Because I received so much feedback – both in comments and in e-mails – on my post futile, which I published at my own blog and linked to from here, I have decided to publish it here in its entirety.
We are all wondering sometimes about the usefulness of what we do. Man’s greatest fear is not death, it’s being useless. It’s being forgotten after death.
Thus, all of us try to become immortal in one way or another. Some by starting a family and others by doing work they consider to be important; work that lasts. Again others do both.
Religion. Some argue this is the function of religion: to provide men, no matter how unimportant they are, with the idea, perhaps with the myth, that they are immortal. That what they do now is not useless because – in the end – it results in an eternally lasting afterlife.
Isn’t it the nightmare of every single one of us that, when we’re laying on our death bed and when we look back at the life we lived, the things we did, we realize that we actually did nothing? That we did nothing that lasts beyond the seventy-something years we are allowed to spend on this earth?
We had fun, yes, we laughed, we cried, but in essence we wasted it. We realize that within a couple of years after we die, no one will remember us.
Isn’t that a fear we all share?
Considering that, agreeing with that, it’s quite remarkable that, despite this inner fear, this deepest fear we all share, the far majority – 99.999% – of the people who are living today, and who died before today, live and have lived their lives in mediocrity, in uselessness.
The far majority of people are and will be forgotten.
The only possible explanation for this is, that this fear is so deep, so big, so powerful, that we choose not to pay attention to it unless we absolutely must. Unless we cannot escape this frightening thoughts.
And that time has come… when we’re about to die, when it’s – ironically enough – too little, too late.
The average tombstone says “Name: DB. DD.”, but might as well say “Who cares?” Who cares who’s burried here? Who cares about what the deceased did? I know this: his life was most likely completely useless.
What did the deceased add to this world? What remarkable think did this person accomplish? How did the deceased leave his mark on the world?
My answer to these questions: he didn’t.
Should I care about when that person was born? Should I care about when that person died? 19th century, 20th century, 1990, 1920 — it’s all the same to me.
All of it doesn’t matter.
Is this post inspiring? Is this post hopeful and positive? Does this post lift you up?
No it does not. It’s not meant to.
Art lifts up. Art inspires. Art, therefore, is useful.
This post does not. This post merely describes thoughts that bother me every now and then. This post merely describes a fear… a fear deep down inside of me, that when I look back at my life when I’m 70-something years old I realize that my life has been wasted.
Perhaps.
