Christian Iconography, the Face of the Incarnation.

One of the most overlooked elements of theology but perhaps the most evident and tangible example of our faith of the Incarnation is Christian art, perhaps even more so than written works, it follows the evolution and the expression of our faith through history, accompanying us and being a testimony of our common living tradition through the centuries, from the early archeology which preserves the tactile memory of how the sacraments developed, to the first iconographic works in which Christians first tried to depict the God made flesh, the God that lived among us and whose body and blood are shared on those early altars to this day. Christian art is the visible memory of the faith in the God who keeps revealing himself through history by the works of the Spirit, through the sacrifice of the Son, and within the Father’s own creation. Christian art is our family photo-book, God lives through those images, and we can connect with our own history, and through it with God himself, through beauty, devotion and practice. 

The study of early Christian archeology and of early Christian art should be mandatory to understand our Church, our doctrine, our sacraments; it should be mandatory and a complementary element to Church history, sacramental theology and patristics. In this blog, I will try to create a very selected theology of the early development of that visual language, not mere aesthetics but theology made tangible. Early Christians developed images as a window into the divine as early as the Church Fathers started to define our own very doctrine, art is intrinsically Christian, it begins within apostolic memory. Christianity did not start with the Book, but with the living Church, which put together the Book through the texts inspired by God to the prophets and apostles and whom the Church Fathers preserved for us, in the same way, the story of God follows this progress through visual images. In a way art is another side of Scripture.

Christians did not start making images once they reached Rome, Christians did not feel the need to depict the divine once Constantine chose their faith as the religion of the empire in 313 with the Edict of Milan, nor does Christian art start in the early Middle Ages as an accidental misunderstanding of Scripture. It develops slowly, at times before Christianity was even defined as such. Its existence is rooted in Jesus Christ making God visible. The Incarnation is not a mere theological phenomenon but a visual language, God entered history through a human body and with a human body; he was touched, he shed his blood for us on the cross. Christian art is not an embellishment but a natural consequence and if not a doctrinal tool, certainly the physical manner in which our faith is preserved but also evolved through history.

This process also takes place within a very specific time and world. Christ did not come into the world in the most isolated place but within the center of civilization in antiquity which was the Mediterranean world under Roman rule, a fine environment shaped by Greek and Roman philosophy and imagery, perhaps the most visual civilization the world had known. Gods, emperors, great men of the time were sculpted, their myths narrated through frescoes or reliefs. Both the divine and the human were made visible. When Christianity emerges in this context, it does not just inherit the art and thinking, but also their new way of seeing the world. It is therefore natural to think that God became man there and then so as to be better understood by a culture in which the human and the divine could take physical form, only so could the Gospel spread fast by making good use of the influence of the great Roman Empire. It is with a certain degree of compassion which should dismiss the claims made against Christianity because of their religious syncretism, some elements of Rome are incorporated, this is not wrong, but clever, it helped spread Jesus faster and in a way that could be better understood, now that the religion of the Old Covenant made way for the New to those Gentiles who saw the world in a physical way.

As is well known, the early relationship between Rome and Christendom is not exactly a honeymoon period. Thus, the early phase of Christian art is quite restrained. Up until the 2nd century, Christian communities are quite small and often socially marginal due to the constant fear of persecution. Consequently, their visual language is quite discreet, in this very early stage, what we often find is signs rather than images. The most common is perhaps the fish, deriving from the Greek word ἰχθύς, the symbolism lies in its use as an acronym for “Jesus Christ, Son of God, and Savior”. This is not a mere decoration, but a true statement of faith. Another popular symbol is the anchor as it is remindful of the shape of a cross. Another popular sign is the staurogram ⳨, in which the letters tau and rho are combined to form the shape of a crucified man. These images function as a secret code but even in their secrecy, they stand as essential, visual signs of the Christ and his physical message of salvation through the cross.

By the end of the second century, we begin to see a definitive shift as Christian art embraces anthropomorphic elements within it. Among the very earliest, we have the iconography of the Good Shepherd, which begins to appear around the early 200s in the catacombs, as a young man carrying a lamb on his shoulders. It could have easily been misinterpreted as a pastoral figure from the funerary art of the Greco-Roman tradition, similar to the moschophoros, a similar figure associated with sacrifice and piety. Early Christians acquired the visual language of their own culture and adapted it to the new faith. The Good Shepherd evokes Christ’s words in the Gospel of Saint John: “I am the Good Shepherd”. This is a symbolic moment of transition for Christian art, the incarnated God and his Word are made visible in real life. This is theology made tangible.

Other anthropomorphic iconographies begin to appear in this period; the catacombs of Rome were the most fruitful ground for this in the late 2nd and early 3rd centuries. Another common iconography was that of the orans – a figure standing with their arms raised in prayer in the Roman fashion, it does not represent a specific person, despite its use in catacombs. It is a symbol of the act of praying and it links the soul to the divine salvation in the afterlife. For the first time, in the new Gentile covenant, scenes from the Hebrew Scripture are represented, as ideals of salvation. Among these are Jonah after being delivered from the whale, Daniel standing proud amidst lions, the three youths in the fiery furnace; these iconographies act as reminders of God’s salvific action culminating in the resurrection. The style is simple, frontal, without defining features; what matters is the symbolic nature of the images, for the first time in a monotheistic religion, a mean for divine expression.

As soon as the early 3rd century, Christ appears in our iconography. The first such examples depict Christ as a teacher, often shown seated, holding a scroll, and surrounded by the disciples. Christ is the new leading philosopher of the ancient world. He is depicted in the same manner as the great minds of the Greco-Roman world. Christ imparts divine wisdom, this is not yet the enthroned Christ of the great mosaics of Christianity as the state-religion, this is a more intimate representation, yet an essential one, the incarnate Christ is visible once more as the living God, in the act of speaking and teaching.

Perhaps, the most remarkable example in this period is the appearance of Christ with his mother, the Virgin Mary. She appears in the visual tradition of Christianity as early as her divine Son. A direct sign of her special role and respect in Christian life within the very first stages of Christianity. The very first example is the Virgin and Child fresco in the Catacombs of Priscilla in Rome, dating to the first half of the 3rd century. A seated woman, holding a baby on her lap, while a figure to her side indicates the fulfilment of the prophecy. The simplicity of the style is striking but also extremely profound, the doctrinal basis for what would a few centuries later become the figure of the Theotokos with the Council of Ephesus in 431 is concretely presented before our eyes. This is the physical form of the Incarnation made real before our own very eyes, the God born of a woman. The Romans were already engaging with the piety which would later develop into defined theology.

If we leave Rome, but not the Roman Empire, in the 3rd century world, we can travel to the site of Dura-Europos by the Euphrates river. In this very important site, a synagogue and a Christian house have been well preserved with their incredible wall paintings, a unique testimony of iconography from a time in which Christians were still unsure whether they were Jewish or something entirely new, away from the strong influence of the city of Rome’s official religion, and yet, even here the religion of the Incarnation became visible through art. The synagogue, dating to the mid-3rd century, is covered with a narrative cycle derived from Hebrew Scripture and depicting Moses, David, as well as the prophets. The Christian house, albeit smaller, contains frescoes depicting the Good Shepherd and iconographies related to healing and baptism. The two sites are in clear dialogue and share in the common language of their visual culture and theological views. Christian tradition borrows from a Hebrew tradition that sometimes did make use of images. The religion of the Incarnation was inspired by both the Rome God chose as the world in which to become visible and also borrowed from an earlier tradition that was anticipating that coming. God was finally to be prayed before a memory, the shared memory of his time here, and that was already happening across the different cultures of the Mediterranean.

The early 4th century marks a moment of deep transformation, with the Edict of Milan in 313, emperor Constantine the Great turns Christianity into the religion of the state. This changes the iconographic course of Christianity in a significant way. Christian art is no longer relegated to catacombs or house churches, finally it appears in the large public buildings of the empire. The Roman Basilica, once a defining feature of Roman civic architecture becomes the archetype of the Christian church building. Under the patronage of the emperor, Christian art follows the grandeur of Rome with all of its wealth of forms and materials.

A significant example of such transition can be identified in the sarcophagi of wealthy Christians around this time. That of Junius Bassus, dating back to 359, is a fine one, carved in high relief in the Roman style. Scenes take place within an architectural framework divided in between columns and niches. Christ is not a humble shepherd, but an enthroned monarch, he is seated over the personification of the heavenly spheres, holding a scroll, surrounded by the apostles, dressed in Roman togas. This is the language of the empire, yet this is a Christian work of art. Christianity is not in hiding any more, it is in your face, it is triumphant, it celebrates Christ as the new sovereign Lord.

At a time during which monumental basilicas are built in the name of Christ, perhaps the most refined development can still be seen in the mosaics of the late 4th and early 5th centuries. The earliest and finest example is that in the apse of Santa Pudenziana in Rome, dating back to 390-420. It is essentially not a work of early Christian art in some ways, but a Roman artwork that happens to be Christian, the style is imperial. An authoritative, commanding, bearded Christ is seated on a throne, at the center of a semicircle in which the apostles are depicted wearing togas like Roman senators at an assembly. Mary is also present as a powerful Roman matron. In the background is a depiction of Rome representing the heavenly Jerusalem. The catacombs are long gone. The Incarnation chose Rome, and now the greatest empire is God’s mean to spread his Gospel through Christ’s kingship.

Another fundamental change is about themes that were once avoided beginning to be depicted openly, one of these is the Crucifixion, a death too shameful in Roman culture to be associated with the divinity. By the 5th century it begins to appear, the earliest example can be found in the wooden doors of the basilica of Saint Sabina, these date to 432-440, but even here the emphasis is not on the suffering of Christ, he is shown as an upright victorious God who has triumphed over death. This is a substantially different theological interpretation of the crucifixion, also developed in depictions of an empty cross as a symbol of the resurrection. This is in some ways more of an element of Roman culture and the need for a triumphant God and it doesn’t undo the idea of Christ’s sacrifice which is visible in the writings of the Fathers at the time, as the centuries will pass that sacrifice began to be seen in the art too, with the Lord’s blood falling over this sinful world.

Art follows Christianity from the very start, along with the development of the Bible by the Church Fathers’ work of uniting and choosing the books into the single inspired text we know. Christian art develops within the timeframe of shared memory from apostolic times. Irenaeus of Lyons in the 2nd century, Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria in the 3rdcentury, Augustine of Hippo in the 4th century develop a defined Christian doctrine at the time in which Christian art develops, a living tradition going back to the origins. The first generations of Christians were only removed a few decades from the apostles, the memory of Christ’s life was not only preserved in the books, but also in the liturgy, the preaching, and inevitably the art. 

Trying to understand the religion of the art via the Scripture alone, removed from the cultural, historical, archeological and artistic context of the time and from the very minds that put that Scripture together and which lived the religion celebrated on that art, immersed in that art, can hardly be taken as a thorough approach. This is when Christian iconography emerges, opening Scripture without walking through the art, breathing through the air of the fathers, is an incomplete work, the fruit of emotion rather than a good historical take, and it is also somewhat arrogant. We are very lucky as Anglicans to understand our faith through the means of both Scripture and Tradition, as well as, Hooker adds, Reason. As Anglicans, far too often we forget about the importance of Christian art within the economy of the history of the Church, not as mere decoration but as instrument of faith, we also forget, when we do commission it, that it does come with its language and set of rules, the ancient patrimony of the iconography collected through the centuries.

It is quite misleading to imagine a Christianity opposed to the use of images, to think that visual images were introduced later as a Medieval corruption, that only Christ was represented – it is also simply wrong to not understand the New Covenant of that religion of the Incarnation and the role of God’s intent in becoming human within the Greco-Roman world as a turning point. Christianity and art go together, hand in hand. Not having a sensibility for the long tradition of Christian art means not understanding the historic nature of the mainline, apostolic tradition of our faith. It frankly comes across as a Northern European sense of presumption baked by bad and incomplete historiography. Would you study Dante without walking through 13th century Florence? Touching that world? Going through those churches, libraries, palazzos? Christians used images from the beginning, and the Incarnation provided the theological foundation for this use. Christ became human and so the fulness of the Trinitarian God could be represented. God’s salvific mission could finally be narrated to all. Salvation happens to both body and soul in our religion, and the human body becomes an excellent vehicle.

Early debates over the use of images occurred during the period of the Byzantine iconoclasm, but these reflect do not reflect the mainline Christian experience unlike later theological or political tensions caused by a very bad and incomplete historic take on a Mediterranean religion studied in a dusty studio in a rainy northern European village, away from the air the apostles breathed, the earth their blood soaked, the altars where their followers broke bread. In the 8th century, John of Damascus defended the use of icons, his argument is explicitly that of the Incarnation; the invisible God, made himself visible in the Christ, and can therefore be depicted. This was not an innovation, but a principle made quite clear.

His arguments appeal explicitly to the Incarnation: that the invisible God, having made Himself visible in Christ, can be depicted. This is not an innovation, but a clarification of a principle that had been true from the beginning. The history of Christian iconography is a continuous journey that goes side by side with the development of God’s revelation to humankind in history, from the early signs, through the catacombs, to the majesty of the state religion in the great basilicas. God entered the visible world when this was capable of bearing his image, it started within living memory of the apostles, then growing alongside the theology of the Church Fathers who defined our own very doctrine. Christian art is not a mere decorative addition to our faith but the most important, the most tangible expression, beauty is how the divine is made present and real in this world, “o worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness” as psalm 96 reminds us.

Christian iconography does not begin in the age of Constantine, it develops slowly from the very start, in the earliest Christian communities and it becomes inseparable from the religion itself, as Jesus Christ made God becomes visible. The doctrine of the Incarnation is not simply a theological idea, but it carries a real meaning made visible at the altar whenever the eucharist is celebrated, “this is my body”, “this is my blood”. Our Lord is not simply visible through the beauty of art but real within us in the sacrament of the eucharist. God has entered history as a human, he was seen, touched, loved, killed, he came back from death. Our art is not a mere embellishment of our architectural meeting halls (our churches are also consecrated, a holy space, but this is for another article), Christian art is an inevitable, natural expression of this our faith, from the very start. God chooses to reveal himself as human within the concrete world of the Greek and Roman Mediterranean, God uses that profoundly visual culture, expressed through Greek philosophy, Roman power, and their common ideals of beauty. God uses the art to allow the Gospel to spread via the influence of the empire. Syncretism is never wrong, that cultural language is adopted, it becomes ours, it becomes the mean of the Incarnation, and it transforms that world from within.

God revealed himself in the flesh through history within the unfolding economy of salvation of which the Incarnation is a key defining moment, the invisible becoming visible, through times and regions. The mystery of God was expressed through the most ethereal forms of beauty which gave rise to the greatest artistic expressions of all time, from the deep spirituality of Byzantine icons to the majesty of Gothic cathedrals, the pathos of Giotto’s crucifixes or the aulic beauty of the Renaissance, with the great works of masters such as Botticelli, Ghirlandaio or Raphael to the triumphant pomp of the Baroque, the drama of Caravaggio, the glory of Pietro da Cortona or Guido Reni. That beauty is an expression of the divinity of the incarnate God, an ethereal beauty that inspires the human to seek after God.

This is yet another reason why it is essential to respect the rigid rules of Christian iconography, Rome and Constantinople have preserved this, this ancient tradition can’t simply be interpreted through emotion, but it has a coherent and complex language going back to the foundation of our own very Church. To depart or create something without these specific rules is not to lose formality or following someone’s own interpretation, much like there are dangers in opening Scripture and misinterpreting certain passages without the adequate preparation… Those depictions of God in nativity, baptism, crucifixion and resurrection or the Mary of the annunciation, the saints in all their specific depictions. These follow a common language that makes it easier for the faithful to recognize, to depart from this language is to make centuries old worth of a clear, common language, harder to read and it does come with a certain presumption to think that particular new interpretations departing from these specific rules are not in praise to the Lord but to oneself. It is about following the way in which God revealed himself to humanity through the centuries and so art becomes a fitting bearer of the divine and so Christianity speaks through its defined art.