The Apologetics of Beauty: a Musical Theology of the Incarnation

Today, I’m going to use my setting of O Magnum Mysterium as a springboard to make some observations about the issues I consider important in my work as a composer of sacred music and to offer some commentary on my own approach and techniques in setting a sacred text, using illustrations from this piece.

Pope St. John Paul II’s Letter to Artists of 1997 is rich in observations about the role of artists both within the Church and in society as a whole. He writes:

“even in situations where culture and the Church are far apart, art remains a kind of bridge to religious experience…” and that artists, “in creating works both worthwhile and beautiful, not only enrich the cultural heritage of each nation and of all humanity, but they also render an exceptional social service in favor of the common good.”

As a member of the lay Faithful in the Catholic Church, and specifically as a composer who receives many of his performances in non-religious concert settings, my response to St. John Paul II’s call is to try to engage secular culture with my music, in the hope that it might nurture the spiritual lives of people who hear it, whatever their spiritual condition.

My aim is not to simply affirm people where they are.  It is, rather, to serve as an apologist for a distinctively Christian faith – not through direct persuasion, but through my music.  When I set a sacred text for a secular concert setting – as was the case with O Magnum Mysterium – I still hold as uppermost in my mind the idea that properly ordered sacred music – whether at Mass or at a concert – can serve as a kind of sacramental. That is, it can serve as a channel of grace for the listener and dispose them to be receptive to those graces.

Now there are three modes in which apologetics can be practiced, corresponding to the three classical ideals of the Good, the True and the Beautiful. 

An apologetics of Goodness is that which would appeal to a person’s sense of justice, as in the example set for us by Saints like Mother Teresa, Francis of Assisi, or Maximilian Kolbe.

Mother Teresa (Taken from http://www.nobelpeacesummit.com/project/mother-teresa-of-calcutta/)

An apologetics of Truth is that which would appeal to a person’s intellect and reason, as in the example of St. Thomas Aquinas or C.S. Lewis.

An apologetics of Beauty, on the other hand, is that which would appeal to the human person’s innate sense of the universal, of the mysterious, of the numinous – a sense that is pre-rational or, perhaps, super-rational, and therefore capable of being reached more directly – because it bypasses the skeptical intellect. Even in cultural contexts where relativism rules the day and where people may not be responsive to appeals to truth or moral goodness, I am convinced they can nevertheless be engaged by the power of beauty.  Beauty is the visible form of the Good, just as the Good is the metaphysical condition of Beauty.  And where these two things correspond, there we find Truth. 

Plato was right when he wrote that music is a moral force. And so it is in this light that I see my work as a composer: I practice an apologetics of Beauty. 

C.S. Lewis (Taken from: https://winstonchurchill.org/publications/finest-hour-extras/his-usual-good-sense-c-s-lewis-on-winston-churchill/)

Beauty, of course, is a loaded word, and we hear all the time that it is entirely subjective and eludes definition. I think that C.S. Lewis, in his great essay “The Weight of Glory”, gets around this objection. He offers an intriguing and – I think – profound concept of it. He asserts that the primary feeling aroused by Beauty is not pleasure, but longing.  He writes,

“the books or the music in which we thought beauty was located will betray us if we trust in them.  It was not in them, it only came through them; and what came through them was longing.” 

 When I speak of beauty in art, therefore, what I am describing is:

A work of art which arouses in the beholder a longing for the transcendent; and which serves as a bridge from the material to the spiritual world to unite us to the transcendent.

I would add that when applied to works of art with a religious subject, an additional consideration must be kept in mind -- and that is this:

If a work of art has as its primary end instruction or exhortation, it might well work didactically, yet still fail miserably as art – undermining its own intellectual and inspirational power– if the didactic end is not distinct from, and subordinate to, the primary end of beauty.  A sacred choral work may set words of unimpeachable orthodoxy, but if the relation of the words to the music is superficial or if sentimentality replaces genuine emotion and depth of meaning, then it fails at being beautiful – and also fails at being persuasive.

Let me pivot now to some comments on my setting of O Magnum Mysterium and on my general approach to setting sacred texts.

Sung by the Artists Vocal Ensemble, Jonathan Dimmock, Director, this is a video to Frank La Rocca's setting of O Magnum Mysterium. from his new CD - In This Place - which can be purchased www.franklarocca.com

In addition to the usual concerns for poetic meter, structure, image, and language, the setting of sacred texts ought to engage some additional considerations. When I prepare to set a sacred text, I strive to discover and understand its theological resonances. These resonances are a layer of meaning that flows beneath the surface of the text and, like an underground stream, feeds the surface of that text, helping to illuminate its deepest meaning.

The approach I took in setting the text of O Magnum Mysterium entailed the use of musical symbolism, having been inspired by some reading I was then doing on that subject in relation to the music of J.S. Bach.  It is not an approach I have used very often, but it seemed as though it might work with this text because is very rich in theological resonances, particularly regarding creation and the incarnation.  Let’s look at the text and -- taking nothing for granted – a look at some of the questions that might emerge: This slide illustrates what I mean:

These are not the only questions that might be raised by this text, and I make no attempt to underscore all of them or all of them equally. That kind of approach that would lead to a lack of focus. Certainly there is a good deal of overlap among these questions – so, for example, a musical symbol introduced in relation to the Crucifixion, might –if used in the right sort of way – also shed some light on the Virgin Mary’s role in Salvation history.

The primary musical symbol I use in this piece is borrowed from Baroque practice – it a musical representation of the Cross, and it is found all over the music of Bach.

Here the symbol of the Cross is both visual allegory and musically-embodied meaning.  The allegory is derived from the visual shape of the cross motive, But its interpretation – its essential symbolic meaning – is in the painful, dissonant appoggiaturas that are woven into its fabric.

Alright.  Let’s now have a look at the opening of my piece, which, theologically-speaking, takes place at the intersection of the 1st chapter of Genesis, the Prologue to the Gospel of John and the Book of Revelation.

This indistinct harmony of superimposed fifths was chosen to evoke the formless cosmos of Genesis, and provides a backdrop for the first appearance of the Cross motif in the soprano part.  The motif is the symbol of Christ in these three senses: Christ the Light of Creation, Christ the Light of Revelation (the Logos), and Christ the sacrificial victim.  

This impression of formlessness in the harmony, you’ll note, is supported by the first vocal sound ‘O’, hardly even a word, it is more pure sound, something pre-verbal.  By placing within this sound the symbol of the Cross – before the text even begins to unfold – I seek to foreshadow that Calvary is what the Incarnation is ordered to.

So, following the Gospel of St. John, I am tracing the Incarnation back to the beginning of all things, and, following the Book Revelation, affirming the eschatological meaning of the crucified victim - the Lamb - who appears in my setting as already slain as Creation unfolds.

Please note that this is not word painting – the Cross is never mentioned in the text.  Instead the Cross wells up from below the surface of the text – it is one of those theological underground streams.  The Cross symbol is not used as word painting but instead – and this is key to my approach – as a form of musical hermeneutic that interprets the text.

Directing your attention now towards the end of this first section, the Cross motif is no longer floating on an impressionistic cloud, but now takes on the role of clear, actual harmonic motion in the lower parts – it is, if you will, being made more present, more tangibly incarnated as it permeates more deeply into the musical fabric – yet it remains, as the associated text says, “mystery.”

A musical symbol can also be used to develop a metaphorical meaning if it is later associated with a different text than it was originally, and a text to which it may not seem to bear any direct relationship.

Simeon told the Virgin Mary that her soul would also be pierced by a sword, a prophetic description of her unique participation in the suffering of Christ on the Cross.  And so here, as the text reads, “ Blessed Virgin whose womb was worthy” – at the very moment, in other words, that the Eucharistic flesh is being knitted together in her womb, we see and hear: the Cross. 

In a most interesting compression of time – not unlike the effect of a double exposure in photography – we are, in this moment of her pregnancy, also brought to Calvary where Mary, her heart pierced with grief, stands in the shadow of the Cross.  And her role as Mother of God in the story of salvation is revealed to be not just giving birth, but as a participation in the suffering of Christ

This example illustrates a different kind of musical symbolism – the use of tonal allegory.

In this very pure modal environment, the traversal of a tonal space bounded by the distantly related centers of b and F – has a strong impact and imbues the words “Dominum Christum” with great drama.  These pitch centers, occupying opposite sides of the circle of fifths, serve as an allegory, if you will, for the Alpha and Omega of Christ.

And here also, the tonal center decisively shifts to C-major and remains there to the end.  The tonal scheme speaks to new Creation being fulfilled.

Finally -- and also to underscore this notion of the new Creation – I bracket the piece with the same musical passage, first in b-minor, and at the end in C-major, remaking the passage – so to speak – new again.

Just a footnote here to conclude.  All of us gathered here today [or in this case, reading this article] are apologists of beauty, whether we think of ourselves in this way or not.  In whatever it is we do, we must always strive for artistic excellence. Nothing, but nothing could be less persuasive than mediocrity.

I see my own role as a composer, then, in seeking to produce substantial and beautiful work as a kind missionary work.  And that work means that I must be engaged in the constant task of trying to understand myself how to respond to the truth – and thereby, perhaps, help others to do the same.

Frank La Rocca

This lecture was originally given at a University of Notre Dame conference, "James MacMillan: The Musical Modes of Mary and the Cross," (September 2012) and was published here with composer’s permission. Featured composer photo by Lucia La Rocca.

If you are interested in hearing more of Frank’s music, please visit his website.