Orthodox Reflections

Several converts I have talked to have had the same experience as I. When you’re new to Orthodoxy, you like the Russian choral music the best. It feels like real music. The harmonies click. It’s very conducive to congregational singing. It’s better than even most classical music, much less the psychic abortion of pop radio. It’s fun and exciting and makes you feel engaged in the liturgy.

But the Byzantine music is kind of off-putting. Sometimes it’s okay I guess, but often the scales are very foreign, and the melody always seems at least a little out of joint. It can be tiresome to listen to it for several hours, especially if the chanter sounds … dry.

But then after about three years, you come to prefer the Byzantine music. It just feels like church music. It stretches back into ancient human tradition. It’s quiet music. It’s more prayerful, and you can get lost in the liturgy even without knowing the language.

And now the Russian music feels tiresome. It feels cheap and lazy, especially when a lot of effort isn’t put into it. And it also feels arbitrary, that someone randomly decided that this melody is this tone, and so it is. It’s repetitive and unmelodic, and the various festal troparia all blend into each other and lose anything that makes them special. You especially feel it on Theophany when you sing the same troparion over and over and over and over until you learn to hate church music.

Then as you learn about the history of the Russian Church, you learn that this isn’t the music of the Russian Church at all! The traditional music was plain chant like Byzantine and Gregorian, although the scales are very different. It has the same haunting way of grabbing you by the throat, and you feel the holiness radiating through, like a distant light piercing the dust in the air. The znamenny music has the same quiet and prayerful spirit of the Byzantine chant.

A few groups still do znamenny chant, particularly Valaam monastery and the Old Believers, but the tradition is almost dead. And, as I understand it, it is very difficult to revive because it was very contextual, something you can only learn by being immersed in it. (It is also my understanding that Valaam chant is slightly different in that it has a drone note like the Byzantine ison.)

The Russian choral music came out of the 1600s renovations, albeit with some precedent, and accelerated under Tsar Peter the Bad. The Russian government in the new swamp capital of St Petersburg wanted to be proper Europeans, and this spooky Eastern music had to be done away with, although it had some constancy in monasteries and cathedrals until the Soviets. And so, out of their inferiority complex, the Russian Church invented this new music that was supposedly better.

(It is for reasons like this that the canons forbid secular authority from appointing bishops, which Tsarist Russia ignored for centuries.)

In the last century, many “theologians” harshly criticized the theology of the 1600s through the early 1900s. They said that it was the “western captivity” and a “pseudo-morphosis”. There is some truth to this, but they want to write off three centuries of theology altogether and restart. Really, it’s a protestant model of doing historic theology, and the new theology they come up with usually is very much not what the Greek Fathers taught.

And yet they want to keep the same music from this period! The same music produced from this westernized theology is still almost universal in the same OCA and ROCOR churches where they will tell you that three centuries of theology were a mistake. They threw away the baby and kept the bathwater!

ROCOR, at least in the old days, built its identity in opposing all modernism and ecumenism, especially the dreaded New Calendar. They were the “true Orthodox” without compromise. Today still they let you know that they alone keep the ancient tradition unchanged in its patristic spirit. And yet they insist on doing the liturgy from the twilight of the Russian Empire when the Church was at its most decadent.

Likewise, the OCA is proud of its “neo-patristic revival” and such renovationist prophets as Schmemann and Meyendorf. They’re getting back to the Fathers, as they want you to know. They added the anaphora back into the liturgy. And still they continue singing this Frankenstein music that the Fathers would have vomited at.

It’s not wrong, strictly speaking, to do Russian choral music in liturgy, but it’s inappropriate. The choral music common in Russian churches is sterile and anti-life. The Byzantine liturgical tradition does something for your soul that no other liturgical tradition can. It is the true universal musical tradition of the Orthodox Church, just as Greek is the true universal language of the Church, and all other languages and chant traditions are merely regional. Znamenny chant is comparable to Byzantine in its spiritual effects, but this horrendous choral music is, at best, baby food for new converts. It’s not Orthodox, and it’s not even Russian. It’s modernistic, ecumenist renovationist formed like plastic in a mold.

But you don’t have to take my word for it. Various Russian saints agree with me. Metropolitan Hilarion Alfeyev explains all of this better than I can in volume III of his Orthodox Christianity series [pages 302-319], although he does not explicitly draw the same conclusions I do. All emphases are mine.

The tradition of znamenny singing was preserved in the Russian Orthodox Church up to the middle of the nineteenth century and in some cathedrals (the Kremlin’s Dormition Cathedral) and monasteries (Solovetsky, Valaam, and others) right up to the time of their closure in the Soviet period. But the process of intensively driving znamenny chant out of use and replacing it with partesny singing in four voices was already underway in the majority of parishes of the Russian Church in the eighteenth century. Znamenny singing ceased to be a living tradition in the Russian Church after the closure of the last monasteries in the 1920s and 1930s and was preserved only in communities of Old Ritualists.

In discussing the significance of znamenny chant, we must not fail to mention the effect it has on the souls of those praying in churches. This effect is spoken of in Saint Ignatius Brianchaninov’s story “Visit to Valaam Monastery” found in the first volume of Ascetic Experiences. The saint discusses the effect that the singing of the Valaam monks had on him when he visited Valaam while still an archimandrite:

The znamenny melody is used—the so-called stolp melody—which is primordially Russian. The tones of this melody are majestic, drawn-out, and plaintive; the groans of the penitent’s soul are depicted…. These tones are stretched out dolefully, mournfully, as a desert wind which gradually disappears as an echo amongst the cliffs and ravines which suddenly resound. Now with quiet remorse they lodge a complaint against sinfulness…. Now as if by unbearable heaviness they begin to wail and call for the succor of heaven.

Why did the singing of the Valaam brethren produce such an unmatched impression on Archimandrite Ignatius, the then-rector of Saint Petersburg’s St Sergius Monastery? In the middle of the nineteenth century, when the cited lines were written, znamenny chant had in fact already ceased to be used and was preserved only in certain monasteries where the piety was especially strict and the life of the brethren particularly severe. Moreover it was the singing which had existed in Rus’ for many centuries and in all ages was considered to be canonically proper and truly pertaining to the Church. For that reason it was considered to be singularly permitted in divine services. And although the nineteenth century was a period of almost complete oblivion and demise for znamenny singing, it retained then that inexpressible and unique beauty which a spiritually sensitive person such as Saint Ignatius could not fail to appreciate.

Znamenny singing is a part of the great culture of church singing that was formed over the span of centuries in diverse parts of the Orthodox world. The singing of the first Christian prayer congregations, the psalmodic melos of Egyptian and Sinai ascetics of the fourth and fifth centuries, Byzantine liturgical musical culture, and Russian znamenny singing—all these are revelations of a single spiritual order. Notwithstanding the differences between them caused by national particularities and the uniqueness of historical development, they all possess that which is common to all and which comprises the essence of Orthodox liturgical singing—the primacy of the tradition of song dating back, as Saint Ignatius noted, to Christ himself and to his apostles. […]

This very principle is preserved in melismatic singing, which in Rus’ was considered especially majestic, “beautiful,” and which produced an exceptional impression on its audiences. As if violating the normal course of the divine services, it compelled those at prayer to detach themselves from the usual language of words and to raise their reflection on high. Melismatic singing reflects the state of the soul of one at prayer as when the feeling of piety and tenderness overflows in the person praying to the point that he is no longer able to express it in words. Again it is fitting here to recall Saint Augustine who wrote, “While singing, words are suddenly forced out by a boundless rejoicing for which the language of words is insufficient to express. Then they (Christians) praise in jubilation since their voices express the state of their souls; with words it is impossible to convey that which excites the heart.”

In the words of Saint Augustine the idea is not so much about the emotional condition as of the spiritual, mystical experience. Ancient liturgical singing, in contrast to secular music, did not have as its goal to elicit in its audience particular emotions. One can speak about the fact that znamenny chant, as with Byzantine liturgical singing, is principally emotionless music, devoid of all sentimentality whatsoever. To one and the same melody texts are sung that have very different emotional contents: “The very same eight modes express the sorrow and suffering of Holy Week and the joy of Pascha and Pentecost.”

In the words of B. Kutuzov, znamenny singing is “our own lost Atlantis” and had the same tragic fate as the Russian icon—”first repudiated and forgotten for several centuries, but not long ago discovered and rehabilitated.” To compare znamenny singing with icons is only partly correct. The true rehabilitation of znamenny chant has not yet come, irrespective of the fact that its value was acknowledged by Russia’s leading musicologists even during the Soviet times. The rehabilitation of znamenny chant will come only when it returns to the everyday practice of the Church. This process has already begun to take place and in several monasteries (particularly at Valaam) where once again znamenny singing is actively incorporated into the repertoire. But until that time, while aesthetic standards formed in the age of the “Italian captivity” (i.e., the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) continue to dominate in church choirs, any discussion of the rehabilitation of znamenny singing would be premature.

My point is not to encourage the revival of znamenny chant, although I certain would support such a thing. Fr Lawrence Margitich of the OCA has produced a nearly full cycle of Church services of znamenny chant in western sheet music, although it’s hard to find. But I really don’t know a lot about znamenny chant.

My point is that the Russian choral music needs to be phased out and forgotten. Some communities may need to continue singing it for pastoral reasons, and that’s fine. We don’t live in the world of ideals. But let’s just acknowledge it for what it is – the true “pseudo-morphosis” of which Harvard professor Florovsky made his fame slandering greater men than himself.

Russian choral music is as alien to the Orthodox tradition as multiple communion spoons and livestreamed liturgies. It’s like replacing a mother’s lullaby for a recording of Barney the Dinosaur. The Episcopalians will always have better production values than we do, and if I wanted gaudy aesthetics for its own sake, that’s where I would go.

Alfeyev also writes about St Philaret of Moscow’s opposition to the new music:

Lvov benefitted from the patronage and personal friendship of Emperor Nicholas I who bestowed upon him the rank of major general. His relationship with Metropolitan Philaret was not nearly as serene. In particular, Philaret blocked the approval of Lvov’s transpositions in the Holy Synod. The metropolitan created a special committee to study these transpositions, to which the committee gave a negative assessment. Metropolitan Philaret reported to the Synod concerning his own participation in the work of this committee and his confrontations with Lvov: “When I suggested that for a particular irmos or dogmatikon the four-voiced transposition lacks resemblance to the melody of the church book, or—said differently—in four-voiced singing the church melody is not clearly heard but rather eclipsed by the harmony … I was opposed and told that the harmony was composed according to the rules and cannot be any other way.” In his personal correspondence Philaret was more critical in regards to Lvov and his harmonization:

God sends us humility in that a general wishes to reteach singing to the Church in his own manner. If the singing is good at the Lavra, if it is founded on the basis of Greek singing, then for what purpose ought we tear up this foundation and propose four-voiced singing? If you provide to them a musical score, they will suggest to you a harmony in which you cannot recognize either your music or your melody. And when you say that it does not resemble what you first had, you will be told that the harmony is correct and recognized by all of Europe.

Without waiting for the approval of the Synod, Lvov instructed the Court Capella to publish his compositions. Due to this edition, Lvov’s compositions entered into the repertoire of many church choirs even during his own lifetime. They continue to be performed in churches up to the present day.

The dissatisfaction of the Moscow saint was directed not only towards Lvov but also towards the state of church singing in general, which had been in the hands of secular figures for many years. This pertained especially to Saint Petersburg. Fighting for the preservation of the traditions of Old Russian singing, Philaret wrote: “Can Saint Petersburg, which is a newcomer to ecclesial life, offer many individuals with knowledge, experience, and good taste for the more ancient church music? Is it not possible to have more hope in seeking such people in the more ancient dioceses in which an attachment to that which pertains to the ancient Church has been preserved, in which the new taste has not been so decisively assimilated?”

The saint deemed that the development of church singing should fall under the control of the diocese, which should guard it from a penetrating secular spirit:

The first Church and Greek Church of subsequent centuries produced church singing by its labor. The Russian Church received it from the Greek Church and added several melodies to it by its own labor. The Church has recorded the ancient singing for its preservation by means of musical notation, first using kriuki and later clearer line notation, and the Church teaches the people how to use and preserve this style of singing. Is anything more needed to recognize the ownership right to this singing? If this right is taken away and church singing is given away for the completely arbitrary use of the people … a secular taste in singing could easily intrude into the church, take hold of the people, and introduce melodies unfitting for the holy place. We already see this in the Western Church where theatrical music is used in churches during divine services as if those in charge assumed the responsibility of tempting the people—that the thoughts of those who came to pray might be drawn out of the church and into the theatre.

Under the Holy Synod and Metropolitan Philaret, Church authorities continued to struggle to preserve the ecclesial character of Russian singing in the middle of the nineteenth century. In 1850 the Synod issued a decree concerning the prohibition of singing “spiritual concerts” during the communion of the clergy. But court composers paid little attention to the instructions issued from the upper ecclesial authority and continued to compose music in the Italian or German manner. On the other hand, the Synod’s position cannot be considered to be completely consistent. While fighting for the preservation of ancient traditions, the Synod simultaneously gave official approval to the use of works written in the Italian and German styles.

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Finally, it is worth quoting what Alfeyev says about St Ignatius Brianchaninov’s later criticisms. Presently Holy Trinity Publications, from ROCOR’s seminary in Jordanville, New York, is translating his complete works. St Ignatius Brianchaninov is probably the single most important practical theologian of the second millennium, although many “theologians” in the OCA have a pathological hatred of him. My definition of Orthodoxy is basically “whatever St Ignatius says.”

Several notable hierarchs who were not members of the Holy Synod also fought for the purity of Russian church singing and its return to its “first image”—znamenny chant. Among them was Saint Ignatius (Brianchaninov), whose pronouncements concerning the singing at Valaam Monastery were cited earlier. In his article “Understanding Heresy and Schism,” the saint devoted several paragraphs to church singing. He was highly critical of “Italian singing” and considered that “it is incompatible with Orthodox services” because “it came sweeping over to us from the West.” In particular, “the communal verse has been replaced with a concert reminiscent of an opera.” In Bishop Ignatius’ opinion, true Russian church singing is znamenny chant:

The holy Fathers rightly refer to our spiritual sensations as “joy and sorrow.” This feeling is completely expressed by the znamenny melody which has been preserved in several monasteries and which is used in the “yedinovercheskye” churches. The znamenny melody may be compared to an ancient icon. By attentively listening to it, the same feeling conquers the heart as when one gazes at an ancient icon written by a certain holy man. The feeling of profound piety which penetrates the melody carries the soul to piety and tenderness.… Upon hearing a znamenny melody, the Christian who passes his life in sufferings, who struggles continually with various difficulties of life, immediately finds in it a harmony with his own spiritual state. He will not find this harmony in the present singing of the Orthodox Church. The court singing … that has now entered into universal use in Orthodox churches, unusually cold and lifeless, is frivolous and hurried! The compositions of the latest composers express the mood of their spirit, a western mood, earthy, emotional, passionate, or cold—alien to spiritual sensibility.

As the saint justly notes further, znamenny chant needs no harmonization:

Recognizing that a western element of singing can in no way coincide with the spirit of the Orthodox Church and rightly admitting the famous compositions of Bortniansky to be sweet-passionate and romantic, certain people wanted to help the matter. They transposed the znamenny melody into four voices while preserving all the rules of counterpoint. Was the labor satisfactory to the requirements of the Church and the requirements of her spirit? We are obliged to reply in the negative. A znamenny melody is written in such a way that a single note is sung (in unison) and not in beginnings (partheses). No matter how many singers sing the note, the singing stems from one singer. The melody should remain untouched and its transposition undoubtedly results in a distortion …

These comments demonstrate that Saint Ignatius, though not a professional musician, nonetheless subtly and keenly perceived the uniqueness of Russian church music and recognized that it was not fit for harmonic arrangements. The saint justly criticized ecclesiastical composers of his day for the lack of competence with which they approached the harmonization of ancient tunes:

It is not right to put new paint on an old icon while leaving the icon’s drawing untouched: that would result in the icon’s distortion. No reasonable person who knows foreign languages perfectly well would undertake the translation of a book on mathematics if he did not know mathematics. Why cannot these experts of music, who do not understand the graceful spirit of the Church given by God for a profoundly pious life, be consistent with this good reason regarding church singing?

I am not making this up. This isn’t mere preference for one music over another. It’s not my opinion. What I am saying in this article is what the Russian Fathers said. St Ignatius Brianchaninov, the great monastic synthesizer of the modern age, said that Russian choral music is written by people “who do not understand the graceful spirit of the Church given by God for a profoundly pious life.” He says that Western-like harmony in church is “cold and lifeless” and “alien to spiritual sensibility.”

So why are we still singing it?

— Augustine Martin