Hadden, thank you for shining a light on the cost that comes with beauty. As regrettable as it is in politics and culture, I think it even exists in nature. There is a cost incurred when a fruit tree produces an abundance of fruit, when a mother gives birth to a healthy baby, and when ocean waves crash upon white beaches. The cost is, in a sense, what makes things valuable. Not to say that we should pursue costly ventures simply for the sake of the value they can yield—I think here of hunting rhino for their horns—but rather that we should understand that nature is often as brutal as human endeavour. Just a thought.
Absolutely agree, Leanne. And the examples you have picked evidence the cost of beauty in nature perfectly. It is also striking to think that a flower blooms only briefly and once its purpose is fulfilled in the act of pollination it rapidly dies. Perhaps it is a truism that "beauty always comes with a cost"?
Thank you, Hadden, for sharing this thoughtful and gracious piece.
In the midst of a humanity that is prone to miss the mark, I am grateful for those glimpses I get of beauty and goodness that the Lord enables me to see through my stumbling, clumsy walk upon this earth which I never manage to get quite right. This essay of yours reminds me of a truth that I am so grateful for: that no matter my mistakes or the mistakes of this human race I am a part of, my God is one who delights in redemption, even of the ugliest things.
There are two disturbances silently pulsing beneath your piece.
First: the human touch mistaken for harmony, when it’s often interference. Falu Red may flatter the landscape, but it doesn’t belong to it. Its warmth cloaks a history of desecration, and in doing so, trains our eye to accept ruin so long as it comes in an attractive shade. More than a pigment, it’s a primer in aesthetic forgiveness.
Second: the question of alternative beauty-making. If so much of what we find beautiful is built on extraction, dispossession, or after-the-fact redemption, what models are left? Can we conceive of beauty that doesn’t require moral footnotes? That doesn’t arise as compensation or recovery?
Perhaps the challenge isn’t to reject compromised beauty outright, but to remain morally awake in our admiration (like you do), and to cultivate forms of making that don’t default to conquest, or consolation after the fact.
Hadden, thank you for shining a light on the cost that comes with beauty. As regrettable as it is in politics and culture, I think it even exists in nature. There is a cost incurred when a fruit tree produces an abundance of fruit, when a mother gives birth to a healthy baby, and when ocean waves crash upon white beaches. The cost is, in a sense, what makes things valuable. Not to say that we should pursue costly ventures simply for the sake of the value they can yield—I think here of hunting rhino for their horns—but rather that we should understand that nature is often as brutal as human endeavour. Just a thought.
Absolutely agree, Leanne. And the examples you have picked evidence the cost of beauty in nature perfectly. It is also striking to think that a flower blooms only briefly and once its purpose is fulfilled in the act of pollination it rapidly dies. Perhaps it is a truism that "beauty always comes with a cost"?
Thank you, Hadden, for sharing this thoughtful and gracious piece.
In the midst of a humanity that is prone to miss the mark, I am grateful for those glimpses I get of beauty and goodness that the Lord enables me to see through my stumbling, clumsy walk upon this earth which I never manage to get quite right. This essay of yours reminds me of a truth that I am so grateful for: that no matter my mistakes or the mistakes of this human race I am a part of, my God is one who delights in redemption, even of the ugliest things.
This is a lovely comment Joel, thank you -- and a beautiful truth that I am in need of reminding of
There are two disturbances silently pulsing beneath your piece.
First: the human touch mistaken for harmony, when it’s often interference. Falu Red may flatter the landscape, but it doesn’t belong to it. Its warmth cloaks a history of desecration, and in doing so, trains our eye to accept ruin so long as it comes in an attractive shade. More than a pigment, it’s a primer in aesthetic forgiveness.
Second: the question of alternative beauty-making. If so much of what we find beautiful is built on extraction, dispossession, or after-the-fact redemption, what models are left? Can we conceive of beauty that doesn’t require moral footnotes? That doesn’t arise as compensation or recovery?
Perhaps the challenge isn’t to reject compromised beauty outright, but to remain morally awake in our admiration (like you do), and to cultivate forms of making that don’t default to conquest, or consolation after the fact.
Very good article, Hadden! I enjoy your perspective very much.
Thanks Sam, much appreciated!