Well of course, actually being dead probably feels a lot different than anything we encounter while alive. Or it feels like nothing at all, whatever. But as a metaphor, feeling dead in my experience is the loss (even momentary) of a sense of living in the world, of an awareness of anything beyond your own immediate misery. I agree that this is more easily transcended in some instances than others, either for physical or psycho/bio/logical reasons. If you are being tortured, say, or starving to death, it's hard to spend a lot of time appreciating the wonders of the universe. Likewise, if your brain chemistry and/or life experiences are such that bleakness is a default position, the mere awareness that there is joy and wonder in the world isn't gonna do much to make you actually feel it -- in fact, it can make things worse.

(Also, I'm not sure I completely go along with your "if" up above -- death might well be the absence of conscious existence, but just describing something by what it isn't doesn't really get you close to what it is -- that is to say, the absence of conscious existence doesn't negate the possibility of the presence of something else.)

This life offers no guarantee of joy, because our entire conscious existence is based upon the aversion of suffering, which serves the biological function of promoting our survival.

Not all of life is based on aversion of suffering. People actually have a pretty remarkable capacity to endure suffering if they think it will serve some end. Athletes, for example, put themselves through a huge amount of suffering. I mean, how many athletes vs. non-athletes have to have knee surgeries, tendon and ligament repair, rotator cuff operations, etc. etc. before they turn 30? Most religious orders are based on some degree of voluntary suffering. Sure, we avoid unnecessary suffering when possible, but I think most people accept that there's going to be a certain amount of it and that short-term suffering can even be healthy. Also, I think life does offer a guarantee of at least the potential for joy, even in pretty dire circumstances. Everyone I know who's spent any time in places that we think of as unspeakably impoverished and destitute has found plenty of joyful people -- not that they wouldn't be more comfortable with a house and a car and a job, but there are plenty of things to make happiness from, and comfort is just the most obvious one (and certainly not the most reliable, as any number of literary or cinematic indictments of the hollowness of middle-class life will eagerly demonstrate).

Those who are able to retrospect their lives and observe a greater proportion of happiness than sorrow are the fortunate ones.

I don't know. On balance, I'd say I know more happy people than not. And even the miserable ones have their days. I don't think happiness is nearly as elusive or rare as it's made out to be. Nobody's happy all the time, and no happiness is ever safe from misery or tragedy or just waking up in a blue funk. It's just that happiness often strikes us as trivial or fleeting, while misery tends to seem monolithic. Even if you were happy 90 percent of the time, that other 10 percent would never be far from your mind. In my limited experimentation with writing songs, for examples, I've found it much easier to tap into anger or sadness as fuel for music than joy or contentment -- Handel notwithstanding, joy and contentment aren't necessarily good muses. The reasons for this are complex and somewhat mysterious and maybe should be taken up elsewhere.

Life is a very bold choice for any informed mind to make, for some much more than for others.

Is it really boldness? Sometimes I think it's more a matter of humility, being willing to accept both your own insignificance and inpermanence. If you don't mind not mattering in any particularly meaningful way -- if you can even kind of embrace not mattering -- then it seems to me that a lot of the intangible things that produce the most misery also stop mattering so much.

On the other hand, I agree that's easier said than done.

As you know, I operate from a strict rationalist perspective, so I presume by default that the existence of our conscious selves ends with brain death because that is the conclusion that empirical science supports. I respect the opinions of other agnostics like yourself who favor the less conclusive end of the agnostic spectrum because I know that our common ground is still sufficient to preclude any significant debate on such points as this.

Not all of life is based on aversion of suffering. People actually have a pretty remarkable capacity to endure suffering if they think it will serve some end.

Examples such as you name are particularly pronounced in humans because of our unparalleled psychological complexity. Often, we choose to endure physical discomfort in order to comfort a psychological pain that we perceive to be greater in magnitude, as illustrated by the example of religious fundamentalists who mutilate themselves in order to receive affirmation from their community that the sacrifice will exempt them from eternal torment in the afterlife. (Natural selection is far from a perfect architect.) Such freakish examples are certainly the exception rather than the rule, of course. In standard practice, humans evade things that are either physically or psychologically unpleasant, often unaware that in doing so, they are following an instinctive template that promotes survival and propagation.

Everyone I know who's spent any time in places that we think of as unspeakably impoverished and destitute has found plenty of joyful people.

In spite of these optimistic perspectives that have been shared with you, the fact remains that the majority of the world�s population is below the absolute poverty line and generally faces starvation, disease, and early death on a daily basis. I�m sure that American visitors to these subsustainable societies might chance to see a significant number of smiling faces during their travels, but the context must be considered. How many of those smiling faces are likely to remain that way for any significant length of time compared to the lives of luxury and stability that we enjoy? In Africa, for instance, the explosive spread of AIDS has turned many a community of �joyful people� into desolate wastelands of human misery that most Americans have only the faintest glimpse and understanding of via brief images broadcast on the evening news.

On balance, I'd say I know more happy people than not.

This sounds to me like optimism at the expense of global context. Most of these people are Americans, right? (Most not even below the lofty �American poverty line� either, I would further venture to say.)

Is it really boldness? Sometimes I think it's more a matter of humility, being willing to accept both your own insignificance and inpermanence.

I do not equate boldness with arrogance, which would be the opposite of humility. I equate boldness with courage and will, which are traits that are actually quite compatible with humility. It requires much boldness to face life when you have an informed understanding of insignificance and impermanence, as you mentioned.

If you don't mind not mattering in any particularly meaningful way -- if you can even kind of embrace not mattering -- then it seems to me that a lot of the intangible things that produce the most misery also stop mattering so much.

But as I get older my joy, or happiness changes a great deal it's not so ephemeral, or manic. Like peppers in a stew, as I get older, my joy becomes mellower, however my satisfaction more complex. My passion remains underneath keeping things simmering along.

A lot of my pursuits are well suited to old age, cooking, painting, Chess, Music, and I feel a lot of my goals will not be realized until I am older.

As for living and dieing, as far as I'm concerned it's just a body. It has very little to do with me.

Snow still makes me joyful. I love getting up early on a wintery morning and seeing snow outside the window. (As you know, we don�t get an enormous amount of snow around here.) But it sure is fun when we do. There�s just something wonderful about seeing the bare trees decorated in a white blanket of shimmering snow.