Prone to Wander, Chris Rice

On the surface not a ripple
Undercurrent wages war
Quiet in the sanctuary
Sin is crouching at my door

How can I be so prone to wander
So prone to leave You
So prone to die
And how can You be so full of mercy
You race to meet me and bring me back to life

I wake to find my soul in fragments
Given to a thousand loves
But only One will have no rival
Hangs to heal me, spills His blood

How can I be so prone to wander
So prone to leave You
So prone to die
And how can You be so full of mercy
You race to meet me and bring me back to life

Curse-reversing Day of Jesus
When you finally seize my soul
Freedom from myself will be the
Sweetest rest I’ve ever known

How can I be so prone to wander
So prone to leave You
So prone to die
And how can You be so full of mercy
You race to meet me and bring my back to life

Hall’s Characters of Virtues and Vices

He is an happy man, that hath learned to read himself, more than all books; and hath so taken out this lesson, that he can never forget it: that knows the world, and cares not for it; that, after many traverses of thoughts, is grown to know what he may trust to; and stands now equally armed for all events: that hath got the mastery at home; so as he can cross his will without a mutiny, and so please it that he makes it not a wanton: that, in earthly things, wishes no more than nature; in spiritual, is ever graciously ambitious: that, for his condition, stands on his own feet, not needing to lean upon the great; and can so frame his thoughts to his estate, that when he hath least, he cannot want, because he is as free from desire, as superfluity: that hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness of prosperity; and can now manage it, at pleasure: upon whom, all smaller crosses light as hailstones upon a roof; and, for the greater calamities, he can take them as tributes of life and tokens of love; and, if his ship be tossed, yet he is sure his anchor is fast. If all the world were his, he could be no other than he is; no whit gladder of himself, no whit higher in his carriage; because he knows, that contentment lies not in the things he hath, but in the mind that values them.

The Virgin and St. Anne

by Leonardo da Vinci

Death.

                                                Klimt, "Death and Life"


                               O mortal folk, you may behold and see
                               How I lie here, sometime a mighty knight;
                               The end of joy and all prosperity
                               Is death at last, thorough his course and might:
                               After the day there cometh the dark night,
                               For though the day be never so long,
                               At last the bells ringeth to evensong.
                                                    ~ “An Epitaph,” by Stephen Hawes
                                                        (64 Quiller-Couch)

     As human beings, we examine the psychology in death. As Christians, we marvel over the theology in death. As academics, we revel in the eschatology in death. But as individuals, we step into the big picture ideas and correlate those theories with our personal worldviews. Generalities become manifest. They translate in a plethora of emotions. They are defined by a list of memories. They are realized through changing, or rather, growing life-perspectives. Life as well becomes a term of utmost importance; for, death cannot be understood without life. To grasp the notion of death, we can look to the scores of literature devoted to this subject, directly or indirectly. Three significant points of view concerning death can be found in the works of Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil,” and Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych.
      The first view worthy of examination is the one presented in Hedda Gabler. This first choice may seem a bit out of place considering that the heart of this story focuses on a weak woman playing courageous. However, in this story, the character Hedda outlines two important concepts of death that are easily dismissed: one being death’s relationship with a life poorly lived, the second being death as an escape. Although the story does not delve into death like you might see in some of the works of famously darker authors like Poe, it tells the tale of a living person dead to reality. Hedda, frustrated with the submissive role of being a woman, puts on the mask of courage and strength. She demeans others in the process of attempting to define herself as thick-skinned, harsh, independent, beyond the need of correction, and overall stereotypically masculine. These character traits are made clear through the demanding requests and orders that she expects everyone else to follow. As a result of her efforts to create a world according to her terms and the circumstances that evolve from her behavior and choices, her life has no meaning. She explains to Judge Brack, “this shabby little world I’ve ended up in […] That’s what makes life so contemptible, so completely ridiculous.” She also states, “I often think I only have one talent, one talent in all the world […] Boring the life right of me” (1434, 5 Lawall). As the story comes to a close, it turns out that Judge Brack gains control over her through the knowledge of her role in the death of a character named Eilert. Hedda tells Brack, “So I’m in your power now, Judge […] Totally subject to your demands—And your will. Not free at all […] No, that’s one thought I just can’t stand. Never!” (1465). Her husband has no need of her. In fact, no one has a desire to be in her presence at all except for Brack, the one who has total power over her. Since her whole life was wrapped up in forcing others and herself to see her as this image of strength, she was left with a notion much worse than empty boredom. She was left with limitation. Visible inferiority. Weakness. Now, life was death. It was the epitome of everything she had fought so hard against. Now, physical death was but an escape from her metaphysical death. Hedda defined death as the only chance for freedom, freedom from the controls of ennui and weakness.
      The second example is Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil: To the Reader.” In the discussion of death, Baudelaire offers a great deal of imagery and insight into the culture of the majority of Modernity. His work “The Carcass,” in fact is an entire poem dedicated to the depiction of guilt and punishment as they adhere to one morose reflection of death after another. But to continue with the theme of death in living, “To the Reader” offers another profound insight into the concept of death. Baudelaire begins with a sort of shock and awe of words. He hits his audience with a list of sins which command day-to-day life. He explains that not only is sin declared acceptable through justifications; it is also deemed appropriate through rationalizations. In life, many have found comfort in empty and ephemeral forms of satisfaction. The attempts of humanity to create a world and context void of the entire reality will only lead to confusion and erroneous self-individualism. That sin becomes a prison. Life is reduced to a continuous cycle of excuses and emptiness, leading to death. Baudelaire treats death as the outcome of the disease of sin. Despite its religious characterization, this poem is not necessarily “Christian.” Mostly, this piece is meant to be a societal mirror so that we might see the dead and dreary heart of modern culture. Baudelaire explains in appalling tone but exacting word choice:
     Like the poor lush who cannot satisfy,
     we try to force our sex with counterfeits,
     die drooling on the deliquescent tits,
     mouthing the rotten orange we suck dry.
Harsh, crude, and dooming. However, this piece shows the author’s view perfectly. Death is not just what happens when breath leaves us. Death is the marriage of life and emptiness. It is when lies define reality. He states,
     It’s BOREDOM. Tears have glued its eyes together.
     You know it well, my Reader. This obscene
     beast chain-smokes yawning for the guillotine—
     you—hypocrite Reader—my double—my brother!
The notion of ennui, or “melancholy, paralyzing boredom,” recurs throughout his works (1550). In order for physical life to be truly “alive,” it requires meaning, purpose, and calling. This analysis begs the reader to read in between the lines, but this idea appears quite clear in this work.
      The last view of death deals with the same issues, but has quite a different result. In Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych, we are shown the same dilemma of death in life. The difference from both of the perspectives illustrated in “The Flowers of Evil” and Hedda Gabler is hope. With Hedda, the reader is left with resentment, frustration, and restlessness. Baudelaire offers guilt, despondency, and agitation. Tolstoy takes you through the bleakness of a life barely lived but then realizes the hope of reality. This realization only came in the face of death. Ivan Ilyich lived an empty life, one defined by the look of his home and status. It was terribly empty and without purpose. He says, “I was going up in public opinion, but to the same extent life was ebbing away from me. And now it is all done and there is only death” (1363). His wife was despicably cold-hearted. His daughter was wrapped up in selfishness. His son had yet to come to face the light of truth; although in this family, the son did seem the most likely to find graciousness. The only light in Ivan’s life was Gerasim, the nurse who cared for Ivan in the calamity of his health. Although much of the story simply covers the poor tale of Ivan’s life and only the beginning and ending portion speak of his death, the whole tale is about death. It is present in every word. The emptiness that he lived by was death. The refusal to recognize death oncoming in Ivan’s sickness spoke silent volumes about death. In its seeming absence and forced dismissal, death is overwhelmingly present. The greatest instance where we can see life, and life actually, was in Ivan’s death. Not only did he find relief from pain, but he also found forgiveness for himself and others. Tolstoy explains his relief from death as such,
     And suddenly it grew clear to him that what had been oppressing him and
     would not leave him was dropping away all at once from two sides, from ten
     sides, and from all sides. He was sorry for them, he must act so as not to hurt
     them: release them and free himself from these sufferings. “How good and how
     simple!” he thought. “And the pain?” he asked himself. “What has become of
     it? Where are you, pain?” He turned his attention to it. “Yes, here it is. Well,
     what of it? Let the pain be. And death…where is it?” He sought his former
     accustomed fear of death and did not find it. “Where is it? What death?” There
     was no fear because there was no death. In place of death there was light.
     (1368)
Like with Hedda, physical death was release from death in living. Although the difference here is that although his body was dying, he was actually turning himself over to life, life that he had denied throughout his whole existence. Ivan’s death was escape like Hedda’s, but her escape only brought freedom from the moment, not freedom from death itself. Ivan was able to finally begin living, and for him it was enough.
     Through the examples of Ivan, Baudelaire, and Hedda, we can see an interesting perspective on death that is worthy of our examination. From this point, we should learn to ask ourselves now a question that Ivan Ilych had to face: Have I lived my life rightly? Have I done all that I needed to do? Or rather, let us not shy away from the question: am I even living? Are we alive? That is how we must respect and come to understand death. We must define death by looking at life and never define life by the terms of death.
                                 For though the day be never so long,
                                 At last the bells ringeth to evensong.
                                 (64 Quiller-Couch)



                                                Selected Bibliography
Lawall, Sarah, ed. The Norton Anthology of Western Literature. Norton: NY,
      2004.
Quiller-Couch, Arthur, ed. The Oxford Book of English Verse. Oxford: NY, 1955.