“He not busy being born is busy dying” is a line from Bob Dylan’s song, It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding). The cycle of life from birth to death has, in one way or another, been a major subject of literature in all forms. At some point (and perhaps that should be “points”) in life, everyone recognizes the process of aging. Death is universal and connects us all. A long time ago (1624), a poet named John Donne said it this way:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
We are all in “this” together—whatever “this” might be, perhaps the “adventure” of being human. The great American writer, Henry James, said it this way: Live all you can; it’s a mistake not to.
Regardless of what happens, we are all affected by it. And, although it doesn’t always seem that way, everyone is always doing the best he or she can. William Wordsworth ends his great poem, Intimations of Immortality, with the following lines:
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
For one reason or another, all life seems interconnected. As the Little Prince said in the novel by Antoine de Saint Exupéry, “Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” We can’t always see the connections, but they are there—even when they are invisible to the eye. We (humans) tend to focus on the mundane and miss the extraordinary. The obvious reason for that is the need to attend to the needs of the day, seeing with “the eye” rather than with “the heart.” Our every-day language—and our day-to-day concerns—need to focus on meeting our daily needs for food, shelter, and sleep. Everything else is “luxury.” This is what makes art so extraordinary.
Our most primitive ancestors living in caves took time and made the effort to put drawings on the walls of their caves, using the drawings to commemorate or perhaps magically influence hunting success. Our medieval ancestors put a lot of time and effort into structures, art, and music to invoke and celebrate the human sense of spiritual connection. There is, however, no accounting for the ways people seek to establish (or re-establish) connection with the divine. Prayer is common, although the forms of prayer vary widely.
Self-punishment is also common, although the forms of self-punishment also vary widely. The unifying sense is that denying or punishing the body enhances the spirit by enabling the spirit to reach out to connect with higher forms of consciousness or “being.” In Andrea del Sarto, Robert Browning puts it this way: “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, / Or what’s a heaven for?”
Although it may not seem like it, everyone is doing the best they can given what they know. Their behavior will change when they know more. One of the major turning points in history is usually referred to as the Age of Enlightenment or the “Age of Reason.” Superstitions began to be abandoned and replaced by logic and reason. Although from our current perspective, it seems as though we (humans) are still highly influenced by beliefs not tethered to reality, my sense is that’s about to change. Humans have always “struggled” with turmoil, but turmoil is the precursor of change. It’s alright, Ma. I’m only bleeding: