To Be Ever in Awe
The starry heaven above me and the moral law within me
Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing wonder and awe, the more often and the more serious reflection concentrates upon them: the starry heaven above me and the moral law within me. - Immanuel Kant
Three years ago, I made the move from my native Canada to the old world of Europe. Geographically far, but not a radical shift in culture, cuisine, or clothing. Nevertheless, despite still abiding in the marches of the West, there remains much that is different in life on the other side of the Atlantic’s briny abyss. Most notably, Europe has the benefit of existing directly in the shadow of the world tree of history. Its deep roots still draw greedily from the wellspring of the ancients. Its trunk has stood firm against the hewing of the many gnarled axes of the 20th century and present-day that ever seek to fell it. Europe has, thus far, kept its place under the nurturing bosom of tradition. This, paired with a more unhurried lifestyle than is found in North America, invites one to look up at the boughs and admire the ripened fruits we seemingly have decided to no longer plant. That is to say, Europe is crowned with works of wonder that tower over their communal spaces, inhabit their centres and pull all that surrounds them inwards and upwards. Grand cathedrals, opulent palaces, timeworn castles, millennial edifices, hoary statues, and moss-grown sites offer not just a sense of place but a sense of being, belonging, and awe.
It is a grievous lack that many North American cities suffer from today; something I myself did not fully realize until my coming here. We are missing out on far more than mere Instagram photoshoots in front of the Colosseum. We traded cobblestone for asphalt, historic quarters for business parks, local shops for malls, basilicas for high rises, cafès for franchises, and the sacred for the profane. What is there to venerate on a four-lane highway or in a copy-paste suburb? There is little in the way of modern manmade structures that inspire awe. A costly absence that I believe has had a detrimental effect on our collective psyche. To be deprived of the awe-inspiring is to be bereft of mankind’s most sacred element: the inspiration to create in the image that we were made. The image of the awesome.
The light on the hill
As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being - Carl Jung
In many European towns, the cathedral is often the highest construction. Indeed, many cities and villages have laws prohibiting the building of complexes that would be taller than major cathedrals or important historical sites. This is not an arbitrary ruling of a bygone age. Rather, it cements a sense of place and time amongst locals and tourists. When the Parthenon is in view, you always know you are in Athens and what it means to walk in such a distinguished land. But what is more than maintaining the sight of a pretty view is something far subtler: it keeps the human scale. Imposing buildings such as Cologne’s Dom, the Florence Duomo, the Acropolis of Athens, and the Colosseum of Rome are mighty to behold, but they are not limitless in their stature. Their size and grandeur are impressive, daunting even, but they never escape your purview. The skyscrapers of modernity are impressive in their own right, but they fail to capture the same scope and splendour of a structure that exists just at the limits of human perception. Rarely does a high rise call you to look up; not least because even if it were crafted with austere majesty, you couldn’t see the top - inside or out. Despite their gargantuan heights, contemporary buildings stretch far beyond our capacity to take in and behold. Because of this, they remain as vaguely shaped shafts that protrude upward like metal spikes and do little more than block our lines of sight and clutter our horizons. We become dwarfed and, worse, diminished by our own girders. You cannot engage with the 50th floor of a glass tower in any meaningful way; but when you thrust open the emblazoned doors of St. Peter’s Basilica, which extend up just to the edge of your sight, a shiver of awe descends upon you. You feel as though you have stepped into the footprint of a giant. No automatic or revolving door admits you of its own accord; instead, you are able to feel the weight of its size, and it’s just enough to push. When you enter, your gaze is immediately drawn (even against your own will) upward to the sublime. Your fingers almost able to grasp the shafts of sunbeams that pour down or stroke the gilded sacred art above. Always just out of reach, as you yourself become absorbed into the grand space.
These types of historical buildings or places of worship are scattered all around the European continent, but an extensive or rich history is not required to instill this sense of awe. One can get the same feeling in a village church as they do inside a grand cathedral, so long as it is beautiful, raised up as a beacon, and of the human scale.
Furthermore, the significance of awe-inspiring structures extends beyond their aesthetic appeal, as they also play a crucial role in fostering a sense of community, social dynamics, and shared identity.
I will use Cologne’s Cathedral of Saint Peter, colloquially the Dom, as an example. No matter where you happen to find yourself within the city of Cologne, the Dom is always in sight; tall, brooding, and grand. Its blackened spires reach up like Atlas holding the vault of heaven. When I first came to Cologne and did not know my way around, the Dom served as a very convenient landmark. All I needed to know was if I wished to go into the city centre or determine whether I was in the “South Town” or the “Belgium Quarter”, I simply had to look up and find my guide. The Dom is placed neatly inside the old town of Cologne, the heart of the city. It is also directly beside the central train station. For those visiting, as soon as they take their first step outside of the station, they are struck by an awesome sight: countless saints, kings, and gargoyles stare down with unblinking eyes of stone, flying buttresses descend in countless rows, and carved pinnacles twirl in ascension; a thunderous bell resonates within the bones of passerbys. Whether tourist or resident, no one leaves the station without looking up. Whether a newcomer or native, a first glance or a thousandth stare, all are awestruck.
The main square is directly in front of the cathedral, and day and night it is alive. Tourists take photos, locals drink kölsch, and artists perform, all before its solemn doors. Behind the crucifix-styled Dom lies the Rhine; green spaces and bike paths along the water weave between packed restaurants as lazy ships get carried along the river’s current. As one gets further away from the cathedral and enters the shopping district or one of the lively neighbourhoods, the Dom never seems to decrease in presence. Everyone within this city, whether they know it or not, is circumambulating this reverent space. Ever spiralling toward its nave.
I remember once being asked by a visiting friend why so much time and money was wasted on such a gothic sight, and who it was even for. I was astounded at the disdainful question. My answer was simple: it’s for you. As to the why, we can explore just what it means to be in awe and how important this sense is to humanity.
The heaven above
He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed. - Albert Einstein
As I contemplate the question posed to me and remember the throngs of people that process around the Dom, one thing becomes blindingly obvious: awe is not merely a fleeting sense like the hit of a drug, it is a fundamental aspect of our humanity. Awe is what connects us to the world, to each other, and to things greater than ourselves. It is precisely this connection that awe inspires that has been eroded in our modern, utilitarian cities.
It is not surprising that it is often a cathedral like the Dom that rouses this feeling; why something like a church was always the highest place in a village and also the most costly structure among the common folk. The church’s spire that shoots heavenward is simply an embodied manifestation of what is happening to those that surround it. Here is a place where, at least once a week, everyone from a town or village would gather. They would come as they were, with their friends and rivals both, and enter into a communal place to abide with one another, if only for an hour. The great artists of their lands filled this shared space with works that gave imitations of the divine and connecting nature of awe that the people would come to participate in. When the time to meet at this nexus came, neighbours would shake hands in peace, forgive one another of the slights of the week, and together they would sing, process, and break bread in the spirit that united their families, their village, their nation and, ultimately, their very being. They would then go back out into the world, to carry this sense of awe and wonder into all that they did, advancing us ever upward.
By definition, what it is that a people give their attention to is what they worship. If we live in a place with no centre or nave, if our sight is cut off every which way, and if our neighbours are just as foreign as those on the other side of the world, we quickly become adrift. We forget not only what unifies us, but that we are indeed unified - past, present, and future.
In addition to the historical and cultural importance of these structures, they also have a radical effect on our individual and collective psychological and spiritual welfare.
Research shows that experiencing awe has a profound impact on our well-being and our creative drives. It increases our feelings of connectedness with our race as a whole, fosters humility, increases generosity, bolsters faith, decreases symptoms of depression, improves physical health, strengthens one’s code of ethics, and ultimately leads to greater satisfaction in life. Moreover, awe-inspiring experiences broaden our attention (our ability to truly see), improve our problem-solving skills, and enhance our creative thinking. It is essential for our flourishing not just as atomized individuals but as a society.
The benefits of the awe-inspiring are more for our collective psyche than it is for any one man. In an age of increasing polarization, division, failing faith and mental health, and individualism, we are in desperate need of awe-inspiring experiences more than ever.
Life in Europe has taught me to look up. It has reminded me, as I gaze in sheer wonder, that I am connected to the essence of life itself that has prevailed through countless ages. That we, all of us, share in a mighty heritage. When I think of the many cities I have visited in North America, I cannot help but feel a contrasting priority: modern cities have opted for “functionality” over beauty, efficiency over wonder. Cologne, which stretches back to a minor colony of the Romans, is shaped as a circle that orbits a shared and populated centre that is simply elemental. Conversely, many cities in North America are laid out in systematic grids divided by wide, busy, unwalkable roads with no clear centre and no hearkening of your attention.
Fortunately, we don’t necessarily need grand cathedrals or ancient and historic works of wonder to experience awe. Nature, in all its majesty, is the prime mover and is indeed the most awe-inspiring and beautiful thing we will ever and always seek to imitate. You don’t need to look any further than the cathedral to understand this. Once inside the narthex, look around and you’ll see columns that rise up and spread out across the ceiling. Colourful stained glass windows break the light of the sun and streaks fall at random onto the ground. It’s a stone forest. An imitation of that great beauty that is likely right outside your front door. The painted domes filled with angels, cherubs, and the divine are no more than the firmament that floats above you each night; the buttresses and towers are mere mimics of an expansive mountain range. Even now in our light-polluted age, you can still step out on a clear night and behold the moon and stars. You will feel the same sense of awe that fills you in St. Peter’s Basilica. And as the research shows, the mechanism of awe in your psyche is the very same that is responsible for the impetus to imitate. And thus we have the gift of music, art, and architecture.
If we reflect on the importance of awe in our lives, it becomes clear that we must prioritize the preservation and creation of spaces that not only inspire deep emotion and rich wonder but also unify us as a people in a spirit of sheer amazement and inspiration. A place to gather, and to share; to grow, and to be. A centre and a reminder.
What Europe has helped me to see is that awe-inspiring things are all around us. And, what is more, it is a summons to participate with each other. We are called to create in the image that we are created in. The image of the awesome. Our very destiny. It is high time we remember this.
Thanks for reading,
Sam