No man is an island. entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
John Donne
I find myself strangely unmoved by the death of Michael Jackson.
On Thursday night, as the cable news networks became all Michael all the time, one of the commentators compared it to the death of JFK, in terms of national impact.
JFK? Maybe Marilyn Monroe. Maybe Elvis Presley. But JFK?
He was a great entertainer, although I do tend to hold him responsible for popularizing the crotch-grabbing which has become so common. Maybe when he did it first, it was a bold move. A symbol of . . .
And now “Billie Jean” is stuck in my head. Part of my problem is that I never adjusted to disco. There were some songs I could tolerate, but I’m with Bob Seeger on “Old Time Rock and Roll.”
When a celebrity dies, we seem to have an enormous cultural need to turn him or her into more than fame. It is as if we have to justify the attention we have given to this person over the years. The people on television tell us that “this is important.” It “transcends” music (or art, or fame, or acting). And maybe it does.
For his family and close friends, it is a terrible loss. He was only fifty years old. There was so much more that could have been. He is, in many ways, a tragic figure. But I find myself thinking instead of all the unknown people who are heroes in their own way. People who live out their lives with honesty and compassion. They are neither rich nor famous, but their lives bring light to the lives of others.
As I thought about Michael Jackson, I found myself meditating on the words of John Donne, “any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.” I remembered it as part of a poem, “No Man Is an Island.”
But when I went looking for the poem, I found instead a meditation in prose. It is a reflection on the connections among human beings. We belong to each other in real and deep ways that transcend every boundary.
So this death, and every death, gives us an opportunity to reflect on the sacredness of life.
John Donne
I find myself strangely unmoved by the death of Michael Jackson.
On Thursday night, as the cable news networks became all Michael all the time, one of the commentators compared it to the death of JFK, in terms of national impact.
JFK? Maybe Marilyn Monroe. Maybe Elvis Presley. But JFK?
He was a great entertainer, although I do tend to hold him responsible for popularizing the crotch-grabbing which has become so common. Maybe when he did it first, it was a bold move. A symbol of . . .
And now “Billie Jean” is stuck in my head. Part of my problem is that I never adjusted to disco. There were some songs I could tolerate, but I’m with Bob Seeger on “Old Time Rock and Roll.”
When a celebrity dies, we seem to have an enormous cultural need to turn him or her into more than fame. It is as if we have to justify the attention we have given to this person over the years. The people on television tell us that “this is important.” It “transcends” music (or art, or fame, or acting). And maybe it does.
For his family and close friends, it is a terrible loss. He was only fifty years old. There was so much more that could have been. He is, in many ways, a tragic figure. But I find myself thinking instead of all the unknown people who are heroes in their own way. People who live out their lives with honesty and compassion. They are neither rich nor famous, but their lives bring light to the lives of others.
As I thought about Michael Jackson, I found myself meditating on the words of John Donne, “any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.” I remembered it as part of a poem, “No Man Is an Island.”
But when I went looking for the poem, I found instead a meditation in prose. It is a reflection on the connections among human beings. We belong to each other in real and deep ways that transcend every boundary.
So this death, and every death, gives us an opportunity to reflect on the sacredness of life.
The whole of the meditation is below.
Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions
MEDITATION XVII.
NUNC LENTO SONITU DICUNT, MORIERIS.
Now this bell tolling softly for another,says to me, Thou must die.
PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him. And perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does, belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingraffed into that body, whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me; all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another; as therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come; so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.
There was a contention as far as a suit (in which, piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell, that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours, by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him, that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute, that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? But who takes off his eye from a comet, when that breaks out? who bends not his ear to any bell, which upon any occasion rings? But who can remove it from that bell, which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?
No man is an island. entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath afflicion enough, that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current moneys, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction, digs out, and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger, I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.
Source:Donne, John. The Works of John Donne. vol III.Henry Alford, ed.London: John W. Parker, 1839. 574-5.
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