Wheat and Chaff
Can you spot the difference?
Our modern society is plagued by a modern phenomenon: the “death of the expert” (which is to say, everyone believes that anyone’s opinion is just as valid as anyone else’s). Everyone has “their truth” … “That may be true for you, but it’s not how I feel about it.” Pope Benedict XVI referred to this as the “dictatorship of relativism” and I can hardly think of a more apt description. So, let us say what must be said:
All opinions are not equal in value or weight.
All architectural styles are not equally suited to church architecture.
All musical styles are not equal, and some must be rejected for the sacred liturgy.
My opinion about any number of topics should not hold nearly the weight as any of the experts in those respective fields. I am not an expert in biology or ecosystems. I am not an expert in psycology. You shouldn’t care what I think about your medical diagnosis since I’m not a doctor. I haven’t devoted my entire life to the study of the human heart and the various ways to treat it; listen to your cardiologist. The best I can do for you is pray. But what have I devoted my entire life to? Music. Specifically: liturgical music (organ and choral). And I have some opinions… and some well-informed ones at that. I’d wager that they are better-informed opinions than 99% of people in church barring the priest (and sometimes even then, depending on the priest!).
Objective æsthetics
The dictatorship of relativism would have you believe that there are not objective measures to æsthetics. They are wrong. There is a reason that certain architectural and musical forms have stood the (literal) test of time. There’s a reason we refer to “the old masters” and that their works are admired centuries later.
Let us turn our gaze to the realm of architecture: The beauty of a Corinthian column will never be diminished. The soaring buttresses of gothic cathedrals will never fail to impress and inspire. Medieval stained glass is as beautiful and inspiring today as the day it was first installed. The glory of Bavarian baroque gives glimpses into celestial glory. Don’t believe me? Take a look at Ottobeuren Abbey or Melk Abbey. †1
It is true that one may prefer the general æsthetic of Roccoco Baroque to Gothic, or Greek Revival to Romanesque, etc. But what is illogical and untenable is to prefer brutalism and modernism to any of these styles. They are not simply at odds with each other; brutalism, in particular, is in outright revolt against all that has come before it and is designed in a way that is meant to oppress the soul, rather than lift it up. There is simply no claiming that the people who built this church believe the same things that the people who built this church believed. They are irreconcilable. To claim otherwise is to make yourself a liar.
The same tenants hold true for music.
How does this all relate to our purposes here? I’ll tell you: the same principles apply to music. There are objective and approved standards of liturgical music which have been embraced by Holy Mother Church. There are other (secular) styles of music that have been outright prohibited by papal proclamation and yet we still hear them in churches.
Some forms of music are more beautiful than others.
Some forms of music are holier than others.
Holy Mother Church has repeatedly called for gregorian plainchant to be the standard-bearer for all liturgical music. It is THE music of the Catholic Church. There is simply no denying it. In upcoming posts I will delve more deeply into some of the specific examples of magisterial teaching on this topic. For today, suffice it to say: all liturgical music is not created equal, and some of what we hear in modern churches is bad. Really bad. And it has to stop. And it’s not simply a question of æsthetic preference. Among other abuses, much like brutalist architecture, praise bands have to stop. They are incompatible with authentic Catholic worship. (Again, more on this in upcoming articles).
The Church is not a democracy.
It is time for genuine experts—people who live and breathe sacred music, liturgy, & architecture (and those to whom are entrusted the proper authority!)—to right the wrongs of the past. Most people wouldn’t dare argue the finer points of Thomistic theology with a Dominican monk because they are utterly ill-equipped to do so. The monk has devoted his life to the study of St. Thomas’s works, whereas the average layman has to content himself with that which is taught by those in-the-know. The same is true for sacred liturgy and music.
To any of my parishioners who may find this article in the future, please trust me when I say, I have studied these things. I have entered into deep thought and contemplation about the æsthetics of music in the liturgy, and I don’t choose things just because I like how they sound. Trust me when I say, I’m offering you musical wheat, rather than the chaff you were once fed. I am your musical heart surgeon trying to operate on a sick heart. It hurts, sometimes, to let go of old favorite songs—songs that you may have sung in church hundreds of times the last 30+ years. Sadly, some of these songs are a bit like cigarettes: congregations have become addicted, but they are not good for you, and they are not good for the Sacred Liturgy. It’s time to change our habits and return to the musical habits and diet of our ancestors who took liturgy much more seriously than we do today.
If you’d like to race to the finish on this topic, start by skimming through the following documents:
†1 • As an aside, there is one time in my life where I blurted out the phrase “Oh my God!” and meant it. I avoid this phrase like the plague as it is almost unilaterally uttered to take God’s name in vain; it pains me when I hear other people use the expression and I often say a private prayer of reparation while they ramble on. But there was once when I said it and I literally I couldn’t restrain myself… it just flowed out with a force all its own… and that was when I first entered into Melk Abbey and rounded the corner of the vestibule to view the nave. My soul was so overwhelmed by the glory of God that I just blurted it out loud in awe. Even if rococo baroque isn’t your favorite style, you have to admit this is impressive… very impressive. And it is beautiful. This is what our ancestors were willing and able to do out of faith centuries ago. These days, modern churches look like gymnasiums (or worse). Take out the crucifix (if it even has one) and pews and hang up a hoop.
