Stench and stained glass

If a magical time machine picked you up from 2012 and dropped you into a medieval village in Europe, say in 1312, you'd be surprised in ways you wouldn't expect.

Take just one example: you'd probably be overwhelmed by the stench in the air.

The foul odors would come in part from the people themselves. They wore the same unwashed clothes day after day after day, and they rarely bathed. That, and the lack of sanitation -- with animals and peasants living literally cheek by jowl -- made the Middle Ages rank.

There wouldn't be many signs or any readily available written material. The center of what knowledge there was and the prime instructions for a peasant's daily life came from religious leaders.

Thus, almost always, there was a place of Christian worship -- a Catholic church, since Christianity had not yet splintered. Attendance was mandatory. Within walking distance there might be one of the new Gothic cathedrals that were springing up like weeds all over Europe. Towns competed for pilgrims (religious “tourists”) by building the biggest, the tallest, the most spectacular of edifices. Inside, most displayed a relic guaranteed to attract the faithful: a piece of the true cross, a remnant of Mary’s robe, a tattered fragment of the tablecloth from the Last Supper, or a gilded reliquary holding the remains of the Three Wise Men.

Here's another thing that might surprise you: Many of these new cathedrals featured a then-new art form: magnificent stained-glass windows illustrating Bible stories.

The church, which had emerged as the power in Europe after the collapse of the Roman Empire, ruled equally with the nobility (and often trumped the nobility). The church cemented its harsh rules and complete control over the population through the use of imagery. Peasants were ignorant, and their ignorance stemmed from illiteracy. The advent of stained-glass windows gave the church another means to teach peasants all that the church thought they needed to know.

Be obedient. Do your duty to God -- and the church.

Or risk the hellfire of eternal damnation.

However, the rules and the images, quite predictably, were not always aimed so much at saving immortal souls as at sustaining the power and wealth of the church. Knowledge is power. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

As tourists today, we focus more on the splendor of those stained-glass windows and less on the hidden purpose of the stories they tell.

The ecclesiastical architecture contrasts starkly with the primitive life of the 13th century, when Gothic cathedrals became a way for a town to make its mark. Peasant and nobleman alike understood next to nothing of what we now take for granted -- about disease transmission, about food preservation and safety, about what might lie ahead in the next village or across the river, or even about accurately tracking the passage of the day's 24 hours.

They got up when dawn broke, worked all day, gathered around a fire in the evening, and slept when it got dark. They lived life as their priest said it should be lived, and life was harsh, and dirty, and smelly.

I was reminded of all of this as I browsed through pictures I took of Gothic abbeys and cathedrals during the past 50 years. The stories depicted in the stained-glass windows created in this fearful and brutal time were designed to comfort the obedient and frighten the hell out of anybody who disobeyed. The stone carvings met the same ecclesiastical needs. Even the gargoyles were symbolic. The striking examples you see above are atop Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. They signaled to worshipers that they were safe in church with such fearsome creatures facing outward, keeping the Devil at bay.

I began my amateur exploration of Gothic cathedrals as most explorations begin: superficially. I was absorbed by the age and majesty of the cathedrals. As is often the case when one learns more, I found more than I expected.

You can visit a medieval cathedral today and not be assaulted by the smell of unwashed bodies and animal excrement on dirt floors. Tourists today read guidebooks as they stroll before altars. Very few of today's visitors are illiterate, and the images and sculptures have lost much of their visceral impact.

The church has fragmented. For many today, religion does not play a dominant or even frightening role in life.

But look closely and skeptically at medieval cathedrals and you'll see not just soaring architectural achievement (and there certainly is that to be considered) but also stark anthropological evidence of a church that exercised autocratic control over every aspect of life and clung to dominance through the fears and the illiteracy of the faithful.

And take a deep breath: The 21st century smells far better that the 13th did.