Love and death are the two great hinges on which all human

“Love and death are the two great hinges on which all human sympathies turn.” So wrote B. R. Hayden, distilling in one immortal line the essence of human existence — the twin mysteries that govern every heart, every story, every civilization. For love and death are not merely emotions or events; they are the great forces that awaken what is deepest in the soul. They strip away illusion, humble the proud, and unite all who live beneath the same sky. Around them, as around two mighty pillars, the entire drama of life revolves.

From the earliest days, the ancients saw these two forces as divine twins — opposite in nature, yet inseparable in purpose. Love, they said, is the breath that gives life meaning, and death, the silence that gives it shape. Without love, life becomes empty; without death, it becomes aimless. Both are sacred teachers. Love reveals the boundless capacity of the human heart; death reminds us that this heart is mortal, and that therefore every act of kindness, every embrace, every word of forgiveness carries eternal weight.

When Hayden speaks of “the hinges on which all human sympathies turn,” he means that it is through love and death that we learn to feel — to understand the joy and pain of others. A person untouched by either remains a stranger to the fullness of humanity. To love deeply is to open oneself to both delight and suffering; to face death, whether one’s own or another’s, is to confront the truth that binds us all. These are the moments when the walls of the self crumble, and compassion floods in like light through a broken door.

History itself bears witness to this truth. Consider Antigone, the heroine of Sophocles, who defied the law to bury her fallen brother. In her act, love and death intertwined — love made sacred through sacrifice, death made noble through devotion. Or think of Mother Teresa, who lived among the dying not because she sought pity, but because she saw in every frail body the face of divine love. Her compassion was born not from comfort, but from standing at the threshold between life and death, where the human spirit shines most clearly.

And even in the vast currents of history, love and death shape nations as they do hearts. Wars are fought because men love too fiercely — their land, their people, their freedom — and in death, even enemies recognize one another’s humanity. Art and poetry, too, are born from these same roots: every song of love echoes with mortality, every elegy with longing. The painter’s brush, the poet’s pen, the mother’s touch — all are guided by the invisible gravity of these two forces.

There is a paradox in Hayden’s wisdom: love and death, though they seem to oppose each other, are in truth allies. For to love is to accept the inevitability of loss, and to face death is to understand the value of love. The one gives depth to the other. It is only when we have lost what we cherish that we truly grasp how precious it was; only when we feel life slipping away that we understand how sacred each moment is. Thus, love and death do not destroy one another — they complete each other.

The lesson, then, is not to fear either, but to live fully in their presence. Love fiercely, even knowing it will one day end. Mourn deeply, for grief is the proof that love was real. When you hold another’s hand, or forgive a wrong, or speak truth with tenderness, you are turning upon the same great hinges that have moved all hearts since the dawn of time. Do not resist them — let them open you.

For in the end, as B. R. Hayden reminds us, it is through love and death that we become human. These are the gates through which all must pass — the gateways of compassion, humility, and wisdom. And when we have passed through them, when we have loved and lost and still chosen to care again, then we will know the eternal truth: that though love ends in death, and death ends all things, together they give birth to the everlasting soul of humanity.