The modern world, in its relentless march toward efficiency, has made beauty a casualty. The machine, Berdyaev warns, has inserted itself between man and the cosmos, severing the last fragile threads of our memory of paradise. We no longer see the world as a theophany, as a reflection of God’s glory, we see it as raw material, as data to be processed, as a problem to be solved. The stars, once symbols of the infinite, are now obscured by the glow of screens, and the human soul, once capable of trembling before the sublime, has been anesthetized by the endless scroll of digital distraction.
And yet, here is the paradox: Berdyaev doesn’t surrender to despair. He clings, with almost reckless hope, to the belief that beauty must triumph, because evil is ultimately parasitic. Ugliness has no substance. It is a corruption, a negation. True beauty, like truth, cannot be destroyed, only forgotten, only obscured. And so, in the midst of the machine’s dominion, he turns to the one place where beauty still burns with undiminished fire: the liturgy.
One wonders what Berdyaev would make of our present moment, where even the liturgy is often reduced to a battleground of ideologies, where traditionalists and progressists argue over aesthetics while the world outside grows ever more alienated from the very idea of the sacred. Would he still believe beauty could save us? Or would he revise his claim, whispering instead that beauty must save us… because if it does not, nothing will?
Perhaps the answer lies in his insistence that beauty is not merely objective or subjective, but real. Real in the way that love is real, in the way that suffering is real, in the way that God is real. It is not an idea to be debated but a force to be encountered. And if the modern world has made that encounter harder, it has not made it impossible.
The stars still shine, even if we no longer look up. The liturgy still echoes, even if we no longer listen. And beauty, though exiled, has not yet abandoned us. It waits, like the return of Christ, like the resurrection of the dead, for the moment when we are ready to see it again.
I'm genuinely curious how this line of thought isn't effectively a “luxury belief”.
I've tried to get on board with this a couple of times but I truly keep coming back to: it's easy to mourn the machine and ugliness in a world where I'm not an illiterate subsistence farmer and where I can reasonably expect to see my children survive to adulthood. I suspect our ancestors would happily never see a star again if it meant they'd never see their children hungry again. In essence, I love efficiency, and the modern world has given me the beauty of seeing my children grow up- one of my kids would have died even several decades ago from a medical situation. I've seen real poverty and the thwarting and stunting of the human person is truly ugly.
I'm sure I must be missing something here because I'm not a theologian and I see this argument from a lot of people I respect. First of all, why should we think the world is actually getting uglier? Even if it were, why should I care about the world becoming uglier? Please take this as a good faith question from someone who has tried and just cannot get on board with this line of thought!
Emily, thank you for your thoughtful response… it’s exactly the kind of honest wrestling that deepens the conversation. You’re absolutely right to point out that many of the so-called losses of beauty have come alongside genuine gains in human well-being, especially in health, literacy, and survival. And that’s no small thing! It’s sacred work to keep a child alive, and the technologies that allow for that are not somehow “lesser” than a star.
I don’t think Berdyaev or anyone echoing his concern would want to return to a world where a mother had to bury half her children to learn the value of wonder. The grief is not about rejecting progress, but about mourning what we may have lost in the process. Not the star itself, but the reverence it once evoked. The question isn’t efficiency versus beauty, but whether efficiency alone is enough to make a life fully human.
And maybe that’s where the heart of it lies, not in choosing one over the other, but in asking whether we’ve allowed the machine to so dominate our imaginations that we no longer remember what we’re meant to be efficient for. When we forget that, even the miracle of a healed child can become just another data point. But when beauty and love and awe still have a place, then even the ICU becomes holy ground.
This is helpful, thank you so much for such a thoughtful response. I think I would have a lot more time for usual discussions of "beauty" in theology if they were as nuanced and balanced and careful as this!
I think where I'm still not convinced is that we have truly "lost" something... Not that a lack of reverence and wonder is meaningless, but more questioning whether the average person ever truly lived a life of reverence wonder. I think an "enchanted" world was probably generally terrifying.
I also just don't see much evidence our average ancestor felt the world was beautiful. I remember reading an early-20th century ethnography on a Russian peasant village. The villagers said they felt it was unfair they'd ever been born- they had no money to give to the church, so they were inevitably going to hell. They saw God as monstrous for having "instituted" this system. In addition, life was cold and women were sexually abused and children were horribly treated. And I think most people's lives were closer to this village experience than an integrated life of beauty and awe. This is a genuine question- I don't see how the average person was able to see creation as a theophany or to experience beauty better than I can today.
No need to reply, I'm just firing off thoughts while watching TV with my husband! I'm probably just still misunderstanding the contours of the debate. But this is where I keep coming back to.
My students are doing final papers on beauty. They were having a debate in class about their ideas to get things flowing. We were struggling with the concept of the beauty being the good, but some deadly animals (bad) being beautiful to look at and being created good by God. One student suggested that if they are doing what God made them to do, they are beautiful. It was amazing; he didn't know it but he was weaving beauty into theosis. To willingly cooperate with God is beautiful.
I also really like this quote from a beautiful book called Winter's Grace by K. William Kautz: “That’s what faith is… it is knowing in the darkness that a loving God has a plan that’s better than any we could ever imagine. A sovereign God adores us, and for this reason the ending of our stories will be beautiful.” Its a very short book and an easy read. Highly recommend.
Love this. I’ve been wondering if beauty is the expression of the platonic form of beauty itself — or is it an expression of a thing reflecting its true purpose.
We should remember that even Nature’s inadvertence has its own charm, its own attractiveness. The way loaves of bread split open on top in the oven; the ridges are just by-products of the baking, and yet pleasing, somehow: they rouse our appetite without our knowing why. Or how ripe figs begin to burst. And olives on the point of falling: the shadow of decay gives them a peculiar beauty. Stalks of wheat bending under their own weight. The furrowed brow of the lion. Flecks of foam on the boar’s mouth.
And other things. If you look at them in isolation there’s nothing beautiful about them, and yet by supplementing nature they enrich it and draw us in. And anyone with a feeling for nature—a deeper sensitivity—will find it all gives pleasure. Even what seems inadvertent. He’ll find the jaws of live animals as beautiful as painted ones or sculptures. He’ll look calmly at the distinct beauty of old age in men, women, and at the loveliness of children. And other things like that will call out to him constantly—things unnoticed by others. Things seen only by those at home with Nature and its works.
- Marcus Aurelius from Book 3 , para 2 of the Meditations
Thank you for this Austin. Always delighted to find lesser-known historical writers engaging with the topic of Beauty, a topic I ponder daily, including in relation to the Trinity and the paradoxical beauty of Christ and the cross. There is a supreme beauty in the Trinity yes, where there is a dynamism of self-emptying love, but also a beauty that is concealed beneath the ugliness of the cross, a cruciform or sacrificial beauty, that warrants exploration. I sense there is no communion without a sacrificial disposition towards the other, so a cruciform beauty is required that, as Dr Timothy Patitsas describes,
“Bears Christ crucified within it and evoking within us the mature and complete readiness to carry our cross for the life of the world and to become transfigured and beautified through Christ”
And as you mention, there is danger in becoming "aesthetes of religion" and in light of this, I always remember a quote from Maria Skobstova who warned of being aesthetically swooned. She stated,
“We cannot see the Church as a sort of aesthetic perfection and limit ourselves to aesthetic swooning - our God-given freedoms call us to activity and struggle…and there you feel an unappeasable hunger for Christ’s truth. There, instead of becoming lukewarm, you will be set on fire; instead of pacified, you will become alarmed; instead of learning the wisdom of this world you will become fools for Christ.”
The modern world, in its relentless march toward efficiency, has made beauty a casualty. The machine, Berdyaev warns, has inserted itself between man and the cosmos, severing the last fragile threads of our memory of paradise. We no longer see the world as a theophany, as a reflection of God’s glory, we see it as raw material, as data to be processed, as a problem to be solved. The stars, once symbols of the infinite, are now obscured by the glow of screens, and the human soul, once capable of trembling before the sublime, has been anesthetized by the endless scroll of digital distraction.
And yet, here is the paradox: Berdyaev doesn’t surrender to despair. He clings, with almost reckless hope, to the belief that beauty must triumph, because evil is ultimately parasitic. Ugliness has no substance. It is a corruption, a negation. True beauty, like truth, cannot be destroyed, only forgotten, only obscured. And so, in the midst of the machine’s dominion, he turns to the one place where beauty still burns with undiminished fire: the liturgy.
One wonders what Berdyaev would make of our present moment, where even the liturgy is often reduced to a battleground of ideologies, where traditionalists and progressists argue over aesthetics while the world outside grows ever more alienated from the very idea of the sacred. Would he still believe beauty could save us? Or would he revise his claim, whispering instead that beauty must save us… because if it does not, nothing will?
Perhaps the answer lies in his insistence that beauty is not merely objective or subjective, but real. Real in the way that love is real, in the way that suffering is real, in the way that God is real. It is not an idea to be debated but a force to be encountered. And if the modern world has made that encounter harder, it has not made it impossible.
The stars still shine, even if we no longer look up. The liturgy still echoes, even if we no longer listen. And beauty, though exiled, has not yet abandoned us. It waits, like the return of Christ, like the resurrection of the dead, for the moment when we are ready to see it again.
Really enjoyed your thoughts. It’s interesting to imagine what he would say to us today. Hopefully we’d have the wisdom to listen.
I'm genuinely curious how this line of thought isn't effectively a “luxury belief”.
I've tried to get on board with this a couple of times but I truly keep coming back to: it's easy to mourn the machine and ugliness in a world where I'm not an illiterate subsistence farmer and where I can reasonably expect to see my children survive to adulthood. I suspect our ancestors would happily never see a star again if it meant they'd never see their children hungry again. In essence, I love efficiency, and the modern world has given me the beauty of seeing my children grow up- one of my kids would have died even several decades ago from a medical situation. I've seen real poverty and the thwarting and stunting of the human person is truly ugly.
I'm sure I must be missing something here because I'm not a theologian and I see this argument from a lot of people I respect. First of all, why should we think the world is actually getting uglier? Even if it were, why should I care about the world becoming uglier? Please take this as a good faith question from someone who has tried and just cannot get on board with this line of thought!
Emily, thank you for your thoughtful response… it’s exactly the kind of honest wrestling that deepens the conversation. You’re absolutely right to point out that many of the so-called losses of beauty have come alongside genuine gains in human well-being, especially in health, literacy, and survival. And that’s no small thing! It’s sacred work to keep a child alive, and the technologies that allow for that are not somehow “lesser” than a star.
I don’t think Berdyaev or anyone echoing his concern would want to return to a world where a mother had to bury half her children to learn the value of wonder. The grief is not about rejecting progress, but about mourning what we may have lost in the process. Not the star itself, but the reverence it once evoked. The question isn’t efficiency versus beauty, but whether efficiency alone is enough to make a life fully human.
And maybe that’s where the heart of it lies, not in choosing one over the other, but in asking whether we’ve allowed the machine to so dominate our imaginations that we no longer remember what we’re meant to be efficient for. When we forget that, even the miracle of a healed child can become just another data point. But when beauty and love and awe still have a place, then even the ICU becomes holy ground.
Just my $.02, but hope it helps!
This is helpful, thank you so much for such a thoughtful response. I think I would have a lot more time for usual discussions of "beauty" in theology if they were as nuanced and balanced and careful as this!
I think where I'm still not convinced is that we have truly "lost" something... Not that a lack of reverence and wonder is meaningless, but more questioning whether the average person ever truly lived a life of reverence wonder. I think an "enchanted" world was probably generally terrifying.
I also just don't see much evidence our average ancestor felt the world was beautiful. I remember reading an early-20th century ethnography on a Russian peasant village. The villagers said they felt it was unfair they'd ever been born- they had no money to give to the church, so they were inevitably going to hell. They saw God as monstrous for having "instituted" this system. In addition, life was cold and women were sexually abused and children were horribly treated. And I think most people's lives were closer to this village experience than an integrated life of beauty and awe. This is a genuine question- I don't see how the average person was able to see creation as a theophany or to experience beauty better than I can today.
No need to reply, I'm just firing off thoughts while watching TV with my husband! I'm probably just still misunderstanding the contours of the debate. But this is where I keep coming back to.
My students are doing final papers on beauty. They were having a debate in class about their ideas to get things flowing. We were struggling with the concept of the beauty being the good, but some deadly animals (bad) being beautiful to look at and being created good by God. One student suggested that if they are doing what God made them to do, they are beautiful. It was amazing; he didn't know it but he was weaving beauty into theosis. To willingly cooperate with God is beautiful.
I also really like this quote from a beautiful book called Winter's Grace by K. William Kautz: “That’s what faith is… it is knowing in the darkness that a loving God has a plan that’s better than any we could ever imagine. A sovereign God adores us, and for this reason the ending of our stories will be beautiful.” Its a very short book and an easy read. Highly recommend.
What a wonderful quote. I’ll have to check it out! Sounds like your students are lucky to have you! I love that you have them discussing beauty.
Really excellent post! I enjoyed the read!
Love this. I’ve been wondering if beauty is the expression of the platonic form of beauty itself — or is it an expression of a thing reflecting its true purpose.
Man, so good. Thanks for the introduction to someone I now get to read. Excited to dive into some new stuff on all things beautiful.
My pleasure! Glad I could introduce you to a new conversation partner. He's well worth your time!
We should remember that even Nature’s inadvertence has its own charm, its own attractiveness. The way loaves of bread split open on top in the oven; the ridges are just by-products of the baking, and yet pleasing, somehow: they rouse our appetite without our knowing why. Or how ripe figs begin to burst. And olives on the point of falling: the shadow of decay gives them a peculiar beauty. Stalks of wheat bending under their own weight. The furrowed brow of the lion. Flecks of foam on the boar’s mouth.
And other things. If you look at them in isolation there’s nothing beautiful about them, and yet by supplementing nature they enrich it and draw us in. And anyone with a feeling for nature—a deeper sensitivity—will find it all gives pleasure. Even what seems inadvertent. He’ll find the jaws of live animals as beautiful as painted ones or sculptures. He’ll look calmly at the distinct beauty of old age in men, women, and at the loveliness of children. And other things like that will call out to him constantly—things unnoticed by others. Things seen only by those at home with Nature and its works.
- Marcus Aurelius from Book 3 , para 2 of the Meditations
Marcus Aurelius is one writer I’ve never read, but this makes me want to give him a try!
In full disclosure, this is one of his rare reflections on the theme
Thank you for this Austin. Always delighted to find lesser-known historical writers engaging with the topic of Beauty, a topic I ponder daily, including in relation to the Trinity and the paradoxical beauty of Christ and the cross. There is a supreme beauty in the Trinity yes, where there is a dynamism of self-emptying love, but also a beauty that is concealed beneath the ugliness of the cross, a cruciform or sacrificial beauty, that warrants exploration. I sense there is no communion without a sacrificial disposition towards the other, so a cruciform beauty is required that, as Dr Timothy Patitsas describes,
“Bears Christ crucified within it and evoking within us the mature and complete readiness to carry our cross for the life of the world and to become transfigured and beautified through Christ”
And as you mention, there is danger in becoming "aesthetes of religion" and in light of this, I always remember a quote from Maria Skobstova who warned of being aesthetically swooned. She stated,
“We cannot see the Church as a sort of aesthetic perfection and limit ourselves to aesthetic swooning - our God-given freedoms call us to activity and struggle…and there you feel an unappeasable hunger for Christ’s truth. There, instead of becoming lukewarm, you will be set on fire; instead of pacified, you will become alarmed; instead of learning the wisdom of this world you will become fools for Christ.”
This is great stuff, Rudolph! I’ll be interviewing Dr. Patitsas this summer and I very much look forward to it. I’ll have to check Skobstova!
Will be on the lookout for the interview then! His book has really made a profound impact on me. I contemplate it often.