“For the East, the icon is one of the holy mysteries, more precisely that of the personal presence,” states the theologian Pavel Evdokimov 1. The icon has a theophanic function, revealing a divine presence—the presence of God Himself or of divine grace in His saints. But the icon also has a mystagogical function, that of initiating the beholder into mysteries that cannot be fathomed by the mind or thought, such as the mystery of the Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ, the mystery of the Unseen One’s work within the visible, or the mystery of the sanctification and deification of man and the permeation of the entire created world by the uncreated light of God.
Furthermore, the icon has a revelatory function in the realm of knowledge: it reveals that, through Christ, creation has been delivered from its loneliness and alienation from the Creator, and the wall that had grown up between the Creator and His creation has been torn down by the Saviour of the world and transformed into a bridge of light. In this sense, the icon has a pedagogical, didactic and epistemological mission, teaching and making known to the whole world, through the forms of visible art, the episodes of the history of our salvation. The icon thus shows us, time and again, not only the history but also the ongoing reality of the salvation of humankind and the world. It stands perpetually before us, as a call to divine love, which is at the same time a call to an unbroken, unwavering and eternal love, and to a communion beyond the natural order.
The icon is a call to a relationship that does not begin or end in the immediacy of everyday experience, that is not consumed by the (insignificant and petty) intensities of human emotions, but which can rise, by grace, to eternal communion with the Persons of the Holy Trinity. The mystery of personal presence, of which Evdokimov spoke, is thus transformed into the mystery of the endless communion of love, which the icon constantly bears witness to and to which it invites us, human beings, with both power and delicacy.
An Introduction to the Theophany in the Icon
Upon entering a church, we are greeted by the presence of Christ, the Mother of God and the saints in the icons. The feeling of loneliness dissipates, as does the sense of a certain self-centredness (which constantly haunts us in the world). There we discover a mystical communion, which has existed since before we set foot within the sacred space and, ultimately, since before our entry, through Baptism, into the ecclesial space which is, par excellence, the mystical Body of the Lord. We are thus greeted by the presence of God and the presence of those close to him, of deified people, presences that joyfully await us to become, in turn, steadfast presences – and not mere tourists or passers-by – in their communion, which proves to be there – alive, profound and all-encompassing – even before our own personal history began. But how does this certainty of presence come about, and indeed, this embrace within a communion of presence and this call to presence, in our relationship with God and His saints, in holiness?
‘Of course, the icon has no reality of its own; in and of itself, it is nothing but a piece of wood; but precisely because it derives all its theophanic value from its participation in ‘something entirely other’ through likeness, it cannot enclose anything within itself, but becomes like a pattern for the diffusion of light. The absence of volume excludes any materialisation; the icon conveys an energetic presence that is neither localised nor confined, but radiates out from its point of condensation”2
…this presence of a divine energy is what distinguishes the icon from the religious painting… without denying the aesthetic experience, yet without offering an easy or intellectually decipherable aesthetic experience, the icon proposes something else to us.
For Evdokimov, this presence of a divine energy is what distinguishes the icon from the religious painting, just as the ‘liturgical theology of presence’ differs from aesthetic perception and experience. Even though the religious painting may also evoke a ‘sense of wonder’, this reaction on the part of the viewer will not, however, lead to a transcendence of the ‘triangle of aesthetic immanentism’ (work–artist–viewer), nor will it produce an opening towards another plane of being, towards the transcendence of the divine 3. And even if a transition were to occur from aesthetic emotion to religious feeling, the latter has its origin in the viewer’s ‘subjective capacity’ and cannot go beyond human subjectivity. In contrast, the icon opens up to the transcendent plane; it breaks through and transcends the limits of aesthetic perception; it shatters ‘the aesthetic triangle and its immanentism’, pointing the way towards the mysterium tremendum, towards a ‘mystical meaning’3.
Consequently, without denying the aesthetic experience, yet without offering an aesthetic experience that is facile or intellectually decipherable – whether within the realm of our naturalistic expectations or in accordance with artistic movements we are familiar with, which have their own style and historical context – the icon offers us something else. It brings us the experience of the mystery, of the mysterious presence from beyond, which is reflected so closely on this side and penetrates to the very depths of our being. This ‘Beyond’ which reveals itself on this side and becomes as intimate to us as possible, which invades and enlightens us, to the point of transporting us beyond the immediate and the necessity of the ‘here and now’, is termed by Evdokimov ‘the fourth principle’ in relation to the aesthetic triangle. This principle is ‘the parousia of the Transcendent, whose presence the icon attests to’3
Evdokimov, in his critique of Western tradition and sacred art, draws a clear distinction between the perception of the icon in the East and that of the religious image in the West. The dividing line is drawn between the ‘sacramental perspective of presence’, the theology of iconic epiphany cultivated in the East, particularly following the Seventh Ecumenical Council (787), and the exclusive anchoring in memory, in commemorative or anamnetic value, emphasised in the West following the Council of Trent (1545–1563)3.
However, the perspective of the mystery of the divine presence also requires… the preparation of both the master iconographer and the viewer to ‘capture’ that presence. Both require an initiation into the mystery of the Divine Presence, so that they may render and perceive it, partake of it and pass it on.
However, the perspective of the mystery of the divine presence entails not only the liturgical and ecclesial context – within worship and the sacred space – of the icon, but also the preparation of the iconographer and the viewer to ‘capture’ that presence. Both require an initiation into the mystery of the Divine Presence, so that they may render and perceive it, so that they may partake of it and pass it on.
Firstly, the iconographer must accustom himself to ‘fasting of the eyes’, in order to detach himself from his subjective aesthetic perceptions and allow his gaze to identify with the gaze of the Church 4. Next, he must yearn and pray that his hand may be guided by grace, so as to render not only beauty, but also the truth of the Divine Presence in the image depicted on wood or on the church wall 5.
For their part, viewers need to be nurtured in order to become receptive to the presence within the icon. By not reducing the icon to its artistic aspect or technical mastery, the viewer can partake of the theology embodied by the icon, of the Revelation it mediates, and of the Communion between Earth and Heaven to which it opens the way. Michel Quenot explains:
‘Reducing the icon to an object of art amounts to depriving it of its primary significance. It is “theology in an image”, that is to say, it proclaims through its colours and brings to life what the Gospel reveals through the word. It is therefore an expression of divine revelation and of our communion with God. When Orthodox believers gather in a church building, they establish a connection with the heavenly Church through icons and liturgical prayers”6.
Of course, perceiving the theology of the icon, entering into communion with the true God and with the truth of His knowledge through the icon, as well as sensing the interpenetration and co-liturgy between the earthly and heavenly Churches, are profound and, in themselves, inexhaustible experiences, which can always be deepened. They convey the presence of the Kingdom of God, revealing the anticipatory, prophetic and eschatological value of the icon. But these experiences do not exclude the experience of beauty. It is simply that beauty is not an aesthetic construct, a product of the subjective reception of the image, but has its origin in the source and Archetype of beauty, the God-Man, Christ. Michel Quenot thus confirms Evdokimov’s intuition regarding the transcendence of the aesthetic and adds the need for the purification of the gaze. Furthermore, he notes that the viewer himself must allow himself to be transformed by the divine light, in order to understand the icon as a medium of the Taboric light.
‘The icon, which is neither purely aesthetic nor purely spiritual, is beautiful in itself, and its beauty springs from the archetype. Undoubtedly, this kind of beauty eludes the lover of pure art, for the discovery of the icon’s inner essence requires the inner illumination of its viewer. The viewer must first receive the light that is God Himself (John 1:9 and 8:12) before being able to perceive, with a purified gaze, the radiance on Mount Tabor that transfigures matter’7’.
Consequently, the presence of the divine in the icon presupposes the presence of the divine in man: God must first be present in man (be he a sanctified craftsman, an icon-painter, or a faithful beholder, a worshipper of icons), so that man may create and behold, through grace and in truth, the icon as a presence. But who is the model (archetype) and the foundation of God’s presence in man? Who is the absolute foundation of the possibility of painting and beholding the icon?
The foundation and archetype of presence
Boris Bobrinskoy emphasises the Christological foundation of the theology of the icon. The material of the icon not only bears witness to the Incarnation of Christ, but also attests to the very transfiguration of matter in Christ and in the Church. Just as the spoken or written word, so too visible matter—whilst unable to encompass the Incomprehensible divine essence—can, through its transformation in the fire of the Holy Spirit, become a medium for communicating the divine presence. ‘In the lived experience of the Church, the icon is the mystery of Christ, the God-Man. Since the divine Word took on flesh and matter in His Incarnation, and since these were transfigured in the light of the Resurrection and ultimately raised up in the Ascension to share in divine life, human language and art can be baptised within the Church and – in the fire of the Spirit – become capable of conveying to our human senses and understanding the presence of the Holy Trinity in itself and in its saints’8”.
Faith in Christ entails faith in the Incarnation of the Only-Begotten Son of God. Now, the confession of the Incarnation is dogmatically founded on the confession that Christ is true God and true man – a single hypostasis in two natures, as formulated by the Fourth Ecumenical Council of Chalcedon (451). The concept of the hypostatic union of the two natures of Christ is clarified by the Fifth Ecumenical Council of Constantinople (553). This understanding is fundamental to the understanding of the icon as a depiction of Christ the Lord. ‘Is Christ true God and true man in a single person? The fundamental mystery of the Christian faith is based on the affirmative answer to this question. So too is the veneration of icons. Therefore, if the Incarnation of Christ lies at the foundation of the icon, then the icon, in turn, bears witness to the Incarnation. If one denies one of these, one denies the other as well. Consequently, the icon of Christ is the icon par excellence9”.
The icon of Christ represents neither the divine nature nor the human nature, for these are inseparable within the Hypostasis of Christ 10. Rather, the icon of Christ represents His Person, in whom the two natures are united in a manner that is ‘undivided, inseparable, unmixed and unaltered’ (Fourth Ecumenical Council of Chalcedon). It is the single Person of Christ Himself, and not either of His natures taken in isolation and separated from the other, that constitutes the foundation and Archetype of the icon. Consequently, ‘The icon depicts the Person of the eternal Word made flesh, and not His humanity separated from His divinity’11).
…the icon allows us to have a foretaste of the vision of the Eighth Day, to already rejoice in what it will be like to see God face to face.
In this sense, the icon allows us to have a foretaste of the vision of the Eighth Day, to already rejoice in what it will be like to see God face to face. According to Saint Theodore the Studite, the icon is always unlike the prototype in terms of essence, but similar in terms of Hypostasis and Name 12.
The dogmatic consciousness of the Orthodox Church links the truth and veneration of icons to the icon par excellence, the icon of Christ, and the truth of this icon is justified as proof and testimony of the Incarnation and, through this, of the hypostatic union of the two natures in Christ. On the other hand, the Incarnation itself takes place against the backdrop of the iconic structure of human being13ly, for man is created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26). Christ Himself, bearing an iconic vocation in the Incarnation, being ‘the image’ or ‘the likeness of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation’ (Colossians 1:15), reveals God the Father to man (John 14:9: ‘Whoever has seen Me has seen the Father’). On the other hand, He restores to humankind its own heavenly icon, its own archetypal image, since the Archetype that underlies the creation of humankind in the image of God is Christ Himself 14.
When we gaze upon the icon of Christ, we behold the One Who is the sole ‘natural icon of the Father’, to use an expression of Saint John of Damascus, the great defender of icons 15. But in that same icon of Christ we also find reflected, depicted in a mysterious way, the true image of man, for the One depicted is the One in whose image man was created and the One to whose likeness man must aspire, in order to be sanctified. Through the icon of Christ, our gaze is opened to a personal presence which is both the icon of the Father and the icon of man. Christ is the icon consubstantial with God the Father and the archetypal icon of man. Thus, the presence we encounter in the icon of Christ is itself marked by a personal, iconic structure. Moreover, this iconic person, Christ, unites the uncreated and the created in His Incarnation. This marvellous union, which is beyond our understanding, does not, however, result in the mixing or substantial alteration of the created and the uncreated, just as the two natures of Christ do not change (alter) or intermingle in their hypostatic union.
Paul Evdokimov summarises this line of argument as follows: ‘In His divinity, the Son is the consubstantial Image of the Father; in His humanity, Christ is the icon of God, but ‘whoever has seen Me has seen the Father’; the two natures in Christ, divine and human, return to His single Hypostasis and thus to the single Image, though expressed in two different ways. The Image is one, just as the Hypostasis is one, yet this unity preserves the distinction between the uncreated and the created”16).
The icon is not merely a testimony to the unmixed union between the created and the uncreated; it marks the very essence of the Christian witness. Centred on the Incarnation, Christianity becomes fundamentally iconic.
The icon is not merely a testimony to the unmingled union between the created and the uncreated; it marks the very essence of the Christian witness. Centred on the Incarnation, Christianity becomes fundamentally iconic. Its iconic nature is not at odds with the absence of the image of God in the Old Testament, for this absence is nothing other than the place prepared for the revelation of the image in Christ, as a prophetic space in which the theophany will be received. Leonid Uspensky clarifies, with regard to this dynamic of continuity, rather than a rupture between an aniconic and an iconic period: ‘The image is therefore inherent in the very nature of Christianity, which is not only the revelation of the divine Word, but also the divine Image manifested through the God-Man. The Church teaches that the image is founded on the Incarnation of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. This is not a break, and even less a contradiction with the Old Testament – as Protestants believe – but, on the contrary, a direct fulfilment. For the existence of the image in the New Testament is implied by the prohibition of images in the Old Testament. Even though this may seem strange, for the Church, the sacred image derives precisely from the absence of direct imagery in the Old Testament; the former is the consequence and fulfilment of the latter’17
The foundation and archetype of the presence in the icon is Christ Incarnate. The Incarnation thus gives coherence to the attitude towards the image, towards visibility and towards the theophany of the Invisible in the visible throughout the history of salvation. The manifestation of the Christ-like image in the icon follows God’s choice to reveal Himself to the world in Christ and to fill the world with the visibility of the image of Christ. “For in Him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily. And you are complete in Him, who is the head of all rule and authority’ (Colossians 2:9–10). But how can man attain the fullness of his own image, in the image and likeness of Christ? How can the human being himself become the icon of Christ?
The image of presence
God reveals Himself to man in the Incarnation in human form, in the image of Christ. The image is an expression of personal identity; it bears the mark of the person. The personal presence we encounter in the icon bears this image, and the viewer recognises it by that image. The image and the name are fundamental hallmarks and unmistakable indicators of personal identity; that is why, according to tradition, the icon always bears the inscription of the person’s name alongside the image painted upon it.
The pre-eminence of the face in the Orthodox icon is also due to the tradition of depicting figures in full face, and this frontal perspective 18 amplifies the sense of a face-to-face encounter (rather than merely the appearance of a face, or standing before someone, or contemplating a face from a neutral, non-dialogical stance). Furthermore, the iconographic technique of depicting the eyes allows for a two-way gaze: when looking at the icons, we too feel that we are being looked at, hence the intensification of reciprocity in the encounter between the viewer and the saint in the icon 19. The realisation of communion—of the encounter within a shared space—is also facilitated by the reverse perspective 20, a perspective that subverts the expectations of our natural perception of spatial depth. Through this perspective, the space of the icon does not simply remain anchored in ‘there’ and ‘far away’ and clearly demarcated from the rest of the world (or, rather, from our world). On the contrary, the reversal of perspective allows the viewer to be drawn into the space of the icon and ensures a continuity between the space of the icon and the viewer’s immediate surroundings.
The frontal composition, the reciprocity of gazes, the blurring of the boundary between the space of the icon and our own space – all these allow the presence within the icon to draw closer to us, to become familiar to us, and even to be revealed to us as a call to communion, inviting us into a personal relationship. The call and the invitation are fundamentally defined by the face in the icon. The centrality of the face or the image is also suggested by the way we use language: we say that an icon ‘depicts’ or ‘embodies’ someone, that is, it makes that person present to us through their face, through their image.
An interesting theology of the image is developed by the Russian theologian Pavel Florensky in his work The Iconostasis (1922). He proposes a distinction between three concepts: ‘face’, ‘mask’ or ‘appearance’ and, finally, ‘image’21. ‘The face is what we see through our daily experience, the way in which the realities of this world are presented to us’22). Without straining the spirit of the language, we can say that the ‘face’ is attributed not only to people, but also to other realities, beings or things: we say, for example, ‘the face of nature’ (Florensky’s example), ‘the face of the earth’ or even ‘the face of the world’. These expressions show that, in common experience, the ‘face’ signifies a surface of encounter, contact, knowledge and recognition of a reality. Although the ‘face’ is not devoid of a ‘real and objective character’, nevertheless ‘the boundary between the subjective and the objective […] does not appear clearly in our consciousness’23). The face cannot be regarded as entirely independent of the perceptions through which it is reflected in the consciousness of the viewer. Nevertheless, the face precedes any artistic rendering: it comes before the artistic image and thus the portrait, and can be identified with ‘nature in its raw state, upon which the portraitist works’23). Ultimately, the portrait is one possible means of artistically rendering the face and of finalising its perception. The creation of a portrait depends on – and, at the same time, expresses – ‘the artist’s mode of cognitive organisation’, as well as their ability to wield artistic means 24.
In contrast, the ‘image’ or ‘iconic realisation’ is the ‘ontological manifestation’, the full expression of being that can be encountered as a ‘face’24 Florensky draws here on the distinction between the image of God and the likeness to God. In accordance with patristic understanding, he describes the image of God as ‘something actual, an ontological gift from God, the spiritual foundation of every human being, considered as such’, whilst likeness is ‘a potential reality, the capacity for spiritual perfection’, more precisely ‘the possibility of embodying the image of God in life’24. When the human person moves towards and attains likeness to God, the face attains “the clarity of its spiritual structure”. Then it will be distinguished both from ordinary faces, caught up in the empirical order of superficial encounters with others, and from artistic portraits, which remain within the aesthetic order of the representation of nature 24.
For Florensky, the elevation from a mere face to a countenance—or the transformation of the face into a countenance—occurs through a process of removal or purification of what is accidental and non-essential, but also through the acquisition of the radiance of divine energy. Thus, the image is the face elevated to the likeness of God. In other words, the ‘image’ constitutes the face ennobled, illuminated, permeated and transfigured by the likeness to God, the face in which ‘the fundamental destiny of its own essence’24 shines through unequivocally. Contemplation of the image – in this sense strongly emphasised by Florensky, in the sense of an image bearing the likeness of God and purified of everything in the face that is nothing but ‘face’, that is to say, a raw feature, untransfigured by grace – can lead only to its Archetype, to the One with whom the likeness has been realised.
‘The image (the iconic image) in itself, as a reality that can be contemplated, constitutes the testimony of this prototype, and those whose faces are transformed into the image proclaim, without words, the mysteries of the unseen world, doing so solely through their very appearance’24 This is, of course, the message conveyed by all the faces in icons—faces that have attained likeness to God. For this reason, the icon, far from being concerned with an exact (photographic) or masterful artistic (portrait-like) rendering of the saints’ faces, focuses on depicting the face in such a way that the likeness to the divine Prototype shines through. The faces in icons comfort us, give us rest and encourage us when we contemplate them, precisely because they convey the journey from the ‘face’ to the ‘image’, and ‘the penetration of the energy of the image of God, which gushes forth like a spring, despite the pressure of the material shell’24.
Beyond the concepts of the face and the image—which are fundamental to understanding the iconic nature of man and the significance of icons— Florensky speaks of the ‘mask’, which implies a journey of the face towards the pole diametrically opposed to the image, that is, the realisation of the divine likeness. Thus, the mask is ‘that which resembles a face, that which passes itself off as a face’, yet is empty within: situated at the ‘antipode of the image’, the mask is a simulacrum, a surface of imposture, devoid of essential content and an inner idea (eidos)25. When the face does not reveal to us the image of God, but deceitfully shows us something else—something lacking the substance of being—when it allows itself to be darkened by passion and sin, then it becomes a mask. Florensky describes, with a drama inspired by Dostoevsky, the decadent transformation of the face into a mask. He thus draws attention to the opposite dynamic of what the icon testifies to, as if presenting the reader with an existential choice: do you want your face to be an image or a mask? ‘As sin takes hold of a person’s personality, and that person’s face ceases to be the window through which God’s light shines, stains of filth begin to appear, ever more visibly, on its panes. The face becomes detached from the personality, from its shaping principle; it loses its vitality, freezing in the mask of the passion that controls it’26’.
By revealing to us the reality of the archetypal image of Christ, the God-Man, the icon also reveals the transfiguration into divine light of the face that becomes an image, as it attains likeness to God. It is thus a representation of our fundamental destiny, of the call to the fulfilment of our being, of the purpose and meaning of life. Gently, it constantly reminds us that we can become images, like the images that greet us within the church and embrace us in their communion, as in an eternal dance, or – on the contrary – masks in a world of pretence, pretence and deceptive, fleeting superficiality. With gentleness and strength, the face in the icon always invites us to look into the depths of our being and to allow the depths of our being to look into us, so that we may be moulded in its likeness.
- 1
Paul Evdokimov, L’art de l’icône: théologie de la beauté, Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1972, p. 154. Throughout this article, the translations of quotations from the French or German editions are by the author.
- 2
Ibid., p. 154.
- 3a3b3c3d
Ibid., p. 155.
- 4
Ibid., p. 156.
- 5
Ibid., p. 153. Evdokimov quotes a manuscript from Mount Athos which speaks of the iconographer’s tearful prayer that God might enlighten his soul and guide his hand, “so that he might perfectly render the mystical features” of Christ.
- 6
Michel Quenot, Die Ikone. Fenster zum Absoluten, Würzburg: Echter, 1992, pp. 13–14.
- 7
M. Quenot, Die Ikone, p. 15.
- 8
Boris Bobrinskoy, ‘Vorwort’ [Foreword], in: Quenot, Die Ikone, 1992, p. 7.
- 9
M. Quenot, Die Ikone, p. 53.
- 10
P. Evdokimov, L’art de l’icône, p. 178. See Leonid Ouspensky, ‘Sinn und Sprache der Ikonen’, in: Leonid Ouspensky & Vladimir Lossky, Der Sinn der Ikonen, Bern and Olten: Urs Graf-Verlag, 1952, p. 32.
- 11
M. Quenot, Die Ikone, p. 59.
- 12
P. Evdokimov, L’art de l’icône, p. 179.
- 13
Saint Gregory of Nyssa, The Great Catechetical Discourse, Sophia Publishers, Bucharest, 1998, p. 28.
- 14
P. Evdokimov, L’art de l’icône, pp. 177–178.
- 15
Saint John of Damascus, The Three Treatises Against the Iconoclasts/Orationes pro sacris imaginibus, III, 18–23 (MPG, 1337 C – 1344 A).
- 16
P. Evdokimov, L’art de l’icône, p. 178.
- 17
Leonoid Uspenky, The Theology of the Icon in the Orthodox Church, published by Anastasia, Bucharest, 1994, p. 12.
- 18
Nun Atanasia Văetiși, “‘And by restoring the image to its former dignity, He united it with divine beauty…’ Notes on the Byzantine icon and the Western religious image’, Studii Teologice 4/2009, pp. 139–158.
- 19
See Jean-Claude Larchet, Liturgical Life, trans. Felicia Dumas, Doxologia, Iași, 2017, pp. 49–51.
- 20
For the reverse perspective, see Erwin Panofsky’s famous study, ‘Die Perspektive als “symbolische Form”’, Vorträge der Bibliothek Warburg 1924/25, Leipzig/Berlin: Teubner, 1927. Before him, the Russian theologian Pavel Florensky had devoted himself to the analysis of reverse perspective, taking medieval Russian icons as his starting point: Paul Florensky, ‘Reverse Perspective’ (1919), published in Romanian translation in the volume: Pavel Florensky, The Iconostasis, trans. Boris Buzilă, Ed. Anastasia, Bucharest, 1994, pp. 73–131. For recent discussions, see Janine Luge-Winter, ‘The Icon and the Manner of its Representation’, in: Die Ikone und das Undarstellbare: Ikonentheorien im bildtheoretischen Kontext, Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, 2022, pp. 180–196.
- 21
See a brief analysis of the concepts in my article in German: Georgiana Huian, ‘Mit und ohne Maske: Das Sehen des verborgenen Gesichts’, Konstruktiv 45/2021, pp. 8–9.
- 22
Pavel Florensky, The Iconostasis, trans. by Boris Buzilă, Anastasia Publishers, Bucharest, 1994, p. 147.
- 23a23b
Ibid., p. 147.
- 24a24b24c24d24e24f24g
Ibid., p. 148.
- 25
Ibid., p. 149.
- 26
Ibid., p. 151.