First let’s consider man. Us. “When we form images of God they’re all really exhibitions of our lack of faith,” says Watts, “If you let go of all the idols you will, of course, discover that what this unknown is—which is the foundation of the universe—is precisely you….it’s not the chronic sense of muscular strain which we usually call ‘I’” (n.d.). We are further divided into male and female; the positive anima and the negative animus. We are acutely aware of existing as opposites, but somehow manage to ignore the earthly opposites all around us. He gives the example of a painting. We see the image, but not the canvas that stands beneath it. The canvas is sub-stance. Like the earth, the foundations that hold up the image are essential to existence of the image. As humans, we do not exist without the earth we are bound to, and to understand ourselves we must remember that we are both sides of the opposites.
The prime suspect behind the ultimate mystery is God. Watts shares the rationale of many theologians in support of intelligent design: “if you are intelligent and reasonable, you cannot be the product of a mechanical and meaningless universe” ( n.d.). God can also be understood as unity of opposites. She may be the black infinity of space, but the only reason we know there is an infinite universe is because of the stars that stand against it to provide depth. We perceive God in opposites because we understand in opposites. By learning to see ourselves we are then able to approach seeing God.
So we see man, we see god, we have caught the Hannah-Barbarian monster, and the Scooby gang removes the rubber mask to reveal a version of ourselves underneath (the substance) that is both earthly and divine. Watt’s solves the “profound, central mystery,” concluding “the attitude of faith is to stop chasing it…all these ideas of the “spiritual,” the “godly,”…[are] not the only way of being religious and of relating to the ineffable mystery that underlies ourselves and the world” (n.d.). We can’t view God as an old white male because it stops us from seeing the young black female that God is also. God is opposites, and the only way we can perceive their existence is to remember that we are as well.

Abbot Suger defines the “happy accident” in extraordinary terms. Responsible for inventing all of medieval gothic architecture and bringing elaborate art and ornamentation to Catholicism can all be traced back to a misunderstanding. His abbey was named for St. Denis, who shared a name with an ancient greek philosopher, who was himself the misattributed author of a poorly translated book called The Heavenly Hierarchies. As a collector and lover of antiquity, Suger lunged at the opportunity to own a text by his own patron “saint,” and in those words that directly attributed beauty to God he found justification to embark on what would be his life’s work: making catholicism majestic.
Abbot Suger saw architecture has a means to transcendence. God worked through the greatest artisans to create spaces that all pointed to heaven. “‘Bright,’ he says, ‘is the noble edifice that is pervaded by new light,’ and in these words he anticipates all the architectural aspirations of the next 200 years” (Clark, 2005). He creates high windows of intricate stained glass to cast fascinating splashes of color across his Chapel. He pushed the spires and arches to be higher and higher until they towered over the congregation in dizzying displays of engineering. Not only were the construction techniques revolutionary, but the mathematics utilizing the golden ratio that created blueprint were viewed as divine geometry.
Walking into Chartres Cathedral today is awe-inspiring because it is an experience we’ve only imagined from pictures and films, but for medieval humans it was something they had never imagined. To any person gazing upon the unthinkable design and grandeur they were visually aided in their ability to perceive divinity. The relationship of beauty, design, and God made tangible to guide transcendental thought. From the depths of the Dark Ages full of ugly and painful existence was a heavenly palace that could only be described as divine, and the sight opened up new avenues of higher thinking that were otherwise not possible.

Alone in a dark forest lit by moonlight reflecting on the blanket of snow, Robert Frost found himself in the midst of a transcendent experience. In his poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Frost describes a horseback trip he took alone through the woods. He reigns his horse to stop in the middle of the path to look and listen to the stillness. Alone with his thoughts and that magical vista of the dark and frozen forest he perceives the divine presence that forces him to pause and reflect. Despite “promises to keep / and miles to go,” (1983) Frost is seemingly unable to control his actions because he shares them with a higher power that fills him in that moment.
Frost’s experience is relatable to many of us. I have certainly beheld the beauty of nature on a quiet winter night. I often think of Chicago with similar connotations. Winter twilight in Chicago can seem like a magical time. I might even call it “a witching hour.” the snow absorbs the sounds of the city. The plow won’t arrive to clear the street until tomorrow, so all the noise of the traffic is frozen for the night. Most of the people are warm in their homes, and for the lone traveler it is silent and still like Frost’s woods. The one thing that sticks out most in my memory is the orange glow the entire city takes on. The only light comes from the old tinted street lights, and as those colors reflect, refract, and become absorbed by snow it lights up the city in a diffused glow that comes from beneath instead of above.
What Frost’s poem offers is the transcendent words and focus that we may not be able to recognize on our own. We may all walk through those moments of divinity, but we don’t always stop, and certainly don’t often put it into poetic terms. Frost gives me a context for my view of Chicago that I lacked on my own. As a guide through a transcendental meditation on the beauty of winter quiet I can understand beauty I only saw previously. Now aware of the method, it is important to continue to look and remember to take the time to stop when the moment strikes again. Our own horse may want to press on to the next farmhouse, but like Frost discovered the experience is worth the break.