Category: Death and Immortality

Steve Jobs (1955-2011) on Death

This is from Jobs' 2005 Stanford commencement address:

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

As Heidegger might have said, we achieve our authenticity (Eigentlichkeit) in Being-towards-death (Sein-zum-Tode).

Notes on Mortality and Christian Doctrine

1. Let's start with the word 'mortal' and remind ourselves of some obvious points. 'Mortal' is from the Latin mors, mortis meaning death. That which is mortal is either subject to death, or conducive to death, or in some way expressive of death. Thus when we say of a human being that he is mortal we do not mean that he is dead, but that he is subject to death. My being mortal is consistent with my being alive and kicking. Indeed, if I weren't alive I could not be said to be either mortal or immortal. Spark plugs are neither mortal nor immortal. Some will say of a car that it has 'died.' But that is a loose and metaphorical way of talking. Only that which was once alive can properly be said to have died.

A Problem for the Hylomorphic Dualist

A position in the philosophy of mind that is currently under-represented and under-discussed is Thomistic or hylomorphic dualism.  Whereas the tendency of the substance dualist is to identify the person with his soul or mind, the hylomorphic approach identifies the person with a soul-body composite in which soul stands to body as form (morphe) stands to matter (hyle). In a slogan: anima forma corporis: the soul is the form of the body. To be a bit more precise, the soul is the substantial form of the body, a form that makes of the matter it informs a human substance. 

 

Never Say Die

Susan Jacoby's new book fell into my hands the other day.  It is entitled Never Say Die: The Myth and Marketing of the New Old Age (Pantheon, 2011).  Although I noticed some things in the first chapter that are clearly true and worth pointing out, the preface raised my critical eyebrows a bit.  But I agree with Jacoby's realism:

. . . to suggest that ninety may soon become the new fifty — the premise of a panel at the widely publicized annual World Science Festival held in New York City in 2008 — is to engage in magical thinking. (5)

Surely she is right about that.  In the preface she writes,

I hope that this book about the genuine battles of growing old will provide support for all who draw their strength and courage from reality, however daunting that reality may be, rather than from platitudes about “defying old age.” This commonly used phrase in the annals of the so-called new old age fills me with rage, because the proximity of old age to death is not only undefiable but undeniable. Anger, by the way, is another emotion considered inappropriate in the old; the dubious notion of the “wisdom of old age” rests on the belief that elders can, and should, transcend the passions, vaulting ambition, and competitiveness of their younger adult lives and arrive at some sort of peace that passeth all understanding.

It is no doubt silly to speak of 'defying old age,' but why should this phrase elicit rage in the 63 year old Boomer?  And then, half-perceiving the inappropriateness of rage over such a thing, especially in a 63 year old, she opines that it is dubious that as we age we can and should transcend the passions, give up ambition, and set aside our youthful competitiveness.  Finally, making matters worse, she adduces a religious phrase that she doesn't understand.

On the contrary, I say

1. To live enslaved to one's passions is obviously bad and has been seen as bad in all the major wisdom traditions. It is precisely one of the compensations of old age, which I take to begin at 60, that it is easier and easier to free oneself from the grip of passion.  The fire down below  begins to subside, to mention the central and most delusive passion. The Buddhist injunction, "Conquer desire and aversion," is much easier to implement once the fires of lust have damped down.  Self-mastery is something within our power and something we ought to pursue. As I see it, Jacoby rightly opposes one form of contemporary nonsense, the Forever Young nonsense, only to succumb to another form of contemporary nonsense, namely, that passion is good.

2.  As for ambition, lack of ambition in the young is rightly seen as a defect. But when the old are still driven by their old ambitions, none of which were of too lofty a nature, are they not fools?  For the old ambitions, appropriate as they were in youth, have become absurd in old age.  Life is, or at least ought to be, progressive disillusionment, a growing insight into the ultimate nullity of name and fame, status and position, loot and lucre.  Or, as I put it in an aphorism:

The young, astride their steeds of ambition, should gallop boldly into the fray. But the old should know when to quit the game and dismount into dis-illusion. Homo ludens, when sapient, knows when to become de-luded.

 3. The same goes for competitiveness.  You waste your old age if you don't use it to see through "finite competitive selfhood"  to borrow a fine phrase from A. E. Taylor.  What baubles and trinkets are you competing for, old man?  What are they worth?  You were once a child but then you put aside childish things.  Why do you cling still to the toys of adulthood?

4. At the end of the above-quoted passage Jacoby adduces a New Testament phrase that she obviously does not understand.  At Philippians 4:7 in the King James Version, we read "And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."  So typical of a secularist to mock religion and then twist a line of religious provenience around to her own purposes!  This misuse of religious language is something that ought to be opposed.

And particularly block-headed is her reference to William Wordsworth at the end of her preface:

Anyone who has outlived his or her passions has lived too long. Wordsworth got it exactly right, at the tender age of thirty-seven, in his “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”: O joy! That in our embers / Is something that doth live, / That nature yet remembers / What was so fugitive!

If she had read the Ode carefully she would have known that it is deeply otherworldly and Platonic in inspiration.  It is about experiences that some of us had as children, experiences in which hints of our higher origin were vouchsafed to us.  It has nothing to do with "The search for new, earthbound ways to express lifelong passions . . . ."

I am reminded of Georg Lichtenberg's aphorism, Ein Buch ist ein Spiegel, wenn ein Affe hineinguckt, so kann freilich kein Apostel heraus sehen.  "A book is a mirror: if an ape looks in, no apostle will look out." 

‘We are All Dying’

In an interview a while back Christopher Hitchens said, "We are all dying."  The saying is not uncommon.  A friend over Sunday breakfast invoked it. The irony of it is that the friend in question in younger days was decisively influenced by the Ordinary Language philosophers.

Taken literally, the sentence is false: only some of us are dying.  What must the sentence be taken to mean to be true?  This: the life process in each human being issues eventually in death.  But then why don't people say what they mean rather than something literally false?

The short answer is that man is a metaphysical animal with an ineradicable urge to gain perspective so as to be able to reconnoitre the terrain of the human predicament.  The gaining of perspective requires the stretching of ordinary language.

When we say 'We are all dying' we forsake the lowlands of ordinary language and ascend to a higher point of view, a philosophical point of view. It is like someone who says, 'All is impermanent.' That too is literally false.  Some addresses are permanent and some are temporary.  To maintain that all is impermanent one must ascend to a higher point of view  relative to which what is permanent 'here below' is, from that point of view, impermanent.  And so one can say, without talking nonsense, that even a permanent address is impermanent. 

As for 'We are all dying,' it too, though literally false, is not nonsense.  When I look at my life as a whole, I see that it is temporally bounded, and that it must issue in death.  And so even the most robust among us are dying in the sense that we are launched on a trajectory the culmination of which  is death.

I once played chess master Jude Acers a series of games at his sidewalk hangout in New Orlean's French Quarter.  During one endame he pointed to one of his pawns and said, 'This pawn has already queened.'  But it hadn't; it was still several moves away from the queening square.  So why did Acers say something literally false?  His meaning was that I could not stop the pawn, and so, in that sense, it had already queened.  It's the same pattern as before.  I am not dying, but since I will inevitably die, I am now dying.  The pawn has not yet queened, but since it will inevitably queen, it has 'already' queened.  What is not yet the case, but will be the case, is in a higher sense, the case.

Or consider this Platonizing remark a variant of which one can find in St. Augustine:  'What once existed, but does not now exist, and what does exist but will in future not exist, never existed.'  Taken literally as a piece of ordinary English, this is nonsense.  If something did exist, then ex vi terminorum it is false that it never existed; and likewise if the thing now exists.

But only a philosophistine (a 'philosopher' who is a philistine) such as Carnap or David Stove could fail to appreciate that the Augustinian saying is meaningful, despite the stretching of ordinary language.  A theory of how this 'stretching' works is necessary if we are to have a full understanding of what we are doing when we do metaphysics.

There is no doubt that in metaphysics we violate ordinary usage.  But unless one is a benighted philosophistine chained and held fast in some dark corner of Plato's Cave, one will not dismiss metaphysics for this reason, but strive to work out a theory of how  the linguistic  stretching works. 

Bad to Die Young but Not Bad to Die? An Aporetic Dyad

Herewith, a rumination on death with Epicurus as presiding shade. The following two propositions are both logically inconsistent and yet very plausible:

1. Being dead is not an evil for anyone at any time. 

2. Being dead at a young age is an evil for some.

Obviously, the limbs of the dyad cannot both be true.  Each entails the negation of the other.  And yet each limb lays serious claim to our acceptance. 

(1) is rendered credible by Epicurean reasoning along the following lines. It is reasonably maintained that bodily death is annihilation of the self or person.  Now in the absence of a person, there is nothing to possess properties, experiential or not, such as  being conscious, being dead, being nonexistent, etc. We are assuming that a person's corpse cannot be the subject of the putative state of being dead.  When I am dead and thus nonexistent my corpse will continue to exist for a time.  (Assuming my end doesn't come in the form of 'vaporization.') But I am not my corpse.   My being dead is not my corpse's being dead, for it is not dead: only what was once alive can properly be said to be dead, and my corpse is never alive.  I am dead, if I am, not my corpse.  So my corpse cannot be the subject of the putative state of my being dead.  And anyway my being dead will obtain at future times when my corpse will not exist.  So for this reason too my corpse cannot be the subject of the putative state of my being dead.

There is, then, no subject of being dead if death is annihilation.  Since there is no subject, there is, strictly speaking, no state of my being dead.  A state is a state of something in the state, and in this case nothing is in the state.  It follows that the 'state' of my being dead cannot be an evil state.  There is no such state, so it can't be evil — or good, or anything.  It furthermore follows that being dead cannot rationally be feared — or looked forward to either. 'I'll be glad when I'm dead 'makes  as little  sense given the cogency of the Epicurean reasoning as 'I'll be sad when I'm dead' or Warren Zevon's 'I'll sleep when I'm dead.' 

Support for (2) has its source in a widely-accepted intuition.  Suppose a happy, healthy, well-situated 20 year old full of life and promise dies suddenly and painlessly in a freak accident.  Almost all will agree that in cases like this being dead (which we distinguish from both the process and the event of dying) is an evil, and therefore neither good nor axiologically neutral.  It is an evil for the person who is dead whether or not it is an evil for anyone else.  It is an evil because it deprives him of all the intrinsic goods he would have enjoyed had he not met an untimely end.

It is not quite the same for the 90 year old.  One cannot be deprived of the impossible (as a matter of conceptual necessity), and the older one gets the closer the approach to the nomologically impossible.  (I assume that there is some age — 150?  — at which it become nomologically impossible for what could reasonably count as a human being to continue to live.) So one cannot employ the same reasoning in the two cases.  If we say that the being dead of the 20 year old is bad because it deprives him of future goods, we cannot give the same reason for the badness ( if it is badness) of the being dead of the 90 year old.  Someone who lives a life that is on balance happy and healthy and productive and then dies of natural causes at 90 or 100 is arguably not deprived of anything by his being dead. 

The problem, then, is that (1) and (2) cannot both be true, yet each is plausible.

Kierkegaard on Immortality

S. Kierkegaard/J. Climacus, Concluding Unscientific Postscript (Swenson and Lowrie tr., Princeton UP, 1941, pp. 154-155, emphasis added):

All honor to him who can handle learnedly the learned question of immortality!  But the question of immortality is essentially not a learned question, rather it is a question of inwardness, which the subject by becoming subjective must put to himself.  Objectively the question cannot be answered, because objectively it cannot be put, since immortality precisely is the potentiation and highest development of the developed subjectivity. [. . . ] Systematically, immortality cannot be proved at all.  The fault does not lie in the proofs, but in the fact that people will not understand that viewed systematically the whole question is nonsense, so that instead of seeking outward proofs, one had better seek to become a little subjective.  Immortality is the most passionate interest of subjectivity; precisely in the interest lies the proof. [. . . ]

Quite simply therefore the existing subject asks, not about immortality in general, for such a phantom has no existence, but about his immortality, about what it means to become immortal, whether he is able to contribute anything to the accomplishment of this end, or whether he becomes immortal as a matter of course . . .

I agree that the question of immortality is primarily an existential question, a question for the existing individual, and not primarily a learned or scholarly or 'scientific'  or  objective question.  And surely there is no immortality in general any more than there is a chamber pot in general.  Mortality and immortality are in every case my mortality or immortality and it is clear that I have an intense personal interest in the outcome.   I am not related to the question of my own immortality in the way I am related to a purely objective question that doesn't affect me personally, the question, say, whether the universe had a beginning 15 billion years or only 5 billion years ago, or had no beginning at all, etc.  Such questions, as interesting at they are from a purely theoretical point of view, are existentially indifferent.  What's more, occupation with such questions can serve to distract us from the existential questions that really matter.  Finally, I agree that one is not immortal as a matter of course, but that immortality is at least in  part a  task, a matter of  the free cultivation of  inwardness, the ethical constitution of the self. 

Kierkegaard So far, then, I agree with SK.  Unfortunately, SK exaggerates these insights to the point of making them untenable.  For surely it is preposterous  to maintain, as SK does maintain above, that the immortality question has nothing objective about it.  Let us suppose that how I live, what I do, whether and to what extent I cultivate my inwardness, and whether or not I lose myself in the pseudo-reality and inauthenticity  of social existence does affect whether I will survive my  bodily death.  Suppose, in other words, that my immortality does depend on the highest development and potentiation of my subjectivity and that soul-making is a task.  Well, if this is the case, then this is objectively the case.  And if it is the case that immortality is a possibility for beings like us, then this is  objectively the case.  It is not the case because of some subjective stance or attitude that I might or might not assume.  I cannot make it be the case if it is not the case by any potentiation of inwardness.  I cannot will myself into immortality unless it is objectively the case that immortality is a  possibility for beings like us.  Furthermore, if we do not become immortal as a matter of course, then this too is objectively the case if  it  is the case.

And because the question of immortality has an objective side, it is important to examine the reasons for and against. 

Kierkegaard/Climacus comes across  as a confused irrationalist in the above passages and surrounding text.  If a question is primarily existential, it does not follow that it cannot be "objectively put," for of course it can.  If a question is primarily subjective, it does not follow that it is purely subjective.  And if immortality cannot strictly be proven, it does not follow that there is nothing objective about the issue.  This is another, fairly blatant, confusion.  Has any one succeeded in strictly proving that the soul is immortal or strictly proving the opposite?  No.  Is the question an objective question? Yes. 

It is simply false to say that "viewed systematically the whole question is nonsense."  What is true is that, if the question is viewed SOLELY in a systematic and objective way it is nonsense.  For it is clear that the question affects the existing individual in his innermost being.  What is troubling about SK is that he cannot convey his insights without dressing them up in irrationalist garb that makes them strictly false.

Does my interest in my personal immortality constitute the proof of my personal immortality?  Of course not.  So why does SK maintain something so plainly preposterous?  For literary effect?  To serve as a corrective to Hegelian or other 'systematic' excess?  But surely the proper response to an extreme position is not an equal but opposite extreme position, but a moderate and reasonable one. 

Causes of Death of Philosophers

Here. For example, Rescher died of incoherence while Spinoza died of substance abuse. Miguel de Unamuno expired from a tragic loss of sense. Plantinga perished of necessity, and Augustine by a Hippo. As you can see, some are nasty and one needn't be dead to have a cause of death assigned. Last I checked, Professor Rescher was still happily scribbling away. And that reminds me of a joke.

A student goes to visit Professor Rescher. Secretary informs her that the good doctor is not available because he is writing a book. Student replies, "I'll wait."

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

"Remember, man, thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return." Memento, homo, quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris. This warning, from the Catholic liturgy for Ash Wednesday, is based on Genesis 3, 19: In sudore vultus tui vesceris pane, donec revertaris in terram de qua sumptus es: quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris.

How real can we and this world be if in a little while we all will be nothing but dust and ashes?

     Our plesance here is all vain glory,
     This fals world is but transitory,
     The flesche is brukle, the Feynd is slee;
     Timor mortis conturbat me.

     No stait in Erd here standis sicker;
     As with the wynd wavis the wicker,
     Wavis this wardlis vanitie;
     Timor mortis conturbat me.

     (William Dunbar c. 1460 — c. 1520, from "Lament for the Makers.")

     Here lie I by the chancel door;
     They put me here because I was poor.
     The further in, the more you pay,
     But here lie I as snug as they.

     (Devon tombstone.)

     Here lies Piron, a complete nullibiety,
     Not even a Fellow of a Learned Society.

     Alexis Piron, 1689-1773, "My Epitaph"

     Why hoard your maidenhead? There'll not be found
     A lad to love you, girl, under the ground.
     Love's joys are for the quick; but when we're dead
     It's dust and ashes, girl, will go to bed.

     (Asclepiades, fl. 290 B.C., tr. R. A. Furness)

     The world, perhaps, does not see that those who rightly engage in
     philosophy study only death and dying. And, if this be true, it
     would surely be strange for a man all through his life to desire
     only death, and then, when death comes to him, to be vexed at it,
     when it has been his study and his desire for so long.

     Plato, Phaedo, St. 64, tr. F. J. Church

Ubi Amor, Ibi Oculus

They say that love is blind.  But if love blinds, is it love?  Or is it rather infatuation?  "Where there is love, there is sight."  I found this fine Latin aphorism in Josef Pieper, Death and Immortality (Herder and Herder, 1969, p. 21).  The translation is mine.  Pieper credits Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Sentences 3 d. 35, I, 21. Pieper adds that "The dictum comes from Richard of St. Victor." (Pieper, p. 133, n. 29.)

Only to the eye of love is the ipseity and haecceity of the beloved revealed, and only the eye of love can descry the true nature and true horror of death.  That is my gloss on the aphorism and its context.  I should arrange a confrontation between Pieper and Epicurus who Pieper views as a sophist. (p. 29)