Preparing for Death in Order to Embrace Life
There are stars whose radiance is visible on earth though they have long been extinct. There are people whose brilliance continues to light the world even though they are no longer among the living. These lights are particularly bright when the night is dark. They light the way for human kind.
—Hannah Senesh
In his meditative exploration of death while chronicling his personal battle with cancer, In the Valley of the Shadow, Harvard University’s James Kugel writes that he was ‘astonished by the smallness of the freshly dug, open holes…in the cemetery grounds. Can a whole human being fit in there, a whole human life? Yes. No problem.’1 There is something so overwhelming about the thought that our existence will simply stop and—over time—any memory of our time on this earth will be forgotten.
The art of aging and dying motivates us to embrace the potential of our current being. Certainly, for those who go out, hit the streets, and yell to the heavens for justice, the entire mechanism of activism is a bulwark against living lives of idleness. We counter apathy by saving lives, protecting the vulnerable, and preventing more deaths. Indeed, a crucial part of social justice activism is to prevent needless deaths caused by war, illness, violence, and poverty. Paradoxically, much of activism is predicated on the notion that we are to hold a dual consciousness that we are embracing and accepting our own death at the right time, but that we are also protesting the unjust death and suffering of others. In this way, we learn to submit to the cycle of life while also seeking to undermine it.
In the course of our activism, we don’t need to be shamed by aging, for indeed, it is only natural. With age comes wisdom, and with wisdom, perspective. Yet, the world over, and especially in America, youth and a youthful image are valued above almost all other traits. Many activists fall into the trap of reminiscing on youthful activism without living in the present. But there is dignity in aging and dignity in dying, especially when we live lives of integrity. As Thomas Campbell conveys in his poem ‘Hallowed Ground,’ even though we will one day pass from the world, leaving an imprint on others’ hearts will ensure that our deaths are only physical. As he writes: ‘To live in hearts we leave behind/Is not to die.’2 Through activism, we respond to our apprehensions of death, of impermanence, by deepening our commitment to living in the present with integrity each and every day.
Sometimes, when really tired and slowing down, weighted by commitments, I think about the terrifying scenario of being incapacitated at the end of my days, unable to do anything. I think about how I would desperately dream of the days when I had but minimal fatigue holding me back. Keep going, the little voice in my mind whispers. Keep going because that is who you are. It’s in those introspective and existential moments where I become full of gratitude and fully ready and charged up to go. I also think in these pensive times about why we are so culturally attuned to despise insects. Is it because subconsciously we know that, in almost no time at all, our bodies will be in the dirt with maggots eating our flesh?
Perhaps contemplating mortality for just a few minutes each day can help us embrace humility, gratitude, and the core priorities of our short existence.
We don’t have to strip away the need to build a legacy for ourselves to engage in activism. It is only human to seek to leave a lasting mark on this world, to leave a lasting light. Rather than squash our own ego and desire for immortality, we can channel the ego toward pursuing just ends. We look to those who have died for inspiration and for those individuals who are ‘particularly bright when the night is dark.’3 It is in our darkest hours when we strive to become those lights so that some part of our lives—no matter how fleeting—continues to shine for those who need it most.
Death will forever remain one of those mysteries that will perplex the human mind. But for the purposes of activism, death acts as a motivator (to prevent needless loss of life) and as a bearer of memory (to remedy critical wrongs and to instill new hope). Religious traditions echo these feelings and each has its own way to make sense of the ambiguity of the post-mortal world. And for many, the conclusion is that death is not the end, but simply another beginning. What that means is unclear to the limits of the human mind, but it need not stymie our work. Indeed, knowing that we have so much to give in this life, and perhaps the next, is motivation enough to make the world operate the way we want it to and to do the seemingly impossible work of transporting the heavenly realm down to us. It is difficult, it is exasperating, but in the end it will be worth it.
Exercise 1: Meditate as if you are on your deathbed. What does it feel like? What are you regretting? What are you proud of? What do you find hard to release? Sit with the thoughts and emotions as you breathe deeply.
Exercise 2: Write a paragraph or two of your eulogy. What would you want the most important points to be? What do you want to be remembered for? Now imagine the time when those who love and remember you are all dead, and your memory is forgotten. Meditate on how that feels. How does it impact your desire for your work?
Exercise 3: Write an ethical will for your children, grandchildren, students, or relatives (or whoever is most fitting for you). Leave them an inspiring message about your most central values that you feel should be kept alive even after you leave this earth. What means the most to you? What values do you hope they will keep alive in your memory?