09

ARTES
LIBRARY
1817)
VERITAS
SCIENTIA
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
TUERON
Library of
C. S. Denison
:

N
70
.E34
THE
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
MORE ESPECIALLY OF
ARCHITECTURE
BY
LEOPOLD EIDLITZ
ARCHITECT
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG & SON, 714 BROADWAY
LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON
1881
[All rights reserved]
1
COPYRIGHT,
1881,
BY LEOPOLD EIDLITZ.
PRESS OF J. J. LITTLE & CO.,
NOS. 10 TO 20 ASTOR PLACE, NEW YORK.
ค
Library of Od 200
3.2.137
PREFACE.
ART deals with human emotions. It depicts them
and depends on them for sympathy. Our training in
the language of art determines the degree of sympathy
we accord to it, yet the rudest and most uncultivated
beings are measurably subject to its benign influence.
This has led to the conclusion that taste is a common
endowment, and, furthermore, that it is the quality
which enables men to produce works of art, as well
as to judge them. The same or a similar theory ap-
plied to any other form of human activity would be
at once recognized as fallacious. Sharp-sighted per
sons do not by reason of that advantage become as-
tronomers, nor those orators who enjoy eloquence in
others. An ardent admirer of the opera or the drama
would not for that reason alone presume to compose
music or a play, nor dare to perform in either, but he
does claim the right and the ability to judge a dra-
matic or musical performance by his taste, a fallacy
which, when applied to a judgment in science, would
be apparent without further argument.
iii
iv
PREFACE.
To appeal successfully to human sympathy the
artist must thoroughly understand the idea which is
the cause of emotions, and the relation of his audience
to this idea; and he must be a master in all technical
expedients needed to create an intelligible picture
which shall illustrate the idea.
That an artist who re-creates nature must be capable
of emotions cannot be doubted or denied, but it is
equally true, that during the process of re-creation in
art the artist must be the master and not the victim
of the emotions he delineates.
There is much current talk of enthusiasm in art, of
genius and talent, which tends to delude the layman,
and the would-be artist too, into the belief that these
gifts of nature are mainly or alone sufficient to enable
man to do art work, and also to appreciate its intrinsic
merit. This is a fatal error. It is the welcome delusion
of moral laziness, which longs to believe that artists
are created, and not made. No amount of attitudiniz-
ing and fine frenzy will enable man to produce or
understand works of fine art, but careful study and
technical training are needed to accomplish this ob-
ject.
It is quite clear that man is assisted in learning by
natural aptness for and enthusiastic love of art, but
learn he must in order to produce; the mere feeling
will not help him there. But, says the man of taste,
I can paint a portrait, and my feelings tell me when
I am wrong, where the likeness is defective, and I can
PREFACE.
V
in this manner eliminate the wrong until I arrive at
the right. This is indeed the method by which man
as a genus has arrived at his present perfection in art.
Cosmic knowledge is made up of individual failures
and experience throughout historic time. But it is
idle to enact history over again in the compass of a
single life.
Architecture not only neglects the knowledge of
ideas as they exist at present, and the cultivation of
possible ideas and their attendant emotions, but it also
treats with contempt the technical development of
monuments, relying entirely for art expression upon
structural forms as they have existed in the past. This
indicates the opinion, which is, however, not professed
in words, that Architecture is no longer capable of
determining its own forms, but that this process was
exhausted at least three hundred years ago.
The architect is educated to be an admirer of past
forms, most frequently of the forms of some special
historic era, and his art creed may be summed up in
the belief that by the use of these forms he must pro-
duce something which by its lights and shades shall
be pleasing to him, or, as he states it, shall gratify his
taste.
With this he hopes that it will also gratify the taste
of an intelligent public, which is endowed with taste
also, but in a less degree than the architect. It is be-
lieved that the architectural forms thus applied may
be enhanced in art value by the sculptor and painter,
vi
PREFACE.
and may be endowed with stability by the builder or
engineer, but that in the main the tendencies of these
latter persons are in a direction contrary to that of art,
and their work must be concealed or dissembled.
Under these conditions it is not surprising that
Architecture vegetates somewhat in the manner of a
dead language, which has served once to express grand
ideas, but which is now but imperfectly studied and
injudiciously applied to vernacular uses. That, in
spite of this demoralization of the art, there are pro-
duced isolated monuments which command our respect,
if not our enthusiasm, must be referred to the fact
that earnest and able minds in the profession, and out
of it, are conscious that Architecture must be some-
thing more than an archaeological toy-shop; and that,
although we are now floating in waters littered with
the tangled weed of prejudice and error, there is be-
yond an open sea, where we shall again sail whither
soever the business of our voyage calls us, and direct
the helm of our craft with a firm hand.
It has been suggested that this is an age eminently
unpoetical-given to abstract philosophical inquiry,
and that for that reason Architecture may not prosper.
This is true to the extent, at least, that the outward
expression of human relations is not, in our time, poet-
ically conceived, and has its causes in special errors of
the times, but not in a lack of human ability to foster
poetical thought. Our great advances in music beyond
the past, and the very respectable success which has
PREFACE.
vii
been attained in poetry, painting, and also to some
extent in sculpture, are proof positive that the aggre-
gate of art ability, and success of the nineteenth cent-
ury, is, if not in advance, at least, equal to that of any
known era in human history. Architecture alone has
ceased to be a living art. Aside from all other con-
siderations of its present state and merit, architects
have certainly ceased to think and to express thoughts
in architectural monuments.
Now Architecture is a species of language. It tells
us as much of Greece as Homer did, and of the Middle
Ages more than has been expressed in literature; yet
it has been silent since the thirteenth century. Since
then Society, the State, and the Church have made great
progress. Literature, music, painting, and sculpture
will convey to posterity a bright record of modern
civilization and mental development. Yet the history
of the Reformation, of the discovery of America, of the
great advance of constitutional government and of
individual liberty, of the developments of science, the
mechanic arts, agriculture, and trade, within the last
five hundred years, is nowhere expressed in Architect-
ure. Architecture alone is silent. No! Not silent, for
nothing done by man with premeditation fails to ex-
press something, and the monuments of the last four
centuries express this: that Architecture has either
ceased to speak of living ideas, or that modern archi
tects do not comprehend the ideas of the times. The
mechanic art of building never stood higher than it
viii
PREFACE.
does in its present perfection of theory and practice.
The architect alone ignores its treasures, and continues
to build as men did two thousand years ago, or per-
haps not to build at all; for he deems this part of his
work unworthy of his earnest solicitude. Whenever
he resorts to modern engineering, he abandons his art
as inapplicable; when he attempts the pursuit of Archi-
tecture as a fine art, he evades scrupulously all modern
construction.
It is the object of this volume to inquire into the
causes of the present condition of Architecture; to de-
fine the nature and function of Art in general, and of
Architecture in particular, in order to show how Archi-
tecture may again become a living and creative art.
PREFACE.....
INTRODUCTION.
CONTENTS.
PART I
PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
PAGE
iii
xvii
CHAPTER I.
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
The questions which man asks of nature.—Two methods of answering
them.-The nature of the accumulated knowledge of each of these
methods. The nature of common sense as popularly understood.-
Its failure to draw sound conclusions from observed phenomena.-
Its conceit and opposition to art.-Taste. What its import...
CHAPTER II.
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
The demand for a now stylo.-Conditions under which a new stylo
would be possible.-Mr. Ruskin's views on this subject.-Architec-
tural practice and opinions.....
CHAPTER III.
TASTE.
Popular definition of taste.-It is variable.-It may be cultivated.-
Instances of the display of popular tasto.-Taste of the archi-
tect. Its influence upon his opinions, his studies and his composi-
tions. The taste of the critic.
•
ix
33
44
X
CONTENTS.
$
CHAPTER IV.
ARCHITECTURE.
Erroneous definitions of architecture.-Ruskin.-Hosking.-Fergus-
son.-Architecture as an art misunderstood.
CHAPTER V.
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
Erroneous views on proportion by Vitruvius.--Fergusson on proportion.—
Proportion of spaces relates to their function, and the proportion
of masses to mechanical laws.-Ruskin on the Gothic arch and on
Iron as a building material.-Sir Gilbert Scott on Gothic architec-
ture...
CHAPTER VI.
PAGE
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
Impressions produced by his education upon the architect.-Styles and
the fashions a parallel....
CHAPTER VII.
ARCHITECTURE AND ITS PATRONS.
The architect submits his compositions for the approval of laymen be-
fore they are exocuted.-The nature of the error committed in so
doing.
•
CHAPTER VIII.
MATERIALISM IN THE CHURCH.
Selfishness in the gratification of physical needs.-Tho truo moaning of
an architectural monument.-The Ideal use of a structuro.-Practi-
cal views of the times on this subject.-How the practical man
essays to build a house, and how he succeeds.,
51
59
72
84
88
CONTENTS.
xi
PART II.
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
CHAPTER IX.
IS ART NECESSARY ?
What are human necessities?-Are ideas human necessities?-Who are
the teachers of ideas?-Lamartine on Homer..
CHAPTER X.
MATTER.
Hegel's classification of art.-Music and sculpture compared.-The
function of matter in art...
CHAPTER XI.
AESTHETICS.
Esthetics....
CHAPTER XII.
ART.
PAGE
99
110
115
1. The phenomena known as art. 2. The dofinition of art. 3. Defini-
tion of fine art. 4. Definition of mechanic or industrial art. 5.
How an idea is rendered in science, and how in art. 6. Definition
of the technics of art. 7. The relation of the emotion to the
idea and to art. 8. Physical function of an emotion. 9. Idens
aro derived from sensuous perception. 10. Expression in art.
11. Knowledge conveyed by art. 12. Creativo force in art. 13
The nature of Beauty. 14. The popular explanation of tasto.
15. The true nature of taste. 16. Is taste universal? 17. Causes
of the pleasurable emotion outside of Art. 18. The pleasurable
emotion caused by a work of fine art proportional in quantity to
the art force perceived. 19. Pleasurable emotion experienced in
the absence of a knowledge of the idea matorialized in art. 20. Is
taste a natural senso possessed by all? 21. Is it a natural sense
possessed by some persons exceptionally? 22. The function of art. 121
xii
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
OF BEAUTY.
PAGE
Mundt on Winckelmann.-The pleasurable emotion.-Beauty.-Pleasur-
ablo emotion caused by phenomena not connected with art.-The
nature of Beauty.-Plato. -Socrates.-Aristotle.-Baumgarten.—
Schiller. Leveque.- Hemsterhuis.- Lord Shaftesbury. Various
speculations on Beauty. - Definition of Beauty as derived from the
nature and function of art.-Are Beauty and Expression convertible
in Art?-Definition of the Ugly, the Ludicrous and the Sublimo.... 141
CHAPTER XIV.
THE IDEAL AND IMITATION.
Prevailing misconceptions of the meaning of the Ideal and Imitation in
Art. Explanation of the Ideal.
Imitation in Architecture...
Explanation of Imitation.-
164
CHAPTER XV.
SCIENCE AND ART.
Science. The Human Will.-Science and Art a parallel.-Causo.-Art
is knowledge. We do not seek Art for the knowledge it imparts.
-Art force and Beauty.-Demonstration of an Idea in matter.-
The nature of Ideas in Art.-Mechanic Art.-Ideas conveyed
by mechanic Art.-The pleasurable emotion not a reliable guide to
Art.-Genius, in how far it is a help in Art.
•
PART III.
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
173
CHAPTER XVI.
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
Definition of Architecture.-Ilow a Structuro performs an act.—Mr.
Thomas Hope on the Ideal in Architecture.-Imitation in Archi-
tecture.-Relation of Mechanical Construction to Architecture.... 211
CONTENTS
xiii
CHAPTER XVII.
IDEAS.
What is an idea?-Space and time.-The infinite and immaterial.-
Ethical ideas.-Memory.-Emotion.-Expression of the human
form in dress.-Abstract knowledge and the knowledge of art.-
Ideas of the Church.-Views of the Clergy..
CHAPTER XVIII.
MONUMENTS.
•
Definition of a monument. Conscientiousness in composition.-Im-
proper mechanical construction.-Self-denial.-Construction.-Form
of the monument.-Monuments of the past.-Ideas.-Sacraments
inherent in nature.-Architecture still in its infancy.-Magnitude.
-Towers.-Symmetry.—The monument proper .
CHAPTER XIX.
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
PAGE
Definition of construction.-Cells, Groups and Piles.-Treatment of co-
ordinato single Cells.-Erroneous views on the function of con-
struction in Architecture. -Fergusson on mouldings and construc-
tion.-Construction the basis of composition.-Modelling of masses.
-Its purpose and methods.-Motives which govern the modern arch-
itect in his composition.-Litoral imitation of old art forms under
new conditions practically impossible.—Illustration.
CHAPTER XX.
PROPORTION.
Definition of proportion in Architecture.-How the architect may detor-
mine the masses of a monument.-Can we determine proper pro-
portions by the appearance of an Architectural design without a
mechanical analysis ?-Proportion of spaces, rooms, etc.-Fergus-
son's view of proportion illustrativo of frivolous Art logic.-Pro-
portions of the Cathedrals.
CHAPTER XXI.
TREATMENT OF MASSES.
Symmetry. Stability.-Mass.-Material.-Facing inferior masonry with
slabs of superior material.-Iron buildings.
•
228
247
269
292
307
xiv
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXII.
CARVED ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION.
PAGE
The function of carved ornament. The law which governs its
arrangement.-The function of color.-Tints.-How they are to
be produced, and the law which governs their intensity.-Animal
and Vegetable forms in Architectural decoration. - Why are they
conventionalized and how ?.
•
316
CHAPTER XXIII.
STYLE.
Nature of Architectural knowledge which may be derived from styles.—
The authors of the Renaissance and their views on mediaval Archi-
tecturo.Attainments of mediaval Architecture.-Why they are
abandoned by the Renaissance School..
CHAPTER XXIV.
STYLE.—Continued.
Gothic rovival, its work and its failures.-The pursuit of styles.-Its
origin and the reason why it did not load to the development of new
Architectural forms.-The errors of the popular definition of the
various styles.-The salient characteristics of the Greek, Roman,
Romanesque and Gothic styles.-Can Style be maintained in a
living and progressive Architecture ?-If a Structure is partially
erected in a style incapable of rendering the Idea to be expressed,
may wo change the style during its crection ?-What is the past prac-
tico in similar cases?.
330
352
CHAPTER XXV.
ANALYSIS.
Reason and Emotion.-Their relation to analysis in Architecture.-The
Architect's habit of accepting completed forms as a basis of Art
impairs his logic.-Ho accepts the form of an argument as the argu-
mont itself. Mr. Forgusson's Table of Arts.-If stylos arc aban-
doned, how are forms to be developed ?-What can we learn of old
forms?-Vaulting of roofs.-Wood constructions.-Single cells
and their combinations into groups.-Modelling, carved ornament
and color decoration..
·
382
CONTENTS.
XV
CHAPTER XXVI.
CRITICISM.
PAGE
Definition of criticism.-Creative force.-How it should be estimated.
-Rules of criticism.—Application of these rules to the cathedrals of
Cologne and Milan.-Criticism on these monuments by Fergusson
and Kugler ……….
•
420
CHAPTER XXVII.
CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
Why persons devote themselves to the study of Architecture.—The
effect of an Architectural drawing is no criterion of the Art merit
possessed by the monument it represents. -No Architectural drawing
conveys an adequate idea of a system of lighting of an interior.—
Ilow laymen judge of Architectural designs.-Art talk.-Dra-
matic acting and musical composition.—Education of the archi-
tect.-Architects must build more and draw less.-Relation of form
to function...
455
INTRODUCTION.
In the search after truth, man meets with errors in
the shape of seeming or partial truths. Errors of this
sort have passed current as truths during every epoch
of intellectual development, and it has become an im-
portant branch of instruction to guard against accumu-
lated errors. In order to prepare the mind for the
reception of the truth, modern Science has developed
a system of progress, the main function of which is
to avoid error: but beyond the scope of this system
notions and prejudices, sentiment and jargon, still
hold their place as temporary answers to vital ques-
tions. It is true these answers change from day to
day in quality and in kind; but the supply is unlim-
ited, and the crop plentiful at all times. If any field
of human knowledge is to be brought under cultiva-
tion, the work of planting the good seed is but small,
compared with the labor of uprooting weeds and
destroying their germs.
Scientific men have disembarrassed themselves of
the quarrels of the schools, and a truth established is
xvii
xviii
INTRODUCTION.
promptly admitted by all. Science maintains no rela-
tion with the general public beyond that of a teacher;
and never appeals to it for a confirmation or acceptance
of its convictions, simply because these convictions
have ceased to be personal opinions. It is not so in
art. Not only has no code of laws been established
upon which her votaries are to proceed and her works
are to be judged; but the principles have not even
been settled upon which such a code may be formed.
The material out of which principles can be developed
is still in the chaotic state in which it has been
gathered; and thinking minds are engaged in the task
of putting it in some decent order. This work has
advanced only to a chronological arrangement of exist
ing art; and it is not surprising that the student of art
imagines this chronological order to be a completed
system of art philosophy.
The followers of art (music measurably excepted),
and those of architecture in particular, are divided
into schools and cliques, which, having unbounded
faith in their own opinions but no clear views or con-
victions upon general principles of art, constantly
appeal to the opinion of the public. This condition
of things cannot fail to exercise, and does in fact exer-
cise, a most baleful influence upon the progress of art.
The public becomes a factor in retarding its devel
opment; and it is desirable therefore to review
the mental condition of the masses in this direction.
Common sense and taste are the mental faculties
INTRODUCTION.
xix
employed in popular judgment of all phenomena,
natural and artificial. Taste is the judge of art work,
and common sense of all else beside. The function
of common sense is to observe phenomena (facts),
and draw conclusions therefrom. Now this has been
done by common sense for the last ten thousand years
with more or less success, but with this final result,
that it has discovered vast errors of sensuous percep-
tion (observation of facts), and has devised means of
guarding against many of these errors and methods,
of making due allowance for others which cannot be
avoided, also a system of argument which ensures sound
conclusions, and, finally, a respectable series of tests,
by which the accuracy of these conclusions may be
established or disproved. The peculiarity of the com-
mon sense of the nineteenth century is the firm belief
that it can perform its work quite as well, in fact, bet-
ter and quicker without the accumulated results of the
common sense of the past. This is not only very sin-
gular, but is pregnant with untold danger to truth.
Taste is supposed to be the capability to experience
a pleasurable emotion in the presence of a work of
art. This capability is claimed by every one, and is
freely made the test of the merit of art work.
As may be imagined, taste and common sense have
exercised great influence upon art. This influence it
is intended to discuss. At present, it is only necessary
to say, that the conclusion reached by taste and com-
mon sense with reference to art is that the nature of
XX
INTRODUCTION.
art cannot well be defined; and that it performs no
function in the social economy excepting, perhaps, that
it affords the aforesaid pleasurable emotion: and, as
this pleasurable emotion is of a transient character
and of intangible value, it remains to be concluded
that art is superfluous, and can well be dispensed
with. Common sense adds to this, on its own account,
the dictum that art is not susceptible of critical ex-
amination, and must, as the offspring of the imagin-
ation and a morbid sentiment, be abandoned in this
age of reason. And but for a few individuals who
wield considerable influence in society, and who unac-
countably seem to perceive in art not only a needful
civilizing influence, but also a value measurable in
money, common sense would inevitably abolish it from
the face of the earth.
To devise remedies which shall arrest the decay of
art, and especially of architecture, to arrive at a clear
understanding of its nature and function, and to mature
a system which shall direct its practice in the right
channel, it becomes necessary, first, to review the pecu-
liarities of its present condition, the views held by the
public, and more especially by those who are recog-
nized as of authority on such matters; to examine the
relation of the professional architect to his client, to
the public at large, and more especially to the church,
which has ever been the greatest patron of architecture;
and, finally, to consider the existing theory of art in
general, and its influence upon architecture. The
INTRODUCTION.
xxi
philosophy of art has heretofore mainly discussed the
nature of beauty, and of the pleasurable emotions
caused by it, with sole reference to the relation of
these two phenomena, and without taking cognizance
of the intellectual function and meaning of art. That
art deals with ideas, is universally admitted; but it
seems desirable to know exactly how the idea is finally
expressed in matter: that is, how it assumes a physi-
cal form. The exact definition of this process may
lead to a better understanding of the nature of beauty,
and hence, also, to the nature and function of art.
The boundary between the industrial arts and the
fine arts, the properties possessed in common by works
of fine art and those of nature, and the exact meaning
of the ideal, of imitation, of the ugly, the ludicrous,
and the sublime, depend upon a clear understanding
of the materialized idea, as we find it in art.
Architecture demands special consideration to show
the application to it of the law of the ideal and imita
tion as governing art in general; and, further, to elicit
the exact conditions of proportion, and the use of
carved ornament and color decoration.
If architecture is to be a living and creative art, the
study of styles must be directed to the art principles
manifested in the relation of their forms to contempo-
rary ideas and knowledge of construction, to the end
that new forms, based upon modern ideas and the
present development of construction, may supersede
the forms of the past.
xxii
INTRODUCTION.
1
The ideas of the present day are not expressed in
our monuments. This may be owing to the nature of
those ideas and to the outward forms which they as-
sume; and it is proper to inquire into that.
Criticism, when no longer under the dominion of
taste, must be deputed to reason, based upon recognized
art principles, and henceforth must become analysis.
From the foregoing may be deduced what is needed
for the cultivation of art, and more especially of archi-
tecture, in the studies and in the professional practice
of the architect.
PART I.
PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
CHAPTER I.
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
,,
66
THERE are men who believe not in God, but they all
believe in their own 66
common sense and taste."
God made the universe, and man has, from time to time,
caught stray glimpses of it, and hence thought himself
wise. This universe is beautiful, and man, recognizing
this fact, thinks he has taste (a faculty to discover beau-
ty). This universe is a wonderful thing to dream about ;
but to talk about it is sheer impudence, for the wisest
have seen but a very minute portion of it, and none
of us can say with certainty that we see any part of
it, no matter how small, with sufficient discernment to
say that we have seen it rightly, that we know it
well, even this little part of it. We know not even
ourselves, either physically or mentally. We see the
sun rise, and the flowers as they grow; we see the
crystallization of matter, and the vast diversity of
things alike. Some of us see the earth move in its
orbit around the sun, while others have gone so far as
to detect the sun moving among the stars. We find
it all very beautiful, because of the great mind which
everywhere moves matter in obedience to law. When
we sum up, however, the substance of cosmic knowl
edge, of the little all some of us do know, the knowl
edge laboriously accumulated from time to time, and
compare it with the magnitude of the questions we
would fain ask of nature, and with the answers that
3
4 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
are hidden from us, and which, at the rate at which
we have lifted the curtain from the mystic face of
nature, will probably remain hidden from man for all
time, we must come to the conclusion that our boasted
knowledge is but a feeble glimmer of the great light,
and that our overwhelming sense of its beauty must
be the merest foreshadowing of gigantic glories, the
vision of which our poor mortal frame is not capable
of entertaining.
In olden times, when man was more childlike than
he is now, he worshipped the sun, and brought offer-
ings to it upon altars erected in the woods-for of all
the things which he could see, the sun had done, and
was constantly doing more for him than all else beside.
Perchance he knew that there was a power beyond
the sun; that, at least, the sun was but a part of a
whole greater than itself; perhaps he knew not and
did not dare to presume upon that which he did not
know, and so, whenever he met in nature friendly
help, or opposing forces, he painted pictures in child-
like simplicity of forms of man and beast, and of
natural things, which kept before his mind those
things as things that no doubt are, and as things
which we may picture, though we may not know
them. And, as man learned to use his senses, and as
his intercourse with man and things brought to his
mind's eye innumerable complications and perplex-
ities, things to battle against and to overcome, things
to be overcome by, relations which brought him joy,
and others which overwhelmed him with sorrow,
relations with things which he could see, hear, or feel,
but not understand, then this world became peopled
for him with powerful beings, giants, monsters, gods,
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
5
demons, with shadows, spirits, goblins, with men and
women of good and evil intent, beings of the woods.
and of the fields, of empty space, of darkness, and of
light, of the water and of the air, thousands of un-
seen and unheard-of existences, constantly busy inter-
fering and regulating his poor life, and punishing,
rewarding, and guiding him throughout every step of
it, and, perchance, far beyond the grave throughout
eternity. It is worth considering, this childlike con-
dition of man, which admits that it knows but little,
and that it dreams of much more, a dream of multi-
tudinous forms which are somehow more closely in-
terwoven with his life than the scanty things he does
know. Man must supply himself with forms of things
he knows not of; he cannot think of them as things
unknown, or else they would not be things at all.
He will have them endowed with features, qualities,
powers, caprices, passions, and virtues, as the imagina-
tion mixed with slight actual experience may prompt.
Man is driven by nature and by his fellow men, and
if he is tempted, and pressed, and hurt, and pun-
ished, he is again made whole, and nursed and made
strong by powers apparently outside of him, powers
ever stronger than himself, powers alike, whether they
treat him lovingly or whether they rise up and oppose
him in his path, always prevailing unless he be pro-
tected by other powers, equally mysterious, equally
unfathomable. Man, in this childlike frame of mind,
found that all things were his masters, the air, the sea,
and the earth, all the elements and the stars above
him, all stronger than himself, and he ranged them
all in various forms, human and otherwise, as a series
of governing powers which commanded his fate. Is
6 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
there not wisdom in this dread of the unknown, this
regard of powers stronger than ourselves? Would
it not have been the height of folly to say, "I know
but little, and beyond this little which I know
there is nothing"? A conception, no matter how
imperfect, of the thing we do not positively know, is
not the philosophic solution of a question; but what
if the question cannot be philosophically solved, and
the thing is pressing upon us on every side, is driving
us well nigh to despair, shall we say it is nothing,
because we know it not; or may we not reverently
dream about it, and on finding that it hurts us, say
that it is terrible, and on finding it befriends us, say
that it is beneficent, kind, loving, and lovable? And
then again, if we can paint a picture of it in our
imagination, in words or in any way, may we not
master it in so far that we may better understand it,
establish relations with it, at least shape our course
with reference to some sort of tangible existence,
which performs a certain end, so far, at least, as we are
concerned?
Now mark how wonderful! That man, in his sim-
plicity and ignorance, may boldly ask of nature any
question whatever, and receive an answer to it. A
true answer too! Not as a whole, perhaps, and it
may not be the whole truth, but it is true for the
questioner and for the time being. And his time is
very short. It is equally wonderful how tenacious-
ly man clings to these crude expressions of nature,
when once he has learned to know them. He be-
lieves in them because they are true, and then again he
believes in them knowing them not to be true. St. Au-
gustine declared that it was nothing to believe that the
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
77
whale swallowed Jonah, for he would glory in believing
that Jonah swallowed the whale. Doubt a man's scien-
tific knowledge, tell him that the earth is not revolv
ing around the sun, that you can see for yourself that
it is the sun which is revolving round the earth, and
that your common sense tells you to believe in what
you see; he will not be angry with you on that ac-
count; he may try to explain the matter to you; but if
you cannot comprehend it, he will pursue you no far-
ther; he will certainly not hurt you because you do not
see things as he does. Tell him, on the other hand,
that you do not believe in transubstantiation, and he
will burn you alive and glory in it. It is wonderful,
too, how prolific time has been in these productions of
the human imagination, as compared with the positive
knowledge acquired in the same time, how beautifully
some of them have been painted, true works of art, pic-
tures in words, in stone, and on canvas. What is
most wonderful of all is, how beautiful and beneficent
they still are, after they have ceased to command im
plicit belief, and their mythical character is recognized
by all. Homer has made many converts to morality,
and spurred on many youths to lead a noble life since
the belief in Polytheism has ceased. It may be as-
serted, without fear of contradiction, that the moral in-
fluence of the Bible will continue for all time.
We may single out as very wonderful and curious this
fact, that whenever a strong mind discovers one of these
great poetical thoughts to be inconsistent in part or in
whole with philosophic reasoning, when he becomes
so convinced of this as to make it appear to him a de-
ceit practiced upon himself and others, he at once re-
pudiates all true thought, all moral merit developed
8 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
in it, and declares war against this idea, doctrine,
dogma, tradition, legend, or whatever it may be
called. And yet, while fighting this isolated idea on
the ground that it is not absolutely or wholly true, he
cherishes a thousand others of the same kind enthusi
astically, which are equally unsound, and he is ready
to die in their defense. Take, for instance, Martin
Luther. The practice of selling indulgences as Tetzel
did was rather a vulgar way of dealing with the con-
fession of sins and their divine pardon. It did not dif-
fer, however, in principle from the old method as
practiced in the Catholic Church before Luther's time,
or as practiced in that Church to-day. That man
should confess, and be forgiven, is as just a dogma
as that confession implies repentance. To buy abso-
lution for a price is a confession of sin of the most
valid kind, and no doubt sincere, for no man would
part with his substance did he not feel that he had
sinned, and that sin is a grievous thing. What was
Luther's objection to all this? Not to the confession,
nor to the forgiveness of sin. It was the suspicion
that the forgiveness of sin, after all, had less to do
with the transaction than the raising of money, and
the further suspicion that the Pope did not spend
this money altogether for the good of the Church.
Did Luther thereupon analyze his knowledge, and
cast out as unworthy all that was not absolute? It is
true that he doubted the sacrament of celibacy suffi-
ciently to take unto himself a wife; but beyond that
it would not be difficult to enumerate a long list of
erroneous thoughts to which Martin Luther vigorously
clung; let us mention the devil, at whom he threw an
inkstand.
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
9
Now what happens next is most curious of all.
After Martin Luther has discovered the indelicacy of
selling absolutions, the little minds all over Europe
begin to doubt all things; small minds become upset,
and think that they have somehow helped Martin Lu-
ther in his great discovery, and that they are possessed
of common sense by which they can judge all things
as well as those things can be judged of with the
help of God or of the accumulated knowledge of man.
The principal gods now worshipped throughout the
civilized world are individual common sense, taste,
public opinion, and the voice of the majority.
Think of individual common sense, and let us deal
justly with it. Let us admit at once that a drop of
water is water, as much as an ocean. But a million
of drops do not make an ocean.
If we need an ocean,
it will not do for a drop of water to say, I am an
ocean, nor for a million of drops together. And when
we have admitted that individual common sense is
like the drop of water, and that the sum total of cos-
mic intelligence is like the ocean, it does not become.
one of this nineteenth century to parade his common
sense, and sit in judgment on the church, the state,
political economy, science, art, agriculture, and trade.
When we compare individual common sense to the
drop of water, we must admit that we have not been
quite fair to the latter, for we know that every drop
of the ocean is capable of performing its work, of
resistance to pressure, of evaporation, of a thermal me-
dium, precisely as well as every other drop; and when
we speak of the work of the ocean, we deal, in truth,
with the exertion of all the drops of water contained
in it; and if any one drop were to ask at our hands
10 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
for its due share of praise, we should have to say to it,
"There is not another drop in the ocean that can be
said to have done more work than you did." Cosmic
knowledge, considered as an ocean of individual com-
mon sense, comprehends, on the other hand, the work
not of all, but of a few individuals. It would be a
curiosity in science to possess an approximate compu-
tation of their number during our historical period.
One in a million of human beings would be no exagger-
ated estimate. If this is true, then, while one man is
doing something to advance knowledge, a million of men
are doing nothing to the same end, unless, indeed, we
admit that they are helping that one by giving him the
countenance and moral support of their mere presence;
but this cannot be true, either, for two very good rea-
sons. The first is, that the contemporaries of any group
of wise men are far behind them in knowledge; and
the second is, that so far from helping them, the masses
are, and always have been, rather inclined to oppose
them; which, fortunately, has not amounted to much.
Now let us watch one of these millions of humanity
boasting of common sense, and see what all this com
mon sense is doing during a lifetime.
We know that one of that million is pursuing science
as best he can, without taking part in the turmoil of
the day, without caring what benefit he or any one else
may derive from this scientific work, content to ask of
nature questions relating to observable matter, and ac-
cepting his privilege of observing as an answer thereto.
He observes diligently, and when he finds a fact he
does not exult and boast of it, but goes on with the
search for the magnitude of the fact. IIe finds that a
stone falls! He is not content until he knows how
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
11
much it falls within a given time, in double the time,
in half the time; and when he has learned to know this,
he is fully rewarded and ready to do more work of the
same kind. He is not eager to keep his knowledge
secret, nor to derive from it personal benefit; but if he
finds that in the pursuit of his work he is indebted to
any one for information which helps him on in his
inquiry, he is very careful to give him credit for it.
What are the rest of the million doing all this time?
To understand that fully we must first know the prob
lem before them. It is to keep soul and body together
by any and every means which do not prevent others
from doing precisely the same thing. Also to learn to
know the nature of that same soul and body, and their
respective conditions before and after they met. Also
to receive and give exact information how all things
came about, where and when they are going, and what
is coming next.
The man who has had the best means, the method,
and the ability to answer these inquiries, if answered
they can be, is probably the scientific man, but it is not
on record that they ever asked him. This is, perhaps,
as well, for he would have told them that by diligent
work an answer might be had in perhaps ten thousand
years; but that one could not be sure of giving the
required information even at the end of that time.
Now, these people were pressed for time. They
wanted to know at once. This was a matter of
great import to them, a question of life and death
and of the hereafter, and indeed there were various
theories afloat already by which some of these ques-
tions could be answered; while others, if they could not
be explained by the same theories, could no doubt be
12 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
explained by others. In this manner grew the human
knowledge of the unknown, knowledge needed to sup-
ply immediate mental wants. Wherever a power or a
force was encountered which subjected humanity to
its will, it was idealized into a material shape, endowed
with the qualities and attributes needed to perform its
work, and placed somewhere in the ranks of the con-
stantly accumulating deities, fates, demigods, saints,
heroes, devils, nymphs, giants, dwarfs, and goblins
which peopled space. Whenever human action needed
guidance, these gods and other powers conveniently
expressed their wishes, and these became law, at least
for the time being. Whenever the influence of these
laws became weakened, men proclaimed their precepts
anew, and presented miracles as the credentials of their
ambassadorship, a species of divine privilege to arrest
at pleasure divine laws. The object of all this at
all times was to enforce some system of morality, a
code of procedure in all human relations, and also to
furnish a satisfactory solution of current human ques-
tions. We may say that in these ideal pictures of pos-
sible truths popular knowledge has consisted from the
beginning of time to this day, and this will probably
continue to be the method by which the great major
ity of mankind will be informed for all time to come,
and a very excellent method it is in the absence of a
better one.
Many systems of historical, poetical, and metaphysi-
cal nature, all of them explaining more or less accurate-
ly the origin and the cause of things and the powers
which govern them and us, and also advancing a code
of morals for the guidance of man with a view to his
present and future condition, have always existed and
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
13
do now exist. They all claim to be in their essence a
divine revelation, but this divinity is denied by all men
to all systems but their own.
The Christian religion is no exception to this general
rule. Its divinity is denied by eight hundred millions
of men, or more, in spite of the fact that its followers
constitute a majority of the inhabitants of the civilized
world.
Some of these systems have ceased to be religious
creeds. They have at this day no followers who be-
lieve in them, or who believe that they were ever
true systems in any sense. They are not forgotten,
however, but continue to exist as mythologies and
imaginative poetical explanations of the unknown.
Modern literature and poetry refer to them, and their
moral and civilizing influence continues to be felt and
is recognized by all men.
All this goes to show that outside of positive
knowledge there is a poetical knowledge or the knowl-
edge conveyed by art (ideal knowledge), which prompt-
ly answers man's questions in such a manner that he
may understand the answer. It is an answer suited to
his capacity, such as is given to a child sometimes, to
satisfy a craving for knowledge which it cannot fully
comprehend. These answers are not necessarily un-
true, but they are often imperfect, intended perhaps
to be modified from time to time, as much as this may
be done by reasonable interpretation within the limits
of their form and extent, and then to be rejected as
truths, and to yield to other forms of similar poetical
knowledge.
This poetical knowledge, moreover, is entirely the
result of the imagination and of the emotions, while
14 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
positive knowledge is the result of observation. For
instance, when a philosopher desires to know whether
atmospheric air impedes heat rays and how much, he
does not place himself before a fire and judge of the
result from his personal sensation; he understands too
well that, unaided, we cannot see, hear, or feel cor-
rectly, certainly not numerically. Reason inquires
into the nature of phenomena as perceived by the
senses with the express understanding that our senses
are but imperfect instruments for the acquisition of
a true knowledge of matter, its motion, and relation;
that these senses of ours must be assisted, watched,
controlled, and tested, and, above all, that their ob-
servations must be examined and verified by known
methods which determine the accuracy of quantitative
elements of phenomena. Reason analyzes the condi-
tions, constructs apparatus to meet these conditions,
and observes with the help of this apparatus.
The imagination proceeds by a short cut to explain
phenomena, not by an examination of the conditions,
or of the facts, but by using any convenient explana-
tion as it presents itself to the mind as capable of
accounting for the phenomena imperfectly observed.
The existence of fire as an element, caloric as a sub-
stance, are instances of the kind in science. The ex-
planation, by the maxim that nature abhors a vacuum,
of phenomena caused by atmospheric pressure, is an-
other,
More often phenomena are explained by a special
force invented for the purpose. This species of inven-
tion, however, does not deserve that name, for it
amounts in fact only to a desire to explain, not to
an actual explanation. The success extends merely to
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
15
the naming of the thing unknown, while the definition
of the thing named utterly fails. We speak of reflec-
tion as a mental function when we refer to a compari-
son of matter and its motion observed by the senses.
The ideas of space and eternity are strictly confined to
these names, and have a value only so long as they
refer to a relation of matter (space) or a motion of
matter, time (a succession of events), while outside of
matter they have no value, and are not capable of
definition.
The education of the majority of mankind is de-
rived, however, from art productions, which deal with
various questions in this manner, and which never fail
to answer questions as accurately as the imagination
of the author is able to comprehend the conditions.
These art productions are pictures, sculptures, le-
gends, novels, plays, songs, traditions, and all sorts of
mental impressions rendered in matter. Most men de-
rive from these sources their knowledge of history, moral
philosophy, political economy, art, science, and religion.
Common sense means the faculty of drawing conclu-
sions from impressions which are the result of sensu-
ous perception unaided by previous knowledge.
It is the current popular belief, that to see, hear, or
feel, means to convey to our brain a just appreciation
of the form, color, size, sound, and texture of objects
observed; and that we may further, by the simple ex-
ercise of a faculty called reflection, form opinions as to
the nature of these objects, the manner and process
by which they came to be, and the properties which
they possess. This is a very serious error. Our
sensuous perception of objects conveys to the brain
an impression of them as seen in their environments,
16 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
which is a totally different thing from a knowledge
of the objects themselves; and reflection means noth
ing more than a comparison of two or more sensuous
perceptions which may have been had at different
times, and which are one and all subject to the
same conditional perfection. We see a distant moun-
tain, and what do we know of it? Its outline is that
particular elevation which is turned toward us, and
which is no indication of its general form. Its color
is a deep violet; probably not the minutest object
could be found on the face of that mountain which in
fact has that color. Its size? we know nothing
of that, nor can we establish a relation between its
magnitude and that of other distant mountains which
we see at the same time. Nor are we any more accu-
rate with regard to objects near the eye. Compare the
height of a goblet and of a hat by measurement and see
how incorrect was the idea you had of their relative
height before you did so. For thousands of years men
believed that the sun revolved around the earth once
in twenty-four hours, because they saw it. For a simi-
lar period of time the fixed stars were supposed to be
very small bodies compared with the sun, and it was
thought that they also revolved around the earth. The
planets, after centuries of close observation, were sup-
posed to march around the earth in erratic orbits, and
hence their name. Galileo, in reporting his first ob-
servation of Saturn through a telescope, says that it
seems a combination of three planets joined together.
The earth upon which we live was believed to be flat,
because men were sure that they saw it so. Fire was
accepted as a body because every one could see and
feel it.
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
17
The man of common sense believes he can see cor-
rectly, and is surprised when we tell him that the sun
which he sees on the horizon at that very moment has
set eight minutes before. If we cannot see things as
they are, can we draw conclusions from what we see?
Clearly not: nor can we draw sound conclusions from
premises positively and correctly known, unless we
have learned to know the scientific limits within which
conclusions may be drawn. A light removed to twice
the distance from you will not afford half the amount
of illumination which it did before. It will only give
one quarter that amount. A beam of double the
length of another beam, if loaded with the same
weight per foot, will sustain that load if its height is
doubled; but if its height remain the same, its thick
ness must be increased four times to perform the work.
The moon seems smaller at the zenith than at the
horizon, and the man of common sense would con-
clude that it had moved away from the eye; what is
true is that it is four thousand miles nearer to him.
And yet the man of common sense strikes out boldly
into the ocean of phenomena which surrounds him,
and insists that he can see and hear and know by
virtue of his natural faculties, and boasts of his
contempt for so-called book-learning. He gives opin-
ions right and left on all subjects, and lives up to
these opinions sometimes, and insists that others shall
do so always. To him nothing is established; every-
thing may be controverted by the conjectures of his
own brain, excepting the stock prejudices to which
he has subscribed because he is born in them and has
been surrounded by them all his life.
He denies what he cannot understand, and believes
2
18 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
in other things because he cannot understand them.
As much as he sneers at science, he is confident that
at an early day science will teach us how to perform
the labor of life by machinery, and give us a perpetual
holiday thereafter. His favorite theory is that this
will be done by electricity, because this is the species.
of natural phenomena which was last brought to his
notice, and he knows least of its nature and more of
its practical results. He believes in public opinion.
He is, he thinks, part owner of that opinion, being a
member of the public. You cannot convince him by
an argument; but if you state your view in some
newspaper, he will read it in the morning, as public
opinion, and retail it to you in the afternoon. He has
faith in majorities. He would decide all questions
by a vote. Now this is a very singular notion. We
all know that if you gather a congregation of men,
whether you take them from the next scientific associ-
ation or the next ale-house, from the vestry of the
principal churches or from among hod-carriers, wheth-
er you deal with these aggregations separately or mix
them up in one or more bodies, always and ever you
will find that in a body of men, no matter how con-
stituted, the number of wise men is small compared
to the number of unwise, and the wise men are always
in the minority, and yet this man will have all ques-
tions decided by majorities; he thinks, and he says,
that ten men know more than one; or, in other words,
that ten crab-apples make one pine-apple. Very sin
gular this, but this is not all. The man of common
sense insists that individuals may be tyrants, but that
the masses are ever just and charitable. IIe says the
people best know what they want, and asks why should
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
19
they not have it if they want it? they know where
the shoe pinches, let them prescribe the remedy. Yes,
indeed, if we could be sure that they are as familiar
with the remedy as they are with the disease. Be-
sides we may doubt that they know whether the shoe
pinches or not. In nine cases out of ten it is not the
shoe that is at fault, but the rags and pebbles inside
of the shoe which have been allowed to drop in
through neglect or have been put there through mis-
taken judgment.
If you wish to see the man of common sense in his
grandeur you must observe him in his prejudices, in
his hereditary errors. There he is gigantic. He rails
in speech and in print against the superstitions of re-
ligion. The idolatry of the Catholic Church is his
favorite theme; the worship of saints is an abomina-
tion to his eyes; he would destroy every saint and re-
duce the church of living ideas to a barn filled with
nothingness. Why not let the poor man worship the
saints? If it is difficult for him to comprehend the
concentration of attributes as we would embody them
in the word God; if to understand charity, humility,
faith, self-denial, chastity, he needs the material repre-
sentation of these virtues in veritable men and women
who are supposed to have possessed them, and if he
will prostrate himself before their images in stone or
wood, and worship, why not let him do so? It will
make him a better man for a time at least. Now the
man of common sense, if he be an ignorant man, boasts
that modern Protestantism has done away with all
false gods, and that the people are just as good with-
out them. The solid food of saint worship has been
exchanged for mental intoxication, for the austere
20 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
dread of an unrelenting hell and the despair of those
who fear that they are not of the elect. The poor and
ignorant are in search of spiritual food in a material
shape, and idols they will worship, with the simple
difference that the idols are removed from the shrine
in the church, and new ones are put up in the heads
of the poor parishioners.
If the man of common sense be a learned man, per-
haps he will suggest Plutarch's lives in place of the
saints. This is well so far as it goes, but the people will
have to find their saints in Plutarch's lives, and if they
will not or cannot read of them there, we must per-
force make statues of them and pictures, and they will
worship these.
Common sense is driving poetical knowledge, poet-
ical thought, out of society, the state, and the church,
and substitutes nothing for it. When Greece began
to doubt her gods, it was her philosophers who took
an active part in opposing them; the gods had to
yield, but not to Greek philosophy: they yielded to
the poetry of Christianity, which in one comprehensive
and flexible poetic system replaced the cumbrous my-
thology of antiquity. Modern common sense is slowly
shattering the strong walls of medieval state and
church, which are toppling down, stone after stone and
brick after brick; when the fabric disappears, man will
live intellectually out of doors and without shelter,
and will have to learn with great labor how to build
anew. What he will build we may presume to conjec-
ture. It will not be a university solely, for most men
cannot live there; they must labor for their daily
bread. Perhaps there will be theaters, libraries, mu-
seums, and lecture halls in abundance; there will
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
21
doubtless be courts of law, parliaments, palaces, and
churches of some kind. If humanity has really out-
grown the rude wood-cuts of saints, then we must sup
ply it with more artistic pictures. Virtue must be
idealized in matter in some form; but we must not
sneer at saints and invite the poor laborer into the
portico of the temple to argue and be argued with, on
moral philosophy; he has no time to go there; his de-
spondency needs a quicker remedy than learned dis-
quisition can furnish, and if you do not supply one
he will seek consolation in the cup, and thus escape
trial and trouble, at least for the moment, and become
more brutish and degraded after every draught. De-
prived one after another of his processions and feasts,
he is no longer happy and joyous, but downcast and
sober; he has ceased to sing and to dance. He and
his fellow laborers assemble in dreary halls to hear
harangues on political economy and on dry statistics;
his great aim is to work less and get more wages, as
though by that means his share in the aggregate pro-
duction of labor could be increased.
He desires that no one belonging to his craft shall
do more work than himself, no matter how inferior in
ability he himself may be, and thus he cuts off all
chance of ever acquiring capital, the thing which
above all others he hates, unless it be possessed by
himself. He wants to vote in order to become the
master of those who govern him; really, however, he
continues the slave of the creatures of his mistaken or
misguided judgment. We should not quarrel with com-
mon sense because it has granted to men the privilege
of voting, of doubtful value though that privilege be,
had it supplied him at the same time with such knowl
22 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
edge as he needs to vote well. This knowledge is not
to be found in political pamphlets or in essays, nor in
harangues at the hustings; all this is chaff which fills
his poor stomach without feeding him, and which only
creates a desire for strong drink, which results in
broken heads. If the poor man must vote, why not
prepare him for voting? Common sense has tried to
do this, having talked, written, and printed by the
mile; but it is of no use. Poor ignorant common
sense! The poor man does not understand your talk,
you must speak to him through pictures. You are
yourself the greatest enemy of the only sort of knowl
edge which can benefit him. If he must vote, let
voting be made a noble and honorable thing; it must
have peculiar surroundings; men unused to voting,
who do not understand the meaning and import of a
ballot, cannot vote well in taverns or in market-places.
Common sense here is inadequate; we must call upon
art to explain this thing to the benighted voter. We
should build a temple for him, with vestibules and an
inner sanctuary, where among statues and pictures,
and gorgeous light and color decoration the citizen
should deposit his vote. Suffrage should be a solem-
nity. The voter should rise with the sun, and take an
ablution in baths especially built for the purpose; he
should array himself in holiday attire, and march in
procession with banners and music to the great court
where voting is done; he should purify himself in
the vestibule with prayer, that this great function be
performed honestly and conscientiously; he should
present his vote in a respectful attitude, and when the
voting was over he and his wife and children should
enjoy a dance, or otherwise make some show of thank-
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
23
fulness to his country, for being a free citizen, one to
whom a voice is allowed in its government. Perhaps
men would then feel the importance of the elective
franchise.
Common sense is cunning, but not wise. It at
tempts to govern by strictly adhering to public
opinion. Common sense imagines that plain rules of
right and wrong, simple, well-known principles will
not immediately satisfy the public, because just meas-
ures, so framed as to reach the defects of a state as
well as of an individual, need time to prove their
efficacy.
The modern statesman and politician cannot afford
time. IIe depends upon popularity, and his popular-
ity in turn depends upon immediate recognition of his
merit. Hence he yields to popular prejudices, and
often resorts to the agitation of erroneous views on
questions of policy and political economy, in order to
raise in the shortest possible time a party which will
sustain him. This is a singular phenomenon in the
world of thought. The men who eminently under-
stand the right of the thing, abandon this right to
make room for the wrong of it, because the people
imagine this to be the right. The people, on the other
hand, who directly or indirectly selected these wise
men to legislate for them, have not sufficient confi-
dence in their wisdom to admit the justice of a meas-
ure when they themselves do not understand the nature
of it, while at the same time it is recognized that the
subject is not one upon which they as a mass are cor-
rectly informed. The passage of the silver bill in
America is an instance of this kind. This is a law by
which it is ordained that there shall be two units of
24 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
measure, each of which shall be called a dollar, while
the intrinsic value of one is eighty-five one hundredths
of that of the other. This law was passed by a two-
thirds vote over the veto of the President, by a Con-
gress the majority of which must have been sufficiently
informed to know that there cannot be in anything
two standards of measure; the virtue of a measure by
which value is estimated is in its being a unit, or else
it is not a measure at all. When the mover of this
bill was remonstrated with by a delegation of bankers,
he declined to consider the arguments of those gentle-
men, for the reason that if this law was not passed his
constituents would next year send men to Congress
who would wipe out the national debt as with a
sponge. No greater depth of human ignorance and
intellectual perversity can well be conceived than that
which is expressed in this speech: "Wipe out the
national debt as with a sponge." As if a debt could
be wiped out, or as though the repudiation of a debt
could in any way modify the condition of indebted-
ness except to make it worse than it was. If a nation
declines to pay its debts, it only charges itself with an
evil far greater than the debt itself.
In the streets and public places, in the halls of just-
ice, in parliament, in schools and in churches, the
poetry of human relations is daily reduced to an
imagined equality. Personal whims and desires de-
cide all questions without help from without. Spon-
taneous knowledge is made a summary judgment of
the aspect and form of things, of men, and of congre-
gations of men as they present themselves in their
relations to us, to each other, and to the world. These
forms are capable of poetic development, but com-
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
25
mon sense has condemned this as superfluous and
untruthful, and yet we need it at every step, to
help us in our judgment. When men congregate in
our parliament houses in clothes suited to monkeys,
and sit with stovepipe hats on, or lounge in attitudes.
of indifference; when, in their debates, they abuse
each other, and in their bearing offend common de-
cency; in other words, when the instruction which
should be derived from artistic grouping is neglected,
and the face of society is deprived of that expression
which should betray its inner life-its virtue, its ideas,
its morality-then men must lose respect for wisdom
and bow to folly.
The man of common sense, however, reflects upon
what he perceives through his senses; he draws con-
clusions rashly, no doubt, and with bad results; but
we have at least a mental effort, an honest intention,
which we must respect if we do not admit it to be of
value, and which we must recognize, even if we depre
cate the feebleness and fallacy of its results. But con-
sider the man of taste, who sits in judgment upon ideas
of which he has never heard, and of their expression in
art, which he has never studied! Think of a man pro-
nouncing upon the beauty of anything while he himself
wears a starched shirt-front, a cylindrical hat, mutton-
chop whiskers, and pantaloons striped horizontally! In
the great cities of Europe sad compounds called plays
-without plots, without sentiment, without meaning
-are played to full houses for hundreds of nights in
succession, and yet the persons who visit these per-
formances speak with confidence of their taste! Men
live in houses built of small hemlock joists nailed to-
gether in the most slovenly manner, filled in with thin
26 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
brick, and faced on the outside with a weak lining of
sandstone overtopped with a tin cornice painted in
imitation of stone, and insist that they are men of
taste! The bookstalls and street corners are crowded
with the purchasers of the cheap novel, while the aver
age daily attendance of the great libraries does not
exceed a few persons. The literature consumed by the
masses is the veriest trash, and yet each one who reads
it believes himself or herself a man or woman of taste.
While in large cities like London, Paris, New York,
and Vienna, a few enterprising men or firms are en-
gaged in producing well-designed furniture, carpets,
curtains, and household articles, and find a scanty sale
for them, huge factories turn out constantly vast masses
of stuff badly conceived, worse designed, and recklessly
put together. Ask what becomes of these miserable
productions, and you are told that they are sold to the
people. When remonstrated with upon the bad judg
ment displayed in these manufactures-their staring
ugliness, violent colors, crude and pernicious ornament
the dealers inform you that they are well aware of
these defects, and that they have repeatedly tried to
modify them, but have failed to find purchasers for
better things; these things are made for and satisfy
the taste of the people.
What we call the civilized world may be said to
do all things in accordance with the fashion of the
day. We build our houses, we clothe ourselves, in
the fashion. We read fashionable literature, and sce
fashionable plays. We are pious and vicious in obe-
dience to fashion. We live, eat and drink, marry and
are given in marriage, travel, enjoy ourselves, and wor
ship God, after the same manner.
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
27
What does all this mean, and what is its import?
There is no mystery in this. We all know and under-
stand the nature of it. We prefer the form, the
expression of a function of any kind, as it is ordered
to-day, not by an authority which we respect, or one
for which we have an affection, but by men and causes.
which we despise. We do this with the full knowl
edge and understanding that next year we will do pre-
cisely the opposite with the same ardor and the same
satisfaction. We are obtuse enough to boast that we
are a people of taste, able to distinguish the beautiful
from the ugly; yet every year we go into ecstasies
over the beauties of the prevailing fashion. We laugh
at the unfortunate mortal who lacks the taste to change
his last year's coat, his superannuated carriage, his un-
fashionable furniture, etc., etc., all of which, awhile
ago, we extolled to the skies as admirable specimens of
human art. Can it be possible that in so doing we
display a sound judgment of form, color, adaptation,
expression, etc.? or are we merely the shuttlecocks of
our imagination, which has become impotent unless
excited by the judgment or example of others?
The radical error at the foundation of all this is the
attempt to explain the nature of beauty by its symp-
tom, "a pleasurable emotion."
But
It is said that a work of nature or of art which has
beauty excites a pleasurable emotion; this is not al
ways true, for there are many who hate good music,
architecture, sculpture, painting, and literature.
to test this assertion, let us grant that an ordinary per-
son would rather suffer the infliction of a good opera
than be left to his own thoughts for an evening, does
that prove anything? A game of cards with a dull
28 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
companion would be preferred, perhaps, and then there
is much in the performance of an opera outside of its
music which is attractive and diverting, although it is
either an inferior art effort or entirely a thing not art
at all. But the converse of this definition-the asser-
tion that a pleasurable emotion is the proof of the
presence of beauty in anything, is simply preposterous,
and leads men into extravagancies which are incon-
sistent with sanity.
An immense amount of human labor is expended
annually on productions which derive their greatest
percentage of value from so-called art. If this is art
which changes with the fashion, if it is mistaken art,
bad art, all the labor expended on it is a total loss.
Why is it created at all? Because there are men of
taste who think it beautiful long enough to purchase
it, only in order to throw it away next month or next
year. The money (which means labor) expended in
ten years for bad architecture, bad sculpture, bad fur-
niture, bad paintings, bad literature, bad music, and
other bad art, would amply pay for all good art works
which have been created since the beginning of his
tory.
We have liberty of speech now, at least outside of
Russia, and it is a good and glorious thing that man
should have the right to speak, write, and print with-
out fear, whatever his thoughts may be upon any sub-
ject of interest to man. But humanity is a society
wherein heretofore only a favored few have been per-
mitted to talk in public, and this privilege has been
extended to all only recently. One would think
naturally that man would be modest in making use of
this great privilege of addressing the world, that he
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
29
would hesitate to say anything unless he had first
made sure that he had something to say which was of
value to his fellow-men; and so he would, indeed, had
not some demon whispered in his ear that he possessed
common sense and taste, and that the majority of hu-
manity looks upon these gifts of nature as an inex-
haustible treasure that will take the place of knowledge.
In fact, the less a man knows, the greater his opinion
of his common sense and taste.
What does all this talk about common sense and
taste amount to? Simply that man can see, and hear,
and feel, and smell, and that whenever he exerts any
of these senses upon the matter which surrounds him
an impression is made upon his mind. Now, the great
infelicity in all this is, that the man of common sense
and taste imagines that this mental impression is a fac
simile of matter and motion which he has perceived
with his senses, and that he can intelligently compare
it with other matter seen or heard that also has left
an impression on his mind. This is unfortunately not
true. Take, for example, the simplest article of wearing
apparel, a boot, or a glove, a thing all of us are in the
habit of handling and examining daily; a chair, a
table, a dinner-plate, a carriage, a railroad train. How
many men are there who can make a drawing of either
of these things, or who can give a lucid description of
the material they are composed of, how this material
is manufactured, how put together, by what means,
and with what amount of labor,-when and how any
or all these things are good, bad, or indifferent for the
purpose used, or what is their intrinsic value? Very
few men indeed know anything whatever of these
things.
30 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
If we were to tell the average man that his common
sense is insufficient to guide him in purchasing, selling,
or using any of these commodities, he would think
himself insulted.
But when we come to matters of art and of nature
we find men still more profoundly ignorant; yet no
one hesitates at a critical opinion on any work of
art, unless indeed he is considerably advanced in his
knowledge of what art really is. "I know when I
like a thing and what I like suits my taste; and al-
though I may not have as much or as cultivated a
taste as my neighbor, the little I have is as good as
that of any other person. My wife is a milliner, and
I ought to have taste enough to judge of a painting or
a statue; my grandfather was a builder, and a taste for
architecture runs in the family; my great-uncle. fre
quently expressed his approval of Shakespeare and
Milton, and I should think I know something of litera-
ture." This is the popular talk on taste.
Men who never saw or heard of a good architectu
ral monument boldly ask reputable architects to submit
for their approval designs for churches, libraries, mu-
seums, and court-houses, because their associates in
some building interest, who professedly know less of
the subject than they do, have selected them for that
purpose as men of taste. The very fact that these
men are willing to sit in judgment on a series of archi-
tectural designs, and rest their interests, or the inter-
ests of others upon their decision in an art matter,
which, to understand clearly, demands the study of a
life, shows conclusively that these men are profoundly
ignorant of the subject.
It is the privilege of man to ask of nature any ques-
COMMON SENSE AND TASTE.
31
tion whatever, and she will answer him truly, unlike
the sibyl, not in words, but, like the sibyl, with an
enigma. This enigma may be read in matter, in the
matter which composes this great universe, including
all its combinations, relations, motions, and organisms,
not only arranged by nature herself, but also as re-
created by man in imitation of her works in organisms
known as art productions.
See, and hear, and feel, says nature to man, and you
may read all things, and whenever matter is thus ad-
dressed it permits itself to be read. For thousands of
years mankind has been occupied in reading and re-
reading this wonderful volume of nature and art, and
there can be no doubt that as long as man lives upon
the face of this earth he will continue to read it with
interest and profit to himself.
As to individual man, he reads but indifferently
well, unfortunately always with the same fluency; what
he has read is clear, intelligible, and complete to him ;
he thinks that he can understand it all, because all he
can read, and hear, and see in it he understands as he
sees, and hears, and feels it, no better and no worse.
If perchance in time he learns to see better, he will read
better, and he is elated by his progress, and thinks not
of his former or his present shortcomings.
A flower and the Iliad, a work of nature and a work
of art, may be known to a thousand persons, and each
will express unbounded admiration for the beauty of
both; yet if the conception of them, as formed by each
individual, could be weighed in a balance, we should
find a thousand different values attached to each. You
say you have read Homer when a youth, and that
the book has been your constant companion during
32 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
manhood and old age; that you have examined the
organism of that flower, and analyzed it chemically
and with the microscope. Yet yon simple girl plucks
a rose because she loves it; she dreamily turns the
leaves of your Homer, and extracts from it what she
there finds beautiful. Let us not decide which of you
two has been made happier by either; but if at any
time I should long to learn of poetry and flowers, I
shall sit at your feet to do so.
CHAPTER II.
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
SCIENCE, common sense, and taste supply the world
with knowledge. Let us see how art, and more es-
pecially architecture, is thriving with the help of this
knowledge. In order to form a correct view of the
condition of architecture, it will be well to examine
its great aim at the present day, to create a new
style.
The present condition of architecture may be in-
ferred from the question constantly asked, "Will the
civilized world, England, America, France, or any
other civilized country, ever have a new style of archi-
tecture?" There is no indication that this question
was ever asked by the Egyptians, Greeks, and Ro-
mans, or by the nations of Europe during the Middle
Ages; nor are the Chinese, Japanese, and Persians in-
terested in it at the present day; it is eminently the
concern of the so-called civilized world and of the
nineteenth century.
If architecture as an art were complete, or if it
ever had been perfect at any one time, that is to say,
if all the demands now made upon it could be fully
supplied by past experience, or if we could find in any
one period of its history an answer to every current
æsthetic question, there would be no need of progress
3
33
34 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
in architecture; new styles would arise from time to
time as society changed its needs and nature, and as
human ingenuity multiplied its material; we should
then see springing up around us buildings of a charac
ter entirely new in expression, representing the many
new ideas and wants of civilized society made possible
by modern science, and called forth by political, social,
and religious changes, and by a vast increase in the
best building material. We should be overwhelmed
with new architectural forms and combinations, and
have not only a new style of architecture, but a con-
stantly growing and changing style. Indeed the va
rious styles of the present century would be spoken
of with confidence and approval. The present activity
in building has no parallel in the history of the world.
The complexity of modern society demands more vari-
ous buildings than are furnished by any past period
of architecture, or by all past periods put together,
and the conditions which govern erections vary con
stantly from those which preceded them. What state
of things ever seemed more forcibly to compel a new
style in architecture than that in which we live?
And yet, though monuments are built of new ma-
terials, in new places, to answer new and heretofore
unknown purposes, they merely repeat, when they do
not caricature, past architecture, and we call in vain
for a new style. A new style, it is evident, will not
come simply because it is called for, or hoped for.
Architects think of it and dream of it; attempt it and
fail; and finally, in despair, change their designs from
one style to another, vaguely hoping to stumble upon
one that contains all the elements they need, in the
combination in which they need them.
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
35
As we know of no such struggles in the past, we
come to the conclusion that architecture is dead, and
that we can do no more than to dig up its varied
forms from the past and apply them to the need of
the present. The question then becomes, What forms
are we to take, Egyptian, or Greek, or Roman, or
Mediaval? The current answer to this question is,
Take them all, familiarize yourself with them all; but
when you reproduce them, be careful to keep them
separate, and to use only such as were originally used
together, lest by mixing forms of different periods you
produce discord.
And thus the student reads the history of architec-
ture, and if he is very clever and industrious he dives
deep into archaeology. Give him a section of a label
moulding, or of an abacus, and he will reconstruct the
building for you from which it is taken. His mind is
a museum of architectural history, and architecture
becomes to him a knowledge of forms, connected with
dates and places, but not quite clearly with the ideas
which have given them existence. IIe finds that these
forms harmonize best in the relation in which they are
placed by their authors; and in order to preserve the
harmony and unity of works of architectural art as
they appear in the past, he copies them in the exact
relation in which he finds them. Hence mere division
into styles no longer affords a well-arranged index of
art. It becomes necessary to divide and subdivide
styles, until there are as many types almost as there
are individual monuments, and when the problem of
designing a new structure is met face to face, and it is
found that its requirements do not agree with those of
any monument erected at least five hundred years ago,
36 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
the architect becomes indignant at modern wants, and
declares them to be outside the pale of architectural
art.
Mr. Ruskin, in his introduction to the Seven Lamps
of Architecture, says: "What is true of human polity
seems to me not less so of the distinctively political art
of architecture. I have long felt convinced of the neces
sity, in order to its progress, of some determined effort
to extricate from the confused mass of partial traditions
and dogmata with which it has become encumbered
during imperfect or restricted practice, those large
principles of right which are applicable to every stage
and style of it. Uniting the technical and imaginative
elements as essentially as humanity does soul and
body, it shows the same infirmly balanced liability to
the prevalence of the lower part over the higher, to
the interference of the constructive with the purity
and simplicity of the reflective element. This tend-
ency, like every other form of materialism, is increas
ing with the advance of the age; and the only laws
which resist it, based upon partial precedents and
already treated with disrespect as decrepit, if not with
defiance as tyrannical, are evidently inapplicable to
the new forms and functions of the art which the
necessities of the day demand. How many these ne-
cessities may become cannot be conjectured; they rise,
strange and impatient, out of every modern shadow of
change. How far it may be possible to meet them
without a sacrifice of the essential character of archi-
tectural art, cannot be determined by specific calculation
or observance. There is no law, no principle based
upon past practice, which may not be overthrown in a
moment by the arising of a new condition, or the in-
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
37
vention of a new material; and the most rational, if not
the only mode of averting the danger of an utter dis-
solution of all that is systematic and consistent in our
practice, or of ancient authority in our judgment, is to
cease for a little while our endeavors to deal with the
multiplying host of abuses, restraints or requirements;
and endeavor to determine, as the guides of every effort,
some constant, general and irrefragable laws of right
-laws which, based upon man's nature, not upon his
knowledge, may possess so far the unchangeableness
of the one, as that neither the increase nor imperfec-
tion of the other may be able to assault or invalidate
them."
"The necessities of the day, as they arise in multi-
tudes not to be conjectured, strange and impatient, out
of every modern shadow of change, new conditions
and the invention of new material, threaten to over.
throw in a moment the laws and principles of past
practice."
A reflective mind would inquire at this stage of the
argument—do I know the laws and principles of past
practice? If I do know those laws, how is it that
they can be overthrown in a moment by modern con-
ditions and materials? Laws are eternal, if true; if
not eternal, they are false, not laws at all. Wherein
am I misled in my judgment?
A frank inquiry of this kind might have led the
author to the conclusion that the laws and principles
of past practice are either not known to him, or that
the laws and principles of past practice are erroneous
laws.
The truth is, that the author was not thinking of
laws, but of forms, the result of laws, and of certain
38 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
relations of forms which have been rashly assumed
to be laws. It is upon forms that his imagination.
dwells, upon the outward and visible results of laws
at which he has not arrived, and it is to these forms
that he recurs throughout the book. These forms
Mr. Ruskin recommends for various reasons, very few
of which have any relation to principles, and his at-
tempts to refer his personal preferences to abiding
and universal laws are uniformly unsuccessful, while
the laws which he invents to justify his preferences are
usually even more whimsical and fanciful than the
preferences they are invented to justify.
Many of
these forms he praises because he is unfamiliar with
better forms of a similar kind, and imperfect forms
therefore seem perfect to him; and not a few because
they have left on his mind a foggy picture, which,
had he analyzed it, would have satisfied him less.
Iis illustrations exhibit this same vagueness; they are
not representations, but uncertain impressions only, of
the things he saw.
If writers upon the theory of architecture thus fail
to survey the whole field, with the view of deriving
from all periods and schools of architecture the laws
which underlie and generate their forms, it is not
to be expected that more than a small minority of
practicing architects, or of students whose studies
are to result in practice, should undertake the examina-
tion of architectural forms. The great majority, eager
to become practitioners and to make a living, and
appalled at the labor which a study of architecture
involves, confine themselves to forms of a particular
period, devote themselves to a specialty, and study
only a style.
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
39
Greek forms, for various reasons, have the greatest
number of votaries. Perhaps laziness, moral laziness,
may be the chief of these reasons, considering that
Greek forms are eminently simple and have been
carefully sorted, measured, and labeled by various
authors. Besides, the young architect, upon entering
the temple of art from the back door of history, finds
them stored near that entrance, and with the ardor of
youth he revels in them for a while, and soon begins
to think that they alone are sufficient for all purposes
of active work.
At the beginning of this century this was the
universal condition of the profession. The land was
flooded with Greek temples. We had Greek temples
for churches, school-houses, libraries, courts of justice,
custom-houses, exchanges, post-offices, colleges, thea-
ters, and beer-shops-all Greek temples alike. There
were large and small temples, temples of brick and of
wood, of stone and of plaster.
Roman, Renaissance, and Medieval forms have in
turn been brought into requisition, with very nearly
the same artistic result. We say nearly, because
Medieval art contains examples of many kinds of
buildings which are still needed in our times, and our
architects were not put to the necessity of projecting
cathedrals to answer the purposes of mercantile, social,
educational, and other structures, in the same manner
in which the Greek and Roman temple was called
upon to do duty by our predecessors at the beginning
of this century.
The profession has become divided upon this ques-
tion of styles. The majority practices classic archi-
tecture, or its modern resultant, the Renaissance; a
40 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
minority devotes itself to Medieval art. There is
also a class which, hanging on the outskirts of these
two great divisions, professes to be eclectic in its con-
victions, and flits from one style to another as outward
circumstances or inward promptings may incline it.
At one time, not long ago, the two great parties in
architecture, viz., the Medieval and the Renaissance
architects, were arrayed in hostile camps, and carried
on a war of words in defense of their respective styles.
The Mediaevalists urged that Antique architecture con-
tained a limited series of forms, which, based upon the
simple ideas of a polytheistic mythology, and confined
to the primitive Greek and Roman methods of con-
struction, are inadequate to express the complicated
ideas of the present time, and that Romanesque and
Gothic architecture did contain forms of greater
variety, in fact, covered the whole ground of known
methods of construction and material, and ranged the
realm of decoration without restraint of any kind.
In consequence of all this, Mediaval architecture, they
thought, should be adopted as the architecture of the
day; and if its forms, as we find them, do not express
modern thought, or if they do express ideas which we
have now abandoned, we should still adopt Medieval
architecture as the starting point of a new school, and
develop upon this basis a new architecture of our own.
This reasonable argument was rejected by the Renais-
sance party. Gothic architecture to it expressed noth-
ing but superstition, oppression, and ignorance; it was
rude and brutal, fantastic and trifling in character,
complicated and restless in detail, and could not in
any manner compare with the grand simplicity of the
Antique. If any basis of progress in architecture was
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
41
to be adopted, the Renaissance was the proper point
of departure, and from it should be developed the
architecture of the future.
These arguments, in turn, could not have failed to
convince the community at large, and would have
inevitably silenced the Medieval party had the Renais
sance school developed Antique art according to prom-
ise; nor would the Renaissance party have continued
this useless war had the Medieval party in the mean
time changed Gothic forms and adjusted them more
nearly to modern feeling.
Like most wars, this ended in exhaustion on both
sides; both lost much of the respect of the com-
munity and diminished the opportunities of profes-
sional employment. The sinews of war gave out. A
truce was established on the basis of a division of the
possible spoils, with a semblance of mutual respect and
reconciliation.
Before the public, the parties admitted both Antique
and Medieval architecture to be respectable systems
of art, each fully capable of expressing ideas; confessed
that ideas are at best somewhat unsettled at present,
that methods of construction may be conveniently con-
cealed if they cannot be expressed, and that the selec-
tion of architectural forms is very much a matter of
taste.
In private, old arguments are rehearsed, and if they
convince no one, they hurt no one's feelings, being
confined to small circles in which the members are of
one mind.
Each
And so both parties continue to use old forms for
modern purposes, and both fail in doing so.
party clearly sees the failure of the other, and ascribes
42 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
it to the style adopted as the basis of operations, and
neither advances beyond the starting point.
It would be unjust to the profession not to remem-
ber some good results of this lamentable condition of
things, viz., the archæological work in the excavations
of Antique, and the active and successful restoration
and completion of Medieval monuments.
Nevertheless architecture to-day is practically noth-
ing more than a collection of assorted forms, the ele-
ments of which are but little considered, and the origin
of which is hardly known. When architects speak of
progress in architecture, they mean possible new forms
which must be invented with great labor of the imagi-
nation. When old forms are applied, it is done with
out reference to construction and material. A cornice
is supposed to be a sort of architectural decoration,
and not a stone covering a wall, hence wooden and zinc
cornices, cast iron capitals, gargoyles in places where no
water runs, and buttresses where there is no lateral
pressure, arches of lath and plaster where there is
no abutment, columns which support nothing; balus-
trades in places where no one can possibly walk, and
battlements upon peaceful libraries and school-houses.
It is true that a very respectable number of modern
architects are never guilty of these gross errors, but
how many are there who are willing to forego a tower
simply because it is not needed either physically or
æsthetically, or a flying buttress, if by an ingenious
argument it may be justified?
Architectural forms, like musical compositions, con-
tain but few elements, but these are capable of a great
number of combinations. Nor is it necessary that
these combinations should be laboriously sought for;
THE AIM OF ARCHITECTURE.
43
they arise naturally out of the conditions of the struc-
ture, out of the idea which has given rise to it, and
out of the material used in its construction. They
are of value only in expressing all these conditions,
and of no art value whatever if brought about in any
other away.
The modern architect, for reasons which will here-
after be discussed, but rarely refers an architectural
composition to the idea which has given rise to it.
He often ignores or neglects the construction and the
possibilities of the material employed, as technical
matters beneath his notice, but imagines that after a
structure has been technically designed, so far as it
is necessary to answer its practical purposes, either by
some engineer or by himself, then the labor of the ar-
chitect begins by inclosing the structure on the out-
side and lining it on the inside with a skin of archi-
tectural forms gathered from his general fund, in
accordance with the dictates of his taste.
CHAPTER III.
TASTE.
TASTE being the principal motive power which sup-
plies the modern architect with the mental help by
which his art work is created, it becomes desirable to
define its nature as it is popularly understood.
Taste, in the sense in which it is commonly under-
stood, is a delusion and a snare.
It is supposed to be a species of sixth sense with
which nature has endowed man, so that he may un-
derstand works of art without analysis, and produce
them without reflection. More bad art has been pro-
duced and encouraged, and more injury done to good
art by this delusion, than by all other adverse causes
put together.
People who have no knowledge of art experience
a pleasurable emotion in the presence of a work of
art, hence it is rashly assumed that these persons
possess this sixth sense, taste. This would be true
were the pleasurable emotion in all cases proportionate
in degree to the merits of the work admired, but ex-
perience tells us that the reverse is the case that the
majority of men enjoy pleasurable emotions from art
works of the lowest degree, and none whatever from
art of a high class.
+
We frequently encounter rugged natures who do
44
TASTE.
45
not hesitate to avow that they abominate the opera,
hate statuary and architecture, and would not give
sixpence for all the paintings in the world; they at-
tend concerts and visit galleries of art from a sense
of social duty, but do not conceal it that they are
bored in doing so. While one person delights in good
literature, thousands read trash with avidity. A mon-
ument of architecture may produce an impression, by
reason of its magnitude, cost, or novelty, but none of
the elements which constitute its merit as a work of
art are recognized directly by the multitude.
The mass of bad architecture tolerated and paid
for is a practical proof that taste is the property of
but a few, and it remains to be seen whether it is in
any case a natural gift, or the result of study.
Taste is said to be variable, according to the pro-
verb, that "there is no accounting for taste." It would
be difficult to persuade men to adopt a variable unit
of measure, yet art is saddled with a judge who tries
its merits with a yard-stick varying from three feet
plus to three feet minus.
Of course this incongruity is more or less apparent,
and we hear specious talk of cultivated taste. If taste
is perfect in the ratio of its cultivation, then unculti-
vated taste can be of no value in art.
Architects and laymen during the last two cen-
turies have abhorred the use of color as a means of
decoration, everything not painted white or white-
washed, being pronounced ugly, sinful, wicked, and
vulgar. This betrays not only the absence of natural
taste, but a capability for a negative taste, a universal
dislike of what is desirable in art.
The pleasurable emotion produced by art work is
46 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
so mixed up with habits and with personal, religious,
and social prepossessions, that it becomes unsafe to
claim for our likes and dislikes of various forms of
art the authority which belongs to a just standard of
æsthetic merit. The conditions under which we see
works of art, the length of time we pass with them
and under their influence, and the opportunities we
have had to see other works of similar aim with which
to compare them, all have much to do with the judg
ment we form, and we are not therein assisted by a
natural taste.
The architecture of Venice, heightened in its
picturesque effects by an Italian sky and the ever-
present Adriatic, and hallowed by historical reminis
cences of the wonderful power and success of a hand-
ful of patricians and merchants during several cen-
turies, has left upon the sensitive mind of Mr. Ruskin
an indelible impression which dulls his perceptions
of the beauties of architectural art outside of Venice,
and blinds him to many glaring defects of Venetian
architecture itself. Why is he not equitable and just
in his judgment, through the mere force of his nat
ural taste?
Art history has preserved to us a few isolated ex-
amples of architectural art (few compared with the
great mass of work, attempted during historic times),
the production of a small number of men whose
labors have enriched the world, and who appear like
bright stars upon a firmament of general darkness.
We know of long intervals of inactivity and retro-
gression in architecture among all nations and more
especially in what is called the civilized world. We
may say that the good work done in the best of times
TASTE.
47
is but a small percentage of the whole of the work
attempted, and that during whole centuries no good
work whatever has been done in countries like France,
England, Germany, Spain, and Italy. Why has the
sixth sense lain dormant during all these centuries, if
taste is inherent in the human mind?
Think of the period of Louis XIV., the Rococo of
the European continent, the palaces of the great built
in forms so vile and unmeaning that we regret the
tardiness of time and the elements in not wiping them
off the face of the earth. There they stand, living
witnesses of the ignorance and folly of the architects
who designed them, monuments of the depravity of
the generation which approved and admired them,
and of living multitudes who still accept them as
works of art. Are we warranted in assuming that the
architects of the Rococo and their public were en-
dowed with taste? And yet all Europe thought so
in their time.
Look at the condition of architecture at the begin-
ning of the present century; look at what passes for
architecture with the multitude to-day, the cardboard
Gothicism of our churches, the vulgarity and preten-
sion of our dwellings, the stage effects of public build-
ings generally. Do we not know that nine-tenths,
aye, ninety-nine in a hundred of all these structures,
put up by so-called architects, architects of reputa
tion, and schools of architects, and admired by their
patrons and the public, are of no value as works of
art? Does this show the existence of natural taste?
Progress in science is greater or less at times,
but its truths constantly accumulate, and mankind
enjoys at all times the sum of all truths hitherto at-
48 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
tained; the architect wilfully abandons the experience
of centuries, not because he denies its value, but be-
cause he dislikes the use made of this experience by
others. The forms to which it led do not suit his
taste, and his taste is paramount with him; it takes
the place of reasoning, of study, of knowledge, of judg
ment, of facts, of ideas, of everything which is a motive
of action with other men; and it is his taste which has
done more injury to architecture than any or all other
causes combined.
The young student of architecture very soon dis-
covers that he is possessed of much taste; in fact, his
parents remember, with interest, that he has been so
gifted from his childhood. IIis taste prompts him to
attempt composition at a very early stage of his educa-
tion. Mathematical study, reading of any kind, is not
as pleasurable as the exercise of his taste in drawing
sketches of possible buildings. To draw carefully
existing monuments is hard work, as is well known to
the pupils of the European academies, where this is
the constant practice; but to make sketches, to com-
pose, is a pleasure most pupils affect.
In this way a few years devoted to the study of
architecture flit by, and the only thing certain is that
the student has not mastered mathematics, mechanics,
and construction, but is very fond of making original
sketches, and he brings to the practice of his vocation
a profound conviction that he is a man of prodigious
taste; that taste for art and taste for dry science never
are joined in one individual, and that his inspirations
will carry him to a pinnacle of fame which cannot be
reached by mere drudgery.
The moment he is called upon to do real work he
TASTE.
49
proceeds to develop a full-fledged composition out of
his inner consciousness.
There he sits over a virgin sheet of paper with a
black, soft pencil ready in hand to catch the visions as
they fly. Does he think of the needs of his client, of
the ideas which are to be represented in his monu-
ment, of the emotions which will pervade its future
occupants, of the groups which they will form under
the influence of these emotions, of the spaces required
to house these groups, of their physical and poetical
relations, of the methods of construction adequate to
the nature of the ideas to be developed which are to
lead to architectural forms, of the material which he
is to use, and of the forms it must assume in the struc-
ture? No; he thinks of none of these. He thinks of
himself, of what a fine opportunity this is to build a
magnificent structure; he thinks of the many lovely
things he can combine to erect a wonderful monu-
ment. He has visions, while he chews his pencil-
visions of dreamy phantoms, such as we all have from
time to time, of things we do not positively know,
things we have never analyzed, things which spring
up in our brain full-fledged but foggy, of uncertain
and changing outline, growing in seconds of time to
great masses of uncertain elements, pulpy clouds, with
spangled points here and there of more definite shape,
but changing all the time and evading our grasp while
we attempt to give them definite expression. During
hours of dreaming a succession of woolly sketches is
made which are satisfactory in proportion as they are
indefinite, and which are promptly rejected the mo-
ment they assume shape. There is finally something
produced which, when artistically shaded or colored,
4
50 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
pleases the author amazingly, but which has nothing
whatever to do with the subject in hand.
The architectural critic lives upon the same stock
in trade, taste, without the necessity of creating any
thing by virtue of it. The architectural critic sits
upon the judicial bench and consults his oracle, his
taste, and tells the public that this is bad, the other
good; this small, the other large; this strong, the
other weak; for no other reason than that it so seems
to him by virtue of his taste.
CHAPTER IV.
ARCHITECTURE.
THE reason why architects, critics and the public
talk so much of taste, style and forms, and so little of
architecture, is to be found in the prevailing uncertainty
as to the nature of architectural art. Ruskin defines
"architecture to be the art which so disposes and adorns
the edifices raised by man, for whatsoever uses, that the
sight of them contribute to his mental health, power
and pleasure."
It seems from this that Mr. Ruskin conceives a build-
ing and its architecture to be separable, and to make
this point clear he further says: "It is very necessary,
in the outset of all inquiry, to distinguish carefully
between architecture and building;" and again, “Let
us therefore at once confine the name (of architecture)
to that art which, taking up and admitting as conditions
of its working the necessities and common uses of the
building, impresses on its form certain characters vener-
able and beautiful, but otherwise unnecessary."
The characteristics of architectural work are now
enriched by another definition, which is that this work
is in itself unnecessary; but, as we are distinctly told
above, that architecture adorns the edifices, to the end
that the sight of them shall contribute to the mental
health and power of man, a function which is not to be
51
52 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
designated as unnecessary, we must conclude that the
author means that these architectural features are un-
necessary to a sound technical condition of the building,
or to the convenience of the human beings who are to
occupy it.
Not to leave us in doubt on this subject, the author
proceeds as follows: "I suppose no one would call the
laws architectural which determine the height of a
breastwork, or the position of a bastion, but if to the
stone facing of that bastion be added an unnecessary
feature, such as a cable moulding, that is architecture."
The reflections called up in our minds upon reading
all this, may be stated as follows: If Salisbury Cathe-
dral, for example, were stripped of every statue, orna-
ment and moulding which now adorns it, of everything
"unnecessary" to the stability of the cathedral as a
building, would not the naked structure which remained
still tell the story of a Christian idea and of the emotions
of men imbued with that idea; and would it not thus
continue to contribute to the mental health, power and
pleasure of the beholder, and remain a work of archi-
tectural art?
If, on the other hand, the walls of a theatre were
adorned with bas-reliefs, sculptures and paintings repre-
senting the Flight of the Holy Family, the Crucifixion,
the Battle of Bunker Hill, and the Resignation of
Washington, all subjects a contemplation of which
contributes to the mental health, power and pleasure of
the beholder, would this system of decoration convert
the building to which it was applied into a work of
architectural art?
It is only upon the theory that architectural art is
merely a method of decorating a building by paintings,
ARCHITECTURE.
53
and by bas-reliefs and other sculpture, and that it has
no relation to the construction or the modelling of the
masses or their arrangement, that we can appreciate
Mr. Ruskin's advice to architects to become sculptors
and painters.
This is no more true than that the beauty of a woman
depends upon dress, jewelry and false hair.
A building may be covered with sculpture and color
decoration, both intrinsically good, but these may ruin
it as an architectural work, simply because neither
sculptors nor painters are architects, and hence may
have been unconscious of the nature and functions of
the various masses to be decorated. For example,
curved arabesques or vines running on the soffit of
an arch or capping, either in bas-relief or painting,
would destroy the apparent rigidity of the work and
would detract from its repose. The function of the
arch is the first consideration. When the arch is
decorated its apparent stability should be enhanced
by the method of the decorator; if it is not so enhanced,
then the architecture would be much better without it.
A series of statues succeeding each other in the jamb
and arch of an opening, the topmost statue being placed
at such an angle as to make it certain that its stability
depends upon something outside of itself, as we fre-
quently find in the best cathedrals, is an artistic
defect which cannot be atoned for by the presence of
the best sculpture. Canova's statues on the pinnacles
of the cathedral of Milan, and the reclining figures in
the spandrils of St. Peter's at Rome, are also instances
of this kind. When we are further told by Mr. Ruskin
that it is proper to indulge in erections which perform
no functions as parts of an architectural monument,
54 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
merely to afford an opportunity for abundant decora
tion and sculpture, we must conclude that Mr. Ruskin
loves decoration and sculpture, related or not to the
ideas on which the architectural monument is founded,
and though we may pardon his enthusiasm, we cannot
accept his ideas of architectural art as sound. Mr.
Ruskin has said and written much on art, and has
aroused an interest for it in the community which can-
not fail to be beneficial; and if we find it necessary to
question his definitions and logic, it is done to show
errors relating to architecture as they exist in leading
minds, rather than to speak of them as mere popular
prejudices.
Professor William Hosking writes upon the ele-
ments of beauty in architecture as follows: "Har-
mony, concord, or fitness of proportions of form of one
part of a composition to another, and in the collocation
of the various enrichments which architecture re-
quires, is as necessary to its beauty as simplicity. We
do not speak of the agreement which should exist
between the manner or character of a structure and its
application, for that is purely conventional, and totally
independent of any architectural consideration. The
merit or demerit of a composition is not at all affected
by the use to which the edifice is applied; neither
would its front be more tolerable, nor its cupola less
beautiful if St. Peter's in Rome were by the course of
events to become a democratic forum instead of a
Papal basilica; nor is the Monument of London a
more or less elegant object, whether it be understood
to record a triumph or a defeat, the burning of the
city or its re-edification."
Here is the avowal of an eminent authority on
ARCHITECTURE.
55
architecture, writing in the eighth edition of the En-
cyclopædia Britannica, that "The merit or demerit of
a composition is not at all affected by the use to which
the edifice is applied."
Use, then, is entirely conventional and totally in-
dependent of architectural considerations. Ergo, con-
ventional forms of architecture are not the result of
ideas. When the monument is to be designed, the
architect may require to know how large it is to be
and what is to be its cost, but nothing of its uses and
purposes. That we may have no doubt of the emp-
tiness of this writer's mind on the subject, we are fur-
ther informed in another part of this same article re-
lating to the "Principles of Architectural Composi
tion," "that these (principles) must be different in the
widely different species of architecture whose tenden-
cies in the one are to horizontal or depressed, and in
the other to vertical or upright lines and forms."
Here, again, it is assumed that the principles of one
and the same art may differ according to circumstances.
Principles, however, are fixed and eternal. The same
principles which established horizontal lines in Greek
architecture, as the natural outcome of a construction
based on the use of the lintel, also determine the
per-
pendicular lines in mediaval architecture, through
which clere-stories light an edifice containing a vast
congregation, and through which buttresses sustain the
system of interior arching resulting from this form
and from advanced methods of construction. When
forms are thus confounded with principles or laws, we
are not surprised to see it stated further on under the
head of "Vertical Composition," that "buttresses in a
pointed composition must not be considered simply as
56 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
abutments to the arches and aids to the walls of a
structure, any more than a cornice in horizontal com-
position may be thought only necessary to cover or
protect the wall on which it rests." "That these were
the purposes for which they were severally applied
originally, cannot be doubted; but although such may
be their purposes we must now consider them as aids
to architectural effect. Buttresses, then, are of the
same use in the vertical style that cornices are in the
horizontal, to give character to an elevation by throw-
ing a mass of shadow, to relieve it of the monotony
necessarily attendant on a flat surface, however it may
be pierced or enriched."
When architects come to believe that the fundamen-
tal idea of the monument they are designing needs
not to be considered in the composition, and that
members which were devised to supply a need and
answer a purpose, may be introduced needlessly and
purposelessly, because their forms appeal to the taste
of architects, then indeed architecture as an art is dead,
and we need not expect new conditions, new materials,
or new ideas to give rise in our structures to a new
art expression.
Mr. Fergusson, in the introduction to his history of
architecture, speaking of architecture as an art, and
defining its position among the sister arts, concludes
that a building can tell no story, and that it can express
an emotion only by inference. If this were really true,
then architecture would not be a fine art in any sense
of the word. He also says: "That in none of its stages
is imitation an element of architectural composition.
No true building ever was designed to look like any-
thing in either the animal, vegetable or mineral king-
ARCHITECTURE.
57
doms. In all instances it is essentially a creation of
man's mind, and designed to subserve some practical
purpose which he has in view."
The author is evidently aware that imitation is an
element in art, but he confounds imitation of the
methods of nature with reproduction of the forms of
nature. A work of art, like a work of nature, is a
realized idea, and the ideal is the essence of architecture.
It is the godlike attempt to create a new organism,
which, because it is new, cannot be an imitation of any
work of nature, and, because it is an organism, must be
developed according to the methods of nature. It is
this fact which places architecture, in its aim at least,
above all other arts. If a building can express no
idea, as ideas are expressed in the works and through
the laws of nature, then architecture never was an
art.
It would be a waste of time here to enumerate the
popular errors as to the nature and function of archi.
tecture, or to enlarge upon those of professional archi-
tects and writers on this subject. It is enough to
show that leading architectural minds who are habitu-
ally quoted as authorities on the philosophy of the art,
look upon an architectural monument, not as the logical
expression of an idea, but as an accidental make-shift
to supply certain physical needs, which, subsequent to
its creation is to be in some way adorned. This adorn-
ment again is not considered as an integral element of
the structure, but as a thing which shall somehow
please the public, either by furnishing artificial shadows
to cover inherent nakedness, or by introducing extrane-
ous art-work, which by its nature shall, independently
of the structure, produce art-effects which the structure
58 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
itself is not capable of doing, or in the doing of which
it can take no other part than that of the frame of a
painting.
To sum it all up, it appears to be the accepted opin-
ion that the sole function of architecture as an art is
to make monuments pleasant to behold; that this may
be done in any way which to the author of the monu-
ment may promise good results; that it is useless to
seek for a clue to all this in the organism of the monu-
ment itself, or in the nature of the idea which has
called it into existence, or to seek to establish an
organic relation between the ornament and the struct-
ure. The forms of past architecture are valued in the
degree in which they please individual authors; their
function and meaning are unknown, and where known
they are disregarded. New forms are looked forward
to which shall be the offspring of the mind or of the
imagination. Their conditions also are not that of
an expression of certain mechanical work performed
which connects the material with the ideal, with a
system, a principle, or a law, but they result simply
from the dictum of the author's taste. What must
become of the value of this taste when all thought
bearing upon the subject is rejected as extraneous
may be readily imagined, and its results may be ob
served in the work of the last four centuries. That
such a looseness in the definition of the nature of
architecture must lead to false conceptions of its
characteristics and to other illogical reasoning must
be apparent, but will be more circumstantially illus
trated in the next chapter.
CHAPTER V.
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
ANOTHER prejudice or notion entertained by the
public, as well as by the profession, is the belief that
architecture is the result of certain proportions of
length, breadth and height based upon certain cabalis-
tic numbers, or illustrated by geometrical diagrams
and figures, such as triangles, squares, circles, etc.
Greek philosophy has left us an inheritance of this
kind. At one time the vagueness of this belief per-
vaded all science and art, forming the stock in trade
of empirics, who dealt in mystery for the only purpose
for which mystery is of use, namely, to cover up and
conceal defective reasoning.
Vitruvius speculates numerically both on the parts
and on the whole of the perfect man, deducing from nu-
merical relationships the rash conclusion that the pro-
portions of the parts of the human frame, or similar
proportions, must likewise constitute the true propor
tions of the parts of a perfect structure. He begs
the question by appealing to our veneration of the
Deity who has made the perfect man, and he argues
our obligation to imitate nature in our monuments.
He gives us no clue to the rationale of these numerical
relations in the perfect man, nor in architectural struct-
ures, nor to their correlation, but simply insists upon
59
CO PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
the virtue of numerical relations in general, and refers
us at once to the proportions of the Greek temples,
which he fails to state correctly, for the simple reason
that he never examined them.
To expose the fallacy of this and similar statements,
their logical errors, their speciousness and their evil
effects upon the mind of the young and inexperienced,
would involve more time and space than can be well
given to it here, and more than the subject deserves.
If
If it were true that all parts of the human body
could be expressed in tenths of the whole, without
any
additional fraction of a tenth, this would, after all,
only refer to the relations of the parts to the whole
in what Vitruvius designates as the perfect man.
this perfection relates to physical development, and
the man thus proportioned is the athlete of the Greeks
or the gladiator of the Romans, the proportions of
noble senators, learned philosophers, priests and kings,
must differ materially from those of the merely well-
made human animal; and as natural beauty and a de-
gree of spiritual expression far beyond that of the
athlete cannot be denied to these classes of men, it
follows that no standard of human form can be estab-
lished as absolute in art.
This is also true as to architectural monuments. No
two species, no two individual monuments of the same
species, emanate from conditions so exactly alike as to
make imperative the same expressions of strength or
elegance or refinement. Hence no law of proportions
can be established for more than one structure. This
law of proportions means, if it means anything, that an
architectural monument, like all matter, has form, which
form is a relation of parts, (proportion); the variety
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
61
of proportion, however, is endless, and dependent upon
an equally endless variety of physical and ideal condi-
tions, to say nothing of the ability of the architect to
attain the expression resulting therefrom.
We find in Fergusson's "Hand-Book of Architecture”
the following statement illustrating the necessity of
stated proportions in monuments :
"To take first the simplest form of the proportion :
let us suppose a room built which shall be an exact
cube, of say twenty feet each way,-such a proportion
must be bad and inartistic, and besides the height is
too great for the other dimensions, apparently because
it is impossible to get far enough away to embrace the
whole wall at one view, or to see even the commence-
ment of the roof without throwing the head back and
looking upwards. If the height were exaggerated to
thirty or forty feet, the disproportion would be so
striking that no art could render it agreeable. As a
general rule, a room square in plan is never pleasing.
It is always better that one side should be longer than
the other, so as to give a little variety to the design.
One and a half the width has often been recommended,
and with every increase of length an increase of height
is not only allowable, but indispensable. Some such
rule as the following seems to meet most cases. The
height of the room ought to be equal to half its
width, plus the square root of its length, thus a room
twenty feet square, ought to have between fourteen
and fifteen feet height; if its length be increased to
forty feet, its height must be at least sixteen and a half
feet; if one hundred, certainly not less than twenty
feet."
It will be noticed that the phrases "must be bad,"
62 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
"no art could render it agreeable," "is never pleasing,"
all have reference to that great arbiter, the taste of the
author. The assertions are presented as axioms; no
valid reason is given to demonstrate their truth.
The statement is made that the proportions of a room.
twenty feet square are bad; that were this room also
twenty feet high, the proportions would be worse; and
were it thirty or forty feet high, they would be so bad
that no art could render them agreeable. The only
reason given is, that one could not, within the limits
of the room, embrace the whole height of the opposite
wall without throwing back his head. Are the dome
of St. Peter's and the cathedral at Cologne bad archi-
tectural works because we cannot see them without
crossing the channel? Besides, it is not true that we
cannot see the opposite walls in a room twenty feet
wide and twenty feet high at one glance without
raising the head. More than this: if a central room,
opening upon four adjoining rooms, needs to be carried
above the roofs of these rooms for the purpose of
receiving light from a clere-story, a height of thirty or
forty feet would not in the least interfere with its artistic
expression; and if this purpose is properly indicated
in the modeling of such a room, this extraordinary
height would become an element of beauty.
Also, it is not true that a room of which the ground-
plan is a perfect square is for that reason inartistic.
If the functions of the room are the same in every
direction, either by reason of the relation of the room
to adjoining rooms, or by reason of a concentrating
interest toward its center, then the form of its ground-
plan, to be artistic, must be a square, a circle, or an
octagon.
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
63
But Mr. Fergusson tells us in all seriousness that to
build a room twenty feet wide, its length must be
thirty feet, and its height must be fifteen feet four
inches, or else its form is not artistic. Can this be
true in all cases, whether it be a drawing-room, sitting-
room, library, or dining-room, whether its roof be flat
or arched, or whether it be for the use of a private
citizen or for a king?
If certain relations in the dimensions of a room
favor aesthetic results, these relations must necessarily
change when the nature and functions of the room are
changed.
To avoid misunderstanding it should be stated here
that the relation of masses to each other as dependent
upon their mechanical functions, both technically and
aesthetically, are truly relations of proportion and sub-
ject to methods of reasoning which are well defined,
and which should be well known to the architect to
enable him to compose. A moment's reflection, how-
ever, will show that the dimensions of a room or space
of any kind can bear no other relations to each other
than those determined by the use (practical as well as
æsthetic) for which such a room is built.
The proportions of masses as found in monuments
of architecture have, like all human works, grave faults
interspersed with undoubted merits. The principles
by which they are to be judged will be discussed here-
after, and it is only necessary to say at this time that
there is no short cut to architectural proportions. If
such rules existed, and a knowledge of them enabled
men to produce great architectural monuments, archi-
tecture would become a trade, and cease to be an art.
Mr. Ruskin, who if not a profound, is certainly an
64 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
earnest and enthusiastic writer upon architecture,
argues in his "Lectures " as follows:
"Now, then, I proceed to argue in this manner from
what we see in the woods and fields around us, that
as they are evidently meant for our delight, and as we
always feel them to be beautiful, we may assume that
the forms in which their leaves are cast are indeed
types of beauty, not of extreme or perfect, but of
average beauty.*
"And finding that they invariably terminate more
or less in pointed arches, and are not square-headed,
I assert the pointed arch to be one of the forms
most fitted for perpetual contemplation by the human
mind, and that it is one of those which never weary
however often repeated, and that, therefore, being both
the strongest in structure and a beautiful form (while
the square head is both weak in structure and an ugly
form), we are unwise ever to build any other."
The fallacies contained in the foregoing paragraphs
explain themselves as soon as stated. The fields and
woods do delight us, but have evidently not been
created for this sole purpose, as is clear from the fact
that they also answer numberless useful purposes, not
only for ourselves, but for hosts of the animal crea-
tion. We should have been delighted, in contemplating
the woods and the fields, if leaves had a different
shape from the one they usually have. The cactus
* The author evidently imagines that a form, wherever found or whatever
the function of the object which is cast in that form, if pleasing to us, may
be recognized as a form typically beautiful, to be applied with aesthetical
success and propriety to any other object, no matter what its function. He
is evidently oblivious that form is beautiful only in the degree in which it
is expressive of functions.
+ No principle of art can be established by individual assertion.
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
65
and the palm afford the delight referred to in a greater
degree on account of their extraordinary tropical de-
velopment, and yet they are not shaped like a Gothic
arch. Leaves, we are told, are types of beauty,
because we always feel them to be beautiful. True;
but so is a horse, a woman, a running stream, a but-
terfly, a bird, a lion, a cataract, a volcano. Shall we
accept the forms of all these objects of nature as the
best form for an arch on that account? It is not true
that a Gothic arch is especially strong, nor that a
straight lintel is weak in structure, nor that it is ugly
in form. Nor should we in reason apply the forms of
an object to that of a space, like a window or a door.
But Mr. Ruskin, in spite of his enthusiasm, evidently
feels the weakness of his own assertion, and he con-
tinues as follows:
"Here, however, I must anticipate another objec
tion. It may be asked why we are to build only the
tops of the windows pointed. Why not follow the
leaves and point them at the bottom also?" A lurk
ing suspicion that, after all, this reasoning is so illogical
that it may be refuted by the simplest mind becomes
apparent. The author evidently begins to doubt his
theory; but rather than admit that the form of a win-
dow is not to be governed by that of a leaf, and that
the reasons which may exist for the construction of
the one do not apply to the other, he further involves
architecture in the additional fallacy that "while in
architecture you are continually called upon to do
what is unnecessary for the sake of beauty, you are
never called upon to do what is inconvenient for the
sake of beauty; you want the level window-sill to
lean upon."
5
66 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
An argument like the following, by the same author,
needs to be cited only to show the carelessness with
which important questions in architectural art are
treated by earnest men:
"I cannot now enter into any statements of the pos-
sible uses of iron and glass, but will give you one
reason which I think will weigh strongly with most
here, why it is not likely that they will ever become
important elements in architectural effect. I know
that I am speaking to a company of philosophers, but
you are not philosophers of the kind who suppose
that the Bible is a superannuated book; neither are you
of those who think the Bible is dishonored by being
referred to for judgment in small matters; the very
divinity of the book seems to me, on the contrary, to
justify us in deferring everything to it, with respect to
which any conclusion can be gathered from its pages.
Assuming, then, that the Bible is neither superannuated
now, nor ever likely to be so, it will follow that the
illustrations which the Bible employs are likely to be
clear and intelligible illustrations to the end of time.
I do not mean that everything spoken of in the Bible
histories must continue to endure for all time, but
that the things which the Bible uses for illustration of
eternal truths are likely to remain eternally intelligi-
ble illustrations."
"Now I find that iron architecture is indeed spoken
of in the Bible. You know how it is said to Jere-
miah, 'Behold I have made thee this day a defenced
city, and an iron pillar, and brazen walls against the
whole land.' But I do not find that iron building is
ever alluded to as likely to become familiar to the
minds of men; but, on the contrary, that an archi-
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
67
A simple
The force
tecture of carved stone is continually employed as a
source of the most important illustrations.
instance must occur to all of you at once.
of the image of the corner-stone, as used throughout
Scripture, would completely be lost if the Christian
and civilized world were exclusively to employ any
other material than earth and rock in their domestic
buildings. I firmly believe that they never will.”
This would sound like blasphemy or drivelling in
the mouths of most persons. Mr. Ruskin's personal
character and peculiar methods of thought exonerate
him from such an accusation.
Sir Gilbert Scott, a man of an entirely different
type, cherishing unbounded love for Gothic architec-
ture, to which he devoted a long and successful
professional life-a man to be counted among those
foremost in the profession of his country, broad, lib-
eral, and free from prejudices, childlike and dispas-
sionate in expressing his views and architectural faith,-
in a volume called "Remarks on Secular and Domestic
Architecture," says:
"Gothic architecture is in fact the most free and
unfettered of all styles. It embraces every reasonable
system of practical construction, though it boldly se-
lects from among them those which are the best and
most consistent, and places them in the foremost ranks
as its choice and best-beloved characteristics."
"But, I hear an objector ask, what will have be.
come of your Gothic building when robbed of its
pointed arches, its mullioned windows and its high
roof? Will it not be like IIamlet with the character
of the Prince of Denmark dispensed with? Surely a
building with lintelled openings or round arches, with
1
68 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
wide undivided windows and with low roofs, can lay
little claim to the name of Gothic; and it would be bet-
ter at once to be satisfied with a style in which such
are the essential features than to adopt anything so
effete as Gothic architecture robbed of all its leading
characteristics. No such thing: even if I were advo-
cating the omission of these characteristics, I believe a
better style might be made out of what is left of
Gothic architecture than the dull insipid style of the
present day; it would, to say the least, have the charm
of novelty, and anything would be better than the
wretched routine of our vernacular architecture. Far
be it from me, however, to propose anything so ab-
surd; all I advocate is, freedom, unity of style, but
liberty in the uses of it. I love the pointed arch, the
mullioned window, and the high-pitched gable too
well to wish to set them aside in any one instance in
which they are suitable, and I hold that in nine cases
out of ten they are by far the best things you can well
use. All I wish to say is, that if in any one instance
they are found to clash with the requirements of a
building, there is a principle of common-sense inherent
in Gothic architecture which will at once dispense with
their use, and that nothing can be more absurd than
to imagine that if circumstances forbid of one or more
of these features, we must at once quit our style and
adopt Italian."
And so Sir Gilbert loves architecture, not as a system
arising out of a principle, but as an aggregation of forms;
and of these forms he loves best the pointed arch, the
mullion and the high-gabled roof. In fact he has a
strong feeling that if you take these three forms away
from Gothic architecture not much of value will remain;
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
69
or, as he states it further on, "enough remains, if rightly
used, to give a true Gothic character to the building
even in so extreme a case as this, though I should be
sorry to see the experiment tried, and doubt whether
its necessity is possible."
Why should Sir Gilbert be sorry to have the experi-
ment tried, if these features of Gothic architecture must
be omitted by reason of "objections to some one or
more of them," as he says? If these objections are
not sound objections, why take note of them at all?
Architecture cannot be the football of fools who raise
objections which are unsound. If, on the other hand,
these objections are sound, then indeed it would not be
true art to retain forms which are really objectionable,
and Gothic architecture in that case would be the
gainer by discarding those forms. But the author
proceeds, "I have endeavored to show that the rules
of the style (the Gothic) are not so rigid as to demand
the use in every case of all its normal character-
istics."
What is the value of rules that are not rigid? Of
what use is a style that subjects itself to these rules?
The truth is, no such rules exist. Sir Gilbert Scott is
confounding forms which he has observed with rules
or laws which he has failed to trace; his convictions
on the subject of rules and laws in general are very
feeble. For he tells us elsewhere (page 31), "here, as
in all other cases, I would say, be master of your rules,
but never let them be your masters;" he says this in
relation to the mullioned window as follows: "I hold
the mullioned window to be the typical window of the
style, to be, in the abstract, by far the most pleasing
that can be used, and I deny that in general it is open
70 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
to any objection on the ground of practical convenience.
I therefore urge its use as the prevailing window in
Gothic buildings."
So long as we deal with typical forms of style, which
means a method of building arising out of certain con-
ditions which once existed, and which exist no more,
and urge their use on that ground alone, we are not
pursuing architecture, but are creating archæological
specimens worthy of a museum.
If we are convinced, with the author of "Remarks,"
etc., that this typical form, as he finds it, is in the
abstract the most pleasing, we should at once sub-
ject ourselves to serious self-examination in order to
find out wherein this pleasure consists; whether there
is a good æsthetic reason for it, and whether we may
adopt it and urge it upon others, or whether we must
attempt other forms which are less pleasing, because
they are as yet aesthetically inchoate, and need labo-
rious working out.
If we found this effort fruitless, not through lack
of ability but because a principle of art must neces-
sarily be violated by omitting the mullion, we should
continue the use of it in spite of any objection, and
we should answer objectors by stating the principle
involved.
Again, on the subject of roofs, we are told, "The
way in which taste regulates the pitch of roofs, is
by suiting it to the general feeling of the style. If
that feeling be in favor of a horizontal tendency in
the general character, the low pitch seems to suggest
itself; while if the tendency be rather toward vertical
lines, the high pitch takes the precedence. Thus, as
the general rule, Grecian architecture delights in the
ILLOGICAL REASONING.
71
low, spreading pediment, and pointed architecture in
the lofty, aspiring gable."
Supposing medieval architects had acted upon fan-
ciful suggestions of this kind instead of sound reason-
ing upon the subject of roofs, we should never have
had steep roofs at all, no matter what their neces-
sity technically or æsthetically. Taste and feeling are
the will-o'-the-wisp of the modern architect. They do
not lead to an elevated standpoint. Let us inquire
into the condition of art to which they do lead.
CHAPTER VI.
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
THE professional education of architects is detri
mental to architecture; they are not taught, in the first
place, that a monument, like any other work of art, is
the expression of an idea in matter, and that to create
a monument, the first step is to apprehend its idea;
nor how human needs are to be met in their structure,
nor the principles which develop forms; but they are
ever referred to the history of architecture, and taught
to dwell upon the forms which monuments have as-
sumed at different periods.
These forms are all accepted as perfect in themselves,
and are not critically examined in relation to their
functions. The reasons why certain forms have resulted
from ideas entertained at the time in which they were
called into existence, the influence exercised upon
architecture by climate, religion, social condition, and
theoretical knowledge of construction, are not subjects
especially dwelt upon in histories of architecture. It
is supposed that the student has acquired this knowl
edge elsewhere, or that it is not essential to architecture
that this knowledge should be imparted to him. Ar-
chitectural history is mainly an index of styles and of
the leading examples illustrating them; a precise defi-
nition of the epochs in which these styles flourished,
72
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
73
of the countries in which they originated, and of those
in which they reached their final development.
In the polytechnic schools of continental Europe the
theory of building includes the whole range of mathe-
matics, and their application to statical mechanics,
which is all that is needed in the practical construction
of monuments, as far as the attainment of stability is
concerned, provided the pupil pursues architectural
construction in the scientific manner indicated in these
branches of study, which, however, is but rarely the
case. The young architect, instead, adopts the practice
of the office in which he is placed, and but rarely resorts
to original investigation.
The relation of mechanical science to the aesthetic
development of structural forms, however, is nowhere
thought of, and is not taught in any school.
The student of architecture in England and Amer-
ica, does not often enjoy a mathematical training of
any kind; he acquires his mechanical and artistic
knowledge entirely through a short apprenticeship
in the office of some practicing architect, coupled
with a desultory reading of art history.
The prevalent practice of professional men also is
not conducive to original thought in construction, for
the reason that their work is pursued in certain grooves,
and pertains usually to structures of one and the same
class, the detail of the construction of which, good or
bad, is accepted as established. IIence it is that the
pupil never learns to know the need of personal inves
tigation in mechanics, and hence mathematical knowl
edge is thought to be of no special use in architecture.
If he ever had a mathematical training, there is now
no necessity for it; he permits himself to become
74 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
rusty, and is finally incapable of reverting to what he
once knew.
This state of things in England is more especially
aggravated by the employment of so-called architec-
tural surveyors, whose business it is to make out bills
of quantities, and to survey completed work; and also of
special assistants, who devote themselves to the matter
of construction alone. Thus the work of the architect
becomes entirely decorative, and in the pursuit of this
decorative work he is wholly guided by the so-called
rules which govern style.
The current admonition addressed to the student is
to observe and study the forms of each separate style,
and to use these forms, and no others, when he works
in this special style. He may omit some of them, but
must not add to any style new forms which do not
clearly belong to it, nor mix the forms of different
types. That certain forms belong to a style is estab-
lished upon historical and archæological grounds, and
must be illustrated by undoubted authority of past
practice, to be recognized as sound architecture.
The result of this system of education is, that the
student acquires no knowledge of architecture as a
creative art, but as an art already determined for him.
Of this art he knows results in the shape of forms
attained, but not the causes of these forms nor the
methods of reasoning and the motives which actuated
their authors. As history relates to a long series of
architectural efforts, based upon a variety of ideas
expressed with progressive ability and cumulative
knowledge, the final results of each salient period are
not only different in character but antagonistic in ex-
pression. It is true that all this is the result of the
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
76
unvarying principle of art creation, based upon uner-
ring laws of nature perfectly consistent with progres-
sive changes; but as these laws are not considered by
the architect, he soon finds himself a blind partisan of
some special style or type of architecture, and prac
tically an opponent of all others. To this must be
added the fact that the student of architecture, who
enters upon his studies with youthful ardor, is apt to
regard the forms and styles first presented to him in
history with exclusive affection, and by the time he
has mastered these forms he has become a faithful be-
liever in their efficacy, and rejects subsequent styles
and methods as useless, not pleasing, and unworthy
of attention. Hence it is that the majority of architec
tural students who begin to study history never go
beyond the first few chapters, wherein they learn that
at some remote period of time men lived in caves, and
then in tents, and finally in wooden houses, and that,
having thus supplied their wants while living, they
built pyramids and tombs to supply their wants when
dead; and, finally, that they erected temples to the
gods-Egyptian temples, Greek temples, and Roman
temples. By this time the young student is in pos
session of quite an architectural vocabulary, and of
forms enough to set up a respectable antique busi-
ness, and to talk volubly of intercolumniations, archi-
traves, proportions, flutings, orders of architecture,
the acanthus leaf, and the great art period of antiquity.
It is felt to be desirable, of course, to know some-
thing of medieval architecture, which is accepted to be
barbarous, being an art product of the Dark Ages, and
also of the revival of antique art, which brings us down
to the present day. The revival is not diflicult to mas-
76 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
ter; its elements are contained in Greek and Roman
work; the medieval work need not be mastered if one
will only join the great chorus of Renaissance archi-
tects who are doing the business of the world. Hence,
many join the chorus, but a few proceed further; they
enter the intricacies of the Romanesque and Gothic,
examine the Moorish, and are not indifferent to the
productions of the rest of the world.
However, the great majority of students of archi-
tecture come to the conclusion that architecture as an
art is now dead, that it has existed heretofore in various
forms called styles, that these styles were in them-
selves each a perfect system of architecture, that all
we need to do now is either to devote ourselves to one
of these styles or to another, or perhaps to two for
special uses in different kinds of structures, and to build
in those styles. Each style has its forms, its mouldings,
its decoration. Do not let us mix them, but use them
discreetly, as we take them from the pigeon-holes of
time and place them upon the exterior or interior of
our buildings of to-day. Now and then we are star-
tled by a refractory railroad station, which evidently
resists being cramped into the style jacket; or a ware-
house, or a factory, or a modern church, or a parlia
ment house: what we do in cases of this kind, is to
clothe some of these structures in the medieval armor
or the robe de chambre of the Renaissance, and to
pronounce others incapable of architectural treatment.
These latter buildings, thus liberated from the thral
dom of modern architectural art, fall into the hands of
the engineer, who constructs in a rational manner with-
out attempting art, and the result is a very healthy
sort of art production, of low degree to be sure, but
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
raying
of decided merit. See Paxton's exhibition building
and some modern railroad structures.
This state of things has no existence outside the so-
called European civilization which pervades Europe
and its colonies, and had no existence in Europe prior
to the Renaissance period. Nor does it exist anywhere
in
any other art or in science. All these are progres-
sive everywhere, with varying results during special
periods of time, but progressive upon the whole.
Dress, European dress, may be cited as the only paral
lel case, with the exception that European dress never
resorts to antique or medieval forms, excepting so far
as to adopt isolated features of these forms in a modi-
fied way, but revolves erratically among the styles
of the last three centuries, and frequently changes
directly to periods far apart in time, and often antago-
nistic in system and expression.
A striking difference between the dress system and
architecture is this: that the authors of the architec-
tural art at all times hold that the forms used by them
are intrinsically beautiful. The tyrants of fashion do
not claim the element of beauty to be a necessity; on
the contrary, they admit that none of their forms are,
in the abstract, beautiful, but attempt to please by sud-
den and frequent changes from form to form, with such
rapidity that the majority of mankind, who are kept
in a state of constant excitement by novelty, over-
whelm the few thinking minds who revolt against
fashion as it is, and thus prevent a change in the right
direction.
The architect often meets with problems wherein
the ideas tend to the development of forms which
do not correspond with the forms of his favorite style,
78 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
or perhaps with the forms of any style. In this case,
the architect adheres to the forms, and condemns the
ideas. The artist in dress is bolder and more con-
sistent-he remodels the human form to suit the fash-
ion. In one respect they both proceed upon the same
principle. They change their style to please the pub-
lic-with this difference, that the architect changes
when he finds the public indifferent to his work, or
when he himself begins to doubt its efficacy, while
the artist in fashions changes his forms periodically,
and thus assumes the lead of public opinion. They
agree in this, however, that they are the judges of
the forms to be selected, that these forms are to be
judged as a whole, and are not to be analyzed in de-
tail; that the detail is of no especial import, and
that the whole needs to have no relation to the pur-
pose it is to serve; and also that the public is to be
pleased with the work, and that this is the sole test
of art success.
If a pointed boot is to be the fashion, men's feet
must be compressed into it and become beautiful
thereby; if the Tudor style prevails, then churches
and school-houses must have battlements in spite of
their peaceful import. The woman of fashion wears
buttons, where a button is of no earthly use, and
hence has no meaning. The modern chapel has but-
tresses where there is no lateral pressure. Modern
pantaloons convert the human leg into a candle-mould.
Bold gabled fronts hide flat roofs which do not shed
the water; and gargoyles are placed where no water
runs.
The modern architect is not trained to examine the
value of architecture in the abstract-what it is, what
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
79
it means, or what we should endeavor to make it;
he tries to find out what it was, not in principle, but
in form, and is content if the form please him. He
judges of the forms as they please him more or less;
he says St. Peter's is grand, Cologne is better; or, per
haps, Cologne is feeble, and St. Paul's is perfect,
because he feels it to be so. The reasons why a
person feels one work of art to be better than another
are of the most heterogeneous character; generally he
has been told to feel so when young. The students of
the Ecole des Beaux Arts felt that Renaissance archi-
tecture was true art, and they mobbed Viollet le Duc
because he doubted it.
More often one feels that to be the best which he can
understand best,-he prefers the "Rake's Progress
to "Raphael's Transfiguration," or he dislikes what ex-
presses ideas which have not his sympathy, as Ruskin
hates the Renaissance. Plato despises all art, because
to his mind it is useless; the modern architect has
a contempt for construction, although it is indispensa
ble to building, while art to his mind only represents
that which is unnecessary.
All agree that the greatest crime in architecture is
to mix features belonging to different styles. All art,
to be sure, depends upon unity of treatment; but the
architect ignores unity excepting as the work of a
special period of the past. If works of the past con-
tain heterogeneous forms, unmeaning forms, or even
forms belonging to periods far apart in point of time,
it is perfectly legitimate to reproduce these mixtures
whether they are harmonious in themselves or not,
but what we do to-day must be sanctioned by time.
If it be, right or wrong, we may do it again.
80 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
The argument of the Renaissance will illustrate
the fallacy of this proceeding. Medieval architecture
expressed a peculiar form of Christianity and social
organization, which placed a large majority of the
people at the mercy of a rude and greedy clergy
and aristocracy. The material condition of the peo-
ple was brought to the lowest ebb; and the rulers,
not to be overwhelmed by the nobles and the clergy,
sided with the people against them. During this
triangular fight the revival of classic literature dis-
played pictures of Greek liberty, virtue and hero-
ism, which on the then prevailing background of rude
force, oppression and personal greed, stood out in bold
relief and disgusted thinking minds with the prevail-
ing political, religious and social conditions and their
art forms.
This disgust finally terminated in the upheaval of the
Reformation. But long before its outbreak as a spir
itual controversy, the art forms of the period had
fallen into disrepute with poetical and thinking minds.
"These cathedrals and castles," they said, "represent a
state of things so repugnant to our feelings that we
will have none of them. We must return to Greek
and Roman forms." An aesthetic examination of the
subject would have revealed the fact that an architec
ture capable of expressing any idea with force sufficient
to make us hate it because we hate the idea, must con-
tain elements efficient to express other ideas equally
well. But no one examined philosophically: to Greek
and Roman forms they returned, to find before long
that further development was needed to adapt these to
the complicated ideas which had been created by Chris-
tianity and an advanced state of social and political
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
81
civilization. The intention no doubt existed to proceed
with this development, and it still exists, but it has
never been realized, for the simple reason that every
change which suggested itself led to forms similar to
those existing in medieval art, which forms, it was
held, must be avoided in order to be consistent.
The cause of this failure is to be found in the fact
that the architecture of the time was not in the hands.
of architects, but in those of gentlemen of liberal
literary and artistic education indeed, who, however,
knew nothing of the relations of architecture to con-
struction, and but little of construction itself, either as
a science (for in that form it did not then fairly exist)
or as a trade, because their apprenticeship was served
with sculptors, painters or goldsmiths. Previous to
the Renaissance, during the Middle Ages, architects
were the stone-cutters of the times, a guild who, under
the name of freemasons, built the cathedrals of Europe.
Endowed by the Pope with a special charter, which
granted to them certain privileges in all continental
states, and governed by their masters and grand-masters,
under the guidance of the clergy, this organization
extended over a great part of Europe, and accumulated
an amount of practical experience, alike in the me-
chanics and in the aesthetics involved in their work,
which at this day commands the admiration of both the
architect and the engineer.
Under a discipline designed for an association of
laymen, attached to this special service of the church,
living in encampments near their work, subject to the
orders of their masters and grand-masters, who directed
the whole economy of their work and living, this de-
voted band of men-without the positive knowledge of
6
82 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
mechanics which exists to-day, and without great per
sonal refinement or art education, but with a devotion
to the work in hand, each trying to do his part well,
for the glory of the church; guided by men equally
devoted, who understood the value of the art work and
art expression at the disposal of the church-built
monuments of architecture, which up to this time must
be admitted to be the most godlike creations of man.
They learned mechanics from their own failures, and
architectural composition by continued attempts, cor-
rected by themselves and their superiors; but every
point gained was held fast, noted and embodied in
their rules, and faithfully maintained until changed by
a further advance. Thus art and construction went
hand in hand, until in the thirteenth century was
attained that perfection which to-day we are proud to
comprehend, if not able to imitate or to apply to our
present requirements. The wars of the Reformation
and the revival of antique art in Italy reduced the
freemasons' organization to a series of disjointed chap-
ters, which continued to exist as local guilds until the
beginning of the present century, and traces of which
may be found in parts of Scotland and Germany to
this day.
We have since had a revival of Gothic architecture,
which, like that of the Renaissance and of the antique,
deals in the adaptation of special art forms to present
uses. Its success is for that reason also without art
results.
It is true that medieval architecture contains at
least all known methods of construction required in
modern building, and an artistic treatment which may
be accepted as a desirable starting-point for further
*
STYLES AND FASHIONS.
83
progress. This fact is recognized by many thinking
minds among architects of the day, but why this prog-
ress has not yet been essayed upon must be reserved
for a future chapter.
The division of the schools, however, has confirmed
their respective adherents in the practice of styles, or
rather in dealing with the forms of styles. This
method of building in forms, without regard to the
principles which generate forms, has, in turn, stimu-
lated a periodical change of style, and thus architec-
ture has ceased to be an art and has become a fashion.
The popular love of change is the intuitive desire
for improvement in all art productions. Man expects
progress in the usefulness of objects of mechanic art,
and progress in the expression of ideas in objects of
fine art. This progress is a healthy change which
should be fostered. The vacillation of fashion and the
constant change in architecture from style to style is
change without progress, and hence only a counterfeit
of an advance in art. The popular architect has de-
scended to the place of a broker in architecture. Cou-
struction, decoration and sculpture are removed out-
side of his professional sphere, and he only retains an
advisory power in the appointment of others to do
this work for him, while he himself wields the baton
by which he gives the sign from time to time for a
change of style, or the advent of a new fashion.
This state of architecture has led to peculiar rela-
tions between the architect and his clients, which
deserve a passing notice to illustrate popular views of
the art
I
CHAPTER VII.
ARCHITECTURE AND ITS PATRONS.
We pursue art, Ruskin says, with the curtain up
and an audience before it, while the great work of the
Middle Ages was done for the love of God. It is
subversive of true art, this attempt of pleasing an
indiscriminate audience. Art can be successful only
when pursued for its own sake. Much poor and
indifferent art has been fostered in this way in pop-
ular paintings and trashy literature.
All art finally seeks appreciation and a market with
an audience; but it is successful as art only in the
ratio inversely proportional to its dependence upon
immediate popular approval. Architectural art is espe-
cially unfortunate in this respect; it submits to popu-
lar interference while in the process of creation.
Wagner says music is capable of, and must be
wrought up to, greater flexibility and a nearer accord
with the thoughts it is intended to express. The
compositions of the past assume too much the form of
geometrical crystallization to express human passions
and emotions. I can create a new music, and I will
do so; but where, it is asked, will you find an
audience to listen to such music? Your music will
remain forever a manuscript unknown. Be it so, says
Wagner, I must write what I know, and in the man-
84
ARCHITECTURE AND ITS PATRONS. 85
ner in which I know it, whether I have an audience
or not.
Offenbach thoroughly knew the depraved tenden-
cies of the multitude, and was willing to set them to
music. When his score was complete he raised the
curtain and electrified his audience. Will this sort of
art secure him a place in the Walhalla? No! nor
in the hearts of the very men who applaud him; but
he knew this well enough, and was content to tickle
the public fancy for the moment and die forever.
The modern architect goes further than this; he
puts his thoughts upon paper, and before he executes
them he submits them to laymen for approval.
There is no art or trade-there never was one in
this world outside of modern architecture-which is
found to be willing to court popular criticism and to
abide by its decision before its works are executed.
The architect submits to laymen a design of what
he intends to do, and thereby admits, what is utterly
false, that laymen are competent to compare a series
of such designs, and select the best, or that they can
form a correct judgment of any one of them.
To understand the enormity of this error, it must
be remembered that the critical intelligence required
to judge an architectural design involves far greater
erudition and a more comprehensive knowledge of the
subject in general and in its detail than to prepare
such a design.
There are many architects, who, having earnestly
thought upon the subject, can compose a measurably
successful design, just as a person of sensibility for
music may invent a ditty sufficiently spirited and
sound in its combination to serve as the motive for a
86 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
musical composition in the hands of a master. It is
not unjust to assert, on the other hand, that but few
architects are capable of analyzing an architectural
design, and those who are will need a larger allow-
ance of time than is generally consumed by an average
committee of laymen who imagine that they do this
work.
An architectural design is a conventional geometri-
cal representation of an imagined object, the merits of
which laymen attempt to determine by looking at this
conventional drawing. It is true the architect is sup-
posed to assist the process by furnishing a perspective
view; but here the layman is more at sea than ever.
He is pleased with the technical skill and the artistic
feeling which are displayed in the production of this
picture. IIe admires the picture, and imagines the
architecture it represents to be good; or he is dis-
pleased or left indifferent by the picture, and condemns
the architecture.
The great injury done to architectural art, however,
by this system of submitting architectural designs to
the judgment of laymen is far greater than would at
first appear.
To correct an error one must have either the au
thority to do so, or the skill to prove it to be an error.
The latter process demands a certain intellectual
preparation on the part of the erring party, and the
ability to argue the case on the part of the party ad-
ministering the correction. IIad the architect the au-
thority to correct his client in the same sense in which
it is conceded to the lawyer, the doctor, the ship-
wright, or even the tailor or shoemaker, he would be
employed by reason of the merit of his finished
ARCHITECTURE AND ITS PATRONS.
87
works, and would not be asked to submit a design
for approval.
It is true he is granted a polite hearing on all ques-
tions relating to his work, but is time accorded to him
to educate his client to the degree necessary to compre-
hend his arguments? Is he himself master of the
theory of his art, and trained to debate these ques-
tions? Can he, if personally able to do so, impart to
a client in a reasonable series of conversations what can
be acquired only by a long professional education and
practice?
There is nothing left for him but to raise the curtain
before the scene is set and the footlights lighted; he
begins to recite and to yield immediately to half
a dozen suggestions, not from competent stage man-
ager or the author, but from an audience which should
not have been admitted until everything was ready to
entertain it.
As long as this system is pursued, architecture must
range with the fashions and not with the arts, and so
it does in fact.
CHAPTER VIII.
*
MATERIALISM IN THE CHURCH.
It is not intended in this place to speak of materialism
as the promise and potency of the ultimate atom, but
as that human vulgarity and greed which places the
gratification of self, of personal needs and comforts,
above all other considerations. This materialism is
the offspring of the wide-spread "little learning" of
the present age, of a general education which, because
it is so shallow, fosters conceit, prejudice and obstinacy,
but not wisdom. This modern intelligence is skin
deep, and is no respecter of better-informed persons.
It has a profound contempt for the past, its experience
and its poetry. It boasts of being eminently practical,
and is bent upon saving space and money whenever
opportunity offers.
A dining-room, to the modern practical man, is a
place to feed in, not a place to enjoy intelligent social
intercourse during dinner. The question is, how many
square feet does a man require to sit at the table, and how
much space for the servant behind his chair? These
statistical items (and the modern practical man is great
on statistics) determine the size of his dining-room and
also its form. A drawing-room is a storehouse for the
standard set of parlor furniture, with just room enough
for its probable occupants to brush by each other.
88
MATERIALISM IN THE CHURCH.
89
Any room is a well-fitting box to hold certain persons
and objects, and no more. The practical man has no
need of dignified repose in the arrangement of a group of
persons assembled for any special purpose, not even
for the worship of God. Every inch of available floor-
ing space in a church must be covered with pews, and
no room wasted, as he says, for other purposes. If, by
any contrivance of modern engineering, a roof can span
a large space and be built cheaply of thin material, he
glories in such a scientific triumph over space and
matter, and insists upon introducing it in a monument
erected to the glory of God.
It is hard to make such a being understand that a
difference exists between the mushroom and the oak,
between the beanstalk and the palm, and that no art
work is possible unless we show our appreciation of its
dignity to this extent, at least, that we are not willing
to trifle with it in any sense, and that we feel impelled,
not merely to construct a huge umbrella for the pro-
tection of a fashionable congregation, but to build a
monument for all time illustrating the greatness of
God, in which a human congregation is an incident, in
which our presence is a privilege and not a right, in
which we are humble guests and not owners, in which,
for a time, at least, we realize a power beyond and
above us, and an utter dependence upon that power.
No amount of decoration will be a sufficient apology
for the broad falsehood proclaimed by such an act of
selfishness and conceit, and such a denial of our depend
ence upon God and Nature. If this is the house of
God, and we are only guests and petitioners therein,
we cannot arrogate to our use the whole space contained
in it. The remainder, not devoted to any purpose,
90 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
will at least indicate the fact that it is reserved
from ourselves, and that is in itself expressive of an
idea. All religious systems which have existed here-
tofore have surrounded worship with impressive cere-
monies, which convey to man's mind religious ideas as
developed in human emotions and human acts. These
acts may be simple and insignificant in themselves,
akin to humble acts of every-day life, but distinguished
from them by reason of their import, in the manner in
which they are performed. "Do this in remembrance
of Me," Christ said; and the breaking of bread and the
drinking of wine have become the principal and lead-
ing religious ceremony of the church. As a naked
fact, we simply eat and drink. By what process is
this humble, human act converted into a religious
function, conveying an exalted idea in its performance?
What is there in this act that produces emotions not
known to be connected with the mere process of eating
and drinking elsewhere or otherwise? It is the group-
ing of the communicants in relation to the priest, the
congregation and the church; their posture, and the acts
and postures of those surrounding them. All these
express an act of devotion. The grouping is a picture
conveying an idea. The idea conveyed by this picture
produces the emotions. Modern Protestantism, in its
extreme form, administers the communion by passing
the elements round to the communicants seated in their
pews.
The infelicity of this arrangement must be
apparent to every well-balanced mind. The perform-
ance of the act should always-but it does not in this
case-correspond with the idea to be conveyed. To
partake of the communion is a privilege which is sought
for, and not one that is brought to us while we are
MATERIALISM IN THE CHURCH.
91
leisurely awaiting it. Ultra-Protestantism is content
with rejecting in this and other similar instances every
picturesque form representing an idea, while the idea
itself is tenaciously retained; no effort being made to
substitute other forms equally expressive or any forms
whatever that express it. This is done under the im-
pression that all forms, all ceremonies, in fact, all art
expressions of religious ideas are unnecessary in the
process of making man religious. Whether this is true
or not, need not be discussed here; but it must be
understood that the moment a picturesque expression
of religious ideas is abandoned, we also abandon the
structure which contains and accommodates these pic-
turesque groups. We abandon the church as a place
of worship, and sink down to the lecture-room or the
theatre, where a literary performance is most conve-
niently accommodated, and nothing else is expected.
We substitute a shop for a library, a barrack for a
dwelling, a bar-room for a dining-room, a stable-yard
for a garden.
Is it the intention of intelligent churchmen that this
should be so? No; certainly not. None of them are
willing to give up entirely the idea that the church is
a house of worship, a house of God, and that a certain
degree of orderly arrangement and devout grouping in
churches is necessary. Why is it, then, that this mate-
rialism has crept into the church and has now posses-
sion of it? The examination of this question may
lead to sound results, and is reserved for its proper
place hereafter.
The human body, physically considered, is a most
marvellous mechanical apparatus, capable of perform-
ing mechanical work. The distinguishing characteris-
92 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
tic of man, considered from the stand-point of art, is
the expression or index of his mind. Mental vigor
and mental qualities, moral strength and weakness,
mental peculiarities, virtues and vices, are the subjects
to be expressed by art. To make a sectional drawing
of a human figure, representing all the working appara-
tus-the skeleton, muscles, veins, nerves, skin, etc.—is
not a work of fine art. Fine art involves the expression
of an emotion. A structure, whether its purpose be
avowedly ideal, like that of a house of worship, a place
for the administration of justice (a court), or a parlia
ment house (where human laws are enacted), or whether
it serves for mere personal use, like the dwelling of an
humble citizen, cannot be considered simply as so much
shelter from the inclemency of the weather; but it must
be considered also as an abode of human beings, with
souls capable of moral reflection, minds stored with
memories of family and social life, hearts capable of
impressions, sentiments, affections, duties and feelings,
comprising more or less the large range of poetry per-
taining to human life. The humble dwelling, there-
fore, like the church, the court, the parliament house,
or the palace, while it performs physical functions, also
represents a certain amount of thought, sentiment and
ideas, which must be expressed in its form that it may
become a work of art. In other words: every struc-
ture, like the human body, that assumes to be a work
of art, must also be possessed of a soul. The relation
between that body and its soul is intimate. What
the nature of that relation is, will be treated of here-
after.
This practical age believes in food, clothing and shel-
ter; and in money to buy more food, clothing and shel-
MATERIALISM IN THE CHURCH.
93
ter; but not in thought, not in ideas, not in emotions,
nor in their artistic representations, nor in their results:
in truth, it knows them not. Men have heard some-
where, and they are not prepared to deny, that a vast
amount of human thought is accumulating through the
course of time. It is popularly believed to be stowed
away in books only, and in the minds of those who
read books. But men know not that thought lives in
every created thing, and more especially in the work of
human hands known as art work-the greatest of all
work, inasmuch as it recreates ideals that are good, true
and wise, besides exposing what is false, foolish, vicious
and ridiculous; inasmuch as it teaches men whether
they desire to learn or not, teaching the most ignorant
as well as the wise; appealing to the emotions which
are capable of comprehending, in a manner confused, to
be sure, but with certainty, while the mind is often un-
prepared to comprehend at all. It would be a bless-
ing, perhaps, to take all this away from them for a
time, and see what will be their condition at the end
of that time in a material direction; how their stock
of food, clothing and shelter, and the worshipped
money would compare with that which they are now
permitted to possess.
The modern practical man thinks himself wonder
fully wise he believes in the potency of money, and has
faith in nothing else; yet he does not act quite up to
his profession he needs a house, and with all his boast-
ed contempt for birth, position, learning, and knowl
edge of art, he is not content with a mere shelter,
even a good, well-built shelter, which would make him
a respectable abode, as far as a fitting dwelling-place
can do that he would like a castle; but knowing that
94 PRESENT CONDITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
a castle would make him ridiculous, he compromises
on a villa and sends for his architect. "I want a villa,"
he
says,
"a nice modern villa, with all the conveniences
and appurtenances of modern villas. I do not want
to spend a mint of money like Mr.
1
"
"
or Mr.
or Lord
I do not want a library as large as a
meeting-house, nor a dining-hall or drawing-room
bigger than I need; nor do I approve of so much
cut-stone; it is so very gloomy, reminding me of the
keeps and dungeons of the Dark Ages. Above all
things, protect me from stained glass, steep roofs, or
any other Gothic abomination. Let the building be
light and airy, and trim and pretty to look at. I
fancy that an Italian villa would be the thing, and as
I have seen them in Italy, where the villa is a native
production, it is a structure that may be plastered
inside and out, and painted in imitation of stone. I
hate the look of chimneys, and what I especially
desire is to have the roof concealed by a parapet or
balustrade. Remember, above all things, that it is
cheaper to insure a building than to build it fireproof,
and that no one can see the difference when the
building is completed." Thus speaks the proprietor
of the future villa, with the conviction that his
instructions are to the point, and conclusive; but the
architect, who may have a conscience, though mate
rially dulled by the building of many villas of this
description, ventures upon the modest remark, that no
æsthetic advantage is to be gained by the use of in-
ferior materials, nor by the substitution of one
material for another; but, being brought up with a
sharp turn by his patron, who condemns all such
theories as sentimental and unworthy of a practical
MATERIALISM IN THE CHURCH.
95
J
age, and who says that these things are frequently
done by eminent architects whom he might name, the
architect winds up his argument in a conciliatory
strain somewhat as follows: "I am very much of your
opinion, for forms beautiful in themselves cannot be
condemned on account of the material they are wrought
in, nor the use they are put to. St. Peter's at Rome
would continue just as beautiful if it were converted
into a riding-school, and a fac-simile of Westminster
Abbey in cast iron must, by a parity of reasoning,
make an equally good cathedral. There is much spe-
cious talk of expression and character in a structure;
but Mr. Fergusson says distinctly that a building tells
no story, nor is it directly the cause of an emotion."
So the architect takes leave of his client with a sub-
missive smile, and proceeds to design his villa, and he
builds it. When it is done, one cannot help but
think that neither the owner nor his architect under-
stood the nature of a house occupied by a gentleman,
but that it is impossible for man to do anything in
the direction of art without giving some sort of ex-
pression to it, whether he intends to do so or not; and
that this villa somehow declares, in the strongest
terms, as if written upon it in large letters, "This is
the house a snob built."
A
PART II.
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
CHAPTER IX.
IS ART NECESSARY?
BEFORE engaging in a discussion on the nature of
art, on beauty and the emotions, it is desirable to con-
sider whether or not art performs a function which
affects the well-being of man. A majority of writers on
æsthetics affirm that in every work of art it is a con-
dition precedent that it shall not be necessary. This
involves another question. What is and what is not
necessary to man? And furthermore, admitting the
beautiful to relate to ideas, to emanations of the mind,
are these essential or not? Some have questioned, with
a certain degree of plausibility, the absolute necessity
of raiment and shelter. There is no doubt that, in
some climates, men live on a moderate supply of food
and atmospheric air alone. A limited number of human
beings do so in a few favored spots of the earth with-
out work, without thought, without reflection, without
instruction. Prompted by hunger, they arise to eat
and lie down again, or wander about, as seems to them
most desirable. The moment, however, that this limited
number of human beings increases, and can be no longer
supplied by the spontaneous growths of nature, they
must resort to agriculture, and also to emigration to
countries where the climate is more rigorous. Shelter
and clothing become equal necessities with food; and
99
100
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
manufactures of agricultural implements, the erection
of granaries, trade and its attendant appliances, create
property. Hence, various methods of protecting that
property-social interests arise, and combinations for
the protection of these interests, by means of laws
growing out of thought and moral reflection. Laws
have to be maintained by physical force; hence, indi-
vidual devotion to the public good, amounting to
heroism, a disregard of life, or the voluntary sacrifice
of it, for the maintenance of moral truths. The human
frame is subject to injury from excesses in the gratifica-
tion of the appetites as well as from over-exertion and
exposure. Nature suggests remedies to alleviate or re-
move suffering arising from these sources; hence, to sus-
tain life man inquires into the laws of Nature and
her productions. A moderate amount of reflection on
the problem of our being, shows us our utter depend-
ence on each other, and especially on the sustaining
powers of nature; hence, everything connected with
her laws and productions becomes matter of profound
study.
Individual thought and inquiry into nature, which
includes man himself, has so accumulated through his-
toric times as to form a cosmic intelligence, the most
valuable of human acquisitions. So intimately is this
asssociated with man's individual existence, and also
with his moral, political, social and religious relation-
ships, that it is impossible to estimate the depriva-
tion to humanity, should any portion of this cosmic
thought be lost to us. But few of us are able to
add materially to this stock of cosmic thought: the
multitude can know but little of it; many however
are capable of being instructed by it; and it is nec-
IS ART NECESSARY?
101
essary for the maintenance of society that the num-
ber of these should be, at all times, as large as
possible. All men know the necessity of supplying
physical wants. They know that they must eat, be
clothed, and sheltered from the weather. They also
understand that in order to procure these necessities
it is imperative that they should render some service
to society-that they must labor. Hunger, exposure,
and other physical suffering, which are immediate
results of a lack of these supplies, promptly remind
them of this condition of things. But effect and cause
do not follow each other in all relations of social life
as promptly as hunger does the want of food. Systems
of government and of law, of morality, of religion and
social relations are the foundations upon which rests
our social fabric; and upon these systems depends indi-
vidual prosperity and happiness.
These systems, however, are the outcome of the in-
telligence of the communities in which they originate,
and mainly the result of the teachings of individuals.
There are men who love and pursue knowledge for its
own sake, who inquire into the phenomena of nature
for the truths they reveal; others who study nature's
laws for the benefit to be derived from this knowledge
by their fellow men, and others again who study
these laws in order to find fitting answers to the
questions man puts to nature relating to the source
of his being the conditions which govern human life
here and hereafter. The methods pursued in com-
municating knowledge, again, differ with the nature
of the men who teach, and the intellectual develop
ment of the persons who are taught. Great and
fervent natures-overwhelmed with the magnitude of
102
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
their conceptions, realizing in them the laws of the
divine mind, and aware of their potent influence on the
fate of man-experience an irrepressible desire to com-
municate their mental treasures to the world, and have
promulgated these laws as the direct revelations of the
Deity, which in a certain sense they knew them to be.
Overwhelming emotions seem to them an inspiration,
and it is not surprising that they believe them to be
This method of instructing mankind, and direct-
ing it in the path of virtue, akin to the transcendent
splendor and rapidity of the meteor, is, like the meteor,
a rare occurrence on the intellectual horizon, and is
called forth and made resplendent by a previous men-
tal and moral darkness, which periodically occurs in
the history of the world.
So.
Many profound thinkers earnestly in search of truth,
less bent on making discoveries than upon removing
doubt by demonstration, content themselves with stat
ing results in unimpassioned language. Their audience
is small, but well prepared to receive, to hold and to
use what is communicated to it. Others again, more
enthusiastic and perhaps less profound, distinguish
themselves through devotion to some special idea.
For their convictions they lay down their lives. These
are the heroes and martyrs of the world.
Next we come to those, who, impressed with the
merit of ideas advanced by themselves or other persons,
found in history, legends, or poetry, ideas of a moral
nature, of human relations, of love. and hatred, of wis
dom and folly, of national, social, and religious import
-the trials and triumphs of virtue, the errors and
punishments of vice, the devotion and heroism of king,
citizen or slave, the adventures of the traveler, the
IS ART NECESSARY?
103
functions and power of the law, the lights and shades
of humble life, and the splendors of courts-present
these ideas in the most expressive forms, rendering them
through words, through paintings, through sculpture,
and through architecture. Ideas thus presented are
sown, like seeds, in the human heart, taking root there,
stimulating the brain and arousing reflection, with
holding man from evil and idle pursuits, and bringing
him back to nature and her beneficent influences, kind-
ling a spark of the divine tendencies, which may not
be reached by the force of the law, nor by the promises
and threats of religion, nor by the subtle arguments
of philosophy. The men who do this are the artists of
the world.
The economy of human labor and of human as-
sociation is guided by human thought, as truly as
muscular effort is guided by the action of the nervous
system. Suspend mental influence, and muscular action
becomes inert, or exhausts itself in useless effort. The
human body needs the guiding care of a healthy brain,
the body politic the teachings of human thought.
Abstract thought, conveyed in the language of phi-
losophy, is understood by those only who are prepared
for it by a special training. But nature and art bring
before us pictures of life, imitations in painting and
sculpture, in the word-paintings of, the poet, in music,
which speak of the emotions, and in architecture, which
embodies them in stone. Through these we receive
sensuous impressions of thought realized in action and
emotions. We can all see and hear, and learn from
these, only as much, indeed, as we are prepared to
receive, as we can understand at the time; but we learn
always. Human art, through language and the instru
104
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
mentalities of form and order, is the exponent of the
mystery and beauty of human life. An idea associ-
ated with a material object remains more firmly fixed
in the mind than an idea presented to us in its
abstract form. Garrick is reported to have said that
the superiority of the impressions produced by the
stage over those produced by the pulpit is owing to
the fact that the actor recites falsehood as though it
were truth, while the preacher utters truth as though
it were falsehood. This is not stating the whole case.
The actor acts an ideal scene with the truthful accuracy
of nature, and hence the force of the impression he
produces; while the preacher exhorts in the form of
abstract thought, and hence our indifference.
The salient points of a good play are remem
bered for life, and the melodies of an opera haunt us
for days after hearing them; a sermon is often for
gotten before we leave the church; and yet enthusi-
astic religious speakers have drawn pictures of heaven
and hell in words which have driven their hearers into
lunacy.
What has been said here with regard to the ex-
pression of ideas in art, and its necessity to man, is
most beautifully and forcibly illustrated in Lamartine's
sketch of the life of Homer. He speaks first of the
faculty of man of reproducing nature in art work as
follows:
"One of the most natural and universal faculties of
man is that of reproducing internally, by imagination
and thought, and externally, by art and speech, the
material and moral universe in the midst of which he
has been placed by providence. Man is the reflecting
mirror of nature: everything is recreated by him; and
IS ART NECESSARY?
105
thought, poetry, everything is reanimated and receives
new life. It is another state of existence, which God
has permitted man to make, by multiplying external
being in his thoughts and in his words-an inferior
form, but not less real, which truly creates, although
it only does so from the elements, the images, and rec-
ollections of what nature has embodied before him.
An imitation like the sport of a child, yet still the
play of the mind upon the impressions which it re-
ceives from nature, a play in which we continually
reiterate the fleeting image of the external and in-
ternal worlds, which expands, passes away and renews
itself unceasingly before us. Therefore does poetry
mean creation."
And then of the benefits of art productions to man-
kind. "And now is poetry worth this sacrifice? What
influence had Homer upon civilization, and how did
he contribute to its extension? To answer this in-
quiry it is sufficient to read. Suppose in the infancy
or youth of the world, that a half-savage man, endowed
only with the elementary, gross, and ferocious instincts
which are the foundation of our animal nature, before
society, religion and art have moulded, softened, spirit-
ualized, and sanctified the human heart: suppose that
to such a man, alone in the depths of the forests, and
engrossed by sensual appetites, a heavenly spirit were
to teach the art of reading characters traced upon pa-
pyrus, and then to disappear, leaving with him only
the works of IIomer. The savage reads, and as he turns
page after page, a new world opens before his eyes;
he feels expand within him thousands of thoughts,
ideas, and feelings unknown before. A mere sensual
being when he began to read, he has become an intel-
106
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
lectual, and will soon be a moral creature. Homer
reveals to him, in the first place, the superior world;
the immortality of the soul, the judgment after death;
sovereign justice; the expiation; rewards according to
our virtues or our crimes; heaven and hell, disguised
no doubt by fables and allegories, but still visible and
apparent though these symbols, as the figure beneath
the drapery, which covers while it shows it. He next
tells him of glory, that passion for mutual esteem and
eternal honor, which has been given to men as the
instinct most nearly allied to virtue. He teaches him
patriotism in the exploits of the heroes who leave their
ancestral realms, tearing themselves from their wives
and mothers, to shed their blood in national expedi
tions, like the Trojan war, to give honor to their na-
tive land. He tells them of the calamities of war, by
describing the burning of Troy and the combats be-
neath the walls. He teaches friendship by the exam-
ple of Achilles and Patroclus; wisdom by that of Men-
tor; conjugal fidelity by Andromache; consideration
for age by the old king Priamus, to whom Achilles
gives up with tears the corpse of his son; disgust for
outrage to the dead by the body of Hector dragged
seven times around the walls of his own capital; com-
passion for Astyanax led into slavery by the Greeks
while still a child in his mother's arms; the vengeance
of the gods, in the early death of Achilles; the conse-
quences of infidelity in IIelen; scorn for the breach of
domestic ties in Menelaus; the sacredness of laws, the
utility of trades, the invention and the beauty of the
arts everywhere: in short, the interpretation of the
language of nature, always pervaded by a moral sig
nificance, revealed in each of its phenomena in earth,
IS ART NECESSARY?
107
sea, and sky; as it were a cipher of correspondence
between God and man, given so completely and so
exactly in the verses of Homer, that the unseen and
the natural world, reflected each in the other like stars
in a lake, seem to be but a single thought, and to speak
with but one harmonious tongue to the gifted intelli-
gence
of the sightless poet. And yet this language is
marked by such a melodious rhythm in its measure,
and is full of such music in its expression, that each
thought seems to enter the mind through the ears, not
only as an intelligent idea, but also as a sensuous de-
light. Is it not clear that, after a long and familiar
intercourse with this volume, the brutal and ferocious
instincts would disappear, and a moral and an intellec-
tual nature expand in the savage to whom IIomer
would have been thus taught by heaven? What such
a progress would have done for a single man, Homer
effected for an entire nation. Scarcely had death in-
terrupted his heavenly song, before the rhapsodists, or
Homeric bards, wandering minstrels-their ears and
memories still ringing with his verses-passed from isle
to isle and through all the towns of Greece, each
boasting the exclusive knowledge of some mutilated
fragment of his poems, and reciting it year after year,
through one generation after another, at public festi-
vals and religious solemnities, in the halls of the
palaces and by the cottage hearths, as well as in the
school full of children; so that an entire nation became
a living and imperishable repository of this universal
volume of classical antiquity."
"In the time of Ptolemy Philopater, the Smyrneans
built him temples. The Argives also paid him divine
honors. For two thousand years one soul breathed its
1
108
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
spirit over this portion of the world. In the year 884
B. C. Lycurgus brought Homer's verses to Sparta, to
train the minds of its citizens. Then came Solon, the
founder of the democracy of Athens, and who, a greater
statesman than Plato, understood the influence of gen-
ius on civilization, and had these scattered fragments
collected into one book, as in later days the Romans
collected the sacred pages of the Sibyl. Then came
Alexander the Great, anxious above all things for im-
mortal renown, and well knowing that the key of the
future is in the hands of the poets; he had a casket of
marvelous richness made to contain the songs of Homer,
and always put them under his pillow that he might
enjoy heavenly dreams. Then came the Romans, who
esteemed none of their conquests in Greece equal to
the possession of these poems; and all the poetry of
their nation was but the lengthened echo of this voice
from the rocks of Chios. Then followed the darkness
of the Middle Ages, of barbaric invasion, which, for
nearly a thousand years, sank the West in ignorance,
and which was scarcely beginning to break before the
manuscripts of Homer, undiscovered among the ruins
of Paganism, again became the study and the source of
inspiration and enthusiasm to the minds of men. Thus
the ancient world, with its history and poetry, its arts
and trades, its civilization, manners and religion, is all
contained in Homer; and even the literature of the
modern world owes its existence in so great a measure
to him, that before this noblest of inspired writers, no
man, be he who he may, could without blushing take
the title of poet. To ask whether such a man may be
ranked among the benefactors of the human race is to
ask whether genius sheds light or darkness over the
IS ART NECESSARY?
109
world; it is to renew the blasphemy of Plato; it is to
expel poetry from civilization; it is to deprive human-
ity of its most glorious attribute, its perception of the
infinite; it is to fling back to the Almighty the highest
faculties with which he has endowed us, lest jealous
minds be offended, and the material world appear poor
and little, as compared with the splendors of imagina-
tion and the magnificence of nature."
CHAPTER X.
MATTER.
Now that we have endeavored to show that ideas
are man's first necessities, it will be well to inquire
whether matter is deserving of the contempt in which
it is held by some writers upon aesthetics. Hegel, for
instance, classifies art by placing poetry in the first
rank for being entirely disembarrassed of matter, and
thence down, through music, painting, and sculpture, to
architecture, which, according to him, is symbolic, sen-
suous and material in excess, and which hence occupies
the lowest rank in art. It is not intended to advance
here any theory of classification: indeed the arts as
such cannot be ranked one above the other. They are
all methods of expressing ideas through capacities
which can only be measured when the last earthly
artist has accomplished his last work: but we may
fairly object to a classification which is based upon the
amount of matter involved in an art effort, or to the
principle implied, that matter exists in any sense in
opposition to an absolute idea.
To compare music and sculpture, for instance. Ac-
cording to Hegel, sculpture is only less subject to mat-
ter than architecture; it stands, in that respect, below
painting and still more below music, wherein all ele-
ments of space are suppressed and all is inner emotional
110
MATTER.
111
nature (Gemüth). To speak in terms more precise, an
idea expressed in stone involves the stone itself as a
part of the art work; while music is mere sound, ex-
pressing the idea as it were without the presence of
matter. We see the statue by reflected light, and vision
brings the reflecting matter into notice. The light
image alone, however, as produced upon the retina,
may be favorably compared with the sound impression
upon the tympanum, if we consider merely the quan-
tity of matter involved in producing sensation. The
question may be asked, is there no matter involved in
a musical production? For instance, in Handel's Mes
siah, there is half a ton of brass and string instruments
set in motion by six tons of human musicians, accom-
panied by thirty tons of vocal performers, agitating
ninety tons of atmospheric air; not to speak of the
vibrations of the building wherein the oratorio is per
formed, and of the audience itself listening to the per-
formance; among which mass we must also count the
few grains of matter forming two musical instruments,
present in the human ear, which musical instruments,
if covered with a drop of water, would place us in a
sad relation to this great sum of inner emotional nature
(Gemüth), for the simple reason that we would then
not hear the slightest sound of it. True, the matter
involved in a musical performance may be considered
as an instrument, and not as a part of the art-work it-
self; but this applies also to the matter contained in a
statue. This becomes merely an instrument which re-
flects light, and which, in forming a picture upon the
retina, conveys the idea of the art effort. But we
must further examine the true relation of matter and
thought in music. The Messiah brings before the
112
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
audience a chorus, a body of human beings, who are
the actors in a dramatic performance representing
another similar ideal body of persons who did at one
time proclaim to a suffering world the advent of the
Redeemer, his suffering and humiliation, and finally
the great triumph of a completed redemption. It is
assumed in the first part, that Christ will come; in the
second part, that he has come and suffered; and in the
third part, that his suffering has terminated and his
triumph commenced. These occurrences in their suc-
cession have impressed certain persons who feel im-
pelled to convey these impressions and the resulting
emotions to the world. We find here a series of art
efforts succeeding each other. In the first place, the
poetic description of the coming of Christ, and the
emotions of the chosen few who proclaim his coming
to the world, as contained in the text; next, the com-
poser translating the emotions pictured in the text into
music; and finally, the performers, who render this
music to the audience. All and each of these art
efforts, however, deal with an ideal congregation of
human beings who, knowing of the coming of Christ,
his suffering and triumph, convey to an audience their
emotions.
They are the group of human figures represented
upon the stage; and though it is no part of the plot of
the composer that they shall be seen by the audience,
it is intended that they shall be heard; and they must
be considered as the matter involved in rendering the
idea in sound. And they are a part of the art represen-
tation, just as much as a certain quantity of stone is a
part of a statue so wrought by human hands as to re-
flect upon the retina a picture not only of its physical
MATTER.
113
form, but of such motion of its form arrested at one
particular moment of time as will express the idea in-
tended to be conveyed by the artist.
Matter in some form is absolutely necessary in
art, in order to conceive a statue, a picture, or a group
of persons represented in a picture. If this group be
painted in words, or if it be represented as expressing
its emotions in sound (music), the group itself, in mate-
rial form, is a prime necessity in the scheme, if it is to
answer the purposes of art. The mere statement that
the Son of God was born, suffered and died to redeem
man, without depicting either his emotions during the
act, or the emotions produced in others, is not a work
of art. In fact, it is a condition of art that the con-
ception of an idea shall be connected with material
bodies; for all ideas of which we are possessed, or of
which we can possibly acquire a knowledge, or which
we can imagine, are ultimately connected with a motion
of matter.
Matter in the apparent condition of rest (for indeed
we know not of matter in a state of absolute rest)—con-
veys no ideas; its motion, however, suggestive of the
order of its motion, is the only tangible foundation of
thought. This may be illustrated by the pebble we
despise as mere matter. Let us examine it with the
microscope and find the secrets of its crystallization,
and we become at once possessed of an idea in relation
to it. We have learned to know a phase of motion to
which the matter has been subjected at some time in
the past. We are constantly in the habit of separating
thought from its base, which is matter; yet it is not
possible to conceive an idea without a relation to known
matter. The mind is not capable of conceiving through
8
114 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
the imagination an ideal thought not directly derived
from or communicated by matter. This is forcibly
illustrated by various conceptions of the immortality
of the soul, an idea supposed not to be derived directly
from known matter. The shades visited by Ulysses
are represented as eating, drinking, and conversing.
The Christian idea of immortality of the soul may be
summed up in the words of St. Paul, "It is sown a
natural body; it is raised a spiritual body." What is
more remarkable still is the human desire for immor-
tality disconnected from the body or from any matter
whatever, in the face of the fact, that no natural law is
more firmly established than the indestructibility of
matter; and of the fact that one can imagine no condi-
tion of existence divested of matter.
CHAPTER XI.
ESTHETICS.
IN the preceding chapter, the nature and function
of art have been discussed purely as those of a ma-
terialized idea, without direct reference to beauty as a
quality of fine art and of nature. This is not the course
commonly pursued heretofore. Beauty alone has been
especially considered in the philosophy of art. It is
assumed by most writers on the subject, that the only
acceptable test of a work of fine art is whether it
possesses the quality known as beauty. This inquiry
is not deputed to reason but to the emotions; if, in
the presence of a work of art, the subject experiences
a pleasurable emotion, this is proof positive that the
object contemplated is possessed of beauty, and the
art work is of that class which is especially known
as one of fine art, unless it be a work of nature.
The difference between a definition or demonstra-
tion and a pictorial representation of an idea in mat-
ter is not discussed; and yet it seems that such a dis-
cussion might lead to a more clear understanding of
the nature and function of fine art than the constant
contemplation of the mere quality of beauty, and its
symptom, the pleasurable emotion. For the better
understanding of the subject, however, it is deemed
best before we proceed to the consideration of the
115
116
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
idea in art (and more especially in architecture), to
devote this and the following chapters on art, archi-
tecture, and beauty to a brief rehearsal of the views
held upon this subject by various eminent authors.
When we contemplate works of nature or of fine
art, we experience a certain pleasurable emotion. The
science which attempts to explain the nature and causes
of this pleasurable emotion is called aesthetics.
Its purpose is to determine logically what special
quality or element constitutes a work of art, with a
view to guide the artist in its production, and the lay-
man in a proper and just appreciation of it, and also
to elicit the function of art in the social economy.
All writers upon æsthetics agree that the pleasurable
emotion in the subject is the test of its being a work
of fine art, and that the quality which in fine art
produces pleasurable emotion is its beauty. What
constitutes beauty is not established upon any one
comprehensive principle; but certain relations of the
work deemed beautiful to utility, to morality, to the
religious sentiment, and even to the Deity are asserted,
doubted, and disputed, and certain properties of works
of art, such as unity, harmony, contrast, symmetry, mag-
nitude, association, relation, and proportion, are estab-
lished, and in turn rejected, as the attributes of beauty.
Some authors recognize sculpture and painting as the
only fine arts; others admit also architecture, poetry,
music, dancing, and dramatic acting.
The questions raised in philosophical speculations
on the theory of art are mainly these: What is the
nature of the emotions produced by nature and art?
We find here but few attempts to define the qualities
required in the person contemplating a work of art.
ESTHETICS.
117
It is assumed, either that the subject is fully prepared
to receive impressions, and to be affected by them, or
that no preparation is needed for that purpose.
What is the nature of the beautiful, the quality of
every object capable of producing these pleasurable
emotions? Is it an essence which pervades all objects,
always of the same nature, although various in its phe-
nomenal manifestations? or, may the unity of beauty
be questioned, and its presence attributed to a number
of properties, which properties have this in common,
that they all produce pleasurable emotions?
A work of art is held to be matter representing an
idea; or, as Hegel has it, the interpenetration of matter
and thought.
The German school of æsthetics does not admit an
independent existence of matter, but holds matter to
be the negative limiting principle in the action of
self-movement of the absolute, and the beautiful a
particular manifestation of supreme thought, in contra-
distinction to the true and the good, which are equally
manifestations of supreme thought.
Socrates held, on the other hand, that the beautiful
is coincident with the good, and adds another quality,
viz: That the beautiful serves a purpose for the need
of man.
Plato describes beauty as the soul's intuition of the
self-beautiful, a reminiscence of prenatal existence, un-
defiled by union with the body.
When applied to beautiful objects, he renders their
qualities as those of proportion, unity of parts; and
then again as force, velocity or smoothness.
Aristotle ignores absolute beauty; he also places the
beautiful above that which is useful or necessary.
118
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
In this we see the beginning of a later school, which
has many adherents at the present day, who designate
the beautiful as a quality which renders the object
possessing it unnecessary-a suicidal philosophy which,
if true, must close the argument forever, and make all
further reflection on the subject useless. Aristotle
also indicates the absence of lust in the pleasurable
emotion resulting from the contemplation of art work
as a leading characteristic.
Baumgarten desribes the beautiful as the perfection
of sensuous knowledge, and the ugly as that which
struggles against that perfection.
Kant says that art is the pleasure or pain on the
presentation of an object, and beauty in quality that
which pleases without interest in its existence, and in
quantity universal pleasure. This has been much bet-
ter said by Keats, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
Kant labors to reconcile reason with the idea that
beauty is in itself unnecessary, by claiming for beauty
adaptation (Zweckmässigkeit), without any end being
conceived.
Hegel defines beauty absolute as the shining of the
idea through the sensuous medium. His classification
of art is especially interesting, inasmuch as it defines
the position of architecture in relation to the sister arts
-as follows:
1st. Architecture, symbolic, sensuous, material in
excess.
2d. Sculpture, less subject to matter, higher ideality.
3d. Painting, the romantic art expresses the full
ideality of the soul.
4th. Music, all elements of space suppressed, all in-
ner emotional nature (Gemüth).
ESTHETICS.
119
5th. Poetry, universal expression; this tends to the
idea elsewhere asserted that matter is unworthy, and
its presence in art measurably objectionable.
To establish a sound philosophy of art, the following
questions should be definitely answered. What is the
nature of the emotion produced by a work of art or of
nature upon the subject brought under its influence?
That these emotions are pleasurable cannot be a suf
ficient definition; for it is well known that there are
various pleasurable emotions, the result of experiences
entirely disconnected from art. Who is capable of
emotions produced by works of nature and art, or
what is the mental quality concerned in the appreci-
ation of a work of art?
Mere matter disconnected from an idea (if that is
possible) is not claimed to possess the quality described
as beauty hence the beautiful is to be found either in
the idea itself, which proposition is at least tacitly ad-
mitted, or in the method of combination by which the
idea is expressed in matter. The relation of the subject
to the objective idea, and the method of the material
embodiment of the idea, are the possible elements
which are possessed of the property called beauty; and
it becomes necessary, therefore, that the philosophy of
art should distinctly define what are the ideas capable
of being expressed by art work, and how they should
be presented to us when embodied in matter, so as to
constitute this interpenetration of the ideal and real a
work of art.
If the results of an investigation as outlined here
should lead to a clear understanding of the ugly, the
sublime and the ludicrous; if in its theory it should
explain the nature of the ideal in art and the condi-
120
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
tions of imitation of nature in art works, and also show
the relation between works of art and the phenomena
of nature, whereby both are possessed of the property
of beauty, and produce a pleasurable emotion in the
subject, it may be assumed that such a system is based
upon sound reasoning.
CHAPTER XII.
ART.
ART relates to the work of man in contrast with the
works of nature. The question has been raised where
the line should be drawn between the two. Are not
many works of man indirectly works of nature? Is
the building of a human habitation to be distin-
guished as a mental or technical process from the
building of a bird's nest or a beaver's dam; or are not
the bird and the beaver entitled to the credit of
pro-
ducing works of art? This brings up another more
complicated question: What is the difference between
reason and instinct? two terms for similar mental
processes, invented to express a mental and physical
function respectively for man and animals, both of
which tend to the same end of answering physical
needs, and a distinction between which is supported
only by the feeble argument, that human art manifests
progress, while that of animals remains stationary.
It may be urged, indeed, that the honeycomb, for in-
stance, was probably perfect in the beginning of time,
and needed no further improvement, and hence de-
serves to rank above similar human productions; or
that we have not studied the mechanical operations
of the animal kingdom sufficiently to assert that no
progress has been made in any of them. Then, again,
121
122
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
it remains to be determined, whether moles, ants, and
beavers ever deteriorated at the rate at which modern
civilization has deteriorated architecture during the
last four hundred years. But as we propose in this
place to consider human art only, we may, with profit
to our subject, abandon all these speculations, and
examine into the human acts or efforts which lead to
art, and omit those which do not.
1st. Fortunately it has been long established, and
the theory is universally accepted, that the first con-
dition of art work is premeditation; that all invol
untary human acts, like breathing, sleeping, etc., and
those which are prompted by nature for the purpose
of directly maintaining the human organism, like eat-
ing and drinking, do not lead to art. It is further
required that art shall be directed to the creation of an
organism which, like the organic productions of nature,
performs a function; or else that it shall represent
in matter a natural organism, or an organism of art
which, by its physical functions, betrays emotion. In-
asmuch as emotions are the result of ideas, we say
of this branch of art that it represents ideas in
matter.
2d. It follows from the foregoing, that the premedi-
tated transformation of matter or of material relations,
for the purpose of creating objects which perform or
represent organic functions, demands certain intellec-
tual and technical powers. These intellectual and
technical powers constitute art.
3d. A work of art may minister to physical wants
only, as, for instance, a plough, an engine, a ship, an
article of dress or furniture. Such a production is
called a work of mechanical or industrial art, and the
ART.
123
!
man who performs or creates this work is called a
mechanic or artisan.
4th. But if by art an idea is represented in matter,
we distinguish such a work as one of fine art, and call
the person who creates it an artist. To understand
fully the nature of fine art, we must define the differ
ence in the method by which ideas are conveyed in
art and science. Science demonstrates the idea by
definition, analysis, argument and induction, generali-
zation and deduction. Art represents the idea as
manifested through human emotions, by depicting the
physical functions of these emotions. Science demon-
strates the idea fully, perfectly, or not at all. Fine art
may depict an idea, or represent it in matter imper-
fectly or partially. An idea is demonstrated by sci-
ence through words or algebraic signs, or through
matter and its motion, and the subject addressed by
this demonstration will either comprehend it fully or
not at all. A partial understanding of the demon-
stration cannot lead to a comprehension of the idea or
an approximation to it. An idea represented in fine
art may be understood imperfectly, and yet an approxi-
mate notion of the idea represented be conveyed to the
subject; and, finally, an idea to be scientifically demon-
strated must be true, while an idea represented in
matter by art may be false, while the art work repre-
senting it may be a true work of fine art.
5th. There is outside of mechanic or industrial art
and of fine art another branch of human art, which has
not been specially named. Like fine art, its object is
to convey an idea; but it differs from fine art herein,
that the idea is not represented, but demonstrated in
matter by its works. It supplies a human want as is
124
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
done by mechanic art; but it is a mental and not a
physical want. It consists mainly in the manufacture
of scientific apparatus, optical, electric, and other simi-
lar instruments; and the persons who do this work are
called mechanicians.
6th. The methods of producing works of fine art, or
of expressing ideas in matter, are called the technics of
art. Premeditation in fine art involves knowledge of
the idea to be expressed, as well as of the resources of
technics. To paint something without a definite in-
tention; to model in stone, build, write music, dance,
or act without a clear idea of what is to be expressed,
or without previous knowledge of the respective
methods of representation; if all this should result in
the representation of something not intended, although
it convey an idea, then such work is not fine art.
To draw the outline of a human figure, to paint it,
or cut it in stone, to describe it with words, without
expressing a mental characteristic of the person so
depicted, is not fine art. It may be a correct physical
representation; but, as it conveys only form and not
idea, it is not a work of fine art. To prepare a geo-
metrical drawing or a perspective view of an existing
structure, or to prepare a perspective view of a con-
templated structure from a series of geometrical draw-
ings; all this is not fine art. To prepare drawings of
an intended structure which, when executed, will ex-
press the idea which made this structure necessary, is
to create a work of fine art, although the drawings
themselves are works of mechanic art only.
7th. In every work of fine art it is assumed that
some person or persons have, under the influence of
an idea, become subject to emotions, which emotions
ART.
125
are depicted in matter by fine art. Emotions are ac-
companied by visible modifications of the human form,
which may be termed the physical functions of an
emotion. These are capable of being represented in
matter by fine art, and this is the method by which
fine art represents an idea in matter. An abstract
idea cannot be represented in matter. For instance,
we cannot produce a picture, a statue, a poem, a sym-
phony or a monument which shall represent Religion,
Patriotism, Friendship, Love, or Heroism. The impos-
sibility is inherent in the nature of the idea, which
is a perceived relation of matter, and must be em-
bodied before it can be conceived as a subject of
art. It becomes necessary in fine art, therefore, that
the idea shall be expressed in an organism; that is,
that some one shall do something of himself or suffer
something by the act of others, or shall be in some
tangible relation to a material act, and that this phy-
sical demonstration shall express an idea. It is not
necessary that this act or demonstration should be
directly represented by the work of art; indeed the
art work may relate to acts performed by others than
those whom it depicts; it may relate to past or future
acts. But it is necessary that some demonstration of
the idea in material action should be fixed upon and
defined in order to elicit the nature of the emotions
which are ultimately depicted. This process of ma→
terializing an idea, forms a very important part in art,
and will be referred to hereafter frequently under the
simple designation of the act illustrating the idea, or
as the act.
8th. Emotions find expression in physical conditions
and modifications of form. Fine art depicts these modi-
126
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
fications of physical form, and thus represents an idea
in matter. Inanimate matter is capable of changes,
which, by the interest which they excite in man, create
emotions relating indirectly to ideas. When such in-
animate matter is depicted, it becomes a work of fine
art. Thus a landscape, expressing growth or decay,
the effects of sunlight, motion of any kind which re-
lates to organic development or change, when repre-
sented in a painting, or depicted in poetry, becomes the
subject of fine art. Baer and Madler's maps of the
moon, which represent matter at rest without organic
development, are not works of fine art.
How a structure betrays emotions, and becomes a
work of fine art, will be more especially discussed in a
subsequent chapter.
9th. All ideas are derived from a sensuous perception
of matter, its motion and relation.
10th. Organized matter, as we find it in nature, per-
forms functions pertaining to the continuance of its
atomic, molecular and organic relation. These func-
tions are expressed in the forms of these organisms,
and this expression becomes a source of knowledge.
The re-creations of art also express the nature of func-
tions, and this also becomes a source of knowledge to
those who contemplate them.
11th. Knowledge derived from works of nature and
of fine art presents itself directly to our senses without
solicitation on our part. We see and hear, but do not
examine, study or analyze; and we perceive the repre-
sentation in matter of an emotion resulting from an
idea to the extent only to which our powers of percep
tion are prepared for it by previous education. We are
never aware that anything more is needed on our part
ART.
127
to enable us to derive from the contemplation of an
art work a more perfect impression; for the impression,
as we realize it, seems final and complete.
12th. The intellectual power necessary to conceive
a scheme of representing an idea in matter, and the
technical skill required to execute such a scheme are
visible in works of art more or less to every observer;
and this intellectual effort to convey an idea, together
with the technical skill to represent it in matter, con-
stitute creative force. It is the creative force by means
of which an idea is conveyed in matter, and our per-
ception of this creative force is the source of the
pleasurable emotion of the observer.
13th. The perceived magnitude of the creative force
constitutes what is generally termed the beauty of the
art work. To the subject observing a work of fine
art, his appreciation of this magnitude of creative force
is his judgment of the degree of its beauty.
The elements constituting creative force are the
magnitude and force of the idea and of the act selected
to illustrate it, and the technical ability displayed in
expressing the resulting emotion.
14th. The pleasurable emotion experienced immedi-
ately upon a sensuous perception of a work of nature
or fine art, is popularly supposed to be the result of
cognition, by reason of a so-called internal sense, known
as taste.
15th. Any person in the possession of his senses,
whose brain and nervous system are in a normal con-
dition, is known to experience a pleasurable emotion,
a species of agreeable surprise, on perceiving an idea
represented in matter.
The re-creation of human, animal, or other created
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
forms, of musical sounds, joyous or plaintive, the poetic
description of natural scenes and of human emotions,
must move any person who can see and hear to this
extent, at least, that he is surprised by the creative
force displayed in the production of the phenomena
before him.
The exact nature of the pleasurable emotion ex-
perienced in the contemplation of works of nature or
of fine art may be described as follows: Natural organ-
isms, animal and vegetable, are alive with growth or
motion; they visibly express the functions performed
by them. The very existence of these organisms be-
trays a profound mental power, which we admire and
venerate. This admiration of creative force in natural
organisms is the pleasurable emotion experienced in
contemplating them. When human emotions are ex-
pressed by art on canvas, in stone, in words of poetry,
in music, or in architecture, the surprise at the possi-
bility that a mental condition can be expressed in
matter, awakens an admiration for the art force dis-
played, similar to the admiration caused by the contem-
plation of nature's organisms; and this admiration in
all cases constitutes the essence of the pleasurable emo-
tion caused by art.
Are these emotions the result of an internal sense
called taste? To answer this question, we must first
inquire whether or not objects or phenomena which
are not works of nature and fine art do or do not pro-
duce similar emotions; and next, whether the emotions
are proportionate in quantity and quality to the merit
of the art work perceived.
Let us admit, at the outset, that the pleasurable
emotions here considered are not to be confounded
ART.
129
.
with certain other pleasurable emotions which are
purely the result of the gratification of a physical ap-
petite. They certainly differ from these in character.
This difference has been expressed by designating the
pleasurable emotions aroused by works of nature and
art as disinterested. But the inquiry needs still to be
answered; are there not mental interests other than
those involved in ideas represented in works of nature
and fine art, which are capable of producing pleasur-
able emotions akin to those produced by works of
fine art? And here we find that the contemplation of
a work of mechanic art-of an engine, a theodolite, a
telescope, the solution of a riddle, the demonstration
of a mathematical problem, the explanation of physical
laws; in fact, every demonstration which displays the
exercise of mental power-also produces precisely the
same pleasurable emotion in kind as is produced by
the contemplation of works of nature or of fine art.
The display of skill is alone sufficient to produce
the pleasurable emotion; for instance, a performance
on horseback or on the tight-rope, of archery or
games of skill, or even a mere display of physical
strength, as exhibited in racing or lifting of weights.
We must come to the conclusion, therefore, that the
pleasurable emotion experienced in the presence of a
work of nature or fine art, is nothing more than the
admiration of the creative ability displayed; and that
a similar emotion is caused by the display of any
mental, technical, or physical capability in any phe-
nomenon the result of a premeditated human act.
16th. It has been observed that the demonstration
of an idea affects with a pleasurable emotion only
those persons who, by education and training, are made
9
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
capable of understanding this demonstration; while all
persons, whether educated or not, are capable of a
pleasurable emotion in the presence of a work of na-
ture or fine art: and it has been concluded from this
that the latter, therefore, is the result of a natural
faculty implanted in all men. Is this true? Most
persons can tell the time without consulting a time-
piece; that is, within certain limits, say within an hour
or two. Is this a natural gift? No; because, in the
first place, they never know the exact time; they are
simply satisfied with what they do know; and, in the
next place, the little they do know of the time is due
to education. They have noticed, perhaps, the posi-
tion of the sun, not by measuring it on the horizon,
but by the general aspect of light and shadow upon
surrounding objects. They will assure you, however,
that they tell the time of the day by intuition, and they
doubtless believe so. A crucial test would be to place
such a person under the influence of a narcotic, and
examine what he will know of time when he wakes in
a dark room after a long sleep.
Intuitive taste, or natural taste, presents a parallel
case. The subject sees in every work of fine art some
degree of creative force, and is pleasurably moved in
consequence. But, inasmuch as the amount of creative
force discerned bears no relation whatever to the in-
trinsic creative force of the art work, the value of the
sensuous perception amounts to this only, that the sub-
ject is capable of realizing that the work before him is
a work of human art, and not a work of nature; and the
pleasurable emotion results from this simple knowl
edge, and not from a just estimation of the creative
force involved.
ART.
131
17th. The sensuous perception of matter in relation
is the apprehension of an idea. This apprehension of
an idea is accompanied with a pleasurable emotion,
more especially if the nature of the idea contradicts or
confirms preconceived ideas. For instance, we know
that a ball weighing five pounds may be thrown by
hand some twenty or thirty feet high; and if we
should see it done, it would not produce a pleasurable
emotion, because we compare it with what has been
done before by ourselves or others, and we find the
phenomenon to accord with past experience. It dis
plays no special thought, skill, or physical strength.
A wooden ball, weighing five pounds, is about eight
inches in diameter. A ball of iron of the same diam-
eter would weigh about seventy-five pounds. If we
should see an iron ball, eight inches in diameter,
thrown thirty feet high by muscular power, we should
consider this an extraordinary feat of physical strength,
and we should experience a pleasurable emotion in
consequence.
The necessary condition precedent to this, however,
is that the subject should know something of the rela
tive weight of wood and iron, and also of the muscular
strength required to throw five pounds and seventy-
five pounds respectively. This knowledge, necessary
to the sensuous perception which affords the pleasur
able emotion, is the result of education, and not a natu
ral gift. The pleasurable emotion experienced also dif
fers with the education of the subject. The relative
weight of wood and iron may not be correctly rated:
the standard muscular strength of the human arın may
be over or underestimated. Then, again, the sen-
suous perception may be erroneous. For instance, what
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
is supposed to be a solid iron ball may be a hollow
one, and may not weigh seventy-five pounds. In any
event, the pleasurable emotion will be proportionate
to the imagined ratio of muscular force between that
of the performer and an average muscular man, and
not the real ratio. And even this imagined ratio is
known from prior education-imperfect, indeed, but
still a sort of education and not a natural sense.
18th. The pleasurable emotion of the subject in the
presence of a work of nature or of fine art, being a re-
sult of the perception of creative ability or force, the
subject may overrate this creative force, or as is most
frequently the case, he may underrate it, and yet he
may experience a pleasurable emotion of greater inten-
sity than that produced by another art work. But this
is no proof of the relative value of the two. It may be
caused by imperfect education; for it appears here, as in
the physical feat related above, that the imagined crea-
tive power perceived by the subject in art work, and
not the intrinsic power possessed by it, is the measure of
the pleasurable emotion experienced; and this imagined
creative power is perceived by the subject only by
virtue of previous education. A well trained pointer
will stand perfectly still the moment he sees a picture
of a hunting scene wherein the game is started. To
him the picture is a reality, not a work of art at all.
He compliments the artist by this act, but is not sup-
posed to realize in any degree the presence of artistic
creative force; for if he did, he would know it to be
a picture, and would not point. Thus when re-creation
assumes the aspect of reality with uneducated persons,
as is the case frequently when such persons visit the
play, they weep and laugh with the changing fortunes
ART.
133
of the hero, because they imagine his joys and suffer-
ings to be real. They experience no surprise or pleas
urable emotion until apprised of the fact that what
they had seen or heard was not real. There is also a
false pleasurable emotion caused by false works of
art. The cause in this case is, again, a supposed crea-
tive force. It is not, however, discerned in the expres
sion of an idea in matter; for indeed there is either
no idea expressed, or it is expressed very indifferently.
But the subject imagines that there must be a creative
force of some magnitude, for the reason that other
persons express satisfaction with such a work of art.
The argument of the subject is that a recognition of
merit could not be attained without considerable crea-
tive power in the artist, and he is pleasurably moved
by this imagined creative force.
19th. An idea, as has been explained above, cannot
be directly expressed in art. It must first be mate-
rialized in the form of an act illustrative of the idea.
It needs no argument to show that the selection of
the act and its material development (the emphatic
bringing out of the resulting emotions) is an element-
ary art effort of great importance; yet to the majority
of men an art work is not known to be the expression
of an idea in matter. They look upon it simply as a
reproduction of a material condition, and judge of it as
such alone. On the other hand, it is not infrequently
the case that the merit of the original art work of ma-
terializing an idea is better understood than the sub-
sequent representation of the materialized idea, but is
confounded with it and becomes the cause of pleasur
able emotions, which are attributed to the representa-
tion of the materialized idea. This is very frequently
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
the case where a well written drama is applauded
when it is very indifferently performed; or the reverse
is illustrated, when good acting is received with indif
ference because of the shortcomings of the author.
The same is the case in music. The best music fails
to create pleasurable emotion, although it is most ably
performed, because the audience is ignorant of the idea
attempted to be expressed, or of the acts which are
selected to illustrate it.
20th. Taste is supposed to be a sort of natural sense
which enables men to appreciate works of fine art, and
to determine their art value.
There are those who are deaf and blind, and there
are doubtless those who lack that modicum of taste in
which the multitude believes. But what is believed
is, that taste alone, unaided by education, affords a
perception of art, precisely as the senses of sight and
hearing afford a perception of the presence of matter
and its motion. This is probably true in the main ; but
the popular belief overrates the value of sensuous per-
ception as a means of knowledge, and fails also to make
due allowance for the deficiencies to which taste is sub-
ject, outside of the defects of sensuous perception; and
finally ignores the fact that taste, so far as it is a func-
tion of the mind, so called, viz.: a comparison of the
art work perceived with other matter which is a pro-
duction of nature, is entirely the result of previous
education.
A comparison of three kinds of perception, all of
which are accompanied with the pleasurable emotion,
will help us greatly to understand this matter.
Let us imagine our subject in the presence of an
athlete, who throws iron balls eight inches in diameter,
ART.
135
to a height of thirty or forty feet. He is pleasurably
excited by reason of an extraordinary development of
physical strength. The immediate cause of the pleas
urable emotion is his sensuous perception. He sees
the performance of the feat, and, by comparing what
he sees with what he has heretofore seen or learned of
the weight of metals and of muscular strength, he forms
a judgment of the magnitude of the muscular feat as
executed before him, and his pleasurable emotion will,
in quality and quantity, agree with the judgment
formed.
We may readily conceive that the whole basis of
this judgment is nothing more than prior and present
education.
In the second case, our subject is proffered a problem,
the solution of which involves an equation. Not being
familiar with algebraic processes he fails to solve it.
Another person present gives the solution without
much labor. Our subject tries its correctness arithmet-
ically, and feels pleasurably excited on perceiving that
the answer complies with the conditions. This pleas-
urable emotion is caused by a perception of the mental
power displayed by the person solving the problem.
Now, inasmuch as our subject has no knowledge
whatever of the means applied to arrive at a correct
result, beyond a knowledge of arithmetic sufficient to
test its correctness, it may be imagined that the pleas-
urable emotion must be the result of a natural sense
or appreciation of mathematical problems, a mental
quality which to him is entirely unknown. Yet, a
moment's reflection will show that this also is the result
of education-the education derived from the personal
attempts and failure of the subject to solve this same
136 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
problem by processes known to him. His failure teaches
the fact that a mental effort unknown to him is needed
to perform what to him seems a mental feat. He can-
not estimate the exact magnitude of this mental effort
beyond this point, that it is an effort greater than any
mental effort known to him, and hence the surprise or
pleasurable emotion. It is very probable that our sub-
ject overrates the magnitude of the mental power dis-
played; but it is a peculiarity of this and similar cases
that the subject is perfectly conscious of his own defi-
ciency, and also of the fact, that he can form no correct
judgment of the mental power displayed by another
person. But if we present to our subject a work of
fine art, say a painting of a Madonna, he may see in it
the mere representation of a woman, the picture of a
mother, or the ideal expression of the mother of God,
and in either event, he will experience a pleasurable
emotion. This pleasurable emotion will be the result
of what he conceives the painting to express, combined
with his momentary impression of the magnitude of the
art skill exerted to express it. Now, this estimate is,
in all cases where the subject knows nothing of paint-
ing, simply the result of this positive knowledge, that
he, the subject, is not capable of such an art effort;
and to this extent the nature of the surprise runs parallel
with the second case stated above. But beyond this
there is a marked difference herein, that the subject has
no means of testing the efficacy of the art work, like
that of the arithmetical test which he applied to the
algebraic problem; and also that he accepts his own
interpretation of its meaning as the ultimatum of the
art effort, and hence, also, as a measure of the crea
tive force displayed. We find here not only a total
ART
137
absence of conviction that he does not understand
either the meaning of the painting, or the artistic skill
which produced it, but a complacent conviction that he
has fully mastered the subject, and a consequent belief
that the pleasurable emotion experienced is the exact
measure of the creative force displayed. The man who
sees in the stars of heaven so much paper tinsel pasted
upon the firmament, can boast of as great scientific re-
sults of his sensuous perception as the man who, in
Raphael's Madonna, sees nothing but a pretty woman.
And yet even this poor appreciation of the Madonna is
the result of prior education, and not of a natural sense;
for had he been confined to a dark cell during his life-
time, where he could see no human being, the painting
of the Madonna would have left him perfectly indif
ferent, and there would have been no pleasurable emo-
tion whatever. That the subject may understand the
character of the mother, or may be able to appreciate
the ideal of the mother of God, a long train of personal
experience and art instruction must be called into
requisition, and it needs no further argument to show
that in this case his taste is not a natural sense, but
the result of a long continued education. But when a
person has a comprehensive knowledge of ideas derived
from reading, study, and observation, and when he also
understands the technical methods used in representing
ideas in matter, we do not speak of him so much as a
man of taste as a man of knowledge. We say he has
studied art, he knows art. The term taste, in its popu-
lar acceptation (and we may well doubt that there is
any other, for the true artist rarely talks of taste),
refers to that uncertain, vague, imperfect knowledge
which men acquire without knowing what they have
138 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
acquired. This is not the knowledge found in books,
which gives the essence of study and observation de-
voted to thought, to matter, or to art; but the knowl
edge which comes by chance, ninety-nine hundredths
of which is falsehood, prejudice, and error, derived
from unguarded sensuous perceptions, together with
that so-called information which others put forth who
are busy raising similar crops of defective truth and
falsehood. This knowledge, so unlike the genuine
article that men do not know how they came by it,
furnishes matter for comparison, when art work has to
be appreciated not through scrutiny nor analysis, but
according to a rash, momentary conclusion, which
hasty conclusion becomes a standard of measure of the
creative power supposed to be displayed by the work.
Whatever may be the estimate of that creative power
which is arrived at through these scanty means, it is
still the source of pleasurable emotions; and when the
subject is affected by them, he concludes that his emo-
tions are those of taste.
We may confidently assert that the sense of taste, as
popularly understood, has no existence-none at least
that is of value in connection with works of fine art, or
in their production. The qualifications which enable
a man to form a judgment of an art work are due to
education, not often premeditated education, but a sort
of unconscious empirical education. This empirical
education produces no good results in art, but has been
a serious detriment to it. The man who only imagines
he can swim, will be convinced of his error the moment
he gets into deep water. He will either wade ashore
or drown. The man of "taste" never finds out his
error.
ᎪᎡᎢ.
139
If we abandon taste as universal, may we grant
the possession of it to individuals especially gifted
by nature; that is to say, may it be admitted that
these individuals understand art without having ac-
quired a knowledge of it? To answer this question
in the affirmative would imply that these persons have
replaced acquired knowledge by personal observation.
If so, this is in itself a species of education: but we
may well doubt the possibility of this, as human life
is too short to observe anew what has been observed
before; and also because the most acute observer is
subject to error, to eliminate which is the principal
work of education.
What is true in the premises is that one man may
learn faster than another, by reason of a more vigorous
and healthy nervous system; but this, after all, is but
a useful tool in the acquisition of knowledge, not
knowledge itself.
The nature of art-and here we mean fine art-be-
ing a representation of ideas in matter, we must con-
clude that its function is to convey instruction. It
will doubtless be objected that no artist enters the
field of art with this view, nor does he pursue art for
this purpose; and, also, that the outlay of mental and
technical effort involved in art seems disproportionate
to the result in knowledge.
It may be granted that the dissemination of knowl
edge is not the primary object of the art student; but
this does not prove that it is not the ultimate result of
art. The causes which prompt men to devote them-
selves to art are, like all direct natural causes, often
distinct from and irrelevant to the ultimate end
attained.
140
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
We eat because it gratifies a physical appetite, and
tickles the palate. Very few persons sit down to din-
ner with the avowed object of renovating their physi
cal organism. We learn to swim, not in order to cross
rivers, but to enjoy the sensation of swimming about
aimlessly.
Many become artists through an inherent love of na-
ture, or because they desire the social position enjoyed
by other artists; many because the effort involves
great exertion, and they are ambitious to overcome
difficulties; while others imagine the reverse to be
true, and that art is an easy road to affluence and
fame. The great majority believe that they are pos-
sessed of taste, and that nothing more than taste is
needed to place them in the first ranks of art.
But the true artist, when finally developed, becomes
a teacher and a prophet to his race, whether he knows
it or not. Poetry and painting, music, the drama,
sculpture, and architecture, depict emotions which, by
a process of mental contagion, generate sympatheti-
cally other emotions, and thus teach men to feel ideas
which they could not comprehend in their abstract
form.
It is true that an idea may be demonstrated or de-
fined with much less labor than it can be represented
in matter by means of art; but when we consider that
whenever an idea is represented in matter successfully,
it lives forever, and communicates thoughts and emo-
tions to multitudes who are in no other way accessible
to them, it becomes a serious question whether, with-
out art, the human race, in spite of the great work of
science, would not sink into barbarism.
CHAPTER XIII.
OF BEAUTY.
WINCKELMANN, in his art history, concludes that it is
impossible to arrive at a comprehensive definition of
beauty. He says of beauty that it is mysterious, and
that it can be measured only by its effects upon man;
meaning thereby the pleasurable emotion experienced
upon the contemplation of a beautiful object. Of this
emotion he ventures to give a description. He says, "It
begins like a gentle titillation of the skin, the precise
location of which we are at a loss to discover."
Theodore Mundt, a German professor of philosophy,
has written a small volume, called "Esthetics, or,
the Idea of the Beautiful and of Art Works, in the
light of our own time." To give a specimen of this
light, as seen by Professor Mundt, we need only to
state what he conceives to be Winckelmann's idea of
the substance of the beautiful. He says, "Winckelmann
has resigned all philosophical comprehension of the
beautiful, yet he describes very correctly its substance,
which in a special sense consists in the fact that it is
everywhere and nowhere."
Let the student of art wait until he feels decided
symptoms of titillation of the cuticle in a particular
spot which is everywhere and nowhere, and he will
know that he is in the presence of beauty, the substance
of which is also everywhere and nowhere, and the
141
142
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
nature of which is so mysterious that, by the light of
our time, we cannot with sufficient clearness form a
philosophic conception of it. He will then be per-
fectly sure that he is blessed with a vision of a true
work of fine art.
It is the accepted theory that works of art and nature
are possessed of a quality named beauty, and by reason
of this quality they produce a pleasurable emotion.
The subjective treatment of æsthetics relates to the
subject as affected by the beauty of a work of art, and
inquires into the nature of the emotions, in order to
elicit an answer to the question, what is beauty? The
objective treatment, on the other hand, inquires into
the nature of beauty in the first place, and then attempts
to test the success of the definition attained by apply
ing it to the emotions experienced.
The essence of beauty is discussed as well as its
phenomenal manifestations. It is questioned whether
beauty can be determined upon one common property,
or whether there is not a series of properties which are
each and all capable of producing pleasurable emotions
under certain conditions. The emotions being granted,
it is inquired what is the mental quality concerned in
them. All these inquiries are finally to lead us to a
knowledge of the nature of art work, the source and
ultimate effect of the examination.
This method of inquiry may be compared to an at-
tempt to discover the nature of a disease by analyzing
the emotions produced in ourselves upon seeing the
patient, or by the study of his general appearance, or
by both, without first inquiring into the anatomy of the
human body, or the chemical process by which its
vitality is sustained.
OF BEAUTY
143
Winckelmann failed in describing the emotions, be-
cause he imagined that his definition must refer directly
to ultimate physical phenomena resulting from them,
instead of examining first the mental nature of the im-
pression. Doubtless mental impressions react upon the
body; and perhaps the process of this reaction and the
consequent physical result will some day be laid down
in medical works with the same precision with which
we now describe the method of rolling an iron beam
or boring a steam cylinder. It is very possible that
the mental impression produced by beauty in art and in
nature may result in nervous action akin to titillation;
but when we contemplate the endless series of experi
ences, physical and mental, which produce similar re-
sults, then Winckelmann's definition of the emotions
can only mislead us. And again, at best, Winckelmann
gives us only his personal experience. Personal expe-
rience, under special physical conditions, cannot be ac-
cepted as a philosophical guide to art. You may see
numbers of persons in front of Raphael's Madonna, in
the Dresden gallery, who are subject to no emotion
whatever, until told that the canvas is worth hundreds
of thousands of pounds, and could not be bought at
any price-which financial statement alone may suffice
to throw them into ecstacies.
The emotions experienced in viewing an ingeniously
contrived machine, or at the solution of a mathematical
problem, a problem of any kind, of mental or physical
nature, say a fine shot around the table in billiards, the
turning of a pirouette in dancing, a clever checkmate,
the result of a race, and in many other performances
which have decidedly no relation to beauty or art,-are
doubtless so near akin to the emotions experienced in
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
the contemplation of the beautiful, that we can on that
ground not rely upon the emotions as a guide to art.
When we contemplate the infinite variety of objects
which are universally recognized as beautiful, it is very
difficult to discover any one physical property common
to all. With regard to form, if we compare a tree, a
woman, a mountain, a cathedral, a vase, and a poem,
we cannot say that these objects resemble each other in
any one element of their form; and the same is also true
as to their color. But when we reflect that sounds are
beautiful as well as forms, we must abandon all quali-
ties which can be perceived by special senses as possi-
bly common to all species of beauty.
But then there may be certain attributes of art objects
which are abstract qualities not relating to form, color,
or sound. The first attribute naturally thought of is
agreeableness. All works of nature and art produce
an agreeable emotion, if not in all persons, at least in
a large number of persons. Unfortunately, for this
hypothesis, the converse is not true, viz.: that all objects
or sounds which produce agreeable emotions or sensa
tions are beautiful.
It is suggested by Lord Jeffrey that perhaps no
object is beautiful in the abstract to all persons; but
that objects bring up to the minds of some, certain
human experiences with which these objects are related,
which experiences constitute the source of pleasurable
emotions. As every work of art is the expression of
an idea, and as human ideas naturally pertain to
human interests, the application of this theory is so
frequently found to be correct, that it has been re-
ceived with great approval by profound thinkers. But
unfortunately it is the case here, as in the previous
OF BEAUTY.
145
instance of agreeableness, that the reminiscences of
these human relations are frequently excited by objects
entirely devoid of beauty. When Lucinda had left
the room, Alfred found one of her gloves, which he
preserves to this day. That glove is not a work of art.
Plato has established the principle that it is mind
alone that is beautiful; and if by this he meant that
fine art deals with ideas purely, and that the mental
quality which enables man to express ideas in matter
in imitation of nature, which also conveys in every
organism of her creation an idea which explains the
functions of the organism so perfectly that we bow
down in admiration of the mental power manifested,
we are certainly indebted to him for a leading thought
in æsthetics; but we must regret at the same time that
he has not stated this in terms. His definition of beauty,
though undoubtedly correct and comprehensive, does
not, after all, add to the stock of knowledge on the
subject. He says, in the greater IIyppias, that beauty is
that by which all beautiful things are beautiful.
Socrates holds that beauty may consist in the fitness
or suitableness of any object to the place it occupies.
This is true, no doubt, as to many art works; but
especially true of a nail driven into a plank. IIe says
that pictures and other purposeless works of art, when
used to adorn a house, hindered rather than furthered
enjoyment, because of the space they took from useful
objects. This accords with the modern idea that art
works are things not necessary to man.
Aristotle's views are interesting, mainly as support-
ing the principle that art work deals with things
unnecessary (or directly useless); and also as fore-
shadowing the theories of Pere Buffier, afterward
10
146
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
adopted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, that beauty consists
in a certain magnitude; it being desirable that the
object, whether a natural body or a work of art, should
not be too large, while clearness of perception demands
that it should not be too small. On the other hand, he
seems to think that, provided the whole be visible as
such, the greater magnitude of an object is itself an
element of beauty. Pere Buffier's construction of the
theory is, that beauty consists in mediocrity or con-
formity to that which is most usual. When applied to
animal forms, special cases would certainly justify such
a theory, which is the probable reason why it was
adopted later by Sir Joshua Reynolds. But it is very
far from forming a theory which can be accepted as a
law of beauty, especially as, notions of magnitude can-
not apply to music, poetry, dancing, or the drama.
Baumgarten, the first of the Germans who attempted
a complete system of the philosophy of art and the
beautiful, approached the truth more nearly than any
of his successors. Logical knowledge, he says, has for
its object, truth, and aesthetic knowledge, beauty. This
would imply that beauty can be received only in op-
position to truth, or, at least, that truth is not an essen-
tial element of beauty, and is so far of doubtful value
in æsthetic inquiry. But he gives us a definition of
logical knowledge as conceptive knowledge (begrei-
fendes Erkennen), the act of the understanding, and its
result, clear conception; while aesthetics deal with con-
ceptions not clear, but confused (verworrene Vorstel
lungen), namely, sensuous knowledge.
This definition is valuable in so far as it determines
the purpose of art to be knowledge. It has been ob-
jected to this mode of dealing with impressions of
OF BEAUTY.
147
beauty simply as intellectual elements, that it fails to
account for the emotional results, feeling being distinct
from knowledge. This would be a valid objection, if
the pleasurable emotion were a result of the knowl
edge acquired, but, as may be shown, this is not the
case. The emotion or the surprise is not the result
of the idea expressed (which is truly a species of
knowledge), but of the fact that by human ingenuity
(art) an idea is expressed in matter, and of the mental
and technical effort of the artist who has succeeded in
expressing it.
The theory of art, as discussed by Schiller in his
famous letters on aesthetic education ("Ueber die äs-
thetische Erziehung des Menschen, in einer Reihe von
Briefen), deserves special consideration, not so much for
the value of its conclusions (for indeed there are no
conclusions with reference to either the nature of
beauty or the function of art), but for the large repu-
tation of that theory and its errors, in spite of a seein-
ingly profound philosophical verbiage which surrounds
it. Schiller reviews the sensual tendency of man, which
he calls the tendency of matter (Stofftrieb) and the
counteracting tendency of reason, the moral law which
he terms the tendency to form (Formtrieb), which means
the tendency to restrain sensuous nature within the
limits of certain forms or laws. He takes great pains to
show that these two tendencies are not in absolute oppo-
sition to each other, when in reality the one is the com-
plement of the other, as in a clock, the pendulum is the
complement of the spring, both the invention of the
same mind. Without the pendulum the clock would
run down in a very short time, and during that time it
would not perform its functions, viz: to keep correct
148
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
time. Man is a species of clock; his sensuous desires
and passions are the spring, his moral convictions the
pendulum. The solicitude to continue life as long as
possible, and to enjoy existence while it lasts, necessi
tates restraint in gratifying physical appetites; and
thus the most uncultivated is willing to submit to rea-
son, and the most refined to yield to the dictates of the
senses. That in so doing, there is a constant success on
one side and then on the other, or a constant attempt
and failure at equilibrium, as Schiller has it, is certainly
true: but it is not true, as he says, that the burden of
this battle is so great for man that he resorts to art
creation by virtue of a third tendency, which he calls
a tendency to play (Spieltrieb), for the purpose of evad-
ing this constant restraint in a field where the restraint
is not an absolute necessity, or does not exist. The
creations of art are subject to the same laws as those
of nature. The artist as the creator, and his audience,
both participate in the human tendencies and restraints
of the heroes of art production to the extent of actual
joy and suffering; and no transgression against these
natural laws can for a moment be indulged without det-
riment to the art work. Art is re-creation; and when
the author paints his hero, he fights with him the battle
of life. This hero, moreover, being an ideal hero, has
strong passions and strong principles to combat; and
his suffering and triumphs become those of the author
the more intently as his final success is dependent upon
the sympathy of the audience who sit in judgment
upon the justice of the expression of this very battle,
which forms the gist of the idea, the final success of
a moral principle, or the punishment of a disregard of
it. IIence Franz Moor commits suicide, and Fiesco is
OF BEAUTY.
149
drowned; and even Carl Moor, who sins no more than
he is sinned against, must leave the stage to meet his
doom.
At best Schiller's theory attempts to explain only
how art came to be, and his explanation in this is not
sound. The pursuit of art is not a mere (Spieltrieb)
desire to play; it is re-creation, a desire to do, to work,
to explain and illustrate nature's laws. The reverse is
true, inasmuch as play, even with children, is a species
of effort at re-creation, an attempt to do the things
which are done by grown persons, and the charm of
which, to the child, is directly proportional to success
in approaching this result. The questions to be an-
swered are: What is the distinguishing element in an
art work which gives it place, a high place in the list of
human productions? What are its intellectual func-
tions, and whence our interest in it? These questions
are not answered by Schiller.
Leveque comes to the conclusion that all beauty,
in its objective essence, is either spirit or unconscious
force, acting with fullness and order. We may pre-
sume the unconscious force to mean a force pertaining
to the object of which we are unconscious to this ex-
tent-that we admit its presence but do not know its
nature; which, after all, amounts to the same thing as
the spirit of the object. If by spirit M. Leveque means
the idea expressed through matter in the art work, we
must regret that he did not say so.
Franz Hemsterhuis, a Dutch writer, speaks of recon-
ciliation between the sensational and the intuitive sys-
tems of knowledge. This assumes intuitive knowledge
to be independent. of sensuous impressions, which can-
not be true, and he admits as much. He
"The
says,
150 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
only faculty of true knowledge is an internal sense;
nevertheless all true knowledge comes through the
senses." And further he explains that the soul desires
immediate and complete knowledge, and, being limited
by its union with the senses, which are incapable of
perfectly simultaneous action, strives to gain the great-
est number of the elements of cognition or ideas in the
shortest possible time: in proportion as this effort is
successful, the knowledge is attended with enjoyment.
The highest measure of this delight is given by beauty;
wherefore it may be defined as that which affords the
largest number of ideas in the shortest time.
Here we have great truths hidden in a surrounding
of error.
We are convinced, however, that Hemster-
huis dug after the truth to a purpose; that he ap-
proached it sufficiently near to feel vividly its pres-
ence, yet not near enough to analyze its nature. He
evidently feels, what Baumgarten definitely states, that
art deals with knowledge-the knowledge of ideas;
not a definite knowledge indeed, but a conception, not
clear but confused; or, to translate his expression (ver-
worrene Vorstellungen) more accurately, a confused
conception of a reality perceived by the senses. Now
there is much gained by this conviction that fine art is
a species of knowledge, a thought, an idea, a conclu-
sion, the result of sensuous perception; or, in other
words, an idea represented in matter. It is also true
that the soul desires immediate and complete knowl
edge; but it is not true that the soul (by which we
must suppose IIemsterhuis to mean the ultimate ar
rangement of facts perceived by the senses, and elab-
orated into an idea) is limited by its union with the
senses, which are incapable of perfectly simultaneous
OF BEAUTY.
151
action. The senses are the instruments of the process
which is completed in the brain. Without these in-
struments the brain could not procure the elements
which must form the hypothesis of all action. We
may as well say that the quarry-man who desires to
separate a part of the rock, is encumbered in doing so
by his wedges and drills and hammer; that these tools
are incapable of perfectly simultaneous action. The
tools would act simultaneously and instantaneously if
his arm were a trip-hammer of sufficient power to do
the work without a perceptible lapse of time. Nor
can it be said that the senses do not act with sufficient
rapidity to keep pace with working of the brain. It
is the brain which retards the process of perfect cogni-
tion by the work imposed upon it in rehearsing a large
series of sensuous impressions realized elsewhere and
at various previous times, which are needed to help it
to a final and truthful conclusion more or less complete.
When we look at the sun, we see it instantly as it pre-
sents itself to us in its environment of distance. We
see a disc of light, and, in the absence of all further
knowledge or previous sensuous impressions bearing
upon the subject, either had by ourselves or commu-
nicated to us by other persons, the idea arrived at
would be simply this, that the sun is a burning disc
suspended conveniently near to light the earth. This
is the sum of the confused knowledge we should pos
sess of the sun, and it would be derived entirely from
our sense of sight.
A just appreciation of the magnitude of the sun in-
volves the knowledge of a long train of facts observed
also by the sense of sight which bear upon the com-
plicated investigation of the transit of Venus. Now
152 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
the understanding of a common observer of the sun
does not contain a repertory of all or perhaps even the
leading facts of distance, velocity, time, etc., as observed
of the relative position of the sun, Venus and the
earth; and though his eyes act with sufficient rapidity
to see the sun as it appears, the understanding, the
brain, or the soul can draw no just conclusion as to the
distance, size, and form of the sun, by merely looking
at it. Parental love, to be understood in all its phases,
needs the relation of innumerable facts, as perceived
by the senses, arguments from these facts, and a state-
ment of sound conclusions, in order to convince the
uncultivated understanding of the magnitude of the
interest of the parent in his child. To produce an ade-
quate impression upon the mind of a person not pre-
pared to understand all this, needs time, attention, and
the exercise of certain abilities, both on the part of the
instructor and the instructed. A picture of the return
of the prodigal son not only develops at once all the
facts in the case, but exposes the principles, the senti-
ments, the virtues, vices, and repentance illustrated by
the actors in the picture, and permits the beholder to
see at once, with very little intellectual exertion, the
facts, the arguments, and the conclusion contained in
that simple legend; and affords him the agreeable sen-
sation arising from the successful technical and mental
effort of the artist who produced the picture, and who
thus expresses in a manner to be seen at a glance,
this whole history with its moral lesson hiding and
yet plainly revealing a series of arguments, which are
made apparent to the beholder.
All this is the gratification of the soul, as IIemster-
huis has it, which desires immediate and complete
OF BEAUTY.
153
knowledge; but it is through the exertion of the senses
alone that the soul desires or can obtain this knowledge,
but not by its own exertion; hence the senses do not,
as Hemsterhuis thinks, limit the soul by their union
with it by reason of inability to act simultaneously;
but they are the factors which perform the whole of
this intellectual function. We cannot entirely disap-
prove of his final definition of beauty as "the element,
which in an object affords the largest number of ideas
in the shortest time;" but we should certainly modify
it by stating that the ideas need not be, in fact rarely
are, numerous; on the contrary, works of fine art almost
invariably deal with but one idea; nor can it be said
that the revelation of an idea in any other manner in a
short time is necessarily a work of fine art. But this
is true, that when an idea is so represented in matter
that we can recognize its nature without serious exer-
tion of the mind, by a mere sensuous effort, then this
representation of an idea in matter may be said to be
beautiful. Whether this, however, is the best defini-
tion of the nature of a work of art and of its essential
merit will appear further on.
Lord Shaftesbury believes that the beautiful and the
good are combined in one ideal conception; also, that
matter in itself is ugly. We cannot accept this as a
sound logical statement, inasmuch as it speaks of the
beautiful and the good as two entities, which are found
to be united in one idea of conception; hence it must
be possible for the beautiful to exist without the good,
the good not being necessarily an element of the beau-
tiful; which is probably the reverse of what the writer
intended to establish. The assertion that matter is in
itself ugly, means probably that without a combination
154
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
with an idea it is not beautiful, which does not estab
lish the fact that in that condition it is ugly; for ugli
ness, indeed, implies the presence of an idea imperfectly
rendered in matter. He says, further, the order of the
world, wherein all beauty really resides, is a spiritual
principle, all motion or life being the product of spirit.
Rain is the product of clouds; but it would not be
true to conclude for that reason that the clouds are
the source of all water: on the contrary, clouds are a
temporary condition of water.
We know something of matter, its motion, and the
order of its motion. It is suggested, however, that
this order is a law or principle which emanates not
from matter in motion, nor from its relation to other
matter, but from a source which is not matter at all,
which is called spirit (an entity not matter). All we
know of spirit therefore, assuming that our speculation
is knowledge, is that it is the property of spirit to de-
termine laws of motion (principles of motion). We
further know that these laws of motion are eternal;
the function of the spirit has ceased, therefore, at
the time when the laws were established, or at the
beginning of eternity (a period of time without end).
All this must lead to the conclusion that in this
long train of argument the last link which may be
definitely grasped is, that the motion of matter is life,
and that the laws of the motion of matter, which Lord
Shaftesbury calls the order of the world, comprehend
that which we call the beautiful; which says no more
than that the beautiful, not unlike that which is not
beautiful, conveys an idea of matter in motion, and is for
that reason beautiful-a definition which refutes itself
by asserting that the distinguishing feature of the beau-
OF BEAUTY.
155
tiful is the property of all things which move in this
world.
He tells us, also, that the principle of beauty is per-
ceived, not with the outer senses, but with an internal
or moral sense (which perceives the good as well).
This perception affords the only true delight, namely,
spiritual enjoyment.
It is very difficult to comprehend anything that is
perceived otherwise than by the senses, even a prin-
ciple, which is the recurring relation of phenomena as
perceived by the senses, or to grant superior value to
internal perception over the external.
If our eyes were covered with a skin resembling
that which covers the rest of our face, with this excep-
tional quality, that it were transparent from within
when the light impinged on the outside of it, but ab-
solutely opaque to reflected rays impinging on the
inside of it, then the sense of sight would become an
internal sense. A mental impression of an object seen
in the past differs in no way from the fixed picture on
a sensitive plate exposed in a camera, except in the
process, which is evidently not photographic, inasmuch
as a verbal description, or the touching of an object
will and does reproduce the permanent impression
equally well. But whatever the process, the percep-
tion itself cannot be ranked higher than any other
sensuous perception, either because the process affects
tissue invisible to us, or because we do not know how
the tissue is affected. The moral sense, so called, is
nothing more nor less than the consideration of our
own physical interests from that particular standpoint
where we see ourselves as a part of the universe; it is
more comprehensive than the mere function of our eye
156
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
when it perceives an impending blow; it presupposes
the sensuous perception of a series of physical phe-
nomena pertaining to ourselves and others, and the
universe, and on that account being nothing more than
a series of sensuous experiences applied to human
physical conditions. Nor can we assert that moral
considerations exclusively contemplate the good so
called, inasmuch as the recognition of the good implies
a contemplation of the opposite, or the bad; more
especially as moral law pertains to the avoidance of
evil as well as to the performance of that which is
good. It is even so with what Lord Shaftesbury
calls spiritual enjoyment, which is nothing more than
a physical enjoyment in anticipation or in retrospect.
Nor can we in all this find a definition of the beautiful,
nor of a work of fine art. Lord Shaftesbury's distin-
guishing order in which he expresses the three grades
of beauty, do not help us in this matter any more than
his other arguments and explanations. They are as
follows:
1st. Inanimate objects, including works of art.
2d. Living forms which reveal the spiritual forma-
tive force; and
3d. The source from which these forms spring-
God.
Speculation as to conditions of form which consti-
tute beauty are very numerous. Magnitude, it has
been asserted, is an element of beauty; and so it is in
so far as it indicates dignity in a structure, or power
in a mountain or a cataract: but in a human nose it
would tend to the ugly, either because it is a mass of
matter not needed to perform a limited function, or
because the function performed by it indicates defect-
!
157
OF BEAUTY.
ive organization in some other part of the human
body. In the negro a certain excess of nose (as con-
sidered from our standpoint) is not ugliness, because
in his native country that organ must admit a much
larger measure of atmospheric air at every inspiration,
on account of the expansion of the air by heat. Hence
a negro woman may be considered a beauty in her own
country, and decidedly ugly in a colder climate. Ob-
jects which are soft to the touch, and according to others
those which offer a moderate amount of resistance, are
held to be beautiful on that account. It is very difficult
to ascertain what special objects are referred to. If a
certain rigidity is of that degree which responds to the
functions performed by an object, there is no doubt
that it becomes expressive of those functions, and con-
stitutes for that reason an element of beauty. Neverthe-
less, conditions of density of matter cannot be accepted
of themselves, and in all cases, to be a property which
determines beauty. Certain lines have been accepted as
beautiful, and objects presenting those lines in their
contour have been pronounced to possess the property
of beauty on that account. Hogarth's line of beauty
has furnished æsthetic stock in trade to the artists of
his time, and is now glibly spoken of by amateur
critics and laymen. In the human form, this line is
often expressive of the functions performed by the
parts; yet others, endowed with a curvature of that
description, would be pronounced decidedly the re-
verse of beautiful, even by Hogarth himself. And parts
of structure which resist strain are, no doubt, subject
to the same ruling, on the ground that this line is often
inconsistent with a just expression of the functions.
performed.
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
Proportion, as commonly understood, is probably the
most delusive attribute of beauty. All objects, beau-
tiful or the reverse, are possessed of a quality which
may be designated a relation of parts or proportion.
To constitute beauty, therefore, a precedent condition,
requires that the proportions of part of an object should
be just. How are we to ascertain that these proportions
are just? The answer is, when the object is beauti-
ful. And if we ask the further question, when and un-
der what conditions is an object beautiful? the an-
swer is, when its parts are proportionate.
This endless circular argument has further resolved
itself into a circle of three links instead of two, viz.:
beauty excites a pleasurable emotion; hence, when in
the presence of a work of art or of nature, we expe-
rience a pleasurable emotion, we know that the ob-
ject is possessed of the property known as beauty, and,
hence, that its parts are proportionate. But we know
that the so-called pleasurable emotions are by no means
a sure guide to art, inasmuch as pleasurable emotions
are often due to other causes; and, also, that their in-
tensity depends as much upon the nature of the subject
in whom they are excited, as upon the object exciting
them. Hence the pleasurable emotions do not assist
us in determining either the beauty, or the value of
existing proportion in an object. But if the proportion
of parts relates to their functions as members of the
whole, then we certainly can resort to mechanical and
anatomical considerations capable of mathematical de-
monstration.
Père Bouffier's idea, that average magnitudes consti-
tute beauty, can apply to the animal creation only, and
merely expresses the sentiment of Pope, "Whatever
OF BEAUTY.
159
is, is right:" but it cannot be extended to art works or
to natural scenery; as a mountain exceeding twenty-
eight thousand feet in height, or the trees of the Yo-
semite valley would become decidedly ugly.
It has been suggested that the idea of beauty grows
out of an interest in human relations; and, furthermore,
that art-works deal exclusively with these relations.
It has been ingeniously urged that natural beauty,
say the beauty of a landscape, is to be found in its
adaptability to a possible human dwelling-place: hence
the dreariness of a desert. But all this does not ac-
count for the beauty of the lion, the tiger, the inacces-
sible crevasse, or the volcano.
If we pursue the definition of a work of fine art,
viz. that it is an idea expressed in matter, we shall
have no difficulty in understanding clearly the exact
nature of beauty. Fine art is a species of human
short-hand by which the hypothesis, the argument,
and the conclusion pertaining to an idea (which is a
relation of organized matter), are at once presented to
us; and, whether we thoroughly understand it or not,
our senses convey to us a more or less perfect picture,
capable of producing an impression, proportionate to
our understanding, indeed, but within that limit per
fectly complete.
A logical demonstration of the same idea in words,
in definition, explanation, argument and conclusion,
contemplates a certain amount of intellectual prepara-
tion proceeding through a variable length of time.
During this time we are called upon to entertain
thoughts, relations, principles in which we have no per-
ceptible interest, until their relation to the final con-
clusion is reached; and then only if we have followed
160 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
the argument throughout, and have fully succeeded in
mastering it. This process is tiresome to the mind, and
but rarely successful. But in art work, or in a work
of nature (which is an idea presented in matter), we
can, at a glance, take in the whole scope of this idea;
not, indeed, to the extent of its full import, but to such
an extent as we are prepared intellectually to realize.
The very first result of such a sensuous perception is
an idea brought to our mind, as it were, by simply
looking at it, or by listening to it, and before we have
fully realized the scope and import of it, we are im-
pressed by the magnitude of the mental effort capable
of creating such a work of nature, or of art. The dumb
thing speaks to us, and we are delighted to find that it
can be made to speak; and we say that it is beautiful.
Now, it does not matter whether it speaks to us in the
soothing tones of love from the laughing eyes of a
Cupid, or in the thunder notes of a cataract, a volcano,
or a storm. This knowledge that it is matter which is
addressing us, prompts us to admire the mind, the force,
the dexterity which can make matter speak to us;
and when we say it is beautiful, we mean by it that
the successful effort to express an idea in matter is
beautiful. The idea itself may be hateful to us; we
may even fear and dread it. Take hell, for instance,
with all its horrors. When Dante pictures it to us, we
love and admire the picture, and deem it beautiful :
not because it is hell, but because it is a creative tri-
umph of human ingenuity to present a picture of hell,
the idea of eternal torment expressed in matter,
whether it be presented on canvas or in words. Now
it must be remembered as more especially important
that this admiration of the creative mind refers to mind
A
OF BEAUTY.
161
in the abstract; not at all to the author of the art work,
or to God, the author of natural productions. We
admire the force whatever it be (call it mind, dexterity,
skill, anything.) which imbues matter with a meaning
so that it may communicate to us what it is itself do-
ing-how it came into existence, how it is sustained in
life, or what are its functions, its habits, and its prob-
able end; as is the case in works of nature, and as is
the case, also, in art work, when it speaks to us of
human relations with humanity, or with the universe
outside of humanity.
Nor do we reflect especially upon the idea commun-.
icated when we pay this tribute to the creative force.
It is indifferent to us whether the idea be one to excite
pleasure or pain, whether it present to us a picture of
virtue or vice, whether it treat of the heroism or the
follies and foibles of humanity: in every one of these
cases our tribute to the creative force is one of pleas-
urable excitement. Now the work of the creative force,
as seen in nature or in art, is the beauty we talk about.
The success in making matter speak, or sing, or dance,
so that it conveys an idea by its expression, constitutes
beauty; and the degree of expression, considering the
environment of the idea expressed, and the nature of
the matter in which it is expressed, constitutes the
degree of its beauty.
Now this is worthy of being more closely examined.
Are beauty and expression convertible terms? Cer-
tainly not. Beauty is the measure of creative force in
the abstract. Expression is the result of creative force
contemplated as dealing with certain given ideas and
certain given matter in which the ideas are to be ex-
pressed. The nature of the idea, its tractability, and
11
162
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
the nature of the matter employed, become elements in
the final expression. For instance, the difficulty of
expressing the same idea must, with a given quantity
of creative force, increase with the nature of the matter
employed somewhat in the following order:
1st. A picture produced by dramatic action upon
the stage.
2d. A picture in words.
3d. As expressed in a statue.
4th. Upon canvas.
5th. In music; and, finally,
6th. In an architectural monument.
Or, again, the quantity of matter employed in one,
and the same method of expressing an idea becomes
an element of expression, as may be readily seen in
these two problems; a colossal Cupid and a statuette
of Jupiter.
In nature, where the creative force is infinite, the
other two elements which, in connection with it
constitute the measure of expression, become so insig-
nificant that they may be safely neglected; hence in
natural phenomena, beauty and expression become
identical in quantity, if not in meaning.
A natural organism which fails to perform the func
tions intended, or an organism which performs func-
tions inferior to the standard of excellence known to
us as the functions habitually performed by similar
organisms, is called ugly.
When such an organism is represented in matter
with premeditation, the object being to convey the
notion of a fallacious idea, this is a work of fine art;
the object represented is ugly; and the art production
(if successful) is beautiful at the same time. This
OF BEAUTY.
163
condition of things illustrates forcibly the relation of
the beautiful, the ugly, and of art expression.
When the functions successfully performed by a
natural organism or an art object transcend functions
habitually contemplated and known to us, such a work
of art or of nature is said to be sublime.
When an organism in nature or art falls short of a
due performance of function to a limited extent, it is
ludicrous.
The popular saying, that there is but a short step
from the sublime to the ridiculous is a popular error;
for the reason that there is a difference in the degree
of function to be performed, as well as in the success
of performance. The sublime contemplates the full
performance of a transcendent function; the ludicrous
falls short of a normal function.
An object of nature or of fine art to be pronounced
ugly, must possess all the features, parts of structure,
or functional parts needed for the full performance of
the function; but in a degree either in excess of, or in-
sufficient, or rudimentary in force or quality, to make
a successful performance of the function possible.
An object of nature or of fine art to be pronounced
ludicrous, must, in its organism as a whole respond to
the function it is intended to perform; but must fail
to do so essentially and clearly in some direction, in
some one feature, part of structure, or functional part.
And this failure must arise from an insufficiency of
force or action, and not an excess of it.
In a work of fine art representing the ludicrous, we
again find the possibility of co-existing perfect beauty
and imperfect expression.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE IDEAL AND IMITATION.
THESE are terms constantly used in æsthetics, but
rarely understood and very often misconstrued.
A current error is that the ideal is the opposite of
reality, and that the artist, to give dignity and value
to his work, must mend the reality which he essays to
depict according to a standard prompted by his own
sense of what this reality ought to be; it is a species
of misrepresentation in the interests of art and some-
times of artists, which has no foundation in the nature
of art, and leads to no art results. Often this ideal-
izing process refers merely to a change of the physical
development of the object to be presented. This is
more especially the case in portraiture on canvas or in
stone. The current talk of idealizing human features,
forms, and costume, leads at once to the examination
of portrait work, and the resulting inquiry to what
extent it may be recognized as fine art. Fine art is
the representation in matter of an idea indirectly
through the direct representation of an emotion.
Unless the aim of the artist in a portrait is to delin-
eate one or more prevalent objective emotions which
through frequency have become habitual, and have
imprinted themselves on the features and figure of the
original, the work produced is not a work of fine art.
164
THE IDEAL AND IMITATION.
165
Another current error is, that the function of the
ideal in art contemplates the representation in matter
of ideas or acts which exceed those found in nature;
that we should depict heroism, piety, devotion, love,
etc., greater than any heretofore known in history, or
that we should invent forms which manifest and ex-
press given ideas better than the forms of nature can
express these ideas.
It may well be doubted whether this can be done;
and, if it could be done, it would be inconsistent with
another fundamental law of art, viz. : imitation, which
prescribes limits incompatible with such an attempt.
If we refer to the definition that art is the repre-
sentation of an idea in matter, and that, further, the
artist must, in order to represent an idea, select an act
illustrating it, and an emotion which results from this
act; that he must in his art work represent this emo-
tion; and, farther, that the success of his creation
depends upon his technical skill in executing it,—it
becomes evident that in the selection of the act and
the resulting emotion must be involved the idealizing
process of the art work: and this is really true.
The emotion to be represented in matter determines
the technical skill required to represent it; and the
greater the technical skill the greater the art force
displayed.
The ideal which the artist selects determines the
intricacy and difficulty of the work he has to execute.
An example enables us to see this more clearly.
Charity, for instance, is an idea illustrated by the act
of giving to the poor, or by an emotion of sorrow
arising from harsh judgment expressed in our pres-
ence. A gift to a ragged cripple, the widow's mite,
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
are typical instances of charitable action. The emo-
tions, caused by these acts find expression through
physical functions. Sorrow at the uncharitableness of
others is an emotion of which the physical functions
are infinitely more difficult to apprehend and also to
express in matter, than emotions resulting from the
mere giving of alms. In the latter case, the act itself
becomes an illustration of the emotion; in the former,
the physical functions of the emotion demand subtle
analysis, and can be expressed through matter only by
consuminate technical skill.
The more exalted the act which illustrates the idea,
the more difficult is the problem of rendering the re-
sulting emotions in matter; and the greater must be
the theoretical knowledge and technical skill of the
artist to fully and clearly tell the story he desires to
communicate; and hence the greater the obstacles to
success.
The common notion that the ideal in art is opposed
to the real in nature will now become apparent. The
woman who has lost her child may be represented on
the stage, shrieking in front of an edifice where the
child is supposed to be. She may cry and tear her
hair. Is this a phase of fine art? Yes, certainly; but
of an inferior degree. Neither author nor actor shows
much creative skill in making the idea apparent. The
mother's grief is true to nature, but formed after a
rude and low ideal. It is a grief of so demonstrative
a character, as to need no art to make it apparent.
Mary Stuart is represented by Schiller as meeting
her death calmly. She does not dwell on herself or
on her doom, but admits her transgressions, and exon-
erates herself from false accusations in the fewest
THE IDEAL AND IMITATION.
167
words; she speaks long and lovingly of the services
of her friends; and expresses her regrets at parting
with them, more in their interest than in her own.
Observe how the ideal of the author, manifested through
the acts and emotions of the Queen, illustrates the idea
of grief at approaching death, in the most poetic and
exalted manner, and also with perfect truth to nature.
The selection of the act and of its resulting emotion
to illustrate an idea in fine art, constitutes the ideal.
Imitation in art is commonly understood to mean
the copying of nature's forms as we find them. If it
meant this and nothing more, it could have no appli-
cation to architecture and music; and but a partial ap-
plication to poetry and dancing. But it means more
than this: it means that in the creations of art we
should imitate the methods of nature in modelling her
organisms, by which these organisms are endowed with
an expression of the functions which they perform.
In other words, nature's laws in modelling organisms.
apply to the ideal organisms of art as well.
Art deals with ideas (relations of matter). Nature
also deals with relations of matter. Whenever we ob
serve a temporary relation of matter in nature, and
all relations of matter are temporary,-the duration of
this relation becomes of interest to us, and we inquire
diligently into its origin, its development, and final
dissolution. A plant, an animal, are aggregations of
matter in relation; and every phase of their existence,
be it development or decay, is a function of this special
aggregation of matter. We watch these functions
from various standpoints. We observe the mechanical
work performed, the elements which compose the
organism (its atomic constituents), the division and
168 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
sub-division of organic constituent parts, its general
form. With regard to form, whether it be the general
form of a complicated organism, or the form of its
members, down to the form of elementary cells, we
everywhere find expressed in that form the function
performed by the organism. This expression, art is to
imitate. How is this to be done? Common sense
answers: Take this natural form as a model, and imi-
tate it. Common sense here, as elsewhere, is over-con-
fident.
In painting and sculpture, as far as these arts deal
with natural forms, the copying process would, of it-
self alone, be insufficient. In architecture, poetry and
music, ideal forms must be developed, as there are none
to be found in nature. To paint the animal form,
means to paint the skin as affected by the motion of
the skeleton and the muscles of the animal. To know
exactly how the form of the animal is affected by its
internal mechanical apparatus, it is necessary to know
the form of the parts of the machine; that is, the form
of the bones and muscles; and, also, the mechanical
laws in obedience to which these bones move when
acted upon by the muscles under the influence of the
nerves, which are directly affected by an idea or a
physical desire to move. The modifications of animal
form under the influence of motion or emotion, are too
subtle to be readily seen by looking at them; although
it is true that much may be accomplished by long con-
tinued and attentive observation. The sculpture of
the Greeks, who lived in the presence of the naked
human form, serves as an illustration of this. But
when we pass beyond the limits, within which art
deals directly with natural organisms, it must be evi-
THE IDEAL AND IMITATION.
169
dent that imitation must be directed first to acquiring
a knowledge of the mechanical laws of nature.
Such a knowledge enables the architect to construct
the skeleton of a structure, which, in the form and re-
lation of its parts, shall be abundantly competent to
resist that disintegration which in all statical organisms
proceeds from gravitation, and the disturbing influences
of atmospheric action. It enables him also to determine
how much of this structural skeleton must be betrayed
in the visible form of his monument, in order to convey
the assurance that stability is its first quality.
Imitation of nature in art may be examined from
another standpoint. Art is a species of creation, which
creation we must learn from nature; and when we have
learned it, we must diligently apply what we know.
Nature's organisms are the result of environment.
Elementary substances aggregate into organic forms,
whenever these substances suffice for the renewal of
an animal or vegetable organism. Conditions of rela
tion are maintained by the functions of assimilation, of
elementary matter, and of reproduction of kind. Re-
production and assimilation are carried on by special
organs provided for that purpose, and organs of motion
are supplied to reach the elementary matter needed
for renewal. All this is accomplished with an outlay
of matter just sufficient for the purpose: there is
nothing superfluous, and no deficiency; the economical
employment of all the matter used and brought into
action, determines the form of the organism. It is not
surprising, therefore, that an organism determined by
environment, continuing under the conditions of the
same environment, and free from superfluous matter,
not needed for the purposes of continuance, or in places
170 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
where continuance is not furthered, should be possessed
of a form indicating everywhere the nature of func
tion, and hence should be possessed of the quality
of expression in an eminent degree.
To imitate nature in art, therefore, cannot mean
merely to imitate her created forms, unless that is the
special problem of the work of art; but to apply to
art the laws by which nature's forms are created,-
and this means, to study the environments of the thing
to be created, to supply matter to meet these environ-
ments not only with sufficiency (in abundance perhaps),
but in the right place, in order that the aggregation of
matter, when the organism is completed, shall not only
perform its physical and ideal functions, but shall by
its form everywhere tell the story of these functions,
and demonstrate its efficacy to perform them.
The painter, the sculptor, the poet, and the actor,
as a rule, seek for models in nature. At the same time
it must be observed that the poet does not present his
heroes in the form in which he finds them in nature,
but portrays ideas of them in words. Words are a
method of natural expression, but poetical word-paint-
ing varies so widely from common expression in speech,
and in this direction so far excels nature's models, that
we must recognize in it a new form of art expression,
not directly found in nature but growing out of nature's
principles. Speech depicts matter through description
and definition, which involves an analytic and syn-
thetic examination of matter. Poetry uses words
to depict the forms of matter under the influence of
emotions, and permits us directly to perceive these
emotions. Poetry, moreover, uses impassioned lan-
guage: which, by reason of its earnestness, becomes
THE IDEAL AND IMITATION.
171
metrical, a method of which we find indications in
human intercourse; but which, in poetry, transcends
the limits of lingual expression. When, however, we
contemplate the arts of architecture, music, and danc-
ing, we find no model in nature which they directly
imitate. It is true that among the children of the for-
est, persons living as it were with nature, like the
peasant and the sailor, we find the outgrowth of na-
tive impulses in a species of dance, expressive of cer
tain emotions; but it cannot be said that the ballet is
an imitation of these forms. On the contrary, though
it imitates the principles involved, it exceeds the ideas
and methods in the same degree which obtains in the
case of poetry. The ideas represented, and the forms
used in the ballet, are of an order far higher than those
to be found in nature. This is also the case in music.
Architecture absolutely finds in nature no forms
whatever which it can directly imitate. This is gen-
erally admitted, and has been discussed abundantly.
But it needs to be mentioned here, that while the sub-
ordinate parts of architectural forms, and the archi
tectural decoration of surfaces are composed of forms
borrowed from the animal and vegetable kingdoms,
whenever this borrowing is done, modifications of the
natural form become necessary for two reasons.
These animals and vegetables are called
upon to per-
form functions, which they never performed in their
natural condition; and, 2d, they are translated into a
material (stone or metal), which is not the material of
which nature formed them originally. The question
must be answered: "If nature attempted to produce a
leaf which should be stony in its aspect, and per-
form mechanical work, how should its actual form be
1st.
172 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
I
modified to express both the function and the mate-
rial?" This process, of modifying the character of
natural objects, in form and in color, in order to adapt
them to new material and new functions, is called con-
ventionalizing natural forms, and unless natural forms
are so conventionalized, they cannot be admitted as
productions of fine art.
The application of the principle of imitation to
architectural art, so far as the arrangement of mon-
umental masses and their functions is concerned, must
be confined entirely to the observation of nature's me-
chanical laws. These alone must form the basis of
architectural imitation of nature; and without them
imitation becomes impossible, and architecture ceases
to be a fine art.
CHAPTER XV.
SCIENCE AND ART.
KNOWLEDGE is the echo of the questions asked of
nature. To formulate the question is to create the
germ of the answer. The answer is wise or the reverse,
true or false, in accord with the question asked. It is
not surprising, therefore, that the questioner is content
with the answer received.
Heat, electricity, light, magnetism, attraction, chem-
ical affinity, cohesion, are names shaped into responsive
formulæ, which, so long as they fail to define tangible
material conditions, add of themselves nothing to our
intelligence. Jupiter, Vulcan, Diana, Venus, are simi-
lar echoes of metaphysical questions. These gods
embody causes and forces which are not referable to
human or other material agency, and are formulated
in human forms endowed with recognized but untrace-
able energy of force. Force, so far as it is known to
man, must be defined as an unexplained condition of
matter.
When a phenomenon can be traced to another phe-
nomenon preceding it, the latter is termed a cause,
and the former an effect. The nebular theory of
Laplace will continue to command scientific attention
as long as strong reasons in its favor are observed to
exist, and its absolute truth is not firmly established.
173
174
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
Let this be once done, and the human mind will revert
immediately to the probable condition of matter pre-
ceding its gaseous state. Cause, as far as known to
us, means a preceding phenomenon, and nothing more.
That we have no knowledge whatever of abstract
force or cause has become a scientific axiom recognized
by all.
Current discussion is concerned with unseen intelli-
gences, such, for instance, as the human will, which is
believed to be an immaterial cause of material phe-
nomena. This means, in other words, that abstract
force disconnected from matter may exist independ
ently of it, and may endow it with motion. Accord
ing to the law of continuity, this leads to the con-
clusion that matter in motion acting upon nothing
whatever, may at the expense of its own motion
endow this nothing with latent motive force to be
expended upon other matter at a convenient time; or
perhaps that foot pounds may exist independent of
matter. On the other hand, it has been demonstrated
that physical action is itself an expenditure of mate-
rial motion equal in quantity to the motion of the
matter involved in work done, and that the will, there
fore, is nothing more than a directing agency, and not
itself a force. The human will may direct muscular
force to the end that it may build a steam engine, or
to the end that it may break into useless fragments
another steam engine already built. This choice of
action is the faculty known as will. The question
may be asked, then, Is the will a directive force or an
intermediate link between material phenomena? The
motive for manufacturing an engine is directly trace-
able to a desire to maintain or advance the interests of
SCIENCE AND ART.
175
human life. To destroy a steam engine is an indirect
method of shortening human life; the former act is
rewarded by society with a draft upon human re-
sources, the latter with the punishment of a corre-
sponding loss. Human will, therefore, is an interme-
diate condition between an expenditure of muscular
force, and a renewal of the same; in fact, nothing
more than a relation of matter and its motion in the
form of a perception, and is, therefore, an idea similar
to that of a mathematical fulcrum of two bodies re-
volving around each other in space, a point without
either substance or motion, neither an effect nor a
cause. Will is the resultant of present appetites and
future necessities, of personal desires and social needs:
it is the center of equilibrium of many forces, but is
itself not a force. The question will be asked, if the
will is no factor in human action what is the cause of
human success and adversity? The answer is, that
this may be found in a well or ill-balanced brain and
perceptive ability of the senses; or, in other words, in
physical condition as determined by the environment
of previous generations and personal training. The
man who gorges to satiety, and who drowns his senses
in wine, has a will in which physical appetite predomi
nates over future necessities, for the reason that the
latter are not as tangible to his perceptive faculties.
as the former. It must be remembered that the will
is an idea, a rapid conclusion regarding a complicated
relation of matter, which relation becomes obscure to
an ill-trained mind in the degree of remoteness of
interest, and not in the degree of apparent relative
importance.
Interests of the human race, of the State, of the
176
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
community and the family are of paramount impor
tance to the individual compared with those interests
which directly affect the momentary well-being of his
person. Interests pertaining to the future are of the
same and often of greater value than those which
concern the present. But the perceptive faculties of
men are dulled to a proper appreciation of their im
portance: hence society has been ever busy in intro-
ducing artificial conditions which are interposed be-
tween seemingly remote human interests and the
immediate perception of them. These are social
regard or contempt, distinction or degradation, by
way of reward or punishment, and such teaching as
can be conveyed to man by depicting human relations,
by art. All these furnish to the individual such intel-
lectual help as he is capable of utilizing.
An impending blow is promptly perceptible to the
dullest comprehension, and the will of the most obtuse
acts with alacrity to ward it off; or, in other words,
the sensuous perception of an immediate physical
injury is followed by a physical act to avert it, and
the point of intersection of two conditions of matter
which must result in personal injury is here termed
human will. To give a blow to another must ulti-
mately result in personal suffering to the aggressor;
but this fact is not so apparent, and needs elucidation
by way of preventive. Fear of the punishment im-
posed by the law, and of the contempt of his fellow
man, serves the purpose of such elucidation. To control
passion, however, man needs training, and this training
is to be found only in philosophy and art, and for the
majority of men only in the latter.
Philosophy deals with the why and wherefore, the law
SCIENCE AND ART.
177
which governs phenomena. Art deals with human ideas,
which it represents in matter. Human ideas comprise
answers more or less complete to all questions asked
by man. The mathematician admits unknown quanti-
ties, as x and y, in his computation, without an immediate
inquiry into their nature. When his equation is finally
solved, the exact value of x and y will doubtless appear;
but in the meantime they are admissible elements of a
mathematical argument. Metaphysical ideas are often
relations of a and y, or powers of known quantities,
which must needs serve the human understanding in
this form, to be solved or not hereafter, as the case
may be. In the meantime, instead of mathematical
notations, they are formulated in pictures of material
relations, wherein, perhaps, the nature of the matter
forming the relation, or the relation itself, or both, are
unknown quantities. It is a gain, however, to know
that a relation of something does exist; and even if it
should finally prove to be true, that neither the matter
nor the relation is a fathomable quantity, or that one
or the other of them has no existence in fact, this
knowledge in the meantime serves the purpose of an
intellectual crutch to the man who imagines that he
needs one to walk faster than he could by the mere
use of his legs.
It is the problem of science to simplify laws, to
search for those laws which have the most universal
application, to show the relation of different laws, to
make reference to law practicable and easy. It is the
province of art to multiply forms, and to surround men
with their influence. Science helps man to think cor-
rectly; art attempts to spare him the trouble of think-
ing, by presenting to him thought embodied in material
12
178
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
representation. Science is the intellectual capital which
enables man to live mentally on the accruing interest;
art is the accumulated interest of ideal and technical
knowledge to be enjoyed by the masses at every step
of their lives. Science models the human brain into
a well defined serviceable mental tool. Art environs
that same brain with a series of pictures which are
intended to occupy it to the exclusion of its own im-
potent working. Science and art are both intent upon
securing the welfare of man, and enabling him to live
long on the face of the earth. Those who practice
science and art live together in peace and mutual re-
spect. Each recognizes the value of the efforts of the
other, and both are too busy in their own way of serv-
ing mankind, to spend much time in considering which
method is the more beneficial; and whenever such an
inquiry is instituted by either party, it results in the
conclusion that science and art are equally necessary to
man.*
*It cannot be said that the community at large
entertains opinions materially differing from these: at
least it is not often that such opinions find expression
in words. But the acts of men certainly do not point
to a universal understanding of the nature and func
tion of both science and art, and more especially of the
latter. The lack of this understanding often results
in controversies, which at one time were very detri-
mental to human interests, but which at the present
time, fortunately, are only curious and interesting.
Religion, for instance, has heretofore been considered
a simple faith; a belief in certain ideas which it de-
monstrates by means of art. At the present time re-
* Seo Helmholz on Classical Education, for instance.
SCIENCE AND ART.
179
ligion seems to doubt the efficacy of art, and to combat
the potency of science. She has ceased to paint pic-
tures which may effectually illustrate ideas which
cannot be philosophically defended, in the slender
hope that her truths must be capable of scientific de-
monstration, simply because they are truths.
Science devotes itself to the contemplation of mat-
ter and its motion, ignoring all outside of this as ille-
gitimate subjects for scientific inquiry. Science justly
claims, to a limited extent, a positive knowledge of the
nature of matter. It further disclaims positive knowl-
edge of all else. This cannot be construed to be ma-
terialism, in the sense in which that term is offensive
to religious minds; yet it is not surprising that the
enunciation in rapid succession, of new qualities and
changes inherent in matter, seems, in our time, to pious
minds, to exclude the Creator from his creation, and to
limit the boundaries of the continued directive influence
of a personal God. It is not the place here to discuss
the question, whether this anxiety is well-founded or
not; but it is in the interest of art to question, whether
the course pursued in the so-called defence of religion by
certain modern militant churchmen, which attempts
a scientific refutation of an imagined scientific attack
contains, within itself, the promise of success. The
old argument, that everything that is has a cause, and
that, hence, there must be a first cause, and, that this
first cause is God, is clad in scientific terms, and re-
pursued with all the surroundings of a new geological
inquiry. If we should find, they tell us, for instance,
in some strata, a series of metallic globules which, by
their uniformity, preclude the theory of their being a
natural product, we should conclude these globules to
1
180
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
have been made by human hands, we should take
them to be the result of an intelligent premeditation,
to be shot, in fact; and we should insist upon it, that
the presence of this shot in a deposit of nature indi-
cates the presence of man: a directing intelligence;
hence the law and order of creation indicate, with equal
force, the existence of a creator of all things. Unfor
tunately for this argument and its conclusion, it par-
takes of all the weakness of human answers to human
questions, and has very little of their strength. It is
the mere echo of a question not carefully formulated.
Is there a first cause? This is the question. Every-
thing has a cause is the argument; and hence all things
must have a cause, is the conclusion. Preceding phe-
nomena are here rashly accepted as a cause. But cause
and effect, wherever we find them in nature, are but
two links of a chain, the succeeding and preceding
links of which are, in most cases, well known, and have
in many been traced to a connection between the two
ends of this chain. It is, in fact, an endless chain of
no very great length; and where at times its continuity
becomes obscure, there is yet good reason to believe
that such a continuity exists. Hence we really know
nothing of ultimate cause, and cannot make such a
knowledge the basis of an argument.
Man may change the form, motion, and relation of.
matter within the limits of natural laws. These
changes and relations are always temporary and im-
perfect. Man cannot create matter, nor can he endow
it with motion. Creation, as attributed to the Deity,
refers to the very existence of matter, and the perpet-
ual laws of its motion. No sound conclusions can be
drawn from the one to the other. The knowledge of
SCIENCE AND ART.
181
the universe, as attainable by man from his limited
standpoint in nature, is insufficient to permit anything
more than a conception that his own understanding of
what is, must be but an insignificant part of an in-
comprehensible system and purpose, the nature of
which cannot be approached by the contemplation of
probabilities contained in the infinite series of possi-
bilities which surround the subject.
When we consider the difficulties which beset per-
ception of known material magnitudes whenever they
exceed insignificant limits, such, for instance, as a mil-
lion of miles or a million of diameters of the earth's
orbit, or the ratio of the two, it must be apparent that
no conclusion whatever, that is worthy of that name,
can be drawn from human intelligence, which may be
accepted as the foreshadowing of the divine intelli-
gence. The belief in the existence of God is the intel
lectual equivalent of a knowledge that the mental
capacity of man is limited. That the sum of knowledge,
which forms the basis and purpose of law, represents
the essence of power, is a logical conclusion warranted
by the known limitations of human knowledge. Thus
far and no farther reason permits us to pursue the
subject. Beyond this we enter a field of conjecture,
approximation and elimination of error.
Theology distinguishes three possible theories of the
nature of the supreme intelligence-Theism, atheism,
and pantheisin; whereof the first determines this su
preme intelligence to be the Creator of the universe,
and to exist outside of and distinct from it; the second
that it is the universe itself, which has always existed;
and the third that it is an intelligent substance, not a
personality, co-existent and developing with the uni
182 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
verse, and becoming conscious in intelligent beings.
It is impossible to apprehend how conditions of time,
space, and matter can be correlated with the supreme
intelligence, which is necessarily attempted in either
of these three theories. It follows, therefore, that
these schemes must be ranged with systems of faith
which prescribe definitions of God in accord with that
human comprehension which has its being, education,
and development solely in the contemplation of matter
and its properties, and in the relations of time and
space. That these religious definitions are a human
necessity may be inferred from the condition of the
human mind which demands the identification of a
principle with a personality before it can accept a
relation with it, and farther from the fact that such
definitions have existed always and everywhere. Jove,
the god of the Greeks, was primarily the thunderer.
Vulcan forged his bolts. This attribute of physical
power was at one time sufficient to establish Jupiter
as the King of Olympus. The Jehovah of the Jews is
defined as the God who visits the sins of the fathers
upon the children. Christianity teaches a God of love
who exacts faith and obedience as the condition of
eternal happiness. Modern science, as far as it has
intimated an opinion on this subject, tends to the
belief that God is law.
Who can say that either of these definitions, from
the most primitive to the latest, is untrue? And then,
again, who will be bold enough to assert that either of
them exhausts the idea of the Supreme Being? A
moment's consideration will show that all are based
upon the theory that the final purpose of existence is
confined to the well-being of man, the inhabitant of
SCIENCE AND ART.
183
this little planet; for although a God of law as fore-
shadowed by modern philosophy takes cognizance of
all things, and comprehends within himself the direc-
tion of the whole universe, which includes its most
insignificant part, yet how insufficient must be the
thought of an eternal and unerring law unless com-
bined with it we can comprehend, or at least suggest, a
comprehensive scheme of the purpose of this law. On
the other hand, if we are content to know of God only
so much as concerns our relation with him, there can
be no doubt that Jove the thunderer was as perfect a
god for the primitive Greek as the God of love is for
the modern Christian, and the God of law for the
philosopher of the nineteenth century. But whatever
our conception of God, our relation to Him, and our
relation to each other and to all things in obedience to
fundamental law, our definition of all these relations
must be material and approximative, not absolute, not
positive. We must leave philosophy behind us, and
enter upon the realms of art.
Art is knowledge, the knowledge of material relations
which may be made to picture all ideas which present
themselves to the human mind as possible or probable
relations. The sceptic imagines he may consign all
these pictures to oblivion by the simple question, “Are
these works of art pictures of true relations?" If they
are not pictures of true relations, he asserts that then
they are false, and must be condemned. All things
which are proven to be true, must surely be accepted
as true; but it does not follow that all things not
proven to be true can for that reason alone be pro-
nounced to be false. Art often conveys knowledge
which has not passed the ordeal of logical demonstra-
1
184
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
tion; but it is knowledge all the same to this extent, that
it may be true beyond a certain limit, up to which it has
been proven to be false. If art persists in transcending
that limit, it is justly assailable; but within that limit
it performs a function for which no substitute can be
found. And more than this, an idea depicted by art,
which is recognized to be false in fact, still continues
to possess a moral and cultivating influence, by reason
of the piety of the thought contained in it.
The errors of those who theorize upon art are the
assumption that such of her illustrations of ideas as
have once been accepted as true must continue to be
so accepted always, in spite of valid demonstrations to
the contrary, and the assumption that art is a source
of pleasure mainly, and only incidentally a source of
knowledge.
We cannot imagine mental degradation so low, nor
mental cultivation so high, as to reject knowledge,
when it can be acquired without labor, or because it
can be so acquired. Men may, by training, attain to
a distaste for all mental productions which do not, in
the most direct and concise manner, demonstrate posi-
tive facts; yet these very men love poetry, the drama,
painting, sculpture, and architecture, for the truth they
reveal of nature, in a scheme which is admitted to be
fictitious, often. The most erudite will peruse the
pictures and illustrations of a book, for the information
condensed in picture language, before he proceeds to
read it; and more historic facts have been gleaned from
the epics, the statues and the architecture of the past,
than from the state papers and inscriptions contempo-
rary with them.
Whatever perfection the progress of science may
SCIENCE AND ART
185
attain hereafter, human relations to the universe can
and will be taught by art only. Jurisprudence can at
best be but a compromise of human interests, while
abstract virtue is inculcated by the efforts of art alone.
Religion paints pictures of God and of our relations
to Him, in words, in music, sculpture, painting and
architecture and there is no good reason to doubt the
biblical statement that David also danced before the
Ark. The state commands the devotion, the patriotism,
the service of the citizen, by a poetical appeal to his
affections, more than by the ties of material interests.
Love and filial affection, friendship, gratitude, benevo-
lence, and charity are fostered mainly by art. All these
virtues have been pictured in poem, song, and paint-
ing, and are known and appreciated from these sources
above all others.
When we speak of works of art, we are apt to refer
to painting and sculpture alone; we think lightly of
the ideas conveyed by these, and undervalue the
knowledge of art accordingly. This is owing to the
fact that paintings and sculptures are rare, and not
readily accessible; also, that an advanced mental culti
vation is needed to understand their full value. But
when we consider the mighty influence of literature,
music, and architecture, an influence which surrounds
man continually, and which implants in his heart by
constant attrition, as it were, sentiments of morality
and virtue, the import of which his brain could never
comprehend; when we consider that with the millions
who read, and see, and hear art, and learn from i les-
sons of wisdom and goodness, with no other motive
than to amuse themselves, to enjoy the success of
human re-creation of nature; a mental and technical
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
feat, a picture, a story of a fictitious reality, or of a
reality of the past reproduced; when we consider the
impotence of the cumbrous machinery of human laws,
the inefficacy of punishment and reward, and of the
reasoning of philosophy, as compared with the human-
izing influence of art, we must come to the conclusion,
that as far as the mass of mankind is concerned, art is
the sole source of ethic cultivation; that it is a necessity
for the maintenance of society-a school which sup
plies the knowledge man needs in order to live.
It is true that we do not seek art for the knowledge
it imparts, but for the pleasurable emotion excited by
the contemplation of it; and it is imagined by super-
ficial observers, that this pleasurable emotion is the
sole outcome of art. The conditions of this pleasur
able emotion are, however, first that an idea shall be
expressed in matter; and, next, that it shall be well
expressed. Unless an idea is expressed, there is no
pleasurable emotion.
The successful expression of an idea in matter de-
termines the beauty of a work of art; but in order to
understand how beauty is the cause of pleasurable emo-
tion, it is not sufficient to consider the nature of beauty
alone, but also its cause in art. The nature of beauty
is to be found in the successful expression of an idea
in matter. The idea itself may be the reverse of
beautiful, or true, or moral. The objects selected
for the purpose of representing the idea may be
ugly; yet the result of all this is beauty, if the idea is
successfully represented. Objective beauty consists
in the capacity of an organism to perform a function,
and in the clear expression of this capacity in its form;
and beauty in art in the rendering of this form in
SCIENCE AND ART
187
matter for the purpose of expressing the function, the
function being the expression of an idea either directly
or indirectly, by betraying an emotion which has found
a material expression in a physical modification of the
organism. It must be clear that the subjective per-
ception of a work of art deals simultaneously with its
beauty, that is, the objective functional expression
of an idea, and the art force which has successfully
represented this idea in matter. This art force, which
consists in the mental and technical skill of the artist,
and is the cause of objective beauty in art, is also the
cause of the pleasurable emotion, and is perceived by
the subject simultaneously with the beauty of a work
of nature or fiue art. But, inasmuch as the beauty of
a work of art is not lessened by the ugliness of the
organism represented, provided always this ugliness is
premeditated, it follows that the term beauty, when
applied to a work of fine art, refers to the magnitude
of art force displayed only as perceived in the result,
and that there is a difference between it and abstract
beauty as found in nature. But a moment's consider
ation of the subject will show that the two are identi
cal in this sense, that both pertain to organisms which
in their form express function as intended by the force
creating them. When the artist in his re-creation of
nature intends to represent a thing or an organism
which is ugly, that is, which does not by its form be-
tray the due performance of functions, then this in-
tention, contemplating a peculiar organism of negative
functional qualities, constitutes the creation of a stand-
ard of function upon which the art work is to be based
and the successful representation in matter of organ-
isms which respond to this intention, betray art force,
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
For instance, let the idea
Gossip is a negative act,
illustrate charity. The
and hence result in beauty.
to be represented be charity.
which may be selected to
painter may depict gossip by a group of ugly, ragge‹
persons sitting by the roadside, or standing around
the gateway of a barnyard discussing their neighbors.
Here we have ugly subjects, ugly surroundings, an
immoral practice. Yet if the artist succeeds in ex-
pressing in his group the ill-feeling, jealousy, and mal-
ice of gossip, he has produced a work of beauty, simply
because his group performs the functions he intended
to express, and in spite of the fact that the individuals
composing it perform the functions of life very badly.
It is even so in nature. We may discover beauties in
deformities of her creation if we analyze them, simply
because of abnormal functions detected, which are
well performed, and are equally well expressed in
their form.
The simple definition of fine art, that it is, "the
representation of an idea in matter," contains a suffi-
cient explanation of the nature, function, and scope
of it.
First, that it deals with ideas (relations of matter),
and represents these ideas in the form in which they
are found in nature, or in forms which are the result
of natural laws. It does not demonstrate or define
these ideas, but represents material forms in action or
in passive submission to action, which illustrate these
ideas, and which compel emotion. This emotion is
depicted by art as a physical modification of matter.
To conceive a work of fine art, the idea to be de-
picted must first be materialized. The question must
be answered: how is some organism affected by this
SCIENCE AND ART
189
idea? and how is the physical form of this organism
modified? This organism so modified must then be
represented in matter. This means that we are not
to speak of the idea; we are not to define or to
demonstrate it: but we are to paint a picture of the
modified condition of an organism affected by it. If
this picture is painted on canvas or cut in stone, we
need but to copy the modified organism as it presents
itself to our senses. If we describe it in words, it
must again be a painting, a sketch of physical form
and of a material expression. If the organism be a
person who speaks, we must introduce him not as a
lecturer upon the subject of his emotions under the
influence of this idea, but as pursuing the tenor of his
life, and betraying in his conversation the nature of
this emotion. We must describe him as he looks, and
quote him as he talks, and through his looks or his
talk must shine the emotions to which he is subjected:
If music is the medium we select for the representa-
tion of an idea, we must utter the sounds representing
the emotions which this idea would cause in certain
persons under certain assumed conditions.
If architecture is to express an idea in a structure,
the relation of this structure to human groups must be
expressed in its form, and the emotions of these groups
must be impressed upon it by modelling, decoration,
and color.
An idea may be demonstrated in matter. In that
case it is not necessary to enter upon acts or emotions,
nor is it necessary that this idea should first be mate-
rialized, or in any way attached to or connected with
matter. We may here deal with quantities discon-
nected from the nature of their entities; we may
190
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
figure these quantities as lines or surfaces, or as mere
distances of points. We may deal with organisms
without reference to their form. In all cases demon-
strations of this kind are of a scientific nature, and are
to be distinguished from a representation of an idea
in art mainly herein, that they analyze the conditions,
while art depicts the ultimate results of relations of
matter. These ultimate results in that case are copies
of similar results heretofore actually observed.
On the other hand, the line may be drawn distinctly
between fine art and mechanic art. Mechanic art
includes all human productions which do not contem-
plate the expression of an idea, of objects not found in
nature but which are needed for use. Mechanic art
contemplates form, but only the form which responds
to use: hence the common definition that works of
mechanic art are those which are necessary to man,
and works of fine art are those which are unnecessary.
It seems but a waste of words to dwell upon the fallacy
of the latter definition.
The nature of the ideas which may be represented
in art is, in one sense, limited only by the ideas which
can be demonstrated by science. Art of necessity oc-
cupies itself with all possible ideas which have not
been demonstrated. It depicts them in the condition
of progress in which they are found. A sheet hung
upon a pole may answer as a ghost; a human figure
floating in a surrounding of fleecy clouds is a better
The existence of ghosts may be doubted in the
nineteenth century without censure; yet this has not
always been so: and there are millions of persons exist-
ing now, to whose moral welfare ghosts are a necessity
of which they should not and cannot be deprived.
one.
SCIENCE AND ART
191
Besides, the ghost is the pious substitute of unknown
force, which does not fail of its salutary artistic effect
upon the most cultivated audience.
27
It may be remarked here that humanity, up to this
time, at least, has found it necessary to entertain unde-
veloped, incomplete, and improbable ideas. Not even
science is exempt from this necessity. These ideas are
the stepping stones to progress. The planetary system
of Tycho Brahe, the vortices of Descartes, and New-
ton's corpuscular theory of light, may be cited as in-
stances of the kind. "The luminiferous æther," says
Young, "pervades all space, and penetrates almost all
substances; it is highly elastic and absolutely solid.'
Herschel estimates its pressure at seventeen billions of
pounds a square inch. This æther may be described
as an art picture of an unexplained condition of mat-
ter, by reason of which light consumes time in acting
through space; a process which remains incomprehen-
sible without the presence of intermediate matter, and
therefore the existence of the other is to-day accepted
by scientific men. Science has discarded similar theo-
ries with tardiness, because they perform a necessary
function in serving as a nucleus around which valuable
scientific facts can be conveniently ranged, which would
otherwise become almost valueless by reason of their
isolation. Scientific men profess a readiness to discard
every theory of this kind the moment it is disproved.
Art should follow this example by elaborating ideas
in their progress, instead of tenaciously holding to
them after they have been virtually discarded. That
this is not done promptly, however, is capable of an
explanation, not discreditable to the understanding of
artists and lovers of art, viz.: The value of a work of
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
art is less dependent upon the approximation to truth
of the idea which it depicts, than upon the skill with
which the idea is depicted.
Science investigates matter and its motions for the
mere sake of knowledge, and without direct reference
to human interests; but art is confined to ideas per-
taining to actual or imagined human interests and re-
lations. Hence the audience of art includes all man-
kind; that of science is limited. Those who learn
scientifically are especially prepared to make them-
selves receptive; those who derive their knowledge
from art are mainly unconscious of the process and
uncertain of the position they occupy in relation to
their teacher. Like a sponge they absorb, and with
no other intent than to enjoy the pleasurable emotion
produced by the process. The knowledge acquired
from art is always seemingly full and complete to the
subject; no doubt remains to be solved, no question to
be asked. This begets confidence of judgment; the
conviction of the master rather than that of the student.
This condition of the popular mind with reference to
art, is not without a reacting influence upon art and
its productions. The law of demand and supply as-
serts itself, and art is forced to create what gives uni-
versal pleasure, and not what conveys the most needed
ideas.
Mechanic art as well as fine art is engaged in de-
veloping expressive forms of physical functions, with
this difference that the physical functions expressed
in fine art are the result of emotions, and hence de-
rived from an idea, while the functions expressed in
the forms of mechanic art relate simply to physical
needs. This difference is not clearly understood, and
SCIENCE AND ART.
193
the line between the two is not sharply drawn. There
is a certain beauty to be found in mechanic art, which
is the art force manifested in expressing a physical
function. From the complicated weaving or knitting
machine down to an axe-handle, all tools, more or less,
express their function. This expression is the result
of a study of the nature of that function, and of the
knowledge of the natural laws which enable the me-
chanic to respond to them, and of the technical skill
required to model the resulting forms.
Furniture, clothing, porcelain, gold and silver ware
fall into this category. They are valued commercially
because they are fitted for their purpose, but more
especially because they express that purpose. They
are not created to express ideas, but to supply human
needs; but they may or may not express their func-
tion well, and are valuable, therefore, in the ratio in
which they do, and their beauty and ugliness is spoken
of as an important element of value. It follows, there-
fore, that mechanics and artisans realize the fact that
they must create objects of beauty, in order to find a
ready sale for them. Two men of equal mechanical
skill and theoretical knowledge may set out to make a
chair. Let us assume that one of them has never
heard of the word beauty. IIe attempts nothing of the
kind, but contents himself with making a good, ser-
viceable chair, a chair well fitted to sit in. Of course
he will not succeed in making such a chair at once;
but, after building ten, twenty, or a hundred chairs,
he will probably produce one which will not only be
of durable construction and pleasant to sit in, but
every part of which will express its mechanical fune-
tion and the mechanical capacities of the material em
13
194 NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
ployed. The other, in his search after beauty, will be
governed by his understanding of the nature of beauty.
If his definition of beauty is the correct one, he will
do precisely what the first mechanic has done, and suc-
ceed as he did. But if he imagines that beauty is the
property of certain forms or lines, or decorations, or
coloring, he will attempt to introduce these forms into
his chair; and whenever he finds that his construction
and material are inconsistent with these forms, he will
suppress or cover up the construction to make his
beautiful form possible. The result, of course, will not
be permanently satisfactory, and a change for the bet-
ter will seem to him desirable. Effort will succeed
effort in this manner without good results, and, finding
that his chairs have a sale while new or strange in
form, he will change their form as often as possible,
without any other aim than that of change. Every
season will bring forth a new chair, but not a better
one; and his chairs will be as bad at the end of twenty
years as they were at the beginning. Yet this man
will talk much of beauty at the beginning of his
enterprise, and of beauty and fashion toward the end
of it; and, if financially successful in his dealings, will
serve as an authority on both these subjects. The
chairs of the first man also will have a ready sale, pro-
vided he does not make too many of them; but their
merit as objects of beauty will not be fully recognized
until he dies and can make no more; and will not be
popularly established until chairs of his make are to
be found only in isolated collections of rare furniture.
Now, works of mechanic art, although not intended
to represent ideas in matter, nevertheless convey
ideas of material relations to which they are formed
SCIENCE AND ART.
195
to respond. A chair, by frequent use, becomes famil-
iar to us as an object capable of supporting a person.
Our conceptions of mechanical stability are, in the
absence of scientific training, formed by constant
practical experiments in using the various works of
mechanic art with which we are surrounded. When
a man sits down upon a chair, he is practically testing
its strength; and if he has used it for a time he is justi-
fied in concluding that it is sufficiently strong to carry
its habitual load. In this manner men come to regard
articles of furniture as expressive of a certain mechan-
ical function, and articles of clothing as expressive of
certain natural forms. The bulging escritoires, sofas,
tables, bedsteads and chairs of the last century mounted
upon attenuated curved legs, were imagined to be
beautiful specimens of furniture: and the cocked hats,
peruques, queues, coats, and bosom-frills of the same
time, just expressions of the human form.
The works of human art, if not wisely conceived, not
only fail to convey true knowledge, but are the source
of error and prejudice. The human mind becomes
warped when surrounded with artificial forms of de-
fective organism. During certain periods of so-called
civilization, the very ideas which determine works of
human art are entirely lost sight of, and art forms are
referred only to the caprice of their author, and to
no tangible law, principle, or idea. Now mechanic art
forms a very important element in this sort of knowl
edge, for it teaches the rudiments of it-that elemen-
tary knowledge which may be easily traced to human
needs, and which involves no complicated or remote
ideas. If we build wardrobes with castellated tops,
the saloons of steamers in wooden imitations of columns,
196
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
arches, and entablatures; if we endow book-cases with
roofs, and make carpets an aggregation of natural
flowers, or houses and landscapes, we do violence to
the artificial organisms we create, and pervert the
minds of those who are surrounded by these works of
art. They soon cease to look for reasons which de-
termine forms, but accept them as conventional truths,
and become thereby insensible to rational form.
Around a very small nucleus of real art, society culti-
vates a vast array of spurious and false art, and so
overwhelming is its influence upon the human mind,
that art is but exceptionally recognized as the logical
sequence of reason, and is popularly accepted to be
the result of a personal inspiration, or, as it is usually
called, of art feeling. Not only the layman, but the
art student participates in this popular error.
Until the philosophy and the technique of the arts
are taught in a scientific manner, both mechanic and
fine art must drag on an empirical existence, pregnant
with all the harm to society which has brought it into
disrepute as a source of knowledge.
Natural organisms also serve the purpose of teach-
ing the relation of form to function, but the majority
of men are by the processes of so-called civilization
removed from nature, and surrounded by the creations
of art. While one work of art teaches truths, a thou-
sand teach falsehood. Many schools have been estab-
lished for instruction in the mechanic and industrial
arts. The models placed before the pupil in these
industrial schools are again representations of the
fashionable forms which find a ready sale in the popu
lar market. No earnest attempt is made to purify art
of its errors, or to teach true art, because it is deemed
SCIENCE AND ART.
197
more pressing to train the pupil to do what is currently
sold.
The great popular art staples, the works of mechanic
art, and of literature, the popular stage, and architec-
ture are degraded to the lowest ebb. Complaints that
English manufacturing interests are deteriorating the
high standard heretofore maintained in the treatment
of color and texture in Asiatic woven fabrics, it may be
feared, are not without foundation in fact. A slow
but certain mental revolution is in progress which
divides society intellectually into two classes. The
one comprises a small minority of learning and pro-
gress; and the other, forming the mass of mankind, is
accumulating pre judice and error, and sinking into
barbarism. Science not only cannot reach this great
mass, but affects it injuriously by fostering the conceit
of a little learning. The false philosophy of the past,
which was the outcome of the limited mental capacity
of social and religious leaders, is weakened no doubt
in popular influence, but only to make room for a pro-
lific crop of similar errors, which grow spontaneously
in the mind of the individual who believes that, as a
citizen of a highly civilized community, his right to
original thought cannot be disputed. But by original
thought nothing better is meant than the hasty im-
pressions accompanying imperfect sensuous perception,
mere sentiment, mere emotion, mere feeling.
Absorbed in the acquisition of material wealth, the
citizen of the nineteenth century overlooks the vast
amount of human labor squandered upon industries
which have no intrinsic value, and which are consigned
to waste as soon as a change of fashion has introduced
new forms equally valueless. It is believed that so
198
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
called luxuries should be encouraged, in order to
give employment to labor. This would be true, if the
result of this labor had a real value as an object of
luxury. But, as it has no such value in fact, the in-
quiry whether human labor squandered can be bene-
ficial to society becomes a serious question. It so
happens that human wealth has no being outside of
the outcome of science and art. Agricultural lands,
railroads, ships, manufactures, mines, tenements, are not
wealth they are only the means, the tools to sustain
life. Wealth is what remains after life has been sus-
tained by food, clothing, and shelter, and after the
means have been supplied for further similar supplies.
The British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the
Houses of Parliament, the Cathedral of Cologne, the col-
lections at the Louvre and the Vatican,-all these are
human wealth. How much of this sort of real wealth
is being produced by the gigantic efforts of modern
mechanical and other scientific improvements, or by
modern human labor?
It is true that the invention of labor-saving machin-
ery has increased and somewhat improved the physical
supplies of the masses. We have more and better
food and clothing, perhaps better and cleanlier dwell-
ings. The streets of cities are properly sewered, and
partially lighted at night. Life and property are less
insecure than they have been heretofore. These are
great gains, not to be overlooked or underestimated;
yet it must be admitted that our boasted progress in
science has done but little for the mental culture of
the masses. This is not to be laid to any shortcoming
or defect of science, but simply to the fact that the
masses cannot be mentally benefited by scientific pro-
SCIENCE AND ART.
199
gress. This
progress must and will continue to accrue
mentally only to the few who can devote themselves to
the study of science. The masses may be benefited
materially by the indirect results of science; mentally
they can be taught only by art. What should be done
to enhance the efficacy of art teaching? All that is
necessary is that works of mechanic and fine art
should be made true works of art. Now what are the
means to that end?
As in all human progress, we must begin by the
elimination of error.
The chief of these errors is the popular belief
that the pleasurable emotion, caused by the contem-
plation of art, is of itself a test of art; although many
objects not works of art produce a similar emotion.
Things new and strange, huge or minute; things
costly or elaborate; yes, even things devoid of any
traceable quality whatever, if used or possessed by
persons of fashion, or by large numbers of people, are
desired by many, and their acquisition is accompanied
by the pleasurable emotion; yet they are not only
worthless, but tend to stunt the human intellect.
Their very existence is a reproach, the sight of them
a mental injury.
As there is no short cut to the knowledge of art,
and as the mass of the people cannot be expected to
study art, so as to know it when they see it, and avoid its
counterfeits, we can only advise the layman to beware
of things whose only merit is, that they are in the
fashion, and to proceed in the purchase of works of me-
chanic and fine art, as he would in the purchase of
anything of which he is ignorant; that is, to employ
professional advice.
200
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
The next error to be eliminated is, that the emotions
help to create art. Art appeals to the emotions, but it is
not produced by emotions, feelings, sentiment, manner-
ism, or, as Carlyle has it, by modern dilettanteism of
any kind; but by the cunning, the craft, the skill of
art. It is the result only of sober, cool, intelligent
thought, and of technical knowledge, which is acquired
only by hard, persevering, and long continued labor.
Above all things, the student of art should remember
that premeditation is its first characteristic; that to
produce art work the artist must have a clear and
definite understanding of the idea to be celebrated
in art, and a thorough knowledge of the technical
methods requisite to represent this idea in matter.
Let it be well understood that we cannot paint a pic-
ture and then consider what we shall call this picture,
painted as it were by accident, and yet claim for it the
title of a work of fine art. It is true that anything
well painted, or cut in stone, or expressed in words
in imitation of nature, is a respectable study of art;
it is a sort of work students of fine art must do in
order to attain to ultimate perfection. But to create
a work of fine art, it is necessary that an idea should
be represented in matter with premeditation, and
that the artist shall, from the beginning of the work,
and throughout every stage of it, be the master
of the means and methods of accomplishing this
object.
The next error is the supposition that artists are
born, not made. Genius, natural genius, it is imagined,
constitutes their sole art force. This is true to this
extent, that no one can succeed in any vocation of
life without natural abilities of a certain kind and
"
SCIENCE AND ART.
201
degree. A healthy physical development, more espe-
cially of the brain and nervous system, is a condition
precedent to the acquisition, retention, and application
of knowledge of any kind. But knowledge of the
combined experience of past geniuses is a primary
necessity to progress in art, as well as in any other
branch of human learning or technical dexterity. To
acquire this knowledge, natural aptness and love for
the subject are a great help, no doubt; and without a
certain degree of this natural capability no success is to
be expected. Yet we cannot even assert that defective
sensuous perception is absolutely a bar to perfection in
art, where one is bent upon overcoming obstacles by
application and industry. Men with defective sight,
speech, hearing, and muscular development, have be
come painters, sculptors, and orators. If we contem-
plate the great works of human art, we will find that
all successful artists have pursued art with unremitting
labor and study, and whenever in art we observe the
power of genius, close scrutiny will also show profound
study and knowledge. Genius never can supply the
artist with knowledge nor with technical ability, it
only helps him to make the best use of both. If
Shakespeare had been born and bred alone upon a
desert island, no amount of genius could have enabled
him to write his Macbeth, Richard III., or Othello.
The plots of his plays are mainly carefully selected
acts, illustrating comprehensive and exalted ideas.
The acts are taken from history, and are of the highest
order as ideals for poetic treatment. The knowledge
of the emotions produced by these acts is, surely, not
invented but acquired; and the language in which
these emotions are depicted is often the language of
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
persons far removed from the probable language of
the associates of the poet.
The popular judgment of inherent genius in art is
deceived by the ease, grace, and naturalness of all art
work. It seems to flow from inspiration, when in fact
it is the result of great labor. The hard work, prac-
tice, and study required to prepare the artist for his
work, far exceed that of any other vocation of life,
and, so far from being the agreeable work which it is
popularly imagined to be, it is in its elementary stages,
and for a long period of time, the most discouraging
and wearing labor man can undertake. Scientific
inquiry or study leads from step to step to new rev-
elations of truths which are in themselves acquisitions,
and can be held and possessed as completed elements
of further progress. In art every advance is merely an
approach to, never an attainment of absolute success.
The true artist is doomed to remain a student through-
out a laborious life. It is only the dilettante who is
happy in his shadow of knowing.
It is the great merit of art, and its main function,
that it may confer knowledge upon uncultivated minds.
This, however, is not the knowledge contained in a
work of art, but merely that modicum of it which the
subject is able to comprehend. To the subject this frag-
mentary knowledge seems complete. State to a person
not familiar with geometry the simple fact that a line
drawn from the apex of the right angle of a right-angled
triangle, perpendicular to the hypothenuse, represents
in its length the geometrical mean of the two frag-
ments of the hypothenuse which it divides, and his mind
will be a perfect blank as to the nature of the informa
tion imparted to him. You may explain the meaning of
SCIENCE AND ART.
203
the terms used, and you may even illustrate your state-
ment by a diagram. As long as your auditor is not in
full possession of the whole argument involved, he can
know nothing of the fact related.
A picture, a poem, a statue, a structure, no matter
what the idea they represent, produce a mental im-
pression upon every person. And what is more: this
mental impression contains within itself an embryo, as
it were, a sort of glimmering of the idea intended to
be conveyed by these works of art.
This is the reason why art teaches every one, even
the most uncultivated; and it is unfortunately the rea-
son, also, why every one thinks that he can understand
art.
The very first thing to be done, therefore, is to im-
press men with this very fact, that they may be taught
by art as well as by nature; but that they may not
presume for this reason alone to judge works of art
any more than they dare to criticise the works of
nature. Mere sensuous perception is sufficient to ap
prehend the knowledge imparted by art; but a knowl-
edge of art is needed to understand its merits: and
this knowledge is to be acquired only by long-contin-
ued, arduous study. The common error that genius
alone enables artists to do art work, should be eradi
cated. By this error men imagine, because they are
favorably impressed by a work of art, that they, too,
are possessed of genius; and that their genius also may
break out in art work presently, perhaps greater in
merit than anything produced heretofore. Let us
imagine, for a moment, a similar state of things in
science, in the law, in mechanics, or in agriculture: let
us imagine men rushing to proclaim, teach, and illus-
204
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
trate by practical effort the crude offspring of an ill-
regulated fancy, under the impression that they are
enriching the world with knowledge, and that there is
no one to stem this torrent of error. Would not society
sink into barbarism under such a system? If a book
were printed to-day which taught that the earth is
flat, and rests on the back of a turtle, it would meet
with no attention in any respectable quarter; and no
one would accept such a theory as truth. Such a book
would certainly find no sale in the market. The rea-
son why we disregard the theory now, is that it has
been long ago superseded by Newton's law of gravi
tation. But suppose that some notable personages or
associations of persons should accept this theory, not
as incontrovertible, but as a debatable idea which, at
least for the time being, is to them interesting, and an
idea rather to be admired than otherwise; suppose that,
to be in the fashion, it should become necessary to af
fect the turtle theory, to adduce reasons in its behalf;
suppose that men of science who hold it in contempt
should shrink from expressing their opinion on the
subject for fear of offending their neighbors who hap
pen to be infatuated with this error; suppose, farther,
that the temporary success of such a publication should
encourage unscrupulous persons to invent similar falla
cies, which by sheer force of impudence and novelty
should supersede each other in regular rotation, and
find a sufficient audience, to make them of authority,-
what would become of science and truth in the mean-
time? Now this is exactly the condition in which the
whole civilized world is placed at the present time
by bad, perverted, and defective art. No one whose
opinion is of value asserts that this bad art is good art;
SCIENCE AND ART.
205
or that its existence is not deteriorating popular morals
and the popular intellect. But, on the whole, society
has taken it under its patronage, and it thrives by
social protection.
If modern dress, furniture, structures, literature, and
decorations, were the best results of the age; if they
had at no time previously been excelled; if, in fine, we
knew no better, this would be a sufficient reason for
accepting their crudeness, ugliness, and inconsistency.
Even if we had known better art heretofore, and could
not now approach former excellence because the ablest
minds of the present era are not capable of it, we
should be warranted in tolerating it as it is. But
surely we know that our costume is hideous, and that
by far the largest portion of our architecture is unde-
serving that name; that the bulk of literature is bad,
and popular plays, if not demoralizing, are certainly
vapid, aimless, and without point. We know that so-
called popular music and dancing is, to say the least
of it, indifferent in quality; and that bad painting and
sculpture, furniture, hangings, and house decoration,
aimless gardening, and bad mechanic art find abundant
acceptance in our markets. Why is it that men of
brains, of learning, of piety, and of high social posi-
tion silently submit to this state of things? Why is
the direction and management of this matter left to
fops, dandies, tailors, and quacks of all kinds, instead
of being deputed to men conversant with art? It is
because in science, trade, statesmanship, agriculture,
theology and the law, society meekly submits to the
authority of those who have distinguished themselves
by superior attainment in these branches of human
knowledge; while all the world besides pretends to a
206
NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART.
knowledge of art and forms that terrible majority which
compels bishops, princes, and learned professors, to
appear in pantaloons and swallow-tail coats in polite
society. The poor benighted Zulu, who eagerly adopts
the European costume, is a reproach to us in this very
matter; he finds the white man to be his superior in
war and in the arts of peace, and he accepts his garb
because he respects the man who wears it. What
reason have we to submit to the tyranny of fashion?
Do we respect the men who invent it? Do we admire
it in any sense? Do we not detest and abhor it?
There is no trace to be found in nature which points
to the incongruous and absurd forms of modern art.
They are pure inventions of an untutored, illogical, and
disordered brain.
Prof. Tyndall, in the "Fragments of Science," (fifth
edition, page 90) asks the question: "Is it necessary
that the student of science should have his labors
tested by their possible practical application? What
is the practical use of Homer's Iliad? You probably
think that IIomer's Iliad is good as a means of culture.
The people who demand of science practical uses for-
get, or do not know that it also is great as a means of
culture that the knowledge of this wonderful uni-
verse is a thing profitable in itself, and requires no
practical application to justify its pursuit. The student
of nature distinctly refuses to have his labors judged
by their practical issues, unless the term practical be
made to include mental as well as material good."
What a world of thought is contained in these few
words: thought which applies to art in its most im-
portant significance.
We may learn from this simple, clear, and logical
SCIENCE AND ART.
207
sentence, that "the knowledge of this wonderful uni-
verse is a profitable thing of itself," and that the knowl
edge of art is equal to it in their joint function of
human culture; that mental culture is a practical boon
in no way inferior to any material good. And much
more than this may be read between the lines. Sci-
ence teaches man to think logically; and art acquaints
him with true human thoughts. Thought he needs to
attain the material good which secures existence as an
organism; but, more than this, he needs it to attain the
mental good which endows him with the dignity of a
man.
It has been often stated, and is doubtless true, that
to think correctly man needs a mathematical training;
for this solves many problems and points with force
to the problems which as yet cannot be solved. To
the untutored mind, the solution of no problem seems
impossible, nor can the untutored mind solve any
problem. There is no such thing as bad science, for
bad science is not science at all; hence, the man of
science knows fully and perfectly either that he does
or does not know.
Unfortunately there is such a thing as bad art-art
that is false, not true; and this bad art teaches with
the same facility as true art, with this difference, that
it teaches falsehood. It pretends to re-create nature,
but it creates only misconceptions of nature, things
adverse to nature; and its teaching perverts men's
minds, and dements them.
Another peculiarity of art teaching is, that art pre-
sents to us ideas in the emotions they produce; and
we sympathize with these emotions, and make them
more or less our own. We feel, as it were, the force
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NATURE AND FUNCTION OF ART
of the idea without clearly understanding or realizing
its nature. If the ideas conveyed by the art which
surrounds us are true ideas, we are filled, as it were,
with sound convictions; and if it is bad art, we are
filled with unsound convictions. But, in either case,
we have not been prepared to reason on the subject;
and the evil results of bad art cannot be removed by
the ordinary processes of proving a fallacy, for no
matter how lucid and direct our argument, it addresses
itself only to the reason, and not to the feeling of the
subject. Hence it is that the mental injury done by
bad art can be repaired (with the masses who receive
education from art) only by its removal from sight and
hearing, and the substitution of good art in its place.
The heresy of the present age is in the belief that bad
art does no special harm, and that good art does no
special good beyond the pleasure it affords. It is
imagined that the pleasure produced by art answers
as a substitute for other less desirable pleasures, which
would be cultivated and sought after in the absence
of art. The knowledge conveyed by art is almost
entirely overlooked; and to make this knowledge potent,
to secure its cultivating influence to humanity, its ex-
istence must be brought out in the clearest light.
PART III.
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
ព
:
CHAPTER XVI.
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
IF a structure is erected to accommodate a number
of persons who congregate in it, not for the purpose
of gratifying physical needs only, but in obedience to
an idea, such a structure is called a monument of this
idea.
Inasmuch as man always needs protection from the
weather, and space to be in, whether he is intent upon
the mere gratification of these physical wants, or upon
the intellectual contemplation of ideas pertaining to
human relations, it is evident that architectural monu-
ments also indirectly deal with physical human wants.
On the other hand, there are many structures which
are built mainly to answer physical human needs, but
which, at the same time, are intended to express ideas,
such as dwellings, structures devoted to business pur-
suits, or charitable
purposes, and many others. It ap-
pears, therefore, that in almost every structure erected
for human occupation, it becomes the problem also to
express in that structure an idea.
Architecture is the fine art by which ideas are ex-
pressed in a structure, and more especially in a monu-
ment.
How is an idea to be expressed in a structure? Its
form must of necessity be purely ideal. There is
211
212
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
no object in nature which can be accepted by the ar
chitect as a model for his creation. Yet imitation is
an unavoidable element in a work of fine art. These
are the complex questions which present themselves to
the architect. We can arrive at a clear conception of
architecture as a fine art only by answering them, and
by showing the co-existence and the correlation of all
the conditions.
We have seen in a preceding chapter how in sculp-
ture, painting, poetry, and dancing, ideas are repre-
sented in matter by the depicting of motions of matter
(the modifications of the muscles and of the figure of
man), as affected by the emotions, the result of acts
which illustrate an idea. How can this be done in a
structure? Can it be said that a structure performs
an act illustrative of an idea? And if so, can this act
produce in a structure emotions? What are the skel-
eton, muscles, sinews, and nerves of a structure, which
may be made to express emotions? And how, if all
this is possible, can it be done in imitation of nature?
or where in nature are we to find the model for our
purpose?
It is well known that a structure performs an act in
affording shelter to man to protect him from the
weather. This act of affording shelter is performed
in various ways by different kinds of structures. A
community is supplied with dwellings, school-houses,
churches, theatres, libraries, assembly-rooms, and courts
-they all afford shelter to the same individuals in vari-
ous combinations, but under different conditions. It is
to the nature of these conditions that we must look
for the idea expressed in the structure.
When men assemble for the worship of God, for
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
213
the administration of justice, for instruction and amuse-
ment derived from dramatic or musical performances,
or for social intercourse, in the pursuit of pleasure
which is of an intellectual nature, and contemplates
directly or indirectly the artistic development of an
idea, or in any pursuit whatever which tends to simi-
lar ends, they arrange themselves in groups best suited
to their personal convenience or to the individual re-
lations of the participants in the entertainment or
other proceedings carried on in these respective struc-
tures.
If these groups are the simple result of physical
personal convenience, then the structure fitted to ac-
commodate these groups is merely a work of mechanic
art. But if these groups are organized to express an
appreciation of an idea illustrated by acts performed
within the walls of a structure, either by word, motion,
or sound (music); and if by their grouping they indi-
cate an emotion, which is the result of the acts par-
ticipated in, or merely perceived by the senses; and if
the structure is so arranged as to express, or at least
betray in its form, in the modelling of its masses and
parts, in its decoration and coloring, an adaptation to
and expression of the presence, order, magnitude, num-
ber, and relation of the groups accommodated in its
interior-then this structure is a work of fine art ex-
pressive of an act illustrating an idea. For example,
a room containing a counter for the sale of food to
persons standing or sitting before it, or a bar for the
sale of beverages, under a similar arrangement-the af
fording of shelter and accommodation for these per-
sons-may be developed into a highly respectable work
of mechanic art. It
It may be worked up into a struc-
214
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
સ
ture which is a perfect body, a body which does physi
cal work well and appropriately, but which has no
soul, no thought to be related, unless it be the simple
legend, "Men are fed here."
A meeting-house containing nothing but closely-
packed sittings, wherein men and women are stowed
with economy of space to listen to a discourse from a
pulpit crowded against a wall, is not a work of fine
art; for the position of the audience does not indicate
an emotion, say the worship of God, which is the re-
sult of an act in illustration of an idea, say our de-
pendence on God and his universe, of which we are
but an insignificant part. Structures of this class, in-
deed, perform the act of sheltering men from inclem-
encies of the weather, but not an act which is the
result of an idea. On the contrary, such a structure
is merely the result of a physical necessity, for the
meeting-house, like the bar-room, is constructed for
the mere purpose of human stowage, without reference
to any possible act of the audience beyond mere exist
ence, and is strictly prohibitory in form and expression
of any demonstration which is the result of an emo-
tion. When the men who feed and drink, or those
who listen to the discourse, make any motion, it must
be to leave the place. The limits of the structure for-
bid
any method of grouping other than that of a series
of equal human quantities, which have but one desire,
viz.: to be accommodated without being crowded, and
to be protected from the sun and the rain.
But when, on the other hand, we see a structure
providing for a combination of groupings various in
magnitude, elegance, dignity, and richness, which com-
bination in part or as a whole represents certain acts
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
215
of these groups, say prayer, praise, confession of sins,
exhortation, the partaking of the communion, baptisms,
marriages, funerals, ordinations, processions of various
kinds, and consultations, such as we find embodied in
the nave, aisle, choir, cloister, chapel, vestry-room,
chapter-house, and baptistery of a cathedral, we may
then say that such a structure denotes acts which are
the result of ideas, and that it assists the congregation
within it in the performance of acts explained by their
resultant emotions.
Men may perform acts recognized as physical acts,
such as eating, drinking, breathing, sleeping, etc., or
they may perform acts which are equally recognized
as spiritual, such as the expression of joy, devotion,
hope, contentment, anger, rage, regret, etc. Both kinds
of acts are modifications of the human frame, both are
made manifest by physical demonstrations; yet we at-
tribute the one class absolutely to physical needs, and
the other to ideas, thoughts, and spiritual concerns.
The one is a series of acts looking toward the supply
of immediate and individual personal wants; the other
is an inquiry by man made of his inner consciousness
concerning his relations to God, to nature, to his fel-
low-men, and to himself, which suggests laws, pre-
cepts, and rules of conduct ordained to sustain cosmic
life and these result in a series of acts which demon-
strate the ideas pertaining to these various relations.
Now if a structure is devoted to physical needs, it
becomes the mechanical housing of a mechanical oper-
ation, and is, therefore, a work of mechanic art; but if
the structure is devoted to spiritual acts, or to acts re-
lating to moral principles, to the fundamental laws of
human relationships, to the end that we may sustain
216
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
1
the life of humanity, protect and guard it, then it be
comes an arena for these spiritual acts, and thus an
integral part of a scheme by which is performed an
act expressive of an idea. In the first instance we are
concerned with the mechanical perfection of the struc-
ture only, which means that each part shall do the
mechanical work imposed upon it, and insure the
stability of the whole. The organic parts of a struc-
ture considered in this light form its skeleton bones
and sinews; and in their creation no special note is
taken of the ultimate expression of mass and form. It
is not attempted to make visible to the observer that
mechanical work is done well, done with ease, grace,
or elegance; nor is it necessary that in a structure de-
voted to the supply of mere physical needs, the variety
of functions performed by its occupants shall find ex-
pression in a corresponding variety in the form and
relation of its cellular organization. Mere economy
and mechanical certainty of ultimate performance are
all that is demanded of the author of a work of me-
chanic art.
But where a structure becomes related to a human
group or groups, or is a housing of the same, and these
groups are in motion-motion determined by emotions
(a process of reaction of the mind upon the body) in con-
sequence of physical acts performed, which illustrate
an idea then this housing or structure, by its own
grouping, must express the groups contained within it.
In the length and breadth of its single cells, or groups
of cells, it must indicate the purpose of each group,
and the range and scope of action permitted to the
persons forming it; and in the altitude of single cells,
it must express the degree of dignity, absolute and re-
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
217
lative, attached to individual groups. Furthermore,
the methods of construction must express the elegance,
boldness, and dignity of the idea represented by the
structure; while modelling and decoration must corre-
spond with the character of the construction selected.
If in a structure these conditions are complied with,
it may be said that the structure as a whole, and in its
parts, betrays emotions the result of physical acts
illustrative of an idea, and that it is a work of fine art.
That a work of fine art as herein described is neces-
sarily ideal in its form, needs no special demonstration.
Yet the idea that cathedrals are direct imitations of
avenues of trees, and that capitals of columns and piers
are modified flower baskets, has met with approval by
some writers on architecture to such an extent as to
make the young student a firm believer in it. Mr.
Thomas Hope long ago disposed of this matter. We
cannot do better than quote his view on the subject
before we proceed to the consideration of imitation in
architecture. IIe says: "Struck with the similarity
which an avenue of trees presents to that boast and
masterpiece of the pointed style, the nave and aisles
of a vast cathedral of the fourteenth or fifteenth cen-
tury, in their parallel rows of clustered and knotty
pillars, whose lofty stalks ramify and spread out on all
sides, whose ribs cross and interweave themselves with
those arising from the other neighboring pillars into a
series of pointed arches, showing the light through on
every side, and terminating in luxuriant canopies imi-
tative of foliage, flowers, and buds; admiring the re-
semblance to those majestic stems which arise at equal
and measured distances, and whose branches meet and
intertwine themselves with each other in dense vault-
218
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
ings of luxuriant foliage; and at the same time little
acquainted with the various successive stages by which
the last and most refined pointed style gradually suc-
ceeded to, and grew out of the prior and very different
system that prevailed in Europe the learned War-
burton and others after him have derived its origin
from the natural arbor formed by the stately trees of
an ancient forest.
"Still further misled by the vulgar appellation of
Gothic, given in England exclusively to this style, and
by the northern birthplace which this denomination
seems to assign to it; and recollecting that the earliest
priests recorded in the North-the Druids-were said
to have performed their sacred rites in forests, and to
have made ancient oaks their temples and their sanc-
tuaries--some have fancied that among the Gothic
nations, when converted to Christianity, some lingering
fondness for their heathen customs; some wish still to
commemorate their pagan rites in their Christian wor
ship; some desire to give their laboriously constructed
churches the form of the natural temples of their an-
cestors, caused the adoption of the pointed style; and
have thence traced every most high wrought detail of
the architecture to the spontaneous developments of
nature; and have regarded such wonderful productions
as the Minster of York, the Cathedral of Rheims, and
the Domes of Strasburg and of Milan as little more
than mere fac-similes of those oak woods in which
Druids burnt their human victims in osier baskets.
"A very recent author, without altogether adopting
a derivation so very distant, has given to the pointed
style an origin which bears a certain relation to it.
He considers not the Gothic cathedral, with its fasci-
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
219
culated pillars, its intersecting ribs, its budding cusps
and finials, as imitated from trees still rooted in the
ground, still in a state of the most entire and expansive
life and vegetation; but only regards it as copied from
primitive constructions of posts, and branches, and
twigs, cut from the parent roots, but again planted in
the ground, and interwoven together, which, from the
sap still remaining in them, or newly drawn from the
surrounding elements, have again put forth some buds
and leaves.
"If we wish to rest on a sufficient foundation any
supposition which attributes to one peculiar modifica
tion its origin in another different from that which
forms the subject of our conjecture, we must take care
that the resemblance between what is supposed the
offspring and what is called the parent, should increase
in proportion as we retrace the progress of the one
backwards, step by step, to its origin, in the latest de-
velopments of the other; or at least should continue
to show itself in a connected series of links intervening
between the two. But in this instance the very reverse
is the case.
"If any peculiar modification of the pointed style
can be said to present a very marked similitude to a
group of ancient trees with their knotty trunks, their
interweaving branches, and their luxuriant foliage, it
is precisely and exclusively that last and highest de-
velopment, which existed not until at least a thousand
years after the last of the Druids had ceased to flourish,
which arose last out of the rudiments of that pointed
style itself, as well as out of the prior rounded style,
which precisely, by showing most evidently its con-
nected descent from the earlier and simpler pointed,
220
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
and the rounded architecture preceding that, proved
itself not to arise immediately or mediately from any
quarter not connected with these. Thence, as we as-
cend to the earlier modifications of the pointed, and
from these to those of the earlier Lombard and Roman
styles (out of which we shall show all pointed forms
to have proximately or remotely arisen), we find these
latter to have existed universally for many centuries
intervening between the beginning of this later style
and the extinction of the pagan rites; and thus to
form a complete barrier to any possible filiation be-
tween the forms of the one and of the other. We find
the similitude with the supposed vegetable type to
diminish, until, in the prior genuine remains of the
Druids themselves in France and in England, in the
huge rude blocks of stone near Salisbury, and in Brit-
tany, precisely where the resemblance ought to be most
palpable, we see it disappear so completely, that, ar-
rived at this point, the supposed Druidic pedigree of
the pointed style can only excite a smile. Warbur
ton's idea, therefore, more worthy of a fanciful novelist
than of a grave divine and critic, should be discarded
by others, as it was ultimately by himself; and as the
objections to the entire trees, with root and branch, of
the English bishop, apply equally to the insulated
posts and twigs of the Scotch baronet, we shall leave
them to strike what roots and put forth what shoots
they can."
Now to return to what is known as imitation in
architectural art.
Plastic art deals with the human figure, and depicts
it in a state of animation at the moment when it ex-
presses the emotion by which the artist illustrates an
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
221
idea. The muscular activity of the human frame is
mechanical, and subject to nature's mechanical laws.
Here we have, first, matter in motion subject to me-
chanical laws; and, next, that motion arrested. In a
structure, the attempt of its author is that the relation
of matter shall be stable from the beginning to the
end of the process of construction, and that it shall re-
main so when the work is completed. The conditions
which tend to disturb stability are of a mechanical
nature, and are subject, therefore, to nature's laws of
mechanics. Here we have matter in a state of rest
in opposition to possible motion. Another distinction
between the structure of the architect and the human
form depicted by the sculptor is, that the human form
is already built to the hands of the sculptor in accord-
ance with the laws of mechanics; and it remains for
the sculptor only to understand these laws, as exempli-
fied in human motion, and to be familiar with the
moving parts, such as bone, muscle, and tissue, in order
that he may depict correctly human motion as seen in
a model, or as imagined by him. The intervention of
a possible model in this case may enable the artist to
make up by close observation what he lacks in theo-
retical knowledge of physiology and mechanics; while
the architect takes his material from the great store-
house of nature and the mechanic arts, and creates his
parts of structure upon natural law entirely, dealing
from the beginning with ideal forms.
But inasmuch as these ideal forms are as strictly
amenable to laws of nature as those which govern the
mechanism of the animal frame, the work of the archi-
tect, as carried on from beginning to end, and in its
every detail, is in imitation of nature, being formed
222
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
upon her principles. The sculptor imitates natural
forms with the knowledge of the laws which determine
their special modelling; while the architect models his
forms upon a mere theoretical knowledge of the laws
which determine their creation. And both the sculptor
and the architect proceed upon a knowledge of nature's
laws, and in imitation of her methods, with this dis-
tinction, that the sculptor finds forms ready made to
his hand, while the architect must evolve his forms
from the idea (or its emotion), and impress these emo-
tions upon the matter (which is the material at his
command), with the help of, and in obedience to, the
laws of mechanics. These laws, the idea, and the mate-
rial, constitute the elements of environment of all archi-
tectural creation; and by this environment the architect
must be led, directed, and urged to produce forms
which are the natural result of the environment, and
which respond to it in all its elements. If we bear in
mind the following definitions relating to ideas repre-
sented in organized matter, when that matter is the
human form, we can readily trace the application of
these definitions to the architectural organism, by sub-
stituting for the word motion the expression "tendency
to motion." An idea is a relation of matter, or an ob-
served motion of matter in relation to other matter.
An emotion is an observed form of motion of organized
matter in consequence of an act (muscular and nerve
motion), the result of an idea. Thus we may say of
the ideal forms of architecture, that they perform acts
illustrative of an idea, which acts are a condition of
muscular and nerve motion, or a tendency to the same,
which is, in all cases, an equivalent to an actual motion
arrested. Hence the emotion expressed in matter as
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
223
dealt with in the ideal forms of architecture, is in all
cases in imitation of the observed forms of the ten-
dency to motion in natural organized matter.
We find in nature that the human frame does me-
chanical work, sometimes with the labor of the carrier
of burdens, and then again with the ease of the athlete.
It is these gradations of ease, grace, directness, and ex-
pression with which labor is performed, or with which
mechanical work is done by the human frame, which
furnish to the architect the elements of art expression
in his structures.
Like the elements of all natural combinations which
serve the purpose of artistic or natural expression, they
are but few in number, but capable of an infinite series
of artistic combinations.
When we enumerate strength, elegance, and repose,
we have probably stated the whole range of the archi-
tectural gamut; but if we consider that each of these
qualities may be endowed with an endless range of
quantity, we can readily imagine that these mechanical
conditions of matter may express endless varieties of
ideas, from the dungeon keep to the tabernacle which
contains the Sacraments in the church of St. Laurence
at Nuremberg.
All natural organisms are possessed of the mechan-
ical ability to perform certain functions. This ability
we find more or less clearly expressed in their forms
as a whole, or in their crystallization. In this way they
convey to the mind an expression of these functions,
and thus they tell the story of their being. The archi-
tect, in imitation of this natural condition of matter,
so models his forms that they also tell the story of
their functions; and these functions are always me-
224
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
chanical conditions of strength, elegance, and repose,
in combinations of various quantities of these proper-
ties. The fundamental principle of the modelling of
architectural forms is therefore mechanical.
This brings us face to face with an architectural
question: "What are the relations of architectural art
and mechanical construction?" which has in its time
created much interest in a prolonged controversy. A
large number of modern architects hold that the con-
struction of a building relates merely to the personal
convenience of its occupants, and to certain mechanical
laws well known to engineers, which insure the stabil
ity of the structure; but that all this, though of eco-
nomical and scientific importance, has nothing to do
with architecture proper, which is an art that deals
with the decoration of the structure outside and inside,
which decoration alone is the art work, and that which
makes the building beautiful. This is the view taken
by Ruskin and his followers; and hence his great desire
that architects should be sculptors and decorators, and
leave mathematics and mechanics to vulgar engineers
and builders. Others again say that the architect
should know something of building, to be sure; but
inasmuch as the masses used in architectural monu-
ments should be inordinately large when compared
with the masses which might be needed for mere tech-
nical perfection of mechanical work, it is hardly ne-
cessary that the architect should enter upon the sub-
ject of construction any further than is required to
insure safety and convenience, and that he may dele-
gate the whole subject to some clever builder or engi-
neer, and begin his work when that of the builder is
finished.
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
225
1
Another school of architects insists that methods of
construction, to say the least of it, are an element of
architectural art. They cannot shut their eyes to the
fact that the whole evolution of medieval architecture,
as it culminated in the great cathedrals of the thir
teenth century, is one of progress in methods of con-
struction, and that all forms in late medieval art may
be directly traced to mechanical results of the vaulted
roof.
Others go still further. They maintain that the
physical organization of a structure determines its
form, and that form is an aesthetic element not to
be ignored. The majority of practising architects
and late writers on architectural art, however, deny
that architectural forms have any relation whatever
to construction; that forms which satisfy the engi
neer do not please the architect, and that he may
change them, therefore, in mass and in their model-
ling; that he may entirely ignore the actual construc-
tion, and overlay it with forms of another construction
which serve as a mask to the real construction; and
that his forms, as he may choose to select and combine
them, although they doubtless originated in methods
of construction, are constructive elements no longer,
but pretty things arbitrarily combined to gratify indi-
vidual whims (taste they call it), producing lights and
shadows, to look beautiful, artistic, and odd-forms
which shall appear to be something, but which are in
reality nothing. In the whole range of architectural
literature we find it nowhere developed, or even stated,
how this work of combining forms, which at one
time meant something, but which now means nothing,
is to be carried on. There is no school in existence
15
226*
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
which teaches the proper use of old forms, or a
possible development of new forms. Each man is to
govern himself in this matter as he pleases; he shall
work for effects, grand effects, striking effects, palatial
effects, homely effects, and grotesque effects. These
effects are not results of special causes which may be-
come positively known, but attempts to present some-
thing which is not; to produce a sham, an untruth, by
means of individual enterprise. The effort of man to
create things in imitation of his Maker is henceforth
to be a pretence and a swindle; a collection of second-
hand properties which may be palmed off upon a cred-
ulous and ignorant audience as real things by an un-
scrupulous scene-shifter. And so they are palmed off
upon a gullible public, sharing the fate of all such de-
ceptions-a momentary success and then eternal con-
tempt. Hence architects change their forms and com-
binations of forms from day to day, to make up by
novelty what is lacking in truth. And thus architec-
ture has ceased to be an art and has become a fashion.
We may be sure of a truthful and exact answer to
the question, "What are the relations of mechanical
construction to architectural art?" if we conscien-
tiously examine, not the quibbles of the schools, nor the
authorities of past practice, but the nature of architec
ture as a fine art.
Architecture deals with ideas, and with ideas only.
In the forming of a structure, it attempts to depict the
soul of the structure, not merely to minister to the
physical wants of its occupants. It further deals with
physical wants, not perhaps as elements of fine art, but
as important motives in transferring to a structure acts
which may not well be performed elsewhere. And when
DEFINITION OF ARCHITECTURE.
227
architecture is considered from a purely artistic stand-
point, viz., as a fine art, it deals with forms which
are primarily the result of physical necessity; and,
secondarily, with the substance which is needed to ex-
press the idea. Can we analyze the relations of con-
struction and architecture, or may we determine that
there is no relation between the two?
The answer to this question must be reserved for a
special chapter.
CHAPTER XVII.
IDEAS.
THE observed relation of matter is an idea. That
"water is a fluid," is a statement of its relation to other
matter which is solid, hence an idea. An idea may be
the result of our own personal observation, or it may
be communicated to us by others who have seen the
matter in relation. In the latter case, we derive our
knowledge not by seeing for ourselves the matter in
question, but by the substitution of other matter
which we have seen. For instance, we may be told
that chloroform is fluid and colorless. Our idea of
chloroform would, in that case, be derived from water,
alcohol, or any other colorless fluid. Yet we all know
that upon a personal visual examination of chloroform,
a person skilled in observing would discover a sufficient
specific character in chloroform which will enable him
subsequently to distinguish it from alcohol or water.
We never know more than we have perceived with
our senses; hence it may be said that all ideas are the
result of sensuous perception. The definition of the
idea, viz., a perceived relation of matter, determines its
value. Defective observation and defective comparison
will produce a defective idea. A sensuous perception
of isolated matter conveys no idea; a comparison is
necessary with other matter observed at some time. The
+
228
IDEAS.
229
motion of matter constitutes an idea; but motion re-
fers to a material point outside of the matter observed.
In the revolution of a body around its axis, a material
separation of that axis from the rest of the body be-
comes necessary to convey an idea.
Mathematical and geometrical analyses refer not to
special matter, but to any body whatever in certain re-
lation, or to the boundaries of matter, or its surfaces.
Space and time have been cited as ideas abstract
from matter; but Leibnitz has defined space and time
as confused ideas of the relation of matter in co-exist-
ence and succession.
Speculations on the infinite and immaterial are held
to be mental efforts not preceded by sensuous percep
tion. Unfortunately these speculations refer to terms
and not to ideas. An idea must be defined before it
can be recognized as such, and definition always in-
volves matter. The argument upon the infinite and
immaterial seeks its hypothesis in the finite and ma-
terial. These terms have been paired in that order so
frequently that they have attained popular currency
in this relation. Unfortunately matter is not finite.
There is no truth better established than that matter
is indestructible. The only thing which is known to
be finite is, in truth, not a thing at all, but a condition
of things, a relation of matter, the only subject which
can possibly become the basis of an idea.
A relation of matter may form a hypothesis from
which by sound argument other relations of matter
may be deduced, but the immaterial must remain out-
side of any possible chain of argument which can lead
to an idea.
Ideas relating to virtue, vice (positive and negative
230
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
morality), comprising relations of man to his fellow-
man, to the community, to himself, to God, the State
and the Church, are all traceable to a solicitude for the
preservation and continuance of human life and its
subordinate sources, such as property, liberty, human
rights, government, etc., which, when closely considered,
mean the human desire to perpetuate life, a relation of
matter which is the basis of man's identity. The de-
sire for immortality is nothing more than the solicitude
that our identity may not be lost hereafter. This iden-
tity, again, is known to us only as the relation of the
matter which enters into the composition of our body.
Hence it is that no reference to our continuance here-
after can be intelligibly formulated beyond this con-
dition of identity which we know only as a relation of
matter.
Whatever we observe by means of our senses
may be
subsequently recalled by what is known as the faculty
of the memory, which is held to be a property of the
mind or the soul. Reflection is also named as a func-
tion of the soul; but analysis does not show it to be
anything more than the process of recalling previous
sensuous impressions by virtue of our memory and
comparing them.
Sensuous impressions are more or less perfect, accord-
ing to accuracy of observation. The pictures we recall
by force of memory never exceed in accuracy the
original impressions; but are frequently defaced by
other subsequent impressions and by the action of
time.
Recent progress in science explains the processes of
sensuous perception up to that point where the nerves
communicate sensation to the nerve-centers. Of the
IDEAS.
231
nerve process itself, we know nothing; nor can we
possibly form any idea of how consciousness of what
we see, hear, feel, smell, or taste, is communicated to
the soul-a process involving the action of matter upon
what is not matter. That the soul, an entity without
matter, commands the action of matter, has been
universally taken for granted, without satisfactory
explanation of the converse, that the soul may be, and
necessarily in this way is, affected by matter. What is
more, the deterioration of mental impressions by time
partakes so sensibly of a defect peculiar to mere matter
that it must become doubtful whether the function of
memory is not purely an affection of matter, a succes-
sion of organic changes in the nerve-centers, which may
coexist without materially obliterating each other, some-
what in the manner of the passing of various currents
of electricity through the same wire, the intersection
of large and small waves on the surface of water, or
the sound vibrations of a string in the case of over
tones.
It becomes no man either to originate or to accept
attributes of the Deity or the soul which involve either
in the weaknesses and defects to which matter is sub-
ject; and we may prove our appreciation of the im
mortal part of man by referring the function of memory
to a condition of nerve and brain matter.
The functions of the nerve-centers and the brain, in
comparing sensuous perceptions, in recalling them by
force of memory, and in directing muscular action, are
now positively known to consume time (a mechanical
condition), and to influence the circulation in the effort
to renew nerve matter consumed (or, better, changed),
and the magnitude of both the time consumed and the
232
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
1
extent of the change of circulation have been experi-
mentally determined. Hence no doubt can remain as
to the material nature of thought.
All relations of matter in which man has an active
part by virtue of the exercise of his will, are termed
ethical ideas. They are the great storehouse from
which art draws its material, since art has at all times
served as an instructor to man by illustrating prin-
ciples of morality. Man has two sources from which
he derives knowledge, the brain and the heart. This
is the figurative, the poetical way of expressing the
distinction made by Baumgarten between conceptive
knowledge—the clear understanding which follows
logical demonstration-and confused knowledge-the
result of sensuous perception which follows the ex-
amination of works of art and of nature.
That the heart plays a part in conceptive knowledge
is not entirely a figure of speech, and this fact deserves
closer examination. The heart is the pendulum of the
circulation, with which it beats in unison. The circu-
lation of the blood is subject to material variation in
consequence of emotions. There are emotions which
will make the heart beat faster, and others which will
cause it to stand still.
Now art, as we have seen in a former chapter, deals
exclusively with emotions, and contemplates them ar-
rested at a given point of their development. The
idea, as it were, serves in this case as the hypothesis,
the act as the argument, and the emotion as the con-
clusion.
In works of art or of nature we are presented with
a condition of the object at the conclusion; and al-
though we may afterwards reflect upon the argument
IDEAS.
233
and the hypothesis, the upshot-the final result of the
information is placed in our hands at once. It is pre-
sented in the form of an emotion which claims our
sympathy, and spares us the mental effort which ac-
companies argument; hence we arrive more quickly
at a conclusion, but remain in the same degree ignorant
of the nature of the analysis. This is what Baum-
garten justly calls confused knowledge; a sort of
knowledge which promptly but not quite effectually
disposes of the case in hand. Hence it is that the in-
fluences of art and nature, to be of material benefit to
man, must be frequent, and, if possible, constant, in
their operation. We should take care, therefore, that
ideas of life should find expression in every human act
and in all objects which constitute our surroundings;
that all functions performed by man, no matter how
humble, shall be performed with a decent regard to
their moral import as well as to their physical nature.
To clothe ourselves does not mean to cover our
nakedness merely, or to protect ourselves against the
inclemency of the weather, but to give expression to
the human form, which never fails to respond to our
emotions, in order that these emotions may continue
to be perceptible, that they may restrain the subject
within the limits of moral propriety, and may serve as
an example to others. Immorality, by a law of nature,
seeks concealment. Art should tend to the reverse of
this, to constant expression. A man enveloped in the
modern fashionable attire cannot be joyous or serious,
affectionate or angry, affable or dignified in any degree,
without becoming in a greater degree ridiculous.
Dancing, which is a metrical movement to express
human emotions, has, under the influence of modern
234
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
•
dress, degenerated into an unmeaning contortion and
monotonous race. It has ceased to be possible to range
men and women in poetic groups without first endow
ing them with a fitting costume. A procession of men
in dress-coats and pantaloons never surpasses the dig
nity of symmetrically arranged scarecrows.
not walk, or dance, or sit, or kneel, without appearing
absurd; hence we have abandoned physical action, and
· utter sentiment or wisdom with a sardonic smile which
must freeze the most enthusiastic audience into con-
tempt for anything outside of mathematical demon-
stration, or the statistic arrangement of facts in tabular
statements. The conventional forms in which the hair
and beard are now worn have done more to destroy
the poetry of life, and have been a greater hindrance
to art development and morality than selfishness, greed,
and native meanness. If art is to become a living
principle in so-called civilized countries, as it has been
heretofore among the so-called heathens of Greece and
Rome, among the Egyptians, the Hindoos, and Japan-
ese, or among the Christians of the middle ages, we
must begin by reconstructing our dress upon art prin-
ciples.
It is said of the Roman Senate that it resembled an
assembly of kings. Who will say the same of the
British Parliament or of the Congress of the United
States? Many members of both these bodies may be
better fitted to be kings than most of those we read of
in history; but do they or their compeers look, act,
dress, talk, and bear themselves like kings? No, in-
deed; and why not? Because it is the affectation of
the times to despise everything that pertains to mere
form. We have seen the hollowness of appearances,
IDEAS.
235
of dress, of manners, of form of all kinds; and we will
have none of it.
This high-sounding bit of philosophy will not stand
the test of examination. It is only the repetition of
Plato's contempt for matter; but Carlyle tells us "that
matter is a thing greater than man, a thing not to be
comprehended by him, it is an infinite thing." Can
the Speaker of the House of Commons divest himself
of matter? Can he present himself to us without form?
And why, pray, shall he prefer the form of a jockey to
that of a king? Are the dandies and the doubtful
women of Paris infallible authorities to decide for us
the form in which God should have made man when
he did not.
Wisdom may not be unfavorably affected by slouchy
habits and awkward gait, or the unimpassioned droning
which takes the place of speech; but it is a serious
and all-important question whether morality does not
suffer from the unpoetical habits of the age. A man
will commit a mean act under the influence of mean
surroundings; and even Diogenes might have been a
better man in a decent cottage than in a tub, for the
simple æsthetic reason that a tub in its form and con-
struction represents a receptacle of fluids; while man,
considered as matter, must be classed with the solids.
The moral effect of art expression becomes greatest,
however, when contemplated in its influence upon the
masses.
If Parliament met upon a secluded island, and the
members were all philosophers, they might in dress
and habit neglect all outward expression, and stand like
animated milestones when they address the Speaker.
But when we consider that the wisdom of the legis
236
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
lator becomes apparent to the masses more by his
manner than the substance he utters, that the people
recognize the merit of an ambassador or prime minister
not from what he has accomplished, but from the fact
that he has been made a Knight of the Garter, a duke,
or an earl, the necessity of outward material demon-
stration of art influence in all acts which are of public
import becomes evident.
Abstract knowledge is a limited sphere of bright,
brilliant, white light, which sends its rays far into a
dense and moist atmosphere, where, by aberration, re-
flection, and refraction those beautiful colored light-
pictures are produced which we see at the rise and
setting of the sun, and which constitute the light of art,
the mystic knowledge of the people. You cannot,
as some philosophers would have it, force those direct
rays beyond a certain limit, and you cannot collect
humanity within that narrow limit of pure white light.
Why then build up an artificial screen and deprive the
mind of the masses of that charming sea of floating
colored and silver clouds, wherein they see a glimmer
of the light of their being, simply because they cannot
see the light itself?
And so the Church of to-day has weakened its influ-
ence with a sham appearance of stoical philosophy.
The statesman may say, with some show of justice,
that he deals with the white light of political economy,
that his arithmetical figures and tabular statistics need
not the poetical help of art to become visible to his
brother statesmen; and that the masses never will un-
derstand these in spite of all the pictures he may paint
in gorgeous array, in processions, in grouping, and in
declamation.
IDEAS.
237
True, this is unsound reasoning, because the people
may be made to respect what they but dimly under-
stand, and morality may be the gainer by it. But can
the priest hold the same argument? Can he say that he
deals with pure logical demonstration, or that it is not
important that the masses should know that which he
presents to them as clearly as he does himself? Are
not faith, dogma, and rites in themselves pure and un-
adulterated art, which, in mystic form and high-wrought
colors, concentrate the vivid rays seen only by Brahma,
by Moses, and the Son of God? Shall we not picture
Him crucified, and yet believe in transubstantiation?
Shall we not carry in procession the likeness of the
Mother of God, while we are called upon to believe in
the Holy Ghost? Are we to cease worshipping the
saints because they are mere men, and confess our faith
in the Trinity? If the poetic expression of human
emotion is to be abolished because it appeals directly
to a figure in stone, why, then, let us condemn the
stone, but substitute something more fitting to sustain
the emotion. If saints will not do, nor the gods of the
harvest, then take the harvest itself and carry it in
procession-flowers and sheaves and fruit-anything
in the shape of matter which will express an idea, and
which will move men's hearts. Do you think that
men can be moved to morality, piety, or religion in any
form by lounging in soft-cushioned pews and listening
to a sermon? Do you know what these men and
women are doing while they appear to listen to your
words? They are either thinking of something which
interests them more, or they are weighing in a critical
balance the amount of erudition and natural ability
which is contained in your literary performance, and
238
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
remotely, perhaps, whether its market value is up to the
standard of your salary. Gather up all these thoughts,
ye architects, and see what sort of a monument will
express them in matter.
It may be asked here, Are the clergy of the nine-
teenth century ignorant of the emotional elements of
religion and art? Are pastors of Christian churches
indifferent to the true interests of their charge? Are
they indisposed to do the right thing when they
know it?
Architecture is indebted to the church of all ages
for its existence as a fine art, and it may be stated as
a rule that the priesthoods of all nations are the true
patrons of architecture, sculpture, painting, and, indi-
rectly, of music. The clergymen of the present day,
taken as a class, have, in the turmoil of business,
of politics, and of scientific pursuits, and in spite of
the pressing necessities of worldly competition, pre-
served a loyal interest in what is true and good, inde-
pendent of all immediate results, and in a measure far
beyond any other class of professional men.
The pas-
tors of Christian churches of the present day are en-
dowed with a general education superior to that pos
sessed by the priesthood of any other people and of
any other time. Their devotion to the task which they
undertake, their conscientiousness in the means selected
to carry it out, a strict morality, and a pure life, cannot
be denied them. But yet this enviable condition of
things brings with it, like all other human conditions,
its own peculiar difficulties and defects.
Liberal education has so far removed the priest from
the people that he cannot clearly see how absolutely
his parishioners are dependent for their education upon
1
IDEAS
239
the confused knowledge afforded by art; he is led to
think logical methods quite sufficient to ground and
maintain them in the dogmas of faith as still held by
the church, and to sustain habits of morality, zeal, and
conscientiousness, without the aid of that poetry which
will make it an outcome of the heart, rather than the
conviction of the head. The priest has learned enough
of logical deduction to doubt that others need any
other help to carry them to the goal of ethical perfec
tion, and yet not enough successfully to convert the
pulpit into a rostrum, and the church of God into a
theatre of learning.
Standing at the circumference of the great circle of
white light, privileged to look within and without,
undetermined on which side of this boundary his lot
is cast, he occupies the singular and doubtful position
of combating art as a detriment to religion, and science
as a contradiction to it. Trained in practical life by
the reforming tendencies of the times, he has acquired
a habit of protesting, and has educated himself into a
militant against thought on the one side, because it is
supposed to endanger his system, and against poetic
development on the other, because he wishes to purify
that same system. Resolved to wipe from the memory
of men what he terms the superstitions of the church,
by banishing every physical demonstration, every po-
etic act which may remind man of the hated dogma,
or which may foster affection for condemned practices,
he has forgotten to replace these material incentives
to religious emotion by others better suited to his pur-
pose; and in his zeal to tear down he has omitted to
build up again; and now finds himself houseless, and
without shelter, exposed to the burning rays of the
240
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
light of science, and the pitiless chill and sleet of pop-
ular indifference.
A large and very respectable class of modern clergy-
men are strongly convinced that all this is wrong, and
yet have not arrived at that point where such a con-
viction leads conscientious minds to the right. Con-
servative habits prompt them not to a radical recon-
sideration of the subject, but to a sighing for the flesh-
pots of Egypt, and a return to the ecclesiastical forms
of the thirteenth century. Opposed to forms of one
kind, because they express something in which they
have no faith, they seek forms of another kind which
express precisely the same thing, deceiving themselves
into the belief that these forms, after all, mean nothing
in particular.
What is the Church to do under the circumstances?
Like a prudent general, it must first of all reconnoitre
the position of the enemy, and then boldly resolve
upon and occupy its own. Religion means instruc-
tion, an answer to various metaphysical and ethical
inquiries. The text-book of Christian instruction, the
Bible, contains no metaphysical reasoning in explana-
tion of our being, the existence of the Deity, the im
mortality of the soul, or to prove the rationale of the
moral precepts enjoined. The passages devoted to the
law, to rules of life, are very short and of rare occur-
The mass of the work may be pronounced to
be a poetic history, painted in word-pictures, which
point a moral lesson.
rence.
Many of the precepts contained in the books of Moses
are set aside by the New Testament; and the latter con-
tains parables which are avowed to be merely instruc
tive, and which have been variously interpreted. Indeed
IDEAS.
241
the whole work is received by us in the sense accepted
by various commentators, and its interpretation has un-
dergone changes within the limit of the times of mod-
ern Protestantism. Christian nations accept it as a
fundamental law, which shall govern every individual;
and necessarily, also, the State. We find, however, the
criminal code of England to have abolished the death
penalty for forgery and theft, with the approval, or at
least the acquiescence of the Church, though it does
not appear that the Christian clergy protested against
these laws during a continuance of many hundred
years. Recent geological research has changed the
interpretation given to the history of the creation as
contained in Genesis, and various astronomical facts
are readily accepted by the Church, though they have
been heretofore contradicted by reason of certain pas-
sages of the Scriptures. It is now admitted as a rule,
that the terms in which various phenomena are treated
in biblical history, are adapted to the special popular
knowledge of the times; and mean, in fact, not what
is there stated, but what may, at any time, be the ac-
cepted explanation of those phenomena.
To look at religion from a stand-point outside of
Christianity and the Bible, we must be convinced that
it has always existed for the purpose of answering man's
questions asked of nature, and of regulating his actions.
This purpose it has answered at all times, though it
has itself changed in form and substance. Thousands
have died the most cruel deaths upon the scaffold;
thousands more in the wars waged to maintain re-
ligion in its existing forms. Yet it has changed and
will continue to change until the end of time; yet
man respects its function in life, and obeys its pre-
16
242
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
cepts; and these are ever the same, and ever will
be.
The means of religion to make itself understood,
obeyed, and respected, is art, and art alone. The
means to modify, and perpetuate, and adapt it to man's
condition, his state of knowledge, is again art. It has
no enemies but in its conservative advocates, who
cannot comprehend the necessity of change in a sys-
tem which they have received as final and immutable,
in spite of the facts that history is mainly the history
of former changes, as future history will be of the
changes of the present time, and that it depends en
tirely upon ourselves whether these changes shall or
shall not be accompanied with war, and bloodshed,
and human suffering; or whether we may not, by hold-
ing on to the substance of human morality, and to the
means of human art, and to the conditions of human
intelligence, make religion still the great lever and
constructor of human happiness.
The priesthood of the Christian Church is sensitive
to every theory advanced in science, for fear that it
may contradict some innocent simile in the Bible.
Now geography, natural history, botany, chemistry,
are all positive sciences; yet no one would be startled
to learn that an error had been found in the latitude
of the Fiji Islands, or in the classification of certain
crabs or algae. When these corrections come well
authenticated, they are cheerfully adopted at once.
But yet, if they should be errors, no one is angry or
frightened; no one will dream of collecting all the
school-books which contain these errors and burning
them; no one will even prohibit their circulation.
The moment they are convicted of errors, they simply
IDEAS.
243
drop in market value, and drift quietly into the paper-
mill.
The substance of religion is contained in its art work.
Illustrations of human existence, of human relation to
the universe, and of the moral conduct of man, are
painted in word-pictures to express the metaphysical
thought of a certain time. For instance, the rule of
"eye for eye,” and limb for limb, is no doubt a proper
precept in troublous times, say while a nation is on the
move, emigrating to a new country, and of necessity
under the discipline of martial law. Change the con-
dition, as when the same nation lives under a strong
and effective government, like that of the Romans of
the time of Christ, supplied with all the paraphernalia
of public surveillance, a standing army, well-organized
criminal courts, etc., then the other precept, of the
"turning of the left cheek," may be the better rule of
conduct for the simple citizen. There is not a poem
or a novel written at the present day wherein are not
introduced, to the great moral edification of the reader,
divers heroic characters who exemplify precisely the
same opposite views of propriety of conduct without
giving umbrage to the most fastidious critic. What is
demanded of literary art work is that heroes shall be
painted with truth to nature, and in imitation of her
laws and principles. You cannot go amiss; you may
paint an honest man or a thief, and the result will be
a lesson on the side of morality. But a previous con-
dition is, that you must paint, you must produce a
work of art, or else your effort is a failure.
The Church also must paint; it must present ideas
in matter. Its matter is the congregation, the clergy
who lead the service, the choir which conducts the
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NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
music. All these may be used more or less in the
performance which is to be the act illustrative of the
idea.
The ideas of religion are immutable; they are the
relation of man to God and his fellow-men. The acts
are changeable-the worship of the sun, the sacrifice
upon the altar, the libation, the partaking of the sacra
ment. Think for a moment of this last simple act of
pious men who break the bread and drink the wine in
commemoration of their communion with Christ. What
a magnificent picture, when, on the sounding of the
sanctus bell, the congregation kneels in momentary
silence! You are not in favor of the continuance of
this great emotional performance; you dislike it be-
cause it is the invention of a set of men who, some
hundreds of years after its institution, were convicted
of the heinous crime of selling indulgences. Be it so;
you are only exercising a natural right, an inherent
privilege of the priesthood of any time and of any
country, when you boldly wipe it off from the face of
the earth. But you must substitute another method for
it to commemorate man's relation to God, or else man,
the average man, will cease to feel that there is such a
relation.
Ah, you say, in that case you will see to it that he
shall know it instead of merely feeling it; that you will
personally demonstrate it to him from the pulpit, and
convince him of it.
To demonstrate, to convince others, means to know
yourself. What do you know of God? If you should
assert that you do know God, you will constitute your
self the boldest sinner of your congregation. You may
believe in God; but to say that you know him, you
IDEAS.
245
must be either a God yourself or a pretender. What
can we know of time, and space, and eternity, of things
immaterial in any sense? The moment you attempt
knowledge in that direction, attempt a definition of the
Deity, of his attributes, of his acts, or of anything per-
taining to him, you are guilty of sacrilege, of a pre-
sumption the impiety of which has no equal in human
audacity.
The knowledge of God which man may speak of
without sin, is the confused knowledge of nature, and
man's humble effort at imitation of it in art. As you
see him reveal himself in matter, even so is your knowl-
edge of him-confused, uncertain, fragmentary, adum-
brative, nowhere and never absolute, and in that sense
only can you convey it to other men; and your personal
feeble literary efforts in that direction are insufficient.
for the work. You need Nature and Art to help you,
in fact, to do this work for
you. And if
And if you succeed
in directing it in part successfully, within the limits
of your understanding of it, you have done all that can
be expected of you.
But, says you young priest, recently ordained, "I
am the ambassador of the Most High, as he has re-
vealed himself to man, and I proclaim him with assur-
ance and without sin." True, precisely so; this is the
gist of the argument, "as he has revealed himself to
man,” in nature and in art, in pictures such as may be
understood from time to time, and which may fit either
a condition of progress or one of retrogression. These
pictures you must learn to know, that you may inter-
pret them according to the knowledge of men and of
your own time. Their true and full import you never
will know. Even Moses was enjoined to cover his
246
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE
face that he might not be overwhelmed by the glory
of God. Man cannot know God and live. This is the
substance of God's message to man, which you are
commanded to convey.
As the Church groups men in worship, so may the
architect build the visible Church in unison with these
groups. For this part of the work he must look to the
Church for direction; it is there where his function be-
gins. But if the Church have no conception of its duty,
of this peculiar element of art which it alone can origi-
nate, then the Church, as a structure of fine art, becomes
impossible. Could a Phidias give expression to the
human form if God had made man in the shape of a
cylinder without features to express emotion?
If the story of Helen and Paris were to be enacted
over again in our own time, it would figure in the
journals of the day as an "elopement in high life,” or
as a celebrated divorce case; the Iliad would be im-
possible.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MONUMENTS.
WHAT is a monument? Every expression of thought
Whatever we say,
in durable form is a monument.
Į
write, paint, or cut in stone, or cast in metal, is a monu-
ment. If the thought we utter is a wise one, of im-
portance to mankind, the monument expressing it will
be prized by men, and will endure accordingly. If it
be built in stone, and the stone decay, another monu-
ment will soon replace it. A word spoken, if it be
wise and expressive of an idea, will endure like the
pyramids. If false or frivolous thought is monumen-
tally preserved, it is to the discredit of its authors as
long as it lasts. Vain thoughts, untruths, verbally
uttered, are soon forgotten; when put into print, in
books, in periodicals, and in newspapers, they haunt
men until they find their grave in the paper-mill.
When embodied in stone or metal, their duration is
extended to the discredit of their authors. An idea
may not be absolutely true, and yet, if it be conceived
in charity to man, and represents the highest intellec
tual effort of an epoch, it may still live and be re-
spected, although superseded by another idea much
nearer the truth. Man may continue to cherish it as
a human aspiration of truly divine significance. Vari-
ous scientific theories, and most of the religious systems
}
247
248
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
of the past, are instances of the kind. And the latter
continue to exist in painting, sculpture, and poetry;
while the former constitute no inconsiderable part of
the history of science, where they are mentioned with
due regard for the ingenuity and learning of their
authors, although their fallacy has been long ago
demonstrated.
It is the province of architecture to express ideas
by structures. All structures, consequently, are archi-
tectural monuments. A structure may, however, ex-
press an idea it was not intended to express; perhaps
the very opposite of that idea. The man who builds
a dwelling according to the fashion of the day to live
in, or to sell, as it may be marketable, is building a
monument which does not reflect his personality, but
simply the conventional sentiment of the masses. This
may be thus summed up: Well-to-do people of the
nineteenth century require a certain amount of crea
ture comforts and a certain amount of display; to
obtain all this with the least cost is the main thing.
Another has mastered this principle in architecture,
that his house must not be a monument to any and
every one, but to himself. He would, however, have
himself reflected in his dwelling, not as he is, but as he
would like the public to believe him to be. The critic
will not accept such a monument as architectural art,
but will class it with other species of public advertise-
ment, in which advertisement the public will put no
faith.
If a man, however, tries to build a house which
shall be as good as he can afford to make it; if he does
nothing for show, and everything for structural in-
tegrity; if he builds it so that it may serve his pur-
MONUMENTS.
249
pose, then this house will be a monument of this
purpose. If he be a person who invites friends to
enjoy his hospitality, or if he lives entirely for his
family; if he reads much, or plays much, or makes
eating the main business of life, his house will tell the
story truthfully, and become a monument of the man.
But, first of all, in order to create a monument it is
necessary that its author should be conscientious, and
that he should respect the thing he is doing. He
must not look upon it as a mere makeshift for certain
physical needs, but as a worthy manifestation of men-
tal functions. To illustrate: It is proper and right
that, in a ship, which is not a work of fine art, but
one supplying a temporary necessity, every nook and
corner should be utilized. A locker may be placed
under the stairs, over a berth, or in any convenient
place in the saloon; we may crowd the passages and
stairways into spaces limited by the necessities of the
passengers and the crew. In a gentleman's dwelling
such a proceeding would be vulgar; for this is not a
shelter merely, but a residence. A certain liberality
of space and a dignified order of things forbids as an
art necessity the use of space for two or more pur-
poses. Otherwise we fail to express the proper func-
tions of the part we are treating.
There is also another fundamental principle of art
work. We should not resort to mechanical expe-
dients, no matter how sound in themselves, because
they are desirable only on economical grounds, if they
are lacking in, or detrimental to, clear art expression.
If an
acre of ground is to be protected from the
weather to make the space available for a rolling-mill,
for a car-house, or for a depot of lumber, and this can
250
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
be economically and well done by an iron truss from
wall to wall, it is the thing to be done; but such an
expedient would not conduce to art expression in a
church, a theatre, or a legislative chamber any more
than the hide of an animal would furnish a substitute
for a properly organized garment. We are not sup-
posed in a monument to grudge the space or the
material that is needed to show that mechanical work
is well and easily done, the result of which is repose.
We should not resort to a trick in the matter of con-
struction, for to the educated mind it must seem un-
worthy of the purpose, and to the masses it suggests no
idea but that of meeting a physical necessity. It must
be remembered that a work of fine art is the expres-
sion of an idea in matter. Matter, therefore, is an
all-important element in an art production; it alone
affects the senses. In any mechanical organism mas-
siveness is a visible guarantee of stability; reflection
must not be required to bring about conviction that
the organism performs its functions, more especially
as most persons who are affected by it are incapable
of such reflection.
In the erection of a monument, self-denial should
consist in refraining from unmeaning display for the
sake of show. Architecture is popularly held to be
the art of decorating a structure so as to make it ap-
pear beautiful. This is true or not true according
as we understand the beautiful. It is supposed that
a structure may be made beautiful by piling upon it
a multitude of pretty things to hide its construction,
which is supposed to be commonplace, merely the
work of the builder and the engineer.
The error contained in this notion is twofold. First,
MONUMENTS.
251
there is no beauty but that which results from a forcible,
clear, and successful expression of the idea in matter.
Expression can be found only in depicting features
which vary in dignity, magnitude, power, and force of
action. It is clear that expression must depend on the
amount of character in various features of the structure;
that is to say, we must make one part more dignified,
more ample, more strong, more forcible than another,
and attain to as great a number of such possible differ-
ences as there are classified features in the structure
under consideration. Now this can be accomplished
only by an ascending or a descending scale of deco-
ration fitted to express corresponding features of the
structure. We must gain expression by making parts
plainer than others, as well as by making parts richer
than others.
Secondly, plain constructional forms express functions
fully and directly in obedience to nature's laws. When
constructive expression is heightened by decoration,
it tells more plainly and promptly the nature of the
functions performed by the organism. The laws of
mechanics, however, are the only guide to a true sys-
tem of carved and color decoration; and if these laws
are not duly regarded, there arises a discord between
the expression of the masses and that of their decora-
tion, which detracts from the expression of the whole.
In this case it were better that the masses were not
decorated.
In creating a monument, the problem is mainly to
give expression to the acts performed within its walls,
which is done by giving to the structure a form which
will correspond with the groups performing these
acts, and to its parts such masses, modelling, carved
252
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
and color decoration as will express precisely the de-
gree of stability, dignity, and elegance which corre-
sponds with the import of the acts to be expressed.
The form of a monument is determined, therefore,
by the human groups which are accommodated in its
interior, and must contain as many single cells as there
are prominent groups. The expression of strength
and elegance must relate to the mechanical functions
performed by structural parts, and is, therefore, refer-
able to mechanical laws. It is the purpose of every
architectural monument, also, to supply such physical
needs as shelter and comfort to the persons who oc
cupy it; and we may, therefore, sum up the conditions
which surround the creation of a monument, as the
idea which called it into being, the acts which illus-
trate this idea, the emotions which are produced by
these acts in the human groups which occupy the
structure, the degree of strength and elegance which
corresponds with these emotions and with the nature
of the materials which serve for the erection of the
monument, and the knowledge possessed by the author
of the monument of both the mechanical and aesthetic
relations of the matter which serves to form the or
ganism of his structure. All these conditions apper-
taining to the development of monumental forms may
be likened to the environments of natural organisms,
with this difference, that the art force in natural or-
ganisms is absolutely adequate, while in an art work,
created by human effort, the degree of creative force
varies with the ability and learning of the artist. But
it must be clear that man cannot invent artistic forms,
but that he may permit himself to be led into the de-
velopment of forms in precisely the same way as nature
MONUMENTS.
253
}
develops her forms. In nature environment compels
functions, and the organism fully responds to these
functions; hence it is possessed of perfect expression.
In an architectural monument the functions of the
structure are first determined, and next to these the
methods of expression, all of which is in imitation of
nature by referring development at every stage to
nature's own laws pertaining to such organism, viz.,
the laws of statics. Hence these laws, together with
the nature of the fundamental idea which is the origin
of the monument, the material of which it is built, its
situation with reference to the sun, the climate of the
country in which it is built, constitute environments
of physical development, which must be understood
and responded to by the architect.
The development of monuments in the past, how-
ever, does not show even an approximation to a prompt
and full appreciation of the conditions controlling the
creation of monuments by those who built them.
Antique and mediaval monuments reached perfect de-
velopment at a time when the ideas which called them
into being had long culminated and begun to decay,
if that term can be used in relation to an idea-under-
going a change in its nature, or yielding its place to
another idea related to it indeed, but so materially
modified as not to be readily recognized as the same.
The monuments erected under Pericles, those of the
Roman empire, and the cathedrals of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries are all illustrations in point. The
decay of Catholicism, and of the Polytheism of Greece
and Rome, occurred simultaneously with the perfec-
tion of the monuments illustrative of these religious
ideas.
254
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
"
We find the same phenomena in the celebration of
mediæval social and political conditions in the poetic
works of Shakespeare at the close of the Middle Ages,
when these social and political conditions had already
undergone such changes as pertain to the beginning of
a new era. The most potent cause of this is the fact
that the poetical embodiment of human relations is not
premeditated, but, on the contrary, a work of slow
growth. The present is to us always matter of fact.
We see in its conditions only so many obstacles or
helps to physical well-being. Religious, social, and
political opinions, and the customs, practices, and ma-
terial demonstrations growing out of them, appear to
us the essence of reason, a phase of mental emancipa-
tion from past error. We do not recognize them as
poetical revelations of partial truths, because we deem
them to be absolute truth. Only when we begin to
discover that our physical interests demand theoretical
changes in the fundamental ideas of our social fabric,
and these changes are initiated, the opinions and prac-
tices of the past become mythical, become pictures of
a human condition which acquires a poetical and pic-
turesque value in the precise degree in which its real
and actual value as a means to promote practical in-
terests begins to diminish.
The medieval armor is the necessary practical ac-
coutrement to resist mediaval arms, and the mediæval
castle the monument of a social condition based upon
physical force, and a code of honor and duty arising
from it.
Mediæval religion is the outcome of the physical
human relations of the time, the philosophy which
makes possible the existence of the weak in the pres-
MONUMENTS.
255
ence of the strong. The defects and the poetry of
both (the social condition and the ethical code pertain-
ing to it) are recognized simultaneously; and the ideas
which caused their being are celebrated in poetry and
architecture at the time when they begin to yield to
other ideas which are determined by other social con-
ditions. All this is perfectly consistent with past
practice, and perhaps also sufficient for the human in-
terests of the past. At the present time, however, it
becomes a serious question whether the rapid progress
of thought, and the more general acceptability of new
ideas, does not demand a philosophic development of
art expression of ideas which will keep pace with gen-
eral progress, in order to afford to the masses that in-
struction which can by them be derived only from
works of fine art. The only fine arts which can be
said to foster modern ideas are poetry and painting;
and the one above all others which fails to do this is
architecture. The reason is obvious. Architects of
all historical periods depended for a poetical realization
of ideas upon the Church, and upon the sister arts,
poetry, painting, and sculpture; or, in other words, the
architect did not realize the import of social and relig
ious ideas any sooner than the mass of the people of
his time. Yet the architect of the past, up to the
fourteenth century, lived in the midst of a civilization
wherein thought found constant expression in poetical
demonstration. Every species of occupation in life, every
rank of society was strongly marked by expressive
costumes. Holidays, feasts, and processions, convoca-
tions of the clergy, or the professions and the guilds,
gave material utterance to every shade and gradation
of social and religious life. In the absence of ready
256
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
methods of communicating thought to the masses of
the people in words, every idea developed immediately
crystallized into forms in which it could be conveyed
to those interested. The period since the Renaissance
has been devoted to a gradual but steady destruction
of forms and material demonstrations of all kinds.
Modern dress, at least the dress of the so-called
civilized world, has worked a revolution in the out-
ward form of society by assimilating all persons, and
by depriving all equally of the form with which
nature has endowed them. The divine right of kings
is steadily yielding to a greater fallacy, the equality of
all men. The despotism of the Church, which points
to the infallibility of one man, is promptly rejected,-to
be exchanged for what? The doctrine of the infalli
bility of all men, or, as it is called in Protestant tech-
nical language, the right of every man to read and
construe the Scriptures for himself. The social dis-
tinction of birth, based upon remote personal merit in
some ancestor, and upon probable education and good
breeding in the person who enjoyed it, is being rapidly
abrogated to make room for the theory that the claims
of no one are to be limited by an exaction of personal
merit.
The human race has discovered that certain social
and religious dogmas are not absolutely true, which is
no doubt a great gain, and betrays reflection and wis-
dom. It is a hypothesis from which valuable conclu-
sions may be drawn, provided we apply a sound logical
argument. But, upon the positive side, modern common
sense has brought forth nothing better and nothing
more than the wonderful proposition that a false idea
is converted into a true one the moment it is changed
MONUMENTS.
257
in any manner whatever. If the sun is not in the east,
then it must be in the north; if continuous rains ruin
the crops, constant droughts will preserve them; if
the moon is not made of silver, then it must be made
of green cheese. All this might do no great harm to
society, since to exchange one false theory for another
is not necessarily a loss, if the conviction had not gained
ground that all metaphysical questions are now abso-
lutely solved, that religion has become a science and
government is in that happy Utopian condition wherein
every one governs himself, and everybody else, with-
out restriction; that, furthermore, forms and material
demonstrations are unnecessary to a nation of philoso-
phers, that the picture language of art is no more
needed in actual life, and must find its level as a mere
means of popular amusement. The conceit is abroad
that the worship of God is nothing but a philosophic
understanding of his nature, and prayer an expression
of popular or personal opinion, somewhat the same as
a petition to Parliament, or to the Lord Mayor; that
the national legislature is a species of debating society
which is governed by mere mind, and can afford to be
oblivious of matter; that a court of law or justice is a
place of ready reference to settled codes, and a judge
a convenient index for such a reference without any
further social import; that all men are equal, because
they all wear the same dress, and that everybody
knows everything absolutely, and needs to defer to no
one for any purpose whatever. If it were not for the
novels we read in our youth, the plays we see performed
on the stage, and the music we hear everywhere, we
should have long ago discarded all notions of faith,
morality, and patriotism, and erected temples to pounds,
17
258
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
shillings, and pence. Under these circumstances it
becomes the duty of the artist to realize the nature of
current ideas, and to represent them in matter. The
architect, at least, cannot afford to wait until the ideas
of the time have been artistically rendered in poetry,
nor until those of the Church have been so rendered in
art. If the Church is to assist him in this effort, it is
quite clear that he, the architect, must initiate the pro-
cess; for it seems certain that the Church as a body
is oblivious of the necessity of it, and so are the courts
of law and modern legislative assemblies. All these
need the regenerating influence of art to make their
moral import understood by the masses. The period
of the Renaissance is one continuous effort to tear down
every material expression of reverence for gods, divine
and human, who have heretofore embodied human
virtue and human aspiration; and in place of these is
left, not a philosophic digest of the abstract ideas ex-
pressed by them, but a materialistic reduction of all
things, of all interests, of all institutions, to money
values, the only unit of measure of the present time.
Art, and more especially architecture, has ceased to
deal with ideas; and hence construction (the law of
mechanics) has lost its value as a method and a means
to develop forms. For the last three hundred years
no new forms have been created in architecture. The
ability to express ideas in matter, if it exists at all, is
not looked upon as an element in art creation. Ideas,
moreover, have not been artistically materialized dur
ing the same time; and, what is more, in the Church no
positive ideas have been developed. Shakespeare and
the architects of the thirteenth century celebrated in
art work medieval ideas. A modern Shakespeare and
MONUMENTS.
259
a modern architect can find in the Church no ideas of
the immediate past which may be celebrated in art.
If architecture is to be revived, we need first a revival
of positive ideas, and next a poetic translation of these
ideas into human acts.
The question will be asked here, Is society to place
itself in the hands of a skilled stage-manager, who is to
train it to perform the business of life with the decorum
which is befitting an exalted code of ethics? To this
we must respond with a decisive no! Human acts, like
art forms, cannot be invented; they must grow, and
they will grow, too, provided the ideas which they
illustrate are of such a nature that they will germinate.
Now ideas germinate under conditions opposite to those
of nature's germs. The latter must be placed in the
dark. Ideas, in order to germinate, must be placed in
broad daylight. This means that those who subscribe
to them must also believe in them and avow them
publicly. That men do not believe in ideas currently
promulgated is but too true; and it is equally true that
they dare not express those ideas in which they do
believe.
The modern popular hero who rides into power upon
the wave of the elective franchise is ill calculated to be-
come a material embodiment of ideas in which men can
believe, no matter how vociferously they may be pro-
claimed from the hustings. Art affectation which clus
ters around paltry oddities, over-estimated merits, and
accidental curiosities of the monuments of the past,
and seeks inspiration in attitudes, in mannerism, in
studied imitation of foibles and fancies which have no
meaning at present-perhaps never had any-does not
cherish ideas that men are willing to adopt as their
260
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
own, and to support which they will sacrifice their
substance.
Fortunately it is not given to man to dictate a code
of morals which is to govern others, and which he him-
self may subvert with impunity. If he attempts this,
the result is a constant upheaval of society, and such a
succession of violent agitations and revolts as we have
seen during the past century. Nor can he set up a false
code and have it obeyed. In fact, morality is a law of
nature-eternal, determined, unalterable. What man
can do is to prescribe the form in which this law is to
be taught, that is to say, the art form in which it is to
be clothed; and to see to it that this art form shall at
all times correspond with popular intelligence.
Nature has established sacraments which man must
respect and celebrate in some form; and, what is more,
his life must be a practical embodiment of the truth
they teach; and, if so, he will in all his acts illustrate
and represent them. They are the laws of God, as we
see them exemplified in nature, the truth they teach,
the rights and duties of man which they determine,
the claims of the weak and ignorant upon our help
and charity, the friendship we owe to those who be
friend us, our own unblemished honor, our loyalty to
the state, our industry in serving our race, our honesty
in dealing with men and things; and, finally, the hope
that we may add to the stock of knowledge-that our
thought, our ideas, may live after our mortal body has
merged in cosmic matter.
It needs no extraordinary powers of the imagination
to conceive and realize how and when these sacraments
may be celebrated within and without the Church, and
how they must become fruitful of acts, to perform which
MONUMENTS.
261
we need poetic groups whose emotions must give rise
to an endless variety of art forms, which, in their turn,
will do their share in the education of man.
The confessional, the mass, the saints, and all the
methods of Catholic worship pertaining to these, are
examples of material expressions of ideas as created in
the past. They must continue to command our respect,
and will continue to live in Christian poetry. We
have discarded them. We should now prove to the
world that we are capable of replacing them with
other and better expressions of religious ideas. If the
present class of recurring religious, social, and political
questions should condense and crystallize into tangible
ideas worthy of the intellectual condition of the age,
and society should, upon sober reflection, discard the
aberration of the so-called fashions, and apply itself to
clothing its thought in dignified and speaking art forms,
then architecture will be able to respond to the de-
mand made upon her. The architectural mind, which
is now filled with multitudes of created forms, may
well doubt whether new forms are a possibility; but
as long as ideas are developed, fitting art forms to ex-
press them will be the logical result, provided archi-
tecture remains a living art.
A moment's reflection will show that architecture,
in spite of the goodly age of this globe, is still in its
infancy. We have seen in a former chapter that it
deals with single cells, groups, and piles. In truth,
the art has not yet fully risen above the single cell.
In medieval architecture we certainly find groups of
cells and exceptionally rambling piles; but the former
are not fully developed, and the latter are mere acci-
dent, not premeditated-hence not art work in that
262
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
sense. In early human monuments, as the Pyramids,
it was required that they should be enduring, and the
expression of their import was sought solely in magni-
tude. It is but natural that the symbol to express
greatness which first presented itself to the mind of man
should be physical magnitude. Modern architects are
still somewhat possessed by an art superstition of this
kind. Magnitude is cited as one of the elements of
beauty, and this question is seriously debated some-
what in this wise: The larger a monument, the more
impressive, the more beautiful it is. Is there any
limit, then, to this largeness? For if magnitude con-
stitutes beauty, unlimited magnitude must be the cor-
relative cause of unlimited beauty; and this leads to
serious practical difficulties. The answer made to it
is not as logical as the question. It is held that the
magnitude of a monument should not exceed what you
can overlook from one point of sight. This can be
true only when the monument is the result of an iso-
lated idea, or of a single act illustrating an idea. If, on
the other hand, there are a series of acts to be repre-
sented, it would be well for the clearer representation
of the idea in matter that we should observe the vari-
ous acts in succession. Moreover, these various acts
and emotions are not of equal importance. Hence dif-
ferent magnitudes must come into play, and the rule,
"the larger the better," must yield to some sort of
system whereby magnitude is determined, not perhaps
in feet and inches, nor in diameters of columns, nor in
magical numbers, but by a rule of relation which shall
apply in all cases.
The eagerness to build high towers in connection
with medieval cathedrals is a remnant of this crude
MONUMENTS.
263
1
art system; and the method of placing these towers in
immediate connection with the nave, or, what is worse,
over the transepts, serves as a striking proof that the
single cell was ever present to the mind of mediæval
architects. The force which is inherent in the tower
is belittled by the proximity of the church, and the
idea of power to be imparted to the church is frus-
trated by the proximity of the tower; or, in other
words, as cathedrals are arranged, the tower belittles
the church, and the church belittles the tower. The
cathedral without the tower is a melody which relates
dignified ideas in a masterly manner; the tower is
the base note, well calculated to strengthen the score.
A visible separation, however, of the two is needed
fully to attain the desired effect.
Another strong indication of the prevalence of the
single-cell system is the crystallization of the cathedral
masses around a central line. This is what is usually
known under the name of symmetry. It is a funda-
mental law of both art and nature, but does not ex-
tend beyond the limits of organisms of a single func-
tion. In nature the moment there is a change of func
tion there is also a change of crystallization in magni-
tude, form, and direction. Art, to be in imitation of
nature, must utilize this very important fact by accept-
ing it as a law, and will thus gain in the expression of
the idea.
The composition of architectural groups is a problem
reserved for the future, and must be perfected before
the relation of architectural piles can be successfully
considered. This opens to us a vista of activity, which,
when fairly reached, will generate works compared to
which the cathedrals of the middle ages and Greek
264
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE
and Roman temples are the alphabet of art. There
are but few notes in the octave, but few colors (pure
colors) in nature; but the development of music and
color decoration depends more upon combination than
upon the number of original elements. Architecture
must seek its ultimate development, and will find it,
too, in the same way.
The monumental stone, or what is popularly known
as a monument, deserves a passing notice in this con-
nection. The architectural conception of it is to-day
nothing more than what it was originally, a mural
stone. True, it is not a rude stone now, it is modelled
to distinguish base, die, and cap. Sometimes it is
treated as an obelisk, and in medieval architecture it
assumes the form of an open chaplet not infrequently
surmounted with a steeple. In no case, however, has
it attained to the dignity of a structure expressive of
an idea.
It is true that the rude stone, as well as the stone
architecturally treated, is by no means devoid of the
idea. It presents always an emblematic reminder that
some one who has served society in some way is here
commemorated; but it does not tell us who this some
one was, nor what he has done to be remembered.
Architecture is evidently cognizant of this defect in
its own system to express more directly by a monu-
ment the person commemorated, and resorts to inscrip-
tions and sculpture to supply the deficiency. The
Prince Albert monument may serve as an illustration
of this. Now Prince Albert certainly rendered great
service to the British nation. Born and bred in a
country where in our day an atmosphere of profound
thought affects even princes, and called to a station
1
MONUMENTS.
265
where that direct shaping and modelling of the des-
tinies of a nation was not permitted him, which early
training and habit had taught him to be the function
of kings, he did not waste his energies upon a revolu
tionary attempt to acquire authority which in the end
could not accomplish more, nor as much as has been
accomplished by his intellectual superiority supported
by high social position. England's greatness is the
result of her insular position and of her coal-fields.
Commerce and mechanical industry are the sources of
British power and wealth. If there is a way by which
British industry can learn something which it does
not yet know, the exhibition on British soil of the in-
dustry of other nations will bring that information to
her doors. If there is, on the other hand, superiority
in British means and energy of which the world is not
now sufficiently informed, the same means will effect
favorable results. And finally, such an exhibition must
benefit all nations which participate in it as well as Eng-
land;
and its immediate result must be an encourage-
ment of trade, in which, by the nature of things, Eng-
land will again enjoy her due share. As far back as
we are informed by history, nations and governments
have wasted their strength and energies, the substance
and blood of the citizen, in wars which form the con-
tents of its pages and claim our attention and admira-
tion, the cause or object of which was nothing more
than certain advantages of trade, the acquisition of a
port or a province which promised resources of wealth
in some form. The Russian policy of the last three
centuries may serve as an illustration in point. The
first exhibition of the industry of all nations, as origin-
ated by Prince Albert, resulted in greater benefits to
266
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
the British nation than did the most successful and
famous wars.
What is here presented as a synopsis of the idea
which underlies the project of the Industrial Exhibi-
tion of 1851, is doubtless voluminously expressed in the
transactions of that enterprise, and has been detailed
in printed works innumerable. It is possessed of a
political and social interest which has been, and may
hereafter be, rendered in art, such as paintings, sculp-
ture, music, and poetry. An architectural monument
to Prince Albert, considered in the light of the present
day, should contemplate a structure, of moderate di-
mensions perhaps, but yet a structure accessible and
roomy enough to contain, say, in two or more cells, the
historical and artistic matter now accumulated or here-
after to be contributed to the illustration of the idea
of an exhibition of universal industry, which may be
seen and examined by visitors, and furnish direct in-
formation as to the work done by the person com-
memorated. The Industrial Exhibition has here been
singled out as a phase in the life of Prince Albert suit-
able for commemoration; but it is by no means the
only act of his life deserving of it. An endless number
of social organizations contemplating human advance-
ment, owe to him gratitude for guidance and practical
support; not to mention the high standard of his per-
sonal moral conduct, and an exemplary family relation,
which may well serve as a model to kings and citizens.
All this and more, which needs no mention here, but
which goes to make up the biographical history of
Prince Albert, will contribute material which should
find a fitting place in such a monument. Then there
is the art celebration of other persons who have been
MONUMENTS.
267
intimately connected with his enterprises, and who
have given direction by their personal influence to his
thoughts and acts; they also must be included in the
possibilities of such a monument. If we now proceed
to model a monument to commemorate Prince Albert,
we may devise three single cells of nearly equal value
as to magnitude, which shall contain, respectively,
first, all literary matter connected with the first Uni-
versal Exhibition of Industry; second, all historical
matter connected with his life and the lives of others
associated with him in useful enterprises; and, third,
all art matter, such as bas-reliefs, paintings, engravings,
etc., etc., pertaining to both. These three cells may be
ranged on three sides of a greater central cell, which
may be the Walhalla of the monument, containing
statues, busts, etc., of the hero of the monument and
his associates, and mural bas-reliefs of allegorical
allusion to his history. It is not necessary here to
enter upon an exact description of the further arrange-
ment of the needed entrance hall and vestibules, the
offices for the management and service connected with
the monument; for enough has been said to show that
a structural treatment would not only reveal the exact
nature of the monument, but would furnish to a visitor
the material out of which a perfect and complete his-
tory of the man commemorated, and of his works, could
be readily formed.
There was a time once when men attested documents
with a device imprinted in wax, with the hilt of their
sword or a signet ring. But the time of seals has
gone by, because men have learned to write their
names. There is no reason why the monumental stone,
with its hieroglyphic inscriptions and allegorical stat-
268
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
ues, should not yield to an organized structural monu-
ment, which, as a library and art museum combined,
contains such positive information as the progress of
the age is capable of furnishing to posterity. Nor can
we doubt for a moment that the interior of a structure
arranged to express its use, function, contents, and
human occupants, and an exterior arising from its
grouping, will convey a more vivid expression of the
idea which called it into being, or of the person it is
intended to commemorate, than the mere monumental
stone of the past and the present.
CHAPTER XIX.
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
ARCHITECTURAL construction teaches the application
of well-known mathematical reasoning to questions
arising in statical mechanics. It deals primarily with
the laws which determine the just proportions of mat-
ter under a given relation, and with the use of certain
given materials; and, secondly, it investigates possible
forms or possible relations of material, as also the appli
cation of mechanical laws to all available materials for
all possible purposes. In this manner methods of con-
struction are multiplied, and new materials are brought
into use. Methods of construction are geometrical de-
monstrations in matter of mechanical ideas, and are for
that reason not works of fine art. Fine art means
representation and not demonstration. The author of
a demonstration of an idea is, therefore, not an artist,-
but inasmuch as the work produced by him is to the
uninformed mind often a satisfactory representation of
an idea, without becoming absolutely a demonstration
(which can be the case only when the construction is
mathematically understood), the effect upon the sub-
ject is very much akin to that of a work of fine art
in this, that it produces surprise, or, as it is commonly
called, a pleasurable emotion.
Surprise is enhanced in the degree in which the
269
270
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
construction excels as a scientific achievement, and
also in the degree in which the essence of the argu-
ment involved is sufficiently revealed to betray, not
the scheme itself, but its fitness for the purpose.
Methods of construction also appeal to the imagina-
tion, and compel admiration for boldness of concep-
tion, daring, and enterprise. Hence it follows that
superior or inferior methods are applied to monumen-
tal structures in the degree in which these monuments
rank in the scale of ideas represented by them.
It needs no special argument to show that form is
the result of construction, and that construction de-
termines the elements of form. Form and construc-
tion are indeed so intimately related that they may be
advantageously connected in the same chapter, and
that we may, as it were, step from one to the other,
and gain thereby in the understanding of both.
It is rarely the case that one and the same struc-
ture represents more than one idea; but inasmuch as
fine art deals with acts and emotions (phases of an
idea), we can point to but few modern monuments
which do not involve the consideration of a number
of acts and emotions; and it needs to be considered
what elements of form and construction may be used to
serve the architect in expressing them. To illustrate :
the Greek temple contemplates the idea religion, also
a habitation for its services, a receptacle of the god,
accessible only to a priest, whose act, whatever it may
be, forms no element in the structure, as this act is
not observed by any one. No congregation is admitted
inside the temple. So far as the people are concerned
this temple is the habitation of a statue without func-
tion or motion; and it follows that this purpose may
1
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
271
be represented by a single cell which needs expression
only on the outside. A Christian church, on the other
hand, admits into its interior the whole congregation,
and accommodates various groups as they range
themselves for prayer, private and congregational,
music, confession, baptism, the communion, processions,
and sermons. The service and government of the
church also demand vestry-rooms, a chapter-house,
corridors, and cloisters; and thus a church structure
may be termed a group of cells. In this case, as in
many others, cells need not be separated from each
other by walls, but may be indicated by colonnades,
screens, or archways, for the reason that the separation
does not arise from a physical necessity but from an
æsthetic necessity which demands a representation of
the separate acts which illustrate the idea in the organ-
ism of the group; and also for the purpose of distin
guishing special acts by giving greater height to the
cells devoted to them, and a more refined treatment
in modelling and decoration.
It frequently occurs that the architect is called upon
to join two or more groups, as is the case, for instance,
in parliamentary structures. Such a combination of
groups becomes a pile, wherein the groups are sep-
arated sufficiently to. prevent practical inconvenience,
and mainly to give an expression to the whole, which
will tell the story of the functions of each group, and
hence of the whole pile.
A series of single cells, co-ordinate in their import
and use, may be treated as divisions of one great single
cell, as, for instance, the rooms of a hospital, prison-cells,
warehouse divisions, clerks' rooms attached to one and
the same department, committee-rooms, etc. If in such
272
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
a hive it becomes necessary to distinguish one or more
special cells, it may be done by simply accentuating
and grouping their openings as well as by distinguish-
ing them from others in magnitude, special modelling,
and decoration. This may be done, say in a warehouse
where the proprietor's office occupies an appreciable
part of the building; or in the case of a physician's
room in a hospital, etc. But in structures of a mon-
umental character it should be the care of the archi-
tect to see that the representation of no separate pur-
pose
of the structure be omitted, for all features of it,
if justly treated, contribute to its expression.
It is the function of the architect, in the first place,
to master the idea to be expressed, to understand the
various methods used to illustrate it by acts, and to
appreciate the import of the resulting emotions, that he
may be able to designate the various human groups
which form the basis of his design.
It is often the case that the proprietors of buildings,
or managers of building enterprises, commissioners,
committees, or other persons do not understand the
relation between the idea and the structure, or the
meaning of the structure as a work of fine art. In
that case the architect must supply the defect and
point out these relationships; he must, if need be,
awaken a sufficient interest to supplant the prevailing
prejudice that a structure is merely intended as a con-
venient shelter for its occupants.
The next step is to determine the magnitude and
form of the single cells and their relative positions, the
modelling, as it were, of the group. This process is
impossible either as a problem for the imagination, or
as a fact to be reduced to drawing, without a thorough
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
273
knowledge of methods of construction and of the princi-
ples which govern these methods. We cannot think of
spaces merely ; we must think of them as surrounded by
matter. This matter is called into use, and its mass is
determined by laws of mechanical construction. Now
it is not true that a structure (a monumental structure)
is, first of all, a shelter, a place for human convenience,
and afterward an object of fine art-that the domain
of architecture begins when the engineer and builder
have done their work of planning. It will be too late
then. Architectural art must, as we have seen, initiate
the work and take hold of it at the very beginning.
Why is it, then, that a different view of the func
tions of construction and architectural art is enter-
tained by a large majority of modern architects? An
examination of this may help us to a better under-
standing of the true relations of construction to archi-
tecture as a fine art. Many architects believe that
every structure is a single cell, the outer form of
which has no special relation to its interior. Archi-
tects love to modify this single cell in its outline,
especially if it be of a respectable magnitude; but
these very modifications amount only to arbitrary pro-
jections which are not the result of a relation of parts.
In addition to this they view a structure as consisting
of three parts-an exterior and an interior (which need
artistic consideration), and the construction proper,
which is placed between the two, and which needs no
artistic treatment. This construction is to be overlaid
on both sides with forms which please the fancy of
their author. These forms do not involve mechanical
ideas, inasmuch as they may be affixed to, or supported
by, the real construction. Can this be architecture?
18
274
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
No. If construction were the vulgar thing it is said
to be, the work of the mere builder or engineer; if this
construction were not an integral part or motive in the
æsthetic development of a monument, and if it were
not possible so to modify this vulgar thing as to make
it an art work, why then, surely, it would be well to
conceal it from sight with something that is recognized
as a work of fine art, say with hangings, screens, and
paintings, with anything that is capable of expressing
an idea in matter, and which is not itself a mechanical
construction. But what is really done is this: the real
construction is covered with a false construction which
is not applicable here, or with an impossible construc-
tion not borrowed from anything real, but purely the
result of architectural aberration, a thing which, if
really built of stone or wood or any material capable
of doing mechanical work, would fall to pieces by rea-
son of its own weight, but which the ingenious artist
persuades to stay in its place by making it of plaster,
zinc, cast-iron, or something else in imitation of stone,
or wood, and sustaining it by means of nails and bolts.
Now, why do architects do this? Obviously be-
cause they prefer this sham construction to the real
construction; they like its form better. Then the
question arises, Why not use the construction they
prefer, and discard the one really employed? The
reason why this is not done is that they have lost the
art of architecture, the art of building. The forms
they affect are not regarded by them as constructions
at all, but as an aggregation of pretty things derived
from interesting antique and mediaval monuments,
where they have a charming effect.
The Greeks covered the walls of their temples at
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
275
the top with a liberal stone which reached over far
beyond the outside of these walls, and protected them
from the weather. The modelling of these cornices
from the beginning of the architrave to the corona
shows a movement everywhere constructively exquisite
and expressive of the function of protection which this
member afforded to the walls beneath. Let us see
how Mr. Fergusson, an ardent admirer of antique
work, contemplates these mouldings. He tells us
that "the first and most obvious of these (carved
ornaments) are mere mouldings, known to architects
as scotias, cavettos, ogees, toruses, rolls, etc.-curves
which, used in various proportions either horizontally
or vertically, produce, when artistically combined, the
most pleasing effect."
To him evidently these mouldings are not a modifi-
cation of matter in order to express parts of a struc-
ture, or to emphasize their function, but they are
things of no meaning which may be artistically ar-
ranged, and thus produce a pleasing effect. What a
pity that Mr. Fergusson gives no definition of this
"effect," nor explains in some comprehensive manner
how these ogees and toruses may be artistically com-
bined!
The first and foremost element of art expression in
architecture is to be attained in the form of its masses.
This form is not accepted as the result of mechanical
relations, but of certain laws of proportion otherwise
determined. Stability, massiveness, strength, ele-
gance, and repose-all of them qualities which in a
greater or less degree must exist in every monument-
are clearly expressions of a statical condition of matter
of which the mechanical relation is a constant function;
276
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
and yet proportion in architecture is supposed not to
refer to those laws, nor, in fact, to any real law whatever.
If structural masses could be piled up without refer-
ence to the mechanical laws of construction, and yet
without risk of danger to the stability of the monu-
ment, a relation of masses which gives the expression
of stability would still remain a desideratum. Archi-
tecture as a fine art deals most prominently with this
very expression. Should we then seek it in the laws
of mechanics or in the magical numbers of so-called
proportions? What man has invented a system of
proportion in masses that perform mechanical func-
tions more just or better adapted to the purpose than
that which is dictated by a law of nature? Where
are we to find him? Has he written a book on the
subject? Mr. Fergusson gives us some hints. Let us
see if we can understand them and make use of them
in following this path of art without the guidance of
nature. He says: "Construction has been shown to be
the chief aim and object of the engineer; with him it
is all in all, and to construct scientifically, and at the
same time economically, is the beginning and end of
his endeavors. It is far otherwise with the architect.
Construction ought to be his handmaid, useful to assist
him in carrying out his design, but never his mistress,
controlling him in that which he would otherwise think
expedient. An architect ought always to allow himself
such a margin of strength that he may disregard and
play with his construction; and in nine cases out of
ten the money spent in obtaining this solidity will be
more effective architecturally than twice the amount
expended on ornament, however elegant and appropri
ate that
may be."
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
277
The advice here offered to the architect, "that con-
struction ought to be his handmaid," "useful to assist
him in carrying out his design," clearly explains it to
be the author's opinion that a contemplated design has
existence outside and independent of construction;
that this design represents a monument possessed of
the qualities of massiveness, strength, elegance, and re-
pose, which qualities are not derived from any law that
determines these mechanical conditions, but from some
other source. The nature of this source is explained
in the following sentence: "That the architect should
do what 'seems to him expedient,'" and not what the
poor vulgar engineer finds to be scientifically just.
Can it be expedient at any time to change that which
is dictated by a law of nature? But then we are to
make our masses much larger than they would be if
we were governed solely by the dictates of sound me-
chanical construction? This is wise, no doubt. A
monument cannot well be made too strong, nor very
often too massive. But we are not to permit posterity
to be benefited by this massiveness; we are to "play"
with it, to reduce it here, and increase it there, in "dis-
regard" of the laws of construction, to gain what?
This Mr. Fergusson omits to tell us; but it cannot be
doubted that he intends in some way to improve the
relation of these masses. Can this be done? This is
a very serious question, and no one has, as yet, answered
it; for in no phase of architectural art which is now
universally recognized as true art, has this been attempt-
ed; quite the contrary. In all good architectural work
we find a strict adherence to mechanical laws, which
is the more surprising, because we understand the theory
of these laws so much more clearly than did the archi-
278
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
tects who produced those works. We may be sure that
they did not play with this matter, whatever they did.
We must give them credit for a zealous regard for con-
struction, and for untiring efforts to make construction
the prime element of art. They may not have always
expressed ideas which we admire, or are willing to
adopt; but the ideas which they believed in they ex-
pressed faithfully and well. Construction, the most
perfect and the boldest, the most refined methods of
dealing with matter, were the principal element of their
art work. And when we go back to the temples of
Egypt, to Karnac, where one half of the area of an
architectural monument is devoted to walls and col-
umns, we still find no disregard of construction, no at-
tempt to play with masses for fantastic and imaginary
purposes, for lights, shadows, sentiment, and effects,
which are so much talked about in our day, but which
have, as yet, yielded no results worthy of being em-
balmed in too much of nature's stone, nor in too much
of human labor.
In pursuing further Mr. Fergusson's remarks on the
subject of construction, we learn that "the Egyptians
and the Greeks were so convinced of this principle "
(of allowing a margin of strength to be played with)
"that they never used other constructive expedients
than the perpendicular wall or prop, supporting a
horizontal beam; and half the satisfactory effect of
their buildings arises from their adhering to this simple
though expensive mode of construction. They were
perfectly acquainted with the use of the arch and its
properties; but they knew that its employment would
introduce complexity and confusion into their designs,
and therefore they wisely rejected it. Even to the
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
279
present day the Hindoos refuse to use the arch, though
it has long been employed in their country by the Mo-
hammedans. As they quaintly express it, 'The arch
never sleeps;' and it is true that by its thrust and pres-
sure it is always tending to tear a building to pieces
in spite of all counterpoises. Whenever the smallest
damage is done, it hastens the ruin of a building,
which, if more simply constructed, might last for
ages."
If the system of piers and lintels is pronounced a
superior construction to that of the arch, on the ground
of its superior stability, that system must for the same
reason yield the palm to the solid pyramid; and progress
in architecture can only be attained by retrogression.
At the bottom of all this we may see a misconcep-
tion of the laws of construction. All matter is subject
to gravitation, and every organism in consequence
deteriorates with time. Whether this time shall be
short or long, depends not upon the magnitude of the
masses employed so much as upon their relation. It
depends upon this; whether the relation is in accord
ance with the principles involved in the construction
adopted or not.
To say that the Egyptians and Greeks knew the
arch system of vaulting as we find it in mediaval
cathedrals, or as the arching of spaces may be done in
the light of modern mechanics, is probably not what
the author of the "History of Architecture in all
Countries" intended to convey. He probably refers
merely to the arch over an opening in the field of a
wall. That the arch never sleeps only means that all
matter is possessed of the property of gravitation, the
law of which is not as universally understood in the
280
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
case of the resultant lateral pressure of the arch and
its order of equilibrium as the more simple law of the
pressure of the lintel. We cannot advance the process
of expressing an idea in a monument, either by resort-
ing exclusively to primitive methods of construction or
by ignoring its laws in trifling with structural masses
to suit our fancy. All known constructions, from the
simplest to the most refined or complicated, should be
brought into requisition by the architect as a means to
express corresponding ideas, simple or complicated,
materialistic or refined. It is perfectly consistent with
the stability of a monument to employ a system of
vaulting, provided its lines and abutments are mechan-
ically considered and arranged. Such a structure can
be made fully as stable as a mere pile of stones in
a pyramid.
When a group of cells is projected in a ground plan,
and the altitude of the cells determined with due
regard to their individual importance, the various
roofs outlined, and the openings for light are arranged,
as to size and position, with reference to practically
lighting and æsthetically illuminating the interior; if
the structure is composed in accordance with mechan-
ical principle, and a perspective view of such a compo-
sition painted on canvas in black against a light back-
ground, it will fairly represent the masses in the rough,
and will effectually express the nature of the structure,
and the accruing forms will be aesthetically correct.
Such a picture is, as far as a drawing on a reduced
scale can be made to be, a representation of the pho-
netic expression of the contemplated monument. No
additional expression can be attained by modelling, by
carved and color decoration, or the introduction of stat-
uary. All these only serve to accentuate, or to heighten
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
281
the expression inherent in the structural masses, but not
to add to it. If this picture seems still lacking in
expression the artist must look for the probable defects,
first, in a misapprehension of the idea; second, of the
acts illustrating the idea; and, third, of the groups
prompted by the emotions arising from the acts;
fourth, in the absence of a just arrangement of the
cells in relation to each other; and, finally, in bad or
feeble construction. The latter may be bad because,
first, the author of the design does not understand
the principles involved; or, second, he may understand
those principles, and fail to apply them; or, third, he
may not be familiar with known methods of construc-
tion, or capable of devising methods to suit the case;
or, fourth, because the order of elegance of construc-
tive methods does not correspond with the importance
of the individual cells.
It would be of no use to retouch an unsuccessful
group of this kind, without due reasoning, merely in
accordance with personal feeling, or in accordance with
forms which at some time have made a favorable im-
pression upon us; nor to pile on additional features
that have no foundation in fact; nor to strike out
those that have this foundation in fact; nor to make
the whole larger or smaller. It will not help us to add
favorable surroundings which do not exist; nor to fret
and fume over it and wipe it all out, in order to sub-
stitute something else which foggily exists in our brain;
nor to rush to a collection of books and photographs
to look for better things, unless it be for the purpose
of examining them critically in their individual relation,
and to find by that means where, in our composition,
we have failed either to do that which is true and just,
282
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
or to achieve an expression as truthful and brilliant as
may seem desirable under the circumstances.
If you find that your dining hall bears no proper
relation to your library, and upon examination you are
convinced that it is not your fault, but that your
client either studies or eats too much, let it be so. The
structure must express the morale of your client, not
yours.
But above all things do not search for special ef
fects. Do not expand a plain country house into a
palace, nor squeeze it into a cottage, nor into any
known or given shape, because you admire that shape
more than others. Do not add battlements when there
is no opportunity to walk behind them, because you
think this a fine mediaval feature. Do not build a
buttress because you think you would like to have a
mass in this place and a shadow next to it. Do not
sketch balconies where the orientation of the structure
or the surrounding landscape does not warrant such a
feature; nor bay-windows, nor porticos, nor any other
appendage of this nature, unless they are needed, not
merely physically but æsthetically; that is, unless the
going out upon such balconies, or the entering into
bay-windows affords a mental entertainment which
cannot otherwise be reached, or at least so fully en-
joyed.
But if, after close scrutiny and correction for good
æsthetic reasons, the groups or the pile fail to please
you, what then? Consider that this
Consider that this may be owing to
the fact that you are not familiar with the forms which
result from your idea and its phases. The forms you
know and love represent other ideas than those you
are endeavoring to treat; and you may be sure if you
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
283
have otherwise committed no error of judgment, you
are on the road to a good architectural result. Pro-
ceed with your work, model the parts, decorate them
in accordance with their functions, and before long
the thing will speak to you in a new language express-
ing new thoughts; it will speak to you intelligibly,
and with surprising force, and you will admit that
this is by far the best arrangement of forms, better than
you could have imagined them in your most enthusi-
astic moods.
The question may now be asked, Which of the many
scientific constructions is the architect to select for use
in his monuments? All of them. None must be re-
jected; none can be rejected; our repertoire is small
enough as it is. But the Egyptians and the Greeks
did not make use of the arch, and the Normans did
not use the pointed arch. The Egyptians, the Greeks,
and the Normans did perfectly right in not doing
what they did not know of. You can have no such
motive. You know the arch in all the forms in which
it has been used, and in forms in which it has not been
used, as yet, to any extent; you know a catenary arch,
an arch which is purely a curve of pressures; use it,
use them all, not indiscriminately, not unwisely, but,
as they are all at your command, use each of them
whenever it is the best thing to be used.
What is sad to see is a flat ceiling divided into
impossible panels, supported by impossible girders
which are not the result of any construction whatever
-a ceiling which, if it were attempted to be built in
stone or wood, would drop down by its own weight,
but which is worked in plaster upon a framework of
wood, and tied to the floor beams above.
284
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
Look at the constructions that have resulted from
the modern invention of the rolled iron beam. All of
these are mere attempts to cover this unfortunate
beam (one of the cleverest expedients of the age), and
none to make the beam itself presentable, to arrange
the arches between the beams in a logical manner that
they may be sightly, and an æsthetical element.
Look at the treatment of cast-iron columns and
other structural parts made possible by modern use of
metals. They are more or less imitations of stone and
wood constructions; but few of them devised by
architects are modellings which can possibly result
from the nature of the metal, yet the engineer has
developed pure metallic forms unknown before, simply
because he derives his wisdom from the laws of
mechanics. But how can we preserve purity of style
in architecture if we are to use and to exhibit con-
structions which find no place in the style we are
working in. This subject of style we must reserve
for a separate chapter, of which it is well worthy.
But we may ask here, did the architects of the Nor
man or Gothic school neglect constructive elements
because they interfered with the style of the day or of
their past? If this had been so, we should be still
engaged in building pyramids. The elements of the
architectural results of any time are construction (in
its methods and perfection), materials, fundamental
ideas, mechanical and artistic skill in their develop-
ment. Of all these the progress of construction has
exercised the most potent influence upon past develop-
ment of architecture. This is true of the state of
architecture in Europe up to the fourteenth century,
but not since.
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
285
A post, column, or strut of stone or wood, meaning
a part of a structure which is subject to a negative
strain (compression) is strongest (the transverse area
being the same) if it is circular in ground plan. Al-
though this fact is not generally known to laymen, or
thought of much by architects, it happens that when
we see a post or pier which has a circular or octagon
ground plan, it seems to us stronger than a square pier
containing the same area and length.*
From this there is but a short step to the impres
sion that round piers or columns look strong. Hence
it is that the jamb of an opening seems more rigid if
we chamfer its corners. This is actually done, not
only in the case of door and window jambs and posts,
but also at the intrados of arches and ribs, in fact, in
all parts of structure which are subject to compression.
More frequently the reduction is accomplished by
modelling the corners in a manner which still more
heightens this effect by imparting to it an expression
of strength and elegance as well as of rigidity. The
transition of piers to their bases and capitals, the
underside of projecting corbels, sill courses, and
cornices are all treated in a similar manner. The
Greeks were familiar with this process, and practised
it in modelling their columns and cornices, but did
not extend it to the jambs of their doorways.
The purpose of modelling masses in architectural
work is to make the functions performed more appa-
rent, and to heighten the expression of rigidity in the
direction in which the forces are acting; also, in some
*The experiment is easily tried by comparing a square and round post of
equal length and area; the diameter of the square post will be proportional
to the diameter of the round post as 1.7 is to 2.
286
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
cases, to multiply the apparent surface of the matter
treated. When surfaces are moulded, light and shade
are the natural result; but light and shade are not the
object of the process, they are merely an incident.
When two or three modelled groups of a structure
succeed each other perpendicularly, the organization of
the lower part must be more simple than the one im-
mediately above it, and there should be a relation of
mass between the parts whereby they continue each
other. The lower pier, may, however, be a simple
shaft, unless the organism immediately above it is so
highly organized as to produce a contrast which would
make the inferior organism rude, or the superior one
weak or meagre. This process of subdividing masses
by modelling was undoubtedly carried to excess in
late medieval work. This is evidently owing to an
erroneous tendency to attenuate matter for the pur-
pose of giving a sublime spiritual expression to the
work, which well accords with the ideas of Christianity
of the times, as well as to express function minutely.
The times have changed, and with the times our ideas
have changed; we do not now look upon matter as
the despicable thing it was then held to be. This is
no reason, however, why we should reject the scheme
of Gothic architecture, as it is vulgarly termed, or
Christian architecture, as Kugler properly calls it.
The architecture of the mediaval cathedrals, considered
as a system, especially when we contemplate it in its
principles rather than in its completed forms, may,
without fear, be accepted as the most perfect develop-
ment of architectural art known to us, and may well
serve as a proper starting-point for future efforts,-al-
ways provided that we confine ourselves to the prin-
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
287
ciples manifested in it, and not to its forms; and that
we apply these principles to create such forms as will
express our own ideas, and not those of the middle
ages.
The analysis of the human body is the work of the
anatomist, but to depict human emotions in stone or
on canvas is the work of the artist. He deals with
the material motions of the human figure, and must,
therefore, understand its anatomy. More than this, the
human frame is created to the artist's hands, and we
may presume that nature has adopted the most brill-
iant construction which could be devised to combine
expression with function. It is the problem of the
architect to depict the emotions of the structure he
deals with; to depict, as it were, the soul of that
structure. But the emotions of this soul, like the
emotions of any soul, can be depicted only by rep
resenting modifications of the body under the influ-
ence of emotions; and for that purpose the architect
must understand the anatomy of his structure, which
amounts to an analytical knowledge of its construc-
tion. More than this, the architect's structure, unlike
the painter's or the sculptor's, is, in the first place,
necessarily a human creation; not a natural organism
which contains within itself a perfect system of me-
chanical construction, not only the best to perform
the functions assigned to it, but also the best to give
expression to those functions, to the end that man
may,
if not understand, at least know them without
a scientific analysis. Thus the architect must create
his structure (while the sculptor and painter only
re-create) upon principles supplied him by nature,
which are the principles of mechanics. It is necessary,
288
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
moreover, that his construction should perform not
only certain physical functions, but also others super-
added to these, which may be termed ideal functions,
and which pertain solely to the ideas which have called
together the persons occupying the structure; and,
finally, this construction must be capable of an expres-
sion which conveys the idea of the motive for the
existence of the monument.
This knowledge of mechanical construction should
be also sufficiently positive to furnish the architect, at
every stage of the composition, with a clear view of the
mechanical relation of the parts of the structure as he
develops them, that he may at all times in the produc-
tion of an organism, and afterwards, in the external
modelling of its parts, justly express its functions.
Carved ornament and color decoration have no other
purpose than to heighten the expression of mechanical
resistance to load and pressure in architectural organ-
isms. They do this (as will be hereafter more min-
utely shown) by their density, magnitude, projection,
form, and the direction in which they are placed, which
direction must coincide with the direction of resistance
to load and pressure. They do it also by the peculiar
treatment known as conventionalizing ornament, by
which natural forms of animals and vegetables are so
modified as to conform to the nature of the material
in which they are wrought, and to the mechanical work
which they perform.
The motives which influence modern architects in
composing a design, and the quality of mind which en-
ables them to compose, may be summed up as personal
notions of the proper character of the structure, and of
the effect which it may produce upon themselves and
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
289
others; all of which is matter of taste. This taste
some admit to need cultivation, and this cultivation is
exclusively sought in the contemplation of the archi-
tectural work of the past, which is not applicable to
the needs of the present, and which tends to fill the
imagination of the zealous student with pictures which
it would be better he should not know, if he is not to
analyze them intelligently; for the greatest and first
lesson which they teach is how not to do it.
The motive which governs the modern architect in
composing a monument may be stated as a desire to
please the public, or, as he says, produce a favorable
effect. The education of the architect consists in looking
at architectural forms which have produced favorable
effects upon others. Such a course of education can-
not certainly be productive of new forms or of a proper
use of old forms. In truth a proper art use of old
forms under new conditions is a practical impossibility.
To illustrate a painter who depicts the warrior paints
him in medieval armor; he thinks a knight in armor
exceedingly picturesque. The word picturesque with
him embodies all that is good and proper in the way
of
dress, accoutrement, and physical development respond-
ing to a system of attack and defence carried on with
certain given weapons and with an armor devised to re-
sist these weapons. If you visit the studio of this art-
ist you will find there swords, foils, breastplates, hel-
mets, spears, and chain-armor-in fine, every contriv
ance of offence and defence known in the Middle Ages.
The artist has lived among these objects so long that
he is able to draw them on paper or paint them on
canvas in every conceivable combination consistent
with their use. What is more, he has acquired a love
19
290
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
for these forms, and he deems them eminently beauti
ful. Now let us imagine that a patron of this painter
demands a picture of a warrior which shall not be a
mediæval knight, nor a Roman, or Greek, or modern
soldier, but purely an ideal invention. Could the art-
ist invent the figure of a warrior by merely trying to
sketch and paint one? Certainly not. He could pro-
duce nothing but Greek, Roman, medieval, and modern
warriors, or imperfect and incongruous combinations
of all of these. Is the thing impossible? No, it is not
impossible; but the process demands a species of skill
not possessed by the artist. In the first place, a series
of weapons would have to be devised upon principles
heretofore not applied, and then an armor to resist these
weapons. All this may be theoretically done by some
person versed in possible methods of war, revised and
corrected by an able military engineer, practically exc-
cuted by a skillful armorer, and then the painter could
paint a picture of an ideal warrior which would rank
in beauty with pictures of the warriors of the past. If
architecture is to be equally successful, the architect
must combine with his art other technical skill corre-
sponding to that of the general, the military engineer,
and the armorer, and which in his case amounts simply
to a thorough knowledge of the theory and practice
of mechanical construction.
Relations of matter cannot be clearly understood
nor successfully reasoned upon unless they are numer-
ically considered. To say that the earth moves around
the sun, conveys an idea; but it is a very confused
idea, which cannot be made positive until we know
that it completes a revolution around the sun in one
year,
and that the mean radius of its orbit is ninety-
FORM AND CONSTRUCTION.
291
two millions of miles long. Now, when we say that
this latter statement gives us a positive idea of the
motion of the earth in its orbit, it is not meant to be
an assertion that we can form in our minds a picture
of that orbit or of the velocity of the motion of the
earth; but that we can proceed to reason from these
data with certainty, and arrive at the final conclusion.
that the earth moves in its orbit around the sun dur-
ing a second of time over a space nearly 18.5 miles in
length. It is true that a velocity of 18.5 miles per
second is as much an enigma to the human mind
as ninety-two millions of miles measured out in space;
but with the help of the figures presented to us we
can proceed to reason from one step to another with
out fear of error; in fact, with the certainty that every
conclusion arrived at will be numerically correct.
Now architecture is the art of representing ideas by
masses of matter. We can gauge these masses, we
can mathematically determine their dimensions under
certain conditions of work to be performed by them,
and also under certain conditions of apparent energy
in resisting a given load.
Shall we abandon this opportunity to reason nu-
merically? If we do so, we relinquish the only
method of reasoning which never fails, and we must
drift into a shoreless sea of architectural aberration.
CHAPTER XX.
PROPORTION.
THE relation of the parts of a structure as expressed
in magnitude (extension, mass,) is called the propor
tion of a monument. It means: given a temple of a
certain length, what is to be its breadth and height,
and what the respective dimensions of its columns,
bases, capitals, entablature, etc., in order to respond to
the laws of beauty? This is the popular way of stat-
ing it, and there is a decided infelicity in it, because
the laws of beauty are unwritten laws; they are not
laws either demonstrated or tested in the same way
as judicial, scientific, or moral laws, before they are re-
cognized as valid.
The process by which these laws have originated is
this: Whenever it is asserted by a leading architec-
tural authority that a monument excels in the quality
which is designated as beauty, it is assumed that all
elements of beauty must be attributes of that monu-
ment. Proportion being one of these elements, the
monument is said to be a model of proportion, and its
proportions are recommended for use in other monu-
ments erected in the same style. Hence we have as
many schedules of proportion as there are styles, and
all of them are respected as correct. The tribunal
which determines that these proportions are good is
292
PROPORTION.
293
the same as that which pronounces upon the general
characteristic of beauty-it is known as taste. Hence
it is that Renaissance architects believe exclusively in
Greek and Roman proportions as the true standard of
proportion in architecture. They do not absolutely
deny that medieval monuments possess beauty, but
they deem it a peculiar beauty devoid of good pro-
portions. In the same manner a certain beauty is
granted to Egyptian monuments, though the propor-
tions of their structural elements are pronounced to
be curious. Medieval architects, again, prefer Gothic
proportions, but do not deny antique beauty.
The only theory by which the judgment of the lead-
ing minds of the various schools can be shown to be
consistent is, that when beauty is spoken of they
mean expression as well. The Renaissance school
says: I admire the expression of Greek and Roman
monuments; I also admire as beauty the mental effort
of those who have successfully produced this special
expression. I cordially approve the relations of mat-
ter, the proportions of parts, as I find them in these
antique monuments; they are to my mind the exact
proportions that should be employed in producing the
expression which I admire so much. When I con-
template a medieval monument, I am displeased with
its expression; if, however, it is the problem to pro-
duce just this sort of expression, which is possible,
though inconsistent with good taste (my taste), then
the problem has been solved with success, and I may
recognize it as an art effort which results in beauty.
I do not admire the proportions of matter employed,
because they do not lead to an architectural expression
which is acceptable to me. Considered in this light
294
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
there is nothing inconsistent in the argument; it
proves that one of the conditions of the proportions
desirable in a monument must be the ultimate expres-
sion aimed at. We are also enlightened upon another
point, viz. That taste is not a trustworthy standard
applicable to the abstract consideration of the nature
of proportions.
We may, however, approach the subject of propor-
tion from another standpoint: we can inquire into
the import of proportion in the abstract, and into the
elements which exercise an influence upon it.
The term proportion, relating to the masses of struc-
tural parts, may be considered independently of the
properties of strength and elegance. A structure may
be weak and inelegant, and yet may be possessed of
good proportions; that is, it may be consistently, pro-
portionately feeble or inelegant throughout. This
means that no element of the organism fully performs
its functions, and that all the elements fall short of do-
ing so in the same degree. Or the reverse may be the
case: every element of an organism may abundantly
perform its proper functions; and if this abundance in
excess of the needful masses which would be sufficient
to do the work well is not greater in one element than
in another, then this organism may be said also to be
possessed of good proportions.
The function of the architect in expressing an idea
in matter is to determine the degree of strength and ele-
gance which should be the attribute of a given monu-
ment; therefore, as soon as the masses necessary to meet
the mechanical laws of construction are arrived at, he
may direct how much stronger the whole or a part of
a structure shall be made. He may say I will make
PROPORTION.
295
this ten, twenty, thirty, fifty per cent. stronger than
need be, in order to attain the expression of stability,
vigor, or elegance which will accord with the dignity
of the idea to be expressed. To estimate the scope of
this process of increasing the masses in order to attain
apparent stability corresponding in degree with the
nature of the monument, it should be remembered that
a great part of this work is accomplished in the selec
tion of methods of construction, which by their sim-
plicity, boldness, elegance, or vigor convey the desired
expression before the time when additions of mass are
in order, and also that in the subsequent process of
modelling of the masses much more is to be done in
the same direction. The small quantity which needs
in fact to be added to the mass of a structure to make
it aesthetically effective, it will be found, upon close ex-
amination, must be added pro rata; or, in other words,
the safe load which our material is to sustain must be
reduced according to a certain standard, and this re-
duction constitutes the intended addition.*
There are no doubt cases where the mass of isolated
elements must be exceptionally increased, as, for in-
stance, where in one and the same structure different
materials are employed which resist pressure or tension
unequally, and where this inequality of strength is not
expressed by the texture and color of the material with
sufficient emphasis to convey promptly the idea of su
* This safe load is a certain fractional part of the load which can be im-
posed upon the material within its limits of elasticity; and the more wo re-
duce this fractional part, or the more we increase the divisor of this fraction,
the greater will be the stability of the structure composed under this rule.
But this law does not tond to an increase of matter in an arithmetical ratio,
but in various ratios which result from the nature of strains.
296
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
}
perior resistance to force; for instance, when in a
structure of sandstone or of brick, a granite pier or
column is introduced which will sustain a load three
times as great as would be sustained by a pier of sand-
stone of the same size, this granite pier or column
cannot be reduced absolutely to the sectional area
which would technically answer the purpose without
creating a discord. The fact that this pier is of gran-
ite and not of sandstone is not perceived by the ob-
server as promptly as the other fact, that it is small in
proportion to its load; and it becomes the function of
the architect to compensate in mass for this defect of
human perception. If the pier or column is polished,
the nature of the material becomes apparent more
promptly; and this in itself again modifies the neces
sary mass. Color also has the effect of changing the
apparent resistance of matter to strain, and must have
its due weight in the variation of masses from that
quantity which is directly determined by the laws of
mechanics.
Upon the whole, however, it is these laws alone
which must and will ever determine the just relation
of masses, and it is this relation alone which constitutes
proportion in architecture; always taking into account
with the property of strength that other property of
elegance, which is its complement in producing repose,
viz., the expression of a just and perfect performance
of function in relation to the idea, the ultimate attain-
ment of æsthetical modelling of matter. To illustrate
this by an example, and to show that mere feeling
(taste) is not a reliable guide to correct proportion, let
us imagine a wall with its superincumbent load of
floors, roof, etc., supported by a series of piers; let us
PROPORTION.
297
1
assume that a man of taste has determined the diameter
of these piers to be of such magnitude as to express
the character of the monument perfectly, without ex-
amining mathematically the relation of these masses.
They are stout enough and not too stumpy, as he
would say. He has prepared a drawing of this part
of a structure, and has contemplated this drawing for
hours. He is now satisfied that it is exactly the thing
needed. This means that he has felt his way into the
obscurity of a hidden principle, with the assistance of
a natural gift, by which he can determine this thing
without being able to explain it. That he is quite
right there can be no doubt in his mind. He has not
only fully satisfied his own taste, but also that of a
number of professional friends, who have seen the
drawing, and have pronounced it to be possessed of
charming proportions and exquisite feeling. More
than this, he has called in his builder and his
engineer, and they have decided that these piers
are strong enough, abundantly strong, to carry their
load.
These are the precise conditions under which judg
ment is pronounced upon proportions by at least nine-
tenths of the profession. The thing looks well in the
drawing, and it must be right. But now for the sequel.
The structure is erected and shows signs of weakness.
There is nothing very serious-a slight crack in one or
two of the piers, perhaps a local flaw; but the archi
tect becomes uneasy, not because he thinks the piers
insufficient in strength, but because, now that he sees
them finished, they look weak to him. He consults
his engineer, who measures the piers and their load in
the structure, and pronounces them insufficient. How
298
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
can that be? They are built according to the drawing
heretofore examined by various engineering experts,
and pronounced right. Now the engineer is perplexed,
he desires to see again the drawing, in order to com-
pare it with his measurements taken at the building.
The result of a brief examination is that the scale
marked "one inch to the foot" should have been "one-
half inch to the foot; " and he duly explains to the
architect, who in his turn cannot comprehend why a
thing twice as large in every direction should not ex-
press precisely the same relation of matter, since it cer-
tainly does the same proportion, as proportion is un-
derstood by the modern architect. When the dimen-
sions of a structure are throughout multiplied by two,
the loads become eight times as great, and the areas of
the supporting piers only four times as great; hence
the piers are in this case only half as strong in rela-
tion to the increased load as they were before the di-
mensions of the structure had been increased. What
is true of an increase of one hundred per cent. of the
dimensions of a structure is also true in case of an in-
crease of any percentage less than one hundred. It
does not follow that a structure fallaciously constructed
in this manner must immediately deteriorate and show
signs of decay; but it does follow that such a me-
chanical error leads at once to an expression of weak-
ness, which, of all possible expressions, is æsthetically
fatal to an architectural monument.
A drawing is not a trustworthy guide to propor-
tions; its expression is at best only that of a struc-
ture of its exact size. Redraw it on a larger or smaller
scale, and if your judgment of proportions (which
means your superficial estimate of masses without a
PROPORTION.
299
scientific inquiry into the mechanical relations) is
good, you will feel a desire to change the dimensions
of parts of the structure whenever you change the
scale of your drawing.
But this superficial judgment of proportions is
always erroneous in the degree in which we deviate
from the scale in which we are in the habit of
drawing familiar structures, repeatedly tested by nu-
merical examination of strains, lines of pressure, and
areas of resistance. Yet many of the schools, and even
academies of high repute, teach the fallacy that Greek
proportions (multiples of diameters) should be applied
always, which means that the relation of masses and
their geometrical ratio express always the same degree
of strength and stability. Let 1, h, and t represent re-
spectively the length, height, and thickness of a wall
mass to be supported by a pier, the diameter of which is
d; assuming that this pier is exactly sufficient to support
its superincumbent load, we may say that d is me-
chanically proportional to lht in their relation of a
pier to its load, d' being in that case the area of that
pier if it is a square pier; or representing its propor
tional value if it be circular or of any regular form what-
ever which may be inscribed in a circle.
be inscribed in a circle. If we should
double the dimensions of the mass to be supported, it
would become 87 ht; and if we inquire into the di-
ameter of the pier needed to support the mass which
results from doubling these dimensions we have 7 h t:
8 l ht = d²: x and x = dV8; which means that the
diameter of the pier needed would not be double the
diameter of the first pier, but 2.83 times this diameter.
If, instead of increasing the dimensions of the mass to
be supported, we reduce them to one-half, then the
2
300
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
d
diameter of the new pier x =
= 0.35 d, or nearly
√/8
one-third instead of one-half of the diameter of the
former pier. This proves conclusively that if the di-
mensions of masses, as found in existing monuments,
are increased pro rata, the supports become weak-
ened; and if they are decreased, their dimensions be-
come too great in relation to their load.
Yet such a law of proportion, viz., a constant geo-
metrical progression of size of column and entablature,
has become the fundamental article of faith with the
Renaissance school; but singularly enough the taste
of those who belong to that school-poor guide as it
is-revolts against it. They find that on a reduced
scale their orders lose in elegance; hence they carry
them through two or three stories of their structures
to make them look better, and thereby fail to express
the most important characteristic of the organism they
are endeavoring to represent æsthetically.
The Greek temple is the expression of a simple idea,
and a single act illustrating it. Most modern struct-
ures are the result of a series of related acts, or per-
haps a series of ideas of various values, which must be
exhibited in order to tell the story of the monument;
and hence such a structure cannot be clothed in the
simple drapery of antiquity.
Another confused idea of proportions, prevalent
among architects and laymen, is that spaces, rooms,
halls, naves, aisles, etc., must, to be beautiful, be pos-
sessed of certain proportions of length, breadth, and
height. The magical numbers recommended for this
purpose vary with their authors, or, better still, with
the persons who recommend them; the names of the
PROPORTION.
301
original authors are nowhere recorded, nor have they
communicated to us any reason for the prescription.
It may be stated as a common law of architectural art
that the proper proportions of a single cell are any
dimensions of length and breadth which correspond
with the human groups which are to occupy it (always
provided these groups are artistically arranged, which
means that the groups themselves are expressive of
the functions they perform); and the height of a single
cell is the result, first, of the dignity of the functions
performed in it; second, of a sufficient system of light-
ing of the space enclosed; and, third, of the relation
of the cell to other surrounding cells. It is self-evi-
dent that these proportions must consequently differ
in cases where the elements which govern them are
known to differ. It is equally evident that the just,
ness of these proportions must depend upon the rea-
soning powers of the architect, upon his knowledge of
the uses and purposes to which this cell is to be
devoted, upon his skill in expressing the various ele-
ments which constitute his rationale of the whole, so
as to cause any moderately intelligent observer to see-
or at least to feel, his motives at a glance.
Take for illustration a familiar example: We find
billiard-rooms which are just large enough to hold
a billiard-table, while affording the necessary space
around it to handle a cue, and no higher than needful
for the same purpose. The dimensions of such a room
express perfectly the idea that the owner desires to
combine exercise with recreation, without bestowing
further thought on the subject; without, in fact, deem-
ing the matter worthy of any effort to express a per-
sonal love for the game, or in which an exalted idea of
302
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
I
the way this amusement should be proffered to his
friends. Let us imagine now that another person desires
a billiard-room, which shall not only be large enough
to permit persons to move with freedom around the
table, but also to admit of a fireplace-say in the cen-
ter of one of the long sides-sufficiently removed from
the players not to interfere with their comfort; again,
of sofas and arm-chairs for the accommodation of spec-
tators; also, at one end of the room, of a series of
cases to hold a large collection of
large collection of cues, billiard-balls,
maces; perhaps, also, some books on the subject of
billiards and kindred games; and at the other end,
two or three small tables for refreshment, for the use
of the company. It is clear that this room will have
entirely different proportions from the former, inas-
much as it is expressive of a different conception of
the idea of amusement by means of playing billiards;
and we may conceive a series of possible billiard-
rooms, which shall in their appointments and expres
sion differ essentially from either of the above models,
and which will demand, consequently, different pro-
portions of length and breadth. Then, again, light-
good light-is an essential element in a billiard-room.
If the room can be lighted at the two long sides, or at
the two ends, or at one long side, or at one end only,
in either case there must be a difference in the num-
ber of square feet of light area needed to supply the
room equally well. Not to crowd windows immoder-
ately a thing proper in a shop, perhaps, but not in a
gentleman's billiard-room-the height of these win-
dows above the level of the table must be increased or
diminished, and must thus, in a great measure, also
determine the height of the room. Clearly, therefore,
PROPORTION.
303
even in an apartment so commonplace and simple in
its idea and in the grouping of its occupants as a bil-
liard-room, a number of elements are to be considered,
which jointly determine its dimensions, or, as it is
called, its proportions, all of which must be intelli-
gently considered and aesthetically expressed, to fore-
stall any doubt of the proportions arrived at being
good proportions. When we come to courts of jus
tice, halls of parliament, churches, reception and ball
rooms, drawing-rooms, libraries, etc., the condition
and ideas to be developed become more complicated,
and not only must the proportions of each of these
cells differ from that of others, but every special case
demands its special proportions.
Certain views of Mr. Fergusson on this subject illus
trate forcibly the frivolousness of modern art logic.
He says: "If one hundred feet in length by fifty feet
in height is a pleasing dimension for a certain design,
and it is required that the building should be five
hundred feet long, it is only necessary to break it into
five parts and throw three back and two forward, or
the contrary, and the proportion becomes as before."
What are we to think of all this? What is meant
by the pleasing dimensions of a design? Is this
design an existing thing outside of, and disconnected
from, the structure which is to be erected; a thing
existing in the brain of the author as a beautiful ob-
ject which has a being, before and above the problem
to be solved; a temple, perhaps, to Jupiter, or Venus,
or Mars, completed and finished as to its outer shell
into which shell is to be crowded a hospital or a war
department which has the merit of being fifty feet
high, but the misfortune of being five hundred feet long?
;
304
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
The author of the "History of Architecture" seems
to have turned this matter over in his mind somewhat
in this wise: A hundred by fifty is a good proportion
for a design which fills my imagination and fully sat-
isfies my taste. My taste in architecture is a court of
last resort; I must do one of two things or fail. I
must either make this structure one hundred feet long
and fifty feet high, or five hundred feet long and two
hundred and fifty feet high. But neither of these pro-
portions will satisfy the war department or the commis-
sioners of the poor, yet I cannot sacrifice art to human
perversity. I will design five structures joined to-
gether, each of which shall be a hundred feet long and
fifty feet high; and in order that their separate exist-
ence shall be recognized, I will project three of them
beyond a certain line, and withdraw two behind that
line; or I will project two and withdraw three; either
will answer this æsthetic purpose, and taste will tri-
umph over matter.
It seems from this that the nature of the structure,
its inherent cellular organization, the idea or ideas.
which have called it into being, have nothing at all to
do with this matter of proportion, in the face of the
magic numbers of fifty by a hundred, which are firmly
established by human taste. What right has the war
department to spread out five hundred feet in length,
if it cannot afford to rise to two hundred and fifty
feet in height at the same time? What claims upon
art has a structure so inordinately long?
Some perverse architect, who has not the fear of
taste before him, might irreverently suggest that the
very length of the structure being an organic require-
ment, would form a marked feature which art should
PROPORTION.
305
utilize to explain the ideas which called the structure
into being, and thus give to it expression, which, after
all, is the sole object of art work. Perhaps the interior
organism might be appealed to, to suggest a grouping
of its parts more nearly true in art than five times one
hundred, or that a repetition of five cubes of equal size
does not present the promise of a harmonious chord,
but rather that of a monotonous noise. But all this
would be pronounced to be a want of feeling in art.
In truth, a structure five hundred feet in length,
composed of the same elements, may not prove a mon-
ument of poetical expression; but the reason of this is
not to be sought in a defect of proportion, but in the
lack of intelligence in its author, which prevented him
from discovering a just method of grouping in har-
mony with the various elements of thought or phases
of idea contained in the monument, for which no arbi-
trary division can compensate.
Architecture is not the offspring of a heated brain,
a jumble of forms, or an aggregation of conceits; it is
a human creation in imitation of nature, which means
under the government of natural laws. These alone
can determine form, and forms must grow under the
hand of the architect in obedience to them.
If these forms respond to their environments they
will be endowed with due proportions, always provided
nature's methods of creation are recognized as superior
to human prejudice and conceit.
It is the opinion of many writers on architecture
that effects of magnitude, depth, and perspective, as we
find them in the medieval cathedrals, are the result of
premeditated effort-a sort of artistic trick to make the
most of space and mass, or to give an exaggerated im-
20
306
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
1
pression of the magnitude of these monuments. This
is an error: the men of the Middle Ages were much
too seriously employed to seek after startling effects.
Their structural elements were entirely the result of
their constructional methods; they aimed at the per-
fection of the mechanical relations of parts, and a full,
honest, and clear æsthetic presentation of all important
organic elements, so as to make them speak forcibly to
the mind of every man. Whenever in an organism the
parts are strongly accentuated, the magnitude of the
whole becomes apparent. When we see an unshapely
rock, we are at a loss to form an opinion of its size,
which a house, or a tree, or a man in its neighborhood
will help us to understand. A series of familiar ob-
jects distributed at different heights will make our
vision and judgment still more clear. Gothic archi-
tecture offers this opportunity for the comprehension
of the magnitude of its monuments by a ready com-
parison of its structural parts, which are not too large
nor too small for their individual functions; hence the
relation of their masses to the mass of the monument
as a whole tends to convey a correct idea of its magni-
tude.
CHAPTER XXI.
TREATMENT OF MASSES.-SYMMETRY.
ORGANISMS in nature arrange themselves around an
axis, or around a central point. Natural crystals or fib-
rous substances are almost always symmetrical, and yet
again never fully so. Organisms of the same species
agree in form, so as to be recognized as members of a
certain family, yet they differ enough to assert a dis-
tinct individuality. This is undoubtedly owing to en-
vironment. Forms in architectural art are expressions
of ideas in matter, which ideas form classes, and are
possessed of individuality; therefore, to be successfully
represented, these forms must be determined by en-
vironment. By this it is meant that irregularity of
form in a structure is not in accordance with the law
of imitation unless it is determined by environment;
nor is it desirable that minute characteristics should
be unnecessarily emphasized. Otherwise it must be
clear that absolute symmetry cannot well extend be-
yond the single cell, as no two ideas or two acts illus-
trating the same idea are precisely the same. The
transept and aisles of a cathedral are extensions of
the nave, and, although separate cells, they are ex-
pressive of the same idea; hence they are symmetrical.
Two chapter-houses, one on each side of a cathedral,
would be an incongruity.
307
308
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
1
Not even isolated structural parts can be sym-
metrical if their functions are not the same in every
direction, as, for instance, a pier at the transept. If
two axial lines are drawn through this pier at right
angles with each other, so that one of these lines
runs parallel with the axis of the transept, and the
other with that of the nave, which by their length
represent the value of the transverse area needed to
resist perpendicular pressure, it will be found that
these lines will be greater when measured from the
point of intersection toward the axes of the nave and
transept than those running parallel with these axes.
An examination will show that these piers are fre-
quently constructed upon this principle, and so is a hu-
man leg or arm. A good deal of talk has been wasted
on the symmetry of the human body, to prove that the
symmetry of nature in this case should be imitated in
architectural monuments, without regard to the ideas
and functions of its single cells. It has been said that
the human viscera are not symmetrical, and hence that
the interior of a structure may consist of cells with
functions unlike in purpose, character, and importance,
and yet that these should be expressed symmetrically
in the exterior. The human body is but a single
functional organism, not a series of such organisms
expressing different ideas. The parts of the human
body which are structural, like the arm and leg, are
necessarily symmetrical; their functions are the same,
unless otherwise determined by environment. Our legs
must be of equal length and equal structure and capac
ity to do their work. The arms of the artisan are un-
equally developed if his special work demands greater
exertion in one arm than in the other.
TREATMENT OF MASSES.
309
The most potent argument against the tyranny of
symmetry may be found in architecture itself, where
the lower part of a structure is so treated as to express
greater strength than the upper portions. All schools
of architecture admit the propriety of this for the
very good reason that the function of sustaining
greater or lesser load should be expressed. Whenever
any part of a structure performs more work or differ-
ent work than another, this must be expressed, whether
or not a similar function is performed by any other
part of the same structure.
A
STABILITY AND MASS.
An architectural monument is the expression of an
idea in matter, to the end that the idea may endure
and be conveyed to future generations. It follows,
therefore, that stability is one of the principal qualities
of a monument. If a monument is so constructed as
to be stable, it will doubtless also present the appear-
ance of stability. Stability, therefore, is not merely a
question of mass, but also and mainly a question of
mode of construction. This is forcibly illustrated by
comparing the masses of, say St. Ouen, at Rouen,
with those of the dome of St. Peter's. The former
contains some 47,000 square feet of area on the ground
floor, 4,600 feet of which, or nearly one-tenth of that
area, is occupied by the walls and piers of that struc-
ture; while the latter, with 227,000 square feet of area,
has walls and piers containing 59,000 square feet, or
something more than one quarter of the space cov
ered by it on the ground plan, which shows a relation
of masses as five to two. But if we remember that
310
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
the surrounding walls of rectangular structures increase
not as the areas, but as the root of the areas, it will
appear that the mass of St. Peter's (the material con-
sumed in that structure) is to the mass of St. Ouen, at
Rouen, very nearly as three to one, and yet the latter
has the appearance of the greater stability. This dif
ference is owing, first, to superior construction, and
next to a better architectural expression of the masses.
MATERIAL.
The most important consideration which presents
itself in relation to material as an element in art work
is, that it should be worked, formed, modelled, in ac-
cordance with its nature. This is not a mere econom-
ical consideration, but one which pertains in art to the
law of imitation of nature. Stone and brick act in a
structure by reason of gravity only, in contradistinc-
tion to wood and iron, which are used also to resist
tension. In a frame of wood or iron, the perpendicu-
lar members of a truss are not expected to retain their
position against the action of the various forces at
work through gravity; but they are kept in position
by special ties and struts which counteract these forces.
Hence it is that in stone and brick construction, the
solicitude of the architect is directed to the bond of
the stone or brickwork. A good bond is effected by
resting each stone upon two stones immediately under
it, and each brick upon two bricks immediately under
it; a process which is technically termed a change of
bond. Now in a piece of masonry this change of bond
must be expressed on the outside, and not concealed,
as is frequently done. It must pervade the whole
TREATMENT OF MASSES.
311
structure, and must traverse the projecting members
to show distinctly that the idea of a bonded wall has
never for a moment been lost sight of; and more es-
pecially that no attempt has been made, by concealing
the joints, to have the material appear larger than it is in
reality; for it must be remembered that there is a pecu-
liar æsthetic result derived from the use of large, and an-
other from small material. The magnitude of the mate-
rial is an environment to be considered and expressed.
On the other hand, when the nature of the material de-
mands the fastening of the parts by bolts and ties, as in
iron and wood, it becomes necessary for each of these
fastenings to be not only plainly visible, but architec
turally emphasized; the modelling must command atten-
tion, in order that the abundant stability of the organ-
isms may become apparent. No material should be so
moulded as to impair its appearance of stability, or to
make it necessary to use extraordinary tools, or exces-
sive labor to work out the design; for, indeed, the
object of all modelling and decoration is, and must al
ways be, to heighten the apparent resistance of the
member to the strain imposed, and not to weaken it;
also, to do all this in accordance with the true nature
of the material. If a stone forming a breastwork
needs to be perforated, in order to give to it the light-
ness or elegance demanded by the function, this may
be done, as long as it can be conveniently accomplished
with the ordinary tools of the stone-cutter, and with
an ordinary effort of labor, from either or both sides
of the material; but it cannot possibly add to the ex-
pression of a monument to set up a series of turned
stone balusters and unite them with dowels to a cop
ing, or to use attenuated material in a series of columns.
312
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
IN
and arches for the same purpose. In fine, whatever
cannot be accomplished by perforating the material
from the face, leaving it otherwise in large pieces prop-
erly bonded, should be omitted as not in imitation of
nature. The character of a well-bonded wall must
never be lost sight of. It is recommended that the
material used in monuments shall be large, mainly be-
cause we find exceeding large stones in Egyptian and
antique monuments. There is, no doubt, a certain
dignity in large monoliths; and in the case of columns
upon which a great weight is concentrated, mono-
liths should be used if possible. The construction is
thereby actually improved, and the apparent stability
enhanced; but, on the other hand, modern monuments
are of necessity so highly organized that no room is
left for very large material. The fact that great mon-
oliths produce a favorable impression in obelisks, pyra-
mids, and temples, is owing to the nature of those
monuments. They are primitive expressions of simple
ideas, and their magnitude, and the magnitude of the
material of which they are composed, are either one of
a very few methods, or often the only method, of expres
sion. The tower of Babel was intended to be big, and
nothing more—a gigantic landmark, a huge finger-post.
No doubt it was built of large material. The absence
of mortar in Cyclopean work also made large material
desirable. Modern resources of architectural expression
permit us not only to dispense with this childish means
of conveying an idea of magnitude and endurance, but
they also so modify the arrangement and construction
of our monuments, that there is no room left for this
species of luxury.
Rich marbles and other rare and valuable stones
TREATMENT OF MASSES
313
possess in their color and texture very acceptable
means of composition in color, a sort of architec-
tural mosaic which is very desirable, provided it
amounts to a system that corresponds with the con-
struction and heightens its effects. The reverse is
often the case in many medieval monuments, wherein
odd and ill-assorted columns of undesirable form and
of heterogeneous color are collected in the same struct-
ure, perhaps from motives of respect for this rare
material, and perhaps from motives of economy be-
cause of the opportunity to procure it readily. They
impart to these monuments very much the appearance
of bric-a-brac museums, the character of the structures
as monuments being belittled thereby.
We find, mainly in Northern Italian work, a prac-
tice of lining brickwork with marble slabs. Mr.
Ruskin speaks of it with approval. IIe says: "These
Italians did not pretend that these piers were built
of precious marbles, but avowed the fact that they
are merely an external lining, plainly exhibiting the
iron bolts and hooks with which this lining is fas-
tened to the brickwork." If it becomes desirable
in a monument that brickwork should be lined with
marble in the form of slabs (a method of construc-
tion which cannot be pronounced monumental in char-
acter, but which in special cases may be tolerated),
it seems necessary that portions of the brickwork
should find expression somewhere and as often as
sound construction demands it, for the purpose of
tying in and bonding the slabs inserted with the main
structure. This would be a constructive method of
using thin slabs for a facing of inferior work; it would
amount to an artistic avowal of the process, and could,
!
314
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
}
no doubt, by judicious treatment, be made a work of
fine art. But to bolt or nail large marble slabs upon
parts of a structure of rude brick, cannot possibly pass
for architecture.
The great vice, however, of this century is in the
effort to make inferior material answer for superior
material by way of base imitation. It can hardly be
necessary to speak of this here, more especially as in
England, at least, the fallacy of this attempt at show
has been almost universally recognized as unworthy of
honest men.
A mania for iron buildings, which is now happily
dying out everywhere, was merely an attempt at a
spurious cast-iron imitation of modelled and carved
marble, granite, or sandstone. Iron, when used as a
legitimate building material for exterior walls, if prop-
erly put together in accordance with the nature of the
metal, and so constructed as to afford protection from
the weather equally well with stone or brick, and
architecturally treated by exhibiting the leading con-
nections, at least sufficiently to convey the idea of
stability, and properly modelled and decorated, does
not favorably compare in cost with either stone or
brick. It would take a long time, also, before a re-
spectable iron architecture could be developed; but as
a cheap display is its sole object, and it has been dem-
onstrated that there is no economy in it, it has been
wisely abandoned. The legitimate and economical ap-
plication of iron in architecture is to be found in the
use of rolled iron as a substitute for wood in many
constructions, such as roofs and floors. But all this
is outside of the subject under consideration.
England and Germany have produced of late years
TREATMENT OF MASSES.
315
many successful efforts at brick construction; but it
may be fairly questioned whether great results can be
attained in this direction unless all so-called terra-cotta
imitations of moulded stone are abandoned. It seems
necessary that in the artistic treatment of brick archi-
tecture we must insist upon the use of brick alone, large
brick or small, thick or thin, plain or decorated on the
face (each brick by itself), but a brick it must be—
always a material which can be bonded without arti-
ficial means, and laid up in the wall with such projec-
tions only as are compatible with the dimensions of
the material itself. What has been said with refer-
ence to the use of marble slabs as a facing of brick-
work is also applicable to the use of terra-cotta
panels baked in the form of slabs, and to the excep-
tional use of the tile. A real visible bond should be
effected, and the thin lining be visibly incorporated
with the wall.
CHAPTER XXII.
CARVED ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION.
ARCHITECTS, art critics, and writers on aesthetics,
differ greatly as to the extent to which the science of
construction enters into the consideration of architect-
ure as an art; but all agree that carved ornament and
color decoration are elements in architecture. Mr.
Ruskin goes so far as to say that architecture is deco-
ration and sculpture, and nothing else; and he entreats
architects to study sculpture and painting that they
may become architects. If it were true that archi-
tecture is nothing but sculpture and painting, then Mr.
Ruskin would certainly be right; but if architecture
is the art of expressing an idea in a monument, then
the architect must acquire a vast amount of knowledge
and technical skill, which is in itself quite sufficient to
consume an ordinary life-time, and precludes the possi-
bility of sufficient leisure to make himself a master of
sculpture, which is also a life problem. An architect
must, however, understand the theory of carved and
color decoration, for the very good reason that they
are elements of expression intended to heighten the
effects of construction, which alone determines form;
or, in other words, they constitute color and texture,
which, added to form, can do more to express function
than form alone can do. It seems clear, therefore,
316
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION. 317
that carved-ornament and color decoration, to effect
the object intended, must be designed by the author
of the monument, the architect.
It is very singular that professional practice herein
greatly differs from professional profession. There are
but few architects who entirely depute construction to
others, but there are not many who design their own
carved ornament, and only isolated practitioners who
design their own color decoration. Generally all this
work is done by independent artists nominally subject
to the supervision of the architect. Practically, how-
ever, this supervision is only extended over the model-
ling of the carved ornament in the questionable form of
a veto power—a power to reject what is not in accord
with architectural taste, and not a power which assumes
the initiative by directing through specific drawings
exactly what is to be carved in certain places.
There is to be found in every hand-book of archi-
tecture a discussion on carved ornament and color dec-
oration, which generally concerns itself with these
questions: How much carved ornament may we use
in a building? and, is it well to decorate the outside
of structures in color? These questions are answered
very ingeniously by one eminent writer, who says, you
cannot have too much ornament as long as the orna-
ment you propose is really ornament; and by another
that the Greeks undoubtedly painted their temples
on the outside (which it would be architectural sin
to disapprove), but that it is very doubtful whether
they would have done so had they built them in Eng-
land where the atmosphere is not clear. Whether this
is good logic or not, it will not help us to a clear un-
derstanding of the function of carved ornament and
318
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
color decoration in architecture, and we must share the
misgivings of some, that it is not good logic.
The result of a mathematical consideration of the
relations of matter in an architectural organism is a
determination of the dimensions of parts and of their
configuration. This is essentially form. The study of
a series of geometrical drawings of these forms, and a
mechanical analysis of the same, answers the impor
tant question, whether or not these forms are adequate
to express the needed degree of strength and elegance
which are demanded by the ideas to be architecturally
expressed in matter. Architecture, however, requires
that the monument shall speak to those who are not
capable of analyzing mechanical relations; and, more
than this, the effect aimed at is one which must act
with greater promptness than a process of analysis
would permit. We, therefore, resort to all available
means to give expression to the matter composing
monuments. Now the structural form of the material
used serves this purpose admirably; and it becomes the
aim of art to modify this structural form in obedience
to this one great principle, that the more energetic
the apparent or real crystallization of the material the
more competent it seems to perform mechanical work.
It will be seen hereafter that this principle also covers
the nature and function of color decoration.
A rough quarry face, as well as a polished surface of
many sorts of stone, reveals a vigorous crystallization,
and heightens the color, and thus indirectly the ap
parent capability of the material to do mechanical
work. The experiment may be tried with a series of
cubes of one and the same stone, and of equal dimen-
sions, which may be made to range from a rough
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION.
319
quarry face to a finely tooled surface, and it will be
found that the rougher the surface the greater the
seeming rigidity of the material. For this no mechan-
ical reason can be assigned. A block of stone offers a
resistance to a load pressing upon it perpendicularly
exactly proportional to the area of its smallest hori-
zontal section. No projections on its face beyond the
lines constituting these limits can help this stone in
the labor of resisting pressure; yet the stone seems
stronger than another stone which is dressed down to
an even surface at the line which is the boundary of
its horizontal area. The reason why the rough stone
looks stronger than the smooth one is because it betrays
the nature of its crystallization, of which we know
from practical experience that it serves to resist great
pressure; while in stone which has been carefully
tooled or rubbed to a smooth surface the natural grain
is obliterated, and an artificial grain substituted, which
resembles the grain of other matter (not stone), which
matter we know to resist pressure but indifferently,
unless the stone is further polished, and in this
way again made to betray its crystallization. White
marbles and other stones which are capable of being
polished, but which, in that case, do not betray crystal-
lization, do not look stronger when polished, but do
look stronger the rougher their surface.
Parts of structure differ in the method and degree of
their resistance to pressure imposed upon them. The
distribution of the load also differs. At times it is spread
equally over a large area, and then again it is concen-
trated upon a smaller area. An architect who is in
the habit of contemplating structural parts as doing
mechanical work can readily re-enforce the expression
320
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
of his material by the texture imparted to it by dress-
ing the surface of the stone of which the parts are com-
posed.
Carved ornament in architecture means the decora-
tion of surfaces of stone, metal, or wood, with designs
taken from the animal and vegetable productions of
nature, or with geometrical forms, composed of straight
and curved lines, especially applied for this purpose,
or with a combination of both.
The object of decorating the surfaces of building
material is again, as in the case of dressing the surface
of stone, to give artificial texture to it, which shall re-
enforce its apparent capability to resist pressure. Small
ornamentation, closely packed, with shallow intervals of
limited area, corresponds with the fine-tooled stone, and
large decorative ornament with deeply cut and broad
recesses, with the quarry-faced stone. Corbels and
capitals which carry great loads concentrated upon
them are of the latter kind. An evenly and slightly
loaded wall face determines the former. It is unnec-
essary to dwell upon the endless variety which may
be designed to range between the two; but it is im
portant to point out that a monument may be entirely
covered with decorative ornament so long as the inten-
sity of the ornament keeps step with its mechanical
function, and that a monument so treated will thereby
gain in force of expression. The interior of the Alham-
bra may be cited as an illustration of this. It appears
also from the foregoing that decorative ornament is not
introduced to gratify a mere craving for variety, although
the variety which results from a judicious treatment
of it is the first as well as the most striking phenome-
non noticed by the superficial observer. When con-
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION.
321
sidered in the light of the principle here stated, and
when the resulting system is pursued, it becomes ob-
vious that variety must be the inevitable result, and
that variety so attained also determines that harmony
and unity of expression which is dictated by the me-
chanical laws which have ordered the masses. But if
mere variety is attempted as a stroke of genius, as a
work of the imagination, it is clear that it must lack
both meaning and harmony, and become worthless as
a work of art.
Carved ornament being intended to decorate a struct-
ural mass with the view of accentuating its function,
the mass itself must not be entirely absorbed or cov-
ered up by the ornament, but must be clearly percep
tible, and express in its form also the function per-
formed by it. If the material used is stone, it must
be a bonded stone first, and next a decorated bonded
stone, well fitted for its relation with the rest of the
structure, and for the mechanical work to be done by
it. The bell of the capital and of the corbel will serve
as an illustration of this. To erect a leaf or an animal
form, whether it be conventionalized or not, and use
this leaf, animal, or human form as a structural part, or,
what is still worse, for the mere purpose of a conven-
ient transition from one part of structure to another, is
contrary to the nature of art-work. Caryatides may
serve as an example of the former, and the arabesques
of the Rococo of the latter transgression against art.
The solicitude to preserve intact and clearly percep-
tible all structural masses dictates the law also by
which statuary is placed outside of the masses of archi-
tectural monuments, and according to which the taber-
nacles, pedestals, and canopies which form the surround-
21
322
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
1
ings of statues, are not carved into these masses, but
projected from the same. It is also for this reason nec-
essary that statuary should be placed upon pedestals,
corbels, or other supports, especially built for the pur-
pose, and should not rest upon structural parts other-
wise performing mechanical functions. Bas-reliefs serve
the
purpose of wall decoration, the same as indicated
above for carved ornament. It seems clear, therefore,
that the extent of the relief must be governed by the
function of the wall mass they decorate.
It is well in this connection to consider the nature
of color decoration. Referring back to the surfaces of
various textures mentioned above, it will be observed
that the more coarse and prominent the crystallization
of matter the deeper are the shadows on its surface,
and the darker its general tone. This gives us a clew
to the relation existing between the apparent rigidity
of matter and its color. The deeper the color of a struct-
ural part the greater its apparent resistance to strain.
As the tints ranging between white and black are in
numerable, we have here again an unlimited gamut of
color treatment for different degrees of mechanical
work to be expressed.
Tints, however, are mixtures of crude color. Yel-
low, blue, and red, for instance, produce a neutral tint.
If you add to the red, the tint becomes deeper; if to
the yellow, it becomes lighter. To mix colors in a pot
is, however, not doing art-work; it is not in imitation
of nature. To form a proper appreciation of nature's
method of mixing colors in tints, cover a disc with al-
ternate spots of red, yellow, and blue, placed close to-
gether in any relation determined upon until the whole
disc is covered. Take quantities of red, yellow, and
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION. 323
blue, equal to those which have been used in coloring
your disc, and in the same proportion mix these colors
by rubbing them together until they form one homo-
geneous mass (a tint), and then spread this tint upon
the surface of another disc of the same size as the first
one used. Place these two discs side by side, say
from ten to twenty feet from your eye, and
you will
see two discs of precisely the same neutral tint, but
you will notice this difference :-the first disc, although
neutral in tint, will sparkle and shine as though it
were lighted up with an internal fire, while the other
disc will present a dull gray color without any bril-
liancy whatever. Now nature's method of composing
tints is precisely that by which your first disc has
been prepared, and this must therefore be the method
employed in a work of art. Hence architects who un-
derstand the principle of color decoration never use
mixed tints in monumental work. They use decora
tive designs instead, and produce the required tint by
a judicious relation of ornament to space between or
nament, corresponding to that recommended above in
the composition of carved ornament. The ground is
treated in crude color (red or blue) and the ornament
in a lighter color (generally gold). By this means any
gradation of tint can be produced and applied to the
structure on the principle stated above-"the deeper
the color of a structural part the greater its apparent
resistance to strain."
Where in a monument the surface of all structural or
ganisms is covered with carved ornament, and this orna-
ment is in density and relief adapted to their mechan
ical functions, which it is intended to accentuate, the
relation of tints throughout the structure is already
324
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
determined in the calibre of the carved ornament, and all
that is needed is to apply the crude color with judgment,
and the relation of tint will correspond with the carved
ornament, and also with the structural construction.
The interior of the Alhambra serves again as the
most successful illustration of this method; it is mod-
eled in plaster, a material not to be recommended for
its dignity or durability, and hence not to be used in
a monument when it can be avoided. The surface of
this plaster ornament is entirely gilt, and the spaces
between the ornament are treated with red or blue.
Where a monument is built of stone, and it is in-
tended to decorate its surface with carved ornament
and color, each separate ashlar and voussoir should be
designed and carved separately; it should have a narrow
plain margin all around near the joints; and in that
case it is well to preserve the natural color of the
stone, and treat only the background in color. In
many cases, however, the surface may be touched with
gold lines, and picked out in places with white, and
thus the highest possible effect can be attained, the
natural color of the stone being preserved at the same
time, which it is desirable to do, inasmuch as the text-
ure of the stone maintains the character of rigidity
better than artificial coloring can be made to do. The
great principle, which may be accepted as an axiom,
should be never lost sight of, that color decoration in
architecture means composition of crude color—a mo-
saic, not a mixture.
Functional expression of decorative ornament deter
mines design in this, that the axis of every group of
ornament, as well as of isolated elements of groups, say
every leaf, must be placed in the direction of resistance
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION. 325
to pressure, and hence that all flowing leaves hanging
loosely are not architectural ornaments. Renaissance
festoons are instances of the kind to be avoided. It is
not in the province of this work to speak in detail
of the nature of the design to be recommended for
various purposes, but it should be remembered that
the virtue of architectural carved decoration is to be
sought less in a variety of elements than in the variety
of combination of a few simple elements. The deco-
rative work of the Alhambra may again be cited as
a marvelously brilliant illustration of this principle.
A word, however, should be said on the subject of
conventionalizing natural forms, when they are used
for the purpose of architectural decoration. Artificial
grain (texture) may be produced in stone, wood, or
other building material, by cutting on its face geomet-
rical figures, combinations of straight lines and curves,
which bear the character of natural crystallizations.
The human imagination resorts to methods of this
kind involuntarily. Productions of the mechanic arts
assume in their decoration these symmetrical shapes in
the hands of persons who do not pretend to efforts at
fine art. We find them in abundance in architectural
monuments of every period of art history, in woven
fabrics, in pottery, in the cutting of precious stones,
and in articles worked in all metals. They are the
true modifications of stone and metal in imitation of
nature;
but the forms which surround us in nature, the
organisms of animal and vegetable life, present to the
human mind such vivid examples of superior func-
tional expression, and of much greater variety and
multiplicity of direction than the mere molecular ac-
cumulation around a center in a crystallization, that
326
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
men have become impatient of linear crystallization, and
eager to use these forms of animal and vegetable or
ganisms in the decoration and modeling of architect-
ural monuments and other work of fine art. It is a
question of profound interest to architects and lovers
of architecture, whether the pursuit of these geomet-
rical forms would not ultimately lead to combinations
which are more suited to the rigid character, hardness,
brittleness and rigidity of building material, and
whether these combinations might not in time rival
the vegetable forms adopted for their freedom of move-
ment and variety of outline, without losing the crys
talline character which is so eminently befitting the
material and its functions. It is a question now,
whether we may not yet, to the advantage of archi-
tectural art, return by another road to these simple
methods of decoration. However, architecture has
adopted animal and vegetable forms, and made them
her own; but this has not been done without a mental
struggle which is not at this time fully allayed, nor uni-
versally understood. This mental struggle results in
the admission that these forms, although very beautiful
in themselves, are not directly applicable to rigid ma-
terials, like stone, wood, and metal; and that if they are
to be applied to architectural organisms, the question
must be asked and answered-if nature had attempted
the creation of a leaf or a flower in stone, what would
have been its modifications? How much of the leaf
or flower would have been retained, and what would
have been added to it, to adapt it to its new function?
The answers which have been made to these questions
have resulted in imparting to animal and vegetable
organisms conventional forms whenever applied in
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION. 327
architecture, and other branches of fine art; and the
process resulting from this is called conventionalizing
natural forms.
The argument is somewhat as follows: A leaf, a
tree, a plant of any kind, grows under environments
differing in different directions: there is a north
and a south side to every plant; a side from which
blows the cold, driving wind, and another which
brings warm moisture. This plant must of course be
affected in its growth and development by all this; and
its tendency to symmetry, which is a law of natural
aggregation, is impaired by it, more or less. A stone
is throughout of equal hardness, and capable of resist
ance to pressure or tension equally on either side of
any given axis, or very nearly so; and even if not, the
functions performed by it in our architectural organ-
isms are symmetrical; hence it follows that if the
form of a vegetable organism is to be adopted as part
of a structure its symmetry and regularity of outline
must be restored, and every other modification made
which will destroy apparent freedom of action, and
which will express rigidity. Again, a leaf or a flower
is not capable of doing actual work: standing upon
its stem in its natural condition, it yields to every
breeze, bends under every drop of rain. If this frail
form is to carry loads, or serve as an outside symbol of
matter which is engaged in carrying loads, then it
must have an appreciable fitness. It must have sharp
faceted sides, which strain back rigidly against the
stone it springs from. A leaf, to become a part of a
structure, in one word, must become of stone, stony.
To impart to natural forms a stony or metallic rigidity,
to fit them in their contour, and more especially in their
328
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
sectional development, to express a performance of me-
chanical work, is the process of conventionalizing ani-
mal and vegetable forms when used for the decoration
of architectural organisms.
It should be noted here that the introduction of
straight and curved lines, and of figures resulting from
combinations of these, into the surfaces of carved orna-
ment, more especially when these surfaces are of con-
siderable size, is an architectural necessity. It imparts
to the design a structural firmness which is impaired
by the flowing lines of animal and vegetable organisms.
A word should be said also in this place of the unar-
tistic tendencies and practices of the age in its
decorative art. You may frequently observe, in a
structure undergoing decorative treatment and renova-
tion, workmen engaged on the outside of it in recut-
ting, redressing, and rubbing, and polishing the stone-
work. The attempt is evidently one to impart to this
structure an appearance of newness. On the inside,
other workmen, engaged in decorating its wall, indulge
in various tricks of trade to impart to this decoration
an appearance of age, by now and then changing the
intensity of colors and tints. The effect of light upon
decorated surfaces, more especially where gold is freely
used, is to change the color effect as we change our po-
sition with reference to the light. These effects are also
artificially imitated by modern decorators. It is true
that time mellows color to its advantage, and a deco-
rated wall never looks as well when just finished as it
will a few years after; but it is very questionable
whether it is the province of art to anticipate time for
the purpose of producing immediate effects. It is at
best not a decent practice to be engaged in by earnest,
ORNAMENT AND COLOR DECORATION.
329
!
truthful men; and, like all shams, it meets with its
punishment when time, persisting in its right to deal
with art, adds its own touches, to the great confusion
of the original work. Light effects upon color deco-
ration are often marvelously beautiful. It is the
province of the architect to contemplate such effects
in the composition of his plans. There is art force to
be discerned in the work of the man who plans and
provides for the artistic lighting of his structure in an-
ticipation of future needs, but it is a mere trick to im-
itate (or rather to attempt an imitation of light effects,
.because it is never a success), without knowing what
these changes of color observed in reality are or should
be.
The medieval practice of frequently changing the
design of decorative ornament, applied to different
parts of structure performing the same function, is
now affected by most architects.. It is to be regretted,
however, that the laws which govern density, texture,
and color are not observed. If two piers or columns
perform the same mechanical work, the capitals of
these piers or columns may differ in design, but the
two designs must be equal in density, depth, and force
of ornament, otherwise the variety of design becomes
detrimental to functional expression.
t
CHAPTER XXIII.
STYLE.
METHODS of building as determined by prevalent
ideas, by materials used, and by the progress of architects
in the science of construction and in the art of express-
ing ideas in matter, all go to make up style in archi-
tecture.
The modern architect devotes himself to the study
of architectural styles in the belief that he may thus
attain to a knowledge of architecture. The result,
however, is only a sort of pictorial knowledge of the
successive architectural developments of the past, not
a knowledge of architecture as a living art. The rea-
son is, that the study of styles is pursued as an inquiry
into forms instead of as an inquiry into the causes of
forms, while the judgment arrived at as to the relative
value of these forms is merely that of personal feeling,
and not that of the student's reasoning powers. If archi-
tects were first instructed in the general principles of
architecture which prescribe rules of procedure for the
expression of an idea in matter, the matter being the
whole range of building material, and the means the
knowledge of construction as it exists, and the methods
of art which accord with æsthetic principles, a subse-
quent analytical examination of the styles of the past
would doubtless furnish valuable examples of given
1
330
STYLE.
331
problems solved, to the end that other problems may
be solved upon the same principles. This is the course
pursued in the sciences and the arts generally. The
lawyer studies the laws of his own country, and prac-
tices according to those laws, although he may have
devoted much time to Mosaic law, Roman law, English
law, Dutch law, and the Colonial law; they all assist
him in the more thorough understanding of his coun-
try's laws, and are useful also in legislation. But
these obsolete laws are never adopted as a whole, and
but rarely as individual provisions of law; they are
simply respected as the result of principles which still
remain true, and as a development of methods which
may not be adopted by us, but which may be used, in
modified form, shorn of merely local and evanescent
features, as a nucleus for laws to meet modern needs.
Ptolemy's explanation of the motion of the sun and of
the planets, in epicycles, according to the hypothesis
of Apollonius, is still found in every work on astron-
omy in which the history of that science is treated, al-
though the system has been superseded by that of
Copernicus. This theory of Ptolemy is not only inter-
esting as denoting a wrong road to truth, but has been
of assistance, since its abandonment, in determining
the true places of the planets.
The painter and sculptor of our own time, as well as
the poet and actor, reject nothing in the past practice
of their art that is good and true in itself. They are
willing to accept information, whether arrived at to-
day or current in Greece before the Christian era; and
they do not hesitate to abandon methods and ideas
whenever they are superseded by others which are
better. The architect alone works exclusively in
332
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
styles. His knowledge has become to him a faith.
He believes that the style he has selected for perma-
nent or temporary use is capable of solving all prob
lems of to-day as well as those of two thousand years
ago; and when this pious theory encounters unsur-
mountable obstacles, as in the case of the church of
St. Peter's, at Rome, he designs a Gothic ground-plan
and then envelops his structure in a Renaissance
mantle, imagining that he has produced a work of Re-
naissance art without violence to his architectural con-
science.
The explanation of this enigma is to be found in the
theory that success in fine art is entirely the result of
inspiration, while the guide to success is personal feel-
ing, which is termed taste. These two gifts of nature
are held to be the sum and substance of all that is re-
quisite in art. The fact that the great authors of the
Italian Renaissance were none of them architects, in
the true sense of the word, must go far to prove this
theory, which is cited here not to discredit the labors
of the Renaissance, but to explain the style mania
traceable to that period, and unknown before. But, it
will be asked, are the feelings of such men as Borro-
mini, Bernini, Brunelleschi, and Michael Angelo, to
be disregarded, even though these feelings extended
to a subject of which they were not masters?
The more relevant question may be asked: Did not
the whole learned world share this same feeling, at
least to the extent of a distaste for Gothic art? Feel-
ing in art precedes thought, and is to be regarded with
respect. Antipathy to Gothic architecture, as it ex-
isted almost everywhere in civilized Europe, and more
especially in Italy, during the fifteenth century, was
STYLE.
333
the forerunner of a very just and important revolution.
in the religious and art ideas of the world. But be-
tween a sentiment and the application of that senti-
ment there must be a period of reflection. This pe-
riod of reflection was wanting to the architecture of
1450, and it has been wanting ever since.
It is a common belief, and one which is repeated in
most works on architecture, that architecture originated
in man's need of shelter; and we are told seriously, as
though the authors of these works had been present
when it happened, that man first lived in caves, and
then built himself a hut, and finally an altar, etc., etc.
Now, whatever occurred when man first commenced
building, architecture did not come about in this way.
The origin of architecture must be sought in the de-
sire of man to live after death. This short life of ours
is devoted to the effort to live as long as we can, and,
perhaps, help others to do the same. After this we
desire to connect our individuality with the cosmic
spirit, that it may outlast our body and become im-
mortal. The conviction that death is the end of our
material life has ever prompted man's faith in immor-
tality. Coupled with this desire is another, to perpet-
uate this faith by some material means. IIence the
monument, a mound, a heap of stones, a cairn, an altar,
a temple. Man wishes to be connected with some
conception of immortality which includes his species.
It is reasonable to assume that the men who built
mounds and pyramids had in view personal monu-
ments, without any clear conception of how personal
virtues or merits were to be materially expressed. All
that they attempted was to tell a story of the simplest
kind: "Rameses lived here," and to tell that story
334
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
"forever." This eternity of physical existence is
probably the sole idea they wished to convey in mat-
ter, and it needed much matter to express it. Since
the pyramids. were built there has been a continual
advance in the essence and quality, as well as in the va-
riety, of the thought which has constituted problems for
material expression. It must be remembered, also,
that the species of thought recorded in religious mon-
uments has passed through constant modifications by
which the material part of the idea has been more and
more eliminated.
The Greek god is the material emblem of one god-
like quality; the Christian God is the immaterial re-
ality of all god-like attributes. To express this idea
by a musical figure, it may be said that Greek my-
thology furnishes a long list of simple airs, and Chris-
tianity the gigantic combination of the oratorio.
Every one can understand simple airs; to understand
the oratorio needs a musician. The layman may be
impressed by the force and magnitude of the compo-
sition, but he will never understand it. The authors
of the early Italian Renaissance were laymen in archi-
tecture. They did not understand and they disliked
the oratorio of Christian art, and accordingly reverted
to the simple Greek airs, which were vividly presented
to their minds by the revival of Greek literature.
A brief review of Roman history shows us that
Rome's decay is coeval with the rise of Christianity.
The fifth century found the Roman Empire a Chris-
tianized nation, a part only of her former self, and
Roman architecture the remains of her greatness. In
the days of Rienzi, Rome had not only lost her politi-
cal influence over the world, but she had also lost the
STYLE.
335
power to govern herself. Her wealth accumulated, not
like that of the rest of the world, through agriculture,
manufactures, and trade, but because she was a great
metropolis, the political power of which extended from
the Mediterranean to the North Sea, and from the At-
lantic to the East Indies. We find her, after the con-
quest of the Eastern Empire by the Turks, a head
without a body, a prey to internal dissension, and the
Bishop of Rome an exile at Avignon. When the last
spark of self-government had died out in Rome, the
pope returned to it to make himself its temporal mas-
ter, and a reigning prince among princes. Rome at
that time had existed for a thousand years without
making progress in architecture. The great monuments
of her past yet remaining within her walls had fallen
into decay; the statuary, the gold, the silver, and the
bronzes of her monuments had been appropriated
to private use, and their walls were converted into
quarries which furnished stone and lime for papal
palaces. Popular government had subsided into that
of the conclave, then consisting of twenty-two car
dinals, selected from the nobles and partly also from
the ranks of the people, but governed and directed
mainly by scions of the imperial and royal houses of
Europe, subject in its deliberations to certain recog-
nized powers of foreign governments, as well as to un-
recognized political machinations. Here the popes
intended to build up a temporal government which was
to exercise a spiritual power over the whole Christian
world. Rome was again to become the capital of the
world; her former magnificence was to be revived.
To demonstrate this revival in a material way, the
popes proposed to erect civil and religious monuments.
336
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
We must now try to understand the relation of the
Roman artists to architecture; and in order to do so
it becomes necessary to review the leading character-
istics of antique and medieval art as both stood in the
fifteenth century.
Greek art dealt exclusively with single cells, the ex-
pression of one individual emotion.* Though we cannot
assert positively that Greek monuments did not exist
which were designed to accommodate an assemblage in
their interior, it is certain that Greek temples were not
so intended. Greek theaters were probably not roofed;
of other habitable structures we know absolutely noth-
ing. The Romans in their Basilicas certainly present a
technical solution of the problem of housing within the
walls of a monument a congregation of men, but no trace
of an æsthetic consideration of this question is there to
be found. The architecture of the interior of the Basilica
is a repetition of the architecture of its exterior, namely,
a series of columns or pilasters surmounted by an en-
tablature which sustains a plain, unorganized wall,
dividing the nave from the aisles as long as both re-
mained under one roof, and forming the clere-story
when the nave was raised above the roof of the aisles.
It may be said that neither Greece nor Rome has
produced an internal architecture worthy of the name,
or one which could be ranked with the interiors of
the Egyptian temples that preceded them. Neither
Greek nor Roman architecture has developed an æs-
thetic treatment of a structure containing more than
one story in height. The clere-story of the Basilica is
* The Erechtheum is a notable example of failure to combine three cells
into a monumental group.
STYLE.
337
rudimentary. The stories of the Colosseum are a repe-
tion of the same element; quite satisfactory perhaps
in this case, because the Colosseum, after all, is but a
single cell, and its stories, therefore, equal in value as
they perform equal functions in the interior. Yet
this cannot be accepted as an example of a proper
modelling of a many storied structure where the func
tions of the stories differ in import and need various
forms of expression. Prior to medieval architecture,
the masses composing a monument were not modelled;
their functions were merely indicated emblematically,
by placing a pilaster in front of the wall, or by an
architrave in front of the jamb and lintel of openings.
Whatever knowledge the Greeks and Romans had
of the use of the arch, and the Romans certainly did
have such knowledge, it cannot be admitted to amount
to a complete architectural development, as we find
nowhere modelled features which relate to lateral
strains. We may, therefore, sum up the attainment
of subsequent mediaeval architecture as follows:
1st. All parts of structure are modelled to express
their functions. These functions are successfully ex-
pressed to this extent, that the differences of dignity and
vigor, as well as the comparative elegance with which
mechanical work is performed by every member of
structural parts, become plainly visible. The system of
denoting functions by merely emblematic surface dec-
oration is entirely abandoned. Roman architecture
covered its walls with pilasters and entablatures in
order to express that the walls so decorated perform
the function of resisting perpendicular pressure in like
manner as similar pressure is actually resisted in the
Greek portico. The pilaster was substituted for the
A
22
338
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
column in order that it might be understood that this
pilaster is not doing but merely indicating mechani-
cal work. Medieval architecture, on the other hand,
embodies thought in the form of every part of the
work, and thereby imbues it with life, establishes a
principle applicable to the treatment of all possible
structural parts which may be called forth by future
needs and future efforts, and prefigures the artistic de-
velopment which all possible combinations must assume.
2d. Architecture is elevated into a system which
treats of cells in groups or piles, placed one above the
other in stories, or alongside of each other.
3d. In the art expression of strains other than per-
pendicular, and the invention of a number of forms
and methods of treatment to answer that purpose.
4th. In the almost unlimited application of animal
and vegetable forms as surface and structural decora-
tion as compared with the insignificant repertoire of
the antique. (Of course we do not include in this
sculptures of the human figure, etc.)
Now if the early Renaissance movement had been
one of art analysis, there can be no question as to the
course which would have been pursued by its leaders.
They would have accepted, as elements of future devel-
opment, all the resources of architectural art then at
their command, instead of confining themselves merely
to the limited resources of the antique. But it was
not an enterprise based upon analysis; it was based
upon feeling; and in order to understand the precise
feeling of the Renaissance, and to know how mediaval
architecture offended Christian men of the fifteenth
century, we must learn something of the feeling of
medieval Christianity.
STYLE.
339
The mythology of the ante-Christian world was one
in which men and gods lived on terms of equality and
intimacy. The gods, like man, were limited in their
powers and attributes; while man might, by the prac
tice of virtue, or by a development of mere physical
strength, become a god. The intercourse of men and
gods was almost unrestricted and often carried to the
extent of intermarriage. Appeals to the gods through
the oracles were at all times open to man, and the
gods frequently condescended to favor man with a per-
sonal interview. The gods were human in form, and
the perfection of human beauty and physical strength
was that which symbolized their might and majesty.
Their work in behalf of man was human work, the
overpowering of his enemies in battle.
Christianity presents a religious system in all re-
spects the opposite to this. It is the exaltation of the
Deity and the humiliation of man. Its main object
seems to be to remove man from God in every sense
which constitutes a definition of their related being.
To exalt God, to humble ourselves, become almost con-
vertible terms. God is all in all, man nothing. Man's
virtue is not an element of acceptance in the eyes of
God, nor even his faith, excepting in the sense of mercy,
not of desert. To believe against conviction is his
greatest merit. To do right and yet to suffer is his
lot.
Virtue, no doubt, is, like truth, at the bottom of a
well; we dig for it, but we never reach it. To en-
courage us in the effort, to nerve us with hope when
we have long neglected our duty, to ascetically mortify
ourselves that we may obtain mercy, is a system of
faith peculiar to and proper for the
ages which
gene-
340
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
rated it. Christ was of the poor and lowly, and so
were his apostles and those who followed in their path,
and of those were the men who built the cathedrals of
the Middle Ages.
That this special view of Christianity was architect-
urally expressed, no sane man will doubt; that it was
expressed in a sublime manner, superior to all previous
efforts in art creation, no man who fully understands
architecture needs to be convinced; that more was
added not exactly contemplated in the system, such as
a great array of saints and their worship, a confessional
of doubtful integrity and of an efficacy frequently per
nicious, a purchasable intercession by means of masses,
a large array of ascetics, of monks and nuns, who con-
tributed nothing to the economy of religion beyond
maintaining a purposeless existence, presumably de-
voted to the service of God; and that furthermore all
these addenda to Christianity found true expression in
its monuments, we all know. On this basis the poor
and the lowly created temples which imposed upon
and humbled princes, an ecclesiastical power being
vested in the Bishop of Rome never before possessed
by the high-priest of any people. All this was the
result of a system based upon the grandeur and omni-
potence of the Deity, and the humility and nothing-
ness of man. When the pope decided upon the restora-
tion of the architectural magnificence of Rome, it
became necessary to deal with a new problem not there-
tofore contemplated by the scheme of Christianity as
it then existed; it was to establish a place for the
ecclesiastical hierarchy governed by a veritable monarch
of the earth, a prince of the church; and the city of
Rome, which had been without an architecture for a
STYLE.
341
thousand years, was now to be endowed with monu-
ments expressing that relationship, monuments befit-
ting the dignity of the Christian high-priest, who had
cast off the lowly garb of the apostles and donned the
purple in order to be a king among kings.
Again, the revival of Greek literature had brought be
fore men the joyous and sunny humanity of antiquity,
its heroic virtue, its philosophic manliness, its liberty of
action, its physical beauty, all of which contrast with the
gloom of an ascetic church, the misery of an oppressed
people, and the lawlessness of an ignorant and vicious
nobility; and when the cathedral, the palace, the moat,
and the draw-bridge were discerned to be emblems of
human misery and oppression, it is not surprising that
men felt, without positively knowing it, that there was
a connection between the evils which surrounded them
and the church, which they had learned to regard as
the greatest good. The monumental structure no
longer represented alone the power of a moral govern-
ment, but also a power which had gradually closed in
upon them on every side, absorbed their substance,
given aid to their enemies, and made them miserable.
Human nature readily adapts itself to all conditions,
if these conditions come slowly and by degrees. Man
is hopeful through his faith, but when this hope was
weakened by being suddenly confronted with the
vitality of ancient Greece as apparent in the match-
less symbols of her heroism, her joy, and her festivals,
then this hope faltered and was succeeded by doubt.
The painters, sculptors, and goldsmiths who formed
the art cabinet of the pope, and who knew architect-
ure only in its outer forms, and not in its principles,
contemplated cathedrals, and came to the conclusion
342
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
unanimously that this sort of art would never do in
the light of classic conceptions. On encountering a
stranger, we form some idea of his character at once;
we suppose him to be good, generous, frank, and lib-
eral, or wicked, hypocritical, and false. This is the
impression of the moment. Works of art impress us
in the same way. Look at a medieval church, and it
suggests more than years of historical study would
impart. The mere sight of a work of art excites feel-
ings which, if translated into words, the mind would
repel; as it is, you only see forms which do not please
you, which you may like or dislike without scruple.
In this manner mediaval Christian architecture did
not please the pope nor his art cabinet. IIad you
asked the pope the question, he would have told you
truthfully, that he did not doubt the system of Chris-
tianity in the least, only he disliked the forms of its
monuments as found in the cathedrals of the thirteenth
century. They might do well enough for the people,
but they would not do for him, nor for his hierarchy,
nor for his art cabinet; he would have something which
would accord more nearly, now that he was king of
Rome, with the antique spirit of Roman heathenism
and Roman imperialism. This was what the pope and
his hierarchy thought. It would have frightened them
had some one else told them that this was what they
thought. But there was no danger of this; their
thought was simply an impression like that derived
from a picture, a statue, a play, or any other art-work.
At best they had but that confused knowledge which
art imparts.
An architect would have appreciated the situation
This would have been his argument. If
at once.
STYLE.
343
cathedrals do not express the pope's Christianity, then
it must be that either the pope does not understand
the art of cathedrals, or that the pope's Christianity
is undergoing a change. If that change tends to a
moderation in the asceticism of the church, then church
architecture needs more matter and less spirit, more
nakedness and less modelling, more frankness and less
severity, more light and less shadow.
But the pope was unfortunate in the selection of
his architects, or perhaps this is unjust to the pope,
as there were no architects to select from. The pope
referred the matter to artists of any kind, painters,
sculptors, and goldsmiths. What was their report?
They declared Gothic architecture to be barbarous;
they said the architecture of the future must be de-
veloped direct from the antique. Now this was not
only unnecessary, but very unwise. Why abandon the
progress of ten centuries, because, upon the principles
developed by it, ideas had been expressed which were
objectionable? Were Grecian and Roman temples
better expressions of any phase of Christianity than
Gothic architecture? Or did antique forms embody
principles of construction or of aesthetics by which any
architect could compose monuments of the complicated
ideas involved in the problems of the times? Had
these questions been asked and answered intelligently
we should have had no Renaissance architecture. But
this was not the course pursued. The founders of the
Renaissance were not looking for principles, but for
forms; and not for forms which express given ideas,
but forms which they liked, forms which they could
comprehend, grapple with, and master-that is to say,
forms that could be imitated in stone without encoun
344
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
tering constructive difficulties. Greek forms answered
this purpose eminently well, and Greek forms were
determined on as the proper basis for the architecture
of the future. This was not wise; it was not the best
thing to do, but yet it was practicable, as long as these
Greek forms were accepted as a basis merely for a sub-
sequent further architectural development. Why has
no new architecture been developed? For three hun-
dred years men of undoubted ability have talked of
developing architecture, yet Renaissance architecture
is a so-called style, and not the architecture of the
present time-in fact, not architecture at all. To un-
derstand this thoroughly, we must retrace our steps,
and examine how medieval architecture grew out of
the antique. We must follow the road once pursued,
that we may estimate the conditions of another pos
sible road leading to a similarly successful end.
Mediaeval art found but few elements in antique
architecture to supply the ever-growing demands of
Christianity, the complex needs of centralized govern-
ments, and the growing necessities of the individual.
The Christian church adopted for her starting-point
the latest creation of Roman art, the Basilica, which
was a structure suitable to accommodate a congrega
tion. As stated above, the Basilica needed an æsthetic
development of its interior architecture. In the ab
sence of such development, the Romans had made use
of the then prevalent architecture of the exterior bor-
rowed from the antique portico, consisting of columns
supporting an entablature. The pediment over this
entablature was omitted, and the wall of a clere-story
built upon the entablature, thus dividing the Basilica
into parts, a nave and two or four aisles, which were
STYLE.
345
easily roofed upon wooden girders running from wall
to wall. These wooden girders grew in time into
simple triangular trusses, well organized and construc-
tively modelled, and this open timber roof of the early
Basilica is an aesthetic construction not surpassed since
in simplicity and elegance. It was soon discovered
that the long entablatures were not safe against the
pressure of the superincumbent weight. Not that
they were not sufficiently strong to carry their load,
but the slightest inequality in the position of the col
umns produced fractures which, by the nature of the
lintel, became troublesome and unsightly. This evil
was promptly remedied by turning arches over the en-
tablatures, so as to transfer all the weight of the clear-
story to the columns themselves. There was but one
step from this to omitting the entablature altogether;
but, in truth, this was not accomplished at once.
The entablature was first omitted between the col-
umns, but a fragment of it was still left standing over
each column, the cornice running all around and form-
ing an unsightly shelf which cut off from below the
view of the spring of the semi-circular arches used,
thus foreshortening the curve to its great disad
vantage, and leaving between the column and the
arch a superfluous member which rendered the whole
construction apparently unstable. Finally this rem-
nant of the entablature was also abandoned, and a
square stone or springer was put in its place.
The entablature, as created by the Greeks, was the
crowning feature of the temple. Its cornice adapted
itself to the outline of the roof. It ran horizontally
at the sides or eaves of the temple, and ascended at
the gable to inclose the pediment. At the eaves and
346
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
the pediment the structure was thus crowned, com-
pleted. This general form as thus attained precludes
the aesthetic possibility of placing above this form any
further structural element. If in a second story this
method of construction is to be repeated, it is clear
that both the cornice and pediment must be aban-
doned the architrave and frieze alone being the
elements which can be properly borrowed from Greek
architecture.
The introduction of the barrel vault to cover spaces,
being more monumental and dignified than the open
roof, was the next constructive step in the progress
of church building. The walls needed to resist the
lateral pressure of these barrel vaults were of neces
sity very thick, and the groining of these vaults and
the concentration of both the perpendicular and the
lateral pressure upon the piers between openings
where these piers could be reinforced with buttresses,
were the next steps of progress in construction. The
flying buttress and the attendant load at its foot, the
pinnacle, were the last elements of a complicated sys-
tem of vaulting as perfected in the twelfth and thir-
teenth centuries.
This is what was done in the matter of construction;
in the meantime art was not idle. The column could
not long continue to express the function of sustain-
ing the clere-story (more especially when the walls of
this clere-story had become thick enough to resist the
lateral pressure of the vaulting) without becoming in-
ordinately large in diameter in relation to height.
Square and octagonal piers, and combinations of them,
assumed the place as better adapted to express the
complicated forms of the arches springing from the top
STYLE.
347
of these piers. And when to these arches were added
diagonal ribs, which supported the groined vault, the
organization of the pier was further developed by
betraying in its form, besides the square shaft which
sustained the perpendicular loads, other subordinate
shafts, square or round, which represented in the pier
the succeeding organization of the arch and the vault.
The buttress which represents two elements of re-
sistance to lateral pressure, load and leverage, was
formed narrow and deep with offsets and pinnacles
further expressing these functions. To the primitive
form of the Basilica (a nave and aisles) were added
the transept and the highly organized choir. The
aisles were frequently further extended between the
buttresses in the form of chapels. The tower, a rem-
nant of early art, which mainly depends on magnitude
for its effect, has been used and developed by Chris-
tian architecture into the marvelous pyramid as we
see it at Freiburg, and more especially at St. Ste-
phen's, in Vienna. A constant transition from the
strong to the elegant, which finally loses itself in
crystallizations exquisitely delicate, yet vigorous and
rigid and time-defying, terminates with a crowning
glory this "frozen music" of architectural art.
All these new structural parts, invented and mod-
elled by Christian art, were realities, and performed
functions of the greatest mechanical importance.
They expressed the spirituality and sacredness of the
monument and an exalted idea of the Deity as com
pared with mortal man. To accomplish all this, the
modelling of parts was carried to a degree of refine-
ment which amounted to an attempt to etherialize
matter, to leave matter perceptible only through a
348
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
veil of idealism. Christian architecture in this effort
passed beyond the ordinary limits of apprehension;
it appealed to ideas artificially generated, those espe
cially which embodied the monastic conception of life
and its surroundings.
It is this latter ascetic feature of Gothic structures
which frightened the men of the Renaissance and
drove them into the wilderness of Greek architecture,
and prompted them to try and develop Christian
architecture anew. Why did they not do it? The
reason is simple and obvious. At every step forward
they found themselves treading the same road pursued
by the men of the eighth century, and feared to land
where the men of the thirteenth century landed. Be-
sides, they felt, and feeling was their ruin, that they
were not doing Greek work but medieval work, which
with them was wrong. They assumed that Greek
forms were the essence of architecture, and every
change in those forms, whatever the reason for it, was
a heresy against style. In other words, they proposed
to develop architecture without adding to or deduct-
ing from forms heretofore created.
Let us pile many temples one above the other, they
said, and set a number of these piles in a row; let us
see if that will not make a Christian church, or a
Christian palace, or a court of law, or a parliament
house, and when we are satiated with piling up, we
will crown it all with an attic of our own invention,
something new, which is surely not Gothic. Nor
Greek, says the derisive echo from all quarters of the
globe. Look at this attic as you find it in the latest
Renaissance production, the opera-house at Monaco;
look at it as you find it in the great Christian Renais-
STYLE.
349
Is it not an
sance temple, St. Peter's, at Rome.
abomination, ruder, more vulgar, unmeaning, and un-
justifiable than anything ever invented by civilized or
uncivilized man? Is it in the spirit of antique archi-
tecture to pile orders one above another? Is it con-
sistent with reason to finish a structure, and then be-
gin it again by repeating the elements of pilaster and
entablature? Can we call this an idea expressed in
stone? Does it not bear the same relation to a real
work of art as the repeated poundings of a kettledrum
do to the septet in Fidelio? And when the Renais-
sance entered upon the task of asthetically expressing
interiors, for which no precedent is found in Greek
work, the pilasters and the entablature were again
called into requisition to line the inner side of walls,
and the outer surfaces of interior piers as though
they were structures containing spaces. Under the
cupola of St. Peter's, at the intersection of the nave and
transept, there are four noble piers measuring diag
onally about seventy-four feet, noble in magnitude, for
nowhere else do we find such a waste of matter doing
so little æsthetic work. These piers are surrounded
with the same formula of pilasters and entablature,
and are belittled with niches taken out of their sub-
stance. When we examine the dome of St. Peter's,
at Rome, which must, after all, be considered as the
greatest outcome of the Renaissance movement, what
do we find? If it had been a problem to build
strongly, and make that which is strong appear
weak, to build a monument of great magnitude and
make it look small, to use costly materials and make
them look mean, to carve statues and place them
where they do not belong, or where by gravity or
350
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
position they could not possibly abide; if, further
more, this was to be rendered more confused by taw-
dry carving, misapplied color, and all kinds of unmean-
ing decoration, that problem is solved in the interior
of St. Peter's at Rome. But, says the chorus of its ar-
chitects, it is antique. Not at all. It is a poor
Gothic church shrouded in caricatures of Greek
forms. But, says the chorus again, it is the begin-
ning of a new era in architecture, of a new birth, of
the Renaissance. And so it is, and so Renaissance
architecture has continued to build for three hundred
years, not always so devoid of art, for men may err in
principle and yet may not always do utterly bad
things; and, besides, Renaissance artists never again
had the opportunity to spend so much hard-earned
money upon one great art failure.
Renaissance aberration has established this one
principle, however, that architecture as an art is
dead; that we may work in styles, that is, we may
masquerade our structures in old forms, or in what-
ever we may imagine to be a substitute for these old
forms, or in whatever will pass current as such among
men. We must, in short, cease to think upon the
subject, and do it all by feeling, by inspiration, by
virtue of taste.
It is wonderful that three hundred years of this
inspiration and this taste have brought forth nothing
more nor better than the old formula of a pair of at-
tenuated pilasters, a bushy capital of acanthus leaves,
a meagre entablature repeated over and over again in
the same structure, representing at times tiers of sto-
ries one above the other; at other times embracing in
one order two or three stories, or again representing
STYLE.
351
nothing, a dead wall, and all this is crowned on top
with that wonderful attic of round, square, horizontal,
and oblong windows surrounded with architraves or
wreaths of flowers. And more than this, when we
have imagined this pile or a similar pile extending
for miles, and a piece cut off which we call a palace,
and another piece which we call a warehouse; then a
large piece called a church, and again a smaller piece,
called a club-house; no architect, whose faith is in the
Renaissance, will say aught against it. It is good ar-
chitecture; it is a work of fine art; it shows feeling;
it is in the spirit of the masters of the Renaissance.
Can this be art? Surely not.
When a community for three hundred years talks
of style, feeling, sentiment, inspiration, and taste, and
builds trash all the while, thinking minds conclude
that architecture is dead. Others again (a small mi-
nority) look with dismay upon this great waste of
human labor, and conclude that it is perhaps best to
begin architecture where it left off, A.D. 1450, and
then the whole question resolves itself into the battle
of styles. Both parties cry out, our style is best.
Both parties approve anything in architecture but a
departure from style-the Renaissance style, the
Gothic style; and style is the watchword always.
And so good men and true, clever, honest, and con-
scientious, are working in styles instead of learning or
practicing the great art of architecture.
1
CHAPTER XXIV.
STYLE. CONTINUED.
Or that portion of the community and the pro-
fession which, in the early part of the present cen-
tury, turned its face toward medieval architecture as
the new Mecca of architectural art, a word is to be
said, both in justice to those engaged in that enter-
prise, and to others who still continue with the Re-
naissance school.
Have the Gothicists been more successful than their
brethren of the antique? This is a question which
must be answered deliberately and candidly before
considering a further course of action. At the outset
lovers of Christian architecture found themselves op-
posed by the public, and most vehemently by an
overwhelming majority of architects. The immediate
result of this opposition was not favorable to progress
in architecture. The controversy which ensued be-
came a battle of styles, and the combatants rallied
around their own standards as the only possible guides
in art. Something was said by the Gothicists of an
architectural system founded on thirteenth century
work; but nothing was really done for about fifty
years in that direction, certainly nothing that will
find a place in future histories of architecture.
One reason why nothing was done is to be found in
352
STYLE.
353
the preference given to Christian architecture by those
few earnest men. They had discovered a treasure
which, the more they examined it, the more admirable
they found it; it is not surprising, therefore, that they
did not observe needed changes in the system they so
highly esteemed. The discovery of the original plans
of Cologne Cathedral probably strengthened this feel-
ing. An association having been formed to complete
that edifice, a number of eminent architects had pre-
pared plans for it which were not acceptable; at all
events, these plans remained under consideration for
a very long time, until one day the original plans were
accidentally discovered, and these were so clearly and
immeasurably superior to those offered that the asso-
ciation without delay proceeded with the building in
accordance with them. This was another incentive
for the study of past architecture, which is not sur-
prising, as no Gothic work had been done for three
hundred years, excepting that which was carried on
in remote rural districts and towns in Scotland, Ger-
many, and France, by masons, carpenters, and stone-
cutters, who in their organizations preserved many of
the methods of Gothic building.
Schools of architecture (of which many existed on
the continent of Europe at the time of the Gothic re-
vival) gave no instruction in Christian art; all archæo-
logical, aesthetic, and constructional inquiries were left
to individual enterprise. It is to be regretted, how-
ever, that, with few exceptions, these inquiries have
been so largely devoted to an examination of forms
rather than of the causes of forms, their functions,
meaning, actual usefulness, and aesthetic import. Such
an inquiry again, could not, as a whole, be termed a
:
;
23
354
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
critical one; all Gothic work was accepted as good
and worthy of imitation, because it was Gothic, and
much work was done in the way of imitation. The
Gothicists, like the men of the Renaissance, composed
structures out of Gothic elements, without much
thought whether their work was good or not.
The result, though in many cases bad, was on the
whole not so deplorable as that which issued from the
Renaissance enthusiasm, and this for many reasons.
Much of the work done consisted of a restoration of
old buildings worthy of being preserved and valuable
in art history. This sort of work demanded no talent
for composition, no aesthetic study, nor even much
learning pertaining to construction. It was frequently
conscientiously and well done. The new work under-
taken did not stimulate the creative faculties of its
authors, and frequently failed for the want of a clear
understanding of the ideas that were treated; we may
say, without much injustice, from a want of knowledge
that an idea is involved in the production of art-work.
Architects who work in the medieval style, as well as
those who work in the Renaissance style, too frequently
err in believing that architecture is solely a matter of
form, feeling, and taste. But if we remember that the
scheme of medieval architecture as we find it in the
thirteenth century covers nearly all methods of con-
struction known at the present day, and also the use of
all materials now employed in building (excepting
some forms of rolled iron of recent invention), and
that the medieval structures preserved to us cover, so
far as their practical use is concerned, many of the
purposes for which similar structures are needed now,
it becomes apparent that the so-called Gothic architect
STYLE.
355
approached much more nearly to the solution of his
problems than did the architect of the Renaissance,
Another fortuitous circumstance is found in the extreme
pliability of medieval forms, their vast number, and
the wide range of carved ornament and color decora-
tion at the architect's command. This has made it pos
sible for him to compose out of the elements on hand
much good work without greatly taxing his capacity
for the development of new forms. It is true that
modern Gothic work is very much the result of what
is called feeling, and frequently reflects more of the
personal emotions of the architect than those of the
persons for whose use the structures are erected. It
is also true that what the architect loves in medieval
art is often the result of a series of causes which have
no direct relation to architecture, many of them being
incidental and imaginary, and many more being abso-
lute defects even when considered from a mediaval
stand-point. Enthusiasts in the profession have culti
vated a taste for all this and much more which needs
not to be considered here, and which is reproduced in
modern work to its great detriment. Yet, on the
other hand, many minds are daily comprehending the
fact that an architectural monument must be developed
out of its own motive, and not out of any other struct-
ure, or series of structures, no matter how good they
may be, or how old. Medieval architecture, above all,
has created in modern architects a distaste for shams,
a tendency to treat material in accordance with its
nature, a due regard for visible construction, and a de-
sire furthermore not to conceal construction. All this
goes toward expression, which, whether true or false,
is nevertheless expression, while much of it leads to
356
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
··
truthful expression. This is certainly a great gain
over the architectural results of the past three hundred
years. If the medieval school has not redeemed its
promise of independent thought and progress from a
given point of departure, it must be granted that the
season of architecture as a living art has fairly opened,
and that the work done in the meantime is by no
means entirely a failure.
The pursuit of styles in architecture originated with
the Renaissance school, which holds that all architect-
ure subsequent to the fourth century is bad and use-
less as a basis for future work and must be rejected.
Upon this principle, the Renaissance school has acted
for four hundred years without contradiction from any
quarter, without opposition or interruption. At the
beginning of the present century a new school of archi-
tects appeared which disapproved as injudicious this
rejection of all medieval work and recommended future
progress in the art from its status at the end of the
thirteenth century. This party also admitted that the
monuments of the thirteenth century did not contain
in their completed forms expressions of current ideas,
but urged that the constructional elements of these
forms should be utilized and new architectural forms
developed out of the principles established through
mediæval architecture.
Both parties agreed that whatever might be the ad-
ditions that were to be grafted on this architectural
trunk, they should not be completed forms belonging
to the styles originally rejected, but must be entirely
new in character and in accord with those of the parent
trunk. The Renaissance architects rejected mediaval
forms; while the Gothic architects rejected Greek, Ro-
STYLE.
357
man, and Renaissance forms. But both schools pro-
fessed a readiness to accept improvements in architect-
ure, meaning by this the incorporation of new and
heretofore unknown forms in their favorite architect-
ural scheme.
Art forms, especially architectural art forms, are the
result of changes in ideas, in methods of construction,
in materials, and in æsthetic reasoning. They are
generally the gradual outcome of a series of ideas or of
a series of comparisons of the relationships of matter.
To design architectural monuments, therefore, implies
the due consideration of constructive necessities and
of properties of materials, coupled with an analytical
investigation of subjective emotions and of the methods
whereby these can be expressed in a material organism.
All of this tends to the development of forms. Forms,
then, are a natural result of reasoning, and grow out of
it without being invented. It is an error to think
that the architect in his composition deals with com-
pleted organic forms, which must be either borrowed
from the past or invented by an effort of the imagina-
tion. No mental effort can create forms without due
reference to a motive. It stands to reason, therefore,
that architects did not, under the circumstances, suc-
ceed in creating new forms. When architects reverted
to the forms of the past, they found them labeled as
belonging to a certain style, and, unless this happened
to be their primary style, the forms were not available.
A very surprising illustration of this may be found in
the fact that Renaissance architecture never attained
to anything beyond the acanthus leaf and the honey-
suckle in carved decoration, and that these were tortured
into forms unbecoming a leaf or a structural element
358
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
for the sake of novelty, without aesthetic results. In
nature forms are the outcome of environment. Envi-
ronment determines function, and forms are the result
of function. Nature never essays to compose forms,
she acts upon a much broader and simpler law, which
governs all matter. Matter moves, accumulates, and
distributes itself, and in so doing facilitates or retards
relations of matter of all kinds. Every relation of
matter has a certain stability, which, in highly organ-
ized matter, becomes perceptible in the shape of energy
of function. This energy of function is expressed in
nature in visible form. As art is re-creation, and the
forms of architecture are entirely ideal, the problem to
be solved may be stated thus: We know the methods
by which nature arrives at her forms; shall the archi-
tect presume to create his forms at once full-fledged,
complete, as it were, in their final shape; or, in other
words, shall he attempt to tell a story before he has
analyzed the facts to be related? Can this be done?
No; what he must do is to study the conditions, ana-
lyze the environment, yield to it everywhere, respond
to it always, until the functions resulting from all this
are fully expressed in the organism; and while he is
thinking of all this, forms will grow under his hands,
forms which will often surprise him by their novelty,
by their force of expression (beauty) and then again
perhaps by their simplicity, which in connection with
other structural parts of a more complicated and a
more expressive nature serves as a foil to enhance the
value of the whole. Many an earnest architectural
mind has no doubt of late pursued architecture in
this sense, if not precisely in this manner. There are
unmistakable indications of it in modern work. This
STYLE.
359
has been done, however, in most cases as it were in-
tuitively, that is under the pressure of a confused
knowledge of the system, not with that clear under-
standing of it which leads to success. Many more
will no doubt hereafter honestly, conscientiously, and
diligently try the experiment and yet fail, and they
will wipe out their composition in disgust, and sub-
stitute for it in rapid succession a series of known
completed forms until they arrive at one which will
satisfy their taste. Let us say to these that their
failure is owing to defects partially enumerated here-
tofore under the head of Form and Construction, which
may be more fully considered in this place.
Defects in method may be enumerated as imperfect
or false cognition of the idea to be represented in
matter; as a failure to illustrate the idea in fitting acts;
as a misapprehension of the ensuing emotions, an in-
ability to arrange groups which will express these emo-
tions; a lack of knowledge of the laws of construction
which govern the case, or an obtuseness in not appre-
hending the best construction to answer the purpose,
which may result in the use of rude or undignified
methods, or of methods too refined, too brilliant for the
purpose; a want of comprehensive knowledge of the
proper relation of parts of structure or of single cells,
where this relation is determined by purely constructive
necessities or possibilities; and, finally, failure may re
sult from the fact that the form attained is still insuf,
ficiently developed. Defects of judgment consist in
haste of decision before the part designed is tested in re-
lation to the whole; prejudices acquired by an ill-direct-
ed course of education; a love of forms not on the
360
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
ground that these forms are good, expressive, or forcible,
abstractly, but that the designers are familiar with
them, habituated to them; a lack of general education
which would otherwise enable them to rise above per-
sonal prejudices and contemplate impartially the nature
of ideas as held by others, and treat these with respect;
ignorance of the fact that while in most art produc-
tions absolute repose is the highest element of expres-
sion (beauty), the ugly and the sublime often play im-
portant parts in composition; and, finally, the greatest
vice in architectural practice, the attempt to do too
much. In addition to all this we must not omit the all-
pervading error of the architect that his personal taste
has something to do with the matter. Whenever we
are betrayed into the reckless judgment that we like
or dislike a work of fine art, because it is gratifying
or the reverse to our taste, we must conscientiously
inquire into the law of nature or of æsthetics which
has in this work of art been exemplified or offended;
and if we cannot give a clear and distinct account of it,
and show on reasonable grounds what should or might
have been done to make it otherwise, then let us ab-
stain from any judgment whatever, and inquire at once
into our personal shortcomings. If the word taste
could be dropped out of language (at least out of the
vocabulary of the artist) art would gain more than it
possibly could gain by any other means. The general
public may be permitted to indulge in the possession
of its individual and collective taste as long as no art
value is attached to its fiat, for indeed the layman
cannot be expected to possess that analytical knowledge
which determines the merit of a work of fine art, while
it is his privilege to enjoy the results of the confused
STYLE.
361
knowledge imparted by it. Exactly this is the func-
tion of such a work in the social economy of
man, viz:
to be understood little or much, and to be received as
information of such quantity and quality as the sub-
ject is prepared to receive, in order that he may know
so much, if he can know no more.
To understand the nature of architectural styles we
must examine their leading characteristics. The popu-
lar definition of styles refers solely to the use of the
lintel or arch. It describes Greek architecture as a
style which adopts the lintel exclusively; Roman and
Romanesque architecture as styles wherein the round
arch is used; and Gothic architecture as the style where-
in the Gothic or pointed arch is prevalent.
That this definition of style is imperfect becomes
evident when we reflect that no characteristic separat-
ing the Roman from the Romanesque styles is em-
braced in it, and also that Gothic monuments of recog
nized merit are pierced with openings covered with
round arches and lintels. Moreover, the introduction
of pointed openings in the walls of the cella of a Greek
temple would not constitute such a temple a structure
of the Gothic style, nor could a Norman monument be
converted into a Greek structure by substituting lin-
tels for its round arches.
The history of the development of the arch as a
structural element, no doubt, runs parallel with the
history of architecture; but this, after all, only proves
the important function of construction in the art. The
use of the arch as a covering of spaces, as a roof of
single cells, as we find it in a perfected state in the
cathedral of the thirteenth century, has been the cause
of new architectural organisms, such as the buttress, the
}
362
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
flying buttress, and the pinnacle, which form important
features in late medieval architecture; yet the charac-
teristic of styles cannot be referred to the presence or
absence of the arch alone, nor to the form of the arch.
The ultimate aim of architecture is the expression
of an idea in the form of a monument as a whole, and
in the forms of its subordinate parts. If we desire to
define the true characteristics of architectural styles,
we must seek for this definition in the aesthetic devel-
opment of architectural forms.
If we compare antique architecture, comprising the
Greek and Roman styles, with Christian architecture,
which includes the Romanesque and Gothic styles,
we observe this important difference of treatment of
form, viz: That in Christian architecture all model-
ling of masses is accomplished by cutting away por-
tions of these masses; by chamfering the corners of
piers, jambs, arches, copings, bases, corbels, and other
structural parts; or by modelling these chamfers into
projecting and receding members, which by their form
and arrangement express the function performed by
the part so modelled. It is important to recognize the
fact that in this art process of modelling it is always
assumed that the crude mass is defined by boundaries
of rectangular lines, and that the modelling is accom-
plished by cutting away a part of this mass.
In antique architecture, on the other hand, the ar-
chitectural treatment of masses consists in placing in
front of openings, jambs, and arches such modelled
members as in the opinion of the architect will con-
ventionally designate function; as, for instance, the
Greek and Roman architrave, which is placed in
front of doors and windows, the jambs of which are
STYLE.
363
and remain square-cut openings, and the conventional
use of pilasters and entablatures applied in Roman
architecture on the face of the main wall of structures
to designate emblematically a pier and its load. An
analytic comparison of Romanesque and Gothic mod-
elling of masses shows in Gothic architecture a con-
sistent scheme of expressing function in mouldings.
Beginning with the arches and ribs of the vaults,
their salient features consist of beads and pear-shaped
mouldings, grouped or isolated and joined together by
large and small circular or elliptic concave curves,
which are again separated from the projecting mem-
bers by narrow fillets, or melt into them by a mere
transition of the curves. These groupings of modelled
members, when bent in the curve of the arch, express
powerful rigidity at the intrados.
The rib mouldings of the vault are generally repre-
sented in the pier by a single shaft of cylindrical form
-a column, in fact, surmounted with a plain or deco-
rated capital which forms the transition from this
shaft to the rib mouldings, the transverse area of
which, taken together, is larger than that of the shaft.
The mouldings of the main arches are often divided
into several groups, most frequently into three, one
of which is placed in the center, and each of which
may consist of one or more mouldings. These groups
are accentuated by the magnitude of the concave
mouldings which separate them from the next group,
while the concave mouldings separating projecting
members in the same group are made smaller than
these. These arch mouldings are represented in the
piers by one or three shafts, also supplied with capi-
tals for the purpose of an aesthetic transition.
364
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
In the best examples of Gothic work every group
of shafts which represents the mouldings of one arch
is again gathered into one base above the main base of
the pier. Thus the very base of the pier plainly ex-
hibits the construction of the main arches and ribs,
and hence the formation of the vaults. Frequently
the shafts supporting the ribs of the aisle vaults on
the side opposite the main piers are permitted to run
down to the base, the inside of the outer wall thus
forming a grouped pier together with the window
jambs. The outer buttresses are joined to this group,
and we are presented here, in a horizontal section of
these outer piers, with the collective elements of per-
pendicular supports and lateral abutments in the
ultimate vaulting of the structure.
In Romanesque architecture only here and there
isolated efforts at such a completed organism are ob-
servable. In most cases all indication of a systematic
modelling of masses is wanting.
A similar comparison of the Greek and Roman
styles shows in the former the fully developed portico
and an entirely undeveloped cella; while in the latter
the cella becomes an inhabited structure, but is not ar-
tistically developed as such, but overlaid with a mask
which is but a scenic representation of the Greek portico.
At the beginning of the Renaissance period, when
Greek and Roman architecture were accepted as the
basis of a future art progress, the question would have
been pertinent: Shall the medieval system of mod-
elling the masses of subordinate structural organisms
be rejected or not? It will be observed that this
system, as such, does not involve definite forms, and
hence does not carry with it even the forms of the
STYLE.
365
style which grew out of it. It is a system which ap-
plies to every organic member of a monument, and
directs that its mass shall be modelled in accordance
with its function, by cutting away a part of the crude
rectangular mass and leaving a sculptured form which
accords with a true expression of function. It leaves
nothing untouched by the hand of art; it leaves no
essential organic mass in its rude shape as it issues
from the hands of the architect in his capacity as a
scientific constructor; it leaves no functional meaning
to be explained afterward by covering the face of a
mass with a mask, which is merely the bas-relief
representation of another structure.*
*To illustrate the insufficiency of this primitive expedient of Roman
architecture, we need to point only to the great piers of St. Peter's at Rome
which support the dome, These piers are not modelled so as to show their
magnitude and function, but are covered with an order, which means a series
of pilasters and entablatures. It is not, therefore, clear to the spectator that
these masses of masonry are piers at all; on the contrary, it is made proba-
ble that they are inclosed cells, the function of which is not apparent, while
the actual function of the pier is inadequately expressed. Again, in the
exterior walls of St. Peter's, the opportunity to treat their masses in accord-
ance with the functional meaning and spirit pertaining to the arrangement
of the openings, and hence to the relation of the exterior walls to the organic
development of the interior, has been neglected; and when the forms of these
walls in their nakedness presented themselves to the authors of the various
designs prepared for that monument, the necessity of some structure which
shall be architecturally organized, presented itself to their feeling, if it did
not appeal to their reason. Instead of modelling the main walls, the old
Greek portico was resorted to to cover an apparent architectural nakedness,
and a many-storied edifice was hidden behind a one-storied portico.
All this indicates a preference for antique forms as manifested in the col-
umn and entablature. Beyond this, it proves that the architects of St. Peter's
neglected to inquire into the meaning of forms, or else they would have either
rejected its ground-plan as essentially Gothic, which they did not do because
of an imperfect knowledge of the relation of the ground-plan of a structure
to its resulting form; or they would have erected upon this ground-plan a
structure which conforms to it, and treated the masses as indicated in the
ground-plan on the principle of medieval modelling, without necessarily re-
sorting to medieval forms.
:
366
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
This same question--can we in modern architecture
overlook the manifest advantage of the superior and
direct expression of masses to be derived from mod-
elling them, or must we still continue to seek expres-
sion in a mere mask because the Romans did so?-is
still unanswered by all those who consider Greek and
Roman architecture to be perfect styles to be imitated
in form, without reflecting upon the defect or short-
coming of the system upon which these forms are
based. To model structural masses is not antagonistic
to the spirit, meaning, or expression of any idea, nor
does it involve the use of any special form. The
architect under its guidance may express in his mod-
elling the broad and simple treatment of the Greek or
the more complicated spiritual expression of the thir-
teenth century; he may range between the two or beyond
them at either end of the series, according to the nature
of the emotion which he intends to express; but he can-
not persist in covering his real construction with a mere
emblematic conventional construction without detri-
ment to expression, and hence to art. Nor can he by
so doing maintain the integrity of a style. This opens
the broader question: Can a style be maintained in any
sense in a living and progressive art? Is it desirable
to accept styles in their ultimate forms as complete
when reflection shows that they are not complete?
The answer to these questions must be a decided
negative. Architecture is the art which teaches the
development of structural forms. If, instead of devel
oping forms, we borrow forms, we are not pursuing
architecture as a creative art.
Then again the forms developed by the architect
must be perfect in this, that they must fully express
STYLE.
367
the function of organic structural parts. If we know
that more perfect expression may be attained by mod
elling each part than by facing it with a scenic rep-
resentation of a matured architectural form, then the
architect must so model each part, and he cannot re-
turn to Roman practice which fails to deal directly
with the masses. The architect may reject Gothic
forms, and necessarily must do so if the expression of
the idea he attempts to materialize results in other
forms, as it necessarily will, because the idea is mod
ern and not mediaval; but he cannot reject this medi-
æval method of modelling structural masses.
He is
precluded also from using Greek and Roman forms,
for the double reason that they do not represent
modern ideas, and that they are not modeled upon
the most perfect system now known to the art.
If we come to the wholesome conclusion that all or
ganic masses must be modelled, the question of how
much they should be modelled deserves consideration.
Antique architecture failed to model all its masses, but
did model salient elements of structural mass such as
columns, cornices, etc. And if we insist upon it that
the Greek column and cornice are an architectu-
ral development of form eminently beautiful, we must
also recognize that these forms express only a narrow
range of structural function.
The modelling of masses as exemplified in Roman-
esque architecture, although applied to all structural
elements, may without injustice be pronounced to ex-
press monumental vigor more than refinement. Gothic
modelling, on the other hand, seems to be an attempt
at the absorption of matter in a minute and bewilder-
ing expression of thought which in its effort at clear
:
368
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
representation of the idea borders upon a demonstra
tion instead. The pursuit of styles will not help us
here as we cannot adopt any of the methods of the
past without modification. But without adopting
forms of any kind, without even contemplating the
methods of modelling exemplified in styles, in order
to make architecture a living art we must adopt the
abstract principle-that to express functions, all masses
must be modelled.
The history of carved ornament and color decora-
tion, beginning with the acanthus leaf, the fret, the
honeysuckle and egg and dart of the Greeks, leads us
through a vast range of animal and vegetable forms,
which have been conventionalized and applied in me-
dieval architecture, to the decoration of the Alham-
bra, which in design and brilliancy of color far surpasses
all previous efforts.
It is admitted that the Greeks in their decoration
used crude color and not mixed tints. The use of crude
color in modern architecture is therefore not objected
to by the strictest purists of any style. The Renais-
sance has practically confined itself to the ornament
found in antique work; but it theoretically admits the
use of all animal and vegetable forms.
It follows, therefore, that the architecture of the fu
ture must be permitted to design its carved-ornament
and color decoration without being trammeled by the
recognized restrictions of style; but again, as in the
case of modelling the masses, it must, to preserve unity
in art, apply carved ornament and color decoration in
accordance with the idea which is to be expressed in
the monument, and with the general principles which
prescribe the technical methods of decoration.
STYLE.
369
As no æsthetic objection has ever been raised against
any known method of construction, all methods of
construction are of course available to the architect; it
follows, therefore, that the moment architecture ceases
to be a compilation, and becomes a vital development
of architectural forms, the elements of these forms may
be selected from the whole known range of construc-
tion, modeling, carved ornament and color decoration,
and the pursuit of styles is naturally discontinued.
The question has been asked frequently, without
receiving a satisfactory reply: If the forms of the
past are to be rejected, is the architecture of the fu-
ture to have no columns, arches, buttresses, cornices,
brackets, or other organic structural features which
now constitute the architectural repertoire; and what
are we to substitute for these forms? As long as the
law of gravity is a property of matter, posts, lintels,
and arches of some kind will be needed to support
structural masses; but we need no proof, outside of
that afforded by the architecture of the past, to show
that under different conditions, all these structural
organisms assume different forms, and these conditions.
are still changing and will continue to change in the
future. It may be reasonably assumed that the pier
and arch of the future will bear the same relation to
the pier and arch of the thirteenth century cathedral, in
its vigor, expression, and decorative treatment, that the
latter does to the Doric column and entablature; and
also that constructive necessities will call forth new
constructive forms, just as the buttress and the pinna-
cle have been the constructive result of the vaulted
roof. But while we may expect to enlarge the archi-
tectural gamut by increasing its range both in the
370
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
direction of the upper and lower notes, and by tuning
these notes more clearly to a concert pitch, it is in the
possibilities of composition more than in the possibili-
ties of the gamut that we shall find the great source
of new architectural forms.
When a man enters upon the practice of architect-
ure as a dealer in forms, keeping forms of different
styles in the separate pigeon-holes of his brain, setting
up structures as a child sets up blocks, being careful
always to use blocks only out of the same box, he soon
begins to think, and his thinking becomes a faith, that
the essence of architecture is in the keeping of styles
separate, and in studying hard to increase the number
of pigeon-holes wherein to keep his forms judiciously
divided. While science is constantly approaching
fundamental laws in the hope that perhaps some day
one great mechanical law will be found which explains
all phenomena, the architect deals with the result of
laws-with forms-multiplies and assorts these con-
tinually, and expects in this manner to attain to the
production of works of fine art-to the re-creation of
creation. A moment's reflection will show us that
architecture must in this way become choked with the
rubbish of the past, and that in truth it is so choked
now. IIad the Greeks, the Romans, and the archi-
tects of the Middle Ages worked in the styles of their
predecessors only we should be building pyramids
to-day.
Can the ideas of the present time be expressed in
the architecture of any or all styles as they are now
defined? It must be that the majority of professional
architects and their clients are of opinion that all the
architectural styles, at least beginning with Greek
STYLE
371
architecture and ending with the Renaissance, are
fitted to express every conceivable idea in a work of
architectural art, or else structures would cease to be
built in these styles, or, at least, in some of them. A
critical examination shows the fallacy of this; in fact
it proves that no existing style of architecture can be
accepted as a basis of a work of fine art to-day without
material modification of its principles and practice; a
modification which would soon remove it from its pres-
ent place in the list of styles. Style, we repeat, is the
result of ideas, of materials and of methods of construc-
tion and of progress in artistic ability to express ideas
in matter architecturally. The status of architecture
at the present time and during the four or five preced-
ing centuries has been and is inferior to that of the
antique and mediaval periods. This is universally
admitted. The cause must be found in a deteriora-
tion, of one or more of the elements of style, viz.:
ideas, material, construction or art expression.
Now methods of construction and a thorough knowl-
edge of the principles which relate to statics, exist to-
day in a degree unsurpassed in the whole known
history of the past. Nature and the mechanic arts
combine to supply us with the best building mate-
rial. Ideas change constantly; but no one will say
that our ideas are further removed from the truth, or
less capable of being expressed in emotional form,
than those held by the people of antiquity and the
Middle Ages. Our superiority in ideas, materials and
methods of construction, over those of the past, must
be granted by every intelligent and candid mind; and
hence our failure as architects must be attributed to
our lack of ability to represent ideas in matter, which
?
372
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
is a lack of the art element in the process. To ex-
press this fully and plainly, we must say we are not
good architects, and in order to become good archi-
tects we must understand clearly wherein we are
defective.
Our defect may be summed up in the delusion that
we can attain to art results as good as those of the
past, without pursuing the same or a similar road to
that which was pursued by our predecessors, viz.: to rec-
ognize mechanical construction as the only method by
which an idea can be materially expressed in a monu-
ment. We all know that an idea may be represented
by painting a material act, or an emotion arising from
it, upon canvas, or by cutting it in stone, or by giving
expression to it in musical sounds. Now, if we desire
to give material expression to an idea in a monument,
we must build this monument with that view. Build-
ing in this case takes the place of painting, cutting in
stone, or playing upon an instrument. We must
build not only technically well, but with expression,
and we can do nothing but build to accomplish our
object. The moment we go outside of building we
are not doing architecture, unless indeed we do some-
thing which helps the thing we have built upon prin-
ciples which are again the outcome of building. Our
material cannot assume form by any possible combina-
tion or modification of it other than that suggested
by mechanical construction, which is building; it can-
not be modelled for any other purpose excepting to
emphasize the building already done, to heighten the
expression of stability, elegance, boldness, and majesty
in the thing which we have built, which means our
construction. When we decorate and paint this con-
STYLE.
373
struction, we must do it upon principles which are
constructive, or else we do not add to our constructive
expression, but detract from it. Whatever we do, we
must be able to explain upon mechanical principles.
If we do this well, and nothing more, brilliant archi-
tectural forms will be the result. But we shall not
fully know these forms until they are completed in our
structure.
Shall we refer to the architecture of the past, or
must we ignore it, to become good architects? By all
means let us keep in view the work of the past, not
for the purpose of imitating its forms, but for the
purpose of utilizing the accumulated knowledge and
technical skill manifested in its works. The Greeks
modelled their porticos, their columns, entablatures,
and gables, but no part of their cella. There was
a good reason for this; the cella represented not an
idea but a mystery. This mystery was not to be rep-
resented, but enveloped, in the portico, and this was
well done. In our monuments we have no mysteries
to conceal, but we have ideas to represent; hence all
structural parts must be modelled. The only style
which modelled all its monumental masses is the Gothic
style of the thirteenth century. From it alone we can
learn the principle upon which this may be done, but
we need not look to it for the method, "IIow it is
to be done." The how depends upon our fundamental
ideas, our material and construction, and not upon
those of the Middle Ages. But then the Romans did
not model their masses; they screened them with a
scenic mask. Is there nothing to be learned from this?
Yes; very much. We may learn from it that the play-
ful use of forms does not constitute architecture. As
374
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
an attempt at architectural progress it has proved a
failure with the Romans, as it will inevitably prove a
failure whenever or wherever it is repeated. But
then, it may be said, Roman architecture appears to
us so dignified, so noble, that we cannot believe it to
be a total failure as a phase of art. It appeals to our
artistic sympathy, and we do not like to condemn
it. It is entirely true that Roman architecture pre-
sents a phase of constructive progress unparalleled
in any other epoch of the history of architecture.
Roman structures command our respect by reason
of their magnitude and structural development. The
Romans exceeded their masters, the Greeks, in the
boldness of the problems which they attempted to
solve. They solved these noble problems construc-
tively, but not artistically. We may pay due tribute
to their genius, while yet admitting that their artistic
efforts added nothing to our art experience, but, on
the contrary, misled the architects of the Renaissance,
a thousand years later, into a systematic development
of errors, which, pardonable in the Romans, are not
pardonable in their imitators at a time when the
æsthetic fallacy of these errors has been practically
demonstrated. There is one thing more to be learned
from all this, viz.: That neither the Greek nor Roman,
nor yet the Renaissance style, is a completed architec-
tural scheme which can be applied to modern work,
simply because no one of these contains any general
system of modelling the masses.
Those architects who have anchored their hopes
for the future to the Greek, Roman, and Renaissance
styles, swinging with the tide in their stately archi-
tectural ship under the delusion that they are advan-
STYLE
375
cing, will doubtless ask, at this point of our discussion,
whether they are to be driven into Gothic architecture
by logical arguments against their personal inclina-
tions? There is no such intention; all they need to do
is to weigh their anchor, and, if their ship is still sea-
worthy, take advantage of a fair wind and seek the
port which is for any reason most agreeable to them-
selves; and, if they ever arrive at such a port, they
will not find it surrounded with castles and churches
of the thirteenth century. If antique and Renais-
sance architecture fail to supply the needs of the
nineteenth century because of imperfect construction
and imperfect æsthetic development, mediaval styles
do not supply modern needs because of a failure to
express modern ideas, although their facilities of con-
struction and their aesthetic possibilities would not make
it very difficult, under the system as it exists, to reach a
perfect representation of later ideas in those styles. Yet
when the work is done, the resulting monuments would
bear but little resemblance to mediaval monuments-
at least not to the eye of the mere connoisseur in forms.
It occurs sometimes that monuments are begun in
a manner which does not in fact express or promise to
express the ideas which they are intended to com-
memorate. May we in this case change their "styles?"
When any one is telling a story, it is not good man-
ners—or, in other words, it is not wise-to interrupt
him. It is true he may tell his story bunglingly; he
stammers, perhaps, or hesitates; encourage him all you
can, but do not disturb him by corrections. If the
story is worth telling, if the author sticks to the text,
if he does not digress or pervert the truth, it is well
that he should finish in his own way for the sake of
:
:
376
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
unity. But if he talks against time, to make it ap
pear that he is telling a story; if, perchance, he does
not know that there is a story to be told, or what is
the story he is to tell, and still keeps on talking in
the fond hope that his audience knows no more than
he does himself, and that any sort of irrelevant talk
will answer the purpose-it is, perhaps, best to stop
this drivelling at once, and attack the subject without
delay or circumlocution. The future critic will dis-
cover at once what has happened. A man has been
employed to build an iron-clad, and he has gathered
cedars from Lebanon to build a trireme. He is zeal-
ously intent upon a prow which adds to the sectional
area of the ship, and interferes with the range of the
guns; he is building up benches for the rowers, and is
hard at work upon the figure-head. The people, in
the meantime, have found out their mistake, and are
tearing down the useless hamper, and are getting ready
the armor, the steam-engine, and the heavy guns. An
error has been committed, but these people were not
foolish enough to persist in it; they had the good
sense to correct it in time to launch a serviceable craft.
If a structure is not an architectural production-
which means not a work of fine art-because it fails
to express the idea which is meant to be celebrated,
you cannot go on with this sort of thing in unison
that is, you cannot continue with irrelevant twaddle,
and yet tell a story. The sooner you stop it and
begin to relate facts as they are, the better it is for the
good of the monument and the interests of its builders.
As
Medieval architects acted up to this principle al-
ways, and so did the Greeks and the Romans.
soon as they had become convinced that the idea could
2
STYLE.
377
>
be better expressed in any way whatever, they did not
hesitate to improve their monuments while still in
progress.
Examples of this may be cited in the palace of Dio-
cletian at Spalatro, the cathedral of St. Stephen in
Vienna, the cathedral of Strasburg, and many other
monuments.
The Renaissance architects introduced their forms
into structures which were partially or entirely com-
pleted, or in structures which had been injured by fire
or otherwise, without the warrant of understanding
architecture better than the authors of these struct-
ures, or without the good reason that the style which
they had adopted, or which they had intended to de-
velop, was especially expressive of the ideas which
originated those monuments. They were governed by
the arbitrary reason that they liked the forms of that
style better. Examples of this proceeding are to be
found in the Doge's palace at Venice, the cathedral of
Milan, Westminster Abbey, and the interior fittings of
almost all the cathedrals.
→
The ideas which have heretofore been commemorated
in monuments, always subject to change, are at this
time manifestly undergoing a revolution. Ideas are
not in our time materialized as much as they are dis-
cussed. This discussion is not confined, as heretofore, to
the priest and the statesman, but thrown open to the
public at large by means of a free press. Many write,
many more read, and all sit in judgment, upon politi-
cal, religious, and social ideas.
The statesman no longer legislates for the good of
his country, for the individual interests of his king, or
of a privileged aristocracy, nor even for the benefit
378
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
of the people at large; he only endeavors to reflect
public opinion. The priest even preaches religion with
deference to public opinion; while questions of social
relations, agitated from the bottom of society upwards,
are fast engrossing that same public opinion. What is
to be the upshot of all this is fortunately of minor im-
portance in our inquiry, but the present travail of the
monster, whatever it may ultimately bring forth, is not
now specially favorable to progress in art. Men acknow
ledge the difficulty of arriving at the truth, but they
take the liberty to doubt all things in the meantime.
They are determined that Christianity is not to be as
it was; they have protested against this in good ear-
nest, and sealed the protest with a long-continued war.
But, as Lübke says, "Der Protestantismus muss erst
sein Princip aus der Wust erstarter Ueberlieferungen
retten und es dan mit dem Schwert vertheidigen; seine
künstlerishe Verklärung bleibt einer spätern Zeit
vorbehalten."*
In all this we can see a marked difference between
the development of ideas now, and the similar develop-
ment in the past. At present the process of develop-
ment is a public discussion of the idea; in the past it
was a private elaboration of it. When finally matured,
the idea was born with great labor and introduced to
the world amidst popular convulsions, war, and social
changes. But between these great upheavals there
were periods of repose sufficiently long to permit art
to speak in monuments, not upon the topics of the day,
as we should say in our time, but upon the topics of
* Protestantism must first save and gather its principles out of the mass of
traditions, and must defend them with the sword. Its artistic beatification
remains to be developed by the future.
STYLE.
379
the period. There is also another difference, fortu-
nately an imaginary one. Up to the fifteenth century
leading minds knew that the people could be instructed
only by pictures, by art productions; since we have
learned to print, we incline to think that it can be
done better by a verbal definition of ideas. Without
denying that some progress has been made in this
way, we need only to examine the substance of printed
matter to be convinced that this small progress is not
owing so much to instruction derived from scientific
thought, as to the confused knowledge which finds
its way into novels, plays, and other literary produc-
tions of more or less art value. To promulgate ideas.
we need the help of art as much to-day as we did two
thousand years ago.
years ago. Now what is the architect to do
under the circumstances? He must first and foremost
impress upon the public, and more especially upon his
clients, the important function of ideas in architecture.
He must demonstrate that mere form is not art, on the
one hand, and that the mere discussion of an idea is
not in itself an idea with which art can deal. He must
hold fast to the broad elementary ideas which are the
essence of human relations, and point out with untiring
industry where these fundamental ideas are overlooked
or neglected.
With regard to his work of developing ideas in
matter, he must utilize every advance made up to the
present time, not in the production of completed ar-
chitectural forms, but in the causes of forms--which are
methods of construction, material, aesthetic modelling,
and decoration. If he finds in the past, or if he thinks
that he has conceived in his mind, an architectural form
of a whole monument, or of a part of a monument,
$
380
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
which is especially pleasing to him-which he would
like for that reason to introduce in a projected monu-
ment--he must deny himself that privilege at once.
and with determination. He must submit to this argu-
ment: If I thoroughly understand the idea which I
am to illustrate by expressing it in matter; if I under-
stand the emotions pertaining to it, I must evolve first
the single cells which will correspond to the groups of
persons who are to inhabit this monument, with a
view to represent the fundamental idea, and I must
then select from the whole range of known methods
of construction that which answers the physical rela-
tion of matter as it presents itself in this arrangement
of single cells, and which, by its degree of boldness,
elegance, or of simplicity and directness of expression,
will correspond with the emotion to be depicted.
When this is successfully completed, and the masses
of the proposed monument are determined, I will so
model and carve and color them that the meaning of
every part of this structural organism shall become
more apparent, and its ability to perform mechanical
functions shall be more clearly demonstrated. I will
use for this purpose any or all known decorative forms,
or will devise others by conventionalizing any suitable
forms found in nature or art, so long as the forms so used
will answer the purpose for which they are used, viz.,
to heighten the effect and express more clearly the
function of parts in performing their assigned me-
chanical work. Now when all this is done, it is not
probable that the completed form arrived at, either in
the monument as a whole, or in any part of it, will be at
all like any architectural form heretofore produced; it
will not be the form of any style; it will be a true
STYLE.
381
original development, which may not upon first trial
seem very promising to its author, but which, when
persisted in by the individual architect, and then by a
generation of architects, will show true progress in art.
If the architect then love his art; if he essays to com-
pose a monument as a thing to be built; if he will, above
all things, forget himself and his audience, and think
of nothing but his work; and if he will wipe out from
his memory every vestige of the baneful thing he calls
style, and do that which is good and true and just
only, whether it belong to the past or the present,
then, indeed, he will have the consciousness of being
true to art and to himself, and he will have done his
share toward making architecture a living art.
CHAPTER XXV.
ANALYSIS.
COKE defines law in the abstract to be the perfec-
tion of reason; and although human laws frequently
fall short of this definition, it may certainly be claimed
to be true for the laws of nature, in obedience to which,
in their attempt at least, works of human art are created.
It follows, therefore, that art must be based upon rea
son, and be judged by reason only.
This is not, however, the popular belief, which re-
fers art exclusively to the emotions, and determines
art analysis and criticism to be an answer to the ques-
tion, Iow do I like it? It is glibly asserted that art
is not demonstrable by logical deduction, and must be
judged by the emotions, because it appeals to them
only. It is, moreover, imagined that an emotion is in
no sense a mental function.
Sensuous perception consumes nerve fibre, and hence
determines the blood towards the respective nerve
centres. This is also the case when a sensuous per-
ception previously had is recalled by force of memory,
or when two or more sensuous perceptions are com-
pared by the process called reflection. The consump-
tion and supply of nerve matter are doubtless propor-
tional to the mental effort; but the time in which this
382
ANALYSIS.
383
new nerve matter is forwarded to the brain differs
materially in different mental functions. Now, if this
time happens to be very short, or the supply very co-
pious, we perceive the supply to the exclusion of the
mental action, and we call the phenomenon an emo-
tion; and if a long time is consumed in the process,
then the supply of new nerve matter becomes imper-
ceptible, and the mental function gains prominence;
and we call the phenomenon a thought, a perception,
a recollection, or a reflection. Thus these various mani-
festations of mental functions are, in fact, identical
mechanical processes endowed with different names,
and all pertain to a comparison of matter-to an idea.
Rapidity of mental action depends upon the impor-
tance and magnitude of the idea perceived, upon our
interest in it, and upon the method of perception, and
also upon the extent and fulness with which the
idea is presented. For instance, the fact that metals
differ in degree of affinity for oxygen, when stated
in this simple form, leaves much to be explained
which is not expressed in this generalization. To
comprehend the statement in its nakedness requires no
marked mental effort, but the knowledge imparted as
to the action of various metals in the presence of
oxygen is as limited as the statement is general. The
immersion of a copper rod into a solution of nitrate of
silver illustrates the superior affinity of copper for
oxygen much more forcibly, and conveys a more ac-
curate idea of the instability of nitric acid and silver
as a chemical combination in the presence of copper,
and the change of color going on in the fluid illustrates
the superior affinity of copper for oxygen.
If by means of the electric light we project upon a
384
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
screen a magnified picture of the process by which
a metal is deposited in a cell of a galvanic battery,
we may produce an illustration of the above idea, as
induced by the superior affinity of zinc for oxygen
over that of platinum, for instance, which, by its forci
bleness and rapidity of demonstration, would amount
to a sensation akin to an emotion.
Works of art convey ideas with the fulness. and
rapidity of this light picture; and the nature of the
idea conveyed is most frequently of greater human
interest, more complicated in its relations, and more
prompt in its illustration.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the sensuous
perception of a work of art imparts to us the ideas it
represents with great force and promptness. Hence
comes the "emotion," to which is added the other
emotion arising from the perceived art force.
We may compare the means of fine art to express
ideas with promptness and force to the transforma-
tion of scenes upon the stage. The idea is rendered
perfectly; we are put in possession of all we desire to
know of this drawing-room or that garden: that is, their
final and completed appearance; but we have learned
nothing that will enable us to build a drawing-room
or to plant a garden. There is a vast step from seeing
a thing as it is, to knowing how it came to be. The
impression gained from the sensuous perception of an
object is but an initiatory approach towards a knowl
edge of it.
Yet it is popularly believed that the confused
knowledge of art is knowledge sufficient to replace
analysis; and when men desire to know art, or to teach
others to know it, they ask themselves how they feel
ANALYSIS.
385
on the subject, and communicate their feelings to the
rest of mankind.
An examination of the vocabulary of current archi-
tectural criticism will help to place this matter in its
true light. Architectural work is here spoken of as
"satisfactory," "in accordance with good taste," "full
of sentiment," "pleasing," "harmonious," "effective,"
"refined," or "barbarous," and "brutal."
All these expressions of approval or disapproval
refer to the feelings of the critic, not to his reason.
If we should read in the latest number of a scien-
tific journal that the atmospheric pressure at the level
of the sea should be placed at twenty-five pounds per
square inch, since this is a much more pleasant num-
ber to contemplate than 14.696, which, besides, is
inconvenient on account of its fractional appendix,
and inconsistent with the beautiful order observed
in nature; or if we should read that the estimation
of the velocity of light at 192,000 miles per second
is opposed to cultivated taste and should be con-
demned as barbarous and brutal by modern civiliza-
tion, more especially as the horse may be accepted as
the typical representative of velocity in nature, and that
its speed never exceeds twenty miles per hour, or about
thirty feet per second-we should certainly begin to
lose confidence in science. It will be objected, no
doubt, that science cannot be cited as a parallel to art,
the one being a matter of mathematical demonstra-
tion, and the other an emotional element of human
work. This is precisely the error committed in mod-
ern art analysis, and it may be directly traced to the
fact that the expression of emotion and emotional re-
sults are not accomplished by means which are emo-
25
386
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
tional. There is more mathematical consideration in-
volved in the formation and modelling of an arch or a
buttress than in the computation of the atmospheric
pressure or the velocity of light. And the true value of
a corbel or of a capital, the depth and density of their
carved ornament, and their respective treatment in
color depend upon a series of mechanical considera-
tions which must be thoroughly understood by the
architect before he can make these symbolic features
true works of art.
The architect's habit of dealing with forms as the
basis of forms has extended to the forms of his argu-
ments, and they are by him accepted as the argument
itself. Mr. Fergusson, who ardently recommends the
abandonment of old forms, and who, therefore, may be
cited as a theoretical opponent of received forms, in his
work on the "Philosophy of Beauty in Art," presents
us with a table of component elements of various arts
(not fine arts alone, but all sorts of arts) somewhat in
imitation of a statement of chemical elements of com-
pound substances. In this table he seriously informs
his readers, for instance, that gastronomy is composed
of technics, 7 parts; aesthetics, 5 parts; and phonetics, 0
parts; while architecture is possessed of 4 parts of
technic, 4 parts of aesthetic, and 4 parts of phonetic
substance. He further takes the liberty of multiplying
the aesthetic elements by two, and the phonetic by three,
and gives the sum of the whole as the art quantity
which expresses the subject. In this manner he arrives
at the conclusion that gastronomy is made up of 17, and
architecture of 24 art units; which means, probably,
that an accomplished architect is 7-24 more artistic than
an accomplished cook. He also explains a series of
ANALYSIS.
387
!
curves, which, according to him, represent impondera
ble technic, æsthetic, and phonetic altitudes, in imitation
of the curves which in science express various experi-
mental data. As to any data of his curves, or as to
any rational basis of his table, he leaves us in the
dark, and thus incurs the suspicion that the whole of
this scientific sham is sheer mental aberration, or what
is probably true, that the author imagines a table of
quantities to be convincing by reason of its form,
rather than by reason of the facts contained in it;
perhaps that personal feeling on matters of art may
be tabulated as well as experimental data, and that
when so tabulated it will command the same atten-
tion in art which is conceded to tables of similar form
in science.
It can be of no interest to serious minds in the pro-
fession, or to lovers of architecture outside of it, to in-
quire into the philosophy of this mathematical mas-
querade; as, for instance, why the author therein con-
tradicts his statement made elsewhere, "that a monu-
ment tells no story," by granting to architecture "four
units of phonetic quality," with the additional privi-
lege of multiplying this quantity by three, unless it is
to learn on what flimsy notions may be founded a sci-
entific-looking table, or how little thought is bestowed
upon statistic arguments relating to art.
Nor is it possible to imagine the aesthetic separated
from the phonetic, or vice versa. Whenever in art or
in nature we find an expression of an idea, there are
to be found both beauty and expression which com-
plement each other, and neither of which can be
imagined to exist alone. Whenever no expression of
an idea is to be recognized, there is also no beauty. All
388
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
this confusion has its cause in an imperfect understand.
ing of the meaning of beauty, of expression, and funda-
mentally of art and of fine art. There is no beauty in
gastronomy; the author is evidently confounding the
results of pleasurable emotions with those of pleasurable
sensations. Gastronomy is not in any sense a fine art,
nor are heating and ventilation, nor other subjects to be
found in this curious table. The author tells us also
that it is difficult to determine the limits of fine art:
unless these limits, and the exact meaning of fine
art are determined, and a clear definition of both is
obtained, all efforts to understand art will be but a
groping in the dark, not an analysis.
Mr. Fergusson recommends an abandonment of all
so-called style in architecture, and the initiation of a new
era wherein we are to erect structures to supply modern
wants without reference to the forms of the past. IIe
says: "It may be asked, how is this system to be
applied to the arts of the present day? One instance
will, perhaps, suffice to explain what is meant by this,
as the elucidation belongs to the conclusion of this
work. Supposing some church-building society were
to determine to erect a modern English church which
should not be either Grecian or Gothic, or indeed any
other style, but simply the best edifice for the per-
formance of the Anglican Protestant form of wor
ship. It would be no easy matter to procure in Eng-
land a design for such an edifice, but a good premium
would produce several attempts. Supposing the best
chosen and carried into effect, no sooner is it built
than it is easy to perceive its defects; it is too high
or too long, not sufficiently lighted, or there is a glare
in one part, and obscurity in another; it is not adapted
ANALYSIS.
389
for hearing the voice of the ministrant, or for seeing
the service; the cornices are too heavy, the ornament
inappropriate, and so on."
It may be observed here that all the probable or
possible defects of the structure which present them-
selves to the mind of the author, viz.: that it is too
high or too long, insufficiently or injudiciously lighted,
not adapted for hearing or seeing, inappropriately
modelled or ornamented-are elements of primary
consideration in the composition of a plan; elements,
the nature of which is fully within the limits of the
technical knowledge of the architect. The author
evidently takes it for granted that the architect, in
producing a design, overlooked all these points, and
he deems this not only pardonable but quite natural-
a thing to be expected. It is clear from this, also,
that he has no idea of the relation between these tech-
nical conditions of structure and its ultimate form-
the expression of the monument. He doubtless im-
agines that the architect, in dealing with full-fledged
forms which pleased his fancy, has accidentally omitted
the requirements of the structure, and that a design
conceived in this manner may still be a presentable or
acceptable design. He overlooks the fact that sound
analysis would make such a design impossible, and
the further fact that without due consideration of all
these constructive elements no design could be arrived
at which can be termed a work of art. He overlooks
the fact that architects competent to solve such a
problem could not and would not enter upon a competi-
tion, because of the well understood incompetence of
the tribunal to understand the merits of competitive
designs ; and also on account of the demoralizing influ-
390
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
į
ence inherent in competition; and finally, because the
greatest and most important part of the work to be ac-
complished, before the preparation of the design, would
of necessity be the mapping out of the ideas which
are to be expressed. This could only be done well by,
and with, the confidential advice of a competent archi-
tect who is retained for the service, and feels that he
has the right, and that it is his duty, to speak plainly
and manfully on this subject, and that the position
conferred upon him entitles his opinions to respect
and his arguments to consideration.
He
An architect who consents to compete--that is, who
permits a layman to decide upon the merit of his work,
to gauge it, correct it, accept or reject it has already
given up his position as a professional man.
knows well that the problem in the mind of the com-
mittee is crude, that each man already has some sort
of an ideal solution of it in his mind, and that it must
be impossible to clear up the subject by a personal
effort, for the reason that it would require too much
time and too much instruction to remove errors and prej-
udices, and to reduce the minds of the individuals com-
posing a committee to that receptive state which comes
from advanced education. It would need additional
time and an amount of attention not to be expected
from a committee for them to comprehend the principles
involved and the application of these principles to a
particular case. Practically, it would not be prudent to
communicate beforehand the essence and strength of a
possible plan, and thus indirectly to inform competitors.
It is much safer to acquiesce in everything proposed,
to listen to the views advanced, to adopt and elabor-
ate those views, whether they are true or false (and
:
391
ANALYSIS.
they are generally false), to incorporate in the plan
all the whims of the future owner or owners, and other-
wise to avoid anything which may prove dangerous
by running counter to the so-called opinions or ideals
of laymen, which essentially consist of nothing more
nor less than the sum of the confused knowledge de-
rived from cursory observation of things seen every
day on the streets. A shrewd practitioner, who must
live, and yet hopes to produce good work, is more apt
to prepare one plan for adoption, and later, when he
is regularly retained, present for execution another
plan, which, had it been first proposed, would have
never been adopted.
Let us assume, however, for the sake of the argu-
ment, that this "church-building society" is made up
of wise men, and that, instead of placing themselves at
the head of an art enterprise, they employ as their pro-
fessional adviser an architect of reputation, lay be-
fore him their wishes, and give him the requisite time
to compose "a design for an Anglican church," which
shall not be of any style whatever, but a true, original
poem in architecture. Such an architect would, no
doubt, after serious reflection, address this society some-
what in this wise: "It is true that of late architecture
has ceased to be a living art. It imitates the forms of
the past, and these forms do not express the ideas of the
present time; but you will be good enough to remem-
ber that our archæological museum is, after all, a collec-
tion of forms which meant something at some time.
If it is your wish that I should produce a design of a
monument which is to commemorate the Anglican
Church, it would be well that you and I arrive at a
clear understanding of the ideas which have created
:
392
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE
that Church, and which are to-day its main stay and
foundation. More than this, art is not capable of de-
monstrating or representing ideas in their abstract
form. Art can only represent emotions which are the
result of acts, which acts illustrate the ideas; and the
question mainly to be answered is, 'What are the par-
ticular acts which pertain to the service of the Angli
can Church; wherein do they differ from the acts per-
formed in the Christian churches of the thirteenth
century, or from the acts performed in Grecian tem-
ples?' On examining what I know of this matter," he
will say,
"it appears to me that the original tendency of
our Church, immediately after the Reformation, was a
decided opposition to many acts of worship and of
Church service; but that, subsequently, the Church has
become divided into parties, one of which regrets that
the Church has gone too far in this direction, and the
other affirms that true progress requires that we should
go still further. It does not appear that the Church has
ever adduced reasons against the performance of these
acts, or that it has denounced them as contrary to its arti-
cles of faith, but only that they have been condemned
as visibly emblematic of a Church against the practices
of which we protested. It further appears that this
very protest is the main foundation of our Church ;
but a protest is not a positive idea upon which we may
base acts or emotions, and hence also not monuments.
Monuments can be the result only of positive ideas.*
* In addition to this, the Church has drifted into a position on this vital
question which is anomalous, inconsistent with its own professions, and sub-
vorsive of its functions as the interpreter of its metaphysical views and
rules of conduct.
We have now arrived at a point where we deny the right of churchmon to
perform certain acts which we admit to be harmless in themselves, but
ANALYSIS.
393
"You ask what is to be done? I answer that acts of
the Church, theological ideas, dogma, religious princi-
ples must be determined by the Church itself; that
while it is my duty to study religious ideas firmly es
tablished and laid before me, in order that I may ex-
press them in a monument, it is also my duty to accept
these ideas as true without questioning them, for the
simple reason that metaphysical and ethical relations,
as expressed in systems of faith, must of necessity be
approximations to truth and not absolute truth, partly
because of the imperfections of the human intellect,
which may in this direction never reach a positive
solution; partly because, if individual minds could
attain to such a solution, it could not be imparted to
the mass of men so that they could comprehend it;
and finally, because if universally comprehended (were
such a thing possible, as it is not), then religion would
not need the help of art any more than art is needed
now in behalf of the multiplication table.
"While, therefore, I hold myself in readiness to
study the positive ideas which the Church determines,
to assist in a poetical grouping of worshippers who
are to illustrate these ideas by acts, and to resolve the
which we oppose as the special acts of the Roman Catholic Church, while
in theory we claim to be the true Christian Church, which cannot be
affected by anything said or done by any one outside of it. We tacitly
admit that all acts of devotion are, if not quito idolatrous, at least per-
fectly unnecessary; or, in other words, that the views and dogmas of the
Church are, in the main, demonstrable without resorting to the efforts of
art. This theory is not avowed by many; in fact it is opposed by able and
earnest leaders of our Church, yet all our practical efforts tend in that direc-
tion, and are partly the result of zeal to confirm our protest, and partly of
the mistaken notion that the Reformation has transferred Christianity from
the realm of the confused knowledge imparted by art, to that of the positive
knowledge of philosophy. If this were true in any sense, churches would
become not only superfluous, but impossible as architectural monuments.
1
394
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
emotions which are the result of these acts, I must
content myself by laying down a few general princi-
ples, which perhaps will help you in your very neces-
sary work, which has now become an urgent work, for
it has been neglected since the days of the Reforma
tion.
"Ideas are a relation of matter, and matter is to man
a subjective perception of it, and no more. Subjective
relation to the matter observed, or, in other words, our
standpoint in relation to matter, as well as subjective
sensuous force (ability to see, and hear, and feel, with
greater or less accuracy), must always be elements in
subjective perception. What is true of sensuous per-
ception of matter is also true of that secondary per-
ception of the relation of matter which we call the
intellectual perception of a metaphysical idea. If you
place a man on the top of a mountain, and point out
to him at a great distance a milestone, and say to him
that the milestone is within a stone's throw of the cot-
tage in which you were born, and that both are ten miles
away, he will not be able to follow you, for he has
not the eyes of a hawk or an eagle. What must you
do to help him? You can do one of two things:
supply him with a good telescope, or point to a church
steeple about a mile or two away from the point you
wish to designate, which is near enough to answer his
purpose. In this way the Church is the judge of the
point of view of the parishioner, as well as of the ab-
stract idea it desires to impart to him, and hence of
the form the idea must assume for the time being; for
it must be remembered that the parishioner is not
standing still, but is moving-moving more than you
think he is, judging of it from your own point of
ANALYSIS.
395
view, and much less than he thinks he is, judging from
his personal exertion. Permit me also to anticipate
an objection which at this point will agitate your
mind, viz.: Religion is abstract truth, fixed, unchange-
able, and what is here suggested implies the opposite.
Not at all; the milestone is there whether you can
or cannot see it, always the same-immovable. The
church steeple is only a means by which to fix its
situation. Another further off or nearer by would
answer the purpose as well.
"The Church of to-day does not mean the worship
of saints, but it doubtless means the worship of God.
This is a relation of man to God. The true defini-
tion of God is to be found only in his creation, which
includes man, and the creations of man known as fine
art, which speak of man's thoughts-of his ideas of
God. In these works of human art, and in the works
of nature, we nowhere find an absolute definition of
God, but we everywhere find a partial exposition of
him, and the sum total of these partial expositions is
all we can ever know of Him. Hence we need a con-
tinuous relation with works of nature and art; but in-
asmuch as we cannot all equally understand what is
offered to us by creation and re-creation in this way,
and inasmuch as all of this is not accessible to us, we
find among other creations of God the Church, which
has taken upon herself the duty of placing before us
such works of nature and art as she deems most con-
ducive to our physical welfare and spiritual education,
and she has nobly fulfilled this function through all
time. We are her children, and she, our indulgent
mother, teaches us the place we occupy in this uni-
verse; she it is who tells us of our relations to God
396
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
and to his creation, and it is her privilege to teach us
in her own way. She has used this privilege by
changing her methods as we grow in knowledge.
"The Church is now undergoing a change of method.
Is she of the opinion that she has taught too much,
and will now content herself with teaching less? She
never can do too much teaching, but she may and she
did teach on the same system too long; and while she
is considering her methods and her means, some of us
have gone out into the world and learned something
by ourselves, and all of us imagine we could do the
same thing if we should only try; many of us have
tried and have made sad work of this self-instruction;
we have gathered but little learning and much con-
ceit, and it is high time now that the Church resume
her position. Of course her methods of enforcing
obedience will be changed, and her methods of instruc-
tion will be changed also. We may not learn so much
by rote, and more by instruction; we need more pic-
tures by way of illustration, and as the Church thinks
the old ones useless and worn out, we will have new
ones. Perhaps these new pictures will hereafter have
to be changed oftener than they have been heretofore."
This, or something like this, is the manly talk of the
architect who has mastered his profession and will not
present designs for the judginent of laymen. The
first good result would undoubtedly be a request on
the part of this model society to be allowed some time
for further serious consideration; perhaps, also, a re-
quest on the part of the rector that the architect
should put all this in writing that it may be laid be-
fore the bishop, and a resolution that another meeting
should be held for further consultation upon the sub-
ANALYSIS.
397
ject. Of what value to architecture a continued series
of such meetings might be, of what interest to the
Church, may best be judged by those who are profes-
sionally related to either; that some such process
must precede the designing of plans and the building
of a modern church is quite certain, if it is not to be
a failure which will deter other men from repeating
the attempt.
age
Exactly what the Church will do in these premises
must be determined by herself. She will have to con-
tend with the prejudices, selfishness, and want of cour-
of her own members; she will have to oppose
those who in Church matters are working in styles and
are running in grooves. Yet times were never more
propitious than the present for a change in the right
direction. What the Church should do, it would be
presumptuous in us to suggest; that the Church will
think of this matter, and act upon it too, there can be
no moral doubt.
What the architect will have to do when all this is
in a fair way of settlement is a proper subject for dis-
cussion here. We may assert boldly that he will
spend no time in useless discourse about taste, feeling,
and style; nor on the refinement of the Greeks and
the spiritualism of the thirteenth century.
Will he profit by the experience of the Past? Are
the efforts of sixty centuries of no account whatever?
Or may they help him in his future work? The
author of the "Philosophy of Beauty" speaks of this;
let us see what hope and advice we can gather from
his prophecy. He says:
"Or again it may be asked, if I propose to throw
over all precedent and to abandon at once all Grecian
398
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
pillars, and Gothic pinnacles, and all the classical
and medieval details which now make up the stock
in trade of an architect, what would I propose to
substitute in their place? The answer is a simple
though scarcely a satisfactory one, as it is merely-
'I don't know.' But if any one reflects a moment, he
will see that it is impossible that I or any one else
should know without at least the gift of prophecy,
for the very essence of the progress is its procession
towards something we do not now see, and the essence
of invention is finding out what we do not know and
what could not be before known."
His answer is "I do not know;" it is the princi-
pal piece of information to be gathered from the art
philosopy contained in his book. The true beginning
of all knowledge is this, "I do not know;" and how
natural and candid it is in the man of forms to say,
"when all these forms of the past, which now are the
stock in trade of the architect who works in styles are
thrown aside, what do I propose to substitute in their
places I do not know, how can any one else?""
Now it so happens that this last question, "How
can any one else?" may be answered satisfactorily.
The future may be judged by the past, for indeed the
past had a future which has now become a past to us,
and we may see it clearly and appeal to it for infor
mation. The Romans did not throw away Greek
forms, nor did the architects of the Christian era
throw away the forms of the mythological past. The
only set of men who ever did throw away anything
that is valued in the past history of art were the ar-
chitects of the Renaissance, who initiated the system
of copying forms without reflecting on their meaning,
ANALYSIS.
399
and who never did discover or care for the principles
or ideas which are the cause of forms. On encounter-
ing a form which did not please them they cast it
aside, and with it the thought it concealed; and when
a form pleased them they accepted the form and dis-
carded the thought all the same. But when they
were to supply us with the new forms which they had
promised, they searched for them in vain in their im-
agination, as the only available source of a new sup-
ply, because their minds lacked the very ideas and
the knowledge which they had rejected; and as Mr.
Fergusson looks forward to the future for the inven-
tion of new forms, he truly says I cannot know them.
Forms, fortunately for us, are not invented; they
grow, if we will only permit them to do so-provided
we cultivate and irrigate the soil. The forms of the
future must be the modified forms of the past, the
modifications being due to construction and material,
and progress in understanding both. Modifications
of this kind in art are of comparatively slow growth,
like that of natural organisms as determined by envi-
ronment. But we are living in an exceptional age,
when considered in the interest of architectural art.
Centuries have been permitted to pass without the
architect giving any heed to the progress of ideas, to
the acts illustrating them, to the resulting emotions,
or to the progress of the science of construction and
its relation to art. A prompt and intelligent recog
nition of the environment of architectural forms may
lead to vast and rapid strides in their modification;
so rapid, indeed, that to the superficial observer that
modification will seem absolute change.
But we cannot be assisted in this labor by human
ì
400
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
invention or by human taste. Both of these over-
rated human faculties point to completed forms, while
in art, as in nature, forms must grow to be of value.
Knowledge of ideas, of emotions, of technical methods
which represent them in matter, positive and clear
knowledge alone, creates a judgment which leads to
the development of art forms, which are ideal organ-
isms created in imitation of nature, which, in archi-
tecture and in music, always means an imitation of na-
ture's laws.
The prevalent vocabulary of art analysis, which re-
fers to feeling and taste as sole arbiters of art, must
be abandoned, and art logic must be subjected to the
same tests which govern the sciences and mathematics.
Analysis of a monument concerns itself first with the
ideas, acts, and emotions of its future occupants. The
grouping of the occupants of a structure being de-
termined, the spaces containing these groups may be
analysed. Most modern monuments will be found to
demand cells of considerable magnitude, the interior
roofing of which becomes a serious question of aesthetic
development and of practical construction.
The most dignified method of dealing with the roof
of a monument, say a church, a room for deliberative
assemblies, or a court-room, is to construct brick or
stone vaultings, of which medieval architecture affords
endless experiments already made to our hands, many
of which are eminently successful.
The span of an arch is limited by considerations of
economy of space, material and labor, and hence we
find them in medieval work confined to moderate di-
mensions by the introduction of interior piers or col-
Modern utilitarianism objects to any interrup-
unins.
ANALYSIS.
401
tion of a free and full view of any and all parts of
the interior of a room. It asserts that an audience
should not only be able to see the speaker or per-
former, but that the individuals composing it should
see each other, and that this desire must be gratified.
It asks with a triumphant air whether modern engineer-
ing does not provide for the construction of roofs of
any span, and if it be not economical to construct such
a roof of stone, why should it not be constructed of
wood or iron? The truth is, that a congregation of
men and women spread equally like a plaster over in-
definite space is not a picture worth seeing; in fact, it
is not a picture at all; it has neither foreground, mid-
dle-ground, nor background. The dignity of the possi
ble man or woman, brought out in bold relief in a
foreground limited by some structural feature, is lost
in a sea of bonnets and hats, or of chignons, and of
closely-cropped craniums. The individual man is no-
where to be found; there is no index of what the mass
before us is composed of. A structure with emptiness
as its chief excellence cannot, by any human contrivance,
be made to express an idea in matter. The modern
railroad station is a striking example. Posts, columns,
or piers cannot, possibly, in such a structure, intercept
anything worth seeing. There is everywhere an abun
dance of space for these between the tracks. Economy
of labor and material certainly demand their use, yet
most of these structures are covered with curved trusses
of iron, supported by the outer walls, with spans of two
or three hundred feet.
The temptation to do this may be found in the love
of displaying a mechanical effort, which by the use of
rolled and cast iron has but recently become possible.
26
402
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
Its ugliness will soon be apparent, and these exaggerated
green-houses will be built no more. Here we must re-
member the tact and good sense displayed by Sir Joseph
Paxton in the erection of the Prince Albert Exhibi-
tion building. He indulged in no such engineering
flights, but remembered the law that all trusses of the
same material and form are strong inversely as their
length when loaded with the same weight per foot,
and that the sum of the area of all the columns sup-
porting a given perpendicular load or pressure is inde-
pendent of their number (certain relations of length
and diameter excepted). Here, again, we need not
to seek beyond experience in the past for a sound so
lution of the problem. Where an absolutely unin-
terrupted space becomes a necessity in the interior of
a structure, or single cell forming a part of a structure,
as, for instance, in a deliberative assembly or court-
room, the transept is a form which permits of a large
open area, the piers supporting the central vault being
in fact, and of necessity, placed outside of the assem-
bled audience.
But the construction of vaulted roofs, as developed
in the Middle Ages, may be considered as a mere em-
pirical experiment when compared with vaulting made
possible by the progress of science. The circle and the
ellipse (its resultant in groined arching) demand ideal
loads to bring the line of pressure in the centre of
their voussoirs--loads, which differ materially from the
actual loads needed for their construction. The lines
of pressures themselves, if scientifically applied, will
not only lead to new and more expressive forms, to a
variety of line in the cappings and ribs, to new meth-
ods of modelling and decoration, but also to a con-
ANALYSIS.
403
struction of greater magnitude, without a proportional
increase of material, both in the vaulting itself and in
the abutments. It needs no bold flight of the im
agination to predict that the elegance of the cathedral
roofs of the thirteenth century will in time be super-
seded by vaulting, in comparison with which the
former will appear a mere clumsy contrivance. The
theory for doing this work is fully and clearly in our
possession. We positively know how it can be ac-
complished practically. The opportunities for doing
it are multiplying every day, and all it needs is the
conviction that the pursuit of such a system will
develop a new architecture, which, in its elegance
and boldness, will far exceed the works of the Middle
Ages. Nor is the labor of modelling these novel masses
beyond the power of the architect, if he will only ab-
stain from reverting to old forms.
The open-timber roof is a legitimate construction
where economy permits nothing better. The prevail
ing vice in the treatment of this part of structure in
wood is the introduction of arched pieces. It should
be remembered that a structural support, mechanically
considered, can be a continuous curve only when every
point of the extrados is loaded.
When, however, loads are imposed in isolated
points, the line of resistance becomes a polygon, the
sides of which intersect at the points so loaded, and
if a curved piece of wood is introduced to take the
place of such a polygon, it should contain this polygon
within its boundaries. The reason for introducing
arched timbers is sometimes the mistaken notion that
an arch under all circumstances is the strongest form
that can be given to any material, no matter how a
404
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
load may be placed upon it; or else it is a mere love
for curved lines under the impression that curved
lines are beautiful in the abstract. It is true, on the
other hand, that any construction which does not in
the most direct manner perform the work it is intended
to do, becomes an element of weakness perceptible to
every one, although the reason why it is so may not
be so apparent.
A drawing of one pier of a monument, with its super-
incumbent load of wall and of arched or open roof,
mathematically considered and carefully modelled, so
that the members of the structural parts above are
represented in the simpler members of the supports
below, the latter always being of sufficient area to
comprise the former within themselves, as the trunk
of a tree equals the sum of the area of all its branches,
forms the key-note of the most complicated monument,
and contains in its dimensions the elements of propor
tion of the masses which are needed to make the mon-
ument a work of art in imitation of nature.
The next step in the analysis of a projected monu-
ment is the contemplation of every cell pertaining to
it as a separate design. The course ordinarily pursued
is the reverse of this. The architect forms in the out-
set an imaginary picture of the whole monument, and
subsequently apportions parts of this whole to the sep-
arate cells. In the minds of architects who proceed
in this way, the exterior of a monument conforms to a
certain imagined ideal modified by the configuration
of the ground upon which it is to be erected. In fact,
the design of the monument should precede the selec-
tion of the site, while the general form (the exterior
of the monument) should accrue from a judicious
ANALYSIS.
405
grouping of its single cells after they have been sep-
arately studied and matured. This is not to imply
that no modification of the form of the single cell
is permissible after it has been separately designed.
Such modifications become necessary by reason of a
relation with adjoining cells; but the full import of
every cell must have been mastered before such a re-
lation and connection is attempted. In short, the
monument, to be a work of fine art, must be an aggre-
gation of single cells, each of which is a complete or-
ganism in itself, and should not be an imagined whole
to be subsequently divided into compartments.
Inasmuch as single cells do not always need to be
lighted from all sides, the dead wall of such a cell of
necessity becomes at times a part of the exterior of a
monument. This is not to be regretted. A bit of
uninterrupted masonry is a great benefit to a design;
it speaks forcibly, and helps to tell a story. The
habit of modern architects of laying down arbitrary
outlines of a structure before considering its single
cells, is often the cause of piercing an outer wall with
many and large windows. The mass of the wall is
nowhere felt. The truth is, we do not build walls
pierced with windows, but design endless windows sur-
rounded with the least modicum of wall that is neces-
sary to sustain the fabric. This habit has developed
in the modern architect a dread of wall space which is
greatly detrimental to art.
It happens, however, from time to time, that the
openings in parts of a structure have to be greatly
multiplied. The constructive necessity of a wall so
pierced leads to a greater thickness of wall than would
be needed if piers between openings could be made
406
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
broader. The aesthetic necessity of such a wall runs
precisely in the same direction. Its thickness must
be expressed by a visibly greater depth of window-
jamb.
The division of single cells into bays demands
analytical consideration at the hands of the architect.
The greater the number of bays, the more slender and
elegant becomes the form of the piers, and the greater
the apparent depth of the single cell both in the in-
terior and exterior.
The medieval cathedrals are greatly admired for
this characteristic arrangement. Yet as the degree of
elegance to be attained depends upon the idea repre-
sented in a monument, it is desirable to modify fea-
tures of this kind in accordance with the nature of
the idea.
In secular structures, where the grouping of the
openings takes the place of a marked division into
bays, the same law is to be observed.
It is frequently desirable to light single cells of
great altitude by two and even three tiers of windows.
Interior galleries suggest themselves as a constructive
reason for such an arrangement, but the proper illumi-
nation of the interior very often demands it without
the presence of any constructive cause.
It is necessary, in this case, to indicate externally a
relationship between these two tiers of windows. The
fact must be made patent that there is but one story, but
one single cell. Sill courses of the upper tier of win-
dows should be subordinated in magnitude and projec-
tion to other sill or belting courses, which elsewhere
in the same structure express a division of stories.
The windows of the upper tier may be wider than
ANALYSIS.
407
those of the lower tier, or its windows may be couplets
over every single window below, or they may be ar
ranged in a continuous group extending through the
whole length of the cell.
No attempt to join the upper and lower openings
under one arch will successfully express the true
structural relation in such a cell. That the openings
of two or more stories cannot be joined together in
this manner is self-evident.
The thickness of walls and piers constitutes an ele-
ment, and hence an expression of strength, as well as
their width. To make the thickness apparent, the
doors and windows should not be placed on the out-
side, but in the middle of the wall, a practice not ob
served in modern structures.
During the decadence of medieval and the rise
and progress of Renaissance architecture, innumerable
false structural forms and the misapplication of true
forms became current in architectural practice, such as
gables which do not meet at the apex, double-curved
arches and flying-buttresses, gables designed as inde-
pendent structures worked in bas-relief upon the main
wall, and key-stones unwarranted by the pressure im-
posed upon arches in the face of walls. That a gable
which has no apex is ugly, because it fails to perform
its function, is apparent without further reflection ;
but to convince the architect that the same is true in
the case of double-curved arches and flying-buttresses
needs a computation of their moment of resistance.
Such a computation will in all cases protect him from
the vagaries of his fancy, and will not only show what
forms are ugly, but also those which are indifferent,
good, or brilliant.
408
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
Modelling, carved and color decoration, accentuate
the construction. They demonstrate function. If the
construction of a monument is good or brilliant,
modelling and decoration make this more apparent; if
the construction is bad or indifferent this is also accen-
tuated by modelling and decoration.
It is very desirable, therefore, that no modelling or
decoration should be entered upon in composition un-
til the construction is fully developed. It would be
of great benefit to architectural composition to pre-
pare a full set of drawings of every proposed monu-
ment upon which not a single moulding or ornament is
to be seen, nothing but bare constructive masses. The
common practice is the reverse of this. The architect
begins his sketch by filling it up with modelled and
decorative work. He is misled by its pleasing effects
into the belief that the structure he is designing will
be a work of architectural art, while he is in fact en-
gaged in hiding its ugliness from himself. Where
great masses seem to crush attenuated supports, in-
stead of inquiring whether these masses should not be
reduced, or, what is more frequently needed, the piers
strengthened, he partially covers the masses with orna-
ment, under the mistaken notion that they are thereby
reduced in quantity. When, for reasons of economy,
decoration cannot be indulged in to the extent to
which the author of a design would like to carry it,
he often inordinately enlarges his openings to annihi-
late the masses surrounding them. Practices of this
sort are habitually carried to such an extent that
the architect begins to look upon a design as an aggre-
gation of ornament, and not as a mechanical structure
of masses of masonry.
ANALYSIS.
409
It may be questioned whether it would not be best
to reserve all modelling and decoration for the detail
drawings, and not introduce either in the general de-
sign of a monument. By the present practice of com-
pleting drawings through the introduction of all detail,
composition has ceased to be a process of reasoning,
and has become a matter of feeling, and this feeling in
most cases proves to be a delusion. It is the experi-
ence of practicing architects that the excellence of
their work depends upon constructional perfection first,
and upon careful and studied modelling and decoration
afterward, and yet singularly enough many academies
demand of their pupils rapid architectural sketches as
a proof of proficiency, which are judged more with
reference to the decoration they display than to the
construction they contemplate.
The modelling of the masses is a very essential ele-
ment in architecture, and constitutes a noble charac-
teristic of style. The architecture of the thirteenth
century developed a large variety of modelling arising
mainly from a variety of grouping of a few well-de-
signed members.
To understand architectural modelling it is desirable
to examine more minutely the methods of the best med-
ieval work, in order to learn wherein consists its ex-
cellence and also to avoid its defects.
It is this method of modelling which imparted to
Gothic architecture the peculiar character which subse-
quently became obnoxious to the authors of the Re-
naissance, and which also became the source of the
premature decay of the style.
We know that the system by which piers and the
jambs of openings, arches, ribs, etc., are modelled, by
410
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
cutting away part of the wall substance, originated with
Christian architecture. It was not practiced in Greek
or Roman structures. It begins with the arrangement
of the masses themselves, and extends to a modification
proceeding perpendicularly as well as horizontally.
#
It will be best understood by laying out a ground-
plan of a cathedral; first, in simple lines to represent the
boundaries of the nave and transepts, and connecting
the lines of the nave on the east side of the transept
by a polygon representing the apse. These lines should
coincide with the center line of the clere-story walls.
If to this we add other lines running through the
center of the outer walls of the structure we have the
contour of a cathedral, the longitudinal and transverse
arms of which consist of a nave and two aisles; but
if on the outside of the nave lines we draw two
lines representing the boundaries of two aisles, we
have a church of five longitudinal and three transverse
aisles, somewhat the same as the cathedral of Cologne.
If we now traverse these lines at right angles, at every
point where it is intended to support the clere-story,
with a series of lines extending to the uttermost pro-
jection of the buttresses, we have a skeleton of the ax
ial lines of the wall masses of a Gothic cathedral.
It is outside of the scope of this work to enter upon
the purely mechanical reasoning which determines the
various thicknesses of the walls of which this line
skeleton represents the central axes, but we may imag
ine this done and then draw the thicknesses of these
walls by marking heavy lines denoting their bounda
ries on either side of the skeleton lines. If we now
proceed to cut openings into these longitudinal and
transverse walls which will serve to open the whole
ANALYSIS.
411
interior, and also to connect it with the outer air, taking
care everywhere to leave a jamb which may serve for
the support of the resulting arches to be modelled here-
after, we have as the result of all this work the due
form of the main masonry which constitutes a cathe-
dral, less such parts as may be needed to organize its
vaulting. The piers supporting the clere-story, and
also those supporting the wall separating the aisles,
will have the form of a Maltese cross, and those form-
ing the outer walls that of a Latin cross, the long arm
of which constitutes the buttress; and if this process
of cutting away unnecessary wall masses is further con-
tinued above the aisle roofs, we have also the flying-
buttresses.
The moment of resistance to lateral pressure of a
buttress is directly as its mass multiplied by its lever-
age (which is the distance of its center of gravity from
the outer limit of its base in the direction of the lateral
pressure). It follows, therefore, that a buttress, the
perpendicular section of which is a right-angled triangle,
will contain no more material than one the section of
which is a parallelogram of the same base and of half
its height, while the moment of resistance of the
former is to the moment of resistance of the latter as
four is to three. This simple mechanical principle is
the foundation of the modelling of the medieval but-
tress with its offsets and pinnacle, a refinement of form
which tends to greater mechanical results with the
same mass, and also to greater æsthetic expression.
It is this mechanical reasoning which dictates a suc-
cession of buttress offsets and the formation of the pin-
nacle, a species of perpendicular modelling which corre-
sponds with the horizontal modelling of piers and jambs.
412
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
It must also appear from the foregoing that the piers
accruing under this system must vary in magnitude,
and that those at the intersection of the nave and
transept must be the largest. The supports of the
roof vaulting, however, must be added to the ground-
plan of those piers. It falls naturally into the rect
angular corners formed by the cross. To model and
form these piers, buttresses, pinnacles, flying-buttresses,
main arches, and ribs, and to connect these forms at
points of juncture by means of proper members of
transition (capitals, bases, etc.,) was one part of the
æsthetic system of Gothic architecture. The circular
shaft suggested itself as the most available shape for
the perpendicular members of the piers which are to
support the superincumbent arches and ribs. The
connection of shafts with each other, and their relation
to the main mass of the pier, became problems solved
with greater or less success in the great works of
the middle ages.
To say that this elementary system has not in any in-
stance been consistently followed throughout, is only
saying in other words that architecture, in spite of its
great progress in the thirteenth century, did not reach
perfection. That the aim was the most logical sequence
of a most refined method of construction is not denied
by any one, but its failure of complete success cannot
be attributed to any one cause.
The main cause of failure may be found in the fact
that the formation of the crude masses as here de-
scribed was in no instance fully realized by mediaval
architects. The law by which the structural masses
were to be first established and subsequently modelled
by cutting away a part of these masses, although
ANALYSIS.
413
strictly observed in the formation of jambs, arches,
ribs, buttresses, and pinnacles, was not observed in the
case of the piers supporting the divisions of nave and
aisles. The form of these piers was derived directly
from the column. The medieval pier was not as
above suggested, a Maltese cross first, and a modelled
pier determined by that form afterward, but it was an
arbitrary grouping of sustaining shafts around a cylin
drical pier which was accepted as its nucleus.
This arbitrary arrangement of perpendicular shafts
was pursued with a looseness and disregard of the
masses which should be the basis of their order and re-
lation, which in most cases converted these piers into an
unmeaning bundle of shafts. The expression resulting
was weak and inefficient in denoting the gigantic me-
chanical work performed by these structural organisms.
Toward the end of the thirteenth century the very
meaning of these elementary shafts constituting the
main piers, and their relation to the grouping of the
superincumbent arches and ribs, was no longer under-
stood, and the architects of that and the subsequent
period, instead of referring the magnitude and arrange-
ment of members of piers to defined function, permitted
their imagination to prescribe arbitrary forms without
meaning, which, instead of expressing and emphasizing
mechanical function, only dismembered and weakened
these very important structural masses.
To understand this want of clearness, and the
definition of the nature of the system, we must
mentally transfer ourselves from this age of print-
ing and of organized schools to an age of traditions
and apprenticeships; otherwise we shall fail to com-
prehend how the attainment of individuals constantly
414
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
occupied in actual building became in its theory lost
with the termination of their individual labors, al-
though it continued a sort of enigmatic life in their
completed works, to be solved or not by their succes-
sors, according to their ability, opportunity, and ear-
nestness in the pursuit of art. Many masters who
studied and admired this modelling of interior struct-
ural parts, and who in their works show attempts at
imitation, evidently reverted to a cylindrical, central
nucleus, to which the outer members are simply added,
a process which is inconsistent with the fundamental
element of the system, which demands that all mem-
bers shall be wrought out of the solid of the crude
mass. Many others referred the modelled sections of
piers, arches, and ribs to squares, triangles, and combi-
nations of these, which they imagined themselves to
have observed as the leading lines of these sections in
completed works, or which they had been taught to
consider such by masters who did not wish to com-
municate the true principles involved, or who pre-
ferred to indicate the rules to be observed by con-
venient lines, in order to instruct a subordinate in
accordance with his position and attainments.
The other part of the aesthetic problem to be solved
was to establish a system of modelling external sur-
faces, mainly the faces of buttresses, pinnacles, and
other wall faces which seemed to require treatinent.
Our skeleton ground-plan mentioned above shows
that in the Gothic scheme the windows occupy the
whole space between buttresses, if we except the mass
of the jamb which immediately adjoined the buttress.
Yes, even this jamb is omitted in the Ste. Chapelle at
Paris, the arches springing directly from the buttress
ANALYSIS.
415
without the intervention of a perpendicular jamb, and
in similar minor constructions to be found elsewhere.
This mechanical arrangement gave rise to the media-
val tracery with which we are familiar. The mullions
terminate at the spring of the main window-arch, and
are thence united by a system of arched stone-work,
which in the best models is based upon a rigid principle
of mechanical construction, and is not, as Mr. Ruskin
believes, a mere frame of spaces which are, according
to him, the subject of the design; that is, the spaces
are the result of, and the mullion mass is the object of,
design. This tracery is one of the most elegant pro-
ductions of medieval art reasoning, and conveys a
most perfect expression of its function-that of a
pierced curtain wall between two buttresses, which
are the real supports of the structure. When media-
val architects bethought themselves of a proper method
of decorating the exterior wall-face, they found this
window tracery in an advanced state of perfection.
They admired its form, and applied it to their but
tresses, pinnacles, wall-faces, gables, and door-heads.
There can be no question of the propriety of its ap-
plication to free standing gables, but we may doubt,
without disrespect to the art of the past, whether the
use of tracery on the face of the wall, more especially
on the face of the buttress, is conceived with the logical
clearness of other mediaval modelling. Mainly it may
be objected that it is not expressive of a mass doing
energetic mechanical work; on the contrary, it origi-
nates with a structural feature, which, inclosed in a
rigid frame, is doing little more than to sustain itself.
The recurring perpendicular mullions impart to it an
expression of weakness, and this weakness is again im-
416
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE
parted by it to the structure, the strength of which it
should emphasize, in order to be in truth artistic
modelling.
While tracery applied to an opening is capable of
numerous variations of treatment, and hence of form ;
so long as its density of mass remains unchanged, all
efforts to change its density in order to express vari-
ous intensities of strength have failed. In truth, the
practice has been to multiply mullions in the upper
masses of structure, as compared with those of the
lower parts of the same building, under the mistaken
impression that greater richness of modelling must con-
vey an expression of greater lightness as well, which
is not true; and finally, the variations possible in this
direction are also insufficient in number to supply de-
grees of intensity enough for the multiplied use of a
tower like that of Cologne, for instance, where the
modelling of surfaces is begun at its very bottom.
When we contemplate the use of tracery as applied to
the towers of Strasburg, as a sort of net-work not used
in accord with the masses, but laid over and sepa-
rated from them, although in this case it is not quite
so injurious to the apparent force of the masses, we
find it to be an experiment of doubtful value in archi-
tecture; an experiment which contains more elements
of playfulness than of vigor.
There is another infelicity in a frequent perpendicu-
lar division of the stones composing a work of masonry.
It imparts to the wall an expression of weakness, be-
cause, in order to resist perpendicular pressure, indica-
tions of lamina in bonded stone-work, if perceptible in
any manner whatever, or indicated by any process or
form, should be horizontal and not perpendicular. It
ANALYSIS.
417
is true that in Gothic architecture perpendicular struct-
ural forms justly predominate over horizontal forms
by reason of the system of construction which per-
vades the style, and that in consequence the buttress
system prevails over the cornices and beltings which
everywhere abut against them, and which are also
properly overshadowed by rising gables and pinnacles;
but there is no good reason for a perpendicular subdivi
sion of organic structural masses, more especially as
by such a subdivision the functional expression of
these masses is weakened, while it is a fundamental
law of modelling that it shall help to emphasize me-
chanical function.
A close examination of the exterior of any of the
Gothic cathedrals will illustrate this defect, and a com-
parison of those cathedrals where much of the wall
surface is left without modelling with others where
the exterior surface is entirely covered with tracery
will plainly show the architect where to look for the
cause of the defect.
The modelling of architectural masses is a principle
conducive to expression, and furnishes to the architect
the most consistent and logical grounds of proceeding,
but modelling of masses means that we should modify
crude form with a view to heighten expression of func
tion, and it means also that this crude form is not to
be entirely annihilated-that through all the modelling
the mass must be felt. It must be felt not only as a
thing concealed in the members surrounding it, but a
part of its natural crude form as it emanates from the
hands of the constructor must be seen also. This is en-
tirely overlooked by late medieval architects.
Instead of attempting to make matter speak of func
418
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
tion, the moment they discovered the possibility of
doing this they proceeded to model matter out of ex-
istence. They flattered themselves that this phonetic
quality of matter, which they called spirit, and which
by naming it so they imagined to become an entity
detached from and independent of matter, may be re-
tained and the matter, if not entirely abandoned, may
at least be concealed, removed from sight.
The interior piers, arches, and ribs thus became
bundles of functional shafts and modellings without
anywhere betraying the wall-mass, of which they
ought to have been a modification.
The expression imparted to architectural masses by
this excessive modelling, and by masking them with
tracery, is what displeased the architects of the Re-
naissance, not without good reason.
A clear concep-
tion of the cause of this displeasure would have led to
a correction, without an abandonment of the system
of modelling architectural masses, as well as to a con-
viction that structural masses can gain nothing in ex-
pression by being masked with forms, no matter how
beautiful in themselves, if these are not the logical
sequence of function. The Renaissance school con-
tinued the mask used by the Romans to represent a
scenic picture of the Greek portico, which is not model-
ling structural masses, and adopted out of the errors
of the Gothic school the use of the panel, a sort of
crude imitation of tracery, which is also not aesthetic
modelling.
This Renaissance panel we find introduced on the
underside of girders, on the face of pilasters, on the
jambs of doors and windows, etc. And in all the
places where it is used it proves inconsistent with the
ANALYSIS.
419
nature of the material and detrimental to expression
of mechanical function.
The history of architecture since the thirteenth cent
ury has ceased to be the record of a development of
artistic forms by a clear representation of mechanical
function and by logical methods of accentuating this
function in modelling, carved-ornament and color de-
coration. It has become a licentious use of unmeaning
forms, which culminated in Gothic architecture in the
cathedral of Milan, and in the Renaissance in such
buildings as the Zwinger in Dresden, the Tuileries,
the Court Napoleon in the Louvre, and in kindred
structures all over Europe.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CRITICISM,
PROF. BRANDE, in his Dictionary of Science, etc., de-
fines criticism to be "the art of judging with propriety
concerning objects." Inasmuch as the objects found
in nature are admitted to be perfect organisms, which
in all cases perform and express their functions, they
are not objects of which men may judge, and which
may be properly considered as subject to criticism.
All we can do with regard to these is to analyze them
with a view to elicit truths, principles, and natural
laws. It is clear, therefore, that the objects referred
to in the above definition of criticism must be objects.
created by men. Nor can criticism be confined to ob-
jects alone.
Ideas as we find them developed in
science and literature, facts as related in history,
emotions as expressed in art, are all proper subjects of
criticism.
"In a somewhat more limited but still extensive
meaning," continues Prof. Brande, "the province of
criticism is confined to literature, philology, and the
fine arts; and to subjects of antiquarian, scientific, or
historical investigation. In this sense, every branch of
literary study, as well as each of the fine arts, has its
proper criticism as an appendage to it. The elements
of criticism depend on the two principles of beauty
420
CRITICISM.
421
and truth, one of which is the final end or object of
study in every one of its pursuits: beauty in letters
and the arts; truth in history and the sciences. The
office of criticism, therefore, is first to lay down those
forms or essential ideas which answer to our concep-
tion of the beautiful or the true in each branch of
study, and next to point out by reference to those ideas
the excellence or defects of individual works as they
approach or diverge from the requisite standard in
each particular."
It is proposed here to lay down "forms or essential
ideas which answer to our conception of the beautiful
or the true," and then test individual works by these
forms and ideas. It is clear that these forms or essen-
tial ideas cannot be an arbitrary creation of our imag-
ination; they must inevitably be based upon truths
outside of ourselves, which may be recognized axioms
or sound conclusions derived from them, but in all
cases actual and verified truths. Why in that case
a distinction should be made between the principles and
laws on which truth and beauty are severally founded
is not apparent. A door is left open to the suspi-
cion that recognized ideas of beauty are opposed to
truth, or that they are only approximate truths, which
means again either that something is not fully or
clearly defined, or that something well defined is not
entirely true.
Prof. Brande explains more fully in the following
remarks: "Among the classical ancients the criticism
of beauty was carried to a high degree of perfection.
Less encumbered with a multitude of facts and things
to be known than ourselves, their minds were more
at leisure and more sedulously exercised in reflecting
422
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
on their own notions and perceptions; hence, the as-
tounding progress which they made in the fine arts."
Personal notions and perceptions are here supposed
to lead to great progress in the fine arts, while facts
and things are pronounced a material hindrance to the
same end. Although we may not presume to define
the things referred to, we are forced to the conclusion
that whatever may have been the nature of the notions
and perceptions of the classical ancients, they were not
derived unduly from facts.
Criticism in art may be defined as an inquiry into
the nature of a work of art, in order to discover its
intrinsic merit.
It is not the function of criticism to lay down laws
by which works of art are to be judged. This is the
province of the philosophy of art. Nor does criticism
necessarily involve a final judgment on a work of art;
its legitimate purpose is to analyze art-work with due
reference to art-principles, and to permit others, say
the readers or hearers of criticisms, to draw their own
conclusions. It is within the province of criticism to
discuss art-works relatively to each other, but this
must be done by analysis and not by mere opinion.
In fact, an opinion of the relative or intrinsic merits of
a work of fine art, without analysis and reference to
the laws of the philosophy of art, is not criticism.
The ultimate end of criticism is to elicit the quantity
and quality of creative force manifested in a work of
art, also what part of this creative force is exclusively
due to its author, and what part is due to the general
progress of art at the time of its production.
To estimate correctly the physical force exercised by
a man in carrying a burden, we have to consider not
CRITICISM.
423
only its weight, but also its bulk and the bulk of the
man himself, for both constitute elements of load and
displacement of atmospheric air; not only the distance
to which the burden is carried, but also the inclination
of the road upon which the man travels, whether he
goes up hill or down hill; and also his means and
methods, whether he carries his load in one hand, on
his shoulder, or on his head.
It is even so in measuring creative force in art.
When grief is portrayed on canvas, in stone, or
by words, through contortion, tears, or raving decla-
mation-the artist is carrying his load compactly and
easily balanced on his head on a descending grade;
but when grief is portrayed behind a smile as a sacred
thing not to be divulged, then the artist is carrying his
load on a rising grade, difficult to overcome. It has
been shown in another chapter that emotions are repre-
sented in art by their physical functions. Now these
physical functions may be many or few, they may be
strongly marked or merely indicated, they may be
direct or indirect functions, and yet they are functions
of the same type of emotion. The difference consists
in the act (motif) selected to express the idea. It is
the judicious selection of the act which constitutes
the ideal in art, and it may be laid down as a rule,
that the more exalted the ideal the greater the creative
force required to render it materially; and, also, the
greater the progress of art in the technic which enables
the artist to render the physical functions of emotion,
the greater becomes the demand on art for perfected
expression.
The questions which should be asked and answered
in the critical analysis of an art-work, are:
424
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
1
1. Does the art-work express the idea as held at the
time of its creation?
2. Is the act selected to illustrate the idea an ideal
act, and as such what is its standard of merit?
3. Are the emotions represented in accordance with
the act? Are they fully and correctly apprehended?
And, finally-
4. What was the development of the technical means
and methods at the time when this work of fine art
was produced? Were they known to the artist? Did
he make good use of them, and thus render successfully
the idea as represented in the ideal act and its resultant
emotions?
It may
be also asked: Does this work of art betray
progress on the part of its author in a successful
imitation of nature or in the technical methods in-
volved?
The answers to any or all of these questions may in
legitimate art criticism be rendered in the form of an
analysis of the work of art under consideration, and
by means of this analysis the intrinsic or comparative
value of the art-force displayed may be elicited.
The method of this system of criticism in architect-
ure may be illustrated by an analysis of two monu-
ments which offer salient features for comparison.
The cathedrals of Cologne and Milan present this
favorable opportunity in an eminent degree.
The cathedral of Cologne was conceived and de-
signed about the middle of the thirteenth century,
when Christian architecture had attained its greatest
perfection, and that of Milan about one hundred years
later. Both are the work of German architects, and,
if the opinion of the most eminent historians is not to
1
425
CRITICISM.
be disregarded, Heinrich Arlez, the architect of the
Church of Milan, attempted a monument which should
excel that of Cologne in magnitude, richness of orna-
ment, and costliness of material, and which, they say,
is not unlike it in its general arrangement, as far at
least as its ground-plan is concerned. The reader will
best gather all this and more if we permit those his-
torians to speak for themselves.
Of the cathedral of Cologne, Mr. Ferguson says:
* ** **
That it is the typical cathedral of Germany, one of the noblest
temples ever erected by man in honor of his Creator. In this
respect Germany has been more fortunate than either France or
England, for, though in the number of edifices in the pointed
style and in beauty of design these countries are far superior,
Germany alone possesses one pre-eminent example in which all
the beauties of its style are united.
In dimensions it
is the largest cathedral of northern Europe, its extreme length
being 468, its extreme breadth 275, and its superficies 91,464 feet,
which is 20,000 feet more than are covered by Amiens. On
comparing the eastern half of these two from the center of the
intersection of the transept, it will be found that Cologne is an
exact copy of the French cathedral, not only in general arrange-
ment but also in dimensions, the only difference being a few feet.
of extra length in the choir of Cologne, which is more than mado
up at Amiens by the projection of the Lady Chapel. The nave
too at Cologne is one hay less in length. On the other hand, the
German building exceeds the French by one additional bay in
each transept, the two extra aisles in the nave, and the enormous
substructures of the western towers. All these are decided
faults of design, into which no French architect would have
fallen.
Looking at Cologne in any light no one can fail to perceive
that its principle defect is its relative shortness. If this was un-
avoidable, at least the transept should have been omitted alto-
gether, as at Bourges, or kept within the lino of the walls, as at
Paris, Rheims, and elsewhere. It is true our long, low English
cathedrals require bold, projecting transepts to relieve their
426
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE,
monotony; but at Cologne their projection detracts both inter-
nally and externally from the requisite appearance of length.
Indeed, this seems to have been suspected at the time, as the
façades of the transepts were the least finished parts of the build-
ing when it was left, and the modern restorers would have done
well if they had profited by the hesitation of their predecessors
and omitted an expensive and detrimental addition.
Another defect before alluded to is the double aisles of the nave.
It is true these are found at Paris, but they were an early experi-
ment. At Bourges the fault is avoided by the aisles being of
different heights, but in none of the best examples, such as at
Rheims, Chartres, or Amiens, would the architects have been
guilty of dispersing their effects or destroying their perspectives,
as is done at Cologne; and, now that the whole of the interior is
finished, these defects of proportion are become more apparent
than they were before.
The clear width of the nave is 41 feet and six inches between
the piers, its height 155 fect, or nearly four times the width-a
proportion altogether intolerable in architecture; and this defect
is made even more apparent here by the aisles being together
equal in width to the nave, while they are only 60 feet in height.
Besides the defect of the artistic disproportion, this exaggerated
height of the interior has the further disadvantage of dwarfing
to a painful extent the human beings who frequent it. Even
the gorgeous ceremonial of the Catholic Church, and their most
crowded processions, loso all their effect by comparison with the
building in which they are performed. Wore a regiment of the
Life-Guards on horseback to ride down the central aisle at Co-
logne, they would be converted into pigmics by the 140 feet of
height above them. Lateral spaciousness has not the same dwarf-
ing effect. When all are standing on the same floor distance
does not diminish in a building more than in the open air, and
with that effect we are familiar; but great height in a room is
unusual, and in proportion as it affects the mind with awe or
astonishment does it diminish the appearance of those objects
with which we are familiar. Perhaps, however, the most strik-
ing defect of the internal design is the want of repose or subordi-
nation of parts; fifty pillars practically identical in design, and
spaced nearly equally over the floor, and beyond them every-
!
CRITICISM.
427
where a wall of glass. If the four central piers had been wider.
spaced, or of double the section they now are, or had there been
any plain wall or lateral chapels anywhere, it would have been
better. Notwithstanding all those defects, it is a glorious tem-
ple; but so mathematically perfect that not one little corner ist
left for poetry, and it is consequently felt to be infinitoly less in-
teresting than many buildings of far less protensions.
Externally the proportions are as mistaken, if not more so,
than those of the interior; the mass and enormous height of the
western towers-actually greater according to the design than
the whole length of the building-if they are ever completed,
will give to the whole cathedral a look of shortness which noth-
ing can redeem. With such a ground-plan a true architect would
have reduced their mass one-half and their height by one-third
at least.
Besides its great size, the cathedral of Cologne has the advan-
tage of having been designed at exactly the best age, while, as
before remarked, the cathedrals of Rheims and Paris were a little
too carly, St. Ouen too late. The choir of Cologne, which we
have seen to be of almost identical dimensions with that of
Amiens, excels its French rival internally by its glazed triforium,
the exquisite tracery of the windows, the general beauty of the
details, and a slightly better proportion between the height of
the aisles and the clere-story. But this advantage is lost exter-
nally by the forest of exaggerated pinnacles which crowd around
the upper part of the building, not only in singular discord with
the plainness of the lower story, but hiding and confusing the
perspective of the clere-story in a manner as objectionable in a
constructive point of view as it is to the eye of an artist. Deco-
rated construction is, no doubt, the great secret of truo architect-
ure, but, like other good things, this may be overdone. One-
half of the abutting means here employed might have been dis-
pensed with, and the other half disposed so simply as to do the
work without the confusion produced. When we turn to the in-
terior, we see what the vault is which this mass of abutments is
provided to support. We find it with all the defects of French
vaulting the ribs few and weak, the ridge undulating, the sur-
faces twisted, and the general effect poor and feeble as compared
with the gorgeous walls that support it. Very judicious paint-
428
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
ing might remedy this to some extent; but, as it now stands, the
effect is most unpleasing.
The noblest as well as the most original part of the design of
this cathedral is the western façade. Had this been completed
it would have risen to the height of 510 feet. This front, con-
considered as an independent feature, without reference to its
position, is a very grand conception. It equals in magnificence
those designed for Strasburg and Louvain, and surpasses both
in purity and elegance, though it is very questionable if the open-
work of the spires is not carried to far too great an extent, and
even the lower part designed far too much by rule. M. Boisserće
says: "The square and the triangle here reign supreme;" and
this is certainly the case. Every part is designed with the scale
and the compasses, and with a mathematical precision perfectly
astonishing; but wo miss all the fanciful beauty of the more ir-
regular French and English examples. The storied porches of
Rheims, Chartres, and Wells comprise far more poetry within
their limited dimensions than is spread over the whole surface of
this gigantic frontispiece. Cologne is a noble conception of a
masou, but these were the works of artists in the highest sense of
the word.
For the convenience of the reader, and to facilitate
future reference and comparison, this criticism may be
condensed somewhat as follows: The cathedral of Co-
logne is one of the noblest temples ever erected by
man. Its eastern half is copied from the church at
Amiens. It is the longest church known, yet it is too
short in relation to its width and that of its transepts.
English churches need transepts to relieve their mo-
notony, this does not. It has too
It has too many aisles-true
some French churches have the same, but this was
done before French architects knew better. It is al-
together too high in its interior, it dwarfs man, and
would convert life-guards on horseback into pigmies.
The most striking defect of its interior is want of
1
CRITICISM.
429
repose,
because fifty pillars, practically identical in de-
sign, are spaced nearly equally over the floor. Monotony
is thus opposed to repose. It is a glorious temple,
mathematically perfect, hence not a corner left for
poetry. Mathematics opposed to poetry. Externally
the proportions are worse than internally. A true ar-
chitect could never have done the like. It was de-
signed at the best age. Its choir is much better than
that of Amiens, from which it has been copied, but
externally this is bad also-too rich above and too plain
below, which is a discord. Decorated construction is
true architecture, but this is overdone-one half the
abutments might have been dispensed with. The
interior vaults are as bad as any French vaults. We
might paint them out somehow, but they will not do
as they are. The western façade is a very grand
conception, equals Strasburg and Louvain in magnifi-
cence, and surpasses them in purity and elegance, yet
upon the whole it is not good, it lacks fanciful beauty.
Cologne is a noble conception of a mason, but not that
of an artist.
As this is not pretended to be a divine revelation, nor
the pronunciamento of an architect who has built a bet-
ter cathedral than that of Cologne, the most humble
reader seems entitled to some reason, some explana-
tion why apparent length is made the ultimate object
of a church of God, or the main element of a work
of architecture. No doubt the magnitude of Cologne
cathedral is not developed in its exterior to the exclu
sion of every other consideration, but surely this can-
not be a sufficient reason to deny to its author the title
of an artist.
The same author says of the cathedral of Milan:
430
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
That it is at once the most remarkable and the largest and
richest church of all the churches erected in the Middle Ages.
It was commenced in 1385 and consecrated in 1418, at which
date all the essential parts seem to have been completed, though
the central spire was not finished till about the year 1440 by
Brunelleschi. The design is said to have been furnished by a
German architect, Heinrich Arlez Gamnuden, or, as the Italians
call him, "da Gamundia," a statement which is corroborated by
the fact that the details and many of the forms are essentially
Northern ; but it was equally certain that he was not allowed to
control the whole, for all the great features of the church are as
thoroughly Italian as the details are German; it is therefore by
no means improbable that Marco di Campione, as the Italians.
assert, or some other native artist, was joined with him or placed
over him.
In size it is the largest of all medieval cathedrals, covering
107,782 fect. In material it is the richest, being built wholly of
white marblo, which is scarcely the case with any other church,
large or small, and in decoration it is the most gorgeous. The
whole of the exterior is covered with tracery, and the amount of
carving and tracery lavished upon its pinnacles and spires is un-
rivaled in any other building of Europe. It is also built wholly
(with the exception of one façade) according to one design.
Yot with all these advantages, the appearance of this wonderful
building is not satisfactory to any one who is familiar with the
great edifices on this side of the Alps. Cologno, if complete,
would be more beautiful; Rheims, Chartres, Amiens, and Bour-
ges leave a far more satisfactory impression upon the mind; and
even the much smaller church of St. Ouen will convey far more
pleasure to the true artist than this gorgeous temple.
The cause of all this is casy to understand, since all, or nearly
all its defects arise from the introduction of Italian features into
a Gothic church, or rather, perhaps, it should be said, from a
German architect being allowed to ornament an Italian cathe-
dral.
Taking the contemporary cathedral of St. Petronio, at Bo-
logna, as our standard of comparison, it will be seen that the
sections are almost identical both in dimensions and in form;
but, at the same time, it will be perceived that the Gorman system
CRITICISM.
431
1
prevailed in doubling the number of piers between the nave and
side aisles. So far, therefore, the German architect saved the
church. The two small clere-stories still remain, and, although
the design avoids the mullionless little circles of Bologna, there
is only space for small openings, which more resemble the win-
dows of an attic than of a clerc-story. The greater quantity of
light being thus introduced by the tall windows of the outer
aisle, the appearance is that of a building lighted from below,
which is fatal to architectural effect.
The model still preserved on the spot shows that the German
architect designed great portals at each end of the transepts.
This, however, was overruled in favor of two small polygonal
apses. Instead of the great octagonal dome which an Italian
would have placed upon the intersection of the whole width of
the nave and transepts, German influence has confined it to the
central aisle, which is perhaps more to be regretted than any other
mistake in the building. The choir is neither a French chevet
nor a German or Italian apse, but a compromise between the
two, a French circlet of columns inclosed in a German polygonal
termination.
This part of the building, with its simple form and three
glorious windows, is perhaps an improvement on either of the
models of which it is compounded.
This is the nearest approach to the French chevet arrange-
ment to be found in all Italy. It is extremely rare to find in
that country an aisle running round the choir, and opening into
it, or with a circlet of aspidal chapels, which is so universal in
Franco. The Italian church is not, in fact, derived from a com-
bination of a circular Eastern church with the Western rectan-
gular nave, but is a direct copy from the old Roman basilica.
The details of the interior of Milan are almost wholly German.
The great capitals of the pillars with their niches and statues are
the only compromise between the ordinary German form and the
great, deep, ugly capitals-fragments, in fact, of classical entab-
latures-which disfigure the cathedrals of Florence and Bologna
and so many other Italian churches. IIad the ornamentation of
these been carried up to the springing of the vault, they would
have been unexceptional; as it is, with all their richness, their
effect is unmeaning.
432
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
Externally, the appearance is very like that of St. Maria dei
Fiori-the apse is rich, varied, and picturesque, and the central
dome (excepting the details) similar, though on a smaller scale,
to what I believe to have been the original design of the Floren-
tine church. The nave is near as flat as at Florence, the clere-
story not being visible; but the forest of pinnacles and flying-
buttresses, and the richness of the ornamentation, go far to hide
that defect. The façade was left unfinished, as was so often the
case with the great churches of Italy.
Pellegrini was afterward employed to finish it, and a model of
his design is still preserved. It is fortunate that his plan was
not carried out. The façade was finished, as we now see it, from
the design of Amati, by order of Napoleon. It is commonplace,
as might be expected from its ago, but inoffensive. The door-
ways are part of Pellegrini's design, and the mediæval forms be-
ing placed over those of the cinque-cento produce a strangely in-
congruous effect.
For the west front several original designs aro
still preserved. One of these, with two small square towers at
the angles, as at Vercelli and elsewhere, was no doubt the Italian
design. The German one is preserved by Bassi. Had this been
executed the façade would have been about one-third wider than
that of Cologne. Had the height of the towers been in the
same proportion they would have been the tallest in the world.
In that case the effect here, as at Cologne, would have been to
shorten and overpower the rest of the building to a painful ex-
tent. A design midway between the two, with spires rising to
the same height as the central one, or about 360 feet, would per-
haps have the happiest effect. At any rate, the want of some
such features is greatly felt in the building as it stands.
To condense the above, we may sum it up as follows:
The cathedral of Milan is the largest, richest, and
most remarkable church of the Middle Ages, yet it is
not satisfactory. Cause: The introduction of Italian
features into a German church, or the admission of
German ornament into an Italian structure. Is this
originally a German or an Italian design? Its ground-
plan is German, its section Italian. The latter is
CRITICISM.
433
improved by the German. The dome is too small. An
Italian would have made it larger, and this is the
greatest mistake. The choir is neither French nor
German, but an improvement on either. The taber-
nacles surrounding the piers should have been carried
up to the spring of the vaults of the nave. Could
this be done?
Externally, the nave is not visible. Buttresses, pin-
nacles, and flying-buttresses hide that defect. The fa-
çade is commonplace, but inoffensive, The want of
some sort of towers is here felt.
Kugler* says:
The corner-stone of the cathedral of Cologne was laid on 14th
of August, 1248, and the work was subsequently delayed and re-
assumed toward the end of the thirteenth century, and the com-
pleted choir consecrated on the 27th September, 1322. The
work then continued during the fourteenth century, but little
was done in the fifteenth, and during the fore part of the six-
teenth century it was entirely stopped. It is the work of many
generations, and this is perceptible in the varying treatment of
the different parts, yet the whole has the expression of an unde-
viating plan. We may perceive in its first conception the intent
to create a structure which shall combine all the architectural
results attained at that period. The design follows the example
of the French system of cathedrals as developed during the fore
part of the thirteenth century, and may be considered as the
key-stone of that effort. What had been attained in the cathe-
dral at Amiens, and what had already deteriorated in the church
at Beauvais, we see here recovered with renewed force and raised
to a new solution. This renewed effort betrays the fundamental
clements of the French Gothic developed with that German art-
force, based upon the rigid scheme (strenge Zucht) which is of
the early Gothic architecture of the lower Rhine and the form-
language (Formsprache) of the latest formation (Gestaltung) of
* History of Architecture by Franz Kugler, Stuttgart, 1859.
28
434
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
the German romantic architecture. In this structure is expressed
the fullest earnestness, the most noble and elevated rhythm, a
feeling for the most complete penetration of the problem of at-
taining a true architectural organism. As we advance with the
progress of the building we perceive a rising effort in behalf of a
clearer, more vital, and richer development. The later parts of
the structure show a decided separation from the French school,
an independent scheme of composition and formation.
The plan presents a nave with two aisles on each side of it, and
a transept with one aisle on each side of its nave, a choir with a
seven-sided apse, aisles and chapels surrounding it, and two
towers at the west end fronting the aisles and inclosing a vesti-
bule between them. The proportions are perfect, and in the ar-
rangement of the choir and its surrounding chapels there is a
firm rhythm, unequaled in any other structure belonging to this
system.
The dimensions are of the largest, 450 (Roman) feet being the
interior length, 150 (Roman) feet the width. The nave is fifty
feet wide from centre to centre of the piers.
The side aisles are
one-half the width of the nave between the axes of piers. The
total length of the transept is 250 (Roman) feet, and its width
100 (Roman) feet. The height of the nave is 150 (Roman) feet;
that of the side aisles 65 (Roman) feet.
Xc
The master (author) of the design is not known, in spite of
many inquiries. After 1255 Gerhard von Rile(Rile, a village near
Cologne, whence his father came) was known as the master and
conductor (Leiter) of the building.
His services are mentioned in a document of the year 1257,
conveying to him a considerable landed property. He presided
over the building up to the year 1295, and he is supposed to be
its first master. It is certain that the leading portions of the
cathedral, the erection of which falls in that period, were executed
under his direction, viz: the choir up to the triforium. He in-
dicates in these the spirit in which are developed the early forms
of the structure, being one of severity and simplicity. The piers
of the interior have a circular nucleus, modelled with a view to
It is well known that the medieval architects were masters of
the lodge over which they presided, a custom still prevalent among modern
freemasons.
CRITICISM.
435
express the subsequent modelling and function of the vault. This
modelling consists of shafts or beads of various sizes attached
directly to the pier. This attachment has not reached a subse-
quent development whereby a connection is established between
these circular members by intervening coves and narrow fillets.
The bases of each pier arise from an unmodelled plinth, the tran-
sition passing through a series of polygons, yet the mouldings
are still somewhat crude. The capitals consist of plain flat foli-
age, and the ribs of the central aisle rise directly out of these.
They, as well as the main arches, have bottle mouldings separated
by deep channels and fillets. In this method of modelling we
must recognize a transition from the crude to a more fluent con-
tour, which imparts to these ribs and arches an expression of
elastic rigidity. The side windows are filled with rich tracery of
the kind of those of the Ste. Chapelle of Paris, but of severer
treatment.
The buttresses, calculated to resist the lateral pressure of the
superstructure, are still treated as gigantic rock masses without
artistic modelling.
The superstructure of the choir belongs to the second epoch of
the building, which begins with the close of the thirteenth cen-
tury, and continues up to the consecration, in the year 1322. Doc-
uments of the time mention as the then masters, Arnold (1295-
1301), and his son John, (1301-1330), the latter of whom, like
the first master, Gerhard, is mentioned by these documents with
special recognition of merit and with distinction. This super-
structure visibly consists of two parts denoting special progress:
the main body of the clere-story, and the system of flying-but-
tresses which sustain its lateral pressure. The main walls are
distinguished by their powerful fenestration filled with tracery
of the most refined style, of noble and consistent lines. Below
them, and included in the system, we find the triforium per-
fectly in accord with the windows above, both in their exterior
and interior expression. Above, these windows are surmounted
with traceried gables, rising above the roof and separated
by elegant pinnacles, which also pierce the parapet of the roof.
Gigantic towering piers of cruciform ground-plan rise in storied
peaks above the outer buttresses, and over the interior piers sep-
arating the aisles of the choir from the outer chapels. Deco-
436
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
rated with niches and tracery, gables and pinnacles, they pre-
sent a characteristic contrast to the early simplicity of the but-
tresses of the lower story. The decoration of these, however, has
not yet reached the final perfection which we see subsequently
developed in the west front. It still adheres to the realistic dry-
ness of the corresponding French modelling. The double but-
tresses of the choir, acting together as they do by reason of the
arrangement of the ground-plan, and differently from those of
the nave, which act separately, are still treated as isolated entities
without being architecturally connected. Nor is the connection
of the flying-buttresses with the main wall of the nave in all
cases premeditated, but the abutment is effected not without
detriment to the finished decorations of the nave walls. At the
north of the choir the decoration of the buttresses is abridged,
and the resulting powerful masses of this buttress system are not
in accord with the elegance and grace of the fenestration; the
effort to raise this heavy structural organism to an ideally artistic
one, which was the evident effort of the master here, cannot be
pronounced to be successful.
A third epoch in the history of this monument is to be ob-
served in the main nave. The beginning of this period may be
placed at the end of the last; that is, the completion of the choir
and the foundation of the nave doubtless still falls under the
management of the master John mentioned above.
The execution betokens (bekundet) a new effort in the devel-
opment of the system, one of progress in the main features, and
of deterioration in those more extraneous. In the interior piers
of the nave we see a greater vitality in developing the forms in-
dicated in the piers of the choir. It consists of the same com-
position, but the cylindrical form of the nucleus of the piers is
perceptible only exceptionally, the connection between the outer
beads being effected almost universally by means of fillets and
coves, the most concave part of the latter standing tangent with
the circle of the main pier. The piers between the aisles are
again of a new composition, well fitted to their subordinate posi-
tion, and to equal functional action in all directions. They
seem to be developed upon a square nucleus, which remains un-
impaired in the channelling connecting the outer shafts, which
are only eight in number, four principal columns supporting the
#
CRITICISM.
437
main arches, and four subordinate smaller columns supporting
the ribs. This whole system of pier development must be recog-
nized as belonging to the most refined examples of Gothic archi-
tecture. The bases and capitals are of the same force as the
earliest members of this kind, but yet the mouldings are less sen-
sitively treated, and the foliage betrays the mannerism of the
later Gothic school. The ribs and arches are arranged and mod-
elled like those of the choir, but betray a bloatedness which con-
trasts unfavorably with the severe rigidity of these.
The extrados of the main nave arches is decorated with a ris-
ing finial, and crockets leading up to the same in imitation of the
exterior treatment of similar parts of structure, which must be
accepted as a deterioration from the pure system manifested
heretofore.
Finally, we reach the western façade. This consists of two
towers, each of the width and corresponding with the two side
aisles. Of this façade only the two lower stages of the south
tower (up to the roof of the church), and but inconsiderable por-
tions of the rest, were executed during the epoch of the mediæval
structure; but the completed plan of the façade has come down
to us unimpaired. It is a work of high and incomparable devel-
opment, the master of which is, however, unknown.
If there was a completed plan at the beginning of the building,
there is good reason to believe that it contemplated a similarly
disposed powerful tower façade; but the system of building pur-
sued at that time, and also the general condition of architecture
(more especially of German architecture of the middle of the
thirteenth century), leads to the conclusion that the designs of
that time must have been of a more simple severity, and likewise
of simpler masses, resembling probably the character of the fa-
çade of the church of St. Elizabeth of Marburg. In the design,
as well as in the executed parts of the façade of the cathedral of
Cologne, is manifested an unconditional and thorough system of
a rising buttress architecture.
Powerful buttresses project on the corners and at the central
piers, also easterly on the south-cast and the north corners on both
sides, covering the adjoining aisle windows, which fact alone is
a proof of the unconditional peremptoriness of this buttress sys-
tem; while in the central piers the buttresses are less massive.
438
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
The façade by this means is divided into five parts (corre-
sponding with the interior division), the principal entrance door
in the center of a powerful pointed window above the same, two
windows being placed in each of the tower stories. In the tower
openings, next to the main entrance porch, side porches are in-
troduced, a somewhat striking arrangement, yet one perfectly
consistent with the general system of the structure.
Higher up above the central part of the façade, appears the
gable of the main roof, and above the wings (Seitentheile *) rise
the towers disengaged from the lower subdivision, with a central
window flanked with lesser buttresses, a premonition of the sub-
sequent octagon, while the pinnacles of the lower buttresses rise.
alongside in slender form.
The upper structure is entirely one of open-work, consisting of
eight openings in cach tower, with their intervening buttresses
and their pinnacles crowned with bold gables and finials, and
above this the spire, its corner piers united with tracery, deco-
rated with crockets, and terminating in a finial some 533 feet
above the church floor.
In continuous succession buttresses with their respective pin-
nacles detach themselves from the general mass, and shoot up
so detached like the outer skin of a fruit or flower, out of which
the main body of structure continues to grow with renewed vigor.
There is in these masses (of the façade), and in their detail, a
visible pulsation of life which greatly contrasts with the unmod-
elled, heavy masses of the side buttresses.
From the very bottom they are decorated with tracery and
slender niches, which in their modelling betray the masses they
decorate. The same system is pursued in the fenestration, in
the rich tracery of which we perceive new modifications of those
of the choir, as we also do in the modelling of the jambs in the
gables, pinnacles, and the traversing horizontal cornices. The
whole is pervaded by a uniform rhythm, and this variety of
modelling is the outcome of one fundamental law, a visible art-
istic premeditation.
It should be stated, however, that the total expression of this
*Meaning the two lower stories of the towers.
This may be questioned in the light of the previous analysis of the use
of tracery as a method to express the vigor of wall-masses,
CRITICISM.
439
production, in spite of its logical reasoning and unconditional
sequence, conveys an idea of rigidity which leads to the conclu-
sion that it falls somewhat short of full and expressive (klarer)
dignity.
The central part of the façade seems compressed between the
two powerful towers. The arrangement of the three portals
serves in one way to relieve this defect, but it also tends in an-
other to draw attention to it, and the tautology of forms accru-
ing from the insertion of the gables of the side doors into the
face of the tower windows is not beautiful.
The open spires, like all works of this kind, perform the func-
tion of a playful, fantastic, decorative feature, yet, with their gi-
gantic dimensions, it will be difficult to overlook their material
weight, and their emphasized sobriety is far removed from the
naïve, playful movement probably attempted.
The interior of this frontal structure is treated as a great hall,
the central portion of which rises to the height of the nave, while
the tower part is divided into stories, arranged with massive piers
and broad arches. The mouldings of these arches and ribs run
down to the bases of the piers-there are no capitals. This ele-
ment corresponds with the Gothic art of the Rhino as prevalent
about the year 1400. The sculptured decorations of the south
portal belong to the same epoch, while the detail of the exterior
is decidedly in the character of the work of the early portion of
the fourteenth century.
We may conclude, therefore, that a considerable time clapsed.
between the designing and the execution of the façade, and this
assumption is further confirmed by the existence of isolated vari-
ations, from the original designs, which bear the impress of a
later period. Of these may be mentioned various tabernacles
prescribed by the original design in the second story of the main
buttresses (a reminiscence of an earlier development, as exempli-
fied in the cathedral of Strasburg), which in the execution are
entirely omitted, and for which are substituted panels of tracery
gabled and pinnacled, which belong to the more rigid school
of a later period. The design of the façade may, therefore, be
placed at a period immediately succeeding the completion of the
choir, say the second quarter of the fourteenth century.
Tho vestry-room, adjoining the north side of the choir, is a
440
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
square structure of considerable magnitude, containing a central
pier, the mouldings of which continue into the arches and ribs,
but are possessed of capitals. Some important parts of the struct-
ure were discovered during the epoch of the old part of the
building. It is possible that no thoroughly digested plan existed
by which they could have been executed. These are mainly the
façades of the transepts. Foundations and bases of the same
existed in the façade of the north transept; they were of less
elegant modelling than other parts of the building, and belong
to a defective effort to continue the work, somewhere toward the
close of the Middle Ages.
The present side walls, and mainly the splendid south side
elevation, are the work of Zwirner, under whose direction the
building of the cathedral has been recently continued in a man-
ner fully in accord with its original art system. Nor was any-
thing found among the original drawings to show how the inter-
section of the transepts was to be terminated; but as the nature
of the transept piers did not indicate a heavy central tower, an
iron turret of the least possible weight is contemplated.
The essence of the foregoing criticism of the cathe-
dral of Cologne goes to show that its early architect
had mastered the best French works preceding his
time, and had with judgment selected the choir of
Amiens for the starting-point of his effort. He does
not inquire whether it is French or German, but ac-
cepts his model as the best attainment of the times,
rejecting with discrimination subsequent efforts like
that of Beauvais, for instance, as decadent.
Nor is he content merely to copy what seems to him
the most perfect production of the past, but he de-
velops his structure on that basis in obedience to a
more rigid system of applied construction in art with
unparalleled success, yet not without partial failure.
His successor, who designed the façade, is guided
by the same principle, and is rewarded with more
CRITICISM.
441
brilliant results (with results never in their fullness
attained before or since), yet not without several
notable shortcomings which are described with schol
arly exactness. The author discovers the progress and
decline of the modelling of the interior piers, arches,
and ribs, and presents the history of this art progress
with a technical skill which betrays thorough famili-
arity with construction as a science, and a knowledge
of its intimate relation to art expression.
Let us see what Kugler says of the cathedral of
Milan :
Deviating from the style of Italian Gothic is the cathedral of
Milan. It was founded in 1386, and completed but recently,
after many vicissitudes of progress. Yet, some few details ex-
cepted, it presents a whole of homogeneous cast. It is a work of
northern planning, not without modifications dictated by south-
ern feeling.
The complicated history of the building shows frequently, and
in important places, the names of German masters; and one of
these, Heinrich von Gemunden, is accepted to have been its
original designer. At any rate the fundamental features of the
design, and the executed work, point to the late Gothic of Ger-
many, and the most characteristic features of its detail to a simi-
lar relation, more especially to that Bohemian and Suabian
school whose principal work is the cathedral at Prague, the
masters of which monument came from the city of Gemünd.
The cathedral of Milan is distinguished by its colossal dimen-
sions, its splendid material (white marble throughout), and by
the clearness of its arrangement, and also by the multiplicity of
its ornamental decoration.
The total effect is one of majesty, of a powerful copiousness;
but thorough development is lacking, the same as in the German
works of the school which has here exercised the most potent in-
fluence; and the modification of the northern system to adapt it
to southern wants tends here to a further bar to artistic develop-
ment. The ground-plan is perfectly regular; it is a five-aisled
}
E
442
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
longitudinal structure, traversed by a three-aisled transept,
which transept terminates at either end with a small three-sided
apse. The choir has three aisles (with vestry rooms on either
side, which arrangement measurably continues the five-aisled or-
ganism of the longitudinal structure), and is a three-sided apse,
with a parallel aisle all around it. The aisles are of considerable
height, and rise above each other in but moderate dimensions.
At the intersection of the nave and transepts there is a dome of
greater height than the nave, which dome terminates on the out-
side with a steeple. There is no real tower anywhere, probably
in deference to the general southern custom. The dimensions
are interior length, 448 feet 6 inches; total width of aisles,
175 feet 6 inches; nave, 52 feet 4 inches, with a height of
147 feet 9 inches; height of aisles next to nave, 97 feet, and
height of outer aisles, 75 feet; height of dome, 201 feet 6 inches;
height of cupola outside, 339 feet 6 inches. The interior, system.
shows everywhere modelled piers, the modelling consisting of
eight pear-shaped mouldings of the not beautiful charac-
teristic forms of the Bohemio-Suabian school.
In place
of capitals the interior piers terminate in a high dec-
orative tabernacle structure. This splendid structure, however,
interrupts the continuity of the development of the piers in its
transition toward the vaulting, and the clustered columns carry-
ing the vault ribs rise out of this tabernacle structure. Even more
faulty is the corresponding arrangement of the piers separating
the side aisles, where, by reason of the unequal height of the
spring of the arches, only one half of the pier retains this taber-
nacle structure, while the other half is treated somewhat lower
down with a capital of ordinary dimensions, an arrangement det-
rimental to unity of expression. The clere-story walls are but
of inconsiderable height. They are pierced with small pointed
windows, which, by reason of their insignificant dimensions, bear
no reasonable relation to the large mass of wall width. Circular
or equilateral windows would have been much more appropriate.
All these defects arise from the low elevation of aisle above aisle,
from an unusually low clere-story wall, for the treatment of
which no precedent existed, and from the lack of courage or
skill on the part of the architect to devise such a treatment.
As for the general effect, however, it does not suffer much
CRITICISM.
443
from this cause. The great height of the aisles and their near
approach to equality of altitude gives prominence to the colon-
nade supporting the vaults, and leads the eye toward the sides,
where the light enters through the great windows of the side
aisles; and the force of the tabernacle structures which crown
the piers, and thereby interrupt the structural upward motion,
tends to confirm this effect. There is an incongruity in this
peculiar system, yet its effect is not sufficiently intrusive to make
it prominent and decisive.
The side windows throughout are filled with splendid tracery,
the design of which is most perfect in the windows of the choir.
The external surfaces of the walls, as well as those of the mode-
rately projecting buttresses, are covered with tracery, crowned
with neat gables at the eaves of the structure.
Round about the building elegant pinnacles shoot up above
the cornice, and neatly decorated flying-buttresses bridge over
the somewhat flat aisle roofs. The transept tower starts from
the lantern of the cupola. It is very slender, and is surrounded
with pinnacles at the foot.
The total expression of the exterior, in its elegantly decorated
masses and abundance of frail pointed projections upward, is
wonderful and fantastic.
Only the façade, although not without munificent decorations,
is inferior to this effect of the rest of the work. It is of the
form usual in Lombardi, of a broad homogeneous mass divided
superficially into five parts. The fenestration in arrangement
and form, is pretty and mixed with forms foreign to the spirit of
the structure. It is executed after the design of Pellegrino
Tibaldi, who superintended the building subsequent to 1570.
A criticism of these two works of architectural art,
referring to the idea, acts, emotions, material, and
knowledge of construction of the time, as well as to a
further knowledge of the aesthetic expression of the con-
struction, with a view to elicit the art force manifested
in these monuments, should be ordered somewhat as
follows:
We may assume that the idea of religion, as held by
-
444
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
the Catholic Church during the thirteenth century, had
undergone no material change during the succeeding
hundred and fifty years; that, furthermore, the acts of
the Church, to illustrate this idea, and the resulting
groupings and emotions, remained essentially the same.
If the technical means and methods had not been
increased, they certainly had not been diminished; but
whether they were clearly understood by the architects
of the cathedrals of Cologne and Milan is a proper sub-
ject of inquiry. But the most important question in
the interest of art to be answered by a comparison of
the cathedrals of Cologne and Milan is to what de
gree these structures indicate a logical aesthetic develop-
ment and expression of structural masses, and to what
extent they manifest progress or decay in this direction.
To understand more clearly the probable views of
the author of the cathedral of Milan, at least the im-
pressions which may have influenced his mind in the
design of his work, it will be well to glance over the
changes which Gothic architecture had undergone dur-
ing the century intervening between the conception of
Cologne and the latter part of the fourteenth century,
more especially in the Eastern German school of Bo-
hemia and Suabia, of which Kugler says IIeinrich von
Gemunden was a pupil.
This school mainly distinguished itself for its revolt
against conventional structural transitions which had
been heretofore, and have since again, been held in
high estimation, viz.: the moulded base and the capital.
An early abandonment of the capital may be found
in Cologne itself. The moulding of the interior piers
of the Western structure (including the towers and
vestibule) continues through the arches without the
CRITICISM.
445
intervention of a capital or any other feature of
transition. The result is not favorable to art expres-
sion, for the reason that the value of force and ele
gance demanded in the modelling of the arches cannot
possibly be the same as that of the modelling of the
piers. In the language of taste and feeling, the effect
is stringy and weak, meaning that it is inconsistent
with function, and lacking an emphatic designation
of a change of function which occurs at the spring of
the arch. This feeling resulted subsequently not in a
restoration of the capital and a judicious modelling of
the piers and arches, but in the entire abandonment
of all modelling of the piers.
A circular or octagonal ground-plan was adopted,
and the arch mouldings were allowed to grow directly
out of these circular or octagonal piers. This doubtless
was a gain in giving expression and force to the pier
by simplifying its form, nor can the lack of a feature
to mark the point of transition be entirely condemned,
but it imparted to the whole organism an air of
naturalness transcending the conventional nature of
bonded masonry. The bases also passed through
several stages of stalactitic modelling which, by its
variety, novelty, and ingenious complication, pleased
its authors, but was finally abandoned, and the
piers were permitted to grow directly out of the
church floor without any member indicating construc-
tive expansion at the foot. The intersection of beads
and bottle mouldings is also an invention of this
school. To sum up the mental condition which sug
gested these novelties, we may accept it to be a
state of dissatisfaction with existing methods, and
the inability to assign the true cause for this dis-
446
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
satisfaction; hence, a want of success in attempted
remedies.
The principal act of the Catholic Church, or, as it is
called in the technical language of that church, the
performance of the service (mainly the mass), is in the
cathedral represented by the cell known as the choir,
the chevet, or the chancel. The choir occupied the
whole eastern part of the cathedral immediately adjoin-
ing to and beyond the transept.
The scheme of dividing the body of the cathedral
into nave and aisles may be traced to a desire to light
the body of the church through the clere-story, both
by the physical necessity of the case-the light being
practically needed-and also for the aesthetic illumina-
tion to be attained in this way.
In fact the nave, transept (its nave), and choir (here
also the central part, which continues the longitudinal
nave is meant) constituted the main nucleus of the
interior structure. The aisles were added not for the
purpose of accommodating the congregation so much
as to serve for a reasonable and convenient passage
around the central functional part of the edifice (the
nave) by the congregation, and by visitors, also for
the habitual processions of the clergy, as is indicated
more forcibly by the German term attached to these
aisles (der Umgang, the surrounding passage), as well
as for the asthetic purpose of extending the vista be-
yond the limited boundaries of the nave.
In spite of a current prejudice of our own time,
which finds constant expression in stigmatizing medi-
aval churches as dark and gloomy, the cathedral is the
best lighted and most abundantly lighted structure
ever erected by man.
t
CRITICISM.
447
The most brilliant result of this method of lighting
through a clere-story is to be found in the conception
of the transept, by means of which a great flood of
light from the south is introduced, and plays the part
of receding the choir in its perspective, and subduing
it by contrast with its own brilliancy and abundance
of illumination, setting it back as it were into a dim
mysterious distance.
This scenic effect may not have been the sole motive
-perhaps it may not have been the motive at all-
for the introduction of the transept, yet it was
its result; and, as a happy result even of an accidental
arrangement (if any one should choose to look upon
it in that light), it must have been known to mediaval
architects.
A cursory glance over the ground-plan of the
cathedral of Milan will show that the advantages
of this feature were either not known or entirely
overlooked by its author. The choir is too short
for the performance of the service, and the area
devoted to this purpose is actually extended into
the transept, and the choir is moreover the best lighted
part of the church; hence it is brought forward
toward the nave, to the detriment of perspective and
of the expression of interior depth. In fact, the system
of lighting the interior through a clere-story is virtually
abandoned. The clere-story windows are so small and
insignificant that their existence is not practically or
aesthetically of any value whatever.
A structural development like that of St. Stephen's
at Vienna would have been more consistent with the
ultimate result, and infinitely more favorable to the
roof construction, in which a marble roof is supported
1
448
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
by a barrel vault resting upon the clere-story walls. The
lateral strain of this extraordinary load is not concen-
trated upon the buttresses, nor is it considered in the
arrangement or in the magnitude of these buttresses
and their adjuncts; hence the necessity for the iron
rods which are used as auxiliaries to the abutment,
an expedient unworthy of the magnitude, importance,
and splendor of the monument. We observe here an
almost total obliviousness of the constructive attain-
ments of the past, and a striking impotence in meeting
the necessities of the stone roof-a problem, the so-
lution of which was amply contained in the possibilities
of the buttress system actually applied. If we com
pare the art force displayed in the conception of Milan
with the art force manifested in Cologne, we are
struck with the conscientious effort shown in the latter
to hold fast the attainment of the past, in selecting the
choir of Amiens as a starting-point of operations, and
to improve the modelling of structural parts in the
light of a clear conception of their constructive mean-
ing.
The attempt of the architect of Cologne is not one
to do something novel, striking, odd, or gorgeous, but
to do all that is made possible by past experience, to
do this as well as it had been done heretofore, to avoid
past errors, and, if possible, to refer all forms, old or
new, to established and clearly understood construct-
ive principles.
This is not meant to reflect upon the architect of
Milan, for in those days knowledge existed more or
less as a tradition merely, and a century of practical
deterioration in art may be accepted as a valid excuse
for the deterioration of the individual architect, but
CRITICISM.
449
the analysis of a monument is concerned with the art
force displayed in it, and not with the artist who de-
signed it.
When we examine the treatment of structural parts
in Milan, we are struck first with the fact that the
piers are modelled all around with a uniform pear-
shaped moulding. The pier is treated as a unit of equal
structural function in all directions. This is incon-
sistent with the facts in the case. In the dome of
Cologne the nave piers measure 6'-5" in the direction
of the nave axis, and seven feet in a line perpendicular
to the same, while the piers separating the aisles
measure 5'-9", and the corner piers at the in-
tersection of the nave and transepts measure 8'-11"
respectively, in both directions. Again, the main
arches of the clere-story walls are represented in the
pier by three shafts, the central one measuring 1'-4″
in diameter, flanked on each side with a shaft of 63
inches in diameter, while the minor arches rest upon
a single shaft, also 1'-4" in diameter. The ribs are
supported by shafts 7 inches in diameter. All this
shows reflection and reference to function. The per-
pendicular weights of the arches and ribs may, it is
true, be collected upon one unmodelled shaft, circular,
square, or octagonal in form, without violence to artistic
expression. The pier may, by such a treatment, lose
force or elegance of expression, and yet express fully
the mechanical work performed; but if such a pier is
modelled at all, the arrangement, relative magnitude,
and form of the mouldings must respond to the mechan-
ical work performed at the point where this special
modelling is done. There is another way to consider
this subject. Modelling of a structural mass has for
450
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
its object an expression greater, more emphatic, or
more phonetic in its character than the expression
of strength, elegance, stability, and function which
could be conveyed by the crude mass alone. It follows,
therefore, that variety of function in the crude mass
must be expressed by variety and magnitude in the
modelled forms. If this is not done, it proves clearly
that the architect has not mastered an elementary
principle of æsthetics. If it is not well done, it shows
either ignorance of the mechanical functions involved-
perhaps an imperfect knowledge of the relative mag-
nitude of these functions-or, finally, an inability to
express the value of the respective functions in corre-
sponding modelled members.
The architect of the cathedral of Milan shows in his
work that he intended a simple circular pier to do the
work imposed upon it; that he deemed such a pier not
insufficient in expression, but insufficient in variety of
form; he thought it necessary to decorate the pier,
but did not know that decoration or modelling has for
its purpose a more detailed and emphasized explanation
of the functions performed; hence he ranged a series
of unmeaning pear-shaped mouldings symmetrically
around the circular nucleus of his pier. These pear-
shaped mouldings are unmeaning when applied to a
pier; they are not unmeaning, however, when applied
to an arch, where, when bent in the form of an arch,
they express an elastic rigidity which cannot be ap-
proached by any other known moulding.
This same imperfect knowledge of functional mean-
ing is displayed in the use of the above-mentioned
tabernacle structures, which are evidently intended
to cover the junction of the arch mouldings of the
CRITICISM.
451
vault and clere-story wall with the mouldings of the
piers.
Tabernacles may be placed almost anywhere upon
a structure, always provided they do not interfere with
the action of a functional part. The shaft or the wall-
face upon which they are built must visibly continue
behind them. The south transept pier of the cathe-
dral of Strasburg, the modelling of which is credited
to the daughter of its architect, is a notable illustra
tion of this principle.
A tabernacle cannot itself serve as a structural
transition, like a capital or a bracket; whether the
architect of Milan intended his tabernacles to serve as
a substitute for capitals or not, we cannot now clearly
determine; it is prohable, however, that he entertained
an indistinct notion that the introduction of the taber
nacles in the place where we find them was sufficient to
conceal a structural part by an extraneous ornamental
one, which is a radical architectural heresy.
The vaults of Milan cathedral are of the crudest
nature; with the exception of slight lunettes over the
clere-story windows, they are nothing more than
barrel-vaults. This defect is so strongly felt, that a
decoration consisting in a scenic painting of a vaulting
system (filled with tracery in place of the plain cap-
ping) has been introduced. This is the most glaring
decorative deception ever attempted in a medieval
Gothic structure.
The reasons have been stated in the last chapter why
an imitation of the mullions and tracery of a window
cannot be applied to the modelling of the face of a
wall, or at least, why a system of modelling involving
the forms of mullions and tracery, when applied to the
452
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
surface of a wall mass, does not add to, but rather de-
tracts from, the functional expression of such a mass.
The exterior of Cologne, and more especially that
of its western front, demonstrates how much expres-
sion can be imparted to a structure by ingenious
changes of method and a judicious distribution of en-
richment, even under the guidance of a system intrinsi-
cally false; but Milan demonstrates, by the flimsiness
and uniformity of the tracery of its exterior, a per-
fect want of intention to express differences of me-
chanical function. It is a mere attempt at decoration
without meaning, and is a success at that. It fairly re-
sembles the frosting of a cake, and were it not for the
extreme whiteness of the material, which, under the in-
fluence of certain methods of lighting, more especially
of moonlight, imparts to the structure a sort of semi-
translucency, which is heightened by this veil of tra
cery, it could not fail to strike observers as painfully
trifling in effect.
Both Mr. Fergusson and Mr. Kugler, kindly express
a sort of contented resignation in the face of the inju
dicious lighting of the dome of Milan, no light being
admitted at the top and in the centre of the structure,
from the windows of the clere-story, and too much
light entering from below through the side windows,
remarking that this circumstance imparts to the monu-
ment the interesting appearance of a hall (Halle), a
colonnaded space. This fact may redeem the monu-
ment as a structure, but it cannot redeem it as a
church, the purpose of which always must be to serve
a congregation of persons as a place of worship, not as
a temporary transitory passage to another part of a
structure where they finally intend to abide.
}
CRITICISM.
453
The abrupt transition from the lantern to the turret
or steeple surmounting it demands a constructive ex-
planation of the stability of the latter which is not
rendered in the inverted flying-buttresses, which are
evidently designed to answer that purpose. It tells
the story of a sudden conviction that the continuance
of an octagonal tower, heretofore contemplated, must be
abandoned by reason of the insufficiency of the piers
supporting it, and the artist, abhorring the naked-
ness of a roof, beats an undignified æsthetic retreat
under cover of an insignificant steeple, sustained by
impossible flying-buttresses, resting upon insufficient
abutments.
There is in Milan no feature more significant of the
mechanical and artistic shortcomings of its author than
this that the transept piers are of the same size and
form as the other piers of the nave. Even if no
central tower-if no central cupola-had been con-
templated in the original design, the exigencies of
the structure, without these subsequent additions, de-
mand a difference in the size and modelling of these
piers, as we find it in Cologne and in many other con-
temporary churches.
We
e may close with the words of Burckhardt:
"The cathedral of Milan is an instructive example
which teaches the distinction between an artistic and a
fantastic impression. The latter may be enjoyed here
without stint; a translucent marble mountain, im-
ported from the quarries of Oranavasco, magnificent by
day and fairy-like by moonlight; without and within
loaded with sculpture and painted glass; rich in his-
toric reminiscences of endless variety-a whole, the
like of which the world has nothing to show. But
454
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
he who is in search of ideas embodied in material
forms, and who knows of the designs which have
never been carried into execution, while the Duomo
of Milan was completed by the sacrifice of gigantic
means, cannot contemplate this structure without
pain."
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
THE cultivation of architecture is made difficult in
the outset by the errors and prejudices which surround
the subject, and which must be discarded before the
mind of the student can be sufficiently receptive of the
truths and principles involved. Architecture, as under-
stood at present, cannot be said to rest upon a scien-
tific or logical basis. It is at best but a heterogeneous
collection of empirical formulae, which tend to mislead
rather than to instruct.
Knowledge is derived from phenomena (matter and
its motion). We see and hear what is going on around
us, and from this sensuous perception we learn. But
as matter appears to us in diversified forms, and is sub-
ject to equally diversified motions, and as our senses
furnish but imperfect means of perception, it is the
function of science to classify phenomena with relation
to the causes by which they are produced, and to guard
the inquiry at every step against errors of sensuous
perception.
Architecture deals with forms classified chronologi-
cally, but not under any system which involves their
causes, or the principles upon which they have been
developed, or the ideas which they represent. If the
student of mechanical engineering were sent into the
455
456
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
world to examine machines as he finds them in opera-
tion, or depicted in books, with no other guide than
the dates of their construction, with directions to select
those which seem to him useful, without being informed
beforehand of the principles of mechanics, the nature
of the lever, the inclined plane, the cog-wheel, the
pulley, and the application of these elements of ma-
chinery to mechanical work, the result would be that
mechanical engineers would select machines to please
their own fancy or that of their clients-machines which
answer the purpose indifferently, or perhaps not at all—
and, also, that no new machines would be created.
This is precisely the condition under which the student
of architecture pursues a knowledge of art, and this
is the sort of judgment by which he applies art forms.
IIe examines the répertoire of past completed art
forms, and selects from these what may please his fancy
or that of his client.
The student of architecture believes at the outset
that he is possessed of taste for the art, which is the
first and greatest hindrance to the study of architect-
ure, and no progress is possible until this radical error
is corrected.
Taste, in one of the senses in which it is used, means
a love for practical architecture, or, in other words,
the candidate for a professional career thinks that he
would prefer to be an architect rather than a lawyer,
a clergyman, an engineer, or a physician. The causes
of this preference are numerous. They are rarely to
be found in a knowledge of the true import of these
various professional vocations, nor of the training they
demand. Most frequently the reason for this love of
architecture is somewhat like this: Architecture is an
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 457
art, and therefore a matter of taste. Taste is supplied
by bountiful Nature. Hence, there is no need of a long
course of theoretical training. Architectural art may
be acquired in the office of a practicing architect,
where, the daily work being done, one is not subject
to periodical examinations, which are a bore. The
profession is not supposed to be as precarious in its
financial results as painting or sculpture, for structures
of some kind are an absolute necessity, and if one can-
not attain to the building of monuments, he may well
content himself with erecting dwellings, warehouses,
hotels, and the like.
-
A clear comprehension of the technical studies which
the architect must master would materially reduce the
number of our students. On the continent of Europe,
where these studies are obligatory, the number of
aspirants is much smaller than in England and the
United States, where a man may set up as an archi-
tect, and be received as such by the community, with
out any preparation whatever. In the next place, taste
is imagined to mean a sound judgment implanted by
nature in the human mind, which enables one to dis-
tinguish bad from good art wherever he finds it, includ
ing, of course, his own compositions on paper. Were
this true, how would taste help the composition of or-
ganisms of any kind, beyond condemning them when
they appear bad? Taste, at best, could merely be a pro-
tection against bad work, and not a guide to good work.
To compose organisms, we need some knowledge of
the idea to be expressed, of the natural laws pertaining
to matter and its relation in organic combination, to
the end that it may perform given functions. No
amount of taste can supply the place of this knowledge.
458
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
The fallacy of all this has been shown in previous
chapters, and it only needs here to be stated that when
a person at the time he is choosing a professional career
suspects himself of natural taste, with a strong belief
that this taste alone will make him an artist, the short-
est road to success in life is to avoid art entirely, and
to select a science, trade, or mercantile pursuit-any-
thing but art.
The next serious error of the modern architect is,
that immediate popular approval is the only test of the
excellence of his work. He carries this belief so far,
as to reject in practice the use of all architectural forms
which have not been popularly approved.
If it is remembered that architecture is the expres-
sion of ideas, and therefore a method of instruction, it
follows that its forms can be popular only when the
ideas conveyed are generally understood. A desire for
immediate recognition, therefore, of the merits of archi-
tecture must become subversive of progress in that art.
(But even in cases where the idea to be expressed is
popularly accepted as true, the architect fails to repre-
sent it in his monuments, for fear that the forms ex-
pressing it will not please his patrons. This is mainly
owing to the fact that the modern architect and the
public both imagine architectural forms to be inde-
pendent of ideas. The relation between the idea and
the form has been so long neglected that the idea has
now ceased to be the essence and cause of forms. The
forms themselves are supposed to possess the quality of
exciting pleasure for reasons not defined but imagined
to be concealed in the inspirations of individual taste.
Hence, the erroneous belief that the only test of their
art value is in their popular acceptance.)
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 459
Another popular error shared by many architects
is, that the general effect produced by an architectural
drawing is a criterion of the merit of the monu-
ment which this drawing represents. While the
architect is composing a monument, he is assisted in
the process by notes in the form of geometrical draw-
ings, which notes help him to keep in mind the rela
tionship of parts of his structure, to fix in permanent
form what is determined upon, and hence to advance
to what remains to be thought out. These geometrical
drawings, unfortunately, bear a certain semblance to
the completed structure, which semblance is supposed
to convey an intelligible idea of the monument it sig-
nifies. That this is not the case may be shown in
various ways. Let us consider, first, the most super-
ficial characteristic of these drawings, the manner of
their execution, and we find, by practical experience,
that all drawings executed differently from the pre-
vailing practice fail to convey correct impressions of
intrinsic art merit, as for instance, the original de-
signs of medieval work still extant and old engravings
of the Renaissance period; the former, because they
are indifferent pen-and-ink drawings when compared
with modern work of a similar kind, and the latter,
because they are superb line engravings, treated in a
more rigid style than the drawings of the present day.
Neither of these convey to us promptly a precise idea
of the excellence of the monuments which they repre
sent. Badly executed drawings, moreover, often rep-
resent superior architectural monuments, while other
drawings, artistically or elaborately executed, are
merely notes of ill-digested ideas and of bad construc-
tion. Yet, the immediate impression made
upon the
460
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
architect is affected by the technical excellence or the
defects of execution, while a just appreciation of the
intended monument which they represent is acquired
only after a close and long-continued critical examina-
tion and analysis of architectural drawings. All archi-
tects are familiar with the importance of what is known
as depth in the modelling of masses, yet geometrical
drawings convey no idea of this important element; we
have to search for it in sections where, again, it is not
so represented as to show its true import without re-
sorting to actual measurement and the forming of a
picture of its results in our mind. A geometrical
drawing represents every point of a structure as it ap
pears on a level with the eye; the completed build-
ing, on the other hand, presents different values for
different levels, which, to be correctly understood,
must be estimated.
No architectural drawing conveys an idea of the
manner, method, or efficiency of a system of lighting of
the interior of a structure. We cannot tell by merely
looking at an architectural design whether an interior
will be ill or well lighted, nor whether the bulk of the
light represented will be so distributed as to serve
physical needs or subserve æsthetic demands.
It appears from the foregoing, therefore, that an
architectural drawing contains but slight indications of
the nature of the monument which it is intended to
represent, and that the leading elements which consti-
tute good architecture, while they may be detected in
such a drawing by skillful analysis, are not directly
apparent. Something, however, that relates to the
building is still visible, and this tends to mislead rather
than to instruct, for the simple reason that the draw-
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 461
ings of it are not equal, in their magnitude, to that of
the structure itself, but are prepared upon a reduced
scale. It has been shown in a previous chapter that
architectural masses do not increase in a geometrical
ratio with the magnitude of a monument, but in ac-
cordance with certain mechanical laws which pre-
scribe various ratios; it follows, therefore, that the
drawing of a monument reduced in scale, which means
one-half, one-quarter, one-tenth, or one-twelfth of the
actual size of the monument, conveys the idea of exag-
gerated supports to apparent loads, and, hence, is no
correct picture of the relation of its masses.
A per-
spective view, although better adapted to convey ideas
of depth than a geometrical drawing, also partakes of
these defects, and is, therefore, to be rejected as a fair
representation of the aesthetic expression of a monu-
ment.
In truth, the architect who does not in his composi-
tion constantly revert to the actual structure by analy
sis and reference to laws of construction, but who
permits himself to be led by the effect of his drawing
as it grows under his hand, and who is willing to ac-
cept impressions from it alone as a guide in design,
must fail in the result of his art efforts.
When we consider the inefficacy of architectural
drawings to convey a correct or even an approximate
idea of an intended monument to an experienced
architect, it seems truly preposterous for a layman to
attempt to judge of architecture from mere drawings,
and this attempt is most detrimental to the cultivation
of the art in modern practice.
The reputation of an architect, the art displayed in
his executed works, should be sufficient for patrons of
462
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE
architecture in selecting professional aid, the same as
it is in all other professional employments. If the
layman cannot judge of the probable merit of an
architect's future work, from the work he has done in
the past, how is he to do so from a design? No one
presumes to judge of the ability of a lawyer from his
briefs, or of that of a physician from his prescriptions.
The architect alone is expected to submit designs to
the approval of laymen, who do not understand the
nature of those designs, but who think that they do,
because of the accidental resemblance of these designs
to the monuments to which they refer.
Next to the delusion that all men are endowed
with taste which enables them to judge in matters of
art, the practice of submitting architectural designs
to the approval of laymen, which has partially grown
out of this error, has become a hindrance to the
development of architecture. We find a parallel to
architectural drawing in those of mechanical engineer-
ing and ship-building. Technical drawings here like-
wise bear a semblance to the objects they relate to.
No man not versed in the science of mechanics or in
marine architecture will judge of the merit of such
designs from drawings, more especially when a mate-
rial interest may be injured by defective judgment.
Yet the scientific principles involved in the considera-
tion of the static relation of matter in an architectural
monument are much more obscure and inaccessible to
the unprofessional mind than the laws relating to the
dynamics of a machine. The relation of scientific
construction to aesthetic expression, the constructive
significance of modelling, of carved decoration, and of
the application of color to parts of structure, are mat-
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 463
ters which are but little understood, or even regarded,
by persons outside of the profession, and it is but just
to admit that these things are not even generally
understood by the professional architect. Finally, the
organization of a monument, the arrangement and me-
chanical connection of its single cells, the selection of
fitting constructive methods to express given emotions,
are matters which affect architectural designs not only
in the ultimate appearance of the elevations and sec-
tions, but in the fundamental arrangement of the
ground-plans, all of which is often overlooked by the
architect, and rarely ever considered by a non-profes-
sional man. In fact, the examination by laymen, of an
architectural design is almost universally confined to
those qualities of it which relate to the gratification of
the physical demands made upon the structure, to a
proper economy of space, material, and labor, and to
the matter of beauty only so far as the general ap-
pearance of the design seems to promise it, and these
promises we have learned to recognize as delusive.
The notion that an architectural design in its organic
features contemplates physical necessities only, and
that its beauty is something afterward superficially
added, seems to be universal with laymen, and serves
them as a recognized principle in all building enter-
prises. It is a common practice throughout the civil-
ized world to invite architects to prepare designs
subject to the examination of persons who are in
charge of building enterprises, and who determine the
employment of an architect with sole reference to
their judgment of the merit of the designs submitted.
The fact that important and costly building enter-
prises are thus initiated clearly shows that the persons
464
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
intrusted with them are willing to assume responsibil
ities involving professional intelligence of a high order,
for it is more difficult to analyze correctly a completed.
design than to prepare one. The most superficial
knowledge of the subject forbids such a proceeding;
it imperils the best interests of the scheme in the out-
set.
This is not the place to speak in detail of the de-
moralizing results of this practice. They have been
often discussed and are pretty well known, at least to
the profession. We may regret, however, that archi-
tects who are able to render solid service to society
should submit to this system, and thereby sacrifice the
best interests of their art. No other professional man
but the architect consents to submit schemes of his
work in competition. He alone volunteers this de-
grading service, to the great injury of his personal
interests, his fair standing in society, his independence,
and his art. A few men who lead the profession in
the principal cities of the world only need to say that
they will discontinue this practice in order to put an
end to it.
There is among architects and amateurs a world of
talk about feeling, proportion, harmony, unity, and
picturesqueness, which should be abandoned at once,
unless it can be defined to mean some tangible relation
of structural elements. It is the language of the
mountebank or the dupe, and, to the credit of the pro-
fession, it may be stated that it is most frequently the
latter. The amount of ecstasy which is extracted from
these windy elements by enthusiastic students is really
marvelous. An art-work is the outcome of sound
logical reasoning, of long-continued study, of technical
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
465
knowledge, of much labor, of close application and in-
dustry, and, above all, the outcome of cool head and
strong nerves, which enable the artist at every step to
recur to his knowledge of the subject, or to search for
knowledge where deficient. Undue enthusiasm, which
means unbalanced nervous action, feeling and sentiment,
which mean prejudice and unguarded judgment, are
seriously detrimental in the pursuit of fine art. Feel-
ing and enthusiasm in the aspiring artist are useful only
as incentives to labor.
Let it be remembered that the wonderful art effects
produced upon the stage by great dramatic actors and
actresses are methods of motion and recital carefully
practiced in accordance with the teaching of some
master, who himself is rarely a performer, but who has
studied the author and carefully interpreted his mean-
ing; who has determined the acts which illustrate his
ideas, and framed them into living pictures by depict-
ing the emotions which are the results of these acts.
To accomplish this end the actor must commit his part
to memory. If his mind is occupied by listening atten
tively to the prompter, he cannot perform with that
freedom of action which is desirable. As to what is
vulgarly known as stage business, the moving about
from place to place, it must be purely the result of
study; if two or more actors were left to the prompt-
ings of their own intelligence and feeling as to their
position, there would be no concert of action, and all
would be confusion and discord. It is clear, therefore,
that the great bulk of artistic performance is the result
of technical knowledge, technical study and labor, and
a very small part of personal feeling and enthusiasm,
and that this small part is expended in the apprecia
466
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
tion of prescribed and predetermined emotions, and in
studied methods of rendering them. It cannot be
otherwise, for art is the premeditated representation of
an idea in matter, and the process of premeditated action.
of any kind means knowledge, technical skill, study
and labor first and foremost. The understanding of
the emotions involved, to be efficient, must also not be
the mere result of feeling and sentiment, but in great
part that of logical analysis.
A musical composition and performance will illus-
trate this perhaps more clearly. The musical per
former, before he can render music by his instrument,
must first be a perfect machine. He must be correct
in rendering the score before he can attempt to play
with feeling; he must have mastered the technic of
manipulation before he can succeed in rendering the
score. If he further desires to compose music, he must
acquire a theoretical if not a practical knowledge of
the technic and capabilities of every instrument that is
used in an orchestra. IIe must then master the theory
of composition, which is mainly mathematical. To
render religious, patriotic, or social ideas in music, he
must be familiar with these ideas as they appear in
history or in poetry. Thus the process of composing
and performing music is made up of a vast amount of
theoretical and technical knowledge and of technical
skill which is the result of practice, of long years of
untiring industry. The musician must be possessed
of feeling also. There are delicate shades of rendering
musical compositions which no score can convey. But
to understand the nature of these, and to render them
successfully, great technical knowledge and skill are
again indispensable. Let us imagine a number of
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
467
musical enthusiasts, men who go into convulsions at a
discord, and talk critically of the opera and the oratorio,
but who have no technical knowledge of music, attempt-
ing to perform an overture. All the feeling and
enthusiasm in the world will not enable them to do so.
Something very near akin to this is done practically
in architecture, and has been so done since the end of
the thirteenth century, when architecture ceased to be
a living art. Hordes of enthusiasts, ignorant or inten-
tionally oblivious of the knowledge which governs the
creation of architectural monuments, have been let
loose upon society, possessed with the idea that their
feeling, sentiment, and taste suffice for the composition
of architectural work. It is not surprising, therefore,
that architecture is now in the chaotic state in which
we find it, a ship without sails or compass expected to
reach a safe harbor by the sole efforts of the man at
the helm.
What should be impressed on the mind of the archi
tect is that architectural forms, like all art organisms,
and like the organisms of nature, are the result of en-
vironments. His efforts must be mainly directed to
his own equation, that he himself may not become a
detrimental environment in the process of artistic cre-
ation by either misunderstanding the nature of envi
ronments, or by ignoring them, or by a failure to re-
spond to them promptly, effectually, and, if possible,
skillfully. It is not the function of the architect to pro-
duce effects; he should permit effects to be produced by
the organism he creates. IIe cannot judge of the effects,
which should be the final result of an organism, before
the organism is complete. The relation of the architect-
ural monument, so far as its architect is concerned, is to
468
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
T
1
the idea only which is to be expressed in matter.
The effect is the result of this relation; of which the idea
is the hypothesis, its relation to material and construc-
tion is the argument, and the effect the conclusion,
which cannot be approached except through this argu-
ment. Any effort to anticipate this process must result
in an effect which is the result of some other idea ex-
pressed in matter.
It
That the architect may fully understand the scope
and bearing of the ideas which constitute the prime ele-
ments of the art he deals with, he should have a
comprehensive knowledge of the human relationships
with which architectural ideas are concerned. Here
we frequently meet with a representative prejudice
pertaining to the knowledge of ideas in architecture,
especially with reference to church architecture.
is held that the architect should be a partisan of the
creed or sect for which he designs a monument, for
the reason that only in this case can he be familiar
with the requirements of this special church, or, in
other words, that to build a good Catholic church it
needs a good Catholic, and to build a good Protes-
tant church, a good Protestant.
If we concern.ourselves with the physical needs of
the church only, and assume that the architect is not
possessed of any information pertaining to religious
ideas in general excepting those furnished by his
church, it is fair to presume that the architect not
familiar with the practical working of a special church
would not be able to carry out the scheme without
much cramming and preparation. But when we con-
sider the art process of expressing an idea in matter, it
will be found that a person without a philosophic
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 469
knowledge of the religious idea would not answer the
purpose at all, whether he subscribed to the creed under
consideration or not. If you wish to learn how to
print, you would go to a printer, and not rest content •
with an examination of a printed sheet. The impres-
sions you will find there are insufficient to give a
clew to the process.
There is much to be learned of
the functions of the tympanum, the overlay and under-
lay, the proper condition of the roller and the nature
of the ink, of the moistening of paper, of the peculiar
construction of the lever and of the force required to
work it.
The knowledge of an idea does not mean simply that
one should know that such an idea exists, nor that he
should know whether it be a true idea or the reverse;
it means an analysis of its operation on persons who
accept it as true, and whose acts and emotions are un-
der its influence. If the architect, whose province it
is to analyze an idea in this manner, is himself under
its influence, he will invariably accept his personal in-
terpretation of it and of its results. This may be fully
in accordance with the true import of the idea in ques-
tion;
but it must be remembered that in most cases it
is not. The true position of the architect-the position
which it is desirable he should occupy for the good of
the monument—is that of the intelligent commentator
who is bent on ascertaining the true meaning of the
author, without inquiring whether the author was right
or wrong in what he said; when that true meaning of
the author is ascertained, it becomes his duty to as-
sume that the persons who occupy the structure accept
that interpretation of the idea as the true one.
The course of education to be recommended to this
470
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
end is of course a study of history, but, withal, there
is needed in this matter a sound logical mind, which,
like taste, is not to any great extent a gift of nature,
but which may be cultivated by the study of science
and mathematics. It may be stated as a rule, that this
is the only training which will insure good results. It
is also self-evident that the arranging of
groups of per-
sons under the influence of an emotion demands a poet-
ical development of a peculiar kind. The cultivation
of it is to be found in literature, in painting, sculpture,
and the drama.
This brings us to the subject of the education of the
architect, and it is truly wonderful that a liberal edu
cation and art-training, as outlined above, is nowhere
thought of. It is not until recently, say the beginning
of this century, that a technical education which com-
prises mathematical studies has been assigned to him
in the various polytechnic schools of Europe. Archi-
tects in England and America are, even to-day, mainly
educated under a system of apprenticeship like that
of the trades. It is only recently that polytechnic
schools, in imitation of those on the continent of Eu-
rope, have been established here, where the student
may acquire that knowledge of mathematics and me-
chanics which is indispensable to him. Yet, it is not
even now obligatory that an architect should have
mastered mechanics before he is permitted to practice
his profession; large numbers of practitioners enjoy
an extensive clientage without ever having given the
subject a thought.
Practical work, under the guidance of a competent
architect, as a finishing course of the young student
who has theoretically completed his education and has
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 471
become an architect in a good polytechnic school, is of
undoubted benefit before he attempts independent
active work. But that youths, without other prepara-
tion, may become architects by serving an apprentice-
ship in an architect's office is a fallacy of the times.
Doubtless, there may be found isolated cases of indi
vidual success, even under this system, but it would
not be very difficult to point out where men so edu-
cated have utterly failed in spite of their apparent
practical success, and also what amount of labor and
self-denial it has cost others, who make up by private
study what had been neglected in their early educa
tion.
The methods of training adopted in schools com-
prehend (besides mathematical studies, which at the
present time are all that can be expected,) the exam-
ination and drawing of structural parts, and also of
old monuments of recognized merit. In transferring
architectural forms to paper in the shape of geometri-
cal and perspective drawings, the student becomes fa-
miliar with these forms and the conventional shape
they assume in geometrical drawings. He learns to
write, as it were, the hieroglyphics of architectural
practice, and to read them when he finds them written.
But this course is pursued only in some of the acade-
mies and polytechnic schools, not in all of them, and
the extent to which it is carried in the majority of
schools is very limited.
What is practiced everywhere is the early and con-
stant composition of structures by means of sketches
which are prepared by the pupils and corrected by
the master. This process is pursued without system,
without due preparation, and with very bad results.
472
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
If in a structure we desire to tell the story of its
being, if we wish to express in its architecture the
idea which has given rise to its existence, it seems clear
that the form of the structure is the most available
element for this purpose. It is true we may build
structures of arbitrary forms and paint on their walls
pictures of what is going on inside, or of the occur-
rences which have caused people to congregate within;
or we may carve in stone representations to answer the
same purpose, or cover the structures with legends de-
scriptive of the matter we wish to relate. But in these
cases we are pursuing painting, sculpture, and poetry,
and not architecture, for architecture is the art which,
by technical methods peculiarly its own, pursues this
very purpose of telling the story of a monument, and
of the idea which it is to commemorate. Can this be
done at all without the help of other arts? Yes!
Look at the ruins of monuments of the past, ruins
from which all original detail has disappeared, or at
the foundation of monuments never built or entirely
destroyed-they tell the story of the object and pur-
pose of these structures. We know them as temples
or theaters, forums, baths, or dwellings. Is it desirable
to do it without the help of other arts? No! The
main object is to express an idea, and if the sister arts
of sculpture and painting assist in doing this, their
help is not to be rejected.
Some architects, however, doubt that the forms of
construction are an element in architectural art, and
others again imagine that all possible architectural
forms have been created in the past, and no new forms
are now possible or desirable. Therefore the archi
tecture of the last four hundred years selects its mon-
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
473
umental forms from the répertoire of history. It often
happens that these forms are incompatible with the
uses or with the methods of construction of modern
monuments; in that case architecture yields reluctantly
to use and obstructs obstinately the needed con-
struction, or covers it up out of sight with forms
which originate in other constructions. This is done
without violence to the artistic conscience, upon the
theory that form is a conventional entity of recognized
beauty, character, and value, which once accepted by
the art of architecture is not further to be questioned
as to its nature or origin, but to be adopted and used
without cavil.
Inasmuch as these ancient forms are often either
too large or too small for the place they are to fill, the
convenient rule has been adopted that parts of struct-
ure as found in the past may be increased or reduced
pro rata without violence to art. This rule, as we
have seen in Chapter XX, page 299, leads to a pro-
portion of masses which is no longer possessed of sta
bility, and cannot therefore be accepted as a guide in
architecture. Nor is the scheme of creating a new
architecture by a mere modification of old forms preg
nant with the promise of success. Watt did not attempt
to shape his steam-engine after the pattern of a wind-
mill, nor were early shot-guns made in the form of a
cross-bow. In one respect architectural monuments
resemble each other sufficiently to warrant an intimate
relationship of form, viz.: they are all at least tempo-
rary abodes for man, not unlike the wind-mill and the
steam-engine, either of which serves as an apparatus
for pumping water, and the cross-bow and the shot-gun,
which are both engines of war; but these, after all, are
;
474
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
mere physical conditions. The nature of architectural
monuments changes with the idea which prompts
persons to congregate within them, just as in the
steam engine and shot-gun the motive force which
performs the work (steam and gunpowder) supersedes
the motive force used in the wind-mill and cross-bow,
which are atmospheric currents and muscular power.
Mere modification of form is not always creation in
imitation of nature. It is true, nature modifies form
to respond to environment whenever environment
changes gradually; but if in nature an organism is
transplanted into a region of totally different environ-
ment, the organism dies, not to be annihilated, but to re-
turn into its constituent molecules and atoms, to under-
go new combinations which are new functional forms,
totally different from those preceding them. Art is
governed by nature's laws of creation, and architecture,
to be a living art, must be also governed by these laws.
(The historical forms of architecture have become obso-
lete because the environment has changed. During
four hundred years old forms have not been modified,
nor have new forms been created; but the conditions
surrounding architecture have changed all the same,
and the gap has become too great for modification now;
nothing short of re-creation will meet the case. But
this re-creation must proceed upon the principle of
imitation. Old architectural forms must be permitted
to dissolve into their elements, which are construction,
material, carved ornament, and color decoration.) These
elements may be used as separate entities, as a basis of
new forms. Of course, where the possibilities of con-
struction have been increased, we must call into use
this increase, and the material which has been added
**
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
475
*
by modern invention must be utilized and incorporated
in our architecture. We cannot boast of great progress
in carved ornament and color decoration, but we may
learn to understand the application of it under a more
comprehensive and better established system, and we
may call to our aid in its use and application an ad-
vanced knowledge of mechanical laws and technical
facilities.
The thing most needed to initiate such an era in
architecture is, that architects must build more and
draw less. This is not intended to mean that archi-
tects can be better educated as masons and stone-cutter's
apprentices than in art academies, but that the student
of architecture must be trained to think and reason
upon a structure instead of thinking of a mere drawing.
The mind of the modern architect is wrapped up in his
drawings; they are to him the ultimate object of study;
he imagines that if the drawing he is engaged in pre-
paring is pleasing to him, the structure which will be
built in accordance with it will of necessity be a good
architectural work. Now every practicing architect
will know what is here meant by too much drawing
and too little building, and will probably accept it as
true. To the layman it needs further explanation, and
no doubt a statement of the causes of this peculiar
mental condition of the architect will elucidate it. The
student of architecture learns of the art mainly from
drawings; he sees but little of the structures them-
selves. Whenever in his mind he recurs to a noted
monument, it is a drawing of that monument that he
means, not the monument itself. When he is engaged
in composing a design of a monument, it is again the
drawing he looks to as the immediate realization of his
476
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
ideas, not the structure. Again, it is this drawing
which is to affect favorably the opinion of his client,
hence his prime solicitude in its behalf. The student
of architecture is not made sufficiently familiar with
parts of structure and their mechanical function; he
knows monuments mainly as a whole, and as they
appear in prints and photographs. These leave upon
his mind an impression which he attempts to reproduce
in his work, and he thinks this may be done if he can
reproduce it in his drawings. The principal character-
istic of drawings, at least that which presents itself to
a superficial observer, is light and shade. It has be-
come an article of architectural faith that to produce
shadows is doing architecture.
Admirers of architectural drawings discover in them
also certain effects. The first and most striking of
these effects is that of age and partial decay. This
appearance of material decomposition is picturesque,
and is hence greatly prized in prints and photographs.
The reason why may be found in the fact that the
appearance of a monnment is in truth improved by
age. Time and the weather wear off the rigidity and
stiffness of a new structure, the hardness of differences
in natural color and no doubt an indication also of age
is a fair guarantee of stability.
Modern restorations of the cathedrals illustrate this
fact most forcibly. The new parts are often built with
scrupulous exactness and technical success in imitation
of the spirit and detail of the old parts, yet the expres-
sion attained is inferior to that of the latter. True,
much of this is owing to the stiffness and regularity of
modern mechanical work as compared with old work,
yet even where this stiffness is avoided new work com-
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 477
pares unfavorably with old work in picturesqueness.
Now, this quality of age is always apparent in photo-
graphs, is often well rendered in engravings and litho-
graphs, and its effect is freely made use of in the wood-
cuts which serve as illustrations of works on art history.
From these the architectural student derives his love
of this special quality of drawings, and it becomes his
great aim to render his sketches and compositions in
the same way. A few touches of the kind are apt to
reconcile him to a vast amount of bad architecture.
Another remarkable feature of architectural prints and
photographs which commands the attention of the en-
thusiastic student is the presence of odd and curious
features of old monuments which have no application
in modern building, but which have become picturesque
because they are obsolete, and which attract attention
because they refer to physical needs or artistic expres-
sion which have become poetical by being sung in
verse and painted in pictures. The young architect
confounds his admiration for these poetical features
with a just admiration of architectural merit. He de-
lights in their picturesqueness, and hence believes them
to be noble features in architecture which he would
love to introduce in his composition. He deplores his
own as a prosaic age, because of the absence of similar
poetical and picturesque demands, forgetting that it is
his function to elicit these demands out of the chaos
of popular notions, and to create forms which depict
new wants with the same pictorial facility with which
these old forms have been developed which please him
so much. It cannot be doubted that many modern
architects have now and again realized this state of
things, and have endeavored to create new forms which
478
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
shall express modern needs and shall also be picturesque;
but this attempt has often failed, because their authors
have become discouraged by seeming failures in the
early development of these forms, which in the nature
of the process must be more or less crude, and partly
because a studied attempt at picturesqueness can never
rise above adaptation of old forms-can never become
a true art development.
One of the most potent causes of the charm of pictur-
esque effect, in medieval monuments and the draw-
ings of these, is in the simple and free translation of
the thought of their authors which they convey. The
architects of that period built what they needed, and
in the order in which they needed it, without studied
affectation; without any attempt at appearances.
Hence, everything they did in building became a feat-
ure in their monuments, and these collective features
became picturesque; that is, they became the features
of an organism which expressed its functions, and, like
the picture on canvas, these monuments told the story
of an idea. If we strive after this sort of picturesque-
ness, by storing our mind with its forms and imitate
these forms in our drawings, we are not pursuing art;
that is, we are not pursuing a living architecture; we
must imitate it in the spirit in which it is conceived;
we must do as did the architects of the Middle Ages,
we must build what we need, and in the order in
which we need it, physically and mentally, without
studied affectation, and the result will be an equally
picturesque architecture. But such an architecture
cannot be conceived full-fledged and drawn on paper
as a completed elevation, section, or perspective. It
must grow out of building, just as the pattern
A
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 479
of a woven fabric grows out of weaving, and the
form of a metal manufacture out of forging. Many
architects and lovers of architecture, convinced of the
truth of this, have suggested that architects should be
practical builders; should be educated, as it were, in
the shop and at the bench; also, that they should be
sculptors and decorators. If this could be—that is, if
the student of architecture could master the mathe-
matical and scientific branches taught in modern poly-
technic schools, make himself proficient in drawing,
attend an academy of architecture, and then become
in succession a good carpenter, mason, stone-cutter,
painter, sculptor, and decorator no doubt such a stu-
dent would be eminently well prepared for professional
life, and produce marvels of architectural art; but as
human life is too short to enable one man to master
practically so many arts, the question to be answered
is reduced to this: Shall the pupil of architecture be
educated in some mechanical workshop, in an art
studio, or in a polytechnic school. The pupil of a
polytechnic school no doubt is, at the end of his
term, deficient in practical mechanics, and probably
entirely ignorant of painting and sculpture, and it is
fair to assume that a proficient painter, sculptor, or
mechanic, at the end of his term of apprenticeship, will
be equally ignorant of architecture, both in its theory
and its practice. But the pupil of a polytechnic
school has acquired a habit of study, which is foreign
to the workshop and the studio, and may make him-
self master of the theory of art, and more especially of
that of painting and sculpture, in the same way as he
is already master of the theory of mechanics. What
really remains to be wished for is that the education
:
480
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
of the architect should include a thorough course on
the theory of art, if need be in the place of the course
on history of art, which may, with propriety, be reserved
for maturer years, and that at least an elementary prac-
tice in modelling, decoration, and mechanical work
should be part of his school education. The latter is
now done to some extent in some of the better poly-
technic schools. But what is done tends to illustrate
only what the pupil has previously learned to do in
drawing. This order of things might be reversed to
advantage. The pupil should be impressed by his
education, first with the importance and necessity
of a thorough knowledge of the theory of mechanics
and of the fine arts, next of the application of this
theory to the practical work; while drawing should
be considered as a mere notation of thought refer-
ring to practical execution. With a view to this
end, the technical instruction in drawing (which to
insure fluency must of necessity precede a complete
theoretical knowledge of mechanics) should be
mainly confined to free-hand drawing, and whenever
architectural or mechanical drawing is practiced, dur-
ing that time it should be limited to parts of structure
(the more elementary the better), and every such draw-
ing should be accompanied by plans, sections, and a
perspective sketch, that the mind of the pupil may
constantly dwell upon the form of the object he de-
picts, and not merely upon its surface.
drawing should be practiced
model.
Or, better,
entirely
from
from the
Architectural ornament should be drawn from the
object, first in its natural form, and then convention-
ally. If possible, the translation, should in each effort
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
481
be made to two or more materials and illustrated in
relation to various parts of the structure.
This is not the place to enter into the detail of in-
struction, but it is desirable to make it perfectly clear
that the architect, to compose well, must compose a
monument which he may jot down as he proceeds in
the form of a drawing, and he must not compose a
drawing, which, when executed, may be a monument.
Only those who are capable of analysing the relation
of the various external elevations of modern monu-
ments to each other, and to their internal sections, and
who perceive the existing discords, can realize the per-
nicious influence of the modern system of doing archi-
tecture purely through drawings.
How shall I build this thing? should be the constant
question of the architect while composing, instead of
what form shall I give to it? If the former question is
responded to in our composition; if this question is
intelligently answered at every step of
progress, forms
will grow out of it; but if we design monuments in
response to the latter question, the monument is never
contemplated seriously, scientifically, or artistically, as
a whole, but as an aggregation of disjointed parts;
hence the other question, How can I join this and that
together with architectural propriety? is the question
which most frequently occurs in modern architectural
composition. The moment the architect finds it neces
sary to ask or answer this fatal question he may be
sure that he is pursuing the wrong course. He has
started his work with completed forms, and is not
developing them.
All parts of structure perform mechanical functions,
hence their form must be primarily determined by
31
482
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
mechanical laws. The modern architect ignores this
fundamental law. He believes that there is a relation
of a mechanical nature between superincumbent mass
and the area of the supporting pier, between the lateral
thrust of an arch and the resistance of its abutment,
but he deems it an intrusion to remind him that no
part of structure can be determined in its mass or out-
line without due mathematical consideration.
It is not intended in these pages to enter upon a
detailed analysis of this principle and its practical ap-
plication. The subject is too large to do justice to it
in the short space which can be devoted to it here;
but to make the principle more clear, by an illustra-
tion, we may mention one special structural feature,
viz., the capital, which is almost invariably misunder-
stood in modern practice. By many it is imagined
that its height, for instance, depends mainly upon the
diameter of the column which it crowns. This is the
Renaissance error, and is derived from the rule now
taught, that the height of a capital may be expressed
in diameters of the column, or that it must bear a cer-
tain fixed relation to the thickness of the column.
Others, again, design the capital to correspond with the
length of the column which supports it. Exaggerated
capitals of this kind are to be frequently found upon
the thin and long wall shafts of modern Gothic struct-
Many others, again, refer the size and shape of
the capital to the general form and dimensions of
length and diameter of the whole organized pier of
which it forms a part. Very few, indeed, seem to un-
derstand its function and true mechanical value. The
capital is the cornice or crowning stone of a shaft or
pier, and connects this shaft with its load, which is
ures.
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE.
483
always of larger area than the shaft at the point of
connection. This difference of area itself depends
upon mechanical considerations, which, for this present
purpose, may be omitted, but it alone determines the
projection of the capital. Now, the height of the
capital is the resultant, first, of the needed projection;
second, of the position in relation to the eye; third,
of the shape of its own bell, whether it be concave or
convex; fourth, of the nature, strength (capability to
resist pressure), of the material it is made of; and
finally, of the degree of strength and elegance pertain-
ing to the monument in question. It is not intended
to convey the idea that all these elements which con-
stitute the proportions of the capital must, or always
can be, mathematically demonstrated; but it must be
clear that, inasmuch as they form the mechanical ele-
ments of its mass, they must be mechanically considered,
and at least approximately realized, to enable the
architect to attain to the best and most expressive
form possible.
It is a well-known fact that in the construction of
roofs, bridges, and trusses, made possible by the inven-
tion of modern rolled iron, the calculation of the
strains of a projected construction, and the determin-
ation of the sectional area of the various parts which
resist these strains, are the least part of the engineer's
labor in designing these roofs, bridges, and trusses.
The greatest part of the work is, of necessity, bestowed
upon the connections where strains are concentrated
upon bolts or divided upon rivets, and where the ina-
terial is constantly weakened by perforations, and
must be constantly strengthened again by additional
plates or special castings. Now when we look upon
484
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
a structure of this kind, one that is well and consci-
entiously designed, these connections or knots, as they
are called, address us very forcibly, and convey a con-
vincing expression of their strength and adequacy
to do the mechanical work they perform. In them,
nothing is attempted beyond this adequacy of strength;
but inasmuch as, by reason of economy and mechanical
convenience, this cannot be attained by the mere
weight of abundant material, but only by the most
scientific application of the material at the disposal of
the engineer, the result of these constructions is a spe-
cies of art-form, which speaks forcibly of mechanical
work done, and is hence possessed of beauty. We per-
ceive in these works of the engineer the true spirit
of art-force and the resultant pleasurable emotion.
Some of these iron structural parts have been success-
fully treated by the architect with color decoration
and ornament wrought in metal, and thus been elevated
into works of fine art. It is for their primary devel
opment of form, however, that they should be recom-
mended to the student of architecture as a potent
schooling in the mechanical consideration of the ma-
terial function of structural parts.
An architect may design a very clever capital,
bracket, or cornice, etc., by groping for it, and elabor
ating and developing it out of his inner consciousness.
But it must be remembered that to do a work of fine
art is to do it with premeditation, that the artist must
know what he is driving at, and must possess the tech-
nical skill to approach it and bring it to completion
by direct methods. This technical skill is acquired
by long-continued practice. While the knowledge of
what is to be done is of a scientific nature, it is posi-
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 485
tive, logical, and analytical in its character, and must
be diligently studied and mastered by the architect if
he is to do his work with premeditation, for only then
is it a work of art.
As soon as the student has mastered his mathemat-
ical studies, and become an expert draughtsman, and
has been taught the principles of architectural model-
ling and decoration, and the use of color in application
to structural forms, he should be initiated into archi-
tectural composition by problems involving, at first,
merely parts of structures, as, for instance, a pier sup-
porting a given wall imposed upon an arch or lintel;
the cubic contents of the wall being known and the
height of pier given, the transverse area of the pier
may be readily determined. Now the pupil should
be made to model this pier, arch, and wall for a
series of structures of different degrees of strength
and elegance, from a servant's hall up to a church
aisle. He should elaborate some of these drawings
with carved ornament and color decoration. Ile
should be made to prepare two or three examples of
each kind varying in richness, and should in this pro-
cess be corrected as to the proper relation of modelling
to be adopted in each part. From this simple ex-
ample the pupil should be gradually permitted to
advance toward more extensive combinations, and
finally to whole structures of a simple kind, and so on
to the end of the chapter. There should not be one
word spoken of style; in fact, the study of art history
may be safely postponed to the last year of instruc-
tion; or, if the pupil has dabbled in art history be-
fore it is good for him to do so, he should be promptly
impressed that what he finds there is not to be a
486
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
criterion of what he is to do, but simply a statement
of what others have done under circumstances which
will not occur again.
The character of his work must refer solely to con-
struction, and the construction to the idea which is to
be expressed and to the material which is at his com-
mand for that purpose. He should learn in this prac-
tice the difference of treatment which is due to the
material used; that wood needs different modelling
from stone, and stone different modelling from metal;
and he should learn also the methods of convention-
alizing decorative ornament, which depend upon ma-
terial and function. A dozen pupils of fair abilities
and general education, well grounded in mechanics
and drawing, guided by a teacher who is not a pro-
fessed militant in the battles of style, will, if trained
in this manner, produce an era in architecture, always
provided that they are permitted to do work and
not to spend their time in preparing drawings for the
approval of persons who have enjoyed no architectural
education whatever.
A child could not well be taught the English lan-
guage if we insisted on beginning with the dialect of
Chaucer, and so going on to the English of to-day.
Astronomy is read at universities as developed at this
time, not as it was at the time of Hipparchus. Of
what use would it be to teach geography upon a map
of the Roman Empire, or science according to the
theories of Swedenborg? There is no doubt a historical
value in all such teaching, but the student cannot well
commence the study of the theory and practice of a
living. art by a perusal of an art that is dead. The
radical error is to be found in the opinion of those who
!
THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 487
teach. They do not believe that Greek architecture is
dead; they would have us think that it still lives, and
try to think so themselves; but it is dead, and so are
Roman, Byzantine, and Gothic architecture just as
surely dead as the language of Chaucer and the astron-
omy of Hipparchus. These styles are all metals which
have undergone various combinations with oxygen, one
and all oxides of architecture; you may, if you please,
apply to them the poles of your analytic battery, and
extract grains of pure iron from this historic rust; but
if you wish to have your horses shod to-day, now, be-
cause you need them, let the smith take metal from his
own store and let him forge it into shoes that are
serviceable now, at once, lest, if he wait for the opera-
tions of your battery, the horses die before you procure
iron enough out of the shield of Piramus or the spear
of Achilles.
Greek poetry and sculpture stand foremost in the
ranks of art, both in their intrinsic and relative value;
they have never been surpassed. Greek science and
architecture, considered as the outcome of an early
civilization, form an epoch in the cosmic history of
human culture and art, which, in brilliancy of attain-
ment, also has no parallel in subsequent relative pro-
gress; but both science and architecture have grown
since the days of Pericles. The science of the nine-
teenth, and the architecture of the thirteenth, century
manifest a conscious manly mastery of the multitude
of questions which have arisen in science and art since
Greece dazzled the world with her childlike dally-
ing with their rudiments. IIer genius will ever com-
mand our admiration, but we cannot afford to deny
our manhood by neglecting the earnest work of
488
NATURE OF ARCHITECTURE.
our time in the continuous worship of a divine ex-
ample.
Young men between the ages of twenty and twenty-
five, who should be engaged upon something which
will make them useful members of society, are made
to bend over the drawing board for six hours daily,
drawing an acanthus leaf and a volute, as the sun and
substance of carved decoration. They are told that
the Corinthian capital is the greatest triumph of archi-
tectural art. There is no truth in all this. The acan-
thus leaf was never treated in Greek architecture so as
to express capacity to carry a load; there are too many
leaves in the Corinthian capital; they are weak, droop-
ing-not strong at all-and so are its volutes. What
is the use of nursing enthusiasm for the poor Corin-
thian capital? Let us respect it as a work of art in the
place where we find it, and for the time in which it
was made; but to say that it is the sum and substance,
the ultimatum of human art, that there is nothing
more to be done by young men who are possessed of
souls but to draw that thing over and over again,
that they may become architects and draw this same
thing again during their natural lives, and go into
ecstasies over it, and call it art, and try and make
others believe that nothing else can be produced which
is equally good, is a sin, for it is a falsehood, and a gross
one. Nor is the pursuit of this sort of architecture art
in any sense. Suppose that it were true that the archi-
tecture of Athens is perfect, that it answers all pur-
poses for all time to come; that the proportions of its
structural parts are settled beyond doubt or possible
change; that its decoration and carved ornament are
things finished and completed, then what is the use of
瓜
​THE CULTIVATION OF ARCHITECTURE. 489
clever me.
academies of architecture? There are many
chanicians of our day, who will construct a machine
which will produce endless designs of this kind for all
time to come. This perfection and infallibility of
antique architecture has remained undisputed long
enough; it has done all the harm that can be reason-
ably conceded to any one human prejudice or error.
It has been treated by its very opponents with great
courtesy and forbearance. There is gathered around
it a halo of poetry, of physical human vigor, of human
virtue, courage, and patriotism, of human rights and
philosophy, which must deter all thinking men from
disturbing its intellectual and moral radiance. But it
cannot be necessary that it should be dragged from its
proper place to do duty and perform a function to which
it is ill calculated to respond. As sincere and earn-
est partisans of its historical glory, we should desire
that it remain forever in its historical shrine.
The dilettanteism of modern architecture must be
rooted out before the art can revive and exercise a
wholesome influence upon society. It must be under-
stood by all, and more especially by those who desire
to become architects, as the first and most important
lesson of their education, that the road to architecture
is long, tortuous, and thorny, and not a well-paved
highway upon which man may amble into fame; that
the days of false taste are numbered, and that the
time is not far distant when style will follow in the
same direction, and nothing be left but to pursue
architecture pure and simple.
F
INDEX.
A.
Act-an act illustrating an idea,
125; how an act is expressed in a
structure, 213.
Acting-(Dramatic), 465.
Asthotics, 115.
Albert (Prince), 264.
Analysis, 382; Mathematical analysis
does not refer to special matter,
229.
Architecture, 51; its aim, 33; Rus-
kin on, 51; Fergusson on, 56;
Sir Gilbert Scott on, 67; educa-
tion in, 72; definition of, 211;
Thomas Hope on the ideal forms
in, 219; imitation in, 220; rela-
tion of mechanical construction
to, 224; expression in, 251; still
in its infancy, 261; definition of
construction in, 269; construction
in modiæval, 344; art expression
in, 346; cultivation of, 445; Ar-
chitectural composition (its de-
fects of method), 359; Antique
and Christian architecture com-
pured, 362; defects of modern ar-
chitecture, 372; Architecture of
the past (modern reference to
it), 373; why persons devote them-
selves to the study of architecturo,
456; Architectural effects, 674.
Architectural drawings-do not ex-
press the art morit of the monu-
inent they represent, 459;
con-
voy no adequate iden of lighting
the interior of a structure, 460;
how laymon judge of their merit,
462; submitted to the approval
of laymen, 85.
Aristotle on beauty, 145.
Art, 121; is it necessary? 99; Lam-
artino on its function and neces-
sity, 104; premeditation in, 122;
|
definition of, 122; Mechanic art,
122; Fine art, 123; Science and
art-their respective methods of
conveying ideas, 123; Technics of
art, 126; creative force in, 127;
Beauty in art, 186; pleasurable
emotion in, 127; Art is knowledge,
183; Feeling in art, 200; Art
talk, 464.
B.
Beauty, 127; Lord Jeffrey on, 144;
Plato on, 145; Socrates on, 145;
Aristotle on, 145; Baumgarten on,
146; Schiller on, 147; Leveque on,
149; Hemsterhuis on, 149; Lord
Shaftesbury on, 153; speculation on
its nature, 156; Pèro Buffier on, 158;
definition of, 159-161; Beauty and
expression, 161; Beauty in art, 186.
Brande (Prof.), definition of criti-
cism, 420.
Build more and draw less, 475.
C.
Carved ornament, 316, 368.
Cause and effect, 173, 180.
Cell-the single cell, 401; its divis-
ion into bays, 406; when lighted
by more than one tier of windows,
406.
Characteristics of styles in architect-
uro, 361.
Cologne-(Cathedral of), described
by Fergusson, 425; by Kugler, 441;
analysis of, 445.
Color decoration, 322, 368.
Construction-its relation to archi-
tecture, 224; definition of, 269;
Fergusson on, 276-278; in medi-
wval architecture, 344.
Conventionalizing natural forms, 325.
491
492
INDEX.
Creative force in Art, 127; imagined
creative forco, 132.
Criticism, Prof. Brande's definition
or, 420.
Critical analysis, 424.
Cultivation of architecture, 445.
D.
Decoration in color, 322.
Defects of modern architecture, 372.
Definition of art, 121; Mechanic
art, 122; Fine art, 123; a physi-
cal function of an emotion, 125;
the Ugly, 162; the Ludicrous, 163;
the Sublime, 163; the Ideal, 167;
Imitation, 170; Beauty, 159, 161,
186; Architecture, 211; a monu-
ment, 211, 247; an idea, 228;
Construction in architecture, 269;
Proportion, 292; Style, 330; Emo-
tion, 382: Criticism, 420, 422.
E.
Education in architecture, 72, 470.
Emotion, physical function of an,
125; Emotion and thought, 382.
Exhibition of the industry of all na-
tions in 1851, 265.
Expression of function in mechanic
art, 192; in architecture, 251;
in mediaval architecture, 346.
H.
Hegel on matter, 149.
Hemsterhuis on beauty, 149.
Hope (Thomas), on the ideal forms
in architecture, 219.
I.
+
Idea-Ideas, 228; Ideas and impres-
sions, how derived, 126; demon-
stration of an idea in matter, 123;
definition of an idea, 228; modern
idens, 256.
Ideal, the, 164; its definition, 167;
Ideal forms in architecture, by
Hope, 219.
Imitation in art, 170; in architec-
ture, 220.
Immortality formulated as a relation
of matter, 230.
Iron construction, 814; Ruskin on,
66; its treatment in modern ar-
chitecture, 264.
J.
Lord Jeffrey on beauty, 144.
K.
Kugler on the Cathedral of Cologne,
433; on the Cathedral of Milan,
441.
F.
Feeling in art, 200.
Fergusson on architecture, 50; on
proportion, 61; on mouldings,
275; on construction, 276, 278;
on form and modelling, 285; his
table of Arts, 386; on a now
Anglican Church not of any stylo,
386; on the forms of the architec-
ture of the future, 397; on the
Cathedral of Cologne, 425; on the
Cathedral of Milan, 481.
Fine Art, 123, 188; Fine art and
Mechanic art, 190.
Force, 173.
Form of natural and art organisms,
126; cannot be created without
a motive, 857; false structural
forms, 407; Form and function,
481.
L.
Lamartino, on the function and
necessity of art, 104.
Leveque on beauty, 149.
Ludicrous, tho, 163.
M.
Marble slabs used as a lining of infe-
rior masonry in northern Italian
architecture, 312.
Matter, Hegel on, 110.
Mutorial, 310.
Mechanic art, 122, 190, 192.
Medieval architecture, 81; its at-
tainment, 337; its development in
construction, 344; in Art ex-
pression, 346.
Memory and reflection, 280.
INDEX
493
Method of architectural composi-
tion (defects in), 359.
Milan Cathedral of, 447; Fergusson
on, 430; Kugler on, 441.
Modelling of structural masses, 366;
in medieval architecture, 409.
Modification of forms and imitation
of nature, 447.
Monument, definition of, 211, 247;
the monumental stone, 264.
Mouldings, Fergusson on, 275.
Musical composition, 466.
P.
Physical function of an emotion,
125.
Plato on beauty, 145.
Pleasurable emotion in art, 127;
its nature, 128, 129.
Pointed arch-Ruskin on, 64.
Promoditation in art, 122.
Proportion-Vitruvius on, 59; Fer-
gusson on, 61, 303; definition of,
292;
as commonly understood,
297; as recommended by the Re-
naissance School, 299; of the inte-
rior, 301.
S.
Sacraments of nature, 260.
Schiller on Esthetics, 147.
Science and art, their methods of
conveying ideas, 123, 177.
Scott (Sir Gilbert) on architecture,
67.
Shaftesbury on beauty, 153.
Speculations on the nature of beauty,
156.
Stability and mass, 309.
Style-definition of, 330; characteris-
tics of, 361; must a structure in
process of crection be continued in
the same style ? 375.
Sublime (The), 163.
Symmetry, 307.
T.
Taste, 134; as popularly understood,
127.
Technics of art, 124.
Thought and emotion, 382.
Treatment of masses, 307.
U.
Ugly (The), 162.
V.
R.
Renaissance architecture, 80.
Roof, the vaulted, 400; the open tim-
bor roof, 403.
Ruskin on architecture, 51; on the
pointed arch, 64; on iron con-
struction, 66.
Vitruvius on proportion, 59.
W.
Winckelmann on the essence of
beauty, 141.

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