MITCHAM: The universe and the imagination

The modern world is generally indifferent to the stars. They are distant, and we always seek the immediate. The lights in our hands transfix us far more than the lights in the sky. And the lights in our hands are pretty wondrous. The phones are a kind of human triumph, even as they can be really bad for us, too. But the stars are no less amazing if you give them attention.

I think of stars and of the universe all the time, not as much with an interest in the particulars of astronomy and this name versus that name, but with thoughts about scale and time and our own lives in relation to the inconceivable that is “out there.” If you think about it, “the universe” is simultaneously a real place and an abstract concept. We live within the universe, but we can’t visit it. So “the universe” is more imagination than reality in our lives.

Some time ago, a friend of mine and I had a long talk about the universe, about creation, about some of those big-picture ideas where I’m usually more interested in someone’s questions than their answers. Sometimes I enjoy such conversations. Sometimes I want nothing to do with them. Depends on the moment and the person.

This friend said something I still contemplate. He spoke of the universe as a vast imagination, a force, a God, a creator, something moving out there continuously making stars, planets, comets, galaxies. He spoke of the universe as evidence of a prolific joy that can’t help but create for the fun of it. He imagined each round sphere many trillions of miles away as the product of an expressive inner conversation for a creator, and he suggested that when we use our imagination to create something with all of our thought put into it, we’re sharing the same energy, and being a kind of kindred spirit to that. And to be destructive is to move against that good force.

I enjoy thinking about that. I think the inner dialogue of making things feels like a real connection to something. I don’t feel confident in defining that for anyone else. I just know it feels rich, feels good to me, as if I’m not alone in my head. Creating doesn’t have to be an art. It can be a house, a quilt, a garden, a meal, almost anything. When you’re making something with your best effort, there’s a process of inner talk that absorbs you. You sort of split into two people during the act — the person talking and the one listening, the doer and the observer. You are navigating your way toward something, and you might not know exactly how it ends, but there is a conversation necessary to get to the end point. And these inner conversations across time and within billions of people have given us modern civilization, and all the knowledge stacked on top of previous know-how gives us life as we know it, which is a complex human universe that took thousands of years to build. If you think about it, every word that ever occupies our minds is rooted in a previous story about how that word came to be. So, every thought holds something of our ancestors and their ancestors. Without them, we couldn’t utter a sentence and be understood. For a person to declare himself as completely self-made is to speak with a willful ignorance about all that happened prior to his first breath, and even afterwards, to build our civilization and keep it going. We’re connected in so many ways we don’t often acknowledge.

These thoughts come to mind when I think about the James Webb Telescope, which produced its first images of the universe this year. The success of this telescope is a far bigger news story than how it was treated in our short attention-span culture, the fact that humanity can now peer deep into the universe with 100 times the power of the Hubble Telescope. Whether or not you believe in God, the imagery from deep space is transcendent and mystical. It defies human understanding. The fact that we are alive right now, when humankind has achieved such a collective eyesight is itself a kind of blessing if we choose to acknowledge it. The project took incredible imagination and accumulated knowledge. No humans in history have been privy to what our eyes can now behold of what’s really “out there.” And this telescope will give us more and more wonders over the coming decade as its power is aimed out into space, revealing new creation.

There is so much about the world that can cause us anxiety and depression. It’s easy for me to focus entirely on all the negatives. I think that’s a trap in its way. It can be paralyzing. So this column is nothing more than me taking a few minutes away from the negativity and contemplating a true human achievement with some focused thought of my own.

There is truly a dual nature to human life on the planet. I think of that famous Charles Dickens quote from “The Tale of Two Cities,” and it rings true for me: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

I feel all of that, especially sitting on the front porch and looking out at the night sky. The stars are there for us to contemplate both the out there and the right here. It’s what humans have done across millennia. And I don’t ever regret putting the phone down and going outside in the evening, just sitting in silence and looking up, imagining what is really out there. Maybe you do the same.

Zach Mitcham is editor of The Madison County Journal. He can be reached at zach@mainstreetnews.com.