A defining
quality of our time is the hatred of beauty. Art has been turned into its
opposite. The reasons are many, mostly boiling down to egoistic nihilism, what
Roger Scruton has called “a habit of desecration in which life is not
celebrated by art but targeted by it.” Beauty frightens and offends the nihilist.
It's a reproach to his sense of unbounded self-importance. Beauty cannot be ignored, so it must be vandalized.
Zbigniew Herbert survived Nazis and
Communists, oppressively unbeautiful and anti-beautiful regimes. In the
nineteen-sixties, on one of his trips outside Poland, Herbert visited the Heraklion Archaeological Museum in Crete and
experienced “a surprise of the unpleasant kind such as I had never had in any
museum or in the presence of any work of art.” He was stunned by beauty. In the
title essay of Labyrinth on the Sea
(trans. Alissa Valles, The Collected
Prose 1948-1998, 2010), he goes on:
“I was not
then a youth thirsting for originality, which as we know is easiest to achieve
if you are an iconoclast, if you scorn recognized works and don’t respect
either authorities or tradition. This stance has always been alien to me—even
odious, if I leave aside the short phase between my fourth and fifth year that
psychologists describe as the phase of negativism. I always wanted to love, to
adore, to fall to my knees and bow down before greatness, even if it overwhelms
and terrifies, for what kind of greatness would it be that didn’t overwhelm and
terrify.”
An
iconoclast is a breaker of icons, a character Herbert rightly diagnoses as
childish, not to mention petulant and self-dramatizing. Rather than gazing with
wonder and gratitude at great works of arts, some grow angry and contemptuous,
too proud and intimidated “to love, to adore.”
The hatred of beauty suggests a great poverty of spirit. Beauty is humbling. For some of us it is one of life's consolations. Scruton writes:
“The
current habit of desecrating beauty suggests that people are as aware as they
ever were of the presence of sacred things. Desecration is a kind of defense
against the sacred, an attempt to destroy its claims. In the presence of sacred
things, our lives are judged, and to escape that judgment, we destroy the thing
that seems to accuse us.”
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