On Death

Who was Cornelius Secuine LaTourette? What kind of person was he? He died young, and that’s all I know. The only reminder of his life is this engraved stone. We live a little while and then – poof – we’re gone. But we don’t need stone to remind us. We see it all around us. We hear about it a lot. Death. The death of the body. 

Despite all that we know – quarks and bosons, moon trips and instant telecommunication – we know nothing about this. Where ‘we’ go. What happens. Doesn’t this say it all? If we don’t know this then we know nothing. All we can do is manipulate our environment. And manipulate it we have. 

Is the mind a biological construct that disappears after a while, or does it move on? Is there a soul? That’s the question. To go on or not to go on. Does that ineffable thing that makes you who you are die too? 

It is a kind of magic that infuses a body and makes it more than just a genetic robot. We don’t just live in the world we look at it. We interpret it. We ask it questions. That is art. If you ask questions you are an artist. 

The person who carved this stone is telling us that these people were here. They lived. They thought. They were given names. And here their physical remains are interred. Is that all they were? Is that all we are?