My own contribution to it is two case studies, of Chichester cathedral and of Guildford cathedral. My thanks are due to Dee Dyas for the opportunity to be involved. There are some reflections on writing cathedral histories in this earlier post.
[I first starting investigating the career of Walter Hussey some nine years ago. He has appeared in several of my articles so far, but the book I always intended has been put back. Now, though, a proposal for that book has been accepted
is currently under consideration by a publisher. Here’s what it is about.]
Walter Hussey is known for an extraordinary sequence of commissions of contemporary art and music, for the church of St Matthew Northampton from 1943 and, from 1955 to 1977, for Chichester Cathedral. The names read as a roll-call of post-war artistic and musical life: Henry Moore, Graham Sutherland, John Piper, Marc Chagall in the visual arts; Leonard Bernstein, Benjamin Britten, Gerald Finzi, Michael Tippett, William Walton in music.
Hussey became something of a grandee: an Honorary Fellow of the Royal Institute of British Architects, an honorary Doctor of Letters of the young University of Sussex. Kenneth Lord Clark, critic, broadcaster, and sometime director of the National Gallery, described Hussey as ‘aesthete, impressario and indomitable persuader’. As interest in the relations between theology and the arts has grown, so has Hussey’s reputation as the most significant patron of art for the English church of the twentieth century. Countless recording sleeve notes and exhibition catalogues record Hussey’s role in glowing terms, and the art historical literature has accorded him a corner niche in the pantheon of the great individual patrons. For one commentator, Hussey single-handedly ‘turned the tide against Anglican neglect of modern art’.
Missing in all this is any extended critical study of Hussey’s life and work as a whole. The musicological and art-historical literature confines him to a walk-on part, while church historians have paid greater attention to the other major figure in Anglican artistic patronage, George Bell, bishop of Chichester.
Why, then, study Walter Hussey ? Most obviously, the Hussey Papers are a rich source for studying the commissioning of the contemporary arts, giving a vivid picture of the relationship between one exceptional clergyman and his commissionees. Almost none of this material has ever been integrated into the existing literature.
Within the contemporary Church of England with its cathedrals now crammed with contemporary art, Hussey has been seen as a voice in the wilderness, preparing the way for a rediscovery of a contemporary language for the Church’s message. This story of dogged effort in the face of philistinism and ignorance is the nearest we have to a meta-narrative of the churches and the arts. But it is a story established by dint of omission, since the integration of the religious arts into the study of recent British religious history is in its infancy. To document Hussey’s patronage is to provide key signposts in this terra incognita.
Hussey is also a case-study in the unspoken assumptions of catholic Anglicans about the arts, the church, and the place of creativity in national life. The social and economic crises of the 1930s, 1940s and 1960s prompted intense debate over the nature of ‘national religion’, and its connection with the mainstream in national culture. The church could not hope to regain the attention of ‘Modern Man’ without speaking through the art in which he was already expressing himself. Hussey stands as one of the most active and well self-documented case studies of this theological current in action.
Hussey’s career saw revolutionary change between the churches and the people. Church attendance and affiliation collapsed dramatically, as did the church’s confidence in its own ability to communicate and minister effectively. Part of the crisis was of religious language, and its ability to communicate in a manner meaningful to Modern Man. Some sought new means of mission, and the contemporary arts were seized upon as a means to that end. If words were no longer securely meaningful, then perhaps the arts provided an alternative language. If the 1960s saw the discursive death of Christian Britain, as Callum Brown has suggested, then Hussey made an attempt at resuscitation.
The means by which taste was shaped and determined also changed in the ‘long 1960s’. The vision of a beneficent establishment raising the horizons of the people through the BBC and other channels was overturned by a quite new emphasis on the entitlement to ‘do one’s own thing’. Hussey’s mode of patronage depended on a discerning patron, authoritative critic and notable artist working in tandem, disseminating new art downwards to a grateful if uncomprehending public. This way of working, successful in the 1940s, was by the 1970s no longer fit for purpose.
The period was also one of general cultural fracture, during which the classical in all the arts was shifted further and further from the centre of artistic life; a movement which posed difficulties for those in the churches and outside who wished to place Anglican patronage in the centre of the mainstream of national cultural life. By the end of Hussey’s career it was less than clear where that centre might be.
The career of Walter Hussey thus affords the historian a unique opportunity to examine one sphere in which the church met, resisted, negotiated with or capitulated to forces of change in the society in which it was located.
I recently had occasion to think about cathedral histories; and in particular, the clutch of volumes that appeared over the last few years for the major medieval foundations. There is a prevailing model: a large general volume, with multiple authors under the general editorship of a senior scholar, with often some sort of relationship with the cathedral chapter itself. York Minster blazed the trail (Gerald Aylmer and Reginald Cant, 1977) and since then Chichester, Canterbury, St Paul’s, Norwich, Rochester and Winchester have all their own histories. (See the list at the foot of this post if you’re interested; I doubt it is complete.)
It struck me then how very thin the coverage for the more recent foundations is in comparison; and some recent work I’ve been doing on Newcastle cathedral (St Nicholas) has confirmed the impression. Coventry is a unique case, as are the other newly built cathedrals (Guildford and Liverpool). For those medieval parish churches given cathedral status to serve a new diocese, there seems to be almost no scholarly historical writing. None of the cathedrals of Blackburn, Birmingham, Bradford, Chelmsford, Leicester, Manchester, Newcastle, Sheffield or Southwark has (as far as I know) its own single-volume history, nor indeed very much in the way of shorter pieces of work. They all, of course, have their guidebooks, which by and large include a potted history, but little more. (I should say that I am primarily interested in these buildings as cathedrals; and so I’m setting aside work done on their previous history as parish churches.)
Why this neglect ? There is, of course, simply less history – a little over a century, if that, as set against 900 or more years for Chichester or Canterbury. But it may be to do with the comparative neglect of modern religious history (as opposed to medieval), and to a sense that the Church of England got the timing wrong, creating a host of new cathedrals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, just as its own significance was beginning to wane and they became less and less relevant. There may also be less of a readership to buy such books (fewer tourists), and they lack a 900-year anniversary on which to hang the publication.
Whatever the reason, there is some very interesting work to be done on these churches, individually and as a group. How did the growing self-confidence of cities such as Manchester or Newcastle shape the formation of new dioceses and their cathedrals ? If they were expanded and/or newly decorated, who paid ? How significant was the presence of an older Roman Catholic cathedral (as in Newcastle or Portsmouth) ? How did cathedral ministry in the urban environment differ from life in Ely or Salisbury ? Were these buildings of local symbolic importance during the Blitz, as St Paul’s was for London ? I should be delighted to receive any references that bear on these and related questions.
In Part Two: writing the history of the Roman Catholic cathedrals (Arundel), and of a new building (Guildford).
Recent cathedral histories (additions welcome)
|Atherton, I., Fernie, E. Harper-Bill C. and Smith, H. (eds)||Norwich Cathedral: Church, City and Diocese, 1096-1996||(London, Hambledon, 1996)|
|Aylmer, G., Cant, R. (eds)||A History of York Minster||(Oxford, Clarendon, 1977)|
|Burns, A., Keene, D., Saint, A.||St Paul’s. The Cathedral Church of London, 604-2004||(New Haven, Yale, 2004)|
|Bussby, Frederick||Winchester Cathedral, 1079-1979||(Southampton, Bussby and Cave, 1979, 1987 reprint)|
|Collinson, P, Ramsey, N., Sparkes, M. (eds)||A History of Canterbury Cathedral||(Oxford, OUP, 1995)|
|Welander, David||The History , Art and Architecture of Gloucester Cathedral||(Stroud, Alan Sutton, 1991)|
|Yates, N., Welsby, Paul A. (eds)||Faith and Fabric; A History of Rochester Cathedral, 604 – 1994||(Woodbridge, Boydell, 1996)|
|Mary Hobbs (ed)||Chichester Cathedral. An Historical Survey||(Chichester, Phillimore,1994)|