Three Things #42: November 6, 2022
Memento Mori
I think about death more than most people. I’ve unfortunately got more second-hand experience with death than I’d like. But it’s also by choice: it’s a genuinely positive, helpful exercise. Death is the great equalizer. It’s the one thing that puts literally everything else in its proper perspective. Reminding myself regularly of death and of my own mortality keeps me humble and honest. It’s strange to me that talking about death is taboo for some reason. Consider this my attempt to normalize talking (and writing) about death.
Last week, I lost one of the people closest to me in the world, so death is very much on my mind again. I wanted to share some of the reflections that I do regularly, which have also helped me cope with this loss. I hope you find them helpful.
Note: what follows is heavily inspired by Ven. Bhikkhu Bodhi’s Four Protective Meditations (specifically, Maraṇasati).
Thing #1: Death is Right Around the Corner
“To be dead, to be really dead, it must be glorious… There are far worse things… than death.” - Dracula (1931)
Death is the most mundane thing of all, by definition, because it’s the only thing (other than birth) that happens to literally everyone. By extension, contemplating death is one of the most normal, mundane things you can do. When you open your eyes to it, you find that death is all around you, constantly, and it’s not something to be feared or a subject to be avoided. Death is inseparably part of life; in fact, death is the thing that gives life its meaning in the first place.
Birth and death are totally inseparable. From the moment we’re born, death is right there by our side. That may sound obvious and trivial to the point of meaninglessness, but actually it’s not, because most people live as if they will never die. That’s not healthy. What’s much healthier is to live each day as if you are dying—because, in point of fact, you are. Every day, every moment, every microsecond definitionally brings you that much closer to the moment of your death. You literally cannot take a step without stepping closer to death.
Everything that arises passes, and all great things—and people—must meet their end. The greatest person, the wealthiest, the most famous, the most talented, the most virtuous, it makes absolutely no difference: it ends the same way for everyone. Death is always, always messy, there’s no way around that. Death befalls ideas as well as people: all great movements, all institutions, all masterpieces and works of art inevitably disappear one day. The greatest empire the world has ever known has already crumbled to sand and dust, quite literally, and left almost no trace. Even the trace that’s left—in language, in custom, in art—that, too, will eventually fade completely, leaving… nothing. Death always ultimately leads to annihilation.
There’s nothing whatsoever negative in reflecting on death in this fashion. In fact, to do the opposite, to ignore death in spite of its inevitability, is the definition of hubris and insanity. What else do we call someone who refuses to acknowledge something that’s staring them directly in the face incessantly? To reflect on death, to sit with it, to get to know it, to embrace it even, in its time and in its place, is entirely healthy. It’s more than healthy. It’s the only way to live a reasonable, sane life. Remember, death is the end of things, but it’s also the beginning. The old must give way to the new.
We should contemplate death regularly, even daily. We should consider its implications on the present. We should be prepared for it, prepared to meet it at any moment, prepared to embrace Death as an old friend when we do meet her, for we truly do not know when, where, or how it will strike. The more time we spend preparing, the easier it will be when the time comes.
Most importantly of all, contemplating death allows us to live better in the present.
For more: Watch Steve Jobs’s 2005 Stanford commencement address. It’s one of the most powerful, touching talks about death that I’ve ever seen.
Thing #2: Death is Unknowable
“We may, indeed, say that the hour of death is uncertain, but when we say so we represent that hour to ourselves as situated in a vague and remote expanse of time, it never occurs to us that it can have any connexion with the day that has already dawned, or may signify that death—or its first assault and partial possession of us, after which it will never leave hold of us again—may occur this very afternoon, so far from uncertain, this afternoon every hour of which has already been allotted to some occupation.” - Marcel Proust, Le Côté de Guermantes
The circumstances of your death are totally unknowable until the time comes. If you’re quantitatively inclined as I am you may rebel against this idea and say, “Well, actually, I can read actuarial tables and statistics and I can calculate the probability that I’ll die at a given time or place, or while participating in a particular activity.” That may be true, but it doesn’t change what I’m saying: the actual, matter of fact circumstances of your one, unique death are unknowable until it actually comes to pass.
It may sound frustrating at first blush but, believe me, you wouldn’t want it any other way. Reflect for a moment on how things would change if someone told you when, where, and how you’ll die. First of all, would you even believe them? You’d question them, then you’d begin questioning yourself and all of your choices. It’s truly a recipe for madness. You really don’t want this burden. This very uncertainty—that it could end at any time—is one of the most special, beautiful things about life! It’s the key that enables you to enjoy life, to live every moment to its fullest, if you’ll let it. This is possible because you truly don’t know which moment might be your last, or the last moment for someone you love.
When you embrace and internalize this, it’s actually quite liberating. The fact that you don’t know when you’re going to die and that you can’t do much about it other than generally being healthy and careful means that you can stop thinking about it. There’s no point. Would you spend hours or days pondering a question that you knew had no answer? (Okay, I suppose philosophers do this, but the rest of us do not.) So why worry about something you can’t possibly predict or change? Overcoming fear and anxiety over death is another key to living a good life.
Realizing that we are literally powerless over death is part of the process of surrendering ourselves to it. We cannot fully embrace death—specifically, the idea that we, too, will die—without this understanding. And once you’ve embraced it, it changes everything. It releases you from fear. It changes your values: living with the understanding that your death is effectively right around the corner changes your priorities, your behaviors, and the way you want to spend your time. It gives you a sense of spiritual urgency. It enables you to expect less and to be comfortable with much less.
For more: Reflect on how you might live today differently if you know you were going to die soon. I can’t think of a better indicator of a life well lived than not wanting to change a thing even if you knew you’d die tomorrow. As Steve Jobs recommended, I encourage you to do this reflection often: strive to live every day as if it were your last.
Thing #3: You Can’t Take it With You
“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” - Matthew 19:24
Reflect on all of the things in your life. When you stop to think about it, you realize that there are quite a few. First off there are your possessions, material and immaterial: clothing, books, gizmos and gadgets, gifts you received, documents, real estate, investments, all sorts of assets. There are photographs, keepsakes, trinkets, the objects (physical and digital) that you hold dear. Then there’s the intangibles: things you’ve written or created, your work product, social media, followers, likes, awards you’ve won, your reputation. The list goes on and on and on.
Reflect also on your body. It’s the source of your identity and personal brand. You may like it a lot, and feel quite attached to it; you may dislike it, and feel a strong aversion towards it. Either way, it’s yours, and it’s undeniably part of who you are, as it’s the only one you’ve ever known. You definitely feel something about it.
Next, reflect on the people in your life: friends, family, loved ones, classmates, colleagues, neighbors, acquaintances. Think of all of the people you’ve met, all the people you’ve come into contact with throughout your life. Think of all the people who have touched your life, all the people who have been good to you, and the ones you’ve been good to; think of the ones who have hurt you, and the ones you’ve hurt.
Finally, reflect on the fact that when you die you can’t take any of this with you. No things. No body. No people, not even the ones you love the most. Death is a journey that by necessity must be taken alone. It’s the loneliest experience imaginable. You have to leave absolutely everything and everyone—even your own identity, your very sense of self—behind.
When you meditate on this, and combine it with the two previous things—that death is right around the corner, and that the when, where, and how of it are unknowable—you may, like me, begin to feel a bit less attached to the accouterments of your mortal life. None of this is eternal. None of it lasts beyond even a single lifetime, and a single lifetime isn’t very long in the grand scheme of things. So why fight over it? Why struggle to accumulate stuff that you can’t take with you anyway? Why not focus, instead, on making the most of the limited time you have right here, right now—by learning, investing in better relationships with the people around you, being a better person, and generally living in the moment?
I personally find this thought deeply humbling and sobering. Recognizing the silliness, emptiness, and fundamental unsatisfactory nature of achievement and acquisition makes you question the whole enterprise. It makes you realize that the only way to “win” is to opt out of the game to begin with. It doesn’t mean you work less hard or care less about achievement! But it does mean that you do it for the right reasons: to help others, and achievement for the sake of achievement, for the thrill of the moment, so to speak, and not as a means to acquire greater wealth or fame or any of that baggage.
When I see the people around me squabble and struggle over wealth or status, it bothers me. I feel compassion for them, because I know that those struggles never end in happiness and satisfaction. Meditation on death is a protective antidote. If everyone meditated on their own death and mortality more often, I think the world would be a saner, happier place.
For more: Try practicing renunciation. You might be surprised how much lighter you feel, and how much joy the act of giving things away and simplifying your life, even a little bit, brings you.
This is so incredibly morbid but definitely beautiful and worth the read. I hope you do more like this.