No death, no fear?
When I expressed distress about the imminent loss of Mom, a friend gave me a book to read, No Fear, No Death by Thich Nhat Hanh. Essentially it presents the Buddhist argument that being and non-being do not exist, nor do birth and death-that these are only ideas. I perused a few chapters, but couldn't get into it. It doesn't make sense.
The statement that Buddha's teaching is not a religion, because it does not support dogma, I don't accept. The teaching that birth and death do not exist, is dogma without evidence. So is the idea that ingestion of drugs or toxins poisons our descendants. (And here I am confused, because if my grandchildren will never really exist or not exist, as the author claims, why should my diet matter?) The effort to dispel dogma I appreciate, but as far as I know, these teachings arise from the universal source: fear of death. To assuage this common fear, every religion pursues a different form of denial.
I see no evidence that life and death are unreal. The parts of the book I read presented no real arguments, just metaphors. For example, in a room with no television or radio, you might believe that TV and radio do not exist, because the conditions for their manifestation cannot be met. And so, goes the argument, someone who died is only absent because the conditions allowing us to perceive her have ceased; really she is still with us.
This is a sweet metaphor. I like metaphors, but they usually contain elements of untruth, and this one is no exception. We have plenty of evidence that radio and television waves exist everywhere, but no evidence to support a conscious reality that transcends death. I am open to the discovery of new evidence, and resist the temptation to discount other people's beliefs, but mine must arise from what I understand.
The suggestion that misery is some kind of moral failure: this is also a dogma. I would rather accept suffering as part of life than waste time trying to escape it. I would rather accept death than deny it. I can't convince myself to stop fearing loss, but I observe that nature carries on regardless. For the time being, I will continue to experience joy mingled with sorrow, new adventures among the the loss of things I cherish, until whatever time my participation ends. In facing fear, I let the emotions roll over, but they do not defeat.
When Mom dies, I hope to take comfort not in the idea of her continued existence, but in memory of my time with her. Memory as a metaphor for continuation of people and things I love, is one I can accept. It's simple and transparent enough, while still subject to creative involvement. Memory is a branch of the imagination. It encourages me to call her more often, so perhaps I won't be left empty-hearted when time comes for letting go.