Plague Journal, The Bounds of Possibility
Perhaps I ought to select a unique title for what will be or has been written today. Though, the order of the day, and for many days ahead will be “social distancing.” The days ahead will entail a large helping of boredom.
That means avoiding contact, as close of 6 feet with others. Remaining at home, foregoing the comfort of each morning at Starbucks, holding a warm coffee cup, listening and commenting upon the hopes and anxieties of the day, with the townspeople whose first names you’ve committed to memory. That is a snapshot of a normal time. These are not normal times.
The spread of the virus must be slowed, to preserve the capacity of our medical facilities to care for the seriously ill. We know that many will need a ventilator in order to survive. I am unable to imagine being unable to breathe on my own. No matter. The virus has no concern or awareness of my imagination. It simply replicates as opportunity is presented. A virus is a force of Nature, and this one has the advantage.
To lapse for a moment into a philosophical mode, Nature always has the advantage. Nature is the cradle, the mother that nurtures us to life. Good health, strength of body and mind is a priceless gift. Nature is also a destroyer. The large scale events, by human standards momentous, the hurricanes, earthquakes, or a change in sea level summarily wipe out a city. As lethal are the invisible movements of Nature, such as a virus too small to be captured with an optical microscope.
I find solace in Nature. Yesterday was gray, raining. Still I went to the Fabyan Park on the east bank of the Fox River. Remaining in the car for at least twenty minutes contemplating the flow of the river, I looked across at the statue of the Roman Eagle standing tall on the island in the river. The photo captures the symbol of Roman civilization framed by twigs dripping moisture, grounded by the robust current flowing southward… The falling rain, the drop of moisture poised to fall from the twig, the powerful current are dispassionate, without prejudice, not subject to my patronage.
Another photo of the buttercup sprouts emerging from the ground in the backyard. Soft green is the color of new life.
For your contemplation, and your appreciation of the language, I offer Camus reflection upon plague conditions in a past time.
The clang of an unseen streetcar came through the window, briskly refuting cruelty and pain. Only the sea, murmurous behind the dingy checkerboard of houses, told of the unrest, the precariousness, of all things in this world. And, gazing in the direction of the bay, Dr. Rieux called to mind the plague-fires of which Lucretius tells, which the Athenians kindled on the seashore. The dead were brought there after nightfall, but there was not room enough, and the living fought one another with torches for a space where to lay those who had been dear to them; for they had rather engage in bloody conflicts than abandon their dead to the waves. A picture rose before him of the red glow of the pyres mirrored on a wine-dark, slumbrous sea, battling torches whirling sparks across the darkness, and thick, fetid smoke rising toward the watchful sky. Yes, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility….
— excerpt The Plague by Albert Camus p.37
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, The Bounds of Possibility”
We humans believe that we are above nature, that our cleverness and God given dominion over all creatures great and small (even a virus) must give us dispensation with regard to illness. Of course, that it not the case, as has been proven over and over throughout the millennia of history. But we refuse to believe historical records, instead believing that the modern iteration of our species has it all figured out. We don’t. And we won’t. Until we come to the realization that nature has always had and will always have the upper hand, we will continue to fantasize about our infallibility.
Infallibility….. Fantastic and sad is the epitaph that could be waiting for us. Perhaps we still have time to be human.