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By Canon Barnett.

1912.

1 From “The Contemporary Review”. By permission of the Editor.

This generation is face to face with many and hard problems. Perhaps the hardest and the one which underlies all the others is that which concerns the spiritualizing of life. Discoveries and inventions have largely increased the attractions of the things which can be seen and heard, touched, and tasted. Rich and poor have alike found that the world is full of so many things that they ought to be all as happy as kings, and the one ideal which seems to command any enthusiasm is a Socialistic State, where material things will be more equally divided among all classes.

But even so, there is an underlying consciousness that possessions do not satisfy human nature. Millionaires are seen to miss happiness, and something else than armaments are wanted to make the strength of a nation. There is thus a widely-spread disposition to take more account of spiritual forces, and people who have not themselves the courage to forsake all for the sake of an idea speak with sympathy of religion and patronize the Salvation Army. There is much talk of “rival ideals dominating action,” and the prevalent unrest seems to come from a demand, not so much for more money as for more respect, more recognition of equality, more room for the exercise of admiration, hope, and love. Modern unrest is, in fact, a cry for light.

The problem which is haunting this generation is how to spiritualize the forces which are shaping the future; how to inspire labour and capital with thoughts which will both elevate and control their actions; how to enable rich and poor to move in a larger world, seeing things which eyes cannot see; how to open channels between eternal sources and every day’s need; how to give to all the sense of partnership in a progress which is fitting the earth for man’s enjoyment and men for one another’s comfort. The spiritualization of life being necessary to human peace and happiness; its accomplishment is the goal of all reformers, and every reform may in fact be measured by its power to advance or hinder progress to that goal.

I would suggest that the cathedrals are especially designed to help in the solution of the problem. Their attractiveness is a striking fact, and people who are too busy to read or to pray seem to find time to visit buildings where they will gain no advantage for their trade or profession, not even fresh air for their bodies. They are recognized as civic or national possessions, and working people who stand aloof from places of worship, or patronize meeting-houses, are distinctly interested in their care and preservation. They have an unfailing hold on the popular imagination, so that it is always easy to gather a congregation to take part in a service, or to listen to a lecture.

“It was not so much what the lecturer said,” was the reflection of Mr. Crooks after a lecture in Westminster Abbey on English History, “as the place in which it was given.”

The cathedrals have thus a peculiar position in the modern world, and if it be asked to what the position is due I am inclined to answer: to their unostentatious grandeur and to their testimony to the past. They are high and mighty, they lift their heads to heaven, and they open their doors to the humblest. They give the best away, and ask for nothing, neither praise nor notice. They are buildings through which the stream of ages has flowed, familiar to the people of old time as of the present, bearing traces of Norman strength and English aspirations, of the enthusiasm of Catholics and Puritans, of the hopes of the makers of the nation. The cathedrals are thus in touch with the spiritual sides of life, and make their appeal to the same powers which desire before all things to see the fair beauty of the Lord, and to commune with man’s eternal mind.

But the cathedrals which make this appeal can hardly be said to be well used. There are the somewhat perfunctory services morning and afternoon, often suspended or degraded during holiday months when visitors are most numerous; there are sermons rarely to be distinguished from those heard in a thousand parish churches; there is a staff of eight or ten clergy who may be busy at good works, but certainly do not make their cathedral position their platform; and there are guides who for a small fee will conduct parties round the church. Among these guides are indeed to be found men who have made a study of the building, and are able to talk of it as lovers, but the guides for the most part give no other information than lists of names and dates, sometimes relieved by a common-place anecdote. The cathedrals are treated as museums, and not so well as the Forum of Rome. The question is: Can they be made of greater use in spiritualizing life? I would offer some suggestions:—

1. Cathedrals might, I think, be more generally used for civic, county and national functions, for intercession at times of crisis, and for services in connexion with meetings of conferences and congresses. The services might be especially adapted by music and by speech to deepen the effect of the building with its grandeur and memories. The use in this direction has increased of late years, and even when the service seems to be little more than a church parade, those present are often helped by the reminder that their immediate concern has a place in a greater whole. But the use might be largely extended, so that every example of corporate life might be set in the framework which would give it dignity. Elections to civic councils might be better understood if the newly-elected bodies gathered in the grand central building where vulgar divisions would be hushed in the greatness, and the ambitions of parties lifted up into an atmosphere in which the rivals of past days are recognized in their common service to the State. The meetings of congresses and conferences—of scientific and trade societies—of leagues and unions for social reform would be helped by beginning their deliberations in a place which would both humble and widen the thoughts of the members.

Intercessional services, when guided by a few directing words, at which men and women would gather to fix their minds on great ideals—on peace—on sympathy with the oppressed—on the needs of children and prisoners, would gain force from the association of a building where generations have prayed and hoped and suffered. And if, as well as being more frequent, such use were more carefully considered the effect would be much deeper. It is not enough, for instance, that the service should always follow the old form, and the music be elaborate and the sermon orthodox. Consideration might be given so that prayers, and music, and speech might all be made to work together with the influences of the building to touch the spiritual side of the object interesting to the congregation. The soul of the least important member of a civic council or a society is larger than its programme. The cathedral service might be, by much consideration, designed to help such souls to realize something of the vast horizons in which they move—something of the infinite issues attached to their resolutions and votes, something of the company filling the past and the future of which they are members. The cathedrals, by such frequent and well-considered uses, might do much to spiritualize life.

2. There are, as I have said, usually eight or ten clergy who form the cathedral staff. Many of them are chosen for their distinction in some form of spiritual service, and all have devoted themselves to that service. They may be in other ways delivering themselves of their duties, but they as spiritual teachers cannot as a rule be said to identify themselves with the cathedral. They do not use all their powers to make the building a centre of spiritual life.

I would suggest, therefore, that these clergy attached to the cathedral should have classes or lectures on theological, social, and historic subjects. They should give their teaching freely in one of the chapels of the cathedral, and the teaching should be so thorough as to command the attention of the neighbouring clergy and other thoughtful people. They would also, on occasions, give lectures in the nave designed to guide popular thought to the better understanding of the live questions of the day, or of the past.

And inasmuch as many of the clergy have been chosen for their skill in music, which often at great cost holds a high place in cathedral worship, I would suggest that regular teaching be given in the relation of music to worship. Words, we are often told, do not make music sacred, and religion has probably suffered degradation from the attachment of high words to low music. There is certainly no doubt that the music in many churches is both bad in character and pretentious. If teaching were freely given by qualified teachers in the cathedrals, if examples of the best were freely offered, and if the place of music in worship were clearly shown, then music might become a valuable agent in spiritualizing life.

Perhaps, however, the clergy might urge that they could not by such teaching deliver themselves of their obligation to do spiritual work. They would rather wrestle with souls and unite in prayer. But surely if their teaching has for its aim the opening of men’s minds to know the truth—the enlistment of men’s hearts in others’ service and the bringing of the understanding into worship, then their teaching will end in the knowledge of others’ souls and in acts of common devotion. The cathedral staff might, through the cathedral and the position it holds in a city, do much to spiritualize life.

3. The great spiritual asset of the cathedral is, however, its association with the past, and its living witness that the present is the child of the past. This may be called a spiritual asset, because it is this conception of the past which, as is evident among the Jews and Japanese, is able to inspire and control action. The people who see as in a vision their country boldly standing and suffering for some great principles and hear the voices of the great dead calling them “children,” have power and peace within their reach.

It is, as I have said, because of some dim consciousness of this truth that crowds of visitors flock into the buildings and spend a rare holiday in hanging upon the dry words of the guides. It is easy to imagine how their readily-offered interest might be seized, how guides with fresh knowledge and trained sympathy might make the building tell and illustrate the tale of the nation’s growth, how the different styles of architecture might be made to express different stages of thought, how the whole structure might be shown to be a shell and rind covering living principles, how every one might be lifted up and humbled as the building told him of England’s search for justice, freedom, and truth. It is easy to imagine how such a living interpretation might be given to the message of the building, but much work would first be necessary.

The cathedral staff would have to be constant learners, and take up different sides of interest. They would themselves frequently accompany parties and individuals, so that in intimate talk they would learn the mind of the people, and they would be continually instructing the regular guides. Their special duty would be to give at certain times short talks on the history, the architecture, and the art, so that visitors might be sure that at these times they would learn what light new knowledge was throwing on the familiar surroundings.

The power of the past is dormant, it is buried beneath the insistent present, but it is not dead, and it is conceivable that thoughtful and devoted effort might rouse it to speak through the buildings which have witnessed the highest aspirations of successive ages. If such effort succeeded, and if the people of to-day could be helped to know and feel the England of old days, they would be conscious of a spiritual force bearing them on to great deeds. They would begin to understand how things which are not seen are stronger than things which are seen. The cathedrals have in themselves a message which would help to spiritualize life, but without interpreters the message can hardly be heard.

4. I would add one other suggestion arising from the monuments which in every cathedral attract so much notice. They are the memorials of men and women notable in national or local history who belonged to various parties and classes, to different forms of faith and different professions representing divers qualities and diverse forms of service.

It would not be difficult for each cathedral to make a calendar of worthies. A lecture every month on one such worthy would give an opportunity for taking the minds of modern men into the surroundings of the past, where they would see clearly the value of character. Familiarity with the lives of Saints has been doubtless a great help to many lonely and anxious souls, but this hardly applies to those who hear sermons on St. Jude, and St. Bartholomew, and other Saints of whom little can be known. If, however, from its great men and women each cathedral selected twelve, for one of whom a day should be set apart each month, the people in the locality would gradually become familiar with their characters and gain by communion with them.

Thoughts are best revealed through lives, and the attraction of personality was never more marked than at the present day. Through the lives of the great dead, and through the persons of those who walked or worshipped within familiar walls, it would be possible to make people understand great principles, and gradually become conscious of the Common Source from which flows “every good and perfect gift”. The dead speak from the walls of the cathedral, but they have no interpreter, and the mass of the people who are waiting for their message go away unsatisfied. A power which would help to spiritualize life is unused.

But perhaps it may be urged that if all were done which has been suggested, if the minds of visitors were kindled to admiration, if the past were made to live and the dead to speak, much more would be necessary to spiritualize life. Certainly the “spirit bloweth where it listeth,” and only they who feel its breath are born again and enter a world of power, of peace, and of love.

But it may be claimed that some attitudes are better than others in which to feel this breath, and that people whose pride has been brought low by the beauty of a great building, or whose ears have been opened to the voices of the past, will be more likely to bow before the Holy Spirit than those who have no thought beyond what they can see, hear, or touch.

The age, we sometimes say, is waiting for a great leader—a prophet who will make dead bones to live. It is well to remember that for all redeemers the way has to be prepared, and the coming spiritual leader will be helped if through our cathedrals people have developed powers of communion with the Unseen.

Samuel A. Barnett.