“A Condition of Complete Simplicity” from T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”

“A Condition of Complete Simplicity” from T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets” April 1, 2015

Thomas Stearns Eliot by Lady Ottoline Morrell (1934).jpgI can’t remember how this came to pass, but over the past few days, I’ve found myself listening a great deal to T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets.” And especially listening to the performance of “Little Gidding” by Paul Scofield (that can be found on YouTube).

Now, as I’ve listened to Eliot off and on through the years, I’ve come to realize three things. First, I love his work — the “mere” sound and rhythm of it; the wonderful (almost impossible) mastery of language; the searing simplicity and directness of its insights, often springing up in the midst of nearly-impenetrable complexity. Which leads me to the second thing: I understand pretty much none of it, because it is so riddled with literary references and cultural, philosophical, and theological allusions that I can’t currently (and will probably never) recignuze. And third, I tend to interpret it in whatever fashion makes the most sense in my current context.

In this case, that means Lent. And Holy Week. And it is the fifth and final section of “Little Gidding,” in particular, that I simply cannot escape at present. (The fourth section is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard or seen, but it’s a bit post-Easter-ish for the moment, right? What with its clear references to Pentecost and all.)

The idea of returning back to where we started — a theme present throughout the entire work, as well as in this final section — feels very Lenten to me. There’s something fundamentally Déjà vu-like in the liturgical cycle of the Church that always strikes me right about now. Déjà vu in the strict/clinical sense; something that I feel like I’ve seen and done before, but which I haven’t. Not really. I’m returning back to where I started, but I’m seeing it with new (and newly-opened) eyes.

The Agony in the Garden circa 1799-1800 by William Blake 1757-1827But the line that struck me hardest over the past few days is the bit about the price of simplicity. “…complete simplicity, costing no less than everything.” Lent, in a nutshell.

Each and every Lenten season, we set out on a quest for clarity and detachment; for total, childlike simplicity. But the only way to find it is to give up everything; to give up and hand over all of ourselves to Him. And that’s difficult. That’s terrifying.

Yet the promise if we manage to sacrifice ourselves on and to this quest — and the reason for undertaking it in the first place — remains. And it’s worth all the fear and all the heartache and all the struggle.

“…all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well…”

And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always–
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

Attribution(s): Thomas Stearns Eliot” by Lady Ottoline Morrell is a dderivative work licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons; “The Agony in the Garden” by William Blake (Source) is licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.


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