The mid-nineteenth century was a time of intellectual and theological ferment in the English speaking world. 1815 had seen the final defeat of Napoleon, established the security of the British Empire and prepared for its expansion. There was a general sense of satisfaction in the air. God was in his heaven, and all was well in the world.
Then in 1833, John Keeble preached the Assize Sermon, in which he called into question the link between God, his church and the state. In doing so he gave rise to the Oxford Movement, though it is better known to history for its impact on Anglican Church ceremonial and architecture. A bare generation later, in 1859, the Bessemer process for the production of steel was invented, and that led to the mass production of goods, and a sense that life is defined by the possession and consumption of material things. Only three more years were to pass before Charles Darwin was to give coherence to a hundred years or more of diverse research, when he published "The Origin of Species". The book was felt to challenge the very basis on which the whole of western though was constructed. "Can something descended for a monkey have a soul?" About the same time Helen Blavatsky and Henry Olcott began the movement of Spiritualism, espousing the belief that we can communicate with the souls and spirits of the dead. Those familiar with the novels of A.S. Byatt will know that this twentieth century writer is fascinated by these contradictions and tensions in the ethos of the nineteenth century.
In the middle of all this, sometime in 1858 or 1859, Samuel McCord walked into Christ Church Cathedral, then under construction, with a folio of Ann McCord's watercolours under his arm. As chairman on the building committee, he gave orders to the masons to carve capitols for the pillars based on the watercolours, rather than the angels, which we see in the architect's drawings, thus giving our neo-gothic pillars their strange Corinthian allure. The angels, however remained in the aisles, and in other places around the Cathedral. What was at stake in this difference of opinion between Samuel McCord and the first bishop of Montreal, Francis Fulford, who wanted the angels?
Since the defeat of Arianism in the fourth century, classical Christianity has drawn a clear line between God and the created order. Above the line we acknowledge Father, Son and Holy Spirit. In the classical creeds the relationships are clearly defined. They are co-eternal. The Son is begotten, not made, and likewise the Holy Spirit proceeds. Below the line everything is created. Now the fundamental fear of Protestantism is that such "catholic" practises as belief in angels, prayer to the saints and the veneration of Mary, blurs the distinction between the created and the uncreated order. Angels, spirits and saints can be seen as semi-divine beings emanating from God in a theology that has its roots in Gnosticism and Manicheanism, themselves drawing from the ancient Persian religious tradition.
The defence of the line between God and creation lead, in Protestantism, to an ignoring of angels and spirits, and to a demoting of saints to a place of moral example (even if not all of them were quite suited to that role). But it also gave a clear place to science and technology in the scheme of things. Especially after the Darwinian controversy had abated in the mainstream churches of the twentieth century, God was to be known by faith. Everything else was the province of science.
This protestant ethos was probably the direction from which Samuel McCord was coming. But Francis Fulford came more from the tradition of the Oxford Movement, especially from that side of it which emphasised the importance of beauty and dignity in the offering of the liturgy. He knew that when we worshipped, we were not merely a gathered human community. In our liturgy, God calls us into the community of Angels and Archangels and all the company of heaven.
Where are we today? One of the problems of the division between God-knowledge and science is that, in a science and technology driven world, God becomes less and less noticeable. As Laplace had answered a questioner, "God? I don't need that hypothesis." Although God remains as a kind of folk memory, to be brought out and polished at the life events of birth, marriage and death, or in great national moments, he plays virtually no part in everyday lives. One of the great tragedies is that without God, or without any concern beyond immediate benefits to ourselves, there is no moral grounding for our decisions. There is no distinction between what is technologically possible, and what is right and good. What is right is based on what is good for the economy, for the nation, for trade. There is no call for a justice that demands a change of direction, or for a concern with the whole of humanity, the whole of the biosphere.
In the light of all this, I believe that today, (providing we remain clear about the line) there is an important place for proclaiming that there is a spiritual creation. There are angels and archangels and dominions and powers, some good, some fallen. Sometimes these powers can be seen to be driving institutions and nations, for good or for evil. Likewise, I feel it is of the greatest importance to affirm humanity as both a material and spiritual creation. We cannot treat ourselves, or our fellow human beings, as though we and they were machines, to be disposed of when they go wrong, or are no longer useful to us. When we know ourselves as spiritual beings, we begin to see again the value, not only of worship, but of music, poetry, art, literature and drama. We see them not a bits of entertainment and relaxation, but as the essential food for the spiritual life.
Have I then come down on the side of Francis Fulford, wishing that the angels had been carved on the pillars, and even that the plaster angels, which one adorned the walls at the clerestory level might be restored? Not entirely, for any view of life, which swings too far to one end of its spectrum, is distorted. Spirituality can become religiosity, and worship can become a weekly denial of the real. Samuel McCord's vegetation serves to remind us that we are material beings, and if we fail to respect and care for the rest of the material creation, we are doomed as the human race. We have gone a long way along that path already.
The angels in the aisles and the flowers around the pillars call us to balance in our life and self-understanding. May St Michael watch over us, and the Angels minister to us, as we try to retain our balance and understand our vocation in this shaky world of our time.
The Very Rev Michael J.Pitts, Dean