One of My Favorite Poems

This is by William Ernest Henley.  He became sick with tuberculosis of the bone at the age of 12.  The affected foot was later amputated, and though doctor’s wanted to amputate the other leg, he managed to keep it and use an artificial foot where the other had been.  He carried on, even passing the Oxford Exam, in spite of the grotesque illness fate had prescribed him.

 The poem was originally published in 1875.  It was immediately a controversial piece, as the text offended many of the religous norm and continues to do so until this very day.  It fell under more intense scrutiny when Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma City bomber, chose the work as his final statement at his July 11,2001 execution. 

I first read it in my freshman English class in high school.  I thought it was wonderful, but many people in my class were offended by his use of the phrase "whatever gods may be".  They in turn wrote him off as an athiest and turned a deaf ear to this impassioned revelation from the depths of his soul.  It saddened me because the poem has nothing to do with the question of God’s existence, importance, or worthiness. It is simply an expression of the strength of the human soul as it rises and overcomes the many transgressions that life heaps upon it.  I myself have yet to see any actual textbook proof that Henley was an atheist, or a die-hard terrorism fan, for that matter.  He was simply a human being forced to face the darkest depths of his spirtuality.  

To those who cannot see beyond his questioning the exisistence of God-as he lay in a hospital bed recovering from limb amputation-consider this:  What greater faith is there than that of a reclaimed non-believer?  Is it untrue that many of the most faithful believers in God have at some point questioned His very existence at all?  Perhaps, in order for many to come into God’s light, they must first live in ignorance of it, so that when it does shine upon them it is that much brighter.

Here is the poem.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
     Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever Gods may be
     For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of Circumstance
     I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of Chance
     My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
    Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
     I am the captain of my soul.