I lay down on my stomach in the tent, my head propped up on two elbows, facing out the open flap. My mood was tranquil, almost serene. From my elevated vantage point I could see the sea stretching endlessly, merging into the sunset. The sun was almost gone. Suddenly I felt a shiver of fear that, once gone, it might not come back. All my experience told me that the sun will always reappear the next day, but deep down I knew that such inductive expectation could be erroneous. I knew that all things change. The past is no guarantee of the future. The past is gone, but we contrive causal laws that try to give continuity between past and future. How do these laws work if the past is gone? There has to be continuous causal connectivity.
The sun disappeared and the light was dimming fast. It was gone from my sight but it was still connected causally to me, even in my blindness. I saw myself in my tent, perched on top of a rocky island, at the edge of a great sea, that covered a large portion of a mid sized planet that was trapped by the gravitational field of a much more massive sun. There was the causal relation, and that was why I could rest assured that the sun would rise on the eastern horizon in the morning.
The darkness was not total. It was soothing to my eyes. There was a great sense of quiet there on the cliff top. The gulls had settled down in their nests for the night, and the only sound was the rhythmic boom of waves crashing against the base of the cliff. I had not eaten since getting off the boat, yet felt not in the least hungry. I had been busy finding a good remote place to pitch my small tent. The place I had chosen was well away from the sparse habitation of the island. I knew that few would venture up the craggy slopes to this seemingly inhospitable spot. The climb had been difficult but the reward, on reaching the heather strewn summit at the cliffs edge, was well worth the effort. I made camp under some straggly gorse bushes that might afford some shelter from the elements but allowed me face out towards the open Atlantic. I climbed inside and lay down to watch the sunset. As the sun slowly descended and changed colour into a brilliant orange, I felt a complete awe at the beauty of the world.
I tried to imagine how the ancient monks must have felt as they watched this same sunset over a thousand years ago. The sanctity of the place was almost palpable. I could have prayed, if I had someone to pray to. Instead I prayed to the universe, or the cosmos, or perhaps to existence. I thanked whatever it was that made me a privileged observer of this beauty. I wanted so much to connect with the aesthetics of the environment that was before me.
Why is the world so beautiful? The question had never before occurred to me. Is it because I perceive it to be beautiful, or is it beauty in itself? Can there be beauty without a beholder? I had long been of the opinion that to interpret something as beautiful is a conditioned or cultural norm. There is no objective beauty. Animals don't perceive beauty. You have to have intelligence, to conceive the idea. That intelligence links events or perceptions, that are good for the organism, with the feeling we have when we say something is beautiful. That is why most Europeans love a colourful pastoral painting, as it evokes the security of a good harvest and absence of famine. Africans would have a different concept of what makes a beautiful landscape. Perhaps we love sunsets because of an ancient memory of resting and feasting after a long day hunting. The sunset represented a full stomach, warmth from a fire and the prospect of a night's sleep. No wonder we have a deep love of the setting sun. But if all our conceptions of beauty are conditioned and in a sense utilitarian, is there any real beauty in itself?
I began to realize that beauty exists within us, not without us. We are the creators of our beauty myth. Nature has no concept of beauty. There are no laws for it. It cannot be deconstructed, outside the prison of the human mind. It is there because we choose to perceive it to be there. But of itself, it doesn't exist.
It is very heretical to say that beauty doesn't exist - it is denying God, because in a way all concepts of deity are those associated with beauty. Had I denied God? Sorcha my ex-wife certainly thought I had. She was religious in a very traditional way, claiming to have had a revelatory experience in her youth that forever had convinced her of her belief. I was sceptical of this and I suppose this scepticism sowed the seeds of our later break-up. I found many problems with Sorcha's views on the world but I was besotted by her beauty. She had such pure beauty, her jet black hair framing her pale delicately sculpted face. I was instantly taken by her presence. The religious thing only emerged later. At first I perceived no problem and could treat her assertions lightly. But slowly I began to find dogma very difficult to accept, and unwisely challenged it at every turn. Our relationship went downhill, and came to a complete break when I realized she placed her beliefs ahead of us. So I left. It was very difficult at first, but slowly I came to the realization that it was Sorcha's external beauty that had so enraptured me. I had never loved her as a whole person. I had loved her body. That, I realized, is not love but a form of self indulgence, a form of hedonism. It was bound to fail.
What was wrong, was my concept of what is beautiful. I had placed the body beautiful myth on a pedestal. I had not realized there was a higher form of beauty, one that transcends the physical and exists on a higher dimension. I had not yet determined exactly what this concept was, but the search led me to the world of philosophical thought, and ironically to the metaphysical world, wherein, the concept of deity re-emerges. But the deity of my metaphysics is not that of conventional belief, but one grounded in the laws of the cosmos. Maybe the beauty of the cosmos, as revealed to man, is the nearest we get to real revelation.
Increasingly the great minds of science are now the high priests of modern piety. They alone have the keys to the understanding of our lonely predicament of existence in this vast universe. By their labours they travel in space and time, trying to unlock the secrets of being. They report back to us, the laity, who have not the tools or the ability to travel alongside them in their voyages. They translate their findings into everyday words that we can understand, but yet leave us remote from the real experience of their voyage. These high priests reveal a reality that is wilder than the craziest reality imaginable. They emphasize the beauty of the underlying laws and hint that, therein, is the one beauty that is transcendent over all others. Arrogant though it might be, I set myself the goal to try and enter their world, but not just with the armoury of physical or mathematical understanding, but with the more powerful tool of a philosophical searchlight. I wander in the foothills of this Everest, shining my light wherever I can. The more I can climb into the cloudy heights, the nearer I come to that ultimate beauty - the why of our existence.
Sceptics say there need not be a why, and for a long time I tended to agree with this world view and concentrated on the how. It is more positive to tackle the how. Progress stems from this. The huge increase in world food production comes not from metaphysical speculation, but from physical speculation, translated into technological progress. It was only the Greeks who despised the appliance of scientific thought. Had they done otherwise, where would the Greek empire have ended up? But perhaps that distance from utilitarianism was what allowed Greek thought to be so creative. The great surge in modern Western life emanates from the appliance of science to more and more technological development. Is this an end in itself? Certainly not, but it provides the affluence to allow more modern "Greeks" to completely devote themselves to the pure search for understanding. If I lived in a technologically poor region, I would not have the opportunity to pursue my searching for a deeper meaning for my life or all life. The hungry man thinks only of food.
Food, the mention of the word should make me hungry. I hadn't eaten all day, yet there were no pangs of longing. The body makes its demands and the mind must follow. Who is the real ruler? I fear it is the body. If the body is ill, the mind is consumed with its plight and can address no other subjects. It must be accommodated first, and only then the mind has some relative freedom. Eventually the stomach will send signals to my brain, forcing me to seek sustenance. I can't even stop breathing for a minute
without my body forcing me to inhale. My body seems to want to protect my continuing existence. Funny that we can still take our own life. Why does the body not prevent us from that extreme? Is this the mind saying that it has final and ultimate control? A curious thought.
The darkness was deeper now, and all I could make out was the outline of the horizon and a faint grey of the sea. The sky too was dark with only a few stars visible. Where was the moon - that friend of the long night? I missed it. I wanted it to shine its warm light on the sea. I needed a companion to stay with me, as I drifted off to sleep. I thought of Sorcha and her wonderful body that, even now, I missed by my side. I dreamily hugged into her and felt her warmth. That's better. Sleep is coming. The mind can relax. Escape.
It's curious but we escape reality every day in our sleep but yet most of us wonder what it's like to die. I once was anesthetized for a minor surgical procedure. The nurse applied the needle to my arm and then without knowing, I disappeared from my life for several hours. Where was I? I had no dreams - there