London Conversations.

2. Life in Regent's Park

There's something almost primordial about the first rays of an enfeebled sun after the frozen days of a long drawn out winter — cold enough to freeze the soul and dull enough to stultify the spirit.

Like an anesthetized patient naggingly aroused from a long drugged sleep, the sun comes around with tremulous and hesitating glances, not yet fully radiant yet alive for the first time to the naked flesh of hand and face, permeating the air and animating the life-force of all living things. The first outing of a new Spring in which life feels good and nature comes alive to the energizing force —as all nature cries out in unison — it’s good to be alive. 

The park, like most parks, has many regulars, dog walkers, joggers and that de rigueur of just about every City; the bird lady. This particular bird lady being devoted to her craft, is out all day oblivious to weather... tap, tap tap, as she wanders the pathways, head bowed seeking out those secret places where the pigeons gather to worship their carer, saviour and provider.

Worshipped as she is by the birds, most other park users, myself included, never engage her in conversation. She has too much of a silent mystery about her for that.  

“Life, what does that mean to you?” I was suddenly asked as I sat on a park bench absorbing those long awaited precious rays of heat. 

Perhaps it was the spontaneous awareness of life – chirping and chirruping as background chatter to the newly formed buds pregnant and bursting forth like incandescent emeralds, clinging to the gnarled branches of decade old trees – that brought to mind this essence of the living.

My interrogator was a man I met from time to time in the park, a retired lecturer and medical researcher and a man with strong opinions and an incisive mind.

“Uncertainty,” I replied, as I desperately considered whether any answer were possible.  

“Ha, yes... good answer,” he replied. “But let me be more specific. What would you consider, for instance, to be the most important part of the human body?”

I considered my answer and replied, “The brain, of course.”

“Ahrr yes, the brain,” he replied. ”That executive function to control the body politic. And how confident do you feel in that answer?”

This was an easy argument to make, or so I thought. “Yes, the brain is clearly the head of state. Of that there can be no question,” I proclaimed confidently.

“But what point a head of state without a body politic, without which the head of state would have no reason to be and could not possibly exist,” he asked.

At which point the bird lady entered the scene, rummaging and rooting around in the bushes behind the bench where we were sitting. Various cooings and flutterings and over-excited flappings as birds tussled with each other to be the first at the fresh supplies of bread bulging from the two large canvas bags she habitually carried. A kind of head of state I mused within the confines of her own small world.

My companion continued, unstoppable and unperturbed despite the interruption.

“You see, the brain has developed it’s resourceful cunning purely to help the organism survive, to seek out food, then to develop language so that mankind could communicate, co-operate and hunt together. Later to develop tools and weapons in order to overcome prey much bigger and more powerful than him. The brain therefore cannot be considered as an end in itself, but only as a means to survival. So the brain you see, is totally subservient to the body purely in order that it can be fed several times a day and therefore survive.” 

“A depressing thought,” I replied. “That sounds like a rather nihilistic view of life, Eliotesque at his most depressing. The Wasteland comes to mind. The nullification of any higher purposes other than the animal instinct to survive. How does that fit with your proclaimed Christian ethics?”

“Christian ethics doesn’t come into it my friend. That’s something purely on an emotional and spiritual level and I certainly don’t intend to attempt a scientific rationalization of faith, Christian or otherwise. Certainly not here in the park.” 

“I don’t see why not. The sun is shining; the earth is abundant with new life. Why can’t it be discussed here as well as in the lecture theatre?”

“Because there is a duality. Call it an unresolved dichotomy if you wish, but the fact is that I have to wear two hats and they don’t sit well together. Today I am wearing my scientific hat and therefore my Christian ethic hat has to remain in the cupboard. Anyway if I were to transgress my own rule I would say that it is more than possible that something that started as one thing, can become another.”

“How come,” I asked.

“Well, since you insist on pursuing this, all I will say is, suppose you were to go on a journey by car of some distance and the highway were closed. The only way to get there would be to take the long way around via the scenic route. It takes you three times as long and at first you’re frustrated and angry but after a while you start to look around at the beautiful scenery. The sun is shining and you stop for a picnic or lunch at a pub and you have a great day and get to your destination just a few hours late. You realize that you have seen and experienced things you never would have experienced if you’d rushed pell-mell to your destination... as usual. That’s the way I see faith and spirituality as you rush through life, lapping up the years and discarding them like so many sweet wrappers. Rushing to the graveyard without even looking around to see the view.”

“Yes, I see. That’s a very clear way of looking at things. So what have we decided then? That the brain is subservient to the many needs of the body and is in fact enslaved to deliver them.”

“From a scientific point-of-view, then yes. I think so. Certainly that would be true for the longest period of human existence by far. When the search for food and survival would be a full time occupation. After all, to even ask the question of a higher purpose is the luxury of a leisured society.”

Suddenly from behind us came a voice so sudden that it made us both jump. “Excuse me, oh! I’m so sorry to startle you. I always come you see. To feed the birds... everyday,” she said very gently and with a surprisingly educated voice.

“Oh! yes, I have seen you  often,” I replied, slightly bemused as I hadn’t anticipated such a gentle refined manner of speech from the bird lady who I had very often seen, but never heard speak before. 

She stared at me with bright eyes enlarged through powerful lenses. “You see, I heard you talking and I don’t agree with you,” she said quite emphatically. 

“You don’t agree with us,” my scientific friend said, looking up quite astounded.

“No, you see,” she went on quite confidently, “I come here every day and feed my birds and they have brains and they have bodies and there are always the young, every spring without fail, and they raise their young and then grow old and the youngsters take their place. Over and over you see for years. Always going on the same but always different.”

“Yes, the cycle of life. So what does that prove,” my friend cut in.

“It shows, you see, that both brain and body are here for just one purpose.”

“And what purpose is that may I ask.”

“Well to reproduce of course. To propagate ones own kind.”

“Thus making,” I suggested, “the most important part of the body... the genitals.”

My scientific friend looked perplexed and the bird lady smiled sweetly and disappeared back into the undergrowth to attend her beloved birds. 

Turning to my friend I teasingly said, “And that would appear to solve the age-old mystery of the meaning of life... for today anyway.”