This Kind of World
So, September 11th, 5 years later. It's strange, how long ago it seems in a way, and yet how close I can get to it if I really pay attention. Some of the profiles on the New York Times webpage today had me so close to tears, and all the feelings of confusion and pain and utter, utter sadness came back.
And of course, this brought along with it the questions of where we are, what kind of world we live in, what lays in store for all of us. I don't really know anymore. Some days, it all seems so laughably absurd. In a way, I've stopped worrying about it. Life is what it is, and we must accept that all we have is the time we've been given. (In the words of the wise old Gandalf.) This doesn't mean that nothing is worth doing, that nothing is worth worrying for, but it does mean that if you're going to be upset about something, then you have a moral responsibility to do what you can, in your sphere of influence, using the skills and talents you possess, to make things a little better. To be a force for good in a world of darkness.
Part of what's so beautiful about being human is our ability to construct meaning and light out of the darkness. To erect a path to a better life, given all the obstacles. The planet we live on is a miracle in and of itself, a something where nothing could have been. I'm not against the notion of God, but I'm not even speaking about divinity here. I'm just talking about the light in the darkness, and how we are able to keep the flame burning, even if it's just our flame, even if the wind is howling, and we can't see anything beyond the light on our cupped palm.
All of this has come up with me not just because of September 11th, but also because of a conversation I overheard at a party this past weekend. A man who is dating one of my friend's friends was saying how there was no way he could ever have kids. How could you? he asked. How could you bring a child into a world like this? How could you justify bringing a life into this kind of world? He kept on, arguing how wrong it would be, how terrible, how unconscientious.
I can think of many reasons one might not want to have children, but this reason never seemed legitimate to me. The world has always been "this kind of world" to the people who live in it--there always has been hate and killing and disease and despair, just as there has always been redemption and hope and love and sacrifice. It is the duality of the world. It just is.
One of the beautiful things about bringing a child into a world like this is the idea that you'd have another reason to do something positive in the world; because you wanted to make the world better for your child. Not to say that people must have children to do right by the world, but that desire to leave the world better off for future generations--yours or someone else's--is how we keep the chaos at bay and keep hoping for peace. If everything ended with us, what would keep us from indulging in pure selfishness? If everything ended with us, why would we bother planning a road that will take 50 years to finish, or why would we hope to write a novel if it all died with us? If our knowledge, experience and our love couldn't reach beyond ourselves, we wouldn't strive so hard to make a contribution. That is human nature.
I don't have any children yet, but even in a post-9/11 world, I do plan on bringing new life into the world, and I do plan on making the time I and my future children have on earth the best I can, using every resource at my disposal. This kind of world is my world, and I choose to live in it fully, eyes open, not afraid of my responsibilities to it.
Incidentally, the picture here is of Michelangelo's tomb. He didn't have any children, but he believed in using his talents and abilities to create, and in so doing, left a legacy of beauty and enlightenment that lives on 500 or so years later. Whatever his feelings on the chaos of his day, he didn't give up and take life to be pointless. Giving up on the world is a profoundly cowardly act, the easy way out, and an entry point for the darkness. Michelangelo's bones are turned to dust inside this tomb, but his flame still burns as bright as the days he was flesh.
And of course, this brought along with it the questions of where we are, what kind of world we live in, what lays in store for all of us. I don't really know anymore. Some days, it all seems so laughably absurd. In a way, I've stopped worrying about it. Life is what it is, and we must accept that all we have is the time we've been given. (In the words of the wise old Gandalf.) This doesn't mean that nothing is worth doing, that nothing is worth worrying for, but it does mean that if you're going to be upset about something, then you have a moral responsibility to do what you can, in your sphere of influence, using the skills and talents you possess, to make things a little better. To be a force for good in a world of darkness.
Part of what's so beautiful about being human is our ability to construct meaning and light out of the darkness. To erect a path to a better life, given all the obstacles. The planet we live on is a miracle in and of itself, a something where nothing could have been. I'm not against the notion of God, but I'm not even speaking about divinity here. I'm just talking about the light in the darkness, and how we are able to keep the flame burning, even if it's just our flame, even if the wind is howling, and we can't see anything beyond the light on our cupped palm.
All of this has come up with me not just because of September 11th, but also because of a conversation I overheard at a party this past weekend. A man who is dating one of my friend's friends was saying how there was no way he could ever have kids. How could you? he asked. How could you bring a child into a world like this? How could you justify bringing a life into this kind of world? He kept on, arguing how wrong it would be, how terrible, how unconscientious.
I can think of many reasons one might not want to have children, but this reason never seemed legitimate to me. The world has always been "this kind of world" to the people who live in it--there always has been hate and killing and disease and despair, just as there has always been redemption and hope and love and sacrifice. It is the duality of the world. It just is.
One of the beautiful things about bringing a child into a world like this is the idea that you'd have another reason to do something positive in the world; because you wanted to make the world better for your child. Not to say that people must have children to do right by the world, but that desire to leave the world better off for future generations--yours or someone else's--is how we keep the chaos at bay and keep hoping for peace. If everything ended with us, what would keep us from indulging in pure selfishness? If everything ended with us, why would we bother planning a road that will take 50 years to finish, or why would we hope to write a novel if it all died with us? If our knowledge, experience and our love couldn't reach beyond ourselves, we wouldn't strive so hard to make a contribution. That is human nature.
I don't have any children yet, but even in a post-9/11 world, I do plan on bringing new life into the world, and I do plan on making the time I and my future children have on earth the best I can, using every resource at my disposal. This kind of world is my world, and I choose to live in it fully, eyes open, not afraid of my responsibilities to it.
Incidentally, the picture here is of Michelangelo's tomb. He didn't have any children, but he believed in using his talents and abilities to create, and in so doing, left a legacy of beauty and enlightenment that lives on 500 or so years later. Whatever his feelings on the chaos of his day, he didn't give up and take life to be pointless. Giving up on the world is a profoundly cowardly act, the easy way out, and an entry point for the darkness. Michelangelo's bones are turned to dust inside this tomb, but his flame still burns as bright as the days he was flesh.
posted by Tiffany Hamburger at
5:58 PM
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