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The Spirit Of The Liturgy by Romano Guardini

1. THE PRAYER OF THE LITURGY



AN old theological proverb says, "Nothing done by nature and

grace is done in vain." Nature and grace obey their own

laws, which are based upon certain established hypotheses.

Both the natural and the supernatural life of the soul, when

lived in accordance with these principles, remain healthy,

develop, and are enriched. In isolated cases the rules may

be waived without any danger, when such a course is required

or excused by reason of a spiritual disturbance, imperative

necessity, extraordinary occasion, important end in view, or

the like. In the end, however, this cannot be done with

impunity. Just as the life of the body droops and is stunted

when the conditions of its growth are not observed, so it is

with spiritual and religious life--it sickens, losing its

vigor, strength and unity.



This is even more true where the regular spiritual life of a

corporate body is concerned. Exceptions play a far greater

part, after all, in the life of the individual than in that

of the group. AS soon as a group is in question, concern is

immediately aroused with regard to the regulation of those

practices and prayers which will constitute the permanent

form of its devotion in common; and then the crucial

question arises whether the fundamental laws which govern

normal interior life--in the natural as in the supernatural

order--are in this case to have currency or not. For it is

no longer a question of the correct attitude to be adopted,

from the spiritual point of view, towards the adjustment of

some temporary requirement or need, but of the form to be

taken by the permanent legislation which will henceforth

exercise an enduring influence upon the soul. This is not

intended to regulate entirely independent cases, each on its

own merits, but to take into account the average

requirements and demands of everyday life. It is not to

serve as a model for the spiritual life of the individual,

but for that of a corporate body, composed of the most

distinct and varied elements. From this it follows that any

defect in its organization will inevitably become both

apparent and obtrusive. It is true that at first every

mistake will be completely overshadowed by the particular

circumstances--the emergency or disturbance--which justified

the adoption of that particular line of conduct. But in

proportion as the extraordinary symptoms subside, and the

normal existence of the soul is resumed, the more forcibly

every interior mistake is bound to come to light, sowing

destruction on all sides in its course.



The fundamental conditions essential to the full expansion

of spiritual life as it is lived in common are most clearly

discernible in the devotional life of any great community

which has spread its development over a long period of time.

Its scheme of life has by then matured and developed its

full value. In a corporate body--composed of people of

highly varied circumstances, drawn from distinct social

strata, perhaps even from different races, in the course of

different historical and cultural periods--the ephemeral,

adventitious, and locally characteristic elements are, to a

certain extent, eliminated, and that which is universally

accepted as binding and essential comes to the fore. In

other words, the canon of spiritual administration becomes,

in the course of time, objective and impartial.



The Catholic liturgy is the supreme example of an

objectively established rule of spiritual life. It has been

able to develop "kata tou holou," that is to say, in every

direction, and in accordance with all places, times, and

types of human culture. Therefore it will be the best

teacher of the "via ordinaria"--the regulation of religious

life in common, with, at the same time, a view to actual

needs and requirements.1



The significance of the liturgy must, however, be more

exactly defined. Our first task will be to establish the

quality of its relation to the non-liturgical forms of

spiritual life.



The primary and exclusive aim of the liturgy is not the

expression of the individual's reverence and worship for

God. It is not even concerned with the awakening, formation,

and sanctification of the individual soul as such. Nor does

the onus of liturgical action and prayer rest with the

individual. It does not even rest with the collective

groups, composed of numerous individuals, who periodically

achieve a limited and intermittent unity in their capacity

as the congregation of a church. The liturgical entity

consists rather of the united body of the faithful as such--

the Church--a body which infinitely outnumbers the mere

congregation. The liturgy is the Church's public and lawful

act of worship, and it is performed and conducted by the

officials whom the Church herself has designated for the

post--her priests. In the liturgy God is to be honored by

the body of the faithful, and the latter is in its turn to

derive sanctification from this act of worship. It is

important that this objective nature of the liturgy should

be fully understood. Here the Catholic conception of worship

in common sharply differs from the Protestant, which is

predominatingly individualistic. The fact that the

individual Catholic, by his absorption into the higher

unity, finds liberty and discipline, originates in the

twofold nature of man, who is both social and solitary.



Now, side by side with the strictly ritual and entirely

objective forms of devotion, others exist, in which the

personal element is more strongly marked. To this type

belong those which are known as "popular devotions," such as

afternoon prayers accompanied by hymns, devotions suited to

varying periods, localities, or requirements and so on. They

bear the stamp of their time and surroundings, and are the

direct expression of the characteristic quality or temper of

an individual congregation.



Although in comparison with the prayer of the individual,

which is expressive of purely personal needs and

aspirations, popular devotions are both communal and

objective, they are to a far greater degree characteristic

of their origin than is the liturgy, the entirely objective

and impersonal method of prayer practiced by the Church as a

whole. This is the reason for the greater stress laid by

popular devotion upon the individual need of edification.

Hence the rules and forms of liturgical practice cannot be

taken, without more ado, as the authoritative and decisive

standard for non-liturgical prayer. The claim that the

liturgy should be taken as the exclusive pattern of

devotional practice in common can never be upheld. To do so

would be to confess complete ignorance of the spiritual

requirements of the greater part of the faithful. The forms

of popular piety should rather continue to exist side by

side with those of the liturgy, and should constitute

themselves according to the varying requirements of

historical, social, and local conditions. There could be no

greater mistake than that of discarding the valuable

elements in the spiritual life of the people for the sake of

the liturgy, or than the desire of assimilating them to it.

But in spite of the fact that the liturgy and popular

devotion have each their own special premises and aims,

still it is to liturgical worship that pre-eminence of right

belongs. The liturgy is and will be the "lex orandi." Non-

liturgical prayer must take the liturgy for its model, and

must renew itself in the liturgy, if it is to retain its

vitality. It cannot precisely be said that as dogma is to

private religious opinion, so is the liturgy to popular

devotion; but the connection between the latter does to a

certain degree correspond with that special relation,

characteristic of the former, which exists between the

government and the governed. All other forms of devotional

practice can always measure their shortcomings by the

standard of the liturgy, and with its help find the surest

way back to the "via ordinaria" when they have strayed from

it. The changing demands of time, place, and special

circumstance can express themselves in popular devotion;

facing the latter stands the liturgy, from which clearly

issue the fundamental laws--eternally and universally

unchanging--which govern all genuine and healthy piety.



In the following pages an attempt will be made to select

from the liturgy and to analyze several of these laws. But

it is an attempt pure and simple, which professes to be

neither exhaustive nor conclusive.



The first and most important lesson which the liturgy has to

teach is that the prayer of a corporate body must be

sustained by thought. The prayers of the liturgy are

entirely governed by and interwoven with dogma. Those who

are unfamiliar with liturgical prayer often regard them as

theological formula, artistic and didactic, until on closer

acquaintance they suddenly perceive and admit that the

clear-cut, lucidly constructed phrases are full of interior

enlightenment. To give an outstanding example, the wonderful

Collects of the Masses of Sunday may be quoted. Wherever the

stream of prayer wells abundantly upwards, it is always

guided into safe channels by means of plain and lucid

thought. Interspersed among the pages of the Missal and the

Breviary are readings from Holy Scripture and from the works

of the Fathers, which continually stimulate thought. Often

these readings are introduced and concluded by short prayers

of a characteristically contemplative and reflective nature-

-the antiphons--during which that which has been heard or

read has time to cease echoing and to sink into the mind.

The liturgy, the "lex orandi," is, according to the old

proverb, the law of faith--the "lex credendi"--as well. It

is the treasure-house of the thought of Revelation.



This is not, of course, an attempt to deny that the heart

and the emotions play an important part in the life of

prayer. Prayer is, without a doubt, "a raising of the heart

to God." But the heart must be guided, supported, and

purified by the mind. In individual cases or on definite and

explicit occasions it may be possible to persist in, and to

derive benefit from, emotion pure and simple, either

spontaneous or occasioned by a fortunate chance. But a

regular and recurrent form of devotion lights upon the most

varied moods, because no one day resembles another. If the

content of these devotional forms is of a predominatingly

emotional character, it will bear the stamp of its

fortuitous origin, since the feeling engendered by solitary

spiritual occurrences flows for the most part into special

and particular channels. Such a prayer therefore will always

be unsuitable if it does not harmonize, to a certain degree

at least, with the disposition of the person who is to offer

it. Unless this condition is complied with, either it is

useless or it may even mar the sentiment experienced. The

same thing occurs when a form of prayer intended for a

particular purpose is considered to be adapted to the most

varied occasions.



Only thought is universally current and consistent, and, as

long as it is really thought, remains suited, to a certain

degree, to every intelligence. If prayer in common,

therefore, is to prove beneficial to the majority, it must

be primarily directed by thought, and not by feeling. It is

only when prayer is sustained by and steeped in clear and

fruitful religious thought, that it can be of service to a

corporate body, composed of distinct elements, all actuated

by varying emotions.



We have seen that thought alone can keep spiritual life

sound and healthy. In the same way, prayer is beneficial

only when it rests on the bedrock of truth. This is not

meant in the purely negative sense that it must be free from

error; in addition to this, it must spring from the fullness

of truth. It is only truth--or dogma, to give it its other

name--which can make prayer efficacious, and impregnate it

with that austere, protective strength without which it

degenerates into weakness. If this is true of private

prayer, it is doubly so of popular devotion, which in many

directions verges on sentimentality.2 Dogmatic thought

brings release from the thralldom of individual caprice, and

from the uncertainty and sluggishness which follow in the

wake of emotion. It makes prayer intelligible, and causes it

to rank as a potent factor in life.



If, however, religious thought is to do justice to its

mission, it must introduce into prayer truth in all its

fullness.



Various individual truths of Revelation hold a special

attraction for the temperaments and conditions to which they

correspond. It is easy to see that certain people have a

pronounced predilection for certain mysteries of faith. This

is shown in the case of converts, for instance, by the

religious ideas which first arrested their attention at

their entry into the Church, or which decided them on the

step they were taking, and in other cases by the truths

which at the approach of doubt form the mainstay and

buttress of the whole house of faith. In the same way doubt

does not charge at random, but attacks for the most part

those mysteries of faith which appeal least to the

temperament of the people concerned.3



If a prayer therefore stresses any one mystery of faith in

an exclusive or an excessive manner, in the end it will

adequately satisfy none but those who are of a corresponding

temperament, and even the latter will eventually become

conscious of their need of truth in its entirety. For

instance, if a prayer deals exclusively with God's mercy, it

will not ultimately satisfy even a delicate and tender

piety, because this truth calls for its complement-the fact

of God's justice and majesty. In any form of prayer,

therefore, which is intended for the ultimate use of a

corporate body, the whole fullness of religious truth must

be included.



Here, too, the liturgy is our teacher. It condenses into

prayer the entire body of religious truth. Indeed, it is

nothing else but truth expressed in terms of prayer. For it

is the great fundamental truths4 which above all fill the

liturgy--God in His mighty reality, perfection, and

greatness, One, and Three in One; His creation, providence,

and omnipresence; sin, justification, and the desire of

salvation; the Redeemer and His kingdom; the four last

things. It is only such an overwhelming abundance of truth

which can never pall, but continue to be, day after day, all

things to all men, ever fresh and inexhaustible.



In the end, therefore, prayer in common will be fruitful

only in so far as it does not concentrate markedly, or at

any rate exclusively, on particular portions of revealed

truth, but embraces, as far as possible, the whole of Divine

teaching. This is especially important where the people are

concerned, because they easily tend to develop a partiality

for particular mysteries of faith which for some reason have

become dear to them.5 On the other hand, it is obvious that

prayer must not be overladen and as a result form a mere

hotchpotch of ill-assorted thoughts and ideas--a thing which

sometimes does occur. Yet without the element of

spaciousness, spiritual life droops and becomes narrow and

petty. "The truth shall make you free"--free not only from

the thralldom of error, but free as a preparation for the

vastness of God's kingdom.



While the necessity of thought is emphasized, it must not be

allowed to degenerate into the mere frigid domination of

reason. Devotional forms on the contrary should be permeated

by warmth of feeling.



On this point as well the liturgy has many recommendations

to make. The ideas which fill it are vital: that is to say,

they spring from the impulses of the heart which has been

molded by grace, and must again in their turn affect other

eager and ardent hearts. The Church's worship is full of

deep feeling, of emotion that is intense, and sometimes even

vehement. Take the Psalms, for instance--how deeply moving

they often are! Listen to the expression of longing in the

"Quemadmodum," of remorse in the "Miserere," of exultation

in the Psalms of praise, and of indignant righteousness in

those denouncing the wicked. Or consider the remarkable

spiritual tension which lies between the mourning of Good

Friday and the joy of Easter morning.



Liturgical emotion is, however, exceedingly instructive. It

has its moments of supreme climax, in which all bounds are

broken, as, for instance, in the limitless rejoicing of the

"Exultet" on Holy Saturday. But as a rule it is controlled

and subdued. The heart speaks powerfully, but thought at

once takes the lead; the forms of prayer are elaborately

constructed, the constituent parts carefully

counterbalanced; and as a rule they deliberately keep

emotion under strict control. In this way, in spite of the

deep feeling to be found in, say, the Psalms (to instance

them once more), a sense of restraint pervades liturgical

form.



The liturgy as a whole is not favorable to exuberance of

feeling. Emotion glows in its depths, but it smolders

merely, like the fiery heart of the volcano, whose summit

stands out clear and serene against the quiet sky. The

liturgy is emotion, but it is emotion under the strictest

control. We are made particularly aware of this at Holy

Mass, and it applies equally to the prayers of the Ordinary

and of the Canon, and to those of the Proper of the Time.

Among them are to be found masterpieces of spiritual

restraint.



The restraint characteristic of the liturgy is at times very

pronounced--so much so as to make this form of prayer appear

at first as a frigid intellectual production, until we

gradually grow familiar with it and realize what vitality

pulsates in the clear, measured forms.



And how necessary this discipline is! At certain moments and

on certain occasions it is permissible for emotion to have a

vent. But a prayer which is intended for the everyday use of

a large body of people must be restrained. If, therefore, it

has uncontrolled and unbalanced emotion for a foundation, it

is doubly dangerous. It will operate in one of two ways.

Either the people who use it will take it seriously, and

probably will then feel obliged to force themselves into

acquiescence with an emotion that they have never, generally

speaking, experienced, or which, at any rate, they are not

experiencing at that particular moment, thus perverting and

degrading their religious feeling. Or else indifference, if

they are of a phlegmatic temperament, will come to their

aid; they then take the phrases at less than their face

value, and consequently the word is depreciated.



Written prayer is certainly intended as a means of

instruction and of promoting an increased sensibility. But

its remoteness from the average emotional attitude must not

be allowed to become too great. If prayer is ultimately to

be fruitful and beneficial to a corporate body, it must be

intense and profound, but at the same time normally tranquil

in tone. The wonderful verses of the hymn--hardly

translatable, so full are they of penetrating insight--may

be quoted in this connection:



Laeti bibamus sobriam

Ebrietatem Spiritus . . .6



Certainly we must not try to measure off the lawful share of

emotion with a foot-rule; but where a plain and

straightforward expression suffices we must not aggrandize

nor embellish it; and a simple method of speech is always to

be preferred to an overloaded one.



Again, the liturgy has many suggestions to make on the

quality of the emotion required for the particular form of

prayer under discussion, which is ultimately to prove

universally beneficial. It must not be too choice in

expression, nor spring from special sections of dogma, but

clearly express the great fundamental feelings, both natural

and spiritual, as do the Psalms, for instance, where we find

the utterance of adoration, longing for God, gratitude,

supplication, awe, remorse, love, readiness for sacrifice,

courage in suffering, faith, confidence, and so on. The

emotion must not be too acutely penetrating, too tender, or

too delicate, but strong, clear, simple and natural.



Then the liturgy is wonderfully reserved. It scarcely

expresses, even, certain aspects of spiritual surrender and

submission, or else it veils them in such rich imagery that

the soul still feels that it is hidden and secure. The

prayer of the Church does not probe and lay bare the heart's

secrets; it is as restrained in thought as in imagery; it

does, it is true, awaken very profound and very tender

emotions and impulses, but it leaves them hidden. There are

certain feelings of surrender, certain aspects of interior

candor which cannot be publicly proclaimed, at any rate in

their entirety, without danger to spiritual modesty. The

liturgy has perfected a masterly instrument which has made

it possible for us to express our inner life in all its

fullness and depth, without divulging our secrets--"secretum

meum mihi." We can pour out our hearts, and still feel that

nothing has been dragged to light that should remain

hidden.7



This is equally true of the system of moral conduct which is

to be found in prayer.



Liturgical action and liturgical prayer are the logical

consequences of certain moral premises--the desire for

justification, contrition, readiness for sacrifice, and so

on--and often issue afresh into moral actions. But there

again it is possible to observe a fine distinction. The

liturgy does not lightly exact moral actions of a very far-

reaching nature, especially those which denote an interior

decision. It requires them where the matter is of real

importance, e.g., the abjuration at baptism, or the vows at

the final reception into an order. When, however, it is a

question of making regular daily prayer fruitful in everyday

intentions and decisions, the liturgy is very cautious. For

instance, it does not rashly utter such things as vows, or

full and permanent repudiations of sin, entire and lasting

surrender, all-embracing consecration of one's entire being,

utter contempt for and renouncement of the world, promises

of exclusive love, and the like. Such ideas are present at

times, fairly frequently even, but generally under the form

of a humble entreaty that the suppliant may be vouchsafed

similar sentiments, or that he is encouraged to ponder upon

their goodness and nobility, or is exhorted on the same

subject. But the liturgy avoids the frequent use of those

prayers in which these moral actions are specifically

expressed.



How right this is! In moments of exaltation and in the hour

of decision such a manner of speech may be justified, and

even necessary. But when it is a question of the daily

spiritual life of a corporate body, such formulas, when

frequently repeated, offer those who are using them an

unfortunate selection from which to make their choice.

Perhaps they take the formulas literally and endeavor to

kindle the moral sentiments expressed in them, discovering

later that it is often difficult, and sometimes impossible,

to do so truthfully and effectually. They are consequently

in danger of developing artificial sentiments, of forcing

intentions that still remain beyond their compass, and of

daily performing moral actions, which of their very nature

cannot be frequently accomplished. Or else they take the

words merely as a passing recommendation of a line of

conduct which it would be well to adopt, and in this way

depreciate the intrinsic moral value of the formula,

although it may be used frequently, and in all good faith.

In this connection are applicable the words of Christ, "Let

your speech be yea, yea,--nay, nay."8



The liturgy has solved the problem of providing a constant

incentive to the highest moral aims, and at the same time of

remaining true and lofty, while satisfying everyday needs.



Another question which arises is that concerning the form to

be taken by prayer in common. We may put it like this: What

method of prayer is capable of transforming the souls of a

great multitude of people, and of making this transformation

permanent?



The model of all devotional practice in common is to be

found in the Divine Office, which day after day gathers

together great bodies of people at stated times for a

particular purpose. If anywhere, then it is in the Office

that those conditions will be found which are favorable to

the framing of rules for the forms of prayer in common.9



It is of paramount importance that the whole gathering

should take an active share in the proceedings. If those

composing the gathering merely listen, while one of the

number acts as spokesman, the interior movement soon

stagnates. All present, therefore, are obliged to take part.

It is not even sufficient for the gathering to do so by

repeating the words of their leader. This type of prayer

does, of course, find a place in the liturgy, e.g., in the

litany. It is perfectly legitimate, and people desirous of

abandoning it totally fail to recognize the requirements of

the human soul. In the litany the congregation answers the

varying invocations of the leader with an identical act,

e.g., with a request. In this way the act each time acquires

a fresh content and fresh fervor, and an intensification of

ardor is the result. It is a method better suited than any

other to express a strong, urgent desire, or a surrender to

God's Will, presenting as it does the petition of all sides

effectively and simultaneously.



But the liturgy does not employ this method of prayer

frequently; we may even say, when we consider divine worship

as a whole, that it employs it but seldom. And rightly so,

for it is a method which runs the risk of numbing and

paralyzing spiritual movement.10 The liturgy adapts the

dramatic form by choice to the fundamental requirements of

prayer in common. It divides those present into two choirs,

and causes prayer to progress by means of dialogue. In this

way all present join the proceedings, and are obliged to

follow with a certain amount of attention at least, knowing

as they do that the continuation of their combined action

depends upon each one personally.



Here the liturgy lays down one of the fundamental principles

of prayer, which cannot be neglected with impunity.11

However justified the purely responsive forms of prayer may

be, the primary form of prayer in common is the actively

progressive--that much we learn from the "lex orandi." And

the question, intensely important to-day, as to the right

method to employ in again winning people to the life of the

Church is most closely connected with the question under

discussion. For it is modern people precisely who insist

upon vital and progressive movement, and an active share in

things. The fluid mass of this overwhelming spiritual

material, however, needs cutting down and fashioning. It

requires a leader to regulate the beginning, omissions, and

end, and, in addition, to organize the external procedure.

The leader also has to model it interiorly; thus, for

instance, he has to introduce the recurrent thought-theme,

himself undertaking the harder portions, in order that they

may be adequately and conscientiously dealt with; he must

express the emotion of all present by means of climaxes, and

introduce certain restful pauses by the inclusion of

didactic or meditative portions. Such is the task of the

choir-leader, which has undergone a carefully graduated

course of development in the liturgy.



Attention has already been called to the deep and fruitful

emotion which is contained in the liturgy. It also embraces

the two fundamental forces of human existence: Nature and

civilization.



In the liturgy the voice of Nature makes itself heard

clearly and decisively. We only need to read the Psalms to

see man as he really is. There the soul is shown as

courageous and despondent, happy and sorrowful, full of

noble intentions, but of sin and struggles as well, zealous

for everything that is good and then again apathetic and

dejected. Or let us take the readings from the Old

Testament. How frankly human nature is revealed in them!

There is no attempt at extenuation or excuse. The same thing

applies to the Church's words of ordination, and to the

prayers used in administering the sacraments. A truly

refreshing spontaneity characterizes them; they call things

by their names. Man is full of weakness and error, and the

liturgy acknowledges this. Human nature is inexplicable, a

tangled web of splendor and misery, of greatness and

baseness, and as such it appears in the prayer of the

Church. Here we find no carefully adapted portrait from

which the harsh and unpleasing traits have been excluded,

but man as he is.



Not less rich is the liturgy's cultural heritage. We become

conscious of the fact that many centuries have co-operated

in its formation and have bequeathed to it of their best.

They have fashioned its language; expanded its ideas and

conceptions in every direction; developed its beauty of

construction down to the smallest detail--the short verses

and the finely-forged links of the prayers, the artistic

form of the Divine Office and of the Mass, and the wonderful

whole that is the ecclesiastical year. Action, narrative,

and choral forms combine to produce the cumulative effect.

The style of the individual forms continually varies--simple

and clear in the Hours, rich in mystery on the festivals of

Mary, resplendent on the more modern feasts, delightful and

full of charm in the offices of the early virgin-martyrs. To

this we should add the entire group of ritual gestures and

action, the liturgical vessels and vestments, and the works

of sculptors and artists and musicians.



In all this is to be learnt a really important lesson on

liturgical practice. Religion needs civilization. By

civilization we mean the essence of the most valuable

products of man's creative, constructive, and organizing

powers-works of art, science, social orders, and the like.

In the liturgy it is civilization's task to give durable

form and expression to the treasure of truths, aims, and

supernatural activity, which God has delivered to man by

Revelation, to distill its quintessence, and to relate this

to life in all its multiplicity. Civilization is incapable

of creating a religion, but it can supply the latter with a

"modus operandi," so that it can freely engage in its

beneficent activity. That is the real meaning of the old

proverb, "Philosophia ancilla theologiae"--philosophy is the

handmaid of theology. It applies to all the products of

civilization, and the Church has always acted in accordance

with it. Thus she knew very well what she was doing, for

instance, when she absolutely obliged the Order of Saint

Francis--brimming over with high aspirations, and spiritual

energy and initiative--to adopt a certain standard of

living, property, learning, and so on. Only a prejudiced

mind, with no conception of the fundamental conditions

essential to normal spiritual life, would see in this any

deterioration of the first high aims. By her action in the

matter the Church, on the contrary, prepared the ground for

the Order, so that in the end it could remain healthy and

productive. Individuals, or short waves of enthusiasm, can

to a wide degree dispense with learning and culture. This is

proved by the beginnings of the desert Orders in Egypt, and

of the mendicant friars, and by holy people in all ages.

But, generally speaking, a fairly high degree of genuine

learning and culture is necessary in the long run, in order

to keep spiritual life healthy. By means of these two things

spiritual life retains its energy, clearness, and

catholicity. Culture preserves spiritual life from the

unhealthy, eccentric, and one-sided elements with which it

tends to get involved only too easily. Culture enables

religion to express itself, and helps it to distinguish what

is essential from what is non-essential, the means from the

end, and the path from the goal. The Church has always

condemned every attempt at attacking science, art, property,

and so on. The same Church which so resolutely stresses the

"one thing necessary," and which upholds with the greatest

impressiveness the teaching of the Evangelical Counsels--

that we must be ready to sacrifice everything for the sake

of eternal salvation--nevertheless desires, as a rule, that

spiritual life should be impregnated with the wholesome salt

of genuine and lofty culture.



But spiritual life is in precisely as great a need of the

subsoil of healthy nature--"grace takes nature for granted."

The Church has clearly shown her views on the subject by the

gigantic struggles waged against Gnosticism and Manichaeism,

against the Catharists and the Albigenses, against Jansenism

and every kind of fanaticism. This was done by the same

Church which, in the face of Pelagius and Celestius, of

Jovinian and Helvidius, and of the immoderate exaltation of

nature, powerfully affirmed the existence of grace and of

the supernatural order, and asserted that the Christian must

overcome nature. The lack of fruitful and lofty culture

causes spiritual life to grow numbed and narrow; the lack of

the subsoil of healthy nature makes it develop on mawkish,

perverted, and unfruitful lines. If the cultural element of

prayer declines, the ideas become impoverished, the language

coarse, the imagery clumsy and monotonous; in the same way,

when the life-blood of nature no longer flows vigorously in

its veins, the ideas become empty and tedious, the emotion

paltry and artificial, and the imagery lifeless and insipid.

Both--the lack of natural vigor and the lack of lofty

culture--together constitute what we call barbarism, i.e.,

the exact contradiction of that "scientia vocis" which is

revealed in liturgical prayer and is reverenced by the

liturgy itself as the sublime prerogative of the holy

Creative Principle.13



Prayer must be simple, wholesome, and powerful. It must be

closely related to actuality and not afraid to call things

by their names. In prayer we must find our entire life over

again. On the other hand, it must be rich in ideas and

powerful images, and speak a developed but restrained

language; its construction must be clear and obvious to the

simple man, stimulating and refreshing to the man of

culture. It must be intimately blended with an erudition

which is in nowise obtrusive, but which is rooted in breadth

of spiritual outlook and in inward restraint of thought,

volition, and emotion.



And that is precisely the way in which the prayer of the

liturgy has been formed.







ENDNOTES



1. It is not by chance that "the religious Pope" so
resolutely took in hand the revision of the liturgy. The
internal revival of the Catholic community will not make
progress until the liturgy again occupies its rightful
position in Catholic life. And the Eucharistic movement can
only effectually distribute its blessings when it is in
close touch with the liturgy. It was the Pope who issued the
Communion Decrees who also said, "You must not pray at Mass,
you must say Mass!" Only when the Blessed Sacrament is
understood from the point of view of the liturgy can It take
that active share in the religious regeneration of the world
which Pius X expected of It. (In the same way the full
active and moral power of the Blessed Sacrament is only free
to operate unchecked when Its connection with the problems
and tasks of public and family life, and with those of
Christian charity and of vocational occupations, is fully
comprehended.)

2. A proof of this is to be found in the often sugary
productions of sacred art--holy pictures, statues, etc.--
which appeal to the people. The people are susceptible to
powerful art when it is national; the Middle Ages are a
witness to this, and certain aspects of modern art. But the
danger of lapsing into mere insipidity is very great. The
same thing applies to popular songs, and holds good in other
directions as well.

3. This does not mean that these truths are merely a mental
indication of the existing spiritual condition of the person
concerned. It is rather a proof of the saying, "grace takes
nature for granted." Revelation finds in a man's natural
turn of mind the necessary spiritual premises by which the
truths, which are of themselves mysteries, can be more
easily grasped and adhered to.

4. It is a further proof of Pius X's perspicacity that he
made universally accessible precisely those portions of the
liturgy--Sundays, the weekly office, and especially the
daily Masses of Lent--which stress the great fundamental
mysteries of faith.

5. By this we do not mean that specific times (e.g., the
stress of war) and conditions (e.g., the special needs of an
agricultural or seafaring population) do not bring home
certain truths more vividly than others. We are dealing here
with the universal principle, which is, however, adaptable
and must make allowances for special cases.

6. From the Benedictine Breviary, Lauds (e.g., the prayer at
daybreak) of Tuesday. [Literally, "Let us joyfully taste of
the sober drunkenness of the Spirit."]

7. The liturgy here accomplishes on the spiritual plane what
has been done on the temporal by the dignified forms of
social intercourse, the outcome of the tradition created and
handed down by sensitive people. This makes communal life
possible for the individual, and yet insures him against
unauthorized interference with his inner self; he can be
cordial without sacrificing his spiritual independence, he
is in communication with his neighbor without on that
account being swallowed up and lost among the crowd. In the
same way the liturgy preserves freedom of spiritual movement
for the soul by means of a wonderful union of spontaneity
and the finest erudition. It extols "urbanitas" as the best
antidote to barbarism, which triumphs when spontaneity and
culture alike are no more.

8. Matt. v. 37.

9. We do not overlook the fact that the Office in its turn
presupposes its special relations and conditions, from which
useful hints may be gained for private devotion, such as the
necessity for a great deal of leisure, which enables the
soul to meditate more deeply; and a special erudition, which
opens the mind to the world of ideas and to artistry of
form, and so on.

10. The foregoing remarks on the liturgy have already made
it abundantly clear that the justification of methods of
prayer such as, e.g., the Rosary, must not be gainsaid. They
have a necessary and peculiar effect in the spiritual life.
They clearly express the difference which exists between
liturgical and popular prayer. The liturgy has for its
fundamental principle, "Ne bis idom" [there must be no
repetition]. It aims at a continuous progress of ideas, mood
and intention. Popular devotion, on the contrary, has a
strongly contemplative character, and loves to linger around
a few simple images, ideas and moods without any swift
changes of thought. For the people the forms of devotion are
often merely a means of being with God. On this account they
love repetition. The ever-renewed requests of the Our
Father, Hail Mary, etc. are for them at the same time
receptacles into which they can pour their hearts.

11. In earlier ages the Church practiced by preference the
so called "responsive" form of chanting the Psalms. The
Precentor chanted one verse after the other, and the people
answered with the identical verse, or the partially repeated
verse. But at the same time another method was in use,
according to which the people divided into two choirs, and
each alternately chanted a verse of the Psalm. It says much
for the sureness of liturgical instinct that the second
method entirely Supplanted the first. (Cf. Thalhofer-
Eisenhofer, "Handbuch der kathalischen Liturgik," Freiburg,
1902, I, 261 et seq.)

13. The above remarks must not be misunderstood. Certainly
the grace of God is self-sufficient; neither nature nor the
work of man is necessary in order that a soul may be
sanctified. God "can awaken of these stones children to
Abraham." But as a rule He wishes that everything which
belongs to man in the way of good, lofty, natural and
cultural possessions shall be placed at the disposal of
religion and so serve the Kingdom of God. He has
interconnected the natural and the supernatural order, and
has given natural things a place in the scheme of His
supernatural designs. It is the duty of his representative
on earth, ecclesiastical authority, to decide how and to
what extent these natural means of attaining the
supernatural goal are to be utilized.














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