Through the camera lens: Love, beauty, and eternity

Evening light poured into the living room where I was playing a game of chess with my younger brother. At one point, I looked across the chessboard at him, struck by the image I saw. Sitting in a chestnut rocking chair opposite me, my brother wore an olive baseball hat that matched his grey and olive shirt. His brown eyes peeped out from under the hat as he stared intrepidly at the chessboard, pondering his next move. I noticed how photogenic the scene looked, and my immediate thought was to take a picture to remember this moment. Yet, as I stood up to get my phone and capture the image, I stopped and thought for a moment about the subconscious reason behind taking photos. 

As humans, we want to hold on to something tangible, real, and beautiful. We often find this in the modern convention of photography. Sometimes we overly rely on filters or subsequent editing to enhance our photos, distorting reality. However, generally speaking, this form of technology captures reality: one we can hold, one we can show off to others, and one we can enhance. 

Taking a photo is not a neutral action. It proves our interest in the moment and our desire to perpetuate, replicate, and hold on to it for specific reasons. It is intriguing to explore the unspoken motivation for why we take photos. Where do we get the urge to fill up our albums and camera rolls with pictures of a variety of events, people’s faces, and scenes from daily life? Do we take photos because we find reality aesthetic or because we want to aestheticize reality? Is it because we are forgetful and want to remember this particular instance later on exactly as it was? Or is it possible that our urge to take photos derives from a desire to capture what is fleeting, thus pointing to the reality of death and eternity? 

These questions point to the brevity of life and a desire to possess the lasting beauty encapsulated in the essence of a photo. 

Remember your death

The inability to physically re-enter a prior moment points to the reality of death. An idea I heard in one of my college classes last semester suddenly made sense: Photos offer a memento mori realization, reminding us that, in the words of St. Teresa of Avila, “all things are passing.” One day, the people in the photo, as well as the person who took the photo, will die; perhaps they have already died. One day, even the surroundings in that scene will cease to exist. One day, the material world itself will end. 

I do not mean to cast a morbid view on something we do so often, but rather to shed light on the taken-for-grantedness of an action we perform almost instinctively and whenever we please, thanks to the modern convenience of photography and accessibility to the camera. Our society has a special ability, now facilitated by smartphones and iPads, to preserve reality and beauty within seconds through a camera lens. Our desire to capture the essence of the moment through photography shows our innate love for beauty of the eternal kind and reminds us that only through death will we fully behold it. 

Close to the lover’s heart 

“We keep this love in a photograph. We made these memories for ourselves, where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken, time’s forever frozen still.” These lyrics from Ed Sheeran’s song “Photograph” suggest that photographs provide an effortless way for the lover to hold on to his beloved through a pure, undying medium that transposes and substitutes the physical presence of the person. In an image, time is stopped, retaining the essence of that love and capturing a tangible reminder of where the beloved’s heart lies, as a photograph in a locket keeps the beloved close to the lover’s heart. 

It is natural for the human person to desire beauty because the heart naturally tends toward what is good, true, and beautiful. Our inherent desire for the beautiful and for the beloved is ultimately fulfilled in God. In finally discovering our source, our goal, and our joy, St. Augustine’s declaration can also become our own: “late have I loved You, oh Beauty, ever ancient, ever new.” It is interesting that the ability to take photos often reminds us of Beauty himself, for which we truly long. And in reminding us of this long-awaited desire for transcendent and undying beauty, photographs come with the acknowledgement of the end of this earthly life. 

However, as long as we search for this timeless beauty on earth, we will remain unsatisfied. This materialistic world has deceived its society into pretending we will live forever. We notice this in the way people live their lives: buying more than they need, hoarding rather than giving, and falling for the latest fashions and styles of the day. Death comes as a sure reminder that we are not made for this life. As St. Thérèse of Lisieux wisely said, “The world is thy ship, not thy home.” This life is part of the journey into the next life, a preparation of our souls and bodies for the eternity we are promised. 

Therefore, the ethos of the photograph subtly reveals to us the brevity of life and our heart’s fundamental desire for pure love and unchanging beauty. Yet the story does not end in death: there is life hereafter. Photographs, such as the one I took of my brother playing chess, unveil the priceless truth that memento mori allows our hearts to hope for the eternal beauty and perfect love found only in heaven. 

Sofia Castillo is studying communications and minoring in theology at Ave Maria University. When not playing the organ, singing, or listening to movie soundtracks and Tchaikovsky, she is likely found graphic designing, watching classic films, and exploring personalist philosophy. She has evenly divided her heart between Wisconsin and Virginia, loves the 1920s, dreams of adventure, and prays that her crazy personality won’t stop her from one day attaining sanctity.