Let's dismiss Christianity for its superstition and Buddhism because it is just plain weird. Let's also clear the air of this paradoxical faith-in-no-God religion that political-minded populist pro-science-power lobbyist ministers call "Atheism." Now, it's just you and your soon to be corpse. Now we can talk about real, actual, death; I mean the kind of physical death we are all going to experience without question at some point in the future. That death allows us to think a bit more clearly on the subject so we can investigate the third position.
"Find something worth dying for?"
What the hell is worth dying for?
I don't mean seven-layer chocolate cake 'die for.' I don't even mean Surly Darkness 'die for.' I mean 'tie me up to a stone in the desert and let the birds pick at my eyes die for.' There isn't enough beer in the world for that, I'm afraid, and certainly not a delicious enough cake.
I've never understood that expression: "to die for." Beer, cake, those are more like things to live for, aren't they? These things are food. They give life. You could probably live on nothing but beer and cake for a long time. Beer and cake could constitute a person's entire sustenance for years, maybe even decades, and is probably not far removed in nutritional value from what some consider the "standard American diet." It probably even beats Culver's, or Taco Bell, but I digress.
What was my point? Oh yes, there are many things to live on. I live on green tea until about noon each day. I live on crab dinners with Belgian tripel. I live on riding my Magna in the summer, canoeing in the wilderness, writing, and wasting time thinking about philosophy. Now, what, if anything, is to die for?
For what would we be comfortable trading our existence?
I'm not saying consciously ending our own physical lives. That would be overkill. This is more of a "hell, I'm gonna croak anyway" sort of question. Yes, I am thinking about this as a consequentialist.
Maybe a good place to start is by looking back at folks who have kicked the bucket.
Let's take a dead person. Let's take Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens, the popular 19th century American writer. We don't need to know anything particular about the fellow besides the fact that he was alive at one time, and is now dead.
As far as we know, Mark Twain is still alive and in hiding. But, let's assume he died in the very real way we all will, and the contents of his skeleton have been picked clean by carnivorous insects.
Could this man prevent his death?
No.
Could this man extend his life?
Not really.
In celestial time, he awoke one day, said "hello world," and then was immediately stomped back into a random, scattered mass of molecules that comprise the surface of our planet.
First of all, the fact that he or anyone is alive in the first place is, in all probability, a statistical anomaly of galactic proportions. Remember, we have cut out superstition here to focus on what we know, and it doesn't look like the universe is teeming with intelligent life. We're just a happy accident.
Let's assume our lives are meaningless...
Or, if they are not meaningless, they are for the purpose of some hyper-intelligent alien civilization. (I'm guessing we are a randomness mechanism in their encryption protocol).
We can't.
Believe that our lives are meaningless, that is.
Stop it.
I do not need evidence.
It is not an assumption feasible by the human brain, or at least any brain of which I am familiar. If you honestly believe life has absolutely no meaning whatsoever, I would be surprised, and would wonder why you are reading this silly entry on the subject. "Don't you have something with even less meaning to do?" Here are some aspects of meaning:
Some meaning we do not choose: "Love ya mom and dad."
Some meaning we do choose: "I think it would be meaningful to write a bit about life's meaning."
Some meaning has truth: "Love ya mom and dad."
Some meaning is in error: "Jesus appeared on my toast because an omnipotent being intervened."
Some meaning is insignificant: "Look! A thing that looks like that other thing!"
Some meaning is powerful: [Obvious factor 12.]
Some meaning we realize: "Playing Russian roulette means I might kill myself."
Some meaning we do not realize: Obituary: "He died like an idiot playing Russian roulette."
Meaning = means.
Means imply ends.
So, what means would be so consequential to justify an end worth dying for?
Anything at all?
Nothing?
I submit that it cannot be nothing.
If nothing, Mark Twain's death and life had no meaning. But, I contend that this cannot be the case. Why? Because I acquired meaning from reading Mark Twain. His existence delivered something to which I cannot remove meaning. Therefore, even if he did not know his writing included meaning, it did. Did he die to write all that stuff? That's not for me to know...
But, he did spend time doing it...
And time is a portion of our limited lifespan...
So, it may as well be said that he lived/died for what he wrote...
Was it worth dying for?
Well, he spent a long time dying...
Many, many years...
And almost all of his dying was exercised relative comfort...
Even pleasure...
Maybe Clemens was prepared to die long before he croaked...
and the rest of his years were gravy.
Smart martyr.
Maybe he considered those bonus years the beginning of his "eternal life."
Who knows?
Maybe that's really all the Christians and Buddhists are really saying, and everything else is just posturing for overflowing collection plates.
Maybe Atheists have purpose and meaning they value more than their lives and live in comfort, free from fear or uncertainty. I am certainly not one to judge.
And with that, it is time for something to live for.
Hm.
Once I decide what that is.
I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.
-Mark Twain
The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.
-Mark Twain
No comments:
Post a Comment