Appreciation Grows With Knowledge

The car windows were open, and Carlos Santana was making his guitar sing out of our stereo in ways that few can imitate. With the wind in her hair, my wife commented from the passenger seat that she reckoned people who play guitar probably appreciate his solos more than she could. She’s an experienced musician herself, but her instrument is piano. I play guitar—but I wouldn’t claim such a thing in front of Carlos. Still, even my amateur knowledge makes me see the truth in what my wife said. I’ve tried to learn my scales and unlock the hidden order of the fretboard and train my fingers to move freely along it—and I have not succeeded. When I hear someone whose mastery of the instrument is as complete as Santana’s, I think my own attempts—as small as they are—really do make me appreciate his abilities in a different way. My limited experience with the instrument gives me the beginnings of a context for the kind of work he must have put in day after day and year after year to develop his seemingly effortless (yet in reality hard won) talent. I’d imagine if I was more accomplished at guitar myself, I would appreciate the skill of masters like Santana even more. As my knowledge of music grows, my appreciation grows along with it.

I think the same dynamic is true for pretty much everything—including this incredible world that we live in. Sometimes people seem to have an idea that learning the nitty gritty scientific facts about nature will rob the world of its mystery and wonder, but why should it? The hidden facts I’ve learned about our world are just as fascinating, if not more so, than my surface-level observations. Is a leaf less wonderful when you discover that it photosynthesises sunlight into energy and growth all day long? Is a hummingbird less awe-inspiring when you learn about its flight mechanics? I don’t think so. Is the forest less enchanting when you learn that the trees communicate with each other through the underground fungal network? Doesn’t that make it more enchanting? Does it rob the honey bee of mystery to know that it is equipped to see ultraviolet colours you’ll never see yourself? Doesn’t that make it more mysterious?

I know sometimes science can be taught as a boring, Latin-riddled memory game, but if you look beyond the unpronounceable titles you’ll see that every cell of every flower and every funny-looking microscopic organism is full to bursting with incredible details that will only make your appreciation of God’s wisdom and creativity grow as you grow in your understanding of them. This is true for mathematics, physics, chemistry, geology, medicine, music, and every other realm of knowledge with every detail we’ve ever discovered and so many more we’ve yet to uncover. God is a much more magnificent master than Santana, and the more you learn about his work, the more you’ll be able to appreciate his skill. Science is not the enemy of worship or of faith, as many have maintained. It is a close companion—a friendly teacher who whispers wonders in our ears and leads us to greater delight, greater awe, greater appreciation and worship for our masterful Creator.