1 Introduction: From Images to Idols and Back Again

In the first English translation of the Christian Bible to rely on Hebrew and Greek sources instead of their Latin translations, William Tyndale broke from the time-honoured tradition of the Vulgate by translating εἴδωλον as “image,” rather than transliterating it as “idol” (idolum).¹ The response to this seemingly small change was fast and fierce. Jews did not write against “images,” his critics insisted, they wrote against “idols”; and Tyndale was accused of trying to dupe his readers into thinking otherwise.

What shift shall Tyndale find now? Will he say that “idols” and “images” be all one, because that idols be a kind of images, and “image” is a term indifferent to good and bad? For a man may say “an image of the devil” as well as “an image of God.” Tyndale shall, I think, find no reader so slenderly witted to suffer him escape so.²

Tyndale’s critics won the day. “Idol” was preserved in the Authorised Version as the definitive translation of εἴδωλον, setting the tone for many to follow. To this day, the Tyndale Bible (produced between 1523 and 1536) remains the only major English translation to render εἴδωλον as “image,” rather than “idol.” But, as it turns out, Tyndale’s critics were wrong. Or at least they were wrong about one thing: he did manage to find a small group of readers “slenderly witted” enough to think he was right, albeit some five hundred years later.

In a short but important essay on the Hebrew Vorlage of εἴδωλον in Greek translations of the Hebrew Bible (which similarly begins with an appeal to Tyndale), Charles Kennedy argues that εἴδωλον only took on its status as a technical term with inherently pejorative meaning when it was transliterated into Latin as idolum by Tertullian and Jerome. It was then that εἴδωλον lost its generic reference to “images” and assumed derogatory reference to “idols” (i.e., “representation of a false god”).³ A small handful of scholars has since gestured in a similar direction, proposing that εἴδωλον might be treated as a generic word for “image,” not a pejorative word for “idol,” and calling for a critical reexamination of the relation between εἴδωλον and other image-related language.⁴ In this article, I build on Kennedy’s claims along precisely these lines, extending his analysis to a larger data set of Jewish Greek literature—from the Greek Pentateuch to Paul’s letters—and locating εἴδωλον within the wider image lexicon in postclassical Greek (e.g., ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, εἰκών, ἵδρυμα, ξόανον).⁵

As noted above, the word “idol” is not, strictly speaking, a translation. It is a transliteration, coming into English through the Latin idolum, the Old French id(e)le or idole, and then the Middle English idol(e). This is an obvious point but an important one. As Matthew Novenson has argued, “the decision to transliterate ancient (especially biblical) words over into English is an abdication of the task of redescription. It is a choice not to try to understand the relevant terms in comparative perspective.”⁶ Novenson acknowledges that this is not necessarily the case of all transliterations. One need only think of pneuma or pistis, for instance, which are left untranslated to aid the task of redescription, not abdicate it. But it is almost certainly the case of εἴδωλον. The English “idol” (and its German and French equivalents) has been imbued with such technical meaning over centuries of use and abuse that it now functions, for all intents and purposes, as a bona fide translation—and a dubious one at that. It invites negative associations that closely align with its later Christian legacy but that do not clearly correspond to the use of εἴδωλον its own time and place. As a result, scholars have long taken for granted that εἴδωλον was isolated within a distinct Jewish sociolect from the wider history of Greek, coined as a semantic innovation that ascribes new meaning to an otherwise well-worn word, with no comparable usage beyond the echo chamber of so-called “biblical Greek.”⁷

This lexicographical commonplace provides the impetus for the present article, in which I argue that the use of εἴδωλον in the diverse corpus that has come to be called the Septuagint and its reception in other early Jewish texts (including the New Testament) was in fact remarkably unexceptional in postclassical Greek, as one among many lexical options to refer to an image of a god (e.g., ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, εἰκών, ἵδρυμα, ξόανον).⁸ In what follows, I outline standard lexicographical accounts of εἴδωλον and interrogate the assumptions that guide them, and then offer a critical reexamination of Greek, Roman, and Jewish sources in order to propose a new way of translating and classifying εἴδωλον that locates it alongside other conventional lexemes in the Greek lexicon of cult images.

2 A Strange Vocabulary? Idols and the Unintelligibility of “Jewish Greek”

A brief statistical analysis will suffice to show that, on the surface, rendering εἴδωλον as “idol” certainly makes Jewish and Christian literature appear unique. On my count, of the near 100 instances of εἴδωλον in the Septuagint, only 12 are glossed by something other than “idol” in the NETS and LES combined.⁹ Moreover, every major English translation of the New Testament from the Authorised Version onwards renders εἴδωλον as “idol” in each instance without exception (KJV, NRSV, NIV, etc.).¹⁰ In contrast, despite occurring some 2,500 times in extant literary evidence, εἴδωλον is never rendered “idol” in LCL translations of any Greek text from 500 BCE to 200 CE, with the volumes on Philo, Josephus, and early Christian writings as the only (but unsurprising) exceptions that prove the rule.¹¹

The clear impression from this conventional translation practice is that the use of εἴδωλον in the vocabulary of Jews and Christians appears unique to Jews and Christians, insulated in a sociolinguistic bubble somewhere on the edge of the everyday life and language of their Greek and Roman contemporaries. So, in no uncertain terms, A.D. Nock claimed:

When we open the Septuagint and the New Testament we find at once a strange vocabulary. … Such usages are the product of an enclosed world living its own life, a ghetto culturally and linguistically if not geographically; they belong to a literature written entirely for the initiated.¹²

Nock appeals to the image lexicon as his case in point. Postclassical Greek had many words for images of gods or deified humans (listing ἄγαλμα, εἰκών, and ἀνδριάς), but εἴδωλον was apparently not one of them.¹³ A Jew such as Paul, with εἴδωλον in his vocabulary, did not write in the ordinary (“Koine”) Greek of his time but “the Greek of a man who has the Septuagint in his blood.”¹⁴ In fact, Nock insists that there has been “much exaggeration of the Koine element” in Paul’s Greek and that of the New Testament more generally, dismissing Adolf Deissmann’s influential appeals to documentary evidence in this regard: “in the vulgar Greek of the Levant there was nothing corresponding to the Semitic flavour of the early Christian writers.”¹⁵

Nock is responding here to a much older, much larger lexicographical debate about the language of the Septuagint and New Testament as a discrete dialect of “Jewish Greek,” “biblical Greek,” or, more recently, “translation Greek.” The debate is now well known, recently chronicled in detail by William Ross, but it is crucial for understanding the assumptions that still guide conventional translations of εἴδωλον.¹⁶ It is necessary, then, to reiterate some salient points and to trace their relation to εἴδωλον. Thus, Edwin Hatch could claim it was “too obvious to require demonstration” that Jewish Greek was spoken by “an alien race” that “stands by itself” in the history of Greek; and William Trollope could conclude that such language was “wholly unintelligible to a native Greek” due to its “lexicographical peculiarities.”¹⁷ More fully, Georg Benedikt Winer described Jewish Greek as intelligible to Jews familiar with Hebrew or Aramaic but “foreign,” “clumsy,” and “unintelligible” to Greeks themselves:

The popular Greek dialect was not spoken and written by the Jews, without some intermixtures of a foreign kind. Particularly did they intermix many idioms and the general complexion of their vernacular language. Hence arose a Judaizing Greek dialect; which was in some good measure unintelligible to the native Greeks, and became an object of their contempt.¹⁸

Such claims have since been problematised by scholars in the tradition of Deissmann, perhaps most famously by John Lee.¹⁹ But, as Ross has shown, they continue to find resonance in “Hebrew-priority” approaches to translation Greek still popular today, in which “unintelligibility” remains a recurrent watchword.²⁰ On this approach, the Septuagint maintains “a dependant and subservient linguistic relationship to its Semitic parent,” such that the “unintelligibility of the Greek text qua text is one of its inherent characteristics.”²¹ As a result, the linguistic features of what is popularly dubbed “translationese”—an unhappy shorthand that trades on orientalising tropes—were “strange,” “idiosyncratic,” “unique,” “most unfamiliar,” “sometimes obscure,” “entirely nonsensical,” or “occasionally unintelligible” in the wider context of postclassical Greek, due to “Semitic influence” or “Hebrew interference.”²²

While these claims are also not without their critics, with a growing number of scholars now seeking to situate the Septuagint within (not apart from or over against) the history of Greek,²³ they nevertheless inform lexicographical accounts of εἴδωλον as a semantic (and “Semitic”) invention of Jewish Greek.²⁴ The standard approach can be summarised by two main points—one about Hebrew Vorlage, the other about Greek vernacular.²⁵

First, the Greek translators of the Hebrew Bible chose εἴδωλον to translate fifteen different Hebrew words, some of which are merely descriptive of gods (e.g., ‮אלהים‬‎, ‮אל‬‎) or images (e.g., ‮חמן‬‎, ‮תרפים‬‎, ‮צלם‬‎, ‮פסל‬‎, ‮פסיל‬‎, ‮עצב‬‎), but others “express contempt and loathing” by reducing gentile gods or their images to refuse, monstrosity, emptiness, unreality, or the like (e.g., ‮הבל‬‎, ‮אליל‬‎, ‮שקוץ‬‎, ‮גלולים‬‎).²⁶ In the process of translating a diverse Hebrew lexicon with one Greek word, εἴδωλον is taken to coin a catchall category that condenses an entire polemic into a single technical term. The result is the invention of a Greek slur that evokes the valency of all (or most) of its Hebrew Vorlagen at once, fusing “a Hebrew concern with Greek terminology” in order to collapse the “distinctions between images, divinity, and lack of truth or substantiality.”²⁷ As a “translation term” born into Greek through Hebrew interference, εἴδωλον thus becomes “idol,” a terminus technicus that refers neither to gods nor to their images as such but to “non-gods” dismissed as false or fabricated, illicit or idiotic.

Second, the derogatory Jewish use of εἴδωλον is then sharply contrasted against the conventional Greek lexicon of cult images, which includes a cluster of lexical items, such as ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, εἰκών, ἵδρυμα, and ξόανον (to name only a few), but has “no comprehensive expression for what the Jews call εἴδωλον.”²⁸ The absence of εἴδωλον is usually explained by appealing to its “normal” Greek use in epic poetry and/or Platonic philosophy, denoting a “phantom,” a “copy,” or other “illusory phenomena” that are “one step removed from reality.”²⁹ Since Greeks “did not share this view” of their cult images, to call them εἴδωλα would be not only strange and surprising but problematic and offensive.³⁰ Jewish polemicists thus produced an innovative use of εἴδωλον that was otherwise sui generis in the history of Greek: “the Jewish religion has coined a new expression out of an existing term,” informed more by Hebrew Vorlage than contemporary Greek vernacular.³¹

Taken together, standard accounts of εἴδωλον in Jewish Greek literature treat it as a kind of neologism, a semantic creation of “translation Greek,” not in the sense that the lexeme is new but in the sense that new meaning is invented and ascribed to a preexisting word.³² In contrast, it is my contention that the singularity and significance of εἴδωλον in Jewish Greek texts have been exaggerated, due in large part to its later lexicographical legacy. I take my cue from James Aitken, who sensibly suggests in a passing reference to εἴδωλον in the Greek Pentateuch that we must “aim to understand the Greek in its own terms whenever it appears before interpreting it in light of its later history.”³³ For the remainder of this article, I intend to do just that, offering a non-teleological account of εἴδωλον innocent of its reception history, including its later Latin life as idolum and its even later English life as idol. I do so, first, by appealing to literary and documentary evidence to demonstrate that εἴδωλον was one lexical option among others used by Greeks and Romans to refer to images of their gods, and, second, by arguing that this is precisely what we find in the literature of Greek-speaking Jews, too. Rather than prioritising Hebrew Vorlage on the assumption of semantic equivalence or “Semitic” interference, I propose that Jewish Greek texts in which εἴδωλον occurs are readily intelligible as Greek texts. When we take this as our point of departure for εἴδωλον—taken on its own terms, rather than those of its Hebrew past or Latin future—it becomes possible to conclude that it was used in a way that is remarkably unexceptional in postclassical Greek, as one among many lexical alternatives in the wider image lexicon.

3 Εἴδωλον and the Image Lexicon in Postclassical Greek

It is often stated that εἴδωλον, in normal Greek usage, means “phantom.” Indeed, this is the first gloss listed in LSJ, recently followed by CGL. Others tend to be catalogued as “ghost,” “apparition,” “reflection,” “shadow,” and the like. This lexicographical commonplace is typically enlisted in support of the claims above, which take for granted that εἴδωλον carries connotations of “unreality” or “insubstantiality,” insofar as it refers to “illusory phenomena” that are “one step removed from reality”—whether in a dream (Homer, Od. 4.796; Plutarch, Sera 566c), in the land of the dead (Homer, Od. 11.602; Lucian, Dial. mort. 11.5), or in a mirror (Plutarch, Pyth. orac. 404d).³⁴

But Aitken astutely observes that such glosses too quickly confuse “meaning” and “referent.”³⁵ Indeed, even ancient authors objected to misleading translations of εἴδωλον with Latin glosses (e.g., spectrum) that obscured its relation to its referent (Cicero, Fam. 15.16.1–3).³⁶ The basic semantic domain of εἴδωλον in each of the cases above is, at its simplest, an image. In different contexts, it may refer to an image of a deceased mortal back from the underworld or on its way to it (hence, a “phantom” or a “ghost”; e.g., Homer, Il. 23.99–103; Od. 11.471–476; Herodotus, Hist. 5.92), or an image of something mirrored in water (hence, a “reflection”; e.g., Plutarch, Quaest. conv. 682–683), or an image of a body silhouetted on the ground or against a wall (hence, a “shadow”; e.g., Aeschylus, Ag. 839), or an image of a human in one location projected somewhere else by a deity (hence, an “apparition”; e.g., Homer, Il. 5.449–453; Od. 4.796).³⁷ But this does not mean that any such images should be confused as their referents. Nor does it mean that any of these referents carries connotations of another. An εἴδωλον as such is simply an image, a visual “double” (as Jean-Pierre Vernant famously put it) of whatever it images.³⁸ Only context determines the referent and medium of a given image and the connotations involved. Understood this way, it would not be inherently pejorative or necessarily problematic for Greeks or Romans to refer to images of their gods as εἴδωλα, which could, in principle at least, refer to cult statues without negative connotation or cause for objection. Such usage would be intelligible as one more lexical item in the already diverse lexicon of images. In fact, despite common claims to the contrary, this is precisely what we find.

3.1 Εἴδωλα and Images of the Gods

Perhaps the best-known use of εἴδωλον to refer to images of gods and other nonobvious divine beings occurs in Polybius, who describes an elaborate procession put on by Antiochus Epiphanes at the Daphne games:

It is a difficult task to describe the rest of the procession but I must attempt to give its main features … The vast quantity of the statues (τῶν ἀγαλμάτων) is impossible to enumerate. For images (εἴδωλα) of all the gods and daimons (θεῶν ἢ δαιμόνων) so called or worshipped by humans and of all the heroes were carried along, some gilded and others draped in garments embroidered with gold; and they were all accompanied by the myths relating to them as traditionally narrated, executed in precious materials. Behind them came an image (εἴδωλον) of night and day, of earth and sky, of dawn and midday.

Polybius, Hist. 30.25.12–16 (Paton, LCL, modified)

Here we have a clear use of the dominant word for a divine image or cult statue (ἄγαλμα), occurring without issue or explanation alongside a word still often claimed not to be used for divine images at all (εἴδωλον). The text is further notable because εἴδωλον is used to refer to figural images of gods, daimons, and heroes, as well as a non-figural (or “aniconic”) image of natural phenomena (e.g., night, day, earth, sky, dawn, midday)—all of which are listed as examples of the many different kinds of cult statues (ἀγάλματα) carried along in ritual procession. But ever since Friedrich Büchsel (incorrectly) pronounced this as “the only established passage in which a pagan Greek uses εἴδωλον for an idol,” it has become standard for scholars to note it but then dismiss it as an anomalous case of stylistic variation with little lexical significance.³⁹ In a brief but important article, Terry Griffith corrects these claims by compiling a list of literary data where the semantic range of εἴδωλον indeed overlaps with ἄγαλμα.⁴⁰ While Griffith does not ultimately escape the conclusion that εἴδωλον is unique in Jewish usage and unprecedented in the history of Greek, the evidence he amasses is nevertheless important to reexamine in some detail, specifically with respect to the use of εἴδωλον alongside other alternatives in the image lexicon.⁴¹

As early as Herodotus, εἴδωλον could be used interchangeably with εἰκών to refer to a votive statue gifted by the Lydian king Croesus to the Delphian temple. The votive is described as a “golden image (εἴδωλον) of a woman,” which the Delphians took to be “an image (εἰκόνα) of Croesus’s baker”:

Along with these Croesus sent, besides many other offerings of no great distinction, certain round basins of silver, and a golden image of woman (γυναικὸς εἴδωλον χρύσεον) five feet high, which the Delphians assert to be an image of the woman who was Croesus’s baker (τῆς ἀρτοκόπου τῆς Κροίσου εἰκόνα).

Herodotus, Hist. 1.51.5 (Godley, LCL, slightly modified)

In this case, an εἴδωλον goes on to be called an εἰκών, which is evidently not illusory or insubstantial but some kind of votive statuary—a life-sized image made of gold, measured at five feet, and installed in a temple. Herodotus later writes of funeral rituals for kings slain in war, in which “an image” (εἴδωλον) of the king is made, celebrated, and then buried, followed by ten days of national mourning (Hist. 6.58). Here, he does not call an εἴδωλον an εἰκών (as he does earlier) or an ἄγαλμα (as Polybius does above), but it is clear nonetheless that it denotes an image put to cultic purposes.⁴²

That εἴδωλον can indeed be used in this way is supported by a late third-century BCE inscription from Delos, in which the god Sarapis paralyses the enemies of his priest, who are said to stand “like images or like stones (εἰδώλοισιν … ἤ λάεσσιν) struck by the god” (IG XI 4.1299.88–90). The parallel between εἴδωλα and stones suggests that the former is conceived as a statue, emphasising its materiality as such, not its insubstantiality. Earlier in the same inscription (lines 9–11), εἰκών is used to refer to a bronze image, once again highlighting the interchangeability of εἴδωλον and εἰκών. Both points are further supported by a second-century CE papyrus from Oxyrhynchus, where εἴδωλον describes votive statuary, paralleled by εἰκών (line 1) and εὐκταῖος (line 11), to be hung in a shrine of Poseidon (P.Oxy. 2161, fr. 78a. col. I.6).⁴³

Dionysius of Halicarnassus also uses εἴδωλον interchangeably with εἰκών to refer to images of gods installed in temples. Initially, he describes a small temple in Rome, in which “there are images (εἰκόνες) of the Trojan gods” (Ant. rom. 1.68.1). But when he goes on to describe these same Trojan images found in temples elsewhere, he uses εἴδωλον instead:

In this temple, there are images of the Trojan gods (τῶν Τρωικῶν θεῶν εἰκόνες), which it is lawful for all to see, with an inscription showing them to be the Penates. They are two seated youths holding spears and are pieces of ancient workmanship. We have seen many other images of these gods (εἴδωλα τῶν θεῶν τούτων) in ancient temples, and in all of them are represented two youths in military garb.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 1.68.1–2 (Cary, LCL, modified)

In an earlier passage, Dionysius recounts an aetiological myth of the city of Lavinium, in which divine omens appeared to the Trojans in the form of animals while the city was under construction (1.59.3–4). The hero Aeneas interprets this as a sign of the city’s flourishing future, so “bronze images (εἴδωλα) of the animals” were installed and honoured in the Lavinian agora, preserved there ever since (1.59.5).

Plutarch, too, uses εἴδωλον and εἰκών to refer to the same image(s), beginning with εἴδωλον before alluding back to it as an εἰκών.⁴⁴ He tells of a procession performed by Caesar at the death of Cleopatra, in which “an image (εἴδωλον) of Cleopatra herself” was paraded through the city (Ant. 86.3). While “images (εἰκόνες) of Antony” were eventually torn down, Plutarch reports that “those of Cleopatra” were not, presumably referring back to the εἴδωλον mentioned earlier (86.5). In another funeral ritual of sorts, at a festival celebrating the death and resurrection of the mystery god Adonis, “images” (εἴδωλα) of the god were laid out for burial throughout the city and attended with funeral rites and loud wailing (Nic. 13.7). Although he does not use εἰκών here, when he writes of yet another mystery god, Plutarch relays Egyptian mythmaking about the dismemberment of Osiris, in which Isis is said to make “images” (εἴδωλα) of Osiris’s dismembered body parts, distributing them across several cities “as his body” in order to receive divine honours in as many places as possible (Is. Os. 358a–b). And in Memphis in particular, a theriomorphic “image” (εἴδωλον) of the bull god Apis is explicitly interpreted as “the image of the soul” of Osiris (τῆς ἐκείνου τῆν ψυχῆς, 359b; cf. 362d), or “a living image” (εἰκόνα … ἔμψυχον, 368c), once again referring to an εἴδωλον as an εἰκών.

The data we have seen thus far provide clear literary (and some documentary) evidence to suggest that εἴδωλον can indeed be defined as referring to an image of a god or other nonobvious divine being (e.g., a daimon, deified hero, or deceased ruler) put to cultic purposes, whether as a recipient of divine honours in temples, funeral rites, or civic processions.⁴⁵ When used this way, εἴδωλον could occur alongside other conventional Greek words for images, including ἄγαλμα and especially εἰκών, signalling its place as one lexical item among others in the wider image lexicon, swapped in or out without issue or explanation.⁴⁶ On the basis of such evidence, Griffith rightly sought to correct the assumption that εἴδωλον does not belong in the lexicon of cult images in postclassical Greek, and that “Jewish religion has coined a new expression of an existing term.” But in the process of correcting the sui generis meaning attributed to εἴδωλον by others, Griffith ultimately replaces it with a new one of his own:

It would be more accurate to say that the innovation that the Jewish religion introduced was the application of the term εἴδωλον to the deity itself, in line with the Jewish understanding of the nature of idolatry … The term εἴδωλον had never before been used to refer to the gods themselves. Only a Jew or a Christian could therefore say, “For all the gods (θεοί) of the peoples are idols (εἴδωλα)” (1 Chron. 16:26).⁴⁷

For Griffith, it is to speak about images as gods (or vice versa) that is unique to Jewish usage and unattested elsewhere in postclassical Greek. Herein lies the true innovation of εἴδωλον as a “translation term.”⁴⁸ On this point, even those who otherwise downplay the significance of Griffith’s findings tend to agree: εἴδωλα may well refer to images of gods in postclassical Greek, but only in Jewish Greek could they refer to the gods they image.⁴⁹ While this is certainly an improvement on previous positions, it is not ultimately supported by the literary evidence Griffith himself amasses. Nor is it supported by the documentary evidence he largely overlooks.

3.2 Εἴδωλα and the Gods They Image

The text from Plutarch above already suggests that the relation between εἴδωλα and their divine referent(s) could be ambiguous by referring to “an image” (εἴδωλον) of Osiris “as the body” (ὡς τὸ σῶμα) of Osiris himself (Is. Os. 358a–b). But in another aetiological myth about the mystery god and the origins of his images, Diodorus Siculus uses εἴδωλον in a way that points along similar lines (Bib. hist. 1.22.6). As in the account of Plutarch, each of the dismembered parts of Osiris’s body were made into “images” (εἴδωλα) by Isis and distributed among mortals for cult—with the sole exception of his phallus. While Plutarch acknowledges this exception, explaining that it was thrown into the Nile and eaten by fish that subsequently became sacred to Egyptians, Diodorus explains that Isis saw Osiris’s dismembered phallus to be just as “worthy of divine honours” as the other parts of his body, so she made “an image (εἴδωλον) of it,” installed it in temples, “commanded it be honoured,” and “made it the object of the highest regard and reverence in the rites and sacrifices accorded to the god (θεῷ)” (1.22.7 [Oldfather, LCL]). As a result, Greeks and Egyptians alike are said to “honour this member” with “the rites and sacrifices of this god (θεοῦ)” (1.22.7). Diodorus’s use of εἴδωλον is suggestive. The lines between the image of the phallus and the phallus itself are blurred, both of which are identified as recipients of cult offered to the god. That is to say, the god himself, his dismembered phallus, and the image of his phallus all appear to be mutually referential.

In another instance, Diodorus recounts a festival held by the Macedonian king Philip II in honour of the traditional Greek pantheon of Olympian gods.

Along with lavish display of every sort, Philip included in the procession images of the twelve gods (εἴδωλα τῶν δώδεκα θεῶν) wrought with great artistry and adorned with a dazzling show of wealth to strike awe in the beholder, and along with these was conducted a thirteenth image (εἴδωλον), suitable for a god (θεοπρεπές), that of Philip himself, so that the king exhibited himself enthroned among the twelve gods (τοῖς δώδεκα θεοῖς).

Diodorus Siculus, Bib. hist. 16.92.5 (Oldfather, LCL, slightly modified)

Here, “images of the twelve gods” are straightforwardly called “the twelve gods,” presumably as a convenient shorthand designating divine images as the gods they image. In this case, a “thirteenth image” (of the king) is enthroned among “the twelve gods” themselves without mention of their images, rhetorically elevating the status of the king to divine ranks by implication.

Even more clearly, in Diodorus’s retelling of the epic tale of Medea, the sorceress makes a “hollow image (εἴδωλον) of Artemis,” filled with hallucinative drugs (Bib. hist. 4.51.1). But immediately afterwards, Medea is said to take “the goddess” (τὴν θεόν) she had made—which is to say, the image of the goddess—and use it to strike fear into the crowd and command them “to receive the goddess (τὴν θεόν) with reverence” (4.51.2).⁵⁰ After learning that the goddess (now dubbed “a daimon,” δαίμονι) had come to bring good fortune to the city, while “everyone was offering obeisance and divine honours to the goddess (τὴν θεόν),” the king and his daughters came “to believe that the goddess herself was present” among them (πιστεῦσαι … πάρεστιν ἡ θεός, 4.51.3). Medea thus declares that Artemis (Ἄρτεμιν) had flown over the world and selected this king to establish her cult (4.51.4), and she displays “images (εἴδωλα) of the dragons” that carried “the goddess” (τὴν θεόν) through the air to find him (4.51.6). In this long and remarkable passage—too long to reproduce here in full—an “image of Artemis” (Ἀρτέμιδος εἴδωλον) is clearly and repeatedly designated by multiple terms for its divine referent, oscillating between “an image” (εἴδωλον), “the goddess” (ἡ θεός), “a daimon” (δαίμων), or, most simply, “Artemis” (Ἄρτεμις). Diodorus may even betray the epiphanic logic informing his lexical oscillation: insofar as the goddess might be viewed to be “present” in or as her image, it appears to be possible to refer to an εἴδωλον as the deity or daimon it makes present.⁵¹

It is at this point that two documentary data are particularly illuminating—recently collected by Anna Angelini and analysed by Stefanie Peintner—which not only provide further confirmation that εἴδωλον could refer to images of gods in ordinary (“non-literary”) Greek vernacular, but also that, when used this way, εἴδωλον could be connotative of θεός and vice versa.⁵² First, in a papyrus from Tebtunis (86 BCE), a man called Armisios claims that, while he was washing “the linen garments of the images ([ε]ἰδώλων) of ibises and hawks,” a group of men snuck up unawares, beat him repeatedly, and stole “the linens of the gods (τῶν θεῶν)” from the temple.

In the first year of the intercalary days of the year 31, while one of us, Armisios, was washing the linen garments of the images of ibises and hawks that are in the temple (τὰ βύσσιν̣α πε̣ρ̣ι̣βόλαια τῶν τῶι ἱερεῶι [ε]ἰδώλων ἰβίων καὶ ἱεράκων), the son of Phanesis, Siouersis, son of Siouersis, and his son suddenly appeared, and after having hit him several times they stole the linens of the gods (τὰ βύσσινα ὀθόνια τῶν θεῶν).

P.Strasb. 2.91 (Angelini, slightly modified)

In this case, the garments of images are paralleled a few lines later by the garments of gods, moving from εἴδωλα to θεοί without explanation while clearly referring to the same garments of the same objects. Such lexical alternation may have been unconscious or conventional, but it is equally possible that it was intentional and rhetorical. By subtly collapsing the distinction between εἴδωλα and θεοί, Armisios is able to implicate those who robbed the former as guilty of robbing the latter: to steal the clothing of cult images is to steal the clothing of the gods themselves. And this, for Armisios, warrants divine retribution, upping his chances at eliciting a response to his petition.

Second, in an ostracon from Latopolis (first or second century CE), a man called Ammonios claims to be falsely accused by a group of men. In response, he addresses a petition “to images (εἰδώλοις) of Athena,” to which he gives the divine epithet of “great gods” (θεοῖς μεγίστοις), pleading that he might receive aid “from you, the master images (εἰδώλων), and from all the gods (θεῶν) who are with you.”

To the images of Athena (εἰδώλοις Ἀθηνᾶς), great gods (θεοῖς μεγίστοις), from Ammonius son of Peteesis and from his colleagues, the ram-embalmers, against Petorzmethis and Phaoueris, sons of Phmoitis and Petesis, the huckster. We ask you to be judged with them and to receive help from you, master images (ὑμῶν τῶν κυρίων εἰδώλων), from all the gods who are with you (τῶν σὺν ὑμῖν ἁπάντων θεῶν). We are accused by these abominable people in your day.

P.Worp 7 (Angelini, slightly modified)

Ammonios identifies images of Athena in no uncertain terms as “great gods.” The dative plural εἰδώλοις is used in apposition to the dative plural θεοῖς, making clear that it is the images themselves (not the genitive modifier Ἀθηνᾶς) that are called gods. As a result, it is likely that his appeal for help from “all the gods” who are with these “images” refers to all the other images housed in the same temple but at the periphery of its cult, with the “master images” referring to the central temple images located at the centre of the cella. In this case, then, images are called θεοί, just as gods are called εἴδωλα.

Given the literary and documentary evidence above, there are good lexicographical grounds to conclude that εἴδωλον was indeed used to refer to images of gods put to cultic purposes, and that it should be included alongside other items in the conventional image lexicon in postclassical Greek, such as ἄγαλμα and εἰκών. On this usage, the word is not inherently pejorative or necessarily problematic; nor does it carry connotations of “unreality” or “insubstantiality,” implying a phantom, a ghost, or the like. Moreover, εἴδωλον was not only used to refer to images of gods, interchangeable with the image language of ἄγαλμα or εἰκών; but it could also refer to the gods themselves, interchangeable with the god language of θεός, δαίμων, or a divine name.⁵³ This, too, was done without implying that the god was false or fabricated, illicit or illusory. It was simply a metonymic convention that assumes or implies an image even when only mentioning its referent. In fact, according to Plutarch, this was a popular lexical practice in the idiom of his time.

Then again, even as we speak of the man who buys the books of Plato as “buying Plato,” and of the man who presents the poems of Menander as “acting Menander,” even so those men of old did not refrain from calling the gifts and creations of the gods by the names of the gods themselves, honouring and venerating them because of the need which they had for them. … For example, there are some among the Greeks who have not learned nor habituated themselves to speak of the bronze, the painted, and the stone as statues of the gods (ἀγάλματα … τῶν θεῶν) and dedications in their honour, but to call them gods (θεοὺς καλεῖν).

Plutarch, Is. Os. 379c–d (Babbitt, LCL, modified)

Granted, Plutarch says that ἀγάλματα were called gods as a habit of language, not εἴδωλα. But we have seen that εἴδωλον could be used interchangeably with ἄγαλμα, and that it, too, could be straightforwardly called θεός. Both points are nicely illustrated in the passage that began our enquiry. In Polybius’s report of the cult statues carried in ritual procession at Daphne, he explicitly describes ἀγάλματα as “images (εἴδωλα) … that are called gods or daimons (λεγομένων … θεῶν ἤ δαιμόνων) by humans” (Hist. 30.25.13). It would not be too far of a stretch, then, to extend Plutarch’s claims to include other words for images as well, including εἴδωλον, and to take Jewish usage itself as strong evidence for precisely this practice.

4 Εἴδωλον and the Image Lexicon in Jewish Greek Literature

While εἴδωλον should be placed alongside other lexical items in the wider image lexicon of postclassical Greek, it is often argued that εἴδωλον stands alone in Jewish Greek literature. In addition to ἄγαλμα and εἰκών, other words used in the Greek vocabulary of cult images include ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, ἵδρυμα, and ξόανον, leading many scholars to conclude that there was no single or standardised word for “cult image” in postclassical Greek.⁵⁴ In contrast, Jews (and, subsequently, Christians) are said to have “a single, derogatory term to denote the images of the pagan gods,” namely, εἴδωλον.⁵⁵

But the singularity and significance of εἴδωλον in Jewish Greek texts have been overstated. Although εἴδωλον was indeed used to translate some fifteen Hebrew words in the Septuagint, this oft-cited statistic should be put in perspective. In the Hebrew Bible, there are upwards of forty words variously used to denote an image.⁵⁶ It is out of this much larger number that fifteen are sometimes translated as εἴδωλον in the Septuagint, and, even then, four are hapax legomena and the remaining eleven are more often translated by Greek words other than εἴδωλον. In fact, the most derogatory of these forty Hebrew words are not translated by εἴδωλον at all, and, in contexts that suggest a decidedly negative valence for those that are rendered εἴδωλον, other Greek words tend to be used to convey it instead, such as βδέλυγμα (“abomination”), χειροποίητος (“handmade”), or μάταιος (“vain”). Furthermore, these same Hebrew words—taken by scholars to be so pejorative that they “interfere” with the semantics of εἴδωλον by the very fact of its use to translate them—are elsewhere translated by Greek words that the same scholars insist are not pejorative, such as ἄγαλμα, εἰκών, and γλυπτός.⁵⁷

To take only one example, ‮אליל‬‎ (“vain,” “worthless”) is translated as εἴδωλον four times in the Septuagint (Lev 19:4; 1 Chron 16:26; Ps 96:7; Hab 2:18).⁵⁸ But in contexts where the term is more clearly pejorative, it is instead translated as χειροποίητος (“handmade,” Lev 26:1; Isa 2:18; 20:11; 19:1; 31:7), βδέλυγμα (“abomination,” Isa 2:8, 20), μάταιος (“vain” or “empty,” Isa 2:20; Zech 11:17), or κακός (“bad,” Job 13:4). In other places, however, ‮אליל‬‎ is translated as γλυπτός (Lev 26:1; Isa 10:10; Ps 96:7) or even ἄγαλμα (Isa 19:3), both of which are widely identified as descriptive, non-pejorative ways of referring to cult statues. And once it is translated as δαιμόνια (“daimons,” Ps 95:5), a value-neutral word for a range of deities or lower cosmic intermediaries, whether good, bad, or somewhere in between.⁵⁹ In other words, just because εἴδωλον is sometimes used to translate Hebrew words that are themselves pejorative, this does not necessarily imply a semantic transfer of negative connotations from Hebrew into Greek.⁶⁰

In short, Hebrew Vorlage is an unreliable marker of the connotations inherited or implied by the choice of word in Greek translations, which should be treated instead on their own terms and in their own contexts as intelligible Greek texts in their own right. When the Septuagint and other Jewish texts written in Greek are treated as Greek texts, rather than assuming Hebrew interference from the start, it becomes increasingly clear that the contexts in which εἴδωλον occurs do not suggest semantic innovation or textual unintelligibility. On the contrary, εἴδωλον is used alongside a range of lexical alternatives common to the vocabulary of images in postclassical Greek, including ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, εἰκών, ἵδρυμα, and ξόανον. Put simply, the image lexicon in Jewish Greek literature is no less diverse than what is found elsewhere in postclassical Greek.

The paradigmatic use of εἴδωλον in Jewish literature is found in the second commandment of the Decalogue, which constitutes the cognitive-linguistic “prototype” informing subsequent use, from the parodies of the prophets to the polemics of Paul.⁶¹ As we will see, the prototypical status of εἴδωλον in the Decalogue can be detected in other texts by its frequent pairing with the same three verbal prohibitions—do not make (ποιέω), do not bow down (προσκυνέω), do not offer cult (λατρεύω)—and/or its modification by a creature list.

You will not make (ποιήσεις) for yourself an image (εἴδωλον) nor a likeness (ὁμοίωμα) of anything that is in the sky above or the earth below or the waters under the earth. You will not bow down (προσκυνήσεις) to them nor offer cult (λατρεύσῃς) to them; for I am the lord your god, a jealous god, repaying the failure of fathers to children until the third or fourth generation, to those who hate me, but working mercy for thousands, to those who love me and keep my commands.

Deut 5:8–10; cf. Exod 20:3–6

However, when this same command is anticipated and explicated earlier in Deuteronomy, εἴδωλον is replaced by εἰκών with no obvious change in meaning.⁶²

Watch yourselves closely … lest you act lawlessly and make (ποιήσητε) for yourself a carved likeness (γλυπτὸν ὁμοίωμα) or any image (εἰκόνα) in the likeness of male or female, in the likeness of any beast that lives on the ground, in the likeness of any winged bird that flies under the sky, in the likeness of any reptile that creeps on the ground, in the likeness of any fish that is in the waters under the earth.

Deut 4:15–18

In both cases, εἴδωλον and εἰκών occur alongside ὁμοίωμα as the objects of the verb ποιέω in a prohibition of “making” (ποιήσητε, 4:15; ποιήσεις, 5:8) an “image” (εἰκών, 4:16; εἴδωλον, 5:8) or “likeness” (γλύπτὸν ὁμοίωμα, 4:16; ὁμοίωμα, 5:8) of anything in the air, on the ground, and so on. While some scholars make much of the fact that Greek translators of the second commandment chose to render ‮פסל‬‎ with the apparently “pejorative term” εἴδωλον, rather than the “descriptive term” γλυπτός, the broader context of Deuteronomy itself tells against this dichotomy.⁶³ Εἴδωλον is used interchangeably with εἰκών in the span of Deuteronomy’s own account of the image ban. Furthermore, γλυπτός is not only used to modify ὁμοίωμα when it parallels εἰκών in this context (4:16), but poetic parallelism regularly places γλυπτός alongside εἴδωλον in the psalms and prophets. For example:

Let them be put to shame:

everyone who bows down to γλυπτοῖς,

everyone who takes pride in their εἰδώλοις.

Ps 96:7 (97:7 ΜΤ)

I declared them to you long ago, I made them heard by you before they came upon you, lest you say, “The εἴδωλα did it for me,” or, “The γλυπτά and the molten commanded me.”

Isa 48:5

All of her γλυπτά will be cut into pieces …,

all of her εἴδωλα I will appoint to destruction.

Mic 1:7

Any firm distinction between εἴδωλον, εἰκών, and γλυπτός in these contexts simply does not hold: they are parallel lexical items with overlapping semantic fields. There is no inherently pejorative “idol” among them, only images.

Reproducing the language of Deuteronomy, εἰκών is used in Daniel to refer to an “image” (εἰκών, 3:1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 10, 12, 14, 15, 18) that Nebuchadnezzar “made” (ποιέω, 3:1) and before which he commanded all nations to “bow” (προσκυνέω, 3:5, 6, 7, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15 [2×], 18, 95) and to “worship” (λατρεύω, 3:12, 14, 18, 95)—the three verbal actions prohibited in the second commandment in Deut 5:8–9, but with the noun εἰκών from its restatement in 4:16. In this case, however, the oscillation between εἰκών and εἴδωλον is even more explicit, as εἴδωλον is twice used to parallel εἰκών in the same context to refer to the same acts done to the same image, perhaps as a stylistic choice that allows the author to use two different verbs from the Decalogue (προσκυνέω and λατρεύω) without the rote repetition of a single nominal object:

There are certain men, Jews, whom you placed over the province of Babylon—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego—those men did not offer cult (ἐλάτρευσαν) to your image (εἰδώλῳ); they did not bow down (προσκύνησαν) to your golden image (εἰκόνι), which you installed.

Dan 3:12; see also v. 18

In Daniel, like Deuteronomy itself, both εἴδωλον and εἰκών can be used to refer to a cult image in the paradigmatic language of the Decalogue.

Philo and Josephus further expand the vocabulary used to describe and interpret the image ban. Philo, for his part, was clearly aware of the use of εἴδωλον in the Greek Pentateuch. While he uses the word some twenty-two times throughout his vast corpus, taking a range of different referents, he only uses it to refer to images of gods in direct quotations of Genesis or Leviticus (Embassy 2.56 [Gen 31:19]; Confusion 74 [Gen 31:35]; Flight 143 [Gen 31:33]; Spec. Laws 1.25–28 [Lev 19:4]).⁶⁴ In his extended commentary on the Decalogue, however, he uses a diverse vocabulary to explicate what Deuteronomy simply dubs an εἴδωλον (Deut 5:8) or an εἰκών (4:16), preferring instead to use ἄγαλμα (Decalogue 7, 51, 60, 66, 76, 156), ξόανον (7, 51, 66, 76, 156), or ἀφίδρυμα (8, 51, 74 [twice], 156) to describe in greater detail what he otherwise recognises to be designated by εἴδωλον in the Decalogue itself (Spec. Laws 1.21–27).⁶⁵

Josephus, too, is well aware of the use of εἴδωλον in the Septuagint, using the term to refer to cult images in historiographical accounts inspired by 2 Kingdoms and 2 Chronicles (Ant. 9.99, 205, 243, 273; 10.50, 65 [twice], 69).⁶⁶ But whenever he comments on or alludes to the image ban of the second commandment, he uses a wide range of lexical alternatives, usually εἰκών (Ant. 3.91; 15.276, 277, 278, 279; 16.158; 17.151; 18.55, 121; Ag. Ap. 2.190–192; J.W. 1.649–650; 2.170, 195), but sometimes ἀνδριάς (Ant. 10.213, 214, 18.261, 264; J.W. 2.195), occasionally εἴδωλον (Ant. 9.99, 205, 243) or ἄγαλμα (Ant. 15.279, 329), once with εἰκών and ἄγαλμα together (Ant. 15.276–279), and once with εἰκών and ἀνδριάς together (J.W. 2.195).⁶⁷ It is clear, then, that even in the reception and interpretation of a text as prototypically important as the Decalogue, εἴδωλον could be replaced by, explained as, or located among a constellation of other lexemes, including εἰκών (Deuteronomy and Daniel), or ἄγαλμα, ἀφίδρυμα, and ξόανον (Philo), or ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, and εἰκών (Josephus), with εἴδωλον thus emerging as one lexical option among many in the Jewish image lexicon, just as it is in postclassical Greek more broadly.

It is sometimes argued that Philo and Josephus deliberately “avoid” the use of εἴδωλον in favour of other options as part of an apologetic impulse not to use a word that was derogatory, offensive, or simply inoperative among their Roman readers.⁶⁸ But this begs the question. We have already seen that εἴδωλον could be used by Greeks and Romans themselves to refer to their images without issue or objection. But, no less importantly, this ignores the fact that, even in the most polemical Jewish texts, εἴδωλον does not play a singular, standardised, or especially significant role. In the infamous parodies of Isa 44:9–20 and Jer 10:1–16, which together represent the locus classicus of so-called “idol” polemics, εἴδωλον does not occur at all. Both use the “descriptive” word γλυπτός (Isa 44:17; Jer 10:13), but no one would suggest this is due to an apologetic concern to avoid offence. In the parodies of Pss 113:11–16 and 134:15–18, which possibly build on Jer 10, εἴδωλον occurs once each (Pss 113:12; 134:15); and in the extended parody of Pseudo-Jeremiah, which certainly builds on Jer 10, εἴδωλον also occurs only once at the very end of the letter (Ep Jer 72).⁶⁹ So, too, εἴδωλον occurs once in Bel and the Dragon (3), but it does not occur at all in the Letter of Aristeas, which uses ἄγαλμα and εἰκών when parodying the invention and insensibility of images made of stone and wood (135). In the diverse collection of the Sibylline Oracles, by contrast, εἴδωλον is indeed used repeatedly (2.17, 59; 3.31, 277, 279, 548, 554, 588, 605, 723; 4.7; 5.80; 7.14; 8.47, 224, 379, 389; 11.88; 12.112, 292; 13.135; frag.3.45). But, as in Philo and Josephus, it regularly occurs in close conjunction with other words for images, such as ξόανον (3.58, 723; 4.28a; 8.123, 488; 13.66; fr. 3.29), ἄγαλμα (4.28a; 8.295; fr. 3.29), or ἵδρυμα (3.31; 14.26, 62), signalling its place within a wider image lexicon even when used more often than its alternatives.

In perhaps the most famous image parody of this period, Wis 13–15 oscillates between εἴδωλον (14:11, 12, 27, 29, 30; 15:15) and εἰκών (13:13, 16; 14:15, 17; 15:5), but it also uses γλυπτός (14:17; 15:13).⁷⁰ So, in the aetiological myth at the heart of his parody, the author begins with a generic reference to εἴδωλα but then goes on to explain their origins through the creation of an εἰκών of a deceased child, which came to be worshipped as a θεός. The custom was eventually instituted and enforced as law, and γλυπτά began to be venerated as a way of honouring absent kings made present through an εἰκών modelled in their likeness.

For the idea of images (εἰδώλων) is the beginning of illicit sex, and the invention of them the corruption of life. For they did not exist from the beginning, nor will they exist forever. They came into the world through the vanity of humans, and, for this reason, a sudden end has been planned for them. A father, consumed by untimely grief, after making an image (εἰκών) of a child who was too quickly taken from him, now honoured as a god (θεόν) what was once a dead human, and passed down the mysteries and rituals to his dependents. Eventually, the impious custom, strengthened over time, was kept as law, and images (γλυπτά) were worshipped at the command of monarchs. When people were unable to honour them in their presence, since they lived far away, they made a visible image (εἰκόνα) of the honoured king, modelling his likeness at a distance, in order that through their zeal they might flatter the absent as present.

Wis 14:12–17

The main difference between εἴδωλον and εἰκών in the Wisdom of Solomon appears to be syntactic, not semantic. Usually, though not always, εἰκών refers to an image of someone or something in the genitive—“an image of a human” (εἰκώνι ἀνθρώπου, 13:13), “an image of a child” (τέκνου εἰκόνα, 14:15), “an image of the king” (εἰκόνα τοῦ … βασιλέως, 14:17)—whereas εἴδωλον stands on its own (14:12, 27, 29, 30), presumably as a metonym for a (cult) image (of a gentile god or deified mortal) in not so many words.⁷¹

Many of the points we have seen so far can be found altogether in the book of Hosea, where εἴδωλον is used in the prototypical language of the Decalogue to refer to cult statues (8:4),⁷² and coordinated with other image words, such as εἰκών and χώνευμα (13:2).⁷³ Moreover, when all three words are brought together, it is εἰκών that takes εἴδωλον in the genitive, rather than the other way round: Israelites “made for themselves a molten image (χώνευμα) from their silver, according to an image of images (κατ᾽ εἰκόνα εἰδώλων)” (13:2).⁷⁴ The puzzling phrase κατ᾽ εἰκόνα εἰδώλων seems to suggest that Israel made an image in the likeness of those of the nations, provocatively set over against Israel’s god, who made humanity according to his own image (κατ’ εἰκόνα θεοῦ, Gen 1:26–27; cf. 5:1; Sir 17:3).⁷⁵ In this case, εἴδωλον on its own signals in Hosea, as it does in the Wisdom of Solomon, a cult image of a gentile god.

The points also hold in Paul’s letters and John’s Apocalypse. Paul usually uses εἴδωλον, which always stands alone (1 Thess 1:9; 1 Cor 8:4, 7; 10:19; 12:2; 2 Cor 6:16), but once uses εἰκών, which takes a genitive (Rom 1:23),⁷⁶ whereas John usually uses εἰκών, which almost always takes a genitive (Rev 13:15 [3×]; 14:9, 11; 15:2; 16:2; 19:20; 20:4), but once uses εἴδωλον, which stands alone (9:20).⁷⁷ Paul favours the noun εἴδωλον with the verb λατρεύω (see below), whereas John favours the noun εἰκών with the verb προσκυνέω (13:15; 14:9, 11; 16:2; 19:20; 20:4). Both verbs occur in the second commandment and both nouns occur in Deuteronomy itself to designate its prohibited object. Whatever the meaning of εἴδωλον, then, its use in Paul and John should likely be located alongside εἰκών as lexical alternatives with overlapping semantic fields. In fact, John uses εἰκών (10×) more often than Paul uses εἴδωλον (7×)—and in one-third of the space—but it is Paul and his εἴδωλα that have gone down in reception history as having the final word on the taxonomy of “idols.” So I give him the final word in this article, too.

While Paul is best known for his use of εἴδωλον, his use of εἰκών in Rom 1:23 is almost certainly informed by the cognitive-linguistic prototype that also underlies his use of εἴδωλον, offering valuable insight into what he means by both words.

They exchanged the glory of the immortal god for a likeness (ὁμοιώματι) of an image (εἰκόνος) of a mortal man or birds or four-footed animals or reptiles.

Rom 1:23

The use of εἰκών alongside ὁμοίωμα, followed by a list of human and nonhuman creatures, is probably guided by the restatement of the second commandment in Deut 4:15–18, which, we have seen, explicates the prohibition of images in 5:8, but with εἰκών in place of εἴδωλον. It is possible, then, that Paul uses εἴδωλον as shorthand to refer to the sorts of images prohibited in the Decalogue, which other Jewish texts variously designate as ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, εἰκών, εἴδωλον, or ξόανον. This possibility is confirmed, in my view, by the larger compounds for which Paul is well known, namely, εἰδωλολατρία (1 Cor 10:14; Gal 5:20; cf. Col 3:5) and εἰδωλολάτρης (1 Cor 5:10, 11; 6:9; 10:7; cf. Eph 5:5), which appear to be lexical abstractions of the verbal act of offering cult (λατρεύω) to images (εἴδωλα) precisely as prohibited in the second commandment (Exod 20:5//Deut 5:8). When it is further observed that Paul uses other lexical formations to refer to the temple of an image (εἰδωλεῖον, 1 Cor 8:10), in which one offers sacrifice to an image (εἰδωλόθυτος, 1 Cor 8:1, 4, 7, 10; 10:19), it becomes increasingly clear that, taken together, his use of εἴδωλον as a stem in larger compounds refers to an image in a temple that serves as a recipient of sacrifice and other forms of ancestral cult. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a clearer description of what one might otherwise call a cult image.⁷⁸

5 Conclusion

So in postclassical Greek, so too in Jewish Greek literature. From the Greek Pentateuch to Paul’s letters, εἴδωλον occurs alongside a range of other Greek words that were common to the wider lexicon of images, including ἄγαλμα, ἀνδριάς, ἀφίδρυμα, εἰκών, ἵδρυμα, and ξόανον. As a result, εἴδωλον should be located within this word cluster as one lexical option among many. Given the widespread and longstanding use of these words to refer to images of gods in the history of Greek, interchangeable with the god language of θεός, δαίμων, or a divine name, it is unlikely that the Septuagint itself influenced or innovated such usage. But given the incorporation of Jews into Ptolemaic Egyptian society and ancient Mediterranean literary culture more broadly, it would be a mistake not to treat the image lexicon in Jewish Greek literature as primary evidence for precisely this practice, which makes an invaluable contribution to the wider linguistic phenomenon. To overlook this contribution or to dismiss its evidence as inadmissible simply because it is Jewish would be to make the same mistake as Nock, limiting our understanding of εἴδωλον in postclassical Greek by isolating Jewish usage as unique, unintelligible, or unrepresentative of shared lexical practices.⁷⁹

The exceptionalism of εἴδωλον in Jewish Greek texts has long been exaggerated. It did not emerge as a singular, standardised, or technical term with implicitly pejorative meaning that lost its generic reference to images until later, perhaps (as Kennedy suggests) under the influence of its transliteration as idolum in Christian Latin texts. Until then, it was used in a way that was remarkably unexceptional, referring to images of gods or other nonobvious divine beings (e.g., daimons, deified heroes, distant rulers) put to cultic purposes. Continuing to transliterate εἴδωλον as “idol,” rather than translating it as “image,” keeps the illusion of uniqueness alive: it invites negative associations that closely align with its later Christian legacy but that do not clearly correspond to its own time and place. So, to answer the question posed in my title (“Are εἴδωλα idols?”), my proposed answer would be no, or at least not yet.