On the Unsuitableness of Gothic Architecture to Modern Circumstances [1]

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[GLASGOW ARCHITECTURAL SOCIETY

At the society’s meeting on Monday evening, there was a numerous attendance – Wm. Clarke, Esq., presiding. Mr Alexander Thomson, architect, read an interesting communication ‘On the unsuitableness of Gothic architecture to modern circumstances.’

Having stated what he conceived to be the manner in which men’s minds were influenced by the spirit, and their imaginations stored with the figures of the familiar objects which surrounded them, and that, unconsciously to themselves, they reproduced in their works the general characteristics of these familiar objects, he traced, in the grey walls and sod roofs of the hillside cottage a resemblance to the neighbouring rocky knolls with their scanty covering of turf; in the walls and outworks of the feudal castle he observed a rearing up of precipices and the formation of artificial ravines, and said that the castle itself, with its cliff-like towers, inaccessibly steep and invulnerably strong, suggested its rocky origin; while he recognised in the Gothic church the spirit of the woods in which it sprang up. He then proceeded to discuss the claims of Gothic architecture. He said – ]

Its advocates urged the adoption of their favourite style to the exclusion of all others, and, failing to prove that it was the highest style of art, they asserted that it was more in sympathy with the taste of the public, that it was a genuine style, that it was the national style, and that it was the only true Christian style. To say that it was in sympathy with the public taste, was placing it amongst a class of things of very questionable propriety; and as to its genuineness, however much it might have been so in its origin, to us it is but a sentimental sham, and in direct opposition to our habits and to the whole course of modern improvement. The plea of its nationality is alike erroneous. The Gothic style did not arise either in Scotland or England, but prevailed nearly all over Europe in some form or other, and was imported into this country most probably from France. The particular types which are now in fashion are not native, for, although there is as much congruity about English Gothic as any other, yet the French, German, and Italian forms are more artistic in detail.

Then, as to its being a Christian style, this might have some weight with the Romish Church, but to Protestants of any sort, and more particularly Presbyterians, and still more particularly Presbyterian dissenters, the argument seems very absurd, for what has the philosophic Christianity of the Reformation to do with the sensuous ritual of the middle ages? The architecture which was a consistent part of the latter, is diametrically opposed to the former. But, in fact, the educated taste of the present day has led our architects not only to violate those national prejudices that were so confidently appealed to, but in retracing their steps backwards, or rather upwards; for, at the commencement of the revival, the later Gothic was considered the best, though Early English, Norman, French, and Lombardic, to the Byzantine, they find that the stream has another branch. Learned writers tell us that the art of Europe down to about the ninth century was the work of the Greeks. Byzantine art being so, naturally exhibits many distinct traces of classic traditions, and still more distinctly the mysterious art instincts of that wonderful people. When the Mahommedan power was established in the East, most of the Greek populations were included in its sphere, and their artistic skill was directed to the mosque, and the Byzantine Gothic by an easy transition becomes the Moresque. Mr Ruskin very truly says that to make good Gothic there must be something wolfish in it.[2] But our Christian architects, feeling the inconsistency of the rudeness and fierce spirit of the northern Gothic with modern notions, and at the same time recognising a high degree of refinement and lamb-like spirit in the Moresque, do not hesitate to absorb as much of it as they can with safety – consequently, our Victorian Gothic is strongly impregnated with the Moresque element.

Among the many claims advanced by the mediaevalists in favour of their style, is that that it is founded upon the principles of common sense, and assert that it is distinguished by soundness and truthfulness of construction; and they insist on the necessity of using the various building materials in such modes as shall most fitly express their particular qualities, and, above all things, glory in the arch. In ancient and rude times, when builders laboured under the disadvantages arising from the want of proper means of working their quarries, the want of roads and carriages for transporting large stones, and the want of machinery for raising them, they were obliged to content themselves with small stones, and their ingenuity in dealing with these both constructively and æsthetically is worthy of all praise. But would any man under the guidance of common sense put himself to the trouble of constructing an arch if he could get a lintel to serve his purpose? Would he be justified in chopping down a great stone into mean fragments merely for the purpose of showing his skill in putting it together again?

Our modern engineers use girders to span spaces where formerly arches would have been resorted to, and that with an economy of means and stability of structure which puts the arch to shame.[3] The girder is formed on the principle of the bow and the string, is self-consistent and independent of abutments; it is a combination of the qualities of hardness and tenacity which enables it to resist different kinds of forces. The simple, unsophisticated stone lintel contains these within itself. We are all aware of the power of the wedge as a mechanical agent. The arch is composed of a number of wedges driven in by the pressure of the superincumbent parts of the wall. What are we to think of the soundness of the mode of construction which is based upon an essentially active principle of destruction. There is no rest for the arch until it is prostrated on the earth by its own suicidal act. Stonehenge exhibits more truthful construction than York Minster. This first falsehood in Gothic architecture has led, as in analogous cases in the moral world, to a most complicated series of contrivances for the purpose of preventing or mitigating the evils resulting from its original sin. Buttresses are set up to resist by main force the thrust of the arch, and, where it is inconvenient to extend the buttress in the direct line of the thrust, a pinnacle is placed upon the top of it as a counterpoise to the weight of the arch.

But we must not be led away by this talk about truthfulness of construction into the belief that everything in the shape of an arch which we see in a Gothic building is purely and simply an arch. The fact is that this is rather the exception than the rule. When the old builders found it desirable to increase the dimensions of their openings, they introduced traceries into them which serve the purpose of props to the main arch, and, on examination, it will be found that in these traceries the principle of the arch is not always followed; that of the pillar and lintel being adopted whenever it suited the builder’s convenience. Then the mullions or legs are frequently so attenuated that they cannot be trusted with the whole responsibility of carrying the traceries, but are stiffened by being tied together with iron rods about the knee and ankle joints. But how is the lover of truth shocked when he discovers that this great constructive lie is supported or accompanied by innumerable fibs in the shape of arches as trefoils and quatrefoils not constructed at all, but cut out of the solid stone? But as to the alleged necessity of building materials being used in such a way as to express their peculiar qualities, who would suppose that in some of the more elaborate examples of tracery he was looking upon a piece of mason work? The later Gothic, with its panelling covering the whole walls, both inside and outside, have all the appearance of carpentry or metal work.

Another dogma of the mediaevalists’ creed is, that a building should honestly confess its structure, and, that the structure alone should be aesthetically treated. They call for decorated construction and vehemently condemn all constructed decoration.[4] From this lofty position they have thundered with all the noise they could command at the plastered ceilings of our old fashioned churches generally, and at the double dome of St Paul’s in particular; but the same party taking exceeding delight in vaulted roofs. Now, let us consider the sort of common sense and truthfulness which are here exhibited. In the inside we see the roof vaulted with stone, and intersected in all directions with moulded ribs, having carved bosses at all their joinings, and in some instances, such as Henry Seventh’s Chapel, Westminster, and St George’s Chapel, Windsor, the vaults are completely covered with tracery of the most ingenious and elaborate design and construction. On the outside we look in vain for any indication of this structure; all that we see is an ordinary sloped roof of timber covered with lead. Surely when common sense contrived this she had been standing on her head, otherwise she would not thus have transposed the material so that the more perishable timber is placed outside of the less perishable stone! But what structural purpose do these vaults serve? None whatever; they are mere vainglorious displays of the mason’s craft, which in course of time is sure to bring the whole fabric to the ground in spite of all standing and flying buttresses and counterpoising pinnacles.

The mediaevalists also assert that their style is peculiarly adapted to our climate, for the very obvious reason that high roofs are good for running off snow and rain with rapidity.[5] When a roof gets loaded with snow and thaw following, the rapidity with which it runs down a steep roof is apt to be somewhat violent, for in its descent it may carry away the eave runs, and if it does not fall about somebody’s ears it at least smashes the plants in the flower borders. Judicious people prefer roofs of a lower pitch, where the snow rests until it is cleared away harmlessly by a man sent up for the purpose. High pitched roofs originated when thatch was used as a covering, and then the steep slope was absolutely necessary to run the rain off, which otherwise would have soaked through; but as slate is now almost universally used, a comparatively low pitch is found to answer the purpose. But, besides rain and snow, our climate is notorious for boisterous winds, and high roofs are not the best adapted for resisting these. A very slight knowledge of the law of gravity will enable us to determine that slates bear most heavily on each other the nearer the pitch approaches the horizontal tradition, whereas upon a steep roof, instead of lying hard upon each other, the slates are merely dangling upon their nails, and raise a general clatter whenever a puff of wind blows; while in a storm they may be seen darting about in the most alarming manner, doing all sorts of positive mischief, besides that which results from their absence from the roof.

In short, proprietors of country or coast residences having roofs of the orthodox equilateral triangle pitch, calculate upon their shedding their slates on the approach of winter as regularly as the trees shed their leaves, and these gentlemen contemplate the sad fact with a melancholy unmixed with the least shade of mawkish sentiment. Moreover, from the larger surfaces set at nearly right angles to the direction of the wind which those roofs present, the structure unless unusually strong, will work in a storm, and crack the plaster on the ceilings. In Switzerland, where storms prevail accompanied with rain and snow, low pitched roofs prevail, with eaves projecting to such an extent as to afford effectual protection to the walls – an arrangement much more in accordance with common sense than the stone skews and eave runs of our Gothic buildings. The projecting eaves with which we are familiar in Gothic architecture belong properly to the timber-framed houses; and even in these, owing to the steepness of the roofs, the projections are on so limited a scale as to afford but a partial protection of the walls.

I have already called your attention to the structure of Gothic windows. I shall now ask you to consider their applicability to modern requirements. The best form is what is called the lancet window; but for the very extensive class of domestic buildings these are generally admitted to be unsuitable, and therefore seldom used. The low-pitched segmental arch or the four-centred Tudor arch, neither of which is considered good Gothic, but much more frequently the lintel, which is not Gothic at all, is substituted for the lancet arch. Mr Scott, one of the champions of the style, in his celebrated design for the Foreign Office,[6] acknowledging the incongruity of high pointed windows with the flat ceilings of the rooms, made them square-headed within, and sought to maintain the Gothic character by forming arches on the outside, which were of no use whatever, except for ornament. Another inconvenient peculiarity of Gothic windows is that they are narrow, or subdivided into narrow compartments by means of stone mullions, thus preventing us from getting the full advantage of that useful and very beautiful material, plate-glass, which has been all but universally adopted, to the exclusion of the Gothic lattice, composed of small fragments of bad glass set in a network of lead, which has the properties, ascribed by the mediaevalists to the classic porticoes, of keeping out light and letting in the rain. As our clients insist upon having wide windows with large sheets of plate-glass, and object to steep roofs, it is quite impossible to make good Gothic houses; and consequently a kind of nondescript, almost unworthy of the name of architecture, has come to be the prevailing style.

For commercial buildings, the Gothic style, with its irregularities, is not more appropriate. Every part requires to be well and uniformly lighted, so that goods may be displayed to advantage upon any part of the counters. For retail warehouses the conservatory is a much better model than the feudal castle. In the very old parts of the city where the houses are tall and narrow, a new erection in Gothic or old Scotch style is at least in keeping with the general aspect of things; but when we discover that it is new, we regard it as an attempt to deceive, and turn away with a mixed feeling of anger and disgust at the miserable forgery that has vitiated to our imagination the integrity of the whole locality.

But it is asserted that Gothic architecture is the very thing for churches. Suppose we had never seen a Gothic church, and were called upon to plan a building for the purposes of our Protestant form of worship, is it at all likely that we would have contrived features and adopted such arrangements as a Gothic church presents, as the best suited for use, or the aptest exponent of the spirit of that worship? The difference between the Roman ritual of the thirteenth century and the Protestant Presbyterian form of worship of the nineteenth century is wide and essential. The Romish Church sought to impress the minds of the people by means of imposing ceremonials and splendid pageantries, and everything that was calculated to enhance the effect of these was called to their aid. The Presbyterian Protestant Church of the present day, instead of thus seeking to impose upon the minds of its people by spectacles, professes rather to inform their minds with truth; and to this end the principal part of the service consists in sermons addressed by the minister of the congregation, and the church should be designed and arranged in harmony with the spirit and form of the worship. Instead of being crowded with stone piers, it should be as open as possible. But the mediaevalists never give us such forms. Of course iron pillars and lath and plaster arches are not to be thought of; and for our larger churches, if the arrangement of nave and aisles, divided by stone piers, cannot conveniently be had, the cross form is resorted to, which has the disadvantage of separating the audience into different masses.

I am not fortified with statistics upon the relative merits of Gothic and other churches in regard to acoustics and other requisites, but I believe that it will consist with your experience of Gothic churches that their bare high walls and sloping roofs produce echoes – that the voice of the preacher gets lost in the picturesque recesses, or is killed outright against a great window opposite the pulpit – that many of them are badly arranged for seeing, as many more are badly lighted, and in others the galleries are approached by little winding stairs in turrets, the very recollection of which is enough to make one shudder. I do not mean to say that all those faults are inseparable from Gothic churches; but as the nature of the style calls for variety of treatment and picturesque effects, the merely useful purpose is in danger of being sacrificed to the architectural element.

Then, again, if it is to be admitted that our street ranges must ever continue to be built on horizontal principles, the Gothic must be regarded as a discordant feature in our vistas. It appears out of place, and at variance with everything around it; bristling with spines, it seems to shrink with an expression of irritation from the long lines of four-storey tenements that approach from all sides in stately procession. In considering the artistic merits of Gothic architecture, we shall find that it stops far short of the highest type of architectural development; that it does not afford scope for the exercise of our advanced knowledge and skill in the various departments of science and art; that its revival will tend not only to obstruct our further progress in those, but will certainly lead us back into ignorance and barbarism. [The] Gothic exterior is most injudiciously cut up by perpendicular lines, a mode of treatment fatal to greatness. Shadow, so essential to architectural effect, is only taken advantage of partially. The buttresses, however bold their projection, have shadow only on their sides. In the Greek the range of alternate columns and spaces is united by the entablature with its deep horizontal shadow, as well as the perpendicular shadows in each inter-columniation. By this means, the eye is drawn along the whole facade, so as to enable the mind to take in the entire proportions of the building.

One striking difference between the Gothic and Greek is that in the first the windows or spaces are the objects treated; whereas, in the latter, it is the piers or solid portions, and these are capable, as we have seen, of being rendered absolutely perfect; but what can we make of a hole in the wall except to ornament it? and this circumstance alone will prevent the Gothic from ever becoming a great or true style, and, therefore, is not the style suited to this highly civilised and philosophic age. Let us study the principles taught us by the Greeks in so clear a manner, and we will find that they are universally applicable as they are absolutely true.

[A lively discussion followed the reading of this paper, in which Mr Thomson’s views of Gothic architecture were pretty generally approved, Mr Stevenson,[7] however, pointing out that the Gothic style was most appropriate for street architecture when the site was a hillside, instancing examples in Edinburgh as illustrating his views.]

Notes

1.    Thomson’s lecture to the Glasgow Architectural Society about ‘The Unsuitableness of Gothic Architecture to Modern Requirements’ on 18th April 1864 was reported at length in the North British Daily Mail on Wednesday, 20th April 1864, but without the paragraphing which has been introduced here.

2.    “Mr Ruskin says truly that to make good Gothic there must be something wolfish in it” is an ironic reference to the discussion on ‘Savageness’ in the chapter on ‘The Nature of Gothic’ in the second volume of The Stones of Venice published in 1854 where, in praising “the architecture of the North” for being “rude and wild,” he wrote of “creations of ungainly shape and rigid limb, but full of wolfish life; fierce as the winds that beat, and changeful as the clouds that shade them.”

3.    “Our modern engineers use girders to span spaces...” is Thomson’s first use of his insistent argument that the lintel is superior to the arch together with his comparison of Stonehenge to York Minster. A.W.N. Pugin had referred to the crudeness of lintelled construction and to Stonehenge in his True Principles of Pointed or Christian Architecture of 1841 (where he also ridiculed the structure of St Paul’s Cathedral) but Thomson must also have had in mind Ruskin’s comparison of the Greek, the Romanesque and the Gothic at the end of ‘The Nature of Gothic’ in The Stones of Venice and his definition of the Greek: "Lintel Architecture. The worst of the three; and, considered with reference to stone construction, always in some measure barborous. Its simplest type is Stonehenge; its most refined, the Parthenon; its noblest, the Temple of Karnak."

4.    “They call for decorated construction, and vehemently condemn all constructed decoration...” is a refutation of the second rule in Pugin’s True Principles of Pointed or Christian Architecture, “that all ornament should consist of enrichment of the essential construction of the building... Pointed architecture does not conceal her construction but beautifies it: classic architecture seeks to conceal instead of decorating it...”

5.    Thomson’s discussion of roof types and pitches must be related to Pugin’s argument in favour of the high pitch on page 11 of his True Principles of Pointed or Christian Architecture.

6.    George Gilbert Scott’s “celebrated design for the Foreign Office” had been superseded by his Italianate design at the behest of Lord Palmerston, which was already under construction in 1864. After the farcically mismanaged competition for new government buildings held in 1856–57 – which he had not won – Scott had managed to secure the commission and he revised his Gothic competition entry, but this was rejected by the Prime Minister at the end of 1859; Scott then produced a sort of Byzantine design which Palmerston had dismissed as “neither one thing nor t’other – a regular mongrel affair...” In his Personal and Professional Recollections, Scott recounted how, in his Gothic scheme, he had “designed windows suited to all positions, and of all varieties of size, form, and grouping... I also aimed at another thing which people consider Italian – I mean a certain squareness and horizontality of outline.” He had just published Remarks on Secular and Domestic Architecture, Present and Future (1857) – which Thomson must have known – in which he sought to deny (page vi) that the revival of Gothic “is an antiquarian movement, and seeks to revive all that is ancient, instead of being, as is really the case, pre-eminently free, comprehensive, and practical; ready to adapt itself to every change in the habits of society, to embrace every new material or system of construction, and to adopt implicitly and naturally, and with hearty good will, every invention or improvement, whether artistic, constructional, or directed to the increase of comfort and convenience.” Scott was almost anticipating Thomson’s strictures in this book, for he claimed (p.29) “for Gothic architecture the liberty to use the arch or lintel as circumstances may dictate, but reserving fully a preference, coeteris paribus, for the arch...” while, as for “plate-glass, as undivided as possible. It is one of the most useful and beautiful inventions of our day, and eminently calculated to give cheerfulness to our houses.” In their attitude to modern materials, like iron and plate-glass, Scott and Thomson had, in fact, much in common.

7.    John James Stevenson (1831–1908) was, at this time, still a devout Gothicist, but Thomson was nevertheless a friend and would visit him in London after his departure from Glasgow in 1869. It was “at dinner at Stevenson’s” in 1871 that he encountered George Gilbert Scott junior in ‘Queen Anne’ attire, as Thomson described in his letter to his brother George for 3rd June 1871.