Christian art became "very tame and saccharine" mostly in response to the Protestant Reformation. The Protestants became disenchanted with, perhaps disaffected by, the art of the churches. This forced the Catholics to reevaluate their use of art, particularly sculpture and images.
The Council of Trent decreed, "All superstition must be removed from invocation of the saints, veneration of relics and use of sacred images; all aiming at base profit must be eliminated; all sensual appeal must be avoided, so that the images are not painted or adorned with seductive charm.... And lastly, bishops should give very great care and attention to ensure that in this matter nothing occurs that is disorderly, ...nothing profane and nothing unseemly, since holiness befits the house of God."
Thus the beginning of kitsch in Christian art. A healthy concern for holiness in art became a paranoia of undomesticated artistic style--a stifling of artistic style.
In the meantime, the Reformers' suspicion of art in general (as idolatry) gave rise to an interesting phenomenon--the secularization of art. Some of the Reformers outright refused art as a valid occupation for Christians at all. Some simply disallowed art in churches. Others allowed art in church as a teaching tool only. They all agreed, however, that veneration of the images (as with the icons) was not to be practiced. This divested art of its sacredness, its holiness, its numinous quality. In addition, many of the Reformers advocated art in private collections (mostly held by the wealthy, such as aristocracy or royalty) and in the secular world in general. Thus we find the beginnings of a division between the private and public as well as the sacred and secular uses of art among Christians in the Protestant Reformation (ca. 1500).
It is at this time that art begins to have a new patronage as well. Because the reformers continued to advocate the arts outside of the religious sphere, the private sphere (again, mostly among the wealthy) began to consume art at a much higher rate. The Church was no longer the patron of the arts She used to be, so the public began patronizing the arts.
This trajectory, of course, continued into the Enlightenment/post-Enlightenment era. During the Enlightenment all things sacred took a huge hit. The rift between the secular and sacred gaped, due to a number of cultural revolutions. The churches (whether Protestant or Catholic) reeled. In the world of art, all innovation came from outside of the churches. Coincidentally, as the end of the nineteenth century approached, art became a religion of sorts--art for art's sake. The museums became temples, artists became gods, art became works idols, and critics became priests. Artists took art seriously because they took Beauty (albeit, sometimes hidden beneath ugliness) seriously. Is it any wonder that more soul was to be found in secular art?
Can we find a bridge between art and religion anymore? What can unite the two worlds? Where do we look for answers? I have to bypass a number of problems on the way to an answer here, and ignore serious questions that could be raised. But there are two distinct connections between art and Christianity--creation and incarnation. In creating, artists participate in the work of God the Creator. I would go so far as to say that the creation of artists attempts to reflect some small ray of what is Beautiful. And when it does this well, art participates in part of the divine nature. (There are any number of qualifications that should be made here, but I spare you the thirty-page essay.)
The incarnation validates particularly religious images. God took on human flesh, the mundane, the worldly by God's own volition. In the Scriptures, Christ is called the image (eikon=icon) of God (2 Cor 4.4; Col 1.15). This transgresses the line between worldly and otherworldly, between immanent and transcendent, and allows for communication between the sacred and the profane or the secular and the sacred. My Munch paper will draw these lines a little more closely. The incarnation is also the validation for the Eucharistic collision of mundane (bread and wine) and divine (body and blood of Christ).
At any rate the experience of the aesthetic is akin to experience of God. As a theologian AND as an artist I am captive to the Infinite void that beckons in Beauty, in Truth, and in the Good. The mysterium tremendum strikes us dumb when we encounter it and enraptures us as it enthralls us. In a great mystery it is only this void, which is not a void, that can offer us any answers. It is the thirst for transcendence that calls both artists and theologians.
Ok, so these have necessarily been very incomplete thoughts, but there they are. JP II wrote a letter to artists in 1999 that reflects the same kind of thinking I have adopted. It's worth checking out.
Anyway, that's the most concise I can make it tonight.
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