tarting in the mid-1960s, his parishioners would secretly assemble small, prefab churches, then put them together overnight without permission.

he Communist repression began in 1948 under the Soviet-backed United Polish Workers' Party. The government nationalized Catholic publishing houses, censored church publications, banned broadcasts and youth associations and largely expropriated church property. In 1953 Cardinal Wyszynski was placed under house arrest, and by that year's end eight other bishops and 900 priests had been imprisoned. Seminaries and monasteries were shut down. The number of churches dropped by nearly a third.

lsewhere in Eastern Europe the state of the church is various and mostly weak. But in Poland the Communists failed in early attempts to eradicate the church, in large part because they could not eradicate Polish history.

he church is in many ways the strongest force in the nation. Some 70% to 80% of the 35 million Poles are practicing Catholics. Cardinal Wyszynski and now Pope John Paul II are the undisputed popular leaders of the Polish people.

he day's climax was an open-air Mass for up to 500,000 people at down-town Victory Square. W

s the Pope rode into Warsaw aboard an open, bus-type van, hundreds of thousands of Poles cheered and threw bright flowers in his path. One youth was applauded when he held up a placard; NATION WITH THE CHURCH AND CHURCH WITH THE NATION

Obviously moved, John Paul spoke of "my native land, to which I remain deeply attached by the roots of my life, of my heart, of my vocation." Poland, he told the group at the airport, "through the course of history has been linked with the Church of Christ and the See of Rome by a special bond of spiritual unity."

ND had a Christian CND section,which could draw 900 to a conference at Coventry Cathedral in 1981

Many churchgoers accepted new ways of expressingfaith which supplemented their existing perceptions and which en-hanced their appreciation of God, but they objected when traditionalideas were explicitly challenge

here was new thinking, too, about the purpose of Christ’s com-ing. In the past it had been widely assumed that Jesus came to earthto redeem individuals but from the late nineteenth century someProtestants began to argue that individual conversion was but partof a much greater design, the establishment of the kingdom of God onearth. Rather than portraying the kingdom as an other-worldly phe-nomenon, Christian Socialists depicted it in terms of earthly peaceand justice and proposed that it could — and should — be brought intobeing here and now. These ideas spread beyond Christian Socialistcircles and were reflected in the hymns that congregations sang.

ut in spite of its high-proɹle recruits, most Anglican clergy and laypeople seem tohave been unconvinced by CN

it also oʃered more of a role to the young and to women.Collins recalled Edward Carpenter, then Archdeacon of Westminster, saying to him on anAldermaston march, ‘you know John, as I look at all those thousands, with so manyyoung people, I begin to wonder why we spend so much of our time in half-emptychurches; this is where we belong, this is where we ought to be, among people who arereally alive, who care’. As Frank Parkin commented, ‘at almost all possible points the10unilateralist movement was held up by its Christian supporters as a model of what thechurch itself should be; its virtues were translated into the church’s vices and becamefresh ammunition in the hands of those who were at war with “Churchianity”

lergy often provided7space and leadership for local anti-nuclear groups, like the Barnet vicar who wrote toVictor Gollancz in 1954 to tell him that ‘at a meeting held last evening it was decided to[hold] a second public gathering in my Church Hall – so as to let people know about thecrisis facing civilisation

Frank Parkin estimated that 40 per cent of CND supporters werepractising Christians, though of them only 34 per cent were Anglicans, against 52 percent Nonconformists.

Studies of CND have often acknowledged the debts it owed to Christianity, pointing toCND’s identiɹcation with Christian morality and its use of Christian iconography. This5could be seen in the Aldermaston marches, which drew both on traditions of pilgrimageand on the symbolism of Easter; the marches began on Good Friday and took place overthe Easter weekend, with religious services provided en

I stand here, and I accepted the Chairmanship of this campaign because I believe the question of whetherwe arm ourselves with nuclear weapons is, perhaps, the supreme moral issue of our day. That a so-calledChristian nation could ever contemplate the use of Hydrogen Bombs, or any other such horrors indefence of even the highest values, seems to me to be a cause of shame ... How can Christian men andwomen countenance such a denial of the principle that only love can cast out fear? The fact is, many inthe churches would seem to speak and think as though they believe that ‘it’s fear that makes the worldgo round.’

In another letter to on 16The TimesJanuary 1956, Bell made it clear that he stood with the Executive Committee of the WCCthat had described the hydrogen bomb as ‘a sin against God

he archbishops of Canterbury and York indicted the petition anddiscouraged clergy from endorsing it. Their position was that while war was hateful,74subjugation to the dictates of communism was even more so.

t was opposition to the proliferation of nuclear weapons and support for the peacemovement, the Soviet answer to the West’s ‘crusade’, that created the deepest divisionswithin the Church

hurches and their leaders were in many ways of increasing importance to post-warsocieties confronting the implications of the emerging Cold War and the advent ofnuclear weapons with their potential to destroy God’s creation. Interjections by Christianleaders in ethical and political controversies were sought by the public and takenseriously by politicians and the media

secular power was disciplinedby moral authority.

The Second World War, coming as it did afterthe mass industrial slaughter of the Great War, followed by chronic economic depressionand political instability, gave added urgency to the general tendency within the Christianchurches since the nineteenth century to respond to the socio-economic, cultural,political and ideological challenges of modernity.

hey had nearly destroyed thechurch as an institution—of the more than fty thousand Orthodox churches on the territory of the RSFSR in1917, fewer than a thousand were left in 19

As the instructions to the census ofcials claried, thequestion was intended to indicate belief rather than confessional belonging, and the results revealed that of the98,412 people surveyed, more than half (56.17 percent) identied as believers, and this proportion rose to two-thirds in the countryside.

Ethnographers studying rural life, such as N. M. Matorin (1898–1936) and V. G.Bogoraz-Tan (1865–1936), produced studies of “lived religion” (zhivaia religiia) and “folk Orthodoxy” (narodnoepravoslavie) that attested to the continued religiosity of the countryside throughout the 1920s and 1930s.

he party accused the Orthodox Church of collaborating with the religiousunderground at home and counterrevolutionary agents abroad, and cast the 1929 law as too permissive forallowing the continued existence and even proliferation of religion. In 1937 alone, the Bolsheviks closed morethan eight thousand churches (with another six thousand in 1938), and arrested thirty-ve thousand “servantsof religious cults.” The Bolsheviks also exiled or murdered much of the Orthodox Church hierarchy. Thehistorian Mikhail Shkarovskii argues that by 1938 the Orthodox Church was “on the whole, destroyed.” Localorgans charged with managing religion were liquidated as unnecessary, thereby “eliminating even thepossibility of contact between the state and the church.

Russian Soviet Federal Socialist Republic (RSFSR), which had, until then, guaranteed Soviet citizens “freedomof religious and antireligious propaganda.” It was not enough, moreover, to marginalize religion; public lifealso had to be made visibly Soviet. In effect, the only right Soviet citizens retained was the right to worshipinside the connes of specically designated religious spaces

The 1929 law was intended tobring all aspects of religious life under state control by repealing numerous provisions established in 1918: itoutlawed the religious education of children and charity work, closed monasteries, and dictated that religiouscommunities had to register with local government organs

since it was “impermissible for icons tohang in the home of a Leninist, for a priest to baptize a Leninist’s children, and for a Leninist’s children to go tochurch.

hereas religious institutions were irredeemable,and therefore subject to antireligious repression and militant atheist propaganda, popular religiosity proved tobe more complicated

Clubs were channels through which the party could disseminate political and culturalenlightenment, and were intended to replace the church as the centers of community life. Indeed, local activistswould often turn the local church into the village club, thereby recasting it as a secular space. In more populatedtowns, the Bolsheviks created antireligious museums

Antireligious posters and caricatures became a staple in the arsenal of militantatheism (see gure 1.1)

arch 19, 1922, Lenin announced that the Soviet regime wasdeclaring a “ruthless battle against the black-hundreds clergy” (besposhchadnoe srazhenie chernosotennomudukhovenstvu), and opined that “the greater number of representatives of the reactionary clergy andreactionary bourgeoisie we manage to shoot on this basis the better

The Bolsheviks were also reluctant to pursue militant antireligious policies in the borderlands, wherereligion was intimately connected with nationalism, since they were mindful of exacerbating already volatileseparatist movements.

ransform private religiosity into public action

ollowing this logic, the Bolsheviks, immediately passed a series of decrees to establishthe foundations for a modern secular state. The “Decree on Land” (October 26, 1917) nationalized all monasticand church land. Another decree, “On Civil Marriage, Children, and on the Registration of Acts of Civil Status”(December 18, 1917), created a secular bureaucracy—the ofce for the registration of acts of civil status (Zapis’aktov grazhdanskogo sostoianiia, or ZAGS)—to take over the registration of births, marriages, deaths, anddivorces from religious institutions. Finally, a third decree, “On the Separation of Church from State andSchool from Church” (January 23, 1918), deprived religious organizations of their status as juridical entities andremoved religion from government and education.

“

had become by the twentiethcentury a means of asserting moral and political autonomy in opposition to both the church and state

he Orthodox Church had aprivileged place at the top of the empire’s confessional hierarchy and had historically performed an essentialpolitical role for the Russian state alongside its spiritual mission, providing transcendent legitimation for thetsar’s earthly authority.

Between 1927 and 1940, the number of Orthodox churches in the Russian Republic fell from 29,584 to fewer than 500.

any of the early academic studies of religion in the USSR focused on the repression of religious institutionsand believers—and for good reason. Soviet Communism devastated religious life in the USSR. The Bolsheviksdestroyed religious institutions, nationalized religious property, imprisoned and murdered clergy andbelievers, uprooted religious communities, and conned religious life to an increasingly narrow private spher

n his inuential book The Origin of Russian Communism, originally publishedin 1937, Berdiaev wrote that Communism’s “militant atheism” and “implacably hostile attitude” to religion was“no accidental phenomenon,” but “the very essence of the communist general outlook on life.”

It became the tradition from 1927 for the English FA Cup Final to be started with mass singing,including most distinctively the hymn ‘Abide With Me’, whilst rugby matches, notably in Wales, werecharacterised by choral hymn-singing

en were clearly alienated from churchgoing invery large numbers, making up no more than a third (and usually much less) of congregations.

he chairman of the Congregational Union, Revd J. D. Jones,said in 1925: ‘The situation is this: the great mass of our people seem to be drifting away from religion;the habit of worship is falling into disuse; the Sabbath is rapidly ceasing to be a day of rest; seventy-fiveper cent of the manhood of the country it has been estimated, are clean outside all the Churches.’ Jonesargued that his Church ‘helped to create the middle class’, but he suggested that ‘the middle class is fastdisappearing and the Church that caters for that class will soon have no constituency left’.

ngland the Women’s Institutes, and north of the border the Scottish Women’s Rural Institute. Anotherelement here was the shift from a middle-class world of servants; the Mothers’ Union emphasised in1926 that ‘There is no “class element”.’24The modern woman was reinventing herself as domestic cheerleader and action woman, and movingaway from having to live up to the status of moral angel

What might have seemed62like a crisis of faith was actually a crisis of authority – or rather of popular deference to establishmentinstitutions like churches, and Christian endorsement of the ideology of individualism. Much of whatBritish churchmen at the time characterised as loss of faith was actually loss of Edwardian reverence forsocial authority – for obedience to the clergy. The class system was changing, but popular Christian faithstill retained resilience

On the one side, asmany traditional church historians have suggested, the First World War seemed a watershed becausetrench warfare was a shock to men’s faith, and because the strategies and systems at the disposal of thechurches to sustain popular religious activism – notably confrontational evangelism – were gravelydiscredited in the context of rising social-class antagonisms. Other historians have located the war’s60impact in the context of long-term secularisation, drawing on the view of contemporary churchmen thatBritish working-class men were in haemorrhage from organised Christianity in a combined rejection ofdeference to social elites and God

notice was then sent to theminister in the home church to make arrangements to recruit each returning soldier. By mid-February1919, the system was reported as not quite meeting its expectations. ‘The ideal of sending direct fromthe [demobilisation] centre in order that the notice should reach a minister on the day a man returnedhome has not quite been reached, but rapidity of action and efficiency are alike impressing the men andtheir friend

One manifestation of crisis came in January 1919, fourteen months after the Armistice, when aChurch of England vicar wrote to the to explain his dismay:Church TimesOver 100 enlisted from my country parish. A good proportion of them were confirmed and had made their [first]communion; the majority had attended church fairly regularly, and many had been in the choir. When theyjoined up, most of them came to see me, and I gave them each a little pocket-money and a book or picture toremind them of their Church and duties. When first they came on home leave they called to see me; butsubsequently none have come, and, worse still, very few have attended church. It has been very grievous. Theywent out spiritually equipped; now when they return they seem to have lost all their grip on religion. What canbe the reason?

an Anglican clergyman, Canon James O. Hannay, who wrote of his experiences as a chaplain in France.He delivered a public lecture in January 1918 in London entitled ‘The Church and the Army’. Hereflected:On the one hand, there were those who expect that the war would produce a tremendous revival of religion, arevival both at home and abroad, of the religious spirit latent in the nation; on the other, a smaller class, whoexpected with equal confidence that it would finally chip away the veneer of religion that made the nation appearChristian. After more than three years of war we know that it has done neither. There has been nothing like ageneral revival of religion either at home or abroad, and certainly nothing like a wave of definite unbelief. Whathas happened is that it has changed the average man’s attitude towards religion.

remonitions of20death were widely reported, and for some Christians this could mean a special feeling to undertakechurch work after the war was over. This feeling could be especially strong amongst those whoexperienced near-death wounding.

The British Army relied on volunteers from August 1914 until January 1916; thereafter, because ofthe decline in volunteering, conscription was introduced. It is clear that the religiosity of the volunteersbefore 1916 was higher than that of the conscripts after then. There was a higher degree of churchgoingamongst the units formed in the first eighteen months of the war than in the later two year

Each soldier had to have a religion, wearing an identity discround the neck on which his name and number, and also his religion, were included

he Church, to an unfortunate degree, had become an instrument of the State and intoo many pulpits the preacher had assumed to the role of a recruiting sergeant. Almost every place ofworship the length and breadth of the land displayed the Union Jack, generally placed above the HolyTable, whilst some had great shields carrying the flags of all the allied nations.’ C

Some Christians turned away from existing denominations andset up new churches of their own. ‘House churches’ originated in the1960s as a by-product of the charismatic movement.

eligious broadcasting,firston radioandthenontelevision,hadgiventhechurchestheopportunitytoreachcongregationsofunprecedentedsize,butitalsoenabled peopletosatisfy theirreligiousneedswithoutbelongingtoaphysicalreli-giouscommunity.‘SongsofPraise’,whichwasfirstbroadcastin1961,stillattractedsomefourmillionviewersforty yearslater.Ithasbeenestimatedthat overaquarterofthesewerenotchurchgoers.

Mass attendance was half of what it had been twenty years earlier.A nationwide census of church attendance conducted every ten yearsfrom 1979 revealed that in that year between eleven and twelve outof every hundred people went to church on an average Sunday. Tenyears later the number had fallen to just under ten and by the end ofthe century only 7.5 per cent of the population was in church on anyone Sunday

remained common for parents who did not go to church to sendtheir children to Sunday school.

his was partly because, unlike Protestants, Catholicsbenefited from high levels of immigration. The number of Irish peoplecoming to live in England, which had dwindled between the 1860sand the 1920s, began to mount again in the 1930s and escalatedin the 1950s. There were also immigrants from continental Europe

By1933 thechurch had nearly eighthundredmembersandtherewasawaitinglistofpeoplewho wantedtorent theirownpews.ThePurley experience wasnotunusual.Betweenthe warsnewchurches werebuilt inmanyexpandingsuburbs. Peoplewholookedback fromthélatetwentieth centurytothechurchlifeof their child-hood regarded the decadesinwhich they grew up notas atimeof

However,thelanguageofdeclensionisliabletomisleadifitcreatestheimpressionthatchurcheswereweakorstrugglinginstitutions.Therewasnotasmuchchurchgoingasinthepastbutnumberswerefarfromnegligibleandchurcheswerestillpowerfuland well-supported.

n 1915 a chaplain recorded a conversation with an adjutant who‘had been an acolyte in a spiky church for six years, and at the time be-lieved everything and found the greatest comfort in the Church. Nowhe finds that he cannot honestly believe anything he was taught.’ Itwas, the chaplain added, ‘such a common story’. Army service consti-tuted a major dislocation in men’s lives and some who had previouslyattended church servicesordevotional meetingsdid not re-establis

The chaplains’ report, The Army and Religion, produced in 1919,revealed that most of the men who went to the trenches had little timefor institutional religion or formal worship. Others who had been regu-lar churchgoers lost their faith as a result of their wartime experiences.

As the twentieth century progressed the churches’ communityrole gradually declined. Statutory bodies accepted responsibility for

Hymns were an integral part of popular culture, andSunday-evening hymn-singing round the piano was not confined tochurchgoing families.

FirstWorld War chaplains who compiled a report on The Army and Religionestimated that four out of every five soldiers had attended Sundayschool. The only books in many working-class homes were a handfulof religious novels awarded as Sunday school prizes. Parents who hadthemselves been to Sunday school taught their children to say theirprayers and to recite grace before meals.

recent years, however, new insighthas been gained into popular attitudes from interviews with elderlypeople about their childhood memories. This ‘oral history’ revealsthat non-churchgoers often had their own understanding of Christianfaith and observance which differed from that of the clergy. Parentsassumed that the act of presenting their children for baptism showedthat they believed in God and was proof that they were taking their re-ligious responsibilities seriously.

nother reason for the appeal of charismatic Christianity was itscongruity with contemporary cultural developments. When it firstemerged in the 1960s, it appeared to be a Christianised version of thenew youth culture of the day, encouraging casual dress and uninhib-ited behaviour. There was a huge outpouring of charismatic music,much of it folk or rock in style. Charismatic worship, with its tes-timonies of personal experience and words of prophecy, was well at-tuned to the needs of a new generation which was used to interactivepresentations rather than a single extended discourse.

harismatic Christianity was exciting and intense: early support-ers believed that they were sharing in the experiences of the firstChristians and that a fresh revival was round the corner. An Anglicanchurch which had once been declared redundant, St Michael-le-Belfry,York, burst into life during the charismatic ministry of the ReverendDavid Watson.

reachers recognisedthatwhatworriedcontemporaryenquirerswasnotsinbutwhetherlifehadanymeaning.

n 1954 his London crusade alone attracted nearly two mil-lion people and he returned to conduct further missions in 1966 and1984

The revival ofevangelicalism was stimulated by the visit of an American evangelist,Billy Graham, who used modern technology to preach the traditionalgospel.

twithstanding the unprecedented slaughter of the First WorldWar, the preoccupation with death which had dominated the life of allprevious generations gradually disappeared. For the first few decadesof Victoria’s reign the death rate had hovered between twenty andtwenty-five per thousand but from the 1880s it had started to declineand by 1921 it had fallen to half of its previous level, a mere twelveout of every thousand. It was no longer relevant for Christian teachingto concentrate on death and the after-life.

But the pressures of warcast doubt on Protestant claims that faith was essential for salvationand that without it damnation was certain.

ut fortunately there is quite sufficient to show that the arrangement of the drawbridge, portcullis, &c., bore very considerable resemblance to those of the western gateway of the inner ward at Caerphilly.

heMarquessofBute,throughhis€xtensiveandIntricatearchitecturalstudieswasalsoconvincedofthesocialpowerofart.Nick-named‘theLordofBricksandMortar’,ButebelievedhisScholarlypassionscould betransferredintoworksofart,educatetheobserverand‘refine’and ‘makepeoplebetter’.

a

ents. The religion embedded in their prayears old, while Catholicism had been establiyears from the days of King Lucius by papal mreligion and manner of servinge of God ... is treligion and

urposes. The dominantamong Protestants was for a universal history of the true Cchallenge the false narrative

The major tradition is found in the twelfth-century LiberLandavensis and tells how Lucius (Celticised as Lleufer Mawr, 'Great Splen-dour'-a convention deriving from Nennius) sent Elvanus and Medwinus asambassadors to Rome in the year 156 to receive the Christian faith. On theirreturn they converted the king and his magnates. It is the later William ofMalmesbury who names Phaganus and Deruvianus as missionary preacherssent from Rome, and Jocelyn of Furness who goes on to extend the list ofapocryphal Archbishops from Elfan to the time of Augustine! A group of dedi-cations in the Llandaff area testify to the local roots of this t

at Rome where in February 1859 he ...rasconfirmed by Pius IX.

cot's estates for two years and it issuggested that he preferred Cardiff at this time because he felt that thegrowing Catholic population there would be sympathetic to his action

is true that some antiquaries deny the existence of high roofs in English Medieval military architecture, and ask objectors to point out examples. As nearly every castle in the country has been ruined for more than two centuries, and as the few that remain have been converted to modern uses (like Cardiff), it is not surprising that no examples are to be found. But we may form a very fair idea of the case if we consult contemporary MSS., and if we do so we find nearly as many towers with flat roofs, and as many with pointed roofs

ay. In the book of designs pre-pared by Burges each page shows oneaspect of the ruins as they were in 1872contrasted with his own ideas for thereconstruction of the same elevation(Fig.48) It was while working on thisproject that Burges declared 'I have beenbrought up in the thirteenth-centurybelief, and in that belief I intend to die'.Castel Coch was rebuilt as a fairy-talecastle, the like of which never existed inthe British Isles; the architect cited theprecedent of manuscript illustrations inthe British Museum to justify authentic-ity, but the castle, with its parapets,towers and soaring, conical roofs, owesmore to the inspiration of L'Aigle and theChateau de Chillon, as well as toViollet-le-Duc's restoration at Carcas-sonne, than to any British e

. The great presentation booksof Knightshayes and Castell Coch have adepth and luminosity, which, despitetheir austerely architectural presenta-tion, link them visually to the Books ofHours of the Middle Ages, which Burgesadmired so much, and to the famousthirteenth-century sketchbook of Villardde Honnecourt in the BibliothequeNationale in Pari

is use of mosaicwas based on a knowledge of medieval techniques unequalled inhis generati

nd he considered the study of antique andmedieval sculpture crucial to any architect’s training.

urges was not a religious man. His religion was the art of theMiddle Ages, not its theology. The bulk of his church work wasAnglican, but two of his greatest patrons — Lord Ripon andLord Bute — were Roman Catholics. His dream was the churchcandescent, an aesthete’s version of the church militant: Faithmade manifest in Art.

urges’s report on Castell Coch was prepared in 1871-2.Work began in August 1875. The structure was finished by theend of 1879.° But when Burges died in 1881 the interior hadhardly been begun.

Archaeology was a passion with Bute, second only toliturgy.

as originally built early in the thirteenth centuryby Gilbert the Red, Earl of Gloucester, to guard the Taff valley’gainst the Welsh.

o, the explanation must be Ruskinian:architecture as a vehicle for the decorative arts, eclectic, didactic;plus a special Burgesian gloss: architecture as fantasy, architectureas fun

Now Burges’s fascination with Islamic art was by nomeans unique. The Paris Exhibitions of 1867 and 1878 had arousedcuriosity about the style,® not least in the mind of Ludwig II ofBavaria.

e Trustees naturally looked askance at Burges’sfeudal extravaganzas. Cardiff Castle and Castell Coch had,therefore, to be paid for out of Bute’s personal income; much oftheir cost must have been floated on borrowed money

his phase of activity, however, was abruptly curtailed byfinancial difficulties in 1874-75, a book-keeping crisis in the Butefortunes which temporarily threatened the whole operation.®In 1871 and 1873 there had been major coal strikes.

he twelve signs of the zodiac appear in proxy formas their respective precious stones

Bute came of age in 1868, and work began straight away

Some of these trips werein the nature of archaeological excursions; others were healthcures.

ritics were generallyimpressed by the integrity of his scholarship; Rosebery — forone — praised the nobility of his styl

is libraries were packedwith rare manuscripts and books. His list of writings is by anystandards prodigio

o celebrate his eventual confirmation in1869 — in the Sistine Chapel, no less — Pope Pius IX presentedhim with an image of the Sacred Heart.

By 1900 — the year the 3rd Marquess died — the total coalexports from Cardiff amounted to 7,500,000 t

ke the celebrated Duke of Bridgewater,he not only profited from but actually helped to create theindustrial revolution. An earnest, solitary, myopic, evangelicalLiberal Tory, he had all the confidence and resolution of anearly nineteenth-century industrialist, tempered by an inbornsense of paternalist responsibility.

Known in hisyouth as a profligate and dandy, he married not one heiress buttwo: firstly the ‘rich ugly Miss Windsor’, who later inheritedgreat estates in Cardiff and South Wales long owned by theHerberts, Earls of Pembroke;

nd his cautious advice atLlandaff Cathedral — against Prichard and Seddon’s re-roofing— was remarkably progressive for its date.

bout the middle of the nineteenth century two attitudestowards restoration were in conflict: the destructive and theconservative. Burges supported the conservative

urges made.no secret of his admiration for Viollet-le-Duc,at least as regards the Frenchman’s scholarship. He regarded theDictionnaire —‘that wonderful monument of human knowledgeand human industry’” — as quite invaluable.

rench Gothicwas nobler, cheaper and characteristic of the modern age.‘The distinguishing characteristics of the Englishmen of thenineteenth century’, Burges concludes, ‘are our immense railwayand engineering works, our line-of-battle ships, our good andstrong machinery .. . our free constitution, our unfettered press,and our trial by jury... . [No] style of architecture can be moreappropriate to such a people than that which . . . is characterisedby boldness, breadth, strength, sternness, and virility

hereas ‘the French architect of the same periodlooked more to the effect and less to the section; he left moreplain surfaces ... thus his mouldings, where he did use them, havea more telling effect’..

Early French, however, ‘is a style which verynearly answers our conditions, and if we go a little further backand examine what is called the Transition style, as developed inEngland and France, but especially the latter, we shall find almosteverything we want.

In the eyes of ecclesiologists their greatest achievementhad been to rescue the Gothic Revival from the smear of Popery.Pugin — that ‘wonderful man’, as Burges always thought of him— had tainted the movement with a whiff of incense. Ruskinsupplied an anti-papal deodorant.

The repeal of the brick tax in 1850 gave the new fashiona flying sta

Burges’s approach to religion was aesthetic rather thantheological. He was not christened until he was thirteen.

t it is Burges’s collection of medieval MSS which wouldnow be deemed a veritable treasure-hoard.

‘Money,’ he noted firmly, ‘is onlya secondary concern in the production of first-rate works. . . .There are no bargains in art.

y his mid-thirties Burges was — in architectural circles atleast — an international figure. He had travelled more widelythan any of his contemporaries. His learning was incontestable.His eclecticism was more broadly based than any of hisrivals; Romanesque, Gothic, Islamic, Greek, Japanese — evenFlorentine and Francois Premier — were all grist to his mill.His Gothic dreams were images of geniu

e had realised that what wasneeded was a collection of measured medieval details: ‘a sort ofgrammar of thirteenth-century architecture.’

Gothic ‘architecture was (and it always must be) eminently anarchitecture of figures and subjects ... part .. . [of] the greatpoem of Christian art’

urges looked about Victoria’s London, and looked in vainfor colour. Exterior polychromy seemed almost a lost art.’

In other words, the Pre-Raphaelite reaction againstacademicism, and the reaction of Puginian Gothic against thePicturesque, stemmed from a similar — if dog-eared — aestheticimpulse: the pursuit of truth

urges accepted Pre-Raphaelite principles implicitly. Thesehe defined — rather naively — as ‘to copy nature carefully, to usepleasant bright colours, and to give sentiment to the figures’.

The magic of the Orient was certainly part of the HighVictorian Dream.

Such catholicity was too much for most Victorian Goths

‘infinitely better than any eitherin Paris or in London.” And individual mosques were stillmagnificent. Particular houses were still occasionally deckedout in characteristic gold and r

Burges regarded travel as essential for any young architect. ‘Allarchitects should travel,’ he believed, ‘but more especially the art-architect; to him it is absolutely necessary to see how various artproblems have been resolved in different ages by different men.’

ith Clutton he travelled in France in the year of the GreatExhibition, making sketches for Clutton’s book on The Domes

In the early 1850s Burges was known less as an architectthan as an archaeologist.

s an articled pupil, Burges pored over books by JohnCarter and A. W. Pugin.

At the age of seventeenhe was already mixing with the vanguard of the Gothic Revival

sengineer to the Bute Docks at Cardiff, he was in a position tointroduce his son to the greatest patron in the history of theGothic Revival, the 3rd Marquess of Bute.

Alfred Burges was a rich man: he died worth £113,000, mostlyin railway stock. It was he who made possible his son’saesthetic lifestyl

lfred Burges presented hisson with a copy of Pugin’s Con¢rasts on his fourteenth birthday

ut he was not a political animal; hekept faith with that vision in his own studio. As early as 1856 hevowed to ‘work hard and paint visions and dreams and symbolsfor the understanding of people’.** More consciously than Rossetti,more subtly than Morris, he spent his life seeking the numinousin an alien world, groping for a symbolic language to express the _invisible, pursuing those ‘richly coloured images of a historical orlegendary past’ which might ‘serve also as metaphors for the life ofthe human spi

ike Pugin and Ruskin, however, Morris always cherishedGothic art and architecture, not just for its own sake, but as an agentof moral revolution.

WithBurne-Jones and Rossetti in London in 1856, Morris formedwhat was in effect the second Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. ‘Apartfrom the desire to produce beautiful things,’ he recalled in 1894,‘the leading passion of my life has been and is hatred of moderncivilisation.’

To the young Burne-Jones, Ruskin’s writings were theauthentic voice of truth: ‘in prose what Tennyson is in poetry, andwhat the Pre-Raphaelites are in painting’.*

Captains of Industry musttake on the mantles of Arthurian heroes.

“That wonderful man, asBurges called him,” was the lodestar of a generation of Goths

Look at those poor dead figures on the tombs ofknights, with the Cross on their breast and their armed hands raisedin prayer. Where shall we find so much religion and honour anddignity among the living as beams from that cold sto

outhey’s edition of Malory’s Morte d’Arthur (1817) was for thePre-Raphaelites a ‘precious book’; ‘we feasted on it’, Burne-Jonesrecalled.

ndeed itwas Burne-Jones who put the whole debate in a nutshell: ‘the morematerialistic Science becomes, the more angels shall I paint’.

t is, therefore, in the realm of political ratherthan artistic theory that we must first look for the origins of HighVictorian aesthetics

High Victorian art and architecture lasted little more thantwenty years: the customary dates are 1851 to 1870

t wasa dream born in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars, in thehopelessness of the Hungry Forties

Theirs was a longing — far stronger than mere nostalgia— for a world of magic and fixed values; a yearning for stability inan age of change

The frontispiece drawing from Burges’s original Castell Coch proposal, 1874 © Bute Archive at Mount Stuart

One of them informs us that a church was built at Llandaff by Lucius, a descendant of Bran, the first Christian convent of the British nation. Another mentions a small church built by Dubritius, who, it is said, was the first Bishop of Llandaff, and who, according to Fuller, was Archbishop of Caerleon, A.D. 516

Lleuver Mawr ap Coilus, Saint, King of the Silures (136 - 181

On October 22, 1983, the Federal Republic witnessed the largest peace demonstrations to date, with a total of more than one million participants

The Federal Border Guard and Police Tear Down the “Free Republic of Wendland” (June 4, 1980)

nd after the pious prayer—“May God give us hope not to become resigned in the resistance we have started”—they talked about violence.

Civic Movements between Peaceful Protest and Outbreaks of Violence (August 5, 1977)

Police Protecting the Construction Site of a Nuclear Power Plant (1977)

Constitutional Implications of the Campaign against Nuclear Power (November 3, 1976)

this year on the re

13 September 1974: The Bombing of Cafetería Rolando

Herri Batasuna won 16.5 percent in the vote for the first autonomousBasque parliament in March 1980, and Sinn Fein became a significant presence inUlster politics during the 1980s. In 1981 the IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands waselected from jail as a Member of Parliament and in the UK elections of 1983 SinnFein won 13.4 percent of the vote in Northern Irelan

The assassination of Franco’s right-hand man Luis Carrero Blanco by ETA inDecember 1973 helped to smooth the transition to democracy after the dictator’sdeath (although ETA would, in turn, torment Spain’s democratic governments

n October 1975, almost one hundred members and supportersof IWU held an hour-long, torch-lit picket outside the house of theCatholic Archbishop of Dublin in Drumcondra, demanding that thereshould be an immediate change in the laws relating to contraception inIreland

he Women’s Liberation Movement,also called the Fownes Street Group, put forward a non-violent approachto activism, including methods such as boycotting, picketing, strikes,fasts, and civil disobedience, arguing that non-violence was ‘the onlymethod possible for women who hope to create a new society’.

epugnant to the Constitution and to the rights ofman and woman, as guaranteed by the U.N. Declaration of FamilyPlanning, which was signed by Ireland as a member nation’.

The crowd then marched to Store Street GardaStation where they stood outside waving contraceptives and chanting,‘The law is obsolete’. No arrests were made

rish Women’s Liberation Movement Contraceptive Trainprotest, 22 May 1971

On 22 May 1971, forty-seven members of theIWLM boarded the 8 a.m. train from Dublin to Belfast with the aim ofpurchasing contraceptives in the north and travelling back with them.According to Mary Kenny, reflecting on what became known as the‘Contraceptive Train’:A stunt is often a good way to move political ideas forward: the Suffragettes haddone it with their demonstrations – some of which were hair-raisingly violent, andenvironmental organisations like Friends of the Earth and Greenpeace have beenimaginative in their various forms of direct action.

On 19 May 1971, twelve membersof the IWLM picketed the Nineteenth British Congress of Obstetricsand Gynaecology in Dublin. With placards that had slogans such as‘Gynaes – be logical’ and ‘Ceart an duine is ea frithghinnuint’ (the Irishfor ‘Contraception is a human right’), protestors confronted delegates atthe conference and handed out leaflets.

Leaflets were distributed to European personalities whichinformed them that contraception was illegal in Ireland, a fact that ‘seemsespecially repugnant in view of the fact that Ireland as a member of theUnited Nations is not bound by this organisation’s universal declaration ofhuman rights’

Notonly did it expose how far the Church’s influence over ordinary people had receded,

It wasa shocking book to many, featuring women’s testimonies of contraception use, abortionand family life, drawn from hundreds of letters to the AIED offices, the communistwomen’s paper Noi Donne and the left-liberal weekly L’Espresso

New Left

rving as the basis for the 31 January 1968 decision tocommence the third occupation, ratified the Trento students’ resolve to breakwith all forms of co-determination and participation in the running of theuniversity’s affairs, and it extended the total opposition to authoritarianstructures beyond the resolute attack on university authorities to target alsothe powers of the police and the entire repressive apparatus of the state

One of the particular points of aggravation on the part of students and othersections of the Italian academic community in the years 1964–8 was a planfor university reform associated with the Minister of Education, Luigi Gui.On 31 March 1964 Gui had presented the first of several variants of aproposal to restructure university education in Italy, entailing a closeralignment of university curricula with the demands of the businesscommunity and the labour market, including the imposition of accessrestrictions based on performance of prospective students in high school, asmeasured by grade point averages or degree classifications

e Trento students’ increasing radicalization is also highlighted by anotherdocument produced in the same period, in which new forms of ‘directdemocracy’ [...] in contrast to reliance on traditional student organizationsstructured along party-political lines, are emphasized and recommended asvehicles for student concerns. Such new forms of representation were not yettheorized as permanent acquisitions in the arsenal of student demands butregarded as tactical innovations generated in the heat of battle and not yet12

t one point even considering thepossibility of declaring a state of war, which would have facilitated

On 24 January 1969,under the onslaught of joint worker and student protest, the Francogovernment, for the first time since the end of the Civil War, declared a stateof emergency for the entire country.

Nonetheless, workers (and students) assembled at various locationsthroughout Madrid, boycotting all public transportation for that day

ne reason for ETA’s limited impact, despite the horrific scale and widepublic impact of its killing sprees, was that most Basques identified neitherwith its means nor with its end

This did not prevent ETA from assassinating Franco’sPrime Minister (Admiral Luis Carrero Blanco) in Madrid on December 20th1973, or killing twelve civilians in a bomb attack in the capital nine monthslater. Nor did the execution of five ETA gunmen in September 1975, shortlybefore Franco’s death, have any moderating impact upon the group’sactivities.

verything distinctively Basque was aggressively repressed throughoutthe Franco years: language, customs, politics.

The Basque country of northern Spain had always been a particular target ofFranco’s ire: partly because of its identification with the Republican cause inthe Spanish Civil War, partly because the Basques’ longstanding demand tobe recognized as different ran counter to the deepest centralizing instinctsand self-ascribed, state-preserving role of the Spanish officer corps

The WestGerman movement, despite its impressive size, also failed to secure a firmenough base in public opinion and in the SPD itself, as well as provingunable to make inroads on the Free Democrats or Christian Democrat

A USInformation Agency survey of the November 1983 demonstrations againstcruise found that half of the protesters in Italy and Belgium were underthirty-five, as were around two-thirds of protesters in The Netherlands andBritain and over four-fifths in West Germany

If movement activists and supporters are broken down into age groups, thereis a good deal of evidence that young people predominated.

Most local people welcomed the base for economic reasons, sosympathy for campaigners was limited

y alsoadopted the symbols of the previous nuclear disarmament movement, forexample commemorating Hiroshima. Many disarmers took up the tradition ofnon-violent direct action at bases or military centres; the numbers were muchlarger than in the 1960s and styles of protest more varied

Catholic intellectual deeply committed to the Polish-German dialogue,Kazimierz Wóycicki, recalls his own experience in an internment camp atthis time

‘In spite of everything,’ wrote the Polish bishops, ‘in spite of this situationburdened almost hopelessly by the past, or rather just because of thissituation ... we cry out to you: let us try to forget! No polemics, no moreCold War. ...’