We all know the expression, “he’s a Renaissance man.” No one better earned that title better than Leonardo. Better known today as Leonardo da Vinci, named after his birthplace, the small village of Vinci, just outside of Florence, he became the quintessence of the Renaissance ideal of the universal man, ready for any exploration, any adventure, skilled in military, courtly and scientific arts, knowledgeable in theology and philosophy. Despite his humble origins, Leonardo rose to become admired by princes, kings and popes. His prodigious knowledge made him the central figure in an age of discovery, an age of invention, an age of both ravaging wars and of beauties untold. He managed to penetrate deep into the personality and psychology of his subjects, something that had not been done to such an extent by previous artists. Being a perfectionist, despite his astonishing accomplishments in every field, he died despondent, feeling he had not achieved any of his life’s goals. History would judge differently.
Italy in the 15th century was a network of small independent states. At the time of The Last Supper (1495-98) Milan was ruled by the shrewd Lodovico Sforza, known as Il Moro (“the Moor,” because of his darkish skin). His ambition was to become supreme in all of Italy. Though ruthlessly ambitious he was a supreme patron of the arts. He commissioned Leonardo to paint a large scene of Jesus with the disciples on the eve of his betrayal to decorate the main wall of the dining room of the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Some consider the result to be Leonardo’s greatest masterpiece.
The usual technique for such a mural was the fresco. A mixture of colors and water was hastily applied to fresh plaster, requiring the artist to work very fast, and avoid mistakes. Leonard worked meticulously and slowly, so he used a medium with oil and tempera which allowed him to paint directly on the wall. He could thus retouch and take time off for reflection. The painting took him three years to complete. Unfortunately his chosen medium doomed the painting to fade and peel, so that we only have a faint connection with the original. Thanks to various restorations its colors are more vivid today than they have been for a long time.
This picture of the final meal before the crucifixion is of course idealized. But it tells a powerful story, full of psychological and theological significance. No doubt it was inspired by John 13:21-30, in which Jesus foretells of his imminent betrayal. We have almost a frozen moment where the disciples all react to the news. The central figure is Jesus Christ. He is literally at the middle, but is central in every way. Though without a halo, the light of the sun from the window behind him serves to honor him as the “Light of the world.” His expression is pensive, burdened, yet somehow serene. His hand is stretched out toward the bread, as if to say, “this is my body, broken for you.” This is on the eve of the dreadful moment when those same hands would be pierced through with cruel nails. In keeping with recent Renaissance tradition, Jesus and several disciples had long hair.
The disciples are represented in groups of three, permitting the artist to feature their personalities for study in small, focused assemblies. To Jesus’ extreme left (our right) are (going from our left to right) Matthew, Thaddeus (Judas the brother of James) and Simon. Matthew points to Jesus with both hands, as if to say, “listen to him, what can this mean?” Thaddeus is the most surprised, whereas the older Simon is troubled but not shaken. To Jesus’ extreme right (our left) we have (from our right to our left) Andrew, James the Less, and Bartholomew. Andrew is an older man, who expresses wonder. James reaches over to Peter’s shoulder as if to ask, “can this be possible?” And Bartholomew at the end, rises from the table, perturbed, wanting to hear more. Thomas (“Doubting Thomas”), James and Philip are to Jesus’ immediate left. What drama in this threesome!
The most important group, both for the painting and the plotline of The Da Vinci Code is the threesome to Jesus’ right (our left). It is John (“The Beloved”), Peter and Judas Iscariot. John is often portrayed as thoughtful, reflective, calm. The impetuous Peter is whispering something in his ear, no doubt following John’s Gospel, where Peter tells John to ask Jesus who his betrayer is (13:24). To get to John, Peter pushes Judas out of the way, which allows Leonardo to show Judas as isolated from the rest. He who would betray Christ is here already out of sorts with his colleagues. In the biblical account, John does ask his Lord, who dips the bread into Judas’ cup, whereupon Judas leaves to do his dirty work (13:26-30).
To state the obvious, we have here one of the great masterpieces of all time. Leonardo has managed to weave symbol and story together with remarkable craft. And to state what is evident, Dan Brown’s fanciful use of the painting to detect hidden codes has no connection whatsoever to this painting, or to the way one views Renaissance art to begin with. The groupings into three are artistic devices that allow Leonardo to articulate the different personalities as they react to the announcement by Jesus of his betrayal. There are no triangles here, nor any suggestions of a woman’s womb, in the space between Jesus and John. And to make John out to be a woman, Mary Magdalene, goes against everything Leonardo would have stood for. The long hair is an artistic convention. Women and men did not dine together in New Testament times, as a rule. In any case, the biblical story emphasizes the meal as the final Passover of the disciples with their Lord, before he would ascend to heaven, and leave the church with the sacrament of the Eucharist, or the Lord’s Supper, which we celebrate as we look forward to his coming again. To leave John out of such a painting would have been unthinkable. One searches in vain to find any responsible art historian who reads the painting as a code book.
Our response to such an extreme reading of this great painting would seem unnecessary, even ridiculous, if it were not for the credulity of many readers who have no knowledge of art history, and who are so fascinated by codes and symbols that they can be persuaded by the kind of tale told in The Da Vinci Code. We don’t want to spoil a good story. But we don’t want to spoil a great painting either.
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