In the shadow of a world so often defined by its fractures—marked by the “bombs, missiles, and drones” of our daily headlines—Maria Popova reminds us of the enduring beauty of the human spirit. She points us toward the poet-naturalist Diane Ackerman, who once posed a question that is as much a scientific paradox as it is a spiritual one: “How can any system observe itself?”
The answer, found in the quiet lines of her poetry, arrives like a revelation: “With systematic wonder.”
For many of us, Lent has always been an architectural project. We treat our souls like aging houses, using these forty days to perform a rigorous structural inspection. We go hunting for the dry rot of ego, the leaky faucets of our discipline, and the cracked foundations of our kindness. We enter the season with a heavy checklist of repairs: Lose weight. Work harder. Speak less. Pray more.
In this traditional model, self-observation is an act of scrutiny, and the ultimate goal is correction. While there is certainly merit in the—the turning of the mind—that Lent demands, a diet consisting purely of self-criticism can leave the spirit malnourished and brittle.
Ackerman suggests a different methodology. Having spent her career marveling at the “sensory alphabet” of the natural world, she invites us to see ourselves through the eyes of a naturalist rather than a judge. If we are systems—biological, emotional, and spiritual—observing ourselves “systematically” does not have to mean observing ourselves critically. Instead, it means observing our own lives with the same rigor and awe we might apply to a distant nebula or a glowing deep-sea vent.
To observe yourself with systematic wonder is to acknowledge that you are a complex, breathing miracle. It is to recognize that the very atoms forged in the hearts of ancient stars are currently organized in a way that allows you to feel love, to endure loss, and to offer a simple cup of water to a stranger.
What if, this season, your “fast” was actually a fast from self-deprecation? Instead of the usual inventory of faults, consider a Lenten practice of divine admiration. Each of us is a unique, unrepeatable creation. When we stand before a sunset, we don’t say, “A little more purple on the left, please,” or “It’s fading too slowly.” We simply watch it with bated breath. Ackerman invites us to apply that same radical acceptance to the “system” of our own souls.
Lent is, after all, a journey toward the Resurrection. By practicing systematic wonder, we are acknowledging the—the image of God—resting within us. To admire the goodness in your own heart is not an act of vanity; it is an act of worship. It is a way of saying to the Creator, “I see what you did here, and it is marvelous.”
This week, as the drones and missiles remind us of the world’s systems of destruction, let us opt for the system of wonder. Look in the mirror not to find a blemish to fix, but to find a miracle to celebrate. After all, if the stars deserve our wonder, so does the consciousness capable of naming them.
Leave a Reply +