Beauty is Dangerous
SAANEN, SWITZERLAND, 11 AUGUST 1981
Beauty is dangerous. Standing on that hill one saw 300 miles of the Himalayas,
almost from horizon to horizon, with deep, dark valleys, peak after peak with
everlasting snow, not a house in sight, not a village, not a hut. The sun was
touching the highest peaks, and all of a sudden the whole continuous range was
afire. It was as though they were afire from within, a glow of incredible intensity.
The valleys became darker and the silence was absolute. The earth was breathless in its splendour. As the sun rose from out of the far east, the immensity, the utter purity of those majestic mountains seemed so close one could almost touch them, but they were many hundreds of miles away.
And the day began. No wonder man has worshipped them; they are sacred, to
be adored from afar. All the ancients made gods of them, for there the heavenly
ones made their abode. Now they are being made into ski runs with hotels,
swimming pools and noise. But not among those implacable and incorruptible
snows. Beauty is imperishable and infinitely dangerous.
Leaving that impenetrable silence, going down the rocky trail, following a
stream down, passing through many varieties of pine, large deodars, the path
became wide, covered with grass. It was a lovely morning, soft with the scent of
a rich forest. The path took many turns and it was becoming warm. In the trees
close by there was a whole group of monkeys, their faces shining in that morning
sun, with long tails and grey, hairy bodies. The babies were clinging to their
mothers and the whole group was quietly watching, unafraid, the solitary figure.
They watched unmoving. And presently a group of sannyasis, chanting, was
going down to a distant village. Their Sanskrit was precise and clear, indicating
they were from the far south. Their hymn was to the morning sun, who gave life
to all things and whose benediction was and is on all living things. There were
about eight of them, three or four quite young, all with shaven heads, clad in
saffron robes, controlled, with downcast eyes, not seeing the great trees, the
thousand flowers and the green, soft hills; for beauty is dangerous—desire may
be aroused.
The village was preparing its morning meal and the smell of wood fires was
in the air. The children, freshly washed, were preparing for school with shouts
and laughter. Amid the usual noise of the village there was a sense of sad
weariness. It had its priest, the believer and the unbeliever.
It is odd how the priests, from time beyond memory, have conditioned the
human brain to have faith, to believe, to obey. They were the scholars, the
teachers, the law. By their conduct, noble and responsible, they were the social
guardians, upholders of tradition. Through fear they controlled the kings and the
people. At one time they were outside, apart from society so that they could
guide it, morally, aesthetically, religiously. They gradually became the
interpreters between God and man. They had power, status and the vast wealth of
the temples, churches, mosques. In the East they covered their bodies in simple,
distinctly coloured cloth. In the West their ritual garments became more and
more symbolic, more and more expensive. Then there were those simple monks
in monasteries and those in palaces. The religious heads, with their bureaucracy,
held the people in faith, dogma, rituals and meaningless words. Superstition,
guile, hypocrisy became the coin of all organized religions in the East and the
West. And that which is most sacred went out of the window, however beautiful
the window was.
So man has to begin again to discover that which is eternally sacred, never to
be caught by the interpreter, the priest, the guru, by the pedlars of meditation.
You have to be a light to yourself. That light can never be given by another, by
any philosopher or psychologist, however respected by tradition.
Freedom is to stand alone, unattached and unafraid, free in the understanding
of desire which breeds illusion. There is a vast strength in being alone. It is the
conditioned, programmed brain that is never alone, for it is filled with
knowledge. That which is programmed, religiously or technologically, is always
limited. This limitation is the major factor of conflict.
Beauty is dangerous for a man of desire.
From BULLETIN 57, 1989
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