Introduction: slaying the iconoclastic hydra

Pondering the genealogy of ‘heresies’, the fourteenth-century anti-Palamite theologian Nikephoros Gregoras invokes the image of the many-headed Hydra (πολυκέφαλος ὕδρα). In his view, all heterodox teachings, ancient and recent, stem from a common root or, more precisely, are manifestations of a single arch-heresy.Footnote ¹ Gregoras’ metaphor perfectly captures the fate of Iconoclasm after the ‘Triumph of Orthodoxy’ (the reestablishment of icon veneration within the limits prescribed by the Second Council of Nicaea in 787), although not in the way Gregoras (no stranger to the iconoclastic debate himself) might have expected. The Hydra’s most conspicuous advantage over anyone brave or reckless enough to confront it is that when you cut off one of its heads, it immediately grows two more in its place. In what follows, I shall argue that the restoration of icons in 843, generally perceived as a definitive and unquestionable resolution to the problem of icon veneration in Byzantium, did not put an end to Iconoclasm. Rather, it only multiplied it, making it self-dissimilar, no longer equal to itself. A key role in this process of self-dissimilation was played by a late eleventh-century controversy (c. 1081–94/5) initiated by what is frequently referred to as an act of ‘Komnenian Iconoclasm’ (more on terminology below).

The argument develops in three stages. In the first section, three parallel modes of iconoclasm after 843 are discussed. The second section problematizes the notion of ‘Komnenian Iconoclasm’ by analysing both the iconoclastic praxis of the epoch and the image of the controversy as ‘a new Iconoclasm’ created by later Byzantine sources and adopted by modern scholarship. The third section investigates the polemical stratagems employed by the opposing factions. The shared reluctance of the polemicists to accuse one another of iconoclasm is discussed in connection with the case of John Italos (1082) and a recent scholarly debate about aniconic ‘pious’ seals. The conclusion reassesses the place of the icon controversy under Alexios I within Byzantine intellectual history by highlighting its role in severing the conceptual link between the icons as material objects and iconoclasm as a polemical construct.

A note on terminology

According to Brubaker and Haldon, the term ‘iconoclasm’ is misleading because ‘the Byzantines themselves rarely used [it]’, preferring ‘instead’ the word ‘iconomachy’, which should be understood either as ‘image struggle’ or even ‘the struggle about images’ and is, therefore, more suitable for a period not characterized by large-scale image destruction.Footnote ² Viewed through this lens, the distinction between ‘iconoclasm’ and ‘iconomachy’ parallels the difference in German between Bildersturm, which refers primarily to the acts of image destruction in the sixteenth-century Reformation, and Bilderstreit, which is more commonly used in relation to Byzantium.Footnote ³

Indeed, the exact Greek equivalent to the English ‘iconoclasm’ – εἰκονοκλαστία – appears to be a post-Byzantine creation or, rather, a loanword from European languages, going back to the Latin nomen agentis iconoclasta (derived from the Greek εἰκονοκλάστης) attested in Anastasius the Librarian.Footnote ⁴ However, the reading of the word εἰκονομαχία as a less severe term is debatable: the compound εἰκονομάχος was coined following a well-known linguistic template and inevitably evoked heavily loaded derogatory terms such as θεομάχος and Χριστομάχος. The abstract noun θεομαχία does not mean ‘the struggle over God’ but rather ‘the war/struggle against God’. The creators of the pejorative label εἰκονομάχος did not intend to present their opponents in a favourable or objective light. Instead, they sought to elevate the discussion from the level of specific accusations to that of ideology, emphasizing that behind their adversaries’ concrete – alleged or real – actions (images were not only destroyed but also ‘burnt’ and ‘broken’, hence εἰκονοκαύστης and εἰκονοθραύστης) lay a theologically motivated hatred towards images as such. Modern English terminology and Byzantine usage are similar but not entirely compatible. In practical terms, this means that in the following pages the term ‘iconoclasm’ will stand for Byzantine εἰκονομαχία.

Iconoclasm as a spiritualistic theology, an accusation, and a practice after 843

The initial claim of the present article seems counterintuitive: it is, after all, common knowledge that after 843, Byzantium did not know any coherent Christian anti-iconic teaching whose partisans, firstly, would go as far as to destroy images and, secondly, would be recognized as iconoclasts by their defenders. Nonetheless, each of the three constituent elements persisted: iconoclasm as theology; iconoclasm as practice; iconoclasm as an accusation. These modes of existence are traceable in the sources up to the fall of Constantinople in 1453, but, to borrow a Byzantine term, ‘unconfusedly’. Those who destroyed icons were not necessarily castigated as iconoclasts, whereas those who professed a spiritualistic doctrine close to that developed by the iconoclasts of the eighth to ninth centuries were, by and large, iconophile conformists who did not have any scruples about kneeling before an icon and kissing it. Providing an exhaustive list of all relevant sources would go beyond the scope of the present article. Therefore, I will limit myself to a few examples for each point.

The spiritualistic iconoclastic theology, which emphasizes Christ’s divine nature as inaccessible to the human mind and sensual perception at the expense of His human tangible body, is clearly distinguishable in Leo Choirosphaktes, an early tenth-century diplomat and poet. According to Leo, the proper image of God should be created with words and metres rather than with paint and symbols. In his vocabulary, words such as εἰκών, χροιά, and τύπος bear strong negative connotations: ‘<The prophets> reject all images of apparitions […] and depict through words without paint’, ‘Thus you should draw the One unborn with the dyes of metres’, ‘Do not strive vainly to see the body, the form […] for you will not find any impressions of its footprint.’Footnote ⁵ Yet it is highly doubtful that Choirosphaktes refused to venerate icons. Furthermore, a quite conventional epigram on the icon of the Mother of God attributed to him is extant.Footnote ⁶ We do not know of any charges of iconoclasm levelled against Leo either. Arethas of Caesarea accuses him of Hellenism, but even Leo’s most ardent adversaries keep silent on the icons. Choirosphaktes’ iconoclasm is neither his self-identification nor a reproach of his contemporaries but a modern reconstruction of his way of thinking.

The accusation of iconoclasm could be heard under completely different circumstances. Nikephoros Gregoras makes a case that his adversary Gregory Palamas is an iconoclast: he says the same things as they did (Εἰκονομάχοις ταὐτὰ φθεγγόμενος) and can be wounded with the same arrows (τοῖς αὐτοῖς βάλλεται βέλεσι) shot by a ninth-century defender of icon veneration.Footnote ⁷ Gregoras’ opponent, the patriarch of Constantinople Philotheos Kokkinos, returns this accusation in a kind of theological table tennis: ‘That is why, contrary to his expectations, he proves not us but himself to be in agreement with the iconoclasts.’Footnote ⁸ However, neither Gregoras nor Kokkinos nor any other polemicist of the epoch (references to Iconoclasm abound in dozens of mid-fourteenth-century theological texts) provides evidence that their adversaries actually destroy or defile icons. It is sufficient to prove that they misunderstand or misquote Patriarch Nikephoros of Constantinople, an early ninth-century polemicist who refuted a proto-iconoclastic letter allegedly composed by Eusebius of Caesarea and used by the eighth-century iconoclasts to argue for their cause.Footnote ⁹

By contrast, acts of sacrilege were not categorized as iconoclasm. When Gregoras accuses Anna of Savoy of confiscating (ἐκποιουμένης) and melting down (χωνείᾳ παραπεμπούσης) precious revetments of icons, he does not pronounce the word a modern reader waits to hear.Footnote ¹⁰ Anna’s greedy deeds do not amount to iconoclasm, at least in Gregoras’ eyes. Two cases will suffice to show that this is not an isolated phenomenon restricted to the Hesychast controversy.Footnote ¹¹ The dissociation of iconoclastic practices and iconoclasm as a polemical label is typical of the entire late Byzantine period.

Athanasios, patriarch of Constantinople (in office 1289–93 and 1303–9), complains to the emperor Andronikos II (r. 1282–1328) that someone from the entourage of the patriarch of Alexandria, temporarily resident in Constantinople, smashed (διασπάσαι) an icon of Christ in the Monastery tou Megalou Agrou and replaced it with the emperor’s portrait to flatter him (στήλην βασιλικὴν κολακείᾳ ἀντιστηλῶσαι). What else is it if not an outrageous act of iconoclasm? Athanasios abhors the arrogant deed of the ‘blind’ (τυφλούμενος) and ‘God-hated’ (θεοστυγής) perpetrator but does not call him an iconoclast.Footnote ¹²

The iconoclastic precedent does not cross his mind even when the story he recounts repeats almost word-for-word the famous iconophile legend about the eighth-century martyr Theodosia, who murdered an iconoclastic official when he climbed a ladder to destroy the image of Christ on the Chalke gate. In the case of Athanasios, a luckless fiscal official attempted to remove an icon from a half-demolished church and was killed by someone who took it as an act of blasphemy:

This is all the more striking considering the immense popularity of the cult of Theodosia at the turn of the fourteenth century: her relics were widely believed to perform miracles, and in her praise were composed three hagiographies (by John Staurakios, Constantine Akropolites, and an anonymous writer) and a hymnographic canon (by Nikephoros Moschopoulos).Footnote ¹⁴ Athanasios must have been acquainted with Theodosia’s story. Yet he did not portray the ‘impious’ blasphemer as an iconoclast: icon destruction and iconoclasm belonged to different realms of reality.

In late Byzantium, those who smeared, defiled, desecrated, stole, or destroyed icons were not accused of iconoclasm. By contrast, those accused of being iconoclasts were often those who used texts from the iconoclastic controversy for their polemical purposes, which were not directly related to icon veneration. Paradoxically, one risked being labelled an iconoclast not for destroying an icon but for carelessly quoting a defender of icon veneration. To trace the roots of this paradox, we must return to the early Komnenian period.

Komnenian Iconoclasm: iconoclastic praxis, cultural memory, and modern labels

In the early years of his reign, Alexios I Komnenos (r. 1081–1118) faced multiple threats from neighbouring states and peoples: the Normans, the Seljuks, and the Pechenegs. The new emperor was compelled to undertake several costly military campaigns simultaneously, but the imperial finances were in a deplorable state. To secure the funds needed to pay the troops and hire new mercenaries, Alexios resorted to confiscating certain church vessels and icons adorned with revetments made of precious metals, melting these items down, and using the material to mint coins. The scale of these measures is difficult to estimate; however, as early as August 1082, Alexios solemnly proclaimed that he would never resort to such actions again. Although he did not uphold his promise, the wording of the chrysobull leaves no doubt that the steps taken by Alexios were considered extraordinary.Footnote ¹⁵

The writers most sympathetic to Alexios adopted an apologetic stance, seeking to convince their readers that, on the one hand, he had no other choice, and on the other, his decision aligned with ancient legislation. In Anna Komnene’s view, the emperor found support among the bishops and members of the Komnenian family, who first offered their own jewellery to be melted and only after that, with heavy heart, sanctioned the confiscation of church property.Footnote ¹⁶ Whatever Alexios’ real sentiments might have been, a faction within the Church and aristocracy opposed his decision. Their leader was Leo, metropolitan of Chalcedon, who wrote theological treatises against Alexios and his supporters, stood several trials, was condemned, deposed, excommunicated, and exiled. The schism was sealed only in late 1094 or early 1095 at the local council of Blachernae.Footnote ¹⁷

The arguments put forward by Alexios’ advocates and opponents went beyond canon and state law and were theological in nature. In a nutshell, Leo of Chalcedon claimed that the confiscation was sacrilegious because it assaulted not only the ‘iconic matter’ (εἰκονικὴ ὕλη) but also what he called the ‘bodily character’ (σωματικὸς χαρακτήρ) of Christ, which ‘belonged to the hypostasis of God’ (θεοϋπόστατος) and therefore deserved not relative (σχετικὴ προκήνησις) but adorational veneration (λατρευτικὴ προσκύνησις) or worship (λατρεία).Footnote ¹⁸ Alexios’ most talented spokesman, Eustratios, metropolitan of Nicaea, countered that this stance inevitably led to the worship of Christ’s human nature, that is, to idolatry:

In what follows, I set aside theology, focusing instead on the polemical stratagems employed by the participants in the controversy. As we will see, the polemical methods of both parties exhibit an inherent paradox that, to the best of my knowledge, has been overlooked in previous scholarship.

The sources stress that Alexios’ actions led to the actual destruction of images. Anna Komnene states that metal covers and sacred vessels (presumably adorned with images) were melted down: ‘<Alexios> decided to turn them into material for minting to obtain money to pay the soldiers and the allies’.Footnote ²⁰ Similarly, the patriarch of Antioch, John Oxeites, bluntly remarked in an address to the emperor (February/March 1091): ‘Your furnaces have long since been producing coins from divine vessels and venerable imprints.’Footnote ²¹ In an appeal to the emperor, Leo of Chalcedon exclaims in indignation that the body of Christ is smashed into pieces and destroyed by flames:

There is no doubt that we are dealing with practical iconoclasm. A coherent logical sequence emerges: state officials destroy icons on Alexios’ orders; Leo of Chalcedon denounces this as impiety; the missing link is iconoclasm. Consequently, Leo must have accused Alexios of iconoclasm. This is precisely what late Byzantine authors believed. Niketas Choniates reports that Leo of Chalcedon regarded Alexios’ measures as iconoclastic: ‘He called manifest iconoclasm what had happened.’Footnote ²³ Similarly, an anonymous epitomizer of one of Leo’s lost treatises asserted that Leo said that ‘the one who intentionally assaulted an icon […] assaulted the very hypostasis of Christ depicted <in the icon> and was clearly an impious iconoclast’.Footnote ²⁴

It comes as no surprise, then, that modern scholarship embraced the notion of Komnenian Iconoclasm and, more importantly, concluded that it was recognized as such by its opponents.Footnote ²⁵ The recently introduced term ‘pseudo-iconoclasm’ is elegant but equally misleading,Footnote ²⁶ since it suggests a mode of reasoning that aspires to iconoclasm but falls short, being not iconoclastic enough to be called iconoclasm proper. As we will see in the next section, nothing could be further from the truth.

Polemical stratagems

Let us have a closer look at Leo’s Apology (1086), in which he quotes Nikephoros, the last iconophile patriarch of Constantinople (758–828, in office 806–15) before the second outbreak of Iconoclasm.Footnote ²⁷ Leo begins with a historical introduction: ‘As a disciple of the Lord, the saintly Nikephoros refuted the Dung-named emperor through his very deeds, although his words bore the semblance of piety.’Footnote ²⁸ The quotation is styled as a dialogue in which both the iconoclastic emperor Constantine V (r. 741–75) and Nikephoros speak in the first person: ‘For when he said that […] the truly great among the saints Nikephoros answered that […] and, quite naturally, refuted him through his own deeds.’Footnote ²⁹ Leo’s readers, not necessarily familiar with the source of the quotation (Nikephoros’ manuscript tradition was limited), might easily conclude that they were reading a hagiographical agon. In this imagined contest, a cunning tyrant tempts the confessor with deceitful speeches, but the saint, discerning the emperor’s duplicity, resists and suffers severe punishment for his faith.Footnote ³⁰ The actual context of the fragment cited by Leo is far less picturesque. The words and ideas attributed by Leo to Constantine V are not styled by Nikephoros as the emperor’s own. Instead, they represent an intellectual construct, a hypothetical argument: ‘Perhaps someone of their lot whose impiety is moderate will use the following line of argumentation as a specious pretext […] To such a person the defenders of piety will respond that […].’Footnote ³¹

Clearly, the historical Nikephoros could not have opposed the historical Constantine V: the latter died in 775 when Nikephoros was only seventeen. However, such a chronological discrepancy is hardly worth noting. What is noteworthy is how a theoretical dispute with an abstract opponent is transformed into a concrete episode in Nikephoros’ biography. A theological treatise is dramatized. The readers are encouraged to imagine the mise-en-scène: Where is Nikephoros? Is he arrested? Is this an official interrogation? Will he be banished? This dramatization fosters readers’ identification with the protagonist and forges a connection between the two periods.

Significantly, Leo places the excerpt from Nikephoros immediately after quoting his adversaries’ justification for confiscating church vessels ‘to transform them into coins, adore them with Christ’s images, and use them to ransom captives and save Christians’.Footnote ³² Leo retorts that it is deeds, not words, that must be judged: loud declarations about ransoming captives are mere hypocrisy, akin to Constantine V’s professed concern for simpletons who might slip into idolatry by venerating images. Leo thus presents himself as a new Nikephoros and Alexios as a new Constantine V. The Apology is filled with direct addresses to the ruler (‘my lord’, ‘your emperorship’),Footnote ³³ suggesting that the text was likely delivered orally before the emperor. Within the span of a few minutes, Alexios is informed that Leo intends ‘to imitate the confessors of piety’ and hears a dramatic tale of heroic resistance to a heretical emperor.Footnote ³⁴ The underlying message would have been unmistakable to Alexios: ‘You are an iconoclast through and through.’

But he could read this accusation only between the lines, for the lines as such were silent on the matter. According to the imperial Σημείωμα with a retrospective overview of the controversy issued in January 1086, Leo accused Alexios of ‘confiscation’ (ἀφαίρεσις, ὑφαίρεσις), ‘destruction’ (συντριβή), ‘melting down’ (χωνεία), ‘insolent melting’ (ἐφ’ ὕβρει χωνεία), ‘appropriation’ (σφετερισμός), and ‘seizure’ (ἐκποίησις).Footnote ³⁵ All these offences fell under the umbrella term ‘impiety’ (ἀσέβεια), yet the dogmatic nature of this impiety remains unclarified: ‘he said that every confiscation of sacred objects, no matter who performed it, necessarily and evidently led to impiety’.Footnote ³⁶ In rare instances, Leo suggests that Alexios’ deeds amount to a new Judaism and paganism: ‘The one who destroys the image of Christ is counted among the Jews and the Hellenes.’Footnote ³⁷

The shadow of Iconoclasm is omnipresent. It is everywhere and nowhere. Leo skilfully hints at it, teetering on the edge of pronouncing the forbidden word, only to appear to stop himself at the last moment: ‘If Christ is venerated and honoured in His holy icon as God and Lord, where and among whom will a place be found for the one who destroys Him? I, for one, cannot say, at least for the time being.’Footnote ³⁸ To avoid direct accusations, Leo employs clumsy periphrastic constructions: he directs the Apology not against the iconoclasts but against those who ‘approved of the confiscation of sacred objects’ (τοῖς ἐπαινοῦσι τῶν ἱερῶν τὴν ἐκποίησιν).

At the very moment the ghost of Iconoclasm gains flesh and bones, the participants in the controversy prudently retreat. They either refuse to believe their own eyes or camouflage the obvious parallels between the iconoclastic past and the reality of their time. The metropolitan bishop of Euchaita, Basil, who holds a slightly different view on the divinization of iconic matter,Footnote ³⁹ writes to Alexios’ brother, Isaac Komnenos, that ‘at first he (sc. Basil) was not sure what to think because he surmised that the one who destroyed an icon did not commit a crime since he did not have the intentions of those God-hated iconoclasts of old […]’.Footnote ⁴⁰ Later, Basil changed his stance but still avoided exploiting the iconoclastic precedent. He compared his opponents to Judas, who kissed Christ and sold Him for money, just as they kissed His images before melting them down. Basil even argued that his opponents might be worse than Judas, who, after all, was not raised as a Christian. Yet, he stopped short of labelling them iconoclasts. What is even more striking is that Basil quotes Theodore of Stoudios, ‘who valiantly fought the iconoclasts’,Footnote ⁴¹ without taking the next logical step of drawing explicit parallels between the old and the new heretics.

Even Leo does not exploit these historical parallels to their full extent. In a letter from exile to the patriarch Nicholas III Grammatikos (in office 1084–1111), he emphasizes that he was deposed ‘against the canons’ (παρὰ κανόνας) and thus ‘still remains an archpriest in the eyes of God’ (μένω καὶ ἔτι ἀρχιερεὺς παρὰ τῷ Θεῷ). To support his claim, he invokes the example of John Chrysostom, who ordained bishops, priests, and deacons while in exile in Cappadocia, ‘thus still remaining a blameless archpriest in the eyes of God’ (οἷα δὴ καὶ ἔτι μένων ἀκατάκριτος ἀρχιερεὺς τῷ Θεῷ).Footnote ⁴² Leo does not, however, have any associations with another figure whose case would have been more fitting to the circumstances: Nikephoros of Constantinople, upon whose writings Leo bases much of his iconology. A deposed and exiled defender of icons would have seemed the ideal role model for Leo, yet he prefers to ignore the obvious. This reluctance suggests that Iconoclasm had not yet acquired the status of a historical precedent that it would enjoy in late Byzantium. In the Palaiologan era, it became a convenient foil for any ideological clash between an ecclesiastical faction claiming moral authority and the oppressive imperial power.Footnote ⁴³

The conspicuous absence of Iconoclasm from public discourse during a period when icons were being destroyed by imperial power demands explanation.Footnote ⁴⁴ The most logical one would be that the mere mention of iconoclasm would have raised the stakes so high as to preclude any possibility of reconciliation. Accusations of paganism and Judaism appear to have been considered less severe than the charge of iconoclasm. The forensic dossier of another ‘heretic’ of the time, John Italos (1082), supports this hypothesis.

The reign of Alexios was marked by a series of public trials targeting philosophers and religious leaders, with Italos being the first victim of the new policy.Footnote ⁴⁵ Among the charges against him, there are at least two with a clear iconoclastic ring to them: the philosopher was accused of striking icons with stones (τῆς ἁγίας καὶ προσκυνητῆς εἰκόνος […] λίθῳ πληγείσης) (iconoclasm as practice) and of rejecting icons as ‘idols created by human hands’ (ξόανα χειροποίητα) (iconoclasm as theory).Footnote ⁴⁶ Yet the word ‘iconoclasm’ was never said aloud: Italos’ actions were qualified as ‘utmost wantonness and drunkenness’ (ἐσχάτη ὕβρις καὶ παροινία), ‘wickedness’ (κακόνοια), and ‘impiety’ (ἠσέβησεν). The compiler of the trial records mastered the art of avoiding the dangerous word. This is how he referred to the controversy we now know as iconoclastic: ‘There was once a great debate about the holy icons, and those who venerated them were accused as idolaters by those who professed another teaching.’Footnote ⁴⁷ There is little doubt that the participants of the trial understood perfectly well what was concealed behind the euphemism ἑτερόδοξοι. Italos’ accusers seem to have implied that, unless the conflict was resolved as soon as possible, the dreadful word would be pronounced, inevitably transforming Italos’ isolated case into a full-fledged schism.

The accusation of iconoclasm was a potent weapon. Its effectiveness can be illustrated by sigillographic evidence. A group of seals from Alexios’ reign bears formulaic metrical inscriptions explaining that ‘piety’ forbade their owners from adorning them with ‘divine’ or ‘venerable imprints’. The seals belong to the members of the highest aristocracy, including Nikephoros Bryennios and his wife Anna Komnene, whose seal reads: ‘Out of piety, Anna Komnene’s seal bears no venerable images, only verses’ (Δι’ εὐλάβειαν οὐ φέρει σεπτοὺς τύπους/Ἄννης Κομνηνῆς ἡ σφραγίς, ἀλλὰ στίχους). Two diametrically opposed explanations have been proposed. The first suggests that this sigillographic type reflects the ‘Komnenian Iconoclasm’ per se: the commissioners rejected icons, considering an attempt to grasp the divine with human means impious.Footnote ⁴⁸ The second interpretation offers a complete reversal of the thesis, arguing that the seals exemplify a fear of being accused of iconoclasm. A seal is perishable by nature; its purpose is fulfilled once the letter it protects is opened. Disposing of a seal with a pictorial representation of Christ or the Mother of God would have been sacrilegious.Footnote ⁴⁹ From this perspective, we are dealing with a visible manifestation of the panic that consumed the Komnenian elite when they realized that Alexios could be accused of iconoclasm.

However, Alexios was far from defenceless. The emperor – or perhaps his associates with theological ambition, such as Isaac Komnenos – devised two effective polemical strategies. These techniques evoked the memory of the iconoclastic era and made Leo of Chalcedon’s teaching appear simultaneously akin to and distinct from Iconoclasm. Both strategies turned the tables on Leo’s faction: one by reappropriating the authoritative texts upon which Leo based his iconology, the other by threatening Leo with the charge of iconoclasm.

The icon controversy under Alexios contributed significantly to the preservation of anti-iconoclastic literature. It inspired the creation of a two-volume edition of patriarch Nikephoros’ writings comprising Vaticanus graecus 682 (Diktyon 67313) and Parisinus graecus 1250 (Diktyon 50858)Footnote ⁵⁰ and of an important manuscript of the Acts of the Seventh Ecumenical Council, British Library, Harley 5665 (Diktyon 39623), which is also a codex unicus of the anti-iconoclastic writings by Patriarch Sophronios of Jerusalem (unpublished).Footnote ⁵¹ Interesting is the case of a thirteenth-century manuscript, Escorialensis Y.II.07 (Diktyon 15475), the sole testimony to the refutation of the iconoclastic writings of John VII the Grammarian, which also includes a short paraphrase of Leo of Chalcedon’s treatise and thus might go back to an iconophile collection compiled shortly after the controversy.Footnote ⁵²

It is not always possible to determine which faction was responsible for the creation of a specific manuscript. A telling example is the above-mentioned codex of the Great Lavra,Footnote ⁵³ which contained both a florilegium compiled by Isaac Komnenos and an account of a miracle promoting Leo of Chalcedon’s veneration as a saint. However this may be, it is evident that Alexios’ supporters built their iconology on the same corpus of authoritative texts as Leo and his allies. The iconophile thinkers whose writings are quoted or paraphrased in the twenty-second chapter of the Dogmatic Panoply by Euthymios Zigabenos (compiled c. 1110 at Alexios’ request) include Theodore of Stoudios, Nikephoros of Constantinople, and the bishops of the Seventh Ecumenical Council – the same figures invoked by Leo of Chalcedon.Footnote ⁵⁴ Significantly, Zigabenos’ work is a florilegium in which the authorial voice of the compiler is almost indiscernible. In seeking theological justification for its actions, the imperial authority ultimately adopted a polemical approach that rather emphasized adherence to tradition than endorsed philosophical speculation and syllogistic reasoning. This approach diverged from that of Eustratios of Nicaea, whose writings were more influenced by Plato (in their dramatic setting and tone) and Aristotle (in their logical method) than by the iconophile theologians.Footnote ⁵⁵ Although Zigabenos made no explicit references to the late eleventh-century controversy, the underlying message of his text was unmistakable. As the officially sanctioned – hence the only one acceptable – understanding of the image doctrine developed by the iconophile thought in the late eighth and early ninth centuries, the relevant chapter of the Dogmatic Panoply not only signalled the end of all debates but also created the grounds to condemn as iconoclasts those who interpreted these texts differently. From that moment onwards, an iconoclast was not someone who destroyed icons but someone who misunderstood a text entitled ‘Against the Iconoclasts’.

The second technique achieved the same effect in a more direct manner. Persuading Leo to give in, Alexios hinted that the formal charges (Leo was found guilty of slander and insubordination) could easily escalate into accusations of heresy. According to Alexios, Leo revealed himself to be ‘an accuser of the Christians’:

But ‘an accuser of the Christians’ (Χριστιανοκατήγορος) is a terminus technicus for the iconoclasts! Coined by the bishops of the Seventh Ecumenical Council in 787,Footnote ⁵⁷ it subsequently became inextricably associated with the iconoclastic controversy and bore a singular, universally understood meaning.Footnote ⁵⁸

The following sequence of events emerges:

1. 1. For one reason or another, the imperial power resorts to iconoclastic praxis.

2. 2. The opposition signals its readiness to accuse the emperor of iconoclasm.

3. 3. Forestalling this move, the emperor hints that he might turn the charge back on his opponents, even though they do the exact opposite – defend the images.

4. 4. Neither party carries out the threat because there is no turning back once the word is pronounced, so both sides seek reconciliation.

By way of digression, it is worth noting that Alexios employed a similar stratagem in the case of Italos. He effectively transformed the Synodikon of Orthodoxy into a machine for producing new iconoclasts. Since its creation by Patriarch Methodios (843–7), the Synodikon was a fluid text open to changes, but before Alexios, new material entered the text virtually unnoticed.Footnote ⁵⁹ After the trial of Italos, the text was significantly expanded. More importantly, the additions were no longer hidden within the surrounding text but styled as separate chapters, thus making the new ‘heretic’ equal in his ‘impiety’ to the iconoclasts – the archetypal heretics.Footnote ⁶⁰ Although the accusations related to the abuse of icons by Italos were not included in the new sections of the Synodikon, the very composition of the text led its readers and listeners to an unavoidable conclusion: the figure anathematized immediately after the iconoclasts was just another iconoclast.