u rope
R eport, no. 82626 (January 12, 1983), p. 4.
29. Hubert Kirchner, L u th e r a n d the P ea sa n ts’ War, trans. Darrell Jodock (Philadelphia:
Fortress Press, 1972), P- 6 .
30. For an example of the subjective-objective division of Luther, see A. Laube's article
in So nn tag (East Berlin) 36, no. 44 (October 31,1982), p. 7, trans. in jprs , E ast E urope
R eport, no. 82872 (February 16, 1983), p. 22. For a critique of this approach, see
Rainer Wohlfiel, "Das wissenschaftliche Lutherbild in beiden deutschen Staaten,"
D e u tsc h la n d A r c h iv 16, no. o (November 1983), P- 1158.
31. Wohlfiel, "Wissenschaftliche Lutherbild," pp. 1145-46.
 Notes to Chapter 9 467

32 . Detlef Urban, "Bemerkungen zur einer Lutherfilm im DDR-Fernsehen," in D e u tsc h ­

la n d A r c h i v 16, no. 12 (December 1983), p. 1253.
33. Sonntag, October 31, 1982, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. 82872 (February
16, 1983), p. 21.
34. Ibid.
35. D e u tsc h e Z e its c h rift fü r P h ilo so p h ie, October 1985, trans. in j p r s , E a st E u ro p e R e ­
p ort, no. EPS-85-119 (November 29, 1985), p. 71.
36. Sonntag, November 28,1982, trans. in j p r s , E ast Europe Report, no. 82872 (February
16, 1983), p. 18.
37. In 1982, for example, the Union of Evangelical Churches maintained 48 hospitals,
272 retirement homes, and 105 homes for the mentally handicapped. N e u e Z ü rc h e r
Z e itu n g , November 23, 1982, p. 1, trans. in j p r s , E ast E urope Report, no. 82490
(December 17, 1982), p. 43.
38. Ulrich Neuhäusser-Wespy, "Geschichtsbewusstsein als Intergrationsfaktor,"
D e u tsc h e S tu d ie n 25, no. 98 (June 1987), p. 177.
39. For more details, see Ramet, "Evangelical Church," pp. 31-48; and Ronald Asmus,
"Is There a Peace Movement in the GDR?" O rb is, Summer 1983, pp. 301—41. For
a thorough presentation of the church-state conflict over the militarization of soci­
ety in a historical framework, see Horst Dahn, Konfrontation oder K o op eration ?
D a s V erh ältn is von Staat u n d K irch e in d e r S B Z / D D R , 2 9 4 5 - 1 9 8 0 (Opladen: West­
deutscher Verlag, 1982).
40. Asmus, "Is There a Peace Movement," p. 325.
41. F ra n k fu rter A llg e m e in e , November 14, 1984, p. 8 , trans. in j p r s , E ast E u rope Report,
no. EPS-85-005 (January 10, 1985], pp. 18, 19. Stolpe recognized a joint Statement
of September 1, 1979, by Lutheran church leaders in both German nations as "a
significant indicator of common responsibility for peace of the German Protestant
Church."
42. Matthias Hartman, "Anstösse zum Neuen Denken," K irch e in So zia lism u s 13, no. 4
(August 1987), p. 147.
43. N e u e Z e it , October 5, 1982, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. 82346 (November
30, 1982), p. 9.
44. Ibid.
45. Endel Kallas, "What Does This Mean? Luther Reassessed in the GDR," Lu theran
F o ru m , Lent r983, p. 25.
46. Ibid., p. 24.
47. Arvan Gordon, "The Luther Quincentenary in the GDR," Religion in C o m m u n is t
D o m in a te d L a n d s 12, no. 1 (Spring 1984), p. 83.
48. One such question reads: "For centuries the Church has claimed power in a political
sense, citing theological grounds for doing so. In this way the Church has obscured
its true role. In the GDR there is separation of State and Church. In what way can
and should the Church operate in the political sphere?" Ibid.
49. Peter Wensierski, "Nach dem Lutherjahr: Gewachsenes Selbstbewusstsein der
DDR-Kirchen," D e u tsc h la n d A r c h iv 16, no. 12 (December 1983), p. 1249.
50. Ibid.
468 Religion and Nationalism

Si . Wensierski concluded his article by suggesting that greater involvement by church

leaders in matters of the state may lead to the bishops rather than party officials
bearing responsibility for church-state conflicts.
52. Gordon, "Luther Quincentenary," p. 85.
53. N eue Z e it (East Berlin), February 12, 1986, p. 3, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report,
no. EER-86-053 (April 8, 1986), p. 68.
54. D er Spiegel, May 18, 1987, p. 76.
55. D eutsche Z eitsch rift fü r Philosophie, October 1985, in j p r s , East Europe Report,
no. EPS-85-119 (November 29, 1985), p. 66.
56. Hartman, "Anstösse zum Neuen Denken," p. 150.
57. Frankfurter A llgem ein e, October 24, 1986, p. 7.
58. Frankfurter A llgem ein e, September 25, 1987, p. 2.
59. Iw e Tagesdienst (West Berlin), May 1985, p. 2, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report,
no. EPS-85-063 (June 3, 1985), p. 59.
60. Hans Düfel, "Das Lutherjubiläum 1883," Zeitschrift fü r Kirchengeschichte 95, no. 1
(1984), P- 86.
61. Quoted in Neuhäusser-Wespy, "Geschichtsbewusstsein," p. 177.

CH APTER 10
/

1. For details, see Z. Anthony Kruszewski, The O der-Neisse Boundary and P o lan d ’s
M odernization (New York: Praeger, 1972), pp. 35-87.
2. Boleslaw Kominek, W slu zbie Z iem Zachodnich (Wroclaw: Ksiegarnia Archidiecez-
jalna, 1977), pp. 65-66.
3. "Kosciol na Dolnym Slasku," Tygodnik Pow szechny (Krakow), December 13, 1981,
PP- 4 - 5 -
4. Kominek, W sluzbie, p. 132.
5. E.g., preservation of the Schneidemuehl prelacy nullius. For broader treatment of
this point, see Jan Zaborowski, Kosciol nad Odra i Nysa, 2d ed. (Warsaw: Novum,
1970), pp. 46-64.
6. Kominek, W sluzbie, p. 18.
7. Ryszard Marek, Kosciol rzym sko-katolicki w obec ziem zachodnich i polnocnych
(Warsaw: p w n , 1976), pp. 15-16 .
8. Karl Hartmann, "Der Polnische Episcopat und die Oder-Neisse Gebiete," Osteuropa
21, no. 3 (March 1971), p. 166; Edmund Moszynski, "The Church on the West­
ern Territories," Polish Perspectives 16, no. 3 (March 1973), pp. 19-20; and Zyrill
Boldirev, "Staat und Kirche in Polen," Osteuropa 11, no. i (January 1961), p. 27.
9. Joachim Piegsa, "Die Rolle der Kirche in Polen," Politische Studien 33, no. 264
(July-August 1982), p. 389.
10. Jan Nowak, "The Church in Poland," Problem s o f Com m unism 31, no. i (January-
Pebruary 1982), p. 3.
11. Stefan Cardinal Wyszynski, in speech of April 30, 1977, as quoted in Prym as Tyr-
slaclecia (Paris: Notre Familie, 1982), pp. 1 3 9 - 4 ° -
 Notes to Chapter io 469

12. L is t y P astersk ie E pisk opatu P o lsk i, 1945-1974 (Paris: Éditions du Dialogue, 1975),
pp. 66-67.
13. Ibid., pp. 750-61.
14. P iy m a s T y sia c le c ia , pp. 148-51. See also "Society for Academic Courses: The Fly­
ing University," S u rv e y 24, no. 4 (Autumn 1979), pp. 114-26.
r5. K siega Ju b ile u sz o w a 50 -le c ia K atolick iego U n iw e isy te tu L u b e lsk ie g o (Lublin: To-
warzystwo Natukowe k u l , 1969), passim.
16. Stefan Wyszynski, K o scio l w slu z b ie N a ro d u (Rome: Corda Cordi, 1981), p. 286.
17. Another third came from the Society of Friends of k u l .
r8. Poland/Situation Report no. 9, R a d io Free Europe R esearch, May 29, 198t, p. 9.
19. Jozef Tischner, P o lsk i k sztalt dialogu (Paris: Editions Spotkania, 1981], p. 93.
20. The number of priests ordained from diocesan seminaries 1945-78 inclusive was
12,931, and from monastical seminaries 1972-78 inclusive was 947. See Witold
Zdaniewicz, T h e C a th o lic C h u rch in Poland, 1945-1978 (Poznan: Pallotinum,
1 9 7 9 ), PP- 36, 4 5 -
21. L a d (Warsaw], November 15, 1981, p. 4.
22. Ibid., July 25, 1982, pp. i, 4.
23. E.g., the r974 Warsaw Sacro-song, which lasted for four days, attracted two thousand
performers and more than fifty thousand spectators.
24. Interview with Bishop Jozef Glemp, in T yg o d n ik P o w sze c h n y , June 21, 1981, p. 5.
25. L is t y Pa stersk ie E pisk opatu , pp. 38-39.
26. Ibid., pp. 52-56.
27. L is t y Pa stersk ie P rym a sa Polsk i, T946-1974 (Paris: Éditions du Dialogue, 1975),
pp. 30-46.
28. Andrzej Micewski, "Kardynal Wyszynski a rok 1968," T yg o d n ik P o w sz e c h n y , Octo­
ber 18, 1981, p. 3.
29. Interview with Bishop Glemp, n. 24 of this chapter.
30. Maciej Letowski, "Kto zagraza Solidarnosci," Lad, September T3, 1981, p. 4.
31. Pastoral letter of December 14, 1980, "Biskupi polscy wzywaja do chrzescijanskiej
odpowiedzialnosci na Ojczyzne."
32. Andrzej Micewski, K a rd yn a l W y sz yn sk i, Prym as i M az Stanu (Paris: Éditions du
Dialogue, 1982], p. 428.
33. Sergiusz Kowalski, "Polski syndrom," So lid arn osc, July 10, 1981.
34. Adam Michnik, K o scio l —L e w ic a — D ialog (Paris: Instytut Literacki, 1977).
35. K u ltu ra (Paris), October 1980, pp. 4-7.
36. Communiqué from the meeting of the episcopate's Main Council of December 15,
1981.
37. See, for example, B. Mahin, "Religiya v ideynom arsenale antikommunizma," P o liti-
ch e ssk o e sa m o o b ra zo va n ie, no. 12 (December 1982], pp. 117 -18 .
38. Communiqué of the 213th Plenary Conference of the Polish Episcopate, Jasna Gora,
May 2, 1986.
39. Ks. Tadeusz Styczen and Red. Edward Balawajder, fe d y n ie p ra w d a w y z w a la : R o z-
m o w y o Ja n ie P a w le I I (Rome: Polski Instytut Kultury Chrzescijanskiej, 1986),
p. 87.
470 Religion and Nationalism

40. Message from Jozef Cardinal Glemp, February 15, 1986.

41. Communiqué issued after the 227th Plenary Conference of the Polish Episcopate
(Bialystok, June 1988).
42. Especially the paper read by Rev. Czeslaw Bartnik from the Catholic University
of Lublin at the conference on "The Common Christian Roots of the European
Nations," Rome, November 3-7, 1981; and two articles by Rev. Jerzy Lewandowski
in L a d , July 26, 1981, and in C h rzescija n in w S w ie c ie (Warsaw), no. 100 (July-
August 1981).

C H A P T E R 11

I am deeply indebted to Peter F. Sugar for his comments on an earlier draft of this
chapter.
1. See David W. Paul, T h e C u ltu ra l L im its of R evo lu tio n a ry P o litic s: C h a n g e a n d C o n ­
tin u ity in So cia list C z e ch o slo v a k ia (Boulder, Colo.: East European Monographs,
1 9 7 9 )-
2. Hungarian Situation Report, R a d io Free Europe R esearch , May 8, i98r, pp. 5-9.
3. Victor S. Mamatey, "The Battle of the White Mountain as Myth in Czech History,"
E a st E u ropean Q u a rte rly 15, no. 3 (September 1981), p. 335.
4. Howard Kaminsky, A H isto ry of the H u ssite R evo lu tio n (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press, 1967), p. 24.
5. Ludvik Nëmec, C h u rch a n d State in C ze ch o slo v a k ia (New York: Vantage Press,
195 5 ), PP- 85-86; and Frank E. Manuel and Fritzie P. Manuel, U topian T h o u g h t in
the W estern W o rld (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1979), pp. 136,
182, 351.
6. Quoted in Hans Kohn, T h e Id ea of N a tio n a lism (Toronto: Macmillan, 1944), p. 11 r.
7. A. H. Hermann, A H is to ry of the C z e ch s (London: Allen Lane, 1975), p. 38.
8. "Czechoslovakia," in N e w C a th o lic E n cy clo p e d ia (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1967),
vol. 4, p. 592.
9. J. N. D. Kelly, T h e O x fo rd D ic tio n a ry of Popes (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1986), p. 278.
10. Matthew Spinka, "The Religious Situation in Czechoslovakia," in C z e ch o slo v a k ia ,
ed. Robert J. Kerner (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1945), p. 285.
11. Joseph F. Zacek, "Nationalism in Czechoslovakia," in N a tio n a lism in Eastern
E u rope, ed. Peter F. Sugar and Ivo J. Lederer (Seattle: University of Washington
Press, 1970), p. 174.
12. TomâSs G. Masaryk, T h e M e a n in g o f C z e ch H istory, trans. from Czech by Peter
Kussi, ed. René Wellek (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1974), p. 7.
13. "Czechoslovakia," in N e w C a th o lic E n cyclo p ed ia , p. 594.
14. Victor S. Mamatey, "The Establishment of the Republic," in A H isto ry o f the
C z e c h o s lo v a k R e p u b lic , 1 9 1 8 - 1 9 4 8 , ed. Victor S. Mamatey and Radomir Luza
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1973), pp. 6-7.
15. Masaryk, M ean in g o f C z e ch H isto ry, pp. 7, 10.
16. See Hugh LeCaine Agnew, "Enlightenment and National Consciousness: Three
 Notes to Chapter n 471

Czech 'Popular Awakeners/ " in N a tio n a n d Ideolo gy: E ssa ys in H onor o f W a yn e S.

V u c in ich , ed. Ivo Banac, John G. Ackerman, and Roman Szporluk (Boulder, Colo.:
East European Monographs, 1981).
17. "Czechoslovakia," in N e w C a th o lic E n cyclo p ed ia , p. 594.
18. Josef L. Hromadka, Thoughts o f a C z e ch Pastor, trans. from Czech by Monika and
Benjamin Page (London: s c m Press, 1970), p. 41.
19. Nemec, C h u rc h a n d State, p. 124.
20. Ibid., pp. 127-30.
21. Eugen Steiner, T h e S lo va k D ile m m a (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1 9 7 3 ), PP- 12-27-
22. See Anna Josko, "The Slovak Resistance Movement," and Victor S. Mamatey, "Sum­
mary"—both in H isto ry o f the C z e ch o slo v a k R ep u b lic, ed. Mamatey and Luza.
23. Stanislav J. Kirschbaum, "Slovak Nationalism in Socialist Czechoslovakia," C a n a ­
dian S la v o n ic Papers 22, no. 2 (June 1980], p. 235.
24. Nemec, C h u rc h a n d State, p. 206.
25. Ib id ., pp. 201-2; and "Czechoslovakia," in N e w C a th o lic E n c y clo p e d ia , p. 596.
26. Karel Hruza, "Scientific Atheism," from a four-hour session at the Ministry of Edu­
cation in Prague, excerpts trans. from Czech in Religion in C o m m u n is t D o m in a te d
A re a s 25, no. 1 (Winter 1986), p. n .
27. Erika Kadlecova, S o cio lo g ic k y v y z k u m relig io zity Severo m o ra vsk eh o k ra je (Prague,
1965), as cited in Otto Ulc, P o litics in C zech o slo va k ia (San Francisco: W. H. Free­
man, 1974), p. 124.
28. Cited in Ulc, P o litic s in C zech o slo va k ia , p. 125.
29. Czechoslovak Situation Report, R a d io Free Europe R esearch , February 16, 1984, pp.
n -12 .
30. Eugen Voss, ed., D ie R eligion sfreih eit in O steuropa (Zollikon, Switzerland: G2W-
Verlag, 1984), pp. 213-14 . See also Albert Rasker, "Protestantism in Czechoslo­
vakia," O cc a sio n a l Papers on R eligion in Eastern Europe 3, no. 4 (May 1983), p. 12.
Karel Hruza, by then the form er minister for religious affairs, reported in 1984 that
there were 24,000 Jehovah's Witnesses in Czechoslovakia ("Scientific Atheism,"
p. 12). But the Swiss Institute G la u b e in d er 2. W elt put the figure at 7,680 for 1982,
and it seems unlikely that the sect would have more than tripled its strength in
two years.
31. Nemec, C h u rc h a n d State, pp. 25 3ff.
32. Quoted in ibid., p. 253.
33. Trevor Beeson, D iscretio n a n d Valour: R eligiou s C o n d itio n s in R u ssia a n d Eastern
E urope, rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982), p. 241.
34. For his own words to this effect, see Hromadka, Thoughts, p. 87.
35. P riesterverein ig u n g “ Pa cem in terris" —E in e k ritisch e A n a ly s e (Munich: Sozial-
werk der Ackermann-Gemeinde, 1983), p. 18; Karel Kaplan, "Church and State in
Czechoslovakia from r948 to 1956," pt. 1, R eligion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 14, no. 1
(Spring 1986], pp. 62, 68-69; and Nemec, C h u rch a n d State, pp. 278-92.
36. Kaplan, "Church and State," p. 68.
37. Quoted in Nemec, C h u rch a n d State, p. 377.
38. Quoted in ibid., p. 390.
472 Religion and Nationalism

39. Alexander Tomsky, "Der Katholizismus in der Tschechoslowakei," in R e lig io n sfre i­

h e it u n d M en sch en rech te, ed. Paul Lendvai (Graz: Verlag Styria, 1983), pp. 125-26.
40. P riesterverein igu ng, p. 19,- and H. Gordon Skilling, C z e c h o s lo v a k ia ’s In terru p ted
R e v o lu tio n (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976), pp. 600-602.
41. Quoted in Priesterverein igu ng, p. 45.
42. Ibid., p. 55.
43. Ibid., pp. 64-65.
44. Ibid., pp . 3 7 - 3 8 , 5 ° -
45. Ibid., pp. 122-23.
46. Until 1982 about 50 percent of Czechoslovakia's Catholic priests were members of
Pacem in Terris. By early 2987, only 10 percent remained members. K eston N e w s
S e rvice , no. 274 (April 30, 1987), p. 13. For more details, see Pedro Ramet, C ro ss a n d
C o m m is s a r: T he P o litics of R eligion in Eastern Europe a n d the U S S R (Blooming­
ton: Indiana University Press, 1987), pp. 163-65.
47. For details, see Ramet, C ro ss a n d C o m m issa r, chap. 8.
48. For details, see Pedro Ramet, "The Czechoslovak Church under Pressure," T h e
W o rld T o d a y 38, no. 9 (September 198a), pp. 358-59.
49. A k t u e ln o s t i K rsca n sk e Sad asn josti A K S A (Zagreb), July 9, 1982.
50. K eston N e w s Service, no. 287 (November 5, 1987), p. r4.
51. Ibid., no. 266 (January 8, 1987), p. t3.
52. Ibid., no. 286 (October 22, 1987), p. 9.
53. L e M o n d e (Paris), July 8, 1986, p. 6; and Keston N e w s Service, no. 289 (December
3, 1987), p. r8.
54. In fo rm a ce o c irk v i, 1987, no. 9, as cited in Czechoslovak Situation Report, R a d io
F ree E u ro p e R esearch , November 27, 1987, pp. 20-21.
5 5. T h e E c o n o m ist (London), December 19,1987, p. 47; S ü d d eu tsch e Z e itu n g (Munich),
December t9-2o, 2987, p. 7; and N e w York T im es, December 29, 1987, p. 4, and
December 20, 1987, p. 24.
56. A K S A , April 26, 2985.
57. Radio Prague, April 10, 1985, quoted in Czechoslovak Situation Report, R a d io Free
E u ro p e R esea rch , May 13, 1985, p. 3.
58. A K S A , April 26, 2985.
5 9 . J- P- Flensley, "Slovakia's Catholic Resurgence," in N e w Leader, July 1-2 5, 2985,
p. 20; Profil (Vienna), July 25, 2985, p. 40; and In form ace o c irk v i, 2985, no. 8,
trans. into German under the title "Repressionen und Schikanen: Zur Lage der
Katholischen Kirche in der Tschechoslowakei/' O steuropa 36, no. 7 (July 2986),
P- A393.
60. Paul Wilson, "Plastic People," oral presentation at a conference on "Contempo­
rary Religious Movements in Central Europe," University of Michigan, Ann Arbor,
October 4, 2987.
ft i. K eston N e w s Service, no. 282 (August 20, 2987), p. 22.
62. N o v a M y s l (Prague), 2986, no. 9, pp. 205-24, as cited in Czechoslovak Situation
Report, R a d io Free E urope R esearch, November 24, 2986, p. 23.
63. P ravd a (Bratislava), September 17, 298a, p. 2, trnns. in Foreign Broadcast Informa­
tion Service, D a ily Report (Eastern Europe), September 23, 2982, p. l)io.
 Notes to Chapter 12 473

64. "Clericalism, therefore, cannot be understood as an autonomous phenomenon

which is independent of the class division of society. Contemporary Catholic cler­
icalism, whether the Church is aware of it or not, objectively serves capitalism
and acts as an apologist for bourgeois society." N o va M y s l, ^84, no. ro, trans. in
Joint Publications Research Service, East Europe Report, no. EPS-85-003 (January
7, 1985), P- 3 7 -

C H A PTER 12

1. For the nationality problem of Greater Hungary, see C. A. Macartney's short but
illuminating treatment in H ungary, A Short H isto ry (Chicago: Aldine, 1962), pp.
r 82-90. For more detailed analyses see the standard works by R. W. Seton-Watson,
R a c ia l P ro b le m s in H u n g a ry (London: Constable, 1908) and T h e So uth ern Sla v
Q u estio n a n d the H absb u rg M o n a rch y (London: Constable, 1911); Oscar Jaszi,
T h e D isso lu tio n o f the H absb urg M o n a rch y (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1929); the introductory chapter in C. A. Macartney, H u n gary a n d H er Su cce sso rs:
T h e T re a ty o f Trianon an d Its C o n seq u en ces, 1 9 1 9 - 1 9 3 7 (Oxford: Oxford Uni­
versity Press, 1937), pp. 1 —40, preceded by an extremely useful bibliography on
pp. xiii-xxi; and Robert A. Kann, T he M u ltin atio n al E m pire, 2 vols. (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1950). Among the numerous Hungarian studies the
most thorough is by Gabor G. Kemeny, A m a g ya t n em zetiseg i k erd es t o r t e n e t e a
n e m z e tise g i k erd es a to rven yek es tervezetek tiikreben, 1 7 9 0 - 1 9 1 8 (The History
of the Hungarian Nationality Question; the Nationality Question in the Mirror of
Laws and Bills, 179 0 -^ 18 ) (Budapest: Gergely, 1 9 4 7 )-
2. See my study, "Nationality and Religion in Hungary, r867-i9r8," E ast E u ropean
Q u a rte rly 1 7 , no. 1 (March 1983)^ pp. 41-56.
3. The most comprehensive accounts in English of the interwar history of Hungary,
and also of the fate of Hungarians in the lost territories, are by C. A. Macartney,
O cto b e r F ifte e n th ; a H isto ry of M o d ern H ungary, 1 9 2 9 / 1 9 4 5 , 2 vols., rev. ed. (Edin­
burgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1956—57) and Macartney, H u n g a ry a n d H er S u c ­
cessors. See also Gabor Salacz, A M agyar k a to lik u s egyhdz a sz o m sze d o s d lla m o k
u ralm a alatt (The Hungarian Catholic Church under the Domination of the Neigh­
boring States) (Munich: Aurora, 1975); Leslie Laszlo, C h u rch a n d State in H un gary,
1 9 1 9 - 1 9 4 5 (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1973).
4. Examples of falsification and distortion of history and its damaging effect on the
national consciousness are given by Gyorgy Haas, "Nemzeti tudatunk a 70-es es-
ztendok vegen" (Our National Consciousness in the Late Seventies), K a to lik u s
S z e m le (Rome) 32, no. 4 (Winter t98o), pp. 293-308. Less critical is George Barany,
"Hungary: From Aristocratic to Proletarian Nationalism," in N a tio n a lism in E a st- y
ern Europe, ed. Peter F. Sugar and Ivo J. Lederer (Seattle: University of Washington
Press, 1969), pp. 259-309. In Barany's view there was a rather remarkable continuity
in the national ethos even under communism.
5. Fear and hatred of the conquerors and occupiers also applies to their language. The
average Hungarian shows an almost incurable dislike of the Slavic languages. This
47 4 Religion and Nationalism

may explain the amazing fact that after some thirty-five years of obligatory Russian
in all schools at all levels, it is still difficult to find in Hungary someone with even
a rudimentary knowledge and speaking ability in Russian.
6. After years of exile in Moscow, Râkosi and his closest collaborators, Gero, Farkas,
and Vas, returned to Hungary and to power on the "baggage train" of the Red Army.
They were dubbed "Muscovites," meaning that they were totally subservient to
their Soviet masters. Râkosi later bragged about his own cleverness in not having
frontally attacked the opposing majority, but rather cutting them up bit by bit, "like
Hungarian salami [which] should be cut into very thin slices."
7. A complete edition of his speeches, pastoral letters, official correspondence, and
various other documents is available in Hungarian and German: Josef Vecsey, ed.,
M in d s z e n t y O k m â n y t â i (Mindszenty Documents], 3 vols. (Munich: Ledermiiller
Oliver, 1957)- A selection of these is to be found in C a rd in a l M in d s z e n ty Sp e a k s:
^ A u t h o riz e d W h ite B o o k (New York: Longmans, Green, 1949].
8. The number of participants in the festivities of the Marian Year of 1947-48 was
estimated to have reached 4.5 million. Since Mindszenty appeared in person and
spoke to the crowd in every town and at every shrine, he must have been heard by
well over 2 million people.
9. C a rd in a l M in d s z e n ty Speaks, pp. 1 1 8 - 2 1 .
10. Ibid.,pp. 112 -16 , 198-204. He also protested the deportation of the Swabians (ethnic
Germans) from Hungary, ibid., pp. 139-42. When his interventions with the au­
thorities proved fruitless, he issued a joint pastoral letter with all the bishops, in
which they solemnly condemned the expulsion of Hungarians from Czechoslo­
vakia and Germans from Hungary and their resettlement away from their ancient
homeland. Ibid., pp. 143-48.
11. Ibid., pp. 223-30.
12. The government's case was presented in the so-called Yellow Book, D o c u m e n ts
on th e M in d s z e n ty C a se (Budapest: Hungarian State Publishing House, 1949) and
in the so-called Black Book, T h e Trial of Jô zsef M in d sz e n ty (Budapest: Hungarian
State Publishing House, 1951). During the sensational show trial Ivan Boldizsâr,
then head of the Ministry of Information, at a press conference on February 4, 1949,
complained about the b b c for its broadcasting that "Mindszenty will stand as a
brilliant example, a hero in the annals of world freedom" and asked the foreign
correspondents to "make it plain to your readers that Mindszenty is not a brave
man or a hero.. . . You should make it clear that he is actually very weak and pitiful.
You should try to make it plain that he is not a hero of freedom." N e w York T im es,
February 5, 1949, p. 2.
13. Perhaps the most notorious was Jânos Péter, the Calvinist bishop of the Trans-
Tisza District (Debrecen), the most prominent post in the Hungarian Presbyterian
church. Ignominiously deposed during the 1956 revolution, he did not "pardon"
his congregation later on when "order was restored" and he refused their "humble
request" for his return. Instead, he became Kâdâr's minister of foreign affairs and
publicly stated that in his heart he always was an atheist! A most revealing collec­
tion of writings by the Protestant leaders of the time—full of praise of and gratitude
 Notes to Chapter 12 475

toward the communists—was published under the title F iv e Years o f P rotestan tism , ,/
1945-1950 (Budapest: Hungarian Church Press, 1950). It should be noted that there
were fellow travelers also among the Catholic clergy; however, since the episcopate
remained faithful and obedient to the Holy See, the so-called peace priests never
attained the same importance and usefulness for the regime, either for domestic or
for foreign propaganda purposes, as did the Protestant leadership.
14. See Leslie Laszlo, "The Agreement between the Hungarian Government and the
Catholic Episcopate" (M.A. thesis, Columbia University, 1958). The texts of the
agreements with the churches are printed in Vladimir Gsovski, ed., C h u rc h a n d
t State b e h in d the iro n C u rtain (New York: Praeger, 1955), pp. 134-41.

r 15. A careful analysis of the 225 major demands broadcast by the revolutionary radio
stations between October 23 and November 9, 1956, shows the overriding concern
for national independence and political reform (in the sense of greater democratic
freedoms), with surprisingly low priority given to economic betterment. This con­
firms the impression that the revolt was against foreign domination and an alien
political system imposed on an unwilling population. Imre Kovacs, ed., Facts ab ou t
H u n g a ry (New York: Hungarian Committee, 1958), pp. 89-106.
16. Bennett Kovrig, "Hungary," in C o m m u n ism in Eastern Europe, ed. Teresa
Rakowska-Harmstone and Andrew Gyorgy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1 9 7 9 ), P- 7 9 -
17. I am in total agreement with Nandor F. Dreisziger who in "Commentary on Peter
Pastor 'Official Nationalism in Hungary since 1964"' insists that a sharp distinc­
tion must be made between, on the one hand, the views and motives of the party
and the government, including the army's high command and, on the other, the
Hungarian masses, "which were driven by Russophobia and traditional national­
ism. If we do not make this differentiation, we come dangerously close to accepting
the Trotskyist interpretation that the 1956 uprising was a workers' revolution for
the attainment of a truly communistic society." In N a tio n a lism in the U S S R a n d
Eastern E u rope in the Era of B re z h n e v a n d K osygin, ed. George W. Simmonds (De­
troit: University of Detroit Press, 1977), pp. 442. I might add that, with few excep­
tions, the generally accepted view in East and West is that, while Imre Nagy and
other communist intellectuals might have toyed with "national communism" on
the Yugoslav or Polish models, this was not what the Hungarian population wanted.
Their representatives, notably Istvan Bibo, minister of state in Imre Nagy's last
cabinet, advocated the "Third Road" for Hungary, namely national independence,
neutrality, and a political system of pluralistic democracy. Furthermore, those who
stubbornly maintain that Hungarians in 1956 wanted to preserve communism and
fought only against its abuses should consider the following question: Why in less
than ten years (and precisely the years of the worst communist terror and eco­
nomic misery) would the four-fifths of the population who rejected communism in
the relatively free elections of 1945 and again 1947, have changed their minds so
radically? To argue that in ten years a new generation had taken over is obviously
absurd.
18. Pastor, "Official Nationalism in Hungary," p. 411.
476 Religion and Nationalism

19. Leslie Laszlo, "Towards Normalization of Church-State Relations in Hungary," in

R e lig io n a n d A t h e is m in the U S S R a n d Eastern E u io p e, ed. Bohdan R. Bociurkiw
and John Strong (London: Macmillan, 1975), pp. 291-323.
20. Leslie Laszlo, "Religion in a Communist Consumer Society: The Case of Radar's
Hungary," O cc a sio n a l Papers on R eligion in Eastern E urope I, no. 5 (September
1981), pp. T-3. See also Paul Mojzes, C h ristia n -M a rxist D ia lo g u e in Eastern E u rope
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1981), pp. 66-73.
21. Miklos Tomka, "Handing on the Faith," in C h u rch es in So cia list So cieties o f E a st­
ern E urope, ed. Norbert Greinacher and Virgil Elizondo (New York: Seabury, 1982),
pp. 70-73. This volume is no. 154 of the multilingual series C o n c iliu m : R elig io n
in the Eighties.
22. See the excellent, concise study by George Schopflin, T he H u n garian s o f R u m a n ia ,
Minority Rights Group, report no. 37 (London, 2978).
23. A collection of his lectures and articles, addressed to Hungarians and foreign audi­
ences on this theme, was published under the title S z e lle m es erdszak (The Spirit
and Brute Force) (Budapest: Magvetfi, 1978).
24. It was the Catholic monthly V igilia that first began to publish works by Transylva­
nian authors in the early seventies; today it carries contributions from Hungarians
anywhere, East and West. In the West the prestigious quarterly K a to lik u s S z e m le
(Catholic Review) (Rome) has for many years devoted an entire section of every
issue to the problems of the Hungarian minorities in the neighboring states. The
same applies to the Protestants and their press. For example, the r973 Congress
of the Hungarian Protestant Free University in Europe, held in Bern, was devoted
entirely to this theme. The papers presented there were published in two volumes
under the title N e m z e tise g i k ise b b se g — k ise b b se g i egyhaz (National Minority—
Minority Church) (Munich: Aurora, 1973).
25. For example, badly damaged, dilapidated Transylvanian Calvinist churches were
restored thanks to donations from the Hungarian United church (Presbyterian) of
Canada. On the Catholic side the most generous foreign aid is furnished by German
and Austrian Catholic organizations.
26. "National Minorities and the German Catholic Church in Rumania," in C h u rc h e s
in S o cia list S o cieties, ed. Greinacher and Elizondo, pp. 25-26.
27. Alfred Reisch, "Hungary Seeks to Make Minority Rights an International Issue,"
R a d io Free E u rope R esearch , April 3, 1987, pp. n - 1 7 .
28. R e fo rm a tu so k Lap ja , December 2 r-28, 1986.
29. O j E m b e r, January 4, t987.
30. Official statistics about nationality or mother tongue are notoriously unreliable.
Estimates about the number of Hungarians in Czechoslovakia range between
400,000 and 600,000; in Yugoslavia between 500,000 and 600,000; in the USSR
between 150,000 and 200,000; in Romania between 1,800,000 and 2,100,000. For
a fairly recent review of the situation of these minorities, see Elemer Homonnay,
"The Hungarians in the Communist Successor States since 1964," in N ationalism
in the U S S R , cd. Simmonds, pp. 420-40.
31. It is interesting to note that by now even the Communist government appreciates
the role of the churches in the defence of the Hungarian minorities. See the stale-
 Notes to Chapter 13 477

ments by State Secretary Imre Miklos, chairman of the State Office for Church
Affairs, as quoted by Edith Markos, "Official Seeks Church Cooperation on Social,
Minority Problems," R a d io Free E urope R esearch, May 18, 1987, p. 25.
32. See Leslie Laszlo, "Subversion or Bridge-building? A Study of the Communist Use
of Churches for Propaganda Abroad and Its Effect on the Hungarian Communities
in North America," in the P roceed in gs of the Second Banff Conference on Central
and East European Studies, March 2-5, 1978, vol. 3, pp. 89-102.
33. The only full-fledged Hungarian high school in the West, at Burg Kastl, Germany,
with over five hundred boys and girls in its boarding school, is supported by the
Catholic church (and is also subsidized by the Bavarian and the German federal
governments). The best attended weekend Hungarian language school in North
America is the one operated in St. Elizabeth parish in Toronto, with an enrollment
of about four hundred children each year.
34. The Boy Scouts (and Girl Guides), banned in Hungary since 1946, embrace thou­
sands of young Hungarians in all continents, always in close cooperation with the
local Hungarian churches.

C H A P T E R 13

Part of the research for this chapter was made possible through the assistance of a
research grant from the American Council of Learned Societies, financed in part by
the National Endowment for the Humanities.
1 . Ivan Cvitkovic, "Stavovi suvremenih teologa o odnosu religije i religijskih zajednica
prema politici u socijalizmu," P o litick a m isa o 15, no. 4 (1978), p. 653.
2. Edvard Kardelj, R a z v o j slo ven ack o g n acion alnog pitanja, 2d ed. (Belgrade: Kultura,
1957); Edvard Kardelj, "O naciji i medjunacionalnim odnosima," T re ci program ,
no. 40 (Winter 1979); Atif Purivatra, "Stav komunisticke partije Jugoslavije prema
nacionalnom pitanju u Bosni i Hercegovini," in N a c io n a ln i odn osi danas, ed. Milan
Petrovic and Kasim Suljevic (Sarajevo: Univerzal, 1971); Krste Crvenkovsi, M e d ju -
n a cio n a ln i o d n o si u sam oup ravnom d ru stvu (Belgrade: Sedma sila, 1967); Hamdija
Pozderac, N a c io n a ln i odn osi i so cija listick o z a je d n istvo (Sarajevo: Svjetlost, 1978);
and Jovan Raicevic, "Savez komunista fugoslavije i nacionalno pitanje," in K PJ-
SK J: R a z v o j teorije i p ra k se so cija lizm a , 1919-1979 (Belgrade: Savremena adminis-
tracija, 1979). See also Walter Lukan, "Zur nationalen Frage eines kleinen Volkes:
Edvard Kardeljs Darstellung zur Entwicklung der nationalen Frage bei den Slove-
nen,"in Ö ste rre ich isch e O sth efte 15, no. 4 (November 1973), and 16, no. 1 (February
1 9 7 4 )-
3. This was admitted by Bozidar Gagro, president of the Socialist Alliance of Work­
ing People of Croatia, when he told N I N in early 1982 that memories of World
War II constitute one of the most important obstacles to overcoming tensions and
frictions, especially where relations between the state and the Catholic church
are concerned. Reported in A k tu a ln o sti K rscan sk e Sadasn josti, Informativni bilten
(hereinafter, A K S A ), March 19, 1982.
4. I was told by certain Serbian Orthodox clergy in Belgrade in July 1982 that the
478 Religion and Nationalism

rosy picture painted by the regime of harmonious and unruffled relations between
the Serbian Orthodox church and the l c y is, even leaving aside the issue of the
Macedonian Orthodox church, fallacious and illusory. This was reaffirmed when I
visited Belgrade in June and July 1987.
5. See Branislav Djurdjev, U loga crk ve u starijoj isto rijii Sipsko g n a io d a (Sarajevo:
Svjetlost, 1964), p. 55.
6. Ivo Pilar, D ie S ü d sla w isch e Frage u n d der W eltkrieg (Vienna: Manzsche K. u.
K. Hof-, Verlags- u. Universitäts-Buchhandlung, 1918), pp. r70, r85, 195, 213, 3 13 -
t4. A recent example of the argument that Bosnian Muslims are Croats is Mladen
Dolic, "Narodna svijest i zrtve Bosansko-hercegovackih muslimana," R e p u b lik a
H rv a tsk a (Buenos Aires) 36, no. 154 (September 1986). For an argument that Bosnian
Muslims are Serbs, see Lazo M. Rustic, E tn ic k i odn osi B o sn e i H erceg o vin e (Mu­
nich: Iskra, 2967). For an elaborate analysis of competing theories about the eth­
nicity of Bosnia's Muslims, see Pedro Ramet, "Primordial Ethnicity or Modern
Nationalism: The Case of Yugoslavia's Muslims," N a tio n a litie s Papers 13, no. 2
(Fall 1985).
7. Interestingly enough, the Croatian monasteries were excluded from the ban. See
M a li k lju c p o v ije sti crk ve u H rvata, 3d ed. (Zagreb: Nadbiskupski duhovni stol,
1981), p. 117.
8. Ibid., p. r 36; John V. A. Fine, Jr., T he B osn ian C h u rc h : A N e w Interpretation (Boul­
der, Colo.: East European Monographs, 1975), pp. 3-4, 1 5 ,51-S2; and Jaroslav Sidak,
S tu d ije o 'c rk v i b o sa n sk o j’ i b o g u m ilstvu (Zagreb: S. N. Liber, 1975), pp. 87, 89.
9. P re g le d (Sarejevo), April t970, translated in Joint Publications Research Service
(j p r s ), T ran slation s on Eastern Europe, July 6, 1970; and Fine, B o sn ia n C h u rch , pp.
ro -ri, 14 -15, r8-T9.
10. Fine, B o sn ia n C h u rch , p. 342.
11. Harold W. V. Temperley, H isto ry o f Serbia (New York: Howard Fertig, 1969), p. 125;
and Djurdjev, U loga crk ve, pp. 144-45.
12. Keith Hitchins, O rth o d o x y a n d N a tio n a lity : A n d r e iu §aguna a n d the R u m a n ia n s
o f T ra n sylva n ia , 1 8 4 6 - 1 8 7 3 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977),
pp. 185-86.
13. Oscar Jaszi, T he D isso lu tio n o f the H absburg M o n a rch y (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1929), p. 264.
14. Ivan Muzic, H rvatska p o litik a i jugoslaven sk a id e ja (Split, 1969), pp. 15, 9.
15. This section draws liberally from my essay, "From Strossmayer to Stepinac: Croa­
tian National Ideology and Catholicism," C anad ian R e v ie w o f S tu d ie s in N a t io n ­
a lism 12, no. i (Spring 1985).
16. Reinhard Lauer, "Genese und Funktion des illyrischen Ideologems in den südslawi­
schen Literaturen (16. bis Anfang des 19. Jahrhunderts)," in E th n ogen ese u n d Staats­
b ild u n g in Südosteuropa, ed. Klaus-Detlev Grothusen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
und Ruprecht, 1974), p. 119.
17 . See Ante Kadic, "Krizanic and His Predecessors—The Slavic Idea among the Croa­
tian Baroque Writers," in furaj K rizan ic ( r 6 r 8 - i 6 8 i ) : R u sso p h ile a n d E c u m e n ic
V isio n a ry, ed. Thomas Eekman and Ante Kadid (The Hague: Mouton, 1976).
iH. For a detailed discussion of Strossmayer, see Charles Joseph Slovak III, /osip Ju r a j
 Notes to Chapter 13 479

Strossm ayer, A B a lk a n B ish o p : T he E a rly Years, r S r $ - r 8 s 4(Unpublished Ph.D.

diss.: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1974).
19. In 1982, Stevan Niksic and Milan Milosevic defended Strossmayer against unnamed
critics and repudiated Croatian nationalist claims that Strossmayer's "Yugoslav-
ism" was actually a poorly disguised species of Croatian nationalism. See N I N ,
no. 1625 (February 21, 1982), p. 12.
20. See Mario S. Spalatin, "The Croatian Nationalism of Ante Starcevic, 1845-1871,"
Jou rn al o f C ro atian S tu d ies 16 (1975).
21. Quoted in Muzic, H rvatska po litik a , p. 43.
22. Andrija Nikic, "Franjevci u Hercegovini od 1878. do 1892. godine," K a cic 10 (1978),
pp. 180, 219.
23. Viktor Novak, V elika optuzba (M agnum C rim en ) (Sarajevo: Svjetlost, i960), vol. 1,
PP- S3 , 58-66.
24. Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 155-56.
25. Fred Singleton, T w e n tie th C e n tu ry Y u goslavia (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1976), p. 196.
26. Quoted in Fikreta Jelic-Butic, U stase i N D H (Zagreb: S. N. Liber and Skolska knjiga,
1977), P- 215-
27. See Ernest Bauer, A lo is iu s K ardin al Step in ac: Ein L eb en fü r W ahrheit, R echt, u n d
G e re c h tig k e it (Recklinghausen: Georg Bitter, 1979); O. Aleksa Benigar, A lo jz ije
Step in ac, H rv a tsk i k a rd in a l (Rome: Ziral, 1974); Anthony O'Brien, A r c h b is h o p
Step in a c: T h e M a n an d H is C a se (Dublin: Standard House, 1947); and Richard
Pattee, T h e C a se o f C a rd in a l A lo y s iu s Stepinac (Milwaukee: Bruce, 1953). A very
slanted biography is Ivan Cvitkovic's K o Je bio A lo jz ije Stepinac, 2d ed. (Sarajevo:
Oslobodjenje, 1986).
28. Novak, V elika optu zb a, vol. 2, p. 125.
29. Quoted in Carlo Falconi, T he S ilen ce of P iu s X , trans. Bernard Wall (Boston: Little,
Brown, t97o), p. 327.
30. Ivona Doncevic, "Scherben jugoslawischer Einigkeit," in K roatisch e B erich te,
January-April 1981, p. 14. For details, see Benigar, A lo jz ije Stepinac, pp. 502-3.
31. Robert J. Donia, Isla m u nder the D o u b le E agle: T he M u slim s of B o sn ia a n d H e rc e ­
g o vin a , r 8 j 8 - r 9 r 4 (Boulder, Colo.: East European Monographs, 1981), p. 98. Under
Ottoman law, the testimony of one Balkan Muslim carried the same weight as that
of twenty Christians.
32. As a research scholar, Benjamin von Källay concluded that Muslim Bosnians, Serbs,
and Croats were all members of the same nationality. As governor of Bosnia-
Herzegovina, he banned his own book (in which he had argued the grounds for South
Slav unity) and forbade its distribution in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Herbert Adams Gib­
bons, T h e N e w M a p o f Europe, r 9 r r - r 9 t 4 (New York: Century, 1916), p. i6on.
33. Donia, Isla m u n d er the D o u b le Eagle, pp. 140-41.
34. Ibid., p. 177.
35. Quoted in Kasim Suljevic, N a cio n a ln o st M u slim a n a (Rijeka: Otokar Kersovani,
1981), p .15 3 . ^
36. Jovo JakSic, Ustavno pitanje u Jugoslaviji (Belgrade, 1934), p. 14, as cited in Suljevic,
N acionalnost M uslim ana, p. 165.
480 Religion and Nationalism

37- Paul R. Brass, "Ethnie Groups and Nationalities," in E th n ie D iv e rs it y a n d C o n flic t

in E astern Europe, ed. Peter F. Sugar (Santa Barbara, Calif.: a b c - C U o , 1980), p. xx.
38. Robin Okey, Eastern Europe, 1 7 4 0 - 1 9 8 0 (London: Hutchinson, 1982], p. 106.
39. Jaszi, D isso lu tio n , p. 69.
40. See, for instance, Politika, May 10, 1972, p. 8.
41. Stevan K. Pavlowitch, "The Orthodox Church in Yugoslavia: The Problem of the
Macedonian Church," Eastern C h u rch es R e v ie w 1, no. 4 (Winter 1967-68), pp. 380-
8r,
42. See "Makedonska erkva samovoljno se otcepila od majke Srpske erkve," Pravo-
s la v lje , September 15, 1967, pp. 1-2.
43. Pavlowitch, "Orthodox Church," p. 382; and "Die 'autokephale Mazedonische
Kirche/" W isse n sch a fth e h e r D ie n st Südosteuropa 16, no. 8 (August 1967), p.
139-
44. Done Ilievski, "The Fifth Anniversary of the Macedonian Orthodox Church," M a c e ­
d o n ia n R e v ie w 2, no. 2 (1972), p. 2 1 3 .
45. N I N , March 5, 1972, p. 25, trans. in foint Translation Service, no. 6190.
46. Interviews with the author, Belgrade, July 1982 and July 1987.
47. B o rb a , July 18, 1982, p. 3; and V jesn ik , July 19, 1982, p. 12.
48. N o v a M a k e d o n ija , Sabota supplement, October 10, 1981, p. 5, trans. in jp r s , E ast
E u ro p e Report, no. 79748 (December 29, 1981), p. 38.
49. Singleton, T w e n tie th C e n tu ry Yugoslavia, p. 229; and Christopher Cviic, "Recent
Developments in Church-State Relations in Yugoslavia," R elig io n in C o m m u n is t
L a n d s i, no. 2 (March-April 1973), p. 8.
50. See V e sn ik : O rgan Saveza udru zen og P ravoslavn og svesten stva fu g o sla vije [here­
inafter, V e sn ik ], January 1- 15 , 197t, p. ro; and February 1, 1971, p. 7.
51. See V esn ik , April 1, 1971, p. 7.
52. See, for example, V esn ik , January 25, 1967, p. 4; February 1, 1967, p. 2-, March 1,
1967, p. 8; and August 1-15 , 1971, p. 5. Also Politika, December 12, 1970, p. 6,
trans. into German under the title "Die Kirche als Gralshüterin Nationalen Be­
wusstseins," O steu ropa 2 1 , no. 5 (May 1971), PP- A335-A336; and P ra vo sla vlje,
May 25, 2987, p. 2.
53. Quoted in Michael B. Petrovich, "Yugoslavia: Religion and the Tensions of a Multi-
National State," E a st European Q u a rterly 6, no. 1 (March 19 7 2 ), p. 122.
54. P ra vo sla vlje , May 25, 1982, p. 1.
55. A K S A , May 4 and 21, 1982. See also Pravoslavlje, February 15, 1982, p. 2.
56. See D an as, June r, 1982, pp. 23-24, and June 22, 1982, pp. 24-25; and V je sn ik ,
S e d a m dana supplement, May 29, 1982, p. 19, and June 19, 1982, p. 29.
57. V esn ik , May 1987, pp. 1, 3.
58. P ra vo sla vlje , July 15, 2987, p. 13.
59. Interview with the author, Belgrade, June 1987.
60. Reported in A K S A , May 8, 1987.
61. N I N , no. 1900 (March 22, 1987), pp. 20-22.
62. C la s konclla, August 2, 1987, p. 2.
63. Interviews with the author, Belgrade, July 1982 and July 1987. See also O slobod
jen je, September 18— 24, 1981.
 Notes to Chapter 1 3 481

64. Y u g o sla via : F reed o m to C on form (New York: U.S. Helsinki Watch Committee,
August i, 1982), pp. 13-14.
65. On appeal, the prison term was eventually reduced to 2.5 years.
6 6 . Tanjug, October 28, 1972, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. 57563 (November

20, 1972). See also Borba, October 24, 1970, p. 11.

67. T h e G u a rd ia n (Manchester), April 17, 1978, p. 7> N e d je ljn a D a lm a cija , June 6,
1971, pp. 5, 1 0 , trans. in j p r s , E ast E urope Report, no. 53764 (August 5, 1971); G la s
k o n cila , June rs, 1969, p. i; C roatia Press 32, nos. 1-2 (April-June 1979)/ P- 4 : and
G la s k o n cila , July 12, 1981, p. 2, excerpted and trans. in j p r s , East E urope Report,
no. 78682 (August 5, 1981), p. 44.
68. V je sn ik , February 27, 1980, p. 5.
69. Tomislav Sagi-Bunic, "Krscanstvo i nacionalizam," G la s k o n cila , June 15, 1969, pp.
4, 6. See also Tomislav J. Sagi-Bunic, K atolicka crk va i h rv a tsk i n a ro d (Zagreb:
Krscanska sadasnjost, 1983).
70. Quoted in D an as, as cited in Tanjug, January 11, 1983, in Foreign Broadcast Infor­
mation Service (p b i s ), D a ily Report (Eastern Europe), January 12, 1983, p. I7.
71. Franjo Cardinal Kuharic, in interview with Veritas, March 1987, excerpted in G la s
k o n cila , March 8, 1987, p. 3.
72. Fran k fu rter A llg e m e in e , June 23 and July 2, 1983, as summarized in N o v a H rvatska,
July 17, 1983, p. 15.
73. O slo b o d je n je , January 12, 1972, p. 5; and W ashington Post, January 23, i 9 7 2,
p. A-25.
74. B orba, October 9, 1970, p. 6.
75. N a sa , December 25, 1971, quoted in O slo b o d je n je , March 11, 1972, p. 17, trans. in
j p r s , E ast E u rope Report, no. 55581 (March 30, 1972.).

76. B orba, January 2r, 1972.

77. V je sn ik , Se d a m dana s u p p le m e n t, A p r i l 28, 1 9 7 9 , P- 19 -
78. W ashin gton Post, January 23, 1972, p. A-25.
79. Interview with the author, Zagreb, July 1982.
80. See Stipe Suvar, N a cio n a ln o i n a cio n a listick o (Split: Marksisticki centar, 1974), pp.
222, 332 .- 3 4 -
81. Quoted in D ie W elt (Bonn, September 11, 1979)/ P- 5 -
82. Tanjug, July 27, 1981, trans. in p b i s , D a ily R eport (Eastern Europe), July 28, 1981,
p. I13.
83. B orba, June 6, 1981, p. 11.
84. Quoted in D an as, February 10, 1987, p. 24.
85. B orba, November 10, 1986, p. 2; and V jesn ik , November 11, 1986, p. 5.
86. V je sn ik , April 14, 1980, p. 5.
87. A K S A , December 4, 1981.
88. V ecern ji h s t (Zagreb), September 14, 1983, as cited in AKSA, October 16, 1983.
89. N I N , no. 1208 (March 3, 1974), trans. into German under the title "Streit um die
Anerkennung der bosnisch-herzegowinischen Mohammedaner als Nation," O ste u ­
ropa 25, no. 4 (April 1975)/ PP- A238-A240.
90. "Staat und Nationalität in Jugoslawien," W issen sch a ftlich er D ie n st Sü dosteu rop a
19, no. 8 (August 1970)/ PP- 113-14 -
482 Religion and Nationalism

91. "Moslem dissent in Jugoslavia," Foreign Report, October 17, 1970, p. 6.

92. Fuad Muhic, interview in Start, no. 283 (November 28-December 12, 1979), pp.
13 - 1 4 -
93. B orba, May ro, 1972, p. 5; and interview with the author, Sarajevo, June 1980.
Similarly, a proposal to organize an association of Muslims who had been to Mecca
was disapproved by Bosnian authorities on the grounds that it was unnecessary,
discriminatory, and potentially dangerous. See O slo b o d je n je , October 5, 1971, p. 3,
trans. in tprs, E a st E urope Report, no. 54338 (October 28, 1971).
94. Ivan Cvitkovic, Sa v e z k o m u n ista i religiia, i d enl. ed. (Sarajevo: Oslobodjenje,
1985), pp. 35, 46, citing Djozo Husein, "Islam i Musliman," G la s n ik vrh o vn o g is-
la m sk o g sta rjesin stva 33, nos. 5-6 (1970); and Preporod, no. 26 (1971).
95. Stipe Suvar, "There Is Never Enough Equality," N a se tem e, no. n (November 1980),
trans. in j p r s , E ast E urope Report, no. 77506 (March 4, 1981), pp. 43-44.
96. V je sn ik , January 29, T981, p. 12.
97. Preporod, November 15, 1982, p. and N e u e Z ü rc h e r Z eitu n g , September 3, 1983,
p. 5.
98. V ecern je n o vo sti (Belgrade), July 2, 1981.
99. "The Islamic Declaration," trans. in South Slav Journal 6, no. 1 (Spring 1983), pp.
68, 82.
100. A r c h iv d e r G eg en w a rt, August 20, 1983, p. 26903.
roi. K eston N e w s S e rvice , no. 276 (May 28, 1987), p. 12, and no. 278 (June 25, 1987), pp.
4-5; and V je sn ik , June 6, 1987, p. Г2.
ю г. B orba, October 10, 1970, p. n , and October 21, 1970, p. 4.

CH APTER 14

1. The best historical work on Romania is still R. W. Seton-Watson, A H isto ry o f the

R o u m a n ia n s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1934).
2. Ibid.
3. E.g., Keith Hitchins, O rth o d o x y a n d N a tio n a lity : A n d r e iu §aguna a n d the R u m a ­
n ia n s o f T ra n sylva n ia , 1846-1873 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1977), especially chap. 7.
4. See, for example, Keith Hitchins, The R u m an ian N a tio n a l M o v e m e n t in T ra n sy l­
van ia, r j 8 o - r 8 4 9 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969), especially
chaps. 5 and 6.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid., pp. 113-20, 208-20; and Hitchins, O rth o d o x y a n d N a tio n a lity , pp. 3-5, 200-
205, 220-25.
7. Seton-Watson, H isto ry o f the R ou m an ian s, chaps. 9 -11.
8. For a thorough discussion of the uprising of Tudor, see Andrei Otetea, T u d o r V la d i-
m ire scu si R e v o lu tia din 1 8 2 1 (Bucharest: Editura Stiintiflca, 1971).
9. Andrei Otetea, Istoria Pop o ru lu i R om an (Bucharest: Editura Stiintiflca, 1970), pp.
475 - 87 -
 Notes to Chapter 14 483

10. E.g., Hugh Seton-Watson, T h e East European R evo lu tio n (New York: Praeger, 1968),
pp. 60-65.
11. Hitchins, O rth o d o x y a n d N a tio n a lity , esp. chap. 3.
12. Ibid., esp. pp. 240-45.
13. Ibid., chap. 8.
14. Hitchins, R u m a n ia n N a tio n a l M o vem en t, pp. 207-18. Anothei, earlier document
of Romanian national thought was the Su p p lex L ib e llu s V alach oru m , reprinted in
D. Prodan, S u p p le x L ib e llu s V alachorum (Bucharest: Bibliotheca Historica Roma-
niae, 1971).
15. The main sources utilized in this compilation are the two volumes by HitchinH
(R u m a n ia n N a tio n a l M o v e m e n t and O rth o d o x y a n d N a tio n a lity ), with numerous
references to the individuals throughout both volumes.
16. Seton-Watson, H isto ry o f the R ou m an ians, chap. 17.
17. For a discussion of this point, see Stephen Fischer-Galap, Tw entieth C entury Ho
m an ia (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976], pp. 102-28. See also Scinteia,
March 9, 1963, for a statement on the "Romanian road to socialism."
18. Earl A. Pope, "The Contemporary Religious Situation in Romania" (paper presented
at the Second World Congress for Soviet and East European Studies, Gatmisch,
Germany, 1980), pp. 1-5.
19. I have discussed this heterogeneity in my book M o d ern izatio n in R o m a n ia sin ce
W o rld W ar I I (New York: Praeger, 1975), chap. 8.
20. For a discussion of this, see my "The Communist Party of Romania," in T h e Coin
m u n is t Parties o f Eastern Europe, ed. Stephen Fischer-Galafi (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1979), pp. 284-86.
21. This support is demonstrated by the membership of the main political organs of the
Romanian Communist party (p c r ) as reported in Congresul al X -lea al Parlidu lu i
C om un ist Rom an (Bucharest: Editura Politics, 1969), pp. 749-59.
22. A good example of this element of "Ceau§escuism" is found in his speech to the
Congress of Political Education and Socialist Culture, reported in Scin teia, June ),
1976.
23. Ibid.
24. This theme was sounded repeatedly by the general secretary in his speech to the
twelfth p c r congress in November 1979. See Scinteia, November 20, 1979.
25. See, for example, S cin teia T in eretu lu i, January 25, 1986.
26. This policy has not been appreciated by all Romanian writers and artists, however.
See, for example, the literary critic Alex Stefanescu in C onvorbiri Literate (latji|,
no. 1981.
27. Agerpres, February 27, 1987.
28. An example of this ambivalence is the election of a new Orthodox patriarch In
June 1977. The new church leader, Justin Moisescu (metropolitan of Moldavia and
Suceava), was received by Nicolae Ceau§escu at the state council on June 18, 1977.
See Romanian Situation Report, R adio Free Europe Research, June 22, 1977. The
Uniatcs, on the other hand, arc not as fortunate. Pope John Paul II, in consecrating
nine new bishops, including the Romanian Trnian Crisan, spoke about continued
484 Religion and Nationalism

persecution of Uniates in Romania and the Vatican's concern over this practice.
See u p i , January 4 and 6, 1982; and the discussion in R a d io Free E u rope R esearch ,
January 26, 1982.
29. The policy of church demolitions was defended by the "court poet" Vadim Tudor
in the weekly Sap tam in a (Bucharest), January 10, 1986.
30. Even the Orthodox church, which has traditionally had good relations with the
regime, is now suffering under harsher restrictions. See, for example, Romanian
Situation Report, R a d io Free Europe R esearch, March 6, 1987, pp. 29-31.
31. E.g., Ceau§escu's speech to the p c r Central Committee in 1971, establishing the
ideological campaign, in Scinteia, January 6, 1971.
32. For example, S cin teia T ineretulu i, December 21, 1985, attacked the Jehovah's Wit­
nesses for this. In January 1986 there were trials of Evangelical Christians. See
K eston N e w s S e rvice , no. 244 (February 20, 1986), p. 7.
33. Regime policies against the Uniates, Roman Catholics, and various Protestant
groups have been discussed in Peter J. Babris, Silen t C h u rch e s: Persecu tion o f R e li­
g io n s in the S o vie t-D o m in a te d A r e a s (Arlington Heights, 111.: Research Publishers,
1978), PP- 347 - 5 7 -
34. This cult pertains to Elena Ceau§escu as well. See the panegyrics to her on her
birthday, e.g., Ilie Purcaru in Lu ceafarul, January 4, 1986; and Narcis Zarnescu in
Sa p ta m in a , January 4, 1986.
3 5. One of the most recent changes, involving a number of high party and government
officials, occurred in November 1981. See Romanian Situation Report, R a d io Free
E u ro p e R esearch , December 3, 1981.
36. An example of this is Ceau§escu's speech to the second congress of Working Peo­
ple's Councils in 1981, in which he blasted cynicism, mismanagement, waste, and
corruption. See Scin teia, June 26, 1981.
37. Pope, "Contemporary Religious Situation." Marin Preda, a well-known Romanian
writer who died in May 1980, described, in his last novel, T h e M o st B e lo v e d o f
E a rth lin g s, the moral stultification of life under a restrictive political system.
38. Pope, "Contemporary Religious Situation," esp. pp. 44-47.
39. Emigration of ethnic Germans is being allowed (albeit on a small, controlled scale),
because of Romania's need for good relations with West Germany. See F rankfurter
A llg e m e in e , January 7 , 1 9 7 8 , p p . 1 - 2 ; October 4 , 1 9 8 4 , p . 3; October 30, 1 9 8 4 , p . i 2 ;
and March 2 1 , 1 9 8 6 , p . I 2 ; and S ü d d eu tsch e Z e itu n g (Munich), December 2 4 - 2 7 ,
1987, P- 5 -
40. The views of some Protestants, as well as the regime's approach to them, have
been discussed in Babris, Silen t C hu rch es, esp. pp. 355-57. For a discussion of the
main manifestations of the Romanian dissident movement in the second half of
the 1970s, see "Dissidents: Additional Signatories to Human Rights Document,"
R a d io F ree E urope R esearch , March 24, 1977.
41. Pope, "Contemporary Religious Situation," pp. 6-7.
4a. Era S o cia lista (Bucharest), April 5, 1982.
43. Vlata Stu den teasca (Bucharest), April 28, 1982.
44. E.g., Scin teia, May 25, 1982.
 Notes to Chapter 15 485

CH APTER 15

This is an extract from a study entitled T h e Bulgarian O rth o d o x C h u rch in M o d e rn

T im e s presently being considered for publication. The research for this study was
partly subsidized by the East Stroudsburg University.
r. Paisii Khilendarski, S lavian o -bu lgarsk a istoria, ed. P. Dinekov (Sofia: Bulgarski
pisatel, 1963), p. 29.
2. Quoted in Todor Subev, U ch red ia va n e i d io tsez na bulgarskata E k z a rk h ia d o 1 8 7 8
g. (Sofia: Sinodalno izdatelstvo, 1973), pp. r7-r8.
3. Richard von Mach, T he Bulgarian Exarchate, its H isto ry a n d the E xten t o f Its A u ­
th o rity in T u rk e y (London: T. Fisher Unwin, t907], p. r 3; Kiril, Patriarkh Bulgarski,
G ra f N . P. Ig n a tiev i bulgarsk iat tsurkoven vupros, iz sle d v a n e i d o k u m e n ti (Sofia:
Sinodalno izdatelstvo, 1958), pp. 127-60; Thomas A. Meininger, Ig n a tiev a n d the
E sta b lish m e n t o f the B ulgarian Exarchate, 1 8 6 4 - 1 8 7 2 : A S tu d y in P erson al D ip lo ­
m acy (Madison, Wis.: State Historical Society, t97o|, pp. t26-7t.
4. Manuil I. Gedeon, Engrafa patrirkh ik a k e sin o d ik a p eri tou vo u lgarikou zitim a to s,
1 8 5 2 - 1 8 7 3 (Constantinople: Patriarkhikou tipografiou, 1908), pp. 427-32.
5. Quoted in Subev, U ch re d ia va n e i diotsez, p. 71.
6. von Mach, B u lgarian Exarchate, pp. 80-81.
7. Io s if I. E k z a rk h B ulgarsk i, Iu b ile e n sborn ik , 1 8 7 7 - 1 9 0 2 , izdava Bulgarskoto kni-
zhovno druzhestvo (Sofia, r904), p. 93.
8. Stefan Tsankov, "Bulgarskata pravoslavna tsurkva ot osvobozhdenieto do nastoy-
ashte vreme," G o d is h n ik n a So fiysk iy a universitet, B o g o slo v sk i fa k u ltet X V I ( 1 9 3 8 -
39 ) (Sofia: Pridvorna pechatnitsa, 1939), p. 229; Christ Anastassov, T h e T ragic
P e n in su la (St. Louis: Blackwell Wielandy, 1938), p. 24s.
9. E n q u e te d a n s le s B a lka n s, Rapport (Lyons: Dotation Carnegie pour la paix Interna­
tionale, 1914), pp. 251-65; Arkhimandrit Evtimi, "Bulgarskata ekzarkhiya v Tsari-
grad," III G o d is h n ik na S o fiysk iya u niversitet, B o g o slo v sk i fa k u ltet X I ( 1 9 3 3 —34 )
(Sofia: Pridvorna pechatnitsa, 1934), pp. 55-56.
ro. The decision to elect an exarch was taken by the Holy Synod on September r8,
1944. See T su rk o v e n vestn ik , no. 29 (July r, 2980); Gerasimou I. Konidari, E arsis
tou vo u lg a rik o u sk h ism ato s, 1 9 3 0 - 3 5 K ai 1 9 4 5 (Thessalonica, 1950), pp. 127-95;
"Naredba-Zakon za izmenenie i dopulnenie na ekzarkhiiskiya ustav," D u rz h a ve n
v e stn ik , no. ir (January 15, 1945I, no. 22 (January 29, 2945); Tsankov, "Bulgarskata
pravoslavna," pp. 275-79.
rr. The documents on Stefan's resignation were published by the Holy Synod in Tsur­
koven v e stn ik , September 21, 2948, and October 7, 2948. Following the resignation,
the former exarch was arrested on December 20,1948, and was kept incommunicado
in a provincial town until his death in 1957. A spurious document, purporting to
be his last testament, has surfaced in a publication of Keston College, England,
R e h g io n in C o m m u n is t L a n d s 7, no. 2 (Summer 2979), according to which the
downfall of the exarch was plotted by the government and the synod. For more on
the subject, see Boncho Asenov, "Khameleoni v rasa/' A te istic h n a tribu na 5 (2983),
PP- 7 3 - 7 7 ; and Spas T. Raikin, "How Not to Write History," Free A g ra ria n Bann er,
nos. 33-34 (December 1983), pp. 45-46.
486 Religion and Nationalism

12. Erich Weingartner, ed., C h u rch w ith in S o cia lism : C h u rch a n d State in E ast E u ro ­
p e a n R e p u b lic s (Rome: International Documentation Centre, 1976), p. 12 1. A differ­
ent translation was published by Robert Tobias, C o m m u n ist-C h ristia n E n co u n ter
in E astern E u rope (Indianapolis: School of Religion Press, 1956), p. 355.
13. T su rk o v e n v e stn ik , nos. 18 -19 (1948). On the fall of Exarch Stefan, see more in
Spas T. Raikin, "The Communists and the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, 1944-1948:
The Rise and Fall of Exarch Stefan," Religion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 1 2 , no. 3 (Winter
1984), pp. 281-92.
14. Vasil Vulkov, "Vurkhoven tsurkoven suvet na Bulgarskata Pravoslavna tsurkva,"
T su rk o v e n vestn ik , no. 15 (May 15, 1978), p. 5. The new bylaws make up a weighty
document of some 240 articles, published as a supplement of T su rk o ven ve stn ik ,
1951.
15. Quoted in T su rk o ven vestn ik , nos. 27-28 (1951).
16. N a ro d e n pastir, nos. 29-30 (1950).
17. N a ro d e n pastir, no. 28 (1951).
18. N a ro d e n pastir, no. 35 (1951).
19. See Todor Subev, "Kiril, Patriarkh Bulgarski," Sla via n i, no. 3 (March 1971), p. 38;
Varnenski i Preslavski Iosif et al., "Istoricheskite izsledvania iziskvat obektivnost,
nepredubedenost, etichnost. Po povod statiyata na Dr. Slavko Dimevski 'Svidetel-
stvo za natsionalno razvitie'," Tsu rk oven vestn ik , no. 4 (February 1, 1979), P- 4 - The
same article appeared also in Slaviani, no. 5 (May 1979).
20. "Akt za izbora na Negovo Sveteishestvo Bulgarskiya Patriarkh Maxim," T su rk o ven
ve stn ik , nos. 26-29 (September n , t97i|.
21. Protodiakon Vasil Veliyanov, "Kanonicheski izbor i intronizatsiya na Negovo Vi-
sokopreosveshtenstvo Slivenskiya Mitropolit Ioanikii," T su rk o ven vestn ik , no. 18
(June 21, 1980), p. 5.
22. Ibid.; T. Koev, "Smolenskiyat episkop Nestor," Tsu rkoven vestn ik , no. 3 (Febru­
ary r, 1981), p. 3; Arkhimandrit Neophit, "Putyat na episkopa kum suvurshen-
stvo," T su rk o ven vestn ik , no. 4 (February n , 1981), p. 2; Todor Tochev, "Negovo
Preosveshtenstvo Krupnishki episkop Gelassii," T su rkoven vestn ik , no. 15 (May
15, 1978), p. 3; Khristo Khristov, "Novoizbraniyat Slivenski Mitropolit Ioanikii,"
T su rk o v e n ve stn ik , no. 6 (June 21, 1980], p. 8.
23. Slivenski Mitropolit Nikodim, "Oshte za neutronnata bomba," T su rk o ven v e stn ik ,
no. 6 (February 21, 1978), p. 1.
24. On the international activities of the church, see Todor Subev, "Pogled vurkhu mezh-
dunarodnoto polozhenie na Bulgarskata pravoslavna tsurkva v nai-novo vreme,"
T su rk o v e n v e stn ik , no. 19 (June 24, 1978), p. 3; Totiu Koev, "Evropeiskata sigurnost
i prinosut na Bulgarskata pravoslavna tsurkva," T su rkoven v e stn ik , no. 15 (May 15,
1978), p. 6; Antony Khubanchev, "Predstoyashtiyat svetoven forum na khristiyan-
skite mirotvortsi," T su rk o ven vestn ik , no. 19 (June 24, 1978), p. 6; and Branitski
Episkop Gerasim, "Blagovestnitsi na mira," Tsu rk oven ve stn ik , no. 23 (August 1,
1 9 7 7 ), P- 4 .
25. Starozagorski Mitropolit Pankrati, "Razoruzhavaneto, povelya na razuma i zov za
khristiyanska suvest," T su rk oven vestn ik, no. 2 (January 11,1980), p. 2.
 Notes to Chapter 15 487

26. Vratchanski Mitropolit Kal'inik, "Prinos v izgrazhdaneto na mira," T su rk o ven v e s t­

n ik , no. 15 (May 21, 1979), p. 1.
27. Starozagorski Mitropolit Pankrati, "Izkazvane," T su rk oven vestn ik , no. 1 (May 21,
1 9 7 9 )-
28. Slavcho Vulchanov, "Na sveshtenna strazha na mira," T su rk o ven vestn ik , no. 2
(January xi, 1980), p. 7.
29. Pankrati, "Izkazvane."
30. Protodiakon V. Veliyanov, "Patriarshesko blagoslovenie na Akronska i Niuyorkska
eparkhia," T su rk o ven vestn ik , no. 31 (December 11, 1978), no. 2 (January 11, 1979);
no. 4 (February 1, 1979); no. 5 (February 12, 1979).
31. Todor Subev, "Deset veka Bulgarska patriarshiya," Slaviani, no. 5 (May 1978), p. 32;
Starozagorski Mitropolit Pankrati, "Chetvurt stoletie vuzstanovena Bulgarska pa­
triarshiya," T su rk o ven vestn ik , nos. 17-18 (June 1, 1978], p. 4.
32. Chavdar Popov, "Religiozniyat zhivot v N. R. Bulgaria," Sla via n i, no. 6 (June 1980],
pp. 36, 41.
33. Marin Bonchev, "Interviyu na Bulgarskiya Patriarkh Maxim pred spisanie S la v ia n i,”
S la via n i, no. 9 (September 1977), p. 32.
34. N a ro d e n pastir, no. 7 (1952).
35. Nevrokopski Metropolit Pimen, "Izkazvane po televisiyata v Mexico," T su rk o ven
v e stn ik , no. 12 (1978). Authoritative sources abroad consulted by this author esti­
mate that the clergy of the Bulgarian Orthodox church today numbers no more than
five hundred to six hundred individuals.
36. Vamenska i Preslavska Mitropolia, "Obyava," T su rk oven vestn ik , no. 16 (June 1,
1 9 7 9 )-
37. Petar Nikov, V uzrazh dan e na b u lgarsk iya narod. T su rk o vn o n a tsio n a ln i b o rb i i
p o stiz h e n iy a (Sofia: Nauka i Izkustvo, 1971), p. 41.
38. Bulgarska Patriarshiya, Sv. Sinod, "Patriarshesko i sinodalno poslanie do dukhovnite
cheda na Bulgarskata pravoslavna tsurkva po sluchaiy 25 godishninata ot vuzs-
tanovyavaneto na bulgarskata patriarshiya," T su rk oven ve stn ik (May 5, 1978), p. 1.
39. Nevrokopski Mitropolit Pimen, "Pomosht i otplata," T su rkoven ve stn ik (January
21, 1978), p. 2.
40. Starozagorski Mitropolit Pankrati, "V blagogoveen trepet pred groba na sveti Kiril
Slavyanobulgarski," T su rk oven ve stn ik (July 7, 1971), p. 1.
41. Emil Georgiev, "Za deloto na ravnoapostolite slaviano-bulgarski svettsi Kiril i
Metodi," T su rk o ven vestn ik (May 1, 1980), p. 1.
42. Veliyanov, "Patriarshesko blagoslovenie," no. 5, p. 3.
43. T su rk o ven v e stn ik (February 1, 1979), p. 2.
44. Bulgarska Patriarshiya, "Patriarshesko," p. 1.
45. Veliyanov, "Patriarshesko blagoslovenie," no. 2, p. 3.
46. Varnenski i Preslavski Iosif et al:, "Istoricheskite izsledvania."
47. M a k e d o n s k iy a t vupros. Istorik o-p olitich eska spravka. (Sofia: Institut za istoriya pri
b a n , 1968), p. 4.

48. Joseph Rotschild, T h e C o m m u n ist P a rty o f B ulgaria: O rigin s a n d D e v e lo p m e n t

1 8 8 3 - 1 9 3 6 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1959), p. 246.
488 Religion and Nationalism

49. Elisabeth Barker, M a c e d o n ia — Its Place in B alkan P o litics (Westport, Conn.: Green­
wood Press, 1980; reprint of 1950 ed. pub. Royal Institute of International Affairs,
London], pp. 45-77, 88.
50. Vladimir Dedijer, T ito (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1953), p. 173; Marshall Lee
Miller, Bulgaria du rin g the Se c o n d W orld W ar (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University
Press, 1975), pp. 13 0 -3 1; Barker, M acedon ia, pp. 84-87.
51. Barker, M a ced o n ia , pp. 96-107.
52. M a k e d o n sk iy a t vupros, n. 47 of this chap., p. 38.
53. Donald W. Treadgold, T w en tieth C e n tu ry R u ssia (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1972),
p. 464.
54. Figures quoted from Patrick Moore, "Macedonia: Perennial Balkan Apple of Dis­
cord," T h e W orld T o d a y 35, no. 10 (October 1979), p. 423. See also George Klein and
Milan J. Reban, eds., T h e P o litics of E th n ic ity in Eastern Europe, esp. John George-
off, "Ethnic Minorities in the People's Republic of Bulgaria" (Boulder, Colo.: East
European Monographs, 1981], p. 69.
55. Slobodan Stankovic, "Bulgarian c p Leader Tells Belgrade Paper Macedonians 'do
not exist'," R a d io Free Europe R esearch (December T9, 1975), p. 4. Whether one
accepts or rejects the figures of 1946 and 1956, as well as those of 1965 or 1 9 7 5 /
depends on the credence given to any claims of "free" expression of popular feelings
under a communist system of government, be it Bulgarian or Yugoslav. Yugoslav
writers are making much of the early Bulgarian censuses.
56. Tsola Dragoicheva, M a k e d o n iy a — n e p o v o d za razdori, a factor za dru zh b a i su tru d -
n ic h e s tv o (Sofia: Sofia Press, 1979), p. 7.
57. Done Ilievski, T h e M a ced o n ia n O rth o d o x C hu rch (Skopje: Macedonian Review
Editions, 1973), p. 94.
58. Foreign R elation s o f the U n ite d States. D ip lo m a tic papers I (Washington, D.C.:
U.S. Government Printing Office, 1963), pp. 495-97. The British Aide-Memoire,
addressed to the U.S. government, stated: "They [the British government] regard
themselves in no way committed to the survival of the sovereign Bulgarian State."
See also Miller, Bulgaria, p. 114.
59. Ivan Todorov, "Legenda za Diado Ivan," T su rk oven ve stn ik (February 21, 1978), p. 5 •
60. Vratchanski Mitropolit Kalinik, "Primer za blagoplodno purvosvetitelstvuvane,"
T su rk o v e n v e stn ik (March 21, 1978), p. 1.
61. Vasil Veliyanov, "Shestdeset godini ot vuzstanovyavaneto patriarshestvoto na Rus-
kata pravoslavna tsurkva," T su rk oven vestn ik (June 24, 1978], p. 2.
62. Todor Zhivkov, "Slovo za Bulgaria proizneseno ot drugarya Todor Zhivkov na tur-
zhestvenoto zasedanie . . . posveteno na 1300 godishnina ot osnovavaneto na bul-
garskata durzhava," Z e m e d e ls k o zn am e, October 21, 1981, p. 2.

CHAPTER 16
1. The best bibliography of secondary sources on Balkan Muslims has been compiled
by Alexandre Popovic, "Les Musulmans du sud-est européen dans la périod post-
 Notes to Chapter 16 489

ottomane—Problèmes d'approche," Journ al A s ia tiq u e 263 (1975), pp. 317-60. The

bibliography includes few sources for the postwar period.
2. Ahmed Smajlovic, "Moslems in Yugoslavia," G la s n ik vrh o vn o g is la m sk o q star
Jesin stva u S F R J 29, no. 6 (June 1978) (hereinafter referred to as G la s n ik ), trans. in
Joint Publications Research Service (j p r s ), East Europe Report, no. 72907 (March r,
1 9 7 9 ), P- 7 2 -
3. Louis Zanga, "Report on Albanian Atheism," R a d io Free E urope R esearch , March
25, 1982.
4. R e c e n su sa m in tu l 1966 (Bucharest: Republica Socialista Romania, 1967), p. 153.
5. Wayne S. Vucinich, "Islam in the Balkans," in Religion in the M id d le E ast: T h ree
R e lig io n s in C o n c o rd an d C onflict, ed. A. J. Arberry (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni­
versity Press, 1969), vol. 2, p. 236.
6. Ibid., p. 237.
7. The question of a separate "Muslim" variant of Serbo-Croatian is dealt with at
length in Salem Ceric, M u slim a n i srpskoh rvatskog jezik a (Sarajevo: Svjetlost, 1969).
See also Leslie C. Tihany, H isto ry o f M id d le Europe (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers
University Press, 1976), p. 96.
8. Charles Jelavich and Barbara Jelavich, T he B a lk a n s (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-
Hall, 1965), p. 33.
9. Wayne S. Vucinich, "The Nature of Balkan Society under Ottoman Rule," and Stan­
ford Shaw, "The Aims and Achievements of Ottoman Rule in the Balkans," both in
S la v ic R e v ie w 21, no. 4 (December 1962), pp. 597-6r6 and 6T7-32.
10. Shaw, "Aims and Achievements," p. 619.
11. Between 1453 and 1629, out of forty-nine grand viziers, more than half were of
Christian origin. L. S. Stavrianos, T he B a lk a n s sin ce 1 4 5 3 (New York: Holt, 1958),
p. 501.
12. John V. A. Fine, Jr., T he B osn ian C h u rc h : A N e w Interpretation (New York: Colum­
bia University Press, 1975), pp. 18-20.
13. Milan Ivsic, L e s p ro b lè m e s agraires en You goslavie (Paris: Rousseau, 1926), pp.
2 3 1—42, cited in William G. Lockwood, E uropean M o sle m s: E c o n o m y a n d E t h ­
n ic it y in W estern B o sn ia (New York: Academic Press, 1975), p. 26.
14. Stavrianos, B a lk a n s sin ce r 4 $ 3 , p. 500.
15. John Thirkell, "Islamization in Macedonia as a Social Process," Islam in the B a l-
k a n s/P e rsia n A r t a n d C u ltu re of the 18 t h a n d 19 t h C en tu ries, ed. Jenifer Scarce
(Edinburgh: Royal Scottish Museum, 1979), p. 44.
16. According to the 1965 survey in Herzegovina, some 60.38 percent of the Muslims
professed to be believers (v je r n ic i ) compared with 39.1 of the Orthodox. A poll
undertaken by the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences established similar results: 33.7
percent of the Bulgarians were believing Orthodox and 67.1 percent of the Turkish
Muslims were believers. Esad Cimic, "Uticaj samoupravljanja na procès prevlada-
vanja tradicionalne religije," Pregled 78 (1965), in David Dyker, "The Ethnic Mus­
lims of Bosnia," S la vo n ic a n d East E uropean R e v ie w 50, no. 2 (1972I, p. 243; and
Mircho Dimitrov, "For a Systematic and Active Atheistic Propaganda," P o liti-
ch esk a prosveta, no. 11 (1967), in R esearch M aterial 1, no. 14 (Geneva: Centre de
49° Religion and Nationalism

recherches et d'étude institutions religieuses, April 1968), p. 3.

17. Article 37, Constitution of the People's Republic of Albania, in C o n stitu tio n s o f the
C o u n trie s of the W orld, ed. Albert P. Blaustein and Gilbert H. Flanz (Dobbs Ferry,
N.Y.: Oceana, 1981), p. 8.
18. Stavro Skendi, E a st-C e n tra l Europe u n d er the C o m m u n ists: A lb a n ia (New York:
Praeger, 1956), p. 285.
r9. Bektashism was founded by Hadji Bektash, a fourteenth-century saint, who tradi­
tionally is said to have consecrated the first Janissaries. The order was associated
with the Janissaries and survived in Albania following their abolition in 1826. Bek­
tashism developed as a syncretic faith of Twelver Shi'ism that venerated Jesus and
Mary as well as Christian and Muslim saints. It is not clear how Albanian con­
verts contributed to this heterodoxy, but the less demanding religious practices of
the faith accelerated conversion. In 1937, 27 percent of Albania's Muslims were
Bektashi. Skendi, A lb a n ia , pp. 287-88.
20. Ferdinand Schevill, H isto ry of the B a lk a n Pen in su la (New York: Harcourt Brace,
t922), p. 464.
2 t. Margaret Hasluck, "The Nonconformist Moslems of Albania," M o sle m W orld 15,
no. 4 (October 1925), p. 396.
22. Stavrianos, B a lk a n s sin ce I4S3, P- 5 ° 7 -
23. Skendi, A lb a n ia , p. 289.
24. Justin Godart, L ’A lb a n ie en 1 9 2 1 (Paris: Presses Universitaires, 1922), p. 207.
25. Skendi, A lb a n ia , p. 289.
26. G. H. Bousquet, "Note sur les réformes de l'Islam albanais," R e v u e des E tu d e s
Is la m iq u e s 9, no. 4 (1925), pp. 404-5.
27. "Constitution of Albania," in C o n stitu tio n s of the C o m m u n ist P a rty States, ed.
Jan F. Triska (Palo Alto, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1968).
28. Enver Hoxha, "Documents," A lb a n ia Today, no. 1 (1978), p. 46, cited in A lb a n ia n
C a th o lic B u lle tin (hereinafter referred to as A C B ) 6 (1985), p. 40.
29. Decree no. 723 on Religious Communities in T he C h u rch a n d State u n d er C o m ­
m u n is m , vol. 2 (Romania, Bulgaria, Albania), prepared by the Law Library of the
Library of Congress (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1965),
p. 38.
30. Peter Prifti, "Albania—Towards an Atheist Society," in R eligion a n d A t h e is m in the
U S S R a n d Eastern Europe, ed. Bohdan R. Bociurkiw and John W. Strong (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1975), p. 391.
31. Robert Lee Wolff, T h e B a lk a n s in O u r T im e (New York: W. W. Norton, 1967),p. 568.
32. Harry Hamm, A lb a n ia : C h in a ’s B e a ch h e a d in Europe (New York: Praeger, 1963),
P -55-
33. Louis Zanga, "Albania's Cultural Revolution," E ast E urope 16, no. 32 (April 1967),
p. 27.
34. Enver Hoxha, R ep ort on the R ole a n d Tasks of the D em o cra tic Front for the C o m ­
p le te T riu m p h o f So cia lism in A lb a n ia (Tirana, 1967), p. 65, quoted in Prifti, "Alba­
nia," p. 396.
35. A lb a n ia — Political Im prisonm ent and the L a w (London: Amnesty International
Publications, 1984), pp. 10, 47-52,.
 Notes to Chapter 16 491

36. Hamit Beqja and Fatmir Rama, "The Paths of Development Taken by Albanian
Atheist Socialist Education," Stu d im e H istorike, no. 3 (1983), p. 54, cited in A C B 5
(1985), p. 42.
37. Ramadan Marmullaku, A lb a n ia a n d the A lb a n ia n s (Hamden, Conn.: Archon,
1 9 7 5 )/ P- 7 7 ; I- M., "Sudbina vjere u Albaniji," G la s k o n cila (Zagreb], August 25,
1985, p. 9.
38. Ahmed Omuzi, "Elements of Disunity Among Us," Ruga e P a itise, February 1981,
trans. in j p r s , E ast Europe Report, no. 78399 (June 29, 1981), p. n .
39. Bernard Tonnes, "Religious Persecution in Albania," Religion in C o m m u n is t L a n d s
10, no. 4 (1982), pp. 254-55; and Hulusi Hako, "Toward the Creation of a Totally
Atheistic Society," Ruga e Partise 33 (March 1986], pp. 6 1-7 1, in A C B 6-7 (1986—
87), P- 3 i-
40. Hako, "Toward the Creation," pp. 29, 31; Stephen R. Bowers, "Church and State
in Albania," R eligion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 6, no. 3, pp. 150 -51; and B a s h k im i
(Tirana), October 31, 1984, p. 2 , trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. EPS-85-013
(January 24, 1985), p. 14.
41. B a s h k im i (Tirana), March 23, 1981, p . 3, trans. in j p r s , E ast E u ro p e Report,
no. 78153 (May 26, 1981), p . 1.
42. Michel Sidhom, "Le pays qui chasse l'Islam," Jeun e A friq u e , no. 1097 (January 13,
1982), p. 57.
43. David Storey, "Traces of Religious Customs in Atheistic Albania," ACB 7-8 (1986—
87), p. 32.
44. Neue Zürcher Zeitung, May 31-June 1, 1981, p. 6, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report,
no. 78342 (June 22, 1981), p. 55.
45. Louis Zanga, "Albania Plays Down the Role of Religion in the Iranian Events,"
R a d io Free E u rope R esearch , February 23, 1979.
46. Stephen R. Bowers, "The Islamic Factor in Albanian Policy," lo u rn a l of the In stitu te
o f M u s lim M in o r ity A ffa irs 5, no. 1 (1983-84), p. 132.
47. Slobodan Stankovic, "Yugoslavia's Census—Final Results," R a d io Free E u rope R e ­
search, March 10, 1982. The overall number of Muslims is based on an estimate by
Smajlovic, "Moslems in Yugoslavia," pp. 72-73.
48. Census data for 1948, 1953, and 1961 are from Atif Purivatra, N a c io n a ln i i P o litic k i
R a z v ita k M u slim a n a (Sarajevo: Svjetlost, 1972), pp. 32-34. Data for 1971 are from
S ta tistic k i G o d is n ja k fu go sla vije 27 (Belgrade: Zavod za statistiku, 1980), p. 425.
Data for the 1981 census (rounded off to thousands) are from Stankovic, "Yugo­
slavia's Census."
49. Stankovic, "Yugoslavia's Census," p. 6.
50. N. Kuzmany, "Notes on Moslems in Bosnia," M o slem W orld 15, no. 3 (April 1925),
P- 1 7 9 - j
51. Enver Redzic, "Drustveno-istorijski aspekti i nacionalog opredjeljivanja Muslimana
Bosne i Hercegovine," So cija liza m 4, no. 3 (March 1961), pp. 50-51, 86-87.
52. J. B. Hoptner, Yu goslavia in C risis 1 9 3 4 - 1 9 4 1 (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1962), pp. 198-99.
53. Ivo Banac, The N a tio n a l Q uestion in Y u goslavia: O rigins, H istory, P o litic s (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1984), p. 371.
492. Religion and Nationalism

54. Edvard Kardelj, R a z v o j slo ven ack o g n acion alnog pitanja, excerpted in Purivatra,
N a c io n a ln i, p. 53.
55. Kasim Suljevic, N a cio n a ln o st M u slim a n a (Rijeka: Otokar Kersovani, 1981), pp.
213- 35 -
56. Paul Shoup, Y u g o sla v C o m m u n ism a n d the N a tio n a l Q uestion (New York: Colum­
bia University Press, 1968), pp. 108-10.
57. "Resolution of August 26-27, 1947," G la sn ik 1, nos. 1-3 (January-March 1950), pp.
68-69.
58. G la s n ik 7, nos. 10 -12 (October-November 1956), pp. 296-97, 305-6.
59. G la s n ik 1, nos. 4-7 (April-fuly 1950], pp. 130-35-
60. V I P le n u m C en tia n o g K om iteta S K B H (Sarajevo, i960), pp. 14, 37, in Purivatra
N a c io n a ln i, p. 65.
61. Dvadeseta Sjednica Centralnog Komiteta Saveza Komunista Bosne i Hercegovine o
idejno-politickim zadacima komunista u daljem ostvarivanju ravnopravnosti naroda
i narodnosti i razvijanja medju-republicke saradnje (May 17, 1968), cited in Puriva­
tra, N a c io n a ln i, p. 30.
62. Dusan Bilandzic, Ju g o s la v ia P o slije Tita: 1 9 8 0 - 8 $ (Zagreb: Globus, 1986), p. 134.
63. Franjo Tudjman, N a tio n a lism in C o ntem p orary E urope (New York: Columbia Uni­
versity Press, 1981), p. 114.
64. N o v a M a k e d o n ija , December 24, 1970, as cited in Borba, February 2, 1971, p. 6.
65. Tanjug, Domestic Service, 1246 gmt, October 5, 1986, translated in Foreign Broad­
cast Information Service (f b i s ), D a ily Report (Eastern Europe), October 8, 1986, pp.
I 6-7.
66. Interview with professor Nenad Kecmanovic, in D an as (Zagreb), September 10,
1985, pp. 9 -11, trans. in j p r s , East Europe Report, no. EER-86-02 (January 6 , 1986),
PP- 4 7 - 4 8 .
67. Interview Miroslav Lalovic, Center for Demographic Research of the Social Sci­
ences Institute of Belgrade, In tervju (Belgrade), June 6 , 1986, pp. 6-9, trans. in j p r s ,
E a st E u ro p e Report, no. EER-86-117 (August 4, 1986), p. 93.
68. P ra v o sla v lje (Belgrade), April 1, 1986, p. 11, trans. in j p r s , E ast E u rope Report, no.
EER-86-107 (July 22, 1986), p. 115.
69. Hadzi Husein Djozo, "Islam i Musliman," G la sn ik 32, nos. 5-6 (May-June 1970),
p. 205.
70. B o rb a , November 6, 1979, cited in Zdenko Antic, "Pan Islamic Nationalism Con­
demned by Yugoslav Official," R a d io F ree E u rope R esearch , November 15, 1979-
71. Start, November 28, 1979, P- 1 5 -
72. Tanjug, Domestic Service, 1048 gmt, August 28, 1981; and Tanjug, Domestic Ser­
vice, 1328 gmt, September 24, 1981, trans. in p b i s , D a ily Report (Eastern Europe),
August 31, 1981, and September 28, 1981, pp. I 16 and I 6, respectively.
73. P ilo zo fsk a Istrazivan ja, nos. 4-5 (April-May 1982), trans. in Slobodan Stankovic,
"Danger of Pan-Islamism in Yugoslavia?" R a d io Free Europe R esearch , August 26,
1982.
74. In particular Fuad Muhid, N I N , August 8, 1982, trans. in Stankovid, "Danger of
Pan-Islamism," pp. 2-3.
75. Interview of Hrvojc Istuk in Danas, May 20, 1986, pp. 20-21, trans. in j p r s , Bast
 Notes to Chapter 16 493

E u ro p e Report, no. EER-86-108 (July 23, 1986), p. 95; and Borba, April 30-May 1,
1983, P- 3 , trans. in f b i s , D a ily Report (Eastern Europe], May 5, 2983, p. I 4-5.
76. D an as, May 20, 1986, p p . 20-21, trans. in j p r s , East E urope Report, no. EER-86-108
(July 23, 1986], p . 96.
7 7 - Slobodan Stankovic, "Arab Countries Finance Construction of a Mosque in Zagreb,"
R a d io F ree Eurcjpe R esearch , August зг, Г982.
78. B orba, September 5-6, 1987, p. 4.
79. Kerim Reis, "Regime in Search of a Subservient Islamic Council," Im p a ct-In te rn a ­
tional, September 13-26, 1985, p. 8.
80. "Documents: The Trial of Moslem Intellectuals in Sarajevo," So uth S la v fo u rn a l 6,
no. 1 (Spring 1983), p. 55; and Slobodan Stankovic, "Further Attacks against Young
Moslems," R a d io F ree E urope R esearch, May 10, Г983.
8r. "Documents: The Trial," p. 55.
82. Ibid.
83. "The Islamic Declaration," in ibid., p. 71.
84. Ibid., p. 87.
85. Besides the thought of Muhammad Iqbal, the declaration expresses the conviction
that modern science and Islam were compatible and that social injustice had been
the source of Islamic defeat. The latter two assumptions are central to the writings
of the nineteenth-century Indian Muslim Sayyid Ahmad Khan and the earlier Shah
Waliullah. For a brief summary of the three thinkers, see Edward Mortimer, F aith
a n d Pow er: T h e P o litics of Islam (New York: Random House, 1983), pp. 197—99,
99-101, and 64-68, respectively.
86. "Short Shrift Justice, Belgrade Style," Im p act International, June 26—July 9, 1987,
p. 10.
87. Reis, "Regime"; and G la s k on cila, November 15, 1987, p. 4.
88. B u lg a ria : Im p riso n m e n t o f E th n ic T u rks (London: Amnesty International Publica­
tions, 1986], pp. 16 -17 .
89. Vucinich, "Islam in the Balkans," p. 236.
90. John Georgeoff, "Ethnic Minorities in the People's Republic of Bulgaria," in T he
P o litic s o f E t h n ic it y in Eastern Europe, ed. George Klein and Milan J. Reban (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1982), p. 71.
91. Stavrianos, B a lk a n s sin ce 1 4 5 3 , p. 364.
92. Marin V. Pundeff, "Bulgarian Nationalism," in N a tio n a lism in Eastern E urope, ed.
Peter F. Sugar and Ivo J. Lederer (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1969],
P- 9 7 -
93. T. Stoichev, "The Social-Historical Form of the Progressive Role of Religion," F ilo -
sofsk a M is u l, no. 1 (January 1969], in R eligion in C o m m u n ist D o m in a te d A r e a s 9,
nos. 1- 2 (January-February Г970], p. 47.
94. Nikolai Mizov, V ek ovn a Z a b lu d a (Sofia: BKP, 1964), p. 7.
95. C h u rc h e s a n d R e lig io n s in the P e o p le ’s R e p u b lic of B ulgaria (Sofia: Synodal Pub­
lishing House, 1975), p. 76.
96. K. Popov, "When and How the Bulgarians Were Moslemized," D u k h o v n a K ultura,
February 1967, pp. 22-28, in R esearch M aterials r, no. 10 (December 1967), p. 3.
9 7 - Jebim Barak Tarevic, "Pomaks," in Encyclopedia Islam (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1935), pp.
494 Religion and Nationalism

1073-74; and Fine, B o sn ia n C h u rch , pp. 115-17- Instances of forced conversion are
reported in Mercia Macdermott, A H isto ry of Bulgaria, 1 3 9 2 —r 8 8 s (London: George
Allen and Unwin, 1962), pp. 45-46-
98. Irwin T. Saunders, "The Moslem Minority of Bulgaria," M o sle m W o rld 24, no. 4
(October 1934), p. 358.
99. S. M. Zwemer, "Islam in South Eastern Europe," M o slem W orld 17, no. 4 (October
1917), P- 3 3 9 -
too. Huey Louis Kostanick, "Turkish Resettlement of Refugees from Bulgaria, 1950-
T953," M id d le E ast Journ al 9, no. 1 (Winter Г955), p. 43.
10 1. "Law on Religious Denominations of March r, 1949," C h u rch a n d State u n d er
C o m m u n is m 2, p. 24.
102. T h e T u rk ish M in o rity in the P e o p le ’s R e p u b lic of Bulgaria (Sofia: Direktsiia na
pechata, 1951), p. 54.
103. Kostanick, "Turkish Resettlement," p. 4r.
104. Georgeoff, "Ethnic Minorities," p. 77.
105. R a b o tn ich e sk o D elo, February 25, Г968, trans. in R esearch M aterials 1, no. 17 (July
1968), p. 3-
106. Bulgaria/Situation Report, R a d io Free E urope R esearch , January 22, 2980.
107. Bulgaria/Situation Report, R a d io Free E urope R esearch , March Г2, 1 9 8 2 .
ю 8 . R a b o tn ich e sk o D elo, February 28, 2982, p . 1, trans. in f b i s , D a ily R eport (Eastern

Europe), March r, 1982, p . C3.

109. BTA, April 2, 2983, trans. in f b i s , D a ily Report (Eastern Europe), April 4, 1983,
p. C3.
n o . R a b o tn ich e sk o D elo , April 2, 1983, p. 6.
i n . Nikolai Mizov, Islia m u t v B ulgariya (Sofia: b k p , 1965), cited in Marin Pundeff,
"Church-State Relations in Bulgaria under Communism," in R eligion a n d A th e is m ,
ed. Bociurkiw and Strong, p. 345.
112 . "Za podrobryavanya rabota na komsomolske sred Turaka mladyoz," R e sh e n iy a na
b uroto na D K M S 27 (May 1964), in S p ro vo ch n b ik na a k tivista (Sofia: bk p , 1965),
p. 478.
113 . Bulgaria/Situation Report, R a d io Free E urope R esearch , February 21, 1 9 7 4 -
114. Bulgaria/Situation Report, R a d io Free Europe R esearch , August 27, 197°-
115 . Bulgaria/Situation Report, R a d io Free Europe R esearch , April 28, 1976.
:n 6. Maria Temelkova, B u lgarite M u h a m ed a n i— n eru zd eln a ch ast o t B u lg a rsk iia n a ro d
(Blagvevgrad, 1971), pp. 3-5.
117 . T h e A m n e s t y In ternation al Report, 1975—1976 (London: Amnesty International
Publications, 1976), p. 157.
118. L e M o n d e, August 2, 1985, p. 3, trans. in j p r s , East E urope Report, no. EER-85-092
(September 6, 1985), p. 4 -
т1 9. B u lg a ria : Im p riso n m e n t of E th n ic Turks, p. 8.
120. B u lg a ria : Im p riso n m e n t of E th n ic T urks, p. 9; also, testimony of Halil Ibisoglu, and
Thomas Goltz, Im p lem en ta tio n of the H e lsin k i A c c o rd s on S e c u rity a n d C o o p era ­
tion in Europe, Pt, I: N a tio n a l M in o rities in Eastern Europe (Washington, D.C.: U.S.
Government Printing Office, 1987), PP-10-23, 4 3 - 4 9 -
 Notes to Chapter 16 495

12 1. Cited in "Creating a 'Unified Bulgarian Socialist Nation' through Forced Assimila­

tion," Im p a ct International, April 12-25, 1985, p. 5.
122. Ibid.; B u lg a ria : C o n tin u in g H u m a n R ights A b u se s against E th n ic T u rks (London:
Amnesty International Publications, 1987); Frankfurter A llg e m e in e Z e itu n g , March
18, 1985, P- 12, trans. in j p r s , East E urope Report, no. EPS-85-044 (April ro, 1985),
pp. 6-7; and "Communist Crusade to 'Baptise' Muslims," Im p a ct In ternation al,
February 8-21, 1985, pp. 8-9.
123. A l-i-t is a m (Cairo), January-July 1985, p. 37, trans. in j p r s , E ast E urope Report, no.
EPS-85-087 (August 27, 1985) p. 9; B ulgaria: Im p riso n m en t o f E th n ic Turks, p. 13.
124. Im p le m e n ta tio n o f the H e lsin k i A c co rd s, p. 21.
125. Ibid., p. 40.
126. Tat Kolar, "Invisible War in Bulgaria," Danas, March 5, 1985, pp. 34-35, trans. in
j p r s , E ast E u rope Report, no. EPS-85-040 (April 1, 1985), p. I2.

I2 7 - "Turkish Foreign Minister's Appeal," Im p a ct International, May 24-June 13, 2985,

p. 2.
128. O te ch e stv e n Front, June 29, 1985, p . 5, trans. in j p r s , E ast E urope Report, no. EPS-
85-073 (July 5, 2985), p . 20.
229. "Sofia Says the Ball Is in the ore's Court," Im p a ct International, February 13-27,
1987, P- 7 ; and "01c Mission in Sofia/' Im p a ct International, June 12-25, 1987,
p. 16.
130. Frederick De Jong, "History and Present-Day Conditions of the Muslim Commu­
nity in Romania," Religion in C o m m u n ist D o m in a te d A r e a s 35, no. 3 (Summer
1986), p. 136.
13 1. R e c e n sa m in tu l P op u latiei si L o cu n in a telo r din R om an ia din 5 Jan u arie 1977 1,
as cited in George Cioranescu, "The Present Situation of Romania's Moslems,"
R a d io Free E u rope R esearch, August 16, 1983; and R e c e n sa m in tu l P o p u la tie i si
L o cu n in a te lo r din i s M artie 19 6 6 (Bucharest) 1 (1969), p. 153.
132. Charles Jelavich and Barbara Jelavich, T h e E sta b lish m en t o f the B a lk a n N a tio n a l
States (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1977), p. 178.
1 3 3 - A visitor to Constanta in 1927 reported, "Very few [Muslims] expressed approval
of the radical reforms of Angora (sic]. It was significant that all the clocks in the
mosques we visited pointed to Arabic time, and that the m is w a k (toothbrush of
tradition) was on sale, as in the towns of Nejd. Such straws show the way the wind
blows. Islam is very conservative in the villages of Romania." Zwemer, "Islam,"
p. 336.
134. T h e C h u rc h a n d State u n d er C o m m u n ism , vol. 2, p. 2.
235. Trond Gilberg, "Ethnic Minorities in Romania under Socialism," E ast E u ropean
Q u a rte rly 7, no. 4 (January 1974), pp. 438-45.
136. R e c e n s a m in tu l 19 6 6 , 1:15 3 .
1 3 7 - De Jong, "History and Present-Day Conditions," p. 137.
138. Iacub Mehmet, M u s lim s in R o m a n ia : Past an d Present (Bucharest: Meridiane,
1 9 7 б), P- 1 7 - In addition, the details of the community are drawn heavily from
an unpublished paper by Earl A. Pope, "The Contemporary Religious Situation in
Romania" (1980), p. 28.

nrom,
jLfcfafl" Л...
496 Religion and Nationalism

139. B ise rica O ith o d o x a R om an a, January-February 1980, trans. in j p r s , E ast E urope

R eport, no. 7 7 2 4 9 (January 26, 1981), p. 30.
140. De Jong, "History and Present-Day Conditions," p. 137.
141. A g e rp re ss, March 19, 1979, trans. in f b i s , D a ily Report (Eastern Europe), March 21,
1979, p. H-r2.
242. Lockwood, E uropean M o sle m s, pp. 22-23.
143. Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic R e v iv a l (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1981) , p. 15-
144. Slobodan Stankovic, "A Moslem Finally to Become Member of the Yugoslav Party
Presidium," R a d io Free E u rope R esearch, March 6, 1979.
145. N e w York T im es, September 15, 1987, p. 17.
146. Crawford Young, T h e P o litics of C u ltu ra l P luralism (Madison: University of Wis­
consin Press, 1976), p. 5 4 -
147. R. V. Burks, T h e D y n a m ic s of C o m m u n ism in Eastern E urope (Princeton, N.J.:
Princeton University Press, 1962), pp. 141-42.
148. Joseph B. Schecktman, "Compulsory Transfer of the Turkish Minority from Bul­
garia," Jo u rn a l of C entral European A ffa irs 12, no. 1 (July 1952), p. 155.
149. Young, P o litic s o f C u ltu ra l P lu ralism , p. 528.
150. Jacob Landau, P a n tu rk ism in T u rk e y (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1982) .
15 1. Slobodan Stankovic, "Danger of Pan-Islam in Yugoslavia," R a d io Free E urope R e ­
search , August 26, 1981.
152. Seid Ramadan, "Islamsko Pravo," Isla m sk a M isao 4, no. 42 (June 1982), pp. 19-22;
and "Islam i Zena," P reporod (Sarajevo), January 15, 1982, p. 9.
153. Mihailo Markovic, "Stalinism and Marxism," in Stalin ism , ed. Robert C. Tucker
(New York: W. W. Norton, 1977)/ P- 3 i 5 -
154. J. F. Brown, B u lgaria u n d er C o m m u n ist R u le (New York: Praeger, 1970), p. 89.
155. Nagi Èafer and Vladimir Drimba, "Quelques problèmes relatifs au développement
culturel de la population Tatare de Roumaine," Stu dia et A c ta O rien ta lia 1 (2958),
p. 3 3 9 ; "Populatia, pe nationalita, dupa limba materna," R e ce n sa m in tu l r<)66,
p. 273.
156. De Jong, "History and Present-Day Conditions," p. 137.

CONCLUSION
1. These terms are Peter Merkl's.
2. Dimitry Pospielovsky, in private correspondence, December 4,1982. Yet Pospielov-
sky, like Alexander Schmemann, distinguishes between religion and church, and
considers the latter impossible without belief in the supernatural and life after
death.
3. Even this elaborate definition may seem flawed to those who, like William James,
consider the belief in personal immortality to be a critical element in religion. For
James, in fact, the hope of personal immortality is the central feature of religion. See
 Notes to Conclusion 497

his "Conclusions on Varieties of Religious Experience," in E ssa y s in P ra g m a tism ,

ed. Alburey Castell |New York: Hafner, 1948), pp. 115, 138.
4. See, for example, Irving Fletcher, "State Socialist Ideology as Religion?" in C h r is ­
tia n ity a n d S o c ia lis m , ed. Johann-Baptist Metz and Jean Pierre Jossua, Concilium:
Religion in the Seventies (New York: Seabury Press, 1977), pp. 82-87.
5. Karl Marx, E c o n o m ic a n d P h ilo so p h ica l M a n uscrip ts (1844), in Karl Marx and
Friedrich Engels, C o lle c te d W orks, vol. 3 (New York: International Publishers,
1 9 7 5 )/ PP- 275-80.
6. M. M. Bober, K arl M a rx 's Interpretation of H isto ry (New York: W. W. Norton, 1927),
pp. 156, 3 4 1 - 4 9 , 353 - 6 2 -
7. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, T h e C o m m u n ist M an ifesto (1848), authorized En­
glish translation (Chicago: Charles H. Kerr, T982), pp. 39-42. See also Joseph A.
Petrus, "Marx and Engels on the National Question," Journal o f P o litics 33, no. 3
(August 1971).
8. Quoted in Robert Bacsvary, "National Minorities and the Roman Catholic Church
in Rumania," in C h u rch es in So cia list So cieties of Eastern Europe, ed. Norbert
Greinacher and Virgil Elizondo, Religion in the Eighties series (New York: Seabury
Press, 1982), p. 23.
9. N. Lobkowicz, "Karl Marx's Attitude toward Religion," R e v ie w o f P o litic s 26 , no. 3
(July 1964), pp. 319 -21.
10. Romania Situation Report, R a d io Free Europe R esearch (October 15, 1987), p. 25.
n. See Pedro Ramet, "The Serbian Orthodox Church," in Eastern C h ris tia n ity a n d
P o litic s in the T w en tieth C entu ry, ed. Pedro Ramet (Durham, N.C.: Duke Univer­
sity Press, 1988).
12. Igor Smolitsch, G e sc h ich te der R u ssisch en Kirche, 1700-1917, vol. 1 (Leiden: E. J.
Brill, 1964), pp. 99-120, 133-38, 171 - 7 4 - See also Alexander Schmemann, T h e H is ­
to rica l R o a d o f Eastern O rth o d o xy, trans. from Russian by Lydia W. Kesich (New
York: Holt, Reinhart and Winston, 1963), pp. 292-339.
13. See also Alexander Tomsky, "M o d u s M o rien d i of the Catholic Church in Czecho­
slovakia," R e lig io n in C o m m u n is t L a n d s 10, no. 1 (Spring 1982), p. 25.
14. Nicolas Zernov, T he R u ssia n s a n d T h eir C h u rch (London: Macmillan, 1945), pp.
17 1-7 2 .
1 5. Quoted in Edward M. Bennett, "The Russian Orthodox Church and the Soviet State,
1946-1956: A Decade of the New Orthodoxy," Journ al o f C h u rch a n d State 7, no. 3
(Autumn 1965), p. 425.
16. See Bohdan R. Bociurkiw, "The Suppression of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic
Church in Postwar Soviet Union and Poland," in R eligion a n d N a tio n a lis m in
E astern E u rope a n d the S o viet U n io n , ed. Dennis J. Dunn (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne
Rienner, 1987). !
17. Robert Stupperich, "Die Russisch-Orthodoxe Kirche fünfzig Jahre nach der Okto­
berrevolution," O steuropa 17, no. 12 (December 1967), p. 889.
18. Bernhard Tönnes, "Religious Persecution in Albania," R eligion in C o m m u n is t
L a n d s 10, no. 3 (Winter 1982), p. 249.
19. On the troubles of the Russian Orthodox Church in the Khrushchev era, see
498 Religion and Nationalism

Michael Bourdeaux, "Religion, " in T h e S o viet U n io n sin ce the Fa ll of K h ru sh ch e v,

ed. Archie Brown and Michael Kaser (New York: Free Press, 1975)/ PP- 1 57 - 6 6 ;
Michael Bourdeaux, "The Black Quinquennium: The Russian Orthodox Church,
1959-1964," R eligion in C o m m u n ist L a n d s 9, nos. r-2 (Spring 1981), pp. 28-20;
Michael Aksenov Meerson, "The Russian Orthodox Church, 1965-2980," R eligion
in C o m m u n is t L a n d s 9, nos. 3-4 (Autumn 2981), p. 207; and Gerhard Simon,
C h u rc h , State, a n d O ppo sition in the U S S R (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University
of California Press, 2974), pp. 74-92.
20. T h a t’s Y u g o sla via (Hamburg), no. 4 (2982), p. 20.
2 2. Suzanne Hruby, " The Church in Poland and Its Political Influence," Jou rn al o f In ter­
n a tio n a l A ffa irs 36, no. 2 (Fall-Winter 2982-83), p. 320.
22. C za rn a k sieg a 2, pp. 203-4, quoted in fane Leftwich Curry, T h e M e d ia a n d Intra-
E lite C o m m u n ic a tio n in P o la n d : T h e S ystem of C e n so rsh ip (Santa Monica, Calif.:
Rand Corporation, December 2980), p. 33.
23. At this book's working conference, University of California, Los Angeles, and Uni­
versity of California, Santa Barbara, October 29-30, 2982.
24. Quoted in Dimitry Pospielovsky, "The Resurgence of Russian Nationalism in
S a m iz d a t," S u rv e y 29, no. t (Winter 2973), p. 70.
25. Georges Florovsky, C h ristia n ity a n d C u ltu re (Belmont, Mass.: Nordland, 2974),
p. 232.
26. Merlin Stone, W h en G o d W as a W om an (New York: Dial Press, 2976).
27. Esad Cimic, S o cija listick o dru stvo i religija (2970), quoted in Michael B. Petrovich,
"Religion and Ethnicity in Eastern Europe," in E th n ic D iv e rs ity a n d C o n flic t in
E astern E urope, ed. Peter F. Sugar (Santa Barbara, Calif.: ABC-Clio, 2980), p. 404.
A bou t the contributors

Dan Beck received his master's degree in international studies/Eastern Europe from the
Henry M. Jackson School of International Studies, University of Washington, in 1988. He
is currently a research assistant at the Science Applications International Corporation,
Denver, Colorado.

Vincent C. Chrypinski is professor emeritus of political science, University of Wind­

sor, Canada. The author of several studies on Polish affairs, he has contributed chapters
to T h e C o m m u n is t States in Disarray, 1965-1971 (1972], Religion a n d A t h e is m in the
U S S R a n d Eastern E u rope [19 7 s ), and other books. His articles have appeared in such
scholarly journals as S la v ic R e v ie w .
James Critchlow is fellow of the Russian Research Center, Harvard University. He was
visiting professor 12986-87) in the department of political science, University of Illinois,
Urbana-Champaign. Before that, he served in senior Soviet affairs posts in government
(U.S. Information Agency, Board for International Broadcasting) and with Radio Liberty.
Trond Gilberg, professor of political science, chair of the political science department,
and associate director of the Soviet and Slavic Language and Area Center, Pennsylvania
State University, is the author of T he S o viet C o m m u n ist Party a n d S c a n d in a via n C o m ­
m u n is m {1973) and M o d ern izatio n in R om an ia sin ce W orld W ar I I (1975); and coeditor
of S e c u r ity Im p h c a tio n s o f N a tio n a lism in Eastern E urope (2985). He has contributed
chapters to T h e C o m m u n is t Parties of Eastern Europe (2979), Eastern E u rope in the
1 9 8 0 s (2981), and other books. His articles have appeared in P ro b le m s o f C o m m u n is m ,
E a st European Q u arterly, O steuropa, and other journals.

Kgstutis K. Girnius taught philosophy at Roosevelt University, Chicago, before joining

the staff of Radio Liberty. He is the author of T he Partisan Struggle in L ith u a n ia (in
Lithuanian, 1987) and of a number of studies appearing in So viet Stu d ies (forthcoming),
In d e x on C e n so rsh ip , Jo u rn a l o f B a ltic Stu dies, and other journals.

Zvi Gitelman, professor of political science, University of Michigan, is the author of

Je w is h N a tio n a lity a n d S o viet P o litics (1972), B eco m in g Israelis: P o litic a l R e s o c ia liz a ­
tion o f S o vie t a n d A m e ric a n Im m igran ts (1977), and A C e n tu ry o f A m b iv a le n c e : Je w s in
500 Religion and Nationalism

R u ssia a n d the S o vie t U n io n , i 8 S i - t h e Present (1988); and coeditor of P u b lic O p in io n

in E u ropean S o cia list S y ste m s (1977) and E ast-W est R elations a n d the F u tu re o f Eastern
E u rope (1981). He has contributed chapters to C h an ge in C o m m u n ist Systems (1970),
W h en P a rties F a il (1988), and other books. His articles have appeared in the A m e ric a n
P o litic a l S c ie n c e R e v ie w , P ro b le m s of C o m m u n ism , fournal of P o litics, and other jour­
nals. He is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Fulbright Fellowship, and the
Amoco Good Teaching Award.
Zachary T. Irwin, associate professor of political science, Penn State-Erie, Behrend Col­
lege, is a specialist in Yugoslav Muslim affairs, and coauthor of In tro d u ctio n to P o litic a l
S c ie n c e (1987). He has contributed chapters to E th n ic Separatism a n d W o rld P o litics
(1984), Y u g o sla via in the 19 8 0 s (1985), and other books. His articles have appeared in
E a st E u ro p ea n Q u arterly, P ro b le m s of C o m m u n ism , Religion in C o m m u n is t D o m in a te d
A re a s, and other journals.
S. F. Jones is a research fellow at the University of London. In 1984 he was named senior
associate member of St. Antony's College, Oxford University. He is the author of M e n sh e ­
v ik P o w e r in G eorgia: 1 9 1 8 - 2 1 (scheduled to be published in 1988). He has contributed
an article to E n c y clo p e d ia of the R u ssian R evo lu tio n (1988) and a chapter to Eastern
C h r is tia n ity a n d P o h tic s in the T w en tieth C e n tu ry (1988). His articles have appeared
in S la v o n ic a n d E ast E uropean R e v ie w , C entral A s ia n S u rvey, N a tio n a litie s Papers, and
S b o rn ik .

Leslie Lâszlô, professor of political science, Concordia University, Canada, is the author
of R e sista n c e o f the Sp irit: T h e C h u rch es in H un gary du rin g the Se c o n d W o rld W ar (in
H u n g a r i a n 1 9 8 0 ) . He contributed chapters to R eligion a n d A t h e is m in the U S S R a n d
E astern E u ro p e (1975) and Eastern C h ristia n ity an d P o litics in the T w e n tie th C e n tu ry
(1988). His articles have appeared in East European Q uarterly, O cc a sio n a l Papers on
R elig io n in Eastern Europe, E ast C entral Europe, and other journals.

Vasyl Markus, professor of political science, Loyola University, Chicago, is the author of
L 'in co rp o ra tio n d e l’ U k ra in e su b ca rp a th iq u e à l ’ U k ra in e s o v ié tiq u e 1 9 4 4 - 1 9 4 $ (1956),
L 'U k r a in e s o v ie tiq u é dan s le s relations in ternationales et son statut en droit in tern a ­
tion al (1959), and N a tio n a litie s P o lic y of the U S S R (in Ukrainian, 1961), and associate
editor (responsible for the field of religion) of U k ra in e: A C o n c ise E n c y c lo p e d ia (first
edition, 19 71; first volume of second edition, 1983; vol. 2,1987; vols. 3-4, forthcoming).
He has contributed chapters to R eh g io n a n d A th e is m in the U S S R a n d E astern E urope
(1975), N a tio n a lism a n d H u m a n R ights in the U S S R (1977), and other books.
Dimitry Pospielovsky, professor of history, University of Western Ontario, is the author
of R u ssia n P o lic e Trade U n io n ism (1971), T he R u ssian C h u rch u n d er the S o vie t R egim e,
1 9 1 7 - 1 9 8 2 , 2 vols. (1984), and A H isto ry of S o viet A th e is m in T h e o ry a n d Practice, a n d
the B e lie ve r, 3 vols. (vols. 1-2 , 1987; vol. 3, 1988) and coeditor of R u ss ia ’s U n d erg ro u n d
P oets (1969). He has contributed chapters to E th n ic R u ssia in the U S S R (1979)- R eh g io n
a n d C o m m u n is t S o cie ty (1983), and other books. His articles have appeared in Su rvey,
R u ssia n R e v ie w , C a n a d ia n S la vo n ic Papers, and other journals.
 About the Contributors 501

Spas T. Raikin, associate professor of history, East Stroudsburg University, is a 1949

graduate of the Theological Faculty of Sofia University. He has served as assistant editor
of A m e r ic a n B u lg a ria n R e v ie w and as editor of Borba and is the current editor of Free
A g ra ria n Bann er. He contributed a chapter to Eastern C h ristia n ity a n d P o litic s in the
T w e n tie th C e n tu ry (1988), and his articles have appeared in R elig io n in C o m m u n is t
L a n d s, W eltk irch en L e x ic o n , and other periodicals.

Pedro Ramet, assistant professor of international studies, University of Washington, is

the author of Sad at a n d the K rem lin (1980), N a tio n a lism a n d Federalism in Y u goslavia,
1 9 6 3 —1 9 8 } (1984), and C ro ss a n d C o m m issa r: T he P o litics of R elig io n in Eastern E u rope
a n d the U S S R (1987) and editor of Yu goslavia in the 19 8 0 s (1985) and Eastern C h r is ­
tia n ity a n d P o litic s in the T w en tieth C e n tu ry (1988). He has contributed chapters to
T h e T ito -S ta lin Sp lit in a H isto ric Perspective (1982), G o rb a c h e v a n d the S o vie t F u tu re
(1988), and other books. His articles have appeared in R eligion in C o m m u n is t L a n d s,
S la v ic R e v ie w , W o rld P o litics, and other journals.

Peter F. Sugar, professor of history, University of Washington, is coeditor (with Donald W.

Treadgold) of an eleven-volume series, A H isto ry of East C en tral Europe, being pub­
lished by the University of Washington Press. He is the author of In d u stria liza tio n o f
B o sn ia -H e rce g o vin a , 1 8 7 8 —1 9 1 8 (1963), and Southeastern E u rope u n d er O tto m a n R u le,
1 3 5 4 - 1 S 0 4 (1977)- He is editor of N a tiv e Fa scism in the Su cce sso r States (1971) and
E t h n ic D iv e r s it y a n d C o n flict in E astern E urope (1980), coeditor of N a tio n a lism in E a st­
ern E u rope (1971); and editor and coauthor of a new history of Hungary, covering earliest
times to the present (scheduled to be published in 1988). His articles have appeared in
S la v ic R e v ie w , E a st E uropean Q uarterly, T& rtenelm i S z em le, and other journals. In t983
he received the "r 300-Year Bulgaria" medal from the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences.

/
Index

Abkhaz, 192 A lm a M a te r (Lithuanian samizdat), 119

Abusch, Alexander, 227 Amalrik, Andrei, 98
Adalbert, Saint, 275 Amnesty International, 396, 400
Adenauer, Konrad, 96 Andrey, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­
Adventists. S e e Seventh Day Adventists dox), 358, 366
Afghanistan, 298, 201, 202, 205 Andropov, Yuri, 96
Agursky, M., 99 Anilionis, Petras, 31, 118
Aitmatov, Chingiz, 216 Anti-Semitism, 15-16 , 66-67, 9°, 227,
A k h a lg a z d ra k o m u n isti (Georgian youth 15З, 335
organ), 192 Antonov, Mikhail, 83
Aksakov, Konstantin, 89 Antunovic, Ivan, 307
Albania, 24, 381-382, 390; Muslims in, Armenia, 172-183, 18 9 -19 1; Apostolic
32, 378, 382-388, 405-407; Orthodox Church, 184-186; nationalism, 288-
church, 26, 17, 426; Roman Catholic Г89
church, 25, 26, 28 Asmus, Ronald, 234
Albanians in Yugoslavia, 301 Astafiev, V., 88
Al-Biruni, Abu Reihan, 199 Atatiirk, Kemal, 395
Alcoholism: in Lithuania, 224-125; in Atheism, 42-43, 182, 202, 279
Poland, 242; in Russia, 88 A u s ra (Lithuanian samizdat), 122, 123,
Aleksii, Patriarch (Russian Orthodox), 129
3 5 7 , 4 16 A u s r e le (Lithuanian samizdat), 129
Alexander VI, Pope, 239 Austria (-Hungary), 57, 63, 140, 266, 271,
Alia, Ramiz, 385, 387 287, 306, 308-310, 355, 382. See also
Al-Khorezmi, Mohammed Musa, 199 Habsburgs
All-Russian Social-Christian Union for Austro-Turkish War, 303-304
the Liberation of Peoples, 82 Avdic, Ibrahim, 326
All-Russian Society for the Preservation Averintsev, Sergei, 90
of Historical Monuments, 81, 94-95, Avicenna. S e e Ibn-Sina
101 Azerbaijan, 285, 287, 289, 292, 298, 200
All-Ukrainian Fellowship of Evangelical
Christians, 152 Babur, 299
All-Union Council of Evangelical Chris­ Bach, Johann Sebastian, 226
tians and Baptists, 152 Bacsvary, Robert, 296
504 Religion and Nationalism

Bagaric, Ive, 320 Borisevicius, Bishop Vincentas, 25

Balkan Wars, 333, 356 Borisov, Vadim, 93
Banac, Ivo, 390 Bosilkov, Msgr. Evgenii, 25
Bankovic, Fr. Sava, 318 Bosnia-Herzegovina, 56-57, 304, 307,
Banyasz, Rezso, 37 317, 318, 323-3^6, 379, 382, 390, 3 9 1-
Baptists: in Ukraine, 148-149; in Yu­ 395, 404; Bosnian church, 303, 381;
goslavia, 300 Social Democratic party in, 310
Baritiu, Gheorghe, 334 B o sn ja k (Bosnian newspaper), 309
Barladian, Vasyl, 166 Bowers, Stephen, 387
Barmen Declaration, 237 Branimir, Prince of Croatia, 321
Barnutiu, Simian, 334 Brass, Paul, 3 0
Bartel, Horst, 228 Brendler, Gerhard, 231
Basarab of Wallachia. See Matei Basarab, Brest, Union of (1596), 10, 139-140
Prince of Wallachia Brezhnev, Leonid I., 29, 192, 201, 203, 364
Basil II, Emperor, 353 Budzynsky, Rev. Hryhorii, 157, 164-165,
Basmachi movement, 32-33 166
Bathory, Istvan, 287 Bukhara, 199-200, 214, 2r6
Battle of the Ice, m3 Bukharin, Nikolai, 210
Belgrade-Bar Railway, 315 Bulgakov, Sergei, 101, 416
Belorussia, 29-30; Autocephalous Ortho­ Bulgaria, 7, T3, 390, 405-407, Jews in, 15,
dox Church, 5, 16 , 17, 40; Lithuanians 73, 75; Muslims in, 6, 32, 39, 379, 396-
in, t26, t28 401; nationalities policy, 5; Orthodox
Bennigsen, Alexandre, 33, 214 Church, 6, 16, 20-21, 22, 47, 300,
Bensch, Rev. Teodor, 245 352-377, 474; number of Orthodox,
Beqja, Hamid, 387 17; relations with Yugoslavia, T7,
Beran, Josef Cardinal, 24, 275 23, 313, 374-375, 401; restoration of
Berdiaev, Nikolai, 83, 87, 101 patriarchate, 359-360; Roman Catholic
Berdnyk, Oles, 1 6 7 church, 9, 26; Uniate (Greek Catholic)
Berlin, Congress of (1878), 355 church, ro; number of Uniates, 10
Bernolak, Anton, 55, 27T Bulgarianization, 6, 32, 400-40T
Bethlen, Gabor, 287 Bund (Jewish), 63-64
Bijedic, Djemal, 405 B u n je v a c k e i so k a ck e n o v in e (Croatian
Birobidjan, 14 Catholic newspaper), 307
Bismarck, Otto von, 43-44, 5 r, 226; Byzantine Empire, 46-47, 174
biography of, 228
Blaj Convocation (1848), 334 Calvinist church, in Hungary, 286, 291
Bociurkiw, Bohdan, 2or, 202, 203 Caritas, 243
Bocskay, Istvan, 287 Carnojevic, Patriarch Arsenije III, 304
Bodin, Prince of Serbia, 302 Catholic church, 24-31, 50-55, rr3. See
Bogdanov, Rev. Georgi, 358 a lso listings under individual countries
Bogomil sect, 303, 38r, 398 and regions
Bohemia. S e e Czechoslovakia Catholic Committee for the Defense of
Boncfadid, Bishop Kvirin Klement, 323 the Rights of the Faithful (Lithuania),
B o rb a (Yugoslav newspaper), 314, 320, 0 7 , 125, 133
322 Catholic University of Lublin, 248-249
Boris, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox), 21 Ceau§escu, Elena, 344
Boris, King, of Bulgaria, 358 Ceaujescu, Nicolae, 12, 296, 328, 336—
Boris, Prince, of Bulgaria, 352-353 351, 413, 419
 Index 505

Central Asia. See Soviet Union, Muslims; Cyprus, 16, 17, 185, 401
a lso listings under individual Central Cyril, Saint, 21, 277, 372
Asian republics Cyril and Methodius Association
Chaadaev, Peter Yakovlevich, 98 (Czechoslovakia), 272
Charles the Great, emperor of the Ro­ Czech Brethren, 270, 276; in Yugoslavia,
mans, 46 300
Charles, King, of Romania, 332 Czechoslovak church (Hussite), 273, 276,
Charter 77, 282 279
Chelcicky, Petr, 272 Czechoslovakia, 5, 8, 9, 13, 19, 24, 28-29,
Chervenkov, Vulko, 360 54-55, 255, 264-285, 338; Counter-
China, 182, 198 Reformation in, 270; decline in number
Christianity, 3, 43-45, 138-139, 194, 423; of priests, 281; expulsion of Hungar­
transition from national religion to ians, 290; Jews in, 72-75; Muslims
universal religion, 5 in, 3 1; Orthodox church, 16, 17, 276,
Christoff, Peter, 82 414; proportion of believers, 275-276;
C h r o n ic le o f the C a th o lic C h u rch in Protestants, 264, 267, 268-270; number
L ith u a n ia (Lithuanian samizdat), 30, of Protestants (by denomination), 276;
109, ri7, 118, 130, 133, 134 Roman Catholic church, 25, 28, 270-
C h ro n ic le o f C u rren t E ven ts (Russian 273, 415; number of Roman Catholics,
samizdat), 101 275; Uniate (Greek Catholic) church,
Churchill, Sir Winston, 96 10, 12 -13 ; number of Uniates, 275. See
tim ic, Esad, 423 a lso Slovakia; Hussite movement
Cipariu, Timotiu, 334 Czechs, 305
Cisar, Archbishop Alexander, 25 Czuma, I., 249
Clain, Ion Ionochentie, 331
Clement, Abbot, 362 Dabcevic-Kucar, Savka, 320, 321
Clement, Saint, 372, 373 Dabrowski, Bishop Bronislaw, 254
Codreanu, Corneliu Zelea, 335 Dacia, 12, 328, 336
Concentration/labor camps, 19, 93, 277, Daghestani revolt (1920-1921), 32
363 Danilevski, Nikolai Yakovlevich, 89
Confiscation of churches/monasteries/ Danube-Black Sea canal project, 25
mosques, 18-19 , 25-26, 117, 176, David the Builder, King (of Georgia), 177
200-201, 277, 385 David of Sassoun, 177
Constantine I, Roman Emperor, 46 David V, Patriarch (Georgian Orthodox),
Council of Religious Affairs (USSR), 9, 19 35
Crimean Tatars, 151 Decembrists, 82
Croatia, 6, 10, 51, 299, 301, 3 11, 390; Defenestration (First) of Prague, 268
Catholic church, 6, 40, 52-53, 302, Demirchiaiyj Karen, 189
305-308, 318-323, 415,- Orthodox Diehl, E., 225-226
church, 6, 16, 17. See also Old Catholic Dimevski, Slavko, 373
church Dimitrov, Georgi, 357, 361
Croatian Party of Right, 306-307 Djaparidze, R., 192
Croatian Peasant party, 308 Dmowski, Roman, 250
Croatian Social party, 307 Dobrila, Bishop Jura, 307
Crvenkovski, Krste, 314 Dometian, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox),
Cuba, 182 363
Cuza, Prince Alexander Ion, 332 (Catholic publication in interwar
D o ro st
Cvijovid, Metropolitan Josip, 22 Czechoslovakia), 273
5o6 Religion and Nationalism

Dostoevsky, Feodor, 83, 87 Frank, Semen Ludvigovich, 87

Dreyfus, Captain Alfred, 61 Franz Josef, emperor of Austria-Hungary,
Dubcek, Alexander, 74 6
Dudas, Miklos, ro Frasheri, Naim, 383
Dudko, Fr. Dimitry, 93 French nationalism, 266
Diifel, Hans, 239 Frentziu, Bishop Valeriu Traian, 12
D u k h o v n a k u ltu ra (Bulgarian Orthodox Freudianism, interest in, 102
publication), 368, 369 Friedrich the Great, king of Prussia, 226
Durbe, Battle of, 123 Friedrich the Palatinate, 269
Dusan the Mighty, Serbian tsar, 315-316 Furov, V., Г9

East Germany. See German Democratic Gamsakhurdia, Constantine, 177

Republic Gamsakhurdia, Zviad, 36, 193
E c h m ia d z in (Armenian church journal), Gapurov, M. G., 34
177 Garic, Bishop Josip, 307
Einstein, Albert, 96 Garstecki, Joachim, 238
Emanuil, Arkyierei, 156 Gavrilo, Patriarch (Serbian Orthodox), 22
Engels, Friedrich, 42, 223, 226, 238, 413; Gecas, Jonas, Г25
on Luther, 227 Geda, Sigitas, 124
English nationalism, 264 Genghis Khan, 199
Eprem II, Patriarch (Georgian Orthodox), Georgia: 172, 175, Г79, 19 1-19 4 ; demon­
35, 177, 178 strations (1978), 36; nationalism, 36,
E ia S o cia lista (theoretical journal of 183, Г92-193; Orthodox church, 6,
Romanian Communist party), 351 16, r8, 35-36, Г73, 177-178, 183-184,
Eulogi, Metropolitan (Russian Orthodox), r86-r88, 414
416 Georgiev, Emil, 372
Evangelical Christians: in Ukraine, German, Patriarch (Serbian Orthodox),
148-149 23, 315, 316
Evangelical Church in the GDR. See German Democratic Republic, 38-39, 40,
Evangelical-Lutheran Church in the 223-240; Evangelical-Lutheran Church,
GDR 234-240; Muslims in, зг; pacifists, 39;
Evangelical-Lutheran Church in the GDR, Roman Catholic church, 25, 27-28, 239
234-240 Germanization, 318
E v r e y s k i vesti (Bulgarian Jewish news­ Germany, Federal Republic of, 223, 225,
paper), 15 229, 265, 349
Germogen, Bishop (Croatian Orthodox), 6
Fadilpa§i6, Fadil, 326 Gheorghiu-Dej, Gheorghe, 12, 24, 336,
Feminism: in the Soviet Union, 102 337
Fetisov, A., 83 Gierek, Edward, 254
Feuerbach, Ludwig, 42 Ginzburg, Aleksandr, 92
Filaret, Metropolitan, of Kiev, 28, 147- Glagolitic liturgy, 303, 306, 312
148, x5 8, 166 G la s H e ic e g o v ca (Franciscan newspaper
Filaret, Metropolitan, of Vidin, 362, 363, in Herzegovina), 307
365, З67 G la s k o n c ila (Croatian Catholic news­
Filofei, 8 paper), 317, 3 19
Fine, John, 303, 381, 398 G la s n ik (Serbian Orthodox publication),
Forck, Bishop Gottfried, 237-238, 239 22, 314
Franciscans, 303, 307 G la sn o st', n o , 136, 341
Frank:, Archbishop Franc, 319 , 3 2 1 G la s s lo b o d e (Bosnian newspaper), 310
 Index 507

Glazunov, Il'ia, 94, 96-98 295-297; Roman Catholic church,

Glemp, Jozef Cardinal, 254, 256 6, 26, 27, 28, 35, 36-37, 287-288,
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 84, 226 290-297, 415; Uniate (Greek Catholic)
Gomulka, Wladislaw, 27, 73 church, 10
Gorbachev, Mikhail, 28, 88, 91, 92-93, Hunyadi, Janos, 293
96, n o, 116, 120, 125, 196-197, 282, Hus, Jan, 268, 272, 282, 284
34i Husak, Gustav, 13, 282
Gordon, Arvan, 236 Hussite movement, 8, 54-55, 267-270,
Gotting, Gerald, 228, 230, 235 27T
Greek Catholics. See Uniates
Greeks, 3, 4, 352-356 Iakovlev, Aleksandr N., 93, 96, Г96
Gregori, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­ Ibisoglu, Halil, 401
dox), 362 Ibn-Sina, Abu Ali (Avicenna), Г99, 213
Griskevicius, Petras, r27, 128 Ikramov, Akmal, 210
Grossman, V., 98 Ikramov, Kamil, 210
Griinwald Patriotic Union, 16 Ilia II, Patriarch (Georgian Orthodox),
Gumilev, Lev, 100 35-36, Г84, r86, Г87
Gutenberg, Johannes, 226 Illyes, Gyula, 295
Gypsies, 308 Illyria, 52, 305, 306
India, 196; Muslims in, 396
Habsburgs, 49, 51, 52-54, 7r, 286, 307, In fo im a c e o c i i k v i (Czech Catholic
32 1 , 3 3 L 333 samizdat), 283-284
Havryliv, Rev. Mykhailo, 158 Ingilos, Г87
Hel, Ivan, 158 Initiative Group for the Defense of the
Hempel, Bishop Johannes, 236 Lithuanian Language, 12 r
Henry IV, Holy Roman emperor, 43 Initiative Group for the Defense of the
Herzl, Theodor, 61, 62 Rights of Believers and the Church in
Hitler, Adolf, 96, 177, 274 Ukraine, 157
Hlinka, Fr. Andrej, 29, 55, 271, 274, 284, In its ia tiv n y k y , 149, 152
285 loan, Bishop, of Zhytomir and Ovruch,
Hlond, August Cardinal, 245-246 r6o
Honecker, Erich, 223, 228, 234, 236, 237, Ioanikii, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­
238, 239, 240 dox), 36Г-362, 363
Horbal, Mykola, 167 Iqbal, Muhammad, 396
Horthy, Admiral Miklos, 288 Iran, Г98, 20Г, 202, 395
Hoxha, Enver, 26, 384, 385, 387 Iraq, 325
Hromadka, Fr. Josef, 276 Irinei, Archbishop (Russian Orthodox),
Hrushevo, Apparition of Madonna at, 158 1 59
Hruza, Karel, 278 Iron Guard, 335
H iv a t s k i tje d n ik (Croatian newspaper), Islam. See Muslims
308 Islamic Declaration, 325-326, 395-396
Humo, Avdo, 324 Islamic modernization, 2 11- 2 14
Hungarian Evangelical church: in Yu­ Islamic Religious Community in Yu­
goslavia, 300 goslavia: reorganized 1945, 391
Hungary, 7, 53-54, 148, 255, 286-298; Isla m sk a m isa o (Bosnian Muslim publica­
anti-Semitism, 15; Jews in, 15, 71, 74, tion), 32
75, 287, 288; national self-image, 266; Israel, 182
Protestants, 287-288, 291, 294, 296; Israeli Communist party, 14
religious press on plight of minorities, Istuk, Hrvoje, 394
5<d8 Religion and Nationalism

Italy, 383 Karmal, Babrak, 203

Ivan Assen II, tsar of Bulgaria, 47 K a to lick a D a lm a c ija(Franciscan news­
Izetbegovic, Alija, 325-326, 395 paper in Dalmatia), 307
Iz g lu b in y , 88 K a to lic k i list (Croatian Catholic news­
paper), 307
Jadids, 210 Kaunas riots (1972), 133
Jakes, Milos, 282 Kaunas Seminary, 30
Jaksic, Jovo, 310 Kazakhstan, 34, 197, 207, 208, 214
Janjic, Nedjo, 3t8 Kazimieras, Saint, ir8
Jaruzelski, Gen. Wojciech, 254, 256 Kazimierz, Jan (king of Poland), 249
Jehovah's Witnesses: in Ukraine, 1 5 1 - Kevork VI, Catholicos, 178
152; in Yugoslavia, 300 kgb , 11, 19, 29, 35, 94, 183
Jelavich, Barbara, 380 Khanzadian, Sero, 189
Jelavich, Charles, 380 Kharchev, Konstantin, 96
Jews, 10, 13 -16 , 24, 56, 5 9 -7 7 , 138- See Khiva, 199-200
a lso listings under individual countries Khojayev, Faizullah, 210
John Paul II, Pope, 31, 117, 163, 250, Khomeini, Ayatollah, 387, 394, 395, 403
257, 279, 282, 323, 417; visit to Poland Khomiakov, Alexei S., 84-85, 86, 87
(1983), 258 Khrushchev, Nikita S., 29, 162, 177, 336,
Josef II, Holy Roman Emperor, 3 11 374; anti-religious campaign, 15, 18,
Joseph, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­ 66-67, 179 , 416
dox), 362, 363, 366, 373 Kireevski, Ivan, 82, 84
Jovan II, Patriarch (Serbian Orthodox), 303 Kiril, Patriarch (Bulgarian Orthodox), 358,
Junge W elt (East German youth organ), 359, 360, 362, 363, 373, 375
226 Klusak, Milan, 281
Justinian Marina, Patriarch (Romanian Kojalowicz-Wijak, Albert, 128
Orthodox), 20 Kollar, Jan, 55, 271
Komensky, Jan Amos, 272
Kaczmarek, Bishop Lech, 253 Kominek, Boleslaw Cardinal, 244, 245
Radar, Janos, 36-37, 293, 2 9 5 , 296 K o m m u n ist (cpsu theoretical journal),
Kadlecovä, Erika, 275, 278 203
Kaganovich, Lazar, 91 K o m m u n ist T a jik ista n a (Soviet journal),
Kaiser, Robert, 191 34
Kakol, Kazimierz, 248 (Soviet youth
K o m s o m o l’skaia p ia v d a
Kalinik, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­ organization newspaper), 92
dox), 362, 364, 367, 375 Konev, Marshal Ivan, 94
Kalinin, Mikhail, 416 Kopernik, Mikolaj, 249
Kalistrat, Egumenius, 21 Koshelev, Aleksandr, 82
,K:illay, Benjamin von, 57, 309 Kosovo, 23, 313, 316 -317, 387, 391; Al­
Kalynets, Ihor, 167 banian riots (1981), 316, 327; Catholics
Kangrga, Milan, 394 in, 320
Kania, Stanislaw, 254 Kosovo polje, Battle of (1389), 265, 267
Kant, Immanuel, 226 Kossuth, Lajos, 287
Kanty, Jan, 249 Kovrig, Bennett, 292
Kapetanovid, Mchmedbeg, 309 Kramerius, Vaclav Matej, 272
Kaputikian, Silva, 189 Krasnovas, Aleksandras, 124
Karabcgovid, Osman, 324 KrikSdiunas, Bishop, 117
Karadiid, Vuk, 305, 3’ S Kriianid, Juraj, 305
Kardcij, Edvard, 301, 391 Kriianid, Krsto, 321
 Index 509

Kuharic, Archbishop Franjo, 319, 320, L iu d y n a i s v it (Soviet atheist journal), 159

321, 322 Lockwood, William, 404
Kukulowicz, Romuald, 254 Lominadze, V., 176
Kulenovic, Dzufer bej, 390 London, Treaty of (1915), 384
Kulikovo, Battle of, 106, 123 L ’ O s s e iv a to ie R o m a n o (Vatican news­
Kulmer, Baron Miroslav, 306 paper), 279
K u ltu ia (Polish émigré publication!, 255 Losskii, Nikolai, 87
Rustic, Zivko, 319 L o s vo n R o m movement, 272
Kyrghyzstan, 197, 215 Lovers of Wisdom Society, 82
Kyrill, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox, in Luca, Vasile, 336
emigration), 366 Lukianenko, Lev, 166
Luther, Martin, 38-39, 40; Luther Quin­
L a isv è s s a u k ly s (Lithuanian samizdat|, centenary, 223-224, 228-240; in
1 3 4 , 135 Marxist historiography, 223, 226-228,
Lajos I, King of Hungary, 49 230-231
Lalovié, Miroslav, 393 Lutherans: in Slovakia, 55. See also
Lanshchikov, Anatolii Petrovich, 83 Evangelical-Lutheran church in the
Latvia: demonstrations (1987), 107 GDR
Laube, Adolf, 231
Lauer, Reinhard, 305 Macedonia, 10, 312, 324, 356, 360, 372,
League of the Archangel Michael, 335 373, 391; Muslims in, 327, 3 9 ^—3 9 3 ;
League of Communists of Yugoslavia: Orthodox church, 17, 21, 23, 49-50,
Fifth National Conference (1940), 310 301, 3 13-314 , 326; population at
League of Militant Godless, 69, 90, 92 beginning of century, 355
Lebanon, 182, 185 Macek, Vlatko, 308
Leich, Bishop Werner, 234 Macharski, F. Cardinal, 250
Lékai, Lâszlô Cardinal, 36-37 Magyar Autonomous Region, 337, 339
Lelesius, Father, 30 Magyarization, 271, 288, 312, 318, 333
Lemercier-Quelquejay, Chantal, 215 Mahnic, Bishop A., 307
Lenin, Vladimir Ilych, 63-64, 96 Maior, Petru, 334 ""
Leo I, Pope, 46 M a k e d o n ia (Bulgarian liberal organ), 354
Leo XIII, Pope, 272 Mamatey, Victor, 267
Leont'ev, Konstantin, 83, 87, 89, too Mao Zedong, 96
Leopold II, Holy Roman emperor, 12 Marcinko, Mate, 321
Levakovic, 305 Margaret, Saint, 290
Libya, 325, 396, 403 M a ria (Russian feminist samizdat), 102
Lipany, Battle of (1434), 269 Markovic, Mihailo, 406
Ligachev, Yegor, 92, 93, 107, 192 Marx, Karl, 42, 17 1, 176, 226, 413, 414;
Likhachev, Dimitry, 90, 106 Karl Marx Year (1983), 229
Literatura i i M e n a s (Soviet literary Marxism-Leninism, 44, 84, 176, 194,
journal], 31 412-414
Lithuania, 10 9 -137; armed guerrilla Masaryk, Tomas, 270, 272, 273
movement in, 18, 115, 119; indepen­ Mashtots, Mesrop, 179
dent state, 114 - 115 ; Roman Catholic Masons, 91
church, 6, 25, 30, 40, 415 Matei Basarab, Prince, of Wallachia, 49
Lithuanian Youth of Vilnius, 13 1 M a tic a h rv a tsk a (Croatian Cultural
L itu a n istin è b ib lio te k a (Lithuanian book Society), 307, 308, 320, 321
series), 128 M a tic a m u slim a n s k a (proposed Muslim
Litvakov, Moishc, 64 Cultural Society), 324
510 Religion and Nationalism

M a tic a srpska (Serbian Cultural Society], (Soviet youth monthly),

M o lo d a ia g vardia
3^4 83, 92, 9 4 , 95
Matthias, Holy Roman emperor, 269 Molotov, Polina Zemschuzina, 14
Maxim, Patriarch (Bulgarian Orthodox), Molotov, Vyacheslav, T4
361, 362, 364, 365, 366, 368-369, 373, Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact (1939), 107, 119,
375-376 128
Maximilian, Holy Roman emperor, 305 Moltman, Jürgen, 229
Mchedlov, M., 160 Montenegro, 10, 301, 312, 391; Orthodox
Medjugorje, Apparition of Madonna at, Church rumored, 315
158 Moroz, Valentyn, 165-166
Mehmed II (Ottoman sultan), 47, 353 Moses, 4
Mehmet, Iacub, 403 Movement for Spiritual Culture (Russia),
Men', Father Aleksandr, 90-91 102
Mennonites, t49 Moyses, Bishop Stephan, 271
M e ik u r ii (Russian samizdat bulletin), 104 Muhammad, 2ri, 422
Merz, Ivan, 323 Muhic, Fuad, 393
Meskhians, 187, 192 Müntzer, Thomas, 39, 227, 239
Methodius, Saint, 21, 38, 277, 372; Muslim National Organization, 310
1,1 ooth anniversary celebrations, Muslims, 9, 3 1 - 3 5 , 56-57, 378-407,
282—283 422; in Soviet Central Asia, 196-219;
Michael the Brave, 330, 340 in Yugoslavia, 308-311, 323-326;
Michnik, Adam, 255 Muslim Republic, 324, 395-396. See
Micu-Clain, Samuil, 334 a lso listings under individual countries
Mihailovic, Draza, 390 Mussolini, Benito, 96
Mikhail of Rousse, 358 M y s t e r y o f the T w e n tie th C e n tu ry
Miklos, Imre, 37 (painting by I. Glazunov), 96-97
Mikoyan, Anastas, r88 Mzhavanadze, V. P., 183
Milik, Rev. Karol, 245
Milin, Lazar, 8 Nagorno-Karabagh Autonomous Region,
Millennium of Christianity (in Russia/ 285, 189, t9o
Ukraine, 1988), 19, 90, 158, 160, r62- Nagy, Imre, 292-293
163 Najmuddin, Imam, 32
Millet system, 4, 47-48, 173, r75, 380- Nakhichevan Autonomous Republic, 185
381, 405, 415 N a ro d e n p a stir (organ of the Bulgarian
Mindszenty, Jozsef Cardinal, 24-25, 35, Priests' Union), 359
54, 290-29 r, 293 N a ro d n i lis t (Croatian newspaper), 307
Miron, Archimandrit (Bulgarian Ortho­ N a s a (Croatian Catholic periodical), 320
dox), 363 N a sa sloga (Croatian Catholic news­
M is io n a r (Serbian Orthodox publication!, paper!, 307
22 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 391
Mittenzwei, Ingrid, 228 National Bolshevism, 81, 83, 89, 90,
M n o g a ia leta (Russian samizdat almanac), 93- 94, 10 4
90 Nationalism, 46; defined, 7, 112 - 113 ,
Moczar, Gen. Mieczyslaw, 15, 73 172, 265, 418-419; ecclesiastical
Mohdcs, Battle of (1526), 53, 267 involvement in, 139, 195, 244, 249-251,
Mohyla, Metropolitan Pctro (Ukrainian 261-262, 294-298, 299-300, 303, 320-
Orthodox), 141 321, 421-422; national heritage, 264;
Moldavia, 49, 329, 330, 33a—333 relationship with religion analyzed,
 Index 5 ii

38-41, n o, 1x3, 129-137, 184, 190- O ito d o x ia (Romanian Orthodox publica­

191, 418; sources of symbiosis with tion), 20
religion, 260, 264, 271-272, 299, 302; Osipov, Vladimir, 93, 95, 96, 97, 99, 101
types of, 172, 265-266; Wyszynski's O slo b o d je n je (Bosnian newspaper), 317
theology of nationhood, 259-262. See Ossetians, 192
a lso traumatic nationalism Ottoman Empire. See Turkey
Nazarian, Robert, 191
Nemanja, Prince Stefan I, 47, 303 Pacem in Terris (Czechoslovakia), 278-
Nemanja, Prince Stefan II, 47 279
Nemec, Ludvik, 273 Paisii, Father (of Khilendar), 21, 38, 40,
Nenadovic, Archpriest Matija, 304 3 53 - 3 5 4 , 3 7 1 , 397
Neo-Nazis. See National Bolshevism Paisi of Vratsa, 358-359, 362
Nestor, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox), 363 Pakistan, 198, 396
Nevsky, Aleksandr, r23, 363 Palacky, Frantisek, 284
New Economic Policy (n e p ), t7 Palusinski, Rev. Jan, 251
N e w Lig h t (Bulgarian bilingual news­ Pamiat' (Russian nationalist association),
paper): Turkish edition ceases publica­ 91-92, 97 - 9 8 , 105
tion, 32 Pancrati, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­
Nicholas I, Pope, 352 dox), 362, 364, 365, 367, 368
Nicholas II, tsar of Russia, 93, 96 Pan-Islam, 33, 325-326, 387, 389, 393-
Nicodemus, Patriarch (Romanian Ortho­ 396
dox), 20 Panjekidze, T , 193
Nikodim, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Panteleimon, Metropolitan (Belorussian
Orthodox), 362, 364, 373 Orthodox), 5
Nikolai, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox), 363 Pan-Turkism, 33
N I N (Serbian weekly magazine), 24 Paramonov, Boris, 10 1-10 2
n kvd , rr Paris Peace Treaty (1947), 290
Novak, Kurt, 230, 233 Parsons, Talcott, 3
N o v a M a k e d o n ija (Macedonian news­ Parteni, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox), 362
paper), 3x4, 3x5, 392 Paskai, Archbishop Laszlo, 37
Nowicki, Rev. Edmund, 245 Pastuszka, Rev. J., 249
Patrascanu, Lucretiu, 336
Pauker, Ana, 15, 336
(Russian samizdat journal),
O b sh c h in a Paul V, Pope, 270
103 Paul VI, Pope, 37, 320, 417
Odoacer, King, of the Herules, 46 Pavelic, Ante, 6, 17
Ogorodnikov, Aleksandr, 102-104 Pavlisic, Archbishop Josip, 322
Old Believers, 148 Pavlovic, Teodor, 305
Old Catholic church: in Croatia, 300, 312 Pazmany, Peter Cardinal, 287
Oleinyk, Borys, 107 Peace Committee of Catholic Clergy
Omerbasic, Imam Serko, 325 (Czechoslovak), 277-278
Ordas, Bishop Lajos, 291 Pejacevic, F. K., 305
Oriental religions, interest in, 102 Pejkic, K., 305
Origen, 422 Pentecostalists: in Ukraine, 149, 15 1- 15 2
Orthodox church in America, 17 Perestroik a, n o , 341
Orthodox churches, 4, 9, 16-24, 46- P e rsp e k ty v o s (Lithuanian samizdat), 135
50, 296-297. See also listings under Peru, 322
individual countries Peter the Great, emperor of Russia, 415
5 12 Religion and Nationalism

Petrosian, Vardges, 190 Priests' Union (Bulgaria), 357-358, 359,

Philotheus. See Filofei 362
Pijade, Mose, 310 Privatization of religion, 301
Pilar, Ivo, 302 Prizren League, 383
Pilsudski, Joseph, 250 Protestants, 56, 270, 417. See also list­
Pimen, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­ ings under individual countries and
dox), 362, 368-369, 373 individual denominations
Pimen, Patriarch (Russian Orthodox), 148, Prussia, 229, 246
r6o Pundeff, Marin, 397
P ir in s k i v e s tn ik (Macedonian newspaper), Purivatra, Atif, 302
374
Pitirim, Metropolitan (Russian Orthodox), Qaddafi, Colonel Muammar, 325
ro6
Pius VI, Pope, 3 r r R a b o tn ich e sk o d elo (Bulgarian party
Plojhar, Father Josef, 277, 278 organ), 399
Pogacnik, Archbishop Joze, 302 Racki, Father Franjo, 306
P o k u tn y k y , 256-157 Raffi, 277
Poland, 6, 24, 52-52, 287, 295, 296; Rajacic, Patriarch Josip, 304
insurrection in 2863, 246; Jews in, Rajic, Jovan, 305
25-26, 52, 70-74, 75; Muslims in, Rakoczi, Ferenc II, 287
32; Orthodox church, 16, 17, 51, Rakoczi, George, 287
424; partitions, 246; Roman Catholic Rakosi, Matyas, 290, 29Г, 292
church, 9, 26, 27, 28, 242-263, 425; Rakowska-Harmstone, Teresa, 172, r88
Uniate (Greek Catholic) church, to. See Rankovic, Aleksandar, 324, 392-392
a lso Solidarity Rasputin, V, 88
Polianskii, Dimitry, 95 Ratiu, loan, 334
Polonization: of Lithuania, it4 Ravasz, Bishop Laszlo, 291
Pope, Earl, 346 Redzic, Enver, 389
Popieluszko, Rev. Jerzy, 258 Reformed Church of Transcarpathia, Г48,
Poresh, Vladimir, 204 149
Potochniak, Father Antin, i $ 6 Reformed Church of Transylvania, 54
Pozderac, Hamdija, 393 Religion: civil rituals as alternative to,
P ra vd a (Soviet party organ), 34, 97, 289, 204; constitutive of group identity, 4,
202, 206 299, 32r ; as a defense mechanism, 347
P ra v o sla v lje (Serbian Orthodox news­ defined, 3, 7, 43, 422; policy toward,
paper), 24, 314, 316, 393 8-ro, 426-428; political aspect, 44-45
P ra v o s la v n y i v is n y k (Russian Orthodox relationship to morality, 259, 412;
periodical in Ukrainian), 247 threat to communism, Г64, 423-424,
Prennushi, Archbishop Vincenc, 25 types of, 412
P re p o io d (Bosnian Islamic newspaper), Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact. See Molotov-
32.5 Ribbentrop Pact
Presbyterians (in Hungary). See Calvinist Rodina Society, 94
Church Rodionov, V. S., roi
Priboevius, Vincentius. See Pribojevic, R o ln ic k y n o v in y (Czechoslovak news­
Vinko paper), 38
P r ib o je v ié , V in k o , 30 5 Roman Catholic church. See Catholic
P r i e s t s ' a s s o c ia t io n s : in B u lg a r ia , 3 5 7 - church
3 5 8 , 3 5 9 , 3 6 1 ; in C z e c h o s lo v a k ia , 26, R o m a n ia , 7, 2 4 , 3 2 8 - 3 5 1 , 3 9 ° ; G e r m a n s
2 7 7 - 2 7 9 1 in P o la n d , 2 7 ; in R o m a n ia , 1 9 in , 3 4 9 ) J e w s in , 1 5 , 7 3 - 7 5 , 7 <>i M u s ­
 Index 513

lims in, 31, 378-379, 401-404, 407; San Stefano, Treaty of (1878), 383
nationalities policy, 5, 337-341; Or­ Sarcevic, Boza, 307
thodox church, 6, xi, 16, 17, 19-20, Sardarabad, Battle of (1918), 182, 186
21, 319-ЗЗО, 333-334, 341-343, 345, Saric, Archbishop Ivan, 7, 307
347, 414, 416; Protestants, 329; Ro­ Sarkisian, Fadei, 181
man Catholic church, 6, 12, 25, 28, Sava, Saint, 47, 303, 304
329, 342-343; Uniate (Greek Catholic) Scarfe, Alan, 180
church, 10, 1 1 - 1 2 , 330-331, 334, 415; Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Josef von, 84
number of Uniates, io; suppression of Schneider, Reinhold, 239
Uniates, 1 1 - 1 2 , 337. See also Magyar Schonherr, Bishop Albrecht, 237
Autonomous Region; Transylvania S cin te ia (Romanian party organ), 351
Romanianization, 28, 295 Seigewasser, Hans, 228
Romaniuk, Father Vasyl, 166 Sepetys, Lionginas, 122
Romanov dynasty, 331 Serafim, Archimandrit (Bulgarian Ortho­
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, 96 dox), 362
Rosen, Chief Rabbi (in Hungary), 75, 76 Serbia, 10, 299, 301, 3 11, 317, 324, 382,
Rudenko, Mykola, 167 384, 391; Orthodox church, 6, 8, 16, 18,
Rudolf, Holy Roman emperor, 269 22-24, 39, 47, 300, 302-305, 312-318,
R u g a e P a rtisë (Albanian party journal), 415; number of Orthodox, 18
387 Serbian Insurrection, First, 304
Rulik, Jan, 272 Serednia, Miracle of, 156
Ruralist School (Russian literature), 8r, Sergius, Saint, 106
i°5 Setka, Father Jeronim, 321
Rusinovic, Nikola, 308 Seton-Watson, Hugh, 70
Russia, 305; Jews in, 61 ; nationalism, 8 1- Seventh Day Adventists: in Ukraine, 149,
83, 9 1 - 9 4 , 100, 106, 141; Slavophiles, 15 1- 15 2 ; in Yugoslavia, 300
8, 81-108, 417; Third Rome, 8, 139, Shafarevich, Igor, 88
417 Shamil, Sheikh, 33, 215 /
Russianization. S e e Russification Shatorov, Metodi, 374
Russian language. See Tashkent Confer­ Shaw, Stanford, 381
ence Shelepin, Aleksandr, 95
Russian Orthodox church, 6, 8, 16, 18-19, Sheptytsky, Metropolitan Andrei, 142,
28, 82-83, 116, 168-169, 276, 414, 416; 162
number of believers, 17; in Ukraine, Shevardnadze, Eduard, 183, 192
140, r 44-148, 1 60-163 Shimanov, Gennadii, 90
Russification, 6, 30, 36, 114, 119 -122, Siberia, 102, 197, 291
I3O -I3I, I64, 177, 185, 192, 210; of Sidhom, Michel, 386-387
Hungary, 289 Sigismund, Holy Roman emperor, 268,
Russo-Turkish War, 402 269
Ruthenes, ro Sikorski, Gen. Wladyslaw, 250
Rutkevich, Lev, 102 Simeon, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox),
R z e c z y w is t o s c (Polish newspaper), 16 362, 363, 366
Simeon I, tsar of Bulgaria, 47, 353
Safarik, Pavel Josef, 55, 271 Sincai, Gheorghe, 334
Sagi-Bunic, Father Tomislav, 319 Singleton, Fred, 307
Çaguna, Bishop Andreiu, 333 Sisters of Our Lady of Hungary, 37
Saidbayev, T. S., 205, 206, 208-209, 210 Skendi, Stavro, 383
Sali, Regep, 403 Skrypnyk, Metropolitan Mstyslav, 159
Samolvin, Ivan, 89 Skurlatov, Valerii, 89
514 Religion and Nationalism

Slansky, Rudolf: trial of, 15, 72 Stefan I, Exarch (Bulgarian Orthodox), 21,
Slaveikov, P. R., 354 357-358
S la v ia n i (Bulgarian publication), 367-368, Stephen, Saint |king of Hungary), 290,
373 294, 295
Slipyj, fosyf Cardinal, 162 Stephen the Great, 330, 340
Slovak Evangelical church: in Yugoslavia, Stepinac, Alojzije Cardinal, 25, 308, 318,
300 323
Slovakia, 29, 31, 266, 281, 282-285; Stojkovic, Bishop Dositej, 313
Christian Reformed church of Slovakia, Stolpe, Manfred, 234
276; independent state, 29, 274; Jews Stolypin, Peter, 96
in, 71; Orthodox church, 416; Roman Stomma, Stanislaw, 257
Catholic church, 6, 9, 273-275, 415; Strossmayer, Bishop Josip Juraj, 5 3, 3 ° 6
Slovak Evangelical church, 276; Uniate Strzeszewski, C., 249
(Greek Catholic) church, 10, 12 -13 S tu d ii T eo lo g ice (Romanian Orthodox
Slovak People's party, 29, 271, 274 publication), 20
Slovenia, 10, 52, 56, 266, 299, 318, 319, Stur, L'udevit, 55, 271
415 Stus, Vasyl, 167
Smajlovic, Ahmed, 396 Subev, Todor, 362, 367
Smith, Anthony, 404 Suciu, Bishop Ion, r2
Snegarov, Ivan, 355 Sufi orders, 33, 200, 206, 224-216
Social Democratic party in Bosnia- Sukarno, 391
Herzegovina, 310 §ulutiu, Bishop Alexandru S., 3 3 4
Sofroni, Bishop (Bulgarian Orthodox), 3 9 7 Svarinskas, Rev. Alfonsas, 118
Solidarity (Independent Trade Union), 28, Sverstiuk, Yevhen, 167
45, 88, 251, 253, 254-258 Syria, 325
Soloukhin, C., 417 Szechenyi, Count Istvan, 287
Solov'ev, Vladimir, 86-87 Szlavy, Joint Minister of Finance, 309
Soltys, Father Ihnatii, 156
Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr, 89, 96, 98 Taborites, 5 4 -5 5 , 268-269, 272
Soroka, Borys, 167 Tajikistan, 1 9 7 , 209
S o ve tish H a im la n d (Soviet Jewish publi­ Tamerlane, 1 9 9
cation), 14 Tamkevicius, Rev. Sigitas, ir8
Sovietization, 209, 213; of Hungary, 289 Tamonis, Mindaugas, 30
Soviet Union: Catholic church, 28, 29- Tancher, V., 163
30; census of T979, 209; Jews in, 14-15, Tashkent Conference on the Teaching of
29, 64-69, 420; Muslims in, 32-35, Russian, 12 1- 12 2 , 127
187, 196-219; nationality policy, 5, Tatars. S e e Crimean Tatars; Volga Tatars
29-30, 31; religious policy, 18, 1 8 1 Tautos k e lia s (Lithuanian samizdat), 126,
Soviet-Yugoslav rift: effects on Serbian 13 1
Orthodox church, 22 Teoctist, Patriarch (Romanian Orthodox),
Stadler, Archbishop Josef, 53, 307, 3 ° 9 414
Stalin, J. V., 14, 18, 27, 63, 96, 14 3, 177, Teodor, Metropolitan, of Skopje, 313
194 Xepe§, Vlad, 340
Stanislaw, Saint, 249 Terela, Josyf, 157, 158, 166
Staricvic, Ante, 306-307 Terleckas, Antanas, r34
Staszic, Stanislaw, 8 Tha?i, Archbishop Gasper, 25
Stefan, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­ Theocracy, 4, 4 1
dox), 361, 373 Third Rome. See Russia
 Index 5x5

Tischer, Rev. Jozef, 254 Ulugh Bek, t99

Tiso, Msgr. Jozef, 29, 55, 274-275, 284, Uniates (Greek Catholics), 9, 10 -13 . See
285 a lso listings under individual countries
Tito, Josip Broz, 22, 23, 50, 57, 308, 314, Union of Democratic Priests (Romania),
391 19
Tkâc, Father Aloyz, 279 Urlanis, Boris, 126
T lo (Croatian newspaper), 308 U staSe, 7, 53, 266, 307-308, 3 11, 319,
Tokarczuk, Bishop, 257 322, 390
Tolbukhin, Marshal F. I., 357 Uszynski, Rev. Tadeusz, 250
Tomâsek, Frantisek Cardinal, 278, 280, Uzbekistan, 33, 196-197, 207, 208, 209
281-282 Uzum Haji, Sheikh, 32
Tomislav, king of Croatia, 303
Tomsa, Frantisek Jan, 272
Transylvania, 12, 20, 49, 53-54, 55, 287, Valek, M., 278
295, 296, 298, 328, 329, 330, 331, Valentinian III, Roman emperor, 46
333- 334, 348 Varlaam, Metropolitan (Bulgarian Ortho­
Traumatic nationalism, 265-267, 284-285 dox), 362, 373
Trianon, Treaty of (1920), 288 V a ito va B ash ta (Jehovah's Witnesses'
Tripalo, Miko, 320, 32Г publication in Ukraine), 152
Trofenik, Rudolf, 23 Vase, Pashko, 386
Trubetskoi, S., 87 Vasil'ev, D., 92
Truly Orthodox church, 152 Vasilije, Bishop (Serbian Orthodox), 318
Tsuleiskuri, N., Г92 Vassili, Archimandrit (Bulgarian Ortho­
T su rk o v e n ve stn ik (Bulgarian Orthodox dox), 362
newspaper), 364, 368, 369, 372, 375 Vazken I Baljian, Catholicos, 179, r8r,
Tudjman, Franjo, 392 182, r85, 186, 191
Turkestan, Г99, 200 V ece rn je n o vo sti (Serbian newspaper), 325
Tbrkey, 47-49, 56-57, 173, Г74-Г75, Г78, V ech e (Russian samizdat), 95, 98, 99, 100,
X85, 19 8 , 303, 326, 329-З ЗЗ , 353, 355,
380-381, 384, 397 - 3 9 8 , 406 101 (Russian religious samizdat), 86 I
V ekhi
Turkmenistan, 34-35, Г97 Velimirovic, Bishop Nikolaj, 22, 317-318
Tverdokhlebov, Andrei, Г02 Veliyanov, P. V., 367, 373
Veritas (Croatian Catholic monthly), 320
Ukraine, 29-30, 138-170; armed guerrilla V e sn ik (Serbian Orthodox publication),
movement in, r8; Autocephalous 22, 3 16 -317
Orthodox church, 5-6, 16, r7, 40, V iata S tu d en tea sca (Romanian student
Г41, Г42, Г51, I53, I59-I60, 420; newspaper), 351
Jews in, r 5 r ; Muslims in, r 5 r ; Roman Vikentije, Patriarch (Serbian Orthodox),
Catholic church, Г50-151; Ukrainians 73
in Yugoslavia, ro; Uniate (Greek Vins, Georgi, 152
Catholic) church, 6, 9, 10 -ri, 28, 40, V je sn ik (Croatian newspaper), 314, 322
1 54 - 1 5 5 , 158-Г59, 4x5; illegal congress V je sn ik Sv. N ik o le T avelica, 321
of Uniates in Lvov (1965), n ; number Vladimirescu, Tudor, 332
of Uniates, ro; suppression of Uniates Vojvodina, 71, 300, 304, 318
in 1946, rr, 165 Volga Tatars, 197, 200
U k r a in s k y v isn y k , 164 Voloshyn, Msgr. Avhustyn, 142
Ulbricht, Walter, 224 Volskis, Aloyzas, 31
Ultraquism, 268 Voltaire, 43
51 6 Religion and Nationalism

von der Ropp, Archbishop Baron Eduard, Yeltsyn, Boris, 91, 92, 96
15 Ylius, Father, 30
Vorobchievici, Rev. V., 12 Young, Crawford, 406
Voznesenskaia, Iuliia, 102 Young people: and Islam, 207-208; in
Vytautas the Great, 133 Poland, 247-248
V y tis (Lithuanian samizdat), 135 Yugoslavia, 10, 13, 24, 265-266, 299-
327, 356, 403, 406, 4t4; Jews in, 76;
Walesa, Lech, 254., 256 Muslims in, 31-32, 3 9 / 3 °° , 3 02, 3 2 3~
Walicki, Andrzej, 82, 87 326, 378-379, 388-396; nationalities
Wallachia, 49, 329, 330, 332-333 policy, 5; relations with Bulgaria, 17,
Wenceslaus IV, King (of Bohemia), 268 23, 313, 374-375/ 401; religious policy,
White Mountain, Battle of (1620), 54, 267, 30o-3or; Roman Catholic church,
270, 285 26, 28, 299, 302, 305-308, 318—32.3;
Wilson, Woodrow, 384 Uniate (Greek Catholic) church, ro.
Wimbush, S. Enders, 33 S e e a lso Bosnia-Herzegovina; Croatia;
Witos, Wincenty, 250 Kosovo; Macedonia; Montenegro;
Wixman, Ronald, 33 Serbia; Slovenia; Vojvodina
Wlodkowic, Pawel, 249 Yugoslav Muslim Organization, 390
Wojtyla, Karol Cardinal. See John Paul II,
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W o m a n a n d R u ssia (Russian feminist Zahiragic, Munib, 326
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World Council of Churches, 177, 364 Zalyvakha, Opanas, 167
World Peace Council, 364 Z e m lia (Russian samizdat), 93, 99, 101
Wronka, Rev. Andrzej, 245 Zhivkov, Todor, 26, 364, 376
Wyclif, John, 267-268 Zimanas, Genrikas, h i , 127-128
Wyszynski, Stefan Cardinal, 24, 27, 57, Zionist movement, 61-62, 65, 91
247, 248, 252-253, 254-257, 259-262 2 izka, Jan, 54-55, 169
Z n a k (Catholic parliamentary faction),
Yaroslavsky, Emel'ian, 92 257
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Religion and nationalism in Soviet and East European politics
edited by Pedro Ramet. — Rev. and expanded ed.
p. cm. — (Duke Press policy studies)
Bibliography: p. Includes index.
ISBN 0-8223-0854-1. ISBN 0-8223-0891-6 (pbk.)
i. Nationalism—Religious aspects. 2. Nationalism—Europe,
Eastern. 3. Europe, Eastern—Religion. 4. Religion and state—
Europe, Eastern. 5. Europe, Eastern—Politics and
government— 19 45- I. Ramet, Pedro, 1949- . II. Series.
BL65.N3R45 1989
322'.i'o 9 4 7—dc 19 88-21132 cip