The Snark | Dying to Oneself

(No, Not Literally)

Ah, the classic hymn “Dear Lord, and Father of Mankind” – a staple in churches everywhere, and apparently the go-to song for anyone looking to soothe their soul after an especially tough day of “living.” Let’s take a moment to appreciate the sheer tranquility of it all: a plea for peace, a desire for calm, and – wait for it – a prayer for “dying to oneself.” That’s right, this isn’t just a “please give me inner peace” kind of hymn. No, no. We’re talking about something a little more existential here.

But what does that mean for a writer of fiction? How could this hymn inspire a tortured, peace-seeking character who can’t quite seem to find it?

Let’s break it down.

The final verse of this hymn (which, let’s be real, is the real emotional punch) tells us, “Breathe through the heats of our desire / Thy coolness and thy balm; / Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; / Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, / O still small voice of calm.” Ah, sweet serenity. The “still small voice of calm” sounds like the best thing since warm milk and soft blankets on a winter day, right? Well, it’s not quite that simple.

“Let sense be dumb”? Let flesh retire? That sounds an awful lot like a plea for escape from reality – or maybe even a desire to check out of life. When you really dig into it, there’s a certain paradox in these words. Dying to oneself sounds like a grand spiritual ambition, something that could free you from the pain and suffering of life. But, and here’s the tricky part: Isn’t there a subtle yearning for death in this too? For some, the idea of “dying to oneself” might be less about spiritual transcendence and more about giving up – letting go of the need to fight, struggle, or exist in the messy, chaotic world. That’s not so much a peaceful release as it is an existential surrender.

But we’re writers, right? And we’re into the messiness of human nature. So what does this mean for our characters? Specifically, let’s talk about that character who’s striving for peace, and yet, ironically, can never seem to find it. This is the one who is searching for that still small voice of calm but is drowning in the chaos. The one who is so exhausted from “dying to themselves” that they’re starting to wonder if maybe the still small voice of calm is just another version of “taking the easy way out.”

Imagine a character who, at their core, wants peace, wants to be free from the suffocating demands of existence – someone who is tired of the noise and mess of the world. But instead of finding calm, they’re just left with a deep sense of emptiness. There’s no euphoric spiritual transcendence. Instead, they become restless, not knowing whether the problem is their inability to surrender fully to the peace or the reality that peace simply doesn’t exist the way they imagined it would. This is a character who goes through the motions of spirituality or introspection, reading books, meditating, maybe even trying ascetic practices like, say, dying to oneself – only to find that the more they try to “let go,” the more they realize there’s nothing to hold onto.

That’s where the tension lies. The character is desperate for calm, but the very act of seeking it is making them more frantic, more aware of the endless struggle between what they want (peace, release) and what they have (an endless cycle of self-questioning and emotional turmoil). They can’t seem to stop wrestling with life, and the more they try to give it up, the more they realize that they can’t escape it.

Is peace even achievable? Or is it just a myth?

As writers, that’s the perfect conflict for a character. Striving for peace, and never quite getting there, creates a narrative where the character’s own search for meaning becomes the story itself. And let’s face it, isn’t that what life often feels like? An endless search for peace, only to find that the journey itself is what makes us restless? That the moment we surrender is often the moment we realize that we’re still... right here.

So, writers, die to yourself, but just enough to realize that the process is infinitely more interesting than the destination. Embrace the mess, because after all, that’s where the best stories live. The ones about humans, the ones who can’t quite get the peace they’re looking for, and the ones who realize that maybe peace is overrated anyway.

In the end, if your character wants to find peace by embracing the idea of "Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire," then let them go ahead – just don’t expect the still small voice of calm to answer. Instead, they’ll probably just hear the sound of their own existential panic echoing back. But hey, that’s drama for you.

The Snark