Interview: Brandon G. Withrow
May 24th, 2008 by Menachem Wecker
Brandon G. Withrow is a Ph.D. and adjunct professor at Winebrenner Theological Seminary where he teaches the history of Christianity. See his blog here.
MW: How much does current scholarship on Christianity address Christian art? How well are religion programs in this country covering religious art in general?
BW: Any discussion of Christianity and the arts would have to vary from field to field and department to department. Each religious studies department emphasizes a different model or methodology, and examining artistic expression in Christianity is often limited by that model or methodology.
In my experience teaching the history of Christianity, Christian art is often (though not always) a tool for understanding the various dimensions of religious life—cultural, institutional, political, and personal—rather than for art appreciation, per se.
I do believe, however, that the field of religious studies is giving a greater appreciation to the importance of religious art in general than has been done in previous years. By way of example, the American Academy of Religion has their Arts Series, offers awards in the arts, and sponsors trips to local exhibits. Last year they held a discussion on video art and showed several important films, including Water, which looks at Hindu widows and the practice of sati.
In the religious studies departments at Christian colleges and universities, where the study of Christianity is often driven by a commitment to its beliefs, Christian art may have an added dimension and be more personal. In the fields of history or theology, art might not only tell the students about religion in all its dimensions, it may also give the student a connection to his or her heritage. In evangelical colleges and universities, examining art, such as film, often comes with a discussion of its images of reconciliation or redemption or its usefulness for ministry.
Where I think art discussion is often lacking is in Christian seminaries, ironically. While I can’t say this is true for all seminaries, it seems to me that the greater emphasis is in biblical studies and theology. This is what they do well. This doesn’t mean that it doesn’t come out in some form—schools like Westminster Theological Seminary offer courses on “Christianity and the Arts” and promote jazz concerts—but on the classroom level, it is often an elective.
As I teach courses on the history of Christianity, I am trying to integrate visual art. For example, this summer I am teaching a course on Medieval and Reformation Spiritualities. While it is a history course, I have chosen a text that incorporates art depicting the diversity of Christian spirituality.
MW: Do you think there is any such thing as Christian art per se? Why or why not?
BW: In the more evangelical circles of my childhood, art was preachy. You could tell it was “Christian” because it had a cross and a weeping Jesus who called out “come to me.” It often looked like something you could find at a van convention, but with the added benefit of having a verse typed across it. Christian art, as great of a history as it has, has been given a bad name by the dominance of this kitsch. Is this Christian art? If by Christian is meant, art done in the name of Christianity, then yes, it is Christian. But this does not make it good art.
All good art is worth pursuing. And as all persons are created in the image of God, I believe good art, as it reflects something of the creator, can be done by any artist, with or without Christian commitments. By reflecting the creator, however, I don’t mean that it must look like it belongs in a chapel or a Christian bookstore. To paraphrase an article written by my wife on the role of grace in fiction, too often Christians treat art as something that needs to be redeemed, as if remarkable art done well does not justify its own existence. Christians do not need to put clothes on the nude.
The greatest difference between the Christian artist and all others is the audience. Christian art is doxological. It is a means for the Christian to glorify and enjoy God. This says nothing about its actual content. It may serve a liturgical purpose, which I admit is what I love about ancient Christian art. It may be serene, though it does not have to be. Or, it may tell us something about the darkness that exists in the world. But in the end, it must be doxological.
MW: When did Christianity first split from Judaism in its interpretation of the Second Commandment? How have different denominations interpreted the prohibition against idolatry differently?
BW: There is a good reason for asking these two questions together. The first definitely leads to the second. Historically speaking, it is difficult to put a date on the first split between Christianity and Judaism on the Second Commandment. Evidence of early Christian art is sparse for the first two centuries, and shifts are hard to identify. Scholars generally attribute this scarcity to several factors. For example, where Christians were persecuted, their faith was generally not announced in public art forms.
A primary factor for this scarcity, however, was that Christian worship began in a Jewish context. Jesus and his disciples maintained their Jewish religion and attended synagogue. While neither Christians nor Jews seemed to avoid aesthetics in worship, both did react significantly to pagan art and symbols out of a concern to preserve the prohibition of graven images. As a protection against such idolatry, the Second Commandment was very important. As a result of this belief, it is likely that Christian art of the first two centuries more closely resembled that of the surrounding culture. For example, in one well-known passage, second-century Christian Clement of Alexandria (c.a. 200 C.E.) wrote:
And let our seals be either a dove, or a fish, or a ship scudding before the wind, or a musical lyre, which Polycrates used, or a ship’s anchor, 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… (Clement of Alexandria, The Instructor 3:11).
The split on this point came with the progressive separation of the two groups altogether. When Christians were seen as another branch of Judaism by Rome, they enjoyed their legal benefits. As Christians focused more intently on their own rites of the Eucharist and baptism, as well as the need for embracing Jesus as the messiah, rifts were inevitable. And of course, this separation was pushed further by 70 C.E, with the destruction of the temple by Titus. From here, Christianity began to spread out on its own and progressively away from the Second Temple traditions. In early Christian documents, such as the Didache, we find Christians altering Jewish worship and making it their own.
As Christianity moved out on its own, Christian art began to change and reflect different priorities. By the mid-third century, we find biblical imagery making its way into Christian house churches. The early example of this being Dura-Europos in the eastern outskirts of the Empire on the Euphrates. After the destruction of the city around the middle of the third century, one of its homes was remodeled to serve as a Christian church. It contains frescoes portraying biblical images, such as Adam and Eve, but also Jesus walking on the water. For Christians to openly portray an image of the divine in this way indicates a significant change taking place. Progressively other church structures reflected this willingness to portray the heavenly in baptismal mosaics and central worship areas.
As to the second question: it is true that maintaining the prohibition against images is stronger in some denominations than others. However, even within a denomination opinion often varies. Many Baptists (denominational or independent) and Presbyterians reject the use of images. However, you can still easily walk into any Baptist or Presbyterian church and find flannelgraph figures — which are used for telling children’s stories — that would certainly violate the Second Commandment by many standards.
Modern denominational differences come out of the long-lived disputes over icons. While many early Christians did embrace images, it was not accepted across the empire wholesale, as the various expressions of the iconoclast controversies demonstrated. Those called iconoclasts (“icon or image breakers”) rejected the use of images in worship; others referred to as iconodules (“image worshippers”) did not. The use of icons in worship was very controversial and remained one of the great dividing lines between Greek and Latin Christianity.
It remains a dividing element for Protestant denominations as well. During the Protestant Reformation art was viewed both positively and negatively. Luther felt art was a useful didactic tool and did not dismiss it. Both Lutherans and Anglicans believe that the use of images is not forbidden in Scripture, therefore they are useful. Reformers such as Zwingli and Calvin were aniconic. They argued for the regulative principle, that is, only what is explicitly commanded is to be done in worship. It applied an extra layer of protection against the possibility of idolatry. Others also followed this line of thought. Iconoclasts like Andreas Karlstadt (a faculty member of Wittenberg) and the many so-called radical reformers saw icons in the church as idolatry. In reaction, the Council of Trent declared that icons of Jesus, Mary and the saints were valid because the worship passes through the images to the one’s being worshiped.
In modern Protestant denominations, the use or rejection of images comes out of this continued disagreement. Many conservative Presbyterians follow Calvin strictly on the rejection of images in worship.
MW: Who are some of your favorite Christian artists, from both antiquity and present day?
BW: Asking me this is like asking me to choose a favorite ice cream. In all seriousness, the only reason I buy Chubby Hubby is because it is like getting all possible chocolate, peanut butter, and caramel ice creams at one time.
When it comes to Christian art, I’ve never really focused on a favorite artist. I generally enjoy individual pieces more than anything. For example, I love Fra Bartolommeo’s painting of St. Catherine of Sienna with a lily. I’m captivated by the detail of Domenico Di Michelino’s “Dante and his Poem” (above). Having had the recent pleasure of encountering it in person, Auguste Rodin’s “Eve” is now one of my favorite sculptures. How he portrays her shame in being sent out from the garden is amazing to me.
Yet, given all this, I really just enjoy good art regardless of whether it is labeled Christian or not. So for example, N.C. Wyeth’s beautiful illustrations speak to the boy in me. I’m always drawn to Monet, Renoir, and Childe Hassam. If I had the money, I would buy any original Degas. I enjoy many of Hans Holbein’s portraits and much of Peter Paul Rubens. And as clichéd as it may sound to some, I’ve never really been disappointed by Van Gogh.
MW: In your estimation, to what extent are Christians aware of contemporary art made by Christians?
BW: I’m not really sure. On the Christian campus, it is not unusual to see a display by a local Christian artist. Often there is some good stuff to be found out there. Unfortunately though, I see Christians flock to artists like Thomas Kinkade, who, by the way, I hear just unveiled the “NASCAR THUNDER The 50th Running of the DAYTONA 500.”
MW: Have you been surprised by the responses recent works like the Piss Christ and the Chocolate Jesus have received?
BW: No, I’m not surprised. I think that at first glance Piss Christ is an interesting image. Abstracted from its history (and title), there is little about it that would warrant the level of attention it received in the 1980s. The shock value comes from how it was produced and that it was done with public money. I understand the notion that it is supposed to represent Christ’s humiliation and the scandal of the cross. But, if the Danish cartoons have taught us anything, it has never been wise to play with the beloved religious icons of others.
It does remind me, however, of the kind of art produced by the Reformers. Lucas Cranach the Elder, for example, did a woodcut called “The Origins of the Papacy,” which was published in Martin Luther’s The Papacy at Rome, Founded by the Devil (1545). In it, Cranach depicts the Pope as being born of the devil’s excrement and then nursed by demons. I can’t imagine what would have come of that today.
MW: It’s hard to walk through museums without bumping into masterpieces that have been commissioned by the Church. To what extent throughout history did the Church seek out Christian artists, who felt religiously invested in the works, as opposed to artists just looking to make some money?
BW: This is an ongoing discussion for scholars. I have no doubt that there were persons chosen by the church for their skill, but the personal faith of those individuals is not something easily assessed. The fact is, if you lived in a Christian nation in the Reformation, for example, you followed the religion of your magistrate. You were “Christian,” even if it was only in terms of being culturally Christian. Speaking contrary to the faith was not beneficial to life or liberty. It was probably not expedient for the church to use only the most pious artist.
This, however, does not negate the possibility that those artists were indeed dedicated to their faith. A favorite example of this comes from music history. The reality of Bach’s faith, that is, that he was not just in it for the money, came out with the 1969 publication of what is now called “Bach’s Bible.” In his Bible there are extensive notes that demonstrate that Bach did in fact believe what he wrote in his music.
MW: How much of early Christian art was uniquely Christian, as opposed to borrowed pagan forms?
BW: If by unique, you mean it had an element that made it stand out as influenced by the Christian narrative and theology, then I think this goes to the question above on the Second Commandment. Eventually (and especially under Constantine) Christian art picked up distinctly Christian symbols, such as a dove or a cross. However, as seen in the comment by Clement of Alexandria, early Christians intentionally tried to avoid the violation of the Second Commandment by making the images of their art follow the standards of the culture. A consequence of this, however, is a form of syncretism. For example, at the Catacomb of Domitilla, Christ is portrayed as the Greek god Orpheus (fourth century). There he has a lyre in hand and is taming the animals. That Christ is portrayed in this way does not in any way negate its usefulness. Early Christians, like Clement of Alexandria, saw this as a message: Christ is better than Orpheus, because he can tame the wild hearts of human beings.