My esteemed NLM colleague Peter Kwasniewski included the following observation in a recent series of Substack posts:
The liturgical reform rejected form and quality—the intricately developed offering of worship as handed down across the ages, with its exaltation of rhetoric, poetry, the sacred dance of rubrically dense solemn ceremonial, architecture and the panoply of fine arts—and chose, instead, to privilege quantitative ways of thinking.
It is remarkable how rarely one finds references to rhetoric
in liturgical discussions and debates. Indeed, it is remarkable how rarely one
finds any sort of reference to rhetoric in postmodern society, except when the
term refers to the vacuous or manipulative speech that politicians often
employ. We ought not drag the noble term “rhetoric” through mud that is more
properly described as bombast, fustian, or demagoguery. And we ought not overlook
the thoroughly rhetorical character of the culture that composed and nourished
the Roman liturgy.
_-_James_Tissot.jpg) |
| James Tissot, The Sermon of the Beatitudes (c. 1890). |
Rhetoric is, quite simply, the art of language. If my
students remember only one definition—or even only one vague definitional
idea—of rhetoric, I want it to be this one. Though it requires a bit of
elaboration and qualification, it is accurate and pleasing to the ear, and it
counteracts the ruinous tendency to equate rhetoric with the deliberate misuse
or even abuse of language.
Though the study of classical rhetoric is at low ebb in
Western society, there are signs of a modest revival in secular educational
circles, which means that a far more vigorous revival should be underway in
Christian educational circles—because rhetoric cannot be filtered out of
Christian life so easily as it can be filtered out of modern secular life. The
culture at large may be resigned to hearing speeches that are merely
informational, attending lectures that are merely sentimental, watching conversational
(or downright childish) debates, reading novels that lack eloquence, writing
poems that lack art, and so forth.
But Christian culture is so interwoven with rhetoric that
the two are actually inseparable: Old Testament literature is filled with
rhetorical techniques, Our Lord integrated rhetoric into His preaching, the
epistolary style of St. Paul—recently described by a biblical scholar as “one of the greatest communicators in history”—was enriched by his
rhetorical skill, and the Church’s ancient liturgies employed highly rhetorical
texts. Indeed, rhetoric is so central to salvation history and the Christian
experience that a new definition is called for, one that pertains specifically
to Christian education and foregrounds the role of rhetoric in the spiritual
and liturgical life of the Church. I will propose one: rhetoric is the
sublimation of language. As I have written elsewhere,
Despite the ... obscure, Greek- or Latin-sounding terminology, rhetoric comes not from Greece or Rome but from God. He not only created language but also taught mankind to use it dramatically and artistically, so that literature and preaching and conversation and all other forms of human discourse might fulfill their crucial and exalted role in His epic plan to ennoble our lives and save our souls.
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| Maurycy Gottlieb, Christ Teaching in Capernaum (1878) |
You may be wondering why I haven’t said anything yet about
persuasion. Isn’t that what rhetoric is all about—convincing others to share
one’s opinion, perhaps through cunning and disingenuous language, perhaps even
in opposition to right reason and legitimate authority? Didn’t Aristotle say
that “rhetorical study, in its strict sense, is concerned with the modes of
persuasion”?
He did, but Plato, speaking through Socrates in the Phaedrus,
wrote that rhetoric is “an art which leads the soul by means of words.” To
reconcile the thought of student and master, then, we must understand
“persuasion” more broadly. Aristotle himself is quick to do this. In the next sentence he states that persuasion is actually a form of demonstration,
“since we are most fully persuaded when we consider a thing to have been
demonstrated,” and later he states unequivocally that “one
ought not persuade people to believe what is wrong.” Thus, persuasion in Aristotle’s
mind was strongly linked to truth, and etymology shows us that it is also linked
to goodness: the English word “persuasion” reaches back to a Latin verb meaning
“urge, recommend” and to a primitive root meaning “sweet, pleasant.”
Thus, when we speak of persuasion in the Christian and
rhetorical sense, we must look far beyond the impoverished modern sense,
whereby persuasion is little more than amoral or fallacious attempts to make
others think as one wants them to think or do what one wants them to do.
Rhetorical persuasion is language in the service and pursuit of truth; it is
discourse that reveals the inherent goodness of an idea or action; and it is
linguistic expression that beautifies these good and truthful things, thereby
teaching us to find pleasure in that which otherwise might seem obscure,
unreal, onerous, or even painful: “Learn of me,” says the divine Orator, “for I
am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke
is easy, and my burden is light.”
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| James Smetham (d. 1889), Christ Preaching to the Multitudes |
There is one domain of Christian life that is rhetorical
above all others. Within it are found compelling exhortations from Scriptural
epistles, poetry from the Old Testament, dramatic narratives from the Gospels,
inspiring hymns, finely crafted prayers, eloquent benedictions, homiletic
oratory, and a visual language of unsurpassed emotional intensity—all united in
a harmonious public ceremony that is persuasive in the fullest, most
transcendent, most sanctifying and transformative sense that this word could
ever hope to have. The domain of which I speak is the sacred liturgy, which glorifies the
eternal God while marshalling every imaginable rhetorical resource to persuade
fallen man that this God exists, and that His words are supremely true, and
that His works are wondrously good.
The judgments of the Lord are true,
and in themselves are justified:
they are more desired than gold,
than great supply of purest gold: sweeter than honey and honeycomb.
The psalmist knew the sweetness of the Lord. He also knew,
as we see elsewhere in the Psalms, the monumental tragedy that befalls when
desolation enters the house of God. The rhetorical richness of sacred liturgy
is not a foregone conclusion. There are many ways in which “divino-apostolic”
liturgical rites, as Dr. Kwasniewski aptly designates them in the concluding essay of the series mentioned above, may be
deprived of their “millennial fecundity”—or to state a similar idea in
rhetorical terms, of their power to effect divine persuasion.
To better understand the rhetorical excellence of the Roman liturgy is to more fully appreciate its splendor, and to more duly lament what has been lost. We will, therefore, continue this discussion in future articles.
For thrice-weekly discussions of art, history, language, literature, Christian spirituality, and traditional Western liturgy, all seen through the lens of medieval culture, you can subscribe (for free!) to my Substack publication: Via Mediaevalis.
