beginning my studies
here is a lovely poem by walt whitman:
Beginning my studies
Beginning my studies the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion,
The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love,
The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther,
But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.
it seems that certain kinds of reflection often help us to love life. much good writing, both fiction and non-fiction, does this. there is something about talking about life that helps us to love it. in telling a story well, in hearing a scene described with skill, we come to appreciate and to enjoy what is there. by sitting back and reflecting on life (whether real or imagined), we may come to see what is good and beautiful in it. i think the poem above works this way.
the visual language is instructive: good writing helps us to see what is before us, but which we have somehow missed. perhaps this is because such writing slows us down and thereby allows us to attend to things. perhaps it is because such writing is written from a perspective of attending to things, a perspective of concern and sensitivity toward what is being described, and in reading we are drawn into this perspective. and in being thus drawn in, we find our own souls transformed, infused with the same sensitivity to the things before us. this is part of what makes maryline robinson's novel 'gilead' so wonderful to read, and why the novel has a devotional quality: the reader unconsciously begins to adopt the narrator's way of seeing the world, and that way of seeing is infused with tenderness, exquisite care, and love of life.
at the same time, of course, abstract and theoretical reflection can also kill any wonder we have. probably all of us have experienced the way that academics can take something one finds instinctively fascinating and turn it into something dull and dreary. and we feel that there is something wrong about this. i think that is why we find whitman's poem to be charming, and why something in us wants to say "yes!" when we hear the poem. we feel that it is right to have a sense of wonder at the objects of study; we believe it is good to be pleased by nature and by life. and we sense that to lose this pleasure is to lose something deep and true in our way of engaging the world.
the propensity of theoretical reflection to destroy our delight in things may have something to do with the distance between ourselves and what we are studying. abstract reflection somehow separates us from the thing. we step back from it, we keep it at arm's length, we put it under the microscope. whitman's point, i think, is that such a stance of distanced reflection can cause us to lose track of the feel of the thing, the sense of it. the point is not that we should just feel the world, rather than think about it, but that there is a kind of thinking that maintains a connection to a sense of wonder, that is infused by such wonder, whereas our "studies" often give us knowledge at the cost of our ability to wonder and delight in the objects of study.
perhaps the issue is one of objectivity, of taking up the view from nowhere. if this is our goal, then insofar as we achieve it, we disappear. but wonder and awe involve feeling our place in things -our smallenss, our ephemerality, our connection to what is around us. we are awed at something else, but this involves a sense of ourselves before the object of our awe. thus, insofar as we pursue a knowledge given by the view from nowhere and we do not step back from nowhere into the somewhere of human life, into the somewhere of our own particular life, to just this extent we may find ourselves unable to wonder and delight at what we are studying.
and what, finally, is the good of a wonder-less knowledge? here, i think, is the fundamental challenge of whitman's poem: are not our studies valuable because they are a part of living well, and if they destroy our sense of wonder and thereby cause us to live poorly, why should we have anything to do with such studies? what, after all, is the kind of life we want for ourselves -one of dreary, joyless study, or a life of ecstatic songs? if we have, at the expense of wonder, discovered some truths about the world, we will have paid the price of living truly, of being truly human.
of course, whitman's poem is not as ornery and argumentative as i am sounding now. it is a simple burst of happiness, playful and alive.
Beginning my studies
Beginning my studies the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion,
The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love,
The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther,
But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.
it seems that certain kinds of reflection often help us to love life. much good writing, both fiction and non-fiction, does this. there is something about talking about life that helps us to love it. in telling a story well, in hearing a scene described with skill, we come to appreciate and to enjoy what is there. by sitting back and reflecting on life (whether real or imagined), we may come to see what is good and beautiful in it. i think the poem above works this way.
the visual language is instructive: good writing helps us to see what is before us, but which we have somehow missed. perhaps this is because such writing slows us down and thereby allows us to attend to things. perhaps it is because such writing is written from a perspective of attending to things, a perspective of concern and sensitivity toward what is being described, and in reading we are drawn into this perspective. and in being thus drawn in, we find our own souls transformed, infused with the same sensitivity to the things before us. this is part of what makes maryline robinson's novel 'gilead' so wonderful to read, and why the novel has a devotional quality: the reader unconsciously begins to adopt the narrator's way of seeing the world, and that way of seeing is infused with tenderness, exquisite care, and love of life.
at the same time, of course, abstract and theoretical reflection can also kill any wonder we have. probably all of us have experienced the way that academics can take something one finds instinctively fascinating and turn it into something dull and dreary. and we feel that there is something wrong about this. i think that is why we find whitman's poem to be charming, and why something in us wants to say "yes!" when we hear the poem. we feel that it is right to have a sense of wonder at the objects of study; we believe it is good to be pleased by nature and by life. and we sense that to lose this pleasure is to lose something deep and true in our way of engaging the world.
the propensity of theoretical reflection to destroy our delight in things may have something to do with the distance between ourselves and what we are studying. abstract reflection somehow separates us from the thing. we step back from it, we keep it at arm's length, we put it under the microscope. whitman's point, i think, is that such a stance of distanced reflection can cause us to lose track of the feel of the thing, the sense of it. the point is not that we should just feel the world, rather than think about it, but that there is a kind of thinking that maintains a connection to a sense of wonder, that is infused by such wonder, whereas our "studies" often give us knowledge at the cost of our ability to wonder and delight in the objects of study.
perhaps the issue is one of objectivity, of taking up the view from nowhere. if this is our goal, then insofar as we achieve it, we disappear. but wonder and awe involve feeling our place in things -our smallenss, our ephemerality, our connection to what is around us. we are awed at something else, but this involves a sense of ourselves before the object of our awe. thus, insofar as we pursue a knowledge given by the view from nowhere and we do not step back from nowhere into the somewhere of human life, into the somewhere of our own particular life, to just this extent we may find ourselves unable to wonder and delight at what we are studying.
and what, finally, is the good of a wonder-less knowledge? here, i think, is the fundamental challenge of whitman's poem: are not our studies valuable because they are a part of living well, and if they destroy our sense of wonder and thereby cause us to live poorly, why should we have anything to do with such studies? what, after all, is the kind of life we want for ourselves -one of dreary, joyless study, or a life of ecstatic songs? if we have, at the expense of wonder, discovered some truths about the world, we will have paid the price of living truly, of being truly human.
of course, whitman's poem is not as ornery and argumentative as i am sounding now. it is a simple burst of happiness, playful and alive.
posted by micah at 12:26 PM
2 Comments:
I love Whitman, and you describe this poem beautifully as "a simple burst of happiness, playful and alive." It, in its very nature, seems to exemplify the childish simplicity which it exalts. Nevertheless, I hesitate to share his proposition that the beginning of study may be the end of wonder.
My gut reaction to your post stems from Paul's idea that maturing past milk to solid food as believers is a thing to be desired and pursued. However, this gut reaction has encountered some contrasting ideas, also from the Scriptures. Christ implores us to receive the kingdom of God as children. Paul asks, "Has God not made foolish the wisdom of the world?" What Adam and Eve gained from the Fall was knowledge of good and evil, yet wonder was a part of their original perfection.
I believe that wonder is a beginning, a means, not an end. Yes, it has its own merits, independent of whatever experience it may spawn, but I think that remaining in simple, ignorant wonder can be indicative of stunted growth. Also, whatever joy it may offer alone may be magnified many times by study with good study. Ultimately it seems both are parts of a process wherein wonder is source and inspiration of study. Like wonder, study is not the conclusion. It brings us to a deeper place of understanding, but we must not stop there. We must give that knowledge meaning and context and then return to the object of our study with our simple appreciation increased by understanding. This is where we will find an even truer joy than wonder alone could not offer. I fear that if we stop short anywhere in the process, we will be withholding from ourselves an experience of goodness and pleasure.
An obvious circumstance where this idea may be applied is the enjoyment of music, symphonic music in particular. Wonder affords the initial sensual pleasure of the sounds. Without any knowledge at all, we can comprehend their greatness. However, with even a basic study and understanding of musical composition and performance, the experience is enriched several times over. We can marvel at the complex knitting of harmonies and melodies and the well-honed skill of musicians. Finally, placing the piece and the talent squarely in context of general life experience fills and thickens the meaning of the music. Had we stopped short at wonder alone, we would receive only a small portion of the pleasure the music has to offer.
And yet, even in the deepest depths, I hope that we all may still see what makes the thing worthwhile, beautiful. I hope we may still see with wonder.
My comment on this entry disappeared!!! Where did it go? Strange things are afoot in bloggerland...
Post a Comment
<< Home