Neither Nature nor the Cosmos

We were driving home close to dusk the other day from swimming exercise. We’ve lately found an efficient but much more peaceful route by residential streets to the alternate—beating our way down Mack Avenue with endless lights and double lanes. Trees against a pinkish, dimming sky, leafless or nearly so now. Endless trees. Lovely. The recurring thought came. There is nothing fallen about the world. The Fall belongs to mankind, strictly speaking, not to Nature or the Cosmos. It is a human tendency always to project our state onto whatever canvas happens to be handy. It’s not us—it’s the world that has fallen. Curiously, or perhaps not, we also project positives outward. Inspiration comes from somewhere invisibly within, but we project in onto the Muses. And then, since they are out there, we find an outward residence for them—on Mount Helikon in Pieria, in Thessaly.

That Never-Promised Rose Garden

If there is one phrase coined in the twentieth century likely still to be repeated a thousand years from now—with the implied authorities of the Bible and Shakespeare combined—it is “I never promised you a rose garden.”

The phrase comes from an autobiographical novel of that title written by Joanne Greenberg and published by St. Martin’s Press in 1964. The heroine of the novel is Deborah. She invents an imaginary Kingdom, called Yr, a paradise. But as schizophrenia takes hold of her, the gods of Yr become tyrannical. She is hospitalized and treated by Dr. Fried, a German woman. The phrase is Dr. Fried’s:

“I never promised you a rose garden. I never promised you perfect justice and I never promised you peace or happiness. My help is that so you can be free to fight for all of these things. The only reality I offer is challenge, and being well is being free to accept it or not at whatever level you are capable. I never promise lies, and the rose-garden world of perfection is a lie...and a bore too!”

This figure is modeled on a real doctor, Frieda Fromm-Reichmann (wife of the famed Erich Fromm) who actually treated Greenberg during a bout of mental illness.

Here we have a very basic, archetypal story, a genuine product of the twentieth century. It gives the last century its stamp. The paradise of Yr, the rise of tyrannical evil, madness, a high priestess who consoles but, in the end, promises nothing at all. But the tale describes the visceral feel of this dimension, hence that phrase resonates. And will continue to do so.

It didn’t take long, however, before its darkness was illuminated slightly by the popular culture in a top-ranking song written by Joe South and sung by the country-music star Lynn Anderson (1971). Here is its refrain:

I beg your pardon,
I never promised you a rose garden.
Along with the sunshine,
There's gotta be a little rain sometimes.

     [Joe South, “Rose Garden”]

Where do we find the real voice of our times? In its cultural expressions. Paradise, expulsion, the angel with the flaming sword, madness, and redemption. And it produces phrases and images that come to mind quite spontaneously when something in us wants to remind us that, ultimately, we are responsible for our life. As it did to me this morning—and I got curious about its origins.

Steady On

As the earthquake in Haiti continues in the news and TV shows old footage about Haiti’s poverty, deforestation, and poisoned environment, some will be prompted to dig even deeper and will discover (I just did) that the first great disaster to hit Haiti was the arrival of Columbus. Contemplating  Europe’s  “discovery” of the Americas in detail produces depression. Savage landscapes open up as I witness nominally Christian people enslaving or slaughtering primitives. And in the North? We looked at that history compiling Statistical Record of Native North Americans. Plenty to be ashamed about. I recall noting from the scholarship back then that the arbitrary conquest of peoples and the seizure of land or other valuable properties was just as illegal in Columbus’ time as it is in ours. All the evil things that happened, the slaughter of the weak, slavery, the ethnic cleansing of rich farm lands of the American Indian—all this happened despite and in contravention of actually prevailing and known, and accepted local and international laws and conventions. Effective enforcement mechanisms did not then, or do now, exist. We not only inhabit a violent planet but also a fallen world. Fallen, yes. But I’ve tended to resist the notion we are all responsible for gross inhumanities that mar our history. Collective guilt doesn’t fix things. In every age there are some who inwardly and openly resist opportunistic savagery. Nor does indulging in depression, rage, or blame. Steady on, I tell myself. We’re bound for other shores.