Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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ис бул бук EWI ey wee nee nie ey nee ne eI era Loyola College Review | бо зле ICN Siete ICDA ореолы Address all communications to LovouA Сотлиав Review, SHERBROOKE STREET West, MONTREAL Terms: One Dorran THE Copy, paper bound. A subscription for Five Years: Five Dorrans All subscriptions will be gratefully received EDITORIAL It is again the privilege of the Review to record Loyola’s acquisition of another building. Flanking the front building and linked to it by a closed-in cloister, now The stands the college chapel. A broad, steeply slanting copper бе паде Chapel roof between Flemish gables, with a lofty fléche, also copper- р covered, near the western end where the incipient transepts cut across; windows, rectangular in the nave with buttresses between them, circular in the NOE and apse; a facade, well back Кот the street, that rises somewhat abruptly above the ома perron and challenges by its plain stretches of brickwork over the stone-framed doors and around the large gallery window: such in outline, ог enumeration, is the new psi ge With differences that will be interesting to future amateurs of architecture, and economics, it matches the other buildings. Similar in its 2 lines and in material, it has the delightful quality of eliciting a perhaps confused satistaction without being what one expects after familiarity with the recti-lineal sweep of stone mullions in the front building's facade or the high-arched cloister and terra cotta facings of the back buildings. Such preoccupations of matching the new piece with the old cloth do not interfere with one's impressions of the interior. A high vaulted ceiling supported only by the side walls, and an abundance of light pouring through the amber windows ү an air of spacious compactness that characterises the whole arrangement. ngenious contrivances for ventilation, heating and acoustics, all successful be it said, are skilfully lost in the ribbed ceiling and the ‘‘birnut’’ panelling that runs round the walls. The sanctuary floor, level with the tops of the pews, is cut across by a wall in which is pierced a great arch framing the wide recess for the main altar. In front of this wall on either side of the recess are the side altars and, behind, sacristies with tribunes above; on the left side and harmoniously fitting in with the general scheme is an exceptionally fine pulpit. Unless accustomed to the strictly liturgical, one at first finds the main altar novel yet quickly comes to appreciate its peculiar charm. The tester, supported behind by the wall and in front by two chains from the ceiling, covers a space in which the central piece is a large bronze crucifix. Six massive bronze candle-sticks stand on the altar itself; in the centre is the cylindrical cone-capped tabernacle in bronze but with a silver door. The symbolic inscriptions worked in the dossal and antependium associate this arresting simplicity with the early church when Greek was the language of the élite and of the slaves of Rome. The bewilderment and the universal questioning that marks the present time make it natural to rise to the wider significance of the chapel and to point out that ЗАР

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ATOGILSAA WHNNOO LSVA-HLUON LidTod чогиналмї HONVILLNH ІМОЧА Tad VHD AUN ЧНІ, JO SMAIA

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW —————————— MÀ À——— ТР it is the concretion of a living tradition, something at once old and new. The frank utilization of materials that belong distinctively to the machine age and the subordination of all parts to their need, make the chapel a child of the time, as does the fusion of styles to take advantage of modern structural simplifications. Yet how strikingly does this square with the Periclean epigram, “Ме love beauty without expense. Gables that might rise above the canals of Ghent, round windows that might belong to a Gothic cathedral, a nave that suggests the romanesque, an altar to recall Byzantium and Rome—these blend not only in the skilful design of the architect but also in the spirit. For we are at one with the culture of the West and we deprive ourselves of none of its manifestations in three thousand years. We bring what we have of the Athenian’s keen perception of measure, of the Roman’s love of order, of the mediaeval passion for logic, of Renaissance enthusiasm for man, of the scientist’s control of nature, and watch them cast off what they have of extravagance and crystallize into unity under the synthetic influence of the universal religion that comes from ancient Palestine and encircles the world. Yet ancient as is the lineage and cecumenical the sources of the culture that is integrated in the chapel, it remains that we have no mere monument of times gone by. “Уошг creeds are dead’’ they say; but if so, what is alive? We hold no brief for sixteenth century heretics, commended neither by valid thought nor winning characters; nor did we ever expect the naive Bible religion then foisted upon the populace with many a tirade against carnal knowledge to survive the inroads of sophists, or even the advance of science. But there is singularly lacking any evidence of life, of a power to unify and coordinate, in international leagues, in parliamentary government, in experts, in competition, in merchant prices, in nationalistic catch-phrases, in technocracy—that brilliant product of practical education—or in Soviet Russia, the logical goal of dogmatic liberalism. On the other hand there is patent an exuberance of vitality in the papal encyclicals that stand four-square eat eternally central тн the shifting dus of opinion; there is magnificence and inspiration in a faith that possesses the loyalty of millions of hearts in every land without distinction of race or rank or attainment; there is rennial endurance in a philosophy too profound to be swept away by the dazzlin а of new ideas in complacent minds, too accurate and rigorous to be Mitre by contemporary Pilates who ask ‘һаг is truth? and do not stay for an answer, too realistic ever to be ignorant of what it is about or whither leads the intellectual mistiness of self-appointed oracles. But it is not merely in historical associations nor in the impalpable realm of ideas that is to be found what constitutes the actuality of the chapel. The problem of education is not a problem of machinery, of devising curricula and securing professors, of buying libraries and getting the books read. That is all possible enough. But if the modern mi nd does not know what education should effect or how it should be effected—as it openly confesses it does not—we have no ground for surprise: such nebulosity marks its utterances on all questions that cannot, and not a few that can, be solved by the arts of exact measurement. But the real problem of education is the problem faced by the teacher who displays the heritage of civilisation with what skill he masters, who watches and waits with conscious helplessness for the fecundation and blossoming and growth of that seed that can easily be sterile and easily be monstruous but not easily be fine and delicate, stout and sound. The mystery of individuality confronts him and faced with it he can only quote: “Раш plants, Apollo waters, but God grants the increase. The course of life is enlightened and largely guided by its highest moments—moments when, {2+