“When we arrive in Elysium, what kind of people will we be?” A student is said to have questioned Socrates.
“We’ll be the same kind of folks we were here,” was the response.
If there is life after this, we are preparing for it now, just as I am doing now for my future life.
What type of man am I going to be tomorrow? Oh, he was pretty much the same type of guy I am now. The kind of man I’ve been this month determines the kind of man I’ll be next month.
If I’m not happy right now, it’s improbable that I’ll be overjoyed tomorrow. Heaven isn’t a destination; it’s a way of life. We’d better start preparing now if we’re going to Heaven.
Life is an opportunity to plan for the future, and the best way to do it is to live as if there isn’t one.
We’re continuously planning for the future. The two things that make old age appealing are resignation and a just concern for others’ rights.
Czar Ivan is the central character in Ivan the Terrible’s play. If anyone other than Richard Mansfield portrayed the part, it would be pointless. We only get a peek into the life of a tyrant who has gone through goosedom, grumpiness, selfishness, and grouch. By the way, this man has the authority to put other persons to death, which he does and has done according to his whims and temper. He was ruthless, vengeful, quarrelsome, tyrannical, and terrifying. He wishes to make peace with God now that he is nearing death. He has, on the other hand, been dragging his feet on this matter for far too long. During his youth and middle years, he had no notion that he was preparing for old age.
We have some power over the causes, and we are the outcome of cause and effect. Because we’re all heading somewhere, life is a fluid, and it’s been termed the “stream of life.” Ivan could be an elderly farmer living in Ebenezer if he were divested of his robes and crown. Ivan is a character who can be found in every town and village. To be an Ivan, simply lose your temper and be cruel to anyone or anything within your reach, and the result will be a sure preparation for a querulous, quarrelsome, pickety, snippy, fussy, and foolish old age, punctuated by numerous rage outbursts that are terrible in their futility and ineffectiveness.
Tantrums are no longer limited to children. King Lear’s and Ivan the Terrible’s characters have a lot in common. It’s almost as if the author of Ivan was well aware of Lear’s flaws and realised the foolishness of pleading for mercy on behalf of an elderly man evicted by his daughters.
The issue at hand Lear, whose flowing tongue was constantly bursting with unprintable phrases and filthy names, is unworthy of our sympathetic empathy. His entire life had been spent preparing his three girls for the therapy he was about to get. Lear had spent his entire life lubricating the chute that would transport him into the dark midnight storm.
He grumbles, “Having a thankless child is as cutting as a serpent’s tooth.”
Only a thankless parent, an outraged, irascible parent with an underground vocabulary and a readiness to use it, is worse than a thankless child.
The false note in Lear is giving him a daughter like Cordelia. Ivan the Terrible is who he is, with no apologies, justifications, or explanations, according to Tolstoy and Mansfield. If you’re not a fan of these types of plays, check out Vaudeville.
Mansfield’s character, Ivan, is a disaster. Death can be seen sniffing around the Czar’s heels, despite the fact that he is just seventy years old. Ivan is no longer able to sleep. He can’t listen, weigh, or make decisions; he doesn’t care about anyone or anything; this is his way of life. His bony hands are constantly moving, his fingers expanding and shutting, and he is constantly picking at stuff. He adjusts his breast cross, scratches his cosmos, plays the devil’s tattoo, stands awkwardly behind the throne, and listens while holding his breath. When others come up to him, he curses them if they kneel, and accuses them of rudeness if they stand erect. He wants to be relieved of his governmental duties, then trembles, afraid that his people would believe him. When he is asked to stay as King of Russia, he blames his advisors and accuses them of putting him under duties that they would not attempt to fulfil.
He’s a victim of amor senilis, and Mansfield’s realism would be horrifying if he went any farther, but he pauses in time and indicates what he can’t say. This fumbling, doddering, slobbering, sniffling old man is about to marry a stunning young woman. He picks diamonds for her, makes snide remarks about her future attractiveness, jeers, and laughs falsetto. It’s natural that the animality of youth appeals to us, but the vices of an elderly man, once they’ve become simply mental, are repulsive.
People in Ivan’s immediate vicinity fear him because he remains the absolute monarch, with the power to elevate or disgrace them, to kill or liberate them. They laugh when he laughs, cry when he cries, and have their pulses pounding as they watch his moods change.
He wears a priest’s gown and hood and is very devout. He wears the cross around his neck. His greatest fear is that he will die without the chance to repent and be pardoned. In the same breath as he prays to High Heaven, kisses the cross, and kisses the cross, his toothless old lips interject appeals to God and curses on man.
If someone says anything to him, he sags down till his shoulders are on the throne, scrapes his leg, and mutters insults like “Aye,” “Oh,” “Of course,” “Certainly,” “Ugh,” “Listen to him now!” Everything has a lighthearted tone to it, which helps to balance off the grief and keep the play from becoming revolting.
Ivan gives glimpses of his history in his jerky confessions: he is the saddest and unhappiest of men, and you can see that he is reaping what he has sown.
He’s spent his entire life preparing for this. Every day had been a warm-up for the next. Ivan dies in a passion, cursing his family and court, which he had been led into by a man who knew the outburst would definitely kill the weakened monarch.
Where does Ivan the Terrible go after Death closes his eyes?
I’m not certain. However, no confessional can absolve him, no priest can assist him, and God cannot forgive him, in my opinion. He’s been doing it since he was a child, and it’s just going to get worse. He’d spent his entire life preparing for this old age, and here he was in the fifth act of his life.
The author does not state it, and neither does Mansfield, but the message is clear: Hatred is a poisonous element. Sensuality leads to death, and adhering to selfishness is like starting a hellfire. In terms of preparedness, it’s all a matter of cause and effect.
If you are ever absolved, you must absolve yourself since no one else can. The earlier you begin, the better.
We hear a lot about the wonders of old age, but the only truly lovely old age is the one that a man has spent his entire life preparing for by leading a fulfilling life. Every single one of us is currently preparing for old age.
I’m sure there’s an equivalent for Good Nature out there, but I’m not aware of it.
