St. Ignatius of Loyola never sat for a portrait. During his lifetime he refused every request.
After his death in 1556, artists worked instead from his death mask and the memories of those who had known him. One contemporary described him as having “a broad and unwrinkled forehead, deep-set eyes, the eyelids scored with the tears he continually shed, a prominent aquiline nose,” and, with advancing baldness, “a venerable appearance.” That description became the starting point for centuries of portraits.
Some of those images are masterpieces. Rubens’ famous portrait presents Ignatius as the great Counter-Reformation saint, clothed in crimson and gold vestments, gazing ecstatically toward heaven while holding the “Constitutions” open to the words Ad maiorem Dei gloriam— “For the greater glory of God.” A 17th century painting from Cusco depicts him triumphantly wielding the Spiritual Exercises against Luther and Calvin, who lie sprawled beneath him dressed as “infidel Turks.” Today, an online search produces a very different gallery: Ignatius as life coach or cheery cartoon monk.
Every age paints its own Ignatius. Some portraits illuminate him better than others.
That is more than an historical curiosity. Portraits tell us as much about those who paint them as they do about the person portrayed. The same is true of the portraits we paint in our imagination. We instinctively remake those we admire in our own image and likeness.
Every portrait is also a reduction. Every reduction comes at a cost.
One generation imagines Ignatius as an austere commander demanding unquestioning obedience. Another prefers a therapeutic guide encouraging us to “find our truth.” Neither portrait is wholly false. Neither is sufficient.
How we imagine Ignatius inevitably shapes how we imagine Jesuit education. If Ignatius becomes only a spiritual therapist, we risk reducing a Jesuit university to another arena for personal fulfilment. If he becomes primarily a social reformer, we risk forgetting that justice itself grows out of contemplation. If he is remembered only as an institutional genius, we too easily lose sight of the love for Christ from which everything else in his life flowed.
For LMU, the deeper question is not historical accuracy but which Ignatius continues to inspire our common life.
Where do we find an Ignatius who does not merely reflect our own assumptions and preferences? We turn to the sources: the “Autobiography,” his letters, the “Constitutions,” and above all the Spiritual Exercises.
Out of the hundreds of thousands of words in those writings, one phrase stands at the center of everything: with Christ.
Those two words are the heart of Ignatius’ vision. Christianity begins not with an idea, an ideology, or a moral program, but with a relationship. For Ignatius, to be “with Christ” meant becoming so deeply united with Jesus that one’s desires, choices, and mission gradually become Christ-shaped.
In the Spiritual Exercises, retreatants pray for the grace to imitate Christ in humility, generosity, and self-sacrificing love. This is far more than moral effort. It is the language of friendship, intimacy, and shared life.
That is why Ignatius was, before anything else, a mystic. Before he became founder of the Society of Jesus, he was a man whose life had been transformed by his encounter with the living Christ. If we neglect that dimension, we misunderstand not only the man himself but also the Society of Jesus and the many works it has inspired. No artist, in my view, captures that reality more profoundly than Francisco de Zurbarán.
Zurbarán’s remarkable portrait of 1634 is a masterpiece of light and shadow, of what is fully revealed and what remains mysterious. Ignatius stands three-quarters turned toward the viewer, so that we see him only in part. A strange golden light places him in a setting that is everywhere and nowhere. His heavy cloak frames a striking face. In one hand, held close to his heart, is a medallion bearing the holy name of Jesus: IHS.
Zurbarán captures something that almost every other artist misses: Ignatius’ strange and singular otherness. At first glance his expression seems almost untamed. But in his eyes lies the emotional center of the painting. As we look more closely, we discover that they are filled with tears. He gazes both upward and inward, completely absorbed in the presence of God.
Yet this mystic has not withdrawn from the world. Quite the contrary. His right hand is extended in a familiar Baroque gesture that conveys teaching and preaching. His profound union with Christ flows outward into mission, into Christ’s final command to “go and make disciples of all nations.” That movement — from deep friendship with God to generous engagement with the world — has shaped Jesuit education from the beginning.
Every generation paints Ignatius anew. Universities do the same. At LMU we will inevitably interpret Ignatius through the questions and challenges of our own age. That is neither surprising nor wrong. But it does place a responsibility upon us: not to settle for an Ignatius made in our own image.
The Ignatius we need to recover is neither the stern commander nor the reassuring life coach; neither the social reformer nor the brilliant administrator. It is the Ignatius whose whole life was shaped by his companionship with Christ. If we keep that portrait before us, then intellectual excellence, the life of the mind, rigorous inquiry, the service of faith, the promotion of justice, care for the whole person, and care for our common home all find their proper place.
The question, then, is not whether LMU will paint its own portrait of Ignatius. We inevitably will. The real question is whether, in the face we paint, we see only ourselves, or whether, in looking at Ignatius, we are allowing ourselves to be changed.
The LMU community is invited to celebrate the Feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits) and patron saint of Loyola Marymount University, with Mass and a festive luncheon on Friday, July 31, 2026. Mass will begin at 11:00 a.m. in Sacred Heart Chapel and will be followed by a celebratory luncheon. Please RSVP today.