#Mirian III First Christian King of Georgia

[suetravelblog]

Mtskheta, Jvari Monastery, Svetistkhoveli Church Georgia

Mtskheta Orthodox Church The daytrip to Mtskheta, Jvari Monastery, and Svetistkhoveli Cathedral was very educational. The historical area in central-eastern Georgia is wrapped in a peaceful environment of lush greenery and expansive mountain vistas. The stunning area is located about 12 miles north of Tbilisi at the confluence of the Mtkvari and Aragvi Rivers. Mtskheta is home to UNESCO World…

[paramedicabroad]

Historical Monuments of Mtskheta

Nestled at the confluence of the Mtkvari and Aragvi rivers, the ancient town of Mtskheta in Georgia is a living testament to the country’s rich history and spiritual heritage. As one of Georgia’s oldest cities and the former capital of the Kingdom of Iberia, Mtskheta holds a special place in the hearts of Georgians. The town's historical monuments, recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, offer a captivating glimpse into the region's early Christian architecture and cultural significance. Let's explore the magic of Mtskheta's sacred landmarks.

In 1994, the historical monuments of Mtskheta were designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, acknowledging their outstanding universal value. The recognition helps protect these ancient sites, ensuring they remain a part of Georgia’s cultural legacy for future generations.

Dominating the skyline of Mtskheta, Svetitskhoveli Cathedral is an architectural marvel and one of the most venerated religious sites in Georgia. Built in the 11th century on the site of Georgia’s first Christian church, it is said to house the burial site of Christ’s robe. The cathedral’s intricate stone carvings and frescoes depict biblical scenes and Georgian history, making it a masterpiece of medieval Georgian architecture.

Perched atop a hill overlooking Mtskheta, Jvari Monastery offers panoramic views of the town and its surrounding landscape. This 6th-century monastery, whose name means "Monastery of the Cross," is an exquisite example of early Georgian church architecture. The simple yet elegant design of Jvari has inspired many other churches in the region.

Located near Svetitskhoveli, Samtavro Monastery is another significant religious site in Mtskheta. This complex includes a church and a nunnery, dating back to the 4th century and later expanded in the 11th century. It is known for its beautiful frescoes and the tombs of King Mirian III and Queen Nana, who were instrumental in the spread of Christianity in Georgia.

Mtskheta is not only about its standing monuments but also its rich archaeological heritage. Excavations in the area have uncovered numerous artifacts, from ancient pottery to gold jewelry, providing insights into the daily lives and customs of its early inhabitants. These findings are displayed in the Mtskheta Archaeological Museum.

The historical monuments of Mtskheta are home to several revered Christian relics, which attract pilgrims from all over the world. Among them is the life-giving pillar (Svetitskhoveli) and parts of the Holy Cross, underscoring Mtskheta’s role as a spiritual center.

Mtskheta’s monuments have played a crucial role in the cultural and religious development of Georgia. The town’s historic churches have been central to the Georgian Orthodox faith, serving as the site of many significant events in the country’s religious history.

Today, Mtskheta remains a vibrant town where history and modernity coexist. Visitors can wander through its ancient streets, attend services at its historic churches, and experience the spiritual ambiance that has defined Mtskheta for millennia.

Exploring the historical monuments of Mtskheta is like taking a step back in time. Each church, monastery, and artifact tells a story of faith, resilience, and the enduring spirit of the Georgian people. This sacred town invites you to immerse yourself in its rich heritage and discover the timeless beauty of Georgia’s ancient heart.🏕️🏛️🇬🇪

[spilledreality]

Still Reelin’ from Zuart’noc’

In the tradition of Jesus and his apostles, faith healing as evidence of a Christian divinity is central — at least in Eusebius’s account — to Armenia’s conversion to Christianity. Gregory the Illuminator, imprisoned under Trdat III, cures the ailing King; Trdat is baptized soon after and declares Christianity the state’s official religion, ending its long history of polytheistic practice. As R. L. Wilken (First Thousand Years: A Global History of Christianity) points out, this history is part of an emerging paradigm in, or at least variation on, evidential faith healing. In contrast with the miracles of Jesus, which focused primarily on the ostracized and poor, specific miracles began to be conducted for the benefit of state rulers who could, from above, impose their newfound beliefs upon the ruled. Georgia’s Christian history follows a similar pattern, with the enslaved ascetic Saint Nino providing a remedy through prayer for the Georgian queen Nana; her husband, the King Mirian, then recalls Christ’s name while lost in the woods, and his repeated utterance of helps him find his way.

In a mirroring of the Christian themes of fertility from barrenness, health from sickness, the foundation of 7th century Armenian cathedral Zuart’noc’ was not only laid near the site of the Trdat III’s conversion, it lay amidst a “cultivated oasis of orchards, vineyards, and fields” in sharp contrast with the rocky, barren plains of the surrounding area. The church’s facade was decorated, meanwhile, with carved grapevines and pomegranates, further driving home the connection to plenty.

Christina Maranci, one of if not the foremost contemporary authority on the temple, takes on Walter Kleinbauer’s more established reading of its architecture, which found formal similarities between its aisled tetraconch layout and that of churches in northern Mesopotamia. Maranci doesn’t dispute the artistic similarities, nor Kleinbauer’s speculation as to the potential for a common origin in Byzantium, but she does dispute the nature of the relationship between the Byzantine Empire and Armenia (as well as, by extension, the occupied Byzantine border territories of the era). These territories, Maranci argues, were not passive subjects of cultural influence but active imitators who frequently used artistic production as a measured means of forging and strengthening geopolitical alliances. Maranci’s big intervention, and what makes Zuart’noc’ so fascinating to me, is highlighting its positioning within the larger struggle for power between Arab and Byzantine powers in the 7th century, as well as the struggles within Christianity between Chalcedonian and Miaphysite views—ultimately, she makes the case that political incentives are equally or more compelling explanations than formal aesthetic reasons for many of the specifics of Zuart’noc’’s construction.

Kleinbauer’s observations about Zuart’noc’’s Ionic capitals and Hellenic monograms — subtle-ish details in the construction and design of the massive, multistory Armenian church — are specifically attributed by Maranci to the political and religious maneuvering of the Armenian patriarch Nerses III to actively align himself with the area’s Orthodox Byzantine occupiers. In part, this is to do with the patriarch’s Chalcedonian religious leanings; having spent time traveling Byzantium, she speculates, Nerses may have encountered and become sympathetic to Orthodox views prior to his election as the Armenian Catholicos. At this time in the Byzantine, Sassanian, and Arab empires, religion and politics are almost impossible to divorce — the Armenian patriarch would have “played a major role not only in doctrinal affairs but also in policy-making,” and Wilken notes that “[p]olitical loyalty and religious conformity” were essentially “inseparable.” There is another potential motive for Nerses’s political affiliations, however, hinted at but never stated explicitly in the text, which does not require a syllogism. Maranci notes that the patriarch’s predecessor, Ezr, had been killed by Arab tribes in the Massacre of Dvin in 640. Proper political alignment, therefore, held the potential for life-or-death stakes (for Nerses’s constituents as well as himself), and even within his own church, the imposition of Chalcedonian views onto his patriarchate resulted in open protestation by his bishops. Eventually a document would be brought by one of these bishops which indicated potential Miaphysite leanings on Nerses’s part, leading the Catholicos to temporarily flee Armenia for Constantinople. Here, it is arguably his religious views which result from political necessity, rather than the vice-versa (Nerses’s political outlook deriving from religious inclination). Given that the only evidence for genuine Chalcedonian belief which Maranci presents is the possibility that the patriarch “may have come into contact with Orthodox Christianity,” and given as well the conflicting evidence demonstrated by the damning document (produced by the Armenian bishop to Constans) suggesting Armenian allegiance — one wonders if this is an equally legitimate hypothesis. Regardless, it’s clear that the conflicting political/religious obligations and pressures of the era — between the Miaphysite bishops/Armenian populace and the ruling Chalcedonian Byzantines, who provided military protection (but also controlled, militarily) Armenia — required a careful straddling act. Zuart’noc’ needed to simultaneously signal allegiance to Byzantine authorities, especially Constans II, while also abstaining from overt public support for the emperor’s Hellenic and Chalcedonian agendas. Despite a notable setback in the way of a self-imposed exile to Constantinople during the 650s, Nerses would eventually succeed in this balancing act — but his gamble on the Byzantines in the long-run proved prove less fruitful. By 662 the Arab tribes had regained control of Armenia and would continue to hold it for another two-hundred years.

Where the parallels between Byzantine and Zuart’noc’’s architectural design, as argued by Kleinbauer, appear limited to the temple’s Ionic capitals and monogram medallions, Maranci suggests a handful of potential additional links. One of these links is Zuart’noc’’s eagle capitals, which Maranci ties to similar — but non-identical — models in Constantinople from the fourth and fifth centuries. Moreover, the eagle would likely have been an omnipresent symbol in Byzantine military attire and fortifications at the time. Nerses’s time in the Byzantine military would thus have exposed him to such imagery, and its symbolic power may have been strong enough a signal to, especially in combination with its Ionic counterparts, help assure Constans of Nerses’s political allegiance. The naming of Zuart’noc’ — simultaneously functioning as an indirect nod to Gregory’s “heavenly host” without othering the Armenian patriarchate from Constantinople by overtly honoring a distinctly Armenian figure — may have had a similar political role. Even the aisled tetraconch pattern — which Kleinbauer, despite his concession of Byzantine influence on the temple’s columnar exedrae, sees as an alliance with Syrian Monophysites  — are suggested as a further Byzantium link: Maranci makes the argument that the foundations of Syrian tetraconch churches were almost universally Orthodox,  and suggests in her footnotes that there may very easily have been tetraconch structures in Byzantium and Constantinople which have since been destroyed. (Of course, we might equally speculate that Armenian predecessors to Zuart’noc’, boasting any number of its alleged Byzantine references, existed and have likewise been lost to time.)

In drawing these connections between the architectural design of Zuart’noc’ and the political maneuvering of Nerses, however, Maranci largely ignores the decision-making role of the temple’s architects and risks overstating the influence of the Armenian Catholicos — himself merely the commissioner of the temple — on the formal qualities of his commissions. While bigger-picture elements like the four-shell apse structure may surely have been requested or approved by Nerses out of political motivation, one wonders the degree to which minutiae like capital design can be confidently ascribed to a commissioner. Nerses was no architect, and it’s never established (or even argued) that while serving in a military unit or visiting the capitol that he would have been paying such careful attention to — and had the skill to later relate to a team of architects — any formal details of Byzantine architecture. One wonders the degree to which, in searching for ulterior motives, or else locked within the discursive confines of Kleinbauer’s framing, the simplest mechanism for Byzantine, Syrian, and Mesopotamian architectural overlap is excluded from speculation: that Zuart’noc’’s formal elements and designs were largely the result of the its unknown architects. I see two ways in which this possibility is compatible with Maranci’s overarching argument: either Nerses sought out Byzantine architects for his project, or else requested from his architects the general commission of a temple with Byzantine elements.