Several years ago, a friend invited me to Brussels, Belgium. He wanted me to meet some of the local photography group and make a couple of wet collodion images for them. I obliged. Brussel’s is a wonderful city. We enjoyed our time there. In fact, we went back a couple of times after that, too.
“The Birth of Man,” Whole Plate Ambrotype (Wet Collodion), May Claerhout (1939–2016), Brussels, Belgium 2009
I ended up doing a group portrait (or maybe a few), and I also made a plate of this wonderful piece of work by May Claerhout (1939–2016). She was a Belgian artist and made these amazing sculptures. This one sits in the courtyard of the Belgium National Archives; it’s called “The Birth of Man (La Naissance de l'Homme).
When I see this image and think about its narrative, I can’t help but think about Becker’s writing on “immortality projects.” In his 1974 Pulitzer Prize-winning book, The Denial of Death, he argues that “the basic motivation for human behavior is our biological need to control our basic anxiety, to deny the terror of death.” (Keen 1973). Becker suggested that a significant function of culture is to provide successful ways to engage in death denial.
Becker describes the human pursuit of “immortality projects” (or causa sui), in which we create or become part of something that we feel will outlast our time on earth. In doing so, we feel that we become heroic and part of something eternal that will never die, compared to the physical body that will eventually die. This gives human beings the belief that our lives have meaning, purpose, and significance in the grand scheme of things.
This is true for any piece of artwork, including books, buildings (especially those with names on them), building great wealth, or even having children. This is the human desire for immortality, literally or symbolically. It’s a very strong urge, and whether we admit it or not, we all participate. What purpose does it serve? As Becker said, it gives us meaning and purpose. When we feel that we have purpose and meaning in our lives, we feel psychologically secure; this quells death anxiety or existential dread. We need this to function every day.
Claerhout’s piece speaks to death anxiety in so many ways for me. The title alone is revealing. What does “The Birth of Man” imply? For me, it implies that the death of man is also waiting, silent, and hidden. Buried deep in the psychological bushes of our minds. There are five figures represented here—maybe symbolizing earth, air, fire, water, and spirit? I find it interesting that the top figure is stretching and reaching toward the heavens. This also symbolizes a type of immortality. It says that we’re not really going to die; we live on after this physical existence—literal immortality.
That belief has always been a great anxiety buffer—religion—but it comes with a lot of baggage and a heavy price (look at history and the role religion has played in death and suffering). In the 19th century, Nietzsche said, “God is dead.” And he goes on to say, “God remains dead. And we have killed him.“ This is often misquoted or misunderstood. What he meant was that humans had relied on religious beliefs for thousands or tens of thousands of years to quell death anxiety, and now technology and science have replaced them. Some say those are our new gods, and we rely on them as our ancestors relied on the religious gods. We’re always looking for cultural constructs to lean on to buffer our existential dread.