the great Shepherd, who carried on his shoulders the sheep which he had lost and found. Many usages and institutions will be unintelligible, if we do not bear in mind their spiritual interpretation. Why, for example, was a church to be consecrated afresh, if the altar had been moved; but only its walls washed with salt, if the other parts of the building had been repaired, after having fallen? Ives de Chartres explains this by showing, that as the altar signified faith, its removal signified a loss of faith, which could only be repaired by a fresh reception of sacred mysteries; but the rest of the edifice when injured, and repaired, was only to be washed with salt, to show that by tears and penance, other sins were to be purged away. Thus, as he says, whatever was done in the temple made with hands, signified what ought to be done spiritually within us, that by the observance of visible sacraments, we might be led to the knowledge, and love of the invisible building. It may be remarked generally, that the church had nothing for mere ornament, but, like nature, all her rites had regard to use, as well as beauty. She loved symbols that were beautiful, but no unmeaning decorations. It is observable, also, that a vast number of loving harmonies, and sweet incidents, fruitful in sublime, poetical, and religious emotions, were produced by keeping this in mind, and doing things in consequence, simply and naturally; without attending to the part of mere formality or fancied decorum, but just as the bare need of the occasion required.”
It is, therefore, not unreasonable to believe, that the Church which “pressed into her service everything that could bring unity into a visible form,” did not neglect so important, and accessible a medium of instruction, as her material fabrics—and we know by the testimonies of Catholic writers, that she did not. We are not aware of any satisfactory reason, why that symbolism which it appears was once universally intelligible, should not be again understood. 'Tis is true, the materialism of our age militates against it; but we are not always, we hope, to labour under such debasing influence—and when we are removed from its trammels, we shall view the beauties of nature and art with new eyes. Nature and art will not then be looked upon merely to gratify the senses, but they will be books of spiritual meaning. “If thy heart were right, then every creature would be to thee a looking-glass of life, and a book of holy doctrine.”
We have seen that, in a general point of view, eccesiastical art is a symbolical language. It now becomes our duty to point out some examples in which this language is intelligible; and in doing so, it will be easy to show that fitness and expression are intimately connected with symbolism. By fitness, we understand propriety of arrangement, appropriate construction, and due proportion. By expression is understood the characteristic effect produced by the foregoing elements, and the appropriate treatment of detail and decorations, so that the character and destination of the edifice may be unmistakeable. And having made this examination, we shall find that in all these respects the works of the ancients were far superior to those of the moderns; that in the simplest and smallest church the principles of symbolism, fitness, and expression are as perfectly set forth as in the most magnificent cathedral, in proportion to its nature and extent.
From the earliest ages of the Christian church, it was deemed necessary, for the due solemnity of religious worship, that there should be a marked distinction between the place of the celebration of the sacred mysteries, and the place for the congregation of the worshippers. This feeling gradually produced the chancel for the former, which was so called from the cancelli, or railing, which divided it from the nave or place for the laity. Thus the chancel and the nave became the two essential parts of a church, without which the idea of a church cannot be maintained. To show the peculiar sanctity of the chancel, and its exclusive appropriation to the solemn services of religion and the ministers of the altar, the following admonitory text, or some other of the same meaning, was frequently written over the chancel arch or upon cancelli or screen:
“Intra cancellos laicus ne quisque moretur.”
In the cathedral and large conventual churches, the chancel received the name of choir, from the circumstance of the chorus cantorum, who sang the divine office, being placed there.
The position of the chancel or choir appears to have been almost invariably towards the east. There are, however, some exceptions to this general rule as a deviation from due east towards the north or south is often observable, which has been attempted to be explained by the supposition, that the chancel was turned towards that part of the east in which the sun rose on the festival of the saint under whose invocation the church was dedicated. The plan of the ancient church of St. Gallus, given in the Ecclesiologist,[1] shows choirs at both the east and west ends. The most ancient churches in Ireland preserve the distinction of parts and orientation faithfully. Some of our very small churches indeed consist of a simple parallelogram, but they can be considered only as oratories or places of private devotion. That these arrangements of separation and orientation in the ancient churches conveyed symbolical meaning, we have the testimony of many liturgical writers of antiquity, by whom we are informed that the distinction of chancel and nave, besides the self-evident and natural symbolism of the distinction between the sacrifice, priests, and people, was also typical of the two states of the church spiritual—the triumphant and militant; that the chancel arch, with the representation of the Last Judgement over it, commonly called “the doom,” typified death, by which the triumphant was entered from the militant state; thus, in the well-regulated Christian mind, disarming “the King of Terrors” of his awful attributes.
The reasons for the orientation of churches, with some remarks upon the beautiful natural effects produced by this position, are thus given by Mr. A. W. Pugin[2]:—
“A church should be so placed that the faithful face the east while at prayer. Such has been the practice of the church from the earliest period, and very few are the examples of any deviation from this rule. The chancel should consequently be turned towards the east; and all the altars in the church should be so placed, that the celebrant, while officiating, looks towards the same quarter.”
Independent of all Christians turing towards the same point, being a beautiful figure of the unity of the church, those learned writers, Durandus, Gavan-
