The Frivolous Life of Ivan Ilych

A frivolous life is one that lacks fulfillment; it is a life without profound human emotion, or insatiable curiosity, or risk. A meaningless life is one that is mediocre—average, dull, and routine. Such is a life of complacency and regret; such is the life of Ivan Ilych

The Death of Ivan Ilych addresses the oncoming death and genuine lack of life of the husband, the father, the statesman: Ivan Ilych. In his blinded human eyes, he believes he has it all: a steady job, a wife, a family, a game of bridge, and normalcy—bland, unexceptional normalcy. In all of his life, he felt nothing but mere contentedness. He dispensed no compassion or love, and in return he received none. So what is a life that is full of trivial pleasures and superficial happiness? What is a life that is filled with inordinate amounts of nothingness? It is selfish. It is empty. It is nothing.

With his three final days of life, Ivan Ilych began to drown in the realization that such was the life he had lead, and he suffered. He suffered for every ounce of intangible happiness and love that he chose to substitute with tangible goods and materialistic joys. He struggled and writhed with frustration as he searched for the purpose behind his life—a purpose that he was unable to find until his dying hours on earth. It was only in those hours that Ivan Ilych discovered the frivolousness of a life devoid of love, and it was in those final hours that Ivan’s pain and fear ceased to exist. In such, one must assume that with his realization of an overwhelming desire for compassion, pity, and love came the end of his pain. And honestly, I am forced to believe that had Ivan Ilych lived a life of profound purpose—of love and family and trust and consideration—he would have transitively been able to leave this world without kicking and screaming, without shouting and suffering, without pain and fear. Compassion was what he craved in his dying days; and yet he failed to dispense that compassion throughout his life. Forgiveness was what he needed with his last breathe; and yet he failed to dispense that forgiveness, that love, throughout his own life. Yet with this inner reconciliation and recognition that his life had not been one worth continuing to fight for—that his life had been wholly devoid of the divine gifts of love and human connection—he was able to leave this world peacefully. If only he had recognized this absence for his dying moments, Ivan Ilych may have been spared a terrible grief and torturous knowledge that he had lived a life of frivolous pleasures and superficiality.