Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Brian E. Daley on Eusebius' and Epiphanius' Opposition to the Veneration of Images


Brian Daley, a Roman Catholic scholar and Jesuit priest noted that:

The early Jewish, Christian, and Islamic traditions of faith all took generally negative positions about the use and role of religious images in community life . . . (Brian E. Daley, God Visible: Patristic Christology Reconsidered [Changing Paradigms in Historical and Systematic Theology; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018], 233)

While noting that “visual images did decorate Jewish and Christian places of worship in at least some parts of the Mediterranean world” (p. 233 [Daley references Dura-Europas]), with respect to the veneration of such images, Daley correctly noted that “Jewish artisans were allowed to make images for non-Jewish consumers, and Jews might even possess images in their houses, as long as they did not worship them” (p. 234) and that:

Second-century Christian apologists, of course, like Justin and Athenagoras (Justin, Apol. 1.9, 24; Athenagoras, Plea for the Christians 17-18; Letter to Diognetus 2; Theophilus, To the Autolycus 2.2.), drew on the Old Testament to heap what soon became standard on “pagan” devotional practices, centered on statues and paintings made by human hands. Clement of Alexandria, generally affirming towards the cosmopolitan culture of his day, nevertheless insisted that well-formed Christians worshipped a totally transcendent God without the aid of images (Clement, Protreptikos 4.1; Paedagogos 3.59.2; Stromateis 5.1, 11-14); the north African Tertullian, two decades later, contrasted the abstract purity of Christian worship with the visual luxuriance of pagan idolatry (De Idolatria 3-4, 6, 18, 20). Origen insisted that not only the incarnation of the Word genuinely succeeded in making the transcendent God visible (De Principiis 1.6.4; 2.4.3); otherwise, God’s image in the world was achieved most fully in the creation and the virtuous life of the human person (Homilies on Genesis 1.13; 4; 13.4). (Ibid., 234)

Daley then presents a discussion of two other patristic-era witnesses against the veneration of images: Eusebius and Epiphanius. While many have called into question their polemical work against such a practice, Daley notes that “there seems to be no strong reason to reject them” (p. 238) and, with respect to Epiphanius:

John of Damascus, On the Divine Images 1.25; 2:18 rejects the anti-iconic passages attributed to Epiphanius as spurious. Some modern scholars have also questioned the authenticity of these fragments, which—like those of Eusebius’s letter—are mainly preserved in the acta of the Second Council of Nicea (787), or in the treatises of Patriarch Nicephorus in defense of icons. Besides an a priori unwillingness on the part of some to think of this venerable enemy of heresies condemning the use of images, however, there seems to be little reason to doubt that this was Epiphanius’s position. (Ibid., 237 n. 24)

On Eusebius, Daley noted:

The first extended Christian polemic against the use of visual images for Christian devotion, however, was the celebrated letter later attributed to the fourth-century church historian Eusebius of Caesaraea, supposedly written to the Empress Constantia, the sister of Constantine and wife of his rival Licinius. The authenticity of this letter, which survives only in large fragments quoted by the protagonists in the eighth-century iconoclastic controversy, has frequently been questioned, because it is otherwise unattested in fourth-century sources and because its argument seems so conveniently to fit into eighth-century polemics; its language and its theology, however, seem to resonate remarkably well with the rest of Eusebius’s spiritualizing, Platonically inspired thought. In these fragments, Eusebius responds to the Empress’s request for a painted image of Christ—the kind of portrait he elsewhere says he himself has seen of both Paul and of the Savior (Church History 7.18)—by a detailed but forceful refusal. Assuming that she cannot be asking for a picture of the Son of God in his true, eternal identity, which transcends imagining, Eusebius concludes that she is looking for a depiction of “that image, which he took up for our sakes, when he put on ‘the form of a servant’” (Letter to Constantia, sec. I). But even this form, the bishop argues, cannot be drawn by an artist, since the transfigured human body of Christ, now in heaven as once on Mount Tabor, radiates heavenly splendor.

Who, then, would be able to draw, with dead and lifeless colors and lines, the flashes of splendor and glory that shine forth and burst out of him, since even the holy disciples could not endure gazing on him when he appeared in this way, but fell on their faces, confessing that the sight was beyond their endurance? (Letter to Constantia, sec. IV)

To attempt this would be to try to limit the transcendent, to grasp the ungraspable; even the pagans—if they are philosophically sophisticated—know such a project is impossible. Eusebius continues:

If even among unbelieving Gentiles no one would, in this way, try to depict that has no resemblance to anything else—as for example an artist, attempting to draw what has nothing like it, ends up sketching and sculpting shapes that look like humans, yet are wholly different [from the gods] (for such are those who form idols, either of what they think is divine, or of what they call heroes, or of something of this sort, and want to make images of them, but are unable to draw them or even anything close to them)—then you will conclude yourself that it is wrong for us, too, to do such things. (Letter to Constantia, sec. V).

Pictorial representation, as Eusebius understands it, always attempts to show a link between two different realities—the original and the attempted copy—that in some respect share the same form. With the divine, no such visual comparison is possible.

Eusebius goes on to remind the Empress of the biblical prohibition of venerating “graven images,” which he insists has also been the universal practice of the Christian Church up to his time. He tells the story of meeting “a certain woman,” who casually mentioned that she had pictures of St. Paul and of the Savior, as if they belonged among the sages (ως αν φιλοσοφους); he confiscated them, he says, to avoid scandalizing people by seeming to condone idolatry (Letter to Constantia, sec. VII). The practice resembles what Gnostics have done, in making portraits of their own leaders.

For us, such practices are forbidden. When we confess the Lord our Savior as divine, after all, we are preparing ourselves to see God, purifying our hearts with all seriousness, so that—in purity—we may gaze on him; for “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” And if you think images are really important, besides this, before the face-to-face vision and sight of our Savior that is to come, what greater portrait could a person have than the very word of God? (Letter to Constantia, sec. VIII)

Like his hero Origen, Eusebius seems to assume what the Word of God became “flesh” in the word of the Bible, before becoming flesh in the Virgin’s womb. Study the Scriptures, he is urging the Empress, and you have the only representation you will ever need! (Ibid., 235-36)

With respect to Epiphanius, Daley wrote:

During the last two decades of the fourth century, another busy author who was later claimed as a spiritual ancestor by the opponents of sacred images was Epiphanius, a Palestinian who later became bishop of Salamis in Cyprus. Learned, but less intellectually subtle than Eusebius, Epiphanius was essentially a theological polemicist, who served the later Christian tradition mainly by his careful and detailed descriptions of ancient Christian heresies. He also seems to have been opposed to the public erection and veneration of sacred images, on the traditional philosophical grounds of the essential deceptiveness of artistic representation. A passage from his letter to the Emperor Theodosius I, probably from around 394, gives a representative example of Epiphanius’s position:

I beg you, O devout Emperor, enemy of the wicked: challenge all deviance by the zeal or God that is truly in you, through your firm legislation—sanctioned by fines, if possible. And I trust that you can accomplish, by God’s grace, whatever you will. Wherever tapestries are found, with false pictures on them that nonetheless claim to represent the Apostles or the prophets or even the Lord Christ himself, they should all be stripped from the Churches or baptisteries or residences or martyrs’ shrines where they are hanging, and you should provide them with a poor man’s burial! What is painted on walls should be whitewashed. And since it will be difficult to remove that is planned for depiction in mosaics, your God-given wisdom will now what orders to give; if it is possible to remove them, that would be best, but if that is impossible, one should imitate the efforts of our forebears, and never have figures represented in this way again. Our ancestors, after all, painted nothing but the sign of Christ, the cross, on the doors and everywhere. (This passage is cited by Nicephorus, in his Challenge and Refutation 202)

Epiphanius’s main objection to images, in the anti-iconic passages of his works that survive, also seems to be their lack of authenticity: they falsify the realities they claim to represent, by relying simply on the painter’s imagination (Epiphanius, Letter to Theodosius). In contrast, he argues, the only representation of Christ and the saints that can lay claim to adequacy is the image offered in the lives of the people who imitate them (Ibid). Beyond this, the simple sign of the cross should be enough to satisfy both the need for decoration and the demand for religious symbolism. As Son of God, Jesus is the very person, “beyond our grasp” (ακαταληπτον); so it is strictly impossible to form an adequate image of him, in words or by any other human art (Ibid). A lifeless portrait cannot take the place of the living God; so to offer genuinely religious veneration to such an image is idolatry (Ibid.) (Ibid., 236-37).

Daley is not the only Roman Catholic who will readily admit that Epiphanius opposed the veneration of images. As Catholic apologist Patrick Madrid succinctly noted:

[Epiphanius] was not free from all error . . .[as] revealed by his fanatical opposition to icons. (Patrick Madrid, Any Friend of God’s is a Friend of Mine: A Biblical and Historical Explanation of the Catholic Doctrine of the Communion of Saints, 114).

The Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox dogmatic teaching on the veneration of images being an apostolic tradition is not just simply without any positive evidence from the earliest centuries of Christianity; there is a mountain of patristic witness against such.