Less than a week ago, I was on a trip to Greece, actually a pilgrimage to Greece. I have returned with photographs, memories, and a renewal of a childhood passion for beauty.
There were twenty of us, all fellow students in an ongoing study group. We were led by Phil Cousineau, a documentary film maker and author of many books, including The Art of Pilgrimage. Phil leads groups on pilgrimage to various locations around the globe, and we were lucky to have his expertise and experience throughout the two weeks of travel. HERE is his website.
The first full day started with our group gathering after breakfast for the first of Phil’s “long conversations.” He explained the difference between travel and pilgrimage, which I had been reflecting on in preparation for this trip. He then told us about the importance of classical Greece to the development of Western civilization. Never before had there been such a flowering of thought and curiosity by a people.
At the end of the discussion, Phil asked the group to reflect on the question, “What are you longing for on this pilgrimage?” Caught up in his description of classical Greece, and in anticipation of seeing the Acropolis later that morning, my first unbidden thought was, “I want to reconnect with beauty.”
A flood of childhood memories washed over me—poring over art history textbooks, looking at pictures in our Encyclopedia Britannica, becoming entranced with paintings and sculpture at art museums, lessons in art history from my middle school art teacher, beautifully descriptive words in poetry and prose. I was a lover of beauty from an early age. And this doesn’t even include my lifelong love of natural beauty, but of the human-created variety. I began to tear up as these memories surfaced.
I remembered the joy I had as a child walking into an art museum and viewing classical sculpture, Renaissance paintings, and Impressionist works or art. The magic and fascination had lessened while I was immersed in my medical studies, our medical practice, and parenting. I had also become somewhat disdainful of the West’s obsession with its own history over those of other civilizations. But in my roots, in the depth of my soul, I am transformed by beauty in all its forms. And my roots are grounded in Western thought and ideas of beauty. I feel whole in beauty’s presence.
After our discussion, we had a tour of the ruins of the Acropolis and the Parthenon by a local guide. I was mostly startled at how huge the complex was, and especially the Parthenon. It is a feat of architectural ingenuity. Built during the height of classical Greece, about 500 BCE, its base is curved and the columns slightly lean toward the center. This gives the illusion of straight lines when seen from a distance. How the architect thought of this design and calculated the necessary angles is extraordinary. And imagining the massive statue of Athena that once occupied its center made me realize how impressive the temple was. If I was awed by its ruins, then the population of the time must have been even more so.
The smaller Erechtheion on the Acropolis was also classically beautiful. I was mainly struck by its six individually sculpted female figures, called caryatids, that serve as columns to support the roof. It’s a sight I never thought I would see in person, having seen it only in books. In fact, a photograph of the caryatids is on the cover of the travel book I borrowed from a friend. It’s an iconic symbol of ancient Greece. The six unique individuals are also stunning—in beauty and ingenuity. The effect they had on me was pure joy, and I teared up again.
My pilgrimage to reconnect with beauty had begun.