only in the Epistles of John (1 John 2:18, 4:3; 2 John 7), and is thus a relatively late
addition to early Christian eschatology, subsequent commentators interpreted other
biblical prophecies of a last persecutor as referring to this same Anti-christ: Daniel 7–12,
Matthew 24:15, 2 Thessalonians 2:3– 8, Revelation 13:11–18. By the patristic period, the
Anti-christ had become a central element of Christian eschatological teachings,
discouraging apocalyptic hopes by describing in lurid and supernatural terms the hideous
persecution of the just that will occur before the final Parousia and Redemption. In some
versions, there were two Antichrists: an imperial one (Nero redivivus) and a Jewish one
(born of the tribe of Dan in Babylon). Because this latter figure would be a false Christ,
taking over the temple, establishing himself as God, and forcing all the nations to
circumcise, this teaching effectively branded any Jewish messianic figure as Antichrist,
thus guaranteeing Christian hostility to Jews at the End Time.
And yet, while this element of the Antichrist legend grew greater over time, that of an
imperial Antichrist was transformed into its opposite. By interpreting Paul’s references in
2 Thessalonians to a “man of sin [or lawlessness]” as Antichrist, the “rebellion” as the
collapse of public order, and the “obstacle” to Antichrist as the existence of the Roman
Empire, patristic exegetes provided the most conservative form of Christian eschatology:
even before Constantine, it was incumbent on good Christians to pray for the continued
strength of the Roman Empire. This proimperial eschatology eventually produced the
legend of the Last Emperor, himself a supernaturally powerful man who would unite
Christendom and rule in peace and justice for 120 years (Tiburtine Sybil, ca. 350;
Revelations of Methodius, ca. 650). At the end of his reign, he would lay down his crown
at Golgotha in Jerusalem, thus abdicating and bringing on the reign of Antichrist.
Antichrist imagery flourished throughout the medieval centuries. Earlier exegetes,
such as Gregory the Great, Bede, Alcuin, and Haimo of Auxerre, elaborated on his
attributes, leading to Adso’s highly influential Libellus de Antichristo (ca. 950). In the
12th century, ecclesiastical writers like Otto of Freising and Rupert of Deutz elaborated
on aspects of the Antichrist’s career; dramas like the Ludus de Antichristo revealed to
laypeople the terrifying details of his career. Indeed, Antichrist imagery appears in every
medium of high- and late-medieval culture—theology, visions, polemic, art, drama,
history.
Because Antichrist was to be born in Babylon and rise to power only in his thirtieth
year, one way to make apocalyptic pronouncements was to announce his birth in the East,
thus placing the final events within the lifespan of those now alive, although not
immediately (e.g., Martin of Tours, ca. 390). Although such speculation was regularly
discouraged (the passage on Martin’s belief was censored from Sulpicius Severus’s
Dialogues for centuries), it crops up perennially. When Bernard of Clairvaux and Norbert
of Xanten met ca. 1125, Norbert declared, as had Martin, that Antichrist would reveal
himself in the present generation.
At the same time, because the Epistles of John spoke of an Antichrist and his
precursors, the antichrists, there was a wide range of accusations that polemicists could
make against their enemies. One could, for example, disapprove of improper religious
fervor (such as a mass pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1033), without condemning it per se,
by claiming that it was “beating down a path for Anti-christ.” Such accusations,
traditionally reserved for heretics and foreign enemies, reached new heights in the
Investiture conflict, where both pope and emperor called each other Antichrist. Joachim
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