Clear Vision Trust

BEAUTY WILL SAVE THE WORLD

In September 1915, the philosopher Albert Schweitzer was travelling on a steamer along the Ogooue River in French Equatorial Africa (now Gabon).(footnote 39) He was turning over in his mind the question of what might be the soundest basis for ethics. Just then, the boat passed close to a herd of hippopotamuses. As he paused to watch them, a phrase flashed into his mind that was to become the basis of all of his future work: 'reverence for life'. This phrase came to him quite unexpectedly and unsought. It was not so much a logical deduction as a leap of intuition, a heartfelt conviction that arose in response to the beauty around him.(footnote 40)

We all have some experience of natural beauty - perhaps a passing sense of being stirred by a particular sight, or an unexpected peace and oneness with nature while out walking in the countryside. Sometimes these experiences can have a deeper feel to them, as if they concern the meaning and purpose of life itself, as if they are showing us something of how to live our lives. If, like Schweitzer, we are able to learn from them, our lives will naturally be richer and more purposeful. We will live not on the basis of moral codes or assumed ideologies, but from a heartfelt experience of truth. Natural beauty, it seems, can be a gateway to wisdom.

But how can we learn for ourselves from such experiences? We can't seek the unsought, or even expect something unexpected. We can, however, be open to the experience of beauty. We can learn to see nature with a warm heart. We can spend more time with nature. And we can reflect on it. I'll say more about each of these in the following paragraphs.

Being Open

We need to be open in a number of different ways. We need to be open-minded enough to see the world not only through facts and figures, and to recognize that we don't have all the answers. And we need to be open-hearted enough to want to seek - even long for - higher levels of truth and value. (In Buddhism, the word 'faith' denotes exactly such openness and longing, rather than referring to any sort of intellectual belief.)

We also need to be open-handed, because beauty will resist any attempt at appropriation. The truth of this struck me a few years ago. As I was setting off for a week in Scotland, a friend of mine, whose writing workshops I had been attending, set me an exercise. He suggested I write a poem about the loch in front of the retreat centre where I was staying. When I arrived, I looked and looked at the loch, but all I could see was an expanse of water occupying the glen, nothing inspiring at all. The loch was just a loch. It was only after a few days, when I'd given up in exasperation, that I was finally able to experience something of the beauty of the surroundings and write my poem. To appreciate beauty, I first had to stop grasping after it.

Sometimes, natural beauty can be difficult to resist. The majesty of a mountainous landscape, or the night sky, is such that it resists all attempts at appropriation. Not even a Sibelius or a Van Gogh can really capture them - all they can do is try to share their own sensibility to them.

Seeing with a Warm Heart

Appreciating the beauty of nature is too important to be left entirely to artists, poets, and musicians. Appreciation means seeing the world with a warm heart, which is essential if we're going to sustain our efforts to save it. There are two things that are likely to get in the way of this kind of seeing. One is seeing the world in a utilitarian way - seeing nature just as an economic resource. The other, which as environmentalists we are likely to be more prone to, is seeing the world in a problem-oriented way. The rainforest becomes just another issue to be angry about, and the sight of a blue whale is just another occasion for anxiety.

The utilitarian view can be likened to that of a gardener who creates one big vegetable patch, cutting down hedgerows, trees, and anything else that gets in the way so as to save some money on the grocery bill. The problem-oriented gardener, on the other hand, is one who can't look out of the window without worrying about when they'll find time to mow the lawn, or remarking on how pernicious the bindweed is. For both of these types, actually working in the garden is likely to be a matter of grim necessity. But for the gardener who takes time simply to enjoy the garden for its own sake, the hours spent working will melt away unnoticed. Their warm appreciation of the richness of the soil and the unique qualities of different plants will turn their work into pleasure.

With the same warm appreciation as the happily absorbed gardener, our work in the world will be enriching and invigorating. As we have seen, we can cultivate warm appreciation of people through meditation and the practice of ethics. We also need to cultivate a warm appreciation of all of nature.

Time with Nature

In practice, this means that we need to take some time away from the usual business of life to enjoy nature. The Buddha himself did this in his own life. Much of his time was spent instructing his own followers, or in walking from village to village to share his understanding with as many people as possible. He also spent time cultivating individual friendships and urged his followers to do likewise. But at other times, he would just enjoy being alone with nature.

On one occasion, feeling hemmed in by the crowds of followers, kings, ministers, and other visitors, the Buddha took off alone to spend some time in a forest. Once there, he came upon a great bull elephant, who, also feeling hemmed in by his herd, had left to find some solitude. It seems that the two recognized in each other a kindred spirit. And so, for a few months, they lived, of one mind, each delighting in the unclouded waters and tranquil solitude of the forest.(footnote 41)

Reflecting on Nature

We can get a little closer to the truths of nature through active reflection. This won't, of course, be just an intellectual exercise, but will involve feeling the truth as well as thinking it. To illustrate what I mean by this, let's try to imagine what the Buddha might have been thinking and feeling in the forest.

The Buddha taught that all things are part of inter-dependent networks of causes and effects. When he looked at a tree, he wouldn't just have thought 'here's a tree,' or even 'here's a beautiful tree'. You can imagine that his understanding and warm appreciation would go deeper than that. He would have seen the tree as the product of conditions - the seed of another tree, the rain, the sunlight, the nutrients in the soil around the roots. When a leaf or a branch falls, it ceases to be part of what we call the tree. If a woodcutter were to come along, the tree might be turned into a pile of firewood, leaving only the stump in the ground. So 'tree' is just a label that we attach to an arbitrarily defined part of a much bigger process. It is not a separate or permanent feature of reality, but a temporary arrangement in a flow of energy and matter. From an atom's point of view, the tree is just a stage on the journey from the atmosphere, to tree, to firewood, and to ashes.

This is not to say that the Buddha would necessarily have analysed the tree in a scientific way. Perhaps these insights would have been contained within a more intuitive appreciation of the tree's beauty. Just as he felt a natural sympathy with the bull elephant, so he would have understood what united him with the tree. A tree is made up of the same air, water, and sunlight as a human body. A mango picked from its branches one day might be a part of the human body the next. People, trees, elephants, and mangoes are not ultimately separate, they are merely labels that we attach to different parts of a greater interconnected process.

If trees are not separate and permanent features of reality, then by applying similar logic we can say the same for individual atoms, for the earth as a whole, and for ourselves. Perhaps much of the anxiety that attaches to the survival of the planet arises from a reluctance to think about one's own death. Thinking about the inevitability of death forces us to question life's meaning and purpose. It forces us to look beyond what we arbitrarily label as our self towards the mystery of whatever greater process it is that unifies all life and all things. Thinking about the inevitability of the end of life on earth - whether in a hundred years or in a hundred million years - prompts us to ask the same question all the more deeply.

In looking at a garden of roses at the height of summer, or the play of light on the sandflats as the sun goes down, one might catch a glimpse of reality. Would a rose be as beautiful if it wasn't so delicate and didn't fade in the autumn? Would the light from the sun setting over the sandflats be as beautiful if it stayed the same all day and night? In experiencing their beauty, one knows that any words one might try to attach to them will pale into insignificance.

To find ultimate meaning, according to the Buddha's teachings, one needs to see this same fragile, evanescent beauty not just in roses and sunsets, but in oneself, in other people, in all living beings and, indeed, in everything. As the 'Diamond Sutra' concludes:

'As stars, a fault of vision, as a lamp,
A mock show, dew drops, or a bubble,
A dream, a lightning flash, or cloud,
So should one view what is conditioned.'

Indra's Net

We can learn to see this beauty not only in things viewed individually, but also in reality as a whole. As nothing is fixed, it is not ultimately separate from everything else. The Avatamsaka Sutra, another ancient Buddhist text, illustrates this unity in diversity by means of the simile of Indra's net. Indra, the king of the gods in Indian mythology, owns a net made of strings of jewels. Each jewel perfectly reflects, and is reflected by, every other jewel. Thus each jewel shares in the existence of every other jewel yet does not lose its individual identity.

Indra's net symbolizes an aspect of beauty that has increasingly come to light through the environmental crisis. It shines through the delicate balance of ecology, the interconnectedness of all life from the coral reefs of the Pacific Ocean to the open horizons of the African savannah. This vast net of life, which contains more species than we have yet counted, is worth cherishing not just because it is useful, but because we are part of it and it is part of us. Just as we see our selfishness reflected in the despoliation of the environment, so, in its rich beauty, we see an intimation of our own potential.

Indra's net is also a symbol for the unity of humanity. Here, spread out across the surface of a living blue-green planet, we are the universe aware of itself - each person individual and unique, yet inextricably connected. We are all in the same boat. We are in the human race and the human race, in all its beautiful diversity, is in us.

It is not just a question of seeing beauty, or talking about it or writing about it. Beauty has failed if it doesn't change us. As part of the intricate, delicate web of life, forever changing beneath the blue sky, our perspective shifts. We see living things and the world as forever changing but all the more to be cherished and revered - not from an anxiety to preserve things as they are, but from simple compassion. In losing the world, we save it.

Reflection

Try this exercise somewhere in a natural landscape, perhaps one that is familiar to you or where you have spent some time.

Look all around you. Take in the shape and form of the land, its texture, the weather, the water flowing or standing on the earth's surface, the kind of vegetation, any animals you can see. Note the forms, colours, patterns of sunlight and shade.

Feel the earth beneath where you are standing or sitting. Be aware of gravity - the solid matter in your body being drawn to the greater solid matter of the earth. Reflect that the food from which your body is made comes from the earth and will return there.

Look at the rivers and streams. Their form changes only slowly, but the water that flows through them is constantly changing. Be aware of the flow of liquid through your body - through your digestive system, your bloodstream, your skin. Water comes in and goes out, just like a stream.

Reflect on the forces that brought the earth into being, the vast energy of the expanding universe. Imagine the earth coming into being, its surface solidifying into a crust. Imagine the forces that have shaped the landscape over millions of years - the movement of the earth's surface, being worn down by ice or rivers. Feel your own physical energy - your movement, the warmth of your body. Reflect that this energy has come from the same source. The same energy that you feel inside has brought into being the landscape around you.

Watch the clouds or the wind, changing from second to second. Feel the air on your skin. Feel the air entering and leaving your body, filling your lungs and sustaining your life from moment to moment.

Reflect how dependent you are on the landscape around you, on the extent to which your body has evolved to survive on the earth's surface. Try to still your mind and sit in silence, simply experiencing yourself as part of the landscape rather than as a detached observer.

Footnotes
39:The chapter title is paraphrased from Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Idiot.
40:Quoted in Peter Marshall, Nature's Web: Rethinking Our Place on Earth, Cassell: London 1992
41:Udana iv.5