Book Reviews Leslie Brubaker and John Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–850: A History (Cambridge UP, 2011), 944 pp. Bissera Pentcheva, The Sensual Icon: Space, Ritual, and the Senses in Byzantium (Penn State UP, 2013), 320 pp. Should they be fortunate enough to attend a school where art history is still required, generally educated undergraduates might be expected to retain at least two basic facts about Byzantine art. First, the iconoclastic era (c. 680–850) involved a struggle over images in which iconoclasts destroyed count- less icons, iconophiles were persecuted and martyred, and the icon-loving position triumphed largely thanks to the precedent of early Christian art. A second and related fact one might expect from an undergraduate is that because of this struggle over images, Byzantine art is necessarily two dimensional, even “static,” as such a style more effectively wards off the threat of idolatry. But with apologies to the generally educated student, rarely do the facts behave so politely. The two recent publications under review here, Leslie Brubaker and John Haldon’s Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era (c. 680–850) and Bissera Pentcheva’s The Sensual Icon, claim that each of these common assumptions is false. It is often suggested that Byzan- tine art history is in its infancy, lacking the historiographical layers of comparable fields, even if Byzantine art arguably gave rise to the images studied by the more well-trodden ave- nues of Renaissance and modern art history. But if the two publications here under review are correct, then even the little wisdom that has accumulated in Byzantine art history is on un- certain ground. What might this mean for the future of this particular field? The first assumption – that iconoclasm interrupted a long tradition of Christian image veneration – was bequeathed to us by the Byzantine iconophiles themselves, which is to say it was the story that Byzantium told itself. It is the target of Bru- baker and Haldon’s long-awaited, nearly 1000-page volume. Haldon is an historian and Brubaker an art historian, both with Marxist/materialist sympathies, and the project was anticipated in their earlier co-authored work, Byzantium in the Icono- 544 Matthew J. Milliner clastic Era: The Sources (ca 680–850). Their latter work weaves such raw material into a revisionist narrative that attempts to put the triumphant iconophile version of this his- tory to rest once and for all. Take, for example, a typical statement from the iconophile theologian John of Damascus: “That this invention of images and their veneration is nothing new, but an ancient tradition of the Church, [we] accept from a host of scriptural and patristic sayings.”1 Not so, claim Brubaker and Haldon. “The textual and the material evidence agree that sacred portraits existed, but there is no indication that these images received special veneration in any consistent fashion before the seventh century” (62). The authors admit that “holy portraits were certainly honoured, and may even have been venerated in iso- lated instances” (53), but the practice was not “characteristic” of the early Christian period. Instead the real shift, according to Brubaker and Haldon, began around the year 680 as a result of “late-seventh-century insecurities…. The state, the church, and the individual orthodox believer – all in a state of spiritual crisis – needed help, in the form of new channels of access to divinity” (782). Because cleaving to such icons was an innova- tion, the practice caused imperial concern, and “around 720, the backlash began” (64), a backlash we know as the first phase of iconoclasm. Later iconophiles exaggerated this back- lash with lavish, even outrageous caricatures of what actually occurred. In defaming those who resisted the new veneration of images, iconophiles claimed ancient precedent, assuming image veneration to have been a permanent feature of Ortho- dox Christianity when it clearly – according to Brubaker and Haldon – was not. In addition, Brubaker and Haldon claim, quite compel- lingly, that the iconoclast emperors were really not that bad after all. Far from being arch-villains who destroyed art, killed their opponents, or defecated in their baptismal fonts, icono- clastic emperors were successful administrators and capable 1 John of Damascus, Three Treatises on the Divine Images (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2003), 75. Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 545 generals who enabled the empire to survive after its darkest century (one ably chronicled by John Haldon in his 1997 study, Byzantium in the Seventh Century). The iconoclasts patched a fractured Byzantine Empire together with a com- bination of fiscal administration, military organization, “admi- nistrative machinery” (796), lawmaking, and ideological strength (797). Not only did the great iconoclast emperor Leo III (r. 717–741) not condemn images or order them to be re- moved (151), but “Leo understood the power of images, and was happy to harness that energy to his own ends” (147). Artistic production continued during the iconoclast era, making the iconoclasts less breakers than makers of images. Furthermore, to the extent that these emperors did critique the newfangled cult of images, it was barely noticed. “Iconoclasm was, for the great majority of the population of the Byzantine world in the eight and early ninth century, either irrelevant or unimportant” (661). By asserting that iconoclasts made reli- gious images themselves and that whatever critique of image veneration they may have offered was largely ignored, Bru- baker and Haldon ironically offer a gift in disguise to contem- porary proponents of the iconophile cause. Still, Brubaker and Haldon’s account may not sit well with adherents of the Orthodox tradition, which has embedded the iconophile version of Byzantine history into its very liturgy. But it is important not to exaggerate their thesis, which is far more nuanced than a quick reading might assume. The façade has clearly been altered, but the basic framework of the tradi- tional story remains relatively intact. Brubaker and Haldon admit that “there is no evidence for the systematic removal of images under Leo, although it is perfectly possible that some were removed” (153). While Constantine V (r. 741–75) did not destroy images, “we might accept that Constantine caused an icon to be covered” (208). During the second iconoclasm, furthermore, Brubaker and Haldon admit that iconophiles ex- perienced “exile, imprisonment, and physical punishment, often severe” (658). While they are keen to take the focus off the theological accomplishments of iconophile theologians such as Nicephoros or Theodore of Stoudion, Brubaker and Haldon are even-handed in their estimations of these figures: 546 Matthew J. Milliner “Theodore had to go to great lengths – but not, it would appear, to deliberate lies – to foster a sense of harsh persecu- tion in his letters” (381). In addition, Brubaker and Haldon join many previous scholars2 in conceding that the victory of iconophile monks “gave the church an independence in respect of ecclesiastial politics and dogma which it had not hitherto enjoyed” (663). Iconophile resistance focused in key monas- teries is still what paved the way for the “golden age” of Byzantine monasticism. Finally, it is not that Brubaker and Haldon are expecting iconophiles to operate by present-day historical standards (whatever those might be). It is less that iconophiles tampered with “the facts,” or that they deliberately manipulated “the truth,” than that they made sense of what they knew, or believed must have happened, through the prism of their own common sense assumptions about the past and about the morality of their culture (798). Of course, it goes without saying that the same goes for Brubaker and Haldon (not to mention the present writer). Similar to the mystery that surrounds Paleolithic cave paint- ings, lack of textual evidence means we often simply do not know how the abundant imagery that survives from the early Christian era was used. Even without the smoking gun of candle marks, it is very possible that early Christian images functioned devotionally, and several scholars have made such a case. 3 It is perfectly true that generations of historians took 2 See, for example, Gerhard Ladner, “Origin and Significance of the Byzan- tine Iconoclastic Controversy,” Medieval Studies 2 (1940): 142; or Jaroslav Pelikan Imago Dei: The Byzantine Apologia for Icons (Princeton University Press, 1990), 38. 3 Jaś Elsner points out that the “apocryphal Acts of John reports a portrait (eikon) of the apostle that was worshiped in private with garlands and candles … [and] there is every possibility that [early Christian] images were put to private devotional use” (Jaś Elsner, “Iconoclasm as Discourse: From Antiquity to Byzantium,” The Art Bulletin XCIV [2012]:372). Andrew Louth lists a series of episodes long before the 7th century that show icons Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 547 the iconophile version with too much trust, and we would beware of doing the same with Brubaker and Haldon’s. But this study, the art historical aspects of which are made more accessible in Leslie Brubaker’s Inventing Byzantine Icono- clasm (2012), has changed our view on this history for some time to come. Whatever details one might dispute in Brubaker and Haldon’s new narrative, I expect one thing can be agreed upon. Image veneration developed in intensity in Byzantine history, even if different historians might dispute the rate of such development. And while Haldon and Brubaker claim that theology is “largely beside the point” (783), theology might be the first place an Orthodox Christian might go to make sense of the information offered in this thorough study of the development of doctrine surrounding icons.4 It is here that Bissera Pentcheva’s The Sensual Icon takes it place, showing how the culture of icons continued its deve- lopment through the iconoclastic era and beyond. She supple- ments the theological lacunae in Brubaker and Haldon, willing as she is to follow Rico Frances’ assertion that Byzantine images “do not simply represent theology, but enact it” (8). The contrast with Brubaker and Haldon’s more reserved ap- proach is striking, and this is not what we have come to expect from Pentcheva. Her last book, Icons and Power, began with a operating in this way (Andrew Louth, Greek East and Latin West: The Church AD 681–1071 [St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2007]). Alexander Alexakis has argued that Moschos offers fifth-century evidence of a cult of icons (Alexander Alexakis, “The Dialogue of the Monk and Recluse Moschos Concerning the Holy Icons: An Early Iconophile Text,” Dumbar- ton Oaks Papers 52 [1998]: 187–224). Similar evidence for images venera- tion before the late seventh century is offered by Filip Ivanović, Symbol & Icon Dionysios the Areopagite and the Iconoclastic Crisis (Wipf & Stock, 2010), 62–63. One wonders how many exceptions can be permitted before Brubaker and Haldon’s claim that image veneration is not characteristic of early Christianity loses its force. 4 Of course, John Henry Newman is not the only place to go for resources in the development of tradition, even if his Essay on the Development of Chris- tian Doctrine remains the locus classicus for this idea. For the perspective of an Orthodox theologian, see Thomas Pott’s Byzantine Liturgical Reform: A Study of Liturgical Change in the Byzantine Tradition (St. Vladimir’s Semi- nary Press, 2010). 548 Matthew J. Milliner theological inaccuracy: “Christianity started as a faith that recognized a single male God and creator;”5 whereas The Sensual Icon correctly claims that “Christianity is a religion of the incarnate God: the Logos empties itself into the flesh, sanc- tifying matter” (19). Pentcheva’s last book frequently reduced Marian icons to their political aspects. Here, however, it is not only her dynamic icons, but Pentcheva herself who seems to have been transformed. A visit among contemporary nuns, observing a candle’s light across the surface of an icon, led to the following description: “Mary’s moving gaze sent a current through my body. For the first time, I experienced what we easily call ‘object’ as living and present” (5). Brubaker and Haldon have rightfully given us caution about the dangers of taking Byzantine sources too much at their word – but Pen- tcheva shows us that scholarly breakthroughs can also happen when we permit ourselves, however cautiously, to be taken in. Pentcheva’s target is that second false impression men- tioned above: that Byzantine iconic culture was flat. Expan- ding her earlier article on the subject, The Sensual Icon reminds us of the easily forgotten assertion that eikon in Byzantine Greek designated all kinds of materials, far beyond mere painting. These included “a wide semantic spectrum ranging from hallowed bodies permeated by the Spirit, such as the stylite saints or the Eucharist, to imprinted images on the surfaces of metal, stone, and earth” (1).6 Pentcheva’s book, read alongside Brubaker and Haldon’s, intensifies the under- standing that the eikon “designated matter imbued with divine pneuma, releasing charis, or grace … [hence] touch, smell, taste and sound were part of ‘seeing’ an eikon” (1). Pentcheva suggests that Theodore of Stoudion’s theological rhetoric of the seal had its art historical corollary in sculpted and im- printed relief icons. Hence, “theology and aesthetic theory 5 Bissera Pentcheva, Icons and Power (Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006), 1. 6 John of Damascus, in his Three Treatises on the Divine Images, goes even further, arguing that icons are also embedded within the Trinity, that Scrip- ture is a series of icons, that every thought in the mind of God is an icon, and that creation itself is teeming with icons, among them human beings. Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 549 collaborated to promote sculpture at the pinnacle” (157). This made “the ‘minor arts’ major in post-Iconoclast Byzantium, elevating the mixed-media icon of metal repoussé, filigree, enamel, gems, and pearls to the top of the artistic and aesthetic hierarchy” (96). Such imprinted images had distinct theologi- cal advantages, “preserv[ing] likeness in the process of mecha- nical replication” (44). For the last two decades, galvanized by Hans Belting’s Likeness and Presence, Byzantine art historians have insisted that icons do not operate as “art.” Instead they communicate theological concepts through carefully replicated types. Pentcheva’s point that replication is better realized in the minor arts than through painting is an important corollary to this thesis. She has shown us the material side of Theodore’s arguments. Her felicitous metaphor to describe this view of imprinted icons is the “snow angel,” the “indenture the spirit makes in matter” (76). The Sensual Icon was not published in time to benefit from Haldon and Brubaker’s work; hence Pentcheva continues to assume, for example, that Leo III’s removal of the icon at the Chalke gate is a historical fact (88). But her focus on the olfac- tory and sensory dimensions of the image in its native liturgical environment, combined with etymological reflec- tions, is a lively portrayal of Byzantium, one that inclines toward – without fully embracing – the more theologically rich books on Byzantine art that have recently appeared.7 Among many other excurses, The Sensual Icon contains a fascinating exploration of circular dancing inspired by the Old Testament dance of Miriam and reflected in Byzantine art and liturgy, including some pagan associations that were assimilated as “Christianized magic” (182). Based upon such circumambula- tions, Pentcheva even goes so far as to change the field’s ter- 7 For example, Charles Barber, Figure and Likeness: On the Limits of Repre- sentation in Byzantine Iconoclasm (Princeton University Press, 2002) and Idem, Contesting the Logic of Painting (Brill, 2007); Clemena Antonova, Space, Time, and Presence in the Icon: Seeing the World with the Eyes of God (Ashgate, 2010); C.A. Tsakiridou, Icons in Time, Persons in Eternity: Orthodox Theology and the Aesthetics of the Christian Image (Ashgate, 2013). 550 Matthew J. Milliner minology from “cross-in-a-square” building plans to “cross-in- a-circle” (175). In addition, Pentcheva suggest that Michael Psellos’ famous “living icons” might be referring to relief ima- ges, not painting (191 ff.). One might dispute certain points in her narrative, but as with Brubaker and Haldon, the general trajectory is difficult to dispute. An expanding culture of multivalent, multisensory, and mixed-media icons in Byzantium after iconoclasm is dis- cernible, and this too would lead to a backlash similar to the one that Haldon and Brubaker describe in the iconoclastic era. Emperor Leo III may have been concerned with icons, but a different Leo, an eleventh-century bishop of Chalcedon, dared to suggest that what was made visible in an icon was “not something else but the being itself [of God, and] it is to be venerated adorationally” (200). Further, icons were described in relation to the Eucharist: “just as the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ, so too does the Blachernitissa eikon become the Virgin herself” (190). 8 Such a fusion of icon and prototype led to what is sometimes called “Komnenian Iconoclasm” and the Council of Blachernai (1094–95), where the Emperor Alexios defined the icon again as mere likeness. And it was here that “flat” painting more familiar to most Byzantinists reasserted itself, “clear[ing] the path to pictorial naturalism” (201). The metallic middle of the Byzantine world, newly charted by Pentcheva, was eclipsed.9 The theological lesson here, it seems to me, is that the distinction between images and prototype – most carefully delineated by Byzantine theologians – is just as much of a contribution as its art. “The moment one moves outside of the realm of learned theological treatises,” complain Brubaker and Haldon, “the properties of the sacred portrait so carefully distinguished by Nikephoros and his colleagues collapse” (785). But this is like saying that the moment one stops reading 8 We now know they icons borrowed the eucharistic language of transub- stantiation in Renaissance Florence as well: Megan Holmes, The Miraculous Icon in Renaissance Florence (Yale University Press, 2013), 172. 9 According to Pentcheva, metal endured in icons of this period in revet- ments, becoming an additional as opposed to constituent ingredient (208). Logos: A Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 551 Brubaker, Haldon or Pentcheva, we are doomed to return to the undergraduate confusions with which we began. Popular misperceptions do not invalidate the importance of scholarly work. Likewise, the theological distinctions delineated by iconophile theologians and reasserted by Alexios in the ele- venth century matter, even if popular practice could not always absorb them. Miraculous icons and excessively sensual icons are exceptions, and one lesson of Byzantium is that the failure to sufficiently distinguish icons from their prototypes is to issue future iconoclasts an invitation. Matthew J. Milliner Wheaton College ÌÌÌ Paul L. Gavrilyuk, Georges Florovsky and the Russian Reli- gious Renaissance (Oxford University Press, 2014), 320 pp. It will not be possible, from now on, to read Russian theo- logian Georges Florovsky’s work or for that matter anything about him without reference to Paul Gavrilyuk’s truly ground- breaking study and reassessment. Just as I now consider as standard or go-to studies such recent works as Antoine Arjakovsky’s The Way: Religious Thinkers of the Russian Emihgration in Paris and Their Journal, 1925–1940 and Hyacinthe Destivelle’s The Moscow Council (1917–18): The Creation of the Conciliar Institutions of the Russian Orthodox Church, so now we must also add to that list Gavrilyuk’s ana- lysis of Florovsky, the man and his work and his complicated as well as conflicted relationship to the rest of the “Russian Religious Renaissance.” Florovsky’s place in modern theology is both important and complicated. Gavrilyuk acknowledges this throughout the study. It is not possible here to note all the constructive, creative as well as problematic aspects of the man, his per- sonality and the details of his writing that have caused contro-