Death

We have a "free post week" so that means I can write about anything! So, of course, I've decided to write about death. Not to be depressed or anything, but because I find it interesting how my idea of it has changed so much over the past few years. (Don't worry, I'm not suicidal or anything).

Death is a "taboo" topic in many cultures, we often don't talk about it because of the negative connotation it carries: it is often presented as the "ultimate sacrifice" or a "horrible price to pay". We mourn when others die: we wish with all our hearts our passed loved ones are still alive and those of us lucky enough to lead happy lives fear our own with a burning passion. I suppose this does make sense because if our ancestors didn't have an aversion to death, who's to say they wouldn't all die happily and make the entire species extinct? Natural selection and evolution seems to be very much present in our lives, as much as we try to separate ourselves from simple biological instinct and hold ourselves above other "lowly" animals. It's clear that we can't all live forever, but it's still difficult to accept passing as a natural step in the circle of life. I think maturity comes with age, as young children, death is the worst possible fate one can have, and we feel blessed to be as young as we are with long lives ahead of us. As we grow older and experience new things, we learn to appreciate our lives more, if we lived forever, the appreciation would be lost in meaningless repetition. Everything must be in balance: life and death are equal and opposite, without death, there cannot be life. A rock will never die, but it was never alive in the first place. Just like how the biggest and brightest stars burn out the most quickly, we, as humans, have short lifespans in the timeline of the universe, but with this comes the beautiful gift of being able to live life to the fullest of our ability. I love my life, but I know that death is coming. Instead of fearing it however, I will welcome it when it comes. An eternal sleep, peace, and final present for facing and struggling through the hardships of life, as well as a provider of perspective onto our own.

Given the existential idea of Existence precedes Essence, at what point in the book does Mersault finally make a choice that would give his existence essence? In other words, at what point does he finally become a person, an identity, a 'self'?

In The Stranger, Mersault is portrayed as a fairly flat character who doesn't seem to feel much emotion at all. I don't think he ever really becomes "a person, an identity, or a self" at any point in the book at all, because in order to do so, he must have made an important choice in the first place. He never really chooses anything, he just "goes with the flow" and lives as a reaction to his environment. He views everything in a practical light and never acknowledges the fact that his existence has any essence at all. I don't think Mersault has made that crucial jump from simply existing to living as an individual with a unique identity. He almost lives as if he doesn't really have free will to make decisions, he complies with everyone else and doesn't even consider going against the wishes of those around him. The reason he does everything is because he tries to fit in with society and please others or if something in his immediate environment pushes him to do so. He attends his mother's funeral because it's the right thing to do by societal standards, he dates Marie because as a male human, his body naturally feels a physical attraction to women, he testifies for Raymond because Raymond asks him to, and he kills the Arab because the heat from the sun and reflection of light from a knife makes him "unbearably uncomfortable". It's because of his lack of acknowledgement of his own being and free will that leads me to believe that Mersault never makes a choice that gave his existence essence in the novel.