First Things
Aug 10 2012
Keeping the Khachkars
August 10, 2012
Ansel Oommen
The cross is the most familiar symbol of Christianity worldwide, but
nowhere is this iconography as crucial or entrenched in the culture as
it is in Armenia. Thousands of khachkars, or cross-stones, dot the
mountains of the world’s oldest Christian nation, revealing both the
art of spiritual expression and its modern desecration.
The medieval monk Thomas à Kempis once remarked, `In the Cross is
salvation; in the Cross is life; in the Cross is protection against
our enemies; in the Cross is infusion of heavenly sweetness; in the
Cross is strength of mind; in the Cross is joy of spirit; in the Cross
is excellence of virtue; in the Cross is perfection of holiness . . .’
Little wonder, then, that the cross could serve as a champion symbol
of Armenian national identity and union. The conversion of the
Armenian people and the instatement of Christianity as a state
religion early in the fourth century ushered in a new era of national
consciousness.
This burgeoning perception of Armenia as an entity distinct from the
surrounding Zoroastrians was consolidated by several factors of the
time: the invention of the Armenian alphabet, the effacement of the
former pagan temples, and Gregory the Illuminator’s evangelical reign
as the first head of the Armenian Church. The latter (now Armenia’s
patron saint) particularly catalyzed the movement. Born into royalty,
Gregory managed to convert his persecutor, King Tiridates III, and the
nation. To preserve the newfound Armenian identity, he then ordered
the creation of giant crosses’the khachkar’s predecessor.
The khachkar resembles other forms of Christian art, namely the Celtic
high cross and the Lithuanian Kryždirbyst. A type of relief sculpture,
it features a variety of floral, vegetative, and geometric motifs, as
well as tableaus of famous biblical scenes. Beautiful, yes’but in
order to understand how a medieval stone became so charged with the
Armenian spirit, a lesson in iconology is needed.
The cross was not always a well-esteemed symbol; it once represented
the basest form of execution, reserved for the disgraceful. The
resurrection of Jesus, however, and the persecution of the early
Armenian Christians transformed the cross into an image of
soteriological victory: an emblem of triumph over the mortal vale.
Prior to and during the conversion, mountain worship was prevalent in
Armenian paganism. In the Bible, mountains connote austerity,
reverence, and closeness with God. Moses, for example, communicated
with God through the Burning Bush on Mount Sinai. For the early
Armenians, there was no better way to express their new Christian
heritage than through the mountains, with which their land was replete
(Armenia’s ancient territory included several biblical mounts).
Gradually, the construction of cross-like steles near homes and
churches came to replace the pagan worship of mountains.
When Gregory the Illuminator envisioned the khachkar, he believed it
would sanctify surrounding areas. Although religious and secular
agendas were intrinsically at odds, a symbol incorporating both
Christian and pagan elements (a cross and stone) could be a mediator
between the two. In turn, the khachkar began to assume various
ecclesial functions’as gravestone, hallowed effigy, intervening
spirit, talisman, and commemorative shrine of events.
Thus it was only fitting that the khachkar turned into a uniquely
Armenian fixture in graveyards, monasteries, cathedrals, residences,
roadsides, and eventually, everywhere.
>From an artistic perspective, the creative medium of rock boasts a
powerful statement. Indeed, the rock has enjoyed several iconic
references in the Bible. Psalm 118 speaks of how `the stone the
builders rejected has become the cornerstone,’ a phrase echoed by
Jesus in the Gospels and by Peter in Acts of the Apostles. Jesus tells
Peter (petra being the Latin word for rock) that `on this rock I build
my church.’ Such strong imagery was necessary for the Armenian
Church’s survival; the cross-stone embodied the qualities of
permanence, stability, and grounded faith.
Of course, practical considerations would also play a huge role.
Armenia, with its vast mountain ranges and dormant volcanoes, would
have no trouble sourcing the slate and tuff, both relatively workable,
for construction purposes. In a region prone to earthquakes, man-made
structures had to prove sturdy. The rock, as a substrate of spiritual
expression, signified the eternal and the infinite, amidst an
unpredictable future.
But the material, no matter how remarkable, is nothing without the
craftsman. In the case of the Armenians, anyone with religious and
moral conviction could erect a khachkar. Moreover, khachkars were
commissioned for a number of social, spiritual, or individual
reasons’anything from the planting of a garden to victory in war. Some
were dedicated to saints, but all were a source of pride for the
artist and the patron, the country, the church, and ultimately, God.
Today, khachkars (some a millennium old) face destruction in Turkey
and Azerbaijan. The last of the largest collections of khachkars, the
Armenian Cemetery in Jugha in the Azerbaijani exclave of Nakhchivan,
was purposefully annihilated in 2005 after several years of
intermittent attacks. Wielding sledgehammers and shovels, Azeri
soldiers demolished the last remaining khachkars in the area. Turkey
has ordered its own elimination program in Kars and Ani, with
khachkars turning up as building stones, gravel, and other debris.
As the late Dr. Armen Haghnazarian, former director of Research on
Armenian Architecture, commented after the Jugha cemetery destruction,
`The destruction of Nakhijevan’s Armenian cultural heritage at state
level is a crime not only against the Armenian nation but against all
civilization. The annihilation of such monuments . . . is defilement
of sacred tenets of all religions.’
Needless to say, the violence is reminiscent of the larger Armenian
Genocide. Some might contend that while unfortunate, the death of
these artifacts remains only a cultural casualty. However, it is in
fact equivalent to the loss of human life. When something so ingrained
with cultural self is forcefully expunged, it is a direct assault
against that culture and its humanity. It is in essence declaring,
`Those people did not exist’they never have.’
In light of the Turks’ and Azerbaijanis’ wrongdoing, it can be easy to
nurture a profound prejudice against them. However, the conflict was
never merely an Armenian or a Turkish or an Azeri one: at its very
core, it whispers something primal. All types of organizations run the
risk of group polarization. Where a population is sufficiently diverse
and where freedom and tolerance are prized, this is a lesser danger.
But under tight government censorship like that of Azerbaijan and
Turkey, these factors are oppressed, breeding a cult-like system where
anything that is unlike the government is against the government.
Why? Nationalism and similar phenomena operate by appealing to the
vulnerable self. Offering identity and solidarity, they seem a quick
fix for individual shortcomings. But by joining the group, individuals
compromise their beliefs and lower their inhibitions in order to gain
the benefits of a social network: purpose, protection, and sense of
belonging. Those that are marginalized become the new enemies. Thus,
the group mindset slowly erodes individual accountability, causing
members to commit acts they would hesitate to do on their own.
Polarization can make people forget that others, outside of their
affiliation, are in fact humans as well. And when they forget,
inhumanity abounds.
Once again, the ancient khachkar is summoned as a rallying symbol of
Armenian identity, though this time, it is just as much invested in
the Turkish and Azeri people. If the last of this cultural cornerstone
is destroyed, they too will lose something precious.
Ansel Oommen is a calligrapher, poet, and freelance writer with a keen
interest in Christian iconography and medieval illumination. His work
has been published in Blueprint, Living Green Magazine, and the Bug
Club Magazine.