Dirty Hands, Planes, and Questions

Life and death, equal punishments?

Karsky: I met your father last week. Are you still interested in hearing how he is doing?
Hugo: No. 
Karsky: It is very probable that you will be responsible for his death. 
Hugo: It is virtually certain that he is responsible for my life. We are even.

I stumbled upon this dialogue from Act 4, sc. 4—Dirty Hands (1948) and couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s an interesting perspective shift.

Should giving birth be morally debated just like murder? This provocative dialogue challenges us to consider the ethical implications of bringing a new life into a world. If we scrutinize the morality of taking a life, why not also the morality of creating one? Engaging with this debate forces us to confront our assumptions about the inherent value and burdens of existence.

Why do we often assume that being birthed is a gift and dying a punishment? Both events occur without our consent; we neither choose to be born nor, in most cases, when to die. Both highlight the inherent lack of freedom.

Perhaps this aligns with Sartre’s idea: “Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.” For a long time, I understood this to mean navigating life within the constraints of our context:

• Our partner leaves, and we choose how to talk about our ex.

• Our parents die, and we decide how to process our grief.

• We receive a serious medical diagnosis, and we determine our attitude towards life.

But what if we zoom out further? What if “what’s been done to you” refers to our birth and death?

What is life is bracketed by lack of choice?

Like our friend Hugo above, life can feel like an imposition. How can we claim it’s not? We are thrown into existence and held responsible for how we live. We are thrown into meaninglessness and absurdity of life and tasked with creating meaning and order.

Do existentialists emphasize freedom because it is limited and we seek empowerment in the little we have, or because it’s truly inevitable?

Do existentialists emphasize personal responsibility because there is no one else we can give it to, or because it truly belongs to us?

I understand life as a task—an obligation (and a privilege). It’s akin to not getting on a flight due to overbooking and then being forced to pay for a new one. You didn’t choose not to get on and yet you have to deal with the consequences just the same. (Nevertheless, this doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the experience, if you choose to.)

So, what now?

We can either “get our hands dirty” (see what I did there? using the play title to suggest full participation with life) or wait for our time to run out. I advocate for engage fully even if we are still figuring out who we are and why we are here, even if it’s confusing, difficult or unfair. Be brave. As Camus said, “In the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself.” This applies not just to staying physically alive but to genuinely engaging with our existence and all that it asks of us.

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I understand I didn’t provide any answers in this essay (ha!). I hope we can get a dialogue started:

• What are the ethical implications of taking a life vs giving one?

• Is freedom in life an illusion since it is bookended by a lack of choice at birth and death, or does it remain meaningful within these confines?

• Are we truly free if we are responsible? Does the burden of responsibility diminish our freedom, or does it enhance our autonomy by grounding our choices in meaningful engagement with the world?

• Is life an imposition? Why and why not?