While
I'm neither an environmental engineer nor a whiz at quick mathematical
calculations, I can readily comprehend when something is beautiful.
Science and statistical projections can easily elude those of us who aren't inclined to interpret the world through those lenses. Beauty, however, is within the reach of us all.
When something beautiful is endangered, we can feel the shame of the impending loss somewhere down deep in our spirits; yet, we don't always react to the endangerment of beautiful things. Beauty can be equated, at times, with mere sentimental value. When it is seen only in this light, beauty can be easily dispensed with, sacrificed -- for a perceived higher good.
People in Dublin need more water -- while I'm sitting here envisioning the picturesqueness of the River Shannon and writing about beauty. Why would I do this?
The Irish in me flinched upon learning that the integrity of this great and legendary River Shannon was endangered -- specifically by what appeared to be only partially considered, strictly utilitarian plans for large-scale water abstraction from its lovely bounty.
I consider, here, ends and means. The desired end, in this case, is good: more water for human beings. The means proposed in order to achieve this end, however, fail to give adequate consideration to alternative solutions and to potential flaws in the plans, themselves. Are such means, then, truly justified?
I go back to consideration of "the beautiful." What makes something beautiful?
Something truly beautiful, I believe, carries the imprint of order within itself and radiates the purity of that order. Something ordered is something which is in balance with itself and its surroundings.
Balance. An artistic portrait, to give one example, is said to be beautiful when the features of the face are well-proportioned.
A musical work can build a stunning structure of sound around the simplicity of ordered rhythms and compatible harmonies. Again: order, balance, proportion.
If the highlights of true beauty are order, balance, and proportion -- these things, in turn, bespeak some kind of an intelligence. A portrait of great beauty is intelligently made. A musical work of great beauty is intelligently made.
A river of great beauty, also, is intelligently made.
When we consider the intricate intelligence at play within a river ecosystem, we can marvel at its vastness. Because of this complex biological interconnectedness, what happens at one end of a river can profoundly affect the creatures at the other end of the river. The repercussions of the smallest change in a river ecosystem can be staggering.
This is no random occurrence. If, on a strictly scientific level, we accept the reality of a river ecosystem, then we also implicitly admit that man's interventions can pose a fearsome risk to such a well-oiled machine. This very awareness of "ecosystem" now holds us responsible to respect the totality of intelligence which choreographs the movement of every last eel and salmon. How big are we, really, in the face of this? What might be the consequences of exaggerating our own size by thoughtlessly dismissing nature's repeated cautions of disturbed and damaged ecosystems?
Many people attend schools of higher learning in order to begin to probe, in a serious manner, nature's secrets of biological interconnectedness. We humans often require higher learning merely in order to pose intelligent questions about the inner functioning of the natural world. The profound intelligence of order in the natural world can only dimly be sensed by even the most brilliant scientist. Should we not, then, give the greatest of pause before the shining majesty of a river which, for century upon century, has sustained a country with the bounty of its beauty?
This would seem the most sane thing to do.
"Dublin to get water from River Shannon by 2020" - Fionnan Sheahan Group Political Editor – Published 12 May 2014, Independent.ie
"Fixing pipes could pull plug on Shannon plan" - by Conor Feehan, Herald.ie, February 17, 2014
Science and statistical projections can easily elude those of us who aren't inclined to interpret the world through those lenses. Beauty, however, is within the reach of us all.
When something beautiful is endangered, we can feel the shame of the impending loss somewhere down deep in our spirits; yet, we don't always react to the endangerment of beautiful things. Beauty can be equated, at times, with mere sentimental value. When it is seen only in this light, beauty can be easily dispensed with, sacrificed -- for a perceived higher good.
People in Dublin need more water -- while I'm sitting here envisioning the picturesqueness of the River Shannon and writing about beauty. Why would I do this?
The Irish in me flinched upon learning that the integrity of this great and legendary River Shannon was endangered -- specifically by what appeared to be only partially considered, strictly utilitarian plans for large-scale water abstraction from its lovely bounty.
I consider, here, ends and means. The desired end, in this case, is good: more water for human beings. The means proposed in order to achieve this end, however, fail to give adequate consideration to alternative solutions and to potential flaws in the plans, themselves. Are such means, then, truly justified?
I go back to consideration of "the beautiful." What makes something beautiful?
Something truly beautiful, I believe, carries the imprint of order within itself and radiates the purity of that order. Something ordered is something which is in balance with itself and its surroundings.
Balance. An artistic portrait, to give one example, is said to be beautiful when the features of the face are well-proportioned.
A musical work can build a stunning structure of sound around the simplicity of ordered rhythms and compatible harmonies. Again: order, balance, proportion.
If the highlights of true beauty are order, balance, and proportion -- these things, in turn, bespeak some kind of an intelligence. A portrait of great beauty is intelligently made. A musical work of great beauty is intelligently made.
A river of great beauty, also, is intelligently made.
When we consider the intricate intelligence at play within a river ecosystem, we can marvel at its vastness. Because of this complex biological interconnectedness, what happens at one end of a river can profoundly affect the creatures at the other end of the river. The repercussions of the smallest change in a river ecosystem can be staggering.
This is no random occurrence. If, on a strictly scientific level, we accept the reality of a river ecosystem, then we also implicitly admit that man's interventions can pose a fearsome risk to such a well-oiled machine. This very awareness of "ecosystem" now holds us responsible to respect the totality of intelligence which choreographs the movement of every last eel and salmon. How big are we, really, in the face of this? What might be the consequences of exaggerating our own size by thoughtlessly dismissing nature's repeated cautions of disturbed and damaged ecosystems?
Many people attend schools of higher learning in order to begin to probe, in a serious manner, nature's secrets of biological interconnectedness. We humans often require higher learning merely in order to pose intelligent questions about the inner functioning of the natural world. The profound intelligence of order in the natural world can only dimly be sensed by even the most brilliant scientist. Should we not, then, give the greatest of pause before the shining majesty of a river which, for century upon century, has sustained a country with the bounty of its beauty?
This would seem the most sane thing to do.
"Dublin to get water from River Shannon by 2020" - Fionnan Sheahan Group Political Editor – Published 12 May 2014, Independent.ie
"Fixing pipes could pull plug on Shannon plan" - by Conor Feehan, Herald.ie, February 17, 2014
2 comments:
Thanks for giving voice to this aspect of the issue, which doesn't always make it into the discussion. Good job!
Thank you, husband. (Ha -- this sounds like Corabeth addressing her husband, Ike, on "The Waltons": "MR. Godsey . . .")
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