War in Heaven

This is pane 7g of York Minster’s East Window, the largest expanse of Gothic stained glass in the United Kingdom. Designed by John Thornton of Coventry between 1405–08, the window consists of 311 panes, depicting (from top to bottom) God the Father and the heavenly company, followed by scenes from Genesis, and then 81 panes dedicated to Revelation. Surrounded by this superabundance of beginning and end-time imagery, pane 7g represents Revelation 12’s fight between the dragon and the heavenly angels. 

Thornton’s three-on-one depiction shares many similarities with images from illuminated Apocalypse cycles (e.g. the Douce c.1260–65; Getty c.1255–60; and Queen Mary c.1400–25). Yet this portrayal is distinct. Unlike these earlier manuscripts, which represent the pierced dragon and the deadly precision of angelic lance work, Thornton represents a different moment: one where the figures are still mid-battle. The finely painted expressions on the angels’ faces show their tumultuous task and reveal that for them the outcome is still unknown. The dragon is below, his blue head biting at the lance extended towards him, while his brown body shows no wounds to indicate that his defeat is near. In this composition, the tense and ongoing battle has no clear outcome.

However, it is only one part of a vast celestialscape that illuminates York Minster’s worship space. Embedded in this sea of decorated glass, this one fight is caught up in a fusion of eternal narratives, and Revelation 12’s war scene is contextualized amongst other heavenly scenes.

As this scene soars above, light streaming through, the ways of the divine realm seem out of our grasp, and the ultimate outcome may not be clear when we only glimpse one small span. This pane holds us in the grip of turmoil—but other events swirl around it, setting such struggles amongst something bigger, something stranger: the heavenly realm breaking out into the earthly.

References

Brown, Sarah. 2014. Apocalypse: The Great East Window of York Minster (London: Third Millennium)

De Winter, Patrick M. 1983. ‘Visions of the Apocalypse in Medieval England and France’, The Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art, 70.10: 396–417

The chaos of war is transformed into quiet contemplation in this carving of Michael locked in one-to-one combat with Satan. This paradigmatic encounter is often referred to as ‘The Vanquishing of Satan’. It appears in a myriad of forms in the history of art, with Michael’s enemy being represented as a dragon, demon, and man, as the theology surrounding Satan morphs.

This intricate fifteenth-century poplar carving combines Hispanic and Flemish artistic styles to create a multifaceted sculpture, and although its origin and purpose are unknown, its ‘intimate scale’ (just over half a metre high) suggests devotional purposes, perhaps in a private chapel (Boucher 2006: 27). What we do know is that it would have originally bedazzled: polychromed and bejewelled, making radiant the leader of the heavenly army. This adorning, combined with the minute carved detail of the figure, such as the fine execution of the chain mail and the lion-faced shield, would have likely enticed the devotee into further contemplation of this highly individualized battle.

Seeing it today, stripped of the original celestial splendour and embodying post-Reformation sensibilities, we can only imagine what it would have been like to gaze on the resplendent original. Yet, this unadorned version invites us to realize that the carving itself is a ‘stripped down’ version of the battle recounted in Revelation 12: gone are the heavenly setting, the outbreak of war, and the accompanying armies. Instead, we are witness to an eerily serene combat of opponents locked in one-to-one battle.

Therefore, while the fullness of this sculpture’s original splendour might seem far away, its stripped-down form can still draw us into contemplation. Indeed, in its twenty-first-century guise it can become an encounter with a less ‘angelic’ and more manifestly ‘human’ Michael; a figure stripped of his heavenly vanguard and bedazzling radiance, and subject to the ravages of time. Yet, in spite of this, five-hundred years after its creation, they are still locked in combat. And he still fights on.

References

Boucher, Bruce. 2006. ‘“War in Heaven”: Saint Michael and the Devil’, Art Institute of Chicago Museum Studies, 32.2: 24–31, 90–91

Viewer, beware! War in heaven, Michael’s leading role, the dragon’s counteroffensive and subsequent defeat, and his army’s casting out and down are all packed into Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Fall of the Rebel Angels (1562). And this is not all. As well as the narrative swelling, the panel heaves with a vast angelic and demonic horde. In this arresting portrayal, the rebel angels descend from heaven (indicated by the circular empyrean at the top), transforming into an array of hybrid creatures and converging into a vast writhing bulk in the lower section of the painting. It is a dizzying viewing experience. 

Yet a closer examination of this seething mass reveals the body of the dragon traversing the fray. Belly up, his tail runs from the empyrean down to his seven horned and crowned heads which can be seen staring into the abyss in the bottom right. The dragon’s body allows us to trace the path of his descent, and his colossal cohort swarms around his centralized form. Michael is also centred, represented as a slender figure clad in gold armour and trampling over this heaving bestial bulk. His angelic cohort populates the top register of the painting, driving down this flesh-fin-feather frenzy.

The effect is clear: as angels slash at lurid demons who gnaw on themselves and others (middle right, bottom left) and an egg-ridden bird-fish bursts open (bottom right), this bestial bulk elicits a sense of disgust. Yet, while we may baulk at these sights, the bizarre forms of the fallen angels are still undeniably beguiling when rendered in such detail and diversity. 

Therefore, viewer, beware! This heady heap of hybridity provokes both disgust and desire, doing exactly what such a highly affective spectacle should: it entices us to stare a little more closely, for a little longer; to revel in revulsion.