Cornelis Galle I (Flanders, 1576–1650), Lucifer, c. 1595. Engraving. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

Cornelis Galle I, “Lucifer” (1595), engraving (all images courtesy Cantor Arts Center, Stanford University)

At the beginning of this year, the Satanic Temple of New York revealed its designs for a monument of the devil. Proposed to be placed on the grounds of the Oklahoma State Capitol, it is a challenge to the permission of religious viewpoints on the grounds represented by the granite monument of the Ten Commandments there since 2009. The statue — now lodged in a secret Red Hook warehouse while its future remains in limbo — depicts a seated goat-headed Baphomet, with two children at its side, and even a place for visitors to sit on Satan’s lap.

Influenced by a 19th-century illustration by French occultist Eliphas Lévi, it’s just one of the many incarnations of Satan. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, the devil has been both beautiful and grotesque, and all manifestations in between. The Cantor Arts Center at Stanford University is opening an exhibition this week — Sympathy for the Devil: Satan, Sin and the Underworld — that explores the evocation of the devil over 500 years.

Eugene Delacroix (France, 1798–1863), Mephistopheles Flying over the City, 1828. Lithograph. Mortimer C. Leventritt Fund, 1976.2.

Eugene Delacroix, “Mephistopheles Flying over the City” (1828), lithograph

As Cantor’s Curator of European Art Bernard Barryte explained to Hyperallergic over the phone, the devil was for much of the time prior to the 16th century a “bestial creature who uses fear and intimidation and horror as his means of coercing human beings to sin and fall into his clutches.” Later, following the French and American Revolution, he became “a heroic figure rebelling against patriarchal authority,” impacted by Milton’s 1667 Paradise Lost. Then under the influence of Goethe’s 19th century Faust, Satan morphed into a “dandy” who “uses guile to persuade people to sin.” Finally, by the 20th century, he became “a nonentity, a joke, to be used in TV shows and movies and advertisements for fireworks and deviled ham, and people [were] seen as the true source of evil.”

Sympathy for the Devil includes as its newest works two paintings: Jerome Witkin’s “The Devil as a Tailor” (1978–79), showing a man with a sly smirk on his face stitching uniforms for the victims and perpetrators of the Nazi concentration camps, and Andres Serrano’s “Heaven and Hell” (1984), with a naked woman evidently tortured while a cardinal turns away. “The devil is not visibly present, but the devil’s works are certainly suggested,” Barryte said.

Alongside are over 40 works from the Cantor’s collections by artists like Albrecht Dürer, Hieronymus Bosch, Eugene Delacroix, and Hendrick Goltzius. The exhibition also coincides with the arrival at Stanford of Jackson Pollock’s “Lucifer” at the new Anderson Collection, and celebrates the ongoing display of “Gates of Hell” in the Cantor’s Rodin Sculpture Garden. “Evil is infinitely more interesting to people than virtue it seems,” Barryte rightly said.

Thomas Stothard (Great Britain, 1755–1834), Satan Summoning His Legions, c. 1790. Oil on canvas. Mortimer C. Leventritt Fund, 1972.148.

Thomas Stothard, “Satan Summoning His Legions” (1790), oil on canvas

Albrecht Dürer (Germany, 1471–1528), Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, 1498. Woodcut. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

Albrecht Dürer, “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” (1498), woodcut

Louis Boulanger (France, 1806–1867), The Round of the Sabbath (La Ronde du Sabbat), 1828. Lithograph with chine collé. Gift of Joseph and Deborah Goldyne, 2011.99.

Louis Boulanger, “The Round of the Sabbath (La Ronde du Sabbat)” (1828), lithograph with chine collé

Agostino Musi (Italy, c. 1490–after 1536), The Carcass (The Witches Procession), 1520–1527. Engraving. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

Agostino Musi, “The Carcass (The Witches Procession)” (1520–1527), engraving

Johannes Sadeler (Belgium, 1550–1600), Hell, c. 1590. Engraving. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

Johannes Sadeler, “Hell” (1590), engraving

Hendrick Goltzius (The Netherlands, 1558–1617), The Descent to Hell of the Damned, c. 1577. Engraving. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

Hendrick Goltzius, “The Descent to Hell of the Damned” (1577), engraving

School of Hieronymous Bosch (The Netherlands,c. 1450–1516), Last Judgment, late 15th century. Oil on canvas. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

School of Hieronymous Bosch, “Last Judgment” (late 15th century), oil on canvas

Agostino Musi, called Agostino Veneziano (Italy, c. 1490–after 1536), The Skeletons, 1518. Engraving. Lent by Kirk Edward Long.

Agostino Musi, called Agostino Veneziano, “The Skeletons” (1518), engraving

Sympathy for the Devil: Satan, Sin and the Underworld is on view at the Cantor Arts Center at Stanford University (328 Lomita Drive, Stanford, California) from August 20 to November 30. 

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Allison Meier

Allison C. Meier is a former staff writer for Hyperallergic. Originally from Oklahoma, she has been covering visual culture and overlooked history for print...

5 replies on “Satan, You’ve Changed”

  1. “The statue depicts a seated goat-headed Baphomet, with two children at its side, and even a place for visitors to sit on Satan’s lap.”

    Truth be known, they intended a monument to Santa, but the sculptor was dyslexic.

  2. Honestly I feel really weird about the Satan sculpture. I was a bit interested in Satanism for a while, so I read their antithesis to the Catholic Bible – and it’s just that. Frequently as exclusionary, as prejudiced, as negative. I distinctly remember a passage saying that the only individuals who weren’t into Satanism were too weak to be, and shaming believers of other religions.
    I feel that since the Satanic Bible was authored after the Catholic one, it should’ve been better than it, it should have transcended the hate I felt masticating me ravenously when I read about Sodom (the city that the angels threaten to destroy; one of the men offers his virgin daughters up to try to save it, for you folk who haven’t remembered it like an old-fashioned fairytale).

    That being said, I know a sweet Satanist girl. If I offend anyone personally, I only mean to critique the religion as an institution, and by extension, the symbol spearheading it.

    1. What does that have to do with the Satan sculpture? The creators are not the Church of Satan, and the Satanic Temple who created the statue have nothing to do with the Satanic Bible…

      1. Alright, well, tell me about the Satanic Temple? What made them think, hey, we’re going to worship the antithesis of what another religion worships. Just the fact of taking another religion’s symbols and then twisting them seems a bit unkind, at least, to me. Catholics did the same to Pagans, but then of course it was to assimilate them.

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