Awe

I was pondering the question of what the hell is wrong with so many of the people in positions of power on our planet, and I've come to the conclusion that part of it is that they've lost the capacity to feel awestruck.

When we're awestruck, in a way, our entire world gets turned on its head.  The day-to-day concerns that take up most of our mental and emotional space -- jobs, relationships, paying the bills, keeping up with household chores, the inevitable aches and pains -- suddenly are drowned by a sense that in the grand scheme of things, we are extremely small.  It's not (or shouldn't be) a painful experience.  It's more that we are suddenly aware that our little cares are just that: little.  We live in a grand, beautiful, mysterious, dazzling universe, and at the moments when we are privileged to perceive that, our senses are swept away.

The philosophers have come up with a name for such experiences: numinous.  It doesn't imply a connection to a higher power (although it manifests that way, or is interpreted that way, for some people).  German writer Rudolf Otto describes such a state as "a non-rational, non-sensory experience or feeling whose primary and immediate object is outside the self...  This mental state presents itself as wholly other, a condition absolutely sui generis and incomparable, whereby the human being finds himself utterly abashed."

What would happen if you couldn't -- or were afraid to -- experience awe?  This would trap you in the petty quotidian trivia of life, and very likely magnify their importance in your mind, giving them far more gravitas than they deserve.  I suspect it could also magnify your own self-importance.

It'd be interesting to see if there's an inverse correlation between narcissism and our capacity to feel awestruck.  After all, how could you simultaneously perceive the glory and grandeur of the universe, and remain convinced that your needs are the most important thing within it?  And if you combine narcissism with amorality, you produce an individual who will never admit fault, never look beyond their own desires, and stop at nothing to fulfill them.

We could probably all name a few prominent people this describes.

I think the two things that have the greatest ability to make me feel awe are music and astronomy.  Music has had the ability to pick me up by the emotions and swing me around since I was very small; my mom used to tell the story of my being about four and begging her to let me use the record player.  She finally relented (one of the few times she ever did) and showed me how, and -- to my credit -- I never damaged a single record.  They were simply too important to me.

Just a couple of days ago, I was in the car, and Ralph Vaughan Williams's Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis came on the classical station I was listening to.  If I had to name one piece that has that ability to lift me out of myself, that's the one I'd pick.  The first time I heard it, as a teenager, I ended up with tears streaming down my face, and honestly had been unaware of where I was for the entire fifteen-minute play time.

It's astronomy, though, that is why this topic comes up today.  A paper this week in the journal Astronomy and Astrophysics describes a new study of the Silver Coin Galaxy in the constellation Sculptor, a beautiful spiral galaxy about 11.4 million light years away.  The study, which required fifty hours of time at the European Southern Observatory in Chile, produced an image with unprecedented detail:

The Silver Coin is called a "starburst galaxy," a region of space undergoing an exceptionally high rate of star formation, so it's of great interest to astronomers and astrophysicists as we learn more about how galaxies, stars, and planetary systems form and evolve.  "Galaxies are incredibly complex systems that we are still struggling to understand," said Enrico Congiu, who led the study.  "The Sculptor Galaxy is in a sweet spot.  It is close enough that we can resolve its internal structure and study its building blocks with incredible detail, but at the same time, big enough that we can still see it as a whole system."

In that one rectangular photograph is captured the light from billions of stars.  From what we know of stars in our own galaxy, it's likely that the majority of those points of light have their own planetary systems.  It's not certain -- but many astronomers think it's very likely -- that a good many of those planets host life.  Some of that life might be intelligent, and looking back at us through their own telescopes, wondering about us as we do about them.

How could anyone look at this image, think those thoughts, and not be awestruck?

To me, that was part of what I wanted as a science teacher.  I honestly couldn't have cared less if my students got to the end of the year and couldn't tell me what the endoplasmic reticulum did.  (If they need to know that at some point in their lives, they can look it up.)  What I do care deeply about is that they know how to think critically, can distinguish truth from fiction, and have enough basic understanding of biology to be able to make good decisions about their health and the environment.  And in addition, I tried to instill in them a sense of wonder at how cool science is.

That I did at least sometimes succeed is supported by a funny incident from not long before I retired.  I was having one of our required twice-yearly administrator observations, and the principal was watching me teach a lesson to my AP Biology class.  I recall that it was something about genetics -- always a favorite subject -- but I can't remember what exactly the topic was that day.  But something I said made one kid's eyes pop open wide, and he said, "Wow, that is so fucking cool."

Then he had the sudden aghast realization that the principal was sitting in the back of the room.

The kid turns around, red-faced, and said, "Oh, my god, Mr. Koeng, I'm sorry."

The principal grinned and said, "No, that's okay.  You're right.  It is really fucking cool."

I was lucky to work, by and large, for great administrators during my 32-year career, and I often discussed with them my goal as a science teacher of instilling wonder.  But I think we all need to land in that space more often.  The ability to look around us and say, "Wow.  Isn't this amazing?" is incredibly important, and also terribly easy to lose.  The morass of daily concerns we're faced with can add up in our minds to something big enough to block out the stars.

And isn't that sad?

So I'll end with an exhortation: find some time this week to look and listen and experience what's around you.  Get down and examine the petals of a flower.  Go out on a dark, clear night and look up at the stars.  Listen to a piece of music -- just listen, don't engage in the "listening while" that most of us do every day.  Create the space in your life to experience a little awe.

But don't be surprised if you come out of the experience changed.  Being awestruck will do that.

In fact, maybe that's the point.

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