Only humans fear the future because only humans can imagine it. This makes our gift our curse.

                  Other creatures inhabit a permanent present. Ancient habit may advise them about survival strategies – when to depart for warmer climates, how to build a nest to attract a missus – but they do not ask what if. Their when and where are the only possible, so why fuss. Dog-pal Henry assures me this is true.

                  No fathomless fear is pleasant. One might enjoy a scary movie or joyride knowing it will end. But a worse tomorrow is no fun to foresee.

                  These days our tomorrows grow more foreboding. In any direction one looks, Earth seems headed in the wrong direction. Climate, peace, freedom, economics, disease, values all seem to be sliding sewer-ward. Baby boomers like this one were born into an era of hearty confidence. Now birthrates have dropped sharply – for various reasons, enthusiasm for the future among them.

                  A cheerful friend assures me this gloom makes no sense. Look at all we’ve accomplished and continue to accomplish, even in this politically wobbly moment. Consider AI, for example. Human ingenuity gallops on apace! His temper and circumstances will always keep his glass at least half full. But his cheer increasingly represents a minority view. Every day more folks are worried – across the political spectrum and around the world. The Nameless One and his goon-squad are symptoms, not cause, of this distress, though their misguidance makes matters worse.

                  Pessimism is no fun. It casts a pall which, in extreme cases, suffocates the spirit. “Human kind,” wrote T.S. Eliot, “cannot bear very much reality.” How best to cope?

                  Imaginary problems must be repaired imaginatively. We must bring ourselves to believe in a worthwhile tomorrow. Here is where the exercise of morality – and morality, done right, is strenuous exercise – fortifies the mind, just as physical workouts improve our body’s fitness. We must think our way out of the funk into which thinking’s sunk us.

                  It’s not easy. I train myself to focus on what’s encouraging: what can we do with our time, not what we can’t.

                  I can be with you, in supportive companionship. That’s a good thing. Sharing fears insensibly lightens them. 

                  We can admire the beautiful productions of humanity. Yes, we are the species of Hitler and the Nameless One, but also of Michelangelo, Shakespeare, Lincoln. We are capable of greatness. Unlocking the mechanism of a lovely poem – a favored pastime – refurbishes delight. Wow! for an instant supplants Ow!

                  We can make. The making – of anything – art, cookies, laws – rebukes defeat. The most pessimistic art is optimistic in its assurance tomorrow might benefit from these groans. You don’t write “life isn’t worth living” if you believe it – why bother?

                  We can love. Love is salubrious in all weathers. Love affirms the value of others and feels grand. Nor should we wait for love but drive ourselves toward its accomplishment. Susceptible to sadness, I lash my love to get cracking, locating reasons to rejoice, turning frowns upside down and tears to rhymes. Self-correction, while hardly infallible, can work wonders.

                  We can pray. Bad times for mankind are good times for God. The contours of one’s God don’t much matter provided they persuade. God is the X-factor that squares us with the absurdity of being. God answers the unanswerable and allies us with a community of believers. Custom or ready-made, God consoles. I didn’t used to believe in God but then He visited me – just once, once was enough. “But I don’t believe in God,” a friend protests. “Try harder,” I suggest. “Meet the master halfway.”