In my study of early Christian and medieval art, I am often struck by the precocious wisdom of our ancestors. Frequently, holy objects or (to our modern eyes) peculiar art forms seem expertly designed to meet elemental human needs in ways that modern psychologists (if they understood them) would be quick to praise.
These ancient art forms often meet developmental needs. One important example is the “Madonna and Child” pictorial type, the earliest example of which might be located in the Priscilla Catacombs north of central Rome. In this type of imagery, a chubby infant, Jesus, sits on His mother’s lap, and mother and baby often share an intimate gesture or gaze.
“Madonna and Child” image from the Priscilla Catacombs. Photo by the author.
Reimagining Motherhood
In a late Roman era full of brutality, when children were often abandoned at birth as excess “mouths to feed,” when the rights of mothers to raise their own children was not respected by law, and when the unique role of mothers in their children’s psychological formation was rarely (if ever) recognized, the “Madonna and Child” image must have been a bombshell to the ancient imagination. Two “invisible” demographics—modest mothers and infant children—were placed center stage.
Further, in the new Christian imagery, the affectionate rapport between mother and child was made the center of a new narrative and creative drive. Through the centuries, artists would explore loving gazes, gentle kisses, entwined arms, subtle caresses, and even breastfeeding in this reimagined context. Never before had motherhood's nurturing, encouraging, protecting, and validating functions been showcased, celebrated, and heroized.
Due to this new visual formula, the European imagination was reshaped to understand motherhood and the developmental complexity of childhood in a novel, rich, dignified way. One iconic visual configuration changed the world. What an efficient way to awaken conscience and understanding!
A Botticelli “Madonna and Child” in Rome’s Barberini Gallery. Photo by the author.
Reimagining Fatherhood
Another Christian art motif that surely met ancient developmental needs was a fatherly version of Christ, perhaps best captured in the “Pantokrator” icon type of the early Church (still popular today, particularly in Eastern Orthodoxy). Here, Jesus is bearded and lined, perhaps more than one might expect of a 33-year-old. His gaze is direct, appraising, and dignified, at once accepting us and inciting us to greater self-disciple and maturity. This is not the intimidating gaze of an ancient Emperor or the detached gaze of an abstracted mystic but the expectant gaze of a Father who wants excellence and fullness from His children. Scholars note that the bearded Roman god Jupiter (and his Greek counterpart, Zeus) must have been the prototype for the bearded Christ, but the Pantokrator is no Jupiter. He is not distant, vengeful, and entitled. It is not his intimidating power but his knowing Face that beckons us, inviting us to mirror and emulate a new kind of human dignity.
Fra Angelico’s “Christ Enthroned” at Florence’s San Marco Museum. Photo by the author.
The Precocious Wisdom of Christian Art
Around the turn of the 20th century, swept up in a faddish furor to desacralize everything, modern psychologists like Sigmund Freud would acknowledge the power of images like these. But they would contend that, rather than transforming and elevating the human psyche, these images merely “piggy-backed” on the operations of instinct, appropriating something commonly known and using it to manipulate and control “the masses.” For thinkers like Freud, freedom and truth would come from peeling off the religious veneer of so-called “Christian” insights and allowing common instinct to reign.
As history unfolds, however, I think it becomes ever more clear that Christianity, together with Christian art, discovered and showcased a new model of both motherhood and fatherhood that not only transformed the European imagination for the better but also enabled important new discoveries in the realm of human formation and development. These discoveries came not from some pre-existing, common instinct (out of which stemmed the gang rapes, human sacrifices, and child murders of the pagan world) but from some different ingredient: new, fruitful, invigorating, ennobling, higher.
I think this accounts for the enduring magic of the great monuments of Christian art history. They are Good for then, now, and always because they exhibit and encourage good growth in health and fullness. As Thomas Aquinas explained, goodness is what tends toward what is healthy, just, and right. (Beauty, meanwhile, is its sign and symbol.) The perennial, tender beauty of the great monuments of Christian art is proof of its divine inspiration and enduring relevance for human development and happiness.
