The Symbolism of Churches and Church Ornaments
by Guillaume Durand · English · Gutenberg #43319 · 659,647 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Symbolism of Churches and Church Ornaments
Author: Guillaume Durand
Translator: J. M. Neale
Benjamin Webb
Release date: July 27, 2013 [eBook #43319]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43319
Credits: Produced by Don Kostuch, from scans obtained from Internet Archive.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SYMBOLISM OF CHURCHES AND CHURCH ORNAMENTS ***
[Transcriber's notes:]
This work is derived from files on the Internet Archive:
http://archive.org/details/symbolismofchurc00dura
Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly
braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred
in the original book.
The honorific "Mr" is without a following period in the original.
The period has been inserted in this transcription.
[End Transcriber's notes.]
THE SYMBOLISM
OF
_Churches and Church Ornaments_
A TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST BOOK OF THE
_Rationale Divinorum Officiorum_
WRITTEN BY
WILLIAM DURANDUS
SOMETIME BISHOP OF MENDE
_WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY AND NOTES_
BY
THE REV. JOHN MASON NEALE, B.A.
AND
THE REV. BENJAMIN WEBB, B.A.
OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
_New York_
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
743 AND 745 BROADWAY
1893
DEDICATED TO
THE CAMBRIDGE CAMDEN SOCIETY
BY
TWO OF ITS FOUNDERS
{vii}
PREFACE
The interest which has lately been displayed, as on all subjects
connected with Ecclesiology, so more especially on the symbolical
bearing of Church Architecture, has led us to imagine that a
translation of the most valuable work on Symbolism which the middle
ages can furnish, might not, at the present time, be unacceptable to
churchmen.
Written, however, at a period when Christian Architecture had not
attained its full glory, it necessarily leaves untouched many
arrangements of similar tendency, subsequently adopted; addressed to
those who had not yet learnt to doubt everything not formally proved,
it assumes many points which may now seem to require confirmation: and
composed for the use of a clergy habituated to a most figurative
ritual, it passes over much as well known, which is now forgotten or
neglected. On these accounts we have considered it necessary to prefix
an Essay on the subject; in which we have endeavoured to prove that
Catholic Architecture must necessarily be symbolical; to answer the
more common objections to the system; and to elucidate it by reference
to actual examples, and notices of the figurative arrangements of our
own churches. We have also added notes, where any obscurity seemed
{viii} to require explanation; and we have, both in them and in the
Appendix, thrown together such passages from Martene, Beleth, S.
Isidore of Seville, Hugo de S. Victore, and other writers, as tended
to explain and to enforce the remarks of Durandus.
With reference to the author himself, but little is known; and that
little has been told before.
William Durandus was born at Puy-moisson, in Provence, about the year
1220. A legend of his native country is told in the present work.
[Footnote 1] He became the pupil of Henry de Luza, afterwards Cardinal
of Ostia; and taught canon law at Modena. On this subject he composed
a most learned work, the _Speculum Juris_; from which he obtained the
title of _Speculator_: as also another treatise called _Repertorium
Juris_: and a _Breviarium Glossarum in Textum Juris Canonici_. His
high attainments marked him [Footnote 2] out for the office of
Chaplain to Pope Clement IV.
[Footnote 1: See p. 126]
[Footnote 2: _Mutata fortuna_, says Doard: to what this refers, we
know not.]
He was afterwards Auditor of the Sacred Palace; and Legate to Pope
Gregory X at the Council of Lyons. He was then made Captain of the
Papal forces; in which post he assisted at the reduction of several
rebellious cities, and behaved with great courage. He finally became
Bishop of Mende in 1286. While in this post, and resident at Rome (for
he did not personally visit his diocese till 1291, the administration
of the diocese being perhaps left to a nephew of the same name, who
succeeded him), he finished the work, of the first book of which a
translation is presented to the reader. But it probably {ix} was
commenced before; for we find from a passage in its latter half, that
so far had been written during the course of this same year 1286. And
there is no difficulty in the title, _Episcopus Miniatensis_, which he
gives himself in the Proeme, as this could easily have been added
afterwards. But it was certainly published, as Martene observes,
before 1295; because Durandus speaks of the Feasts of the Holy
Apostles as _semi-doubles_, whereas in that year, by a constitution of
Pope Urban, they were commanded to be observed as doubles. The time at
which the treatise was written more especially demands our attention;
because, did we imagine it only a few years later than it really was,
we might well be astonished at finding no reference to the Symbolism
of the Decorated Style. The interruptions amidst which the _Rationale_
was written are feelingly alluded to by its author, in the Epilogue
(p. 161). He also wrote a treatise _De Modo Concilii Generalis
habendi,_ probably either suggested by, or preparatory to, that of
Lyons. He afterwards went on an embassy from the Pope to the Sultan;
and is by some said to have ended this life at Nicosia in Cyprus. But
the fact is not so: for having governed his diocese ten years, and
having refused the proffered Archbishopric of Ravenna, he departed at
Rome on the Feast of All Saints, 1296, being buried in the Church of
Sancta Maria super Minervam, where his monument is yet to be seen,
with the following inscription:--
{x}
Hic jacet egregius doctor proesul Mimatensis,
Nomine Duranti Guillelmus regula morum:
Splendor honestatis et casti candor amoris
Altum consiliis spatiosum mente serenum
Hunc insignibat immotum turbine mentis.
Mente pius, sermone gravis, gressuque modestus,
Extitit infestus super hostes more leonis:
Indomitos domuit populos, ferroque rebelles,
Impulit, Ecclesiae victor servire coëgit.
Comprobat officiis, paruit Romania sceptro
Belligeri comitis Martini tempore quarti:
Edidit in Jure librum, quo jus reperitur:
Et Speculum Juris, et patrum Pontificale:
Et Rationale Divinorum patefecit:
Instruxit clerum scriptis, monuitque statutis:
Gregorii deni, Nicolai scita perenni
Glossa diffudit populis, sensusque profundos:
Jure dedit mentes et corpus luce studentum:
Quem memori laude genuit Provincia dignum:
Et dedit a Podio Missone diaecesis ilium:
Inde Biterrensis, praesignis curia Papae:
Dum foret ecclesiae Mimatensis sede quietus,
Hunc vocat octavus Bonifacius; altius ilium
Promovet; hic renuit Ravennae praesul haberi.
Fit comes invictus simul hinc et marchio tandem,
Et Romam rediit: Domini sub mille trecentis
(Quatuor amotis) annis: tumulante Minerva.
Surripit hunc festiva dies, & prima Novembris.
Guadia cum Sanctis tenet Omnibus inde sacerdos:
Pro quo perpetuo datur haec celebrare capella.
The _Rationale_ was the first work, from the pen of an uninspired
writer, ever printed. The _editio princeps_ appeared at the press of
Fust in 1459; being preceded only by the Psalters of 1457 and 1459. It
is, of course, of the most extreme rarity: the beauty of the
typography has seldom been exceeded. Chalmers mentions, besides this,
thirteen editions in the fifteenth, and thirteen in the sixteenth
century: all of them are very rare.
{xi}
The editions with which we are acquainted, are those of Rome 1473;
Lyons 1503, 1512, 1534, 1584; Antwerp 1570; Venice 1599, 1609. The
translation has been made from the editions of 1473 and 1599. The
former is a magnificent specimen of typography: the words are
excessively contracted; and there are double columns to each page. Our
copy is partially illuminated; and the binding is ornamented with a
border of the Evangelistic Symbols. The latter contains also the first
edition of the work of Beleth, and is a reprint of Doard's Lyons
edition of 1565. Doard dedicated it to his brother, Bishop of
Marseilles; and prefixed a Preface, in which he bestows a well-merited
eulogium on Durandus, and mentions the care taken in correcting and
revising the work. He also added some notes, of little worth. The
Venice reprint is so vicious a specimen of typography, that from it
alone the sense could in many places hardly be explained. Our copy
belonged to Bishop White Kennett, who appears to have studied it
diligently.
We must now say a few words as on our own share in the work. With
respect to the Introduction, fully convinced as we are of the truth
and importance of the general principle maintained in it, we do not
wish to press, as matter of certainty, all or any of the minor details
into which that theory is carried. We believe, indeed, that the more
the subject has been studied, the more truthful our views will appear
to be: but we wish the reader to bear in mind, that the weakness of
any portion of them is no argument against their reception, as a
whole. At the same time, none can be more aware than ourselves how
much more ably such views might have been advocated: we have not,
however, spared {xii} time or pains in the study of the subject; 'and
if we have done meanly, it is that we could attain unto.'
In the Translation, we have endeavoured, too often unsuccessfully, to
retain the beautiful simplicity of the original. In the obscure
passages, of which there are not a few, we have mentioned the
difficulty in the notes, lest the reader, by our mistake, should be
led into error himself.
The quotations from Holy Scripture are given in the authorised
version, except where, to bring out the author's full meaning, it was
necessary to have recourse to the Vulgate; and we have then translated
literally from that.
We have felt no small pleasure in thus enabling this excellent
prelate, though at so far distant a land from his own, and after a
silence of nearly six hundred years, being dead, yet to speak: and if
the following pages are at all useful in pointing out the sacramental
character of Catholic art, we shall be abundantly rewarded, as being
fellow-workers with him in the setting forth of one, now too much
forgotten, Church principle.
J. M. N.
B. W.
_Michaelmas_, 1842.
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY
----
SACRAMENTALITY: A PRINCIPLE OF
ECCLESIASTICAL DESIGN
ANALYSIS OF THE INTRODUCTORY ESSAY
INTRODUCTION.
1. Spread of the study of Church Architecture.
2. Obvious, but indefinable, difference between old and new churches.
Wherein this consists.
Not in association,
Nor in correctness of details,
Nor in the Picturesque,
Nor in the Mechanical advantages,
But in Reality considered, in an enlarged view, as Sacramentality.
3. This probable,
from examples, and
promises in Holy Scripture.
Catholic consent,
examples to the contrary,
philosophical reasons.
4. Enunciation of the subject.
5. Writers on the subject,
Pugin, Poole, Lewis, Coddington, the writers of the
Cambridge Camden Society.
A. ARGUMENTS FOR SYMBOLISM.
I. A PRIORI.
Symbolising spirit of Catholic Antiquity, in
(a) Interpretation of Holy Scriptures.
(b) Analogy of the Jewish Ceremonies.
(c) Private manners.
(d) Emblems in Catacombs, etc.
(e) Symbolical interpretation of Heathen writers.
II. ANALOGICAL.
i. Examples of other nations.
(a) Jews.
(1) Temple rites.
(2) Legal observances.
(3) Sacred books.
(b) Turks.
(c) Infidels.
(1) Hindu and Egyptian Mythology
(2) Persian Poetry.
(d) Heretics.
{xvi}
ii. From Nature.
(a) Trinity.
(b) Resurrection.
(c) Self-sacrifice,
iii. From Art.
(a) Sculpture,
(b) Painting.
(c) Music.
(d) Language of Flowers.
iv. Parabolical teaching.
III. PHILOSOPHICAL.
Objective answering to Subjective.
All effect sacramental of the efficient.
Sacramentality of all Religion.
Ritualism peculiarly and necessarily sacramental.
Church Architecture, a condition of Ritualism.
Necessities induce accidents: and these material expressions.
Example:
Necessities of Ritualism, and their expressions in earlier
and later ages.
Hence Symbolism.
Essential.
Intended.
Conventional, which again becomes intended.
IV. ANALYTICAL.
1. Cruciformity.
2. Ascent to Altar.
3. Orientation.
4. Verticality.
V. INDUCTIVE.
Express and continuous testimony.
(a) Apostolical Constitutions.
(b) Eusebius.
(c) Symbolical writers.
Actual examples.
VI. RECAPITULATION.
B. EXAMPLES OF SYMBOLISM.
I. DOCTRINES.
(a) The Holy Trinity, set forth in
i. Nave and Two Aisles.
ii. Chancel, Nave and Apse,
iii. Clerestory, Triforium, and Pier Arches,
iv. Triple windows.
v. Altar steps.
vi. Triplicity of mouldings,
vii. Minor details.
(b) Regeneration.
i. The octagonal form of Fonts,
ii. The octagonal form of Piers,
iii. Fishes.
(c) Atonement.
i. Cruciformity.
ii. Deviation of Orientation.
iii. Double Cross,
iv. The threat Rood.
v. Details.
(d) Communion of Saints.
II. DETAILS.
(a) Windows: a series of examples.
(b) Doors.
i. Norman tympana.
ii. Double doors in Early English.
(a) These explained in two ways,
(1) Christ's entrance into the world.
(2) Our entrance into the kingdom of heaven.
(b) Difference between mouldings of Chancel arches and doors.
(c) Porches.
(d) Chancel Arch and Rood Screen.
(e) Monuments.
(a) Difference of ancient and modern symbolism in these,
(1) Sceptical character of the present age.
(2) Paganism of modern design.
(3) Reality of ancient design.
(b) Historical details of Monuments.
(f) Gurgoyles and Poppyheads.
(g) Flowers used in architecture.
C. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.
1. Inequality of type and antitype.
2. Difference of Symbolism in the same arrangement.
3. Mechanical origin.
D. HISTORY OF SYMBOLISM.
1. Norman; as symbolising facts.
2. Early English; as symbolising doctrines.
3. Decorated; as symbolising the connection of doctrines.
4. Perpendicular; as symbolising the progress of Erastianism.
5. Flamboyant, etc.
6. Post Reformation Symbolism.
E. CONCLUSION.
Contrast between a modern and ancient Church.
_Laus Deo_
{xix}
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The study of Church Architecture has within the last few years become
so general, and a love for it so widely diffused, that whereas, in a
former generation it was a task to excite either, in the present it is
rather an object to direct both. An age of church-building, such as
this, ought to produce good architects, not only from the great
encouragement given to their professional efforts, but from the
increasing appreciation of the principles and powers of their art. And
yet it cannot be denied, however we may account for the fact, that (at
least among those for whom we write, the members of our own
communion), no architect has as yet arisen, who appears destined to be
the reviver of Christian art. It is not that the rules of the science
have not been studied, that the examples bequeathed to us have not
been imitated, that the details are not understood. We have (though
they are but few) modern buildings of the most perfect proportions, of
the most faultless details, and reared with lavish expense. It is that
there is an undefined--perhaps almost undefinable--difference between
a true 'old church,' and the most perfect of modern temples. In the
former, at least till late in the Perpendicular era, we feel that,
however {xx} strange the proportions, or extraordinary the details,
the effect is church-like. In the latter, we may not be able to blame;
but from a certain feeling of unsatisfactoriness, we cannot praise.
The solution of the problem,--What is it that causes this difference?
has been often attempted, sometimes with partial, but never with
complete, success. That most commonly given is the following:--The
effect of association in old buildings,--the mellowing power of
time,--the evident antiquity of surrounding objects,--the natural
beauties of foliage, moss, and ivy, that require centuries to reach
perfection;--as on the other hand, the bareness, the newness, nay even
the sharpness and vigour of new work; these, it is said, are
sufficient to stamp a different character on each. There is doubtless
something in this; but that it is not the whole cause is evident from
the fact, that give a modern church all the above mentioned advantages
on paper, and an experienced eye will soon detect it to be modern.
Those writers who, as Grose, Milner, and Carter, lived before the
details of Christian art were understood, seem to have placed its
perfection in a thorough knowledge of these: experience has proved
them wrong. Others, as Mr. Petit, [Footnote 3] have made a kind of
ideal picturesque; and, having exalted the phantasm into an idol, have
fallen down and worshipped it. Others, again, have sought for an
explanation of the difficulty in mathematical contrivance and
mechanical ingenuity; and the result has been little more than the
discovery of curious eave-drains, and wonderful cast-iron roof-work.
Lastly, Mr. Pugin (_cum talis sis, utinain noster esses!_) has placed
the thing required in _Reality_. {xxi} That is, to quote his own
words, in making these the two great rules of design:--
1. That there should be no features about a building which are not
necessary for convenience, construction, or propriety:
2. That all ornament should consist of enrichment of the essential
construction of a building.' [Footnote 4] And we may add, as a
corollary, still quoting the same writer:--'The smallest detail should
have a meaning or serve a purpose: the construction itself should vary
with the material employed: and the designs should be adapted to the
material in which they are to be executed.' Still, most true and most
important as are these remarks, we must insist on one more axiom,
otherwise Christian art will but mock us, and not show us wherein its
great strength lieth.
[Footnote 3: See the review of his work in the _Ecclesiologist_,
vol. i, pp. 91-105.]
[Footnote 4: Pugin's 'True Principles,' p. 1.]
A Catholic architect must be a Catholic in heart. Simple knowledge
will no more enable a man to build up God's material, than His
spiritual temples. In ancient times, the finest buildings were
designed by the holiest bishops. Wykeham and Poore will occur to every
churchman. And we have every reason to believe, from God's Word, from
Catholic consent, and even from philosophical principles, that such
must always be the case.
Holy Scripture, in mentioning the selection of Bezaleel and Aholiab,
as architects of the Tabernacle, expressly asserts them to have been
filled 'with the Spirit of God in wisdom, and in understanding, and in
knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning works,
to work in gold, and in silver and in brass, and in cutting of stones
to set them, and in carving of timber, to work in all manner of
workmanship.' And this indeed is only a part of the blessing of the
pure in heart: they see God, the Fountain of Beauty, even in this
life; as they shall see Him, the Fountain of Holiness, in the {xxii}
next. From Catholic consent we may learn the same truth. Why else was
Ecclesiastical Architecture made a part of the profession of Clerks,
than because it was considered that the purity and holiness of that
profession fitted them best for so great a work? [Footnote 5]
[Footnote 5: Compare the general drift of the Address to Paulinus.
_Eusebius_. H. E. X. 4.]
Nay, we have remarkable proofs that feeling without knowledge will do
more than knowledge without feeling. There are instances of
buildings--Lisbon cathedral and S. Peter's College chapel, Cambridge,
are cases in point--which, with Debased or Italian details, have
nevertheless Christian effect. And we have several similar cases, more
particularly in the way of towers.
Now, allowing the respectability, which attaches itself to the
profession of a modern architect, and the high character of many in
that profession, none would assert that they, as a body, make it a
matter of devotion and prayer; that they work for the Church alone
regardless of themselves; that they build in faith, and to the glory
of God.
In truth, architecture has become too much a profession: it is made
the means of gaining a livelihood, and is viewed as a path to
honourable distinction, instead of being the study of the devout
ecclesiastic, who matures his noble conceptions with the advantage of
that profound meditation only attainable in the contemplative life,
who, without thought of recompense or fame, has no end in view but the
raising a temple, worthy of its high end, and emblematical of the
faith which is to be maintained within its walls. It is clear that
modern architects are in a very different position from their
predecessors, with respect to these advantages. We are not prepared to
say that none but monks ought to design churches, or that it is
impossible for a professional {xxiii} architect to build with the
devotion and faith of an earlier time. But we do protest against the
merely business-like spirit of the modern profession, and demand from
them a more elevated and directly religious habit of mind. We surely
ought to look at least for church-membership from one who ventures to
design a church. There cannot be a more painful idea than that a
separatist should be allowed to build a House of God, when he himself
knows nothing of the ritual and worship of the Church from which he
has strayed; to prepare both font and altar, when perchance he knows
nothing of either Sacrament but that he has always despised them. Or,
again, to think that any churchman should allow himself to build a
conventicle, and even sometimes to prostitute the speaking
architecture of the Church to the service of Her bitterest enemies!
What idea can such a person have formed of the reality of church
architecture? Conceive a churchman designing a triple window, admitted
emblem of the Most Holy Trinity, for a congregation of Socinians! We
wish to vindicate the dignity of this noble science against the
treason of its own professors. If architecture is anything more than a
mere trade; if it is indeed a liberal, intellectual art, a true branch
of poesy, let us prize its reality and meaning and truthfulness, and
at least not expose ourselves by giving to two contraries one and the
same material expression.
It is objected that architects have a right to the same professional
conscience that is claimed, for instance, by a barrister. To which we
can only reply, that it must be a strange morality which will justify
a pleader in violating truth; and how much worse for an architect to
violate truth in things immediately connected with the House and
worship of God? It may be asked, Do we mean to imply then that a
church architect ought never {xxiv} to undertake any secular building?
Perhaps, as things are, we cannot expect so much as this now: but we
can never believe that the man who engages to design union-houses, or
prisons, or assembly-rooms, and gives the dregs of his time to
church-building, is likely to produce a good church, or, in short, can
expect to be filled from above with the Spirit of Wisdom. The church
architect must, we are persuaded, make very great sacrifices: he must
forego all lucrative undertakings, if they may not be carried through
upon those principles which he believes necessary for every good
building; and particularly if the end to be answered, or the wants to
be provided for, are in themselves unjustifiable or mischievous. Even
in church-building itself, he must see many an unworthy rival
preferred to him, who will condescend to pander to the whims and
comfort of a church-committee, will suit his design to any standard of
ritualism which may be suggested by his own ignorance, or others'
private judgment, who will consent to defile a building meant for
God's worship with pews and galleries and prayer-pulpits and
commodious vestries. But hard as the trial may be, a church architect
must submit to it, rather than recede from the principles which he
knows to be the very foundation of his art. We would go further even,
and deny the possibility of any architect's success in all the
different styles of Pointed architecture, not to mention the orders of
Greece and Rome, Vitruvian, Palladian, Cinque Cento, Wrennian, nay
even Chinese, Swiss, Hindoo, and Egyptian at once. We have not even
now exhausted the list of styles in which a modern architect is
supposed to be able to design. It is even more absurd than if every
modern painter were expected, and should profess, to paint equally
well in the styles of Perugino, Francia, Raphael, Holbein, Claude, the
Poussins, Salvator Rosa, Correggio, Van Eyck, {xxv} Teniers, Rubens,
Murillo, Reynolds, West, Gainsborough, Overbeck, and Copley Fielding
all at once! An architect ought indeed to be acquainted, and the more
the better, with all styles of building: but if architecture, as we
said before, is a branch of poesy, if the poet's mind is to have any
individuality, he must design in one style, and one style only. For
the Anglican architect, it will be necessary to know enough of the
earlier styles to be able to restore the deeply interesting churches,
which they have left us as precious heirlooms; enough of the Debased
styles, to take warning from their decline: but for his own style, he
should choose the glorious architecture of the fourteenth century;
and, just as no man has more than one hand-writing, so in this one
language alone will he express his architectural ideas.
We cannot leave this topic without referring to what the Cambridge
Camden Society has said with respect to architectural competition.
[Footnote 6] _It is a fact_ that at this time many competing designs
are manufactured in an architect's office, by some of his clerks, as
if by machinery: if a given plan is chosen, the architect is summoned,
and sees _his_ (!) design for the first time, when he is introduced to
the smiling committee-men. It is another fact that there is at this
time in London a small body of persons, with no other qualification
than that of having been draughtsmen in an architect's office, who
_get up_ a set of competing designs for any aspirant who chooses to
give them a few instructions, and to pay them for their trouble. How
much it is to be wished that there were some examination of an
architect's qualifications, before he should be allowed to assume the
name! It seems strange that the more able members of the profession do
not themselves feel some _esprit de corps_, and do not at {xxvi} least
endeavour to claim for their art its full dignity and importance. We
fear however that very few, as yet, take that _religions_ view of
their profession, which we have shown to be seemly, even if not
essential. If, however, we succeed in proving that religion enters
very largely into the principles of church architecture, a religious
_ethos_, we repeat, is _essential_ to a church architect. At all
events, in an investigation into the differences between ancient and
modern church architecture, the contrast between the ancient and
modern builders could not be overlooked: and it is not too much to
hope that some, at least, may be struck by the fact, that the deeply
religious habits of the builders of old, the hours, the cloister, the
discipline, the obedience, resulted in their matchless works; while
the worldliness, vanity, dissipation, and patronage of our own
architects issue in unvarying and hopeless failure.
[Footnote 6: See _Ecclesiologist_, vol. i, pp. 69, 85.]
We said that there were philosophical reasons for the belief that we
must have architects--before we can have buildings--like those of old.
If it be true that an esoteric signification, or, as we shall call it,
_Sacramentality_, [Footnote 7] ran through all the arrangements and
details of Christian architecture, emblematical of Christian
discipline, and suggested by Christian devotion; then must the
discipline have been practised, and the devotion felt, before a
Christian temple can be reared. That this esoteric meaning, or
symbolism, does exist, we are now to endeavour to prove.
[Footnote 7: It may be proper to distinguish between five terms, too
generally vaguely employed in common, and which we shall often have
occasion to use: we mean, _allegorical, symbolical, typical,
figurative_, and _sacramental_.
'Allegory employs fictitious things and personages to shadow out the
truth: Symbolism uses real personages and real actions (and real
things) as symbols of the truth:' _British Critic_, No. lxv. p. 121.
Sacramentality is symbolism applied to the truth [Greek text], the
teaching of the Church, by the hands of the teacher: a Type is a
symbol intended from the first: a Figure is a symbol not discovered
till after the thing figurative has had a being.]
{xxvii}
We assert, then, that _Sacramentality_ is that characteristic which so
strikingly distinguishes ancient ecclesiastical architecture from our
own. By this word we mean to convey the idea that, by the outward and
visible form, is signified something inward and spiritual: that the
material fabric symbolises, embodies, figures, represents, expresses,
answers to, some abstract meaning. Consequently, unless this ideal be
itself true, or be rightly understood, he who seeks to build a
Christian church may embody a false or incomplete or mistaken ideal,
but will not develope the true one. Hence, while the Parthenon, or a
conventicle, or a modern church, may be conceived to have, on the one
hand, so much _truthfulness_, as to symbolise respectively the
graceful, but pagan, worship of Athene--the private judgment of the
dissenter--and the warped or ill-understood or puritanised religious
ethos of the modern churchman; and, on the other hand, to have so much
_reality_ as to carry out most satisfactorily Mr. Pugin's canons; yet,
inasmuch as in neither case was the builder's ideal the true one, so
in neither case is his architecture in any way adapted to, or an
embodiment of, the ideal of the Church. Reality, then, is not of
itself sufficient. What can be more _real_ than a pyramid, yet what
less Christian? It must be Christian reality, the true expression of a
true ideal, which makes Catholic architecture what it is. This
Christian reality, we would call _Sacramentality_; investing that
symbolical truthfulness, which it has in common with _every_ true
expression, with a greater force and holiness, both from the greater
purity of the perfect truth which it embodies, and from the
association which this name will give it with those adorable and
consummate examples of the same {xxviii} principle, infinitely more
developed, and infinitely more holy in the spiritual grace which they
signify and convey,--the Blessed Sacraments of the Church.
The modern writers who have treated on Symbolism seem to have taken
respectively very partial views of the subject. Mr. Pugin does not
seem in his books to recognise the particular principle which we have
enunciated. We have shown that his law about Reality is true so far as
it goes, but that it does not go far enough. He himself, for example,
is now contemplating a work on the reality of domestic, as before of
ecclesiastical, architecture. Now, nothing can be more true, nothing
more useful, than this. Yet even he does not seem to have discerned
that as contact with the Church endues with a new sanctity, and
elevates every form and every principle of art: so in a peculiar sense
the sacred end to which church architecture is subservient, elevates
and sanctifies that reality which must be a condition of its goodness
in common with _all_ good architecture; in short, raises this
principle of Reality into one of Sacramentality. We should be sorry to
assert that Mr. Pugin does not feel this, though we are not aware that
he has expressed it in his writings: but in his most lasting writings,
his churches namely, it is clear that the principle, if not
intentionally even, and if only incompletely, has not been without a
great influence on that master mind. Yet even in these we could point
to details, and in some of his earlier works to something more than
details, which shew that there is something wanting; that in the bold
expedients and fearless licence which his genius has led him to
employ, he has occasionally gone wrong; not from the fact of his
departure from strict precedent, and his vindication of a certain
architectural freedom, but because in these escapements from
authority, he has not invariably kept in view the { xxix} principle
now advocated. However the author of the 'True Principles' might point
to his churches, to prove that a reverent and religious mind, employed
in administering to the material wants of the Church, (even though
that reverence be misapplied, and that Church in a schismatical
position), cannot fail to succeed, at least in some degree, in
stamping upon his work the impress of his own faith and zeal, and in
making it, at least to some extent, a living development and
expression of the true ideal.
Mr. Poole, the author of the 'Appropriate Character of Church
Architecture,' would appear to believe the symbolism of details rather
than any general principle. He was the first, we think, to reassert
that the octagonal form of fonts was figurative of Regeneration. In
the latter edition of his Book he has adopted several of the
symbolical interpretations advanced by the writers of the Cambridge
Camden Society.
Mr. Lewis, in his illustrations of Kilpeck church (in an appendix to
which he has printed a translation of some part of the 'Rationale' of
our author), has given a treatise on symbolism generally, and has
applied his principles to the explanation of the plan and details of
that particular church. His book excited some attention at the time of
publication, and was met by considerable ridicule in many quarters. To
this we think it was fairly open, since the author did not seem to
have grasped the true view of the subject. He appears to believe that,
from the very first, _all_ church architecture was _intentionally_
symbolical. Now this is an unlikely supposition, inasmuch as till
church architecture was fully developed, we do not think that its real
significancy was understood to its full extent by those who used it.
That it was, in its imperfect state, symbolical, we should be the last
to deny; but it seems more in accordance {xxx} with probability, and
more in analogy with the progress of other arts, to believe that at
first certain given wants induced and compelled certain adaptations to
those wants: which then _did_ symbolise the wants themselves; and
which afterwards became intentionally symbolical. Now such a view as
this will explain satisfactorily how a Christian church might be
progressively developed from a Basilican model. Mr. Hope, in his essay
on Architecture, carries us back to the very earliest expedient likely
to be adopted by a savage to protect him from weather, and from this
derives every subsequent expansion of the art. Which may be true, and
probably is true, so far at least as this: that, however first
acquired, the elementary knowledge of any method of building would be,
like all other knowledge, continually receiving additions and
improvements, till from the first bower of branches sprang the
Parthenon, and from that again Cologne or Westminster. But then it is
clearly necessary to show some moral reason for so strange a
development, so complete a change of form and style. Now the theory
that the ethos of Catholic architects working upon the materials made
to hand, namely, the ancient orders of pagan architecture and (say)
the Basilican plan, gradually impressed itself upon these unpromising
elements, and progressively developed from them a transcript of that
ethos in Christian architecture, is intelligible at least, and
presents no such difficulty as Mr. Lewis's supposition that ancient
architects (he does not say when, or how long--but take Kilpeck church
and say _Norman_ architects) designed intentionally on symbolical
principles. We want in this case to be informed when the change took
place, from what period architects began to symbolise intentionally,
at what time they forgot the traditions of church-building, which they
must have had, and commenced to carry new principles into practice.
{xxxi} Nor, on this supposition, do we see why there should have been
any progressive development, why the Basilican and Debased-Pagan
trammels were not cast away at once; nor why, if the _ideal_ of the
Norman architect was true and perfect (that is if he were a true
Catholic), its expression should not have been so too: nor why any
Norman symbolism, thus originated, should ever have been discarded (as
it has been in later styles), instead of remaining an integral and
essential part of the material expression of the Church's mind. Now
our view appears to be open to no such objection. On the one hand
there are given materials to work upon, and on the other a given
spirit which is to mould and inform the mass. The contest goes on:
mind gradually subdues matter, until in the complete development of
Christian architecture we see the projection of the mind of the
Church. It is quite in analogy with the history and nature of the
Church, and with the workings of God's providence with respect to it,
that there should be this gradual expansion and development of truth.
We foresee the objection that will be raised against fixing on any
period as that of the full ripeness of Christian art, and are prepared
for many sneers at our advocacy of the perfection of the Edwardian
architecture. But we are assured that, if there is any truth (not to
say in what is advanced in this essay, but) in what has ever been
proposed by any who have appreciated the genius of Pointed
Architecture--to confine ourselves to our own subject--no other period
can be chosen at which all conditions of beauty, of detail, of general
effect, of truthfulness, of reality are so fully answered as in this.
And from this spring two important considerations. Firstly, the
decline of Christian art--which may be traced from this very period,
if architecture be tried by any of the conditions which have been laid
down--was confessedly {xxxii} coincident with, and (if what we have
said is true) was really symbolical of, those corruptions, which ended
in the great rending of the Latin Church; the effects of, and
penalties for, which remain to this day in full operation in the whole
of Western Christendom. Secondly, the Decorated style may be indeed
the finest development of Christian architecture which the world has
yet seen; but it does not follow that it is the greatest perfection
which shall ever be arrived at. No: we too look forward, if it may be,
to the time when even a new style of church architecture shall be
given us, so glorious and beautiful and true, that Cologne will sink
into a fine example of a transitional period, when the zeal and faith
and love of the reunited Church shall find their just expression in
the sacramental forms of Catholic art.
But besides the above objection to Mr. Lewis's theory we may mention
the arbitrary way in which he determines on things which are to be
symbolised, and then violently endeavours to find their expected
types. This is quite at variance with the practice of any sober
symbolist; and more especially (as we shall hereafter have occasion to
point out) with that of Durandus. This forced sort of symbolism
naturally leads to a disregard of precedent and authority: and
accordingly we remember to have heard of a design by this gentleman
for the arrangement of a chancel which professed to symbolise certain
facts and doctrines; but which, whatever might be the ingenuity of the
symbolism, was no less opposed to the constant rule of arrangement in
ancient churches, than it was practically absurd and inconvenient for
the purpose which it was meant to answer. Indeed, while Mr. Lewis
insists strongly on the symbolising of facts, he does not succeed in
grasping any general principle, any more than he sees the {xxxiii}
difficulty there is in the way of our receiving his supposition of an
intention to symbolise from the first. No architect ever sat down with
an analysed scheme of doctrines which he resolved to embody in his
future building: in this, as in any other department of poesy, the
result is harmonious, significant, and complete, and may be resolved
into its elements, though these elements might never have been laid by
the poet as the foundation upon which to raise his superstructure.
That were like De La Harpe's theory that an epic poet should first
determine on his moral, and then draw out such a plan for his poem as
may enable him to illustrate that moral. [Footnote 8]
[Footnote 8: It is with pain that we have spoken of Mr. Lewis at
all, because every Ecclesiologist owes him a debt for his great
boldness in turning the public attention to the subject of
symbolism. Yet we believe that a prejudice has been excited by him
against that subject which it will be hard to get over; for we are
constrained to say, that greater absurdities were never printed than
some which have appeared in his book. His explanations of the west
end of Kilpeck church--his cool assumption when any bracket appears
more puzzling than usual that it is of later work, and therefore not
explainable--his random perversions of Scripture--his puerile
conceits about the door--deserve this criticism. This same south
door he extols as a perfect mine of ecclesiastical information,
while he confesses himself unable to explain the symbols wrought on
the two orders of the arch--that is about two-thirds of the whole!
It is strange, too, that in his restoration of the church, he should
have forgotten all about the bells--and have violated a fundamental
canon of symbolism, by terminating his western gable in a plain
Cross.]
The writers of the Cambridge Camden Society have carried out the
system more fully and consistently than any others. It has evidently
grown upon them, during the process of their inquiries: yet in their
earliest publications, we trace, though more obscurely, the same
thing. Their 'Few Words to Church-Builders' acknowledged the principle
to a far greater length; and the _Ecclesiologist_ has always acted
upon it, even when not expressly referring to it. As a necessary
consequence, they were the first who dwelt on the absolute necessity
of a distinct and spacious chancel; the first who recommended, and
{xxxiv} where they could, insisted on, the re-introduction of the
rood-screen; and the first to condemn the use of western triplets. The
position and shape of the font, the necessity of orientation, and some
few details, they have, but only in common with others, urged.
The Oxford Architectural Society have never recognised any given
principles: and in consequence Littlemore is proposed by them as a
model--a church either without, or else all, chancel; and either way a
solecism.
As might have been expected from a separatist, Rickman, in his
treatise, gives not a single line to the principle for which we
contend. Mr. Bloxam, in his excellent little work, though often
referring to it--more especially in the later editions which have
appeared since the labours of the Cambridge Camden Society--yet
hardly gives it that prominence which we might have expected from one
who possesses so just an idea of mediaeval arrangements and art.
Among the chief opposers of the system we may mention Mr. Coddington
of Ware, who sees perfection in the clumsiness of Basilican
arrangements, and schism in the developed art of the middle ages. This
writer, as it has been observed in the _Ecclesiologist_, contends for
two things:--1. That one great object of Romanism was to abolish the
distinction between the clergy and laity: 2. That another great object
of the same Church, acting by its monks, (or, as he calls them,
schismatical communities) was to exalt the clergy unduly above the
laity. The former assertion he does not attempt to prove: the latter
he supports by pointing to the arrangement of the rood-screen, which,
therefore, like the French Ambonoclasts, he wishes to pull down both
in cathedrals and churches.
{xxxv}
This brief review of the principal writers who have treated on the
Symbolism of Churches and Church Ornaments, concludes our first
chapter. In it we have endeavoured to point out an acknowledged
desideratum; to shew what suppositions have been advanced on the
subject; to set forth wherein, and for what reason, they fail of being
satisfactory; to enunciate the principle of _Sacramentality_ as
essential for the full appreciation and successful imitation of
ancient church architecture; and finally, in referring to the works of
some later symbolists, to shew why their hypotheses are incomplete or
untenable. We have also brought under review the glaring contrasts
between the methods of life of an ancient and modern architect; and,
if we may so say, between the machinery of designing and the habit of
mind in the two cases. We shall now proceed to examine those arguments
which may lead us to suspect that some such principle as
Sacramentality really exists.
{xxxvi}
CHAPTER II
THE ARGUMENT A PRIORI
It will first be proper to consider whether, regarding the subject _à
priori_, that is, looking at the habits and manners of those among
whom the symbolical system originated, if it originated anywhere, we
have reason to think them at all likely to induce that system. Now, as
matter of fact, we know that the train of thought, the every-day
observances, above all, the religious rites of the early Christians,
were in the highest degree figurative. The rite of Baptism gave the
most forcible of all sanctions to such a system; and while it
sanctioned, it also suggested, some of the earliest specimens of
Christian symbolism. Hence, when that rite was found to be, so to
speak, connected with the word formed by the initial letters of our
Blessed Saviour's name and titles, arose the Mystic Fish: hence, as we
shall see, the octagonal baptistery and font. Indeed, almost every
great doctrine had been symbolised at a very early period of
Christianity. The Resurrection was set forth in the Phoenix, rising
immortal from its ashes: the meritorious Passion of our Saviour, by
the Pelican, feeding its young with its own blood: the Sacrament of
the Holy Eucharist, by grapes and wheatears, or again by the blood
flowing from the heart and feet of the Wounded Lamb into a chalice
beneath: the Christian's renewal of strength {xxxvii} thereby in the
Eagle, which descending grey and aged into the ocean, rises thence
with renewed strength and vigour: the Church, by the Ark, and the
vessel [Footnote 9] in which our Lord slept: the Christian's purity
and innocence by the Dove: [Footnote 10] again, by the same symbol
the souls [Footnote 11] of those who suffered for the Truth: again,
though perhaps not so early, the Holy Spirit: the Apostles were also
set forth as twelve Doves: [Footnote 12] the Ascension of our
Saviour by the Flying Bird; concerning which S. Gregory [Footnote
13] teaches, 'rightly is our Redeemer called a Bird, Whose Body
ascended freely into heaven': Martyrs also by birds let loose; for so
Tertullian, [Footnote 14] 'There is one kind of flesh of fishes, that
is of those who be regenerate by Holy Baptism; but another of birds,
that is of martyrs.'
[Footnote 9: Naviculum quippe ecclesiam cogitate,--turbulentum mare
hoc seculum.----_S. Aug. de Verb Dom_.]
[Footnote 10:
Quaeque super signum resident coeleste Columbae,
Simplicibus produnt regna patere Dei.
_S. Paulin. ep. 12, ad Sever_.]
[Footnote 11: Cum nollet idolis sacrificare (sc. S. Reparata) ecce,
gladio percutitur: cujus anima in Columbae specie de corpore egredi,
coelumque conscendere visa est.--_Martyrol. Rom. viii. Id. Oct._
Emicat inde Columba repens,
Martyris os nive candidior
Visa relinquere, et astra sequi:
Spiritus hic erat Eulaliae
Lacteolus, celer, innocuus.
_Pruden. Perist. Hymn. 9._
Compare also the Passion of S. Potitus,--Act. SS. Bollandi, 13 Jan.
So, in the cemetery of S. Calistus, a piece of glass was found by
Boldetti, on which S. Agnes was represented between two doves, the
symbols of her Virginity and Martyrdom.]
[Footnote 12:
Crucem corona lucido cingit globo
Cui coronas sunt corona Apostoli,
Quorum figura est in columbarum choro.
(S. Paulin. Epp.)]
[Footnote 13: In Evang. 29.]
[Footnote 14: De Resurrect. 52.]
{xxxviii}
The caged bird is symbolical of the contrary; this has been found upon
the phial containing the blood of a martyr. Of this, Boldetti says,
'It is represented on the mosaic of the ancient Tribune of S. Mary
beyond Tiber; one being seen at the side of Isaiah the Prophet, the
other at that of the Prophet Jeremiah.' In the same way, partridges
and peacocks, each with its own meaning are represented. So, again,
lions, tigers, horses, oxen, strange fishes, and marine monsters,
represent the fearful martyrdoms to which God's servants were exposed:
a point which the reader will do well to bear in mind, because in
treating of Norman mouldings we shall have occasion again to refer to
this matter. So, again, the extended hand symbolised Providence. We
have also the seven stars, the moon, and many other symbols of a
similar kind. Nor must we forget the _Agnus Dei_, by which our Blessed
Lord Himself was represented; nor the _Pastor Bonus_, in which His own
parable was still further parabolised. The Christian gems found in the
Catacombs are all charged with some symbolical device. Upon these is
the ship for the Church, the palm for the martyr, and the instrument
of torture: as well as the sacred monogram expressing our Saviour's
name. The same symbol blazed on the _labarum_ of the first Christian
Emperor; and the very coins symbolically showed that the Church had
subdued the kingdoms of this world. That fearful heresy, Gnosticism,
which arose from an over-symbolising, shows, nevertheless how deeply
the principle, within due limits, belonged to the Church. The Gnostic
gems exhibit the most monstrous perversions of symbolical
representations: the medals of Dioclesian bear a lying symbol of a
crushed and expiring Christianity. Later still, new symbols were
adopted: mosaics, illuminations, ornaments, all bore some holy
emblems. The monogram _ihs_ found in every church in Western
Christendom: the corresponding symbol stamps the Eucharistic wafers of
the East. [Footnote 15]
[Footnote 15: See on this subject the Cambridge Camden Society's
'Argument for the Greek Origin of the Monogram IHS.']
{xxxix}
The symbols of the Evangelists were also of very early date, though
not, in all cases, appropriated as now: for the angel and the lion
fluctuated between S. Matthew and S. Mark. Numbers, too, were fruitful
of allegorical meaning; and the most ingenious combinations were used
to elicit an esoteric meaning from them. By _one_, the Unity of the
Deity was understood: by _two_, the divine and human Natures of the
Saviour: by _three_, of course, the doctrine of the Most Holy Trinity:
by _four_, the doctrine of the Four Evangelists: by _six_, the
Attributes of the Deity: _seven_ represented the sevenfold graces of
the Holy Spirit: _eight_ (for a reason hereafter to be noticed),
Regeneration: _twelve_, the glorious company, the Apostles, and,
tropologically, the whole Church. And when a straightforward reference
to any of these failed, they were added or combined, till the required
meaning was obtained. A single instance may suffice:--S. Augustine,
writing on that passage of S. Paul's, 'What? know ye not that the
saints shall judge the world?' after explaining (_Expos. super Psalm_.
lxxxvi) the twelve thrones, which our Saviour mentions, of the whole
Church, as founded by and represented in the Apostles, finds a further
meaning. 'The parts of the world be four; the east, the west, the
north, and the south:' and (adds the Father) 'they are constantly
named in Holy Writ. From these four winds, saith the Lord in the
Gospel, shall the elect be gathered together: whence the Church is
called from these four parts. Called, and how? By the Trinity. It is
not called, except by Baptism, in the name of the Father, and of the
Son, and of the Holy Ghost. So four, multiplied by three, make
twelve.' In accidental numbers, too, a meaning was often found. No
wonder that some beheld, in the three hundred and eighteen trained
servants wherewith Abraham, the Father of the Faithful, routed the
combined kings, a type of the three hundred and eighteen Fathers of
Nicaea, by whom the Faithful rose triumphant over the Arian heresy.
{xl}
Again, types and emblems without number were seen in the language of
the Psalmist, occurring so continuously in the services of the Church.
'His faithfulness shall be thy buckler,' gives rise to a fine allegory
of S. Bernard's, drawn from the triangular shape of the buckler used
at the time when that Father wrote; even as we still see it, in the
effigies of early knights. It protects the upper part of the body
completely: the feet are less completely shielded. And so, remarks the
saint, does God's providence guard His people from spiritual dangers,
imaged by those weapons which attack the upper, or more vital parts of
the body: but from temporal adversities He hath neither promised, nor
will give so complete protection.
To mention the symbolism which attached itself to the worship of the
early Church, would be to go through all its rites. Confirmation and
Matrimony, and, above all, Baptism, were attended by ceremonies in the
highest degree symbolical. But it is needless to dwell on them; enough
has been said to prove the attachment which the Catholic Church has
ever evinced to symbolism.
But the Sign of the Cross is that which gave the greatest scope to
symbolism.--Our readers will probably remember the passage of
Tertullian in which he says, 'we cross ourselves when we go out, and
when we come in; when we lie down, and when we rise up,' etc. Indeed,
as in everything they used, so in everything they saw, the Sign of the
Cross. The following lines from Donne are much to the purpose:
{xli}
Since Christ embraced the Cross itself, dare I
His Image, th' Image of His Cross, deny?
Would I have profit by the Sacrifice,
And dare the chosen Altar to despise?
It bore all other sins, but is it fit
That it should bear the sin of scorning it?
Who from the picture would avert his eye,
How should he fly His pains, Who there did die?
From me no pulpit, nor misgrounded law.
Nor scandal taken, shall this Cross withdraw:
It shall not--nor it cannot--for the loss
Of this Cross were to me another Cross:
Better were worse: for no affliction.
No cross were so extreme, as to have none.
Who can blot out the Cross, which th' instrument
Of God dewed on him in the Sacrament?
Who can deny me power and liberty
'To stretch mine arms, and mine own Cross to be?
Swim--and at every stroke thou art thy Cross:
The mast and yard are theirs whom seas do toss.
Look down, thou seest our crosses in small things,
Look up, thou seest birds fly on crossed wings.
We will mention but one symbolical feature more in the trains of
thought which were common among the early Christians. We refer to the
esoteric meaning which was supposed to exist in the writings of
heathen authors: as for example, when the Pollio of Virgil was
imagined to point to the Saviour, and the Fortunate Isles of Pindar to
Paradise. It were easy but needless to dwell on this subject. The few
instances we have given are already amply sufficient to prove to some,
to remind others, how symbolical was the religion of the early Church,
and (we think) to establish our case _à priori_.
{xlii}
CHAPTER III
THE ARGUMENT FROM ANALOGY
Having dealt with the argument _à priori_, we now proceed to show
that, from analogy, it is highly probable that the teaching of the
Church, as in other things, so in her material buildings, would be
symbolical.
Firstly, let us look at other nations, and other religions. It need
not be said that the symbolism of the Jews was one of the most
striking features of their religion. It would be unnecessary to go
through their tabernacle and temple rites, their sacrificial
observances, and their legal ceremonies. The Passover, the cleansing
of the leper, the scape goat, the feast of tabernacles, the morning
and evening sacrifice, the Sabbatical year, the Jubilee, were all in
the highest degree figurative. The very stones in the breastplate have
each, according to the Rabbis, their mystical signification. And, as
if still further to teach them the sacramentality, not only of things,
but of events, it pleased God to make all their most famous ancestors,
chiefs, and leaders, _e.g._ Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses,
Joshua, David, most remarkable types of the Messiah: nay, from the
beginning the principal doctrines of Christianity were, in some form
or other, set forth. Regeneration and the Church, in the Flood and the
Ark: the Bread and Wine in the Manna and the Stricken Rock: the two
dispensations in Sarah and {xliii} Hagar. Indeed the immense extent of
symbolism in the Old Testament was the mine of the Fathers. Every day
they brought to light some new wealth; and, if we press the symbolism
of the Church further than it was actually intended, we are only
treading in the steps of her bishops and doctors. For while, of
course, in commenting on and explaining the sacrifice of Isaac, the
covenant of circumcision, the captivity and exaltation of Joseph, they
were only developing the real meaning which God seems to have intended
should be set forth by those events, there are,--as we have already
hinted,--many instances where their piety found an interpretation
which was perhaps never intended. Thus, because Job, while all else
that belonged to him was restored double, had only the same number of
children which he had lost--they have argued, that thus the separate
existence of souls was represented, as the Patriarch could not be said
to have lost those who were in another state of existence.
And if in the Old Testament we find authority for the principle of
symbolism, much more do we in the New. We shall presently have
occasion to allude to the rise and progress of the sacramentality of
Baptism: we may now refer more particularly to the frequency with
which S. Paul symbolises the enactments of the law; as in the case of
the ox forbidden, while treading out the corn, to be muzzled. So
again, the Revelation is nothing but one continued symbolical poem.
The parabolic teaching of our Lord we shall presently notice.
To this we may add, the exoteric and esoteric signification of certain
books, _e.g._, the Song of Solomon: the double interpretation of many
of the prophecies, primarily of the earthly, principally of the
heavenly Jerusalem: we may refer to the symbolical meaning attached,
under the Christian dispensation, to certain previously {xliv}
established rites, as, for instance. Holy Matrimony. With symbolical
writings, enactments, events, personages, observances, buildings,
vestments, for her guides and models, how could the Church Catholic
fail of following symbolism, as a principle and a passion?
But not only is Christianity symbolical: every development of religion
is, and must necessarily be so. On the Grecian mythology, we shall
have occasion to say something more presently. The symbolism of Plato,
and still further development by Proclus and the later philosophers of
his school, will occur to every one. If it be asserted that the more
it was touched and acted on by Christianity, the more symbolical did
it become,--we only reply, So much the more to the purpose of our
argument. But not only in Roman and Grecian Paganism is this the case.
The Hindoo religion has much of symbolism; and some of its most
striking fables, derived from whatever source--whether from unwritten
tradition, or from contact with the Jews--possess this character
wonderfully. Take, for instance, the example of Krishna suffering, and
Krishna triumphant; represented, in the one case, by the figure of a
man enveloped in the coils of a serpent, which fastens its teeth in
his heel; in the other, by the same man setting his foot on, and
crushing the head of the monster. Now here, it is true, the doctrine
symbolised has long been forgotten among those with whom the legend is
sacred: we, on the contrary, have a very plain reference to the
promise concerning the Seed of the Woman and the serpent's head. This
is an instance of the fact, that Truth will live in a symbolical, long
after it has perished in every other form: and doubtless, when the
time for the conversion of India shall have arrived, thousands will
receive the truth the more willingly, in that they have had a
representation of it, distorted it is true, but not destroyed, set,
for so many centuries, before their eyes. {xlv} Some truths,
accidentally impressed on a symbolical observance, may still live,
that otherwise must have perished: just as the only memory of some of
the beings that existed before the flood, is to be found in the
petrified clay on which they accidentally happened to set their feet.
The Mahometan religion has also, though in an inferior degree, its
symbolism; and the reason of its inferiority in this respect is
plain--because, namely, it is a religion of sense. Now Catholicity,
which teaches men constantly to live above their senses, to mortify
their passions, and to deny themselves;--nay even Hindooism, which, so
far as it approximates to the truth, preaches the same doctrine, must
constantly lead men by the seen to look on to the unseen. If
everything material were not made sacramental of that which is
immaterial, so, as it were, bearing its own corrective with its own
temptation, man could hardly fail of walking by sight, rather than by
faith. But now, the Church, not content with warning us that we are in
an enemy's country, boldly seizes on the enemy's goods, converting
them to her own use. Symbolism is thus the true Sign of the Cross,
hallowing the unholy, and making safe the dangerous: the true salt
which, being cast in, purified the unhealthy spring: the true meal
which removed death from the Prophet's provision. Others may amuse
themselves by asserting that the Church in all that she does and
enacts, is not symbolical:--we bless God for the knowledge that she
is.
We need not dwell on the symbolism of heretics, insomuch as we shall
have occasion to refer to it in other parts of this essay. We will
rather notice, that those to whom we have been but now referring,
heathens and Mahomedans, have a way of discovering a subtle {xlvi}
symbolism in things which in themselves were not intended to have any
deeper meaning. We may mention the odes of Hafiz--the Anacreon, or
rather perhaps, the Stesichorus, of Persia. These poems, speaking to
the casual reader of nothing but love, and wine, and garlands, and
rosebuds, are seriously affirmed, by Persian critics, to contain a
deep esoteric reference to the communion of the soul with God; just as
it has been wildly supposed, that under the name of Laura, Petrarch in
fact only expressed that Immortal Beauty after which the soul of the
Christian is constantly striving, and to which it is constantly
advancing. So in Dante, Beatrice is not only the poet's earthly love,
but, as it has been well shown by M. Ozanam, the representative of
Catholic theology.
To dwell on the symbolism of Nature would lead us too far from our
point. But we must constantly bear in mind that Nature and the Church
answer to each other as implicit and explicit revelations of God.
Therefore, whatever system is seen to run through the one, in all
probability runs through the other. Now, that the teaching of Nature
is symbolical, none, we think, can deny. Shall we then wonder that the
Catholic Church is in all her art and splendour sacramental of the
Blessed Trinity, when Nature herself is so? Shall God have denied this
symbolism to the latter, while He has bestowed it on the former? Shall
there be a trinity of effect in every picture, a trinity of tone in
every note, a trinity of power in every mind, a trinity of essence in
every substance,--and shall not there be a trinity in the arrangements
and details of church art? It were strange if the servant could teach
what the mistress must be silent upon: that Natural Religion should be
endued with capabilities not granted to Revealed Truth.
{xlvii}
Is not, again, the doctrine of the Resurrection wonderfully set forth
by Nature? This symbolism is the more remarkable, in that to the
ancients the rising of the sun and the bursting forth of the leaf must
have appeared false symbolism, although they knew too well that of
which autumn and evening were typical. So, to quote only one other
example, the law of self-sacrifice is beautifully shadowed out by the
grain that 'unless it die, abideth alone; but if it die, bringeth
forth much fruit.' We may argue next from the analogy of all art.
Sculpture, perhaps, has least to offer in our support. But in painting
we may refer to the conventional colours appropriated to various
personages; and the mechanical symbolism of poetry is known to all.
Nor must we forget the conventional use of language. Archaisms,
studied inversions, quaint phrases, and the like, have always been
affected by those who were treating of high and holy subjects. None
has employed these with happier effect than Spenser, whose language,
it need not be said, never was and never could have been really used.
The solemnising effect of a judicious employment of this artifice is
nowhere more strongly felt than in works of Divinity. Compare for
example the English language, where the conventional Thou is always
addressed to the Deity, and where a stern simplicity runs through the
whole of our Divine Offices, with the French which can only employ
_Vous_ in prayer, and with the Portuguese, where, in the authorised
translation of the Holy Scriptures, Apostles, and Prophets--nay, our
Blessed Lord Himself, speak in the polite phrases of conversational
elegance. [Footnote 16]
[Footnote 16: It is on grounds similar to these, that, in our
translation of Durandus, we have adopted that conventional style
which has been objected to by some recent critics:--not that anyone
ever naturally conversed or wrote in it, but for the sake of
producing the effect which the subject seems to require. The
brilliancy of a summer's day is beautiful in its place: admitted
into a cathedral, it would be totally out of character.]
{xlviii}
Music, however, has the strongest claims to our notice. We know, for
example, that each instrument symbolises some particular colour. So,
according to Haydn, the trombone is deep red--the trumpet,
scarlet--the clarionet, orange--the oboe, yellow--the bassoon, deep
yellow--the flute, sky blue--the diapason, deep blue--the double
diapason, purple--the horn, violet:--while the violin is pink--the
viola, rose--the violoncello, red--and the double-bass, crimson. This
by many would be called fanciful:--therefore let us turn to a passage
of Haydn's works, and see if it will hold. Let us examine the sun-rise
in the 'Creation.' At the commencement, as it has been well observed,
our attention is attracted by a soft-streaming sound from the violins,
scarcely audible, till the pink rays of the second violin diverge into
the chord of the second, to which is gradually imparted a greater
fulness of colour, as the rose violas and red violoncellos steal in
with expanding beauty, while the azure of the flute tempers the
mounting rays of the violin: as the notes continue ascending to the
highest point of brightness, the orange of the clarionet, the scarlet
of the trumpet, the purple of the double diapason, unite in increasing
splendour--till the sun appears at length in all the refulgence of
harmony.
This may serve as a specimen of the manner in which the expressions of
one art may be translated into that of another, because they each and
all symbolise the same abstraction.
Again, the language of flowers is a case much in point. This is a
species of symbolism which has prevailed among all nations, and which
our devout ancestors were not slow in stamping with the impress of
religion. Witness, for example, the _Herb Trinity_, now generally
called _Heartsease_, the _Passion Flower_, and the _Lacrima Christi_.
And in the present day, who knows not that {xlix} the rose is for
beauty--the violet for modesty--the sunflower for faithfulness--the
forget-me-not for remembrance--the pansy for thought--the cypress for
woe--the yew for trueheartedness--the everlasting for immortality?
The flowers introduced into the ornament of churches we shall consider
presently.
Furthermore, whatever was the character of our Lord's teaching--such
is likely to be that of His Church. If the former were plain,
unadorned, setting forth naked truths in the fewest and simplest
words; then we allow that there is a _primâ facie_ argument against
the system which we are endeavouring to support. But if it were
parabolic, figurative, descriptive, allegorical--why should not the
Church imitate her Master? His parables are at once the surest
defence, and the most probable originators, of her symbolism.
We shall have occasion in another place to draw from a consideration
of the nature of our Lord's parables an argument in behalf of
symbolism against one of the most formidable objections that has been
raised against the system. It would here be sufficient for our purpose
to notice the figurative character of our Lord's general teaching. But
we have His own authority for much more than a general adoption of
such a principle. Tradition hands down that He was within sight of the
Temple when he pointed towards it, and uttered those gracious words,
_I am the Door_. Be this as it may, we have from it a sufficient
precedent to justify us in seeking for an emblematical meaning in the
external world, and more particularly in the material sanctuary. S.
Paul, on the same principle, allegorises the Jewish Temple, detail by
detail:--the Holy of Holies was heaven; the High Priest, Christ; the
veil, even his flesh. It is inconceivable that the Temple should be so
symbolical, and so holy that our Lord Himself cleansed it from its
defiling {l} money-changers: and yet that a Christian church, wherein
the Great Sacrifice is commemorated and our Lord is peculiarly
present, should be less symbolical--particularly when its arrangement
is in exact conformity to that of the temple, [Footnote 17] --or
should be less holy. At any rate the _Door_ must be significant: at
any rate the Altar, which S. Paul claims for the Christian Church, in
opposition to those who 'serve the tabernacle.'
[Footnote 17: See Appendix A. ]
Again, the holy Sacraments of the Church are examples, in the highest
degree, of this principle of figurative or symbolical teaching. They,
indeed, are not only signs of unseen things, but the channels and
instruments of grace. The latter quality we do not claim for the
speaking symbolism of a material church: but architecture is an emblem
of the invisible abstract, no less than Holy Baptism and the Lord's
Supper. Besides the two Sacraments [Greek text] our Church recognises
other offices, such as Marriage, Confirmation, and the like, as
Sacramentals. In short the whole Church system is figurative from
first to last: not indeed therefore the less real, actual, visible,
and practical; but rather the more real and practical, because its
teaching and discipline are not merely material and temporary, but
anticipative of the heavenly and eternal. This quality then of
symbolism cannot be denied to one, and a most important, expression of
the teaching of the Church, namely its architecture. The cathedral (to
repeat the general in the particular) is not the less material, the
less solid, the less real, because we see in it the figurative
exhibition of the peculiarities of our religion and the articles of
our creed.
{li}
CHAPTER IV
PHILOSOPHICAL REASONS FOR BELIEVING IN SYMBOLISM
We now propose to offer a few remarks on the philosophical reasons
there seem to be for concluding that Ecclesiastical Architecture has
some esoteric meaning, some figurative adaptation, more than can be
appreciated, or even discerned, by the casual observer, to the uses
which produced it, and which have always regulated it. We venture to
approach this consideration, however, rather from a feeling that our
Essay would be incomplete without some reference to this kind of
argument, than from any idea of our own ability to treat on subjects
so abstract and infinite; and fearing that we may not be able clearly
to express or dissect those thoughts which, nevertheless, appear to
our own minds both true and very important.
It is little better than a truism to assert that there is an intimate
correspondence and relation between cause and effect: yet this thought
opens the way to a very wide field of speculation. Mind cannot act
upon matter without the material result being closely related to the
mental intention which originated it: the fact that anything exists
adapted to a certain end or use is alone enough to presuppose the end
or use, who can see a [Greek text], without distinguishing its
relation to the {lii} want or necessity which brought about [Greek
text]? In short, the [Greek text], whatever it may be, not only
answers to that which called it forth, but, in some sort, represents
materially, or symbolises, the abstract volition or operation of the
mind which originated it. Show us a pitcher, a skewer, or any of the
simplest utensils designed for the most obvious purposes: do not the
cavity of the one, and the piercing point of the other, at once set
forth and symbolise the [Greek text] which was answered in their
production? Now, from this thought, we might proceed to trace out the
truthfulness and reality of every [Greek text] considered in relation
to the [Greek text]; for even a deceptive thing is true and real in
its relation to the mental intention of deceiving: but we intend
merely to consider the way in which the abstract movements or [Greek
text] of mind are _symbolised_ by the material operations or results
which they have produced. In other words, we would allege that
everything material is symbolical of some mental process, of which it
is Indeed only the development: that we may see in everything outward
and visible some inward and spiritual meaning. It is this which makes
'books in everything': finding in everything objective the material
exhibition of the subjective and unseen; not claiming for the abstract
mind an independence of matter, but acknowledging its union with it;
and thus learning from the speculations of reason, to perceive the
fitness for our nature of that system of sacramentality in which God
has placed us, and to bless Him more and more for the Church, a
sacramental institution, and for _the_ Sacraments [Greek text], which
it conveys. This method of viewing the subject will be our excuse for
attempting on the one hand to learn by analysis from a material church
itself, considered objectively, the symbolism which may be supposed to
have directed its design; and on the other {liii} hand to show from
the abstract necessities of the case that a material church might have
been expected to be symbolically designed. But if this theory of
symbolism gives light and meaning and connection to the acknowledged
facts, whether abstract or material, with which we have to do; while
no other view will explain _all_ the phenomena;--it certainly
recommends itself by its simplicity and harmony to a general
reception. Considered in this light, the whole group of separate facts
become linked together and adjusted, and so resolve themselves into a
great fabric of truth, which (like the Pyramid of Cheops) is
consistent and real and intelligible, when seen from any point, under
any circumstances, or in any light.
But if it be granted that there is this mutual connection between the
abstract and its material exhibition in every case, it will be readily
admitted that a principle of sacramentality must be especially a
condition of all religious acts. If we were merely spirits, without
bodies or any necessary connection with matter, it would be possible
perhaps for us to worship the Great Spirit in an abstract way by a
sort of volition of devotion; but not being so, our souls cannot
engage in adoration without the company of their material home. Hence
every effort of devotion is attended by some bodily act. Whether we
lift our eyes or hands to heaven, or kneel in prayer, we show forth
this necessity of our being: our body has sinned, has been redeemed,
will be punished or glorified, no less than the soul: it must
therefore worship with the soul. Now the symbolism of the bodily acts
of devotion is understood by all. We have even personated Prayer by a
prostrate figure with uplifted hands. [Footnote 18]
[Footnote 18: The necessity which the body seems to feel for this
symbolism may be seen in the constantly occurring fact, that in
making signs, whether of inquiry or adieu, to a person at a
distance, we naturally speak the words, though inaudible to him,
which the gestures we use express.]
{liv}
It has been felt not only right but necessary, in all ages and places,
to accompany the inward feeling of devotion with some outward
manifestation of it. In other words, all religious actions are from
their nature symbolical and figurative. But if the most obvious
corporeal accompaniments to spiritual worship show this clearly, how
much more evidently must all ritual systems appear to be symbolical? A
system of worship, whether heathen, Christian, or heretical, is only
the development and methodising of the simplest figurative acts of
devotion; the whole affected by the peculiar relation between the
object of adoration and the worshippers which in each particular
system may have been pre-supposed. Why does the Mussulman take off his
shoes, kneel on his carpet towards Mecca, and perform his stated
ablutions? Is not each act in itself figurative and full of meaning?
How could such a system, or any other system, have been originated,
but with some intended typification of certain given facts or
doctrines or feelings? Why does the heartless Quaker go with covered
head into his bare conventicle, and sit in enforced silence? He will
answer, to express his independence of idle forms, the spirituality of
his worship, his repudiation of any media in his intercourse with the
Divine Being. We thank him for his admission of a symbolical purpose,
but we read the symbolism differently. We perceive it to express
clearly enough the presumptuous pride and vanity of his sect, his
rejection of all Sacraments, and his practical disbelief in the
Communion of Saints. Again, is the pulpit of the Brownist symbolical;
and shall not our font and altar be so at least as much? The Catholic
ritual is indeed symbolical from first to last. Without the clue to
its figurative meaning, we should never have understood its pregnant
truthfulness and force. {lv} No one, in short, ever ventured to regard
the ancient ritual as anything but highly figurative: this was claimed
as its highest excellence by its observers and commentators, this was
ridiculed and despised by the enemies of the Church; but was confessed
by all. The more anyone meditates on the ancient ritual of the Church,
the more this will be found not only the most prominent
characteristic, but the only satisfactory explanation of many
otherwise unintelligible requirements. This is not the place to go at
any length into the consideration of the whole symbolism of the ritual
system: it will be enough if it is granted that some prescribed
ritual, however meagre, must be a necessary part of all religion; and
that every such system is in some degree figurative or symbolical. Now
to apply this to church architecture. No one will deny that, in a
general point of view, the form of our churches is adapted to certain
wants, and was chosen for this very adaptation. Indeed this is allowed
by modern writers and builders: who defend a church which has no more
than an altar-recess, on this very ground, that there is no longer any
want of a deep chancel. 'I object to aisles,' says a modern architect,
'because the great end of a church is to be an auditorium.' 'The cross
form,' says another, 'I always adopt, because then everyone can see
the preacher if I place the pulpit in the middle.' But why not take a
circle or octagon at once, or the form which is always adopted for the
lecture-rooms at Mechanics' Institutes? For these plans are obviously
_most_ convenient for hearing and seeing. But then, everyone knows
that these are not _church_ forms. The modern builder then,
trammelled, at least in this respect, by rule and precedent, chooses
the cruciform plan, not (perhaps) for its true symbolism; but, by a
wrong arrangement of this plan, still further symbolises (for example)
his own undue estimation of the ordinance {lvi} of preaching. So true
it is that those who would most object to symbolism, as a rule of
design, are themselves (did they but know it) symbolising, in every
church they build, their own arbitrary and presumptuous ideas on the
subject. It is not our intention to prove here, (what has been pointed
out, however, many times), the duty incumbent upon us of following in
our modern churches the ancient principles of design: we are not
writing with the immediate practical end of improving modern church
architecture; but are endeavouring to illustrate the symbolical
principles of ancient design. We shall, however, before finishing this
chapter, choose an example, which will apply to us, as well as to any
other branch of the Church, to show how essentially church
architecture in that respect at least is a part of the Ritual system.
And if Catholic worship is expressed and represented by Catholic
ritual, and if church architecture is a part of this ritual, then is
church architecture itself an expression and exponent of Catholic
worship. A conclusion this which will well warrant the very strong
language in which the Cambridge Camden Society have always asserted
the great importance of this art, and have exacted from its professors
such qualifications of personal holiness and liturgical knowledge as
are no less above the attainment than the aspirations of the modern
school.
It may not be clear to some how in any sense architecture can be
called symbolical, or the outward sign of something invisible: or
rather what the process is by which a given arrangement, suggested
perhaps by some necessity, becomes in turn suggestive and figurative
of the very purpose for which it was planned. But let us take the case
of a theatre. Here it is clearly necessary that there shall be a stage
or orchestra, accommodation for spectators, and means of easy exit.
{lvii} Accordingly every theatre displays all these requisites. And
does not the building then in turn emblem the purpose for which it was
planned? The ruins of Roman theatres are not uncommon: do we fail to
be recalled by them to the idea of the Roman stage? are not the
several parts of the material building highly figurative and
suggestive of the rules and orders of the abstract drama?
With respect to churches: let us suppose the institution and ritual of
the Church to be what we know it was; and that we have to adapt some
architectural arrangement to the performance of this ritual. Is there
anything which will dictate any general form rather than another?
Surely there is. We will not speak now of the propriety of setting
aside a place for the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, or of the
propriety of retaining the plan of the typical Temple; but we are
considering simply what is required by practical necessity. The
worshippers who are to assemble in our church are not all on an
equality. There are some who are endowed with high privileges as being
those consecrated to the immediate service of the sanctuary. In early
times so real a thing was the distinction between the clergy and the
laity, that the Church being divided into these two classes, the
material edifice displayed a like division: and the nave and chancel
preach to posterity the sacredness of Holy Orders, and the mutual
duties arising from the relation in which the flock stand to their
shepherds. But in early ages the laity were not all classed _en masse_
as with us now. Among them were the Faithful, the Catechumens, who had
not yet been admitted to Holy Baptism, and the Penitents or those who
had lapsed. True to itself, church architecture provided then a
separate place for each of these divisions. Does not the ground plan
of such a church symbolise minutely the then state of church
discipline and the {lviii} conditions of church worship? The reality
and meaning of such an arrangement may be shown thus also. After the
Reformation the great distinction between clergy and laity became lost
or undervalued: accordingly the chancel-screens in many places
disappeared, as symbolical in their absence as in their existence. But
still there was a necessity for some material arrangement to protect
the Altar from insult: and so altar rails came in, manifest symbols of
that spirit which made their introduction allowable, if indeed not
necessary: [Footnote 19] still these very rails, and the penned up
reading-pew, teach that the clergy, at least when performing a
function, are divided from the laity.
[Footnote 19: In the correspondence of the Rev. W. Humphrey, whose
atrocious treatment by the Church Missionary Society has so lately
excited the indignation of all true churchmen, it appears that one
of the noble designs of this zealous priest was to restore for the
peculiar congregation over which he was appointed, consisting of
Faithful, Catechumens, and Unbelievers, the distinct arrangement of
the ancient Church: the modern plan of having but one area for the
lay worshippers being found inconvenient and injurious. That is to
say, our modern church arrangement may suit and does symbolise the
present state of the Church with us, but does not suit and does not
symbolise the state of the missionary Church of India.]
Now it is of no consequence whatever, whether the early builders of
churches intended this particular arrangement to be symbolical. The
arrangement being adopted becomes necessarily, even if
unintentionally, symbolical, by the process we have endeavoured to
trace, and so things essentially symbolical give rise to intended
symbolism: for it is a simple historical fact that the weathercock,
whatever practical utility may have first suggested its use and
peculiar form, has been for many centuries placed on the church spire
for its _intentional symbolism_. [Footnote 20]And the process is
repeated: for suppose one only of the conventional symbolical meanings
of the weathercock had been discovered: the thoughtful mind {lix} goes
on to find out other figurative senses in which its use is
appropriate, and these conventional meanings become in their turn
intentionally symbolised by future church builders. This may be
illustrated also in the following way: The Jews, in the rite of
Baptism, had probably no other idea than a reference to 'the mystical
washing away of sins.' But when S. Paul had once given to that rite
the new idea of a burial with Christ in the Baptismal water, and a
rising again with Him, this typical meaning became an example of
intended symbolism to all those who should hereafter use it.
[Footnote 20: See Rationale, p. 27.]
As we began this part of our subject with hesitation, so we finish it
with some degree of apprehension. To some what has been said may seem
more than ordinarily visionary and ridiculous: yet others, we hope,
will feel that, however feebly and inadequately expressed, there is
some truth in what has been advanced concerning the relation between
the material and immaterial: that the latter welding and moulding the
former into an expression of itself, makes it in turn a type of that
which it expresses. So that if on the one hand, to take our particular
branch of the subject, the theoretical ritual and ordinances of
religion imply and require certain peculiar adaptations of the
material building in which they are to be celebrated; then in turn the
circumstances of the material fabric suggest and symbolise the
peculiar conditions of ritual which induced them. In short we have
endeavoured to prove that from our very nature every outward thing is
symbolical of something inward and spiritual: but, above all things,
outward religious actions are sacramental; and particularly _any_
prescribed ritual, of which the first characteristic is that it is
figurative: that the Catholic ritual is eminently symbolical, and from
its nature very strikingly influences all its material appliances:
that church architecture is the {lx} eldest daughter of Ritual: that
the process, according to which architecture was influenced by the
requirements of Ritualism was at first as simple as that by which the
form of a theatre sprang from the conditions which were to be
fulfilled by its builder: that thus a church (built in the fully
developed style of Christian architecture) even if not built with any
intention of symbolising, (though it is an historical fact that the
symbolism of each part was known and received _before_ the erection of
any church of this style,) became nevertheless essentially a
'petrifaction of our religion': a fact which, once admitted and
realised, becomes to succeeding church builders, whether they will or
not, a rule and precedent for intentional symbolical design.
{lxi}
CHAPTER V
THE ANALYTICAL ARGUMENT
We must arrive at the same conclusion, if we consider the subject in
an analytical way. For example: suppose a person, hitherto
unacquainted not only with the general peculiarities of Christian
churches, but also with Christianity itself, were to enter a
cathedral; or (which will be a fairer case) were to visit a Catholic
country, and examine its churches as a whole, would he not, if
possessed of only ordinary intelligence, observe that the cross form,
for example, was of most common occurrence, and, in the case of the
larger buildings, was perhaps the only plan adopted? And would he not
then naturally inquire why there should be this marked preference for
a form, in itself inconvenient for purposes of hearing or seeing,
[Footnote 21] and open to great mechanical objections, such as the
almost resistless pressure of the four arms on the piers which stand
at the angles of intersection?
[Footnote 21: That is, a Catholic _arrangement_ of the church being
presumed.]
But if he learnt that the religion for which these temples were
designed was that of the Cross, he would at once see the propriety of
this ground plan, and would confidently and truly conclude that this
form was chosen in order to bring the Cross, by this symbolism,
vividly and constantly before the eyes of the worshippers. To deny
intended symbolism, in the case of such a person, would {lxii} clearly
be absurd: shall it be less obvious to us? Our traveller would
probably, being satisfied on this point, examine these buildings more
closely. He would find an altar raised conspicuously above the
surrounding level; and for this he might discover a practical reason;
but why in so many cases (so many as well nigh to make a rule) are the
steps either _three_ or some multiple of three? Surely the fundamental
doctrine of the Holy Trinity would, if explained to him, sufficiently
account for this all but universal arrangement. Why, again, in every
case does a screen separate one part of the church from the other?
When our inquirer learns the principle of the separation of laity and
clergy, this arrangement also will be at once intelligible and
figurative. How unreasonable would the position of the font by the
door appear to him, till he learnt the symbolical reason for its being
placed there! And we may here remark that the practice of the last
generation in removing old fonts, or using basins for substitutes, or
in placing new fonts, near the altar, shows clearly enough that
convenience and utility would have pointed out a very different place
for the font from what is assigned by the canon, on symbolical
grounds; grounds adduced in this case, as it would seem, to give
weight to a decision so clearly opposed to all merely practical and
obvious reasons. Again, the marked deviation of the orientation of the
chancel from that of the nave, would be quite inexplicable till the
beautiful and affecting symbolism of the arrangement were pointed out.
Again, it has not been left merely to the meditative ecclesiologist to
observe that Christian architecture has as decided a characteristic of
verticality, as Pagan architecture had of horizontalism. A mere artist
could not fail of marking the contrast between Beauvais and the
temples of Paestum. {lxiii } The contrast must then be admitted: but
how must we explain it? Surely no accident could have developed the
grovelling Pagan into the aspiring Gothic. What mechanical reasons
could produce Westminster from even the Parthenon? But is not the
phenomenon explained when we see in towering pier, spire, and
pinnacle, the symbolical exhibition of that religion which alone
aspires to things above, nay more, the figurative commemoration of
that Resurrection itself, which alone originates, and only justifies,
the same heavenward tendency. But if this be true; if these
acknowledged peculiarities in Christian architecture be utterly
unintelligible on any other supposition than this of a symbolical
meaning, surely it is not unreasonable to receive so ready a solution
of the difficulty: and, the principle admitted, why may not reasons of
the same figurative nature be assigned for other arrangements, in
themselves on any other interpretation not only meaningless but
obviously useless or absurd?
{lxiv}
CHAPTER VI
THE INDUCTIVE ARGUMENT
We have next to show, by a process of induction, that some principles
of symbolism have always been observed in designing churches: that is
to say, that without any actual acquaintance with the plan, details or
arrangement of existing churches, we might gather from other sources,
not only the probability, but the fact, that there was some reason
(not merely mechanical or accidental) for the selection and universal
observation of particular forms and ornaments, and peculiar rules of
distribution.
First, we shall refer to the celebrated passage of S. Clement of Rome,
[Footnote 22] about performing the Divine Offices decently and in
order, as to time, and place, and circumstance. 'Where and by whom God
willeth these to be performed He hath Himself defined by His most
supreme will.' 'But where,' says Mede, [Footnote 23] (discussing the
passage with the view of establishing a particular point, namely,
bowing towards the altar) 'hath the Lord defined these things, unless
He hath left us to the analogy of the Old Testament?'
[Footnote 22: S. Clem. Rom., ad Corinth. I, 40.]
[Footnote 23: Mede, in Epist. lviii Folio, Lib. iv.]
{lxv}
This indeed is obviously S. Clement's meaning: and not to go at any
length into the consideration of all the particular forms or
ceremonies of the Old dispensation which were perpetuated in the
New--as the threefold Ministry deduced by S. Jerome, from the High
Priest, Priests, and Levites; the Canonical Hours; the Gospel
anciently laid on the altar, answering to the Two Tables, and the
like--it will be sufficient to refer once more to the remarkable
parallel between a Christian church and the Jewish Temple. [Footnote
24] There can be little doubt that Mede proved his point of the
propriety of genuflexion towards the altar. We are contending for a
much simpler thing: for no more indeed than the concession of a
probability that in the earliest Christian churches there was at least
this resemblance to the Temple; that there should be in both a Holy of
Holies and an outer-court. Supposing this distinction to have been
only made by a curtain, our point is nevertheless gained; and we would
rest here on this one particular of resemblance only (though others
might be insisted on); because, any one designed parallel being
granted, the inference for others is easy. And here it will be enough
to observe that the almost constant practice in ancient writers of
applying to some one part of a Christian church a name or names
derived directly from the _Holy of Holies_ is a strong argument in our
favour: though the passages are often too incidental to be adduced as
evidence of an intended symbolism. [Footnote 25] But, we repeat, the
fact that a particular part of a church--(if we were now arguing for
rood screens, we {lxvi} should show that any such distinction of parts
made a _screen of some sort_ necessary, even if we did not know what
sort of screens really existed)--the fact that a particular part of a
church was distinguished by names directly carrying us back to the
exactly corresponding particular part in the Temple, shows that in the
arrangement at least, if not in the building, of the earliest churches
there was, at least in this one point, an intention to produce an
antitype to the typical Tabernacle. It is observed in a note to
Neander's history [Footnote 26] that if the interpretation of
Michaelis be received there is evidence of a Christian church being
built at Edessa, A.D. 202, with three parts, expressly after the model
of the Temple.
[Footnote 24: See this carried out by Durandus. Appendix A.]
[Footnote 25: Compare, amongst others, S. Cyprian, Ep. 55; Euseb. x,
4. [Greek text]; Id. vii, 18. [Greek text] (the word used in the lxx
for the _Sanctuary_)'. S. Dionys. Areop., Ep. 8, ad Demoph.; S.
Athanas., _Edit, Commel._ Tom. ii, p. 255; Theod. H. E. iv, 17, v,
18; Concil. Tours. (A. D. 557). can. 4; S. Germ. Constant. _In
Theor. rer. Eccles._; Card. Bona. _Rer Liturg._i, xxv, II; Dionys.
_Hierarch._ cap. 2; S. Chrysost. Lib vi, _De Sacerdotio._]
[Footnote 26: Rose's Neander, i, 246.]
Whatever may be the authority allowed to the Apostolical
Constitutions, the fact that they touch at some length upon the form
of churches is enough for our purpose. 'The church,' [Footnote 27]
they say, 'must be oblong in form, and pointing to the East' The
oblong form was meant to symbolise a ship, [Footnote 28] the ark
which was to save us from the stormy world. It would be perfectly
unnecessary to support this obvious piece of symbolism by citations.
The orientation is an equally valuable example of intended symbolism.
We gain an additional testimony to this from the well-known passage of
Tertullian, [Footnote 29] (a.d. 200,) about 'The house of our Dove.'
Whether this corrupt extract be interpreted with Mede or Bingham,
there can be no doubt that its {lxvii} _in lucem_ means that the
church should face the East or dayspring. The praying towards the East
was the almost invariable custom in the Early Churches, and as
symbolical as their standing in prayer upon the Festivals of the
Resurrection. [Footnote 30] So common was orientation in the most
ancient churches, that Socrates [Footnote 31] mentions particularly
the church at Antioch as having its 'position reversed; for the altar
does not look to the east but to the west.' This rule appears to have
been more scrupulously followed in the East than in the West; though
even in Europe examples to the contrary are exceptions.
[Footnote 27: Apost. Const, 2, 57, (61.)]
[Footnote 28: See also what is said on this point by Buscemi, in his
Notizie della Basilica di San Pietro, ch. iii, p. 7. The church of
SS. Vincenzo and Anastatio at Rome, near S. Paolo alle Tre Fontane,
built by Honorius I, (A.D. 630) has its wall _curved_ like the ribs
of a ship. The constitution itself refers to the resemblance of this
oblong form to a ship. See also S. Clem. Alex., _Paedag_, iii, 246.]
[Footnote 29: Tertull. advers. Valent., cap. 2.]
[Footnote 30: See Origen, _Hom_. 5, in _Numer_. cap, 4. Tertull.
_Apol_. cap. 16, and _Ad Nation_, i, 13. S. Clem. Alex. _Strom_,
vii, _ante med._ quoted by Mede.]
[Footnote 31: Hist. Eccles. Lib. v, cap. [Greek text].]
The Apostolical Constitution in its other directions about the
position of the bishop, priests, and deacons, and the separate
stations for the sexes, shows (as Father Thiers [Footnote 32] has
remarked) that there was even then a marked distinction between the
clergy and laity though the method of division is not described. At
any rate, what has been here adduced--compiled from notes taken some
time since for another object, and without access (from accidental
circumstances) to a library--seems enough to show that in the
earliest notices of Christian churches there is distinct intimation of
at least three particulars of intended symbolism.
[Footnote 32: Thiers, _Dissert, de la Clôture du Choeur des
Eglises._cap. 2.]
The circular form given to the church of the Holy Sepulchre was of
course appropriate enough in that particular case, where the sepulchre
would naturally become the centre. The circular churches of Europe
were again imitated from this. The Cross form would appear to have
made its first appearance in Constantinople: that is, in the city
which was the first to take a completely Christian character. {lxviii}
For example, the church of the Apostles built by Constantine was
cruciform: and the symbolism of this is pointed out by S. Gregory
Nazianzen in his poem, 'the Dream of Anastasia,' quoted by Bingham.
[Footnote 33] So Evagrius describes the church of S. Simon Stylites,
as cited by Buscemi, [Footnote 34] who also mentions a Cross church
founded by King Childebert, about the year 550. The cathedral of
Clermont, mentioned by S. Gregory of Tours, and the church of SS.
Nazarius and Celsus at Ravenna, both founded about 450, were
cruciform. More than this, we have examples of an oblong church being
_intentionally_ made cruciform by the addition of _apsides_, as at
Blachernoe by Justin Junior, instanced by Bingham out of Cedrenus and
Zonaras. This has been remarked also in the case of some Italian
churches: though the early churches of the West seemed to have
retained the oblong form, even when the details and general
arrangement were Byzantine, as in the _Capella Regia_ at Messina; the
more remarkable from the peculiar influence of Constantinople in the
island of Sicily. But in either case there was a symbolising intention
on the part of the founders of churches.
[Footnote 33: Carm. ix, tom ii, p. 79. [Greek text]]
[Footnote 34: Notizie etc. Note al Lib. 1, capo terzo. Nota 10 p. 15.]
There is mention also of octagonal churches, as at Antioch and
Nazianzum: but these seem to have been mere exceptions; and perhaps
from being coupled with fonts in the inscription quoted by Mr. Poole
from Gruter, may have been intended to symbolise Regeneration. The
first two lines are as follows:--
Octachorum sanctos templum surrexit in usus:
Octagonus fons est munere dignus eo.
{lxix}
Bingham mentions that the oblong form was sometimes called [Greek
text] which he explains as intimating that they had void spaces for
deambulation. [Footnote 35] It seems however more likely that the
name was derived from the resemblance between this form of church and
a stadium; the apsidal end answering to the curve round the goal.
[Footnote 35: Book viii, 3, following Leo Allatius and Suicer.]
Some objection may be raised to our theory because Bingham, from whom
of course almost all the existing passages in ancient writers about
the form of churches might be gathered, does not recognise any such
principles, and rather seems on the other hand to believe that there
was at first no rule or law on these points. But it is not detracting
from his fame for almost consummate learning to question whether his
practical knowledge of church architecture, ancient or modern, was
very deep. It might be shown indeed to be far otherwise. But at any
rate the principle now contended for never entered his mind, or he
would have seen that some of the very passages he adduces to show that
the form of ancient churches was accidental, because (for example)
they were often made out of Basilicae or even heathen temples, really
tell against such a supposition. He quotes from Socrates [Footnote
36] a description of the conversion of a Pagan island to Christianity,
about 380, and the turning the heathen temple into a church. But the
words of the original, given in our note, are very remarkable: 'The
guise of the temple they transformed unto the type (or pattern) of a
church.' We want to prove nothing more than that there was _some_ type
of a church. It was not a mere ejection of idols that was required to
make a temple into a church: but some change of form and arrangement.
So also in a passage from Sozomen (vii, 15), 'The temple of Dionysus
which {lxx} they had, was changed in fittings ([Greek text]) into a
church.' Again, a very interesting passage about the conversion of
Iberia by means of a female captive in the time of Constantine is
cited from Theodoret, [Footnote 37] to show that churches _did exist_
at that date. But we find a particular form of building clearly
alluded to in the original: and, more than this, 'He Who filled
Bezaleel with a wise spirit for building, judged this captive also
worthy of grace, so as to design the divine temple. And so she
designed, and they built.' And this passage brings us at once to the
famous panegyric on Paulinus, Bishop of Tyre, and builder of the
church there preserved by Eusebius. In this speech the prelate is
throughout supposed to have been inspired for his work, and is
compared to Bezaleel, Solomon and Zerubbabel, the builders of the
Tabernacle, and the First and Second Temples. And not only is the
general spirit assumed to be a directly religious one: but the details
are described as having a symbolical meaning.
[Footnote 36: Socrates iv, 24, [Greek text].]
[Footnote 37: Theodoret I. xxiv. [Greek text]]
In the comparison between the material temple and the 'living temple'
the Spiritual Church, there are several points worthy of observation.
The symbolical explanation of the corner stone as our Lord, of the
foundation as the Apostles and Prophets, of the stones as the members
of the Church, are of course taken directly from Holy Scripture. It is
scarcely necessary to remark the great authority for considering the
fabric of the church as symbolical which these passages convey. Many
of our readers will remember how S. Hermas carries out into
considerable detail the same idea. But the Panegyrist in Eusebius
distinctly refers to 'the most {lxxi} inward recesses [of that
spiritual temple] which are unseen of the many, and are essentially
holy and holy of holies'; [Footnote 38] that is, of course, to a
Sanctuary; which he goes on to describe as having 'sacred inclosures,'
and as being accessible to the priest alone; with a distinct reference
to S. Paul's [Footnote 39] illustration taken from the Jewish
Temple. Again he proceeds to compare the Bishop Paulinus with the
'great High Priest,' not only in being permitted to enter the holy of
holies, but in doing what Christ has done, just as the Son did what He
saw the Father do. 'Thus he, looking with the pure eyes of his mind
unto the Great Teacher, whatsoever he seeth Him doing, as if making
use of archetypal patterns, has, by building ([Greek text]) as much
like them as possible, wrought out images of them as closely as can
be; having in no respect fallen short of Bezaleel, whom God Himself,
having filled him with the Spirit of wisdom and knowledge and other
skilful and scientific lore, called to be the builder of the material
expression of the heavenly types in the symbols of the temple. In this
way then Paulinus also, carrying wholly like a graven image in his
soul Christ Himself, the Word, the Wisdom the Light . . . has
constructed this magnificial temple of the most High God, resembling
in its nature the pattern of the better (temple) as a visible (emblem)
of that which is invisible.' [Footnote 40]
[Footnote 38: Euseb. H. E., x, 4, 21.]
[Footnote 39: Hebrews, ix, 6, 7.]
[Footnote 40: Euseb. X, iv, 24, 25.]
This remarkable passage appears to assert (i) the inspiration of the
architect, (ii) the fact of this heavenly type, which (iii) material
churches ought to follow; and (iv) the general symbolism of the
Spiritual Church by the visible fabric. We must pass over a great deal
of this oration, with a general request that such as are interested in
this discussion will read the whole in the original for the sake of
seeing its general spirit and bearing. {lxxii } The description of the
details is of great interest. The arrangement of the porticoes, etc.,
is of course quite adapted to the wants of the Church in that age: it
is fair to own that the chief entrance appears to have faced the East
in this church. Mention is made also of seats in order for the bishops
and presbyters, and of the altar in the midst: the whole being
encompassed with wooden network, exquisitely worked, in order to be
made inaccessible to the multitude. [Footnote 41] Further on
[Footnote 42] we read that Paulinus rebuilt his church, 'such as he
had been taught from the delineation of the holy oracles.' And again,
'More wonderful than wonders are the _archetypes_, and the intelligent
and godlike _prototypes_ and _patterns_ (of earthly church building):
namely, I say, the renewing of the divine and reasonable building in
the soul'; [Footnote 43] assuming that material churches are but
copies from some heavenly type. Again, a passage, in which the ruined
fabric and the persecuted Church are mixed up, speaks of the Church as
'having been made after the image of God,' [Footnote 44] and more to
the same effect. The symbolical prophecy of the 'fair edification' of
the Gentile Church [Footnote 45] is quoted as being almost literally
fulfilled in the Tyrian church, and is still further symbolised by the
Panegyrist. [Footnote 46] The four-square atrium is said to set forth
the four Gospels of the scripture. [Footnote 47]
[Footnote 41: Euseb. H. E., x, 43]
[Footnote 42: Ibid 53.]
[Footnote 43: Ibid 54.]
[Footnote 44: Ibid 57.]
[Footnote 45: Isaiah liv, 11.]
[Footnote 46: Euseb. X. iv, 60.]
[Footnote 47: Ibid 61.]
The whole arrangement of the church is symbolised at much length, as
setting forth the different divisions of the laity and the states of
the faithful with respect to advance in holiness. The great portico
symbolised God the Father: the side porticoes the other Two Persons of
the Most Holy Trinity. The seats represented the souls of the
faithful, upon which, {lxxiii} as on the Day of Pentecost, the cloven
tongues would descend and _sit_ upon each of them. 'The revered and
great and only altar, what could this be but the spotlessness of soul
and holiness of holies of the common Priest of us all?' [Footnote 48]
Once more, the parallel between the spiritual and the material
Churches being continued, the Word, the Great Demiurgus of all things,
is said to have Himself made upon earth a copy of the heavenly pattern
which is the Church of the Firstborn written in heaven, Jerusalem that
is above, Sion the Mount of God, and the city of the living God.
[Footnote 48: Euseb. H. E., x, 65.]
It appears then that throughout this description a symbolical meaning
is found attached to the material church: and this not far-fetched or
now first fancifully imagined; but appealing, as it seems, to what the
auditors would be prepared to grant, and admitted by the historian
without a comment, as one specimen of a class.
We have before remarked that every notice of the particular
distribution of a church for the reception of the different classes of
Christians, may be taken as an argument on our side: for if it can be
shown that the form of churches was not arbitrary, but was adapted to
certain peculiar wants, it must be granted that there was some
particular law of design, and that law connected with Ritual: and
then, as before pointed out, this arrangement becomes itself
symbolical, and that _intentionally_. We shall only refer here to a
passage quoted by Bingham, [Footnote 49] in which S. Gregory
Thaumaturgus describes the places in church assigned respectively to
the five degrees of Penitents. Mede [Footnote 50] argues for the
_existence_ of churches in the first three centuries, from the
universal custom of praying towards the East, the necessity of {lxxiv}
providing distinct places for the Penitents, Hearers, Catechumens, and
Faithful, and from the patterns of the Jewish _proseuchae_ and
synagogues. But all these arguments seem to tell as much for some
particular form of churches as for their existence: that is they prove
that the earliest churches were designed on rules which, even if not
intentionally symbolical (though we have shown that many were so),
became by a natural process intentional among later church-builders.
[Footnote 49: Greg. Nyssen, iii, 567.]
[Footnote 50: Discourse of Churches, Folio Edn., p. 333.]
So also with respect to the great division into nave and sanctuary by
a screen of some sort: concerning which the passages that might be
cited from ancient writers would be innumerable. We shall only give
one quoted by Father Thiers from a Poem of S. Gregory of Nazianzum, in
which the _balustrade_ or rood-screen is said to be 'between two
worlds, the one immovable, the other changeful; the one of gods (or
heaven) the other of mortals (or earth); that is to say between the
choir and the nave, between the clergy and the laity.'
We have attempted to prove then that the earliest Christian churches
were designed, or described, symbolically: by showing that there was a
reason for their shape, whether oblong, cruciform, or circular; for
their main division into choir and nave, and their subdivision for the
penitents: for their orientation; and even to some extent for their
minor internal arrangements: and that some type or pattern of a church
was universally recognised. [Footnote 51]
[Footnote 51: Much stress is laid by some on the acknowledged
Bascilican origin of churches as an argument against the principle
here contended for. But we find a great authority on the Antiquities
of Christian Rome deciding differently: 'There seems to be in the
building of churches, as in the mosaics, and other works of art of
the old Christian times in Rome one constant type in which the art
of building could show little freedom or variety.-- _Beschreibung
der Stadt Rom. Basiliken._vol, i, p. 430.]
{lxxv}
It would require more reading than we can boast of to give a catena of
writers who have asserted the symbolism of churches. But if the point
has been in any way proved for the first four centuries, enough will
have been done: since from that period we can trace from existing
edifices the gradual relinquishment of the peculiar Basilican plan,
and general adoption of the Latin Cross, or oblong, in the West, while
the East consistently retained the Greek Cross. We observe it stated
[Footnote 52] that Mr. E. Sharpe, in a paper read before the Cambridge
Camden Society, described the gradual _typical_ additions' to the
Basilican ground plan. Indeed symbolism, to any extent, once made
known, must have become a rule and precedent to later church
architects.
[Footnote 52: Ecclesiologist, vol. i, p. 120.]
S. Isidore, of Seville, incidentally mentions many symbolical
arrangements: they will be found in the notes to the text of the
Rationale. Many pieces of symbolism are to be found incidentally in
the Decretum of Gratian.
In mentioning Durandus himself, it seems proper to anticipate an
objection which may occur to some readers. The authority, it may be
said, of that writer must be very small who can give such absurd
derivations as _cemeterium_ from _cime, altare_ from _alta res,
allegory_ from _allon_ and _gore_. But it must be remembered, firstly,
that in the thirteenth century, Greek was a language almost unknown in
Europe: next, that our author nowhere professes an acquaintance with
it: further, that the science of derivation was hardly understood till
within the last few years: and lastly, that Cicero's authority led
Durandus into some errors; for instance, his derivation of _templum_
from _tectum amplum_.
One proof of the _reality_ of Durandus's principles we must not fail
to notice. It is the express allusion which he makes to, and the
graphical description which he {lxxvi} gives of, that which we know to
have been the style of architecture employed in his time. The tie
beams, the deeply splayed windows, the interior shafts, all prove that
we are engaged with a writer of Early English date.
It is very remarkable, that Durandus, S. Isidore, Beleth, and the
rest, seem to quote from some canons of church symbolism now unknown
to us. Their words are often, even where they are not very connected
nor intelligible, the same. One example may suffice. 'In that this
rod,' says Hugh of S. Victor, 'is placed above the Cross, it is shown
that the words of Scripture be consummated and confirmed by the Cross:
whence our Lord said in His Passion, "It is Finished." _And His Title
was indelibly written over Him_' (p. 200). 'In that the iron rod,'
says Durandus, 'is placed above the Cross, on the summit of the
church, it signifieth that Holy Scripture is now consummated and
confirmed. Whence saith our Lord in his Passion, "It is Finished,"
_and that Title is written indelibly over Him_(p. 28). The following,
by way of another instance, is the symbolical [Footnote 53]
description of a church, written on a fly-leaf, at the beginning of a
MS. 'Psalterium Glossatum,' in the public library at Boulogne, though
formerly in that of S. Bertin's Abbey, at S. Omer.
[Footnote 53: _British Magazine_, 1843, p. 393.]
The text is either of the tenth or eleventh century; but it will be
seen that the words of Durandus, writing at so great a distance of
time and place, are nearly the same in some passages.
Fundamentum ipsius Camerae est Fides.
Altitudo ejus est Spes.
Latitudo ejus est Caritas.
Longitudo ejus est Perseverantia.
Latera ejus sunt Concordia et Pax.
{lxxvii}
Frontes ipsius sunt Justicia & Veritas.
Pulchritudo ejus est exemplum bonorum operum.
Fenestrae ejus sunt dicta sanctorum.
Pavimentum ejus est humilitas cordis.
Camera est conversatio coelestis.
Pilastri ejus sunt spiritales virtues.
Columnae ejus sunt boni pontifices & sacerdotes.
Interlegatio ejus est vinculum pacis.
Tectum ejus est fidelis dispensator.
* isces ejus sunt mediatio celestis.
Mensa Christi est in camera bona conversatio.
Ministerium Christi in camera sua est bona memoria.
Facinus Christi est bona voluntas.
Canterellus Christi est nitor conscientiae.
Cathedra Christi est serenitas mentis.
Sponsa Christi est sancta anima.
Camerariae Christi spiritales virtutes sunt:
Prima Sancta Caritas dicta est; illa Christi regit cameram.
Secunda est Sancta Humilitas; illa est thesauraria in camera Christi
Tertia est Sancta Patientia; illa facit luminaria in camera Christi.
Quarta Sancta Puritas; illa scopat cameram Christi.
But besides, and in our opinion stronger than this express and
continuous testimony to the fact that Catholic architecture is
symbolical, we have the testimony of all other branches of Catholic
art, which none ever did, or could deny to be figurative and
sacramental. Let us take merely the rites which accompany the close of
Easter week. We enter a darkened church, illuminated only by the
lighted 'Sepulchre': we hear the history of the Passion chaunted by
three voices in three recitatives: we have the most mournfully
pathetic strain for the 'Reproaches' which perhaps the human mind ever
imagined:--we pray for Pagans--and we kneel; we pray for Turks--and we
kneel; we pray for the Jews, and we kneel not; in abhorrence of the
mockery that bowed the knee to the King of the Jews. We enter that
church again, now perfectly darkened, except for the one lamp that
renders the lectern and the books {lxxviii} thereon just visible: the
solemn litanies seem in that obscurity, and amidst the silent crowd of
worshippers, more solemn than usual. There is a short pause: then in
one second, priests and people, voices and instruments, burst forth
with the Easter Alleluia: light pours in from every window of the
cathedral: showers of rose leaves fall from the roof: bells--silent
for three long days, peal from every church tower: guns fire and
banners wave: _Dominus resurrexit vere, Alleluia, et apparuit Sinioni
Alleluia_.
Now, without being concerned to defend, or the contrary, any or all of
these ceremonies, we ask:--Is it possible to conceive that the Church
which invented so deeply symbolical a system of worship--should have
rested content with an unsymbolical building for its practice? This
consideration, perhaps, belongs to the analogical branch of our essay:
yet it may also find a place here, as one of the strongest parts of
the inductive argument.
Seeing then that there are strong reasons _à priori_ for believing
that the ritual and architecture of the Church would partake of a
decidedly symbolical character: that by the analogy of the practice
amongst all religionists, of the operations of God in nature, of the
conditions of Art, and especially of the whole sacramental system of
the Church, it is likely that church architecture itself would be
sacramental: that from the nature of things everything material is in
some sort sacramental, and a material fabric essentially figurative of
the purpose for which it was designed: that an actual Christian church
(taken as we find it) has such accidents as can be explained on no
other than a symbolical supposition, and might be analysed into just
those elements from which, by induction, we first constructed an
hypothetical Christian church: and lastly, that from express and
{lxxix} continuous historical testimony without any actual
acquaintance with existing fabrics we might have deduced that the
material church would be itself, to some extent, a figurative
expression of the religion for the celebration of which it was
constructed: it does not seem too much to assert that Christian
architecture owes its distinctive peculiarities to its sacramental
character, and that consequently we can neither appreciate ancient
examples nor hope to rival them, at least in their perfection, without
taking into account this principle of their design. In other words,
the cause of that indefinable difference between an ancient and modern
church which we were led to discover at the beginning of this
treatise, is neither association of ideas nor correctness of detail,
nor picturesqueness, nor of a mechanical nature, but (in the most
general point of view) is the sacramentality, the religious symbolism,
which distinguished and sanctified this as every other branch of
mediaeval art.
{lxxx}
CHAPTER VII
EXAMPLES OF SYMBOLISM
In endeavouring shortly to develop the practice of symbolism,
according to our view of the subject, we are fully aware that to those
who have never yet bestowed a thought upon it, we shall appear mere
visionaries or enthusiasts. It has been the fashion of late to smile
at the whole theory, as amusing and perhaps beautiful: but quite
unpractical and indeed impracticable. We cannot hope to convince by
aesthetics those who are deaf to more direct arguments, and who refuse
to view everything, as churchmen ought to do, through the medium of
the Church. But those who agree with us in the latter duty, will
perhaps suffer themselves to think twice on what will be advanced
before they condemn it.
We shall consider the practice of symbolism as connected with, 1. The
Holy Trinity; 2. Regeneration; 3. The Atonement; 4. The Communion of
Saints; and then we shall notice several parts of a church, such as
windows, doors, etc., with their specific symbolical meaning.
The doctrine of the Holy Trinity has left, as might be expected,
deeper traces in the structure of our churches than any other
principles of our faith. We have already noticed that possibly the
Basilican arrangement might be providentially ordered with reference
to this. {Ixxxi} In Saxon times we find the idea carried out, not only
by the Nave and two Aisles, but also by the triple division in length,
into Nave, Chancel, and Sanctum Sanctorum. This triple division is
most frequently given in Norman buildings, by a central tower; with
chancel and nave: we also find in this style a triple chancel arch, an
arrangement never occurring at a later epoch. Thus length and breadth
were made significant of this Mystery; nor was height less so. The
clerestory, the triforium, and the piers cannot fail to suggest it.
Indeed, where a triforium was not needed, there is often, as at Exeter
and Wells, an arrangement of arcading in niches to resemble it, made
that the triplicity might be retained. It is only in late
Perpendicular, such as the nave of Canterbury cathedral, that the
arrangement is omitted: there the eye is at once dissatisfied. Again,
the triple orders of moulding, which are so much more frequent than
any other number, may be supposed to refer to the same thing. The
altar steps, three, or some multiple of three, certainly do. So do the
three fingers with which Episcopal Benediction is given. And this is a
very early symbolism. It occurs in illuminated MS. We may mention one
(Harl. 5540) of the thirteenth century, where it forms a part of the
first letter of S. John's gospel. So, as we shall presently see, are
Eastern triplets. And reference is constantly made to the same
doctrine in bosses: we may mention as a remarkable instance one that
occurs in Stamford, S. Mary's, a figure with an equilateral triangle
in its mouth: thereby setting forth the duty of the preacher to
proclaim the doctrine of the Trinity. In large churches, the three
towers undoubtedly proclaim the same doctrine. We shall hereafter show
that neither in nave and aisles, in triplets, or any thing else, is
the _inequality_ any thing else than what might have been expected.
{lxxxii}
II. The Doctrine of Regeneration
We know, as a fact, that from the earliest times, baptisteries and
fonts were octagonal. We know also that the reason assigned, if not by
S. Ambrose himself at least by one of his contemporaries, for this
form was, that the number eight was symbolical of Regeneration. For as
the old Creation was complete in seven days, so the number next
ensuing may well be significative of the new.
Now none can deny that very much the greater number of fonts are in
this shape. To prove this we will refer to those selected by the
Cambridge Camden Society in the appendix to the second edition of
their 'Few Words to Church-Builders.' There we find.
Octagonal. Of all other shapes
In Norman 15 43
Early English 19 30
Decorated 24 1
Perpendicular 57 2
Total 115 76
Now, it is to be remembered, that the superior convenience of a
cylindrical or circular form, together with the wont of Norman
architects rather to symbolise facts than doctrine, accounts for the
comparatively small number of octagonal fonts in that style: in later
ages their preponderance is overwhelming.
The symbolism sculptured on the sides of the font hardly falls under
our consideration in this place. And besides, it has been fully
detailed in the publications of the Cambridge Camden Society, and of
Mr. Poole. Whether the general octagonal uses of piers may not arise
from a similar design, we do not pretend to decide.
{lxxxiii}
One of the most apposite illustrations in _corbels_, consists in three
fishes intertwined in an equilateral triangle; and thus typifying our
regeneration in the Three Persons of the Ever-Blessed Trinity. For it
need not be said, that the fish is the emblem of the Christian, as
being born again of water. The mystical vesica piscis of this form ()
wherein the Divinity, and (more rarely) the Blessed Virgin are
represented has no reference, except in its name to a fish; but
represents the almond, the symbol of virginity, and self-production.
III. The Atonement
We will notice in the third place, the symbolical representation of
the great doctrine of the Atonement, in the ground lines and general
arrangement of our churches.
As soon as ever Christianity possessed temples of her own, the
cruciform shape was, we have seen, sometimes adopted. And so, as we
all know, has it continued down to the present day. England, perhaps,
has fewer examples of cross churches than any other country: the
proportion of those which bear this shape being not so much as one in
ten. In France, on the contrary, the ratio would probably be inverted.
Into the reason of this remarkable difference we shall not now
inquire: but will merely remark, that many churches which do not, in
an exterior view, appear cruciform, are nevertheless, from their
internal arrangements, really so. The transepts do not project beyond
the aisles: but have distinct transept arches, and a window of much
larger dimensions than those in the aisles. This principally occurs in
city churches, or where the founders were confined for want of room.
And this is the case as well in churches which have aisles to the
chancel, as in Godalming, Surrey, as where the nave alone has them,
{lxxxiv} as in Holy Rood, Southampton. They will be distinguished
readily on the outside by the northern and southern gable. In some
cathedral churches, there is a double cross: in York, this perhaps
signifies the metro-political dignity of that church; in other cases,
it was probably merely a method of imparting greater dignity to the
building. Some churches--though they are not frequent--are in the form
of a Greek Cross: that is, the four arms are all of equal length.
Darlington, Durham, is an example: in this case there is a central
tower. In some, as at Westminster, Gloucester, and S. Albans, the
choir runs westward of the transept; in Seville, almost the whole of
the choir is locally in the nave; in others, as Ely, it does not
extend westward so far. These peculiarities, curious in themselves, do
not affect the symbolism: and probably no modification of meaning is
to be attached to them.
Mr. Lewis has asserted, that in early churches, a cross was marked on
the pavement, the upper part running into the chancel, the arms
extending into the transepts, and the body occupying the nave. And
some such arrangement, or rather the traces of it, we have ourselves
perhaps noticed. The reason it was given up, was probably the anathema
pronounced by the second OEcumenical Council, on those who should
tread on that holy symbol.
Thus, in the ground plan, the Cross of Christ was preached. It is
often said, that the adjacent chapels, more especially the Lady
Chapel, obscured the symbolism. But it must be remembered that a
ground plan can only be judged of in two methods: either from a height
above, for example, the tower of the church; or when marked out on
paper. It is surprising, in either of these cases, how easily the most
complex cathedral resolves itself to the spectator's eyes into a
cross.
{lxxxv}
In looking at the details of churches, the Cross is marked on the
Dos-d'ânes and plain coffin lids of the earliest times: it commences
the later inscriptions on brass: it surmounts pinnacle, and gable, and
porch; it is often imprinted on the jambs of the principal entrance,
showing the exact spot touched in the consecration with chrism,
[Footnote 54] and possibly having reference to the blood sprinkled at
the Passover on the Door Post: and finally, in a more august form, is
erected in the churchyard. And here we may notice another curious and
beautiful expression of Catholic feeling. [Footnote 55]
[Footnote 54: It is proper to distinguish between Dedication
Crosses, which are generally of considerable size,
examples of which may be seen in Moorlinch, Somersetshire,
and those small crosses in door jambs, as in Preston,
Sussex, the use of which is not very clear, but which
were perhaps intended to remind the entering worshipper to
cross himself. At Yatton, Somersetshire, inside the
northern door, and towards the east, is a large
quatrefoil-fashioned cross: this perhaps pointed out a
now destroyed benatura.]
[Footnote 55: That there are some plain crosses, cannot be
denied--more especially that on which the weathercock is placed. A
little consideration will, perhaps, clear up this difficulty. The
cross may be viewed in two distinct lights. It may either set forth
that on which our Redeemer suffered--in which case it is the symbol
of glory: or it may image that Cross which every true Christian is
to take up--in which case it may still be called the Symbol of
Shame. In the latter signification, it may well be quite plain. But,
inasmuch as our ancestors looked more to the Passion of Christ than
to their own unworthiness, the former symbol is that which generally
occurs. Yet not always on the church spire, perhaps for this
reason:--the spire urges us, by its upward tendency, to press on
towards our heavenly home--a home which can only be reached by the
cheerful bearing of that cross by means of which (as it were) it
points. The cross therefore is here, with propriety, plain.]
It is very uncommon to find a plain cross surmounting a church: the
whole force of Christian art has sometimes been expended in wreathing
and embellishing the instrument of redemption: flowers, and figures,
and foliage are lavished upon it. And why? Because that which was once
the by-word of Pagans, the instrument of scorn and of suffering, has
become the symbol of Hope and of Glory, of Joy, and of Eternal
Felicity; and its material expression has altered proportionately.
{xxxvi} In that the arms frequently end in leaves and flowers, they
signify the flourishing and continual increase of that Church which
was planted on Mount Calvary. The Crown of Thorns is sometimes
wreathed around them: but so, that it should rather resemble a Crown
of Glory. The instruments of the Passion are, as every one knows, of
the most ordinary occurrence. The commonest of these are--the Cross,
the Crown of Thorns, the Spear, the Scourge, the Nails, and the Sponge
on the pole. But in the Suffolk and Somersetshire churches many others
are added. Their position is various: sometimes, as in Stogumber,
Somersetshire, they appear amidst the foliage of a perpendicular
capital: sometimes, as in the Suffolk churches, they are found in the
open seats: often in bosses, often in brasses, often in stained glass;
and sometimes the angel that supports a bracket holds them portrayed
on a shield. The Five Wounds are also often found. These are
represented by a heart, between two hands and two feet, each pierced;
or by a heart pierced with five wounds, as in a brass at King's
College chapel, Cambridge. The instruments of the Passion may
sometimes be seen amongst the volutes of the stem of the churchyard
cross: examples occur at Belleville, near Havre, in Normandy, and
Santa Cruz, in Madeira.
Again, the very position of our blessed Saviour on the Cross as
represented in the great rood and in stained glass, is not without a
meaning. In modern paintings, the arms are high above the head, the
whole weight of the body seeming to rest upon them. And this, besides
its literal truth, gives occasion to that miserable display of
anatomical knowledge in which such pictures so much abound. The
Catholic representation pictures the arms as extended horizontally:
thereby signifying how the Saviour, when extended on the Cross,
embraced the {lxxxvii} whole world. [Footnote 56] Thus, as it ever
ought to be, is physical sacrificed to moral truth. Perhaps for a
similar reason S. Longinus is represented as piercing the Right Side,
instead of the Left: and in a representation of the Five Wounds, it is
the right side of the breast that is pierced (as in a brass at
Southfleet, Kent); that being the side of the greatest strength, and
thereby typifying the strength of that love wherewith our Redeemer
loved us. [But this may be doubted. For it appears pretty clear that
the ancient Church considered the Right Side to have been that which
was really pierced. According to modern ideas, the effusion of the
water was not a miracle. S. John undoubtedly considered it not only a
miracle, but one of the most extraordinary which he had to relate,
seeming to stop the mouth of the objector by insisting on the fact,
that he himself was an eye-witness.] In some old roods, a still
further departure was made from literal truth: the Saviour was
represented on the Cross, as a crowned king, arrayed in royal apparel.
[Footnote 57] And his figure was constantly represented as larger than
that of His attendants, His Blessed Mother, and S. John, thereby
signifying his immeasurable superiority over the highest of human
beings.
[Footnote 56: However, in late stained glass, the modern position is
sometimes found as in a Crucifixion represented in the east window
of the north aisle, in Wiscombe church, Somersetshire. ]
[Footnote 57: To this we may add the conventional representation of
Royal Saints, such as S. Edmund, wearing their kingly crowns during
their passion. That such conventional symbolism is _natural_ to us
may be shown by alluding (without irreverence in this connection) to
the way in which kings are always figured with crown and orb in
popular prints: and even, as in a sign-post at Leighterton,
Gloucestershire, King Charles II, hiding himself in the Royal Oak,
is arrayed in all the insignia of majesty.]
Another reference to the Atonement will be found in the deviation
which the line of the chancel often presents from that of the nave. It
is sometimes to the north, but more frequently to the south.
{lxxxviii} There are many more churches in which it occurs than those
who have not examined the subject would believe: perhaps it is not too
much to say that it may be noticed in a quarter of those in England.
Of our cathedrals, it is most strongly marked in York and Lichfield:
among the parish churches in which we have observed it, none have it
so strongly as Eastbourne and Bosham, in Sussex, and S. Michael's at
Coventry: in all of which the most casual glance could not but detect
the peculiarity of appearance it occasions. This arrangement
represents the inclination of our Saviour's Head on the Cross. In
roods the Head generally inclines to the left.
Mr. Poole, after noticing the fact in York minster, seems inclined to
attribute it to a desire of evading the old foundation lines of that
church, which induced the builders to deviate a little from the
straight line, rather than encounter the difficulty of removing this
obstacle. But in the first place, however much modern church builders
might bethink themselves of such an expedient, it is not at all in the
character of the church architects of other days: and in the second,
the explanation is applicable to York alone, one only out of many
hundred churches so distinguished.
IV. The Communion of Saints
Next, we will notice the effect which the Doctrine of the Communion of
Saints has exercised in the designs of churches.
In the ground plan of small churches there is little which seems to
bear on this subject. The principal references to departed saints
occur in the stained glass, in the rood screen, in niches, in the
canopies of monuments, and in brasses. Monuments, in particular, often
afford some beautiful ideas, among which we may notice {lxxxix} the
angels which often are seated at the head of the effigy, supporting
the helmet or pillow, and seeming to point out the care of angels for
the saints. In cathedrals, however, the chapels have a very
considerable effect upon the ground plan: though we cannot agree with
Mr. Poole that such a modification of the principal lines of the
building for the reception of these shrines and oratories, is
necessarily uncatholic. He principally objects to the position of the
Lady Chapel at the east end, above, as he expresses it, the High
Altar. Now we believe the Lady Chapel to have occupied that place
merely on grounds of convenience: not from any design--which it is
shocking to imagine--of exalting the Blessed Virgin to any
participation in the honours of the Deity. Sometimes, as at Durham,
this chapel is at the west end: in country churches, it generally
occupied the east end of the north or south aisle: and sometimes is
placed over the chancel, as in Compton, Surrey, Compton Martin,
Somerset, and Darenth, Kent; or over the porch, as at Fordham,
Cambridgeshire. At Bristol cathedral it is on the north side of the
choir. That the position of the Lady Chapel at the east end adds
greatly to the beauty of the building wall hardly be denied on a
comparison of York, or Lincoln, or Peterborough with Lichfield, _as it
now is_.
{xc}
CHAPTER VIII
EXAMPLES OF SYMBOLISM CONTINUED
We come now, according to the plan we laid down, to speak of the
symbolism of some particular features of a church, which do not fall
so well under any of the four heads which we have been considering.
And firstly, of windows.
The primary idea shadowed forth in every one of the styles, is the
saying of our Lord to His disciples, _ye are the light of the world_.
More simply set forth at first, this notion acquired, in the course of
time, various methods of expression, and was subjected to different
modifications; but we must retain it as the ground work or we shall be
in danger of mistaking the true meaning of ancient church architects.
In Norman, then, and early English, the single lights north and south,
set forth the Apostles and Doctors who have shined forth in their time
as the lights of the Church: and the rich pattern of flowerwork
wherewith the stained glass in them was decked, represented the
variety of graces in each. But to have symbolised the servants without
the Master, the members without the Head, had been at variance with
all the Catholic Church has ever practised. Looking therefore to the
east end, we behold that well-known feature, the Triplet: setting
{xci} forth the Most Holy and Undivided Trinity. [Footnote 58] Nor is
this all: to denote that all the Church has, and all She is, is from
above, the string course, springing from the eastern triplet, runs
round the whole church (often both within and without,) binding it, as
it were, in and connecting every other light, with those at the east.
Again, the Western Door, as we shall see, symbolised Christ: and two
lights, typical of His two natures, are therefore generally placed
over it. There are, undoubtedly, instances of western triplets: though
we think that the Camden Society has well explained these.
[Footnote 58: We read, in the legend of S. Barbara, that, being
confined by her father in a room where were two windows only, she
added a third, by way of setting forth this Mystery.]
In some cases, there is a series of couplets on each side of the
church: and, taking the hint from Durandus, we may interpret this
arrangement of the mission of the Apostles two and two.
A series of triplets as in Salisbury cathedral, and the Lady Chapel of
Bristol, is very rare: and, of course, not objectionable on any other
grounds than that of the too cheap use of a most beautiful feature.
So far all is simple: but as we approach the decorated style, the
symbolism becomes excessively complicated. The principal doctrines of
the Catholic Church are set forth in each window: and to unravel the
whole of these is often a task of no small difficulty. We shall
proceed to give a few examples, with the explanation which appears to
us probable: entreating the reader to remember, that if in any
instance our conjectures should appear unfounded, the failure of
probability in one case throws no discredit on the others, and still
less does it invalidate the system. Durandus's silence on the language
of tracery is easily explained by the consideration, that assign as
late a date as we will to the {xcii} publication of his work, it came
forth while the Early English style was yet in existence: and his
silence on triplets only proves, what is well known to
ecclesiologists, that they are far less common in foreign than in our
own architecture.
In Norman windows the wheel window is conspicuous. This, whether
formed with the _radii_ like those of Barfreston, or of the Temple
church, represent (as we shall presently observe that Norman symbolism
usually _does_ represent) an historical fact: namely, the martyrdom of
S. Catherine. The celebrity of this Virgin Martyr may tend to explain
why she should be so far honoured: a celebrity which has descended to
our own day in the common sign of the Cat and Wheel: as well as the
firework so denominated.
Of Norman triplets there are not many to which we can refer. The tower
of Winchester, however, presenting one on each face, is a noble
example. The southeastern transept of Rochester, though later, is
equally in point: it contains two triplets, far apart, and one
disposed above the other. The west front of S. Etienne at Caen is a
well-known instance.
The earliest symbolism of Early English triplets represented the
Trinity alone; the Trinity in Unity was reserved for a somewhat later
period. And this was typified by the hood moulding thrown across the
three lights. At other times a quatre-foiled, or cinque-foiled, circle
was placed at some little distance above the triplet: thus typifying
the Crown which befits the Majesty of the King of Kings. And the same
Crown is often exhibited above the western couplet. But, for as much
as we are 'compelled by the Christian verity to acknowledge every
person by Himself to be God and Lord,' a crown is sometimes
represented over each light of the triplet, as in Wimborne minster.
{xciii}
Another method of representing the same doctrine was by a simple
equilateral triangle for a window: whether plain, of which there are
many examples, or with the toothed ornament, as in the famous example
at York minster.
S. Giles's at Oxford has windows, the tracery of which will serve as
an example of many: it has _three tre_-foiled lights, with _three_
quatre-foiled circles, arranged triangle-wise in the head.
This type is a little varied in S. Mary Magdalene's church, in the
same city, by the introduction of the ogee form.
Berkeley church has a wheel window containing _three_ quatre-foils:
the three spaces left between them and the line being _tre_-foiled.
The east windows of Dunchurch and Fen Stanton have been explained in
the publications of the Cambridge Camden Society: the former in their
'Few Words to Church-Builders,' the latter in their illustrations of
monumental brasses. Part iv.
The south transept of Chichester cathedral is a glorious specimen of
decorated symbolism. In the gable is a Marygold, containing two
intersecting equilateral _tri_-angles: the _six_ apices of these are
_sex_-foiled; the interior _hex_-agon is beautifully worked in _six_
leaves. The lower window seven lights: in the head is an equilateral
spherical _tri_-angle, containing a large _tre_foil, intersected by a
smaller _tre_-foil. Here we have the Holy Trinity, the Divine
Attributes, the perfection of the Deity.
A window in Merton College chapel has _three_ lights: with a circle in
the head containing _six sex_-foils.
Broughton, Oxon, has in the head of one of its windows a circle,
containing two intersecting equilateral triangles, the _six_ apices,
and _six_ spaces around, being _tre_-foiled.
{xciv}
The east end of Lincoln, though far inferior to the south transept of
Chichester, is nevertheless highly symbolical. The east window of each
of the aisles has _three_ lights, with _three_ foliated circles,
disposed _triangle_-wise in the head. The great east window has eight
lights in two divisions, each whereof has _three_ foliated circles in
the head: and in the apex of the window is a circle containing seven
foliations. The upper window has a circle of eight foliations in the
head: and in the apex of the gable is an equilateral trefoil.
The next element introduced was the consideration of the Six
Attributes of the Deity. One of the simplest examples was to be found
in the west window of the north aisle of S. Nicholas, at Guildford: a
plain circle, containing six _tre_-foils: these are arranged in two
_tri_-angles, each containing _three tre_-foils, and the two sets are
varied.
The clerestory of Lichfield cathedral (circ. 1300), is a series of
spherical _tri_-angles, each containing _three tre_-foils.
A similar clerestory occurs in the north-west transept of Hereford
cathedral, and the same idea is repeated in its triforium: a series of
_three tre_-foiled lights, with _three_ circles in the head.
The east end of Lichfield symbolises most strikingly the same glorious
doctrine. The apse is _tri_-gonal: the windows of each side are the
same: each is of _three_ lights, with six _tre_-foils (emblematical of
the six attributes) disposed above in the form of an equilateral
_tri_-angle.
The east end of Chichester is rather earlier, but introduces yet
another element. Here we have a triplet: and at some height above it,
a wheel-window of seven circles: symbolising therefore eternity and
perfection.
{xcv}
The triforium and clerestory of Carlisle are singular symbols of the
doctrine of the Trinity. The former has in each bay three adjacent
equal lancets. The latter is a series of triplets; the central window
in each being composed of three lights. We may observe, by the way,
that three _adjacent_ equal lancets are hardly ever found, whatever
the reason may be. We know but of three examples: in the churches of
Bosham, Sussex, Godalming, Surrey, and S. Mary-le-Crypt, Gloucester:
and in all these cases they occupy the same position, the south east
end of the chancel, or chancel aisle.
Dorchester church, Oxfordshire, has for one of its windows an
equilateral spherical triangle with three heads, or knops, one at each
angle.
We are now in a purely decorated age. And as one of its earliest
windows we may mention that in the Bishop of Winchester's Palace at
Southwark. It was a wheel, and contained two intersecting equilateral
_tri_-angles: around them were _six sex_-foiled triangles the hexagon
in the centre containing a star of _six_ greater and _six_ smaller
rays. Here, of course, the Blessed Trinity and the divine and human
natures were set forth. [Footnote 59]
[Footnote 59: We may perhaps be allowed to say a few words here on
the subject of those singular windows which the Cambridge Camden
Society has called _Lychnoscopes_.
It appears, that in Early English churches, the westernmost window
on the south side of the chancel is both lower than, and in other
ways (particularly by a transom) distinguished from the rest. It is
sometimes merely a square aperture, as in some churches in the Weald
of Sussex: sometimes a small ogee-headed light, as in old Shoreham:
sometimes, where the south side of the chancel is lighted by a
series of lancets, the westernmost, as in Chiddingfold, Sussex, is
transomed, where the others end, and carried down lower; sometimes
the lower part appears to have been _originally_ blocked, as in
Kemerton, Gloucestershire, and Kingstone next Lewes, Sussex:
sometimes there are remains of clamps, as at Buckland, Kent,
sometimes of shutters. Again, sometimes there are two, one north,
the other south of the chancel: sometimes the same arrangement is
found S.E. of the nave. On the other hand, it is never found in any
but a parish church: never in late work: seldom is it ornamented. We
will give a few remarkable instances. I. _Dinder_, Somersetshire.
Here there is a double lychnoscope, north and south: the date is
late Early English, and the specimen is unique from there being a
rude moulding in the window arch. 2. _Othery_, Somersetshire. The
lychnoscope itself is here blocked: it is square-headed, and of two
lights: date probably Early Decorated. The church is cruciform, and
a central perpendicular tower was subsequently erected. One of the
diagonal buttresses is thrown out at a distance of some three feet
from the window, so as to hide it: and an oblique square hole has
been cut through the masonry of the buttress. This is the more
remarkable, because there are stalls in the chancel, of
perpendicular work, which would seem to render any window in that
position useless. 3. _Christon_, Somersetshire. Here, _almost close
to the ground_, is a horizontal slit which appears never to have
been glazed. This is an early Norman church. So at Albury, Surrey,
at the S.E. end of the south aisle. 4. _S. Appolline_, Guernsey.
This church is of the same date as, or may be earlier than, the
last. The windows are rude and square-headed slits: the lychnoscope
is transomed. 5. _Preston_, Sussex. There are three windows in the
south of the chancel, which rise one above the other, like sedilia,
to the east. 6. _Loxton_, Somersetshire. This is an Early English
church with a south western tower serving as porch. From the eastern
side of this a long slit is carried through the nave wall, a
distance of some twenty feet, and exactly commanding a view of the
altar. It is _grated_ at the west end, not glazed: the eastern end
has long been blocked up. Way is made for it by a bulge of the wall
in the angle formed towards the east by the tower and nave. This
seems to form a kind of connecting link between the hagioscope and
the lychnoscope.
With these windows we will venture to connect those extremely rare
ones, three adjacent, unconnected, equal, lancets, as occurring of
the same date at the same position. There is again another kind of
lychnoscope only found where the chancel has aisles. A panel of the
parclose, or wooden screen, behind the longitudinal stalls, is
sometimes found pierced with a small quatrefoil, at the S.W. part of
the chancel. This is vulgarly called a confessional. It seems,
however, clearly connected with the lychnoscope. Examples are found
at Erith, Kent, and Sundridge in the same county. Perhaps also the
curious slit in the south wall of the chancel of S. Michael's
church, Cambridge, communicating with a south chantry chapel is
another variety.
From the above facts we deduce the following remarks: 1. That the
necessity for a lychnoscope must in some cases have been very
urgent: as may be proved by the example, at Othery, where a buttress
is much injured to form one. 2. But yet this need was not universal,
because there are many churches in which the arrangement does not
occur. 3. That it appears, strictly speaking, a parochial
arrangement, not being found in cathedral or collegiate churches. 4.
That smaller buildings rather than larger are marked with it: it
seldom occurs where there are aisles to the chancel. 5. That, where
employed, lychnoscopes were only used occasionally; else the
shutters which have evidently sometimes existed, would have been
useless. 6. That they are very seldom ornamented, and never have
stained glass. 7. That in the Perpendicular era they generally,
though not universally, ceased to be used. 8. That, a large sill
seems to have been a requisite to them. 9. That, where the upper
part is glazed, the lower part often was not, as in the Decorated
lychnoscope at Beckford, Gloucestershire. The principal hypotheses
to explain the use of this arrangement are: 1. Dr. Rock's. That it
was a contrivance by which lepers might see the Elevation of the
Host. But the structure of the greater part of these windows forbids
this idea: many instances occur in which it is splayed away from the
Altar, none (except that at Loxton, and a doubtful case at
Winscombe, Somersetshire, where a perpendicular addition has been
made) in which it is splayed towards it. 2. That of the Cambridge
Camden Society, that it was for watching the Paschal light. But
this, besides being _à priori_ improbable is refuted by that at
Othery. Here the eye has to look through two apertures at some
distance from each other, and therefore can command only a very
small field on exactly the opposite side of the chancel. 3. It has
been imagined by some that it was for confession. The idea of
confession near an altar sufficiently refutes itself; but
furthermore, some of these openings are so very low down that the
thing would be impossible. Two solitary facts more, though they
throw no light on the subject, may yet be mentioned. 1. In the
church of S. Amaro, near Funchal, in Madeira, is a grating at the
west-end like that at Loxton. Its use is _now_ said to be to cool
the church, though in that case one should have expected to meet it
elsewhere. 2. In Sennen church by the Land's End, there is said to
have been a lychnoscope (now no longer existing) used to take in the
tithe-milk. We may gather on the whole, 1. that lychnoscopes could
not have been used to look into a church 2. Nor to hand anything in
or out. Both these are sufficiently disproved by Othery, 3. Nor to
speak through. But one can hardly imagine any other use, except it
were to look _out_ of the church. We are inclined to think that it
was in some way connected with the ringing of the bells, or of the
sancte bell. Where the tower is central, we very often find it: as
at Old Shoreham and Alfriston, Sussex: at Loxton it is evidently for
some purpose connected with the tower. So in Beckford, which has a
central tower; and Uffington, Berks, a cross church. And the place
where the sancte bell was rung is exactly between a double
lychnoscope. But what the particular use might have been we will not
pretend to guess. We will conclude this long note by a question as
to the authority for calling the small chancel door, the _Priest's
Door_. It is never (originally) furnished with a lock, but always
with an interior bar, thus showing that it could only have been used
from the inside. So the priest could never have _entered_ the church
by this way, unless the door were previously opened for him.]
[End footnote]
{xcvi}
The symbolism of the more complicated decorated windows it is next to
impossible to explain. Carlisle and York have doubtless their
appropriate meaning; but who will now pretend to expound it?
{xcvii}
One exception we may make:--the east window of Bristol cathedral. It
is of seven lights, but so much prominence is given to the three
central ones, as strongly to set forth the Most Holy Trinity: over
them is a crown of six leaves and by the numerous winged foliations
around them, the Heavenly Hierarchy may, very probably, be understood.
{xcviii}
II. Doors
Durandus has given us a clue to the symbolical meaning which these
generally present, by directing our attention to that saying of our
Lord's, _I am the door_. And this, uttered as tradition reports it to
have been, in reference to the Gate of the Temple, on which the
Saviour's eyes were then fixed, gives additional force to the
allusion.
In small churches, doors are seldom the subject of much symbolical
ornament, except in the Norman style; but in cathedrals, some of the
most strikingly figurative arrangements are often thrown into them.
The Person, the Miracles, or the Doctrines of our Lord are here
frequently set forth. He is sometimes, especially in the tympanum of
Norman doors, as at Egleton in Rutland, represented as described in
the Apocalyptic vision; with a sword in His mouth. More frequently,
however, with His Blessed Mother; in order, perhaps, to connect His
_entrance_ into the world with ours into the Church, which He thereby
gathered together. This in the south entrance of Lincoln minster, is
enclosed in a quatre-foil: because the birth of Christ is announced by
the four evangelists; and angels are represented around it in
attitudes of adoration. A singular, and indeed irreverent symbol, is
to be seen in a door of Lisieux church: the Holy Ghost descending on
the Blessed Virgin, and the infant Saviour following Him. In the
entrance to the cloisters of Norwich cathedral, the door arch is
filled by nine niches, the central one being occupied by the Saviour,
the others by saints. But this arrangement is much more common in
French churches: where two, or even three rows of saints in the
architrave are not uncommon: witness the south and west doors of S.
Germain, at Amiens, and a west door of S. Etienne, at Beauvais. {xcix}
This is sometimes, in late Flamboyant work, carried to an absurd
extent: in a south door of Gisors, two niches actually hang down out
of the soffit. Early English doors are generally double, thereby
representing the Two Natures of our Saviour: but embraced by one arch,
to set forth His One Person. So the celebrated door in Southwell
minster: the west door in the Galilee of Ely cathedral: the entrance
to the chapter House, at Salisbury; the west door of the same: so the
decorated west door of York; so the door to the Chapter House there,
of which the inscription truly says: _Ut Rosa Phlos phlorum, sic est
domus ista Domorum:_so the west door and entrance to the Chapter House
of Wells. The west door of Higham Ferrars has the Saviour's triumphal
entrance into Jerusalem, over the double western doors. And this is
the case in one of the doors of Seville cathedral. Both these connect
the ideas of His entrance into the temporal, with that of ours into
the spiritual, Jerusalem. In these symbolical doorways, we have one
proof of the immeasurable superiority of English over French
architecture: compare any of the above named with the celebrated west
door of Amiens, with its twenty-two sovereigns in its soffit. Again,
by way of contrast to the second Adam, by whom we enter into Heaven,
we sometimes, especially in Norman churches, have the Forbidden Tree,
with Adam and Eve in the tympanum: setting forth the one man by whom
sin entered into the world.
The Crucifixion seldom occurs over doors: while over porches a
crucifix is very common. The cause of the difference is explained by a
consideration that the former are shut, the latter open: and 'when
Thou hadst overcome the sharpness of Death, Thou didst _open_ the
kingdom of heaven to all believers.' Indeed it may almost be asserted
that a crucifix is never seen over a {c} closed door, except where it
forms a part of the usual representation of the Trinity. For the
Trinity is also, in Norman churches, there represented: and that not
inappropriately: inasmuch as the Trinity is the beginning of all
things. A Holy Lamb is sometimes found in Norman tympana: as saith the
Saviour, _I am the door of the sheep_. A hasty glance at Durandus
[Footnote 60] might lead us to imagine that we should find the
Apostles set forth under the similitude of doors: but he there
probably refers to the well-known passage in the Apocalypse. Apoc.
xxi, 14.
[Footnote 60: Durand. i, 26.]
This however leads us to another, and that a totally different,
meaning attached to doors. We have already noticed the fact, that many
Norman and Early English mouldings refer to various kinds of
martyrdom: those which do so occur more frequently on doors than
anywhere else; for it is written, 'We must through much tribulation
enter into the kingdom of God.' And here we may observe a very curious
and beautiful progression in symbolism. In the early ages of
Christianity, it was a matter requiring no small courage to make an
open profession of Christianity, to join one's self to the Church
Militant:--and this fact has left its impress in the various
representations of martyrdom surrounding the nave-doors of Norman and
the first stage of Early English churches: as well as in the frightful
forms which seem to deter those who would enter. But in process of
time, as the world became evangelised, to be a member of the visible
Church was an easy matter: the difficulty was transferred from an
entrance into _that_, to the so living, as to have part in the
Communion of Saints:--in other words, to an entrance into the Church
Triumphant. And therefore in late Early English, and Decorated, the
symbols which had occupied the nave-doors in the former period, are
now transferred to the chancel arch.
{ci}
The different agricultural operations, the signs of the zodiac, and
occupations of various kinds, sometimes found on the _outside_ of
Norman doors, signify that we must turn our backs on, and leave behind
us, all worldly cares and employments, if we would enter into the
Kingdom of God. In later porches, true love knots are sometimes found
on the bosses: because part of the service of Holy Matrimony was
performed there. The serpent, in which the handle is so universally
fashioned, has probably reference to that text, 'They shall lay their
hands upon serpents,' to signify that God's arm will protect us, when
engaging, or about to engage in, His service. For the serpent with his
tail in his mouth is not a Christian, and indeed by no means a
desirable, emblem of eternity, and therefore the door handle cannot be
so interpreted.
The doors are of course placed near the west end: for it is only by
way of the Church Militant that we can hope to enter the Church
Triumphant. One door, indeed, the priest's door, conducts at once into
the chancel. Durandus is probably right in interpreting this of
Christ's coming into the world; though it involves a little confusion
of symbolism, inasmuch as the chancel, properly speaking, denotes the
blessed place which He left: not the abode to which he came. It is to
be noted as an instance of the decline of symbolism in the
Perpendicular age, that in churches which have aisles to the chancel
of that date, we sometimes, as at Bitton, Gloucestershire, Godalming,
Surrey, and Wivelsfield and Isfield, Sussex, find an entrance at the
east end of the south aisle. Though used as a priest's door, this is
entirely to be blamed: what shall we say then of modern churches,
which have two doors at the east end, one on {cii} each side of the
altar, as Christchurch, Brighton? In Seville cathedral, a late,
although fine flamboyant building, there are large doors at the east
end of each choir aisle.
Porches are usually on the south side. For as the east was considered
in an especial manner connected with the Kingdom of Heaven, so was the
north imagined to be under the Prince of the Power of the Air. It is
curious how diametrically opposed in both these ideas were
Christianity and Paganism. For as by the latter the west was known as
'the better country, where lay the Isles of the Blest in their
abundant peace,' so in the north dwelt the deathless and ageless
Hyperboreans: whose state was the model of good government and secure
happiness. That the belief of our ancestors is not yet extinct, a very
slight knowledge of our country churchyards will prove: the north side
of the churchyard has generally not more than one or two graves. To be
buried there is, in the language of our eastern counties, to be buried
_out of Sanctuary_: and the spot is appropriated to suicides,
unbaptised persons, and excommunicates. A particular portion is, in
some churchyards of Devonshire, separated for the second class and
called the _chrisomer_. Where the contrary is the case, it may be
worth inquiring how far it does not arise from the accidental position
of the Churchyard Cross on the north side. There the spell seems
broken: and the villagers' graves cluster around it, as if the
presence of that sacred symbol were a sufficient protection to the
sleeping dust. A remarkable instance of this occurs at Belleville,
between Dieppe and Abbeville, in Normandy.
The doors in the transepts are, in small churches, almost invariably
east or west: much more frequently the latter. This, however, is
probably not symbolical: but an arrangement adopted to prevent any
resemblance in the porches and transepts:--and it is a rule which
needs to be much impressed on modern church builders.
{ciii}
The rule as to the western position of the doors, seems to apply
generally to the churchyard.
It is worthy of remark that in the matter of doors, Protestantism
presents us, as is so frequently the case, with a very unintended
piece of symbolism. When we see, as in the beautiful church of Bisley,
Gloucestershire, _thirteen_ different openings, with external
staircases, made into the church, through windows and elsewhere, can
we forbear thinking of him who cometh not by the doors into the
sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way?
III. Chancel Arch and Rood Screen
We come now to speak of the chancel arch and the rood screen, two of
the most important features in a church. These, as separating the
choir from the nave, denote literally the separation of the clergy
from the laity: but symbolically the division between the Militant and
Triumphant Churches: that is to say, the Death of the Faithful. The
first great symbol which sets this forth, is the Triumphal Cross: the
Image of Him [Footnote 61] who by His Death had overcome Death, and
has gone before His people through the valley of its shadow.
[Footnote 61: 'Let us consider Him,' says Bishop Hall, 'now, after a
weary conflict with the Devil, looking down from the Triumphal
Chariot of the Cross on His Church.']
The images of Saints and Martyrs appear in the lower panelling, as
examples of faith and patience to us. The colours of the rood screen
itself represent their passion and victory: the crimson sets forth the
one, the gold the other. The curious tracery of net-work typifies the
obscure manner in which heavenly things are set forth, while we look
at them from the Church Militant. And for as much as the Blessed
Martyrs passed from this {civ} world to the next through sore
torments, the mouldings of the chancel arch represent the various
kinds of sufferings through which they went. Faith was their support,
and must be ours: and Faith is set forth either in the abstract, by
the limpet moulding on the chancel arch; or on the screen, as in
Bishop's Hull, Somersetshire, by the Creed in raised gilt letters: or
is represented by some notable action of which it was the source: so
in Cleeve, Somersetshire, the destruction of a dragon runs along, not
only the rood screen, but the north parclose also. But in that the
power of evil spirits may be exercised against us till we have left
this world, but not after, horrible forms are sometimes sculptured in
the west side of the chancel arch. The foregoing remarks may perhaps
explain what has been felt by some ecclesiologists as a difficulty:
how it happens, since the chancel is more highly ornamented than the
nave, that it is the western, or nave side, not the eastern or chancel
side, of the chancel arch which invariably receives the greatest share
of ornament. The straitness of the entrance to the Kingdom of Heaven
is set forth by the excessive narrowness of Norman chancel arches. And
the final separation of the Church Triumphant from everything that
defileth was almost invariably represented by the Great Doom painted
in fresco over the rood screen: of which there are still several
examples, as the celebrated one in Trinity church, Coventry: and many
more might be found, if the whitewash in that place were scraped off.
And not only is the judgment of the world, but that of individuals
here set forth: on the south side of the chancel wall of Preston
church, Sussex, is a fresco of S. Michael weighing the souls: the
Devil stands by, eager to secure his prize, but by the intervention of
the Blessed Virgin, the scale preponderates in favour of the sinner.
{cv} There might probably be an altar to the Blessed Virgin under this
picture. Also deeds of faith are represented in similar positions:
--so in the same church on the north chancel wall, is the fresco of
the Martyrdom of S. Thomas of Canterbury. We have already noticed the
triplicity, in some instances, of Norman chancel arches. A very
curious triple chancel arch is to be seen at Capel-le-Ferne, Kent. We
may also refer to those singular double ones, Wells and Finedon, and
in another manner, Darlington, in Durham, and Barton, in Cumberland.
It may be well, finally, to note the entire absence in the ground
plans of our churches of any reference to Purgatory. The only instance
in which chancel and nave are separated by any intervening object, is
the chantry of Bishop Arundell in Chichester cathedral. Of the triple
division of the church by two (so to speak) chancel arches, we have
already spoken.
IV. Monuments
We now proceed to _Monumental Symbolism_. But it will be proper first
to consider a very curious subject: namely the reason of the
difference between the personages with which the effigies of the
departed were of old time, and are now, surrounded. In the former case
they were always real: Our Lady, S. John, S. Pancras, S. Agatha, and
so on. In the latter, they are always allegorical: Faith, Virtue,
Courage, Eloquence and the like. Nay, in the very ground which is
common to the two--the representations of angels--we may observe a
great difference: in modern monuments any angel is represented: in
those of ancient date the particular one is often named: S. Gabriel,
S. Raphael, etc. Now there are, we think, three good reasons to be
assigned for this.
{cvi}
I. The _enlightened_, or in plainer terms, the sceptical character of
the present age. Unaccustomed to view any great examples of heroic
devotion and self-sacrifice now, we naturally, though scarcely
allowing it to ourselves, begin to doubt whether there ever were any
such. In thinking of Patience, our forefathers would naturally have
had S. Vincent presented to their mind: but we, who, some of us have
scarcely heard of his name, and some, are totally ignorant of his
character, have of course no such ideas suggested. So again, where our
ancestors would have represented S. Lawrence, we content ourselves
with a representation of Fidelity. And it is in accordance with this
easy and self-indulgent age, rather to personify a thing, which as
having never had real existence, cannot be brought into comparison
with ourselves, than by representing a really existing person, to run
the risk of a contrast between his virtues and our own.
2. This allegorising spirit is more in accordance with the general
paganism of our architectural designs: though, be it observed, a
feature of the very worst and most corrupt state of Paganism. It is
worth noting that in heathen countries, evil qualities have always
been personified before good. Paganism like every other false system,
became worst at its close. In the early times of Grecian mythology the
attributes of purity, and truth, and mercy, were so strongly felt to
reside in the gods, that a separate personification of them was
needless: whereas strife, and violence and fury, qualities which had
no place in heaven, demanded, and obtained a separate existence. But
in process of time, when the divinities themselves became invested
with the attributes of sinful humanity, the qualities of goodness
which were no longer supposed theirs, found separate embodiments and
expressions.
{cvii}
3. We may assign as a reason for the difference we have noticed the
far greater reality with which our ancestors looked on the connections
subsisting between ourselves and the other world. Thus, tempests and
hurricanes, which we coldly explain on philosophical principles, they
considered as directly proceeding from the violence of evil spirits:
[Footnote 62] --earthquakes and volcanoes they regarded as outbreaks,
so to speak, of that place of punishment, which they believed locally
situated within the earth:--diseases and pestilences they held to be
the immediate work of the devil: madness and lunacy were, in their
view, synonymous with possession. Whether theirs, as it certainly was
the most pious, were not also the most philosophical view, has been so
ably discussed in the 'Church of the Fathers' under the chapter _S.
Anthony in Conflict_, that we need here only allude to it. But the
same spirit led them to adopt the effigies of those saints who had
been members of the same Church Militant with themselves, and who now
were members of that Triumphant Church which they hoped hereafter to
join: and its contrary leads us to adopt the cold, vague, dreamy
unsubstantialities of allegorism.
[Footnote 62: A Master of Philosophy travelling with others on the
way, when a fearful thunderstorm arose, checked the fear of his
fellows, and discoursed to them of the natural reasons of that
uproar in the clouds, and those sudden flashes wherewith they seemed
(out of the ignorance of causes) to be too much affrighted; in the
midst of his philosophical discourse, he was struck dead with that
dreadful eruption which he slighted. What could this be but the
finger of that God Who will have His works rather entertained with
wonder and trembling than with curious scanning? Neither is it to be
otherwise in those violent hurricanes, devouring earthquakes, and
more than ordinary tempests, and fiery apparitions which we have
seen and heard of; for however there be natural causes given of the
usual events of this kind, yet nothing hinders but the Almighty, for
the manifestations of His power and justice, may set spirits,
whether good or evil, on work, to do the same things sometimes in
more state and magnificence of horror.--Bishop Hall, 'The Invisible
World,' sect. vi.]
The earliest kind of monumental symbolism is that which represents the
trade or profession of the person commemorated. And these principally
occur on Lombardic slabs and Dos d'Anes. The distaff represents
{cviii} the mother of a family: [Footnote 63] a pair of gloves a
glover: [Footnote 64] so we have a pair of shears: and the like. But
the Cross constantly appears; and in a highly floriated form:
sometimes at its foot are three steps representing the Mount:
sometimes a Holy Lamb. [Footnote 65] And so ecclesiastical personages
have their appropriate symbols: so the chalice or the ring [Footnote
66] represents a priest:--another type is the hand raised in
benediction [Footnote 67] over a chalice: brasses abound in
symbolical imagery. The animal at the feet varies with the varying
circumstances of the deceased: a married lady has the dog, the emblem
of fidelity: with which we may compare the speech of Clytemnestra, of
her absent Lord, [Footnote 68]
[Greek text]
There are, doubtless, instances (there is one in Bristol, S. Peter's)
where the unmarried are so represented: but they are very rare, and
quite in the decline of the art. The knight again has, generally, a
terrier at his feet, as the emblem of courage: sometimes the
greyhound, [Footnote 69 ] the symbol of speed. Lord Beaumont
[Footnote 70] has an elephant: it is a bearing in his coat-armour.
[Footnote 63: See on this subject an interesting article in the
_Church of England Quarterly_, for September, 1841. ]
[Footnote 64: As in Fletching, Sussex.]
[Footnote 65: As in Lolworth, Cambridgeshire.]
[Footnote 66: As in S. Mary, Castlegate, York.]
[Footnote 67: As in Hedon, Yorkshire.]
[Footnote 68: Agamemnon, 606. (Ed. Dindorf.)]
[Footnote 69: As in Sir Grey de Groby, S. Alban's.]
[Footnote 70: Engraved in the 5th number of the Cambridge Camden
Society's _Illustrations of Monumental Brasses_.]
Early priests have a lion [Footnote 71] also at their feet; but this
typified their trampling on the devil: as servants of Him concerning
whom it is written, 'And the Devil shall go forth before [Footnote
72] His feet' They have also a dragon for the same reason. And this
position doubtless also has reference to the verse, 'Thou shalt tread
upon the lion [Footnote 73] and adder: the young lion and the dragon
shalt thou trample under feet.' In the decline of the art, effigies
have the crest of the departed at their feet.
[Footnote 71: As in Watton, Herts, and Cottingham, Yorkshire.]
[Footnote 72: Habaccuc III. v, _Et egredietur diabolus ante pedes
ejus_.]
[Footnote 73: Psalm xc. _Qui habitat_.]
{cix}
Whether those knights who are represented with crossed legs are to be
considered as crusaders, or at least as having taken the vow, is a
question which has been much discussed. The general belief seems now
to be in the negative:--and Mr. Bloxam in his work on Monumental
Architecture gives it as his opinion that this posture was chosen by
the artist, for the more graceful arrangement of the _surcoat_. And it
is to be remarked that some illuminations, as in the Life of S. Edward
the Confessor, in the Cambridge University Library, represent the
knights as sitting cross legged. For our own part we must confess that
we incline to the old belief:--as better supported by tradition, and
more in accordance with the general principles of Catholic artists.
The knight's hand is sometimes represented as resting on the hilt of
his sword:--or as it is called _drawing it_. We are astonished that a
writer in the _Quarterly Review_ should fall into this popular error:
especially when the idea was completely opposed to the whole course of
his argument. There can be no doubt that this typifies the
accomplishment of the vow, the taking which was set forth by the
crossed legs. The contrary--an act of war in the House of Peace--is
not for a moment to be thought of. As emblematical of deep humility,
some effigies are represented naked: some in shrouds: some, as
emaciated corpse: and sometimes, still more strikingly, the tomb will
be divided into two partitions: and while the departed appears in rich
vests, and with a gorgeous canopy above--below there is a skeleton, or
a worm eaten figure. There is a remarkable instance at Tewkesbury, in
the cenotaph of the last Lord Abbot: and we may refer to the monument
of William Ashton, in S. John's College chapel, Cambridge.
{cx}
The symbolism of ecclesiastics, lying principally in their vestments,
does not so much fall within the scope of this essay. The same may be
said of the allusion to the Holy Trinity in the benedictory attitude
of the bishop: and the distinction between the mitred abbot and the
bishop in the former holding his pastoral staff with the crook
inwards, as signifying his dominion to be _internal_, _i.e._ within
his own house;--the latter outwards, to set forth his external
dominion over his diocese.
The reception of the soul of the departed into Abraham's bosom is
often represented. Sometimes angels are bearing it, in the likeness of
a newborn child, (a figure symbolical of its having now returned into
its baptismal state of purity) and presenting it before the throne.
The founders or rebuilders of churches are known by the building which
they hold in their hands.
The carving of the _open seats_ is one of those parts of
ecclesiastical symbolism, which it is very hard to explain. The
monsters which constantly occur on them may be perhaps regarded as
typical of the evil thoughts and bad passions which a life of ease and
rest encourages, and it will be observed, that in the choir, a gentler
class of ideas often is suggested: we have here flowers and fruit, and
birds making their nests, and flocks feeding. There, are however,
certain other types to be found here, and also in string courses, and
corbel heads, of which we shall presently speak in terms of
disapprobation.
Nothing, with this exception, shows the exuberance and beauty of ideas
which distinguished the architects of the ages of Faith--and the depth
and variety of the scriptural knowledge we are pleased to deny
them--than their wood carvings. [Footnote 74]
[Footnote 74: The astonishing scriptural knowledge of Durandus may
be judged of from the Index at the end of the volume of texts quoted
by him. ]
{cxi}
There is perhaps hardly a scriptural subject which they have not
handled: and it requires no small degree of ecclesiastical knowledge
to be able at all to comprehend many of their allusions: while
probably many more are lost to us. The Annunciation is one of the most
favourite topics. The almond tree blossoming in the flower pot--the
bud terminating in a cross or crucifix--the prayer desk at which the
Blessed Virgin kneels--the temple seen in the distance--the Holy Dove
descending on a ray of light--these are its general accompaniments.
The descent of our Saviour into hell--the delivery of souls--
'Magnaque; de magna praeda petita domo:'
the visions of the Apocalypse: the final doom: the passions and
triumphs of martyrs--all here find their expression.
V. Corbels, Gurgoyles, Poppy Heads, etc.
The corbels which occur in the interior of churches generally
represent the Heavenly Host--often with various instruments of music,
as if taking a share in the devotions of the worshippers. This idea is
most fully and beautifully carried out in late perpendicular roofs:
where the various orders of the heavenly hierarchy hover, with
outstretched wings, over the sacred building--an idea evidently
derived from the cherubim that spread their wings over the ark, and
the apostle's explanation, 'which things the angels desire to look
into.' Often, however, benefactors to the Church are here portrayed.
The gurgoyles, on the contrary, represent evil spirits as flying from
the holy walls: the hideousness of the figures, so often, by modern
connoisseurs, ridiculed or blamed, is therefore not without its
appropriate meaning.
{cxii}
We must now say a few words on the least pleasing part of the study of
symbolism: we mean the satirical representations which record the
feuds between the secular and the regular clergy. Thus, in the
churches of the former, we have, principally as stallwork, figures of
a fox preaching to geese: in those of the latter an ass's head under a
cowl: or, which is very frequent, both in woodwork and as a gurgoyle,
the cowled double face. As a specimen of these designs, we may mention
the stalls [Footnote 75] in East Brent, Somersetshire. A fox hung by
a goose, with two cubs yelping at the foot of the gallows, a monkey at
prayers, with an owl perched over his head: another monkey holding a
halbert: a fox with mitre and staff, a young fox in chains, a bag of
money in his right paw, and geese and cranes on each side. To these
objectionable devices we may add those which to us appear simply
profane or indecent: [Footnote 76]such as the baptism of a dog in one
of the Stamford churches, and others in Northampton, S. Peter's, of
Norman date. One of the grossest which we have ever seen is to be
found on the north side of the chancel arch of Nailsea, Somersetshire.
[Footnote 75: Rutter's _Delineations_, p. 89. ]
[Footnote 76: It is fair to observe that our designating them so
_may_ be the effect of our own ignorance.]
On the towers of some Norman churches, the evangelistic symbols are
represented. So in Stow church, Lincolnshire. Tiles ought not to have
the cross on them: for though Christ is indeed the foundation of the
Church, yet these holy symbols should not be exposed to be trodden
under foot. Heraldic devices are here more proper, to signify the
worthlessness of worldly honours in the sight of God.
{cxiii}
CHAPTER IX
SOME OBJECTIONS CONSIDERED
Several objections to the symbolical system have been noticed and
answered in the course of this treatise. We shall, however, devote a
greater space to the consideration of one difficulty which has often
been raised by opponents, and has often been felt even by such as have
adopted the theory. It is said, for example, that to assert the nave
and two aisles, or a triplet of lancets, to be symbolical of the Most
Holy Trinity, is both false and profane, when, as is almost always the
case, the aisles are much less broad than the nave, and the three
lancets are unequal both in height and breadth: whereas in the Trinity
none is afore or after other, none is greater or less than another.
But the difficulty seems only to arise from carrying the similitude
too far: the point of resemblance is in these cases a single one: the
mere trinity of the arrangement is the only particular which gives
rise to the symbol. 'Three mystic lines approach the shrine,' sings
the poet of the Christian year for Trinity Sunday. The number alone is
answerable for the emblem. We do not deny that an equilateral triangle
is a more perfect symbol of the Blessed Trinity: but even here a
captious man might object to the emblem, because the angles gain
greater or less prominence according to the position in which the
triangle is placed. {cxiv} The Catholic monogram of the Trinity, for
example, assigns to the Father and the Son the upper angles of a
triangle standing on the third point. On the other hand the modern
triangle, generally charged with the Hebrew word Jehovah, has the
third angle uppermost. We can quite conceive these differences being
thought objectionable. The case is not so strong indeed as when the
three members are unequal, but still it is the same in kind and in
reality.
It is a condition of emblems that the points of similitude must not be
pressed too far. The material Sun indeed typifies the Sun of
Righteousness: but in what particulars? in its being _created_, in its
rising on the dark world _every_ day, in its being matter? Surely not:
but in this one point, that it brings light and heat to the earth. _I
am the Door_, said our Lord. In what particulars, we may again ask? It
would be profane to show by examples that it is only in this point:
that a door is for entrance into a material house just as we enter
into the Church through Christ. The ark, our Church teaches us, was an
emblem of the Church: not in its human building, nor in its final
perishing; but in that it saved souls by water. Did the Paschal Lamb
typify the Immaculate Victim in any thing more than its comparative
purity and its bloody death? We need not multiply such examples.
But there is another consideration to be adduced. Our Lord's own
parables must not be pressed too far. The history of the five wise and
five foolish virgins, must not be adduced to prove that the number of
the lost will equal that of the saved. This may be dangerous ground,
but the assertion is true. Every parable is figurative to a certain
point, and no further. Not that there is much danger of persons not
knowing where the line is to be drawn: any more than there would be in
the case of { cxv} one of a reverent mind, who was told that the
triplicity of aisles and windows typified a great doctrine. The
_British Critic_ made a very just observation on this point, that it
argued a great blindness of spiritual vision to deny such an emblem,
because the similitude was not complete in all points. Indeed if all
points answered so closely and exactly to each other, it is not clear
how a similitude would differ from a fac-simile. The very notion of a
thing being like another involves the fact that the two are not
identical. Nothing more is found or expected, than a similarity, an
analogy, in certain qualities. For in all symbolism it is quality and
not essence in which resemblance is sought.
Which leads us to consider another objection sometimes urged to the
effect that if a thing mean one thing it cannot mean another. For
example, if the nave and aisles represent the Holy Trinity, they
cannot also represent the Church Militant here on earth, or in another
point of view the true fold. Again, if the piers and arches set forth
the foundation of the apostles and prophets, they must not bear a part
in the representation of the Trinity together with the cleristory and
triforium. But this difficulty vanishes if we remember that the
resemblance, for the most part, is derived from grouping independent
things together and viewing them in a particular light. We do not deny
the _real_ essential symbolism of a material result: but this its
particular significancy need not obtrude itself at all times: the
thing itself in other combinations, and viewed under other aspects,
may acquire an additional and occasional meaning. For example, it is
the union of the rose, thistle, and shamrock, which is the emblem of
our United Empire: they have each their own figurative sense; in
combination they acquire a new meaning. The harp is not less the
emblem of Ireland, because it must primarily represent music. {cxvi}
Leaven was of old the symbol of wickedness: our Lord spake of the
leaven of the Scribes and Pharisees: yet we hear from His own lips,
The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven. [Footnote 77]
[Footnote 77: We have the highest authority for believing that one
type can symbolise two things quite independent of each other, in
that the Jewish Sabbath, commanded from Sinai to be observed in
commemoration of the Rest after the Creation, is enforced in
Deuteronomy as the representation of the rest of the children of
Israel from Egyptian bondage. 'Remember,' says Moses, 'that thou
wast a servant in the land of Egypt, and that the Lord thy God
brought thee out thence through a mighty hand and by a stretched out
arm: _therefore_ the Lord thy God commanded thee to keep the Sabbath
day.'--Deut. v, 15.]
Another objection is as follows: If this theory be true, how will you
account for churches with nothing but a nave, or with only one aisle;
how for churches with neither cleristory nor triforio; or, on the
other hand, for those with double triforia, or with four or five
aisles? Now we never asserted that it was necessary that all, or
indeed any, given things should be intentionally symbolised. We have
pointed out that some things are essentially symbolical; others
accidentally and occasionally. We might attempt to classify what
_must_ be symbolised in church building, and what _may_ be. But we
decline to do so because we do not think that the principles of
symbolism are yet sufficiently investigated or apprehended. However,
in a general way, _every_ building must, from the nature of things,
have some accidents, as of material, of parts, of plan; every
particular building must have particular accidents, as of use and
purpose. These accidents _must_ be symbolical, from their nature, in a
general way: they may derive, from purpose added to their nature, a
further or modified symbolism in a particular way. With the first sort
it is that Durandus chiefly concerns himself A building must have
walls, must have roof, piers, windows, corners, and floor. For each
then he finds a meaning. {cxvii} He does not quite neglect the second
sort. Early English windows must have a splay: the spire may have a
weathercock: for these then there is an appropriate signification. So
we do not mean to insist that certain things _shall_ be symbolised, we
say they _may_ be symbolised. Perhaps when more is known, we shall be
able to criticise ancient buildings, to show their faults or their
shortcomings in this particular. As it is, we have framed a sort of
_beau ideal_ of a church, fully formed and developed, which we should
propose as a perfect model. We are not qualified as yet to blame the
ancient churches which do not come up to this ideal, but we cannot be
wrong in praising such as do.
In discussing Mr. Lewis's illustrations of Kilpeck church, we touched
upon the Basilican origin of churches considered as an argument
against the reception of the symbolical theory. Our last remarks will
apply to the same question. It has been thought quite sufficient
ground for turning into ridicule the whole principle, that the Roman
justice halls had three or more aisles, or that a barn or banquetting
room may have three longitudinal divisions. But what if mechanical
convenience suggested the arrangement? (though we do not grant this).
It is clear that many churches, many barns, and many refectories have
never had a triple arrangement. It has never been asserted that every
church shall have nave and aisles: but if a church has nave and aisles
it will be symbolical of a great doctrine; and for this reason it is
better for a church to have nave and aisles. Why do not such writers
argue that the cross form is not symbolical, because many barns are
cruciform? Now it is instructive to observe that there is a great and
obvious utilitarian advantage in this shape for a barn: but not in the
case of churches as _anciently arranged_; in which the transepts were
utterly useless for the {cxviii} accommodation of worshippers; and in
which there is a mechanical evil (as before mentioned) from the
lateral pressure on the lantern piers. Yet it is undeniable that the
cross form was chosen for its symbolical meaning: and this in spite of
mechanical disadvantages. A mechanical reason fails here, as in the
former case, in accounting for the fact. How will they account for the
cross form? Their own argument tells against them. We may still
further remark that in modern times we have had some curious practical
lessons upon this cross form. Messrs Britton and Hosking, in their
atrocious plan for rearranging S. Mary Redcliffe church, unwittingly
testified to the inconvenience, and want of any utilitarian end, of
this plan by placing the pulpit under the lantern, and ranging the
congregation in the four arms so as to face it. On the other hand,
some modern architects confessedly employ the cross form because it
allows of people arranged as in the last case, all seeing the
preacher. But why do they not look deeper into things? Why have the
cross at all? Why not have an amphitheatre, an octagon, an
accoustically designed Mechanic's Institute Lecture Room? Then all
could hear, all could see much better, and the building would not cost
half so much. They may think that they are designing on utilitarian
principles. In truth they are unknowingly, unwillingly, symbolising
the Cross.
{cxix}
CHAPTER X
DEVELOPMENT OF SYMBOLISM
It is now our intention to attem
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