Pro Quid Mori

Pro quid Mori?

What does one die for?

“I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel” (Genesis 3:15). Death by lobotomy was a certainty. Whoever one was before would be gone-that is, if he survived- and was left as a ‘vegetable’. Crucifixion was much the same in that regard. If one were nailed or tied to that piece of wood for defying Rome or whatever provincial authority he had upset, he wouldn’t return. Whichever one was administered, it was a terrible fate. For centuries, millennia truly, defying the established evil in the world has been, and continues to be, an act for which one receives death, figuratively or literally. For an author so despising of conformity, it makes little sense for him to show his reader that the price for their war is battles that no matter their worthy goal, they will not win. Even the ultimate symbol of nonconformity that is the Christ, whom McMurphy represents, went to the Cross. The Cup of Deliverance boasts a heavy price, one many are not willing to pay. There are two battles in Part IV, which have been brewing for the last three sections, one won by the Nurse and the other by McMurphy. Truly, their battles are mere games of chess for our author, showing the price for defying that which has been established, and for defying the evil that lies behind it.

McMurphy and Nurse Ratched are as opposite as Jesus and the Devil themselves, and as such, wage a war of ideals against the other until only one is left standing. But as in every war, there is always more than one battle, and this war consists primarily of two, both of which culminate in Part IV. History shows that when fighting on two fronts, one of those will be lost Napoleon conquered almost all of Europe but failed in Russia. The Kaiser won Russia but failed on the Western front. Had Normandy failed, the Allies would have lost the Western front of WWII. One cannot divide himself and hope to conquer, even if you are R.P. McMurphy. His first battle was over his body, his life, and his freedom. It did not end until the Nurse played her final hand: lobotomy. “As the hours passed [...] I can see more and more guys strolling over to look at the face” (Kesey, 270). There, that battle ended. Chief knew deep inside of him about both battles-it is why he stuck around after McMurphy was taken to Disturbed for the final time, and it’s why he helped him escape. He stuck around to survey the battlefield of the second, and to McMurphy, the more important battle. Chief saw the effect the patients had on McMurphy. They forced him to fight for them as they could not fight for themselves. On a more symbolic level, he fought to free the men (humanity) from the grip of the twisted world that Nurse Ratched (the Devil) had created. The men he had been trying to save had been voluntary- they came there of their own free will- which meant he needed them to leave of their own free will. To take off humanity’s willful blindfold when it comes to evil. “We couldn’t stop him because we were the ones making him do it” (267). The patients knew at the end why he had been fighting all along. They all knew of the first battle; they had encouraged him in it and tried to help him escape. But until the end of that battle, no one had known that there was even a second, greater battle that the author placed in there to be honest with the reader about what he was trying to get them to do, to be honest about the fact that there would be consequences.

Some might roll their eyes at the fact that he fought two battles at the same time in Part IV. Why would it matter? He still lost. Yes, he did still lose his first battle. He lost the Eastern front, if you will. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. McMurphy lost his life. He never escaped. He never won his freedom. He was lobotomized-the gambling, drinking, whoring cowboy that was McMurphy was dead. The captain of that ship was fallen, fallen cold and dead. His body might have existed, but everything that made Mack, well Mack, was gone. So what that he lost? So what that the Christ figure gave up his life? So what? He lost his first battle; he fought it until his friend had to kill him. Dulce et decorum est pro corpus mori, no? It is sweet and honorable to die for oneself, is it not? Your author says no. Fighting nonconformity to fight nonconformity is pointless. Fighting for yourself will be a fight in which you cannot win if you are trying to fight against conformity, for it has all the cards in that respect. Jail, slander, execution, crucifixion; whatever it might take to silence you, conformity has the power to do it. If your only cause is to help yourself, you will not win. Who would follow you, who would give you the momentum to have any success if your only concern is yourself? You would have no allies, no nothing to help you. Fighting conformity for yourself can never succeed.

But what of McMurphy’s other battle? His battle where it is safe to say his motto was dulce et decorum est pro amicus mori, it is sweet and honorable to die for one’s friend? What of that one? Again, there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It is entirely too obvious. Even though McMurphy went from having “iron in his bare heels” that rang “sparks out of the tile” (267) to the Disturbed Ward in a short period of time, McMurphy’s goal was complete in the laughter of the men of the ward. It was complete in the once sentence Billy could speak without stuttering. It was complete when Harding could take Nurse’s paper and shred it saying “ ‘Lady, I think you are full of so much bullshit’ ” (269). It was complete when most of the Acutes left the ward for good. It was complete when a paranoid schizophrenic escaped the ward. McMurphy fought and fought for these patients who could not fight for themselves, for they were so deep into the clutches of the Devil in the microcosm of her own world that the Nurse had created. Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est, still holds true for this Jesus figure. Where charity and love are, God is, and that is where McMurphy won. When he had a reason to fight the conformity that had nothing to do with himself, and indeed, got McMurphy killed figuratively and literally, he won. He tore open the veil and let the men of the ward see. He silenced the Devil, taking her by the throat and strangling her. At the cost of his life, McMurphy won the battle for the hearts and minds of the men. He won the battle to save them, and Kesey warns his reader of the consequences and reminds them of the rewards of trying to pull off such a feat. If one tries to fight conformity, if one tries to fight the evil that usually follows behind in conformity’s wake, he will risk his life to open the eyes of the hearts of men. If you are going to try to change things, you need to be prepared to give your life and never see your goal come to fruition, as it is incredibly likely you will fail in your lifetime. People are mortal, but your ideas are not, and those will carry through, though the toll might very well be your life. Charity indeed.

Why though? Why on God’s green earth does that matter? Why does it matter that the head is only bruised in this book for the Serpent, yet the heel of Jesus is crushed along with the rest of his body? Why would Kesey write a book to tell the reader that you will probably fail should you decide to undertake this quest? Why does it matter that this will most likely cost you your life if you take up the cause for another, and absolutely will cost you your life if you take up the quest solely to help yourself? It is simply because both of these battles and their outcomes are a critique on humanity. Recently the United States’ ambassador to the U.N. asked Russia’s ambassador “How many more shall die before Russia cares?” That sentence is true for all humanity. Kesey looks at us and asks “Why must someone die before you will even help his cause? He fights for a righteous cause yet you refuse to look! Why? How many more lives will it cost for man to open the eyes of his heart and say ‘Here I am! Send me!’?” Indeed, how many more times must evil become the norm? How many more times must the veil be torn before it is never sewn shut again? How many more lives will it cost before man looks deep inside his soul to find the root of his evil? How many more times will there be a need for a Savior to awaken man from his willful blindness? How much longer must a man look at another man and say “ ‘As if you thought yourself to be a God!’ ” (266) when he himself is a demon playing at being God? How much longer will it take for man to turn from evil and ask himself, “For what good in the world is there that is worth fighting for? For what would I die?”