I cannot fathom how light works. I didn’t realize this incomprehension until my professor introduced quantum mechanics to my Advanced Chemistry class; I was met with astonishment at my own ignorance that I’m sure Sam had not intended to instill in me. My illiteracy about light’s behavior jarred me; despite my reliance on light, I had never questioned why some particles, or waves, can make others more or less visible to us. I’ve found that I’m often incognizant of my incognizance until this very ignorance is brought to my attention. How can I anticipate what I do not know when the world is nearly completely composed of things that I do not know? It would seem as though I absolutely can’t, but if that’s so, how could de Broglie and Schrödinger and Heisenberg discover concepts like the wave nature of light and electromagnetism when these concepts are invisible to the human eye? As entitled as it may make me seem, I’m asking, how could humans know not to take things for granted?

I have no idea. I simply know that humans examine the world around them as expansively and as microscopically as they can. We have theorized the processes of subatomic particles invisible to the most complex microscope we have been capable of constructing, and we have studied galaxies as far away as UDFj-39546284 with the Hubble Space Telescope, that our discoveries regarding the subatomic particles mentioned earlier, allowed us to create. We try to use the world, as far as we can scour it, to find answers whose sum will presumably help us understand the “meaning of the world” or “life” or whatever else we’re seeking.

Like the majority of my species, I too seek knowledge. I have an immense fascination with space. I am deeply attracted to the study of the expansiveness of the universe and feel that this study would better my philosophical contentment with the world; being reminded that I am one element in our macrocosm would take pressure off of the decisions I make and things I do. However, I would need a vast amount (it seems to me) of factual, scientific knowledge to reach this metaphysical understanding of the world that so intrigues and eludes me. While I am interested in gaining this intelligence, I wonder whether it would assist my perception of the universe or obscure it with facts and numbers and calculations whose importance would be exaggerated and overwhelming here on earth. I fear forgetting the irony behind David Mermin’s quote, “Shut up and calculate!” Ironically, it’s easy to be distracted from the truth by knowledge.

Through frustration with my own learning, I’ve realized that humans are not powerful enough to make any dent in the discovery of this answer. This realization has served somewhat as an outlet for my dissatisfaction in what I can comprehend; any amount of intellect I am possibly capable of obtaining is next to nothing in comparison to the scheme of the universe. Humans, as a whole, have knowledge that seems expansive, but it only seems expansive to us. It’s easy to forget how tremendously infinitesimal we are. Each of our realities are viewed only through the lens of our vessels, our bodies, which humans use as the reference point to compare the sizes of everything. We relate our importance to our surroundings, yet we are surrounded by far more than we know. When we forget this, we try to use our knowledge, a microscopic portion of the world, to understand its entirety.

I want to be satisfied with what I know (or what I think I know). Everything I could possibly learn in this lifetime is incomparable to the vast amount of information that exists in the entire universe. The multimillions of books and scripture we created to record our precious proficiency over the centuries allowed us to fall into the danger of seeing it as all the knowledge that exists. We must be humble in our intelligence. Despite our arrogant idea of absolute human superiority, we must realize that the world is comprised almost solely of things beyond our mental capacity. Humans are inclined to learn and discover, and I want to indulge in this curiosity - but I want to indulge in it through a lens of humility.

Although humans are naturally inclined to seek the answers all of our questions, upon contemplation, I realize that I don’t want to be entirely aware of the world. Illuminating the world with too many facts eclipses an appealing whimsey that the chaos of life brings me. As Annie Dillard explains, “We really only have one light, one source for all power, and yet we must turn away from it by universal decree.” If we obsessively shed light upon every fact in the world, this very light would blind us to the joy that satisfaction with our incomprehension can bring. It’s fortunate that humans are so tiny; our size gives way to the immortal pursuit of knowledge that delights, frustrates, and engages humans in lives that would otherwise be even less meaningful than they already are. Michelle Nijhuis describes science as “a quest, and as such it’s one of the oldest and most enduring stories we have. It’s about searching for answers, struggling with setbacks, persevering through tedium and competing with colleagues all eager to put forth their own ideas about how the world works.” Science is a story that will outlive the human race by a degree I can’t comprehend. It gives knowledge that allows us to postulate both the contention that all is meaningless, as well as the belief that there may be order and purpose to this place that we have found ourselves in. While the human inclination for knowledge is sometimes overwhelming, I must remember to simply enjoy myself in this wonderful place I have found myself in; in order to do so, I must accept the beautiful notion that I will never fathom the reason behind it. It’s nice to be awakened by the light of the sun and let it remind me that I am intrinsically a factor of this immeasurable, prodigious cosmos, whether or not I understand how, and amuse myself in speculating why.