I have the good fortune of being obligated, for professional reasons, to regularly spend quality time with a wide variety of
(digitized) medieval manuscripts. One result of this enlightening research is an appreciation for the diversity of artistic styles in pre-Renaissance Western
culture. Sometimes we may find ourselves thinking in terms of an oversimplified
dichotomy between highly iconographic modes in the East and a mildly symbolic
proto-naturalism in the West. In reality, pre-modern religious paintings in
East and West form a diverse continuum of artistic techniques, and a few
outstanding artifacts can help us to reflect upon this.
One would be the Lindisfarne Gospels, with its enigmatic
fusion of styles and astonishing decorations:
Another is the book of biblical scenes painted by William de
Brailes, an English illuminator active during the thirteenth century. The
example below, which depicts the Israelites worshipping the golden calf, has
strongly iconographic features.
The Codex Calixtinus, dating to the mid-twelfth century and associated with both western France and northern Spain, is highly stylized and difficult to categorize:
Also from Spain, perhaps Segovia or Burgos, is the Hours of Infante Don Alfonso of Castile. The foliate ornamentation and grisaille-with-gold tonality in this book are deeply pleasing to me; there is an intriguing sense of mysticism in the serene faces and expressionistic scenes, along with a strong note of surreality in the surrounding details.
However, when it comes to reimagining artistic dichotomies, nothing quite compares to a twelfth-century masterpiece known as the Stammheim Missal. The illuminations in this manuscript—almost sui generis in style, and apparently the work of one extraordinarily talented monk—combine vibrant colors, curvilinear forms, strong geometries, simplified human figures, fascinating visual poetry, and profound visual theology into yet more compelling evidence that traditional Christian liturgy was the heart of Europe’s artistic genius.
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| The personification of Wisdom beneath God the Creator. |
The Stammheim Missal emerged from that fundamental engine of medieval learning and creativity: the Benedictine scriptorium. It was made in the twelfth century at Hildesheim Abbey, in north-central Germany, and eventually found its way to the Getty Museum in Los Angeles; reproductions can be found on the Getty’s website. Despite the fact that it was produced over eight hundred years ago, all the pages are intact, the colors haven’t faded, and the precious metals still shine. Rarely do I see such vivid proof that skilled craftsmen working with authentic, natural materials can produce artifacts of astounding quality and longevity, even in the total absence of advanced technology.
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| David with companion musicians. |
The Michaeliskirche—the abbey church of Hildesheim—is a superb Romanesque structure. It was dedicated to St. Michael the Archangel on his feast day, September 29th, in the year 1022, and rededicated to him on the same day nine years later, when construction was complete. When I reflect on the life expectancy of modern buildings and institutions, the longevity is almost breathtaking. The church you see below was built one thousand years ago.
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In the culture that produced the monastery that produced the Stammheim Missal, the feast of St. Michael the Archangel was a high holy day and a rich folkloric celebration. It was also, of course, a very special day for the monks of Hildesheim, who were careful to colorfully accentuate the celebration of their patron in the missal’s September calendar page:
And the historiated initial that introduces St. Michael’s feast day is a captivating and mysterious interplay of stolid rectangles, absorbing curves, bold colors, mischievous beasts, and diversely occupied humans.
As Gregory DiPippo explained in an NLM article published on this same day two years ago, this feast is of venerable antiquity and is not restricted exclusively to St. Michael:
The traditional title of today’s feast is “The Dedication of St Michael the Archangel,” a term already found ca. 650 A.D. in the lectionary of Wurzburg, the oldest of the Roman Rite that survives, and in the ancient sacramentaries....
Despite the fact that the feast’s title refers specifically only to St Michael, September 29th is really the feast of all the Angels, as stated repeatedly in the texts of both the Office and Mass.
That Michael shares his feast with other angels subtracts
nothing from the honor that we give to him on this day. Rather, it reinforces
his exalted role in salvation history and Christian spirituality, for his
celestial renown was gained not as a champion in single combat but as the
victorious commander of the angelic host. And indeed, this is precisely how the
Stammheim illuminator portrayed him in the portrait that precedes the prayers
for his feast:
You can further explore the historical context and theological resonance of this remarkable image in an article that I co-authored with my Substack colleague Amelia Sims McKee. It includes vibrant, wonderfully detailed images of the painting, and I hope that it might serve as an enjoyable and profitable meditation for this great feast, nowadays sadly understated, of the prince of the heavenly armies.
Dr. Ena Giurescu Heller, former professor of art history and specialist in medieval art, makes a crucial observation about artwork produced in the Middle Ages. She suggests that the modern “understanding of and response to medieval religious art is completely different (antithetical, really) to the response of its contemporaries.” Medieval Christians were surrounded by church buildings, stained-glass narratives, frescoes, statues, vessels, vestments, and illuminations that, despite their aesthetic magnificence,
were neither objects of any veneration (least of all aesthetic), nor ends unto themselves. They were tools—tools for the liturgy, and ... tools for transporting their beholders to the divine realm they symbolize and serve.
Furthermore, these tools for the liturgy were also inspired
by the liturgy, which preceded them and which even in the absence of
sumptuous visual or musical artwork was artistic in the most fundamental and transcendent
sense of the word.
I say again: traditional Christian liturgy was the heart of
Europe’s artistic genius. The artistic consciousness of Western civilization
has suffered from long, dismal years of cardiac arrest. And yet, as the
psalmist says, in the sight of God all these years are “as yesterday when it is
past, and as a watch in the night.” For three days and three nights the heart
of Our Lord was still. The resurrection will come, and in the meantime, let us
pray that St. Michael press onward in his campaign against the Church’s ancient
Enemy. We know, as Milton did, who the victor will be:
Now Night her course began and over Heaven
Inducing darkness grateful truce imposed
And silence on the odious din of war.
Under her cloudy covert both retired,
Victor and vanquished: On the foughten field
Michaël and his angels prevalent
Encamping, placed in guard their watches round,
Cherubic waving fires. On th’ other part,
Satan with his rebellious disappeared.
