Iconoclasm and the Byzantine Empire
From Roman Emperors to Images of Christ
Iconoclasm and the Byzantine Empire
The earliest Christian art had no distinct style, but was based on Roman frescoes, and to a lesser extent, Jewish ceremonial art. The Roman arts favored by the Christians were of two main categories: bucolic, decorative scenes common in villas outside Rome, and imperial scenes of power, showing the emperor as divine. At first, the Christians could not depict Christ at all, but would use hidden symbols such as the anchor and the fish in order to mark their places of worship and burial sites. Later, Christians would become more bold, and depict Christ as the Good Shepherd, though this was a “hidden image” as well—for the uninitiated, this scene would be simply another shepherd, like in so many villas.
Christian Art in the Age of Constantine
Christian art in the strict sense began in the age of Constantine, though it would only require a slight shift to turn Roman imperial art into Christian art. The conventions and traditions were strong, even among Christians. Thus, one of the first Christian paintings of Our Lady from the 6th century in Santa Maria Antiqua depicts Our Lady with the trappings of the emperor’s wife, wearing the diadem, jewels, and the robes of her office. In Santa Maria Maggiore, we see Our Lady also seated on a throne as an empress. The decorative Roman villa scenes became depictions of grapes and wheat, no longer symbols of a pastoral nature, but symbols of the Transubstantiation.
The representation of Our Lord followed a more circuitous path. Depictions of Christ first began in the catacombs in the 2nd century as a young, beardless man with bare feet—again, nothing that was forbidden by the Roman authorities, who saw this young man as simply a shepherd or a peasant. In the 5th century, two prototypes were settled on—the beardless young man, draped in the Greek robes of the time (based on Hellenistic conventions) and the severe, bearded figure more popular in the East, majestic and melancholic in appearance. In the West, Christ would remain beardless until the 12th century, when growing influence from the East would bring these conventions over.
But while depictions of Our Lord in the West would remain representational and almost decorative, images in the East were seen as bordering on the Divine. The Pantokrator image, showing Our Lord with sunken eyes, a deformed nose, and straight hair was perhaps a copy of the Shroud of Turin. The greatest image of Christ in the early Eastern Church, treated with the most reverence, was the Holy Image of Edessa, piously believed to have been sent by Christ himself to King Agbar of Edessa. The Eastern Church celebrates the translation of this acheiropoetic image, or an image not made by human hands. From this image, other images were made, which is likely the origin of the many icons of the Holy Face, and the proliferation of “Veronica’s Veils” throughout the East. Given the Divine—or near-Divine—origins of these images, it follows then that Christians in the East placed a greater emphasis on them as devotional, and even sacred.
The Growth of Icon Veneration
In the 6th and 7th Centuries the icon and worship with icons became widespread. There is an apocryphal story surfacing at about this time, which tells of a portrait of St. John the Evangelist kept at the home of a disciple, flanked by two lit candles. This is a direct relation to the Roman practice of venerating images of emperors and ancestors, carrying on the tradition of holding in an almost divinized manner any images, possessions, or writings of that person. The Byzantine emperors at the time would tolerate and even promote the production of icons, and some would appear on them along with the Virgin or Christ Himself, carrying on this practice that began in Roman times of venerating the emperor as divine.
While the Jews did have a strong prohibition against graven images, their influence was not felt by the Christians of the time. Conversely, it would be an influence from the East, and the growth of Islam, which would begin a period of iconoclasm in the Eastern Church. The Muslims, as well, had a prohibition against graven images and would destroy Christian images in any location they had conquered. The Byzantine emperor Leo III, originally from the Eastern provinces where Monophysitism (the heresy that Our Lord had only one nature—the Divine) was strong, and with influence from the Muslim’s prohibition, took the first initiative of the iconoclast crisis. His writings in 725 show signs of an intolerance of these “graven images,” and more drastically, in 730, he destroyed an image of Christ on the Golden Gate of the Imperial palace, which had been a source of great veneration.
This destruction of the Golden Gate icon sent a lightning bolt through the Byzantine empire, having an effect nearly equal to Martin Luther’s nailing of his theses on the Wittenburg Cathedral door. It was a call to reformation. Leo III and indeed the iconoclasts at large considered themselves to be purifiers of the Church, leading the way to a return to tradition, which had been corrupted by iconolatry. An iconoclastic synod in 754 declared that the devil “under the appearance of Christianity, has surreptitiously led humanity back to idolatry. Through his own sophisms, he has convinced those who lifted their eyes to him not to turn away from the creature, but to venerate it, to worship it, and consider as God this work named by the name of Christ [the icon].”
To be fair, it is worth noting that for the common people, and even some in the hierarchy at the time, the line between dulia and latria had been blurred. It was a common practice to bow profoundly before an icon, to kiss it devoutly, as their ancestors had done before pagan images. In the eyes of the reformers (and shortly following, the eyes of the faithful) the biblical prohibition was clear. They were rebuffed by this “reminder of their sinfulness.” And to make matters worse, it was even more shameful to be reminded of this commandment by Muslim invaders.
Art in the Era of Iconoclasm
Like every reform movement, there was a bellicose fervor to knock down the statues, to burn the images. However, this did not mean that there was to be no art whatsoever in this period. The use of symbols and motifs was allowed, and even encouraged. And one category of human images was allowed to continue—that of the emperors. Not only did images of emperors persist, but emperors still required the traditional worship of them! Increasing their own sovereignty, they replaced the traditional representation of the Cross on the coinage of the empire with their own portraits. The Biblical prohibition so in vogue at the time, if taken literally as claimed by the iconoclasts, would not have allowed these images. We can see even at the beginning of the iconoclast reform that the argument was selective at best.
As the iconoclasts progressed, their arguments progressed. They made a distinction between the subject and the representation, saying that the representation could not be the same as the original, since it was “dead” and used “lifeless” materials. Constantine V, Byzantine emperor from 741-775, said, “[an image] must be consubstantial with the depicted so that everything can be safeguarded, otherwise it is not an image.” In other words, no icon can be possible. No image can be consubstantial or be homoousion (of the same essence) with God. This is a vastly different interpretation of the image, compared to the Church in the West, which was more influenced by the Greek way of thought. The Greeks saw images as simply representations. They were a deficient participation, or simply a likeness. This higher standard placed on images by the East as needing to be more perfect representations of their subjects would be the philosophical underpinning of the importance they placed on their icons, as well as the misplaced devotion given to these representations.
Constantine V, in addition to being a skilled general, was an adept theologian for the iconoclast cause. His argument, which takes the form of a syllogism, was so well formulated that it would take a full generation of theologians to demolish it:
Given this, Constantine argued, the iconophiles have a choice between two heresies. Either they have combined the two natures as one and fall into Monophysitism. Or they have painted only the human nature, and “they make Christ a simple creature and separate him from the divine word that is joined to him.” In that case, they fall into Nestorianism.
Iconoclasts felt the divine was too lofty, too beyond man, to be represented sufficiently as an image or even a likeness. But by conflating this artistic powerlessness with dogma, they discouraged all representation. If an artist is ideally supposed to represent the human form in his art, the artist simply gave up, and became a decorator of vines and trees. It is as if, resigned to no longer depict heaven, he must give up any representation of humanity in addition.
Overcoming Iconoclasm
After 60 years, the flaw in Constantine’s argument would be uncovered. He was incorrect in asserting that the two natures cannot be separated in an image of Christ. The painted image does not circumscribe (or restrict) the divine nature or even the human nature of Christ. It does circumscribe the full understanding of Christ’s two natures, but it is incorrect to place this incapacity of understanding at the level of the image itself—rather it is our own fallen human nature that cannot fully grasp it.
Hagia Irene is an Eastern Orthodox church located in the outer courtyard of Topkapı Palace in Istanbul. The cross was put in during the reconstruction by Constantine V.
The general argument of the iconophiles was that to reject an image of Christ was to reject the Incarnation. He had come to save man from idolatry, from paganism, and to say that Christians are idolatrous because of images of Christ is to reject in part His message. They further said that the prohibition on graven images had become invalid from the moment of the Incarnation, since God manifested himself in the flesh, sensible to our eyes. Therefore, God Himself, in the person of Jesus Christ, had a sensible, visible character.
A clerk of the court of Damascus, St. John of Damascus, in 730 wrote a detailed response to early iconoclasm in which he makes a distinction between latria, worship of God, and proskynesis, or worship of sacred things. Christ’s words “render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s” suggests a unique interpretation: “Since it is the image of Caesar one has, it is of Caesar. When it is the icon of Christ, render [worship] unto Christ, for it is of Christ.” Interestingly, the metaphor of the imperial Roman image was still strong in the minds of the Byzantine Christians at this time.
Nicephorus, responding directly to Constantine V, took up the argument against the “circumscribing” or limiting of the Divine nature by an image. “Painting has to do with likeness … it is the painting of the archetype but it is separate from it, exists apart and at a given moment … Painting consists entirely of sensible apprehension, in showing … it lies above all in the realm of the notion.” In other words, he is saying that a painting is not Divine but is simply a depiction of the Divine and is a separate thing altogether.
But for the iconoclasts, there was no such separation. The choice was either iconoclasm or idolatry—no middle ground. The iconoclasts could not imagine that a divine image was not infused with a spirit. One can see that the iconoclasts were not following Divine law in their strict interpretations, but in fact had fallen into a form of pantheism due to the overt pagan-inspired practices of veneration common at the time.
In contemplating the icon, we contemplate Christ. The image is like a ladder, leading the intellect from the sensible to the intelligible, and once the intellect has arrived, the image can be left behind. Contemplation via the intelligence leads to the same place as contemplation via the sense: what matters is what the icon shows, and that is Christ Incarnate.