> This forebear was uniform and symmetrical, regulated by harmony, ratios, and scale. In fact, each order of Greek design—Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian—was based on the human body, and therefore felt safe, approachable, and familiar.

I think the corollary is interesting, which is the answer to this question: what does this say about modern architecture? Sterile, bleak, chaotic, unfriendly, hostile, alien, ugly, pretentious. Which is to say, while the gothic transcends (but benevolently includes) humanity and the natural order in the signified transcendence, much of modern architecture does the opposite. By contradicting the immanent and the human, it doesn't lead to transcendence, but dehumanization and vulgarization, mockery. So, while the classical respects the merely human, and the gothic includes the human and the natural and expands the horizon and domain within which they can be understood, modern architecture negates the human, reduces it, corrupts it, and ultimate hates it. Since art is mimetic, this could rightly be called demonic architecture. Where classical architecture is made in the image of the natural order, and where gothic architecture reflects the divine and the heavenly order (which includes the nature order, restored), modern architecture is the image of hell.

> aesthetic theories generally classify the sublime as work that showcases greatness beyond measurement, comprehension, or experience; its magnitude is both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Which is the way in which God is described in the Christian tradition, hence "loving fear" or "fear of God". This fear arises from awe of something sublime in its power, beauty, goodness, truth, and magnificence. God is the most sublime, naturally, and you could expect that an encounter with the unmediated divine, if you were to survive it, would blow your mind and put you and everything else in a new perspective. In Scripture, angels--powerful, but finite--contrary to most Western art, are also described as "terrifying" when they make themselves known, but not in a malicious way (this famously occurs in the New Testament when Gabriel tells Mary not to fear him).

I might also speculate about one reason why this transformation of the gothic from awe-inspiring to haunted and terrifying might have taken place from a psycho-theological point of view. Note that evil often involves mockery or inversion of the good. Evil as such is absence of the good, and thus absence of being. So, qua evil, it cannot do anything but appropriate the good. A cliche example might be the black mass, which mocks the Catholic mass. Pornography is another example rife with mockery and defilement (Al Goldstein's infamous words "Christ sucks" and "Catholicism sucks" is all I intend to quote here). Drugs still another, a kind of mock transcendental experience that involves not the authentic elevation or expansion of one's faculties of reason, but their corruption and diminishment.

Another reason why the gothic may have become haunted at around the time of the Enlightenment has to do with how the beautiful is received by the beholder, that is, that it will depend on the mode of the beholder. You can see this perhaps most often in how a man sees or reacts to a beautiful woman. A man with a vicious and evil heart will dehumanize her in his mind and wish to use her for his selfish gratification; a prideful man with an insecure or guilty heart may hate her and project onto her faults and slander, scapegoating her for his own defects and inferiority; a man with bad intentions but an active enough conscience may become anxious around her as intention meets conscience; a man corrupted by a life of debauchery and a sordid past but beginning to see the light may be saddened by his impurity and his inability to relate to her fully like a human being. But the humble man of pure and good intentions receives beauty with joy, ease, and gratitude. So, here, the Enlightenment was a direct assault on the Church (as was the Protestant revolt before that). These cathedrals were now, in their eyes, like corpses, dead, relics of the past, and not only dead, but dead by the beholder's own hands (or his forefather's hands; the deed and the guilt now institutionalized and infused into the culture). A certain guilt or sorrow might haunt such a person. The haunting is in the beholder who is shut out of the beauty of the gothic by his own guilty conscience or the culture he was shaped by that resulted from the guilty consciences of his forefathers. Similar analyses have been done on the nature of the horror genre (e.g., "Alien" as an expression of horror and guilt in the wake of the sexual revolution, or "Frankenstein" as a sublimation of Shelley's guilt and painful past and the horrors of the Enlightenment worldview).