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Proceeding from the Father and Son
Experiencing the Trinity in the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter's Basilica

By Elizabeth Lev

Visitors to Catholic Rome are often struck by the change in iconography when they move from the Sistine Chapel to St. Peter's Basilica. From walls alive with colorful figures to a hall ablaze with light, the two structures present equally dramatic yet strikingly different visual impressions. To be sure, the two buildings have different functions: one a private papal chapel and the other essentially the parish church of the whole world. But when one looks closely at the specific decorative elements, another, deeper contrast emerges. While the Sistine Chapel is a monumental temple dedicated to the first and second persons of the Trinity, the architect of St. Peter's Basilica surmounted an even greater artistic challenge: that of rendering visible and tangible the presence of the Holy Spirit.

The humanistic Renaissance extolled the greatness of God's greatest creation, man. Particularly inspired by the words of Genesis 1:27, "So God created man in His own image," Renaissance artists and patrons favored the anthropomorphic images of God. Like the Greeks during their golden age of classical art, they preferred representations of God as a more perfect version of themselves. The 17th century, in the post-Tridentine era, sought new forms of representation, one more in keeping with the climate of reform and emphasis on magisterium. The spirit of the times stressed themes like the Holy Spirit, conversion and evangelization. The heroic examples of men and women such as St. Francis Xavier, St. Philip Neri and St. Teresa of Avila infused new vitality into the words from John 20:21-22, "As my Father has sent me, even so I send you. And when he had said this, He breathed on them, and said to them, 'Receive the Holy Spirit'."

The difficult task of the 17th-century artist was to evoke the presence of the Holy Spirit visibly, clearly and persuasively for the multitude of pilgrims that flocked to Rome.

The Vatican thus became the setting for the highest expressions of each form of iconography. The Renaissance imagery of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel complements the Baroque vision of Bernini in St. Peter's Basilica. Together, they offer a receptive visitor stimuli to contemplate all three persons of the Trinity.

The Sistine Chapel, built by military architect Baccio Pontelli in 1477 for Pope Sixtus IV, served a twofold purpose in the turbulent 15th century. On the one hand, it served as a protective flank to the papal palace. Battlements and barracks for soldiers reveal its defensive design. On the other hand, from its very inception, Pope Sixtus IV intended to fill the chapel with the most splendid art as the private place of worship for himself and the papal court. Aptly described by the Jesuit art historian Father Heinrich Pfeiffer as decorated "by theologians for theologians," the commissions for the Sistine Chapel employed the finest artists of the 15th and 16th centuries. Pietro Perugino, Sandro Botticelli and Domenico Ghirlandaio from the most celebrated Florentine workshops frescoed the walls, while Michelangelo covered the ceiling and altar wall with his unforgettable images of Creation and the Last Judgment.

Visions of God the Father and God the Son dominate the chapel in vivid color and bold design. From the first decorative program along the nave, image after image of Christ's miracles, teachings and passion balance scenes of Moses along the opposite wall. The cycle presents the New Testament as the culmination of the Old Testament by paralleling the life of Moses and the life of Christ.

This manifestation of the invisible made visible, hinted at in Exodus 33:20 when Moses begs to see God and is told, "You cannot see my face: for no man shall see me and live," reaches its greatest climax in the frescoes of Michelangelo. As Pope John Paul II observes in the second poem of his Roman Triptych,

"Right at the heart of the Sistine Chapel,
The artist shows this invisible End in the visible drama of the Judgment.
And this invisible End became visible as the highpoint of clarity:
Omnia nuda et aperta ante oculos Eius." (All things are naked and revealed before His eyes.)

Of the nine panels of Michelangelo's vault, five contain images of God the Father, presented in extraordinary iconographic form. Early Christian imagery avoided the representation of God altogether, limiting itself to a hand projecting down from the heavens. During the Renaissance artists began envisioning God as a benevolent yet authoritative old man, but Michelangelo showed the most dynamic God ever, derived from the most expressionistic of ancient statuary, an outpouring of force and energy.

The most startling vision of God however, appears in the Last Judgment. To the utter shock of his contemporaries as well as to today's viewers, Michelangelo created an image of Jesus never before seen. He crowned the altar wall with a massive, awe-inspiring Jesus, the most formidable judge ever encountered.

These anthropomorphic representations of the Divine Presence superbly summed up the Renaissance preoccupation with man as the summit of God's creation. In the period during which man's ingenuity was most valued, the vault became the apex of humanist glorification and the Last Judgment the greatest humanist admonition. These same images, however, when seen by people outside the elite circle of the papal court, caused much consternation. Some were affronted by the nudity, some by the novel representation and some by the charged sense of motion in a place destined for contemplation and prayer. It became clear that while Michelangelo's message of salvation was universal, much of the world was not ready to receive the message through this medium.

* * * * *

A few steps away, in the enormous space of St. Peter's Basilica, imagery of the first two persons of the Trinity is comparatively scant. The Renaissance remnant of the Pietà, the bronze crucifixes on the altars and an occasional portrayal in the altarpiece of a scene from the life of Christ comprise the sole images of Jesus, while a small mosaic affixed to the inside of the lantern, 436 feet above the floor, offers the only vision of God the Father.

Nonetheless, the presence of God makes itself felt - intensely, powerfully, ubiquitously - in the form of the third person, the Holy Ghost. While virtually absent as an image in the Sistine Chapel, the basilica radiates with his presence, through the skill and vision of architect and designer, Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

Bernini commenced what would become his lifelong task of decorating St. Peter's in 1623 at the age of 25. He inherited the heavy mantle of head architect of St. Peter's from distinguished predecessors such as Bramante, Raphael, Michelangelo and Carlo Maderno. The 120 years spent erecting the edifice resulted in the creation of the world's largest church enclosing some 30 million cubic feet of space. Bernini's job would be to tame that space and give it a focus.

Originally, the Basilica had not been intended to be so large. Only at the dawn of the 17th century did the popes realize that the church as planned by Bramante wasn't big enough to welcome an ever expanding congregation. At a hundred years from the discovery of the new world, the Catholic universe grew vaster each day, and its spiritual home needed to be big enough to accommodate all visitors. Expecting great diversity among the visitors, Bernini had to create an image that would speak to all peoples, something that the more elite, erudite images of the Sistine Chapel had already proven unable to do.

Leaving behind the images of the first and second persons, Bernini attempted a daunting iconographic innovation - the representation of the Holy Ghost. Undoubtedly inspired by the wondrous play of light in the Basilica, fruit of Michelangelo's architectural adjustments, Bernini spent the next 60 years rendering visible the spirit of his age. The evangelical, missionary spirit that sought to set the world on fire became his muse. From his first, tentative steps in the baldacchino to the masterful certainty of expression in the altar of the Cathedra Petri, Bernini labored to manifest the presence and movement of the Holy Spirit from the heart of the basilica to the world.

The challenge of representing the Holy Ghost must have been daunting. Traditional iconography tended to show a dove hovering over the head of Christ in paintings such as Verocchio's Baptism, or nestled between the crucified Christ and God the Father as in Masaccio's fresco of The Trinity. Bernini, however, drew inspiration from other New Testament portrayals. His imagination was captured by the description of Jesus breathing on the apostles, and by the "mighty, rushing wind" of Pentecost. These moments, marking the beginning of the evangelizing mission of the apostles, resonated with the spirit of Bernini's age.

His first work for St. Peter's, the baldacchino, constructed over the grave of St. Peter, presented a tremendous challenge for the young artist. Bernini himself, in his old age, admitted that it was divine Providence that had brought the project to build a 95-foot high, 44-ton canopy in bronze to a successful conclusion. It caused controversy from its unveiling. Many loathed the work, many others praised it lavishly, but it was noticed by all. The canopy drew the eye of the viewer from the threshold of the church, creating a focal point and a destination in that immense space.

Only when the pilgrim had traversed the long nave did he appreciate the canopy's extraordinary detail, and in the detail, the meaning of the work. The first clue in comprehending the monument appeared in the form of the columns. Exotic, twisting, entwined with foliage, they were unlike anything anyone had ever seen in the Roman world. Utterly baffling to many visitors, they seemed out of place until the pilgrim looked up towards the four galleries in the piers and saw columns in the same style although smaller and of white marble. These had been gifts from the Emperor Constantine, and for over a millennium they had stood at the entrance to the shrine over Peter's grave. They served as a reminder that like these Hellenistic columns which had been transported from the Eastern empire to the West, so St. Peter too had been moved by the Spirit from Jerusalem to Rome.

Approaching the canopy, the viewer already was impressed by its tremendous size. Towering over five stories and poised on elegant bronze spirals, the canopy inspired awe. Bernini had to overcome great technical difficulties to create this effect. In the new iconography of the church, the 17th-century artists and architects set out to help people experience awe and wonder in the presence of the divine.

But it was only upon close study that the full significance of the monument became clear. The underside of the canopy discloses the Holy Spirit in the guise of a dove. The bird hovers, wings outspread over the papal altar which is in turn over St. Peter's grave. Attentive scrutiny reveals that the fine workmanship of Bernini has transformed the bronze in the upper part of the canopy into what seems to be canvas hangings. Furthermore, the "canvas" in the four corners of the monument seems to be aloft with tassels flying in the wind. Bernini thus displays the effect of the "breath of God," emanating from the dove throughout the church. Perhaps the most emblematic image of the 17th century, the Holy Ghost hovers over the successor of St. Peter breathing out his message to the four corners of the world.

While Bernini's early vision of the third person entailed a gradual revelation as one approached the tomb of the Prince of the Apostles, his later vision of the Cathedra Petri burst unchecked into the church, threatening to engulf and overwhelm the viewer. Not the intimate breath of Jesus over his closest followers, but the "mighty wind" of Pentecost. In this work done in Bernini's mature years, 1657-66, the artist harnessed all the arts - painting, sculpture and architecture - to express the power and glory of the Holy Ghost.

The wind of the Spirit doesn't merely lift curtains here, now it dissolves masonry. Bernini the architect opened an oval window in the center of the church's apse and filled it with translucent amber-colored alabaster panes. In the heart of the oval he placed a white dove, wings outstretched, soaring above the altar. In the late afternoon as the sun sets behind the Basilica, golden light pours into the church, symbolizing the tongues of flame of the Holy Spirit. Bernini the sculptor then crafted plaster figures gilt with gold that tumble outward from the oval opening in a profusion of clouds, angels and cherubs. When seen during the afternoon Mass, bathed in the amber light, accompanied by the voices of the choir, the viewer can easily imagine the same awe the disciples must have felt at Pentecost. Below the stucco angels, Bernini placed four enormous bronze statues of Fathers of the Church, St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, St. Athanasius and St. John Chrysostom. In these figures Bernini picks up the theme of the East and West from the canopy. They stand on a black marble podium, heavy robes swept by the gust of the Spirit, the dark metal glinting from the golden blaze above. The saints stand around the immense bronze reliquary, containing what was then believed to be the wooden chair St. Peter had used while bishop of Rome. (Carbon dating has since placed the chair's origins in the 3rd century.) Impossibly, incredibly, the throne hovers in midair, seemingly supported only by the golden clouds. As in the canopy, the mere scale implies the supernatural. The bishops' miters alone are six and a half feet high. Bernini the painter masterfully mixes the colors, black marble, warm bronze, bright gold and brilliant white to assist the eye in the progression from Heaven to earth. A truly universal monument, employing all the arts to represent the Holy Spirit's mandate to the universal Church.

Although designed a quarter century apart, Bernini linked the Cathedra to the Baldacchino, expressing the culmination of an idea. Many drawings demonstrate the effort Bernini made to ensure that the Cathedra would be visible through the canopy so that his early labors would serve as a framework for the supreme effort of his mature years. The breath of God defining the role of the successor of St. Peter, and the explosive mandate of the Holy Spirit encompassing the evangelizing role of all Christians are simultaneously visible. The canopy shapes and directs our vision of the Holy Spirit.

In the hands of these great artists, the walk from the Sistine Chapel to St. Peter's becomes a revelatory experience. Having observed the Father and the Son in their works and their glory on the walls of the chapel, in the basilica, the Holy Spirit inspires us to go forth bearing witness before the whole world.

Elizabeth Lev lives in Rome and teaches Italian Renaissance Art at Duquesne University's Rome campus.