AN: You call the Church of Nerl “the heart of Russia.” And where is the heart of Byzantium?
AL: The spiritual center of Byzantium was a church that no longer exists — the Church of the Theotokos Pharos in the Great Imperial Palace in Constantinople. A small, incredibly beautiful church that housed the main relics of Christianity, especially relics related to the Passion of Christ. Byzantine emperors brought ambassadors here, even non-Christians. It’s mentioned in the Tale of Bygone Years that Russian pagan ambassadors were brought here to demonstrate that Byzantium held the main spiritual values of Christianity.
The spiritual strength was concentrated in Constantinople. When the Crusaders captured Constantinople in 1204, the most intelligent ruler of the time, Louis IX of France, understood that to make Paris the center of Western Christianity, he needed to acquire the great relics of the Pharos Church. Paying enormous sums, almost half of France’s national budget, he bought the Crown of Thorns and 21 other major relics from the Crusader king Baldwin II and transported them to Paris. There, he built a Gothic replica of the Pharos Church — the famous Sainte-Chapelle. And he succeeded: Paris became a spiritual center of Western Catholicism, comparable to Rome. But the roots of this project were Byzantine — an attempt to transfer the sacred space from one place to another, which happened many times in history with the New Jerusalem and others.
The Church of the Intercession on Nerl is a metaphor, but in terms of spiritual significance and influence on people, it’s true! Seeing it for the first time was an epiphany.
AN: The heart of Byzantium is the Church of the Theotokos Pharos, but what about the mind?
AL: It’s not Newton’s binomial; it’s the Cathedral of Holy Wisdom [Hagia Sophia]. The greatest church of all times and peoples. I have seen a lot in life, but nothing compares to it — neither in architecture nor in the power of the image nor in the depth of spatial solutions. I am very glad I could live in that space physically and. mentally for many years during my scientific work.
AN: Byzantine art was born in a regime-based state. Yet, this art is both perfect and free. How did the celestial Jerusalem coexist with an unbending political-administrative system, and where does the sense of freedom amid strict canon come from?
AL: Our stereotypical views of Byzantium as a rigid state and culture are not quite accurate. In the collective consciousness, Byzantium is often depicted as a flurry of masks — sometimes negative, sometimes gilded but fake, in modern terms. These masks are only loosely related to the true Byzantium.
AN: And what is the face and what is the mask?
AL: The face of Byzantium, if briefly, is the icon of the Vladimir Mother of God. Visit the Church of Nicholas in Tolmachi near Tretyakov Gallery, look at the icons of the Mother of God and the Infant — nothing else from early 12th century Byzantine frescoes remains, and you will see the face of Byzantium.
The same applies to early Byzantium — the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul and its space. It’s also a face! The same with the canon. Byzantine artists were surprisingly free according to our understanding. This is not wishful thinking but based on a remarkable text — Epiphanius the Wise, a Russian monk and scholar, describing Feofan Grek’s work in Moscow in the early 15th century. He marvels that Feofan doesn’t look at patterns but paints from his head, creating images. What canon are we even talking about? We know Feofan’s frescoes — just visit the Church of the Savior on Ilyina Hill in Novgorod.
AN: We study Byzantium through sources. We see how modern sources interpret the truth about events. Does the image serve as the most authentic witness and narrator? Can it lie?
AL: Yes! Even when an image is intentionally untruthful, it reveals itself. We live in a world where forgeries are everywhere — in science, art, politics, life. And ordinary people find it hard to distinguish what is genuine from what is tendentiously fake. But if we don’t develop the skill of discernment, we will lose the main thing. Life will be reduced to imitation and pseudo-values. It’s not an academic matter but a human universal. Many people, unfortunately, find it more convenient to live with masks.
AN: Your major contribution to Byzantology is the discovery of an entire area, “hierotopy.” I remember how skeptically your early talks about hierotopy were received. This summer, at the Congress of Byzantine Studies in Belgrade, a round table was devoted to hierotopy, and it became clear that it has entered the global toolkit of Byzantologists and is applied much broader than just art history. How did this discovery come about?
AL: Creating something new, extraordinary, and astonishing was not my goal. When one of my respected senior colleagues asked, “Are you trying to become the new Wölfflin?,” I was surprised by such a question. Since student years, I felt that the methodology of my discipline, which I sincerely loved and studied with interest, was very limited. Hierotopy — this is the creation of specific sacred spaces, regarded as a special form of creative activity, as well as a specific field of historical and cultural research that identifies and analyzes examples of this creativity.
The idea of hierotopy emerged as a way of seeing, as another dimension that does not negate anything but simply offers another perspective. Yes, the reaction from some domestic colleagues was very strange and, frankly, not very friendly, but I was supported by colleagues and friends, distinguished scientists of international renown, mostly older. Among them were Hans Belting, Salvatore Settis, Peter Brown, Slobodan Curcic, Gerhard Wolf, Oleg Grabar, and others. They immediately saw great potential in the concept of hierotopy and expressed their firm “yes” both verbally and in action. It was an important defense, although I had no doubts about the correctness of the idea. Psychologically, it’s difficult when you come up with a radically new idea and around you are told it’s doubtful, sometimes even heretical. Some critics, often not reading a single text properly, accused me of both.
AN: What is hierotopy, and what has it changed in world science?
AL: The main idea of hierotopy is that sacred space is created by specific people, in specific circumstances, with specific goals. This activity, which existed over centuries, should be regarded as a special form of human creativity alongside others — literary, musical, visual. And we need a new branch of cultural history that studies this sphere of creativity.
AN: Can you give a clear example of how the hierotopy method works?
AL: The New Jerusalem of Patriarch Nikon near Moscow. It was an ordinary Russian land of the 17th century, unremarkable in itself. A specific person, Patriarch Nikon, had an idea in his mind. He saw that this land was Holy. And he began to realize this vision practically. He created a new sacred topography: the Istra River became the Jordan, Mount Olivet was a nearby hill, Mount Tabor, and a whole monastic complex called the “New Jerusalem.”
The basis of hierotopic creativity is the same everywhere: first, an image or idea appears in the mind, which gradually materializes into reality. This image is like an icon- intermediary linking worlds. The Patriarch Nikon complex is a spatial icon. Was there a similar story in the history of art? It was traditionally believed that the objects of study were mainly material — architecture, images, decorative elements…
AN: So, describing culture and hierotopy, are they a key to understanding?
AL: It’s an attempt to understand how the Byzantines created. They started not from laying bricks but from the idea-image. And here, hierotopy allows us to identify a whole group of great artists, one of whom was Emperor Justinian. Another is the aforementioned Patriarch Nikon. And in Western tradition, Abbot Suger, who developed the concept of space in the first Gothic church of Saint-Denis.
AN: Were they artist-thinkers?
AL: They created an image or idea similar to film directors. And then they involved craftsmen to materialize and realize their idea on material carriers. The carrier could be a word — many writers modeled space with words. Therefore, the hierotopic approach is now spreading into philology.
AN: You have been engaged with Byzantium for 40 years. Have you understood it completely?
AL: Not entirely. But what has appeared over these years? A feeling of Byzantium in the gut. This, by the way, is a problem for some Western colleagues and outstanding scientists: they know a lot about Byzantium but do not feel it. The main result of my long-term work is the ability to feel what Byzantium can do and what it cannot — to see the true face, not be fooled by masks.
