The Binding of Isaac

The combined majesty and awe of Chartres Cathedral (constructed during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries) includes a seemingly endless array of images, challenging both the eye and the spirit. The sumptuous so-called Royal (west) Portal is the most common entry for both worshippers and sightseers, making it easy to miss the central portal at the north entrance.

There, a group of five Old Testament figures occupies the east side of the central portal. Unlike most of the narrowly accentuated jamb figures at Chartres, these personages form a special ensemble: a highly selective survey of characters in the Hebrew Bible. They appear to have a relationship to one another. That is in sharp contrast to most of the other jamb figures at the three major Chartres portals, where an array of biblical figures seem to ignore each other.

The personages depicted are (left to right) Melchizedek, Abraham, Moses, Samuel, and King David. Of these, the most arresting figure is that of Abraham, his left hand holding a knife while his right hand cradles the head of a young lad: his son, Isaac, whose feet are bound with rope. Both gaze upward toward their right, while standing on a clearly delineated ram. This is a reference to the story often called the Sacrifice of Isaac, as described in Genesis 22:1–19.

Abraham may be looking up listening to God or the angel who called to stop him. But he may also be looking at the priest, Melchizedek (‘righteous king’ in Hebrew) beside him, who had blessed Abram (Genesis 14:18–20) before God named him Abraham (Genesis 17:5). Moses is the central figure, gazing to the distance and holding a tablet of the Law. Next comes the priest, Samuel, holding a lamb and knife (1 Samuel 7:9), and he faces King David, whom he had anointed (1 Samuel 16:12–13).

This extraordinary ensemble can be read in a variety of ways. The centrality of Moses-the-lawgiver almost suggests a Jewish interpretation, since the Law (Torah) forms the centerpiece of Jewish liturgy. But reading the figures from left to right there’s also another kind of hierarchical progression from an early priestly and tribal people to one that accepts the concept of divinely-sanctioned royalty. Thus, David is both a genealogical and royal ancestor of Christ-the-King.

In 1401, a competition was held to design a new set of doors for the Florence Baptistry. It takes more than a practised eye to figure out the winner.

Each of the seven competing artists was required to depict the Sacrifice of Isaac story (Genesis 22:1–13), within the limits of a relatively small quatrefoil form, to be cast in bronze, as part of a series of similar forms illustrating other Biblical narratives. Of the seven entries, only two competition models survive. Each is extraordinary, so determining the winner must have been akin to a horserace photo-finish.

As with any narrative, a visual presentation presumably starts with the essential elements that must be shown. In this case, it would include Abraham, Isaac, an angel, a ram, a couple of servants, a donkey, and possibly an altar and knife. Although each of the two competition models includes virtually the same elements, Lorenzo Ghiberti (1378–1455) was the winner, beating Filippo Brunelleschi (1377–1446).

Whereas Brunelleschi placed the primary actors assertively front and centre, with Isaac appearing compliant and suffering as he faces at his father’s hand, Ghiberti complicated the drama. In his treatment, Abraham is just a little off-centre, with a defiant Isaac even farther to the right. Here he is no child, but a maturing adolescent. He had earlier challenged his father about the whereabouts of the sacrificial lamb (Genesis 22:7). He is not about to surrender willingly.

And whereas Brunelleschi gave centre stage to the donkey (a kind of bit player in the account), Ghiberti highlighted the two servants. It is as if they could be Isaac’s buddies (they are, like him [v.12], ‘lads’ [v.3]). This possible relationship adds further psychological intensity to the scene.

At the same time their presence is a formal device. They are a visual counterweight to Isaac at the bottom of the scene just as the angel and the ram—each critical to Isaac’s salvation—are counterweights to each other at its top.

Ghiberti has deftly created a fully-balanced visual composition within the severe constraints of the competition, while simultaneously offering us a dramatic moment of confrontation between father and son. It is rare to find Isaac—generally a compliant, perhaps even less-than-admirable fellow within the biblical narrative—depicted as a young man of power. Might this reflect his Christian reception as a type of Christ, whose victimhood is part of his victory?

Michelangelo referred to the ten panels of Lorenzo Ghiberti’s east (primary) doors of the Florence Baptistry as the ‘Gates of Paradise’ and they have been known as such ever since. Created over several decades (1425–52) they present approximately forty different scenes from the Hebrew Bible. The panel depicting the Abraham story is especially arresting, combining parts of both Genesis 18 and 22.

The panel is organized in somewhat discrete quadrants, an intensely formal organization not uncommon in Renaissance art. At the lower left, Abraham gratefully kneels before three winged figures (angels?; the Hebrew simply refers to them as men [Genesis 18:2]) and there’s a basket, presumably for the bread Abraham will offer his guests (Genesis 18:5–6), in front of him. At the lower right, the two young men Abraham took along with him (Hebrew: shene ne’arav—two lads [Genesis 22:3–5]) appear to be chatting and we see the rear of the donkey, also part of the entourage (also Genesis 22:3–5).

The upper two quadrants are especially resonant, since the left one consists primarily of cypress trees (macrocarpa, generally thought of as the ‘Monterey cypress’ but also known to grow in Italy). The tree on the right forms a clear vertical line that rearticulates the sectional organization of the panel. Ghiberti then locates the serious action—arguably the primary element of this narrative—in the right quadrant. Such placement might feel anticlimactic were it not for the dramatic three-dimensional outcropping of rocks underpinning the tableau. Because Abraham, Isaac, and the angel are modelled in less depth than the other figures—creating the impression of distance—we feel that this important event is happening elsewhere and ‘on high’, which adds to its drama.

Whereas in the text (Genesis 22:11–12) the angel calls out to Abraham, Ghiberti has the angel reaching out to grab Abraham’s wrist, preventing the sacrificial knife from slaying a cowering Isaac, who is restrained by his father’s left hand. This kind of artistic license asserts both the artist’s and God’s power. Isaac is not saved by his father but via a direct physical intervention by God’s messenger. This is a clear assertion about the source of Christian salvation, which cannot be granted by man.