Newman, Hopkins, the Saints and Literature

It has been quite a fortnight for saints with a literary connection.

Today is the Memorial of Blessed John Henry Newman, the only novelist (I think) to have been recognised as a saint (see here, here, here and here for my earlier thoughts on Newman). Not that his work as a novelist (any more than St Thomas More's work as a writer) was what led to him being beatified.

Newman was an inspirational figure in all sorts of ways even during his own lifetime as I was reminded when I was in the Church of St Aloysius Gonzaga in Oxford this weekend, because not only did Newman preach there but it was also where Gerard Manley Hopkins, who was received into the Church by Newman, was a curate (see also here).

In recent days we have remembered St Francis of Assisi (4th October) about whom the novelist Julien Green (among many others) has written, Blessed Columba Marmion (3rd October) whose Christ in His Mysteries (available here for free in French and here for a price in English translation) inspired Messiaen's Vingt regards sur l'enfant Jesus, and the Holy Guardian Angels (2nd October), whom I mentioned the other day. And that's without even starting on those great writers: St Therese of the Child Jesus and St Jerome.

I should also mention Henry Garnett's The Blood Red Crescent and the Battle of Lepanto in connection with the Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary last Sunday.

That should keep us going for a while.

Catholicism and Music

It might reasonably be objected that this topic falls outside the scope of this blog (and outside my area of expertise) but I think an examination of Catholicism's relationship with music in the last hundred years or so can help shed light on its relationship with literature.

If we look at some of the big names in contemporary classical music, it's striking how many of them are religious believers. What's even more striking is how their religious beliefs are absolutely central to their work. Catholics like James MacMillan and Roxanna Panufnik, and Russian Orthodox composers like Sofia Gubaidulina and Arvo Pärt, who was recently appointed a member of the Pontifical Council for Culture, have allowed their faith to shape their work in a way which we hardly ever see in contemporary literature.

Nor are they aberrations in a largely secular profession. A huge number of the most important composers of the 20th Century were Catholics: de Falla, Dupré, Duruflé, Elgar, Gorecki, Messiaen, Poulenc, Schnittke and others besides.

So what conclusions and what parallels can we draw from this? Asking "Where Have All the Catholic Writers Gone?", Robert Fay argues that the (temporary) disappearance of the Latin Mass is one of the root causes of what he sees as a Catholic literary decline. It's an interesting argument - though I'm not wholly convinced by his expression of it - and it is certainly true that Catholic composers have never been cut off from the Catholic past in the same way as their literary counterparts. The (Latin) Mass has continued to be fundamentally important to composers of all faiths and none right up to the present day.

It is also true, as organist-composers such as Dupré, Duruflé, and Messiaen reveal, that the Church has continued to be a hugely important patron of the musical arts. But the prevalence of Catholic composers does not stem from patronage alone.

Equally significant, I would argue, has been the determination of Catholic and Orthodox composers to remain at the forefront of the avant-garde. Composers such as Pärt, Gubaidulina, Schnittke, and Messiaen have been at the forefront of the 20th Century's radical musical experiments not despite their religion but because of it.

Olivier Messiaen, the greatest of them all, was a true Catholic artist precisely because he embraced everything from birdsong to Hindu rhythms, from serialism to Gregorian chant, in his music, while grounding it all in the language of mystical love.

And he wasn't alone. Alfred Schnittke, who was also at the forefront of the 20th Century's avant-garde, allowed his Catholic faith to shape his musical work. His powerful Fourth Symphony, for example, is based on the Mysteries of the Rosary.

The musical and theological confidence of these composers stands out in an era of doubt. Rather than allow their beliefs or music to be compartmentalised or sidelined into the musical equivalent of the God Slot, they brought the life of the Church into the concert hall. By contrast, it now seems hard to imagine a contemporary novelist publishing the equivalent of Messiaen's Vingt regards sur l'enfant-Jésus (or Pärt's Adam's Lament or MacMillan's Triduum).

So can we draw any conclusions about the way forward for Catholic literature based on the success of Catholic (and Orthodox) composers? I would tentatively suggest the following:

1. Being Catholic doesn't mean rejecting the avant-garde.
2. Being avant-garde doesn't mean rejecting the Catholic past. 
3. Catholic art can and should reach out to non-Catholic audiences.

Undoubtedly there's more to be said but that's quite enough for one post.