One of the oldest and most famous icons of Christ in the collection of St Catherine’s Monastery on Mount Sinai only became widely accessible in the 20th century, following research conducted by G. Soteriou 1 and K. Weitzmann 2. Beyond its documentary value for Christian art prior to the iconoclastic crisis 3, this icon – one of the few surviving examples from its era – possesses an irresistible allure. Art historians have analysed its composition in detail, and the elements less visible at first glance (the exedra in the background, the eight-rayed stars, the letters accompanying the halo) have sought to define its style anddecipher its significance within the iconographic programme of the time of Emperor Justinian, the founder of the Sinai Monastery. André Grabar noted the subtlety with which it ‘manages to illustrate the dogma of the two natures of Christ’4). Taking this dimension into account, Hans Belting regards it as “a synthesis between a divine portrait and an ideal human portrait, which appears to be that of a philosopher conveying his teaching with authority, but also with benevolence”5. In a book on ‘the gaze of Christ’ in art, François Boespflug argues that the icon is ‘intended entirely to bring about an encounter between the Person depicted and the one who beholds it’ and that “this Christological image of God” would receive “definitive legitimisation” at the Second Council of Nicaea in 787 6.
Interpreted as a ‘manifesto’ of the Chalcedonian creed regarding the relationship between the human and divine natures in the single Person of the incarnate Logos, the Sinai icon occupies a plausible horizon of meaning, but one that does not seem to capture the uniqueness of its expressive power. One need not be a specialist in iconography to perceive the singular and mysterious character of this representation of the Saviour. What is most striking is the asymmetry of the face: the half corresponding to the blessing hand has a luminous serenity and looks directly at the viewer, whilst the left half of the face, corresponding to the hand holding the Gospel, is shrouded in a sombre shadow, thus achieving that ‘effect of distance and timelessness’ noted by A. Grabar. The difference in expression between the two parts is so marked, and yet their interplay so subtle, that it would seem entirely implausible that there was no precise intention on the part of the artist who painted such an iconic portrait. In an extensive study dedicated to the Sinai icon, Father Maximos Constas 7 astutely observes that ‘the right eye (...) radiates tranquillity, but the energy introduced by the contorted left eye, like an impending storm, threatens the balance and effectively disrupts the perfect symmetry, lending the otherwise well-proportioned face a sense of tension and concern’8. Furthermore, by conducting the experiment of mirror-doubling each part of Christ’s face – which heightens their expression – the author concludes that the figure depicted in the icon is “like Janus, majestic and humble at the same time, fragile and intimidating, oscillating between the extremes of vulnerability and power”9.
Father Maximos Constas’s interpretation points to what might be the authentic meaning of the polarity in the Sinai icon: the relationship between mercy and judgement at the Second Coming of Christ. Completely overturning the theory found in art-historical works, which mention the ‘Chalcedonian’ dimension of the representation of Christ by referring to the polarity of the natures, he argues that, against a backdrop of eschatological concerns linked to the controversies of Emperor Justinian’s reign, the painter actually sought to convey the gaze that the Saviour would cast as Judge—both merciful and just— as depicted in the parable from the Gospel according to Matthew (XXV, 31–46). To ‘illustrate the dual nature’ would have been a contradiction in terms, because ‘the two natures of the One Christ can only be “known” through the experience of spiritual contemplation, and not through physical sight’ – a principle of Saint Cyril of Alexandria closely followed by Emperor Justinian. Thus, a visible, iconic polarity of the two natures would have undermined Cyrilian Christology; whilst, on the other hand, for the moderate Monophysites, the icon would have been far too susceptible to being interpreted in a Nestorian sense10 What remains, however, is the ‘polarity’ of the painted image, the meaning of which may be sought rather in the theology concerning the divine attributes and their paradoxical coexistence. From an iconographic perspective, the Byzantine preoccupation with ‘dual portraiture’ or ‘polarised facial expression’ is highlighted, for which there is eloquent literary evidence. An important role in the development of this argument is played by the text by Nikolaos Mesarites (13th century) on the mosaic representation of Christ in the dome of the Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople: ‘His eyes are full of joy and welcome those who have a clear conscience, for “the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous”, as the Psalmist says (Psalm XXXIII:14). His gaze is gentle and tender, turning neither to the left nor to the right, but directed entirely towards everyone at once and, at the same time, towards a single person. Thus are His eyes towards those who are not rebuked by their conscience; but towards those who are condemned by their own judgement, they are full of wrath and terrifying. His right hand blesses those who walk the straight path, whilst rebuking those who do not do so exactly and, so to speak, examines them and turns them away from their disorderly behaviour”11
Father Constas’s argument is convincing and has the great merit of having struck at the heart of the problem with this representation. It is highly likely that the message conveyed by the striking association of gentleness with severity, of soothing light with the impenetrable depth of the mystery, was to affirm the ‘discriminating’ function of the gaze with which the Son of Man will look upon the world when He ‘comes in His glory’, distinguishing between the ‘blessed’ and the ‘condemned’, who, in turn, will see their own condition reflected in the countenance of the Righteous Judge. Indeed, this condition at the end of the ages is, to a certain extent, anticipated in each person’s life by the way in which the image of Christ is perceived, depending on the quality of their spiritual life: to some He appears reproachful, because the gaze of their conscience defines him thus, whilst to others he appears good and loving, because they contemplate him with love and, as Nicolaus Cusanus wrote in De visione Dei, the more the love in their gaze grows in intensity, the more its reflection on the face of Christ increases.
An observation by Jaroslav Pelikan, from the perspective of the history of the cultural reception of the Christian faith and its creativity, is well worth noting: ‘This Byzantine icon of Christ Pantocrator succeeds in conceptualising the One who is not only the embodiment of Truth in His teaching and of Goodness in His life, but also of Beauty in His form, for ‘Thou art more beautiful than the sons of men’ (Psalm XLIV, 2)’12”. In the historical development of Christianity, the association of the kerygma with ‘beauty’—a quintessentially Greek category—had to undergo a period of transition, hesitation and reluctance, so that, ultimately, ‘beauty’ might derive its meaning from the truth revealed in Jesus Christ, and Christ might become ‘both the foundation of continuity in art and the source of artistic innovation’13. For example, to present just one moment in the history of Christian ‘aesthetics’, we might recall that, in the view of Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, ‘more beautiful than the sons of men’ from Psalm 44 means that, although human, Christ is not merely human, but ‘more beautiful’, since His beauty is that of grace which forgives and sets free. In his Commentary on Psalm 44 14, Augustine reflects on the visible through two categories from the Jewish tradition: mercy and justice. Jesus was seen by those who persecuted Him, but He was not understood. His Incarnation pertains precisely to the meaning of what is seen, a meaning which He Himself indicated, saying, ‘Whoever has seen Me has seen the Father’ (John 14:9). Now, whoever does not understand Christ does not see His beauty; but for those who understand Him as God made flesh, He possesses an ‘unrivalled beauty’, the source of which is divine mercy. In other words, God became incarnate out of merciful love for humankind, and this original beauty of the Godhead gives rise to an apparent lack of beauty, manifested through the visible humility of the Incarnation. Thus, to contemplate the beauty of Christ, the Bridegroom who has washed away the bride’s ugliness, one must regard His deeds as an expression of mercy. On the cross, Christ possesses no beauty, neither for His own people nor for the pagans. But seen through the eyes of faith, He is ‘beautiful as God’, just as ‘He is beautiful in the Virgin’s womb, where He takes on humanity without renouncing His divinity’, beautiful as an infant at His Mother’s breast and in her arms, ‘for He makes the heavens speak’ and ‘the angels sing His glory’. ‘Beautiful on the cross, beautiful in the tomb, beautiful in heaven’, He possesses a beauty that accompanies Him in all His acts. What is the meaning of this paradoxical beauty? What must we see in order to understand it? Augustine’s answer is: justice – ‘the great and true beauty’!
…to contemplate the beauty of Christ, the Bridegroom who has washed away the bride’s ugliness, one must regard His deeds as an expression of mercy. On the cross, Christ possesses no beauty, neither for His own people nor for the pagans. But seen through the eyes of faith, He is ‘beautiful as God’…
What we glean from Augustine’s meditation on Psalm 44 may complement Father Constas’s interpretation. The Sinai icon of Christ conveys, I believe, in a unique way—beyond its historical significance—the very mystery of the relationship between mercy and justice in God. The image He presents to us is none other than that of divine mercy, of love for humanity, for which God emerged from the unfathomable depths of eternity and ‘dwelt amongst us’ – the image of God veiled in humility and revealed through merciful love 15. Through the Incarnation, Christ took us upon Himself and allowed us to touch Him, whilst remaining, in a mysterious way, the eternal Logos, beyond all comparison with the world. Absolute mercy, culminating in the sacrifice on the cross, was the only justice befitting God and at the same time established the measure of what it means to be human: the acts of mercy described in the Gospel according to Matthew are the sole criteria of judgement, for through them divine justice takes shape in our world. His ways towards us remain unfathomable, like the stern eye of justice, whilst our ways towards Him are the simple ones of mercy towards others.
- 1
* This essay expands on an article published in Dilema veche, no. 837, 5–11 March 2020. G. Soteriou, Eikones tes Mones Sinai, Institut français d’Athène, Athens, 1958, pp. 125–126.
- 2
K. Weitzmann, The Monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai. The Icons, Vol. I: From the Sixth to the Tenth Century, Princeton, 1976. See also Th. F. Mathews (with N. E. Muller), The Dawn of Christian Art in Panel Paintings and Icons, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 2016 (particularly regarding the Egyptian origins of iconography and the integration of the icon–Eucharist relationship into the historical perspective on the development of icon veneration).
- 3
For a summary in Romanian on iconoclasm, we refer the reader to Sebastian Nazâru’s excellent work, The Byzantine Synods of the Iconoclastic Period, published by Istros, Brăila, 2018.
- 4
A. Grabar, Le premier art chrétien (200–395), Gallimard, Paris, 1966 (Early Christian Art: From the Rise of Christianity to the Death of Theodosius, trans. Stuart Gilbert, James Emmons, Odyssey Press, 1969, p. 15).
- 5
H. Belting, Image and Worship: A History of Art Before the Age of Art, translated from the German by F. Muller, Cerf, Paris, 1998, p. 180.
- 6
F. Boespflug, The Gaze of Christ in Art: Times and Places of an Exchange, MamE – Desclée, Paris, 2014, pp. 42–45.
- 7
M. Constas, The Art of Seeing. Paradox and Perception in Orthodox Tradition, 2014 (The Art of Seeing. Paradox and Perception in Orthodox Iconography, trans. by Dragoș Dâscă, Doxologia Publishing, Iași, 2017).
- 8
M. Constas, The Art of Seeing: Paradox and Perception in Orthodox Iconography, p. 70.
- 9
M. Constas, The Art of Seeing..., p. 72.
- 10
The observation regarding the apparent ‘Nestorianism’ of the Sinai icon of Christ, in contrast to the ‘Monophysitism’ of the mosaic from the same period located in the apse of St Catherine’s Monastery, was made by Sorin Dumitrescu in Noi și icoana. 31+1 iconologists for the study of the icon, Anastasia Foundation, Bucharest, pp. 138–139. Father M. Constas, in fact, merely notes the risk of a non-Chalcedonian interpretation should the hermeneutics of the icon have remained confined to the thesis of ‘illustrating’ the Chalcedonian Christological dogma.
- 11
M. Constas, The Art of Seeing, pp. 114–115 (slightly adapted translation).
- 12
J. Pelikan, Jesus Through the Centuries: His Place in the History of Culture, trans. by Silvia Palade, Humanitas, Bucharest, 2000, p. 112. On the theme of Jesus’ beauty in the writings of the Church Fathers, see an overview by Dom Augustin Calmet (1672–1757), ‘Dissertation sur la beauté de Jésus-Christ’, in Connaissance des Pères de l’Église, 112, 2008, pp. 52–62. For a historical analysis, see G. Dagron, ‘Le vrai visage du Christ’, in Décrire et peindre. Essai sur le portrait iconique, Gallimard, Paris, 2007, pp. 181–201.
- 13
J. Pelikan, Jesus Through the Centuries: His Place in the History of Culture, p. 113.
- 14
Augustine of Hippo, Commentaries on the Psalms – Enarrationes in Psalmos, Ps 37–44, eds. M. Dulaey, I. Bochet, P. Descotes, P.-M. Hombert, in the Bibliothèque Augustinienne series (BA 59A), Brepols, 2017.
- 15
See O. Clément, The Body of Death and Glory: A Brief Introduction to a Theopoetics of the Body, trans. by Sr. Eugenia Vlad, the ‘Christiana’ Christian Medical Philanthropic Association, Bucharest, 1996.