Being "living dead" is not a poetic metaphor or a literary exaggeration; it is an existential diagnosis that defines the condition of millions of people who walk among us with open eyes, but whose inner world is a barren wasteland. This reflection delves into the elements that confirm this tragic thesis, revealing the evidence of a life that, biologically, persists, but existentially, has expired.
The first death certificate of the spirit is issued by mechanized routine. In The Myth of Sisyphus, the philosopher Albert Camus surgically described the moment when man becomes aware of the absurdity of his daily life: waking to the strident sound of an alarm, hurriedly gulping down a coffee, plunging into traffic or public transport, enduring an eight- or ten-hour workday in front of a screen, returning home exhausted, eating fast food in front of the television, and collapsing into bed to repeat the same litany the next day.
When this sequence is perpetuated without a hint of wonder or conscious choice, the human being ceases to be an agent and becomes a cog in the machine. The novelty of the world vanishes; Monday is identical to Tuesday, and Tuesday to Thursday. The "living dead" no longer expects anything from the new dawn; he simply endures it with stoic indifference. Time, which should be a river of infinite possibilities, stagnates in a motionless swamp. This annihilation of spontaneity is the first tombstone that buries our essence.
Secondly, the absence of a transcendent purpose certifies a living death. Why are we here? Those who have died inwardly have given up asking themselves this question, or worse, have answered it with banal evasions. The lack of a "why" turns existence into an erratic and disconcerting wandering. To fill the deafening echo of the void, the dead soul resorts to compulsive consumption: accumulating material goods they don't need, devouring series and digital content without savoring them, and maintaining superficial relationships that function as mere painkillers.
However, the emptiness persists, like a ghost that refuses to leave the house. It is the agonizing sensation of drifting aimlessly in the middle of the ocean, knowing that there are safe harbors and fertile lands, but completely lacking the compass and the will to steer the ship. When life is reduced to mere survival and passive entertainment, the soul enters a deep coma.
A third piece of evidence is emotional anesthesia. To survive the pain inherent in existence, many choose to disconnect their emotional sensors. The "living dead" erect an insurmountable wall against suffering, anger, and sadness, but in this defensive construction, they also isolate themselves from genuine joy, passionate love, and profound emotion.
They become indifferent to injustice, incapable of feeling the triumph of others, and coldly calculating in their affections. This insensitivity is death in its purest form, because a being who does not feel cannot be hurt, certainly, but neither can they embrace, weep with emotion, or surrender themselves without reservation. Their existence is a monochromatic and gray landscape, devoid of the highs and lows that color real life; and on that barren plain, not even the wind stirs up dust.
Furthermore, the social mask and conformity are the fourth death certificate. The philosopher Martin Heidegger warned about the self, that anonymous force that dictates what should be done, said, and thought. The living dead have surrendered their will to this tyranny. They wear the clothes that fashion dictates, repeat the slogans validated by their political or religious tribe, and play the role their family or boss expects of them. In this process of mimicry, the authentic self is buried under a slab of convention and hypocrisy. Waking up one morning, looking in the mirror, and not recognizing the stranger staring back, discovering that we have lived the life others designed for us, is the most irrefutable evidence that we have buried our true selves while still alive.
Fear is the jailer that keeps the doors of this walking tomb locked. Fear of failure, of ridicule, of loneliness, and ultimately, of physical death. Paradoxically, this fear propels us toward an early death. We prefer the claustrophobic security of the familiar cell to the uncertain and dangerous freedom of the outside world.
We let love slip away because we don't dare to declare it, we let our calling escape because we don't risk changing course, and we let friendship die out of pride or laziness.
Fear paralyzes us to the point that life unfolds before our eyes like a movie we don't star in, in which we are mere spectators of our own missed opportunities.
Ultimately, in our era, this living death finds its ultimate expression in the digital zombie. Bodies present in physical space, but minds and hearts trapped in cyberspace. We watch with envy the idealized lives of others on social media, while our own fades away in inaction and procrastination. The like replaces the genuine hug; virtual interaction substitutes for deep conversation and shared silence.
We are passive spectators of an alien and filtered reality, while our own reality withers for lack of mindfulness. Technology, which promised to connect us, has isolated us in bubbles of accompanied loneliness.
However, and this is the good news, living death is not an irreversible state. The first step toward existential resurrection is to become acutely aware of our own spiritual decay. Feeling the anguish of knowing we are asleep is the beginning of awakening. It involves breaking the routine with deliberate and conscious actions, seeking meaning, even through effort and suffering, and daring to feel the raw pain of authenticity in order to also feel its joy.
It means, above all, facing our fears with the courage of someone who understands they have nothing to lose, because they are already dead. Because as long as there is an atom of consciousness, as long as we can choose between automatism and full presence, true life will be waiting for us on the other side of fear.
It is not about achieving a perpetual and unreal happiness, but about recovering the capacity for wonder, for creation, and for unconditional love. A single moment of vivid and conscious life is worth more than an eternity of mechanical and empty existence. Wake up, because even though your body breathes, that breath can still be the prelude to a new life. Choose to feel, choose to risk, choose, finally, to be.
Note: I used DeepL Translate.
