How the world really is
I read today that 9/11 shocked us from a complacent naivete and awakened us to the way the world really is. The idealists, this editorial asserts, believe in a world of hope and reconciliation while the realists know that the world is a terrifying place full of dreadful people seeking to destroy everything we care about. The realists know that we always need to be vigilant because suffering is only a heartbeat away and that things like art, community, and whatever affectations we wrap ourselves in cannot keep horror at bay. Nasty things lurk just outside our comfortable, too-frail bubbles.
I don’t deny that there are nasty things in the world. Nor should we pretend that they cannot hurt us. And yet, when did bad things become more “real” than the good ones? Why do the people who see only ugliness get to call themselves the realists? Is love so impotent and illusory? Is sickness more real than health? Are we only alive when we are unhappy? When the worst happens, do the best things vanish? Do people stop caring for each other? Do people think only of themselves? Do we stop believing in everything we once believed in? Are our ideals so fragile? Does the inevitability of our death mean we can never meaningfully exist? Is the entire project of civilization a denial of reality?
We are not as invulnerable as we pretend to be. Others can hurt us. We can hurt them. But the things we care about are real as well, even if they look distant through the shock and smoke of tragedy. In the most desperate times, the best things are most important. In a sudden medical emergency, we may not be aware of the doctors caring for us and of the family or friends watching by our bed. That does not make them less real. Let us not define humanity by our failings.
