Religious Ramblings
Our final project in Flory’s eighth grade language arts was to write a parody of the Declaration of Independence towards whatever cause we saw fit. For two separate sixty minute class periods, twelve and thirteen year olds went around in a circle taking turns in professing their vision for a brighter future. Nikko wrote a declaration of independence from homework. Ava wrote a declaration of independence from gym. I wrote a declaration of independence from the patriarchy. Gabe Furegeson wrote a declaration of independence from religion. In the Disney Channel Original Series that I imagined my middle school world to be, Gabe Furegson played the role of my rival: the unattractive but intellectually equal side character who has a will-they-won't-they dynamic with the lead. Maybe he was smarter than me, or maybe it's my tendency to feel pathetic amongst men, but in that moment I decided that the secret to intellectualism was an outright rejection of religion. It was just provocative enough to stain my reasoning for an embarrassingly long time to follow. I spent my adolescence and teen years revering my disdain for religion as the pinnacle of rational thought. My problematic perspective was complicated by the fact that this position wasn't a complete abandonment of God. Instead, I knew I believed in something, it just assuredly wasn’t what all the people who preyed believed in.
When stephen dedalus declared “non serviam” in Portrait of the Artist, he poetically rejected his home, Ireland (his fatherland), and his church. He will not serve the expectations of modern life, instead striving for a life of artistic freedom and intellectual expansion. Extensively, however, stephen also fails to reject a god. This declaration, in Latin no less, must be made to be heard by something. Even in an abjection of moral and social codes, stephen holds on to spirituality.
As I grappled with the overwhelming chaos of the fall semester, my position softened. As I studied the Hodegetria, I began to fantasize about church on sundays. The Routine of Dressing and Sitting and Thinking and Thanking. I craved this mandatory meditation that a religion provides, and began to subconsciously ritualize the processes within my own life. I started to mythologize the mornings and evenings, the moment of taking off my rings or making my coffee. They became coded with spiritual meaning and importance beyond the task. In a sudden recapitalization, it became clear that the shedding of my rings was no different from someone kneeling at an altar.
Ambrogio Lorenzetti was commissioned to paint a fresco rendition of the annunciation for the Abbey of San Galgano. In the annunciation, the angel gabriel arrives to tell mary of her immaculate conception. In the work that currently sits on the wall, the iconography is consistent with what would be expected of this scene in an art historical context. However, emerging from the ware of the piece are the markings of Lorenzetti’s original sketch, where mary is depicted in a highly different position than the final version. Lorenzetti’s original madonna, which he assuredly was instructed by his patrons to paint over, is terrified to learn of her pregnancy: she cowers and clutches a pole. This rendition of the virgin is absolutely fucking insane for the time, as all depicitons of mary were not interested in her humannes but in her godly perfection. Instead, Lorenzetti’s god was a human.
I now realize that to be intellectual is to be spiritual. I also look forward to attending sunday mass at some point this semester.
