In my some of my recent posts, I’ve written about some of the considerations that drew me to Eastern Orthodoxy – the weakness of sola scriptura, the history of the liturgy, and apostolic succession. [1] I’ve also been writing about the theology and Christology of the first six ecumenical councils, since the rich theological tradition of the Church Fathers is incredibly compelling to me. [2] In this post, I’ll bring these themes together by discussing a topic that both drew me to Orthodoxy and was the subject of the seventh ecumenical council: iconography and icon veneration. Based on the common refrain of the Fathers that “the honor rendered to the image passes to the prototype,” icon veneration can be broadly defined as acts of honor done toward a material representation in order to reverence the heavenly reality represented.
Here, I’ll be drawing on sources from the Iconoclasm – the 8th and 9th-century Byzantine controversy over icon veneration – and earlier, to try and answer three questions: Is icon veneration biblical? Is icon veneration consistent with orthodoxy? And is icon veneration apostolic (i.e., can be traced back to the earliest days of the Church)? The main iconophile sources that I’m drawing upon are pope Adrian I of Rome’s letter to the Roman emperors Irene and Constantinople VI (JE 2448); the acts of the council of Nicaea II (especially sessions 4–6) [3]; St John of Damascus’ Treatises on the Divine Images; and St Theodore the Studite’s On the Holy Icons.
Scripture
“You shall not make for yourself an idol or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or on the earth below, or in the waters under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God” (Exod 20:4-5; Deut 5:8-9). This commandment was one of the favorite prooftexts of the iconoclasts, and in response, the iconophiles pointed out that it was part of the Old Covenant and meant for a specific context (Divine Images I.4-8; II.7-8; III.4-8; Holy Icons I.5-6). The Israelites were very prone to idolatry (e.g., Exod 32:1-6), and even turned legitimate images into idols (cf. 2 Kgs 18:4). Furthermore, because the Lord had no visible form that the Israelites saw, Moses told them not to make “an idol for yourselves in the form of any figure” (Deut 4:15-19).
In fact, later on, God commands the Israelites to make two golden cherubim alongside the ark of the covenant, and to weave images of cherubim into the curtains of the tabernacle (Exod 25:18-22; 26:1, 31; 36:8, 35; 37:7-9). Presumably, this was meant to represent the fact that God in heaven is “enthroned upon the cherubim” (1 Sam 4:4; 2 Sam 6:2; cf. 22:11; 2 Kgs 19:15; 1 Chron 13:6; Ps 18:10; 80:1; 99:1; Isa 37:16; Ezek 10; Sir 49:8). Solomon’s temple also had gold cherubim and cherubim carved into the walls, along with palm trees, flowers, lions, and oxen (1 Kgs 6:23-36; 7:23-37; 2 Chron 3:5-14; 4:3-4). Ezekiel’s temple would also have carved cherubim and palm trees (Ezek 41:17-26). Clearly these were icons (material representations of heavenly reality) prominently featured in the temple, but there’s no indication that they were venerated. [4]
When the Israelites were beset by a plague of serpents, God commanded Moses to make a bronze serpent on a pole; anyone who was bitten and looked at this serpent would live (Num 21:4-9). This has been seen as an example of icon veneration, which might seem odd at first. Yes, there is an act (looking) done toward a material object (the serpent) which mediates divine grace (healing), but how could the serpent represent a heavenly reality? The iconophiles are interpreting this passage through the lens of John 3:14 and the patristic tradition, which views the bronze serpent as a representation of Christ on the cross. [5] In this light, the Israelites were venerating an icon of Christ and receiving grace through him! Several centuries later, Israel began to see the serpent as a deity in itself (“Nehushtan”) and offered sacrifices to it, and it was rightly destroyed by Hezekiah (2 Kgs 18:4). This shows a distinction between icon veneration (acceptable, even commanded) and idolatry (detestable).
The psalmist says, “I will bow down [proskynēsō] toward your holy temple” (Ps 5:7; 138:2). Likewise, Joshua and the idol of the Philistine deity Dagan bow down toward the ark of the covenant (Josh 7:6; 1 Sam 5:3-4; cf. Ps 99:5; 132:7-8). Since the ark represents God’s heavenly throne (e.g., 1 Chron 28:2), and the temple also represents his presence, they serve as icons (broadly construed) – material representations of heavenly realities. Thus, bowing down towards them is an acceptable form of icon veneration within the old covenant (Divine Images I.14, 27; II.22). (Dagan’s idol bowing toward the ark is a particularly interesting case: the false image venerates the true image!)
Icons and their (licit) veneration were therefore present in Israelite religion under the old covenant, although not prominent. What about the New Testament? Scriptural data about the liturgical practice of the apostolic era is very scanty, and I’m not aware of any explicit evidence for icon veneration as such. However, as later iconophiles argued, the basis for icon veneration is certainly present in the Christology of the New Testament. St Paul refers to Jesus Christ as “the image of the invisible God” (Col 1:15; cf. 2 Cor 4:4-6). St John affirms that “no one has ever seen God; the only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, has revealed him” (John 1:18); he who has seen Jesus has seen the Father (12:45; 14:9).
It’s no surprise, then, that the honor (and dishonor) shown to Jesus passes to God who sent him (Matt 10:40; Mark 9:37; Luke 9:48; 10:16; John 5:23; 12:44; 13:20; 15:23; 1 John 2:23). Indeed, Paul says that “every knee will bow... and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Phil 2:10-11). Bowing is a bodily action, and Jesus’ body, insofar as it is Jesus himself, is actually a material icon of God the Father. Furthermore, the saints are icons of Christ in that honor (and dishonor) shown to them passes to Jesus, and through him, to the Father (Matt 10:40; 18:5; 25:40; Mark 9:37; Luke 9:48; 10:16; John 13:20). In an eschatological context, Jesus declares that the saints will be venerated (Rev 3:9; cf. Isa 60:14).
Christology
The iconoclasts argued against venerating icons of Christ on the basis that divinity cannot be visibly depicted (e.g., Deut 4:12; John 1:18; 5:37). They also rejected venerating icons in general on the basis that this directs our attention toward matter rather than the intellectual veneration that’s proper to God (e.g., John 4:24). [6] St John of Damascus saw this as an implicit denial of the Incarnation:
I do not venerate the creation instead of the creator [cf. Rom 1:25], but I venerate the Creator, created for my sake, who came down to his creation without being lowered or weakened, that he might glorify my nature and bring about communion with the divine nature... Therefore I am emboldened to depict the invisible God, not as invisible, but as he became visible for our sake, by participation in flesh and blood. I do not depict the invisible divinity, but I depict God made visible in the flesh. (Divine Images I.4)
I do not venerate matter, I venerate the fashioner of matter, who became matter for my sake and accepted to dwell in matter and through matter worked my salvation, and I will not cease from reverencing matter, through which my salvation was worked. (I.16; cf. II.13-14)
For if we were to make an image of the invisible God, we would really sin; for it is impossible to depict one who is incorporeal and formless, invisible and uncircumscribable. And again: if we were to make images of human beings and regard them and venerate them as gods, we would be truly sacrilegious. But we do none of these things. For if we make an image of God who in his ineffable goodness became incarnate and was seen upon earth in the flesh, and lived among humans, and assumed the nature and density and form and color of flesh, we do not go astray. (II.5; cf. III.2)
The same response was made by St Theodore the Studite – it isn’t wrong to materially depict Christ, since he became visible and material for our sake (Holy Icons I.7; III.1-14).
Of course, the iconoclasts didn’t intend to deny the Incarnation, and they refined their argument to answer the iconophiles. At the iconoclast council of Hieria (754), they claimed that anyone who depicts Christ and venerates his icon must fall into either monophysitism (confusing his divinity and humanity) or Nestorianism (dividing him into two persons):
For he has made an image which he calls Christ, and the name ‘Christ’ signifies both God and man. This makes it an image of God and man. And so he has either, according to his futile conception, made the infinite Godhead share the finitude of the created flesh, or confused that unconfused union, falling into the folly of fusion, committing in consequence two blasphemies against the Godhead through making finite and through fusion. The one who has worshipped it has succumbed to the same blasphemies, and woe to both of them equally, because they have fallen into the same error as Arius, Dioscorus and Eutyches and the heresy of the Acephali [i.e., monophysitism]!
Condemned by those with sense for attempting to paint the incomprehensible and innite divine nature of Christ, they will assuredly have recourse to another ill-contrived defence, that ‘it is the image of the flesh alone, which we have seen and touched and consorted with, that we depict’ – which is impious and an invention of the Nestorian devilry. On this point it is necessary to consider that, if according to the orthodox fathers there was simultaneously flesh and the flesh of God the Word, never admitting any thought of partition, but assumed wholly and as a whole by the divine nature and totally deified, how can it be divided or made an individual on its own by those who impiously try to do this?...
In consequence those who intend to paint an image of Christ are left with either a divinity that is finite and fused with the flesh or a body of Christ that is separated and deprived of Godhead, the flesh possessing a personhood with its own hypostasis, which makes them like the Nestorians in their battle against God. Those who fall into such blasphemy and impiety should be ashamed, repent, and cease – both those who make and those who love and worship the ‘image of Christ’ that they falsely make and falsely so call. Let us escape in equal measure the division of Nestorius and the fusion of Arius, Dioscorus, Eutyches and Severos – evils diametrically opposed to each other but equal in impiety. (Acts of Nicaea II, VI.656-666) [7]
It seems like the iconoclasts are treating “Christ” (his hypostasis) as just a composite of his divine and human natures. In this light, their dichotomy makes sense: either the iconophiles are trying to depict only Christ’s humanity, in which case they’re making his humanity its own person, or they’re trying to depict Christ himself (i.e., both divinity and humanity), in which case they’re making his divinity finite.
However, the iconoclasts didn’t fully realize the implications of neo-Chalcedonian Christology, which makes a complete distinction between hypostasis and nature. [8] “Christ,” along with his other names, doesn’t refer to a natural reality at all (even a composite one), but a hypostatic reality – the person who is anointed. He is the underlying subject, who bears both divinity and humanity, but remains one and the same both before and after the Incarnation. Christ is both truly circumscribed (i.e., able to be depicted) as human and uncircumscribed as divine (Holy Icons III.1-58; cf. I.2-4, 7; II.1-9, 41-47). Nicaea II rightly accused the iconoclasts of confusing the logics of nature and hypostasis, like the monophysites (Acts, VI.668). [9] Images don’t depict natures, but concrete realities (i.e., hypostases), and who they depict – shown by the “name” on the image – is an entirely different question than what they depict, that is, the essence (VI.658, 664, 670, 680). Otherwise, we wouldn’t even be able to depict regular humans, since the human soul isn’t visible either!
Some iconoclasts argued that because Christ didn’t assume “a particular human, but rather humanity in general,” his humanity is “without distinguishing characteristics” and can’t be “portrayed in various colors” (Holy Icons III.15). However, universal natures only exist in particular, concrete subjects (hypostases), which have certain properties that distinguish them from other hypostases of the same nature. If Christ only had “humanity in general,” then he wouldn’t have a real, concrete existence as human, and he wouldn’t be distinguished from other humans (III.15-21). But his individual humanity isn’t a separate person, because it’s made individual (“enhypostatized”) in none other than the hypostasis of God the Word (III.22-23). Therefore, this objection also reveals the iconoclasts’ failure to understand standard neo-Chalcedonian Christology.
Another Christological principle that the iconoclasts (implicitly or explicitly) denied is that “the honor rendered to the image passes to the prototype,” which might be called the iconic principle. This was emphasized by the fourth-century Fathers in their polemic against Arianism: just as the emperor’s image and the emperor don’t make two emperors, the Son and the Father don’t make two Gods; and just as there is one honor shown to the emperor and his image, there is one worship of the Father and the Son. [10] Although the iconic principle was primarily used to explain the relationship between God and his Son, it also clearly applies to material depictions (like the emperor’s image). Thus, the iconophiles made a distinction between natural images (like a parent and child) and artificial images (like a person and their photo), for both of which the iconic principle applies (cf. Divine Images III.18-23). [11]
These principles of Christology – the distinction between nature and hypostasis and the iconic principle – lead to the full-fledged icon theology of Nicaea II. If Christ is really divine and really human (hence circumscribed), and he is venerable, and the honor rendered to an image passes to its prototype, then icons of Christ certainly can (and arguably should) be made and venerated. Furthermore, dishonoring icons of Christ, as the iconoclasts did, dishonors Christ himself. It’s a small step from this to venerating icons of the Mother of God and the saints, since they’re certainly both human and venerable (although, equally certainly, not worthy of worship in themselves), due to their close association and real union with Christ and God (Divine Images I.19-21; III.33-41; Holy Icons I.17-19). [12]
History
One of the main arguments of the Byzantine iconoclasts was that icon veneration was an innovation that didn’t exist in the apostolic era. This wasn’t entirely wrong: the fully-fledged, officially-sanctioned cult of icons didn’t arise until the sixth and seventh centuries. [13] However, written evidence for various types of icon veneration goes back to the fourth century and earlier, and material evidence appears as early as the second century! As I hope to show, even though the full-fledged cult of icons appeared much later, it’s not at all unreasonable to believe that limited veneration of icons does go back to the apostles, in line with the claims of Nicaea II.
6th and 7th centuries
As I said, there was a rise in the cult of icons during the sixth and seventh centuries, and it’s in this period that private veneration of holy images seems to have increased dramatically. [14] The earliest surviving panel portrait icons date back to the second half of the sixth century, including the famous Christ Pantocrator, which were brought by pilgrims to St Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai and preserved there until today. [15] Several late sixth- and seventh-century hagiographies describe miracles attributed to icons. [16] Leontios of Neapolis wrote the first defense of icon veneration in the early seventh century, which St John of Damascus later drew upon. The ecumenical(-ish) Quinisext Council in 692 recommended that images of Christ should depict him as a human rather than a lamb, but that both types of images should be “venerated” (canon 82). All of these texts were cited by Nicaea II as part of their iconophile florilegium.
4th and 5th centuries
There’s very little evidence of private veneration of panel portrait icons before the sixth century. This practice was discouraged by Eusebius of Caesarea in his letter to the empress Constantia (ca. 320), which was cited by later iconoclasts. Several texts attributed to St Epiphanius of Salamis reject both private and public veneration of images, which are found in iconoclast florilegia, although the authenticity of these texts was (and is) disputed. [17] If they are authentic, then it’s hard to square with the fact that church buildings during this period were filled with religious imagery (see below). That might explain why Epiphanius complained to the emperor Theodosius I (in a disputed letter) that “only a few” people paid attention to his iconoclasm.
Church buildings and saints’ shrines in the fourth and fifth centuries had images on the walls, usually depicting scenes from the Old and New Testaments, and the apse, usually depicting Christ surrounded by the apostles or other saints. [18] These were referenced by various Church Fathers in their sermons and writings, and Sts Gregory of Nyssa and Augustine even describe praying via these images. [19] St John Chrysostom favorably reports how people depicted the deceased St Meletius, bishop of Antioch, on rings, cups, walls, and elsewhere (On Saint Meletius 3). [20] Eusebius of Caesarea, despite his apparent dislike of religious images (see above), describes a statue of Jesus in Caesarea Philippi which was believed to have miraculous healing properties (Church History 7.18.1-3).
2nd and 3rd centuries
Although the written evidence dries up before the fourth century, icon veneration (broadly construed) appears in some second- and third-century Christian texts. [21] St Methodius of Olympus (ca. 300) writes that “we make images of God’s angels... to his honor and glory” (On the Resurrection 2). [22] Origen (ca. 250) refers to the practice of decorating the altar and church building (Hom Josh 10.3). Tertullian (ca. 210), despite his general aniconism, accepts certain non-idolatrous images in the Old Testament (Against Marcion 4.22) and refers to the practice of painting Christ the Good Shepherd on the Eucharistic cup (On Modesty 7; 10). [23] Clement of Alexandria (ca. 200) advised that Christian signet rings should have symbols representing Christ, the Holy Spirit, the Cross, or the apostles, rather than idols, swords, drinking cups, or lovers (Paedagogus 3.11). [24] St Irenaeus of Lyons (ca. 175) reports that the Carpocratian gnostics venerated portraits of Christ with those of other philosophers (Against Heresies 1.25.6), whereas the gnostic Acts of John (mid-2nd century) critiques Christian veneration of portraits of saints. [25]
The material evidence is much more interesting, in my opinion. Once Christians obtained their own spaces of gathering in the second and third centuries, they began to decorate them with religious imagery (see the Roman catacombs, Dura-Europos baptistry, Megiddo church mosaic). [26] This art wasn’t merely for teaching or decoration, but invited ritual participation. For example, the baptistry at Dura-Europos invites the participant to identify with David at their anointing, with Christ in the tomb at their baptism, and with members of the Good Shepherd’s flock as they come out of the water. [27] In the catacombs, orant-figures invite onlookers to imitate them in prayer – perhaps for the intercession of the dead Christian depicted in this way – in more than one case, directed to another image of Christ the Good Shepherd. [28]
1st century
Can we trace Christian imagery and icon veneration back to the first century? Not by contemporary evidence, since we don’t really have first-century material evidence of Christianity, and our written evidence is basically limited to the New Testament. Eusebius of Caesarea says that portraits of Christ and the apostles were made and honored as early as the first century, although in line with his aniconism, he attributes this to “the gentiles of old” (Church History 7.18.4). The second-century gnostic Acts of John (26–29) retrojects the debate over veneration of saints’ portraits to the first century. Several markings and a signet ring from Pompeii (pre-AD 79) have been interpreted as crosses, which would be a very early form of Christian imagery. [29]
In summary, there was clearly a development in Christian religious imagery and its function from the first century to the Iconoclasm. The full-fledged cult of icons only developed in the late sixth and seventh centuries. However, religious imagery was a regular aspect of church decoration from the third century (the earliest surviving church buildings) onward. Even the earliest surviving Christian art, in the second and third centuries, wasn’t merely didactic or decorative but actually meant to invite ritual participation. Although we lack virtually any material evidence of Christianity in the first century, based on the fact that veneration of images (broadly construed) is attested throughout the entire Christian material record all the way back to the second century, it doesn’t seem unreasonable to me to believe that certain limited types of icon veneration have always been present in Christianity.
Conclusion
The motives behind the Byzantine Iconoclasm were complex, as well as those behind Nicaea II. The iconoclast emperors saw their military defeats as a result of the Church’s descent into idolatry, while the iconophiles saw the idea that the Church could fall into idolatry and be rescued by emperors as blasphemous against Christ. The iconoclasts believed that making icons of Christ implied Christological heresy, while the iconophiles turned their accusation back upon them. The iconoclasts thought that icon veneration violated Scripture, while the iconophiles thought that Scripture validated their practice. It would be a mistake to reduce the controversy to just one of these factors. Moreover, the Iconoclasm itself wasn’t very wide-ranging, limited to the core of the Roman Empire which had dwindled to parts of Asia Minor and Greece.
However, much like the other ecumenical councils which were occasioned by historical circumstances, Nicaea II revealed timeless truths that are still important for us today. Who is it that we worship? Not the divine nature, nor even the divine and human natures of Christ, but the person of Jesus Christ himself, with his Father and his Spirit. And, like the other doctrinal disputes of the first millennium, the Iconoclasm was indirectly about: how can we be truly be united to God? It’s not that, as the iconoclasts believed, only the Eucharistic body of Christ spans the gulf between God and the world. [30] By his Incarnation, Christ sanctified the entire material world, which makes it possible for material icons to act as real channels of God’s grace. Ultimately, the theology of icons is nothing more or less than the theology of the Incarnation experienced in the liturgical life of the Church.
No one could describe the Word of the Father; / but when he took flesh from you, O Theotokos, he accepted to be described, / and restored the fallen image to its former state by uniting it to divine beauty. / We confess and proclaim our salvation in word and images. [31]
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[1] Although my journey was certainly not purely intellectual, as I was also drawn by the beauty of the Eastern Christian tradition and by just experiencing Orthodoxy, these issues made me realize the serious problems with my own Evangelical and restorationist Protestant traditions.
[2] See my recent posts on “The orthodox doctrine of the Trinity” and “The orthodox doctrine of the Incarnation.”
[3] For an English translation, see Richard Price, The Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea (787) (Liverpool University Press, 2018).
[4] The icons of cherubim which filled the tabernacle and temple were viewed as normative by the eighth-century iconophiles. Because these icons represented the cherubim surrounding God’s throne in heaven, they argued, Christians should have icons of Christ and the saints around the altar to represent the heavenly reality in the new covenant. St Tarasius of Constantinople: “If the old [covenant] had cherubim overshadowing the mercy seat, then we shall have images of our Lord Jesus Christ and of the holy Theotokos and his saints overshadowing the altar” (Acts of Nicaea II, IV.288).
[5] For example, see Ep Barn 12.6-7; Justin Martyr, Dialogue 91; Irenaeus, Against Heresies 4.2.8; Tertullian, Adv Jud 10; Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit 14.31; John Chrysostom, Hom John 27.1-2.
[6] On the common features of iconoclastic argument, which run from the beginning to the end of the Byzantine Iconoclasm, and include these verses, see Vladimir Baranov, “The Theology of Early Iconoclasm as Found in St. John of Damascus’ Apologies,” Khristianskij Vostok 4 (2002): 23-55.
[7] Translation from Richard Price, Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea, 468-474.
[8] On the topic of neo-Chalcedonian Christology, see my recent post “The orthodox doctrine of the Incarnation (part 3 of 3)”.
[9] In the words of the council, “those nurtured by the catholic church know [hypostasis and nature] to be two different things, for we say that a hypostasis is an essence with individualizing characteristics, in addition to existing, while a nature is something that is self-subsistent and does not need anything else for its composition, apart from being brought into existence” (VI.668)
[10] For example, see Athanasius, Discourses Against the Arians III.5; Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit 18.45; Contra Sabellianos, PG 31:605D–608A; cf. Gregory the Theologian, Oration 4.80-81; John Chrysostom, Hom Stat 3.18; Hom Col 12; Hom 1 Thess 10; Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus 3.11; Origen, Homily 3 on Psalm 73 6; Epiphanius, Panarion 65.8.10. The veneration of imperial portraits was a regular feature of Roman civil life, which perhaps surprisingly wasn’t rejected by Christians (especially once there was a Christian emperor), and served as a helpful analogy for Christ and God, as well as humanity (as the image of God) and God.
[11] The iconophiles (because of their implicit confusion of nature and hypostasis) claimed that any true image must be consubstantial with its prototype, and so the Eucharist is the only true icon of Christ (Acts of Nicaea II, VI.670-672). This was ridiculous to Nicaea II, which insisted that the Eucharist is Christ himself and not an icon (VI.672-676).
[12] Some Protestants might view this as an unjustified leap, but during the Iconoclasm, this was accepted by both parties. The iconoclasts also saw the acceptance or rejection of icons of the saints as a simple corollary of the acceptance or rejection of icons of Christ (Acts, VI.680-682). But for a more detailed argument, see St John of Damascus, Divine Images I.19-21; III.33-41; On the orthodox faith IV.15-16.
[13] Richard Price (Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea, 43) notes that “the iconoclast claim that reverence towards images did not go back to the golden age of the fathers, still less to the apostles, would be judged by impartial historians today to be simply correct.”
[14] Benjamin Anderson, “Images in Byzantine Thought and Practice, ca. 500–700,” in A Companion to Byzantine Iconoclasm, ed. Mike Humphreys (Brill, 2021), 144-187.
[15] Beat Brenk, “Apses, icons and ‘image propaganda’ before iconoclasm,” AnTard 19 (2011): 113-118.
[16] Beat Brenk, “Apses, icons and ‘image propaganda’,” 113-114; Richard Price, Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea, 42-43.
[17] For an argument against the authenticity of these texts, from an admittedly not unbiased source, see Steven Bigham, Epiphanius of Salamis: Doctor of Iconoclasm? Deconstruction of a Myth (Orthodox Research Institute).
[18] Sean V. Leatherbury, “Christian Wall Mosaics and the Creation of Sacred Space,” in The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art, ed. Robin M. Jensen and Mark D. Ellison (Routledge, 2018), 86-103; Robin Jensen, “Figural Images in Christian Thought and Practice before ca. 500,” in A Companion to Byzantine Iconoclasm, 128-134. The disputed letter of St Nilus of Ancyra to Olympiodorus (ca. 415), which was cited at Nicaea II, describes how a church building should be decorated with scenes from the Old and New Testaments to spur illiterate churchgoers to emulate the saints’ virtues.
[19] For example, see Basil the Great, Homily 19 on the Forty Martyrs 2; Homily 17 (“On the martyr Barlaam,” possibly by John Chrysostom instead); Gregory of Nyssa, De deitate filii et spiritus sancti; Asterius of Amasia, Sermon 11; Cyril of Alexandria, Letter 41.21-23; all of which were cited at Nicaea II. As for prayers through the images, see Gregory of Nyssa, In Praise of Blessed Theodore, PG 46:737C–740B; Augustine, Sermon 316.5.
[20] Note that St Gregory of Nyssa taught around the same time that St Meletius was in heaven interceding for the people (Funeral Oration for Meletius). “Thus, the portraits described by Chrysostom could have functioned not only in the commemoration of Meletius, but also as visual foci for prayer to him”: Katherine Marsengill, “Panel Paintings and Early Christian Icons,” in The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art, 201.
[21] Note that the passages in the second- and third-century apologists which are often interpreted as aniconist (e.g., Justin Martyr, 1 Apol 9–10; Clement of Alexandria, Strom 5.5-6; Origen, Contra Celsum 7.62-65; Minucius Felix, Octavius 10) should rather be taken as anti-pagan polemic, against the practice of treating material objects as deities, rather than against Christian religious images which undoubtedly existed at that time: Robin Jensen, “Figural Images in Christian Thought,” 114-128.
[22] The full passage, as preserved by St John of Damascus (Divine Images III.138), reads: “For instance, then, the images of our kings here, even though they be not formed of the more precious materials – gold or silver – are honored by all. For men do not, while they treat with respect those of the far more precious material, slight those of a less valuable, but honor every image in the world, even though it be of chalk or bronze. And one who speaks against either of them, is not acquitted as if he had only spoken against clay, nor condemned for having despised gold, but for having been disrespectful towards the king and lord himself. The images of God’s angels, which are fashioned of gold, the principalities and powers, we make to his honor and glory.”
[23] Tertullian (in his rigorist-Montanist phase) critiques the Church for its moral laxity, which he attributes to the Shepherd of Hermas (a second-century text that allowed repentance after post-baptismal sin). Therefore, he says that the shepherd they depict on their chalice isn’t actually the Good Shepherd, but the false shepherd of Hermas (On Modesty 10). The unspoken premise is that they honor whomever they depict on the chalice; since they honor the Shepherd of Hermas over Christ, it must be the former whom they depict. This does serve as an example of icon veneration – honoring a prototype through his material representation.
[24] “And let our seals be either a dove [i.e., the Holy Spirit], or a fish [i.e., ichthys, Christ], or a ship scudding before the wind, or a musical lyre, which Polycrates used, or a ship’s anchor [i.e., shapes like the Cross], which Seleucus got engraved as a device; and if there be one fishing, he will remember the apostle, and the children drawn out of the water. For we are not to delineate the faces of idols, we who are prohibited to cleave to them; nor a sword, nor a bow, following as we do, peace; nor drinking-cups, being temperate. Many of the licentious have their lovers engraved, or their mistresses, as if they wished to make it impossible ever to forget their amatory indulgences, by being constantly reminded of their licentiousness.”
The implication is that what is symbolized in the depiction is honored (see also n. 23); we honor Christ, the Holy Spirit, the Cross, and the apostles, but not idols, war, drinking, or sex. In the third century, Christian seals began to move away from this symbolism and explicitly depict the Good Shepherd and other biblical figures: Jeffrey Spier, “Engraved Gems and Amulets,” in The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art, 141-146. These amulets could be apotropaic (e.g., BM Inv. T 1986, 5-1,1), which means supplication for protection was implicitly directed toward the one depicted.
[25] Acts of John 26–29 describes how the disciple Lycomedes, who had been resurrected by God through John, commissioned a portrait of John, took it to his bedroom, crowned it with garlands, and lit lamps before it. John, the mouthpiece of the gnostic author, confronts him for “still living in heathen fashion.” Lycomedes answers that he has only one God, but “next to that God, it is right that the men who have benefitted us [i.e., saints] should be called gods.” John retorts that the portrait captures only his “fleshly image,” being “a dead likeness of the dead,” and Lycomedes should instead ‘paint’ with the virtues. This episode implies that debate over private veneration of panel-portrait icons of saints was already underway in the second century: Katherine Marsengill, “Panel Paintings and Early Christian Icons,” 202.
[26] Norbert Zimmerman, “Catacomb Painting and the Rise of Christian Iconography in Funerary Art,” in The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art, 21-28; Rina Talgam, “Christian Floor Mosaics: Modes of Study and Potential Meanings,” in ibid., 106; Robin Jensen, “Figural Images in Christian Thought,” 123-128.
[27] Michael Peppard, “Early Christian Art and Ritual,” in The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art, 281-284; Robin Jensen, “Ritual and Early Christian Art,” in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Ritual (Oxford, 2018), 598-601.
[28] Norbert Zimmerman, “Catacomb Painting,” 26-28; Robin Jensen, “Ritual and Early Christian Art,” 589-592.
[29] Bruce W. Longenecker, The Cross before Constantine: The Early Life of a Christian Symbol (Fortress Press, 2015), 121-148; The Crosses of Pompeii: Jesus-Devotion in a Vesuvian Town (Fortress Press, 2016); but for a contrasting perspective, see John Granger Cook, “Alleged Christian Crosses in Herculaneum and Pompeii,” Vigiliae Christianae 72, no. 1 (2018): 1-20.
[30] On the contrasting perspectives between iconoclasts and iconophiles about the relationship between God and the material world, see Ambrosios Giakalis, Images of the Divine: The Theology of Icons at the Seventh Ecumenical Council (Brill, 2005).
[31] Sunday of Orthodoxy, Kontakion (Tone 8).
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