Many Faces of Jesus: Early & in Youth

A Young Christ hands the Law to his Disciples, 4th c., Basilica San Lorenzo, Milan

I've wondered and read about the great changes Europeans underwent when they converted (usually at the command of their rulers) to Christianity. Polytheism presented divinities for several crucial aspects of their daily lives--and deaths. A change to monotheism required adherence to one god, who could not be represented in a graven image. The Christian conversion of a town or state gave the new authorities permission to topple, crush, and deface images of gods the town had held as sacred. This must have been a traumatic rupture in how the defeated people understood the divine as presences in their lives.

Jews, on the other hand, already were monotheistic. However, with the rise of Christianity as state religion in the Roman Empire (313, under Constantine) they, too, would have experienced disruption. The Christians had appropriated their god's narrative, and Jews were ostracized for not accepting the new narrative placed over their religious stories.

Christianity in the Roman Empire struggled to define its monotheism as far-flung sects interpreted, added to, or changed the nature of the one god. Along the way, representations of Christ in art developed variations. And images of other Christians, and other aspects of god, began to appear such that, while there may have been one god, he was far from static and far from being alone.

The Council of Nicaea (325 CE) aimed to enforce one orthodox concept of Christ as one god, but, over the centuries, the one god held many aspects and opened up other figures for (subordinate) veneration. In other words: One God has a Son, and then there's a Trinity within the One, and then there are apostles and martyrs to venerate, and ultimately there is a host of saints more numerous than the polytheism Christianity supplanted. Christianity became awash and replete with images of divinity.

This is a topic which even I would say is too unwieldy to be explored in a humble blogpost. So, I am paring this exploration down to one figure, providing examples of Jesus having many well-recognized and distinct faces. My speculations as to why so many different ones were developed and used is just that--speculation, informed some by my years of study, but also by an unmistakably modern perspective.

Two of the earliest representations which became widespread are Christ Pantocrator and The Good Shepherd. One can find both of them in mosaic form in Ravenna, which was the capital of the Western Roman Empire in the fifth century.

Christ Pantocrator, San Vitale, Ravenna, mid 6th. century

"Pantocrator" translates to "Ruler over All." This mosaic is strategically placed over the throne of the bishop, Maximian (who commissioned the throne). Emperor Justinian and Maximian stand together in the mosaic panel to the left and beneath the apse mosaic. Christ sits on his other-worldly throne, holding the scroll with the seven seals of the Apocalypse. On Christ's left, the bishop Ecclesius presents this church (San Vitale) to Christ. Christ hands a crown to his right, to be received in the covered hands of the martyr, San Vitale. The staging here is politically significant. Christ resides and reigns over all, but the emperor and bishop are invested with power on earth, signaled by their mosaic panel, which is subordinate to Christ (hence, these rulers stand), but supreme in the empire (i.e., everyone else). Mass was said at an altar before the throne, such that the communion would appear to be offered to both Christ in heaven, and the bishop in the church. This is a hierarchy ritually reinforced.

Note how young this Christ is:

Christ Pantocrator Mosaic, San Vitale, Ravenna mid-6th c., close-up

And here:

A Young Christ hands the Law to his Disciples, 4th c., Basilica San Lorenzo, Milan

These youthful and beardless images are patterned after the style of elite Roman men at this time period, and may also be designed to imitate the pagan representations of young gods, such as Apollo, Hermes, and Orpheus. The analogies make sense, with Apollo as a sun god, Hermes as the god of transporting the dead to the underworld, and Orpheus as a deified figure who made the journey to Hades and back. The Christian god rules in heaven, wears a halo very like a sun-burst corona, rescues the virtuous pagans from hell, and returns from the dead. This depiction, while creating a new god, carries some familiar traces which the newly converted might recognize as divine.

From Christian communities farther from the center of the Western empire, the most common pantocrator image becomes a bearded Christ (the Eastern empire maintained a bearded pantocrator in the style of an emperor). Still a Christ in his prime, but less Roman in style. The fresco below, from circa 360, in Poitiers, France, shows a bearded Christ holding the orb which represents the spiritual world. He is surrounded by symbols of the four gospels, which during this period become canonized as the official narratives of the life of Christ.

Christ Pantocrator, St. Jean Baptistry, circa 360, Poitiers

The Good Shepherd image of Christ represents his authority over believers as protective and benevolent, in contrast to the Pantocrator, which asserts awesome, monarchical power.

Christ the Good Shepherd, Tomb of Galla Placidia, circa 430, Ravenna

The imagery of the Good Shepherd, so like an ancient Greek Kriophoros, focuses on only one aspect of shepherding. The reasons why shepherds raise and protect sheep--to use them for marketable goods (like milk, cheese, and wool), and to sell as meat--disrupt the soothing intent of the metaphor.

The pantocrator and Good Shepherd images of Christ exist outside the narrative of the human life of Christ. They concern themselves with fixed qualities of God which would appeal to Christians.

It is important to note that religious authorities across the empire (and its remains) were ambivalent about creating images of Christ. Before the Council of Nicaea, in the 600s, and in the 700s, there were eruptions of iconoclasm, which prohibited any representations of the Christian god. Obviously iconoclasm does not win the day, and images of Christ, and his life on Earth, both proliferate and change.

Nativity, pulpit in Pisa Cathedral, Nicola Pisano, 1260

By the High Middle Ages, churches were covered, inside and out, with stories from the life of Christ. Churches and religious orders encouraged members to contemplate specific moments in the life of Christ, his mother, and his saints, and these events were granted feast days in the Christian calendar.

The infant Christ exists in sharp contrast to the paternal images described above. It inverts the position of the viewer, from vulnerable to protective. It underscores the assertion that Christianity is a new revelation, a new and true religion, even though it's foretold in the Jewish texts which Christianity adapted. The Nativity scene posits multiple ideas to the Christian audience. Significantly it presents Christ's birth as the culmination of a dynastic line, the ultimate heir to the throne. Medieval Christians lived under monarchies, and the nativity tells the story of people high and low coming to worship the new king.

The frieze shown above, by Nicola Pisano, depicts the humble nature of Christ's birth, but also counters it with Roman allusions. Mary is carved much like Roman images of powerful matrons, or even Juno or Venus. She, with Joseph tucked behind her, gazes out of the frame, as gods and goddesses also held gazes above and beyond the viewer. Mary has a retinue of servants and angels (like courtiers) attending to her needs, and caring for the baby. There are two images of Christ in this frieze: bottom-center he is being bathed (the head is broken off), and upper-center-right he is tucked in the manger. This infant Christ is not a major element in the piece, interestingly. The queenly nature of Mary seems much more important, and behind her is a Roman-style building (possibly a church, given the quatrefoil window).

Nativity, ceiling boss, 14th century, Norwich Cathedral

Later, and farther away, this English ceiling boss of the Nativity also has a regal theme. Mary and Joseph are dressed like monarchs, and their attendants are golden livestock. However, in this one, the infant Christ is literally the center of the scene, and he looks like a cherubic baby.

Flight into Egypt, St. Andoche Basilica, 1150, Saulieu, France

The Flight into Egypt images of Christ, like the Nativity images, feature a vulnerable Christ who is no more than a toddler. Ancient Greek and Roman stories about child gods generally don't emphasize them as helpless. Hercules chokes to death a serpent in his crib. Hermes/Mercury stole Apollo's cattle. Eros wreaks havoc with his miniature bow and arrows. The story of the fugitive holy family has embedded in it a condemnation of Roman authority. The details of Mary and Joseph's appearance, the humble donkey they use to escape, run counter to their royal appearance in the Nativity. The assertion of Christ's divinity comes from the star-like roundels beneath the donkey's hooves. The stars suggest that the Christ and Mary (with their halos) are too holy to touch profane ground. The stars also make it look as though Mary and Christ are being dragged with wheels beneath them. Medieval observers might recognize this as similar to the decorated carts used to parade images of saints on their feast-days; what they might not recognize is that the such carts are derived from a pagan European practice of carrying an image of a god on a cart dressed as a chariot, to take the god out to bless the people or their fields.

Slaughter of the Innocents, Pomposa Abbey, Italy, fresco by Vitale da Bologna, 14thc.

The story of the Slaughter of the Innocents is a doubling-down on the evils of the Roman authorities. The reason for the Flight into Egypt is that Herod hears rumors of a male child who may be a threat to his rule, and, just to be thorough, orders the murder of all male Jewish babies by his soldiers. In the fresco above, the slaughter is shown in graphic detail, whilst in the background the holy family slips away to safety.

Why would this image/story be so regular a feature in medieval churches? The audience would be aghast at the scene, and probably outraged by the cruelty of the attack on innocence. The viewers could see themselves in the story as the mothers, or even the martyred sons, and certainly they could relate to an oppressive authority violating their most cherished members of their families.

The capital below, which would have been vividly painted when new, has striking facial detail for a Romanesque carving: look at the expressions of the mothers on the right-side of the scene. They seem to have both a tender sadness and a stoic sense of resolve. The figures evoke pathos, but also heroic strength. These children are the first martyrs for Christ, murdered in his stead.

Slaughter of the Innocents, plaster cast of capital from Chartres Cathedral, 12th c., Museum of Architecture and Patrimony, Paris

These infant Christ images manage to engage a believer to feel both a subject to a ruler, and a protector of a precious god of rebirth and goodness.

Presentation at the Temple, Benedetto Antelami, circa 1200, Parma Baptistery

As a child (the age varies from artwork to artwork), Jesus is presented at the temple (synagogue). This story is useful for believers because it is an occasion to understand Christianity as the fulfillment of Judaism. The messiah arrives and is legitimated by Jewish religious authority. Christians were taught to view the texts of Judaism through the lens of typology, which, while valuing the narrative and virtues of those texts, diminishes their primacy. In the Parma Baptistry (above), this tympanum shows the presentation of Christ as akin to baptism. The rabbi meets the gaze of Jesus, and an angel appears to spread incense from a thurible over the altar, where rests a cup which would could be used for an affusion baptism (in the Baptistry itself is a massive tub for submersion), or, it could be a kind of familiar anachronism, with the altar having the communion cup and a cloth over the Host). The child in the tympanum is not particularly individualized nor scaled for importance in the scene. The ritual is central, mimicking baptism, and thus reinforcing its significance within the building dedicated to it.

Jesus Kills Childhood Friend Disrupting His Pools; His Mother Makes Him Revive the Friend. Tring Tiles, circa 1330, British Museum

A modern Christian would likely not expect that humorous stories of the childhood of Jesus were popular for a thousand years in Europe and around the Mediterranean. But, it's true. Though never canonical, the Infancy Gospel of Thomas survives in multiple copies and fragments, dating from the 4th century in Egypt to well into the Middle Ages in Western Europe.

The tile above shows an adolescent Christ (with no halo, notably) killing a friend for messing with pools he was fishing in. The friend's upside-down position signifies his death in a scene too compact for him to be stretched out. In the next scene, Mary scolds young Jesus (who looks petulant) and makes him resurrect his friend, who is seen strolling away from the pair.

What to make of this representation of a god who is savior of the just and scourge of the damned? In modernity, we have the concept of "humanizing" august figures and making them "relatable." Not really a thing in medieval theology, but here we are. But, it is, regardless, another aspect of Christ, and held something of value for worshippers.

In my next post, I'll present images in Medieval art of the adult Christ, where parts of his human story convey diverse moral lessons for the believer. In the third blog-post, I'll consider images of the post-Resurrection Christ and their uses within religious art.