The prototype is the actual person the icon depicts. When you venerate an icon of Christ, you’re honoring Christ himself, not the wood and paint. The honor passes through the image to the real person it represents.
This isn’t just semantics. It’s the theological foundation that keeps us from idolatry. We don’t worship images. We venerate them because they connect us to someone real, someone who lived, who prayed, who now stands before God’s throne interceding for us. The icon is a window. The prototype is who you see through it.
St. Basil the Great put it plainly: “The honor given to the image is transferred to its prototype.” That sentence became the Church’s defense of icons at the Seventh Ecumenical Council in 787. The iconoclasts had been destroying icons for decades, claiming Christians were worshiping wood. But the Council said no. The worship (latreia) belongs to God alone. What we offer icons is veneration (proskynesis), and that veneration doesn’t stop at the painted surface. It goes straight through to the person depicted.
Think of it this way. When someone in Beaumont kisses a photo of their grandmother who passed away, nobody accuses them of worshiping paper and ink. They’re expressing love for the person in the photo. Icons work the same way, except the person depicted isn’t just a memory. The saints are alive in Christ. When you kiss an icon of St. Michael, you’re greeting the Archangel himself. When you light a candle before an icon of the Theotokos, you’re asking Mary to pray for you. The prototype, the real person, receives what you offer.
This matters especially with icons of Christ. Jesus is the ultimate icon, the “express image” of the invisible God. Every icon of Christ tries to show us something true about him. Not photographically true, icons aren’t snapshots. But theologically true. An icon of the Pantocrator shows Christ as King and Judge. An icon of the Crucifixion shows his self-emptying love. The prototype, Jesus himself, is who we encounter through these images.
Some folks coming from Protestant backgrounds worry this sounds like magic or superstition. It’s not. We’re not saying the paint itself has power. We’re saying the person depicted is real and present to us through the icon. The Church has always believed the saints are alive, that the Body of Christ includes both the living and the dead, that we’re surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Icons make that communion visible.
The distinction between veneration and worship isn’t hairsplitting. It’s essential. We bow before icons. We kiss them. We light candles and incense before them. But all of that is directed to the prototype. If you’re bowing to an icon of St. George, you’re honoring St. George. You’re not worshiping the board it’s painted on. The Seventh Ecumenical Council settled this. The honor passes through.
This is why iconographers follow strict guidelines. An icon has to be recognizable as its prototype. You can’t just paint any bearded man and call it St. Peter. The image has to connect to the real person, usually following traditional forms handed down through centuries. Some people say St. Luke painted the first icons of the Theotokos. Whether that’s historically provable or not, it points to something true: icons aren’t individual artistic expression. They’re meant to reveal the prototype as faithfully as possible.
When you walk into St. Michael’s and see the icons on the walls, you’re not looking at religious art. You’re standing in the presence of the people depicted. Christ looks at you from the iconostasis. His mother stands at his right hand. The saints surround you. The prototype is present through the image. That’s why we treat icons with reverence. That’s why we kiss them when we enter the church. We’re greeting the people we’ve come to worship with.
If you’re still getting used to this, start simple. Stand before an icon of Christ. Look at his face. Ask him to help you see past the paint to the person. The prototype is there, waiting to meet you.
