1 September 2008
Wonder and Smallness
The forests fill us with awe, trees grasping at the sky, the stillness and coolness beneath the canopy, the simultaneous cacophony of wind and birds and creeping beasts. Our lungs filled with moss and fog we watch the deer graze, then bolt at the slightest sound; we watch the sun penetrate the leaves in concentrated shafts seeking purchase on the ground. Forests are full of life and death, the cycle tangible in fallen trees wrapped in fungi, the damp smell of decaying wood, the occasional acrid tang of decaying flesh and everywhere new growth.
It’s easy to peer through the forest into the past. The present is more difficult to find, unable to be seen for the trees, but the sense of wolves, of elk, of larger beasts that might have once crept from tree to tree stalking our ancestors. Lions with teeth like spears, reptilian hunters rushing after reptilian prey, the shadow of wings flash by…
The oceans fill us with dread and peace—the weight of the water both comforting and deadly. The ocean itself is a siren, luring men to their death, whether immediate or after long years unable to leave her. As land disappears on the horizon, the shelf of the world falls away into cold darkness which none can fathom. What might lurk down there at the bottom of the sea, nestled against the grim bosom of the earth listening to her heartbeat before darting away to encircle prey with spanning tentacles and nestle down to eat in the pressured peace.
There are legends in the Himalayas of a man sized creature that is covered in white fur, a similar creature stalks the Andes, another the Caucus. In the Amazon there are reports of what could only be a brontosaurus. Europe had its dragons. The sea holds the kraken, the sky pterodactyls. Even in modern times, pieces of legends still wash up from time to time, frozen in ice, or unearthed while digging a subway tunnel.
We are the rational ones, the scientific minded—nothing exists until it has been seen and measured, weighed and categorized. There is little space for wonder left in our modern world. We know the kraken’s name, at least until more evidence appears. Then we’ll mount an expedition and search for disproof, our mouths agape when we find proof instead—then category is enlarged a bit and wonder is once more contained.
But it gets worse (the story always does—the conflict building, hope dissipating, nothing will ever improve, and darkness will cover the land). We kill our neighbors and our friends over the silliest reasons. Children have their parents killed before their eyes, have guns shoved in their hands and are taught to kill. Kept in line by rape and blood, who could love them now? What space is left for wonder?
Who Murdered the Virunga Gorillas? They might’ve been killed because they were inconvenient for the charcoal business, or to keep the rangers in line, but I saw the illustration above and it suddenly clicked. When everything good and beautiful has been taken away from a person, when there is no place for wonder because there is no mystery left in the world, only pain upon pain, how will they react when confronted with the ancient, the mysterious, the awe-inspiring?
We fill our world with monsters and they can’t stand the light. Bullets fired aimlessly, mines in the river, pit traps on the paths. They try to catch everything, not for study but to bring it down to their level. In The Silmarillion Morgoth takes the elves and men and torments them until they change, forcing mutation upon them with fire and iron and creates his own creatures to run over the land in a dark tide.
“His visage is a chiaroscuro portrait of anguish, his eyes so creased he appears much older than his 45 years.”
There seems little chance for beasts and legends under the twin barrels of our monstrous progeny and cold science. It won’t work to ignore the callousness of the tormented. It takes at least a generation of people willing to sacrifice—for the gorillas it is Paulin Ngobobo, a quiet, incorruptible ranger—those willing to age quicker than they should, to do the difficult thing and raise the children our generation twisted. To forego sleep and peace and do the right thing to transform the terrible into the amazing.
And let wonder loose in the world again.
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