Really good book. Pieper continues examining parts of his worldview, stemming from Leisure as the Basis of Culture, here focusing on festivals. What are festivals? What does it mean to celebrate something?
A festival, he comes to, is a specific public manifestation of a festive attitude toward life, an attitude that life is a gift and is “very good.” As a Catholic, Pieper sees this as exactly right, an affirmation of our place as creatures appreciating through festivals and arts within the festivals that we are creatures, we are good, the world is good, and God is good. A festival spirit cannot exist if life is fundamentally absurd or fundamentally bad, since a festival is simply the ultimate response to the goodness of the world given to us by God.
But false festivals (and art) can and do arise, often at the service of a utilitarian state and its propaganda. These festivals can even be successful for a time in communicating a similar spirit to true festivals, since they take the forms found in those festivals. However, they are ultimately not true, are hollow.
This marked turn took place after the French Revolution, where traditional Catholic festivals were banned in favor of the new religion of the State. “This habit of inventing festivals took a serious turn only when, in the course of the French Revolution, entirely new festivals were initiated by the state. These were intended to displace and replace the traditional religious holidays, although that tendency only gradually gathered strength during the Revolution. In 1791 Mass was still celebrated at the July 14 festival, with “altars of the fatherland” erected everywhere.10 In Paris, incidentally, the celebrant was the newly appointed Bishop Jean Baptiste Gobel, whose life had the elements of tragedy.11 (In 1789, an ambitious suffragan bishop and member of the National Assembly, he approved all the anti-religious measures of the Revolution. Later, under pressure, he “voluntarily” renounced all his offices “as servant of the Catholic cult,” and six months later, in April 1794, under Robespierre, who officially introduced the cult of the Supreme Being, he was charged with atheism and executed. He died crying: “Long live Christ.”) The very next year, 1792, priests were no longer allowed to take part in such celebrations, not even the priests who had “fallen in line.” Shortly before the famous Festival of Reason in the Cathedral of Notre Dame (November 10, 1793) the Commune of Paris banned all acts of public worship of the traditional kind.12 When the Parisian artists celebrated the planting of one of the countless Trees of Liberty, they sang a parody, composed by François Joseph Gossec, of the hymn O salutaris hostia.”
These types of festivals are essentially coercive, rather than naturally flowing from communal belief and joy. One attends them because one must unless one wants to risk social/political suicide. A true festival would not have this element. Like all modern movements, the end of this is boredom at unreality: “Contemporary accounts of the festivals of the French Revolution reek of boredom, the infinite boredom of utter unreality, which makes the reading of them a startling experience. The “extravagant expenditure . . . on pinchbeck symbolical properties, on plaster, cardboard, and tin,”15 the bombastic declamation of platitudes, the empty histrionics of the pseudo-liturgy emanate a ghostly unreality. At the translation of the body of “Saint Voltaire,”16 “the first philosophical festival”17 of the Revolution, young men in the costume of ancient Romans accompanied the sarcophagus to the Pantheon. From the altar of the fatherland the Mayor of Paris displayed the book containing the Constitution, holding it out to his fellow citizens like a monstrance. A girl ignited a Bengal light, by means of a magnifying glass producing the “holy fire,” which then flared up from a Greek vase in the hues of the Tricolor.18 The painter Jacques Louis David, the canny stage manager of almost all the great Festivals of the Revolution (and incidentally the representative of a numerous band of painters, sculptors, poets, and musicians who clamored to be “appointed” – and paid – by the new rulers19), went to the Convention in the summer of 1793 with a plan for a festival of the “fraternity of all Frenchmen.” It was instantly accepted and the show swiftly put on. Among its features were the following: A procession marched to the site of the Bastille, where the President of the Convention was the first to drink water jetting from the breasts of a monumental female figure (“Nature as the Fountain of Rebirth”), after first sprinkling the statue of the “Sun of Freedom” erected beside her. Incidentally, he drank from an agate cup which, as the Convention Minutes stipulated, was to be placed in the National Museum with an inscription to remind posterity of its “exalted use.”20 At the moment of this solemn act three thousand caged birds were released, tagged with ribbons hearing the inscription: “We are free – imitate us!”
They end in boredom precisely because they aren’t real. They’ve robbed the essence from festivals and kept only the religious form/appearance in an attempt at giving their new beliefs a profundity that they lacked. What they lack, Pieper says, even when all else about it seems right, is the very heart and soul of the matter—they do not recognize the fundamental goodness of all reality as given as a gift by God and respond with worship. Rather, what is worshipped is only the goodness of man. Man is the beginning and end of the sham festival and spectacle.
This reached its apex with socialism, the socialist state seeking to establish man as a worker first and foremost and most importantly, thus eradicating even the potential of festival which sees man and creation as a creature. In the socialist state, a festival/holiday becomes a day where you work more, for free, because of your “love” of the State which has become God. “‘This holiday is one of general work’ (Leon Trotsky).12 And Maxim Gorky: “It is a wonderful idea to make the spring festival of the workers a holiday of voluntary work.”13” “Naturally, the “voluntary” nature of this holiday work must be understood in a propaganda sense. And no one versed in the instrumentation of such “revolutionary” rhetoric would fail to hear the overtones of threat. It was Lenin himself who said: “Only people who have sold themselves to capitalism are capable of condemning the use of the great May holiday for our mass effort to introduce Communist work.”14 Gorky ruled that it was a “crime not to understand” the purpose of giving that particular form to the holiday.15”
To subject humans into work for the State is the opposite of a festival. It is an antifestival. The end of this “festival” which sees the world as absurd is a celebration of the world’s end.
But there is hope. “But this is not the whole picture. In this same contemporary world of ours there remains the indestructible (for otherwise human nature itself would have to be destroyed) gift innate in all men which impels them now and again to escape from the restricted sphere where they labor for their necessities and provide for their security – to escape not by mere forgetting, but by undeceived recollection of the greater, more real reality. Now, as always, the workaday world can be transcended in poetry and the other arts. In the shattering emotion of love, beyond the delusions of sensuality, men continue to find entrance to the still point of the turning world. Now, as always, the experience of death as man’s destiny, if accepted with an open and unarmored heart, acquaints us with a dimension of existence which fosters a detachment from the immediate aims of practical life. Now, as always, the philosophical mind will react with awe to the mystery of being revealed in a grain of matter or a human face. Of course, all such responses are not in themselves festivity. They are the postludes of festivity, but in the proper circumstances they could again become the preludes. All such modes of ascending out of the world of mere utility once arose from the soil of a festival perhaps long since faded or forgotten; and so they may, by virtue of their evocative power, once again become a step toward a new festival to be celebrated in the future. Consequently, for the sake of what prospects there are for true festivity in our time, it is essential to resist the sophistical corruption of the arts, the cheapening of eroticism, the degradation of death, as well as the tendency to make philosophy a textbook subject or an irresponsible juggling of big words.”
As always, he ends with a great thought and then in silence: “The Christian, however, is convinced that no destructive action, no matter how thoroughgoing, even if it is fervently celebrated as a gruesome “antifestival,” can ever corrode the substance of Creation. “Miraculously founded and more miraculously restored,” it cannot be corrupted by the “will to nothingness.” Thus there always remains the “festive occasion” which alone justifies and inspires celebration. It remains in force, forever undiminished. And not even the complete “success” of self-annihilation on the part of the human race, not even the complete “destruction of the earth,”16 could stamp out true festival. To be sure, in that case it would be celebrated “not in this eon nor on earth.” But basically this is true, as we have seen, even for the festivals we celebrate here and now, in this present historical time. Such thoughts lead, of course, far beyond a philosophical study of festivity. And we have reached a boundary at which the philosophical mind must necessarily fall silent. But it would be no very exceptional case if this silence made it possible to hear – to hear a more than philosophical message.”