Death and Taxes
Nobody wants to die, but everyone will. It is a fact. Eventually, one day your heart will stop pumping, oxygen will no longer reach your brain and you will perceive nothing ever again. But, people will remember you. Your spouse, your friends, your children, others whose lives you touched. And in a way, they will carry you on into the future, for who knows how long. But, eventually, given enough time, your name, the impact that you had on the world will fade and return to the dust from whence it came. And on Good Friday, if you follow the Christian tradition, we take a moment to remember this fact.
Therefore, every day we fight an uphill battle to prevent our death. Whether consciously or unconsciously all of us are working to prevent our physical or symbolic death. We construct “ immortality projects” to prolong our lives, maybe through a focus on achievement, such as works of art or tools that will go on to help people. But, tools get replaced and all art eventually becomes anonymous. We bind ourselves to leaders, figures whose story will be told and retold for years to come. Alexander the Great might be the name history remembers, but his soldiers live on as a part of his legend. It is not wrong to want to escape death, dying is scary. But, sometimes those projects can become destructive.
This is a narrative we see played out all the time. A person struggling with alcoholism seeking solace in a substance that numbs the pain, but drives others away. Someone putting up walls that keep loved ones away in order to protect themselves from emotional hurt. Those walls may keep danger at bay, while simultaneously serving as a prison. We often turn from one form of death to another. These projects can serve as a way of protecting our egos from the experience of death. This isn’t a bad thing, we all have pain and our immortality projects function as a coping mechanism. We cannot turn from our “immortality projects,” it’s not in our nature.
Every day we experience a form of death. Whether it be rejection by a friend, an unjust insult or the disappointment that comes from failure. It’s that lingering reminder that we are finite and vulnerable. No matter the form they take, by participation in human relationships, be they healthy or not, we die to ourselves. In the process of sharing in the life and will of another person, we sacrifice some of our freedom to live into our own particularity. And yet, relationships are the most effective way to prolong our lives. They are the most reliable immortality project. Beloved memories of time with friends linger long after they have moved away. Stories told about adventures in college, parents record-keeping their child’s first words, or photographs hung upon the hearth all serve to immortalize the past. For all the chaos it breeds, social media has provided a profoundly powerful method of returning to those precious times with friends.
Paradoxically, the only way to escape death is by accepting that we never will. We have been given the incalculably valuable gift of time. What will you use it for? You have the freedom to choose. If we must construct our own immortality, is it what we want to be remembered for? For Christians, participation in the death and resurrection of Jesus is a central part of this process. Especially on Good Friday, we pause to reflect on the experience of death, recognizing our fragile finitude. Because even in death, be it the literal or symbolic, you are loved.
