Quite typically patristic endorsements of visual imagery are slightly ambiguous, and any description usually is focused upon the personhood of Christ. Athanasius offered a distinct portrait of the importance of miracles in his On the Incarnation.1 Athanasius specifically mentioned the use of imagery at one point in his treatise, emphasizing the
importance of “seeing” Jesus’ miracles. Witnessing the actions that Jesus performed while in his fleshly body allows one to realize his divine nature: “taking to himself a body like the others, and from things of earth, that is by the works of his body (he teaches them), so that they who would not know him from his providence and rule over all things, may even from the works done by his actual body know the Word of God which is in the body, and through him the Father.”2 Athanasius believed that the healings Christ performed were crucial to inculcating belief in doubters: “Or who that saw him healing the diseases to which the human race is subject, can still think him man and not God? For he cleansed lepers, made lame men to walk, opened the hearing of deaf men, made blind men to see again, and in a word drove away from men all diseases and infirmities: from which acts it was possible even
1 Athanasius, On the Incarnation 19; but more extensively in 38 (PG 25, 129B-C; 161B-C). John Chrysostom reiterated the importance of “seeing” the miracles as inculcating faith in the restorative power of Christ, just as the centurion in Matthew 8.5 was driven to faith by the healing of his servant, Homilies on Matthew, 26.6. Also see H. J. Frings, Medizin und Arzt bei den griechischen Kirchenvätern bis Chrysostomos (Bonn, 1959).
2 Athanasius, Incarn. 14.8 (NPNF 2.4.44; PG 25, 120C-D). Athanasius was not speaking entirely about metaphorical “seeing.” It is questionable whether he was referencing tangible images of Christ. The early fifth- century author Theodore of Mopsuestia mentioned imagery as it pertains to the personhood of Christ.
Theodore, like Athanasius, understood the power and effectiveness of the visual form, as he describes Christ as an icon (On the Incarnation, 13.7; PG 66, 989A-C).
for the most ordinary observer to see his Godhead.”3 Athanasius appeared to believe that it was not just the recognition of Christ as a unique individual that won converts but the visual witness of his healings that corrected unbelief.
The connection between healing and the visual was spelled out in the apocryphal Acts of John from the third century. Regarded as the earliest textual evidence of Christian icon veneration, the Acts of John described John’s encounter with a Christian interested in capturing his likeness for posterity.4 John healed Lycomedes and his wife Cleopatra, raising them from the dead in the name of the physician Christ, resulting in Lycomedes’ desire to retain John’s image. In the act of performing his miracle John notes in his prayer the power witnessing such an act has on the crowd of on-lookers: “by whom thou shalt convert them that are here unto thy way…for when they perceive thy power in that those that have died are raised, they will be saved, some of them.”5 The text reflected an understanding of the power of witnessing a miraculous act. Seeing John’s miracle was not unlike seeing the healings of Christ: it drew followers. Most pertinent is the action Lycomedes took in the aftermath of John’s miracle. He conscripted a portrait made of John so he could
memorialize his savior for posterity which drew the consternation of John.
Lycomedes’ motivation reveals the utility of early Christian imagery. Lycomedes wanted a portrait of John, his miracle worker. Lycomedes desired a portrait, not an image of John’s miracle, and it appears it was for devotional purposes. The Acts of John is useful in that it shows an early Christian motivation to preserve events in the medium of visual imagery. While Lycomedes’ portrait memorialized the person of his miracle worker, the
3 Athanasius, Incarn. 18.4 (NPNF 2.4.46).
4 Acts of John, 27.
5 Acts of John, 22 (James).
early Christian paintings of Christ’s healings record the miraculous act for posterity.
Although not portraits, the catacomb wall paintings of Rome show Christ in the act of healing and reflect the patristic emphasis on “seeing” the healings of Christ. Since Christians of the third century could not actually witness Christ’s healings, they could witness them in art. Pertinent to this discussion is the Mandylion of Edessa, the legendary first icon of Christ.
The Mandylion was a linen cloth that Christ wiped his face with, leaving behind a mirror image of his likeness. Legendarily, King Abgar of Edessa was ailing of an illness and sent his messenger to Jesus imploring him to come to his kingdom and heal him. Instead, Jesus impressed his face upon the cloth, and the Mandylion miraculously healed the king. Notable in the Mandylion legend is that Abgar initially requested the presence of Christ the healer, and in lieu of his presence Christ’s physical image actually performed the miracle.6 The Mandylion as well as the Acts of John and Athanasius’ emphasis on seeing Christ’s healings and miracles illuminate the initial steps of Christian image use.
It is apparent that early Christians were influenced by the non-Christian use of art either in icon devotion or in other material forms. Eusebius recorded a possible
appropriation in his history describing a statue at Paneas (Caesarea Philippi). Granted that his Letter to Constantia was possibly not authentic, it is difficult to determine what Eusebius thought of the Christian use of imagery and he arguably was slightly more positive than
6 The legend is perhaps late fourth or early fifth-century captured in the Syriac doctrine of Addai, see New Testament Apocrypha (ed. by Wilhelm Schneemelcher; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964), 1:437-44, but see the later text describing the cloth in the sixth century Acts of the Holy Apostle Thaddeus, NPNF 8.558-559). The Mandylion was an example of achieropoietas, an image divinely manifested not made by human hands, its counterpart in the West was the Veronica cloth, however that legend does not date until at least the twelfth century. While it provided personal cures, it also served as a communal protector, protecting Edess and Constantinople from attack. For further reading see Averil Cameron, “The Mandylion and Byzantine Iconoclasm,” in The Holy Face and the Paradox of Representation (ed. Herbert Kessler and Gerhard Wolf; Bologna:
Nuova Alfa, 1998), 13-54 and Robin M. Jensen, Face to Face: Portraits of the Divine in Early Christianity.
(Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2005), 135-137.
previously thought.7 However, this episode contains some telling features of the landscape of visual art in Late Antiquity. Eusebius explained the statue as an art work erected in gratitude for Jesus healing the woman with the issue of blood:
For they say that there stood on a lofty stone at the gates of her house a brazen figure in relief of a woman, bending on her knee and stretching forth her hands like a suppliant, while opposite to this there was another of the same material, an upright figure of a man, clothed in comely fashion in a double cloak and stretching out his hand to the woman; at his feet on the monument itself a strange species of herb was growing, which climbed up the border of the double cloak of brass, and acted as an antidote to all kinds of disease. This statue, they said, bore the likeness of Jesus.8 Eusebius’ description of the statue, particularly the detail of the growing curative plant, makes it unlikely that this statue was originally intended to depict the healing of the woman with the issue of blood. His characterization of pagan image devotion, of their tendency to regard the statue as “Savior,” implies that the Christians appropriated and altered a pagan statue. Eusebius’ statements regarding imagery should not be construed as negative. He noted existing images of Paul, Peter and Jesus without any reservation. His criticism of image devotion gently reminds his readers of their pagan neighbors’ proclivities. For the Christians, the natural subject to follow the pagan oeuvre was Christ performing healings and miracles.
Eusebius’ description of the statue also invites an unsolvable comparison. It is tempting to argue that the statue at Paneas may have in fact originally been a statue of
7 See Ernst Kitzinger, “The Cult of Images before Iconoclasm,” in DOP, no. 8 (1954), 142 and Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image before the Era of Art Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 145 for their use of Eusebius’ letter. The authorship of the Letter as non-Eusebian is convincingly argued by Mary Charles Murray in her “Art and the Early Church,” JTS (1977) 303-345. No scholar has offered a credible counter-argument, except Stephen Gero in “The True Image of Christ: Eusebius’ Letter to Constantia Reconsidered,” in JTS, 32, (1981), 460-470. See Vita Constantini 3.48ff and 3. 29ff where Eusebius mentions imagery and the construction of the Holy Sepulcher without negativity.
8 Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History 7.18 (PG 20, 679C; Oulton, LCL). The statue was also mentioned in Sozomen (Hist. eccl., 5.21) and Philostorgius (Hist. eccl. 7.3). The late fourth century poet Prudentius was similarly accommodating to pagan statues now under the aegis of a Christian empire. In his reply to Symmachus, he exhorted Romans to abandon idolatry, but not to destroy pagan statues: “Let your statues, the works of great artists, be allowed to rest clean; be these our country’s fairest ornaments, and let no debased usage pollute the monuments of art and turn it into sin” (Against Symmachus, 1.502; Thomson, LCL).
Asclepius. The growing herbal plant could have been a Christian alteration of the serpent- entwined staff. The local population at Paneas obviously interpreted the statue as a healer, influencing the Christian population to model it after a Christian healing story. Although impossible to prove, the suggestion is interesting to posit and it certainly would not be unprecedented for early Christians to imbue a pagan image with a Christian meaning.9 Even Adolf von Harnack was obliged to make the comparison between the two, “If the statue originally represented Asclepius as the curative plant would suggest, we should have here at least one step between ‘Asclepius the Savior’ and ‘Christ the Savior.’ But this interpretation of a pagan savior or healer is insecure.”10
Harnack found Eusebius’ statue as possible visual evidence of the rivalry between Asclepius and Christ. What can be drawn from Eusebius’ account, regardless of the origin of the statue at Paneas, is that Christians were developing a visual language to propagate a message of Christ as a healer and worker of miracles. Eusebius’ text apparently shows that the early Christians were discovering the utility of art and imagery, were capitalizing on the influences of their non-Christian neighbors, and were placing that imagery in the context of healing. Such a move suggests a Christian appropriation of the pagan tradition of healing, namely the cult of Asclepius. The visual evidence of the catacombs and of sarcophagus fragments made this appropriation quite lucid, and presents a greater opportunity to interpret the image of Christ the Miracle Worker.
9 See Steven Bigham, Early Christian Attitudes towards Images (Rollinsford, NH: Orthodox Research Institute, 2004), 188-189. Bigham follows Murray’s position, particularly on Eusebius’ stance on images. He does allow the possibility that the statue at Paneas could be Asclepius.
10 Adolf von Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries (trans. and ed. by James Moffatt; New York: Harper, 1962), 119.