There are probably as many answers to this question as there are opportunities for consoling the bereaved and encouraging the fearful. Here’s one example from my own experience:
I can’t remember whose death was involved–it might have been a relative, grandma’s bichon frisé or the body of a small animal we discovered outside. All I know is that my young son and daughter had met death in one of its dark forms, and I had to shield them from the full force of that encounter.
I was tempted to fall back on Mormon promises that we can live forever in God’s presence with those who are dear to us, but I felt cheap. How could I console my children with something that felt false to me? On the other hand, what better did I, who didn’t believe in God or the eternity of the soul, have to offer?
Then it came to me. I explained that when we die, our bodies return to the earth. There all the bits decompose, feeding other life, which in turn feed other life. We were part of an ancient cycle of nourishment that sustained countless generations of species upon this unique life-rich planet. I went on to tell them that the elements that made up much of who we were were formed in the furnaces of stellar forges and that powerful supernovae scatter this seed throughout the universe. Drawing inspiration from Carl Sagan, I told them that we were made of star stuff, and that long after we died our material might return to the stars.
It sounds clunky to me, as I try to recreate it here, but I was inspired and animated at the time, and I remember the combined awe and comfort that the children felt at the time, eyes wide and questions pouring forth. When my own sense of mortality strikes, I sometimes remember this narrative and feel that I am indeed a part of a grand story full of wonder and glory–a small part, to be sure, but a part nonetheless.
That’s my answer, for now. Do you have others you’re willing to share? What narratives and practices can we draw on as humanists, atheists, and doubters to console the bereaved and to take the sting out of death?
14 responses so far ↓
1 Kevin // Jan 5, 2008 at 4:32 am
First, I don’t think we need to be consoled (a nit pick, sorry). Conscious life has an end and that is just the way things are - we shouldn’t be consoled or regret the way the world is but learn to accept it. I know my life is short but instead of being afraid of this fact, I find motivation to try and live better while I can.
In “Speaker for the Dead” (SciFi) Orson Scott Card presents us with an alien population that stabs their most honored members to death and then plants seeds in their corpses so they may live on. It is an honor to die in this manner because as a tree they can better serve their community (food, shelter, wood).
After reading this book with a friend we decided that when we died, we wouldn’t mind being buried under an apple orchard.
2 Lessie // Jan 5, 2008 at 8:53 am
I have nothing to offer, just to say that I look forward to the discussion. I’ve been scared of death since before I started questioning God’s existence, so my agnosticism has neither worsened nor alleviated that fear. I also have wondered what to tell my kids about death, though. Because the idea of an afterlife just seems so unreal now.
3 Isaac // Jan 5, 2008 at 11:11 am
I have a couple of things I would like to say.
First, to Kevin above, I am torn on how I feel about that. I think as mature, intellectual adults, consolation should not be necessary. I am 100% agreed with you that the guaranteed return ticket we are given at birth is a reason to live (and to live good).
However, I feel that things are different with children. I do not believe that children need or should to be lied to, but I do believe that the reality of life can be presented to them in a wondrous way. I guess it also depends on their age. Not being a parent myself, it may not really be my place to speak, but I just feel that parents should present their children with the wonder of the world until they can intellectually assume the burden of deciding for themselves if a limited life means good things.
Second, in response to the article, I have never had to explain this to a child and it has given me a lot to think about. As I mentioned above, I fall into the same category as Kevin–I feel that the fact that I am alive is enough and I am not saddened because I am going to die but happy that I am alive. I went to a my friend’s mother’s funeral a couple of days after Christmas and, per her wishes, it was a very religious ceremony. While there was celebration of the life of the person, a lot of it was, as you would expect, “she’s in a better place now.” It was actually a very nice ceremony, but I still felt a little something. For me, I believe in celebrating the life I knew. I had a good friend die a couple of years ago and while it makes me sad that I will no longer get to share more experiences with him, I am happy that I knew him and I remember his last affect on me.
4 John // Jan 5, 2008 at 2:19 pm
Welcome, Isaac! It’s good to see you here!
To everyone, I want to start by saying that fear of death is certainly nothing to be ashamed of–it’s probably an evolutionary necessity. I suspect that it’s one thing that we have in common, in one shape or another, with most animal life on this planet.
Kevin, I loved Speaker for the Dead (one of Card’s best works), but I’m so tempted to insert a spoiler warning in your comment.
Regarding your nitpick: I think that religion does us a disservice by creating expectations of immortality. And I agree with you that it would be ideal to accept that life is short (though utterly miserable for many people). So I agree with you to some extent at a cognitive and philosophical level.
That said, I disagree with you on an emotional level. If I were to lose my wife or son or daughter, I will not be a rational man, and you’d better f—-g believe that I’ll need consolation. We don’t need to lie to each other to comfort each other, but it is profoundly human(e) to cry together, drink together, hold each other, and to express and do all that we can (with honesty) to minimize the fear, anguish and pain of the bereaved or dying.
5 Elise // Jan 5, 2008 at 10:27 pm
I’ve not yet been confronted with the death of anyone (or animal, for that matter) that meant a great deal to me.
I really like Isaac’s idea of celebrating life and the time we have together rather than spending our time fearing death, but I also relate to John’s profession that he would need great consolation at the death of another.
I do believe life goes on after death, though I’m not quite sure how and I don’t spend much time thinking about it. I somewhat-secretly harbor an affinity to reincarnation. When I occasionally think about the more Christian-religion-accepted idea of “heaven,” I imagine a world more-or-less like the one we live in now with people more-or-less like those we relate with now, only with people who devote more of their resources to helping others rather than helping themselves. Then again, this is really just a way of saying I wish people (including myself) were more like that now.
I think if I had children that encountered death, I would feel it appropriate to share my hope that life continues after death, but also emphasizing the inability for anyone to know exactly what happens after death. And then, I would hope to teach them to recognize the lasting effect that a living being’s life can have on the world. The work we do to create change, to help and inspire others, to love our families, to instill and encourage good in others, and the way we treat the earth/enviroment can have a lasting impact - and therefore a sort of eternal life of its own - on the world. Kids are so much better at dreaming big and not paying un-necessary attention to restrictions on dreams than adults are, and I think that this type of explanation would encourage them to follow those dreams and do everything they can to create good and vaulable effects on others and the world that will live on past death.
6 Isaac // Jan 5, 2008 at 11:22 pm
I think John has made a good point, here. There is a difference between dealing with your own mortality (I’m just walking turf and that’s cool) versus the death of a loved one (damn it, Ryan, why did you have to go?). I can only imagine what it would be like deal with the loss of a spouse or a child. Wait, no, I probably can’t.
I think it also depends on your definition of consolation. When I celebrate a life, I am doing it because that is how I really feel, not because I feel I need to do it to feel better. When I am emotional about the loss, I get a drink, or hug a friend, or cry. To me, consolation implies something short-term: I am feeling sad/angry/hurt and I need to feel better about it. I guess there’s the possibility of knowing “why” it happened, but the answer to that “why” is often already present in an individual’s belief system (which is the big problem with children, assuming they don’t have a belief system which answers this question). For example, saying “They are in a better place now” is a temporary statement. If I believe that, it is going to remind me I believe that and make me feel better. If I don’t believe it, I will scoff or whatever. It’s not going to change my mind. I don’t mean to suggest that tragedy doesn’t challenge belief systems–I think, in fact, that is exactly what tragedy does. But I do not think a simple statement is going to change what I believe at that moment.
While we may not share the same spiritual beliefs, I think Elise made a great point about children. To add to it, tragedy is uniquely different for a child, because it is necessarily formative. Then again, just to be cynical for a moment, I think it can be for many adults, but for different reasons, heh. But the point is, you can’t just say to a child “Fluffy is in a better place now” (Or Fluffy is going to help the flowers grow now) because that is going to be followed up with “Why?”
And, it turns out, I have another book to add to my reading list!
7 Kevin // Jan 6, 2008 at 2:34 am
Sorry for the no spoiler alert - next time I’ll leave out author and title.
)
I agree with Isaac that John has changed the parameters of the discussion with his comment.
I don’t think consolation should be necessary if: you are sitting alone (or with children) and thinking about (discussing) the nature of death. A relatively short life belongs to our situation just as much as needing to breathe air and eat.
I would expect someone to need consolation: if a loved one/friend/pet has died. The kind of consolation I would give, however, would not be a discussion on the nature of death (to me that would seem completely inappropriate). I would, rather, try and help this person through the situation by helping them attempt to stay a strong person.
I’m with you on the emotional level! but then again, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who would not be. (You didn’t imagine me to actually be this person did you?
8 Dale // Jan 6, 2008 at 7:10 am
John, I just wanted to let you know this post is now included in Humanist Symposium #13, here:
http://danceswithanxiety.blogspot.com/2008/01/humanist-symposium-13-cheesy-holiday.html
Thanks! -Dale
9 John // Jan 6, 2008 at 10:22 am
But Kevin, you are an evil, ax-murdering, Satan-worshipping atheist!
Just kidding, axes are safe around you.
On a serious side note, most self-identifying atheists I know are people of integrity, because it takes some social courage to publicly acknowledge unbelief in a predominately religious nation. (How is it in Germany, compared to the U.S.?)
Obviously this is a complex subject, and I’m glad that you all filled out in the comments many of the nuances the original post missed. I look to you all to keep me honest!
10 Kevin // Jan 6, 2008 at 12:25 pm
That’s a question I would have to sit on for a while. Maybe when I’m done sitting I could submit the answer as a guest post? Provided, of course, that it is worthy
11 Kevin // Jan 7, 2008 at 12:18 am
I sat (slept) on it and think I can actually answer it pretty concisely.
My impression is that people have less of a choice as to which religion they are affiliated with. My Grandparents were Catholic, therefore I’m Catholic. Regardless of personal beliefs, people are whatever religion it is they were born into. Nobody has tried to hear me out when I have protested and said that Catholicism has had no role in my life and is far from describing my own convictions. I was baptized, case closed - nothing else is discussed. Since you “can’t” come from an atheist bloodline, nobody is viewed as atheist.
12 xJane // Jan 7, 2008 at 7:49 am
ah, a Circle of Life mashup with We Are All Made of Stars. I like it!
I think that humans experience death in a profoundly emotional way. This is probably why we have so many excuses for what happens to us after we die. Dealing with the emotional part of a death is never easy and as much as I say I don’t fear (my own) death, I’d be beside myself if DH died. My step-mother-in-law wants to have a sky burial, if she’s allowed, when she dies. She’s also come up with some great alternatives for disposal of the body. But I still love her & will mourn her when she’s gone.
I guess a discussion of death with children should, in my mind, start with some kind of an animal. Go fishing; clean & eat a fish. That’s a good, safe, way to deal with a non-emotional death. Bury your dog/cat in the garden. Discuss the differences in how you feel about the death of a pet vs. the death of a food. I know, this sounds like a lesson plan (Lesson Plan of Death!!!) and you really can’t control the way a child finds out or asks about difficult subjects. Perhaps even, discuss the deaths we hear about on TV all the time: murders, wars, &c. These are people, yet their deaths don’t effect us emotionally…write a 500 page essay about why.
13 missjb25 // Apr 22, 2008 at 10:37 pm
My dog came to see me the night she passed in my dreams..
told me where she was, how happy, healthy and young she felt.
She was glowing, an agel in heaven. Please know that because I woke up and KNEW I would never cry for her again…She IS still here. Your deceased pets are too.
14 xJane // Apr 23, 2008 at 8:17 pm
missjb25: I felt my grandfather pass by me as he left. He was in California while I was in Germany, but it made me very calm and almost happy when my father called to tell us the next morning.
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