Its a church. Its a mosque. Its Hagia Sophia. Kelly Wall
They say that if walls could talk,
each building would have a story to tell,
but few would tell so many fascinating
stories in so many different voices
as the Hagia Sophia, or holy wisdom.
Perched at the crossroads
of continents and cultures,
it has seen massive changes
from the name of the city where it stands,
to its own structure and purpose.
And today, the elements
from each era stand
ready to tell their tales
to any visitor who will listen.
Even before you arrive at the Hagia Sophia,
the ancient fortifications
hint at the strategic importance
of the surrounding city,
founded as Byzantium
by Greek colonists in 657 BCE.
And successfully renamed as
Augusta Antonia, New Rome and Constantinople
as it was conquered, reconquered,
destroyed and rebuilt
by various Greek, Persian and
Roman rulers over the following centuries.
And it was within these walls that
the first Megale Ekklesia, or great church,
was built in the fourth century.
Though it was soon burned
to the ground in riots,
it established the location for
the region’s main religious structure
for centuries to come.
Near the entrance,
the marble stones with reliefs
are the last reminders
of the second church.
Built in 415 CE, it was destroyed
during the Nika Riots of 532
when angry crowds at a chariot race
nearly overthrew the emperor,
Justinian the First.
Having barely managed to retain power,
he resolved to rebuild the church
on a grander scale,
and five years later, the edifice
you see before you was completed.
As you step inside, the stones
of the foundation and walls
murmur tales from their homelands
of Egypt and Syria,
while columns taken from the Temple
of Artemis recall a more ancient past.
Runic inscriptions carved by the
Vikings of the emperor’s elite guard
carry the lore of distant northern lands.
But your attention is caught by
the grand dome, representing the heavens.
Reaching over 50 meters high and
over 30 meters in diameter
and ringed by windows around its base,
the golden dome appears
suspended from heaven,
light reflecting through its interior.
Beneath its grandiose symbolism,
the sturdy reinforcing Corinthian columns,
brought from Lebanon after
the original dome was partially destroyed
by an earthquake in 558 CE,
quietly remind you of its fragility
and the engineering skills
such a marvel requires.
If a picture is worth a thousand words,
the mosaics from the next several
centuries have the most to say
not only about their Biblical themes,
but also the Byzantine emperors who commissioned them,
often depicted along with Christ.
But beneath their loud and clear voices,
one hears the haunting echoes of
the damaged and missing mosaics and icons,
desecrated and looted during
the Latin Occupation in the Fourth Crusade.
Within the floor, the tomb inscription
of Enrico Dandolo,
the Venetian ruler who
commanded the campaign,
is a stark reminder of those 57 years that Hagia Sophia spent as a Roman Catholic church
before returning to its orthodox roots
upon the Byzantine Reconquest.
But it would not remain a church for long.
Weakened by the Crusades, Constantinople
fell to the Ottomans in 1453
and would be known as Istanbul thereafter.
After allowing his soldiers
three days of pillage,
Sultan Mehmed the Second
entered the building.
Though heavily damaged,
its grandeur was not lost
on the young sultan who immediately
rededicated it to Allah,
proclaiming that it would be
the new imperial mosque.
The four minarets built
over the next century
are the most obvious sign of this era,
serving as architectural supports
in addition to their religious purpose.
But there are many others.
Ornate candle holders relate
Suleiman’s conquest of Hungary,
while giant caligraphy discs
hung from the ceiling
remind visitors for the first
four caliphs who followed Muhammad.
Though the building you see today still
looks like a mosque, it is now a museum,
a decision made in 1935 by Kemal Ataturk,
the modernizing first president of Turkey
following the Ottoman Empire’s collapse.
It was this secularization
that allowed for removal
of the carpets hiding
the marble floor decorations
and the plaster covering
the Christian mosaics.
Ongoing restoration work
has allowed the multiplicity of voices
in Hagia Sophia’s long history
to be heard again after
centuries of silence.
But conflict remains.
Hidden mosaics cry out from
beneath Islamic calligraphy,
valuable pieces of history that cannot be
uncovered without destroying others.
Meanwhile, calls sound from
both Muslim and Christian communities
to return the building to
its former religious purposes.
The story of the divine wisdom
may be far from over,
but one can only hope that
the many voices residing there
will be able to tell their part
for years to come.