Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one's death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible to life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return. One must negotiate this passage as nobly as possible, for the sake of those who are coming after us.
—-James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time
I have loved Baldwin’s writing since the day, as a college freshman, I discovered The Fire Next Time.
In case you have not seen this photograph of James, I share it here as well the quote, which I understand this way:
Religions promise that death is not the end of “myself.” Tribal identification with race and nationality (and nowadays gender) creates an imaginary “myself.” Both faith and tribal identification are used to deny or distract from one undeniable, observable fact: each of us was born alone and will die alone.
When those promises of eternal life evaporate, and one’s identity comes down to primate human animal here and now, quite suddenly the fact of death (memento mori) appears in stark, awakened clarity.
That’s when the real work begins.
Thank you so much for sharing this quote, Robert. It lines up perfectly with Zapffe's work, as well as your own. I will definitely look into Mr. Baldwin's book. I'm amazed by how much of my limited lifespan I've spent searching / seeking for something that was never there. It's like a prolonged belief in Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny. Then, someone comes along and tells you, in no uncertain terms, that it's all make-believe. At first, there's resistence. Then, a sort of remorse for all the "wasted years". Then, finally, a breath, and a living of life like never before. Thanks again, Robert, for your books, as well as for still being out there...
The photograph, the words of Baldwin, my aging bones -- such wonder, such beauty, I can only cry. Thank you Robert.