Introduction

Of these holy romances, that of the apostle St. James can alone, by its single extravagance, deserve to be mentioned. From a peaceful fisherman of the lake of Gennesareth, he was transformed into a valorous knight, who charged at the head of the Spanish chivalry in their battles against the Moors.—Edward Gibbon¹

Some years past while flying from Paris to Chicago one beautiful morning, I looked out of the passenger window to gaze upon some of the most spectacular landscape ever beheld during my travels. It was the “Green Spain” of Asturias, the northern Iberian coastline facing the Bay of Biscay. Previously, my mental image of Spain had been strictly one of arid, dry countryside dotted by patches of vineyards, olive groves, and a few scattered, dense urban oases.² The only thing dense about Green Spain, however, was the impenetrable forest canopy shrouding its rugged mountainous terrain. No doubt from the air it mostly looked the same as it did in ancient times, suggestive of its comparatively sparse population: wild, foreboding, and unconquerable, or at the very least, incredibly tough and stubborn. By coincidence, at that time, I was writing about the history of medieval chivalry in France and England.³ It occurred to me that Spain and the Iberian Peninsula have their own venerable traditions in this regard, some of which appear to have originated in the very same region then being flown across. Moreover, a strong case could be made that these Iberian traditions have contributed towards more tangible, permanent results in terms of worldly affairs, than any of their trans-European counterparts. In any event, the experience has stayed with me, and these pages represent one outcome of that strong first impression.

Historians normally apply the term Reconquista to the long period spanning roughly from 711 CE to 1492 in which Christian Spain and Portugal slowly recovered from the Islamic conquest of the early eighth century, gradually reclaiming the Iberian Peninsula while invoking the Roman Catholic faith. Among Anglo-Americans, this tremendous achievement too often represents barely a footnote for the pre–Columbian era in Europe, but to the rest of the world (including countless displaced Muslims and Jews) it was and remains a big deal, the profound significance of which is unlikely to change anytime soon. Near the beginning of the process, however, the famed cult of Saint James the Greater or Santiago Mayor, surnamed Matamoros (“Moor-slayer”), physically centered at Santiago de Compostela in the Galician province of far northwestern Spain, took momentous hold.⁴ The “stupendous metamorphosis” (Edward Gibbon) of Saint James the Greater from obscure Galilean Christian apostle into a symbol of irresistible Roman Catholic militarism helped to inspire medieval Iberian cavaleiros in the reclamation of their homeland.⁵ Today, Christians and non–Christians alike continue to make arduous pilgrimages on foot or otherwise to Santiago de Compostela, for which they are presented with official certificates of completion from the Vatican.

After 1492, this strident and fanatical militarism took on an entirely new dimension, but continued to use Saint James the Greater as its symbolic figurehead. Within the astonishingly short time frame of five decades, two heavily populated continents had been discovered and largely subjugated—not unlike the manner Umayyad invaders had overrun the Iberian Peninsula within a matter of months during the eighth century. Spanish and Portuguese conquest of the New World, by contrast, involved a much larger geographic area of hitherto unknown territory, with far more global and lasting impact on religion, language, and culture. Admittedly, the permanent Islamic influence on Spain and Portugal had been significant and far-reaching as well; indeed, some of this Islamic influence, particularly via art and architecture, carried over into the New World in the immediate wake of Spanish and Portuguese conquistadores.⁶ By comparison to the overt legacy of the Santiago cult, however, the subtle sway of Moorish culture on the New World must be viewed as less pronounced.

Today, longstanding traditions of Saint James the Greater continue to spark imaginations for those engaged in less warlike and more spiritual quests of the heart and mind. Military conquest has, for the most part, been supplanted by personal inward journeys.⁷ This alternative aspect had in fact been present from the outset. Long before the Reconquista concluded, Geoffrey Chaucer, writing in Middle English during the 14th century, informs readers that his eponymous Wife of Bath proudly included Santiago de Compostela among her extensive list of religious pilgrimages (see Chapter 9).⁸ The European Renaissance only seemed to heighten this veneration, producing a magnificent body of visual art by many of its greatest masters. Even after the Reformation had blunted the global authority of Roman Catholicism, writers such as Shakespeare, Cervantes, and Montaigne (among many others) all were making casual literary references to Saint James the Greater as warrior-knight, pilgrim wayfarer, or both. Today, the shrine of Galician Santiago continues to present itself as a physical thread of spiritual continuity over the last 13 centuries, fully justifying its current designation as a UNESCO World Heritage site. It is commonly and accurately observed that the traditional burial site of Saint James the Greater in Spain continues to be the most popular religious destination in Christendom after Rome and the Holy Land.

While the end of the 16th century saw Anglo, French, and Dutch interests effectively block further Spanish-Portuguese expansion into North America, the latter two (by then temporarily combined into a single political entity) had auspiciously begun its close assimilation into Native American societies as well. After this they would only be removed by force and rather infrequently at that. The remaining political question would be to what extent these newly evolved societies would govern themselves autonomously or be ruled remotely by distant powers. The national emergence of the United States during the late 1700s and Latin American national independence movements immediately following in its wake both decisively answered these questions, although political relations within these the two blocs continues to evolve in a complex and unpredictable manner. Curiously, veneration for Saint James the Greater continues to be seen everywhere, even among those whose religious beliefs may be described as marginally Christian at best. One might well argue that, for Latin Americans and their Native American religious converts, a new Reconquista has in fact been progressing all along, a process in which this old cultural heritage—one long predating the Mayflower landing in New England—is now reasserting itself, not only in terms of language, but also within the spheres of religion, politics, history, art, economics, and most other aspects of American daily life.

Another notable aspect of this widespread veneration is the multifaceted role of Saint James the Greater as a prolific patron saint of places and professions, a benevolent intercessor to whom prayers may be fervently addressed. In addition to being the patron saint of Spain, James is closely identified with numerous Latin American nations, as well as cities and other countries far-flung across the globe, not excluding the United States. In terms of professional occupations, the diversity of worship is even more startling. Historically, as one might expect, Saint James the Greater became the patron saint of soldiers and pilgrims both in the Old and New Worlds. Today, he is the official patron of multifarious occupations: veterinarians, tanners, furriers, hat makers, pharmacists, blacksmiths, porters, menial laborers, and equestrians, to name a few. Those suffering from arthritis and rheumatism are directed by church authorities to pray to this specific saint for intercession as well. The obscure roots of these old customs will not be the focus of this study, but occasionally referenced to highlight the ongoing popularity of the saintly icon within the context of our growingly uncertain world.

A surprising amount of devotion to Saint James the Greater comes from non–Roman Catholic sources. In addition to Roman Catholics, the Santiago tradition is honored among Protestants not otherwise typically enamored of iconic devotion, including Lutherans, Methodists, and British or African Anglicans, along with their occasionally dissenting Episcopalian counterparts. Eastern Orthodox churches enthusiastically embrace the tradition as well, particularly among the Coptic, Syrian, and Armenian branches. From older Christian denominations, variations on the cult become even more exotic. American Mormons include Saint James the Greater (along with Saint Peter and James’ brother Saint John) among the resurrected divine personages giving express legitimacy to the Church of Latter Day Saints (see Chapter 16). In Haiti, the Santiago cult is sometimes merged into and amalgamated with pre–Columbian and African voodoo religious customs.⁹ Given these seemingly endless permutations, it appears that veneration of Saint James the Greater is one of the few things that most Christian denominations can agree upon. It also makes for endless fascination within the realm of visual art, which this study will strive highlight. In fact, the ancient and not-so-ancient traditions of Santiago Mayor would appear to surround us daily, although we may be unaware of these associations. Our goal will be, if nothing else, to heighten reader awareness of these commonplace associations.

All this may seem incredibly far removed from the historical James, Galilean fisherman, son of Zebedee and Salome, early disciple of Jesus, brother of the apostle-evangelist John, and first of the original 12 apostles to be martyred for his faith sometime around the year 44 CE in Jerusalem. And yet there can be little denying that, some two millennia later, the symbolic prestige of Saint James the Greater is surpassed only by that of Saint Peter among the original disciples. While Saint Paul (not one of the original 12) unquestionably influenced the theology and evangelization of the early Christian church far more than any other single personage (that is, after Jesus Himself), Paul has nonetheless been notably superseded by James in terms of popular veneration and iconography. This status becomes even more noteworthy if one considers that the New Testament abounds with textual information about Paul, not the least of which are his very own attributed epistles. No so with James.¹⁰ Other than some basic facts that even non–Christians have no reason to contest, scripture tells us almost nothing about James. Despite this scarcity of data, we venerate, pray to, and portray him in some our greatest and most inspirational works of art. His name has been invoked in countless military and political endeavors across the globe over the course of 12 centuries, the results of which continue to impact our everyday lives. This important phenomenon—or miracle, some might say—would truly appear for us all to be a matter worthy of some additional reflection, from the standpoint of the visual arts if nothing else.

Surprisingly, full-length scholarly works focused on Saint James the Greater are practically nonexistent.¹¹ The reasons for this scarcity are twofold. First, the generally agreed upon historical facts about James can easily be narrowed down to a few sentences from the New Testament and some other extraneous commentary made long after James’ martyrdom approximately 14 years after the death of Jesus. Simply put, it is almost impossible to make a conventional book-length study strictly drawn from such scant eyewitness testimony. Second (and perhaps more indicative), to write anything at length about James is really to write about the immeasurable impact of his cult or traditions on external world events. To this latter end, there has been voluminous commentary produced over the last 800 years; however, few (if any) have attempted to take a global perspective or examine visual imagery in detail. For example, we will make no attempt to surpass more recent landmarks such as The Road to Santiago: Pilgrims of St. James (1957) by Walter Starkie, an extensive meditation on the cult’s history in and around Spanish Galicia. Instead, this study will strive to demonstrate the worldwide impact of the Santiago cult as it emerged in the aftermath of failed European Crusades from the early 12th and late 13th centuries. The legendary and non-scriptural traditions of the cult will be especially embraced, while at the same time reminding readers that these aspects may or may not be historical. Finally, the wide impact of these traditions will be underscored with period artwork, ranging from the earliest medieval iconography to the most modernist of painters (see Chapter 21).

This study is organized somewhat chronologically and divided into two historical segments: the first (Part I) covering the pre–Columbian era in Europe and the second (Part II), post–Columbian global history. As for source materials, with respect to the pre–Columbian traditions of Santiago Mayor in the fine arts, there appear to be relatively few books in English about the Reconquista and Medieval Spanish history in general. In fact, as a world-defining event, Iberian history prior to 1492 may represent one of the most underserved yet significant topics on today’s library shelves, at least from an Anglo readership perspective. Regarding more contemporary history for Iberia, many volumes focus on the Spanish Civil War of the 1930s or are best categorized as travelogues, the latter containing some very fine entries by the likes of Richard Wright and James Michener. This study, however, will mostly steer away from both genres. Part II will use parallel European events strictly as a backdrop for the far more dynamic international developments taking place in the New World from the moment that Christopher Columbus first set foot on the Caribbean West Indies. This rippling impact beyond western Europe applied not only to Latin America, but also to parts of Asia (such as the Philippines), as well as the Anglo, French, and Dutch settlements of North America. Artwork selected for examination over the last 500 years oftentimes, not surprisingly, makes visual reference to earlier themes of the more distant past. More surprisingly (at least to this untrained eye), masterworks of the pre-modern era frequently seem contemporary in their portrayal of ideas, moods, and events; hence, chapters covering the post–Columbian era (in Part II) selectively draw upon much older works whenever these are seen as appropriate.

Before proceeding any further on this topic, a word on etymology for the sake of avoiding, or at least minimizing, unnecessary confusion. The name of James is itself a French-Latinized form of Jacob, a very common Hebrew name, originally for the patriarchal grandson of Abraham, and a pivotal figure in the biblical Old Testament from whom the 12 tribes of Israel were descended.¹² In source materials, these two names are often used interchangeably. Within Iberia, any visitor to that corner of Europe to this day quickly discovers a baffling array of regional dialects, and hence a surprising range of derivations for the name of James: Jaime, Jaume, Jacó, Diego, Iago, and so forth. In France, Saint James the Greater is known as Saint-Jacques le Majeur, in Italy, San Giacomo il Maggiore. Compounding these difficulties, Islamic religion also claims lineal and spiritual descent from Abraham, therefore the Arabic name for Jacob or Yaqub is not uncommon as well. During the Iberian Reconquista, it would have not been unusual to find combatants on both sides with names derived from the Jacob of Old Testament fame—in the case of Christians, from one of two apostles named after that same patriarch. The very fact that this name has so many declensions and variations throughout western civilization is a good indicator as to the importance and revered status of both the biblical Jacob and his numerous Christian namesakes.

This confusion does not end with nomenclature. The name of James is found throughout the Christian New Testament, obviously referring to several different individuals, and to specifically two of the original 12 apostles of Jesus, both saints and martyrs in Jerusalem. Besides Saint James the Greater, brother of Saint John the Evangelist (also an apostle) and son of Zebedee, we have Saint James the Lesser (or the Younger), son of Alphaeus and, according to some sources, first cousin to Jesus.¹³ This James might be equated with the first Bishop of Jerusalem, aka “James the Just,” martyred circa 62 CE nearly two decades after James the Greater was executed around 44 CE by anti–Christian authorities in the same city. To top off this complex history, the physical relics of both Saint James are today claimed and venerated by the Armenian Cathedral of SS. James in Jerusalem (see Chapter 11), somewhat in contradiction to the claims of Santiago de Compostela in Galician Spain. Moving forward in time from the Apostolic Age, dozens of other Christian saints were subsequently named after one of two original apostle-martyrs by the same name, some of whom became quite famous in their own right, and themselves inspiring a notable amount of visual art. For purposes of this study, however, we shall focus strictly on the visual art legacy of Saint James the Greater, known in the Spanish-speaking world as Santiago Mayor.

To say that the historical accuracy of the Spanish Santiago tradition has been questioned would be tremendous understatement. Indeed, across-the-board silence of prominent Spanish Christian writers on this topic right up until the Middle Ages repeatedly suggests ignorance, indifference, or hostility (see Chapter 1). Arguments in favor of the cult, however, are not unreasonable either. In the ancient Roman Mediterranean world, long-distance travel and transport of the types allegedly undertaken by the apostles were much more feasible (and not necessarily supernatural) than later during the chaotic Dark Ages of the fifth century moving forward; moreover, during this latter period much recorded information was lost or forgotten, while very little was preserved or written anew.¹⁴ Widespread veneration of Christian relics was largely a product of this later, more obscure time, which might explain, for example, the apparent indifference of the Galician-born Roman Emperor Theodosius towards the cult during the fourth century, assuming the tradition did in fact exist at that time. By then, Roman Christianity had been ascendant for less than a century and the western empire was itself in sharp decline. Invading barbarians, such as the Visigoths who soon conquered all of Iberia, would have little or no knowledge of such things, even those embracing various heretical or orthodox variations of the primitive Christian religion. And then there were sharp regional rivalries within the early church, especially after Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire. Within Iberia itself, it could hardly be expected for Toledo to readily acknowledge Santiago de Compostela as an apostolic shrine (which it was in fact very slow to do), let alone for Spain to cede any prominence to emerging rival states in Europe boasting their own pilgrimage sites, such as France, Italy, or England. Lastly, ignorance or contradiction among the early church fathers was not uncommon. For example, there is no compelling reason for Saint Paul to have known about the Spanish Santiago tradition when writing his Letter to the Romans, which he apparently did not. All in all, many rational objections to the authenticity of the Spanish tradition are certainly compelling, but still are far from being conclusive or definitive.

On the other hand, the tradition more likely was gradually manufactured out of thin air over the course of several centuries, which in some respects is far more impressive and miraculous than the idea of a Galilean fisherman traveling across the Mediterranean during Roman times and then later being buried at a site far from his place of execution.¹⁵ Ultimately, the entire question boils down to what is probable versus merely possible. In this sense, it is comparable to the Shakespeare Authorship Question, in which this writer has maintained that it is possible that the traditional Shakespeare from Stratford-on-Avon was the true author of canon, but unlikely given cumulative weight of circumstantial evidence.¹⁶ In the case of Saint James the Greater, it must, in the final analysis, be considered unlikely that he preached and was buried in Spain, but still possible nonetheless. More importantly, many of us (this writer included) find ourselves wanting to believe that the Santiago tradition is factually true, regardless of all logical probabilities. Above all, this study will suggest that what we want to personally believe or disbelieve is often assisted by great works of art, and in the case of Saint James the Greater, many fabulous works of visual art spanning the centuries. During the Renaissance era alone—the same period seeing completion of the Iberian Reconquista—talented artists created visual images that continue to capture the modern imagination, images that have replaced reality, even for those of us educated enough to distinguish between reality and art.¹⁷ Once again, Shakespeare comes to mind in comparison, for it is now well known the author of Shakespeare’s tremendous history plays created a kind of alternative reality that most of us think of as actual English history—even if we know better—no small accomplishment on the part of the playwright, to be sure.

This book owes a special debt to the established work of British scholar Sir Thomas Downing Kendrick (1895–1979), a combat veteran of the World War I trenches and former director of the British Museum in London, whose concise and balanced study on the cult of Saint James the Greater (published in 1960) remains a benchmark for this topic.¹⁸ There is no need for us to delve into the centuries of fraud and deception surrounding the Santiago cult, because Kendrick did it so well for us, usually with great sensitivity, perception, and a small dose of levity.¹⁹ Nevertheless, in his own introduction, Kendrick observed: “No one can prove that St. James did not visit Spain; no one can prove that the miracle of the pillar did not happen; no one can prove that the apostle’s body was not transported, miraculously or otherwise, to Galicia; no one can prove St. James did not come down from heaven to assist a Spanish army in action.”²⁰ At the end of the day, as Kendrick observed, religious faith prevails over all rational objections, and perhaps rightly so. There is no proverbial smoking gun to prove any argument one way or another, nor will there ever be; moreover, even if there were such arguments, it would probably not make much of a difference. Saint James the Greater, along with all his rich, ancient, and multifaceted traditions, bolstered by some of the most striking visual works of art ever created, is here with us to stay, and we are all surely better off for it, at least for those who can remember the past and pay some degree of attention to the grave lessons of western history.

Brilliant visual images attached to the Santiago tradition from its very inception. Among the most renowned is also one of the earliest to have survived down to the present day. The Salamanca Codex Calixtinus illuminated manuscript, produced by an anonymous artist in Santiago de Compostela sometime during the early 14th century, depicts Santiago Matamoros with all his essential accoutrements and a twist added.²¹ Portrayed as an Iberian light cavalryman à la jinete (see Chapter 11), the warrior-apostle is seen mounted on a white battle steed, brandishing a sword and holding a Christian banner. In addition to these standard features, the saint’s emblematic scallop shell symbolizing religious pilgrimage is to be seen everywhere as well—in the sky substituting as stars, on the saddle harness of the battle steed, and on the war banner itself.²² Multiple aspects of the Santiago cult were thus closely intertwined from the very outset.²³ Readers or viewers are not allowed to think of him strictly as a warrior without being reminded that he was also a pilgrim-evangelist, and vice versa. The Salamanca illuminated manuscript was produced during an era in which the Reconquista seemed poised for ultimate success, but in fact was about to be stalled by various external disasters and self-inflicted setbacks (see Chapter 9). These medieval illuminated manuscripts played a crucial role in promoting the cult from its inception (at least among the educated), including valuable source documents such as the Codex Calixtinus and other related books, which it influenced or was influenced by, such as the earlier Commentary on the Apocalypse by Beatus of Liébana (see Chapter 3). It also behooves us to remember that these manuscripts predated the 15th century invention of movable type, yet not only managed to survive the ravages of time, but made a deep impression on anyone looking at them as well, literate or otherwise, and continue to do so.

This book is not about relics; rather, is about art and about faith, roughly in that order. For those seeking a more in-depth analysis of the Santiago tradition and its breathtakingly complex history, as well as its alleged truth or falsity, I refer them to the bibliography herein, or better yet, to the multi-lingual bibliography presented over half a century ago by T.D. Kendrick. Anyone who peruses this complicated topic for more than a few minutes will discover how controversial it can quickly become, even among designated experts devoting their entire careers to it. As for this modest study, it makes absolutely no pretense at comprehensiveness, even with respect to visual art.²⁴ It merely scratches the surface, based mainly upon subjective personal preferences. Hopefully, it will encourage more interest or, if nothing else, cause patient readers to possess a more heightened awareness of these images and symbols surrounding their everyday lives. As for the factual origins of the tradition, surely the best place to begin is with the early Christian writers, including those of the New Testament. From these sources come a handful of basic facts specifically about this legendary apostolic figure, few of which are ever contested, even by non-believers, since few of these asserted events (as they pertain to the saint) are overtly miraculous or supernatural in any respect. From these meager beginnings, however, eventually sprung one of the most powerful traditions in all of Christendom, especially in terms of visual art. Its remnants are still all around us to be seen. Most importantly, its moral and spiritual lessons remain continuously applicable to the contemporary world in which we all live.