CHAPTER IV
THE SECULAR USES OF THE CHURCH FABRIC (continued)
For the practice of holding judicial and civil courts in churches there is, as we have seen, a sufficient explanation in the necessities of the time, and in the simple outlook which our forefathers took concerning human affairs. But the further problem arises: at what stage in the early history of the Church must we look for the germ of this custom? It has been shown that the open-air court lingered on after secular assemblies had begun to flock into the church. Yet, in the broader sense, it seems clear that civil business, to a greater or lesser extent, had been transacted in the church ever since churches were founded. All analogy points in this direction, but where is the actual evidence to be found? Some have sought it in the word “church” itself. We must therefore turn our thoughts to philology for a few moments. We shall find ourselves engrossed in an alluring, but, at the same time, a tantalizing study. Unfortunately, we cannot yet reach a final decision, and we shall have to be careful to set aside such conjectures as betray perverse ingenuity. Philological testimony is very helpful where its voice is certain; where indistinct, it may lead us far astray.
The word “church,” and its variant “kirk,” present us, in fact, with an unsolved problem. Let us attempt to summarize what is known on the subject, and so prepare the way for a startling hypothesis. First, then, both church and kirk were once believed by lexicographers to be purely Saxon words, but recent research has disproved this theory. After the scholarly labours of Professor Skeat, and the exhaustive analysis prepared by Sir James Murray, we are able to assert that the word church, though appearing in a somewhat different form, was known in West Germanic speech so early as the fourth or fifth century of our era. Moreover, there is now general agreement among scholars in referring church to the Greek κῡριακόν. This word is strictly adjectival (neuter of κῡριακός) and means “of the lord,” i.e. dominical (from κῡριος = lord). The term, however, is found to occur substantively, from the third or fourth century at least, in the sense of “house of the Lord,” meaning a Christian place of worship. Writing on this phase of the subject, Sir James Murray declares that there is no other derivation, except that from κῡριακόν, which will bear scientific statement, much less examination.
The Greek origin of church has, nevertheless, been assailed, but without success. The counter-argument runs thus: the ordinary Greek name for church was εκκλησία, and this word, or βασιλική (basilica), was the name which passed into Latin and all the Romanic, as well as all the Celtic languages. In the last-named group we find, for example, the Irish and Gaelic eglais, and the Welsh eglwys. Hence there is “an a priori unlikelihood” that any other Greek equivalent (e.g. κῡριακόν) should have passed into the Teutonic languages. And, as a matter of history, we know that εκκλησία was actually adopted in Gothic, though only to represent a society or an assembly, not a place or building. So far, then, there is no convincing proof against the co-existence of a Gothic representative of κῡριακόν. Moreover, it seems clear that the other Teutonic tribes did not accept ecclesia on their conversion; yet one would suppose that this word, or its counterpart basilica, would have been adopted naturally. What was the reason for this non-acceptance? The answer is, that a Teutonic form of κῡριακόν, namely kirika, had already obtained a firm hold, and could not be dislodged. A minor argument against the proposed derivation is the rareness of the Greek word, but this objection has not much weight.
The objections against the early introduction of kirika are mainly historical. We do not know the actual circumstances in which kirika, as the representative of the Greek κῡριακόν, became so powerfully entrenched as to resist all the influence of Latin Christianity to supplant it. The word may have been picked up by Teutonic invaders of the Roman Empire before those invaders had become Christianized. Curiously enough, this very question is discussed by a writer of the ninth century. But whatever may have been the cause of the transfer, the word kirika (church) was brought to England by the Angles and Saxons[353].
It is of some interest to find that the Latin equivalent, dominicum, of the two Greek words, was employed in the sense of “house of God,” by the middle of the third century. To a certain extent this word was adopted in Old Irish, since domnach (mod. Irish, domhnach) is frequently used to denote a church[354].
Another detail, worth noting as we pass along, is the existence of a group of place-names which appear to contain ecclesia as a prefix. Out of a goodly list, we may mention Ecclesfield, Eccleshall, and Eccleston. It has been plausibly argued that these names could not have been given by the Saxons, who would have handed down words compounded with church, instead of ecclesia; that in fact, the group has an earlier history, dating from the days of Roman or Celtic Christianity. Only in this way, it is thought, could the Graeco-Latin term have formed part of a place-name. The objection to this theory—and it is a grave one—lies in the inability of its defenders to prove that the place-names possess the element ecclesia at all. Most, if not all, of the names, break down under examination. In brief, Professor Baldwin Brown, who has investigated the subject, declares against the pre-Saxon origin[355].
The remarkable theory to which allusion has been made, and towards which the reader has been gradually led, was propounded by Mr Sidney O. Addy, upon whose pages toll has already been freely levied. Starting from the accepted etymological data, which have just been outlined, Mr Addy produces a striking chain of testimony. He notices that, since βασιλική, like κῡριακόν, means a king’s or lord’s house, the words church and basilica are virtually identical terms. Searching for evidence from North-West Spain, he found that the local council was summoned by the church bell, on Sundays, that is the dies dominica, or lord’s day. The Spanish custom, moreover, “is only an accidental survival of what was once the universal practice in Western Europe[356].” In addition, the facts show that the Spanish court, which is now convened by the sound of the church bell, was formerly held in the church, and was originally analogous to the old Greek ἐκκλησῖα,—the meeting of citizens assembled by the crier (ἐκκαλεῖν = to call out)[357]. In Western Europe such a court was summoned by the bell or moot-horn. Thus, the bell in the campanile of old St Paul’s Cathedral—an independent structure—summoned the citizens of London to the folk-moot[358]. The next link in the chain is supposed to be furnished by certain ancient English churches, which have apsidal terminations, and which possess, or formerly possessed, crypts. Of these churches, Brixworth, in Northamptonshire (cf. [p. 9] supra), and Repton, in Derbyshire, are taken as types[359]. Mr Addy institutes comparisons between these old churches and the Roman basilicas, and again, between the crypts and the subterranean chambers of those basilicas. And undoubtedly the analogy is a very close one. From the harmony of design which the examination reveals, he infers that Roman and British structures alike were reared for the administration of public business and the dispensation of justice. His main conclusion is, that a new church “was the nucleus of a new liberty or free community.” It was the “house” or public hall of a new lord, or chief (the lord of the manor), who presided over that community[360]. Another valuable line of evidence may be noted. Professor Baldwin Brown has called attention to the “coenacula,” or upper chambers, which are found over the Western choir in some continental churches. These council chambers of the territorial chiefs prove, at least, the strong hold which the lord possessed over church affairs.
Several minor features are held to support the theory. A fresh interpretation is tendered of the much-discussed “squints” or hagioscopes in churches. Respecting these curious apertures, folk-memory tells us nothing. Antiquaries have never secured complete unanimity on the subject, though it is usual to say that the openings were made to allow persons standing near the door or in the transept to see the elevation of the Host at the high altar. The “squints” sometimes pass through two or three walls in succession, and they very commonly point directly to the South, or main door of the building[361]. Mr Addy, however, conceives that the openings were so arranged in order to allow the doorkeeper (ostiarius)—the door-ward of Middle English times—to see the president of the assembly sitting in the chancel, and thus, directly or indirectly, to take orders from him. The chancel was the tribunal (βῆμα), where, behind a screen of lattice-work, sat the lord and his assessors. Since the altar, in the oldest English churches, such as those mentioned, was situated on “the chord of the apse,” that is, just under the chancel arch, it is argued that the squints could not have been intended to enable persons to see the elevation of the Host[362]. It is also noted that the old name for the choir was the presbytery, or seat of the elders. The very word πρεσβύτερος was often applied to the “headman” of a village.
Furthermore, so early as A.D. 685, as shown by an inscription of undoubted authenticity, referring to the Saxon church at Jarrow, the English parish church was, in one instance, termed a basilica[363] (Dedicatio basilicae). The earliest reference in English literature, however, as given in the New Oxford Dictionary, is A.D. 1563[364].