The ongoing, tragic saga of Terri Schiavo, the severely brain-damaged Florida woman struck down by catastrophic illness in 1990 and subsequently determined to be “in a persistent vegetative state,” has put the whole country in an uproar–understandably so. This is an agonizing situation with genuine public policy implications. Michael Schiavo, the husband who has been seeking to remove his wife’s feeding tube, has been upheld in his wishes by more than 20 court rulings, all of which support both his legal guardianship as well as his claim that his wife did not want not be kept alive by artificial means. This is not the place to castigate the politicians–including our president–for grandstanding and acting like politicians, particularly those who conspicuously “favor life” as long as you are not poor, African-American, and face the death penalty. This is the usual hypocrisy.
On the other hand, I am struck by what seems to be the unusual hypocrisy of the groups of supposedly God-fearing faithful claiming to be following their religious beliefs by, for example, robbing gun shops to “free Terri” and leaving suspicious-looking packages at courthouses, or other somewhat less extreme but no less strident measures. Please understand: this is a horribly sad situation for all concerned. The grief of Mrs. Shiavo’s husband and parents is unimaginable, and our hearts go out to them. It is even more terrible because the parents are clearly acting out of love for a sick daughter who they cannot bear to lose, whereas most everyone else who has weighed in on their side is acting out of what–principal? It is this principal that I would like to look at a bit more closely, to see if perhaps two of our greatest composers, Bach and Haydn, have something to teach us.
Bach was certainly no stranger to death. About half of his 20 children died in infancy or shortly thereafter. During his years in Weimar he went on a short trip with his patron and returned to find his first wife, Maria Barbara, already buried. Such happenings were not unusual. Most music lovers will be familiar with the story of Mozart’s disastrous stay in Paris, during which his mother suddenly died, or of Dvorák’s loss of his first three children within two years. Death in those days was usually sudden and capricious. The old prayer “In the midst of life we are in death” really meant something, and when you think about it, still ought to. We may have postponed death, and standardized life expectancies somewhat, but the end of the story hasn’t changed at all. Nonetheless, by our standards Bach’s attitude would seem callous. Remember his famous letter complaining of the expense of living in Leipzig, and particularly his rather calculating observation that: “…when there are rather more funerals than usual, the fees rise in proportion; but when a healthy wind blows, they fall accordingly.”
Haydn’s attitude was no different. His wife, with whom he did not get along (to put it mildly), famously sent him a letter during his London stay asking for money to purchase a new house so that she would have a pleasant environment in which to pass her widowhood. This was practicality, not cruelty. Haydn, for his part, wrote the following from London to his mistress, Luigia Polzelli:
August 4, 1791
Dear Polzelli!
I hope that you will have received my last letter through Count Fries and also the hundred florins [Gulden] which I transferred to you. I would like to do more, but at present I cannot. As far as your husband is concerned, I tell you that Providence has done well to liberate you from this heavy yoke, and for him, too, it is better to be in another world than to remain useless in this one. The poor man has suffered enough. Dear Polzelli, perhaps, perhaps the time will come, which we both so often dreamt of, when four eyes shall be closed. Two are closed, the other two—enough of all this, it shall be as God wills. Meanwhile, pay attention to your health. I beg of you, and write me very soon, because for quite some time now I have had days of depression without really knowing why, and your letters cheer me, even when they are sad. Good bye, dear Polzelli, the mail won’t wait any longer. I kiss your family and remain always,
Your most sincere
Haydn
(Translated by H. C. Robbins Landon in Haydn: Chronicle and Works. Vol. III Pp. 95-6)
Here we have the two most accomplished composers of liturgical music, Protestant and Catholic, in the entire 18th century. They were both intensely religious, and both treated the prospect of death in an offhand, almost matter-of-fact way. Obviously part of this attitude stems from the fact that for them medical science was largely worthless, and that everyone in those days was helpless in the face of serious illness. Death was the great leveler, treating young and old, aristocracy and peasantry, with equal disdain. But what sustained Bach and Haydn, and all of their contemporaries in the face of such ongoing sorrow, was the power of faith, one which stands in stark contrast to the attitude of Terri Schiavo’s would-be saviors, and in particular Franciscan monk Paul O’Donnell.
The actions and statements of these people, always excepting Mrs. Schiavo’s immediate family, raise the question of whether it is not in fact the most ostentatiously devout who are in truth the most fearful and lacking in true belief. Bach and Haydn both saw life on earth as a passage through this “veil of tears,” ultimately leading to the soul’s reunion with its creator. Death was a doorway to eternal life for the faithful, an unhappy event for those left behind, granted, but a new beginning for the deceased, one free of bodily cares. This being the case, both composers could afford to treat the subject of death far more casually than we do now, secure in their absolute certainty that God was loving and merciful, and that the souls of the departed were therefore safe and happy in their new situation. Death was frightening, yes, but a liberator and comforter as well.
Does anyone really believe this anymore, deep down, in their hearts? Who today would have the courage to say, as Haydn does, that “it is better to be in another world than to remain useless in this one.” Certainly not Brother O’Donnell. Is this proposition the product of a less civilized age, or is Haydn simply more honest, more enlightened, and more true to his beliefs? I incline towards this latter view. I am not proposing that we should adopt the attitude of Christian Scientists and deny all medical assistance whatsoever. I am only suggesting that the self-righteousness of those who claim to be “pro-life” would take on a very different cast if they truly had the courage of their theoretical convictions. They might then be willing to admit that, first, Michael Schiavo is not evil incarnate for placing his wife’s care in God’s hands after more than 15 years of fruitless waiting for her recovery, and second, that on her death Terri Schiavo will find herself in a better place, in which the suffering of the past will finally be over once and for all. There is, as far as I know, nothing in any version of the Bible requiring the ongoing use of heroic medical measures to keep the terminally ill alive at all costs.
Haydn’s letter is particularly revealing in this respect. Why is it that so many purportedly religious people, Brother O’Donnell in particular, cannot stand back and say: “It shall be as God wills,” especially when that will seems to run counter to their politics? Make no mistake, the outside effort to keep Terri Schiavo alive is a political issue rather than a religious one. God’s will manifested itself beyond a shadow of a doubt on that dreadful day in 1990 when her heart stopped and her brain was deprived of oxygen, effectively rendering her a vegetable. Whatever one’s subsequent spiritual interpretation of these events, the facts speak for themselves. Today, however, hardly anyone accepts that God’s will can take any form other than what coincidentally meshes with our own momentary needs or expectations. It exists to serve us at our convenience. Anything to the contrary must be opposed with all of the resources of modern science and technology, while simultaneously paying lip-service to faith with religious double-speak and saccharine protestations of humility.
Unfortunately, in this particular case, medical science is powerless to do anything for Terri Schiavo other than prolong her current, mindless limbo. In Bach’s and Haydn’s day, her condition would have been taken as a sign of the need to submit to an inscrutable providence–to bear witness to God’s unfathomable grand design–whether we agree with it or not. Why is it that no one among these paragons of sanctity had the guts to say, “She is beyond human help. Let us join together, pray for a miracle, and failing that accept what is meant to be?” Had Mrs. Schiavo been living in the Classical era, she would have died then and there. All of the fundamental tenets of religious belief down through the ages, including the laws of this country–which are, after all, based on them–support Michael Schiavo’s decision to let his wife die in peace after exhausting every other medical option to bring her back even minimally.
I find it extremely ironic, and sad, that the most vocal of those opposing him, whether legally or illegally, rely for the validation of their “religious” position on the same courts and scientific community otherwise vilified for sanctioning the theories and technologies, ranging from evolution to abortion, that are so often credited with the secular horror that is modern life. Brother O’Donnell’s actions are particularly unfortunate in this respect, tarring all Catholics with his own doctrinal brush for the purpose of framing legal appeals on religious grounds, when the reality suggests that the range of opinion among members of this particular faith is as sophisticated and nuanced as any other.
Surely it was God’s will that the courts were not fooled, despite the best efforts of Brother O’Donnell, the Florida state legislature, and the U.S. Congress. It is very heartening to learn that such people are in the minority, and that according to recent opinion polls the majority of Americans, whether believers or not, side with Mr. Schiavo and the courts. There comes a time when, as Haydn says, “The poor [woman] has suffered enough.” So have her friends and family. Reasonable people of all persuasions, rather than turning this tragedy into a media circus or a political football, ought to be comforting the bereaved with words of faith and solace.
In this spirit, my colleagues and I offer the family of Terri Schiavo our deepest condolences at the end of what has been an unimaginably difficult road. And to those who have tried to prolong this agonizing farewell to the point of absurdity by, among other things, mocking the sanctity of marriage by persecuting a caring husband (who has comported himself with remarkable dignity under the circumstances), I ask you once again: Where is your faith? By what right do you bully your way into this private tragedy, torment and pillory Mr. Schiavo, and fuel the false hopes of Terri’s parents? What moral code, sacred or secular, condones such behavior? From my perspective, as well as Haydn’s and Bach’s, it smacks not of faith, but of deep and abiding doubt, if not outright hubris.
David Hurwitz
