We need to find a way through life, before we die Compassion and decency
Death concentrates the mind. Especially the death of the just. A few days after sharing in a memorial celebration of a beloved family member, with other family members, I sat with an old friend breaking bread. And we talked about how best to manage the “golden years”; the later and last; the final approach.
How best to descend? What is the glidepath? Travel? Volunteering? Simplifying? Or simply enjoying every sandwich, in the words of Warren Zevon.
We need a way
Perhaps, to paraphrase Pope Benedict on the pathway to prayer, there are as many ways as people. But I am pretty sure there needs to be a way, a path. And I am pretty sure there are some false ways. Some are sand traps.
My old friend and I sat and talked about the traps — the trap of money; the trap of career; of busyness and workaholism. Is productivity itself a trap?
Better to be productive than idle, or lazy. Right? Sloth is a deadly sin. But maybe not always better to be productive than to listen, watch and wait.
My wife and youngest son and I saw a remarkable film recently, made by Wim Wenders, one of the great listeners of cinema. Nothing much happens in “Perfect Days.” It’s about a man who, for a job, cleans toilets. Otherwise, he reads books, rides his bicycle, and loves trees, which he nurtures as saplings and photographs as giants.
It is a portrait of a man who lives his life with simplicity, humility, and integrity. He does, every day, in every activity, what a friend of mine once told me he would do when his cancer doctors were out of weapons: “Just try to make it holy, somehow.”
Thus, the man in the movie, which takes place in Tokyo, greets each gray day with a look of wonder; of anticipation and appreciation. G.K. Chesterton said that gratitude doubles happiness.
Death concentrates the mind. Even more than birth, which opens and refreshes the mind.
My friend and I talked, over salad, fish tacos and too much loud piped-in music facsimile, about dichotomies: Building versus resting; great versus good; works versus grace. They are false dichotomies. Not only must everyone find his own balance, but we must all find it in the right time and place. And that’s a magic trick.
William O. Douglas, a former clerk of his once told me, was not a great jurist. But he was a great human being. That’s what he hoped to become — his goal all along.
Navigating life
In the poem “Bicycle Rider,” a father addresses his daughter: “Ride the bicycle of your will / Down the spine of the world, ... I will not say — Go slow.”
Life, said another friend recently, is a constant condition of crisis. We are mostly anxious and confused. And we are constantly choosing between good and evil without realizing it.
I don’t know about that. Life is movement, anyway. Perhaps not always meltdown. But many births and deaths, to be sure. And many pratfalls.
It would be impossible to navigate without humor. And music. And in both realms, music and laughter, there are many paths. But whole people know they need a way.
Many years ago, my daughter and I went to hear the Dalai Lama. He was on a rare visit to the U.S. and gave an even more rare public address. The most surprising thing, at the time, was how much he laughed.
The Dalai Lama says the purpose of life is to be happy. Not to achieve or contribute, but to be happy. Perhaps also surprising. But he says as well: “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”
“Happy,” I think, not as bliss or even fulfillment, but contentment; peace. Is this a happiness the world cannot give? “Can,” asked Goerge Orwell, “a socialist be happy?” Perhaps if he has a garden. And practices compassion.
Thomas Merton said: “We have what we seek. We don’t have to rush after it. It was there all the time, and if we give it time it will make itself known to us.”
Happiness is an art. Compassion — the responsibility to be decent — is a discipline. When this obligation is eclipsed in society, there can be no social peace. Culture wars and cancellations break out. But compassion is also a pathway to peace.
Orwell was not a religious man, but his great topic could be said to be decency: How can one live decently? How can society?
Decency needs a space, and a means of cultivating that space. As a garden needs space, nutrition, and light. Maybe the nutrient is conversation. Maybe the arts. Maybe faith. Plus laughter. A path for each person.