Latest / The Story of Armenia: Survival Through Empires and Genocide — Fexingo History / The Armenian Church Under Soviet Rule: Resistance in the Catacombs
Transcript
- Lucas: Welcome back to The Story of Armenia. I'm Lucas, and with me is Luna. We've covered a lot of ground so far — from Urartu to the Genocide, from the Bagratids to Soviet rule. But there's one thread we haven't pulled yet: what happened to the Armenian Apostolic Church under the Soviets. Luna: I know the church was suppressed, but I don't know much beyond that. Lucas: It's a brutal story. The Bolsheviks were ideologically opposed to religion, and they saw the church as a pillar of the old order — and as a rival for the loyalty of the Armenian people. So almost as soon as they consolidated power in Armenia in 1920, they began a campaign to dismantle it. Lucas: They nationalised church properties, closed monasteries, and turned Etchmiadzin itself — the spiritual centre of the Armenian Church — into a museum. By 1922, the Catholicos, Gevorg V, was under house arrest, and the church was effectively banned from any public role. Luna: So the head of the church was a prisoner in his own cathedral. Lucas: Exactly. And it got worse. Under Stalin, particularly during the Great Purge of the late 1930s, the clergy were systematically targeted. Thousands of priests, monks, and even simple believers were arrested, sent to gulags, or executed. Catholicos Khoren I — who had taken over in 1932 — was arrested in 1938 and shot without trial. Luna: They killed the Catholicos? That's astonishing. Lucas: They did. And for a time, the church was practically decapitated. For years after Khoren's death, the position of Catholicos remained vacant. The Soviets hoped it would just wither away. Lucas: But it didn't. Because Armenian identity — especially in the diaspora — was so tied to the church that even under the most extreme pressure, people kept the faith alive in secret. Luna: In secret? Like, underground services? Lucas: Exactly. In homes, in basements, sometimes in caves. Priests would travel from village to village in disguise, performing baptisms and weddings in hiding. It was a kind of catacomb Christianity, not unlike the early church under the Roman Empire. Lucas: And then, World War II changed things. Stalin, desperate for any unifying force to rally the Soviet people, made a tactical retreat on religious persecution. He allowed the Russian Orthodox Church to reopen some churches, and that gave Armenian church leaders a small opening. Luna: So the war was a temporary reprieve. Lucas: It was. In 1945, a new Catholicos was finally elected: Gevorg VI. He managed to get Etchmiadzin back from the museum, and some churches were allowed to reopen. But the state still controlled everything — sermons had to be approved, and the church was forbidden from any political or educational role. Luna: So it was a leash, not freedom. Lucas: Exactly. And after Stalin died, Khrushchev launched a new anti-religious campaign in the late 1950s. Thousands of churches were closed again across the USSR. In Armenia, the number of functioning churches dropped from over 200 in 1945 to fewer than 30 by the 1960s. Luna: That's a staggering collapse. Lucas: It was. But again, the church adapted. It became a quiet keeper of Armenian culture and memory. For many Armenians, attending a secret service or even just keeping a cross in their home was a quiet act of national defiance. Lucas: And then, in the 1960s, a remarkable figure emerged: Vazgen I, who became Catholicos in 1955 and served for nearly 40 years. He was a brilliant diplomat, and he managed to carve out a small space for the church within the Soviet system. Luna: How did he do that? Lucas: He focused on the church's role in preserving Armenian literature and culture. He also cultivated relationships with the diaspora, which meant he could bring in resources and attention. The Soviets couldn't completely ignore the diaspora's influence, especially after the 1965 genocide commemoration in Yerevan, which was a huge public gathering. Lucas: That commemoration was a turning point. For the first time, the church was allowed to lead a public service mourning the genocide. It was a crack in the wall. Luna: So the church became a vehicle for memory. Lucas: Absolutely. And that's the real story of the Armenian Church under the Soviets: it wasn't just about survival in the face of persecution — it was about keeping a people's history and identity alive when the state wanted to erase them. The church, even in chains, remained the soul of the nation. Luna: That's powerful. And it makes you appreciate how something that seems so ancient can still be so vital. Lucas: If this exploration of the church's resilience has been useful to you, the way these episodes stay ad-free is through listener support. You can help keep the show going at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. Luna: Even a small contribution goes a long way for a project like this. Lucas: And the story doesn't end there — after the Soviet collapse, the church experienced a major revival. But that's a topic for another episode. Luna: I'd love to hear about that. Lucas: Then we'll make sure to cover it soon. For now, thanks for joining us on this deep dive into the catacombs of Soviet Armenia.