The Brooklyn Rail

In the field of art history, scholars who prioritize understanding artists’ perspectives over imposing their own interpretations are rare. Joseph Masheck is one of these exceptional scholars, distinguishing himself by his commitment to unraveling what artists thought about themselves, their work, and the world in which they lived. Faith in Art: Religion, Aesthetics and Early Abstraction proves Masheck’s dedication to historical truth, and his work challenges the discipline’s all too common conflation of art criticism—how writers value, judge, interpret and ultimately theorize artworks—and art history, that is, an attempted description of what happened in the history of art.

Masheck’s methodology navigates the complexities of early twentieth-century abstract art, and he questions predominant scholarship that tends to privilege spiritual influences, Theosophy, and other esoteric doctrines. Instead, Masheck aims to rescue the often-overlooked role of institutional religions in shaping the perspectives of abstract practitioners. This intervention is already anticipated in the chapter titles: “An Orthodox Kandinsky,” “A Protestant Mondrian,” “A Catholic Malevich,” and “A Jewish Lissitzky.” Apart from this desire to challenge the dominant narrative and redirect attention to the enduring influence of institutional religions, Masheck also examines a short-lived moment during the Russian Revolutionary period, particularly after the revolution but before the atheism of Stalinism quashed hopes for the coexistence of religious and political ideologies, in which it seemed possible for Christianity and Communism to find common ground.

Uniting the case studies of each chapter is a more ambitious goal: to challenge current art historical assumptions about how we categorize and label artists. For instance, Masheck questions whether Hilma af Klint’s work belongs more to the history of Symbolism, than to the history of abstract art, to which it is usually assigned. Masheck’s healthy skepticism is a welcome resistance to pressures within the art world to apply the trendiest labels and latest terms and categories to artists so that they become little more than brand names.

Masheck’s study of Kandinsky probes the extent to which his work is influenced more by revealed religion and the Holy Spirit than spirituality. Masheck paints a nuanced picture of the artist's intellectual and religious influences. Passages from Concerning the Spiritual in Art (1911) and The Blaue Reiter Almanac (1912) are elucidated by means of biblical passages—St. Matthew, St. Paul, among others. Masheck’s approach underscores the relevance he attributes to artists’ writings prior to delving into their visual creations. That said, Masheck’s work focuses not only on the theoretical contributions of artists but also offers insightful visual analyses of their work. In examining abstract works, he traces traditional compositional schemes back to significant Russian iconostasis. While no single Russian icon serves as the exclusive reference for Kandinsky’s work, collectively, they appear to be a ubiquitous, if tacit, presence actualized through abstract forms.

A potential critique of Masheck’s approach could be raised here: the risk that the artworks themselves, which are the ultimate end of an artist’s creative endeavors, become lost within the intricate web of theoretical writings, contemporary theological discussions, and intellectual influences. Striking the right balance between textual evidence and visual sources poses a perennial difficulty for art historical writing that is grounded in intellectual and cultural history. The challenge lies in ensuring that the rich tapestry of theoretical insights does not obscure the fundamental importance of the artworks themselves, which, if I am not mistaken, still constitute the essence of an artist’s raison d'être.

Masheck takes a similar methodological approach in his study of Mondrian, and he delves into the artist’s background and theological writings, and conducts a comparative study of his work and the Dutch theologian, Herman Bavinck (1854–1921). This comprehensive examination serves to uncover a neglected religious facet of Mondrian’s work, contributing a nuanced perspective to a body of work often categorized as paradigmatically Theosophist—a form of pseudo-religion Masheck often seems to ridicule. Masheck skillfully recovers biographical evidence from throughout Mondrian’s life. For instance, he reminds the reader that even after Mondrian departed from his pious father’s Dutch Reformed Church and relocated to Amsterdam, he joined the Reformed Churches in the Netherlands, which were known for their neo-Calvinist tendencies.

The most daring aspect of this chapter lies in Masheck’s refusal to confine the exploration of Mondrian’s religiosity solely to his early works. Instead, he extends this investigation to Mondrian’s entire oeuvre, including the renowned and balanced abstract compositions that have defined the artist’s fame. The “compositional relationality of Mondrian's paintings” is scrutinized in relation to excerpts from Bavinck’s Reformed Dogmatics (1895–1901), where the theologian discusses social relationality as “a systemic whole in which things occur side by side in coordinate relations and cooperate in the furthering of what always was, is, and will be the deepest ground of all existence: the glorification of God.” Masheck posits that, although the name or face of God might no longer be present in Mondrian’s later paintings, the substance or aspiration toward a harmonious relationship between the parts and the whole persists as a pulsating force. Rejecting a Theosophical interpretation of Mondrian’s work, Masheck reframes the artist’s oeuvre in the context of contemporary Dutch neo-Calvinist influence. This daring reinterpretation challenges established narratives and enriches our understanding of Mondrian’s artistic motivations and the intricate interplay between institutional religion and modernist expression in his body of work.

In the case of Malevich, Masheck not only revitalizes the widely accepted influence of Russian Orthodox icons on the artist’s Suprematism, but also proposes a more adventurous religious affinity between Malevich and Christian representational art, specifically Catholic Baroque art. This Western influence, notably by artists like Rubens, has been conspicuously absent from most accounts of Malevich’s work. In particular, Masheck draws attention to a discovery in 1977 by Alan Birholz, suggesting that one of Malevich’s Suprematist Compositions was based on a reproduction of Rubens’s renowned work, the Elevation of the Cross (1610–11). This interpretation forms the basis for some of the most audacious pages in Masheck’s book.

The resulting composite image of Malevich that emerges from Masheck’s analysis negotiates between Western, naturalistic, and Catholic-style paintings, incorporating elements from Orthodox iconic views and Malevich’s own abstract vocabulary. Masheck’s exploration of earlier modern roots allows for a more comprehensive understanding of Malevich, and does not limit the extent of his influences to the canonical Orthodox influence that other scholars have already acknowledged. While Masheck’s writing may be perceived by some as “antiquarian,” his approach embodies the expertise of connoisseurs applied to the study of modern art. In a field where modern art is often constrained by theoretical paradigms imposed from a contemporary vantage point, Masheck’s expertise, though stylistically old-fashioned, stands as a refreshing departure with its holistic and historically grounded perspective.

The exploration of Malevich also sets the stage for the final chapter on El Lissitzky, as Masheck highlights the often overlooked possibility of recognizing the religious ideas, beliefs, and social conscience fueling Communist revolution. In Malevich’s case, these were Christian ideals and beliefs, and for Lissitzky, Jewish. At one time, it was not only conceivable to believe in God but also to view the October Revolution as a step toward realizing the aspirations of the prophets. However, this brief alignment of religious faith and revolutionary fervor was short-lived, as the Soviet Union saw the state replace religion, deem it politically problematic and, at times, subject it to censorship. Shortly after the 1917 Revolution, the Bolsheviks initiated stringent anti-religious campaigns. Nevertheless, both Malevich and Lissitzky serve as poignant reminders of an exceptional moment of concord between the 1917 Revolution and religious influences. The intertwining of religious ideals with the political upheavals of the time underscores the intricate relationship between faith, revolution, and the ensuing disillusionment in the face of historical realities. Masheck’s nuanced study brings to light the multifaceted motivations that shaped the artistic and ideological landscape during this transformative period, offering a fuller understanding of the interplay between religious and revolutionary impulses in the lives of these two artists.

Masheck’s exploration of an Orthodox Kandinsky, Calvinist Mondrian, Catholic Malevich, and Jewish Lissitzky has profound implications that extend beyond the field of art history. His work subtly asks the reader to consider the possibility that “spirituality” cannot exist in isolation from religion, that belief is inherently social. His work attempts to reestablish connection between the religious, spiritual, and social/political dimensions—an endeavor particularly relevant in today’s discourse on spirituality, often reduced to a merely individual affair. Throughout the book, Masheck implies that discussions of spirituality within contemporary societies ignore the communal and social elements present in both political revolutions and religious contexts. Instead, “spirituality” often appears today as a desperate endeavor by capitalist societies to salvage a realm—critics might argue an artificial one—of meaning amid a seemingly nihilistic and profit-driven society characterized by exploitation, and the reduction of existence to a cycle of mere production and consumption.

While acknowledging the value of Masheck’s insightful book, my critique lies in its limited discussion of what “spirituality” signifies in our current cultural landscape. Since the late nineteenth century, the term has been increasingly used to describe systems of thought and practice independent of belief in God, the supernatural, or religious institutions. The tension between religion and spirituality, and their potential opposition, is a relatively recent development, persisting into the present day. It is not rare to find a sentiment, throughout the twentieth century and still today, asserting that spirituality is absent in organized churches. And yet Masheck’s underlying message extends beyond the realm of art history to address broader and more important cultural implications. The greatest import of the work is that spirituality risks diluting faith by offering a religious shell devoid of substantive religious content—an empty form. In celebrating early modern artists as “spiritual,” more or less inadvertently, scholars contribute to this reduction of religion to its ghostly version.