Obscenity or incarnation? Ostentatio Genitalium and the Limits of Sacred Embodiment

Delivered from sin and shame, the freedom of Christ’s sexual member bespeaks that aboriginal innocence which in Adam was lost.

~Leo Steinberg

Fig. 1: Risen Christ, 1515 by Michelangelo (first version)

Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ

Michelangelo’s sculpture The Risen Christ, through the whiteness of hard marble, precisely renders the anatomical details of the resurrected Messiah’s body.

Standing in a classical contrapposto pose, Christ rests one hand - loosely grasping a coiled rope scroll - against a cross made of simple, square-sectioned wooden beams. With the other hand, he presses a rolled-up piece of fabric against his hip, which remains uncovered by any perizoma.

The youthful male body appears as a near-idealized echo of the sculptor’s earlier representations of antique gods: it radiates vitality, strength, energy, and at the same time a sense of power within peacefulness.

His torso and limbs are muscular and free from any visible signs of torment or physical suffering; there are no wounds into which the doubting Thomas might slip his fingers.

We are presented with a figure which, although bearing the name of the Savior, has little in common with the traditionally understood image of Christ: its youthful vigor spreads an inkling of celebration for triumph over death, rather than dwell on death and suffering itself.

Michelangelo completed the sculpture in two versions. The first was abandoned after the artist discovered a minor flaw: a dark vein in the marble running across Christ’s cheek - an imperfection deemed unworthy of a body meant to embody divine perfection.

The second version, more dynamic and relaxed in its posture, was later supplemented with a bronze loincloth, added years after its completion.

Fig. 2 Risen Christ, 1519-21 by Michelangelo (second version, with perizoma)

Subtle Interpretive Challenges

The divine humanity rendered by Michelangelo is striking in its simplicity and courage. It is one of the very few known depictions of the adult, fully nude Christ, and within Michelangelo’s own oeuvre, the sculpture remains somewhat peripheral, regarded more as a historical curiosity than a central masterpiece.

We are, by contrast, much more familiar with the image of the naked infant Jesus, resting on the lap of a tender, watchful Madonna. The nudity of a child appears more culturally acceptable - softer, more innocent - and does not tend to evoke the same discomfort, hesitation, or vulnerability in the viewer as the exposed body of an adult man.

The infant Christ is often shown standing or reclining, supported by his mother’s gentle hand. The body of a newborn seems to be devoid of any shade of eroticism or sexuality. Artists seem to have been aware of this threshold, frequently turning to scenes from Christ’s early life to affirm his full humanity - unburdened by the burning shame with which, according to Genesis, the first parents in Eden veiled themselves and all of their descendants.

Yet, even within these seemingly innocent depictions, some compositions - such as Hans Baldung’s The Holy Family - pose subtle interpretive challenges. One might quietly wonder about the placement of certain gestures, or the intentions behind them: why did the artist choose to place the gomadas of a small child against the hand of his grandmother? And this question, though obvious and compelling, often remains unspoken, hovering at the edges of visual interpretation.

Fig. 3 The Holy Family, 1511 by Hans Baldung

Fig. 4 Madonna With Child, ca.1495 by Bartolommeo di Giovanni

Fig. 5 Man of Sorrows, 1510-1532 by Ludwig Krug

Hallmarks Of an Oxymoron

In today’s mainstream discourse, the sexuality of Christ often appears as just a meaningless cluster of words, bearing the hallmarks of an oxymoron, incorrect or even blasphemous.

And yet, many artists who illustrated scenes from the New Testament seemed to understand intuitively that the Messiah, in assuming human form, necessarily took on everything that comes with having a material, embodied existence.

Through a visual language of suggestion, these artists speak to us across centuries - unapologetically, and without regard for our discomfort.

Contemporary viewers, however, persistently avert their gaze from the compositional center, where Christ's crotch is notoriously located - completely naked or covered with fabric that takes the shape of what lies underneath.

Continue reading in Premium and discover the complete (very profound) article including:

• Is “The Sexuality of Christ” an oxymoron — or a hidden truth buried in plain sight?
• Discover how Renaissance art boldly centered Christ’s body — including his genitals — as a theological statement.
• See how visual cues like Ostentatio Genitalium rival the sacred wounds in power and meaning.
• Explore bizarre relics like Christ’s preserved foreskin and what they say about embodied faith.
• Learn how centuries of censorship — fig leaves and all — have castrated sacred art.
• Revisit Leo Steinberg’s controversial yet compelling analysis of Christ’s masculinity in sacred imagery.
• What does it mean that Christ's erect member is rendered as a symbol of victory over death?
• Is the Eucharist purely spiritual — or does it contain erotic undercurrents of contact with the Divine?
• From Piss Christ to Bernini’s Saint Teresa: how contemporary art confronts sanitized faith.
• What if shame and sanctity aren’t opposites — but mirror reflections in the sacred body?

Click HERE for an article on the blasphemy in art throughout history

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