FIGURE NE S S

C H A R LES BARBER

“Charles Barber has written an important book. Taking

as a challenge the widely held view that iconoclasm was
the work of theologians that had little to do with the
actual production of art, he succeeds in demonstrating
the contrary. His arguments are precise, his writing
clean, and his conclusions subtle and careful. The result
is a book that will spark debate as it forces scholars to
reconsider basic assumptions. At the same time, it
introduces the complex subject in a manner totally
accessible to a nonspecialist audience.”

— Herbert L. Kessler, Johns Hopkins University

"This book aims to recover for art history notions of

form, likeness, and representation as discussed during
Byzantine iconoclasm. It does so by an exacting, concise,
and remarkably lucid accounting of the basic tenets of
the iconophiles across the 180 years of their debate. Not
since André Grabar’s seminal work almost fifty years ago
has anyone worked so thoroughly with this material.
What I especially liked about this book is its brevity, for
Barber manages to discuss complex matters with a
welcome economy of words.”

— Robert S. Nelson, University o f Chicago

Figure and Likeness presents a thought-provoking new

account of Byzantine iconoclasm — the fundamental
crisis in Christian visual representation during the eighth
and ninth centuries that defined the terms of Christian­
ity’s relationship to the painted image. Charles Barber
rejects the conventional means of analyzing this crisis,
which seeks its origin in political and other social factors.
Instead, he argues, iconoclasm is primarily a matter of
theology and aesthetic theory.
Working between the theological texts and the visual
materials, Barber demonstrates that in challenging the
validity of iconic representation, iconoclasts were asking:
How can an image depict an incomprehensible God?

(continued on back flap)

FIGURE AND LIKENESS
FIGURE AND LIKENESS

On the Limits of Representation

in Byzantine Iconoclasm

0
0

Charles Barber

0
0

P rinceto n U niversity P ress

P rinceton and O xford

 Front cover: Iconoclastic cross, c. 769 (detail o f fig. 1)
Back cover: John the Baptist, mid-6th century (detail o f fig. 11)
Frontispiece: Saint Demetrios and donors, first half o f the 7th century (detail o f fig. 2)

Published by Princeton University Press

41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540

In the United Kingdom:

Princeton University Press
3 Market Place, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 iSY
www.pupress.princeton.edu

Copyright © 2002 Princeton University Press. All rights reserved.

No part o f this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems,
without permission in writing from the publishers, except by a
reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Printed and bound in Hong Kong

13579 10 8 6 4 2

Library o f Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Barber, Charles, 1964-
Figure and likeness : on the limits o f representation in
Byzantine iconoclasm / Charles Barber,
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-691-09177-3 (cloth : alk. paper)
i. Art, Byzantine. 2. Iconoclasm — Byzantine Empire. 3. Orthodox Eastern
Church — In art. 4. Church and state — Byzantine Empire. I. Title.
N7852.5 .B376 2002
704.9'482'o94950902i — dc2i 2001058520
 CONTENTS

Introduction 7

Matter and Memory 13

Icon and Idol 39

Truth and Economy 6ι

Figure and Sign 83

Form and Likeness 107

Word and Image 125

Conclusion 138

Abbreviations 140

Notes 141

Bibliography 175

Acknowledgments 201

Index 203

Photography Credits 207

. -. „y ' . :· gggpl
i^ry
lip
e β
 INTRODUCTION

any art h is t o r ia n who turns to the subject o f Byzantine icono-

clasm might well ask whether it is a topic proper to the field o f art his­
tory. Complicated by seemingly arcane theological questions and bound
to the various social and political crises o f the eighth and ninth centuries,
the secondary literature on iconoclasm only rarely touches upon the art
whose very existence is the occasion for the crisis. Textbook histories o f
Byzantium define this period by the term iconoclasm, the breaking o f an
image, yet the notion o f art is too frequently dismissed from the domain
o f iconoclasm’s discourse, and the image, now bereft o f its artifactual
being, is understood to mask deeper political, social, and theological
strains within the culture.1 This neglect is assisted by the material record,
as surviving works o f art from this period are relatively few and far be­
tween. Any object-based analysis must therefore face the possibility o f
frustration in its search for a narrative thread, with the paucity o f ob­
jects seeming to confirm the complete success o f iconoclastic practices.2
The medieval erasure o f the object is thus echoed in a modern histori­
ography that, lacking sufficient objective data, chooses to efface the icon
as a historical text in its own right, effectively removing it from the nar­
ratives that represent iconoclasm. And yet, from the 690s until the 870s,
theologians in Byzantium debated the propriety o f iconic representa­
tions o f Christ, the Theotokos, the angels, and the saints. Their words
returned again and again to the manufactured objects that were believed

Opposite: Fig. 1. Iconoclastic cross, c. 769. Mosaic in the patriarchal rooms,

St. Sophia. Istanbul, Turkey

7
 INTRODUCTION

to convey the appearance o f holy persons. This book will argue that
their words necessarily address an art historian’s concerns and that these
debates were narrowly focused upon the question o f the truthfulness
o f visual representation. These theologians were seeking to define the
icon, a manufactured depiction o f a holy person or event, as a legitimate
or illegitimate medium for Christian knowledge. In their exploration
they echo an art historian’s concern to learn the appropriate limits o f
her or his discourse on representation.3
Byzantine iconoclasm might be described as a complex series o f
evolving debates set in train by a problematic piece o f canonical legis­
lation. Arguments over the origin and meaning o f this crisis have been
various, led in conflicting directions by the historical narratives first for­
mulated in the eighth and ninth centuries.4 The primary and secondary
sources have strained to find a correlation between historical events,
such as natural disasters, and the necessary construction o f a convinc­
ing account o f the cause o f what became a major heresy that swept up
emperors, the clergy, monks, and every level o f Byzantine society.
Primary sources betray the construction o f competing and over­
lapping narratives that identify a series o f possible origins and identities
for iconoclasm. Nikephoros, Theophanes, and George the Monk focused
on the imperial role in this crisis. For Nikephoros, who probably wrote
in the 780s, Leo III was moved to attack the cult o f icons in order to ap­
pease the divine wrath, expressed in a massive volcanic explosion on the
island o f Thera, awakened by this cult.5 By slightly altering the chronol­
ogy, Theophanes, writing about 813, argued that Leo’s iconoclasm was
influenced by Jewish ideas imported from an iconoclastic Islamic world.6
George the Monk, whose Chronicle probably dates to the 860s, expanded
on this discourse o f outside influence, adding a vivid picture o f Leo’s
destruction o f knowledge within the empire, marked by his closure o f
the school at the Chalkoprateia church.7 In contrast, the Seventh Ecu­
menical Council, held in 787, built a narrative o f iconoclasm that was
primarily ecclesiastical. It is notable that in this account it was a bishop,
Constantine o f Nakoleia, who disseminated alien ideas.8
The very earliest witnesses to iconoclasm are similarly divided. The
Three Orations on the Images by John o f Damascus, o f which the first two
were certainly composed about 730, portrayed iconoclasm as an impe-

8
 INTRODUCTION

rial adventure.9 This point was also apparent throughout the heavily in­
terpolated letters o f Pope Gregory II to Leo III (perhaps about 800 in
the form we see them today).10 In contrast, the letters o f Patriarch Ger­
manos to three o f his bishops, written between 726 and 729, suggest that
iconoclasm was a matter that had arisen within the church itself — a
point that Pope Gregory IIs letter to Germanos does nothing to con­
tradict.11 Our sources, therefore, find several causes for iconoclasm: it
can be ecclesiastical and it can be imperial, it can be a Christian heresy
and it can be a set o f alien ideas infecting the body o f the Christian
church. The implications o f each o f these broad definitions were ex­
panded upon — a work that has continued to occupy modern historians.
In addition to these various readings, the sources also disagree as to
the date when iconoclasm may be said to begin. Should it be 7 2 5 -2 6 ,12
the year to which Theophanes attributed Leo Ill’s embrace o f icono­
clastic ideas? Perhaps 726-27, when Nikephoros linked the volcanic erup­
tion at Thera with the onset o f iconoclasm? Or should it be 729-30, when
Germanos was deposed from the patriarchate and an official imperial
policy o f iconoclasm began to be disseminated?13 Similarly, the end o f
iconoclasm is usually tied to the Feast o f Orthodoxy, which was first
celebrated in 843. But the subject continued to be in discussion for more
than a quarter o f a century thereafter. The Eighth Ecumenical Council,
held in Constantinople in 869-70, devoted part o f a session and two o f
its canons to this topic.14 Thus, in neither its beginning nor its end can
iconoclasm provide an indisputable moment that defines its boundaries.
To privilege one date over another is therefore an important act o f nar­
ration, suggesting different meanings for iconoclasm. Its first historians
are witness to this, and the choices a historian makes today will likewise
shape the story told.
Given these difficulties o f definition, is it right to identify the his­
tory o f eighth- and ninth-century Byzantium with a controversy over
icons? The extent o f iconoclasm is extremely difficult to determine. Did
it pervade every level o f society, shaping the culture and politics o f the
empire for so many years? Or was it a more occasional and limited dis­
course, important to the church but not definitive o f the society? Such
questions force the historian to consider the extent to which any single
field o f knowledge or any combination o f fields can be privileged as a

9
 INTRODUCTION

means by which one might represent, or rather configure, Byzantium.

Constantinople appears to have been the focus o f the iconoclastic crisis,
with sporadic reports o f anti-iconophile activity throughout Asia Minor
and in a few other locations.15 This leaves many parts o f the empire with
no clear evidence o f iconoclastic activity. Furtherm ore, the onset o f
iconoclasm does not appear to have led to the widespread destruction
o f images. For example, there were still icons o f the apostles and Christ
in the patriarchal rooms o f St. Sophia in Constantinople in 769, perhaps
forty years after the crisis began (fig. i).16 Beyond the specific question
o f their icons, the crisis cannot be shown to have spread to the cult and
relics o f the Theotokos or the saints.17 While certain monks and monas­
teries were attacked for opposing imperial policy, a large number o f
monks were active supporters and shapers o f iconoclasm itself.18 It is
wrong, therefore, to treat iconoclasm or its adherents as a single entity.
In the course o f the eighth and ninth centuries, the ideas in play around
the icon and the emphases within these ideas were to change consider­
ably.19 It is these changes that need to be addressed before iconoclasm can
be shown to be either the cause or the effect o f the shape o f Byzantine
political, social, cultural, or theological conditions at this period. This is
work for an art historian.
The options explored in the Byzantine primary sources have been
analyzed and enlarged upon by modern historians. Byzantine icono­
clasm has been cast as a proto-reformation movement, a personal and
idiosyncratic imperial policy, an aspect o f a massive institutional reform
in Byzantium, an atavistic reaction to the growth in the cult o f icons, a
foreign aberration in the history o f orthodoxy, a debate over the place
o f the holy in society, a reaction to the collapse o f the Late Antique order
that shaped early Byzantium, an epistemic crisis, and a continuation o f
the Christological debates in Byzantine theology.20 These manifold
themes have been woven into richly textured accounts o f iconoclasm.
Indeed, they have all succeeded in identifying critical aspects o f seventh-
and eighth-century Byzantine society and culture. Given this range o f
readings, one might well suggest that iconoclasm has suffered from a
crisis o f overinterpretation, and yet iconoclasm was a complex entity
that remains obscure in its origins.21 For the art historian it presents a
particular challenge. It was a crisis that focused upon objects that have

10
 1N T R O D U C T I ON

come to be understood to exist within the province o f art history, and

yet the discourse on these objects has tended both to rob them o f their
status as “ art” and to downplay the specifically visual problems that en­
gaged the participants in this debate. It is these aspects that an art his­
torian should address before contemplating whether iconoclasm can be
said to define an era. In effect, this essay will examine the text o f icono­
clasm prior to its context. In so doing, I will argue that the iconoclastic
dispute concerned the definition o f the icon itself as an appropriate
medium for theology. In order to have this function, the icon, prior to
becoming a theological and spiritual tool, must first defend itself by re­
solving its status as a work o f art, an artifact. This book will argue the
necessary priority o f this status. It is the condition that makes possible
a theology in icons.

11
SSâlI
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b^MkJ 1;
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.Js
 I

M A T TER AND MEMORY

if t h e icoNOPHiLE camp's own histories o f the icon before icono-

clasm were to be the point o f departure for understanding the icon in
the life o f the church prior to the iconoclastic crisis, there would be little
doubt as to the importance o f the icon as a cult object in seventh-century
Byzantium. While Christian iconography is readily identifiable from the
second century c . e ., the exact relationship between this art and its audi­
ence remained unclear until the seventh century.1 Few texts or traces o f
physical evidence survive that address the question o f the incorporation
o f the image into the life o f the early church.2 Only in the last years o f
the sixth century and throughout the seventh did a consistent body o f
writings emerge to address this question. These varied writings have
been used to argue for an increased cult o f images at this period — an
interpretation that has held wide sway for many years.3 Recently, how ­
ever, this reading has come into question. Doubts have been raised about
the authenticity o f the narratives told, and arguments have been made
that the pre-iconoclastic cult o f icons was largely a construct o f iconophile
writers o f the period o f iconoclasm and its aftermath.4 The construc­
tion and deconstruction o f this notion o f a pre-iconoclastic cult o f icons
have been largely based on texts. It is important, therefore, that the ma­
terial evidence surviving from this period should also be incorporated
into the discussion o f this notion, since, on the face o f it, the material
evidence appears to suggest an image-rich culture, with both the produc­
tion o f numerous small-scale devotional objects and such public programs

Opposite: Detail o f fig. i

13
Fig. 2. Saint Demetrios and donors, first half o f the yth century.
Mosaic on nave pillar, St. Demetrios, Thessaloniki, Greece
 Fig. j . View o f frescoed nave, yth and 8th centuries. Santa M aria Antiqua, Rome

as can be found in St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki and Santa Maria Antiqua

in Rome (figs. 2, 3).5 Having pointed to this possibility, a question re­
mains as to whether the existence o f these images implies a cult o f icons.
Furthermore, one must then go on to question whether the proposed
existence o f a cult o f icons should be deemed a necessary cause o f icono-
clasm itself.
An object in the Vatican can introduce some o f the key issues that
define the status o f the icon in the seventh century (fig. 4).6 It is a small
box from the Sancta Sanctorum whose damaged exterior decoration
shows the cross set on Golgotha. The lance and the sponge are suggested
by diagonals that are placed across this cross. Chi-Rho and Alpha and
Omega symbols are also included. The box contains stones, wood, and
cloth set into a hardened paste o f yellow earth. Some o f these objects
are accompanied by labels that identify them as coming from specific
sites in the Holy Land: from the church o f the Anastasis, from Bethle­
hem, from Sion, and from the Mount o f Olives. The box is therefore a
reliquary, containing holy souvenirs from the Holy Land.7 W hat makes
this item particularly noteworthy is that the interior o f the lid was painted
with five scenes. The central and largest o f these shows the Crucifixion.
Christ and the two thieves are presented on their crosses. Christ’s cross

15
 Fig. 4. Painted reliquary box: interior o f lid and contents, c. 600.

Encaustic on panel. Museo Sacro, Vatican City

is marked by the plaque that named him the King o f the Jew s. He is
dressed in a purple colobion, which masks his body. Christ is flanked by
the Theotokos and John the Evangelist. He is also shown being stabbed
with a spear and offered vinegar and gall to drink. This is the moment
o f Christ’s death, yet he is shown with his eyes wide open. Below this
scene are representations o f the Nativity and the Baptism. Above are
the Tw o W omen at the Tomb and the Ascension. These scenes are not
arranged in a narrative or liturgical order. They do, however, represent
major sites visited by those undertaking the pilgrimage to Palestine.
Iconographically and stylistically this object dates to the later sixth or
early seventh century. The scenes shown represent moments from Christ’s
life, and also precise locations in the Holy Land. Indeed, the represen­
tation o f the tomb has become an evocation o f the church o f the Holy
Sepulcher in Jerusalem and has been used in the reconstruction o f the
pre-614 building.8 The box, therefore, offers representations o f Christ’s
narrative as well as material remains from this narrative.

16
 MATTER AND MEMORY

It is this double representation that raises a number o f points. In the

first place, the illustrations do not coincide with the contents o f the box.
For example, there is a relic from Sion, but there is no image that cor­
responds with Sion.9 This implies that the icons cannot simply be under­
stood as a visualization o f the box’s contents, even though they provide
a visual backdrop to them when opened.10 Morey and others have sug­
gested that the box is a mass-produced item, whose decoration precedes
the collection o f its contents. Certainly, the pilgrimage appears to have
engendered mass production o f visual artifacts at this period. Yet such
an origin should not necessarily negate the possibility o f there being
significance in these images themselves. They, like the material remains,
represent — in the strong sense o f “ making present again” — the Holy
Land. In what follows, I will argue that the distinction that might be
drawn between the iconic and the material representation is too rigid.
Rather, these images mark a continuation in the claims to material truth
made by the relics themselves. One o f the primary consequences o f such
a claim is that visual representation can present the things it shows in a
manner that is akin to the relics themselves.
This possibility can be explored in a key text written by Leontios o f
Neapolis, perhaps in the 630s, and produced in the same world as that
o f the Vatican box. The text is Leontios’s fifth discourse against the Jews,
which is preserved in lengthy excerpts in the florilegia attached to John
o f Damascus’s Orations, in the fourth session o f the Seventh Ecumeni­
cal Council, and the extensive Roman florilegium o f about 780.11 The
widespread dissemination o f this work is a testimony to its value.12 It is
the first in a series o f Adversus Judaeos texts to include images as a point
o f contention between Christians and Jews.
Leontios’s constructed dialogue gives to the Jew a fundamentalist
position, namely, that images o f God were banned by the Second C o m ­
mandment. To this Leontios’s Christian replies: “The command that for­
bade Israel to make any graven thing, neither image nor likeness o f things
in heaven or o f things that are on the earth, is terrible; and yet he com ­
manded Moses to make graven figures o f cherubim, and he showed
Ezekiel the temple full o f images and likenesses o f graven figures, o f
lions, palm trees, and men.” 13 The point is that the text o f the Old Testa­
ment is contradictory, and therefore in need o f further interpretation.

17
 CHAPTER I

Leontios then allows the Jewish debater to introduce what will be the
main theme o f the dialogue, memory: “The Jew says, ‘But these likenesses
were not worshiped as gods, but were only intended as reminders.’ The
Christian says, ‘Well said; neither are our figures, or images, or render­
ings o f the saints, worshiped as gods.’ For if they worshiped the wood
o f an image as divine, then they would certainly worship all manner o f
w ood.” 14 This passage allows Leontios to demonstrate that the Chris­
tians do not worship the material o f the icon. This is elaborated upon
when Leontios’s Christian uses the concept o f m em ory introduced by
the Jew to draw the following distinction: “ For the sake o f Christ and
Christ’s sufferings we represent in churches, in houses, in markets, in
images and on cloths, on chests and on garments and in all other places,
so that having these continually in view we may remember (ύπομιμνη-
σκώμεθα) and never forget (μή έπιλανθανώμεθα) as you have forgot­
ten (έπελάθου) the Lord your G od.” 15 In this text Leontios brings the
material icon to the center o f an economy o f remembrance.
To complete this process Leontios has to succeed in a twofold strat­
egy, one that both distances Christians from the charge o f worshiping
material things while maintaining a value for the material as a medium
o f knowledge. Leontios begins by reiterating the point already made,
that Christians do not worship the material: “Thus, O Man, when Chris­
tians embrace crosses and icons, they do not bring reverence to the wood
or the stones, to the gold or the perishable icon, or to the container or
the relics, but through these offer glory, greeting, and reverence to God,
the creator o f them and o f all things.” 16 This distinction almost becomes
indifference when we read: “As long as the two planks o f the cross are
bound together, I venerate the figure for the sake o f Christ, who was
crucified thereon; but, after they are separated from each other, I throw
them away and burn them.” 17 This passage suggests that the material is
only o f value when it has been formed into a recognizable figure within
the Christian visual lexicon. Thus an apt form is necessary for the ma­
terial to become valuable. Nonetheless, this value is not one that im ­
pregnates the material with the holy itself: “ Hence when 1 venerate the
icon o f God, I do not venerate the wood and the colors — God forbid! —
but, grasping the lifeless portrait o f Christ, I seem through this to grasp
and to worship Christ.” 18 These two perceptions are then refined in this

18
 M ATT t R AND MEMORY

way: “All Christians when in the flesh we grasp and embrace the icon o f
Christ or o f an apostle or martyr, we believe that we grasp in this way
in the spirit Christ himself or the martyr. ” 19 The thread that runs through
all o f these responses is to claim that the material’s value is at best par­
tial. The image is appropriate for m an’s material nature, it has value
when it maintains a formal relation to the one it shows, and it engen­
ders a symbolic relation to the one represented.
Leontios has thus demonstrated various degrees o f indifference to
the material, while at the same time he refuses to dispatch it. In the first
instance, material things are good because through them one may vener­
ate their creator: “ Know that I also worship through heaven, the earth,
the sea, wood, stones, relics, churches, the cross, angels, men, and every
creature visible and invisible the Creator, Lord and only maker o f all.”20
This broad praise o f creation is then made specific to Christians: “ Hence,
all we, the faithful, worship the cross o f Christ as his staff, his all-holy
tomb as his throne and couch, the manger and Bethlehem, and the holy
places where he lived as his house, the apostles, and holy martyrs and
other saints as his friends; we reverence Sion as his city; we embrace
Nazareth as his country; we embrace the Jordan as his divine bath. Out
o f the great and ineffable love we bear toward him we reverence and
worship as the place o f God what he touched, or where he appeared,
or ascended, or wholly overshadowed: not honoring the place, nor the
house, nor the country, nor the city, nor the stones, but he who dwelt
and appeared and was made manifest in the flesh in them.” 21 What Leon­
tios leaves his reader is a series o f material means by which to remem­
ber a historical and incarnate God. None o f these is privileged, each of
them can function as a medium. It is noteworthy that Leontios’s pri­
mary concern is not with holy bodies. He addresses these only in order
to draw analogies for the potential em powerm ent o f noncorporeal
relics.22 Rather, his attention is drawn to the remembrance o f Christ,
who, o f course, left no body. Leontios's concern is therefore with the
validation o f noncorporeal relics, those objects sanctified by contact,
such as places lived in or items touched by Christ. It is apparent that
when Leontios addresses the place o f images within Christianity, he
considers icons to belong within the same category of knowledge irre­
spective o f their manufactured nature. Both icons and relics trace a

19
 Fig. y. Saint Joh n the Baptist on a lead-tin ampulla (obverse and reverse), c. 600.

Museo Sacro (ampulla y), M onza, Italy

contact, carrying the m em ory o f a touch in their common impregna­

tion o f matter with specific meaning. It is this parallel status that per­
mits both icons and material relics to be contained within the reliquary
box and to be seen as one.
This analysis can be extended to a second body o f material in which
relics and images coexist, the ampullae and tokens that were taken away
from holy sites.23 O f these, one collection is particularly noteworthy,
the ampullae from the Holy Land probably acquired by the Lombard
queen Theodolinda and now divided between her foundation dedicated
to Saint John the Baptist at Monza and the monastery o f Saint Colum-
banus at Bobbio.24 This collection o f small lead-tin flasks offers a variety
o f images, from single scenes to complex arrays o f major feast days.
One example is ampulla number 5 from Monza,25 the reverse o f which
shows the Tw o Marys at Christ’s Tomb (fig. 5). They are greeted by the
angel who tells them that Christ has risen. This historical image, however,
has been transformed.26 The recipient is not shown the cave and stone
o f the biblical account; rather, it is the interior o f the Anastasis Rotunda
in Jerusalem that is given to view. A similar transformation was noted
in the scene o f the Tw o Marys at Christ’s Tomb on the Sancta Sancto­
rum box. This pattern o f collapsing time and overcoming historical

20
 MATTER AND MEMORY

distance is reiterated on the front of the Monza ampulla. Here the image
is based on the scene o f the Crucifixion, yet it too is significantly trans­
formed: Christ, rather than being shown in his entirety, is reduced to a
bust. This draws attention to the cross itself as the focus o f the devotion
enacted by the tw o pilgrims who kneel at the foot o f this cross. An
inscription surrounding the image underscores the visual point; it reads
"Oil o f the Wood o f Life o f the Holy Places o f Christ.” W hat we see on
this ampulla is a dialogue between the historical origins o f the pilgrim­
age and the pilgrim’s actual memory o f the objects that gave rise to the
commemoration o f the historical event. On this ampulla, the Crucifixion
is commemorated by the veneration o f the relic o f the cross itself, and
Christ’s tomb is now the Anastasis Rotunda that the pilgrim has visited.
The contents o f the flask validate this experience. The inscription
that frames the Crucifixion scene announces that the flask contains oil
from the wood o f the Tree o f Life. A vivid account o f the acquisition
and potency o f this oil is reported by the sixth-century Piacenza pilgrim:
"The cross is brought out o f this small room for veneration . . . and they
offer oil to be blessed in little flasks. When the mouth o f one o f the little
flasks touches the wood o f the cross, the oil instantly bubbles over, and
unless it is closed very quickly it all spills out.” 27 This is an account o f
the empowering o f the contents o f this object. Through contact with
the cross, the oil is blessed, attaining a miraculous status. The bubbling
o f the oil serves as a witness to this process o f transformation. The pil­
grim may then take this object away and use the flask and its contents
to ward off demons or to effect a cure.28
The example o f the reliquary flask is suggestive in regard to the re­
lationship between material things and the holy. It offers the prospect
that common matter, be it stone or cloth or oil, can be transformed into
a holy and potent relic. These things are not empowered by being from
the body o f the holy person. Their power comes from contact with an
already existing relic, such as the cross, which was itself empowered by
contact with Christ’s body. These transformed material things are then
identified and authenticated by inscriptions and by accompanying images
which do not simply affirm this identification but themselves reiterate
the real or imaginary experience o f the pilgrimage that has prepared the
reception o f the holy. It may be said that the ampulla and the reliquary
 Fig. 6. Saint Symeon Stylites the Younger on a d a y pilgrim token, c. 600.

Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto (986.181.y8)

not only preserve a material proof o f contact with the holy, they also
memorialize and so sustain the bearer’s personal contact with the holy.29
This last point can be taken further when a small token, measuring
3.1 centimeters in diameter and about 1.10 centimeters in thickness, is
considered (fig. 6).30 This small and portable object shows an image o f
Symeon Stylites the Younger, who died in 592. Sym eon was a monastic
saint who earned enormous renown from spending his life on top o f a
column on a hill southwest o f Antioch. Sym eon is shown on his token
in bust form. The cowl around his head identifies him as a monk. This
partial representation, like that o f Christ on the Monza ampulla, allows
attention to focus on the column, which continued to mark the site o f
Symeon’s suffering after his death. A number o f signs reinforce Symeon’s
importance. Angels present him with the laurel wreath o f victory, while
below him on a ladder a monk offers incense. The image as a whole is
a very precise account o f both Sym eon’s holy status and the active cult
that was centered upon his column. The object is a blessing, a second­
ary relic, like the ampulla and the reliquary box discussed above.
This icon o f Saint Symeon Stylites the Younger is impressed into
simple clay, a use o f the medium that has particular significance as the
clay was taken from the earth that surrounded Symeon’s column. Thanks
to this proximity to the column, the clay itself was imbued with the holy

22
 MATTER AND MEMORY

powers o f Symeon. Several texts from the seventh-century Miracles o f

Symeon confirm this.31 Miracle 231 reports that a priest has brought his
son in the hope o f a cure (such healings were a typical expectation o f a
saint). Symeon blesses the son and tells him to go home. The priest does
not wish to leave, however, saying: “ Being with you (τό π άρειναί σοι)
brings us a better deliverance.” 32 Clearly, then, the priest considers that
direct contact with the holy man was the means to promote healing. In
reply, the saint then extends the notion o f his presence: “The power o f
God is efficacious everywhere. Therefore, take this eulogia o f my dust
(τής κόνεως μου), depart, and when you look at our figure in the seal,
it is us that you will see.” 33 This affirmation that it is the saint himself
that one sees in his image has several consequences for an understand­
ing o f the icon at this period. Symeon has given the priest an object made
o f his dust. This is the clay from near the column. The object can there­
fore be said to be Symeon because it contains physical traces o f his living
body. It appears that Symeon then extends this idea to the image, affirm­
ing that when one sees the figure sealed into this clay, it is the saint that
one sees. In effect, the token is a memory o f contact sustained by means
o f parallel paths. On the one hand, there is the material o f the object
imbued with the saint ’s holiness. On the other hand, there is the image
itself. Both are granted the priest to fulfill his desire for the presence of
the saint himself.
These examples o f visual relics suggest how the first extended dis­
course on icons assimilated an existing set o f practices and assumptions
shaped by the cult o f relics.34 When Leontios o f Neapolis introduced a
fresh discussion o f Christian material culture into the Adversus Judaeos
literature, he reflected a changed function for the image that would lead
to its being granted value as a nonverbal proof o f a historical existence.
Thus, when images and relics were set side by side, they were to be
understood as parallel material representations o f the historical person
or event. The icon might also provide an affirmation o f the relic’s iden­
tity, but this was a secondary aspect o f its purpose. In the first place, an
icon was to be understood as a means of extending the relic’s touch
through a tangible reiteration.3s
The correlation o f the cult o f relics with the entry o f the icon into
Christian practices has not gone unnoticed .36 I would suggest, however,

23
 CHAPTER I

that the formulations o f this relationship can be refined. The problem

can be expressed in these terms. With the cult o f relics, the participant
is confronted with the body, or a part o f a body, or a possession of, or
an item in some other way connected with, a holy person. The thing
that defines these items as relics is that they are the person or have been
in contact with the person. As was seen in the Leontios text, the physi­
cal presence o f the material object has become central to a historically
truthful memorialization. Invested by touch, it marks the continuing
presence, the physical trace o f the past. The icon, on the other hand, is
a painting. It is a made object produced by an artist. In order to validate
the icon within the terms o f an already existent practice, namely the
cult o f relics, its defenders had to argue that the image could sustain
contact in the form o f the memory o f an original portrayal whose manu­
facture was either miraculous or was directly from life. It grants a very
rich sense o f touch to the work o f the brush.
To begin to substantiate this definition, there is a need to consider
those instances when the manufactured icon itself was brought into the
devotion that marks its status as a relic. Such icons do not simply record
devotion to a saint; they function as a designated mediator o f that de­
votion.37 It is here that an important role is granted the acheiropoieta
icons,38 those not made by hand. They thus claim not to be manufac­
tured, but instead to have a miraculous origin. In the key early examples,
it is contact between the portrait and the portrayed that licensed this
form o f representation. As such, they continued the formation o f the
relic, noted above, and avoided many o f the obvious issues that might
arise from the manufactured status o f the icon. But these images them­
selves gave rise to manufactured copies, and it is the fate o f these that is
important to our comprehension o f the value o f images in the seventh
century.
The later sixth century witnessed two particularly important ex­
amples o f acheiropoieta icons, the Mandylion sent to Abgar in Edessa and
the Camouliana icon. In spite o f its great importance in medieval Byzan­
tium, the textual history of the Abgar legend is somewhat problematic.39
The earliest source is a reference attributed to Evagrios’s Ecclesiastical
History and found in the florilegium attached to the Seventh Ecumenical
Council.40 The majority o f other early sources date to the first half o f

24
 MATTER AND MEMORY

the eighth century. The Evagrios text is rather brief, stating only that
Christ sent Abgar an image not made by human hands when he, Abgar,
had asked to see him. John o f Damascus mentions the story in his flori-
legium but does not quote a specific written source.41 In his narration
he states that Christ, rather than having his likeness painted, “ took a
cloth, and having pressed it against his face, impressed its portrait upon
the same, which it has kept until now.” 42 This brief account introduces
a primary concern for these first miraculous images o f Christ, namely,
their being products o f direct contact with Christ.43
The Camouliana image, although it had a less lasting history in
Byzantium, has a stronger textual basis in the sixth and seventh cen­
turies.44 It is first recorded in an anonymous Syriac Ecclesiastical History
compiled in 569.45 This tells o f a woman, called Hypatia, who wished
to see Christ in order to become a Christian. Some time after this re­
quest she walked in her garden and found an image o f Christ on a cloth
in the fountain there. She concealed this in her headdress and went to
her confessor. There she found that a second version o f the image was
now impressed upon her headdress. One o f these images came to C ae­
sarea in Cappadocia, the other (probably the original) remained in Camou­
liana (northwest o f Caesarea), where Hypatia built a church for it. Some
years later a copy o f this image was taken to the village o f Diaybudin in
the Pontus. This second image was also termed an acheiropoietos. In 554-
55 Diaybudin together with its church was raided and burned. The image
survived this catastrophe. An imperial official advised the townspeople
to use their image to raise funds, and this they proceeded to do until
560-61. In 574 the Camouliana icon was brought to Constantinople.46 In
586 the icon was used by Philippikos in the Persian wars. Theophylact
Simocatta fully described these events in his history, where the icon was
used to inspire the troops before battle.47 The image was used again for
military purposes in the reign o f Heraklios (610-41). Along with a vari­
ety o f relics, it was carried around the city walls in 626 during the Avar
siege, and it was taken on the Persian campaign o f 622.48 Clearly, then,
the icon was considered to be a potent object. Whether it was the origi­
nal icon or a copy, the image could both work miracles and act as a talis­
man to rouse the troops and to ward off the enemy.
A more precise meaning for the image is elucidated in two poems

25
 CHAPTER I

by George o f Pisidia, writing in the 620s. This first comes from his ac­
count o f the Persian war:

He took the divine and venerable form,

that painting of the unpaintable,
which hands have not painted,
but which the Logos, who has formed
and molded everything, has formed
without painting, just as he was conceived
without seed, as was indeed the case.49

Here George draws an analogy between the Incarnation and the icon.
Both are miraculous and have their origin in the Logos. Both are para­
doxical. The icon is a painting o f that which cannot be painted; Christ
is conceived without seed. This paradoxical play has its origins in the
same author’s epigram written on the Camouliana image itself: “ Being
without origin, he does not come from art; being inexpressible, he is
rendered in many colors without being painted.” 50 Together these sus­
tain the essentially mysterious, indeed miraculous, origins o f the work.
A last reference to the icon is made in the fifth session o f the Seventh
Ecumenical Council. In this instance, Cosmas the Deacon and Chamber-
lain showed the assembly a book from which images had been removed
by the iconoclasts. The book had contained illustrated martyrdoms o f
the saints and an account o f the acheiropoietos icon from Camouliana.51
Although the icon thereafter disappeared from history, these early accounts
remain significant in defining some perceptions regarding images not
made by human hands. The original image lacks a clear originary m o­
ment, being discovered in the garden, but it can be miraculously repro­
duced. The copies are also known as acheiropoieta. The icon’s gestation
is compared to the Incarnation, having its origin with the Logos. Be­
cause o f this, George o f Pisidia states that the icon is neither painted
nor is it a work o f art. From its treatment by the military and its use dur­
ing the Avar siege, it is apparent that the icon was considered a relic and
displayed as such.
The earliest surviving acheiropoietos icon o f Christ is in the Sancta
Sanctorum o f the Lateran.52 Unfortunately, its ruinous state and its un-

26
 MATTER ANO MEMORY

clear date make it a problematic image to introduce into discussion. It

is first mentioned in the Liber Pontificalis, when Pope Stephen II (752-57),
threatened by the Lombards, paraded the icon through Rom e.53 The
text borrows the Greek term acheiropoietos to describe the icon, and, like
the Camouliana image, the icon was paraded with other relics. A sec­
ond Roman painted panel, however, does provide a deeper understanding
o f the relationship between acheiropoieta icons and manufactured icons:
the icon o f the Theotokos in Santa Maria in Trastevere. Although it is a
problematic work, it bridges the gap between a manufactured icon and
a nonmanufactured relic (fig. 7). The panel shows the Theotokos and
Child enthroned. The Mother o f God is a M ana Regina type, probably
adapted from a standing figure. She holds a staff cross in her right hand.
Archangels stand to either side. At the foot o f the enthroned Theotokos
is the fragmentary image o f a pope at prayer. A partial inscription sur­
vives on the frame: the first part refers to the archangels and comments
on their witness o f the Incarnation ( + astant st ypen t es an g elo ru m
prin cipes gestare ΝΑΊΎΜ . . . a . . .); the second part appears to develop
this notion by referring to the divinity as made by itself ( ds qyod ipse
factys est ). Read on their own terms, the two texts could be considered
a commentary on the Incarnation itself, and upon the possibility o f our
witnessing this.54
The second part o f the inscription, however, can be read in a differ­
ent manner. Pilgrimage texts o f the 640s speak o f an acheiropoietos im­
age in the church o f Santa Maria in Trastevere in Rome. The image is
described as being “per se facta est,” thus recalling, but not repeating,
the phrase written onto the icon.55 The existence and fame o f a miracu­
lous Theotokos icon in Santa Maria in Trastevere are underlined by a
Greek text, perhaps composed in Rome in the eighth century, which in­
cluded an icon o f the Theotokos in this church in its list of acheiropoieta
images.56 The continuing significance o f this particular icon through­
out the Middle Ages indicates that we should accept that the texts in­
deed refer to the icon that remains in the church.57 Given this, it is now
possible to confirm the existence o f a painted icon o f the Theotokos
that can be considered a relic.
The complex imagery o f the Santa Maria in Trastevere icon raises
further issues concerning the relationship between depiction and devotion

27
Fig. η. Theotokos and angels, yth or 8th century. Encaustic on panel.
Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome
 MATTER AND MEMORY

in representations o f the Theotokos. Leslie Brubaker has recently defined

devotional imagery in these terms: “ the ‘icon’ was a devotional image
that served as an intermediary between the viewer and the person rep­
resented . . . the sacred portrait is best understood as a transparent win­
dow that the viewer looks through (to the ‘prototype,’ the actual person
represented) rather than at: the gaze does not stop at the surface o f the
panel, but goes on to the prototype.” 58 The origins o f this definition are
to be found in texts from the last decades o f the seventh century; its
codification can be considered completed by 800. In arriving at this for­
mulation, Brubaker has also rejected the existence o f a significant cult
o f images prior to the end o f the seventh century.
The Santa Maria in Trastevere panel raises a number o f concerns
regarding the definition o f the icon as a transparent window. In the first
place, the miraculous nature o f this icon (defined above) calls attention
to the object itself as a relic. At this point, it is also necessary to contend
with a second feature o f the depiction that nuances our own under­
standing o f a miraculous icon, namely, the presence o f the papal por­
trayal. An obvious sign o f manufacture such as this historical portrait
would seem to undermine the claims to a miraculous origin for the
work. Yet, this modern distinction was unnecessary for an early medi­
eval audience, for whom this icon could be a copy o f a miraculous origi­
nal and still claim the same status as the original.59 Thus, the painted
icon must be understood as both a depiction and a relic. Its dual nature
implicates the object in the representation o f its prototype, so that a
viewer must both engage in the “ surface o f the panel” and contemplate
its prototype.
The value o f the object itself is underlined by a second feature of
the icon. The cross that the Mother o f God holds is not painted in the
encaustic found on the rest o f the icon; instead, its medium is tempera
painted directly onto the blue encaustic ground of the panel. This is later
painting, replacing an original use o f a metal cross that was held in the
Theotokos’s right hand.60 This original cross fits into a pattern o f gift­
giving to icons in Rome. Most notably, the church of Santa Maria Antiqua
in Rome offers a number of examples of such devotion.61 Saint Demetrios
and Saint Barbara received golden lips (fig. 8). Salome, the mother of
the Maccabees, had a broach placed at her throat. A standing Theotokos

29
 lïg. S. Saint Demetrias, -th eenturv. h'reseo en a nave pillar,
Santa Maria Antiqua, Rame

perhaps held a gift in her hands. These instances muddy the transparency
that separates the viewer from the viewed, raising questions about the
very nature of representation in the early Middle Ages. The practice has
been characterized bv Per Jonas Nordhagen as a form o f “transgressive
illusionism" in which "a synthesis between the real and the unreal be­
came feasible."''2 Furthermore, these examples suggest that the image
itself becomes the site for exchange. These gifts add to and rewrite the
pictorial surface, acting not just as memorializations but as the continu­
ing site o f an exchange. It is this marking o f the image that turns the
icon from a transparent doorway between viewer and viewed into the
specific site of their mediation. Above all else, this act calls attention to
the icon's surface.'·'
Prom the discussion o f the cross, it is now possible to return to
the figure of the pope. The precise identification o f this pope is an
Fig. 9. Standing Theotokos, perhaps 609. Encaustic on panel.
The Pantheon (Santa Maria ad Martyres), Rome
 CHAPTER

unresolved question because so much o f his face is lost. Although this

keeps open the dating o f the panel, it is the simple presence o f this living
being (identified as such by his square halo) that is the more significant.
The image is a portrait o f a person who could stand before this icon and
look at himself. It offers an intrusion o f a clear mark o f contemporary
manufacture into the painting’s surface — a trace o f an origin that can
undermine the icon’s status as an icon not made by human hands. Further­
more, the presence o f the pope forces consideration o f the notion o f
transparency in its application to icons. Such a model would negate the
surface o f the icon itself, but this is precisely where an intended viewer,
the pope, and the object o f his devotion, the Theotokos, can meet. Thus,
it can be suggested that the surface o f the icon was a space o f primary
importance for the imaginary encounter with the holy.64 The icon o f
the Virgin at Santa Maria in Trastevere, therefore, not only offers evi­
dence for the correlation o f the icon and relic in the representation o f
the Theotokos, but it also raises important points concerning our under­
standing o f representation at this period. It is apparent that the icon it­
self as an object mediates the relationship between the viewer and the
viewed. Rather than simply looking through the icon, one is asked to
imagine oneself in the icon and to understand this space as a site for
imaginary encounter.
Consideration o f the status o f the object can be taken further. The
Theotokos, like Christ, left no body and few other relics. This relative
lack o f relics does give rise to an important consideration. By the sev­
enth century, dedications o f churches to the saints were normally marked
by a mass and by the deposition o f primary or secondary relics.65 Since
relics o f the Mother o f God were not plentiful, it appears that icons o f
the Theotokos could fill this lacuna.66 Dedications in Rome offer indi­
cations for this function. Carlo Bertelli has argued that the Hodegetria
icon in the Pantheon served as a relic in the conversion o f this pagan
temple into the church o f Santa Maria ad Martyres in 609 (fig. 9).67 A
second example is offered by the transfer o f the sixth-century icon o f
the Theotokos from Santa Maria Antiqua to Santa Maria Nova (now San
Francesca Romana) in 847 (fig. 10).68 This transfer marked the replace­
ment o f the Antiqua church, which had been largely destroyed in an
earthquake in 847, by the Nova church. The transferal o f the icon, the

32
Fig. ίο. Theotokos, 6th century. Encaustic on panel. San Francesca Romana, Rome
 CHAPTER

primary relic o f Santa Maria Antiqua, can be understood to mark this

change. Similarly, the Theotokos icon found in the church o f Santa Maria
in Trastevere is first heard o f in the period following the rededication o f
this church from the titulus o f Juli et Callisti to that o f a church dedi­
cated to Mary (see fig. 7).69 These examples suggest a link between the
dedications o f these churches and the icons that they contain, and conse­
quently enable us to consider the icon in terms that normally apply to
the relic alone.
This role o f the icon in the material dissemination o f holiness can
best be understood by comparison with the practices adopted in regard
to relics themselves. One body o f material that confronts this issue is
found in the writings o f Gregory the Great. A key text is Gregory’s letter
o f 594 to Empress Constantina, who had requested the head o f Saint
Paul. Gregory refused this request, stating that the division o f the body
ran counter to Roman custom. Instead, Gregory offered cloths placed
in the saint’s tomb. He implies that these would have acquired sanctity
by virtue o f their location within the tomb. Indeed, such cloths were
used as relics in the dedication o f new churches.70 It is important to note
that it is contact that makes these cloths holy. Gregory the Great’s w rit­
ings indicate that the use o f these secondary relics was a Roman cus­
tom. Certainly, they provided a means o f disseminating the power o f
the holy relic without destroying it. Furthermore, such usage granted
a value to the secondary relic. G regory’s letter to Constantina implies
that the Greeks accepted only corporeal relics. As has been seen, the ex­
istence o f pilgrimage tokens and ampullae demonstrates that this was
not the case. Gregory’s texts permit an elucidation o f these objects also.
He distinguishes between objects that receive sufficient sanctification to
be considered a relic and those that may provide personal protection,
the distinction being drawn in accordance with actual and secondary
contact with the saint’s body. Thus, oil from a lamp near the saint’s body
can provide protection, while a cloth wrapped around the saint’s body
can be considered a relic as a consequence o f its direct contact.
An icon can be one of these secondary relics because painting, under­
stood as a form o f visual contact between copy and original, maintains
a trace o f its origins in the act o f representation. In these terms, the copy
is a reiteration, marked more by its proximity to its origins than by any

34
 MATTER AND MEMORY

difference. A paradigm for this very full sense o f representation was

available in Late Antiquity. It was the emperor’s portrait.
The imperial image provides a model for the expectations o f the
limits o f representation and veneration brought to bear upon a portrait,
and it was exploited as such by iconophile writers o f the eighth and ninth
centuries.71 The practice o f veneration was conditioned by the appro­
priate behavior owed the subject o f the portrait. That this condition con­
tinued to have validity for the portrait itself is o f significance for an
understanding o f representation.72 These imperial icons were painted
portrait panels distributed throughout the empire.7’ The imagery might
vary from a simple portrait bust to more complex iconographies.74 They
were a commonplace. As such, they provided fourth-century Christian
authors with an acceptable example through which to explain the com ­
plexities o f Trinitarian thought.75 By the period o f iconoclasm, this same
example could be used to provide a normative and incontestable account
o f a depiction’s implications.
The emperor’s image served to authorize those acting on his be­
half.76 It was received with processions and speeches 77 Lights were lit
and incense burnt before it.78 All o f these modes o f reception were
shaped by the fact that the emperor was shown in the image. While this
venerable subject governed the response to the icon, the mere existence
o f these paintings discloses a more fundamental assumption concern­
ing representation: the icon reiterates the emperor. These acts are there­
fore performed before the icon in the belief that this object is intimately
bound to the one it shows. Such is clearly implied by the substitution of
the emperor’s image for the emperor himself. This point is, in fact, re­
iterated in law. Roman law made the link between the emperor and his
image apparent by setting down a variety o f rights, such as sanctuary,
that were made possible by the presence o f the imperial statue.71'
These texts and practices offer a model for the painted portrait that
defines it as a reiteration o f the one it represents. While the portrait does
not replace or remove the need for the original, it becomes the one it
represents in the absence o f that person. Ritual practice enacts this sub­
stitution by addressing the portrait as if it were the one shown there.
This model o f depicted representation thereby provides a means of think­
ing through the relationship between the relic and painted icon. The

35
 CHAPTER

latter can reiterate the former, even when clearly the product o f art, so
long as practice situates the artifact in such a relationship.
By the late seventh century, several assumptions can be made
regarding the status o f the icon. These derive from the icon’s incorpo­
ration in the wider discourse on Christianity’s material manifestations
and the relic in particular. Foremost among these assumptions was the
claim for the validity o f material proofs. This had its basis in the his­
toricity o f Christianity, an understanding that the existence o f Christ
and the saints was real and that it left recognizable traces through which
this historical reality could be remembered. Matter became central to
Christianity’s identity. These relics were either the body o f the holy per­
son, or an object or place that had been in contact with that body, or a
secondary material that had been brought into contact with an object
empowered by that body. These material proofs gave great value to the
sense o f touch, making the holy tangible and physically present. The
significant development is the translation o f this value into the domain
o f sight. By the late seventh and early eighth centuries, visual represen­
tation was included among these material proofs. Such manufactured
artifacts were used in theological argument and were subject to canon
law. This translation was made possible because there existed a very rich
sense o f representation, suggested by the lack o f any clear distinction
between painting and relics as forms o f representation.80 Both are mat­
ter transformed into a holy state — the relic having become holy by con­
tact and the icon by having a specific form, a likeness, impressed into its
material nature. An analogy to the act o f sealing is a crucial one for
understanding the work o f the icon at this period. One might suggest
that the examples o f the Symeon tokens embody the meaning o f rep­
resentation. This model o f transformed matter is accompanied by an
acceptance o f the principle o f reiteration in representation. The icon
not only demonstrates the existence o f a historical subject, it also makes
that subject present to whoever looks at the icon. Symeon Stylites makes
this clear.81 It is also essential to the function o f the imperial portrait,
where a set o f practices and constraints frames the portrait’s reiteration
o f the imperial presence. In both cases, the duplication o f the icon
by copying has no effect upon its power to make present, as each reitera­
tion does not create a separate and different entity. Rather, the reiteration

36
 MATTER AND MEMORY

remains bound by a formal relationship that in its action o f transfor­

mation builds a chain o f identity. It is possible, therefore, to argue that
in the century prior to iconoclasm , the icon was understood in
terms prescribed by the cult o f relics. It marked a trace o f a continuing
presence o f the holy in the world and was deemed a truthful material
manifestation o f historical persons and events. It would appear as if the
potential o f the icon had become unassailable.

37
 ICON AND IDOL

given the prevailing conditions outlined in chapter i, the on­

set o f iconoclasm in Byzantium should be considered an extraordinary
occurrence. As we have just seen, churches had been filled with images
for hundreds o f years. We need only step into the surviving seventh-
century interiors o f St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki or Santa Maria Antiqua
in Rome to begin to understand the pervasive presence o f images by
the time o f the outbreak o f iconoclasm (see figs. 2, 3).1 Furthermore,
the veneration o f these objects can be traced for more than a hundred
years prior to the onset o f iconoclasm. Yet, in the last years o f the 720s
a movement within the church against images and their cult became im­
perial policy. This movement critiqued the role o f icons in the church
and eventually led to the removal o f numerous images. Iconoclasm,
therefore, required that its adherents think beyond the given visual cul­
ture. They did this by invoking an ancient charge, identifying the icons
within the church with idols and their cult with idolatry. Although this
charge is often dismissed as a crude fundamentalism, it succeeded in
shaping the earliest iconoclastic arguments and in becoming official church
doctrine.2 This chapter explores how this ancient and potentially anachro­
nistic charge o f idolatry was able to be invoked, even as it masked a revo­
lutionary attitude to the place of images within the church. To do this, it
will be important not only to interpret the iconoclast’s use of the term
idolatry but also to identify what provoked this significant turn. It will
be shown that the question that confronted iconoclasts and iconophiles

Opposite: Detail o f fig. n

 CHAPTER 2

alike was the validity o f the visual description o f theological matters in

an icon.
I begin by making the following claim, that the iconoclastic dispute
had a very precise point o f origin, namely the 82nd canon o f the Quini-
sext Council held in 691-92. This was a poorly conceived text that pro­
voked a response that eventually came to question the very place o f icons
in Christian culture. The text in qqestion is well known and has often
been discussed in relation to the iconoclastic dispute. It has not, how ­
ever, been foregrounded to the extent that is necessary. The arguments
concerning the origins o f iconoclasm are numerous. For the most part
they rest upon a now-discredited case for the infiltration o f the church
and the empire by alien ideas.3 Beyond these problematic narratives,
there remain a few hints that point to a different cause for this turn to
iconoclasm. In the short version o f Against Constantine, composed be­
tween 766 and 770, the provocation for the onset o f iconoclasm is given
a relatively recent date. Here the iconophile author describes an icono­
clastic proposition: “You wish to say that this generation has made them
[the icons] divine . . . for you have had to teach the unlettered people
how they have to honor and embrace the venerable icons.” 4 This pas­
sage notes the charge that icons and their veneration are an innovation.
Such accusations were a commonplace o f theological dispute. W hat
makes it noteworthy is that this innovation is said to belong to “ this
generation.” The text identifies “ this generation” with iconophiles who
lived in the period following the Sixth Ecumenical Council (680-81). The
iconoclasts suggest that if idolatry had been present in the church prior
to that council, then the fathers who attended it would have addressed
this question.3
Throughout their writings the iconoclasts professed adherence to
the orthodox tradition up to and including the Sixth Ecumenical Council.
This is an important line o f demarcation, as it excluded the Quinisext
Council. Held in 691-92, this council formulated 102 canons in order to
bring to completion the work o f the Fifth and Sixth Ecumenical Councils,
held in Constantinople in 553 and 680-81, respectively.6 Evidence for this
rejection can be found in the particular discussions o f the 82nd canon
pronounced by this council. For example, when this canon was read out
in the fourth session o f the Seventh Ecumenical Council, it is evident

40
 ICON AND I DO I.

that there was a need both to validate the council and to authenticate
this specific text.7 The canon was read from the original roll subscribed
by the fathers who participated at the Quinisext Council. Patriarch Tara-
sios explained that this was necessary in order to demonstrate (by an ex­
amination o f the signatures) that the same fathers had attended both
the Sixth Ecumenical Council and the Quinisext Council. This was held
to refute an iconoclastic claim that these canons were not legitimate
products o f the sixth council.
This need to link the Quinisext Council to the authority o f the Sixth
Ecumenical Council is also to be found in the Apologeticus minor written
by Patriarch Nikephoros in 813-14. This brief text presents a picture o f
a patriarch struggling to deter his clergy from returning to iconoclasm.8
In the ninth and tenth sections o f the document, Nikephoros felt com ­
pelled to defend the canons o f what he terms the Sixth Ecumenical Coun­
cil. He stated that they had been observed for more than 122 years and
that they had been necessary for church discipline. He denied that any
time gap could prevent them from being the canons o f the fifth and sixth
councils, noting that they were signed by seventy bishops more than had
signed the acts o f the sixth council 9 The one canon that is mentioned
is the 82nd canon, which, Nikephoros argued, demonstrates that the icons
are filled with grace and are venerable, and that therefore the criticisms
o f the veneration o f icons made by his opponents were unjustifiable.10
These examples indicate that a key point o f dispute for the iconophiles
and the iconoclasts was the legitimacy o f the canons formulated at the
Quinisext Council. The iconophiles argued that they represented a con­
tinuation o f the work o f the Sixth Ecumenical Council, while the icono­
clasts denied this. That such a conciliar event was in dispute is in itself
noteworthy. In terms o f the history o f iconoclasm, it is o f particular im­
portance. The 82nd canon formulated by this council provides the first
positive testimony in favor o f the incorporation o f images into the life
o f the church. This canon has long held the interest o f art historians, as
it offers the earliest positive conciliar statement on icons and their venera­
tion. Indeed, it would be held to refute the iconoclastic claim that there
was no positive writing in favor o f the icons were the canon itself not
the subject o f the debate. The canon reads:

41
 CHAPTER 2

That artists are not to portray the Forerunner pointing to a lamb.

In some depictions of the venerable icons the Forerunner is por­
trayed pointing with his finger to a lamb, and this has been accepted
as a figure of grace, prefiguring for us through the Law the true
lamb, Christ our God. Therefore, while these ancient figures and
shadows have been handed down as symbols and outlines o f the
truth passed on by the church, we prefer grace and truth, which
have been received as fulfillment of the law. Therefore, so that what
is perfect may be depicted, even in paintings, in the eyes o f all, we
decree that the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,
Christ our God, should from now on be portrayed as a man, in­
stead of the ancient lamb, even in icons; for in this way the depth
of the humility of the Word of God can be understood, and one
might be led to the memory of his life in the flesh, his passion and
his saving death, and of the redemption which thereby came to
the world."

The canon is very specific. It discusses only one iconography, that o f

John the Baptist pointing to the Lamb o f God, such as might be seen
carved on the mid-sixth-century ivory throne o f Maximian in Ravenna
(fig. ii). The Lamb is defined as a figure and a shadow, a symbol and an
outline o f the truth. These terms are used to suggest an insufficiency in
this type o f symbolic representation. Instead, the canon decrees that
such figures should be replaced by the representation o f Christ as a man.
This iconic form is justified by the need for remembrance o f the hu­
miliation o f the Logos in becoming flesh, and o f Christ’s passion and
death. It ordains that the symbol o f the Lamb be replaced by the body
o f Christ.12
Tw o examples from the end o f the seventh century may represent
either a direct response to this canon or an instance that shaped its promul­
gation. Both show the Theotokos and John the Baptist interceding with
Christ, a configuration very familiar in later Byzantine art in an iconog­
raphy known as the Deesis; here, however, in these early works John’s

Opposite: Fig. n. John the Baptist, mid-6th century.

Detail o f the ivory throne o f Maximian. Archiépiscopal Museum, Ravenna, Italy

42
Fig. 12. Deesis, late jth century. Fresco on a nave pillar, Santa M aria Antiqua, Rome

gesture emphasizes the idea o f the Lamb o f God addressed in the canon.
The image in Santa Maria Antiqua in Rome (fig. 12) shows John the Bap­
tist standing to the right o f Christ. Rather than offering a gesture o f
prayer, as the Theotokos does, he points toward Christ. By this gesture
o f pointing, he visually enacts the phrase “ Behold, this is the Lamb o f
God who takes away the sins o f the w orld.” In this icon, the gesture,
which offers hope to the donor seen here seeking intercession through
the Theotokos, is directed at a fully human Christ.13 The Kievan icon o f
John the Baptist, from Sinai, shows John pointing toward a medallion o f
Christ, at the upper left-hand corner o f the image. John carries the text
from John 1:29: “ Behold the Lamb o f God, which taketh away the sin o f
the world.” This is the text quoted in the 82nd canon. The Theotokos is
also shown; she is in a medallion at the upper right-hand corner o f the
icon (fig. 13).14 As in the Santa Maria Antiqua example, the Theotokos is
shown offering prayer to Christ. Both images thus present Christ as the
focus o f prayer. His identity as a source o f salvation, the remover o f sins,
is assured by John the Baptist, who indicates the incarnate Lamb o f God.
The implications o f this canon, however, extend far beyond the en­
forcement o f an alteration in a single iconography. In the first instance,
the canon shows that there is a potential theological consequence in the

44
 Fig. 13. Icon o f Saint John the Baptist, late yth century.

Encaustic on panel. Ecclesiastical Museum, Kiev, Ukraine

 CHAPTER 2

choice o f an iconography. Such a proposition gives great value to the

work o f art, and potentially to the artist. If the artist is defined as the
origin o f the work o f art, then the creative gesture becomes a theologi­
cal text that can define the significance o f the one represented. Second,
what arises from this first point is that the canon not only recognizes
the theological import o f the icon, it at the same moment introduces a
need to police the visual. The canon does not simply privilege one iconog­
raphy, it also argues that a second iconography be removed. One might
suggest that this iconophile text also introduces the possibility o f Chris­
tian iconoclasm. Third, the canon makes the body o f Christ central to
the definition o f Christian representation, with symbolic representa­
tions o f an incarnate being considered invalid. Fourth, arising from this
point is a necessary privileging o f New Testament knowledge over that
o f the Old Testament. The Incarnation is understood to mark a change,
which differentiates prophetic knowing from the knowledge that comes
with the fulfillment o f prophecy.
These broad points situate the canon within the terms o f the theol­
ogy o f the Sixth Ecumenical Council, which was primarily concerned
with the refutation o f the Monothelete heresy. This heresy had argued
that Christ had only one hypostatic energy and will, rather than both
human and divine energies and wills. This definition was an attempt to
find a single identity within Christ’s dual natures by arguing that his will
and deeds were wholly divine. It was a problematic Christology that
dominated seventh-century Byzantium. It was refuted on the grounds
that either a single will implies that Christ's hypostatic will is separate
from that o f the Father and the Holy Spirit, and therefore threatens the
integrity o f the Trinity, or that, if natural, that there is no complete hu­
man nature in the incarnate Christ. In its refutation o f Monotheletism,
the council underlined the dual nature o f Christ. A key to this position
was the divergent roles o f the human and divine wills at Christ’s death.
His human will expressed itself in the Agony in the Garden, where Christ
betrayed a reluctance to go to his death . 15 On the other hand, his divine
energy was present in the miracle o f the Resurrection.16 At Christ’s death
on the cross it was the human nature that died, while the divine nature
could not die. This emphasis on the two natures, wills, and energies in
Christ in fact served to reiterate the value o f the continued human nature

46
 Fig. 14. Christological cycle, 705- 7. Fresco on the left-hand wall o f the presbytery,

Santa M an a Antiqua, Rome

in Christ. As with the canon, this stressed the value o f Christ’s human
body and subsequently the visualization o f Christ.
The theological importance o f the body o f Christ can be found in
a fresco decoration painted in the presbytery o f the church o f Santa
Maria Antiqua in Rome during the pontificate o f John VII (705-7), when
this church was attached to a temporary papal residence in the city.17
Incorporated within the much-damaged presbytery program is a narra­
tive o f Christ's life and post-Resurrection appearances (figs. 14-16). The
sequence begins in the upper zone o f the left-hand wall with the Nativ­
ity o f Christ. It continues in the upper zone o f the right-hand wall with
the Presentation o f Christ at the Temple. The lower zone o f the left-
hand wall ends with Christ Carrying the Cross. The first panel on the
lower zone o f the right-hand wall begins the post-Resurrection cycle
with Peter and John at Christ’s grave. The narrative gap between the
Carrying o f the Cross and the Disciples at the Grave is filled by an enor­
mous image painted across the triumphal arch. This is based on the

47
Fig. ij. Christological cycle, 707- 7 . Fresco on the right-hand wall o f the presbytery,

Santa M aria Antiqua, Rome

Crucifixion. The central element shows Calvary (once marked by an in­

scription) surmounted by Christ crucified on the cross. A fragment o f
Calvary and Christ’s chest, left arm, and head are preserved. The remains
o f John the Evangelist can be seen beneath Christ’s outstretched left
arm. Christ is bare-chested and with his eyes wide open. Originally he
was depicted with a loincloth. He has a closely cropped beard and mus­
tache and short curly hair. Below John the Evangelist, at the foot o f Cal­
vary, is a crowd o f laypeople approaching and bowing before the scene
o f crucifixion. Above them is a large area given over to text. Above this
text are angels who bow toward the crucified Christ. In the sky there are
a seraphim and a cherubim.
The composition is decidedly unusual. The core image o f the Cruci­
fixion has been developed into an image o f adoration with decidedly
messianic overtones. In terms o f the iconography o f the presbytery, the
image fits well into the narrative sequence o f Christ’s life. Yet in its scale
and additional materials it is to be distinguished from its narrative (while

48
 Fig. 16. Adoration o f the Crucified Christ, 705-7. Fresco on the triumphal arch,

Santa M aria Antiqua, Rome

retaining an important role for that narrative). The icon has liturgical
significance, in that its iconography o f worship echoes the sacrifice o f
the Mass below, providing a historical and theoretical image o f the eucha-
rist.18 More striking is the degree o f realism in the representation o f
Christ. While a naked Christ on the cross was a commonplace o f the
Early-Christian and post-iconoclastic worlds, we expect to find Christ’s
body draped in a purple colobion at this date (fig. 17).19 This removal o f
the colobion reveals Christ’s human body, even while his open eyes in­
dicate his divine victory over death. This emphatic icon o f the Crucifixion
is in perfect accord with the theology o f the late seventh century. As a

49
 Fig. ij. Crucifixion, mid-8th century. Fresco in the Theodotus chapel,

Santa M aria Antiqua, Rome

product o f the Sixth Ecumenical Council, it provides a broader demon­

stration o f the concerns o f the 82nd canon.20 At Santa Maria Antiqua
this double aspect o f Christ’s death is underlined by the unusual naked­
ness o f Christ, which stresses his human corporeality, together with his
open eyes, underlining his living divinity. The lengthy prophetic texts
written below the cross serve a double purpose. First, they underline
that this is indeed God, who is visible on the cross as a real sacrifice.
Second, they remind the viewer o f the difference between verbal and

50
 Fig. 18. Doubting Thomas, 707-7. Fresco in the presbytery,
Santa Maria Antiqua, Rome

visual testimony, as the prophetic texts become fulfilled in the visible

icon .21The image and its texts emphasize a key moment in the narrative
o f Christ’s historical life. They underline that the corporeal being is also
a divine being.
The Crucifixion thus emphasizes Christ’s death. It breaks the nar­
rative rhythm o f the presbytery cycle by greatly enlarging the Crucifixion
and by adding additional material to define this moment. The significance
o f these additions is then developed in the last section o f the narrative
cycle, where an extensive post-Resurrection cycle occupies the remain­
ing quarter o f the narrative on display. Indeed, the decorations in Santa
Maria Antiqua provide our earliest examples o f the Byzantine iconog­
raphy o f the Disciples at the Tomb, the Appearance on Lake Tiberias,
the Appearance before the Eleven Disciples, and the Anastasis (fig. 18).
This emphasis upon Christ’s continued corporeal existence after the
Resurrection is an important aspect o f this program ’s post-conciliar
program.22 The point made by such representations, and, in particular,
by the repeated images o f the Anastasis in this church, is that Christ re­
tains both his human nature and his divine nature at his death, with his
Resurrection, and after the Resurrection.

51
 Fig. 19. Adoration o f the Lamb o f God, c. 530. M osaic on the triumphal arch,

SS. Cosmos and Damian, Rome

If we now return to the Crucifixion icon in Santa Maria Antiqua, it

is possible to characterize the chosen format a little more: the treatment
is a very direct response to canon 82 because o f its emphasis upon Christ s
humanity.23 It has also been suggested that the theme of adoration brought
into this image o f the Crucifixion was intended to displace the image o f
the Lamb found in the triumphal arches o f Rome. For example, the dam­
aged sixth- or seventh-century triumphal arch o f Saints Cosmas and
Damian showed an apocalyptic iconography o f the Adoration o f the
Lamb (fig. 19).24 The weakness o f this reading lies in its inability to show
the precise terms o f such an adaptation. Given this, it might be more
pertinent to ask whether we are witnessing a variation o f an Adoration
o f the Cross.25 A telling comparison is offered by the image set up on
the Chalke Gate by Leo III and Constantine V before 730. This is referred
to by Patriarch Germanos in his letter, probably o f 729, to Thomas o f
Claudiopolis: “meaning the icon before the royal palace in which were
set forth the forms (τάς ιδέας) o f the apostles and prophets, and were
written their words concerning the Lord (και τάς τούτων περί τού κυρίου
έγγράψαντες φωνάς), which proclaim the saving cross the boast o f their
confidence.” 26 The imperial image was focused upon the figure o f the

52
 ICON AND 1 1 ) 0 1.

cross. As the prophets and apostles are represented with “their words
concerning the Lord,” it can be understood that the cross represents
Christ. The image cannot be defined as iconoclastic; the symbolic repre­
sentation o f Christ by the cross was an acceptable device. In addition,
the image showed the prophets and apostles together with their words.
Nonetheless, in its different emphasis — the saving cross, rather than
the saving crucifixion — it represents a response to the visual culture
embodied in the Santa Maria Antiqua decoration. Instead o f an emphasis
upon corporeal likeness, with its attention to Christ’s human nature,
the presentation o f the cross underlines the divinity in Christ.27
Although the imperial image cannot be strictly defined as icono­
clastic, its preference for an aniconic representation o f Christ can be con­
sidered symptomatic o f a hostile reaction to the full implications o f canon
82. That canon privileged corporeal likenesses over figurative or sym ­
bolic representations. This privileging was based upon the construction
o f an opposition between the Old Testament economy o f prophecy and
préfiguration, and the N ew Testament economy o f a revealed truth.
Canon 82 throws into question the value o f the Old Testament. It ap­
pears that the first iconoclasts wished to question this by proposing the
continued relevance o f the Old Testament. In this regard, the icono-
clasm o f Leo 111 might be considered akin to the “ iconoclasm” o f the
82nd canon.
Canon 82 is not simply a visualization o f the Christology o f the Sixth
Ecumenical Council, although this is central to the terms o f the canon.
The canon is also somewhat more, in that it needed to address the ques­
tion o f this visualization. The canon proposes that one form o f repre­
sentation is to be privileged over another. It is a condition that makes
the icons themselves venerable. Yet the formulation o f the canon, while
recognizing this value, also laid the icon open to question. The differen­
tiation marked by its terms made the limits of representation an issue.
The canon betrays the possibility o f a theology through images, in
which ideas are carried not only by text but also by the image in the icon
itself. As such, the canon enunciates the status attained by imagery in
the late seventh century, a status that has been well defined in the work
o f Anna Kartsonis. This position is exemplified in the Guide of Anasta-
sios o f Sinai, whose text in final form should be dated to the 680s. The

53
 CHAPTER 2

text is a handbook offering advice on refuting heretical positions. One

o f its remarkable features is that Anastasios argues that "factual repre­
sentations" (πραγματικού παραστάσεις) are more effective than scrip­
tural quotations because they cannot be falsified.28 A key example is
offered in chapter 12, in which Anastasios demonstrates how one may
refute the Theopaschites, who believed that the Logos died on the cross:
"W ishing to expose the guile and poison hidden in their souls, we con­
fronted them neither verbally nor in writing but factually by means o f
the example and sketch o f that which was real.. . . As already mentioned,
we figured on a tablet the venerable cross (or Crucifixion) together with
an inscription, and placing a finger on it we cross-questioned them. The
inscription was: God the Logos, both a body and a reasonable soul.” 29
It is clear that Anastasios was able to use an icon (and its inscription) as
an expression o f a theological concept.30 Such an engagement, alongside
the prescriptive text o f canon 82, lifts the icon into a theological text,
whose veracity and value can make it open to questioning and doubt.
Given this, one might understand why canon 82 can be identified as
a significant point o f origin for iconoclasm. The text is not simply one
that outlines an iconographie or aesthetic preference. Rather, it repre­
sents a distinct theological position that is now made manifest in the
icons. The implication is that how one chooses to show the Christian
God has theological ramifications. The canon essentially argues that Old
Testament figuration is no longer a viable Christian mode o f represen­
tation. The iconoclasts will resist this, by arguing that the Old Testament
cannot simply be abandoned. Indeed, their counterargument will seek
to displace the likeness condemned by the Mosaic commandment with
the figure that canon 82 has proposed banning.31
A second piece o f legislation was central to the iconoclast’s resis­
tance to the icon defined by the Quinisext Council. This was the second
commandment, found at Exodus 20:4: “Thou shaft not make to thyself
any idol, neither the likeness o f any thing which is in heaven above, or
on the earth beneath, or in the waters which are under the earth: thou
shaft not venerate them, neither shaft thou adore them” (ού ποιήσεις
σεαυτώ εϊδωλον. ουδέ παντός ομοίωμα, όσα έν τώ ούρανω άνω, καί
όσα έν τή γή κάτω, καί όσα έν τοίς υδασιν υποκάτω της γης. ου προσκυ­
νήσεις αύτοίς. ουδέ μή λατρεύσεις αύτοΐς). The use o f this text marks

54
 ICON AND IIX

a claim to the continued authority o f the Old Testament. Furthermore,

its use betrays the key themes that shape an iconoclasm born o f eighth-
century conditions.32 Read literally, the commandment simply bans the
making o f an idol, defined as the likeness o f any creature. Such an idol
is neither to be worshiped nor to be adored.
This critique o f the manufacture o f idols and likenesses and o f the
role o f veneration and worship was extended in the scanty evidence that
records the thinking o f the iconoclasts. The first point o f attack centered
upon the implications o f manufacture. For example, in the late 720s Con­
stantine o f Nakoleia, one o f the keys to the onset o f iconoclasm in Byzan­
tium, argued that the meaning o f the commandment was simple: one
should not worship things made by m en.33 This reading placed great
emphasis on the manufactured nature o f the icon/idol, elaborating on
the "Thou shalt not make” (ού ποιήσεις) o f the commandment. Later
in the century, Theosebes’ Admonition by the Old Man, written in the 77os,
reported an elaboration o f this point when it noted an iconoclastic
bishop’s extensive use o f quotations from the Wisdom o f Solomon, itself
a commentary on the second com m andm ent.34 These passages from
Wisdom sought to mark a clear distinction between that which is manu­
factured and that which is holy, casting scorn on the notion that a man­
made thing could be treated as holy. The basis for this point was that an
idol, being made o f dead matter, can never be a likeness o f a thing that
has lived.
The critique o f matter was continued in the claim that material
things were valueless in themselves. Great responsibility fell upon the
craftsman who had chosen the use to which this matter was to be put.
This artisan was at fault, not only for attempting to make a god from
base matter but also for calling this made thing a god.35 This theme was
also to be found in the iconoclastic texts o f the mid-eighth century. In
both the Enquiries o f Constantine V and the Declaration of the icono­
clastic council o f 754, the manufacture by artists o f material images of
holy subjects was severely reprimanded.3*’ It is especially notable that
when the true icon (as opposed to the manufactured idol) was defined
by these iconoclasts, they referred to it as a thing "not made by human
hand” (αχειροποίητον),37 thus removing it from the idolatrous category
o f the manufactured.

55
 CHAPTER 2

A second theme in the commandtnent was the definition o f an idol

as the likeness o f any creature. Three topics in iconoclastic thought de­
rive from this definition. First, as was noted above, an idol o f dead matter
could not be considered an adequate likeness o f a creature that has lived.
This proposition implies an absolute gap between an image and the
person it represents. Such an essential difference was built upon the claim
that there was a necessary opposition between the living spirit o f the
person and the dead matter o f the image. Consequently, any material
representation o f a historical being would be deemed an impossibility,
as the material nature o f the icon rendered it unable to represent such
a subject. It is a definition that implies a desire for a comprehensive repre­
sentation, such that the material nature shared by person and image would
be deemed an insufficient basis for the legitimization o f visual represen­
tation.38 Second, likeness was understood to draw attention to the visible
material creature rather than the invisible deity .39 Likeness is thereby
categorized as a visual quality, pertaining to appearance alone. Given the
notion o f comprehensive representation noted above, an image might be
understood to be misleading in that it attends only to the visible creature.
This is especially problematic when Christ and the saints are defined as
being both visibly human and invisibly divine .40 Any visual likeness can­
not by definition attend to the unvisualizable divinity. Once again, an
image is deemed to render an insufficient, if not deceptive, account o f
its subject. Third, the iconoclasts applied the term “likenesses o f creatures”
to the icons o f saints in a second manner. They critiqued the widespread
cult o f these icons, calling it a distraction from the worship o f God “in
spirit and truth .”41 By means o f these uses o f the idea o f likeness, the
iconoclasts opened the way to a complex critique o f visual representa­
tion. In particular, they sought to define the image as a partial, and there­
fore false, image, unable to comprehend the invisible. It is this inadequate
and distracting aspect that allows them to introduce the term idol.
The commandment not only forbids certain kinds o f representa­
tion, but also polices the reception o f these by banning both the venera­
tion and the adoration o f such works. These practices are defined by the
iconoclasts as “pagan abuses.”42 The rejection o f veneration was on the
grounds that such an act would be misplaced. Since the icon is a manu­
factured material thing that can pertain only to visible material things,

56
 [ C ON AND I DOl .

any veneration offered before it would be constrained by the same lim­

its and could in fact be addressed only to the icon’s own material essence
and the material essence o f the one shown .4 * It is the limited quality o f
the medium that defines veneration as a misplaced attitude. Adoration
was even more unsuitable. Adoration was reserved for the limitless deity.
To offer adoration to a material icon would be to mistake this manu­
factured object for a god.
The implications o f the second commandment were thus expanded
upon by the iconoclasts and used to address the abuses that they claimed
to identify. In exploring these themes, they built an iconoclasm that pro­
moted a spiritual Christianity over a material one. This was to remain
a persistent theme throughout the course o f the eighth and ninth cen­
turies .44 It privileged an apophatic relation to God that emphasized the
invisible, eternal, and limitless Godhead. Christ’s flesh was to be seen as
a temporary condescension to humanity and one that placed limits on
this Godhead for a historical purpose. The icons, bound by their material
nature, marked a deceptive continuity o f these limits, one that empha­
sized the limited, visible, and material creature over the limitless, invisible,
and spiritual creator. This spiritual discourse was not an innovation;
rather, it was able to build upon a strong tradition o f imageless prayer,
in addition to biblical and patristic citations.45 The construction o f this
iconoclastic genealogy discloses an attempt to shape a different concep­
tion o f how one knows the Christian god, rather than an atavistic and
reactionary theology. The nature o f these concerns was brought for­
ward in a telling passage in the extensive letter written by Patriarch Ger­
manos to Thomas o f Claudiopolis: “ If, indeed, it can be shown that pious
notions o f the divine have been exchanged for those that are more carnal,
or the glory and adoration that are due God have been left behind or in
any way diminished, then, clearly, it would be right to remove that which
has engrossed us or drawn us away from our reverence for and attendance
on the one true G od .”46 This defensive text characterizes the return-to-
idolatry charge leveled by the iconoclasts in an effective fashion. Clearly,
the iconoclasts have argued that the iconophiles have compromised an
understanding and veneration of the deity by exchanging these for things
that are “more carnal” (τό σωματιιαότίφον). The context makes it clear
that these “things” are the icons. By opposing "notions (υπολήψεις) to
 CHAPTER 2

the “more carnal,” Germanos introduces us to a persistent theme in icono­

clastic discourse, which views the icon and its veneration as threats to
the absolute comprehension and adoration o f God. The choice o f words
implies that the iconoclasts refused a value to the incarnate knowledge
o f the one God.
The use o f this commandment is to be set alongside their claim that
there was no positive written tradition in support o f icons and their w or­
ship.47 Hence Constantine V was able to ask: “ W hence came this law
that requires us to bow down before an icon?” 48 Moses, Christ, and Leo
all can be portrayed as performing the same act, destroying idols.49 This
continuum is then completed by reference to the writings o f Epipha-
nios. These disputed texts are first noted as an aspect o f the iconoclastic
florilegium in the First and Second Orations o f John o f Dam ascus.50
Epiphanios presents a patristic case in favor o f spiritual worship. In so
doing, he denies that there is an apostolic or patristic tradition in favor
o f images.51 He also questions the truthfulness o f painting, contending
that the inventions o f painters will make images potentially spurious.52
Both points are clearly important to our fragmentary sense o f the icono­
clast charge o f idolatry.
The evocation o f the Old Testament charge o f idolatry belongs
within a wider pattern o f iconoclastic thought. This pattern is identified
in a number o f iconophile texts. In the Synodikon o f John o f Jerusalem,
written about 730 -31, the iconoclasts are criticized for privileging the
figures and laws o f the Old Testament over the N ew Testam ent.53 A
fuller assessment o f the value placed on the Old Testament is given in
Theosebes’ Admonition by the Old Man. In this text the iconoclastic posi­
tion is voiced by the bishop Kosmas, who states that “the words o f Moses
abide forever.” 54 This phrase has several implications. First, it empha­
sizes the value o f the word. For Kosmas, the written testimony o f the
biblical text must always be privileged over nonverbal tradition.55 A sec­
ond implication is that these verbal testimonies remain valid. Kosmas
thus argues that the fact o f the Incarnation did not change the relevance
o f Moses' words. It is for this reason that Emperor Constantine V urged
a literal interpretation o f the Bible.56 Kosmas then states: “ You wish
Moses to be without authority? I do not think that this should happen.
There are things that Christ brought to an end, and there are those for

58
 I CON AND I DOI .

which a use remains. The non-making o f every likeness remains eter­

nal” (τό γάρ μή ποίησης παν ομοίωμα εις τύν αιώνα μένει).'*7 The most
significant aspect o f this presentation is that Kosmas uses the Old Tes­
tament prohibition found at Exodus 20:4 to fill a vacuum marked by the
absence o f positive Christian statements in favor o f icons. Indeed, in this
discussion, the iconoclastic emperor becomes the true imitator o f Christ
in that he continues the attack on idols that Christ himself had enacted.58
The iconoclasts are therefore portrayed as those who have chosen to
emphasize a continuity in the biblical texts. Their position is that the
Incarnation cannot be held to overthrow G od’s earlier rejection o f idols,
for such a break would raise questions concerning the eternal nature of
G o d ’s knowledge. In these terms, the fulfillment o f prophecy in the
Incarnation is to be understood as a continuation o f the intent o f that
prophecy rather than as an overcoming o f the same. The initial icono­
clastic use o f the term idolatry should be read in terms o f this claim to
a continuum.
The position o f these first iconoclasts may therefore be summarized
in this manner: they considered the material icon to be unfitting to rep­
resent a holy subject. A man-made object was not deemed to be a suit­
able vessel for showing the divinity. In support o f this position, they cited
a long sequence o f biblical texts and patristic citations and built upon an
existing tradition o f imageless prayer. In formulating this position, built
upon authority, they had to develop an analysis that ran counter to the
prevailing iconic orthodoxy. One must therefore understand what it was
that provoked them to think outside the predominant situation and to
construct an alternative to an iconic Christianity. Iconoclasm is primar­
ily a question o f theologians learning to speak o f icons, made necessary
by the fact that icons had become theological texts. O f secondary im­
portance is the cult brought to bear on these images. The previous six
ecumenical councils had turned around verbal descriptions and defini­
tions o f the Christian God. In an era o f iconoclasm, it was the visual de­
scription that was at issue. Underlying this was the fundamental ques­
tion as to the truthfulness o f an icon. For Anastasios o f Sinai and for
those who formulated canon 82, an icon was essentially truthful: for the
iconoclasts, it was not.

59
 3

T R U T H AND EC O NO M Y

t h e p o r t r a y a l o f C h r i s t in the icon has always been central to

the definition o f visual representation in the period o f Byzantine icono-
clasm (fig. 20). It is Christ’s depiction that provides the terms by which
one might describe the process and implications o f Christian portrai­
ture and that allows the viewer to find an appropriate means o f making
an identification between the portrait and the portrayed, such that she
can affirm that this is Christ whom she sees. This identification both in­
stitutes a claim to truthfulness in the painting and draws attention to
the definition o f the icon itself. For when we say, “This is Christ,” we
touch upon issues that will resonate throughout the discussions o f visual
representation o f the eighth and ninth centuries. The phrase might be
interpreted as “ This icon is Christ,” which implies an essential identity
between the icon and Christ; or it might be understood to mean “This
is an icon o f Christ,” which introduces a mediated difference between
the icon and Christ. Or it could simply be understood to efface the pres­
ence o f the icon as a medium, invoking the presence o f the portrayed
desired in the phrase itself. Each o f these readings found a place in the
discussions about the nature o f the icon and about the possibility o f de­
picting a holy subject and will be seen to return in various guises in this
and succeeding chapters.
The key problem for the iconophiles was to police the identification
that allowed the viewer to declare “This is Christ” in such a manner that
the use o f the phrase implied the more qualified sense found in "This is

Opposite: Detail o f fig. 20

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 CHAPTER 3

an icon o f Christ.” To do this, they needed to show how an icon could

indeed show Christ, and they had to demonstrate this while working
within the constraints o f existing theological discourse. One consequence
o f these constraints has been to argue that the problem o f iconoclasm
should be understood as a continuation o f the Christological debates
that had marked theological discourse within the church since the fifth
century.1 Certainly, there is great merit in this reading. It is apparent that
Christology did play an important role in defining what it was that an
icon represented. The dispute may justifiably be said to be first and fore­
most within the scholarly province o f theologians rather than art his­
torians. Yet the focus upon Christology attends primarily to what is open
to representation in the icon, by answering the question as to what in
Christ may be represented. W hen discussion is drawn in this direction,
then we are brought closer to the third option set out above, in which
the icon itself remains effaced as a medium. Yet, as I will argue in what fol­
lows, as the dispute developed, Christology alone became an insufficient
language for the complete defense o f the icon as a medium for convey­
ing Christian subjects. Christology could not adequately define the epis-
temic function o f the icon because it was unable to provide an answer
to the iconoclasts’ question as to how the icon could truthfully show the
things it purported to describe. In changing focus from what the icon
shows to how it shows, we will see that iconoclasm is not only a matter
o f Christian economy but also o f the truth in painting. We shall see in
later chapters that such a reading returns iconoclasm to the province o f
the art historian, in that it is the objecthood o f the icon itself that will
condition its status as a form o f knowing.
With these caveats in mind, discussion o f the iconophile defense o f
icons must nonetheless begin with Christology, which is the analysis o f
the relation o f the human and the divine natures in Christ. Focused upon
the question o f how an infinite divinity can accommodate a finite human­
ity in the incarnate person o f Christ, Christology begins the definition
o f the implications o f the Incarnation. These implications, including
such crucial concepts as salvation, may be embraced by the broad notion
o f a Christian economy, which should be understood as the knowledge
o f G o d ’s being-in-the-world. W hat concerns us is the possibility o f a
visual representation o f this economy.

62
 Fig. 20. Standing Theotokos, late yth, 8th, and 9th centuries.
M osaic in the apse, Koimesis church, Iznik, Turkey

One image from the period prior to iconoclasm appears to wrestle

with this precise issue. It is a mosaic program located in the apse and
bema o f the now-destroyed Koimesis church at Iznik (Nicaea) in north­
western Asia Minor.2 When recorded at the start o f the twentieth cen­
tury, the program consisted o f a standing Theotokos and Child in the

63
 Fig. 21. Angels, late yth and 9th centuries. M osaic in the bema,

Koimesis church, Iznik, Turkey

apse (fig. 20). Above them were three rays o f light that were, respec­
tively, bright pink, bright gray, and bright green. An inscription ran
through these rays. It read: έγγαστρός πρό εωσφόρου γέγενη κ ά σε
(adapted from Psalm 2:7 and 109:3): “I have begotten thee in the womb
before the morning star.” The rays o f light emerged from three con­
centric bands o f blue, whose shades darkened toward the outer ring.
Between the bema vault and the conch o f the apse was a second in-

64
 Fig. 22. Angels, late yth and 9th centuries. M osaic in the bema,

Koimesis church, Iznik, Turkey

scription. This faced the naos o f the church and was framed by mono­
grams o f the m onastery’s founder, Hyakinthos. This inscription read:
τφ ο'ίκω σου πρέπει άγιασμα κ(ύρι)ε ε ις μακρότητα ημερών (Psalm
92:5): “Holiness becomes thine house, O Lord, forever.’’ In the bema in
front o f the apse were four o f the ranks o f angels, labeled Principality,
Virtue, Dominion, Power (figs. 21,22).3 These were dressed in courtly cos­
tume and carried banners that showed the trisagion hymn. A repeated

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 CHAPTER 3

inscription ran beneath them: καί προσκυνησάτωσαν αύτφ πάντες oi

άνγελοι (sic) θεού (Ode 2:43 - Deuteronomy 32:43): "and let all the an­
gels o f God worship him .” 4 A second inscription could be found be­
tween the Principality and the Virtue on the northern wall o f the bema:
στηλοΐ Ναυκράτιος τάς θ εία ς εικ ό να ς (Naukratios set up the divine
images). Above them was the hetoimasia (fig. 23), the jeweled, prepared
throne o f the Apocalypse bearing a closed Gospel, a Latin cross, and a
dove with a cruciform halo. It was set against a circle o f three concen­
tric bands o f blue, paralleling those o f the apse itself. Seven rays o f light
emanated from the cross and the dove.
This program is notable for a series o f alterations that were made
to it and for the elements that were retained in the course o f these
changes. Paul Underwood’s analysis o f the photographic evidence has
shown that the four angels in the bema and the Theotokos and Child in
the apse were ninth century in date.5 These "restored” an original late-
seventh- or early-eighth-century program that had been removed by the
iconoclasts. The iconoclasts had replaced the original Theotokos and
Child with a cross. Throughout these changes, the hetoimasia in the bema
vault and the representations o f light and the inscriptions had remained
in place. It is the relationship between that which remained constant and
that which changed that makes this program o f unique interest.
My concern in this chapter is with the original decoration, which is
notable for offering an essay in Christian representation that is Christo-
logical in nature. A reading o f the program may begin with the hetoi­
masia image in the bema. This is a traditional symbolic representation
o f the Christian Godhead. First signaled in the three concentric circles
o f blue,6 the Godhead is also represented by three things: the Gospel
Book, the dove, and the cross. Every part o f this is symbolic, figuring
the Godhead by indirect means. This symbolic system continues at the
crown o f the apse, where the hand o f God emerges from the center o f
the three concentric circles o f blue.7 This represents G od’s voice, which
will utter the prophecy inscribed below: “ I have begotten thee in the
womb before the morning star.” This prophetic text marks the point o f
transition from symbolic and verbal knowledge o f the divinity to an in­
carnate and iconic form o f knowing. Early-eighth-century exegeses o f the
passages from which this inscription derives underline their importance

66
Fig. 23. Hetoimasia, late jth century. M osaic in the bema vault,

Koimesis church, Iznik, Turkey

 CHAPTER 3

as prophecies o f the Incarnation. They speak o f a healing o f the divide

that has separated heaven from the earth.8 The movement from verbal
prophecy to an iconic economy is completed by the representation o f
the Theotokos and Child. It is only at this point in the mosaic that the
human body can enter the mosaic’s visual field, when one o f the G od­
head becomes visible in the flesh.
The importance o f this transition is conveyed by the remarkable
rays o f light that are included within the apse design. In the hetoimasia
mosaic the rays that emerge from the cross and the dove end at the edge
o f the outermost circle o f blue. Although marked by a different color,
they respect the limits set by this circle. In the apse itself the rays o f light
are presented differently. Each is marked by a distinct color: bright pink,
bright gray, and bright green. At the end o f each ray, vertical lines o f
tesserae disrupt this uniform color, announcing the end o f the ray o f
light. Each finishes in a concave arc. The arc o f the central ray hugs the
halo o f the Theotokos. The ray and the halo fit one another, suggesting
that the means o f concluding the rays o f light in the apse are set by the
shape o f the halo o f the Theotokos. It is striking that the two outermost
rays finish in the same manner as the central ray, even though neither
meets a visible haloed body. It appears that these outermost rays announce
a space for that which cannot be visible.
The difference between the treatment o f the central ray and the
treatment o f the outer rays is crucial. Our interpretation o f this is aided
by a homily on the Koimesis (the Dormition) by the Patriarch Germanos
(715-30).9 In it, he draws a link between the principle psalm text found
in the apse inscription (Psalm 109:3) and the idea o f Christ’s generation
from divine light. Christ is thus characterized as “light born from light,”
co-eternal with the Father, yet begotten. This notion had been devel­
oped in the writings o f Pseudo-Cyril, a key early-eighth-century thinker
on the Trinity.10 For both authors, the light metaphor served to main­
tain the Trinitarian doctrine o f one God manifest in three hypostases
(Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). In the Koimesis decoration each ray rep­
resents one hypostasis o f the deity. The difference between these hypos­
tases is intimated by their different colors, yet they share the same form
and the same origin. O f these three hypostases, only the one that touches
the Theotokos, who is fully human and therefore visible in the flesh, can

68
 TRUTH AND ECONOMY

give rise to a God who is also visible in the flesh. The outer rays thus em ­
phasize that two members o f the Trinity remain hidden beyond direct
human perception. They are available to the human intelligence only
by means o f symbols."
This is a complex image that operates on several levels o f represen­
tation. It begins with a symbolic presentation o f the Trinitarian Godhead,
then underlines verbal prophecy by including text within the image, and
finally inserts the iconic presentation o f one aspect o f the Godhead. This
is shown to be a consequence o f the Incarnation made possible by the
Theotokos. It is a Christological exploration o f the Christian God open­
ing himself to representation, drawing a theoretical distinction between
the visible and the invisible. As such, it is both an account o f the mean­
ing o f the Incarnation and an essay on the origins o f Christian iconic
representation. It is because o f this double identity that the mosaic may
be said to place the icon itself at the center o f the Christian economy.
As noted above, the notion o f Christian economy is com plex.12 In its
broadest definition, it encompasses the implications o f the Incarnation,
as opposed to the theology that is directed at the Trinitarian Godhead
alone. The primary discourse o f economy is that o f Christology, which
examines the relationship between the divine and human engendered
in the Incarnation and which is directed toward human salvation.13 Where
theology has tended to be apophatic in defining the Godhead, using
negative terms such as invisible to define what is necessarily undefinable,
Christology exploits paradox in order to speak positively o f the incar­
nate God. Thus, one might say that the Incarnation opened an era wherein
human knowledge has added to the apophatic description o f a limitless
Godhead the paradoxical description o f a deity who is necessarily and
in a continuing manner both limited and limitless.
This epistemic rupture acknowledges that the course of history itself
has changed. One consequence o f this is that the language of appropriate
theological description has come to need reconsideration. In this regard,
the work o f the first six ecumenical councils might be characterized as
being, at one level, concerned with the policing of words. For example,
the First Ecumenical Council turned on the term όμοουσιος (same es
sence), while the third council debated the propriety of terming the Virgin
Mary Θεοτόκος (God bearer). What is remarkable in the "iconoclastic

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 CHAPTER 3

years surrounding the Seventh Ecumenical Council held at Nicaea in

787 is that the focus o f theological discourse shifted from the definition
o f verbal to that o f visual description. This change was clearly announced
in the formulation o f the 82nd canon o f the Quinisext Council. O f ne­
cessity, this extension o f theological discourse into the visual raised the
question as to what an icon is, by asking how does the icon show? In
effect, once canon 82 had proposed that how one represents a given sub­
ject does indeed have a theological implication, it became necessary to
define precisely how an icon could disclose the truth o f things.
The distinction between theological and Christological knowledge
was an important element in the first iconophile defense o f icons. The
writings o f John o f Damascus and Germanos responded to the initial
charge o f idolatry by arguing that the Incarnation had made this charge
inapplicable . 14 Not only had Christ overthrown the idols, but by be­
coming incarnate, he had opened the divinity to visibility and therefore
representation . 15 What they attempted to do was to link the notion o f
the image as a truthful representation, developed in the seventh century,
to the theological demands o f Christological representation. This union
reveals both the idea o f the image current at the start o f iconoclasm and
the difficulties inherent in this first formulation.
An example o f the construction o f this argument can be found in
the eighth chapter o f John o f Dam ascus’s First Oration on the images
(about 730):

We are no longer under a teacher, but have received from God the
ability to discern what may be depicted and what cannot be circum­
scribed in an image. . . . How can the invisible be depicted? How
does one picture the inconceivable? How can one draw what is
limitless, immeasurable, infinite? How can the formless be made?
How does one paint the bodiless? How can one memorialize what
is a mystery? It is obvious that when you contemplate the bodiless
becoming man, then you may represent him in human form. When
the invisible becomes visible in the flesh, you may then depict the
likeness of the one seen. When the one who is bodiless and form­
less, immeasurable and boundless in his own nature, existing in
the form of God, takes the form of a servant in substance and in

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 TRUTH AND ECONOMY

stature and is found in a body of flesh, then you may draw his im­
age and show it to anyone wishing the visual contemplation of it.16

The text is very clear. John marks a firm distinction between the repre­
sentation o f the deity and the representation o f the incarnate Christ. He
begins with a series o f questions based upon the apophatic terms ap­
plied to the Godhead. This echoes numerous passages in his text in which
he reiterates that the invisible God cannot be represented.17 These ques­
tions serve a rhetorical purpose, establishing a clear sense o f the essen­
tial otherness o f divinity. This prefaces the revolutionary moment marked
by the Incarnation. It is only from this moment, when one o f the Trinity
becomes flesh, that divine representation becomes possible, and then
only o f Christ.
W hen Patriarch Germanos wrote to John o f Synada in the years im­
mediately preceding the official onset o f iconoclasm in 730, he raised
similar points:

Neither do we admit the making of images that are impressed in

wax and colors which would in any way tend to detract from the
perfection of that reverence which is owed the divinity. Hence no
image, likeness, design, or form of the invisible Godhead is figured.
. . . But as the only-begotten Son, who was in the bosom of the
Father, would call back his own work from the judgment of death,
with the good will of the Father and the Holy Spirit, he conde­
scended to become man, participating like us in the blood and the
flesh . . . we figure the image of his human form according to the
flesh, and not his incomprehensible and invisible Godhead, thereby
confirming more fully the right faith.18

Germanos here draws the same fundamental distinction made by John

o f Damascus. The Incarnation is understood to mark a change in the
possibilities o f representation. The Godhead itself cannot be seen and
is essentially incomprehensible.19 However, once Christ has assumed
human flesh, he enters into the order o f the visible and therefore the
representable. Thereby, the historical reality o f the Incarnation becomes
the challenge raised by the iconophiles in their first defense of the icons.

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For these fathers, it is the continuing reality o f Christ’s Incarnation that

gives value to the icon as a m emorial .20
The argument is straightforward. In order to reject the charge o f
idolatry, John o f Damascus and Germanos both argue that the term is
irrelevant. Christians are no longer defined in relation to a God who is
only limitless. Rather, thanks to the Incarnation, the Christian God, in
the person o f Christ, has made himself available to representation by
becom ing visible in the flesh. The iconophile position, therefore, is
defined by the origins o f representation rather than by its process. The
existence o f the subject o f portraiture is deemed the primary cause and
validation for the portrayal o f that subject. In this, Germanos and John
o f Damascus can be understood as offering a commentary upon and
defense o f the terms proposed in canon 82. Like that canon, they iden­
tify visuality as a specifically Christian property.
Set against these strands o f thought, in which the icon has become
the very image o f Christianity, the iconophiles were able to present the
iconoclasts as being somewhat quixotic in their rejection o f the icon. It
is as if they wished to overturn Christianity itself in refusing the icon.
This iconophile charge, however, is problematic, for the iconoclasts can­
not be shown to have rejected the Christian economy as a whole. Indeed,
they identified themselves with orthodox Christology and drew upon it
in order to critique how an icon shows Christ. In so doing, they both ex­
ploited weaknesses in the arguments o f Germanos and John o f Damascus
and redirected the course o f the discussion o f icons beyond Christology
and the Christian economy.
Neither John o f Damascus nor Germanos was able to disentangle
himself from other aspects o f the legacy bequeathed them regarding
icons. In particular, exacting description o f what is shown in an icon
eluded them. For example, they both betrayed some difficulty in de­
scribing what o f Christ is in a painting. Germanos wrote: “ We figure
the image of his human form according to the flesh, and not his incompre­
hensible and invisible Godhead.” In this definition, it appears that the
patriarch has proposed that the icon shows only Christ’s human nature.
This point is reiterated a little later in the same letter when he says: “ In
this view o f sound faith concerning him, having figured the portrait o f
his holy flesh in images, we embrace and account them worthy o f all

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 TRUTH ΑΝΠ t C O NOM Y

veneration and becoming honor, as from this source we come to the

remembrance o f his divine, life-giving, and ineffable Incarnation.” 21 Ger­
manos wished to emphasize the reality o f the Incarnation. He was es­
pecially concerned that the representation o f Christ in the flesh refute
those who had argued for a less than full humanity in Christ.22 The
difficulty that arises from his expression o f this emphasis is that he ap­
pears to have excluded the divine nature from the icons. He, therefore,
lays himself open to the charge o f showing only one o f Christ’s two na­
tures and thus presenting a false, because incomplete, image.
John o f Damascus wrestled with a different interpretation o f the
icon. W hen he sought to define an icon, he introduced a problematic
Trinitarian paradigm for defining the image. An instance o f this think­
ing can be found when John answered his own question as to “ W hat is
an icon?” :

An image is a likeness and a paradigm and a representation of some­

thing, which shows in itself the thing depicted. In any case, an im­
age is not wholly like the depicted prototype, for the icon is one
thing, and the thing depicted is another. One always sees differ­
ences between them, since one is not the other. I offer the follow­
ing example: an image of a man, while it represents the portrait
of the body, it does not contain his spiritual powers. It has no life,
nor can it think or speak or perceive or move a limb. A son is the
natural image of his father, yet is different from him, for he is a
son and not a father.21

This model for the image is drawn from the language o f Trinitarian the­
ology and is implicit in the analogy introduced to clarify his definition,
which is that o f the natural image between father and son.24 This basis
had been made even clearer in an earlier attempt by John to define the
icon:

An image is a likeness which portrays the prototype but is some­

what different from it. For it is not like the archetype in every way.
The Son is the living, natural, and exactly alike image of the in­
visible God, bearing the entire Father within himself, identical to

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him in all things, differing only in the effect. The Father is the natu­
ral cause, the Son the effect. For the Father is not from the Son,
but the Son from the Father. For he has to be from him, yet not
after him, such is the paternal generation.25

The notion o f the icon that is in play is therefore Trinitarian. Christ is

understood to be o f the same essence as God the Father. Christ differs
only in that this common identity has been supplemented by the human
nature that Christ has adopted in his incarnate hypostasis.
The Trinitarian model adopted by John has a long history, reaching
back to the Cappadocian fathers o f the fourth century. These theolo­
gians had developed and applied the concept o f the natural image in
order to express the identity o f the Father and Son within the Trinity .26
The most frequently cited text in this regard was taken from Basil the
Great’s On the Holy Spirit:

The image of the emperor is also called the emperor, yet there are
not two emperors. Power is not divided, nor is glory separated.
Just as the ruler who has power over us is also a single power, so
too is our praise one and not several, for the honor given to the
image crosses over (διαβαίνει) to the prototype. Therefore, one
who is an image here by means o f mimesis (μιμητικώς) is there
the son by nature (φυσικώς). Just as likeness according to form is
for artists, so also is the union in the communion of the divinity
for the divine and unconfused nature.27

The analogy drawn by Basil is intended to express the unity o f the Trinity,
in which God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit are de­
fined by an essential identity, an essential unity described in the passage
as “ by nature.-’ The use o f painting as a model is clearly what attracted
the iconophiles to Basil’s text. As such, it is important to consider what
it discloses about assumptions regarding the icon. The comparisons
drawn in the last section imply that mimesis and likeness are regarded
as equivalents to the natural unity o f the Trinity. They cannot be set
aside as simply formal qualities. Rather, they define the necessary iden­
tity between two distinct things.

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 TRUTH AND ECONOMY

This is brought out by a second key father o f the fourth century,

Athanasios o f Alexandria. Like Basil, he used the em peror’s image to
evoke the essential identity o f the Trinity. This text was also much fa­
vored by the compilers o f iconophile florilegia:

The Son, therefore, cannot but be properly the Son of His Father’s
very essence and substance; and being so, He reasonably says, that
whatever belongs to the Father belongs to Him. After He had said,
very rightly and properly, ‘ I and the Father are one (John 10:38),’
He adds, ’That ye may know that I am in the Father, and the Father
in Me (John 14:10);’ and, moreover, He has added this again, He
that hath seen Me hath seen the Father (John 14:9).’ There is a
wonderful agreement and harmony in these three passages. For
what can be a clearer consequence than that the Son is in the Father,
and the Father in the Son, if He and the Father are one? And if they
are one in Divinity and Nature, then it must follow that He that
hath seen the Son hath seen the Father,’ for the Godhead of the
Father is contemplated in the Son. And we may understand this
the more easily by the familiar comparison of the emperor’s image
on a coin. For there you have in the image the form and shape of
the emperor, the form in the emperor is also in the icon. For the
king’s likeness in the icon is exact. So that when one looks at the
icon, one sees the king in it, and contrariwise if one happens upon
the king, one sees that he is the same as in the icon. The icon might
say to those who do not wish to see the king after the icon because
of this exchange of likeness: I and the king are one; for 1 am in
him and he in me: and that which you see in me you see in him:
and that which you have seen in him you see in me.’ He, therefore,
who venerates the icon also venerates the king in it. For the icon
is his sensible form and his specific form.28

This Athanasios text reiterates the importance o f the Trinitarian anal­

ogy in the formation o f an image theory. Beginning from the notion of
an essential identity, Athanasios explains the Trinitarian doctrine of iden­
tity and difference. To clarify this point, he also draws an analogy with
the em peror’s depiction. Like Basil, he focuses on formal likeness. Like

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him also, this formal identity is treated as an equivalent o f the essential

Trinitarian identity.
John reaffirms this Trinitarian discourse when, following these two
definitions, he lists the kinds o f images that exist. These are: the natu­
ral, the conceptual, the mimetic, the figurative, the pre-iconic, and the
commemorative. The natural image (ή φυσική) is defined as the image
that must exist prior to all o f the other categories o f im age .29 It is under­
stood in the Trinitarian terms o f an essential identity outlined above.
The conceptual image (ή έννο ια ) addresses G od’s foreknowledge o f
things that are. It implies an eternal existence for things in G od’s mind .30
The mimetic image (ό κατά μίμησιν) is man, who is made in the image
and likeness o f God, and who can participate in the divine through imi­
tation .31 The figurative image (ό τύπος) shows that which is immate­
rial.32 The pre-iconic image (τό προεικόνισμα) is one that prefigures the
Incarnation — for example, Aaron’s rod as a figure for the Theotokos .33
The commemorative image (ό πρός μνήμην) is either a text or an icon
o f a thing that has happened .34 For John, these represent different quali­
ties within the idea o f the image. Although the natural image is placed
first in this list and is the necessary condition for all the other kinds o f
images, there is no necessary hierarchy among the five remaining types
o f images listed. Rather they represent different qualities o f the same
basic conception o f the image that has been noted above. As such, al­
though the qualities differ, the types o f images stay essentially the same.
This common identity implies that an image is participatory in that
which it represents. An icon o f Christ must be understood to participate
in the divine essence. With this formulation in mind, the viewer o f an
icon could truthfully state before an icon that “This is Christ,’’ for even
though the icon is different from the one it represents, it can also truth­
fully be identified with that person.
This first iconophile defense o f the icon has therefore added a theo­
logical framework to the conditions that shaped the icon in the seventh
century. Developing out o f the cult o f primary and secondary relics, a
model arose for the extension o f holiness by touch. In the case o f the
icon, the form shared by the icon and its subject was considered a form
o f continuing contact, a re presentation in the fullest sense. A theologi­
cal apparatus supplemented this model. By invoking Trinitarian descrip-

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 TRUTH AND ECONOMY

tions o f the image, the first defenders o f the icon were able to offer a
description o f the icon that maintained the sense o f contact and commu­
nity that had been adopted from the cult o f relics. The use o f such terms
was intended to validate the existing sense o f full re presentation in the
icon and so to legitimate the claim to truthfulness raised by the identi­
fication o f the icon with its subject. In both these borrowed conceptuali­
zations the difference between original and copy remained unclear, sight
blurred by the presence o f touch.
The iconoclasts attacked the possibility o f truthfulness in iconic rep­
resentation when they defined the corporeal icon as being a “falsely
named’’ image. This critique attacked the weakness o f the first iconophile
argument by forcing consideration o f the terms used to define the re­
lationship between what is represented and how it is represented. In so
doing, the iconoclasts moved the debate toward a greater focus on the
medium — the icon itself. This iconoclastic critique o f the icon-as-
medium was shaped by a direct challenge to the economic argument
that the iconophiles had formulated. Two texts shape our understand­
ing o f this iconoclastic response. The first, known as the Enquiries and
composed by Emperor Constantine V (r. 741-75), is in a fragmentary
state, being preserved in a refutation drawn up by the Patriarch Nike­
phoros in the ninth century. It was probably composed in the years imme­
diately preceding 754.35 The second is the Definition drawn up by the
Council o f 754 and contained within the sixth and seventh sessions o f
the Seventh Ecumenical Council held at Nicaea in 787.
The starting point for these iconoclasts was an analysis o f the simple
statement that might be made before an icon: “This is an icon o f Christ”
(εικών τού Χριστού έ σ τ ι ).36 The phrase is the second option introduced
at the start o f this chapter. My quote is from the words that were put into
the mouth o f a fictional icon painter by the iconoclasts. In naming this
icon “Christ,” the iconoclasts claimed that the painter has proposed an
impossibility, that Christ can be represented in a material icon. This argu­
ment for the impossibility o f such an act was based upon a specific defini­
tion o f the term image, which interpreted the icon to be essentially the
same (όμοούσιον) as the one depicted,37 a point that ultimately derives
from the Pauline claim that Christ is the image of G o d.,K Furthermore,
it indicates that they, like John of Damascus, derived their conception

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o f the image from the Cappadocian’s essentialist model: a true image is

defined by its ability to re present the one depicted therein. The icono­
clasts, however, reached a different conclusion from this common under­
standing. They rejected the argument that the Trinitarian use o f the idea
o f the image provides an analogous validation o f the material icon.
Rather, as will be seen below, they argued that an icon is unable to meet
the criteria outlined for the image.
Before turning to this iconoclastic distinction between image and
icon, a second key term needs to be introduced. When Constantine V
wrote o f the icon, he argued that it circumscribed the one it represented.
In the iconoclast’s lexicon, circumscription (περιγραφή) “means to por­
tray the person ”39 and this “according to the attribute o f the flesh and
o f this alone .”40 This qualification o f the first definition is important.
Circumscription is a strong term that was also used by the iconophiles.
The broader reading o f the term that they give is instructive. For them,
circumscription encompassed the existence o f a being in time and space.41
A man standing this day in the street would be considered a circum­
scribed being. In applying the term to painting, the iconoclasts reiter­
ated the very full sense o f re presentation that derives from the Trinitarian
notion o f the image. They proposed that in representing a person, one
attends to things that exist in time and space, just as the product, the
icon, has the same claim to existence. This variation on the reading o f
community in representation becomes problematic when applied to
Christ. Christ’s person (here termed πρόσωπον) is dual and includes, in
its divine nature, a property that is uncircumscribable in itself and in its
depiction .42 The qualification offered insists upon this, by pointing out
that circumscription, defined by the limits o f time and space, attends
only to the flesh. It is, therefore, impossible to paint Christ in an icon.
It is worth expanding upon this last point by examining how Con­
stantine V applied the language o f Christology to question the possi­
bility o f Christian representation. When it is the essentialist image that
shapes the discourse on icons, the act o f calling an icon “ Christ” is to
claim that the icon is essentially the same as Christ. For the iconoclasts,
the truthfulness in representation that underlines this claim is made
problematic by the model, Christ, for the icon. Building from the ortho­
dox doctrine that Christ is one hypostasis in two natures, two wills, and

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 TRUTH AND ECONOMY

two energies, the iconoclasts asked how it was possible for an icon to
represent truthfully these two natures, wills, and energies .43 Given that
the divine nature is defined as being without any limits o f time or space
and therefore essentially uncircumscribable, it is impossible to claim that
the divine nature is representable in an icon. Either one represents only
the human nature, and therefore divides Christ, or one erroneously
claims to circumscribe the uncircumscribable divinity. Neither possibil­
ity can be said to represent an orthodox description o f Christ .44
The striking feature o f this argument is that it once again identifies
the enormous potential in representation that has been discussed in our
earlier chapters. The painted marks on the panel have become theologi­
cal texts, in which the manner in which Christ is shown has a direct cor­
relation with how Christ is. This definition gives to the icon the same
power as words in theological discourse, a point that has already been
established by the 82nd canon o f the Quinisext Council. It is this point
that the iconoclasts wished to resist, arguing that the icon is an inade­
quate medium for theology.45 Because o f the limitations o f the medium,
which are bound to the material boundaries o f space and time, the icon
cannot possibly represent that which it purports to represent. At best, it
has a nature similar to that o f humans. But this is insufficient for the rep­
resentation o f holy things, which are or have become participants in the
divine nature.
This reading o f the icon as a non-image is clarified by the icono­
clast’s assertion o f a model for the true image o f Christ: the bread and
wine o f the eucharist.46 The designation o f the eucharist as a true im­
age was proposed in Constantine’s Enquiries and adopted by the icono­
clastic Council o f 754.47 In both cases, the definition o f the eucharist as
a true image follows immediately after an examination o f the “ false”
claim that the icon can truly represent Christ. The key to the truthful­
ness o f the eucharist as icon lies in Christ’s declaration at the Last Supper
that “This is my body” (τούτο μού έστι τύ σώμα) and “This is my blood”
(τούτο μού έστι τό αιμα).48 This basic identification may be contrasted
with the painter’s claim concerning the painted icon that “This is Christ.
Unlike the painter, Christ was able to consecrate this material object,
making it into something holy. It is the act of consecration that makes
the icon divine flesh (θειον σώμα),49 transforming it from a thing made

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by human hands to a thing not made by human hands.50 The painter’s

icon remains “common and worthless” because o f this lack o f conse­
cration.51 The iconoclasts reasoned that the choice o f bread and wine
provides an appropriate model for material representation. It shares with
the one represented a common material nature, which in its transformed
formlessness becomes an adequate vehicle for the representation o f the
deified flesh and blood.52 Constantine endeavored to capture this by
qualifying the term icon. Above all, he defined the eucharist as a figure
(τύπος) and a form o f the body.53 Hence: “The bread which we take is
also an icon o f his body, having fashioned his flesh so that it becomes a
figure o f this body.” 54 The bread thus becomes the body. They do not
share a likeness o f contours; rather, Constantine has brought the idea
o f form very close to that o f nature.
The iconoclasts thus constructed dual paths to the definition o f the
true image. The first o f these built upon the notion that an image is es­
sentially the same as the one it represents. The second used the accepted
realist designation o f the eucharist to provide a material example o f this
first proposition. In both cases, truthfulness assumed a full identification
between portrait and portrayed. Given the complex nature o f Christ, it
is impossible within this structure for the icon to be a truthful portrayal.
The painted icon is falsely identified as an im age.55 It cannot say "This
is Christ” because it cannot properly represent all aspects o f the two na­
tures. This point has its origin in a notion o f representation that assumes
an essential as well as a formal identity between model and archetype.
The argument, intended to render the material icon impossible as a
medium for the knowledge o f holy things, was a direct reaction to the
defense o f icons elaborated around the theological claims made in canon
82, where the icon is clearly defined as a medium o f truth. The criticisms
outlined led both the iconoclasts and the iconophiles to define more
clearly the possibilities that they envisaged for material representations.
The iconoclasts did not reject the Incarnation, but they did question
the economic implications that were drawn from it by the iconophiles.
The iconophiles argued that the Incarnation changed the conditions for
the human knowledge o f God. Christ became visible in the flesh. This
basic fact made his representation in icons not only possible, but also
necessary. This necessity rested on the need to affirm the continuing

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saving link between man and God that the incarnate Christ embodied.
For the iconoclasts, the Incarnation was also a reality, but one that was
defined by a time and a place. An icon could not represent this event be­
cause the icon was inadequate to convey a being who was both human
and divine. Given the prevailing essentialist notion o f representation,
the iconoclasts were able to argue with precision that an icon was simply
unable to perform this task. It was this aspect o f the discussion, the truth­
fulness o f the icon, that became the predominant focus of iconoclasm and
that took this crisis beyond Christology per se. From this point, iconoclasm
became an investigation into how art may or may not show the Chris­
tian God. It became a battle over the possibility o f visual knowledge.

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 4

F I G U R E AND SIGN

o n e o f t h e p r i m a r y l o s s e s that followed from the iconophile vic­

tory in the debate over the limits o f Christian visual representation is
the iconoclasts’ own complete presentation o f their arguments. We de­
pend upon the fragmentary quotes that appear in iconophile refutations
for traces o f the iconoclastic position. Cast in a negative light, these frag­
ments become unworthy and illogical mutterings by reactionary and
conservative negators o f an iconophile tradition. It is true that the icono­
clasts appear to have staged an extraordinary rebellion against current
church practices. It is also possible, however, to speak more positively
o f the iconoclastic notion o f representation. In this chapter, I will pre­
sent the iconoclastic case. In so doing, I will show how they were able
to build an alternative model for Christian representation out o f exist­
ing traditions within Christian thought. The primary vehicle for this al­
ternative visual language was the figure o f the cross. In what follows, I
will focus on the fate o f this figure and on the terms that were applied
to it. Two terms are o f central importance to this discussion. These are
τύπος (here translated as figure ) and σημεΐον (here translated as sign).
Both have long histories and can be read and translated in a variety of
ways .1 Nonetheless, in what follows, I have limited my translations of
these terms to figure and sign in order to bring forward the very real con­
test over the use o f these words in relation to the iconoclast ’s cross.
When the iconoclasts removed the original image ot the Theotokos
and Child from the apse o f the Koimesis church at Iznik. they replaced

Opposite: Detail o f fig J "

83
 Fig. 24. Solidus o f Justinian I, 527-65. Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C.

Fig. 25. Solidus o f Tiberios II, 57 8 -8 2. Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C.

this corporeal image with a simple cross. The outlines o f the arms o f
this figure are clearly visible thanks to the broad sutures cut into the bed
o f the original mosaic (see fig. 20). This cross stood upon the same foot­
stool that had held the Theotokos and Child o f the first decoration. Re­
markably, these were the only elements of the original decoration replaced
in this manner. The angels o f the bema vault were simply erased with
gold tesserae (see figs. 21, 22), and the remainder o f the program stayed
in place.2 The hetoimasia; the hand o f God; the three concentric circles
o f blue showing the Trinity; the pink, gray, and green rays o f light; and
the inscription were retained (see figs. 20, 23). This very precise altera­
tion by the iconoclasts — displacing the Theotokos and Child with the
cross but retaining the fram ework — makes this cross a valuable point
o f departure for our exploration o f representation itself. It is the icono­
clasts’ adoption o f this framing material that is so significant because it
reveals the language o f iconoclastic representation.3
Long a potent symbol o f Christianity, the cross became the exclu­
sive icon o f the Christian faith under the iconoclasts.4 The imperial seals
o f this period replaced an image o f the Theotokos and Child with that
o f the cross.5 A new silver coin was introduced whose decoration was
focused upon the cross.6 When pre-iconoclastic decorations at Iznik and
Istanbul were replaced, the chosen image was that o f the cross.7 When

84
 Fig. 26. Crosses, 6th century. M osaic in the aisles, St. Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey

new programs o f decoration were established in Istanbul, Thessaloniki,

and Cappadocia, it was the cross that defined these new programs This .8
widespread use is a clear indication that the cross was a favored figure.
What is less apparent is the significance o f this favor.
Certainly, though the iconoclasts did not invent the extensive use o f
the cross, they did mark a new chapter in Christian representation in
their proposition that the cross should be the exclusive means of represent­
ing the Godhead.9 The cross had been, and continued to be, a prominent
aspect o f the Christian visual repertoire. It is telling that, in the century
preceding the outbreak o f iconoclasm, it was the cross that was most
frequently attacked by Jews and Moslems as the public sign o f Christian­
ity.10 We know o f Early Christian recommendations that the cross be
central to their programs o f decoration. For example, in a letter o f Nilos
o f Sinai to the prefect Olympiodoros written in the first decades o f the
fifth century, Nilos recommends that a single cross mark the conch of
the sanctuary.11 The cross had been the predominant image on the ob­
verse o f the imperial gold coinage since the later sixth century, when
Tiberios II replaced the pagan Nike with the Christian cross (figs. 24,
25) .12 St. Sophia in Istanbul, the central church o f Eastern Orthodoxy,
was decorated with crosses set into the golden mosaic o f its walls (fig.
26) 13
. At a simpler level we find crosses decorating monastic chapels and

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cells from this period.14 At a more commonplace level still, we find the
cross used to mark numerous objects o f everyday life.15 In addition, pec­
toral and liturgical crosses had become commonplace by this date.16 The
material evidence therefore indicates the prevalence o f the cross in church
decoration throughout the period prior to iconoclasm.
It is in the century preceding iconoclasm that we have the strongest
evidence o f the active promotion o f the cult o f the cross. A major de­
velopment in both the cult and its imperial connotations was the recovery
o f the relics o f the True Cross by the emperor Heraklios. The associa­
tion is particularly developed in George o f Pisidia’s poems that celebrate
Heraklios’s Persian campaigns.17 The return o f this relic to Jerusalem
and its subsequent journey to Constantinople led to the development
o f the Exaltation o f the Cross, a feast that gave a widespread liturgical
focus to the cross as a cult object.18 The cult, developed in sixth-century
Jerusalem and disseminated by pilgrimage souvenirs (see fig. 5) and narra­
tives,19 became more important in seventh-century Constantinople follow­
ing the transferal o f the relic from Palestine in the 630s.20 By the 670s an
elaborate rite had grown up around the relic.21 The numerous homilies
devoted to the cult o f the cross and written at this period indicate the
resonance and wide array o f connotations associated with the cross.22
The cross and its cult were, therefore, an available tradition to which
the iconoclasts could appeal. Material evidence for the use o f this tra­
dition can be found in the patriarchal rooms o f St. Sophia in Istanbul,
where sixth-century images o f saints were replaced by crosses in the
eighth century. The shape o f the cross used was a precise echo o f the
pre-iconoclastic sixth-century decoration found elsewhere in the church
(see figs, i, 26).23 This example is suggestive, with the repetition o f the
form constructing a continuity with the dominant local tradition. It is a
gesture that proclaims a conservative appeal within the revolutionary
act o f image destruction.
This sense o f continuity is reiterated in iconoclastic florilegia, which
promote texts advocating the use o f the cross in monumental deco­
ration. Am ong these are two that seem to ordain that only the cross can
function as a fit form o f decoration for a church. The first o f these texts
is attributed to Epiphanios o f Salamis, a fourth-century Cypriot bishop
whose writings were a key text for the iconoclasts:

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 F I GURI-: A N I ) S IG N

Which of the ancient fathers ever painted an image of Christ and

deposited it in a church or in a private house? Which of the an­
cient bishops ever dishonored Christ by painting him on door cur­
tains? Which one of them ever made an example and spectacle of
Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, Moses and the other prophets and
patriarchs, or Peter or Andrew or James or John or Paul or the other
apostles by painting them on curtains and walls?. . . Do you not
see, O most God-loving emperor, that this deed is not agreeable
to God? . . . hence the curtains, which may be found to bear in a
spurious manner likewise the images of the apostles and the
prophets and the Lord Christ himself should be gathered from
churches, baptisteries, houses, and martyria, and that you should
give them for the burial of the poor; those painted in colors on the
walls should be whitewashed; those set forth in mosaic, since their
removal is difficult, you know what to do thanks to the wisdom
granted you by God. If it is possible to remove them, well and
good; but if it proves impossible, let that which has already been
done suffice, and let no one paint in this manner henceforth. For
our fathers painted nothing except the sign (σημεΐον) of Christ,
the cross, both on their doors and elsewhere.24

This text was quoted at the iconoclastic Council o f 815. It comes from
a letter to Emperor Theodosios and was preserved in a refutation of this
council by Nikephoros. The message is clear. The cross is the only legiti­
mate Christian sign. Any other icon goes against this tradition and must
be removed.
The second text, an interestingly altered passage attributed to Nilos
o f Ankyra, reiterates this claim to a narrow tradition. The passage quoted
in the Council o f 815 reads; “ What you have spoken o f appears childish
and infantile. It will lead to wandering eyes and is more than sufficient
for a man of sound judgement. It is enough, according to ordained ecclesi­
astical tradition, for a cross to be inscribed in the sanctuary; for the whole
race o f man has been saved by the cross. The remainder of the house
should be whitewashed. 25 This iconoclastic text comes carefully edited.
The original did recommend that a cross be placed in the sanctuary, but
it also asked that the nave be filled with images from the Old and New

«7
 CHAPTER 4

Testaments.26 The tradition that these texts wish to promote complies

with the iconoclastic aesthetic, namely that the church be decorated by
the cross alone. That the iconoclasts were able to construct such a tradition
implies that one should be wary o f assuming that any decoration focused
upon the cross alone is “iconoclastic,” as clearly there was an available
material and literary tradition that had already made the cross a viable
form o f Christian decoration .27 What the iconoclasts did was to exploit
this and use it to shape a claim to an exclusive value for the cross.
The predominant reading o f the iconoclasts’ cross is one that corre­
lates the promotion o f the cross with the promotion o f the imperial
polity. The first decades o f the eighth century witnessed a procession o f
emperors and usurpations. With the erosion o f Byzantium’s military
and economic strength in the face o f the Islamic assaults o f this period,
the empire seemed on the point o f collapse. Yet Leo Ill’s historic defense
o f Constantinople when besieged by the Islamic forces in 717 appeared
to mark a turning o f the tide, opening the way to a period o f imperial
renewal. It is possible to consider the condemnation o f the cult o f icons
an aspect o f the resulting broad spectrum o f reforms.28 In the context
o f this renewal, the cross might be understood both as a manifestation
o f imperial victory and as an evocation o f the age o f Constantine the
Great, becoming the visible trace o f the politics o f a “return” to a Constan-
tinian age that represents a purified primitive and triumphant Christian
imperialism.29 W hat remains to be seen is the exact nature o f the corre­
lation o f the cross and iconoclasm.
The link between the cross and imperial victory was made in sev­
eral prominent locations. For example, one line in a poem written for
the cross on the ceremonial Chalke Gate o f the imperial palace in Constan­
tinople states: “ Behold the great rulers have inscribed it as a victory­
bringing figure.” Similarly, changes in the iconography o f imperial coinage
under Leo III disseminate the idea o f the victory-bringing cross. In the
course o f his reign he introduced the silver miliaresion (fig. 27). This
new issue framed the cross with the latinized Greek legend: ihsus christus
nica (Jesus Christ Victory). This type was continued by Constantine V
and remained in use into the second half o f the tenth century.30 This
iconographie innovation makes more explicit the implicit connection
between the cross and victory that had been introduced to the coinage

88
 Fig. 27 . Miliaresion o f Leo III and Constantine V, 72 0 -4 1.

Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C.

in the late sixth century. Emperor Tiberios II (578-82) replaced the tra­
ditional Roman symbol o f victory, the winged Nike, found on the re­
verse o f the imperial coinage (see fig. 24) with an image o f the cross
mounted on four steps (see fig. 25). To underline the notion o f imperial
victory continued under a Christian guise, Tiberios’s issue and those o f
his successors displayed the cross accompanied by the Latin inscription:
VictoHa Augg [augustorum] (imperial victory). This type was to remain
standard throughout the seventh century, until the reforms o f Justin­
ian II (685-95 and 705-11), and was revived under Justinian’s successors,
including Leo III.
From the evidence o f coinage, it can be seen that the cross was an
important imperial symbol evoking the idea o f divinely inspired impe­
rial victory. This role had existed prior to the iconoclastic emperors, and
it survived them. Therefore, the use o f the cross need not imply an icono­
clastic disposition. Indeed, even in the case o f Leo Ill’s miliaresion there
is little need to identify it with nascent iconoclasm. It is probable that
this issue was first released, and continued to be released, on the occa­
sion o f the coronation o f a co-emperor. Constantine V was elevated in
720, a date that perhaps speaks to an exploration o f the existing tradition
o f victory imagery in relation to this name, rather than an early advo­
cacy o f an iconoclastic cult o f the cross.31 Furthermore, a second inno­
vation in the coinage raises questions in regard to any link between the
visual language o f the imperial polity and the promotion o f the cross
as an iconoclastic icon. When the miliaresion was introduced, it adapted
thé cruciform iconography o f the gold solidus. The gold solidus itself
then underwent a significant iconographie alteration. Rather than show­
ing the cross on one side o f the coin and an imperial portrait on the

89
 Fig. 28. Solidus o f Constans II, 663-68. Whittemore Collection,

Harvard University A rt Museums, Cambridge, Massachusetts

other, the new gold solidus had imperial portraits on both the obverse
and the reverse. Only Constans II in the mid-seventh century had cre­
ated a similar dynastic issue (fig. 28). Leo Ill’s changes in the imperial
iconography should make us ask whether the removal o f icons in this
society was to make space for an increased imperial visual repertoire
based upon the imperial portrait and the cult o f the cross. In the realm
o f these coins, the cross itself is removed from the gold solidus. Atten­
tion is drawn to the imperial dynasty rather than the cross as the sym­
bolic mediator o f divine victory.32
But if the iconoclastic use o f the cross cannot be defined simply as
an extension o f an existing political symbol, then it becomes jiecessary
to investigate the terms by which the iconoclasts in fact defined this
figure. The relevant material is remarkably sparse, given the iconoclasts’
special devotion to the cross. For example, the Definition o f the icono­
clastic Council held in 754 does not mention the cross.33 The only sig­
nificant statement from the first phase o f iconoclasm comes from the
mid-eighth-century Enquiries written by Emperor Constantine V 34 The
emperor states: “We bow down before the figure o f the cross because
o f him who was stretched out upon it.” 35 Similar statements are found
in iconophile literature. For example, in the fifth book o f Leontios o f
N eapolis’s mid-seventh-century treatise against the Jew s, the author
states that “ I worship the figure (of the cross) because o f Christ who
was crucified on it.” 36 This text was quoted by John o f Damascus in the
florilegia o f his Three Orations37 and was also quoted at the Seventh Ecu­
menical Council.38 This common understanding leads to there being
very little criticism or discussion o f the iconoclasts’ policy on the cross
in the iconophile literature. This allowed the iconophiles to use the cross
as an analogy for icon worship, suggesting that it is the likeness o f the

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 FI G U RB A N D SIGN

cross to its model that allows one to worship it. ’1' For example, in a scho-
lion found in the florilegia o f his first and second orations, John of Damas­
cus asks: “ If therefore we worship the figure o f the cross which is an
icon o f the cross made from whatever material, how can we not worship
the icon o f the crucified?”40
This scholion raises a crucial issue — namely, whether the iconic
representation o f Christ was in fact a more appropriate means o f rep­
resenting the Passion than the cross alone. For example, John expands
upon his scholion in the second o f his Three Orations:

If I worship and honor the cross and the lance and the reed and
the sponge, by which the Jewish murderers of God mocked and
killed my Lord, as the cause of salvation, shall I not worship icons
prepared for a good end by the faithful for the glory and commemo­
ration of the sufferings of Christ? If I worship the icon of the cross
prepared from any kind of matter, shall I not worship the icon of
the crucified one who has revealed the saving cross? Obviously
I do not worship matter: for if it should happen that the figure of
the cross which has been prepared from wood should be ruined,
I would consign the wood to the fire, and likewise with icons.41

The comparison between the cross and the Crucifixion was perhaps an
issue for the iconoclasts. For although the Horos o f the Council held in
754 says nothing specifically o f the cross, it does hint at a problem in the
corporeal representation o f the Crucifixion. In the following passage,
the clerics at this council appear to criticize the icon o f the Crucifixion:
“ If, therefore, at the Passion the divinity remained inseparable from them
[the soul and body o f Christ], how can these insane and completely un­
reasonable men divide the flesh that had been interwoven with the di­
vinity and deified by attempting to paint a mere man?” 42 This text is
framed by the Christological theses that governed this council, such that
the Crucifixion discussed here serves as a further instance o f the icono­
clasts’ case that painting can address only the human in Christ and there­
fore does damage to the fullness of the Incarnation.
The richest body o f iconoclastic material on the cross is a series of
five poems written for the cross that was placed on the Chalke Gate in

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815.43 The significance o f these and o f this location reaches back to before
the official onset o f iconoclasm in 730, when, in a letter to Thom as o f
Claudiopolis, Patriarch Germanos speaks o f the emperors installing an
image o f the cross on the Chalke Gate: “And again, have not our emperors
themselves, most pious and Christ-loving in all things, erected a monu­
ment, verily, o f their own love o f God — I mean the image (εικόνα) in
front o f the palace, on which they have represented the likenesses (τάς
ιδέας) o f the apostles and the prophets, and written down their utter­
ances about the Lord — thus proclaiming the cross o f salvation (τόν
σωτήριον σταυρόν) to be the proud ornament o f their faith.” 44 This text
tells us that shortly before the onset o f official iconoclasm, the emper­
ors Leo III and Constantine V set up an image o f the cross accompanied
both by apostolic and prophetic images and by texts on the cross. Given
that these human forms were deployed, this image appears to represent
a celebration o f the cross rather more than a declaration o f an icono­
clastic policy in which we might expect that any corporeal representa­
tion would be impossible. Following the Seventh Ecumenical Council,
an image o f Christ was set up at the Chalke Gate, probably by Empress
Irene, in the period 7 97-8 0 2.45 Epigrams were written by Theodore o f
Stoudios to accompany this icon. By the time Leo V reestablished an
iconoclastic policy in 815, he had replaced Irene’s image with a cross.46
It is this cross that was accompanied by a series o f five acrostic poems
that constitute our fullest iconoclastic texts on the cross and allow us to
consider the potential meanings o f the cross for an iconoclastic audience.
The possible arrangement for these texts was one in which they
framed the central m otif o f the cross.47 A single anonymous poem was
placed beneath the cross itself, while four signed poems were arranged
in pairs to either side. I will begin by introducing each o f the five texts.
The first o f them is the poem placed beneath the cross. It offers the sim­
plest point o f the five epigrams:

The Lord does not tolerate that Christ be depicted

(γράφεσθαι)
as a form (είδος) voiceless and bereft of breath
in earthly matter, which is condemned by the scriptures.
Leo, with his son the new Constantine,

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marks the thrice-blessed figure (τύπον) of the cross,

the glory of believers, set up on the gates.48

The text offers the cross as an alternative figure to the material depiction
o f Christ that had been in this location. It does this by evoking the lan­
guage o f Old Testament condemnations o f idols, characterizing them
as having no breath and being without voice.49 This use o f the language
o f idolatry remained a persistent point of departure throughout the his­
tory o f iconoclasm .50 The text also proposes an opposition between
form and figure. It is this condemnation o f lifeless matter that is devel­
oped in the remaining iconoclastic poems from this location.
The second poem is ascribed to John:51

They who speak of God depict Christ in gold

(χρυσογραφοΰσι)
in the voice of the prophets, not seeing the things below.
For being eloquent is the hope of those who believe in God,
they clearly crush as God-hated
the return to error of the makers of images.
Agreeing with this, those who wear the diadem
gloriously raise high the cross, inspired by a pious resolution.52

The return to error o f the image makers is a reference to the idolatry

o f the first poem. It is contrasted with the hope offered by eloquence.
This then is fashioned into praise for the words o f the prophets, their
voices, which are depicted (literally “ written” ) in gold. This praise of
verbal testimony is noteworthy for the point that the prophets are identi­
fied as those “not seeing the things below” — that is, the material world.
This antimaterialistic text then brings the cross into the compass of verbal
witness by linking the setting up o f the cross at this site to the chrysog-
raphy o f the prophets. We are asked to understand that the figure o f the
cross is equivalent to verbal testimony and that it stands in opposition
to the material witness offered by images. The cross may be visual, but
it operates in a manner that differs from the functioning o f mere ma­
terial images. This strong antithesis o f word and image is typical o f the
rhetoric o f second iconoclasm.55

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The third poem is attributed to Ignatios:54

O Logos, in order to strengthen the piety of those below,

and to show a clear and more complete knowledge
of yourself,
you gave a law that only the cross be depicted.
You disown being pictured on the walls here
by means of
material artifice, as clearly now as before.
Behold, the great rulers have inscribed
it as a victory-bringing figure.55

This text is addressed to the Logos. As such, it maintains the theocentric

language o f all the iconoclastic texts at this site. The poem also reiter­
ates the opposition o f the cross and material depictions when it points
to a law that allows the depiction o f the cross while denying depiction
on the walls by means o f “ material artifice” (τεχνικής ύλης). It devel­
ops this opposition into an argument that the cross is the appropriate
means o f showing “ a clear and more complete knowledge” (γνώσίν τε
την σήν έμφανή δ είξη ς πλέον) o f the Logos. Such a conception might
surprise us, if we assumed that the cross was understood to operate in
an entirely symbolic economy. W hat this text highlights is the point that
the iconoclasts were primarily concerned with defining a means o f rep­
resenting a transcendent Godhead.
The fourth poem is that o f Sergios:

Clearly Moses destroyed the leaders by this figure,

prevailing over the enemy. Now the cross, the glory
of the faithful,
has stemmed the mighty current of deceit.
For the soulless artificial form inscribed here,
devised as a hidden weapon by an illicit impulse,
has been completely taken away.
For it is appropriate to discern Christ in this way.56

The poem refers to the replacement o f an image by the sign o f the cross.

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The cross is licensed by the typological reference to Moses.57 The re­

placed image is condemned for being “ soulless” (ψυχόλεθρον) and for
being born o f an illicit reason, perhaps referring to the Seventh Ecu­
menical Council.58 Once again, the cross is deemed the most appropri­
ate means by which to “discern” (νοεΐν) Christ.
The fifth text is an epigram attributed to Stephanos:

O Logos, you gave us for our salvation the cross,

the life-giving figure of the Passion,
support of the faithful, and object of divine reverence.
O Logos, you removed the erroneous icon
that was previously shamefully inscribed here.
For this law is fit for all to keep thoughtfully,
to reverence that very object nailed upon which you
brought salvation.59

This text is notable for its insistent address to the Logos. It also main­
tains a somewhat ambiguous position for the cross, as the cross is both
a figure for the Passion and the cross o f the Crucifixion itself. This lack
o f differentiation brings forward a problematic and unresolved element
in iconoclastic discourse, namely this elision o f the True Cross (the relic)
and crosses made in its image.
Read together, these texts reveal various themes that operate as re­
frains. First, the cross is always referred to by the term τύπος, or figure;
as we shall see, the use o f this term was much disputed by the iconophiles.
This same term is used by Anastasios o f Sinai to define the illustration
o f the Crucifixion that accompanies his refutation o f Theopaschism.60
It is also a term that introduces the category o f images rejected by canon
82.61 The value o f the term is brought forward by the response to Ste­
phanos’s Chalke Gate poem written by Theodore o f Stoudios:

On the one hand, the Logos has indeed given the cross to us for
salvation as a support of the faithful and as an object of divine ven­
eration, this is clear to all. On the other hand it docs not follow
that this is the life-giving figure (τύπος) ol the Passion O loqua­
cious one. For how in the design (σχήματι ) of the cross is Christ

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to be figured (τυπωθήσεται) being arrested, being bound, being

beaten, festering, being crucified, being speared, or some other
happening? Not in any way at all. For the cross signifies Christ, it
does not figure him (σημαίνεν γάρ Χριστόν ό σταυρός, ού τύποι).
Hence it is also called a sign (σημεΐον) in holy scripture. It says that
Moses made the serpent as a sign (σημείου). This is for the cross.
But a sign is one thing and a figure is another (άλλ' ούν σημεΐον
καί έτερον τύπος). Hence the morning star only signifies (σημαίνει)
the day, while the sun itself figures (τύποι) when it shows (δείκνυσι)
the day. This then is how Christ is signified (σημαινόμενος) in the
cross, even as he is himself figured in icons (έν . . . είκόνι τυπού-
μενος). For the archetype is manifest in the icon (έν γάρ τή είκόνι
τό αρχέτυπον έμφαίνεται), as the divine Dionysios says.62 And in­
deed the icon (είκών) and the figure (τύπος) have been spoken of
by him and other fathers in a comparable manner. Clearly Christ’s
icon (είκών) is the life-giving figure (τύπος) of the Passion; which
you wish to conceal, not wishing to have this revealed. The figure
of the cross is the signifier of these things (ό δέ τού σταυρού τύπος,
ή τούτων σημασία). If therefore the signifier (ή σημασία) is the
support of the faithful and veneration, then how much greater [a
support of the faithful and veneration] is the representation in the
work of the icon (ή έκτυπωτική είκονουργία). This therefore is
really the true discourse. Not the false argument offered by you.63

The text is complex, but goes directly to the idea o f figure. Theodore de­
ploys a twofold strategy in relation to this term. First he argues that the
iconoclasts’ use o f the term in relation to the cross is inappropriate. The
form o f the cross cannot show the historical Christ. Indeed, it is better
conceived as a sign, a term that belongs to the discourse o f Old Testa­
ment préfiguration. These signs are absolutely arbitrary in relation to
that which they indicate. Second, the term figure is properly treated as
an aspect o f the term icon. Any figure becomes manifest in the icon. The
figure is thus directly connected to the icon, coming before it. Theodore
then privileges the icon because, implicitly, it is the final manifestation
o f that which is potential in the cross.
If we turn to Theodore’s Three Refutations o f the iconoclasts, we

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find similar notions in play. Theodore’s basic tactic in his addresses to

the cross is to use it as a model from which to establish comparisons with
the icon. For example, in chapter 23 o f the second Refiitation, he explores
the relation o f icon and figure: “For what is better as a paradigm for the
icon (εικών) o f Christ than the figure (τύπος) o f the cross, since the icon
bears the same resemblance (έμφερείας) as the representation (έκτύ-
πωμα)? We can as readily speak o f the icon o f the life-giving cross as o f
a figure o f the same, and o f Christ’s figure as well as o f his icon. For in
terms o f etymology, εικών derives from έοικός and έοικός means like­
ness (ομοιον). Likeness has been perceived, spoken of, and beheld in
both the figure and the icon.” 64 Theodore here underlines the point that
he considers figure and icon to be interchangeable terms. He uses this in­
terchangeability to argue that the beliefs held regarding the cross as a
form o f representation must also apply to the icon. This is a point that
the token iconoclast within Theodore’s text consistently rejects, argu­
ing that icon and figure are distinct terms.65 This rejection is not taken up
by Theodore, in part because it reveals the different patterns o f thought
that at times would make these dialogues impossible. W hat Theodore
leaves us with is his need to maintain figure and icon as equivalents. In so
doing, he sought to give to the iconoclasts the term sign and condemned
their form o f representation as belonging to a past time.66
The use o f the term figure needs to be read alongside the use o f the
Logos as the primary person addressed by the iconoclastic poems at the
Chalke Gate. In using this term, the iconoclasts emphasized the Trini­
tarian discourse that shaped their image theory.67 The issue is identified
by Theodore o f Stoudios in his refutation of Stephanos’s poem. Theodore
writes: “The bastard is shameful, but not the legitimate child. This is
outside o f its nature, not according to its nature. If therefore there was
an icon o f the pre-incarnate Logos, it is not only shameful, but also wholly
extraordinary to place the unincarnate Logos in the flesh: it resembles
nothing, while all icons resemble man. Hence God has said this: ‘With
what likeness have you compared me? Indeed this is idolatry, which he
has clearly himself ordained.”68 Theodore then proceeds to argue for
the post-incarnation representation o f Christ. Interestingly, he does not
use Logos again in this passage, using Christ for the post-incarnate God.
As such, he discloses the significance o f the iconoclasts consistent use

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o f the term Logos. This is most clearly indicated in the poem by Igna-
tios, where the strongest claim for the value o f the cross as a means o f
showing the Logos is made when he states that the cross makes avail­
able “a clear and more complete knowledge” (γνώσίν τε την σήν έμφανή
δείξης πλέον) o f the Logos.
The deployment o f Logos and figure together indicates that the icono­
clasts refused a role for the Incarnation in representation. Both terms
are used by the iconoclasts to propose a vocabulary that is theocentric.
The poems underline this by a fiercely antimaterialist tone. The cross is
opposed to the icon, which is condemned for its “ material artifice” and
“earthly matter.” It is the “ things below” that distract the viewer from
an appropriate knowledge o f a transcendent Godhead. This antimateri­
alist bias is developed into a position that privileges the logocentric dis­
course o f the Old Testament. Most notably, the poem by John begins:
“They who speak o f God depict Christ in gold (χρυσογραφούσι) in the
voice o f the prophets, not seeing the things below.” It announces a theo­
centric emphasis by stating that “they who speak o f G od” turn to verbal
discourse when they speak o f Christ. Furthermore, this discourse has
its basis in the “voice o f the prophets.” This logocentric turn then con­
cludes with a rejection o f earthly or material things (“the things below” ).69
In order to develop this reading o f the iconoclasts’ cross, there is a
second key text that should be brought into play. This is the lengthy com ­
parison o f the cross and the Crucifixion found in the third Antirrhetikos
written by Patriarch Nikephoros. Here, Nikephoros offers ten compari­
sons between the cross and the Crucifixion that begin from the same
assumption o f a greater value for likeness that had been raised in Theo­
dore’s text. At the same time, Nikephoros applies the term figure to both
the cross and Christ’s body. To do this, the patriarch must maintain quali­
fications for the term. These may be defined as the symbolic figure for
the cross and the iconic figure for the body.70 The whole text reads:

We will therefore take as a point of departure the matter of like­

ness, since the icon also has this:
i. On the one hand, the icon (ή εΐκών) of Christ is his likeness
(ομοίωμα), and resembles his flesh, and depicts for us the figure of
his flesh (τώ σώματι αυτού προσέοικε, καί τον τύπον τού σώματος

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αυτού ήμΐν υπογράφει), and disseminates (διασημαίνει) by pro­

nouncing his form and the manifold path of imitation the manner
of acting or of teaching or of suffering. While the figure (τύπος)
of the cross does not resemble him in the flesh, nor does it show
us the things that have just been mentioned, such that that which
is like is closer and more appropriate than that which is unlike.
Thanks to likeness, one can better know. Thanks to this, the icon
of Christ is more worthy of honor, for being more appropriate and
more knowable. It happens that the figure of the cross is honored
and venerated by us, but, as I have said, the icon of Christ is more
deserving of honor and veneration.
2. On the one hand, Christ’s icon first and immediately, di­
rectly and at first glance, manifests his form to us and sets forth
the memory of him, for he is rendered in this as in a mirror darkly.
The cross is not like this, for when looking at the cross, in the first
instance the mind is drawn to appearances (το φαινόμενον). Then
do we consider what it is, and consider how and by what it is
sanctified, and thus only in the second instance do we turn to him
who was crucified and sanctified this. While the first instance brings
one to something, and first makes it knowable, only the second
makes it worthy of honor. It follows that the icon of Christ is more
worthy of honor than the honorable cross.
3. It follows that all those of intelligence agree that that which
sanctifies is better than that which is sanctified. Indeed, the apos­
tolic argument states that “there is no possible counterargument,
the inferior is blessed by the superior.” If then the flesh of Christ
has sanctified the cross, when it was touched by his being stretched
upon it, and through this he gave sanctification to us also, the cross
is sanctified by him. The prototypes are more honorable, and them­
selves are more worthy of honor. As one has two figures, and the
figure of the honorable cross has been sanctified, then the figure
of the sanctifying body is even more worthy of honor.
4. Both the figure of the stretched-out hands of Christ and this
design (σχήματος) are venerable. But the flesh differs from the de­
sign, just as that which derives from a thing differs from it. For the
préfigurations are more worthy of honor, and deserve honor for

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themselves. For the design and the stretching out derive from the
body. The body does not have its origin in the design. For the flesh
is essence and subject, the design is accident and subsequence.
Thus, being essence, it is superior to the accident. Hence, the design
is because of the body, just as knowledge is because of the soul.
Thus, while one might say of the body that it has been designated,
no one of sound mind would say that the design has become in­
carnate. For thus one might say that the body has been colored,
and not that the color is the flesh, or that the color has become in­
carnate. And hence the figure of the body is more worthy of honor
than the figure of the design.
5. The cross brings us Christ’s Passion in a manner that is simple
(άπλούν) and colorless (άποίκιλον). It is more difficult for the peas­
ants to understand a symbol (σύμβολον) of the Passion. The sacred
forms (ιερά μορφώματα) not only describe (διαγράφουσιν) the
Passion in subtle colors, but also disseminate (διασημαίνουσι) to
us in a manner that is clearer and more complete the miracles and
deeds that Christ has performed. It follows that those things that
manifest these wondrous deeds more clearly are more honorable
and more praiseworthy.
6. The cross is a symbol (σύμβολόν) of the Passion, and the
means by which one can allude to the endless suffering of the Pas­
sion. What else would one want than “Take your cross and follow
me," once one has been pierced by the fear o f the Lord, and has
renounced the vanities of the world, and thence to bear this en­
tirely out of love for him? Thus, also one who bears Christ’s stig­
mata in the flesh, and who raises his thoughts to the enormity of
his Passion saying, “ I will not come to glory except by the cross of
our Lord Jesus Christ.” It is the Crucifixion that is described to us
in these texts, which is the Passion of Christ. The icon of his suffer­
ing is a seal and likeness; is not that which describes him himself
more appropriate and praiseworthy than that which manifests that
which is outside and beyond him? Thus, the icon which manifests
Christ himself to us is more praiseworthy than the cross which
shows us the manner of his suffering.
7. The name of Christ is considered homonymous (όμωνύμως)

ioo
 FIG UR H D SIGN

with Christ’s icon. For one speaks of Christ in the same manner,
just as with the emperor and the emperor’s icon. It is impossible
to consider the cross in this way. For no one in his right mind can
speak of Christ and the cross in the same manner. For that which
pertains to the name itself is already common to the figure of the
body and is worthy of more honor than that which does not per­
tain. The icon is more honorable than the figure of the cross.
8. Cause precedes effect, especially the productive cause. That
which precedes is more worthy of honor than that which does not
precede. Because the Passion of the body of Christ is the cause of
the figure of the cross, the body is at the origin of the figure, and
the icon of the body of Christ, as the productive cause, is more
worthy of honor than the figure of the cross.
9. That which exists on account of something else, is inferior
to that through which it comes into existence. If therefore the cross
exists on account of the body of Christ, it is the same for the figures
that derive from these, which transmit the inferiority of the figure
of the cross. It has been shown by various means that while this
sign o f the life-bringing cross is honored by us, it is the icon of
Christ according to the logical proofs invoked and a careful analy­
sis that is more worthy of honor. Such that whoever professes to
honor the cross should also honor the icon of the Lord. And if this
is not honored, then the former should by no means be.
10. We see in many places the Crucifixion of the Lord described
(διαγεγραμμένην) in icons (and of course this is analogous to the
deed in the manner in which it happened, the body suspended and
the hands stretched out and pierced by nails) by which is described
(υπογράφεται) to us the most wonderful of all miracles, and through
which has been preserved the most gracious saving Passion of
Christ. Given this, the enemies of Christ’s cross are necessarily able
to do one of two things. Either they worship the cross, and there­
fore worship the icon along with it, if they do not wish to dissolve
their confession. Or, having destroyed the icon, they also destroy
the cross.71

In his use o f an opposition between Crucifixion iconography and the

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cross, Nikephoros is able to expand upon some o f the themes found in

Theodore o f Stoudios’s response to the iconoclastic epigrams. In the
first place, Nikephoros considers the icon to be more worthy o f venera­
tion because it shows the more honorable subject. Christ’s body is that
which gives value to the form o f the cross. If one refuses veneration o f
the body, then one renders meaningless any veneration o f that which
depends upon this body, namely the cross. Furthermore, the iconic figure
is superior to the symbolic figure in making knowledge available. The
icon, because o f a common likeness and name, leads directly to that
which it represents, whereas the symbol is indirect.
This series o f comparisons presents a case that is very similar to that
offered by Theodore o f Stoudios. In both cases, these iconophiles wish
to preserve an iconic value for the figure, while describing the icono­
clastic visual economy as symbolic. Faced with a dilemma wherein they
must critique the iconoclasts’ devotion to the cross while preserving the
legitimacy o f this traditional Christian sign, these iconophiles are forced
to establish a hierarchy based on difference. The term — explicit in Nike­
phoros and implicit in Theodore — that mediates and defines this hier­
archy is likeness. Exploiting the iconoclasts’ correlation o f the cross and
the Passion, they privilege Christ’s body as the key to the Passion and
therefore the true origin o f the representation o f the Passion. While the
cross is a legitimate figure o f this, the icon is the necessary point o f de­
parture. One crucial aspect o f this negotiation, with its construction o f
a hierarchy in representation, is the analysis o f language. The term that
concerns both o f our iconophile writers is τύπος, here translated asfigure.
Both offer readings o f the meaning o f this term that they grant to the
iconoclasts. Theodore argues that it would be more appropriate to treat
the iconoclastic definition o f representation as a sign. He gives the ex­
ample o f the morning star and the sun as means o f representing the day.
The morning star can indicate the day but is distinct from it, in that there
is no necessary relation between the two. In comparison, the sun is a
figure o f the day, as it precedes our knowledge o f the day, making the
day itself possible. This argument seeks to keep the tie between figure
and icon within the orthodox fold, so that the figure necessarily leads to
the icon .72 Nikephoros extends this argument but does not refuse the
term figure to the iconoclasts; instead, he offers a symbolic reading o f

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their use o f that term. The figure of the cross, while legitimate, is a pale
shadow o f the icon, which can command likeness. Both men strive to
change the language by implying that the iconoclasts’ cross is symbolic
or operates as a sign. Both terms serve to introduce a pause, a gap between
the cross and that to which it refers. In so arguing, they have bequeathed
to us a way o f viewing these crosses that has been applied to the icono­
clastic texts themselves.73
We need therefore to consider why these iconoclastic texts insist
upon the term τύπος and to understand the value that they attribute to
it. As Theodore points out, the term is an equivalent o f icon, and as such
it represents something. Nikephoros also uses the term as an equivalent
to the iconic. W hat needs to be underlined is that the iconoclasts also
shared this iconic notion o f the figure as representing something. As we
have seen, the iconoclastic notion o f iconic representation is modeled
upon the eucharist, in which the declaration “This is my body” produces
an essentially identical, yet formally distinct, icon. The iconoclasts’ cross
should be understood in the same light. It ought, therefore, to be distin­
guished from the category o f the symbolic, as this is not just essentially
but also formally distinct from that which it shows. In our iconoclastic
texts, we can see that the cross is not simply a representation o f the cross
itself. Rather, it is also, as Constantine V puts it, a representation o f him
who was crucified on it. For iconophiles, such a declaration amounts to
an admission o f a symbolic order o f representation. But for the icono­
clasts, this claim is a more literal reading o f what the cross shows. For
them, the one represented is the Logos.
In the last chapter we noted that the iconoclasts resisted the con­
tinuance o f the historical Incarnation, preferring to privilege the divine
in Christ. In the Chalke Gate poems we find the same thesis when they
speak o f the cross as a clearer and more appropriate representation of
the Logos. Such a claim must rest upon a notion o f the object o f repre­
sentation as something other than the body of Christ. They do not in­
tend to introduce a symbolic or signifying economy o f representation.
These are terms given them by the iconophiles. Rather, they have cho­
sen a term that is appropriate to a noncorporeal form of representation
o f a noncorporeal subject. In insisting upon the term τύπος, they return
us to the language o f canon 82 of the Quinisext Council. There the term

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was rejected, as it had connotations o f the pre-Incarnational. It is ap­

parent that in their use o f the term, the iconoclasts are exploring this
form o f aniconic figuration.
From the evidence o f these poems — our lengthiest iconoclastic
discussions o f the cross — it is apparent that the iconoclasts gave great
value to the figure o f the cross. One may simply suggest that this was
the best available “aniconic” or “nonfigurative” sign within the Chris­
tian tradition. The selection might then be considered relatively unre­
markable; after all, what else would we expect o f iconoclasts? But it
should be noted that the cross was already a powerful and multivalent
sign for the Christian community. Its potential meanings and values were
various — and certainly too numerous to list here. Given this, these
iconoclastic texts are remarkable, in that they have read this sign in very
narrow terms. They have used the “ aniconic” quality o f the sign to de­
velop an antimaterialist theory o f appropriate Christian representation.
Its value now conditioned by its opposition to the material, the cross has
become akin to verbal discourse. We might say that in offering this theo-
centric and antimaterialistic argument, the iconoclasts wished, if such
a distinction can be made, to define Christian representation by the need
to show the Logos rather than Christ.
These two interpretations as to what the cross makes known offer
fundamentally different conceptions for the representation o f the Chris­
tian God. On the one hand, the iconoclastic text proposes that what the
Christian seeks in representation is a sign o f the transcendent Godhead.
To show Christ by material means would cloud this image o f the divine,
lowering it to the level o f the earthly, and confusing our witness o f this
deity. Thus only the cross, which has been defined as a nonmaterial,
quasiverbal type, can be considered an appropriate means o f showing
the Logos. On the other hand, the iconophile Nikephoros argues that
the cross itself is insufficient. In calling the cross a symbol, he gives it
secondary status. He argues that once one has looked at the cross itself,
it is necessary to ask o f what it is a symbol. The question is framed by
an assumption shared by both parties, namely, that the cross is not simply
showing itself (the True Cross, for example) but is showing something
else. For the iconoclasts, this was the Logos; for the iconophiles, it was
Christ, the incarnate Logos.

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If we return to the Koimesis church at Nicaea, we can now see how

it was possible for the cross to be inserted into the pre-existing program
(see fig. 20). The cross was a direct replacement o f the Theotokos and
Child. In the original program they had functioned to demonstrate the
entry o f one member o f the Trinity into visibility through the inter­
vention o f the Theotokos’s body in the Incarnation. In order to make
this point, the apse presented a rich image o f the Trinity. This began
with the hand o f God and the three concentric bands o f shades o f blue.
Emerging from these traditional representations o f the Godhead and
the Trinity were three rays o f light, one o f gray, one o f green, and one
o f pink. The central one o f these rested upon the halo o f the Theotokos
and Child, with small silver tesserae and the concave shape o f the ray
forming a perfect point o f contact with the halo. The same system is
used for the other rays, but no body is found beneath these. An inscrip­
tion runs through the rays: “ I begot thee in the womb before the morn­
ing star.” This is a statement o f theology, expressing the existence o f the
Godhead before time. It is a mark o f the eternal divine in the incarnate
and historical Christ. This abstract and verbal expression of the Trinitarian
Godhead was retained by the iconoclasts; they simply chose to replace
the icon o f the Incarnation with the aniconic figure o f the cross.
The apse mosaic at Nicaea offers a potent demonstration o f the
different conceptions o f representation pursued by the iconophiles and
the iconoclasts. For the iconophiles, the origin o f Christian representa­
tion lies in the Incarnation and Christ’s body. The original apse program
offered a change o f visual language, from the symbolic to the iconic,
reflecting the move from themes drawn from the pre-Incarnational to
the post-Incarnational. This is an iconic economy licensed by the 82nd
canon o f the Quinisext Council. For the iconoclasts, the altered program
offered a more consistent language, in which abstract figuration pro­
vided an appropriate form o f representation of a subject that was not
bound by the corporeal limits explored by the iconophiles.

05
 5

FORM AND LIK ENESS

On the lordly portrait (τού χαρακτήρος) of our Lord Jesus Christ

(only in so far as the ancient historians have written of him): good
height, knitted eyebrows, beautiful eyes, long nose, curly hair, bent,
good complexion, with a dark beard, the color of ripe wheat, resem­
bling the form (τώ είδει) of his mother, long-fingered, sweet-voiced,
sweet-spoken, most gentle, still, patient, long-suffering and bearing
similar virtuous properties. The divine-human Logos is portrayed
in these very particulars, so that no shadow of alteration or change
in the divinity of the incarnate Logos is brought to light by which
one might consider, according to the nonsenses of the Manichaeans,
the true and immutable appearance to be a fantasy: “for the truth
is shown in the likeness, the archetype in the icon. Each in the other
with the difference of essence,” and we are led up through sensi­
ble symbols to the direct contemplations of intelligible things.1

t h i s b r i e f t e x t is o f some interest for those seeking to understand

the expectations for portraiture in the Christian icon (fig. 29).2 The pas­
sage offers a very precise account o f Christ’s physical features. It prom­
ises an exacting depiction that will render a historically accurate, realistic,
and truthful account o f Christ’s appearance as an incarnate individual.
But we should be wary o f assuming that such limpid naturalism was the
goal o f the icon’s portrayal. Indeed, these brief descriptive phrases should
raise doubts in this regard. For they belong to a category of text known

Opposite: Detail o f fig.

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as εϊκονισμός, or “delineation,” whose concern was to offer a precise

account o f the physical and nonphysical features by which one might
identify anyone .3 It was a carefully coded system built upon a narrow
range o f descriptive terms. Through the accumulation o f these elements,
the appearance o f an individual was constructed from an existing set o f
formulas that both identified his particular features and distinguished
him from other beings described within the same system. Anybody may
thus be defined in relation to all other bodies .4 This coded system o f de­
scription presents a challenge in that it formulates identity within its
own terms, determining how one might be recognized through a narrow
grid o f language. By analogy, the painted portrait will also be subject to
the same systemic constraints. For this reason, the twenty-first-century
reader must seek to understand the conditions that sustain the claim to
eyewitness made in the above passage and that grant authenticity to the
portrayal. While it is notable that not all o f the qualities applied to the
Christ’s delineation are necessarily visualizable, this list o f terms was
both intended to function as a prescription for visual portraiture and
used as an aspect o f the defense o f such portraiture. This is apparent in
the second half o f the quoted passage, in which it is argued that it is the
existence o f these detailed features that affirms the reality o f the Incar­
nation. This defense is then completed by a quote from Pseudo-Dionysios
the Areopagite which underlines the visual aspect o f this text by posit­
ing that “the truth is shown in the likeness” (τό άληθές έν τώ όμοιώματι
δείκνυτο).
The first appearance o f this delineation, in a text known as the Letter
o f the Three Patriarchs, contextualizes these brief points.5 This letter is
ascribed to the patriarchs o f Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem and
was addressed to the Byzantine Em peror Theophilos (829-42). It is a
profoundly problematic text that includes a doctrinal statement on icons,
an account o f a number o f miraculous icons, and tales o f diabolical
visions in St. Sophia in Constantinople. Christ’s delineation comes be­
tween the end o f the doctrinal section and the start o f the list o f miracu­
lous icons, continuing the argument set forth in the doctrinal section,

Opposite: Fig. 29. Christ, 6th or yth century. Encaustic on panel.

Monastery o f Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai, Egypt

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in which the cult o f icons is defended by arguing for the necessity o f

icons as evidence o f the fullness o f the Incarnation. This argument pro­
poses that not only have icons always been a part o f the Christian tra­
dition, but also that in representing Christ’s “portrayable particularities,"
the icon served to affirm the reality o f the Incarnation.6 Furthermore,
defining this process o f representation suggests the conventional aspect
o f Christ’s delineation: “ The icon o f a man is not inscribed according
to nature, but according to position.” 7 As we shall see, this is an impor­
tant correction to our contemporary expectations o f the term likeness.
For these iconophiles, the portrait presents particular features that establish
an identity and place for the individual shown. It is not a representation
o f a generalized human nature. As such, the icon hovers between the
claims to a historical authenticity, which ultimately derives from a naive
naturalism, and a more conventional system o f representation, which
shapes a categorical identity for the person portrayed. Although these
poles might appear to give rise to conflicting notions o f representation,
both were necessary for the claim to truthfulness that the iconophiles
attributed to the portrait in the icon.
In order to define this quality o f truthfulness, iconophi.le theolo­
gians had to prescribe carefully the origins o f the work o f art. In this
chapter we will examine three o f the four causes in play, leaving the
fourth, the final cause, to the next chapter. The three terms that we will
consider are the efficient cause, embodied in the artist, the material cause,
which concerns the nature o f the icon itself, and the form al cause, which
is seen in the subject shown in the icon. This system ultimately derives
from Aristotelian thought and represents a profound shift in the dis­
course on the icon.8 As we shall demonstrate, it is the elevation o f the
formal cause above all others that will have the greatest impact on how
one might think o f the icon.
In an extremely rich passage from his First Refutation, Patriarch Nike­
phoros, writing about 820, introduces some o f the key terms that shape
this formalist account o f the icon:

The archetype is an existing origin and paradigm of a form por­

trayed after it (τού άπ' αυτού χαρακτηριζόμενου είδους), the cause
from which derives the resemblance. Moreover, one may speak of

IIO
 FORM AND I.IKFNFSS

the icon in this definition as of artistic things (τών τεχνητών τούτων):

an icon is a likeness (ομοίωμα) of an archetype, having represented
in itself by means of likeness the entire form of the one being rep­
resented, distinguished only by an essential difference with respect
to matter; or an imitation and copy of an archetype, differing in
essence and subject (τή ουσία και τώ ύποκειμένω διαφέρουσα),
or an artifact completely formed in imitation of an archetype, but
differing in essence and subject. For if it does not differ in some re­
spect, it is not an icon, nor an object different from the archetype.
Thus, an icon is a likeness (ομοίωμα) and representation (έκτύπωμα)
of things being and existing.9

This text defines the icon in very precise terms. The fundamental sup­
position is that an icon differs from the thing it shows both in terms o f
essence and subject.10 For example, a painting o f Christ will be different
from Christ himself, the one being made o f wood, wax, and pigments,
the other being a divine-human hypostasis. Having drawn this distinction,
Nikephoros then insisted that a true icon remains dependent upon the
prior existence o f the thing shown. This is its formal cause. The true
icon cannot show a fictional or imaginary invention. Having established
these basic principles o f difference and truthfulness, Nikephoros pro­
poses a number o f means by which the icon might trace its continuing
relation to the archetype. In so doing, he seeks to reconcile the claim to
an absolute difference between icon and archetype with the continuing
and linked existence o f the two terms.
To effect this reconciliation, Nikephoros has had to define the icon
as an artistic thing, an artifact, thus drawing attention to the icon as a
made object. As we have seen in chapter 3, the iconoclasts criticized with
intensity this aspect o f the icon, directing most o f their ire at the artist
or artisan, who was accused o f fabricating falsehoods in identifying the
icon with the holy.11 In response, the iconophiles strove to defend both
the artifact and the artificer. It was a defense that began by defining the
status o f this maker, who exists as a prior necessity and affirmation of
the artifact.12 But what is an artificer? The simplest definition is that he
or she makes artifacts. But this begs a number of crucial questions. In
particular, it forces us to consider the meaning of making. As the maker

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o f a work o f art, does the artist control all aspects o f a w ork’s identity?
Or, to put it another way, when form is given to matter, is the gift in the
hands o f the artificer alone? In seeking answers to these questions, icono­
clasts and iconophiles arrived at radically different conceptions o f the
relationship between the work o f art and its maker.
The iconoclasts confronted iconophiles with a wholly negative view
o f the artist. Drawing on a tradition that reached back to the Book o f
Wisdom, they presented the artist as a dangerous and deceptive figure.13
A particularly scathing account o f this status was offered in the Horos
o f the Council o f 754, in which the iconoclasts lament: “ H ow senseless
is the painter’s notion when he from sordid love o f gain pursues the un­
attainable, namely to fashion with his impure hands things that are be­
lieved in the heart and confessed by the mouth.” 14 The painter is here
condemned for attempting the impossible. Building from an assump­
tion that holy things exist beyond the material, the iconoclasts charged
that the idea o f the holy icon is fraudulent. It is notable that this decep­
tion was enacted by an individualized artisan working for personal gain.
In response, the iconophile defense o f the artificer began from a
fundamental distinction that had not been drawn by the iconoclasts.
These iconophiles argued that the concern o f the artist was with the art
alone, while the content conveyed by the work o f art was prior to the
artist and not subject to an intervention by that artist. This distinction
was elaborated in the sixth session o f the Seventh Ecumenical Council
as a response to the above iconoclastic quotation:

The making of icons is not an innovation of artists, but an approved

legislation and tradition of the whole church. “Whatever is ancient
is worthy of respect,” says Saint Basil. The antiquity of these matters
is witness to this. Also the teaching of our inspired fathers, namely,
that when they saw icons in the holy churches they were gratified.
When they themselves built holy churches, in which they offered
up to the Lord o f all their God-pleasing prayers and bloodless
sacrifices, they had icons set up. Therefore the notion and the tra­
dition are theirs, and not the painter’s (the art alone is the painter’s).
Clearly the command is from the holy fathers who built [the
churches].15

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 FORM A N Π I. I K F N F S S

Here, the iconophile fathers have argued that painters themselves are
not responsible for the tradition o f Christian image-making. Indeed, the
origin o f the work o f art (here defined by its content) is with God and
not with the artist. Tradition alone determines what may be made, a
condition that is policed by the churchmen who commission works o f
art. It is they who determine the legitimate content o f the work, leav­
ing to the artist the role o f maker.
Patriarch Nikephoros provides a second variation on the same dis­
tinction. He offers a definition o f the artisan s authority over his work
in a response to the following text from Constantine V: “The one who
made this icon says that it is the icon o f Christ. Well one knows that the
name o f Christ does not only designate the man, but also the G od.” 16
In this passage Constantine proposes that the artist is entirely and indi­
vidually responsible for his work, in that he both makes the icon and
names it. It is this nomination that Constantine condemns when he ar­
gues that the name given by the artist designates Christ who is both God
and man. As such, this act o f naming has disclosed that the artist has at­
tempted to portray the divine. For Constantine, this is an impossibility.
In response, Nikephoros argues that the artist’s only concern was with
that which could be painted on an icon; the artist’s work begins with
“ the scrutiny o f the visible alone.” It is not the artist’s concern to repre­
sent or to analyze a given object in its entirety, but only to represent it
within the conditions o f the medium. For Nikephoros, painting cannot
divide that which it represents because painting is distinct from what it
represents. An image pertains only to Christ’s visible aspects; it does not
claim to include the invisible and divine aspects o f Christ. Given this,
the position put forward by Constantine is misplaced, as it is based upon
too broad an understanding o f what painting may do. In these terms,
Nikephoros is proposing that the artist is right to call his icon Christ, as
the icon is indeed an icon of Christ in so fa r as it can be an icon of Christ.
Painting Christ neither divides him nor limits him, because painting is
simply a record o f his visible traits.17
This distinction was reworked bv Patriarch Photios in the 86os. He
also sought to distinguish the practice o f art-making from its inspira­
tion. In a remarkable letter to an ex iconoclast named Stephen, Photios
provides an iconophile exegesis ot Psalm 113:12 — The idols of the

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 CHAPTER 5

nations are silver and gold, the works o f men’s hands ” 18 — offering a
two-stage defense o f Christian liturgical objects, crosses, and icons. First,
he argues that these should not be considered as being silver or gold or
some other material. Rather, they should be understood as being^fom
silver or gold or whatever. The introduction o f the genitive allowed Pho-
tios to define this altered state and its causes, and in so doing he defined
a role for the artist and the work o f men’s hands. These hands are credited
with shaping the material, an act that is defined as a service (ύπηρετεία).
The motivation for the act o f shaping is, however, not credited to the
artist, but to inspirations (έπιπνοίαις) and reasons (λογισμοΐς) from
above.19 Because o f this, the objects produced escape the dangers o f ma­
terial disorder and human curiosity and become something better .20
This change is defined as a transformation that allows the icons to par­
ticipate in the energies o f the ones they represent.21 According to this
model, the artificer is a tool working in the service o f a higher inspira­
tion. The artisan is necessary to the transformation o f mere matter into
a sacred object, but the validation for this act rests not with the artist but
elsewhere. Photios marks a distinction between the art practiced by the
craftsman and the origins o f the sacredness o f the objects fashioned by
this artisan. In this way Photios too seeks to displace the artist from the
origin o f the work, in this instance by transforming the motivation from
the artist’s hands to divine intervention.
In each o f these essays the iconophile theologians seek to define the
proper parameters o f the making practiced by the artificer. The crucial
distinction that Nikephoros and the fathers o f the Seventh Ecumenical
Council draw is to separate this practice from the theological content
o f the painting. They give to the artist a mediatory role but remove him
from the origin o f the work itself. Such an understanding might lead
one to suppose a diminished status for the artist, and yet the result seems
to have enhanced it. Photios provides a means o f thinking toward such
an elevated role by trying to link artistic practice to divine inspiration.
In addition, the seventh canon o f the Council o f 8 6 9 -7 0 appears to
confirm a high status. The Greek version o f this text can be translated:
“Setting up holy and venerable icons and teaching the similar disciplines
o f divine and human wisdom are very beneficial. It is not good if this is
done by those who are not worthy. For this reason no one is to paint in

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the holy churches who has been anathematized by what has been de­
creed, nor to teach in a similar place, until they have turned back from
their deceit. Therefore, if anyone after our declaration were to allow
these in whatever manner to paint holy icons in the church or to teach,
if he is a cleric he will endanger his rank, if he is a layman he will be
banished and deprived o f the divine mysteries. ’22 This text places the
artist on the same level as a teacher o f divine and human wisdom, by
which one might understand theologians and philosophers. Each is
understood to represent a form o f knowledge, and so it is expected that
each should be in compliance with conciliar decrees and therefore w or­
thy to teach. The implication is that a heretical artist might portray hereti­
cal ideas, just as a heretical teacher might teach heresy. The canon thus
gives responsibility for the content o f the work to the artist, who must
be worthy by being in compliance with church tradition. The canon
therefore goes beyond the position presented in the Seventh Ecumeni­
cal Council by giving the artist a position that would make him re­
sponsible for the art that is made by his hands.
In having wrestled with the status o f the artificer, these theologians
have also underlined a value for the icon as an artifact. The iconoclasts
had argued that an icon was a false image because o f its manufactured
status. As we shall see, the iconophiles were to reject this argument,
claiming instead that the icon was able to be a truthful medium for the
knowledge o f the holy because o f this manufactured status. Indeed, it is
the fact o f being made that was a necessary condition for the fundamental
distinction between the art object and the subject o f its representation.
In making this case, the iconophiles were to make the icon itself of value,
not simply as a medium that disappears behind the representation o f a
holy subject but as an object in relation to this mediating function.
An exemplary text in this regard is the one by Patriarch Nikephoros
quoted at the start o f this section. In this, Nikephoros introduces a num­
ber o f key terms that he has used to draw the distinction between an
icon and the one depicted therein. Two related terms are o f particular
importance to his argument: imitation (mimesis) and likeness; neither is
called upon to invoke a naturalistic canon of artistic imitation exempli­
fied in a Zeuxian illusionism .23 Rather, the terms are used to signal both
an essential difference between the icon and its model and a carefully

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qualified relation between these entities. For example, when Nikephoros

introduces the idea o f imitation, he speaks o f an imitation o f something
else — the archetype, for example.24 This understanding not only affirms
the existence o f the thing that is the cause o f this imitation, but it also
marks an alterity: there can be no essential repetition o f the archetype
in the icon because icon and archetype are essentially different. This is
the crucial first step in the construction o f an understanding o f the icon
as something distinct from the thing it shows, thus beginning the pro­
cess o f defining how the icon is modeled after, but not to be confused
with, someone.
It is the closely related concept o f likeness that provides Nikephoros
with the tool to define precisely the relation between these entities within
this economy o f difference.25 The term likeness requires some clarification.
For the ninth-century iconophiles, its meaning was dynamic, offering
an active mediation between the icon and its archetype. Nikephoros de­
pended upon Aristotelian thinking to develop the implications o f such
mediation: “The icon has a relation (σχέσ ιν) to the archetype, and is
the effect o f a cause. Therefore, because o f this it necessarily is and might
be called a relative (πρός τι). A relative (πρός τι) is said to be such as it
is from its being o f some other thing, and in the relation (τή σ χέσ ει)
they are reciprocal. . . . Likeness is an intermediate relation (ή γούν
όμοίωσις σ χέσ ις τις μέση τυγχάνουσα) and mediates between the ex­
tremes, I mean the likeness and the one o f whom it is a likeness, uniting
and connecting by form (τώ ε'ίδει ), even though they differ by nature .”26
Nikephoros introduces three important points in this passage. First, the
relation mediated by likeness engenders reciprocity, as the icon both
takes its origin from the archetype and returns to it.27 It is this return,
a status o f “ being toward something” (a literal rendering o f πρός τι)
that is so important for us to understand in the icon. Πρός τι is adopted,
probably by way o f school books, from Aristotle’s Categories .28At the
same time, the definition o f the icon as a relative underscores the differ­
ence between the icon and its archetype by insisting upon their existence
as two entities.29 The patriarch also insists upon an important qualification
made to the relationship identified with likeness. Icon and archetype are
connected by form and not by nature. In the case o f the icon, this means
that the materials o f the icon, its wood and wax and pigments (the things

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 FORM Λ N I) L I K E N E S S

that define its nature and that provide its material cause), are not in a re­
lationship with the archetype. This is established in the forms inscribed
into these materials.
Likeness, therefore, emphasizes a formal relationship between enti­
ties that have only this form in common. The painting may be understood
to offer a partial account o f a subject (its form) that gives itself to represen­
tation in part (through its formal aspect). This partial quality offers, none­
theless, a full visualization o f that which has given itself to vision. Hence,
one sees a complete portrait o f Christ in the icon, where the form con­
veyed from the archetype has become united with the material nature
o f the icon itself. It is a process that is underlined by Nikephoros’s terms
for representation. Nikephoros deploys various, and sometimes conflict­
ing, derivatives o f τυπόω (to stamp, impress, or mold) in this regard.
These include έκτυπόω (to work in relief) and έντυπόω (to carve in or
on). In both cases the technical description o f relief carving or intaglio
work is overridden by the patriarch’s concern to convey the notion of
form worked from or in matter. The terms thus underline the impor­
tance o f the formal relation, as they bring with them the idea that the
form o f the one represented is worked through the material o f the thing
that represents. In this way, attention is drawn to the medium as the site
in which form becomes manifest. This potentially problematic defini­
tion is safeguarded by a very strong definition o f the difference between
the things that exist and their representation in an icon:

While in circumscription he is of necessity present, in what is painted

nothing is present (ού πάντως πάρεστιν). .. for while a man is cer­
tainly painted in his icon, he is not circumscribed in it, as it is not
the place proper to circumscription. And the means of these are
distinguished by all. For one depicts a man with colors and mosaics,
as the situation demands, drawing with varied and many means,
and differing in brilliances. Never but never is he to be circum­
scribed by these means, since it has been said that circumscription
is something else again. Moreover, painting presents the corporeal
form (τό σωματικόν είδος) of the one depicted, impressing its out­
line (σχήμα) and its shape (μορφήν) and its resemblance (έμφέρειαν).
Whereas circumscription, having nothing in common with these

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three modes of which we have spoken, delimits boundaries. Paint­

ing has a relation in terms of likeness (τω όμοίω την σχέσιν) to
the archetype, and is and is called a painting of the archetype.30

The crucial point made in this text is that an icon could not be consid­
ered to circumscribe the one depicted on its surface. Circumscription
marks the physical and temporal existence o f a being, whereas painting
attends only to the likeness o f the formal appearance o f this creature.
This position develops the nonessentialist definition o f the previous pas­
sage into an assertion that painting is defined by a formal relation to its
subject. It is likeness that mediates this relation .31 The icon is, therefore,
essentially a distinct material medium that can convey the form o f an­
other being.
This formalism is governed by two terms. The first o f these is form
(είδος). Theodore o f Stoudios offers three definitions o f this term .32 The
first definition understands form as species and contrasts it with genus.
In this definition, form may be said to embrace the humanity o f a human
being rather than his particular and differentiating features. The second
definition appears to contradict the first by conflating form with shape.
In this instance, form is understood to be the exact shape by which we
differentiate one from another. The third definition proposes that form
allows one to recognize things that will continue to exist in the future.
These definitions present rather different possibilities in the term. The
visual implications o f form are brought forward in a second passage,
where Theodore reiterates the first definition, stating that form can show
the humanity o f a subject but still fail to portray the particular charac­
teristics that individualize the subject.33 From this we might understand
form to function as a necessary prior aspect o f visual representation, in
that form accents the formal aspect o f the nature o f the thing repre­
sented rather than its essence. For example, in a representation o f Christ
we might say that the formal elements within the painting pertain to his
visualizable human nature, as opposed to the specific features that mark
him as an individual. This definition is echoed in the second passage by
Nikephoros quoted above, where corporeal form is introduced as a
means o f expressing the subject’s visibility and is prior to the more par­
ticular traits o f outline, shape, and resemblance. Nikephoros continues

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this reading when he uses the term to refer to conceptual forms rather
than material things .34 The same sense of a necessary original form is
also to be found in a passage from Nikephoros’s First Refutation: “Art imi­
tates nature, not being o f the same essence as it, but receiving the form
o f the nature as a paradigm and prototype, it renders a likeness to this,
which can be seen in the majority o f works o f art .”35 This important
passage tells us that likeness is drawn toward form, which is here treated
as the origin o f the work o f art .36
The form o f the archetype, understood as that which brings this
person to vision, may be the origin o f the work, but Nikephoros and
Theodore use a number o f other terms to define how this notion be­
comes manifest in the icon. Foremost among these is the second term
that addresses form, namely shape (μορφή). Form and shape are some­
times conflated in iconophile literature, as was noted in Theodore’s sec­
ond definition o f form introduced in the preceding paragraph. Shape
may be understood as materialized form. As such, it engendered a range
o f terms that are concerned with rendering the features o f individuals.
These include their outlines (σχήμα) and their particular features ( ινδάλ­
ματα) — such as eye, nose, and mouth — used to produce their portraits
(χαρακτήρ). The exacting, almost categorical, quality o f this portrayal
allows Nikephoros to define this function for the icon: “Making the ab­
sent present by manifesting the similarity and m em ory o f the shape
(μορφής), [the icon] maintains [with its archetype] an uninterrupted re­
lation throughout its existence .”37 Here it is the shape that is posited as
the mediator o f the relation between the icon and its archetype. This
was o f crucial importance for underlining the reality o f the Incarnation.
That Christ had specific human features was understood to affirm the
completeness o f the human nature he received from the Theotokos.
Hence the quote at the start o f this chapter argues: “T h e divine-human
Logos is portrayed in these very particulars, so that no shadow of al­
teration or change in the divinity of the incarnate Logos is brought to
light by which one might consider, according to the nonsenses of the
Manichaeans, the true and immutable appearance to be a fantasy.”
The formalism deployed by these iconophiles is not to be confused
with the aesthetic formalism o f twentieth-century modernism, lhese
theologians were primarily concerned with form as a cause for the icon,

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rather than as an independent aesthetic attribute. Nonetheless, one might

suggest some visual implications for the Christian icon that arise from
this ninth-century formalism. To begin with, it must be understood that
the icon is complete in itself yet partial in relation to the one represented
therein. This person, a historical entity, can give himself to visualization
only in his manifest form. This does not imply an abstraction o f the hu­
man body into a conceptual style. Rather, the implication is the oppo­
site, in that what is visualizable is a corporeal human being. It is the
icon’s function to render this person in an accurate and credible manner.
Indeed, it suggests a desire for naturalism in the specific rendering o f
the individual. Granted that this is the case, one might suggest that the
charge o f repetitiveness often leveled at icons is a necessary condition
o f their need to portray.
Beyond the body o f the one portrayed, the icon presents a framing
field o f flat gold ground. Often read as the representation o f divine light,
this may now be understood as the formless matter o f the icon that ex­
ists outside the specific impress o f the form taken from the archetype.38
It can be argued that the description offered in chapter 3 o f the apse m o­
saic in the Koimesis church at Iznik (see fig. 20) might be altered in light
o f the conditions raised by these ninth-century theologians. There it
was maintained that theologians o f the seventh and eighth centuries
would have identified a play between the visibility o f Christ, as the one
member o f the Trinity who gives himself to corporeal vision, and the
defined invisibility o f the incorporeal God the Father and God the Holy
Spirit. This distinction between the visible and the invisible may now be
qualified by the idea that form and formlessness were the respective
causes o f a given subject being either visible or invisible. The precisely
delineated flat golden spaces left for God the Father and God the Holy
Spirit therefore offer a stark account o f the formlessness that is at the
origin o f this invisibility. Such a juxtaposition o f form and formlessness
brings the play o f difference to the icon’s surface, drawing attention both
to the icon itself and to the archetype shaped therein. In the case o f the
paradigmatic icon. Christ, this distinction is a necessary safeguard that
has crucial implications for medieval art. Christ has both a human and
a divine nature. His divine nature cannot be represented even in the
hypostatic union. W hat may be represented is the formal aspect o f the

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human nature. Furthermore, the composite nature o f the icon as both

matter and received form is such that it is essentially distinct from this
human archetype. Granted these two general conditions, it is possible
to describe the icon as a directed absence. Because the image cannot
make the one represented present, it becomes the point o f departure
for the contemplation o f that person. In their use o f mimesis, likeness,
and form, these theologians present an icon that is an artifact whose
condition is that o f being-toward (πρύς τι ) its object. This point is founded
on Nikephoros’s proposition that there is nothing o f presence in the
icon; it is a showing without representation or repetition.39
The relationship between icon and archetype engendered by this
formalism is reciprocal. The icon not only receives its form from its his­
torical model, but this form provides the means for the icon being-toward
that model. This relationship permits an identity between icon and model
that is open to misconception. The key concept in this regard is that o f
participation, a term that echoes an understanding o f the holiness that
resides in relics.40 The term might threaten the necessary difference that
is at the origin o f the iconic economy. This was clearly the case in the
eighth century, when John o f Damascus spoke o f participation in a brief
commentary on Basil the Great's On the Holy Spirit, chapter 18, section
45.41 In this instance, John seeks to define the relation between an icon
and its holy archetype in terms o f the icon’s participation in grace. He
argues that the icon’s participation in holiness depends upon the one
represented: “ Material things are granted divine grace because o f the
name o f the one depicted. ”42 Hence, if a saint can be called holy, then
the icon o f that saint can also be called holy. This position allows John
to escape from the charge that he worships the material o f the icon it­
self. He would deny this, arguing that the material is a matter of indiffer­
ence until it receives grace because o f what it represents.43 He returns
to this point a little later in the same text: “ It is the same with material
things which by themselves are not to be venerated, but it the one de­
picted is full o f grace, they [the material things] become participants in
grace in proportion to faith. 44 This last formulation introduces a role
for the viewer in this process, as it is the viewer who controls the faith
brought to the icon. In neither example is participation a property ol the
material o f the icon itself Nonetheless, the model proposed by John can

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make the material icon a participant in grace once it is identified with

the person represented.
The ninth-century iconophiles sought to clarify the precise impli­
cations o f participation; thus, Nikephoros interpreted it in this manner:

Consider this: the human image is a likeness resembling that per­

son and is produced in an icon, and no one reacts to it by indulging
in aesthetics or speech. The likeness it bears (“the resemblance” to
which the speculations of the logicians would give the name “rela­
tion”) is the relation in which may be seen what one has in common
with the other. The name discloses whence comes the im age.. . .
I grant what has been said: that which forms is like the signifier, in
that it is more than one element. The likeness in these, which is a
relation, absolutely mediates that which they have in common,
such that one might say “ by likening” or “by being alike.” Hence,
these are bound together by one idea, yet different by nature. For
while each of these is one thing and then another by nature, yet
they are not one and then another. For through the figure, in which
knowledge has been from the beginning, the depicted hypostasis
is apparent. Are you also heedless of what was said of the king’s
icon: “ If I and the king are one, then he who has seen me has seen
the king.” Thence what follows on from these things is that like­
nesses prescribe a common participation in the relation (τώ κοινή
μετέχειν τής σχέσεως), which by this logic absolutely results in
their being brought together and destroyed together in relation to
the natural form.45

The dominant term in this lengthy passage is likeness with all o f its re­
lational implications. This prepares the reader for Nikephoros’s argu­
ment that participation resides in the relation that is mediated by likeness.
It is likeness alone that icon and model have in common, and this per­
tains to form rather than essence. Thus, when an icon is destroyed, it is
an offense against the formal, that is to say, visible, properties o f the one
shown. One does not destroy Christ when one destroys his icon, rather
one destroys the possibility o f his becoming available to vision.
Theodore o f Stoudios reiterates the relational interpretation o f parti-

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cipation in chapter 12 o f his First Refutation. Here he argues that holiness

is not present in icons by nature but can be thought o f as being present
there because “it participates relatively, as they [the holy persons repre­
sented] participate in grace and honor.” 46 Here the notion of participation
is given a significant qualification, identifying participation as a relative
concept that does not encompass the essence o f either the icon or its
archetype. This point is elaborated when Theodore introduces an “identity
o f likeness” (tf) ομοιώσει ταυτιζομένη) in his Third Refutation .47Here
he argues that the icon is identical with its archetype only in terms o f
likeness. As likeness has been defined as a relative and formal concept,
it indicates that the identity between an icon and its model is also limited
to these terms. In this regard, Theodore and Nikephoros are alike in
shaping a formalist understanding o f likeness that removes from the idea
o f participation any threat to the differentiation o f icon from archetype.48
The iconophile defense o f the icon has therefore moved a long way
from the language deployed by John o f Damascus and Germanos in the
eighth century. While both made the Incarnation central to Christian
representation, neither succeeded in defining a persuasive account o f
the icon’s relation to the Incarnation. Successfully challenged by icono­
clast theologians, ninth-century iconophiles reinvigorated their discourse
on the icon itself by deploying Aristotelian logic to define the icon as an
artifact. In so doing, they contributed to the construction o f a strongly
formalist account o f Byzantine art — a development that will make de­
fensible the basic iconophile claim to truthfulness in the icon.
 6

WORD AND IMAGE

T H E IC O N O P H IL E f a i t h in the truthfulness o f artifacts was not shared

by the iconoclasts. Even when icons were allowed to remain in place, as
was the case in the ninth century, iconoclast theologians continued to
argue at length against the value o f the visual medium. A telling example
o f their critique is found in a preserved fragment o f the writings o f John
the Grammarian, the leading thinker o f ninth-century iconoclasm, which
reads:

It is impossible for a man to be portrayed by any means, unless one

has been led to this by words, through which everyone that exists
is definitively captured. As the particularities (τά ΐδιάζοντα) of
someone have both distinguished him from those of like form (τών
όμοειδών) and drawn him near to them in another way, (it follows
that ] he cannot be grasped in any effective manner by appearance
(τής όψεως). For if the family or the father from which an indi­
vidual derives are not depicted — bringing forth his deeds and that
he is blessed in his companions and the rest of his manners, which
are only clearly discernible in the words by means of which one
might judge his praiseworthiness or blameworthiness — then the
artwork is a waste of time (τήν ποιαν μετιών τέχνη ν- διατριβήν).
Hence it is impossible truthfully to discern the man by such de­
lineations (εϊκονισμοϊς).1

Opposite: Fig. 50. Fnthronal Theotokos, Sft~.

Mosaic in the apse, St. Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey

12.5
 CHAPTER 6

In this passage John the Gramm arian specifically attacks the value o f
the analogy between an icon and a delineation found in the Letter o f the
Three Patriarchs and discussed in the last chapter. He makes reference to
two rhetorical, that is to say, verbal, forms in defining both words and
images. First, he categorizes verbal representation by invoking the rhe­
torical power o f the encomion, which praises its subjects through the
presentation o f a full account o f their background (family, deeds, and
so on).2 In comparison, the work o f art is assigned to the category o f
the eikonismos.3 This is a much more restricted form, built primarily
upon appearances. The deployment o f these two rhetorical analogies
proposes a verbal fram ing for the origins o f the w ork o f visual art,
in regard to which painting will always be found to be both secondary
and deficient.
Now, having categorized words and images in these ways, John is
able to define the work o f art as a waste o f time. It is deemed insufficient
because it cannot match the plenitude o f a verbal evocation o f all that
makes a subject worthy o f portrayal. He rejects out o f hand the value
o f any interpretation based on morphology. Appearances alone do not
tell us enough o f their origins and might be confused with those whose
appearances are similar. Instead, John argues that words introduce us to
a much greater knowledge o f a given subject, such that we can under­
stand it more fully. For example, he would consider an icon o f Christ to
be a mere record o f appearance (see fig. 29). In the traces marked in the
wax o f its surface, it is unable, by itself, to explain the nature o f the
Incarnation or to invoke C hrist’s healing powers. John’s unfavorable
comparison o f images to words leads us inexorably to the conclusion
that images are, in effect, so useless that we might just as well rid our­
selves o f this unnecessary means o f knowing. It adds nothing to that
which has already come into existence in words. Implicit in the Gram ­
marian’s challenge is the idea that there is an essential lack in icons, which
require words to interpret the limited vocabulary o f visual cues. As
formulated by the Grammarian, these words are not a helpful supple­
ment to the images; rather, they render the image, the w ork o f art,
redundant.
It is notable how this point is made. John does not evoke a specifically
theological argument; instead, his condemnation o f images is based

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upon an evaluation o f the relative merits o f these media as conveyers

o f knowledge. It is an iconoclastic challenge that invited iconophiles to
demonstrate that visual representation was necessary in spite o f the pos­
sibilities inherent in words. To do that, they needed to show that an icon
was a sufficient medium for the conveyance o f Christian knowledge.
This is a point that would lead one to a more fundamental question:
whether an icon can stand alone as a medium o f such knowledge or
whether it requires words to become intelligible.4
During the course o f the eighth century, iconophiles had already
argued that paintings o f Gospel narratives were an equivalent o f the
Gospel text itself.5 Their argument was focused upon the material na­
ture o f both media. This was not the concern that was brought forward
in the comparison made by ninth-century iconophiles, whose attention
focused on the interpretation and exploitation o f the term γραφή, which
can mean either writing or painting. Nikephoros can introduce this think­
ing: “ Γραφή, to begin from the most simple point, is spoken o f in two
manners. There is that which is in the characters o f letters like these, in­
scribed in a series and ordered, it proceeds in syllables expressed in writ­
ing. Then there is that which imitates through likenesses the paradigm
which is formed and impressed; it is this which is the object o f our en­
quiry. The first presents the message of the strung-together words through
the spoken word. The other makes the imitation o f paradigmatic per­
sons apparent through resemblances.” 6 Writing and painting are here
treated as equivalent and distinct means o f presenting an archetype,
each o f which links the archetype and its inscription. For Nikephoros,
one operated through letters and was presented by means o f the spo­
ken word, the other made visible through likeness. Nikephoros does not
develop a lengthy examination o f words, reserving his energies for
defining the value o f the visual.7 Both word and image were, however,
vital to the relational structure that maintained a bond between icon
and model. Defined in relational terms such as likenes; and homonymy,
they maintained this bond through the common name and the common
appearance that united icon and model."
Although Nikephoros treats word and image as equivalents, he does
not consider them to be identical and therefore interchangeable. Rather,
he gives distinct values to each:
 CHAPTER 6

But words themselves are the icons of things, and follow on from
them as from their causes. To begin with, they enter hearing; for
first the sounds o f the things spoken encounter those listening,
then, second, the listener achieves understanding of the given facts
through analogy. [Painting] directly and immediately leads the
minds o f the viewers to the facts themselves, as if they were pres­
ent already, and from the first sight and encounter a clear and per­
fect knowledge of these is gained. And here I quote the voice of a
Father, “Whatever the word tells of the tale, painting shows silently
by means of imitation.” Just as the deed differs from the discourse,
so too will the imitation and the likeness of the deed differ from
the utterance of words when manifesting things. This is why dis­
courses often become more apparent and clearer through such
manifestation. For often some difficulties and disputes arise from
words, and in all likelihood diverse thoughts are brought forth in
souls. Many people produce contradictions and disputes both within
themselves and with others, not understanding what is said. But
belief is gained from visible things, acquired anywhere free from
ambiguity. Up to this point each of them has something in common,
so that in one and the same book, as one can see in very ancient
documents, inscribed alternately, here the discourse in syllables,
there through representation, and they show what is indicated in
the writing. Thus, the text of the Gospel is itself trustworthy for
Christians, not needing another text or another discourse which
guarantees it, or which gives witness in its favor as being worthy
of veneration or of glory. Similarly, the painting of divine repre­
sentations, which are of the same things as the Gospel narrative,
produces faith by this fact and requires nothing that is extrinsic as
proof; painting signifies the facts of the Gospels and requires the
same honor.9

This lengthy text includes a number o f the important themes in Nike­

phoros’s defense o f the images. First, he reiterates the distinction be­
tween circumscription and inscription by separating word and icon from
the events that they can each separately portray. To illustrate the point,
the patriarch makes an interesting use o f illuminated manuscripts to

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demonstrate that both the verbal and the visual texts function as tandem
representations o f their common narrative. But Nikephoros abandons
this egalitarian comparison when he introduces a hierarchy into his
evaluation o f the relative merits o f the verbal and the visual. Here, words
are marked by a potential for ambiguity, giving rise to disputes and
doubts. In contrast, the image is direct and immediate. Thus: “ For often
what the mind has not grasped while listening to a discourse, the sight
seizes without risk o f error, has interpreted it more clearly. Finally, it is
the m em ory o f all that Christ did and o f what He suffered for us that
[the icons] produce easily and more quickly in fact than the discursive
account, as vision is more prompt to knowledge than hearing.” 10 In con­
structing this comparison, Nikephoros proposes that the visual can indeed
be understood as a different medium o f knowledge that provides its own
more immediate paths to things.11
Theodore o f Stoudios presents a very similar account o f the icon
in his Three Reptations. For Theodore, the icon also remained essentially
different from the person it represents. In his First R eptation, Theodore
wrote in answer to a question that asked what was shown in an icon:

No one could ever be so insane as to suppose that shadow and

truth, nature and art, original and copy, cause and effect are the
same in essence, or to say that “each is in the other, or either one
is in the other.” That is what one would have to say if he supposed
or asserted that Christ and his icon are the same in essence. On the
contrary, we say that Christ is one thing and his icon is another
thing by nature, although they have an identical name. Moreover,
when one considers the nature of the icon, not only would one
not say that the thing seen is Christ, but one would not even say
that it is the icon of Christ. For it is perhaps wood, or paint, or
gold, or silver, or some one of the various materials which are men­
tioned. But when one considers the likeness to the original by
means of a representation, it is both “Christ'' and "of Christ. It is
“Christ” by homonymy, "of Christ” by relation.12

This passage offers one o f the most succinct statements on the nature
o f iconic representation. Theodore strongly rejects any common essential

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quality between the icon and Christ. The viewer is thus asked to differ­
entiate mentally between the materiality o f the icon and the visual re­
lation that links the one portrayed to the portrayal in the image within
the icon. It is thanks to this relational aspect o f the image that Theodore
is able to say that this is not Christ that one sees here or even an icon o f
Christ. The icon is not “ o f Christ,” because it shares nothing in essence
with Christ. Nor is the image within the icon "Christ," as, once again,
there is an essential difference. These acts o f identification are permis­
sible only within the relational economy that Theodore uses to define
representation. Hence, likeness and hom onym y are here used to intro­
duce a relation to that which is absent, rather than to suggest a presence
within the icon. Theodore nevertheless remains insistent that this is not
Christ that we see, as the icon both differs from and defers the presence
o f Christ.
Central to Theodore’s analysis o f representation in this text is his
understanding o f visual and verbal inscription as distinct and equivalent
means o f knowing the Gospel narrative: “ Is one to understand that his
[Christ’s] bodily appearance on panels is not the same as in the divinely
written Gospels? For he nowhere asked anyone to write down the con­
cise word, yet he is portrayed by the apostles to this day. W hatever is
marked there with paper and ink, is also marked on the icon, through
varied pigments, or portrayed through some other material medium.
. . . Everything that can be defined and comprehended by the mind, can
also be circumscribed by either hearing or sight: for this [the circum­
scription] is the same through either means.” 13 For Theodore, the visual
and the verbal can alternate as means o f representing Christ; he does
not ascribe any difference to them as means o f representation. Rather,
his reading o f their equivalence insists upon an identity in the structure
o f their relation to the prototype. The writing o f the Gospel text is de­
fined as a material and unauthorized medium, thus applying to the
written word the iconoclasts’ charges against the icon. Thanks to this
reversal, Theodore claims an equivalence o f status for the two media,
with each characterized as being in relation to the person or the event
that they represent in their differing inscriptions and with neither able
to claim priority.
Although Nikephoros and Theodore offer different accounts o f the

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relative values o f the verbal and the visual, they share the desire to de­
scribe a distinct quality for the visual medium. Both emphasize likeness
and therefore share in the notion that it is the icon that makes the body
that enacted Christian history available through imitation. This point is
emphasized in a letter written by Theodore o f Stoudios to a certain
Naukratis. In his letter, Theodore seeks to define the truthfulness o f
visual representation by linking the mimesis (imitation) that is essential
to iconophile notions o f representation to the idea o f the icon’s own
eyewitness (αυτοψ ία).14 In so doing, he displaces the beholder by the
eyewitness o f the icon, thus enhancing the authority o f the icon itself.
Theodore begins his journey to this claim by suggesting that images are
beneficial to those looking at them. This benefit has its origin in the fact
that an icon is an imitation o f something and as such is to be defined in
relation to that thing. This relationship operates in two manners. First,
the icon is made worthy by the person represented therein.15 As such,
the representation o f a holy person not only gives the value o f holiness
to the icon but also benefits the person looking at the icon by making
available a good and holy model. Second, the spiritual contemplation
addressed to the icon by its beholder would pass to the archetype repre­
sented therein.16 The pivotal role o f the icon in these exchanges was
underlined by Theodore’s description o f the icon as being a reflection
o f actual eyewitness.17 As such, the icon should be treated as if it were
the living eyewitness o f the actual events now inscribed upon its sur­
face.18 He takes this analogy further when he invokes the cult o f relics
in asking: “ If such is not possible, then what use is the body o f the mar­
tyr, which is the imitation o f that which is heavenly?” 19 The notion of
the martyr as a witness is hereby extended to the icon. Both are defined
by the imitation that is marked upon either the body or the painted sur­
face respectively. The authority that is introduced by this reading of
mimesis is then extended by Theodore’s proposition that an icon could
make factual the play o f the imaginary (φαντασία), affirming the real­
ity o f events that exist only in our minds. First, he states that in an icon
“imaginary acts are to be seen in their entirety in factual iconic form, 20
and then he goes on to say that “the imaginary is completed by becoming
visible in the enacted form o f an icon.”21 The icon is, therefore, an event.
In its representation, it makes present those things that would otherwise

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exist only as ideas in the mind. Hence, the icon has become a site in
which one might find the precise and clear eyewitness o f deeds and per­
sons, a distinct space for the continuing witness o f realities.
It is as an eyewitness to historical persons and events that the icon
becomes a valid and necessary medium for Christian knowledge.22 The
necessary existence o f the icon, challenged by John the Grammarian’s
definition o f the icon as “a waste o f time,” needed to be shown. While
the iconophiles were able to define the distinct qualities o f the visual
medium, they also needed to demonstrate that these qualities were vital
to Christianity itself. In order to do this, they once again adopted and
adapted Aristotelian thinking. In his Refutatio et eversio, Nikephoros
identifies the elements that bring artifacts into being: ‘‘Those who have
studied these things say that cause has various meanings: these are
efficient, instrumental, formal, material, and to these might be added
final. And these may be seen in the many things wrought by hand and
completed by art in accordance with human life.” 23 This five-fold defini­
tion o f cause adds “ instrumental” to the four-fold definition advanced
by Aristotle in his Physics.24
In the formulation offered by Nikephoros, it is worth drawing at­
tention to the last part o f the quoted passage in which artifacts are “com­
pleted by art in accordance with human life.” The implications o f this
phrase are central to the case for the necessity o f the icon. In order to
understand this, we need to turn to Nikephoros’s response to the in­
clusion o f an excerpt from John Chrysostom ’s homily on Matthew 14:13
in the florilegium attached to the Enquiries o f Constantine V.25 This is
made known to us and responded to in Nikephoros’s Against the Icono­
clasts.26 Constantine had used the text to argue that art was useless, the
quoted passage ending with this question: “ Can you tell me how useful
(πού χρήσιμον) are the little figures on either walls or clothes?” Nike­
phoros responded by arguing that the wider context o f the quoted pas­
sage was, in fact, supportive o f art. He was able to argue this point by
drawing attention to the function rather than the decorativeness o f the
work o f art.27 In the first place, Nikephoros condemned purposeless art:
“ While the little figures do not designate the entire narrative, neither
should all painting be dismissed because they have made passionately
visible those things that are a delight and ornament and a merriment

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for the deception o f the eyes, an invention made from ignorance o f the
beautiful and abjection, which brings with it nothing that is necessary
or useful for life, by which is meant that which is worthy. As such, it can­
not be called art, and exhorts the multitude to mutilate them.” 28 This
passage suggests that the representation o f unworthy subjects need not
condemn all art. If a subject is present simply to delight the eyes, it may
please but it cannot have a more profound value, as it is a representation
o f that which is not beautiful, namely, the abject. In order to be valued,
a represented subject must be necessary or useful for the conduct o f
one’s life.
Nikephoros offers two examples to illustrate this point. First, he
considers the depiction o f a hunting dog. He notes that the owner o f an
animal takes pleasure in its portrayal, enjoying the commemoration o f
his possession. But then he argues that such images have no relevance
for the discussion o f sacred art, which is here defined by the contem­
plation and commemoration o f Christian narratives.29 In drawing this
distinction, Nikephoros emphasizes the content o f the work o f art over
the medium. It is not painting as such that is at issue, rather it is the paint­
ing o f a given subject that raises the question o f the status o f the work
o f art. This point is taken further in a second example. Here the patri­
arch argues that the frivolous work of a goldsmith might be condemned,
while his production o f sacred subjects can be considered worthy. Hav­
ing reiterated this primary point regarding the evaluation o f a work,
Nikephoros then goes on to insert a value for the medium: “ When these
hands turn to divine monuments and sacred decorations, the art is
glorified, receiving great praise and becoming worthy o f love. For those
who love to see something deserve the best art, and the most beautiful
work and design. Given this, art is neither to be blamed nor to be over­
looked.” 30 From these texts one can discern how Nikephoros wishes to
deny that religious art is frivolous, by arguing for its value as a means of
showing worthy subjects, while retaining a value for ait in and of itself
as a fitting adornment for these subjects. Thus one might say that the
beauty o f the work follows after the worthiness o f its subject.
This discussion finds an echo in a passage from Nikephoros’s Antir-
rhetikos to which Grabar drew attention more than fifty years ago. In it.
the patriarch defends images that were made for decorative rather than

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honorific ends.31 Marie-José Mondzain-Baudinet is correct to point to

the fact that the primary concern o f this section o f the Antirrhetikos is
with the location o f the holy, but the distinctions made by Nikephoros
in regard to the different types o f art remain o f interest nonetheless.32
For example: “The forms o f other living beings in the sanctuary have
not been proposed for prostration and veneration, but for the beauty
and appearance o f the textiles in which they are woven . . . [the beholder]
does not offer them the honor due the sacred, apportioning them noth­
ing more than a look. But this is not the point o f the sacred forms. W hy
so? Holy in themselves, they offer a reminder o f the holy archetypes;
being sacred, they are venerated together with sacred things, and not
only with them, but they are honored outside o f the holy house.’’ 33 This
text marks a clear distinction between images o f holy persons and im­
ages o f “ other living beings.” Holy persons are not represented for the
sake o f beautifying alone; rather, they are made to be honored. In con­
trast, representations o f non-holy beings may serve an ornamental role.
This passage opens the way to an aesthetic in Byzantine art, yet over­
rides this potential with the same ethical account o f art noted above.
One may simply look at that which is beautiful, but one is compelled to
venerate that which is holy.
The icon is necessary because it provides the beholder with an exact
eyewitness account o f a worthy subject. It is an imitation that is intended
to provoke imitation on the part o f those looking. Such concern for the
effect o f art is a key to its continuing value.34 A sense o f this can be
gleaned from the following evocation o f a painted decoration o f scenes
o f martyrdom, found in the ninth-century Life o f Patriarch Tarasios writ­
ten by Ignatios the Deacon. I include just a portion o f this lengthy and
evocative account in order to give the flavor o f this kind o f writing:

Who, beholding a man who has stripped himself to face horrible

torments and various sorts o f tortures and is finally beheaded,
would not depart smiting his breast in contrition of heart?.. . Who,
looking at another man whose flank and back are being scraped
with iron claws because he refused to utter a word unworthy of
piety, would not be anointed with the emollient of compassion?
Who would not be filled with astonishment and subdued by fear

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whenever he sees one suffering for the faith measures out each of
his limbs as it is cut up and sets aside as a sacrifice and offering to
God the parts of the body that are being cruelly divided down to
the muscles and thighs and shins and vertebrae and ankles?35

The account is not concerned with reiterating the narratives o f these

martyrdoms, nor is it an exacting description o f a thing seen. Hence,
the text should not be thought o f as a precise source for an image nor
as a verbal substitute for it. Rather, this text is focused upon the effect
o f these images upon those looking. As such, it might be said to forge
the link between icon and view er that would make the beholder an
equivalent o f the listener. This is an important point o f attention, intro­
ducing the beholder’s share, the beholder’s body, into our interpretation
o f such works. Above all, it proposes that the icon is the origin o f the
visual economy o f imitation that is central to the continuity o f a his­
torically situated Christian narrative.
The existence o f a distinct and necessary visual discourse is central
to one o f the last and most eloquent expositions on iconoclasm. This is
a homily by Patriarch Photios delivered in 867 on the occasion o f the re­
vealing o f the apse mosaic o f the Enthroned Theotokos in St. Sophia
(fig. 30).36 Amidst his extolling o f the virtues o f Michael III and Basil I,
Photios offers a number o f terms that reveal his understanding o f rep­
resentation and o f art. In the first instance, it is the Virgin’s form that is
portrayed (ή μορφή έγχαραττομένη).37 This form, it is suggested, puts
forth the most exact vision o f truth (τήν τού αληθούς άκιβεστάτην
θέαν).38 The mimetic quality o f the icon is given a precise formulation:
“The art o f painting, which is a display o f inspiration from above (τής
άνωθεν έπιπνοίας), thus sets up an accurate imitation as regards na­
ture.’’39 From these characterizations o f painting, Photios then moves
toward a theological interpretation o f the icon:

Christ was constrained in the flesh, and was borne in his mother s
arms. This is seen and confirmed and proclaimed in icons, with
the teaching clearly stated by the law of personal eyewitness and
spectators drawn to unhesitating assent. Who hates teaching by
these means? How then could one not have previously rejected

13=)
 CHAPTER 6

with hatred the same message o f the Gospels? For just as speech
is transmitted by hearing, so, in unison with piety, by means of
sight is the form imprinted upon the tablets of the soul, describing
the learning to those whose preconception is not soiled by wicked
doctrines. Martyrs have suffered for their love o f God . . . stories
and pictures convey these things, but it is the spectators rather than
the hearers who are drawn to imitation.40

Here Photios asserts that icons have an equivalent value to that o f

words. What they can offer is the opportunity o f eyewitness, a fact that
can lead the spectator to imitate the deeds shown. This word and image
dialogue is then developed into the claim o f superiority for the icon:
“ No less than these, but rather greater, is the power o f sight. For surely,
whenever the thing seen is touched and caressed by the outpouring and
emanation o f the optical rays, the form o f the thing seen is sent on to
the mind, letting it be translated from there to the m em ory for the
accumulation o f a knowledge that is without any error .”41 This very
physical definition o f vision, which gives to sight the sense o f touch,
underlines the icon as the prim ary medium for showing in a precise
manner the form o f a thing. The icon, having established the memory
o f forms, then becomes a means for the spectator to be uplifted: “ But
the Virgin has been set up before our eyes motionless, carrying the crea­
tor in her arms as an infant, in icons as she is in words and visions, an
intercéder for salvation, a teacher o f divine reverence, both a grace o f
the eyes and a grace o f the mind, by which the divine love in us is borne
up to the intelligible beauty o f truth .”42 The terms used do not speak
o f a grace-filled image or a presence; rather, the icon mediates a rela­
tion that in Photios’s text is primarily intellectual. The icon presents the
truthful memory o f forms. Given their worthy subject, these necessar­
ily pertain to the beautiful, but only insofar as they first pertain to that
which is truthful.
These theologians have therefore defined a distinctly Christian visu-
ality. This has its origins in the Incarnation, yet cannot be understood
as a simple extension o f Christological thought. By asserting the arti-
factual nature o f the icon, they escape the potential problem o f an essen­
tial identification between an icon and its archetype. In its stead, they

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 WORD AND IMAGE

insist upon a formal identification that has its origin in the authentic,
historical, and incarnate body o f Christ. The icon itself can be seen as
the site wherein form and formlessness are juxtaposed, offering a disjunc­
tion that calls to mind the artifact through which one sees. The icon has
become an autonomous and sufficient means o f showing its subject.
Thanks to the formal relation of likeness, the image operates in a manner
that differs from the analogous representations o f words. The icon is
able to affirm that the Christian God is visualizable. Furthermore, the
icon is complete in itself yet partial in its re presentation o f what it shows.
It is complete in that it is an artifact composed o f form impressed into
or drawn from matter. It is partial in that this formal aspect o f the icon
establishes a relation to the form o f a necessarily prior cause. The icon is
thus a site in which a relation is established by means o f likeness between
an originary form and the impressed form. This likeness directs the en­
counter one may have with the icon itself toward the subject it shows.
Given the non-naturalistic discourse o f likeness that is evident in these
writings, with its careful inflection o f our understanding o f imitation,
we should not conceive the icon as a self-effacing doorway that opens
upon another place, but rather as a signpost whose insistent presence
directs us elsewhere .43

137
 CONCLUSION

i n t h e c o u r s e o f almost 180 years o f debate, Greek theologians pro­

duced a radical change in the language with which they framed the icon.
In so doing, they raised the status o f the work o f art to that o f theology
and the status o f the artist to that o f the theologian. That these clerics
were able to bring the turbulent site o f the icon within their domain is
a testimony to their desire to maintain the material memory o f a histori­
cally situated Christian religion. It was an outcome that depended upon
their successful confrontation o f a number o f issues central to the status
o f the work o f art itself. Foremost among these was the question o f the
truthfulness o f visual representation. Truth, rather than beauty, was the
issue that would define the legitimacy or the illegitimacy o f the Chris­
tian image, determining whether it should be thought o f as an icon or
an idol. Several factors needed to be addressed prior to this question o f
truthfulness. First, there was the artifactual being o f the icon. The icono­
clasts had argued that a manufactured icon could not be truthful. From
their assumption that an image was defined by an essential community
with that o f which it was image, they had been able to argue that a manu­
factured object could not truthfully represent a holy subject, whose par­
ticipation in the divine placed it beyond the limits o f such a material
medium. Instead, they offered sanctioned forms o f representation, such
as the cross, the word, and the transformed eucharistie gifts. It is telling
that this last item was defined as unmanufactured (αχειροποίητος).
In response, the iconophiles argued that the manufactured status o f
the icon was an essential aspect o f its definition, one that led to its safe­
guarded position as a medium o f Christian knowledge. In attending to

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 CONCLUSIO

this manufactured status, the iconophiles were able to draw an impor­

tant distinction between the relic, defined by contact, and the icon, de­
fined by relation. Initial definitions o f the icon had drawn heavily upon
the essentialist models o f the image deployed by defenders o f Trinitarian
orthodoxy and upon the implications o f the cult o f relics. Both defini­
tions shaped a participatory model for the icon and opened the way to
the iconoclastic critique o f the manufactured status o f the work o f art.
It required the precise adoption o f several Aristotelian concepts to clarify
this situation. First o f all, an expanded analysis o f the relational possi­
bilities o f the term likeness enabled the iconophiles to define a distinct
visuality. It gave value to the icon as a precise visual account o f the sub­
ject represented therein, such that when a subject gives himself or herself
to visualization, the icon itself becomes not only possible but necessary.
This icon was linked to its model only by a common form. The existence
o f this icon, defined as the formal effect o f a formal cause, did, however,
affirm the existence o f its necessarily pre-existing subject. The icon thus
becomes an independent witness to the Incarnation and all that stemmed
therefrom. The icon may therefore be said to be truthful in two manners:
first, in relation to the person within its borders; second, in terms o f its
own conditions as a medium that shows without representing. Tracing
in this double identity an iconic economy that was constructed upon an
essential difference and a shared likeness, the icon has become a legiti­
mate medium for theological truth.

M9
 ABBREVIATIONS

AASS. Acta Sanctorum Bollandiana (Brussels, 1643O.

ACO. Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum, 4 vols, in 27 parts, ed. E. Schwartz (Berlin,
1914-40), J. Straub (1971), R. Riedinger, Series Secunda (Berlin, 1984-92).
CCSG. Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca (Turnhout).
CCSL. Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina (Turnhout).
CSCO. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium (Louvain).
Gero, Leo III. S. Gcro, Byzantine Iconoclasm during the Reign of Leo III with Par­
ticular Attention to the Oriental Sources, CSCO 346 (Louvain, 1973).
Hennephof, Textus. H. Hennephof, Textus Byzantinos ad Iconomachiam Perti­
nentes in Usum Academicum (Leiden: Brill, 1969).
Kotter, Schriften 3. B. Kotter, Die Schrifien des Johannes von Damaskos, vol. 3,
Contra Imaginum Calumniatores Orationes Tres, PTS 17 (Berlin and New York,
1975)·
Mansi. J. D. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum Nova et Amplissima Collectio, 31 vols.
(Florence and Venice, 1759-98).
Mitsides. Theosebes, Ν ουθ εσία γέροντοςπερι τών άγιω ν εικόνω ν: A. Mitsides,
Ή π α ρουσ ία τής Ε κ κ λ η σ ία ς Κύπρου ε ι ς τόν αγώνα ύπέρ τών ε ικ ό ν ω ν
(Leukosia, 1989).
Nikephoros, Short History. C. Mango, Nikephoros, Patriarch of Constantinople.
Short History, Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae 13 (Washington, D.C.:
Dumbarton Oaks, 1990).
PG. Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Graeca, ed. J.-R Migne (Paris, 1857-66).
PTS. Patristische Texte und Studien.
Thümmel, Frühgeschichte. H. Thiimmel, Die Friihgeschichte der ostkirchlichen
Bilderlehre, TU 139 (Berlin, 1992).
TU. Texte und Untersuchungen zurZeit vordem Bilderstreit, Texte und Untersuch-
ungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur. Archiv fur die griechisch-
christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte.

[40
 NOTES

Readers should note the following publication, which appeared after this book
was written: Leslie Brubaker and John Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era
(ca. 680-850): An Annotated Survey, Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Mono­
graphs, vol. 7 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001).

I NTRODUCTI ON

1. Among recent studies, one might cite Peter Brown, “A Dark-Age Crisis:
Aspects of the Iconoclastic Controversy," English Historical Review 88 (1973):
1-34, and Ambrosios Giakalis, Images of the Divine. The Theology of Icons at the
Seventh Ecumenical Council (Leiden: Brill, 1994). Throughout this study, 1 have
sought to keep my footnotes to manageable proportions. The lengthy bibliog­
raphy suggests the many debts owed by a work such as this.
2. Extended art-historical discussions of iconoclasm are surprisingly rare.
The key text remains André Grabar, L'iconoclasme byzantin: le dossier archéologique,
2nd rev. ed. (Paris: Flammarion, 1984). Other important works on the art of this
period include: Robin Cormack, Writing in Gold: Byzantine Society and Its Icons
(London: George Philip, 1985) and Fernanda de’ Maffei, Icona, pittore c arte al
Concilio Niceno II (Rome: Bulzoni, 1974).
3. As will become clear, this interpretation will offer a different approach
to the study of the art of this period than that outlined in Hans Belting's magis­
terial Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image before the Era of Art, trans. Ed­
ward Jephcott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1994).
4. For comments in this regard see Cyril Mango, "Historical Introduction,"
in Anthony Bryer and Judith Herrin, eds.. Iconoclasm (Birmingham: Centre for
Byzantine Studies, University of Birmingham, 1977), 1-6; Peter Schreiner. “ Leg­
ende und Wirklichkeit in der Darstellung des byzantinischen Bilderstreitcs."
Saeculum 27(1976): 165-79; Peter Schreiner, "Der byzantinische Bilderstreit: Kri
tische Analyse der zeitgenossischen Meinungen und das Urteil der Nachwelt

141
 NOTES TO I N T R O D U C T I O N

bis Heute,” Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sulTalto medioevo 34
(1988): 319-407; Paul Speck, Ich bins nicht, Kaiser Konstantin ist es gewesen. Die
Legenden vont Einfluf des Teufels, des Juden und des Moslem auf den Ikonoklasmus,
Π οικίλ α Β υζα ντινά io (1990).
5. Nikephoros, Short History, 128 59.1-60.8, English translation on p. 129.
His later brief account of the onset of iconoclasm, found at the end of his third
Antirrhetikos, is strikingly different. Here it is the narrative of alien influence
that dominates: PG, ioo:528C -533A .

6. Theophanes, Chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor (Leipzig: Teubner, 1883),

1:401-2 and 404-5; The Chronicle o f Theophanes Confessor: Byzantine and Near East­
ern History, a .d. 284-813, trans. Cyril Mango and Roger Scon (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1997), 555 and 558-59.
7. George the Monk, Chronicon, rev. ed. Peter Wirth (Stuttgart: Teubner,
1978), 2:742 lines 1-22. For comments see Paul Lemerle, Byzantine Humanism
(Canberra: Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, 1986), 89-96.
8. The key text in this regard is the last text quoted in the fifth session of the
council. Read by John, the representative of the oriental patriarchs, this text offers
an account of Jewish influence on Islamic iconoclasm. The text suggests that Con­
stantine of Nakoleia imitated this iconoclastic turn. The text is at Mansi, i3:i97A-
200B. The most recent commentary on it is found in Speck, Ich bins nicht, 25-113.
9. Negative references to rulers and specific attacks on Leo III can be found
at Kotter, Schnften 3:66 1.1.24-34; 102-4 II.12.1-47; 113 II.16.62-66.
10. The veracity of these letters remains an open question. For an edition,
dated about 800 and Constantinopolitan in origin, see Jean Gouillard, “Aux ori­
gines de riconoclasme: le témoignage de Grégoire II?” Travaux et mémoires 3
(1968): 243-307. For a recent discussion, with bibliography, of their authenticity
see Alexander Alexakis, Codex Parisinus Graecus 1113 and Its Archetype, Dumbarton
Oaks Studies 34 (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1996), 108-10. The refer­
ences to the imperial origins of iconoclasm can be found throughout the letters.
The graphic descriptions of persecution suggest that the original letters might
have been heavily interpolated in the later 760s, years of increasingly vitriolic
critiques of imperial iconoclasm, prior to their being gathered into an extensive
Roman iconophile florilegium compiled c. 770.
11. The letters are preserved in the Acts of the Seventh Ecumenical Coun­
cil. The letter to John of Synada is at Mansi, i3:iooB-io5B; the letter to Constantine
of Nakoleia is at Mansi, 13:1058-108A; and the letter to Thomas of Claudiopolis
is at Mansi, 13:1056-108A. An interesting comparison is offered in the Apologeti-
cus Minor, written perhaps in 813-15 by Patriarch Nikephoros, where the patri­
arch reports that he is also faced by clerics deserting the orthodox position and
influencing the emperor (PG, ioo:84oD-84iD). The letter from Gregory II is
found at Mansi, 13:92e-100A.

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 NOTES TO I N T R O D U C T I O N

12. The Byzantine year runs from September i to August 31; hence, years
discussed in chronicles include portions of two years in our present calendar.
13. Theophanes dates the first argument against icons by Leo III to 724-
25 (Theophanes, Chronographia, 1, 404), the first act of iconoclasm to 725-26
(Theophanes, Chronographia, 1, 405), and the silentium that marks the resigna­
tion of Patriarch Germanos to 17 January 730 (Chronographia, 1, 408-9). Nike­
phoros dates the start of Leo’s first turn against the icons to 726-27 (Short
History, 128 60.1-8), he offers no examples of iconoclasm for this reign, and
he dates the silentium and resignation of Germanos to 730 (Short History,
130 62.1-6). The onset of iconoclasm has often been connected to the removal
of an icon of Christ from the Chalke Gate in the Great Palace at Constanti­
nople. Recently, the reality of this event has been called into question: Marie-
France Auzépy, "La destruction de l’icône du Christ de la Chalcé par Léon 111:
propagande ou réalité?” Byzantion 60 (1990): 445-92.. Key reflections on the start
of iconoclasm are offered in George Ostrogorsky, “ Les débuts de la querelle
des images,” in Mélanges Charles Diehl (Paris: E. Leroux, 1930), 1:235-55, and
Dietrich Stein, Der Beginn des byzantinischen Bilderstreites und seine Entwicklung
bis in die 4oer Jahre des 8. Jahrhunderts, Miscellanea Byzantina Monacensia 25
(Munich: Institut für Byzantinistik und Neugriechische Philologie der Univer-
sitàt, 1980).
14. Mansi, i6:388A-389C, 400C, 401E-404A.
15. Hélène Ahrweiler, “The Geography of the Iconoclast World,” in Bryer
and Herrin, Iconoclasm, 21-27; Nicole Thierry, “Topographie ponctuelle de
l’iconomachie en Asie Mineure,” in ΕΥΨ ΥΧΙΑ. Mélanges offerts à Héléne Ahrweiler
(Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1998), 2:651-71.
16. Nikephoros, Short History, 160-62 86.2-8. On these mosaics see Robin
Cormack and Ernest Hawkins, “The Mosaics of St. Sophia at Istanbul: The
Rooms above the Southwest Vestibule and Ramp,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 31
(1977): 175-251.
17. On relics one might compare Stephen Gero, Byzantine Iconoclasm during
the Reign o f Constantine V with Particular Attention to the Oriental Sources, CSCO
384 (Louvain: Secrétariat du Corpus SCO, 1977). 152-65, and John Wortley, Icono­
clasm and Leipsanoclasm: Leo III, Constantine V, and the Relics,” Byzantinische
Forschungen 8 (1982): 253-79. For a discussion of the Theotokos and the saints
during iconoclasm, see Kenneth Parry, Depicting the Word: Byzantine Iconophile
Thought of the Eighth and Ninth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 191-201.
18. Kathryn Ringrose, “ Monks and Society in Iconoclastic Byzantium.
Byzantine Studies/Études byzantines 6 (1979): 130-5··
19. For example, by the second phase of iconoclasm in the ninth century,
images are no longer referred to as idols, and they can be retained but not
venerated. The iconoclastic Council oi 815 declined to refer to icons as idols:

143
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R I

Nikephoros, Refutatio et eversio, 115, 71.9-11. This text implies that it is possible
to manufacture icons. The retention of icons is explicitly stated in the Letter of
Emperors Michael II and Theophilos to Louis the Pious (Mansi, 14:417-22) and
in Theodore of Stoudios’s Antirrhetici 2 (PG,
20. These various readings can be found in: Stephen Gero, "Byzantine
Iconoclasm and the Failure of a Medieval Reformation,” in The Image and the
Word: Confrontations inJudaism, Christianity, and Islam, ed. Joseph Gutmann (Mis­
soula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1980), 49-62; Stephen Gero, “Byzantine Iconoclasm
and Monomachy,” Journal o f Ecclesiastical History 28 (1977): 241-48; Ringrose,
“Monks and Society,” 130-51; Schreiner, "Legende und Wirklichkeit,” 172.—75;
Stephen Gero, “Notes on Byzantine Iconoclasm in the Eighth Century,” Byzan-
tion 44 (1974): 23-42; Gero, Leo III,;John Haldon, "Some Remarks on the Back­
ground to the Iconoclastic Controversy,” Byzantinoslavica 38 (1977): 161-84; Ernst
Kitzinger, “The Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm,” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers 8 (1954): 85-150; Patricia Crone, "Islam, Judeo-Christianity, and Byzan­
tine Iconoclasm,”Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 2 (1980): 59-95; cf. Geoffrey
King, "Islam, Iconoclasm, and the Declaration of Doctrine,” Bulletin of the School
o f Oriental and African Studies 48 (1985): 267-77; Brown, "A Dark-Age Crisis,” 1-
34; Averil Cameron, "The Language of Images: The Rise of Icons and Chris­
tian Representation,” in The Church and the Arts, ed. Diana Wood, Studies in
Church History 28 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992). t-42; Patrick Henry, "What was
the Iconoclastic Controversy About?” Church History 46 (1977): 16-31; John Meyen-
dorff, Christ in Eastern Christian Thought (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Semi­
nary Press, 1975); Christoph von Schonborn, God’s Human Face: The Christ-Icon
(San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1994).
21. The problem of overinterpretation is identified by Cyril Mango in his
“Historical Introduction,” in Bryer and Herrin, Iconoclasm, 1-6.

I. M A T T E R AND ME MO R Y

1. Here one might compare the readings of Early Christian art in Ernst
Kitzinger, "The Cult of Images in the Era before Iconoclasm,” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers 8 (1954): 85-150, and Charles Murray, “Art and the Early Church,"Journal
of Theological Studies n.s. 28 (1977): 215-57.
2. A notable exception is the much-discussed text of Hypatios of Ephesos:
Franz Diekamp, Analecta Patristica, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 117 (Rome:
Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 1938), 127-29. One should compare the discussions
of Paul Alexander, “Hypatius of Ephesus: A Note on Image Worship in the
Sixth Century," Harvard Theological Review 45 (1952): 177-84; Jean Gouillard,
“Hypatios d’Éphèse ou du Pseudo-Denys à Théodore Studite,” Revue des études
byzantines 19 (1961): 63-75; and Stephen Gero, "Hypatius of Ephesus on the Cult

144
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R I

of Images,” in Christianity, Judaism, and Other Graeco-Roman Cults: Studies for

Morton Smith at Sixty (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 2:208-16.
3. The classic statement on this subject is Kitzinger, "Cult of Images,” to
which should be added Averil Cameron, “Images of Authority: Élites and Icons
in Late-Sixth-Century Byzantium,” Past and Present 84 (1979): 3-35.
4. The textual criticism of this issue has been vigorously pursued by Paul
Speck; for example: "Eine Interpolation in den Bilderreden des Johannes von
Damaskos,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 82 (1989): 114-17; Ich bins nicht, Kaiser Konstan­
tin ist es gewesen. Die Legenden vom Einftuft des Teufels, des Juden und des Moslem
auf den Ikonoklasmus, Ποικίλα Βυζαντινά io (1990); " Wunderheilige und Bilder.
Zur Frage des Beginns der Bilderverehrung,” Ποικίλα Βυζαντινά ii (1991): 163—
247; “Das Teufelsschlofi. Bilderverehrung bei Anastasios Sinaites?” Ποικίλα
Βυζαντινά 13 (1994): 293-309; "Adversus Iudaeos — pro imaginibus. Die Gedanken
und Argumente des Leontios von Neapolis und des Georgios von Zypern,”
Ποικίλα Βυζαντινά 15 (1997): 131-76.
5. André Grabar (L’iconoclasme byzantin: le dossier archéologique, 2nd rev. ed.
[Paris: Flammarion, 1984]) offers the most fundamental survey of this material.
More recently, the question of the material evidence for the cult of icons has
been most consistently addressed by Gary Vikan, especially in Byzantine Pil­
grimage Art (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982) and “Art, Medicine, and
Magic in Early Byzantium,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 38 (1984): 65-86. For Saint
Demetrios see Robin Cormack, Writing in Gold: Byzantine Society and Its Icons
(London: George Philip, 1985), 50-94. For Santa Maria Antiqua see Per Jonas
Nordhagen, "S. Maria Antiqua. The Frescoes of the Seventh Century,” Acta In­
stitutum Romanum Norvegiae 8 (1979): 89-142.
6. Charles Rufus Morey, "The Painted Panel from the Sancta Sanctorum,” in
Festschrift zum sechzigsten Geburtstag von Paul Clemen (Bonn: F. Cohen, 1926): 150-68.
7. For an introduction to this phenomenon see Vikan, Byzantine Pilgrimage
Art, and Jas Eisner, "Replicating Palestine and Reversing the Reformation: Pil­
grimage and Collecting at Bobbio. Monza, and Walsingham,” Journal of the His­
tory of Collections 9 (1997): 117-30. The items within the box are secondary relics,
physical objects empowered by contact with the holy. See my discussion later
in this chapter for a fuller account of this definition.
8. John Wilkinson, "The Tomb of Christ: An Outline of Its Structural His­
tory,” Levant 1 (1969): 83fT.
9. For example, the image on a flask from Monza (ampulla number 91 of
Christ bringing the hand of Doubting Thomas to his wound: André Grabar.
Ampoules de Terre Sainte (Monza-Bobbio) (Paris: Klincksieck, 1958), 25-26. The
relics associated with Sion are listed by the sixth-century Piacenza pilgrim: John
Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims before the Crusades (Warminster: Aris and Phillips,
1977), 83-84.

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 NOTES TO C H A P T E R I

10. I would suggest a comparison with the ampulla Monza no. 2: Grabar,
Ampoules, 18-20.
11. John of Damascus: Kotter, Schriften 3:156-59 and 178-81. Seventh Ecumeni­
cal Council: Mansi, i3:44A-53C. Roman florilegium: On folios 266V-269V of
Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale gr. 1115. For a full discussion of this manuscript
see Alexander Alexakis, Codex Parisinus Graecus u ij and Its Archetype, Dumbarton
Oaks Studies 34 (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1996). The Leontios text
is discussed on pages 19 0 -9 2 of Alexakis’s book.
12. The text is available in a new edition, translation, and commentary:
Vincent Déroche, “L’Apologie contre les Juifs de Léontios de Néapolis,” Travaux
et mémoires 12 (1994): 45-104. The authenticity of this text has been the subject
of a lengthy debate between Vincent Déroche and Paul Speck: Paul Speck,
ΤΡΑΦΑΙΣ Η ΓΛΥΦΑΙΣ. Zu dem Fragment des Hypatios von Ephesos iiber die
Bilder, mit einem Anhang: Zu dem Dialog mit einem Juden des Leontios von
Neapolis,” Ποικίλα Βυζαντινά 4 (1984): 242-49; Vincent Déroche, "L’authen­
ticité de l’Apologie contre lesJuifs de Léontios de Néapolis,” Bulletin de correspon­
dance hellénique no (1986): 655-69; Paul Speck, “Der Dialog mit einem Juden
angeblich des Leontios von Neapolis,” Π οικίλα Βυζαντινά 6 (1987): 315-22;
Vincent Déroche, "La polémique anti-judaïque de Vie et Vile siècle. Un mé­
mento inédit: Les Képhalaia,” Travaux et mémoires 11 (1991): 278 n. 4; Paul Speck,
"Schweinefleisch und Bilderkult: Zur Bilderdebatte in den sogenanntenjuden-
dialogen,” in Τό Ελληνικόν: Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonisjr., vol. 1, Hellenic
Antiquity and Byzantium, ed. John S. Langdon et al. (New Rochelle, N.Y.: A. D.
Caratzas, 1993), 368-83; Déroche, “ L’Apologie,” 46-47; Speck, “Adversus Iu-
daeos — pro imaginibus,” 131-76. For a recent discussion of the text in an art-
historical context, see Charles Barber, "The Truth in Painting: Iconoclasm and
Identity in Early Medieval Art,” Speculum 72 (1997): 1019-36.
13. Déroche, “ L’Apologie," 66-67 lines 5-9.
14. Ibid., 67 lines 14-18.
15. Ibid., 67 lines 39-42.
16. Ibid., 69 lines 111-15.
17. Ibid., 67 lines 19-21.
18. Ibid., 67 lines 44-47.
19. Ibid., 67 lines 50-52.
20. Ibid., 69 lines 101-4.
21. Ibid., 67 lines 30-38.
22. Ibid., 69-70 lines 143-46.
23. This is an extensive and not yet fully documented body of material.
Perhaps the fullest account of the ampullae is to be found in Chiara Lambert
and Paola Pedemonte Demeglio, ‘ Ampolle devozionali ed itinerari di pellegri-
naggio tra IV e VII secolo,” Antiquité tardive 2 (1994): 205-31.

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24. There is no specific evidence that the queen did acquire these. The
assumption is based on the style of the ampullae, which must date to the late
sixth or early seventh century, and on the evidence that in 594 Gregory the Great
sent the queen, via a certain John, twenty-eight glass ampullae with oil from
the martyr’s tombs in Rome, which were intended for her Monza foundation.
These Roman flasks were each labeled. For these glass ampullae see A. Sepulcri,
“I papiri della basilica di Monza e le reliquie inviate de Roma,” Archivio storico
lombardo 19 (1903): 241-62. For a recent discussion of the Monza and related
treasuries see Eisner, "Replicating Palestine,” 117-30. A catalogue of the Monza
and Bobbio collections is in Grabar, Ampoules.
25. Grabar, Ampoules, 22-23: this can be compared with an ampulla held in
the Dumbarton Oaks Collection: 48.18.
26. This theme is developed in Gary Vikan, “Pilgrims in Magi’s Clothing:
The Impact of Mimesis on Early Pilgrimage Art,” in The Blessings of Pilgrimage,
ed. Robert Ousterhout (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990), 97-107·
27. Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims, 83.
28. Examples of the use of such eulogia at this period are numerous. Vikan s
Byzantine Pilgrimage Art and Art, Medicine, and Magic” offer numerous instances
of such uses.
29. Such personal contact may be imaginary. There is no evidence that
Theodolinda herself undertook a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. These ampullae
offered her the virtual experience of such a journey.
30. G. Celi, “Cimeli Bobbiesi,” La civiltà cattolica 74.2 (1923): 504ff and 74.3
(1923): 37ff
31. Paul van den Ven, La Vie ancienne de S. Syméon Stylite leJeune (μι-592), z
vols., Subsidia Hagiographica 32 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1962-70).
The importance of this life for the cult of images has long been noted. An im­
portant early discussion is Karl Holi, “Der Anteil der Styliten am Aufkommen
der Bilderverehrung,” in Gesammelte Aufsatze zur Kirchengeschichte (Tübingen:
J.C.B. Mohr, 1928), 2:388-98. An alternative reading of this evidence is offered
in Speck, "Wunderheilige und Bilder.” 165-210.
32. van den Ven, Vie ancienne, 206 line 36.
33. Ibid., 206 lines 38-41. The point is reiterated at 206 lines 53- 54· One
might compare this use of a seal with the miracle effected by Saint Artemios
on the granary guard Sergios: Ed. and trans., Virgil Crisafulli andjohn Nesbitt,
The Miracles o f St. Artemios: A Collection of Miracle Stories by an Anonymous Author
of Seventh-Century Byzantium (Leiden: Brill, 1997). 106-9.
34. It is the material evidence that leads me to reject Speck s somewhat for­
mulaic case for a massive interpolation of pre-iconoclastic material in favor of an
iconophile position. While there are some instances of interpolation, it cannot
be assumed that this indicates a widespread, carefully organized and Orwellian

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attempt to rewrite these histories. Indeed, one might suggest that this material
evidence should make the philologist look again at his assumptions.
35. It is worth remembering that sight and touch are closely connected in
ancient and medieval thought. Important relevant discussions of this relationship
can be found in Georgia Frank, "The Pilgrim’s Gaze in the Age before Icons,”
in Visuality before and beyond the Renaissance: Seeing as Others Saw, ed. Robert S.
Nelson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 98-115; Georgia Frank,
The Memory of the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berke­
ley: University of California Press, 2000), 171-81; Robert S. Nelson, "To Say and
to See: Ekphrasis and Vision in Byzantium,” in Nelson, Visuality before and beyond
the Renaissance, 143-68.
36. André Grabar (Martyrium: recherches sur le culte des reliques et l ’art chrétien
antique [Paris: Collège de France, 1946], 2:343ff.) provides the essential formulation
of this relationship. A nuanced response to this formulation is offered in Kitzinger,
"Cult of Images,” 115-17.
37. In this regard, I would set aside the very important decorations of the
Commodilla catacomb in Rome and the church of St. Demetrios in Thessa­
loniki. Both of these illustrate devotion to the bodies of the saints in their re­
spective locations, but neither clearly demonstrates the value of the icon beyond
that of record.
38. To the classic discussions by Ernst von Dobschiitz (Christusbilder: Unter-
suchungen zur christlichen Legende, TU 18 [Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1899]) and
Kitzinger (“Cult of Images,” 112-15), one should add the recent essays in Herbert
L. Kessler and Gerhard Wolf, The Holy Face and the Paradox o f Representation
(Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1998).
39. Averil Cameron, "The History of the Image of Edessa: The Telling of
a Story,” in Okeanos. Essays Presented to Ihor Sevcenko, Harvard Ukrainian Studies
7 (1983), 80-94; Averil Cameron, “The Mandylion and Byzantine Iconoclasm,”
in Kessler and Wolf, The Holy Face, 33-54; Han Drijvers, “The Image of Edessa
in the Syriac Tradition,” in The Holy Face, 13-32.
40. Mansi, 13:192.
41. Kotter, Schriften 3:145-46.
42. Ibid., 146.
43. Note in this regard the acute observations made by Herbert L. Kessler
(“In Search of Christ’s Body. Image or Imprint?” in Kessler and Wolf, The Holy
Face, i-12).
44. von Dobschiitz, Christusbilder, 40-60.
45. Frederick Hamilton and Ernest Brooks, The Syriac Chronicle Known as
That of Zacharias of Mitylene Translated into English (London: Methuen, 1899),
321.
46. Georgius Cedrenus, ed. Immanuel Bekker, Corpus Scriptorum Historiae

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Byzantinae 34 (Bonn: E. Weber 1838), 685. A piece of the cross was brought
from Apamea in Syria in the same year.
47. Theophylaktos Simokatta Historiae, ed. Carl de Boor, rev. ed. Peter Wirth
(Stuttgart: Teubner, 1972). Π, 3-4, and III, 1, 11-12; trans. Michael Whitby and
Mary Whitby, The History o f Theophylact Simocatta: An English Translation with
Introduction and Notes (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), 46 and 73.
48. De obsidione Constantinopolitana sub Heraclio Imp, ed. Angelo Mai, Patrum
Nova Bibliotheca 6.2 (Rome: Typis Sacri Consilii Propagando Christiano Nomini,
1853), 428, and George of Pisidia, Bellum avaricum, ed. Immanuel Bekker, Corpus
Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae 32 (Bonn: E. Weber, 1837), lines 370-74; cf.
George of Pisidia, Poemi, ed. Agostino Pertusi (Ettal: Buch-Kunstverlag, 1959),
193·
49. George of Pisidia, Expeditio Persica I, ed. Immanuel Bekker, Corpus
Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae 32 (Bonn: E. Weber, 1837), lines 139-44, cf. George
of Pisidia, Poemi, 91. This text can be compared with Theophanes the Confes­
sor, Chronographia, ed. Carl de Boor (Leipzig: Teubner, 1883), 1:303 lines 17-23.
50. Leo Sternbach, Carmina Inedita, Wiener Studien 14 (Vienna: H. Bohlaus,
1892), 59·
51. Mansi, 13:1896. It is noteworthy that the account of the image was in­
cluded with stories of the martyrdoms of the saints. The icon is not included
in the various lists of miraculous icons drawn up by iconophiles of the eighth
and ninth centuries.
52. Fernand de Mély, “L’image du Christ du Sancta Sanctorum et les réliques
apportés par les flots,” Mémoires de la Société des Antiquaires de France 63 (1902):
113-44; Giuseppe Wilpert, "L’Acheropita ossia l'immagine del Salvatore nella
Capella del Sancta Sanctorum," LArte 10 (1907): 161-77. 247-52; Maria Andaloro,
"L’Acheropita,” in II Palazzo Apostolico Lateranense, ed. Carlo Pietrangeli (Florence:
Nardi, 1991). 81-89.
53. Louis Duchesne, Liber Pontificalis Ecclesiae Romanae (Paris: E. Thorin,
1886), 1:443·
54. Carlo Bertelli, “II restauro della Madonna della Clemenza,” Bollettino
dell’Istituto Centrale del Restauro 41-44 (1964): 57· One might link this theme to
the Camouliana inscription discussed above.
55. Istae vero ecclesiae, in Itinerana et alia geographica, CCSL 175 (Turnhout:
Brepols, 1965), 321, lines 177-78: “The Basilica called S. Maria Trastevere; an im­
age of St. Mary which was made by itself is there” (Basilica quae appellatur
Sancta Maria Transtiberis; ibi est imago sanctae Mariae quae per se facta est).
56. The complete text is published in Alexakis, Codex Parisians Graecus nv>,
348-50.
57. Ursula Nilgen, “Maria Regina — Ein politischer Kultbildtypus? Romisches
Jahrbuch fiir Kunstgeschichte 19 ( 1981 >: 3—33-

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58. Leslie Brubaker, "Icons before Iconodasm?” Settimane di studio del Centro
italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo 45 (1998): 1216.
59. A point most tellingly made by Gary Vikan in “Ruminations on Edible
Icons: Originals and Copies in the Art of Byzantium,” in Studies in the History
o f Art 20 (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1989), 47-59. For further
thoughts on the implication of the copy, see Gordana Babic, “II modello e la
replica nell’arte bizantina delle icone,” Arte cristiana 76 (1988): 61-78 and Gordana
Babic, “ Les images byzantines et leurs degrés de signification: l'exemple de
l’Hodigitria,” in Byzance et les images, ed. Jannic Durand (Paris: La Documentation
française, 1984). 189-222.
60. Carlo Bertelli, La Madonna di Santa Maria in Trastevere (Rome: n.p., 1961), 71.
61. These examples and their bibliography are well discussed in Per Jonas
Nordhagen, “Icons Designed for the Display of Gifts,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers
41 (1987): 453- 60.
62. Ibid., 460.
63. While these frescoes are products of the seventh century, the date of
the gift-giving might be held to be in question. Santa Maria Antiqua was largely
buried by an earthquake in 847, so we can assume that the gifts must predate
this occurrence. One piece of evidence to support an early date is suggested by
an image of the Theotokos in a niche on the northwest pillar of the church.
The frescoed image in this niche is probably not the earliest image at this lo­
cation. The version that is now visible dates to the papacy of John-VII (705-7)·
In this final repainting, the top right-hand corner of the niche includes an ex­
tended frame, which appears to have been intended to encompass an existing
ex voto at the same location and whose presence was marked by nail holes (Per
Jonas Nordhagen, "The Frescoes of John VII (705-707) in S. Maria Antiqua in
Rome,” Acta Institutum Romanum Norvegiae 3 [1968], 75-76, and Eva Tea, La Basil­
ica di Santa Μαήα Antiqua [Milan: Società Editrice, 1937], 292). That these gifts
might belong to the seventh century is suggested from the evidence of two mo­
saics that are datable to the later sixth or early seventh century. The first image,
high on the west wall of the south inner aisle of St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki,
shows the saint receiving a young supplicant at his ciborium. The saint has his
hands portrayed in gold and held in a gesture of prayer. Similarly, a mosaic of
Saint Stephen in the amphitheater at Diirres shows the saint in the act of pray­
ing, his once-gilded hands now blackened: Ivanka Nikolajevic, "Images votives
de Salone et de Dyrrachium," Zbornik Radova Vizantoloskog Instituta 19 (1980):
59-70, and Robin Cormack, Writing in Gold, 50-94.
64. The Santa Maria in Trastevere icon is not an isolated example. From
the same period, numerous mosaics in St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki can be
cited in which the distinction between the sacred and the secular is overcome
within the image itself: for example, in the representation of the city’s eparch

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and bishop with Saint Demetrios on the north face of the pier, to the right of
the sanctuary. For some varied considerations of such imaginary encounters,
see Charles Barber, “ From Transformation to Desire: Art and Worship after
Byzantine Iconoclasm,” Art Bulletin 75 (1993): 7-16; Cormack, Writing in Gold,
215-51; Nancy Patterson Sevcenko, “Close Encounters: Contact between Holy
Figures and the Faithful as represented in Byzantine Works of Art,” in Durand,
Byzance et les images, 255-85.
65. For overviews of this topic see Vincenzo Ruggieri, "Consecrazione e
dedicazione di chiesa, secondo il Barberinianus graecus 336,” Orientalia Christiana
Periodica 54 (1988): 79-118; Geoffrey Willis, “The Consecration of Churches
down to the Ninth Century,” in Geoffrey Willis, Further Essays in Early Roman
Liturgy (London: Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, 1968),
13 5 -7 3 .
66 . Ampullae with oil from sites associated with the Theotokos and cloths
that had been in contact with her relics might have fulfilled a similar function.
67. Carlo Bertelli, “ La Madonna del Pantheon,” Bollettino d ’arte 46 (1961):
24-32, esp. 28-29.
68. This icon perhaps provided the name for the church of Santa Maria
Antiqua. In the life of Gregory III (731-41) from the Liber Pontificalis, there is an
uncertain reference to his having "silvered the ancient image of God’s Holy
Mother” (imaginem antiquam Sancte Dei Genitricis deargentavit) (Duchesne, Liber
Pontificalis, 385). It is probable that the icon referred to is the one that still sur­
vives in the church of San Francesco Romano (formerly Santa Maria Nova) in
Rome: Carlo Bertelli, “leone di Roma,” in Stil und Überlieferung in derKunst des
Abendlandes (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1967), 1:103-4.
69. Maria Andaloro, “ La datazione della Tavola di S. Maria in Trastevere,”
Rivista dell’Istituto nazionale di archeologia e storia dell'arte n.s. 19-20 (1972-73):
167. This renaming took place between 595 and c. 640.
70. For a careful reading of this letter in terms of broader questions of
ecclesiastical politics, see John McCulloh, “The Cult of Relics in the Letters and
‘Dialogues’ of Pope Gregory the Great: A Lexicographical Study,” Traditio 32
(1976): 145-84·
71. Discussion of the imperial image in Byzantium remains indebted to
some fundamental older studies: Andreas Alfoldi, "Die Ausgestaltung des
monarchischen Zeremoniells am romischen Kaiserhofe,” Mittcilungen des deutschen
archaologischen Instituts, romische Abteilung 49 (1934): 1-118; Helmut Kruse, Studien
zur ojfiziellen Geltungdes Kaiserbildes im romischen Reiche (Paderborn: F. Schoningh.
1934); André Grabar, L’empereur dans l ’art byzantin: recherches sur l art officiel de
l ’empire d ’orient (Paris: Les belles lettres, 1936). To these one should add the dis­
cussions in Lucas Koch, “Christusbild-Kaiserbild, Benediktinische Monatsschrifi
21 (1939): 85-105; Gerhard Ladner. “Origin and Significance of the Byzantine
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 2

Iconoclastic Controversy,” Mediaeval Studies 2 (1940): 127-49; Kitzinger, “Cult

of Images,” 85-150; Cameron, "Images of Authority," 3-35.
72. An interesting curb on the veneration of these images is found in an
edict issued by Theodosios II in 425: Theodor Mommsen, Theodosiani libri XVI
cum Constitutionibus Sirmondianis (Berlin: Weidmann, 1905), XV, 4,1. The follow­
ing translation is from Clyde Pharr, The Theodosian Code and Novels and the Sir-
mondian Constitutions (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952), 432: “If at
any time, whether on festal days, as is usual, or on ordinary days, statues or im­
ages of Us are erected, the judge shall be present without employing the vain­
glorious heights of adoration, but so that he may show that his presence has
graced the day, the place and Our memory. Likewise if Our images are shown
at plays or games, they shall demonstrate that Our divinity and glory live only
in the hearts and the secret places of the minds of those who attend. A wor­
ship in excess of human dignity shall be reserved for the Supernal Divinity.”
73. The medium is suggested by excerpts quoted in the florilegium attached
to the Orations of John of Damascus (John Chrysostom, On the Baptismal Font
[Kotter, Schrifien 3:193 III.122], and Severian of Gabala, Fourth Homily on the Cross
[Kotter, Schrifien 3: 194 III.123]), as well as by the material evidence introduced
below.
74. Attested in chapter 80 of Gregory of Nazianzos's first oration against
the emperor Julian: Gregory of Nazianzos, Discours 4 -5 contre Julien, ed. Jean
Bemardi et al., Sources chrétiennes 309 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1983), 202-4.
75. Discussed in chapter 3.
76. Kruse, Studien zuroffiziellen Geltungdes Kaiserbildes, 89-106.
77· Ibid., 34-50.
78. Mansi, 12.1013D.
79. Mommsen, Theodosiani lib i XVI, IX 44. This link affords an echo in the
notion proposed by iconophiles that acts committed against an icon are passed
on to their model.
80. It is a topic that the Carolingians will seek to clarify in their L ib i Carolini.
For discussion of this see Celia Chazelle, “Matter, Spirit, and Image in the L ib i
Carolini,” Recherches augustiniennes 21 (1986): 163-84, and David F. Appleby, “Holy
Relic and Holy Image: Saints’ Relics in the Western Controversy over Images
in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries,” Word and Image 8 (1992): 333- 43·
81. See n. 31 above.

2. I CON AND I DOL

i. On Saint Demetrios see Robin Cormack, “The Mosaic Decoration of St.

Demetrios, Thessaloniki. A Re-examination in the Light of the Drawings of
W. S. George,” Annual o f the British School at Athens 64 (1969): 17-52: Robin Cor-

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mack, Writing in Gold. Byzantine Society and Its Icons (London: George Philip,
1985), 88-89; Robin Cormack, The Church of Saint Demetrios. The Watercolours
and Drawings o f W. S. George (Thessaloniki: n.p., 1985), 70-71; André Grabar,
“Notes sur les mosaïques de Saint-Démétrios à Satanique,” Byzantion 48 (1978):
64-77. For Santa Maria Antiqua see Per Jonas Nordhagen, "The Frescoes of
John VII (705-707) in S. Maria Antiqua in Rome,” Acta Institutum Romanum
Norvegiae 3 (1968); Per Jonas Nordhagen, "Santa Maria Antiqua: The Frescoes
of the Seventh Century,” Acta Institutum Romanum Norvegiae 8 (1979): 89-142.
Numerous accounts of earlier churches and surviving monuments demonstrate
the full programs of decoration of churches of the fifth century and later.
2. All discussions of Leo’s iconoclasm tend to disparage its theological
depth: Stephen Gero, “Notes on Byzantine Iconoclasm in the Eighth Century,
Byzantion 44 (1974): 27-28; Stephen Gero,” Byzantine Iconoclasm during the reign
o f Leo III, with Particular Attention to the Oriental Sources, CSCO 346 (Louvain: Se­
crétariat du CSCO, 1973), 103-12; John Meyendorflf, Christ in Eastern Christian
Thought (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1975), 174. It is a point
made in the iconophile literature. For example, in the letter written by Patri­
arch Germanos to Thomas of Claudiopolis (Mansi, i3:io8A-i28A), whose the­
ses are closely followed in a closely related letter sent by Pope Gregory II to
Germanos (Mansi, 13:92c-100A). The Declaration of the iconoclastic Synod of
815 specifically rejects the relevance of the term idol in its application to icons:
Nikephoros, Refutatio et eversio, 115 lines 8-12. The Declaration of the iconoclastic
council held in 754 returns repeatedly to the notions of the idol and idolatry:
for example, Mansi, 13:216c, 221CD, 284C.
3. Patricia Crone, "Islam, Judeo-Christianity and Byzantine Iconoclasm,”
Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 2 (1980): 59-95; cf. Geoffrey King, "Islam,
Iconoclasm, and the Declaration of Doctrine,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental
and African Studies 48 (1985): 267-77 and Paul Speck, Ich bin’s nicht, Kaiser Konstan­
tin ist es gewesen: Die Legenden vom Einflufi des Teufels, des Juden und des Moslem
auf den Ikonoklasmus, Π οικίλα Β υζαντινά io (1990).
4. PG, 95:329AB. For comments on the passage see Paul Speck, Ich bin’s nicht,
423-24, although I do not agree that this passage proves that the texts by Leontios
of Neapolis and Hypatios of Ephesos must be dated in the eighth century.
5. PG, 95:321 B.
6. Most recently, see the essays in The Council in Truth Revisited, ed. George
Nedungatt and Michael Featherstone, Kanonika 6 (Rome: Pontificio Istituto
Orientale, 1995), which also includes a revised edition of the canons.
7. Mansi, i3:4oD-4iE.
8. Patrick O’Connell, The Ecclesiology of St. Nicephorus I, Patriarch of Constan­
tinople, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 194 (Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale,
1972), 126-28.

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9. PG, ioo:845C -848B .

10. PG, ioo:845D -848A .

11. The Greek text is taken from the edition found in Nedungatt and Feather-
stone, The Council in Trullo Revisited, 162-64:

Περί τού μή τούς ζωγράφους έν τώ δακτυλοδεικτείν τόν Πρόδρομον

αμνόν έγχαράττειν.
Έν τισι των σεπτών έκόνων γραφαίς αμνός δακτύλω τού Προ­
δρόμου δεικνύμενος έγχαράττεται, ός εις τύπον παρελήφθη τής
χάριτος, τόν αληθινόν ήμίν διά νόμου προϋποφαίνων άμνόν, Χριστόν
τόν θεόν ημών. Τούς ούν παλαιούς τύπους και τάς σκιάς ώς τής άλ-
ηθείας σύμβολά τε και προχαράγματα τή έκκλησία παραδεδομένους
κατασπαζόμενοι, τήν χάριν προτιμώμεν καί τήν άλήθειαν, ώς πλή­
ρωμα νόμου ταύτην ύποδεξάμενοι. Ώς άν ούν τό τέλειον κάν ταΐς
χρωματουργίαις έν ταις άπάντων όψεσιν ύπογράφηται, τόν τού
α’ίροντος τήν άμαρτίαν τού κόσμου άμνού, Χριστού τού θεού ήμών.
κατά τόν άνθρώπινον χαρακτήρα και έν ταΐς είκοσιν άπό τού νύν,
άντί τού παλαιού άμνού, άναστηλούσθαι όρίζομεν, δι αύτού τό τής
ταπεινώσεως ύψος τού θεού λόγου κατανοούντες, καί πρός μνήμην
τής έν σαρκί πολιτείας, τού τε πάθους αύτού καί τού σωτηρίου
θανάτου χειραγωγούμενοι, καί τής έντεύθεν γενομένης τώ κόσμω
άπολυτρώσεως.

ΐ2. For a rich discussion of the terms used in this canon see Herbert L.
Kessler, Spiritual Seeing: Picturing God’s Invisibility in Medieval Art (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000), 29-52.
13. Christopher Walter, “Two Notes on the Deesis,” Revue des études byzan­
tines 26 (1968): 330-36. For a full description of the fresco see Nordhagen, “S. Maria
Antiqua: The Frescoes of the Seventh Century,” 99-101. Fora related adaptation
of this iconography, note the fresco in the ninth-century cave church of Nike-
tas the Stylite at Kizil Cukiir in Cappadocia: Catherine Jolivet-Lévy, Les églises
byzantines de Cappadoce. Le programme iconographique de l ’abside et des abords (Paris:
Éditions du Centre nationale de la recherche scientifique, 1991), 55.
14. Kathleen Corrigan, “The Witness of John the Baptist on an Early Byzan­
tine Icon in Kiev,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 42 (1988): 1-11.
15. Mansi, n:245ff., 373, 704.
16. Mansi, 11:249, 289É, 708.
17. Heinz Ohme, “ Die sogenanten ‘antiromischen Kanones’ des Quini-
sextum,” in Nedungatt and Featherstone, The Council in Trullo Revisited, 313-15;
Heinz Ohme, “Das Quinisextum auf dem VII. okumenischen Konzil,” Annuarium
Historiae Conciliorum 20 (1988): 326-44; Hermann Vogt, “Der Streit um das

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 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 2

Lamm. Das Trullanum und die Bilder," Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum 20

(1988): 135-49; Nordhagen, “Frescoes of John VII," 95-98; James D. Breckenridge,
“Evidence for the Nature of Relations between Pope John VII and the Byzan­
tine Emperorjustinian II,” Byzantinische Zeitschnft 65 (1972): 364-74; Jean Marie
Sansterre, “Jean VII (705-707), idéologie pontificale et réalisme politique,” in
Hommages à Charles Delvoye, ed. Lidia Hadermann-Misguich and Guy Raepsaet
(Brussels: Éditions de rUniversité de Bruxelles, 1982), 377-88; Jean Marie Sansterre,
“A propos de la signification politico-religieuse de certaines fresques de Jean VII
à Sainte-Marie-Antique,” Byzantion 57 (1987): 434-40.
18. Anna Kartsonis, “The Emancipation of the Crucifixion,” in Byzance et
les images, ed. Jannic Durand (Paris: La Documentation française, 1995), 151-87.
19. Examples are discussed in Kartsonis, "Emancipation.”
20. In this regard, I would differentiate my reading of the Crucifixion from
those who have argued for its direct ties to the canons of the Quinisext Council.
On this topic, I would add the following essay to those cited in note 17 above:
John Osborne, "A Carolingian Agnus Dei Relief from Mola di Monte Gelato,
near Rome,” Gesta 33 (1994): 73-78.
21. The transcription can be found in an edition by Einar Molland in an ap­
pendix of Nordhagen, “ Frescoes of John VII,” 121-22. We have only about half
of the total texts, assuming that a second set was inscribed to the left of Calvary.
The text can be translated:

Solomon (Song of Sol. 3:11): Go forth ye daughters of Jerusalem with

the crown with which his mother crowned him in the day of his es­
pousals. Zachariah (Zach. 9:11, 14:6-7): And thou by the blood of thy
covenant hast sent forth thy prisoners out of the pit that hast no water.
And it shall come to pass in that day that there shall be no light, but
cold and frost, and that day shall be known to the Lord and it shall not
be day or night, but towards evening it shall be light. Amos (Amos 8:9,
10): The sun shall go down at noon, and the light shall be darkened
on the earth by day and I will make it as the mourning of a beloved
friend and to those with him as a day of grief. Jeremiah (Baruch 3:35,
John 19:37, Deut. 28:66): This is our God and no other shall be com­
pared to him and they shall look upon the one who has been pierced
and your lives will be seen hanging before your eyes.

22. A comparison with the sixth-century cycle in San Apollinare Nu ovo in

Ravenna reveals the additional emphasis upon the post-Resurrection cycle at
Santa Maria Antiqua. For the San Apollinare Nuovo cycle see Friedrich Deich­
mann, Ravenna: Hauptstadt des Spatantiken Abcndlandes, vol. 2.1 (Wiesbaden:
F. Steiner, 1974).

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 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 2

23. Nordhagen, "Frescoes of John VII,” esp. 95-98.

24. Guglielmo Matthiae, SS. Cosma e Damiano e S. Teodoro (Rome: Danesi
in via Margutta, 1948), 49-65· This decoration should be compared with the
anthropomorphic image of the same subject in the restored fifth-century tri­
umphal arch decoration in San Paolo fuori le mura.
25. The importance of this cult at this period is analyzed in a number of
studies. Among the most noteworthy are Anatole Frolow, La relique de la Vraie
Croix (Paris: Institut des études byzantines français, 1961), and Martin Werner,
“The Cross-Carpet Page in the Book of Durrow: The Cult of the True Cross,
Adomnan, and Iona,” Art Bulletin 72 (1990): 174-223.
26. Mansi i3:i24E-i25A.
27. See chapter 4 below.
28. Karl Heinz Uthemann, Anastasii Sinaitae Opera. Viae Dux, CCSG 8 (Turn-
hout: Brepols, 1981), 1.1.27-34; reiterated at 12.1.1-30.
29. Uthemann, Anastasii Sinaitae Opera. Viae Dux, 12.3.1-12. The image is
used at 12.3.16-22, where the text reads: "Behold Christ, the son of the living
God, complete and indivisible in the cross. This is God the Logos, both a rea­
sonable soul, which is hypostatically united to him, and the body.”
30. The text is unclear as to whether we should expect an icon of the Cruci­
fixion or of the cross. While the intent of the passage might require a corpo­
real representation, the reference to the cross and the use of the term figure
both imply a noncorporeal representation. It is possible that we are seeing an
iconophile and iconoclast recension of this text. It is also possible that a non­
corporeal representation was the most appropriate means of denying the death.
31. Canon 82 remained in discussion until the end of iconoclasm. In par­
ticular, the value of prophetic vision kept the relationship between the Old and
New Testaments in question. In the Synodikon o f Orthodoxy prophetic vision was
not introduced as a model for spiritual witness; rather, it was considered a préfigu­
ration of the iconic. The emphasis placed upon this type of vision was perhaps
a direct response to the vigorously spiritual interests of the iconoclasts of second
iconoclasm, who emphasized and found in the prophets a model for interior
vision. This theme suggests that the iconoclasts continued to search for a means
of underlining the continuing value of the Old Testament. Gouillard suggests
that this is a topic in the air (Jean Gouillard, “Le Synodikon de l ’Orthodoxie. Édi­
tion et commentaire,” Travaux et mémoires 2 [1967]: 174). One might suggest that
its late arrival is due to the iconoclasts. Above all, the Old Testament was under­
stood to be anticipatory of the New Testament. It could not substitute for it.
In this regard, one should note that the implications of canon 82 of the Quinisext
Council were extended to the Theotokos (Synodikon, lines 76ff. and pp. 175-76).
32. One may begin with Mansi 13:100c, 105D, 117BC; Kotter, Schrifien 3:73-
74 II.7 and III.4.

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 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 2

33. Mansi, 13:100c, cf. 13, 105D.

34. Mitsides, 166:352-169:423: Sap. 13:10-14:1, 14:7-8, 14:8-17 and 20-22,
14:30, 15:6-8, 15:10-11 and 13, 15:15, 15:16-17.
35. John of Damascus responds to this by trying to define the artist’s proper
intentions (Kotter, Schriften 3:99 II.10.48-72,111.93.48-72).
36. This point will be developed in chapter 3 below. The key texts are PG,
ioo:309A and Mansi, I3:248E, 252AB.
37· PG, 100:337c.
38. The strong defense of matter by John of Damascus can be read as a re­
sponse to this proposition; see Kotter, Schriften 3:104-6 II.13-14.
39. Mansi, i3:ii7BC.
40. In orthodox thought, holiness is a participation in the divine: see Meyen-
dorff, Christ in Eastern Christian Thought, 113-51.
41. Kotter, Schriften 3:94 1.19 lines 1-8, 137-139 III.33.
42. Mansi, i3:93CD, 124BC; Kotter, Schriften 3:114 1.24.iff. and II.17.iff.
43. This is strongly disputed by John of Damascus in his First and Second
Orations: Kotter, Schriften 3:89-92 1.16.1-91,104-6 II.13.1-22 and II.14.1-45. Also
Mansi, I3: i i 6B C.
44. It is firmly reiterated in the surviving texts of ninth-century iconoclasm.
This characteristic is emphasized in Milton Anastos, “The Ethical Theory of
Images Formulated by the Iconoclasts in 754 and 815,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 8
(1954): 153-60.
45. Kenneth Parry, Depicting the Word: Byzantine Iconophile Thought of the
Eighth and Ninth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 5·
46. Mansi, i3:i23DE.
47. Inferred at Mansi, 13:116c.
48. PG, 100:289c.
49. This point is hinted at Mansi, i3:i2oE. It is explicitly mentioned in the
Admonition, Mitsides, 158.110-12. A comparable point is raised in the First Letter
written by Pope Gregory II to Leo III: Mansi, 12:9650.
50. Kotter, Schriften 3:116-17. The precise identification of the passages
quoted by these first iconoclasts is difficult to define. The Horos of 754 quotes
only two passages, while laconically referring to the existence of others (Mansi,
i3:292DE). The florilegium attached to the iconoclastic Synod of 815 is far more
extensive, including 24 fragments found in Nicephoros's refutation of this coun­
cil: Nikephoros, Refutatio et eversio, 342-47. The fundamental studies on these
fragments are: Karl Holl, “ Die Schriften des Epiphanius gegen die Bilder-
verehrung,” in Gesammelte Aufsatze zur Kirchengeschichte (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr,
1928), 2:356-63; Georg Ostrogorsky. Studien zur Geschicltie des byzantinischen
Bilderstreits (Breslau: M. and H. Marcus, 1929). Fora recent useful discussion of
Epiphanios see Pierre Maraval, "Epiphane: docteur des iconoclastes, in Sicce

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 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 3

II, 787-1987, ed. François Boespflug and Nicolas Lossky (Paris: Éditions du Cerf,
1989). 51-62.
51. Nikephoros, Refutatio et eversio, 344 IV.1662, 346 IV.1992.
52. Nikephoros, Refiitatio et eversio, 343 IV.1662, 346 V.202s.
53. PG, 95:344A. A similar point is implicit in the letter written by Pope Greg­
ory II to Germanos (Mansi, i3:93DE).
54. Mitsides, 161:211.
55. Mitsides, 161:214-15.
56. Mitsides, 161:220-21.
57. Mitsides, 162:257-60.
58. Mitsides, 158:110-12.

3. TRUTH AND E C O N O M Y

1. Notable lengthy studies of the Christological aspects of iconoclasm in­

clude John Meyendorff, Christ in Eastern Christian Thought (Crestwood. N.Y.:
St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1975); Christoph von Schonborn, Christ’s Human
Face: The Christ-lcon (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1994); Lucas Koch, "Zur Théo­
logie der Christusikone,” Benediktinische Monatsschrift 19 (1937): 375-87; 20 (1938):
32-47, 168-75, 437- 52· A brief but pointed discussion is Patrick Henry, "What
Was the Iconoclastic Controversy About?” Church History 46 (1977): 16-31.
2. Oskar Wulff, Die Koimesiskirche in Nicaa und ihre Mosaiken nebst den ver-
wandten kirchlichen Baudenkmalern (Strasbourg: J.H.E. Heitz, 1903); Theodor
Schmit, Die Koimesis-kirche von Nikaia: Das Bauwerk und die Mosaiken (Berlin:
Walter de Gruyter, 1927); Edmund Weigand, Review of Schmit, op. cit., in
Deutsche Literaturzeitung (1927), cols. 2601 —11; Paul Underwood, "The Evidence
of Restoration in the Sanctuary Mosaics of the Church of the Dormition at
Nicaea,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 13 (1959): 235-44; Fernanda de’ Maffei, Icona,
pittore e arte al Concilio Niceno II (Rome: Bulzoni, 1974); Fernanda de’ Maffei,
“ L’Unigenito consostanziale al Padre nel programma trinitario dei perduti mo­
saic! del bema della Dormizione di Nicea e il Cristo trasfigurato del Sinai,” Sto­
ria dell’arte 45 (1982): 91-116; 46 (1982): 185-200; Charles Barber, "The Koimesis
Church, Nicaea: The Limits of Representation on the Eve of Iconoclasm,”
Jahrbuch der osterreichischen Byzantinistik 41 (1991): 43-60; Cyril Mango, "Notes
d epigraphie et d’archéologie Constantinople, Nicée,” Travaux et mémoires 12
(1994): 349-57; Cyril Mango, “The Chalkoprateia Annunciation and the Pre-
eternal Logos,” Δ ελτίον τής Χ ρισ τια νικ ή ς Α ρχαιολογικής Ε τα ιρ εία ς ιγ (ΐ993-
94): 165-70; Glenn Peers, “Patriarchal Politics in the Paris Gregory (B.N. gr.
510),” Jahrbuch der osterreichischen Byzantinistik 47 (1997): 51-71; Glenn Peers,
Subtle Bodies: Representing Angels in Byzantium (Berkeley: University of Califor­
nia Press, 2001).

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3. These orders are listed together at Ephesians 1:21.

4. It is unnecessary to link this passage to Hebrews 1:6 as Cyril Mango does
in his somewhat problematic reading (or anti-reading?) of these mosaics: Mango,
“Chalkoprateia Annunciation,” 168-70.
5. Underwood, “ Evidence of Restoration,” 235-44.
6. This is defined as a symbol of the Trinity by John of Gaza: Paul
Friedlànder, Johannes von Gaza und Paulus Silentiarius (Leipzig: Teubner, 1912),
137-38 lines 41-44.
7. Martin Kirigin, La mano divina nell’ iconografia cristiana, Studi di antichità
cristiana 31 (Vatican City: Pontificio Istituto di archeologia cristiana, 1976).
8. Barber, "Koimesis Church,” 53-54.
9. First Homily on the Koimesis: PG, 98:34^-3448; Germanos of Constanti­
nople, Omelie mariologiche, trans. Vittorio Fazzo, Collana di Testi Patristici 49
(Rome: Città nuova éditrice, 1985), iosff.
10. PG, 77:ii2iA-ii45B. The Trinitarian aspect of this decoration is discussed
at length in Barber, "Koimesis Church,” 53-57.
11. Barber, "Koimesis Church,” 57-60.
12. The term is fully discussed in Marie-José Mondzain, Image, icône, économie:
les sources byzantines de l ’imaginaire contemporain (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1996),
25-90.
13. Henry, “ Iconoclastic Controversy,” 21-25.
14. For example: Kotter, Schrifien 3:80-83 1.8, III.8; Mansi, i 3 : io i B.
15. Mansi, 13:112c, 120E.
16. Kotter, Schrifien 3:81-82.
17. For example: Kotter, Schrifien 3:75-78 I.4, III.6; 80 I.7; 80-83 1.8, III.8;
89-92 1.16; 71-72 II.5; 73-74 II.7, III.4; 74-75 II.8, III.5; 101-2 II.i i , III.10.
18. M ansi i 3: io i AB.
19. Cf. Mansi, i3:ii7C-E.
20. Kotter, Schrifien 3:86-871.13; 129-30 III.23; Mansi, 13:101c, 113B, 116AB, 121A.
21. M ansi, i 3 : io i BC.
22. This point returns us to the Monothelite context for the formulation
of canon 82. Germanos refers to this use for the images (Mansi, ΐ3:ιοιΒ, 116A).
23. Kotter, Schrifien 3:125 III.16.2--14.
24. This point is carefully elaborated in Gerhard Ladner, The Concept of
the Image in the Greek Fathers and the Byzantine Iconoclastic Controversy,
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 7 (1953): 3-34
25. Kotter, Schrifien 3:83-84 L9.3-13.
26. Ladner, “Concept of the Image," 8-10.
27. Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit: Homily 18, 45: B. Pruche, Basile de
Césarée. Traité du Saint-Esprit. Texte grec, introduction et traduction. Sources chreti-
énnes i7bis (Paris: Éditions du C e rf, 1968), 4 0 6 - 8 . T h e text is cited in all three

159
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of John of Damascus’s florilegia: Kotter, Schriften 3:1471.35, II.31, III.48. It is cited

at Nicaea II: Mansi, i3:69DE.
28. Athanasios of Alexandria, Third Oration against theArians 5: PG 26 :3 29 c-
332B. Used by John of Damascus in his third florilegium: Kotter, Schrifien 3:191
III.114. It was quoted at Nicaea II: Mansi, i3:69BC.
29. Kotter, Schnften 3:126-27 III.18.1-34; cf. 8 3-8 4 ,1.9.6-14.
30. Kotter, Schriften 3:127 III.19.1-12; cf. 84 I.10.1-13.
31. Kotter, Schnften 3:128 III.20.1-13.
32. Kotter, Schnften 3:128-29 III.21.1-28; cf. 84-85 I.n.i-29.
33. Kotter, Schriften 3:129 III.22.1-7; cf. 86 I.12.1-7.
34. Kotter, Schnften 3:129-30 III.23.1-25; cf. 86 I.13.1-15.
35. The ninth-century Life o f Niketas o f Medikion reports that there were
originally thirteen: Acta Sanctorum April 1 xxviii EF.
36. PG, ioo:309A, cf. Mansi, \3.232A.
37. PG, ioo:225A. This definition was not explicitly adopted by the Council
of 754. It is nonetheless implicit in the definition of an icon based upon the
model of the eucharist.
38. 2 Corinthians 4:3; Colossians 1:15.
39. PG, 100:253A.
40. PG, 100:252c, cf. Mansi, i3:252A.
41. PG, ioo:357B -D .

42. PG, 100-216BC.

43. It should be remembered that the iconoclasts repeatedly profess their
agreement with the doctrine defined by the first six ecumenical councils.
44. This dilemma is based upon an understanding that the two natures re­
main absolute within the person of Christ. Ninth-century iconophiles made a
strong (and potentially problematic) distinction between the natures within the
hypostasis: Kenneth Parry, Depicting the Word: Byzantine Iconophile Thought of
the Eighth and Ninth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 105-9.
45. PG, ioo:329A, cf. Mansi, 13:240 c.
46. This doctrine is discussed fully in Stephen Gero, “The Eucharistic Doc­
trine of the Byzantine Iconoclasts and Its Sources,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 68
(1975): 4-22.
47. PG, ioo:332B, 332D, 336A, 337A, 337CD; Mansi, i3:26iE-264C.
48. Body: the phrase is quoted at Mansi, i3:26iE; cf. Matthew 26:26, Mark
14:22, Luke 22:19. Blood: the phrase is quoted at Mansi, i3:264A; cf. Matthew
26:28, Mark 14:24, Luke 22:20.
49. Mansi, 13:261 E-264C; cf. PG, 100:3338, 336A, 337A, 337CD.
50. PG, ioo:337CD; cf. Mansi, 13:264c.
51. Mansi, 13:268c.
52. Mansi, 13:2646.

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53. Figure: the term is found at PG, 100:333e and 337A; I will examine the pre­
cise use of this term in the next chapter. Body: PG, ioo:336A.

54. PG, 100.337A.

55. Mansi, 13:2686. The term used is ψευδωνύμος (misnamed).

4. F I G U R E AND S I GN

1. Τύπος can be translated as an impression or mark, a representation, a

shape or form, a type or figure, a form, a pattern or model, or an outline. In
consistently translating the term as figure, l have sought to emphasize the im­
plicit anteriority of the word. Σημεΐον has been translated as sign. It carries the
connotation that the thing called a sign is symbolic of something else.
2. See chapter 3, note 2 above.
3. I will concentrate on the cross in this chapter. One should note that the
iconoclasts were also accused of filling their churches with decorative devices
and bird imagery. The often-quoted examples are found in the iconophile lit­
erature of the early ninth century, for example, the Life o f Stephen the Younger:
La Vie d ’Étienne leJeune par Etienne le Diacre, intro., ed., tr. Marie-France Auzépy
(Aldershot: Variorum, 1997), 121, 127. As I will argue more fully with respect to
the cross, such instances mark a continuation of an existing decorative tradition.
Its significance is that of exclusion rather than return. For a compelling account
of the aniconic tradition of decoration see Dimitrios Pallas, "Eine anikonische
lineare Wanddekoration auf der Insel Ikaria: Zur Tradition der bilderlosen
Kirchenausstattung/’JdJirbucJt der ôsterreichischen Byzantinistik 23 (1974): 298-311.
4. On this, see most recently John Moorhead, "Iconoclasm, the Cross and
the Imperial Image,” Byzantion 55 (1985): 165-79· Similar themes are explored
in Gabriel Millet, "Les iconoclastes et la Croix. À propos d’une inscription de
Cappadoce,” Bulletin de correspondance hellénique 34 (1910): 96-109, and André
Grabar, L’iconoclasme byzantin: le dossier archéologique, 2nd rev. ed. (Paris: Flam­
marion, 1984), 135-210.
5. This occurs during the reign of Leo III. The earliest issues of his seals
use the iconography of the Theotokos Hodegetria, which was later replaced
by the cross. The same iconography was also adopted by Constantine V, who
experimented with dynastic portraits that used no dominant religious image.
6. Philip Grierson, "The Miliaresion of Leo III, Spink’s Numismatic Circu­
lar 71 (1963): 247.
7. For Nicaea: Paul Underwood, "The Evidence of Restoration in the Sanc­
tuary Mosaics of the Church of the Dormition at Nicaea,” Dumbarton Oaks Pa­
pers 13 (1959): 235-42. For Istanbul: Robin Cormack and Ernest J. W. I law kins.
“The Mosaics of St. Sophia at Istanbul: The Rooms above the Southwest Vestibule
and Ramp,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 31 (1977Y- 177 251.

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8. In Istanbul a new decoration from the 740s is found in the apse of Hagia
Eirene: Walter S. George, The Church o f Saint Eirene at Constantinople (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1912), 47~ 54- For Thessaloniki there is a new deco­
ration from the 780s in the church of St. Sophia. This iconoclastic decoration
was replaced in the eleventh century: Robin Cormack, "The Apse Mosaics of
S. Sophia at Thessaloniki,” Δ ελτίον τής Χ ρισ τιανικής Αρχαιολογικής Ε τα ιρεία ς
ίο (1980-81): in-35- The dates of the Cappadocian material are much debated.
For the most sympathetic attribution of a body of this material to the icono­
clastic period see Nicole Thierry, "Mentalité et formulation iconoclastes en Ana­
tolie, ’’Journal des savants (1976): 81-119, with her cautionary remarks at Nicole
Thierry, “Notes critiques à propos des peintures rupestres de Cappadoce,” Re­
vue des études byzantines 26 (1968): 349f.
9. The importance of this pre-existing tradition is underlined in Grabar,
L’iconoclasme byzantin, 176-77.
10. Note the examples listed in Patricia Crone, “Islam, Judeo-Christianity
and Byzantine Iconoclasm,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 2 (1980): 68 nn.
38-40.
11. PG, 79:577-80. Note the discussion below on the iconoclastic use of this
text.
12. Philip Grierson (“The Consular Coinage of ‘Heraclius’ and the Revolt
against Phocas of 608-610,” Numismatic Chronicle, 6th sen, 10 [1950]: 71-93) ad­
dresses the final establishment of this type during the reign of Heraclios.
13. Cormack and Hawkins, "Mosaics of St. Sophia,” 177-251.
14. A convenient survey of aniconic decoration is to be found in Pallas,
“Anikonische lineare Wanddekoration,” 298-311. Some additional material and
discussion can be found inJacqueline Lafontaine-Dosogne, “Pour une probléma­
tique de la peinture d’église byzantine à l'époque iconoclaste,” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers 41 (1987): 321-37. Some examples might be the side chapels at the monastery
of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai: George Sotiriou, “Τοιχογραφίαι τής Σκηνής
τού Μαρτυρίου εις παρεκκλήσια τού τείχους τής Μονής Σινά,” Studi bizantini
e neoellenici 9 (1957): 389, and George Forsyth and Kurt Weitzmann, The Monastery
o f Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai: The Church and Fortress o f Justinian (Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press, 1973), 17.
15. Eunice Dauterman Maguire, Henry Maguire, and Maggie Duncan-
Flowers, Art and Holy Powers in the Early Christian House (Urbana: University of
Illinois Press, 1989), 50, 65, 170, 175.
16. John Cotsonis, Byzantine Figurai Processional Crosses (Washington, D.C.:
Dumbarton Oaks, 1994).
17. Anatole Frolow, “La Vraie Croix et les expéditions d’Héraclius en Perse,”
Revue des études byzantines 11 (1953): 88-105.
18. Nikephoros, Short History, 66 lines 8-21, and 185.

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19. For example, the devotion offered by Anthony of Piacenza in the later
sixth century: John Wilkinson Jerusalem Pilgrims before the Crusades (Warminster:
Aris and Phillips, 1977), 83 section 20.
20. The date is uncertain: Nikephoros, Short History, 66 and 185.
21. Arculfus, De locis sanctis, III.3 in Titus Tobler, Itinera et descriptiones Terrae
Sanctae (Geneva: J.-G. Fick, 1877), i :I93ÎT. The text is translated in Wilkinson,
Jerusalem Pilgrims, 113-14.
22. For example, Andrew of Crete, "On the Universal Exaltation of the
Honorable and Life-giving Cross” at PG, 97:10170 -1033C.
23. Cormack and Hawkins, "Mosaics of St. Sophia,” 175-251.
24. Nikephoros, Refutatio et eversio, 318-19 and 323.
25. Ibid., 248.
26. The complete text was quoted by Nikephoros in his Refutatio et eversio,
249. It was also quoted at Nicaea II: Mansi, i3:36A-D. A translation can be found
in Cyril Mango, ed., The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 312-1453 (Toronto: Univer­
sity of Toronto Press, 1986), 32-33.
27. The material evidence for this aniconic tradition has been discussed
earlier in this chapter.
28. This theme has been explored in a number of ways by several scholars.
Among the most noteworthy are: Lucas Koch, "Christusbild-Kaiserbild,” Benedik-
tinische Monatsschrift 21 (1939): 85-105; Gerhard Ladner, "Origin and Significance
of the Byzantine Iconoclastic Controversy,” Mediaeval Studies 2 (1940): 127-49;
Ernst Kitzinger, "The Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm,” Dumbarton
Oaks Papers 8 (1954): 127-28; Leslie Barnard, “The Emperor Cult and the Origins
of the Iconoclastic Controversy,” Byzantion 43 (1973): 13-29; Grabar, L’iconoclasme
byzantin, 135-66; John Haldon, "Some Remarks on the Background to the Icono­
clast Controversy,” Byzantinoslavica 38 (1977): 161-84. John Moorhead ("Icono­
clasm, the Cross and the Imperial Image,” Byzantion 55 [1985]' 165-79) most
strongly asserts the case for the value of the cult of the cross to the iconoclastic
emperors.
29. The most elegant version of this thesis is found in Grabar, L’iconoclasme
byzantin, 135-66. On the victory-bringing nature of the cross see Jean Gagé,
“Σταυρός νικοποιός. La victoire impériale dans l'empire chrétien," Revue d ’histoire
et de philosophie religieuses 4 -5 (1933)'· 370-400; Anatole Frolow, “IC XC ΝΙΚΑ,”
Byzantinoslavica 17 (1956): 98-113; Erich Dinkier, “Das Kreuz ais Siegeszeichen,
Zeitschrift fu r Théologie und Kirche 62 (1965): 1-20; Andreas Stylianou and Judith
Stylianou, By This Conquer (Nicosia: Society of Cypriot Studies, 1971 ).
30. James D. Breckenridge, “The Iconoclasts Image of Christ, Gesta 11
(1972): 5.
31. Grierson, “Miliaresion,” 247.
32. A similar development took place in the imperial seals. 1 he material

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evidence of these key vehicles of imperial display suggests a somewhat mixed

picture. What we see are some modifications in an existing iconography of the
cross, rather than a measurable increase in its promotion as an imperial figure.
Here it is worth remembering the relative reticence of the Chalke inscriptions.
The innovation is in the creation of a dynastic series on the seals and the coins.
While this may be said to promote the person and the family of the emperor,
it at the same time raises important questions concerning the necessary and
specific political value of the cross. The most convenient source for the impe­
rial seals of this period remains G. Zacos and A. Veglery, Byzantine Lead Seals,
vol. i (Basel: n.p., 1972).
33. The Definition is preserved in the Acts of Nicaea II: Mansi, i3:2o8D-356D.
34. These Enquiries are preserved in Nikephoros, Antirrhetici. The best edition
of them is Herman Hennephof, Textus Byzantinos ad Iconomachiam Pertinentes
in Usum Academicum (Leiden: Brill, 1969), 52-57.
35. PG, ioo:425D: Τόν τύπον τού σταυρού προσκυνούμεν διά τόν έκταθέντα
έν αύτώ. I have used figure as the translation for τύπος, specifically to avoid the
common translation of this term as sign. The term is always used to define the
cross in iconoclastic discussions.
36. The most recent edition of this text is Vincent Déroche, “ L’Apologie
contre les Juifs de Léontios de Néapolis,” Travaux et mémoires 12 (1994): 66-72.
The phrase I quote — προσκυνώ τόν τύπον διά Χριστόν τόν έν αύτώ σταυρω-
θέντα — can be found at 67 lines 20-21.
37. Kotter, Schriften 3:179 III.86.6-7.
38. Mansi, 13:440.
39. Bonifaz Kotter, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, vol. 2 (Berlin:
Walter de Gruyter, 1973). The translation is from John of Damascus, The Writings,
trans. Frederick Chase (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America,
1970), 351.
40. Kotter, Schriften 3:156 1.55, II.51 lines 11-13.
41. Kotter, Schriften 3:118 II. 19.
42. Mansi, 13:257ε. The translation is adapted from that found in Daniel
Sahas, Icon and Logos. Sources in Eighth-Century Iconoclasm (Toronto: University
of Toronto Press, 1986), 90.
43. The date of these poems has been much debated. Principal voices in
this discussion include Cyril Mango, The Brazen House: A Study of the Vestibule
o f the Imperial Palace of Constantinople (Copenhagen: I kommission hos Munks-
gaard, 1959), 122-25, and Gero, Leo III, 113-26, who offer useful accounts of the
attribution of the principal iconoclastic poems to the reigns of Leo V (813-820)
and Leo III (717-741), respectively. In this discussion I follow the crucial and pre­
cise readings of Paul Speck, who gives these poems to the reign of Leo V: Paul
Speck, “Die ikonoklastischenJamben an der Chalke,” Ελληνικά 27 (1974): 376-80,

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 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 4

and Paul Speck, “ΤΑ ΤΗΔΕ ΒΑΤΤΑΡΙΣΜΑΤΑ ΠΛΑΝΑ: Überlegungen zur Aus-
sendekoration der Chalke im achtenjahrhundert,” in Studien zur byzanlinischen
Kunstgeschichte. Festschrift fo r Horst Hallensleben zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Birgitt
Borkopp et. al. (Amsterdam: Alfred M. Hakkert, 1995), 211-20.
44. Mansi, i3:i24E-i25A. This translation is from Mango, Brazen House, 112.
The date of this letter has been much discussed; while it certainly dates be­
tween 720 and 730, the exact date is largely hypothetical. For a brief discussion
and comment on the literature, see Marie-France Auzépy, “La destruction de
l’icône du Christ de la Chalcé par Léon 111: propagande ou réalité?” Byzantion
60 (1990): 446 n. 6. The phrase “in front of the palace” is not explicit, but it is
generally held to refer to the Chalke Gate: note the comment in Averil Cameron
and Judith Herrin, Constantinople in the Early Eighth Century: The "Parastaseis
Syntomoi Chronikai" (Leiden: Brill, 1984), 175.
45. There is no specific date for this icon, but that there is no mention of
Constantine VI in relation to this image implies that it was set up during Irene’s
sole reign: Mango, Brazen House, 121-22, and Auzépy, “La destruction,” 455-56.
A set of five poems by Theodore of Stoudios can be attributed to this icon: PG,
99:44oD-44iC. Discussion of these poems can be found in Speck, "ΤΑ ΤΗΔΕ
ΒΑΤΤΑΡΙΣΜΑΤΑ ΠΛΑΝΑ,” 212-18.
46. Francesca Iadevaia, Scriptor incertus (Messina: Edizioni Dr. A. Sfameni
1987), 64.
47. Speck, "TA ΤΗΔΕ ΒΑΤΤΑΡΙΣΜΑΤΑ ΠΛΑΝΑ,” 211-12.
48. PG, 99:437c. An alternative translation can be found at Gero, Leo III,
114-15. This epigram has been treated as the test case for these epigrams, as to
whether they belong to the start of iconoclasm and the reign of Leo III or to
the reign of Leo V and the renewal of iconoclasm. For a pertinent discussion
and reference to the earlier literature see Glenn Peers, “Breathless, Speechless
Images: On the Chalke Gate Epigram,” Cahiers des études anciennes 34 (1998):
109-12. The text of the poem reads:

Εις την πύλην της Χάλκης υποκάτω τού σταυρού

Αφωνον είδος, καί πνοής έξηρμένον.
Χριστόν γράφεσθαι μή φέρων ό δεσπότης.
'Ύλη γεηρά, ταΐς γραφαίς πατουμένη.
Δέον σύν υίφ τφ νέω Κωνσταντίνψ.
Σταυρού χαρττιι τον τρισόλβιον τύπον.
Καύχημα πιστών, έν πύλαις άναχτόρων.

49· For example, a miniature in the Pantokrator Psalter (Mt. Athos, Panto-
kratoréi, fol. 165Γ) indicates that Psalm 113:12-15 was used by the iconoclasts as
a text in support of this supposition.

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50. References to idols and lifeless matter remain prominent in the Horos
of the council held in 815. Nikephoros (Refutatio et eversio, 7, 32, 34, 70) raises
questions about matter and worship that belong in the discourse of idolatry,
but note his section 71 where we find είδωλα δέ ταύτας είπεΐν φεισάμενοι (but
we refrain from calling them idols).
51. There has been some debate over the identity of this John. In particu­
lar, there has been a desire to see this as an example of the writing of John the
Grammarian, the leading iconoclastic thinker of this period. The matter remains
inconclusive, although the play of word and image in this text makes it an invit­
ing possibility. For discussion and bibliography see Gero, Leo III, 117 n. 17.
52. PG, 99:436!}. A somewhat different translation can be found at Gero,
Leo III, 118. The text reads:

Χρυσογραφοΰσι Χριστόν oi θεηγόροι

Ρήσει προφητών, μή βλεποντες τοΐς κάτω.
Ίσηγόρων γάρ έλπις ή θεοπιστία.
Σκιογράφων δέ τήν παλίνδρομον πλάνην
Τρανώς πατούσιν, ώς Θεώ μισουμένην.
Οΐς συμπνέοντες, oi φορούντες τά στέφη,
Ύψούσι φαιδρώς σταυρόν εΰσεβεΐ κρίσει.

53- This point will be elaborated in the next chapter. An excellent example
of the value of verbal testimony is offered in the writings of John the Grammar­
ian: Jean Gouillard, “ Fragments inédits d’un antirrhétique de Jean le Gram-
marien,” Revue des études byzantines 24 (1966): 171-81.
34. There has been some discussion of the identity of this figure. One might
compare the opinions of Wanda Wolska-Conus, "De quibusdam Ignatiis,”
Travaux et mémoires 4 (1970): 351-57, and Paul Speck, "Ikonoklastischenjamben,”
376-80.
55. PG, 99:436B-437A. A different translation can be found at Gero, Leo III,
121. The text is:

Ίνα κρατύνης τοΐς κάτω σέβας, Λόγε.

Γνώσίν τε τήν σήν έμφανή δείξης πλέον
Νόμον δέδωκας σταυρόν έγγράφειν μόνον,
Απαξιοΐς δέ τεχνικής ύλης ϋπο
τοιχογραφείσθαι, δήλον ώς πριν ένθάδε.
Ιδού γάρ αυτόν oi μέγιστοι δεσπόται
ώς νικοποιόν έγχαράττουσιν τύπον.

56. PG, 99:437Α. Gero offers a translation in Leo III, 122. The text reads:

16 6
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 4

Σαφώς ό Μωσής ειλεν άρχάς έν τύπω

εχθρόν κρατήσας. Νύν δέ πιστών τύ κλέος,
ρεύμα κραταιόν σταυρός έστησε πλάνης.
Γραφέν γάρ ώδε ψυχόλεθρον έν βίω
ίνδαλμα τέχνης, ώς κεκρυμμένον βέλος
ορμής άθέσμου συστραφέν, ήρθη μάλα.
Νοείν γάρ ούτως είδόσι Χριστόν θέμις.

57- The text probably conflates the battle against the Amalekites and the
crossing of the Red Sea (Gero, Leo III, 122 n. 47).
58. Condemnation of the Seventh Ecumenical Council can be found in the
Definition of the Council of 815 (Nicephorus, Refutatio et eversio, 69).
59. PG, 99:437e. Gero’s translation can be found in Leo III, 123. The text is:

Στήριγμα πιστών, καί σέβας θειον, Λόγε,

τόν ζωοποιόν τών παθημάτων τύπον
έδωκας ήμΐν σταυρόν, εις σωτηρίαν.
Φαύλως δ' όπερ πριν έγχαραχθέν έπλετο
άνείλες εικόνισμα, τήν πλάνην, Λόγε.
Νόμος γάρ ούτος έμφρόνως πάσι πρέπει,
ω προσπαγείς έσωσας, αύτό καί σέβειν.

6ο. Karl Heinz Uthemann, Anastasii Sinaitae Opera. Viae Dux, CCSG 8 (Turn-
hout: Brepols, 1981), 12.3.13-15.
61. See chapter 2 above for discussion of this text.
62. Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 4.3.1; PG, 3:473.
63. PG, 99.437B-C.
64. PG, 99:368BC.
65. PG, 99:368B, 368C.
66. PG, 99:368A.
67. Refer to the preceding chapter for a full account of this question.
68. PG, 99:4570.
69. Theodore’s primary refutation of these texts is based on his argument
that the Incarnation obliges us to depict Christ and that the charge of idolatry
is inconceivable as Christ himself overthrew the idols. These are the standard
theses of the iconophile case. Occasionally Theodore comes close to addressing
the nature of the cross itself. At one point he asks: "What then does the de
piction of the cross show? Is it not the life-bringing wood? And does this not
then proclaim anything else than that the Logos was killed in the flesh on it?
How then can the thing that kills be painted, while that which is killed cannot
be painted?” (PG, 99:449c). And: "For I ask you for what reason when you have
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 5

depicted the cross, you do not also picture the crucified? And you always say:
that he does not have a nature that can be depicted. 1 then ask: if then he does
not have a nature that can be depicted, then even more can he not suffer, then
it must be agreed that he is entirely mental" (PG, 99:456c).
70. In spite of the opposition that Nikephoros deploys here, one should
note that in his pre-iconoclastic letter to Pope Leo III, Nikephoros does speak
of his veneration of the figure (τύπος) of the cross: PG, ioo:i93B.
71. PG, 100:428c-433A.
72. This reading of τύπος might be compared with that found in canon 82
of the Quinisext Council.
73. Most crucially in Gabriel Millet’s still influential essay, "Les iconoclastes
et la Croix. À propos d’une inscription de Cappadoce," Bulletin de correspondance
hellénique 34 (1910): 96-109.

5. F O R M AND L I K E NE S S

1. For the text in the Ulpios manuscripts see Friedhelm Winkelmann, ‘“ Über
der kôrperlichen Merkmale der gottbeseelten Vater:’ Zu einem Malerbuch aus
der Zeit zwischen 836 und 913,” in Fest und Alltag in Byzanz, ed. Gunter Prinz-
ing and Dieter Simon (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1990), 118. For the text in the Three
Patriarchs manuscripts see The Letter o f the Three Patriarchs to Emperor Theophilos
and Related Texts, ed. Joseph Munitiz et al. (Camberley: Porphyrogenitus, 1997).
31-33 lines 14-4. The quote is from Pseudo-Dionysios the Areopagite, Ecclesi­
astical Hierarchy 4:3 (PG, 3:473c).
2. This particular passage has a complex history, as it appears in two texts
that have proven difficult to date. It appears in the list of texts, attributed to
Ulpios the Roman, that can be considered prescriptions for the appearance of
prophets, saints, and Christ. This text has recently been dated between 836 and
913. For this date see Winckelmann in the preceding note. See alsoJohn Lowden,
Illuminated Prophet Books: A Study o f the Major and Minor Prophets (University
Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1988), 49-63, 122-23 and Manolis
Chatzidakis, ‘ Etc τών Έλπίου τού Ρωμαίου,” Έ πετηρϊς Ε τα ιρ εία ς Βυζαντινώ ν
Σπουδών 14 (1938): 393-4Μ· It also appears in the Letter o f the Three Patriarchs,
whose original form is dated to 836, and whose first manuscript witness dates
to about 875-950. On this text see Munitiz, Letter o f the Three Patriarchs, but cf.
Paul Speck, Ich bin’s nicht, Kaiser Konstantin ist es gewesen: Die Legenden vom Einfluf
des Teufels, des Juden und des Moslem auf Ikonoklasmus, Π ο ικ ίλ α Β υ ζα ντινά io
(1990), and Heinz Gauer, Texte zum byzantinischen Bilderstreit: der Synodalbrief
derdrei Patriarchen des Ostens von 836 und seine Verwandung in siebenJahrhunderten,
Studien und Texte zur Byzantinistik 1 (Frankfurt: P. Lang, 1994)· It is probable
that the Letter of the Three Patriarchs is the source for the Ulpios quotation, giv-

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ing a date of 836-c. 950 for the description of Christ's features listed above. It
is a text that might be dated to the last years of iconoclasm or to the century-
following the official end of the crisis. The particular terms of this passage and
parallels with Epiphanios the Monk, Vita Deiparae (Ernst von Dobschiitz, Chris-
tusbilder. Untersuchungen zur christlichen Legende, TU 18 [Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs,
1899], 302**) suggest that it might be an interpolation that can be dated to the
period leading up the Photian Synod of 869-70.
3. Gilbert Dagron, "Mots, images, icônes,” Nouvelle revue de psychanalyse 44
(1991): 151-68, esp. 155; Gilbert Dagron, “Holy Images and Likeness,” Dumbar­
ton Oaks Papers 45 (1991): 23-33; Gilbert Dagron, “ L’image de culte et le por­
trait,” in Byzance et les images, ed. Jannic Durand (Paris: La Documentation
française, 1994), 121-50; Gerbert Hübsch, Die Personalangaben als Identifizierungsver-
merke im Recht der grdco-dgyptischen Papyri, Berliner juristische Abhandlungen
20 (Berlin: Duncker and Humboldt, 1968); Elizabeth C. Evans, Physiognomies in
the Ancient World, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s., 59.5
(Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1969). For a compelling appli­
cation of physiognomies in a wider context see Georgia Frank, The Memory of
the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 2000), 134-70. We should note that the description of Saint
Peter found in the Ulpios text echoes that found in the sixth-century historian
Malalas.
4. For an important discussion of these terms, see Henry Maguire, The
Icons o f their Bodies: Saints and Their Images in Byzantium (Princeton: University
Press, 1996), 5-47-
5. See notes 1 and 2 above for the bibliography on this text and comments
on the date of the cited passage.
6. Letter o f the Three Patriarchs, 21 lines 14-22.
7. Letter of the Three Patriarchs, 23 lines 1-5.
8. Nikephoros’s indebtedness to Aristotelian thought has long been noted.
An essential formulation of this can be found in Paul Alexander, The Patriarch
Nicephorus of Constantinople. Ecclesiastical Policy and Image Worship in the Byzantine
Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958), 189-213. Nikephoros’s Aris­
totelian thought is examined at length in the writings of Marie-José Baudinet
(who also publishes under the surname Mondzain). See especially her "La rela­
tion iconique à Byzance au IXe siècle d’après les Antirrhétiques de Nicéphore le
Patriarche: un destin de l’aristotélisme,' Études philosophiques 1 (197K): 85 106.
9. PG, ioo:277A.
10. The terminology derives from chapter 5 of Aristotle s Categories.
11. I will use the terms artificer, artist, and artisan interchangeably in this
chapter. Modern distinctions between these different makers were not as rigidly
drawn by the ninth-century theologians.
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 5

12. This priority is evident in the Aristotelian tradition.

13. A parallel might be drawn with the texts from the Book of Wisdom quoted
by the iconoclastic bishop in the Admonition; see chapter 2 above.
14. Mansi, 13:248ε. This characterization of the artist is perhaps indebted
to the portrait of the artist presented in Wisdom and to the ideas expressed by
Epiphanios.
15. Mansi, i3:252BC. The most important commentary on this passage is
John J. Yiannias, “A Reexamination of the Art Statute’ in the Acts of Nicaea II,”
Byzantinische Zeitschrift 80 (1987): 348-59.
16. PG, ioo:309A.
17. PG, ioo:309A-3I2A.
18. Vasilios Laourdas and Leendeert Westerink, Photii epistulae et Amphilochia
(Leipzig: Teubner, 1984), 2:117-19.
19. Ibid., 118 lines 13-14.
20. Ibid., 118 lines 26-27 and 119 line 59.
21. Ibid., 119 lines 59 and 65-72.
22. Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta, ed. P.-P. Ioannou (Freiburg: Herder,
1962), 148.
23. The implications of this receive a classic treatment in Ernst Gombrich,
Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology o f Pictorial Representation (London:
Phaidon, i960). Note the discussion in Norman Bryson, Vision and Painting: The
Logic o f the Gaze (London: Macmillan, 1983), 37-66.
24. The following definitions of mimesis draw upon the analysis by Baudinet,
“La relation iconique,” 98-102, and Marie-José Mondzain, Image, icône, économie:
les sources byzantines de l ’imaginaire contemporain (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1996),
III —2 1.

25. The importance of likeness is noted in John of Damascus: Kotter,

Schriften 3:83 I.9.3-5 and 125 III.16.2-8, but he does not develop the implications
of this term to their fullest.
26. PG, 100:277c and 280A.
27. Baudinet, “ La relation iconique,” 89-90.
28. For example, the third sentence in the above quote is very close to Cate­
gories 7, 6a 37-38.
29. Nikephoros also introduces a second, non-Aristotelian term for this re­
lation, σχέσις, which has a marginally more intimate connotation than πρός
τι. On this, see Nicéphore, Discours contre les iconoclastes, trans. Marie-José Mondzain-
Baudinet (Paris: Klincksieck, 1989), 25. Theodore of Stoudios shares the same
relational vocabulary. Like Nikephoros, Theodore defines the icon as being re­
lational, having neither the human nor the divine natures within it : "For where
the nature of the represented flesh itself is not present, only its relation (σχέσις).
you might say this even more with regard to the uncircumscribable divinity.

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which is in the icon and is venerated there only insofar as it exists in the shadow
of the flesh united to it” (PG, 99:3448).
30. PG, ioo:357B -D .

31. It is this resistance that leads me to reject the rather Platonic reading of
the icon offered in Gerhard Ladner, "The Concept of the Image in the Greek
Fathers and the Byzantine Iconoclastic Controversy,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 7
(1953): 3-35. which develops ideas already introduced in his "Der Bilderstreit
und die Kunstlehren der byzantinischen and abendlàndischen Théologie,”
Zeitschriftfiir Kirchengeschichte, ser. 3.1 (1931): 1-23.
32. Theodore of Stoudios, Third Refutation 3.4.13: PG, 99:433c.
33. Theodore of Stoudios, Third Refutation 3.1.34: PG, 99:405A -C .
34. PG, 100.356B.
35. PG, ioo:225D.

36. In this sense, I would reject any extension of Grabar’s discussion of

Plotinos into a generalized account of Byzantine aesthetics: André Grabar,
"Plotin et les origines de l’esthétique médiévale,” Cahiers archéologiques 1 (1945):
15-34. Note the comments in response to Grabar in Panagiotes Michelis, “Neo-
Platonic Philosophy and Byzantine Art "Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism
ii (1952): 21-45·
37. PG, ioo:28 oA.
38. For example, in John Beckwith, "Byzantium: Gold and Light,” in Light:
From Aten to Laser, ed. Thomas B. Hess and John Ashbery (New York: Newsweek,
1969), 44 - 57-
39. Charles Barber, “From Transformation to Desire: Art and Worship after
Byzantine Iconoclasm,” Art Bulletin 75 (1993): 15·
40. For example, one can see this sense of the term retained in Kenneth
Parry (Depicting the Word. Byzantine Iconophile Thought of the Eighth and Ninth Cen­
turies [Leiden: Brill, 1996], 26), who suggests that iconophiles considered the iden­
tity between icon and prototype to be “more than relational" (reiterated at 204).
41. Kotter, Schriften 3:147-49 I.36.1-6, esp. 14-15 and 19-22.
42. Kotter. Schriften 3:148 I.36.14-15.
43. This material indifference is marked by his willingness to destroy a cross
that has lost the form that gives it meaning (2:19).
44. Kotter, Schriften 3:148 I.36.19-22.
45. Nicephoros, Refutatio et eversio, 109-10.
46. PG, 99:344c: σχετική δέ μεταλήψει. οτι χάριτι και τιμή τά μετέχοντα.
47- Parry, Depicting the Word, 30; Theodore of Stoudios. Third Refutation:
PG, 99:4i7A-42oC, esp. 417B.
48. When Nikephoros speaks of the icon and its prototype as having some­
thing in common, he denies that this is essential, asserting that it is the resem­
blance of form (PG, ioo:405CD).
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 6

6. W O R D AND I MAGE

1. Jean Gouillard, "Fragments inédits d’un antirrhétique de Jean le Gram­

mairien,” Revue des études byzantines 24 (1966): i73~74·
2. This definition of an encomion is drawn from the progymnasmata literature
of Late Antiquity. For a brief introduction see George Kennedy Greek Rhetoric under
Christian Emperors (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 54-73, esp. 63.
3. Recent discussions on this topic include: Elizabath C. Evans, Physiog­
nomies in the Ancient World, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society,
n.s., 59.5 (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1969); Gilbert Dagron,
"Holy Images and Likeness,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 45 (1991): 2.3—33; Georgia
Frank, The Memory o f the Eyes: Pilgrims to Living Saints in Christian Late Antiquity
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 134-70.
4. For some recent readings of the continuing value of words in visual
representation see Gilbert Dagron, “Mots, images, icônes,” Nouvelle revue de psy­
chanalyse 44 (1991): 151-68; Dagron, "Holy Image and Likeness,” 23-33; Marie-
José Baudinet, “L’incarnation, l’image, la voix,” Esprit (1982): 188-200.
5. PG, 95:3i6B-3i7A; Mitsides, 181:768-182:818.
6. PG, ioo:356AB.

7. Words are given a number of values by the iconophiles. They may be

understood as a seal that finalizes identification: Dagron, “Mots, images, icônes";
Dagron, “Holy Image and Likeness”; PG, ioo:29 3A -C . They could be considered
as the means of consecrating the icon: evidence for this function of naming is
outlined by Gerhard Lange, Bild und Wort. Die katechetischen Funktionen des Bildes
in dergriechischen Théologie des sechsten bis neuntenJahrhunderts (Würzburg: Echter
Verlag, 1969), 233-45; see John of Damascus: PG, 94:1245c, 1252AB, 1264B, 1300C,
and Nikephoros: PG, ioo:477D-48 oA. The relationship of word and image may
also be bound to Christological concerns: Baudinet, "L’incarnation, l’image, la
voix,” 192-96; cf. Charles Barber, “The Body within the Frame: A Use of Word
and Image in Iconoclasm,” Word and Image 9 (1993): 140-53·
8. PG, ioo:4 o8AB. The discussion of homonymy draws directly upon Aris­
totle’s Categories ia 1- 2 . For the influence of Aristotelian thought on Nikephoros
see Marie-José Baudinet, “La relation iconique à Byzance au IXe siècle d’après
les Antirrhétiques de Nicéphore le Patriarche: un destin de l’aristotélisme,” Etudes
philosophiques 1 (1978): 8 5-10 6 .
9. PG, ioo:38iC-384B.
10. PG, ioo:38oD - 3 8 i A.

11. For a recent and rich discussion of the value of the visual in Byzantium,
see Robert S. Nelson, “To Say and to See: Ekphrasis and Vision in Byzantium,”
in Visuality before and beyond the Renaissance, ed. Robert S. Nelson (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2000), 143-68.

172
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 6

12. Theodore of Stoudios, Antirrhetici: PG, 99:34iBC. This translation is

slightly adapted from that of Catherine Roth in St. Theodore the Studite. On the
Holy Icons (Crestwood, N.Y.: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1981), 31-32.
13. Theodore of Stoudios, Antirrhetici: PG, 99:34oD-34iA.
14. Theodore of Stoudios, Epistulae: Georgios Fatouros, Theodori Studitae
Epistulae, Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae 31 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter,
1992), 2:515-19.
15. Ibid., 516 lines 153-54.
16. Ibid., 516 lines 146-51.
17. Ibid., 516 lines 157-59.
18. Ibid., 519 lines 229-31.
19. Ibid., 516 lines 159-60.
20. Ibid., 517 lines 179-80.
21. Ibid.
22. In this regard it is notable that pagan imagery is condemned because
of its fictional subjects: PG, ioo:2 7 7 B -C .

23. Jeoffrey Featherstone, Nicephori patriarchae Constantinopolitani Refutatio

et eversio definitionis synodalis anni 815, CCSG 33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1997), in.
24. Aristotle, Physics, 23, i94b23 -35.
25. Homily 49.4-5: PG, 58:500-501.
26. Jean Baptiste Pitra, Spicilegium Solesmense (Paris 1858), 4:259-70.
27. Ibid., 262.
28. Ibid., 268-69, lines 39-9.
29. Ibid., 269 lines 19-26.
30. Ibid., 270, lines 26-33.
31. PG, 100:464c-465B.
32. One should note the emphatically artistic context in which this idea was
first explored. In his pre-iconoclastic text, the Apologeticus minor, Nikephoros
links painting to sacred space in his defense of the Quinisext Council: PG,
ioo:848A.

33. PG, ioo:464D-465A.

34. Numerous studies might be cited in this regard. Key works include:
Henry Maguire, Art and Eloquence in Byzantium (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1981); Leslie Brubaker, “ Perception and Conception: Art, Theory, and
Culture in Ninth-Century Byzantium,” Word and Image 5 (1989): 19 32; Robert
S. Nelson, “The Discourse of Icons, Then and Now,” Art History 12 ( 1989): 144-
57; Liz James and Ruth Webb, "To Understand Ultimate Things and Filter Se­
cret Places: Ekphrasis and Art in Byzantium," Art History 14 (199'': 1- '7; 1 lenry
Maguire, Image and Imagination: The Byzantine Epigram as Evidence for Viewer Re­
sponse (Toronto: Canadian Institute of Balkan Studies, 1996).
35. The Life of the Patriarch Tarasios by Ignatws the Deacon, introduction, text.

173
 NOTES TO C H A P T E R 6

translation and commentary by Stephanos Efthymiadis (Aldershot: Variorum,

1998), 137-38 , 195·
36. A number of important discussions of this homily and the mosaic de­
serve to be cited. These include: Cyril Mango and Ernest J. W. Hawkins, “The
Apse Mosaics of St. Sophia at Istanbul, Report on Work Carried Out in 1964,”
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 19 (1965): 113-49; Robin Cormack, Writing in Gold: Byzantine
Society and Its Icons (London: George Philip, 1985), 141-58; Nicolas Oikonomides,
“Some Remarks on the Apse Mosaic of St. Sophia,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 39
(1985): hi - 15; James and Webb, “To Understand Ultimate Things,” 1-17; Nel­
son, “To Say and to See,” 143-68.
37. Vasilios Laourdas, Φ ω τίου Ό μιλίαι (Thessaloniki: Hetaireia Makedo-
nikon Spoudon, 1959), 167 line 1; trans. Cyril Mango, The Homilies o f Photius
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1958), 290.
38. Laourdas, Φωτίου, 167 line 5; Mango, Homilies, 290.
39. Laourdas, Φωτίου, 167 lines 12-14; Mango, Homilies, 290 (my transla­
tion differs).
40. Laourdas, Φωτίου, 170 lines 9-24; Mango, Homilies, 293-94 (my transla­
tion differs).
41. Laourdas, Φωτίου, 170 line 32-171 line 3; Mango, Homilies, 294 (my transla­
tion differs).
42. Laourdas, Φωτίου, ιγι lines 22-27; Mango, Homilies, 295 (my transla­
tion differs).
43. The analogy to a door is drawn in the Life of St. Stephen the Younger, writ­
ten about 800. For this text see La Vie d ’Étienne leJeune par Étienne le Diacre, ed.
and tr. Marie-France Auzépy (Aldershot: Variorum, 1997). 122 lines 1-2. This
may be translated: "The icon is called a door which opens our God-created
mind to the likeness therein of the prototype.”

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SECONDARY L I TERATURE

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1 99
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

t h is bo o k has taken many years to bring to its finished state. It was first con­
ceived at the Warburg Institute, at which institution I held a British Academy
Postdoctoral Fellowship from 1990 to 1993. I am indebted to both the Warburg
Institute and the British Academy for their generosity. I am also indebted to the
University of Notre Dame for granting me a leave to write the final version of
this book. I would also like to thank those at Princeton University Press who
have brought this book to light: Nancy Grubb, Sarah Henry, Devra K. Nelson,
Ken Wong, and Kate Zanzucchi. In addition, I would like to thank the copy-
editor, Sharon Herson; the proofreader, June Cuffner; and the designer, Susan
Marsh. In London, I was fortunate to be working alongside a wonderful and
stimulating group of friends and colleagues. These included: Robin Cormack,
John Lowden, Averil Cameron, Liz James, Rico Franses, Tony Eastmond, Barbara
Zeitler, Jas Eisner, Ruth Webb, Katrina Kavan, John Hanson, and Athena Levan-
tinou. Since that time, a series of essays has allowed me to push my ideas further
and to widen the circle of those willing to discuss my developing thoughts. In
this last regard, 1 would especially like to thank Henry Maguire, Robert Ouster-
hout, Anthony Cutler, Thomas Noble, and Glenn Peers. Finally, 1want to thank
Herbert Kessler and Robert Nelson for their incisive readings of the finished
product. Their comments and corrections have helped to make this a better
book. The remaining faults, errors, and idiosyncracies are of my own doing.
My last acknowledgment is to my wife, Sophie White, to whom this book is
dedicated because of all that she has done and been around this work.

201
 INDEX
Objects are indexed by location.
Abgar of Edessa, 2 4 -2 5
Adversus Judaeos literature, 17, 23
aesthetics, 119-20 , 133-34, 138
Against Constantine, 40
ampulla. See Monza, Saint John the
Baptist, ampulla 5
Anastasios of Sinai, 53-54, 59, 95
angels, 6 5 -6 6
aniconism, 53, 104
Antioch, 22
Aristotle, no, 116, 123,132,139
artisan/artist, 46, 55, 77-8 0 , n o - 15
Athanasios o f Alexandria, 75 -7 6
Basil I, Emperor, 135
Basil the Great, 74 -7 5 . " 2 . m
Bertelli, Carlo, 32
Bethlehem, 15, 19
Bobbio, monastery o f Saint Colum-
banus at, 20
Brubaker, Leslie, 29
Caesarea (Cappadocia), 25
Camouliana, 25; icon, 2 4 -2 6
Cappadocia, 85
Christ: Anastasis, 51; Appearance
before the Eleven Disciples, 51;
Appearance on Lake Tiberias, 51;
Ascension of, 16; Baptism of, 16;
Carrying the Cross, 47; Crucifixion
of, 15 -16 , 21, 4 7 -5 2 ; Disciples at the
Grave of, 47; as Logos, 94; Marys
203
at Tomb of, 16, 20; Nativity of, 16,
47; portrayal of, 6 1-6 2 , 107-10;
Presentation of, 47
Christology: defined, 62; iconoclastic,
78 -7 9 , 91; limits o f its application
to icons, 62; and Monotheletism,
46-47; and representation, 70 -72;
and visuality, 6 9 -7 2
circumscription, 78. 117 -18
coins: o f Constans II, 90, fig. 28; of
Justinian I, fig. 24; o f Justinian II,
89; o f Leo III and Constantine V,
88-90 , fig. 27; o f Tiberios II, 85,
89, fig. 25
Constans II, Emperor, 90
Constantina, Empress, 34
Constantine I (the Great), Emperor, 88
Constantine V, Emperor, 52, 55, 58, 7 7 -
79, 88-90 , 92, 103, 105, 113, 132
Constantine o f Nakoleia, 8, 55
Constantinople (Istanbul), 10, 25; Avar
siege of, 25-26; Chalke Gate. 52-
53, 88, 9 1-9 8 , 103; Chalkoprateia, 8;
St. Sophia, 10, 84-86. 108, 135, figs,
i, 26, 30
Cosmas the Deacon, 26
cross, 52-53; as Christian symbol. 85;
and Christ’s body, 21. 90-91. 9 8-
102; and coinage. 88-90; cult of,
86; exaltation of, 86; as figure, 18,
93. 9 5 - 9 7 ; as iconoclastic icon, 8 4 -
85; iconoclastic p o em s on. 9 2 -9 5 :
as im perial sign, 88-90; N ik e ­
ph o ros on. 98-103; as sign. 87;
 INDEX
cro ss (continued)
as s y m b o l, 102,104; T h e o d o r e o f
S t o u d io s o n , 9 5 -9 7
C y r il, P s e u d o -, 68
d e lin e a t io n , 10 8 ,1 2 5 - 2 6
D ia y b u d in ( P o n tu s), 25
D io n y s io s th e A r e o p a g it e , P s e u d o -, 108
E c u m e n ic a l C o u n c il: F irst ( N ic a e a I),
69; T h ir d ( E p h e s u s), 69; F ifth
(C o n s t a n tin o p le II), 40; S ix th
(C o n s t a n tin o p le III), 40, 4 6 - 4 7 , 50,
53; S e v e n th ( N ic a e a II), 8, 17, 24, 26,
4 0 - 4 1 , 6 9 -7 0 , 7 7 , 90, 92, 9 5 , 112-15;
E ig h th ( C o n s t a n tin o p le IV ) , 9,
114-15
E d e ss a , 24
eikonismos. See d e lin e a t io n
encomion, 126
E p ip h a n io s o f S a la m is , 58, 8 6 - 8 7
e u c h a r is t, 7 9 - 8 0 , 138
E v a g r io s , 24
e y e w it n e s s , u s e d t o d e fin e th e ic o n ,
1 0 7 -8 , 131-32, ' 3 4 . 136
Feast o f O r t h o d o x y , 9
fig u r e , 83; in c a n o n 82, 42; a n d th e cro s s,
18, 93, 9 5 -9 7 ; as ic o n , 9 5 -9 7 ; as
lik e n e ss , 97, 10 2 -3; o p p o s e d to
lik e n e ss , 80; a n d L o g o s , 9 7 - 9 8 ,
103 -4; as s y m b o lic r e p r e s e n ta tio n ,
42; u s e d to d e fin e th e e u c h a r is tie
g ifts , 80
flo r ile g iu m , R o m a n . See P aris, B ib lio ­
t h è q u e n a tio n a le , gr. 1115
fo r m : as p a rtia l r e p r e s e n ta tio n , 11 7 -2 1,
137; as r e la tio n , 19, 137
G e r m a n o s , P a tria r c h o f C o n s t a n tin o p le ,
9, 52. 57, 68, 7 0 -7 4 . 9 2 . 123
G e o r g e o f P isid ia, 26, 86
G e o r g e th e M o n k , 8
G r a b a r , A n d r é , 133
G r e g o r y I, P o p e , 34
G r e g o r y II, P o p e , 9
H e r a k lio s , E m p e r o r , 25, 86
h o m o n y m y , 127, 12 9-30
204
H y a k in t h o s , 65
H y p a tia , 25
ic o n : as acheiropoieta, 2 4 -3 2 , 55; as a r t i­
fa c t, 7 - 8 , ii , 55, n i , 115, 123, 136-37;
c a u s e s o f, n o , 132; a n d C h r is to lo g y ,
6 1 - 8 1 ; c o m p a r e d t o w o r d s , 9 3 ,1 2 5 -
30, 135-36; c o n s e c r a t io n o f, 7 9 - 8 0 ;
as a co p y , 29; as c u lt o b je c t , 13-37;
d e fin itio n s o f, 76, 12 0 -2 1, 137, 13 8-
39; d e s t r u c t io n o f, 10; as d is tin c t
fr o m a r c h e ty p e , h i ; a n d e th ic s,
131-35; as fa ls e , 58, 7 7 - 8 0 ; an d
fig u r e , 9 6 - 9 7 , 102 -3; a n d g ifts , 2 9 -
30; as id o l, 3 9 -5 9 ; a n d im a g in a r y
e n c o u n te r , 32; a n d im m e d ia c y , 12 8 -
29; a n d im p e r ia l im a g e ry , 3 5-37; as
k n o w le d g e , 129, 136, 138; a n d m a k ­
in g , 55; as m a te r ia l p r o o f, 2 3 - 2 4 ,3 6 -
37, 54; a n d m a tte r, 18, 79, 137; an d
m e m o r y , 18, 24, 136; a n d n a m in g ,
7 7 - 7 9 , " 3 , 127; a n d O ld T e s ta m e n t,
17, 46, 54, 58; o r ig in o f, 113; a n d p a r ­
t ic ip a tio n , 7 2 - 7 6 ,1 2 1 - 2 3 ; as r e la tiv e ,
116, 121, 12 9 -30 , 139; a n d relics, 16,
19, 2 3 -2 4 , 139; as s e c o n d a r y relic,
32 -34; as site o f e x c h a n g e , 30; an d
s u rfa c e , 29, 30, 32; a n d t o u c h , 1 9 -
20, 2 3 -2 4 , 36, 77, 136; a n d tra d itio n ,
5 8 - 5 9 , 112—13; as tra n s p a re n t, 27,
2 9 -3 0 ; as t r u t h fu l, 8, 37, 58, 6 1 - 8 1 ,
12 5 -2 8 , 131, 135-36, 138-39; u s e d to
d e fin e C h r is tia n ity , 72; a n d w o r ­
sh ip, 18, 24, 3 5-3 7 . 5 6 -5 7 . 134
ic o n o c la s m : a n d a r t h isto ry, 7 —11, 62;
a n d C h r is to lo g y , 7 8 - 7 9 ; as e c c le s i­
astica l p r o b le m , 9; e n d o f, 9; as
fo r e ig n d o c t r in e , 8; g e o g r a p h y o f,
10; as im p e r ia l p o licy , 9; in itia l
d e fin itio n o f, 8; in te r p r e t a tio n s o f,
10; as lo g o c e n t r ic , 98; an d m o n a s ti-
cism , 10; o r ig in s o f, 8 - 9 , 40; as
r e fo r m m o v e m e n t , 10; as r e je c tio n
o f C h r is tia n ity , 72; an d relics, 10;
as sp iritu a l b e lie f, 5 7 -5 8 ; an d t r a d i­
tio n , 5 8 -5 9 , 86, 88; a n d T r in ita r ia n -
is m , 7 7 - 7 8
Ic o n o c la s tic C o u n c il: o f 754, 55, 77, 79,
9 0 - 9 1 , 112; o f 815, 87
 I N D Ι· X

id o la try , 39, 5 4 -5 9 , 7 0 -7 1. 93 M o n z a , S aint Jo h n th e B a p tist, a m p u lla

Ig n a tio s, 94, 98 5. 2 0 -2 2 , fig. 5
Ig n a tio s th e D e a c o n , 134 M orey. C h a r le s R u fu s, 17
im a g in a r y , 131 M o s e s, 58, 95
im ita tio n , 11 5 -16 , 119, 12 7-2 8 , 131, 134-36 M o u n t S in ai, M o n a s te r y o f S ain t
Ire n e , E m p re ss , 92 C a th e r in e , C h r is t ic o n , fig. 29
Iznik (Nicaea), Koimesis church, 6 3 -6 9 ,
8 3 -8 4 , 105, 12 0 -2 1, figs. 2 0 -23 N a u k ra tio s , 66, 131
N a z a re th , 19
J e r u sa le m : H o ly S e p u lc h e r (A n asta sis), N ik e , 85, 89
16, 2 0 -2 1 ; M o u n t o f O liv e s , 15; N ik e p h o ro s , P a tria rch o f C o n s t a n ti­
S io n , 15, 17 ,1 9 n o p le , 8, 9, 41, 77, 87, 9 8 -10 4 , n o -
J o h n , 93, 98 11, 113—15, 11 8 -1 9 , 122-23, *27-34
J o h n V II, P o p e , 47 N ilo s o f A n k y r a , 87
J o h n C h r y s o s t o m , P a tria rch o f C o n s t a n ­ N ilo s o f S in ai, 85
t in o p le , 132 N o r d h a g e n . P er Jo n as, 30
John of Damascus, 8 - 9 , 17, 25, 58, 7 0 -
74, 7 6 - 7 7 . 9 0 - 9 1 . 121, 123 O ly m p io d o r o s , 85
John of Jerusalem, 58
John of Synada, 71 P ale stin e: an d p ilg r im a g e , 15-23; an d
J o h n th e B a p tist, d e p ic tio n s o f, 4 2 -4 4 relics, 15-23
J o h n th e G r a m m a r ia n , P a tria rch o f P aris, B ib lio th è q u e n a tio n a le , gr. 1115, 17
C o n s t a n tin o p le , 12 5-2 6 , 132 P h o tio s, P a tria rch o f C o n s t a n tin o p le .
J u s tin ia n II, E m p e r o r , 89 113 - 14 . 135-36
P ia c e n z a p ilg r im , 21
K a r ts o n is, A n n a , 53 p ilg r im a g e a rt, 15-23
K iev, E c cle s ia stic a l M u s e u m , ic o n o f p ilg r im a g e t o k e n . See T o ro n to , R oy al
S ain t J o h n th e B a p tist, 44, fig. 13 O n ta r io M u s e u m
p re s e n ce : ic o n ic , 37, 119; m e d ia te d b y
L e o III, E m p e r o r , 8, 9, 52 -53, 8 8 - 8 9 , 92 relics, 2 3-24
L e o V, E m p e r o r , 92
L e o n t io s o f N e a p o lis , 17 -2 3 , 90 Q u in is e x t C o u n c il, 4 0 -4 1; 82nd c a n o n ,
Letter of the Three Patriarchs, 108, 126 8, 4 0 -4 2 , 4 4 - 4 6 . 50, 5 2 -54 . 5 9 . 70,
Liber Pontificalis, 27 72, 7 9 - 8 0 , 103, 105
lik e n e ss : d e fin e d , 115 -17 ; an d fig u re ,
80, 97, 102-3; a n d h o m o n y m y , 127, R a v e n n a , A rc h ié p isc o p a l M u s e u m , iv o r y
12 9-30 ; s o m e lim its o n , n o ; an d th r o n e o f M a x im ia n , 42, fig. n
m a tte r, 55 -5 6 ; an d p a r tic ip a tio n , relics, 13—37; in ch u r c h co n se c r a tio n s,
122-23; an d v is u a lity, 56, 136-37 32-34; d e fin itio n s o f, 34; an d t o u c h .
L o g o s , 26, 54, 90, 9 4 - 9 5 · 9 7 -9 8 , 103-4, 119 2 1-2 3
r e p r e se n ta tio n : d e fin e d , 117. 121; of

M a n d y lio n , 2 4 -2 5 d iv in e an d h u m a n in C h r is t, 53;

m atter, 18 - 1 9 , 9 3 - 9 4 . 98; and creation, as lim ite d to v is ib le . 113: as m a k in g

19; and h u m a n n ature, 19, 57, 79; p re s e n t a g a in , 17; as p artial, 120;

and likeness, 5 5 - 5 6 ; transfo rm ed , p re s e n c e o f o b je c t in, 32, 36-37;

21, 2 2 -2 3 , 36, 7 9 - 8 0 as r e ite r a tio n , 35-37

M ich ael III, E m p e ro r, 135 R ive r J o rd a n , 19

M o n d za in -B au d in et, M arie-Jo sc, 134 R o m e: SS. C o s m a s an d D a m ia n . 52.

M o n o th ele tism , 46 fig. 19: S an G io v a n n i in L a te r a n o .

205
 INDEX
Rome (continued)
Sancta Sanctorum, acheiropoietos
icon, 2 6 - 2 7 ; Santa Maria ad Mar-
tyres (the Pantheon), icon, 32, fig.
9; Santa Maria Antiqua, 15, 2 9 -3 0 ,
3 2 - 3 4 . 3 9 , 4 4 , 4 7 - 5 2 , figs. 3, 8 , 12,
14 -1 8 ; Santa Maria in Trastevere,
icon, 2 7 -3 4 , fig· 7; Santa Maria
Nova (San Francesca Romana),
icon, 3 2 -3 4 . fig- 10; titulus of Juli
et Callisti, 34
s e c o n d c o m m a n d m e n t , 54 -5 5; u s e d to
d e fin e id o la tr y , 5 4 -5 9
S e r g io s , 94
s h a p e , 117—19. 126
s ig n , 83, 96, 103; c r o s s as, 87
S te p h a n o s , 95, 97
S te p h e n , 113
S t e p h e n 11, P o p e , 27
s y m b o l: a n d ic o n o c la s m , 10 2 -4 ; an d
O ld T e s ta m e n t , 42; as r e la tio n , 19;
as r e p r e s e n t a t io n o f th e d iv in e , 66
S y m e o n S t y lit e s th e Y o u n g e r , 2 2 -2 3 , 36
Tarasios, Patriarch of Constantinople,
41, 134
T h e o d o lin d a , 20
T h e o d o r e o f S t o u d io s , 92, 9 5 -9 7 , 10 2 -3,
12 2 -23 , 12 9 -3 2
206
Theodosios I, Emperor, 87
theology: and iconography, 3 9 -4 0 , 4 4 -
46, 54. 79! as visual description, 59,
6 9 -7 0 , 139
T h e o p a s c h is m , 54, 95
T h e o p h a n e s th e C o n fe s s o r , 8, 9
T h e o p h ilo s , E m p e r o r , 108
T h e o p h y la c t S im o c a tt a , 25
T h e o s e b e s , 55, 58
T h e o to k o s : a n d r e p r e s e n ta tio n , 69;
R o m a n ic o n s o f, 2 7 -3 4
T h e r a , v o lc a n ic e r u p t io n o f, 8 - 9
T h e s s a lo n ik i, St. D e m e tr io s , 15, 39, fig. 2
T h o m a s o f C la u d io p o lis , 52, 57, 92
T ib e r io s II, E m p e r o r , 85, 89
T o r o n to , R o y a l O n ta r io M u s e u m ,
pilgrimage token of Saint Symeon
Stylites the Younger, 2 2 -2 3 , 36,
fig. 6
T r in ity , a n d r e p r e s e n ta tio n , 35, 6 8 - 6 9 ,
73 - 7 6 , 77 - 7 8 , 105
Underwood, P a u l, 66
V a tica n C ity , M u s e o S a c ro , p a in te d
r e liq u a r y b o x , 15 - 1 7 , 20, fig. 4
v is io n , 136
Wisdom of Solomon, 55, 112
 PHOTOGRAPHY CREDITS

p e r m is s io n t o r e p r o d u c e i l l u s t r a t i o n s is p r o v id e d b y t h e o w n e r s o r s o u r c e s

as listed in the captions. Additional photography and source credits are as follows:

Archivio Fotografico Nazionale, Rome (figs. 7, 9-10)

Charles Barber (figs. 4, 8, 18-19, 26)
Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C. (figs. 1, 24-25, 27-28, 30)
Arne Effenberger and Michael Wolfson, eds., Byzanz. Die Macht der Bilder
(Hildesheim: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin-Preussischer Kulturbesitz, 1998),
pis. 27, 28 (fig. 2)
André Grabar, Ampoules de Terre Sainte (Monza-Bobbio) (Paris: Klincksieck, 1958).
pi. ii (fig. 5)
Hirmer Fotoarchiv, Munich (figs. 3, 11)
Published through the courtesy of the Michigan-Princeton-Alexandria Expe­
dition to Mount Sinai (fig. 29)
Courtesy of the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, (O ROM (fig. 6)
Theodor Schmit, Die Koimesis-Kirche von Nikaia. Das Bauwerk und die Mosaiken
(Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1927)· pi· 20 (fig. 20), pi. 13 (fig. 21), pi. 14 (fig.
22), pi. 15 (fig. 23)
Kurt Weitzmann, The Icon: Holy Images, Sixth to Fourteenth Century (New York:
George Braziller, 1978), pi· 7 (fig· >3)
Joseph Wilpert, Die romischen Mosaiken und Malereien der kirchlichen Bautcn vom
IV.-XIII. Jahrhundert (Freiburg: Herder, 1916). pi. 145 3 (fig- 12): pi- 152 (fig.
14); pi. 153 (fig- 15); P*· 155 (fig· 16): pi. 180 (fig. 17)

207
 OB S I GN U D BV S I S Λ N MA R S H

c ( ) Mi > o s i : n i n d a n t i ; a n d c i ; n t a i ’ r

BY DDK I· & C OMP A N Y , DE V ON, P E N N S Y L V A N I A

P R I N T E D ON I 5 7 C . S M N I P P ON P A P E R MA T T A RT

P R I N T E D A ND B OU N D BY S' C H I N A P R I N T I N G , HON G K ONG

(continuedfromfrontflap)

In response, iconophile theologians gradually developed

a notion of representation tfrrfr distinguished the work
of art from the subject it depicted. As a result, Barber
concludes, they were forced to move the language describ­
ing the icon beyond that of theology. This pivotal step
allowed these theologians, of whom Patriarch Nikepho­
ros and Theodore of Stoudios were the most important,
to define and defend a specifically Christian art.
In highlighting this outcome and also in offering a full
and clearly rendered account of iconoclastic notions of
Christian representation, Barber reveals that the notion
of art was indeed central to the unfolding of iconoclasm.
The implications of this study reach well beyond the
crisis it considers. Barber fundamentally revises not only
our understanding of Byzantine art in the years succeed­
ing the iconoclastic dispute, but also of Christian paint­
ing in the centuries to come.

38 black-and-white illustrations

Charles Barber is Associate Professor of Art, Art History,

and Design at the University of Notre Dame. He has
published The Theodore Psalter (British Library Add. 19352):
A C D -R O M Facsimile.

Front cover: Iconoclastic cross, c. 769. Mosaic in the

patriarchal rooms, St. Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey.
Photo: Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, D.C.

Back cover: John the Baptist, mid-6th century. Detail of

the ivory throne of Maximian, Archiépiscopal Museum,
Ravenna, Italy. Photo: Hirmer Fotoarchiv, Munich

Jacket design by Susan Marsh

Princeton University Press

41 William Street, Princeton, New jersey 08540

www.pupress.princeton.edu