The Potential

Whenever I go to an art museum, I head straight for the medieval gallery. I have always been fascinated with images of the divine. The medieval artist found its patronage through the Church. So it is not surprising that divine iconography is the main theme of the middle ages. Saints and sacramentaries, stained glass and reliquaries, Biblical imagery, and ornate tapestry, all pointing to a reality beyond what someone seems to see. Granted, the medievalist had their eccentric sides too, as evidenced by Chaucer and Boccaccio. But even in popular piety and devotion, there was a deep longing for the sacred. As I finish contemplating the sacred art of medieval Europe, I inevitably wind up in the Renaissance. The contrast between art of the middle ages and art of the Renaissance is staggering. Devotion gave way to realism, and the results were astonishing. The images are incredible, the paintings are prodigious, and the art is awe-inspiring. Although images hinting of the divine will always have their place in art, they would never again maintain the monopoly they had in the middle ages. The secular began to dance with the sacred, and images of the annunciation appear next to depictions of princes and nobles.

One of the most celebrated Renaissance artists was Michelangelo Buonarroti, a gifted artist in many different mediums. The Vatican used his work extensively in the renovation of St. Peter’s. Michelangelo was born near the beginning of the high Renaissance in 1476. Although spending his childhood in Florence, he moved to Rome in 1496. It was there he carved The Pieta, one of the most famous and recognizable of Michelangelo’s works. The Pieta is a marble sculpture of the Madonna cradling her dead son. Michelangelo’s piece is  one of the most tragic and magnificent artworks that came out of the Renaissance. Mary’s face exudes a powerful beauty that reflects the tragedy that surrounds her. The pain in her face is real, but it is also somber as she knows this is the destiny to which her son was born; however, that consolation helps little in her grief. Jesus’ lifeless body lays limp in his mother’s arms. Michelangelo depicts Jesus within that brief window between death and rigor mortis. His muscles have all relaxed and all that is left of his gruesome execution are the nail marks in his hands and feet. As tragic as this image is, it is also seen as a victory for Christians. Salvation came because “Christ was sacrificed… to take away the sins of many.” (Hebrews 9:28) Victory in defeat, redemption from revulsion, salvation from scandal, this is the Christian “celebration” of “Good” Friday. Michelangelo’s Pieta captures this paradox with its bittersweet beauty better than any spoke language possibly could. Words get in the way of the divine beauty the statue forces us to come to terms with.

Michelangelo’s masterpiece was revealed to the world in 1499. Five centuries later, we find ourselves in a very different world. In this world we need not venture beyond our computer to see Michelangelo’s Pieta in cyber space. The beauty of it is compromised, because we can see anything we want thanks to the advent of the internet. All the artwork in the world is a few key strokes away, and ironically when we can see everything, we see nothing. The philosopher Jean-Luk Marion argues in his book The Crossing of the Visible that our minds have been hard wired to the point we can no longer see the reality beyond the image, “With the image, the viewer sees the satisfaction of his desires, thus of himself. Every image is an idol, or it isn’t even seen” (Marion 51). He contrasts this with an understanding of the icon. “The icon, in effect, it is a matter not so much of seeing a spectacle as of seeing another gaze that sustains mine, confronts it, and even overwhelms it” (Marion 57).

Because of this media saturation in post modernity, every image has become an idol, which leaves the icon in quite a quagmire. “Only if we can release the icon from the logic of the image—and thus only if we ourselves can escape from the tyranny of the image. The invisible—of the thing, of the gaze, and of the “invisible God.” –thus requires we take a new plunge” (Marion 58). With the image prostituted for the post-modern mind, there is only one solution Marion can see: “We find a situation that appears to call for an attitude at once conceptually simple and spiritually holy: iconoclasm.” Just as Christ emptied himself, the icon needs to be “derived from the kenosis of the image.” (Marion 62.) The only place, Marian argues, where we can find iconography today is within the worship of the church. “The liturgy alone impoverishes the image enough to wrest it from every special, so that in this way might appear the splendor that the eye can neither hope for nor bear, but a splendor that love—shed abroad in our hearts [Romans 5:5]—makes it possible to endure” (Marion 64).

I, however have a different theory. I maintain we find a situation that appears to call for an attitude at once conceptually radical and spiritually liberating: incarnation. We worship a God who is passionately in love with humanity, and desires for us to return that love. God loves us so much “that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life” (John 3:16). We worship a God who wants to make His love known to us and shouts to us whatever way we will listen. This is clearly demonstrated at Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came to the apostles, and they went to preach to the crowds:

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven staying in Jerusalem. At this sound, they gathered in a large crowd, but they were confused because each one heard them speaking in his own language. They were astounded, and in amazement they asked, "Are not all these people who are speaking Galileans? Then how does each of us hear them in his own native language? (Acts 2:6-8)

This is not an isolated incident that happened 2000 years ago. From age to age, God gathers a people to Godself precisely by communicating with them in a way they will understand. For better or worse, the language of post modernity is not spoken, but seen. We are an image driven people. So if we are truly a society of voyeurs, God will become an exhibitionist to get our attention. He loves us that much. That is the message of the incarnation and the story of Pentecost.

I am fairly certain from Marion’s assertion that the liturgy “accomplishes the paradigmatic kenosis of the image for the benefit of the holiness of God” (Marion 64), that he and I have had some vastly different worship experiences. Now, admittedly, I have been to some extremely “impoverished” liturgies, but an experience of divine love is not what most people walked out of mass with. At more parishes than we would like to admit, the liturgy is a lot more like mini-blinds than a window to reveal the gaze of God. Whereas, the “spiritually mature” can still sense the gaze pulling them deeper into the mystery, most people don’t bother going to the house, let alone attempt to look through any window. But we believe in a living God who cannot be contained by the restrictions we place on Him. When we are off objectifying our idols, God is still there on the other side engaging our gaze while loving us unconditionally and longing for our vision to pass through to engage the invisible beyond the visible, even only for a moment.

Michelangelo’s work, despite being half a world away and half a millennia old still has that power. If upon first glance of the Pieta someone’s immediate thought is “A Michelangelo!” and not of the Virgin mourning her son, they would still have to engage the message being preached to them whilst admiring it. This is not unlike images in post-modernity.

Images overrun the world in which we exist. We are in very serious danger of confusing these images with reality, as many people already do. This is a complex problem and deserves serious contemplation from philosophers, artists, theologians and others concerned about post-modernity’s artificial reality. Jean-Luc Marion suggests that iconoclasm is the solution to this postmodern predicament. I maintain the only way to combat the artificial reality of postmodern imagery is to fully engage both high and low art with iconophilic eyes.  When we are able to do so we will find the invisible God who shouting love for us from the backdrop.  Fyodor Dostoevsky once said, “Beauty will save the world.” I am a firm believer in that quote. The real is always more beautiful than the artificial. Truth is always more beautiful than lies. And icons are always more beautiful than idols. Just as light overtakes darkness, beauty has the power to redeem postmodern idolatry if we but look for it.