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The Architecture of the Altar: The Direction of Religious Architecture, and Today
2026.04.17 Admin Hit 28[The Architecture of the Altar: The Direction of Religious Architecture, and Today]
If you were given the task of designing a space for God, what would you imagine? The essence of architecture, as Le Corbusier described it, may be a “shelter” for protection. Yet when the subject is religious architecture, the point of departure becomes fundamentally different. Interpreting the relationship between humans and the transcendent lies beyond functional necessity. It requires asking not only how to construct space, but how to translate belief itself into architectural form. From the standpoint of habitation and protection, religious space may appear unproductive. But from the perspective of those who seek to embody spiritual values, the space itself becomes doctrine. Religious architecture, in this sense, represents the ultimate conceptual space that humans can create. Its essence lies in how the teachings of a religion can be spatially constructed, and how transcendence—unattainable in everyday life—can be experienced through architectural language.
Light has long been the most powerful medium for generating spiritual space. It defines interior and exterior, articulates depth, and shapes spatial perception. Light internalized in ways that transcend the ordinary experience of domestic space evokes an unmistakable sense of the sacred. Just as the Neoplatonic philosophy of Plotinus profoundly influenced Augustine—the foundational theologian of the Catholic Church—the architecture of religion evolved alongside theological doctrine. Light within the church symbolized the presence and teachings of God, while stained glass translated doctrine into narrative imagery. The thick walls of Romanesque architecture, composed of pure geometric forms, conveyed divine teaching through heavy, contemplative light. Gothic architecture, by contrast, employed pointed arches and flying buttresses to achieve thinner walls and greater height, allowing light to enter in abundance. Through stained glass, light became both narrative and revelation. Depending on its articulation, light could be gentle and compassionate, like an embrace, or severe and instructive. It became the very starting point for architecture as a vessel of spiritual transmission.
Paradoxically, this pursuit of light also drove the evolution of architectural technology. To build higher required more refined geometric systems and new interpretations of materials beyond inherited conventions. Religious architecture in the Romanesque and Gothic periods thus became a laboratory for architectural innovation. These experiments ultimately laid the foundation for modern architecture, continuing to evolve alongside shifts in cultural and intellectual paradigms. By the Renaissance and Baroque periods, religious architecture shifted away from overwhelming monumentality toward spatial qualities aligned with human scale. This transformation reflected deeper philosophical questions: what should religious space represent in a new age defined by humanism? The answer emerged as spaces of greater intimacy, warmth, and emotional resonance. Borromini’s San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane exemplifies this transformation. Its continuous surfaces, fluid geometry, and complex interplay of ovals and polygons create an architecture unified with art itself. The elliptical dome and the light that filters through it translate the ideals of a new era into spiritual form.
The reinterpretation of light continues into twenty-first-century religious architecture. The Church of the Penitent Thief in Bologna interprets light as a message connecting heaven and earth. A narrow vertical slit cuts through the building, introducing a sharp, intense beam of light unlike the diffuse illumination of traditional churches. As its name suggests, the church serves as a space of repentance for prisoners. Heaven and earth may appear separated, yet ultimately remain connected—an architectural metaphor for redemption.
The Namyang Holy Mother Shrine in Hwaseong, Korea, scheduled for completion next year, responds instead to topography. Its form emerges from the landscape, expressed through two towers that embody the site’s geological presence. Inside, diagonally arranged wooden louvers diffuse soft, compassionate light throughout the space. Mario Botta’s meticulous detailing refracts light in layered ways, creating spatial experiences unattainable in ordinary architecture. Here, architecture begins with the interpretation of landscape, passes through the sensibility of the architect, and ultimately becomes a manifestation of spiritual teaching. The recently completed Saemoonan Church in Gwanghwamun expands the possibilities of religious architecture through its urban context. Its curved external volume, suggestive of an embracing maternal form, raises questions about the typology of contemporary Korean megachurches and their relationship to the city. It offers an architectural response to the unique conditions of scale and urban density in Korean religious life.
David Adjaye’s Abrahamic Family House in Abu Dhabi represents another significant contemporary example. Through light and geometry, Adjaye gives architectural expression to Christianity, Islam, and Judaism within three adjacent yet distinct buildings. Their geometric forms communicate both shared origins and differences, offering an architectural message addressing religious coexistence and conflict. The façades act as symbolic filters, mediating light into sacred interior atmospheres while communicating meaning outward.
Among all contemporary religious buildings, however, Peter Zumthor’s Brother Klaus Field Church is widely regarded as one of the most profound. I share this view. Though modest in scale, its conceptual depth and construction process embody extraordinary meaning. The interior’s rough, charred surfaces were created by burning away timber formwork, leaving behind a textured cavity illuminated by a single opening above. Light enters as a quiet, unadorned presence, yet delivers a deeply powerful experience of contemplation. The vast rural landscape surrounding the church gains new meaning through the layered concrete structure built by local farmers. Perhaps this is the ultimate beauty—one that emerges only when everything unnecessary has been stripped away.
Religious architecture has continually evolved in response to changing ideologies. At times, it has driven structural innovation; at others, it has offered new interpretations of spiritual belief. Through physical means such as light and geometry, architecture has translated abstract doctrine into spatial reality. In the twenty-first century, religious architecture no longer conforms to a single stylistic language. Instead, it reflects regional specificity and cultural diversity. No longer the primary driver of technological innovation, religious architecture now draws upon advanced technologies to create new spatial interpretations of faith. The question of how architecture can connect the human and the divine remains its most enduring challenge. Perhaps architecture begins here—and perhaps it ends here as well.
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Jeonghoon Lee
[This article was commissioned by Esquire]