This Short Life Feels Beautiful to Us, Now More than Ever

The development of the epidemic in the UK is tracking what happened in Italy, a couple of weeks behind. Responses follow the same path: incredulity at first, fear, difficulty in accepting the reality, reaction times often far too slow.

It is difficult to accept the human fragility that this crisis exposes. We humans are not as powerful as we might have thought. In rich countries, we used to see the worst disasters happening elsewhere. In Italy, we watched China with a sense of security: it wouldn’t get to us. When the virus took hold, we watched other countries, including the UK, making the same mistakes. Only a few weeks ago, I heard an American saying on television: ‘We are the most powerful country in the world, the epidemic will do nothing to us.’ He no longer says so. It is a humbling experience for everyone.

It is not really anyone’s fault. It is not like war, triggered by human folly. There have been errors and negligence, of course, and we are certainly making more mistakes, but taking decisions in such unusual situations is difficult; we do what we can, groping in the dark. Next time we will be better prepared, react faster, listen better to the warnings from science. But it is a weak and poor reaction to search for somebody to blame – politicians who could have woken up to the crisis earlier; China, who could have sounded an earlier alarm; governments, who could have been better prepared. The reality is that this disaster has no culprits. Simply, in spite of our hubris, we are still in the hands of nature. Sometimes she showers us with gifts; sometimes she mistreats us brutally, with sovereign indifference. Science and knowledge are the best tools we have. They allow us to avoid errors, such as those we made in the Middle Ages with processions to ward off the plague, which instead spread the infection. But never has it been so clear that science cannot solve all problems. Our splendid intelligence surrenders to a small virus which is little more than a speck of dust. Science is the best tool we have found, let’s hold it dear; but we remain fragile when faced with a powerful and indifferent nature.

Our Western arrogance is being put to a hard test today as well. Italy, which prided itself on one of the best health systems on the planet, has received help from Cuba, China, Russia, even from Albania. Weren’t these the countries we used to say were on the wrong path? The countries that have so far better defended themselves are Singapore, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Korea, China itself. Weren’t we Westerners the best in the class? When this has passed, it will be time to review some of our presumptions.

It will pass. All the epidemics of the past have passed. Nobody is yet clear about the effect this will have on our lives, how disruptive it will be, how much it will cost each of us. Perhaps we will review some assumptions about the free market: even the most strenuous defenders of the total freedom of the market today cry out: ‘The State should help us!’ In times of difficulty, it becomes clear that collaborating is better than competing. My secret hope is that this will be our conclusion from the current crisis. Problems are best solved together. Humankind can survive only if we work together.

As the Western country unwillingly leading the way through these difficult times, this, I think, is the humbling lesson Italy is learning. For now, we are struggling together to earn a little more life for our loved ones and ourselves. Because this is what we are doing: helping our doctors do what they are capable of doing – buying us days, years, more life. This is not a natural right of ours. It is a privilege that we have gained gradually, through collaboration and accumulated knowledge, thanks to civilization.

More than 22,000 Italians have died in the last two months; more will die, taken away by the epidemic. These are terrible numbers. But many more people die every day without the epidemic, any year, any week. The sorrow of losing a loved one is profound. But it has not been initiated by the epidemic: it has always been with us, and always will be. Twenty-two thousand deaths are a lot, but that number is far lower than the deaths each year from cancer. Or from heart disease. Or simply from old age. And it is immensely fewer than the number of deaths in the world from hunger or malnutrition. What this epidemic is really doing is putting in front of our eyes something that we usually prefer not to look at: the brevity and fragility of our life.

We are not the masters of the world, we are not immortal; we are, as we have always been, like leaves in the autumn wind. We are not waging a battle against death. That battle we must inevitably lose, as death prevails anyway. What we are doing is struggling, together, to buy one another more days on Earth. For this short life, despite everything, seems beautiful to us, now more than ever.