Astronomically Minute

I originally wrote this post on January 29th as a journal response to the excerpted quote from “Incomplete Nature” by Terrence W. Deacon. The exercise was to do a hermeneutic analysis of a particular phrase or idea that caught our attention. I love the idea of combining two, ultimately juxtaposed words.

Context: “In contrast, prior to the evolution of humans, the probability that any stone on any beach on Earth might exhibit this behavior was astronomically minute.”

Astronomically is the adverbial form of astronomical which is the adjectival form of astronomy: the branch of science that deals with “celestial objects, space, and the physical universe as a whole.” It comes almost directly from the Greek astronomos (star-arranging) via the Latin astronomia to the Old French astronomie then to the Middle English astronomy. In common use since at least the 12th century. Astronomical as the adjective has been in common use in English since the middle of the 16th century.

The Greek word that gives us astronomy (and thus, astronomically) is a compound word itself, composed of the stems astron meaning “star” and nomia meaning “law,” and is closely related with the Greek word for “name.” In literal terms, then, “astronomy” has the meaning of the “law of the stars” or represents the study of “naming” the stars. That is, studying them and the space within which they’re contained in order to understand their place.

The study of astronomy is also the study of the relationship among the objects within the universe: how they interact with each other. It’s also worth noting that in the 14th and 15th centuries, there was no separation between the study of the stars and planets as objects, and the study of the effect of those stars and planets on people, e.g., astrology: the logos – logic and reason – of the stars. In some senses, then, the study of stars is about the stars themselves, but also perhaps about the studier’s relationship with them.

It is in this way that “astronomically” juxtaposed with “minute” creates an impression. Humans are related to the stars in many ways, not the least of which is in the way posited by Carl Sagan that humans are “star stuff.” We are composed of and originate from the same cauldron of fire, gas, pressure, and space that formed the stars and planets billions of years ago. While there is no way of proving in any kind of quantitative way our connection with the points of light we see in the night sky, it is not an uncommon experience that people will be caught in awe or wonder at those distant glimmers, the patterns we discern between them, and the planets nestled amongst them.

For something to be astronomical, it must be beyond our ken. Something that has no other analogue worth uttering. The effect, then, of it describing “minute” is two-fold. Firstly, it lets us know that whatever is “minute” is so much so that it almost nil. Secondly, it reminds us of our source of physical being and the relationship we have with those things so much larger and so much smaller than ourselves. This is why I picked this word. I like its use in juxtaposition with the adjective it’s intended to modify.

Something being so small that it is grander on the grandest scale small is almost poetic. Minute. Tiniest. Smallest. Least of all. Astronomical. Largest. Contains everything. Greatest in size and space. Grandest in scope. When put together, the space between the words perfectly expresses the idea of not just simple or common randomness, but of an unlikelihood that is utterly profound. Like our own existence. Like our capability to understand the words, their juxtaposition, their meaning, and then jot down these notes.

The book from which I pulled this excerpt is about things-absent that define us. About the elusiveness of abstractions that are, in fact, what make humans human. It is a poetic treatise on the science of living, and a scientific enquiry into the poetry of existence. The book itself is a juxtaposition of two worlds: the Cartesian/Newtonian world of physical science, and the Phenomenological/Existential world of experiences. His use of the words to modify each other is purposeful and well-chosen, I believe. The excerpt discusses the unlikelihood of stones on a beach skipping themselves. That without the things-absent that make up homo sapiens, there would very, very, very likely be no rocks glancing off the surface of the ocean. From the vastness of space, however, and the great coercer that is time, a boy appeared on the beach to skip stones. The astronomical (the universe, planets, stars, dark matter, energy), the minute (quanta, photons, molecules, chances, gaps-between), and all that is in between.

The words aren’t just modifying each other, but are juxtaposed in such a way that we could easily be reminded of the miniscule probability of our own existence, and the astronomical importance that it can give to our own lives.