In the lecture series Medieval Art of the West, historian and medievalist Oleg Voskoboynikov presents both significant and lesser-known monuments of artistic culture from the Middle Ages, offering insights through the medieval person’s perspective. The concluding lecture focuses on the skyscrapers of the Middle Ages—Gothic cathedrals.
The High Middle Ages are sometimes referred to metonymically as the ‘Age of Cathedrals’ (Duby) since the Gothic cathedral represented almost every aspect of spiritual life for Europeans, becoming its ‘prism’. Erwin Panofsky suggested that Gothic and Scholastic styles1
The architecture of a Gothic cathedral
The flourishing of cathedral art in the thirteenth century coincided with a fundamental change in people’s mentality, primarily in the depth of their religious feelings as well as in terms of their relationship with nature. A metaphor for the heavenly city, the cathedral vault was far above the believer and moving ever farther away, becoming increasingly higher, reaching a height of almost fifty meters up in Beauvais, which was the highest nave of the mid-thirteenth century. When the vault at Beauvais collapsed, leaving only the choir, it wasn’t made any higher. A number of incredibly bold technical inventions were required to solve this challenge. As opposed to the trefoil arch, the pointed arch had been in use long before the advent of classical Gothicism. The approach to wall surfaces was also more important. The Romanesque Church of the eleventh and twelfth centuries valued these spaces, emphasizing their aesthetic significance with the help of horizontal and vertical divisions metered by window openings, and sometimes by using murals. This helped to create the familiar feeling of magnificent peace that still engulfs visitors in Romanesque buildings to this day. Gothic cathedrals seek to visually eradicate walls, transforming them into a continuous rotation between glass and the complex profiles of vertical moldings,4
Stained glass windows
The cathedrals of the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries are unimaginable without their decorations. They literally spoke through their statues, stained-glass windows, illustrated liturgical manuscripts, altar images—as well as the singing and music—turning a church into a place of performance. Richer decoration made a church even more 'talkative', should the person who commissioned the building wish to convey deeper meaning to believers. From the beginning of the thirteenth century, the competition in art between cities and ruling classes has been expressed through inscribing as much of this silent, visual sermon into the body of the church itself as possible. Consider this aspect if you visit Chartres, which is justifiably famous for having one of the most well-preserved ensembles of stained glass. Each stained-glass window depicts a story and is intended for careful, thoughtful study. And together, the stained-glass windows seem to form a great message conceived by the cathedral chapter, led by the bishop. However, there exists no unified system for obvious and unambiguous interpretation of these windows in the great churches in France, Germany, England, and Spain. As before, church art spoke of the Good News, Salvation, and Final Judgment.
It is hardly worth searching for the architectural clarity of Thomas Aquinas’s8
In the 1230s, Archbishop Henri de Bren had a stained-glass window installed in the axial chapel of Reims Cathedral,9
He had an argument with both the Chapter and the townspeople at the beginning of the decade that brought the construction of the Royal Cathedral to a halt for three years. When the work resumed, as lead commissioner of the project, he wanted the stained glass to speak for him. So, how did he go about it? On the right of the stained glass, we can see the scene of the Crucifixion, with a cup collecting the blood of the Savior at his feet. Directly underneath is an image of the archbishop on the same scale—huge and easily distinguishable from afar. On the left is a depiction of the Virgin Mary with Child sitting on the throne under a stylized Gothic roof, a metaphor for the cathedral because Mary was able to 'accommodate' the 'uncontainable and unembraceable' God present in every church during the sacrament of the Eucharist, when wine and bread become blood and body. To make sure that there is no doubt this relates to the cathedral in which we are located, there is a figure of an angel standing atop a Gothic building underneath this symbolic image of the cathedral. Outside, we encounter the same angels on the finials of the arch buttresses, where they are symbolically guarding the cathedral. The frame of the window is decorated with royal lilies.10
The emotion and plasticity of Gothic sculptures
Along with stained glass, the most prestigious and expensive art of the time, the plastic arts were used to create encyclopedic value in Gothic churches. Statues, gradually ‘taking shape’ and separating from walls and columns, though without losing their connection to either, not only ‘made human’ but also grounded the divine. Bible characters, ancestors, and the kings of Israel as well as saints were all dressed in familiar images for the townspeople. Their poses became more natural and varied, and earthly emotions appeared on their faces. This search for faithfulness to nature and everyday life was the driving force behind the work of sculptors and stained glass artisans. They restored spiritual significance in these works, reestablishing a connection between the spiritual realm and the domains of humans and nature, which they had seen with their own eyes or copied directly from antique monuments. This balance between naturalismi
If a canopy resembling a city wall seems to hover over a statue on a Gothic portal,i
In twelfth-century France, someone wrote the Pilgrim’s Guide for those who, as they do to this day, left their homes and traveled to Compostela in order to worship the apostle Jacob.i
But why is he smiling, even daring to show his teeth? Is he greeting a weary pilgrim? Was it in preparation for the long-awaited encounter with the apostle’s relics? Or was it because of the joys of heaven, on whose doorstep he has arrived following a long journey? Or is this the smile of a courtier as Daniel indeed served at court? Or does he wish to show believers that only the divine have the right to joyfully behold God face to face, while those on this sinful, mortal plain may only do so 'in a mirror dimly' (1 Corinthians 13:12)? What if the same meaning was applied to Gabriel’s smile as he greets Mary in a statue located on the western facade of Reims Cathedral from around the year 1250? This smile is no longer encouraging; it is cautious and shows the clear boundary between the world of men and the divine world. In that case it is like a vague memory of laughter, which during antiquity was considered the prerogative of the gods, in stark contrast to tears, which were intended for mankind.
It is useless to seek a single ‘correct’ explanation of reasons or the exact iconographic meaning of the 'Gothic smile'. But let us forget smiles and laughter and turn to sorrow. Across the range of sculptural decoration both inside and outside cathedrals, it is possible to find the ‘Personification of Synagogue’i
If it is unfolded into a large-scale composition featuring soldiers drawing lots, Mary losing feeling, the mourning of John the Beloved, the gurning faces of the wicked mocking the 'King of the Jews' and the centurion Longinus, then the scene finds new semantic overtones. However, how can we explain why an anonymous artist from Strasbourg in the 1220s made the 'Personification of Synagogue' into one of the most beautiful and lyrical female images of the Middle Ages? Standing next to her, the 'Church' is full of dignity, but her victorious posture and facial expression do not invoke the same sympathy as the defeated. Where, then, can we look for an explanation? In the 'overindulgence' of the artist as Bernard of Clairvauxi
From the perspective of art history, the psychology of the ‘Personification of Synagogue’ in Strasbourg was made possible by physiognomic discoveries by the sculptors of Chartres and Reims. Some of these anonymous masters must have later worked in Strasbourg, one of the richest cities in the Rhine area. However, physiognomy and pathognomics—the ability of art to reflect the dynamics of the human soul in faces and posture—were not the masters’ goals in and of themselves. They seem to me a means of touching the hearts of both the one who commissioned the art as well as the viewers, who merely wanted to see what they were being called upon to believe.
Each of these ideas clarifies something, but they do not reduce the ambivalence of what is a wonderful and touching image. Even under the bandage, you would not consider Synagoga’s gaze to be blindness, while her sensuousness is a far cry from the courteous poses of 'foolish virgins' exhibited in the same hall of Strasbourg Museum. Both intelligent and unintelligent virgins are courteous, but 'Personification of Synagogue' is lonely in its sadness.
In every sense, it is disconnected from the new world that began with the death of Christ on the cross as depicted on the portal—it is detached. If we forget what she personifies iconographically for a moment, then stylistically this detached figure is unique in its purely human and intimately lyrical qualities even in the context of the remarkable sculpted complex preserved in Strasbourg. Let us imagine that at one time these figures were not blackened by time but painted like the stained glass and book miniaturesi
What is the meaning of Gothic art?
We should search for the meaning of the art within Gothic cathedrals by looking at art itself—in the changes to its functionality and its role in society. In a way, art has served as a mode of communication between authority and its subjects, between the clergy and their flock, between the literate and illiterate, but above all between people and God. A change in the religious background across all of European society in the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries may provide the key to such an explanation. Let us highlight just one very important example.
From the beginning of the thirteenth century, the liturgical practice of demonstrating the host (bread transubstantiated into the Body of Christ) to the congregation prior to their taking of it had spread through Europe. The Eucharist is the focal point of worship. The belief that the host is truly and not merely symbolically the Body of Christ is one of the basic requirements for Christians, as affirmed by the Fourth Lateran Council.i
For example, this applies to the cult of relics that were attributed to some miraculous force. Reliquaries were performed by the best jewelers and sculptors since as far back as at least the fourth century. Just like for royal insignia, no expense was spared, and exotic materials were used, sometimes even being inlaid with antique gems. Plastic arts in the luxurious reliquaries of the Gothic era were constructed in such a way that it is sometimes impossible to identify the object of worship, which increasingly assumes the function of a work of art, only becoming an object of prayer and worship through veneration. As if a kind of cathedral in miniature, with its own miniature naves, finials, wimpergs, columns, guardian angels, and figurines of donators, it embodies the same visual effect as the great cathedral itself. A gigantic cathedral employed complex measures to lead the attentive and focused the gaze of parishioners towards the main altar. However, as if forcing us to change lenses from panoramic to macro, the reliquary leads this gaze toward the sacred that is hidden underneath the crystal.
The same can be said about architecture. Originally, Gothic churches were painted over completely on the inside and partly on the outside. However, we can’t be certain because these churches were also usually completely whitewashed during restoration works in the twentieth century. Even though Gothic churches have, with rare exceptions, lost their original colors, the fragmentation and articulation of their forms remain striking, and have not lost their monumental unity. We cannot see any walls in the churches of Amiens, Reims, or Bourges. Their function is instead performed by columns, vertical pilasters, friezes, capitals, and other horizontal order divisions. If you consider that all these divisions were also highlighted through color, you can imagine what a strong visual effect such a space would have on the believer even if you take a step away from the meaning behind the stained glass and sculptural portals.
The same can be said about architecture. Originally, Gothic churches were painted over completely on the inside and partly on the outside. However, we can’t be certain because these churches were also usually completely whitewashed during restoration works in the twentieth century. Even though Gothic churches have, with rare exceptions, lost their original colors, the fragmentation and articulation of their forms remain striking, and have not lost their monumental unity. We cannot see any walls in the churches of Amiens, Reims, or Bourges. Their function is instead performed by columns, vertical pilasters, friezes, capitals, and other horizontal order divisions. If you consider that all these divisions were also highlighted through color, you can imagine what a strong visual effect such a space would have on the believer even if you take a step away from the meaning behind the stained glass and sculptural portals.
To avoid introducing our own preconceptions of what art is into this interpretation of medieval art, or perceptions leading firstly into the Renaissance, secondly into the avant-garde,i
In the search for confirmation that we are interpreting medieval images correctly, historians (including art historians) fall back, as a panacea, upon the authority of the written documents of the era: whether a 'prism', a theological summa, or the text of sermons in Latin or folk languages. After all, sermons were delivered inside or near the church walls and might, in principle, rely on this imagery. However, such a convenient link between an image and text is often contrived. There is no evidence that preachers pointed to the stained-glass windows, altars, or frescoes when they delivered their sermons from the pulpit. Scholarly theologians sometimes make references to 'how painters depict things', and we can be certain that they were sensitive to the language of Christian art. However, seeking to explain the Gothic through Scholastics (or vice versa) has no more justification than trying to explain Piet Mondriani