George (Not the One from Cappadocia)

St. George (whose Dad was from Cappadocia, but who himself was born in Lydda)

 slaying the dragon

Things are not always as they seem. Over the past year, when people asked me why a specialist in Brazilian history was studying Turkish and planning a semester-long experience in Turkey, I often had little to say. 

I could invoke the extensive emigration from the declining Ottoman Empire to Brazil in the first two decades of the twentieth century, a population that was occasionally described as turco, but which gradually became known, with slightly more geographic fidelity, as sírio-libanês. Sure enough, most of those ex-Ottoman new Brazilians spoke Arabic rather than Turkish, then quickly picked up Portuguese, often becoming leaders of Brazilian commerce and politics. Understanding their origins could potentially be of great interest to Brazilianists, but would more likely take me to Syria than Turkey (not an option at the moment) and would not explain studying Turkish.

There are the general comparisons to be made between Brazil and Turkey, a semester-long theme for this blog, and these are worthwhile but were hard to convey in advance.

I occasionally had to invoke the wisdom and mystical guidance of the great Jorge Benjor, a visionary guide for many. In 1975, Benjor (then still known as Jorge Ben) recorded "Jorge de Capadócia," a medium-tempo, minor-key soul samba in homage to Saint George. The lyrics describe Saint George joining the "cavalry," apparently referring to Saint George's service as an officer in the Roman army in the emperor Diocletian's Royal Guard, circa AD320. They then drift into a mystical invocation of Saint George's power to protect, indicating that, as he is also part of George's company, the singer is protected. His enemies have eyes that will not see him, feet that will not catch him, hands that will not touch him. Benjor then makes what in Brazil is the customary conflation of Saint George and the candomblé orixá Ogum. Saint George is Ogum and Ogum protects warriors.

And the backing chorus sings "Jorge...de Capadócia!" 

As you can hear from the original recording. 

For those unpredictable reasons that rule the world of popular music, "Jorge de Capadócia," became one of the most important songs in Brazilian music over the past forty years. It has been covered by Caetano Veloso, Fernanda Abreu, Racionais MC's, Paula Lima and any number of other artists, in versions ranging from soul to funk to hip hop. 

More importantly, it became a theme song for favela youth in Rio de Janeiro. The idea of belonging to a company of warriors protected by a mystical power proved appealing to a broad swathe of favela youth, including evangelicals, traficantes and everyday strivers. In a certain moment in the first decade of this century, "Jorge de Capadócia" seemed like the song you had to know to be part of the scene. 

I'm not sure how many cariocas stopped to wonder about what the "Capadócia" in the chorus was all about. But as I started to think about my trip, the idea of going to Cappadocia to visit the birthplace of Saint George seemed a way to fulfill my duties as historian and teacher, keep one foot in the Brazilianist camp, and get to visit one of the most beautiful places in the world all at the same time.

And now, upon looking into the matter, I find myself disabused, which should not be surprising. Jorge Benjor is a genius composer, not a historian of early Christianity. Turns out he was not only conflating Saint George and Ogum, but also Saint George and George of Cappadocia, a controversial bishop of Alexandria later in the third century.

Benjor was in good company in that regard, as no less than Edward Gibbon made the case that everyone had been conflating the two Georges for centuries, and that there was no reason to believe in the saintly George as more than a legend.

Gibbon overstated the case. More recent scholars seem satisfied that Saint George indeed served Diocletian and was then martyred by him for refusing to renounce his Christianity. (Only centuries later did the legend of George slaying the dragon emerge, surfacing first, as it happens, in Cappadocia.)

And this is where it gets confusing. Saint George, as it turns out, was born in Lydda, in Palestine. His father Gerontius was from Cappadocia. But George himself was born on the eastern rim of the Mediterranean, and died in Nicomedia, near current day Istanbul.

Perhaps because of his father's birthplace, he is easily confused with George of Cappadocia, the bishop, who lived a half century or so later. The irony is that the bishop was apparently not from Cappadocia either, but was from Cilicia, near what is now the vexed border between Turkey and Syria. George the bishop, from what we gather, was no saint, and seemed to alienate much of the population of Alexandria, perhaps the Christians in particular. So neither of the two Georges was actually from Cappadocia, and perhaps neither ever set foot on its fabled terrain.

We are off to Cappadocia later this week, and I have less of a good excuse. But we will still investigate some of the early Christian ruins (even earlier than George, perhaps, as Paul of Tarsus passed that way 250 years earlier, on his westward path). And I am sure I will be hearing Jorge Benjor as a soundtrack in my head the whole way. Things could be much worse.