The death and resurrection of wonder

We might explode if we stopped, listened, looked at the world as if for the first time--heard the sounds, saw the sights, and began to question what these things we see and hear are all about.

Questions would arise and not go away until we found some answers. Most of us, though, cannot tolerate being frustrated when a question we pose gets no immediate reply; often we are in such a hurry that we are pleased with the most superficial response. Few of us can stand to have any question dog us forever. And many of us are just afraid that one question will lead to another and another and another. In truth, that process, once started, will never stop.

We all have responsibilities. And a great many people hate the jobs they have to keep just to go on living. Recreation helps us blunt the edge of insults from the workplace. But too often, it is not exploration: it is only escape. And finally, after sleeping, we get back to the work that petrifies our minds once again. In the cycle of work, recreation and sleep, we can hold our questions below the surface for a long time.

Yet sometime around the holidays, we might be bracing ourselves against the cold while shopping in the city and see the warm lights from the big store windows painting the snow on the sidewalks. By chance we might look up from the streets and see the sky and notice the stars and wonder, what is this all about? Surely not about anything ordinary.

We have to feed and clothe the bodies on which our conscious lives depend. And understandably, because our needs are unrelenting, we tend to use our brains to serve our mortal shells, and whether from laziness or overwhelming pressure, we tend to lose our curiosity about the world. Our passion for learning, if we ever had it, tends to evaporate in the glare of economic reality.

Our world is filled with wonders. And while the pursuit of understanding is often the least profitable, it is nevertheless the most satisfying.

For some questions, there may be no answers; indeed, some questions may have no meaning. But the greatest value of a human life is lost when we lose our sense of wonder, when we cannot ask a question--even of ourselves. When we come to regard the marvels of the universe as merely commonplace, we have--or the best part of us has--died.

Even an old mind, though, given the slightest spark of interest, can light up again for a subject that was once completely dull. As long as we keep our bodies going, our brains still have a chance to marvel at the universe, to wonder how things work and why. Our time becomes extremely precious when we comprehend that there are more worlds than we can ever explore, more mysteries than we can ever solve, and more understanding than we can ever acquire.

Fortunately, we can examine the works of many generations of scientists, and begin to garner some insights. And, perhaps most importantly, we can look at the world as though our eyes were young. And in the heated pursuit of knowledge, we can forget, with only the most delightful consequences, that the clock is always running.