...Plato believed that all philosophy began with wonder until it was replaced by knowledge. He argued that there was a world of difference between belief and knowledge. Belief, he said, was the position of a child; knowledge was that of an adult. Actually, going back to the Greeks gives us a fascinating word and philosophical journey, which perhaps gives us Plato’s context. The Greek word for wonder is thaumas. Thaumas was one of the sea gods and his name was derived from the Greek word thaumatos, meaning “a miracle or wonder.” Thus, by his name he represented all the sea-born wonders.

The world of fantasy and of the fantastic was captured in that word. But this is where it becomes very intriguing. In his Republic, Plato relates a conversation between his brother Glaucon and Socrates. Socrates is explaining to Glaucon that human understanding of ultimate reality is more like seeing the shadows than it is grasping the substance. To illustrate his point he imagines a cave in which he sees human beings chained from childhood, facing a wall with their backs to the opening of the cave. The light coming into the cave from the outside casts shadows of all that is happening on the outside onto the walls of the cave. There is no way, says Socrates, that anyone looking at the wall would be able to distinguish what is real from what is not. They would only know the shadows. If they could be freed and released from the cave, at first the light would blind them, so much so that the most painful thing would be to see the source of the light itself. But over time, they would get used to it and see reality as it really is, including the light itself.

Now, let’s pull this all together. Thaumos’s wife was Elektra, “the amber-tinged clouds.” His daughters were Harpyiai, “the whirlwind,” and Iris, “the rainbow.” All of these words combine mystery and power, but three in particular have carried over into the English and open a marvelous vista for the eyes and mind.

From “Glaucon,” we, in English, get the word glaucoma, the disease of the eye that puts such pressure on the eyeball that it puts shadows on everything, resulting in clouded vision. Even in our day, “glaucon” is the medication used to fight glaucoma.

“Iris” is that part of the eye that is so beautifully colored itself, with its radial and concentric muscles and contractile capacity to respond to the intensity of light. Through its central aperture, light is processed so that we see the grand tapestry of colors so magnificently present in this world.

And “Thaumos”? I cannot help but wonder if it might be the root word from which we get the Anglo-Saxon name Thomas. It was the apostle Thomas who wondered whether Jesus had really conquered death. It was Thomas who said to Jesus, “I will not believe until I can ‘see’ and ‘touch’” (see John 20:25). And when he saw and touched the Lord, the encounter completely redefined reality for him, which had to that point been prejudiced against the miracle. When he saw the risen Christ, who had delivered exactly what He had promised him, that He was the Way, the Truth, and the Life—his heart was filled with wonder and he knelt in awe, saying, “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28).

...

Wonder is that possession of the mind that enchants the emotions while never surrendering reason. It is a grasp on reality that does not need constant high points in order to be maintained, nor is it made vulnerable by the low points of life’s struggle. It sees in the ordinary the extraordinary, and it finds in the extraordinary the reaffirmations for what it already knows. Wonder clasps the soul (the spiritual) and is felt in the body (the material). Wonder interprets life through the eyes of eternity while enjoying the moment, but never lets the momentary vision exhaust the eternal. Wonder makes life’s enchantment real and knows when and where enchantment must lie. Wonder knows how to read the shadows because it knows the nature of light. Wonder knows that while you cannot look at the light you cannot look at anything else without it. It is not exhausted by childhood but finds its key there. It is a journey like a walk through the woods, over the usual obstacles and around the common distractions while the voice of direction leads, saying, “This is the way, walk ye in it” (Isaiah 30:21 KJV). It is not at all surprising that of the seventy usages of the word wonder in the Old Testament, nearly half of them are by David, the sweet singer of Israel. Wonder and music go hand in hand. Wonder cannot help but sing. Even nature recognizes that.

I stand amazed in the presence
of Jesus the Nazarene,
and wonder how he could love me,
a sinner, condemned, unclean.

How marvelous! How wonderful!
And my song shall ever be:
How marvelous! How wonderful
is my Savior's love for me!

For me it was in the garden
he prayed: "Not my will, but thine."
He had no tears for his own griefs,
but sweat-drops of blood for mine.

In pity angels beheld him,
and came from the world of light
to comfort him in the sorrows
he bore for my soul that night.

He took my sins and my sorrows,
he made them his very own;
he bore the burden to Calvary,
and suffered and died alone.

When with the ransomed in glory
his face I at last shall see,
'twill be my joy through the ages
to sing of his love for me.

How marvelous! How wonderful!
And my song shall ever be:
How marvelous! How wonderful
is my Savior's love for me!

My Lord, what love is this
That pays so dearly
That I, the guilty one
May go free!

Amazing love, O what sacrifice
The Son of God given for me
My debt he pays, and my death he dies
That I might live, that I might live

And so they watched him die
Despised, rejected
But oh, the blood he shed
Flowed for me!

And now, this love of Christ
Shall flow like rivers
Come wash your guilt away
Live again!

Amazing love, O what sacrifice
The Son of God given for me
My debt he pays, and my death he dies
That I might live, that I might live
That I might live!

It is commonly said that the modern world is reverting to paganism, and Chesterton would agree, but for quite a different reason than that commonly proffered. When alarmed pietists say the world is reverting to paganism, they mean the modern person is enjoying himself too much. When Chesterton says the modern world has reverted to paganism, he means the modern person is, like the pagan, no longer able to enjoy anything. "The pagan set out, with admirable sense, to enjoy himself. By the end of his civilization he had discovered that a man cannot enjoy himself and continue to enjoy anything else." The secret sin we share with the pagans is egocentric despair. We, like they, are first sated, then satiated, then bored, then unhappy. The twenty–first century may become even more pagan than the twentieth, and if it does, it will not be because its citizenry is shamelessly happy, but for the very opposite reason: they will have reached the same end that paganism reached. "When the pagan looks at the very core of the cosmos he is struck cold. Behind the gods, who are merely despotic, sit the fates, who are deadly. Nay, the fates are worse than deadly; they are dead."

"The test of all happiness is gratitude," Chesterton wrote, and many of us have flunked that test. "Children are grateful when Santa Claus puts in their stockings gifts of toys or sweets. Could I not be grateful to Santa Claus when he put in my stockings the gift of two miraculous legs?" We feel no wonder at ordinary things; it is no wonder that ordinary things disappoint us. Chesterton could be made happy by the sudden yellowness of a dandelion, but we do not find dandelions delightful if we are constantly comparing them to orchids. "It is not familiarity but comparison that breeds contempt. And all such captious comparisons are ultimately based on the strange and staggering heresy that a human being has a right to dandelions; that in some extraordinary fashion we can demand the very pick of all the dandelions in the garden of Paradise; that we owe no thanks for them at all and need feel no wonder at them at all." The twin brother of this presumptive attitude is despair, and the two make us sick and tired. "Pessimism is not in being tired of evil but in being tired of good. Despair does not lie in being weary of suffering, but in being weary of joy. It is when for some reason or other the good things in a society no longer work that the society begins to decline; when its food does not feed, when its cures do not cure, when its blessings refuse to bless."

...the Psalmist, Asaph, cried out, "Whom I have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever" (Psalm 73:25-26). Nothing on the earth--none of God's good gifts of creation--could satisfy Asaph's heart. Only God could. This is what David meant when he said to the Lord, "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you " (Psalm 16:2).

David and Asaph teach us by their own God-centered longings that God's gifts of health, wealth and prosperity do not satisfy. Only God does. It would be presumptuous not to thank him for his gifts ("Forget not all his benefits," Psalm 103:2); but it would be idolatry to call the gladness we get from them, love for God. When David said to the Lord: "In your presence there is fullness of joy, in your right hand are pleasures for evermore," (Psalm 16:11), he meant that nearness to God himself is the only all-satisfying experience of the universe.

It is not for God's gifts that David yearns like a heartsick lover. "As a deer longs for flowing streams, so longs my soul for you, O God, for the living God" (Psalm 42:1-2). What David wants to experience is a revelation of the power and the glory of God: "O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where no water is. So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory" (Psalm 63:1-2). Only God will satisfy a heart like David's. And David was a man after God's own heart. That's the way we were created to be.