Beauty is Truth…

…truth, beauty—that is all/Ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know.” wrote Keats.
Well, here’s my situation this afternoon: I just read a piece on American Thinker, by Lars Mòller, Reclaiming the Human Home, which is mostly about the late Sir Roger Scruton. Lars paraphrases Scruton—and I’m paraphrasing Lars—as proclaiming that beauty is not merely subjective, it is an objective truth which reconciles us to existence.
I have an article in our state bar magazine this month, about a zoning hearing in verse, found in the poet Christopher laFarge’s 1953 verse novel, “Beauty for Ashes”. It’s an article I wanted to write for a long time, and my kind editor accepted it.
But here’s the thing: I had to ruthlessly ignore so much of LaFarge’s poetry I’d have liked to include, As it is I don’t know whether the lawyers who read the magazine will have much tolerance for what I did include.
So when I read Sir Roger’s sentiment about beauty, I thought of these two contrasting passages from LaFarge’s earlier book, “Hoxsie Sells His Acres.” The premise of that novel in verse is that an old farmer who owns a huge parcel in the little town in Rhode Island is tempted by an offer to sell his land for development for housing. He doesn’t really want to sell, but he’s land-poor t this point, the soil isn’t much good, he has no issue interested in the farm.

The wealthy residents of the town want the land preserved as it is, they don’t want a view of little houses made of ticky-tacky. Some of the younger natives see tht as a selfish sentimental attachment which shouldn’t interfere with their desire to bring in trade so they can make money for a change; there isnt much economic opportunity in the fairly underpopulated town.
of course, we know from the title wht old Mr. Hoxsie is going to decide.

HEre’s one of the older, wealthy residents ,musing after the news of the sale breaks:

”….Should I not be sad/That those who follow must be witnesses/Of ugliness increasing on their years/Where mine were framed in beauty? I can feel/No sorrow but y own, no joy but mine,/No hurt more close,no remedy more dear/Than age can bring me, and my age is that/Which brings me sadness greater than its cure.”

And here’s one of the Angry Young Men of the village, who spoke in favor of the development because it would mean more customers to the garage where he works, rural beauty be damned. He’s looking out over the new construction:

”Well,I hope to God that it does some good/And brings the trade like I said it would/and I hope we mange to sell our land/When this job’s settled nd well in hand./But I dunno, now April’s here/It ain’t the same as it was last year;/I wish I hadn’t come out to see/How the work was going. It seems to me/I get small pleasure and it don’t last,/From seeing them cut the trees so fast;/They fall steady, long row on row,/So many trees for a bungalow;/Pity they seem to be so afraid/Their little houses will have some shade.”

The big threat to sleepy little villages in LaFarge’s day, immediately post WW II, was small-lot housing developments. Today, it’s data centers. These behemoth projects are usually larger than the small towns they abut, AND consume more energy. Huge swaths of rural land, preserved for conservation or privately owned, are being targeted and acquired for this use. Homeowners despise and oppose it, they know it will destroy the beauty of their environment. But ALL levels of government, from townships and states though federal, are totally on board. So far, zoning regulations have been used to oppose and at least slow down these projects, but it’s a losing battle: the big money is with the developers. Community groups or individuals can’t possibly compete with the amount of money they can put out to buy. Oh, at the beginning, we heard of some of these projects being defeated, but government and the developers are becoming impatient with these gnats. I think such projects will soon be exempted by law from local control nationwide.
But if, as Sir Roger and I agree, beauty in our environs is an objective truth which reconciles us to existence—

then what price our existence when the beauty is gone?