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Being Modern: Apostasy
or Sacred Obligation?
by Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira
In this article we discuss four pictures,
two works of art from the fifteenth century, and two others
from our times.
The two paintings-the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary
and Saint Dominic in prayer-are the work of the famous fifteenth
century artist Giovanni da Fiesole, better known as Fra Angelico.
The work in metal-also representing the Annunciation-was done
in our times by the artist H. Breucker. The sculpture was
done by A. Wider, another contemporary artist, who has attempted
to portray Saint Benedict, patriarch of Western monasticism.
Such striking (if not shocking) differences
in the rendition of the same and similar subjects, i.e., the
Virgin Mary and saints of the Catholic Church, demand some
commentaries.
The famous scene of the apparition
of the Archangel Saint Gabriel to the Blessed Virgin constituted
a moment of grace for mankind. Heaven, which the guilt of
Adam had closed, opened and a spirit of light and purity came
down in angelic form, bearing a message of reconciliation
and peace. This message was addressed to the most beautiful,
most noble, most innocent, and most benevolent creature ever
to be born of the race of Adam. The Gospels recount the elevated
and ineffable simplicity of the dialogue between the two.
The artist's task, challenged by such
a theme, consists in expressing the moral values of that incomparable
event in his rendition of the faces, attitudes, gestures,
and setting as well as in his choice of colors and shapes.
Since this is printed in color, our
readers can gauge Giovanni da Fiesole's success in this objective.
The nobility befitting the angelic nature, his light and totally
spiritual fortitude, his intelligence and purity-all are admirably
mirrored in this figure so highly expressive of Saint Gabriel.
The Blessed Virgin is less ethereal,
less light. One could almost say less intangible. This effect
is reasonable since she is a human creature. Nevertheless,
something angelic is perceived in the whole composure of the
Queen of Angels. Her facial features surpass those of the
heavenly emissary himself in spirituality, nobility and innocence.
Something else is to be noted here;
the attitude of one toward the other: By nature, the angel
is superior to Our Lady. The Virgin, however, is superior
to the angel by her sanctity and by her incomparable vocation
as Mother of God. This accounts for the elevated dignity found
in the rendition of both the Virgin and the angel and the
reciprocal veneration with which they address each other.
There is, yet, a more profound reason
for this attitude. Although unseen. God still manifests His
Presence by a supernatural light that seems to radiate from
both personages-a light that washes over all of nature with
a splendor of pure, peaceful, and virginal happiness. One
almost feels the most pleasant temperature, the very light
and fragrant breeze, the joy that permeates the whole atmosphere.
How could a moment of grace be better
painted? With a profound sense of the whole, Fra Angelico
knew how to create the lines and colors needed to express
all the theological and moral content of this Gospel episode
famous a thousand times over. Indeed, his picture is more
than just a painted scene. It is comparable to a sermon because
it forms, elevates, and stimulates one who contemplates it
toward the good.
A garish opposite is Breucker's modern
Annunciation. If a feeble minded person or someone delirious
with a high fever were to ramble about the Annunciation, he
might have conceived something like this. See how extremely
extravagant the work is. It lacks the most elementary values
and is devoid of any expression that would denote not only
that which is elevated and supernatural but anything balanced
or healthy as well. In short, everything works together to
make this modern work a brutal and shocking antithesis of
the picture from the fifteenth century. One is a marvel of
spirituality and faith; the other, a product of a mentality
that only knows how to see what is material-a psychology closed
to the supernatural, a temperament that finds pleasure solely
in horizons without beauty, nobility or anything which provides
light, oxygen, life, and hope of eternity for the soul.
In his allocution on May 24, 1953,
the Holy Father Pius XII defined the so-called modern spirit
as "materialistic thought transposed into actions."
In like manner, the example of art depicted here can be classified
as materialistic thought transposed into art.
Now, look at the picture of Saint Dominic.
Elements of the spiritual shine admirably forth in it. It
is more a portrait of the soul than of the body. The effort
of thought, the exertion required for reading, the serene
but strong strain of intellectual work, a countenance befitting
one who understands and takes pleasure in understanding all,
ultimately, are expressed here with unequaled discretion,
intensity and veracity.
And still other aspects of the soul
appear: the liveliness and exuberance of a young man, the
equilibrium, innocence, piety, and temperance of a perfect
religious.
In comparison to this second masterpiece
from the fifteenth century, consider the statue from the twentieth
century. Certainly there are considerable factors bearing
on such a comparison: a) the materials of a painting and those
of a sculpture are not the same; b) the talents and temperaments
of the artists are also different; c) finally, the spirit
of the two subjects. Saint Dominic and Saint Benedict also
differ.
Is there a shock, a violent contrast?
By no means. Does Wider's sculpture merit the censures that
we made of the work by Breucker? No. On the contrary, Wider's
statue expresses-with much propriety, precision and strength-the
idea that one may have of the patriarch of Western monasticism,
who was a model of gravity, austerity, manly tranquility,
profound recollection and great wisdom.
No one can deny that this sculpture
corresponds satisfactorily to the requirements of an authentic
artwork marked by orthodox and well-balanced piety.
Are we against the modern? By this
word one understands that which not only pertains to but is
typical of our times-something a) inherent to it b) different
from the past, and c) distinct from the future.
More and more-not only in the field
of art but in other areas as well-a clever, pertinacious,
and all encompassing propaganda is inculcating a certain spirit
of materialism, sensuality, and delirious extravagance. The
style animated by this spirit masterminds the construction
and reconstruction of entire cities; it marks the external
design and interior decoration of the majority of new buildings
of great, medium, or even small importance, in all parts of
the world. It exhibits its works in universal art expositions,
and so on.
The man in the street instinctively
reacts against it ... but only slightly. Thus, this spirit
already is-or is on the way to becoming-the style of our twentieth
century, which distinguishes it from the past, and God willing,
from the days to come.
If it is this and only this that one
calls modern, if to be modern is to accept the mark or stigma
of materialism-not only of radical materialism but also of
"moderate" materialism with all its hues and misrepresentations-then
it is undeniable that we are anti-modern because we are Catholic.
However, if one takes into account
that alongside this offensive current of our century there
are still artists animated by another spirit, and if one means
by modern that everything contemporary is modern-whatever
be its inspiration, then we cannot be anti-modern because
we are not idiots. There is no other name for anyone who,
in the ocean of cultural productions of the twentieth century,
would judge everything preconceivedly and indiscriminately
bad-both the works engendered by the children of light and
the works influenced by the neopagan spirit, that is, the
spirit of darkness.
Considering these two definitions
of modern, which is the more true? It is a problem of semantics.
However, one thing is certain: if the materialistic style
should not be called "modern," then another name
should be devised for it, which has not happened yet. And
this name ought to take into account that the modern torrent
contains not only the materialistic ingredients we are talking
about, but also gnostic and satanic elements (which are the
subject matter for another article).
To give a name to this current is
an interesting assignment on which we invite our readers to
test their wits. However, naming this phenomenon is not the
most urgent thing. The twentieth-century man in the street
still does not accept the "modern" in the depths
of his soul. Let us preserve him from this disgrace. Let us
be "modern" in the sense that we behave in accordance
with the problems and dangers of our century.
This is what we are trying to do in
these articles, amidst the clamor of much applause and to
the muffled and furious snarls of hatred of some-certain though,
whatever the case, of fulfilling a sacred obligation.
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