Art History: The Hagia Sophia
Nathan Straffon
Our visit to the Hagia Sophia (Aya Sofia in Turkish) was an intensely thought-provoking experience for me, and one I won't soon forget. The building is located in the old part of Istanbul on the European side of the Bosporus, and the north part of the Golden Horn. From outside, the building's Byzantine architecture doesn't resemble contemporary mosques. Atop the building is a lofty central dome carried by pendentives, a device not commonly used for such large domes, which makes the Hagia Sophia all the more unique. The building's large buttresses and half domes give it the appearance of an assortment of structures, rather than one more uniformly constructed, which is understandable considering its long turbulent history. Though the building currently serves as a museum, it was once a patriarchal basilica, later turned into a mosque after the Turkish conquest of Constantinople in 1453.
When Turkish invaders of Constantinople first encountered the Hagia Sophia, they recognized its accomplishment. The suspension of a 150-foot, iron clad dome resting solely on pendentives was something to be admired by all. The decision not to destroy the church was made not only because of its remarkable architectural accomplishment, but because the Muslim conquerors recognized numerous similarities between Islam and Christianity. Unlike today, these two religions were not as distinctly polarized. The lack of distinction between the religions made the use of a converted church by Muslims less hypocritical than it would be perceived today.
During its transformation to a mosque, the building was greatly altered, both structurally and decoratively. Christian interior decorations were covered or destroyed to more suit the Islamic faith, and four minarets were constructed to complete the mosque's exterior appearance. Inside, mosaics were obscured under coatings of plaster ornament, especially those depicting the human form, which is strictly forbidden in any mosque. Today, many of these symbols are being restored. Some of the Christian symbols that were once covered by Islamic ones are being uncovered, but at what expense? Pondering this was a topic made my experience inside the magnificent structure all the more memorable.
As we walked around the interior of the building, we saw mosaic figures, painted crosses, and other Christian symbols that until recently, had been covered by Muslim ornamental plaster. Within our group, there were conflicting perspectives on the restoration work going on around us. One perspective claimed that removal of historic Islamic alteration should not be tolerated, even if it is covering a more ancient piece of history, because the discovered condition of the site is just as (if not more) historically relevant as earlier architectural characteristics. In the case of the Hagia Sophia, this means that any Muslim ornament covering a Christian symbol should not be removed, because the Muslim ornament is part of the building's history just as much as the Christian symbol, and its removal degrades the historical accuracy of the site.
Another perspective on the restoration justified the removal of any more recent historical additions if the goal of the restoration was to reveal a more ancient understanding of the site. However, if each argument is thought through critically, it is clear that both are imperfect. Leaving a site in its latest condition shows a clear bias for recent history. In other words, the latest history is the one that is studied and understood, while earlier history is overlooked because we are unwilling to restore it. However, if the site is restored, and history is removed, it can also be argued that this shows an active attempt to reveal a preferred history. Choosing to display one era over another demonstrates a preference for understanding one history and not the other in its original condition. Of course, the removed piece of history could be studied elsewhere after its removal, but isn't its location onsite just as significant and worth protecting?
In terms of Hagia Sophia, the arguments are further heated by the involvement of two major religions: Islam and Christianity. Choosing to display one piece of history and not another now becomes more contentious, because each piece of history carries with it the weight of its respective religion. This is probably why the Hagia Sophia is now a museum and not a place of worship.
Deciding which history – or religion – has more historical relevance than another has been a complicated issue in art history since the beginning of its application. It is impossible to objectively say one is more important than another, because there is always someone who will see the world differently. However, one possible reconciliation to this argument is to moderate the restoration. By restoring as much history as possible at a site while still maintaining its discovered condition will, I think, show the least amount of bias for one history over another. Preference for understanding one history cannot be tolerated if we are attempting to understand all that mankind is capable of. If we are going to appreciate human accomplishment, regardless of religious affiliation, we must work hard to fairly restore it all.
As I walked away from the enormous monument, I carried with me new perspectives on complicated issues. The new information I had acquired on art history and the complicated situation between Islam and Christianity furthered my understanding of the world. The Hagia Sophia is much more than just a building. It is a symbol with multiple messages. It represents different things to different people, and all are legitimate interpretations. To me, the Hagia Sophia is an incredible landmark that demonstrates the beauty in ambiguity. Don’t miss the chance to witness such a spectacle and take away from it your own perspective!