Ernest Hemmingway’s Inconvenient Truth

On July 2, 1961 Ernest Hemingway committed suicide in his home with his favorite shotgun.   With that statement of finality, this world renowned author, adventurer, patriot, husband and father was no more.  He was so committed to the taking of his own life that he had finally succeeded after several serious attempts.

Hemingway was in such a desperate state of despair that neither the doctors nor his closest friends, or family could talk him out of the pit. What was troubling him was, at least as far as those closest to him could gather, was his circumstances.

At age 63, he was severely distraught over his inability to write or finish a story anymore.  He just couldn’t seem to get the words out according to A.E. Hotchner’s biography on Hemingway.  Hotchner was one of Hemingway’s closest associates from as far back as Cuba in 1948, nearly fifteen years before Hemingway’s death.

In Hotchner’s biography, he tells of Hemingway coming home from the psychiatric hospital with his wife, to pick up a few things on his way to the Mayo Clinic for more depression treatment.  He was accompanied by a nurse and two family friends, one man he noted was at least 6’3” and over two hundred pounds.  While on the final approach to his house, he bolted inside and immediately locked everyone out before they could reach him.

If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of one of the men, he would have succeeded at killing himself right then and there, but they were able to quickly get around to the opposite door and stop him in a violent struggle to get a loaded shotgun out of his hands.

Next, while heavily sedated, Hemingway tried to jump out of the very plane that was carrying him to the hospital for treatment.  Again, he was overpowered by two friends who were desperately trying to keep him alive until he could get treatment for his hopelessly depressed condition. Upon landing, Hemingway tried to walk into the planes propeller, but was again thwarted by his friend, who was nearly knocked into the whirling blades himself in the rescue.  (Papa Hemingway, p. 288-289)

Yet, in spite of all their efforts, Hemmingway was committed to his task.  “Hotch, I can’t finish this book, I can’t.” he confessed to his friend prior to entering the hospital for the final time. During the month of May he received a number of electrical shock treatments which he complained was ruining his memory, perhaps one of his few remaining sources of hope.

And in a later conversation, after another stint in the hospital Hotchner attempted to encourage him by reminding him of all the things he cared about and liked to do, and to not think so negatively about things.  To which Hemingway replied,  “….What does a man care about? Staying healthy. Working good. Eating and drinking with his friends. Enjoying himself in bed. I haven’t any of them.”   Hemingway was also consumed by the “Feds” harassment of him over his income taxes and his debt.

As it turned out, this was the last time Hotchner would see his friend alive.  Hemingway was so consumed with the things he could no longer do, the stories he could no longer write and the thrill of life he was no longer able to enjoy, that he finally succeed at the one remaining hope he had left in this world, to take his own life.

Like everyone eventually does, Hemingway was aging and butting up against his own mortality.  The fun had come to an end.  Eventually the physical things which make this life so appealing eventually lose their luster and as the saying goes, “all good things must come to an end.”    This is indeed an inconvenient truth.

If ever there was a guy who knew how to have a good time, it was Earnest Hemmingway, but if all we have in this world is what we can see and taste and touch then truly we are without hope.

In the Old Testament, the book of Ecclesiastes concludes in this way, chapter 12, verse 1, it states, “Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come, And the years draw near when you say, “I have no pleasure in them:” 

Ancient wisdom by the wise and wealthy King Solomon who had everything the world could offer, and concluded that it all was meaningless unless…, he concluded in Chapter 12:13-14:

13 Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God and keep His commandments, For this is man’s all. 14 For God will bring every work into judgment, Including every secret thing, Whether good or evil.”

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Bob

Just a fellow traveler in this journey called life whose been all over the proverbial map. I was a Captain in the United States Army, an internet entrepreneur before it's time, an Actor, a Real Estate Agent, Social Worker, Executive Director of a non-profit, a Production Foreman, Team Leader, Technical Writer, Small Business Owner, and a Quality and Operations Manager. As a volunteer, I have taught, coached, written lesson plans, led small groups and mentored men as a part of Christian Ministry. I currently work with men as a lay counselor both in and out of jail. I am a guy who never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up and quite frankly, still not really sure. I like to write stories, commentary, screenplays and a little poetry that I hope will make you think about more than what you’re wearing today, or whether your favorite team won the big game. My wife Jill and I have three adult children and two grandchildren. When I’m not working or enjoying my family, I find pleasure in the pursuit of writing thought provoking stories and poetry about the human drama.

4 comments

  • I don’t think that’s always the case. Depression is a contemporary illness from which our grandparents rarely suffered. Back in the day, sadness was accepted as a normal part of life. Now, people are getting sad and then reaching for a bottle or a prescription. Sadness, grief and loss are normal in life and are too quickly labelled depression.

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  • Bob's avatar

    Yes, it was certainly a contributing cause, but like alcoholism, depression is a symptom of a much deeper pain. Thanks for your reply.

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  • “… so consumed with the things he could no longer do, the stories he could no longer write and the thrill of life he was no longer able to enjoy…” This is a universal refrain in Alcoholics Anonymous where almost all members have attempted suicide. Alcoholism killed Hemingway, as it killed Williams. Not depression or ageing.

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