LVI

HeyJ •• (2015),
(2014), pp.pp. 173–191
••–••

A CRITICAL PRESENTATION OF THE ICONOLOGY

OF ST. JOHN OF DAMASCUS IN THE CONTEXT OF
THE BYZANTINE ICONOCLASTIC
CONTROVERSIES
DIMITRIOS PALLIS
University of Oxford

This study examines the theology of St. John of Damascus on images in the context of the
Byzantine iconoclastic controversies. Following a brief outline of the historical, political and
theological difficulties relevant to this phenomenon, the Christological and ontological dimen-
sions of John’s iconology are presented. John’s iconological thought is Christ-centered and
develops the teaching of the Church on Christ’s person and two natures. He formulates an
iconological realism based on the Incarnation. This study also analyzes the role of matter as
charged with divine energy and grace, the function of the icon as symbol, and the development
of a cognitive theory in John’s treatises on images. Lastly, John’s theology regarding the sixth
kind of image, namely the natural icon, is contextualized within the metaphysical/cosmological
chain of images he constructs. This contributes an ontological dimension to his theological
discourse and grounds its fundamental importance for Christian faith, which he viewed as
threatened by the conflict under discussion.

INTRODUCTION

The following study examines the main Christological and ontological aspects of the theology
of St. John of Damascus on images in the context of the Byzantine iconoclastic controversies.1
It is important to note from the outset that John of Damascus represented and further developed
patristic thought and the tradition of the Ecumenical Councils on the person and the two natures
of Christ and their significance for the glorification of creation and its recapitulation, a concept
that we find in Christian theology beginning with Irenaeus of Lyons. This is to say that his
theological contribution was significant, regardless of the historical, political or sociological
factors interwoven with the conflict. In light of this, it is to be expected that his argumentation
regarding icons – like that of St. Theodore the Studite which followed2 − puts the Christological
dimension at the centre of the iconological framework as never before.3 In this sense, the dispute
was transformed by John into a Christological controversy. As a consequence John’s attention
to images is not a side-issue of a relatively insignificant spat over religious art, but emerges as
the exigency for a new exposition of the Incarnation, the mystery of Christ’s person, and its
ontological repercussions for humanity and the world.4 It must be noted that the argumentation
of the iconoclasts was heavily influenced by the earlier Christological disputes, which leads to
the conclusion that Byzantine Iconoclasm also needs to be appreciated as the outcome and
extension of previous Ecumenical Councils, particularly the sixth.5 It is worth mentioning that

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the iconoclasts did not oppose art qua art, as they were well-acquainted with it and valued it
highly. It is also possible that the Byzantines of that period employed similar artistic techniques
in both their icons and their ‘secular’ representations; later we observe that they had begun to
distinguish between sacred and secular art. The iconoclasts also made use of representations and
symbols, as we can tell from John’s iconological treatises; a view of this controversy as having
an exclusively artistic focus must therefore be set aside.6
Metropolitan Kallistos Ware has captured the essential character of this dispute:
The struggle was not merely a conflict between two conceptions of Christian art. Deeper issues
were involved: the character of Christ’s human nature, the Christian attitude towards matter,
the true meaning of Christian redemption. . .the iconoclastic controversy is closely linked to the
earlier disputes about Christ’s person. It was not merely a controversy about religious art, but
about the Incarnation, about human salvation, about the salvation of the entire material
cosmos.7

Although the above is true, it should be clarified that the rhetoric in the beginning of the dispute
did not have an overtly Christological character and did not touch on these matters. Sebastian
Brock and others8 have gone so far as to argue that the entire controversy did not bear any
relation to Christology; rather the political element was paramount. In contrast, Joan Hussey
adopts a more balanced view and argues persuasively that: ‘the Christological argument for and
against icons was not really developed until the eighth century and then not in the opening
stages of the conflict’.9 Given the Christological focus of his defence of icons, John’s role can
therefore be seen as particularly important, connecting the dispute with the previous Christo-
logical controversies and with a long tradition of the semiotic of image/prototype far beyond the
language of the Councils, especially if we take into account his possible lack of access to the
proceedings of the fifth and sixth Ecumenical Councils when he was writing his treatises.10 He
thus played an indispensable role in the stabilization of the Orthodox faith for the following
centuries. He saw iconological theology and practice as bound tightly with Orthodox Christol-
ogy. The importance of his theology of images does not lie primarily in its originality; rather,
as the recipient and active conduit of the preceding philosophical and theological tradition, he
systematically re-exposed and drew attention to new dimensions of the philosophical and
theological heritage he had been bequeathed; it is in this sense that he should be credited with
originality and innovation. John’s work must therefore be viewed in the context of the theo-
logical appeal to ‘tradition’ evident in contemporary and earlier patristic writings, for example
in the works of St. Maximos the Confessor. This is encapsulated in the phrase ‘I will say nothing
of my own’ (‘ρω̃ μòν οδέν’) which is both an expression of monastic humility and a
manifestation of a strong belief in the intellectual and spiritual legacy of the previous Christian
centuries that continued to develop.11
As the late Prof. Nikolaos Matsoukas remarked: ‘his general education establishes him as
one of the most original theologians and philosophers of Byzantium’:
Originality means not merely something new, but first and foremost a work of creativity and
assimilation. The collection of eight centuries of experience and wisdom, with the addition of
another four or five centuries of pre-Christian knowledge, and at the same time the extremely
comprehensive, exact and precise synthesis and expression of this entire experience in a
creative formulation, is in itself a significant and original achievement.12
To unpack the thought of Prof. Matsoukas, John was the first person to appropriate this vast sea
of theological thought, most of which had been articulated with specific problems in mind; in
so doing he managed to discern the overall development of the (sometimes contradictory)
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Christian theology before his time. An achievement of this magnitude could have not been
reached by a simple compiler of theological opinions. As an editor of previous thought, he
displayed a deep understanding, not just in that he could follow the rational philosophical
arguments, but primarily because he was able to trace these arguments to their sources and
discern the theological concerns behind them, even before they were expressed in words. He
was not simply a compiler but a critical editor, and his work stands out for the originality of his
synthesis, which far exceeds the scope of the florilegia that preceded him.
Turning to an analysis of John’s defence of icons, we should begin by noting that his
theology is located chronologically in the first period of Iconoclasm (726/730-787).13 This is of
significance, since it means that John did not function simply as a collector of florilegia (though
this is itself is a task of value),14 but that he laid the foundations for subsequent icononophile
theologians in that he was the first to approach the issue systematically,15 although his writings
were not available immediately to his theological heirs.16
The practice of icon veneration was widespread centuries before John’s treatises on icons
were written; it was incorporated into and established by the religious policy of the Emperor
Justinian during the sixth century.17 Awareness of this change in religious devotion created the
need for the practice to acquire a theoretical grounding. On this point I agree with Ernst
Kitzinger that ‘there was no systematic attempt to establish a Christian theory of images prior
to the sixth century’.18 John’s contribution was therefore crucial, as he provided the first
comprehensive and clearly formulated theory of icons.
Another factor urgently pressing the development of a theology of images was the threat of
Islamic cultural assimilation experienced by Christian communities outside Byzantium. John’s
accurate and comprehensive outline of the Orthodox teaching of icons may be seen as acting as
a counterweight to the Islamic influence on Christians. It is no coincidence that John’s work
inspired and influenced the later defence of icons by Theodore Abū Qurrah, which served a
more directly apologetic purpose.19 Theodore, Bishop of Harran, employed argumentation and
motifs from John’s synthesis to resist at the intellectual level the Islamic threat of alienation, and
to grant a firm foothold for the enhancement of the faith and preservation of cultural otherness
for his fellow-Christians under Islamic rule. Of course the thought of the latter lacked both the
robustness of spirit and the theological depth of John Damascene and Theodore the Studite, who
should be regarded as the most important defenders of images on the iconophile side during the
iconoclast controversy.20 It is important to remember that John was located outside the reach of
the Christian basileus; this allowed him to have a broader understanding of the issues relating
to Iconoclasm through his contact with a wider environment and other cultural positions on this
matter, while giving him the freedom to express his views on icons openly, without fear of
imperial condemnation or military persecution.21 During the entire course of the controversy,
icons continued to be produced and venerated beyond the borders of the empire; this security
allowed Christians in these regions to oppose the imperial political strategy.22
As regards the underlying causes of the iconoclast controversy, these should not be sought
exclusively in external influences but mostly in the inherent character of Byzantine theology.
Iconoclasm was not a new phenomenon in Byzantine thought; it seems quite possible that
Byzantine imperial Iconoclasm might have been associated with an underlying Neoplatonic
negative attitude towards matter in the Byzantine world, as Charles Lock has aptly proposed.23
The attack on icons was therefore based on a biblically-articulated Neoplatonism.24 On the
relation between Neoplatonism and icons, a study of the anti-Manichaeistic theology of John of
Damascus would throw light on a significant dimension of this controversy.
It is in this context that we should consider the possible influence of Origenism, highlighted
by Fr. Georges Florovsky a few decades ago in a well-substantiated analysis.25 A comparative
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study incorporating Origenism as well as Neoplatonism as a potential source of influence would

shed light on some of the key issues relating to the controversy. In choosing rather to extend the
Christological teaching of the Ecumenical Councils, John may be considered a pioneer, his
theology constituting ‘a new chapter in Christology’.26 It is clear, however, that in both cases the
difficulty lies in determining the extent to which Platonism underlies various strands of Byz-
antine theology. In an effort to offset these complexities in a more balanced philosophical
proposal, John based the core of his defence of icons on the ontological reality of Christ’s
Incarnation and its soteriological implications for creation.
Finally, social and psychological aspects of the controversy brought forward by Peter Brown
are worth noting,27 particularly his view of the debate as a dispute over the function and relevance
of the late antique holy man, and the extension of this need in an iconological framework.28 In
line with what we said above regarding various factors accompanying the movement, however,
these aspects cannot wholly account for the nature of this multi-faceted phenomenon, which
appears rather to have had a theological focus. These features may be viewed as superficial,
external characteristics that fail to reach the philosophical depth of the argument.

THE POLITICAL CONJUNCTURE

Before proceeding to an analysis of John’s theology on images, it is necessary to note that

Iconoclasm was a complex issue of a quasi-political nature.29 It would not be an exaggeration
to say that, throughout the history of Christianity, every theological controversy was in some
respect also political, and vice-versa. Therefore any attempt to exclude such factors in the
framework of a study of this kind would prove restrictive. The conflict in question had a
distinctly political side based on particular personal aspirations or, to phrase it differently,
collective requests, which cannot be ignored.
The conflict between the iconoclasts and iconophiles, as Fr. John McGuckin and others have
pointed out,30 may be seen as reflecting a conflict between imperial universalism and monastic
anarchism within the Byzantine Empire, which was ultimately to be traced to caesaropapist
tendencies within imperial policies.31 From the time of Justinian we observe a pressure to
integrate monks within an imperial theocratic model.32 Leo III attempted to carry out social
reforms in order to realize his theocratic model, thereby intensifying the conflict.33 For this
reason some refer to him as ‘the Luther of the 8th century’,34 although his reformation was not
successful, and it is not implausible that the imperial incentives were mostly or even exclusively
political. Indeed, in an arguably contested reference from John of Damascus’ work On Heresies,
Leo and his followers are characterized as ‘lion-hearted’ (‘θυμολέοντες’), which has its origins
in a pun on the name of Leo III the Isaurian, used to indicate their zeal and passion in pursuing
their heresy.35 This does not mean that the opposing party did not bear any responsibility for the
controversy, however: exaggerations regarding the use and abuse of relics and icons were often
evident in liturgical life and practice, sometimes reaching the point of idolatry and typolatry.36
The following excerpt from McGuckin stressing the political aspect of the conflict summarizes
the political complexities of the issue:
If the imperial policy advanced as a self-confident attempt to repair the theocratic status of
Byzantium, the monks advanced another view by their lifestyle and protests: “Here we have
no abiding city” (Heb. 13:14). They preserved aspects of the eschatological roots of Christi-
anity that refused to allow a direct correlation of the Kingdom of God with the Church visible
on earth.37
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The stance adopted by the iconophiles thus to a large extent opposed that espoused by the
iconoclasts. The imperial side championed an Old Testament (political) messianism, while the
monastic outlook was founded on Pauline eschatology. The iconophile party, which had an
essentially monastic base, could not accept the identification of Christ with the Byzantine
Emperor, because this theological principle was clearly put forward in Mt. 22:21.38
There were undoubtedly occasions where the political aspect was so preponderant as to
dwarf or sideline the theological dimension; the view held in the past, however, that the dispute
was a ‘monachomachy; rather than an ‘iconomachy’ goes too far.39 Studies appreciating Icono-
clasm exclusively in its political dimension must be considered unbalanced; an external param-
eter cannot account fully for the way this crisis struck at the heart of Byzantine Christianity in
its theological complexities. Some older studies approached the subject exclusively from this
angle that attempted to encompass the entire controversy politically; their failure to produce a
satisfactory interpretation was due to their inability to grasp the mystery of the Incarnation and
all of its implications, which must be given pride of place over external aspects of a political
nature.

THE THEOLOGICAL DIMENSION

The iconological thought of John of Damascus is set out principally and systematically devel-
oped in his three renowned treatises On the Divine Images.40 In addition he devoted a chapter
to images in his Exposition of the Orthodox Faith,41 while there is a contested reference in his
On Heresies,42 as well as direct and indirect references in other works. Nevertheless, it must be
underlined that on no account should this bibliography be taken as exhausting his thinking on
iconology.43 On the contrary, they must be read in the context of his entire oeuvre, including
other writings not directly connected with the controversy.44
It is essential to stress the Christological focus in John of Damascus’ theology of images. The
latter must be appreciated in the context of the preceding theological tradition and especially the
Christological doctrine of the Council of Chalcedon, as the iconoclast controversies constitute
a continuation and extension of the earlier debate on Christ’s person and natures, as noted by
several scholars.45 John replies in this way to the iconoclast accusation of idolatry46 and argues
forcefully that there should not be any fear of the snare of idolatry among Christians, since the
Word has become flesh, thus fulfilling the spirit of the Law of the Old Testament,47 and has
therefore become a proper subject for iconographic treatment.48 Addressing this apparent
contradiction between the OT shadow and the NT reality in Christ, John of Damascus replies
emphatically that: ‘it is impossible for God to lie. For there is one God, one lawgiver of the Old
and New Testaments’.49 This principle was already established in the pre-Iconoclast period by
the 82nd canon of the Quinisext Council or ‘Council in Trullo’ (691/692), which forbade the
rendition of Christ only through the symbol of the lamb.50 Since God’s ‘descent’ in Christ was
an historic reality, a ‘realistic’ depiction was entirely justified and more necessary than ever.
This council canon undoubtedly also played a political and theological role in the propaganda
against Islam.51 As John argues:
When you see the bodiless become human for your sake, then you may accomplish the figure
of a human form; when the invisible becomes visible in flesh, then you may depict the likeness
of something seen; when one who, by transcending his own nature, is bodiless, formless,
incommensurable, without magnitude or size, that is, one who is in the form of God, taking the
form of a slave, by this reduction to quantity and magnitude puts on the characteristics of a
body, then depict him on a board and set up to view the One who has accepted to be seen.52
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This is a principle also emphasized strongly by St. Theodore the Studite53 among others, as well
as the Seventh Ecumenical Council.54 Consequently according to John, it is not merely justified
but even necessary to depict the incarnated Word in the person of Christ,55 who, in his economy
for the sake of humanity, fulfilled the spirit of the Law. Christians need not worry about the Old
Testament warning against idolatry56 because the icon is a hypostatic depiction of a person
reflecting the co-existence and communion in harmony of the two natures, and not a depiction
of either nature alone.57 Every reservation of the Old Testament and the prohibition against the
depiction of God must be seen in the context of that period: at a precise level of spiritual
evolution, prior to the revelation of Truth in the Incarnation. As John states with regard to the
Old Testament prohibition against the depiction of God,
The best physician of souls prohibits from making images those who are still infants and ill
with a diseased inclination to idolatry, apt to regard idols as gods and venerate them as gods
and reject the veneration of God and offer his glory to the creation. For it is impossible to make
an image of God who is incorporeal, invisible, immaterial and with neither shape nor circum-
scription nor apprehension; how can what cannot be seen be depicted? ‘No one has ever seen
God; the Only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has declared him’
(Jn. 1:18), and ‘No one shall see my face, and live’ (Exod. 33:20), said God.58
While it would be understandable not to depict God in the age of the Old Testament, it is
essential that he is depicted in the age of the New Covenant, since the incarnated Word has been
seen among humans, his depiction thus serves as a confirmation and acceptance of this reality.
John comments:
And I say to you, that Moses, on account of the hardness of heart of the sons of Israel, ordered
them not to make images, for he knew their tendency to slip into idolatry. But now it is not so;
we stand securely on the rock of faith enriched by the light of the knowledge of God.59
He assures Christians not only that there is no longer a fear of idolatry, but that they in fact have
an obligation to create icons, and encourages them to do so without hesitation. There is no
middle way, and for this reason he disagrees with the reserved use of images by the iconoclasts.
The doctrine of the Incarnation of the Word has grounded an iconographical realism against a
tendency to spiritual idealism60 detected within Christianity, from the very first docetic
impulses, by rebutting every reservation issuing from the Old Testament. A rejection of the
depiction of Christ is therefore equivalent to a rejection of the Incarnation, the economy, and the
whole redemptive plan of God for creation.61 Icons thereby constitute a liturgical aspect of
Church life of indispensable value, as they attest the reality of the Truth they are manifesting,
namely God’s energetic presence.62 An absolute apophaticism of the faith stressing the invisible
side of the Truth would consequently constitute a serious theological error.63 This argument is
also clearly present in the Areopagitic writings, where it is asserted that what is beyond sensible
reality cannot and should not dislodge or replace the cataphatic, visible element of the Truth.64
John’s work shows a clear awareness of Dionysios’ writings and develops the ideas of his
predecessor further in a creative way.
By extending the significance of the Incarnation to iconographic art, the role of matter must
be examined, for it is not matter qua matter that is depicted in the Incarnation of Christ, but
rather the glorified materiality in the person of Christ, fully transformed due to a hypostatic
union with his divine nature.65 At this point iconoclastic reservations against depicting his divine
nature are undercut by the doctrines of the distinction between the divine essence and the divine
energies, and of the hypostatic mode of being.66 It is useful, by way of summary, to recall John’s
statement: ‘I reverence the rest of matter and hold in respect that through which my salvation
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came, because it is filled with divine energy and grace’67, as well as the theological emphasis he
attributes to the glorification of matter evident in the following:
From the time when God the Word became flesh, and was made like us in every respect save
sin, and was united without confusion with what is ours, and unchangingly deified the flesh
through the unconfused co-inherence of his divinity and his flesh one with another, we have
been truly sanctified. And from the time when the Son of God and God, being free from
suffering in his divinity, suffered in what he had assumed and paid our debt by pouring out a
worthy and admirable ransom (for the Son’s blood was appealing to the Father and worthy of
respect), we have truly been set free.68
Another aspect of the theology of images developed by John relates to the saints and the
veneration of icons bearing their names and bodily figures. Saints are to be seen as good
servants and instruments of God (or rather as Christ-like),69 through whom the divine glory can
be seen and depicted for the same reasons outlined above with regard to the deified flesh of
Christ. The veneration offered to the saints as images and instruments of God passes directly to
him;70 they are venerated ‘because of the divine energy’.71 There is consequently a deep
appreciation for sanctified matter and its participation in grace through the persons of the saints,
Divine grace is given to material things through the name borne by what is depicted. . .Material
things, on their own, are not worthy of veneration, but if the one depicted is full of grace, then
they become participants in grace, on the analogy of faith.72
It is apparent here that matter can become a means for the revelation of the presence and activity
of God, and reciprocally a means for the worship of God through the veneration of the
receptacles of his energies. Human materiality is appreciated to such a degree by John that
according to him matter grants humans a fuller knowledge of and communion with God than
have the angels, who lack this.73 In coming to this conclusion John has indisputably been
influenced by Dionysios the Areopagite; this is an important point that has not been adequately
stressed by modern research.74 It is likely that they were both exponents of a common theo-
logical heritage with a Eucharistic foundation that appreciated materiality. The same element is
apparent in the ecclesiology of Maximos the Confessor, who developed Dionysios’ work in the
direction of a distinctively liturgical ontology.75
The depiction of a saint serves as a useful pedagogical aid for the faithful.76 The educational
function of images had already been emphasized before John, for example by Hypatios of
Ephesos,77 but this was extended and developed by John, who gave a more Christological and
ontological shape to this area of the controversy. In clarifying the pedagogical role, John
explains that icons of the saints allow the faithful to remember the saints and their deeds78, and
at the same time present to those striving for spiritual perfection an example to be emulated,79
which is not a form of a spiritual idealism but rather an ontological reality. The persons depicted
in the icons are seen as members of the same liturgical community; they function as an assertion
of the reality of the union with God through their ‘theomimetic’ and participational mode of
being in God, which serves as an encouragement and incentive to those striving in their
everyday lives to imitate Christ. In his conclusion John summarizes this tripartite pedagogical
role of images thus: ‘we record the images of virtuous men of the past for emulation and
remembrance and to rouse our zeal’.80
A central feature of John’s theology of images is the anagogical dimension of the image that
leads along an apophatic path to its archetype. In his appreciation of the relation between image
and archetype John seems to be following a Platonic source of inspiration.81 It is worth
examining in greater detail the use of the image and its function in Platonism and in various
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representatives of this school, such as the Jewish Platonist Philo of Alexandria and the Neo-
platonist Plotinos. John takes as his starting point the well-known formulation of St. Athana-
sios82 and St. Basil83 that by then had become a locus classicus for the defenders of images, that
‘the honour offered to the image passes to the archetype’.84 This statement also appears in
Church tradition, principally in the iconological positions of the Seventh Ecumenical Council.85
We find John here following a Platonic line of reasoning. Regarding the anagogical function,
Basil Tatakis states that ‘the icon, after all, is not simply a pedagogic tool for the masses; it is
a symbol, a step toward the divine, a mystical expression of the ineffable, and at the same time
a means of seeing the ineffable’.86 Thus, through sensible things, we are led via an apophatic
ascent bringing us into communion with the ineffable divine reality of the forms depicted.87
John, undoubtedly influenced by the semiotics of Dionysios the Areopagite,88 remarks that
‘there are images of invisible and formless things, that provide in bodily form a dim under-
standing of what is depicted’,89 and defines their purpose as symbols, ‘to guide us to knowledge
and to make manifest and open what is hidden’.90 It could be said at this point that Damascenian
images are with minor variations analogous in function to Dionysian symbols; they should also
be seen specifically in this role. Images are the starting point for John’s construction of a
cognitive theory, relying on a dual human nature and a positive view of human materiality
within the Christian worldview,91 although this was not his primary agenda in his three treatises
and was thus not fully or systematically developed because it was primarily intended as part of
his defence of images.92 James Payton Jr. argues persuasively that ‘[John] developed a position
on the role of the senses in human cognition which was in harmony with the doctrinal
understanding of Eastern Christendom, yet unanticipated among his predecessors’.93 It is
evident that John had assimilated and absorbed the Areopagitic writings to be able to develop
a cognitive theory of this kind.94 According to St. John:

We can make images of everything with a visible shape; we understand these things, just as
they are seen. For if it is from words that we understand shapes, but from what we have seen
that we also come to an understanding of these things, so it is also with each of the senses, from
what we smell or taste or touch, we come to understand these things through words. . .since we
are twofold, fashioned of soul and body, and our soul is not naked but, as it were, covered by
a mantle, it is impossible for us to reach what is intelligible apart from what is bodily. Just as
therefore through words perceived by the senses we hear with bodily ears and understand what
is spiritual, so through bodily vision we come to spiritual contemplation.95

Perceptible things therefore play a vital role as analogies in the way we understand the world
and provide a starting-point for divine contemplation. In the same context, as Fr. Andrew Louth
has correctly pointed out, John conceived a positive reception for the role of the imagination,
which differentiates him from both the Byzantine ascetic and the Platonic tradition.96 Another
aspect of the contribution of icons that has previously been mentioned is that they evoke the
memory of the persons depicted,97 whose figures are more easily recalled and appreciated by the
spectator when they are experienced by the senses. Nonetheless, to extend John’s line of
reasoning, it must be emphasized that memory is not only the recollection of persons, events
and deeds from the past, but also, in a liturgical context, means their active presence through the
grace of God. The ecclesial community does not only ask God to recall a powerful memory of
them, but to actually make present the ones he has kept in his memory. It could be similarly said
that John develops profoundly Dionysios’ and Maximos’ mystagogical hierarchical ecclesiol-
ogy of a dialectics between physics and metaphysics.
The Damascenian distinction between five principal types of images has intentionally been
left until last, as it is connected directly to the previous teaching of John on the anagogical
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character of the image and its function as a symbol. John identifies the following types of
image:98 the presentation of the Father by the Son;99 God’s plan for creation (cf. Platonic ideas,
Philonic, Dionysian and Maximian logoi);100 man as created in God’s image and likeness;101
shapes, figures and forms from the Scriptures conveying the invisible and bodiless so as to have
a faint understanding of God and the angels;102 images prefiguring and typifying what is to come
beforehand103 and finally, the natural icon.104 All these types, bound tightly to one another, guide
us anagogically, as links in a chain, to the prototype, and vice-versa.105 In other words they
establish and uncover a state of dialogical reciprocity in the relation between God and creation.
John introduces in this way in an iconological context the notion of mutuality, which had been
developed in a liturgical context by Dionysios the Areopagite and Maximos the Confessor.
Furthermore, although this is not very clear in John, he follows Dionysios the Areopagite’s
understanding of ecstasy to construct an idea of mystical ascent to the person depicted, using the
image as an instrument to come into communion with God.106 It is in this role of the natural
icon, the sixth kind of image, that its distinctly eschatological dimension can be highlighted.107
Louth argues persuasively in support of a link between all these kinds of image:
It is an evocation of the multitude of ways in which reality echoes reality, from the Father
imaging forth the Son and the Son the Spirit in the life of the Trinitarian God, through the
patterns of providence. Humanity as an image of God, the way in which the visible world finds
its reality in the spiritual world and images it forth, the images that shadow the relationship
between the Old and the New Testaments, to the images that remind us of the past, of the “rock
from which we were hewn” (Isa. 51:1). It is a picture of the ways in which images establish
relationships between realities: within the Trinity, between God and the providential ordering
of the universe, between God and the inner reality of the human soul, between the visible and
invisible, between the past and the future, and the present and the past. The image, in its
different forms, is always mediating, always holding together in harmony. Images in the form
of pictorial icons fit into this pattern, in a quite humble way. But to deny an icon is to threaten
the whole fabric of harmony and mediation based on the image.108
Thus, any rejection of the ‘sixth class of image’, that of the natural icon, would be equivalent
to a rejection of the whole iconological cosmology opened up by John of Damascus. Jaroslav
Pelikan frames the issue succinctly:
Because the pictures constituting this “sixth class of image” all carried some explicit reference
to one or another or several of the first five classes of image. . .the Iconoclastic rejection of the
icons was tantamount to a rejection not only of one link but of the entire chain of images.109
The iconoclastic position did not merely threaten one, albeit essential, aspect of liturgical life
and theological practice, but constituted a principal danger for the entire cosmological and
metaphysical background of Christian theology in a way that the iconoclasts perhaps had not
envisaged.110 John Damascene’s broadening of the theoretical field of discussion through a
reference to the cosmological chain of images should therefore not be seen simply as a
‘strategy’ in this controversy of his time to produce further objections or to render an icono-
clastic attempt at refutation more arduous, as has at times been proposed by some scholars;
rather it should be appreciated as an expression of his concern over the repercussions of his
opponents’ position, which puts at risk the entire mystery of the Christian faith.

CONCLUSION

This study has sought to demonstrate that the Church’s teaching on images, as outlined in the
works of St. John of Damascus, is bound tightly to the preceding patristic tradition and the
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teaching of the Ecumenical Councils regarding the person of Christ, and extends the ontological
consequences for creation of the union between his two natures. Even though John did not take
into account every important Christian source, for example certain council proceedings, or was
more dependent on the writings of a particular Church Father in his iconology, we cannot
conclude that such theological components are absent from his thought, as he brings forward the
same unbroken liturgical and theological tradition that they represent. The same can be also
argued with regard to the originality of his work, which is innovative in its systematic and
synthetic character. What John accomplished should be seen as a ‘significant and original
achievement’, to echo the words of Matsoukas, because he was the first Christian thinker to
develop a theological synthesis of this type.
John’s argumentation places the person of Christ and its ontological meaning for creature-
hood at the core of his iconology and thus puts the Christological dimension at the centre of the
dispute. The person of Christ plays a crucial role in responding to the theological challenges
posed by the iconoclasts, both in its historic/hypostatic mode of being, and in the ontological
consequences for the created world. The same line of reasoning was adopted and creatively
expanded by subsequent apologists for images, when his treatises became known several
decades later. It is therefore naïve to consider Iconoclasm a conflict without depth over mere
artistic decoration.
No doubt the controversy to a certain extent can be characterized as a political conflict; it is
better appreciated, however, as a theological dispute with political ramifications. Byzantine
controversies cannot be viewed in abstraction from the underlying theological issues. Attention
therefore needs to be given to the political aspect when examining the controversy, but not to the
extent that external events are overemphasized and the core of the conflict, which was indis-
putably theological, is overlooked.
John of Damascus’ works in the first phase of Iconoclasm supplied his readers with theo-
logical argumentation through his systematic approach to the issue of images, even though the
treatises became available only some decades later. The florilegia that accompany his work are
a further, though often neglected resource, which functioned as patristic evidence for his
apology for icons. The iconology exhibited in his treatises is not merely an ad hoc response to
the iconoclast challenge of his time; it is rather a complete and systematic presentation that has
an enduring resonance even down to our own time. This suggests that his works on images were
intended as a defence against threats along several fronts, and possibly in the face of the rise of
Islam that he had experienced during his residence in Palestine.
Given the spread of a cult of images throughout the empire from around the sixth century, a
clear-cut position had to be presented, leading unavoidably to debate. Alternative views on the
origins of the iconoclast controversy have been proposed; however, some interesting theological
questions that require further study remain. For example, a study of Neoplatonism and its
influence on the iconoclast group, as well as the movements of Manichaeism and Origenism
that surely underlay the dispute and led to certain theories on the role of matter and the
historicity of the person of Christ respectively would perhaps shed new light on the conflict.
These fall outside the scope of this short study, but further examination of the causes, the
possible influences, and the character of the dispute would be worthwhile topics for future
studies. John’s emphasis on the theological value of matter and the historicity of the person of
Christ in his apology of images can arguably be seen as a response to these theological currents.
John of Damascus’ treatment of the Incarnation forms the core of his argumentation and
counters the theological arguments proposed by those disputing the use of images. Iconoclasm
is thus linked with the earlier Christological controversies regarding the mystery of the person
of Christ, which was still provoking ambivalence within the empire. In the Incarnation the Law
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of the Old Testament was fulfilled, and the Word became human at a time when humanity was
prepared to accept it. This removes the danger of idolatry and means that this sin is no longer
a risk through icon veneration. The stability of John’s perspective versus the inconsistency of
the iconoclastic position is apparent in the distinction between essence and energies, and the
hypostatic mode of being, which together form the basis for his iconophile theology. These two
theological principles provide the theological grounding of the iconographical realism of
Orthodox art, which reaffirms the reality of the Incarnation.
The primary argument in John’s defence relates to matter, which is valorized as a vehicle for
the transmission of divine grace. This is the same matter assumed and deified in the person of
Christ, that is also shared by the saints and the whole of creation. Moreover, John confers a
species of superiority on humans in comparison with angels as regards their understanding of
and participation in the mystery of the Incarnation. Matter has a sacramental value that is
positively appreciated by John and which allows humans direct communion with God. In this
sense, certainly under the influence of the Areopagitic writings, John Damascene attributes to
humans a deeper knowledge of God than the angels have. He develops and extends further an
older argument regarding the pedagogical value of images, and he formulates a cognitive theory
based on the twofold character of human nature, and its ability to better appreciate things that
are material and accessible to the senses. One of his innovations in this field is the ascription of
a positive role to the imagination in contrast to Byzantine ascetics and the Platonists.
Another significant aspect of John’s theology of images is the function of the icon as a
symbol. Here again the relation to and influence of a Dionysian semiotic is indisputable. The
anagogical role of the icon is woven into its apophatic and eschatological dimension in John’s
theory. Here John was certainly following Platonism; a further study of some representatives
such as Plotinos or even Philo would reveal new aspects of his theology of images and the
theoretical background of this cult in the Byzantine Church.
As regards the symbolic and anagogical role of the icon, we should link the iconological
cosmology John constructs with the five other types of images he mentions. He refers to a sixth
kind, the natural icon, which is at the centre of the controversy; any threat to this simultaneously
endangers the iconological chain made up of the other five types as well. The icon has a specific
but crucial mediating role in forming, with the other kinds of images, a condition of dialogical
mutuality between God and creation. From this perspective what the position iconoclast was
suggesting was not simply the removal of a central part of the chain and liturgical life, but the
abolition of the entire cosmological sequence and with it the mystery of faith. John’s theological
acumen enabled him to recognize the complexity of the issue and the danger posed by their
attack. Invoking the image of a chain to demonstrate the most vital aspects of the cosmological/
metaphysical assumptions of Christian theology was not a stratagem of theological ‘policy’, as
has been suggested by some researchers in the past, or an effort to lift the debate between the
opposing parties to a more sophisticated level, but rather the fruit of his deep anxiety regarding
the ominous consequences of the iconoclast theological position.

Notes

1 On Byzantine Iconoclasm in general and its first phase, see J. Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History
of the Development of the Christian Doctrine, Vol. 2: The Spirit of Eastern Christendom (600–1700), The
University of Chicago Press, Chicago-London, 1974, pp. 91–133; J. Meyendorff, Christ in Eastern Christian
Thought, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Crestwood, NY, 21987, pp. 173–92; A. Louth, Greek East and Latin
West: The Church AD 681–1071, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Crestwood, NY, 2007 [The Church in History;
3], pp. 41–66.
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2 At this point, I do not include Patriarch Nikephoros due to a certain lack of originality in his argumen-
tation. As has been rightly noted by Fr. Andrew Louth: ‘there is little original in the arguments of Nikephoros,
and they have nothing of the clarity and conciseness of John Damascene’, whereas the other main iconophile
of the second period, St. Theodore the Studite, is considered ‘a thinker of real power’ [(2007), p. 129].
3 See, for example, T.F.X. Noble, Images, Iconoclasm, and the Carolingians, University of Pennsylvania
Press, Philadelphia, 2009 [The Middle Ages Series], pp. 91–2; idem, ‘John Damascene and the Iconoclastic
Controversy’, Religion, Culture, and Society in the Early Middle Ages: Studies in Honor of Richard E. Sullivan,
eds. T.F.X. Noble-J.J. Contreni, Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, MI, 1987 [Studies in Medieval
Culture; 23], pp. 95, 99, 102 ff.; P. Henry, ‘What was the Iconoclast controversy about?’, CH 45 (1976),
pp. 21–8.
4 See, for example, the late Fr. Michael Kardamakis’ emphasis on the fact that Orthodox Iconography bears
no relation to ‘religious art’, as directly connected to the doctrinal teaching and the sacramental experience of
the Church. In particular, he mentions that ‘Orthodox Iconography is not a “religious” art, a religious person’s
attempt to express himself artistically, an artistic, religious creation. It is a theological art, an art form which
formulates and expresses theological truth, the catholic experience and the ethos of the Church as regards
dogma, spiritual teaching and worship. It is an art form which, without eliminating the role of personal
inspiration in the quest for the form, has an ultimately catholic achievement, precisely because its starting point
is not a metaphysical quest and conjecture but theological experience and the tradition of the Church’ (Orthodox
Spirituality: The Authenticity of Human Ethos, Akritas Press, Athens, 1993 [Orthodox Witness; 3], pp. 216–7
[in Greek]); cf. D.J. Sahas, Icon and Logos: Sources in Eighth-Century Iconoclasm, University of Toronto
Press, Toronto-Buffalo-London, 1986, p. 5: ‘the icon is not a form of visual and aesthetic art as such; it is,
primarily, an expression of the theological experience and faith of the Church, and a statement of it. This is how
it has been treated from the earliest days of the Church’. Cf. C. Yannaras, Sketch of an Introduction to
Philosophy, Domos Press, Athens, 21988, pp. 366–9 [in Greek].
5 For more see T.S. Nikolaou, ‘Continuation of the Christological Disputes even after the Sixth Ecumenical
Council’, Epistemonike Parousia Hestias Theologon Chalkes 2 (1991), pp. 291–317 [in Greek]; V.N.
Yannopoulos, The Christological Perceptions of the Iconoclasts (doctoral dissertation, National and Kapodes-
trian University of Athens), Athens, 1975 [in Greek].
6 As for instance, André Guillou notes: ‘l’ attitude des iconoclastes à l’ égard de l’ art, bien qu’ hostile à
l’ image, ne fut pas négative’ (La Civilisation Byzantine, Arthaud, Paris, 1974 [Les Grandes Civilisations],
p. 362).
7 T. Ware (Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia), The Orthodox Church, New Edition, Penguin Books, London,
1997, pp. 30, 33. Cf. L. Ouspensky, Theology of the Icon in the Orthodox Church, transl.: A. Gythiel-E.
Meyendorff, Vol. I, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Crestwood, NY, 1992, pp. 120–1; M. Fortounatto-M.B.
Cunningham, ‘Theology of the icon’, The Cambridge Companion to Orthodox Christian Theology, eds. M.B.
Cunningham-E. Theokritoff, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge-New York, 2008, pp. 139–41; see A.
Besançon, The Forbidden Image: An Intellectual History of Iconoclasm, transl.: J.M. Todd, The University of
Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 2000, pp. 61–2: ‘the [iconoclastic] crisis was the occasion to “revise” and
reexamine the delicate intellectual balance surrounding the mystery of the Incarnation. It was on this point of
theology, and with a complete indifference to aesthetic question, that the discussion of the validity, legitimacy,
and value of the divine image made by human hands rested’.
8 See S. Brock, ‘Iconoclasm and the Monophysites’, Iconoclasm (Papers given at the Ninth Spring
Symposium of Byzantine Studies; University of Birmingham, March 1975), eds. A. Bryer-J. Herrin, Centre for
Byzantine Studies, Birmingham, 1977, pp. 53, 55, 57; cf. J.A. McGuckin, ‘The Theology of Images and the
Legitimation of Power in Eighth Century Byzantium’, SVThQ 37:1 (1993), pp. 39–58.
9 J.M. Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire, fwd.-upd. bibliogr.: A. Louth, Oxford
University Press, Oxford-New York, 2010 [Oxford History of the Christian Church], p. 34.
10 This matter is presented more systematically in the forthcoming expanded version in Greek.
11 See The Fount of Knowledge: The Philosophical Chapters 2, 9 [= B. Kotter ed., Die Schriften des
Johannes von Damaskos, Vol. I, Walter de Gruyter, Berlin-New York, 1969 [Patristische Texte und Studien; 7],
p. 55]; Preface [= Kotter, Vol. I, p. 53]; Maximos the Confessor, Epistle XV [= PG 91, 544D]; On Various
Questions [= PG 91, 1301B].
12 Nikos Ath. Matsoukas, History of Philosophy (Ancient Greek-Byzantine-Western European): with a short
introduction to philosophy, P. Pournaras Press, Thessaloniki, 22006 [Philosophical and Theological Library;
47], p. 426 [in Greek].
13 The main figures of the first stage of the iconoclastic controversy were John of Damascus and Patriarch
Germanos [for the first phase of Iconoclasm see McGuckin and Louth (2007) above]. The scholarly positions
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regarding the start-date of the Iconoclastic controversy vary. At any rate, the distinction between two periods of
Byzantine Iconoclasm should be seen only as a methodological principle, as the theological aspect of the
controversy was united in its progress throughout the eighth and ninth centuries, thus rendering attempts made
by some scholars in the past to identify the exact dates of the controversy futile.
14 As Thomas Noble notes: ‘before John of Damascus no one had so thoroughly surveyed the Christian
past for the texts that bore on images’ [(2009), p. 93]. At any rate, this fact is crucial as he granted
iconophiles sufficient evidence to defend their faith. For more about the florilegia included in the treatises
of John of Damascus and their relation to collections of patristic fragments see A. Alexakis, Codex
Parisinus Graecus 1115 and Its Archetype (doctoral dissertation, University of Oxford), Dumbarton
Oaks Research Library and Collection, Washington, DC, 1996 [Dumbarton Oaks Studies; 34], pp.
125–37.
15 See for instance, R. Cormack, Byzantine Art, Oxford University Press, Oxford-New York, 2000 [Oxford
History of Art], p. 92; G. Kordis, In a Sacred Manner [Ιεροτύπως]...: The Iconology of St. Photios and the
Sacred Art in the Post-Iconoclast Period, Harmos Press, Athens, 2002, p. 88 [in Greek].
16 Louth states that the successors of John of Damascus possibly had little awareness of his theological
arguments. It was not before the ninth century or even later when the works of John found readers in
Constantinople [St. John Damascene: Tradition and Originality in the Byzantine Theology, Oxford University
Press, Oxford-New York, 2002 [Oxford Early Christian Studies], pp. 197–8; idem, ‘St. Denys the Areopagite
and the Iconoclastic Controversy’, Denys l’ Aréopagite et sa postérité en Orient et en Occident (Actes du
Colloque International Paris, 21–24 Septémbre 1994), éd. Y. de Andia, Institut d’ Études Augustiniennes, Paris,
1997, pp. 334–35; idem (2007), pp. 54, 127; P. Brown, ‘A Dark-Age Crisis: Aspects of the Iconoclastic
Controversy’, EHR 88:346 (1973), p. 3; Hussey, p. 39].
17 See Noble (1987), p. 97: ‘until the late third, or possibly the early fourth, century neither individual
Christians nor the Church made conspicuous use of artistic representations of God or men...it is in the sixth
century that image worship becomes uncontestably important and widespread’; cf. A.-M. Talbot, ‘General
Introduction’, Byzantine Defenders of Images: Eight Saints’ Lives in English Translation, ed. A.-M. Talbot,
Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, Washington, DC, 1998 [Byzantine Saints’ Lives in Trans-
lation; 2], p. viii; H. Belting, Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image before the Era of Art, transl.: E.
Jephcott, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 1994, p. 145; Brown, pp. 10, 16–9, 21;
Hussey, p. 31; Louth (2007), p. 44; For more see Poppova, pp. 43–9; cf. E. Kitzinger, ‘The Cult of Images in
the Age before Iconoclasm’, DOP 8 (1954), pp. 83–150 and N.H. Baynes, ‘The Icons before Iconoclasm’, HTR
44:2 (1951), pp. 93–106.
18 Kitzinger, p. 135. Cf. Belting, p. 145: ‘as soon as the cult of images could no longer be ignored,
theologians began to take a position for or against the value of images, which still were not generally permitted
in the sixth century’.
19 More on him in the Greek expanded version.
20 For more about the iconology of St. Theodore the Studite see C. Scouteris, ‘La Personne du Verbe Incarné
et l’ Icône: L’ Argumentation Iconoclaste et la Réponse de Saint Théodore Studite’, Nicée II, 787–1987: Douze
Siècles d’ Images Religieuses (Actes du Colloque International Nicée Tenu au Collège de France, Paris, les 2,
3, 4 Octobre 1986), éd. F. Bœspflug–N. Lossky, Cerf, Paris, 1987, pp. 121–33; K.I. Kornarakis, The Theology
of the Holy Images According to the Blessed Theodore the Studite (doctoral dissertation, National and Kapo-
destrian University of Athens), Epektasi Press, Katerini, 1998 [Theology and History]; T. Damian, Theological
and Spiritual Dimensions of Icons According to St. Theodore of Studion (doctoral dissertation, Fordham
University), Edwin Mellen Press, Lewiston, NY, 2002 [Texts and Studies in Religion; 94]; G. Metallidis,
‘Theodore of Studium Against the Iconoclasts: The Arguments of his Letters’, SVThQ 46:2 (2002), pp.
191–208; G.W.A. Thorne, The ascending prayer to Christ: Theodore Studite’s defence of the Christ-εκν
against ninth century iconoclasm (doctoral dissertation, University of Durham), Durham, 2003; G.C. Tsigaras,
Die Ikonologie des Theodoros Studites (doctoral dissertation, University of Vienna), Wien, 2004 (also available
in Greek in the series Analecta Vlatadon) and the forthcoming study by Torstein Theodor Tollefsen entitled St.
Theodore the Studite and the Defense of Holy Icons by Oxford University Press. In general for St. Theodore as
a churchman and theologian see the doctoral dissertations written by Patrick Henry (Yale University, 1968) and
Roman Cholij (University of Oxford, 1996).
21 See J. Pelikan, Imago Dei: The Byzantine Apologia for Icons, with a new fwd.: J. Herrin, Princeton
University Press, Princeton-Oxford, 2011 [The A.W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts − 36; Bollingen Series −
35], p. 37; K. Weitzmann, The Icon: Sixth to Fourteenth Century, Chatto & Windus, London, 1978, p. 18; C.
Mango, ‘Historical Introduction’, Iconoclasm (Papers given at the Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine
Studies; University of Birmingham, March 1975), eds. A. Bryer-J. Herrin, Centre for Byzantine Studies,
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Birmingham, 1977, p. 3; Brown, p. 3; McGuckin, p. 52; Ware, p. 31; Louth (2002), p. 196; idem (2007), p. 51;
Noble (2009), p. 88; Hussey, p. 39.
22 See, for example, O. Poppova, ‘Byzantine Icons of the 6th to 15th Centuries’, A History of Icon Painting:
Sources – Traditions – Present Day, ed. Archm. Zacchaeus (Wood), transl.: K. Cook, Grand Holding Publish-
ers, Moscow, 2007, p. 49; Weitzmann, p. 18.
23 See C. Lock, ‘Iconic Space and the Materiality of the Sign’, RelArts 1:4 (1997), pp. 6–22, esp. pp. 9–20.
For more on Byzantine Iconoclasm and Judaism and Islam see L.W. Barnard, The Graeco-Roman and Oriental
Background of the Iconoclastic Controversy, E.J. Brill, Leiden, 1974 [Byzantina Neerlandica; 5], pp. 10–50;
Sahas (1986), pp. 16–21; Besançon, pp. 63–81; Brubaker-Haldon (2011), pp. 105–19.
24 See Lock, pp. 9–10.
25 See G. Florovsky, ‘The Iconoclastic Controversy’, Collected Works, Vol. 2: Christianity and Culture, gen.
ed.: R. Haugh, transl.: R. Müller, A.-M. Döllinger-Labriolle, and H.W. Schmiedel, Nordland, Belmont, MA,
1974, pp. 101–19, esp. pp. 109–19.
26 M. O’ Rourke Boyle, ‘Christ the ΕΙΚΩΝ in the apologies for Holy Images of John of Damascus’, GOTR
15:2 (1970), pp. 176, 180; J.R. Payton, Jr., ‘John of Damascus on Human Cognition: An Element In His
Apologetic For Icons’, CH 65:2 (1996), p. 174; Noble (2009), pp. 91–2.
27 See Brown.
28 Ibid., 5, 21, respectively.
29 For a synopsis of the main hypotheses concerning the reasons that led to the Byzantine iconoclastic
controversyseeA.Giakalis,ImagesoftheDivine:TheTheologyofIconsattheSeventhEcumenicalCouncil
(doctoraldissertation,UniversityofCambridge),fwd.:H.Chadwick,E.J.Brill,Leiden-NewYork-Köln,1994
[StudiesintheHistoryofChristianThought;54],pp.1–5;V.I.Pheidas,ChurchHistoryA′:FromtheBeginning
to the Iconoclasm, Diegisi Press, Athens, 21994, pp. 769–70 [in Greek]. For a more thorough approach see
Archm. P.G. Tsorbatzoglou, Iconoclasm and Society in theAge of Leo III the Isaurian: Contribution to the
Investigation of the Causes (doctoral dissertation, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki), Epektasi Press,
Katerini,2002[TheologyandHistory](inGreek).
30 See McGuckin, pp. 44–7, 52, 55, 57–8; Bossakov, p. 218; Ware, p. 41; Tatakis (2003), p. 98; Ouspensky,
p. 121.
31 See McGuckin, pp. 44–6, 49–50, 55–7. According to Fr. John McGuckin, the iconoclasts made a selective
use of the faith sources to establish the King-Priest status of Leo III as Basileus, focusing exclusively on some
Old Testament political and social models. In contrast, the iconophiles ‘represented a refusal to read the
workings of divine providence directly from the immediate historical and political context of the day’ (ibid., p.
58). Some of the provocative acts of the iconoclasts were the deliberate dishonour and destruction of holy and
venerable images and the persecutions against monks [ibid., pp. 46–7; cf. Louth (2002), pp. 193, 205]. Leonid
Ouspensky in the same spirit asserted that ‘in reality, the attack against the veneration of icons represented an
illegitimate intervention of civil power in the realm of the Church, in its liturgical life and in its teaching’
(p. 109). See also the references made by John of Damascus e.g. in Treatise II, 16 [= Louth (2003), p. 73],
18 [= Louth (2003), p. 74]. Despite the iconophile accusation of caesaropapism against the iconoclasts, it has
to be noted that in Byzantine history there were canons issued by synods of Bishops for the government of the
Church by the State [Louth (2002), p. 204].
32 See for instance, Henry, p. 31.
33 For more about Leo III and the beginning of the conflict see M. Anastos, ‘Leo III’s Edict against the
Images of the Year 726–7 and Italo-Byzantine Relations between 726 and 730’, ByzF 3 (1968), pp. 5–41;
S. Gerö, Byzantine Iconoclasm during the Reign of Leo III: with Particular Attention to the Oriental
Sources (doctoral dissertation, Harvard University), Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium,
Louvain, 1973 [Subsidia; 41], pp. 1–131; L. Brubaker-J. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era c. 680–
850: A History, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge-New York, 2011, pp. 69–155; Sahas (1986), pp.
25–30.
34 See Pheidas, p. 769.
35 Chase, p. 160; cf. n. 42.
36 See indicatively, Pheidas, p. 771; O’ Rourke Boyle, p. 176.
37 McGuckin, p. 47.
38 Ibid., pp. 55–6; cf. also e.g. about the two distinct authorities of the State and the Church respectively in
Treatise II, 12 [= Louth (2003), pp. 68–9], 41 [= Louth (2003), pp. 110–1]. Furthermore, in another context,
John uses the story of St. Constantine’s perception as a servant of God to illustrate the ideal relationship
between Church and State (Treatise III, 76 [= Louth (2003), pp. 126–7]).
39 See the critical comments in Noble, (2009), pp. 385–6, n. 93.
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40 In the present paper, I intentionally do not depart from Louth’s translation, for practical reasons. It is
indisputably the most successful effort to make John Damascene’s work available to the English-speaking
readers, especially when compared to the previous attempts by Mary Allies and David Anderson [(2002), p. 198,
n. 20; St. John of Damascus, Three Treatises on the Divine Images, transl.-intro.: A. Louth, St. Vladimir’s
Seminary Press, Crestwood, NY, 2003 [Popular Patristics Series], pp. 15–6]. These three treatises should be
seen as one, since the content of the last two is based on the first [Louth (2002), pp. 199–200; idem, ‘ ‘Beauty
will save the world’: The Foundation of Byzantine Spirituality’, ThTo 61:1 (2004), p. 73; idem (2007), p. 51;
M.C. Rhodes, ‘Handmade: A Critical Analysis of John of Damascus’s Reasoning for Making Icons’, HeyJ 52:1
(2011), p. 14; D.J. Sahas, ‘Υλη and φύσις in John of Damascus’s Orations in defense of the icons’, SP 23
(1989), ed. E. A. Livingstone, p. 66, n. 3]. It is also possible that John had written the first two treatises between
726 and 730 or around that time and that the third emerged a decade or even later [C. Barber, Figure and
Likeness: On the Limits of Representation in Byzantine Iconoclasm, Princeton University Press, Princeton and
Oxford, 2002, p. 8; Louth (2007), p. 51; Noble (1987), pp. 101, 113].
41 An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith, 89: On Images [= PG 94, 1168C-76A; B. Kotter ed., Die
Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, Vol. 2, Walter de Gruyter, Berlin-New York, 1973 [Patristische Texte
und Studien; 12], pp. 206–8].
42 On Heresies (= PG 94, 773A-4D; Saint John of Damascus, Writings, transl.: F.H. Chase, Jr., The Catholic
University of America Press, Washington, DC, 1958 [The Fathers of the Church; A New Translation; 37],
p. 160). The present reference is considered spurious and, for this reason, is not included in Kotter’s critical
edition.
43 For more see the forthcoming Greek version of the paper.
44 In this sense, his work against the Manichees, for instance, should be seen as connected to the merely
‘iconological’ writings.
45 See Louth (2003), p. 13; Ware, pp. 30, 33; Payton, p. 174; Bossakov, p. 220; McGuckin, p. 56; O’ Rourke
Boyle, pp. 180–2; Noble (2009), p. 92; Pelikan, pp. 80–1; A. Zhyrkova, ‘John Damascene’s Notion of Being:
Essence vs. Hypostatical Existence’, SVThQ 54:1 (2010), pp. 100–1.
46 Cf. e.g. the florilegia used in Treatise III, 85–7 [= Louth (2003), pp. 131–4]. It is worth noting that from
the seventh century the Byzantines had definitively abandoned sculptural art (an art historically linked with
idolatry) in favour of iconography to avoid any possible accusation of idolatry (Guillou, p. 362).
47 See Treatise I, 8 [= Louth (2003), pp. 24–5; cf. Treatise III, 8 = Louth (2003), pp. 88–9], 16 [= Louth
(2003), pp. 29–31; cf. Treatise II, 14 = Louth (2003), pp. 70–1], 21 [= Louth (2003), pp. 34–6; cf. Treatise II,
15 = Louth (2003), pp. 71–2]; Treatise II, 22–3 [= Louth (2003), pp. 76–8]; cf. also the reference of Anastasios
of Antioch employed by John the Damascene in Treatise III, 127: “when the truth has come they do not
think it good to live in accordance with the figures and to follow them still...when the things themselves are
present, then the figures of the things withdraw” [= Louth (2003), p. 152; cf. Treatise II, 66 = Louth (2003),
p. 80].
48 See Treatise I, 4 [= Louth (2003), p. 22; cf. Treatise III, 6 = Louth (2003), p. 86], 8 [= Louth (2003), pp.
24–5; cf. Treatise III, 8 = Louth (2003), pp. 88–9], 21 [= Louth (2003), p. 36; cf. Treatise III, 15 = Louth (2003),
pp. 71–2]; Treatise II, 5 [= Louth (2003), pp. 61–2; cf. Treatise III, 2 = Louth (2003) p. 82], 20 [= Louth (2003),
p. 76]; Treatise III, 9 [= Louth (2003), p. 91]. This theological principle is also clearly confirmed by the Seventh
Ecumenical Council proceedings, which state that only the form of that which was seen by humans is depicted
(cf. G.D. Mansi ed., Sacrorum Conciliorum Acta et Amplissima Collectio, 31 Vols., Florence-Venice-Paris,
1759–98: Mansi, Vol. 13, 340D).
49 Treatise II, 7 [= Louth (2003), p. 63; cf. Treatise III, 4 [= Louth (2003), pp. 83–4].
50 See Mansi, Vol. 11, 977E-80A; cf. Treatise III, 137 [= Louth (2003), pp. 157–8]. For a more thorough
approach to the theological significance of the 82nd canon of the Council see Ouspensky, pp. 91–100.
51 See Brubaker-Haldon (2011), pp. 61–2.
52 Treatise I, 8 [= Louth (2003), p. 24; cf. Treatise III, 8 = Louth (2003), pp. 88–9]. Cf. Treatise III, 6: ‘I do
not depict the invisible divinity, but I depict God made visible in flesh’ [= Louth (2003), p. 86]. Louth comments
on this that ‘even if the veneration of images was forbidden in the Old Testament, because God has no visible
form, this situation has changed as a result of the Incarnation, in which the invisible and incomprehensible God
has taken on himself a material form...the Jews were forbidden to make images, because they were disposed to
idolatry, but Christians, who believe in the Incarnation, are free from that propensity and so may and must make
icons’ [(2003), pp. 11–3]. McGuckin argues that ‘insofar as God has been incarnated in Christ He can now
legitimately be depicted and this material circumscription that the artist accomplishes is analogous to the
self-limitation of God in the materiality of the incarnate life. The image restricts God no more than the body of
Christ restricts the Word who dwells within, since God is in the flesh but not contained by it’ (pp. 51–2).
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53 See for instance, Antirrhetic Oration Against the Iconoclasts III, 34: ‘παντὸς εκονιζομένου, οχ η
φύσις, λλ’ η υ πόστασις εκονίζεται· πω̃ς γὰρ α ν ξεικονισθείη φύσις μὴ ν υ ποστάσει
τεθεωρημένη;...περιγραπτὸς α ρα ο Χριστὸς καθ’ υ πόστασιν, κα ν τη ˜ θεότητι περίγραπτος, λλ’ οκ
ξ ω
ν συνενετέθη φύσεων’ (= ‘in every depiction, it is not nature but the hypostasis which is depicted. For
how could nature be depicted, if it has not been seen in a hypostasis?...Thus Christ in his hypostasis is
circumscribed even though he is uncircumscribed in his divinity, but not from the natures from which he is
constituted’) [= PG 99, 405A, C].
54 See for instance, Mansi, Vol. 13, 340D; cf. n. 48.
55 It must be remarked that theologians should be more careful when referring to the Incarnation and
depiction of Christ (see for instance, Bossakov, p. 220), as it is not God the Word that is depicted, but the
hypostasis or the historical person of the incarnated Word in Christ [see, for example, Louth (2002), p. 220;
Matsoukas (21988), p. 423]. This would be acceptable only if it meant the hypostasis granted by the Word in the
hypostatic union of the two natures or referred to the incarnate Word. The icon is a personal depiction because
nature has no existence independently of the person and can only exist in persons [see Ouspensky, p. 127;
Zhyrkova, p. 96; Yannaras (21988), p. 366]. This observation could also serve as the cornerstone in solving the
iconoclastic Monophysitic syllogism presented by the iconoclasts that if God cannot be depicted, and Christ is
God, then it would be impossible to depict Christ. Otherwise, according to them, we would fall into the
Nestorian trap (see e.g. McGuckin, p. 56; O’ Rourke Boyle, pp. 180–2). See e.g. Ouspensky, pp. 127, 152: ‘the
icon is not an image of the divine nature. It is an image of a person incarnate; It conveys the features of the Son
of God who came in the flesh, who became visible and could therefore be represented with human means...the
icon of Jesus Christ, the God-Man, is an expression of the dogma of Chalcedon in image; indeed, it represents
the person of the Son of God who became man, who by His divine nature is consubstantial with the Father and
His human nature is consubstantial with us, ‘similar to us in everything except sin’, in the expression of
Chalcedon’ (my emphasis); cf. Sahas (1986), p. 6: ‘the icon is a demonstration of the Christian belief in the
personal character of God. Although the essence of God is absolutely unique and as such transcendent,
unknown, and incomprehensible, God in the Christian tradition is neither abstract nor detached from and
unrelated to the human reality. He relates Himself to man and to the world’.
56 On the Old Testament prohibition of the depiction of God in John of Damascus’ treatises see for instance,
Treatise I, 5–8 [= Louth (2003), pp. 22–5]; Treatise II, 7–10 [= Louth (2003), pp. 62–8], 20–2 [= Louth (2003),
pp. 75–7]; Treatise III, 4–11 [= Louth (2003), pp. 83–93]. However, this does not mean that the sin of idolatry,
which was an error in the Old Testament epoch, cannot still be committed even in the New Testament era [cf.
Rhodes, pp. 24–5; see also the comments of John in Treatise I, 16 [= Louth (2003), p. 31; cf. Treatise II, 14 =
Louth (2003), p. 71; cf. Gal., 5:2–4]. As John of Damascus underlines in relation to the era after the Incarnation,
‘if anyone dared to make an image of the immaterial and incorporeal divinity, we reject them as false’ (Treatise
III, 9 [= Louth (2003), p. 91]).
57 See, for example, the principle of Chalcedonian origins that John Damascene points out in his Exposition
on the Orthodox Faith VI: That the divine nature in one of its hypostases was united in its entirety with human
nature and not as part with part: “η οσία δέ, καθ’ ε αυτὴν οχ υ φίσταται, λλ’ ν ται̃ς υ ποστάσεσι
θεωρει̃ται” (= “essence does not exist in itself, but is seen in hypostases”) [= PG 94, 1004A; Kotter, Vol. 2,
p. 120].
58 Treatise II, 7 [= Louth (2003), pp. 63–4].
59 Ibid., 20 [= Louth (2003), p. 76].
60 For more see Kordis, pp. 88–94.
61 The rejection of the image can be identified with the rejection of the archetype; see indicatively the
passages cited in the florilegia, Treatise II, 61 [= Louth (2003), pp. 78–9], 66 [= Louth (2003), p. 80]; Treatise
III, 49 [= Louth (2003), pp. 114–5], 58 [= Louth (2003), p. 119].
62 See indicatively, Yannaras (21988), pp. 366–9.
63 As Fr. Dumitru Stăniloae argues, ‘only a completely apophatic theology, that is, a theology of silence, of
the negation of every statement about God, is free of images’ (Theology and the Church, transl.: R. Barringer,
fwd.: J. Meyendorff, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Crestwood, NY, 1980, p. 131). Nevertheless, for all
members of the Church lacking that spiritual level, the cataphatic role played by the images is not only
justifiable, but also essential. An absence of the images could also be viewed as a radical Neoplatonism
contemplating immaterially.
64 For more in terms of the Dionysian ecclesiastical hierarchy (or rather ‘our’ hierarchy to be more accurate)
see D. Pallis, The Liturgical Theology of Dionysios the Areopagite: A Liturgical Reading of the Areopagitic
Writings in the Context of the Neoplatonist and Christian Tradition (master’s dissertation, University of
Winchester), Winchester, 2013, pp. 112–7, 140–1, 146–50, 154–7.
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65 See Treatise I, 4 [= Louth (2003), pp. 21–2; cf. Treatise III, 6 = Louth (2003), p. 86], 16 [= Louth (2003),
pp. 29–30; cf. Treatise II, 14 = Louth (2003), pp. 70–1], 18 [= Louth (2003), p. 32], 21 [= Louth (2003), p. 35];
Treatise II, 9 [= Louth (2003), pp. 67–8; cf. Treatise III, 9 = Louth (2003), p. 91]; Treatise III, 6 [= Louth (2003),
p. 86], 26 [= Louth (2003), p. 103]. As Ware highlights, ‘God took a material body, thereby proving that matter
can be redeemed: “The Word made flesh has deified the flesh” said John of Damascus (Treatise I, 21 = PG 94,
1253B). God has “deified” matter, making it “spirit-bearing”; and if flesh has become a vehicle of the Spirit,
then so –though in a different way– can wood and paint. The Orthodox doctrine of icons is bound up with the
Orthodox belief that the whole of God’s creation, material as well as spiritual, is to be redeemed and glorified’
(p. 33). For more regarding the appreciation of matter in St. John of Damascus see Sahas (1989). Modern
Orthodox scholars often refer to the ‘sacred’ or ‘Eucharistic’ materialism of Christian theology (see among
others, C. Yannaras, M. Begzos, Fr. N. Loudovikos). It has also been rightly stated that Christianity is ‘the most
materialistic “religion” ’ (N. Nissiotis), due to its high appreciation of materiality.
66 For more on these doctrines see C. Yannaras, ‘The Distinction between Divine Essence and Energies and
Its Importance for Theology’, transl.: P. Chamberas, SVThQ 19:4 (1975), pp. 234 ff.
67 Treatise I, 16 [= Louth (2003), p. 29; cf. idem (2002), p. 202]; cf. Treatise II, 14 [= Louth (2003), pp. 70–1].
68 Ibid., 21 [= Louth (2003), p. 35].
69 At this point, it would worth pointing out the Christocentricity in the iconology of John Damascene,
which could be applied to the deification of the entire material world and man. In the same context, one can
observe that deification in Sts. John of Damascus and Maximos the Confessor who were both influenced by
(pseudo- ) Dionysios the Areopagite, deviates from the consideration of the latter. In Maximos, for example,
Christ plays a crucial role in his understanding of deification, which seems to be “Christification”
(“νχρίστωσις”) rather than a Dionysian vague deification. My formulation should not be taken literally as
even Dionysios refers to a “Christlike ending” (‘Xριστοειδη̃ λη̃ξιν’) [see e.g. On Ecclesiastical Hierarchy VII,
2 [= PG 3, 553D; G. Heil-A.M. Ritter eds., Corpus Dionysiacum II, Walter de Gruyter, Berlin-New York, 1991
[Patristische Texte und Studien; 36], p. 121]. For more on this see Pallis (2013), pp. 78–84, 153.
70 See Treatise III, 26: ‘through the images of his saints I offer veneration and honor to God, for whose sake
I reverence his friends also, and this do out of respect [for them]’ [= Louth (2003), pp. 102]; Exposition 89
(; 4, 16) [= Kotter, Vol. 2, p. 208]; cf. the passage from Leontios of Neapolis in Cyprus in Treatise I, 56: ‘one
who honors the martyr honors God, for whom the martyr bore witness; one who venerates the apostle of Christ
venerates the one who sent him; and one who falls down before the mother of Christ [does so] evidently,
because he offers honor to her son. For no one is God, save the one acknowledged in Trinity and Unity and
worshipped as One’ [= Louth (2003), p. 52; cf. Treatise II, 52].
71 Cf. Treatise III, 34: ‘I reverence angels and human beings and all matter participating in divine energy and
serving my salvation, and I venerate them because of the divine energy’ [= Louth (2003), p. 108; my emphasis].
It should be noted that John Damascene has a clear position on the distinction between created and uncreated
and, for him, the only immaterial is God. Therefore angels bear materiality compared to God.
72 Treatise I, 36 [= Louth (2003), p. 43]. Cf. Treatise II, 14: ‘I do not venerate matter, I venerate the fashioner
of matter, who became matter for my sake, and in matter made his abode, and through matter worked my
salvation. “For the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn. 1:14). It is clear to all, that flesh is matter and
is a creature. I reverence therefore matter and I hold in respect and venerate that through which my salvation
has come about, I reverence it not as God, but as filled with divine energy and grace’ [= Louth (2003), pp. 70–1
(my emphasis)].
73 See Treatise III [= Louth (2003), pp. 102–3]; cf. Sahas (1989), pp. 70–1; Payton, p. 178; Louth (2002),
pp. 216–7; idem (2004), pp. 69–70, 74–5; idem, ‘The reception of Dionysius in the Byzantine World: Maximus
to Palamas’, MoTh 24:4 (2008), pp. 589–90.
74 See On Celestial Hierarchy VII, 3 [= PG 3, 209B-C]. For more on the Dionysian influence on John of
Damascus regarding the human superiority of materiality over angels see Pallis (2013), pp. 96–7; it seems, for
instance, that this connection has escaped A. Louth’s attention in his recent paper: ‘Symbolism and the Angels
in Dionysios the Areopagite’, SP 58 (2013), ed. Markus Vinzent, pp. 109–15.
75 See Pallis (2013), passim; cf. idem, ‘Sketch of the Reception of the Areopagitic Writings in Modern Greek
Theology: With Special Reference to the Generation of the 1960s’, Theologia 85:1 (2014), pp. 318–20 [in
Greek].
76 John of Damascus quite often refers to the images as ‘books for the illiterate’ due to their pedagogical
function. See for instance, Treatise I, 17 [= Louth (2003), p. 31]; Treatise II, 10 [= Louth (2003), p. 67; Treatise
III, 9 = Louth (2003), p. 91]; Exposition 89 (; 4, 16) [= Kotter, Vol. 2, p. 207].
77 For more see the bibliography cited in Belting, p. 569, n. 8.
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78 See Treatise I, 13 [= Louth (2003), p. 27; cf. Treatise III, 23 = Louth (2003), pp. 99–100], 17 [= Louth
(2003), pp. 31–2]; Treatise III, 9 [= Louth (2003), p. 91], 10 [= Louth (2003), pp. 91–2]; Exposition, 89 (; 4, 16)
[= Kotter, Vol. 2, p. 207].
79 See for example, the comments of John on the sixth kind of image in Treatise III, 23: ‘the sixth kind of
image is to arouse the memory of past events, whether wonders or acts of virtue for the glory and honor and
memorial of the bravest and of those who excel in virtue, or acts of wickedness for the scandal and shame of
the most wicked men, for the benefit of those who later behold them, so that we may flee what is wicked and
be zealous for the virtues’ [= Louth (2003), p. 99; cf. Treatise I, 13 = Louth (2003), p. 27].
80 Ibid. [= Louth (2003), p. 100; my emphasis].
81 On Platonic “Iconology” and the Byzantine art see Yannaras (21988), pp. 55–8, 368–9. From an aesthetic
point of view, see P.A. Michelis, ‘Neo-Platonic Philosophy and Byzantine Art’, JAAC 11:1 (1952), pp. 21–45.
We could also include Dionysios’ pun with the noun beauty (‘κάλλος’) and the verb call (‘καλω̃’) in the same
context (PG 3, 701C-D; B.R. Suchla ed., Corpus Dionysiacum I, Walter de Gruyter, Berlin-New York, 1990
[Patristische Texte und Studien; 33], p. 151).
82 Athanasios of Alexandria, Third Oration against the Arians, 5 [= PG 26, 329C-32B; cf. Treatise III, 114
= Louth (2003), p. 147]. The influence of Athanasios on the Seventh Ecumenical Council is evident. See Mansi,
13, 69B-C.
83 Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit 18, 45 [= PG 32, 149C]. This wording of St. Basil is mentioned by St.
John of Damascus several times. Cf. in general D.J. Tselengidis, ‘Die Triadologie Basilius des Großen als
Fundament der dogmatischen Lehre der Kirche über die Ikonen’, Gregorios ho Palamas 78 (1995), pp. 237–54.
84 John of Damascus recalls or implies the phrase of St. Basil in his theology on images, more frequently
than can be listed here. John emphasizes the identity between the image and the archetype. Nevertheless, this
identity between them does not imply any substitution of the latter by the former. As he frequently states, the
archetype by nature is what the image is by imitation. Therefore, there is an essential superiority of the
archetype over its image. Thus, if the veneration of the prototype was substituted by the veneration of the image,
this would equate to idolatry. However, it needs to be highlighted here that in the case of the Incarnation, as
approached by John, we see deified matter uniting image and prototype and in this case we could speak about
a transcending of the duality of the image and the prototype.
85 For more see Kordis, pp. 47–51.
86 Tatakis (2003), p. 99. Cf. Tatakis (2007), p. 174; Besançon, p. 127; Louth (2003), p. 10.
87 See for instance, the frequent references to and implications of Dionysios the Areopagite in Treatise I, 11
[= Louth (2003), p. 26; cf. Treatise III, 21 [= Louth (2003), pp. 98–9], 28 [= Louth (2003), p. 40; cf. Treatise
II, 24], 30 [= Louth (2003), p. 40; cf. Treatise II, 26], 31 [= Louth (2003), p. 40; cf. Treatise II, 27], 32 [= Louth
(2003), pp. 40–1; cf. Treatise II, 28, Treatise III, 44 = Louth (2003), p. 113]; 33 [= Louth (2003), p. 41; cf.
Treatise II, 29, Treatise III, 45 = Louth (2003), p. 113]; Treatise III, 17 [= Louth (2003), p. 96], 25 [= Louth
(2003), p. 101], 43 [= Louth (2003), p. 113]. Regarding the citations from the florilegium of the second treatise,
there are no page numbers, as Louth has not included them in his translation for practical reasons. John the
Damascene considers Dionysios an important patristic testimony bringing up the spirit of the early times of
Christianity as a disciple of the Apostle Paul in Athens. This is perhaps the reason that excerpts from Dionysios
are put in the beginning of the three florilegia, as John might have considered him to be the Dionysios the
Areopagite mentioned in Acts 17:34.
88 For more about the concept of symbols and the extension of the Dionysian theology on symbols in the
iconology of John Damascene see Pallis (2013), pp. 96–7, 106–9. On the connection between Dionysian
theology and the Iconoclastic controversy see Louth (1997) and M.B. Cunningham, ‘The Impact of Pseudo-
Dionysius the Areopagite on Byzantine Theologians of the Eighth Century: The Concept of ‘Image’ ’, A
Celebration of Living Theology: A Festschrift in Honour of Andrew Louth, eds. Justin Mihoc-Leonard Aldea,
Bloomsbury, London-New York, NY, 2014, 41–58.
89 Treatise I, 11 [= Louth (2003), p. 26]. Cf. Dionysios the Areopagite, Epistle X: ‘truly visible things are
manifest images of invisible things’ [= PG 3, 1117B; Heil-Ritter, p. 208; cf. Treatise III, 43 = Louth (2003),
p. 113] and a similar expression from the ninth ‘epistle’ in Treatise I, 28 [= Louth (2003), p. 40; cf. Treatise II,
24]. The Dionysian inspiration of John of Damascus is once more evident here. For all the definitions of the
symbols provided by Dionysios see Pallis (2013), p. 106.
90 Treatise III, 17 [= Louth (2003), p. 96; cf. idem (2002), p. 215].
91 See Payton, 178–81; Louth (2004), pp. 69–70.
92 See Payton, p. 183.
93 Ibid., pp. 182–3.
94 See Pallis (2013), pp. 97, 106–9.
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95 Treatise III, 24 [= Louth (2003), pp. 100–1], Treatise II, 12 [= Louth (2003), p. 93; cf. idem (2002),
p. 207]; see also Treatise I, 36: ‘since I am a human being and wear a body, I long to have communion in a
bodily way with what is holy and to see it’ [= Louth (2003), p. 43].
96 See Louth (2002), pp. 217–8.
97 See for instance, Treatise I, 22 [= Louth (2003), pp. 36–7].
98 See Treatise III, 18–23 [= Louth (2003), pp. 96–100]; cf. Treatise I, 9–13 [= Louth (2003), pp. 25–7].
99 Ibid., 18 [= Louth (2003), pp. 96–7]; cf. Treatise I, 9 [= Louth (2003), p. 25]. Cf. Jn. 1:18; ibid. 14:8–9.
100 Ibid., 19 [= Louth (2003), p. 97]; cf. Treatise I, 10 [= Louth (2003), pp. 25–6]. It needs to be clarified here
that the logoi, in contrast to the Platonic ideas, do not possess an ontological self-reliancy. See the comments
of Matsoukas: ‘logoi are not identical to ideas or forms which were closed conceptual types, deterministically
defining every event in natural and historical reality. In theology, the logoi of all that exists are “paradigms”
which exist in divine will as desires. Thus they do not constitute closed archetypes of Greek philosophy, where
either the imaginary numbers of Pythagoras or the ideas of Plato or the conceptual invisible forms of Aristotle
are conceived as closed types. However, with types of this kind, it is very difficult to conceive of a dynamic and
unlimited development in natural and historical reality’ (Science, Philosophy and Theology in the Hexahemeron
of Basil the Great, P. Pournaras Press, Thessaloniki, 21990 [Philosophical and Theological Library; 10], pp.
23–4 [in Greek]). A very interesting comment on the character of the logoi (or paradigms or predeterminations)
with criticism of the Platonic theory of ideas by St. Maximos the Confessor can be found in Scholia on the
Divine Names [= PG 4, 330D, 332C]. For a full analysis and connection with the theology of Dionysios the
Areopagite see Pallis (2013), pp. 75–8, 153.
101 Treatise III, 20 [= Louth (2003), p. 98; cf. Treatise II, 20 = Louth (2003), pp. 75–6].
102 Treatise III, 21 [= Louth (2003), p. 98–9; cf. Treatise I, 11 = Louth (2003), p. 26].
103 Treatise III, 22 [= Louth (2003), p. 99; cf. Treatise I, 12 = Louth (2003), p. 27].
104 Treatise III, 23 [= Louth (2003), pp. 99–100; cf. Treatise I, 13 = Louth (2003), p. 27].
105 See L. Barnard, ‘The Theology of Images’, Iconoclasm (Papers given at the Ninth Spring Symposium of
Byzantine Studies; University of Birmingham, March 1975), eds. A. Bryer-J. Herrin, Centre for Byzantine
Studies, Birmingham, 1977, p. 12.
106 See G. Zographidis, Byzantine Philosophy of the Icon: A Reading of St. John of Damascus (doctoral
dissertation, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki), Hellenica Grammata Press, Athens, 1997 [Religious Studies;
12], p. 299 [in Greek]; Yannaras (21988), pp. 368–9.
107 See A. Andreopoulos, Art as Theology: From the Postmodern to the Medieval (doctoral dissertation,
University of Durham), Equinox, London; Oakville, CT, 2006 [Cross Cultural Theologies], p. 42. Cf. I Cor.,
13:12.
108 Louth (2002), p. 216. Cf. idem (2007), pp. 51–2: ‘what is striking about these treatises... is both the
assuredness with which John presents his defence of the icons, and his conviction that to attack the icons is
not to attack some peripheral area of Christian devotion, but to attack the very root of the Christian faith
itself... John’s point is that images and the use of imagery are essential to our understanding of anything, from
the heights of divinity to the recollection of the human past. If images are taken away then any hope of human
understanding goes with it. Iconoclasm is, then, not simply an attack on a particular devotional practice, but cuts
at the root of any human understanding of the divine, or anything else’.
109 Pelikan, p. 182.
110 Cf. K. Parry, Depicting the Word: Byzantine Iconophile Thought of the Eighth and Ninth Centuries
(doctoral dissertation, University of Manchester), E.J. Brill, Leiden-New York-Köln, 1996 [The Mediterranean
Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–1453; 12], p. 42: ‘it would seem that he saw the attack on icons as a
threat to a system of images which he considered essential to the Christian faith. The attack on the painted image
was only the beginning, for once Iconoclasm took hold, it could be applied not only to icons, but to scripture,
theology and even humanity itself. It was in his interest to widen the definition of the image in order to
demonstrate the pervasive nature of Iconoclasm. He may have carried the iconoclast attack into areas not
intended by the iconoclasts, but this was a legitimate thing for him to do, given the fear of where the policy of
Iconoclasm might lead’.