Though the then College of New Jersey was forged in the heat of Presbyterian
“New Side” fervor, Princeton University definitively surrendered
this identity under the watch of its most prominent Presbyterian. During
the first (and less tumultuous) of his presidential roles, Woodrow Wilson
saw the abolishment of denominational tests as criteria for Princeton
trustees, faculty and students in 1906. By 1915 Protestantism had lost
its centralizing grip on the curriculum. The institution proceeded apace
and the Princeton that we know today is committed not to Christianity
in any of its forms, but to fostering an environment where a plurality
of perspectives is welcome.
However, the Princeton University Chapel is both ceremonially and cosmetically
central to campus, and far from recommending pluralism, it unapologetically
endorses Christianity with every arch, boss, buttress and pane. Can
this structure be reconciled with the prevailing plurality? By making
the argument that the Chapel itself is an argument, I suggest the answer
is yes.
The Context
An argument is different from a mandate or decree which invites not
response, but assent. An argument seeks naturally to convince, and by
doing so takes for granted the freedom of its intended audience to accept,
reject or ignore its conclusions. Likewise, consider that Princeton
University Chapel attendance is not mandatory. Compulsory weekday religious
services were a Princeton institution until they were finally abolished
just ten years prior to the present building’s construction. And
although it is true that required Sunday service attendance persisted
until it was finally rescinded for freshman in 1964, I think it nevertheless
accurate to remark that when the current Chapel’s predecessor
(Marquand Chapel) went up in flames in 1920, so did the essence of compulsory
daily religious observance at Princeton.
Because of this, today’s Chapel is a symbol not of established
Princeton religion, but of its belated disestablishment. It
is the phoenix rising from the literal ashes of enforceable faith. Following
the Chapel’s construction in 1928, one journal celebrated the
fact that finally students could meet “unmindful of the question
as to whether their attendance is ‘voluntary’ or ‘required’
or ‘compulsory.’”1 Conversely, a student can successfully
graduate from Princeton University today without ever setting foot inside
its doors.
But that is not to say we aren’t invited. In the appeal letters
to raise funds for the Chapel, then President Hibben, Woodrow Wilson’s
successor and the last President of Princeton who was also a theologian,
promised that the Chapel would be “the University’s protest
against the materialistic philosophy and drift of our age.” 2
Surely Hibben would be concerned as to how much that “materialist
philosophy” has drifted into Princeton classrooms and publications
today, but that does not change the fact that the University Chapel
stands against it. And as with whatever brand of materialist philosophy
one might encounter here at Princeton, the ideas that its Chapel promulgates
are free to be accepted, rejected or ignored. What are the contours
of the argument?
The Convincing
I think the Chapel can be best understood as stone theodicy, a response
to the greatest challenge to Christianity, and religion in general -
the problem of evil. Upon entering the narthex one is confronted with
the greatest Hebrew response to the problem, the book of Job. Climb
the stairway to your right and one sees God addressing his afflicted
servant from the whirlwind of holy wisdom with a bewildering counter-question
to human questioning of divine intent. Exit the narthex into the nave
and one is confronted with the second response to the problem of evil
offered by the Chapel, that God would actually become a Job,
taking on affliction and evil himself. Christ’s life is illustrated
in the windows of the north aisle, culminating in the Great NorthWindow
of martyrdom, and his teachings comprise the south aisle, building up
to the Great South Window of truth. Both the witness unto death (martyrdom)
and the struggle against error (truth) are temporal concerns and consequently
occupy the transepts, whereas the eternal realities of God’s love
and presence occupy the great east and west windows of the more dominant
nave.
Though one might think that an argument against materialism might give
short shrift to science, the opposite is in fact the case. The far west
clerestory windows show circles of the days of creation in the north
intentionally echoed by the circles of the science window in the south
which show famous scientists investigating the mysteries of God’s
physical creation. A more explicit charter for the Christian endorsement
of science is difficult to conceive. Galileo, too often perceived as
the enemy of religion, shows up in prominent windows twice. Princeton
President James McCosh, perhaps most famous for his insistence that
evolution was not contrary to his Christian faith, is commemorated in
bronze in the Marquand Transept. The Chapel’s progressive attitude
towards learning is further illustrated by the various disciplines depicted
in the south clerestory, giving place even to foes of Christianity such
as David Hume. And the external Rothschild arch on the east side, by
connecting the Chapel with Dickinson Hall intentionally makes the case
that faith and learning are connected.
Furthermore, the Chapel is strangely inviting to a feminist interpretation.
In the Great East Window below Christ crucified in the oculus are those
to whom he revealed his resurrected body. On the right stand the first
to see him, the women, and on the left stand the men, both on the same
level. This amounts to a strikingly egalitarian vision of Christian
faith in arguably the most prominent location in the entire structure.
And though admittedly crusaders such as Godfrey de Bouillion and Richard
the Lionhearted make their appearances, the same east window showcases
the Chapel’s most prominent verse, “Greater love hath no
man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
In addition, the fact that the wood of the nave pews was originally
intended to become civil war gun carriages both beautifully echoes Isaiah’s
prophecy the swords would be bent into plowshares, and makes it rather
difficult to dismiss the Chapel as an endorsement of religiously inspired
violence.
In a pluralist University it is an open question whether or not the
Chapel is a beautiful illusion that masks the true reality of nature
“red in tooth and claw,” or whether its beauty has an actual
referent in the eternal glory of God. Nothing uncovered in University
classrooms, libraries, or labs can ultimately answer that question,
as the question is beyond nature. The Chapel does what it can to convince
that there is more to the cosmos than meets the materialist eye, and
we are free to accept, reject or ignore the argument. What does it have
to say to those who are convinced?
The Convinced
The Chapel is not without nods to faiths beyond Christianity. One interesting
example is Abraham’s sash in the north clerestory, which contains
a Star of David, a cross, and a crescent. This depiction of Abraham
as father of the three great monotheisms was in the Chapel well before
it became as common an observation as it is today. But though many Jewish,
pre-Christian pagan, and even a Muslim window can be found, the Chapel
is incorrigibly Christian, and it strikes me as somewhat patronizing
to ask campus Muslims, Jews or those of other faiths to ignore the obvious
in favor of a token window or two. An interpretation of the Chapel that
is, I think, more respectful to non-Christians entails understanding
it as an argument free to be accepted, rejected or ignored.
Because of their consanguinity with Princeton’s history, the
Chapel gives the Protestant much to appreciate. If ever there was a
visual testimony to the Protestant heritage that slipped past the sleeping
dragons of Reformed iconoclasm, the Chapel is among the finest. The
green sentinel of Scottish Presbyterian John Witherspoon stands outside,
and appears again honored amongst greats such as Paul, John, Augustine,
Benedict and Francis in the Great South Window. Other Protestants luminaries
such as Luther, Calvin, Knox, Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield
also have their place.. In the Theology window (south clerestory) are
depicted the “five pillars” of Protestantism: Justification
by faith, the priesthood of all believers, authority of the Bible, the
right of private judgment, and the sacredness of all vocations. Furthermore,
the specifically Protestant epics of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s
Progress and Milton’s Paradise Lost enjoy prominence
in south end of the Milbank choir.
The Catholic might enjoy considering that the construction of Marquand
Chapel’s predecessor, the “Old Chapel,” was halted
at one point due to its cruciform design. Presbyterian trustees threatened
to withhold building funds because the crosses reeked of popery. Yet
in the present Chapel, thanks to the High Church Anglicanism of architect
Ralph Adams Cram, the construction is basically that of a Gothic Cathedral.3
Further support for the Catholic interpretation is found in the fact
that almost directly across from the window containing the five pillars
of Protestantism is the recently established Blessed Sacrament Chapel.
And though there may be Protestant pillars in the Theology window, in
its center stands Thomas Aquinas.
Furthermore, it is hard to conceive of a more suitable location for
daily Catholic mass than Marquand Transept. As the priest lifts up the
host, the ascending passion windows directly behind him parallel the
consecration. In addition, the Belgian Professor and Nazi resister Cardinal
Mercier, along with Saints Sebastian, Stephen, Lawrence, Thomas Becket
and Joan of Arc stand directly above those gathered each afternoon for
Mass. Finally, though the doctrine of justification by faith does occupy
one small window, a more gradual process of salvation is articulated
in the seven deadly sins and complementing virtues that show up both
carved in stone in the north entrance to the Sacrament Chapel, and again
in the Dante window that shows each vice supplanted by its corresponding
virtue in purgatory.
The Orthodox have some (though not as much) reason to celebrate as
well. John of Damascus appears in the north narthex, Athanasius appears
in the Theology window and St. Theodore of Amasea in the Great orth
Window. And though Augustine admittedly dominates the Great South Window
of teaching, at least he is joined by Clement of Alexandria.
If each branch of the Christian tradition finds somewhat of a home
here, this is by design. The Princeton Alumni Weekly, in reference
to Cram’s vision, explained: “With Christianity split asunder
into so many doctrinal and denominational fragments, we need some massive
monument to its holistic heritage in cut stone and elaborately crafted
glass, creating a panorama of the unfolding Christian narrative.”4
But encouraging as all this may be to the Christian’s respective
heritage, the Chapel makes arguments contra Christians as well. To take
one of many examples, standing before the Great East Window dedicated
to love is a striking illustration of what it means to practice what
one preaches. The two right lancets show the six works of mercy of Matthew
25 (I was a stranger, I was thirsty, etc.) brilliantly paired with New
Testament acts that exhibit just such characteristics (i.e. Zacchaeus’
hospitality and the Samaritan woman at the well). Does the viewer’s
life likewise correspond?
A sober meditation on the Great East Window alone is enough to devastate
any honest Christian claiming to have embodied the Chapel’s message.
Because of this, the Chapel may be an argument to the unbeliever, but
perhaps more so it is an argument against the presumably convinced.5
1 Christian Education Vol. XIII, No. 5, February 1930 (p.269).
2 Selden, William K. Chapels of Princeton University, 2005 (p. 57).
3 There is a prevailing misconception that Cram was simply regurgitating
tired Gothic forms. Quite the opposite is the case. Cram considered
“Gothic Revival” to be archaeology not architecture, and
sought instead to represent classic forms in new ways. Because of this
the Chapel has no exact precedent. Cram said that the Gothic style was
not exhausted but was murdered (by Henry VIII), and therefore sought
to pick up where the 16th century had left off, resuming from a Renaissance
interruption.
4 Seldon, Chapels p. 58
5 For more information consult Richard Stillwell’s exhaustive
chronicle, The Chapel of Princeton University, Princeton University
Press, 1971.
Matthew Milliner is a graduate student in Princeton’s department
of Art & Archaeology focusing on Byzantine and Medieval art. He
graduated from Wheaton College (IL) and Princeton Theological Seminary.