The Tree of Life

On the universal symbol and film by Terrence Malick.

There is an idea and an image which appears across the planet: the Tree of Life.

As a universal concept rooted at the dawn of humanity, it represents the source of life, the force that connects all lives, and the cycle that perpetuates life.

The ancient Celts called it Crann Bethadh, a link beween the human and the divine: its branches reach to the sky and its roots bury into the earth, anchoring the two.

The Maori name it Tāne-mahuta, the Lord of the Forests, who separated his parents, Ranginui (sky) and Papatūānuku (Earth), allowing light and life to flourish in between.

The old Norse dubbed it Yggdrasil, the world-tree: the Nine Realms nestle among its roots and branches, and humanity will survive Ragnarök by hiding in its hollow.

Jews and Christians know it as the other Tree of Eden, guarded by angels lest Man ‘put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever’ (Genesis).

In Ancient Egypt, the acacia and sycamore trees were associated with Osiris, god of fertility and death, and with Ra, father of all creation.

According to Hinduism and Buddhism, the banyan tree, ‘which has its roots upwards and its branches down’ (The Bhagavad Gita), unifies the material and spiritual worlds.

Chinese mythology speaks of a Garden of Immortal(ity-bestowing) Peaches; ‘For trees are the spirits of earth and wood, nourished by Heaven and Earth’ (Journey to the West).

Indigenous belief in North America holds that the Creator gave knowledge and wisdom to humans through the sacred Tree of Life, which also embodies abundance.

Mesoamerican tradition conceives of it as a world-tree with four branches pointing north, south, west and east, and with roots which descend into the waters below.

Why have humans across time and space imagined such a tree?

Because trees visualise and symbolise connection. They reach to the sky, burrow into the earth, rely on each other and establish whole ecosystems.

Look into The Hidden Life of Trees:

• Trees are connected by mycelium and root networks; they need each other to create an environment with optimal levels of heat, light, humidity etc.

• Trees don’t believe in the survival of the fittest. Even the strongest need the help of their weaker neighbours; working together brings greater advantages.

Look upon the banyan, whose branches grow in all directions, and in such a way as to function like the original trunk, so that a single tree can resemble an entire forest.

Try to remember what it was like to see a tree - a living giant - for the first time.

Some trees measure their lifespans by millenia, such as Tāne Mahuta, the 2,500 year old kauri tree whom I met in New Zealand in 2020:

Look at the size of that thing (the photo doesn’t do it justice). And it’s alive: a single organism connected physically and atmospherically to everything else in the forest.

How did it come to be? Over two and a half thousand years… The mind boggles.

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Aside from actual trees, very few things can make you more aware of the miracle that is ‘being alive’ than The Tree of Life, a film by Terrence Malick.

Let’s dive in.

Malick sets the scene autobiographically: a family in 1950s Texas. Brad Pitt plays the Father, a rigid American patriarch; Jessica Chastain takes a love-preaching, grace-emanating but subservient role as the Mother. Caught between these competing influences are their three sons. And with their innocence, we see the world anew.

The cinematography is by Emmanuel Lubezski, who is probably the greatest camera person on the planet. He devotes himself to human and natural details: tree-flecked sunlight, dancing leaves, running water, human faces and their relationships.

Cut to the present day and the eldest, Jack (Sean Penn), recalls his childhood amidst alienation from himself and from his urban, glassy, noise-polluted environment.

Now a third timeline, beyond Time itself: the creation and destruction of the Universe. These celestial visual effects were sparked by Douglas Turnbull (of 2001: A Space Odyssey fame), using chemistry instead of CGI. The bulk of the sequence is accompanied by Zbigniew Preisner's Lacrimosa - Day of Tears… and the combination leads to a viewing experience which I can only describe as spiritual revelation.

Then we return to Texas and childhood. The structure can be hard to grasp: like memory, it doesn't transpire in narrative Acts; the emphasis is on instantaneous experience and atmosphere rather than plot. Scenes unfold spontaneously, obeying no rules - as if they were moments plucked from eternity. Dialogue is sparse but totally real: I can imagine these family episodes running their course in countless homes.

Many artists take potshots at mankind's contemporary way of life, raising love and forgiveness above the money-grubbing conflict and self-alienation of our time.

But none transcend modern society like Malick. Seen through his eyes, good (oneness, love, cooperation etc) and evil (duality, opposition, competition etc) appear almost as objective phenomena. Perhaps Christian in inspiration, it’s universal in essence.

What to make of the ending? Of Sean Penn's ascent through that heart-rate elevator? Of the final family encounter upon those white shores?

I recommend you watch the movie. Make it an event.