What is 'Iconoclasm'? With Reference to Byzantium

Historical background: the icons

If we were to use the iconophile camps own histories for the period before iconoclasm, and for the use of icons then there would be little doubt as to the importance of the icon as a cult object in seventh century Byzantium. Christian iconography is readily available and identifiable from as early a the second century,  but the exact relationship between it and its audience, i.e. Christian worshipers, remained far from clear until the seventh century.

Surprisingly few texts, or even traces of physical evidence, survive that address the basic question of how icons were incorporated into the life of the early church.  It is only in the latter stages of the sixth and throughout the seventh century that a consistent body of writing emerges (or survives) that addresses this question.  This increasing evidence has been used by some scholars to argue for an increasing icon cult during this period, this thesis has held sway from some years now,  but it is increasingly coming under attack. Doubts have been raised about the validity and authenticity of the narratives, and perhaps pre-iconoclastic cults were the creation of post iconoclastic writers.  The construction and deconstruction of the idea of a pre-iconoclastic cult of icons has largely been based on texts. It is important, therefore, that the surviving material evidence from the period should be examined and incorporated into the discussion, since, at least on the surface; there appears to have been an image rich culture in the region. We can see large numbers of small scale devotional objects and public programs, such as St.Demetrios in Thessaloniki and Santa Maria Antiqua in Rome. We should now examine whether the existence of these images can be interpreted as the existence of a cult of icons; then, is a cult is seen to exist, is its existence enough to have caused the iconoclasm itself.

  An object currently in the Vatican can be used to introduce some of the key issues that define the statue of the icon in period. The object in question is a small box from the Sancta Sanctorum; the exterior decoration on the box shows toe cross on Golgotha. The lance and sponge are also suggested, although the decoration is damaged. Key Christian symbols are also present, the Chi-Rho, Alpha and Omega.  The box itself is a reliquary, it contains stones, wood and cloth set into a hardened paste. Some of the objects are accompanied by labels that claim them to have come from specific sites in the holy land.  The item is particularly noteworthy because the interior of the lid is painted with five scenes; the central of which shows the crucifixion. The other preserved pictures are of the Nativity and one of the tomb of the Ascension. The pictures are not in any chronological order, but they do represent sites visited on a pilgrimage. Iconographically the box dates from the later sixth of early seventh century and offers us Christ’s narrative as well as material remains of that narrative. 

  This box and its contents represent an interesting double representation; the illustrations do not coincide with the contents of the box itself. The icons, then, are not simply be interpreted as a visual depiction of the box’s contents. Some have suggested that the box was a mass produced item whose decoration would thus precede the collection of the contents. Even if the box itself, and thus the iconography, were mass produced, this would not negate the potential significance of the imagery. The images, in all likelihood, mark the continuation of the claims to material truth made by the artefacts themselves. 

  This possibility can be explored to an extent in the surviving writings of Leontios of Neapolis. Leontios’s constructed dialogues give a fundamentalist position to the Jews, namely, that images of God are were strictly forbidden by the Second Commandment. Through his dialogues, Leontios demonstrates an indifference to the material, but what he leaves the reader with is a series of material means by which to remember a historical and incarnate God. Leontios concern is not with holy bodies or artefacts; he addresses these only in order to draw analogies for the potential empowerment of noncorporial relics. His main intention is t draw the remembrance of Christ, who left behind no body himself.  It seems that when Leontios engages in a discussion of the place of images within Christianity, he considers icons to belong within the same category of knowledge irrespective or their manufactured origins. 

  We can now extend our look at the iconography of the period to another body of material, again one in which relic and material coexist; the ampullae  and tokens that were removed from holy sites.  One collection of ampullae is of particular interest, these are from the holy land and were probably acquired by the queen of Lombardy, Theodolinda and now at the monetary of St. John the Baptist at Monza and the monetary of St. Columbanus at Bobbio.  This is a collection of small lead-tin flasks upon which are a variety of images. These images range from single scenes to complex arrays of scenes. The ampullae that is of most interest is no. 5 from Monza, the reverse of which shows the two martyrs at the tomb of Christ.  In the biblical story, they are greeted by the angel who tells then that Christ has risen. The image on the ampulae, however, has been transformed.  The cave of the biblical account is not depicted; instead, the interior of the Anastasis Rotunda in Jerusalem is portrayed. A similar transformation was noted earlier with the images on the Vatican box. This appears to be a pattern of ignoring historical distance is copied on the front of the ampulae currently under discussion. This image is of the crucifixion, but is itself altered; the Christ figure is reduced in size to a bust and the most space is given to a depiction of the cross. The cross is the focus of devotion of the two pilgrims who are seen kneeling at its foot. As if the visual imagery is not clear enough, an inscription runs around the outside, it is in Greek, but translates as “Oil of the Wood of Life of the Holy Places of Christ”.  What this ampullae appears to give us is something of a dialogue between the historical origins of “the pilgrimage” and the pilgrims own memories of the places he visited that gave rise to the biblical narrative. Here, the crucifixion is commemorated by the worship and veneration of the cross itself, the cross has become the icon and Christ’s tomb has been moved to the Anastasis Rotunda, presumably one of the sites that the pilgrim visited on his travels in the Holy Land.

  The contents of the flask ampullae are also interesting; the inscription tells us (or claims at least) that the ampullae contains oil from the wood of the tree of life. This oil was proverbially potent; a description of which was given by the sixth century Piacenza pilgrim “when the mouth of one of the little flasks touches the wood of the cross, the oil instantly bubbles over, and unless it is closed very quickly it all spills out”.  The oil is transformed by contact with the cross and imbued with miraculous properties, the oil was then used to ward off demons and act as a cure for many ailments. 

  These examples are interesting in regards to the relationship between material items and the holy. There seems to exist the prospect that common matter, i.e. Wood, cloth, stone, oil etc. can be transformed into a holy relic or icon. Their power comes, not from what they are in and of themselves, but from contact with an existing holy relic, in this instance the cross of the crucifixion, which was, in turn, empowered through contact with the body of Christ. The material, thus transformed, is authenticated and identified by inscription and imagery depiction. These images serve to, not only identify the contents, but to mark the pilgrims’ pilgrimage. The ampullae, and other items, such as the Vatican box, serve as material proof of the contents’ contact with the holy, but also to prove the bearers contact with the holy. The experience may well be imaginary, there is no direct evidence that Theodolinda undertook a pilgrimage herself, these artefacts offer a “virtual” pilgrimage.

  These relics, to an extent, offer us an image of how the cult of the icon emerged. When Leontios of Neapolis (above) introduced a fresh discussion of Christian material culture into Christian literature, he noted a changed role for the imagery that led to it being granted value, in and of itself, as non verbal proof of an historical existence. Thus, when images and relics were placed next to one another, they were to be interpreted and contemplated and understood in parallel, as material representations of a historical person or event. The icon itself also may provide an affirmation of the relic’s identity.  The main purpose of an icon was to be a means of extending the touch of the relic, through a tangible interaction of relic – icon – beholder.

  Kitzinger  has noted, with interest, how the cult of relics essentially led to the cult of the icon in Christian practice in the period. The two are different, however; with the cult of relics, beholder is presented with the body, or part of the body, possession of, or item in some way connected with, a holy person, often Christ. These items are defined by the fact that they, or the person, has been in contact with the holy relic. As we can see in the text of Leontios of Neapolis, the physical presence of an object becomes the key to a historically truthful event. By physical contact with the artefact(s) there is a sort of actual physical trace with the past still preserved, in some ways you are actually contacting the holy itself. The icon, however, is a painting or other physical rendering; it is a created object, a man made item. In order to incorporate and validate the icon into an already existing practice, i.e. the cult of the relic; the defenders of the cult of the icon had to argue that the image they created could sustain contact in the form of the memory of an original depiction, whose manufacture was in some way miraculous itself. 

  There are instances where the manufactured icon itself took on the status of a relic; these icons are known as acheiropoieta icons,   those icons that are not made by hand. These icons, the claim is, are not manufactured, but their origins is ascribed to some miracle. In early examples it is the contact between the portrait and the portrayed that licensed this form of representation. As such, they continued to be part of the cult of the relic, whilst avoiding some of the pitfalls of the cult of the icon, i.e. that it was manufactured and not, in any real way, holy. These images were in turn copied.

  It can be seen, then, that a cult of the relic had existed for some time in Christianity, but that a cult of the icon also evolved. It seems likely that the cult of the relic was the more significant, given that the relic had, in some way, been in contact with an actual holy artefact, like the cross. The cult of the icon became more significant over the period. Churches had been filled with holy relics and icons for several hundred years before iconoclasm took hold. With this in mind it is hard to conceive of how and why iconoclasm began at all in Byzantium.

  The sudden appearance of iconoclasm  on the Christian Byzantine scene has sometimes been attributed to the physical proximity of Islamic world. In Islam the very idea of representing the human form, be it secular or divine, was abhorrent. It is also easy to argue that the Byzantine Emperor, Leo III, whose roots are in Syria, was not influenced by Islamic beliefs and practices; although to exactly what extent this is true can only be speculated.

  From the Christian point of view, however, it should be remembered that this new and revolutionary doctrine of iconoclasm was in reality an obvious collorary to the monophysite position taken by many Christians. The monophysite position was essentially that we should accept only the divine nature of Christ, which by definition, therefore, would be impossible do depict in any iconographic or symbolic form, and we therefore have to reject the human nature of Christ. Christians could not, therefore, logically approve of a physical manufactured depiction of Christ in human form. With this in mind, it is no surprise at all that more of the enthusiasm for this new doctrine of iconoclasm came from the Eastern provinces in which monophysitism had always been more prevalent and deep rooted, and which had always been influenced by near eastern mysticism and philosophy, and less so from the more materialistic west.

  Even though iconoclasm was largely limited to the eastern provinces, it did have a strong case. Ever since the beginning of the seventh century, the cult of the icon had been steadily growing in importance and popularity. As far as Christian fundamentalists were concerned, the cult of the icon was becoming uncontrollable to the point where holy images were openly worshiped in their own right, and not for what they had originally represented. Idolatry had become so widespread that icons occasionally even served as godparents at baptisms.  In what they considered to be a reaction and protest against flagrant pagan style idolatry that a number of bishops in Asia Minor adopted an iconoclast manifesto and became intent upon spreading their ideas as widely as possible throughout the Empire.

  The Emperor, Leo III, despite his origins in Syria, gave no early indications of sympathy with the new movement of iconoclasm, quite the reverse. On a number of occasions during a siege in the early seventh century he made full use of Constantinople’s most famous icons, the Virgin Hodegeteria,  having it paraded up and down the cities walls to instil courage into his men, and of course to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. Contrary to this, however, he made no protest when in 723 the Caliph Yazid, having been cured of some ailment by a Jewish necromancer, was persuaded by the necromancer to issue a decree ordering the immediate destruction of all Christian icons in all churches, markets, public buildings and private houses throughout his dominion.  There is some evidence that this same Jewish necromancer had also visited the Emperor in Constantinople and put similar pressure on him:  it is certain that in 725 the iconoclast bishops of Asia Minor did so.

  Leo’s change of heart, from a general who obviously saw the benefits of the use of icons, to a man happy to see such things destroyed, was not a spontaneous act. It would seem that the Emperor’s decision was the result of a combination of Muslim and Jewish influences, together with, perhaps the strongest of all, pressure from a number of his own key Christian subjects. In 725 Leo even made the decision to deliver a series of sermons in which he attached the excesses of the iconodules  which he, and the bishops of Asia Minor, held to be in flagrant disregard of the second commandment as passed down through Moses.

  In 726, Leo decided it was time to set an example to the iconoclasts. Facing eastwards towards St. Sophia across the broad open space of the Augusteum was the principle gateway to the imperial palace, known as the Chalke. A previous gateway had been destroyed by a mob during the Nika riots some years previously, and had been built by the emperor Justinian. The new gateway was a magnificent structure in its own right.  Procopius  tells us that it was a tall vaulted building with a central dome, the interior riveted with slabs or marble above which wee a series of mosaics representing the victories of Justinian and Belisarius. The walls were lined with statues, some of them ancient, many of former emperors. Outside, above the great bronze doors that gave the building its name, stood a vast golden icon of Christ.

  This representation of Christ was probably the largest and best known icon in Constantinople; this was also the first icon that was singled out by Leo for destruction. The reaction of the populace was instant and violent. The officer in charge of the troops assigned to destroy the icon of Christ was attacked by a group of outraged local women and killed. News of the iconoclasm spread quickly through the Empire; mutinies were reported among the fleet in the Aegean and within the army in Thrace. Most of the Emperors subjects had inherited the old Graeco-Roman tradition, and saw this kind of iconoclasm as essentially wilful sacrilege. To most of the Emperors subjects, icons were loved and revered and their destruction was abhorrent.

  Leo, perhaps surprised by the violence of the reaction, seems to have committed no further acts of iconoclasm, but that did little to easy tensions. In 727, the Italian inhabitants of Ravenna rose in open revolt, backed by Pope Gregory. The Pope seems to have been partly revolted by the iconoclasm, and partly insulted that the Emperor should be deciding matters of doctrine. The garrison asserted independence from the Empire. 

  The unrest within the Empire was not the result of any formal degree or edict by the Emperor, but of a single act of iconoclasm. Once fully aware of the trouble that the destruction had caused throughout the Empire, Leo may have been expected to reverse the policy immediately, for fear of sparking some kind of sacred war; but he did not. What in fact happened was, for three years, he tried to negotiate, unsuccessfully as it happens, with the leaders of the Christian church.  In 730, having dismissed the iconodule patriarch Germanus, and replacing him with the weakly acquiescent Anastasius; Leo issued his one and only decree of iconoclasm.

  From this time forth, all holy images were to be destroyed; those who failed to obey would be subject to immediate arrest and punishment. Those iconophiles who refused to obey could henceforth expect persecution for disobeying the edicts of the Emperor. In the east of the Empire, this was to have the greatest affect on the monasteries; many of which possessed large collections of icons and holy relics  in many forms. Hundreds of monks fled to Greece and Italy, others to the deserts of Cappadocia, carrying with them those relics and icons that could be easily concealed. The Pope, meanwhile, condemned the iconoclasm and wrote two letters to Leo setting out the orthodox view on icons and their worship.

  Leo responded by trying to have the Pope arrested, but he died before this could occur. His successor, also called Gregory, took a similarly hard line and took the further step of excommunicating those who were involved in iconoclasm.  Leo then transferred some of the bishoprics from the sphere of Rome to that of Constantinople, thus intensifying the hostility between east and west; a hostility that lasted for 300 years before the final schism occurred.

  Leo’s last decade in power, the 730’s, are something of a mystery, little is known of what occurred at this time. They seem to have been a relatively quiet time, despite the regular Saracen raids in Asia Minor. Although we can only really speculate, the 730’s were probably a time of the fulfilment of the iconoclast decree; the destruction of icons and holy relics and the relentless persecution of those who failed to obey the edict.

  The final years of Leo’s reign were, apparently quiet, but far from happy for Christians. Leo III, like Heraclius, had achieved many significant things during his reign. Heraclius, however, had striven to put an end to religious strife; whereas Leo seems to have done everything he could to encourage it.  Upon his death in 741, he left behinds and Empire that was more deeply divided than it had ever been. It should be noted, however, that the division was almost entirely on religious grounds, the Empire was now virtually secure from the ever present Saracen threat.

Conclusion.

  For some time up to the decree of Leo, the cult of the relic had been growing in importance. Out of this cult, it seems entirely natural that the cult of the icon had developed. For those inheriting the Graeco-Roman tradition,  there was nothing at all wrong with worshiping representation of the divine: but for fundamentalist Christians, such as the bishops of Asia Minor, or for those touched, however mildly, by Islam; this was an abhorrent practice. It was akin to pagan idolatry and must be stamped out. The cult of the icon also raised a theological point with some bishops, the second commandment had forbade representations of God, yet if Christ was to be considered divine then images of him were also blasphemous; the theologically difficult argument was if Christ could be separated into the human and the divine. It seems likely that if the cult of the relic and the icon had been less widespread then the decree would probably never have been issued.

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