The Loss of the Sacred

"The Last Supper" painted on canvas, 16th century, by Leonardo da Vinci and Andrea Solari. (Courtesy of Tongerlo Abbey)

Commentary

Two days after the Olympics opened with a celebration that included a perverse feast that many took as a “drag” rendition of Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper,” the Paris Organizing Committee offered a response to the ensuing controversy.

The original presentation was lewd and provocative—or colorful and wonderfully edgy, depending on one’s feelings. Either way, the glee the actors and entertainers took in their outlandish appearance made it clear that bourgeois convention and old-fashioned decorum were targets of the show. The not-too-subtle mimicry of Leonardo’s masterpiece proved conclusively that in this universe, on the stage and in the minds of the designers, nothing is sacred.

And yet, as Christian leaders decried the Dionysian irreverence of the tableau, Anne Descamps of the Paris Committee assured the public that no disparagement was meant:

“Clearly there was never an intention to show disrespect to any religious group. On the contrary, I think [with] Thomas Jolly, we really did try to celebrate community tolerance. Looking at the result of the polls that we shared, we believe that this ambition was achieved. If people have taken any offense, we are, of course, really, really sorry.”

The main architect of the event, Jolly, echoed Descamps in stating that his intention was never to offend anybody; in fact, he went so far as to insist that “The Last Supper” was not his inspiration at all. Instead, he aimed to honor the pagan idols, the Gods of Olympus who presided over the games in ancient times.

The press cast these statements as forms of apology, and the speakers did assume a conciliatory tone, but notice the focus of their words. The statements didn’t speak of the content of the (possible) offense, only feelings of offense that some people may have suffered. The details of Leonardo’s painting and the holy elements of Christian doctrine represented by it were ignored. The perceived structural similarities between the Olympic tableau and the late-15th-century mural—and what those similarities suggest—didn’t enter the discussion.

To Christians, the abomination was an objective matter: the sacrament of the Eucharist had been desecrated and insulted. To Paris officials, the issue was a subjective one: some religious people got upset. The response that the officials gave was understood by the religious community to just be an acknowledgment of hurt feelings rather than an acknowledgment of the Last Supper’s specialness, both the artwork and the event 2,000 years ago.

For Christians, the Last Supper has major significance. Leonardo chose a specific moment in Christ’s final days for his subject. Jesus sits calmly in the middle, the vertical and horizontal focal point of the composition, while the rest flank him in attitudes of surprise and dismay. He has just uttered a stunning prediction: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me” (John 13:21). The disciples react in various ways. All of them wonder, “Who? Who?” save for Judas who knocks over the salt shaker, startled at the revelation of his plotting. Bread and wine are on the table, now elevated by Jesus into instruments of our salvation as Christians share in his being and sacrifice every time they celebrate the Eucharist. The whole composition is self-contained and symmetrical, a classical indoor space with three windows at the far end letting in a pale light.

For Christians, of course, this is more than an art object. It’s a sacred occasion. Leonardo’s painting recalls the most significant days in human history for them, when the curse of the Fall was lifted and sin and death overcome. It’s real, not a myth; it really happened, and it changed everything. Soon after this meal ended, Jesus would undergo trial and torture, then a mode of execution more gruesome and agonizing than 21st-century individuals can imagine. Christians relive the Passion every Sunday. For an hour a gap opens in the ways of the world; its pains are suspended as the faithful recite the pains of their Lord. To make fun of this hallowed occasion, to turn the reverent ritual of the Eucharist into a coarse drag ceremony, is to affirm that whatever is transcendent, sublime, beautiful, and holy in modern life is under protection no more.

Despite the claim that the drag tableau fostered “community tolerance,” it’s clear that Christians are not welcome in this community unless they give up their belief in the sacred. What kind of society is created, though, once the desecrators finish their work? When all the sacred objects have fallen, when the statues have come down and the hecklers and despoilers no longer have anything pure and pious to heckle and despoil, what will the destroyers do? Without a sacred to profane, what do they offer?

Nothing positive, that is certain, only the will to find other targets, which they will fabricate if they have to. The counterculture needs a sacred tradition, a vulnerable object of its antic play. Take away the sacred and it settles into ever more pitiful rehearsals. A society of desecration is in a terminal condition.

Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.