Death and The Meaning of Life
Viktor Frankl, existentialism, and the end of American Beauty
“I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much; my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can’t feel anything but gratitude — for every single moment of my stupid, little life. You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure; but don’t worry….you will someday.”
Alan Ball, American Beauty
On death.
Death. The last frontier, the barrier beyond which we can never return. These are my beliefs.
Existentialists believe that before death, human beings enjoy both facticity and transcendence. Facticity is the “thingness” of our lives. Transcendence is the potential to change, to be better, the ability to grow, adapt, and change.
After death, we are pure facticity. The details of our lives settled; they become fixed in the minds of those we leave behind. The story is over; the book is closed. There is no more transcendence in store for the dead.
When we cease to be, we cease to act, do, create, perform. After we die, we will never add to our stories again. They may undergo revisions in the minds of others born out of nostalgia, discovery, or grief, but the facts of our lives are forever set in place after we die.
But why do we die?
What is the meaning of life?
Death seems such an inscrutable nut to crack. What if we were to approach it the other way round? If we understood the meaning of life, then would we not also, through extension, understand the mystery of death? Why do we die? If you were creating all of this (gestures broadly about), would you make it up that we die?
Viktor Frankl was a Jewish POW who survived life in a concentration camp. He learned, adapted. Life in the camps was unimaginably brutal and cruel. If you didn’t adapt, you died. Viktor adapted and survived. Afterward, he created the philosophical school of thought called logotherapy, a therapeutic approach that deals primarily with finding personal meaning in a world where chaos, upheaval, and cruelty are the norms.
My understanding of logotherapy with regards to the meaning of life is this. The “meaning of life” isn’t a question life answers for us; it is a question life asks of us.
In existentialism, we learn that existence precedes essence. We have no meaning, no identifiable way of being before we exist. We are born a tabula rasa, a blank slate. We create meaning ourselves. Surely, death is the period in any life. What our life meant (to us, personally) can no longer change after we have died.
What if we were immortal?
If we didn’t die, if this were a world of immortals, would we ever bother asking such questions?
What does life mean?
Why do we die?
What should I do with my time?
I think the answer is no. If we were immortal, such questions might never occur to us. Or if they did, it would be a trite question we studied with no urgency. Maybe a playful diversion every hundred years, we might pull the question out and consider it idly. But because we were immune to dying, I doubt anyone would ever make any significant progress toward answering the question.
The third question is one I used to wrestle with frequently, but if my time were unlimited, I feel the question becomes nonsensical. What should I do with my time? If I’m immortal, I can only assume that everyone would eventually do everything. I know I would. I’ve always wondered about skydiving. If I knew it wouldn’t kill me, I would’ve gone already.
Would I fear pain if I were eternal? I think not. It might not be pleasant, but I would think a mind untethered from worries about dying would, after a while, want to know all mental states, experience all physical sensations.
So, maybe, we die to give our lives meaning. If we were eternal, our lives would mean everything. Eventually, we would become interchangeable, and therefore our lives would mean nothing.
Death’s purpose is to give our lives, in all their finitude, meaning, a meaning we choose, explicitly or implicitly.
The Ending of American Beauty
At times I feel I can resonate with what Lester Burnham says as he dies. “It’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world.” Sometimes the sunset or sky or some ripple of water on a lake will fill me with such indescribable joy that I am left speechless and understand why others feel the need to posit a creator.
“The universe is not only stranger than we imagine;
it is stranger than we can imagine.”
J. B. S. Haldane
Those moments where I feel moved into wonder are counterbalanced by witnessing widespread examples of unspeakable cruelty, boundless greed, and willful ignorance. So I don’t move in a constant state of amazement. I would if I could. What I settle on is this. This world is a very strange place — heart-stoppingly beautiful one minute, wholly stupid the next. It is as beautiful as it is flawed; it is lovely.
“And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can’t feel anything but gratitude — for every single moment of my stupid, little life.”
Lester Burnham
