There are some things in Dublin that make sense. The Liffey. The GPO. The unspoken national law that you never, ever sit upstairs on a bus unless the bottom one’s full.
And then there’s The Spire.
A 120-metre stainless steel needle sticking out of O’Connell Street like someone lost a game of giant Jenga. You see it before you see anything else. It glints. It’s pointy. And it has no plaque explaining what it is, why it’s there, or whether we’re meant to salute it or just walk past and pretend it’s normal.
Let’s break it down.
So, What Actually Is the Spire?
Its full name is “The Spire of Dublin”, officially the Monument of Light. Sounds poetic, right? But don’t go looking for hidden symbolism — it’s not a memorial, not a religious symbol, and it doesn’t point to anything important.
It’s a massive modern sculpture, commissioned in the early 2000s as part of the effort to regenerate O’Connell Street, which, at the time, had lost most of its dignity and all of its ashtrays.
Construction began in December 2002, and it was completed by January 2003. It’s made of eight hollow stainless steel cones, tapering to a 15 cm tip, and the whole thing weighs 126 tonnes. By design, it lights up at the top at night — that part’s meant to be the “light” bit in “Monument of Light.” Doesn’t always work. Like most of us.
Why Is It There?
Now we get to the messy bit.
Before the Spire, there stood a much older landmark — Nelson’s Pillar. Put up in 1809, it honoured Admiral Horatio Nelson (of Trafalgar fame, not Dublin fame). Most Dubliners tolerated it for over 150 years, until 1966, when someone blew it up. Literally. Republican activists decided Nelson had had enough time hogging the skyline. Boom. Gone.
For decades, the site stood awkwardly empty. There were fountains, there were clocks, none of them stayed. So for the Millennium, Dublin City Council thought: “Let’s build something new. Something sleek. Something… enormous.” And The Spire was born.
Cost to the taxpayer? €4 million.
Public reaction? Best described as “a mixture of squinting and disbelief.”
The Nicknames (Because This Is Dublin and We Name Everything)
Dubliners are incapable of letting anything serious stay serious. Within days of the Spire going up, the city had renamed it. Not officially, of course. But on the streets? It’s been everything from:
- The Stiletto in the Ghetto
- The Erection at the Intersection
- The Nail in the Pale
- The Pin in the Bin
- The Stiffy by the Liffey
- The Rod to God (bit much)
And my personal favourite: The Javelin of Jesus
Pick your poison. They all work. It’s hard to stand that tall and not get roasted.
Is It Worth Visiting?
It’s unavoidable. You’re going to see it. If you’re anywhere in central Dublin and you don’t spot a 120-metre pole gleaming in the sky, you’ve either wandered into a pub basement or you’re facing the wrong direction.
But is it worth a visit?
Look — you can’t go up it. You can’t go inside it. There’s no gift shop. It doesn’t even have a shadow when the sun’s at the wrong angle. But as a piece of modern Irish weirdness, it’s kind of essential. It tells you something about the city — that we’re always somewhere between ancient history and bold attempts at the future, and occasionally we fall flat on our stainless steel arse.
Declan’s Unrequested Opinion
Do I like it? Not really.
Do I miss Nelson’s Pillar? Also no.
But I admire the ambition. You don’t spend €4 million on a giant spike unless you’re either deeply visionary or dangerously bored.
And frankly, O’Connell Street needed something new. The GPO’s full of ghosts, the statues are mostly seagull toilets, and every other shop is selling SIM cards or fried chicken. The Spire, for better or worse, gave people something to meet under, laugh at, or argue about — and that’s something.
Besides, it’s the best meeting point in the city. “Where are ye?” “I’m at the big shiny thing.” Done.
