Later Roman art and spirituality 583 In their fields, Elsner, Finney and Mathews have attempted to improve upon the core assumptions of the mainstream tradition of late-antique art history. All three have made stimulating contributions. Each in his own way has written an ambitious work, Finney in disputing a supposed absence of images, Mathews in challenging a bastion of iconographic interpretation; neither of these, however, attempts to grapple with the dynamics of large- scale change in the relation of the Roman viewer to art, which is what Elsner tries to do. It may be that his selection of case studies will prove potentially misleading, and perhaps he fails to pay enough attention to the variety of audience, from ordinary people to rich patrons and intellectuals. Nevertheless, Elsner has produced a study that does not simply reply to others but stands out to be judged in its own right. Department of History, Lancaster University The Emperor-Christ deposed? Valerie Hutchinson Pennanen THOMAS F. MATHEWS, THE CLASH OF GODS: A REINTERPRETATION OF EARLY CHRISTIAN ART (Princeton University Press 1993). 223 pp., 138 pl. (some color). ISBN 0-691- 0350-1. Prophet, teacher, social reformer, Son of Man, Son of God — which of these labels (if any) best describes Jesus Christ? Modern scholars, as a rule uncomfortable with paradox and mystery, have heaped up mountains of research in an attempt to answer this question. Despite their many sharp disagreements with each other, all have fostered a common belief that an answer does exist: a belief that is most often summed up by the phrase, “the historical Jesus”. Thus, as Mathews observes near the end of his book “We who live in a post-Christian world think we have arrived at a certain objectivity about Christ. We have assigned him his place in history books and assessed his impact on the course of human development” (141). The essential premise of Mathews’ book is that Early Christian artists and their patrons were much more imaginative than this. Far from denying the ambiguity of Christ, they embraced and celebrated it. They understood that Christ could be both philosopher and magician, both male and female, both young and old, a being of light who was nonetheless intimately involved with “grass-roots” concerns (92). Above all, they knew better than to confuse — or compare — their Lord with an earthly king or emperor. And yet, Mathews claims, most modern scholarship on Early Christian art is based on an erroneous theory which he calls the “Emperor Mystique”. According to this theory, first developed in the 1930s by E Kantorowicz, A. Alféldi, and A. Grabar, nearly all Early Christian portrayals of Christ are consciously derived from images of the emperor. In his opening chapter (“The Mistake of the Emperor Mystique”) Mathews asserts that the time has come to re-assess “the whole of Early584 Valerie H. Pennanen Christian art ... in a most fundamental way,” and he proposes to begin this task by looking at a select number of themes that pose critical test cases for the application of the Emperor Mystique” (21). In fact, three of Mathews’ subsequent chapters are devoted almost exclusively to disproving. the “Mistake of the Emperor Mystique” — as applied to scenes of Christ Entering Jerusalem (2: “The Chariot and the Donkey”) and scenes where Christ is shown either in company with his apostles or approached from both sides by reverent processions (4: “Larger-Than-Life” and 6: “Convergence”). The other two chapters (3: "The Magician” and 5: “Christ Chameleon”) are written with somewhat less attention to the “Emperor Mystique,” though they still allude to it frequently. There are many valuable insights and exciting theories in this book, and all are presented in a highly readable way. Following are some of the main points. Inhis discussion of Christ Entering Jerusalem, Mathews first points up a basic contrast between this and the typical imperial adventus. He notes that, whereas the latter was “a military parade designed to strike fear and awe into the hearts of the bystanders”, the former's imagery “belongs to a totally different world”, a world void of any and all weapons, armor, banners, or imperial costume (27). Moreover, as Mathews observes, it is possible to link certain iconographic details of Christ's Entry (as developed in dth-c. sarcophagi) with details from other, non-imperial traditions. Thus the little foal accompanying Christ's mount looks and acts very much like a hunting dog — suggesting an iconographic source in earlier hunt sarcophagi; and the motif of a small man clinging to the branches of a nearby olive tree suggests the pagan. harvest motif of a putto (or other figure) climbing a tree. Indeed, notes Mathews, the overall theme of the adventus can be linked much more readily to depictions of Roman noblemen peacefully arriving home at their estates (a theme not uncommon in late antiquity)! than to portrayals of the emperor arriving at the gates of a city. Mathews also observes that in the few extant eastem versions of the scene, Christ is shown riding side- saddle — a motif which suggests the gentle demeanor of a woman, rather than the militaristic pomp of an emperor. And he notes that Christ’s mount, the ass, may well have recalled pagan depictions of Hephaestus, Dionysus, and Silenus (each of whom is frequently seen riding an ass or mule), as well as a variety of Old and New Testament themes, both literary and artistic. Turning to the subject of Christ as miracle-worker, Mathews correctly points out that this is by far the ‘most popular subject in Early Christian art. He notes, too, that many of these scenes, which are “distinctively pacific, non-military, and non-imperial” (62), present Christ asa healing god superior even to Asclepius. For ‘whereas the latter's images (curiously enough) never show him in the act of restoring someone's health, Early ‘Christian art repeatedly shows Christ “in the very moment his magical power takes effect” (68). Christ is thus revealed as a god uniquely concerned with the ills of ordinary people, and uniquely able to grant them a permanent cure. Mathews further asserts that “Early Christian art sought to vindicate Christ’s magic by ‘giving it an historical validity and authority” (72), ie. by linking it to such Old Testament miracles as Moses Striking the Rock and the Closing of the Red Sea over Pharaoh’s Army. He demonstrates that these latter ‘scenes, as rendered by Early Christian artists, share not only the distinctly non-imperial (or even”anti- imperial”) flavor of Christ's healing scenes, but also the use of a magic wand motif. More intriguingly still, Mathews observes that some Early Christian artists identified the Three Young Men at Nebuchadnezzar’s, ‘Court with the Magi — a reminder of Christians’ duty to reject false gods and worship the true. With regard to the risen Christ seated among his apostles, a theme most gloriously displayed in the apse ‘mosaic of S. Pudenziana, Mathews shows that this simply cannot be traced to imperial prototypes. Christ, he observes, is depicted sitting on a true throne, rather than on a sella curulis; wearing sandals, golden-colored “civilian” garments, and a halo, rather than a diadem, imperial cloak and boots; and in the real company of his followers, somewhat like Socrates and very unlike the more distant Roman emperor. In short, Christ emerges in this art as a unique being, both human and divine. Mathews adds that the absence of imperial references from such scenes does not necessarily make them apolitical. Placed in a mosaic directly above the heads of presiding clergy (especially the bishop), the image of Christ and his apostles will have lent clear symbolic affirmation to the clergy’s authority — regardless of whether the emperor also approved 1 Peter Brown (ArtB 77 [1995] 502) states that Mathews unfortunately “can provide only one example” of this visual theme, but in fact Mathews provides five: see his response to Brown in ArtB 78 (1996).The Emperor-Christ deposed? 585 ‘Mathews next explores the richly polymorphous nature of Christ, as presented in Early Christian icono- graphy and confirmed by both Gnostic and orthodox writers. He considers Christ as a being of light, portrayed against a mandorla and/or nimbus, and he suggests that Christ's mandorla derives not from the ‘Roman imago clipeata (as “Emperor Mystique” theorists would claim) but from the aureole which Central Asian and Indian artists gave to the Buddha. Mathews also considers Christ as a quasi-feminine figure, ‘whose smooth, full face and cascade of loose hair recall images of Apollo and Dionysus — and who may even, like Jupiter/Serapis, have female breasts. Mathews notes that this effeminate or androgynous Christ might very well suggest “the reconciliation or unification of the opposite sexes .. as a symbol of salvation” (136), Finally, he points out that Early Christian images of Jesus present him as a figure of almost every age, ranging from a young child to a “wrinkled old man” (139), despite scriptural claims that Christ died while still in his prime. “The meaning of these [age] transformations,” Mathews concludes, “is that Christ has the ‘magical key of timelessness, the power of eternity” (bid.). In his closing chapter, Mathews rejects Karl Lehmann’s attempt to derive the Early Christian world view {as presented in dome decoration) from Roman imperial cosmology. Mathews shows that not only is Lehmann’s theory based on insufficient evidence, but “the world view that governs the imagery of Early Christian churches is... much more straightforward” (150) and is expressed by processsions of worshipful figures converging upon the central figure of Christ. These processions, Mathews adds, “potentially include the whole world of the saved” (ibid.), and their rising popularity in late Sth and éth-c. church art “coincides with the rise of public participatory processions” (151) — though they also hark back to the peaceful religious processions of pagan art. Mathews deals yet another blow to the “Emperor Mystique” theory by observing that the “crowns” so often held by the saints are not imperial crowns (diadems) but chaplets of golden leaves, recalling both traditional Mediterranean religious practice and New Testament metaphor. Moreover, he argues, the specific layout of these Early Christian procession scenes is paralleled, not in portrayals of “eager courtiers around their emperor” (no such portrayals exist!) (178), but in gravestones and votive reliefs associated with Christ's late-antique rivals, the pagan mystery gods. A single recurring flaw in Mathews’ work is his tendency to overstate and oversimplify. He is apt to exaggerate the Emperor Mystique’s impact on modern scholarship, claiming that art historians “as if by silent conspiracy ... have agreed not to question ... [this] dogma too sacred to tamper with” (21) and that they are forever forcing “smaller and more insignificant details” into the picture first created in the 1930s (16). But it is possible to cite quite a few sources — ranging from art history textbooks, handbooks, and museum catalogues to scholarly works — that are by no means at the mercy of this dogma, sources which (for instance) link Early Chris- tian portrayals of the Good Shepherd to images of Hermes Kriophoros and Orpheus, or Early Christian Nativities to portrayals of the various pagan gods in infancy.? Mathews’ preoccupa- tion with his “straw man” (to use Peter Brown’s phrase) seems particularly misplaced in the chapter on Christ’s miracles — which, as he himself admits, have almost never been interpre- ted along imperial lines anyway.! With questionable logic, he blames “Emperor Mystique” theorists for having caused a “conspicuous neglect of all the miracles in studies of Early Christian art” (65), and he also claims, incorrectly, that the implications of Christ carrying a magic wand “have never been examined” (59).5 The book contains other surprising statements as well, viz., “Art historians have been slow to address the power of images” (4), and “If there is 2 For example H. W. Janson, History of art (New York, 4th ed. 1991) 256; G. Zarnecki, Art of the Medicoal world (Englewood Cliffs 1975) 18; I. Hutter, Early Christian and Byzantine art (New York 1988) 12: R. Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians from the second century A.D. to the conversion of Constantine (London 1986) 392°93; and M. Henig, Religion in Roman Britain (London 1984) 123, 3 See for instance R. E. Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman world (Ithaca 1971) 20; and R. Miller, “Isis” in E. K. Gazda et al,, The gods of Egypt in the Graeco-Roman period (Ann Arbor 1977) 20 4 Alone among the miracles, Christ Healing the Woman with the Issue of Blood has been thought to derive from an imperial prototype, namely, the emperor as resttutor provinciae. Mathews’ attack on this theory (62-64) fails to take all the reasons for it into account: see now H. Leclerq, “Hemorroisse,” DACL 6, 2200-09 (cited in Mathews 190, n. 10) 5 See F. Albertson, “An Isiac model for the Raising of Lazarus in Early Christian Art,” JbAC 38 (1995) 123-32, with refs.586 Valerie H. Pennanen a single cornmon thread uniting the life and work of [Kantorowicz, Alféldi, and Grabar], it is nostalgia for lost empire” (19). That the latter remark is both inaccurate and ungenerous has been demonstrated by Brown; the absurdity of the former should be self-evident. ‘There are times when Mathews’ zeal to undermine the “Emperor Mystique” results in his ‘own neglect of the images’ rich connotations. For example: in his aforementioned treatment of Christ Entering Jerusalem, he fails to mention that the motif of the little man up in the tree may recall not only a pagan harvest motif but also the New Testament account of Zacchaeus, who climbed a sycamore tree in order to view Christ's arrival at Jericho and later hosted him at his home (Lk 19.2 ff.). Mathews’ brief analysis of the Adoration of the Magi on 4th-c. sarcophagi (ch.3) does not include the possible links between this scene and earlier portrayals of Dionysus’ infancy.” Dionysiac parallels are also given surprisingly little space in Mathews’ discussion of the androgynous Christ* Mathews at times tends to push his own interpretations too far, just as he accuses the “Emperor Mystique” theorists of doing. He is inclined to see Early Christian art as not merely devoid of imperial references but anti-imperial (and, in the fourth century, anti-Arian). While this may very well be true of some Early Christian images, to imply that it is true for all or most of the rest is unwarranted. As Brown reminds us, “The 4th century [in particular] was not a tidy age ... The notion [of the imperial adventus could still be] suffused with a sacral glow ... [and] the [Arian] controversy itself was a messy affair ... [whose] participants seem to have been considerably less perspicacious than the great German Religionshistoriker” ° Moreover, ‘common sense compels ts to ask whether Christians of the upper classes (of whom there were a good many from the 4th c. on) would have been quite so ready to mock or deny the authority of the emperor. They, at least, had a practical stake in maintaining the status quo, even if the “ittle man” — whom Mathews (92) envisions as the typical Christian devotee — did not. Despite its shortcomings, this book is a valuable contribution to the history of Early Chris- tian art. Not only does it cast a much-needed critical light on common scholarly assumptions about the Emperor-Christ, but it invites reflection on the many different réles which Christ may assume in scripture, hymnody, and the visual arts. The book's lively, imaginative prose and splendid illustrations might well earn it a wider audience than is usual for art-historical texts; in particular, The Clash of Gods could prove of interest to contemporary Christian theo- logians, many of whom are turning with fresh interest to explore the diversity of images of Christ. Calumet College of St. Joseph, Whiting, Indiana © ArtB 1995, 500. 7 Of particular interest are two 2nd-c. sarcophagus lids which show baby Dionysus approached by admiring Nymphs, Satyrs, and Silenus: F. Matz, Die dionysischen Sarkophage (Berlin, 1968-75) pl. 119, fig. 95 (lid of a sarcophagus in Baltimore) and pl. 218, fig. 198 (lid fragment in the Villa Albani; authenticity in doubt but defended by Matz). 8 Cf.comments by K. Lehmann-Hartleben and E. C, Olsen, Dionysiac sarcophagi in Baltimore (Baltimore 1942) 35-36. 9 ArtB 1995, 501.