Introduction
Ecclesial architecture necessarily reflects the theological imaginary of the architects. Architects attempt, through the edifices they build to communicate through beauty to those who experience the buildings. Architects building ecclesial structures communicate, mediately, their theological imaginary, which is centralized, in their ecclesiological and doxological theologies. Thus, architects of Catholic ecclesial edifices, have been able, throughout history, to present these theologies to those who experience their architecture. Moreover, architecture, being by nature aesthetical, most commonly functions unconsciously and subconsciously, affecting the affective and intuitive, rather than presenting rational propositions to be debated. These superrational effects are designed to work on one actively worshipping through the celebration of mass, or one in meditative or prayerful contemplation, or one merely seeking to be in a “holy place”.
The aesthetical factors that are most powerful in Catholic ecclesial architecture are: Light; Mass; and Form – with Form the subcategories of Line, Motion, Material, and Color.[1] It is my belief, as it was Thomas’, that Beauty is objective and a Transcendental. This means that Beauty is achievable, even though human attempts at capturing beauty are imperfect.
I believe that Beauty is the capacity to elicit delight on account of a harmony of characteristics. God, being Triune, is necessarily a harmony. God is an infinite, immaterial (at least before the Ascension) harmony of persons. God, in Divine Simplicity, perfectly harmonizes characteristics of Mercy and Justice; Greatness and Humility; Transcendence and Immanence; et cetera. As God perfectly harmonizes these qualities so completely that they are not separate categories but indifferentiable aspects in God’s ontological being, the Beauty of God is both incomprehensible and insuperable and unachievable. However, earthly Beauty reflects Divine Beauty to the extent that artefacts harmonize characteristics. The greater the harmony and the greater the divergence of qualities of the characteristics being harmonized the greater the Beauty, because it more closely approximates God’s being.
Catholic Architecture attempts to use Beauty to communicate the theological imaginary of the architects. Because of its immense history, Catholic Architecture has wonderful examples of many major Western architectural styles, particularly: Roman (Classical); Byzantine; Romanesque; Gothic; Renaissance; Baroque; Rococo; and Neo-Classical. There are not nearly as many representations of Beaux Arts, Art Nouveau and Deco (Arts Decoratifs), or Modernist style Catholic Churches. This is, of course, to say nothing of Catholic Churches in the Orient which have architectural styles pointedly non-Western. One naturally considers St. Basil’s in Moscow, and much of Orthodox Catholic architecture and can see that Orthodoxy has a decidedly Eastern flair to its buildings. Roman Catholicism, however, has far fewer extant[2] examples. Notable exceptions being The Cathedral of the Sacred Heart in Dali, China, as well as the Cathedral of St. Joseph in Guiyang, China.[3]
The vast array of ever-changing styles that are both transnational and transcultural speak to the universality of the human experience of Beauty as well as the deeply cultural aspects of architectural theology. Humanity have been drawn to Beauty in architecture, particularly as that architecture harmonizes Light, Mass, and Form.
It is also my belief that students of architecture can study Catholic Architecture both with a view of understanding the theological imaginaries of the architects, but also to gain an appreciation of what is worth not only appreciating, but also implementing in Protestant ecclesial architecture. Though a detailed study of any one of these subtopics would be material enough to fill volumes, my hope in this paper, is to make personal observations of my experience of Catholic architecture and what Evangelicals ought to take from them and implement in our architecture.
I believe that a general survey of Catholic architecture points us to three foci which have recurred throughout the history of Western architecture in general, and Catholic architecture specifically. It is important to remember that while technological developments made certain styles, and materials possible over the course of 2,000 years, these techniques developed because there was a desire to develop these techniques.[4] I believe that Catholic architecture has continually returned to three central motifs which it utilized to communicate the Catholic theological imaginary, not only as a means of theological instruction, but also as a Catholic apologetic, and even as a polemic. Architecture, as all disciplines is responsive (or reactionary!), and as such, we see Catholic architects, emphasizing and reemphasizing the same aesthetical foci.
Light, Mass, and Form (or Ornament) are these foci. We see the emphasis on Light in Gothic architecture, as well as the many Gothic revivals throughout history. We see the emphasis on Mass in the Romanesque, and Renaissance, and the Neoclassical[5]. We can see the emphasis on Form in the Baroque and Rococo, as well as some of the Neoclassical and Gothic churches – but the Baroque was the pinnacle of Catholic architectural propaganda – it is Tridentine theology in stone.
In this paper, I will attempt to consider these three major architectural aesthetical emphases – Light, Mass, and Form – making hypothetical observations about the theological imaginary behind these which I would like to see more of in Evangelical houses of worship. Space restrictions do not permit this to be an exhaustive chronological study of representative edifices from the major architectural eras: that being the work of a many volume series. However, I believe that these observations will be helpful for my own thinking vis-a-vis Christian architecture, as well as for anyone who has never considered these issues before. Thus, this paper serves both as an aide-mémoire for me, and as a pre-primer entrée into the topic of architectural theological aesthetics for the entirely uninitiated.
Light
Light is utterly crucial to all architecture. Not only the use of, or deliberate elimination of, windows in ecclesial architecture, but also the management of windows, and the architectural provisions for artificial light, all are taken into consideration by the careful architect. The Tabernacle Moses built had no windows and was entirely illuminated by oil lamps. Solomon’s temple, however, (and Zerubbabels’ and Herod’s and the coming Ezekiel’s) all had windows. Moreover, light is not only important in and of itself, but also in contrast with darkness. The chiaroscuro effect of managing shading and determining where illumination happens and what is illuminated is crucial to communicate value, attention – directing worship and communicating truth.
Light of some kind or another is necessary for humans who haven’t been blessed with echolocation to live and move and have our being. So, naturally, there are the minimal functional provisions for light. But after those have been met – anything goes. And it is not readily apparent that more light is better – or, anyways, preferable. Modern skyscrapers are neogothic churches built to worship money, and modern theatre style churches are modernist businesses built to worship the pastor! The “masters of the universe” want as much light as possible – not to draw their thoughts upwards and to contemplate the pure, but so that the mighty might look upon their works and despair. Megachurches want only the minimal functional amount of artificial (never natural) light – and sometimes not even enough candlepower to constitute “minimal” – so that all attention can be focused on what is happening on the stage and so that that attention can be kept rapt through laser-lumentechnics, fog machines, and film-festival quality projections.
As above – it is not at all readily apparent that more light is better – but the Gothic wanted to maximize light, and to actively de-emphasize mass, and to harness form. Most scholars would agree that the Gothic officially kicked off when Bishop Suger commissioned a restoration of Saint-Denis Cathedral. It was an immediate sensation. With the notable exception of Bernard of Clairveaux, who thought that it was a waste of money, everyone loved this new style.[6]
The Roman Catholic Church was impressed with the Gothic style, and there began a race to the heavens to see who could build the most luxurious cathedral in this style. However, contrary to popular opinion, it was not simply a contest to see who could build the biggest church. Proportions mattered immensely – which is to be expected in a medieval Catholic mind. Gothic cathedrals began to take on a standard form: the cross, with the ambulatory on the east and the transepts running north and south. This meant that the chancel would receive the most direct light in the morning, and the aisles and naves would get sunlight as the sun moved east-west, on either the north or south side, depending on the season.
While, my focus here is on light, and how the Gothic emphasized the use of light, it bears saying that maximizing natural light means a reduction in mass and necessitates a very specific form. Windows need to be as large as possible, which means that walls need to be thinner, which means arches must be built differently (if using stone). The pointed arch, as well as the flying buttress – which is lighter and more conducive to light than a pilaster or standard buttress – give the Gothic its recognizable form, but the form is subservient to Light.
Of course, Catholic architecture in other eras placed emphasis on light, but nothing like in the Gothic era. The light, as well as the form and lack of mass, were designed to create a Heaven on Earth – which fits perfectly into Catholic theology of the time and answers the needs of the people.
It needs to be remembered that most people in Western Europe in the middle ages lived in desperate poverty. Even the nomenclature for peasants gives us an idea of the miserableness of their conditions. Words like: serf (from servile); villain (from villein, a feudal tenant – from the root “ville” or townsman); rustic; clown; and more all speak to how peasants were considered rude and wicked – they comprised the vast majority of the population. The poverty and social degradation was omnipresent and by creating a “heaven on earth”, the cathedral became an escape. Peasants were able to go to the cathedral and experience beauty and transport and, according to the theology of the day, were able to actually touch Jesus, and have communion with the saints. The effect this had cannot be overestimated.
Suger may have made big windows because he was fascinated with Pseudo-Dionysius, but Europe embraced the Gothic because it answered a need. The theological imaginary developed both by its influences, and in response to the demands of the day. People needed to escape the drudgery of their lives. People lived in low, smokey, one room hovels, sleeping on rushes – their existence was hard, and earthy – and suddenly a work of heavenly beauty dominates the landscape, higher and huger than anything around, and inside is Christ, and dazzling light in a panoply of colors, transforming their world. For people living in one-room firelit huts, the cathedral was a phantasmagoria that could not fail to elicit unthinking, responsive devotion in any but the most serious (or suspicious) theologians of the day.
It seems to me to not be accidental that as the West has increased in wealth and standards of living that the Gothic has not revived in ecclesial architecture (though it has in governmental and commercial architecture: see the beloved Westminster Palace or the despised Tour Montparnasse). Needs have changed. The theological imaginary is being directed and responding to different challenges.
Mass
Mass cannot be underestimated in its impact on the worshiper. The Romanesque and Neoclassical architectural forms emphasize Mass in a such a way as mass becomes primary. It is important to take note particularly of the eras in which the Romanesque and Neoclassical were the predominant architectural style in Roman Catholicism.
Dates vary, but there is a general consensus that the Romanesque style dominated from the 6th through the 11th Centuries. This is significant because from the 6th through the 11th Centuries Western Europe was recovering and rebuilding itself after the fall of the Western Roman Empire. From the 4th-6th Centuries, the Western Empire was foundering. Germanic invasions had destroyed the integrity and the viability of the Roman forces to maintain control and effectively govern. In the face of the power vacuum, the Church took on many of the roles that were formerly held by the emperor and his apparatus.
On Christmas in 800, Pope Leo made Charlemagne the Holy Roman Emperor. While this would later lead to a power-struggle between the monarchy and the papacy, the revival of the empire with the pope crowning the king, demonstrated the superiority of the Church and its power. Within 3 centuries the Church of Rome had rebuilt the empire! In the 12th Century, Frederick Barbarossa would subordinate the papacy (though subtly) to the monarchy, but this was a long ways off.
From roughly 550 to 800 the Catholic Church was the sole (or at least primary) preserver of stability. As the West dissolved into Feudalism the Church provided an overarching, transnational government. It’s architecture reflected this. The Palatine Chapel in Aachen is a wonderful example of a Romanesque interior. The rounded sanctuary with its massive rounded arches, using alternating colored stones draws attention to the arches and their weight – they dominate the space. The closeness of the space compared with its height reinforces the sense of mass and even the feeling of imposition. The Mass of the walls – necessary to build at such heights with rounded arches – meant small windows – which in turn meant a need to use bright colors and reflective materials to maximize light – as well as chandeliers. It is not accidental that so many Romanesque cathedrals were built with the sanctuary in the round – this would minimize the amount of artificial illumination necessary as well as maximizing reflection with the fewest dark corners.
Later, we see Mass emphasized in the Neoclassical style of Catholic architecture. A wonderful example of a Neoclassical church is the Baltimore Basilica. Built to classical proportions, it is true to form. This design is in keeping with the Neoclassical style of Washington, D.C. and much of the architecture in the later 18th and 19th Centuries. The Neoclassical emphasizes Mass through its use of pillars[7], through its proportions, through its bareness and lack of adornment (which is a reaction against the Baroque and Rococo, but it is not only that.) It is significant that the Catholic Church in Baltimore, as well as many cathedrals in Latin America, chose to utilize the neoclassical style. This is not accidental.
Mass conveys permanence and solidity. Naturally, this means that whatever the building houses is permanent, not only because of the aesthetics but because it LOOKS like an ancient building and thus we conceive of whatever is inside as being ancient – that it SHOULD be there.[8] Moreover, the Neoclassical, because of its use in government architecture put cathedrals on par with government offices. This is not accidental.
The Neoclassical churches became popular in the 18th and 19th Centuries. This is after Trent and after the rise of full-throated Modernism, and most significantly, after the French Revolution! The Roman Church in Europe was besieged. The Roman Church in America was treated with suspicion and seen as a Trojan Horse. The Roman Church in Latin America was striving to control the hearts and minds of both the Spanish colonists as well as the natives and those who interbred – all this while Bolivar was evicting the Iberians from the Western Hemisphere and others were following suit.
In both the Romanesque and the Neoclassical eras, the Roman Church wished to convey a theological imaginary that was at once solid, reliable, and permanent – but even polemic. The Baltimore Basilica is essentially architectural defiance to the WASPy Eastern US, telling the Yankees that the “Papists” here to stay. What did this convey to communicants and the wider world? It meant that the Catholic church was powerful and immovable – and its classical features in both the Romanesque and Neoclassical hearkened back, deliberately, to earlier days to convey antiquity, which reinforces permanence. Whether one was a Frankish peasant or an Irish emigre or a Mexican farmer the Mass of Catholic cathedrals in the Romanesque and Neoclassical styles told them that despite the chaos and turmoil in the world around them, Rome and Rome alone was permanent – the Bishop of the Eternal City would shepherd the faithful into the Eternal Kingdom.
Form
Form was emphasized in the Baroque and Rococo eras of Western architecture in Roman Catholic cathedrals as a conscious and deliberate response to the Protestant Reformation. In some ways, the work of Bernini and Borromini is Tridentine theology in marble. These two names dominate the conversation about Baroque architecture, and for our purposes, we will treat the Rococo as an extension of the Baroque, as the two eras followed eachother and both emphasized embellishment of form, through line, motion, and realism in sculpture.
Why should the Baroque be a response (or reaction) to the Reformation? Because the Reformation brought with it an iconoclasm that many believed to be extreme. The architectural asceticism of the Puritans and other Calvinists was notable and often unpopular. People wanted beauty in their ecclesial architecture. Moreover, the Renaissance had proved that the works of antiquity could not only be matched, but surpassed! Beauty, not abstract, but lifelike, realistic – humanistic! – beauty could be attained. The skill of the Renaissance was surpassed by the genius of the Baroque.
Indeed, it is nearly impossible to imagine that anything technically better could be done in marble than the Rape of Proserpina. And therein lies the central attraction of the Baroque – it was human. The move to the humanities that Erasmus led was transferred into all disciplines, included architecture. The Baroque emphasized the human element, with Bernini emphasizing sensuality and sexuality. The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa is a deliberate immortalizing of orgasm. Bernini sought to unify sensual ecstasy with theological transport. And many would say he succeeded.
Borromini, who was certainly the better architect if Bernini was the better sculptor, also sought to use Form and adornment to dazzle the eye and overwhelm with beauty and life. The Baroque conveyed vibrancy and something almost frenetic and chaotic, yet controlled and harnessed. Capturing these forms in marble meant that the most human experiences could be controlled by the Catholic church – everything truly human could find appreciation and subordination under Rome.
The Baroque catholic architects were fascinated by exploring what man could do with marble – Form dominated – and this matched the theological imaginary of these architects and the Popes and Bishops who commissioned their work. Romanism was facing challenges heretofore unseen. The entire system was being decried as a series of doctrines and canon laws that were invented and supported eachother, but were, ultimately, foundationless. From Transubstantiation to the veneration of Saints and the Deification of Mary, all these were considered novelties, and heretical novelties, by the Reformers. Trent determined, for good and for all, that there would be no theological rapprochement with the Reformers. In some ways Trent was an attempt to double-down on the divisive issues – to not only not give ground, but to become obnoxious to Protestant theologians. The Baroque is an expression of that. It is a celebration of humanism, or sensuality, of extravagance[9]; in ecclesial architecture, it is everything a Calvinist would hate…and it was done on purpose.
As with the Gothic’s emphasis on Light, and the Romanesque and Neoclassical eras’ emphases on Mass, the Baroque was both a natural architectural development based upon increasing technological ability, but also an expression of a theological imaginary, created both by what came before and the existing systems of though, but also in response to the worshippers’ needs. The Baroque attempted to give more of what Catholicism saw as its asset. People wanted beauty – they would get beauty. A traveler from Geneva or London going through Bernini’s and Borromini’s Rome, would either be repulsed or deeply attracted.[10]
Conclusion
In Conclusion there are several things mentioned above that are worthy of developing to make sense of the Catholic emphases on Light, Mass, and From.
First is that all theology is a responsive or reactive exercise. While it may seem facile to state that theology is a constantly responsive exercise, it bears repeating as much of Protestant theology seems to desire to hermetically seal itself as a prophylactic against encroaching heresies and heterodoxies. Many consider Calvin’s works to be unimpeachable and the highest and finest iterations of theology ever mustered before the critiquing world. I don’t share the Calvinists’ sanguine faith in Calvin. Nor do I share the “theology ended with Luther” notion that some Lutherans hold – nor do I truck with those who think Menno Simons solved theology. Nor do I agree with anyone who thinks that theology has been solved once and for all and that anything that attempts to develop further than what “insert your preferred theologian here” said is speculative and therefore dangerous and therefore heresy.
Speculative theology has value. And the Reformers made errors. Thus, it doesn’t follow that any critique of the Reformers (or others) is a speculative novelty. Nor would it mean that even if these things WERE speculative novelties would they be invalidated. All theology was new theology, once. There was a time before Augustine was Augustine!
Indeed, not only is all theology responsive, but it MUST continue to respond if it is to remain relevant. That doesn’t mean that we necessarily need new answers (though often we do) but we certainly need new expressions of old answers – and as long as there are people and culture and language, change will be permanent and the theologians need to respond to those changes will be perennial. If Christianity truly is evergreen it cannot so be if we refuse to recognize that cultural context determines the mode through which truth needs to be communicated – if for no other reason than that we must speak in an intelligible language, though, of course, it’s much more than that.
Catholic architecture is proof, often written in stone!, that theology is responsive. It reacts to the challenges and discoveries of the day and attempts to incorporate them into the totalizing worldview/ meta-narrative/ systematic theology that is Christian faith. Catholic architects put their theological imaginary in stone and wood and glass and metal. They communicated through Light, Mass, and Form what their believed and what they believed the people needed to experience through architecture.
Second, architectural theology is deeply important. It communicates far more effectively that (some) preaching what a group believes about God and the world because it surpasses the rational mind and works at the level of intuition and subconscious impression.
The importance of the unconscious power of architecture cannot be overstated. And unfortunately, this has largely been ignored by many in contemporary evangelicalism. We have an architectural theology that communicates a theological imaginary, but not many of us would like it if we were told what it is. Architecture communicates values and loves and desires and importance. I wish to consider two common, contemporary, and iconic examples of Evangelic architecture, to develop this point. In the store-front church and the megachurch what is communicated?
In the storefront, the style and location communicates that the church is a business (even if it decidedly isn’t). This is impossible to shake off. It is impossible for a person to see a mini-mall church and not think of it as a business, even if only deep down. These impulses cannot be disabused. Moreover, the storefront cannot use height, or mass, and is limited in its use of natural light, and rarely, if ever, is there anything like form which is not in right angles. There is nothing to draw the worshiper upwards, there is nothing to transmute the worldly to the divine, there is nothing to suggest permanence, as these kinds of buildings are built and destroyed in our lifetimes, and often these churches spring-up and board-up within a few years. The store-front, architecturally, is purely transactional and commercial. It reinforces the American cultural theological imaginary which is Commercialism on a cosmic scale.
Megachurches, function similarly, but with differences. Here, these buildings are often new builds, but, again, their styles are almost always Modernist and Commercial. No pitched roofs mean no pitched ceilings which means no heavenward contemplation. Theatre-style seating without natural light communicates that worship is no different than a movie, or a play, or a concert – in essence, a production or performance[11]. The darkness means one cannot see his neighbors. The use of right angles, without adornment, without motion or beauty of line, means that the building approaches a Brutalism with its complete lack of adornment. Often the materials used are painted cinderblock which is unnatural and lacks the feeling of permanence that stone creates. The centrality of a projector screen means that we are not invited to participate but commanded to passively watch. The architecture clearly conveys to everyone that the person in the pew has literally nothing to offer (except maybe money), despite remonstrances given to those with the audacity to sit or not have their hands raised for 45 minutes at a time.
I pick on storefronts and megachurches for many reasons, but to summarize consider these brief thoughts. One, storefronts and megachurches are ugly. They are irredeemably, and (almost) deliberately ugly. In 1000 years, no one will be giving money to restore First Harvest Fellowship Revival International Firestarter Community Campus 37b of Humbug, Arkansas. No one cares about ugly architecture because everyone hates ugly architecture. But today, the great cathedrals and monasteries from the 4th Century onwards are beloved and are places of pilgrimage and inspire architects and inspire adoring admirers. Two, what they communicate is commercialism and theological passivity and this should disturb anyone who cares about what architecture communicates. Third, this is not an issue that can be ignored because the theological imaginary communicated through ecclesial architecture may only function at the subconscious level – but it does function and it does affect how we live and move and have our being.
In closing, there is much that Roman Catholic architecture can teach evangelicals. We can look to it as a guide of both the blessings and pitfalls of architecture. It can begin the conversation about how to weigh the competing interests of beauty and frugality as we steward our resources. It can teach us how to use architecture to communicate specific aspects of our theological imaginary. Catholic architecture can teach us how to discern the needs of people and how to respond. Most importantly, it can teach us how to rigorously criticize our own use of ecclesial architecture. Let us have beauty. But let us have a beauty that communicates to people truths about Christ and the world we live in in the language of architecture in a way that is wise in its stewardship but intolerant of ugliness. Let us build in a way that is responsive to our culture’s hopes, fears, desires, anxieties, and dreams, and let us do this pedagogically, both as a corrective and aspirationally. Let us shape men as we shape their churches.
Footnotes:
[1] Noticeably missing is “Space”. But while Space and Height are certainly crucial to Catholic architectural aesthetics, these seem to be universal. Space and its use is a very crucial aspect to all architecture at all times, and non-Catholic architecture largely attempted to achieve the same effects in Protestant churches and cathedrals. Because height and open spaces for contemplating the heavenly and the eternal are universal to good Christian architecture, I’ve left it out.
However, much can and should be said about the flat ceilinged, dark, movie-theatre churches that dominate the Christian ecclesial landscape. It is beyond the scope of this paper to analyze all the theology that that style of sanctuary communicates – but none of it is good!
[2] It is important to note that many Catholic churches in the East, and specifically Japan, were destroyed without leaving a trace, centuries ago. However, literature seems to suggest that there were significant attempts by the Jesuits to adapt Catholic architecture to Japanese modes and sensibilities. See Rie Arimura "The Catholic Architecture of Early Modern Japan: Between Adaptation and Christian Identity" Japan Review, no. 27 (2014): 53-76.
[3] Celso Costantini was a Roman Catholic architect who pushed for more oriental styles of architecture, in Chinese churches. He resisted the imposition of Gothic and Romanesque styles. However, many Chinese Christians seemed to be very pleased with the Western style and were unperturbed by their churches lacking pagodas. See Aminta Arrington “Recasting the Image: Celso Costantini and the Role of Sacred Art and Architecture in the Indigenization of the Chinese Catholic Church, 1922–1933” Missiology 41, no. 4 (2013): 438-51.
[4] For example – one could say that Gothic architecture only came into vogue because the development of the pointed arch made high, thin, glazed, walls of light possible. But isn’t it equally true, that the development of the necessary techniques and physical principles happened because there was a desire to build taller, lighter, brighter buildings? Necessity is the mother of invention – at least it was before the electronic revolution!
[5] Since the Neoclassical was, in many ways a rejection of the Catholic Baroque style, it is not unsurprising that there are fewer great examples of Catholic Neoclassical Cathedrals. Interestingly, the Basilica of the Assumption in Baltimore is very notably Neoclassical. This seems to not only be an attempt to fit into the DC area Neoclassical aesthetic, but also as a polemic – the mass and order of the Catholic Church will not be intimidated by the Anglo-Saxon Protestants. The waspy WASPs will not drive the Catholics out of their new hive.
[6] Bishop Suger was fascinated by light, as he was not a little influenced by Pseudo-Dionysius’ Neoplatonic writings on the mystical significance of light. Suger was affected by Pseudo-Dionysius, because Dionysius, is “Denis” in francofied Greek. Thus, the writings of Pseudo-Dionysius became associated with the legendary missionary, St. Denis. Thus, Dionysius, of Acts, was associated with an early medieval Syrian Neoplatonist, and by nominal association was tied to the 3rd Century saint.
None of this (as above) impressed Bernard. His writings on the waste and excess of the cathedrals is scathing. He thought the pagan influences were vile and stupid and decried not only what he considered profligate spending, but the impact it had. Bernard’s insight was that gold draws gold. The wealthy see the finery and are inclined to give more. There’s enough in that thought for a whole series of monographs!
A very convenient webpage provides Suger’s extant writings, as well as an overview of the situation, and also gives us Bernard’s writings on architecture: https://www.medart.pitt.edu/texts/Saint-Denis/SugerAdmin.html.
[7] The Neoclassical tended to prefer the Doric, though the Baltimore Basilica makes use of a more Ionic styled capital.
[8] In a curious parallel, not that the Russian Communist regime under Lenin and Stalin did not go around destroying cathedrals and palaces built by the autocracy – they simply took over. While those who lived under their rule would have to live and work in hideous Modernist atrocities, the apparatchiks lived and worked in the Kremlin, the beautiful Muscovite business district was transformed into Party offices and apartments. I believe that this was for more than financial and pragmatic concerns. Nor was it a merely cynical impulse that Stalin and Molotov could go to the Bolshoi and see the luxuriant and decadent beauty of the Romanov’s while everyone else was getting sent to Siberia (though there may have been some of that).
The very fact that Lenin, Stalin, et al. were ensconced in the buildings of the autocracy was evidence that they belonged. The ancient Kremlin was old and a sign of power – and whoever sat in the Kremlin belonged there.
Similarly, Neoclassical Catholic architecture in the New World (as well as Neoclassical governmental architecture in the New World) hearkened to antiquity and implies that those in power have always been in power and always will.
[9] I mean “extravagant” in both its common modern English sense, as well as in the 18th Century Italian sense of “la stravaganza”. These related words had an overlapping meaning in the 18th C. and the term was used by composers to describe technique and genre. The greatest Baroque composer (in my opinion), Catholic priest Antonio Vivaldi, published 12 violin concerti titled La Stravaganza. Vivaldi used the term to mean “skill at containing the unexpected and bizarre within an established etiquette”.
Baroque extravagance, in the sense of “la stravaganza” was about being unpredictable – in an approved and formalized mode. Which may sound oxymoronic, until you listen to Vivaldi in comparison to great Renaissance composers like Josquin des Prez, William Byrd, Thomas Tallis – or seemingly anyone else. Of course you can hear hints of sacred music and Renaissance forms in Vivaldi, and especially Bach, and Handel, but the truly extravagant Baroque music – what makes it distinctly Baroque – is the unpredictability in form, in color, in sound, in harmonies, in textures. The Baroque is extravagant, not only in the sense of luxuriant (and even prodigal) but in the sense of unexpected yet familiar.
Christopher Hogwood, Vivaldi “La Stravaganza”, http://www.hoasm.org/VIIIA/VivaldiStravaganza.html, accessed 12/9/2021.
[10] An excellent article taking up this theme is:
Joshua Kinlaw, “Protestants in Rome”, First Things, June/ July 2020.
[11] All worship is performative, but not all is a performance. It is often impossible to tell the difference between the two – but those who spend enough time and have enough discernment can distinguish between the two.