The topic of the Reformation and art can claim a long history. The Protestant movement had scarcely got under way before observers noted implications for painting and sculpture. The Nuremberg artist Albrecht Dürer in 1525 uttered warnings concerning the futility of image destruction and the difficulty of reviving the arts once they were lost. The Dutch humanist Desiderius Erasmus also alluded to some of these problems. In a 1526 letter of introduction provided for Hans Holbein the Younger to take with him to the Netherlands, Erasmus explained the painter’s departure from Reformation Basel by stating that “here the arts are cold.” The Wittenberg reformer Martin Luther seems to have felt sensitive to accusations of responsibility for causing this frigid atmosphere. He once protested that he was not “of the opinion that the gospel should destroy and blight all the arts.”

If Luther’s remark displays an element of defensiveness, subsequent events demonstrate why. Arguments over post-Reformation cultural decline became a standard theme in Protestant-Catholic polemics, one that endured down to the twentieth century. Fortunately a number of factors have combined over the past several decades to render the topic of the Reformation and art much less controversial. The improved relations between churches, resulting from the modern ecumenical movement, left their mark upon the writing of history. Perhaps even more of a moderating influence resulted from a greater participation in the discussion by two groups of secular scholars. Academic specialists in early modern European history gradually have overcome some inhibitions against systematic use of visual evidence. Art historians, for their part, appear in many instances to have laid aside earlier reservations regarding serious study of the often didactic or polemical and sometimes aesthetically mediocre artistic creations of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation. Researchers from both disciplines have begun to make more systematic use of methodological insights derived from the social sciences. All of this bodes well for the future, which should witness a continued expansion of our knowledge.

The question of religious art represents an important area of disagreement among early Protestants. Luther developed his views on images largely in reaction to the attacks made on them by more radical reformers, particularly the iconoclastic teachings published from the early 1520s by his Wittenberg faculty colleague Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt. Unlike Karlstadt, Luther did not regard actual image idolatry as a widespread problem. Nor did Luther share the notion that the image prohibition of the Old Testament remained strictly in force for Christians, preferring to think that it formed part of the Jewish ceremonial law abrogated by the coming of Christ. Furthermore, Luther repudiated any body-spirit dualism that might seem to invalidate reliance upon physical aids in worship. Ultimately for the reformer the use or nonuse of religious images fell in the realm of Christian liberty.

Luther, in fact, viewed mental image making as a natural part of the human psyche, a necessity for humans to visualize that about which they think. Religious art follows as a natural extension of people’s inherent tendency to form mental images, and the creations of the painter’s and sculptor’s craft possessed definite value for the evangelizing mission of the church. Luther endorsed the medieval conception of visual illustrations as forming a layperson’s Bible. In his view children and simple folk are “more apt to retain the divine stories when taught by picture and parable than merely by words or instruction.” The Wittenberg reformer ultimately acquired a high regard for the pedagogical potential of pictorial compositions, emphasizing their usefulness for enlivening the understanding and for refreshing the memory.

Luther’s moderately positive views on religious imagery gained lasting acceptance only in those lands where his theology provided the doctrinal basis for the emerging established churches. Meanwhile, the iconoclastic ideas of Karlstadt had reached Switzerland, where, mediated through the work of another radical author, Ludwig Hätzer, they influenced the developing thought of the Zurich reformer Huldrych Zwingli.

Zwingli denied that the question of images in churches belonged to the realm of religious liberty, thus refuting the notion that Christians were free to choose whether to have them. For him the image prohibition in the Old Testament remained fully binding. This was necessary owing to the fact that, because of people’s natural inclination to false worship, virtually all images placed in churches inevitably ended up becoming idols. This proved particularly true of images of Christ.

Zwingli did not totally reject the possibility of an art with religious subject matter. Pictures of Jesus and other biblical themes might be allowed—outside of churches—so long as they were regarded merely as historical representations, were not employed as devotional aids, and did not give rise to feelings of reverence.

John Calvin also made a fundamental contribution to the emerging Reformed doctrine of images. The Genevan theologian assigned to the Old Testament image prohibition the status of an independent (second) commandment within the Decalogue, allowing him to emphasize to an unprecedented degree the scriptural ban on idolatry. According to some scholars, however, of greater importance than any biblical legalism for Calvin was his concern with restoring a properly spiritual form of worship. The utter transcendence of God ruled out any attempt to bring him down to man’s level through the medium of visual portraiture. Efforts directed to this end, the reformer believed, seek to domesticate God and deprive him of his glory. In place of the image he emphasized the centrality of the divine word. As a consequence, wall inscriptions from the Bible were the only embellishments allowed to adorn churches. Calvin did permit, however, the representation of narrative biblical scenes—except those with pictures of God—as long as their use was restricted to the sphere of private homes. He also recognized historical themes and landscapes as proper subjects for secular art, which was viewed as a gift from the divine creator. Because of this, some have credited him with providing one source of inspiration for the realistic Dutch painting of the following century.

From an early stage in the Reformation, German Protestants, especially those influenced by Luther, began to employ the representational arts for the advancement of their polemical and pedagogical goals. Images printed from wood blocks offered an especially serviceable medium owing to their low cost and capacity for large-scale reproduction. Enormous numbers of these inexpensive woodcuts circulated throughout Europe. Since their use and enjoyment did not require literacy, it may be safely assumed that these visual materials appealed to an audience covering a much wider social spectrum than was the case with written texts.

Independent woodcut pictures of Luther by an assortment of artists began to appear in great quantities almost from the beginning of the Reformation movement. Most of these likenesses patterned themselves on a few basic prototypes drawn from life by Lucas Cranach the Elder, who served as court artist for Luther’s prince, Frederick III of Saxony. Protestant portraits of Luther during this early period typically depicted their subject in one of the following religious roles: pious monk, doctor of theology, man of the Bible, evangelical prophet, or saint. Their intent included investing the reformer with a special spiritual authority, thereby justifying his break with Rome, as well as inducing others to follow his lead.

Many of the Reformation-era Luther portraits inevitably came to be regarded as a form of visual polemics. Indeed, polemical art constitutes the rubric under which a great number of the most effective woodcuts of the period must be grouped. In fashioning these works, Protestant propagandists freely borrowed themes from the popular beliefs and popular culture of the time, a practice that lent their creations the advantage of familiarity and accessibility. Traditional anticlericalism provided such a motif, one gaining new life in the often bitterly satiric attacks on monks and nuns found in evangelical art. Two further examples, demonology and fascination with monsters, came together in numerous woodcut compositions depicting leaders of the Catholic church in animal or bestial form in order to suggest their satanic origins.

Naturally, Reformation polemicists sought inspiration from scripture as well. For example, the Bible offered helpful resources for those hoping to show a radical antithesis between the evangelical simplicity of Christ’s life and the corruption said to characterize the curia Romana. Attacks on the papacy ultimately secured their place as the dominant theme finding expression in Protestant polemical art.

Works of the graphic arts produced by early German Protestants, of course, undertook to present both positive and negative subjects; many strove to teach and promote acceptance of the evangelicals’ own beliefs. This body of pedagogical art pursued two main goals—to communicate the key doctrines of the Protestant reform and to assist in the creation of a new church with a clear sense of identity and mission. Giving visual embodiment to abstract theological tenets proved difficult. Probably the most successful of the doctrinal compositions were those illustrating the polarity of law and gospel in Lutheran teaching. Cranach developed the standard iconographic formula for this purpose at the end of the 1520s, and over the next half century it found widespread use in the evangelical lands influenced by Wittenberg. The concept of a new church, on the other hand, found pictorial expression in works portraying the act of preaching to an assembly of believers or in compositions commemorating the Lutheran sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s Supper.

Although Lutheran Bible and book illustrations sometimes employed the same imagery as that found in independent woodcuts and engravings, they nonetheless constitute a separate category of Reformation art meriting brief mention. Visual imagery accompanied the publication of Luther’s Bible translations from the very beginning. His first German New Testament in 1522 included 21 woodcut illustrations. The initial edition of Luther’s complete German Bible, published in 1534, contained 118. By the time of Luther’s death in 1546 more than 500 different pictorial compositions had been created for inclusion in the various Wittenberg editions of the reformer’s Bible. With regard to the selection of New Testament texts to illustrate, Luther and his publishers displayed a surprising conformity to tradition. As a result, the gospel books generally received only evangelist portraits, and the epistles fared no better. The majority of the New Testament woodcuts, in all the early Lutheran Bibles, adorned a single scriptural book, Revelation. Greater originality characterized the Wittenberg approach to artistic embellishment of the Old Testament. This applied most conspicuously to writings of the prophets, which now were given more attention than was common among medieval illuminators. Luther and his collaborators exercised astonishing freedom in their interpretations, placing explicitly New Testament scenes into the background of these compositions as an overt statement of their belief that the ancient Hebrew prophets already foretold the life and passion of Christ.

In addition to the Bible translations, several other early Lutheran publications typically acquired woodcut illustrations. These included Luther’s Large Catechism, prayer book, postils (sermon collections), and hymnals. Generally speaking, tradition and perhaps theological scruples exerted a less restrictive influence on the selection of pictorial matter for these works than was the case with scripture editions.

Besides employing the graphic media, German Protestants linked with Wittenberg also made fairly extensive use of certain of the more monumental art forms, particularly oil painting and relief sculpture. The following discussion focuses on panel paintings, altarpieces, decorated pulpits, and pictorial epitaphs. All four categories were well established in earlier art tradition but experienced somewhat altered treatment from the early Lutherans.

The earliest group of German paintings reflecting a distinctly Lutheran point of view consisted of independent panels produced by the Cranach workshop, beginning at the end of the 1520s. Most important among them iconographically are three groups of works entitled The Law and the Gospel, Christ and the Adulteress, and Christ Blessing the Children. The Law and Gospel motif, which simultaneously found wide use in pedagogical woodcuts, has already been noted above. The Christ and the Adulteress compositions appear to have used a familiar biblical story to advance a doctrinal message similar to that of works in the preceding group, asserting that salvation comes through divine grace and not through human deeds. Although the popularity of the Christ Blessing the Children works is customarily attributed to the possibilities it offers for the polemical defense of infant baptism, it, too, may have been intended, in part at least, as a good example of the simple, childlike trust in God implied by Luther’s doctrine of salvation by faith alone.

A substantial number of Lutheran altarpieces were introduced into evangelical churches from the late 1530s. Although sometimes contributed by Protestant princes or municipal councils, these often were commissioned and installed by private donors—that is, wealthy laypersons who may have been motivated by a mixture of religious piety, family pride, and civic patriotism. Although the size and form of such works varied considerably, many proved to be large, imposing constructions. The traditional triptych design, with painted wing panels and predella, continued for a time to be popular. From the 1550s fixed altars with stone or wood relief sculpture also found increasing use.

Clearly the new Lutheran altarpieces differed from their late medieval forerunners not so much in configuration or format as in iconography. Many traditional Catholic themes, of course, were abandoned—above all, Mariological motifs and the lives of the saints. There arose an almost exclusive reliance on scriptural sources, with special emphasis upon the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. The most widely used subject of all seems to have been the Last Supper, despite the fact that the theme appeared relatively infrequently in earlier altarpiece art. Luther himself called special attention to the appropriateness of portraying this biblical event on altars designated for the sacrament of Holy Communion.

Celebration of the Sacrament was closely linked to proclamation of the word in Lutheranism, and accordingly the pulpit received fresh attention in the Reformation. Hundreds of new stone and wood preaching platforms, most of them adorned with relief sculpture or paintings, were erected in the Lutheran churches of central and northern Germany in the century following the break with Rome. The iconography displayed on these pulpits differed from that on other evangelical art works in relatively minor ways—for example, in the more frequent depiction of the four evangelists, a theme that was traditional in such settings.

The largest single group of art objects placed in Lutheran churches in sixteenth-century Germany was formed by epitaph monuments. These consisted of artistically conceived memorials honoring the deceased and normally containing three parts: a portrait, a painted or sculptured representation of a religious theme, and a commemorative inscription. Although Lutherans normally needed only one altar or pulpit in a church, there existed no fixed limit upon the number of epitaphs that might be installed. In some instances these funerary monuments may have compensated for side altars and chapels that had become superfluous with the advent of the Reformation. The iconography of the Lutheran epitaphs offers little that is new; the themes are drawn either from traditional biblical subjects or from the corpus of evangelical motifs already encountered in panel painting and altarpiece art.

In contrast, in the Protestant art of the northern Netherlands, there was a set of circumstances differing markedly from those existing in Germany. The Reformed churches that ultimately came to dominate there adopted a largely Calvinist theology and thus demonstrated little sympathy for the creation or installation of works of ecclesiastical art. Occasional exceptions—including some new stained glass, sculptured tomb monuments for a few very distinguished parishioners, and painted organ shutters—do not substantially alter the generally accepted view of a worship community devoted to simplicity and even austerity in church furnishings. Consequently, religious painting depended upon private patronage and was subject to no ecclesiastical control. These factors, however, make it all the more difficult to identify which art works should be labeled Protestant, particularly since it is now known that Dutch Calvinism grew very slowly, with the result that a confessionally mixed population endured far longer than used to be thought. Catholic artists continued to practice in the northern Netherlands even in the seventeenth century.

Despite the difficulties of evaluating Dutch religious art, it does seem possible to single out a number of iconographic motifs whose popularity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries probably should be linked with spiritual ideas or practices deriving from the Reformation, even if the artists involved in their creation were not in every instance orthodox Protestants. One such theme derives from the parable of the prodigal son. The immense popularity of this subject is recorded in one index of Netherlandish art that lists well over a hundred examples. Some of these depicted the biblical story in a predominantly moralistic sense. Others, however, including Rembrandt’s famous painting now in Leningrad, seem to have followed Protestant commentators from Luther and Calvin onward, who interpreted the scriptural text and above all its characterization of the forgiving father as a demonstration of God’s unmerited grace.

Another theme that enjoyed unprecedented favor among Netherlandish artists of the Reformation era derives from the biblical story of the calling of Matthew. In this narrative of Jesus’ summoning of a sinful tax collector to Christian apostleship, Calvin had perceived a striking illustration of the grace of God. Other sixteenth-century evangelicals saw in the text a foreshadowing of their own later call to reform. It seems to have been mainly artists sympathetic to this point of view who turned their talents to reproducing the gospel story in visual form.

The Bible, of course, describes a spiritual turnabout even more famous than that experienced by the evangelist Matthew—the conversion of Paul. This dramatic Damascus road episode also offered congenial subject matter for Netherlandish artists influenced by the reform movement. Paul’s scriptural writings contain the most explicit discussion of justification by faith found in the Bible, and Protestants, beginning with Luther, repeatedly had turned to them for theological confirmation of their own teachings. The apostle could scarcely avoid being regarded as a spiritual hero by evangelicals. Some, including Rembrandt, seem to have personally identified with him. This may explain the existence of almost a dozen pictures of Paul by the Dutch painter, at least one of which depicts the conversion.

Netherlandish artists inspired by the Reformation also gave new or unusual prominence to certain other iconographic motifs—the raising of Lazarus, the preaching of Jesus and John the Baptist, and the family saying grace. Like other religious themes, however, these found expression in art works destined for personal use rather than placement in churches.

The Protestant assault on ecclesiastical art naturally provoked a defense of religious imagery from the opposing side. The earliest Catholic writings of the Reformation era on this theme arose in Germany during 1522 and were stimulated by Karlstadt’s major iconoclastic manifesto, which was published that year. Over the next four decades a number of authors from several countries contributed further treatises to the gradually intensifying debate over images. The most influential Catholic statements on religious art, however, appeared only after the Council of Trent had issued its ruling on the matter. By then Calvinist iconoclasm, above all in France, had become a sufficiently serious problem that a decisive statement clearly was needed—a fact that helps explain Trent’s decision finally to address this issue. For it was not until the last session of the assembly that the conciliar fathers issued their decree “De invocatione, veneratione, et reliquiis sanctorum, et sacris imaginibus” (On the Invocation, Veneration, and Relics of Saints, and on Sacred Images; 3–4 December 1563).

The Council of Trent’s brief declaration on images consists of two parts, the first containing a defense of ecclesiastical art and the second addressing abuses that might arise in its use. It unequivocally affirms that honor and veneration are to be given to likenesses of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and other saints, though not because of any divinity or special virtue residing in them. The honor shown to images passes to the prototypes or subjects that they represent. Further, the decree declares images to be useful because they instruct the people and remind them of God’s blessings; because they provide salutary examples from the lives of the saints, in imitation of which the faithful may fashion their own lives and conduct; and because they help promote the love of God and the cultivation of piety.

Next follows a treatment of potential abuses, perhaps partly motivated by the hope that their prevention might deflect Protestant criticism. The representation of false doctrine receives censure, especially “such as might be the occasion of grave error to the uneducated.” The decree also commands the elimination of any superstition that might be associated with the use of images. Finally, all lasciviousness must be avoided. Oversight is placed squarely in the hands of the bishops, under whose responsibility it falls to ensure that nothing disorderly, unbecoming, profane, or disrespectful appears in the house of God. This highly significant call for an expanded role of the bishops echoes several earlier Catholic treatises on images, as well as the previous pronouncements of provincial church councils.

The Tridentine decree on images, viewed as a whole, takes on the aspect of a concise, moderate, and practical Catholic response to one of the burning questions of the Reformation. It breaks no new doctrinal ground and leaves unaddressed certain intra-Catholic disputes of long standing—for example, that concerning the proper degrees of veneration to be accorded to various types of images. The emphasis falls upon instruction and the addressing of concrete problems. The major weakness of the pronouncement lies in its brevity, no doubt partly explained by the circumstances of its composition. The failure to furnish more details, however, made inevitable the appearance of further discussions of the topic, in which there would be provided refinement and elaboration of the conciliar decree.

In fact, a large number of important Counter-Reformation writings on religious art and the image question made their appearance in the decades following Trent. Although some of these continued in a polemical vein, the better known and more significant of them concerned themselves primarily with interpreting and augmenting the Tridentine decree for the benefit of the Catholic community itself. Among authors contributing to the latter group, the two most important were Johannes Molanus, professor of theology at the University of Louvain, and Gabriele Paleotti, a reforming cardinal and bishop of Bologna. Molanus’s major work first appeared in 1570, while Paleotti’s came out in 1582. Further treatises of note were contributed by G. A. Gilio da Fabriano (1564), Carlo Borromeo (1577), Raffaele Borghini (1584), and Antonio Possevino (1593). Despite individual emphases, these works develop a number of common themes.

Trent’s call for doctrinal orthodoxy in religious art found agreement in the statements of later Catholic authors. This could take the form of a denunciation of specific iconographic motifs that were considered theologically objectionable. Molanus, for example, attacked the practice of depicting the preformed body of the Christ Child descending from heaven to the Virgin in paintings of the Annunciation. Orthodoxy would be preserved by the artist adhering to scripture or other approved religious sources and not indulging in uncontrolled flights of imagination. Molanus acknowledged that artists could fill in missing information not provided in the text, but they must do so intelligently and in accord with church tradition.

There existed a widespread consensus on the need for accuracy, clarity, and simplicity in religious compositions. Gilio and Borghini agreed that beauty must not take precedence over accuracy of representation, as, for example, in martyrdom scenes. Paleotti argued that historical accuracy was particularly essential in biblical pictures; there can be no credibility in a crucified Christ who shows no evidence of suffering or wounds. The saints must be portrayed true to life if they are to be effectively imitated. Paleotti coupled a strong demand for clarity with an attack on its opposite; obscurity in a visual representation constituted a sin against the essential didactic function of art. Finally, there was the need for simplicity, without which (as Borghini noted) the visual message would not be accessible to the illiterate.

Decorum and decency both received strong endorsements from all these authors. Decorum was understood to mean that everything in a composition must be appropriate to the subject matter portrayed, the intended audience, and the place where it was to be displayed. Indecency in an artwork obviously constituted a major breach of decorum; indeed, it has been asserted that following Trent the decency of images was as closely watched as their orthodoxy. The problem assumed its most notorious form with regard to the matter of nudity in paintings and sculpture. Molanus contributed important comments on this question; it was he, for example, who pointed out that indecent (nude) images represented a total distortion of the purpose of religious art, which was to arouse the pious devotion of the people. He even opposed naked pictures of the Christ Child for fear that youthful spectators might be corrupted.

The iconography of Catholic art as it developed in the later sixteenth and seventeenth century represented a conscientious response to the needs of the Catholic church during the post-Tridentine era. There were old doctrines to be reaffirmed and new saints to be honored. There appeared a tendency to proclaim the very teachings that had been most disputed by the Protestants, which in certain instances meant that visual motifs that had held only modest importance now took on greater prominence. Moreover, a few subjects arose that were entirely original.

Among the sacraments challenged by Protestants, two in particular figured in Catholic art—the Eucharist and penance. The former, which frequently appeared in paintings under the form of the Last Supper motif, now usually featured Jesus’ consecration of the Communion wafer and asserted by implication the disputed doctrine of transubstantiation. The same dogmatic point found bold affirmation in a number of allegorical compositions dramatically celebrating the triumph of the Sacrament and including an exhibition of the elevated chalice or monstrance. Works displaying the last communion of a saint also enjoyed considerable favor.

The sacrament of penance, also the occasion of much controversy in the Reformation, now received heightened attention in Catholic art. But rather than representing the rite itself (confession and absolution), the most popular approach involved depicting the remorse of individual penitents. Most frequently portrayed were Mary Magdalene, believed to have been a converted harlot; Peter, whose tears reminded the viewer of that disciple’s denial of his Lord; and the prodigal son, from Jesus’ parable. All three functioned as symbols of the sacrament, as well as exemplary models of moral contrition.

A desire to provoke emulation also apparently gave rise to many of the numerous martyrdom scenes found in Counter-Reformation art. This is particularly true of the earlier and more explicit ones dating from the 1580s and 1590s, which were often the subject of either wall frescoes or altarpieces created for Jesuit churches and seminaries. Ignatius Loyola’s militant followers in the Society of Jesus regarded the viewing of images of earlier Christian heroics as useful in overcoming their own impending trials and tribulations. Martyrs and martyrdom remain an important iconographic theme as one moves into the baroque art of the seventeenth century. During the later period, however, there can be detected a diminution of interest in the graphic details of physical suffering and an enlarged concern with illuminating the spiritual exaltation of those who had overcome pain and death.

The hagiographic tradition of the church, of course, included many saints who were not actually martyrs. Some of the most popular of these—for example, Francis—continued to attract frequent attention from painters and sculptors. By the 1620s their ranks had swelled to admit several newly canonized heroes of the faith—Borromeo, Teresa of Ávila, Filippo Neri, Ignatius Loyola, and Francis Xavier. All quickly found their way onto the list of most favored subjects for Catholic artists.

Among those deemed worthy of veneration, the Virgin Mary, as would be expected, continued to occupy a special position. Visual images of the Virgin’s bodily assumption into heaven, alone or combined with the Immaculate Conception, gained greatly in popularity. Immaculate Conception compositions experienced extraordinary popularity, above all in Spain during the seventeenth century.

Finally, brief note should be taken of a number of additional themes, whether new or only newly emphasized, that enjoyed considerable currency in Counter-Reformation art. These include guardian angels, often shown as protectors of the young; Joseph, husband of the Virgin depicted as a worthy example of paternal devotion; founder portraits, commemorating the origins of pre-Reformation ascetic orders; the ecstasies of the visionaries and mystics of the church; and the works of charity and mercy.

The Reformation and Counter-Reformation clearly had a considerable effect upon the visual arts, beginning with a significant impact upon demand. Large-scale works of painting and sculpture designed for churches, which previously had provided vast employment for artists, lost their markets in regions adopting Reformed Protestantism. Lutherans, to be sure, continued to commission ecclesiastical monuments, but on a greatly reduced scale. On the other hand, the graphic arts—above all, woodcuts—for a time enjoyed significantly enlarged usage, as they were called into service to advance the polemical and pedagogical purposes of the early evangelical movement.

The iconographic repertoire of European art also underwent change, expanding in some directions and contracting in others. The largest losses, of course, occurred in Protestantism through the rejection of what was regarded as nonscriptural subject matter. Nonetheless, evangelicals, to the extent that they continued to use religious images, demonstrated tendencies found also in Counter-Reformation Catholicism. Both combined a modest degree of iconographic innovation with a pronounced inclination to give new interpretations or new prominence to visual motifs already at hand in the Christian tradition.

Beyond these considerations there remains an interesting question concerning the extent to which artists were prompted to shift to more secular subject matter in order to compensate for lost opportunities in religious art. But this opens up a topic extending beyond the scope of this essay.

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