Religion

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Aniconism in the first centuries of Christianity

Robin M. Jensen

To cite this article: Robin M. Jensen (2017): Aniconism in the first centuries of Christianity,
Religion, DOI: 10.1080/0048721X.2017.1316357

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RELIGION, 2017
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0048721X.2017.1316357

Aniconism in the first centuries of Christianity

Robin M. Jensen
Department of Theology, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, USA

ABSTRACT KEYWORDS
Scholars generally agree that Christian iconography emerged only Commandment (Second);
in the 3rd century. The absence of earlier, unambiguously iconoclasm (Byzantine);
Christian artifacts led many scholars to characterize Christians as narrative art; gnostic/
gnosticism; idol/idolatry;
initially aniconic largely in deference to biblical prohibitions of
icon; Bible/biblical
graven images and to regard the pictorial art’s emergence as a
departure from the church’s original disapproval. This essay
argues that classical philosophical arguments were even more
influential on Christian condemnation of divine images than
biblical texts and that when it emerged, Christian art essentially
served non-idolatrous didactic rather than devotional purposes.
Finally, this essay maintains that the demise of polytheism (and its
perceived idolatry) changed both the circumstances and content
of the debate over divine images. Whereas earlier censure mainly
contended that manufactured objects were incapable of
representing an invisible God, later criticism focused more on the
problems of representing Christ’s human and divine natures and
whether saints’ portraits were proper foci for prayer and veneration.

Introduction
One of the distinctive features of Christianity during the first centuries CE is its aniconism,
namely the lack of anthropomorphic representations of God or the figure of Christ that
were specifically regarded as objects of veneration. Moreover, there are virtually no indis-
putable examples of Christian visual art from the first two centuries CE, and the surviving
imagery from the 3rd and 4th centuries is mainly narrative in nature and unlikely to have
prompted viewers to offer it veneration or prayer.1 Iconic (i.e., non narrative) portraits of
apostles, saints, and Christ mostly appeared only toward the end of the 4th century, at the
time when Christianity had become politically, socially, and economically secure and was
less overtly threatened by certain polytheistic practices. Iconic imagery also arose around
the time when Christians began vigorously debating the relationship between the human
(visible) and divine (invisible) natures of Christ. (This is the central thesis of Jensen 2005).
Thus, the earliest material record of early Christian art is relatively sparse and, when it
did emerge and develop, such art was not initially aimed at images that served a devotional
function. By contrast, early Christian writings on representation of the divine are rich, and
highly instructive regarding Christian attitudes towards visual representations of God. In

CONTACT Robin M. Jensen rjensen3@nd.edu

1
The lack of distinctively Christian art prior to the early 3rd century is generally accepted and various scholarly theories that
try to account for it are discussed in this article.
© 2017 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group
2 R. M. JENSEN

this paper I examine the complex Christian discourse on aniconism that is indicated by the
surviving evidence.
Through close readings of Christian sources I make the following three arguments.
First, contrary to older, but still persistent scholarly perceptions, early Christian expla-
nation for the abstention from image worship fundamentally drew upon the teachings
of classical philosophers and accounts of ancient Roman aniconism rather than biblical
injunctions.2 This may be explained in part by the apologetic nature of many of the rel-
evant documents. Second, Christian writings strongly suggest that already in the 4th
century CE aniconism was not universal. Third, as long as polytheism (and its perceived
practice of image veneration) presented a viable threat to Christianity, the Christian debate
on image worship primarily continued to be grounded in anti-polytheistic writings. Only
later, well past the age when polytheism was no longer a viable threat, did the Christian
discourse on image worship refer to any great extent to the biblical prohibitions of images.
I begin by considering an imaginary debate. Around the beginning of the 3rd century,
Marcus Minucius Felix, an early African Christian apologist (d. c. 250) constructed a fic-
tional dialogue between a Christian convert, Octavius Januarius, and a polytheist, Caeci-
lius Natalis. This dialogue, essentially modeled on Cicero’s On the Nature of the Gods, is
framed as a debate over the nature of the Christian God and the character of Christian
practice. Among the points that the protagonist Caecilius raises against Christianity is
its lack of images. He asserts that the Christian God’s purported invisibility demonstrated
their religion’s perversion, claiming the gods of honorable cults were both public and
visible:
Why else should they go to such pains to hide and conceal whatever it is they worship? … Why
do they have no altars, no temples, no publicly-known images? … Besides, look at that fantas-
tic, unnatural creature that these Christians have devised! They make that god of theirs –
whom they are unable to show to others or see for themselves – they make him pry with scru-
pulous care into the morals and actions of all men, even down to their words and hidden
thoughts. (Octavius 10.5, trans., Clarke 1974, 66–67)

Octavius responds by explaining that the Christian God cannot be seen because he is too
bright for human sight. Nor can he be grasped, as he is too pure for human touch. He is
beyond measure and comprehension, a boundless infinity who has no name other than
simply ‘God’ (Octavius 18.8). Although this God cannot be known through the senses,
a little later in the debate, Octavius also allows that while Christians believe that their
God is invisible to ordinary human sight, they are not without basis for understanding
or belief in him. In this respect God could be compared to natural forces that can be
felt but not seen:
Now you say that we neither show nor see the God we worship. The truth is that this is just the
reason why we believe in him. Though we are not able to see him, we are able to perceive him;
for his ever-present power we discern in his works and in all the movements of the universe: in
thunder, lightening, in the thunderbolt, in the clear sky. And there should be no cause for
surprise if you fail to see God. The winds and the breezes may stir, shake and toss everything
about, and yet neither wind nor breeze comes before our view. … Do you want to see God with
your eyes of flesh, when your very own soul, on which you depend for speech and life, you can
neither behold nor grasp? (Octavius 32.4–6, trans., Clarke 1974, 112)

2
Scholars who regard Christian aniconism as primarily based in biblical prohibitions are noted here.
 RELIGION 3

Significantly, Octavius’s explanation for Christian aniconism makes no mention of scrip-

tural prohibitions against graven images (e.g., Ex 20.4), even though he mocks those who
superstitiously worship lifeless images of carved stone, metal, or wood (Octavius 24.5–13).
His principle argument focuses on the nature of the Christian God. In short, Minucius
Felix’s protagonist justifies his religion’s lack of images by asserting the Divine Being’s
essential invisibility. As the dialogue unfolds it also becomes apparent that Octavius
regards other Christian teachings as having as much or more in common with teachings
of ancient philosophers than with biblical Jews (Octavius 33.3).3 He describes the kind of
worship that humans owe a God so vast that he fills the world with his presence. While
evident in every aspect of daily life, this nameless, infinite, and singular God is quite
beyond comprehension or description, and is more properly served by a pure heart and
virtuous acts than by sacrificial victims or libations (Octavius 32.1).

Review of earlier scholarship

As mentioned above, identifiable or distinctive examples of early Christian art are lacking
prior to the beginning of the 3rd century. Many scholars of the past century regarded this
as clear evidence that until then Christians obeyed biblical injunctions against graven
images and associated pictorial art with polytheist idolatry (e.g., Breckenridge 1975,
364; Elliger 1934; Grigg 1976, 428; Kitzinger 1954, 89; and Lowrie 1947, 28–30). For
example, Henry Chadwick, one of the most widely read and respected historians of
early Christianity, stated: ‘The second of the Ten Commandments forbade the making
of any graven images. Both Tertullian and Clement of Alexandria regarded this prohibi-
tion as absolute and binding on Christians. Image and cultic statues belonged to the world
of paganism’ (Chadwick 1967, 277). Theodor Klauser (1958–1967) amassed both textual
and archaeological evidence to prove Christian antipathy toward pictorial art, publishing
his findings over a decade from the late 1950s through the 1960s.
Some of these historians also attributed the apparent lack of early Christian visual art to
the faith’s anti-material, otherworldly spirituality. Influenced by the work of Hugo Koch,
they typically credited the emergence of distinctly Christian iconography either to the
community’s gradual assimilation to its surrounding polytheistic culture or to the capitu-
lation of theologians and church leaders to the desires of less fervent or theologically adept
members of their flock (H. Koch 1917; Baynes 1955, 120; von Campenhausen 1968, 171).4
In a series of lectures delivered in the 1930s, theologian Edwyn Bevan described the Chris-
tian Church as emerging in the midst of a Jewish community intransigently opposed to
image-worship. However, while Jews of the first centuries CE likewise lived in a Greco-
Roman environment and similarly appear to have avoided pictorial art prior to the mid
3rd century, the discovery of an extensive cycle of biblical scenes, painted on the walls
of the Dura Europos Synagogue (c. 245) shattered the conviction that Jews were uniformly
aniconic in this period (Goodenough 1953–68; Olin 2001; Fine 2005 [2010]; Levine 2013).
Moreover, contemporary rabbinic literature records some instances of Jews being per-
mitted to make and own images so long as they did not worship them (Jerusalem
Talmud, Avodah Zarah 3.1–3; 42b-c). Nevertheless, historians like Bevan believed that
3
He answers the charge of being like Jews in Oct. 10.4. On similarities between Christian and philosophical teachings on the
end of the world and resurrection of the body see Oct. 34.5-6.
4
For a summary and biting critique of these and other scholars’ positions see Finney (1994, 7–10, 99–104).
4 R. M. JENSEN

once unmoored from its Jewish roots, Christianity incorporated (and even ‘baptized’)
practices from its Greco-Roman environment. Christians then began to make and
honor images as freely as their pagan neighbors (Bevan 1940, 84–85).
Such claims influenced subsequent generations of scholars to regard early Christians
as disdaining most types of visual art, but especially religiously themed iconography and
images of Christ and the saints (e.g., Frazier 1979; Koch 1989, 90). Thus, the kind of
symbolic and narrative compositions that decorated early Christian tombs, domestic
objects, and surviving liturgical spaces like the painted baptismal chamber at Dura-
Europos (c. 245 CE, Figure 1) arguably were demonstrations of incipient Christian
Hellenization.
More nuanced analysis of early Christian attitudes toward visual art began to appear
in the last decades of the 20th century. Sister Mary Charles Murray’s 1977 seminal
article was an important milestone, followed by the influential work of Paul Corby
Finney in 1994 (Charles Murray 1977, 303–306; Finney 1994). Charles Murray forcefully
criticized the prevailing view of early Christians as monolithically hostile to images.
Finney further undermined this position by showing the influence of Adolf von
Harnack on scholars like Hugo Koch and Theodor Klauser and meticulously refuted
their view of a Christianity that became increasingly Hellenized in the 3rd and 4th cen-
turies (Finney 1994, 7–10). Other scholars increasingly offered revised explanations
for why distinctively Christian visual art seems to have emerged relatively late. They
also questioned whether such restricted categories as ‘Christian’ and ‘pagan’ are even
applicable (or even appropriate) to material culture in the early centuries (Jensen
2000, 13–15; Elsner 2003, 114–115).
Although this next wave of scholarship noted the lack of early theological critique of
pictorial art generally and argued that Christians were far less iconophobic than previously
assumed, most of its authors paid less attention to key aspects of early Christian critique of

Figure 1. Baptistery of the Dura Europos House Church. Photo courtesy of the Yale University Art
Gallery: Dura Europos Collection, used with permission.
 RELIGION 5

divine images, in particular an objection expressed by Minucius Felix’s Octavius: that the
Christian God is utterly beyond visualization. Such scholars deny that early Christians
were adamantly opposed to pictorial art per se, even though they agree that the same
Christians denounced the veneration of human-fabricated objects. A crucial distinction
between narrative art and portraits of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the saints is often over-
looked in earlier discussions, and it was primarily the latter type that came to raise con-
cerns over the problem of Christians practicing idolatry.
Christian objections to gods’ images emphasized different concerns. Yet, as we see in
the work of Minucius Felix, one of the most pronounced was that polytheists held an
improper conception of the divine nature, which Christians believed to be beyond
human conception or visual representation. On this point, the Christian critics believed
they were in agreement with the majority of classical philosophers. They proudly com-
pared their condemnation of image veneration with the critiques espoused by ancient
and respected sages and referenced them in debates with their non-Christian contempor-
aries in order to present Christian teaching as rational and intellectually sophisticated.
They also acknowledged that astute polytheists did not actually worship images, but
recognized them as representations intended mainly to honor their models. Finally,
some Christian apologists even approvingly identified instances of ancient aniconism,
especially among the earliest Romans.
Perhaps partly because their intended audience was unlearned in Christian holy texts,
Christian apologists seldom condemned images specifically on the basis of biblical
injunctions. Whereas they often cited philosophically informed distrust of visual
images, they rarely cited their own scriptures, even the so-called Second Command-
ment’s prohibition of figurative art. Historian Robert Grant demonstrated the theologi-
cally diminished role of the so-called Ten Commandments on surviving early Christian
literature (Grant 1947, 1–17). Following Grant, Sister Charles Murray convincingly
countered earlier scholars like Robert Grigg and Walter Lowrie who had consistently
maintained the importance of the Mosaic Decalogue in Christian condemnation of
visual images (Lowrie 1947, 28–30; Grigg 1976; Charles Murray 1977, 307–308).
Charles Murray not only contended that the Jewish Law had been set aside by most
2nd- and 3rd-century Christians but those scholars misunderstood the context of
their occasional references to it. She also marshaled evidence to show that their
presumptions about contemporary Jewish aniconism were refuted by archeological
and art historical evidence. In her words: ‘It becomes clear that in the early Christian
period, the prohibition was regarded in contemporary Jewish circles as definitely
modified, while by Christians it was regarded as irrelevant save in matters of Old
Testament exegesis’ (Charles Murray 1977, 311). Thus, one needs to look beyond biblical
prohibitions and Jewish backgrounds to find the primary source of early Christian
aniconism.

Christian aniconism and the philosophers

Justin Martyr was one of the earliest Christians to proclaim that Christians agree with
many of the teachings of ancient poets and philosophers. In his First Apology, he specifi-
cally states that all intelligent persons realize that manufactured images of the gods are
merely the work of human hands and necessarily inferior to the artisans who made
6 R. M. JENSEN

them. Noting that the ancient thinkers have already asserted this, Justin distinguishes
Christian teachings as simply more truthful, complete, and proven (1 Apology 9–10).5
More expansively, in his treatise, the Stromata (or Miscellanies), the early 3rd-century
writer, Clement of Alexandria, enters into a long debate with Stoics, Platonists, Pythagor-
eans, and other philosophical schools on the nature and quality of religious knowledge, the
mysteries of the faith, and the ways the supreme Divine Being could be comprehended.
Throughout, he cites Plato (whom he describes as ‘truth-loving’), on the impossibility
of fully comprehending or describing the Divine One. Although Clement insists that
Plato actually had received much of his wisdom from Moses, he nonetheless concludes
that since it would be impossible to find any clearer testimony to the truth, it surely
must be from God himself (Stromata 5.12–14). In his critique of anthropomorphism,
Clement also refers to Xenophanes of Colophon’s famous satirical hypothesis, that if
cattle, horses, and lions could make images of the gods they would make them in the
forms of cattle, horses, and lions. He uses this trope to insist that the Christian God is
both singular and incorporeal, unlike mortals in form or external likeness, and therefore
unimageable (Stromata 5.15; see also 7.4).
Clement’s follower, Origen, agreed with his arguments (and shared his sources), but
branched off in a slightly different direction. Citing the text from Romans 1, in which
Paul declares that God’s wrath will be visited upon those who worship images of
humans, animals, or reptiles, Origen also takes aim at anthropomorphizing depictions
of God. However, intent on correcting mistaken interpretations of the Genesis creation
story, which declares humans to be in the image and likeness of God (Gen 1.26–7),
Origen insists that this imago dei is not one of bodily resemblance, but rather a likeness
of mind or intellect (Homily on Genesis 1.13; On First Principles 1.1; Commentary on
Romans 1.19.8 and 5.1.28).6
The belief that humans bear the image of God was not unique to Jews and Christians; it
was proclaimed as well by many Greek and Latin philosophers, among them Plato (Repub-
lic 6.501B) and Cicero (Nature of the Gods 1.90). In this respect, like Clement, Origen
reveals his dependence on the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria, who explicitly
rejected the idea of God having human features or visible appearance. Philo declared
the Divine One is invisible yet all seeing; imperceptible yet all-knowing and identified
the divine image in humans as established in the rational soul or nous (On the Creation
of the World 23, 69). Additionally, Philo held that God’s appearance could be compre-
hended only by the intellect, and prompted by a love of wisdom and beauty (The
Special Laws 3.189).
Origen was one of the few early Christian writers who consciously invoked Jewish reti-
cence about visual art and even cited the biblical injunctions against images in his argu-
ment with his polytheist adversary Celsus. He clearly assumes that Celsus is unfamiliar
with the scriptural passage, he quotes it, but then adds something that has echoes in
Plato’s Republic: that Jews denied image makers the rights of citizenship and even expelled
any who dared, lest the objects they made should attract the devotion of foolish members
of the community (Against Celsus 4.31 and see also Homily on Exodus 8.3–4).

5
On the Christian apologists’ view of Greco-Roman art generally see Finney (1994, 15–68), and Jensen (2005, 9–15, 69–83,
and 91–99).
6
On the question of the humans as the image of God see Altmann (1968).
 RELIGION 7

Like Origen, Minucius Felix’s Octavius also cites the biblical claim that humans are the
only proper images of God, although he does not specify the nature of that image (Octa-
vius 32.1). Yet, earlier in the dialogue, Octavius declares that, like Christians, the poets and
philosophers also bear witness to the idea that God is mind and spirit only. He then offers
to review the teachings of the philosophers in order to demonstrate the concord between
what they propose and Christianity propounds. What follows is a formidable litany of
ancient witnesses, beginning with Thales of Miletus and continuing through Anaximenes,
Diogenes of Apollonia, Anaxagoras, Pythagoras, Xenophanes, Antisthenes, Speusippus,
Demoncritus, Straton, Epicurus, Aristotle, Theophrastus, Heraclides of Pontus, Zeno,
Chrysippus, Cleanthes, Diogenes of Babylon, Xenophon, Socrates, Ariston, and finally
Plato (Octavius 19.3–15). In almost every instance he declares that their views about
the nature of God are pretty well identical to Christian teaching, even if they use different
expressions, names, or titles. The true God, whom Christians call Father of All, can neither
be seen nor comprehended in any respect. He is the origin of everything, architect of the
universe, source of life, and essentially incorporeal mind, reason, or spirit (Octavius 19.2).
Claiming the superiority of the Christian God for lacking manufactured and publicly
displayed images led the fictional Octavius (along with many of his real-life contempor-
aries) not only to ridicule representations of the traditional Roman gods and mock
anyone who venerated them, but to claim it as membership in a long line of respected phi-
losophers and poets who thought exactly the same way. Polytheists’ cult statues were mere
lifeless objects, made by human craft, and deemed gods only by human wishful thinking,
consecration, and supplication. The images were unaware of their elevated status however,
and if left unattended, became convenient sites for perching birds, mice nests, and spiders’
webs (Octavius 24.5–9).

Christian claims of parallels with ancient Roman aniconism

Athenagoras (c. 133–190), an Athenian Christian apologist, and an older contemporary of
Clement, similarly attests that Christians describe their God in many of the same terms (e.g.,
immutability, unity, incorporeality, and invisibility) as the ancient philosophers, although,
he insists like his fellow apologists, Christians offered a more complete and truer expla-
nation (Plea for the Christians 6–7). Athenagoras goes a bit further, however, adding that
images were a relatively new invention of polytheists and that Greeks had had no idols
prior to the invention of drawing and sculpture. He firmly states that no existing image
of a god is truly ancient, and certainly did not exist from the beginning. He poses a pertinent
question: if these are real gods, why did they need human artists to bring them – or their
likenesses – into existence? He answers in part that the gods were merely creations of the
poets, who gave them their names and made up stories of their exploits. This, he says, was
the claim of Herodotus, who assigned the task to Homer and Hesiod, while Daedalus,
Endoeus, and Theodorus the Milesian were among the first to fashion the appearances
of gods like Apollo, Athena, Hera, or Aphrodite. He even counts Phidias as one of the ear-
liest to make a statue, thus dating the oldest divine images to the 5th century BCE (Plea for
the Christians 17–18).
Athenagoras’ calculations diverge from those of other Christian writers, including
Clement, who claims that Numa (715–673 BCE), the first King of Rome, had prohibited
his subjects from making any images of God in human or animal form (Stromata 1.15). He
8 R. M. JENSEN

describes Numa as a follower of Pythagoras who is aided by the precepts of Moses.

Accordingly, he contends, no divine images existed in Rome during the first 170 years
of its existence. Numa, he says, secretly taught them that God was perceptible only to
the mind. From Rome, this teaching came to Greece and thence to the rest of the inhabited
world, including Persia, the home of the magi who foretold the birth of Christ and fol-
lowed a star to pay him homage.
Clement of Alexandria’s source for this tradition regarding Numa may have been Plu-
tarch, whose Life of Numa recounts a similar story: that Numa forbade any images of the
gods, under the influence of Pythagorean philosophy while leaving out any mention of
Moses (Life of Numa 8.8). In his Apology, Tertullian also recounts this legacy of ancient
Roman aniconism and proposes that Christians were its true inheritors. Thus, Tertullian
can argue that Christians – at least in this regard – are more authentically Roman than
those polytheists he scorns (Apology 25). Elsewhere, Tertullian elaborated on the origin
of the images, saying that Satan had introduced them, along with their artificers. Prior
to that, the world had been without them (Idolatry 3).
In the early 4th century, another African, Arnobius (c. 255–330), launched an attack on
cultic images. His treatise Against the Nations likely was written during or just after the
final wave of religious persecution and may have been prompted by the role of the
gods’ images in the trials of Christian martyrs. Whatever the precise historical context,
Arnobius appears to be countering Roman claims that Christians were bringing ruin
upon the Empire by insulting the gods in their refusal to sacrifice (Against the Nations
6.1–2). At one point in his treatise, however, he acknowledges that polytheists insist
that they merely worship their gods by means of images, not that they actually worship
the images themselves. Why, then, he asks, is there a need for some intermediary: to
worship one god but make supplication to something else? Why would someone ask
for help from a deity by praying to an insensate statue? (Against the Nations 6.9, 17).
Arnobius, like Athenagoras, describes the earliest Romans as aniconic worshipers of the
gods. Rather than crediting this directly to King Numa, however, he refers to the opinion
of Varro (c. 127–116 BCE), whose lost work, Antiquities of Divine and Human Matters,
serves as a kind of encyclopedia for Roman religious and cultic institutions. According
to Arnobius, Varro states that the true gods have no desire for sacrifices, while those con-
structed from ordinary matter have no care for these things as they can neither see nor
sense victims slain in their honor (Against the Nations 7.1).7
Varro’s work was a primary source for Augustine of Hippo’s description of Roman reli-
gion in his treatise City of God. Augustine (354–430) regarded Varro as a learned authority
on the subject. Interestingly, Augustine contends that Varro offered the exemplary case of
the Jewish nation and would have far preferred that Romans remain aniconic like the Jews.
According to Augustine, Varro claimed that ancient Romans worshiped their gods for
more than 170 years without making any images of the gods, and if such a custom had
continued, the gods would have been more purely venerated. Varro apparently added
that those who first consecrated images not only increased error but also eliminated
any fear of the gods, insofar as the gods who could be fabricated eventually earn contempt.
Augustine notes that Varro uses the word ‘increased’ and not ‘initiated’ in regard to the
error, however, and suggests this is because Varro understood that polytheism was

7
On Varro’s works see Cancik and Cancik-Lindemaier (2001). See also Taylor (1931).
 RELIGION 9

already error-ridden, even before the images were introduced, and that the true worship
would have been of one governing, immutable, and invisible Deity (City of God 4.31).
Augustine claims that Varro surprisingly commended the invention of such character-
istics so that worshipers would recognize the gods with their bodily eyes, while with the
eyes of their minds comprehend the immortal bodies that these things represented.
Augustine points out the irony that fashioning the gods with human appearances actually
lowers the gods to the image maker’s level. They thereby prevent the true worship of the
God who is their source and creator and not their counterpart (City of God 7.5).
In a different work, a sermon on Psalm 115 (or 113 by his LXX numbering), Augustine
elaborates on the invisibility of God and offers a polemic against the makers of images,
commenting that however tawdry their merchandise or base its material, craftsmen are
clearly superior to their products, yet no one worships the artisans (Expositions of the
Psalms 113(2).1–6). In this sermon, Augustine, like Arnobius, acknowledges that Chris-
tians unfairly regard polytheists as naïve worshippers of images. He allows that some
deny they venerate mere objects but rather honor the deities that the objects represent,
preside over, or rule and so believe they practice a purer religion. Nevertheless, he
observes, even people who claim to be above such misconceptions, or interpret the
images as mere signs pointing beyond themselves, get entangled in old habits and super-
stitions. For example, those who worship a transcendent body like the sun tend to pray to a
statue of Sol. Why, he asks, would they turn their backs to the actual sun to pray to a
powerless object? Why turn away from the sea to pray to a figure of Neptune? He then
concludes that people apparently prefer to pray to an image with a human form,
instead of the orb of the sun or the waves of the ocean. Thus, artists make anthropo-
morphic figures that often bear a remarkably lifelike appearance. Worshipers, responding
to bodies very much like their own, behave as if the objects can actually see and hear
(Expositions of the Psalms 113(2).4–7).8

Christians criticized by others for worshipping images

Arnobius and Augustine admitted that many if not most polytheists understood that gods’
images were merely symbolic representations and not intrinsically divine. Augustine
even admits that Christians themselves might be vulnerable to critique by outsiders
who judged their treatment of images to be superstitious. For example, he mentions an
instance of non-Christians charging members of his flock with venerating columns in
churches, presumably referring to columns that held some kind of images (Sermon
198.10 = Dolbeau 26).
Early Christians also apparently had to refute a widespread perception that they wor-
shipped crosses or the wood of Christ’s cross. For example, Minucius Felix’s Octavius was
accused by his polytheist adversary not only of lacking proper divine images, but had also
to explain that Christians did not worship crosses in their place. Caecilius’s allegation
comes within his enumeration of all the other calumnies that Christians were supposed
to practice, including venerating donkeys, adoring the genitals of their priests, eating
8
The next lines of the psalm give him the occasion for this discussion of the human features of the idols (eyes, ears, noses,
and so on). Augustine also wrote a long exposition on the invisibility of God in Ep. 147 (to Paulina), sometimes referred to
as ‘A Book on Seeing God.’ On the problem of anthropomorphism and discussion of the late 4th-century ‘anthropo-
morphic controversy,’ see Jensen (2013).
10 R. M. JENSEN

babies, and engaging in incestuous sex. Caecilius evidently believed that Christians not
only shamefully venerate a crucified man, but adore the wood of the cross itself (Octavius
9.4). In response, Octavius flatly denies that crosses are objects of Christian worship,
adding the comment that one could say that his interlocutor actually does, insofar as
crosses of wood often serve as armatures for gods’ images and that that their military tro-
phies and banners are basically gilded and decorated crosses. Octavius does allow that
Christians perceive the cross in a wide variety of objects from ships’ masts to yokes to
the stance of a person at prayer (Octavius 29.7–8). Other examples of early Christian
writers citing the cross as evident in things found in the world include Justin Martyr
(1 Apology 55) and Tertullian (Apology 12.3; Against Marcion. 4.20.2–4). However,
while it may be a stretch to interpret Paul’s line, ‘May I never boast except in the cross
of Christ’ (Gal 6.14), as referring to an actual object of veneration, these allegations
suggest that at least some Christians appeared to adore images of the cross (with or
without a corpus).
Tertullian also addressed the rumors that Christians adored crosses and even could be
accused of being a priesthood of the cross. Interestingly, rather than denying this, Tertul-
lian pointed out that polytheists also regard such figures as worthy of honor insofar as
images of their gods (e.g., Athenian Pallas or Pharian Ceres) were often formed from a
basic chunk of wood to which their fabricator added clay limbs that made it into a
cross-shaped mold. In his Apology he says this would make them in some sense co-religio-
nists to Christians. Like Minucius Felix’s Octavius, Tertullian also claims that Romans
adore the trophies they set up to celebrate military victories, and sarcastically commends
them for at least putting clothes (helmet, breastplate) on the crosses that serve as their
underlying frame. By way of contrast, he points out that Christian crosses try to imitate
the human figure, as they are merely the joining of a vertical stake with a horizontal cross-
bar. While idolaters worship deities derived from shapes modeled on the cross, and display
decorated crosses in their military parades, Christians worship a god who requires no sup-
porting substructure, metal coverings, or identifying garb (Apology 16; To the Gentiles 12).
This charge arises again in the 4th century. In his work Against the Galileans, the apos-
tate Emperor Julian (330–363) criticizes Christians for adoring the wood of the cross
(excerpt in Cyril of Alexandria, Against Julian 6.194). His perception may be based on
reports of a recent discovery of the actual wood of Christ’s cross in Jerusalem. Tradition
usually ascribes the discovery to Constantine’s mother, Helena, although the surviving
documents that give her the credit date to some decades after the supposed event. The ear-
liest surviving mention of Helena’s find comes from Ambrose’s eulogy for Emperor Theo-
dosius I, delivered in 395 (Obituary for Theodosius 40–51).9 Nevertheless, by the 350s,
Bishop Cyril of Jerusalem mentions the presence of the cross in his lectures to those
about to be baptized and notes that fragments of the true cross already have been distrib-
uted throughout the world (Catechesis 13.4 and see Catecheses 4.10, 10.19). Thus, a cult of
the cross seems to have been established relatively soon after the dedication of the complex
at the site of Christ’s crucifixion and burial (later the Holy Sepulcher) in 335, so it is
reasonable to surmise that this may have been the basis for the Emperor Julian’s allegation.
Although early Christians like Minucius Felix denied that they venerated crosses as a
divine image, they clearly recognized the shape of the cross in everyday objects and

9
Perhaps also in a history written by Gelasius, bishop of Caesarea in 390, included in Rufinus, Ecc. Hist. 10.7–8.
 RELIGION 11

even in nature itself. Moreover, documents dated to the late 4th and early 5th century
provide evidence for a growing cult of the True Cross. The pilgrim Egeria, who traveled
to Jerusalem some time in the 380s, describes a ritual of veneration of the wood of the
cross on Good Friday (Itinerary 37). Jerome says that when his friend Paula arrived in Jer-
usalem around the year 385, she went directly to the place of the cross and prostrated
herself in veneration before it (Letter 108.9). Yet, when Ambrose of Milan described
Helena’s discovery of the sacred relic, he carefully specified that while she adored
Christ who was crucified on it, she did not adore the actual wood, for so doing would
implicate her in idolatry (Obituary for Theodosius 46). Ten years later (c. 404), Paulinus
of Nola also commented on Helena’s discovery, adding the story of the cross’s veneration
on Good Friday and its fragmentary distribution to deserving pilgrims while never actually
becoming diminished. He explained that, although made of inanimate wood, the cross
appears to have living power, drawing its incorruptibility from the blood of the flesh
that endured death upon it without itself suffering corruption (Letter 31.5–6; see also
Poem 19.724–30). Thus, while Christians criticized polytheists’ apparent veneration of
inanimate objects, they could be subject themselves to similar accusations.

Christians accusing fellow Christians of image worship

Augustine’s admission that members of his flock apparently engaged in some kind of
image veneration indicates that Christians were not universally and consistently aniconic.
Furthermore, the physical evidence shows that through the 3rd and 4th centuries, Chris-
tians became more and more apt to decorate their tombs and places of worship with fig-
urative art. Although initially much of this art was narrative in character rather than iconic
(and thus distinctly different from the kind of representation that would prompt worship
to itself), portraits of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the saints began to be common by the
late 4th century began to prompt veneration. These Christians’ behavior triggered con-
demnation by certain early bishops, including Eusebius of Caesarea and Epiphanius of
Salamis, who worried that adherents of the faith were being led astray into idolatrous
and sacrilegious behaviors.
Official censure of saints’ portraits in churches turns up in an early Spanish synod,
held at Elvira in 305. Among the generally accepted original canons of this council, the
thirty-sixth deals with the problem of images on church walls. It specifies that there
‘shall be no pictures in the church, lest what is reverenced and adored be depicted on
walls’ (Canon 36).10 This could be interpreted as a broad prohibition of iconography –
for fear that images might attract misplaced veneration – or it could be taken as restricting
the kind of images that could be depicted (i.e., not especially holy figures).11 In the second
instance, narrative programs, based on scenes from the Bible, would not have been
banned, as they were not instances of revered objects and thus unlikely to invite direct
prayer. In other words, the problem lay with the type of images depicted and not with
pictorial or figurative images as such.
This interpretation concurs with the kind of visual art that emerged and flourished in
catacombs and churches through the 3rd and 4th centuries. For the most part, what
10
placuit picturas in ecclesia esse non debere, ne quod colitur et adoratur in parietibus depingatur.
11
For an extended if contentious discussion of this canon, see Grigg (1976).
12 R. M. JENSEN

Figure 2. Sarcophagus with scenes from the lives of St. Peter and Christ, early 4th century, now in the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photo: Metropolitan Museum of New York, Open Access for
Scholarly Publication.

survives is mainly narrative in content and so would not have posed problems (Figure 2).
Moreover, no surviving textual evidence raises any concerns about that kind of imagery.
Iconic portraits of apostles, saints, and Christ mostly appeared only toward the end of the
4th century. Anthropomorphic depictions of the First Person of the Trinity were rare and
usually only appeared within certain narrative contexts (e.g., the creation of Eve or Cain
and Abel presenting their offerings). More often, artists resorted to depicting a disembo-
died hand to indicate God’s appearance in a scene (Figure 3).12
Even though the surviving evidence indicates the preeminence of early Christian nar-
rative over iconic images, documents from the 4th century witness to some critique of por-
traits made primarily for devotional purposes. Unsurprisingly, earlier Christian
manufacture and veneration of images was often attributed to heretics and at least one
19th-century historian attributed the origins of Christian iconography to gnostics
(Renan 1891, 539–540). This surmise finds some basis in the writings of Irenaeus of
Lyons (d. c. 202), who denounced a sect of so-called Carpocratians for their possessing
and honoring of images, including a portrait of Christ supposedly made by Pontius
Pilate. They set these things up, he says, crowning them with garlands after the traditions
of the Gentiles (Against Heresies 1.25.6). Another instance comes from the 2nd- or 3rd-
century Acts of John, which may have circulated in Valentinian gnostic circles. A short
section of this text relates the story of a grateful follower setting up a portrait of John
without his knowledge and adorning it with lit lamps and garlands. John objects,
however, noting that the painting is merely an empty likeness and the practice foolish
and vain (Acts of John 28–29).
During the 4th century, however, the accusations fall upon what we might regard as
more mainstream Christians. In his Church History, written sometime in the mid 320s,
Eusebius of Caesarea describes Christians setting up likenesses of Peter, Paul, and Jesus
in order to pay them homage. He comments that he was not surprised, insofar as those
who did so were merely acting out of an old habit of giving this kind of honor to those
they regarded as saviors (Church History 7.18). A fragment from the late 4th-century here-
siologist, Epiphanius of Salamis, more vehemently denounces his discovery of saints’

12
On this subject see Kessler (2000) and Kühnel (2005).
 RELIGION 13

Figure 3. Sarcophagus from the Vatican Necropolis, with scenes from the Old and New Testaments:
Moses receiving the Law, detail of niche panel, mid-4th century CE. Photo: Courtesy of Art Images
for College Teaching (Open Access).

portraits painted on church walls or woven into curtains, comparing them to the abomi-
nated pagan idols (Testimony).13
An often-cited case of a doctrinal objection to images of Christ comes from a different
work of Eusebius of Caesarea: a purported letter from him to the Empress Constantia. If
genuine, this letter would have dated to the mid 4th century, but as it is found only among
the dossier of later Byzantine iconoclasts some historians have suggested that it could be a
forgery.14 In any case, the letter indicates that Eusebius tried to dissuade the Emperor Con-
stantine’s sister from seeking a portrait of Christ to use for her private devotions, arguing
that such a thing would be both impossible and blasphemous. He insists no artist could
depict Christ’s divine nature and even to try to do so would be an attempt to circumscribe
the invisible and immutable within a visible, corruptible image.

13
Text and translation in Mango (1986, 41). Mango notes that critics had challenged the authenticity of this fragment, but
now generally accepted it.
14
Text and translation in Sahas (1986, 134). Charles Murray (1977, 335–336), among others, questioned this letter’s auth-
enticity, and was challenged to revise her view by Stephan Gero (1981). T. Barnes (1981, 401, n. 82) also argues for the
letter’s being a forgery.
14 R. M. JENSEN

This important distinction between acceptable narrative images and potentially idola-
trous ones may be relevant to our understanding of two letters from Gregory the Great (c.
540–604) to his brother bishop, Serenus of Marseilles (Letters 9.105; 11.13).15 Gregory,
often cited as one of the true defenders of images in Christian churches, admonishes
Serenus for destroying the artworks that covered the walls of his church. While
Gregory praises Serenus for his vigilance against idolatry, he informs him that he
should not have removed the paintings. He explains that depictions of stories from the
Bible serve an edifying purpose for those who cannot read. Gregory had to reiterate
this point in a second letter, however, as Serenus apparently continued to be certain
that his church’s wall decorations were dangerous. Gregory, again admonishes Serenus
for his scrupulousness, but insists that depictions of saints’ stories have a venerable pre-
cedent and are able to arouse piety in the viewer and awaken love for the figures they por-
trayed. In other words, it is how one acts toward visual images, and not a problem intrinsic
to the images themselves. Two centuries earlier, Paulinus of Nola offered an explanation
for his adorning the shrine of St. Felix with narrative paintings of saints, saying that they
attracted the devotion of rustic folks who otherwise would be inclined to spend their time
feasting and drinking at the site of the saint’s tomb (Poem 27.580).
The exchange between Gregory and Serenus shows that the Christian problem with
holy images is more complicated than simply a matter of general disapproval of pictorial
art. It also gives a more nuanced view of the gradual but inexorable inclusion of iconogra-
phy in Christian worship spaces. Narrative images were never an evident problem and so
were accepted from the beginning. The emergence of saints’ portraits in the 4th and early
5th century posed new problems, insofar as these eventually came to be regarded as objects
of veneration and a widely accepted component of Christian devotional practice. Such
portraits, more than other types of images, were the cause for future theological debate
and source of ecclesial strife.
Famous instances include the 8th- and 9th-century Byzantine image wars, in which
critics condemned holy icons or the later purging of almost all saints’ portraits from
churches among certain groups of Protestants in the 16th century.16 By contrast, edifying
narrative and historical artworks, aniconic crosses, or decorated liturgical vessels were
often tolerated. Yet, although it evolved over time, what remains more or less consistent
was the basis for the critique. The impossibility of representing the invisible divine nature
of Christ was key to the arguments of both Byzantine and Protestant iconophobes. John
Calvin in particular was emphatic on that point (Institutes of the Christian Religion 1.11).
Yet, even defenders of images like John of Damascus denied that Christians could make or
venerate images of the invisible God (2 Apology 5). Nevertheless, once Christians ceased to
be challenged by polytheists or affronted by their supposed idolatrous practices, a claim to
philosophical parallels and ancient precedents no longer served the critics’ purposes. What
replaced these kinds of apologetic strategies were arguments rooted more firmly in biblical
texts and Christian doctrine.
For example, the definition of the 8th-century Iconoclastic Council of Hiera condemns
images of Christ for confusing his divine and human natures and attempting to delineate

15
On the complex arguments in these letters see the excellent essay by C. Chazelle (1990); also Duggan (1989).
16
For a broad overview of this vast issue, see Besançon (2000) and the excellent collection of essays edited by Kolrud and
Prusac (2014).
 RELIGION 15

the incomprehensible and uncircumscribable Godhead, an argument they developed with

the aid of the presumed 4th-century letter of Eusebius to Constantia. Predictably, John
Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion includes a catena of anti-image passages
from Exodus, Deuteronomy, Isaiah, the Psalms, Acts, and the Pauline epistles. Further-
more, while Calvin scorned those who cited Gregory the Great’s defense of paintings
on church walls and insisted it was wrong to depict God, he also made allowances for pic-
torial narratives, explaining that they might have valid use for teaching or admonition
(Institutes of the Christian Religion 1.11.12).
Thus, God’s invisibility and indescribability were still proclaimed by critics of divine
images, but without any perceived need to call upon Xenophon or Plato as witnesses to
what they regarded as foundational and specifically Christian teaching.
In the meantime, eastern Christians among other groups developed a highly sophisti-
cated theology of the image and argued largely on the basis of Christ’s incarnation in
human form that, although depictions of the eternal Godhead are both impossible and
intolerable, representation and veneration of images of Christ and the saints is fully and
authentically a Christian devotional practice.

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Note on contributor
Robin M. Jensen is the Patrick O’Brien Professor of Theology at the University of Notre Dame (US),
where she is also a Fellow of the Medieval Institute and Concurrent Professor of Art History. Her
research and publications focus on the content and context of Christian art and architecture of Late
Antiquity.

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16 R. M. JENSEN

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