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August 31, 2008

A man, a horse and a conversion

By Sister Anne Flanagan, FSSP

Editor’s note: This is the second story in an ongoing series by Sister Flanagan chronicling the life of St. Paul through works of art. With the launching of the Pauline Year for St. Paul’s 2,000th birthday, many works of art depicting the Apostle’s life are coming out of storage.

With the launching of the Pauline Year for St. Paul’s 2,000th birthday, many works of art depicting the Apostle’s life are coming out of storage.

These paintings, mosaics and sculptures rarely present what Paul called “my former life in Judaism.” Artists prefer the drama that begins with the stoning of Stephen. Paul never forgot that he was “a persecutor and a blasphemer and a man of arrogance” who had received mercy. “I persecuted the Church of God” is a comment we find St. Paul mentioning again and again in the Acts of the Apostles and in his own letters.

Then came the light. Saul was dramatically and unexpectedly called to proclaim Jesus as Lord and Messiah, even to the Gentiles. Scholars ask if it’s appropriate to speak of this as a conversion, a word that Paul never uses in reference to his call. Whatever name we give it, Saul’s encounter with the Risen Jesus has been a favorite subject in Christian art.

And for good reason. The story has so many picturesque elements: the bold persecutor (usually wearing armor), the light from heaven, the horse. The biblical story says nothing about a horse, but it is a rare artist who can resist the dramatic possibilities offered by an animal the Bible does speak of as the ultimate war machine.

Caravaggio and Paul

Many artists through the ages have tried their hand at the conversion of St. Paul, including Michaelangelo Merisi — better known as Caravaggio. He used it as the subject of two major paintings.

The first one, from 1600, is a somewhat conventional treatment (to the extent that if anything Caravaggio did was conventional). The 28-year-old artist used his favorite device, lighting, to draw attention to the figure of Saul. Sprawled on the ground, Saul is holding his hands over his face as if to block out a painfully intense light.

In the opposite corner of the painting, Jesus descends from the sky in the arms of an angel, right over the horse’s rump. The image is full of angles and triangles: one triangle is formed by Saul’s forearms and elbows; another is the triangle formed by the standing soldier’s legs, framing the fallen Saul; one in the horse’s bent leg; yet another by the solder’s lance, pointing toward the Lord and almost intersecting with the crossed arms of Jesus and the angel. The viewer’s eye doesn’t know quite where to rest. (Perhaps Caravaggio meant to evoke in us the same sense of confusion Saul experienced at that moment.)

A year later, Caravaggio received a second commission for the same subject. The resulting painting, still in its original place in Rome’s Church of Santa Maria del Popolo, is profoundly different from the first (see image on page).

The only human figures are Saul, splayed on the ground under the horse, and an attendant or groom grasping the bridle. There is no soldier, no angel, no Jesus in the sky.

This second painting has its own tangle of intersecting limbs in the center of the painting, with the horse’s bent front leg directing our eyes to the man on the ground. Something is happening in this painting that is completely absent in the earlier one: Saul, the rider, has let go of the reins. His arms, open in the embrace of faith, form the lower arc of an oval. Caravaggio’s famous light continues circling the horse’s head, trunk and hind leg in a mandorla, the almond-shaped symbol of heaven.

Celebrated conversion

The conversion of St. Paul was recounted three times in the Acts of the Apostles, emphasizing its importance for the church. It is the only conversion (or “call”) of a saint celebrated with its own liturgical feast (Jan. 25). Paul recognized that in him, as an extreme case, the Lord willed to show how great his mercy was, so that others — and even we — might have confidence in surrendering to the Gospel, just as Paul did.

Flanagan, a Daughter of St. Paul, writes from above her community's bookstore on Michigan Avenue. Her published works include religious education programs and books for children. Locally she is a soprano in the choir at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish on Belmont Avenue.