The Beautiful

On my Mac's dashboard I have the Astronomy Pic of the Day widget and that picture above is today's pic. Its description is as follows:

Explanation: The dust sculptures of the Eagle Nebula are evaporating. As powerful starlight whittles away these cool cosmic mountains, the statuesque pillars that remain might be imagined as mythical beasts. Pictured above is one of several striking dust pillars of the Eagle Nebula that might be described as a gigantic alien fairy. This fairy, however, is ten light years tall and spews radiation much hotter than common fire. The greater Eagle Nebula, M16, is actually a giant evaporating shell of gas and dust inside of which is a growing cavity filled with a spectacular stellar nursery currently forming an open cluster of stars. The above image in scientifically re-assigned colors was released as part of the fifteenth anniversary celebration of the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope.

I've wondered for awhile whether there is such a thing as the "religion gene" or a "religious instinct." What is it that caused men to feel reverence and awe and then create a wood or stone object to encapsulate that feeling of humble smallness? When I think about those sublime moments that have seized me in wonder and admiration, speckles of cosmic light against a purple-black sky, the sun as it sets, the sun as it rises, wisps of frozen crimson clouds awash in the rays of a fading day, I imagine that's the most religious feeling a person can get.

I don't have the same emotions as others do during a loud and noisy service. It is my personal preference to avoid services that are advertised as "fiery," "energetic," "charismatic," etc.

I sense that the divine is nearest when things are quietest, least expected, stillest. It passes briefly but its impression is unforgettable, the lingering warmth of a meaning-rich embrace.

How, I wonder, is it possible to go from that sentiment of reverence to idolatry, I'm not sure. When the sublime, the Beautiful is near, the last thing on my mind are hawk-headed men or feathered serpents. I don't understand how visual portmanteau's of cows and goats, lions and men can express that feeling. In fact, if a priest or shaman unveiled even the best made figure of such I would only be able to feel a deep and bitter sense of anti-climax. What a buzz-kill.

The Romantics viewed art as the memory of beauty-long past, felt in an instant, composed in the future. I suppose that helps me understand a little better but those images are what they felt in that moment? Is it I that lack the religious instinct or they?

How could one image inspire such vastly different effects? I suppose that my positivist, hyper-rational, modernist sensibilities agree with my Judeo-Christian ideology. Don't mummify it. The more real, the more tangible, touch-able, a thing is the further it is from true beauty. Pictures are perhaps good but 3x5's rarely inspire heart-rending beauty. Words are better. Silence and awe is best, when beauty dwells in the camera obscura behind a lidded eye.