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}