Do we keep Christ on the margins?

Piero della Francesca was a brilliantly gifted mathematician. This might seem an odd way to begin a meditation on an artistic masterpiece of the Quattrocento (early Italian Renaissance). And though many people have heard about the scientific research and engineering prowess of the famous Leonardo da Vinci—and may even have seen the recent Ken Burns documentary about this archetypal “Renaissance man”—we tend to think of Leonardo as a one-off, a unicorn of an artist. But nothing is further from the truth.

In fact, many artists—particularly during the European revival of classical learning of the 15th and 16th centuries—made significant contributions to the hard sciences. Artists, naturalists, and research scientists have always pursued the enterprise of observing and recording the natural world in unison. In fact, artists are among the founders of several branches of science—carefully observing the world around them and faithfully recording both macro and micro aspects of this world of wonders.

Why is this alliance of art and science significant in regard to the painting under consideration, Piero’s The Flagellation of Christ? For two reasons.

First and most straightforward, the painting is mapped precisely on a three-­dimensional grid, and the geometric perspective employed by the artist was advanced and groundbreaking in his day. Piero’s technique achieves a hitherto unknown level of precision and breathtaking illusion of depth, foregrounding the three merchants on the right and surprisingly backgrounding the event for which the painting is titled. That said, Piero’s use of mathematical perspective draws the eye of his viewer directly to Christ—even though He is situated in the background of the painting!

Secondly, Piero offers theological insight with this mysterious composition: Christ’s torture is placed to the side as it were, seemingly diminished in significance while quotidian matters are discussed by the merchants to the right, upstaging this sad and horrific scene. Christ’s suffering is set forth as a daily, mundane matter of state—with Pontius Pilate gazing in a distracted way as his henchmen brutalize the only innocent man who ever lived. Piero is here acting as a historian of sorts—taking the factual element of Christ’s torture as a common governmental event and placing it in this new mathematical context of lines of perspective—exploiting the scientific in order to emphasize the theological: Our Emmanuel has come among us as a man of no consequence—one acquainted with suffering and grief. “What good can come out of Nazareth?” Nathaniel quipped, and the Messiah was, as Isaiah prophesied, “One who hath no comeliness that we should look upon him.”

One might be tempted to think Piero was commenting on the insignificance of religious faith in comparison with the workings of the modern marketplace as the Italian Renaissance moved into full swing—and might even accuse the artist of deliberately downplaying Jesus’ sufferings for our sake—sidelining the affairs of faith.

But placed in the context of Piero’s entire life work, this little masterpiece (less than 2 feet tall and 3 feet wide) sheds theological light on divine intervention in human affairs. God comes among us, offering us a path to salvation, and we carry on business as usual. Caesar is still emperor. The local magistrate is still calling the shots in Jerusalem, and Herod (that fox) is still fleecing his countrymen as he siphons off resources for his personal benefit. The oligarchs are getting their reward in full (in this life). All continues as it always has, and Christ is pushed aside as we pursue our vain desires.

Is this true? Well, yes and no.

It is true, as Piero has shown, the world treats Jesus’ way—the way of living sacrifice—as a matter of little significance as we carry on our pursuit of wealth, social standing, academic and athletic achievement, and political power. We might believe in Him, but often our religious belief makes little difference to our day-to-day affluent lifestyle. Until, that is, we turn and look on Christ in His sufferings for our sake.

If we reverse Piero’s composition and foreground Jesus (and not the business-as-usual) we are stricken with the ­enormity of what is happening. Christ is crucified daily in our neglect, our self-centeredness, and our lack of compassion for those to whom He came. As He read from the scroll of Isaiah at the very beginning of His earthly ministry: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed.”

Visitors admire The Flagellation of Christ at Marche National Gallery in Urbino, Italy. Roberto Serra / Iguana Press / Getty Images

When Jesus read this, He handed the scroll back and said, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” He then indicted His fellow countrymen for their sin and duplicity, indicating that God would reach out to the Gentiles in their place. The people who moments before had exclaimed how graceful He was suddenly wanted to drive Him over the cliff! It’s as if the religious people wanted Him to stay in the background and be polite. But like His cousin John the Baptist, He spoke truth, arousing the ire of the mob.

Though pushed to the background, Jesus is constantly offering Himself for the life of the world—and He is calling for us to do the same. Things might not change much outwardly, at least in the short term. Caesar may remain emperor. The rich may get richer. But as Jesus said when He requested a coin of the realm, “Whose inscription and whose image is on this coin? Caesar’s? Then render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and unto God what is God’s.” Piero’s little masterpiece is a marker in Western civilization that points to the powerful witness of Christ amid the workaday—continuously calling to us from the sidelines to repent and live for God. “Let the dead bury their dead,” Jesus had said. Turn your desire away from this dying world of money, status, and power and give yourself to God—there you will find all you need.

In truth, Christ’s way of self-sacrifice is at the center—not the periphery. Piero della Francesca has not only accurately depicted the retreat into space that his new technique of mathematical perspective allowed, but he has also challenged us to face the reality of our lives—pointing toward the Lord, allowing His humble Way to lay hold of us if we will but turn our gaze in His direction on the sidelines.

—Bruce Herman is professor of art (retired) and founder of the art department at Gordon College