Romana

Enrique Fuster

Pontifical University of the Holy Cross (Rome)

The link between narration and evangelization in St. Josemaría Escrivá’s teachings can be seen in at least two areas, which we could call (somewhat improperly but still usefully) “pastoral” and “professional.”

The pastoral sphere involves the interior life and preaching. As is well known, Escrivá recommended participating in the Gospel scenes “as another protagonist,”[1] entering into them with one’s imagination and beginning a simple and spontaneous dialogue with our Lord, the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, etc. At the same time, he embellished his preaching with stories and events from his own life and the experience of others, or taken from literature. His meditations and homilies, as well as his interventions in large gatherings, contain many anecdotes and stories. He had a gift for storytelling and was very aware of its effectiveness as a rhetorical tool to win over his audience, engage them emotionally, and help make his ideas concrete and understandable. Much more could be said about this pastoral area, but here I will focus on what I have called the “professional” sphere. My aim is to better understand how St. Josemaría’s teachings can illuminate the work of professional storytellers and their impact on the evangelization of society through the direct or indirect dissemination of the Good News.

Professional storytellers

What do I mean by “professional storytellers”? In the broadest sense of the term, this can include all those who work in certain genres of journalism, and of course novelists, playwrights, screenwriters, film directors, and series creators. These are “poets” in the Aristotelian sense, that is, artists of the word, among whom we can also include singer-songwriters and other similar categories. People who make a living by narrating, inventing possible and plausible worlds, based on real or completely imaginary events, in which, upon entering, we encounter ourselves.[2]

Journalism encompasses a wide variety of genres. A news story is not the same as an interview or an editorial. The latter aims to disseminate ideas, while the former reports on what has happened. And if instead of journalism we speak about communications, the spectrum of activities becomes even broader, encompassing journalism but also efforts related to institutional communications, advertising, public relations, and marketing, which, although they often resort to storytelling, do so to further the message they wish to convey. Here I will not focus on these activities, but only on those that are primarily, not secondarily, dedicated to storytelling, and especially the artistic ones. I will also refer tangentially to the others, because St. Josemaría used to group them all together in what he called the “apostolate of public opinion.” But the differences between them, even between those whose immediate purpose is storytelling, are obvious. The reporter, for example, has a commitment to the truth of what happened and should report the facts as objectively as possible, something to which the scriptwriter of a fictional story does not feel bound, even when it is based on real events. The expectations of the news reader and the movie viewer are quite different; the latter knows they are dealing with what is commonly referred to as fiction and that dramatic license is acceptable. The reporter and the screenwriter both narrate, but each has a very different approach to communicating with their audience.

The first thing to stress about these storytelling professionals is that (as is true of anyone who works) when their work is offered to God and done as well as possible, it becomes sanctifying and therefore evangelizing. As St. Josemaría reminds us, “since Christ took it into his hands, work has become for us a redeemed and redemptive reality. Not only is it the background of man's life, it is a means and path of holiness. It is something to be sanctified and something which sanctifies.”[3] In this sense, the work of a communicator is no different from that of a shoemaker: both jobs, when done with a supernatural vision, contribute to transforming the world from within and bringing all things to Christ. It is impossible to say which of the two is more important, since “in God’s eyes, the work of a street sweeper is of equal merit to that of a government official, if those jobs are done well, with love, with care for details, with a desire to serve.”[4] And therefore only God knows which has a greater impact on the world.

At the same time, humanly speaking, it is clear that some jobs – such as those of artists, teachers, intellectuals, and politicians – have a more decisive impact on the formation of individuals and the shaping of society. Referring to the mass media, St. Josemaría said: “They are educators; they play the role – often hidden and impersonal – of teachers. Millions of people entrust their intellects and even their consciences to them, almost unconditionally.”[5] That is why he sometimes lamented the absence of Catholics in the influential modern means of communication, whose evolution he had witnessed throughout the 20th century: the rise of radio and then television, the prominence of the press and news agencies, the cinema. In an informal gathering in 1960, he said:

“It is a terrible failure for Catholics that, after twenty centuries, almost nothing is being done in this area . . . Today it can be said that there is no press, that there are very few publications working with an authentically Christian mentality: where others are respected, where the freedom of all men and women is loved and defended; where one strives to understand, to forgive, to unite.”[6]

His attitude was realistic, but also positive and encouraging, as can already be seen in a text published years earlier: “In the face of these new realities, we can only have admiration and sympathy, together with the eagerness of all of us to contribute (even if not always directly through the professions of information and public opinion) to bringing to God, to returning to Him that sector of creation.”[7] In this vein, an expression he often employed to encourage believers to participate in the public arena with initiatives of all kinds, each according to their interests and in the responsible exercise of their freedom, was to “drown evil in an abundance of good.”[8] “Our approach and action is not directed against anyone; it can never have tones of sectarianism. We strive to drown evil in an abundance of good. Our work is not negative, it is not ‘anti-anything.’ It is affirmation, youthfulness, joy, and peace. But not at the cost of truth.”[9]

In a letter dated in 1942 about apostolate with young people, Escrivá refers to the importance of cultivating a taste for beauty:

“You could also think about organising literary sessions, concerts and other artistic activities, in order to deal with young people who like these kinds of activities or who attend music academies, schools of fine art, and so forth. This apostolate is urgent and extraordinarily effective: sit mihi carmen istud pro testimonio, let this song be a witness for me (Deut 31:19), so that art in all its expressions can be a living witness of our Catholic faith and a gentle and powerful influence leading souls to God.”[10]

St. Josemaría describes this apostolate as “urgent and extraordinarily effective.” He realizes how important it is for the evangelization of society that there be men and women of faith dedicated to artistic pursuits. Their witness will be a stimulus “leading souls to God” and act in a “gentle and powerful” way: discreet, natural, non-violent and non-strident, with a great capacity to reach many people.

Human beauty leads to divine Beauty. Therefore the work of any artist, even if not a believer, can be a path for drawing closer to God. “Those who truly learn to see come closer to the invisible,” said the poet Paul Celan.[11] And according to the philosopher and poet Ibáñez Langlois, “the semantic, mythical, and existential ties that bind all art forms to Transcendence are as oblique and subtle as they are undeniable” and have been substantiated by intellectuals of the stature of Steiner and Soloviov.[12]

At the same time, it is one thing for every artistic work to be open to Transcendence (which we will return to) and quite another for the work to be considered evangelizing; not only, as we already saw, in transforming the world through work done well and in union with God, but evangelizing in the sense that the artistic work itself (the article, the novel, the film, or whatever) seeks to communicate, to be a bearer of Christ’s message. In some cases this is evident. Just consider the many films or series that for more than a century have made the Bible (both the Old and New Testaments) better known, with eminent examples such as Pasolini’sThe Gospel According to St. Matthew or Mel Gibson’sThe Passion of the Christ, or the recent series The Chosen, followed worldwide by an audience of millions. Or so many titles based on the lives of saints, also in literature and theater, and not only on the screen. As I write these lines, the city of Rome is hosting the musical Bernadette of Lourdes, which since its premiere in France in 2019 has already been seen by more than 400,000 persons. These are artistic works with religious themes that make the faith known to a very large number of people. But it does not follow from St. Josemaría’s writings that, when he encourages evangelization of society through literature, film, or theater, he is referring only to this type of production, but to all of them in general. This also includes those that do not have explicitly religious content but that, stemming from a Christian vision, are an opportunity to “give doctrine,” insofar as they implicitly reflect an image of man and the world in harmony with the dignity of the human person, called to be a child of God in Christ.

The meaning of the expression “to give doctrine”

In 1959 St. Josemaría wrote: “Don’t forget that the essence of our apostolate is to give doctrine.” And right afterwards: “Because you feel this responsibility to preach, you try to infuse life into the institutions that shape public opinion: the press, radio, television, films, and so on. Those of you who are professionally involved in these areas do not just teach doctrine to a small group of people, as in a Circle or a lecture, but, like our Lord, you preach to the multitude, in the ‘open air.’”[13]

To fully understand what Escrivá is advocating here, we need to correctly interpret the expression “to give doctrine.” In some sectors today, this has acquired a pejorative meaning, even more so when the action referred to is described as “indoctrination,” a term that the dictionary defines as “instilling certain ideas or beliefs in someone” and is often identified with a “mental manipulation” that employs ignoble rhetorical strategies to introduce a series of concepts into someone else’s mind, denying the person the possibility of reflecting on them and accepting them freely.

Obviously, this is not what St. Josemaría meant when he used the expression “giving doctrine.” For him, giving doctrine was simply transmitting the light of Christ; that is, evangelizing. It is not merely spreading a series of messages or precepts. It is something much broader and deeper, which in many ways could be summed up as witnessing to and explaining the beauty of Christian life. In short, doing apostolate, speaking directly or indirectly about God, about the happiness of realizing we are his children, and about what is needed to lead an authentically human and fulfilling existence. There is probably no single way to define the expression, but it is clear that its meaning (if we take into account the context of his writings) is diametrically opposed to the negative assessment the concept sometimes receives today. In fact, while he summarized Opus Dei’s mission as “giving doctrine,” he also defined the Work as “a great catechesis”[14] that sows the truth of Christ at all the crossroads of the world:

“Exiit qui seminat seminare semen suum (Lk 8:5): the sower went out to sow the seed. These are words from the Gospel of St. Luke, from that wonderful parable filled with teachings so relevant for today. The sower went out (as our Mother, the Work, has gone out, sent by our Lord in these times) to sow, to scatter the seed at all the crossroads of the word. This is our task, so that the word of God may adapt to all circumstances of places and times, so that it may take root, germinate, and bear fruit.”[15]

And in an earlier letter dated in 1939, he states: “We must be, in all environments, messengers of the light, of the divine Truth that saves.”[16]

There are so many ways to sow the seed, besides the obvious one of speaking or preaching the faith. This is what Escrivá implies when he states: “We need to give this doctrine prudently – by example, by word, in writing, through friendship – so that those who are slow to understand will not move away from Jesus.”[17]

In Evangelii Gaudium, Pope Francis uses a series of expressions to describe the evangelizing mission: “bringing light, blessing, enlivening, raising up, healing and freeing.”[18] I think that Escrivá’s “giving doctrine,” which is equivalent to “evangelizing,” should be interpreted in a broad sense in tune with these words. It is undoubtedly giving reason for one’s faith, speaking with the “gift of tongues,”[19] but also enlightening, enlivening and healing. It is spreading a vision of man and the world in accord with the faith. Sometimes this is done through articles or programs that address, directly or indirectly, numerous issues of social debate related to human dignity. Many other times, however, this Christian vision of reality will be communicated implicitly or indirectly in a film, a novel, a short story, a series, or a documentary on a non-religious theme. And along with our words, whenever possible we need to try to convince others through our personal testimony, through our closeness, and affection that brings Christ’s life to others through the example of our own life.

The vision of the Christian narrator

Good writers are experts in the human condition, even when they rely on intuition rather than reflection, or have acquired their wisdom more from books than from their own experience. Pope Francis said that “literature teaches us how to look and see, to discern and explore the truth about individuals and situations as a mystery, as a surplus of meaning that can only be partially understood through categories, explanatory schemes, linear dynamics of causes and effects, means and ends.”[20]

Fiction broadens our knowledge of the world. It helps us to know ourselves better and to understand our environment. As Aristotle wrote in his Poetics,[21] the cognitive function of literature is not something secondary, but lies at the root of why we like stories, even though instruction is not their purpose. Stories make us think; they educate, most often without intending to, in a veiled way. And the writer’s view of life and human beings conditions, in one way or another, what he writes; even when it is not explicitly mentioned, it is always implicitly present.[22]

In this regard, Flannery O’Connor’s observation is very enlightening: “[When you write a story] your beliefs will be the light by which you see, but they will not be what you see, and they will not be a substitute for seeing. For the writer of fiction, everything has its testing point in the eye, and the eye is an organ that eventually involves the whole personality, and as much of the world as can be got into it. It involves judgment. Judgment is something that begins in the act of vision, and when it does not or when it becomes separated from vision, then a confusion exists in the mind which transfers itself to the story.”[23] For the novelist, for every storyteller, “judgment is implicit in the act of seeing. His vision cannot be separated from his moral sense.”[24]

It is impossible to detach oneself from one’s moral perspective while writing; it would be like dispensing with oneself. Hence the saying that the writer dips his pen in his own veins. Depending on the genre or type of writing and on the author’s skill and purpose, that vision will manifest itself in one way or another, usually naturally and subtly, without forcing things, even with ambiguity, a characteristic that generally benefits art. As Flannery O’Connor pointed out, “We Catholics are very much given to the Instant Answer. Fiction doesn’t have any. It leaves us, like Job, with a renewed sense of mystery.”[25]

An authentically Christian writer sees the world differently than an atheist or someone with a materialistic and deterministic perception of the human person. The idea of “grace” or divine mercy will be present in some way in the former and not in the latter, and such fundamental concepts as freedom and forgiveness will be valued differently. It is only natural that faith will give the writer a deeper insight into the human condition, since “it is only in the mystery of the Word made flesh that the mystery of man truly becomes clear.”[26] Being in tune with the Creator will have a positive effect on the writer’s work, which as a result of this affinity with the divine will also be more deeply human. But this should not give Christian writers any sense of superiority as an artist. Their task is not to “see” intellectually and communicate what they have understood, but to construct beautiful works.

In fact, as O’Connor remarked, “the type of mind that can understand good fiction is not necessarily the educated mind, but it is at all times the kind of mind that is willing to have its sense of mystery deepened by contact with reality, and its sense of reality deepened by contact with mystery.”[27] That is why I think we shouldn’t simplify things. We often find valuable insights into human nature in the works of non-Christian authors; since they are true aspects of the created world, the artist’s eye discovers them through reflection and intuition. As Pope Francis reminded us, literature (all good literature, whoever the author may be, and all the other narrative arts) offers “privileged access to the heart of human culture and more specifically to the heart of the human being.”[28]

The ontological status of the artistic work

Perceptive vision, whether Christian or not, is not enough to create beauty, to give rise to a work of art. To understand this point, we can turn to Ibáñez Langlois’ explanation of the ontological status of the artistic work. According to the Chilean poet, this is the result of the indissoluble union of two elements: theexperiential or human element (also called feeling, idea, existential experience, emotion, concept) and the signifying element of language (sensory or physical form), which can be verbal, auditory, or visual (we could even add tactile and olfactory), depending on the different arts. These two elements, which have been called by so many different names (content and form, substance and form, intuition and expression, message and code, etc.), are born and grow together, in mutual interaction.[29]. In other words, it is not that there is pre-existing content to which an artistic form is then applied at a later stage; rather, the writer or artist finds by doing and does by finding. Hence it is imprecise to define art as the expression or communication of feelings or ideas already possessed.[30]

Certainly, “the artist thinks with ideas, like everyone else, but what makes the person an artist is thinking in material terms, those of one’s own art: thinking in metaphors, thinking in rhythms, thinking in images, thinking in verse, thinking in light and color, thinking in stone, thinking in violin or piano tones, thinking in adagio or allegro, thinking in hendecasyllables.”[31] Flannery O’Connor expresses a similar idea: “Some people have the notion that you read the story, and then climb out of it to get into the meaning, but for the fiction writer himself the whole story is the meaning, because it is an experience, not an abstraction.”[32]

The integration between life experience and language varies depending on the art form in question. Narrative language has characteristics that distinguish it from pictorial or musical language: “its most characteristic modes of expression are events, plot, and dialogue; the invention of characters and the portrayal of their personalities; tempo, construction, and sequence; creation of atmospheres, accuracy of descriptions, subtlety of nuances, insight of observations, the narrative point of view of the speaker and, certainly, the style and type of prose appropriate to each individual story.”[33] This applies directly to literature, but could also be applied, with some nuances, to cinema and television series. Another specific characteristic of narration is that it does not normally stem from a single experience, idea, or feeling, but rather from a plurality of them, or from the author’s existential experience in some area of life.[34]

The Italian-German theologian Romano Guardini has also explored the ontological status of artistic works, emphasizing, on the one hand, an autonomy that protects them from attempts to exploit them and, on the other, their capacity to broaden horizons and bring us into contact with Transcendence.

Guardini holds that it is essential for a work of art to have meaning but not necessarily a goal. A work of art does not exist for technical or economic utility, nor for didactic or pedagogical purposes; it exists simply to be “a form that reveals.” It does not aim for anything, it simply “is,” and in being, it “signifies.” This doesn’t mean that a specific artistic work doesn’t serve a purpose, such as a place to be lived in or a building for religious ceremonies, or a monument to commemorate a past event. But a building can have these same uses, or a monument can fulfill this practical purpose, without being beautiful. At the same time, if the building or monument is beautiful, if we consider it a work of art, it is not because it fulfills the aforementioned practical aims, but because “the totality of existence” resonates in it. The artist, “born to see, called to contemplate,” fulfills in the work something that connects not only with the artist personally, but with universal humanity, so that anyone can understand, experience, and relive what the artist has experienced in the process of creating that work. Every work of art possesses such completeness and totality that it enables it to be “a symbol of existence in general, a symbol of the whole.”[35]

Any work of art, even the smallest, is like a world, a space filled with meaning constructed in a different way from the reality that surrounds us; it is more beautiful, deeper, and even more alive than everyday existence, and it possesses a quality of its own: in that space, things and persons are shown openly and not half-hidden, as in reality. “The viewer, entering this world and reproducing it within themselves, manages to live in totality,” experiencing that something is happening to them, that they are entering a new condition, in which their identity is more clearly manifested, not through theoretical reflection but thanks to immediate clarification, alleviating the gravity of one’s own existence and becoming “more deeply convinced of the possibility of becoming authentic, pure, meaningful, and coherent in all aspects.”[36] The work of art offers the person the possibility of leaving the reality in which they live (and of which they themselves are constituted) to transfer themselves to the world of a representation that reveals meaning and produces peace. [37]

As a result, every work of art, Guardini say, contains a promise. One realizes that things are not as they should be, and also that no force of nature or science can enable us to achieve our most authentic identity and become who we are called to be. “The true future must ‘come’ to us from God: as a ‘new heaven and new earth’ in which the essence of things is manifested; as a ‘new man’ formed in the image of Christ. Art speaks of this new being – often without knowing what it is saying.” And this is where its religious and eschatological character comes from; not from the directly religious content of some works, but “from their reference to the future, to a pure and simple ‘future’ that cannot be founded on the world.”[38]

The autonomy of temporal realities

Normally, the narrator of an artistic work doesn’t seek to convince anyone of anything, nor to convey a series of ideas about one’s vision of the world (although the artist cannot do without it). And the reader of a story or the viewer of a series doesn’t expect to be “indoctrinated” but rather to enter a fictional or invented world (but one that seems real) in order to follow what happens to the characters (also fictional, but equally real in appearance). A Hollywood producer once said that if someone wants to send a telegram they should use Western Union. As a film producer, he didn’t want to send messages but to tell stories, which is something quite different, even though all stories convey messages.

Some screenwriting professionals work from the outset with a clear thematic focus, while others prefer to focus on the development of the plot and characters, leaving the theme, if desired, for the rewriting stage. But they all agree on the importance of avoiding ideology and preaching. A good script is neither preachy nor moralizing. The viewer should never feel manipulated, with the sensation that under the pretext of the story they are being sold something else. One flaw of budding screenwriters is that characters in their stories often don’t give the impression of speaking for themselves, but rather of being the author’s mouthpiece; they don’t seem like free persons, but rather puppets manipulated by the writer for the purpose of conveying certain ideas. Some narrative works may contain extensive reflective or meditative sections; in these cases, too, the important thing is that they be well integrated, naturally intertwined with the plot, and not something extrinsic, artificial, added separately a priori or a posteriori.

Now we can better understand the autonomy we are talking about in the case of the art of storytelling, when referring to the necessary respect for the autonomy of temporal realities. This autonomy, stressed by the Second Vatican Council, was present in the writings of St. Josemaría right from the founding of Opus Dei. In this regard, what Escrivá said to his children with a vocation for politics in 1959 can be enlightening:

“To those of you who have a vocation for politics I say: work fearlessly and realize that, if you do not do so, you would be sinning by omission. Work with professional seriousness and fulfil the technical demands of your job. Aim to offer a Christian service to everyone in your country, and keep concord among all nations in mind.

A symptom of clerical mentality is found in the praises, written by people who have withdrawn from the world, which the liturgy makes of rulers who have been canonized. They are lauded more for having ruled their kingdoms with piety than for the wise exercise of their royal power, pietate magis quam imperio, more for ruling with kindness rather than with their just authority.

In fulfilling your mission, do so with a right intention, without losing your supernatural outlook, but do not mix the divine with the human. Do things as human beings should do them, and don’t forget that the orders of creation have their own principles and laws, which must not be violated by drawing false comparisons with angels. The worst praise that I can pay to a son of mine is to say that he is like an angel. We are not angels, we are human beings.”[39]

Escrivá exhorts those who are involved in politics (but he could also be saying this to storytellers) to work “with professional seriousness,” adhering to the “technical demands” of their work. With a touch of irony, he laments that sometimes saintly rulers or politicians are remembered more for their piety than for their competent work, which implies a distorted view of the vocation of the laity to transform the world and lead it to God. One needs to have a right intention and supernatural outlook, he says, but without mixing “the divine with the human” – that is, respecting the nature of created realities and human activities, which enjoy their own autonomy.

A lay mentality leads us to recognize this autonomy, without forgetting, of course, that “the autonomy of this world is relative, and that everything in the world has as its ultimate meaning the glory of God and the salvation of souls.”[40] As Gaudium et Spes teaches: “by the very nature of creation, all things are endowed with their own stability, truth, goodness, proper laws and order. Man must respect these as he approaches them by the appropriate methods of each science or art.” And it adds: “Whoever srives to penetrate the secrets of reality with a humble and steady mind, is being led, even if unaware of it, by the hand of God, who holds all things in existence and gives them their being.”[41]

Flannery O’Connor was right when she said that “the artist has his hands full and does his duty if he attends to his art. He can safely leave evangelization to the evangelizers.”[42] This was not an attempt to shirk her own responsibility but rather to put things in their proper place. She knew that writing a good story, leaving aside any utilitarian purpose, was her own way of giving glory to God. As a good Catholic, she was also aware of her mission to evangelize. A supernatural dimension is very present in her stories and novels, and by advising writers to “leave evangelization to the evangelizers,”she wasn’t denying the openness of all authentic works of art to Transcendence; she simply wanted to point out the harm that an ideological aim, of whatever kind, causes to stories. Her words coincide, in substance, with those of Escrivá when he says: “[Temporal realities] need to be brought to God (and now, after sin, redeemed and reconciled), each according to its own nature, according to the immediate end that God has given it, but realizing its ultimate supernatural destiny in Christ.”[43]

It is the novelist’s job to write novels (replace “novelist” with any type of narrator and their equivalent profession), and if they do their job well, with love for God and other men and women, they will evangelize, even if their novels don’t deal with any explicitly religious topic. They will evangelize just as a good Christian shoemaker who earns his living by making shoes evangelizes – with the added value provided by the Christian vision of life implicit in their work and the seed of openness to Transcendence that every true work of art intrinsically contains. Even without consciously intending it, their novels will be permeated with their vision and, to one degree or another, will act as a proclamation of Christ’s truth, conveying a consistent idea of man and the world in accord with human dignity.

[1] Josemaría Escrivá,Furrow, no. 672.

[2] Cf. Enrique. Fuster, “Colloquy with Juan José García-Noblejas on understanding communication from the perspective of Aristotle’s Poetics,” Church, Communication and Culture, Oct. 2022, vol. 7, issue 2: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/23753234.2022.2111315.

[3] Josemaría Escrivá, Christ Is Passing By, no. 47.

[4] Josemaría Escrivá, Notes from his preaching, February 6, 1967, cited in Ernst Burkhart - Javier López, Ordinary Life and Holiness in the Teachings of St. Josemaría, vol. 3, Rialp, Madrid 2013, p. 86.

[5] Josemaría Escrivá, Letters, 12, no. 9.

[6] Josemaría Escrivá, Notes from a get-together, March 12, 1960.

[7]Letters, 12, nos. 12-13.

[8] On this point, see the study by A. Fumagalli, “The Commitment of Christians in the World of Communication: Considerations Based on the Teachings of St. Josemaría,” published in no. 56 of Romana.

[9]Letters, 29, no. 25.

[10] Letters, 7, no. 48.

[11] Paul Celan, “Microlitos. Prosa póstuma inédita en español,” in Revista de Occidente 392 (2014), 139, quoted in Pope Francis, Letter on the Role of Literature in Formation, no. 44.

[12] J.M. Ibáñez Langlois, La belleza y el arte, Rialp, Madrid 2023, p. 209.

[13]Letters, 29, n. 44.

[14]Letters, 6, no. 47.

[15]Letters, 12, no. 44.

[16]Letters, 5, no. 5.

[17]Letters, 3, no. 36.

[18] Francis, Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, no. 273.

[19] Josemaría Escrivá, The Forge, no. 634.

[20] Francis, Letter on the Role of Literature in Formation,no. 32.

[21] Cf. Aristotle, Poetics,chap. IV.

[22] On this topic, see, among other titles, The Rhetoric of Fiction (1983), by W.C. Booth.

[23] Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, New York, 1957, p. 91.

[24]Ibid., p. 130.

[25]Ibid., p. 184.

[26] Second Vatican Council, Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et Spes, no. 22.

[27]Mystery and Manners, p. 93.

[28] Francis, Letter on the Role of Literature in Formation, no. 4.

[29] Cf. La belleza y el arte,pp. 137-139.

[30] Cf. ibid., pp. 170-173.

[31]Ibid., p. 180.

[32]Mystery and Manners, p. 79.

[33] La belleza y el arte, p. 155.

[34] Cf. ibid.

[35] Romano Guardini, L’opera d’arte, Morcelliana, Brescia 1998 (1965), pp. 31-34.

[36]Ibid., pp. 34-36.

[37] Cf. ibid., p. 45.

[38]Ibid., pp. 47-50.

[39]Letters, 29, n. 51.

[40]Ibid., no. 31.

[41]Gaudium et spes, no. 36.

[42]Mystery and Manners, p. 177.

[43] Notes from a meditation, October 29, 1967, quoted in Vida cotidiana y santidad en la enseñanza de San Josemaría, vol. 3, pp. 57-58.