Norwich Cathedral is around 900 years old. Although some parts of the Cathedral were built in the light and airy styles of late mediaeval gothic the earlier architectural legacy of the Normans with its much heavier construction techniques predominates. Gothic architecture wears its God striving mystique on its sleeve, but the older lumpen Romanesque of the Normans conveys a sense of Divine mystery via its archaic and primitive feel rather by recourse to platonic ideals of beauty. As I sat I in one of the aisles of the Cathedral as midnight approached on Christmas Eve my aspect was thoroughly dominated by the pillars of huge girth that march up and down the aisles. My eye sought relief from the oppressive heaviness of the Norman architecture by turning its gaze up toward the lofty nave with its breathtaking vista of three successive tiers of colonnades. The primeval feel of the building gives it an otherworldly atmosphere; perhaps the sort of thing Tolkein had in mind when he described the ancient halls of Moria.
Compared to Norman architecture gothic, particularly perpendicular gothic, with its delicate traceries and minimalist pillars and buttressing, is closer to the modernist ideal of material efficient constructions. A fine example of perpendicular architecture is found in the church of St Peter Mancroft that borders the south side of Norwich market place. Built in the fifteenth century, the slenderness of its stone pillars and large windows, which together maximize light, floor space, and uninterrupted lines of sight, anticipate the modern era of reinforced concrete and steel constructions.
But although perpendicular gothic parallels the modern practice of creating a thin elegant weather covering rather than a cavern of stone, the church builders of renascence England did not know that they were closing in fast on the disruptive social non-linearities of modern times. For romanesque and gothic churches had one thing in common; they were both effectively sink holes for the surplus labour of their respective social settings; something alien to our culture with its constant tension between investment and spending.
Whenever I am in a large romanesque or gothic church, I find it difficult to empathise with the social ethos that lead to their construction. Like the pyramid builders of ancient Egypt it is clear that mediaeval and renascence society had an agricultural surplus large enough to sink a vast amount of labour into massive stone celebrations of their religion. Although these constructions may have served intangible social mores revolving around a sense of community and religious purpose, they had no productive purpose that the modern industrial mindset can comprehend. Once constructed, that was it; the labour embodied in these fantastic buildings went no further and served no direct productive end; unlike the industrial period when investment in the construction of say, a large factory is intended to facilitate or enhance further production. In the modern world investment is the name of the game and capital is invested to further increase capital, thus leading to the unstable exponentials and non-linearities of modern society.
From a modern perspective with its values of investment, betterment, and change, often all motivated by the search for profit, the mediaeval ethos of social stasis and massive construction projects that fossilized surplus labour is difficult to understand. What exactly motivated these people? Was it just about the maintaining the power of the priesthood via an oppressive stone symbolism whose sheer magnitude cowered the lower ranks of society into submission, or did that society genuinely have the glory of God in their minds? - Perhaps a bit of both. If that is so then the modern mind does have a significant point of contact with the minds of medieval and renascence times – namely that of having inseparably mixed motives. The medieval priest supported the status quo because his desire to maintain his station within it was in inseparable union with his motive to glorify God. Likewise, today’s entrepreneur may wish to better society through his innovating efforts but he is unlikely to be able to resolve this altruistic motive from a desire for personal profit. Mixed motives are very difficult, if not impossible, to resolve into their components. Sin, the word with the 'I' in the middle, is inextricably mixed with human motives (Romans 7:15-25) and that's why the saviour came.
Compared to Norman architecture gothic, particularly perpendicular gothic, with its delicate traceries and minimalist pillars and buttressing, is closer to the modernist ideal of material efficient constructions. A fine example of perpendicular architecture is found in the church of St Peter Mancroft that borders the south side of Norwich market place. Built in the fifteenth century, the slenderness of its stone pillars and large windows, which together maximize light, floor space, and uninterrupted lines of sight, anticipate the modern era of reinforced concrete and steel constructions.
But although perpendicular gothic parallels the modern practice of creating a thin elegant weather covering rather than a cavern of stone, the church builders of renascence England did not know that they were closing in fast on the disruptive social non-linearities of modern times. For romanesque and gothic churches had one thing in common; they were both effectively sink holes for the surplus labour of their respective social settings; something alien to our culture with its constant tension between investment and spending.
Whenever I am in a large romanesque or gothic church, I find it difficult to empathise with the social ethos that lead to their construction. Like the pyramid builders of ancient Egypt it is clear that mediaeval and renascence society had an agricultural surplus large enough to sink a vast amount of labour into massive stone celebrations of their religion. Although these constructions may have served intangible social mores revolving around a sense of community and religious purpose, they had no productive purpose that the modern industrial mindset can comprehend. Once constructed, that was it; the labour embodied in these fantastic buildings went no further and served no direct productive end; unlike the industrial period when investment in the construction of say, a large factory is intended to facilitate or enhance further production. In the modern world investment is the name of the game and capital is invested to further increase capital, thus leading to the unstable exponentials and non-linearities of modern society.
From a modern perspective with its values of investment, betterment, and change, often all motivated by the search for profit, the mediaeval ethos of social stasis and massive construction projects that fossilized surplus labour is difficult to understand. What exactly motivated these people? Was it just about the maintaining the power of the priesthood via an oppressive stone symbolism whose sheer magnitude cowered the lower ranks of society into submission, or did that society genuinely have the glory of God in their minds? - Perhaps a bit of both. If that is so then the modern mind does have a significant point of contact with the minds of medieval and renascence times – namely that of having inseparably mixed motives. The medieval priest supported the status quo because his desire to maintain his station within it was in inseparable union with his motive to glorify God. Likewise, today’s entrepreneur may wish to better society through his innovating efforts but he is unlikely to be able to resolve this altruistic motive from a desire for personal profit. Mixed motives are very difficult, if not impossible, to resolve into their components. Sin, the word with the 'I' in the middle, is inextricably mixed with human motives (Romans 7:15-25) and that's why the saviour came.