On April 15, I came in from mowing the lawn and turned on the news to find that a fire had broken out at one of the great monuments of the Western world. Cathédrale Basilique Notre Dame de Paris was about to suffer a terrible tragedy. For the rest of the day and well into the night, I watched centuries of art, culture, and history rendered into ash and embers as firefighters and priests struggled to save what they could. I have never set foot in France, nor have I ever been inside any Catholic church building, let alone a cathedral so magnificent as Notre Dame. But I felt a kinship with strangers through space and time on that day, for we share deep historical roots despite our differences.

I listened to the newscasters tell the audience of the history of the building; how it was built during the 12th and 13th centuries, then modified and renovated several times thereafter; how it played host to calls for the Crusades, coronations, baptisms, and funerals; how it was vandalized and threatened with destruction on several occasions, from the Huguenots to the French Revolution to the Nazis, only to catch fire that fateful day. They spoke of the men who built it, how they knew that they were building not for themselves but for posterity, as they would never live to see it finished. I recalled the work of the French intellectual Georges Bataille. Though a Catholic early in life who became an atheist[1], his understanding of religious notions of expenditure, loss, and sacrifice[2] was unparalleled among modern philosophers. Bataille considered how ruling classes in pre-modern times spent fortunes on “the production of sacred things” that would serve as a rallying point for a culture through the creation and reinforcement of immaterial, transcendent, spiritual values. Bataille criticized the ruling classes of his day, and would say even worse of today’s rulers, for failing to understand this principle of material loss for immaterial gain, instead being pathologically committed to the maximization of materialist utility.[3]

As the fire spread, the talking heads called in other members of the pundit class to offer their thoughts. Much of this went as aforementioned, discussing the history and symbolism of the building as well as their own experiences in visiting it. But a few commentators dared to speak of what might have caused the fire. All such speculation was quickly hushed and denigrated as spreading conspiracy theories[4], even though church vandalism in France has been on the rise recently[5] and there were declared to be no signs of arson well before a proper investigation could possibly have concluded.[6] In fairness, this is understandable in a sense; too many reprisals have occurred throughout history because a culprit was blamed before the evidence was properly examined. But I had to wonder: would such speculation of potential arson be shut down so quickly if it were a historic mosque or synagogue burning instead?

As the spire collapsed, I wondered why so little was being done to battle the flames. Though there was a great deal of attention paid to concerns of fire[7], and firefighters responded promptly[8], the risk was severely underestimated and the efforts that would be possible were grossly overestimated.[9] Weather and pollution had weakened the cathedral, which was undergoing renovation at the time for that reason.[10] The lead roof initially helped to contain the fire, but it fed the flames and endangered firefighters inside once it began to melt.[11] Using deluge guns at full power or dropping water from airplanes would have risked collapsing the structure, and helicopters could not operate due to dangerous updrafts.[12] The end result is that the Paris fire chief estimated that the cathedral came within 30 minutes of collapsing due to heat-induced structural stress.[13]

Darkness fell on Paris, and I contemplated the meaning of building monuments in general. Mankind seeks to escape this mortal coil and perpetuate itself however it can. The Christian faith presents a path to eternal life, but a building such as Notre Dame calls back to an older path. The Roman Catholic tradition contains elements of the Roman imperial cult that it displaced in the 4th and 5th centuries[14,15], which in turn borrowed from the Greek tradition of venerating heroic men and worshiping ancestors.[16] It is from that source that the impetus to build great monuments entered the Western tradition, as an attempt to live on in this world rather than the next. But the Notre Dame fire should remind us of two important Christian teachings:

“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” Gen. 3:19, KJV

“For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” II Cor. 5:1, KJV

As the interior burned, I considered the incident as a metaphor for the decline of the West. A monument is not only a great achievement for its builders, but a charge to the descendants of the builders to maintain and carry on the legacy of their ancestors. Those who lose the greatness of their forefathers are destined to lose their monuments as well, and this need not take the form of deliberate destruction. Entropy is built into the universe through the laws of physics, and the absence of restorative work will eventually lead even the mightiest structure to fall. Unfortunately, cultural conditions are worse than purely natural decline. The reaction of some secular progressives to the fire demonstrates just how far our culture has degenerated. To see monuments as white elephants, existing only as financial burdens and reminders of the sins of our fathers, and to call their destruction an “act of liberation,” is the sign of a civilization that is dying.[17]

My thoughts turned to the worshipers who attended Mass on Palm Sunday, the final service in the Notre Dame that everyone knows and the final service there of any kind for quite some time. Aside from the obvious use of foreknowledge to prevent catastrophes before they occur, what might they have done differently had they known that it would be their last chance to observe such a wonder? Then the news coverage showed people gathering outside and singing “Ave Maria” as the fire continued into the night.[18] Though the crowd seemed deeply moved by what was happening, there was an unmistakable aura of what might be called foul-weather piety: the practice of beseeching God during tribulation while ignoring Him when times are good. And France indeed does the latter; though 64 percent still identify as Christian[19], only 10 percent pray daily[20] and 5 percent attend church regularly.[21] Among youth, the numbers are much lower; only 26 percent identify as Christian and 65 percent never pray.[22] In fact, Notre Dame itself no longer had parishioners who belonged to the church, nor did it still play host to baptisms, weddings, or funerals.[20]

I awoke the next morning to see that the fire was out. I doubted whether those who would rebuild afterward would possess an understanding of the true task ahead of them. Perhaps they would seek to simply rebuild the structure while remaining ignorant of its purpose, or perhaps they would defile it in the name of modern sensibilities and political grievances.[23] The financial resources needed for rebuilding were donated quickly, as several wealthy people proved themselves above Bataille’s rebuke[24] while the Gilets Jaunes did not.[25] But the architecture contest announced just two days after the fire[24], as well as several other proposals[26], gave me pause. French Prime Minister Édouard Philippe said the competition would give the 850-year-old building “a spire suited to the techniques and challenges of our time.”[24] But contrasting the elegant medieval stone with a steel spire, as has been proposed[27], would be as an insult to an injury, an architectural staking of the heart of tradition by the cold brutality of the modern world. Even worse would be the symbolic surrender inherent in replacing the spire with a minaret.[27] Likewise, a modern glass roof[27] would ruin the intended effect of the stained glass windows. Unfortunately, it seems nearly certain that the repairs and renovations will be planned and performed by lesser people than those who built Notre Dame.

Finally, I wondered what would begin that day. Would it be the spark that awakens a renewed sense of European Christian identity, or would the masses go back to sleep? Would it remind people of how fragile civilization is and make us think of how near a chaotic collapse could be, or would the decline of Western civilization continue? Would we defend the achievements of our ancestors, or would we let their labors come to nothing? Only time will tell.

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