I've been thinking about moss this evening. Moss covers much of my backyard and I love that it does. I think it's beautiful. I'm happy to now live in Portland, a city weighed down by a green blanket of the stuff. I'm thinking of moss because of a book review I recently read. I may be purchasing the book, Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses, out of interest in the subject and respect for the writing as sampled in the review. The author, a scientist named Mary Oliver, writes with a poetry that brings her subject to life. Her plants are not simply a matter of scientific inquiry, but they are a mystery of the cosmos worthy of the respect that a philosophical mind should bring to all subjects.
“We poor myopic humans, with neither the raptor’s gift of long-distance acuity, nor the talents of a housefly for panoramic vision. However, with our big brains, we are at least aware of the limits of our vision. With a degree of humility rare in our species, we acknowledge there is much we can’t see, and so contrive remarkable ways to observe the world. Infrared satellite imagery, optical telescopes, and the Hubble space telescope bring vastness within our visual sphere. Electron microscopes let us wander the remote universe of our own cells. But at the middle scale, that of the unaided eye, our senses seem to be strangely dulled. With sophisticated technology, we strive to see what is beyond us, but are often blind to the myriad sparkling facets that lie so close at hand. We think we’re seeing when we’ve only scratched the surface. Our acuity at this middle scale seems diminished, not by any failing of the eyes, but by the willingness of the mind. Has the power of our devices led us to distrust our unaided eyes? Or have we become dismissive of what takes no technology but only time and patience to perceive? Attentiveness alone can rival the most powerful magnifying lens.”
I, of course, felt a certain kinship with Oliver as I read her words, having just recently spoken about attentiveness myself. However, it was her obvious reverence for life that reminded me of the beauty uncovered through the Stoic view of the world. In particular, I recalled Marcus Aurelius speaking of the foaming mouth of a wild boar.
“We should remember that even Nature’s inadvertence has its own charm, its own attractiveness. The way loaves of bread split open on top of the oven, the ridges are just by-products of baking, and yet pleasing, somehow; they rouse our appetite without knowing why.
Or how ripe figs begin to burst.
And olives on the point of falling: the shadow of decay gives them a peculiar beauty.
Stalks of wheat bending under their own weight. The furrowed brow of a lion. Flecks of foam on the boar’s mouth.
And other things. If you look at them in isolation there’s nothing beautiful about them, and yet by supplementing nature they enrich it and draw us in. And anyone with a feeling for nature - a deeper sensitivity - will find it all gives pleasure. Even what seems inadvertent. He’ll find the jaws of wild animals as as beautiful as painted ones or sculptures. He’ll look calmly at the distinct beauty of the old age in men, women, and at the loveliness of children. And other things like that will call out to him constantly - things unnoticed by others. Things seen only by those at home with Nature and its works.”
The Stoic eye can behold a wide-ranging beauty because it is unclouded by judgments that can muddy the view. The power of a lion stirs up admiration, even awe, but not fear. The process of decay, divorced from disgust, is understood as natural and perhaps, fascinating. The world is accepted by the philosophical mind and celebrated with reverence. Of course, Marcus Aurelius's connection to Nature was not just that of a natural philosopher. He understood Nature as a providential god. As for the moss scientist, I can't speak to her opinions. I can only say that there is nothing in the above passage by Marcus that is beyond the reach of the secular mind. I know I can often be caught up in the majesty of the natural world, awed by the events unfolding before me.
All this to say that I may be purchasing a new book soon. If I do, I expect it will end up on a shelf near to my philosophy books; as a reminder that as I seek to see the world clearly, I should expect to experience wonder at what I behold.
