Throughout I have spoken of S. Sophia as a church. Such indeed to the Christian eye it remains. A few hours would restore its fitness for its original purpose. The Mihrab, showing the direction of Mecca, the minber, or pulpit, the Sultan's seat, the immense shields with the names of the four companions of the prophet, the four minarets, belong, one feels, but to transitory things. The dedication of S. Sophia is eternal. S. Sophia is the greatest and most splendid example of what has been truly called "the last great gift of Hellenic genius, mediæval Greek architecture"--the last great work of the Greek people. But it is more. It is the most perfect representation that art has ever devised in visible outward form of the theology of the Christian Church. A multitude of detail, all beautiful, all important when understood, has its true significance solely from its relation to the central idea, to the whole which is so much more than the parts of which it is composed. "The Catholic faith is this, that we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity," says the magnificent hymn of faith which we call the Creed of Saint Athanasius. From that central doctrine, that dome of theology, shade off other thoughts and facts which have their importance in exact proportion to their nearness to the central fact. They all contribute to its support; they are all really part of it; but they can only be seen in their real meaning when the one Unifying Truth is seen to be over and above them all. Is this the narrow view of a Christian priest? Will art critics say that S. Sophia means quite other things, and draws forth quite other memories? Not truly, as I think. For S. Sophia is certainly a supreme expression of Christian faith, and only in relation to that faith can it be fully understood. "We worship one God": S. Sophia expresses that thought, and it expresses the myriad reflections of that truth, and how that worship is visibly presented. To some art critics, and notably to Jesuit writers, whose sympathy with the genuine expression of artistic ideas has never been profound, S. Sophia seems to mark not only the culmination of Byzantine art but a distinct step in its decadence. Supreme indeed it is, but it is difficult for any one who knows Constantinople to doubt that the work which is at its greatest in S. Sophia was continued centuries after Anthemius had passed away. The same dignity, and sincerity, and splendour, are striven for, and if they are never attained it is only because the greatest genius is never repeated.