dichotomy

I’m reading the absolutely incredible book Facing the Mountain, and, most recently this line grabbed my attention:

To Higuchi, who had, in recent weeks, written so many sorrowful letters to grieving parents, who had buried the mangled bodies of so many good-hearted young men, it did not seem plausible that such extraordinary beauty and such horror could exist in such proximity to each other. For the first time doubt had begun to fray the edges of his faith.

Higuchi was a chaplain in World War II and he had the thought in a plush red velvet seat in an opera in Naples during a break in the action.

But that is the key isn’t it? How can a world exist where 22 year-olds have access to lear jets and yachts in Monaco and where other 22 year-olds are dying from harvesting toxic chemicals in Asia? How can there be such extraordinary beauty and such horror right next to each other? How can any kind of god with any kind of power just let it roll like that?

I don’t know. But I do know that I think we want to not have to deal with it so we try to cut them off in our brains. Those kids on the yacht aren’t happy - they’re spoiled. Or let’s pretend they don’t exist. Those kids harvesting chemicals are actually happier than the other kids. Or thank god I’m not like that and have such a better life. Or let’s pretend they don’t exist because it’s too much.

How can I be so lucky? How could I not have been luckier, like them? It’s this constant tension of life - the horror and the beauty that really does seem to get under my skin, if I’m honest.

So, what to do?

I’m not sure, except to face them both head-on and acknowledge them for the seeming randomness that life sometimes is… for what they are. What other choice is there that doesn’t lead to jealousy, ignorance, or trying to appease some power in the universe that we believe is handing out those dice - and doesn’t seem to be with any kind of discernible pattern.