Utter Astonishment

Let’s begin by distinguishing wonder and astonishment. The sense of wonder is indeed the fountain from which authentic philosophy issues---wonder concerning the beauty of a bubbling brook or a raging snowstorm---wonder seems to be aimed at some phenomenon that is present and entails a perplexity which is felt alongside an experience of nature. This human ‘sense’ initiates philosophical inquiry: questioning and thinking.

Astonishment arises not from a specific phenomenon but from the startling, and immediate sense of the total sum of phenomena in the face of nothing.

The artist is amazed at the poetic majesty of the glowing horizon at the end of day or the reflection of the sunset on the surface of the lake---wonder gives forth a question of how this specific manifestation of beauty arises, not only in nature but within her sense. 

Later she is struck all at once with another question---one more disturbing, apparently groundless---but how is it that any of this appears to me at all? And more profoundly---how is it that I am sensing this? How is it that I am? How is it that any of this appears at all including me?

St. Augustine in The Confessions touches on both the sense of wonder and this more radical ‘sense’ of utter astonishment which calls into question the very ground of his own being, his soul: "For then shalt Thou rest in us, as now Thou workest in us; and so shall that be Thy rest through us, as these are Thy works through us. But Thou, Lord, ever workest, and art ever at rest. Nor dost Thou see in time, nor art moved in time, nor restest in a time; and yet Thou makest things seen in time, yea the times themselves, and the rest which results from time (Confessions Book 13).

By “astonishment” I am not referring to any cotidian marvel but the utterly astounding thought which first of all appears as terrible and full of awe. It is not clear how common this experience is, as for myself, I have never met a person who claims to have felt this, save for a few philosophers, and of course the greatest writers---St. Augustine, Heidegger, Dostoevsky. It is absolutely uncanny and springs up all at once---not in the senses but at the root of on’e being. Heidegger calls this ‘Nothing’---‘das Nicht’. Yet, the full sense of terror cannot be grasped by merely reading about this ‘phenomenon’---it must be directly experienced. 

Astonishment sends one reeling--the Oxford English Dictionary’s first entry for ‘astone; astun’ is “1. To stun; to strike senseless with a blow or partially senseless with a loud noise.” Further meanings are “to daze, to stupefy. strike mute with amazement, overwhelm one’s presence of mind, to confound, astound, astonish (‘Astone’ OED, p.521).” Such a dazzling is not brought about by one’s will. Rather it overcomes the thinker, creeping in and then all at once. Having experienced this one can never forget it. It is unique, primordial and undeniable. Heidegger also calls this ‘falling’ ‘Geworfenheit: thrownness. It is overwhelmingly complete and completely disarms the senses and mind. Leaving one with the most profound question: How is it that I am here and all of the universe besides? It is strange and alienating.

Incidentally, before we leave the etymology, one notices the term 'stone' in the root of 'astonishment'---indeed it is the same root as 'to get stoned'---in Dylan's Rainy Day Women: "everybody must get stoned." Better yet we hear this in Van Morrison's "And it Stoned Me":  And it stoned me to my soul/ It stoned me just like going home/ It stoned me."