God’s Restless Gaze – Part One
an article by Arthus Aghajanian in the
November 2025 issue
of The Christian Century
Christ’s face emerges from a shimmering gold background, his brow slightly
furrowed, lips pressed in a quiet, knowing tension, one hand raised in blessing while the other clutches a bejeweled Gospel
Book. His gaze holds us captive.
One eye is stern, shadowed, and piercing; the other is softer, luminous – almost sorrowful.
The sixth-century icon form Saint Catherine’s Monastery in Egypt does not fully resolve into a single expression. Instead, it fractures into two: judgment and mercy, severity and compassion, divinity
and humanity. Half his face regards the viewer with the unflinching gaze
of a judge who sees all; the other side looks upon us with a quiet, aching tenderness, the face of one who knows our suffering.
This dual gaze is unsettling.
Who do you say that I am?
The icon at Saint Catherine’s is one of the oldest surviving depictions
of Christ Pantocrator, the traditional Eastern Orthodox image of Christ as the almighty ruler and judge of humanity. Visually it is also one of the boldest – it represents a singular vision.
Various theories exist to explain the mysterious, asymmetrical face. I see it as an invitation to explore that meaning of divine judgment – and
to examine our culture’s discomfort with the idea of God who judges.
Christ Pantocrator emerged in the Byzantine
world during a period of theological and political consolidation. The icon
was meant to assert Christ’s dual nature as both merciful savior and ultimate authority.
Often displayed prominently in the iconostases and apses of churches and monasteries, icons of this type become truly
awe-inspiring when they took the form of monumental frescoes or mosaics at the apex of the inner dome, where they presided
over worshiper from the highest point of the building.
In the Byzantine Empire, religious and imperial authority were tightly interwoven.
The Pantocrator was central to both the liturgical life of the church and
the broader worldview of Byzantine society. For medieval Christians, it
became a potent symbol of divine governance that bridged the earthly and heavenly realms in a single, commanding gaze. This image of God would ultimately guide worship, frame theological debates, and
affirm Christ’s place at the center of history and salvation.
But it also represented God’s mercy and guidance.
As a focal point of prayer, a Pantocrator icon reminded worshipers that Christ was both their sovereign and their advocate. The raised hand in blessing reinforced the idea that divine judgment was deeply
intertwined with love, correction, and salvation. The Pantocrator has remained
the central icon of the Eastern Orthodox Church, offering the devout reassurance that its members are seen, known, and ultimately
cared for.
Today, we often liken the pervasive oversight of our surveillance state to the all-seeing eye of God.
But our responses to these two limitless gazes are vastly different. We
tend to navigate the omnipresence of surveillance with resignation because we accept it as the cost of the comforts and convenience
of modern technology. Meanwhile, we push back against the notion of an always
present, judging God, whose gaze can rupture our complacency.
Judgment carries a negative connotation.
We dislike being scrutinized and evaluated, especially by figures of authority who, we assume, will inevitably deem
us inadequate. Our anxiety about being watched has only intensified with
the rise of ever more sophisticated and invasive systems of surveillance. In
contrast to the relationship of the Pantocrator, the omnipresent eye of the surveillance state serves to constantly monitor
and control. This watchful gaze is a tool for maintaining order and reinforcing
the power of those who wield its apparatus.
We tolerate surveillance when its’s impersonal and algorithmic –
a far cry from the intimate redemptive scrutiny of divine judgment, which can lay us bare.
There’s a paradox here: We are anxious about the reach of the
impersonal eye, and we adjust our behavior accordingly. Yet we’re also
resigned to continual surveillance, having normalized it as a routine backdrop to modern life.
At some point, we traded freedom for convenience – convenience offered by the same technocratic system that reduces
us to patterns of quantifiable behavior.
To be seen is to be measured, and to be measured is to be judged.
Judgment follows the gaze like a shadow. Though we may not think
about it, modern surveillance leads to a new form of judgment through classifying, predicting, and determining outcomes. Such goals are accomplished without mercy or appeal. This impersonal system of
control influenced behavior through fear and self-regulation. Perhaps we’ve
made our peace with being watched, so long as those watching ask nothing of us but our data.
But the gaze of God is different –
it doesn’t collect, it calls…….
- Continued next week -
