ABSTRACT
I was just sitting here at my desk quietly reading and, I thought, minding my own business, when I came upon an article containing the fact that the cells in my body are dying by the millions every few minutes—3,128,422 every three minutes was the exact figure. Also, the piece said that even should we just ever so slightly touch something, the poor things become bruised by the billions. Of course, it also explained, the body keeps replacing the extinguished cells, or otherwise each individual, such as the reader, would instantly begin to dwindle away and disappear. That was certainly a comforting thought, I thought, but still, it was somewhat disconcerting to learn that even when I wave hello to my loved one as she approaches, by inviting her to wave back, I cause her to kill a million of her particles by accelerating the pressures of the air; should I greet her with a big kiss and a hug, I murder an entire generation; and should it fall out that we fuck, we practically commit utter cellular genocide. What kind of humanists are we anyway, we human beings whose existence keeps on producing such tragedy with even the most sympathetic of our gestures? And what kind of moralists are we, too? How can we go on after finding out a thing like this about ourselves, except by telling ourselves that we needn't worry, that since the body contains such a great number of individuals, this decreases the importance of each one; or worse, perhaps we will justify our future slaughter by saying that it doesn't matter in the least how many cells we kill, since in a healthy person each dead individual cell is instantly replaced, and therefore no individual cell has any importance whatsoever. No, no, every man of true feeling knows that human life 20is an absolute; every man of true feeling knows also that whenever a single cell dies, it is appropriate that all mankind cries; that to be decent the mourning ought to be general and universal, and the funeral home crowded to capacity; that the line of honorary pallbearers should stretch as far as the furthermost horizon, while entire peoples get drunk at the wake; and as if by some earnest song or poem on one of the many serious subjects relating to the welfare of all mankind, the whole world be deeply touched.
