Contemptus Mundi:
The Original “Black Celebration”

I’ve mentioned a few times in class discussion the Contemptus Mundi tradition, going back to our study of Augustine. It is an important theme in Medieval literature, probably the most important. There were many poems in circulation entitled De Contemptu Mundi, On the Contempt for the World, including one written by a Pope. It was a mystical Christian literary genre.

What it means is not really a “contempt for the world,” as in a hatred for creation itself, or of fellowman, but rather a spiritual or philosophical detachment to the things that most people naturally desire: wealth, glory, offices, honors, social status, feasts, pleasures, treasure, luxury and forms of sensual indulgences of the physical body (the pleasures of the flesh, as opposed to psyche, spirit or intellect). Contemptus Mundi is a philosophical renunciation of fleeting pleasures of the material world in favor of a more gratifying, disciplined, contemplative and intellectual life which in Christianity is associated with lasting pleasures and a kind of spiritual perfection.

The tradition was originally associated with medieval monasticism, but later on, during the Renaissance, with philosophy, study, hermeticism, insight and genius. It comes up again and again in literature, everything from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (most definitely a contemptus mundi tale about how a perfect night is made even more perfect by recognizing his one fault, his mortality) and even Hawthorne’s “The Birthmark,” a story about a husband’s desire to perfect his already perfect wife, who possesses only one tiny flaw, one small stain, a birthmark. With magical elixirs and potions, which the husband uses to create an artificial world, he perfects her out of mortal existence (the astute reader will grasp that his experiment was a success, he did make her perfect, and then shortly after that, she vanishes into thin air). Modern students won’t understand the pursuit of spiritual perfection in the literature of contemptus mundi. They do not get how or why mortality is bad, the flesh sinful, or why temporality poses a problem. (Is she ugly? What’s wrong with her flesh? No, she’s human, that’s what’s wrong! The human condition is what’s wrong! Meh . . .) Outside of Christian / Augustinian interpretive framework of the Fall, these once beloved allegorical stories may seem to make no sense, or are comprehended in a superficial way which undermines the author’s spiritual message.

There is a parallel tradition to Contemptus Mundi in the visual arts called “Vanitas” painting, a genre of still life painting which demonstrates the concept that earthy treasure and pleasures are fleeting, ultimately pointless and unsatisfying, mere vanities (examples of Vanitas still life painting will be shown in class when we discuss Hamlet).

Wikipedia defines Vanitas as “a symbolic work of art showing the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death, often contrasting symbols of wealth and symbols of ephemerality and death.” This theme may be crudely represented in iconography by piles of treasure and exotic objects covered with a thin layer of dust or a skull or crown on top (indicative of the fact that its owner is deceased). More subtle Vanitas paintings are exquisite still life paintings depicting cut flowers and other luxury objects, often in a dark (somewhat creepy) setting–I love Vanitas paintings, because to me they are fun.

At first glance, the viewer of Vanitas paintings may not notice the dust and decay, or that things are amiss; you are drawn in by the opulence of it, the luxury, the exoticism (sometimes a weird collection of objects, which is another clue it is to be interpreted symbolically), the finery, gorgeous or delicious items, the tapestries and rugs, all realistically and beautifully depicted, with careful attention to surface textures. Then, as you study it, the change happens as if before your eyes: the leaves of the flowers of the bouquet on the table are slightly wilted and curled, the water in the vase is a bit cloudy, the fine porcelain has a hair thin crack, the dish is tarnished, the fruit is bruised and maybe a little fuzzy. Something is rotten (like in Denmark). There may be a fly or strange beetle on the table, or something which spoils the picture. Look very closely and note everything in the picture is in a subtle state of decay, ever so slightly rotten. Somewhere is a timepiece, hourglass or a skull symbolizing mortality and the passing of time (like in Hamlet). Wilted flowers (see also, Hamlet) are a dead giveaway you are in the world of contemptus mundi. I’ve seen one with pendulous bubbles suspended in the air as if about to burst. Musical instruments are often put into the picture because music symbolizes time. The feast has been suddenly interrupted, a glass of wine about to tip over . . . the party ended before the end. The fading beauty of the perfect bouquet of flowers, the temporality of all worldly pleasure and wealth, is the point of them. It is rich and exquisitely beautiful on the surface of things, but the experience doesn’t last long.

That’s what Contemptus Mundi in art and literature is about. The artist gets to show off his virtuosity and skill as an artist, but also his virtuosity in teaching a moral lesson. When they work, they can be brilliant, because they operate on two levels, the material and the spiritual. The rubes of the world will say, “Oh, what a beautiful picture! I love the pretty flowers! What astonishing realism!” and keep walking on by. These ordinary people, like Gawain’s comrades at the end of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, won’t grasp the significance of the green sash, either, the fact that it is an outward sign of Gawain’s fallen condition and penitence, that it is a symbol, as he says “his fault,” even though to the reader Gawain seems to be perfect (the rest of the knights laugh at him and don’t get it, saying he is being too hard on himself). Only those who perceive deeply, those with superior powers of recognition, will discern what is really going. Same with the birthmark in Hawthorne’s tale of opulence and perfectionism.

In most instances, Contemptus Mundi is more like an ambivalence or cool indifference to the things of this world, anti-materialism, a withdrawal into a kind of reflective, pensive or penitential state of being, a self-conscious or hyperconscious state, rather than actual contempt—with one exception. In literature, Contemptus Mundi is also often characterized by what we might interpret to be “misogyny,” a hatred for women, or more specifically a rejection of women as temptresses and deceivers. It is possible to read both Gawain’s speech at the end of SGGK and Hamlet’s rejection of Ophelia (“Get thee to a nunnery”) as part of the medieval Contemptus Mundi tradition, because rejection of women as sexual / sensual creatures, tempters of men, was a very prominent part of that tradition.

Although Contemptus Mundi went by other names after the Reformation, and monasticism ended in Protestant lands, Puritans and Calvinists were also big on Contemptus Mundi (and Augustine too). Milton’s companion poems L’Allegro Il Penseroso, which contrast frivolity and Mirth, simple pleasures, including pleasing imagery, with the unseen intellectual pleasures of nun-like “Melancholy,” can also be read as a Contemptus Mundi poem. Milton, who was very religious, turns Classical pastoral genre on its head, contrasting the visceral, sensual delights of the countryside found in pastoral poems with the unseen spiritual intellectual pleasures which comes from study and contemplation of the divine.

Only close readers will pick up on who the winner of that competition is, but you have to study it carefully to uncover its hidden meanings and see black Melancholy as a celebration of unseen pleasures which Mirth cannot provide.