White: The History of a Color

First published in the French language by Éditions du Seuil, Paris, under the title Blanc: Histoire d’une Couleur by Michel Pastoureau

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Jacket image: James McNeill Whistler, Symphony in White, No. 1: The White Girl (detail), 1861–1863, 1872, oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, Harris Whittemore Collection, 1943.6.2

ISBN 978-0-691-24349-8

eISBN: 978-0-691-25030-4

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FOREWORD

ROLAND BETANCOURT

Since the publication of Blue over twenty years ago, Michel Pastoureau’s the History of a Color series has explored the material, sensory, and symbolic dimensions of colors across the western world. Moving away from those who might wish to find a universal symbolism or archetypal truth in a color, Pastoureau’s series has sought to understand color as first and foremost a social phenomenon, one with historically grounded realities and effects.

The famed medieval art historian Michael Camille wrote that in Pastoureau’s work, the history of one color becomes the history of culture itself. As a scholar whose work was dedicated to understanding the labor of medieval artists and uncovering the voices of oppressed figures in the margins of medieval art, Camille’s words showcase the power of Pastoureau’s series to unsettle and disturb our familiar understanding of colors, what they represent, and how they have been mobilized over millennia for different aims and goals. In tracing the enduring life of a given color, Pastoureau has seamlessly woven ancient theories of vision with the nuances of medieval spirituality and the transformations of the early modern period during the rise of colonialism and capitalism.

In his research methods and approach, Pastoureau’s series reflects two animating concerns in the study of art history and culture, namely, an interest in materiality and visuality. Over the past two decades, scholars have been attentive to how the materials and making of art contribute to their social meaning and function, while similarly seeking to understand how vision and perception affect our experiences of art. While we might take our modern understanding of optics for granted, throughout the ancient and medieval worlds philosophers, theologians, and authors contemplated and debated how sight operates and how we perceive colors, understanding this as a physical, sensory, and perceptual phenomenon. Naturally, a series that looks at the history of color contributes directly to our knowledge of how matter and vision intersect. Pastoureau’s work acknowledges not only how pigments and colors were sourced, traded, made, and applied, but also how people through the ages have made meaningful distinctions between individual colors and applied purpose and meaning to them. As our research has continued to expand into the multisensory effects of the work of art, art historians have begun to look at how color, light, and optics combine with other sensory experiences, including hearing, touch, smell, taste, and other elements like the experience of weight and movement.

It is fitting that the History of a Color series would end with a volume dedicated to white. Not only did the ancient Greeks believe that all colors emerged as the intermediaries between black and white, but white also has come to be understood in the modern world as the outright absence of color. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. In this volume, Pastoureau vividly demonstrates how white was never understood as being colorless in the ancient tradition, coming only to be associated with this state of absence in the late Middle Ages and at the beginnings of modernity. The power of Pastoureau’s White is that it confronts the reader with the artificiality and construction of white, tracing out the tensions it created regarding how other colors were conceptualized and understood across several millennia. As the author states, this is hardly a comprehensive work, but one that urges scholarship to think further about the history of white and how it is that it came to be understood as such an enigmatic and fraught category.

On this occasion of the publication of this sixth and last volume in the series, we can appreciate the contributions that the series has made to our understanding of color and vision, but also reflect on its utility for ongoing and future areas of study.

As a scholar whose work has not only traced theories of vision and multisensory perception in the early Christian and medieval worlds but also processes of race-making and racialization in the premodern past, I am intimately aware of how the study of color becomes as pertinent today as it was two decades ago when the series was in its infancy. Pastoureau’s color studies allow the novice and expert reader alike to survey the long trajectories that colors have had across the premodern and modern world. This permits us to better understand the vicissitudes of how colors can be variously used to stage piety or penance in the medieval world, or to articulate ethnic differences and racialized groupings across ancient peoples. While it has long been assumed that color-based ideas of race did not exist in the premodern past, ongoing scholarship has begun to demonstrate the rich and compelling evidence present across ancient Greek, Roman, and medieval sources to understand how premodern people thought about racialized differences and how color could also be deployed to delineate other differences, like gender identity or even sexuality.¹

The material history of color itself also alerts us to the vibrant and dynamic interconnectedness of our world. While it is popularly believed that ancient or medieval people had limited interactions with the broader world, the study of trade routes, like the Silk Road or trans-Saharan trade, is expanding our horizons of contact and exchange.² Color, in these instances, can reflect not only how people came to visualize and represent each other, but it also speaks to how our distinctions between discrete colors evolved with contact with other civilizations, how trade and transport created new color possibilities, and how the privileging of certain colors promoted colonialism and other extractive approaches to land, people, and natural resources. With the rising interest in the Global Middle Ages, studies of color can now look beyond the European Middle Ages to think comparatively and to acknowledge how colors took on radically different meanings and operations across the world during a single period.³

As any volume of Pastoureau’s series demonstrates, color is never an innocent or passive entity in our world, but an important actor in its own right. Color shapes how people have represented their own stories across time and also reminds us of how it has motivated human action around its sourcing, manufacturing, and meaning. Michel Pastoureau’s the History of a Color series can serve as a starting point to further interrogate the varied and complex histories and complicities of color in our world, past, present, and future.

1. The study of race in antiquity and the Middle Ages is a current and thriving area of research with much work appearing constantly. Therefore, this is a very partial bibliography, but it is intended to give the reader a road map to pursue, highlighting key figures, books, and additional resources for following this area of research. For an introduction to the study of race in the ancient and medieval worlds, see Cord Whitaker, Black Metaphors: How Modern Racism Emerged from Medieval Race-Thinking (Philadelphia, 2019); Geraldine Heng, The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2018); Roland Betancourt, Byzantine Intersectionality: Sexuality, Gender, and Race in the Middle Ages (Princeton, 2020); Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York, 2008); Denise Eileen McCoskey, Race: Antiquity and Its Legacy (Oxford, 2012); Francisco Bethencourt, Racisms: From the Crusades to the Twentieth Century (Princeton, 2014). For an introductory bibliography (up to 2017), see Jonathan Hsy and Julie Orlemanski, Race and Medieval Studies: A Partial Bibliography, Postmedieval: A Journal of Medieval Cultural Studies 8 (2017): 500–531. For further, ongoing work, see Dorothy Kim, ed., Critical Race and the Middle Ages, special issue, Literature Compass 16, no. 9–10 (2019); Urvashi Chakravarty and Ayanna Thompson, eds., Race and Periodization, special issue, New Literary History 52, no. 3/4 (2021).

2. For an introduction to these topics, see Peter Frankopan, Silk Roads: A New History of the World (New York, 2016); Kathleen Bickford Berzock, ed., Caravans of Gold, Fragments in Time: Art, Culture, and Exchange across Medieval Saharan Africa (Princeton, 2019).

3. For an introduction, see Geraldine Heng, The Global Middle Ages: An Introduction (Cambridge, 2021). For an art historical approach, see Bryan Keene, ed., Toward a Global Middle Ages: Encountering the World through Illuminated Manuscripts (Los Angeles, 2019).

7 INTRODUCTION

12

THE COLOR OF THE GODS

FROM EARLIEST TIMES TO THE BEGINNING OF CHRISTIANITY

16 From Nature to Culture

22 The Moon and the Sacred

28 A False Image: White Greece

38 Wool and Linen: Dressing in White

46 The Lessons of the Lexicon

52 White versus Black

56

THE COLOR OF CHRIST

FOURTH TO FOURTEENTH CENTURIES

60 Biblical White

68 A Christian Color

74 White versus Red

82 Regarding the Lily: A White Floriary

88 The Lamb, the Swan, and the Dove: A White Bestiary

98 A Feminine Color

106

THE COLOR OF KINGS

FIFTEENTH TO EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES

110 The Birth of a Symbolic System

116 White, First among the Colors

124 Birth and Death in White

136 The Color of Nobility

146 The White of the Monarchy

154 Ink and Paper

160

THE COLOR OF MODERNITY

EIGHTEENTH TO TWENTY-FIRST CENTURIES

164 White and Black: No Longer Colors

170 The White of Artists

182 From Cleanliness to Health

196 Dressing in White

206 Lexicons and Symbols

219 NOTES

229 BIBLIOGRAPHY

237 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

240 CREDITS

The color white is first among the colors (. . .).

It is with white that our pleasure in contemplating colors

and our knowledge of heraldic colors begin (. . .).

It resembles the moon, stars, snow, and other natural things.

In clothing, it is suitable for people of good disposition,

that is to say, joyful and resolute (. . .).

And when combined in livery with blue, it signifies courtesy and wisdom;

with yellow, the pleasure of love; with red, boldness in honest things;

with green, beautiful and virtuous youth.

Le blason des couleurs en armes, livrées et devises

(Anonymous author, c. 1480–1485)

Many decades ago, at the beginning of the twentieth century or even in the 1950s, the title of this book might have surprised some readers, unaccustomed to considering white to be a true color. Clearly that is no longer the case today, even if a few people may still dispute it. White has obviously regained the status it possessed for centuries, even millennia: that of a color in its own right, and even an important end point in most chromatic systems. Like its counterpart black, white had gradually lost its status as a true color between the late Middle Ages and the seventeenth century. The arrival of printing and engraving—with black ink on white paper—had given these two colors a special place, which first the Protestant Reformation and then scientific progress eventually shifted to the margins of the universe of colors. Finally, when Isaac Newton discovered the spectrum in 1666, he proposed to the scientific world a new chromatic order, within which there was no longer a place for either white or black. This marked a true revolution, not limited to science but expanding progressively to ordinary fields of knowledge and then to the material culture.

That change would last for nearly three centuries, during which time white and black were considered and experienced as noncolors, and then as forming an autonomous black and white universe. In Europe, such a conception was familiar to a dozen generations, and even if it is no longer so prevalent today, it does not really strike us as odd: black and white on one side, colors on the other.

Nevertheless, our sensibilities have changed. Beginning in the years 1900–1910, artists were the first to gradually restore to white and black the status they had held prior to the late Middle Ages: that of colors in their own right. Scientists eventually followed suit, although some physicists long remained reluctant to recognize white’s actual chromatic properties. The general public finally fell into line as well, so that today, in our daily lives, social codes, dreams, and imaginations, little reason remains for opposing the world of color to the world of black and white. Here and there we find a few vestiges (photography, cinema, journalism, publishing) of that old distinction. But for how much longer?

Thus the title of this book is not some sort of mistake or provocation. White is very much a color, even a color of the highest order, as are red, blue, black, green, and yellow, whereas purple, orange, pink, gray, and brown belong to a second group with a shorter history and less symbolism.

*

Before attempting to trace the long history of white in European societies, I must make several important remarks, which will be developed over the course of these chapters and the periods studied. Let me preface them by saying that this book discusses vocabulary, pigments, colorants, clothing, chalk, milk, snow, flour, the dove, the fleur-de-lis, and so on, not the colors of the human skin.

The first expands directly on what was just said about white, a color in its own right. For centuries in Europe, in no matter what language, the words for white and for colorless were never synonymous. In both Greek and Latin as well as vernacular languages, there were many figurative meanings for the adjective white (pure, clean, virgin, innocent, empty, intact, bright, luminous, favorable, and so on), but never did it mean without color. This synonymity would not appear before the modern period. Until then, the notion of colorlessness—difficult in many respects to conceive, define, and represent—related only to matter or light, not to coloration. For authors who made color into a material, that is to say, a kind of film that enveloped bodies, colorlessness was the absence or very small quantity of coloring matter. Thus its synonyms were to be found among words like desaturated, washed-out, diaphanous, transparent. On the other hand, for authors like Aristotle who saw color as a weakening of light in contact with physical bodies, colorlessness found its root and its possible synonym in black. In neither case was it a question of white.

A kind of equivalence between white and colorless did not appear until the end of the Middle Ages and the beginning of the modern period. The role of paper seems to have been the determining factor. As the medium for the printed book and the engraved image, paper, being whiter than parchment, came to constitute a sort of degree zero for color. Indeed for any image, the color range depended on a background, and it was that background—or medium, whatever it happened to be—that represented colorlessness: parchment for illuminated manuscripts; walls for murals; wood or canvas for panel paintings; paper for printing and engraving. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the increased use of paper as a medium for books and images alike helped to establish a kind of synonymy between the color of paper—white—and colorlessness.

My second remark concerns our perception of different shades of white: over the course of time, it has diminished, at least in the West. In comparison to our ancestors’ perception, our modern eye seems decidedly less sensitive to the multiple varieties of white, not only those offered by nature but also those we have produced ourselves through dyes and paints. We are also less perceptive than non-Western populations, like those of the Far North, for example, used to discerning in the snow and ice a wide array of whites with subtle differences often visible (and nameable) only to natives. European languages reflect this impoverished state. Today they each possess only one commonly used term for naming the color white, whereas in the past there were many terms, frequently two per language, and sometimes more.

The third remark is related to the preceding one: at present, it is difficult not to oppose white to black. The two colors form an almost indissociable couple, more so perhaps than any other two colors, including blue and red. That was not always the case. In medieval texts, the passages in which white and black appear together are rare, and it is even less common in images and on objects for the two colors to be joined to form a meaningful dichromatic pair. Only the coats of certain animals (dogs, cattle) and plumage of certain birds (magpies) combine them, in images as in nature. In fact, until the appearance of printing and engraving—an absolutely decisive turning point in the history of colors—the true medieval opposite for white was not so much black as red. There is much proof of this in the world of symbols, emblems, clothing fashions, and later in sporting events and social games, with their teams, their sides, or simply their game pieces opposing two different colors: for a long time, white and black were not opposites, but rather white and red.

My last remark relates to the symbolism of colors. Colors are always ambivalent, each possessing its positive and negative aspects. There is a good red (energy, joy, celebration, love, beauty, justice) and a bad red (anger, violence, danger, sin, punishment). There is a good black (temperance, dignity, authority, luxury) and a bad black (grief, mourning, death, hell, sorcery). In the case of white, however, its symbolism is less dualistic. Most of the ideas associated with white are virtues or good qualities: purity, virginity, innocence, wisdom, peace, goodness, cleanliness. We could add social power and elegance; for centuries, white was the color of European monarchies and aristocracies, especially in dress and appearance. Our white collars, our white shirts and dresses are more or less an extension of this. For a long time as well, white was the color of hygiene: all fabric that touched the body (undergarments, sheets, bath towels, and so on) had to be white, for both hygienic and moral reasons. Today that is no longer the case. We sleep between brightly colored sheets and our underwear comes in all colors. But white remains the color of cleanliness and hygiene, in the image of bathrooms, hospital rooms, and even refrigerators. White is clean, pure, cold, and silent.

For a long time, white was the color of the sacred and its rituals. In the liturgical color code, for example, medieval Christianity and modern Catholicism associated white with the holidays of Christ and the Virgin, that is to say, their most important religious celebrations. This link between the color white and the sacred is found in many religions, sometimes dating very far back. Animals with white coats or feathers were presented as divine offerings in many ancient religions, and their officiating priests or vestal virgins dressed in this color.

Nevertheless, white is not always positive. In much of Asia and Africa, it is the color of death, not death as opposed to life, but death as opposed to birth. Where death is considered a new birth,