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© 2007

THE DEVELOPMENT OF AESTHETIC FORM IN CHRISTIAN ART

By Paul Henrickson © 1961, 2005

INTRODUCTION

Some scholars have identified that art produced between the second and ninth
centuries A.D. following the collapse of the Roman Empire as examples of artistic
decline. I should like to propose another point of view. Contrary to the present
consensus I believe it possible to see this period as one that is aesthetically
responsive to contemporaneous conceptual currents. This responsiveness takes the
form of attempts as psychological adjustment to the socio-political scene through the
creation of art products. This view differs from that which holds that the decline in
political effectiveness is mirrored in the art products of the time, thus, giving, the
observing reader the impression that the art product he is observing is in a position
of decline.

My position holds that the work evidences efforts at construction, not destruction, at
incorporation not rejection or indifference. In other words I tend to see the products
as active participants in the changing configuration of that period rather than as
mute recorders or blind transmitters of events. The artists’ role may be a positive or,
perhaps, negative role in the course of events, but it is not passive, not if he is an
artist.

BELIEF STRUCTURES AND AESTHETIC EXPRESSION

If the Christian movement had any real affect upon the style of Roman portraiture
it remains largely conjectural. The history of art indicates that it has not been
difficult for some observers and interpreters of disintegration to parallel the
Christian doctrine of self-denial to the supposed “breakdown” of the style of pagan
naturalism. It has even been thought that the one was the cause for the other. Such
an interpretation may be forcing upon the political and aesthetic developments an
inexact relationship.

It is conceivable that aesthetic organization and social organization are children of

the same father rather than causally related. In any event the volume Roman
Portraits by Ludwig Goldscheider which survey the art of the portrait as it was
practiced by the Romans during this period gives us no evidence at all that
Christianity had any telling effect on aesthetic form. What Christianity might have
done was to have given force to a development that started as early as the 4th
Century B.C. when Praxiteles finished his Hermes with the Infant Dionysus.
Praxiteles: “Head of Hermes”

The most evident development n the sculptural aesthetic is an intensification of

individual characteristics. The majority of works of this period are, in spite of the
sensible hardness of marble, characterized by the illusionistic appearance of soft,
pliable, responsive flesh.

Such sensual approaches o the representation of form may never-the-less allow the
work to remain classified as a symbol. A symbol is designated by certain
characteristics of style such as degrees of “abstraction”, “naturalism”, or “realism”.
When such a group can be defined by the presence of a shared characteristic, that
characteristic can be considered symbolic for that group.

As individualistic as is the Hermes by Praxitleles it is still not a particular person but

largely an ideal representation. The emphasis on textural differentiation does not
make the detail become the particular hair, skin, or cloth of a particular person.
The epitome of particularization in sculpture would be the death or life mask.

The belief and value structures of any period may be expected to influence the
appearance of any art object. This does not mean that commentators who are
removed in time and the place of creation by centuries and cubic of space are
justified in assuming that a change in the aesthetic is in reaction to a social
condition. There can be strong works in various aesthetic styles and these, not the
aesthetically weak, are the works critics should study. A strongly Christian work is
not a weak pagan one for the reason that the discipline of aesthetic structuring is
related to the artist’s sensitivity and not to his beliefs, although, for sure, it would be
unreasonable to expect a Christian artist to create a convincing pagan idol. Copies
can be made, of course, by any craftsman regardless of his faith. It would be
interesting, however, to put that to the test. By the same consideration what might
one suppose was the level of religious commitment on the part of artists X,Y, or Z,
when they executed their Crucifixions A,B, or C? What we are on the verge of
saying is that a supremely genuine work of art is one wherein the “work speaks its
message beyond the canons of production” which entails a highly focused and “in
touch”
relationship with the process.

For this reason I see what might be called stylistic indecisiveness evidence not of
aesthetic weakness but of aesthetic multiplicity. As here are today, so, then, there
could have been several concurrent styles, none fully satisfying, all, appropriately
mutable in the hands of the artist who is willing to make necessary adjustments to
the needs of the moment, material, and mind-set.

The fact that the political structure of Rome may have been losing some of its
monolithic character and the fact that prior to this time Roman art seemed also
homogenous does not mean that the non-homogeneity of a later time was the causal
factor in the appearance of the art forms. When the “I” is threatened the non "I" is
always bad.

ILLUSIONISM AS SYMBOL IN THE CHRISTIAN AESTHETIC

The background for illusionism was laid at least as early as the 4th century B.C. The
most outstanding characteristic of early Christian art was not illusionism, however,
although a return to that art style was a later feature of it. At which time it was
either purposefully incorporated into the conscious beginnings of dogmatic
Christian awareness, or it had lain dormant as a vital aesthetic drive valid to an
artist and only now did it become a conscious aesthetic concern to be incorporated
within the general iconographic structure of a new dogma. The dramatic
personalization of Christian piety and religious ecstasy may have been a dogmatic
accretion to the artist’s aesthetic interest in working realistically rather than a
motivation for it.

CONCEPTUAL AND TECHNICAL DEVELOPMENTS

The consideration of Christianity as an influential factor is not required to

understand the logic of a shift in interest from the physical and the individual to an
interest in the psychological and the universal. The stylistic change in art forms
which mark the end of the Roman Empire and the beginnings of the Christian
community could have taken lace as a result of a normal change in aesthetic interest
quite independent of any social reorganization or developing community beliefs. The
idea that artistic developments can take place independent of other realms of man’s
thought doesn’t mean that they do so, or that they don’t. If, in this instance, they did
develop independently we still have the need to explain the coincidence between the
decline of the Roman political system and the alleged decline in sculptural
techniques.
I must, at this point, also admit that the idea that aesthetic decline is a consequence
of political decline is one I find offensive. Not only does it seem to suggest that the
aesthetic impulse is not only weaker than, but morally subservient to the impulse to
communize, but it seems, as well, to suggest that individual artist’s impulse to seek
novel and more inclusive solutions to perceived needs ( the very “soul” of an artist’s
awareness and essentially anti-procrustean) is a threat to any community…any
community.

The concept I should like to touch upon here is that although it is likely the political
and social climates influenced artistic production it would be anti-productive and
possibly disastrous to treat the creative artist as if he were merely a conveyer of
others’ thoughts. To treat him, in short, as if he were not at all creative. Even
Bresnjev had more understanding and respect for an artist than that.

The assumption that there is a significant correlation between a change in the social
structure and a change in aesthetic concerns which implies a one-way only cause
and effect relationship may not be justified. The fact, for example, that the
sculptures which top the lintel of the Arch of Constantine (315 A.D.) are thought, by
some, to be technically inferior because the feet of the figures have not been finished
seems to ignore the fact that from ground level the feet would remain unseen. What
their unfinished state indicates, at most, is that the designers of the monument
recognized that the Arch was a mere theatrical device and that to finished off the
feet would have been an unreasonable act wasting both time and talent. That
decision recognized that the Arch was a political statement, not an aesthetic one. The
additional facts that the Arch of Constantine was, actually, an assemblage of earlier
parts from three other works, with new contributions being relatively minor, and
not a newly conceived work from the mind of a creative individual (such as Rodin’s
“Gates of Hell”, for example) and, therefore, a political decision not an aesthetic one
might help us understand the differences.
Arch of Constantine

Rodin: “Gates of Hell” (detail)

The time factor might also help us to separate these issues of aesthetics and politics.
The Arch of Constantine, had the zeitgeist of the time allowed, might have procured
an individual, or even a group, who, in their political lives, could still focus on the
perceived legitimacy and appropriateness of Empire, but they did not do so and we
do not know that they tried. They may have accepted the fate they finally achieved
and it was Constantine, himself, who in highly dramatic maneuver, declared himself
a Christian and moved the functionally effective Empire from Rome to
Constantinople…one might speak of turncoats. All these are political actions, not
aesthetic decisions. The aesthetic imagery characteristic of the Byzantine with its
hieratic, stiff, formal, frontal and illusionistic space-denying characteristics were
political decisions based on the recognition that images influence powerfully. In this
instance the political decision was made to co-opt the influence of the aesthetic into
the service of the state, not unlike conscription into military service, but should not
be thought of as a decision based on the aesthetic sensibility of a creative artist. The
aesthetic image of the Byzantine is one or order and control. The history of the
aesthetic convention of Rome (it is questionable that Rome ever really had
developed one of its own) had been one where the focus had increasingly been on
the idiosyncratic detailing of the lives of the politically unimportant and
uninfluential, e.g., Old Market Woman. One might conjecture whether there hadn’t
been some manipulative genius sociologist who had unilaterally decided that if the
Byzantine Empire were to survive its image would have to be invulnerable and to
stand in obvious contrast to that of the now defunct Roman. These are still political
decisions employing the power of the aesthetic response in the support of a political
agenda. They are not aesthetic decisions. It will be necessary to look in other
directions, perhaps more removed in time and possibly space, for a clue to the
problem of identifying the sources of change in aesthetic form.
Old Market Woman

Almost two thousand years separates the Hermes of Praxiteles and The Christ of
Reckheim yet it may be just this kind of perspective needed in order to identify
additional patterns of aesthetic response. Both these figures are easily recognizable
as types, the Christ-type and the Greek God –type. It is, however, important to
observe that they are not just another symbol of a Christ or of a Hermes.

The astute observer goes beyond deciphering iconographic devices in attempting to

understand works of art. Both the Hermes and the Christ invite this kind of
speculation. Their high-level attractiveness underscores some remarkable
differences between them. What these differences are may hold the clue to the
nature of the periods and the individuals who produced these works.

One of the first observations that might be made is that an impressive knowledge of
anatomy is operating in both figures. The fact that this emphasis on correct and
expressive anatomy will determine the nature of the observer’s
Response is, by no means, an unimportant factor in the aesthetic intentions of the
artist. To be sure, sympathetic body responses may not only differ from spectator to
spectator but may also differ in extent as well as in kind when they are a reaction to
the Hermes or to the Christ. It would be a beginning, but it would not be sufficient to
assume that this difference is the difference between pleasure and pain.

One approach to the representation of pain is seen in the Laokoon group. This
group of three figures entangled by a serpent is dated about 50 B.C. which is much
closer in time to the Hermes than it is to the Reckheim Christ, although in a linear
time-sense it is progressing in the direction of the Christ. There is sufficient evidence
that the three artists of the Laokoon group were well-acquainted with human
anatomy yet their rendering of it appears theatrical and over-stated and, therefore,
unconvincing. Why? This, I think, is a complex question. It has, I believe,
something to do with the expressive contextual balance within the composition
between the struggling bodies and the facial expressions that are thought of as the
key to the degree and nature of the pain. In a situation where a large and very
powerful serpent is instinctively squeezing the life out of three human beings, a
dispassionate act on the part of the reptile, the human beings, whose bodies are
involved in this threat from tip of toe to hair follicle, must be vividly conscious of the
potential outcome and threateningly awed by it. The result is imminent. It is not a
game in which fair play is a consideration. There is not rest between innings, there
are no innings. Under these circumstances, it would seem to me that facial
expressions would probably be less extremely agonizing, but certainly revealing
alarm. There is, oddly, one work that comes to mind that may help elucidate this
question of appropriate degree of involvement. That is the figure of a little boy
experiencing a temper tantrum by the Norwegian sculptor Gustave Vigeland. In this
work the facial contortion describes a temper tantrum, which might legitimately be
considered a performance, that is, something contrived and, in this piece, it works
whereas in the Laokoon it does not because there the mortal threat is real and there
is neither room nor time for a performance.
The Laokoon Group

Michelangelo: “Pieta”
Gustave Vigeland: “Crying Boy”

The fact that the father-priest in the Laokoon is proportionately larger than his two
sons who, otherwise, appear to be adult is somewhat beside the point. The same is
true of the Vatican’s Pieta by Michelangelo where the Virgin-mother is twice as
large as her adult son, yet the Pieta’s power to evoke is not lessened by this
distortion. Such dramatic distortions point up the complex nature of art production
and art criticism. These are clearly distortions that rely both on knowledge of
anatomy as well as the psychology of the audience for their effect. It is this last idea,
the idea of the psychology of the audience which may be causing us some problems.
It is entirely possible that one’s own cultural heritage equipped with sets of
expectancies filters and selects from the range of aesthetic responses otherwise open
to us.

Such compositional devices are probably rooted in several experiences, collective,

individual, technical, as well as from certain structural, iconographical and
expressionistic needs. The pediment sculptures on the Parthenon, certain African
tribal cult statues, Palaun rock paintings, art products of the haptically-minded, and
the paintings of James Ensor all contain eccentric distortions of reality. The kind of
distortion and the reasons for it may be quite different in all these examples.
Orachil’s Drawings located in Palau

James Ensor: “Christ’s Entry Into Brussels”

The type and extent of the eccentricity should be the measure of the artist’s intent,
not a measure of his inexpertness. The capacity of the work to produce a profound
conceptual impact upon the observer should be the measure of its aesthetic power.
But it is exactly here where our own cultural heritage may inhibit unbiased
judgments. Nevertheless we can say that there seem to be moments when the talents
of the artist and the character of the times blend to create a work, or a series of
works, which gather together all the current forces of creative conviction. There is
also the subtler and elusive quality of aesthetic “rightness” which makes the
thousands of other works that proceeded, prelude exercises to the final
performance. Such works, the final statements, so to speak, reveal more than what
can be accounted for by technical facility. One readily available reason for my
questioning the success of Laokoon may be due to the fact it was the result of a
committee of three instead of the creative work of one individual. The implied
disabilities of committee decisions probably applies to judgments about works of art
as well as to the works of art themselves. In the matter of aesthetics commonality of
sensibility may be something the seeker may view with suspicion.

Perhaps some of our speculations might be answered if we were satisfied that the
technical ability to render pain were really the crucial question. When we address
ourselves to this matter we recall that the Greeks did not, a rule, render “pain” in
sculptural form except in the tragic theatre mask. It is reasonable however, to
suppose that the sculptor had the opportunity to know pain a much as to know
beauty. The reason why they did not respond to pain as a subject for sculpture may
lie in their attitude toward pain and may explain why it was not elevated to the
aesthetic presentational level. The Christian, on the other hand, is frequently urged
to endure pain, in fact, he is encouraged to seek it out, even as Christ, himself,
endured it upon the cross, and, indeed, may be said to have actively participated in
its infliction.

I have often been struck by the peculiarly poignant response Christ gave Pilot when
he was asked, “Are you King of the Jews?” The question was very direct, the
response was not, it was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but falls on our ears
more like the wise-ass response of a street-wise New York east sider, “You said it.”
Had I been Pilot any predisposition to leniency would have been immediately
dissipated.

We must not forget that not only is the Christian urged to endure pain in this life, he
is instructed, by some, that no matter how close to perfection his conduct may have
been during life he should still look forward to a period of some length devoted to
the purgation of his soul in a place called “Purgatory”. The Greek, on the other
hand, emphasizes the positive aspects of pain, as they may be of assistance in the
present life.

“But it is difficult to get from youth up a right training for virtue if one has not been
brought up under right laws; for to live temperately and hardily is not pleasant to most
people, especially when they are young. For this reason their nurture and their
occupations would be fixed by law; for they will not be painful when they have become
customary. But it is surly not enough when they are young they should get the right
nurture and attention; since they must, even when thy are grown up, practice and be
habituated to them, we shall need laws for this as well, and generally speaking to cover
the whole of life; for most people obey necessity rather than argument, and punishments
rather than the sense of what is noble.”
Aristotle “Nichomachean Ethics”, Bk. X.,Ch.9
We, therefore, might understand that the Christian since it has implications for
eternity is, therefore, worthy of a sculptor’s efforts whereas the Greek, since it
emphasizes the mundane, does not.

Another aspect of the problem of aesthetic effectiveness and conceptual portrayal is

related to the space a work of art is expected to function. There is a logic in
representing certain figures larger than others because of their greater hieratic
importance. This can be seen in the triangular pediment of the Parthenon as well as
scores of other examples.

There is another reason why that distortion is more aesthetically acceptable in that
spot than what it might be someplace else. It is possible for us to accept the hieratic
message that the gods, being more important than men, could well be larger, but, in
addition, we are impressed by the practical fact that the world of the sculpture is
strictly defined by the triangular format of the pediment. The conceptual and
formal problems were quite nicely solved by placing the god in the apex of the
triangle. This was not the case, however, with the Laokoon where the group as a
whole and the members individually are less forced by geometrical or architectural
boundaries although the sense of those boundaries still seem to be there like an
invisible and slightly more flexible triangle.

The Laokoon group, not having been confined to strictly pedimental shape could
have taken the opportunity to have entered into “our” human spatial environment
by being more fully developed as sculpture in the round. If the artists had responded
to this aesthetic element it is likely they could have avoided the “tableau” effect by
the three figures facing in nearly the same parallel plane. It may also be helpful for
us to believe that the direction of the sons’ attention focuses on the father who, if his
raised right arm were more bent toward the head would better fit the apex of an
imaginary pedimental triangle. The right arm, which is missing, is said o have been
incorrectly restored and that the original position is just as described, hat is, more
closely fitting a pedimental triangle.

As a result of the absence of any architectural spatial definition such as would be

served by a pediment, the psychological limits of the piece, those limits a viewer will
place upon any work of art, remain ambiguous. Although Michelangelo used a
similar device in the Vatican Pieta the result is not the same for the Pieta is placed in
such a fashion as to employ that portion of the interior architecture of St. Peters
against which it I set in such a way that the walls of St. Peters are made to function
as did the pedimental triangle of the Parthenon.
Parthenon: pedimental sculpture, Goddesses

What is really disturbing in the Laokoon is the inconsistency between concept and
method. Although the artists of the Laokoon attempted a freestanding sculpture, the
mode by which they attempted to realize their concept is a sculptural relief problem.
Perhaps the sculptors Agesander, Athenodorus, and Polydoris of Rhodes intended it
to function in a way which we haven’t yet discovered, but events have conspired to
obscure their intention.

Now that the matter of the Laokoon’s awkward design has been dealt with we may
be freer to concentrate attention upon the problem of how adequately the artists of
the piece conceptualized pain. It is in this area of criticism that the Laokoon may
unlock for us some insights into the reasons for the success of the Christ of Reckheim.
John Ives Sewall explains that the Laokoon fails to adequately conceptualize what he
calls “tragedy” because the subject deals with a trivial detail in history, that it
“illustrates no important principal of character or conduct” that it “was neither the
cause of a significant result, or the result of a significant cause”. These are nice
sounds statements, but I feel, they rather miss the point because they are more
related to the historical, the literary, the ethical, or the social, than they are to
aesthetics. Art doesn’t fail because it deals with a trivial detail or succeed because it
deals with a grand subject matter. It fails or it succeeds as the artist is able to bring
into being a synthesis of the many contributing levels and kinds of sense data.

If art fails it fails because of the artist’s inability to synthesize the sources of
inspiration and influence that are bearing down upon him at that particular
moment. There are times when an artist stops working on a project because he may
have forgotten what it was he was doing, he has just lost contact with the muse, or
the “sense” of the thing to be done. The work of art brings itself into being ( I mean
exactly what I am saying here) through the efforts of the artist to be receptive, it is
not an offspring of an historian’s value structure, no dependent upon the
recognition that a certain event is important.

We are concerned with those influences that we presume were playing upon the
sensibilities of those artists who were active during the periods of our study. The
word “détente” is an expression describing a kind of relaxing of tension and
excitement at a moment immediately following a crisis. Our theory would hold that
at such a time the Hermes was created and very close to such a time the Christ of
Reckheim must have been done. The Hermes was created after the “archaic” and the
“transitional” periods during which time the Greek artist had solved the technical
and conceptual; problems which eventually led him to create the powerfully
integrated work of the “golden age”.
It is our contention that when the threatening character of unassimilated,
uncontrolled influences had been brought under psychic control a formal synthesis
between idea and technique is achieved. The ghost has been laid to rest, so to speak.

The implications of this theory are far reaching. It suggests that the application of a
“technique” defined as a particular and prescribed mode of operation exists only
outside the world of “creation”. Following this a step further, one does not learn a
technique in order to solve problems that can be solved by that technique, technique
is “discovered” as one comes to face the particular aesthetic problem, and the better
one understand the problem the more adequate is the technique which can be
developed to solve it.

Of course, at this point, we are thinking of the world of creation as opposed to the
world of production. A good technique, then, is not measured by neatness or
sloppiness, but by its appropriateness and effectiveness in presenting the product.
The product cannot, in this theory, be divorced from the technique that produced it.

When one views Goldscheider’s chronological survey one is not faced with an easily
understood progression of artistic events. In some instances the events are not
artistic at all which may invite one to question why Goldsceider bothered to
assemble the collection except to exercise an interest in cataloguing. Something
more than 600 years of Roman portraiture is presented. Toward the last we are
shown a few examples of early Christian Sarcophagi. One should hesitate to call
these heads “portraits’ for the reason that they appear more typical than individual.

A survey of these heads confuses the impressionable mind by its lack of orderly
development from the “typical” Roman naturalistic portrait to the “typical” stylized
early Christian head. Even a systematic arrangement of these heads along a
continuum from the most extremely naturalistic to the most typical and stylized,
regardless of the date assigned to the work, offers little help in the problem of
understanding the changes which were taking place. Part of the problem may be the
selection of heads with which we are working, and part of the problem may, indeed,
hinge on the influence of , but the greatest problem of all is the development of an
understanding of creation itself.

When we become aware of the conditions and the influences playing upon an artist
and how the artist responds to these when he produces successfully and how he
responds to them when he does not produce successfully will help us be better artists
as well as better, more astute critics. Also, we might point out that it is not only the
artist in his particular moment of successful creation, but the observer must also be
ready to recognize the moment of his comprehension. This concept, will, I believe,
change the entire structure of art criticism and the emphasis on art curricular in
both the public school system as well as in our universities and colleges.
Goldscheider tells us that it was about 160 A.D. that the Antonine sculptors
discovered how to reproduce the quality of skin. Perhaps what he has in mind are
the variations in the surface of the skin, e.g., small pits or moles, or other
irregularities, which can be achieved automatically when taking a life mask.
However, if he has something else in mind we have the example in his “Roman
Portraits” which certainly seem to possess the “impressionistic” appearance he
mentions.

Some of the appearance of naturalness may be confused by or eve created by

natural attrition. Some of the heads bear marks which indicate the action of tool, so
it is conceivable that upon closer inspection it would be possible to distinguish
between the intentional and the unintentional surface irregularity.

Several of these heads are dated prior to 160 A.D. It is not my intention to quarrel
with Goldscheider on such matters, but these points are important for the
development of this thesis. In addition to those referred to above there are other
heads to be found in Goldscheider’s catalogue that contribute additional confusion.
Take, for example, he youthful bust of Marcus Aurelius (plate 66), dated 150 A..D.,
which seems less naturalistic than the Marcus Aurelius of thirty years later which is
not quite the direction the new art form would have been expected to take if the
non-naturalistic and the more stylized approaches were the results of Christian
influence…unless, of course, the more naturalistic approach to representation the
sculptor chose was a political, that is, an anti-Christian, decision, a non-creative
aesthetic decision made in defiance, of the new Christian doctrines. In which case it
would be an early example of aesthetic decisions being made on the basis of political
need. His is not at all unlike Bresjnev’s reasoning when speaking to the American
“realist” painter Jaime Wyeth. The politics of aesthetics would be an interesting
field.

Marcus Auralius

The “So-Called Commodus” (180-192 A.D.) may be thought of as being a

naturalistic portrait but only to the extent that there seems to be a skin-like texture
to the face. However, the head, as a whole, is more stylistic than naturalistic, if we
take note of the pose and the symmetry. Additional evidence of this stylistic
ambiguity can be seen in the curly character of the hair which stands out in contrast
to the skin, and, for that very reason alone, may be considered less naturalistic and
more, what might be called “mannerist”, to borrow a term from a much later period
of art history. Now, to confuse the issue even further it might well be that when the
Commodus was originally completed the skin did not have the treatment we see it
has today. This, for one reason or another, quite probably, a misplaced desire to
have the piece look for like something more currently “in style”, someone textured
the face, or, in other words, “doctored the aesthetic”.

Commodus: Portrait as Hercules

At about the same time (180 A.D.) the Marcus Aurelius presents us with what seems
to be either a sloppy technique or severe damage to the hair. If we direct our
attention, however, to the hair on the face itself the indications of a truly naturalistic
attempt are clear. The hair grows out of the slightly sunken cheek and the bags
beneath the eyes are convincing without needing to be “spelled out”.

Within a few years we encounter the Lucilla portrait (c. 200 A.D.) which exhibits a
technique not much more accomplished than the early American cigar store Indian.
It is a work that might have passed as caricature had it shown any humor. Assuming
that these last mentioned portraits are typical products of the period around 160
A.D., the alleged discovery of how to achieve the texture of skin, could not have been
recognized by the artist of being of momentous importance to his work as a
“creator”. He did not employ it consistently from one work to the next, or
consistently with respect to other formal considerations within a single work. The
possible exception from among our selections might be the 180 A.D. portrait of
Marcus Aurelius . The fact that a new “discovery” did not greatly move the artists of
the period may be interpreted as another indication hat the creative thrust initiated
by Athens was waning. An alternative might be that the Christian emphasis on self-
denial was waxing influential and the artists wished to express this in their works. I
rather prefer the idea that the general or popular élan favored a reorganization of
environmental elements and such “out of joint” times would involve the visual arts
along with the social, the political, or religious reorganization.

The portraits of Alexander Severus are the best examples in this collection to
illustrate another point I wish to make. The two works are of the same period
(222-235 A.D.) and portray the same person. The difference between them
well illustrates what I believe to be the character of this period. When we
examine the works we find that one presents a fairly convincing picture of a
somewhat endomorphic youth with ears standing out a distance from the
skull and with a sensual pouting mouth. The other is a slightly later work
than the first because the beard appears fuller. This second head shows us a
portrait that is considerably more stylized than the first. The face is
narrower and more uniform in shape, the eyes are larger, larger even that
what nature would dictate, and also more uniform. The mouth is less full and
less pouting, the nose is narrower and more stylized along the lines of
geometrical symmetry, the ears are placed next to the head and their lobes do
not, as they do in the first example, swing out so prominently. The hairline
has been altered in the direction of giving it a clearer gestalt. All these
changes were made for the purpose, presumably, of affecting a greater
aesthetic unity (and a product more ideologically consistent).

There are aspects of the portrait head of Alexander Severus that look back to the
period of intense naturalism (note the treatment of the mustache) and
forward to the stylized developments of the 4th century A.D. as exemplified in
the supposed portrait of the son of Constantine the Great as well as the
bronze head of Constantius II (360A.D.).
 Alexander Severus, Bronze portrait

Now, let is consider some additional factors. Alexander was not a Christian Emperor
even though there is some indication he may have been sympathetic to them
in that he abolished anti-Christian laws. Rome did not recognize the religion
until the Edict of Milan of 313 almost a century after the portraits were done.
We learn from Gibbon (2) that Alexander Severus was comparatively
modest, studious and moderate in his behavior in great contrast to his
predecessor and cousin Elagabalus. It cannot, therefore, be denied that such
attributes do contribute to the ethical concerns of people who are not
specifically Christian. Cicero, as mentioned above, was also concerned with
similar questions. It should be possible to conclude that what this portrait of
Severus represents is a graphic expression influenced by a kind of intellectual
and moral order which had been imposed upon the peculiar social
circumstances as well as the art products of the time. The more that discord
appears to threaten an orderly existence the greater and more rigid the
graphic form to control it. As we know, the periodic attempts to stabilize
society did not last and indications of reassuring a return to the earlier modes
may be seen in two other 4th Century heads which are clearly naturalistic in
conception.
The picture o the period is a confused one. It is one in which we find strong pulls
toward naturalism. These, at times, are altered by classical reminders
tending to halt the drive toward naturalism by reference to an earlier more
restrained aesthetic. Older concepts and interests which once formed a
logical and integrated whole now seem to be disintegrating and the parts, the
salvaged parts, such as eyes, hair, and wrinkles, become the objects of
concentrated interest. The resulting work is more characteristic of budding
mannerism than it is of an organically conceived naturalism.

It is possible to detect attempts toward a new stylization of the head which

frequently remind one of early Greek works but minus the aesthetic tension
or vitality which these generally embodied. There are some works that
combine the mannerist elements mentioned above to the tendency to stylize
and produce a work on the order of the bronze head of Constantius II. In
view of this evidence it is possible to consider this period not so much as a
period of decline as rather a period of assimilation. The newly recognized
factors of the environment now struggle to find expression within a newly
developing aesthetic scheme which included the phenomenon of Christian
concepts. With or without Christianity the struggle to achieve a meaningful
graphic expression would have gone on until a satisfactory solution would
have been found. The effect Christanity had on the period was to provide the
mind of man with differently structured concepts and the artist with a new
iconography. I find it difficult to believe with Gibbon that contemporaries of
the period would not be in a position to ascertain the causes of the moral and
political corruption, but I will quote him here for the vividness of his
description and the parallel that might be drawn.
 Constantine Great. This portrait also shows some of the stylistic features
discussed above (hair style and eyebrows) as well as indications of the
sculptor having looked at individual facial characteristics such as the lips. In
fact, one might simply cut the face into halves at the nose area and see that
from there down to the chin we seem to have a rendering if personal
individual features whereas from there up the eyes, brow an hairline are
more aesthetically controlled and suggestive of spiritual ecstasy in line with
the new doctrine.

It was scarcely possible that the eyes of contemporaries should discover in the pubic
felicity the latent causes of decay and corruption. This long peace, and the
uniform government of the Romans, introduced a slow and secret poison into the
vitals of the empire. The minds of men were gradually reduced to the same level,
the fire of genius was extinguished, and even the military spirit evaporated(3).

A cloud of critics, of compilers, of commentators, darkened the face of learning, and the
decline of genius was soon followed by the corruption of taste (4).

In addition to the alteration of standards pf technique due, as we have discussed

above, to factors which are already in the minds of public leaders as early as
the first century B.C., as well as to the influence of Christianity with its
 doctrine of self-sacrifice there are other potent influences. These can be
traced to the “barbarians” to the north. The extent of any artistic influence
from this source may be assessed by reference to military contacts which are
known to have taken place. Josef Pulik (5) mentions a Prince Marobud,
The leader of the Marcomanni, brought a number of German tribes under his sway and
created, in a region north of the Danube, a considerable military and political
power on the Roman model, having, himself, been brought up in a Roman
environment. He commanded what was a large army for those times, 70,000 foot
and 4,000 cavalry. This power naturally represented a threat to the Roman
Empire and led to military conflicts and punative expeditions against the
Germanic tribes which ended in the victory of Rome. Marabud fled to Rome and
died in 36 A.D. in Ravenna. The pressure of the “barbarians” on the frontiers of
the Roman Empire continued however, and gave rise, in the years 166-180 A.D.,
to the so-called Macomannan Wars in the territory of the Quadi in southeast
Slovakia. A not inconsiderable role was also played in these wars, in which
Marcus Aurelius finally gained the victory, by the territory of southern Moravia.
The victory itself is documented in the famous Latin inscription chiseled on the
rock face below Trenvin Castle, Trenvin being known( at that time) as the Roman
Garrison outpost of laugaritium.

The point we need to make here is that the Neolithic decorative features of dots,
lines and spirals found in the area discussed by Poulik regardless of their
then current “meaning” were carried through, as a kind of stock-in-trade to
other more highly developed decorative stages as we can see even in the
examples Goldscheider provides us. It is not my intention to suggest that the
northern “barbarians” were the original source of this inspiration. The
occurrence of these marks n other more widely separated areas of primitive
cultures including the archaic developments of what we now call the
“classical” Greek period suggests that these devices were more or less
universal, not unlike, in their universality, to the kinds of marks made by
children at very young ages throughout the world. What does need stating is
that renewed contact with these forms may have suggested their
reincorporation into the sophisticated Roman portrait.

If we consider that the crisis through which western civilization was going between
the 4th century A.D. and the fourteenth century A.D., it is not inconceivable to
suppose that there could have been a reverting to an earlier stage of
development. This is the characteristic of individuals undergoing stress. It
might have been that the type of elementary graphic mark found both in
Neolithic pottery and some late Roman portraits was felt to possess some
psychologically important meaning. Look, for example, at some “stroke-
ornamented” ware of the Neolithic period and compare it to the portrait of
Marcus Aurelius (plate 67,c. 180A.D.), as well a the portrait of Empress
Ariadne, she, of course, was Byzantine, but it is not impossible that similar
psychological factors may be taken into account when one considers the
 various influences affecting the development of art in the Eastern Roman
Empire.

Byzantine Empress Ariadne. The severity of this person’s expression suggests one of
the reasons why Constantine moved the Empire. With an understandably
large population still clinging to the erotic seductions of the classical Empire
The Emperor may have felt it easier to simply transplant his administration
from Rome to Constantinople rather than to embark upon an arduous task
of reconstructing a nation’s morals. From my 21st century perspective,
however, what I know of the erotic behavior of today’s Istanbul (which, of
course is Muslim not Christian, not that that necessarily would have made a
significant difference) it would have been comparable to jumping from the
pan into the fire. In any event, in this portrait of Ariadne seems to
demonstrate the victory of the Christian spirit over carnality.

Compare also plates 130 and 131 in “Prehistoric Art” to plates 116 and 117 in
Goldscheider. Are not the “haptic” forms similar and are not the now
controlled knobs and scorings rendered, in the case of the Celtic influenced
metal work, more organically? There may, in fact, be greater “aesthetic”
similarity between the Celtic influenced bronze stylized animal figure of “La
Tene” period and the portrait of Alexander Severus (222-235 A.D.) than we
may wish, at first, to admit.

That similarity may be due more to aesthetic responses to psychological influences

than it is to other art forms. What is the origin of the strange “spiral”
markings on the garments of some mid twelfth century “biblical personages”
on the Royal Portal of Chartres Cathedral (Plate 51, “La Sculpture en
France”, or the amazing development of linear interest in the 14th century
figure of St. Mary Magdalene (plate 66). What is there in common with the
winter ceremonial mask of Kwakiutl Indians (figure 290 “Primitive Art”,
Boaz and the fifth century Male Portrait illustrated in Goldscheider, (Plate
117) and the Christ de la Tentation from the mid twelfth century (Plate 41, “La
Sculpture en France”? For a possible clue to an answer to these questions I
refer the reader to figure 39 in “Creative and Mental Growth” by Victor
Lowenfeld. Lowenfeld shows us a sculpture by a seventeen year-old girl who
had been blind since birth.* The figure is entitled Youth Imploring and shows,
presumably, how the body feels not how it looks when the subject is
imploring. Lowenfeld tells us that the main intermediary for the haptically
minded is the body-self, muscular sensations, kineaesthetic experiences,
touch impressions that place the self in a value relationship to the outside
 world. The haptic type, therefore, is primarily a subjective type (6) and does
not, primarily, respond to objective data.

Chartres: Royal Portal

SUMMARY

It would not be unnatural for the Romans any more than for other groups of people
to question what the meaning of events might be or what significance these
events would have for them personally. The disruption of their system both
from within and from without undoubtedly had the appropriate
psychological effects and these, in turn, may affect the technical procedures
and conceptual solutions involved in creating a work of art.

Technical proficiency certainly appears to have declined from the peak that it had
reached earlier in terms of an intent to create a naturalistic appearance, but
then the intent may have changed in response to new insights. The term
“technique” might better be used to describe what is actually operating
rather than what has been prescribed as the correct operation. An
appropriate technique is one that is adequate, both artistically and
psychologically, as a response to those influences that have a bearing on the
content of the work.

The eventual union of a primarily visual art, the Greek-Roman and Roman
tradition with a renewed contact with haptic and kinaesthetic forces, the
“barbarian” tradition, in a work such as Christ of Reckheim of the 16th
century A.D. can be supported by evidence from the work itself.
Anatomically, as impressive as is the Hermes, the Christ differs from the
Classical Greek in its stress on pain and tension, both physical as well as
psychological. Even in its fragmentary state the work convinces us of this
tension, whereas, in contrast, the Laokoon and another like it The Dying Gaul
 project their messages by means of grimaces and a kind of theatrical
posturing. I interpret this phony staged pain as an indication that both
physical and psychological pain were not well enough understood either
subjectively or objectively to be sensed, interpreted, or incorporated
successfully into artistic form, of bodily experience beyond their look which
is, fundamentally, the reason for the success of The Christ of Reckheim.

The Dying Gaul. This death is not heroic. In fact, it is mild and academic.
Considering the fact that the Goths attacked Rome in the nude, this rather
startled the Romans apparently, and this figure with its unexercised
muscular structure is singularly unimpressive. It shows a very ordinary man
under stress. This may have been the message the artist wished to put over.