The Function of Dialogues in Byzantine Religious Imagery

One way of representing the intercessory role of the Virgin in Byzantine art is by picturing her upright holding a scroll, often in the proximity of a donor. An example of this is found in the basilica of St. Demetrius in Thessaloniki, where her scroll, entitled “Deesis” (supplication), contains the words “O Lord God, hear the voice of my prayer for I plead for the world.” [1] For the donor Clēmes in Thessalonike, the fact that Christ listens to the Virgin’s supplication, and therefore his own, seems sufficient. However, this is not true of the death iconography inspired by the twelfth- or thirteenth-century Canon for Him Who Is at the Point of Death, where a dying monk addresses the Virgin: “Mother of God, look into the abyss and see a soul delivered, to be punished with torments, and bend your knees and shed a tear so that He who gave blood for me may be influenced by your intercessions and might call me back.” [2] The monk asks the Virgin not only to intercede so that he will be spared Eternal Hell, but also to be permitted to hear Christ’s spoken verdict (through the Virgin) and return from the dead. What differentiates the two requests, is Christ’s response. [3] The tremendous fear that donors felt at the prospect of being denied a place in Paradise prompted changes in iconographic depictions of the Virgin. After the end of Iconoclasm in 843, the supplicatory aspect of the Virgin was expressed in monumental paintings of her, which were placed in the apse, under the Pantokrator in the dome, and over the zones of saints running across the nave. A prominent expression of this supplicatory quality is the scene of the Deesis, the iconographic evolution of which during the Middle and Late Byzantine period is found in the Virgin Paraklesis (= supplication) or Eleousa (= merciful). In this type, the Virgin holds a scroll that not only records her supplication for the dead, but also from the twelfth century onwards, contains a dialogue between her and Christ. [4]

Orality (i.e. the totality of elements suggesting oral utterance) and dialogues are interwoven in religious iconography in ways that the present article will describe. The initial question raised here is: Do religious figures actually utter words in Byzantine art? The answer is yes, which is why oral elements are abundant in religious imagery and are highlighted through two media: texts and the human body. Although texts constitute the most common vehicle for conveying oral speech, as attested to in the inscriptions and epigrams found on buildings and icons, it is the human body that constitutes the most widely diffused nontextual form of communication, as is apparent, for example, in the Christological cycle (the pictorial life of Christ). The main question raised is: Why are religious figures shown in conversation? The answer lies in the role of dialogue imagery in visualizing the anxiety of Byzantine society towards the afterlife.

The function of orality in Byzantium has been brought to scholarly attention by Amy Papalexandrou and Ivan Drpić in particular. They have studied the ways religious architecture interacts with inscriptions through the utterance of speech, [5] and shown that between the monument and the congregation a relationship develops that exalts the role of the donor by reading aloud the inscriptions running around the building. Papalexandrou and Drpić have established the liturgical significance of orality in church architecture and associated it with the donors’ desire to ensure eternal commemoration.

When it comes to religious imagery, we find brief but well-supported references to oral utterance as part of the images’ semantics. Robert Ousterhout and Karl Sitz have described the relationship between orality and imagery in the churches of Cappadocia, where the active participation of the flock in the liturgy is encouraged through reading aloud the inscriptions surrounding the representations. According to Ousterhout and Sitz, the sometimes abundant number of inscriptions accompanying the narrative scenes aim to encourage the active participation of the faithful in church ritual through imitation, which (imitation) recaptures the events celebrated in the liturgy through performance. [6] Although sight is “the most transparent elevation towards the divine,” [7] the congregation still needed guidance from the priest, as Theodore of Mopsuestia tells us:

And in his On the Divine Liturgy, St. Germanus (eighth century) verifies the preacher’s role as a teacher of his congregation, [9] which modern scholarship has acknowledged by focusing on the importance of the senses such as hearing in performing qualities of texts. [10] Overall, primary and secondary sources have shed light on the ways the Byzantines made the Holy Liturgy a sensual experience for the congregation, with orality in particular being an integral part of the religious imagery.

The abovementioned studies have shown that orality was encouraged not only by the clergy but by the laity as well. Similarly to Papalexadrou and Drpić, Ousterhout and Sitz have shown that a generous number of inscriptions demonstrated the donors’ social and financial status, as well as their educational level. [11] Athanasios Semoglou has placed speech within the wider context of donors’ involvement in religious iconography. He showed that the abundance of text in monumental funerary decoration is very often connected with the donors’ desire to secure their place in paradise. [12] The use of speech (written or oral) and the donors’ wish to gain salvation form the basis for the complimentary function of words and images in Byzantine art. Finally, Miodrag Marković and Ivan Djordjević have inspired the nucleus of the current article, as they have not only established the function of orality in Byzantine art but also the role of dialogues by focusing exclusively on the imagery of the Virgin Paraklesis in Byzantine iconography. In contrast with their article, the present research will treat the Virgin Paraklesis as only one of the many cases where dialogues are used in Byzantine art, in order to examine their increasing function in monumental art.

Dialogue in art is considered one aspect of orality, but orality can occur when dialogue is absent. There are many examples of this. As mentioned, the two ways in which communication is presented in art is through words and the human body. When it comes to texts, epigrams function as appeals for protection in the present or in the afterlife, [13] or for the begetting a child. [14] Using body language, speech is conveyed through gestures, namely the movement of the hand towards the person being addressed. An example of this is the representation of monks in the eleventh-century Garrett MS. 16 and in particular in the homily On Speech and Silence from the Holy Ladder of John Climacus, where both the talking and the listening monk are shown, or in the homily On Slander from the same manuscript where the slandering monk is showing talking to another monk. [15] In both cases, the speaker is extending his arm towards the listener. Here, speech is represented, but not dialogue, which would be indicated only if the listener responded by extending their hands towards the speaker.

Apart from words, dialogues in Byzantine art are demonstrated using the body. Body language can be divided into subcategories of hand gestures, physical proximity, and the senses. The gesture of speech represents the act of conversing in narrative scenes, as can be deduced from the largest source of orality case studies: the miracles of Christ. [16] Dialogue offers a momentary glimpse into the events illustrating Christ’s role in the Divine Oikonomia and highlighting the importance of each of His messages, though image, speech, and performance. The parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), for example, where Christ converses with a Jewish priest to whom he explains how he can achieve eternal life, or of Christ and the Samaritan woman, to whom he reveals his identity, are two similar examples of the way that dialogue is depicted using the body. In neither case are we told which moment of the dialogue is represented. The act of speech is shown, but not its content, for the congregation would familiarize themselves with this by listening to the Gospel and participating in the liturgy. [17] Thus, both sight (hand gestures) and hearing (liturgy) show that a dialogue is taking place by revealing its content, which would be recalled in memory each time the flock looks at the same images in its parish church.

Besides hand gesture, dialogue is reenacted through physical proximity, as in the Wedding at Cana. The content of the conversation between Christ and the Virgin becomes known to the viewer through the words that, according to John (2:4), are spoken by the Virgin (“They have no wine”), to which Christ responds (“Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come”). Christ’s physical proximity to his mother represents the dialogue recorded in John’s Gospel, which the faithful learn through hearing or reading the Gospel and recall each time they view the image.

“It is God who will look, not only through the soul within us, but also through our body. This is why we will then see the divine and inaccessible light distinctly, even with our own bodily organs,” Gregory Palamas tells us in his Triad, [18] and introduces us to the final subcategory of the bodily representation of dialogues: the senses. The best-known example from icon painting is probably Christ Antiphonetes, around which a tradition has been created based on Michael Psellus’s Chronographia. Psellos tells us that Zoe Porphyrogennete (d. 1050) had ordered an icon of Christ Antiphonetes, which was decorated with precious materials. Every time she asked the icon a question, the image would respond, foretelling the future by changing hue (ἐδήλου τὰ μέλλοντα ἡ χροιά): [19] If she saw Him turn pale, she would go away crestfallen, but if He became fiery and luminous with the most splendid radiance, she would immediately notify the emperor about this and would predict the future. [20] Zoe’s dedication to the icon was so great, that, as Psellus records, he had himself seen Zoe embracing the icon, staring at it with reverence, and talking to it as if it were a living body. [21] Images responded to requests, not with words, but in ways perceived by the human senses (sight). It has been correctly pointed out that “the dramatic involvement of the other senses, along with hearing, made what the candidate heard more effective, and inculcated an attitude of ‘right’ hearing, or right orientation of the will, to hear and then believe and act.” [22] Oral communication between the faithful and images is based on the notion that icons have human substance and could therefore conduct conversations. In his twelfth-century homily dedicated to the Apostle Philip, Theophanes Kerameas, bishop of Rossano (Calabria), writes about the appropriate way to honor a church of the saint, which is not through drinking, debauchery, and dances, but as befits God and the Apostle. He then poses the question: Do you want the feast (dedicated to the Apostle) to be God-loving? And he replies: “enter the holy church, go to the icon of the Apostle, and talk to it as if it were a living image.” [23] In the same century, in the typikon of the Virgin Kosmosoteira in Ferres, an image of Christ, together with one of the Virgin, were crafted with “great skill, so that the images appear to be alive to those who look at them, and it is as though they release a beautiful sound from their mouths towards them.” [24] Already in the ninth century, the Patriarch of Constantinople Nikephorοs counseled the faithful to converse with icons, referring to an image of St. Paul which was regarded as a real person to whom one could talk. [25] Theophanes Kerameas, the typikon of the Virgin Kosmosoteira, and Patriarch Nicephorus all demonstrate that oral speech is regarded as an inherent part of religious imagery but the absence of a response in these examples is striking. In contrast, even though Psellus does not tell us what the icon of the Antiphonetes said in response to Zoe, we are told that it did respond. Hence, it is the depiction of a response that made dialogue distinct from other forms of orality.

Although for the majority of Byzantine audiences the role of inscriptions in monumental art was no different than it was in decorative art, [26] Byzantine art did not limit itself to self-explanatory imagery that would be comprehensible no matter the educational level of the faithful. In time, it developed mechanisms that required the viewer to participate interpretively in order to grasp the meaning. This process demanded from the congregation a certain intellectual development and reflected the complexity of image-making in Byzantium. It is the progressive assimilation of words and religious painting that allows dialogues to be seen as markers of change in ideas of the afterlife in Byzantium.

Α fully developed dialogue imagery uses at least two figures who speak to each other, using physical gestures. A development of this form of communication is found in the accompanying interlocutory inscriptions that reveal the content of the speakers’ communication. The case will be made based on representations of the Damned in the Second Coming and images of the Virgin Paraklesis (or Eleousa).

Voiced oral statements about the fate of the soul penetrated the depiction of the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, as recounted in the Gospel of Luke (16:19–31), [27] where the Rich Man points to his burning tongue and asks Abraham to put water there because he cannot endure the fires of Hell (16:24). [28] The parable is an established iconographic detail of the Second Coming and forms part of the section of the Damned. [29] The dialogue gives visual substance to Luke’s text, and in particular where Abraham tells the Rich Man “remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.” In an icon of the Second Coming (second half of the sixteenth century) from the village of Foini near Paphos, now in the Byzantine Museum of Leukosia of Cyprus, the Rich Man paraphrases his appeal to Abraham for water, [30] to which the Good Thief in Paradise (and not Abraham) responds in a scroll where we read (Luke 16:26): “And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.” [31] In the Foini icon, the Good Thief is given prominence among the Righteous in two ways: firstly, it is he and not Abraham who responds, secondly, his reply imitates the way Abraham responds to the Rich Man in Luke’s Gospel, when he dismisses the possibility that he enter Paradise and that Lazarus will be discomforted. These changes from the standard iconography show the influence of the donors in producing the image. It has recently been demonstrated that the depiction of the Rich Man in particular locations in the church indicates the development of a personal connection of the donor with the Rich Man, which made it possible to achieve a place in Heaven. [32] In other words, despite being depicted among the damned, the Rich Man here represents the appeal made by every donor for the salvation of their soul in the afterlife. Fortunately, we do have information about the donor. According to Carr, the icon was commissioned by a monk “who is portrayed […] kneeling in Paradise itself. His name was once inscribed above him: Μνησ(θη)τη Κυριε τον δουλον σου Μαξ […] (‘Remember, Lord, your servant Max’).” [33] The donor, however, is distinguished from the Rich Man by making a donation to the parish church before dying, and thus securing a place in Paradise. The manipulation of imagery and the addition of the oral element in these representations express the donors’ apprehension as they contemplate the afterlife, and hope for a place in Paradise.

As mentioned, after the end of Iconoclasm in 843, the supplicatory aspect of the Virgin was expressed in the scene of the Deesis, the iconographic evolution of which, during the Middle and Late Byzantine period, was the Virgin Paraklesis or Eleousa. In this type, the Virgin holds a scroll bearing a codified dialogue between herself and Christ. The lines are colored black when spoken by the Virgin and red when spoken by Christ. The text usually begins with the Virgin (V), who is followed by Christ (C), and so on, one after the other:

A variety of texts have been proposed as the origin of this dialogue, but no direct source has been discovered. [35] Perhaps there is no need to look for a clear prototype if we take into account Walter Ong’s remark that “With their attention directed at texts, scholars often went on to assume, often without reflection, that oral verbalisation was essentially the same as the written verbalisation they normally dealt with, and that oral art forms were to all intents and purposes simply texts, except for the fact that they were not written down.” [36] In this aspect, orality is expressed textually, but it does not necessarily reflect a particular textual tradition. A similar understanding should govern the search for certain iconographic models. For example, although Der Nesessian has argued that “the consistency with which the same text is repeated in Greek and in Serbian in the majority of surviving paintings suggests that this variant of the Hagiosoritissa is also derived from a famous model,” [37] I am inclined to Kalopissi’s view of “an iconographic type, deeply rooted in Byzantine tradition, which is the prime expression of the communal supplication of the entire world for the salvation of mankind.” [38] The scroll-bearing Eleousa mirrors a social orientation towards individuality rather than adherence to specific textual or iconographic models, in the sense that it is the emergence of the role of donor that ‘facilitated’ the adaptation of this type to monumental painting. The earliest examples from monumental painting date from the twelfth century (discussed shortly) but the dialogue form of supplication in two epigrams (on icons) goes back to 900. [39] It seems to me that in the twelfth century new conceptions of the afterlife emerged, leading to a greater self-awareness in the donors themselves. This was expressed in a wider ‘diffusion’ of their anxieties about the afterlife, which was in turn recorded in monumental painting, as I will argue below.

One of the earliest iconographical examples of the Virgin Paraklesis is found in the Virgin of Arakos in Cyprus (twelfth-century layer), [40] where the accompanying epigraphy identifies the Virgin as Meter Theou and Christ as Antiphonetes, each depicted on either side of the templon. [41] The appellation Antiphonetes attributed to Christ derives from the verb αντιφωνώ, often translated as ‘guarantee’, in the sense that Christ guarantees the words He speaks (τὸν θεὸν εἰς τοῦτο ἀντιφωνητὴν παρέχοντες). [42] In this sense, He is defined as ἀντιφωνητὴν τῆς μετανοίας (= guarantor of penitence), [43] an aspect also attributed to the Virgin. [44] But, in the case of Zoe, Psellus’s use of αντιφωνώ is meant not only to guarantee Christ’s words to Zoe but also to underline his ability to respond. In his work On the Divine Liturgy, St. Germanus tells us that the ‘antiphons of the liturgy are the prophecies of the prophets, foretelling the coming of the Son of God’ (§23). Previous to Germanus, Socrates Scholasticus (fifth century) explained how the tradition of the antiphonic hymns in the church began (Λεκτέον δὲ καὶ ὅθεν τὴν ἀφορμὴν ἔλαβεν ἡ κατὰ τοὺς ἀντιφώνους ὕμνους ἐν τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ συνήθεια), through a vision of singing angels, and that this tradition (ἡ παράδοσις) was spread (διεδόθη) and maintained (καὶ ἐφυλάττετο) in all the churches (ἐν πάσαις ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις). [45] Taking into consideration that in the Holy Liturgy the αντίφωνα is a technical term for the two sets of chorus sung consecutively, [46] it would seem that Hans Belting was correct when he claimed that the Antiphonetes in the Virgin of Arakos is the one who responds. [47] The appellation also gives liturgical underpinning to the function of the image, which accords with the depiction of the Eleousa with a scroll in the eleventh-century Melkite Lectionary, where the text on the scroll is first in Greek and then in Syriac. [48] The liturgical use of the prayer is aligned with Christ’s ‘centrality’ in liturgical (funerary) services, strengthened by “the second-person imperative which is used to address Christ.” [49] Thus, various structural elements are present already, but in the twelfth century a new approach to the afterlife emerged. The appellation Antiphonetes in the Virgin Paraklesis attests to its supplicatory nature, where Christ’s response to the faithful (through the Virgin) shows the desire of the donor Leo Afthentis in the Virgin of Arakos to secure his salvation. Black and red colors alternate as the dialogue evolves, emphasizing the agonizing process until Christ’s verdict is reached. Despite its pleas for the salvation of humanity, the text may also refer to an individual donor, [50] and the changes in color ‘depict’ the donors’ anxiety, which comes to an end successfully when the Virgin’s request is granted, shown by Christ’s positive response in writing and the Virgin’s expression of gratitude to Him. Again, her thankfulness reveals the double meaning of the appellation Antiphonetes, as it substantiates the act of conversing, where guarantee is secured through response. Therefore, oral textuality or textual orality, as one could describe the collaboration between epigraphy, image, and orality in Byzantine art, constitutes an important vehicle to express the anxieties of the congregation about the final moments of their life.

To conclude, why were Byzantine entreaties regarding the afterlife presented in dialogue form? Addressing holy figures in the second person singular is based on the belief that icons are living bodies. Liturgy facilitated the interaction between image and word, as images conveyed ideas “in a dense, concrete form, immediately grasped on an emotional and concrete level,” [51] at the same time as “symbol, bodily gesture, biblical story, and spoken words often interpreted each other in the catechumenate.” [52] But why did dialogues appear in a funerary context only from the twelfth century and not before? I believe that this is closely linked with the emergence of the individual and the anxieties behind communal or individual promotion [53] in the micro-universe of Church’s painting from the twelfth century on, when new imagery emerged to express the new promotion of the self. [54] This tendency found expression especially between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, as shown by the fact that most examples date from this time. [55] As a concept, dialogue was not innovative, but it marks an evolution not only in the communication between the divine and the faithful but in the depiction of this communication, which received a more personal touch. The presence of dialogue gives a sense of immediacy between those depicted and the viewer, [56] which is why Byzantine art developed new iconographical types to depict the intimate relationship between holy images and the faithful.

Moreover, what is the contribution of this seemingly ‘new’ imagery of supplication? Taking into consideration that “the image gives to the message a context of emotional value,” [57] the departure of the soul from the world called for oral elements that bespeak the need of donors to secure their place in heaven, using texts as symbolic testimonies with legal validity. [58] In a society rooted in the power of words, orality functions “in a reference system based on texts,” [59] influenced by the active participation of the donor in the iconography. Stock recognized that “Performative acts in language remained verbal […] but they were increasingly contextualised by writing in a manner that implied shared values, assumptions, and modes of explanation.” [60] Supplication to the Virgin to ensure a place in the afterlife received textual form in order to make this supplication unceasing, in the sense that the viewer and God are always in this supplication, even when the liturgy is not being celebrated. Text ensured constant commemoration which would in turn guarantee an eternal place in Heaven. Sponsors personalized the Deesis imagery to make it work in their favor, and a successful outcome was shown by Christ’s response to the Virgin’s supplication. The written scroll carries texts that confirm Christ’s affirmative verdict to the laity, in a society where the power of both text and image is preeminent, and it is only in conjunction with each other that they are able to calm the donors’ agitated souls as death approached. In Eastern Christianity, the peace of souls will come with the Second Coming. However, Christ’s verdict is not made known, the result is nowhere recorded, so with legal connotations vaguely disseminated, the imagery of the Paraklesis creates a visual scenery of judgment that is performed in front of the congregation and works in favor of the righteous, as Christ himself guarantees. [61]