Charles Barber’s Figure and Likeness: On the Limits of Representation in Byzantine Iconoclasm sets out to explore Byzantine iconoclasm as primarily an art historian’s concern. The author writes: “In the course of the eighth and ninth centuries, the ideas in play around the icons and the emphases within these ideas were to change considerably. It is these changes that need to be addressed before iconoclasm can be shown to be either the cause or the effect of the shape of Byzantine political, social, cultural, or theological conditions of this period. This is work for an art historian” (10). By defining the images, objects, and relics as the text of Byzantine iconoclasm, the author sets out to explore this text before he considers its context. Figure and Likeness offers the first serious attempt to define the Byzantine image theory as it took shape in the period from the sixth to ninth century. The presentation of the argument is lucid, concise, and accessible even to nonspecialists.

The book consists of six chapters; their titles are well chosen, precise, and engaging, leading the reader to the core of the argument. The first chapter, “Matter and Memory,” focuses on the images before the period of iconoclasm. Barber argues for a close link between relics and icons, both of which offer the material means through which to remember and reexperience the sacred history. This conclusion is based on the study of images depicted on the containers of relics (the Vatican reliquary box, pilgrims’ tokens). In these particular cases, the images are sanctified by contact with the holy body. The discussion then extends to acheiropoietoi (a- “without,” heir- “hand,” poietos- “made”) portraits created through contact with the divine body and functioning as an intermediary form between relics and icons. Acheiropoietoi are also linked to the tradition of imperial images, which exhibit a close association between person and portrait.

Posing an equality of image and relic in the case of icons of the Virgin is, however, problematic. Marian icons are not created through contact with the sacred body. The treatment of the icon at Santa Maria in Trastevere as an acheiropoietos is a misconception that issues from the mistake in a pilgrim’s account. In it, the inscription of the frame of the icon was misread (D. Kinney, “S. Maria in Trastevere from Its Founding to 1215” [Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1977], 66–68). Similarly, it is problematic to identify the image in Santa Maria in Trastevere with the acheiropoietos mentioned in a text describing the Assumption procession (Venice, Marc. Cod. Gr. 573, fol. 25v). The account could only refer to the miraculous image of Christ at the Sancta Sanctorum (B. Pentcheva, “The Virgin or Her Icons in the Tradition of the Avar Siege,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 26, 2002: 2–41). As a result, no evidence exists to supports a claim for the presence of an acheiropoietos icon of the Virgin in the preiconoclast period. I also wonder if it is appropriate to use the evidence of Marian icons in Rome to account for Constantinopolitan iconoclasm, especially since Marian devotion in the two cities differed: it was icon-centered in Rome and relic-focused in Constantinople.

The same problem of using Roman images to discuss the Byzantine theory of representation also becomes evident in the next chapter, “Icon and Idol.” It focuses on the scenes of the Crucifixion in Santa Maria Antiqua and interprets them in connection with the doctrinal statement of canon 82 of the Quinisext Council of 691–92. Since the doctrines of the council were never officially accepted by the papacy, it remains a subject for future research to establish the connection between the written statements and the painting tradition of Rome. Canon 82 postulated that Christ should be depicted in a human form, not through the symbolic image of the lamb. The validity of the iconic mode was thus linked with the Incarnation. By acquiring a human body, Christ received a visible form that could be portrayed in images. It is Barber’s contribution to reveal the significance of canon 82 for the subsequent development of the Byzantine discourse on images, placing the validity of the figural mode in the act of the Incarnation. The chapter continues with the early iconoclast position propagated on the basis of Exodus 20:4 RSV, “You shall not make for yourself a graven image,” and the lack of apology for images in the writings of the early church fathers. The iconoclasts rejected the icon as a manmade idol, manufactured from a base and dead matter. The true icon becomes the nonmanufactured acheiropoietos such as the Eucharist.

Chapter 3, “Truth and Economy,” focuses on the mosaic in the apse of the Koimesis church in Nikaia as an extension of theology in the realm of the visual and the development of an iconic economy. The attention is on how the icon can disclose truth. The chapter focuses on the eighth-century iconophile position on the image (John of Damascus and Germanos), which argues that the Incarnation made the divine visible and hence representable in a visual form. The argument based on Christology presents visuality as a specifically Christian property. Characteristic for this stage of the discourse is the understanding of the image as participatory in that which it represents; the image is sanctified by contact with the sacred body. It is this very concept that will change in the ninth century.

Chapter 4, “Figure and Sign,” focuses on the Cross in imperial, iconoclast, and iconophile discourses. Barber offers a very perceptive interpretation of the intensification of the cult of the Cross as an expression of a renewed ideology of imperial victory. He calls this phenomenon “a new primitive and triumphant Christian imperialism” (88). The theory is supported by numismatic evidence: imperial portraits are now included on the obverse and reverse of gold coins, thus drawing attention to the imperial power. The rest of the chapter deals with the perception of the cross by the iconoclasts and iconophiles. Five poems set at the Chalke gate in A.D. 815 offer evidence for the iconoclast position on the Cross. Despite being visual, the Cross is set in opposition to mere material images; it is considered a typos or “figure” and is linked to the logos, the preincarnate Christ. By contrast, the iconophiles linked the Cross with the incarnate Christ and his Passion. Some iconophiles (Theodore Studios) regarded the cross as a sign (semeion), a term that belongs to the Old Testament discourse of prefiguration, and viewed the term “figure” as an aspect of the icon. Other iconophiles (Patriarch Nikephoros) applied “figure” to both the Cross and the body of Christ, the former being a symbolic figure, the latter an iconic figure. It is the iconic figure that is more appropriate since it is more accessible and knowable.

Chapter 5, “Form and Likeness,” sets out to demonstrate how ninth-century iconophile discourse differs from that of the eighth century, especially in defining the relationship between icon and archetype. The emphasis is on the definition of form and likeness. In using Aristotelian language, both Nikephoros and Studios present likeness in relational terms as an active mediation between icon and archetype. United by form and not by nature, icon and archetype are set in relation of difference, absence, and reciprocity.

Chapter 6, “Word and Image,” uses as a test case the apse mosaic in Hagia Sophia and focuses on the ninth-century discourse (developed in the writings of Patriarch Photios, Nikephoros, and Studios) on the validity of the visual representation to convey truth. The visual is shown to be a more immediate form of knowledge providing its own path to truth. The ability of the icon to show truth is placed before its aesthetic value.

Although there are very few errors in the book, one is important enough to be highlighted. On pages 85 and 89, there is the unfortunate mistake in identifying the emperor as Tiberius II while in fact the coins belong to Tiberius I. The error first occurred in Alfred R. Bellinger’s Catalogue of Byzantine Coins in the Dumbarton Oaks and in the Whittemore Collection (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies, 1966) and has been repeated ever since.

The important contribution of Barber’s book lies in defining the Byzantine image theory as it emerged during iconoclasm. The author clearly draws the distinction between eighth- versus ninth-century understanding of the image; the later theory moves away from seeing icon and archetype in a function of equivalence to understanding them in relation to that which is absent. Likeness and Figure will inspire scholars to apply Barber’s definition of the Byzantine image theory to the study the development of a figural expression of Old Testament typologies; the emergence of new narrative images such as the Koimesis (Dormition) and Threnos (Lamentation), and the establishment of new icon-types. By presenting the origins of the medieval image theory, the book would also anchor the discourse of visuality on firmer ground and stimulate comparison of the role of images in devotion in both the Byzantine East and the Latin West.