Conference on Faith and Beauty, October 2-3, Portland, Maine

Featuring Catholic artists, Dony McManus, Henry Wingate, and David Clayton

I am delighted to be speaking in Portland, Maine, this coming fall with my friends and Catholic artists, Henry and Dony, at a conference organized by the Diocese of Portland.

To find out more and register to attend, follow this link: https://portlandcatholic.org/beauty

You can see Henry’s work at henrywingate.com, and Dony’s at donymacmanus.com.

The Use of Sarum Book of Hours: Beautiful 14th-Century English Illuminations

A Model for Artists Today

I was recently made aware of this remarkable collection of English medieval illuminations through Hilary White’s Sacred Images Project Substack, and I was immediately struck by the quality of the draftsmanship. Looking at these images, it became clear to me that these are among the finest models I have encountered for artists who wish to learn to draw and paint in a style appropriate for the renewal of sacred art in our own time.

The Annunciation

The Sarum Use and Its Living Descendants

Before turning to the images themselves, it is worth pausing to consider what this Psalter actually is - it is significant in a way that resonates today. 

The Sarum Use was a distinctly English form of the Roman Rite, developed at Salisbury and prevalent across much of England throughout the medieval period, right up to the Reformation. This particular Psalter belongs to that tradition. 

This gives these illuminations a particular resonance with Christians in the Anglo-American world. The Psalter from the Book of Common Prayer, called the Coverdale Psalter - after Miles Coverdale, who translated the text into English in the 16th century - is a liturgical descendant of the Sarum Use of the Roman Rite. It is the Psalter that generations of Anglicans have prayed, and which continues to be prayed today. It is approved for use by Catholics (in the 1928 revision used by the Anglican Ordinariates), Orthodox, and many Protestant denominations. All share a living connection to the liturgical world that produced the images shown here. To look at this Psalter is, for many of these Christians, to encounter a visual companion of their contemporary daily worship.

Woman and Bishop (identities unkown)

The School of St Albans — Broadly Understood

I have referred in the past to the tradition these images represent as the School of St Albans, though I use that phrase in a more generic sense than art historians might. Strictly speaking, the School of St Albans refers to the English illumination of the early Gothic and late Romanesque period, particularly the work of the 13th-century monk Matthew Paris, who worked at St Albans Abbey. His style can be seen in manuscripts such as the Westminster Psalter and in the wall paintings that still survive in English churches.

This Psalter was likely not produced at St Albans; it comes from elsewhere in England. The Cambridge Digital Library, which provided the images, suggests that it is likely somewhere in southeast England, either Lincoln or East Anglia. But it still contains the essential elements of the style as I have described it: the primacy of line in describing form, a limited palette, and an emphasis on flat coloration rather than blended tonal modeling. Whether we call it the School of St Albans or simply the English medieval tradition, this manuscript is a full expression of it!

These limitations in stylistic features, which distinguish it from naturalistic forms of art, are its strength. As a result, the style sidesteps what I consider the blight of so much modern sacred art: sentimentality. When you cannot render every gradation of light and shadow, you are forced to think clearly about form, about meaning, and about what is essential. Line demands clarity, while tonal naturalism invites sentiment. The School of St Albans offers artists today a discipline that might hold sentimentality at bay!

St Catherine and St Margaret

What to Notice in These Images

As you look at these beautiful reproductions from the Psalter, there a couple of points I would make:.

Consistent with the broader Western tradition of sacred art, there is a heavy emphasis on beautiful, ornate patterns in the borders, backgrounds, and across the surface of the image. This richly ornamented flatness is distinct from what we encounter in much contemporary Byzantine iconography, for example, which tends toward greater austerity in those areas that could be decorated.

St George

At the same time - and here is an example of how the English tradition converges with the Byzantine - the content follows traditional customs. Notice, for example, how the Nativity is depicted. St Joseph is portrayed as significantly older than Our Lady: by tradition, he was a widower, and is depicted in imagery as set apart from the Virgin and Child in the Nativity. This deliberate distancing signals his temporary doubt about the Virgin Birth. Contemporary depictions of St Joseph in the Roman church, on the other hand, tend to portray him as a young and vigorous man.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Introducing the Thomistic Artists Guild, with Upcoming Conference and Competitions

NLM received the following notice from Fr. James O’Reilly, FSSP, and is pleased to share it with the public.

Where has beauty in the arts gone? Buildings are gray, woke agendas are tied to a film’s plot, and classical music usually has one or two channels on public radio. Western Civilization experienced a Renaissance before and it is time for another one to begin. Great works of art were often made in prior ages and with the help of God, we can encourage the next generation of artists to make beautiful art once again.

For those of you interested in promoting beauty and excellence in the fine arts, I encourage you to become patrons for the Thomistic Artists Guild, INC. We are a nonprofit organization based in Los Angeles that is currently seeking status as a Public Association of the Faithful so we can open up local chapters outside of California.

The five points of our vision are as follows:

• Praying for artists
• Fostering appreciation for the fine arts
• Assisting artists find morally sound work
• Preserving reverence for the Church’s patrimony
• Evangelizing through the fine arts

The Guild is under the patronage of St. Thomas Aquinas because we are encouraging artists to make art with the components of beauty (due proportion, clarity, and integrity) that Thomas writes about. We also have been inspired by Dr. Daniel McInerny’s book Beauty and Imitation to see the seven main types of fine art (music, literature, sculpture, film, theater, painting, and architecture) as mimetic arts that tell our story to pursue happiness, ultimately eternal beatitude in heaven. Guild members make art through this mimetic lens and encourage fellow artists to do the same.

Our Guild members also have a great affinity toward the Vetus Ordo due to its high degree of beauty and the impact it has had on artists throughout history. The Traditional Latin Mass brings many artists to encounter Beauty itself in the Sacred Liturgy which inspires them to make works of art containing due proportion, clarity, and integrity. Michelangelo, Vivaldi, and Tolkien regularly worshiped at the TLM when their artistic masterpieces were made. I hope that future Guild members and patrons are also inspired in their artwork due to their love for the Church’s liturgical patrimony. Many members of Thomistic Artists Guild regularly worship God with the TLM and in turn bring true excellence to their artistic disciplines such as theater, film, music, and painting.

Even if you are not an artist yourself, you are welcome to join the Guild as a patron to help us live out our mission. More information about becoming a patron can be found on the Guild’s website.

Previous performances and lectures can be found on the Guild’s YouTube page.

Our first ever “Art and Virtue” conference will be held on May 30th at St. Vitus Catholic Church in Los Angeles. The day begins with a Dominican Rite High Mass followed by a series of presentations, live music, and poetry writing. Thomas Mirus from the Catholic Culture podcast will be the main keynote speaker and will discuss the role of virtue in the life of artists. Elena Roche and Professor Anthony Grumbine are the other two speakers as well. Cash prizes will be awarded for the poetry and art competitions.

Sign up for the art competition here.

Sign up for the poetry competition here.

Please keep the Thomistic Artist Guild in your prayers and pray that artists follow Thomas’ principles of beauty in their artwork!

God our Father, we see the beauty in the world you created. Please guide the actions of Catholic artists, that they may cultivate fine art that glorifies You and promotes virtuous living among others. Help them foster works of art containing due proportion, clarity, and integrity so others may be inspired to be with the source of Beauty itself. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen. 

(Thomistic Artists Guild Prayer)

A New Commission by Artist Henry Wingate: Our Lady of La Vang for Holy Rosary Church, Houston

I was delighted to hear from an old friend, Henry Wingate, who wanted to tell me about his latest project, a painting of Our Lady of La Vang, commissioned by Holy Rosary Church, in Houston, Texas.

I will admit that I didn’t know anything about this apparition and what follows comes from the Wikipedia entry, which I am trusting is accurate.

“Our Lady of La Vang is a Marian apparition associated with the Vietnamese Catholics. The event is traditionally dated to 1798, during a period of severe persecution under the Nguyen Dynasty, when a group of Catholic faithful had fled into the jungle of La Vang in Quảng Trị Province in central Vietnam.

Suffering from illness and living in constant fear of discovery, they gathered to pray the rosary together. According to the account handed down, a woman appeared to them, dressed in the traditional Vietnamese áo dài and holding the Child Jesus, accompanied by angels. She consoled the refugees, instructed them to gather and boil the leaves of local plants as a remedy for their illnesses, and promised that prayers offered there would be answered. 

The apparition has not received formal Vatican approval, and it remains a pious tradition rather than a defined private revelation. Nonetheless, the site became a place of pilgrimage, and a church was eventually built there, destroyed during the Vietnam War, and later rebuilt. Our Lady of La Vang was declared patroness of Vietnam by the Vietnamese bishops, and the feast is kept on 15 August. For Vietnamese Catholics, both in Vietnam and in diaspora communities around the world, the apparition carries particular weight as a sign of consolation given during persecution - a pattern familiar from other Marian appearances in the tradition.”

See more of Henry’s work at henrywingate.com.

Altar Cards and Portable Altars from Spanish Cathedrals

Given the ecclesiastical climate and the general lack of support for traditional liturgy in Spain, I was not prepared to see, when I visited a number of cities there last July, so many Tridentine altar cards left out on display, as it were. Granted, one might say that they are left there out of sheer inertia, or perhaps because someone thinks they are pretty, but it’s gratifying to notice these artifacts of continuity, which stand as concrete reminders of a tradition lost to these altars for now, but someday reclaimable.

Thus, in the cathedral of Sevilla, we have a side chapel in honor of St. Gregory the Great (you can see in the large center panel the famous scene of his miracle, one of the most frequently depicted subjects in Catholic sacred art), where the Last Gospel and Lavabo cards stand to left and right, while the main card is placed elsewhere in the chapel (note the handsome woodwork):

Already here, beneath the main reredos, we can see a feature that will recur through the churches of Spain: the words of consecration carved into wood or metal and placed right above the center of the altar, as if to ensure that, whatever else may be the case, these essential words are always available to the celebrant, and stand permanently as a verbal testimony to the mystery of transubstantiation.

The same cathedral shows us, elsewhere, a clear example in silver:

Now we come to the famous cathedral of Cordoba, a mosque converted into a cathedral beginning in 1236 (the Christians of the city claim that, prior to the mosque, there was a Visigothic church at the same location). One of the side chapels displays the aforementioned words, this time surrounded by gilt wooden swirls:

Another chapel retains the altar cards in their proper place:

Continue Reading this Article. . .

An Exceptional Chasuble in Honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe

While the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe has long since passed, it is always worth taking a look at the finest handmade vestments in honor of Our Lady, to give honor to her (as is meet), and to inspire ideas in others for vestment commissioning. A case in point is this remarkable vestment set made by Sacra Domus Aurea, worn by a Vancouver priest-friend of mine for a Low Mass on one of the days of my visit there.

Let’s have a look first at the back of the chasuble, obviously designed to be seen for most of the Mass. We see a classic Borromean cut, wider and longer than some other fiddlebacks, and a tasteful use of a rich blue color, studded with gold stars, and allowing room for an ample reproduction of the tilma:

Here’s a close-up taken after Mass:

It is always a delight to see a priest’s coat of arms on a vestment, which is a very traditional way to mark it as his, while striking the dominant note of family heritage and transgenerational patrimony.

The front of the vestment, while plainer, is still noteworthy for its gold piping and well-chosen brocade fabrics, with the ubiquitous star motif:

The maniple continues the stellar theme:

as do the chalice veil and the burse:

Vestments like these accomplish many purposes.

First, they honor God in His saints by the homage of costly beauty.

Second, they honor the priesthood of the priest who dons them in analogy to the Son of God assuming human nature as a garment (in a common patristic manner of speaking) and in analogy to the Christian putting on Christ in baptism, the glorious “clothing” of sanctifying grace.

Third, they delight the faithful with their beauty, which reminds them of the beauty of Our Lady (“tota pulchra es - thou art all fair!”) and of Our Lord, “fairest of the sons of men.”

I am sure more reasons could be given. Fundamentally, such vestments show, without the need for labored explanations, that the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is a transcendent mystery that demands all the best of our efforts and resources.

Read more of Dr. Kwasniewski’s writing at Tradition & Sanity on Pelican+, and visit his personal website, his composer page, or Os Justi Press.

Liturgical Notes on the Immaculate Conception

In the liturgical books of the Tridentine reform, the feast of the Immaculate Conception has no proper Office or Mass; the texts were those of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, with the word “Nativity” changed to “Conception” wherever it occurs. Apart from that, the only difference is the proper readings of the first and second nocturns of Matins, from the book of Ecclesiasticus (24, 5-31) and St. Ambrose’s treatise “On the Virgins.” The proper Office and Mass of the feast currently used in the Roman Rite were promulgated by Bl. Pius IX in 1863, nine years after he made the official dogmatic definition of the Immaculate Conception on the feast day in 1854.

The Immaculate Conception, by José Antolínez, 1650

However, the Franciscans kept a proper Office for the feast well before the decree of 1863, even though in most respects they had from the very beginning followed the liturgical use of the Roman Curia, and hence also the Missal and Breviary of St. Pius V. The Order, and famously among them, the Blessed Duns Scotus, had been the great champions of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception, and kept the feast as that of the “Principal Patron and Protectress of the Order.”

The Office in question was originally composed by Leonardo Nogarolo, a notary in the court of Pope Sixtus IV, who formally approved it in the year 1480. Sixtus IV had been the Minister General of the Franciscans until two years before his election in 1471; and as Pope, he issued two important decrees on the subject of the Immaculate Conception. The first of these, Cum praeexcelsa of 1477, gave formal permission and encouragement to celebrate the feast, which was still not kept in many places. The second, Grave nimis, was issued in 1483, condemning the “preachers of certain orders” who had dared to assert that belief in the Immaculate Conception, and the celebration of the feast, was heresy, while likewise imposing silence on those who asserted the contrary, that denial of the dogma was heresy. “Preachers” refers quite obviously to the Dominicans, who were at the time largely opposed to the idea of the Immaculate Conception as taught by the Franciscans, and particularly Duns Scotus’ explanation of it. In their liturgical books of the later 15th century, the feast on December 8 is usually called the “Sanctification of the Virgin Mary”, reflecting a theory that the Virgin was sanctified in the womb like John the Baptist.

The calendar page for December of a Dominican Missal printed in 1484 (the last year of Sixtus IV’s reign), showing the feast as the “Sanctification of the Virgin Mary”.

Pope Sixtus is of course known especially as the man who commissioned the most famous chapel in the world, the Sistine Chapel, which is nicknamed for him. He also constructed a second chapel within the old basilica of St Peter next door, dedicated to the Immaculate Conception, and the Office mentioned above was written by Nogarolo specifically for use therein as the proper Office of the titular feast. (Following the normal custom, I will refer to this Office as “Sicut lilium”, the first words of its first antiphon.) For this reason, the first two antiphons at Lauds are borrowed from Lauds of the Dedication of a Church, and do not refer to the Virgin Mary.

The text of most of the other antiphons and responsories is taken from the Bible, and predominantly from the Books of Proverbs, Ecclesiasticus and the Song of Songs. At Second Vespers, however, a rather unique set of antiphons was composed for the Psalms, consisting of quotations from the Church Fathers; some of the texts cited are also read at in the lessons of Matins in Nogarolo’s original version of the Office. In the pre-Tridentine liturgical books, the name of each Father is printed before the antiphon.

Jerome Nihil est candoris, nihil est splendoris, nihil est numinis quod non resplendeat in Virgine gloriosa. – There is no part of brightness, no part of glory, no part of the godhead, such that it does not shine forth in the glorious Virgin. (In the post-Tridentine use, “godhead” was evidently felt to be a bit of an exaggeration, and changed to “virtutis – virtue.”)
Origen Quæ neque serpentis persuasione decepta, nec ejus venenosis afflatibus infecta est. – Who was not deceived by the coaxing of the serpent, nor infected by his poisonous breath.
Augustine (speaking in the person of Christ.) Hanc, quam tu despicis, Manichaee, mater mea est, et de manu mea fabricata. – This woman whom you despise, Manichean, is my mother, made by my own hand. (The text from which this is taken is not an authentic work of Augustine.)
Anselm Decuit Virginem ea puritate nitere, qua major sub Deo nequit intelligi. – It was becoming that the Virgin shine with that purity, than which no greater can be understood beneath God.
Ambrose Hæc est virga, in qua nec nodus originalis nec cortex actualis culpæ fuit. – This is the rod, on which there was no knot of original guilt, nor the bark of any actual guilt. (referring to the rod of Jesse in Isaiah 11, 1)

A similar custom is still observed by the Premonstratensians, who sing the following antiphon for the Nunc dimittis on the Immaculate Conception, with the annotation at the end, “the words of our father Saint Norbert.” (St Norbert and the Premonstratensian Order were, of course, champions of the dogma even before the Franciscans, and in the Middle Ages had an entirely different proper Office of their own for the feast.)

Ant. Ave Virgo, quæ Spiritu sancto præservante, de tanto primi parentis peccato triumphasti innoxia. – Hail, o Virgin, who by the preservation of the Holy Spirit, didst triumph unhurt over the sin so great of our first father.

If I remember correctly, I once read somewhere that “Sicut lilium” was also musically very beautiful, and back in the days when attendance at solemn Vespers was the norm on major feasts, people would flock to Franciscan churches to hear it. If any of our readers can confirm or deny this, I would be interested to hear from you in the combox.

The decree that promulgated the new Office and Mass in 1863 required all religious orders to accept them, and those who preserved their own proper Uses to adapt it to their own particular customs, subject to the approval of the Sacred Congregation for Rites. Since the Franciscans (unlike the Dominicans or Premonstratensians) had always used the Roman Breviary, “Sicut lilium” then ceased to be used; a few parts of it were taken into the new Office, most notably the prayer, which reflects Duns Scotus’ insight on how the Immaculate Conception is possible.

O God, Who by the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin, prepared a worthy dwelling place for thy Son; we beseech thee, that, as by the foreseen death of Thy same Son, Thou preserved Her from every stain, so Thou may grant us also, through Her intercession, to come to thee with pure hearts.

One of the most notable features of the 1863 Office is the readings at Matins for the feast and its octave. In the third nocturn, the readings (with one exception, a passage from St Bernard on Dec. 10) are taken from Eastern Saints whose writings had never, to the best of my knowledge, appeared in any form of the Breviary hitherto. These are two patriarchs of Constantinople, Ss Germanus (715-30) and Tarasius (784-806); St Sophronius, the Patriarch of Jerusalem (634-38) and great enemy of the Monothelite heresy, and St Epiphanius of Salamis (died 403), a great enemy of heresies generally. (This last is incorrectly attributed.) These passages are unusually long, and rhetorically effusive in the manner of their age, but were clearly chosen to witness the belief of the Universal Church in the Immaculate Conception. The reading of St. Germanus on the feast itself begins thus: “Hail Mary, full of grace, holier than the Saints, more exalted than the heavens, more glorious than the Cherubim, more honorable than the Seraphim, and venerable above every creature.” This is a clear reference to the hymn Axion esti, which is sung in the Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom.

It is truly right to bless thee, O Theotokos, ever most blessed, and wholly pure, and the Mother of our God. More honorable than the Cherubim, and incomparably more glorious than the Seraphim, without corruption thou gavest birth to God the Word, the true Theotokos, we magnify thee.

Likewise, the litanies of the Divine Liturgy refer repeatedly to the Virgin Mary as “immaculate” at the conclusion, “Having made memory of our all-holy, immaculate, (“ ἄχραντος ”) blessed above all and glorious Lady, the Mother of God and ever Virgin Mary, with all the Saints, let us commend ourselves and one another and all our life to Christ our God.”

The original version of “Sicut lilium” makes only one brief mention of the Virgin Mary’s mother St Anne, in whose womb the Immaculate Conception took place. In the Byzantine Rite, on the other hand, the feast is called “the Conception (in the active sense, ‘σύλληψις’) of Saint Anne, Mother of the Mother of God”. In the icon below, the upper left shows St Joachim in the desert, where he has gone to mourn his and Anne’s barrenness, for the sake of which his offering in the temple had been refused. An angel has come to tell him to return to Anne, and that God will grant them a child who will become the Mother of the Redeemer. In the upper right, the same message is delivered to Anne herself.

The legend on which this image is based goes on to say that Joachim and Anne then went to find each other, meeting at the gate of Jerusalem called “the Golden Gate.” The depiction of their embrace and kiss is often used not only to decently represent the act of Anne’s conceiving, but to distinguish the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin from that of the Virginal Conception of Christ. This legend is referred to in a prayer found in some pre-Tridentine missals and breviaries, such as that of Herford in England; it also commonly depicted in Western art, as seen below in Giotto’s frescoes in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua.

O God, who by an angelic prophecy foretold the Conception of the Virgin Mary to her parents; grant to this Thy family gathered here, to be protected by Her assistance, whose Conception we happily venerate in this great solemnity.

The Meeting at the Golden Gate by Giotto, 1304. The mysterious female figure in black standing in the middle of the gate may represent the devil, whom Christ begins to defeat in the Conception of His Holy Mother. This figure seems also to have been the inspiration for one of the most sinister representations of the devil in modern art, in the movie The Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson.

Recommended Books For Those Who Want to Learn About Christian Symbolism In Sacred Art

I was recently asked about resources for learning about the symbolism traditionally used in Christian sacred art. These are the books I recommended my inquirer read, which might also be of interest to some of you. I would be happy to hear about any other good sources you can recommend.

If you are after books on the symbolism in Christian art, I would go for the following, starting with foundational references and progressing to more specialized liturgical and narrative sources: 

First, Signs and Symbols in Christian Art by George Ferguson, which lists individual symbols, e.g., the lily represents purity. Next, the Getty Museum has published a series of excellent books, which are particularly valuable because they focus on particular images and explain the content—for example, paintings of particular saints or feasts of the Roman liturgy. 

Another resource is the Golden Legend, or Legenda Aurea, which is a medieval compilation of 153 hagiographies of saints, written around 1298 by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican friar and later Archbishop of Genoa. (A modern publication of this by Princeton University Press has an introduction by Eamon Duffy). Intended to edify and encourage devotion, it combines historical accounts, legends, and moral lessons, becoming one of the most influential and widely disseminated books of the Late Middle Ages in Europe, and a huge influence on popular piety. Some of the details from the lives of the saints are contested by contemporary historians, but if, like me, you are not concerned about contradicting the judgements of those who doubt tradition and promote the historical-critical method, then there is much of value here.

Third, I would go for Festal Icons: History and Meaning by Aidan Hart. This focuses on the Twelve Great Feasts of the Byzantine Rite, giving Scriptural sources for the imagery. For example, here is my commentary on the Nativity icon, which is based directly on that which appears in Aidan’s book.

The Nativity Icon, by Aidan Hart

Finally, I often pray the Canons (or at least sections of them), which are hymns sung at Orthros (Morning Prayer), in the Byzantine Rite. You can start by looking at these books, called the Festal Menaion and the Sunday Octoechos. The Canons are poetic commentaries on the Old Testament canticles that relate to the feast being celebrated. They were written mostly in the 7th, 8th, and 9th centuries, and reflect earlier commentaries and homilies of the Church Fathers. Contained within them are many Old Testament prototypes for Mary and Christ, which reflect the basis of much traditional imagery across all Christian churches, Roman and Orthodox. For example, I wrote an article on the Marian imagery embedded within the icon of the Hospitality of Abraham, and Mary as the Tree of Life, which Bears the Sweet Fruit, which were derived from my praying of these canons.

The Hospitality of Abraham, by Cuban Iconographer José Garcia Cortés

I find allegories and symbols described in these hymns for which, as far as I am aware, there are no images currently, but which could become images in the future. For example, I wrote an article on one, Mary, as the Untilled Field That Bears the ‘Wheat Divine’.

Suffering Without Hope? The War Art of Francisco Goya

Examining Francisco Goya’s portrayal of war’s brutality through a critical Christian lens.

Francisco Goya’s depictions of the horrors of war in early 19th-century Spain, it could be argued, exemplify the Romantic ethos of self-expression, wherein the artist’s personal and emotional perspectives are conveyed through the subject matter. Goya’s harrowing portrayals of human suffering during wartime are widely regarded as successful in communicating the brutality and anguish of such conflicts, and his work is praised by many for doing so. In writing this, I am giving you my personal response to his work. Some may not agree with my assessment of what is communicated through the art, but I hope that they will at least be persuaded of the arguments I make as to what a Christian artist ought to aim to do.

However, from a Christian perspective, one must consider whether Goya’s works effectively convey the whole reality of the situation. Suffering is a reality that we should not sugarcoat, and we should do everything in our power to prevent it and console those who experience evil and pain. But it is also true that through Christ, there is hope that transcends any suffering. For the Christian, faith in Christ does not necessarily remove earthly suffering, but it does provide a consolation that is deeper and more permanent. This consolation, the peace that ‘passeth understanding’, is what inspires martyrs to praise God and bless their persecutors as flames consume them at the stake. This supernatural consolation is available to us all through his Church.

The risk inherent in Goya’s art is that solely depicting suffering without any counterbalancing elements may leave the viewer mired in a sense of despair which runs counter to the Christian message, and leads him into greater unhappiness and an even more bleak sense of hopelessness. This is what I see when I look at his work–hopelessness. Even in the third image, in which a priest is clutching the cross, the artist seems to me to be communicating that his hope was empty.

Goya’s unrelenting vision of despair is not the whole truth. To be fully reconciled with the Faith, it should more obviously situate the depicted suffering within a broader framework of Christian hope and resurrection. This is not a simple task. Expressing anger at the suffering of oneself or others through ugly distortion of the image is much easier to do than communicating the profound truth that one need not suffer, and that there is a beauty in suffering, when viewed through the prism of the Catholic faith. It takes great skill on the part of the artist to be able to do so.

The Christian traditions of liturgical art, for example, the Baroque, Gothic, and iconographic artistic styles, were forged with this Christian end in mind, and had embedded within their forms, quite apart from the subjects they portrayed, styles that communicated this Christian hope.

Contrast Goya’s work with the painting of soldiers blinded by mustard gas in the First World War, by John Singer Sargent, an image I have featured before on this blog. Sargent portrays the horrors of war clearly, but infused with hope. We see it in human interactions: the blind are being led by those who have sight. The light of the sun pierces the gaseous air. I see Christian hope symbolised in this. Sargent was an American who trained in Paris in the mid-19th century and modelled his style consciously on that of the 17th-century Spanish Baroque master Diego Velázquez. The baroque style is one developed specifically to communicate hope in suffering. It is uniquely suited to portray, therefore, the suffering of war without compromising on revealing the degree of suffering, but at the same time ensuring that Christian hope is portrayed too. Still, it takes a special artist to be able to do this. Sargent was not a Christian, but his mastery of this Christian style — regardless, to my mind, he is one of the greatest — enabled him to communicate something good that transcends the suffering that was undoubtedly present.

This painting hangs in the Imperial War Museum in London, and it is worth going to see it there to get the full impact. It is huge – approximately 7’7” inches 20’, which means that the figures are roughly life-sized. To view it properly, you need to retreat right to the back of the large gallery in which it hangs, to see the whole at a single view.

What lessons can we learn from this today? First, we should recognise that it is a myth that physical suffering is greater today than it was in the past. In my opinion, it is a conceit of the modern era that tells us we have suffered more than others, despite the occurrence of two world wars. If you picked any person at random 500 years ago, the chances of an early death and great physical suffering along the way, due to any number of causes such as illness, starvation, and of experiencing brutality at the hands of others, were greater than any individual, again picked at random, even at the height of WW1 or WW2 or in our inner cities today.

The despair evident in the 20th and 21st centuries, often reflected in its art, reflects the zeitgeist of our era, but this is not the suffering of external circumstances. Instead, it is self-inflicted suffering, which is spiritual, and a result of alienation from God. The responsible artist today would not indulge people in such spiritual despair. That is an approach that only exacerbates the situation. The responsible artist should strive to offer the hope of an alternative path, which is the Christian path and is as open to every person today as it was to people in the past. 

That hope is personified in the picture of the suffering Christ, whose sacrifice opens up to us the joy of partaking of the divine nature. A joy that transcends all earthly suffering.

The Legend of the True Cross, by Agnolo Gaddi

Around the year 1385, the Florentine painter Agnolo Gaddi completed a cycle of paintings in the choir of the Franciscan basilica of the Holy Cross in his native city. These frescoes, which are very well preserved, are the earliest surviving Italian example of a cycle dedicated to the Legend of the True Cross, based on the stories collected in Bl. Jacopo da Voragine’s Golden Legend. Gaddi’s work is not as refined as that of the most famous version of this cycle, the one by Piero della Francesca in the basilica of St Francis in Arezzo. In a manner typical of the elaborately decorative International Gothic style, he tends to put too many figures into too small a space, which makes it difficult to read the story, especially in such a tall space. (The vault of the choir is almost 40m above the floor.) His work has also been overshadowed by some of the church’s many other artistic treasures, a few of which will be mentioned below. The eight panels are arranged in chronological order, first down the right wall, then down the left.

At the top of the first panel, Adam’s son Seth receives from the Archangel Michael a branch from the Tree of Life which grows in the Garden of Paradise; in the lower part, he plants the branch in the mouth of his dead father, who lies in his grave, with Eve mourning to the right. From this branch grows the tree which will become the wood of the Cross; the depiction of a skull at the base of Christ’s Cross derives from this legend. (In Gaddi’s time, the principles of one-point linear perspective had yet to be worked out; this is why Seth appears to be so much larger in the background than in the foreground, which should of course be done the other way around.)

Second panel – The tree lives until the time of Solomon, when it is cut down and part of it used to make a bridge. When the Queen of Sheba comes to visit Solomon, she “sees in the Spirit that the Savior of the world will be hung upon this wood”; she therefore refuses to step on it, but kneels in adoration. She then tells Solomon that someone will be hung on that wood, by whose death the kingdom of the Jews will be destroyed; the king therefore has it buried deep in the earth. (One version of the story adds that the queen had webbed feet, which were made normal by touching the wood.)

Third panel – The pool called Probatica which is mentioned in John 5, 2 is built on the place where the wood is buried; shortly before the time of Christ’s passion, the wood floats to the surface, and is used to make a cross, the one which will become His. In the background in the upper left are seen the sick people waiting for their chance to descend into the pool.

In the fourth panel, the narration switches direction, moving from right to left. The Empress Helena, mother of Constantine, discovers three crosses buried on the site of Mt Calvary; in order to determine which one is that of Christ, a dying woman is brought to the site, and completely healed at the touch of the third one. (The basilica of the Holy Cross was officially founded on May 3, 1294, the feast of the Finding of the Cross.)

Fifth panel, uppermost on the left side of the choir – St Helena brings the relics of the Cross into the newly constructed basilica of the Anastasis, which is usually called the Holy Sepulcher in the West. (The absence of linear perspective is especially notable in the improbably crooked buildings in the background.)

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Reflecting the Hierarchy of Being in Visual Art

Or... Why How We Paint Christ Ought to Dictate How We Paint Everything

In this exploration of Christian art, I summarise the hierarchy of being according to Catholic theology, rooted in Thomistic philosophy of nature, which orders creation from inanimate matter, through plant life, animal life, and humanity, all directing us to Christ, the Creator, who is both perfect man and God. Authentic Christian art [1], shaped by a Catholic worldview and centuries of sacred tradition, reflects this hierarchy by balancing naturalism and idealism, uniting the material and spiritual dimensions of existence. As I explain, traditionally, this balance is first perfected in depictions of Christ, whose dual nature as divine and human sets the standard for all artistic representation. From liturgical icons to secular landscapes, Christian art organically reveals the Creator’s presence, bearing the mark of Christ in every aspect of creation. 

In writing this, as is always necessary in the blog format, I have made assertions that some might feel need justification. I have added numbered footnotes (in square brackets) with further reading for those who wish to delve further in this regard.

The Mocking of Christ, 1628-30, by the Flemish Baroque artist Sir Anthony Van Dyck

Naturalism and Idealism in Christian Art

Traditionally, Christian art has balanced naturalism – conformity to visual appearances – with idealism, a partial abstraction that deviates from strict adherence to visual appearances to suggest the existence of invisible truths associated with whatever is painted [2]. 

With the emergence of the dominant modern art movements of the 20th century, through to the present day, artists have typically rejected this approach, instead leaning toward one extreme or the other. Abstract Expressionism [3], for example, dissolves form into unrecognisable chaos, seeking to portray the soul detached from the body. At the other extreme, Photorealism, with its mechanical precision, reduces reality to mere matter, neglecting the spiritual dimension and presenting a world devoid of meaning. Both approaches conflict with the Catholic understanding of creation as a harmonious union of material and spiritual elements. 

Authentic Christian art integrates naturalism – ensuring subjects are recognisable – with idealism, stylising forms to convey invisible truths, such as the presence of a principle of animation in animal and plant life.

This balance is most fully realised in depictions of Christ [4], who, as the Creed states, is the one through whom “all things were made.” As both divine and human, Christ embodies the ultimate union of the created and the uncreated world. In the Eucharist, where He is present – body, soul, and divinity – liturgical art, designed to deepen our encounter with Him, becomes the highest form of Christian artistic expression. The style used to portray Christ, especially in liturgical contexts, sets the standard for all art, reflecting His dual nature and His role as the source of creation.

Crucifixion by Velázquez, 17th-century Spanish, in the Baroque style.

The Hierarchy of Being – How all created beings bear the mark of Christ, and the importance of this to artists.

Catholic theology recognises a hierarchy of being within creation, with Christ, its Creator, at the apex.

Christ possesses an immaterial divine nature and a human nature comprising both a material body and an immaterial, immortal soul. This Christology reveals Him as the node through which all created beings pass, uniting the material and spiritual in His person. We all unite the material body and the created spiritual soul in our human person. Christ unites this human nature to his uncreated (and therefore Divine) purely spiritual nature. He straddles, so to speak, the divide between heaven and earth. The divide he straddles is between divine and human nature, that is, uncreated and created existence. All of creation bears his mark, his thumbprint is on them as the clay pot bears the mark of the hands of the potter, but the fullness of being – created and uncreated is in Christ alone. All other created beings bear aspects of Christ without possessing existence in its fullness as Christ does. Christ is one with us in His humanity and one with God in His divinity.

Humanity is unique among material beings, possessing both a body and an immortal spiritual soul. The spirit of man, which St. Paul refers to in his letters to the Ephesians and the Hebrews, is the highest aspect of his soul, comprising the intellect and will (according to St Thomas writing in his commentaries on the Epistles), distinguishing humans from animals and all other material beings, and likening us to angels. [5] Angels are created beings, too, but are pure spirit. The reference to the spirit of man names the spiritual faculties of the soul, by which he can be taken up to supernatural destiny. It gives us the capacity for self-awareness – being “aware that we are aware” – and enables spiritual acts such as knowing and loving God, through the full exercise of the intellect and the will. The human soul, immaterial and immortal, survives bodily death and allows humans to engage in rational and volitional acts that animals, with their sensitive souls, which we will refer to in a moment, cannot perform.

The paragraph above describes man’s natural state, but through this capacity of the human spirit to relate and respond to God, Christians have the potential to be raised to a higher state by grace. Through grace, we are deified, partaking of the divine nature. This process is fully realised when we are united to God in heaven, experiencing the beatific vision, and, by degrees, increasing degrees in this life, to the extent that we remain on that path to heaven.

Below man in the hierarchy of being, animals possess what is referred to as a sensitive soul, enabling sensation and movement, but not the capacity to know and love God, which are the higher operations of the intellect and will present in the spirit of man.

Plant life, which sits below animals, has a vegetative soul, governing growth, nutrition, and reproduction, but lacking sensation and movement in the manner of animals.

Inanimate matter, though lacking a soul, which is the principle that gives life to those beings above it, nevertheless reflects the divine order through its conformity to the natural order in its internal structure, which we perceive when we apprehend its beauty. All created beings have an essence (from God) that gives them their defining characteristics. For living beings, that essence is called the soul. All inanimate beings have an essence (which, without ‘life’, is not called soul). Every created essence (with existence) reflects its Creator.

All creation, therefore, to varying degrees, bears the mark of Christ, its Creator. Each being possesses the faculties of all those below them in the hierarchy, with some additional higher faculties that distinguish the higher from the lower beings. Therefore, the human soul includes the powers of the vegetative and sensitive soul. These are assumed by the ‘higher’ soul and are raised to a human level. The one spiritual soul of man is the ‘form’ of the whole body. We are not an amalgam of different souls.

The beauty of the natural created order is in both his material body and his spiritual soul because they are both part of the created order. We perceive both when we interact with each other, and it is the duty of the artist who is devoted to representing what is true to indicate this somehow in the way he paints man.

Crucifixion by Federico Barocci, Italian, late 16th century, in the Baroque style.

This hierarchy of being informs a parallel hierarchy in Christian art. The style developed for depicting the person of Christ as a man – balancing naturalism and idealism – serves as the model for portraying saints, religious subjects, and secular forms, such as portraits, landscapes, and still lifes. Whether painting a saint or a flower, the Christian artist looks to Christ for inspiration and applies principles derived from liturgical art to each piece, ensuring that every work reflects Christ in a way that is appropriate to its subject and is rooted in and points to the Creator. Each subject, therefore, reflects this balance of naturalism and idealism as defined by the representation of the Creator.

The Eucharist as the Wellspring of Christian Culture

The Eucharist, where Christ is truly present, is the source and summit of the Catholic faith and fittingly the primary inspiration for Christian art. Liturgical art, therefore, particularly in Eucharistic contexts, shapes our approach to the mystery of God.

The purpose of liturgical art is to make visible in an image the realities that are otherwise invisible to us, to help us encounter Christ more profoundly in the Mass. Christ is present in the Eucharist, but under the appearance of bread and wine. Sacred art can sit alongside the Blessed Sacrament and show us Christ and, one might even say, supply in some reduced way the missing accidents – ie the outward appearance – of the person of Christ. This helps us grasp the mystery that Christ is present, body, soul, and divinity, in the Eucharist.

Similarly, liturgical art portrays the saints and angels in heaven who participate in the Mass, praying and worshipping alongside us, but are invisible to us. It also portrays the essential narratives of the feasts celebrated in the liturgical cycle and reflected in the rituals of the liturgy, in a way that makes the theological truths associated with the memorial more apparent.

Just as there is a hierarchy of being in the cosmos, so for men there is a hierarchy of activity, which has the worship of God at its pinnacle. Hence, by a similar argument, the form and content of art intended to help us encounter Christ in the Mass become the type for all art. That is, once again, the style used to paint Christ in these settings thus becomes the archetype for all artistic expression, manifesting His body, soul, and divinity.

The style with which we paint Christ for use in the liturgy becomes, therefore, the wellspring of Catholic art, with the stylistic elements cascading down into art for every other subject and every other purpose, as all, in the proper order of things, is derived from and points to Christ present in the Eucharist.

An authentic Christian tradition of art reflects this hierarchy of being and of human activity. An icon of Christ Pantocrator, with its stylised features and golden background, conveys His divine authority, while a Baroque painting of the Crucifixion, with dramatic chiaroscuro, emphasises His human suffering. Although each is very different in style, both unite naturalism and idealism to reveal Christ’s dual nature, guiding the faithful in worship [6]. This Eucharistic foundation extends to secular art. A landscape, with its harmonious compositions, or a still life of flowers, with its attention to natural beauty and symbolic meaning, reflects the same divine order seen in Christ.

The Baroque Style of Painting is Permeated with the Mark of Christ

To illustrate what I have described, let’s consider the Christian tradition of Baroque art. To be distinguished from other naturalistic styles that many this is the art of Frederico Barocci, Caravaggio, Vermeer, De La Tours, Velazquez, Rubens, Ribera, Reni and Tiepolo and Rembrandt and should be distinguished from other naturalistic styles such as Photorealism and 19th-century Realism (such as the work of Bougeureau, whom I consider the godfather of sentimental Catholic kitsch that became the standard for mid-20th century prayer cards).

This style of art was given impetus by some simple directives from the Council of Trent, which closed in 1565, and the Catholic Counter-Reformation that followed, aimed at serving the worship of the faithful in the liturgy. It took several decades for these directives to take hold and for a response to emerge concretely. The tradition evolved from the styles of the masters of the High Renaissance and other notable 16th-century painters, particularly Titian. The result of this integration was a distinctive new style developed first to serve Christian worship. What began as liturgical art, however, quickly became the standard for portraiture, landscape, and still life.

Protestant artists took to this new Catholic art form, too. The Dutch artists to the north of Italy, especially, saw this liturgical art style and, attracted by its power and beauty, quickly adapted it to their purposes, focusing especially on devotional religious art, portraiture and landscape, inadvertently bringing a Catholic form into their Protestant Christian culture.

Caravaggio is credited with popularising the style, beginning around 1600, but perhaps a better articulation of what became the baroque style was done slightly earlier by another Italian, Federico Barocci. (His first name is Federico, not Frederico!) Consider this painting, which depicts St. Jerome and was created in 1598.

Crucifixion by Federico Barocci, Italian, late 16th century, in the Baroque style.

I have never read any historical account that confirms this, but I have often wondered if the mysterious name for the style, baroque, is in part a play on Federico’s surname. Indeed, his work of this period bears all the hallmarks of the tradition and was pioneering. Notice certain features that are the hallmarks of baroque art, and consider that this is not a photographic type representation of nature at all:

The figure of St Jerome is painted with the most naturalistic coloration and is most brightly lit, most detailed in its rendering and most sharply focused. All of these devices are designed to draw the eye to the most important part of the composition.

He draws attention to the figure, further, by contrast with the background for which he uses a limited palette, in this case, one colour, sepia and which he varies tonally only. There is very little detail in the rendition of the background compared to, say, the face of St Jerome. Notice how the brightest colours are in the cloth next to St Jerome. And the sharpest contrast in tone is between the line that is on the edge of his right elbow and traces its way along his shoulder to a sharp point under the right ear. This leads our eye to the face. See also how this contrast is sharpened by making the background very dark immediately adjacent to this edge.

The focus, that is, the sharpness and clarity of expression, varies in different parts of the painting, too. The least focused parts are those on the periphery, and the most focused are those in the primary point of interest, the face and the hands of the saint. These are the primary points of interest within the saint because the face and gesture communicate most powerfully the mood of the person. This is how the artist communicates to the viewer of the painting that this is not a sterile wax model, but a living being with a soul. Ordinarily, we would discern this by observing a person in real time.

We see the same stylistic vocabulary in Rembrandt’s famous self-portrait:

…in a landscape by the Dutch 17th-century artist Albert Cuyp;

And in a still life by the French 18th-century artist Chardin:

To summarise, Christian artistic tradition, as exemplified by the Baroque, in art conforms to the principle that the way we paint Christ is the way we paint all of creation. By balancing naturalism and idealism, Christian art, especially in its liturgical forms, reveals the unity of material and spiritual. From those forms intended to help deepen the encounter with Christ in the Eucharist, the source and summit of the faith, flows a cascade of artistic expression that shapes sacred and secular art alike. Whether depicting a saint, a landscape, or a still life, the artist draws from the same principles used to portray Christ, ensuring that every work bears the mark of the Creator and invites the viewer to contemplate the beauty and truth of the Catholic faith.

Footnotes:

1. Art is not Christian simply because a Christian painted it, or because some Christians like it. There are criteria by which we can say that the content and form are consistent with the Catholic worldview. Regarding how we make a judgment on how both style and content of art conform to a Catholic worldview, read my book, The Way of Beauty, and for an introduction a past Substack: ‘Eastward Ho! How The Catholic Church Can Reestablish Its Liturgical Art Traditions to Replicate and Even Surpass the Glory of the Past.’

2. For details on how Christian art balances naturalism and idealism, read my previous Substack article, Both the Chaos of Jackson Pollock and the Sterility of Photorealism are Incompatible with Christianity.

3. For definitions of Abstract Expressionism and Photorealism, the 20th century art movements, I refer readers to the Tate Modern website, which as a museum that advocates for the value of such styles (unlike me), I will take as representing accurately what artists in those styles were aiming for.

4. For the conventions on how paintings of Christ reveal his human and divine nature, read a recent Substack article: ‘Visual Odes to Joy: How Sacred Art Reveals the Body, Soul and Divinity of Christ.’

5. St Thomas uses the word ‘spiritus’ to describe the human spirit. There is a tradition in Orthodox theology of using the Greek word, nous, to refer to the human spirit. Originating in ancient Greek thought, nous generally means “mind,” but in this context, it is usually used in the sense of “intellect,” or “reason”. For Aquinas, the will and intellect, which comprise the spirit, are not two separate “things”. The will is simply the appetite that flows from, and corresponds to, intellectual apprehension. This is why St. Thomas calls the will the “rational appetite,” which is the appetitive movement towards goodness apprehended by the intellect. The use of the word “nous” in the East to refer to this rational part in man is fitting, therefore, and, it seems to me, consistent with St Thomas’ approach.

6. For details on why the three liturgical traditions of the Catholic Church are considered the Iconographic, the Gothic and the Baroque styles, and how each balances naturalism and idealism, read my book The Way of Beauty.

Mary as the Untilled Field That Bears the Wheat Divine

Call for Artists - An Image of Mary Needed to Portray an Ancient Symbol of the Theotokos!

St. Romanos the Melodist, who died in 556 AD, is credited with writing many of the hymns of the Byzantine liturgy. One of the most famous hymns associated with him (although we don’t know for certain that he wrote it) is the Akathist Hymn, which praises the Mother of God, the Theotokos; it is one of the most beloved services in the Byzantine Church. It was composed in Constantinople, “the city of the Virgin,” and consists of 8 strophes, known as ‘Odes’, each of which contains allegorical references to Our Lady in beautiful poetic language and imagery. Typically, the starting point for this imagery is a symbolic reference to Christ, for example, the grapes, an image which alludes to the wine in the Eucharist. Then Mary is described through an extension of this imagery to something closely associated with it. I described this way of generating symbolism for Mary in a post earlier this year about the symbolism of Mary in images of the hospitality of Abraham.

If I were an artist seeking a source for new images of Mary that sit within the tradition, this would be the first place I would look. There is so much symbolism contained within it the Akathist that, to my knowledge, much of it has never been represented visually. I do not know if Romanos was composing this imagery, or reflecting in his poetry that which was already part of the tradition. Perhaps it was a bit of both. However, to the degree that he is the original source, his composition has become hugely influential, as so much of what it contains appears across the tradition of liturgical hymns to the Blessed Mother in both East and West.

For example, taking that example given above in which Mary is the vine. This appears in the Akathist hymn.

Ode VII: O Most holy Theotokos, save us!

We praise you and cry out to you: Hail, mystical chariot of the living Sun! True vine who has given forth a full-grown Cluster, dripping with spiritual wine to fill with joy those who faithfully sing your praise!

I am not aware of paintings that make this connection explicitly (readers may have some thoughts here), but I do immediately think of the mosaic in San Clemente in Rome, dating from the 12th century. I do not know if this trailing vine that becomes the tree of the cross, so to speak, and which bears the Fruit of the Tree of Life, Christ, has been associated with Our Lady. But it could be, it seems to me.

It also seems natural, as a corollary to this, to have imagery of Mary as the source that nurtures the grain that becomes the bread, and subsequently the Body of Christ in the Eucharist. This imagery also appears in the Akathist Hymn:

Ode III: O Most holy Theotokos, save us!

Hail, mystical earth, who, without ploughing, has given forth a Wheat divine! Hail, living table that supports the Bread of life! Hail, O Lady, unfailing fountain of the living Water!

However, although I am aware that bread often appears in sacred art, clearly, and even grain, but not a field, the reference to the field as ‘untilled’ is clearly an allusion to Mary’s Perpetual Virginity.

John Constable’s Cornfield, shown below, was not intended as an allusion to Mary. Still, it can now serve as an inspiration for us to see Her in the ordinary images of everyday life. The lost sheep, and you and I-as observers of the painting—numbered among them—are finding their way to Christ, who is the Wheat in the field. It seems that Kansas could be considered an image of Mary in this way—the Corn Belt is Mary Land! How great is that!

Here is my first artist contribution to the new prototype. It is not liturgical art, but an ex post facto attribution to a painting of a field created a couple of years ago. I can now tell people who visit our house that this represents Mary, and the shaft of sunlight is the Holy Spirit; this then becomes an allegory of the Annunciation!

This last suggestion is somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but it makes a point that I do think is important. The re-establishment of tradition is not restricted to rediscovering the past. Rather, it is one in which we re-establish the principles that underlie it. Once this is done, our fresh reading of the Book of Creation in the light of tradition can give rise not just to new paintings but to an expanding and vibrant symbolism that speaks to the modern era, enlivening the Faith and stimulating greater awe and wonder at Creation itself.