Pinar Ure (PhD candidate, Department of History), Russian Archaeological Excavations in the Ottoman Empire
Russian Archaeological Institute in Istanbul was opened in 1894, and operated until the outbreak of the First World War in 1914. The history of this Institute provides a rich material-base for posing analytical questions with regard to Russian history and brings a new dimension to understand the nature of Russo-Ottoman relations in late 19th century. The activities of the Institute occupy a place at the intersection of international politics and archaeology, since the Institute had strong links to the Russian Embassy in Istanbul. Naturally, this brings questions about the professional independence of archeological scholarship from political context in 19th century. Second, the goals and activities of the Institute shed light into questions of Russian national identity. The archaeologists affiliated with the Institute primarily worked in the field of Byzantinology, but the geographical scope of their activities was broader than the ancient Byzantine domains. Their archaeological projects reflected Russia’s Slavic and Orthodox Christian images at the same time. In this sense, the history of the Russian Archaeological Institute provides a lens through which we can analyze Russia’s perception of itself as the heir to the Byzantine Empire and protector of Slavdom. In addition to that, late 19th century was the period when the idea of archaeological preservation was born in the Ottoman Empire and the first Ottoman archaeological museum was established. Consequently, cultural and archaeological property came to be recognized as a sovereignty question. Russian archaeological excavations in Anatolia continued during the First World War in Russian occupied zones and the diplomatic complications regarding wartime archaeological activities survived into the establishment of the Soviet Union and Republican Turkey.
Molly Reed, Furious and Fyodor: The Turbulent Ties Between Belinskii and Dostoevsky
Believed to both express and define the nation as a whole, literature maintained a unique hold over 19th-century Russian society. It is little wonder that Vissarion Belinskii and other intellectuals turned to literary criticism as a tool for obtaining social power, molding and reshaping authors and literature to convey their own ideals and visions of the future. Fyodor Dostoevsky was just one of many authors targeted by Belinskii; an inspection of the two's relationship, a tumultuous affair with enduring effects on Dostoevsky's writing, reveals the far-reaching impact of the literary critic. After meeting Dostoevsky in 1845, Belinskii propelled the young author to instant fame, driven by the belief that Dostoevsky shared the same humanitarian ideals and commitment to the “social novel.” But the pair quickly fell to heated debates about religion, definitions of reality, literary style, and the assumed right of the critic to determine what is socially useful. However, even though the two men disagreed over basic premises, Belinskii still used Dostoevsky's writings to his own ends — by inserting himself between literary works and the public, Belinskii was able to use literature as a raw material, imposing on the populace his own visions of compositions. The potential of such power is undeniable — when a person picks up a novel, whose version do they read, the author's or the critic's? Who wins out in the struggle for social influence and determination of the future?
Velika Nespor, Revealing Truth through MimesisWhere do the religious obtain their faith, the truth that they have internalized? Is it from the Church, from tradition or from something within the individual? Throughout the history of Russian Orthodox Christianity, this truth has come from the Bible and iconography, which is the Holy Book’s pictorial equivalent. In fact, the job of an icon is “to elevate the spirit,” according to Nikolay Leskov, the author of The Sealed Angel, who asserts that these sacred paintings bring their onlookers closer to God. But, not just any religious picture can be considered an icon. As one sees in Leskov’s story, icons must be painted in a specific way mandated by hundreds of years of tradition lest they become heretical. Icons depict Saints, men who after death were deemed examples of how to lead a Christian life for everyday sinners. Philistines, therefore, cannot be portrayed in icons first and foremost because they are still living and secondly because their lives are not Christ-like. It is this tradition that Isaac Babel turns on its head in his short story, Pan Apolek, which is about an icon painter who depicts sinful peasants in biblical stories for a fee. While the clergy condemns him for heresy and for leading Christians to worship false icons, his followers, including the narrator, exalt him for literally uniting believers with the stories to which they relate. While the church creates and maintains the difference between the aberrant and the gospels that they worship, Pan Apolek breaks down that difference, elevating the commoners’ feelings of self-worth and strengthening their relationship to the gospels. Thus, through the heretical icons painted by Pan Apolek, Babel switches the origin of religious truth from that of the objective Church cannons so loved by Leskov and his heroes to the subjective way in which people personally practice their faith.
Michael Soyfer, The Mustachioed Ghost: Mock Apotheosis in Gogol’s “Overcoat”An oft-repeated quote (spuriously attributed to Dostoevsky) claims that Russian literature of the nineteenth century “[came] out of Gogol’s ‘Overcoat’.” But what is it precisely that emerges from underneath Gogol’s 1842 “urtext”? Indeed, Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin is the catalyst for a series of highly unusual events, and distinguishing between Gogol’s realities and illusions can prove to be difficult. This ambiguity (“this shifting that is the very basis of his art” according to Nabokov) ultimately proves to be the basis of Gogol’s message. Gogol’s shifting is not merely an attempt to be sly or humorous, but seeks to subtly hint at the truth behind his illusions. Gogol allows his story about the little man Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin to develop into a tale of striving, injustice, apotheosis, and revenge that parodies contemporary literary conventions. Gogol, however, suggests that such an outcome is pure fantasy, particularly through his introduction of a confounding factor: the second ghost. This ghost’s appearance – which may seem odd, even random – subtly throws doubt upon the existence of Akaky Akakievich’s ghost. Bashmachkin’s ghost, then, may be nothing more than a collective hallucination, an indulgence of societal guilt. Gogol, according to this interpretation, wishes to show that men like Akaky Akakievich quietly suffer injustice and quietly die; they have no post-obit opportunity for revenge but simply wither into eternity.
Ekaterina Petrova, Skriabin and Ciurlionis: The Synthesis of Music and Visual ArtMy paper looks at the expression of music through art, how this notion came into being and specifically, I shall focus on the works of the Russian composer Scriabin and Latvian painter and composer Ciurlionis. In the 15th and 16th centuries, parallels between music and visual art were drawn by architects, since composers, like architects, acted as “designers” giving shape and style to their works. Throughout the 17th to 19th centuries, as new musical forms such as the fugue and sonata were introduced, more artists attempted to express them through visual art. Just as music has imitation, themes appearing in variations, contrasts, defined structures, so can these characteristic forms be expressed through art. One can “see” music and “hear” colorful art forms; Scriabin and Ciurlionis, composers of the 20th century, both experimented with this idea.
In Scriabin’s Prometheus, the idea of light-music synthesis is realized. Ciurlionis has numerous art works that have musical names, for example, “Fugue,” and “The Sun Sonata.” Music, being the most abstract form of art, is free to interpretation via the different art forms. Depending on the emotions that the sound and structure of musical compositions trigger in the painter, the painter can decide on the intensity of color to use, what form to give his painting, and the nature of the strokes of his paintbrush. The synthesis of music and visual art has come a long way, enabling artists and musicians to expand their perspectives and creativity, fostering an evolution in artistic expression.
Logan Bayroff, Timur and His Gang. A Vision of the Ideal Soviet Childhood
The pre-war portion of the Stalinist era saw the development of the cult of the ideal Soviet childhood. The protection and nurturing of children came to be regarded as a central pillar of the regime’s international and domestic prestige, while proper communist upbringing was also viewed as centrally important by state planners who recognized that ideal citizens of the future could be created out of the children of today. In Arkadii Gaidar’s story Timur and His Gang, the author shows us his vision of the ideal communist childhood, a vision that combines safety and comfort with the promtotion of community activism and conscientiousness. In my paper I examine the world of Gaidar’s Timur, noting the behaviors and activities that are encouraged and those that are discouraged, reflecting on where the story corresponds with the party line and where we may see traces of Gaidar’s own beliefs. Particularly, I explore the places where Gaidar uses the relatively uncensored venue of children’s literature to offer commentary on Soviet society as a whole, showing how Timur and His Gang uses the relationship between children and adults as a mirror for that between citizens and the state. Ultimately, we see Gaidar stressing how under the ideal Soviet government, ingenuity, community service, and obedience will be rewarded with benevolence, security, and collective greatness.
Rebecca Kaplan, Madness and Faith: How Reason Tried to Kill G-d in Soviet RussiaThe Soviet Union's ideology had promoted an era of atheism with the main goal of increasing public reliance on and worship of the communist government. In Soviet Russia, reason was prioritized and lauded as definitive truth; Mikhail Bulgakov challenges this outlook and shows his contention by bringing the devil to Moscow. In his fantastical novel, The Master and Margarita, Bulgakov advocates the dominance of faith over reason, mocking man's arrogant assurance in his own mind.
The Master and Margarita devalues logic and reason in life through absurdism, romantic tendencies, and the anecdotal storylines of ridiculousness and irrationality. A mental institution acts as a pivotal setting for many of these storylines and allows Bulgakov to play with the ideas of sanity, madness, and truth. Symbolic consequences are inflicted on those that focus on man’s knowledge and logic rather than accepting the mystical. Bulgakov’s dominant statement is that man has too small a breadth of sight, and too unstable a future, to be able to govern man by means of an absolute truth. Man cannot predict or conclude anything with absolute certainty.
Bulgakov’s great work was discovered years after his death, hidden away from the oppressive eyes of the communist regime. This work confronts many censorship policies that could be attributed to the Soviet government; however, by tackling the rising emphasis on reason at the cost of faith, Bulgakov expands his gaze onto all human society and the gradual deterioration of man’s humility. His emphasis is not on the majesty of the higher power, but rather on the unfounded arrogance of man.
Kseniya Demchenko, Becoming a Hero for the Next generation in Russia: The Case of Erast Fandorin
The research explores the work of post-Soviet writer Boris Akunin, specifically focusing on the novel Azazel’, which is part of a larger detective literary series. The analysis of the novel discusses the adventures of Erast Fandorin from the commencement of his career, following the development of his character into a modern hero for Russia. The research further discusses how the novel is nostalgic for a time when Russia was a stronger international power, and explores Fandorin’s strong sense of pride and national identity, which contributed to his becoming a hero for the next generation in Russia. Other aspects about his character will be addressed, including many American characteristics, such as the notion of a maverick character, the “under dog” protagonist, individuality and self-determination, resulting in an entirely new type of hero.As one consequence of the state-initiated transformation of Soviet society in the twentieth century, Soviet men and women experienced a withering away of the dividing line between public and private spheres. The late Soviet era, however, witnessed a resurgence in the category of private life on a modest scale. The precariousness of private life was most evident in the communal apartments, where individuals were constantly infringing upon the space of others. Installation artist Ilya Kabakov spent his formative years in such conditions, and in his mature career he has created works that not only represent the tension between public and private but also allow viewers to vicariously feel the need to escape from this “publically private” world. In this presentation, two of Kabakov’s major works, “Ten Characters” and “The Toilet,” will be discussed. Through visual analysis of these “total installations” I hope to illuminate “the anxiety of the private” that touched the lives of almost every Soviet citizen, and even those outside of the Soviet Union, through Kabakov’s powerful and immersive works.
