I find particularly important Freedberg’s intermittent reflections on the significance of apparent apathy toward consecration ceremony and of adamant denial of the liveliness of images by various parties. In Chapter Five he uses Gombrich’s description of the attitudes of Sinhalese monks and laymen, who “say the whole consecration ceremony is nonsense, worth preserving only because it is a picturesque tradition,” (86) to underline the power implicit in such an attitude. He writes “if anything, the more explicit the dismissal, the less convincing is the denial of its hold on the emotional and cognitive states implied by responses to the ritual itself” (86). Later Freedberg, citing Cyril Mango’s ideas on attitudes toward pagan images, remarks “...Christian writers...emphasized that they [pagan images] were inanimate (though one may be inclined to wonder at the motives for such emphasis)” (92). Following the denial of the liveliness or the power of an image further, one encounters the phenomenon of iconoclasm, and in contemplating the “emotional and cognitive” impetus for iconoclasm I find Freedberg’s argument about the discrete natures of figural or “art” images, and of natural symbols to be significant. He asks, “Is there any difference between responses to miraculous images, say, and to relics?” (97) He uses Gadamer’s distinction between works of art and natural symbols to conclude that figural images hold significance prior to consecration and that “images work in distinctive ways precisely because they are figured or shaped” (ibid). Images, he writes, “work because they are consecrated, but at the same time they work before they are consecrated” (98). Thinking very briefly about response to iconoclastic actions of the Taliban and to those of the U.S. military I wonder how much of the difference in response to the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha and to the damage archaeological sites due to construction of military bases was dependant on the figural quality, and therefore inherent power and significance, of the Buddha.
Though Freedberg draws a sharp distinction between relics and images and I certainly see his point, could we not, in a way, look at a relic as an image that has come into contact with a holy spirit just as an image or statue would have if it were to perform miracles or be consecrated? In other words, could the body not be an image within which the spirit resides? Though this does not make relics and consecrated or miracle-performing images or statues equivalent, it does allow us to look at the similarities between the power of relics and that of images in a slightly different way. Also, it is possible to look at churches and other places of worship in a similar way. When churches are sometimes referred to as a ‘house of God’ is this not implying that God or some type of spirit is more present within the structure of the church than outside it? Further, new churches are consecrated in a similar way to images. While Freedberg does not mention architectural structures in the chapters we read, based on this reasoning I think it would be useful to also consider churches and other holy structures in this discussion of the power of relics and images.
Freedberg asks “Is the statue divine because it seems to come from heaven, because it looks venerable and therefore godly, or because it is named as a god?” (35). He dismisses the third reason because “the object has to have the potential for godly inherence even before it is taken for naming or consecration” (35), and argues that is potential must come from either ‘form’ or ‘chance discovery.’ I feel that this is an oversimplification of the process an images goes through to become divine, and that Freedberg creates a false dichotomy of sorts (or false trichotomy?).
A fourth route from which this potential could be derived is the process of creation. Michelangelo, especially later in his life, considered the process of sculpting a sort of personal prayer, and indeed, many artists will talk about investing their work with pieces of themselves while they create it. The cave paintings, as interpreted by Lewis-Williams, are probably the best example we have encountered in this class. Granted, these paintings did involve both ‘chance finding’ (their location on the wall was selected because of its resemblance to the image created) and ‘form’ (otherwise why bother painting anything at all), but the important aspect of these paintings was the process of creating them as part of a vision quest. In a sense, creating the images was akin to locating the spirits hidden behind the membrane of the cave wall.
Another route is through Gell’s social network. If all images are at the heart of a social nexus, as Gell argues, then some could, by virtue of this nexus, be elevated to the social position of ‘divine’ even without form or chance discovery (although these qualities would undoubtedly help). Hitler’s Yacht is a great example. It was not discovered by ‘chance’ nor did it have a particularly malevolent form. Yet it became associated with Hitler, and eventually BECAME everything that Hitler had stood for and done, as it interacted with people in its social network.
Finally, I want to take issue with Freedberg’s use of the term ‘form’. It seems far too poorly defined to be of any use. Depending on context (or social nexus) a divine form could be iconic or aniconic, abstract or realistic, large or small, colored or dull, common or unique, whatever it happens to be. I know that Freedberg takes his argument well beyond this point, but it is, I think, an important sticking point.
One of Freedburg's statements that really stood out to me is when he writes early in Chapter 2, "When is belief undermined by consciousness that the image is merely the token of what it represents? Perhaps it will be found that belief and response are never thus undermined or enhanced. Perhaps the undermining or enhancement forever remains secondary. We cannot yet decide" (30). This addresses the issue of double-consciousness that we've been talking about before, especially with regards to the Mitchell readings. I thought it was interesting that Freedburg brings up the point that although this exists, it might not even matter to the interpretation of an idol or image that it is not the actual object/person and that it has no effect on the power of the image. It is interesting to think of the processes that allow us to think of images as more than a mere lifeless representation of something and anthropomorphize it. Throughout the examples given by Freedburg, it is hard to isolate the images from their social or religious intentions.
I found both of these chapters to be really interesting, but what really caught my attention was the story about his collegue who went to find the statue of Mary to see why it became so famous. Having high expectations for the statue/image, she was looking for something to be extravagent. When finally looking upon it, she was upalled. "All she finds-or so she feels-is an apparently insignificant and rather ugly little sculpture...It should have been more beautiful, or more imposing" (27). While reading this, though it may be a little off topic, I began to remember a scene from one of the Indiana Jones movies. In this one scene Indi, along with other characters, were looking for the chalice of Christ. Standing before them were a large variety of beautiful chalices layed out on a large table, and out of these they had to pick the correct one. At first Indi believed the chalice to be the large beautiful one covered in jewels, but then after looking further he realized it was actually the small, plain, wooden chalice; out of all of them it was the ugly one. How come in our society when we think of images of worship, we think of them to be large and beautiful? When looking upon any images of Christ or Mary, we believe that these images are the actual embodyment of Christ himself; many believe that he is brought to life by this image. Through this embodyment we expect them to, I guess you can say, "look their best."
In Freedberg's fifth chapter on page 94 he writes, "Both the insertion of a symbolon in thetheurgic rites and the insertion of a relic in the Christian images seem to depend on a fundamental sense of the peculiar and specific effectiveness of a substance or object placed within an image and believed to be in sympathy with what it represents." This idea reminds me of Gell's discussion of the homunculus. When something is placed within something else, it gives the outer image or object more depth. It makes the idol easier to interact with, and in Freedberg's case, it makes it easier to have sympathy towards the idol and what it represents. I also like that he brings up that objects inside another object could be forgotten but that the object continues to be an idol. I don't, however, feel that the solution he offers for this problem is oversimplified. I think it is perfectly plausible that the object was initially idolized because of its inner "homunculus" and that the idolization continued because the knowledge that it was an idol was passed down.
In this week’s readings, I kept fixating on the concept of the image as vessel. I think this is a useful way to think of images that I think Freedberg could do more with. Freedberg references this idea in several ways. In the beginning of Chapter 5 he talks about the act of consecration and how some idols require the rite because “it transforms the manmade image into a sacred one, and invites the divinity to reside in it” (82). He also refers abstractly several times to the image as “receptacle,” especially in the context of the act of consecration. He also discusses reliquaries (literal sacred vessels) and the complex relationship between relic, image, and reliquary. At the end of the discussion of his discussion of the act of consecration and transition of image to idol, he seems to come to conclusion that consecration is not actually that important or necessary, it just kind of demonstrates the potentiality of an image. All images have the potential to be idols, whether they are made so through consecration, by their inherent qualities (form, age, etc), by the insertion of the sacred (relic or spirit), or any other means—I think the analogy of the vessel is useful in imagining this process. Some images are filled with life, and others are not and it is possible for images to lose and gain their spirit. Throughout these readings I also kept thinking about the Jesus, Mary, and Mother Theresa figures that people see everywhere from grilled cheese, cinnamon rolls, toast, cat fur, etc. These idols were a fun way to think about the potentiality of images/objects to be imbued with supernatural qualities, possibly a good example of the vessel idea.
One topic that we have not really begun to wrap our minds around is the role of the creator, the artist, the craftsman. Yes, Gell wrote quite a bit on the artist and the role of the index as abducting some sort of tangible piece of the artist, as extending her. But what of creating something that transcends the self? It is difficult to imagine any one person as having the ability to create an embodied deity. Creating a shell or home for one settles much more gently in our minds. As Islam makes clear, no human has the power nor should have the arrogance to create an image of the deity. In 'Divine Things,' Meskell motions towards the sculptor or artisan as having some sort of secret. Within the elite structures of Egyptian society, the artisan has a high place. Similarly, Freedberg speaks of the relic being placed within an object of worship or some powerful symbols hidden within the work. I like the idea of the artisan having great power, as having some sort of secret, but not entire credit or agency. Now back to the World Series. PHILLIES WOOO!!!!!
Interestingly enough Freedburg's 2nd chapter especially reminds me slightly of Gell as he works out how to go about studying the power of images. He ends up with a kind of anthropology similar to Gells in that he wishes to depart from a limiting method of study that reads each reaction to an image or idol like a book. He instead desires to look at a wide range or image reactions in order to find reason and meaning in reactions as a whole. However, just because neither he nor Gell chooses to make a close meaningful analysis of individual reactions doesn't mean he doesn't acknowledge the individuality of them. I think this is an important method for anyone trying to make sense of such a complex wide ranging phenomenon. It is like building a house; you can make sure each window each plank of wood is manufactured to perfection and understand just how each of these things work but if you don't know how to put them all together, you won't have a house.
The origin or creation of an image is important in Freedburg's assessment, as it has been for other writers who consider the act of making and how origins of the made image or object are regarded. The act of creation is itself a very charged moment here, and the significance of that act persists in the image that has been made.
The awkwardly powerful capability of people to make and animate images lends danger to the act: “Animation is the final threat of artistic creativity.” While part of this danger is manifest in the process of creation (ie, the “eye-ceremony” and its taboos), it seems that the power of that moment persists in the object or image itself. In part this process suggests that the strength of the image, however it is recognized, is very closely tied to the power of the creator in a way that is implicitly acknowledged even in the moment of the image's own power. We have discussed this before, in regards to how the agency/power of the image is constituted through relations (ie in Gell); here, though, it seemed like the interpretation that the power of an image is derived from the charged act of creation/consecration was available not just on the level of removed analysis but also in the contextualized perception of the image.
Freedburg's discussion at the end of the consecration chapter, on relics versus images, seems to lend some weight to this distinction. The physical creation of the image—not just its “creation” as a social person or idol or anything else, a process that the relic also undergoes—distinguishes it as a particular kind of supernatural object. Not that either relic or the created image is necessarily more powerful than the other, but that the processes of empowerment might differ, such that the figured image is perceived as more related to the human agent (even if we can define both, as social objects, as equally products of this agency).
• Freedberg’s discussion of archaic cult statues is significant in the wider discussion of idolatry and the issue of whether it is the image itself or the prototype of the image that is being represented. I am curious as to why he didn’t investigate further why people would be so inclined to worship a non-representational image – his suggestion that “They seem archaic and austere, and qualities like these make them so compelling that we call them divine” (34) seems unconvincing to me. I would assume that a lifelike imagine thought to have divine power would be far more compelling. Maybe it is that a non-representational image allows the viewer to imbue it with whatever appearance he or she wishes to imagine the divine to have? Freedberg also neglects to say anything about how later Greek cult statues became incredibly detailed and lifelike, and I wonder if there are any theories as to how or why that change came about, since it is an extreme contrast to the worship of stones and planks of wood. • I also wonder whether it is easier or more difficult to confuse worship with the image with worship of the prototype when the image is non-representational. My first instinct was to find it odd that the church, for example, would not be more comfortable with people imagining, say, the power of the virgin Mary embodied in a stone because it would be more difficult to confuse the stone with Mary herself, but when thinking about it further I think it may, in fact, be the opposite. If the worshipper could imagine a deity to have any form at all, since none is suggested by the idol, the power of the human imagination may actually confuse the deity with the idol to an even greater extent.
Personally, my strongest reaction towards Freedberg’s comments was his brief but powerful mention of the Sinhalese monks. This idea of indifference not denying power towards the ritualistic ceremony or the idol being ritually acted upon, but instead strengthening its control, its absorptive hold over the idolaters and passive observers, immediately called to mind my own recent exploration of the dual power of the idol in this class’ midterm paper. As Freedberg states, “But dismissal of a customary action or apparent indifference to it does not diminish its psychological import…the fact is that the ceremony is preserved….That they do not necessarily admit to their reasons for doing so is itself a confirmation of the power of these practices. Only if they fell into desuetude would one be entitled to say that the spell is broken….” (Freedberg 86-87). Not only do we, as idolaters, manipulate the idol, but in fact the idol manipulates us.
One may argue the rituals have somehow been institutionalized within the structure of religious ceremony; an institution that does not require belief or active participation from each and every one of its members in order to thrive and continue existing. But the significance of the presence of the idol cannot be denied, especially when an iconoclastic moment utterly up-ends the need for that ceremony until another material object comes to take its place. The more and more I read on this subject, the more I can’t help but buy into Roy Ellen’s concept of the “duality of power.” I think, in the simplest of terms, that is exactly what is so fundamentally different between an absorptive Mitchell image saying “I don’t want to be seen” and the fish-people “idols” from Lepenski Vir. One screams touch me, pick me up, move me around, while the other turns their cheek away and wishes to be left alone. It is the danger of contact with the idol (tangling oneself up in an indexical web of Gellian social relationships with objects and subjects that follow no conventional animate or inanimate boundaries) that opens up a portal into an unforeseen realm where powers beyond the control of our material world cannot be barricade against. I would have to agree with many of the comments for this blog that the moment of creation is a profound one. Once the eye-opening ceremony has concluded, it’s really a “no turning back” moment.
Freedberg concludes that “all images have a signifying and significative function that is prior to institutionalization by means of consecration or any other act or rite.” He also mentions that “Images work because they are consecrated, but at the same time they work before they are consecrated.” (p98) It sounds like that all venerated images, regardless of they are found objects or manipulated images, have their own divine characteristics in themselves. Freedberg says that found objects work because they look outlandish, and manipulated images, according to Gadamar, work “because they are figured or shaped”. (p97) This mention seems to say that the major feature to decide the divinity of objects is their form. Then, do the images work as divine objects because of their shape? Can other objects not function as god unless they are shaped in certain forms? Then, how do I have to understand the hidden idols without shapes or forms, such as covered statue with veil which is depicted on Egyptian wall painting?
I found two of the discussions in Freedberg's 2nd chapter particularly interesting. In his anecdote at the beginning, his colleague is literally angry with finding a small ugly sculpture as something that had been imbued with so much power. She wanted it to be more imposing or simply to look a certain way. She was angry with the spirit for not choosing a better image to inhabit. I liked thinking about this with the discussion of the African mask that was "just cloth." Here people are quite literally choosing what the spirit is inhabiting and they are choosing something that does not look human and certainly doesn't look beautiful. I felt the agency (not used in the Gellian sense) in these two situations was very interesting. The Madonna figurine was imbued with all this power obviously by people and yet the woman was mad at it for looking the way it did when the poor sculpture has made no decisions in the situation, not to look the way it does or be worshiped. However in the case of the mask, a person is getting in it and not only choosing that mask to embody a spirit but also choosing how that spirit acts.
I was particularly intrigued by Freedberg's discussion of two somewhat parallel phenomenons regarding the consecration and animation of idols: that in many traditions "the final stage in the making of an image of a god [...] consisted of the rite of the Washing and Opening of the Mouth" (82), and his discussion of the powerful ability of eyes to bring an image to life, often dangerously (85-86, mostly). The emphasis on facial features as sources of animation reminded me of how in so many cave paintings, animals are drawn in great detail while humans lack facial features. Could there be a correlation between the powers of animation that the eyes and mouth can give to an image and the reluctance to put these features into art? Did paleolithic cave artists find it somehow less weird to portray a relatively animate-seeming horse or auroch than to create a human being?
I find much of these chapters reminiscent of 'double consciousness' and Gell. He echoes Gell's ideas of the eyes, and how opening the eyes livens the idol. I also like how he concludes that consecrating the image is necessary and not necessary, depending on the culture, and that the image sometimes is already alive. However, I believe that images are not alive until there is significant belief in the object; so there is an internal consecrating of the image before actual 'movement' or 'change'. If one believes in the image, isn't that enough for consecration for some? The person sees the image and breathes a 'life' into it through a psychic connection; thus many believe that the image caused the change. As he states, ritual is sometimes unnecessary for the idol's life, but there must be an internal ritual. Another thought is the idea of xoana, mentioned in chapter 2. He states that xoana have not been represented in the archaeological record. He fails to mention that Herms are well represented in archaeology and are in fact used as border markers. Herms, planklike structures that often (but not always) have an image of Hermes on the top, are very similar to these xoana that Freedberg speaks of. There seems to be a continuity of thought of aniconic images that become important as border markers - a temenos, if you will.
Freedberg’s examples from Greece and Nigeria of “primitive and barely formed objects (if they are formed at all)” (33) exhibit the power of objects over humans. He describes how some idolized objects will “evince the two primary attributes of life: mobility and sight” (33) and that these limbs and eyes hint at the possible agency of the object. However, he describes the ndakó gboyá mask as “terrifying,” although it is just a simple white form. Perhaps the absence of any indication of human features on the white cylinder form of the ndakó gboyá mask is what gives it its power. If worshipers cannot see an opening into their idol, or any semblance of human form on the object, then they have no way of predicting the powers of such an object. While it could be argued that an object with no opening in it to allow a connection with the recipient to be formed would fail as a powerful idol, it seems, at least in the examples posed by Freedberg, that the absence of form allows the human imagination to run wild, attributing all sorts of powers to such an object. If an object has indications of limbs and eyes the viewers of such an idol are able to predict its nature based on appearances. With the ambiguous form, that power is ambiguous also, and can easily be imposed on the idol. Something that is known to be present but cannot be seen invokes a natural fear in people, a fear of the unknown. With fear comes respect, and thus power is attributed to unformed idols. I also found the discussion of the ndakó gboyá mask fascinating because so far we have not come across an idol that is literally animated by a living person. Freedberg says “spirit, it may be argued, thus passes into material object only through the mediation of some live performer” (32), and the live performer inside the ndakó gboyá mask reminds me of Gell’s idea of the homunculus brought to life: the performer inside the ndakó gboyá mask is a homunculus, albeit a tangible one that resides physically in the material world. The layers of inner being contained in the ndakó gboyá mask make it a complex and powerful idol.
The “archaic” or “primitive” form is unfamiliar, suggest an unknown shape that does not fit into the learned moulds of images, our image inventory. It is thusly both wondrous and threatening, arrests the gaze. It has enough form to hint at the familiar; it fits in as neither highly crafted (the distinct product of human hands) nor roughly worked by some accidental force of nature. Such rudimentary signs remind me of the way alien language is often depicted today in works of science fiction. Their simplicity is arresting, yet the lines that form them are distinctly crafted by some form of intelligence. These have an eerie affect on us. Somehow these simple signs suggest a life force greater than our own. On Freedberg’s discussion of Western reticence in being self-described idolaters relates to Althusser’s writings on Ideological State Apparatuses. Althusser tells us, effectively, that the less visible an ideology is, the more power and sway it holds over its subjects. His discussion of the subject and its creation is quite interesting, as well.
Freedburg’s early chapters in this book helped me to acknowledge the full significance of idolatry as always being associated with the “other” and never with ourselves. When various authors we have read presented this point, I always took it as a critique of our ethnocentrism, rather than a piece of the “double-consciousness” which has contributed to the power of idols, icons, artwork, etc. In the story of Photinus, the recognition of the image’s power as a “token” is a clichéd afterthought which characterizes the human denial of idolatry after they participate in it. I think Freedburg’s evidence suggests that the inconstancy of our interpretation of idols, and occasional inability to interpret them is not demonstrative of our inability to affect them. Our ambiguous and contradictory responses are part of what gives them power.
It was interesting to bring relics into the topic of icons and sacred objects, as it is sometimes hard to distinguish between the two. I was a bit unsure of how the author felt about relics and images. Freedberg asks "Could it not be argued that people respond no differently to an image that is believed to work miraculously than to a relic which does the same?" (97). His answer left a lot to be desired for me, and I feel like relics deserve more discussion. Another interesting point between the two articles was the belief that objects become sacred once something or someone else is placed inside of them, like the West African ceremonial mask that gained power once an initiated man was inside of it, and the wooden statues that held secret doors for relics that gave them power. I think the idea of consecration is essential to our discussions of idols, as at times it may seem to people outside of the culture that arbitrary items are chosen to be respected as idols. Although Freedberg ultimately is a little confusing, stating that his argument "began by suggesting that consecration and, sometimes, the related act of inserting relics made images work; now we conclude that this is not, strictly speaking, the case," I think the idea of empowering objects and images helps explain how things earn their position as idols.
20 comments:
I find particularly important Freedberg’s intermittent reflections on the significance of apparent apathy toward consecration ceremony and of adamant denial of the liveliness of images by various parties. In Chapter Five he uses Gombrich’s description of the attitudes of Sinhalese monks and laymen, who “say the whole consecration ceremony is nonsense, worth preserving only because it is a picturesque tradition,” (86) to underline the power implicit in such an attitude. He writes “if anything, the more explicit the dismissal, the less convincing is the denial of its hold on the emotional and cognitive states implied by responses to the ritual itself” (86). Later Freedberg, citing Cyril Mango’s ideas on attitudes toward pagan images, remarks “...Christian writers...emphasized that they [pagan images] were inanimate (though one may be inclined to wonder at the motives for such emphasis)” (92). Following the denial of the liveliness or the power of an image further, one encounters the phenomenon of iconoclasm, and in contemplating the “emotional and cognitive” impetus for iconoclasm I find Freedberg’s argument about the discrete natures of figural or “art” images, and of natural symbols to be significant. He asks, “Is there any difference between responses to miraculous images, say, and to relics?” (97) He uses Gadamer’s distinction between works of art and natural symbols to conclude that figural images hold significance prior to consecration and that “images work in distinctive ways precisely because they are figured or shaped” (ibid). Images, he writes, “work because they are consecrated, but at the same time they work before they are consecrated” (98). Thinking very briefly about response to iconoclastic actions of the Taliban and to those of the U.S. military I wonder how much of the difference in response to the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha and to the damage archaeological sites due to construction of military bases was dependant on the figural quality, and therefore inherent power and significance, of the Buddha.
This from Anastasia:
Though Freedberg draws a sharp distinction between relics and images and I certainly see his point, could we not, in a way, look at a relic as an image that has come into contact with a holy spirit just as an image or statue would have if it were to perform miracles or be consecrated? In other words, could the body not be an image within which the spirit resides? Though this does not make relics and consecrated or miracle-performing images or statues equivalent, it does allow us to look at the similarities between the power of relics and that of images in a slightly different way. Also, it is possible to look at churches and other places of worship in a similar way. When churches are sometimes referred to as a ‘house of God’ is this not implying that God or some type of spirit is more present within the structure of the church than outside it? Further, new churches are consecrated in a similar way to images. While Freedberg does not mention architectural structures in the chapters we read, based on this reasoning I think it would be useful to also consider churches and other holy structures in this discussion of the power of relics and images.
Freedberg asks “Is the statue divine because it seems to come from heaven, because it looks venerable and therefore godly, or because it is named as a god?” (35). He dismisses the third reason because “the object has to have the potential for godly inherence even before it is taken for naming or consecration” (35), and argues that is potential must come from either ‘form’ or ‘chance discovery.’ I feel that this is an oversimplification of the process an images goes through to become divine, and that Freedberg creates a false dichotomy of sorts (or false trichotomy?).
A fourth route from which this potential could be derived is the process of creation. Michelangelo, especially later in his life, considered the process of sculpting a sort of personal prayer, and indeed, many artists will talk about investing their work with pieces of themselves while they create it. The cave paintings, as interpreted by Lewis-Williams, are probably the best example we have encountered in this class. Granted, these paintings did involve both ‘chance finding’ (their location on the wall was selected because of its resemblance to the image created) and ‘form’ (otherwise why bother painting anything at all), but the important aspect of these paintings was the process of creating them as part of a vision quest. In a sense, creating the images was akin to locating the spirits hidden behind the membrane of the cave wall.
Another route is through Gell’s social network. If all images are at the heart of a social nexus, as Gell argues, then some could, by virtue of this nexus, be elevated to the social position of ‘divine’ even without form or chance discovery (although these qualities would undoubtedly help). Hitler’s Yacht is a great example. It was not discovered by ‘chance’ nor did it have a particularly malevolent form. Yet it became associated with Hitler, and eventually BECAME everything that Hitler had stood for and done, as it interacted with people in its social network.
Finally, I want to take issue with Freedberg’s use of the term ‘form’. It seems far too poorly defined to be of any use. Depending on context (or social nexus) a divine form could be iconic or aniconic, abstract or realistic, large or small, colored or dull, common or unique, whatever it happens to be. I know that Freedberg takes his argument well beyond this point, but it is, I think, an important sticking point.
One of Freedburg's statements that really stood out to me is when he writes early in Chapter 2, "When is belief undermined by consciousness that the image is merely the token of what it represents? Perhaps it will be found that belief and response are never thus undermined or enhanced. Perhaps the undermining or enhancement forever remains secondary. We cannot yet decide" (30). This addresses the issue of double-consciousness that we've been talking about before, especially with regards to the Mitchell readings. I thought it was interesting that Freedburg brings up the point that although this exists, it might not even matter to the interpretation of an idol or image that it is not the actual object/person and that it has no effect on the power of the image. It is interesting to think of the processes that allow us to think of images as more than a mere lifeless representation of something and anthropomorphize it. Throughout the examples given by Freedburg, it is hard to isolate the images from their social or religious intentions.
I found both of these chapters to be really interesting, but what really caught my attention was the story about his collegue who went to find the statue of Mary to see why it became so famous. Having high expectations for the statue/image, she was looking for something to be extravagent. When finally looking upon it, she was upalled. "All she finds-or so she feels-is an apparently insignificant and rather ugly little sculpture...It should have been more beautiful, or more imposing" (27). While reading this, though it may be a little off topic, I began to remember a scene from one of the Indiana Jones movies. In this one scene Indi, along with other characters, were looking for the chalice of Christ. Standing before them were a large variety of beautiful chalices layed out on a large table, and out of these they had to pick the correct one. At first Indi believed the chalice to be the large beautiful one covered in jewels, but then after looking further he realized it was actually the small, plain, wooden chalice; out of all of them it was the ugly one. How come in our society when we think of images of worship, we think of them to be large and beautiful? When looking upon any images of Christ or Mary, we believe that these images are the actual embodyment of Christ himself; many believe that he is brought to life by this image. Through this embodyment we expect them to, I guess you can say, "look their best."
In Freedberg's fifth chapter on page 94 he writes, "Both the insertion of a symbolon in thetheurgic rites and the insertion of a relic in the Christian images seem to depend on a fundamental sense of the peculiar and specific effectiveness of a substance or object placed within an image and believed to be in sympathy with what it represents." This idea reminds me of Gell's discussion of the homunculus. When something is placed within something else, it gives the outer image or object more depth. It makes the idol easier to interact with, and in Freedberg's case, it makes it easier to have sympathy towards the idol and what it represents. I also like that he brings up that objects inside another object could be forgotten but that the object continues to be an idol. I don't, however, feel that the solution he offers for this problem is oversimplified. I think it is perfectly plausible that the object was initially idolized because of its inner "homunculus" and that the idolization continued because the knowledge that it was an idol was passed down.
In this week’s readings, I kept fixating on the concept of the image as vessel. I think this is a useful way to think of images that I think Freedberg could do more with. Freedberg references this idea in several ways. In the beginning of Chapter 5 he talks about the act of consecration and how some idols require the rite because “it transforms the manmade image into a sacred one, and invites the divinity to reside in it” (82). He also refers abstractly several times to the image as “receptacle,” especially in the context of the act of consecration. He also discusses reliquaries (literal sacred vessels) and the complex relationship between relic, image, and reliquary. At the end of the discussion of his discussion of the act of consecration and transition of image to idol, he seems to come to conclusion that consecration is not actually that important or necessary, it just kind of demonstrates the potentiality of an image. All images have the potential to be idols, whether they are made so through consecration, by their inherent qualities (form, age, etc), by the insertion of the sacred (relic or spirit), or any other means—I think the analogy of the vessel is useful in imagining this process. Some images are filled with life, and others are not and it is possible for images to lose and gain their spirit. Throughout these readings I also kept thinking about the Jesus, Mary, and Mother Theresa figures that people see everywhere from grilled cheese, cinnamon rolls, toast, cat fur, etc. These idols were a fun way to think about the potentiality of images/objects to be imbued with supernatural qualities, possibly a good example of the vessel idea.
Becky Laughner
One topic that we have not really begun to wrap our minds around is the role of the creator, the artist, the craftsman. Yes, Gell wrote quite a bit on the artist and the role of the index as abducting some sort of tangible piece of the artist, as extending her. But what of creating something that transcends the self?
It is difficult to imagine any one person as having the ability to create an embodied deity. Creating a shell or home for one settles much more gently in our minds. As Islam makes clear, no human has the power nor should have the arrogance to create an image of the deity.
In 'Divine Things,' Meskell motions towards the sculptor or artisan as having some sort of secret. Within the elite structures of Egyptian society, the artisan has a high place. Similarly, Freedberg speaks of the relic being placed within an object of worship or some powerful symbols hidden within the work. I like the idea of the artisan having great power, as having some sort of secret, but not entire credit or agency.
Now back to the World Series. PHILLIES WOOO!!!!!
Interestingly enough Freedburg's 2nd chapter especially reminds me slightly of Gell as he works out how to go about studying the power of images. He ends up with a kind of anthropology similar to Gells in that he wishes to depart from a limiting method of study that reads each reaction to an image or idol like a book. He instead desires to look at a wide range or image reactions in order to find reason and meaning in reactions as a whole. However, just because neither he nor Gell chooses to make a close meaningful analysis of individual reactions doesn't mean he doesn't acknowledge the individuality of them. I think this is an important method for anyone trying to make sense of such a complex wide ranging phenomenon. It is like building a house; you can make sure each window each plank of wood is manufactured to perfection and understand just how each of these things work but if you don't know how to put them all together, you won't have a house.
The origin or creation of an image is important in Freedburg's assessment, as it has been for other writers who consider the act of making and how origins of the made image or object are regarded. The act of creation is itself a very charged moment here, and the significance of that act persists in the image that has been made.
The awkwardly powerful capability of people to make and animate images lends danger to the act: “Animation is the final threat of artistic creativity.” While part of this danger is manifest in the process of creation (ie, the “eye-ceremony” and its taboos), it seems that the power of that moment persists in the object or image itself. In part this process suggests that the strength of the image, however it is recognized, is very closely tied to the power of the creator in a way that is implicitly acknowledged even in the moment of the image's own power. We have discussed this before, in regards to how the agency/power of the image is constituted through relations (ie in Gell); here, though, it seemed like the interpretation that the power of an image is derived from the charged act of creation/consecration was available not just on the level of removed analysis but also in the contextualized perception of the image.
Freedburg's discussion at the end of the consecration chapter, on relics versus images, seems to lend some weight to this distinction. The physical creation of the image—not just its “creation” as a social person or idol or anything else, a process that the relic also undergoes—distinguishes it as a particular kind of supernatural object. Not that either relic or the created image is necessarily more powerful than the other, but that the processes of empowerment might differ, such that the figured image is perceived as more related to the human agent (even if we can define both, as social objects, as equally products of this agency).
• Freedberg’s discussion of archaic cult statues is significant in the wider discussion of idolatry and the issue of whether it is the image itself or the prototype of the image that is being represented. I am curious as to why he didn’t investigate further why people would be so inclined to worship a non-representational image – his suggestion that “They seem archaic and austere, and qualities like these make them so compelling that we call them divine” (34) seems unconvincing to me. I would assume that a lifelike imagine thought to have divine power would be far more compelling. Maybe it is that a non-representational image allows the viewer to imbue it with whatever appearance he or she wishes to imagine the divine to have? Freedberg also neglects to say anything about how later Greek cult statues became incredibly detailed and lifelike, and I wonder if there are any theories as to how or why that change came about, since it is an extreme contrast to the worship of stones and planks of wood.
• I also wonder whether it is easier or more difficult to confuse worship with the image with worship of the prototype when the image is non-representational. My first instinct was to find it odd that the church, for example, would not be more comfortable with people imagining, say, the power of the virgin Mary embodied in a stone because it would be more difficult to confuse the stone with Mary herself, but when thinking about it further I think it may, in fact, be the opposite. If the worshipper could imagine a deity to have any form at all, since none is suggested by the idol, the power of the human imagination may actually confuse the deity with the idol to an even greater extent.
Personally, my strongest reaction towards Freedberg’s comments was his brief but powerful mention of the Sinhalese monks. This idea of indifference not denying power towards the ritualistic ceremony or the idol being ritually acted upon, but instead strengthening its control, its absorptive hold over the idolaters and passive observers, immediately called to mind my own recent exploration of the dual power of the idol in this class’ midterm paper. As Freedberg states, “But dismissal of a customary action or apparent indifference to it does not diminish its psychological import…the fact is that the ceremony is preserved….That they do not necessarily admit to their reasons for doing so is itself a confirmation of the power of these practices. Only if they fell into desuetude would one be entitled to say that the spell is broken….” (Freedberg 86-87). Not only do we, as idolaters, manipulate the idol, but in fact the idol manipulates us.
One may argue the rituals have somehow been institutionalized within the structure of religious ceremony; an institution that does not require belief or active participation from each and every one of its members in order to thrive and continue existing. But the significance of the presence of the idol cannot be denied, especially when an iconoclastic moment utterly up-ends the need for that ceremony until another material object comes to take its place. The more and more I read on this subject, the more I can’t help but buy into Roy Ellen’s concept of the “duality of power.” I think, in the simplest of terms, that is exactly what is so fundamentally different between an absorptive Mitchell image saying “I don’t want to be seen” and the fish-people “idols” from Lepenski Vir. One screams touch me, pick me up, move me around, while the other turns their cheek away and wishes to be left alone. It is the danger of contact with the idol (tangling oneself up in an indexical web of Gellian social relationships with objects and subjects that follow no conventional animate or inanimate boundaries) that opens up a portal into an unforeseen realm where powers beyond the control of our material world cannot be barricade against. I would have to agree with many of the comments for this blog that the moment of creation is a profound one. Once the eye-opening ceremony has concluded, it’s really a “no turning back” moment.
Freedberg concludes that “all images have a signifying and significative function that is prior to institutionalization by means of consecration or any other act or rite.” He also mentions that “Images work because they are consecrated, but at the same time they work before they are consecrated.” (p98) It sounds like that all venerated images, regardless of they are found objects or manipulated images, have their own divine characteristics in themselves. Freedberg says that found objects work because they look outlandish, and manipulated images, according to Gadamar, work “because they are figured or shaped”. (p97) This mention seems to say that the major feature to decide the divinity of objects is their form. Then, do the images work as divine objects because of their shape? Can other objects not function as god unless they are shaped in certain forms? Then, how do I have to understand the hidden idols without shapes or forms, such as covered statue with veil which is depicted on Egyptian wall painting?
I found two of the discussions in Freedberg's 2nd chapter particularly interesting. In his anecdote at the beginning, his colleague is literally angry with finding a small ugly sculpture as something that had been imbued with so much power. She wanted it to be more imposing or simply to look a certain way. She was angry with the spirit for not choosing a better image to inhabit. I liked thinking about this with the discussion of the African mask that was "just cloth." Here people are quite literally choosing what the spirit is inhabiting and they are choosing something that does not look human and certainly doesn't look beautiful. I felt the agency (not used in the Gellian sense) in these two situations was very interesting. The Madonna figurine was imbued with all this power obviously by people and yet the woman was mad at it for looking the way it did when the poor sculpture has made no decisions in the situation, not to look the way it does or be worshiped. However in the case of the mask, a person is getting in it and not only choosing that mask to embody a spirit but also choosing how that spirit acts.
I was particularly intrigued by Freedberg's discussion of two somewhat parallel phenomenons regarding the consecration and animation of idols: that in many traditions "the final stage in the making of an image of a god [...] consisted of the rite of the Washing and Opening of the Mouth" (82), and his discussion of the powerful ability of eyes to bring an image to life, often dangerously (85-86, mostly). The emphasis on facial features as sources of animation reminded me of how in so many cave paintings, animals are drawn in great detail while humans lack facial features. Could there be a correlation between the powers of animation that the eyes and mouth can give to an image and the reluctance to put these features into art? Did paleolithic cave artists find it somehow less weird to portray a relatively animate-seeming horse or auroch than to create a human being?
I find much of these chapters reminiscent of 'double consciousness' and Gell. He echoes Gell's ideas of the eyes, and how opening the eyes livens the idol. I also like how he concludes that consecrating the image is necessary and not necessary, depending on the culture, and that the image sometimes is already alive. However, I believe that images are not alive until there is significant belief in the object; so there is an internal consecrating of the image before actual 'movement' or 'change'. If one believes in the image, isn't that enough for consecration for some? The person sees the image and breathes a 'life' into it through a psychic connection; thus many believe that the image caused the change. As he states, ritual is sometimes unnecessary for the idol's life, but there must be an internal ritual.
Another thought is the idea of xoana, mentioned in chapter
2. He states that xoana have not been represented in the archaeological record. He fails to mention that Herms are well represented in archaeology and are in fact used as border markers. Herms, planklike structures that often (but not always) have an image of Hermes on the top, are very similar to these xoana that Freedberg speaks of. There seems to be a continuity of thought of aniconic images that become important as border markers - a temenos, if you will.
Freedberg’s examples from Greece and Nigeria of “primitive and barely formed objects (if they are formed at all)” (33) exhibit the power of objects over humans. He describes how some idolized objects will “evince the two primary attributes of life: mobility and sight” (33) and that these limbs and eyes hint at the possible agency of the object. However, he describes the ndakó gboyá mask as “terrifying,” although it is just a simple white form. Perhaps the absence of any indication of human features on the white cylinder form of the ndakó gboyá mask is what gives it its power. If worshipers cannot see an opening into their idol, or any semblance of human form on the object, then they have no way of predicting the powers of such an object. While it could be argued that an object with no opening in it to allow a connection with the recipient to be formed would fail as a powerful idol, it seems, at least in the examples posed by Freedberg, that the absence of form allows the human imagination to run wild, attributing all sorts of powers to such an object. If an object has indications of limbs and eyes the viewers of such an idol are able to predict its nature based on appearances. With the ambiguous form, that power is ambiguous also, and can easily be imposed on the idol. Something that is known to be present but cannot be seen invokes a natural fear in people, a fear of the unknown. With fear comes respect, and thus power is attributed to unformed idols.
I also found the discussion of the ndakó gboyá mask fascinating because so far we have not come across an idol that is literally animated by a living person. Freedberg says “spirit, it may be argued, thus passes into material object only through the mediation of some live performer” (32), and the live performer inside the ndakó gboyá mask reminds me of Gell’s idea of the homunculus brought to life: the performer inside the ndakó gboyá mask is a homunculus, albeit a tangible one that resides physically in the material world. The layers of inner being contained in the ndakó gboyá mask make it a complex and powerful idol.
The “archaic” or “primitive” form is unfamiliar, suggest an unknown shape that does not fit into the learned moulds of images, our image inventory. It is thusly both wondrous and threatening, arrests the gaze. It has enough form to hint at the familiar; it fits in as neither highly crafted (the distinct product of human hands) nor roughly worked by some accidental force of nature. Such rudimentary signs remind me of the way alien language is often depicted today in works of science fiction. Their simplicity is arresting, yet the lines that form them are distinctly crafted by some form of intelligence. These have an eerie affect on us. Somehow these simple signs suggest a life force greater than our own.
On Freedberg’s discussion of Western reticence in being self-described idolaters relates to Althusser’s writings on Ideological State Apparatuses. Althusser tells us, effectively, that the less visible an ideology is, the more power and sway it holds over its subjects. His discussion of the subject and its creation is quite interesting, as well.
Freedburg’s early chapters in this book helped me to acknowledge the full significance of idolatry as always being associated with the “other” and never with ourselves. When various authors we have read presented this point, I always took it as a critique of our ethnocentrism, rather than a piece of the “double-consciousness” which has contributed to the power of idols, icons, artwork, etc. In the story of Photinus, the recognition of the image’s power as a “token” is a clichéd afterthought which characterizes the human denial of idolatry after they participate in it. I think Freedburg’s evidence suggests that the inconstancy of our interpretation of idols, and occasional inability to interpret them is not demonstrative of our inability to affect them. Our ambiguous and contradictory responses are part of what gives them power.
This from Fran:
It was interesting to bring relics into the topic of icons and sacred objects, as it is sometimes hard to distinguish between the two. I was a bit unsure of how the author felt about relics and images. Freedberg asks "Could it not be argued that people respond no differently to an image that is believed to work miraculously than to a relic which does the same?" (97). His answer left a lot to be desired for me, and I feel like relics deserve more discussion. Another interesting point between the two articles was the belief that objects become sacred once something or someone else is placed inside of them, like the West African ceremonial mask that gained power once an initiated man was inside of it, and the wooden statues that held secret doors for relics that gave them power. I think the idea of consecration is essential to our discussions of idols, as at times it may seem to people outside of the culture that arbitrary items are chosen to be respected as idols. Although Freedberg ultimately is a little confusing, stating that his argument "began by suggesting that consecration and, sometimes, the related act of inserting relics made images work; now we conclude that this is not, strictly speaking, the case," I think the idea of empowering objects and images helps explain how things earn their position as idols.
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