Teaching Awe in Our Universities and Yeshivot

In the last essay we discussed how memory makes it difficult to live in awe. Memory is founded on frequency of occurrence, which creates the illusion that existence is normal. The truth however is that we do not know why things are the way they are. We know how the laws of nature work; we know what happens but we do not know why things happen. The “why” of things is completely obscure and science has never been able to answer this question. It was the famous scientific philosopher Karl Popper (1902-1994) who stated: “We do not know, we can only guess and our guesses are guided by the unscientific, the metaphysical…” Ultimately, a thoughtful person will experience awe. The next essay in this series discusses the consequences of this experience.

As mentioned in our previous essays, what is at stake is not just our lack of amazement when we consider the very existence of this universe, the miraculous functioning of our brains, the existence of millions of stars, and the uncertainty of the laws of nature. We need to know what to do with this awareness and the resulting awe when we experience it. The experience alone will soon vanish if we do not invest in it.

No civilized person is without some concern for truth, beauty, love and wonder. But we need to recognize that no one ever earned the capacity to stand in awe. Nor has anyone earned the experience of love or beauty. One is born with the capacity to experience these things. All what one can do is to develop them. But they are gifts, not rewards earned.

This leaves us with an enormous problem. How can we make ourselves worthy of these stunning insights? And how can we make sure that these insights stay with us? After all, without some kind of response to these undeserved gifts there is no human dignity, and these gifts go unrecognized. These gifts require a response.

It should be embarrassing to realize that we enjoy hundreds of awesome gifts and not one of them is really earned.

To pay or debts

Our first concern should therefore be, how can I make myself worthy?

We then need to feel the need to pay our debt. Only through recompense can a person attain dignity. Next, we must ask ourselves, to whom shall I pay my debt? It is this question which stands at the foundation of all human life. With this recognition comes the realization that this ultimate question must be asked.

It is here that God’s existence becomes crucial.

If there is a Divine Giver of all these gifts, we know to Whom we need to give thanks. If there is no Divine Giver, where shall we go with our need to be worthy?

This is the underlying problem of secularism; what to do with myriads of wonders which remain unexplained? This problem lies at the doorstep of unhappy societies where people walk around subconsciously frustrated by the lingering question of why—and the awe it generates—without even being aware of the cause of their frustration. Being human is to realize that we enjoy a multitude of gifts and that we need to express our appreciation for them.

One might argue that this fundamental human need is an indication that there is a Divine Giver. But even without positing a Giver, the only reasonable alternative is to live a conditional existence, to act as if such a Giver exists.

Now, it may be argued that most people have no need for a Giver, and can live happily without Him. However, they do not realize that subconsciously this bothers them greatly, leaving them no peace. They have not consciously rejected gratitude, but rather, subconsciously deny the need for it. To admit that one does not deserve anything is a blow to one’s ego. To bow one’s head and to say “thank you” can be experienced as humiliation. And so many people do their best to ignore this challenge, or at least, pretend to do so.

Just as a fish does not realize that it is surrounded by life-giving water, so we constantly deny that we are surrounded by thousands of gratuitous gifts.

There are but three things that truly concern human beings: birth, life, and death. And yet, people are unconscious of their birth, mostly suffer when they die, and neglect to live in the present. It is this obliviousness which causes people to live unhappy lives.

The desperate Need for a University Chair for Awe

The essential problem is that we do not teach people how to live with awe. No university—or even Yeshiva—teaches its students the art of awe. There is no department in any of these institutions called the “Faculty of Awe.” This is a crucial failure. It results in a constant misrepresentation of facts in the classroom. Every lecture on science should begin with a few minutes dedicated to awe, in which the teacher should explain to his or her students that what they are discussing is, in terms of “ordinary” knowledge, in fact ineffable, that science can explain only the how and the what, but not the why. Often the teacher gives the impression that science has already answered—or will someday answer—all questions. Millions of people fall victim to this illusion. It is therefore incumbent upon the teachers to invoke wonder in their students, and to make them tremble.

The opposite of good is not evil, said Eli Wiesel, but indifference. We have created a society of apathy, where we take our lives for granted. We, as educators, have denied our students the opportunity to be elevated, to become people capable of wonder. Instead, we teach them monotony and contentment.

The failure of Religion and the Yeshivot

But who really wants to live in contentment?

This has also become a major problem for religion. Religion, throughout the ages, served to comfort the troubled. But that was never its purpose. Its purpose is to trouble the comfortable; to make people uneasy, to surprise them. Instead, religion has fallen victim to secularism. It teaches people to live in complacency. And conventional religious leaders do not have the courage to protest. Religion collectively signed off on this state of affairs, bowed its head and became irrelevant, dull, oppressive and insipid. To revive religion requires it to nurture awe and wonder. But the ability to wonder is something that must be carefully taught.

Today’s yeshivot are failing to inspire their students because they also are not teaching the art of awe. Anybody who properly learns a page of the Talmud knows that these texts are not only surprising and exciting, but totally mind-boggling. And yet, they are taught by rote, without passion. The extraordinary and astonishing art of Talmudic debate has been lost.

How then can religion reinvent itself? How can yeshivot again become fountains of life instead of a deadening experience? We will explore this in the next essay.