Toledo takes a rather different approach to religion than any other part of Spain that I have been to. Religion is, well... bigger in Toledo. Possibly because there are three of them.
In between visiting Toledo’s stunning places of worship, we had a bit of free time to wander around a market with shops and stalls selling jewelry, clothes, Spanish leather bags, trinkets, pastries and ice cream. However, this being a religiously vibrant city in a catholic European country, the scene was not complete without an enormous reproduction of Christ on the cross stationed high on the wall behind the market stands - lest we forget, even for a moment, the real reason why we are able to enjoy all these earthly indulgences. I noticed this as I slurped up my unspeakably delicious strawberry helado, thinking that if I was Christian and religious I would certainly give Jesus a hearty thank you for all his sacrifice, because gosh do I love ice cream. I couldn’t help feeling like Toledo was reminding me that I should at least feel a little bit guilty about enjoying it so much while Christ hung there in perpetual agony, but before I could give it much more thought, a band appeared marching through the street with a troupe of costumed men twirling flags, which, of course, distracted me from any further contemplation of Catholic guilt.
I spent at least half an hour gaping at El Greco’s El Entierro del Conde de Orgaz. Actually, it could have been several hours. I also could have been drooling, I really just don’t remember. El Greco is one of the few artists whose styles I can recognize instantly, and I just can’t get enough. I’m not sure what gave me the chills more – the painting’s raw nightmarish beauty, or the fact that I was actually in it’s physical presence. I stood there in the Iglesia de Santo Tomé and studied every face that surrounded Saint Stephen and Saint Augustine and the dead count, staring even longer into the face of El Greco himself, because he was looking right back at me, and got the chills once again wondering if when he painted this he had any idea that I would be here almost five hundred years later unable to pull myself away. Then I remembered that El Greco had arrogantly (and correctly) boasted that his work would become unbelievably famous and valuable after his death - so yes, I think he would have fully expected me to be here nearly half a millennium later.
His arrogance, however, did nothing to stop me ogling his portraits in La Catedral de Toledo. I love them so much I could cry. I was too distracted to listen to our guide’s long-winded explanation (of what I don’t know, because I wasn’t listening), so I just wandered off to stare desperately at each of the stark portraits, feeling an incredible frustration that I didn’t have nearly enough time to properly experience each one (and also feeling like no matter how much time I had it would never be enough). I felt bad, like I should apologize to Santiago, and the crying San Pedro, and Christ who was forever suffering against that nightmarish sky, and all the others, for not being able to pay them the attention they deserve. Although I guess they are saints, so they probably understand.
There was work by other artists in between the Grecos, but really, I hardly saw them. Sorry Caravaggio, but when it comes to 16th century renaissance painters, I have eyes only for your Greek friend over there.
Toledo takes the “no pasa nada” Spanish attitude and boldly applies it to what is possibly the most volatile source of conflict in human history: religion. In Spain especially, whose history is more or less dominated by religious strife in various forms (but then what country’s isn’t, at least to some degree?), one hardly expects to find a whole city dedicated to the coexistence of Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. Oh that’s not to say that everyone didn’t fight over Toledo, or that the Catholic Kings didn’t win (because obviously they did), but there is something about seeing a mosque, a synagogue, and a cathedral (all centuries old and breathtakingly beautiful, by the way) within ten minutes of each other that just makes me feel good about Toledo.
Even if you didn’t know a thing about Toledo’s history (or Spanish history), you would know which religion won the battle for Spain’s spiritual supervision as soon as you stepped into Toledo’s cathedral. Once inside, you’ll probably want to lie down on the floor and stare at the ceiling for about a day or so. It’s so intimidating and so beautiful that you had better just get down on the floor because you’re going to feel utterly insignificant anyway, so you might as well avoid getting a crick in your neck. (Side note: it occurred to me while I was gaping up in open-mouthed awe at the ceiling that the people who build these cathedrals are very smart. They make you feel small – so you remember your mortal insignificance in comparison to God and saints and all that. They pack in so much aesthetic beauty that it is overwhelming and intimidating and breathtaking all at once – another reminder that you are a little speck of a being while God is, well, everything. And they design it so that you spend a lot of time staring up in awe. You know who lives up? God - that’s who.)
Once you get your senses back under control, you’ll get up, dust yourself off, and wander around to the other side of the cathedral. Then you’ll probably lie down again, because you’ll be staring at 18kg of gold and 183kg of silver’s worth of religious devotion, and trust me, it’s difficult to spare any consciousness for standing upright when that’s in front of you.
One interesting thing you’ll notice is that much of the cathedral’s beauty comes from the many detailed Moorish designs. Indeed, the Muslims of Toledo helped build this Catholic cathedral. And let me just say that despite centuries of bitter conflict, Islam and Catholicism make a drop-dead gorgeous combination.
To me, Toledo’s message is: there are many ways to be religious. You can be traditional (and you have several options here), you can go for some fusion, you can be culturally religious (for example, I have several friends who consider themselves “culturally Jewish”), or any number of other forms of religion/faith/devotion. In this atmosphere, almost everything feels like a religious experience. For me, standing in front of those El Greco paintings or Toledo’s cathedral was inspiring and disturbing – disturbing in the sense that it disrupted my normal thoughts and feelings, pulling me out of my constantly circling thoughts so that I was just there. Just experiencing. The chattering in my head paused and for a few minutes I was just looking and breathing and living. In that haunting - sometimes even scary - beauty, I see why people are compelled to worship the things that affect them so deeply. That might not be my style, but being in places like Toledo makes me almost wish it was.
1 year ago
Your blog, FTW
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