Marko Rupnik, a Catholic priest, was expelled from the Jesuit order for allegedly abusing women. He was later received into the diocese in his native Slovenia. Rupnik is also an artist and his work is on display in churches in Lourdes, Rome and Washington, DC, among others.

Some of these websites plan to cover up or remove Rupnik’s art; some parishioners and clergy disagree with such measures. Vatican communications chief Paolo Ruffini, for example, has defended the Holy See’s decision to keep Rupnik’s art on his department’s website.

As an art historian, I wonder whether this debate misses the core of the issue.

A bridge between Eastern and Western European traditions

Rupnik’s art has been recognized in the past as part of the Catholic Church’s efforts to build a bridge between Eastern and Western European faith traditions. Thanks to his Slovenian heritage, Rupnik was able to create images that combined both traditions. In 1996, he was chosen to decorate three of the four walls of the Redemptoris Mater Chapel of the Apostolic Palace in Vatican City with artwork symbolizing unity between the churches.

In 2016, Rupnik designed the logo for the Year of Mercy, a special spiritual anniversary proclaimed by Pope Francis. Rupnik’s depiction of Christ was inspired by the Eastern tradition of the “anastasis” or resurrection, in which Christ is said to have freed the souls of the dead.

Rupnik based his painting on a 14th-century fresco with a similar theme in the Chora Church in Istanbul. He depicted Christ in a white robe, surrounded by an almond-shaped halo of light. He placed Adam over Christ’s shoulders, a motif derived from early Christian depictions of Christ as the Good Shepherd.

His work also reflected other historical precedents. The faces of Christ and Adam were pressed together and they shared a single eye to symbolize that Adam and Christ both had a human nature. The motif of shared eyes as a symbol of the single divine nature of the Christian Trinity appears in Renaissance art.

He was also commissioned to create the mosaics that decorate the St. John Paul II National Shrine in Washington, DC.

Personal morality and creative production

Many revered works of art were created by artists who were intellectually flawed. Raphael, whose frescoes such as “The School of Athens” adorn the Hall of the Segnatura in the Vatican, is said to have had many mistresses. The Italian painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio led a short and violent life. He killed a man in a fight and was subsequently sentenced to death for murder. Nevertheless, many of his paintings are considered to be expressions of deep faith.

Caravaggio’s “Entombment of Christ,” one of the Vatican’s greatest treasures, depicts the grief of Christ’s followers. The artist’s “Madonna of Loreto,” housed in the church of Sant’Agostino in Rome, has long been admired for its ability to bring the divine into everyday life. Thin, round halos hover behind the heads of the Virgin and Child, who otherwise appear like ordinary people, resembling the two barefoot peasants kneeling before them. When the painting was unveiled in 1606, some were dismayed at the lack of dignity inherent in the depiction of the Virgin and her divine child as common people.

When I visited Sant’Agostino in 2009, I saw dozens of people looking at the painting. The spectators invariably stood near the farmer’s feet, showing that they could somehow relate to the couple’s devotion. For over an hour, I was reminded of the power of art, no matter where it came from.

Artists – and all people – are inevitably flawed; once an artist’s work is completed, I believe it is independent of its creator.

In my view, condemning art instead of discussing how the Catholic Church could allow a person accused of abuse to escape reprimand for so long is, at best, a diversionary tactic.

This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization that brings you facts and analysis to help you make sense of our complex world.

It was written by: Virginia Raguin, College of the Holy Cross.

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Virginia Raguin does not work for, consult for, own shares in, or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond her academic employment.