The contrasting phrases “Go gentle” by Ebert and “Do not go gentle” by Thomas imply opposing attitudes towards death. However, Ebert’s seemingly indifferent stance on life and death may not be as contrary as it appears. He suggests that if his life is of little significance before his birth, it will be similarly inconsequential after his death, hinting at a kind of good fortune.
Most people believe that those born into poverty would wish for more during their lifetime and value what they have even more. Yet, the poor man cannot fear losing what he never possessed. On the other hand, the richer you are, the more you appreciate the treasures in your life, which in turn increases your dread of losing them. It is not the pauper who fears dying without a single penny to his name, but rather the billionaire.
The value one places on their life determines how they will part with it. While death may be inevitable, that doesn’t mean it’s as desirable as life itself. Resisting the notion of annihilation is the most eloquent argument for more living, not less. It’s a farewell vote cast in favor of another baby being born somewhere else, to someone else. It represents one’s final act of sharing, even when they believe there is nothing left to share. To “go gentle” then, is to meekly agree that if there were just a little less life, it wouldn’t matter; it is to admit that if someone else were not given the chance to live, it would be fine.
Ebert claims he doesn’t fear death and says there’s “nothing on the other side to fear.” However, those who deeply cherish their lives always die or witness someone else’s death with a bit of fear and reluctance because they value what they or others are going to be denied.
We may live long enough to discover some truths but not long enough to uncover all of them. Does that mean these truths don’t exist, or merely that they have not been discovered yet? The fact that Ebert found certain truths later in life suggests that had he lived longer, he might have discovered even more.
Without explicitly stating so, Ebert is acknowledging that it isn’t us who uncover the truth but rather truth that reveals itself to us through living and dying. As his colleagues admiringly noted, Ebert’s discoveries transformed him from the arrogant young man he was into a gentler, sweeter, older self.
But for someone who dislikes insistence, Ebert is surprisingly persistent himself. He tells a woman he has known for a long time: “You’d better cry at my memorial service.” On faith, he asserts it’s neutral: “All depends on what is believed in.” On happiness, he declares: “To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts.” However, by whose law? He doesn’t specify.
True empathy – not the easy, performative kind for photo ops – is the defiance of laziness in embracing only those with whom we agree. It embraces the person—with their flaws and all—to understand, not judge them. The lives of good people are well-lived, not because they didn’t do bad things—many did—and not because they won or lost, but because they acted. Their “fierce tears” and “frail deeds” (Thomas’s words) chose to bless and embrace someone else instead of cursing them.
Ebert once wrote that the movies he liked best were about “good people,” whether they ended up happy or sad, did good things or bad things, or won or lost. That’s where Ebert truly comes into his own and applauds Thomas’ defiance.
That’s Ebert, with Chaz’s help, echoing Thomas’ hope and love of life, which serves as its own excuse to defy death. Both the essay and poem grapple with death and dying, but their focus remains firmly on life and living.
