In Medias Res

People lie when they talk about death.

Nobody ever dies “done”. Nobody ever “finishes the race”. Nobody ever “fights the good fight”. There is no ‘[raging] against the dying light’. No bargaining; no volition. There is no “leaving” even, as if some consent is given. Everybody leaves is taken in medias res.

People lie about the dying knowing their time is near. The truth is that there is no intimation. No foreshadowing. People only flatter themselves with meanings they forcibly assign to otherwise random events prior to the death. People romanticize coincidences too eagerly, too desperately. The events in our lives do not give way to death. Death happens, quite insensitively, in the midst of things--in medias res.

Nobody else participates in its performance either. Not even the dying. Friends are poor performers; the bereaved are worse. We take refuge in clichés, because three languages-worth of vocabulary will not have the words to encapsulate what we want to say.

Is that it? Or is that a lie, too?

And what about “[resting] in peace”? Who knows for sure that it is a resting? When people lie about everything else, why should we trust them on this, too?

Suffice it to say that some part of the rational mind recognizes the whole hullabaloo during a death, as a performance: everyone is a performer, and everything is performed in medias res.

How necessary this conspiracy is. In lieu of a rational explanation, we take to metaphors, to ceremonies. The grander, the vaguer, the better. We take to lies, to make us forget how strange it is to bury someone in the ground, and to leave him there, under all of us, never to return to his things, to his half-finished coffee, to us.

So there is no philosophizing this. There is no other perspective to be convinced about. There is no seeking for metaphors that would provide comfort. There is only death.

There is only an end. And with everything else, a loathsome, loathsome continuation.

For the Sake of One Individual

“You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle or integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger security for happiness.” 

            –Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

Jane Austen says DON’T.

For the sake of one individual, she says, we should not waver in what we believe in: that what we hold true for one person, we should hold true for everyone.

I’ve been trying to figure out why the absoluteness of her saying no doesn't sit well with me.

Why is she absolute about advising against making an exception? 

Why do I feel that it is a rational expectation that we should have the ability to make an exception, if necessary, for people we love?

It is true that principles, essentially, should be unshakable. They should be applied to everybody, in all circumstances. What good, of course, are whimsical “moral rules”? I even agree that a few of those we are especially passionate about need not be explained or apologized for.

These said, I still believe that rigid principles are anti-human. It scares me to think about an inability to compromise, even for the sake of one individual. As people, we assign more value on unbending principles and less value on those that allow room for negotiation, for compromise, for exception. This is great, for all the right reasons. But when we equate compromise with weakness and with unreliability, I disagree. I think the ability to compromise reveals a strength rather than a weakness in one's character.

This said, I can imagine the vast uncertain gray area. When do we bend our own moral rules? For whom should we allow ourselves to do it? And for what reasons?

Who knows, really?

What I know is that I believe in the simple logic of making an exception for people who matter in our lives. Whether this means staying up later than our usual bedtime, or letting pass errant punctuation marks, or allowing this person to see us in our most vulnerable states--if our person so requires, our making an exception for him communicates a valuing that words will fail to encapsulate.
   

Sure, it is laudable that someone should die for a principle, but I find it more impressive when, in this same state of passion for what he believes in, he could make an exception.

I think our ability to do this is precious. I would always choose to be someone who will make an exception, than be someone who would not.

For the sake of one individual, why not? yes.