Living a purposeless life is to surrender to the forces and entities beyond our control. It means appreciating the gift of life but not for self-aggrandisement but for self-introspection. This might hold the key to having a kinder, gentler and a more compassionate planet. The rat race towards finding meaning and purpose in life is sucking the humanity out of humans
The first time I felt the ephemeral nature of life was when I heard of the passing away of my maternal grandmother about 15 years ago. I was pursuing my higher education in the United States, and it occurred to me that this wonderful person's warmth will not be there anymore. Through the subsequent years, I have imagined and re-imagined her image, her kindness and generosity, her vivaciousness and, above all, her deep religious faith.
After her passing, my maternal grandfather passed away and so did my uncle a couple of years ago. Recently, I have been witnessing the death of celebrities and other media personalities whom I grew up watching and admiring. These celebrities I do not know personally, but their death has left a void in me. I miss Hollywood actor Robin William's idiosyncrasies; Indian singer KK's gregarious intonation; and my favourite singer Chris Cornell's melancholy. This made me realise that it is not the person you actually miss but their inherent nature that you were (are) a part of which you long for.
Death as a topic has fascinated philosophers, sages, scientists and the general population for ages. What happens when we die? A question humanity hasn't answered to its own satisfaction. Yes, people with deep religious faith and non-believers alike might have found some solace in their extrapolation of after life, but it is suffice to say that the explanation might not quench the thirst of humans who have evolved to inherit an insatiable mind.
To understand death, we have to introspect life. Life in all its beauty and ugliness is marching towards that ultimate end. So, what can life teach us about death? If anything, life teaches us the impermanence of our being. Our successes, failures, happiness and sadness are all transitory. As such, we are temporary multicellular organisms inhabiting a tiny planet in a tiny galaxy in this vast cosmos. In the grand scheme of things, we are insignificant. It is this truth that our existence is inconsequential, which we have a hard time fathoming. However, if we were to internalise our mere existence, I believe, we will have more courage to face our bodily demise.
To die is to surrenderoneself to the constraints of the universe. When we are born, our parents surrender to the constraints of being a parent. When we are adults, most of us surrender to the constraints of being a civic citizen. When we work, we grudgingly surrender to the niceties of organisational processes andculture. When I write, I surrender to the grammatical restraint of the English language. As such, why do we resist the fateful transformation that our organic self progresses through?
Let me be clear. I am not saying not to mourn or eulogise the passing away of near and dear ones. A famous writer once quipped, "the ritualisation of death signifies the beginning ofhumanity". I am alluding to a subtler form of despondency that death seems to impart on us.
Take, for example, the current Russia-Ukraine war. The devastation of the war is primarily quantified in the number of deaths of the citizens from both sides. We do mourn otherforms of human disasters that a war can generate, but our senses seem to be attuned predominantly to human casualties. If we do not ascribe such gravitas to death, maybe we can be more in-tune with the multitude of human sufferings that we witness every day. This line of reasoning begs the question, why do we put such immense importance to death if it is a natu-ral phenomenon?
The importance we ascribe to death can be traced back to the hubris we assign to life. For instance, we all have some "mission" and "goal" to attain in this life. Some of us are destined to change the world while others are here to live happily for eternity; s/he had so much potential and her/ his untimely demise is a tragedy; he could not live to see the achievement of his kids while she passed away longing to get that acknowledgement which she thoroughly deserved. Even when we say someone died in peace we inherently assume that the person got what s/he wanted: to die in peace.
As I age and if I were to die suddenly, what would people say about me? Did I live a fulfilling life? More importantly, did I achieve the mission I was born to achieve? What about the expectation that my family, community and society at large had towards me? Was I able to satisfy them? Above all, did I live the life I wanted to live or died with unfulfilled dreams and desires? As I ponder these questions, I am beginning to realise I assign a lot of self-worth towards my life, too. But my existence is as miniscule as the existence of a homeless person or a monarch of a country.
People are born, and they die every day. Our society is changing at a rapid pace. Planet earth is going through a metamorphosis. But the enigma surrounding our demise is here to stay for a foreseeable future. Heaven, if we were to attain, is the place where we would be living for eternity happily ever after. So, what will we be doing in such a place? Does heaven have any rules or constraints to bind us? Do we have any mission to fulfill in such a place? Bingo! It is the purposeless life that we live in heaven, which, I believe, we should try to emulate on earth.
Living a purposeless life is to surrender to the forces and entities beyond our control. It means appreciating the gift of life but not for self-aggrandisement but for self-introspection. This might hold the key to having a kinder, gentler and a more compassionate planet. The rat race towards finding meaning and purpose in life is sucking the humanity out of humans. When I die, I want people to say this: he lived a purposeless life.
Pathak is education management consultant at Islington College
A version of this article appears in the print on August 4, 2022 of The Himalayan Times.
