Dying Unexpectedly
I was reading Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” yesterday, and his description of what a man’s state of mind when he is about to be executed really struck a chord. I guess I think of death more than most people – not morbidly, but as a matter of fact, and I always thought that I would face it calmly and certainly.
But suppose I’m on a death sentence, and I figure it’ll be at least a week before my turn comes. I’m woken up at 5 am by a gentle tap and told that I am to be executed at 10 am. When we’re asleep, or just woken up, is when our defenses are fully laid low, and there is no pretense or armor. I can’t imagine how I would feel.
If, as a prisoner, I have accepted my fate and resigned myself to die in a week, how will I react to the news that I am to die forthwith? This combined with my having just woken up would, I imagine, throw me into a panic. Not because I wasn’t expecting it. But because it’s come up so suddenly, as if my life doesn’t mean anything to whoever decided I was to die.
I would feel anger, helplessness. I don’t want to die like that. I want to die having accepted the fact, without fighting against it. The Samurai had it right when they would kill themselves without a thought. But that is perhaps because they never viewed themselves as individuals with a will of their own, but rather as slaves of their master, and of destiny.
Why am I here? What is the use of doing all this if I’m just going to die one day? Where is the meaning?
I know the answer to all this. Life has no meaning but what you give it. And when I’m calm, I will remember it. But every now and then, I can still be shocked.
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