Worn Like a Habit

The world is full of mysteries we barely even notice. Habit is the enemy of wonder. It saves us effort in every way and in that sense is a great blessing. At the same time wonder requires effort. It arises when something new floats into view and our habitual modes of reaction don’t instantly classify it into the known category and—for that very reason—nothing to spend time and effort on. We spend time and effort on what matters, and what matters is our comfort, physical first and then the more subtle kind. Least meriting sustained application are curiosities defying our efforts to understand them. Not surprisingly, therefore, neither the starry skies, nor a death in our circle, never mind puzzles in nature touch more than the margins of attention. In all three cases a widespread collective habit helps us escape the effort to think about the matter very long. There’s shopping to be done or the hamburgers need turning on the grill, or we roll our eyes a little and we think: “Well, science probably has an explanation.” Science usually does; but in pursuing that explanation  (it takes effort) we discover that science has its habits too and obeys the indolence that habit produces (its collateral damage) to frame answers in ways that in turn obey long-standing fashions.

The curious conclusion I reach is that real learning appears to demand a surplus of some kind of energy—one reason why in all spiritual paths on offer people are urged to minimize their attachments to the world, that word understood in one sense, so that they can really understand it, in another sense, at the core.