Moses in Marble: Michelangelo, Jerome, and the Power of a Word

Moses in Marble: Exploring Michelangelo's Masterpiece and the Impact of Jerome's Translation.

Michelangelo has long been one of my favorite artists. As a child, I remember flipping through art books, captivated by the grandeur of his paintings and sculptures. Since I could barely read at the time—and cared more about the art than the text—I made a peculiar assumption about one statue in particular.

Although I now recognize it as Michelangelo’s famous sculpture of Moses—holding the tablets of the Law—I used to think it was some kind of mythological, horned Greek god. Why? Well, let’s explore.

At the start of the 5th century, Jerome completed his monumental translation of the Old Testament, primarily from the Hebrew Masoretic text into Latin. Commissioned in 382 AD by Pope Damasus I at the Council of Rome, this work became known as the Latin Vulgate. Over time, it would become the official Bible of the Catholic Church, formally declared so at the Council of Trent in 1546—more than eleven centuries later. It's hard to overstate the impact of Jerome’s translation on Western civilization—its influence shaped literature, values, art, and obviously theology.

This connection between art and theology is nowhere more evident than in Michelangelo’s statue of Moses. Roughly 30 years before the Council of Trent and some 350 miles south of the city (Trent), Michelangelo carved this masterpiece (c. 1513–1515) in his Roman workshop for the tomb of Pope Julius II. To capture the figure of Moses accurately, Michelangelo turned to Exodus 34, where Scripture describes Moses descending Mount Sinai after encountering God—his face altered by divine glory.

Thankfully, Michelangelo didn’t try to reimagine Moses for artistic flair or modern relevance. As a devout Roman Catholic, he sought to be faithful to Scripture. And so, like every Catholic of his time, he turned to Jerome’s Vulgate, since Protestant Bibles and vernacular translations like Luther’s German Bible were strictly forbidden.

Here’s how the Vulgate renders Exodus 34:29:

"...ignorabat quod cornuta esset facies sua ex consortio sermonis Domini."
"...he [Moses] did not know that his face was horned from speaking with the Lord."

True to the text, Michelangelo sculpted Moses seated, gripping the stone tablets, robed in flowing garments, his long beard cascading down his chest—and above his intense gaze, two small horns protruding from his head. These were the same strange horns that led me, as a child, to mistake him for a pagan deity.

But why did Jerome use the word horned? The Hebrew verb קָרַן (qāran) means to shine or to emit rays. However, as a noun, it can also refer to a horn. The decision about how to translate it depends on context—and in this case, Jerome rendered it cornuta (horned), perhaps opting for the more vivid, concrete image rather than the metaphorical shining face. Whether this was a linguistic error or a poetic choice is probably still debated, but the result left a lasting mark—literally—in marble.

Thus, due to a mistranslation, we have one of the most iconic sculptures in Christian art history portraying one of the most important biblical figures with horns instead of radiant light.

This example not only underscores the challenges and stakes of biblical translation, but it also reveals something deeper: how our understanding of God is utterly shaped by language. Cultural interpretations, historical context, and even a single word can dramatically influence theology, worship, and imagination. This is why, as A.W. Tozer famously said, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”

So what do you think? If a translation choice of one word can affect art for centuries, what might it be doing to your view of God?

Micah Coate, President and Host of Salvation and Stuff