The Voice of Tradition: Dom Prosper Guéranger’s “Anti-Liturgical Heresy”

Originally published at Adoremus Bulletin, this article by Richard Kaleb Hammond is more timely than ever, thanks to the recent invocation, by the Abbot of Solesmes and by Andrea Grillo, of Dom Prosper Guéranger as a supposed proponent, in advance, of the liturgical reform (!). We are all the more grateful to be publishing Mr. Hammond’s article in its original form, with many passages restored that had been edited out by Adoremus. It is also pertinent to note that, after 175 years, Guéranger's Liturgical Institutions, in which he speaks about the "anti-liturgical heresy," has finally been published in English. – PAK

Dom Prosper Guéranger has been called the “grandfather” of the Liturgical Movement, [1] a century-long effort within the Catholic Church to inspire deeper understanding and greater appreciation for the Liturgy of the Latin rite through liturgical piety, which Dom Alcuin Reid defines as “drawing one’s spiritual nourishment from active and conscious contemplation of the faith of the Church as it is celebrated and expressed in the liturgical rites and prayers throughout the annual round of seasons and feasts of the liturgical year, as distinct from the practice of an unrelated, however worthy, devotional exercise.” [2] Alongside his many other writings which contributed to this project, Guéranger summarized the errors which he and many future proponents of the Liturgical Movement sought to correct in popular approaches to the Liturgy through what he called the “anti-liturgical heresy.” [3]

The historical development of the Liturgy, including corruptions of it by heretics in the early Church, the Protestant Revolution, and the Jansenists and Gallicans of Guéranger’s own time, as well as the varied threads which would be woven into the Liturgical Movement in the twentieth century, can be measured according to Guéranger’s description of this heresy, which he divided into twelve distinct criteria:

(1) hatred of Tradition;
(2) substitution of ecclesiastical formulae for readings exclusively from Scripture;
(3) fabrication of innovative formulae;
(4) antiquarianism;
(5) demystification of the Liturgy;
(6) “pharisaical coldness” [4] in liturgical prayer;
(7) removal of all intermediaries (Marian devotion, communion of saints, etc.);
(8) replacement of sacred languages with the vernacular;
(9) simplification of rites and easing of religious duties;
(10) rejection of papal authority;
(11) laicization, denying the sacramental nature of the ministerial priesthood; and
(12) confusion of the roles of priests and laity in liturgical reform.

Hatred of Tradition, Sola Scriptura and Innovation

Guéranger begins his formulation of the anti-liturgical heresy with its most overriding criterion: hatred of Tradition. He explains that the Liturgy, “which is Tradition at its strongest and best”, acts as the buttress against all doctrinal error. As such, those in history who wished to introduce innovative doctrines only had to deform the Liturgy, to substitute the heritage of Tradition which it maintains for their own hymns, prayers, and lessons, for the faithful to be subjected to and formed in their falsehoods. Through these cunning and often subtle changes, “the faith of the people was henceforth without defense.”

Even with the corrective work of apologists, as in the Counter-Reformation, the faithful, for whom the liturgy is the most immediate and formative experience of Tradition, can still be easily led astray by these liturgical corruptions.

Liturgical innovators who seek to violate Tradition and form the faithful in false doctrines have tended to uphold one common criterion: the need for all the formulae of the Liturgy to derive exclusively from Scripture, as Guéranger explains:

This involves two advantages: first, to silence the voice of Tradition of which sectarians are always afraid. Then, there is the advantage of propagating and supporting their dogmas by means of affirmation and negation. By way of negation, in passing over in silence, through cunning, the texts which express doctrine opposed to errors they wish to propagate; by way of affirmation, by emphasizing truncated passages which show only one side of the truth, hide the other [from] the eyes of the unlearned.

Ultimately, this second criterion of the anti-liturgical heresy falls prey to the same weaknesses as the Protestant doctrine of sola scriptura: the choice of readings and even the canon of the Bible, as well as its interpretation, rely entirely upon “the caprice of the reformer, who, in final analysis, decides the meaning of the word itself.” On the other hand, the formulae inherited from Tradition reflect the infallible teaching of the Church and the integral meaning of Scripture; many of them were composed by saints and, like the creeds and definitions of the ecumenical councils, they codify and explicate the truth of God without bias.

In place of these traditional formulae, and as his third criterion, Guéranger explains that the heretics “fabricate and introduce various formulas, filled with perfidy, by which the people are more surely ensnared in error”. These innovations prove to be the true motive for the application of sola scriptura to liturgical Tradition.

Ironically, after discovering that Scripture cannot support all of their erroneous doctrines, even when picked and interpreted selectively, Guéranger notes that these substitutions of Scripture in place of traditional formulae are immediately accompanied by brand-new formulae which are “filled with perfidy, by which the people are more surely ensnared in error, and thus the whole structure of the impious reform will become consolidated for the coming centuries.”

Antiquarianism

Alongside sola scriptura, liturgical deformers will also frequently refer to Guéranger’s fourth criterion of the anti-liturgical heresy: antiquarianism. Asserting that only what is most ancient is truly pure, whereas later developments are those which “the errors and passions of man have mixed in”, proponents of antiquarianism claim to purge the Liturgy “from whatever is ‘false’ and ‘unworthy of God’.” Accordingly, as Guéranger explains,

they prune, they efface, they cut away; everything falls under their blows, and while one is waiting to see the original purity of the divine cult reappear, one finds himself encumbered with new formulas dating only from the night before, and which are incontestably human, since the one who created them is still alive.

Having removed everything that could testify to Tradition in its clearest terms, on the pretext that it did not reflect the “primitive” and pure teachings of the early Church, they replace them with their own formulae which lack the poetic beauty, theological depth, and doctrinal orthodoxy of the monuments of Tradition, thus “cutting them off from the entire past.”

This “pruning” can include the deletion of practices which are considered to be mere late “accretions” [5] yet are later proven not to be so, such as ad orientem prayer which “the early Church… regarded as an apostolic tradition”; indeed, “it goes back to the earliest times and was always regarded as an essential characteristic of Christian liturgy (and, indeed, of private prayer).” [6] It would also involve the exclusion of cherished customs, such as the elevatio at the Consecration or the reading of the Last Gospel, which developed from centuries of pious devotion. By its rejection of later developments in Tradition, antiquarianism, in Guéranger’s words, “cut[s] them [the Christian faithful] off from the entire past.”

Pope Pius XII clearly refuted antiquarianism only a few years before the Second Vatican Council:

It is neither wise nor laudable to reduce everything to antiquity by every possible device… one would be straying from the straight path were he to wish the altar restored to its primitive tableform; were he to want black excluded as a color for the liturgical vestments; were he to forbid the use of sacred images and statues in Churches; were he to order the crucifix so designed that the divine Redeemer's body shows no trace of His cruel sufferings; and lastly were he to disdain and reject polyphonic music or singing in parts, even where it conforms to regulations issued by the Holy See… This way of acting bids fair to revive the exaggerated and senseless antiquarianism to which the illegal Council of Pistoia gave rise. (Mediator Dei, §62, 64) [7]

Anthropocentrism and Demystification

A fundamental aim of the anti-liturgical heresy, in all its historical and modern forms, is the subjection of the Liturgy, and the Tradition which it monumentalizes, to human interests; this has sometimes been called anthropocentrism, in which “we want to find God on our terms, not on His terms; we want to worship Him in our way, not His way.” [8]

According to Guéranger’s fifth and sixth criteria, man, rather than God, is the center of the liturgy,[1] therefore all teachings, formulae, prayers and devotions which seem mysterious or arresting must be removed while any perceived obstacles to easy comprehension and external participation must also be “reformed.”

This dry rationalism often involves the elimination, simplification or deemphasis of sensible signs in order to demystify and didacticize the Liturgy, the effect of which is “the total extinction of that spirit of prayer, which in Catholicism, we call unction”, since “[a] heart in revolt can no longer love.” Following from this is the seventh criterion, in which man, “[p]retending to treat nobly with God… has no need of intermediaries”; thus is the intercession of the saints made superfluous in a Liturgy brought down to man’s level. In Dom Alcuin Reid’s words,

The ultimate result of this anthropocentrism, warns Guéranger, is “no more Sacraments, except Baptism, preparing the way for Socialism, which freed its followers even from Baptism. No more sacramentals, blessings, images, relics of Saints, processions, pilgrimages, etc. No more altar, only a table, no more sacrifice as in every religion, but only a meal… No more religious architecture, since there is no more mystery. No more Christian paintings and sculpture, since there is no more sensible religion.” In the end, when the Faith centers on man rather than God, it is gutted of all meaning.

In this way, the Liturgy becomes wholly private and interior, with the sensible being neglected or outright condemned, as in the various iconoclasms throughout history. This demystification and anthropocentrism of the Liturgy result from the previous principles delineated by Guéranger, all of which subjected Tradition to human interests and preferences in conformity with the spirit of the age.

One of the most ubiquitous and effective methods of demystifying the Liturgy is the imposition of vernacularism, the eighth criterion of Guéranger’s anti-liturgical heresy. By exchanging a sacred language with the vernacular, the sacredness and mystery of the Liturgy are essentially destroyed as it is reduced to the level of the commonplace. As a result, Guéranger says, it is insisted that “cult is no secret matter. The people, they say, must understand what they sing.” In so doing, the Liturgy loses its universality, becoming particular to each culture according to language and hindering the ability to participate wherever one happens to be.

A vernacular Liturgy easily falls prey to the arbitrary customizations of the people, as well as confusions of doctrine between languages, whereas a sacred language maintains continuity with Tradition and unity within each of the six liturgical Traditions (rites) which trace back to the apostles and together make up the Catholic Church (“the Latin, Alexandrian, Antiochian, Armenian, Chaldean and Constantinopolitan or Byzantine”). [9] As Pope John XXIII taught (quoting Pope Pius XI), “For the Church, precisely because it embraces all nations and is destined to endure to the end of time… of its very nature requires a language which is universal, immutable, and non-vernacular” (Veterum Sapientia).

From a desire for expediency, vernacularism leads to Guéranger’s ninth criterion, the easing of other sacrifices in the life of the faithful, including “no more fasting, no more abstinence, no more genuflections in prayer” and the lessening of “the sum of public and private prayers”, all going toward the overall goal of this heresy to subject the Liturgy to man and thus break with Tradition.

Once a sacred language has been abandoned, “from that moment on the Liturgy has lost much of its sacred character, and very soon people find that it is not worthwhile putting aside one’s work or pleasure in order to go and listen to what is being said in the way one speaks on the marketplace.”

While Guéranger focuses on Latin, which he describes as “the bond among Catholics throughout the universe [and] the arsenal of orthodoxy against all the subtleties of the sectarian spirit”, this can also be applied to the Eastern rites which often use ancient or specialized forms of vernacular languages to inspire reverence and preserve Tradition, [10] as well as to the Ordinariate Divine Worship which employs archaic English for similar purposes.

Throughout history, anti-liturgical heretics have consistently rejected the unique office of the papacy as the guarantor of orthodoxy, the sign of universality, and the final arbiter of conflict, substituting themselves as the sole authority to customize the Liturgy and interpret Scripture.

Guéranger lists this usurpation as his tenth criterion, a means of rebelling against the ‘tyranny’ of the papacy in favor of localism and individualism. Heretics in the early Church, the Orthodox, Protestants and Old Catholics have adhered to this principle; similarly, today dissident Catholics also reject the papacy, either by denying the doctrines of the Church in liberalism or by asserting that the post-conciliar papacy is illegitimate and the papal seat vacant (sedevacantism).

From this follows the eleventh criterion of the anti-liturgical heresy: the laicization of the priesthood as a whole. When the Liturgy is rationalized and brought down to the merely human level, a sacramental priesthood, acting in persona Christi, is impossible. One consequence of this anti-clerical “presbyterianism” is Guéranger’s twelfth and final criterion, wherein he warns against “secular or lay persons assuming authority in liturgical reform”. He recognized that this inevitably leads, like vernacularism, to “the Liturgy, and consequently dogma, [becoming] an entity limited by the boundaries of a nation or region.” [11]

As Dr. Peter Kwasniewski has noted, the laicizing of the priesthood, in doctrine or in practice, leads, like vernacularism, to “the Liturgy, and consequently dogma, [becoming] an entity limited by the boundaries of a nation or region.” [2] It is also not infrequently responsible for the confusion of roles in the Liturgy, by which tasks proper to the ordained are appropriated by laypeople. [12]

Both of these final criteria blur the distinctions between the universal baptismal priesthood and the special ministerial priesthood, thus subjecting liturgical Tradition to the local and individual preferences of the laity. In so doing, much of the mystery and universality of the Sacraments is destroyed through a false democratization, as in laypeople distributing the Eucharist at Mass or boldly approaching the altar and self-communicating in the hand. [3]

Tradition as Living Organism

From these negative criteria of the anti-liturgical heresy, Dom Alcuin Reid deduces positive principles which clarify and affirm liturgical Tradition

[corresponding to 1st and 2nd criteria: to] protect the place of non-scriptural texts in the organic whole of the Liturgy; [3rd] innovate rarely and only where necessary; [4th] reject antiquarianism out of respect for the living, developed Liturgy; [5th] protect all that speaks of the supernatural and of mystery in the Liturgy; [6th] similarly, protect the nature of Liturgy as prayer and worship lest it be reduced to a didactic exercise; [7th] treasure the role of the Blessed Virgin and of the saints in the Liturgy; [8th] reject vernacularism; [9th] resist the temptation to sacrifice the Liturgy for the sake of speed; [10th] rejoice in liturgical unity with the Church of Rome; and, [11th and 12th] to respect the particular liturgical roles and authority of the ordained. [13]

Answering the anti-liturgical heresy requires a thorough understanding of liturgical Tradition in light of these positive principles. The Liturgy must develop organically, as Vatican II taught: “there must be no innovations unless the good of the Church genuinely and certainly requires them; and care must be taken that any new forms adopted should in some way grow organically from forms already existing.” (Sacrosanctum concilium, §23)

Guéranger also summarized this rule: “Progress in Liturgy must be an enrichment by the acquisition of new forms rather than by the violent loss of the ancient ones.” [14] Likewise, Cardinal Ratzinger wrote, “the Liturgy is received and not simply constructed anew according to the tastes of the people among whom he finds himself and… innovation must be for good reason and carefully integrated with the Tradition”, [15] reflecting the truth that “Liturgies are not made, they grow in the devotion of the centuries”. [16]

The Liturgy must be understood not as a mere communal meal, Bible study or prayer-meet but as the approach of penitent sinners on their knees to Calvary, where Christ the High Priest offered Himself as the spotless victim on the altar of the Cross to the Father for the forgiveness of sins, and as the sanctification of the faithful through participation in the Heavenly Liturgy. (Sacrosanctum concilium, §7-8)

Recovery and Restoration

As the Liturgical Movement progressed, it broke into two distinct strains: one faithful to Guéranger’s clear understanding of liturgical Tradition, and another which embraced both antiquarianism, following the “corruption theory” proposed by Jungmann according to which only what is most primitive constitutes authentic Tradition, and anthropocentrism, insisting on the need for a “pastoral Liturgy” which should be “fashioned to meet the needs of contemporary man.” [17]

In response, Cardinal Ratzinger observed, “Archaeological enthusiasm and pastoral pragmatism—which is in any case often a pastoral form of rationalism—are both equally wrong. These two might be described as unholy twins.” [18]

Tradition, then, is not merely a remnant of the early Church or the wholesale adaptation of the Faith to suit the times but the accumulated devotion of the saints across the centuries handed on to future generations. Accordingly, the goal of Pope St. Pius V’s institution of the Tridentine reforms was not to introduce any radical innovations but only to “[restore] the Missal itself to the original form and rite of the holy Fathers” while still permitting the continuation of any rite “which has been continuously followed for a period of not less than 200 years” (Quo primum), thus recognizing medieval contributions as legitimate organic developments of Tradition. [19] The same purpose also guided the orthodox fathers of the Second Vatican Council (cf. Sacrosanctum concilium, §23).

A rediscovery of Guéranger’s anti-liturgical heresy criteria, and their application to contemporary liturgical theology and practice, can help to fulfill the original goals of the Liturgical Movement and restore liturgical Tradition, including those venerable elements, such as ad orientem worship and the use of a sacred language, as well as the received forms of liturgical prayers and rites, which have fallen into disuse.

Kaleb Hammond holds a B.A. in English and Theology from Holy Apostles College & Seminary, Cromwell, CT, where he is now pursuing an M.A. in Theology. He is a writer for Missio Dei and has been published at Adoremus Bulletin, Homiletic & Pastoral Review, St. Austin Review and Catholic Insight. A convert to the faith, he grew up in Georgia but now lives in Indiana with his family.

NOTES

[1] Alcuin Reid, The Organic Development of the Liturgy, 2^nd ed. (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2005), 381. Kindle.

[2] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 58-59.

[3] See Prosper Guéranger, “The Anti-Liturgical Heresy,” at Catholic Apologetics, at catholicapologetics.info.

[4] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 55.

[5] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 46.

[6] Joseph Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2018), loc 816. Kindle.

[7] The propositions of the illegal 1786 Synod of Pistoia, eighty-five of which were condemned in the 1794 papal bull of Pope Pius VI Auctorem fidei, were Jansenist attempts to make the Liturgy rationalized and anthropocentric according to the aims of the Enlightenment. They included having only one altar in each church, no recitation by the priest of anything chanted by the choir, “[f]orbidding relics and flowers on the altar”, reciting the Offertory and Canon aloud, “forbidding numerous devotional and pious practices, including the rosary,” simplifying the Liturgy and translating it into the vernacular. “The people rose up and rejected the imposed reforms.” See Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 49-50.

[8] Peter Kwasniewski, The Once and Future Roman Rite (Gastonia, NC: TAN, 2022), 117. Kindle.

[9] Edward McNamara, “Why So Many Rites in the Church,” at EWTN (25 October 2016), at www.ewtn.com.

[10] E.g. “[L]iturgical Greek… Church Slavonic… old literary Georgian… literary Coptic… Ge’ez… classical Syrian and Arabic [and] classical literary Armenian.” See Peter Kwasniewski, “The Byzantine Liturgy, the Traditional Latin Mass, and the Novus Ordo – Two Brothers and a Stranger,” at New Liturgical Movement (4 June 2018), at www.newliturgicalmovement.org.

[11] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 55.

[12] See Peter Kwasniewski, Ministers of Christ: Recovering the Roles of Clergy and Laity in an Age of Confusion (Manchester, NH: Crisis, 2021).

[13] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 55-56.

[14] Quoted in Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 56.

[15] Joseph Ratzinger, introduction to Alcuin Reid, The Organic Development of the Liturgy, 2^nd ed. (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2005), 20. Kindle

[16] Owen Chadwick, The Reformation, vol. 3 of The Penguin History of the Church (London: Penguin, 1990), 119; cf. Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy, loc 1952.

[17] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 151.

[18] Ratzinger, introduction to Organic Development, 10.

[19] Reid, Organic Development, 2^nd ed., 39-41.

The Oratory of Ss Cecilia and Valerian in Bologna

Since at least the last decades of 8th century, April 14 has been kept in the Roman Rite as the feast of three martyrs named Tiburtius, Valerian and Maximus. Valerian is said to have been the fiancé of St Cecilia, converted by her, after which he in turn converted his brother Tiburtius; Maximus was a soldier, one of several who witnessed the other two first beaten and then beheaded for the Faith, and was himself rewarded the crown of martyrdom after converting. Their legend has long been known to be historically unreliable; in a Roman breviary printed in 1529, their office has three fairly lengthy hagiographical lessons, excerpted in part from the legend of St Cecilia, but in St Pius V’s edition, these are reduced to two very short ones.

In the heart Bologna, less than half a mile from the cathedral, stands a small oratory dedicated to Cecilia and Valerian, commissioned for the use of a confraternity by the city’s de facto ruler, a nobleman called Giovanni Bentivoglio. Beginning in 1505, a group of several painters who worked in his court were commissioned to fresco the walls with pictures of the main stories of the martyrs’ legend. (The series was completed within a year, just in time for an army led by Pope Julius II to invade Bologna and drive the Bentivoglios out of it; Giovanni died in Milan two years later as a prisoner of the French king.) The frescos, which are in a fairly good state of preservation, show the strong influence of the school of Perugino, from which emerged the most important painter of that period, Raphael. Some of the attributions given below are not very certain.

The Betrothal of Cecilia and Vaerian, by Francesco Raibolini, (generally known and Francesco Francia, or just il Francia in Italian.) 

According to the story, on their wedding night, Cecilia informs Valerian that she is a Christian, and has vowed to God to remain a virgin, and furthermore, that she is protected by an angel who will defend her if necessary. This inspires Valerian to inquire from her about the Faith, after which she sends him to Pope St Urban I, who is hiding from persecution in the region of the catacombs, to be baptized. (Urban was Pope from 222-230. Painting by Lorenzo Costa.)

The baptism of Valerian, by Giovanni Maria Chiodarolo and Cesare Tamaroccio.

When he returns to Cecilia, Valerian is able to see the angel, who then crowns them both with wreathes of flowers. (Painting by Bartolomeo Ramnghi, known as Bagnacavallo, and Biagio Pupini.)

Valerian converts his brother Tiburtius, after which they are both arrest, tortured, and then taken out of the city and beheaded. (Painting by Amico Aspertini.)

The burial of Valerian and Tiburtius, also by Aspertini.

Cecilia stands before the prefect of Rome, a man named Almachius, and disputes with him over the truth of the Christian faith. (By Bagnacavallo and Pupini.)

The (attempted) martyrdom of Cecilia by beheading; “attempted” because, as the legend tells it, the inept executioner was unable to do his job properly, and thus wounded her horribly by striking her with the sword three times without killing her. Roman law forbade a fourth blow, and she was thus free to go, and would die of her wounds several days later... (by Chiodarolo and Tamaroccio)

during which time she gave all her wealth and possessions to the poor. (This is represented by Costa very unrealistically, as if she were unwounded.)

The burial of Cecilia, by Francia.

Art, Beauty, Creativity and Inspiration #3: Is Beauty in The Eye of The Beholder?

Or are there standards by which we can measure it?

Detail of Portrait of Cornelius Van Der Geest, by Anthony Van Dyck, Flemish, 17th century.

This is the third in a four-part series exploring a Christian philosophy of art and beauty. In the first post, I examined what art is and what makes it good and Christian. Last week, I looked at the traditional process of artistic creation and the effect that beauty has on us when we apprehend it - how it wounds us with desire for something beyond itself, ultimately for God. This week, I take up what is perhaps the most contested question in all of aesthetics: how do we know whether something is beautiful? Is beauty subjective - merely in the eye of the beholder, or is it an objective quality that can, at least in principle, be discerned and judged? Or is it a bit of both? I argue that while individual judgments differ, tradition provides the most reliable collective measure of what is truly beautiful, far more reliable than the fashions of any single generation or person (…even me!) or the opinions of university elites. Next week, I will conclude with the practical questions of beauty and utility and consider whether or not the creation of beautiful things is simply too expensive to justify.

How Do We Know What is Beautiful?

This is not always easy to answer with certainty, so we must look to tradition for help here.

We follow the traditional assumption that when we apprehend beauty in the world around us, we are discerning a property that belongs to the objects regarded. Consistent with this, we call beauty an objective quality. The subject—the person who views the object—makes a personal judgment on its beauty. To categorize beauty as an objective quality is not to say that everyone makes the same judgments. Clearly, there is a varying subjective element to the apprehension of beauty, as we all know, because there are differences of opinion about what is beautiful.

There is no contradiction in recognizing that there may be a differing subjective response to the same objective quality. There are several reasons two people might look at the same object and differ in their sense of its beauty. It might relate to the proper functioning of the senses: someone who is colorblind will very likely have a different sense of the beauty of something than someone who differentiates colors well.

A second reason concerns legitimate differences in the perceived goodness of the object. Some things can be good for one person but bad for another. The sound of a babbling brook, for instance, has the beauty of the sweetest music to the man who is dying of thirst, but is horrifying to a man who is drowning and sees the water level in the pond rise due to that brook.

A third reason relates to the person’s attitude toward God. Given that beauty is a sign of the divine, someone who hates God will hate beauty also and so be disinclined to accept that it is beautiful. The power of beauty to delight any particular person depends on whether or not God delights or repels him. It is important to note, therefore, that when we stated earlier that it is intrinsic to beauty to delight us, the assumption is that the person is properly ordered in his desire for God, which, in practice, will not always be the case.

Nevertheless, these subjective responses do not undermine the principle that beauty is an objective quality too. The fact that we may have differing abilities to apprehend that quality does not change the fact that we are responding to a reality - the form and appearance of the object itself. It is just as with any physical property that might be investigated by natural science. For example, two different scientists determine an object’s mass differently depending on the quality of the equipment they use to measure it, but that doesn’t mean the object has two different masses. It simply means that it is difficult to determine the mass precisely. So it is with beauty. The fact that it is difficult to know for certain that something is beautiful doesn’t undermine the principle of objective beauty.

Until the modern era, very few people dissented from the idea of beauty’s objectivity. For example, the philosopher most often cited by Catholics on the nature of beauty is St. Thomas Aquinas, who consistently treats it as an objective quality.

According to St Thomas, to be able to apprehend the beauty of an object, we need to know certain things about it:

First, we must know what we are looking at (if we are discussing visual beauty) and its purpose—this is called clarity. If we look at something and have to ask, ‘What is it?’, then it lacks this property of clarity, and we will struggle to determine whether it is beautiful.

Once its purpose is clear to us, we intuitively judge how well suited it is to that purpose and how good or noble that purpose is. When we judge whether something is well-suited to its purpose, we are considering a property known as integrity.

Then, we judge how appropriately its various parts are arranged within it to have high integrity—this is called due proportion. When it has a due proportion, all the parts are arranged within the object so that it can be well suited to its purpose.

The assumption here is not that people systematically consider these elements, one after another, before deciding whether something is beautiful. On the contrary, people just react instinctively and instantaneously to what they see, and in a moment, they see beauty, or they don’t. What St Thomas is describing through his own observation is what properties are present in things that many people, in general, see as beautiful. Similarly, knowing that beauty consists of these sub-categories does not help us to ascertain by reason what is beautiful, for in judging each aspect - clarity, integrity, and due proportion - we are still making personal judgements in regard to each sub-category. We can be no more certain in our judgment of these sub-categories than we can in our judgment that the whole is beautiful.

So, where can we look in order to ascertain what is beautiful? Is there any authority that we can trust? The traditional approach to resolving this difficulty is to seek a broad consensus. So, we can begin to create a measure of beauty that might be accepted by all by considering the common reaction to beauty. When we fully apprehend something as beautiful, we delight in it because we can see its goodness in the context of God’s purpose. St Thomas Aquinas observed this phenomenon and then based his definition of beauty on it. He told us that pulchra dicuntur quae visa placent, which means ‘things that give pleasure when they are perceived are called beautiful’. Here, he is telling us the ‘common sense’ of beauty. There is no assumption here that all people individually form the same opinion when observing a single object or react in the same way when they see something beautiful. Rather, he is describing the ideal that emerges from the general pattern of observation of many people.

Portrait of Dora Maar, by Pablo Picasso, Spanish, 20th century... an ugly portrair of a beautiful woman? (Picture by myself, taken at the Musée Picasso.

This description of the essential elements of beauty assumes an interrelatedness between the observer and the observed object. Accordingly, for someone to be able to observe an object, that object must radiate information about itself to us so that we can perceive it with our senses. For this reason, beauty is often defined alternatively as the radiance of being.

When something is lacking in one or more of these things, we take less delight in its appearance, and we might call it ugly. Ugliness is considered to be a ‘privation’ of beauty. So when viewed in this way, ugliness is not actually a property that anything possesses; rather, something is ugly when it is not as beautiful as it ought to be. Ugliness is, therefore, a sign to us that the object is not fully what it ought to be.

There are various reasons something might be judged ugly.

The object might be distorted or damaged somehow, and so lacks due proportion and integrity because it cannot fulfill its intended purpose. Alternatively, it might be that it can fulfill its intended purpose, but that purpose is evil.

It might be that we are not fully apprehending the object, and it lacks clarity. Perhaps the object is not radiating sufficient information about itself to us, as might be the case in the dark. Alternatively, our senses may be impaired. A blind man cannot appreciate the beauty of a painting.

Even if the object is beautiful and our senses are good, we might misunderstand what we are seeing. This can be, for example, because our intellects are not fully equipped to process information from the senses, or because, even with our sinful natures, we misjudge or reject the good we see. (All these considerations become particularly complex in the judgment of the beauty of people, and we will discuss this later.)

In the properly ordered world, all things would be as they ought to be, and we would have the capacity to recognize this. In such a world, all would be beautiful, for all things exist and are made by God or man to contribute in some way to His glory.

However, we live in a fallen world in which many things are not perfect, and our capacity to judge such things is also impaired, so there appears to be much ugliness in the world. Nevertheless, an imperfect object is still good, even if not as good as it should be. It is still beautiful, even if not as beautiful as it should be. Notwithstanding these imperfections, all aspects of Creation can serve as signs that point us toward the good and our role in the world. We are called to participate in God’s creative work and direct our efforts to the perfection of all things through cooperation with grace. To the extent that we achieve this, we will be good stewards of the world, elevating the natural world by fashioning matter into beautiful art and architecture, and by creating beautiful gardens, farms, homes, and cities. To the degree that we achieve this, contemporary culture will also be beautiful, surpassing even the beauty of the wilderness - the natural world untouched by humans - for we are raising the wilderness up to something higher.

Five Grotesque Heads, drawing by Leonardo da Vinci, Italian 15th century... a beautiful portrait of five ugly men?

The Importance of Tradition to a Culture of Beauty

I have argued that beauty is an objective quality but that people can, for various reasons, differ in their ability to apprehend it. This, in turn, leads to different opinions about what counts as good art and what counts as bad art. When there is a difference of opinion, one might ask, “How do we know who is right? What standard is there to help us make such a judgment?”

This is not an easy question to answer. In another context, if we were considering the morality of someone’s action, for example, we might look to the Magisterium or to scripture directly for an authoritative judgment. Murder is wrong, for example, because Scripture tells us so.

However, God has not revealed an equivalent ‘Ten Commandments of Beauty’. As a consequence, rational arguments that one thing is more beautiful than another or that my judgment is more accurate than yours are usually fruitless because there is no accepted visible standard to back up such a claim.

Moses Receiving the 10 Commandments, Anonymous, 12th-century, from St Catherine’s Monastery, Mt Sinai, Egypt. God gave us moral clarity through revelation…why couldn’t he have revealed principles for beauty too?

Some might ask: what about the criteria already mentioned—integrity, clarity, and due proportion—can I apply them to obtain a definitive answer?

These can help to a degree, but the difficulty here is that we still have to make a personal judgment on the degree of integrity, clarity, and due proportion that the object possesses, and so are effectively left with the same difficulty, except multiplied by three!

The capacity of unaided human reason to judge beauty is so variable that we cannot be sure of the validity of any single judgment.

All is not lost, however. Just because it is difficult to be sure that any single human judgment is good, it doesn’t mean that we have no measure at all. We know that human nature is drawn to beauty just as it is to the common good; thus, we can examine the broad patterns of most people’s likes and dislikes over time in society to consider what is beautiful. We might term this the ‘common taste,’ analogous to concepts such as common sense, common law, and the highest of these, the common good.

The common good is not a physical good that is to be divided up so that a small part is given to everyone; rather, it is a metaphysical principle, the Good, which is ultimately God, to which we are all drawn naturally - although we can exercise free will in rejecting the call of God. It is termed the common good because when someone does what is good, it is good for the person and, simultaneously, good for society as a whole.

The ‘common taste’ or, put another way, the common sense of what is beautiful, is that standard that emerges over time and in consideration of most people in a society. It is a tradition that preserves and passes on this common taste over generations. As cultural phenomena, artistic traditions can vary across societies, even while retaining universal principles. For example, within the iconographic tradition of sacred art, each national church tends to develop its own style, so that Greek icons are distinct from Russian icons, which are distinct from English Romanesque icons. These are different traditions of iconography, each beautiful in its own way.

Therefore, the best way to determine whether a work of art is beautiful is to ask what tradition tells us about it. That is to say, if something has been considered beautiful by many people for a long period of time, then there is a greater chance that it is beautiful than for those objects that people appreciate for a short period of time. Tradition is not an infallible guide, but I suggest a more reliable guide than a panel of elite intellectuals in a university art department…or even, dare I say it, sacred art writers on Catholic blogs!

In consulting tradition, we consider the society for which a beautiful object was intended. So we would say that the cosmos was made for all men to behold. If we want to consider whether or not the cosmos is objectively beautiful, we ask ourselves if men have generally thought that it was.

Similarly, in sacred art, the best guide to the goodness of the style is its impact on the worshipers for whom it was intended. Does it, overall, draw people to God as intended? The pool of people to draw on in this latter category is much smaller than ‘all men’, and so the reliability of the judgment of the effect will be less certain, but it is still the best that we have.

Popular Culture vs Tradition

This appeal to general opinion will likely disturb some readers who, sensing that popular art and popular culture are low-brow and superficial, worry that it is an overreliance on democracy and popularity. Doesn’t this just tend to the lowest common denominator, rather than an elevated common taste, one might ask? In the short term, the answer is, very possibly yes. However, if we give at least as much weight to the past as to the present, we have a chance, at least, of overcoming the vagaries of fashion. The next generation will not know much of what is popular today. However, some popular items will remain known and appreciated in subsequent generations, and these are more likely to be truly beautiful. Chesterton called this approach of considering past and present opinions the ‘democracy of the dead’. The more we look at the art that transcends its own time and has been considered beautiful by many people in the society for whom it was intended, the greater chance we have of being able to choose the best.

I would argue that we should be so respectful of tradition that, in judging the best art, we should adopt a general principle referred to by Benedict XVI as a ‘hermeneutic of continuity’1. By this principle, the default position is always with tradition. We assume that tradition has the best answer, content, and style unless we have compelling evidence to the contrary. If current needs are identical to those of the past, we conform to tradition. Where needs differ, we may respond accordingly and adjust accordingly to the extent those needs are met. The artist’s whim is not considered here. This principle was articulated by Pius XII in the encyclical Mediator Dei when he said the following:

What we have said about music applies to the other fine arts, especially to architecture, sculpture and painting. Recent works of art which lend themselves to the materials of modern composition, should not be universally despised and rejected through prejudice. Modern art should be given free scope in the due and reverent service of the church and the sacred rites, provided that they preserve a correct balance between styles tending neither to extreme realism nor to excessive “symbolism,” and that the needs of the Christian community are taken into consideration rather than the particular taste or talent of the individual artist. (Mediator Dei, 195)

These principles guide our judgment. There is room for much variation, individual expression, and taste while remaining in conformity with the principles Pius articulates. This is true of all artistic traditions. A tradition is not defined by unbending rules that cannot be adapted to different situations. Rather, every identifiable tradition, such as the Baroque, Gothic or iconographic traditions in art, conforms to core principles that characterise it unwaveringly, but those principles can be applied differently according to different needs. Indeed, it is the mark of a living tradition that it can always adapt to contemporary needs without contravening the principles that define it.

The Ghent Altarpiece (Adoration of the Mystic Lamb), completed in 1432 by Hubert and Jan van Eyck, Flemish, is one of the most visited and influential artworks in the world, housed in St. Bavo’s Cathedral in Ghent, Belgium

Pope St John XXIII Blessing the Agnus Deis

Some interesting unused footage of Pope St John XXIII blessing the Agnus Deis in 1959, from the YouTube channel of British Pathé. (The video has no sound.)

Agnus Deis are discs of wax impressed with an image of the Lamb of God, and often with the arms of the Pope or the image of a Saint on the reverse. They were traditionally blessed by the Popes as described by the old Catholic Encyclopedia: “The great consecration of Agnus Deis took place only in the first year of each pontificate and every seventh year afterwards, which rule is still (in 1907) followed. The discs of wax are now prepared beforehand by certain monks ... On the Wednesday of Easter week these discs are brought to the Pope, who dips them into a vessel of water mixed with chrism and balsam, adding various consecratory prayers. The distribution takes place with solemnity on the Saturday following, when the Pope, after the Agnus Dei of the Mass, puts a packet of Agnus Deis into the inverted mitre of each cardinal and bishop who comes up to receive them.” The custom was a very ancient one, dating back to the early ninth-century; this photo shows some very old ones formerly kept in the Papal chapel of the Sancta Sanctorum at the Lateran, but now in the Vatican Museums.

As they were shaped like medallions, they were also used like medallions. Again from the Catholic Encyclopedia: “The(ir) symbolism ... is best gathered from the prayers used at various epochs in blessing them. As in the paschal candle, the wax typifies the virgin flesh of Christ, the cross associated with the lamb suggests the idea of a victim offered in sacrifice, and as the blood of the paschal lamb of old protected each household from the destroying angel, so the purpose of these consecrated medallions is to protect those who wear or possess them from all malign influences. In the prayers of blessing, special mention is made of the perils from storm and pestilence, from fire and flood, and also of the dangers to which women are exposed in childbirth. It was formerly the custom in Rome to accompany the gift of an Agnus Dei with a printed leaflet describing its many virtues. Miraculous effects have been believed to follow the use of these objects of piety. Fires are said to have been extinguished, and floods stayed. The manufacture of counterfeits, and even the painting and ornamentation of genuine Agnus Deis, has been strictly prohibited by various papal bulls.”

Low Sunday 2026

As newborn babes, alleluia, desire the rational milk without guile, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. Ps. 80 Rejoice to God our Helper; sing aloud to the God of Jacob. V. Glory be... As it was... As newborn babes... (The Introit for Low Sunday.)

Quasi modo géniti infantes, allelúia: rationábiles, sine dolo lac concupíscite, allelúia, allelúia, allelúia. Ps. 80 Exsultáte Deo, adjutóri nostro: jubiláte Deo Iacob. Glória Patri. Sicut erat. Quasi modo...

The Station Churches of the Easter Octave (Part 3)

Alongside the Apostles, the martyrs were held in special honor among the early Christians; their feasts are the oldest and most universal in the early liturgical calendars, and the first among them, St. Stephen and the Holy Innocents, are celebrated immediately after the birth of Christ. It was anciently the custom in some places to commemorate those who have shared most especially in the Passion and Resurrection with a collective feast on the Friday of Easter Week, a custom still kept by Chaldean Christians. For this reason, the Roman station is held the same day in the ancient building known as the Pantheon, dedicated as a church with the name “St. Mary at the Martyrs” in 609 A.D.

The Pantheon, by Ippolito Caffi, first half of the 19th century

There is very good reason to believe that the Pantheon was not in point of fact a temple at all. (See Amanda Claridge’s Rome: An Oxford Archeological Guide, p. 206 of the 1998 edition.) Nevertheless, it was believed by early medieval Christians to have been a temple of all the countless gods of pagan Rome; its dedication as a church was therefore understood to have re-founded it as a monument to the triumph of Christianity over every pagan cult and superstition at once. This idea fits well with the stational Mass’ Gospel, Matthew 28, 16-20, and the Communion antiphon taken from it: “All power is given to me in heaven and in earth, alleluia; go and teach ye all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, alleluia, alleluia.”

On Saturday, the station was kept once again at the Lateran, eight days after the station of Holy Saturday. The Mass of the Easter vigil is not traditionally a first Mass of Easter, as the midnight Mass of December 24th is the first Mass of Christmas; it is a vigil, a keeping watch for the Resurrection, which is not truly revealed in the liturgy until the morning of Sunday. For this reason, the vigil Mass is textually incomplete; the Introit, Creed, Offertory and Agnus Dei are all omitted, the Alleluia which is said after the Epistle is nothing like the normal Alleluia said between the readings, and the Communion antiphon is substituted by Vespers. The Mass of Low Saturday, therefore, brings the Church back to the Archbasilica of the Holy Savior to celebrate Easter with the fullest solemnity on the octave day of Holy Saturday.

The Epistle of the Mass (1 Peter 2, 1-10) describes the baptized as “newly born infants”, words which are repeated in the Introit of the following day, when they would put off the white garments which they had worn throughout the week and take their place among the rest of the faithful. The Communion antiphon of the Mass is the same text sung by the Byzantines at the Easter vigil before the Epistle: “All ye who have been baptized in Christ, have put on Christ, alleluia.”

Fragments of medieval Agnus Dei’s in the Vatican Museums’ collection of relics from the Sancta Sanctorum. These were traditionally distributed by the Pope on the Saturday of Easter Week at the stational Mass.

The final station, that of Low Sunday, is the only one kept at the basilica of St. Pancras, an orphan who was martyred in Rome during the persecution of Diocletian at the age of fourteen. In the Roman world, this was roughly the earliest age at which a young man could receive the toga virilis, which signified that he was now entering adulthood. Thus, the white garments of spiritual infancy were laid aside at the tomb of one who gave his life for Christ when he had just become an adult, and legally capable of being killed for his faith. Over the course of Lent, the catechumens had visited the churches of many different martyrs; on the day they become adults within the Church, they are reminded that although they are just at the very beginning of their spiritual adulthood, they must give their whole lives to Christ, who gave His own for the salvation of the world.

The altar of San Pancrazio decorated for Mass on Low Sunday, following the common Polish custom of draping a stole over the Crucifix in Eastertide.

An Important New Resource for the Study of Holy Week

Romanitas Press has just made available a very useful resource for the study of Holy Week, and particularly, of the reform of it promulgated by Pope Pius XII in 1955. This is a three volume series by a German Jesuit priest named Herman Schmidt, who taught liturgy at the Gregorian University in Rome, compiled with all the thoroughness one would expect from a German and a Jesuit. The first volume is occupied almost entirely by the text of the traditional Roman Holy Week, placed in parallel columns with the new one. The second is in two parts, the first of which gives a catalog of sources, then a summary of their contents according to the various genres: sacramentaries, lectionaries, antiphonaries etc. The secunda secundae, as it were, offers a commentary on the various rites as they appear in the different sources. (It should be noted that all three volumes are entirely in Latin, and a fairly high level academic Latin at that.)

The frontispiece of Schmidt’s first volume. (This was provided to me by Gregory; the Romanitas pdf is in black and white, and not word-searchable.) 

Now it should be noted that Schmidt was writing in the 1950s, and exactly as one would expect, he accepts and repeats some of the commonly held mistakes of his time. So, e.g., in his commentary on the Good Friday Mass of the Presanctified (vol. 2.2, p. 133), he repeats the erroneous idea that the fraction rite “seems” to arise from a theory of “consecration by contact”, which held that the wine was consecrated by having a consecrated host put into it. (Note the word “seems”, which also appears in the Vatican’s official commentary on the reform, written by Annibale Bugnini and Carlo Braga, and published in the Ephemerides Liturgicae in 1956. As explained in the article linked above, this theory is completely untenable.)

But on the whole, these are minor issues. Far more importantly, these volumes are an invaluable resource for demonstrating how completely devoid of any foundation in the Roman tradition the 1955 Holy Week actually is. For example, here we have a comparative table of Scriptural readings from volume 2.2 (pp. 674-675), which shows very clearly that no historical Roman lectionary ever omitted the first part of the three Synoptic Passion narratives, the parts which include the Last Supper and the preparations for it. (This is one of the errors of the 1955 reform which was recognized to be so serious that it was partly walked back in the Novus Ordo.)

One of these things is not like the others...

And of course, these volumes also help to demonstrate how the 1955 reform was in some ways a preparation for the more thorough reform of the liturgy that would be enacted after the most recent ecumenical council. E.g., here we see from volume 1, pp. 44-47, the introduction of a kind of responsorial psalm for the distribution of the Palms on Palm Sunday...

while some of the traditional antiphons for the procession were eliminated.

As the Church continues to slowly recover the fullness of its authentic liturgical tradition, books like this are extremely useful for making us more aware of what has been lost, and what needs to be rediscovered. Our thanks to Romanitas Press and its editor, Mr Louis Tofari, for such making a significant contribution to this vital process.

Eastern Music for Good Friday

Today is Good Friday on the Julian calendar, and so here are two interesting pieces of music for the day, one Byzantine and one Coptic, brought to my attention by the YouTube suggestion algorithm.

The first is a chant for the Ninth Hour in the Byzantine Rite when it is sung as part of the Good Friday service known as the Royal Hours; I have previously described this service in full. The channel which posted it includes a link to an album by the Chronos Ensemble, which describes it as an older kind of Slavonic polyphony from the 16th to 18th centuries, i.e., predating the very strong influence which Austrian and Italian music would later come to exercise on liturgical music in the Russian empire. The fellow who runs this channel, Evgeny Skurat, a member of the ensemble, posts a great deal of older music from both the Greek and Slavonic traditions, much of it with cleverly designed computer generated images of churches as the background. I have to confess that for me personally, a lot of this is really not to my taste, but I find this piece very beautiful indeed.

- Today, He that hung the earth upon the waters is hung upon the tree. (thrice)
- The king of angels is arrayed with a crown of thorns.
- He that girdeth heaven with clouds is girt with purple in mockery.
- He that freed Adam in the Jordan received a slap.
- The Bridegroom of the Church is fixed with nails.
- The Son of the Virgin is pierced with a lance.
- We adore Thy sufferings, o Christ. (thrice)
- Show us also Thy glorious Resurrection.

The second piece comes from the Twelfth Hour on Good Friday in the Coptic Rite, a tradition about which I know almost nothing. According to a video which I stumbled across (included below), which is based on an article published 14 years ago in First Things, this chant consists of a single Psalm verse, 44, 7, “Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of thy kingdom is a sceptre of uprightness.” But these eight words (in Coptic) can be drawn out, in the very particular style of Egyptian liturgical chants, to over 20 minutes. This is also not much to my personal music taste, but one can only admire the intensity of devotion that would produce such a thing. Here is a somewhat more restrained version that clocks in at a bit over 15 minutes.

An explanation of the chant from a Coptic Church channel, reproducing the aforementioned article from First Things.

Silent Retreats with the ICRSP at the Sacred Heart Retreat Center in Wisconsin

The Sacred Heart Retreat Center in Burlington, Wisconsin, which is run by the Institute of Christ the King, has recently updated its schedule of silent retreats, some of which run for a whole week, and others over a long weekend. If you are interested in spending some time away from the world in prayer and contemplation, with the traditional Mass available to attend daily, you are invited to take a look at the calendar. Please note that some of these events are for men only, including one in early May that has just been added, and has plenty of room available, and some for women only, so be sure to check the schedule carefully. There is also a special gala fundraising event planned for October 30.

https://shrcburlington.org/register/#schedule

The large church on the south end of the building, which seats about 250 people.

A chapel for retreatants, which will have a capacity of 80, is currently under construction on the top floor. 

This painting of the Immaculate Conception by the Milanese artist Stefano Maria Legnani (1631-1713) will grace the high altar.

The Risen Lord as Hunter and Trapper

Since last week we examined Patristic metaphors of the Crucifixion as a fishing trip, this week let us turn to similar images of the Paschal mystery in St. Augustine of Hippo.

Jesus the Ratcatcher

Augustine was probably unfamiliar with the fishing metaphor that the (mostly) Greek Fathers were using, but he came up with a similar image on his own. If the Devil is a rat, then the Son of God is the ultimate Ratcatcher – as well as the Bait. Commenting on John 5, 5-14 (the miracle of the five loaves and two fishes), Augustine strays onto the topic of our atonement:

The Redeemer came, and the deceiver was conquered. And what did our Redeemer do to our captor? In payment for us He set up His Cross as a mousetrap; there, He placed His own blood as if it were bait. [The Devil] could indeed shed that blood, but he was not worthy of drinking it. And because He shed the blood of One who was not his debtor, he was ordered to release his debtors; he shed the blood of the Innocent One and was ordered to depart from the guilty.

Jesus the Supreme Hunter

St. Augustine’s imagination was not limited to small prey. In one of his Easter sermons, he compares the risen Lord to a lion-hunter. The Devil, a “roaring lion who goeth about seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5, 8), is a ferocious killer of men’s souls, but in this sermon, Augustine likens Death to a lion who slays everyone born in sinful flesh. Jesus Christ was not born in sinful flesh but “in the likeness of sinful flesh” – that is, He was born a true man, but without original sin and without the subsequent penalty of death. Nevertheless, Christ voluntarily took death upon Himself through His crucifixion to save us from death. In being slain by death, He slew death itself, freeing us from the powers of death. He is thus not only the Bait for the ultimate man-killer but the Ultimate Killer of the ultimate man-killer. He is the Summus Venator or Supreme Hunter:

He died, but He killed death; He put an end in Himself to what we had been fearing; He took it upon Himself and He killed it; as the Supreme Hunter He captured the lion and He slew it.

If Augustine is right, then the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, whom we picture in garments as white as snow as when He was transfigured (see Mark 9, 2), gives a much improved new meaning to the phrase “Great White Hunter.”