First Baptist Church • 61 Church Street

ROBERT MILLS, architect of First Baptist Church, described it as, “the best specimen of correct taste in architecture of the modern buildings in this city. It is purely Greek in its style, simply grand in its proportions, and beautiful in its detail.”

He was mistaken only in its being purely Greek in style, but what he meant was that it had the Greek Revival aesthetic, with a massive appearance created by few openings, minimal detailing, and flawless proportions. In fact, the style is largely Roman, but it was characteristic of architects of the American Greek Revival to use Roman forms with Greek details, as well as Greek forms with Roman details.

Arc de Triumphe “block” in Paris

The principal Roman features here are the triumphal arch block: the front piece of the church proper that the Roman Doric portico is attached to. This block has the form, the attic, and the triple arches of a Roman triumphal arch (top right), and Mills derived it indirectly from the intermediate block of the Pantheon (middle right)—and added two steps below it.

For his earlier Circular Church (designed in 1804 and burned in 1861), Mills had used the dome of the Pantheon as its principal feature, but for the First Baptist Church, he used the typical Protestant auditorium that is open except for a U-shaped balcony.

Model of Pantheon showing portico, block, and rotunda

Mills’ design shows how The Roman Doric order differs from the Tuscan order in having triglyphs (the motif that looks like a series of Roman Numeral IIIs above the columns) and a double-torus base (the double rings at the base of the columns).

Despite using these significant Roman features (including the characteristic arch), Mill made no attempt to design in one style. The attached portico is also based on the Pantheon, but it was popularized by the Italian architect, Palladio, and Mills owed as much to the Roman Doric porticoes of St. Philips (bottom right) as to Roman or Renaissance architecture.

Roman Doric poticoes of St. Philip’s Church

His pediment (the triangular area of the roof), though, is significantly lower and its moldings project farther than on St. Philips, and it is distinctively Greek, and the block hides a taller roof over the body of the building. The block initially had a central, glazed lantern to admit light into the vestibule.

Inside the church, the balcony is supported by Greek Doric columns (fluted and without a base), but with Renaissance (Scamozzi) columns whose angled volutes support the ceiling, as at St. Michael’s. Mills wrote that the interior was “finished in a rich chaste style, and producing, from the unity of the design, a very pleasing effect.” The focus of the church interior, its west end, was renovated in 1883 and later redesigned by Simons & Lapham.

Mills grew up in Charleston and greatly admired its architecture, and even after he studied with Benjamin Henry Latrobe—who introduced the restraint of the Greek Revival to the United States—he continued to incorporate any features he admired into tightly unified compositions. This was the way buildings had always been designed in the United States until enough architectural history became known to design in a single style.

Latrobe had used a similar bock and attached portico for his Baltimore Cathedral, and a Roman dome also, but what makes First Baptist Church a distinctively Greek Revival building is his reliance primarily on proportions, the minimal use of ornament, and the use of Greek orders. For First Baptist Church, Mills used triglyphs—which had been used on St. Michael’s—although he omitted triglyphs from the Greek Doric order on his later Fireproof Building (at the northwest corner of Washington Square), making it more Greek Revival than Greek or Renaissance.

Monticello

Mills probably borrowed the triple-arched opening within the portico directly from design for Monticello, which Jefferson redesigned and Mills drew for him.

Mills’ Baptist church represents the end of a way of designing and the beginning of a more scholarly approach to design. In a few decades buildings were being designed in Charleston that were wholly Gothic, Italianate, and even Moorish rather than based on a continuing design tradition.

This is also a distinctively Mills design for its massiveness, and he achieved his characteristic “massy” quality primarily by using compact forms, most often the cube and sphere. Mills’ use of the words proportion, beautiful, massy, unity, and chaste indicate what he strove to achieve.

While you’re outside, don’t forget to appreciate the simple yet elegant wrought-iron fence with its built-in lamp posts—a feature you rarely see in other wrought- or cast-iron fences and gates downtown.

First Baptist Church was completed 1819-1822, and Robert Mills would later be the architect of the Treasury Building and Washington Monument in the District of Columbia. •

(Learn more about architectural terms: See this helpful glossary.)

Even the cast iron fence has Gothic details: its posts end in little imitations of pointed vaults—a design that mirrors the cast-iron trim around the top of the front windows.

Instead of being constructed of stone, the church is stucco-covered brick and has a lathe-and-plaster ceiling. While this was standard for the American Gothic Revival, it was considered less than adequate by the standards of the leading proponent of the style, Augustus Welby Pugin.

At first glance, this church may seem to have little in common with St. Philip’s just down the street, but in terms of the plan of its nave and aisles, St. Philip’s is actually more Gothic. A similarity they share is that in their respective reconstructions, the interiors of both churches were “opened up” for the congregation to be better able to hear a sermon—which is the principle part of the Protestant service—and Huguenots were, after all, French Protestants.

One major Protestant design feature, in fact, is the absence of representational sculpture and painting, which medieval churches usually had as integral parts of their architecture.

Charleston architect and author Samuel Gaillard Stoney called the Huguenot church “nothing but a tent, but a very fine tent.” The architect, E.B. White (who also designed the steeple of St. Philip’s), nevertheless managed to achieve a good deal of Gothic verticality by placing the pier buttresses close together.

He also created a richness of style through the careful use of ornamental features. Most noticeable of these is the pointed arch which you can see over the entrance, around the windows, in the vaulting, in many interior details, and on the stanchions on the fence.

The outside of the church has a quiet charm. Inside, a precious stillness pervades a broad room that is intimate and ornamental, with soothing colors of brown, blue, and white. You feel as though you have stepped inside a Gothic Revival jewelry box. Although the building is small, the interior has a grand spaciousness due to the vaulting that extends almost to the ridge of the roof.

This French Protestant church was founded about 1681 by Huguenot refugees from the Protestant persecutions in France. The first church was built on its present site in 1687, but was destroyed in 1796 during an attempt to stop the spread of fire which had burned a large surrounding area.

The original building was replaced in 1800 and then dismantled in 1844 to make way for the present Gothic Revival edifice, designed by E.B. White. The structure was damaged during the Civil War and nearly demolished in the earthquake of 1886. The present building dates to 1845 and is the only remaining independent Huguenot church in America.

Here is a short video of the interior:

The Huguenot Cross pendant

If you get inside, look for the beautiful Huguenot cross which was designed in the form of a Maltese cross, with four triangles meeting at the center. Each triangle has two rounded points, signifying the eight Beatitudes of Matthew 5: 3-10. Between the triangles are four fleurs de lis, symbolizing purity, and four open spaces in the form of four hearts, for love and loyalty.

In the pendant version shown here, a dove is suspended from the lower triangle by a gold ring, signifying the Holy Spirit. In times of persecution, a pearl, symbolizing a teardrop, replaced the dove.

The four arms of the Maltese cross are sometimes regarded as the heraldic form of the four petals of the Lily of France which grows in the south of France. The arms symbolize the four Gospels.

This unique church—small as it is, American as it is—has an indescribable quality that seems characteristic of Gothic cathedrals in Europe. As you enter and close the doors behind you, you experience the distinct sense of having left “the world” behind for a time. You step into a safe, meditative chamber where, undisturbed, you can gather your Self before venturing again into the distracting busyness of living.

Just inside those gray-white walls is an impeccable haven for spiritual refreshment. ¶

Huguenot Church
136 Church St • Get directions

(Learn more about architectural terms: See this helpful glossary.)

From the northwest

THE CURRENT BUILDING at 146 Church Street is the third St. Philip’s Church. It is from an 1836 design by Joseph Hyde which partly replicates the second St. Philip’s that was constructed c. 1721–1733, but which burned in 1835.

The exterior of the building closely follows the c. 1721 design, although the interior was largely redesigned based on James Gibbs’s St. Martin in the Fields, in England. The steeple was added in 1848–1850 by E. B. White who also designed, among other things, the city market hall and the portico of the main building at the College of Charleston.

One thing that makes St. Philip’s an appropriate place to begin a tour of Charleston churches is that its porticoes reproduce the earliest use in the province of Roman porticoes. These and other features greatly influenced how churches of most denominations looked for the next one hundred years. During that time, attached porticoes with monumental Roman Doric columns and side doors became standard.

The arcaded nave with apse in the rear

St. Philip’s also has not one or two, but three porticoes, and the placement of the building is unique in the way that it projects into the street. The apse faces east, as usual, but the body of the third church was moved west so that a north and south portico could be added to the entrance to create impressive views from Church Street—as well as to create a plan in the form of a Latin cross. The second church had its side porticoes centered on Church Street, but the third church was placed farther east to widen the street.

Another distinguishing architectural trait is that this was the first church in the city to have large pilasters (reliefs projecting from the outer walls to suggest columns) along its outer sides. In this case, they were evenly spaced to resemble the peristyle (the outside row of columns) of a classical temple. Notice how well the capitals (the crown) of the pilasters match the real capitals atop the columns in front of the church.

The arcaded nave (the arched, central part of the church seen in the photo at right) also sets St. Philip’s apart. No other Neoclassical church in Charleston has this graceful feature.

The apse (the domed ceiling at the east end) that Hyde designed also included a half dome with coffers (recessed ceiling panels) as in the Pantheon in Rome, to which he added rosettes. When the east end was lengthened after a fire in 1920, architects Simons & Lapham had the original, surviving rosettes recast, and they replaced some Italianate pilasters in the apse to recreate the impression of an early 18th-century interior.

Corinthian columns with entablature blocks and arcades

Of special note are the monumental Corinthian columns in the nave which support Renaissance-style entablature blocks (large squares above the capitals) on top of which span arcades with rosettes (rose-shaped decorations) and angelic cupids. When you study them, the proportions seem awkward, yet they create the visual effect of an additional upward thrust that adds grandeur to the church.

The previous interior had had plain piers (simple column-like supports) supporting the balconies, with Corinthian pilasters placed against the piers, and with masonry arches above them. The piers were good supports, but they took a lot of space and they blocked the view and sound.

Consequently, when the third church was built, Hyde persuaded the congregation to replace the piers and pilasters with actual columns, and the masonry arches with decorative wooden ones. The result was a broader, more unified, more elegant nave, and a better lit interior where the congregation could see and hear more easily.

One of several memorial tablets

The relatively narrow balconies also allow for a wide nave, which, along with the slender columns and improved light, creates the impression of a space larger than it is—a successful illusion that allows a tremendous amount of ornate detail to float effortlessly inside the church. Notice, for instance, how the bases of the Corinthian columns seem to rest on top of the pews.

Along the interior walls, don’t miss the outstanding 19th-century memorial tablets, such as the one shown here. In this example, the composition, drapery, and expressiveness—all of which are achieved in relief, not three-dimensional, sculpture—are worthy of admiration.

The building’s exterior was initially intended to have the 113’ tower rebuilt, but White convinced the congregation to build a taller, 180’ steeple of the Wren-Gibbs type. He based the design primarily on the steeples of St. Michael’s and the Circular Congregational Church (whose steeple was later destroyed). The result was a building that resembles more closely the churches constructed in London in the early 18th century.

At the south gate

It is also worth your time to appreciate the massive, ornate, wrought-iron gates outside. Although the ironwork is thick and rough, notice how fluid, lyrical, and varied-yet-harmonious the design is.

The large gates facing north and south on Church Street date from c. 1838. Clearly, they were crafted by men who were as much artisans as the building architects, and the church would not stand as elegantly as it does without their articulate frame.

Don’t miss the small, 4-foot-high gate at the main, west entrance. Look carefully and you will see that its design closely resembles the kneeling gate in the chancel of St. Michael’s Church (at the entrance to its altar) which was widely copied after its installation there in c. 1772.

Also of note are the gates leading into the St. Philip’s cemetery across the street which date from c. 1770. They have a delicate, intricate leaf pattern, and the downward swoop in the design beautifully mirrors the fence that follows the curve of Church Street.

The chapel, originally the parish house

As a finale to your visit, be sure to walk to the northeast side of the church (the back left corner as you face the church) to see the small chapel shown here. This was originally a parish house built c. 1840 in the form of a Roman temple, but without a portico. The building has a simple beauty and dignity that befit its setting.

Churches are intended to be worlds unto themselves—sanctuaries—not only during Sunday service. And St. Philip’s is certainly a nice one to retreat to, and to relish while you’re there.

(Want to know more about architectural terms: Check out this helpful glossary.)

Circular Congregational Church

WHILE CHARLESTON’S historical homes and buildings continue to enchant residents and dazzle tourists, the city’s churches merit special attention and study. You can easily gaze at their designs and details for hours at a time and not see everything. Which is why repeat visits for repeated gazing always yield new treasures.

But how is it that so many beautiful, and so many kinds of, churches are so close to each other to begin with?

From the time of Charleston’s founding, an important aspect of the city was its religious diversity. The province of Carolina was created almost immediately after the defeat of dissenters in the English Civil War and the restoration of the Church of England—two freedoms that were guaranteed to attract settlers, and a good explanation as to why Charleston has outstanding early churches of so many denominations. No other city in the United States still has as many of its earliest churches, and ours are worth looking at in terms of the development of architectural styles and the functional requirements of each denomination.

St. Philip’s Church

The Fundamental Constitution of the Lords Proprietors, revised in 1670, stated that since settlers “will unavoidably be of different opinions concerning matters of religion, …it will not be reasonable for us on this account to keep them out…” With this in mind, as few as seven people could form a congregation (as long as they held their services at the same time as the Anglican churches).

The Lords Proprietors had been largely responsible for restoring the head of the Anglican Church to the throne, and Carolina was their principle reward. Many dissenters again were eager to leave England, and Charleston was settled mostly by dissenters, although Anglicans for the most part kept control of its government until the revolution. There were continual conflicts between adherents of various denominations, but they were more political than religious, and each denomination was free to build the kind of church it wished, and to worship in it according to its conscience. Such mutual tolerance attracted French Huguenots, Sephardic Jews, German Protestants, and Irish Catholics, as well as other denominations.

Nearly all of Charleston’s antebellum churches are within two blocks of King Street, yet none are on King Street. The explanation for this unusual situation is that King Street, as the city’s principle commercial street, runs down the middle of the peninsula with neighborhoods to each side. It got its start as a path between the headwaters of tidal creeks that often determined the boundaries between developing neighborhoods.

Huguenot Church

City walls created in 1780 and 1812 spanned some of the narrowest parts of the peninsula between its tidal creeks. There were exceptions, but in general the city initially developed to conform to its natural boundaries. The highest land had the principle roads—King Street and Meeting Street—and the most wagon traffic, and by the middle of the 18th century these streets housed most of the mercantile establishments.

Neighborhoods developed largely in pairs to either side of these two main streets, and each neighborhood built its own church. Charleston became a city with many relatively small churches, and as new neighborhoods developed, new churches were built.

Among the best examples of Charleston’s early church architecture are a Methodist meeting house that looked like a house until a portico was added, the oldest Reform Jewish synagogue in the United States built to resemble a Greek temple, a Catholic cathedral which could form the centerpiece of a medieval town, and an Anglican state church in the Northern Renaissance style which was as much medieval as classical.

Stay tuned as we guide you around and into these exquisite examples of architecture.

(This post introduces a series that we will present about churches on the Charleston peninsula. As with all of our material under the category “Looking at Charleston,” this information comes from unpublished, copyrighted writings of architectural historian, Gene Waddell.)