InTurnAll

Humans have a remarkable talent for complexity. We build intricate systems—social, technological, philosophical—to navigate the world, often layering our lives with endless questions, ambitions, and distractions. Yet, this complexity can feel like a labyrinth, one that distances us from the raw essence of existence. Perhaps, in our relentless drive to understand and control, we’re sidestepping something profound: the weight of our mortality and the mysteries of the unknown. In contrast, animals embody an elegant simplicity, meeting their needs with precision and living in harmony with the world as it is. This uncluttered existence might not only grant them peace but also a closer, more instinctive connection to the divine.

The Human Tendency to Overcomplicate

To be human is to wrestle with questions that stretch beyond survival. Why are we here? What happens after death? How can we find meaning in a chaotic universe? These inquiries, while beautiful, often lead us to construct elaborate frameworks—religions, ideologies, schedules, and goals—to impose order on the unknown. We fill our days with tasks, our minds with worries, and our hearts with desires for things just out of reach. In doing so, we create distance between ourselves and the present moment, the very space where life unfolds.

This complexity isn’t inherently wrong; it’s a hallmark of our consciousness. Our ability to reflect, plan, and imagine has birthed art, science, and culture. Yet, it also burdens us. The fear of mortality looms large, and the mysteries of existence—God, the universe, our purpose—can feel overwhelming. To cope, we pile on distractions: endless to-do lists, social media scrolls, or the pursuit of status and wealth. These are our shields against the vastness of the unknown, but they often leave us feeling fragmented, restless, and disconnected.

The Simplicity of Animal Existence

Now consider animals. A deer grazing in a meadow, a bird weaving its nest, a wolf hunting with its pack—each moves through life with a clarity that humans might envy. Animals focus on what is essential: food, shelter, safety, and connection with their kind. They don’t dwell on tomorrow’s uncertainties or yesterday’s regrets. A lion doesn’t question its purpose before chasing prey; a dolphin doesn’t ponder eternity while leaping through waves. Their lives are stripped to the essentials, and in that simplicity lies a profound kind of contentment.

This isn’t to say animals lack depth or awareness. Studies reveal that many species—elephants, whales, corvids, and primates—display complex emotions, social bonds, and even problem-solving skills. Yet, their intelligence doesn’t spiral into existential crises. They live in the now, fully engaged with their environment, responding to instinct and need without the clutter of overthinking. This directness, this alignment with the rhythms of nature, gives their existence a kind of purity that feels almost sacred.

A Closer Connection to the Divine

The idea of a “connection to God” is, of course, a human construct, layered with our interpretations of spirituality. But if we imagine the divine as the essence of life—the force that animates the universe, the pulse of existence itself—then animals might embody a closer link to it. Their lives are unencumbered by the mental noise that humans generate. They don’t question their place in the cosmos; they simply inhabit it. A tree’s roots stretch into the earth, a fish swims with the current, a hawk soars on thermal winds—all in seamless harmony with the world as it is.

In many spiritual traditions, simplicity is a gateway to the divine. Mystics and sages across cultures advocate shedding excess—material, emotional, and intellectual—to draw closer to truth. Animals, in their natural state, seem to live this principle instinctively. They don’t build cathedrals or write scriptures, but their very existence reflects a kind of reverence for life. A deer standing alert in the dawn light, its breath visible in the cool air, is a living prayer, fully present in the moment.

What Animals Teach Us

What might we learn from this animal simplicity? First, there’s the power of presence. Humans often live in the past or future, replaying regrets or anticipating fears. Animals, by contrast, are anchored in the now. A dog chasing its tail or a cat basking in a sunbeam reminds us that joy can be found in the immediate, unadorned moment.

Second, animals show us the beauty of sufficiency. They take what they need—no more, no less. A bear doesn’t hoard fish beyond its hunger; a bird doesn’t build a nest larger than necessary. In a world where humans chase excess—more money, more status, more things—this restraint feels like wisdom. Simplifying our lives, focusing on what truly sustains us, could free us from the exhaustion of endless wanting.

Finally, animals invite us to embrace the mystery. While humans grapple with the unknown, constructing elaborate answers or avoiding it altogether, animals seem to accept it. They don’t fear death in the abstract; they flee danger in the moment. Their lives suggest that the divine—whatever it is—might not be found in solving the mystery but in living within it.

Reclaiming Simplicity in a Human World

This isn’t a call to abandon our uniquely human gifts—our capacity for reflection, creativity, or meaning-making. Instead, it’s an invitation to balance them with the simplicity animals embody. We can’t return to a purely instinctual state, nor should we. But we can pare back the excess, quiet the mental chatter, and reconnect with the essentials: love, connection, presence, and awe.

Practically, this might mean spending time in nature, observing the effortless grace of animals. It could mean simplifying our routines—fewer commitments, less clutter, more moments of stillness. It might involve asking ourselves: What do I truly need to feel whole? What can I release to feel lighter? By stripping away the unnecessary, we create space for something deeper—a connection to the world, to each other, and perhaps to the divine.

Conclusion

Humans overcomplicate life, often as a shield against the weight of mortality and the vastness of the unknown. Animals, with their elegant simplicity, offer a counterpoint: a life focused on the essentials, lived fully in the present, and aligned with the rhythms of existence. This uncluttered way of being might bring them closer to the divine—not through dogma or debate but through the quiet grace of living as they are. By learning from them, we might find our own path to a simpler, more connected life—one that embraces both the mystery and the miracle of being alive.