Emperor leo iii the isau.., p.25
Emperor Leo III the Isaurian, page 25
But why was it now in the last quarter of the seventh century that the role of icons began to change? The existential threat posed by the Arab caliphate was a significant part of the religious, political, social, and financial insecurity felt by the Roman Empire that sparked much soul-searching about the efficacy of religious ritual and belief; however, by the first reign of Justinian II (685–695), that threat had been around for half a century. The iconic developments may have arisen due to a lull in the fighting, a lull which provided ‘time to think and to write.’40 The sharp existential anxiety that came with on-going conflict gave way to a more measured investigation of the practical and spiritual situation of the Roman Empire. But more time to think and write did not necessarily mean a better picture of the imperial future emerged. If anything, the limited military successes against the Arabs proved that the empire was incapable of turning back the Islamic tide any time soon. The Taurus Mountains were not the high-water mark of a freak tidal surge; they were the new coastline and that tide would continue to lap into Roman territory for the foreseeable future.
The re-evaluation of icons was not just limited to within the Roman Empire – apocalyptic texts were being produced by Christians living under Arab rule: for example, Anastasius of Sinai’s Questions and Answers speaks of the late-seventh century facing a spiritual crisis. This extramural influence, as well as the organic, provincial origin of these iconic developments, worried the Church, as this type of uncontrolled change could challenge not only the ‘purity of Christian ritual,’41 but also the Church’s own power over orthodox practice and belief. The imperial and Church reaction to this may be seen in attempts by Quinisext to standardise some aspects of practice, although the lack of a clear programme demonstrates a failure to fully identify the problem or the solution to the increasing power of icons. Justinian II’s use of Christ on his gold coinage could be taken as not only ‘a blatant imperial stamp of approval for the new power of Christian portraiture and, perhaps, an attempt to harness some of that power for the continued security of the empire,’42 but possibly also a recognition of the initial failure of Church regulation of icons. There was some resistance to the expansion of the intercessional presence of saints in their relics and acheiropoietoi to those portraits painted by men. Asking a painted image of a person like they were present was a little too close to idol worship, a clear violation of the commandment regarding graven images.43 Indeed, that it would take decades to disentangle ‘icon’ from ‘idol’ provides insight into the strength and veracity of the opposition to the increasing prominence of icons.
Influences on Leo’s Iconoclasm
It is not only influence from extramural Christians that might have affected iconic thought in the Roman Empire. The rise of aniconic Islam may have raised questions amongst Christian politicians about not only the efficacy of iconic intercessional reference, but its very propriety. Might the very use of images have angered God and therefore led to the Roman Empire’s century of poor fortunes? While this seems like a logical connection, there is a significant difference between Islamic aniconism and Christian iconoclasm. Islam was in the process of rejecting pictorial representation almost completely, while ‘Byzantine’ iconoclasm focused on the holy presence in images. But even with this innate difference, we should not ignore the influences the Romano-Christian and Muslim Arab world could have upon one another. It is taken as a given that Abd al-Malik set the Umayyad caliphate on the road to aniconism at least in part due to unwanted influences from the Roman world. Care should also be taken not to view the Roman and Arab worlds as two separate entities. As the frontier was porous and the Arabs inhabited territory that had been Roman for 700 years, the intermixing of cultures, ideas, and practice was inevitable. That iconoclasm might have emerged in areas of the most Romano-Arab interaction in Asia Minor could also be telling – debates over icons, even if Islam and Christianity took differing paths and stressed distinct aspects of those debates, could demonstrate a general discussion over images across the Eastern Mediterranean.
However, just because we might not reject mutual influence regarding icons between the Romano-Christian and Muslim Arab milieu, it does not mean that we accept the stories presented by iconodule Roman sources about the spark of iconoclasm in Leo III reputedly stemming from his familiarity with Islam. We have already seen his residence in Germanikeia,44 a settlement at the forefront of Romano-Arab fighting in the middle decades of the seventh century. It may have only been mere months after Leo’s birth in c.685 that the Romans reclaimed the city, meaning that the young Leo (Konon) grew up in rather Arabised surroundings, including his learning of Arabic and surely some versing in the tenets of Islam. This provides some basis, along with his supposed iconoclasm, for Theophanes to call Leo ‘σαρακηνοφρων’ – ‘Saracen-minded.’45
And that ‘Saracen mind’ may have helped see Leo enter correspondence with the Umayyad caliph in the aftermath of the siege of Constantinople. Said defeat, along with a significant earthquake in Syria the same year, seemingly sparked religious zeal in Umar II. His response included the banning of wine, which as Islam already forbade Muslims from partaking in alcohol was targeting his non-Muslim subjects. Umar is also recorded persecuting Christians, demanding that they apostatise, offering financial incentives for them to do so. He ordered that no Christian could testify against a Muslim in court, with some of those who did not comply being martyred. Umar even went as far as to write a doctrinal letter to Leo himself, trying to persuade him to convert.46 This AM6210 entry of Theophanes does not elaborate further on the contents of Umar’s letter or the extent of the correspondence, but various oriental sources mention it – Syriac, Armenian, Georgian and Arabic, ‘which were not passed through the sieve of consistent iconophile bias and censorship.’47 Several of them have Leo replying to Umar’s letter. However, such sources are not always believable; for example, the version of Leo’s response to Umar preserved as the Armenian historian, Ghevond, is eleventh-thirteenth century in origin, as it refers to Islamic matters of that time, despite Ghevond himself living in the eighth century.48 Furthermore, there are some issues with the dating of such correspondence, particularly if the originals are claimed to be authentic and had some immediate iconoclastic influence on Leo. Any such letter from Umar to Leo had to be from before Umar’s death in early February 720, making any connection to iconoclasm the earliest Roman mention of the controversy, which raises red flags. Further scrutiny of the various versions and translations of this correspondence suggests that the original text of the Leonid reply was from the pen of an anonymous Melkite monk of the second half of the eighth century, rather than that of the emperor.49
However, the existence of such correspondence should not be dismissed out of hand just because these surviving versions did not originate from the pen of Leo himself. There is circumstantial evidence to the effect that Umar II could have sent such a letter to the Roman emperor. The caliph’s religious zeal is demonstrated elsewhere in his writing to Transoxianaians, Sindh and Berbers in attempts to get them to accept Islam. There are other records of Umar being in contact with the Romans, such as in the Kitab al-Aghani and al-Baladhuri, and while these were not religious in nature, they show epistolary contact. Also, in general, Muslims already had ‘a long tradition of epistolary invitation to Islam [dating] … back to the time of the prophet Muhammad,’50 who is claimed to have written to the emperor Heraclius.
It would not be surprising for Leo to partake in any such religious correspondence. As we shall see below, he was involved in efforts to spread orthodox Christianity to Jews and heretics, and his willingness to indulge in theological disputes is seen in his correspondence with Pope Gregory II. The latter also demonstrates that Leo thought the position of emperor involved some idea of being a priest. The Georgian Chronicle gives the text of two letters of Leo to local leaders, with the emperor expressing the idea of holy war against the Arabs, highlighting that not only did he send letters on religious matters, but that he also saw Islam as a target for holy war. Proselytising through letter-writing was also a Christian pastime – there was the legend of correspondence between Jesus and Abgar of Edessa, while 22 of 27 Books of the New Testament stemmed at least partly from epistles written to people or communities.
If we assume that there was a factual basis to this caliphal-imperial correspondence, then why might Theophanes have neglected to mention that Leo responded to Umar’s attempt to convert him to Islam? Might it be because Leo III’s actual response, rather than embrace aniconism as iconodules might want to claim, ‘gloriously refuted the claims of Islam’?51 References in the Armenian histories of Thomas Ardzruni and Kirakos of Gandzac have Leo’s reply being so ‘glorious’ as to shame Umar into reforming his treatment of Muslims and Christians. Such a learned and persuasive defence of Christianity in the face of a religious caliph is not material that anti-iconoclastic chronicles would want promulgated. Better to leave that part out and rely on ‘knowledge’ of Leo’s reputed iconoclastic actions to fill in the gaps.
The supposed Islamic influence on iconoclasm continued with Yazid II. Theophanes, Nikephoros and the report of John of Jerusalem given at the Second Council of Nicaea in 787 claim Jewish and Arab influences on iconoclasm,52 with a particular instance stemming from Yazid. In 721/722,53 the caliph was approached by a Jewish ‘magician’ from Laodicea or Tiberias, possibly called Tessarakontapechys – ‘forty cubits high’. He told Yazid that if he wished to rule for 40 years, the caliph should condemn and destroy the holy icons that were venerated by Christians in Umayyad territory. Yazid accepted this and ‘promulgated an all-embracing edict against the holy icons,’54 possibly appointing Maslamah to oversee its enforcement. The text of the edict is lost, but archaeological evidence supports its implementation, with enough information from various literary and material sources evidence to reconstruct some idea of its focus and results.
Despite the influence that the Roman sources apply to it, this iconoclastic edict of Yazid was extraordinary rather than the norm. There might have been some antipathy for images emerging in the caliphate, but this was not necessarily encouraged by Yazid’s edict. At best then, it could be a next step in the development of Islamic aniconism, a step that Islam as a whole did not yet take. Many Muslim sources largely ignored it because it was essentially a failed law, with Yazid’s successor, Hisham I, revoking it not long after his accession. Furthermore, the archaeological evidence that supports the existence of a brief wave of Umayyad iconoclasm is confined to Yazid’s power base in the southern Levant. This suggests that not only was the edict short-lived, but it was also not widely enforced. ‘Perhaps it is not a surprise that medieval Muslims forgot what Yazid had done.’55 The lack of impact and longevity of this iconoclastic decree has seen it downplayed to the point that its very existence is doubted.56 Any actual impact and possibly even the aim of Yazid’s edict may have come in the political realm, with it being ‘a great act of sabre-rattling – a symbolic gesture aimed at cowing Christians at a time of heightened social unrest and apocalyptic angst or as a way of placating religious hardliners at court – rather than a law with serious legal force.’57
You might ask what these supposed iconoclastic actions of Yazid II have to do with Leo III? Oriental sources like Michael the Syrian and Gregory Bar Hebraeus claim that it was a direct influence on Leo III’s own iconoclastic policies,58 with Theophanes mentioning Leo’s iconoclasm immediately after Yazid’s, even if they did not happen in the same year and there is little elaboration on what this influence was. Beyond the mutual influence of the Roman and Arab worlds, there has been some attempt to posit a direct personal influence connecting the iconoclasms of Yazid II and Leo III through the Jewish ‘magician’, Tessarakontapechys. Leo is recorded as having his own ally in iconoclasm called Besr, a name that could be a shortened version of Tessarakontapechys. And with the name of Yazid’s Jewish ‘magician’ meaning ‘forty cubits high’, likely a reflection of his physical stature, Theophanes stating that part of the reason Besr came to Leo’s attention was due to his physical strength and boorishness suggests that Besr and Tessarakontapechys were both large men.59 However, there are differences between Besr and Tessarakontapechys. With all the will in the world, their names are different enough to not have to be the same. And there are others known to have each of these names, lessening the chances that this is the same person. Furthermore, there are significant differences in the back stories of these men. While Tessarakontapechys is recorded as a Jewish ‘magician’ from Laodicea or Tiberias, Besr was a Christian taken captive to Syria, where he converted to Islam, before returning to Roman territory. The likes of the Jewish ‘magician’ and Besr could even have been invented by iconodule sources to provide a connection between Leo and Yazid that did not exist.60
Further eroding of any Islamic influence on Leo is that Islamic aniconism was not the same as iconoclasm. The Qur’an says little about images, although when it does broach the subject it states ‘statues are an abomination of the work of Satan.’61 The actions prevalent in Muslim iconoclasm when it did occur – beheading an image or making a hole in its abdomen to ‘kill’ the icon – were never part of Roman image breaking. Indeed, Muslim aniconism and Roman iconoclasm were far enough removed both socially, religiously, and politically for Muslim lands to become havens for iconodules during the height of Roman iconoclasm later in the eighth century. It could even be that this Roman iconoclasm was a reaction in the opposite direction – rather than an attempt to remove veneration of the sacred Christian icon, it was an attempt to purify it to differentiate Christian beliefs from those of Islam and Judaism. Instead of being aniconic, Roman iconoclasm may have been looking to suppress aspects of icon veneration that were too easily construed as idolatrous, but without removing icon veneration altogether. There is some notion of this in iconoclastic actions in Palestine.62 It must also be said that in removing some of the more obviously ‘idolatrous’ practices Leo III was helping to make Christianity more tolerable to Jews and Muslims who found icon veneration abhorrent.
Jewish antipathy to Christian images is frequently mentioned in Roman material; however, contemporary Jewish literature and archaeological evidence is much less conclusive on any Jewish dislike of images. Indeed, Leo III and iconoclasm are markedly absent from Jewish sources. As with claims of direct Islamic influence, it was perhaps convenient for iconodule Roman sources to portray iconoclasm being influenced by Jews, a charge absent in oriental sources. Indeed, far from being in any way ‘Judaising’, Leo III may have overseen the forced baptism of Jews.63
On top of trying to highlight some non-Christian influences on Leo’s ‘grievous and illicit’64 religious error, iconodules like Theophanes were keen to point out the consequences faced by the iconoclastic Yazid. Rather than enjoy a decades-long reign, Yazid II died on 26 January 724 after less than four years on the caliphal throne, reputedly of consumption or a dissolute life. Indeed, so keen was Theophanes to highlight Yazid’s demise that he mentions it in consecutive years.65 And the reason for Yazid’s sudden demise, according to Theophanes? Divine intervention by Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, and all the saints in response to Yazid’s ‘satanic constitution.’66 Of course, if iconodules of the 720s hoped that their icon-breaking Roman emperor would face a similar divine punishment, they were to be greatly disappointed. Upon Yazid II’s death in 724, the reign of Leo III still had another 17 years to go.
Leo’s origins on the Romano-Umayyad frontier opened him up to other cultural influences. It has been postulated that the other great power of the seventh century and influence on the Roman eastern provinces – Sassanid Persia – saw ‘militant, intentional iconoclasm’;67 however, care must be taken in such ascriptions. While there were some aspects of aniconism in Zoroastrianism, ‘aniconism is not necessarily accompanied by iconoclasm’68 and while Sassanid society did not represent the divine in its art, it was not iconoclastic, with figures, divine and royal, depicted on coins and rock-reliefs. The area around Germanikeia was a hotbed of Monophysitism, with many prominent holders to that doctrine, such as Severus and Philoxenus, described as being active iconoclasts. There had been instances of icon breaking in Syria in previous centuries, with Antioch and Edessa seeing some anti-icon upheaval in the sixth and seventh centuries.69 However, this could also be another instance of the iconodule sources looking for an ‘other’ to blame for iconoclasm, as it could not possibly be a result of thinking from within orthodox Christianity. Later sources like Michael the Syrian record some late-seventh century Monophysites being ‘just as ardent worshippers of image and relics as the Chalcedonians.’70 This may be reflected in the Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea in 787, where Monophysitism was described as ‘the many-headed but headless hydra,’ so polycephallic that not only is it difficult to fully refute Monophysite leanings for iconoclasts,71 but in some contexts iconodules find themselves being labelled as part of this ‘beast’. If Leo was influenced by the Monophysitism (or Jacobite Miaphysitism) of his surroundings in his early life, he had let it go by the time of his accession, with the oriental sources presenting him as uniformly Chalcedonian.72 And the version of iconoclasm attributed to Leo had no such Monophysite ideas.
