Essays in Idleness

When I was young, and until now, I suffered from a terrible misapprehension about beauty. This was quite apparent in my “love life,” which was peopled by one pretty girl after another. Fortunately, she was usually unobtainable, and I frequently made a fool of myself by letting my mesmerization become apparent. But beauty, in the form of pretty girls, can only be insubstantial. It passes away, rather quickly in most cases.

There is a deeper problem, however. It is that beauty itself is, in a manner of speaking, insubstantial. Plato told us about this, in the Phaedrus most clearly, and Goethe confirmed, that, “Beauty is not so much performance as promise.” Or, as Josef Pieper explains, it does not quench our thirst. In earthly terms, it is an evocation, and perhaps it might be said that even women (at their best) evoke. You cannot consume them, as spiritual nutrition, as you might consume goodness or truth.

The extraordinary thing about beauty is thus that it cannot hold still. In every moment it is passing out of our understanding, like the peace of God. Rather it leads us, through prayer and thanksgiving — to what is virtuous and true.

It is too glorious to lead to gratification. It can use us, but cannot be used.