Invitation to a winter walk

In his seminal work “The Idea of the Holy,” 20th century German theologian Rudolf Otto discussed an experience he called the “mysterium tremendum” as the locus within which the holy has become manifest to mankind throughout religious history. The phrase can be loosely and inadequately translated as “tremendous mystery.” More specifically, for Otto, “mysterium” signifies the wholly other, that which is outside normal daily life and understanding. “Tremendum” signifies that which is overwhelmingly powerful, immensely larger than we are, and inspiring of awe and wonder.

Otto’s views on religious history may be too reductionist, but there is no doubt that many human beings have had such experiences, and that they have fed into spiritual traditions throughout the world for millennia. And while specifically religious structures or rituals have no doubt been the occasion for many such experiences, another common venue has been mankind’s encounters with the magnificence of nature. It is with this in mind that we chose a celebration of the natural wonders with which this area is so abundantly blessed as the theme for our holiday celebrations features.

On this editorial page, we frequently write about the importance of preserving our environment. In doing so, we generally cite practical arguments related to health or economic wellbeing. We do so not only because we believe such arguments to be true and important, but because they address a common ground of values shared by everyone. And we know of no rational, factual arguments that will persuade someone who does not care about natural beauty or the survival of other species for their own sake to do so.

But for once, in this period of religious holiday, we would like to reflect on values of nature that transcend practicality, but that we believe to be no less real.

Extensive natural gas drilling, the proximity of high-voltage transmission lines, clear-cutting and development that accelerates erosion and flood runoff do indeed threaten our health. They threaten the tourist and outdoors industries that provide bread to such a large segment of our local workforce. But beyond that, they threaten to poison a great and irreplaceable spiritual well.

Encounters with nature can remind us that we are not, and indeed should not be, masters and controllers of the universe. They humble us in the face of the unimaginably wonderful. Those who doubt the dangers of humanity’s “I am the controller” mentality need look no further than the out-of-control spiral of climate change, of overflowing landfills, remote and supposedly pristine waters polluted with pharmaceuticals, oceans that are almost fished out and aquifers not expected to last out the century. This attitude has not worked well. Perhaps humility is in order.

But there is a paradox: if in encountering the greatness of creation we give in to the idea that we are small and insignificant in comparison, we get back a wonderful gift. We find ourselves to be an integral part of something huger, more magnificent, more powerful—more “tremendum”—than we could ever come close to as long as we insist on our individual control.

If you’d like to understand more of what we’re talking about, here’s an invitation. Take a walk in the country. We know it’s cold. Choose a day that the roads aren’t icy, then bundle up. Adapting to the fact that the temperature will not bend to your will and cater to your comfort will be a first step.

Don’t just walk one mile. Go out beyond the point where the thread snaps. Go out until you’re not wondering about whether you should turn around, and how long it will take you to get home, and what you’re going to do when you get there. Let the landscape wash around you, behind and before.

The scenery will not scroll conveniently across a viewing screen for your amusement while you sit still, as it does in a car. Here, it is the great landscape, the hills and trees and fields around you, that hold still, with you a tiny speck crawling among them. Your own breath will be the loudest thing you hear; remember to stop from time to time and hold it so you can listen for the silence.

And, maybe, regardless of your particular religious beliefs, you will get a sense of the great triumphant vindicating power that Hopkins saw, as embodied in the last lines of his poem “The Grandeur of God:”

“Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.”

Also in this issue:

• Don’t squander the lease fund

Dr. Punnybone

Famous List Words