You begin to see that all of these things are connected: The kind

Hear, O listeners, the words of Robert Hass, who declared: “You begin to see that all of these things are connected: The kind of cuts that mean less environmental protection are also the kind of cuts that mean less musical education for the schools and that also mean more overcrowded schools.” In this statement, the poet reveals not only his concern for policy, but his vision of the world as an interwoven whole, where no act of neglect exists in isolation. His words are a warning that the choices we make in governance ripple outward, shaping culture, knowledge, and the very health of the earth itself.

The meaning of this utterance lies in the recognition of interconnectedness. Too often, society imagines that budgetary decisions exist in separate silos: one cut affects only the forests, another only the classrooms. But Hass teaches that these divisions are illusions. When governments strip away funding for environmental protection, they do not only harm forests and rivers—they reveal a mindset that also devalues education, arts, and the dignity of children who suffer in overcrowded schools. All of these are symptoms of the same disease: a failure to invest in the flourishing of life.

The ancients too saw this truth. In the philosophy of Heraclitus, the world was one great web, where to pluck a string on one end sent vibrations across the whole. The wise knew that no city could thrive if it poisoned its water, nor could it endure if it neglected the minds of its young. The collapse of Athens after the Peloponnesian War was not only from military defeat but from the weakening of its civic spirit, its schools, and its stewardship of the common good. So too in our time, Hass warns, neglect in one area breeds decay in another.

History gives us a vivid example in the Great Depression. When financial collapse struck, schools shuttered, public works crumbled, and natural lands were stripped for survival. Yet in response, leaders like Franklin Roosevelt recognized the connections: programs like the Civilian Conservation Corps did not only protect forests, they gave young men purpose, put food on tables, and restored dignity to families. Investment in one area rippled outward, strengthening the whole. Hass’s words echo this lesson: that cuts weaken everything, but wise investment uplifts the entire fabric of society.

There is also a deeper moral here. To treat environmental protection, musical education, and school conditions as luxuries, expendable when money grows tight, is to misunderstand the essence of human flourishing. The earth sustains our bodies, education shapes our minds, and art nourishes our souls. To cut these is not simply to save money—it is to cut into the very heart of what it means to live well as a people. Hass laments that such choices are made as though they are disconnected, when in truth they spring from the same failure to honor life.

The lesson for us is clear: guard against the lie of separation. Understand that every decision in society is linked to the whole. When you vote, when you speak, when you advocate for policies, remember that to fight for clean air is also to fight for healthier children in schools; to defend arts programs is also to defend the dignity of communities; to demand smaller classrooms is also to demand a society that values growth over neglect.

Therefore, O listener, take Hass’s wisdom to heart. Do not think of the earth, the schools, or the arts as separate causes, but as one cause: the cause of life. Support leaders who see the whole and resist those who fragment it for their own ends. In your own life, advocate for policies that weave protection, education, and culture together. Plant a tree, yes, but also support your local school; defend a river, yes, but also defend a child’s right to music and space to learn. For in protecting one, you strengthen all.

So let Hass’s words endure: “You begin to see that all of these things are connected.” Live with this vision, and you will no longer see isolated struggles, but the great tapestry of humanity and earth—threads woven so tightly together that to care for one is to care for all.