A good friend recently asked what it is about observing the stars that attracts me to the hobby. The question stopped me for a minute. I could have answered simply that the sky is under-appreciated these days, and that the beauty that lies there is largely undiscovered by the general population. But that would be true of much of science. As people seem more attracted to glitter and flash than to substance and true beauty, Astronomy and the rest of Nature seem a logical place to run for those of us in the know.
But how is appreciating Astronomy different from other sciences? And how is observing a cluster or nebula in a fine telescope different from listening to a great piece of music, or looking at a masterpiece of art? As far as the brain is concerned, there isn't much difference, actually. Ever since I was a teenager, I have been in search of a "natural" high. What is a natural high? Getting high without the drugs or alcohol that most people use to get there. Photography and Astronomy were two of the earliest ways that I discovered as a teen. My brain would go into high gear when I set out with my camera on a Saturday, or when I set up the telescope on a clear night. Unlimited possibilities abounded, and I never knew what discoveries lay waiting. Those early adventures stuck with me, and remain two of my favourite things to do. Then came martial arts, travel, the study of music, art appreciation and even model railroading.
Despite how varied these activities were, they all affected me in a similar way. They became highly addictive, worth repeating and enlarging upon. When two people fall in love, and it is obvious to their friends, people will say there is a "chemistry" between them. In a similar fashion, there is a lot of chemistry involved in observational astronomy and many other hobbies. To mention only one chemical that plays an important part in our brain's reward system, dopamine increases in the brain when humans and animals are involved in pleasurable pursuits. The use of the word pursuits here is not arbitrary. The chemical, which alters our facial expression and emotional response and makes us feel happy and "high", is increased when we are seeking. To those who seek, the chase itself often provides as much of a reaction as acquiring. In other words, once a person has collected all the books in a series, for example, the reward could recede to much less than when he was actively searching for and collecting them. When shoppers head to the mall, the excitement of the search is upon them. Arriving home and possessing the objects can be rewarding to the brain, but perhaps not as much as actually seeking for the objects and finding them in the shops (or on-line).
Astronomy is one of the most perfect hobbies for seeking. As I have outlined in my early entries in this blog, I derive nearly as much pleasure from planning my sessions beforehand, with maps, charts, facts and figures, as I do actually observing. Searching for a faint object prolongs the seeking, and despite the tiny greyish blob I might eventually track down, the reward, or feeling of satisfaction, of finding it can be out of all proportion to viewing the object itself. However, with a bright, showpiece object, the seeking is much easier yet the reward can still be--astronomical! As long as seeking is involved, the reward will be greater. After a certain amount of viewing time, another object will be sought. And so on. The universe, especially with a telescope, can appear endless in its majesty and beauty.
What about the person lying on a beach and just looking up at the night sky? It can be (and should be) an overwhelming experience. No seeking is involved initially, other than finding a comfortable position. If it is a new experience, I would say it can be very positive. If the experience is repeated night after night, however, then some seeking must occur to keep up the feeling of pleasure--searching for dimmer stars, the brightest stars, more coloured stars, trying to trace the constellation outlines, or possibly even searching for some meaning in one's life (once the apparent insignificance of it, compared to the vast universe, is grasped).
One of the many things I like most about Astronomy is that I can feel as if I am the only person on earth looking at something up there at that moment--and there is no litter lying around up there, no footprints from others who have come before; in fact, no sign of human existence anywhere. It's mine; all mine! Or, if I wish, I can share an object at the eyepiece with as many people as I can entice to look, making it into a community event. Astronomy is the ultimate in personal searching, or if desired, searching with others.
My wife has come out on many clear nights with me to observe, sitting in a comfortable chair with binoculars, and patiently waiting for me to find something of interest in the eyepiece. Being an artist, she often got the job of sketching complicated deep sky objects. However, the object would always be sitting in the center of the field of view when she came to the scope, so she was missing out on the seeking part of the hobby. When she recently began using a small telescope herself, her interest suddenly increased tenfold. She now had to decide which objects to seek, and then go and try to find them all by herself. What a difference that made in her interest in the hobby! Her seeking brought her much more reward than simply viewing.
There is no denying the beauty of celestial objects, especially if seen in binoculars or a telescope. Which is more beautiful, a flower or an open star cluster? A Beethoven Sonata or a painting by Rembrandt? Messier 22 or Messier 10? Fortunately, seeking answers to questions like these is meaningless. A masterpiece is a masterpiece, and a subject for some other discussion. I won't even try to determine if one star cluster is more beautiful than another, or if something made by humans is more beautiful than something from Nature. However, it does make me ponder which search was the more rewarding--the one for a bright, easy cluster, or the one for a faint and distant one? Both will give good results, but science will say that for experienced amateurs, finding the fainter one, even (or especially) if it takes a few attempts, will give a lot of satisfaction, too. Perhaps even more than viewing an easy, brighter object though that is a totally subjective area. So we now have a further incentive to seek out fainter double stars, galaxies, and such.
I have just recently reread "The Odyssey" of Homer (trans. Lattimore). How anxious was the hero to return home from Troy? It took him twenty years. Once home safe (and having taken his revenge on Penelope's suitors) Ulysses' story comes to an end. His years of seeking his homeland are what interest the reader, and are what kept the hero going during all his trials. Sound familiar? It's the journey, at least as much as the destination. How true this seems to be! Clear skies.
Mapman Mike
