In Defense of Death

A good hearted rebuttle to Nate over at The Jesus Paradigm:

I am alone in an empty house. It is quiet, except for the sound of my typing. It is snowing outside my window. Each of the snowflakes I see is different to a degree that I cannot fully understand. I am enjoying watching this for several reasons. It is the first real snowfall of the year, and I have not seen one like it in a long time. I will never in truth see this particular snowfall again, and though it reminds me of so many others, of people walking down the street shrouded in wool coats, of hot chocolate, of making snow angels and snowmen, and many other snowfalls from now may remind me of this one, I will never see this snowfall again. I will never be in this moment again. I must watch and appreciate it now, and so much of my appreciation for it is rooted in the fact that is will soon pass away. This moment, right now, will never, ever come again. People who are afraid of death decide to do so many things based on their fear, things which dull their senses, dull their emotions. We think, as you astutely point out, that we can store up permanence in our possessions to somehow make us believe that we are not going to die. In one of the most horrendous errors of the human condition, we think that things that last forever are somehow of greater value than things that are fleeting. Yet you are right when you say that nothing we gain does last forever. But it is wrong to say that this makes it less valuable. It is only less valuable when we use it to delude ourselves that we will last forever. And it seems to me that the description you lay out here of the heart of Christianity is in this sense completely in accord with the rest of what you call “The World” on this one (“The world” by the way is a gross overgeneralization in that the actual words could refer to absolutely everything, though I know you did not originate the term). You’ve just replaced all of the possessions that other people use with Jesus, yet both are operating on the same basic assumption. That things which are permanent are more valuable. It is the idea which tells us we can possess permanence: a home, a car, a family, possessions, collecting things from far and near in an effort to convince ourselves by the solidity of these things we ourselves will in some way endure. It is only the same to say that because Jesus will endure, we will also. It is no wonder that health and wealth gospels are so rampant, because in this essence, consumerism and Christianity are the same. They both provide us with illusions of permanence, of invulnerability, and of freedom which is somehow separate from the ebb and flow of the universe; the delusion that we are not wholly a part of “The World.” (How would your perception of Jesus change if you had no designs on him? If you had no quantifiable prize to be won? If you could see him for exactly who he is?) It is an arrogance for one, but moreover, it is the foolhardy assumption that things which endure are of greater value, and yet those things we accumulate, while they are for the most part good things, when we look at them in this light lose all value as what they are, because we see them only as a means to our own glorification. You may have loved ones who have died. You may never see them again. You will never be in this moment again. Thoughts of them will become memory and memory will become part of the way in which you see, the way in which you think, and are grounded to that which you hold dear. But still, they will never return. Is it not enough to say, “This is good. This thing I am in right now, life, the world, my own mind and heart, right now, with all that has come before, shaping what will be, is good” and appreciate it as it is? Appreciate it as the material of our existence, and know that because one day we ourselves will cease, we will not endure in our element, not our identity as we know it, but will leave only an imprint of who we were on the world, that we must fully appreciate this moment now, in all our vulnerability and impermanence? This, above all things should give us cause to value what we witness here and now, should give us a foundation of morality, but more importantly, a basic understanding of what it is which makes our lives and the lives of others worth living. All of what we find valuable in this life, all of it, is ephemeral. Beauty, love, connection, emotion, thought, truth, freedom, life; all of these will pass away as well. Is this not enough? It seems to me that Christianity in the sense you describe it here is only a shaky and vain extension of consumerism, and the desire to possess more and more. If we realize that even all the things we buy, and try to possess, are also going to vanish someday, must we then go farther down a rabbit hole of fear and presume with a perfect and historic arrogance that we ourselves are eternal things? Is this not self serving and at the same time self destructive? Is it not enough to see the world as it is, in front of us, both perfect and flawed at the same time, and accept it? If we go to such great lengths to deny our own death, what do we have left over when we have paid the price of believing in this immortality? If we cannot see and accept that we will die, cannot accept our own vulnerability, cannot accept our mortality, and cannot accept our fallibility, then what can possibly lay ahead save apathy towards all else that is real, all else that defines our lives, and all that can be appreciated about them? And if we put so much stock in any being or thing beyond ourselves, presuming that that being, that person, has already done it all, said it all, and we only need to accept it, then what does that do to our sense of responsibility? To those around us? To ourselves and to this moment in the universe? If I only have a few moments on this earth, then I am impelled, not frantically but with resignation, to do the best I can here. And the best I can do is very often to see it, to appreciate it, to interact with it in every unique moment. I cannot help but wonder why anyone could ever want more than this. It may be a flawed world, and a difficult life, but it is still perfect in that it is what it is, it is exactly the world. We must drink this cup which is put in front of us. Do not rob yourself by thinking you are better than it, will last longer than it, or are not a part of it in every fiber of your body, mind and soul. Do not devalue yourself in this way. You are more valuable, more beautiful, more perfect than eternal life. I have no idea what comes after this. But people you love will die. Things that you love will end. This is how things are. You will die. Is who you are less wonderful because of this? I hardly think so. (Please see “Wings of Desire,” one of the greatest movies ever made, which has the added bonus of showcasing Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds early on.)