Salt and Light

Painted by Pieter Claesz in a subdued chromatic palette, Still Life with a Salt (c.1640–45) shows ‘breakfast’ set on a white tablecloth at the end of a narrow table. In this deceptively simple composition, reflections and plays of light and shade skilfully convey depth of field. Just a few items are assembled, seemingly casually arranged: a large rummer, filled with beer and studded with prunts to provide a firm grip; a small bread loaf and some salmon, garnished with parsley, on pewter plates; an empty plate in the background; a bejewelled knife; some hazelnuts; and a tall, hexagonal pewter cellar.

The cellar, heaped with salt, is monumental, and commands our attention. It declares the huge economic importance of salt in the prosperity of the Dutch Republic: salt was needed in great quantities for preserving herrings at sea, curing meat and fish, and for cheese- and butter-making. Having exhausted local resources, the quest expanded to other areas. The semi-industrial exploitation of the salt flats of the Cape Verde Islands (Cabo Verde) and Caribbean saw bloody wars fought over them against Spain, which, with the destruction of nature and abuses of slavery in the salt-works, give us the true cost of such a commodity.

Pieter Claesz’s painting is nowadays read by many people not so much as an exquisite proclamation of the wealth of the Dutch Golden Age, but as sober reminder of the terrible evils of greed and slavery.

However, redemption is possible: the cup and bread may allude to the Eucharist, while the bread and the fish remind us of another breakfast, prepared by Jesus by the Sea of Tiberias (John 21:9). In this key, we see a joyful celebration of the beauty of light as captured by the painter, and are invited to imagine salt as it should be, when not commodified for commercial gain: the glistening free gift of God.

St Cuthbert (634–87 CE) is still one of the most revered Anglo-Saxon saints, particularly in the North of England, where his tomb in Durham Cathedral continues to attract thousands of visitors a year. He is renowned for his kindness, humility, cheerfulness, and patience, his visions, his interactions with angels, and his miracles, often involving animals.

As Prior at Lindisfarne, he established a strict monastic life, and ministered to the scattered local communities. After several years of busy pastoral work, he retired as a hermit to the island of Inner Farne. His contemplative life ended when he was reluctantly made Bishop in 685, but he dedicated himself tirelessly to his duties. He returned to Inner Farne a few months before his death.

Three biographies of Cuthbert were written: one (c.700) by an anonymous Lindisfarne monk, and two by the Venerable Bede: the Vita Metrica (c.705), and the Prose Life (c.721), preserved in several copies. Amongst them, the British Library Yates Thompson MS 26 (from the end of the twelfth century), is beautifully illuminated with salient episodes of St Cuthbert's life; folio 1v, seen here, is from the Preface.

We are greeted by a luminous icon-like depiction: Cuthbert, whose name means ‘bright-mannered’, in episcopal garb, wearing a blue chasuble with a rich collar over a green dalmatic with embroidered bands. The fringed ends of his stole are visible, and the white long-sleeved alb. On his head he wears a mitre, and a maniple on his right arm; his left hand holds a crozier.

The small figure of a monk kissing Cuthbert’s feet is understood to be Bede, who greatly revered him. In both biographies, through metaphors of illumination and lamp imagery, Bede portrayed Cuthbert as a shining example, perfectly uniting the ascetic, prayerful monastic life with the busy, peripatetic pastoral duties of a bishop, spreading God’s love amongst his people, letting ‘his light shine before others’.

For many people in the 21st century, the light of a living flame is enjoyed because of the ambience it creates. But historically, this living light has been a necessity.

In prehistory, people used torches made of resinous wood. The oldest evidence of domestic lamps is from over 4,500 years ago in Ur, Mesopotamia, where they were made of stone or clay—simple utilitarian containers for oil, supporting a wick. Their design evolved, enclosing the fuel reservoir to avoid spillages, and featuring decorative symbolic patterns. Such lamps would have provided the most common source of illumination in Jesus’s time. As metal technology progressed, more impressive and elaborate bronze lamps were developed, appealing to the wealthy in the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine worlds.

The word used for ‘lamp’ in the Greek text of the Gospels (lychnos) denotes a ‘portable lamp’, usually set on a stand, just like the Coptic bronze lamp featured here. The tripod-footed stand is topped by a drip-tray, from which rises the pricket for the lamp. A sturdy lid secures the lamp’s oil reservoir. The nozzle, from which the wick was lit, is quite large. The handle is of double-rod form, with two volutes converging on a central leaf-shape, topped by a cross, a symbolically protective ‘thumb rest’. The volutes feature short leaves, and two tiny birds: a common motif, evoking the dawn chorus heralding the coming of light.

Whilst modest households often had to make do with cheaper, bad-smelling fuels, such as fish oil or tallow, this elegant lamp would have burned bright with fragrant olive oil. It was a commodity widely available across the Mediterranean world, imbued with religious significance and additional positive connotations of peace, friendship, prosperity, hope, and rebirth, all extensively shared amongst many cultures.

References

Buckton, David (ed.). 1994. Byzantium: Treasures of Byzantine Art and Culture (London: British Museum Press)