Let’s Talk About Life and Death

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.

Nhora, Jubilee and the Concept of Debt

The streets are empty, all but the essential businesses are shuttered. Schools and universities are closed till further notice. Transportation has slowed to a trickle; and commercial supply chains have all but ground to a halt. Humanity is huddled in isolated shelter, hoping it will all be over soon. But, the losses are mounting on all fronts. Expecting a return to business-as-usual is predictable, albeit naïve.

The overhang of debt building up due to the COVID-19 crisis will make eventual recovery particularly tenuous. Some analysts believe we’re already into a global depression; but obviously in denial about it. That then begs the question, “What is debt really… beyond an asset class for lenders, and a liability for borrowers?” To unpack debt requires looking at what underpins ‘ownership’; and that’s primarily our attitude towards property, specifically land.

“Land… they don’t make the stuff anymore” goes the expression. Yet, we unquestioningly assume our existence based on it. The question parents dread to hear is when their children want to know who made the world. Whether the response is God, the Universe, physics or Douglas Adams’ algorithmically endowed mice; the inescapable fact is that humans can’t really own the planet, because we didn’t make it. Not according to current convention anyway.   

The rather difficult metaphysical problem of celestial accretion aside, we should be able to at least agree that, until we come across the original owner of Earth in person, the planet is a ‘loaner’ for now. And that goes for everything it produces at no cost. It also assumes that we will be able to afford the asking price, if in fact it’s even for sale. How bereft of philosophical heft our economic practice appears, when applied at this level. 

So, what on earth do land, ownership and debt still mean? Well, if you’re a descendant of First Nation peoples, the former is primary; but the latter are superfluous. You’ll have no concept of dominion over nature. Your language won’t even have possessive pronouns. As such, the Kalahari San concept of Nhora, the proto-custodianship model for all societies over the last 200,000 years, provides many of the ethical ideas we should practice today. 

Each tiny clan of San hunter-gatherers take care of a nhoresi, a defined piece of ancestral land, on behalf of the Sky God; with the understanding that it cannot be ‘owned’, but is held in ‘trust’ by its custodians for the benefit of the clan and any people who may traverse it. Ergo, hereditary custodial rights rather than modern property ownership, which the San never knew, nor debt till settlers introduced it.  

By contrast, until 600 BCE, in the biblical practice of jubilee the Israelites rested from their labour and allowed the land to rest (among other things). As the sabbatical years occurred every seven years jubilee was then celebrated at the end of seven cycles of sabbatical years - the 50th year (or 49th, as some argue). It was really a semi-centennial national expiration of land leases. 

Thus, biblical jubilee did not involve the forgiveness of debt, but the celebration of a debt paid by leasing the land and recouping its crop potential; therefore, there was no redistribution of wealth. If there were bountiful harvests each year, then the profit remained in the hands of the one who had leased the land.  

But, since God owned the land according to the Bible, he gave the Promised Land to the tribes of Israel with the condition that private property cannot be sold, squandered or given away permanently. If a lender leased the best land available and diligently worked to make it productive, they could accumulate significant assets prior to each jubilee. That would allow them, over time, to accumulate effective control over land without actual ownership.

This was all good and well for a while, but there were some structural problems. What then spelled the end for the jubilee concept? For one thing, the shares of land were unequal to begin with. The Levites got no land; first-born sons received twice the land given to the other sons; daughters neither owned nor inherited anything; and non-Israelites had no share in the land at all.

So, while the jubilee law did prevent all the land from being owned by a few families, it did not prevent some from becoming much wealthier than others. Although jubilee set limits on the rich getting richer, and the poor getting poorer, with regard to the permanent acquisition of land; it did not necessarily prevent income inequality. 

Furthermore, the people whom the biblical jubilee helped were not the poor, but the families of original affluence. The jubilee guaranteed that they endured in their landed affluence regardless of whether they wanted, or deserved, it. What the jubilee did was to periodically restore property and power to the old families, the true Israelites.

Fast forward to today and the modern Debt Jubilee Movement has dropped the original biblical context; but is making political, economic and moral arguments for extinguishing all, or some, of the debt the world is drowning in. Specifically demanding that dishonourable debt should not be honoured. Case in point being South Africa still labouring under the apartheid regime’s debt. Of course, there are many other examples of dishonourable debt throughout history. As the global financial system staggers from crisis to crisis, the biblical writing is on the wall. 

So, is a debt jubilee the answer to our woes - a providential gift, so to speak? From an economic perspective, the answer is likely to be no - at least for a full version of it. However, there might be an argument for targeted debt forgiveness; or at least lenient and well-ordered bankruptcies containing forgiveness in especially acute cases.

The experience of developing country debt forgiveness suggests that forgiveness did have the desired effect of freeing up resources, which could then go to more pressing development needs. However, some resources thus freed up got wasted anyway; and an argument was also made that forgiving loans frittered away by governments merely encourages such recklessness in the future. This certainly could be a risk for a modern debt jubilee.

Nevertheless, a debt jubilee is said to be more ethical or moral than current arrangements. Which may very well be true, although not necessarily in step with current economic theory. That said, the custodianship-versus-ownership debate is making a major comeback. Our planetary convulsions of natural disasters, pandemics, military conflicts and policy failures sweep across the land; and stand in stark contrast to the image we have of ourselves as a species. 

With so many entrenched interests at risk, including life itself, our modern assumptions are being tested as never before. As we reflect, in our isolation, on the complexity of the society we’ve created; we’re confronted with the unavoidable reality that cleverness bears little resemblance to wisdom. In a sense, it’s back to the future for us. To rediscover our egalitarian roots, to be fraternal. To find courage in our vulnerability. To flourish, not just survive. 

The digitization and atomization of society, that’s accelerating, will continue to disrupt our lives. We probably need a Google Doc for all of civilization now, to continuously update all the learnings taking place at massively accelerated clock speed. We certainly don’t want to be the people who make humanity’s last stand. Fortunately, almost every problem becomes easier when we think really long term. Seven generations according to First Nation wisdom.