I don’t think the badness of something is necessarily dependent on a conscious mind being aware of it or experiencing it in some way. — Captain Homicide
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house. — Philip Larkin
I got into a debate with someone elsewhere about Antinatalism and the badness/evil of all life in the universe ceasing to exist. I think it would be obviously bad because I think sentient life is objectively intrinsically valuable and death is bad for the being that dies even if they’re not technically around to experience it. As explained in detail in the thread linked at the bottom death is bad because of the deprivation and opportunity cost. To me saying “But a dead person can’t experience or want anything” is just restating what makes it so bad to begin with. I don’t think the badness of something is necessarily dependent on a conscious mind being aware of it or experiencing it in some way. — Captain Homicide
Would I choose to live forever? Yes. I say this because I have the right make up for it. I do not get bored. I do not seek to cause strife or excess resource drain in life. I constantly seek to improve as a person. I mention this because I have another deeper question
Really? Have you seen how infirm a 100 year old person is? — LuckyR
Age is degradation, or the slow march towards death. If you didn't die, you wouldn't degrade.
I don’t think the badness of something is necessarily dependent on a conscious mind being aware of it or — Captain Homicide
I also think the "badness" of something is necessarily dependent on a conscious mind, to begin with. That is, though we might argue differently, it seems to already be "the experience" of conscious minds (collectively) that death is bad. So, is it only bad for conscious minds? And if so, once dead, does it cease to be bad for the deceased?
I'll admit, I may not have framed it well. Hopefully you can still find my point. Is being alive a necessary condition of death being bad?
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