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“I always thought the end was over there.
It’s not over there, it’s over here." ~A Patient “It is death that sustains existence.” ~Jacques Lacan “Death is a way to be…” ~Martin Heidegger “Who does he think the analyst is? Is he somebody to help him to live, or to die?” ~Wilfred Bion “Where the danger is, also grows the saving power." ~Holderlin A patient once angrily declared as I offered a frame-securing intervention: “I can’t believe you’re making me face my mortality!”
The poignancy of her comment took me aback. She noticed my reaction, and we both fell silent. Over the course of several minutes, her countenance slowly changed; sadness replaced anger. She sat pensively for a few moments. Then, as if masking an insight, she fought back a smile. “I’m smiling,” she finally confessed, “because I’m just realizing that during all these years I’ve known you—when you’ve refused to give in to my demands—you weren’t just being a [expletive], you were holding up a mirror to my mortality. That’s why I fought you every step of the way. It seems you’ve known the truth all along: I haven’t wanted to grow up and take responsibility for my life—and you have never given in to that.” The following week, she entered the office with uncharacteristic deliberateness. Before she even reached the couch, she announced: “I had a dream that has given me the answers I’ve needed.” After recounting her dream in detail and associating to it freely, she offered her conclusion: “The death in the dream was really my death. What the dream told me was that it’s ok for me to let go of the lie I’ve been holding on to and let that part of me die; it’s the only way I can become free to choose me and live.” Death, the Psyche, and Subjectivity Freud well understood the intractable paradox of the dialectic between death and life. “If you want to endure life,” he advised, “prepare yourself for death.” He also knew, however, that preparing oneself for death is an almost impossible task. The unconscious, he maintained, “does not know its own death,” and, therefore, the essential nature of one’s end remains forever enigmatic and incomprehensible to the human subject. Death’s unrepresentability eclipses its intelligibility. The irony, of course, is that while our own death might be unknowable, it lives ubiquitously in the psyche as the background condition of our lives. From the moment of birth, death abides in us as our possibility and our destiny. We know it will happen someday but know not when the end will present itself at our door. To quiet the terror of this unknown, lest we be consumed, we remove death from our line of sight and install it deep within our psyche. Once there, death inscribes itself as negative space, a hole, a lack, an absence, but it is an absence that is forever present as possibility. It is an absence under whose ominous shadow we perpetually reside. Death is, perhaps, the quintessential ‘unthought-known’ that is felt and enacted but un-metabolized into speech and thought. And it is precisely for this reason that the project of becoming an authentic subject is staggering, if not altogether impossible. What is clear is that death and subjectivity are intimately related. Subjectivity hurts. It hurts because when we human beings take the risk of appropriating ourselves as subjects, we stand alone. We stand separated from the crowd with its offer of ephemeral guarantees that veil the reality of our condition: that we are fragile, forever unformed, and contingent. To be a subject means to know in our being that we die, that our dying is real, and that no one can take our dying away from us. Subjectivity hurts because the price we pay for truth—for accepting reality—is, in fact, death. As we may have all experienced, however, some truths are more difficult than others to bear, and perhaps death is the greatest among these. To gaze upon the glare of our difficult truths, as Oedipus learned, can blind and annihilate, hence our inclination to turn and run. It is understandable, then, that in order to protect ourselves from death’s mortal sting, we would naturally want to recoil, flee, hide, or deny it as a possibility altogether. And so, we distract ourselves from its immanence and seek out ways to live out our lives in the shadow of the lie that we can fend off its approach and avoid its anguish. ‘Ontological Death’ In his central philosophical work, Being and Time (1927), Martin Heidegger extends the notion of death from the purely physical—our return to inorganic matter—to the ontological. He proposes that when we die ‘ontologically,’ we don’t experience physical death but instead have the ‘as-if’ experience of dying. Our bodies are still alive and functioning, but what dies in our ‘ontological death’ are the structures of meaning that have constituted our sense of self and have created the identity that offers us the illusion of being a coherent and unified subject. Death, in its ontological form, inevitably returns to the foreground when we are disquieted by the capriciousness and tragedy of life or when we must choose. Trauma, catastrophe, as well as the experience of love all de-center us and send us searching. Such experiences can bring us back to ourselves and into our finitude because the meanings that defined us are thrown into doubt and no longer hold. They nullify the certitude we once had about our place in the world and make us strangers to ourselves. The foundations upon which we constructed our identity that once felt solid are now exposed as vulnerable and inadequate, and, as a result, we fall into the abyss of despair and feel ourselves as if dying. In our ‘ontological death,’ the ‘world’ collapses, our ‘ego’ collapses, and we collapse. Our initial salvo in response to this dying is often to feverishly mobilize and resist. We reexamine the entirety of our former world. We reconsider our histories. We work over in our imaginations the relationships we have lived and that have lived us. Love is reconsidered: We question the ways in which we have been loved, we find doubt in that love, and we are confronted with the ways we, in turn, have failed to love well. As we sift our memory and recollect the forgotten, we search for the “why” that brought us to this place of destitution. Past hurts are reawakened. Old pain is felt, perhaps, for the first time. And, sometimes, we may even begin to recognize the ways we have been complicit in perpetuating our own suffering. Not knowing where to turn, we frantically seek out harbors of safety in the outer world that will help us reconstruct the sense of ‘I’-ness, the ‘ego’ we once knew. We seek to restore that old ‘I’—that primary symptom that, although partly responsible for our suffering, nonetheless structured our meanings that superficially held us together within the mirage of our distorted narrative. We try in vain to return to a home we thought we once knew but no longer lies within reach, and in the attempt, we forget ourselves further and defer our being to a time never to arrive. ‘Being-Towards-Death’ and ‘Being-Towards-Life’ The despair of our ontological death, however, is not where the story ends. Death, Heidegger tells us, is a paradox. While gazing at death directly and holding it present in consciousness shudders the soul, the awareness of our mortality in lived experience can be the very source of our greatest liberation into subjectivity. From this perspective, death is not to be seen as a specter of nihilism—that nothing really matters because we all die. Rather, if we consider the possibility of death as “our own,” if we bring it into nearness—not relegating it to a place ‘out there’ but welcoming it ‘in here’—death and its power over us are transfigured. Instead of being annihilated by death’s approach, we can be awakened. Instead of being abandoned in the nothingness of the void, we can be reoriented to ourselves and actually empowered into greater fullness of our possibilities. Moreover, when we appropriate our death and bring it close, we no longer relate to it as object, but we transform it into the subject that it is. As our principle interlocutor, death as subject addresses us directly and questions us. It brings into stark relief the ontological reality that we are not merely the answer to someone else’s question but are a question unto ourselves—a question that transforms us from a what to a who. That question is not: What am I? but who am I? and How am I to live my life? Under death’s gaze, we are entreated to unbind the omnipotence of childhood and animate the present with a desire that was once abrogated and deferred. We are called out of our ‘forgetfulness-of-being’ and reminded that to be human is to constantly be at issue—that achieving our humanity is not a given but a task that must be lived every day, at every moment, and with every choice we make. Ultimately, death is the quintessential categorical imperative because it places an absolute demand upon us to become subjects. It demands that we not neglect our most essential duties to ourselves, that we stir our once-renounced desire, that we face the burdens of existence resolutely, and that we become conscious agents in the project of self-creation. The risk of opposing this ontological venture, however, can often prove to be costly. When we reject death’s paradox, we tighten our chains and risk further attachment to the lie—the one that seeks to convince us that we can escape the responsibility we bear for our own being. Without death as horizon, we fall and remain alienated: ego occludes subjectivity, desire repeats itself into oblivion, guilt consumes from within, love becomes fetishized, hope remains an infantile wish, anxiety incites the search for impermanent guarantees, and forgiveness forever remains an impossibility. By failing to live ‘towards-death’, we are ultimately rendered defenseless against the colonization of the death drive--the drive which hardens our tragic blindness and compels us to preserve our misery under the captivity of an amputated and prosthetic life. In the end, death presents us with a basic but defining choice: either we run from it in fear and thus live an anesthetized life immersed in the distractions of culture, living according to the desire of the other, bound to the inauthentic and to the lie, or we can turn toward it and toward the anxiety through which it speaks, and heed its insistence that we remember ourselves. Only through this courageous inward turn can we reclaim our authentic desire and, in spite of our fractured nature, speak ourselves into being and thus unfold into our subjectivity. For this reason, death is the ultimate paradox. While it extinguishes, it also gifts us depth, truth, and the courage to face life in all its rawness and contradictions. At the end of the day, Heidegger concludes, it is only by ‘being-towards-death’ that we are able to commit most authentically and resolutely to our ‘being-towards-life.’ |
Amelio A. D'Onofrio, PhD
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Opening Conversation |
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Opening Conversation
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Opening Conversation
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Opening Conversation
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Opening Conversation
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