Throughout the semester my physics professor has shared spiritual thoughts each class, which may strike some as odd, but I’ve always found them to be immediately relevant and thoughtful. Today he shared his last thought, entitled “What Science Has Taught Me About Religion”. He began that science has not taught him very much about religion. However, it has taught, over and over again, that we really don’t know anything. This is one thing that I wish I understood more clearly. Because there’s something about it that makes learning become interesting.
If I don’t eventually end up living with an observatory in my home, I at least will need a house overlooking the sea. Or at least be nearby, where I can always be reminded of the sheer vastness of the unknown. Too often have I read through a book, thinking afterward that I finally knew what that book was about. Reading every line in a book won’t reveal what is between those lines, even if the Internet claims to. Or taught a class, thinking that my knowledge of that subject would be comprehensive. I wouldn’t dare teach something that I didn’t think I thoroughly understood myself. We’ve simplified physics down to countless laws that explain how the world works, but they do so imperfectly – there have always been missing pieces, new things to be discovered, that may completely change the way about which we see things.
What of our imperfect system of music? These laws that have been figured out, that ultimately tell us very little. Our beautiful artificial system built on irrationally-numbered frequencies, eventually carrying us to one of a dozen dominant-tonic relationships. Perhaps I could learn that after filling the gaps of my previously unknown music history that I may not have wanted to discover, I can still listen to music as I once did, as I learned to understand each piece and they in turn grew to impact me. Perhaps I may also learn that because I have so much to learn, I don’t need to know everything at once.
It is perplexing to my mind what range of thought is trapped in this tiny physical brain or ours. The way we think, we could fit within it an ocean, deep in thought and infinite in complexity. I want to be in harmony with all the sciences and arts, wisdom and knowledge. But even if learning were simply consuming any of this information as one does with water, information will not process into wisdom without intense effort. Just how slowly this process must be, and how great a mind must be to know anything of himself. Even if I feel that only by some higher being absolute truth can be revealed, how much truth can that even entail? It can either flow as a river, or be distilled as dew. I wish I could know just how much I don’t know. I wish even this statement made sense to me, because at once I think I understand it, while I know that isn’t entirely the case.
This is the way the mind flows, deeper and deeper into the unknown.