In 1938, two art historians began cataloging the icons at the St. Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai. When they published the results of their study, one of the icons they were intrigued by was of Christ the Pantocrator, or Christ the Ruler of All. They dated the icon to the 13th century, quite old.
The historians suspected it held a secret, though. Their theory was that a far older icon lurked beneath the top layer of paint. Sure enough, in 1962, a restoration revealed the original icon which is dated to the 6th century, one of the oldest known icons in existence.
Created using an ancient Byzantine artistic technique, it’s made of encaustic wax on a wood panel, materials which help give it such an old dating. Thought to have been originally created in Constantinople, it’s inspired by an even older image of Christ found on the main gate of the palace there and was probably brought to the monastery as a gift from the Emperor Justinian who founded the monastery.
There aren’t many icons in existence anymore that predate the iconclasm controversy of the 8th century, during which the iconclasts (those who disapproved of the use of icons in devotion), mistakenly argued that icons are idols and destroyed many of them.
Because of the remote location, St. Catherine’s was able to escape the destruction and preserved their older icons.
Seeing his face
The Pantocrator has long fascinated everyone who sees it. Over the centuries, the face of Christ has remained remarkably consistent in how it’s depicted, indicating that his features, very possibly, are not made-up or imagined. Because of the consistency of artistic tradition, there’s a very real chance that images such as the Pantocrator depict the actual face of Christ exactly as his disciples saw him (compare the Pantocrator, for instance, to the image on the Shroud of Turin).
That said, the image is recognizable but not painted in a life-like manner. Initially, it seems a straightforward portrait, but the more you look, the more strange it becomes. There are a few subtle things going on in the composition that produce the effect.
The first oddity is the “double gaze” of Our Lord. It’s not an unknown iconographic technique, but not something we’re used to seeing in modern painting.
Basically, the picture is divided in half and the face is divided straight down the middle. The features on either side are subtly different, which is easiest to see in the difference in Christ’s eyes. Making a mirror image reveals just how different the two sides of his face really are. The double gaze is an intentional artistic effect meant to illustrate the two natures of Christ. The left side represents his human nature and the right his divine nature. It is the human nature reaching out to the viewer with a hand of blessing. It is the divine nature that holds the Scriptures and has the countenance of Judge.
The second reason the icon has such a powerful effect on the viewer has more to do with iconography, more generally. The image is recognizably Christ, which is to say it isn’t abstract or a completely made-up person, but it also isn’t a real-life, narrative setting. By this, I mean that the picture isn’t a depiction of an event from the life of Christ. It isn’t meant to tell a story.
Contrary to common belief, Christian artists were fully capable of producing a different kind of picture, more in line with, say, what became popular in Renaissance-era art, but they intentionally chose to paint in a different mode. They made sacred art. It’s this sacredness that produces an otherworldly feeling in the viewer.
Prayer over display
Sacred art has its own purposes. As artist Hilary White explains “Sacred art belongs to the realm of worship, specifically liturgical worship ... It mediates the actual presence of divine reality.” In other words, sacred art prioritizes prayer over display. The Pantocrator icon isn’t meant to be hung on a wall and admired. It’s an instrument of prayer.
I remember, a long time ago, watching a television interview that a monk on Mount Athos gave to a reporter (I can't remember what show it was). The monk was showing the reporter some of the ancient icons stored in the sacristy. The icons were slowly decomposing from centuries of prayer. The monks would kiss the icon during their liturgies, causing the paint to peel.
The reporter suggested to the monk that it might be a good idea to put the icons into some sort of museum to protect them from falling apart completely. After all, the icons were irreplaceable treasures. In response, the monk simply said that the icons were made for prayer. There would be no museum.
He didn’t say as much, but it was clear the monk understood the true purpose of the icon. To remove it to a museum would ruin it. Hilary White explains, “Sacred art is participatory, narrative art is illustrative, and you do entirely different things with each. With the former you venerate -- you interact personally and immediately with divine realities, with persons. It brings the person literally, physically face to face with God and heaven.”
An image of grace
This is why the Pantocrator looks the way he does, on a surface of flattened perspective, not-quite-lifelike features, and a formal pose against a simple background. He’s an image of the sacred realm, an eternal order entirely foreign to ours and, yet, somehow, mysteriously piercing the veil between the two. He’s an image of impossible grace. The only possible reaction is prayer and devotion.
Outside of time and space, the Pantocrator commands our attention. And this, ultimately, is why the image discomforts us. It isn’t simply a nice example of Christian art. It’s a doorway into Heaven. Sitting in its presence, looking into the face of Christ and allowing him to look back, makes a connection. Through icons like the Pantocrator, human artists imitate God the Father who made his own Son as an icon. Christ is an image, or revelation, of the heart of God. In a lesser but still very real way, so is the icon.
There’s more. The Pantocrator is an image of Christ not only in his divine personhood. It also gestures towards the way in which he fully takes on humanity. This means that, when we meditate on the icon, we see into the heart of God and also into the heart of humanity. This is art that reveals us to our selves. It is a font of self-knowledge as reflected in the perfected humanity of Christ.
On this celebratory day of Christ the King, I can think of no better meditation on the power and royalty of Our Lord, who is King not only in Heaven or in our hearts, but of all that is and all that ever will be.
