Of Mystery
I lay awake, curiously pondering the sensation of losing that spark; the spark of intrigue, of the mystery which surrounds life as a child. Do you remember when you were a child playing outside? You didn’t require anything more then a stick for a sword and an old towel for a cape. Life teamed with mystery and the unknown. There were creeks to explore, rocks to overturn, trees to climb, bugs to squash…all in the name of mystery and natural philosophy. Though those particular words would not be used, for that is the way a grown-up would explain it.
I am reminded of Saint-Exupéry’s wonderful contrast between the mind of a child and the mind of an adult in Le Petit Prince. In it, Saint-Exupéry so eloquently demonstrated the lack of imagination of the narrator. It was to his shame. So often I feel like the pilot in the story. I have lost the ability to be amazed. I have lost the sense of mystery.
I do not feel alone however. I am accompanied by most all of the men and woman on this fine rock. Where is the mystery we so enjoyed as a child? The resounding answer is, it’s gone. Lost. Never to be found again. It is not a loss of innocence on the part of the observer, but merely a consenting sigh. We have no continents to discover, no pyramids to uncover, no seas to explore, no conquests left unturned, no forgotten people, no race untried. No mystery.
All is explained. There is no longer the question of why something falls or how to determine longitude. We no longer wonder at the marvels of the balanced humours in the body, make up of light, or life at the bottom of the ocean. Science has given us all the answers. There is no Santa and, what is more, there never was.
We are nearly done explaining. We are most definitely done exploring. What is left? Where does a man extinguish his innate desire to conquer, explore and discover? Simply put, nowhere. It’s like buying a new house. The first few months feel exuberant and wistful. Each corner, nook and cranny is new and unique; yet inevitably, the newness wears off and what is left is living. We are as a people now living.
Look at the big picture of science and development in recent times; effort is not put toward the challenge of new things to come, rather to creature comforts and longer life. But it’s not beyond reasonable to ask the point of a longer life void of the possibility of mystery and adventure? Who wants to live bored longer?
Now truly in your mind as you read you are sure to think of dozens of things exciting and truly worth living for and indeed I am with you one hundred percent. But I hope you understand my point. I miss the mystery of youth. I miss the promises of new and unexplained. I miss the hope of adventure and the insecurity of doubt. Bring back the mystery and you will bring back the spark of the living.
Part of me thinks it is a sign of the times, a consequence of our occupancy and tenure, the other thinks it may simply be a human condition. I’ve often wondered what it might be like if lo and behold a press conference is held announcing our allegiance with little green men from outer space; these little green guys are friendly and desire a peaceful co-existence filled with cooperation and mutual benefaction. Imagine the awe and surprise. But after a few years would it stop being interesting? Would it be like the short lived television show Alien Nation where ‘Newcomers’ are added to the mix and once the new car smell is gone we learn they are as bored as we are holding down regular jobs and miring through similar financial, familiar and relational issues?
Life requires a since of purpose. Life requires a since of mystery. I made the off-handed comment in a past post, ‘It seems the human constitution is weak unless provoked; we tend toward the lowest common denominator unless pushed.’ If this is true, what do we have left to push us? This author has no answers as I am searching for mystery myself.
There is at least One whom I fear; whose very idea is a mystery with no beginning or end. God. Perhaps He set life up in such a manner that ultimately we would seek Him as the true mystery and only satisfying journey.
I dislike the idea of a neat little bow, wrapping up a post for the simple hope of closure. Sometimes there is no closure, there is only observation. So I’ll leave you with this question: where can a man find a touch of mystery in this shabby little town?
