"In this world, you will have distress." ~ Of Viruses, Mortality, Art and Lent

A banner reading "memento mori" hangs over a winged skull on this grave
marker in the Old Granary Burying Ground in Boston, 18th century.

As much of the world reacts with hysteria to the COVID-19 plague, Catholics continue our journey through Lent. Indeed, the two events coalesce very appropriately. Lent is a penitential season when we are meant to reflect on our life and remember the inevitability of our death. Few things help to focus the mind on this topic more effectively than a deadly, fast-spreading viral outbreak.

We should recall that in the past our ancestors suffered through numerous plagues much more deadly than the current Corona virus with little or no recourse to medical care: The Black Death, cholera, typhus, tuberculosis, smallpox, etc. The response to these plagues can be seen in the artwork from the period, particularly in the style known as “Memento Mori.” Works created in this style focus on the fragility of human life and the inevitability of death. The phrase it self comes from the Latin warning which was meant to be whispered into the ear of a victorious Roman general as he rode in a celebratory triumph through the city or Rome: “Remember, thou art mortal.” Examples of the style may be seen throughout Christian history and in particular in funerary art like the gravestone shown above from Boston.

In keeping with the somber mood of the Lenten season, and to perhaps soothe some of the craziness associated with the ongoing Corona virus freak-out, here are some classic works of art to help us contemplate our own mortality:

Memento Mori from Pompeii, prior to AD 79.

The pleasure-loving Roman pagans living on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius had a healthy respect for death. Here we see a mosaic which once occupied the floor of a Roman villa. It shows a skull representing death sitting atop a butterfly representing the soul and a wheel which may turn in any direction representing fate or fortune. The skull hangs from a level which balances symbols of wealth on one side with symbols of poverty on the other. After the eruption of AD 79, the mosaic would lay under layers of volcanic ash and pumice for centuries. Read more here.

The advent of Christianity largely dispelled such stark portrayals of death—for a while at least. More commonly seen in the surviving artwork of early Christianity are images showing the sufferings and deaths of the martyrs. Works depicting the martyrdoms of the saints are more often associated with victory over death and eternal life. This image from the 11th century Menologion of the Eastern Emperor Basil II shows Saint Ignatius of Antioch being devoured by lions. Far from despairing, the Saint retains a look of steadfastness as he perseveres to the end.

Saint Ignatius of Antioch is devoured by lions in the arena from the
Menologion of Basil II, ca. early 11th century AD.

By the time of the high Middle Ages, however, death has re-emerged as a potent symbolic figure as can be seen in this illuminated page from a French Book of the Hours dated to AD 1450 pictured below. Here we see the gruesome figure of death who comes for all regardless of rank – from the Pope, to the Holy Roman Emperor, to a Cardinal, a king and a knight. Read more here.

Book of the Hours, ca. AD 1450. Click to enlarge.

The next image conveys a similar message. This detail of Death and the Miser by Hieronymous Bosch shows an elderly wealthy man on his deathbed. A demonic creature may be seen tempting him with a bag of gold even at his end, while an angel encourages him to acknowledge the crucifix. Meanwhile a sinister representation of Death stands at the door ready to cast his irresistible arrow.

Death and the Miser by Hieronymous Bosch,
late 15th century AD. Click to enlarge.

A similar artistic theme is known as Vanitas. Less terrifying than the late Medieval and early Renaissance works, the Vanitas genre hearkens back to the Scriptural passage in Ecclesiastes (1:2): “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” This refers to the ephemeral nature of life, and the images created in this style are more allegorical, often featuring a mix of the beautiful works of man in various states of disorder, decay or ruin, usually mixed with symbols of death. This image by the 17th century Dutch painter Matthias Withoos is a good example, showing symbols of art, music, exploration, and architecture (is that the pyramid of Cestius back there?) intermingled with natural overgrowth and skulls:

Vanitas by Matthias Withoos, 17th century AD. Click to enlarge.

Another common theme with a similar style is “Sic transit gloria mundi” – a Latin phrase which translates to: “Thus passes the world’s glory.” Below we see a work done by modern painter, Emily Allchurch, in imitation of a work by the 18th century Italian engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi. Piranesi's original may be seen here. In her work, Allchurch transplants Piranesi’s fantastical view of the Roman tombs at the intersection of the Via Appia and the Via Ardentina to a more contemporary setting, adding subtle street-signs and making them the approach to the skyscrapers of modern London, hinting that even the seeming permanence of modernity is subject to the same ruin as antiquity.

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi by Emily Allchurch, 2014. Click to enlarge.

All that said, we are enjoined as Christians to be hopeful. Despair and panic are decidedly pagan responses, and even the most enlightened pagans, like Plotinus of Lycopolis, could only offer cool apathy when faced with the certainty of death, saying (in paraphrase): "he is not to be thought great who thinks it strange that wood and stones should fall and mortals die." But the Gospel of Jesus Christ has something better to offer for those standing face-to-face with their own morality. When considering these things, we must remember that Jesus said: “In this world, you will have distress. But have confidence. I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33).

Ultimately, pondering our mortality isn’t the ends of Lent. It is only a prelude to the glory of the resurrection at Easter and the hope of eternal life.

Christ heals a woman who touches the hem of his
garment from Matthew 9:20. Paleo-Christian fresco in
the catacomb of Saints Peter and Marcellinus, Rome,
ca. late 3rd century AD.

Saint Fernando III ~ Spain's great Catholic king

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"Christ redeemed us on the hard arms of the Cross, and His knight will not serve Him in any other way." 

 ~Saint Fernando III, King of Castile and Leon

Few saints embody the three pillars of Lent as well as Saint Fernando III. In fact, it may be accurately said that he lived via prayer, fasting and almsgiving all year long, not just during the holy season.

Though little remembered today, Saint Fernando III (1198-1252) was perhaps the greatest king of Castile and Leon. Via his military prowess, he recovered large territories in Spain from Islam, while remaining personally pious and just toward the citizens of his kingdom. He made it an especial goal to keep taxes as low as possible and is credited by the Catholic Encyclopedia as saying that he had greater fear of the curses of one old woman than of a whole army of Saracens.

Saint Fernando was the father of seven children--six sons and a daughter--and was personally virtuous. He fasted regularly, did penance for his sins and spent nights in prayer before battle. He also insisted that his soldiers be virtuous, and had a deep personal devotion to the Blessed Virgin.

His incorrupt remains may be seen to this day on display in the Cathedral of Seville in Spain.

We are fortunate that an outstanding modern biography of this saint is available: Saint Fernando III: A Kingdom for Christ by James Fitzhenry. Here is a snippet of a review I wrote some years ago for this book:

"Everything he did, he offered to God without reservation. In his willingness to suffer personal hardships, unfailing mercy toward his enemies, love for his wife and children, and care for the poor and afflicted, St. Fernando was a model of Christian virtue. In his everyday life, and especially when he faced a crisis, he turned to the Virgin and believed to the depths of his soul that she would intercede for him. And based on the magnificent achievements of his life, who can doubt that she did?... in short, this book is a gem. St. Fernando III is a Catholic hero who deserves to be more widely known."

If you would like to purchase a copy of this book, you can get it at The Young Catholic's Bookshelf.

Thoughts from Blessed Cardinal Newman for Ash Wednesday

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"We must go through pain, we must practise self-denial, we must curb our wills, and purify our hearts, before we are capable of any lasting solid peace." ~Blessed John Henry Newman

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the penitential season of Lent.

This quote from Blessed Cardinal Newman seems to capture the essence of why penitence--prayer, fasting and almsgiving--are crucial as preparation for the Paschal triduum. As Our Lord fasted 40 days in the desert in preparation for His mission, ought we not to follow His example?

Here is Cardinal Newman's quote in context, taken from his sermon: Jeremiah: A Lesson for the Disappointed:

"Left to ourselves, we seek good from the world, but cannot find it; in youth we look forward, and in age we look back. It is well we should be persuaded of these things betimes, to gain wisdom and to provide for the evil day. Seek we great things? We must seek them where they really are to be found, and in the way in which they are to be found; we must seek them as He has set them before us, who came into the world to enable us to gain them.

We must be willing to give up present hope for future enjoyment, this world for the unseen. The truth is (though it is so difficult for us to admit it heartily), our nature is not at first in a state to enjoy happiness, even if we had it offered to us. We seek for it, and we feel we need it; but (strange though it is to say, still so it is) we are not fitted to be happy. If then at once we rush forward to seek enjoyment, it will be like a child's attempting to walk before his strength is come. If we would gain true bliss, we must cease to seek it as an end; we must postpone the prospect of enjoying it. For we are by nature in an unnatural state; we must be changed from what we are when born, before we can receive our greatest good. And as in sickness sharp remedies are often used, or irksome treatment, so it is with our souls; we must go through pain, we must practise self-denial, we must curb our wills, and purify our hearts, before we are capable of any lasting solid peace. 

To attempt to gain happiness, except in this apparently tedious and circuitous way, is a labour lost; it is building on the sand; the foundation will soon give way, though the house looks fair for a time. To be gay and thoughtless, to be self-indulgent and self-willed, is quite out of character with our real state. We must learn to know ourselves, and to have thoughts and feelings becoming ourselves. Impetuous hope and undisciplined mirth ill-suit a sinner. Should he shrink from low notions of himself, and sharp pain, and mortification of natural wishes, whose guilt called down the Son of God from heaven to die upon the cross for him? May he live in pleasure here, and call this world his home, while he reads in the Gospel of his Saviour's life-long affliction and disappointment?"

To read the entire sermon, visit: http://www.newmanreader.org/works/parochial/volume8/sermon9.html