I think I was standing before the Trevi Fountain in Rome when I first really thought about body image. Holding a cone filled with gelato, I marveled at the physique of Oceanus. Sculpted in the 18th century, he has a body that, in the 21st century, is rarely replicated naturally. Were there really men built like that in the 1700s, without the understanding of kinesiology, nutrition, and pharmaceuticals that we now enjoy? Seeing my reflection next to Oceanus in the fountain waters made me lose my taste for that gelato.
Six years after my existential crisis in Rome, Dr. Charles Stocking asked a similar question. He discovered that the amazing bodies of the Greek idea of god and athlete were, in fact, an ideal and not representative of normal human anatomy. In particular, he noted that the iliac furrow, or “Apollo’s Belt,” that V-shaped cut in a lean waist, was greatly exaggerated in Greek statuary. In essence, this was the first filter, creating body image issues for thousands of years to follow. This means that the ideal body, which men (and women) have been chasing to the point of disorders and dysmorphia, has always been an illusion, or perhaps better put, a simulacrum.
French philosopher Jean Baudrillard warned about this. He observed a corruption of representation that he identified as a precession of simulacra. What started as making a copy of things has now resulted in simulations. When we start to prefer the simulation to the real thing, we are living in the hyperreal.
The Greek ideal presented in statuary is an early example of hyperreality regarding the body. A modern equivalent could be Barbie. Her dimensions, if presented on a real body, would be so out of proportion that they would render her barely able to walk. Social media feeds are full of “before and after” body transformations that AI generated. We do not want the truth of what an actual body looks like. We prefer the simulation, and we will go to extremes to achieve what has never existed.
I wish to be very careful here. The body is a canvas for symbols, and those symbols are attached to profound meanings. Not all meanings are accurate or healthy. Most of us have some negativity attached to our bodies, perhaps even loathing. Medical science has made significant progress with medicines and procedures that can totally transform a body. I am certain GLP-1s have saved lives. I am also worried that, without real reflection, they can ruin lives.
Plastic surgery can provide incredible restoration to parts of the body that have been burned, removed, or disfigured through accident, trauma, or disease. It can also lead to a total loss of self. I think these issues of the body are among the most pressing facing society. I do not pretend to be qualified to declare with absolute certainty what procedures or medicines are acceptable and which are not. Instead, I wish to raise the question and propose a method for deeper theological reflection.
Sander Gilman, in his fascinating history of aesthetic surgery, reveals two motivations for body modification that have profound theological implications: passing and subsequent happiness. Gilman argues that the rise of aesthetic/plastic surgery can be explained by the desire of individuals to pass from one social category to another. Biblically, we see this best in the story of Jacob and Esau. In order to pass as his brother Esau in the dimmed eyes of Isaac, Jacob altered his body by putting animal skins on his neck and arms.
In a 19th-century context, this would most often mean passing from one racial group to another. He notes early cases regarding so-called Jewish, Irish, and African noses. In time, passing included categories beyond race, such as socioeconomic status or even from “ugly” to “beautiful.” The latter categories of class and beauty are arguably social constructs and inevitably change. The second motivation was happiness. We wish to pass from one category to another because we believe it will make us happy.
Happiness, however, cannot be tied to physical appearance or social categories. Is this not part of the wisdom we receive from Job? The Devil’s accusation was that Job’s happiness was dependent on such things. But instead of cursing God, Job rightfully acknowledged, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” In the Gospels, the Beatitudes remind us that the blessed—the happy—are those who see their proper end not in the adulation of man or material comfort, but in the Beatific Vision of God. True happiness is possible precisely because it is not tied to the vicissitudes of societal pressure and cultural reward.
Furthermore, in Holy Scripture, the body properly ordered does not alter its appearance to pass to another category, like Jacob to Esau. Instead, when the body is marked, it is to prevent passing. Circumcision was a mark to identify the people of God as unique and not transitive. The Hebrews were not God’s covenant people because they circumcised all males, but because they were God’s covenant people, they received circumcision. The mark revealed who they already were.
In the Incarnation, the Word of God crossed a boundary into nature—not to be accepted, but to be hated. From the prophecy of Isaiah, “He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.” John’s Gospel goes to great lengths to detail the suffering of Christ’s body at the crucifixion. His body was scourged (19:1), was given a crown of thorns (19:2), struck by soldiers (19:3), crucified (19:18), and was pierced (19:34). Everything about his body becomes sacramental. The effects to his body had nothing to do with passing but rather passio. He suffered as an offering, as a sign of God’s unimaginable love. The enduring reminder of this passio is the Holy Eucharist, whereby we are sacramentally given his Body, so that we may find our union with him.
The Body of Christ is not a boundary to cross, but is instead the elimination of boundaries. When St. Paul says that in Christ there is no male or female, Jew or Greek, slave or free, he is not speaking of a reality in which there is no difference, for difference is the beauty of creation. He is saying there are no more boundaries established by broken men that we seek to cross by reconstructing who we really are. In Christ, the death to self is also the death to the simulacrum.
Oceanus flexing above the Trevi Fountain is indeed an impressive sight, but it is an ideal that is unrelated to the Incarnation. The important question is “What is my body for?” and not “What is my body’s form?” Answering the first question will help us faithfully navigate the second. Our bodies are to be icons of Christ. St. Irenaeus wrote, “For the glory of God is the living man, and the life of man is the vision of God.” We need to take care of our bodies so we can serve and pray. We need to discipline our bodies to be an oblation poured out for others, to seek passio over passing. The body of Jesus Christ, broken and bloodied, is the image of love, mercy, and extraordinary beauty. The best news of all is that he is the definition of what is real.
The Rev. Steve Rice is the rector of St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church, an Anglo-Catholic parish in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and is the founder of the Society of St. Joseph of Arimathea.
