There’s a story lingering in the media right now that’s remarkably similar to something we see in the sky every year at the end of December, and it has to do with the role of hideousness in relation to beauty and vanity.
Less than ten days ago in Las Vegas, the Miss Universe Pageant culminated in an uncomfortable moment that, despite its intense awkwardness, certainly gave viewers the opportunity to consider the purpose of beauty in the world.
When announcing the winner of the pageant, the host made what seemed like an epic mistake that resulted in the wrong woman receiving the Miss Universe crown and title.
Once the error was realized, the announcer came back on stage and corrected his mistake, followed by a woman in a black evening gown who came to remove the crown from Miss Columbia in order to place it on Miss Philippines, the true winner.
It was kind of an incredible moment that reminded me of the story surrounding the constellation Andromeda, the woman in chains. Andromeda is chained because of the extreme vanity of her mother, Cassiopeia. Usually it’s the hero Perseus who’s given credit for freeing Andromeda from these chains of Cassiopeia’s vanity, but there’s a much deeper moral in the myth: It’s not just the timely presence of a hero that frees us from vanity, it’s actually hideousness, which in the myth takes the form of the severed head of the snake-haired Medusa. In this context you could say hideousness, or the agonizing moment of realizing you’re not Miss Universe after all, is the only true antidote to vanity.
Every year in December, the constellation Perseus is at the zenith, directly overhead as early as 9 pm each night. Above Perseus to the north is the constellation of the vain Queen Cassiopeia; while beside him to the west is Andromeda, the woman in chains. In his hand, Perseus carries the severed head of Medusa, as if to remind us at the close of every year that true beauty can only ever be a possession of the divine.