December, 1925 THE BUILDER

The Secondary Symbolism of Gothic Architecture

By BRO. R. J. MEEKREN

THERE is a form of symbolism that has been freely ascribed to those
who designed the architectural monuments of past ages that now
falls to be considered. So much has been asserted, often with
little or no evidence to support it, that it will be well to clear
away the rubbish and see if we can discover what is the truth of
the matter. The most notable, some would perhaps prefer to say
notorious, example of this kind of symbolism is, if we may believe
it, the Great Pyramid of Gizeh. Many books have been written to
support this theory; the best known and possibly the weightiest of
them being Our Inheritance in the Great Pyramid, by Piazzi Smyth,
at one time Astronomer Royal of Scotland. In this work it is argued
that the Pyramid is nothing but a complex metrical and geometrical
symbol, and that its chief internal compartment, the so-called
King's Chamber, was designed secondarily as a physical observatory
or laboratory. Further than this, it is asserted that all important
events of the world, both past and future, are marked in a kind of
inspired and prophetic calendar. There are indeed apparently a
number of curious coincidences in the measurements and proportions
of the Great Pyramid, and several other peculiarities that have not
been very satisfactorily explained. How much credence should be
given to this theory will very largely depend on personal
prepossessions. It may be stated quite positively that no
Egyptologist of note has adopted it. In any case it is too remote
both in time and place to have more than a passing reference here.

No one has attempted any such elaborate explanation of the
symbolism embodied in a medieval monument, at least in modern
times. Bishop Durandus, who wrote in the eleventh century, did work
out a system of symbolic interpretation--not for any particular
building but for churches in general, and the seventeenth century
saint and mystic, George Herbert, also did something of the same
sort in several of his devotional poems. Leader Scott in her very
interesting book on the Comacines constantly takes for granted that
such symbolism affected the designs of the Lombard builders, but
she makes little attempt herself to distinguish between sculptured
figures and devices and the form now under discussion, although she
does refer to the classification of "old Italian writers," who
treat of church symbolism under the heads of "the ermetica
(hermeneutic?), which they define as symbolism of form or number;
and orfica (orphic), that of figures or representations," and she
goes on to say that "under the first head would fall the symbolical
form of their churches to which we have referred; the form of the
windows which were double lighted, and emblematized the two lights
of the law and the gospel; the rounded apse, emblem of the head of
Christ; the threefold nave shadowing forth the Trinity; the
octagonal form of the baptisteries, which St. Ambrose says was
emblematical of the mystic number eight, etc." To this we may add
the cruciform plan of most large churches, those built after the
tenth century at least, and the even more universal care to build
them due east and west.

That the medieval mind did delight in numerical proportions and
relations is undoubted. There is a tremendous amount of such
symbolism, if such it can be properly termed, in Dante. But really
this is a universal trait of the human mind, especially at a
certain stage of culture. There is plenty of it to be found in the
Bible, there is even more in the Chinese Classics; which are full
of quaint numerical arrangements of qualities of things and events.

There are two aspects to this interest in numbers. In the first
place they may be used as a mnemonic system. Some of the older
forms of Masonic catechism show this very plainly, and traces of it
still exist in our rituals. If corresponding ideas are grouped
under the same or contrasting numbers, as when it is said that
there are three theological and four cardinal virtues, seven
liberal arts and sciences divided into three elementary and four
advanced, the well-known trivium and quadrivium. Of the curious
groups of four made by Agur the son of Jakeh--"there are three
things which are too wonderful for me, yea four that I know not,"
and for "Three things the earth is disquieted, and four which it
cannot bear." A number makes a very obvious empty form in which the
several points of an oral tradition can be arranged. If there are
ten "words" in the Law given on Mt. Sinai, or five points in the
Craftsman's obligation, any lapse of memory is corrected almost
automatically. But this is not the only source of numbered schemes,
there is also an interest in the numbers themselves. It was along
such lines that the earliest researches into mathematics were
prosecuted. The discovery of numerical relations, such as those in
the three-four-five right angled triangle, or the arrangement of
the primary integers in a magic square, so that they give the same
total however added up, gave rise to speculations that the whole
universe, material and spiritual, was based on numerical
proportions and harmonies. It is this that is at the basis of all
theories and systems of sacred numbers. For the number three there
is probably a physchological basis. Up to this, number is felt
instinctively rather than recognized intellectually. There is
reason to think the higher animals and some birds can sense the
difference between two and three. Many primitive races had no names
for numbers beyond three--which however does not at all mean they
could not count further. Some such peoples were quite able, and
often did in their trading, compute hundreds and even thousands,
but it was done mechanically with the aid of the fingers and other
counters, and counting devices. In some such cases there were
properly only two numbers named, one and two. Three was designated
as "many"--which is a curious parallel to the singular dual and
plural cases in Greek and Sanscrit, and probably all Indo-Aryan
languages in their original form. Five is another number which has
an obvious basis in the fingers of the hand. Seven is roughly the
number of days between phases of the moon. The significance of the
higher numbers seems largely derived from these lower ones, and in
many cases it seems distinctly artificial, invented to round out
the system. Today mathematical science has gone far beyond
arithmetic and plane geometry, and this naive wonder at such
elementary relations may seem almost inexplicable. Nevertheless
intelligent children often pass through the stage, while our
physicists and mathematicians are trying again, with more abstruse
calculations, to account for the world and the stuff of which it is
made in a generalized form of numbers and geometrical figures.

But the question before us is whether such numerical or other
symbolism had any direct effect on the plans of ancient religious
edifices. It is very hard to say definitely. Here and there
instances can be found that seem to point to numerical ratios being
consistently followed, or the plan and elevation can be developed
on a scheme of triangles. But though this might affect the actual
dimensions of an individual structure the mass of evidence goes to
show that the type of the building was developed on entirely
different principles. Take for example three of the points
mentioned above, the triple division into nave and aisles, the
rounded apse, and the cruciform outline. We may quote a very
eminent authority on architecture, W. R. Lethaby. Speaking of
Gothic buildings he says: "On comparing a number of examples . . .
it becomes clear that they were schemed on large lines to satisfy
given purposes with materials readily available. The builders
valued spaciousness and height, lastingness and fair workmanship,
but ideas . . . of abstract proportion probably never occurred to
them. If we turn from the cathedrals to the little village churches
we find that they were in the first case built as directly for
their purpose as a cart or a boat." That is they were preeminently
practical men, these old masons. Their plans were made in
accordance with the peculiarities of the site and the material at
hand, and under these conditions to erect a structure adapted to
the special purpose or purposes in view. When we trace the
development of the type of the Christian Church edifice, we find it
is a continuous evolution. The very earliest form was a simple
cella, an oblong box of brick or masonry, as little differentiated
in its parts as an old fashioned country meeting-house. As soon as
it became necessary to build larger churches the structural problem
of the roof arose, and was solved in the most direct way by the use
of internal supports, posts if of wood, pillars if of stone. The
same problem has been met all over the world in all ages by the
same obvious device. But the earliest church builders did not even
have to think of it for themselves. They had the temples and public
buildings of the empire before them as models, and inevitably their
builders followed the tradition of their predecessors in the craft.
The basilica was there already in the west, and needed no change in
form to fit it for Christian worship; and in the basilica we find
both the triple division by two rows of columns and the rounded
apse. It can hardly be said that the "symbolizing" of this plan in
a Christian sense could have had anything to do with its
development when it was perfected before Christianity began.

HOW THE CRUCIFORM PLAN AROSE

The cruciform plan on the whole did develop under Christian
influence, though it had already been suggested in some later
structures of the Roman Empire. In Eastern churches it certainly
was evolved in the effort to increase the diameter of the central
dome. The four arms of the "Greek" cross with their semidomed roofs
supported the central vault. The western cross, however, seems to
have been developed chiefly to give more space for chapels. It was
the rule of the church that each priest must say mass every day,
and also that mass should be said only once a day at any altar.
When, as in Cathedrals and Abbeys, there were many priests there
had to be a corresponding number of altars. But though the transept
thus had what may be called a strictly utilitarian origin, the
builders, as in all else they did, seized upon it as an
architectural opportunity. It was not so much the form of the cross
in the ground plan that interested them, as the added spaciousness,
the vistas, the lights and shadows that their genius could play
with, and make beautiful and awe-inspiring.

The form of window with twin lights is not so easy to deal with. In
the first place it is restricted in distribution, being peculiar to
Lombard and early Norman work. The usual form is two round arched
openings close together, with a small column in the middle
supporting the inner spring of both arches. At the same time this
was not by any means the only form of window used, and it is
difficult to examine a number of the buildings in which it appears
and imagine any consistent system upon which it could have been
used if symbolism was its chief purpose. On the other hand this
particular style of architecture is distinguished by its use of
arcades of small round arches, supported sometimes on small
columns, sometimes on pilasters. In the facade of San Michele at
Pavia the five double windows obviously repeat the motif of the
stepped arcade supporting the gable, and the impression is forced
upon the mind that the aesthetic was the chief inspiration of the
arrangement. This does not, however, preclude symbolism. The two
round windows flanking the deeply incised Greek cross are not a
little reminiscent of the two crosses and wheel found in the
Cathedral of Monza built in the eighth century.

HOW THE GOTHIC WINDOW WAS EVOLVED

A window is fundamentally an opening in the wall of a building to
let in light. It as naturally and inevitably becomes an
architectural feature as the doors. The Gothic style of
architecture was one in which the windows became a dominating
feature, the walls became less and less important as the style
developed until at last the churches became, as it has been said,
"great stone lanterns," "frameworks of masonry filled with colored
glass." But here again it is hardly likely that symbolism affected
the evolution very greatly if at all, although it is probable that
the use of round windows was connected with pre-Christian ideas.
But first it may be as well to see how the Medieval traceried
window developed. In the diagram A, we have a pair of lancet
openings with an oculus or round opening above it. There was a
practical advantage in putting the lancets in pairs as the amount
of light was thereby increased, as will be obvious on inspection of
the plan. In the second stage B, the openings are all enlarged, and
to reduce the pressure of the masonry above a relieving arch is
built into the wall. In C, the openings are still further enlarged,
the relieving arch has become the head of the window itself, while
the lancets and oculus have been metamorphosed into tracery. The
evolution is here of course only shown schematically, the actual
development was much more gradual, but the diagram shows the stages
it followed, and that the cause was literally a desire for more
light conditioned by structural necessity. But the oculus or "eye"
had another line of development which finally led to the
magnificent and beautiful wheel or rose windows of the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries.

To go into the subject of the wheel as a symbol at all deeply is
quite impossible here, the most that can be done is to give a few
indications of its distribution and antiquity. In India it is an
ancient symbol, and one that later became very prominent in
Buddhism. The "Wheel of the Law" is a well-known phrase, but it
means much more than "law" in the ordinary sense. It seems to
signify the whole course of nature, physical, moral and spiritual.
In Europe the magical use of fire wheels and disks was widespread
and apparently pre-historic in origin. Customs of this kind
survived until modern times. Actual wheels that could be turned
seem to have existed in certain temples in Classical and Roman
times, and are still more frequently represented. In Gaul, the very
country where the rose winlow was developed, the wheel was a
prominent symbol closely connected with a deity sometimes equated
with Jupiter and Zeus and supposed to have been solar in character.
In Italy it was more generally ascribed to Fortuna. This goddess
did not originally merely preside over fortune or chance, she was
a form of the primitive nature goddess, the earth mother. The sky
god had the wheel as attribute on account of the movement of the
sun and moon and stars, the earth mother because of the succession
of the seasons. Later by a natural transition it was taken to
represent the course and vicissitudes of human life--the wheel of
fortune in the modern sense.

In early Greek representations of buildings we find that the ends
of the roof ridges were adorned with a kind of ornament called in
general akroteria. This was more often than not circular or at
least ovoid in shape, very often it was a disk, sometimes radiated,
sometimes plain, sometimes with a gorgon's head depicted upon it.
In early times it was often flanked by two snakes, reminding us of
the winged discs and uraeus snakes that almost invariably appear
over Egyptian doorways. It is certainly a curious coincidence, if
no more, that the Gothic rose window occupies the same relative
position in the building. In the illustration given last month of
the porch of Bourges Cathedral (p. 344) we see a wheel shaped
opening, not a window here, for the gable of the porch is only a
facade. If this wheel be traditionally derived from the pagan
device it has a peculiar fitness in this particular place, for the
scene depicted over the doors is none other than the Last Judgment.
In a very early form of the wheel window at Beauvais it is plainly
represented as a wheel of fortune. Christ sits enthroned above,
while human figures are rising on the right and falling on the
left. It is very curious that actual wheels of iron or other
material, with similar figures wrought on them, representing
usually youth, manhood and age, were often hung up in the roofs of
French churches. These could be turned by means of a crank and a
dependant chain or rope and they were used as a sort of oracle.
Some of these still exist in remote country villages. Taking this
evidence altogether--and only its character has been indicated
here, not its extent--we can hardly escape the conclusion that this
form of window did originate in a pre-Christian tradition. And if
so, it is not impossible that the two-lighted window with which we
started may also have been given a symbolic reference. The window
certainly seemed to attract the medieval mind, it was a common
motif for the ornamentation of household furniture, metal work,
plate and even jewelry. In some forms of the Compagnonage the
window of the room where the ceremonies were performed was given a
symbolic meaning. The sash bars represented the cross or rood, the
two shutters St. John and the Virgin Mary. And it is hardly
necessary to remind readers of THE BUILDER that the earliest
Masonic charts or "tracing boards" showed three windows as the
lights of the lodge.

PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS DOMINATED

But in spite of all this the evidence is equally conclusive that
the architectural motive was dominant. No traditional form would
have survived, whatever its symbolic reference, had it not lent
itself to artistic treatment and been adapted to fit in with the
development of the Gothic style of building. In very early times
when Byzantine influence was still all powerful, the dome was
freely emphasized as symbolizing heaven, and was often decorated
accordingly. But this did not prevent its being entirely superseded
first by the barrel and later by ribbed vaulting. The case of
sculptured ornament is rather different, for it could be readily
adapted to new forms of construction, and that such survived is
practically certain. The "lion" pillars of Lombardy can possibly be
traced back to Mesopotamia, whatever their significance may
originally have been. The wheel symbol may have had, in addition to
the meanings already discussed, an apotropaeie purpose, that is in
plain English, it was intended as a prophylactic or charm against
witchcraft and the evil eye.

In Ireland it is said that many country churches had over the
principal doorway the rude carving of a female figure "in an
obscene attitude." What this was those acquainted with the subject
of witchcraft may readily guess. On a church in the West of England
there is, in a series of gargoyles, a grotesque phallic figure in
the attitude in which Pan or Priapus was sometimes represented.
Such figures were undoubtedly used in ancient times as charms
against the evil eye, and were often placed on buildings for "good
luck" and this purpose probably persisted in Christian times. It is
very probable, too, that the intreccio or Solomon's Knot, the
endless interwoven bands that the Lombard builders were so fond of,
had a similar purpose, for it is well known that an intricate
pattern of this kind, or a tangled skein of thread or string, was
a potent charm against the evil eye. The underlying supposition
being that the witch on seeing it must stop to unravel it or trace
it out, and in doing so loses for the time her malefic power. It
was in fact a sort of spiritual lightning conductor.

That the symbolism in the design of the building was secondary and
by no means the first consideration is the conclusion that a survey
of the facts seems to lead us. And to clinch the matter we may see
what Durandus says about it.

"In the Temple of God the foundation is Faith, . . . the roof
charity, which covereth a multitude of sins [elsewhere he says 'the
tiles of the roof that keep off the rain are the soldiers, who
preserve the Church from Paynim.'] The door, obedience, of which
the Lord saith, If thou wilt enter into life keep the commandments.
The pavement, humility . . . The four side walls the four cardinal
virtues . . ." and so on. He likens the cement to "fervent
charity," the stones to the individual members of the church, and
he says "The circular staircases, which are imitated from Solomon's
Temple, are passages which wind among the walls and point out the
hidden knowledge which they only have who ascend to celestial
things." It would be a reductio ad absurdum to say that roof and
foundations, wrought stones, cement and tiles, staircases and walls
and pavements were used in a building primarily for their symbolic
reference. It is safe to say then that such symbolism is applied to
a structure after it has been planned on quite practical lines.

We may conclude with a quotation from A. K. Porter's work on
Medieval Architecture:

"Thus," he says, after a discussion of this aspect of the subject,
"throughout the Gothic Cathedral, from pavement to spire every
detail of imagery occupied its definite and logical position in the
powerful unity that dominated the whole. It is never by chance that
one subject, instead of another, is treated in a given window: no
two statues of the facade could be transposed without injury to the
entire scheme of iconography. Gothic sculptures and glass are arbs
supremely beautiful in themselves; but it is only when it is
considered how much else these arts are, besides merely beautiful,
that the full genius of the Gothic artist is comprehended. At the
same time that he created images architectural, as no other plastic
art has ever been architectural, at the same time that he so
successfully filled fields more difficult than any other sculptors
have ever been required to decorate, at the same time that he
imbued his figures with the breath of life, and with a consummate
beauty, the Gothic designer was also able to conceive a vast unity
of composition that must rank as one of the most impressive
achievements of any art, and to imprint upon the whole a depth of
inner poetic meaning and symbolism which sums up the best in
scholastic philosophy."

From all this it will be seen how complex the whole design must
have been, and the intellectual ability as well as technical skill
of the builders. But it can hardly be regarded as the work of one
man. It was traditional, it reflected the spirit, the interests and
knowledge of the age. In it what there was of survival from
paganism was given new meaning, and the whole was open to all who
had the ability to understand. We can hardly suppose the peasant,
the serf, or even all members of the higher orders of society were
able to appreciate the whole, but the key was not a mystery, it was
simply a question of intelligence and education. On the other hand
it is hard to suppose that the men who did the work did not
appreciate its meaning, the medieval masons were the same type of
men who today are architects, artists and civil engineers, and must
be regarded as quite capable of developing a private symbolism of
their own.

To sum up the conclusions we seem to have reached in this brief
study of medieval architecture we may say that the symbolism used
by the builders, including under this term both the Masons and
those who employed them, was exceedingly varied, ranging from
pictorial and sculptured representation treated in conventional
style and arrangement, to ideas attached to the different parts and
materials of the building itself. That the sculpture and painting
was deliberately designed with symbolic purpose in view, even to
the position in which it was placed, and that this was the
predominant consideration, though they were always treated with a
view to artistic effect--the unity of the whole design. Second,
that certain forms were continued from pre-Christian times by the
power of tradition, but that these were given new meanings; and
third, that when the structure was completed or the type of
building settled, other symbolical interpretations of a secondary
character were invented and applied to parts and elements of the
building to round out the whole scheme. Roughly that is there are
three main divisions. The purely symbolical, in that this was the
chief motive. The traditional features to which new meanings were
given, and the secondary symbolism that was worked out after the
design was completed. But even so it is certain that the divisions
are not clearly cut, for the inter-relations and interaction
between them were always adding fresh complexity to the whole. It
is easy for us to see meanings that were not intended, as easy as
to miss what was really in the minds of those who built; which only
emphasizes what has already been said, that in the elucidation of
symbols as much depends on what the interpreter brings to the task
as on the purpose of those who devised them.

REFERENCES

In addition to the works mentioned in the preceding article the
Poetry of Architecture by Frank Rutter may be mentioned. The
Buddhist Praying Wheel by Wm. Simpson contains much matter on the
symbolism of the wheel, and turning movements. Leader Scott's work
on The Cathedral Builders and the Rationale of Durandus have been
referred to, but these works are all very scarce unfortunately.

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Did symbolic motives have a predominant influence on the designs of
Gothic buildings?
What influence did numerical and geometrical proportions have upon
the plans?
Why were many churches built so that the center line of the chancel
deviated from that of the nave?
Why were they built east and west?
Was the symbolism of the round traceried windows that of the wheel
or the rose?
Why were the round windows sometimes called "eyes"?
