Recently I realized, as I get older and older, I spend more and more time demystifying things. When someone says they don’t understand how something works or how amazing something is, I jump in to explain it to them – how physics works, how the universe works, how the human body works. I have a personal project, and it is to demystify the world as much as possible.
Mystery is a property of the human experience. “Mystery” isn’t just something that is unknown. Mystery extends into the unknowable, the unbelievable and the incomprehensible. It is the feeling in our guts that something lies beyond us. It’s the feeling that our ancestors used to create all manners of tales about how the world around them worked.
But mystery is worse than that. It is an acceptance of ignorance. It is the label of our reluctance to comprehend.
I spent years studying psychology, for better or worse. I certainly am not a psychologist in the sense that it is not my career. I am certainly a psychologist in how I think and what I know. The same can be said of philosophy – I spent years studying it, but professionally, I am not a philosopher. But conceptually, I don’t think anyone who knows me could describe me for long before “philosophy” became one of the words they used.
Psychology taught me that the human brain is nothing if not lazy. Prejudice is a useful tool, but it causes a lot of error. Mystery is a similar tool. It’s very good that we have a filter which stops us from exploring every single unknown. But much like prejudice and experience lends itself to racism, mystery lends itself to willful ignorance.
I enjoy demystifying things quite a bit. But I have another hobby – remystifying things.
I am taken with how the world is simultaneously starkly credulous and strikingly incredible at the same time. I think everyone lives a bit of this, but they rarely put it together on the same object. A chef might make a delicious steak, but experience complete confusion when they consider for a moment how an mp3 player works. Meanwhile, the computer engineer who made the mp3 player has no clue why the steak he’s eating tastes so good.
But for me, I can speak in boring terms about how life has developed and progressed on Earth as if it doesn’t impress me. In the next breath, however, I can talk poetically about the overwhelming diversity of life, about the arms race of evolution, and about the amazing functionalities of various adaptations of species.
And both of these ideas represent my true feelings. The distinction is not a line of difference, but just a statement of a rotating perspective. If you see one side of a cube, you can’t actually be certain it’s a cube. Rotating it reveals a lot more information, and might confirm some of your suspicions about its shape.
Mystery can be a stance of ignorance. But once we remove that ignorance – once we have some knowledge and understanding of something, and dismiss our fear that it might be unknowable – we can reintroduce the feelings of awe. We can understand how something works but also recognize the sublime brilliance of it.
The real problem is when we see the mysterious as unknowable… and at the same time we see the known as unremarkable.