Daniel Andaya

October 27, 2004

HRS 220

Word Count: 2196

Reading Analysis: Firewalking and Religious Healing; The Anastenaria of Greece and the American Firewalking Movement by Loring M. Danforth,

Chapters Four, Five, and Six

I. Selective Summary

a. Danforth claims that the individual’s relationship to Saint Constantine is symbolic of the individual’s relationship to the community of Kostilides

b. Danforth claims that the Anastenaria is symbolic not only of an individual’s condition but also that of the communities of Ayia Eleni and of the Kostilides as an ethnic group

II. Evaluation

a. Consideration of Danforth’s approach

III. Wider Relevance

a. The community’s wishes as Saint or God

b. What is Danforth doing? What are we doing?

Selective Summary

In Chapter Four of Firewalking and Religious Healing, Danforth claims that the individual’s relationship to Saint Constantine is symbolic of the individual’s standing in the community of Kostilides and that the Anastenaria is a vehicle of transformation through which one in a weak or vulnerable position can gain power and establish a more favorable standing in the community (84).

Among Kostilides, Saint Constantine is associated with male family members. For example, an Anastenaris may regard Saint Constantine as a father. An Anastenarissa, when dancing, is said to be married to the Saint (88). In these ways, the Saint is symbolic of fatherhood and of being a husband. More specifically, for an Anastenarissa, the Saint and one’s relationship with him can be representative of male members of one’s family and one’s relationships with them (90). Here, Danforth tells us of instances in which Kostilides have referred to the Saint in situations in which others might have spoken of the conscience or superego (90). Danforth’s simultaneous treatment of both male family members and the superego is telling, for the songs of Saint Constantine examined later in the book are symbolic of the proper behavior of the Kostilou in relation to male members of her family.

Like the element of dance in the Anastenaria and like the Anastenaria itself, the songs sung during the rite are both models of an undesirable state and for the desired state. For example, the first song the Anastenarides sing when they gather in the konaki, “Pa se prasino livadi” (In a Green Meadow) is about an old Turk who abducts a young Greek woman (105-06). Danforth suggests that the song is symbolic of the Greek bride’s sense of separation in marrying into her husband’s family. The three soldiers that encounter the Turk are said to represent the husband as the bride becomes more comfortable in his family.

Later, another song is sung, titled “Mikrokostandinos” (Little Constantine) (109-111). The song is about a young Constantine who after marrying, goes off to war. Meanwhile, his mother abuses his wife and expels her into the mountains. Constantine returns, looking for his wife. His mother responds that she has died and that her grave cannot be found. Constantine then kills his mother. Danforth suggests that the song illustrates the difficulties experienced by the Kostilou bride in a society in which marriage is virilocal. As many Kostilides told Danforth, “The mother-in-law is in charge” (112) and “A daughter-in-law can never become a daughter” (113). Constantine’s slaying of his mother for her failure to care for his wife illustrates that the man’s loyalty has properly shifted from his mother to his wife. An Anastenarissa once said to Danforth, “God protected Kostandino’s wife. Instead of finding snakes, she found her husband” (116). This interpretation suggests that the song at once illustrates behavior that is proscribed and prohibited by God and in turn, by Saint Constantine, and in turn, the community of Kosti.

Danforth claims that the Anastenaria is not only symbolic of the individual lives of the Kostilides, but also of the village of Ayia Eleni and of Kostilides as a community. The Anastenaria reflects not only the heritage of Kostilides as refugees to Greece, but also the identity of the village of Ayia Eleni in the face of modernization (168). The icon that was brought from Thrace to Mavrolefki is often referred to as the “father” of the other icons of the Anastenarides, which are often referred to as his “children” (168). This reflects the genealogical organization of the Kostilides, in which descent is regarded as having come from a common male ancestor (172). Thus, the relationship between the father icon and the other icons which are his offspring parallel the relationship between the custodians of the father icon and those of the offspring. The custodianship of a particular icon is passed down from generation to generation, so that it is hereditary (klironomiko) and typically belongs to the patrilineal descendents of he who originally discovered it or had it made (173). These custodians are said to be klironomi ap’ afti tin ikona, or “descendents of the icon” (173). The term ratsa can be used to refer to a patrilineal surname group. In this sense, ratsa depends on one’s paternal ancestor, or papous (171-72). Yavasis was commonly referred to simply as the papous (177), and the term is also an honorific that is used to refer to Saint Constantine (87).

In 1976, the festival was characterized by great conflict, primarily between the Folklore Society, which had been assembled five years earlier in order to regain possession of icons that had been taken by the church, and the Anastenarides. When several changes to the festival had been implemented and more proposed by members of the Folklore Society, Yavasis told a story about a rich man who went into the fire on his own, without the consent of the Anastenarides. He was burned (141). Referring to the infighting and the lack of hospitable feeling at this particular festival, one Anastenarissa said, “Now people speak, not the icons, but the icons can still hear” (146). In these instances, the rich man and the people who speak rather than the icons suggest actions of those who do not have the consent of the icons or the papous (Yavasis), whose actions are not consented to by the community at large.

After Tasos Reklos had been chosen as the new leader of the Anastenaria, Danforth got different accounts of how he had come to be leader. Sotiria and Tasos both had accounts in which Yavasis had a dream about a young man (151). The details were different in each, but the conclusions were the same. Yavasis (as papous, can be identified with the icon and spirit of Saint Constantine) has passed the torch, so to speak, to Tasos, in a medium (dream) and in terms that are regarded as appropriate in the worldview of the Anastenaria.

While ratsa can be used specifically to refer to a particular surname family, it is more commonly used to mean the race of the Kostilides (170). When the festival of Saints Constantine and Helen takes place in Ayia Eleni and folks bring with them simadi associated with other icons from Mavrolefki, Meliki, Mesopotamo, Limnohori, Serres, Langadas and have them placed with the icon on the shelf in the konaki, this is regarded as a “reunion” of the icons as they were once united long ago in Kosti and reaffirms the identity of all the people from different villages as ethnic Kostilides (175). Danforth tells us of a Kostilis whose grandmother brought an icon to the festival at Ayia Eleni who said that he and other members of his soi were relatives of the icon. A phrase used to describe this relationship is vastame ap’ afti tin ikona (we belong to that icon) which parallels the phrase vastame ap’ afti ti ratsa (we belong to that race) (173). Another instance that suggests the close association of the icon of Saint Constantine with family line is Danforth’s account of conversation in which a woman who moved from Ayia Eleni to Thessaloniki said, “When you live in the city, you’re among kseni all day. When you see a person from your own village, you get all excited. It’s a shock. You think you’re seeing your God” (174).

As a group and a rite that reflect the communal reality of Ayia Eleni, the Anastenaria and the festival of Saints Constantine and Helen have changed dramatically in more recent years. Young people from the city have come to participate in the rite. The difficulties of city life coupled with the separation from one’s ancestral village leave young city Kostilides with a sense of alienation and separation (183). Their participation in the festival and their integration into the Anastenaria reinforces Danforth’s claim that the Anastenaria and the festival of Saints Constantine and Helen reflect the social reality of the village of Ayia Eleni and that of the people of Kosti at large. Danforth writes, “...the Anastenaria plays a central role in the ongoing process of negotiating the definition of the boundary of the community and regulating the flow of people across it” (188). By becoming an Anastenaris, one became or was recognized as a Kostilis. When the identity of Keti was discussed, Yavasis said, “She’s a kseni, but the Saint took a liking to her and made her one of us” and on another occasion, “She became a fellow villager. She became one of us – from the Saint” (198). As the role of the Anastenaria and that of the festival grew to inspire others and as other Greeks began to relate to some aspect of the Anastenaria, the practice changed.

Evaluation

When evaluating Danforth’s claims, it would seem that the evidence that he has laid forth and the consistency of both the evidence and his interpretations of it make it difficult to poke any really big holes in his analysis of the Anastenaria. The thoroughness of his ethnography as regards the Anastenaria and as regards the family life of the Kostilides lends itself very strongly towards affirming his claims, so I’ve not much to say in this regard. What I find more interesting and frustrating is comparing his approach to those of the other authors that we have examined in this course. The approach of Rita Gross, among others, is feminist. Bynum’s approach, while feminist in inclination, is less explicitly so, while being sympathetic and matter-of-factly. The approaches taken by Riffat Hassan and Leila Ahmed in their articles are feminist and Muslim. For Hassan and Ahmed, God is a real and the Koran contains His revelations. The tone with which Danforth writes is matter-of-factly, while respectful and sympathetic. As he reflects on his involvement with the Anastenarides, he writes, “I took it for granted that my culture and that of the Anastenarides were distinct, self-contained entities and that it was impossible for me as an outsider to judge the truth or morality of any aspect of their culture” (290). Danforth explains his professional perspective when he writes, “As an anthropologist, I simply did not allow myself to ask: ‘Does Saint Constantine really exist?’” (290). He later writes, “…on a more personal level, I was more fully committed to an anthropological interpretation of religious healing and to a scientific explanation of firewalking. I did not believe in Saint Constantine; I believed in anthropology and physics” (290). Perhaps my incredulity in response to these statements is the result my ignorance of the nature of the theoretical basis of anthropology and its aims as a discipline. I find myself asking, since thorough cultural relativism would render social science only provisionally valid, of what value is it if it’s valid only in certain places, among certain people? How can he possibly separate his professional perspective and his personal perspective so rigidly? Why is he doing what he’s doing at all? Although I won’t go into detail, a deeper reading of the conclusion of the book helped address these misgivings. I suspect that my discomfort with the conflicts that Danforth feels reminded me of the discomfort I have felt in my study of religion during which I have had a great deal of respect for science, academic soundness, and religion itself.

Wider Relevance

While the Anastenaria can be said to be a vehicle through which the more vulnerable and beleaguered members of the community might express illness and transition to health (for the purposes of our class we should pay particular attention to women and disadvantaged men such as sogambri), thoughts lead to religion in general and the function that it plays for people in general. Just as behavior was regulated by referring to the Saint’s wishes or dislikes, society at large does much of the same. God likes certain things and does not like certain things. Even in a secular context, certain things are fundamentally Good, others fundamentally Bad.

The icon veneration of the Anastenarides reminds me of a statue of the Santo Niño (Holy Child, the baby Jesus) that my parents had brought to the house a few years ago. It had come from someone else’s house and was on its way to another’s, and it was to stay at the house for a month or so. I was told that Mass had been held at the house and that the family cat had curiously walked around the makeshift altar, taking swipes at the robes of the priest, to the alarm of my mother. I wondered, whose house did the statue come from? Where was it going? Why is it here?

Danforth’s work is remarkable, not only for its engaging presentation and thorough ethnography, but because of the openness with which he attempts to reveal and examine his own identity, as an anthropologist and as a human being. On one hand, he respects highly the cultures of others, and on the other, he has a certain degree of trust in the validity of the path that he has chosen. The conflict and the interplay between self and other is said to help illuminate both, and perhaps the process itself will help alleviate the discomfort that can be encountered when seemingly separate aspects of our lives collide or intertwine.