An Argument of Glass and Stone
Princeton Revisions, by Matthew Milliner
Though the then College of New Jersey was forged in the heat of Presbyterian “New Side” fervor, Princeton University definitively surrendered this identity under the watch of its most prominent Presbyterian. During the first (and less tumultuous) of his presidential roles, Woodrow Wilson saw the abolishment of denominational tests as criteria for Princeton trustees, faculty and students in 1906. By 1915 Protestantism had lost its centralizing grip on the curriculum. The institution proceeded apace and the Princeton that we know today is committed not to Christianity in any of its forms, but to fostering an environment where a plurality of perspectives is welcome.
However, the Princeton University Chapel is both ceremonially and cosmetically central to campus, and far from recommending pluralism, it unapologetically endorses Christianity with every arch, boss, buttress and pane. Can this structure be reconciled with the prevailing plurality? By making the argument that the Chapel itself is an argument, I suggest the answer is yes.
The Context
An argument is different from a mandate or decree which invites not response, but assent. An argument seeks naturally to convince, and by doing so takes for granted the freedom of its intended audience to accept, reject or ignore its conclusions. Likewise, consider that Princeton University Chapel attendance is not mandatory. Compulsory weekday religious services were a Princeton institution until they were finally abolished just ten years prior to the present building’s construction. And although it is true that required Sunday service attendance persisted until it was finally rescinded for freshman in 1964, I think it nevertheless accurate to remark that when the current Chapel’s predecessor (Marquand Chapel) went up in flames in 1920, so did the essence of compulsory daily religious observance at Princeton.
Because of this, today’s Chapel is a symbol not of established Princeton religion, but of its belated disestablishment. It is the phoenix rising from the literal ashes of enforceable faith. Following the Chapel’s construction in 1928, one journal celebrated the fact that finally students could meet “unmindful of the question as to whether their attendance is ‘voluntary’ or ‘required’ or ‘compulsory.’” Conversely, a student can successfully graduate from Princeton University today without ever setting foot inside its doors.
But that is not to say we aren’t invited. In the appeal letters to raise funds for the Chapel, then President Hibben, Woodrow Wilson’s successor and the last President of Princeton who was also a theologian, promised that the Chapel would be “the University’s protest against the materialistic philosophy and drift of our age.” Surely Hibben would be concerned as to how much that “materialist philosophy” has drifted into Princeton classrooms and publications today, but that does not change the fact that the University Chapel stands against it. And as with whatever brand of materialist philosophy one might encounter here at Princeton, the ideas that its Chapel promulgates are free to be accepted, rejected or ignored. What are the contours of the argument?
The Convincing
I think the Chapel can be best understood as stone theodicy, a response to the greatest challenge to Christianity, and religion in general - the problem of evil. Upon entering the narthex one is confronted with the greatest Hebrew response to the problem, the book of Job. Climb the stairway to your right and one sees God addressing his afflicted servant from the whirlwind of holy wisdom with a bewildering counter-question to human questioning of divine intent. Exit the narthex into the nave and one is confronted with the second response to the problem of evil offered by the Chapel, that God would actually become a Job, taking on affliction and evil himself. Christ’s life is illustrated in the windows of the north aisle, culminating in the Great NorthWindow of martyrdom, and his teachings comprise the south aisle, building up to the Great South Window of truth. Both the witness unto death (martyrdom) and the struggle against error (truth) are temporal concerns and consequently occupy the transepts, whereas the eternal realities of God’s love and presence occupy the great east and west windows of the more dominant nave.
Though one might think that an argument against materialism might give short shrift to science, the opposite is in fact the case. The far west clerestory windows show circles of the days of creation in the north intentionally echoed by the circles of the science window in the south which show famous scientists investigating the mysteries of God’s physical creation. A more explicit charter for the Christian endorsement of science is difficult to conceive. Galileo, too often perceived as the enemy of religion, shows up in prominent windows twice. Princeton President James McCosh, perhaps most famous for his insistence that evolution was not contrary to his Christian faith, is commemorated in bronze in the Marquand Transept. The Chapel’s progressive attitude towards learning is further illustrated by the various disciplines depicted in the south clerestory, giving place even to foes of Christianity such as David Hume. And the external Rothschild arch on the east side, by connecting the Chapel with Dickinson Hall intentionally makes the case that faith and learning are connected.
Furthermore, the Chapel is strangely inviting to a feminist interpretation. In the Great East Window below Christ crucified in the oculus are those to whom he revealed his resurrected body. On the right stand the first to see him, the women, and on the left stand the men, both on the same level. This amounts to a strikingly egalitarian vision of Christian faith in arguably the most prominent location in the entire structure. And though admittedly crusaders such as Godfrey de Bouillion and Richard the Lionhearted make their appearances, the same east window showcases the Chapel’s most prominent verse, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” In addition, the fact that the wood of the nave pews was originally intended to become civil war gun carriages both beautifully echoes Isaiah’s prophecy the swords would be bent into plowshares, and makes it rather difficult to dismiss the Chapel as an endorsement of religiously inspired violence.
In a pluralist University it is an open question whether or not the Chapel is a beautiful illusion that masks the true reality of nature “red in tooth and claw,” or whether its beauty has an actual referent in the eternal glory of God. Nothing uncovered in University classrooms, libraries, or labs can ultimately answer that question, as the question is beyond nature. The Chapel does what it can to convince that there is more to the cosmos than meets the materialist eye, and we are free to accept, reject or ignore the argument. What does it have to say to those who are convinced?
The Convinced
The Chapel is not without nods to faiths beyond Christianity. One interesting example is Abraham’s sash in the north clerestory, which contains a Star of David, a cross, and a crescent. This depiction of Abraham as father of the three great monotheisms was in the Chapel well before it became as common an observation as it is today. But though many Jewish, pre-Christian pagan, and even a Muslim window can be found, the Chapel is incorrigibly Christian, and it strikes me as somewhat patronizing to ask campus Muslims, Jews or those of other faiths to ignore the obvious in favor of a token window or two. An interpretation of the Chapel that is, I think, more respectful to non-Christians entails understanding it as an argument free to be accepted, rejected or ignored.
Because of their consanguinity with Princeton’s history, the Chapel gives the Protestant much to appreciate. If ever there was a visual testimony to the Protestant heritage that slipped past the sleeping dragons of Reformed iconoclasm, the Chapel is among the finest. The green sentinel of Scottish Presbyterian John Witherspoon stands outside, and appears again honored amongst greats such as Paul, John, Augustine, Benedict and Francis in the Great South Window. Other Protestants luminaries such as Luther, Calvin, Knox, Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield also have their place.. In the Theology window (south clerestory) are depicted the “five pillars” of Protestantism: Justification by faith, the priesthood of all believers, authority of the Bible, the right of private judgment, and the sacredness of all vocations. Furthermore, the specifically Protestant epics of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress and Milton’s Paradise Lost enjoy prominence in south end of the Milbank choir.
The Catholic might enjoy considering that the construction of Marquand Chapel’s predecessor, the “Old Chapel,” was halted at one point due to its cruciform design. Presbyterian trustees threatened to withhold building funds because the crosses reeked of popery. Yet in the present Chapel, thanks to the High Church Anglicanism of architect Ralph Adams Cram, the construction is basically that of a Gothic Cathedral. Further support for the Catholic interpretation is found in the fact that almost directly across from the window containing the five pillars of Protestantism is the recently established Blessed Sacrament Chapel. And though there may be Protestant pillars in the Theology window, in its center stands Thomas Aquinas.
Furthermore, it is hard to conceive of a more suitable location for daily Catholic mass than Marquand Transept. As the priest lifts up the host, the ascending passion windows directly behind him parallel the consecration. In addition, the Belgian Professor and Nazi resister Cardinal Mercier, along with Saints Sebastian, Stephen, Lawrence, Thomas Becket and Joan of Arc stand directly above those gathered each afternoon for Mass. Finally, though the doctrine of justification by faith does occupy one small window, a more gradual process of salvation is articulated in the seven deadly sins and complementing virtues that show up both carved in stone in the north entrance to the Sacrament Chapel, and again in the Dante window that shows each vice supplanted by its corresponding virtue in purgatory.
The Orthodox have some (though not as much) reason to celebrate as well. John of Damascus appears in the north narthex, Athanasius appears in the Theology window and St. Theodore of Amasea in the Great orth Window. And though Augustine admittedly dominates the Great South Window of teaching, at least he is joined by Clement of Alexandria.
If each branch of the Christian tradition finds somewhat of a home here, this is by design. The Princeton Alumni Weekly, in reference to Cram’s vision, explained: “With Christianity split asunder into so many doctrinal and denominational fragments, we need some massive monument to its holistic heritage in cut stone and elaborately crafted glass, creating a panorama of the unfolding Christian narrative.”
But encouraging as all this may be to the Christian’s respective heritage, the Chapel makes arguments contra Christians as well. To take one of many examples, standing before the Great East Window dedicated to love is a striking illustration of what it means to practice what one preaches. The two right lancets show the six works of mercy of Matthew 25 (I was a stranger, I was thirsty, etc.) brilliantly paired with New Testament acts that exhibit just such characteristics (i.e. Zacchaeus’ hospitality and the Samaritan woman at the well). Does the viewer’s life likewise correspond?
A sober meditation on the Great East Window alone is enough to devastate any honest Christian claiming to have embodied the Chapel’s message. Because of this, the Chapel may be an argument to the unbeliever, but perhaps more so it is an argument against the presumably convinced.
Though the then College of New Jersey was forged in the heat of Presbyterian “New Side” fervor, Princeton University definitively surrendered this identity under the watch of its most prominent Presbyterian. During the first (and less tumultuous) of his presidential roles, Woodrow Wilson saw the abolishment of denominational tests as criteria for Princeton trustees, faculty and students in 1906. By 1915 Protestantism had lost its centralizing grip on the curriculum. The institution proceeded apace and the Princeton that we know today is committed not to Christianity in any of its forms, but to fostering an environment where a plurality of perspectives is welcome.
However, the Princeton University Chapel is both ceremonially and cosmetically central to campus, and far from recommending pluralism, it unapologetically endorses Christianity with every arch, boss, buttress and pane. Can this structure be reconciled with the prevailing plurality? By making the argument that the Chapel itself is an argument, I suggest the answer is yes.
The Context
An argument is different from a mandate or decree which invites not response, but assent. An argument seeks naturally to convince, and by doing so takes for granted the freedom of its intended audience to accept, reject or ignore its conclusions. Likewise, consider that Princeton University Chapel attendance is not mandatory. Compulsory weekday religious services were a Princeton institution until they were finally abolished just ten years prior to the present building’s construction. And although it is true that required Sunday service attendance persisted until it was finally rescinded for freshman in 1964, I think it nevertheless accurate to remark that when the current Chapel’s predecessor (Marquand Chapel) went up in flames in 1920, so did the essence of compulsory daily religious observance at Princeton.
Because of this, today’s Chapel is a symbol not of established Princeton religion, but of its belated disestablishment. It is the phoenix rising from the literal ashes of enforceable faith. Following the Chapel’s construction in 1928, one journal celebrated the fact that finally students could meet “unmindful of the question as to whether their attendance is ‘voluntary’ or ‘required’ or ‘compulsory.’” Conversely, a student can successfully graduate from Princeton University today without ever setting foot inside its doors.
But that is not to say we aren’t invited. In the appeal letters to raise funds for the Chapel, then President Hibben, Woodrow Wilson’s successor and the last President of Princeton who was also a theologian, promised that the Chapel would be “the University’s protest against the materialistic philosophy and drift of our age.” Surely Hibben would be concerned as to how much that “materialist philosophy” has drifted into Princeton classrooms and publications today, but that does not change the fact that the University Chapel stands against it. And as with whatever brand of materialist philosophy one might encounter here at Princeton, the ideas that its Chapel promulgates are free to be accepted, rejected or ignored. What are the contours of the argument?
The Convincing
I think the Chapel can be best understood as stone theodicy, a response to the greatest challenge to Christianity, and religion in general - the problem of evil. Upon entering the narthex one is confronted with the greatest Hebrew response to the problem, the book of Job. Climb the stairway to your right and one sees God addressing his afflicted servant from the whirlwind of holy wisdom with a bewildering counter-question to human questioning of divine intent. Exit the narthex into the nave and one is confronted with the second response to the problem of evil offered by the Chapel, that God would actually become a Job, taking on affliction and evil himself. Christ’s life is illustrated in the windows of the north aisle, culminating in the Great NorthWindow of martyrdom, and his teachings comprise the south aisle, building up to the Great South Window of truth. Both the witness unto death (martyrdom) and the struggle against error (truth) are temporal concerns and consequently occupy the transepts, whereas the eternal realities of God’s love and presence occupy the great east and west windows of the more dominant nave.
Though one might think that an argument against materialism might give short shrift to science, the opposite is in fact the case. The far west clerestory windows show circles of the days of creation in the north intentionally echoed by the circles of the science window in the south which show famous scientists investigating the mysteries of God’s physical creation. A more explicit charter for the Christian endorsement of science is difficult to conceive. Galileo, too often perceived as the enemy of religion, shows up in prominent windows twice. Princeton President James McCosh, perhaps most famous for his insistence that evolution was not contrary to his Christian faith, is commemorated in bronze in the Marquand Transept. The Chapel’s progressive attitude towards learning is further illustrated by the various disciplines depicted in the south clerestory, giving place even to foes of Christianity such as David Hume. And the external Rothschild arch on the east side, by connecting the Chapel with Dickinson Hall intentionally makes the case that faith and learning are connected.
Furthermore, the Chapel is strangely inviting to a feminist interpretation. In the Great East Window below Christ crucified in the oculus are those to whom he revealed his resurrected body. On the right stand the first to see him, the women, and on the left stand the men, both on the same level. This amounts to a strikingly egalitarian vision of Christian faith in arguably the most prominent location in the entire structure. And though admittedly crusaders such as Godfrey de Bouillion and Richard the Lionhearted make their appearances, the same east window showcases the Chapel’s most prominent verse, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” In addition, the fact that the wood of the nave pews was originally intended to become civil war gun carriages both beautifully echoes Isaiah’s prophecy the swords would be bent into plowshares, and makes it rather difficult to dismiss the Chapel as an endorsement of religiously inspired violence.
In a pluralist University it is an open question whether or not the Chapel is a beautiful illusion that masks the true reality of nature “red in tooth and claw,” or whether its beauty has an actual referent in the eternal glory of God. Nothing uncovered in University classrooms, libraries, or labs can ultimately answer that question, as the question is beyond nature. The Chapel does what it can to convince that there is more to the cosmos than meets the materialist eye, and we are free to accept, reject or ignore the argument. What does it have to say to those who are convinced?
The Convinced
The Chapel is not without nods to faiths beyond Christianity. One interesting example is Abraham’s sash in the north clerestory, which contains a Star of David, a cross, and a crescent. This depiction of Abraham as father of the three great monotheisms was in the Chapel well before it became as common an observation as it is today. But though many Jewish, pre-Christian pagan, and even a Muslim window can be found, the Chapel is incorrigibly Christian, and it strikes me as somewhat patronizing to ask campus Muslims, Jews or those of other faiths to ignore the obvious in favor of a token window or two. An interpretation of the Chapel that is, I think, more respectful to non-Christians entails understanding it as an argument free to be accepted, rejected or ignored.
Because of their consanguinity with Princeton’s history, the Chapel gives the Protestant much to appreciate. If ever there was a visual testimony to the Protestant heritage that slipped past the sleeping dragons of Reformed iconoclasm, the Chapel is among the finest. The green sentinel of Scottish Presbyterian John Witherspoon stands outside, and appears again honored amongst greats such as Paul, John, Augustine, Benedict and Francis in the Great South Window. Other Protestants luminaries such as Luther, Calvin, Knox, Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield also have their place.. In the Theology window (south clerestory) are depicted the “five pillars” of Protestantism: Justification by faith, the priesthood of all believers, authority of the Bible, the right of private judgment, and the sacredness of all vocations. Furthermore, the specifically Protestant epics of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress and Milton’s Paradise Lost enjoy prominence in south end of the Milbank choir.
The Catholic might enjoy considering that the construction of Marquand Chapel’s predecessor, the “Old Chapel,” was halted at one point due to its cruciform design. Presbyterian trustees threatened to withhold building funds because the crosses reeked of popery. Yet in the present Chapel, thanks to the High Church Anglicanism of architect Ralph Adams Cram, the construction is basically that of a Gothic Cathedral. Further support for the Catholic interpretation is found in the fact that almost directly across from the window containing the five pillars of Protestantism is the recently established Blessed Sacrament Chapel. And though there may be Protestant pillars in the Theology window, in its center stands Thomas Aquinas.
Furthermore, it is hard to conceive of a more suitable location for daily Catholic mass than Marquand Transept. As the priest lifts up the host, the ascending passion windows directly behind him parallel the consecration. In addition, the Belgian Professor and Nazi resister Cardinal Mercier, along with Saints Sebastian, Stephen, Lawrence, Thomas Becket and Joan of Arc stand directly above those gathered each afternoon for Mass. Finally, though the doctrine of justification by faith does occupy one small window, a more gradual process of salvation is articulated in the seven deadly sins and complementing virtues that show up both carved in stone in the north entrance to the Sacrament Chapel, and again in the Dante window that shows each vice supplanted by its corresponding virtue in purgatory.
The Orthodox have some (though not as much) reason to celebrate as well. John of Damascus appears in the north narthex, Athanasius appears in the Theology window and St. Theodore of Amasea in the Great orth Window. And though Augustine admittedly dominates the Great South Window of teaching, at least he is joined by Clement of Alexandria.
If each branch of the Christian tradition finds somewhat of a home here, this is by design. The Princeton Alumni Weekly, in reference to Cram’s vision, explained: “With Christianity split asunder into so many doctrinal and denominational fragments, we need some massive monument to its holistic heritage in cut stone and elaborately crafted glass, creating a panorama of the unfolding Christian narrative.”
But encouraging as all this may be to the Christian’s respective heritage, the Chapel makes arguments contra Christians as well. To take one of many examples, standing before the Great East Window dedicated to love is a striking illustration of what it means to practice what one preaches. The two right lancets show the six works of mercy of Matthew 25 (I was a stranger, I was thirsty, etc.) brilliantly paired with New Testament acts that exhibit just such characteristics (i.e. Zacchaeus’ hospitality and the Samaritan woman at the well). Does the viewer’s life likewise correspond?
A sober meditation on the Great East Window alone is enough to devastate any honest Christian claiming to have embodied the Chapel’s message. Because of this, the Chapel may be an argument to the unbeliever, but perhaps more so it is an argument against the presumably convinced.
posted by Augustine at 5:05 PM
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