The Conceptual Beauty of Tango

In the philosophy of tango, the unity of form and content holds profound significance. Tango is born out of a human need (see Why People Dance Tango). From this need arises beauty, which then leads to a deviation from this need and only pursue beauty, hence the alienation of tango. Admiration for beauty is not without merit—after all, without it, there would be no art. But in creating art, we must not lose sight of its purpose. Art is not merely form; without substance, it loses its meaning. A watch that looks elegant but fails to keep time is not a good watch. A selfish woman, though physically attractive, does not make a good partner. Tango is no different: you may invent dazzling steps, but without the essence of tango, it is not good tango.

Novice dancers often judge tango by its appearance, just as naive minds judge success by material wealth. Warren Buffett once said, “The truth is, when you get to my age, you will measure your success by how many people really love you.” Money does not make one truly rich—love does. We may envy someone’s fortune, but at the end of the day, we long for relationships grounded in genuine care. The same applies to tango. What makes it deeply fulfilling is not its steps but what the steps convey.

Marie Curie observed, “If you’re not pretty at 17, you can blame your parents. But if you are still not pretty at 30, you only have yourself to blame, for in all those years, you added nothing new to yourself.” True beauty comes from within. A tango dancer who only values look and ignores feeling is like a parvenus who lives in a mansion and drives luxury cars, but at heart he is still a poor man. What makes a person noble is not his money but character. Dancers obsessed with form and upstarts flaunting riches are kindred spirits. Art that endures—be it painting, music, or dance—is that with inherent depth of human spirit rather than just aestheticism.

As Mother Teresa poignantly said: “Hunger is not only for bread, but for love. Nakedness is not only for clothing, but for dignity. Homelessness is not only the need for a roof, but also the feeling of being unwanted.” Tango, at its core, feeds the soul. Its beauty lies not just in its form, but more profoundly, in its spirit.

This inner beauty is invisible. It exists in emotions, thoughts, relationships, character, and imagination. In the eyes of a lover his beloved is a beauty. What seems attractive may become plain over time, and what seems plain can become deeply beautiful. Some people are beautiful because of their intelligence, others because of their charisma. Certain beauty can only be appreciated by the heart and not the eyes, such as poem, music, love and friendship. A tango can stir up different emotions because what people hear may not be the song itself, but their own feelings. The world appears radiant when the heart is joyful, and somber when it is heavy. The past is more splendid in memory than it was in reality, and so is the future in the vision. All this reveals that beauty is not merely form—it is also a subjective experience.

The highest beauty is conceptual. It transcends the visual boundaries and invites the mind to wander through the realm of imagination. Tango is not primarily a visual art—it is an art of consciousness and feeling. In tango, you can close your eyes and let your intuition guide you. You do not watch your partner dance; you feel their embrace, their touch, their movement—and through these, their temperament, personality, and emotion. His masculinity, strength, dependability, protection, thoughtfulness, and finesse; her femininity, softness, affection, agreement, and subtle seduction—these are all conveyed through feeling. Even musicality and the quality of the dance are experienced through sensation. Tango leaves abundant space for imagination. Dancing it is like attending a feast of emotions. Its beauty is largely conceptual rather than visual (see Tango Is a Feeling).

It is unfortunate that many formalist dancers focus solely on what can be seen, ignoring what can only be felt. What sets tango apart is its conceptual beauty. This is where its deepest potential lies. To explore and cultivate this inner richness is a worthy aspiration, one that can make tango an even greater emotional feast. Although it is natural for beginners to focus on the external, as comprehension proceeds from the outside to the inside and from the shallow to the deep, my hope is that this journey can be shortened. So that, when you reach the age of Warren Buffett, Marie Curie, or Mother Teresa, you won’t regret for what you have missed out in your pursuit of vanity. Isn't that often the case beyond tango (see The Psychology in Tango)?