That’s my word for 2021: wonder. I appreciate this word for its many layers of depth and meaning. To wonder can mean to be astonished and amazed, and it can mean to dwell in a state of scientific curiosity or philosophical pondering. Occasionally wonder can signify all of the above, all at once. I think we call that transcendence.
Wonder is what led me to become a journalist: wonder as a license to ask questions and be inquisitive about how the world works. We live in the golden age for this sort of wonder, since answers to our questions are as close as the computer in our pocket. Yet if the past year–and especially the past week–prove anything, it’s that most big questions defy easy answers. I am grateful for the working journalists who are asking the questions anyway, and for the historians who are trying to make meaning of our times even they unfold, and for everyone who is navigating our layered pandemics and shutdowns and breakdowns with open hearts and open minds.
Although I appreciate wonder of all kinds, I am especially partial to wonder as magic and awe. This sort of wonder is what compels me to stop whatever I’m doing to watch the sunrise or notice the play of shadows and light in my apartment. I am grateful for these small, sublime moments. They seem to be happening more often amid and perhaps because of the chaos of the world, and I am grateful for this, too.
Wonder as awe often leads to wonder as curiosity. This scientific sense of wonder has been the key to our species’ survival and it may save us yet. The scientists of long ago discovered fire and the wheel and the fact of the Earth’s orbit around the sun. Today, our scientists seek to address a global pandemic and tackle climate change. They are heroes in an era of competing narratives and cognitive dissonance, yet they’ve also long recognized the inadequacy of facts to explain much of the human condition. Take Albert Einstein, who wrote this in his book Living Philosophies:
The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead —his eyes are closed. The insight into the mystery of life, coupled though it be with fear, has also given rise to religion. To know what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms—this knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true religiousness.
Or, if you like, Tom Waits. He’s neither a scientist nor a theologian, but I think he’s onto something here:
We live in an age when you say casually to somebody “What’s the story on that?” and they can run to the computer and tell you within five seconds. That’s fine, but sometimes I’d just as soon continue wondering. We have a deficit of wonder right now.
I prize this sense of wonder as much as that of wonder as awe and curiosity. This philosophical strand of wondering helps us ponder whether and how the world could be a kinder, more just, more generous, and more loving place. It’s this sense of wonder that can make us more comfortable resting in mystery and reckoning with nuance and shades of gray. It’s what compels me to keep writing these columns for myself and for the few who see them. (Thank you, dear reader.)
Wonder as awe enriches our souls. Wonder as curiosity can lead to greater knowledge and wisdom. And sometimes, wonder itself is enough. May it be all those things for me and for you and for our world in 2021.
I’m curious to know whether you’ve adopted a word or phrase of the year for 2021. If so, what is it and why is it calling to you at this time?
This week’s videos: Iris Dement sings her song Let the Mystery Be; The Wonders perform in my favorite movie, That Thing You Do!; Mary Oliver reads her poem The Summer Day.
Thank you for reading Surely Joy. You can find the first Pandemic Postcards and my earlier writings here. If you’d like to get future posts via email, look for the link on the right side of this page (or maybe below this post, if you’re on a mobile device). I write for a living, so if you enjoy my work, feel free to hit the tip jar.