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(Liza Voronin/The Epoch Times)
Magna Est Veritas
Here, in this little bay,
Full of tumultuous life and great repose,
Where, twice a day,
The purposeless, glad ocean comes and goes,
Under high cliffs, and far from the huge town,
I sit me down.
For want of me the world’s course will not fail:
When all its work is done, the lie shall rot;
The truth is great, and shall prevail,
When none cares whether it prevail or not.
—Coventry Patmore (1823–1896)
Amid the myriad distractions of our busy lives, we can all benefit from a moment of contemplation. In this poem, the speaker escapes from the frenetic activity of the big smoke and looks out over a bay, where the sea merely comes and goes. His phrase, “I sit me down” suggests the force of will that this time of peace and relaxation takes.
When we do decide to let our bodies rest and our minds wander, the littlest things can turn out to contain the greatest wisdom. Here the “little bay” reveals the meaning of the poem’s Latin title: “The truth is mighty.” This bay is full of the majestic extremes of storm and stillness, suggesting the turbulence and serenity of our lives. The reference to the “purposeless” ocean might seem to suggest a pessimistic vision of misery, boredom, and lethargy. Yet the ocean is in fact “glad.” In human terms it stands for a state of pure being, rather than endless doing.
The speaker watching the sea come and go is like someone deep in meditation, watching the sensations of the breath as it sighs in and out. This kind of detached and yet tender, cherishing attention—suspending action and judgement—is well known to alleviate stress, restoring us to a calm, practical sense of contentment.
The central consciousness in the poem is dwarfed by the high cliffs, yet feels far from belittled. He is far from the “huge town,” with its clamor and yawp, yet significantly it is here that he stops being no one and comes into his self-possession. Here his “I” is heard—by himself.
Paradoxically, he reflects on his own insignificance. He comes to understand that “for want of him” (meaning “for lack of him”) the “world’s course will not fail.” Yet this realization is a source of strength, not sadness. There is an ambiguity here. Does “the world’s course” refer to the town he has left behind or the natural landscape around him? For me, it stands for the realm of business, trading, profit, and loss.
Yet this world, with its promises of riches and success, is a lie and like all lies will rot. The greatest city will sink into the earth; the most powerful captain of industry will soon be dust and ashes. But through it all the truth prevails. The truth is not a matter of popular opinion that changes from century to century but relates to existence—to life at its most essential. As a result, millions of people who believe in a lie will eventually be enlightened by the one person who sits by a “little bay” or maybe on a park bench and, gazing at the sea or at the leaves cast by the wind, grasps things as they really are.
Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore (1823–1896) was an English poet and critic.
Christopher Nield is a poet living in London.
