I'm not sure what I find more shocking: the knowledge that I
exist or the knowledge that I will die.
Both are utterly mysterious to me when I stop and think about them. It used to bother me that I was not consulted
before being brought into existence. I
felt like I should have been given a say in the matter and it angered me that I
hadn't been. It's one of the things that
I find so strange about my personal existence; I didn't get to choose it. God never came to me and said, “I'm thinking
about making you a person. Here's how it
would work. I'd give you a mind and body
that somehow work together to make you a weird intermediate creature, something
between a gorilla and an angel. You'll
live for a while and then you'll die. I
would try to explain what happens after death but you really aren't capable of
understanding it. At a bare minimum
let's just say it involves remaining in existence for eternity. What do you think? Are you in?”
The first time I envisioned this scenario, I also noticed the
obvious paradox. How could someone
consult me before I existed? They would
have to bring me into existence in order to consult me but at that point it
would be too late for the consultation.
The paradox bothered me almost as much as the fact that I wasn't
consulted. Let's ignore the paradox for
a moment and pretend that it were possible for me to have been consulted on the
matter of my existence. In my middle
school days if I had been given a choice about my existence I think I would
have said, “No, thanks. I'd rather not
ever exist, unless we can work out something where I am annihilated when I
die. Life is nice, but living forever
sounds incomprehensibly dreadful to me.”
But I wasn't consulted and here I am.
Just to clarify, my mindset wasn't suicidal (I did entertain
thoughts of suicide once in my life, but only briefly). I didn't want death; I wanted
non-existence. It was my belief (and is
still my belief) that death does not result in personal annihilation. We survive our death in some fashion and we
continue to exist for eternity. Suicide
would not have ended my existence, it would only have changed it in some way
that I can’t really comprehend. The
prospect of continuing to exist literally forever was and is even more
incomprehensible to me. Dreadful
is the best word that I can think of to describe it. Terrifying is another one. Why wasn't I given a chance to opt out of
this thing called existence?
This past weekend I spent a lot of time basking in the beauty
of nature. It started on Friday night
with a powerful thunderstorm. (It still
didn’t rival a good Indiana thunderstorms, but for a Pennsylvania thunderstorm
it was very good!) After a stressful
week I sat on the back porch of my house and drank in the experience. I find peace and strength in thunderstorms in
a way that I can’t quite explain. I
think part of it is that thunderstorms forcefully take my mind off of my
day-to-day concerns and focus my attention on the raw beauty that surrounds
us. Friday night I sat on my back porch
and thanked God for nature.
The thunderstorm left the earth fresh and clean the next morning. The humidity was gone. The air was clear. The sun was shining but occasionally dimmed
by a passing cloud. There was a soft,
intermittent breeze. Birds were chirping
and flitting between trees. On this
morning after the beautiful storm I sat on my front porch and took it all
in. I think I was even sipping a cup of
African tea. I was overcome with the
beauty of it all. As I watched the birds
in our front yard I thought to myself, “What are they doing here? What is any of this doing here? Why does anything exist at all and why should
anything that exists be beautiful?” Of
course there are ugly parts of nature as well.
I could do without intestinal worms, ticks and cancers; but it strikes
me as profound that nature is even capable of beauty and ugliness and that we
as humans are able to create and perceive beauty and ugliness.
I think about beauty when I cook or bake. Humans are the only animals that make an art
out of food preparation and presentation.
Lions kill an antelope and dive right in with their teeth. It's a big bloody mess and the lions don't
care what their meal looks like. But
humans prepare meals and present them in bowls or on plates and
platters, with garnishes, complementing side dishes, utensils and iced
beverages in glassware. Humans kill a
deer, butcher it into steaks, marinade it in sauces, grill it over a fire and
mount the head of the deer on a wall in their home. Lions don't do these things, and it's not
because they don't have the time or resources, or because they don't have
opposable thumbs. The fundamental reason
lions don’t present their meals is because lions do not seem to be aware of
beauty, much less that their meals could be an occasion for beauty. It's true that there may be a kind of savage
and raw beauty in watching a lion eat, but the lion cannot appreciate
this. There is a qualitative difference
between the way lions and people are able to approach food in particular, and
reality in general. When I experience a
well-presented meal that is both a treat for the eyes and the toungue, I get a
taste of beauty that makes me glad to be a human. And when I feel thunder in my chest, or watch
a bird in flight it makes me thankful to be alive.
The beauty of life is a gift.
The flip side to this gift is the unsettling ugliness of death. Both are strange to me. While I marvel at the beauty of all the
living things around me, I also know that everything will die. Just the other week one of my housemates was
taking care of an injured hummingbird.
We aren't sure what was wrong with it but it couldn't fly and it was
obviously scared. My friend created a
terrarium for it and gave it a bowl of saturated sugar-water solution, but the
bird didn't seem able to find the nectar on its own. It just sat in a corner with its heart
pounding rapidly, its whole body pulsing with each beat. It was a beautiful bird, delicate, elegant,
shimmering emerald green. And it was
dying. It's heart would soon stop beating
and its beauty would be turned into a decaying lump of feathers, organs, and
bones. Even though it was just a
hummingbird, I couldn't help thinking that some of the beauty of the world was
dying along with that bird and that death is always a real loss both for the
living creature that dies and for those who are bereaved of its presence in the
world.
In the case of humans, death is an even greater loss. Part of the beauty of this world lies in our
ability to share life with other living things and people. When people die we lose something
valuable. As a Christian I have hope in
life after death, but that does not change the fact that something precious is
lost in death. Even Jesus himself who
came to conquer death wept at the tomb of Lazarus. He knew that he was going to raise him from
the dead, but he still cried. Why this
display of emotion? I think Jesus cried
for at least two reasons. He was
empathizing with those around him who were mourning Lazarus’ death. But I also think he was personally mourning
the loss of Lazarus, acknowledging the legitimate sadness of what had happened,
and grieving the loss of one of his friends, even if it was only a temporary
loss. Death is not the end, but it is
still very much a loss.
In times of death we are often reminded of the fragileness of
life and the fact that every living thing must eventually die. Observed from the outside looking in on the
world this is perhaps nothing more than trivia, a mere fact. But we come to understand the gravity of this
reality when we view it from the inside, as living creatures ourselves. To say “everything dies” can come across as
trite, even to ourselves. It too easily
registers in our minds as “everything out there dies.” We don't take its meaning personally. The full existential force of the truth comes
through only when we are able to say to ourselves “I am going to die,”
and we let the knowledge sink in.
Reflecting on one's own death can be life changing. In American culture the knowledge of one's
death is often used as a license to do whatever you want. It is conceived as a liberating knowledge to live
for yourself, in the moment. Cake
succinctly expresses this mentality in their song Sheep go to Heaven:
“As soon as you're born you start dying, so you might as well have a good
time.” It's a common response to the
reality of death and it is echoed all throughout American culture in catch
phrases (yolo) and personal philosophies (live every day like it's your
last). It's a hedonistic, self-indulgent
response to the human condition and sometimes I find myself caught up in it.
Last night I was at a drive in movie theater for the first
time ever. After the first movie I
wanted some popcorn so I got in line at the concession stand. I made my order and as the attendant was
getting my popcorn I notice a sign that said “Deep fried Oreos – 3 for
$2.” Sure, it sounds like a terrible
idea, but where else was I ever going to get deep fried Oreos? The attendant was coming back with my popcorn. Should I get them or not? Yolo!
“Can I also get some deep fried Oreos, please?” That is a rather harmless example, but it
illustrates the point.
There is another way that one can respond to the knowledge of
one’s death and that is to take an eternal perspective. Death is not the end. And although it blows my mind to think about
it, and scares me to death, I do believe that we are eternal beings. Furthermore, I believe that the things we do
in this life will influence the nature of our existence after death. This concept appears in many of the world
religions. In Buddhism it shows up as
the theory of karma. In Christianity we
have the concepts of heaven and hell.
Both religions place our lives within an eternal context which gives us
a different perspective on our lives and how we ought to live them. As the author of Ecclesiastes concludes in
his book:
“Now all has been heard;
here is the
conclusion of the matter:
Fear God and keep his commandments,
for this is the
whole duty of man.
For God will bring every deed into judgment,
including every hidden thing,
whether it is good
or evil.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13-14)
The knowledge of our death should cause us to reflect on the
eternal and to order our lives around it.
We live in the moment, but we should not live for the moment. Death is a
great loss, but only because life is such a great gift. It is out of love that God has granted us
life and we should enjoy its beauty thankfully.
The prospect of eternal existence is still dreadful to me but I have hope
that the terror can be swallowed up in the infinite love of the One who created
this beautiful universe. I’ve caught
glimpses of it on earth in times of prayer and conversations with friends when
I’ve thought to myself, “I don’t ever want this to end,” and I truly meant it.
-David
No comments:
Post a Comment