Content with mortality
19/10/15 05:29
OK, here’s a cheerful topic for a Monday morning: death. However, I need to say up front that I don’t find the topic to be that depressing. Sure we can get down and yes, grief can be a difficult road, but I have no interest in being immortal. The moments of our lives are precious in part because they are in limited supply. None of us has forever. This life is a span of time with a beginning and an end and it is our vocation to make the most of the time that we have. Were we to be beings that go on forever, we likely would become bored. Both Greek and Roman mythologies have gods who are immortal that end up envying humans. Immortality has its downside, it would appear.
The philosopher Stephen Cave has written a fascinating book titled “Immortality: The Quest to Live Forever and How it Drives Civilization,” in which he explores several different perspectives on immortality. He considers the quest for a disease-free body. He considers how one might live on in a famous piece of art, music or literature. He considers whether living on in memory is the same as life before death. More interesting, he reflects on how the urge to survive and extend life acts to drive and inspire much of civilization. There are several places in the book where I find myself questioning his directions and conclusions, but it raises some fascinating thoughts.
There have been some writers to claim that humanity is getting close enough to providing a kind of technological immortality. One scheme is the preservation of DNA for a future technology that would allow the creation of a clone. We know, however, from animal cloning that a creature reproduced from DNA isn’t the same as the one from which the DNA was harvested. Others believe that there are specific eating and nutritional programs that might add decades to a person’s life span enabling that person to live to the point where humans will have developed the cure for every disease. Still others have written about the advance of computer memory that would allow a mapping and storage of the contents of one’s brain so that one could live on in a technological sense. Perhaps computers can even be programmed to continue learning in such a way that human identity implanted in the machine would continue not in a static form, but in a way that grows, changes and evolves.
None of these options hold much appeal for me. I am content to be mortal. I find it fascinating to live among mortals.
I’ve never been good at completing projects that don’t have some kind of deadline or target date. I work best with a little bit of pressure. I enjoy the challenge of crafting a sermon every week, writing a blog every day. I don’t think I’d do well with an immortal life in which I was tempted to tackle 300- or 500-year projects. I love big ideas. I enjoy being a part of things that are bigger than myself. I have no need to go on forever, however. I’m happy to hand off projects and ideas to others who will, no doubt, head off in directions that I had never imagined.
We do not, however, invest very much energy in contemplating our own death. I’m sure that it is for the best. We can focus on living while we are alive. Still, I occasionally get caught up in reading and thinking about death.
I used to think that some ways of dying are better than others. It is something that I often hear from others. My father used to say, “The worst way to die would be to have a brain disease that took away your ability to think rationally.” My father died of a brain cancer that robbed him of his mental capacities. It turns out that it wasn’t the worst way to die. He died with dignity and grace and relatively small amounts of pain and suffering. I have a friend who just celebrated his 87th birthday who not long ago spoke to me about his “Do Not Resuscitate” order: “There are very few ways to get out of this life with your dignity in tact. A heart attack is one of them. Don’t take that away from me.” I have deep respect for his choices and wishes, but the statistical odds are against a sudden and traumatic heart attack being the mode of his death. He is likely to go on a more gradual path with an extended time of needing care.
Of course one wouldn’t wish intense pain for anyone, but the rare occasions that I have experienced pain have been opportunities for learning for me. It may be my lack of experience - I’ve had a bit of dental pain and I once was burned fairly seriously - but I think that going through a certain amount of pain is a life experience that shapes one’s character. I wouldn’t opt for a pain-free life and I’m not sure that one ought to opt for a pain-free death. At any rate, I have come to the conclusion that I do not want to choose the manner of my own death. I’m willing to take whatever comes.
One of the essential elements of dying is losing control. There is no need for me to retain control to the very end. I intend to live as fully and engaged as long as is possible. I want to experience all that this life has to offer. I try to take reasonable care of my health and limit risk when possible. But when the time comes for me to die, I’l willing to follow whatever path lies ahead for me without a need to choose a particular path.
And when I die? I’m content to leave that up to its own time. I am a Christian. I see plenty of evidence that death is not the end. But I have no particular wisdom on what lies beyond. I’m content to allow that to be revealed in its own time and own way as well.
For now, I have a life to live. I intend to live without inordinate fear of dying and with sufficient trust to allow the future to belong to itself.
The philosopher Stephen Cave has written a fascinating book titled “Immortality: The Quest to Live Forever and How it Drives Civilization,” in which he explores several different perspectives on immortality. He considers the quest for a disease-free body. He considers how one might live on in a famous piece of art, music or literature. He considers whether living on in memory is the same as life before death. More interesting, he reflects on how the urge to survive and extend life acts to drive and inspire much of civilization. There are several places in the book where I find myself questioning his directions and conclusions, but it raises some fascinating thoughts.
There have been some writers to claim that humanity is getting close enough to providing a kind of technological immortality. One scheme is the preservation of DNA for a future technology that would allow the creation of a clone. We know, however, from animal cloning that a creature reproduced from DNA isn’t the same as the one from which the DNA was harvested. Others believe that there are specific eating and nutritional programs that might add decades to a person’s life span enabling that person to live to the point where humans will have developed the cure for every disease. Still others have written about the advance of computer memory that would allow a mapping and storage of the contents of one’s brain so that one could live on in a technological sense. Perhaps computers can even be programmed to continue learning in such a way that human identity implanted in the machine would continue not in a static form, but in a way that grows, changes and evolves.
None of these options hold much appeal for me. I am content to be mortal. I find it fascinating to live among mortals.
I’ve never been good at completing projects that don’t have some kind of deadline or target date. I work best with a little bit of pressure. I enjoy the challenge of crafting a sermon every week, writing a blog every day. I don’t think I’d do well with an immortal life in which I was tempted to tackle 300- or 500-year projects. I love big ideas. I enjoy being a part of things that are bigger than myself. I have no need to go on forever, however. I’m happy to hand off projects and ideas to others who will, no doubt, head off in directions that I had never imagined.
We do not, however, invest very much energy in contemplating our own death. I’m sure that it is for the best. We can focus on living while we are alive. Still, I occasionally get caught up in reading and thinking about death.
I used to think that some ways of dying are better than others. It is something that I often hear from others. My father used to say, “The worst way to die would be to have a brain disease that took away your ability to think rationally.” My father died of a brain cancer that robbed him of his mental capacities. It turns out that it wasn’t the worst way to die. He died with dignity and grace and relatively small amounts of pain and suffering. I have a friend who just celebrated his 87th birthday who not long ago spoke to me about his “Do Not Resuscitate” order: “There are very few ways to get out of this life with your dignity in tact. A heart attack is one of them. Don’t take that away from me.” I have deep respect for his choices and wishes, but the statistical odds are against a sudden and traumatic heart attack being the mode of his death. He is likely to go on a more gradual path with an extended time of needing care.
Of course one wouldn’t wish intense pain for anyone, but the rare occasions that I have experienced pain have been opportunities for learning for me. It may be my lack of experience - I’ve had a bit of dental pain and I once was burned fairly seriously - but I think that going through a certain amount of pain is a life experience that shapes one’s character. I wouldn’t opt for a pain-free life and I’m not sure that one ought to opt for a pain-free death. At any rate, I have come to the conclusion that I do not want to choose the manner of my own death. I’m willing to take whatever comes.
One of the essential elements of dying is losing control. There is no need for me to retain control to the very end. I intend to live as fully and engaged as long as is possible. I want to experience all that this life has to offer. I try to take reasonable care of my health and limit risk when possible. But when the time comes for me to die, I’l willing to follow whatever path lies ahead for me without a need to choose a particular path.
And when I die? I’m content to leave that up to its own time. I am a Christian. I see plenty of evidence that death is not the end. But I have no particular wisdom on what lies beyond. I’m content to allow that to be revealed in its own time and own way as well.
For now, I have a life to live. I intend to live without inordinate fear of dying and with sufficient trust to allow the future to belong to itself.