On Dealing with Death, Part 1

Whenever a loved one dies, as several in my life have in this year alone, I turn to the comforting reflections of English poet John Donne. Below is one of his most quoted poems. If you have not heard of or forgotten Donne, you'll likely recognize some of his lines. I dedicate this post to the memory of John Pavone, educator, human services professional, educator, musician, chef, husband, friend, and much more, who passed away yesterday. 

Holy Sonnet X 
By John Donne (1572 - 1631)

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, 
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Surprising Sentences, Part 18: Rousseau on Humans and the State

Jean-Jacques Rousseau opens the brief first chapter of his monumental work The Social Contract (1762) with this sentence: "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains." He follows this observation of incongruity with this equally contradictory second sentence: "Many a one believes himself the master of others, and yet he is a greater slave than they." 

Rousseau immediately arrests his reader's attention to contemplate whether a monarchy is possible in a free state and whether society imposes burdens on people that invariably and inescapably subject them to servitude. In the author's own introductory words to this volume, "I wish to inquire whether, taking men as they are and laws as they can be made, it is possible to establish some just and certain rule of administration in civil affairs."

  

Surprising Sentences, Part 17: Rainer Maria Rilke on Beholding Art

Du musst dein Leben ändern. (translation from German: You must change your life).

These five words conclude one of Rainer Maria Rilke's most famous poems, "Archaic Torso of Apollo"—a sentence that comes more as a shock than a surprise. The words are so powerful after those they precede that we will never look at ancient sculpture the same way. 

Throughout this brief poem (4 stanzas and 14 lines), Rilke contemplates a headless, legless sculpture of Apollo's torso. So much is missing from this work of art, yet what is absent illuminates what is present. The poet has us behold an unmistakable, almost unbearable light bursting with life and energy. Then we suddenly see that we are not the only ones looking, for Apollo is looking at us. 

The poem moves our imagination to creating a spectacular image of what once was, and it urges us to realizing a remarkable reality of what can be, which is the ultimate goal of art. 

Please read the poem many times: It must change your life. 

Surprising Sentences, Part 16: Hemingway on Broken Father-Son Relationships

With this sentence, Ernest Hemingway ends one of his briefest short stories, "I Guess Everything Reminds You of Something":

And it was sad to know that shooting did not mean a thing.

The sentence surprises because it follows a father's discovery, seven years after the fact, of his son's plagiarizing a published short story to win a fiction contest. Until this moment in the story, the son's writing seems secondary to his shooting skills, which his father had helped him to cultivate. It comes after a scene depicting the father's mentorship of his son on good sportsmanship, social etiquette, and the value of hard work. Immediately preceding that final sentence are two devastating ones describing the father's abhorrence of his son for his "vileness": "Now he knew that boy had never been any good. He had thought so often looking back on things."

With this final paragraph, Hemingway probes the complexity of father-son relationships, the  remarkable burdens fathers place on their boys, the inevitable damage of estrangement, and the deceptive nature of memory. 

    

Surprising Sentences, Part 15: Noam Chomsky on Language and Freedom

In a 1970 essay, linguist and political activist Noam Chomsky wrote this sentence:

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied.

This idea comes after Chomsky's deep dive into what freedom means and how it intersects with language. He spends a good part of his analysis on the theories of human freedom of philosophers Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant, and Wilhelm von Humboldt to conclude that the study of language can offer some understanding of how freedom can exist within a system of rules. Language is, as Chomsky put it, a product of human intelligence and, therefore, a possible starting point for collective striving toward freedom and social justice. Remarkable! 

The question for us to answer, more than a half-century after Chomsky posed it, is how do we operate within such a flawed system and arrive at an equal freedom? 

Surprising Sentences, Part 14: Churchill on Premature Celebrations

You might have seen a runner unabashedly fist-pumping short of the finish line only to be passed by a more focused competitor at the last moment to settle for second place. Or a wide receiver arrogantly dancing before reaching the goal line being stripped of the football to cost his team a win. If you have witnessed such idiocies, you well know the foolishness of celebrating victory prematurely. Yet you might say, unless you are a broke, in-debt-to-the-mob gambler, at least no one’s life is at stake in these scenarios.

But all of Europe was on the verge of life or death every moment from 1940 to 1945. Three days after Winston Churchill assumed the role of Great Britain's Prime Minister, he delivered these famous words to a divided House of Commons on May 13, 1940:

I would say to the House as I have said to those who have joined this government: "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat."

Three weeks later, with bad news mounting after the Allied disaster at Dunkirk, the fall of Belgium, and the imminent collapse of France to Axis hands, Churchill again addressed the House on June 4:

Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.

Another two weeks hence, on June 18, when France did fall to Germany and all of England seemed on the verge of direct attack from the Axis powers, Churchill tried to unite his fellow citizens, indeed the world, with another address to the House:

But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new dark age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves, that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, "This was their finest hour."

The war raged on. Millions of soldiers fell in battle. Countless families lost their homes in bombing raids. Food was in short supply everywhere. The British were looking for some reason for optimism. That moment came on November 10, 1942, when Churchill, emerging from recent Allied victories in El Alamein, Egypt and Stalingrad, Russia, ordered church bells rung throughout Great Britain. He had an opportunity to deliver false hope in a position far from the end of a war. He wanted to strike a balance between announcing clear military victories and warning of the ominous days ahead. Here is what he said at the Lord Mayor's Luncheon in Mansion House, London:

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

Churchill's triadic statement takes more than a moment to absorb. It does not claim absolute victory, nor does it assert certain victory. No fist-pumping or end-zone dancing here. But by ending on a positive note, he assures his audience that England is gaining strength and momentum and should stay the course. History proves Churchill's words prophetic. Victory in Europe Day came on May 8, 1945, 30 months after Churchill uttered those surprising words and 5 years after he became Prime Minister. Such exquisite writing, as well as his oratorical penchant for making memorable remarks at the perfect historical moments, contributed to his winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953.

Surprising Sentences, Part 13: Eliot on Religion and Literature

American-British poet, playwright, and essayist T. S. Eliot wrote the oft-quoted "Religion and Literature" in 1935 from a decidedly Victorian Christian viewpoint. For this reason, contemporary readers may find his angle prudishly archaic. I don't. The stylistic quality and narrative line of this Nobel laureate's writing remain relevant to developing writers and literary enthusiasts. 

A third of the way through the essay comes this surprising sentence:

I am convinced that we fail to realize how completely, and yet how irrationally, we separate our literary from religious judgements.

I will not muse over how readers approached literary and religious judgments 86 years ago, so I'll take Eliot's word for their analytical shortcomings. But I can safely say that to disagree today with his premise, that we cannot separate literature from theology, is to admit to not having read enough theology or literature or both. Biblical themes of betrayal and punishment, loyalty and reward, encroachment and vengeance, suffering and conquest, flight and deliverance, enslavement and freedom, disgrace and redemption, and death and resurrection are retold in modern books, plays, and movies in so many forms. The sentence still surprises today because so many of us think that literature and religion are unrelated, or we forget to remember that they are related.