They are all gone now, even the survivors. I suppose nary a person is unaware of the Titanic’s sinking. Some, especially college students who have to read “The Wreck of the Deutschland” by Gerard Manly Hopkins, are aware of the 1866 shipwreck. Few are probably aware of the sinking of the Sultana in the Mississippi River at the end of the Civil War.
Fourteen hundred ninety-six people died on the Titanic. As many as 1,800 died on the Sultana, a sidewheeler loaded with Union soldiers eager to return to their homes. The Sultana’s boilers exploded while the overcrowded riverboat made its way northward on a swift and flooding river. Most of the men who died had been prisoners of war and were too weak to fight the current or to escape the burning ship.
They are all gone now, gone in a brief moment on a fluid place. But aren’t all places “fluid”? Certainly, we recognize our lives are always on some current, always bouncing on some waves, and always near dangerous shoals or over great depths. Traveling on the seas and rivers of life is a risky venture at best. Shipwrecks are common.
Is that the reason that we are advised to “keep a sharp lookout”? Is there a crow’s nest on your personal vessel, one that gives you a vantage point to see a bit over the horizon? The horizon. When one lives on a round planet, there is that barrier to our seeing. We know that something lies beyond, but we are never sure exactly what. In our attempt to see our own destiny, we climb various masts to see farther. What are they? Philosophies, religious texts, social science analyses, statistics, paranormal predictions (Nostradamus?), and hallucinogenic drugs serve as masts for some. Others might climb different masts.
The reality is that you might be able to stretch your horizon a little, but you do only that: stretch it a little. You move it back a bit, but it is still there, and what lies beyond is still a mystery until it is reality. The reality you daily deal with requires that you understand your current position, the durability of your vessel, and, if not exactly what lies over the horizon, at least a sense of what is possible.
So, here you are, captain of a vessel. What mistakes to avoid? Aye, Captain. What mistakes indeed? The mistakes that sank the Titanic are well documented, and everyone knows them from books and movies. The SS Deutschland ran aground because the captain didn’t know where he was, and the seas were rough under blizzard conditions. The captain of the Sultana had boiler problems that forced him to make repairs twice. His boat, built to ferry 376 people, had almost 2,500 on board plus cargo; it was, in short, overloaded, and it was struggling against floodwater flow.
Now, Captain, look at your own vessel. As you sail toward the horizon, are you aware that you travel in a cold sea toward shifting islands you cannot see because you left the binoculars back in port, and from the crow’s nest you can’t pierce the distant darkness? Are you aware of your current position? After all, knowing that is important because you can’t get to “there” without knowing the location of “here.” Or in vanity that never recognizes limitations or cracked boilers, do you steam against a strong and relentless current on an overloaded vessel?
Fourteen hundred ninety-six people died on the Titanic. As many as 1,800 died on the Sultana, a sidewheeler loaded with Union soldiers eager to return to their homes. The Sultana’s boilers exploded while the overcrowded riverboat made its way northward on a swift and flooding river. Most of the men who died had been prisoners of war and were too weak to fight the current or to escape the burning ship.
They are all gone now, gone in a brief moment on a fluid place. But aren’t all places “fluid”? Certainly, we recognize our lives are always on some current, always bouncing on some waves, and always near dangerous shoals or over great depths. Traveling on the seas and rivers of life is a risky venture at best. Shipwrecks are common.
Is that the reason that we are advised to “keep a sharp lookout”? Is there a crow’s nest on your personal vessel, one that gives you a vantage point to see a bit over the horizon? The horizon. When one lives on a round planet, there is that barrier to our seeing. We know that something lies beyond, but we are never sure exactly what. In our attempt to see our own destiny, we climb various masts to see farther. What are they? Philosophies, religious texts, social science analyses, statistics, paranormal predictions (Nostradamus?), and hallucinogenic drugs serve as masts for some. Others might climb different masts.
The reality is that you might be able to stretch your horizon a little, but you do only that: stretch it a little. You move it back a bit, but it is still there, and what lies beyond is still a mystery until it is reality. The reality you daily deal with requires that you understand your current position, the durability of your vessel, and, if not exactly what lies over the horizon, at least a sense of what is possible.
So, here you are, captain of a vessel. What mistakes to avoid? Aye, Captain. What mistakes indeed? The mistakes that sank the Titanic are well documented, and everyone knows them from books and movies. The SS Deutschland ran aground because the captain didn’t know where he was, and the seas were rough under blizzard conditions. The captain of the Sultana had boiler problems that forced him to make repairs twice. His boat, built to ferry 376 people, had almost 2,500 on board plus cargo; it was, in short, overloaded, and it was struggling against floodwater flow.
Now, Captain, look at your own vessel. As you sail toward the horizon, are you aware that you travel in a cold sea toward shifting islands you cannot see because you left the binoculars back in port, and from the crow’s nest you can’t pierce the distant darkness? Are you aware of your current position? After all, knowing that is important because you can’t get to “there” without knowing the location of “here.” Or in vanity that never recognizes limitations or cracked boilers, do you steam against a strong and relentless current on an overloaded vessel?
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