In his works of ethics, the Greek philosopher Plato banished
the artists. He rejected their artistic license as creators. He found their sculptures
and paintings, even their pots and fine silks, deplorable. Plato wished for his
contemporary Greeks to gain erudition in the beautiful by contemplating the works
of the Gods alone: the green blues of the Mediterranean Sea, the ragged heights
of Mount Olympus. The works of artists, he mused, only muddied the way to the spiritual
appreciation of the (big C) Creation itself.
I’ve been struck dumb by a wild field of grass and flowers,
but gardens tended by hand may win me the same. I’ve been awed by a cliff soaring
stark black, but some buildings of the ancient world also send me to my knees.
As far as beauty goes, I don’t share Plato’s fear. Awe transcends the object of its initial affection. If we catch sight of something beautiful, molded by hands, beauty moves us to seek more. Anyone who’s known peace in a museum, staring at a rendering of a New England coastline, will try, if they are able, to see the sights for themselves. And once someone is awed by a rendering, that person cannot help but be awed by the sheer capacity that enabled the experience: the artist’s gift, the miracle of the dexterity of human hands, the gift of life, and the awesome blessing of our senses—so well suited to peer deeply into this world.
May what you touch of beauty this summer speak deep truths. Whether its immediate origin is a hand or the universe, know it is a gift beyond words or measure.
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