Thou Shalt Not Kill

I had grown weary of him; of his breath
And hands and features I was sick to death.
Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread;
I did not hate him: but I wished him dead.
And he must with his blank face fill my life –
Then my brain blackened, and I snatched a knife.

But ere I struck, my soul’s grey deserts through
A voice cried, “Know at least what thing you do.
This is a common man: knowest thou, O soul,
What his thing is? somewhere where seasons roll
There is some living thing for whom this man
Is as seven heavens girt into a span,
For some one soul you take the world away –
Now know you well your deed and purpose. Slay!”
Then I cast down the knife upon the ground
And saw that mean man for one moment crowned.
I turned and laughed: for there was no one by –
The man that I had sought to slay was I.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton is popularly known as the "Prince of Paradox." He wrote this poem and in it he surprises everyone with the twist at the end. The victim and perpetrator were one and the same. Often that is the case even with us, and just as often it would seem that we too are altogether oblivious of just how much we hate our own selves. There is, it would seem, a severe problem here. We, as Christians, are called to hate ourselves. Yes, even to slay ourselves. Yet although we do, at times, hate ourselves we never really kill ourselves off. If we did things would be a lot better, I'm sure. We hate ourselves on occasion, yet we love ourselves continually. This hatred that we are supposed to apply is not an abnegation (or is it abdication?) of the body. It is not a literal or physical hatred of self. It is a deeper hatred. One might say a more 'psychological' hatred. The poem is titled quite simply, Thou Shalt Not Kill.