Faces of Christ: Models and Echoes of Virtues

Flagellation of Christ, Abbey of St. Austremoine, Issoire, 12th century

After the representations of Christ rather remote from the moral teachings of the religion (Christ as divine ruler or as harbinger of a new age), there are the stories which present him as an ideal human, or even super-human. Medieval churches were covered inside and out with tableaux of these stories. There developed a standard of depiction which made Christ and the pertinent moments of his life on earth recognizable across media (manuscripts, painting, carving, mosaic) and locations in Christendom. As Christianity was establishing orthodoxy in its doctrine, it also created a constancy in its messaging through art.

One message for both clergy and laity in representations of Christ was that of emulating his virtues. Described in sermons and monastic rule books, imitatio Christi instructed followers to live lives of self-denial, charity, humility, and contemplation. From the 12th to 15th century alone, there were popular books by mystics (particularly women mystics) which described the visions and ecstasy possible when following this path. Here's a short list: The Book of Margery Kempe, Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich, The Book of Divine Works by Hildegard of Bingen, and the Ancrene Riwle. (Back in the mists of time, this was my dissertation topic, so let me know if you want to hear more.)

These books often contained visions of Christ which the mystics described, and they weren't considered orthodox (especially the visions by women). The Church preferred to keep the laity to visual understanding and sermons--ones which they could maintain control over. However, images of Christ did vary across Christendom, and echoes of pre-Christian understandings of deity would be used, from the long-established iconography of the artist's culture.

Christ healing the sick and teaching youth,  Museo Nazionale Romano - Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Rome, ca. 300 CE

In this frieze, Christ appears four times (he's the guy wit the beard). In three of them, his is laying his hands on a sick person. Presumably, these are different people, but a standard type is being used. They all resemble children, but I wonder if this is metaphoric, in the sense that all believers were encouraged to think of themselves as a child of God. While Christians couldn't imitate Christ by performing miracles, they could minister to the sick.

In all images of Christ, he represents a Platonic ideal, if you will. If he is "God and Man," then the man must needs be godly, perfect in every action. Imitatio Christi is aspirational, and always falls short (though, if you come close, you may be sainted). The Christian virtues to strive for can be extrapolated from the images: you can't heal the lame or the blind, but you can care for them; you can't create loaves and fishes for the masses, but you can feed some of the poor; you can't atone for the sins of all mankind, but acts of self-sacrifice can lessen the evil in the world.

Also in the above image, we see Christ giving an oration before several pupils. This may represent one of his sermons from the gospels, where he preaches Christian morality, or, less likely, he is training his disciples. In any case, it is intriguing in this scene that the bare-chested Christ is depicted as sculptures of Zeus enthroned commonly were, with a fascinating twist. Where Zeus/Jupiter held a scepter in his left hand, this Christ wields a scroll (of what? the Apocalypse?); where Zeus would hold a statuette of Nike (Victory) or his thunderbolts in his right hand, this Christ raises his hand in (take your pick) either the orator's gesture which signals "Heed me. I am speaking," or the Hand of God's gesture of benediction.

Raising of Lazarus, Betrayal of Peter, Healing the Blind, Vatican Museums, Christian sarcophagus, circa 300 C.E.

In Rome, these early Christian sarcophagi, commissioned by elite families, frequently compressed multiple scenes from the life of Christ into one frieze, as pagans would the labors of Hercules.

Labors of Hercules Sarcophagus, Villa Borghese, 160-170 C.E.

The contrast between the presentations of these heroic deities demonstrates how important it was for Christian leadership to steer their faithful to a new idea of the divine. The Greco-Roman deity Hercules performed super-human tasks for three reasons: initially, because he was doing penance for being driven to familicide by a goddess who despised him; and, later, to uphold divine order and gain glory. A family (or the decedent) choosing such a theme might be likening their life's work to stoic values of endurance and justice.

The Christian decedent's depiction of their heroic deity in works that benefit humble, and at times, unworthy (look at Peter with his rooster, above) people. Hercules works his way up to being divine, whereas Christ descends to raise up others.

Wedding at Cana, San Juan de la Pena, Cloister, ca. 1190

A few stories from Christ's life in the gospels on the surface seem to be stories of him being a generous, magical benefactor for regular folks. More can be read, taught, and seen in those stories, if one has a will and a guide. Christ attends the marriage in Cana. We don't know whose wedding; we don't know why he's there, or whether it's a special affair. As when he preaches and his audience goes hungry, the wedding guests go thirsty, and Christ provides in abundance. Converting water into wine is a useful foreshadowing for his creation of transubstantiation at the Last Supper, and ever after at communion in mass.

The idea of transforming water into wine is central metaphor for the miracles promised in Christianity: elevation of the earthly to the divine, changing from a simple state to a sublime one. Water becomes wine through belief in the faith, bread becomes flesh, and death becomes immortality.

Baptism of Christ by John, Battistero di Parma, fresco, 13th-14th c.

The ritual of baptism is also transformation, involving water as rebirth. John's act reinvents the Jewish practice of purification, re-centering it on birth as an initiation, instead of purging before entering the temple. The fresco above includes yet another religious voice to the ritual, with a tiny nude figure at Christ's feet, bearing a torch, in the place where a Roman river god would be in a cult festival.

Last Supper, parapet bas-relief by Anselmo da Campione, Modena Cathedral, early 13th century

In a scene far more solemn than the Wedding at Cana, Christ transforms wine and bread for a gathering, but he takes mere wine and bread and converts it into his body, which he requires his apostles to eat. In the process, this meal should transform them. The believer seeing this moment presented in the same place where they, too, participate in communion, is called to feel their part of the Church as the body of Christ. This particular image, near life-size, looming above the nave, and between the congregation and the raised altar, heightens (no pun intended) the drama of the mass, positioned as it is, closer to heaven.

Gethsemane, choir screen frieze, Notre Dame de Paris, 14th century (pre-fire)

Christ beseeching God in the Garden of Gethsemane may be the most vulnerable and poignant scene in the gospels, notwithstanding the Crucifixion itself. His disciples have failed in their support of him. He is alone in his dread of his duty. The guidance in this image is the ultimate in the imitatio Christi: "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will." (Matthew 26:39) [emphasis mine]. Peter (the balding sleeper next to Christ), who wants so badly to be the ultimate devotee, fails with the best intentions. Christ reproves him, saying, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." (Matthew 26:41) Devotion is aspirational, because humanity is incapable of perfection.

The majority of Christian art may be summarized as the veneration of sacrifice and obedience, as seen here.

Arrest of Christ, Cité de L'architecture et du Patrimoine, plaster copy of a capital from La Daurade Church, Paris, original 1120-30

Scenes of the arrest of Christ evoke pathos, anxiety, and horror in the believing viewer. Akin to images of the Slaughter of the Innocents and the Flight into Egypt, Judas' betrayal of Christ is an incomprehensible outrage to an audience who knows what's happening more than the other characters in the scene do (excepting Christ). In this tableau, Christ's passivity sets the exemplar for martyrdom. The kiss as an act of betrayal is shocking because it takes place under the guise of an act of intimacy. A Christian contemplating this image might marvel at the commitment of their god to submit to such treatment, might feel humbled by the gift of their god's knowing sacrifice.

This facet of the Christian gospel--that Son of the King of Heaven would submit to treason, humiliation, torture, and assassination to redeem even the most lowly souls--was a tough sell in the evangelizing of parts of Northern Europe. Anglo-Saxons, for example, regarded this as a stunning compromise of the masculinity essential to a sovereign god, one who must be a warrior-protector. A surviving example of this deeply-conflicted conversion is seen in the Dream of the Rood, where the Cross itself speaks of its anguish in permitting his king to be crucified upon him, and wants to detach and beat to death those who attack Christ. As well, the Cross describes Jesus not as half-dead as he is nailed up, but as athletically climbing the cross, eager to be attacked.

Arrest of Christ, left-side, Cité de L'architecture et du Patrimoine, plaster copy of a capital from La Daurade Church, Paris, original 1120-30

This side of the same capital, shows Peter grabbing the high priest, Malchus, by the scalp, slicing his ear off with a short sword. It interprets the passage in the Book of John with enthusiasm, and doesn't include Christ healing the ear. The 9th century Anglo-Saxon poem of Christ's life, called The Heliand, retells Peter's attack in a manner that would not be out of place in Beowulf (Heliand, 58:4866-4884). This 12th-century French capital seems to be closer to the 9th century poem's interpretation than the 2nd-century gospel.

The images of Christ in his human form, before his martyrdom, offered medieval Christians models for ideal, if not quite attainable, behavior, Changes in time and place would offer their particular perspectives on what was ideal, challenging the idea that a monotheism's needs would suffice in a static god with only one face.