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Death and Becoming:
Becoming
who one is or who one is meant to be, becoming more conscious and ever mindful,
understanding one’s purpose, and seeking to know the ultimate why evolves in
concert with changing attitudes, changing lifestyles, and changing
awareness. Poets, philosophers, and religious
figures, artists, scholars, and critical thinkers, almost without exception,
attend to this evolutionary process at some point in their oeuvre. A select few occupy their lifework solely with
the mission of becoming. They illustrate
its process, paint its profile, follow – and teach – its path, and most
frequently attribute its attainment to one singular event, to the one concrete
yet abstract milestone most cogitated, oft feared, and least comprehended: death.
Sages and saints through centuries of spreading their wisdom seldom
speak of death, either, without conjuring images and thoughts of becoming. Humankind, then, must recognize, internalize,
and get comfortable with the fusion of death and becoming, for these two nearly-inevitable
life occurrences intertwine and link inextricably on a path of personal growth. Death
arrives in many flavors and forms.
Individuals face death differently.
Generations witness its consequences and experience its effects. Acquaintance with death may forever change
children; increasingly frequent encounters with it eventually challenge adults
not merely to accept its inevitability but to reflect actively on their own
mortality – and their life. Personal
death, of course, carries its own, quite certain finality – or does it? A loved one’s death or impending demise
results in at least a momentary amount of reflection and looking inward, at
times providing the impetus for life-altering growth. Does death
necessarily facilitate becoming? Does
becoming always include some aspect of death?
Are the two terms so inextricably linked that speaking of one
implicitly, if not explicitly, invokes images or petitions the presence of the
other? Examination of such an opinion
requires common ground, a set of definitions with which to work. Only then can students and teachers of
literature, philosophy, and life begin to explore together the wide range of
material covering death and becoming.
Only then can they begin to map the interactions between death and
becoming. Only then can they begin to
postulate the closeness of the relationship between death and becoming. Death, in
its most insipid interpretation, implies simply loss, absence, or the end of
life (“Death,” defs. 1a, 2). The certainty
of death, once realized, lurks forever in the mind’s recesses. Death’s importance and influence during life,
however, waxes and wanes depending on several factors. A few of these factors include age, health,
connectedness to family and friends, and personal attitude – nurtured, natural,
or otherwise. When
pondering death, though, most people sooner or later encounter thoughts and
teachings aside from its physical aspects.
Thus, they enter the realm of metaphysics – something beyond the
physical. Notions may form around
philosophical ideas, religious theologies, spiritual teachings, or a
convergence of such knowledge. Some,
having once entertained thoughts about death, may altogether dismiss any
further ideas or any further personal work on those ideas, relegating those
thoughts to the unknowable or to the
too-difficult-to-comprehend-to-be-worth-the-time-required bin. Depending on personal circumstances, such
thinkers may eventually visit the metaphysical aspects of death again – or they
may not. Death itself, however, will
most likely force the issue. Becoming,
on the other hand, is a term with very little, if any, physical aspect. Different people define it in different ways,
making it an abstract term seemingly comprehendible and unknowable
simultaneously. Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary defines becoming – an
inflected form of the verb become, derived from the Middle English becomen,
meaning “to become” – as “to come into existence,” “to come to be,” and “to
undergo change or development” (“Become,” defs. 1a, b, 2). Becoming, then, implies growth, a process, or
as some would call it, a path, a method, or a way. “A way to
what?” then, becomes the question.
Various authors interpret the final destination as consciousness,
existence, being, or to be. They
maintain becoming involves a sense of change, but more specifically, it
indicates personal development.
Development, again according to Webster,
implies a process of growth, of making clear, and of making visible (“Develop,”
defs. 1a, b, 3a(2)). Writers, spiritual
teachers, psychologists, and philosophers express their own ideas about the
ultimate goal or highest level of becoming.
Freud cautions, though, that “it is often merely a matter of opinion
when we declare that one stage of development is higher than another, and . . .
biology teaches us that higher development in one respect is very frequently
balanced or outweighed by involution in another” (75-76). Without
discarding Freud’s precaution, discoursers still require more common ground for
a discussion about being or becoming.
Erich Fromm, a twentieth-century psychologist, at least provides a
minimal starting definition of being, one of his two encompassing modes of
existence. Recalling Buddha, Jesus,
Meister Eckhart, and Karl Marx, Fromm synthesizes and extrapolates their
teachings into a fundamental characteristic of being he calls “inner activity”
(88). Supported additionally by
Aristotle and Aquinas, Fromm further describes being as the “contemplative
life, devoted to the search for truth” (92).
Contrasting being with having, his opposing mode of existence, Fromm
indicates that being’s inner activity “is rooted in and expresses the ultimate
ethical and spiritual demands” (93), while having is merely passive activity
characterized by busyness, possessiveness, greed, ambition, and by separation
from the spiritual (93-95). Fromm’s
definitions, supported by other authors – among them, Ouspensky (43, 314-315)
and Thoreau (Life 92) – imply, then,
that habits and daily routines, for example, do not constitute becoming. Characteristics of habits and daily routines
include passive outward activity and busyness, with no inward activity,
consciousness, or awareness. Someone
performing a task out of habit oftentimes pauses to wonder about the progress
of the task, about its completion, or about his or her own current state. This confusion occurs when he or she performs the task in a mechanical, unthinking
way. One
illustration of how to transcend habitual thinking, thus increasing inner activity,
involves behaving like someone with a broken arm or, more dramatically, someone
with only one arm – especially like someone having recently lost the use of the
arm with the dominant hand. Aside from
early psychological implications, perhaps pondering “Why me?” or dealing with
episodes of depression, this impairment would force the subject to slow down
and become more aware of each daily, repetitive task. Imagine now
the task of pouring a glass of cold orange juice in the morning. This task would entail going to the kitchen
cupboard and opening the door with the one good hand, taking down a single
glass and setting it on the countertop, going to the refrigerator door and
opening it with the same good hand, taking out the orange juice container and
then setting it on the countertop by the glass, probably nudging closed the
refrigerator door with a knee. Would
such a physically impaired person have thought ahead at the supermarket to buy
orange juice in a cardboard container with a push-open spout, or would this
person now have to do battle with an often-stuck, metal lid on a glass jug? What about fresh-squeezed orange juice? Imagine the
habitual task of oral hygiene. Think
about placing toothpaste on the toothbrush.
Would such a person place the toothbrush on the countertop and ever so
carefully flip open – or unscrew – the toothpaste dispenser top and gently
squeeze the toothpaste onto the toothbrush?
Alternatively, would this person place the toothbrush in his or her
mouth and dispense the toothpaste while biting the toothbrush handle between
the teeth? What about flossing? Imagine the
habitual task of shampooing. Does this
person now dispense an appropriate amount of shampoo directly onto the top of
the head? Since no opposing hand exists
to hold the contents of the shampoo container, would a mirror, obviously not
necessary before, help spot the amount and placement of the shampoo? Careful, conscious thought must go into each
of these now extraordinary tasks – at least until they become ordinary and
habitual again. An
unimpaired person practicing similar rituals daily, turning habits into
exercises at every waking moment, with constant awareness and an inwardly
active thought process, might ultimately and effectively heighten his or her
consciousness. These daily exercises illustrate
but one method and one aspect of becoming.
Alternative or additional methods include meditation, yoga, the martial
arts, painting, sculpting, writing, and even engaging in more extreme
lifestyles like asceticism or joining a monastic order, to name a few. Thoreau
recommends another helpful method – simply taking a walk in the woods – if one
adheres to his maxim: “Of course it is of no use to direct our steps to the
woods, if they do not carry us thither.
I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods
bodily, without getting there in spirit” (Walking
411). Thoreau emphasizes the point that
walking, be it in the woods or elsewhere, does a person no good if the mind
remains on chores at home or deadlines at the office. Another example of adhering to Thoreau’s
maxim might consist of attending a lecture and completely focusing on the
lecturer’s message, without daydreaming, without clock-watching, without
thinking about lunch or dinner. In this
light, one aspect of becoming manifests itself as being more awake, attentive,
and in the moment. Throughout
his book, Fromm, too, makes use of descriptive terms and phrases like awake,
attentive, in the moment, and oned with the world, to help define the concept
of becoming. Philosophers, theologians,
and spiritual teachers often use these terms, also. Additional terms they use include constant
awareness, self-remembering, expanded or full consciousness, enlightenment,
wholeness, oneness, atman, and transcendence.
The list seems almost endless, but the reason seems abundantly clear: humanity
is so diverse culturally, religiously, philosophically, and spiritually that
people’s desire to know, combined with teachers’ desire to show, necessitates
the use of many words, the practice of many methods, and the pursuit of many
paths. Thoreau looks favorably upon the
variety of terms and paths, prescribing “that there be as many different
persons in the world as possible” (Walden
53), but insisting that “each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father’s or his
mother’s or his neighbor’s instead” (Walden
53). Thoreau, just
one among a handful of nineteenth-century transcendentalist writers that focused
their work on aspects of becoming, additionally proclaims, “We must learn to
reawaken and keep ourselves awake” (Walden
65). No less a scientist than Einstein echoes
Fromm and Thoreau, observing that “the desire for truth must take precedence of
(sic) all other desires” (31), and “It is the duty of every man of good will to
strive steadfastly in his own little world to make this teaching of pure
humanity a living force, so far as he can” (111-112). Reawakening, keeping awake, desiring truth, and
striving steadfastly all contribute to a better understanding of becoming. The desire
for truth, the quest for becoming, is not a recent or even nineteenth-century phenomenon,
however. The idea of becoming is
practically, if not completely, universal and eternal. The lives of such culturally and chronologically
disparate figures as Abraham, Aknaton, Zoroaster, Pythagoras, Lao Tzu, Confucius,
Buddha, Socrates, Christ, Muhammad, Thomas Aquinas, and Gandhi all illustrate
the universal concept of growth and the historical depth behind the quest for
becoming and the teaching of a path.
Whether these figures – and others – can claim enlightenment or being
status themselves or have it bestowed upon them by their followers remains
largely defined by culture and beliefs.
Thoreau, once again, weighs in with a telling observation: The millions are awake enough for physical labor;
but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion,
only one in a hundred million to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite
awake. How could I have looked him in
the face? (Walden 65) Freud provides additional support for
Thoreau’s observation, claiming that the goal of perfection in human
development is unattainable and that “only in rare cases [does] the economic situation [appear] to favor the
production of the phenomenon” (77-78). Together,
Freud’s analytical conclusion and Thoreau’s cautionary quip provide essential
warnings to choose teachers, gurus, and religious leaders carefully. Only a very select, qualified few exist. Becoming,
or the path to being, does not necessarily require teachers, though, and its
final determination rests with the self.
However, it must get its start, its genesis, somehow, somewhere, and at
sometime. Many people today often
flippantly refer to a closely related concept and term it a mid-life
crisis. Indeed, people at mid-life seem
to round one of life’s corners and begin behaving differently, a lot of the
time almost childishly. Jung sees the
problem as one of older people still striving to be young instead of turning
inward to the self (109-110). He also
reasons that, because of societal values, people are forced to limit themselves
to the attainable and work their way to the “middle of life” (104). Why is this middle-of-life point so often
associated with changing attitudes, changing lifestyles, and changing
awareness? Of course,
the actual age at which such observable or internal change takes place varies
widely. However, claiming that the aura
of death has a stimulating effect on becoming does not require a vivid
imagination. Excluding the sometime acquaintance
with death children may experience, most people begin their courtship with
death at mid-life. Average life expectancies
and generational time spans proffer that people at mid-life will begin
witnessing the death of grandparents, then older aunts and uncles, followed
eventually by their parents. Additionally,
parents, hometown relatives, and friends often keep mid-lifers informed of
grade-school or middle-school teachers’, church pastors’, neighbors’, and
childhood friends’ deaths. Even the
increasing number of relatives, friends, and loved ones experiencing poor
health or possibly some debilitating or terminal disease bring much closer to
mid-lifers the aura of death. The
encroachment of death, merely by experiencing it with or among others, cannot
help but expel the carefree, sometimes immortal outlook on life maintained in
youth. But why should such a change or
questioning stimulate becoming? Fromm
helps explain by relaying that the opposing mode of existence – having –
consists of worrying about obtaining things and of fearing that the loss of
possessions “is an unavoidable consequence of a sense of security based on what
one has” (125). He takes his explanation
a step further by suggesting that having also consists of “the fear of losing
life itself” (125) and claiming that Buddha, Jesus, and others have “overcome
the fear of dying” (126). When people
begin experiencing an aura, or even a hint, of death around them, questions
about the importance of possessions, of ownership, and of life’s meaning
naturally arise when confronting their fear of death. They start to overcome their fear when they
realize that, as Fromm again explains, the “way is by not hanging onto life, not experiencing life as a possession”
(126). This realization signals for many
the genesis of becoming. The
beginning of becoming, the “effort to reduce
the mode of having and to increase the mode of being” (Fromm 127) resulting
from death lessons, receives further support from Jung. He says that “it is hygienic . . . to
discover in death a goal towards which one can strive; and that shrinking away
from it is something unhealthy and abnormal which robs the second half of life
of its purpose” (112). Why is the
experience of death such a strong motivator?
David Balk in a Death Studies
article entitled “Bereavement and Spiritual Change” specifies three necessary
conditions for a life crisis to motivate some type of internal transcendence: “The
situation must create a psychological imbalance or disequilibrium that resists
readily being stabilized; there must be time for reflection; and the person’s
life must forever afterwards be colored by the crisis” (485). Certainly death, especially of a close friend
or loved one, creates and encompasses these necessary conditions of a
motivating life crisis. Still, both
Jung and Freud state reservations about a concept like becoming or expanded
consciousness. Jung claims nature cares
nothing for it; society values it not; and prizes reward achievement, not personality
(102). Freud did not believe in “an
instinct towards perfection at work in human beings” (76). Instead, he thought “it is the difference in
amount between the pleasure of satisfaction which is demanded and that which is actually achieved” (77) that drives human beings ever forward. These claims, however, only suggest that
nature does not provide humankind with an innate clock to trigger becoming or an
internal inkling of when to begin the search, nor does nature provide the
motivation for pursuing becoming.
Instead, human beings must initiate the process themselves and pursue
becoming as they see fit. And as long as you don’t
have this quality, This: Die and become! You will be but a
dismal guest On this murky earth. (81a) Religious explanations,
philosophical teachings, poets’, painters’, sculptors’, and writers’ lifework
throughout history exhibit elements of the notion to “die and become.” Its personal meaning and its imagery, widely
influenced by culture, vary significantly, but its central theme is one of
transcendence and growth. When
religious followers talk of death and becoming, for example, Christians
immediately recognize the parallel to Christ’s death and resurrection, whether
taken literally or allegorically as a call to spiritual awakening and renewal,
one of many proclaimed metaphysical or denominational interpretations. In another example, Buddhists see a meaning that
parallels the great awakening experience of their master, Gautama Siddhartha,
one night under a fig tree. Religion,
however, cannot claim exclusive ownership of the concept of death and
becoming. Confucius, mired in obscure
tradition and absent any directly attributable writings (Jaspers 43), “had no
fundamental religious experience, no revelation; he achieved no inner rebirth”
(Jaspers 57). Yet Confucius also
candidly and serenely accepted death (Jaspers 55, 61) proclaiming, according to
Jaspers, “There are cases in which men rise from desperate circumstances to the
highest calling” (57). He was passionate
about “the spirit of the whole . . . and the inner make-up of every individual
man as a part of the whole” (Jaspers 57). Another
noteworthy example, Socrates, lived Goethe’s calling. Karl Jaspers notes that Socrates, as revealed
in Plato’s dialogues about his trial, imprisonment, and death, was at peace and
saw “nothing tragic about death” (14).
Jaspers further interprets and clarifies Socrates’ supporting views about
the interconnectedness of life, death, and becoming: But in the end lamentation must cease, giving way to
peace and acceptance of our lot.
Socrates sets the great example: where
consuming sorrow seems in place, there springs the great, loving peace which
opens the soul. Death has lost its
meaning. It is not veiled over, but the
authentic life is not a life toward death; it is a life toward the good. . . .
Keep yourself open for the one absolute.
Until you achieve it, do not throw yourself away, for in it you can live
and die at peace. (15) Do not
worry about or fear death, Jaspers seems to say. Work at life; strive for a lifetime; death is
but part of the process and part of the reward. Though
Socrates was married, had three sons (“Socrates” 317), and his life and death
are historically recorded, Plato still renders him a mysterious man (Jaspers
15). Indeed, mystery and mysticism, too,
support the inextricable link between death and becoming. Meister Eckhart, a thirteenth century German
mystic of the Dominican order, writes that “he who wishes to find this light
and insight into the whole truth must take care, and give attention to foster
this birth in himself” (63). A
mid-twentieth century Hindu teacher of self-realization, Jiddu Krishnamurti, in
his discourses, similarly says, “We do not want to know life and death, we only
want to know how to continue without ending. . . . But . . . only in ending can
there be renewal, the creative, the unknown” (236). These aspects of mysticism teach that
becoming is but a type of birth that arises out of death. More recent
mystics teach similar death-birth-becoming connections. One mystic, Osho, better known as the sometimes-controversial
Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, reflecting on the occasion of his enlightenment, claims
that “That night the death was total. It
was a date with death and god simultaneously” (Osho). Another recent spiritual teacher, Chogyam
Trungpa, instructs that “The attainment of enlightenment from ego’s point of
view is extreme death” (Trungpa). Such
revelations illustrate the regard mystics have for and the value they place on
helping others realize the relationship-dance between death and becoming. From
definitions to examples, from religious figures to scientists, from poets to
playwrights, and from scholars to mystics, all contribute to the notion of an
inextricable link between death and becoming.
Some see cause and effect while others maintain the process circles
around death and birth, birth and death, continually awakening and growing on a
path to becoming. After developing common
ground for discussion and moving forward by closely examining the oeuvre of historical
figures from a variety of disciplines, people – no matter their cultural background
or age – must acknowledge that interactions and relationships exist between death
and becoming that make the two concepts inseparable. Perhaps Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, late twentieth-century
psychiatrist and authority on death and dying, best expresses the link between death
and becoming when she notes the following: . . . if we look at death from a different
perspective, then we can see that it is the promise of death and the experience
of dying, more than any other force in life, that can move a human being to
grow. All of us, even those who have
chosen a life of non-growth – of playing out the roles prescribed by others –
feel within our innermost selves that we are meant for something more in this
life than simply eating, sleeping, watching television, and going to work 5
days a week. That something else, that
many can’t define, is growth – becoming all that is truly you and at the same
time, more fully human. (117)
Works Cited
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Eckhart,
Meister. “Where is he that is
born?” Parabola. Summer 1996: 62-65. Full
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The World As I See It. Trans. Alan Harris.
Freud,
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To Have or To Be?
Goethe,
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Hannah Arendt.
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Man in Search of a Soul. Trans. W.S.
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