You and the end of the world

The great and versatile actress, Julie Harris, died on Saturday at the age of 87. She will be sorely missed, truly one of the great ladies of the American stage. At the conclusion of the New York Times tribute to her, a story is recalled about what she said she would do if she learned the world were about to come to an end. Simply and predictably, she replied, "I'd go to the theatre."

In my opinion, a very good answer. Theatre is entertaining and thought provoking, but more than anything it gives life. Why not do the thing in the face of annihilation that most gives life? For me, nothing quite duplicates the power of theatre to remind us of our common humanity and of our struggles, usually resulting in failure, to aspire to something higher and more worthy of our noblest ambitions.

But then that made me wonder even more, what would others say? In fact, please let me know what you think by leaving a comment. In the meantime, though, in the absence of such answers, what might be the range of responses we could expect in reply to such a question?

I can imagine someone who might want to read an inspiring book or watch a memorable film. But which ones? What books or films would be powerful enough to draw people to them for a final time? Would they be sad and tragic? Or uplifting and inspiring? Would they be an opportunity to experience that nearly perfect work of art one more time, or something that would somehow prepare you for the disaster ahead? Somebody else might want to attend a sporting event or make one final attempt to bowl that perfect 300 game. Or perhaps a golfer would want to challenge himself for the last time to achieve his lowest score yet. Perhaps even that frustratingly elusive hole in one would be in the back of his mind.

I am guessing there are a few people, though, admittedly rather unusual people, who would not be thinking of themselves at all in such a moment, but would be concerned about the thousands, even the millions, who would be experiencing the most excruciating terror at the prospect of their destruction. Such a person would want to comfort those fearful ones and find a way to make their final hours not painful but peaceful, not terrifying but somehow enjoyable, even beautiful. Would such a thing be possible given the horrible expectations? And how would someone go about comforting people in such a situation?

There is no question that one popular choice would be to resort to religion and the prospect of eternal life. To remind people that time on earth is fleeting in any case, and that this is merely a simple case of speeding up what is inevitable anyway. You could argue that facing up to the end of the world is like being in a foxhole, only worse. And how does the saying go? There are no atheists in foxholes. So, yes, of course, turning to God or to organized religion and the promise of an afterlife would be appealing to a broad, broad swath of people. And that's fine. But I don't find it terribly interesting. It is pretty much what we would expect from the vast majority of people.

So what about the nonreligious and the non-believers, how would you comfort them in the face of sure annihilation? What would the caring person say to someone who has no belief in God and is nevertheless terribly agitated about their coming demise? And you know what? I think I know the answer. 

The response I propose is, I guess, similar to going to the theatre or reading a favorite book or seeing a special movie. But the answer I have in mind is simply to tell a story. Most likely, a story of the past, of what we have done together or meant to each other or even once had together. It would be both tragic and happy, both sad and funny, both enlivening and sobering. It would be a reminder of who we are, what we tried to achieve, and what makes us glad to be alive. For me anyway, this is a revelation. It is one more reminder of the power of stories and of the line from writer Joan Didion that haunts me every time I hear it. "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." Even in death, especially in death, we tell the stories that give meaning and purpose and shape to who we are and who we have tried to be.