via www.yankeemagazine.com andhttp://piercework.typepad.com

I’m piecing some ideas together on modernism and modernity as well as secularism and secularity.  It sounds like writing a piece about the difference between blue and azure as someone wittily (or sneeringly–it’s hard to tell) claimed I was doing in a debate, but it’s just one of my things, you know.  Just like I like to watch Little House and the Prairie and Buffy the Vampire Slayer in reruns, I like to make fine distinctions between things that might appear to be the same but are really not. Or, conversely, between things that seem like they are opposites when really, they are more alike than they are divergent.   When we think in short hand that’s what happens.  We start to group like things together for expedience, or we begin to put unlike things together for even greater expedience–it’s necessary for thought, but it’s also necessary when the amount of information being thrown at us needs to be rapidly organized in order to be able to act or think at all.  It also happens to be what some people have described as the primary function of the devil: binding those things together which should never be together and dividing what is, in fact, a unity, but I digress.  Perhaps.  

At any rate, while making sloppy categories in thought may be, to a certain degree necessary and understandable–we all do it–it leads to perpetual confusion on some important issues, even in people charged with delivering clarity.  It also leads to the most damnable illogic.  The self-referential tautology.  This is bad and this is good.  How do we know what is bad and what is good?  Well if I  like it, it is good, and if I don’t it is bad.  Again, we all do it.  The trick is to think–and that is how we turn reflex into critical thinking. And be willing to hold our own biases toward this or that up to scrutiny, and to realize when we are being reactionary in thinking rather than simply active.  

Occasionally you have to stop and realize, for example, secularity and secularism are two completely different things; or in a related mode, that modernity the aesthetic and modernism the heresy are two different things.  In both cases, one is descriptive and the other is prescriptive, a difference that might not seem to be much, except when it means the difference between acknowledging, for another example, that spiritual ecstasy has a concordant neurological state and saying that the spiritual ecstasy IS that neurological state, and nothing more. 

The above links to a great piece in Yankee Magazine about the Georges Rouault exhibit at Boston College.  

If you suppress something it usually goes underground and re-germinates, becomes stronger, and changes flavor and character until it again pushes through the earth and seeks light.  It’s the irony of totalitarianism.  That which you try to suppress will usually become strengthened by your action.  Communist Poland produced Karol Wojtyla.  Go figure.   Rouault seems to be a little like that. 

 Georges Rouault— a Catholic artist usually thought of as part of  fauvism or  expressionism--sank into obscurity during the post WW II modern era when, as article author Edgar Allen Beem writes, art took a turn toward “the abstract, the secular, and the ironic.”  This is an understandable, even predictable turn in European art after enduring two world wars, and man’s inhumanity to man, right under their noses, even in the streets of their home towns. Religion could at times suppress the normal response to such things, questions that came up even for Christ: why have you forsaken us? Some even came to explain the travesties of the war as a divine retribution, as something God and not man had wrought.  While this error in thought is natural, it is also natural that the human spirit would rebel and seek release in creative expression.  It is as predictable as it is understandable. There are two sins against hope, as the Catechism tells us, presumption and despair.  Both exist inside the Church and outside of it, there are wolves within and sheep without.  Presumption is the Pharisee, and despair is the definition of faithlessness.  I think it was Kierkegaard who said that it was the very character of despair that those in it don’t recognize it as despair; they simply recognize it as surviving.  It is likely to be the mark of the presumer that he doesn’t realize he presumes; he simply thinks he is righteous.  I imagine that in the face of two world wars, legless young men, and childless mothers, that despair could begin to look like sanity while belief could begin to look like presumption; not properly grounded, it would be just that, as in the case of explaining air raids and nuclear explosions as divine retribution and not man-made horror.  

In any event, what is even more predictable but less understandable is something that repeats itself over and over again in history; Schopenhauer is famously quoted as saying: “All truth passes through three stages.  First, it is ridiculed, second it is violently opposed, third, it is accepted as being self-evident.”  I agree with that except for the truth part.  Schopenhauer, who occasionally said some interesting things, could be thought of as the progenitor of modern cynicism and nihilism, and also may be the father of modern error: mistaking a mood for a truth.  Modernism in art didn’t really deliver a truth–but expressed the felt absence of truth in a post-traumatized world. Picasso’s “Guernica” is neither propositionally true nor false–it expressed a mood, a permanent horror etched into the eyes that see war all around them. Predominantly, it was a truth in feeling rather than truth in intellectual content.  It is Good Friday without Easter Sunday.

Like the way animals seem to be able to predict a storm before even meteorologists can, artists and thinkers seem to anticipate shifts before they arrive. (You may think it uncharitable of me to compare the artist to an animal, but I hope you are assured that it is only in comparison to the animal’s obvious superiority in skill to a meteorologist.) The Armory Show of 1911, where modern art was born, demonstrated the first inkling of traditional rupture between the European past and what was very soon to come.  The disjuncture between the modern and what came before was first mocked; then deemed scandalous; and it is now taken to be a self-evident aesthetic.  (And it is probably good to understand this: there is nothing truly post-modern: the post-modern is merely the modern becoming tired of and hence cannibalizing and caricaturing itself.)

 Louis Sass, in Madness and Modernism, has identified–along with several others–that the aesthetic of modern art bears some uncanny resemblances to pathological psychic and neurologic states.  The shattered vision of women’s faces in Picasso are very similar to schizophrenic vision disturbances as described by patients experiencing them.  What we have in modernist art is the expression of existential madness.  It does no good, however, to sneer at it and call it mad.  In a world gone insane, I can think of nothing more sane to have in your art. 

In any event, the perpetual error of mankind to which I have been referring is his tendency to first resist the new but then to over-compensate in absorbing it.  The new is really a collaboration with the past–but it is frequently mistaken as a replacement for it. (You remember, right?  I did not come to break the law but to fulfill it?  It seems that people mistook even Christ’s intent and purpose while He was here.)   Soon, the cry to heaven escaping the walls of the Church, began to be mistaken as a replacement for the Church.  Secularity–the legitimate domain of people living on earth–became secularism. Ironically, secularism in Europe has now become more stifling than even its supposed more authoritarian religious forebear.  

It is this suppression-cum-over-compensation, I think, that explains why an artist like Rouault would inevitably resurface not as a forgotten obscure element of the modern era but as a revelation.  Rouault reminds us that secular irony and religious piety can co-exist in one heart; that the homo religiosos can grieve along with modernity–to not grieve would be presumptuous, after all, to say we understand the will of God in allowing us to fall in sin, and can see the full power and glory before it has actually arrived–but fall short of despair. 

If you take a look at his paintings, whether you like the paintings themselves or not, which is really a matter of taste, you will see that he is a reverent modernist, who recognizes the felt truth in modernity, without succumbing to the dogma of modernism; he, in a certain sense, redeems the despair of those who see presumption as false, in recognizing both the felt absence of God in a world gone insane, and believing that his grace, is nonetheless present within it, even beyond our capacity to understand that it somehow remains so, despite our greatest, most tragic sins.