Reflecting on death can teach us about living

Atheism, though not a religion, rests on conviction — the belief that science will one day answer all questions about human existence. Yet the atheist cannot prove the non-existence of God any more than the believer can prove to the atheist’s satisfaction his presence.

Science, for all its precision, is a discipline of revision. What one age holds as fact, another disproves. Ptolemy’s Earth-centred universe gave way to Copernicus’s Sun-centred model. Hippocrates’ theory of the four humours being responsible for matters regarding our health yielded to Pasteur’s discovery that disease is caused by bacteria. Einstein refined Newton’s understanding of gravity. Even the theory of an expanding universe has been challenged.

Science depends on revision, not certainty. Both religion and science, to some extent, rest on faith. The former in divine revelation, the latter in reason. Death is inevitable and unites us all, yet most prefer not to contemplate it and distract themselves through work or amusements. Those with faith find solace in the promises of their religion; those without may draw strength from the courage of thinkers who faced death without belief in a deity or an afterlife.

Across all these views, a common theme emerges. We are urged to face death with serenity, to recognise it as natural, perhaps even as a continuation rather than an end. Yet even some of the most devout believers cling instinctively to life. In religion, death can mark the beginning of judgement — a moment of both comfort and apprehension, the promise of paradise balanced by the fear of punishment.

No single perspective, whether grounded in science or religion, appears to satisfy everyone. However, no matter what anyone believes, we should try to face it directly, without flinching. Whether any philosophy or creed can ever truly explain, to everyone’s satisfaction, something that for most lies beyond human comprehension, is uncertain. Philosophy distinguishes between knowledge and belief: scientific knowledge depends largely on empirical evidence, belief on intuitive conviction.

Perhaps the aim should not be to solve the unsolvable but to acknowledge the inevitable and to look at death without denial and, by doing so, to live more fully in the time that remains to us. Having examined diverse views of death and the afterlife, I have come to see that both belief and disbelief sometimes contain contradictions. Humans are perhaps the only creatures aware of their mortality, a knowledge that can be both a curse and a blessing. It drives us to create, to strive, to distract ourselves from the inevitable. Yet when death approaches, worldly success fades.

The ruins of empires and the mummified pharaohs remind us that all achievements, no matter how impressive during their time, crumble to dust.

Those without a religious belief sometimes question why we spend so many years chasing those glittering prizes of worldly success, seeking the admiration of others, while all the time being aware of the shortness of life and our own mortality. The fear of death is common, filling so many with dread. When asked why, many say that death robs them of the good things they might still experience given more time. But if death is feared because it deprives us of future joys, why do we not equally lament the countless millennia before our birth, when we were deprived of so much more?

Perhaps, in accepting our impermanence, there lies a quieter wisdom: to live simply, without illusion, in the fleeting moment of existence. Life is long enough, provided the time we have is not used frivolously.