“The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” ~ Homer, The Iliad
Across the street from my son’s apartment in Nova Scotia, Canada, is a cemetery. As he and I walked through the cemetery (taking these photos) in the Spring of 2022, we pondered, in a sombre yet life-affirming way, what our lives have meant, and now means to the people we hold dear and who hold us in like regard.
I am reminded of Homer’s quote almost on a daily basis. Through a series of losses on many fronts, and gains on many others; through the letting go and taking hold of, Homer’s quote provides a poignant reminder of what’s truly valuable and in a paradoxical way, an equally poignant reminder not to hold on or become too attached to precisely that which is valuable.
Here are three lessons (amongst many), that our mortality teaches us about life:
“Because here, no one judges you!”
“You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”
Several years ago, in the months immediately following the events of August 30th, 2014 (I write this piece as a tribute on this eighth year since), my younger son and I were on our way to pick his older brother when we received a call that he would be delayed. My son suggested that we take a drive through the old cemetery a stone’s throw from the air base that my older son was working at.
As we drove through the road covered with years of accumulated leaves, there was a tranquillity, a serenity, a peacefulness that pervaded our surroundings. Breaking the silence as he and I sat there (he can tolerate more silence than I can), I remarked, “Why is it so silent here?” Noticing his look of incredulity, I rephrased my question, “Why it is so tranquil, so serene here?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he responded, “Because here [in the cemetery] no one judges you!” I pondered if it took death before we stop judging each other.
Most religious traditions have admonitions not to judge, yet passing judgement is often the default in our relationship with each other. In my own Christian tradition, Jesus said, “Judge not, that you not be judged.” Reflecting on the words of my son, I pondered if it took death before we stop judging. Perhaps if we took seriously the words of Jesus to die to self, we might be more circumspect in our view of others and not proffer judgement?
It only lasts the duration of this lifetime
“They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.”
That is the beauty and relief death provides – we don’t have to carry the issues of this life forever. Imagine the grief from the loss of a loved one, the debilitating weight of a struggle with mental health, a crippling illness or chronic pain, or a failure for which you are labelled with. Imagine being a god and having to live this fragile and broken existence with no end.
Because we know that this mortal life will have a definite and definitive end, we can live this mortal existence with a sense of a redemptive reality in this life and know that this too will eventually pass – the good and the bad. Hence, death gives meaning to life. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.
The story goes that when a newspaper mistakenly printed his obituary in 1888, the Swedish entrepreneur and inventor Alfred Nobel, very much alive, was so horrified to see himself remembered as the “tradesman of death” for his inventions of dynamite that he decided to devote his remaining years to supporting the most life-affirming endeavours of the human spirit. And so, the Nobel Prize was born. Alfred Nobel redeemed himself because he knew his life would end and the erroneous obituary was a stark and beautiful reminder of that poignant reality. Death clarifies life.
“Tell me, what will you do with your one wild and precious life?” ~ Mary Oliver
“Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.”
This quote from Mary Oliver is yet another that has gripped my heart and generated in my mind myriad thoughts of what it means to live with a deep sense of intentionality. Intentionality borne from the fact that I have only this one wild and precious life. In the volunteer work I continue to do in prison, there is a refreshing honesty that incarceration, but more significantly, failure that resulted in incarceration, has meant a momentary squandering of that wild and precious life. I totally relate to that with the events (leading to August 30th, 2014) that precipitated the squandering of my one wild and precious life, at least I hope, momentarily.
George Eliot, the author of the novel Middlemarch, concludes that novel with this beautiful ode to the people who, as she puts it, “Rest in the unvisited tombs of the world.” It’s a beautiful sentiment. What she’s really trying to say is that these people who led hidden lives, whose acts were unhistorical and maybe aren’t remembered by you or me, were the ones who contributed to what she calls the growing good of the world.
And I think that is such a powerful sentiment for us all to remember. Even if we might not be remembered by history, even if our tombs or niches may one day be unvisited, we can still contribute to this world in a positive way and lead meaningful lives, expressed in purposeful ways, not in spite of, but precisely because we’re ‘doomed’.
ACTIO SEQUITUR ESSE
- Compose your Eulogy. Send it to me at timothy.khoo@desertodyssey.com, and let’s discuss via Zoom or in person. It would be a privilege!
- Find a friend and compose a Eulogy for each other by interviewing each other’s family, friends, and work colleagues. Share the Eulogy you wrote with each other based on those interviews. Is the way I am living my one wild and precious life reflected in the positive impact I am making on those around me? If not, what am I going to do with the rest of my days?