THE ORIENTATION OF CHURCHES
Orientation, as the word is commonly understood nowadays, may be
described as the principle, and practice, according to which a sacred
building or other object is set in an East-to-West line. In speaking of
a Christian church, there is implied further that the altar is normally
placed at the Eastern end of the building. The word “orientate,” it is
hardly necessary to say, comes primarily from the Latin _oriri_, to
rise, the reference being, of course, to the sun. To get one’s bearings
with respect to the East was therefore naturally called “orientation.”
There is a more general signification when the word is employed
scientifically: thus, the crystals in a mass of rock may be orientated,
and not necessarily to the East. There is also a broader usage of the
term, mostly of literary interest, which merely conveys the sense of
determination of one’s position, physically or mentally, so that even
theories and opinions may be orientated, honestly or disingenuously, by
their advocates. Under this definition, moreover, a building may be
orientated, and yet the chief part need not face the geographical East.
But it has been conjectured that there was also a Mediaeval Latin word,
_orientare_, which specifically meant “to set towards the East,” and
thus arose the fuller and more precise connotation familiar to the
modern antiquary[483]. From the Mediaeval term we get our verb “to
orientate,” which, like the briefer and more usual term, “to orient,”
implies the setting out of a church East to West, with the altar towards
the East of the edifice. Merely premising that there is an orientation
of graves as well as of buildings, we will proceed to consider the case
of churches only.
The most heedless observer must have noticed the main facts. The choir
or chancel of a cathedral or parish church faces East, while the nave
runs towards the West. The exceptions form a trifling minority. Casting
about for an explanation of these exceptions, it will be found that the
buildings which infringe the rule are usually modern, or that the
exigencies of space permitted no alternative, or that there has been a
spirit of opposition manifested of set purpose. Let us first notice a
few examples where the rule is broken. The small, modern church of Well,
Lincolnshire, is indeed built East and West, but the altar is situated
at the West end. Eastville church, in the same county, runs North and
South, its altar being towards the South[484]. St Mary Major, Exeter,
which lies to the West of the cathedral, is alined North-East and
South-West, but the alteration was probably made in 1866, when the
church was rebuilt. The original building was of Norman date[485], and
would scarcely be out of line. St Paul’s, Covent Garden, built by Inigo
Jones in 1633, and rebuilt at the close of the eighteenth century, has
its axis about 30° North of the East-to-West line, but the altar stands
at what must be called the “East” end of the church. St John’s, Chatham,
another church which transgresses the principle, was erected in the
years immediately preceding the Oxford Movement, at a time when the
practice of orientation had grown lax[486]. Several Georgian churches in
the Paddington and Marylebone districts are out of line, while, strange
to tell, a Primitive Methodist Chapel in Seymour Place, hard by, is
properly orientated[487]. The fact is noticeable, since the custom is
not widely observed by Nonconformists. Camden church, Peckham, is built
askew, but that is doubtless owing to its founders having consisted of a
coalition of Nonconformists and dissatisfied churchmen from the mother
parish of Camberwell. In the Georgian era, as is well known, there was
general slackness: fonts were often placed in the North and South
aisles, ornaments were neglected, brasses stolen, documents mislaid and
misused. To this period of slovenly treatment can be traced the
anomalous alinement of St George’s, Bloomsbury. The Eastern recess
having proved too small to receive an altarpiece which had been
presented by the Duke of Bedford, the main axis of the church was, as it
were, turned through an angle of 90°, and it is now arranged almost
North and South, the original chancel being represented by a
baptistery[488].
Other churches which do not conform to the usual plan are St Edmund the
King, Lombard Street, and Immanuel church, Streatham Common (altar at
Western end). A number of French examples might also be given, but even
were it possible to compile an exhaustive list, it would only weary the
reader.
Roman Catholic churches are sometimes found to have unorthodox
alinements, but not so generally as is commonly believed. Frequently,
the so-called lack of orientation simply means that the position of the
altar is reversed. Thus, St George’s Cathedral, in Westminster, like St
Peter’s at Rome, has its altar at the West end. But since the axis in
these cases, as in that of the little Anglican church at Well,
previously mentioned, lies East and West, I prefer to consider these
churches as not fundamentally violating the rule. To this matter we must
presently return. It has been asserted, and afterwards stoutly denied,
that disregard of orientation, with respect to the Eastern altar, is a
feature of the churches of the Jesuits[489].
A goodly number of modern churches owe their incorrect alinements to the
limitations of shape, slope, and area of the ground on which the
buildings are placed. Thus, while the old parish church of Hornsey,
Middlesex, stands correctly, the new building is sadly discordant. This
variation is caused by a corresponding difference in the long axis of
the rectangular plot on which it is built. The axis of the Roman
Catholic church of the English Martyrs at Streatham, again, is in marked
disagreement with that of the Anglican parish church hard by; a glance
at the manner in which the former edifice is wedged in seems to supply
the reason. Whether the North-to-South line of the Church of the
Oratory, Brompton, is to be so explained, is more uncertain. Of ancient
English buildings which do not orientate, the classic example is found
at the Cistercian Abbey of Rievaulx, Yorkshire. A steep bank on the one
side of the church, and a river on the other, necessitated an axis from
North to South.
Then we have to deal with churches designedly mis-built. The Puritan Sir
Walter Mildmay, founder of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, built the
original College chapel North and South, as a protest against
superstition, and in marked derogation of catholic usage (A.D. 1584).
This action led Evelyn to speak of “that zealous house” which was
“reformed _ab origine_[490].” The Cambridge example is serviceable as
showing the approximate date when early tradition began to be defied.
To-day, except through pure carelessness on the part of architects or
builders, the Church observes the broad rule, both with respect to the
axis and the Eastward altar. One or two critical instances will render
this evident. When, in India, under the first Bishop of Calcutta, Dr
Middleton (A.D. 1814-22), the question arose whether the chancel of a
church should not face the city of Jerusalem, it was decided to build
towards the East, and leave the sacred city out of account[491]. Again,
it was mooted, a few years ago, whether churches situated in, and West
of, the diocese of Honolulu in the Sandwich Islands (157° 53´ W.),
should not have occidentation, rather than orientation, and the verdict
was that the chancel should point to the rising sun[492]. Someone has
remarked, in this connection, that in crossing to another hemisphere,
the Northern and Southern points may be said to change values[493], but
this does not affect the question of orientating from a given place on a
fixed meridian. Moreover, since Honolulu lies 21° North of the Equator,
it is outside this consideration altogether.
Although, as just stated, the modern builder follows the rule, he
appears to lack precision in his methods. This opinion has been
expressed in private letters to the writer from such high authorities as
Professor Reginald Blomfield, Mr H. Phillips Fletcher, and Mr P.
Mainwaring Johnston. Mr Johnston says that even in the matter of
inserting the points of the compass on architectural drawings there is
greater laxity than was formerly the case. The builder seems often to
rely on a small portable compass, which frequently is not corrected for
the variation of the needle.
By way of parenthesis, it may be noted that the lodges of Freemasons
were formerly orientated, and, although the rule is not always now
followed in towns, where meeting places are numerous, yet the house of
assembly is still called Orient, and, in the case of a grand lodge,
Grand Orient. The explanation is that the Freemasons claimed to be
descended from the old ecclesiastical builders[494]. From the annals of
Freemasonry we can also gather valuable information concerning the
alinement of churches. In some of the Scotch lodges, there are said to
exist documents which describe the actual method pursued. The site of
the altar having been decided upon, a pole was thrust into the ground,
and a day appointed for the building to be commenced. “On the evening
previous, the Patrons, Ecclesiastics, and Masons assembled, and spent
the night in devotional exercises: one being placed to watch the rising
of the sun, gave notice when his rays appeared above the horizon. When
fully in view, the Master Mason sent out a man with a rod, which he
ranged in line between the altar and the sun, and thus fixed the line of
orientation[495].”
Wordsworth refers to the ceremony in the following stanzas (he is
alluding to the rising of the sun):
“He rose, and straight--as by divine command,
They, who had waited for that sign to trace
Their work’s foundation, gave with careful hand
To the high Altar its determined place;
Mindful of Him, who in the Orient born,
There liv’d, and on the Cross His life resign’d,
And who, from out the regions of the morn
Issuing in pomp, shall come to judge mankind[496].”
In passing, it will be noticed that Wordsworth seems to attach
importance to the fact that the Nativity took place in the East, as if
that were the reason for orientation.
Having seen that, in our day, the custom agrees faithfully with a
formulated tradition, we will go back, and, pursuing the link-to-link
method, strive to ascertain the origin of the idea. There existed a
sound tradition in A.D. 1584, for, as already stated, Sir Walter Mildmay
deliberately broke with it. A French example will help to carry us on
our way. During the fourteenth century the church of Saint-Benoît, in
Paris, had its grand altar turned towards the West, and hence bore the
nickname of Saint-Benoît-mal-Tourné, i.e. “Sanctus Benedictus male
versus.” The church was rebuilt during the reign of Francis I. (A.D.
1515-47), when the altar was made to face East. The name, says M. L’Abbé
Migne, was consequently changed to Saint-Benoît-le-Bétourné, which the
narrator claims as the equivalent of “Bene versus[497].” It has been
questioned whether _bétourné_ does not really mean _mal-tourné_[498],
but the point to be noticed is, that orientation, in the fuller sense,
was recognized in the early sixteenth century, and that even in the
fourteenth, a true alinement was observed, though the altar was placed
at the wrong end. M. L’Abbé Migne, indeed, asserts that orientation in
France is known to date from the eleventh century at least[499]. Yet, in
modern times, the French practice has become very uncertain, and
numerous instances might be given of North-to-South alinements.
William Durand, commonly known under his Latinized name, Durandus, who
was born in Provence, in A.D. 1237, has some interesting remarks on
orientation. Following St Isidore, he connects the word _temple_ with
_contemplate_, a kinship which recent lexicographers do not
discountenance. While “contemplating,” the worshippers must look towards
the East, and Durandus lays down the rule that the exact position should
be determined at the equinox. This would ensure that the sections of the
building to the right and left of the true East-and-West line should be
equal. Thus would the Church Militant show that she behaved herself with
moderation, a virtue not symbolized when the median line is taken at the
solstice[500].
Dr Daniel Rock asserts that the Saxons built their churches
East-and-West, and numerous instances might readily be given to
substantiate his statement. A specific example is cited by Dr Rock
himself. Wolstan, monk of Winchester (A.D. 990), speaks of a church
built by Bishop St Ethelwold (b. A.D. 908, d. 984) as pointing to the
East. Like Durandus, Dr Rock favoured the equinoctial East, and urged
that, in cases where the site was unfavourable, the East-and-West line
should be approached as nearly as possible. The chancel should face
South-East rather than North-West, assuming that the axis must run in
that line[501]. This principle was formerly undoubtedly considered
binding. Brand, quoting from a history of Birmingham, tells how St
Bartholomew’s chapel, in that city, “veres toward the North,” because
the ground space would admit of no other position. In planning St John’s
chapel, Deritend, Birmingham, the architect was so anxious to catch the
Eastern point, that he lost the line of the street, hence the writer
humorously adds that the designer sacrificed to the East[502]. Another
instance of an attempt to keep in harmony with Mediaeval teaching, is
seen at Hornsey new church (p. 207 _supra_), which has its chancel at
the Southern end, in preference to the Northern.
Granting that the Saxon churches show orientation, we are led to suppose
that the idea goes back still earlier, and this is confirmed by facts.
In the “Apostolical Constitutions,” a document dating probably from the
latter part of the fourth century, it is ordained that the churches are
to be built oblong, with the head to the East, and the congregation is
directed to pray Eastward[503]. So early as A.D. 472, there was a
tradition that the Apostles turned towards the East in prayer[504]. Leo
I., in A.D. 443, is found condemning the people for bowing to the rising
sun as they stood on the steps in the Court of St Peter’s[505]. St
Basil, who flourished in the middle of the fourth century A.D., alludes
distinctly to the custom of turning towards the East in prayer[506].
Several early writers might be quoted for corroborative testimony on
this point. The fourth Provincial Council of Milan (A.D. 1576), speaks
of the practice of orientating churches as being usual and in accordance
with tradition (_antiquus mos et probata traditio_)[507]. Thus there is
cumulative evidence, fairly satisfactory in character, of deference paid
to the Eastern position, practically from the time when the Christians
began to build their own churches[508].
Certain pronouncements to the contrary, which, if accepted, are
calculated to weaken the force of these arguments, and to modify our
views on the general question of orientation, must not be withheld. For
example, Walcott asserts that orientation has never been a law of the
Church, and that it has probably an Eastern origin. He also points out
that, in Rome, the entrance to a Christian place of worship was
frequently at the East, and that the priest at the altar faced the
people[509]. The Romano-British church discovered at Silchester (see p.
23 _supra_) must be noted as an instance of this kind of ground plan.
This “basilica,” as proved by the foundations, had a Western apse, and
presumably, therefore, a Western altar, the entrance being towards the
East. Fergusson, in his _Illustrated Handbook of Architecture_, affirms
that orientation is wholly a peculiarity of Northern or Gothic races,
and that the Italians never knew or practised the custom; it is found
only where the inhabitants of an Italian district had been largely
superseded by Gothic peoples[510]. Professor Baldwin Brown, again,
asserts that “the Church of early times generally, and the Church of
Rome throughout,” were indifferent to the practice of orientation. A
fourth writer, whose opinion carries great weight, Professor E. B.
Tylor, deals with Jewish influence, and concludes that it was scarcely
effective in establishing the principle of orientation in the course of
European history. He is rather of opinion that the rise of the Christian
custom is sufficiently accounted for by Asiatic sun-worshippers, such as
the Persians. The rite of orientation, he considers, was unknown to
primitive Christianity, and was developed within its first four
centuries[511].
Let us examine these statements. That orientation has never been a law
of the Church may be literally true. I can find no such obligation
recorded in works like Sir R. Phillimore’s _Ecclesiastical Law_. Yet Dr
Rock refers to an authority, “one deeply read in liturgical
lore,”--Bellotte, who pronounced him guilty of mortal sin who wilfully
built a church which was not directed towards the East[512]. Again, Mgr
Barbier de Montault, while regretting that the canonists no longer make
orientation rigorously compulsory, observes that the rule, all the same,
remains prescribed in the rubric of the Missal (“_qui n’en reste pas
moins inscrite dans la rubrique du Missel_”)[513]. Above this, the
evidence already adduced shows that the rule has had a very general
acceptation in England since the Saxon period at least.
The churches of Rome, and indeed, of Italy as a whole, are admittedly
irregular in their adherence to strict orientation. Yet even these
churches largely conform to the principle, in its wider sense of
East-to-West alinement. Very frequently, however, the second, and
perhaps almost equally important part of the principle is ignored, that
is, the altar is placed at the Western end, instead of at the Eastern.
St Peter’s itself supplies a good example of this arrangement; other
instances are found in St John Lateran, San Paolo fuori le Mura, and Sta
Maria Maggiore. In these churches, now often called basilicas, the
entrance is at the East, and the sanctuary at the West[514]. Out of
fifty early churches in Rome examined by Mr G. G. Scott, forty were
found to have the sanctuary at the West; of the remaining examples,
“there are only seven which appear to have retained their original form
and which have an Eastern sanctuary[515].” Of the forty churches just
mentioned, as of some later ones, it must be noted that the alinement is
by no means true East-to-West, hence the epigram of the French wit:
“_Tout système d’orientation peut trouver son modèle à Rome_.”
To leave the matter here would nevertheless convey a false impression.
It is credibly asserted that, in the cases where the altar is at the
Western extremity, the celebrant faces the East, thus taking the same
relative position personally as when, under a reverse arrangement, he
turns his back on the congregation[516]. If, then, the axis of the
church be situated East-to-West, and if the prayers be offered towards
the East, orientation cannot be truly said to be neglected: the relative
dispositions of portico and altar become secondary considerations.
Dr Rock, with a manifest anxiety to reconcile the diversity of practice
in Rome, submitted, as an explanation, that isolated basilicas (=
Christian churches) grew up over narrow, lonely pagan grottos, or the
graves of martyrs, or sprang out of the halls of patrician
converts[517]. That many of the anomalous alinements may be thus
accounted for is probable, but too much must not be made of this method
of harmonizing contradictions. Other writers, like Fergusson, have urged
that the church was a basilica, or court of justice adapted to Christian
worship. The word “basilica,” by the way, is said not to have been used
by writers or architects of Byzantine times[518]--a significant detail,
if correct (cf. p. 151 _supra_). For it is contended that there is, in
Rome, no well-authenticated instance of the conversion of any pagan
forensic basilica into a Christian church, though there are abundant
examples of pagan temples which became Christian sanctuaries[519]. The
actual secular basilicas would generally be still required, and still
employed, century after century, for the transaction of legal business;
the heathen temples, now useless for their original purpose, would be
adapted and consecrated by the teachers of the new faith. The Christians
most likely copied the basilican type of building for their
meeting-places because it offered the simplest and most economical plan
of accommodating an immense body of worshippers[520].
An attempt has been made to evolve order out of chaos by supposing that,
during the early days of the Church, in some parts of the Empire, the
priest stood on the Western side of the altar, namely, the side remote
from the people, and that, during the celebrations, he looked towards
the East, over the heads of the worshippers. The body of the church thus
lay to the East of the sanctuary, and the altar was interposed between
priest and congregation. At a later date, for some unassigned reason,
the priest changed his position with respect to the altar, and stood
with his back to the people, hence the ground-plan of the building was
modified, so that the main entrance was fixed at the West, and the
sanctuary at the East[521]. Thus the Eastward position of the priest
was the essential feature, not the position of the altar in the church.
Fergusson’s dictum concerning the churches of Italy, however, need not
be accepted without demur. It has been endorsed by writers like Sir E.
Beckett (Lord Grimthorpe)[522], but is considered by others to involve
overstatement. Fergusson himself admits that, while it is only by
accident that we find the rule observed in Pisa, Bologna, and Ferrara,
yet in more Northerly (“German”) cities like Milan and Verona, the
orientation will be found correct nine times out of ten[523]. He
accounts for the absence of orientation in the three first-named cities
by supposing that in them the original population was not submerged by
“Gothic races.” Whatever may be the precise meaning which Fergusson
attaches to this phrase is of little moment, for it is fairly certain,
as we shall soon see, that the principle was put into practice by
peoples to whom the term could by no licence be applied. Therefore, at
any rate, the custom was not, as he believes, wholly a feature of the
Gothic builders. Let us recall the fact that seven out of fifty early
churches in Rome are carefully oriented. Link this with the fact that
many other ancient churches in that city are more or less accurately
alined, and the conclusion is clear that the direction of the median
line was rarely left to chance. This verdict is confirmed by an
examination of early Romanesque churches elsewhere. In Auvergne, for
instance, the present writer ascertained, by a careful use of the
compass, that oriented churches were very common, yet Gothic influence
has not, even in our day, penetrated that region to any considerable
extent.
Professor Tylor’s opinion that the Jews exercised little influence on
the development of the custom among the early Christians, claims great
respect and attention, because of the high authority which he deservedly
possesses. Yet it may be doubted whether he has not under-estimated
Jewish influences, and over-estimated the effects of Jewish contact with
the Persians and other peoples living East of Palestine. In the first
place, one is led to conclude that Professor Tylor’s argument is
somewhat weakened by the stress which is laid upon the differences of
position adopted in prayer, with respect to the sun. The Brahmans, we
are told, pray towards the East, the Thugs towards the West. In the
first case, the symbolism represents hope, the birth of life, the glory
of the rising sun; in the antithesis of the second, the gloom and horror
of death, typified by the departure of the life-giver. These
distinctions, though not trivial in themselves, and even less so in
their later developments, seem to be largely obliterated by the very
existence of adoration performed sunwards. The essence of orientation,
in its early stages, appears, if one may so express it, to consist in
respect paid to the sun. This deference is proved by the East-and-West
axial line, as exemplified in primitive temples and monuments. Where the
altar was at the Western end, the sun’s rays fell on the sacred object
through the Eastern doors at sunrise. As the centuries pass by, we still
find rival opinions as to the proper positions for the altar or other
sacred object. The alinement is agreed upon, but the question arises,
Shall the sanctuary be East or West?
Now do we not find noticeable traces of the solar idea in the Hebrew
Scriptures, with a certain tendency, moreover, to the adoption of the
Eastern rather than the Western position? The Tabernacle of Moses and
the Temple of Solomon had their entrances towards the East, and in each
building the Holy of Holies was at the West. There was also an Eastern
porch to Herod’s Temple[524]. The student of the Bible and the Apocrypha
will be familiar with numerous passages, which, without any wresting
from the context, appear to contain the germ of the idea of
orientation[525], displayed in respect paid to prayer at sunrise. In the
Wisdom of Solomon, xvi. 28, these words occur, “We must prevent the sun
to give thee thanks, and at the dayspring pray to thee.” Language of a
very similar kind is found in more than one of the Psalms. It is
undeniable that repeated attempts were made by the monotheistic Hebrews
to prevent adoration of the sun. The practice is implicitly forbidden in
the Second Commandment, and expressly in such passages as Deut. iv. 19.
Why should these prohibitions have been necessary, unless the Jews were
prone, in this matter as in some others, either to copy pagan rites, or
to follow primal instincts inherited from forefathers among whom solar
worship was common? Ezekiel was horror-stricken at the sight of the
five-and-twenty men who worshipped the sun with their backs toward the
Temple and their faces toward the East[526]. Josiah found it necessary
to put down the idolatrous priests, whom the kings of Judah had ordained
to burn incense to Baal, and to the sun, moon, and planets; the
“chariots of the sun” he burned with fire[527]. The attention paid to
direction in offering one’s prayers is illustrated again by the case of
Daniel. Domiciled in a heathen land, he prayed with his face towards
Jerusalem, although that city lies West, and not East, of Babylon[528].
To look again toward the Holy Temple was the prayer uttered by Jonah
when in the belly of the fish[529]. In short, prayer offered towards
Jerusalem was actually recommended, if not stipulated, by Solomon, as a
condition of success in warfare[530]. The Jews, in later times, seem
always to have been zealous in obeying the precept, though it is not
recorded that they carry a compass with them for the purpose, as the
Mohammedans are said to do[531].
The Book of Job contains a remarkable and enlightening passage
concerning sun-worship. Protesting his integrity, the patriarch says:
“If I beheld the sun when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness;
And my heart hath been secretly enticed, or my mouth hath kissed my
hand: This also were an iniquity to be punished by the judge[532].” Now,
the ancient Greeks used to kiss their hands as an act of worship to the
sun, and Tertullian had to complain that even Christians would move
their lips toward the sunrise, as if affecting adoration[533]. Grimm
says that Teutonic peoples would swear an oath by the sun, stretching
out their hands to the all-seeing god[534].
A moment’s pause may be made to notice a remarkable parallel, suggested
by Barclay. On the one side, we have the stretching out vertically of
the separated fingers. On the other, as Barclay observes, we have the
five large trilithons of the outer “horsehoe” of Stonehenge, graduated
so that the central one corresponds to the middle finger of the hand,
and the other trilithons to the other fingers, each to each. Similarly,
if the fingers are brought together so as to form a circle, we get the
symbol employed in the sacred salute to the sun[535]. Barclay’s
comparisons may be fanciful, but who shall deny their aptness? We cannot
forget the symbolism adopted in the Greek and Latin churches when the
Benediction is pronounced. Even a temporary assent to Barclay’s
hypothesis leads us to ask further, Whence came the custom of shading
the face with the hands when the worshipper is engaged in prayer? Did
the habit originate in protecting the eyes from the sun during the act
of supplication?
But to return: we have seen that sun-worship, and prayer offered towards
the East, or towards a hallowed site, are abundantly illustrated in the
Old Testament. Again, if the Jews did not practise orientation in our
specific sense of the word, they observed an East-to-West system in
planning their chief place of worship. The older generations of Jews, at
least, could not have been ignorant of orientation. As bondmen in Egypt,
they must have become acquainted with the principle. In Canaan, they
were subjected, as Professor Tylor states, to the influences of solar
worship on all sides. Their heathen neighbours, the Phoenicians, bowed
themselves to Baal, the Ammonites offered sacrifices to Molech, and the
Syrians worshipped the god Hadad[536].
If the probabilities favour a knowledge of the idea of orientation among
the Jews of the Old Testament times, reason must be shown for the
assumption of a complete break between the ancient practice and the
customs of the Apostolic period. For primitive Christianity was not only
in great measure developed from, but was a fulfilment of, the older
Judaism. The “Sun of Righteousness” in Malachi has its counterpart in
the “Day spring from on high” of St Luke, the “Day star” of the Second
Epistle of Peter, and the “Morning star” of the Apocalypse[537]. The
“Light of the World,” or some variant of the phrase, occurs again and
again. While, therefore, it would be folly to force these figurative
expressions too far, it would equally be a mistake to overlook them.
There is a possibility, then, of an early Christian as well as a Hebraic
groundwork for subsequent developments of orientation. Perhaps the
lesson was soon reinforced by Christian contact with converts from
paganism, for, as already shown, we do not get far into the Christian
era before we meet with oriented churches and the custom of praying
towards the East. During the rite of baptism, too, as we learn from St
Jerome, the candidate turned towards the West to renounce the devil, and
then faced East to confess allegiance to Christ[538].
This specific inquiry may now be dropped, yet a brief survey of
religions and races other than the Jewish will not only elucidate the
subject generally, but will cast a light back on the question which we
are leaving. We are informed, on good authority, that, in the Holy
Eastern Church, orientation is “universal through Asia as well as
Europe[539].” Again, with respect to the ancient Coptic churches of
Egypt, it is asserted by Butler that the entrance is “almost invariably
towards, if not in, the Western side, while the sanctuaries lie always
on the Eastern[540].” This authority suggests that the early Christians
may have derived the practice of orientation from Egypt. The ancient
Egyptian temples afford wide scope for discussion. Sir J. Norman Lockyer
and other workers have arranged these temples in groups according to
their orientation. One temple, at Karnak, is said to be so planned that
it acts as a gigantic telescope which allows a two minutes’ flash at the
summer solstice, when the building is found to be accurately
oriented[541]. Other temples are so alined that, on the anniversary of
the dedication, the rays of the sun fall on the innermost sanctuary, and
light up the statues placed therein. The sanctuaries, it should be
explained, are situated at the Western end, so that the sun’s beams
would shine through the Eastern entrance. Other groups of structures
may, perhaps, exhibit “orientation” to Sirius, Spica, Capella, and so
on[542]. The evidence goes to show that considerable nicety of
observation was required to get the true axis; probably this was done
either by watching the shadow cast by a vertical object when the sun was
on the meridian, by stretching a cord between two stakes, carefully
alined, or by keeping a standard line constantly directed towards the
North Pole of the heavens. It has just been stated that Egyptian temples
are sources of much controversy, and it would be unwise to attempt
further to make clear one complicated question by introducing another
fully as perplexing. Merely observing, then, that Sir Norman Lockyer
has submitted evidence to show that the orientation of Egyptian temples
influenced the temples of Greece, a country which he believes to
represent a transitional stage of the custom[543], we again turn our
attention to English churches.
The first obvious fact to demand notice is that few of our churches face
the true equinoctial East. Over sixty years ago a series of Norfolk
churches was examined, when it was found that, at West Beckham, the axis
was due East; at St Peter’s, Bampton, so much as 20° North of East; and
in a number of other examples the discrepancies varied from 5° to
8°[544]. In 1856, a paper was read by the Rev. W. Airy, in which he
stated that, among churches which he had inspected, there were hundreds
deviating between 5° and 10° from the true East, six or seven diverged
above 20°, and one more than 30°[545]. The late Mr T. W. Shore, whose
knowledge of Hampshire was very comprehensive and thorough, found that a
line about 20° North of East was favoured in that county, about seventy
churches having this inclination[546]. If, then, we assume, for the
moment, that the orientation was taken from the rising sun on the day
when the building was commenced, the Hampshire figures would indicate
that operations were usually begun either about a month after the vernal
equinox or a month before the autumnal equinox. This conclusion must not
be finally accepted without inquiry. From an old map known as John
Leake’s _Exact Surveigh_ (1667), it has been found that hardly any two
city churches then existing agreed in their axes, nor with the true
East-to-West line. Such is the assertion made in Smith’s _Old Topography
of London_, but I doubt whether the map, which one may see in the
Library of the British Museum, will bear the strictest tests. The
authority just cited affirms that he made minute measurements for his
plan of Westminster and discovered that even such close neighbours as
Westminster Abbey, St Margaret’s, and St Catherine’s in the Little
Cloister, vary many points from each other[547]. Sir Henry Chauncy had
noticed similar variations in Hertfordshire at the close of the
sixteenth century, and had explained them on the theory of seasonal
alinement just given[548]. It is needless to adduce further examples:
let the student take a carefully adjusted compass, and test a number of
churches for himself. Like the present writer, he will find that he
rarely meets with a chancel which faces exactly East.
If we scan the pages of works on ecclesiology and symbolism we shall
find hypotheses regarding orientation in great abundance. Whether or not
the Christian practice came directly from Jewish antecedents, concerning
which question, as we have seen, there is a doubt, its ultimate origin
must be sought among pagan peoples. Yet the old authors were mainly
unaware of these beginnings, and they, like the common folk, were driven
to invent secondary explanations. And it may well be that the subsidiary
beliefs were, at certain periods, fully effective--that builders did
orient churches for this or that symbolical reason, unconscious
meanwhile of a deeper cause which lay behind, rooted in past heathenism
and strengthened by long prescription.
As we follow the tortuous threads of Mediaeval and later traditions, it
becomes plain that some of the clues may be dropped as valueless. Thus,
because the Tabernacle and the Temple had each the Holy Place towards
the West, and because the Jews turned their faces thitherward in prayer,
some writers have ingeniously supposed that the early Christians adopted
the opposite arrangement, in order to mark the advent of the new Gospel.
In like manner, urge these writers, the Day of Rest was changed from the
seventh to the first day of the week[549]. This hypothesis respecting
orientation, born in the study of the mystic, is too whimsical and
lacking in proof to be seriously considered.
Two of the early Fathers submit that, since Christ, while on the Cross,
looked towards the West, His followers should therefore turn towards the
East to seek His face[550]. Another view is that, at the Second Advent,
Christ will appear from the East, hence worship and regard should be
paid towards that point of the heavens. The East was the traditional
cradle of the human family; the Magi came from the East; in that
quarter, relatively to Western Christendom, Christ was born, and from
that quarter He ascended to heaven. To the East lies the traditional
land to which we return after life’s pilgrimage[551]. St Basil had a
curious theory that ancient churches were built towards the equinoctial
East in order that worshippers might face the Garden of Eden, the
terrestrial Paradise. As Reusens puts it, “_nous devons tourner nos
regards vers le paradis terrestre que Dieu planta à Eden vers
l’orient_[552].” The last of these esoteric explanations worth
mentioning is that the devout have always been anxious to look towards
Jerusalem in prayer; hence altars are built to face that quarter. To
this plea, Dr Neale replies that orientation in the Eastern Church is as
distinctly an Asiatic as a European practice, hence the idea is
self-contradictory[553].
Here we encounter a kind of side-theory which has long been a favourite
with liturgical writers. It will be remembered that Durandus laid down
the ideal rule of building so as to face the equinoctial East. But we
have also seen that this counsel of perfection has been little heeded.
The obvious explanation of the exceptions is that the sun’s varying
daily position has resulted in diversity of alinement. The obvious,
however, not always being the true, other reasons have been sought, and
other theories formulated. Hence arose the attractive “Saint’s Day
theory,” to the effect that the axis of the building depended on the
point of sunrise which corresponded to the day of the patron saint to
whom the church was dedicated. So far as I am aware, the idea is not
traceable, in writing, earlier than the middle of the seventeenth
century, but this origin may perchance be pushed backward as the
question is further studied. The following account may supply a clue.
Silas Taylor, otherwise Silas Domville, was a captain in the
Parliamentary army, who later devoted himself to antiquarian pursuits.
Careless in money matters, he died in debt, and his manuscripts were
sold by his creditors at his death, in A.D. 1678. One manuscript
contains this passage: “In the days of yore, when a church was to be
built, they watched and prayed on the vigil of the dedication, and took
that point of the horizon where the sun arose from the East, which makes
that variation, so that few [churches] stand true, except those built
between the two equinoxes. I have experimented (_sic_) some churches,
and have found the line to point to that part of the horizon where the
sun arises on the day of that Saint to whom the church is
dedicated[554].” Noting, incidentally, that the expression, “between the
two equinoxes,” is evidently a slip, and that the writer means “at the
two equinoxes,” we are struck by the likeness between this account and
that which is credited to the old Masonic lodges. The Saint’s Day theory
is merely an amplification of the earlier Masonic idea, a specific
practical mode of orientation being introduced.
The theory just given has been productive of an abiding controversy. It
has been sanctioned by several authorities, among others by Sir Norman
Lockyer[555]. But, although the subject will bear deeper investigation,
there is already sufficient evidence available to prove that the theory
is faulty. There exist well-established cases of variation which cannot
be forced under the rule. Again, some saints have several festivals
allotted to them: St Nicholas has two, St Martin three, St John four,
St Peter five, St Mary the Virgin eight[556]. Suppose, moreover, the
case of an ancient church dedicated, we will say, to St Barnabas, and
further assume that the present-day observer examines the orientation
and finds it correct for the day of that saint, June 11th. The theory
would still fail, since, by an Act of Parliament passed in the year
1752, eleven days were omitted from the calendar, and the orientation
would, by the hypothesis, have been taken on May 30th. In considering
ancient churches, therefore, the change in reckoning must be allowed for
at the start. To meet the necessities of such an example as that
proposed, it must also be granted that the advice of Durandus to build
at the equinox was not generally followed. But we have seen that the
facts are in accord with such an assumption, so that this minor
objection falls to the ground. Once more; arguing from the fact that the
village feast, which is usually held on the Saint’s Day, does not always
coincide with the dedication festival, Mr Airy concluded that the theory
under consideration was invalid. Without prejudicing the general
verdict, we notice that this contention is impaired by evidence which
proves that the dates of many village feasts have, at various times,
been changed to suit local convenience (cf. p. 191 _supra_).
A more damaging argument is supplied by Mr Airy’s assertion that he had
never met with one church pointing to the place of sunrise between the
1st of May and the 9th of August[557]. If this testimony were
unassailable, it would seem to indicate at least an approximation to the
rule of Durandus--a pushing back of building operations towards early
spring (March 22nd) or forwards to autumn (Sept. 22nd). Unfortunately,
we do not know the church which, according to Mr Airy, has a deflection
of 30°; unless it be situated in the Northern part of Britain it must
fall between the 1st of May and the 9th of August. One cannot agree with
Mr Airy’s contentions that festival orientation involved too great a
knowledge of the variation of sunrise, that the “ancients” [apparently
the Mediaeval builders] did not observe such “refinements,” that they
had no idea of the sun’s movements “in his course Northward and
Southward to the τροπαὶ ήελίοιο” [the solstices]. On the contrary, we
believe that from very early times rough observations of this kind must
have been taken with some frequency. The possession of this knowledge by
our forefathers does not, of course, prove the case for the Saint’s Day
theory. But between the idea of dedication alinements and Mr Airy’s
conclusion that the variations are accidental, and represent attempts to
make the fabrics bear to the East as nearly as possible, there is room
for a middle opinion. Should Domville’s assertion prove true, then,
whatever may have been the practice of the early Fathers, the Mediaeval
builders were imbued with the symbolism of festival dedication and
alinement, and would not fail to give effect to their ideal. Granted
that this practice cuts at the root of the equinoctial precept, there is
yet a possibility that, as with so many other customs, uniformity was
never attained. Exceptions alone, numerous though they be, do not
disprove the theory altogether. A smaller number of positive cases would
have force against them. I incline to the belief that the Mediaeval
builders followed partially the Saint’s Day principle--perhaps invented
it--and that a limited list of churches may conform to the idea. If John
Leake’s map, already mentioned, be really accurate, the various City
churches dedicated to St Mary have approximately parallel axes, and this
evidence, so far as it goes, would be confirmatory. That the explanation
covers even the majority of instances is very doubtful. And, at most, it
accounts only for the symbolism which produced variations of the axial
line, and for the actual routine of the builders. The master reason for
orientation, whether equinoctial or solstitial, is to be sought, as we
have seen, in much more primitive times.
A modern theory, propounded by Herr H. Wehner, to account for discordant
axes of buildings, is based upon the belief that the early Freemasons
for centuries possessed, and kept secret, a knowledge of the polarity of
the magnetic needle. Should it be ultimately proved that the builders
employed the magnetic compass, it is urged that we shall have, in the
case of dated churches, a key to the variation of the needle, and,
conversely, for those churches whose date is unknown, a guide to their
age[558]. That other folk, besides the Freemasons, were acquainted with
the compass, is indisputable. A commonly received opinion is, that the
mariner’s compass was introduced to Europe from China about the twelfth
century, probably through the medium of the Arabs[559]. Strong evidence
has, however, been produced to show that the instrument was discovered
independently, or “re-discovered,” in Europe. Among other writers who
refer unequivocally to the compass is the Englishman, Alexander Neckham
(died A.D. 1217), whose description of its properties, as given in two
Latin treatises, is unmistakeable[560]. Hence, from the early thirteenth
century, and perhaps much before that time, the compass may have been
used. But were the builders cognizant of the declination of the needle,
and did they make allowance for it? This is extremely improbable.
Indeed, it is authoritatively stated that the variation with which we
are familiar was discovered by Stephen Burrowes (A.D. 1525-84), when
voyaging between the North Cape of Finmark and Vaigatch[561]. This
voyage would give a date of about the year 1553. The determinations were
afterwards made by Gillebrand, who was professor of geometry at Gresham
College[562].
If, then, the compass had been employed by masons previous to A.D. 1553,
we should have expected, from their ignorance of its declination,
considerable diversities of alinement. For the changes in declination
have been very remarkable. Particulars are available dating from the
year 1580. In that year, the needle pointed 11° 15´ E.; in 1622, the
angle was 6° E.; while in 1657, there was no declination. By the year
1692, a swing of 6° W. had been attained, this rose to 24° 41´ W. in
1818, from which time the variation has steadily diminished[563]. These
figures show that from 1580 to 1818 the needle has varied in London by
so large an angle as 36° (approx.), and one may reasonably suppose that
during the two or three centuries preceding there were similar
alterations. The use of the compass, together with ignorance of its
declination, would therefore supply a very prosaic explanation of
differences in the axial line of churches.
One further attempt at solution may be mentioned. The Rev. J. Griffith,
as the result of examinations of ancient megalithic monuments, has
submitted that the stones were erected in such positions in order to
give a three weeks’ warning of the coming equinox or solstice (cf. p.
192 _supra_). Arguing from this assumption, and citing the alinements of
churches in corroboration, he suggests that a similar interval of
preparation was provided for in the orientation of some churches. As a
rule--he refers evidently to Welsh examples--the older churches are
found to be oriented for May and November, then come buildings alined
for the equinox. “I find,” he says, “N. 76° or 77° E., and N. 80° or 81°
E., to be rather common orientations[564].” [These figures refer to
azimuths; subtracting the number of degrees from 90°, we get the
“amplitudes,” 13° or 14° N. and 9° or 10° N., respectively. In other
words, Mr Griffith found that many churches are alined at these angles
North of East.] With these figures we may compare those of Hampshire,
already given. The inference to be drawn from the Welsh churches is that
the builders there commenced work at dates rather nearer the equinoxes
than did their contemporaries of the South of England. Mr Griffith’s
interpretation gives us a theory within a theory, and requires much
further study and observation before it can be accepted.
This chapter must not close without an allusion to those curious
examples of churches in which the axes of nave and chancel do not
correspond, but point to different points of the horizon. Such cases are
often loosely described under the general term, “orientation,” but
either they really represent double orientations, or, as some contend,
the buildings were purposely constructed with an angular twist. The
subject is usually treated as if the problem merely concerned the
chancel, consequently, in works on ecclesiology, and in the
semi-popular language of architects and antiquaries, a church possessing
the feature now under consideration is described as having a “weeping,”
“twisted,” “deflected,” or “skew chancel.” Manifestly, these expressions
beg the question, for, unless it can be proved that nave and chancel are
of the same age, and that the Eastern limb was purposely deflected, or
that it was deflected at some subsequent re-building, it is possible
that the nave is the portion which has been mis-alined. Hence we might
equally well speak of a “weeping nave.” The matter is nevertheless
unimportant, so long as we do not tacitly allow the popular term to hide
the possibility of a re-building or a re-orienting of either limb of the
church. By that one phrase, “weeping chancel,” we might be led to credit
the old builders with ideas of which they were utterly unconscious, just
as
“Learned commentators view
In Homer more than Homer knew.”
Glancing down the columns of a convenient note-book, one observes, as
famous examples of deflected buildings, Lichfield cathedral, which leans
to the North, and Canterbury, Ely, and York cathedrals, which incline to
the South. Other cases of Northern deflection are Brent Pelham,
Hertfordshire (“several degrees North of East”); St Michael’s, Coventry;
St Mary’s, York; North Curry, Somerset; St Mary’s, Bridlington, and
Whitby Abbey[565].
The instances of deflections towards the South are much more numerous in
this country. My list includes Bishopstone and Bosham, Sussex; St
Mary’s, Coventry; Holy Trinity, Stratford; Priory church, Tynemouth;
West Malling, Kent; St Andrew’s, Lammas, Norfolk (15°); Chipstead and
Mickleham, Surrey, and many others. Further lists have been compiled
from various sources, but, as the direction of the twist is not usually
specified, it would serve no purpose to reproduce the whole catalogue.
Examples of unsymmetrical churches abound on the Continent, but the
deflection of these is usually to the North. The Southern bend is not
unknown, however, for it is found in the cathedral choirs of Geneva and
Stuttgart. Some French chancels even, contrary to common belief, lean to
the South. Speaking of the deflection of French churches, M. J. K.
Huysmans, in his romance, _La Cathédrale_, says, “This twist in the
church is to be seen almost everywhere--in St Jean at Poitiers, at Tours
and at Reims[566].” M. de Caumont observed the Northerly deflection in
more than a hundred churches of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,
the examples being widely scattered[567]. The deviation, in the case of
Bayonne cathedral, is at once noticed by the visitor; Mr Baring-Gould
claims this irregularity as the result of English domination and English
architects[568].
Returning to our own churches, we find it necessary to clear the ground
somewhat. On the one hand, we have the estimate given by the able
editors of Durandus, to the effect that probably about one quarter of
our English churches have a deflection, and that it is usually towards
the South[569]. The present writer dare not hazard the opinion that the
proportion is so high, but he feels convinced that the instances are too
numerous to be explainable by chance. But consider an experience of an
opposite kind. About a dozen years ago, Mr G. Watson, of Penrith, stated
that he had examined the plans of nearly four hundred churches as shown
on the Ordnance maps, and found either no deflection at all, or, at
most, a trifling variation[570]. Precisely what constitutes a trifling
variation we are not told, though it may be freely admitted that the
angle is often very slight. Thus, Mr W. J. Maxton and myself found that
the Lady Chapel of St Saviour’s, Southwark, inclined but a degree or two
East of the nave, yet surely, even this trivial deflection could have
been avoided by the architect, had it been desired. It has been
asserted, apparently with some reason, that York cathedral, already
cited as a “leaning” edifice, has no deflection[571], and to this the
reply has been given that the variation would be obvious on a good
ground-plan[572]. There is no need to argue about these examples in
detail, because there exist sufficient cases of undisputed deflection.
The “skew chancel” is not confined to one epoch. Yet it is submitted
that we have no marked examples before A.D. 1200. The feature is most
observable in churches of the time of Edward III. It is said to be
doubtful whether any instance could be adduced from the Renaissance
period of building; the apparent exception in the church St Mary
Magdalen, Taunton, being of later date[573]. That the feature has a
certain fixity is shown in the case of St Aldate, Oxford, where it
exists in spite of the restoration made in 1863[574]. A late example of
the “twisted” ground-plan, which is valueless as regards the present
discussion, occurs in St Peter’s of the Vatican. Here we have a
deflection of some feet, due to an architect’s blunder, when the Greek
cross was formed into a Latin one by prolonging the nave[575].
Admitting, as we are compelled by the facts to admit, that there exist
many undoubted examples of skew chancels, we next look for an
interpretation. Two schools of thought, the symbolist and the
rationalist, are soon encountered. The case presented by the rationalist
group of authorities may be thus summarized; deflection is the result
either of carelessness or of differences in the dates of building the
nave and the chancel respectively. We will consider first the
explanation involved in the question of dates. It is generally believed
that the choir of a church was often consecrated as soon as it was
completed, the consecration of the nave or vestibule being held over
until that part of the building was, in turn, ready for use. For
instance, as Mr Parker pointed out, the Norman choir and transepts of
the earlier Westminster Abbey are known to have been consecrated in
A.D. 1065, but the nave, if one were ever added, was probably not
finished until the twelfth century. Separate alinements may, in such
cases, have been set out, and slight errors have been made during the
operation. Again, in some of the churches which show inharmonious
alinements, the nave and the choir manifestly belong to different
epochs, one or other portion having been rebuilt. The architect of the
later period unconsciously took an orientation which deviated from the
first axis, or, according to the alternative view, he was actually
unable to make the axes correspond. If we assume that he employed a
magnetic compass, there is a third possibility of error in the variation
of that instrument. But all these hypothetical causes of miscalculation
are removed if we attach weight to a simple suggestion which has been
made by one or two writers. It is submitted that the axis of the nave or
the choir, whichever portion was already standing, would probably be
hidden from the mason’s view, through the temporary blocking up of the
chancel arch. This might render harmonious alinement a task of some
difficulty[576]. It has been averred that every case of deflection
occurs in a church which has been partially rebuilt; hence the lack of
agreement. It is difficult to say whether this statement is absolutely
correct, but it seems to be true in many instances. Even so, why are the
misalinements practically confined to re-buildings of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries?
Again, it is asserted that many cases of deflection were discovered only
when, in modern times, the rood-screen was, for one reason or another,
taken down. In such instances, it is argued, the mason would have his
standard line concealed while setting out the new section of the
building. But, as we shall shortly see, this fact about the rood-screen
may be interpreted in another way. If we accept the Saint’s Day theory,
there remains the possibility of error due to the re-dedication, or
plural dedication, of churches. The difference might then conceivably
originate without any re-building of the fabric. Mr Airy cites the case
of Clapham, Bedfordshire. A better known example, possibly, is found in
Whitby Abbey. The building, as a whole, is dedicated to St Peter and St
Hilda jointly--a fact proved by the Abbey seal. St Peter’s Day is on
the 29th of June, and St Hilda’s on the 25th of August[577]; it was
therefore tentatively submitted that there have been two dedications for
the existing building. At this point we are thrown back on the
“two-period” theory, for the Abbey choir dates from the late twelfth
century, while the nave, which is considered to be the deflected limb,
belongs to the mid-fourteenth century. Yet why should the axis of the
nave lie nine feet North of the choir line? Canon Atkinson, who
carefully investigated this example, expressed the result thus: the axis
of the nave diverges from true East and West by 14°·5, that of the choir
by 9°·7. He adds this statement: “That it was planned so requires no
elaborate proof[578].” The parish church of Whitby, St Mary’s, which is
hard by, and which belongs to the twelfth century, runs exactly parallel
to the Abbey choir. Why, again, assuming the theory of separate
dedications, should the nave be assigned to one saint, and the choir to
another[579]?
This query leads us to consider, for a moment, the subject of dedication
to two, or even three patron saints. Miss Frances Arnold-Forster, in her
_Studies in Church Dedications_, suggests several reasons for “twofold
ascriptions[580].” The two names may represent that of the founder and
that of the patron saint. The Lady chapel or chancel may have been
placed under the invocation of one patron, and the rest of the building
under another. Or, the founder may have deliberately intended to have a
dual dedication. Again, when a church was rebuilt and re-dedicated, a
new name may have taken its place alongside the old; such re-naming is
thought to have been of frequent occurrence, especially in Cornwall.
Lastly, the double dedication may be due to the union and consolidation
of two parishes, as is the case with the large majority of our City
churches.
Now, with respect to Whitby, we seem to have obtained a clue to the
dedication difficulty, at least. The Rev. Canon G. Austen, Rector of
Whitby, informs me that the Saxon Abbey was dedicated to St Peter alone.
Though somewhat contrary to popular belief, it must be accepted as a
proof that the ascription to St Hilda was a later addition. Let us
suppose that St Hilda’s name was introduced at one or other of the
rebuildings of the Abbey; and let us assume that there was a second
formal dedication. This admission does not, perforce, imply our
acceptance of the Saint’s Day theory as explaining the discordant
alinements. Else we should expect to find many more cases of deflection
among the churches with double dedications. Nor, again, does the fact of
re-dedication necessarily support the notion that the builder was
incapable of setting out a straight line. In short, the solution
tendered enforces the very difficulties which it professes to dispel. If
it can be clearly shown beyond dispute how the Mediaevalists obtained
their axial line, then the theory that the misalinement is the result of
re-dedication will have to be faced seriously. Until that time comes,
the theory is little more than a fair surmise. As a slight contribution
to the inquiry, and as a possible instance of the architect’s
incapacity, the case of Leatherhead parish church may be cited. Here the
tower is deflected about 3´·6´´ from the axis of the nave, while the
nave diverges from the chancel. The church is dedicated to St Mary and
St Nicholas, but whether there is further connection between the two
facts is uncertain. It was a visit to this church which led Dr J. C. Cox
to refer to “symbolic absurdity,” and the “leaning-head” theory as being
propounded by “ill-instructed persons.” His own explanation of the
divergences is twofold: the “endeavours to obtain the true East at
differing periods of the year,” and “the well-known carelessness of
Mediaeval builders in following out a true square[581].”
We next consider the arguments of the symbolists. Several solutions are
offered by these authorities, though there is no great divergence of
fundamental ideas. The favourite explanation, as just hinted, is that
Christ, while on the Cross, faced Westwards, and that His head leaned
towards the left, or South side. Another school teaches that the
inclination was to the North, and, as we have already seen, such
Continental churches as have varying axes, are deflected towards that
point. In roods, it may be noted, the head is usually made to fall
towards the left[582]. The “leaning-head” theory was accepted by Dr
Rock. M. Huysmans has evidently paid so much attention to this phase of
the question that he may be again quoted. Describing the fine abbey
church of Preuilly-sur-Claise, in Touraine, he declares that the
builders gave life to the stones. In its serpentine line, in the
perspective of its aisles, and the obliquity of its vaulting, the church
gives an allegorical presentment of Our Lord on the Cross, and
perpetuates “the never-to-be-forgotten moment between the ‘Sitio’ and
the ‘Consummatum est’[583].” M. Huysmans mentions, with reserve, the
opinion of some writers, that the bent line occasionally represents the
body of a saint instead of that of the Saviour; thus the curved axis of
St Savin is supposed to be symbolical of the wheel which was the
instrument of martyrdom of the saint[584].
There are not lacking authorities who, like Dr Cox, spurn these theories
as idle fancies. “Symbolism!” exclaimed Welby Pugin, when viewing a
twisted chancel in Leicestershire, “Pack of nonsense: it was because
they didn’t know how to build straight[585].” This summary verdict, told
by a person who heard it delivered, may, however, be countered by an
opinion in the opposite sense, uttered by the same architect, and
equally well attested. Asked about the bend in the nave at Whitby Abbey,
which has just been mentioned, Pugin declared that it signified that the
debt of redemption had been paid; “for, after the Saviour had expired on
the Cross, his head would naturally lean or incline to one side[586].”
Which of Pugin’s two opinions is the earlier cannot be ascertained, but
even if antagonism to the “leaning head” theory were representative of
his maturer judgement, he surely could not pretend that the deflection
can always be ascribed to a blunder. Mr Parker himself, who advanced the
theory that the twist might be due to the consecration of a building
before its completion, admitted that many cases of deflection are
incapable of a constructional explanation[587]. One may well ask whether
the architects who reared our magnificent Gothic cathedrals, edifices
whose every part, when untouched by the restorer, exhibits skill in
design and workmanship, were really unable to build straight. What of
the deflection at St Ouen, in the city of Rouen, a building which
Fergusson enthusiastically declares was “beyond comparison the most
beautiful and most perfect of the abbey edifices of France[588]?” And,
coming to meaner structures, dare we say that a discrepancy of 5° or 10°
is likely to be the result of mere carelessness? One might as reasonably
argue that the existence of a “low side window,” with its deviations of
size, shape, and position, indicates a clumsy arrangement of
fenestration.
Rebutting arguments against the “theory of error” may be urged on broad
grounds. We have seen that in the greater number of instances, our
undeflected buildings bear to the North of the equinoctial point,
indicating, if we suppose a calendar alinement at sunrise, that work was
begun either a little after the advent of spring, or, less probably, a
little before the autumnal equinox. Consider, then, the case of a church
of which one member is to be rebuilt. Under similar conditions of
starting work, the assumed error in direction might be on either side of
the axis. We might perhaps conclude that it would actually tend to be on
the Northern side of that axis--a Northern deviation added to a Northern
deviation--for, in spite of liturgical rules, a liking for summer
orientations (North of East) appears to have been very common. But, not
to press this probability, it is at least claimable that, on a balance
of instances, the deflections, if due to clumsy workmanship, would
range themselves in equal numbers North and South of the earlier
alinement. But the fact remains that the Southern variations form the
rule, and we are driven to the belief that they are Southern by reason
of design.
This leads us to consider an hypothesis which embraces a purpose more
aesthetic than symbolical. Put shortly, this hypothesis is, that the
bend was designed to produce an artistic illusion--a perspective effect
whereby a building appeared to be longer than it actually was. Thus, if
one of the side walls of a church with a “weeping chancel” be viewed
from the Western entrance, an impression of greater length and of
undefined distance is received by the spectator. Again, where a rood
screen exists, the bend in the wall, not a pleasing feature, considered
separately, would be concealed, but a change in the direction in a lofty
roof would still produce an illusion that the church is indefinitely
extended. Moreover, as the beholder caught a glimpse of a portion of the
sanctuary window, which was often richly ornamented, both in form and in
colour, the beauty of the vista was much enhanced. On this hypothesis,
the screen, instead of being the immediate cause of the inclined axis,
was an accessory to a complete design, a feature of which the effect was
foreseen and provided for. To round off this question, it should be
added that not many relics of screen-work exist which belong to a period
earlier than the fourteenth century. A few specimens of thirteenth
century work remain, and doubtless others were swept away at the
Reformation, but most of the examples which have come down to us are
assignable to the fifteenth century[589]. In short, the middle stage of
the development of rood-lofts seems to correspond roughly with the
period in which deflection is most commonly observable. This coincidence
does not, indeed, solve the riddle, since each of the opposing schools
may produce it as testimony.
Seeing that the “aesthetic theory” is unsupported by documentary proof,
evidence must be sought in the possible existence of similar
contrivances associated with other architectural features. Can such
evidence be produced? The reply is in the affirmative. As one enters
certain Egyptian temples, he perceives a gradual transition from light
to darkness. This effect is brought about by the forced ascent of a few
steps, combined with a lowering of the roof; thus the sense of gloom and
mystery increases as the worshipper moves forward[590]. Again, we find
that, in the columns of the Parthenon and other Greek buildings, there
is an entasis, or slight convexity of outline, perchance not more than
the length of a finger nail, yet sufficient to prevent the appearance of
hollowness. The Parthenon is said to possess scarcely a vertical or a
horizontal line throughout the whole design. The columns lean a little
inwards, the corners incline diagonally, the entablature is curved and
recedes in the centre[591]. Such subtle niceties, trivial when taken
singly, prove that, in Classical times at least, the aesthetic phase of
architecture was not ignored. The next question is, Can parallel
instances of design be observed in our own country? The Norman church of
Barfreston, Kent, may be cited. In this building, the axes of the nave
and chancel correspond, but the walls of the chancel are so built that
this portion appears to incline about 5° North. One can hardly find a
rectangle in the plan of the church--“everything is oblique[592],” and
apparently oblique by intention. Again, the South arcade of the nave of
Scarborough parish church has a distinct curve, as if deliberately thus
planned. In the case of Whitby Abbey, before cited, Canon Atkinson
discovered another intentional irregularity. The West wall of the North
transept projects into the interior at least a foot more than does the
East wall. The view, being thus interrupted by the broken line, has a
pleasing effect upon the mind of the spectator. Consider, too, the
churches, to be met with in many a village, in which the pillars and
mouldings of the Northern arcade are simpler than those of the Southern,
the Northern windows less rich in tracery, the specimens of painted
glass more sombre in motive and execution. It will be understood that a
reservation must be made for those churches in which the South arcade
is of slightly later date than the North. The symbolism of the Northern
aspect of Nature must have been clearly appreciated for these conditions
to have arisen (see p. 334 _infra_). Or, take the feature just alluded
to as entasis, by which the optical illusion of hollowness in upright
lines is corrected. Many of our spires exhibit this convexity. Mr
Francis Bond, a high authority on such matters, states that the entasis
probably does not exceed 1 inch for 60 feet in our best examples of
Gothic spires. The important point to notice is, that the curvature
exists as the result of design. True, it has been mooted whether the
bulging is not an incidental consequence of a peculiar method of
building, but this idea is not commonly accepted, nor does it seem to
satisfy the conditions of the problem. Sometimes, as in the Lincolnshire
spires of Caythorpe and Welbourn, and of Glinton (Northants), the limit
just given is greatly exceeded, with results not at all pleasing to the
eye[593]. Caythorpe spire, once grotesque with its “sugar loaf”
protuberance, exhibits the familiar curve even after being shortened and
rebuilt[594]. That there appears to be an artistic necessity for the
convex treatment, or for some equivalent device, is exemplified once
more in the steeple at Louth. There, the impression of concavity is
prevented by increasing the projection of the crockets about one-third
of the way up the spire[595]. Again, there is the artistic disposition
and gradation of ornament, the delicate, enriched carvings being
reserved for the parts of the building near the eye, while a “greater
effective quantity” is provided in the upper parts, as on pinnacles and
parapets. Perhaps the reader will admit that there is no need to press
further the plea of aesthetic artifices on the part of the early
builders. It is, at least, conceivable that our English masons
understood the value and charm of subtle suggestions of spaciousness and
mystery. To elaborate their art, and to conceal it, and to keep
“This modest charm of not too much,
Part seen, imagined part,”
may well have been one of the golden rules of the Gothic architect. For
the trained eyes of the sympathetic beholder admire “both what they half
create, and half perceive,” and they will find privileged pleasures in
sublimities of form and colour.
Nevertheless, in the absence of positive testimony that our early
builders were actuated by artistic principles such as those just
described, there is no justification for putting the case a whit more
strongly. Is there, indeed, any evidence at all for the intentional
designing of deflected churches? St Charles Borromeo (A.D. 1538-1584)
has been cited as recommending deflection towards the South, if
deflection be necessary[596]. The reference is probably the result of
misunderstanding St Charles’s meaning, and, in that case, the claim is
vitiated. What the writer actually required was, that the High Chapel
(cappella) should look directly East, equinoctial East. Should dwellings
exist which obscured the view, that fact did not relieve the builder of
his responsibility. If the axis of the building must be turned, it
should be towards the South, and not towards the North. The passage
seems to allude to the church as a whole, not to the High Chapel, but I
admit that there is some little ambiguity[597].
Attention has been drawn by Mr W. F. Hobson to an early allusion to
orientation, involving, as he considers, the principle of deflection
also. The passage occurs in the writings of St Paulinus of Nola, c. A.D.
420. Speaking of a church which he had built, St Paulinus remarks,
“_Prospectus basilicae vero non, ut usitatior mos est, Orientem spectat,
sed ad Domini mei B. Felicis basilicam pertinent Memoriam ejus
aspiciens_[598].” The statement is that the outlook of the church was
not directed towards the East, following the more common practice, but
towards a certain basilica, containing a particular tomb, that of the
martyred presbyter, St Felix. That we have here an early instance of
orientation is manifest, but whether “_aspiciens_” may be interpreted so
as to prove deflection is doubtful. It is, however, possible that while
the church had its general alinement to the sacred basilica, there was a
bend or slant which caused the “chancel”--speaking conventionally--to
face the monument. Mr Hobson urges that, from orientation towards a tomb
and orientation for a Saint’s Day there is but a slight transition[599].
We will now attempt to sum up the evidence. Skew chancels were, in some
cases at least, due to carelessness or unskilfulness. A few deflections
seem to have been caused by the architect’s dislike to build on old
foundations--a prejudice felt by Wren in re-building St Paul’s. The
Saint’s Day theory may hold for some examples, since a few positive
instances of observance, if these can be produced, cannot be nullified
even by many negative exceptions. As to the symbolism of the leaning
head, whimsical though it may at first sight appear, one cannot dismiss
it as mere folly. Mediaeval symbolism was no dead art, and it is visible
in many guises, though to a less extent than its advocates would insist.
Unless, therefore, we are to believe that symbolical explanation is
altogether an after-thought--the creation of cultured ecclesiastics--we
have to find a reason for its existence in Mediaeval days. And, if the
idea be so old as the foundation of our finest churches, we may
conjecture that it received an embodiment in architecture. Lastly, the
theory of artistic design, though least advocated, seems most in
consonance with all the facts. The deflection does cause an agreeable
optical illusion; and it is probable that this was intended. While we
search in vain for some early document to throw a glimmering of light on
the problem, we are bound to consider all tentative solutions
unsatisfactory. He would be a bold man who should unhesitatingly affirm
that one explanation will meet every case, and hardier still would be
the prosaic architect who should dismiss every instance of deflection as
the result of pure chance or blundering ignorance.