In a recent discussion on IIDB, someone mentioned that they would prefer to have mystery in their lives, and that they don't get why we need to know everything. The basic implication being that something is lost the more we know about the world. Somehow, knowing how something works detracts from the beauty and mystery...
...I don't get it.
The more I know about how this world works, the more my sense of wonder and appreciation for it grows. Another different, but related attitude I've heard is that somehow atheists or agnostics don't have any sense of wonder or appreciation for the world. Somehow, without a belief in god, we're supposed to be cold and emotionally dead. I don't get that either.
Take the computer sitting on my desk; the very machine I'm typing on now. Even as little as six years ago these things were a complete mystery to me. I understood the basics, but I didn't have any knowledge of how it works, of the various parts, the memory, the precicely crafted silica, copper, and other elements. No understanding of the platters in a hard drive and how miniscule little parts of it, smaller than my unaided eye can percieve, are magnetized and demagnetized to store little bits of data. How the display is a product of nothing more complicated than a whole shitload of 0's and 1's. The layers and layers of computer code, millions and millions of lines of commands and instructions allowing me to type up and store these abstract intellectual concepts and share then with other people. The bits of information carried on light and electricity, being flung around the world in the blink of an eye.
Or take a sunrise. Some people would seem to see a sunrise and think 'what a beautiful morning this is'. They'll see the amazing colors, the pastels and shades fulling the whole sky. I see the same thing and think of the Sun, about how all this beauty is caused by what is little more than a gigantic fusion ball millions and millions of miles away. I can feel the heat on my skin and sit in awe of the amount of energy being thrown off from the thing. Enough energy that it warms my skin the instant it hits it. Enough that every square inch of our world is being hammered by this life sustaining energy. I look at the clouds and think of how the light is shifted and altered in subtle ways, filtered and reflected by clouds, tiny impurities in the air like dust particles, water vapor, and the products of human industry and activities.
The dust itself, coloring the sky a wonderful rose hue, could be from another continent, cast adrift by global winds and dust storms, circling the globe. At any given moment I could be looking at dust from Asia, or Africa, little bits from other parts of the globe.
Driving along I can look at a boring, ugly bridge, that by normal aesthetic standards is little more than a man-made eyesore. I see it maybe just a little differently. I see the layers of asphalt, mixed petroleum and gravel that were mixed and laid down. I see the metal railing, and think of the steel that was mined from the earth, refined, melted down into molten metal, extruded or molded into the shapes needed. Machined bolts, welds, the labor that went into creating it. The architectural design that went into understanding the stresses and loads the bridge would be subjected to. I feel the annoying little bumps as I drive over it, and think of the metal plates that were laid down to compensate for the expansion and contraction of the asphalt on the bridge as the temperature changes year in and year out.
All of this reminds me of the knowledge our species has accumulated about how the world works, about the centuries of testing, trial and error, the failures, the mistakes, and the ultimate successes we achieve. I don't see how this is supposed to diminish my sense of wonder, my sense of mystery, or my emotional reaction. The more I know about how things work, the more my awe and respect for this world grows. I see the interconnected nature of everything, I see the parts and processes that lead to what something is now, and how it works.
And the thing is, I barely know how this stuff works. It's a cliche, but it seems to be a true one: the more I learn about this world, the more I realize how little I actually know. Every new bit of knowledge I file away in my mind leads to something else unknown. Very often it leads to not just one new line of inquiry, but a huge array of new questions and things I don't know. The depth and mystery increases with each new piece added to the puzzle. With each little piece that falls into place, I see dozens more new pieces that I can't quite see or understand yet, new pieces that I don't yet know how to fit into the puzzle that is my understanding of reality.
Somehow science winds up being criticized as being an attack on aesthetics and emotion. Perhaps the people mounting such criticism just haven't experienced the joys of gathering these little tiny nuggets of understanding and interconnectedness. Maybe they're satisfied with some obviously incomplete but supposedly all-encompassing answer. I don't get that either.
Some theists I talk to assert that they've got the answer, and it is Jesus/Allah/Yahweh/Raelians/Gaia/Whatever. All things can be explained through this incredible entity (or entities). How this is supposed to substitute or compete with the long, hard work of rational scientific inquiry is beyond me. Maybe I just don't get it.
Other theists, like some I've spoken with recently, seem to assert that mystery is a good thing, and that is to be cherished and preserved as is, a form of stasis I suppose. They seem to come from a totally different mindset than the first group. They strike me as being polar opposites, but either way, they seem to be all-consumed with answers.
The first group, perhaps, can't take the insecurity of not knowing. The second group might be a little further along and has realized that we, as humans, simply can't know everything. Somehow they seem to go to extremes and take it to the point where we should just give up since we can't know it all. I don't get either view.
It seems like both camps kind of want to have an answer before we've even finished asking all the questions. Hell, before we've even started to ask the really important questions yet. I guess, from what I can tell, most other people just see a clunky computer, a pretty sunset, and an ugly bridge.
I think they're the ones missing out on real mystery, wonder, and amazement.
