The Nature of Hemingway

There are three things worth living for, Lieutenant Henry might say: Women, Booze, and Sex.

You might think to yourself “But Henry! Isn’t the third merely a subset of the first?”—The answer would be yes, and it would be fully intentional.

Lieutenant Henry’s attitude is, not surprisingly, quite similar to Hemingway’s, his author. Their life stories are equally similar—they were both drawn to aid a war effort at a young age, and they both fell in love with a nurse. What happened to the nurse differs slightly depending on which story you follow, however (but we’ll get to that). To say Hemingway wrote Henry as an allegory for himself would be understating it, especially when you look at the deeper aspects of both characters.

The foundations for Hemingway’s writing were The Kansas City Star’s guidelines: “Use short sentences. Use short first paragraphs. Use vigorous English. Be positive, not negative”. These were followed to a T, give or take a few definitions. If vigorous means repetitive and nondescript, then yes. If positive refers not to morality, but to the polarity of his sentences, then yes—it’s hard to argue that the ending scene of A Farewell to Arms where Henry is watching his girlfriend die, only to leave, contemplate saying “goodbye” to her, but deciding not to for the sheer futility of it, is a positive image. But it’s not so hard to see even deeper parallels between Hemingway and Henry.

As an iconic Hemingway code hero, Henry shares Hemingway’s relationship to nature. The defining facet of this is overt pointlessness. None of us will ever conquer nature—it’s an undeniable force that conquers all, and the only thing we can do to give one last “hurrah” before we all die an excruciatingly vain death, is to not do anything. Maintaining composure under harsh circumstances is exactly what Lieutenant Henry does.

               

“’Tell me exactly what happened. Did you do any heroic act?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I was blown up while we were eating cheese.’”

The conversation shortly after Lieutenant Henry takes a mortar shell to the leg, epitomizes “maintaining composure under harsh circumstances.” He’s conversing with a medic about the accolades that he should receive for such a heroic act, and Henry refuses to accept any reward. To Henry, he did nothing special. He was blown up while he was eating cheese, nothing more, nothing less.

“’Be serious. You must have done something heroic either before or after. Remember

carefully.’

’I did not.’”

To Henry and Hemingway, the heroic act isn’t carrying a soldier on his back through the fire and the flames, nor is it running at the enemy in a fit of rage, guns blazing. The heroic act is no act at all—it’s being passive. War is a part of nature—it’s another inevitable tidal wave that will crush all your dreams. But, Henry might say, that’s simply what we have to deal with. It’s an ostensibly defeatist stance, but below the surface it’s less about giving up, and more about accepting the inevitable. “But John, that’s exactly what defeatism is.” Well, alright, but Hemingway put a more manly twinge to it.

So there you have it. Henry himself is a perfect Hemingway code hero—both paragons of machismo, Henry and Hemingway show grace under pressure, self containment, and personal honor. They’re the original emotionless and stoic, detached, but sexy, manly men. What were Hemingway’s hobbies? Bullfighting and Big game hunting. What are Henry’s hobbies? Drinking alcohol and taking mortar shells to the leg. You've got to be kidding me. What are my hobbies? I play MMORPGs and write snarky blog posts online.

When it comes right down to it—a phrase that I've never liked—it’s about abandoning your earthly woes and acknowledging what is to come. It’s about welcoming the unavoidable victory of nature over mankind, with a smile on your face, because you know its coming. It’s about complete submission—and total, but dignified, acquiescence. Nature is going to win, so deal with it. Even Henry, purportedly a warrior, begins to set free his desire for victory as the book comes to a close.

“I hoped for a long time for victory.”

“Me too.”

 “Now I don’t know.”

“It has to be one or the other.”

“I don’t believe in victory anymore.”

“I don’t. But I don’t believe in defeat. Though it may be better.”

“What do you believe in?”

“In sleep,” I said.

While the futility of mankind’s struggle against nature is a polarizing issue, everyone can agree upon the necessity of 8-10 hours of sleep so tomorrow seems a little bit brighter. Well, everyone, I suppose, except my teachers around final’s week.