Our knowledge of early Christianity and its art has, of course, grown exponentially since Ghiberti’s time; but certain assumptions about the beliefs and practices of the early Christians remain firmly entrenched in the mainstream of history - not least, the indefatigable theory of early Christian antipathy toward the visual arts. Both Greco-Roman culture itself and the formal structures of the earliest Christian communities developed in an image-rich environment. Images formed an integral part of daily life at all levels: the religious (relief and freestanding sculpture, votive figures, private amulets); the civic and political (mosaic, statuary, paintings, and coins); and everywhere in the personal and domestic spheres (from jewelry, seals, and clothing to furniture, pottery, and wall paintings within the home). Yet, for reasons that remain unclear, Christians were slow to utilize art as a means of expressing their own religious beliefs, embellishing their own rituals, or illustrating their own stories. Despite attempts to identify crosses or other symbols as clear visual marks of Christian faith in the first and second centuries, no unequivocally Christian works of art survive from before the third century (Spier 2007).
Can this apparent absence be attributed to antipathy? From surviving archaeological and literary evidence, the most that can presently be said about the origins of Christian art is that c. AD 200 there seems to have been an urge toward decoration among nascent Christian communities in various parts of the empire where Christianity had gained a foothold - not just in Rome, as was once assumed (Murray 1977 and 1982: 171; Finney 1994: 109; Weitzmann 1979: introduction). The earliest Christian art drew on pagan traditions for its technique and style, expressing itself in imagery that could include purely decorative motifs as well as typical pagan mythological figures. Hence iconographically the earliest phase of Christian art is often viewed as a recognizable subcategory of late Roman art, and is indeed often indistinguishable from contemporary pagan art (Jensen 2000: 15).
Even after the fourth century, clear identification of Christian art can be problematic, unless there is certainty about the context of discovery. It is not always possible to tell whether particular figures (the philosopher, the shepherd and the orant, for example) or symbols (the dove, the fish, even the cross) have a Christian significance. One perplexing example is the late fourth-century portrait of a man rendered in opus sectile in the hall of an opulent house excavated at the Porta Marina, Ostia (fig. 21.3). Found on a wall within a decorative program of apparently pagan imagery, including panels depicting animals in combat with circus lions, the identity of the man remains open to fervent debate. For, while important iconographic features might distinguish him as Christ - the nimbus, the beard, the raised right hand - these could also be the attributes of the philosopher in antiquity. The question remains open: is this Christ blessing a Christian congregation in a fourth-century meeting house in Ostia; or is the man a philosopher, making the gesture of instruction?
The early Christians were neither dismissive of the ‘‘noble inventions’’ of the ancients, nor hesitant in utilizing them for their own pictorial and educational needs. By comparing two images - a fragment from a Roman sarcophagus dated c. AD 280 (fig. 21.4) representing a Roman amateur philosopher (Zanker 1996: 277-8) and the similarly enthroned Christ at the center of the sarcophagus of Junius Bassus (fig. 21.1) - we are led to understand how a primary set of visual attributes could be used to indicate the leadership role of an individual and his learned status in the ancient world. A number of large and highly elaborate Roman sarcophagi from the later third century illustrate the extent to which certain individuals were publicly recognized as valuing intellectual pursuits and living according to the precepts of the ancient philosophers; and this fragment serves as a particularly fine example. Borrowing both the frontality used in imperial monuments for the representation of the
Publisher's Note:
Permission to reproduce this image online was not granted by the copyright holder. Readers are kindly requested to refer to the printed version of this chapter.
Figure 21.3 Christ/Philosopher. 3rd century ad. Opus sectile. Museo Ostiense, Ostia, Italy. akg-images/Erich Lessing.
Emperor, and the visual symbolism associated with the philosopher, they illustrate the extent to which the inference of rigorous philosophical training had become essential in conveying the superior status and authority of the deceased. The prestige accorded to learning, especially philosophical learning, helped to convey the authority of the individual concerned. Christians needed to draw, and did draw, on this symbolism, to present their own leader in a recognizable guise: that of a figure who promised salvation through learning, but who also worked miracles.
Nor was this power confined to the temporal order. On the ‘‘amateur philosopher’’ sarcophagus, two muses flank the central figure, who, with a contemplative expression, pauses from reading the scroll open on his lap and turns his head away from the eye of the viewer to gaze intently into the distance. His feet are placed slightly askance, with scrolls accumulating at his side - a direct allusion to his intellectual pursuits and superiority. The feet of Christ on the Junius Bassus sarcophagus (fig. 21.1) are similarly parted and unevenly placed on either side of the head of the god Coelus, representing cosmic dominion. Christ is also enthroned, his own scroll folded and held in one hand so that he might make the gesture of instruction. His apostles stand looking at him with the same intent as the philosopher’s muses. Christ is shown with the same thoughtful expression, his head turned slightly to the right; Peter and Paul might very well be an amalgam of muse and co-philosopher, Paul
Publisher's Note:
Permission to reproduce this image online was not granted by the copyright holder. Readers are kindly requested to refer to the printed version of this chapter.
Figure 21.4 Sarcophagus of Plotinus (so called). Late 3rd-4th century ad. Marble. Fragment. Museo Gregoriano Profano, Musei Vaticani. ©1990. Photo Scala, Florence.
Shown clasping his own scroll. Christians were, in other words, remarkably astute in their appropriation of a visual language for their own ends.
In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, however, the age of Ghiberti and Dtirer, the body of art that we now use to judge the interests and skills of the earliest Christian patrons and artists was still to be discovered and assembled. Early Christian marble sarcophagi, for instance, were not well known and rarely drawn, prior to the discoveries from the Vatican cemetery under St. Peter’s in 1590-2. And although the Roman catacombs were discovered roughly a decade earlier, in 1578, illustrations of their ceiling and wall frescoes were not circulated until several decades later, by pioneering Christian archaeologist Antonio Bosio. While Bosio produced a folio of exquisitely detailed drawings (including one of the Junius Bassus sarcophagus), it was not published until 1632, three years after his death.
So, while Ghiberti’s unfavorable assessment of ‘‘early Christian’’ art was, by contrast, limited to what is now categorized as early Byzantine art - that still much maligned and aesthetically discredited development of late antique style - we know that in Rome, at least, there were enough physical remnants of early Christianity to exert an influence on practicing artists in the late sixteenth century. In addition to the discovery and very public display of the Junius Bassus sarcophagus in 1595, there followed a decade of further archaeological discoveries associated with extensive excavations of early Christian monuments in Rome. Hence, many representations of Christ like the one on the Junius Bassus sarcophagus were known or at least available to artists working in Rome by the late sixteenth century.
Among these was Caravaggio, who appears to have held the type in his mind when working on his portrayal of the youthful, resurrected Christ in a painting of the Supper at Emmaus executed in Rome in 1601. Caravaggio seats the beardless Apollo-Christ at the center of the composition, behind a table, the long curls and smooth round cheeks of his youth still evident. The painter retains the original gesture that the Bassus Christ presumably once made, although now missing: the right arm extended and the hand raised in a gesture of instruction. Yet, Caravaggio takes the pose further than the Junius Bassus type, drawing the forearm out over the table to sanctify the food - a salient reminder that many iconographic developments and experimentations in later European art have their origins in the early Christian tradition as it emerged in the rich cultural crucible that was the Late Roman Empire.
World History
