Death in Alphabet Superset

Like today’s topic, I have been avoiding writing this. Which is not to say that I’m not ok with “Death” as the abstract concept most of treat it as. I would say I’m fairly typically situated when it comes to “Death”. I’m not running towards it, but I’m not running away from it. It’s far enough away that I don’t have to make out its face or contemplate it’s cool, clamy, excessively long and bony fingers, but close enough that I’m aware that it’s there, hovering, waiting.

Its presence, though, gives life meaning. I think. At least, the idea of no end, no finality to the performance, would render all the rest of this pretty meaningless. Or would it? Would there be an even greater desire for, search for, meaning? If life had no end, would we operate differently? Would I?

It’s an interesting thought experiment, especially given the state of our world these days. As the planet warms and catastrophic weather events become everyday news, as habitats morph into unrecognizable versions of their former - ancient - selves; as we contemplate how we can survive as a species in an environment that is inhospitable to humankind at best, incompatible at worst....what would “living forever” mean in this context?

Perhaps it’s a good thing we don’t tend to contemplate that, at least not as individuals. As a species though - I suppose we really should think of it “for the children”. But I don’t have children.

And there it is, really. Death for me is perhaps not the same as those of us with children. Although as I say that I also recognize that’s massively presumptuous. Just because one has children might not mean one feels a need to live differently, or to ensure the endurance of the planet goes beyond one’s own existence. For me, I can say this at least: meaning in my life cannot come from the only form of “reincarnation” that we know is real, that of passing on ones genetic formula to another being. My meaning must come from the knowledge that this is the only opportunity I know I have to exist. I don’t know anything else. I have an idea of what lies beyond, but like everyone else - it’s an idea, no more. It’s just a story. The knowing - the living - is, always, in this moment and then the next.

To me, this much is self evident, but therein lies the rub. It’s so obviously true that, as a fact, it’s easily forgettable, easy to relegate to inconsequence. People who have “near death” experiences, or who are pronounced clinically dead but are somehow able to return, seem to have a much more native understanding of what it is to “not live” than the rest of us, but for the rest of us - what is it? Is Death the absence of living? And, if so, what then is living?

A comment from a dear reader on my last essay:
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Honor ⋅ 3 days ago
I’m one of those who contemplates why, but it always peters out as I come back around to the purpose of life being the create purpose for yourself, or it’s all total nonsense and we are animals on a rock spinning in space driven, in various degrees, to pass on our genetics. Both, weirdly, give me comfort.

And my response:
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Caty Shark Honor ⋅ just now
At base, both are likely true right? We are the animals on a rock - the point of life is living, and living is either LIVING (like your former reason) or it’s living (your latter reason). And, if like me, you don’t procreate - it’s the former or it’s nothing, and given that choice you might as well pick the first?

And perhaps that’s as much as we can ever know. Because “not living” is a consequence all but guaranteed for all of us at a time, we better just get on with the job of “living”, howsoever we define it. And in this way, yes, Death, likely is what gives life - conscious life, at any rate - meaning. Paraphrasing minds far greater than my own: knowledge and awareness of our own death is what separates the human from other animals (well, at least as far a we know). Death is interwoven with awareness, consciousness, living; and with our habits of planning and hedging and limiting, as well as our ability to dare, stretch, rush forward with exuberance and ambition. Death, perhaps, is our greatest ally in living.

But is it something to fear? Honestly, I am not sure about that. I would say my fear is less centred in “not living” and more in “time left”. Not that I want to know how much time I have left! I think I’d rather know what I need to do to make sure the time I have left is endurable. Is that it? I think what I fear is the pain of aging, which is something that gets more and more present as one day follows the next. Parts of my body hurt perpetually now. I have old injuries that don’t go away. I use my body and create new pain, and yet I’m mindful that not using my body will inevitably result in far more pain than the new pain that just showed up. A pain trade off. The advance towards the inevitable Death is perhaps the locus of the real fear. But that’s not actually Death, is it? That’s Aging and we have already been there.

Maybe Death being the great unknown is the problem. That we don’t know when it’s going to show up for us. But we wouldn’t want to know, would we? Or would we? We might run around trying to circumvent that moment, or change the circumstances. We might throw all caution to the wind and neglect other matters of importance in trying to wring every last drop of experience from the moments left. And that might not be for the worse, but we don’t do that when we don’t know what that final date is because - well, what if it’s not? How do we ensure survival to the unknown end? By being cautious and prudent and planning and saving and hedging. If we knew the end (and, let’s face it, there are ways of knowing the end) then would we want it known, so that we would know exactly how long to plan for? But it’s not that simple is it? Because as much as we could choose a guaranteed stop, we cannot guarantee life until that stop. It’s not like you can pick your day. You can pick “up until this day”, but chance and circumstance and Death with its long, bony fingers could come for you at any point before that.

Hmmmm, I appear to be well down a rabbit hole of contemplating picking my own end date and just running towards that full tilt. And - maybe - that is what to do? What we all actually do? The prudent among us at any rate. We say to ourselves “I will live until I’m 90” and then we set about with the planning, saving, hedging to ensure that, should we indeed live until we are 90, we are nicely taken care of (even if the world is on fire). And then, once we have fulfilled the plans and have the savings, we get on with the business of living? But that surely is not any way to live, is it? No, it must be a crazy game of balancing both living RIGHT NOW and preparing to live MUCH LONGER, and hoping we have that kind of luck.

The state of Not Living, though, what’s that about? What’s after Death?

I don’t know, honestly. I just have a sense that it is more likely to be close to the merging into the liquid of love nothingness than it is merging into a harshness or hate or hell or pain or terror. “After” is not to be afraid of, I think, but it’s not to pursue either; because the great gift is awareness and we have awareness now. That great goof Henry Miller (unfortunately, but also, maybe perfectly) said it best: “The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.”

Now is what exists, and (maybe) all the nows from now until the end of now. And, with that, we have all we need to know. To be thoughtful, yes. To know that we do not know when the end may come and we need to prepare and be ready for it. But also to know that the meantime - that is all that we have, and that is all that matters, and that is the the only opportunity to experience heaven. And so do not make it hell.

Last updated October 01, 2023