Fundamentalist Chic

Catholicism is trending. Not only are high-profile New York hipsters becoming church-goers, as detailed in Julia Yost’s New York Times essay, “New York’s Hottest Club Is the Catholic Church,” but now they even have an unofficial celebrity representative in Shia LeBeouf, who converted to Catholicism after preparing for his role as Padre Pio, a Catholic saint and mystic. 

These are both stories about young people discovering something old as if it is something new, but the connection goes a bit deeper than that. It isn’t just that these young people are finding themselves drawn to Catholicism, rather, it’s the fact that the draw seems to be an aesthetic one, which is to say that their interest isn’t primarily in doctrine or faith, but rather in the general vibe of stained glass, gothic cathedrals, incense, chanting, etc. 

One of the ways in which this manifests is in a preference for the Latin Mass, as opposed to a Mass delivered in the vernacular. The Latin Mass is as evocative as it is inscrutable, and this is precisely its appeal. As LeBeouf explains it, the Latin Mass puts him “squarely in the feeling realm.” He can’t argue with the words because he doesn’t “know what they mean,” leaving him feeling “sacred and connected.” 

The New York hipster Catholics also prefer the Latin Mass, sometimes going so far as to espouse the far-right doctrines associated with such a preference, such as “sedevacantism,” a doctrine which views the current pope as illegitimate. According to Yost’s essay, however, this preference for stringency is “mostly aesthetic.” This is not necessarily fundamentalism or extremism. Rather, it is an embrace of fundamentalist chic. 

One could look at this trend as little more than hipster irony. In a world that prizes the glassy, lifeless decor of an Apple Store, cultural contrarians wander into a cathedral. In a world papered with pride flags and BLM signs, renegades don rosaries. 

Indeed, counter-cultural ironic Catholicism is nothing new. Yost herself points out that Catholic conversions were common in the 19th century bohemian “Decadent movement,” led by Oscar Wilde. But I suspect that what’s going on here is a little different than that. Yes, these new Catholics are being deliberately counter-cultural, but I don’t think they are aiming to shock. Yes, they are in it for the aesthetic, but I don’t think that their interest is superficial. 

The word “aesthetic” has acquired new valences in the TikTok era. A TikTok aesthetic is more than just a look. It is a way of being in the world and perhaps also a way of perceiving the world. 

Two of the more famous aesthetics from the TikTok universe are known as “Dark Academia” and “Coastal Grandmother.” The former is all about musty libraries, gothic architecture, school uniforms, leather-bound tomes, and cups of steaming tea. Think Harry Potter and the Dead Poets Society. The latter is all about white linens, capri pants, beach houses, Adirondack chairs, and paperback books with folded-back covers. Think Diane Keaton or Diane Lane in a Nancy Meyers movie. 

It’s possible to write this off as playacting, but it’s also possible that the people who embrace such aesthetics are trying earnestly to tackle the age-old question of the good life—even if this means doing so from the outside in. 

This isn’t really so unusual. Our intuitions about what makes a life good are intimately tied up with images. A rustic cabin is a stand-in for a life of simplicity. A garden is a symbol of connection with nature. A sunny living room recalls the importance of family life. 

Moreover, aesthetics are a crucial way that religions communicate their own visions of the good life. Zen poetry and painting stylistically convey Zen ideas about emptiness and impermanence. The simplicity of a Quaker church communicates Quaker ideals of modesty. The elaborate garments used to adorn a Torah scroll send a message about the centrality of scripture in Jewish life.

I myself am endlessly enchanted with Jewish aesthetics — in ways both earnest and ironic. I love walking past tiny shtibls crowded with holy books and serious swaying men in prayer. 

I myself am endlessly enchanted with Jewish aesthetics—in ways both earnest and ironic. I love walking past tiny shtibls crowded with holy books and serious swaying men in prayer. I love the Ner Tamid with its buzzing light bulb. I love the sight of a Torah scroll adorned in tinkling metal baubles and the look of Hebrew calligraphy penned onto parchment. 

Of course, there is more to Judaism than the way it looks. There is liturgy, philosophy, halacha, history, and music. Those books with the gold-embossed spines are not mere set-dressing—they call out to be read and taken seriously. 

None of this, however, is at odds with a love for the aesthetic. Indeed, the reason that the aesthetic is alluring is because of the ways in which it alludes to those very depths. 

Are the hipster Catholics just striking a pose? Is Shia LeBeouf just method acting? I’ll leave that to their confessors to sort out, but I suspect that the reason the aesthetic of Catholicism appeals to them is because they sense that there is something deeper there for them to explore.

In 2018, the Met Gala’s theme was “Heavenly Bodies,” and paid homage to papal pomp and Vatican-inspired opulence. The New York Times’ resident Catholic columnist, Ross Douthat, responded with a plea to “make Catholicism weird again,” by “[reclaiming] the inheritance on display at the Met” and embracing the Church’s “weirdness and supernaturalism.” 

Since Vatican II, Douthat noted, the church has been on a steady course of aesthetic modernization, one characterized by “modernist and even brutalist church architecture, casual dress, guitar music, [and] a general suburban and Protestant affect” in order to “enter more fully into modern culture.”

Perhaps, then, the story here isn’t—as some have suggested—a story about unserious people approaching Catholicism as an aesthetic. Clearly, the Church itself views aesthetics as a key means of interfacing with society.

What these young people are doing, then, is simply expressing a taste for a different vibe than that embraced by the modernizers—one more decorous and evocative of the ancient, the timeless, the transcendent, and the mysterious.

Isn’t this, after all, what religion is for?

Jewish religious leaders should take note. Young people like sleek, modern design for our consumer electronics, yes, but not for our religion.

Matthew Schultz is the author of the essay collection “What Came Before” (2020). He is a rabbinical student at Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts.