Paul Watson, Campus Carrier Editor-in-Chief
While daydreaming in class the other day, I began thinking about how much depth of detail the average author puts into their books. I’m not talking about a name meaning something special or a birthday lining up with this astronomical event or another. I mean real, in-depth detail that maybe even the author didn’t catch the first time around.
I’ll use J. K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter”. For those of you who don’t like “Harry Potter,” bear with me for a little while; I’ll explain everything so it’s easy to understand. In the world of Harry Potter, there are winged horse-like creatures called thestrals that are scaly and have bat-like wings. These creatures are visible only to those who have witnessed death at least once (and fully accepted the concept). If a person does not fit into this category, thestrals are invisible, yet are still able to interact with humans. For example, witches and wizards can ride a thestral even if they cannot see it.
With this understanding of thestrals, let’s examine the most powerful wand in the world: the Elder Wand. These are connected because the core of the Elder Wand is comprised of thestral mane hair. Therefore, in order to truly use the Elder Wand, one must become a master of death.
The scope of tragedy contained within this connection is easily lost on many, even those of us who have read the books and seen the movies more than a few times. I’ll start with thestrals themselves. They are truly a representation of utter loss, yet also of utter beauty because of what they represent. When a person sees the thestral, it is a perfect and sometimes cruel symbol of that which will never return to them; they are sometimes the representation of the last memory a person will ever have of that special someone they lost.
Yet, when thestral hair is used in the Elder Wand, the owner of the Wand must be able to overcome the tragedy of Death. They have become the master of the grave, using its power for their own purpose. Mortality essentially becomes a source of life-giving power for whoever can seize it.
This connection is applicable in our own world. We all face tragedy. We all, at one time or another, will face the death of a loved one. And when we do face this reality and accept it for what it is, we begin to see the world through a different scope. We experience those little things—that song on the radio, that Christmas gift from a few years back—that bring on a bittersweet memory in which we remember that loved one and the life they lived. These vestiges of joy are our thestrals. They are the (sometimes painful) reminder of what we’ve lost, what will never come back to us. Yet through these mementos, the memory of that special person never truly dies.
It is overcoming the vacancy in the soul which accompanies the icy reality of death that is the true feat. When one is able to harness the void that Death leaves behind and instead mold it into a positive force, one becomes that which Death despises. One essentially makes Death his slave, forcing it to be a pedestal from which hope of a tomorrow, free from the shackles of despair, can be shone to the world.
This idea of mastering death all seems whimsical and idealistic. But applying these principles is simpler than it may seem. About a year and a half ago, my mother passed away. After this, I was severely depressed and unwilling to see the world as anything but a black abyss, sucking away any happiness that may possibly cross my path. I felt hatred for all that was in existence and simply wanted to dive into the void, to float endlessly forever. Yet it was the memory of my mother and her passion for life and all she did that ushered me back into reality. I remember her thirst to simply live when I begin the trek back to the desolate realm of anguish, placing in me a renewed flame to live in such a way that she would be proud of her son. I have allowed her memory, as painful as it sometimes is to recall, to become a pillar on which I build my life.
This is not to say that the memory of Death itself does not overwhelm me at times; it is human nature for tragedy to engulf our emotions. In fact, humans have a tendency to seek out this tragic emotion in music, theatre and other forms of entertainment. Yet allowing Death to rule our lives can demolish the human psyche until we are nothing but hollow shells. Humans possess the strength to conquer adversity, whether by simply overpowering said adversity or by being clever enough to create tools; this is the basis of human nature, and it is what has allowed us to persevere as a species. We have used strength to create structures; we have created medicine to subdue disease. Overcoming the devastation of witnessing death is no different. We are capable of restraining Death and using it for our own purposes, whether through sheer mental strength or by use of other tools.
It is impossible to reverse death; humans can simply accept it and use it to our own advantage. We are the Masters of Death if we find within ourselves the strength to embrace this truth. Sometimes it takes a simple reread of a favorite book to renew the strength already within us.