Review
Art
Culture
5 min read

Pesellino: making the vital visible

Great art doesn’t just delight, it educates. Andrew Davison recalls learning deep wisdom from a child as he reviews the Pesellino exhibition at the National Gallery, London.

Andrew works at the intersection of theology, science and philosophy. He is Canon and Regius Professor of Divinity at Christ Church, Oxford.

A painted altarpiece depicts a crucified Christ surrounded by followes, angels and soldiers.
The Pistoia Santa Trinita Altarpiece, Francesco Pesellino.
The National Gallery

My favourite idol features prominently in National Gallery’s new exhibition of paintings by Francesco Pesellino (1422–1457). I say that by way of provocation: I don’t really think it’s an idol, but that is how it was described to me – by a ten-year-old – in one of the best conversations I’ve ever had as a teacher.  

That was fifteen years ago. I was in the gallery to give a theological tour, as part of a Confirmation class for Westminster Abbey. Half an hour in, we came to Pesellino’s Pistoia Altarpiece. It’s a glorious painting, but I was unconvinced by what it sets out to do, with its dead Christ within a portrayal of the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The doctrine of the Trinity is about the nature of God, as love and life, and there’s no death there.  

Not that I mean to single out Pesellino for criticism. He isn’t the only painter to represent God that way. Massacio’s version is one of the most significant works of the early Florentine Renaissance, resurrecting linear perspective in painting. Just down the road from the National Gallery, at the Courtauld Institute, there’s a similar painting of the Trinity by Botticelli. They’re all magnificent, I just think that if you’re going to try to depict God, the emphasis should be on life.  

Standing before Pesellino’s painting fifteen years ago, with those misgivings in mind, I asked the dozen or so kids in the Confirmation class what might be wrong with what the painter as trying to do. One child replied instantly: ‘Please Father, it is an idol.’ Dread rose within me. This child was an Arab Christian. Had he, I wondered, grown up in a culture that treated religious art as idolatrous? Had I offended his conscience continuously for the past half hour, with painting after painting? Best to find out. ‘Have the other paintings been idols?’, I asked. ‘No’, he replied. ‘Why not? Why is this one bad?’ His reply came without pause: ‘Because there’s God the Father in it.’ This was getting interesting. ‘So’, I asked, ‘it’s OK to show Jesus, like the other paintings we’ve seen today, but not God the Father?’ ‘Yes’, was his firm opinion. 

These are deep waters, and this was a thoughtful child. To this day, the Orthodox Churches generally forbid depicting of God the Father in icons. Then came one of the most glorious moments of my life as a teacher. ‘Why’s that?’, I asked. ‘Why can we paint Jesus, but not the Father?’ The boy stood silent for some moments. ‘Because’, he said, the cogs of his mind clearly turning, ‘because… because God has made an image of himself in Jesus… You could see Jesus… so you can paint him.’ This was no pre-packaged answer. He was not recycling anything he’d been told before. He was recapitulating the arguments of the Seventh Ecumenical Council (at Nicaea, in AD 787) in real time.  

The eight century was a turbulent time when it comes to religious images. They were supressed in the Byzantine Empire from around AD 730, with a firm condemnation in AD 754. Twenty-three years later, at Nicaea, the church reversed the ban. The decisive argument was formulated by St John of Damascus (AD 675 or 676 – 749): ‘When the Invisible One becomes visible to flesh, you may then draw a likeness of His form.’ It’s the same position as our young theologian in the National Gallery had got to on his own.  

In this way, Christian art rest on Christmas: on the Incarnation, on God’s coming-into-the-flesh. Heir to the Judaic prohibition of ‘graven images’ Christianity – or most of it – made its peace with depicting holy things, and art in churches, because of Christmas, where we see ‘God made visible’ in Jesus. 

In the mystery of the Word made flesh 

the light of your glory has shone anew upon our minds 

that seeing here God made visible,  

we may be caught up in love for God whom we cannot see. 

Those are words from the central acclamation of Christmas (the Eucharistic preface) at Midnight Mass (and at Holy Communion for the rest of Christmastide). ‘Seeing here God made visible’. 

The events of Christmas form one of the two poles of Christian art. Some delightful examples feature in the Pesellino exhibition: a virgin and child and an Annunciation. The other supremely worthy subject for Christian art is the crucifixion and all that surrounds it. As I have noted, in the current exhibition the crucifixion features in his Trinity altarpiece. God’s humanity is most clearly witnessed at the beginning of Christ’s life, and at the end.  

 In the intervening years, I have mellowed towards Pesellino’s painting, and that way of depicting something about God. Painting the eternal reality of God is impossible, but in Jesus we see what we need to see. There is no death in God, but the crucifixion is what God’s life looks like when it is made flesh in a world full of evil. The crucifixion shows God’s embrace of human life to the furthest extremes of suffering and degradation. It shows the life of God overcoming death. We can hold onto what the crucifixion offers in a painting like this one, while remembering that the Resurrection underlines the priority of God’s life over death. One painting can’t say everything.  

Those fifteen years ago, I was aware that I’d been in a remarkable exchange, one that I would not forget. As I found across my time as a curate, children ask the best theological questions. That might be reason to go to see the Pesellino exhibition with a child. Alongside the paintings I have mentioned already, there are also two gloriously child-friendly panels, each showing multiple events from the life of King David. They offer a sort of fifteenth century comic strip, except that the events are fused into one long scene. Pesellino was a master at painting animals. Magnifying glasses are provided to help you search them out. 

 

Pesellino: A Renaissance Master Revealed, The National Gallery, London, until 19 March. 

Explainer
Biology
Culture
Ethics
9 min read

Ethics needs to catch-up with genetic innovation

Are we morally obliged to genetically edit?

John is Professor Emeritus of Cell and Molecular Biology at the University of Exeter.

An artistic visualisation of a DNA strand growing flowers from it.
Artist Nidia Dias visualises how AI could assist genomic studies.
Google Deepmind via Unsplash.

It makes me feel very old when I realise that Louise Brown, the first baby to be born via in vitro fertilisation (IVF), will be 47 years old on July 25th this year. Since her birth in 1978, over 10 million IVF-conceived babies have been born worldwide, of whom about 400,000 have been in the UK. Over that period, success rates have increased such that in some clinics, about 50 per cent of IVF cycles lead to a live birth. At the same time, there have also been significant advances in genetics, genomics and stem cell biology all of which, in relation to human embryos, raise interesting and sometimes challenging ethical issues. 

I start with a question: what is the ‘moral status’ of the early human embryo? Whether the embryo arises by normal fertilisation after sexual intercourse or by IVF, there is a phase of a few days during which the embryo is undergoing the earliest stages of development but has not yet implanted into the wall of the uterus; the prospective mother is not yet pregnant. In UK law, based on the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act (1990), these early embryos are not regarded as human persons but nevertheless should be treated with some respect. Nevertheless, there are some who oppose this view and believe that from the ‘moment of conception’ (there actually isn’t such a thing – fertilisation takes several hours) embryos should be treated as persons. In ‘conventional’ IVF this debate is especially relevant to the spare embryos that are generated during each IVF cycle and which are stored, deep-frozen, in increasing numbers for possible use in the future.  

A further dimension was added to this area of debate when it became possible to test IVF embryos for the presence of genetic mutations that cause disease. This process is called pre-implantation genetic diagnosis and enables prospective parents who are at known risk of passing on a deleterious mutation to avoid having a child who possesses that mutation. But what about the embryos that are rejected? They are usually discarded or destroyed but some are used in research. However, those who hold a very conservative view of the status of the early embryo will ask what right we have to discard/destroy an embryo because it has the ‘wrong genes’. And even for the many who hold a less conservative view, there are still several questions which remain, including ‘which genetic variants we should be allowed to select against?; should we allow positive selection for genes known to promote health in some way?’; should we allow selection for non-therapeutic reasons, for example, sporting prowess?’ These questions will not go away and there are already indications that non-therapeutic selection is being offered in a small number of countries. 

Genetic modification 

This leads us on to think about altering human genes. Initially, the issue was genetic modification (GM) which in general involves adding genes. GM techniques have been used very successfully in curing several conditions, including congenital severe immune deficiency and as part of treatment programmes for certain very difficult childhood cancers. One key feature of these examples is that the genetic change is not passed on to the next generation – it just involves the body of someone who has already been born. Thus, we call them somatic genetic changes (from the Greek, sōmatikos, meaning ‘of the body’).  

Genetic modification which is passed on to the next generation is called germline GM which means that the genetic change must get into the ‘germ cells’, i.e., the sperm or egg. Currently, the only feasible way of doing this is to carry out the genetic modification on the very early embryo. At present however, with just one very specific exception, GM of human embryos is forbidden in all the countries where it would be possible to do it. There is firstly the question of deciding whether it is right to change the genetic makeup of a future human being in such a way that the change is passed to succeeding generations. Secondly, there are concerns about the long-term safety of the procedure. Although it would involve adding specific genes with known effects, the complexity of genetic regulation and gene interactions during human development means that scientist are concerned about the risks of unforeseen effects. And thirdly, germline GM emphasises dramatically the possibility of using GM for enhancement rather than for medical reasons.  

Genome editing 

This leads us to think about genome editing. In 2011, it was shown that a bacterial system which edits the genomes of invading viruses could also work in other organisms This opened up a large array of applications in research, agriculture and medicine. However, the ethical issues raised by genome editing are, in essence, the same as raised by GM and so there is still a universal prohibition of using the technique with human embryos: germline genome editing is forbidden. Despite this, a Chinese medical scientist, He Jiankui, announced in 2018 that he had edited the genomes of several embryos, making them resistant to HIV; two babies with edited genomes had already been born while several more were on the way. The announcement caused outrage across the world, including in China itself. He Jiankui was removed from his job and then, after a trial, was imprisoned for three years; his two colleagues who collaborated in this work received shorter sentences. 

At present the universal prohibition of human germline genome editing remains in place. However, the discussion has been re-opened in a paper by an Anglo-Australian group.  They suggest that we need to develop heritable (i.e. germline) polygenic genome editing in order to reduce significantly an individual's risk of developing degenerative diseases. These includecoronary artery disease, Alzheimer’s disease, major depressive disorder, diabetes and schizophrenia. I note in passing that one of the authors is Julian Savulescu at Oxford who is already well-known for his view that parents who are able to do so, are ‘morally obliged’ to seek to have genetically enhanced children, whether by PGD, GM or genome editing. The use of polygenic editing, which would, in all likelihood, be available only to the (wealthy) few, fits in well with his overall ethical position. Needless to say, the paper, published in the prestigious journal Nature, attracted a lot of attention in the world of medical genetics. It was not however, universally welcomed – far from it. Another international group of medical scientists and ethicists has stated that ‘Human embryo editing against disease is unsafe and unproven …’ and even go as far as to suggest that the technology is ‘… going to be taken up by people who are pushing a eugenics agenda …’ remain very pertinent. 

Harder still and harder 

I have no doubt that amongst different reader there will be a range of opinions about the topics discussed so far. For anyone who is Christian (or indeed an adherent of almost any religious faith), one of the difficulties is that modern science, technology and medicine have thrown up ethical questions that could not have even been dreamed of by the writers of the Bible (or of other religious texts). We just have to use our wisdom, knowledge and general moral compass (and for some, prayer) to try to reach a decision. And if what I have already written makes that difficult, some recent developments multiply that difficulty still more.  

In the early years of this century, scientists developed methods of transforming a range of human cells into ‘pluripotent’ stem cells, i.e., cells capable of growing into a wide range of cell types. It also became possible to get both induced stem cells and natural stem cells to develop into functional differentiated cells corresponding to specific body tissues. This has huge potential for repairing damaged organs. However, other applications are potentially much more controversial. In 2023, Cambridge scientists reported that they had used stem cells to create synthetic mouse embryos which progressed at least as far as brain and heart formation within the normal pattern of mouse embryo development. 

At about the same time, the Cambridge group used individual human embryonic stem cells (from the blastocyst stage of embryonic development), to ‘grow’ early human embryos in the lab. There is no intention to use these embryos to start a pregnancy – indeed, it would be illegal to do so – but instead to study a period of embryo development which is not permitted with ‘real’ human embryos (research must not continue past 14 days of development). But how should we regard synthetic embryos? What is their moral status? For those who hold a conservative view of the normal human embryo (see earlier), should we regard these synthetic embryos as persons? Neither does the law help us. The legal frameworks covering in vitro fertilisation and early embryos (Human Fertilisation and Embryology Acts, 1990, 2008) do not cover artificial embryos – they were unknown at the times the legislation was drawn up. Indeed, synthetic embryos/embryo models are, in law, not actually embryos, however much they look like/behave like early embryos. Earlier this month, the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA) discussed these developments with a view to recommending new legislation, but this will not dispel an unease felt by some people, including the science correspondent of The Daily Telegraph, who wrote that this research is irresponsible.  

But there is more. In addition to synthetic embryos, the HFEA also discussed, the possible use of gametes – eggs and sperm – grown from somatic stem cells (e.g., from skin) in the lab. Some authors have suggested that the production of gametes in vitro is the ‘Holy Grail’ of fertility research. I am not so sure about that but it is clear that a lot of effort is going into this research. Success so far is limited to the birth of several baby mice, ‘conceived’ via lab-grown eggs and normal sperm. Nevertheless, it is predicted that lab-grown human eggs and sperm will be available within a decade. Indeed, several clinicians have suggested that these ‘IVGs’ (in vitro gametes) seem destined to become “a routine part of clinical practice”.  

The lab-grown gametes would be used in otherwise normal IVF procedures, the only novelty being the ‘history’ of the eggs and/or sperm. Clinicians have suggested that this could help couples in which one or both were unable to produce the relevant gamete, but who still wanted to have children. In this application, the use of IVGs poses no new ethical questions although we may be concerned about the possibility of the gametes carrying new genetic mutations. However, some of the more wide-ranging scenarios do at the least make us to stop and think. For example, it would be possible for a same-sex couple to have a child with both of them being a genetic parent (obviously for males, this would also involve a surrogate mother). More extremely, a person could have a child of which he or she was actually, in strictly genetic terms, both the ‘father’ and the ‘mother’. What are we to make of this? Where are our limits?  

Dr Christopher Wild, former director of International Agency for Research on Cancer, explores in depth many of the developments and issue I outlined above. His article on why a theology of embryos is needed, is clear, well-written, helpful and thought-provoking. 

 

This article is based on a longer blog post with full footnotes.  

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