caseforwonder

Why did humans ever begin to philosophize, to create literature, or to make scientific experiments? What has been the animating force behind this remarkable project known as civilization? Among the many possible answers, consider the case for wonder.

Philosophy was, from the start, awe-inspired. Plato said that, “philosophy begins in wonder.” Aristotle agreed that “it is owing to their wonder that men…philosophize.” Martin Heidegger claimed that “astonishment carries and pervades philosophy.” And Alfred North Whitehead believed that, “philosophy begins in wonder. And, at the end, when philosophic thought has done its best, the wonder remains.”

This sentiment is not exclusive to philosophers. Thomas Aquinas saw that poetry and philosophy arise from the same impulse. “The reason why the philosopher can be compared to the poet,” he said, “is that both are concerned with wonder.” And the writer Annie Dillard insisted that the work of literature is to, “give voice to this, your own astonishment.”

The scientist can also be driven by a wide-eyed admiration with the world. Albert Einstein remarked that, “he who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.” Isaac Newton once described his own inspiration as that of, “a boy playing on the seashore…whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”

It’s no surprise that civilization should be the fruit of wonder, nor that conversation would be enriched by its presence. It is a posture towards the world – one that acknowledges that this planet is odd, unexpected, and yet intelligible. This posture creates the conditions for the genuine curiosity upon which good discussion depends.

Such curiosity is in short supply. On one side we meet people so disenchanted with the world that they think there is nothing interesting left to discover. Someone else has already climbed all of the mountains and plumbed all of the oceans. The person sitting across from us, familiar and ordinary, couldn’t possibly surprise or intrigue us. Best to stick with safe, predictable pleasures. An endless stream of diversions become the tawdry successor to the longings of youth.

On the other side we meet people so fearful of curiosity that they dare not ask honest questions. They are strict partisans, anxious to draw lines around their politics or theology, and to banish anyone who falls outside of those lines. In so doing, they exile themselves to an island of their own narrow point of view. It’s an island well armed against heretics, but vulnerable to demagogues.

The surest way back to curiosity is around a coffee table. It is at a pub table, or on a walking path. As individuals silence their phones and attend to one another, they can’t help but court wonder. As they enter honestly into discussion, their disenchantment begins to dissolve. The bizarreness of this world, after all, is hard to conceal.

When the partisan leaves the echo chamber of social media, he encounters the forms upon which his straw men were based. People are not so ridiculous, as it turns out. Or, at least, they are not ridiculous in the way he had expected. He is likely, over time, to soften on some positions. He will have confronted the complexity of reality and been changed by it. He is also likely to believe some of his positions even more strongly. But in those instances they will be, more than before, his true opinions. His former fear and disdain for his political enemies will have been replaced with honest intellectual conviction.

We have spent too much time with our heads buried in screens. That is a world full of diversion and certainty, but too often devoid of wonder. We would do well to lift ourselves up, leaving behind disenchantment and fear, and confront other living human beings. And in such encounters we could expose ourselves to that civilizing force known as wonder.

 

This is the third post in a series on the topic of conversation. Links to the first two posts are below:

1. How to Impress a Teenager

2. A Feast for the Soul