The poet W. H. Auden eloquently captured this uniquely human conundrum: Happy the hare at morning, for she cannot read The Hunter’s waking thoughts, lucky the leaf Unable to predict the fall, lucky indeed The rampant suffering suffocating jelly Burgeoning in pools, lapping the grits of the desert, But what shall man do, who can whistle tunes by heart, Knows to the bar when death shall cut him short like the cry of the shearwater, What can he do but defend himself from his knowledge?
