Christianity Unraveled

November 6th, 2019

Lately I have been reflecting on space and containment. I suppose I didn't realize this until this past weekend when Andrew took me to the St. Paul cathedral. In every cathedral we have stepped foot in, the feeling of holiness and awe never fails to rush to my heart, and this time was no exception. While there, Andrew mentioned this feeling, with me heavily agreeing. It felt as though the entire space were filled with a somber and real holiness and reverence – a feeling only describable by returning to the place in which it was experienced. Andrew, being his wonderfully inquisitive self, wondered out loud about why it felt that way. I, being my intuitive self, said the words that surfaced from my gut feeling without thinking on the question too deeply: "It's almost as if the knowledge of how high the ceiling is accompanied by the openness of the space allows the idea of it being filled. And I suppose that is what we are experiencing – the notion of this contained space being completely filled with the presence of holiness." Nothing more was said, and we both reflected on our words and thoughts.

And yet, as I think back to this, I can't help but wonder if my gut feeling is correct. Perhaps the largest reason why we feel so is due to the apparent emptiness that feels filled. And thus, without the edges of the building – the ceiling, the sides, the floor, – the space would no longer contain awe as it no longer contains anything. But this is a mere speculation, and I am unsure as to what it truly means.

"While the existence of things may be good, it is the non-existent within them which makes them serviceable."

Lao Tzu, 604 B.C.E.

I read this quote above last night in the book on Chinese philosophy that I bought from an antique store a month or two back. I read it once before and pondered its meaning; yet, it never clicked in understanding until this moment (though, I must admit that it feels as though I am missing more from this). And this is what I have gathered about it thus far due to my previous encounter with the cathedral –

Space is incredibly important. Open rooms, open floors, open counters, openness in general is what allows for calmness, peace, and creativity at least in my experience of it. And the larger the open space is with the less contained within it (such as a wide berth and 300′ tall ceilings), the more non-existence can be allowed to permeate the container. And this contained space allows us to understand the non-existent and its purpose.

And with that, perhaps this is why we feel the need for parameters, rules, and boundaries. Perhaps we need things to be enclosed so that we can experience and see the non-existent. Perhaps we need something to show that there is, in fact, non-existent, and the only way this can be demonstrated within our finite understanding is to portray the non-existent side-by-side with its counterpart, the existent. For how are we to experience what doesn't exist? How are we expected to trust in the necessity of the immaterial if we don't look beyond the material to see that it is useless without its counterpart?

For instance, the fundamentally material aspect of the fork would be completely useless for its purpose if not for the space between each prong, the immaterial aspect of the fork. Of course, we can also expand this analogy to the necessity for a hollow center in a wheel for rotational purposes, or the hollowness of a vase for the purpose of adding water and a flower.

With all this said, I have simply been reflecting on how we often forget that one aspect of life, the non-material, is lost within descriptions of the other aspect of life, the material. We often forget that a house is not just the container, but also that which is inside the container – the space, the openness, the emptiness. And when we forget to define things based on the totality of it, we lose one half of its intended purpose and definition.

And yet, despite all this speculation, I have an inner knowledge that there is something I am missing. I want to generalize this to a different aspect of my and other's lives, yet I do not know how nor do I know where I wish to generalize it to. And thus, I leave my night here, with reflection left for another day.