Nirmala and
I recently read, Lincoln in the Bardo, by the well-known author,
George Saunders. The subject is the death of Willie Lincoln, and how this
unexpected tragedy affected the life of his father, President Lincoln. (Nirmala
and I are familiar with the term, bardo, or bardo state, the interim between
death and rebirth as depicted in the Tibetan Book of the Dead.)The irony of the
title is that it is not President Lincoln who is in the bardo state, but his
son Willie, although this irony is perhaps tempered by the fact that the
President, too, is in the bardo state, as it were, as the death of his dear son
causes so much grief as to put the President in a state between death and life.
The many characters in the book are all recently deceased, but this insight
hasn’t set in yet. Once they realize they’re dead, they fall back into the
depths of the bardo and disappear. Willie refuses to do this out of love for
his father, who so desperately grieves for him. The grieving father has placed
his son in a temporary tomb; he borrows the key to the tomb from the owner and
visits the tomb at night, alone. He removes the well-embalmed body, cradles it
in his arms, reminiscent of Michelangelo's famous Pieta statue. The description of
what was going through the President’s mind is, for me, the most profound
description of the predicament that we all are in, namely, the awful reality of
death--and how to get beyond it.
The subject
of this little essay is the analysis of Lincoln’s ‘meditation’ over the body of
his dead son. I think this is the most beautiful section of a very beautiful
book. Although it is untitled, I call it “The Transformation,” since Lincoln
learns what is most important during this encounter. The section is partly
in italics, representing Lincoln’s thoughts; the unitalicized sentences
are Willie’s thoughts, who has refused to abandon his body and get on with his
next life, out of love for his father.
The scene
takes place in the cemetery, with the corpse of Willie laid across lap of the
President.
The scene
begins with the following words: Outside an owl shrieked. (My
comments on the text will always be italicized within parentheses. The owl,
which has night vision and large eyes is an iconic symbol of wisdom. It
shrieks, instead of sounding a more friendly hoot, since Lincoln
must pass through the valley of death, as it were, to reach the pinnacle of
wisdom. There is no other way.)
This
sentence is followed by Lincoln’s thoughts; I thought not to come here
again. Yet here I am. One last look.
(Lincoln is at the height of grief due to the death of his son,can do
little else but mourn—an apt depiction of the intensity of the shattering the
death of a loved one usually produces.)
(Lincoln continues with his internal monologue.) The little face again.
Little hands. Here they are. Ever will be. Just so. No smile…The mouth a tight
line. He does not, no, look like he is asleep. He was an open-mouthed sleeper,
and many expressions would play upon his face as he dreamed and sometimes would
mumble a few silly words.
(Lincoln comes here to the realization that Willie is not asleep, but quite
dead. At his point on the road to wisdom, however, the grieving father cannot
accept the fact of his son’s death, as the next passage will make abundantly
clear.
If there really was a Lazarus, there should be nothing preventing the conditions
that pertained at that time to pertain here and now…Still this is a vast world
and anything might happen.
Please, please, please.
(This passage indicates the dangers of literal belief in Scripture. For a
miracle to happen, such as the resurrection of a corpse, physical laws would
have to be broken, the evidence for which never occurs. This is Lincoln at his
most desperate. Most of us have, or will, be there. Yet one must abandon
wishful thinking, if one is to obtain wisdom.)
But no. This is superstition. Will not do.
(Lincoln passes this test as well, for without the acceptance of death, one
encounters a roadblock on the path to wisdom, and can progress no further.
Remaining at this point of this very difficult path too often leads to suicide,
despair, or cynicism.)
(If somehow Willie seemed to have woken up, Lincoln would have been very
happy, but not wise. The wise must give up all traces of magical thinking,
since desperate responses are not compatible with highest wisdom.
(At this point, the spirit of Willie, encourages his father to be wise.)
Come around, sir, to good sense.
(What does one gain after accepting the finality of death? What follows is
a remarkable passage.)
I was in error when I saw him as fixed and stable and thought I would
have him forever. He was never fixed and stable, but always just a passing,
temporary, energy-burst. I had reason to know this. Had he not looked this way
at birth, that way at four, another way at seven, been made entirely anew at
nine? He had never been the same, even instant to instant.
He came out of nothingness, took form, was loved, and was always bound to
return to nothingness.
(This bitter pill, the fact that we, as the Bible says, arise from and
return to dust, is hard to swallow, and is quite often washed down with a hefty
dose of magical thinking. For instance, I remember that at my stepfather’s
funeral, someone told me that she was convinced that my mother and he were now
in a ‘better place,’ as if, to quote Emily Dickinson, the chart were given.
The fact that everything is
born and dies is relatively new to the West, but not to the East. According to
Buddhism, one of the characteristics of reality is anicca, or non-permanence.
Even stars and galaxies, as we know now, come into existence and must all pass
out of it, albeit on a time scale that is vastly more than the proverbial four
score and ten years of human existence. The fact of birth and death’s
application to all things had to be rediscovered in the Enlightenment.
Previously, from Aristotle on, the belief was widespread that change was
limited to Earth. The moon and the stars were thought to be permanent. Although
permanence was not to be found on Earth, one could glimpse eternity, as it
were, by simply looking at the night sky. To believe otherwise was deemed
heresy by the Catholic Church; the assertion by Bruno, for instance, that the
stars in the sky were distant suns, was punished by burning him at the stake in
1600. Science and secularism, or at the very least, non-dogmatic spirituality,
have been dominant among the educated in the West ever since.
Permanence is not an aspect of
objective reality. That we and our loved ones must die; accepting this is
extremely difficult, but necessary , as Lincoln discovers in this beautiful
passage. I am convinced that the denial of death is the root cause of much
earthly suffering.)
(The passage continues.) Only I did not think it would be so soon. Or that he
would precede me.
(Lincoln is quite rational now since periods of mourning must come to us all. Yet
accepting the death of a son is especially difficult. In my own life, the death
of a nephew this year, helped shatter my belief in permanence. He was the same
age as my much-loved son. His death was totally unexpected. The conviction that
he would outlive me by many years prevented me from saying what needed to be
said, and doing what needed to be done. I will never now have the
opportunity to tell and show him how much he meant to me; I miss him terribly.
Are you comforted? Lincoln asks himself. No. It is time to go.
Willie at his point enters, as a very precious entry, into his father’s memory
bank. The memories of deceased loved ones remain with us as long as we live,
not a minor consolation. Lincoln has one more lesson to learn, however, a very
difficult one indeed.
(The excerpt from the novel continues.) Look down. At him. At it… Is it him? It
is not. What is it? It is what used to bear him around. The essential thing,
that which we loved, is gone. Though this was part of what we loved—we loved
the way he, the combination of spark and bearer, looked and walked and skipped
and laughed and played the clown—this, this here, is the lesser part of that
beloved contraption. Absent that spark, this, this lying here, is merely—
That’s it. Go ahead. Allow yourself to say that word.
I would rather not.
It is true. It will help.
I need not say it, to feel it, and act upon it.
It is not right to make a fetish of the thing.
I will go. I am going. I need no further convincing.
Say It, though, the truth. Say the word rising up in you.
Oh, my dear little fellow.
Absent that spark, this lying here, is merely—Say it.
Meat…
A most unfortunate conclusion.
(Indeed! But a necessary one. Modern secularism, backed by science, goes even
further, denying the duality of mind and body. The living being is the unitary
function of “spark and bearer’; according to the materialistic view of reality,
when death occurs, both mind and body cease. Therefore, there is, at least
according to this view, no heaven.
I remember watching a nature show on TV. Two individuals, along with a team of
dogs, were in the Arctic. In the distance, one noticed a polar bear gradually
getting closer. One of the men finally figured out that the polar bear was
hunting what for him was biped portions of meat.
Lincoln has gone through hell, and has completed his journey to wisdom. He has
internalized his dead son, has faced reality, and now can face life anew as a
changed man, a wise man. The section ends with a riveting ending.) Love, love,
I know what you are.
(So ends a remarkable account of the two things most important in life, love
and wisdom. Wisdom can be defined as the knowledge of the interconnectedness of
all things, and love as the impulse to act accordingly. The two reinforce each
other, for wisdom alone can be dull and dry, while love alone can focus on
‘false love’, for instance, the love of someone whose actions counter the fact
that everything is connected. Love is thus wisdom in action. I find this
excerpt from the novel to be one of the most beautiful and profound analyses of
what we all know, or should know, namely the importance of love and wisdom.
Lincoln’s path on this difficult journey was an astounding success; I hope you,
dear readers, won’t get lost on the thorny sections of this path; I hope you
all attain wisdom, however painfully, and have the courage and the will to put
wisdom into deeds!
