A Question To Contemplate

Question: What if we didn't know we were going to die?

I've been wrestling with this question for a while now. I’m sitting in my studio surrounded by my large-format cameras, lenses, and half-finished canvases, drawings, and pieces of ideas, feeling the persistent hum of mortality that seems to drive every mark I make and every plate I expose.

Becker wrote about our knowledge of death as the fundamental human condition—the thing that separates us from every other creature on this planet. But what if that knowledge simply wasn't there? Like your dog sprawled in the afternoon sun, or your cat stalking a shadow, or a lion moving through the African grasslands. They have no concept that they're finite beings. All they know is the immediate drive to survive and reproduce (and we have that too).

Imagine it. Really imagine it. You wake up tomorrow with no concept that your body will one day stop working, that your consciousness will end, that there's a finite number of sunrises ahead of you. How would you move through the world? What would the world look like?

I think about my own creative practice, how much of it is driven by the need to leave something behind to create meaning in the face of the void. Would I still feel that urgent pull to the canvas and the darkroom if death weren't whispering over my shoulder? Would any of us create anything at all?

Consider this: Would we still build monuments? The pyramids exist because pharaohs knew they would die and wanted to transcend that fate. Would we have cathedrals, symphonies, novels—these desperate attempts to touch immortality through art? Or would we live in a world of immediate gratification, where nothing needed to outlast us because we couldn't conceive of not lasting?

Think about love, too. So much of our romantic intensity comes from knowing our time together is limited. "Till death do us part" only has meaning because we understand death exists. Would we love as fiercely if we believed we had infinite time with someone? Would we love at all, or would relationships become casual arrangements since there'd be no urgency, no preciousness born from scarcity?

What about progress? Every scientific breakthrough, every medical advance, every technological leap forward—aren't these all responses to our limitations, including our ultimate limitation of mortality? We cure diseases because we fear death. We explore space because we dream of transcending our earthly expiration date. We pass knowledge to our children because we know we won't be here forever to guide them.

Without death consciousness, would we become a species of eternal children, living only in the present moment like animals do? There'd be no anxiety about wasting time because we wouldn't understand that time could be wasted. No existential dread, no midnight terrors, no desperate searches for meaning. But also no urgency, no drive to become more than we are.

I keep coming back to this in my work. Every painting I create carries within it the knowledge that both the artist and the viewer will someday be gone. That tension between permanence and impermanence—it's what gives art its power. Strip away death awareness, and do we lose the very thing that makes us human?

But here's what really haunts me: Would we be happier? Becker argued that our knowledge of death creates neurosis, depression, and the endless search for ways to deny our mortality through heroism and meaning-making. Without that knowledge, would we live in a state of pure being, untroubled by the existential weight that crushes so many of us?

Or would something else emerge to fill that void? Some other awareness, some other source of meaning and motivation that we can't even imagine because death looms so large in our current consciousness?

I want to hear from you. Sit with this question for a moment. Let it unsettle you the way it's unsettled me.

What do you think would change? What would we lose? What might we gain?

Would art exist without death anxiety driving it? Would you have the same intensity? Would we still reach for the stars, or would we be content to never leave the ground?

Share your thoughts. Challenge my assumptions. Push this question further than I have. Because if there's one thing I've learned in exploring these ideas, it's that the most profound questions are meant to be wrestled with together, not solved in isolation.

What would we become if we didn't know we were going to die?

What Will They Think?

Every day, I find myself exploring questions that I never had time to deeply consider before. In the quiet moments, which are few and far between in the modern world, the big questions are only briefly on our minds, and we move on. We never discuss them or have time to deeply think about them.

I was always too busy, distracted, and “tranquilizing with the trivial.” I wasn’t any different than most people. I tried to fight through it by making art and occasionally inquiring about the big questions. I was successful at times, but the culturally constructed life consumed most of my thoughts and actions; mere survival (my relationships, my financial life, paying the bills, my job, my career) always took precedence and walled me off from the bigger life and death questions.

I was constantly trying to fulfill my social role and bolster my self-esteem, like most people do (like culturally constructed meat puppets). Now, I’m afforded time—time that I’ve never had before. I rarely pay attention to the time of day or day of the week. Most of the time, I get up with the sun and go to bed when it’s dark. I lose track of time working in my darkroom and studio.

“The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude.”

— Aldous Huxley

What a gift it is to live among the black bears, mountain lions, and wild turkeys! I walk in nature every day under and beside the big Ponderosa Pine, Douglas Fir, and Aspen trees with Jeanne (or every chance I get, weather permitting). I get to see the beautiful mountains and landscape, the wildlife, and breathe fresh mountain air. To see the red-tailed hawks soaring over the mountains, the bluejays gathering food, and the hummingbirds getting busy for summer is a beautiful thing.

I live a life infused with peace, quiet, and solitude. What freedom! I’ve never really experienced those things before, and I am beyond grateful to have them. It’s radically changed me for the better. I’m closer to living an authentic life than I’ve ever been before. It’s a process, but I’m aware of it and working on it. The first step to change and improvement is to recognize what’s wrong.

Time can be a dangerous thing to have. If people could spend a few months without the hustle and bustle of being a culturally constructed meat puppet, they would begin to become self-aware. They would begin focusing on the important things and devoting their time and energy to them. Self-awareness leads to understanding and the strength to face uncomfortable ideas and make changes. Our culture doesn’t want us to do that. They want us preoccupied with conspicuous consumption, shopping, alcohol, drugs, fashion, pursuing wealth and popularity, and all of the other malignant ways we use to buffer our existential anxiety.

With time to deeply think about what it means to be human, face mortality, and ponder meaning and significance in your life, you learn how tiny you are and how finite and meaningless (cosmically speaking) you are. You can start to grasp the implications of knowing that you will die and be forgotten. You deal with impermanence and insignificance in a healthy, life-affirming way, not in a death-denying, destructive way (like a meat puppet).

You begin to see humility as a great asset and understand how gratitude will buttress existential terror. You’re in awe of life every day. I’m learning this now. We live in a death-denying culture. I’m doing my very best, through my photographic work, my writing, and these essays, to unpack what it means to come to terms with mortality and be an authentic man.

“Seeded Mullein and Antlers” May 16, 2023, 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25.4 cm) (Made in camera, no negative) RA-4 Reversal Color Direct Print-Mullein is a relaxing, calming smoke that soothes the lungs and opens up air passageways. It’s smooth smoking with a mild flavor and aroma; it is a profound respiratory tonic that opens the lungs and softens coughs, soothes irritation, and reduces dryness. Antlers were used by Native Americans in many ways, including pipes.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about our need for symbolic immortality. Ernest Becker called these efforts “immortality projects.” I can relate to this need and this desire, all while knowing that it’s a fool’s errand to pursue. What will people think of me in a hundred or a thousand years? What will they think of my work? The answer is they won’t and nothing.

However, the work we do or the projects we pursue fulfill a greater purpose. They give our lives meaning and significance. That’s extremely important. It is all ephemeral and means nothing in the cosmic scheme of things. It’s absolutely meaningless that way. As an artist, it’s my way of keeping death anxiety at bay.

Acknowledging this fact has made me even more interested in making pictures and writing about our existence as people living with death anxiety. It’s brought me joy and made me happy. I want to live with the fact that what I do is meaningful in buffering my own death anxiety; it’s my terror management, but I want to embrace its cosmic meaninglessness without having fear or dread.

Peter Zapffe called it sublimation. In his essay “The Last Messiah,” he said, “The fourth remedy against panic, sublimation, is a matter of transformation rather than repression. Through stylistic or artistic gifts can the very pain of living at times be converted into valuable experiences. Positive impulses engage the evil and put it to their own ends, fastening onto its pictorial, dramatic, heroic, lyric or even comic aspects.”

He suggests that sublimation involves transforming one's pain, suffering, and anxiety into something positive and valuable through artistic or stylistic expression.

Rather than simply repressing or denying their existential terror, individuals can channel it into creative works such as art, literature, music, or poetry. This can give their suffering meaning and purpose, as well as offer a sense of catharsis or release. By engaging with the darker aspects of life in a creative way, individuals can transform their pain into something that is not only bearable but even beautiful or inspiring.

Zapffe notes that this approach requires a certain level of skill and talent in the arts but suggests that anyone can benefit from engaging with creative expression in some way. By finding ways to channel their pain and suffering into something productive and meaningful, individuals can confront the difficult aspects of existence in a way that is both honest and life-affirming.

I’ve embedded the trailer for the film “Flight from Death: The Quest for Immortality” below. I highly encourage you to see this film. On Saturday, May 20, 2023, I'll be attending an online symposium called “Ernest Becker, Terror Management Theory, and Death Acceptance: An Online Symposium Celebrating 50 Years of The Denial of Death, With Caitlin Doughty & Sheldon Solomon.” There are a lot of great speakers, and I’m excited to hear about new ideas and expound on existing theories. The gentleman who made the film “Flight from Death: The Quest for Immortality” will be speaking. Also, he’ll be releasing a biopic on Ernest Becker later this year. That’s exciting news for me!

“When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.
For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I’m feeling most ghost-like, it is your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I’m feeling sad, it’s my consolation. When I’m feeling happy, it’s part of why I feel that way.
If you forget me, one of the ways I remember who I am will be gone. If you forget, part of who I am will be gone.”

— Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter's Dictionary

“Seeded Mullein - Detail)” May 16, 2023, 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25.4 cm) (Made in camera, no negative) RA-4 Reversal Color Direct Print.

“ANTIDOTES TO FEAR OF DEATH

Sometimes as an antidote
To fear of death,
I eat the stars.

Those nights, lying on my back,
I suck them from the quenching dark
Til they are all, all inside me,
Pepper hot and sharp.

Sometimes, instead, I stir myself
Into a universe still young,
Still warm as blood:

No outer space, just space,
The light of all the not yet stars
Drifting like a bright mist,
And all of us, and everything
Already there
But unconstrained by form.

And sometime it’s enough
To lie down here on earth
Beside our long ancestral bones:

To walk across the cobble fields
Of our discarded skulls,
Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis,
Thinking: whatever left these husks
Flew off on bright wings.”

— Rebecca Elson