In my last three posts, I have reflected on how a specific conception of the self might help ameliorate our worries about death. The historian and philosopher Will Durant wondered whether there was something suggestive about the cycle of human life that sheds light on its meaning, while also easing our concerns about death. He explored these themes in his 1929 book The Mansions of Philosophy. (Later retitled The Pleasures of Philosophy.)

Durant admits that “life is in its basis a mystery, a river flowing from an unseen source; and in its development an infinite subtlety too complex for thought, much less for utterance.”¹ Still, we seek answers. Undeterred by the difficulty of his task, Durant suggests that reflection on the microcosm of a human life might yield insights into the meaning of all life and death. Thus, he looks at a typical human life cycle for clues about cosmic meaning.

In children, Durant saw curiosity, growth, urgency, playfulness, and discontent. In later youth, the struggle continues as we learn to read, work, love, and discover the world’s evils. In middle age, we are often consumed by work and family life, and for the first time, we see the reality of death. Still, in family life, people usually find great pleasure and the best of all human conditions.

In old age, the reality of death comes nearer. If we have lived well, we might graciously leave the stage for new players to perform a better play. But what if life endlessly repeats its sufferings, with youth making the same mistakes as their elders, and all lives leading to death? Is this the final realization of old age? Such thoughts gnaw at our hearts and poison aging.

In response, Durant wonders if we must die for life to flourish. If we are not individuals but cells in life’s body, then we die so that life remains strong, death removing the rubbish of the old to be replaced by the young. This process shows how death can be meaningful. “If it is one test of philosophy to give life a meaning that shall frustrate death, wisdom will show that corruption comes only to the part, that life itself is deathless while we die.”² Durant describes this idea with one of the most moving and poignant images of the cycle of life and death to be found in all of world literature.

Here is an old man on the bed of death, harassed with helpless friends and wailing relatives. What a terrible sight it is – this thin frame with loosened and cracking flesh, this toothless mouth in a bloodless face, this tongue that cannot speak, these eyes that cannot see! To this pass youth has come, after all its hopes and trials; to this pass middle age, after all its torment and its toil. To this pass health and strength and joyous rivalry; this arm once struck great blows and fought for victory in virile games. To this pass knowledge, science, wisdom: for seventy years this man with pain and effort gathered knowledge; his brain became the storehouse of a varied experience, the center of a thousand subtleties of thought and deed; his heart through suffering learned gentleness as his mind learned understanding; seventy years he grew from an animal into a man capable of seeking truth and creating beauty. But death is upon him, poisoning him, choking him, congealing his blood, gripping his heart, bursting his brain, rattling in his throat. Death wins.

Outside on the green boughs birds twitter, and Chantecler sings his hymn to the sun. Light streams across the fields; buds open and stalks confidently lift their heads; the sap mounts in the trees. Here are children: what is it that makes them so joyous, running madly over the dew-wet grass, laughing, calling, pursuing, eluding, panting for breath, inexhaustible? What energy, what spirit and happiness! What do they care about death? They will learn and grow and love and struggle and create, and lift life up one little notch, perhaps, before they die. And when they pass they will cheat death with children, with parental care that will make their offspring finer than themselves. There in the garden’s twilight lovers pass, thinking themselves unseen; their quiet words mingle with the murmur of insects calling to their mates; the ancient hunger speaks through eager and through lowered eyes, and a noble madness courses through clasped hands and touching lips. Life wins.

Reflections

Durant’s basic themes defending the meaning of death and hence our supposed acceptance of it are 1) life itself will continue after we have died, and 2) we die so that future life remains strong

As much as I admire Durant, there are a few objections to his claims. First, life may not continue for long after we have died, almost certainly not indefinitely, given the probable fate of the cosmos. Life is probably not deathless as he claims. Second, it isn’t clear that life will be stronger because of our deaths. Isn’t it wasteful for conscious life to start over each time, having to relearn old truths and unlearn old falsehoods? Perhaps new life will result in a futile and infinite repetition of life’s trials and tribulations. It simply isn’t clear that our deaths will benefit our descendants.

Still, the idea that life goes on provides some comfort, and it is plausible that death removes the rubbish of the old, as forest fires bring new health to the forest. Durant’s key phrase for me is “If we are not individuals but cells in life’s body.” This sounds closest to the Eastern and Western notions of self we have discussed in our previous three posts. This diminution of self seems both plausible and comforting when confronting our deaths.

I’ll come to some final conclusions in my next post.

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