The one very interesting thing I learned while researching Noli me tangere the disease is that one Renaissance cure for it involved macerating tobacco and applying the juice and leaves to the facial lesions. Anne Charlton, writing about "The Medicinal Uses of Tobacco in History" in the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, notes that a page who was suffering from Noli me tangere cured his condition entirely by applying tobacco to it. (As a historical sidenote, that page was a member of Jean Nicot's household. Nicot was the French ambassador to Lisbon. He became such an enthusiast of tobacco's healing properties that people called the plant after him: it was called "the ambassador's herb" or nicotiane.)
Anyhow, that was all very interesting, but while searching for info on Noli me tangere I was reminded of the iconographic tradition associated with the same phrase. This is something I came across during my grad school research but, like many other avenues of interest, I had no time to explore it thoroughly. So here we go.
"Noli me tangere" as many of you probably know, is what Jesus Christ is supposed to have said to Mary Magdalene when she first meets him, post-resurrection, in John 20:11-18. She goes to the tomb to carry out the sombre task of embalming him, only to find that the body is missing. She (quite naturally, I think) breaks down and cries. Angels ask her, "Why do you cry?" A man asks her, "Why do you cry?" She says, "If you have taken him, bring him back." (I figure she imagines the grave has been robbed.) The man says her name. It's Jesus.
He tells her "Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and [to] my God, and your God." (KJV)
It seems to me quite natural that one would want to embrace a loved one who has returned from the grave, especially if they don't resemble a zombie.
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| "Give me some sugar." "No." Nicholas Poussin 1653 |
According to Barbara Baert, writing for Image and Narrative, "No other utterance by Christ has been the subject of as much discussion by the first Church Fathers as Noli me tangere." She notes that, via various complexities of translation, the phrase could mean "do not cling to me," "do not wish to touch me," or "you must let go of me." A massive exegetical (interpretive) tradition sprang up around the meaning of these words, as did an iconographic tradition named after the three words uttered by Christ. These images seem to position Mary Magdalene as desiring contact, and Christ as either repelling her or blessing her.
I find these images a little bit comical at times. At others, I think they seem to address the very profound and human aspects that surround living in this brutal physical existence, transcending it, achieving ascension as Christ did, and what happens to your friends and loved ones after you're gone, and (even more confusing) should you hang around for a while. That has got to be a head trip, you know?
I think the Noli me tangere art tradition also speaks to the fear of woman, the divine feminine, and of the flesh that took root in the Christian church. Mary Magdalene was the most important woman in Christ's discipleship. (And yeah, if you've read The Da Vinci Code, you know all about some of the theories around her.) Apocryphal texts, including Gnostic gospels, note that Mary Magdalene was more beloved of Jesus than any of his other disciples, and jealousy sprang up in them because of her. She was either Yoko Ono or Jesus's right-hand man, depending on who you read and whether you think a woman has potential as a powerful spiritual disciple and teacher or not. (Two guesses as to where I sit on this issue.)
I find the whole idea of a Noli me tangere iconic tradition fascinating. In the huge variety of postures in Noli me tangere art, you can see the artists' struggle to figure out exactly what the relationship was between Jesus and this woman who was both derided and exalted because of her position.
Further iterations:
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| A lot of Noli me tangere artists gave Jesus karate hands Hans Holbein the Younger, 1524 Source |
I find these images a little bit comical at times. At others, I think they seem to address the very profound and human aspects that surround living in this brutal physical existence, transcending it, achieving ascension as Christ did, and what happens to your friends and loved ones after you're gone, and (even more confusing) should you hang around for a while. That has got to be a head trip, you know?
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| Some Noli Christ figures are more standoffish than others Alexander Ivanov 1835 |
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| Note the sign of the horns: heavy metal appropriated it, but it's a traditional warding gesture 1250 AD Source |
I find the whole idea of a Noli me tangere iconic tradition fascinating. In the huge variety of postures in Noli me tangere art, you can see the artists' struggle to figure out exactly what the relationship was between Jesus and this woman who was both derided and exalted because of her position.
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| I've learned to use the two finger gesture to attack points in martial arts... not sure what the intention is here Spanish Noli Me Tangere, 1060-95 |
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| I love that she also has a halo here. Fra Bartolomeo 1506 |
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| Many images show Mary touching her heart centre. Bartholomäus Spranger 1598 |
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| The labyrinth symbolizes a spiritual journey. This is well worth viewing full-sized. Absolutely gorgeous. Lambert Sustris 1515-20 |
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| A rare example of hands-on contact. Beautiful. Alonso Cano 1640 |
