Mary Magdalene in the Light of Georges de La Tour
The French artist Georges de La Tour painted at least five portraits of Mary Magdalene, a sizable number considering there are only 35 known paintings in his oeuvre. Since the Gothic period, Mary Magdalene has captured the imaginations of artists, and it’s no wonder why.
In the gospels, Luke introduces her as “the woman who was healed of seven demons” (Luke 8:2). At one point, she interrupts a dinner where Jesus is present, weeps at his feet, and anoints them with oil. Jesus responds to her gesture by telling the other guests, “Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little.” (Luke 7:36-50) After this, Mary Magdalen follows Jesus, even to the Cross, and anoints him for burial. She is the first to see Jesus after the Resurrection and is sent to report his Rising to the other apostles. For this, she’s known as “The Apostle to the Apostles.”
For Baroque artists, Mary Magdalene was the perfect counter-example to Protestants who doubted man’s ability to grow in holiness1. Reacting to the Protestant pessimism, Counter-Reformation painters aimed to show the inner movements of the spiritual life by depicting them in art. For these artists, Mary Magdalene was the exemplar convert and penitent. Though she is undoubtedly one of the greatest saints, her past and pleas for forgiveness make her eminently relatable.
Although Georges de la Tour retains some Baroque influence—especially in his Caravaggesque use of light and shadows—he leaves behind the Baroque penchant for sumptuous fabric and dramatic gestures.
Art Historian Anthony Blunt explains:
The forms are generalized to their greatest simplicity and all violence, all movement even, are eliminated, so that the picture takes on the quality of stillness and silence rarely to be found in the visual arts. (Art and Architecture in France 1500-1700, p. 264-5)
La Tour pares down his portraits to create a contemplative intimacy. Instead of bursting forth into our space like many Baroque paintings do, this painting gently invites us into the life of Mary Magdalene. In some ways, this makes the quiet moment all the more dramatic because we are not distracted by any extraneous flourishes.
Here, Mary’s face is partly hidden, so we are directed to look not at her but with her at the oil lamp that lights the scene. In doing so, we are invited to reflect on our own lives by the light of the Holy Spirit’s Eternal Flame.
La Tour often lit night scenes with one candle, symbolizing the light of Christ and the fragility of life—a candle can be so quickly snuffed. This method gave his paintings an intimate glow and quietude which also allowed him to play with light in fascinating ways.
In his paintings of Mary Magdalene, he reminds us that conversion is often a quiet thing worked out in prayer where we must come to terms with our ego, vanities, and sin. These intimate, hidden moments of conversion and penitence are necessary in every Christian life, as we are called again and again to turn to Christ for forgiveness.
Although Mary appears to be alone in this portrait, the presence of the one oil lamp points to the presence of God, “that living flame of love,” as John of the Cross called him.
The flickering of the candle also indicates that there is a spiritual drama that takes place in the painting. The drama, however, is an interior one, which remains shrouded and somewhat mysterious to us.
In The Magdalene with the Smoking Flame, Mary’s shirt hangs over her shoulder, and she wears a bright red skirt. These details allude to the sins of her former life. In this portrait, the jewels of her former life are out of sight, having already been cast aside, as is seen in the portrait below.
In this scene, Mary Magdalene holds a skull, indicating she contemplates her mortality. The skull makes this what is called a “vanitas painting,” a genre of paintings where an artist meditates on the transience of worldly things. La Tour’s light shines most brightly on the forehead of the skull, highlighting this aspect of the work.
Mary’s hand gently rests on the skull, pointing to an acceptance of her mortality, which she ponders as she gazes at the flame of the oil lamp. For Mary Magdalene, it seems contemplating her own death in light of the Cross brings her peace.
Mary’s pensive state, however, still has an element of melancholy. Although she appears to have already embraced the light of Christ, she may have some trouble untangling her former life. Her conversion is not the end but rather the beginning of her spiritual drama.
A cross and a flagellant whip sit directly next to the oil lamp she gazes at. Perhaps here, she meditates on the cost of her conversion. Though she may be at peace, she knows the journey forward will not be easy. The stack of books indicates she is prepared, armed with the Gospels, the “Good News.”
The drama of our own spiritual transformation continues after conversion. Like Mary Magdalene, we must constantly return to God in prayer, keeping our eyes fixed on the light. “In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it" (John 1:4-5).
Yale Professor Carlos Eire explains in They Flew: “Protestants shared in a common rejection of the three basic steps of the mystical quest: purgation, illumination, and union. These hallowed steps and all other enumerations of them had been the bedrock of the mystical tradition of the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches since the second century.…The truth, as Protestants saw it, was that no one can truly rise above this world (figuratively and literally) or become a different kind of human being suffused with supernatural gifts. So, in one fell swoop, by rejecting what had been the ultimate claims of Christian mysticism, Protestants rejected all this intimate commingling with the divine and supernatural... Such a crossing of boundaries was impossible, argued Calvin, for the human soul "is not only burdened with vices, but is utterly devoid of all good." Protestants sometimes used the word "saint" to refer to the elect of God, but they had no saints in the Catholic sense; that is, they denied that anyone could ever reach moral and spiritual perfection in this life, embody supernatural phenomena, work miracles, or intercede for the living in the next life from their perch in heaven.”
The mysterious spiritual drama of Mary Magdalen—I have never thought of it that way—
This was very nice, thank you. And just in time for her feast day yesterday. One of my daughters has been attending Magdalen College, a wonderful little great books college in New Hampshire that has unfortunately just had to close. I shared this with her. (I also am pretty sure I saw that painting in LACMA about a decade ago, when I spent a semester on leave outside of LA. It's pretty striking and sticks in one's memory.)