St. Thomas Aquinas on Changing the Traditions

 "It is absurd, and a detestable shame, that we should suffer those traditions to be changed which we have received from the fathers of old."

St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, 1a2ae.97.2 sed contra; 

From Gratian, Decreta, Distinction 12, ch. 5, quoting from a letter of Pope St. Nicholas I to Abp. Hincmar:

"It is a ridiculous and abominable disgrace that in our times we permit the holy Church of God to be slandered and that we suffer the traditions we have received from the fathers of ancient times to be infringed at will by those wandering from the truth."

Source: Gratian, The Treatise on Laws, trans. Augustine Thompson, With the Ordinary Gloss, trans. James Gordley (Washington, DC: Catholic University Press, 1993), 44.

h/t Fr. Thomas Crean, OP. https://twitter.com/crean_fr/status/1530922903054733315

N.M. Wagner on Secular Orchestral Masses (1909)

 [92] Why are the Masses composed by Jos. Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Weber, Cherubini, Bruch and Gounod not true church music?

We admit that the musical composition as such is of artistic value; however, the Masses of these masters are not true church music because the spirit of the decrees issued by the Church on church music is wanting in them, either because of

(a) their form (concert-like, soli, duetts [sic], superfluous repetition of words, incorrect text or misplacement of words or omission of words) or because of

(b) their style of musical composition (which is worldly, theatrical, distracting instead of edifying; while the composition is not suited to the words, but the words are forced to suit the music). For instance, do we not notice in Mozart's "C" Mass motives similar to those in the opera Cosi Fan Tutti? Does the Gloria in Gounod's Paschal Mass not spontaneously remind us of passages in his Faust? In the style of musical composition employed, these men did not, therefore, distinguish between music for the stage and music for the church. Again, I find a Sanctus in one of Bruch's Masses the rendition of which would take about as long as a Credo of one of the Cecilian Masses, not to mention the ridiculously long Masses of Beethoven and Haydn; e.g., Beethoven's Missa Solemnis.

The impossibility of rendering the classical compositions of these masters [Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart] with correctness and fidelity, because of their difficulty, prompted imitators like Wiegand, Lambillotte, Millard, Giorza, Diabelli, Dachauer, La Hache, Mercadante, Novello, Farmer, Stearn, etc., etc., to produce diluted substitutes. These imitators would obviate the difficulties while retaining the attractive form of the others, and their results are found in the compositions which, in abundance of repititon of words and mutilation of text, go beyond the classical authors, and in their attempt to give musical value merely become vulgar.

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Source: Excerpt of an address by Rev. N. M. Wagner (trans. from German) in St. Peter's Church, Newark, NJ in "Notes," Church Music: A Magazine for the Clergy, Choirmasters and Organists 4, no. 2 (Jan. 1909): 92.

Thomas Merton on Latin and Gregorian Chant (1964)

 [234] To Dom Ignace Gillet

September 11, 1964

[236] Much is said here about Latin and Gregorian chant: things to be "suppressed" because we do not "understand" them. Well, this is a very serious point. I believe that, as you say, many young people more easily admit that they are dissatisfied with the Gregorian chant and the Latin, because they are made to believe this. I know very well that in our monasteries in America there is a real movement, an agitation, for this and for still other things. People are pushed into thinking that they are dissatisfied with the Latin, the Gregorian chant, the status of laybrother, the liturgy as we have it, when in reality that is not the case at all. For a long time it was said here that "the brothers" in general wanted to change habit, come to choir, change their status, etc. But it was only a few brothers who, moreover, were not always the best ones but who got more agitated and had more to say, and who tried to persuade the others to go with them, etc. You know these stories quite well by now.

But this is what I think about the Latin and the chant: They are masterpieces, which offer us an irreplaceable monastic and Christian experience. They have a force, an energy, a depth without equal. All the proposed English offices are very much impoverished in comparison—besides, it is not at all impossible to make such things understood and appreciated. Generally I succeeded quite well in this, in the novitiate, with some exceptions, naturally, who did not understand well. But I must add something more serious. As you know, I have many friends in the world who are artists, poets, authors, editors, etc. Now they are well able to appreciate our chant and even our Latin. But they are all, without exception, scandalized and grieved when I tell them that probably this Office, this Mass will no longer be here in ten years. And that is the worst. The monks cannot understand this treasure they possess, and they throw it out to look for something else, when seculars, who for the most part are not even Christians, are able to love this incomparable art.

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Source: Thomas Merton, The School of Charity: The Letters of Thomas Merton on Religious Renewal and Spiritual Direction, ed. Patrick Hart (New York, NY: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1990), 234, 236.

The Importance of Hymns in Catechism (1890)

[179] SIXTH DISCOURSE.

THE HYMNS (Cantiques).

One of the things which can best help to give an interest and to put life into Catechisms,—as it is in all Confraternity or other religious meetings,—is the singing of hymns.

The singing of hymns makes children love the Catechism, it rests them, it charms them though still edifying them, while refreshing them it leads them to God, it gives an impulse to everything, and sometimes produces the very deepest impression upon souls.

A hymn well sung often does more for the conversion of children, and even for the greatest sinners, than the most moving exhortations.

I have been always so convinced of this, that if it had been proposed to me to conduct a Catechism without singing hymns, it would have been proposing to me an impossibility; and one year, when I had only seven children to prepare for their first Communion, three boys and four girls, yet nevertheless I made them sing hymns, and they sang them with delight.

But here I must enter into some preliminary details; I must also trace back these things to their highest source.

I shall therefore treat in succession: (1st) on sacred singing in general; (2nd) on the particular advantages of singing hymns at the Catechisms; (3rd) on the Manual of hymns for the Catechism. And first of all, on Sacred Singing.

I.

Next to the Divine sacrifice and the Sacraments, two things are all-important in religion and in public worship: the Word of God and sacred music.

[180] The one supports, animates and strengthens the other. By the one, God causes His voice to be heard by the people; by the other, the people lift up their voice to God. And thus we may venture to say that the music of the Church is equal to the Word, and that it is also inspired by God. Who, indeed, has not felt the Divine inspiration in our admirable liturgical chants?

Yes, the singing the praises of God in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, this singing being led, strengthened and improved by the organ, which seems to belong to religion, is one of the most powerful means we possess for influencing souls, and lifting them up to Heaven. If we would save them, it is not enough to speak to them of God, we must make them speak to God, and how? By prayer, by adoration, by thanksgiving, and above all by that worship which consists in singing the praises of God; there, besides the expression of our needs, we have thanksgiving and adoration; there the most lukewarm become fervent, the most fervent are lifted up yet higher; sinners are moved, subdued, they sing out their remorse, the condemnation of their faults, the happiness of repenting of them.

If you do nothing but preach, whether more or less well; if you do not let them sing, their souls will sink into weariness, and soon they will not know what to do or to say in relation to God.

You know how S. Augustine relates his experience: "What emotion I felt, how many tears did I shed when listening to the melodious concert of hymns and sacred songs which echoed in Thy Church! While my ear yielded to the charm of these Divine harmonies, my heart was sweetly flooded with the pure waves of Thy truth, with impetuous ardour [sic] it broke out in holy impulses; my tears flowed in torrents, and it was happiness to me to shed them."

This, gentlemen, is one of the secrets of nature, or to speak more rightly, of Providence. Singing is one of the noblest and strongest ways of expressing the feelings of the soul. As S. Augustine again has said, "Cantat amor!" Singing is love; thus everything sings in nature, everything sings in [181] heaven. It is the enthusiasm of the heart. When any kind of feeling within us reaches a certain degree of depth and strength, it naturally gives itself out in song, and then all at once it acquires a wonderful power of communicating itself to others. It moves souls. Whence comes it! What is the secret of this mysterious relation between musical things, cadence, rhythm, harmony, melody, and the deepest powers of our being? I know not. But it is a fact; this is why everything in the soul sings; why all that is noble, ardent, generous, passionate breaks out into song. And sacred song also, and more than all, is enthusiasm; but it is the enthusiasm of all the greatest, the purest, the best feelings of man's heart. Thus, in a Christian congregation, it affects all, it animates, it lifts up, it charms; it excites the weak, the strong, the lukewarm, the fervent, the good, and even the wicked; who has not at some time seen it? Who, for instance, has been able to listen without emotion to the united voices of the crowds under the vaulted roofs of our churches, or to a chant sweetly echoing from the deep and inaccessible retreats of a monastery? But if the singing of the Church is to produce such an effect, it must be really religious singing, as perfect as possible; and above all, it must be popular, that is to say, sung by all the faithful.

I have said to you often, gentlemen, and not without reason, that when the time comes that you have taught your parishioners to sing the Psalms and hymns, then your parishes will be won. From that time, they will love their Church and their Pastor. People who have sung joyfully and with all their heart, love what they have sung, they love the place where they have sung, the pleasant recollection attaches them to it; also they love those with whom they have sung. Would you then have them love God and virtue, and the Church, let them in the church sing the praises of God and virtue.

You have difficulty in bringing them to pray; begin by giving them a taste for hymns; make them sing; for to sing is to pray, it is to pray fervently, sometimes even with transport.

[182] This is true above all with children. The singing of the hymns in well-conducted Catechisms, as also at any time, the singing of Psalms, may sometimes become, on the lips and in the heart of these dear children, the most fervent prayer.

Not only is to sing to pray; but you need only think for a moment, and you will see that even in the singing of hymns there is included the two great means of religious influence of which we spoke a few days ago, Instruction and Exhortation.

For my own part, I believe without any doubt that the singing of hymns during the Catechism is one of the most powerful means for at the same time instructing the children soundly, touching their heart, lifting up their soul, and converting them. And what I say now of the Catechisms and the children, you know that I would say the same for the parochial services provided for all the faithful.

And, in fact, all the truths of the faith, all the great moral precepts, all the most urgent motives for flying from evil and practising [sic] goodness, are to be found on every page in a collection of hymns and sacred songs. And what is also most valuable is, as S. Paul says, that in sacred singing, every one instructs and exhorts himself, without need of any other preacher: "Docentes et commonentes cosmetipsos psalmis, hymnis et canticis spiritualibus" (Col. iii. 16). Now is it not a matter of experience that the mind accepts more readily what in this way it says to itself, and that the heart is more strongly though gently impressed? Above all, if the words are helped, as in this case, by that powerful influence which music exerts over the senses, the imagination, and the feelings; that sort of influence which we call a charm.

Hymns, then, both instruct and exhort, but they have further this very great advantage, that they oblige the children at the same time to make all sorts of religious acts, acts of faith, of hope, of love, of contrition, of good resolve, &c. All these acts, in fact, are to be found in the hymns.

It will be said perhaps by several, that these acts are only on their lips. No, gentlemen, such acts cannot be only on their lips, they cannot be frequently brought into remembrance by sacred singing, without the heart gradually [183] becoming familiar with them, taking pleasure in them, and at last thoroughly entering into the feelings they express.

Besides, in the Catechism, one is not confined to having the hymns sung; they are explained; they are developed; the beauty of them is shown to the children; they are made to feel their force and unction; and there is no kind of discourse to which they are more alive.

I have had a thousand experiences of this, all more astonishing and delightful one than another. It was by the singing of the hymns that I could do something even with the most hopeless children. If a child with whom we had been able to do nothing, up to the very end of the week-day Catechism, all at once began to sing the hymns, we said: He is saved. And in fact, every day we saw the most delightful changes being worked in him. He became thoughtful, attentive, pious, very soon even penetrated with compunction, and by the end of the Catechism and the Retreat, he showed some times a fervour [sic] which was most touching.

And even when we were uneasy about an entire Catechism of first Communion, when the great work of converting all these young souls was not being accomplished according to our desires, we redoubled our zeal, not only in instructing and exhorting them, but also in making them sing the hymns well. We all sang with them.[1] The parents who were present at the Catechism often sang with us; we never allowed a single child to be there without his Manual in his hand, and without singing with all his heart; and not a week, not a fort night passed that we did not discover in them those signs of progress which made us happy again.

Thus I have always believed, gentlemen, and what I see every day in this diocese confirms me in the belief, that every Curé who knows how to organize perfectly—not only in his [184] Catechisms, but throughout his parish—the sacred music, to be sung not only by the choir but by all the people, will not have to wait long before he sees faith and piety flourishing again, together with a love for the Church and her holy offices. Several of you have already gained this result in the Catechisms of Perseverance and in confraternities, and it is most desirable that you should have the same success in the general congregations of the parish, by letting the faithful sing, whether at High Mass or at Vespers.

But if you desire that this sacred music should become altogether popular in your parishes, the way is to teach it to the children in the Catechisms. Yes, teach them to chant, in Latin, the Kyrie, the Gloria, the Credo, the Psalms for Sunday, these which have been consecrated by the usage of the Church, and which are so easy to understand, and some well-known hymns.

The most beautiful sacred hymns have been inspired by the real Presence of our Lord in the Eucharist: the Ave Verum, O Salutaris, Tantum ergo, Adoro Te, supplex, Lauda Sion; if possible, let your children learn these by heart; let them learn also the Litanies of the Blessed Virgin, the Inviolata, and even our admirable Stabat; and besides all these, some of the hymns in the vernacular from the Manual: thenceforth, the spirit of grace and of prayer will not be slow to descend upon them, and through them on all your parishioners. The parish in Paris, where the congregational singing is best, is Saint-Sulpice, for it is the parish where for so long a time sacred singing has flourished in the Catechisms.

Besides, nothing is more easy than to teach the children to sing all this. I see, in the greater number of parishes, if the Curé only throws a little zeal into it, that not only the children, but the whole congregation, sing gladly and very well, if the choir and the ophicleides [i.e. a brass instrument] allow them.

[185] II.

Singing hymns has, besides, gentlemen, other advantages, less exalted apparently, but yet greatly valued by those holy and famous Catechists whose example I have set before you.

And first, if well arranged, and alternating with the other parts of the Catechism, the singing prevents weariness in the children, it refreshes them, it rests them after the more serious exercise which has just finished, and it prepares them for that which is about to follow. And with these young natures, nothing is more necessary, in a Catechism which ought to last two hours, and in which so many serious and important things have to be said.

"It must be considered," says Fénélon, "that children's heads are weak, that at their age they are only alive to pleasure; and yet people expect from them an exact propriety and seriousness which they themselves would not be capable of."

The admirable S. François de Sales was quite alive to this, when desiring, by singing hymns, to rejoice the hearts of the children whom he was catechising [sic].

"The hour over, a devout hymn was sung, either to a tune, or simply intoned, or with the organ, the hymn itself being composed by the blessed man, or some other; certainly he did sometimes, as a sort of recreation, give his mind to this sort of poetry; or else he would choose some psalm of David, and give it to the musicians to set to a tune."

Fénélon has remarked that it was by the pleasure of poetry and music that maxims of virtue and polish of manners were introduced among the Hebrews and the Greeks. "Little as one knows of history, we cannot doubt that it was the common practice for many centuries." It is at least certain that, from Apostolic times, it has been the practice of the Church, which has desired, by means of sacred music, to offer to the faithful, and specially to children, an easy way of being instructed in religion, and also to excite earnest and sublime feelings after virtue in their souls.

We read in the Life of Saint François Xavier that he composed hymns for his Catechumens, and that he went so far as [186] to set to music the Lord's Prayer, the Angelic Salutation, and the Apostles' Creed. His historian relates that not only did he by this means banish all the bad songs which the new Christians had sung before their baptism, but that he also supplied this Christian community with a new means of edification. "For the hymns of the holy missionary so pleased men, women, and children, that they sang them day and night, both at home and out in the country." S. Charles Borromeo produced similar effects at Milan, by the hymns which he caused to be sung at his Catechisms. M. Alain de Solminihac, Bishop of Cahors, also put into verse the Ten Commandments and the Apostles' Creed, so that his people might be able to sing them.

Finally, and this last advantage is not unimportant, singing the hymns helps to keep up order and silence, and prevents the distraction of the children, at certain moments when it is almost inevitable. For instance, those who are accustomed to Catechisms know that when an exercise comes to an end, the children make a confused noise, such as one hears in churches after the first point of a sermon; they take their books, they hastily open their hymn-books, sometimes they will ask their neighbours [sic] a question, or even the Catechists; as if, wearied with the attention they have been giving, they are trying now to make up for it. The same sort of thing happens when they are going away after the Catechism; one form after another gets up all together, they defile [sic] into the aisles while other children are leaving their places to follow them, and others again to follow on. Well, if the precaution has been taken to make the children sing at that time, the sound of the music will cover the noise; they will not be aware of the noise which their movement must cause, and by this pious device you accustom them to feel that calmness and quiet are never absent from the Catechisms.

I borrow these practical observations, which are of real importance, from the excellent Méthode de S. Sulpice.

But, I ought to add, if the singing of hymns is to be really profitable, the Head Catechist, ought to give it his greatest attention, he ought frequently to remind the children that [187] their hymns are prayers, and he should explain them in such a manner that the children will understand the sense and enjoy the words. One very necessary point is that they should never be allowed to scream in singing, the youngest are certain to do it. It must be stopped at once. It should be immediately and very severely rebuked and warned against. Neither must there be any hurry in the singing, though at the same time it must not be allowed to drag—slowness is sometimes unbearable to children. It is easier, particularly for boys, to sing a little fast than too slowly.

The Head Catechist should be constantly occupied in making those sing who are not singing, in moderating the voices, in directing the whole; and for this purpose, his great duty is to arrange, prepare, and study the hymns well which he means to be sung at the Catechism, and to have the list, of which he gives a duplicate to the organist, quite ready. Without this precaution, the chances are that the same hymns will be always sung, perhaps two or three which do not suit either the circumstances,[2] or the festivals which are being celebrated, or the needs of the children. The Manual of which I have already spoken to you is a great help, gentlemen, in this respect, not only for the children, but also for the Catechists. In conclusion, I will say a few words concerning this book.

III.

The Manual for Catechisms has been composed chiefly with the view of helping such of the parochial Clergy as have the charge of the important ministry of Catechising. It sets forth to the Catechists and to the children the whole thing, the order and course of all that is done in the Catechisms of first Communion and of Perseverance, and serves as a guide to their piety through the whole course of the year; it is like a Paroissien, like a book of offices, where every meeting, every festival, every solemn time is presented in succession with [188] everything which belongs to it, and which helps to teach the spirit of it, and grasp its special object, as Billets, Admonitions, Hymns, Prayers, &c.

It is easy to see how useful all this order is, and what interest it gives to the different parts of the Catechism. How different, for instance, it is on the day of first Communion, when you are desiring to stir up the piety of the children, and make them feel the beauty of the services, if they have to look out in a collection, in the midst of a thousand different things, for here a prayer, there a hymn, for the acts of thanksgiving, &c., in another place; or on the other hand, everything which goes to make up this great and touching function is given to them in order and completeness!

I need not say, gentlemen, that in well-arranged Manuals the first Communion, Confirmation, and the week-day Catechism which prepares for them, have always been the object of very special care, and they form the most interesting part of the Manual. The first Communion is there treated as a great event, the approaches to it being gradually unfolded. The children are followed step by step, from the first meeting of the week-day Catechism, from their consecration to the Blessed Virgin, up to the important day on which, after most serious self-examination, they make their general confession. Then begins the immediate preparation for the first Communion. And then come the solemn meetings in Retreat, up to the great and happy days of Absolution, of first Communion, and of Confirmation. Finally, all this is crowned by the Renewal of Baptismal vows in the first Communion, by the festival devoted to perseverance, and by the gathering for farewell; and all so well combined that one feels the powerful influence of that Divine Spirit, Who, in the Church, has inspired the men of God, to whom we owe all the present beautiful organization of our Catechisms.

In the Manual upon which I was engaged, and which I can venture to recommend to you, because of the extreme care which was bestowed on it, I was afraid at first that we had given too many prayers for this particular time; but we could only congratulate ourselves when we saw how eagerly the [189] children seized on them as food for their devotion, and what fervour they kindled in them; never had our first Communions been so happy, above all never had the Confirmations been so edifying and so devout.

We also inserted, at the end of the morning prayer, a method for meditation, simple, short, and within the children's grasp. At the end of the work also there are a considerable number of meditations composed solely for them, and we have had the opportunity of seeing how easily children of all classes understand and practise this form of devotion, which is the foundation of all Christian living and the most certain guarantee for perseverance.

We hope also that we have made a happy choice of festivals for the Catechism, and that they may be suitable in all parishes. For the first festival in the little Catechisms for boys and girls, we have those of S. Joseph and the Childhood of the Blessed Virgin, and for the more solemn festival, the Love of Jesus for children; as the first festival of the Catechisms of Perseverance, we have that of S. Louis of Gonzaga for the boys, and the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin for the girls; and for the more solemn festival, the Holy Childhood of Jesus. 

The repetition and explanation of Billets is undoubtedly one of the most interesting features of our meetings. It pleases the children wonderfully; instruction is conveyed in the most pleasant manner, sometimes even so playfully as to excite a smile, and it reaches their hearts with all the greater ease. At one time this exercise was very rare, and often lost a great deal of its interest, because the children, whose place it was to repeat, could hardly be heard. We have brought it back into more frequent use, and upwards of a hundred Billets, written for all the important festivals of the year, supply the children with a consecutive course of useful instructions; and since, by the help of the Manual, they have been able to follow the recitations, we have observed the quite new interest which they take in them. We have also added for each festival an act of consecration, suggested by the festival itself, and likely to lead the children on to form generous resolutions.

[190] As to the hymns, we have bestowed great pains on them; the greater part have been corrected, and moreover:

1. We have distributed them according to the festivals, the periods or times to which they belong; and thus, joined with the Billets, the Admonitions, prayers, &c., they form so many complete offices.

2. We have placed a title at the head of each hymn, which marks and explains its subject sufficiently to draw the attention of the children to it beforehand, and thus prepares them to enter into the spirit and feeling of the hymn.

I have now given you the contents of this book, which is called the Manual for Catechisms.

IV.

I will only now add two very important practical observations, and with these I shall conclude:

1. If you wish the children to sing, and to sing well, I cannot too often repeat, you must sing with them; every Catechist must also have his Manual, and use it. I have known children who for half an hour have not sung a verse, all at once begin to sing delightfully; simply because their Catechist had turned to them, looked at them, and said, " Sing, my children"; then singing himself, they were incited to sing too.

2. You must also know how to give out the hymns well, always saying the page as well as the hymn, so that the children may never be uncertain, nor the singing feeble. These simple words, well pronounced, with an audible voice, are enough: "Hymn p. 273, 'Mon bien-aimé ne paraît pas encore,'" or perhaps, "We are going to sing the 'Laudate, pueri,' p. 29." Having said this, then immediately begin to sing with vigour [sic] and boldness.

But for all this, I repeat, the Priests who support the singing, and above all the one who leads it, must stand, conversâ facie ad pueros, facing them, like the leader of an orchestra, who does not stand behind his musicians, or at the side, but at their head and facing them.

3. Hymns à refrain have an excellent effect, and are [191] generally very popular. The alternating of voices sung by the choir, with the refrain sung by the whole body, is sometimes exceedingly good.

The effect is not the same if the voices are alternated by the organ. The interruption of the voices by the organ playing alone, nearly always stops all ardour [sic] or enthusiasm. The choir, with the refrain, on the contrary, keeps it alive.

I have never had a single experience favourably [sic] to the use of the organ in this way. I have, on the contrary, always found that the organ played between the couplets or verses had an undoubtedly bad effect. It stops all enthusiasm.

4. It must be an understood thing, the organ is only really of use for accompanying the singing, and strengthening the voices, unless it may be during the coming in or going out, or possibly that the voices may rest on occasion of any great fatigue. An organ playing alone and alternating with the voices is a thing never known but amongst ourselves. Besides, who has not heard complaints against these organs, on which are sometimes played such unsuitable tunes? What is wanted is, that the organ shall accompany all the verses to strengthen the voices, and that the children and the congregation shall sing everything themselves from one end to the other, without any interruption from the organ breaking in alone.

In this discourse, gentlemen, I have entered into many practical details; but I do not think any man of experience can regret it. Theory is necessary, and first of all I set myself to show you the theory of the Catechisms, in all its truth and all its beauty; but the more beautiful the theory, the more is it necessary, if it is to be realized, that we should be thoroughly instructed in practical details; for in this case the details alone contain a real teaching, they have an undoubted use of their own.

In our next discourse, gentlemen, we shall treat on a subject which is again of very chief importance for the great work of the Catechism, and for the Christian education of the children: we shall speak of Prayers at the Catechism.

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Footnotes:

1. It is needless to say that all Catechists ought to sustain and lead the children's singing. A Catechist who docs not sing with the children surprises them, does them no good, and with reason, for evidently he is not a man who understands his business. Either zeal or piety is wanting in him, or health. If it is his health, the children ought to be told of it. We never allowed ourselves even to say our Breviary during the singing of the hymns.

2. I have seen deplorable examples of this; I have known a hymn on the Last Judgment sung at the beginning of Mass, and the hymn which should precede Communion, "Mon bien-aimé ne paraît pas encore," ["My Beloved does not appear yet"] sung as the hymn for an act of thanksgiving.

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Source: Félix Dupanloup, The Ministry of Catechising, trans. by E. A. Ellacombe (London: Griffith Farran Okeden & Welsh, 1890), 179–191.

Singing the New Songs (1965)

[61] A few years ago you might have been surprised (shocked?) to hear that Guy Lombardo had written a mass. Or Spike Jones. Today people in that category are writting [sic] masses but without the talent or musicianship of anybody leading a name-band or even a local combo. I wonder what the Rolling Stones, the Four Lads, (going back again) Jackie Gleason or the Dave Clark Five could work up for a church wedding or a modern Requiem? The Beatles might attract a crowd with some special music for Holy Week. Lloyd Thaxton could probably take over some afternoon Mass in California and direct the crowd through a Gloria in the best Frug rhythms, or Peter, Paul and Mary might be invited to some cathderal [sic] to work out a few numbers for Christmas. But get everybody into it. Just so they all participate!

A few musicologists and a great number of non-musicologists have decided lately that there is really no difference between secular and church music. The problem isn't half so much whether there is a difference as whether they want a difference. We must attract teenagers, relate to the existential world, accept a realistic culture — and all that. Then why not retranslate the Hail Mary into jive-talk or into ancient rock n' roll: "like man, Mary, you are in, really cool among women...." I'd better stop. As someone said, "It's all right for me to make these cracks because I'm deeply religious!" If you use the music, why not use the words that go with it? Under what auspices are we trying to achieve participation? Togetherness. With the latest hankering for store-front churches and family masses, much could be done to "come alive" with the music. Or are all these sentiments the final groanings of a bitter conservative? I think not. Not as long as God is worthy of the best we have in talent and art and appropriate expression; not as long as we can distinguish between the Eucharist and a continental breakfast!

It seems more and more evident, as hootenanny masses are being promoted here and there, that we had better line up our notions of participation with the purpose we have in participation; otherwise, see if you can program a little Gregorian Chant for the New Year's party in the Blue Room of New Orlean's Roosevelt Hotel. There must be a difference between secular and sacred music! The Church has been trying to impress this doctrine on people since the days of Palestrina. The vestments of a priest (how long will they last?) indicate the vast difference between worshipping God and driving a taxicab. The windows in a church are supposed to add something sacred to the mere function of ventilation. So with the language we address to God. So, then, with the music we use in His presence.

[62] Serious-minded church musicians are alarmed by the great number of inept composers who contribute to the current mediocrity in music destined for worship. The rediscovery of private judgment and freedom of untrained opinion has silenced many proficient musicians and stimulated people to compose who hardly understand the elements of the modern major scale. When I was a child I begged and begged to be allowed to sit at the piano. Finally the day came when the concession was granted for a period of two minutes. I was dismayed that I couldn't make effective music simply by hitting the piano with my hands and fists. The only difference between some of these composers and me is that they seem undismayed by the results of their efforts.

These jeremiads have been repeated over and over, but the stockpile of church-music "bombs" increases hourly. Some liturgical people have developed a keen discriminatory sense regarding metrical English hymns; they anathematize — rightly — the old sugar-tunes and ballads and commend heartily the vast importation of heterodox tunes and amended texts — rightly; but they seem to look with unruffled spirit upon every kind of musical tripe which is set to the proper and the ordinary of High Masses: "It's good; everybody will participate." Is it artistic, well adapted to reverent worship, competently composed by people with true musical instinct? "Oh, that's not important: the thing is to get the people singing!" This is not a complaint against modern or contemporary concepts or true progressivism in church music; it's a complaint against the tawdry and secularistic substitutes. Too often if a piece of music is sufficiently discordant it is considered "aggiornamented," — "hodiernistic," I like to call it. Discord and dissonance mean the same thing to an untrained musician. If the music follows the fundamental rules of acoustics (harmony and counterpoint) it's "romantic" — Ugh! that ugly word! But a musician should know the rules of harmony well enough to break them skillfully and for a good musical reason. Bad grammar may be respectable at times if it is used deliberately. Otherwise it is just stupidity. Not so in hodiernistic church music! Anything goes, just so the crowd can be made to sing it. To impose the free expression of an ignorant composer on a congregation is to make slaves of the many! The people will accept the compositions of a well-prepared and knowledgeable musician even if some elements were foreign to their tastes. They could assume, at least, that they were being asked to sing good music, music worthy of the worship of God.

The whole problem is reducible to an appropriate system of wieghts [sic] and measures: standards. That problem cannot be handled well except by trained musicians any more than a simple appendectomy can be performed by a whittler. The Church Music Association of America will shortly be calling [63] upon definitely proficient musicians to put out a list of recommended music as a service to choirmasters and organists. There will likely be no direct condemnations of any music proposed for church use, but on a positive level the Association will name the items which it feels will preserve the proper elements for truly artistic and worship-engendering music. This list will supplant the former "White List of the St. Gregory Society" which attempted the same thing at a level based on church legislation. At any rate, the judgment of competent church musicians will afford greater reliability in deciding what is appropriate and spiritual.

The problems connected with the adaptation of chant to the vernacular have been gone over in the previous issue of SACRED MUSIC as well as in other trade papers; but there is no question that St. Pius X's principle about judging music for church on the objective standards of the movement, inspiration and savor of the Gregorian Chant is entirely valid today; all subsequent direction from the Holy See has backed up the same principle because it produces a music which is innately holy, artistic and universally acceptable. That does not mean that we must compose chant, or distort the chant melodies by weaving them into modern music. But all church music, however up-to-date, will have the qualities proper to worship when it reflects the spirit which the chant evinces.

Presently being prepared is a type of music known as Verna Canto which will undoubtedly come into very wide use. The composer intends to remain ananymous [sic]. The experimental stages have revealed that the music has a high spiritual content, is ideally suited to the vernacular and, though it preserves the modality and the rhythm of the ancient chant, it makes no attempt to reflect the actual melodies or musical formulae. Others have also experimented with adaptations of polyphony, but these efforts may not fare so well. In spite of that, the original literature is often so noble that it may furnish a legitimate excuse for some arbitrary use of Latin in our future liturgy.

Modern and contemporary church music is impossible for the hack, the amateur composer. Only a skilled musician can keep it from all sorts of absurd affectations and eccentricities. The banalities produced under this category are indistinguishable from the abominations about which we have been complaining. The liturgy is still to undergo many changes in text and format. Experiments are soon to be conducted in this country, but the strain of waiting for a truly spiritual music based on a final form for the English should not drive us into accepting the worse-than-mediocre materials which are produced these days in so great an abundance. What we might consider a temporary expedient could dissipate good taste and propriety for generations. Caution is then the interim corollary.

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Source: John C. Selner, "Singing the New Songs," Sacred Music 92, no. 1 (1965): 61–63.

How, When, and What to Play: A Guide for Catholic Organists (1934)

[543] INTRODUCTION

A musician called to offer the fruits of his talents to the service of God, either as a composer, as a choirmaster, or as an organist, in a Catholic Church should conform to the regulations established by the Catholic Church. Such rules, prescriptions, or regulations, are definite and precise.

In the old Law (Deut. XXVIII, 15) is the command of God saying: ". . . .if thou will not hear the voice of the Lord, thy God, to keep and to do all His commandments and ceremonies, which I command thee this day, all these curses shall come upon thee. Cursed shalt thou be in the city, cursed in the field. Cursed shall be thy barn, and cursed thy stores, etc."

And down, in more recent ages, we find Pius V, who orders us: ". . . .decantetur aut recitetur Missa juxta ritum, modum et norman quae per Missale traditur" ("The Mass shall be sung or said according to the rite, the way and the rule laid down in the Missal").

There are many other regulations, or ecclesiastical orders, to prove that no one has any right to presume the possibility of disregarding, with impunity, any regulation of which Our Mother the Church is a very jealous custodian. As soon as we know and feel truly convinced that the Church is the House of God, and we go there ONLY to pray and to worship our Creator and our Redeemer, we easily come to the natural conclusion that everything should be in accordance with the first aim and intention.

In the Introduction to the Motu Proprio, we read: "Nothing therefore ought to occur in tne Temple, which disturbs, or even merely diminishes, the piety and devotion of the Faithful. . . .and, above all, nothing which offends against the decorum and sanctity of the sacred offices, and which appears unworthy of the House of prayer and the Majesty of God."

Consequently all the ceremonies and the singing and playing is to be done in the way that the Church prescribes, abhorring everything that would be even a smallest profanation of that very House of God.

The Duties of The Organist At A Low Mass

In almost all the Catholic Churches in this Country, the organist is also the Choirmaster (or director of the Choir); therefore what is said here of the one, is understood also for the other. A person who occupies a place of responsibility in society must know the duties of his state.

A priest, a doctor, a lawyer, a justice or any magistrate etc. has to know the duties of his particular position. "Whoever asserts that the accepted and approved Rites of the Catholic Church can be ignored or omitted at pleasure, or changed by any Pastor of the Church, let him be an anathema." (Councel [sic] of Trent, 7th S. Can. 13). Consequently, as the Catholic organist occupies a very important place in the service of the House of God he has a duty to learn and to know and to practice [emphasis original] what concerns him, according to his position. He must learn "how to appreciate and love our holy Liturgy". The organist, besides knowing HOW to play well his instrument, must also know especially WHEN to play it; and here the writer will try to help him, by consulting together the three most important official Sources of the Latin Liturgy, namely the Coeremoniale Episcoporum (Ceremonial of the Bishops), the Council of Trent, and the precious Motu proprio of Pius X. It would be well that every Catholic organist and choirmaster should have and peruse the above mentioned Motu proprio, to which that holy Pope commanded that "the force of Law be given", and to the same He imposed a "scrupulous observance on all". And now, let us see at last when the organ may be played at a low Mass.

We may say that in general, it is allowed, or optional, to play the organ at every extraliturgical [sic] service, an organist may start to play a few minutes before the Celebrant goes [544] to the altar for a low Mass*; on all Sundays and Festivals on which the people abstain from servile work; except the Sundays of Advent and Lent; among these are not included the Sundays of Advent and Lent, except the Sunday Gaudette [sic] and Laetare, i.e. the 3rd Sunday of Advent and the 4th of Lent". We may add that the organ, without singing, may play on the Feasts and Ferias in Advent and Lent which are celebrated solemnly by the Church: it is also understood that the organ (without singing) is not allowed in the Masses of the Dead. We said it is optional to play the organ during all the time of a low Mass, loud or soft; in fact if the Ceremonial of the Bishops says that "ad elevationem Sanctissimi Sacramenti pulsatur organum graviori et dulciori sono, during the elevation the organ plays in a grave and sweet way" (XXVIII, 9), it is clear enough that it can play also during the rest of the time of the Mass; but an organist who understands (as he ought to) the various parts of Holy Mass, knows HOW and WHEN to play loud, or soft, or moderately; and, to give an idea, he can play a little louder before the Mass, during the reading of the Gospel, and after the Mass, continuing (if he likes) until a few minutes after the Celebrant has gone to the Sacristy. But let me end this Chapter with the quotation of some good words of Fr. J. Kelly: "As people attend Mass to praise God in supreme act of worship, the position of the organist being a sacred one he should contribute to this praise by such music as will assist the people in their devotions; the possession of technical ability does not imply the possession of skill in playing a Catholic liturgical service." And much more forcible are these words of the Caerem. Ep.: "Cavendum est ne sonus organi sit lascivus aut impurus" (XXVIII, 11), ("Endeavor that the playing of the organ be not lascivious or obscene".) Consequently not all the piano or concert-music is good for the organ, in Church services.

As far as here, the above rules concern only low Mass, when there is no singing at all. Now let us see what the organist (or choirmaster) has to know and to do at the low Mass, when there is singing.

(To be continued.)

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Footnotes:

* This can be done "in omnibus Dominicis et omnibus festis per annum occurrentibus, in quibus populi a servilibus operibus abstinere solent. Inter eas non connumeratur Dominicae Adventus et Quadragesimae except a Dominica tertia Adventus quae dicitur Gaudete in Domino et quarta Quadragesimae, quae dicitur Laetare, Jerusalem, et nisi celebratur pro Defunctis" (Caerem. Episc. XXVIII. 1-2).

Source: Giuseppe Villani, "'How, When and What to Play': A Guide for Catholic Organists," The Caecilia 60, no. 11 (Dec. 1934): 543–544.

Contemporary Music and the Liturgy (1957)

There has been a certain amount of discussion in recent weeks of the nature of contemporary music and its use in the liturgy. Among the more interesting sources of discussion has been the article published in the Nov.-Dec. issue of Musart by Father Richard Schuler. It is the formal text of his address given at the NCMEA Convention in St. Louis last spring. Because of the allegedly severe criticisms we made of Father Schuler's address in the May-June issue of the Gregorian Review, the editors of Musart decided to publish the text as a means of permitting its readers to form their own opinions. This is an example of the laudable attitude of Musart and the NCMEA in all our contacts with that fine organization. It is most certainly the most direct route to the truth, which is what we all wish to find.

Contemporary music, a category of our art which necessarily includes all the many styles of present-day composition, is usually construed to mean those styles and techniques of writing which are somewhat more "dissonant" and "progressive" in comparison with classical examples. Thus we usually exclude from this category the late Jan Sibelius, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Ignace Paderewski and similarly conservative and backward-looking composers. Even Richard Strauss, for all of his unorthodox approach to harmony and texture, is normally considered to be nineteenth century in style and outlook. Thus it is not just a question of when a composer lived that will determine his classification as "contemporary" or "traditional" in the eyes of the professional musician, but it is more a question of his style and aesthetic outlook. We find, therefore, that men who died at a time when Sibelius, Rachmaninoff, Padrewski [sic] and Strauss were still in the ascendency [sic] can be considered as more "modern" or "contemporary" in regard to style. These would include [33] Busoni, Szymanowski, Roussel and even Ravel, although the impressionistic composers are usually excluded from the list of really avant-garde craftsmen.

Who are the great composers of our day, then? We cannot say with any real certainty, since we stand too close to our own era to be impartial or accurate judges. We can, however, name the more significant composers on the basis of the influence they have exerted on techniques and styles.

One of the first, of course, is Schoenberg, who broke with romantic 19th century traditions at about the same time that Stravinsky was writing his Firebird Ballet. Stravinsky moved completely away from the romantic techniques of his teacher, Rimsky-Korsakov, with his Sacre du Printemps, produced shortly before the first world war [sic]. It is our own choice, of course, but if we were asked to name a third person of importance to the formation of present-day trends in those early years, we would say that Darius Milhaud was possibly the most far-reaching in his influence, although that influence was not more apparent at first than that of the other members of the French "Six". Since those early years many other names have come to prominence, including Hindemith, Bartok, Honegger and dozens of others too familiar to the musician to need mention here. Who, if any, of these many talented composers will survive in living masterpieces in the repertoire of the next century? We cannot say. Be that as it may, we Catholics must realize that contemporary techniques are being applied by our young composers to the writing of masses, motets and organ music, and that very important contributions to liturgical music are being made in this way.

What are the marks of contemporary music? This is a matter on which we must take issue with Father Schuler. We are fully aware of the difficulties involved in presenting a clear picture of such a complex subject in the short time allotted him at St. Louis. Nevertheless, when generalities must be used, it is well that we state in emphatic terms that there [34] are exceptions to the points being stated. One cannot assume that one's listeners will recognize a generality when the subject at hand is as lamentably little-known as is contemporary music. Moreover, we cannot concede that the generalities set forth by Father Schuler are in every case true, even with large quantities of salt.

Now inasmuch as our present-day church music does not exist in a vacuum, and since the really well-trained composers of the Church have been taught and thoroughly influenced by the persons, schools and trends of the best concert-music of our day, we may reasonably expect to find that our Catholic composers use the devices and techniques, and to a certain extent the styles, of the principal composers of our day.

Unfortunately, there are not many first-rate American Catholic composers of church music in what we can call "contemporary" techniques. There are a few more, per capita, perhaps, in the European countries, but in general, we can form our best opinions through the examination of the music and of the working principles of our foremost composers of concert-music.

The first characteristic which strikes the serious student of present-day composition is the enormous variety of styles and techniques. In past centuries, too, the difference between composers in style, technique and temperament was considerable.

Wagner differs greatly from Brahms, not in his vocabulary of chords and devices, but in their use and in the all-important movement of his works. Chopin is most certainly not a Wagner, nor is he a Brahms. He differs from Schumann and from Mendelssohn, in fact, from all his important contemporaries.

In an earlier era, Bach differs greatly from Handel, and a few years later, Haydn and Mozart, although usually classed together in music histories, are as different as night and day.

[35] This distinction of musical personalities holds true today. Bartok is certainly a far cry from Schoenberg, and Hindemith is obviously leagues removed from Prokofieff [sic], even in basic techniques. Even within the national "schools" there is a sharp difference between the major writers. Honegger is clearly more introspective and complex in his approach to composition than Milhaud, and neither of these masters is very closely related by music to Caplet.

What then, we repeat, is the predominant characteristic of our present-day music? Until a very few years ago we could have said that it was a kind of vigorous experimentation. Lately, mainly since the end of the second world war [sic], there has been a change of direction, toward mastery and fluency in the techniques developed during the last fifty years. Certain composers, like Hindemith and Stravinsky, have seemed to become remarkably conservative.

Are there any techniques which have become so widely used that we may say that they are part of our contemporary style? We have reason to think so.

There is a general tendency today to write music in more than four parts. This is a natural tendency in the light of the complexity of modern harmony compared with the classical variety. Even when a present-day composer writes, let us say, a three-part a cappella motet, he frequently implies through his part-writing and broken "chord" figures a multi-voiced harmony or counterpoint. During the earlier years of this century, the result of writing in many parts and in lines borrowed from two scales at once produced what we now call "polyharmony," and when the two scales were maintained for a certain length of time in strong independence, the result was a sort of "polytonality." This was at first a conscious experimentation, but today many composers write freely and fluently in this way, and the resultant polyharmony or polytonality is a product, not a device.

Consecutive fifths and fourths are not regarded as useful parts of a composer's technique, not simply as undesirable [36] errors. The former objections to such consecutives lay in the fact that they made one part subservient to another, which in a four-part texture was too much for the equilibrium of the music. Moreover, the prominence given the lower note of the fifth or the upper note of the fourth was frequently such as to remove the feeling of free part-writing. In five-part writing the classical composers permitted occasional consecutive fifths, of course, and in our present-day complex textures, they are accepted by the ear without a qualm. Even in thin textures, they are heard by the ear as a kind of organum, not as errors of technique.

Very rarely do we find dissonance of an intensity greater than those found in the music of the nineteenth century. Often our present-day composer uses a dissonance of a much milder kind, but he then treats it differently. Where the nineteenth century composer used the dissonance as a fence post between relatively longer consonant sonorities, the present-day composer often extends the dissonant sounds to lengths as great or greater than those of his more consonant structures. It is obvious that an ear brought up exclusively on classical music takes more readily to the momentary dissonances of the nineteenth century than it does to the more extended and often unresolved dissonance of our day, in spite of the relative mildness of 20th century dissonance.

What, the reader will say, therefore, is dissonance? Since it is pointless to give arbitrary definitions based on what we would like dissonance to be, in order that it might fit some all-inclusive concept that would answer once-and-for-all the problems surrounding it, we must define it by what it has been in the course of music history.

In classical music a dissonance was a simultaneous sounding of two or more notes, usually at the interval of a second, a fourth or a tritone, or a combination of these in several parts. Sometimes these dissonances were said to "resolve" when they changed to "consonant" intervals on a succeeding beat or part of a beat. It would seem that notes related to a given note above the value of its fifth harmonic [37] were considered dissonant. Thus in classical procedures a triad was considered consonant, and a seventh chord was considered either as a dissonance, or as an "active consonance." During the nineteenth century, however, nearly any note of the twelve-tone chromatic scale could be used against any other note, and the harmonic texture was used to "explain" these dissonances, as appoggiaturas, anticipations, passing tones, or even as escape notes.

Our present day composers have not changed the concept of the dissonance, but merely its use. Instead of requiring that the dissonance be momentary and that it be explained as an anticipation of a succeeding chord tone, as a passing note between chords or as a similar dash of harmonic spice, the present-day composer incorporates certain of the dissonances as part of his vocabulary, to be used as self-sufficient and "non-resolving" intervals in his textures. In other words, some of the nineteenth century spices and seasonings have become main ingredients, and their importance and their proportion of allotted time in the texture have increased accordingly.

The advantages of the use of dissonant intervals between parts are obvious. One hears the parts more clearly because of the acoustical clash of the overtones of each of the parts. It is possible to write more parts without duplication of others from time to time at the octave. It is also, therefore, easier to hear all the parts of an eight-part texture of Honegger, for example, or of Bartok, than of Brahms. These are advantages, of course, only so long as the composer intends that the listener hear the parts clearly.

We could discuss other purely technical points now in general use, but it would not serve to illustrate anything which the reader could not get more effectively from an afternoon with a phonograph and a few of the representative works of the principal present-day composers.

What shall we say, then, of Father Schuler's four marks of today's modern church music?

[38] Father says that it is linear; it is polyphonic or contrapuntal; it is frequently dissonant; it is often athematic.

With the third point there can be little argument. It is a fact which can be observed by anyone who will take the time to listen to a half-dozen works of men of the calibre [sic] of Bartok, Hindemith, Stravinsky or their colleagues.

With the other points there is room for discussion. It would be better to qualify the statement that our modern music is "linear" with the adverb "frequently," as was done for the third point mentioned. Although interest in linear writing is strong, there are certain important works which have strongly harmonic textures.

The same can be said of the second statement, with perhaps more emphasis. Unfortunately, we have lost sight of the real nature of counterpoint today in contrast with two other more frequently used procedures: heterophony and quod libet. Often the clever combination of parts and themes gives the impression of a type of masterly counterpoint written by Bach for inversion at the octave, tenth or twelfth. True counterpoint, however, is a kind of writing in which the vertical sonorities are not ignored. Any two melodies or parts will combine, but will they "fit" together, or will they merely go their own ways in utter disregard for the intervals produced? Will any two parts be sufficient in themselves, or will they require the accompaniment of other parts to make them convincing? Let it be understood that we do not mean that modern counterpoint must obey classical rules, or that quod libet or heterophony have no value. On the contrary, when they are used by a composer with full knowledge of what he is doing, the results are often splendid. Many of us who have had the experience of "ad libbing" a familiar theme into a familiar but entirely different classical texture know that this can be fun, and the classical composers knew that it could often be powerfully moving and effective. The insignificant clashes and discrepancies of counterpoint in such cases are unimportant in the light of the end result. Perhaps the best example we know of this type of quod libet is the insertion of the Toreador Song from Bizet's Carmen [39] as a gay intruder in the Meistersinger Prelude of Wagner. It fits, after a fashion, and can be used by a wit in the cello section to baffle a student conductor, but it is the ridiculous part of a technique which can also be sublime. The exalted use of quod libet is best typified by the tone poems of Richard Strauss, in which significant recapitulations of leit-motivs [sic] in the midst of quite independent textures achieve results of unity and coherence beyond the power of any merely literal repetition. The momentary raw edges where such themes fall recklessly into a texture not intended originally to receive them pass almost unnoticed in the success of the general effect. This, however, is not counterpoint. Neither is heterophony, in spite of its often dazzling and delightful effect. The combination of a simple melody with its ornamental version in thirds, sixths or any other interval is not real counterpoint. If it were, the nineteenth century would have to be credited with more good counterpoint than any other era, since this kind of heterophony was a common practice.

Let us now consider the fourth point of Father Schuler's description of our present-day music. He says that it is frequently athematic.

Now the present writer gave a great deal of thought to this point, not in regard to its truth, since it is clearly false, but with the purpose of divining just what Father Schuler could have meant by such a statement, since he must know from his considerable listening experience that composers up to and including those living today have constantly used themes of one kind or another so that through repetition or recapitulation a kind of unity could be achieved.

It may be that Father means that modern composers usually write themes which are not of the "whistleable," tuneful kind. This is a matter of opinion, and it depends a great deal on whether or not one's ear is attuned to contemporary themes. Certainly from time to time many of us find ourselves humming some of the rich themes of Stravinsky's Petrouchka, Hindemith's Mathis der Maler, Prokofieff's Fifth Symphony, Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra or [40] any of a hundred major works of present-day composers. The Catholic composers are not less thematic in their construction of works for the liturgy. The music of Paul Creston, for example, or that of Father Woollen, is certainly based on the careful use of themes, which, although they differ in certain respects from classical themes, are nevertheless real themes.

Perhaps Father Schuler has a special meaning for the word "theme," different from the meaning implied by every composer from Lassus to our own day. If so, he would have done well to explain it to his listeners at St. Louis. From his remarks on page 47 of the above-mentioned issue of Musart, it would seem that Father restricts his concept of thematic material to "tunes." This would automatically classify much of the music written from Bach to our day as "athematic," a classification which would be grossly unfair to both the music and the listener who tries to learn something from Father Schuler's discussion. The great composers of the past have sometimes used chord patterns as themes, sometimes merely a rhythmic pattern. Some of the themes of certain works for the violin would never be recognized as "tunes," but despite their wide range and acrobatics, they are themes in every sense of the word.

Father mentions Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony as two kinds of music which often do not have themes or melodies (again on page 47 of the Musart issue). The factors involved here are slightly different. Chant melodies are relatively short, and they are based on prose phrase lengths of varying proportions. For this reason an introit, for example, is more like a cavatina than an art-song. The entire antiphon is a single theme, repeated after intervening sections of psalmody. There is no reason to expect that a brief chant would contain two or three repetitions of a single short theme. The same is true of polyphony. As long as relatively brief sections are the only concern of the composer, he can afford to write somewhat freely, with the declamation of the text as his guide. The problem of thematic unity is automatically solved in many cases by repetition, as called for by the Missal, Graduale [41] or other source from which the text is derived. It is significant, however, that the more extended pieces, such as Lassus' Book of Job, or in the chant, the Tract Qui habitat, use the principle of thematic repetition to maintain unity. These themes are often nothing more than little formulae or melodic fragments, but since even the more extended chants or polyphonic compositions are nowhere near as long as classical concert movements, this is sufficient for the composer's purpose.

Is there, then, any really a-thematic music? Perhaps, but it is the self-conscious product of a special technique or, as in the case of some of the works of composers like Charles Ives, it is a product of a peculiar mentality. Although the author has had the opportunity of hearing and performing much of the standard concert repertoire from Bach to Debussy, most of the chant repertoire, large parts of the polyphonic repertoire and a great deal of present-day music, he would be hard put to name more than a few works in which thematic content was either absent or very small. There are classical cavatinas, of course, but they are obviously not athematic.

There is no reason to assume that a present-day composer might not write some very successful music with a minimum of thematic content, possibly with contrasting movements in his masses. This is not the point. The fact of the matter is that most of our present day composers do not avoid thematic repetition, simply because there is no point in omitting such a useful device.

To summarize our viewpoints regarding this question of "themes," let us say that we have noted that themes can take many forms, from that of a square-cut tune to an irregular snatch of melody, and from a mere rhythm to a complex, many-voiced texture. Thematic content is minimized in very short pieces, although some short pieces are really complete themes in themselves, without repetitions. Longer pieces use more obvious themes, with contrasting sections which serve to emphasize the themes when they appear. To say that present-day music is "often athematic" [42] is as unjustified as to say that music of the past was athematic. Fortunately for the vigor and growth of our present-day music, our modern composers have retained many of the great and useful devices developed in the past, including that of the thematic exposition, transformation and development.

One other point of Father Schuler's address deserves to be mentioned. He makes a great deal of the term "affective music" as opposed to a type of objective music which merely "adorns" the text. He states that the objective kind of music was predominant until the seventeenth century and that affective music took over during that period of musical history. Father also says that the Church looks askance on affective music, and that chant and Renaissance polyphony make little or no use of affective writing.

Affective writing, since it is well that we define our terms, is construed by Father Schuler to mean that type of music which attempts to express, by devices or similar means, the emotional content of the text. He attributes the advent of this kind of writing to the Baroque period of music history.

We submit the following assertions in this regard:

1. Composers have always used and continue to use, in any period of music history, both objective styles and other styles more closely related to the moods and content of the text. As examples from the chant, we call the reader's attention to the use of the modes to express certain moods. We do not sense these moods ourselves in the chant, but we are many centuries removed from medieval customs and aesthetics. From the writings of the theoreticians of the middle ages we can determine that there was a real emotional value in the use of certain modes, at least for the people of that era. Some chant melodies, too, contain passages which are explicable only in the light of the expressive intent of the composer. One such piece is the offertory Ascendit, in which the opening passages leave no doubt as to the fact [43] that the Lord did ascend into Heaven. We may try to protest that no word painting is intended by this rising passage, but if so, it is hard to explain why there is no other passage of similar structure anywhere else in the chant repertoire. Another example of the use of contrast and intensity to bring out textual values may be seen in the communion verse Dicit Dominus. It begins with a simple formula and cadence on the words "The Lord says:", then the words "Fill up the water-jars and take them to the chief steward" are set to two characteristic sixth mode formulae, the second resembling the ornate psalm tone in its simplicity. The words "When the chief steward had tasted the water made into wine," continue the quiet, impersonal type of "adornment" music. The words "he said to the bridegroom" are somewhat more insistent. Then the culminating speech of the steward: "You have saved the good wine until now," are set to a soaring, ornate melody, obviously intended to contrast with the simple phrases of statement which precede it. The emphasis on the essence of the  miracle is further heightened by the anticlimactic statement which concludes the piece, set to an almost syllabic formula: "This was the first sign which Jesus made before his disciples." This is a simple case of a composer's deliberately selecting a form and order which would best bring out the text. Obviously this is not mere adornment.

As examples from other music, we have the expressive use of devices such as the chromatically descending bass in Bach's Crucifixus of the B Minor Mass, or the opening chorus of the Cantata Jesu, Thou My Weary Spirit, or countless other works; the distant modulations of Handel's recitatives and similar procedures. Yet these same composers wrote enormous quantities of music which must be classified as forming a great part of the known repertoire of really objective music. Was it not Bach who brought the fugue to its greatest perspectives, together with many other polyphonic and purely objective techniques? The Baroque composers wrote what suited the purpose and scope of each work in its turn, sometimes producing objective music, sometimes highly subjective music, sometimes music which [44] changes from one facet to another in the course of a single composition or group of compositions.

The classical composers were not less flexible. Mozart has given us splendid examples of music which in no way attempts to express its texts, but merely to adorn them. This is so true that many of his great Masses which we hear today in concert are written in the athletic style of his symphonies, with the voice lines closely following those of his comic operas. This is no obstacle to their achieving greatness, and it provides us with splendid examples of the application of a single style of music to a number of texts of sharply contrasting meanings and potential emotions. We might compare, for example, the fugal Kyrie of Mozart's Requiem in its purely objective and structural declamation, with the emotional setting of the offertory Domine Jesu Christe of the same work.

Even in works of the late nineteenth century, dominated to a great extent by the so-called romantic spirit, we find excellent examples of fundamentally objective and structural music. We might mention the fugal works of the Brahms Requiem and the finale to his Fourth Symphony, the similar contrapuntal structures of the French composers of that day and other works of that type.

Later, in the early twentieth century, while Debussy was writing romantic music of his own, men like Milhaud, Satie and Stravinsky were working in more objective lines. Satie's music for Socrate is a good example of a style which is as independent of the events and text which accompany it as anything ever composed.

In contrast, we have twentieth century composers who write from an admittedly expressive or subjective viewpoint. We could mention Barber, Menotti, Honegger, Bartok and others. Honegger has spoken a great deal of his viewpoints. Like Schoenberg, he was a twentieth-century romantic, of a sort. He viewed his works in reaction against Stravinskian objectivity. In his opinion, music can be expressive, and "if the worse elements are not improved, at least the good will [45] remain and will be complete in itself, a vehicle of a human or divine meaning. A really 'objective' music ought to be able to stand on its own, without explanation. Why, then, does Stravinsky give so many? Honegger is convinced that music can convey great messages or more intimate ones, and his works, such as the Symphonie Liturgique, are not afraid of giving sub-titles . . . " Honegger's recent death removed only one of the many proponents of this "affective" kind of modern music. There are many others, many of them composers of first rank, who continue his aesthetic viewpoints. There are many others, too, who, without being extremists and without feeling themselves obliged to theorize about what they compose, utilize obviously expressive means in setting a text, even a Latin liturgical text, whenever it suits their purpose.

If our present-day music is more suited to liturgical ideals than the music of the Baroque era or that of the nineteenth century, it is because of three very important factors:

1. It is more concise and compact in its forms than most Baroque works would permit, and it is often of lyric rather than dramatic style, which is the principal distinction between it and classical music. In short, the present-day "sense of movement" is both direct and relatively brief as compared with 18th or 19th century music.

2. Today many composers are working with particular emphasis on liturgical compositions. This means that the new sounds and styles of our modern music will be associated from the outset with the church and its ceremonies. There will then be little danger that church music will later on bring to mind suggestions of the theater or the ballroom, as was the case when the 19th century composer, who wrote primarily for concerts or the opera, tried to apply his dramatic and romantic style to the liturgy.

[46] 3. Contrary to the notion implied by Father Schuler, the composer of today is perhaps more aware of the text and its meanings than were the composers of the Baroque and romantic periods. The obstacle to the use of the masses of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, etc., in the liturgy is formed by the intrusion of concert style in pieces which should have been conceived on other lines if they were to be used in church. In other words, the texts are treated much like any other text, secular or sacred, with no special consideration of the milieu in which they are to be sung. The music is great . . . among the greatest ever written, but it is not functional, at least in regard to the proportions and scope of the Roman liturgy.

Today our composers may use expressive devices more conservatively in their masses than they do in their secular works, but in a representative handful of works which lie before this author at this very moment, expressive devices are very apparent. In a beautiful four-part a capella mass by one of our most talented Catholic composers, we note, in passing, the brilliant treatment of the Glorificamus te, the Tu solus Altissimus (containing the highest note in the piece), the Hosanna in excelsis, and similar passages, in contrast with the more delicate treatment of the Et incarnatus est and like passages. The piece also contains a great quantity of purely objective music, too, which shows the range of style in a composer of real mastery.

Volumes could be written on this important subject, but it would be better for the sincere church musician to take upon himself the rewarding task of becoming familiar with our present-day church music first-hand. Father Schuler has some excellent words to say in that regard, as he does on other points, lest we appear to be over-critical of his remarks. The main thing is that we listen to as much music as we can. Whether or not the reader choose to adopt Father Schuler's viewpoints or those of this writer, or other entirely different ones, is not as important as his duty to his art and his Church to familiarize himself, retaining an open mind, with all new sounds and styles in church music. Naturally there is a lot of inept and weakly-conceived [sic] music [47] in the avant-garde repertoire. The experienced musician, however, will develop his taste in this aspect of the art just as he developed it in the sphere of traditional music, that is, by listening and evaluation over the course of many years.

---

Source: J. Robert Caroll, "Contemporary Music and the Liturgy," The Gregorian Review 4, no. 6 (November-December 1957): 32–47.

The Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina (1957)

[8] Nature and Structure of the Pontifical Document

In order to appreciate in an objective fashion the scope of the latest pontifical document on sacred music, it is necessary, above all else, to clarify its nature, not only from the strictly jurisdictional point of view, but also from the historical point of view, taking this latter in its broadest sense, that is, by relating this document to the traditions of the past and the present situation, and to the developments which sacred music might now undergo by reason of the principles set forth by the Encyclical.

We shall limit ourselves to a study of the second aspect, after we have set forth the essential points of the recent pontifical document. From the jurisdictional point of view, we know that an Encyclical Letter is an essentially doctrinal document which the Sovereign Pontiff sends, as Doctor of the Universal Church, to the Catholic Hierarchy, in order to determine or clarify the fundamental principles which should inspire the clergy and faithful in order to resolve both old and new problems which arise in a certain area of the spiritual life. In the present case, this is in the domain of sacred music, which, as the recent Encyclical has once more confirmed and illustrated with perfect clarity, is unique among the fine arts as being the most directly related to the very center of Catholic spiritual life, the liturgy.

In contrast, a Regulation (such as those of 1884 and 1894 on the Sacred Congregation of Rites on sacred music), an Instruction (such as the Motu Proprio of St. Pius), an Apostolic Constitution (such as the Divini Cultus sanctitatem of Pius XI) all set forth with authority, although in different [9] ways and with differing degrees of jurisdictional obligation, the particular and analytical norms of essentially practical and disciplinary nature, although they may also recall and propose, as occasion demands, certain principles of a general nature, but without any precise intention of making a theory or system. It would, however, be erroneous to wish to discover in the recent Encyclical any presently-applicable [sic] norms on sacred music.

Naturally, after viewing the principles which have just been established in this way by the Encyclical, we feel a necessity for a deep and radical revision and a further elaboration and integration of musical legislation which has been in force up to now, in order that these general principles may be put into practice. But for the time being it must be on these general principles that specialists and church musicians will focus their attention. Moreover, it is on this aspect, too, that we shall concentrate in this brief commentary.

It is quite clear that the recent pontifical document, without going into the myriad details which discussion might raise, has a position of unique importance in the history of legislation dealing with sacred music. This will be either because of the form in which it was promulgated (that is, an Encyclical Letter, the most solemn and most authoritative of all pontifical documents), or because of its universality, since it was addressed to the Episcopacy of the entire Catholic world, as well as of those territories subject to a common law such as oriental or missionary, or because of the scope of the subject matter which, without, as we have said, getting to details, does touch upon the more important problems of sacred music.

Moreover, from this point of view, the Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina ranks without comparison at the top of the scale of respective values of legislative documents in this regard, being truly the first Encyclical of universal scope on sacred music. We should note in this regard that the Encyclical Annus qui of Benedict XIV, dated February 19, 1749, which, because of the extent of its subject and the erudition with which it is treated, still holds today a primacy [10] which it is not easy to surpass, remains nevertheless a document of restricted scope, since it was sent to the bishops of the Pontifical State to have them restore in their dioceses the various kinds of sacred music. This was done in view of the immanent celebration of the Holy Year of 1750, and to seek to have those abuses eliminated which had infiltrated the services and which would have scandalized pilgrims visiting the area.

Before entering the internal analysis of the Encyclical, it may be worthwhile to examine briefly its exterior form, an element which reflects the typically Roman style and mentality of the ecclesiastical Legislator.

Anyone who has followed the course of the heated discussions which have been developed for over a century in regard to sacred music, up to the lively polemics of our day, knows full well the mira varietas of the opinions and methods being promulgated by one or another group. The Encyclical, however, although presenting this mira varietas clearly (and whoever knows well enough how to read between the lines will easily find allusions, direct or indirect, to certain trends and movements), the Encyclical, we have said, places itself above the controversy and sets forth in four parts — standing like the four great pillars of a sturdy edifice of classical form — the principles which form the basis of the resolution of the varying points of view which we have noted.

Since we are here concerned with music, we might also compare this Encyclical with a great symphonic composition, which, in the course of four movements, develops with perfect mastery the proposed theme.

After the short introduction, the First Part, the first movement, if you will, is developed like an Andante, which, with boldness and power in its construction, begins with the prototype of music in God (according to the Augustinian conception, of Platonic inspiration) and, traversing a bridge as long as it is strong, arrives at the final developments within us of the divine art of sounds.

[11] The Second Part, the second "movement", is like an Adagio, in which the soul is elevated to the contemplation of the Catholic aesthetic of art in general, of sacred and religious art, and particularly of sacred music. Then, in an intensive and expressive crescendo, it arrives at the sublime aria, bordering on ecstasy, which sings of the unique dignity of sacred music and of church musicians.

The Third Part, the third movement, like a Rondo, treats successively of sacred music in its various forms, it [sic] styles and its kinds.

Finally, the Fourth Part, the fourth movement, is like an Allegro energico, which conveys the laborious rhythm of those who are called to put into practice the reform and restoration of sacred music in our day.

The Spirit Which Shapes the Encyclical; Its Thread of Continuity

The element which directly links the four parts of the Encyclical and the various developments of each part, as the soul is bound to the body, is the spirit which shapes it, and which is nothing more than the Catholic conception of art and sacred music.

We know of the unfortunate wanderings which certain systems of thought, following the opposite path of the philosophia perennis, have provoked in the domain of aesthetics in general and in that of music in particular, with the inevitable consequence in artistic production, particularly of music, in recent times.

Rejecting the necessary dependence on a transcendant [sic] principle, with the pretext of autonomy and freedom, the artist finds himself, alas, like the proverbial ship without a rudder, without the safe and sure guide which conducts his genius to a certain goal, having before him neither the North Star to guide him in his course, nor the beacon to keep him from shipwreck.

[12] All this is not freedom, but distraction, which sometimes cultivates folly and leads to the absurd. The furor of some contemporary music is proof of this.

The Encyclical, without pretending to "give laws of aesthetic or technical nature as regards the noble discipline of music", wishes rather "that it be preserved from anything that could diminish its dignity, called as it (music) is to lend its power in an area of such great importance as that of the divine cult".

Modern musicians and artists are free, then, to go and come from one experiment to the next, within the noisy bogs of the attempts to which profane art and music are currently given over.

It is quite clear, however, that the Church does not and cannot tolerate similar experiments quasi in corpore vili, in matters concerning the divine cult. Too, whereas the Church opens the doors of the temple to everything that "the genius of man has been able to create of the good and beautiful over the course of centuries, under the conditions that the liturgical laws be respected,"[1] "She must exclude from sacred music with utmost care . . . everything unsuited to the divine cult or which prevents the faithful from lifting their souls to God."[2]

This clarification which confirms and strengthens the principles of the well-known Instruction of the Holy Office on sacred art was more needed than ever before. All artists, even those not directly associated with sacred art, should be grateful to the Church, which, following the glorious tradition which has made of Her an enlightened patron of the arts, has once more shown them the true path of true art.

Positively, then, the Encyclical sets forth the principles of sacred music, clarifying its very high dignity and its supernatural end with such noble and lofty words and expressions [13] that we have probably never before been offered anything similar in a pontifical document. Moreover, I have no fear of exaggeration in saying that this passage of the Encyclical is like a Credo of sacred music and merits for that reason to be profoundly meditated upon, assimilated and professed by church musicians . . . and not only by musicians, but by all those who live in the Church.

Necessarily bound to this clarification of sacred music is the exalting of the mission of those who, in variuos ways, have devoted themselves to cultivate or promote it. "All such persons, without doubt," solemnly states the Encyclical, "truly and properly carry out an apostolate, even though in diverse and varied ways. By virtue of their office, they are not merely artists and masters, but also ministers and collaborators with Jesus Christ in the apostolate, and they must strive to manifest by their conduct the dignity of their functions."

And here we enter that element which, following the Catholic conception of art and sacred music, constitutes the unifying thread of the whole Encyclical: I mean the spiritual position of the artist and musician in regard to Religion, in relationship with those pastoral aims which sacred music in particular assumes.

"The artist who does not have faith and who is far from God in soul and in conduct," affirms the Sovereign Pontiff, "should not in any way take part in sacred art. He does not in fact possess that interior vision which would permit him to see what is required by the majesty of God and His cult. We cannot hope that his works, deprived of religious inspiration, even though they represent a man who knows his art and is amply provided with technical proficiency, will be able to breathe forth that faith and piety which are called for by the majesty of the temple of God. Consequently, neither can they be admitted by the Church, the guardian and judge of the religious life.

[14] "As for the artist whose faith is firm and life worthy of a Christian, let him follow the impulse of his love of God and religiously make us of the gifts which God has given him; let him strive to express by the colors, lines, sounds, and chants those truths which he believes and the piety which he professes, and this in a manner so accurate and acceptable that this sacred exercise may be for him an act of religion, and for the people a powerful stimulus to faith and piety."

There is, therefore, a clear and irresolvable antithesis between the worldly musician and the church musician, an antithesis which does not stem from purely aesthetic or technical reasons, since both must resolve in a similar way their aesthetic and technical problems, according to the artistic means of expression which they possess.

The antithesis is, on the contrary, entirely in the inner source of their inspiration. In the worldly artist it comes from sentiments of a more or less noble nature, but which are always human and earthly (when they are not downright carnal or sensual, or when they do not stem, as the Encyclical makes to [sic] clear, from a blind instinct which we call the estro).

The church artist, on the other hand, acts under the drive of a supernatural element, charity, or, to use the expression of the Encyclical, the love of God, Who, while He inspires and fills the soul of the musician in his human acts and his creative activity, conferes [sic] on his musical work a character and force which, beyond results due to mere technical competence and ability within the art, is conveyed by a raising to God of the soul of the composer himself and those of the faithful who hear his music.

Thus it is that a church musician who knows how to respond fully to this ascetic and mystic vocation has already within himself what he needs to create true sacred art. He already knows what must be done, without need for many rules and odious prohibitions. His route he can find himself in the inner inspiration of his heart, which is enlightened and enflamed with the infinite beauty of the divine mysteries, and which translates it into music which becomes its faithful echo.

[15] The words of St. Augustine have, then, great value for the church musician: Ama et fac quod vis. For the musician, this is the only true principle, since real music is born of charity: Cantare amantis est, and serves to increase and intensify it.

Such is the true and full freedom of the Catholic artist and church musician. This is a liberty which he can and must use to attain, first, the latreutic end of the liturgy, and then, of sacred music (the honor due God, to which will be consecrated the best which musical art can produce), but also the soteriological end (the salvation of souls, dependent on certain special suggestions by which sacred music raises the soul of the one who prays to God).

In this way, the Encyclical, although it shows the principles which should guide Catholic art and artists, also shows, so to speak, in every line, the pastoral intentions which the Church understands to be linked to sacred music.

Nova and Vetera in the Encyclical

It is with a constant eye to these profound and fruitful truths that one may and should consider certain positions of the Encyclical, which have seemed to some misdirected readers to be dictated by a certain broad point of view, not to say laxity.

The Use of Instruments

One of the most important questions concerns the use of instruments, and in particular the violin, unjustly identified with romanticism, worldliness and even sensuality.

That these last-mentioned characteristics are obviously and clearly those of a certain amount of the violin repertoire, nobody can deny. This explains why, at the beginning of the century, in a climate of antiromantic reform, severe limitations were exercised regarding the use of this instrument.

[16] No one, however, can deny a composer of sacred music, if he fully observes the ideal, of course, which the Encyclical sets, the right to use this extremely effective instrument for the expression of various sentiments of the soul, with a view toward raising his soul to God and to similarly influence the souls of the faithful. Moreover, what we can say for the violin can also be said for the other stringed instruments.

Let one merely think of certain Bach arias, and those of Handel, to certain "Sonatas of the church" of the eighteenth century, all steeped in the most profound religious sentiment.

The danger of abuses does not lie only in the expressive power of these bowed instruments, but rather in the composer and in the performer who can apply them in a profane manner. It is, therefore, above themselves, in the very source where they find their inspiration that the attention must be focused, with a seeking after an interpretation consonant with the Catholic spirit of art and music.

What we have said for the bowed instruments holds true also for the other instruments which, either alone or with the organ, according to the Encyclical, can be used in sacred music. It seemed superfluous to the Sovereign Pontiff to give a list of those which are admitted and those which are forbidden, to decide whether they may be used merely as accompaniment for the choir, or alone, although we must understand that they are always to be used according to the conditions which are applied to the use of the organ. All these questions and other decisions or classifications of exterior character have no meaning for the church musician, since he, if he is a real church musician, will certainly know well enough himself when and how to use the means which musical art and technique, even the most modern, have placed at his disposition for the creation of true sacred art. In this regard I think of the Mass of E Minor of Anton Bruckner, written for choir and brass orchestra, which, in spite of the means employed, provides us with a real masterpiece of authentic religious art, which, according to some authorities, can be ranked with the Missa Papae Marcellae of Palestrina.

[17] On the other hand, a mere conformity to certain rules and prohibitions regarding instruments, including the organ, does not guarantee at all that religious inspiration will come, although it is this very inspiration which is vital for the creation of real sacred music. To this extent it is true, even in this field of endeavor, that Spiritus est qui vivificat; littera autem occidit.

Mixed Choirs

In the same way we find the question of mixed choirs discussed here. They are permitted by the Encyclical when the male scholae cantorum or choirs, or the Pueri Cantores are either totally lacking or weak in numbers. This concession is not new. It goes back to St. Pius X, who approved the generally equivalent decree of the Sacred Congregation of Rites in this matter, a decree which is now incorporated by the Encyclical.

We all know the regulations of liturgical, moral and aesthetic nature against the singing of women in church, and these prescriptions are still held valid by the Encyclical. In this light, mixed choirs are merely a substitute for the usual scholae cantorum and the Pueri Cantores, who are the only real liturgical choirs given an official function.

But between the elimination of all singing in church (and, consequently, of the solemn liturgy) due to a lack of male choirs or boys choirs, and the tolerance, with the precautions which are imposed, of the use of mixed choirs (which are considered as being the people or a segment of the congregation which fills in the lack of male singers), and also to maintain, in general, the living tradition of the singing in Church, the Sovereign Pontiff, following the footsteps of St. Pius X, has chosen this second solution, which, without involving a matter of principle, nevertheless resolves a practical problem of great importance, and thus saves, by guaranteeing singers, the general principle of the special force which music brings to bear on the divine services and on the piety of the faithful.

[18] In fact, the schola cantorum and the usual male choir, as a matter of principle, must always be given their traditional and glorious primacy in the liturgical and artistic domain, even though, alas, we must deplore not only the small number of male choirs, but also their decline of liturgical spirit and even of their artistic standards, both of which are the consequences of complex causes for the exposition of which there is no space here.

The decrease in these scholae and their decadence have providentially called forth the vast movement of Pueri Cantores who, by themselves or with a few men's voices, maintain intact the role of the cantor, holder of a real liturgical rank, and on the artistic side, they can attain a standard of excellence similar to that of the schola or male choir.

Yet, wherever circumstances do not provide these means, mixed choirs, well-trained and capably directed, can substitute for the liturgical choir and attain, on the artistic plane, very fine results.

The Burning Question of Liturgical Language

A similar approach is made to the subject of the liturgical language. Nearly everybody has followed the well-known arguments which, particularly in recent years, have been given prominence in this respect in books, articles, speeches and the like.

On one hand the need (which there can be no question of challenging) for the unity and the universality of the liturgy requires a unity and universality of language, that of the tradition. On the other hand, the pastoral concern to enable the faithful to live the reality of the divine mysteries, not only in referring themselves implicitly to the intentions of the celebrant, but also in participating in the liturgy individually and explicitly taking the proper role, this concern, we say, has brought about a keen awareness of the need for a liturgical language accessible to the faithful and not merely to the celebrant.

[19] On these two aspects of the question much has been written and said, sometimes with a passionate partisanship which approaches fanaticism.

The Encyclical, with a characteristically Roman clarity and serenity, has gathered and blended the two opposing points of view in a beautifully balanced way, a way which suffices, or should suffice, to calm the apprehensiveness of the partisans of both camps.

All taken into account, the Encyclical maintains the principle of unity and universality of the liturgical language. Then, while tolerating contrary practices which were born of historical circumstances which were special to certain locations, or under special conditions, at least in those cases where these contrary practices could not be prudently eleminated [sic], the Encyclical opposes at the same time that such customs be introduced in new areas. Moreover, in the very areas where these contrary practices are tolerated the Ordinaries of the dioceses are exhorted to promote the use of Gregorian chant, indissolubly linked to the use of Latin, among the faithful, in order that they "learn from infancy at least the easier Gregorian melodies and those most used, and know how to use them in the liturgical ceremonies, so that in this way, too, the unity and universality of the Church may ever be more greatly manifested."

The conclusion of all this is that the principle of using Latin as the liturgical language is clearly affirmed, and that the integral putting into practice of this principle is demanded, even in those places where, for special reasons, it has previously been de-emphasized.

And it is very right that this should be so from the standpoint of principle, for without entering into the many reasons of opportunity or convenience, who, then, is it who performs the holy liturgy, to use the terms of the Encyclical Mediator Dei, if not the sacred Hierarchy, whose own language is rightfully that of the Church, namely Latin?

[20] On the other hand, full satisfaction is granted to pastoral concerns regarding the active participation of the faithful in the holy mysteries. The faithful can today be better trained than in the past, and can be instructed by liturgical catechetics, oral as well as written. This is what the Encyclical explains so well, drawing upon the teaching of the Fathers of the Council of Trent, who had to resolve in their day, under conditions much more difficult than those of today, the problem of the unity of liturgical language and that of the participation of the faithful in the holy liturgy.

Popular Hymnody

Where, on the other hand, the Encyclical has left to the people, and thus to the vernacular tongue, which is properly that of the people, a wide field of action is in popular hymnody, on which the Sovereign Pontiff spends a certain length of time, and at more than one insistence, with an urgency and particular care, an indication of the fine and unerring pastoral awareness of Pius XII.

He had already touched upon this subject in the Encyclical Mediator, which, it should be said for history, was the first instance of such treatment in a pontifical document, and what is more, in an Encyclical.

But in the Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina we find a real treatise on popular hymnody, religious and sacred, for all geographical areas.

Religious Music

No one will be surprised to find that religious music of a sort not designed for the liturgy should have merited a discussion in a solemn pontifical document. It is a matter of a mere mention, to tell the truth, but yet it suffices to define this kind of music which, in parallel to sacred music, can exercise a great and beneficial influence over the souls of the faithful. This is the very pastoral concern of which we have just spoken.

[21] Yet the Encyclical has thus determined the principle upon which can then be based the entire task of regulation. This is an indication of a remarkable comprehension toward the composer, who today is turning with more and more fervor to this kind of music. It is also a comprehension toward the people, who understand with increasing sympathy these compositions of religious nature. It is manifested by this opening of a path to more fruitful accomplishments in this domain, not merely, and perhaps not so much in the artistic sense as in the spiritual sense, and, we repeat, the pastoral sense. This is certainly the main aspect under which the Encyclical mentions religious music, "which although it is not designed principally for the service of the holy liturgy, nevertheless conveys many desirable features to religion through its content and its aims."

The Encyclical in its Historical Aspects

More complex and delicate (and in certain ways, perhaps even premature), is the examination of the Encyclical in its historical aspects.

No doubt in relationship with the tradition of the recent past, the new Pontifical document marks a decisive development in the interest which the Holy See has taken in music in general, and especially in contemporary music.

We not mean to imply that the new Encyclical constitutes an antithesis of the Motu Proprio (which, of course, it reaffirms as the document which St. Pius X has justly called the "juridical code of sacred music"); nor do we imply that it represents a revolution in the secular tradition of the Church in this matter, synthesized by the "norms wisely established by St. Pius X", which are the very terms of the Encyclical. But Pius XII, with the intention of confirming and inculcating these norms still further, proposes to give them also "a new light, to corroborate them by new reasonings," and this is where we find a new accent in pontifical teaching,—"in order that this very noble art of sacred music, conforming to new requirements and enriched in a certain [22] manner, may continually respond more fully to its purpose." From this we can see clearly enough that where the Motu Proprio, in order to accomplish a reform of sacred music, which at that time was deeply contaminated by theatrical music, may have seemed reactionary to some persons (particularly in the severity of criteria which some of its interpreters thought wise to adopt and in the polemic virulence of certain reformers), the Encyclical Musicae sacrae, beginning with the results achieved in fifty years of reform under the aegis of St. Pius X and his famous document on sacred music, can today give directives inspired by a broader and more realistic perspective, provided the legislator by the absence or near absence of any danger of misemphasis.

Naturally this greater serenity and tranquility is completely to the advantage of sacred art and the artist, who today feels really free of any exterior constraints and any odious prohibitions or restrictions, free to follow only the suggestions of his inner inspiration, enlightened and strengthened by Caritas.

And it is in this full freedom of the Catholic artist that we find the first and inexhaustible source of the renewal of sacred music as an art, fifty years after the reform of St. Pius X, which, although it had the unquestionable value of restoring to the music which was to be performed in church its original sacred character, did not, with few exceptions build and expand upon the glorious musical tradition of the Catholic Church according to the splendid example of classic polyphony.

It is a fact which we can deplore as much as we like, but which we cannot deny, that the great lay musicians of our day take little real interest in liturgical music as exemplified during the last fifty years. They show it only indifference except when they are openly hostile to a certain kind of music which passes for liturgical art although it is not at all artistic, even though artistic value is one of the essential qualities of the liturgy, and in that sense, of sacred music. Except for the works of certain composers, who, moreover, have made their best and most abundant contribution in the [23] domain of general religious music rather than in that of sacred music, liturgical music or extra-liturgical music, except for these, we say, all the rest, generally speaking, although they are not lacking in quantity, certainly do not shine in the power of their inspiration, the newness or freshness of their language or the strength of their construction.

thus two currents can be perceived which, besides being divergent in their means and their aims, are also composed of elements which are completely different from each other in both quantity and quality.

One of these currents is formed by a legion of persons, mostly clergy and religious, motivated by the highest intentions and desirous of creating sacred music, but almost always without artistic talent or technical preparation, or lazily wallowing in the quagmires of hackneyed styles.

The other current is formed of a small number of great lay musicians who have achieved honor and continue to do so both here and abroad, but who have turned their backs on church music.

Some people have thought it logical to blame this state of affairs, which is a sign of decadence, on the Motu Proprio of St. Pius X, since in that famous document modern music was viewed with a manifest spirit of opposition. Was it not, they said, unavoidable from that standpoint that the great musicians of the day would feel rejected from the Church and left only to the more worldly fields of action?

In reality the very opposite has been the case. It was the great musicians of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries who, drawn by the seduction of romantic opera, brought into even the music of the Church the spirit and forms of the theater. It was, then, entirely natural that the Church should react against this serious contamination of a basically moral, but also artistic nature. This is particularly true, since all kinds of music require their proper forms, just as every person, according to the idea or feeling that he senses, requires a facial expression in accord with it, a demeanor and gestures proper to him, and a personal way of dressing.

[24] In truth, in his Motu Proprio St. Pius X, as we have already said, reasserts, in regard to modern sacred music, the constant principle by which "the Church has always recognized and favored progress in the arts, admitting to the service of the cult everything that the genius of man has been able to create as good and beautiful over the course of centuries, under the condition that the liturgical laws be respected. [sic] "Consequently" he continued, "the most recent modern music is also admitted to the church, for it, too, provides compositions whose value, soberness and gravity make them worthy in every respect of the liturgical functions." This recognition seems to have been addressed to German sacred music of the time rather than to Italian music, which, in contrast was the object of the following serious admonition: "Nevertheless, because of the worldly use for which modern music is principally intended, we must take the most extreme care in selecting musical compositions in modern style; only those which contain no profane utterance, include no reminiscence or motifs common to the theater, and which in no way convey, even in their exterior forms, the general cast of worldly pieces, may be admitted to the churches."

Without wishing to establish the respective responsibilities, we must recognize that the chasm opened between the ordinary musicians and the people of the Church by the Motu Proprio of St. Pius X is not only still unspanned, but it is continually growing wider.

To fill this gap and eliminate it seems to me to be the first and essential objective of the Encyclical Musicae sacrae disciplina.

No compromise, of course, can be made between the liturgy and profane art, and consequently, musicians who have the intention of writing for the church and who truly wish to create sacred art cannot continue, obviously, to treat the paths of worldly music in general, and of operatic music in particular, but should instead turn to the liturgy and draw inspiration from it, since it is the inexhaustible source, always rich and varied.

[25] Fortunately, the direction of the present evolution of music and the trends it seems to be taking are favorable to this change of direction. The operatic style which dominated almost exclusively the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century, drawing to it with an irresistible force of fascination great musicians of that epoch, is today in decline. For the romantic and naturalistic aesthetic has been substituted a kind of antiromanticism. Constructional strength has taken the place of melodic languor and impressionistic color. Harmony has become polytonal, atonal and dodecaphonic. A profound change marks today's music. Moreover, although we have not, any more than at any other evolutionary phase in the history of art, arrived at definitive results, at works of art which are of universal and positive value, it is nevertheless certain that contemporary musicians do not dwell on the past, do not glance behind them, and in no way do they hesitate to advance from the old styles more and more rapidly and deliberately. The curtain has fallen with finality on the day of theater music camouflaged as sacred music, except for a few church composers . . . we do not call them musicians . . . who think they can create something new by re-issuing the old lyrico-sacred compositional formulas, long sine rejected by the musical world in general.

Is it, then, possible in this climate of change to fill in and eliminate the deplorable gap which separated artists from the liturgy? The affirmative answer is given by Pius XII, who wrote even in the Encyclical Mediator Dei these clear words which seem to me to be directly addressed to those who, in the name of a blind loyalty to Gregorian and Palestrinian tradition had ostracized contemporary sacred music: "One cannot, however, maintain," warned the Pontiff, "that modern music and singing should be totally excluded from Catholic worship. On the contrary, provided that such music contains nothing profane or improper, in consideration of the sanctity of the place and the sacred services, and provided that it does not seek after bizarre or uncalled-for effects, it is indispensable that we give it entree to our churches for it can greatly contribute to the magnificence of the cere-ceremonies [sic] as well as to the raising of souls to a true devotion and piety."

[26] The presupposed and indispensable psychological condition for the creation of discussion, first, then a unity and collaboration between musicians and churchmen is, for the latter group, based on a disposition tending to break down the instinctive attachment to a tradition which is bound together with a deeply-rooted rejection of everything new; it is also in a disposition to take a sincere interest in and seeking to understand the new forms and new vocabulary of the musicians today, to have confidence in them, to accept their works with a warm sympathy and heartfelt humility, for it is not easy to assimilate and evaluate a new mode of expression in sacred music at first hearing, or even after a few hearings.

Simply put, we must persuade ourselves of the fact that art is made by artists. What seems at first glance to be a simple truth is in reality not so easy to grasp, for there are many people who think they can solve the problem of sacred music without the effort of a real artist-musician. These people, however, must bring into their music the required mental and spiritual dispositions, if they wish to create sincere sacred music, without bringing in new contaminations which would be as detrimental to the liturgy as to art.

The situation in religious music (designed for concert rather than church) is and has been less critical. Consequently it is less difficult to achieve a meeting of minds on this subject and to bring about the desired entente between musicians and churchmen.

But there is a danger which must be seen and guarded against from both sides: that musicians give preference to religious music and neglect sacred music, liturgical music and extra-liturgical music (we mean, of course, by "religious music", that music not designed for church use, but based on religious texts, themes or concepts). There is a strong temptation for the musician, since he enjoys a greater liberty of expressions, means and themes in non-liturgical religious music. He obtains greater moral and material rewards, totally incomparable to those he draws, at least under present conditions, from music designed for the liturgy or extra-liturgical [27] services. On the other hand, the churchman has a deep responsibility, because he, through lack of understanding of the artistic and material requirements of the musician, places him in a position where he must neglect liturgical and extra-liturgical music and devote himself exclusively, or nearly so, to non-liturgical religious music.

To maintain a suitable balance between sacred music and religious music is, above all, a question for the profound and fecund vision of both composers and the Church. It is obvious that in addition to the central problem of the unification and collaboration of the great musicians of our day and the churchmen, other problems exist, some large, some small, some theoretical, some practical, which await a similar discussion and at least a gradual resolution.

To note only a few of the more urgent of these, let us mention the economic conditions of composers, choirmasters and organists; the problem of the reconstitution of Scholae cantorum, choirs and choral groups; that a more deserving freedom in the use of vocal and instrumental means proper to contemporary art in sacred music; that of performance, even in church . . . of course, without improper aspects and with the necessary precautions . . . of non-liturgical religious music. There are as many unresolved problems as those already covered in the Encyclical Musicae sacrae.

The important thing is that the Church become once more, as she was in the past, the great sponsor and noble propagator of art in general, and music in particular, since it is in the church, the House of God, but also our own house, that the people, without distinction of class or background, or any other distinctions, in other words, all the people can be trained day after day by the slow but effective action of that great master of truth, beauty and goodness, Art.

Let us return to the Motu Proprio of St. Pius X. In much the same way that writing emphasized the first quality of sacred music, i.e., sanctity, today the Encyclical Musicae sacrae of Pius XII emphasizes the second quality of sacred music, which is its artistic value . . . not neglecting the first [28] quality, of course, but in demanding not only an objective value in the music itself, but also and particularly a subjective value for the church musician.

Then, since, as St. Pius X affirms and Pius XII confirms, the third quality of sacred music, namely universality, proceeds naturally from the sanctity and artistic value of the form, if the contemporary artists know how to grasp and put into practice the message of the recent Encyclical, sacred music will become, for the Catholic Church, a splendid apologia for our faith, similar to the manifestation produced in the middle ages with Gregorian Chant, and in the Renaissance with vocal polyphony, organ music and instrumental music.

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Footnotes:

1. Motu Proprio of St. Pius X, November 22, 1903.

2. Encyclical Musicae Sacrae

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Source: Msgr. Fiorenzo Romita, "The Encyclical Musicae Sacrae Disciplina," The Gregorian Review 4, no. 4 (July-August 1957): 8–28.