Keeping the Khachkars

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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.

 

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