The Appreciation of Beauty

The Appreciation of Beauty

By Charles Alexander Eastman

In the appreciation of beauty, which is closely akin to religious feeling, the American Indian stands alone.   In accord with our nature and beliefs, we do not pretend to imitate the inimitable, or to reproduce exactly the work of the Great Artist.   That which is beautiful must not be trafficked with, but must be revered and adored.

I have seen in our midsummer celebrations cool arbors built of fresh-cut branches for council and dance halls, while those who attended decked themselves with leafy boughs, carrying shields and fans of the same, and even making wreaths for their horses’ necks.   But, strange to say, they seldom make free use of flowers.  I once asked the reason for this.

“Why,” said one, “the flowers are for our souls to enjoy; not for our bodies to wear.  Leave them alone and they will live out their lives and reproduce themselves as the Great Gardener intended.

He planted them; we must not pluck them, for it would be selfish to do so.”

This is the spirit of the original American.  We hold nature to be the measure of consummate beauty, and we consider its destruction to be a sacrilege.

I once showed a party of Sioux chiefs the sights of Washington, and endeavored to impress them with the wonderful achievements of civilization.  After visiting the Capitol and other famous buildings, we passed through the Corcoran Art Gallery, where I tried to explain how the white man valued this or that painting as a work of genius and a masterpiece of art.

“Ah!” exclaimed an old man, “such is the strange philosophy of the white man!  He hews down the forest that has stood for centuries in its pride and grandeur, tears up the bosom of Mother Earth, and causes the silvery watercourses to waste and vanish away.   He ruthlessly disfigures God’s own pictures and monuments, and then daubs a flat surface with many colors, and praises his work as a masterpiece!”

Here we have the root of the failure of the Indian to approach the “artistic” standards of the civilized world.  It lies not in our lack of creative imagination -- for in this quality we are born artists -- it lies rather in our point of view.  Beauty, in our eyes, is always fresh and living, even as God, the Great Mystery, dresses the world anew at each season of the year.

From “The Soul of an Indian  - and other writings from OHIYESA (Charles Alexander Eastman), Edited by Kent Nerburn, The Classic wisdom Collection, New World Library, San Rafael, California,1993