The day that Thanatism was born is to some degree irrelevant. That’s because Thanatism wasn’t ever born–it has evolved. The human conversation that has brought us to the point of being able to articulate some of the things written through these posts is an ancient one, and Thanatism is just another moment in that conversation. Nonetheless, ritual is an important aspect of all faiths and Thanatism should not go without its special day. As such, I’d like us to consider celebrating the day that this particular step in the evolution began with a holiday.
I committed myself to writing down Thanatism at 3am on December 21st, 2010. Often I am wrested from bed because I have had some insight in my half sleep that I feel compelled to record. This, however, was not one of those times. Rather, I had set my alarm to view the lunar eclipse, which was total in my city at that time. As a new parent, I usually valued my sleep more than celestial events at the time, and most such events weren’t particularly visible in the city anyway. That night before going to bed, however, I felt compelled to get up and watch.
When I woke, I walked over to our large picture window with a panoramic view of our city’s skyline. As I looked upward into the sky, out over the man-made landscape, I saw a rusty piece of rock hanging in the sky. It was our moon, but not the moon we usually see. Typically, the moon reflects the light of the sun so brightly that it hardly looks like a sphere at all but more like a brightly glowing disk. When blocked by our planet earth, however, the sun revealed the moon for what it truly is–just a rock hanging in the sky.
In the same way, I hope that the reality of Thanatism can dim the light cast so brightly by society’s fleeing that it can help us see our real selves, in the same way the shadowed sun let me see the moon for what it truly is. Though the social light we all live in is so bright that it is often hard to see us for what we are, I have as little problem with this beautiful social creation as I have with the blinding whiteness of the full moon. I simply believe that it would serve us well to dim that social light occasionally, so we can see us for what we are in the universal context that such light obscures.
This lunar eclipse was meaningful for another reason. It happened to be on the day of the Winter Solstice. That’s the day when North America is tilted furthest away from the sun. Because of this, it is the shortest day and the longest night of the year. Given the dark reality we face as Thanatists, acknowledging this shortest day seems appropriate; however, I think it warrants celebration and for an entirely other reason than its darkness may indicate.
Many ancient cultures celebrated the winter solstice–not as a celebration of death, but rather as a celebration of new life. You see, the solstice isn’t only the shortest day of the year; it is also the end of shortening days and the day from which our days begin to brighten. From December 21st on, every night becomes a little shorter and every day becomes a little longer. Ultimately, this is why I think it is the perfect day to celebrate as Thanatists. Although the day we fully accept our own deaths may be the darkest day of our lives, it is also the end of the darkening of our consciousness. It is the moment where we begin to spend more time in the light, unafraid of what we are.
I’ve been writing these posts over the past year. Given that I first committed to doing so over a decade ago, it was never a certainty that I’d write it at all, and yet here we are. I intend to start publishing these simple posts, once every week or so, beginning on the first day of 2020. I will publish the last of these, this very post itself, at 3am on December 21st. For the rest of that day I may celebrate. I may also mourn. I don’t really know. Either way, it will be a great day for me because it will mean that I have finally had the courage to speak. Ridiculed, beloved or most likely ignored, that is something to celebrate.
My greatest wish, however, is that it will be a day of some hope. It will be the day when I have completed the first step in a mission to rally humanity to fight that which it fears. I have little faith that anyone will heed my call. I have even less that people will respond in the numbers and strength we will need for humanity as a whole to face itself in the real. A little faith, however, is better than none at all.
So that is why I call this day of celebration, mourning, and reflection Some Hope. It isn’t a day of victory, but it isn’t just another day either. It is a day where we have yet another chance as humans to take control of our destiny. A day where we can confront our ultimate fear. A day where we can look at the tragic inevitability of death with the unfailing optimism of the human spirit and declare that if we are willing to work together, there is indeed Some Hope for us all.
The Theta is the natural symbol of Thanatism. The number nine and the first letter of “thanos” or “death” in Greek, it has from ancient history symbolized death. We’ve uncovered ancient Greek pottery ballots supporting the death penalty marked simply with the Theta. Because of its relation to death, Roman coins demarking nine often avoided the Theta and rather displayed a Delta and Epsilon, as 4+5=9. It is also speculated that Theta, beyond being the first letter of the Greek word for death, also gained its symbolic meaning because it resembles a skeletal mouth across a human skull.
Although such symbols may seem unimportant, they have always been an important part of human faiths. They are first and foremost important to the believer. As humans, identification, or the association of who we are with something external, is one of our most fundamental expressions of care. Through this symbol, at a glance, we can reawaken and re-experience the moment when we first encountered death as a personal truth.
Further, the Theta helps us recognize each other in the wild. As of now, there is just Thanatist One, but imagine my joy the first time I might lay eyes on another human being who has found enough peace, courage, and self-understanding through these words, that they wear a symbol to signify their new personhood to the world. In a society that will no doubt react to this new strange voice with fear and derision, how reassuring it will be for those of us among the faithful to see another of our kind.
The Theta not only reminds us of what we have become, not only does it serve as a symbol of kinship to us all, it also can be a beacon to a world yet fleeing from their truth. As we begin to live out the new minds that we’ve earned through accepting daily that which we would all rather not to believe, we will exhibit a character distinct from that of the world that still hides. We will display a peace and courage that others will recognize, and when they look to see what makes us different, they will see the Theta of our faith.
Such a symbol also holds us accountable to that which we profess to believe. No doubt the symbols of all faiths have been tarnished by their believers’ uncharacteristic acts. So too, no doubt, shall we, as Thanatists, fail to live our new selves fully without contradiction. At those moments, however, when we see the disapproving glance of another or feel the shame of our selfish acts, the Theta we wear upon our bodies will brand our souls with a reminder of our failing so that we might remember in the future to act as we believe.
Symbols are, of course, great human folly. They most often represent humanity at its worst. So too shall be the fate of the Theta should that which it represents fail to change us significantly and for the better. If, however, we allow the power of death to transform us at our core, if we maintain the practices that bend our ancient minds to our wills, if we foster the communities that will help us grow as Thanatists, the Theta may one day represent a new kind of human so thoroughly consistent with itself, that others will marvel at what we have become.
If Thanatism is to grow beyond a single individual or a single experimental community, it will need people who are dedicated to the faith full-time. As such, eventually, there will be those who feel called to make Thanatism more than a personal faith, but also their vocation. Before discussing the various duties this professional class of Thanatists might perform, we must first consider what kind of person Thanatism might need in order to grow and yet maintain its unique character.
In the organizations I’ve built, I’ve trained a number of leaders, and the first thing I tell them is that being a leader is about being a servant. Specifically, I look for people who care less about their own personal wellbeing than they do about the organization itself and the people who compose it. Great leaders aren’t those who can command, but rather those who can recognize obstacles and clear them for their team, enabling their team and the individuals who compose it, to become the best they can be.
As such, the Diakon, or servants of Thanatism, must first be those who have allowed death to fully and utterly destroy their personal immortality projects. They must fully accept their own temporariness and lack of eternal importance, so that they can free that care usually reserved for the self, and give it freely to those they serve. Further, they must be those who have faced death unflinchingly, staring into the void with courage, as it is through this, that they will develop the courage to look unflinchingly at their own failures and the failures of our community.
In so doing, they can develop the habits of acknowledging and changing rather than those of defending and protecting. As such, the Diakon will have to be both great listeners and great observers. It’s the role of every Thanatist to serve as a warning light for the organization, as every person has a unique perspective. We each, therefore, have an obligation to bring up tensions we feel, as these are often warning signs of deeper ills. It is then the job of the Diakon, rather than to dismiss what may seem like minor issues, to fully acknowledge them and work to uncover what they mean for the organization as a whole.
Beyond that, the Diakon will inevitably play the role of counselors and advisors to the local community. So often, we as humans, get lost in ourselves and our relationships. When the “you” that’s trying to figure out what’s wrong is the same you that’s mired in the problem, the solution, even if it’s right in front of us, can be impossible to see. With the help, however, of a disinterested third party, what seemed impossible can quickly become a reality. Although Thanatism gives some insight into our human predicament and that insight will grow as our community grows, as counselors, the Diakon should also be well studied in other traditions of the mind, including other faiths, psychology, and the cognitive sciences. In other words, they should make it their mission to become experts on what it means to be a human.
Finally, the Diakon must be educators. No doubt, should Thanatism ever become a faith that’s widely practiced, there will be much local resistance to its practitioners. Religious practices, no matter how benign, when first encountered, are almost always viewed with suspicion. Thanatism, given its moniker alone, will no doubt be the subject of much misunderstanding. As such, the Diakon will need to have great patience and understanding as they both explain and evolve the faith.
Writing this post feels weird. Perhaps it’s the introduction of yet another greek term. Perhaps it’s because of the absurdity of writing about the leaders of a faith yet born. As I consider this though, ultimately I think it’s because the above makes Thanatism sound so ordinary. I’m much happier waxing about lofty ideals than about the practicalities of organizational development.
The fact is, however, it is exactly through these messy details that Thanatism will become real both to ourselves and in society. There are millions of people in the world who are lost in their fleeing. There are millions of people in the world who are trapped in a room of their own creation. There are also millions of people who possess the servant’s heart, whose greatest calling would be as leaders, counselors, and teachers of something real, who right now are waking up every morning to do something this society doesn’t really need.
In short, when I consider the reality of Thanatism, it makes me tired and perhaps a bit afraid. Could we actually make this faith real? At the same time, however, when I consider what we’ve accepted as our reality today, when I know the cleansing power of accepting our mortality, and when I consider all those who could serve this world so much more effectively if there was only something they could believe in, I ask myself, why not? Writing of leaders for a yet to be realized faith may be absurd, but it’s no more absurd than living this life that’s been handed to us.
Perhaps you’re one of the people we seek. Perhaps you’re a leader looking for a cause. Perhaps you’re a servant looking for a purpose to serve. Perhaps you’re beginning to feel the personal change that Thanatism promises and you want to share it. If so, I say to you, share. If so, I say to you, serve. And if so, I say to you, lead. And if you’d like to find the support of other leaders such as yourself, I encourage you to reach out to us at thanatism.org.
Should one want to ensure the failure of any endeavor, they ought to begin by talking about religion and politics and finish by talking about money. No topic is held with greater sanctimony in our Ergonist society than that of cash. Even among our closest friends and family, the slightest breach of accounts can end relationships.
Although it may be suicide to enter into this discussion literally before having a single proponent of Thanatism besides myself, it would equally ensure the failure of Thanatism should it be left unaddressed. The tithe is an ancient practice whereby believers, sometimes by choice and often through coercion, donated ten percent of their income to their religion. This practice, although controversial, is an important one for both spiritual and practical reasons.
When I was in Jr. High, I converted to Christianity. I also worked from that age all the way through high school, largely as your humble cashier at McDonalds. I don’t remember exactly how I learned about the concept of the tithe, but throughout that time, I gave nearly half my income to the church. This wasn’t easy for me. Although my needs were met by my parents, they were very conservative about anything extra. In sports, I often felt ashamed because I didn’t have the same quality of athletic equipment that my teammates had. In spite of this, I gave and I gave freely. Why? What motivated this teenage madness?
The key to my behavior and the key to this practice from a spiritual standpoint is in the word “freely”. As we’ve discussed before, one of Thanatism’s greatest gifts is that of freedom. When we accept our own mortality, it frees us from our eternal fleeing from that which we know. When we accept our own mortality, it clears those non-essential elements of our being to expose a vast new horizon. When we accept our own mortality, it frees us to look boldly into the future and choose the lives we want to live.
In the same turn, when we give away our money, freely, it obliterates our psychological dependence on it. As a teenager that early practice of tithing broke my bond with cash. It freed me to see in the future that, even if I couldn’t conceive of supporting myself or my family on the income I had, if I still chose to give away ten percent of that income, almost like magic, my world continued unabated. We can claim that we are free to choose our life, but nothing proves that to ourselves quite like putting that faith to the test by freely giving that which we as a society hold most dear.
Although the spiritual benefits of tithing alone merit its inclusion as a core Thanatist practice, it’s also critical if we wish to make Thanatism something real in this world. In spite of the attrition of spiritual belief in much of our world, religious institutions still remain disproportionately present because of the tithe. The buildings that were built, the educational institutions that were founded, and the various priesthoods, which still exists today, were and are all funded by believers who chose to give.
Obviously the ability of these institutions to outlive their believers isn’t necessarily a great argument for the tithe, but the fact is it was these institutions’ ability to participate economically in this world of economic power that gave them reality. Their continuing power speaks to the necessity for Thanatism to be properly funded if it wants to have the societal impact that it should. I’m not particularly interested in building monuments to death that shall outlive us, the believers, but there is a great deal that needs to be funded in order to be done.
What about a priesthood? How can Thanatism grow if we can’t support those who would give their lives to helping organize Thanatists locally and provide the spiritual healing Thanatism offers to those in need? How do we provide the place and the food for our Sabbath, if it’s not supported by the faithful? What about providing as Thanatists for those in need? Is it even possible we could become so many in number that we gain enough economic strength to support fundamental issues of relevance that our governments seem increasingly unwilling to, like scientific research or education about the real?
If you want to become a truly free human, you must break the illusion our society has created deep in your heart that you need every cent you make to support your material wellbeing, for the fact is, our society will expand your notion of what you need until it has consumed all that you have. Money is such a delicate topic because it is a direct expression of our care. If you truly care about setting this world free from the madness of running from that which we are, speak freely of your new found freedom, but also give freely so that our message may grow. For in giving, not only can we grow Thanatism into something real, we can prove ourselves free, not only from our fear of death, but also from the socially bred fear that we don’t yet have enough in a world of utter abundance.
We’ve created a non-profit called Thanatism.org. You can give to that organization at Thanatism.org All these funds will be held until we can establish a broader governance structure to properly evaluate the best use of funds, and every penny given and spent will be published monthly on Thantatism.org for all to see.
Few things show a commitment to a new way of living like dedicating an entire day to a faith. The Sabbath serves many roles. It stands as a public beacon that we are committed to something special. It serves to create space in our week for spiritual practices. Perhaps most importantly, it creates a regular time for us to come together as a community and worship.
Before going into some details as to what a Thanatist Sabbath might look like, I want to once again reaffirm that what I’m writing isn’t some canonical statement as to what the Sabbath should be. I’m just a single person considering some possibilities. My hope is that some day there will be others of us, and should that hope materialize, I expect such traditions will evolve both through discussion and practice.
Having said that, I’d like to propose something a little radical for our Sabbath–a third day without work. The first reason I might suggest this is that, as Thanatists, we deeply understand the value of our time. We only have a few precious days on this earth, and taking another day for ourselves, particularly if dedicated to spiritual practices that make us better people, seems entirely appropriate. To ensure that this day is a day of practice, rather than a long weekend, I might suggest we consider Wednesday for this additional day of rest.
We’re also uniquely positioned as Thanatists to drive a radical social change like this because death, as an existential tool, gives us the ability to see that the world we have inherited isn’t a world we have chosen, and in that seeing, to reconsider what might be better for us as humans. As we’ve already discussed, the world has changed radically in terms of our production per person and in the obstacles of nature left to overcome, and yet we still work as hard as we ever have. Perhaps we as Thanatists can help the world to finally use our increased productivity to lessen our work and provide the time needed for us to grow.
I’d like to go even a step further. The fact is that, for many, an additional Sabbath day simply isn’t an economic possibility. Those who propose a four-day workweek often come from a place of privilege where such a possibility could become a reality without undue economic hardship. As such, I might suggest that those of us who are Thanatists and also employers might consider it our obligation to facilitate this social change by offering our teams a paid day for spiritual practice.
As to what a day of practice might look like, I’d suggest taking the time to engage in a few of our already mentioned spiritual disciplines. First and foremost, a Sabbath is a day to break from our usual routines in order to reflect and reassess our past week. As such, beginning the day with a Death Trip and prayer seems fitting. I might also suggest three yet unmentioned practices in particular for this day.
One spiritual discipline that has long been out of favor in Western traditions is that of fasting. Fasting, however, is a powerful tool in our spiritual arsenal. As Thanatists, we are asked to focus our minds on something deeply unpleasant. This ability to bend our minds against our bodies’ natural inclinations is a key component to freedom, and no practice puts this conflict between mind and body into greater focus than fasting. The process of fasting itself also focuses the mind, and our entire being becomes more sensitive to itself. Finally, and perhaps most fitting for a day of collective practice, it enables us to suffer together in recognition that we all collectively suffer from the tragedy of death.
Another practice that has greatly suffered from our collective decline in religious practice is that of creating together, particularly through song and dance. I want you to imagine the number of voices that used to come together weekly, singing in unison, when traditional faiths had greater reach. Now imagine those millions of voices silenced. When is the last time you sang with others? When is the last time you heard a song designed not for your optimal listening pleasure, but rather so that it can be easily sung by us all? Such moments of coming together in creation are a deeply rooted part of our humanity that has been wrenched from our lives by secularization.
The final practice that I shall suggest for our Sabbath is another one that secularization has diminished, but even such a powerful social force as it, could not eliminate–that of feasting together. Nothing brings human beings together more naturally than food. And although we continue this practice on holidays, the weekly gatherings between extended family, friends, and in our case, believers, has largely come to an end.
A weekly paid day from work that we begin with self-reflection and reevaluation? A day where we submit our bodies purposefully to our wills? A day that ends with singing and dancing as we come together around a meal provided for us by our community? No doubt these are the ravings of a madman. No doubt such a day will never come. And yet, if we consider the individuals, the relationships, and the society that might emerge from such a weekly practice, perhaps we’ll realize that such a Sabbath is no greater madness than the collective isolation we call ordinary today.
We all live with some degree of self-deception, but that deception pales into insignificance when compared with the many selves we present publicly. This multitude of voices constitutes our public persona and varies greatly between social groups. More importantly, these public selves are all different from our “self-voice”, the voice we speak to ourselves in.
Now I want to be clear, I’m not saying that talking with different people in different ways is in and of itself dishonest or lacking in integrity. It’s human and has important social utility. My question, however, is this: Isn’t it strange that we rarely (if ever) talk to ANY other human being using our self-voice? Particularly when those moments when we get closest to doing so are often the most intimate moments we share with one another?
We can attempt to rectify this non-ritualistically by simply trying to be more open and honest in our day-to-day relationships and to allow our words to flow from our core, which as Thanatists, we have no reason to be ashamed of. This is useful, but it can only take us so far. Putting that commitment to the ultimate test on a regular basis, however, ensures that we have the opportunity to see just how guarded we typically are. The ritual to ensure this level of honesty is what I call “free flow”.
Free flow is a ritual between two or more people where each person agrees to use the same voice that we typically use only with ourselves for a set period of time. This may sound easy, but I assure you it is not. Even distinguishing the “other-voice” we use when talking to others from the self-voice we use when talking to ourselves is extremely hard. With practice however, we can learn to make this distinction and even find the courage to use our self-voice in front of another person.
Obviously, you want to try this out first with someone you really trust. You can start by first meditating on death and allowing it to free your inner voice from its fear of the other, as well as opening yourself up to receive the other as they are, without judgment. After this, each person gets a set period of time (perhaps 5 minutes to start), where they simply speak their inner dialog out loud in front of the others. The others sit in receptive silence, as they work to see through their own reflection into the mind of the speaker.
You don’t have to try to uncover the other person’s deepest darkest secret or reveal your own. The objective is just to be the you that you are with yourself in front of others. You may be nerdy, angry, silly, sexy, all, or none of the above. The point is, we just don’t get to be with each other very often without socially moderating what we’re saying, and by creating a safe space, we give ourselves the opportunity to practice both freeing our inner voice and receiving the other without judgement.
Speaking freely is not easy. You may find that you sit with the other in silence. If this is so, receive their silence without judgement. Once the speaking begins, you may hear things that surprise you. If you look deep within though, on some level, that which is spoken was already known. Speaking and hearing are something we think we do all the time, but by removing the constant back and forth of our daily talk, we create a space for speaking with each other in a new authentic voice and fully hearing the other for the very first time.
