CHAPTER I

INDEPENDENT SYMBOLICAL ARCHITECTURE

The primary and original necessity of art is this, that a conception, a thought emanate from mind, be produced and emphasized by man as the result of his activity, just as in speech there are simple ideas which man communicates thereby and makes intelligible to others. In human speech, however, the means of communication is accepted merely as a sign, and for this reason is an entirely arbitrary mode of externalization. The function of art, on the contrary, is not only to make use of the mere symbolic sign, but, in contrast to this, to supply a sensuous presence correspondent to significances. On the one hand, therefore, the sensuous product, which art presents to us, must afford lodging for an ideal content; on the other it has to represent this content in a manner which enables us to see that it is itself as its content not merely a realization of immediate reality, but an actual product of human conception and its spiritual activity. If I see, for example, an actually living lion I deduce from the unique presentment of the same the concept of lion precisely as I should in the case of a picture of it. In the picture, however, we find something more than this. It demonstrates to us that the form has been conceived in the mind, and has found the origination of its existence in the human spirit and its productive activity, so that now we not only receive the idea of an object, but the idea of a human conception of that object. There is, however, no original artistic necessity that either a lion, merely as such[34], a tree, or any other single object be added for the success of such reproduction. We have seen, on the contrary, that art, and pre-eminently plastic art, proceeds with the presentation of such objects in order to affirm in them the dexterity of the counterfeit from the artist's own point of view. The interest in its first origination is directed to bringing before the vision of the artist himself and others the primary impressions of the objective facts, and the universal or essential thoughts thus stimulated. Such popular impressions are, however, in the first instance abstract and in themselves of indefinite character, so that man, in order that he may present them to the imagination, lays hold of that which is essentially just as abstract, the material medium as it is--which is at once massive and ponderous--a material which is no doubt capable of a definite, but not of an intrinsically concrete and veritably spiritual, content. The relation between content and sensuous reality, by virtue of which the content is to pass from the concipient world into that of imagination, can consequently only be of a symbolical type. At the same time, however, a building, which purports to declare a general significance for others, stands there for no other purpose save that of essentially expressing this loftier aspect, and is consequently an independent symbol of a thought that goes straight to its essential import, and is of universal validity, a kind of speech which is present to spiritual life on its own account, however much it may not be expressed through sound. The products, therefore, of this type of architecture are necessarily stimulating to thought of themselves, and arouse universal concepts, albeit they fail to be the mere envelope and environment of significances which otherwise possess independent form. For this reason, however, the form which permits a content of this kind to appear through it cannot perforce merely pass as symbolic sign, as, for example, in the case when we raise a cross to a deceased person, or erect stones in memory of battles. For signs of this character are doubtless qualified to stimulate ideas, but a cross, or a pile of stones, do not suggest, in virtue of their own nature, the idea which it is our object to awake, but are just as able to remind us of much else entirely different. This distinction constitutes the general notion of the stage now discussed[35].

With regard to this it may be affirmed that entire nations have known how to express their profoundest requirements in no other way than by the arts of building, or at least pre-eminently in an architectonic way. This has been, however, to an essential degree only in the East, as will appear from what we have already seen when we were called on to discuss the symbolic type of art. To an exceptional degree we may say that the constructions of the more ancient art of Babylonia, India, and Egypt--which we have now before us to some extent only in ruins, ruins which have been able to defy all ages and their revolutions, and which excite our wonder and astonishment as much on account of what is wholly fantastic in their forms as in virtue of their extraordinary proportions and mass--either completely bear this character, or in great measure are derived from it. They are works whose construction enlists at certain periods of history the entire activity and life of nations.

If, however, we inquire more closely into the _classification_ proposed by this chapter and the heads of subject-matter comprised in it, we shall find that the point of departure in this kind of architecture is not, as in the case of the classic or romantic type, from definite forms similar to that of the house. In other words we have here no independently secure content, and with it no secure mode of embodiment, advanced as the principle thereof, which is forthwith related in its further development to the entire range of the different constructions. Rather the significances which are accepted as content remain, as in the case of the symbolic type generally, likewise inchoate and general conceptions, elementary, in many respects separated and interfused abstractions of natural life mingled with thoughts of spiritual

## activity, without being, ideally concentrated to a focus as the evolved

states of _one_ mind[36]. This aspect of dissolution gives them the appearance of the greatest variety and change, and the object of such architecture merely consists in emphasizing in its presentation first one aspect and then another, in making such symbolical, and, by means of human labour, making such symbolism apparent to us. Before a multiplicity of content such as this we cannot pretend in this discussion to be either exhaustive or systematic. I shall limit myself to an attempt, so far as this is possible, to bring simply that which is of most importance into connection with a rational classification.

The prominent features of such a survey may be thus briefly enumerated.

As content our demand was for modes of view of a wholly general character, in which peoples and individuals possess an ideal resting-place, a point, a unity for consciousness. The _proximate_ object, therefore, of such independent and self-substantive construction is simply to raise some work, which forms the _unity_ of a nation or nations, a place in which its life may be concentrated. We may also find along with this the further object more nearly associated, to present by means of this very embodiment, that which generally unites mankind, in other words the religious ideas of nations, by virtue of which works of this kind receive likewise a more definite content for their symbolical expression.

Furthermore, in the _second_ place, such an architecture is unable to remain fixed within the limits of this incipient determination of its _entire_ content; the symbolical images tend to become _isolated_; the symbolical content of their signification is more closely defined, and by this means we find that the distinctions of their forms tend to come into more assured prominence, as for instance we see in the case of the Lingam columns, obelisks, and other examples of this kind. From another point of view the art of building, in the spirit of such isolated self-subsistency, presses forward in its passage to _sculpture_, its acceptance of organic animal forms or human figures, its enlargement of either and association of both of them, however, on a prodigious scale, in its further addition of walls, doors and passages, and throughout in its treatment of what is adapted to sculpture in such objects in an entirely architectonic manner. The Sphinxes, Memnons, and enormous temples of Egypt come under this category.

_Thirdly_, this symbolical art of building begins to present the transitional stage to the classic type. In other words it excludes sculpture from its immediate province, and sets about constructing itself as a receptacle for other significances, which are themselves not merely expressed under an architectonic mode. That the reader may better understand the process thus indicated I will recall to memory a few famous examples of such buildings.

1. ARCHITECTURAL WORKS ERECTED WITH THE OBJECT OF UNITING PEOPLES

"What is holy?" is a question raised by Goethe in a certain distich, and the answer he gives is: "that which binds together many souls." In this sense we may affirm that what is sacred, together with the end expressed in the above association, and as such association, has actually formed the primary content of self-subsistent building and the art of such. The earliest example of this we may take from the story of the building of the tower of Babylon. In the broad expanse of the Euphrates valley we are told that mankind erected an enormous architectural work. It is built by the labour of a community, and this public character of its construction is at the same time the end and content of the work itself. And what is equally true is this, that this foundation of an association of communal labour is no mere unity of a patriarchal stamp; on the contrary we find here that the mere unity of the family is precisely that which is set on one side, and this building, which is raised to the heavens, is the objective presentment of the dissolution of the more primitive type of unity and the realization of another of more expansive range. The collective

## activity of peoples belonging to that age worked in it; and, in

proportion as they came together in order to accomplish a building of prodigious size, the product of their activity came to be the band, which, on the ground and soil they had thus selected, and by means of the accumulated mass of stone and the architectural construction on the land--just as in our case morality, custom, and the lawful constitution of State-life--bound them in unity together. A building of this kind is in consequence also symbolical for the reason that it merely suggests the band of unity which it is, because it is only able, by means of its form and content, to express the sacred unity which unites men in an external way. It is also equally a part of this tradition that the communities have once more split apart from the centre of attraction which united them on a work of this external character.

A further and yet more important building, which has, too, already a more reliable historical basis, is the temple of Belus, of which Herodotus informs us[37]. We will not here inquire in what relation this stands to that of Biblical tradition. It is impossible to call this structure, taking it as a whole, a temple in any ordinary meaning of that term; rather we should call it a temple enclosure in the form of a square, each side of which was two stadia long, with brazen gates for means of entry. In the centre of this sacred place, according to Herodotus, who had actually seen this colossal work, a tower of thick walls (with no interior, solid throughout, in other words a πέργος στερεός) was built, both in length and breadth a stadium: on this was placed yet another, and again another on that, and so on, eight towers in all. On the outside of this a roadway was made to the top; and it appears that halfway up to the summit was a place of rest with benches on which all who ascended could rest themselves. On the summit, however, of the last tower there was a huge temple, and in the temple was a great bench, well cushioned, and before it stood a gold table. No statue, however, was placed in the temple. No one was permitted to be there at night with the exception of the attendant women, who, according to the statements of the Chaldaeans, the priests of this god, were selected by him pre-eminently for service. The priests further maintained (_c._ 182) that the temple was visited by the god, who rested on the bench made for him. Herodotus, it is true, also states (_c._ 183) that below within this sanctuary there was yet another temple, in which was placed a great image of the god of gold, together with a huge golden table before it, and at the same time refers to two great altars outside the temple on which the sacrifices were made. Notwithstanding these facts it is impossible to picture this gigantic building as a temple either in the Greek or modern sense of the term. For the first seven cubic towers are solid throughout, and it is only the eighth one at the summit which serves as a resting-chamber for the invisible god, who received therein no obeisance either from priesthood or the community. His image was below outside the building, so that the entire construction was raised in really independent and self-contained form, and did not subserve the objects of religious ritual, although it is no longer a purely abstract point of unity that we find here but a sanctuary. The form remains no doubt subject to accidental causes, or it receives its determinate character purely on account of the material security of the cube form; at the same time we have evidence of a demand which seeks for a significance which may supply a determinate relation to it more directly symbolical and applicable to the work taken as a whole. We must look for this, though this is not a point expressly adverted to by Herodotus, in the number of the massive floors. There are seven of them with an eighth superposed for the nightly abode of the god. This number of seven in all probability symbolizes the seven planets and spheres of heaven.

We find also in Media cities built in accordance with such a symbolism. There is, for example, Ecbatana with its seven encircling walls, of which Herodotus[38] states that in part by virtue of the height of the elevation on the slope of which the city was built, and in part intentionally and by artificial means, they were higher one than the other, and their battlements were coloured differently. White was on the first, black on the second, purple on the third, blue on the fourth, red on the fifth; the sixth, however, was coated with silver, and the seventh with gold, and within this last stood the royal stronghold and its treasure. "Ecbatana," remarks Creuzer, in his work on Symbolism, when referring to this type of building[39], "that Median city, and its royal stronghold in the centre, with its seven circles of walls and its battlements of seven different colours, represents the spheres of heaven which enclose the stronghold of the sun."

2. ARCHITECTURAL WORKS INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN THE ARTS OF BUILDING AND SCULPTURE

The first point we have to consider in the further development of our subject consists in this, that architecture accepts for its content significances that are more _concrete_, and aims at their more symbolical presentation in accordance with _forms_ that are similarly _more concrete_, which, however, whether we take the case of their insulation[40], or collective accretion in gigantic buildings, they do not make use of in the way sculpture makes use of them, but architectonically in their own independent province. In the case of this present type we have to direct our attention to more specific facts, although all that we advance can put in no pretension to completeness, or an _a priori_ development for the reason that art in so far as it proceeds in its products to embrace the full range of the actual, that is the historical ways of comprehending the world and its religious conceptions, is lost in aspects of a contingent character. The fundamental definition of the type is simply this, that we have a confused blend of sculpture and architecture, albeit the art of building is that which permeates all and predominates.

(_a_) We had occasion before, when discussing the symbolic type of art, to mention the fact that in the East it is frequently the universal living force of Nature, that is, not the spirituality and might of consciousness, but the productive energy of generation, which is emphasized and revered. More particularly in India this religious attitude was universal; also from its sources in Phrygia and Syria under the image of the great goddess, the fructifyer, a conception was derived which the Greeks themselves accepted. Still more closely considered this conception of the universally productive energy of Nature was represented and held sacred in the form of the organs of sex, Phallus and Lingam. This cultus was in the main promulgated in India, albeit also, as we learn from Herodotus, it was not wholly foreign to Egypt. At any rate we meet with something of the kind in the festivals of Dionysus. According to the statement of Herodotus, "they have invented other puppets as substitutes for the phalli of an ell's length, which the women draw about with a string, on which we find the sexual member no smaller in size than the rest of the body." The Greeks accepted a similar ministration, and Herodotus expressly informs us (_c._ 49) that Melampus had knowledge of the Egyptian sacrificial festival of Dionysus, and had introduced the phallus which was carried about in honour of the god. It was in India especially that the worship of the energy of generation assumed the exterior shape and significance of the organs of sex. Enormous columnar images were in this respect raised of stone as massive as towers and broadening out at the base. Originally they were themselves independently the aim and objects of such worship; only at a later time it became customary to make openings and hollow chambers within them and deposit in these divine images, a custom which was maintained in the Hermes figures of the Greeks, little temple shrines that could be carried. The point of departure, however, in India was the phallus pillars, which had no such hollows, and which only at a later date were divided into a shell and kernel, growing thus into pagodas. For the genuine Indian pagodas, which should be distinguished essentially from later Mohammedan or other imitations, do not originate in the form of the dwelling, but are narrow and lofty, and receive their fundamental type from these columnar constructions. We find a similar significance and form also once more in the conception of the mountain Meru as expanded by Hindoo imagination, which is conceived as twirling stick in the sea of milk, and is the creative source of the world. Herodotus mentions similar columns, some constructed in the shape of the male, others in that of the female organ. He ascribes their construction[41] to Sesostris, who erected them everywhere on his military expeditions against all the peoples he conquered. The majority of such pillars no longer existed in the days of Herodotus. It was only in Syria that the historian[42] had himself seen them. However, the fact that he ascribes them all to Sesostris is merely based on the tradition he adopts. Moreover, his explanation is wholly Greek in its colour; he converts the natural significance into one of ethical import and in this sense informs us: "In cases where Sesostris during his expedition crossed nations which were brave in battle, he set up pillars in their land together with inscriptions, which gave his own name and nation, and indicated that he had subdued these peoples. Where, on the contrary, he overcame without opposition, he indicated on such pillars the female organ of sex without attaching an inscription in order to declare the fact that these nations had been cowards in battle."

(_b_) We find further constructions of a similar nature, intermediate, that is, between sculpture and architecture, principally in Egypt. With these we may include, for example, the _obelisks_, which do not, it is true, borrow their form from the living organisms of Nature, such as plants, animals, or the human form, but are of a form wholly subject to geometrical rule, yet at the same time no longer constructed expressly as subservient to the human dwelling or temple, but are erected in free and independent self-subsistency, and possess the symbolical significance of the solar rays. "Mithras," maintains Creuzer, "the Mede or Persian, rules in the solar city of Egypt[43], and is there prompted by a dream to build obelisks, that is to say solar rays in stone, and to inscribe on them letters which are known as Egyptian." Pliny had already attached this import to obelisks[44]. They were dedicated to the sun's divinity, whose rays they were intended to catch and at the same time to reflect. Also we find that in the images set up in Persia we have rays of fire which ascend from columns[45].

After obelisks we should mention as most important the sculptured _Memnons._ The huge statues of Memnon of Thebes, of which Strabo was still able to see one fully preserved and made from a single stone, while the other, which uttered a sound at setting of the sun, was already in his day mutilated, possessed the human form. They were two seated colossal human figures in their grandiose and massive proportions rather inorganically and architectonically designed than in the strict sense sculptured, as also appears in the case of the linear arrangement of the Memnon columns, and, inasmuch as they are only valid in such equable order and size, they wholly digress from the aim of sculpture and are subject to the art of building. Hirt[46] refers the colossal melodious statue, which Pausanias states the Egyptians regarded as the image of Phamenoph, not so much to deity as to a king, who possessed in it his monument, as Osymandyas and others in a similar way. It is, however, quite possible that these imposing images supplied a more definite or indefinite conception of something universal. Both Egyptians and Aethiopians worshipped Memnon, the son of the Dawn, and sacrificed to him on the first appearance of the solar rays by means of which the image greeted with its vocal sound the worshippers. Producing as it did vocal sound it is not merely in virtue of its form of importance and interest, but by reason of its nature as a living, significant and revealing thing, albeit the mode of revelation is purely one of symbolic suggestion.

This relation we have pointed out in the case of these statues of Memnon is equally true in that of the _Sphinxes_, which we have already discussed in our reference to their symbolic significance. We find these Sphinxes in Egypt not merely in extraordinary numbers but also of stupendous size. One of the most famous of them is the one which is situated in close proximity to the Cairo group of pyramids. Its length is 148 metres, its height from the claws to the head is 65 metres; the feet that repose in front, measured from the breast to the points of the claws, are 57 metres, and the height of the claws 8 metres. This enormous mass of rock, however, has not in the first instance been excavated and then carried to the place now occupied by it. On the contrary, the excavations which have been made to its foundations prove that the foundation consists of limestone, and in a manner which showed that the entire huge work was hewn from one rock of which it only forms a portion. This enormous image more nearly approaches, it is true, genuine sculpture in its colossal proportions; it is, however, equally true that the Sphinxes were also set side by side linearly in passages, in which position they, too, receive a wholly architectonic character.

(_c_) Such independent figures are, as a rule, not only to be found in isolation, but are supplemented by the construction of large buildings resembling the temple type, labyrinths, subterranean excavations of every kind, or amongst other things are utilized in masses and surrounded by walls.

The first thing we may remark with regard to the temple enclosures of Egypt is this that the fundamental character of this huge type of architecture, detailed information as to which we have latterly received in the main from French writers, consists in this that they are constructions open to the day, without roofing, doors, passages between partitions[47], and above all, between columned halls, entire forests of columns. They are works, in short, of the greatest range and variety of interior construction which, without serving as the habitation of a god, or a communion of worshippers, independently by this self-consistent operation appeal to the wonder of our imaginations quite as much in the colossal size of their proportions and masses, as through the fact that their isolated forms and images make an independent and exclusive claim to our interest. Such forms and images are in truth placed there as symbols for significances which are strictly universal in their import, or in the position they occupy as representing literature, in so far, that is, as they declare such significances not through the manner of their form, but by means of writings, works of imaginative form which are engraved on their surfaces. We may in part describe these gigantic buildings as a collection of sculptured images; for the most part, however, these appear in such a number and with such repetition of one and the same form, that the arrangement becomes one of a series, and it is only in this kind of line and order that they receive what is precisely their architectonic definition, which becomes, however, once more an object in itself, and does not merely mean beams and roofing and nothing beyond them.

The larger constructions of this type start with a paved passage, one hundred feet broad, according to Strabo's statement, and three or four times as long. On either side of this approach (δρόμος) stand Sphinxes, in rows of fifty to a hundred, in height from twenty to thirty feet. After this comes an imposing and splendid portal (πρόπυλον), narrower at the top than at the base, with piers and columns of enormous bulk, ten or twenty times higher than the height of a man; partially isolate and independent, and in part fixed in walls and gorgeously decorated structures[48], which also stand up perpendicularly in independence to the height of from fifty to sixty feet, broader at the bottom than at the top, without being connected with transverse walls, or carrying entablatures[49], and so constituting a dwelling. On the contrary, what we find is that, in contrast to vertical walls, which rather suggest they are built to support a weight, they belong to the independent mode of architecture. Here and there Memnon images lean against these walls, which also constitute passages, and are entirely covered with hieroglyphics and enormous pictures on stone, so that they appeared to the Frenchmen who recently saw them like printed calico. We may regard them as so many leaves of books, which by means of their spatial and limited superficies arouse unlimited astonishment, feeling, and reflection in the human soul. Doors follow at frequent intervals, and alternate with each series of Sphinxes; or we find an open spot engirt throughout by a wall with columned passages to these walls. After that we get a covered place, which does not serve as a dwelling, but is a forest of pillars, the columns of which have no roofing but carry slabs of stone. After these Sphinx passages, series of columns, and structural walls over-flowered with hieroglyphics, after them a frontage building with wings, before which obelisks are erected and lions couched; or also, after forecourts, or a cincture of yet more narrow approaches, we reach the culmination of the entire construction, the real temple, the sanctuary (σηκὸς), according to Strabo of moderate proportions, which either contained no image of the god, or merely an animal image. This dwelling of godhead was now and again a monolith, as Herodotus, for example, narrates[50] in respect of the temple of Buto. This temple was worked out of one piece of stone to a length and breadth, which in each of its walls of equal size measured forty cubits, and as final roof to the same was placed a single stone with a cornice of four cubits' breadth. In general, however, these sanctuaries are so small, that no communion of worshippers could find room inside. Such a communion, however, is an essential concomitant of a temple; otherwise the same is merely a box, a treasury, a place where sacred images are conserved.

To such an extent buildings of this type run on for miles with their rows of animal figures, their Memnons, their immense doors, their walls and colonnades of the most stupendous dimensions, some of greater breadth, some of less, their isolated obelisks and much else, that while we wander within works so huge and so calculated to excite our surprise, which in part possess merely a more restricted purpose in the diverse activities of the system of culture to which they belong the question is irresistible, what these masses of stone have to tell us of the Divine they secrete. For on closer inspection symbolical meanings are everywhere in-woven in these constructions in that the number of Sphinxes and Memnons, the position of columns and passages have relation to the days of the year, the twelve signs of the Zodiac, the seven planets, the great periods of the lunar cycle and other phenomena. To some extent we find here that sculpture has not yet freed itself from architecture; and in some degree again the really architectonic aspect of measure, interval, number of columns, walls, steps, and so forth is so treated, that the real object of these relations is not to be found in their own intrinsic character, that is, in their symmetry, harmony, and beauty, but is referable to their symbolical definition. And in this way all this work of construction asserts itself independently as an object in itself, as itself a cultus, in which both nation and king are united. Many works, such as canals, the lake Maeotis, and generally waterworks have a particular relation to agriculture and the floods of the Nile. An example of this we have in the statement of Herodotus[51] to the effect that Sesostris had the entire country, which up to this time had been ridden and driven over, cut up into canals to provide drinking-water, and in this way made horses and wagons useless. The main constructions, however, remained those buildings with a religious purpose, which the Egyptians instinctively piled up much as the bees do their cells. Their property was regulated[52], their other social conditions equally so, the soil of the country was extraordinarily fruitful, and required no laborious cultivation, so that we may almost say their agriculture merely consisted in sowing and harvest. We hear little of other interests and exploits, such as are common to nations, and, with the exception of the tales of the priesthood with reference to the maritime undertakings of Sesostris, we have no account of sea voyages. Speaking generally, the Egyptians restricted their efforts to this work of construction within their own country. It is, however, what we have called self-substantive and symbolical architecture which forms the fundamental type of their imposing works and for this reason that the human ideal, the spiritual in its aims and external forms, has not as yet come to self-knowledge, or constituted itself the object and product of its free activity. Self-consciousness has not as yet ripened in the fruit, is not yet independently secured, but is restless, seeking, surmising, ever for producing without absolute satisfaction, and consequently without repose. It is only in the form that is commensurate with Spirit that mind essentially at home with itself finds satisfaction and finds its true definition in what it produces. The symbolical work of art on the contrary remains more or less indefinite. Among such creations of the Egyptian art of building we may include the so-called _labyrinths_, courts with columned approaches, circumambient paths between partitions, which entwine about in a mysterious fashion, but whose confusing intricacy is not constructed with the puerile object to make the means of exit a problem, but to create for the senses an intricate mode of motion that is dominated by mysteries of symbolical import. For these paths, as we have already indicated, imitate in their course that of the heavenly bodies and embody the same for imagination. They are in part constructed above the ground and in part underneath it, and in addition to their passages are furnished with chambers and halls of enormous size, whose walls are covered with hieroglyphics. The largest labyrinth which Herodotus himself saw was not far from the lake Maeris. He affirms[53] that its size exceeded his powers of description, and it surpassed the pyramids themselves. The building he ascribes to the twelve kings, and he describes it in the following terms. The entire building surrounded by one and the same wall consisted of two stories, the one above and the other beneath the level of the ground. Taken together they enclosed three thousand chambers, each story containing fifteen hundred. The upper story which alone Herodotus was able to see was divided into twelve adjacent courts[54], with doors placed opposite to each other, six facing the North and six the South, and every court was engirt with a colonnade, constructed of white and carefully worked stone. From these courts, Herodotus continues, you have ingress to the chambers, and from these into the halls, and from the halls into other chambers, and from these chambers into the courts. According to Hirt[55] Herodotus only so far defines this latter relation to the extent that he places in the first instance the chambers in juxtaposition to the courts. With regard to the labyrinthine passages, Herodotus states that the numerous passages through the roofed-in chambers and the multitudinous incurvations between the courts had filled him with infinite astonishment. Pliny[56] describes them as obscure and tedious for a stranger on account of their windings, and when their doors were opened there was a noise in them like thunder; we also learn from Strabo, an evidence of importance, for he was an eye-witness no less than Herodotus, that the labyrinthine passages encircled the court spaces. It was the Egyptians who mainly built such labyrinths: but we find in imitation of Egypt a similar one in Crete, though of smaller extent, and also, too, in the Morea and Malta. Taking into consideration the fact, however, that, on the one hand, an art of building of this kind in its chambers and halls already approximated to the dwelling type, while, on the other, according to the delineation of Herodotus, the subterranean portion of the labyrinth, an entrance into which was forbidden him, had for its definite object the sepulchre of the founders of the building and sacred crocodiles--so that here the essential characteristic of the labyrinth was entirely the symbolic import in an independent sense--we may find in such works a point of transition to the form of symbolical architecture, which in its own constituent parts begins already to approach the classic type of building.

3. THE TRANSITION FROM SELF-SUBSTANTIVE ARCHITECTURE TO THE CLASSICAL TYPE

However stupendous in size the construction we have just considered are the subterranean architecture of Oriental peoples such as the Hindoos and Egyptians, which offer many features of resemblance, are still more imposing and calculated to excite our wonder. Whatever aspect of grandeur and nobility is in this respect discoverable above ground presents no parallel to that which among the Hindoos is presented us beneath the earth in Salsette, which faces Bombay, and in Ellora, that is, in Upper Egypt and Nubia. In these extraordinary excavations what we have in the earliest examples exposed is the immediate necessity of an _enclosure._ The fact that mankind have sought protection in caves, and made their dwelling there and that entire peoples have possessed no other mode of dwelling is due to the compelling force of their needs. Caves of this kind existed in the land of Judaea, where in works of many stories there was room for thousands. There were also in the Harz mountains in the Rammelsberg near Goslar chambers, into which men crept for cover, and used to bring their provisions for safety.

(_a_) Of an entirely different type, however, are the Hindoo and Egyptian subterranean constructions to which we have alluded. In some degree they served as places of assemblage, subterranean cathedrals, and are constructions whose object was to excite religious wonder and concentrate the communion of spiritual life; they are united to designs and suggestions of a symbolical character, colonnades, sphinxes, Memnons, elephants, colossal images of idols, which, hewn from the bare rock, were as fully left a component growth of the formless stone as the columns in such excavations were made to stand out in isolation from it. In front of the walls of rock these buildings were here and there wholly exposed to the light, in other parts they were entirely devoid of it, and illuminated merely with torches, while in other portions light was introduced from above.

Relatively to the super-terranean constructions these excavations appear as prior in time, so that we may regard the enormous spaces laid out above the soil as an imitation and efflorescence of similar tracts of land beneath it. In excavations there is no positive building, but we have rather a given material taken away. And to nest thus in the ground, to excavate is more natural to man than to seek for a material, and with it to construct and inform a mass of buildings. In this respect we may assume the cave to be utilized prior to the hut or dwelling. Caves are the extension of spatial covering instead of a limitation of such, or an extension which grows up as a limit and enclosure, in which the enclosure is already present. The subterranean construction consequently inclines to start with what is already present, and, in so far as it leaves the fundamental material as it finds it, is not erected with the freedom applicable to a configuration raised above the surface of the soil. In our view, however, these constructions already belong to a further stage of the art of building, however much they may also have features of a symbolical type, because they no longer are placed there as independently symbolical, but already possess the aim or purpose of an enclosure, a partition, a roof, within which more symbolical figures as such are set up. That which is connoted under the conception of temple and dwelling, both in the Greek and more modern use of the terms, we have here in their most natural form.

We may include in the above class the caves of Mithras, although we find them in a very different locality. The worship and ritual of Mithras originates in Persia. A cultus, however, of a similar kind was also promulgated in the Roman Empire. In the Paris Museum we find a very famous bas-relief, which represents a youth in the act of striking an ox with a steel weapon. It was discovered in the Roman Capitol in a deep grotto beneath the temple of Jupiter. In these Mithras caves vaults are also met with, and passages which on the one hand appear definitely to symbolize by suggestion the course of the stars, and from another point of view also (precisely as still in our own time takes place in our free-mason lodges, where people are conducted through many passages and have to see dramatic scenes and much else) the ways, which the soul must pass through in its purification, albeit it may be true enough that this fundamental meaning is more fully and directly expressed in sculpture and other work than in architecture simply. In a connection somewhat similar we may also mention the Roman catacombs, the fundamental idea of whose construction was certainly something quite other than that of being subservient to aqueducts, sepulchres or any system of drainage.

(_b_) In the _second_ place we may seek for our present use a more definite point of transition from the architecture of independent type in those constructions which have been raised as _housings of the dead_, partly in the form of excavations beneath the ground, and

## partly as buildings above it. More particularly among the Egyptians

this kind of construction, whether subterranean or super-terranean, was associated with a realm of the dead, just as in general among the Egyptians it is a realm of the invisible which in the first instance receives a habitation and is placed before us. The Hindoo burns his dead, or suffers their bones to lie and moulder on the earth. According to the Hindoo's point of view mankind are, or become, god or gods, whichever way one cares to put it, and we are unable to find in their case this assured distinction between the living and the dead regarded as dead. Hindoo constructions, consequently, so far as they do not originate in Mohammedanism, are not dwellings for the dead, and appear generally to belong to an earlier period as we assumed was true of the astonishing excavations described. In the case of the Egyptians, however, the contrast between living and dead asserts itself predominantly. That which is spiritual begins to separate itself essentially from what is material. We have here the resurrection of spirit in concrete individuality, the movement of that process. The dead are therefore retained fast as personality[57], and are secured and preserved securely above the conception of dissolution into Nature, that is into universal evanescence, flood and extinction. Singularity is the principle of the spiritual in its notion of independence, because spirit is only able to exist as individuality, that is personality. Consequently this honour paid to and preservation of the dead can only appear to ourselves as a first and important element in the definition of the existence of spiritual individuality, since it is here that singularity is asserted as maintained rather than abandoned, inasmuch as the body at any rate is treasured and respected as this Nature's own mode of individuality. Herodotus assures us, a fact we have already noticed, that the Egyptians were the first to declare that the souls of men were immortal, and despite the fact that the grasp on spiritual individuality is in their case very incomplete, in so far as in their view the deceased must for three thousand years pass through a whole series of animals belonging to land, water, and air, yet for all that in this conception, and in the embalming of the body, we find fixedly the notion of bodily individuality, and of the independent self-existence as separate from that body.

It is therefore also of importance in the arts of building that in these the separation of the spiritual, no less than the ideal significance, which[58] is independently represented, be carried into effect while the corporeal shell is set round it as a purely architectonic environment. The dwellings of the dead of the Egyptians constitute for this reason the earliest examples of the temple type. The essential feature, the central core of worship is a subject, an individual object which appears of significance by itself, and expresses itself as distinct from its dwelling, which is thereby interpreted as purely a subservient covering. And no doubt it is not an actual man, for whose requirements a house or palace had to be built, but deceased objects that are without such needs, kings, sacred animals, around whom immeasurable constructions are enclosed.

Just as agriculture fixes the wandering of nomads in the stable possession of a definite locality, we may say that generally sepulchres, monuments, and the service of the dead unite mankind, and even offer to those who possess no States, no limitations of property, a place of _rendez-vous_, sacred places which they defend and refuse to have taken away from them. As an illustration we may cite the case of the Scythians, a nomad people, who retired everywhere, according to the narration of Herodotus[59], before Darius. And when Darius sent an embassage to them with the message that if their king deemed himself strong enough to offer resistance he should come forth to battle, but if he did not he ought to recognize Darius as his lord, Idanthyrsus met the same with the reply that they possessed neither cities nor tilled land, and had nothing to defend for the reason that Darius had nothing to ravage; if, however, Darius made a point of having a fight they possessed the sepulchres of their fathers, let him therefore dare to advance against these, he will then discover whether they will fight for their sepulchres or not.

The most ancient and imposing monuments erected to the dead we find in Egypt. They are the Pyramids. What most excites our wonder at first sight of these astonishing constructions is their extraordinary magnitude, which at once makes us reflect upon the duration of time, the variety, superabundance and persistence of human energies which is inseparable from the completion of such colossal buildings. From the point of view of form there is nothing in them to protract attention: in a few minutes we have surveyed and taken in the entire effect. With this simplicity and uniformity of their form in view their object has ever been a subject of controversy. It is true that even the ancients, as for example Herodotus and Strabo, adduced the aim, which they subserved; but for all that both in former and more recent times, travellers and writers have contributed much that is fabulous and unwarranted in their reflections. The Arabs endeavoured to effect entrance by force, hoping to discover treasure in the interior of the Pyramids; such assaults, however, beyond disturbing much, have failed in their object to reach the actual passages and chambers. Europeans of a later date, among whom we may mention in particular for distinction, Belzoni, a native of Rome, and Caviglia of Genoa, have at last succeeded in ascertaining more accurate information with respect to the interior of these fabrics. Belzoni discovered the royal sepulchre in the Pyramid of Chephren. The entrances to the Pyramids were closed in the securest way by square blocks of stone, and it appears that Egyptians endeavoured in their construction so to effect matters that the entrance, even when discovered, could only be followed up and opened with the greatest difficulty. This proves to us that the Pyramids remained closed and could not be again used. Within their interior explorers have found chambers, passages, which point by suggestion to the ways, which the soul undertakes after death in its course and transmigration, great halls, channels beneath the earth at one time descending, at another mounting up. The royal sepulchre of Belzoni runs on in this way hewn out of the rock for a mile. In the principal hall stood a sarcophagus of granite, sunk in the ground; but all that was discovered in it was the remains of animal bones of a mummy, probably that of an Apis. The whole, however, proved beyond a doubt that the object in view was that of being a dwelling for the dead. The Pyramids differ in age, form, and size. The most ancient appear to be stones piled on one another in a more or less pyramidal shape. The more recent ones are constructed with uniformity; some are somewhat flattened out at the summit, others run up entirely to a point. On others have been found deposits, an explanation of which may be gathered from the description Herodotus[60] gives us when referring to the Pyramid of Cheops of the manner in which the Egyptians carried out such works, so that Hirt includes such among the Pyramids which remained unfinished[61]. In the older Pyramids according to the latest evidence of Frenchmen the chambers and passages are more winding; in the more recent ones they are simpler, but entirely covered with hieroglyphics, to interpret which throughout will take several years.

In this way the Pyramids, despite all the wonder they arouse of their own accord, are really nothing but crystals, mere shells, which enclose a kernel, that is a departed spirit, and serve as custodians of his still consistent bodily presence and form. In this departed and deceased person, who secures an independent reproduction, we fail to find consequently any significance[62]; the architecture, however, which up to this point independently possessed its significance in itself as architecture, is now divided in its aim, and in this division is _subservient_ to something else, whereas sculpture receives the function to give body to the genuine ideal aspect, although in the first instance the individual figure in its unique and immediate natural shape is retained. We find consequently, on a general survey of the Egyptian art of building, on the one hand, the self-subsistent symbolical buildings; on the other, however, and more particularly in everything which is attached to the monuments of the dead, the specific determination of architecture to be an enclosure and nothing more, already clearly asserts itself. It is an essential concomitant of this, that architecture not only be limited to the construction of excavations and caves, but attest itself as an inorganic Nature built by human hands on the spot where men have actual need of it, and for a definite purpose will it to be.

Other nations have raised monuments of the same kind, sacred buildings as dwellings of the dead bodies, over whom they happen to be erected. As examples we may instance the mausoleum in Curia, and of more recent date that of Hadrian, the still existing Englesburg in Rome, a palace of careful construction raised in honour of a dead person, all of which were even in antiquity famous works. According to the description of Uhden[63] we may also mention in this connection a type of mortuary, which in its arrangement and environment imitated in its smaller aspects temples dedicate to gods. A temple of this kind possessed a garden, arbours, a spring, a vineyard, and moreover chapels, in which portrait statues of gods were placed. More particularly in the time of the Roman Empire were such monuments to the dead built with statues of the deceased under the image of gods such as Apollo, Venus, and Minerva. Figures like the above, no less than the entire construction, consequently received during that age the significance of an apotheosis and a temple in honour of the dead man, just as also among the Egyptians the process of embalming, the emblems placed thereby, and the sarcophagus attest that the deceased was treated as a god-like Osiris[64].

The most imposing and least complex constructions of this kind, however, are the Egyptian Pyramids. In this type we have the peculiar and essential line of the art of building, that is the straight one, and in general terms the uniformity and abstract simplicity[65] of forms. For architecture, as merely enclosure and inorganic Nature, or Nature that is not itself vitally and essentially suffused by the indwelling spirit in an independent mode, is unable to possess form except as one which is external to itself; external form, however, is not organic, but abstract and purely referable to the organs of sense[66]. However much the Pyramid already begins to receive the determining characteristics of the dwellings, yet the rectangular principle is still not throughout predominant, as it is in a real dwelling-house; it has still an independent determinacy, which is not merely of service to the purpose for which it is erected, and consequently closes up of itself by a process of gradation directly from the foundation to the apex.

(_c_) It is from this point that we may make the transition from the independent type of building to that of an art of construction, which is serviceable of a _purpose._

There are two points of departure to this later type. There is on the one hand _symbolic_ architecture, and on the other practical necessity and the _impulse of purpose_ to subserve that necessity. In the case of symbolical forms, as we have already had occasion to observe, architectonic purpose is merely an incidental feature, merely an external mode of co-ordination. The dwelling-house, on the contrary, erected as necessity itself, requires posts of wood, or just walls standing up straight with beams, which are laid across them at right angles, and a roofing, and constitutes, the other extreme. There can be no question that the necessity of this real and effective expediency makes its appearance as the result of its own demand. The distinction that may be raised, however, in answer to the question, whether genuine architecture--as we shall shortly have to consider it as the classic art of building--takes its rise solely in this necessity, or is to be deduced from independent and symbolical works, which conducted us of their own accord to buildings devoted to service, is the point in essential dispute.

(_α_) It is the force of circumstances which brings to the fore forms in architecture which are wholly stamped with a useful purpose, and the abstract deductions of science, such as the rectilinear line, the right angle, and the smooth surface. For in serviceable architecture that which constitutes the real object, is, in its independence, as a statue, or more closely as human individuals, that is community, a people, brought together for objects of general significance, which no longer have as their aim the satisfaction of physical wants, but are such in a religious and political sense. In a special degree the need asserts itself to shape an enclosure for the image, the statue of the gods, or generally for that which is independently placed before us and actually present as sacred. Memnons, Sphinxes, and the like stand up in the open, or in a grove, that is in the external environment of nature. Images of this kind, however, and still more human images of gods, are borrowed from another realm than that of immediate Nature. They belong to the world of imagination, and come into existence through the artistic powers of mankind. The purely natural environment is therefore not sufficient; they require for their external frame a ground and an enclosure, which shall be derived from the same source as their own, in other words, such as are the product of the imagination, and have received their form by means of artistic effort. It is only in an environment created by art that the gods find themselves at home[67]. In such a case, however, this external frame does not possess its object in itself, but it subserves something other than itself, and is subject to the principle of purpose or expediency.

If, however, these, in the first instance, purely serviceable forms are exalted to an expression of beauty they are unable to persist in their original abstract mode, and are forced to accept, in addition to what is merely symmetrical and harmonious, that which is organic, concrete, essentially itself conclusive and varied. And because this is so men are forced to reflect over distinctions of determinating form, no less than the express emphasis to be made on certain aspects of form, which is wholly superfluous where the question is only one of a definite purpose to be attained. A beam, for example, is from one point of view that which is carried forward in a straight line; at the same time, however, it terminates at both extremes. In the same way a post which has to support either rafter or roof stands on the ground and reaches its terminating point where the rafter rests upon it. The architecture of service asserts distinctions of this kind and gives form to them by means of art; an organic design, on the contrary, such as a plant, or a human being, ay, whether we look at such above or below, but in any case throughout, has to be organically embodied, to be differentiated in the latter case consequently by feet and head, or in the former by roots and corona.

(_β_) Conversely symbolic architecture takes its point of departure more or less from organic forms of this kind, as we see is the case with sphinxes, memnons, and so forth; yet it is also unable wholly to exclude in its walls, doors, beams, obelisks, and the rest, the principle of the straight line and uniformity, and is generally obliged to accept the assistance of such principles appertinent to the genuine art of building as equality of size, interval of relative position, rectilinear progression of rows, in short, order and regularity when it proposes to place in a series and to set up in accordance with architectural design the colossal sculptured figures to which we have referred. By doing so it unites in itself both principles[68], whose union brings for result an architecture, the beauty of which is promoted along with the object to which it is subservient, albeit in the symbolic type these two aspects[69] still lie in separation side by side instead of being fused in unity.

(_γ_) We may therefore so conceive the transition that on the one side the art of building, hitherto self-subsistent in type, is forced to modify under scientific principles[70] the forms of organisms in the direction of regularity, and to pass into the province of proposed expediency; while conversely what is entirely such intended purpose in the form moves in opposition to the principle of the organic world. Where these two extremes come together, and mutually pass into one another, we get what is really beautiful classic architecture.

We may recognize this union, as it actually arises, clearly in the transformation now introduced of that which we already have met with in the architecture which was anterior under the form of columns. In other words, it is true that from one point of view walls are necessary to make an enclosure; but walls, too, can stand up independent, as we have already proved with examples, without making the enclosure complete, to which a roofing, no less than an enclosure of the sides, essentially contributes. But a roofing of this kind has to be supported. The simplest way of doing this is by columns, whose essential and, at the same time exclusive, rationale consists here in being simply _supports._ For this reason walls are really a superfluity is so far as it is only a question of support. For supporting is a mechanical relation, and belongs to a province of gravity and its laws. And in this[71] gravity the weight of a particular body is concentrated in its point of gravity, and must be assisted at this centre in remaining horizontal without a fall. This is precisely what the column does, so that with it the power of support appears to be reduced to the minimum limit of exterior means to effect this. What a wall at great cost[72] effects, is equally effected by a few columns. It is a very beautiful characteristic of classic architecture not to set up more columns than are actually necessary to carry the weight of the rafter and that which reposes thereon. In genuine architecture columns, for purposes of mere decoration, are not truly beautiful. For the same reason also columns which stand up entirely alone do not perform their true function. No doubt triumphal columns have been erected, such as the famous ones in honour of Trajan and Napoleon: but these, too, are really but a pedestal for statues, and moreover covered with sculptured reliefs to commemorate and glorify the hero, whose image they carry. In the case of the column, then, it is of exceptional importance to see how in the course of architectural development it is compelled to divest itself of the concrete form of Nature before it can secure its more abstract form, the form, that is, which is as compatible with a definite object as it is with beauty.

(_αα_) Independent architecture, on account of the fact that it starts with organic images, makes use of human shapes, as, for example, we find in Egypt figures in some measure at least human, such as Memnons and the like, are utilized. This is, however, a mere superfluity, in so far, that is, as a definition of this character is not the true medium of support. We find among the Greeks that Caryatides are used in another mode and under a more severe obedience to rule to support superimposed weight, but such cannot be extensively employed. Moreover, we can only regard it as a misuse of the human form to crush it together under such burdens, and it is for this reason that Caryatides receive the character of the oppressed; their drapery suggests a state of slavery under which it is a degradation to carry such burdens.

(_ββ_) The more natural organic form for pillars and supports which have to bear a weight is consequently the tree, plant-life generally, a stem, a thin stalk which strives upwards in a vertical direction. The hole of a tree already carries of its own nature its crown of branches, the blade of corn the ear, the stem the flower. These forms, too, the Egyptian art of building, which has not as yet attained the liberty of viewing them in their abstract intension, borrows directly from Nature. In this respect the grandiose quality which we discover in the style of Egyptian palaces or temples--the colossal proportions of its rows of columns, the huge number of them, and withal the imposing mutual relations of the entire structure, has ever filled the spectator with wonder and astonishment. In these colonnades we do not find that all columns have the same form; they alternate between one, two, or three types. Denon, in his work on the Egyptian expedition, has collected a great number of such types. The combined effect is not as yet any uniform shape based on abstract principles of selection; rather the foundation is the shape of an onion, a reed-like efflorescence of leaf from the bulb, or, in other examples, a compression together of the root-leaves according to the manner of several kinds of plant. From this base, then, the thin stem breaks upwards straight, or mounts as column with twisted coils, and the capital is also a separation of leaves from branches which suggests the process of a flower. The imitation, however, is not true to Nature, but the plant-like forms are drained off under the architectural impulse, and made to approximate to circular, geometrical, and regular forms, or straight lines, so that such columns, in their entirety, resemble what are usually described as arabesques.

(_γγ_) This is not the place to enter into a general discussion of the _arabesque_ for the reason that notionally it marks precisely the transition from the architecture which adopts as its basic form the natural organism to that which by its adoption of a more severe regularity is more strictly architectonic. When, however, the art of building has become free in its definitive character it relegates arabesques to the function of decoration and ornament. They are then preeminently forms of plants strained off, so to speak, or forms which originate from plants together with entwined forms of animals and human beings, or forms of animals in their passage over to plant-life. In so far as they purport to authenticate a symbolical significance the transitional passage between the different spheres of the animal kingdom hold good for it. Apart from such an interpretation they are simply the play of the imagination in the selection, combination and articulation of the most diverse forms of Nature. For architectural ornamentation of this kind, in the invention of which the imagination finds scope for its activity in the most varied creations of every kind, not even excluding utensils and drapery, the fundamental determinant and type is this, that whether it be plants, leaves, flowers, or animals, all are made to approximate to the abstract figures of science, in other words the inorganic. For this reason we frequently find arabesques to be stiff, untrue to organic life; and it is on this account that they are not unfrequently condemned and art is blamed for the use of them. This is exceptionally true of painting, though Raphael himself did not scruple to paint arabesques in great profusion, characterized with the highest charm, nobility of feeling, variety, and grace. No doubt arabesques are an antithesis to nature, whether we compare them with organic forms or the rigid laws of mechanics; but an opposition of this kind is not merely a right of art generally, but even an obligation under which architecture is bound. It is only by this means that living forms in other respects unfitted for the art of building are made adaptable to the truly architectural style and brought into harmony with it. Such an adaptability is offered in an exceptionally close degree by vegetable Nature, which is also in the East utilized to an extravagant extent in arabesques; in other words plants are not as yet individual objects which possess feeling, but naturally present themselves as adapted to architectural design, by virtue of the fact that they form coverings and protection against rain, sunlight, and wind, and, generally speaking, do not possess the free oscillation[73] of lines which breaks forth from the regularity of scientific conceptions[74]. Architecturally used the regularity of leaves already present is yet further subjected to rule in the definition of rondure and straight line, so that by this means everything which it is possible to regard as distortion, unnaturalness, or stiffness in the plant-forms is fundamentally to be considered as a transformation adapted to the requirements of what is genuinely architectural.

In some such way in the column the real art of building passes from that which is purely organic imitation to the definite purpose of scientific rule, and from this to a position which again approximates to the organic result. We find it necessary to draw attention to this twofold point of departure from the actual necessities and the purposeless self-subsistency of architecture, because the true type unites both principles. The beautiful column originates in the natural form, which is then transformed into the post, that is, it submits to the uniformity and scientific precision of form.

##