Karen Kilby on von B. on beauty

Here is a ten minute presentation by Dr. Karen Kilby (Nottingham) on von Balthasar’s theological aesthetics:

Click here for a list of all seven volumes of The Glory of the Lord and the rest of the trilogy (beauty, ethics, reason).

Gothic art and the inclusion of ugly

There are a lot of dubious interpretations of Gothic art. Victor Hugo’s Romanticist anti-clericalism is one example, and it is a popular one among those more inclined to view religion from its populist-sociological angle, which tends to forget dogmas and doctrinal trends. As such, the gospel commission of the Church is less important than discerning the human yearnings projected by the community.

However, those who are more inclined toward extolling the value of theology and the work of the Church, in forming piety and artistic expression, will appreciate Roland Recht’s interpretation of Gothic art, in his volume, Believing and Seeing: The Art of Gothic Cathedrals (U. Chicago, 2008). The following excerpt is from the final, concluding chapter. The last paragraph reminds me of Flannery O’Connor.

[The focus on structural form] does not do justice to three other factors that complement and reinforce each other, without which no “Gothic” art would ever have seen the light of day: the way the sacrament of the Eucharist developed; the mysticism of the Passion inaugurated by St. Bernard of Clairvaux and extended in the practices initiated by St. Francis; and the new standing of the visual arts in a society where the written word surrendered its dominant position to them. The result was necessarily a rethinking of architectural language. The mysticism of the Passion, thanks to the renewal of modes of figurative expression, acquired an ever more elaborate mode of representation, and thanks to architecture it acquired a space entirely governed by the “eucharistic perspective.”

“Gothic” art is first and foremost an abundance of visual images that make architecture their support. But the architecture itself is treated as an image; it solicits attention continually, one form pointing to another in accordance with a play of relationships, never allowing the human eye to rest. Never were forms so numerous or so complex, giving the visible shapes to the teachings of Scripture, with pride of place taken by the Incarnation and its final, tragic act, the Passion — which allowed evil, cruelty, hatred, and suffering to enter the artistic representation. Everything that Neoplatonism had dismissed from the definition of beauty thus found a place in the story of salvation. Christ is God, “but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross,” as we read in the Epistle to the Philippians.

…

St. Augustine wrought a revolution in the classical art of oratory by rejecting the hierarchical classification of the three modi, or genera, of discourse, handed down from Cicero and deemed to correspond to, respectively, sublime, intermediate, and lowly subjects. This distinction has no relevance, St. Augustine argued, to spiritual subjects concerning the salvation of mankind. In the Christian view, nothing is low or despicable; everything has its place in the overall plan of salvation. Similarly, the comical, the obscene, the ugly occupy a position equal to that of the beautiful. Thus ugly is not the diametrical opposite of the beautiful, which means that it is possible for the devil to adopt the lineaments of divine beauty. If the truth of the Scriptures remains inaccessible to many, it is not because their style is too lofty but because the truth is lodged in the most profound depths of the text, where greatness and littleness mingle. It is humility that will show us the only path of access to this truth.

pp. 308-309

Reason in Faith

This could have been taken straight out of Newman’s Grammar of Assent, with its proper nuance of reason’s role in the apprehension of the truths of our faith. These distinctions not only guard against fideism broadly (unhelpfully) construed, but against the “radical” characterization of faith as wholly alien, subversive, yada yada. The italics are mine.

“‘Tis rational to suppose, that it should be beyond a man’s power to obtain this knowledge, and light, by the mere strength of natural reason; for ’tis not a thing that belongs to reason, to see the beauty and loveliness of spiritual things; it is not a speculative thing, but depends on the sense of the heart. Reason indeed is necessary in order to it, as ’tis by reason only that we are become the subjects of the means of it; which means I have already shown to be necessary in order to it, though they have no proper causal influence in the affair. ‘Tis by reason, that we become possessed of a notion of those doctrines that are the subject matter of this divine light; and reason may many ways be indirectly, and remotely an advantage to it. And reason has also to do in the acts that are immediately, and remotely an advantage to it. And reason has also to do in the acts that are immediately consequent on this discovery: a seeing the truth of religion from hence, is by reason; though it be but by one step, and the inference be immediate. So reason has to do in that accepting of, and trusting in Christ, that is consequent on it. But if we take reason strictly, not for the faculty of mental perception in general, but for ratiocination, or a power of inferring by arguments; I say if we take reason thus, the perceiving of spiritual beauty and excellency no more belongs to reason, that it belongs to the sense of feeling to perceive colors, or to the power of seeing to perceive the sweetness of food. It is out of reason’s province to perceive the beauty or loveliness of anything: such a perception don’t belong to that faculty. Reason’s work is to perceive truth, and not excellency. ‘Tis not ratiocination that gives men the perception of the beauty and amiableness of a countenance; though it may be many ways indirectly an advantage to it; yet ’tis no more reason that immediately perceives it, that it is reason that perceives the sweetness of honey: it depends on the sense of the heart. Reason may determine that a countenance is beautiful to others, it may determine that honey is sweet to others; but it will never give me a perception of its sweetness.”

Jonathan Edwards, “A Divine and Supernatural Light,” in A Jonathan Edwards Reader (Yale, 1995), pp. 121-122.

The Aesthetics of Sin: a commentary on Genesis 3

I’m reading through Genesis again, and I was struck anew by chapter 3, in particular, by the role of aesthetics in verses six and seven.

[6] When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. [7] Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.

The forbidden tree, though forbidden, was still a part of God’s creation and thus “good.” As good, it shares in the aesthetics of God’s order and creativity. Eve rightly perceives the form of beauty given to the fruit (“pleasing to the eye”) and its benefit for sustenance (“good for food”). These two qualities are listed with the third quality given by the serpent: “desirable for gaining wisdom.” It is this third quality that exegetes and preachers typically emphasize, since it most clearly exhibits the motive behind Eve and Adam’s act of idolatry and subsequent Hebrew (and Gentile!) idolatry.

The significance of this tree is that it is not given by God for Eve and Adam’s benefit, while the rest of the garden was given for their benefit and, ultimately, for communion with Himself. The health and beauty that the couple enjoyed was supplied by God’s creation, and the pleasures of body and mind allowed for peaceful communion with each other and with God. Likewise, the innocence of their understanding was supplied by God and protected through ignorance of pride, sin, and evil. It is only with severance from God in an attempt at self-providence that evil and strife are known. Thus, by taking the fruit, Eve moves beyond the limits graciously given by God with an impossible attempt to “be like God” (v. 5).

That is the “wisdom” that was desired by Eve, though it is revealed as foolishness. However, its foolishness is masked by the aesthetic and beneficent justifications given. Every sin is justified by its beauty and its service to some supposed need. Examples are innumerable: the “healthy” sex life, the “culture” of learned society, the “expressions of authenticity” through fashion, et cetera, and the gratuitous acquisition of these goods. Their beauty is praised and their benefit endlessly proffered. Yet, it is not their beauty or benefit that is nefarious; indeed, they are beautiful and beneficial. The evil is present when their value is rendered as a service to the autonomy of the individual. When their benefit is praised because it serves the independence and self-sufficiency of the person, there is sin. When their benefit is praised because it facilitates communion with God and total dependence upon God, there is righteousness.

Once the fruit is taken in verse six, this evil potential for created beauty is the consideration of the very next verse. Eve and Adam immediately cover themselves. Their bodies, beautiful and good, are now subject to idolatry by the other person. This beauty is now necessarily masked in order to prevent its misuse in sin.  As such, the Christian stands in a tense relationship with the beauty of the world. Our depravity prevents us from receiving the world’s beauty without great temptation. Thus, we require a great diligence against using this beauty as a means for self-autonomy.

On Sentimentality

Here is a very good account of sentimentality as a vice, from Edward Feser:

“In The Aesthetics of Music, Roger Scruton (building on some ideas of Michael Tanner) puts forward a brief but illuminating account of sentimentality. A sentimental person, according to Scruton, tends to be quick to respond emotionally to a stimulus, will appear to be pained but will enjoy his pangs, will respond with equal violence to a variety of stimuli in succession, will nevertheless avoid following his emotional responses up with appropriate actions, and will respond more readily to strangers and to abstract issues than to persons known to him or to concrete circumstances requiring time, energy, or personal sacrifice. In short, a sentimental person is one whose emotional life becomes an end in itself and loses its connection both to the external circumstances that would normally shape it and to the behavior that it ought to generate. Feelings of moral outrage, romantic passion, and other emotional states become valued for their own sake to such an extent that the actual moral facts, the well-being of the beloved, etc. fade into the background. Sentimentality thus involves having one’s emotions ‘on the cheap’ – enjoying them, as it were, without paying the costs they entail. For that reason, Scruton says, it is a vice.”

Jaime Ibarra

Jaime Ibarra’s photography is some of my favorite. He has a great eye for color.

Click for full size.

In other news, women continue to be popular subjects in photography.

Why Modernist Architecture is Evil

Johnson Museum of Art at Cornell University by I. M. Pei

I’ve often told others that most of distinctly 20th century art is immoral and serves atheism. Sure, I’m trying to be stark and pejorative when I say this, but I’m also serious. The subversion of mystery, love, grace, and beauty — the decidedly non-codifiable principles of life — are the leitmotif in the modernist teasing of analytic form (reason without transcendence). Classical architecture is natural, an expression of the forms intrinsic to a created reality and, thus, sits well with the rest of creation; modernist architecture is contrived and absurd, precisely in its reduction to function over and against form as a transcendental category. Now, I can happily increase the acumen of my antimodernist rants, thanks to Roger Scruton’s fascinating piece in City Journal on urban architecture and, specifically, the work of “antimodernist,” Léon Krier. It turns out that modernist architecture even fails as expressions of “function,” rightly understood. There is much, much good in this article. Here’s a bit:

Traditional architecture produced forms expressive of human interests—palaces, houses, factories, churches, temples—and these sit easily under their names. The forms of modern architecture, Krier argues, are nameless—denoting not familiar objects and their uses but “so-called objects,” known best by nicknames, and never by real names of their own. Thus the Berlin Congress Hall is the “pregnant oyster,” Le Corbusier’s Unité d’Habitation in Marseilles the “madhouse,” the new building at Queen’s College, Oxford, the “parking lot,” and the UN building in New York the “radiator.” The nickname, in Krier’s view, is the correct term for a kitsch object—for a faked object that sits in its surroundings like a masked stranger at a family party. Classical forms, by contrast, result from convention and consensus over centuries; they earn their names—house, palace, church, factory—from the natural understanding that they elicit, with nothing about them forced.

Modernist forms have been imposed upon us by people in the grip of ideology. They derive no human significance from the materials that compose them, from the labor that produced them, or from the function that they fulfill, and their monumental quality is faked.

Gerhard Nebel on Beauty and the Reformation

I took this picture somewhere in the Vatican Palaces. Click to enlarge.

A sobering judgment from Gerhard Nebel, a Protestant theologian much-admired by Hans Urs von Balthasar:

“Anyone who is concerned with the world in all its range, with forms and proportions, with man’s heroism, with morality, with the splendor of forms, with the exploration of the sphere of myth, will feel repelled by Protestantism. Luther destroyed the rich treasury of myth, and replaced it with an arid, official Institute. Anyone enamored of beauty will shiver in the barn of the Reformation, just as Winckelmann did, and feel the pull of Rome.”

Nebel, Das Ereignis des Schönen (Stuttgart, 1953), p. 188. Quoted in Hans Urs von Balthasar, Explorations in Theology, I: The Word Made Flesh (Ignatius,  1989), p. 121.

Note: Tracey Rowland inaccurately attributes this quote to von Balthasar in Ratzinger’s Faith: The Theology of Pope Benedict XVI (Oxford, 2008), p. 133.

Believing and Seeing

Believing and Seeing: The Art of Gothic Cathedrals
by Roland Recht, Professor of Art History, University of Strasbourg
Translated by Mary Whittall
University of Chicago Press 2008, 392 pages, hardcover

This looks to be an essential book for any person with a love for the theology and philosophy of medieval architecture. Here is what Matthew Alderman (blog) says of it in his review for the latest issue of First Things (Jan. 2009):

Under his watchful eye, we discover the physics and metaphysics of sight that defined the medieval experience of liturgy, as shown through the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and the life of the eminently visible St. Francis. Through an examination of architectural precedent and contemporary texts, medieval architects and their patrons are transformed from naive Ruskinian builders and close-minded clerics to skilled, self-aware professionals such as the learned “doctor of stones,” Pierre de Montreuil, and intellectual clients and connoisseurs such as the antiquarian bishop Henry of Blois. Gothic architecture itself is released from the straightjacket of stereotype and allowed to stand on its own as a classically self-contained system with its own rules, geometries, and formulae, intellectual as well as liturgical.

At the same time, Gothic sculpture and painting is re-contextualised by the consideration of its various functions within medieval worship and society, re-establishing distinctions between various traditional artistic typologies previously blurred or ignored. We even get a glimpse into some overlooked aspects of the medieval workshop such as the highly paid craftsmen who, with polychromy and gilt, brought life to pale, stony sculpture. Along the way, we are treated to discussion of the interplay between reality and stylization, as well as the use and transmission of types and precedent. While Recht reminds us that the medieval artist was not creative in the modern sense of the word, the results of his labor could still be appreciated spiritually and intellectually on many levels.

What has often been reduced to pious simplicity by the faithful and secular alike is now rediscovered as vibrant, sophisticated, and flexibly intellectual. Whatever viewpoint one brings to Gothic architecture, one’s understanding of medieval art will be challenged and enhanced by Recht’s scholarly, measured panorama.

Flannery O’Connor free audio

Nathan Peters at the First Things blog points us to a couple audio files of Flannery O’Connor speaking at Notre Dame a year before she died. It’s great to hear her speak, in a nice, deep Southern accent. I first read O’Connor at the University of North Carolina (Charlotte) in a class called, “Growing Up Southern,” and then again at Aberdeen in a class focusing on distinctives of Catholic thought (in this case, Thomist “earthiness”). There’s so much great Southern literature, but it doesn’t get better than Flannery O’Connor in Southern caricature (in a good, literary sense, but also in a pejorative sense as a polemic against puritanical religion). Her place in the canon of American literature is well-established, and if you want to purchase some of her works, you might as well get the Library of America volume of her collected works.