Terry Eagleton expresses his disdain for careless reasoning, particularly regarding the undeniable reality of death. He critiques the perspective of Dylan Thomas, who famously urged his ill father to “not go gentle into that good night.” Eagleton questions the notion of death being “good,” asking why Thomas would encourage his father to linger. Shouldn’t the elder Thomas be inspired to embrace his end with the enthusiasm of a marathon runner nearing the finish line?
Eagleton’s critique of Thomas’s contradictory thinking should not be mistaken for a fearful denial of his own mortality. At 83 years old, he acknowledges uncertainty about whether his latest work would be published after his passing. Nonetheless, he finds himself increasingly preoccupied with the concept of death and its lack of ceremony. For instance, death may come unexpectedly while one is dressed in an absurd costume, like a giraffe.
He asserts that being discovered dead while dressed as a long-necked animal would not matter, as one would be beyond caring. This indifference is, in Eagleton’s view, one of the great freedoms of death; it frees one from moral and social responsibilities. In death, one can evade debts, skip important events, or ignore demands for payment without consequence. He even suggests there might be a certain allure to death, describing it as a “pornographic pleasure” in the process of decay—a blissful surrender to an unstoppable force. Practically, it means no longer needing to maintain a facade of control.
However, until that liberating moment arrives, Eagleton suggests we should navigate our lives with the awareness that death is always imminent. Ideally, this acknowledgment would liberate us from the anxieties that compel us to grasp and hoard. Instead, we could engage with our surroundings with the clarity and intensity reminiscent of a William Blake, relishing every drop of rain, beam of sunlight, and crunch of an apple to the point of almost overwhelming awareness. While this idea is appealing in theory, Eagleton wryly notes that achieving such a state may require more effort than it is worth.
The reality remains that we are creatures bound by time, often reflecting on the past and anticipating the future, which prevents us from fully experiencing the present. Consequently, our eventual deaths often feel like an unwelcome surprise, an affront we did not anticipate. Eagleton reassures us that when death does come, we likely won’t utter anything profound or significant. He points out that Thomas’s last words, “the End is in Eden,” are another example of his tendency toward “metaphysical vacuities.”
In contrast, he suggests we remember Steve Jobs’s more relatable final words, “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow,” which do not strive for grandiosity and allow individuals to interpret the meaning according to their own imaginations. Eagleton humorously envisions Jobs perhaps witnessing a celestial Apple store, populated by angels in blue T-shirts working on advanced Macs.
A Death of One’s Own is not a systematic argument about mortality or a deep dive into its fears and comforts. Instead, Eagleton allows his extensive knowledge and sharp wit to explore the complexities of reaching life’s conclusion. In the introduction, he mentions that he has incorporated thoughts and figures that have significantly influenced his “spiritual and intellectual life” over the last sixty years. Figures like Marx, Freud, and his Catholic upbringing make appearances as they take their final bows “before the curtain comes down.” The book, while dense, is best enjoyed in small portions, perhaps as a nightly reading ritual before sleep—the “little death” from which, with any luck, we awaken rejuvenated each morning.
A Death of One’s Own: Reflections on Mortality by Terry Eagleton is published by Yale at a price of £18.99. To support the Guardian, you can order your copy at guardianbookshop.com, though delivery fees may apply.
