origin.

Laus Deo

{xix}

INTRODUCTORY ESSAY

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

The study of Church Architecture has within the last few years become so general, and a love for it so widely diffused, that whereas, in a former generation it was a task to excite either, in the present it is rather an object to direct both. An age of church-building, such as this, ought to produce good architects, not only from the great encouragement given to their professional efforts, but from the increasing appreciation of the principles and powers of their art. And yet it cannot be denied, however we may account for the fact, that (at least among those for whom we write, the members of our own communion), no architect has as yet arisen, who appears destined to be the reviver of Christian art. It is not that the rules of the science have not been studied, that the examples bequeathed to us have not been imitated, that the details are not understood. We have (though they are but few) modern buildings of the most perfect proportions, of the most faultless details, and reared with lavish expense. It is that there is an undefined—perhaps almost undefinable—difference between a true 'old church,' and the most perfect of modern temples. In the former, at least till late in the Perpendicular era, we feel that, however {xx} strange the proportions, or extraordinary the details, the effect is church-like. In the latter, we may not be able to blame; but from a certain feeling of unsatisfactoriness, we cannot praise.

The solution of the problem,—What is it that causes this difference? has been often attempted, sometimes with partial, but never with complete, success. That most commonly given is the following:—The effect of association in old buildings,—the mellowing power of time,—the evident antiquity of surrounding objects,—the natural beauties of foliage, moss, and ivy, that require centuries to reach perfection;—as on the other hand, the bareness, the newness, nay even the sharpness and vigour of new work; these, it is said, are sufficient to stamp a different character on each. There is doubtless something in this; but that it is not the whole cause is evident from the fact, that give a modern church all the above mentioned advantages on paper, and an experienced eye will soon detect it to be modern.

Those writers who, as Grose, Milner, and Carter, lived before the details of Christian art were understood, seem to have placed its perfection in a thorough knowledge of these: experience has proved them wrong. Others, as Mr. Petit, [Footnote 3] have made a kind of ideal picturesque; and, having exalted the phantasm into an idol, have fallen down and worshipped it. Others, again, have sought for an explanation of the difficulty in mathematical contrivance and mechanical ingenuity; and the result has been little more than the discovery of curious eave-drains, and wonderful cast-iron roof-work. Lastly, Mr. Pugin (cum talis sis, utinain noster esses!) has placed the thing required in Reality. {xxi} That is, to quote his own words, in making these the two great rules of design:— 1. That there should be no features about a building which are not necessary for convenience, construction, or propriety: 2. That all ornament should consist of enrichment of the essential construction of a building.' [Footnote 4] And we may add, as a corollary, still quoting the same writer:—'The smallest detail should have a meaning or serve a purpose: the construction itself should vary with the material employed: and the designs should be adapted to the material in which they are to be executed.' Still, most true and most important as are these remarks, we must insist on one more axiom, otherwise Christian art will but mock us, and not show us wherein its great strength lieth.

[Footnote 3: See the review of his work in the Ecclesiologist, vol. i, pp. 91-105.]

[Footnote 4: Pugin's 'True Principles,' p. 1.]

A Catholic architect must be a Catholic in heart. Simple knowledge will no more enable a man to build up God's material, than His spiritual temples. In ancient times, the finest buildings were designed by the holiest bishops. Wykeham and Poore will occur to every churchman. And we have every reason to believe, from God's Word, from Catholic consent, and even from philosophical principles, that such must always be the case.

Holy Scripture, in mentioning the selection of Bezaleel and Aholiab, as architects of the Tabernacle, expressly asserts them to have been filled 'with the Spirit of God in wisdom, and in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning works, to work in gold, and in silver and in brass, and in cutting of stones to set them, and in carving of timber, to work in all manner of workmanship.' And this indeed is only a part of the blessing of the pure in heart: they see God, the Fountain of Beauty, even in this life; as they shall see Him, the Fountain of Holiness, in the {xxii} next. From Catholic consent we may learn the same truth. Why else was Ecclesiastical Architecture made a part of the profession of Clerks, than because it was considered that the purity and holiness of that profession fitted them best for so great a work? [Footnote 5]

[Footnote 5: Compare the general drift of the Address to Paulinus. Eusebius. H. E. X. 4.]

Nay, we have remarkable proofs that feeling without knowledge will do more than knowledge without feeling. There are instances of buildings—Lisbon cathedral and S. Peter's College chapel, Cambridge, are cases in point—which, with Debased or Italian details, have nevertheless Christian effect. And we have several similar cases, more particularly in the way of towers.

Now, allowing the respectability, which attaches itself to the profession of a modern architect, and the high character of many in that profession, none would assert that they, as a body, make it a matter of devotion and prayer; that they work for the Church alone regardless of themselves; that they build in faith, and to the glory of God.

In truth, architecture has become too much a profession: it is made the means of gaining a livelihood, and is viewed as a path to honourable distinction, instead of being the study of the devout ecclesiastic, who matures his noble conceptions with the advantage of that profound meditation only attainable in the contemplative life, who, without thought of recompense or fame, has no end in view but the raising a temple, worthy of its high end, and emblematical of the faith which is to be maintained within its walls. It is clear that modern architects are in a very different position from their predecessors, with respect to these advantages. We are not prepared to say that none but monks ought to design churches, or that it is impossible for a professional {xxiii} architect to build with the devotion and faith of an earlier time. But we do protest against the merely business-like spirit of the modern profession, and demand from them a more elevated and directly religious habit of mind. We surely ought to look at least for church-membership from one who ventures to design a church. There cannot be a more painful idea than that a separatist should be allowed to build a House of God, when he himself knows nothing of the