One of the most widely known and quoted lines in modern English, "To be, or not to be" is the opening phrase of William Shakespeare's play, Hamlet. In the speech, Hamlet contemplates death and suicide, bemoaning the pain and unfairness of life, but acknowledging that the alternative might be worse.

Almost every conscious human being may have at least thought about the subject of suicide. In fact, every year, nearly 45,000 Americans commit suicide; by comparison, the number of violent homicides is under 20,000 per year!

This brings up the existential question: what is the meaning of life?

I have struggled with this question since early childhood and, after studying Greek philosophers, Persian poets, and work of contemporary philosophers like Victor Frankle and Joseph Campbell, have come to the conclusion that although life may have no self-evident meaning, we can give it one. I often use a cooking analogy, pointing out that while Tofu itself has no taste, it is a great medium for acquiring the taste of the sauce in which it is cooked.

The Foundation of Greek philosophy in general, and Stoicism in particular, is the belief that “The Obstacle is the Way.” Life is hard, and then we die, but in between, life’s obstacles allow us to grow, with the invitation to become an enlightened Being, not just a physical body. 

The very search for the meaning of life entails the exploration of all its aspects, including its end. In fact, philosophers ponder certain positive aspects presented by the prospect of one’s decision to end it in that the choice itself represents a kind of ultimate empowerment whereby an otherwise hopeless person is now fully engaged in the ultimate question whether to be or not to be, i.e. go on for another day, then another, as life’s meaning continues to unfold.

To be or not to be: we each get to decide. 

Benjamin Franklin once said, a lot of people die by the age 25, but are not buried till the age of 75. On this note, it is good to let the Master himself wax poetic:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.