“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
-Shakespeare, “Macbeth”
My wife has attended three funerals in the last month, and none of them had to do with the fact that she is an attorney with a certified specialization in probate law.
The first was the funeral for her former senior partner. That one wasn’t too hard to take. He was well into his eighties, had led a full and rich life, and died after a relatively short illness. As deaths go, not all that bad.
The second was for a much younger man, who committed suicide. She went to that one because he was the son of a friend, a friend whose daughter had been killed by a drunk driver just ten months earlier.
The third funeral was the only one of the three I attended. It was for one of my best friends.
“Death is a big subject with me,” Woody Allen proclaimed in his classic film, “Annie Hall.” Me, too. In fact, the older I get, the bigger it gets in my mind.
Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t the thought of what happens after death that keeps me up at night. I’m not hung up on what death might bring. You get no Hamlet’s soliloquy from me.
No, my preoccupation with death is the part that leads up to it – the life part, the part that begins immediately after birth and continues right up until the point that the living ceases.
We’re born to die; that’s the rub for me.
It all started in my mid-20s, when I almost died from a botched appendectomy. The details aren’t important, but the upshot of the experience was that I went into surgery and woke up to be told that I had almost died.
Two things occurred to me in contemplation of that news. The first was that the being dead part of death was nothing to fear. Had I died that day, I never would have known it.
I wouldn’t have missed not being alive, wouldn’t have regretted not completing the project I was consumed with before the surgery, wouldn’t have mourned the loss of the many years I would otherwise have expected to experience. I wouldn’t have been in any sense sorrowful over my demise because, of course, I wouldn’t have any sense of it, or of anything else for that matter.
And so, that experience, early in life, freed me of the fear that I have since come to suspect leads many to find solace in religion. There isn’t anything to be afraid of in death. It is the literal absence of anything; the complete nothingness of a non-existence.
And I do not mean to cast any aspersions on religious beliefs by anything I’ve just said. It’s just what makes sense for me. I understand that many who have a faith in a spiritual existence believe that death opens doors to a new awareness, a new reality. I understand that for those with that kind of faith, religion gives hope and provides courage. But that’s not how it works for me. Death is the end, the terminus, the point at which nothing can be known or understood or felt or learned.
It’s the second thing that occurred to me after my near-death experience that keeps me up at night, more so as I grow older and more familiar with sickness and my own frailty. It’s the things that happen to us that bring us to that point, the dying part.
I’m probably losing some of you at this point, and I understand if you wonder what all of this has to do with you. Nothing might be the answer – or everything. It all depends on your perspective.
Here’s mine: All of life is marked by the certainty of death. From the point at which we gain any understanding at all of our own mortality, we are aware of this fact, either consciously or subconsciously. Either way, we can’t escape it; it’s an immutable part of the human condition. We live to die, and die we must.
And so the question becomes how we deal with this reality. Do we strive to extend the period we have for as long as possible by living “healthy” and by staying “safe” and by avoiding “risks”? Or do we seek to experience as much as we can in whatever time we have, figuring that since we can’t know when our time will come, we might as well live every day as if it were our last? Or do we try to ignore it entirely, thereby living day to day without any sense of purpose other than to take what comes and do what must be done to make it to that next day?
I’ve found myself in all three of those attitudes at various points in my life, sometimes even incorporating aspects of all three at the same time. And I’m pretty good at living in the here and now for the most part. I work hard, play hard, and enjoy everything about the moments of my life that I can.
But ultimately, when it’s all stripped away and I am alone with my thoughts, I’m left with the reality of death, of the slow march to it that I and all of us are inexorably on.
Back about 20 years ago, Marlon Brando, then still vigorous and yet already a legend in his own time, gave an interview that gradually drifted into metaphysical ruminations.
“Here’s how I see it,” he finally said to his interviewer. “We prance around like big shots, doing our thing, whatever that might be. We live life to the fullest of our capacities, striving mightily to make a mark of some kind. And then, in the end, we find ourselves lying somewhere, gasping for our last breath. And maybe, at that point, we ask ourselves, ‘now what the hell was that all about’?”
I’m haunted by that thought.
Edward:
It’s good that your putting your thoughts down on paper.
but I think your fatalism is a mask and doesn’t really fit your ’embracing life’ personality and persona.
Keep the faith.
your sister
Hi Ed,
After reading your thoughts and glancing at the title of your last post, maybe what you are saying is that there is also solace to be found *in* the double entendre: “Nothing Will Be Easy.” Take a breath, and let it out … so easy.
Nihilism, especially during the change from one season to the next, reminds me to cherish the path …
*Your* nihilism isn’t fatalistic or lacking faith, but shows instead the counterbalance to leaps *in* faith. For me, faith is large or small, in communion or sole fide. But Spring is on our doorsteps … the harvest chaff transforming. A yearly ritual we practice in the garden: Collect the “trash” (sticks, splintered sunflower stalks, etc.) and build paths with it between the coming bounty. I’ve always found the path to church more fascinating than the sermon 😉
Still, nothing compares quite to the pangs felt hearing a near-death experience from a loved one, especially when *lightly* told—how else? To recall the impending loss, and then the gift, and then humility. This is why the change of seasons bring such joy. I believe there really is a tangible place for the dead, here, but we’re really not good at it. Remember the old phrase: “Waste not, want not”? Nothing will be easy 😉
When all is said and done, I’d hope the only guilt earned would be to have *not* known how much we are a part of the seasons (and not just of the dirt or of a God); seasons of cold, bright stars, juice bursting blooms, and colors changing in physics we yearn to put to paper, and later, to line our paths with.
Best,
Regan
“Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
“In the midst of life we are in death . . . .”
Dear Ed,
However unwittingly, you have provided a most thoughtful Ash Wednesday meditation–a day late, of course, but it still works.
Thanks.
–Joel
Ed,
This reminds me of a similar piece you wrote in 2000–before we met–that prompted me to write back to you about my own thoughts on this weighty topic (probably filed under “shit happens”). Which led to a friendship that’s growing still. And though I rarely comment these days, you know I continue to treasure these “meals” and responses, truthful exchanges between thoughtful and wise friends.
You’re right: There’s no reason at all to fear our own death. It’s the loss of beloved others that wounds us, that we rightly fear. And later in life we must keep adding fresh pain to old losses. Life is a bitch, as somebody once said so eloquently.
As for finding a secular humanist meaning in your life when religious faith holds no comfort, I believe you make that meaning by the life you live. I something about your life. I know you cultivate awareness and understanding in yourself and others, you teach and learn and love. And you show a keen appreciation for the high arts of music and dance, theater, politics and baseball! Beyond that? Leave it to the philosophers.
Jan
I’ve always felt that there is a tremendous amount to be learned about living when viewed from our very own deathbed. I thought about this awhile back when I imagined a social experiment I could conduct – how would I live my life if I had just one year to live?
Then I discovered a book about it.
It’s called “One Year to Live” by Stephen Levine. It’s about preparing for death by living in the moment. It’s about the wondrous perspective we achieve when we have a finite amount of time to live, not “whenever.”
I’m just reading it now but I can heartily recommend it to anyone with a hungry intellect.
Wow, heavy topic. I really appreciate this piece, Professor! And I am totally feeling Jan’s comments.
Just a few random observations (in no particular order):
We, human beings, are the only species that contemplate our own mortality. Polar bears don’t seem all that concerned that they are in danger of going extinct. Polar bears aren’t even aware of the fact that they are going to die. Human beings worry about polar bears. Human beings raise money to save polar bears. Polar bears don’t even fundraise or create PSAs to save polar bears. And I highly doubt polar bears sit around pondering the meaning of life.
This is something that is unique to us.
Human beings sit around wondering “what it all means.” It’s because we, as they say, are significance junkies. We want to attach a deeper meaning to everything. We inject meaning into everything. We personify everything. We can’t bear the thought that there isn’t some bigger picture. No grand plan. No loving grandpa in the sky looking down on us, fondly, and guarding over us. I guess that’s what makes religion so attractive.
As much as I knock religion, I am a little envious of religious people. It seems so powerful. Think about it: Jesus Christ as your own personal savior–There is comfort in that.
It just doesn’t do anything for me I don’t know that there is any real hidden meaning or purpose to life–Except for the one you determine for yourself. This point is important (and necessary) if you are going to live a fulfilling life. I guess that’s the point.
If you don’t have that thing inside of you, that thing that keeps you going, then why bother doing anything? Why get out of bed in the morning? You can’t go around thinking, “Why bother? We’re all going to die, anyway.” It’s a dangerous mentality. If everyone walked around with that “why bother?” attitude, the garbage wouldn’t get picked up, the soda machines would cease to operate, and the lights would go out; nothing would get done. Society can’t run this way. And then we are all left to just suffer, rolling around in our own filth with nothing but our own misery.
I think it’s important to live in the moment, develop meaningful relationships with other people and to have a purpose. At the end of the day, it is the connections we form with other people that give our lives substance and meaning. It’s up to each one of us to choose our own path and pursue our own happiness. Whatever that may be. Each one of us must determine what this means for ourself.
For me, it’s living a full and honest life. It means cultivating deep relationships with the people in my own life, and experiencing all that life has to offer, while contributing to society in some small way. I want a fulfilling career where I’m doing some substantial work, preferably some real humanitarian work. I want to experience that perfect love with that one special guy who’s out there just for me. I want an extraordinary life, both personally and professionally. Not because I think I’m special or somehow deserving of it. It’s just what I think. Even if I never get there, it’s worth giving it a shot. Without my dreams; without my ambition . . . I don’t to live anymore. It’s that hope that keeps you motivated, it’s what allows you to keep on, keepin’ on.
Everyone needs a dream. People need to find their muse. Something they are passionate about and are willing to fight for. That’s the thing that allows humans to not only overcome obstacles, but to accomplish amazing things. It’s that thing that allows us to keep going, despite whatever adversity is in our way. It’s why we choose life rather than to opt out when it things get unbearable. To get up after we fall; to rise above our circumstances in order to beat the odds and achieve greatness in spite of everything.
So I guess I’m all about the journey and not necessarily the destination.
I don’t do the things that I do because I’m trying to score points with some old guy in a long white beard and sandals. I’m not trying to “earn” my way into some alleged paradise. Or because I fear of burning in some eternal fiery pit. I try to live a good and honest life for its own sake. Just because I think it’s the right thing to do.
I’m not afraid of where I’m going after I die. My greatest fear in life (aside from exams) is of ending up miserable. I’m afraid of living a lackluster life. I fear of dying of some dreadful, debilitating disease. But I’m afraid of death itself. And I know I will die someday. Yes, we live to die. That’s the circle of life. When my time comes, I just hope it’s swift and painless.
Recently, I learned that an old friend of mine was diagnosed with MS- two weeks after graduating law school. We’re talking about a healthy, attractive, brilliant 30-year-old male. Dude had everything going for him. An all around good guy. And good on paper, too. He graduated from an Ivy League university, was excellent student, did really well and was looking forward to a successful legal career consisting of. . .you know. . .making obscene amounts of money by working for some big horrible law firm that specializes in defending big horrible corporations. You know, probably what every law student dreams of (well, except for this one–it’s not what I want, but I don’t really count).
But what happened to my friend is my worst nightmare realized. He got there, you know, “there”, this close to having everything, and now. . .What? Now he’s in a precarious situation health-wise. And I know this sounds bad, but I can’t handle the thought of ending up in a wheelchair with my precious faculties in decline. The mere thought of not having the full use of my legs is unbearable to me. No more trail running; no more skiing; and no more tennis. I couldn’t handle it.
But what does it all mean? I don’t know. I can tell you that I’ve had three separate “close-calls.” And I don’t think it altered me in any profound way. And it’s interesting because any time someone hears the details of even one of my near-death experiences, they (usually religious types) get all wide-eyed and tell me that it proves the existence of God. That I certainly must be a believer. I must have been spared for a “reason.” And that I have been placed on this earth for some higher purpose.
Now I have to admit, that is a really tempting offer and, if true, ridiculously awesome, but I don’t actually believe it. And I’m the one who experienced it. And when I say that I almost died, I don’t mean that in some abstract, metaphorical sense. I’m talking three more Mississippis and I would literally be dead right, just rotting in the ground. On a separate occasion, it was pure laziness that saved me. Had I not gone out drinking the night before and had not passed out in the arms of a very sweet and sympathetic boy and had not overslept, I would have perished along with the several hundred people who all died the next morning.
And here’s why I don’t buy it. Why me? What is so special about me? What? All those people who died are not special? They’re somehow less deserving? They don’t have families and friends who love them and miss them terribly? They don’t have people who rely and depend on them? They don’t serve a purpose? Do you see my direction? That’s my problem with that kind of reasoning.
I think it was all a coincidence. I got lucky. I don’t think that it was due to some cosmic connection. Or that God has some big plans for me. I just don’t think that is the case. Last I heard, drinking and screwing (however excellent) did not exactly impress the good Lord.
I understand why people need to believe in all that. Death freaks us out. It makes perfect sense. We need to concoct fairy tales in order to sleep at night. I’m just unable to buy into it. But that doesn’t mean that I have given up on life or don’t think it’s worth giving it my all.
Having said all that, I am obsessed with my own mortality as well and am thrilled that you are, too. 😉