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The Academics, the Artist, and the Architect: Retrieving the Tradition in Nineteenth-Century Catholicism.

Introduction

IN THE EARLY 1800s, amid the still smoldering, revolutionary ash, the Catholic Church in Europe rose like a phoenix remarkably revived despite the immense challenges that continued to confront her. Catholic academics, artists, and architects among both the clergy and the laity engaged in a massive project geared toward resurrecting the Catholic ethos in theology, philosophy, literature, art, and architecture--an ethos that revolution, war, and antithetical philosophical currents had greatly enfeebled. To that end, a broadly defined Catholic intelligentsia retrieved the Church's tradition in order to lay a sure foundation on which to rebuild. Theologians delved deeply into Scripture and the Church Fathers. By century's end, they also turned to Thomas Aquinas who, in having masterfully synthesized the Church's patristic heritage, offered a thoroughly Catholic and solidly intellectual response to the culture wars then raging. Catholic artists, along with their Protestant confreres, imbibed the spirit of Fra Angelico and Giotto in order to overcome the pagan neoclassicism dominant in their guild's academies. Neo-Gothic architects, especially in Great Britain, looked to the decidedly Christian architecture of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in order to construct buildings, both civil and ecclesiastical, that ennobled the human spirit rather than edifices that enslaved it. In order to illustrate this multifaceted project of retrieval, I shall consider the theological enterprises of Johann Adam Mohler (1796-1838), John Henry Newman (1801-1890), and Giovanni Perrone (1794-1876). I shall also examine the artistic work of Johann Friedrich Overbeck (1789-1869) and the architectural insights of Augustus W. N. Pugin (1812-1852). As we shall see, the twentieth-century Ressourcement, well known to many, followed directly upon an equally significant, although perhaps less well known, nineteenth-century return to the sources undertaken in order to meet the pressing challenges of that day for the sake of the future. But before I descend into the particulars, it is important to recall the political and intellectual climate that contextualized that momentous and indeed often heroic nineteenth-century retrieval of the tradition.

A Political and Intellectual Overview

Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm coined the expression the "long nineteenth century" in order to label that historical period beginning with the French Revolution in 1789 and ending with the outbreak of the First World War in 1914. (1) Others have used that same expression in order to define the literary period beginning with the romantic poets and concluding with early modernist authors. In his historical study What Happened at Vatican II Jesuit Father John O'Malley employs the term with notably negative connotations in order to describe the history of the Catholic Church from the storming of the Bastille until the death of Pope Pius XII in 1958--a very long century, indeed. (2) But, more precisely, for our purposes, the historical dynamic, that characterizes the nineteenth century, began in earnest in 1815 with the Congress of Vienna's reconfiguration of the European continent after the Napoleonic Wars. That reconfiguration itself continued to change, often abruptly, over the ensuing decades until its definitive collapse in 1914 when a Serbian anarchist assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, on a summer's day in Sarajevo.

As the Bastille fell on July 14, 1789, the French Revolution unleashed a wave of terrorist activity against the Catholic Church both in France and beyond her borders. (3) It imposed a civil constitution on the clergy and decimated ecclesiastical institutions. It brought religious life to the brink of extinction, and it guillotined all who resisted its terrifying might. After more than a decade of brutal persecution, church-state relations stabilized thanks ironically to the efforts of the French general Napoleon Bonaparte. Recognizing the urgent need to pacify the republic's disenfranchised Catholics and by that means to consolidate his own power, the first counsel negotiated a concordat with the beleaguered Pope Pius VII in 1801. But Napoleon quickly undermined the concordat when he unilaterally added to it a series of notably Gallican provisions known as the Organic Articles. Hoping against hope, Pius, nonetheless, continued to seek a favorable modus operandi for the good of the Church. Against the advice of his cardinals, he accepted Napoleon's invitation several years later to crown him emperor only to suffer further humiliation at Napoleon's hands during the coronation ceremony itself. As the French empire tightened its grip on the Italian peninsula and annexed the Papal States, including Rome itself, an exasperated Pius excommunicated the emperor in 1809. In response, Napoleon had the pope kidnapped and held him captive for the next five years. In the meantime, imperial armies wreaked havoc across the European continent from the Iberian peninsula to the Kremlin. In the summer of 1815, Allied forces definitively defeated Napoleon at Waterloo and thus brought an end to a quarter century of continual turmoil in Europe.

That same summer, under the leadership of the Austrian foreign minister, Prince Klemens von Metternich, the Congress of Vienna restored the continent's legitimate monarchs to their thrones. Thanks to the astute diplomatic efforts of Ercole Cardinal Consalvi, Pius VII's secretary of state, the congress also reestablished the Papal States in their entirety. While Metternich's politically conservative order brought peace to an exhausted continent, that peace, dependent upon royal absolutism, proved to be fragile. The pan-European revolutionary year of 1848 revealed the immense unrest that for decades had been simmering under the surface. Throughout the remainder of the century, the map of Europe continued to change. The Second French Republic of 1848, that had dethroned the Citizen-King Louis-Philippe of Orleans (who himself had displaced his own cousin the Bourbon King Charles X in the July Revolution of 1830), gave way to the Second Empire under Napoleon III in 1852. After France's disastrous loss to the Prussians in 1870, that Empire itself fell to the Third French Republic. In 1861, with the help of the radical rough-rider Giuseppe Garibaldi, the Royal House of Savoy united Italy--although it could not claim Rome as its capital until it had seized the last vestiges of the Papal States in 1870. In 1871, there arose the German Empire that, with the exception of Austria, joined together the Germanic states of central Europe under Prussian hegemony. Over the next forty years, the European powers entered into highly volatile political alliances that set the stage for the Great War. On August 3, 1914, when German armed forces invaded Belgium in their attempt to conquer France, the nineteenth century came to a dramatic end.

A multifaceted intellectual climate, whose roots lay in the previous century, also characterized the nineteenth century. The eighteenth-century Enlightenment had exalted human reason to the detriment, if not, in fact, the rejection of revealed religion. At Paris, on November 13, 1793, revolutionaries transformed Notre Dame Cathedral into a Temple of Reason. On its high altar, they enthroned a prostitute draped in the revolutionary Tricolour and hailed her the goddess of liberty. Rationalism upheld reason's self-evident principles independent of experience as the unique source of all knowledge. It declared that unaided reason sufficed to attain to religious truth, thus rendering faith superfluous. For the idealist, the rationalist's kissing cousin, the spiritual realm of mental abstractions or ideas reigned supreme. Thus did nineteenth-century rationalists live in a methodologically sterile, mechanically constructed environment divorced from human experience. That age's art academies, moreover, rigidly promoted pagan models while its stark neoclassical architecture evoked an ancient, pre-Christian world. These multifaceted currents sapped the faith of Europeans. As a young Newman notes from Naples in 1833, "The majority of the laity who think run into infidelity. [...] The French revolution and Empire seem to have generated a plague which is slowly working its way every where." (4)

Romanticism rose up in direct opposition to this rationalist worldview. It privileged the imagination over reason and sought solace in nature. It praised all things organic and reduced the divine to nature itself. Immanentism replaced transcendentalism. Romantic religion verged on the pantheistic. As Michael Ferber observes in his study on romanticism, it "replaced theological doctrine with metaphor and feeling, which honored poetry and all the arts as the highest human creations, and which rebelled against the established canons of neoclassical aesthetics and against both aristocratic and bourgeois social and political norms in favor of values more individual, inward, and emotional." (5) The romantics particularly disdained the adverse effects of the Industrial Revolution--its capitalism, its consumerism, its utilitarianism, and its urbanization. For the Industrial Revolution had created a harsh world of urban blight where injustices abounded. Seeking work in rapidly expanding cities with woefully inadequate infrastructures, anonymous masses abandoned the naturally idyllic countryside and huddled together in bleak, unsalutary squalor. The urban poor labored in factories and lived in misery. Theirs was that dark world that Charles Dickens so masterfully depicts. This oppressive social phenomenon fragmented preindustrialized communities and undermined civil society's common good.

The Catholic world did not turn a blind eye to these many woes. In France, in 1833, for example, Frederic Ozanam founded the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul in order to aid the indigent poor of Paris. In mid-nineteenth-century Germany, Bishop Wilhelm von Ketteler of Mainz promoted a program of Catholic social reform while Father Adolph Kolping of Westphalia labored for the betterment of workers in industrialized cities. By the end of the century, Pope Leo XIII promulgated his groundbreaking social encyclical Rerum Novarum. The Catholic response, however, was not strictly limited to questions of charitable services and social doctrine. It also involved dogmatic theologians, Catholic apologists, romantic artists, and neo-Gothic architects who through their own particular labors sought to remedy the postrevolutionary crisis. Each in his own way identified the root causes of the intellectual-societal collapse of their age. They recognized the epochal shift that had begun in the sixteenth century. The Renaissance had invoked the classical world, looked to pagan models, and thus eschewed the Christian faith. For its part, the Protestant Reformation disdained the use of any dialectical method in the theological enterprise. Its pastors boldly proclaimed sola scriptura, sola gratia, sola fides. The eighteenth-century Enlightenment exalted pure reason and banished faith from all reasonable discourse. For these reasons and others, the nineteenth century's Catholic intelligentsia painfully admitted that medieval Christendom's harmonious order had collapsed, and they acknowledged accordingly that the system, in the words of the twenty-first-century technologically frustrated, had to be rebooted. In order to do so, it was necessary to get behind that systemic crash, that is, behind the Reformation, in order to return to an age when faith and reason, hierarchically ordered, harmoniously interacted. It was necessary to revisit that uninterrupted Christian age inaugurated by the Church Fathers, systematized by the Scholastics and seen in continuity with later developments. While their rebooting did entail a return, its mature proponents never intended it to be a static retrieval of a petrified past. Rather, with notable romantic overtones, they meant to reclaim a much abused harmony in order to allow for its renewed organic development--a process unduly interrupted by not only the Renaissance and the Reformation, but also the Enlightenment and the revolution. C. S. Lewis captures this intended dynamic quite well in his apologetic work Mere Christianity. "We all want progress," the Oxford don notes,
But progress means getting nearer to the place you want to be and if
you have taken a wrong turning, then to go forward does not get you any
nearer. If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an
about-turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case, the
man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.... Going back
is the quickest way on. (6)


That turning back for the sake of moving forward is the very task that nineteenth-century Catholic academics, artists, and architects set for themselves.

The Academics

In addition to the Church's social doctrine, four key theological questions distinguish nineteenth-century Catholicism: (1) the theme of faith and reason, (2) the development of Christian doctrine, (3) the dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and (4) the nature of the Church. First, Catholic theologians labored to reestablish a right relationship between faith and reason. There were, of course, false steps. Georg Hermes and Anton Gunther erred on the side of reason, and Louis Bautain exaggerated the role of faith. But the efforts of orthodox theologians did bear abundant fruit in the First Vatican Ecumenical Council's decree Dei Filius. Secondly, throughout the nineteenth century the notion of development or evolution was in the air. In this regard, neither John Henry Newman's An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine nor Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species was particularly exceptional--even though each study in and of itself was quite exceptional. Doctrinal development, for example, played a crucial role in the debate surrounding the definability of Mary's sinless conception. The dogma of the Immaculate Conception is itself the century's third pressing theological question. Its solemn definition in 1854 stands chronologically at mid-century. Initially, Pope Pius IX had intended to link to the dogmatic definition a condemnation of modern society's ills. But the theological commission studying the dogma's definability decided to delay any discussion of the latter condemnation until a later date. Thus did ten years pass before the pontiff promulgated the Syllabus of Errors in 1864. Fourthly and finally, ecclesiological questions characterized much of nineteenth-century theological discourse beginning notably with Johann Adam Mohler's Unity in the Church (1825), continuing in the recovery of the patristic notion of Christ's ecclesial body, and culminating in Vatican I's decree on papal infallibility, Pastor Aeternus (1870), the sole section of the De Ecclesia schema that the council fathers had time to consider before the ecumenical council's abrupt adjournment due to the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War that cost Napoleon III his imperial crown.

As we have already noted, after 1815, the Church engaged in a massive reconstruction project entailing a retrieval that led to a revival in the truest sense of the word. Theologians sought to rejuvenate theology by means of an historically conscious recovery of the Church's tradition. This is particularly true of the theologians of the Tubingen School. Given their German romanticism and its insistence upon the fullness that Christianity possessed at its beginning--a fullness that organically unfolded over the centuries--they placed particular emphasis upon patristic studies. Although not the Tubingen School's founder, Johann Adam Mohler is its most famous representative. Mohler influenced greatly the thought of the Roman College Jesuit theologian Giovanni Perrone, who is rightly credited with being one of the chief restorers of ecclesiastical studies in the nineteenth century. John Henry Newman also knew Mohler's work in translation as well as through his exchanges with Perrone at Rome in 1847. (7) While Newman and Mohler labored independently of one another, their theological endeavors are remarkably parallel. Both read the Church Fathers. Their initial approaches to patristic studies betray a certain classicism that viewed Christian antiquity as a longed-for, pristine age unduly complicated, if not, in fact, corrupted, by later events. This bias is particularly evident in Mohler's 1823 review of Theodor Katerkamp's church history, and in Newman's attempts to construct a patristically grounded Via Media between Romanist corruptions and Protestant heresies for the sake of Anglican ecclesiastical reform. Both Mohler and Newman likewise engaged in ecumenical debate. Each authored within five years of the other a work on the Arian crisis, and, as they moved beyond their classicist vision of Christian antiquity, each elaborated a theory of doctrinal development.

Johann Adam Mohler

In his 1823 book review, a young, twenty-seven-year-old Johann Adam Mohler criticizes Theodor Katerkamp for both his hierarchical portrayal of the Church's history and his neglect of the divine Spirit's guiding role. (8) According to Mohler, hierarchical structures linking church and state had compromised the purity of Christian antiquity. But recent events had begun to repair the damage. Mohler considers revolutionary France's secularization of episcopal government and property in German lands to have been providential. He insists that the secularization freed the Church from the wealth and pomp that had bound her spirit. To illustrate his point, Mohler appeals to the "beautiful simplicity" of the ancient liturgy. Such simplicity revealed the pre-Nicene Church's strong interior vitality. It attested to the deep religiosity of the first Christian centuries. It made known the true meaning of the Church's spiritual life. In stark contrast, Mohler maintains that later liturgical developments betrayed a spiritual decadence. These changes went hand-in-hand with "a weakened inner life and often shallow religiosity." (9) Mohler concludes that "the exterior religious life stands directly in inverse proposition to the interior religious life--to the degree that, as the latter decreases, the former increases." (10) In other words, as the Church's spiritual life weakened, especially through compromise with the state, her external life made manifest in her liturgical forms only became more elaborate. As her wealth and prestige increased, her spirit languished. Mohler's pneumatology, however, soon led him to abandon this classicist vision.

In 1825, Mohler published his first major work, Unity in the Church. It is a pneumatological ecclesiology that appeals to the first three Christian centuries. In it Mohler's static classicism gives way to a dynamic notion of development. While he lavishly quotes the Church Fathers, Mohler no longer envisions the patristic period as some sort of pristine or golden age. (11) Rather, the Fathers now attest to "a spiritual power and its external organic manifestation" (12) richly unfolding over the centuries. This dynamic movement accounts for the historical development of the Church's life and doctrine. Christianity is a vital spiritual reality--not a dead concept. Indeed, it is "a new divine life given to people." (13) Because it is living, it is capable of development. The inner Christian spirit tends toward a progressive self-articulation corresponding to the particular demands of each age. On this account, in stark contrast to his earlier classicist view of antiquity, Mohler advises that it would be erroneous simply to limit Christianity's external expression to the first Christian century. Mohler now insists that one should not look upon the apostolic age as a permanent guide, for example, in liturgical matters. "The apostles were employed in building up inner Christianity," the Tubingen scholar explains. "They could not be concerned with expressing this in confessions and liturgical forms because the inner which is to reflect itself in these had first to be engendered." (14) T o look for definitive liturgical forms in the apostolic age would betray an ignorance of the essence of external worship, which suffered constant constraint during the first three centuries. Only under the Emperor Constantine, insists Mohler, was Christianity's inner spirit finally free to express itself in more glorious forms of worship. Thus did the fourth century witness a legitimate, progressive expansion of liturgical symbols.

In 1832, Mohler published the first edition of his magnum opus, Symbolism: Exposition of the Doctrinal Difference between Catholics and Protestants as Evidenced by their Symbolic Writings. Whereas he had elaborated a pneumatological ecclesiology in Unity, in Symbolism he argues for a Christological ecclesiology grounded firmly in the Incarnation. The Chalcedonian formula of Christ's two natures--divine and human--in his one person now thoroughly informs Mohler's theology of the Church. While his ecclesiology thus shifted notably, his methodological retrieval of the tradition in theological discourse underwent no drastic change. Mohler continues to engage the tradition according to a hermeneutic of continuity and to insist upon its unfolding doctrinal articulation over the Christian centuries.

John Henry Newman

In England, in the 1830s and 1840s, John Henry Newman underwent an intellectual conversion similar to that of Johann Adam Mohler. In 1833, Newman joined forces with the Anglican Tractarians at Oxford in order to resist the newly elected Whig Parliament's efforts to reduce Anglicanism to a branch of government. Newman's patristic studies armed him well for battle. Newman realized that, if the Oxford Movement were to succeed in its attempts to bring about a second Anglican reformation, it needed to articulate its principles clearly. To that end, he set out to construct an Anglican ecclesiological Via Media on patristic foundations. His Via Media appealed to the Church Fathers, especially to those of the fourth and fifth centuries, as a fixed gold standard by which contemporary Anglicans could judge all else. But, as Newman studied the fifth-century Monophysite controversy during the long vacation of 1839, he made a jarring discovery. Christian antiquity actually witnessed against his most valiant efforts: "The Church of the Via Media was in the position of the Oriental communion, Rome was, where she now is; and the Protestants were the Eutychians." (15) That autumn, after careful consideration of the Augustinian axiom Securus iudicat orbis terrarum (the whole world judges surely), Newman acknowledged that antiquity provides a rule that dismisses antiquity as an absolute rule in itself. For according to Augustine's adage, antiquity did not appeal to itself, but rather to a temporal-geographical principle of magisterial catholicity. "By those great words of the ancient Father," Newman observes, "interpreting and summing up the long and varied course of ecclesiastical history, the theory of the Via Media was absolutely pulverized." (16) As Catholic Newman later admitted, his classicist-envisioned Via Media was not a real religion. Indeed, it "never had existence except on paper." (17) After 1839, Newman gradually elaborated a theory of doctrinal development that removed the intellectual obstacles blocking his path to the Catholic Church. On October 9, 1845, as torrential rain fell at Littlemore, Passionist Father Domenico Barberi heard Newman's confession and welcomed him into full Catholic communion. As a Catholic, Newman continued to nurture a particular predilection for the Church Fathers, but he no longer canonized their age to the detriment of posterior development.

In his mature retrieval of the ancient Christian tradition, neither Mohler nor Newman merely engaged in theological archeology. Each recognized, rather, that the contemporary theological enterprise necessitated a return to the sources in order to remain true to itself. For, if otherwise uprooted, it could not bear its promised fruit. But that fruit was far from a simply servile repetition of the past. On the contrary, it was, rather, a vitally developed expression of the ancient faith attentive to the demands of the present age. A similar vision inspired the academic labors of the nineteenth-century Jesuit theologian Giovanni Perrone at the Roman College.

Giovanni Perrone

On May 17, 1824, ten years after Pope Pius VII had universally restored the once suppressed Society of Jesus, Pope Leo XII re-entrusted to the Jesuits the Roman College founded in 1551 by Ignatius Loyola. Thirty-year-old Giovanni Perrone was appointed to one of the two chairs in dogmatic theology. Until his death on August 28, 1876, Perrone exercised great influence over theological discourse at Rome and throughout the universal Church. When the new Catholic convert, John Henry Newman, arrived in Rome on October 28, 1846, in order to prepare for the Catholic priesthood, he did not delay long before calling on the Jesuits at the Roman College. But only on February 26, 1847, did he meet privately with Father Perrone. At that time, Perrone's concise, masterful study on the Immaculate Conception was passing through the printer's press. (18)

Newman, already an internationally well-known scholar and convert, was received cordially, but not without some resistance on the part of the Roman College Jesuits who, lacking an adequate Romance-language translation of Newman's recently published Essay on Development, had misunderstood it. The American Catholic lecturer Orestes Brownson's vehement denunciation of Newman's book had already come to the attention of the Roman authorities and consequently helped matters little. During the spring of 1847, in order to remedy the situation, Newman summarized his theory of development in a Latin treatise for Perrone's perusal. (19) The Jesuit's marginal notes reveal not only the two academics' distinct and, perhaps at first glance, apparently opposing emphases, but also, and indeed more importantly, their foundational agreement on the question of doctrinal development. (20) For his part, Newman emphasizes the process of development--the passage from a foundational awareness or an unreflective knowledge to a complex or reflective consciousness--whereas Perrone emphasizes the Church's immutable faith whether implicitly held or explicitly professed to which no substantive addition is made. But neither does Perrone deny the development of dogmatic formulas that articulate truths previously hidden, nor does Newman deny that the Church possesses the deposit of faith in its totality from the beginning.

Doctrinal development played a key role in Perrone's study of the definability of the Immaculate Conception. In order to define the dogma, it was necessary to demonstrate that it had always formed part of the deposit of faith. But since the pre-Nicene Church never explicitly stated the doctrine, it was necessary to show how the doctrine was implicitly present in explicit statements of faith in the first Christian centuries. To that end, Perrone, along with his former student, colleague, and sometime confrere Carlo Passaglia assisted by the younger Jesuit Father Clemens Schrader, appealed to the protoevangelium of Genesis, especially to Genesis 3:15 ("I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed"), to patristic exegetical typology and to the doctrine of the New Eve. At present, it would take us too far afield to consider the clear evidence in favor of the Immaculate Conception that arises from the Roman College Jesuits' rich theological elaborations derived from Scripture and the patristic tradition. But two observations are pertinent to our present considerations of the nineteenth-century retrieval of the tradition.

First, Perrone and his confreres argue that, when understood in a positive sense, the Vincentian Canon--quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus creditum est (what is believed always, everywhere and by everyone)--assuredly witnesses to Catholic doctrine. But the opposite reading does not necessarily hold. That which has not been explicitly believed always, everywhere, and by everyone is not on that account automatically excluded from Catholic doctrine. For while an explicit universal statement of belief certainly does attest to the Catholic faith, silence surrounding certain elements of that faith does not necessarily negate them. It may simply indicate that a particular doctrine seminally present was not considered controversial and hence merited no explicit defense. But when heresy challenged the faith, the seminally implicit found explicit confirmation in the process of doctrinal development. Thus does Perrone conclude:
Among the oldest Fathers and ecclesiastical writers are found those
statements regarding the Blessed Virgin which include in seminal form,
so to speak, the doctrine of her exemption from original guilt. Over
the following centuries especially after the dawn of the Pelagian
heresy, this seed, moreover, increasingly unfolded more and more, and
indeed continually swelled until not a few consented with explicit
words to this dignified assertion regarding the Blessed Virgin. (21)


Second, Perrone employs the notion of the consensus fidelium in order to fill in the gap, as it were, left by the Church Fathers' occasional silence. Perrone and his confreres at the Roman College insist that the patristic witness need not be monolithic. For surely the Fathers did not comment on every aspect of the faith. Although infallible when collective (i.e., the consensum patrum) and a venerable instrument of the tradition's transmission, the Church Fathers' witness should never be equated with the tradition itself--that is, with the object of the tradition transmitted, or, in other words, with the deposit of faith. Hence, their silence on any particular doctrine does not tell against its belonging to the deposit of faith. Other monumenta or instruments adequately supply evidence when the ancient Fathers fall silent. Chief among these monumenta is the consensus fidelium. Through their lived witness, their devotions and their pious practices, the holy faithful witness to the Church's faith. In his 1859 Rambler article, On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine, Newman recalls that Perrone laid "a great stress on what he considered to be the sensus and consensus fidelium, as a compensation for whatever deficiency there might be of patristical testimony in behalf of various points of the Catholic dogma." (22) Perrone's work on the Immaculate Conception occasioned his further elaboration of this theological insight.

In March, 1848, as revolutionary forces erupted across Europe, Pope Pius IX informed the Jesuits in Rome that he could no longer assure their safety. By month's end, they fled under cover into exile. Giovanni Perrone went to England. Later, recounting his exile, Perrone writes: "Forced by the fierce storm, that in an instant battered and laid waste to my humble Society in the cities of Italy, in order to obtain shelter elsewhere, I found in England among my brothers in a common institute a quiet and friendly refuge. On foreign ground, I could be and live as a Jesuit--something that my own native and Catholic land forbade." (23) Dressed in the black cassock of a simple priest, Pope Pius IX himself fled Rome on November 24, 1848, and took up residence first at Gaeta and then at Portici in the Neapolitan Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. In his absence, revolutionaries declared Rome a republic in February of 1849. But that republic lasted no more than six months before it fell to French Republican troops who, not without irony, reclaimed the Eternal City for the Roman pontiff. Perrone returned to Rome at the beginning of 1850. Pope Pius IX followed him some four months later. Perrone's experiences abroad contributed directly to his most significant apologetic work, Protestantism and the Rule of Faith, published originally in 1853 and amended in 1854.

Perrone begins his work with a composition of place, listing a litany of woes afflicting modern society. Protestantism, rationalism, religious indifferentism, radicalism, and communism were subverting all law and order. (24) Sixteenth-century German Reformers had mangled Christianity's beautiful unity. (25) For its part, the Renaissance's fascination with pagan antiquity brought not only beauty in eloquence, poetry and art, but also licentiousness, profanity, free thought, love of novelty, and the desire to live unbounded and according to the passions. (26) While certain aspects of industrialized England had greatly impressed Perrone during his exile, he also lamented Britain's heavy taxes, the disproportionate distribution of its wealth, the pervasive poverty plaguing the masses, the numerous individuals who go hungry, the annual hundredfold fatalities in the coal mines, child labor, and the lack of charitable institutions. Finally, he mentioned unhappy Ireland, where hunger, starvation, and injustices reigned, forcing the population to migrate across the seas to remote and savage lands. "Of these things," he insists, "I myself was an eyewitness." (27) Indeed, the woes of Dickensian England did not escape Giovanni Perrone's keen observation. " To save a declining society threatened by dissolution," Perrone proposes, "it is advisable to recall it to its origins." (28) Those origins are none other than Rome, the center of Catholic unity. Perrone happily notes that in Protestant countries there was "a general movement toward Catholicism as the unique harbor of peace, security and salvation." (29) Among those Protestant converts to Catholicism rank the artist Johann Friedrich Overbeck and the architect Augustus W. N. Pugin.

The Artist: Johann Friedrick Overbeck

Born in the northern German city of Lubeck eleven days before the storming of the Bastille in 1789, Friedrich Overbeck grew up in a Protestant home. In April 1806, the German teenager enrolled in the Viennese Academy of Visual Arts. But within a year, he had already grown tired of the academy's neoclassical curriculum. On July 10, 1809, Overbeck and five other like-minded art students bound themselves together with handshake and oath in the Brotherhood of Saint Luke, the Lukasbund, which aimed to rejuvenate art in the religious spirit of the medieval masters. (30) But the Napoleonic invasion of Vienna inconveniently or, perhaps one might say, providentially interrupted their studies. For, on May 10, 1810, the brotherhood left Vienna for Rome where they eventually settled in the former Franciscan friary at Sant'Isidoro secularized under Napoleonic rule. There they took Fra Angelico as their model, lived in quasi-monastic seclusion, grew their hair long, parted it down the middle in imitation of Christ, and gathered regularly at the Caffe Greco on the Via dei Condotti. Beholding this odd crew of young Germans artists, the Romans nicknamed them i Nazareni--the Nazarenes. The name stuck. In 1812, one founding member, Franz Pforr, died prematurely of tuberculosis at the age of twenty-four. The following year, in 1813, Friedrich Overbeck, who had added Johannes to his name in honor of the beloved disciple, converted to Catholicism. Over the ensuing years, the brotherhood's membership fluctuated as other young artists from northern Europe came to join them. But by 1820, the Lukasbund had ceased to exist. Its members had returned to Germany. Overbeck alone remained in Rome where he died on November 12, 1869. Despite their dispersal, the Nazarene spirit did live on in the brotherhood's former members, who distinguished themselves in the renewal of German art. Perhaps the most widely viewed example of Overbeck's art is his Vision of Saint Francis completed in 1829, which adorns the facade of the Porziuncola in the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli at Assisi.

The Nazarenes, who themselves later inspired the British pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, lamented the shift that had taken place in European art in the sixteenth century. Christian art in the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance had aimed to glorify God and to sanctify souls. Its simplicity and truth enhanced devotion and inspired prayer. Young Raphael epitomized its transcendent beauty. But as Raphael matured and grew consciousness of his own immense talents, Over-beck insists, the constraints of religion became burdensome for him. Color, movement, and his own genius seduced him. Michelangelo's admiration for pagan antiquity, according to Overbeck, reduced the object of his art to idolatry. These baroque artists had ceased to honor God and exalted man. They fatally exchanged contemplation for connoisseurship. (31) Their sin was nothing short of apostasy. The neoclassical school, which dominated the nineteenth-century's art academies, continued to inspire a similar paganism in their students. As a result, contemporary art had dramatically degenerated in a manner similar to civil society. To remedy this dire situation, the Nazarenes, along with the Pre-Raphaelites, sought to get behind the Renaissance in order to reclaim the medievals' Christian inspiration for the sake of contemporary art's revitalization.

In an 1837 essay on Christian art, Overbeck outlines the Nazarene project. (32) It begins with the premise that the Church and ecclesiastical art share a common goal: God's glory and the soul's salvation. Ecclesiastical art's first duty, Overbeck insists, is to serve the altar. But frivolity had lamentably corrupted contemporary Church art. Humility had given way to pride, holy simplicity to vain exposition, and tactful chastity to carnal immodesty. Overbeck lays the blame on the clergy for having failed to exercise their legitimate theological supervision and given free rein to artists. In doing so, these clerics had effectively consented to modernity's carnally inclined negation of man's twofold nature of both body and soul. Modern art theory, Overbeck observes, makes no allowance for original sin, and, on this account, has no qualms about indulging the flesh. This modern theory is at best Pelagian, if not, in fact, downright pagan. It espouses the ancients' own artistic theory without measuring it according to the Gospel. It seeks man's self-deification rather than his redemption in Christ. It promotes self-love in stark contrast to authentically Christian art that seeks to raise the human spirit to the divine. Thus did Western art, in its deliberate emulation of pagan models, commit apostasy. On this account, Overbeck exhorts contemporary artists, especially the young, to cling to the Gospel in order to receive its blessings as did its faithful servants in centuries past. Who with even only a spark of Christian feeling, Overbeck asks, does not rejoice in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century sacred art? "That art," Overbeck writes, "born in the sanctuary, nourished with Mother Church's milk, raised on the altar steps, taught like Mary at Christ's feet, breathed no other air than that of God's garden. Like the wise virgins chastely adorned, modest, holy and enveloped by the breeze of paradise, that art went out with burning lamps to meet the Bridegroom." (33) But since the sixteenth century, art academies had deified pagan antiquity. They proposed exclusively ancient models and taught pagan mythology to the young who knew nothing of Scripture, the exalted source of all true spiritual beauty. Consequently, these young artists had sadly lost all sense of their own art's soul.

Overbeck grounds his retrieval of the tradition in a notably modern dialectic. As art historian Mitchell Frank explains, Nazarene historicism appeals to historical authority in order to ground the artist's own personal originality. (34) It is not simply a matter of liberal Enlightenment classicism versus conservative Catholic medievalism. In fact, the Nazarenes' quest for the origins of Christian art and their interest in history coupled with their claims of individuality made manifest in their rejection of the academy are not only romantic, Frank observes, but also distinctly Enlightenment concerns. Overbeck's originality, however, is not a matter of innovation in any discontinuous sense. It entails, rather, a return to one's origins--found, first and foremost, within oneself. By identifying with pre-Reformation artists, Overbeck and the other Nazarenes internalized this quest for Christian art's purest sources. Theirs was a spiritual journey that found incarnate expression in their art. Frank argues, moreover, that the Nazarenes "investigated the past, not as an antiquarian exercise, but in order to guide present action." (35) They entertained no illusion about a wholesale return to a medieval golden age. They were, nonetheless, convinced that theirs was the best course of action for combatting decadence in both contemporary art and society at large. As Cordula Grewe concludes in her masterful work, Painting the Sacred in the Age of Romanticism, the Nazarenes "did not simply revive Christian iconography, but rather reconceptualized what it could do and say, including the invention of new schemes and new iconographies along the way. This creativity and flexibility allowed [their] artworks... to intervene forcefully within the key debates of post-revolutionary European society." (36) In other words, the Narazenes engaged in ressourcement for the sake of aggiornamento.

The Architect: Augustus W. N. Pugin

John Henry Newman had first learned of the Nazarene School of Art during his 1833 visit to Rome. (37) But only fourteen years later, on Sunday, February 7, 1847, did he pay a visit to Johann Friedrich Overbeck's studio in the Palazzo Cenci near Rome's Jewish quarter. (38) Overbeck's studio was a popular destination for Romans and tourists from twelve until two o'clock on Sunday afternoons when the artist opened it to those who wished to view his work in progress. In May 1847, Overbeck received yet another illustrious, English guest, Augustus W. N. Pugin. For the neo-Gothic architect, then touring Italy, was eager to make his acquaintance. (39)

Born on March 1, 1812, in London, Pugin, like Overbeck, was reared a Protestant. In 1834, he converted to Catholicism. Love for the medieval English Church drew him to the fullness of the Christian faith. As Kenneth Clark suggests, the motive for his conversion lay in "a passionate love of beauty, and a conviction that beauty springs from a way of life and a temper of spirit." (40) On October 16 of that same year, the Old Palace at Westminster in London burned to the ground. Architect Charles Barry won the commission to rebuild it in the "national style"--in other words, in the neo-Gothic. Barry enlisted Pugin's help with the interior design. In fact, as Clark notes, "every visible foot of the Houses of Parliament" is Pugin's work. (41) Even Big Ben follows his initial design.

In 1836, Pugin published a polemical study contrasting fourteenth-and fifteenth-century buildings with those of his own industrialized age. Pugin's Contrasts--a work known to Giovanni Perrone (42)--is, according to one neo-Gothic scholar, "one of the nineteenth-century's most heartfelt and anguished responses to the Industrial Revolution." (43) Another equally anguished, although notably diverse, response to the same crisis was, of course, Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto. In a series of two sketches, Pugin contrasts the same English town in 1440 and 1840. The latter's smoke stacks replace the former's medieval spires. Where Catholic churches once stood, one finds the Baptist chapel, the Unitarian chapel, Mr. Evan's chapel, the Socialist Hall of Science, a new jail, a lunatic asylum, and the gas company. In other words, post-Reformation, industrialized society had fractured Catholic unity. "On the eve of the great change of religion," Pugin notes, "we find Architecture in a high state of perfection, both as regards design and execution." (44) But, tragically, the English Reformation wreaked havoc on ecclesiastical architecture "under the cover of restoring primitive simplicity and abolishing superstition." (45) The new religion rendered useless churches built for the eucharistic sacrifice, argues Pugin, adding with notable sarcasm that "the new rites could equally well have been performed in a capacious barn." (46) Pugin is similarly harsh on his own age. He condemns the hubris of the academies that reduced architecture to a mere trade for business men. For his part, Pugin aims to strip away the nineteenth-century's "mask of superior attainments so falsely assumed," and "to direct the attention of all back to the real merit of past and better days." (47) In other words, young Pugin's retrieval is a nostalgic return, full stop.

In 1837, Pugin was appointed professor of architecture and ecclesiastical antiquities at Oscott College near Birmingham. He published his lectures in three volumes: The True Principles of Pointed or Christian Architecture (1841), An Apology for the Revival of Christian Architecture (1843), and A Glossary of Ecclesiastical Ornament and Costume (1844). The first two volumes are of particular interest for this present study.

In True Principles, Pugin presents two indispensable rules for design according to Gothic or Christian architecture: (1) "that there should be no features about a building which are not necessary for convenience, construction, or propriety," and (2) "that all ornament should consist of enrichment of the essential construction of the building." (48) Pugin argues that post-Reformation Christian architecture betrayed itself by departing from these principles in the pursuit of novelty. A blind admiration for the pagan had overthrown Christian art. A "sort of bastard Greek, a nondescript modern style," ravaged European cities. (49) To remedy the situation, Pugin prescribed a return to the spirit and principles of pointed architecture. But unlike Contrasts, True Principles no longer envisions a static return. Pugin allows for improved building materials and larger-scale designs. Yet he still cautions that "we may indeed widen the road which our Catholic forefathers formed, but we can never depart from their track without a certainty of failure being the result of our presumption." (50) Development, yes, Pugin admits, but always in continuity.

In his Apology, Pugin carries the notion of development forward. First, he dismisses any classicist view of Christian antiquity that would canonize it to the detriment of posterior development. Arguing against the advocates of pagan design, Pugin insists:
Like protestants who rail at ecclesiastical solemnity, because it is
not to be found in the persecuted church of the apostles, they urge the
non-existence of spires under Roman emperors as a proof, that they were
not generated by the Christian principle. But modern men are constantly
referring to the church in her suffering state, described by our Lord
under the similitude of a grain of mustard-seed, while they refuse to
recognize her, when, as the greatest of all trees, she extended
triumphant in beauty and luxuriant foliage over the earth. (51)


Mohler or Newman could have written as much. Second, Pugin acknowledges modern gains in construction. But while he may approve the use of cast iron to secure structures, he will not allow for it to substitute the stone mason's skill. "In other words," Pugin remarks, "we should neither cling pertinaciously to ancient methods of building, solely on the score of antiquity, nor reject inventions because of their novelty, but try both by sound and consistent principles and act accordingly." (52) Finally, Pugin concludes: "We do not want to revive a facsimile of the works or style of any particular individual, or even period; but it is the devotion, majesty, and repose of Christian art, for which we are contending;--it is not a style, but a principle." (53) Pugin's thought has clearly evolved. "Contrasts had been the work of a young antiquary, looking to the past because it was all he knew," observes Rosemary Hill, Pugin's biographer, "The Apology was written by an architect just entering his thirties, with seven years' experience, longing to spread his own creative wings." (54)

In 1847, four years after publishing his Apology, Pugin visited Rome. He found little in the Eternal City architecturally interesting. The churches disgusted him. As for Saint Peter's Basilica, "he was violent in his condemnation of the whole thing." (55) "St. Peter's is far more ugly than I expected, and vilely constructed," writes Pugin from Rome to a friend, "a mass of imposition--bad taste of every kind seems to have run riot in this place." (56) Newman, whom Pugin visited while in Rome, begged him to see the Oratory of the Chiesa Nuova, a thoroughly baroque construction. With a conciliatory spirit, Newman suggested that the Gothic could be adapted to meet the requirements of an oratory, to which Pugin replied "that he would as soon build a mechanic's institute as an Oratory." (57) Despite their respective efforts at retrieving the tradition, Newman and Pugin never managed to agree on architectural questions. In 1848, Newman wrote to Rome in order to warn the Holy Father about the British craze for the neo-Gothic that, according to Newman, both promoted an English nationalism opposed to universal Catholicism and rejected the Church's liturgical and architectural development since the Council of Trent. (58) The letter arrived in Rome on November 24, the very day that Pope Pius IX fled from the Quirinal Palace to Gaeta. The exiled pontiff consequently never saw it. (59) Had Newman actually taken time to read Pugin, he would have discovered that development figured notably in the architect's mature thought. But Newman had no interest in reading him "because," as Newman explains, "he does not talk or write like a sensible man." (60)

With or without Newman's readership, however, Pugin continued to publish. In 1851, in response to anti-Catholic legislation then passing through the British government, Pugin wrote An Earnest Address on the Establishment of the Hierarchy. He crafted his essay as an ecumenical appeal that seeks to reconcile Anglicans and Catholics. Hence, Pugin had no intention of recounting "burnings and bowellings," but rather to proceed "in a spirit of truth and charity." (61) Among its various salient points, we shall consider only one: Pugin's complete reversal on medieval England. While Pugin continues to reject the Protestant prejudice that in pre-Reformation England idolatry and superstition reigned, he now disavows his once espoused idyllic vision of "pleasant meadows, happy peasants, merry England,... bread cheap, and beef for nothing, all holy monks, all holy priests,--holy everybody. Such charity, and such hospitality, and such unity, when every man was a Catholic." Pugin admits:
I once believed in this Utopia myself, but when tested by stern facts
and history it all melts away like a dream. The Catholic religion was
founded in England, as in any other country, on a political system that
was barbarous,--the people were barbarous, the customs were barbarous,
the traditions were barbarous, hence from the very beginning the pure
Catholic faith was, in temporal matters, mixed up with barbarism, and
most assuredly the conquest of the Norman kings was accompanied with
every possible barbarity and injustice. (62)


Yet amid such barbarism, the Catholic faith did indeed prevail, and its architectural principles flourished.

By the end of his life, Pugin employed a modern vernacular in architectural design that, according to Hill, grew "out of the Gothic when it had been stripped of the last antiquarian reference and became purely traditional, but part of a living tradition capable therefore of development and variety." (63) His home, The Grange, and the Church of Saint Augustine at Ramsgate are the finest products of Pugin's mature retrieval. But, sadly, after years of "nightmarish industry," (64) Pugin suffered a mental breakdown in 1852. He was committed to an asylum and not long afterwards, on September 14, died. He was forty years old.

Conclusion

The academics, the artist, and the architect whom I have considered were men of their age, which is to say that they were modern men. In order to confront the revolutionary discontinuities that threatened both society and the Church in the nineteenth century, they retrieved the Christian tradition in their various disciplines according to a hermeneutic of continuity. In the case of Johann Adam Mohler, John Henry Newman, and Augustus W. N. Pugin, that retrieval initially entailed a classicist vision of the tradition that failed to take its authentic development into account and hence proved to be as discontinuous as the discontinuities that these men had proposed to combat. But their sincere labors led each of them to recognize the impossibility of a static return to Christianity's past. They, along with Giovanni Perrone and Johann Friedrich Overbeck, came to employ the tradition in a notably dynamic manner in order to respond to contemporary challenges. They aimed to reboot the system, as it were, but not to leave it stranded in some falsely conceived, idyllic past. Rather, they retrieved Christianity's ancient, perennially valid sources in order revitalize the present for the sake of the future.

A key element of their retrieval entailed the recovery of community. The disintegrating forces of intellectual, religious, and political revolt had fractured both Catholic unity and civil society. They alienated man from himself and from God. Karl Marx's contemporary response brought only greater alienation through further revolution. For the Catholic intelligentsia of the nineteenth century, the remedy lay in a community grounded in the Catholic faith and the Church's living tradition. Mohler sought it in his ecclesiological studies Unity in the Church and Symbolism. The latter ecumenical work especially recognizes that healing divisions depends on an accurate diagnosis. Newman found community in the Oratory of Saint Philip Neri. The British Jesuit community, which welcomed Giovanni Perrone, soothed the Italian Jesuit's soul amid the splintering effects of revolutionary forces in Rome and the Industrial Revolution in England. Overbeck lived the communal life with his fellow Nazarenes at Sant'Isidoro. Their art thrived because it was rooted in brotherhood. In Pugin's final years, despite his grueling labors, he sought the blessings of familial life at The Grange, a home that he had built in order to foster such humane living. For each of these men, the tradition's retrieval healed because it reclaimed Catholic community in a fractured world. Their project remains as crucial today as it was in the nineteenth century.

Notes

(1.) See Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Revolution 1789-1848 (New York: Vintage Books, 1996); The Age of Capital 1848-1875 (London: Abacus, 1997); The Age of Empire 1875-1914 (New York: Vintage Books, 1989).

(2.) John W. O'Malley, What Happened at Vatican II (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 53-92.

(3.) See Nigel Aston, Religion and Revolution in France 1780-1804 (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 2000).

(4.) John Henry Newman, The Letters and Diaries of John Henry Newman, vol. 3, ed. Ian Ker and Thomas Gornall, SJ (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1979), 225: ( To Mrs. Newman, February 28, 1833).

(5.) Michael Ferber, Romanticism: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 11.

(6.) C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: Harper Collins, 2009), 29.

(7.) John Henry Newman, Letters and Diaries of John Henry Newman, vol. VI, ed. Gerard Tracey (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), 221: ( To S. F. Wood, March 23, 1838): "I send back your MS with thanks--Moehler's work [Symbolism], translated into French, has just come to me, too late!" See also: Gunter Biemer, "Leben als das Kennzeichen der wahren Kirche Jesu Christi: Zur Ekklesiologie von Johann Adam Mohler und John Henry Newman," Johann Adam Mohler (1796-1838) Kirchenvater der Moderne, ed. Harald Wagner (Paderborn: Bonifatius, 1996), 71-97; Walter Kasper, "Vom Geist und Wesen des Katholizismus: Bedeutung, Wirkungsgeschichte und Aktualitat von Johann Sebastian Dreys und Johann Adam Mohlers Wesensbestimmung des Katholizismus," Theologische Quartalschrift 183/3 (2003), 202; Kenneth Parker and C. Michael Shea, "Johann Adam Mohler's Influence on John Henry Newman's Theory of Doctrinal Development: The Case for a Reappraisal," Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 89/1 (2013), 73-95. These studies serve to disprove the conclusion found in Owen Chadwick, From Bossuet to Newman, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 111-19.

(8.) Johann Adam Mohler, "Des ersten Zeitalters der Kirchengeschichte erste Abteilung: die Zeit der Verfolgungen. Von Dr. Theod. Katerkamp, ordentichem Professor an der theologischen Fakultat zu Munster. Munster, 1823. In der Theissingschen Buchhandlung," Theologische Quartalschrift 5 (1823): 497.

(9.) Mohler, "Des ersten Zeitalters der Kirchengeschichte," 487.

(10.) Ibid.

(11.) Michel Deneken, Johann Adam Mohler (Paris: Cerf, 2007), 76.

(12.) Johann Adam Mohler, Unity in the Church or the Principle of Catholicism Presented in the Spirit of the Church Fathers of the First Three Centuries, trans. Peter C. Erd (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1996), [section]49, 211-12.

(13.) Ibid., [section]13, 111.

(14.) Ibid., [section] 48, 201.

(15.) John Henry Newman, Apologia Pro Vita Sua (New York: Doubleday, 1956), 114.

(16.) Ibid.

(17.) John Henry Newman, Lectures on the Prophetical Office of the Church Viewed Relatively to Romanism and Popular Protestantism in The Via Media of the Anglican Church, ed. H. D. Weidner (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 71.

(18.) John Henry Newman, On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine, ed. John Coulson (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1961), 64-65.

(19.) T. Lynch, "The Newman-Perrone Paper on Development," Gregorianum 16 (1935): 402-47; in English translation, cf. Carleton Jones, OP, Three Latin Papers of John Henry Newman: A Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Rome: Pontificia Universitas S. Thomae in Urbe, 1995); also J. Gaffney, ed., John Henry Newman: Roman Catholic Writings on Doctrinal Development (Kansas City: Sheed & Ward, 1997).

(20.) See Jones, Three Latin Papers of John Henry Newman.

(21.) Giovanni Perrone, SJ, De Immaculato B. V. Mariae Conceptu an Dogmatico Decreto Definiri Possit Disquisitio Theologica (Taurini: Speirani et Tortone, 1854), 115.

(22.) Newman, On Consulting, 64.

(23.) Giovanni Perrone, Il Protestantesimo e la Regola di Fede (Turin: G. Marietti, 1854), 24.

(24.) Ibid., 6.

(25.) Ibid., 7.

(26.) Ibid., 8.

(27.) Ibid., 18.

(28.) Ibid., 6.

(29.) Ibid., 13.

(30.) See Cordula Grewe, The Nazarenes: Romantic Avant-Garde and the Art of the Concept (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2015).

(31.) Cordula Grewe, Painting the Sacred in the Age of Romanticism (Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2009), 182.

(32.) Margaret Howitt, Friedrich Overbeck Bd. 1833-1869 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1886), 117-22.

(33.) Ibid., 120.

(34.) Mitchell Benjamin Frank, German Romantic Painting Redefined: Nazarene Tradition and the Narratives of Romanticism (Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2001), 81-109.

(35.) Ibid., 100.

(36.) Grewe, Painting the Sacred, 319.

(37.) Newman, Letters and Diaries, vol. 3, 265: ( To Jemima Newman, March 20, 1833).

(38.) John Henry Newman, Letters and Diaries, vol. 12, ed. Charles Stephen Dessain (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., 1962), 28.

(39.) Richard Simpson, "Recollections of Pugin," Rambler, 3rd series, 5 September 1861, 394-402.

(40.) Kenneth Clark, The Gothic Revival: An Essay in the History of Taste (London: John Murray, 1995), 126.

(41.) Ibid., 130.

(42.) Giovanni Perrone, Praelectiones Theologicae, vol. 7 (Louvain: Catholic University Press, 1842), 181, n. 1.

(43.) Michael J. Lewis, The Gothic Revival (London: Thames & Hudson, 2002), 85.

(44.) Augustus W. N. Pugin, Contrasts (London, 1836), 12.

(45.) Ibid., 19.

(46.) Ibid., 20.

(47.) Ibid., 42.

(48.) Augustus W. N. Pugin, The True Principles of Pointed or Christian Architecture (London: John Weale, 1841), 1.

(49.) Ibid., 56.

(50.) Ibid., 9.

(51.) Augustus W. N. Pugin, An Apology for the Revival of Christian Architecture (London: John Weale, 1843), 7.

(52.) Ibid., 42.

(53.) Ibid., 44: italics in the original.

(54.) Rosemary Hill, God's Architect: Pugin and the Building of Romantic Britain (London: Penguin Books, 2007), 280.

(55.) Richard Simpson, "Recollections of Pugin," The Rambler, 3rd series, September 5, 1861, 395.

(56.) Augustus W. N. Pugin, The Collected Letters of A. W. N. Pugin, vol. 3: 1846-1848, ed. Margaret Belcher (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 239: ( To James Chadwick, May 1, 1847).

(57.) Newman, Letters and Diaries, vol. 12, 221: (To A. Lisle Phillipps, June 15, 1848).

(58.) Ibid., 324-28: ( To Monsignor G. B. Palma, November 10, 1848).

(59.) Ibid., 324, n. 2.

(60.) John Henry Newman, The Letters and Diaries of John Henry Newman, vol. 13, ed. Charles Stephen Dessain (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., 1963), 468: ( To Miss Holmes, April 7, 1859).

(61.) Augustus W. N. Pugin, An Earnest Address on the Establishment of the Hierarchy (London: Charles Dolman, 1851), 2.

(62.) Ibid., 13.

(63.) Hill, God's Architect, 342.

(64.) Clark, The Gothic Revival, 128.

JOSEPH A. CAROLA, SJ
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