Belief in the power of icons was related to the theory that the icon in some way captured the essence of the holy person depicted, and that through the icon communication with that person could be established. St Basil of Caesarea (c. 329–79) enshrined this notion in a famous comment on imperial images: the honour made to the image passes to the prototype. Icons, therefore, could serve as intercessors: prayers directed to them passed on to the holy persons depicted on them. This understanding was reinforced by the manner in which icons addressed the viewer. The figures represented a dignified authority in a direct frontal manner, with large eyes which gazed out from the panel as if inviting communication. Through this immediate contact, the icons demanded attention. In response, Christians gave the images their total devotion. Visions and conversations were alleged to take place in front of Christian icons. When a childless couple visited the shrine of St Glykeria at Herakleia, for instance, the husband reported that the saint appeared and spoke to him, reassuring him that they would have a child, and in due course St Elizabeth was born. Icons thus facilitated a method of spiritual communication that did not depend on the consecrated power of a priest or bishop. They functioned in a domestic setting as well as in church and gave particular solace to individuals who made their devotions privately, as stories record. In this respect, they performed the same function as the pre-Christian household gods.
Icons were also created in other media: craftsmen continued the ancient skill of carving precious metals and expensive materials – ivory, gemstones, enamel and rock crystal. Secular ivory diptychs commissioned by Roman consuls died out with that institution in the sixth century, though emperors continued to commission ivory panels to commemorate a coronation or a marriage. Most surviving medieval ivory plaques carry Christian themes, such as St Michael the Archangel, or scenes from the life of Christ. Frequently these religious objects preserve the form of consular diptychs, joined by hinges at the centre, or triptychs (in three sections), which means that the central part can be covered; on some triptychs all external and interior surfaces are carved. Individual panels were combined to decorate large pieces of church furniture, for example ivory thrones such as the sixth-century one belonging to Bishop Maximian of Ravenna. When elephant tusk became too expensive, walrus and other bone was used for combs, needles and small round boxes. In the West, Byzantine ivories with Christian subjects were often reused as medieval book covers. Mounted on metal frames decorated with jewels and ancient cameos, they create glowing golden guards at either end of parchment manuscripts.
A set of silver plates decorated with scenes from the life of David reflects Old Testament inspiration for Byzantine art: the use of silver stamps to guarantee quality means that many of these pieces can be securely dated to specific years of the reign of Herakleios (610–41). Other silver objects are identified by dedicatory inscriptions commissioned by Syrian villagers for local rural churches, which can in turn be dated from inscriptions set into the mosaic floors. Crosses, patens, chalices, spoons, altar and book coverings intended for liturgical use suggest that at all levels of society these offerings were widespread.
Just as the cults of the ancient gods had been spread through art (sculpture and paintings), so icons became an effective way of disseminating the stories of particular saints. When pilgrims went in search of miraculous cures, achieved by contact with a saint’s relics, they found churches often decorated with images – of Demetrios in Thessalonike, Artemios in Constantinople, Menas accompanied by his camels near Alexandria, and Symeon on his column near Antioch. Sometimes the icons exuded a healing liquid that proved a powerful cure; oil that burned in lamps in front of them also had healing powers. In the late sixth century, Patriarch Sophronios of Jerusalem had personal experience of this in Alexandria where he witnessed the crowds of pilgrims; individuals who believed themselves cured then purchased clay or silver flasks decorated with the healer’s image (plate 9). Portable icons were made with lids which protected the painted surface and tiny icons were worn on necklaces for personal protection. Together with pilgrim flasks and small metal icons in cheaper material, they did as much to spread the fame of the healing saints as the written Lives and collections of their miracle stories.
Despite this concentration on religious images, Byzantine craftsmen never lost their ability to portray characters from pagan stories, and their patrons continued to order whatever they wished. Recent discoveries in the late antique provinces of Syria, Palestine and Transjordan confirm a fascination with the ancient myths – the doomed love of Phaedra and Hippolytus, Prometheus creating the first humans or the drinking contest between Dionysus and Heracles – depicted on mosaics laid in the eighth century, under Muslim rule. Images of the rape of Europa and loves of Zeus were depicted with great realism on ivory boxes. Similarly, gold- and silversmiths, traditionally restricted to guilds, which limited their numbers and ensured quality, continued to decorate their products with images from ancient mythology, for example representations of Bacchus and Silenus with scantily dressed maenads. The use of encaustic for secular portraits also continued into the sixth century and many are commemorated in verse:
I was a harlot in Byzantine Rome, granting my venal favours to all. I am Callirrhoe the versatile, whom Thomas, goaded by love, set in this picture, showing what great desire he has in his soul, for even as his wax melts so melts his heart. The range of art decorated with what the Church considered thoroughly unsuitable subjects reminds us of the Byzantine delight in pre-Christian imagery, which extended into the twelfth century and beyond.
Apart from symbols such as the Cross, Christian images were not introduced on the coinage until 692–5, when Justinian II minted gold types with portraits of Christ, using both the long- and short-haired representations (plates 11a and 11b). Thereafter, the Virgin or saints were more commonly shown on coins to invoke their special protection and support; Emperor Alexander (912–13), for instance, introduced the image of John the Baptist, crowning him as emperor on the reverse of his coins. In the 860s, Patriarch Photios’ seal displayed an image of the Virgin holding the Christ Child in a medallion, known as the Blachernitissa type after a famous icon kept in her church at Blachernai, and shortly afterwards Emperor Leo VI put an image of the Virgin on his gold coins. The fact that Photios copied the image of an icon for his own seal reflects the importance of icons in Byzantium. By the ninth century they formed the quintessential element in Byzantine art and inspired devotion in orthodox worshippers, then as now.
Nearly all the components of Byzantine art were ancient and drew on older techniques. In the case of icons, encaustic had been used to great effect to commemorate pagan gods and Roman individuals from all walks of society. In Christian Byzantium, however, the devotional icon created a new art form which became its most characteristic feature. Together with other luxury objects, made of gold, silver and ivory or coloured silks, icons were appreciated by Christians as evidence of the superior culture of Byzantium. The same artistic traditions also sustained imperial ideology, in images which portrayed the rulers as donors, on coins which associated holy figures with them, as well as in secular works of art depicting victorious emperors, patrons of manuscripts, crowns and other imperial symbols. In this way, art sustained the empire in its transition to a medieval state and artistic products remained symbolic of Byzantium even after 1453. And because of the personal devotion they engendered, Christian icons were at the centre of a great debate which shook the empire from 730 to 843.
10
Iconoclasm and Icon Veneration
The falsely called ‘icon’ neither has its existence in the tradition of Christ or the Apostles or the Fathers, nor is there any prayer of consecration to transpose it from the state of being common to the state of being sacred. Instead, it remains common and worthless, as the painter made it.
Definition of the Iconoclast Council of 754
The making and worship of icons is no new invention, but the ancient tradition of the church… It is impossible fo
r us to think without using physical images… by bodily sight we reach spiritual contemplation. For this reason Christ assumed both soul and body, since man is fashioned from both.
St John of Damascus, eighth century
Iconoclasm, literally ‘the breaking of icons’, is one of the few Byzantine words still in English and European use. This itself is testimony to the lasting power of the conflict which it names: the fight over the dangers and powers of religious images. In Byzantium, iconoclasm was inspired by the Second Commandment of the Law of Moses, which states: ‘Thou shalt make no graven images nor shalt thou worship them.’ The recapitulation of this law in the Book of Deuteronomy is even more severe:
Thou shalt not make thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the waters beneath the earth: Thou shalt not bow down thyself unto them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God…
But it was neither the Judaic nor the Christian tradition that brought Byzantine iconoclasm to the fore. It was the Islamic observation of this commandment against idolatry which laid down the challenge to the role of images within imperial Christendom.
In Byzantium, people had become deeply attached to icons of holy persons, as we have seen, and images of Christ circulated throughout the empire on imperial coinage. In 692, when the Council in Trullo insisted that Christ be portrayed in his human form, it argued that the Incarnation justified a personal Christian art which was more instructive than symbolic representations of the Lamb of God. Scribes of early Christian manuscripts regularly illustrated biblical scenes, indicating their belief in the power of images to teach scripture. In this they followed the advice given by Pope Gregory I to western bishops: pictures could teach those who could not read. This notion that paintings were ‘Bibles of the illiterate’ encouraged a narrative art which followed the Gospel stories rather than the portrait-style devotional icon. Both were highly developed in Byzantium by the early eighth century.
Since the Byzantines cherished their religious art and icons, why did they turn against them? The phenomenon of iconoclasm, when people destroyed the images they had previously honoured, demands explanation. Theories abound, from the claim that it was all due to Leo III (717–41) to a recent interpretation that few people were actually involved – most were indifferent to the issue. Yet iconoclasm was one of the great ideological disputes in recorded history. For over a century, battle was joined; two distinct periods of icon destruction in Byzantium are documented, from 730 to 787 and again from 815 to 843, and several deaths and martyrdoms are recorded. As for the appeal of icons to popular sentiment, perhaps this was best understood by local Soviet commanders in the 1930s: when they were ordered to campaign against the influence of the Church, they were known to line up icons, sentence them to death and then shoot them.
In order to understand the introduction of iconoclasm, it is essential to recapitulate the military problems of early eighth-century Byzantium. Leo III was the last of a string of mainly unqualified emperors imposed by troops attached to the provincial government of the themes (themata) who marched on the capital and disposed of rulers with impunity. In the twenty-two years between 695 and 717, there had been six changes of ruler. The resulting instability prevented any serious attention to the dangerous expansion of Arabs into Asia Minor and Bulgars in the Balkans. By the time of Anastasios II (713–15), the Arabs were clearly preparing a major assault on the capital, and the emperor could only react by repairing the walls and getting in supplies. Another revolt by troops of the Opsikion theme, with naval support, set up a provincial tax collector as an unwilling emperor (Theodosios III, 715–17). This provoked the Anatolikon and Armeniakon theme armies to try to end the constant upheavals by establishing a competent military ruler.
In March 717, Leo, general of the Anatolikon forces, negotiated with Theodosios III and Patriarch Germanos to take control, and was crowned emperor on the condition that he would not disturb the Church and that his predecessor should be allowed to retire from public life as a monk. Once recognized as ruler, Leo III immediately prepared the city to withstand the expected siege. Knowing that for decades the Arabs had intended to make the Byzantine capital their own, he reinforced the measures already taken, storing extra food supplies, preparing the navy and strengthening the city’s fortifications. During the twelve-month siege of 717/18, Leo’s vigorous defence, achieved with skilful use of ‘Greek fire’, Bulgarian aid and the intercession of the Virgin, constituted a great victory over the Arabs. It reflected both his military experience as well as popular belief in the city’s divine protection, and was commemorated annually thereafter.
To prevent further Arab attacks by sea, Leo III paid special attention to naval forces, strengthening the theme of Thrakesion along the west coast of Asia Minor, promoting the Kibyrraioton to theme status, and establishing new naval commands in the Aegean Sea and on Crete (see map 3). He also suppressed a revolt in Sicily and reinforced imperial control in southern Italy. He displayed his orthodoxy by attempting to force conversion on Jews and heretical Christians, called Montanists (followers of the second-century AD prophet Montanus from Phrygia). And, by crowning his one-year-old son Constantine as co-emperor, he revealed his intention to establish a new imperial dynasty that would rule for generations. New coins were struck to spread this message. But the provinces of Asia Minor continued to suffer repeated raids, which theme forces were unable to check despite Leo’s efforts. Since the Byzantines knew that God granted victory in battle, and had in the past assisted them in defeating the historic empire of Persia, they had to question why He now gave triumphs to the Arabs. Being a God-fearing people, they sought an explanation for divine disapproval in their own human failings.
Then in 726, from the depths of the Aegean, a great volcanic eruption forced boiling lava and pumice stones ‘as big as hills’ into the air, which darkened the sky for days and then floated up on the shores of Asia Minor, Greece and the islands. A new island emerged between Thera (Santorini) and Therasia. When Leo wondered what this divine sign meant, his advisers interpreted it as a warning against idolatry, and advised him to ban icons from churches and public places. It is not clear if he knew that Bishop Constantine of Nakoleia in Asia Minor had already noticed the failure of icons to protect cities besieged by the Arabs, or that some wonder-working icons had ceased to perform their expected miracles, but Constantine is later identified as an adviser to Leo. When the emperor learnt that divine favour was being withheld because of the excessive veneration of icons, which was tantamount to idolatry, he ‘began to speak against the holy icons’, as the chronicler Theophanes states. Theophanes also cites the instance of Caliph Yezid ordering the destruction of Christian art in 722/3, and claims that Leo was inspired by the same idea and was ‘Saracen-minded’. For Leo, however, it was necessary to secure God’s support in battle against the Arabs, and if this meant imposing iconoclasm, then iconoclasm must be imposed. It was instituted as a way of regaining divine support at a critical time for the survival of Byzantium. Leo’s motives may have been spelled out in theological terms, but they expressed his understanding of the Muslims’ methods of ensuring discipline and effectiveness.
The first phase of iconoclasm began in 730 when Leo III ordered church leaders to remove icons. When Patriarch Germanos refused to agree, he was dismissed by a judicial tribunal of senators and civilian officials. Anastasios, previously his assistant, was appointed to direct the new iconoclast Church. In Rome, however, Pope Gregory II (715–31) and his successor Gregory III (731–41) reacted with hostility to the official letter about the dangers of icons. Their antagonism was also fuelled by disputes over taxation in Italy, which had increased as a result of a new imperial census of the population. Apart from the removal of a prominent icon displayed on the imperial palace, very little specific destruction is recorded, as if the change in religious practice needed a fuller and firmer theological basis. Leo’s son, Constantine V, later provided
this in his own writings and the associated campaign to impose iconoclasm.
After a long reign of twenty-four years, Leo III died peacefully in 741. His notable achievements included a decisive defeat of the Arabs the previous year at Akroinon; a new law code, the Ekloga, which insisted that provincial judges receive a salary in order to avoid corruption, among other reforms designed to strengthen the legal system; and the transfer of the ecclesiastical diocese of East Illyricum from Roman control to Constantinople. This brought the Greek-speaking regions of southern Italy, Sicily, the Balkans and Greece, and their revenues, back into the orbit of the Byzantine capital and was naturally opposed by the Roman bishops. In 731, Pope Gregory III also held a local council to condemn iconoclasm, which opened a religious schism between Rome and Constantinople. His successors continued to lay claim to the territories of Illyricum. Nonetheless, the reign of Leo brought stability to the empire, consolidated imperial defences and checked Muslim expansion. Iconoclasm appeared to have succeeded in its primary aim of regaining divine favour in battle, without as yet a wholesale destruction of icons.
Byzantium: The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire Page 14
