Last Friday we went to the Chasen Museum in Madison for a viewing of the Illuminated Pages - a new Bible done the old way, "illuminated" by the presence of gold and platinum placed throughout the illustrations made on each page. If one has never seen an old Bible - the type made before the Gutenberg Press changed everything about books - it is a revelation. First, they are huge, about three feet tall, so that they can be read by several people at once. There are two reasons for this: one, the price of a Bible before the printing press was enormous. Because of the work put into it, the entirety hand-printed by dozens of monks working day and well into the night, it was made to last, and for that, very specific paper and ink had to be used. The "paper" was vellum, specially treated calf hide that is translucent and nearly immortal (because of its translucence, each line on one side had to be matched with a line on the other; the planning for such a Bible is extremely complex); and the ink was made from natural pigments that now can rarely be found (for this Bible, the makers were able to buy Chines ink made the old way, in the pre-communist era). To buy such a thing for each and every monk would have been impossible.
And two: because it was a work of such magnitude, it was embellished with illustrations, this artistry naturally flowing to a work of such time and expense, and so the pages would best be broad for a greater canvass.
We were given the tour, and were loaded with facts: it took nearly 20 years in the planning, and 13 years in the making; it cost 9 million dollars to produce, even though much of the work was donated by experts and monks; it is stacked into over 12 volumes, its depth being several feet thick; and, more interesting, it is steeped in symbolism, both the fairly readable (Adam and Eve in the new- old Bible were made to be Southern African, like the Kalahari Bushmen, because anthropologists have genetically traced the oldest human genomes to them) and obscure: for instance, in the Psalms, which were meant to be sung, the actual sound waves of Monks singing were woven throughout the text, as were religious songs from other traditions. With that, an expert in the future could actually tell what the notes were that were being sung. And so on and on, a regular DaVinci code for any future esoteric explorer.
Aesthetically speaking, however, my reaction was mixed. First, it attempted to be world inclusive and modern, showing that the Bible is a universal and living thing. But illustrations of modern buildings and people, with modern artistry throughout, I found rankling, when stacked up against more traditional art. This was not just because it affronted a feeling of tradition, but also because, as seemed obvious, modern architecture and artistic design are simply not meant to be holy or spiritual. They are rather commercial or mathematical or psychological. However, this, too, might be important for future observers, for they captured for the ages, against the maker's wishes I believed, the spiritual sterility of our era. Ours is in fact a de-spiritualized time. The making of the Bible was an outreach to hope, to the continued relevancy of the Bible, but its modernistic touches seemed to belie that outlook. Instead, it recorded the erosion of faith in our era, making of this book the museum piece it was, something of vague interest for the art connoisseur, but hardly something for the believer.
Or was it? On second thought, I felt something deeper still than a mild cynical despair. Instead, it came to me that this Bible worked to reclaim the sacredness of the holy text, in spite of its nod to modernity. It was, after all, a work of monumental effort and expense, and in its viewing I slowly came to appreciate that fact. In our era, we have made such things as books so cheap and available that we have marginalized their importance. But this Bible spoke still of a time when such words, such meaning, had sacred significance. It stood out, all of a sudden, in a way I had never experienced it before: that in these pages were the actual words of God as understood by the men of that age; that in this work was a holy wonder and a marvel beyond understanding - a near eternal presence of the presence of God, regardless of the alien cultures that had experienced it.
That had to be the thought of the makers - that in the ugliness of modernity, there was still this connection to God that nothing could destroy. And in this, they were right: there is hope, for we have before us, in the Bible, a document that connects the Nameless God, that which is beyond understanding, to us, to be understood at least in part. In this we have a reason to believe that God cares enough to communicate, and that with our return to caring about this care, we might find redemption and a brighter future, regardless of current conditions.
A complex exhibition when one thinks about it, as I'm sure its makers did, for two decades. Well worth the view when it comes to a city near you. FK
And two: because it was a work of such magnitude, it was embellished with illustrations, this artistry naturally flowing to a work of such time and expense, and so the pages would best be broad for a greater canvass.
We were given the tour, and were loaded with facts: it took nearly 20 years in the planning, and 13 years in the making; it cost 9 million dollars to produce, even though much of the work was donated by experts and monks; it is stacked into over 12 volumes, its depth being several feet thick; and, more interesting, it is steeped in symbolism, both the fairly readable (Adam and Eve in the new- old Bible were made to be Southern African, like the Kalahari Bushmen, because anthropologists have genetically traced the oldest human genomes to them) and obscure: for instance, in the Psalms, which were meant to be sung, the actual sound waves of Monks singing were woven throughout the text, as were religious songs from other traditions. With that, an expert in the future could actually tell what the notes were that were being sung. And so on and on, a regular DaVinci code for any future esoteric explorer.
Aesthetically speaking, however, my reaction was mixed. First, it attempted to be world inclusive and modern, showing that the Bible is a universal and living thing. But illustrations of modern buildings and people, with modern artistry throughout, I found rankling, when stacked up against more traditional art. This was not just because it affronted a feeling of tradition, but also because, as seemed obvious, modern architecture and artistic design are simply not meant to be holy or spiritual. They are rather commercial or mathematical or psychological. However, this, too, might be important for future observers, for they captured for the ages, against the maker's wishes I believed, the spiritual sterility of our era. Ours is in fact a de-spiritualized time. The making of the Bible was an outreach to hope, to the continued relevancy of the Bible, but its modernistic touches seemed to belie that outlook. Instead, it recorded the erosion of faith in our era, making of this book the museum piece it was, something of vague interest for the art connoisseur, but hardly something for the believer.
Or was it? On second thought, I felt something deeper still than a mild cynical despair. Instead, it came to me that this Bible worked to reclaim the sacredness of the holy text, in spite of its nod to modernity. It was, after all, a work of monumental effort and expense, and in its viewing I slowly came to appreciate that fact. In our era, we have made such things as books so cheap and available that we have marginalized their importance. But this Bible spoke still of a time when such words, such meaning, had sacred significance. It stood out, all of a sudden, in a way I had never experienced it before: that in these pages were the actual words of God as understood by the men of that age; that in this work was a holy wonder and a marvel beyond understanding - a near eternal presence of the presence of God, regardless of the alien cultures that had experienced it.
That had to be the thought of the makers - that in the ugliness of modernity, there was still this connection to God that nothing could destroy. And in this, they were right: there is hope, for we have before us, in the Bible, a document that connects the Nameless God, that which is beyond understanding, to us, to be understood at least in part. In this we have a reason to believe that God cares enough to communicate, and that with our return to caring about this care, we might find redemption and a brighter future, regardless of current conditions.
A complex exhibition when one thinks about it, as I'm sure its makers did, for two decades. Well worth the view when it comes to a city near you. FK
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