OK, so “Lost” wrapped up its six-year run just a short time ago, and as I’m scanning through the Facebook updates of my friends, there are a surprisingly high number of people still saying they were confused by the ending, by what this all was, what this all meant . . . Now, I’m not 100% confident in my interpretations, but here’s my initial (it’s literally 12:10am as I type this) thoughts and what this “means”:
At the most fundamental level, the “sideways world” of season six — the world in which Oceanic 815 landed safely at LAX, was the “afterlife.” Or some imagined experience, or told only from Jack’s perspective, or whatever. Point being, the experiences on the island were the “real” world. And the moments of recognition that took place in “sideways world” were the sudden remembrances of one’s life.
As with everything else in “Lost,” there are statements and then there are layers. For instance, most of the “recognition” moments took place when two people in love encountered each other in the afterlife. And in the afterlife, everything always seemed to work out. The couples that were supposed to be together ended up together. Love won out. Hurley was the “luckiest man in the world.” Locke was cured of his paralysis. Things just always seemed to work out. For everyone. That’s the afterlife.
In the “real” world, nothing worked out at all. Ever. For anyone. Even when it seemed like it had — hey, look, the Oceanic Six escaped the island! — it took a turn for the worse. Jack is trying to kill himself and everyone’s headed back. Decisions people made, beliefs they decided to hold — nothing ever seemed to work. The real world is a broken world, a world ruled by entropy, uncertainty and failure.
Assuming that’s an accurate sketch, the overarching metaphysics of “Lost” are a bit depressing, no? In the afterlife you hook up with your true love (finally); in real life, things never break your way. Even when “good” conquers “bad” in the real world (e.g., Jacob kills his brother, Juliet “creates” the sideways world in which they don’t end up on the island), there’s always a caveat (e.g., Jacob’s brother becomes the smoke monster; the “sideways world” is post-life).
But what’s interesting is how these six seasons functioned as a work of art. As I argued in an earlier post, a great work of art leaves things open to interpretation, poses questions that go unanswered, creates patterns that are maybe meaningful.
Was this really the afterlife or just Jack’s vision? What did Christian mean
when he said “all of you created this space”? Why weren’t Daniel and Charlotte in the church? Because they didn’t realize their earlier life? Because they weren’t part of this spiritual group? And how was Desmond a “failsafe”?
From its inception, there’s been a huge focus on whether or not “Lost” would be able to adequately answer all of the questions it raised. But in the end, art isn’t about answering questions — it’s about the journey, about the movement from one perspective to another. It’s about creating something intriguing, multi-layered, beautiful.
And that’s why I’m personally a fan of this finale. There was a distinct movement from the opening scene in the first episode of Jack opening his eye to the final seconds of tonight’s episode when his eye closes. But on a metaphysical level, it’s maybe more interesting. One of the key memes for the first few seasons is “live together, die alone,” yet the finale presents a dramatic philosophical shift — these people are linked on some higher plane and die together. Which is much more comforting.
What does art owe us? I can guarantee that by the time this post goes live I’ll have read a dozen things about how unsatisfying the ending was. That it didn’t provide proper answers. That it was ambiguous. That we didn’t get to find out what happened with Sawyer and Kate, with Ben and Hurley and the island. That’s not really how a narrative has to work though. Dedicated fans or even casual ones have been living with these characters and questions for six years, and after all that time, what really constitutes a satisfactory ending?
There are many different answers to this question, depending on how you relate to art and literature. If you’re in it for the final status — who ends up together? — the metaphysics of the show must seem pretty OK: everyone ends up with the person they’re supposed to, remembering the best moments of their life. That’s happy and all OK and a world I’d be happy to believe in.
In terms of the overall narrative arc, I thought this was pretty brilliant and satisfying. The show has always been more about the characters than the mysteries. And the more time that passes (hello 1:30am!), the happier I am with how “Lost” resolved itself.
Five minutes after this ended I was on Facebook checking for other people’s comments. I wanted to know what others thought. I texted throughout the show. We joked about Jack’s “super punch.” We speculated in media res. We even talked about commercials. But isn’t that so “Lost?” During the summers between seasons, ABC would produce a complicated alternate reality game that required fans to work together and gather knowledge to solve all the various puzzles. This is a show that necessitated communication and cooperation. That’s unusual in the world of primetime, Big Four network programs.
This was a thoughtful, ambiguous, fascinating show that functioned at the highest of intellectual levels in a corporate age that’s like something out of “Infinite Jest.” At the same time, I don’t think the “Lost” formula is easily replicated. It’ll be years before another cult hit like this comes along. We’ve all just witnessed something special. And now we should go to bed and think on it. And keep thinking.
Chad W. Post is the director of Open Letter Books at the University of Rochester and Three Percent, a website dedicated to promoting international literature.
So what did you think of the “Lost” finale? Please leave your thoughts and theories in the comments section.
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