As we follow the tortuous threads of Mediaeval and later traditions, it becomes plain that some of the clues may be dropped as valueless. Thus, because the Tabernacle and the Temple had each the Holy Place towards the West, and because the Jews turned their faces thitherward in prayer, some writers have ingeniously supposed that the early Christians adopted the opposite arrangement, in order to mark the advent of the new Gospel. In like manner, urge these writers, the Day of Rest was changed from the seventh to the first day of the week[549]. This hypothesis respecting orientation, born in the study of the mystic, is too whimsical and lacking in proof to be seriously considered.

Two of the early Fathers submit that, since Christ, while on the Cross, looked towards the West, His followers should therefore turn towards the East to seek His face[550]. Another view is that, at the Second Advent, Christ will appear from the East, hence worship and regard should be paid towards that point of the heavens. The East was the traditional cradle of the human family; the Magi came from the East; in that quarter, relatively to Western Christendom, Christ was born, and from that quarter He ascended to heaven. To the East lies the traditional land to which we return after life’s pilgrimage[551]. St Basil had a curious theory that ancient churches were built towards the equinoctial East in order that worshippers might face the Garden of Eden, the terrestrial Paradise. As Reusens puts it, “nous devons tourner nos regards vers le paradis terrestre que Dieu planta à Eden vers l’orient[552].” The last of these esoteric explanations worth mentioning is that the devout have always been anxious to look towards Jerusalem in prayer; hence altars are built to face that quarter. To this plea, Dr Neale replies that orientation in the Eastern Church is as distinctly an Asiatic as a European practice, hence the idea is self-contradictory[553].

Here we encounter a kind of side-theory which has long been a favourite with liturgical writers. It will be remembered that Durandus laid down the ideal rule of building so as to face the equinoctial East. But we have also seen that this counsel of perfection has been little heeded. The obvious explanation of the exceptions is that the sun’s varying daily position has resulted in diversity of alinement. The obvious, however, not always being the true, other reasons have been sought, and other theories formulated. Hence arose the attractive “Saint’s Day theory,” to the effect that the axis of the building depended on the point of sunrise which corresponded to the day of the patron saint to whom the church was dedicated. So far as I am aware, the idea is not traceable, in writing, earlier than the middle of the seventeenth century, but this origin may perchance be pushed backward as the question is further studied. The following account may supply a clue.

Silas Taylor, otherwise Silas Domville, was a captain in the Parliamentary army, who later devoted himself to antiquarian pursuits. Careless in money matters, he died in debt, and his manuscripts were sold by his creditors at his death, in A.D. 1678. One manuscript contains this passage: “In the days of yore, when a church was to be built, they watched and prayed on the vigil of the dedication, and took that point of the horizon where the sun arose from the East, which makes that variation, so that few [churches] stand true, except those built between the two equinoxes. I have experimented (sic) some churches, and have found the line to point to that part of the horizon where the sun arises on the day of that Saint to whom the church is dedicated[554].” Noting, incidentally, that the expression, “between the two equinoxes,” is evidently a slip, and that the writer means “at the two equinoxes,” we are struck by the likeness between this account and that which is credited to the old Masonic lodges. The Saint’s Day theory is merely an amplification of the earlier Masonic idea, a specific practical mode of orientation being introduced.

The theory just given has been productive of an abiding controversy. It has been sanctioned by several authorities, among others by Sir Norman Lockyer[555]. But, although the subject will bear deeper investigation, there is already sufficient evidence available to prove that the theory is faulty. There exist well-established cases of variation which cannot be forced under the rule. Again, some saints have several festivals allotted to them: St Nicholas has two, St Martin three, St John four, St Peter five, St Mary the Virgin eight[556]. Suppose, moreover, the case of an ancient church dedicated, we will say, to St Barnabas, and further assume that the present-day observer examines the orientation and finds it correct for the day of that saint, June 11th. The theory would still fail, since, by an Act of Parliament passed in the year 1752, eleven days were omitted from the calendar, and the orientation would, by the hypothesis, have been taken on May 30th. In considering ancient churches, therefore, the change in reckoning must be allowed for at the start. To meet the necessities of such an example as that proposed, it must also be granted that the advice of Durandus to build at the equinox was not generally followed. But we have seen that the facts are in accord with such an assumption, so that this minor objection falls to the ground. Once more; arguing from the fact that the village feast, which is usually held on the Saint’s Day, does not always coincide with the dedication festival, Mr Airy concluded that the theory under consideration was invalid. Without prejudicing the general verdict, we notice that this contention is impaired by evidence which proves that the dates of many village feasts have, at various times, been changed to suit local convenience (cf. [p. 191] supra).

A more damaging argument is supplied by Mr Airy’s assertion that he had never met with one church pointing to the place of sunrise between the 1st of May and the 9th of August[557]. If this testimony were unassailable, it would seem to indicate at least an approximation to the rule of Durandus—a pushing back of building operations towards early spring (March 22nd) or forwards to autumn (Sept. 22nd). Unfortunately, we do not know the church which, according to Mr Airy, has a deflection of 30°; unless it be situated in the Northern part of Britain it must fall between the 1st of May and the 9th of August. One cannot agree with Mr Airy’s contentions that festival orientation involved too great a knowledge of the variation of sunrise, that the “ancients” [apparently the Mediaeval builders] did not observe such “refinements,” that they had no idea of the sun’s movements “in his course Northward and Southward to the τροπαὶ ήελίοιο” [the solstices]. On the contrary, we believe that from very early times rough observations of this kind must have been taken with some frequency. The possession of this knowledge by our forefathers does not, of course, prove the case for the Saint’s Day theory. But between the idea of dedication alinements and Mr Airy’s conclusion that the variations are accidental, and represent attempts to make the fabrics bear to the East as nearly as possible, there is room for a middle opinion. Should Domville’s assertion prove true, then, whatever may have been the practice of the early Fathers, the Mediaeval builders were imbued with the symbolism of festival dedication and alinement, and would not fail to give effect to their ideal. Granted that this practice cuts at the root of the equinoctial precept, there is yet a possibility that, as with so many other customs, uniformity was never attained. Exceptions alone, numerous though they be, do not disprove the theory altogether. A smaller number of positive cases would have force against them. I incline to the belief that the Mediaeval builders followed partially the Saint’s Day principle—perhaps invented it—and that a limited list of churches may conform to the idea. If John Leake’s map, already mentioned, be really accurate, the various City churches dedicated to St Mary have approximately parallel axes, and this evidence, so far as it goes, would be confirmatory. That the explanation covers even the majority of instances is very doubtful. And, at most, it accounts only for the symbolism which produced variations of the axial line, and for the actual routine of the builders. The master reason for orientation, whether equinoctial or solstitial, is to be sought, as we have seen, in much more primitive times.

A modern theory, propounded by Herr H. Wehner, to account for discordant axes of buildings, is based upon the belief that the early Freemasons for centuries possessed, and kept secret, a knowledge of the polarity of the magnetic needle. Should it be ultimately proved that the builders employed the magnetic compass, it is urged that we shall have, in the case of dated churches, a key to the variation of the needle, and, conversely, for those churches whose date is unknown, a guide to their age[558]. That other folk, besides the Freemasons, were acquainted with the compass, is indisputable. A commonly received opinion is, that the mariner’s compass was introduced to Europe from China about the twelfth century, probably through the medium of the Arabs[559]. Strong evidence has, however, been produced to show that the instrument was discovered independently, or “re-discovered,” in Europe. Among other writers who refer unequivocally to the compass is the Englishman, Alexander Neckham (died A.D. 1217), whose description of its properties, as given in two Latin treatises, is unmistakeable[560]. Hence, from the early thirteenth century, and perhaps much before that time, the compass may have been used. But were the builders cognizant of the declination of the needle, and did they make allowance for it? This is extremely improbable. Indeed, it is authoritatively stated that the variation with which we are familiar was discovered by Stephen Burrowes (A.D. 1525-84), when voyaging between the North Cape of Finmark and Vaigatch[561]. This voyage would give a date of about the year 1553. The determinations were afterwards made by Gillebrand, who was professor of geometry at Gresham College[562].

If, then, the compass had been employed by masons previous to A.D. 1553, we should have expected, from their ignorance of its declination, considerable diversities of alinement. For the changes in declination have been very remarkable. Particulars are available dating from the year 1580. In that year, the needle pointed 11° 15´ E.; in 1622, the angle was 6° E.; while in 1657, there was no declination. By the year 1692, a swing of 6° W. had been attained, this rose to 24° 41´ W. in 1818, from which time the variation has steadily diminished[563]. These figures show that from 1580 to 1818 the needle has varied in London by so large an angle as 36° (approx.), and one may reasonably suppose that during the two or three centuries preceding there were similar alterations. The use of the compass, together with ignorance of its declination, would therefore supply a very prosaic explanation of differences in the axial line of churches.

One further attempt at solution may be mentioned. The Rev. J. Griffith, as the result of examinations of ancient megalithic monuments, has submitted that the stones were erected in such positions in order to give a three weeks’ warning of the coming equinox or solstice (cf. [p. 192] supra). Arguing from this assumption, and citing the alinements of churches in corroboration, he suggests that a similar interval of preparation was provided for in the orientation of some churches. As a rule—he refers evidently to Welsh examples—the older churches are found to be oriented for May and November, then come buildings alined for the equinox. “I find,” he says, “N. 76° or 77° E., and N. 80° or 81° E., to be rather common orientations[564].” [These figures refer to azimuths; subtracting the number of degrees from 90°, we get the “amplitudes,” 13° or 14° N. and 9° or 10° N., respectively. In other words, Mr Griffith found that many churches are alined at these angles North of East.] With these figures we may compare those of Hampshire, already given. The inference to be drawn from the Welsh churches is that the builders there commenced work at dates rather nearer the equinoxes than did their contemporaries of the South of England. Mr Griffith’s interpretation gives us a theory within a theory, and requires much further study and observation before it can be accepted.

This chapter must not close without an allusion to those curious examples of churches in which the axes of nave and chancel do not correspond, but point to different points of the horizon. Such cases are often loosely described under the general term, “orientation,” but either they really represent double orientations, or, as some contend, the buildings were purposely constructed with an angular twist. The subject is usually treated as if the problem merely concerned the chancel, consequently, in works on ecclesiology, and in the semi-popular language of architects and antiquaries, a church possessing the feature now under consideration is described as having a “weeping,” “twisted,” “deflected,” or “skew chancel.” Manifestly, these expressions beg the question, for, unless it can be proved that nave and chancel are of the same age, and that the Eastern limb was purposely deflected, or that it was deflected at some subsequent re-building, it is possible that the nave is the portion which has been mis-alined. Hence we might equally well speak of a “weeping nave.” The matter is nevertheless unimportant, so long as we do not tacitly allow the popular term to hide the possibility of a re-building or a re-orienting of either limb of the church. By that one phrase, “weeping chancel,” we might be led to credit the old builders with ideas of which they were utterly unconscious, just as