One of the great tolls of living in a tumultuous time is the constant barrage of bad news. And not just news, but numbers, many of them worse than bad.
And yet we still have to live our own lives amidst the turmoil. We still have to get up in the morning, and tend to our loved ones, and water the plants or feed the dog or take out the garbage or prepare something to eat. Not only are our lives the only place we actually live, they are also the only place that change can hope to happen.
I thought of this recently when reading the last big book written by the psychologist C. G. Jung, the imposingly titled Mysterium Coniunctionis. The entire book is imposing, as is Jung’s academic and often dense way of writing.
But then, when you least expect it, he’ll suddenly say something simple and beautiful and profound. Such as this:
In the face of huge numbers every thought of individuality pales, for statistics obliterate everything unique. Contemplating such overwhelming might and misery the individual is embarrassed to exist at all. Yet the real carrier of life is the individual. He alone feels happiness, he alone has virtue and responsibility and any ethics whatever.
It’s a powerful reminder that each of our lives matters, and that how we live each of our days matters.
But what’s missing in the choice between statistics and uniqueness is how the people and places we live with and among can strengthen us in being uniquely ourselves and in facing, from there, what’s difficult in the world.
When we see ourselves as merely individuals, abstracted from the fabric of love and affection and reciprocity and care everywhere around us, of course we feel overwhelmed or miserable. But in the company of loved ones we can embrace our own path and work for change in the one place it matters–right here.
So each time I read the news and am tempted to throw in the towel, I try instead to look up, remember where I am, ask for a hug from my husband or from a friend, and go outside and contemplate something utterly unique.
Here’s what caught my eye this morning, a pair of young fuschias at the tail end of summer, here only now and never again to be repeated in exactly the same way:
What uniqueness is awaiting you today? And who can you share it with?
May everything unique keep statistics in their place, and keep us continuing to be ourselves.
Gratefully,
Thomas
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