Woody Allen famously said: “I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens.” In that vein, research has revealed how concerns about mortality influence many types of human beliefs and behaviour: bad things like prejudice, intergroup conflict, terror and aggression; as well as largely good things like achievement, risk-taking, art and creativity.
What, you may ask, are we to make of it all in these times where we are surrounded by death; but nobody wants to broach the subject beyond sterile statistics? In his seminal work The Denial of Death, which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for General Non-Fiction, anthropologist Ernest Becker introduced the premise that human civilization is a defence mechanism against the knowledge that we will die.
Becker argues that humans live in both a physical world of objects and a symbolic world of meaning. The symbolic part of human life engages in what he calls an “immortality project.” People try to create, or become part of, something which they believe will last forever ― art, music, literature, religion, nation-states, social and political movements etc. Such connections, we believe, give our lives meaning.
This is also Viktor Frankl’s claim in Man’s Search for Meaning, that mental anguish most often results from a lack of meaning. Thus, we had to justify ourselves from within ourselves. We tried to replace vital awe and wonder with a how-to-do-it manual; but it literally split us in two. So, we have an awareness of our own splendid uniqueness, and yet we go back into the ground to disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in; and to have to live with.
Moreover, Becker believed that our particular immortality projects are so important to us, that we can’t tolerate others suggesting that our beliefs are misguided. As he put it: “Modern (hu)man became psychological because (s)he became isolated from protective collective ideologies.”
Therefore, people deal with death by upholding worldviews that are larger and longer-lasting than themselves; and opposing anyone or anything that violates these ‘cultural anxiety-buffers’. Basically, the idea goes: the fear of death drives people to maintain faith in their own culture's beliefs and to follow paths to an enduring significance that will outlast their own physical death, often to the detriment of others who block their pursuit of these goals.
Thus, part of the human condition is living with a desire to continue to live plus an inherent fear of death on the one hand; and, on the other, the knowledge that this desire will inevitably be thwarted and that what is feared will inevitably occur. That creates an ever-present potential to experience the terror of no longer existing.
Our understanding of the complexity of the problem doesn’t end there though. Studies on how we cope with the inevitability of death i.e. terror management, have a fundamental flaw ― they lack a control group. It's impossible to test if (or how) a person changes their beliefs or behaviour when reminded of their mortality, because our awareness of this human condition never ceases.
As this awareness of mortality dawned on our ancestors, they were drawn to belief systems that helped them continue to function with equanimity. These worldviews virtually always included the idea of a literal afterlife for some aspect of oneself ― a soul ― but also included modes of transcending death via heroic deeds, great achievements, memorials and heirs.
Conversely, when modern people consciously think about death, they either act proactively to forestall it ― eat healthily, drink more water, exercise ― or rationalize why it won't be a problem for a while ― by quitting smoking, drinking and drugging soon ― or just try to distract themselves by turning on the TV, calling a friend or surfing the Internet. The goal is just to get those thoughts out of their own consciousness.
Also, when death is close to mind, people become more adamant in their beliefs and get extra-motivated to distance themselves from their physicality and to assert their symbolic value ― their intellect, achievements and so forth. They show off their skills, smarts, fitness and generosity. And these conscious ― proactive or evasive ― defences are only likely to be activated by consciously thinking about our own deaths.
However, knowing we're all vulnerable creatures, clinging to fragile beliefs to handle the existential predicament inherent in being human, helps us to become more compassionate people. It helps us to realize that, no matter how absurd someone else's beliefs seem, ours are likely no less absurd. And if such beliefs are helping that person function with equanimity, and not leading them to harm others, we should respect them.
Hannah Arendt once wrote that in times of deep crisis “we have a right to expect illumination”. It seems callous to suggest that the COVID-19 pandemic is letting the light in, and daft to offer immediate consolations amid so much grief. But there is a sense that, with the world having ground to a halt, our fantasies are finally taking flight and relieving us of some illusions at least.
Much of what we have always been told was impossible is actually happening: the homeless are (in some places) being housed in hotels while prisoners are (in others) being released. Kids are told not to go to school and to forget exams. Masses of migrants and asylum seekers have been ‘regularized’ and given full rights. It’s not quite a revolution, but it’s an epic conceptual awakening.
It also feels, paradoxically, as if the world has come right in some way. With our human death cult suddenly stopped, wildlife is returning with innocent ebullience. Bottlenose dolphins are playfully leaping in the waters around ports. Hares graze undisturbed in parks. Antelope stroll golf courses and paddle along sandy beaches, while birds have been nesting in the crooks of disused wing-mirrors on cars.
In some ways it’s like a blissed-out New Ager’s dream of what the world might be. The penny has also dropped that wellbeing isn’t individual, but social. We are not actually independent at all, but dependent. We can make each other sick; and we can try to make each other well. We’ve understood that a healthy community isn’t merely human; but includes its soil, its water, its air. It’s literally a matter of life and death.
In addition, the lockdown has made everything local. We’re rediscovering neighbours, the wisdom of close relationship is returning. We’re rediscovering that frugality and resourcefulness are creative, if not always comfortable. That grounding ourselves is both mental as well as physical. We made ourselves frenetically busy before to keep from reflecting; but now that we’re still our demons, voices and shame can quickly surface.
It’s showing us where our work remains. As we’re all pondering self-preservation, it’s inevitable that we’re wondering what has been eating us up all this time. While money is nice, caring about what we do with our lives is better, as true wealth is about experience. Still, we’ve been engaging in a consumptive gorging and purging that has left us weak and guilty.
Materialism has unleashed a life of invidious comparison, because physical worth is the only thing we give ourselves. Larger paycheques, bigger homes, flashier cars, cosmetic surgery. The list goes on. And so, we die when our little symbols of material specialness die. We built societies as hero systems which promised victory over evil and death; but these immortality projects are having the inverse effect of hastening our demise.
Let’s be realistic though. When you die, you’ll be forgotten. Perhaps your family, friends and the people you love may remember you. But your ideas? They’ll be gone. When you die, you as a concept, will also die. But no matter how bad you think life is, no matter how many mistakes you made throughout your lifetime, people forget. They do. Amazingly, we’re free to make mistakes that will be forgotten. And, maybe, that’s what it really means to be human.
Nevertheless, when it comes to immortality our reach inevitably continues to exceed our grasp. We discover that, improving our lives hinges not on our ability to turn lemons into lemonade, but on learning to stomach lemons better. Once we embrace our fears, faults and uncertainties we begin to find our courage, perseverance, honesty, responsibility and curiosity ― and the forgiveness we all long for.
However, that’s just one part of our story. The enduring human spirit is an extraordinary phenomenon of nature. Even though heroism, for most of us, is subtle and quiet; about restraint, retreat, solitude and stillness. Our human quest is possibly even harder; to discern the common good and to look for awakening and awareness in the time we have to conduct this life. By understanding, and accepting death, we can finally free ourselves to live meaningfully.
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