by Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira
In these confusing times, facts often influence us less by what they are than by how they appear. And they appear to be what propaganda presents them as. Now, the media—TV, radio, and the press, in short, the Republic’s Fourth Branch—is entirely focused on reporting what happened on November 15. And, at least for now, it seems to be saving commentary for later. Since I have nothing to add to these extensive news reports, I don’t want to jump ahead with my commentary. As I mentioned above, I will comment more on the commentary than on the facts themselves.
Therefore, while waiting for the right moment, I set aside the big topic of the elections today.
What, then, should I discuss? I close my eyes to reflect. Since I just took a long ride through the streets, it’s not surprising that a multitude of human figures come to mind. Clearly, the differences among them are vast, as all ethnicities, even the rarest, are represented in this São Paulo that embraces the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of immigrants. You even see native Paulistas…
Despite the differences, a noticeable monotony appears within this group. This is because, in most cases, these individuals are shaped by modern life in large industrial cities. Some are wealthier than others, but all are caught in Mammon’s whirlwind, blending diverse temperaments, traditions, and mentalities at a mechanical pace. Everything seems focused on ensuring basic survival, health, and stability for everyone. Even the wealthy are caught in this whirlwind. And this soul-crushing system psychologically reduces them also to the level of the common mentality.
There are many efforts to combat hunger, and some have undoubtedly been successful. For example, certain groups of people are becoming increasingly rare, and many readers might even say they no longer exist. I will describe these groups by quoting other authors.
The vivid description below isn’t mine, but that of a Portuguese writer of our century who gained great fame in his day. Let’s read him.
Gustave Doré – Beggars in Burgos
“At the door of a tent, catching the last rays of the setting sun and sitting on the ground, a street beggar eats his begged-for broth from a tin.
“He is a figure of starvation: sunken face, wild eyes, thick hair standing on end. His jugular veins and the tendons around his neck look like black iron, as do his fully exposed collarbones. He is covered in rags sewn together. On his legs, something like wooden leggings, tied with string, resemble the bundles of sticks carried by Roman litter-bearers; and through the holes in his worn-out sandals, the black toes of his emaciated feet stick out. His hands, just skin and bone, clutch a shallow wooden bowl and a tin spoon, revealing phalanges and knuckles like those of a skeleton.
“Ah, the Spanish beggars!
“The tragic pencil of Gustave Doré, during his journey through Spain, captured some of these specters of hunger—figures wrapped in ragged cloaks, crowned with large felt hats worn through by time. And yet, even in the depths of misery, they maintained such composure that one might have taken them for Grandees of Spain, Lords of Bazán themselves, whose proud backs—though life’s fiercest storms may hurl them into utter destitution and drive them to beg for alms—refuse to bend.
“And since art is a sun that gilds everything, these rags gained a sense of grandeur in the hands of the designer of visions, darkness, and light.
“The poor Spaniard is tragic! His misery screams; his appearance is terrifying. But a halo of beauty surrounds the head of this unfortunate man: his entire figure’s humility and resignation. Human rag, poor man of Christ, believe: Jesus smiles at you!”[1]
Gustave Doré – Beggars at the Door of Barcelona Cathedral (detail)
How much evocative power, richness of analysis, and colorful imagery in this description! I highlight in this drawing, which in my view is closer to reality than if it had been painted, a trait that the great Antero made very clear but did not include in his final paragraph. It is the richness of personality, strength of soul, and elevation of views—in short, truly noble style that coexists with the “humility” and “resignation” of this gigantic “poor man of Jesus Christ” whom Antero observed and described so well.
Heroically standing at the very heart of his misfortune, a true “caballero” of the finest Spanish and Christian lineage, this man shines with noble originality. I do not hesitate to add that he also possesses august respectability. Beggar in body, he is rich in soul.
Once again closing my eyes, I remember the many faces, more or less well-fed, hurried and stressed, that I came across today on my way. How lacking they are in what this poor man is so rich in!
It is quite true that any of these hurried and standardized 20th-century characters would react with horror if they were offered the chance to become this noble beggar. For them, traits like richness of personality, lofty vision, strong spirit, personal originality, venerable and respectable dignity are valued less than a calm, steady, and abundant small life, or a comfortable, luxurious, and carefree existence.
But the beggar would indignantly refuse to give up all his treasures of the soul to become a typical man of the vast and monotonous contemporary hive.
In my opinion, the beggar’s choice would be the correct one. Only that option would genuinely align with the true Catholic sense.
The beggar would be right.
Who, in these sad days of neo‑pagan banality, will still understand this? In these bewildering times—when even the solicitude of so many within the Church seems so often confined, with a blameworthy exclusiveness, to the merely material realm, neglecting the supernatural and the natural treasures of the soul that it is her duty to lavish upon men—who keep enjoying life in this spiritual Sahara into which our dying century has turned?
[1] Espanha – Páginas galegas, leonesas, asturianas, vasconças e navarras [Spain – Galician, Leonese, Asturian, Basque, and Navarrese Pages], Livraria Aillaud e Bertrand, Paris-Lisbon, 1923, 400-402) [our translation].