Stealing the Mystic Lamb (7 page)

The Vijd Chapel, for which the altarpiece was created, is too small to contain the altarpiece with the wings spread open fully—the width of the chapel is such that the wings can only be opened at an angle. This is an unusual feature, considering the fact that the chapel predates the painting and that van Eyck surely knew the intended location of the altarpiece. Perhaps this was a way of showing off the artist’s skill. The altarpiece, as a work with the grandeur of wall painting but painted on panel, outdid even the frescoes of the time, which lacked the vibrancy of color
and the minute detail that oil painting boasts. The fact that the altarpiece could not be opened completely meant that the wings would thrust out towards the viewers at an angle, providing an extra dimensionality of which wall painting was wholly incapable. In this way, van Eyck emphasizes the fact that this is a work on panel, whose monumentality can only be compared with frescoes, but whose level of detail recalls tiny manuscript illuminations.

Finally, the upper register of the inside of the altarpiece features three monumental figures—the first monumental figures (much larger than those around them) to appear in Northern European panel painting.

In the center, God the Father is seated, face forward with a hand up-raised in blessing. This panel overflows in both text and symbol. The pelican and the vine on the brocade over God’s shoulder refer to the blood Christ spilt for humankind. Pelicans were erroneously thought to pierce their flesh in order to feed the young from their own blood in times of famine, while vines produce grapes that yield the sacral communion wine, representative of Christ’s blood. The inscription in the triple molding behind God’s papal tiara-clad head reads:

The inscription continues along the edge of the raised step on which God the Father is seated:

A description of Christ enthroned as the king of Heaven comes in Revelation, a direct quotation of which is embroidered into God’s garment,
Rex Regnum et Dominus Dominantium
: “King of Kings and Lord of Lords.”

This quotation indicates an origin source for the imagery of this central figure in majesty as Revelation 19:12-16:

Though, for the sake of modesty, we are not privy to God’s thigh, “King of Kings and Lord of Lords” may be found embroidered onto the “vesture dipped in blood,” in this case a gilt-edged scarlet garment.

Theologically, the Godhead consists of three parts: the Father (God), the Son (Christ), and the Holy Spirit (usually rendered as a white dove). The Holy Spirit as a dove is in the panel directly below the enthroned God the Father, creating an imaginary vertical line linking the two. The dove, a symbol of divine light, radiates sunlight over the New Jerusalem described in the Book of Revelation, for New Jerusalem “had no need of the sun, nor of the moon, to shine above it; for the glory of God did illuminate it” (Revelation 21:23).

The Lamb of God on the altar in
The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb
is a symbol of Christ, who, like the lambs sacrificed by pagans to appease the gods, sacrificed himself to save humankind and reverse the Original Sin of the Fall of Adam. The Lamb, from whose head light shines and who bleeds into a golden chalice, is an icon that represents Christ and has been used as such since the earliest Christian artworks were scrawled
or mosaicked in underground catacomb churches, hidden from the persecutions of the Romans on the earth above them.

The image originates from the Gospel of Saint John: “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world.” This quotation is inscribed in gold on the red velvet antependium of the painted altar on which stands the Lamb:
Ecce Agnus Dei Qui Tollit Peccata Mundi
. One must approach the altarpiece in order to read this inscription. In doing so, the viewer is physically drawn in to examine the naturalistic wonders of the painting. Van Eyck tricks the viewer into seeing the whole picture, an astounding wash of color and form and figures, as well as the loving minutiae that leap out.

In 1887 art historian William Martin Conway wrote: “Such a [poetic] symbol was the Lamb of God. Medieval sculptors and painters never represented the lamb as a mere animal. They always made it carry a banner, emblematic of the resurrection. . . . In the Ghent Altarpiece, on the contrary, the symbolic creature is painted with perfect realistic veracity. It does not look like a symbol, it looks like a sheep.” Erwin Panofsky later showed how van Eyck used striking realism to convey the symbols of Christianity: “A way had to be found to reconcile the new naturalism with a thousand years of Christian tradition; and this attempt resulted in what may be termed concealed or disguised symbolism, as opposed to open or obvious symbolism. . . . As van Eyck rejoiced in the discovery and reproduction of the visible world, the more intensely could he saturate all of its elements with meaning.”

In van Eyck’s union of realism with Christian symbolism, art historians saw the union of two periods of art—the symbolic and often awkwardly
realized medieval paintings and the increasing naturalism, vibrancy, beauty, and detail of the Renaissance and periods thereafter. In 1860, German art historian and director of the Berlin Museum Gustav Waagen would describe
The Ghent Altarpiece
as “a perfect riddle” of the union of two artistic periods, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance.

Perhaps the most dazzling example of this naturalism in the entire painting is the crown, placed on the floor at God’s feet, sparkling as if spotlit, crusted in pearls, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. That the crown, a symbol of secular, earthly might (as opposed to eternal, heavenly sovereignty), is placed on the floor at God’s feet shows its subordination to the rule of Heaven.

A close examination of the pearls on this crown reveals that most were painted in exactly three brush strokes. A dark sweep for the body of the pearl, a white lower edge to indicate the reflective curvature of the pearl’s underside, and one dollop of bright white for the light caught in the pearlescent surface. Vermeer would study van Eyck’s technique two hundred years later and go one better, painting the single pearl in his
Girl with a Pearl Earring
with exactly one brushstroke.

In its depiction of the Virgin Mary (center left) and John the Baptist (center right), van Eyck’s altarpiece differs from the common use of these powerful saints. Usually they served in a role known as
intercessio
—that is to say, they were most often depicted vouching for the souls of the painting’s donors, interceding on their behalf and recommending them for entry into Heaven. Traditionally the saint who shares the first name with the donor would be shown interceding on his or her behalf, while the donor is knelt in pious prayer.

It was unusual at the time to present Mary and John the Baptist removed from an
intercessio
situation, although the grisaille John the Baptist
painted beside Joos Vijd on the outside of the altarpiece might be interpreted as an
intercessio.
John the Baptist would normally be depicted in the midst of a moment from his life, the Baptism of Christ for instance, or interceding for a patron, rather than as a supplemental, monumental figure as he is here. Even more unusual, John is not accompanied by his hagiographic icon, a lamb, which indicates Christ. While John does carry a lamb in the grisaille version on the outside of the altarpiece, here his only identifying attribute is the hair shirt in which he is traditionally painted. Thus, with the Baptist pointing at a bearded, enthroned holy figure, the natural assumption, which van Eyck wanted us to consider, is that the central figure is Christ Enthroned. And yet, as we have discussed, the central figure is, in fact, God the Father, not Christ. In encouraging this confusion, van Eyck highlights the complex theological point that the Holy Trinity consists of three persons in one Godhead—at once distinct from one another and yet inextricably entwined. It makes theological sense, therefore, that we would be uncertain as to whether this figure is God or Christ. In theoretical essence, it is both. In practical iconographic terms, it is God the Father meant to evoke Christ.

Mary, as well as John, differs in van Eyck’s treatment of her from the traditional precedents. She would normally be shown with the Christ child or alone, enthroned at the center of a choir of angels, as in the
Maesta
paintings (of which Duccio and Giotto painted famous examples). Yet here Mary and John the Baptist, while glorious and colossal, play a subservient role, secondary to the overall theological theme. This tells neither Mary’s story nor the Baptist’s, and they do not intercede on behalf of the donors—van Eyck has presented them in a new way.

These three top-register central panels place their subjects on a perspectivally accurate tiled floor, the grout of the tiles indicating the orthogonal lines that lead our eyes back to the vanishing point, somewhere behind God’s head. This trick of perspective was new to artists and would not become commonplace until the Italian architect Leon Battista Alberti wrote a mathematical treatise on painting perspective in 1435, three years after the completion of
The Ghent Altarpiece
.