Reflections on Perceptions

How do we characterize the way we see the world? One could argue that our awareness of the objects and colors around us has roots in biology; others might say that our ideologies shape our perceptions. But what happens when biology meets ideology? When the two separate spheres of science and humanity commingle is something new and disparate born from their happy marriage?

To use a very basic example, let’s think about the sun. What do we know about the sun, and how has a humanitarian or scientific approach shaped our beliefs about it? The Princeton dictionary defines “sun” as “a typical star that is the source of light and heat for the planets in the solar system” – a basic definition that very few would dispute. The definition, however, lacks any meaningful insight into the way the sun is interpreted globally.

If you were to observe the sun independently – isolated from a religious, astronomical, or historical background – what would you see? What would you think it symbolized? You could close your eyes and feel warmth, or watch it rise and set following an invisible path in the sky. Facts would slowly pile up, but would these facts be characterized with empirical analysis, or would you begin to answer questions about the object’s mystery with your own unique perspective?

Historically, of course, the latter occurred. Societies worshiped the sun as a deity. As a source of power and light, humans relied on the sun and it therefore invoked fear: when we depend on something so fervently, there is always the terrifying thought that one day it will cease to be there for us. In almost every primordial society there is evidence of stories explaining the sun’s rise and fall. Sun gods like Apollo (Greece) and Ra (Egypt) rode chariots to bring light to the sky every morning [see picture above]. Sun worship exists in many ancient religions, and some Judeo-Christian theologians argue that the first descriptions of Jesus Christ contain many parallels to Roman descriptions of the sun. [See Sol Invictus] Keep in mind that Christians observe “Sunday” as a day of rest and worship as well.

Centuries before the birth of Christ, a Greek philosopher Anaxagoras made one of the first scientific explanations for the Sun; he argued that it was a “giant flaming ball of metal,” but was sentenced to death for his modern beliefs. With the influx of astronomers and scientific theory regarding the solar disc in the sky, however, the myths and folklore pertaining to the sun slowly disappeared from Western culture.

And thus, when we try to define what the sun is today, we don’t describe a mysterious and powerful god ruling over the vast expanse of sky every day. We give facts about the Universe and cosmology. We think that we know what the sun is composed of physically, despite never being able to reach it personally. How did we come to rely on this specific perception of reality versus the primeval belief of the sun as an object of worship? It never ceases to astonish me that people can be deeply religious and believe in God and creation as laid out in Genesis, yet think that ancient societies’ belief in deities like the sun is just that – ancient.

So what can account for the emotions invoked by observing the sun? Why have artists and novelists been fascinated by its aesthetics and beauty? What inspires those reflective thoughts when watching a sunset? I find it personally fascinating that something we have so much scientific opinion about can also be quite astoundingly romantic.

Our conclusions about the world around us have deep humanitarian roots, but they are also characterized by a methodical and realistic evaluation of our surroundings. Can we ever observe the world independent from either perception? People say they identify with one or the other; they are a scientist or a humanitarian. I say that neither can exist without the other.