Medieval people and beauty

Corrado Gnerre

I really appreciate your magazine. For a very simple reason, because you know how to combine Faith and Beauty well. In this regard, I would like you to relate to me about how medieval people loved Beauty. When I see the Gothic cathedrals I am enchanted …

Dear …, you are right. The medieval people not only loved beauty, but they considered it absolutely necessary. You referred to the Gothic cathedrals, and I will remind you of one in particular. The spires of these cathedrals have been beautifully made, extending all the way upto the top, adorned with designs and decorations that no man could ever admire from down below but which can only be seen by God and… by pigeons.

A detail that is usually not highlighted, but which is of great importance to understand how the medieval people understood beauty. For them, in fact, beauty was not something that needed to be seen, but something that was just necessary. I’ll explain. The medieval people did not think that beauty should be left to the judgment of man, but they regarded beauty as a state or quality of being beautiful, regardless of the observation and judgment of man.

This mentality is also captured in another element: the medieval people would never have conceived the idea of the “museum,” which instead, not surprisingly, was born with the rationalism of the eighteenth century. Beauty is so necessary that it must be in reality, in human life, it cannot be separated from everyday life, but in a certain way it must “inform” (in the literal sense of “giving shape”) the existence of man.

At the basis of the modern idea of ”museum” there is instead the conviction that beauty is a product of a particular intellectual elaboration of the subject. An elaboration conceived starting from a detachment from life, as if the true artist had to necessarily alienate himself, detach himself, emancipating oneself from living to immerse oneself in a sort of delirium of the imagination in which the purely intellectual construction would play a role not only of a protagonist but also exclusive. In short, art detached from everyday life, relegated to a sort of “reserve” to be seen and subjected to the judgment of an elite.

Dear …, there is a medieval tale that is well connected to what we are saying. It tells of two penitents who approach an image of the Madonna to invoke a grace. One is a good viola player, the other a poor shoemaker. The first gets busy and plays the most beautiful melody he knows; and his prayer is answered. The poor shoemaker, on the other hand, in front of that stupendous music does not dare to propose anything to the Virgin and believes that his pilgrimage was in vain; then he gets an idea: he could create pretty little shoes for the Mother of God, so that she can look even more beautiful among the ranks of angels. He puts himself at a good pace and makes a pair of amazing golden shoes; but he does not have the courage to offer them to the Madonna: after she had received such a beautiful melody as a gift, he does not dare to present to the Virgin so little as a pair of shoes, even if finely decorated. However, he takes courage and the Madonna immediately grants the grace to him too. The Virgin appreciates those shoes as much as the beautiful melody. What makes a gift pleasing is not the content itself, much less the form, but giving the best of oneself – therefore one’s heart – at the moment in which the gift is produced.