Capuchinhos

Na Harper´s  de agosto 09, há um ensaio de Jean Paul Sartre sobre sua visita à igreja de Santa Maria della Concezione em  Roma. Sob a nave, jazem milhares de ossos de monges capuchinhos gentilmente transformados em cadeiras, lustres, candeeiros, altares… Bom, Sartre esteve lá, e no final das contas, essa relacao conspícua dos capuchinhos com a morte serviu de alegoria para uma reflexao interessantíssima acerca da crueldade sutil do catolicismo sobre o antigo paganismo.

Ele deixou a igreja quando o céu estava negro. Na passagem abaixo, a chuva havia acabado de cair.

“(…) I walk along in the rain between soft shafts of solar light. The Romans are running among these drowned suns, laughing and waving some ancient implements they don´t quite seem to know how to use: umbrellas. I emerge into an underwater square amid drowned carcasses. The rain stops. The earth emerges. The carcasses are ruins: a temple, an obelisk – in a word, skeletons. I walk around the pillaged Pantheon; the metal-tipped obelisk is supported by an elephant that doesn´t look at all happy. This whole African ensemble is there to the glory of Christianity. And here is Rome, emerging from the water, already dry: the whole thing an accursed ossuary. The Church rounded on the monuments of Antiquity the way the Capuchin friars rounded on their colleagues; when the popes stole the bronze of the Pantheon to ensure Christ´s triumph over the pagans, it was the same desecration of the graves. Antiquity is alive* in Rome, with a hate-filled, magical life, because it has been prevented from dying entirely so that it can be held in slavery. From this it has gained this insidious eternity and has been able to enslave us in its turn: if we are tempted to sacrifice ourselves to these stones, it is because they are bewitched. The order of the ruins fascinates us because it is both human and inhuman: human because it was established by men, inhuman because it stands alone, pickled in the alcohol of Christian hatred, and because it is self-contained, sinister, gratuitous, like the display of Capuchins I have just left.”

*itálico do autor

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