Beauty

A young man sees a sunset and, unable to understand or to express the emotion that it rouses in him, concludes that it must be the gateway to a world that lies beyond. It is difficult for any of us in moments of intense aesthetic experience to resist the suggestion that we are catching a glimpse of a light that shines down to us from a different realm of existence, different and, because the experience is intensely moving, in some way higher. And, though the gleams blind and dazzle, yet do they convey a hint of beauty and serenity greater than we have known or imagined. Greater too than we can describe; for language, which was invented to convey the meanings of this world, cannot readily be fitted to the uses of another.

That all great art has this power of suggesting a world beyond is undeniable. In some moods, Nature shares it. There is no sky in June so blue that it does not point forward to a bluer, no sunset so beautiful that it does not waken the vision of a greater beauty, a vision which passes before it is fully glimpsed, and in passing leaves an indefinable longing and regret. But, if this world is not merely a bad joke, life a vulgar flare amid the cool radiance of the cosmos, and existence an empty laugh braying across the mysteries; if these intimations of a something behind and beyond are not evil humour born of indigestion, or whimsies sent by the devil to mock and madden us, if, in a word, beauty means something, yet we must not seek to interpret the meaning. If we glimpse the unutterable, it is unwise to try to utter it, nor should we seek to invest with significance that which we cannot grasp. Beauty in terms of our human meanings is meaningless.

Beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, but rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, but rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. It is not the sap within the leaf, nor the dove upon the bough, but rather the mistral to come, the storm to be weathered. It is not a matter of satisfying simple needs, but rather of fulfilling the highest aspirations of the human spirit.

Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a flower: you can smell it and that is all. It is a common property of all great art, and one that differentiates great art from merely good art. The more we try to explain it in terms of its why and how, the more it eludes us; yet we know when we have met it, and we know when we have missed it. The best we can do is to describe it, to try to put it into words, but then it is no longer beauty. It is like trying to put your finger on the wind. It is always beyond our grasp, and that is why it is beautiful.

一个年轻人看到日落，由于无法理解和表达日落在他心中唤起的激情，便得出结论：日落处想必是通往遥远世界的大门。无论是谁，在强烈感受到美的时刻，心中都不禁油然而生一种遐想：我们似乎瞥见从另一个世界射向我们的一线光芒，那个世界不仅不同于我们这个世界，而且由于美感的强烈感染，在某些方面比我们这个世界更美好。虽然这光芒令人眼花缭乱，但它确实给予我们一种不曾经历和无法想象的美感和静谧的启示。这种美感和静谧是我们无法描述的，因为我们发明的语言是用来描述这个世界的含义，不能随便拿来去描述另一个世界。

不可否认，一切伟大的艺术都具有使人超尘脱俗的浮想的力量。在某种状态下，大自然也有这种魅力。六月蔚蓝的天空总使人遥想一个更加蔚蓝的苍穹；美丽的落日总会引起一个更加绚丽的景象未及饱览便一闪即逝，并在消逝中给人留下不可名状的渴望和惆怅。如果这个世界不只是一个拙劣的恶作剧，如果人生不只是群星寒光中平凡的一闪，如果存在不只是对神秘事物的一种空虚的笑声，如果某种玄妙事物的暗示不是消化不良引起的邪恶情绪，也不是魔鬼为了捉弄我们，使我们发狂而送给我们的邪念，一句话，如果美有某种意义的话，我们千万不要去阐明它的意义。如果我们瞥见了只可意会不可言传的事物，企图把它说出来，那是不明智的；对于我们不理解的事物，我们也不应该去赋予它某种意义。用人类智慧来解释美是毫无意义的。

美不是一种需要，只是一种狂喜。它不是干渴的嘴唇，也不是伸出的空手，而是一颗燃烧的心，一个陶醉的灵魂。它不是你能看到的形象，也不是你能听到的歌声，而是你闭上眼睛仍能看到的形象，堵住耳朵仍能听到的歌声。它不是树叶中的汁液，也不是栖息在枝头的小鸟，而是即将到来的南风，是要经受的风暴。它不是为了满足简单的需要，而是为了实现人类精神的最高追求。

美是一种狂喜，它和饥饿一样简单。实际上，关于美没什么可说的。它就像花朵的芬芳：你能闻到它，仅此而已。这是所有伟大艺术的共性，也是伟大艺术区别于一般艺术的标志。我们越是想从它的原理和原因方面来解释它，它就越是躲着我们；然而我们一旦遭遇它，就会知道它的存在；一旦错过它，也会知道它的消失。我们所能做的最好的事情就是去描述它，设法用语言来表达它，但是这样一来它就不再是美了。这就像想用手指去触摸风一样。美总是在我们够不着的地方，这也是它之所以美的原因。