The intelligible made sensible.
Platonic Solids, by Wentzel Jamnitzer (1508-1585)

Lets now look at the nous as an organ of perception.

In speaking of the soul, according to its different faculties, we tend to create a fragmented notion of it as consisting of mutually exclusive layers, rather than as an interrelated whole. Therefore, we tend to forget that the nous permeates all of man. Even though it is the innermost aspect of man, the eye of the heart, the “border” between the created and Uncreated, the spirit in him, having close affinity to the Spirit, to be distinguished from soul or his emotive dimension.   Nevertheless, its activity reaches out to all of his faculties.

The nous, to the extent that it is purified through prayer and repentance, becomes truly the eye of the heart, and charioteer of the soul, directing reason, the passible aspect of the soul, and the senses. It apprehends truth, spiritual realities, and things intelligible, in a direct fashion, intuitively. It then communicates this knowledge to the reason, in the articulation of concepts, or to the imagination, in man’s creative activity of manufacturing. Both of these modes of expression, whether pertaining to the faculties of reason or imagination, are traditionally understood as involving art, that is, a given skill which provides for either physical, or spiritual needs. Iconography then is one of the arts, having the spiritual function of aiding man in his deification, through symbolic encounter with the incarnate Logos, the Archetype. The interrelatedness of the soul’s faculties is described by Ilias the Presbyter, “…Being products of the reason [thoughts], they uses  the imagination as a ladder, and so ascend from the world of the senses to the intellect (nous), conveying to the latter the observations which they have derived from sense-perception; then they redescend from the intellect down to the world of the senses, communicating to it the intellect’s principles.”^[i]

Here we see the dynamic of interrelatedness and a pattern that has implications pertaining to the creative act in iconography. When Ilias says that the imagination (intrinsic image-forming faculty) “communicates” to the observations of sense-perception the intellect’s principles, this can be seen as a process of imprinting in the creative act. That is, the images of sense-perception are imprinted by the imagination after the intellect’s principles have been communicated to it. Instead of talking of the imprinting of the imagination as coming directly from “above” as the glossary description does, this passage looks at it from “below,” as a process of ascent. In it can be seen a way of speaking of the transfiguration of sense-perception in the creative act. In other words, it suggests the possibility of not having solely to rely on the illuminations coming from above to depict the archetypes.

We can also depict these from artistic models and Nature, seeing them through the “new eyes” of the heart that the integrated knowledge of the timeless pictorial principles of the canon gives us.   In the case of iconography what Ilias the Presbyter calls “the intellects principles,” can be seen as the pictorial principles of the canon. Thereby, sense-perception is uplifted and transfigured from outward appearance by bringing out of it the apprehension of archetypes in symbolic representation. Perhaps, this explains why some Byzantine icons are paradoxically at once as if observed from life, almost having a kind of  “naturalism” and classical in their gracefulness, yet wholly other-worldly, not merely sensual. The frescoes and mosaics of the church of Chora in Constantinople exemplify this tendency. The “naturalism” apparent in these frescoes can be seen  as a synthesis of observation from Nature, and classical Hellenic models.

Compare the “naturalism” in this frescoe with the abstract style of the early Spanish manuscript below.

This process can also be seen in the articulation of icons of saints that are contemporary and recently canonized. In this case, of course, a new prototype would have to be articulated from memory, photographs or naturalistic depictions of the saint that record his outward semblance. These would then have to go through a process of transfiguring, based on the traditional pictorial principles, which help to bring out of outward semblance the intrinsic characteristics of the saint in his deified state, as seen on his countenance. This iconic depiction can be arrived at quickly or can take years, and it can result from the work of one or many iconographers gradually refining the symbolic representation. The latter would be an example of communal illumined creativity, each iconographer contributing his level of clarity of noetic vision, until a prototype is arrived at through organic consensus, thus becoming transmitted knowledge. In this case we would also have what St. Nectarios has in mind.

St. John of Krostadt.Photo of the Saint

Icon, first stages of stylization, retaining a sense of its photographic model.

Contemporary icon, mature stage, having arrived at a resolved “iconic” representation.

In the creative act of transfiguring Nature, as Ilias points out, the imagination serves as a ladder, through which images ascend and descend, after they have been imprinted by the intellect. Perhaps we can speak of the imprinting as an intuitive or suprarational activity, after which the transfigured image, as seen in the heart, becomes the “pattern seen on the mountain” and then depicted. And it can be said that this unfolds without the painter necessarily being aware that he is in a state of “contemplation” proper. Even though throughout the whole process he is in fact apprehending the invisible in the visible, and “pondering things in the heart,” as to determine artistically how to best outwardly manifest or symbolize the image within him.

As Plato says, “Law and art are children of the intellect (nous).”^[ii] The creative act is an intellectual activity, in so far as the observations of sense-perception are “transfigured,”  by the spiritual knowledge of the nous or its principles. This knowledge presupposes purification, participation in the Tradition, its established formal and symbolic language of archetypes, and through these the acquiring of “new eyes” to see. As Philip Sherrard says, “Sacred art, then is an attestation of the axiom, Ars sine scientia nihil, without knowledge there is no art- where the scientia or knowledge referred to is unambiguously knowledge of divine sacred realities.”^[iii]

Of the importance of image, or icon, as “support” for contemplation, St Theodore says, that through images we “ascend to intellectual contemplations… Imagination is then one of the five faculties of the soul, and imagination itself seems to be a kind of image; for they are both manifestations. The image is not unprofitable therefore, since it is a help to the imagination. If the image were unprofitable, then the imagination which depends on it and co-exists with it would be even more useless, and if it is useless, then so too would be the faculties that co-exist with it – the senses, opinion, understanding, the intellect.”^[iv] Here we find a clear example of the necessity of images and hence the imagination, since there is an interdependence between them, and also of the interrelatedness of the soul’s faculties. This passage also suggests that the iconic image, through its anagogic pictorial principles, helps the imagination focus on sacred realities, thereby being guarded from dispersive thoughts and fantasy. This then helps the soul to ascend to spiritual reflection in the act of prayer. It also appears to me that what St. Theodore has in mind when speaking of “intellectual contemplation” is something along the lines of what was stated above, a kind of “being mindful of” and of “pondering in the heart” the mysteries of the Faith.

The transfiguring of sense-observation in the creative act involves “abstracting the universal from the particular.” For example, by taking a group of chairs of different kinds of materials, textures, designs, colors, or construction, and in bypassing their outward appearance or shape to what they all have in common, their universal traits, we arrive at the idea of chair. That is, we begin to see the immanent archetype as intelligible instance. I would say that the idea is a noetic apprehension of the archetype as intelligible universal principle, which is immanent in all the particularized instants of each chair, or any given kind of thing in Nature. According to the fifth century Chinese painter, Hsieh Ho, this process of “abstracting” was also the aim in the best examples of their tradition, “The painters of old painted the idea (i) and not merely the shape (hsing).”^[v] In abstracting the universal we arrive at a linear, flat, dematerialized, simplified, and geometric stylization. Geometry can be seen in the icon, not only in the depiction of persons and objects, but also in its compositional substructure. But, it should not be overlooked that this “abstracting” is not to lead to a mechanical or dead geometrization, but should also involve capturing the life in the thing depicted, its “spirit,” given by the Giver of Life.  Hsieh Ho also says that the work of art must reveal, “the operation (yun) of the spirit (ch’i) in life-movement,” and again “By means of natural shape (hsing) represent divine spirit (shen).”^[vi] In the principles of iconography rhythm in line and composition are crucial in capturing the “life-movement.”

 As I have said before, we should not consider the universal principle in a dualistic manner as a way of escape from the inherently evil world of matter to an abstract celestial world. There might be “higher” and “lower” levels in the cosmos, but they interpenetrate each other, and the Logos is above all, through all, and in all, radiating His goodness as the ground of being.^[vii] The archetype as universal principle can be compared to a prism, through which the Uncreated light passes and refracts into different colors, the variously shaped particular instances, which all declare uniquely the glory of God.^[viii]

The process of abstracting the universal from the particular can be seen in the iconographic tradition between two poles, which are both legitimate stylistic interpretations of the immanent archetype. On one hand, styles leaning towards naturalism (Palaeologue, Cretan). On the other hand, a more severe “primitive” abstract style (Mozarabic, Celtic). In the middle would be a balancing of both elements as seen in the Russian schools of the 14th and 15th centuries (Novgorod,Tver).

Mother of God, Greek. This leans towards the gracefulness of classical “naturalism.”

Mother of God Hodigitria, Russian 1502-3. Here we have balance between naturalistic and abstracting tendencies.

Mother of God, Book of Kells, 9th Century.
Severe abstract style.

These two extremes approach the immanent archetype from different angles. One predominantly focuses on its material manifestation and the other on its intelligible dimension. The first, in emphasizing the particularized instance, would be concerned with the features of the saint as individual, and therefore this kind of icon in its details would appear to be a portrait painted from life. The second, in emphasizing the universal domain, such as manhood or Man, would tend to depict in general terms, and thus each saint in a group would come across as almost identical. This tendency is clearly seen in some Mozarabic illuminations of the Revelation, where the elders surrounding the Lamb are barely indistinguishable. However, in being an affirmation of the Incarnation, the icon does not allow for a style to deteriorate into either extreme of pure abstraction or coarse naturalism. The first would be a denial of the ontological goodness of matter, its redemption, and the central role of Man as microcosm; the second, in being concerned merely with the fleeting appearance of things subject to corruption, would be overlooking deification and theophany in Creation.

In this abstract style the focus is on universal dimension of things.

As you suggested the idea can be seen as more “concrete,” it remains, whereas the various shapes and materials perish, are impermanent, subject to transience. Another way of saying “concrete” would be incorruptible, eternal. Hence we can also speak of the “noetic vision of the archetypes” as seeing through the eye of the heart, not the mere shape of a thing, according to corruption or the “garments of skin,” but according to its eschatological perfection and permanence. It is seeing things transfigured, clothed in immortality, the state intended for them from the beginning, in which God is all in all. This tends at times towards simplification and the geometric, not because the archetypes are an abstract geometry per se (I would not venture to speculate on how the “look like” in the Logos, since we can say nothing of their essence) but because in geometry, as Plato sensed when speaking of the principles symbolized in the five regular polyhedrons, we find expressions of formal perfection, or what I would call eschatological permanence.^[ix] In the Revelation of St. John the Theologian the notion of permanence, stability and perfection, are geometrically expressed by the image of pure crystallization in the streets, the strong walls, foundations, and cubic shape of the Heavenly Jerusalem. It’s shining forth in uncreated light is symbolized by gold, pearls, and the translucence of its precious stones.^[x]

In geometry we find reflected the higher, intelligible realm of being, which transcends the phenomenal, helping to elevate our minds to consider the source of its beauty, the divine Intellect (Logos). Therefore geometry serves an anagogic function in iconography. The icon being articulated by intellect (nous), and reflecting things intelligible, that is, “inner things,” the esoteric and immaterial level of existence, becomes a symbol of the heavenly realm. As the Lord says, “The kingdom of God is within you.”^[xi] In the following passage Coomaraswamy speaks  about Plato and of his view of things geometric:

“The beauty of the admirable equation is the attractive aspect of its simplicity. It is a single form that is the form of many different things. In the same way Beauty absolutely is the equation that is the single form of all things, which are themselves beautiful to the extent that they participate in the simplicity of their source. ‘The beauty of the straight line and the circle, and the plane and solid figures formed from these… is not, like that of other things, relative, but always absolutely beautiful.’ Now we know that Plato, who says this, is always praising what is ancient and depreciating innovations (of which the cause are, in the strictest and worst sense of the word, aesthetic), and that he ranks the formal and canonical arts of Egypt far above the humanistic Greek art that he saw coming into fashion. The kind of art that Plato endorsed was, then, precisely what we know as Greek Geometric art. We must not think that it would have been primarily for its decorative values that Plato must have admired this kind of “primitive” art, but for its truth and accuracy, because of which kind of beauty that is universal and invariable…”^[xii]

In this one example we can see how the pictorial principles we have been discussing have been universally acknowledged in the sacred art of other cultures.

In other words, Beauty is the Logos, the Archetype of the beauty in created beings, whose archetypes or logoi participate in Him as ground of their being, giving them an ontological goodness and permanence, symbolized by geometry in sacred art.

So as we have seen the term “noetic vision” is fluid and should not be solely thought of as an experience that is totally foreign to us, but as something quite accessible. It is paradoxically far and near. Nevertheless, we should not oversimplify or over-systematize things and strip them of their mystery. It is something that can happen to us suddenly from above, but is also something that we can be engaged in as we speak.

In Christ,

Fr. Silouan

 Notes:

A foundational symbolic principle of the icon is that all things are permeated with the Uncreated Light.

Icon as Symbolic Craftsmanship

Although the technique of egg-tempera is ancient and predates the Christian period, it providentially has been adopted and retained by the tradition of icon painting. Encaustic was used but soon abandoned,which further confirms that not all methods have been deemed suitable by the tradition. Egg tempera tends to lend itself to a linear style that requires clear definition of form and austere precision of execution based on preliminary, well-articulated drawing. It does not lend itself to the blending of colors since it quickly dries. Therefore, it involves a long process of translucent layering and successive arrangement of geometric tonal areas for the development of plasticity of form. This makes it suitable for abstract, abbreviated, or symbolic representation. During the Renaissance, naturalism became the main focus in the West, with its emphasis on delicate modeling of tone, sensuous forms, blurry sfumato, and dramatic chiaroscuro. The West abandoned egg tempera as unsuitable for naturalistic painting and replaced it with oil painting, a method more appropriate for empirical concerns.

As with other objects we encounter in worship, traditionally hand-painted icons speak a symbolic language in which we can find “uplifting explanations” not only in the images, but also through the unique property of the materials and methods used to depict them.This is clearly evident in the use of gold, which is a symbol of the Uncreated Light, but also in the egg tempera medium, which in its translucent nature is a symbol of matter as theophanic – not purely dense or opaque, but shining forth the glory of God. It could be said that these “uplifting explanations” have been arrived at after centuries and were not necessarily themselves the motivating factors in all the choices of materials, because these were primarily practical. Nevertheless, they attest to the fact that the traditional medium has been preserved since its inherent properties do not hinder iconicity or the anagogic function of the icon, but rather facilitate them. Both practical and theological concerns harmonize, as they do in all aspects of traditional liturgical aesthetics. Hence, egg tempera makes the icon, as compound symbol, a most lucid mirror of the mystery of the Incarnation. It does this in ways that oil painting fails to since the oil painting was invented as a practical answer to the demands for naturalism, which sees matter as opaque and reality as solely an object of sense perception, disconnected from divinity. Therefore, there is a providential dimension to this choice of medium that cannot be seen as purely arbitrary, thereby rendering the traditional medium unalterable by willful or random choice. Let us now see how we can “read” this method of craftsmanship.

In a symbolic fashion, the iconographer imitates the primordial act of the Divine Craftsman.

The foundational principle of the icon’s traditional craftsmanship is Christ‘s proclamation: “I am the Light of the world.”⁴⁵ Therefore, the various stages of the painting process can serve as supports to the craftsman for the contemplation of this great mystery.This in turn enables us to move from the immediate activity to an awareness of the inner man - outer work becomes inner work. Thus, not only does the finished icon serve to uplift, but the craftsmanship can become an anagogic discipline. The act of painting reenacts Creation,⁴⁶ represents levels of being, and depicts man’s return to his divine likeness. The white surface designates the mystery of the divine Mind (Nous) in which archetypes(logoi) are inscribed by His will. The divine inscription is the drawing. The application of red clay (bole) for gilding represents Adam‘s corporeality and gold represents his nous, the divine image in him. The first layer of paint is the formlessness before the fiat lux. The paint is made by mixing egg emulsion with dry powder pigments. The egg is symbolic of immortality, generative power, and the Giver of Life “Who is every where and fills all things.”⁴⁷ As pigments are mixed into the emulsion, light is reflected, absorbed, or refracted, being embodied and becoming color.This is symbolic of the paradoxical “union without confusion”⁴⁸ of the Transcendent becoming immanent. Each pigment has a unique property (a texture or “body”) given by its particles that affects us with its inherent energy. Through the translucent layering of color, subjects are purged of gross corporeality. They become vessels of light that are unrestrained by the limitations of matter, as how the Lord revealed Himself after the Resurrection. Further, the image is built from dark to light, calling to mind the coming into being ex-nihilo and the process of sanctification from the passions to deification. Passing through the layers, light is reflected from the gesso, bouncing back to the eyes, providing optical richness, depth, and a glow like stained-glass, which is symbolic of the glorified body in the Resurrection and the Eschaton:

“Then the righteous will shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father.”(Mat. 13:43)

“The city had no sun or the moon to shine it, for the glory of God illumined it. The Lamb is its light.”(Revelation. 21:23)

The craftsman incorporates all these layers of material properties and meaning, as just described, and fashions a one-of-a-kind object (a compound symbol) with qualities inimitable and unrepeatable by any other human or machine.The finished object bears the record of an act of cooperation with divine energy. It becomes a “body”within the liturgical context and in the Pauline sense, manifesting the glory of both created and uncreated energies. The icon becomes a precious stone that beautifies the altar of divine glorification and affects those who gaze and interact with it. It shapes and “colors” them spiritually, helping them to move beyond the “letter” of the senses towards “uplifting understandings.”

Now, let us see if we can distinguish rhinestones from diamonds.

“Thine own of Thine own…” In a priestly fashion the iconographer offers back to God matter transformed.

Loss of Priestly Craftsmanship

As we have seen, the hand painted icon communicates theology through the inherent property of materials and craftsmanship, becoming a unique compound symbol. Let us look now at the degraded iconicity of the reproduction. When regarded as a mere ‘picture’ or illustration, the icon is disconnected from the significance of the stuff of its making. The iconographer is then regarded as just another duplicating machine. We get less in return for cheap and fast results. Reproductions render inaccessible the traces and indications of arduous labor, the living, creative energy of the painter’s hand⁴⁹ that is left behind on the surface, and the subtleties of the traditional medium. The manifestation of human energy is removed. Consequently, mechanically reproduced icons cease to be an expression of liturgical service since Liturgy presupposes the mysteriological role of matter and the “work of the people,” that is, the cooperation of created, human, and divine energy.

Just as Bezalel was given wisdom to fashion the objects of the tabernacle,⁵⁰ the icon painter is given skill for the edification of the Body of Christ. In priestly fashion, he takes metals, minerals, and organic matter and, participating in divine energy, changes and offers them back to God (“Thine own of Thine own”),⁵¹thereby aiding the faithful to become habitations of the Spirit. The liturgical chanter is not replaced by a recording, because the human voice is God‘s fitting instrument. Likewise, reproductions can never replace the icon painter.

The amorphous printed inks of a reproduction only imitate the hues of the original, giving us only half of its color complexity.⁵²The color’s materiality is absent as it relates to pigment character and paint texture. It sacrifices the tactile for the ocular, which causes it to literally lack depth. The real colors of the hand painted icon encompass both the tactile and the ocular to their maximum effect. In the copy, however, the traces of movement, hesitation,or dexterity of hand,as seen in the marks or erasures left behind, are hardly evident in the perfectly smooth surface. Thick and thin layers are lost. The reproduction renders as indiscernible the original’s highlights that tend to be more pronounced and higher in relief than the first layers of color.The perceived difference vanishes between colors that have been physically mixed on the palette and then laid down compared to those that arise as optical mixtures when a thin translucent layer is laid over another. Reproductions also miss the effect of gold on the background and the assist on garments that reflect light, appearing dark or bright according to angle.The reproduction also barely captures the way pigment particles tend to group together when color is applied by pooling with water, as compared to application by dry-brush. There is no translucency to be seen as a result of light passing through the layers, hitting the white gesso and reflecting back on the eyes. The copy also diminishes the effect when there is the mat or shiny passages on the varnished surface that results from the different properties of the pigments, some of which tend to absorb the varnish more than others. All of these features, among others, that are imbued with the expended labor of the painter disappear in the blink of an eye, leaving no trace of his energy. The more we take the copy for granted, the more we begin to judge the original by its vague semblance. The icon is swallowed up in simulacra and becomes one more exotic consumer image among thousands. Meant to communicate Truth, it is muddled by deceit.⁵³

Let us now try to “read” the copy. Reproductions are drastically impoverished for liturgical use, being impaired in their anagogic function. They introduce falsehood, disregard the symbolic role of matter, and no longer serve as an index of the energy of the painter. As previously mentioned, tradition teaches that only the best materials should be offered as sacrifice for liturgical service since these uniquely serve as mysteriological vehicles of divine energy. In their material make up, reproductions ignore the function of the icon as a vessel or mirror of divinity. They are different “bodies” with quite a different “glory” – compound symbols that communicate a different message. Reproductions speak of the “society of the spectacle” and the “hegemony of appearances,” thereby degrading their iconicity. Instead of serving to reflect the Heavenly Jerusalem, they reflect the encroachment of profane industry onto sacred space. Meant to beautify the temple of God, they often call to mind the bleak, desacralized world of machines. Is not beauty, after all, the splendor of the Truth?