Dead and Buried

Last weekend, I attended a funeral. I’m one of those strange individuals who actually enjoys them. At funerals I can indulge my fascination with death, have the opportunity to view a corpse (which I also find thrilling), and witness the careful orchestration of remembrance. To me, these ceremonies are one of the most interesting aspects of culture. 

I attended my first funeral while in grade school, at a time when I was just beginning to grapple with the concept of death. The service made a profound impression on me. Chuck was a beautiful boy in my sixth grade class and the focus of an intense crush. We had just moved beyond gawking at each other over lunch and had progressed to the point of light conversation when he decided to go hunting with a friend. His friend tripped while carrying a shotgun, the gun discharged, and Chuck was killed instantly. I can still picture him in his casket. His dark suit couldn’t hide the bulky dressing used to fill the gaping wound in his chest. I remember his blond hair.

Funerals have deep roots in human culture. For thousands of years, humans have celebrated death in some form or another. Even our cousins, the Neanderthals, incorporated ceremony into the disposal of the dead; at least, according to researchers at the Spanish site of  Sima de las Palomas, where they’ve excavated the remains of at least six individuals who appear to have been intentionally interred.

But does interment mean an actual funeral took place? That's where mortuary analysis comes in. By examining the myriad and often creative ways humans dispose of the dead, we can infer meaning behind such practices. First, we look at the evidence.

                                                    

How is the body prepared? How is it positioned in the ground? What is included in the grave (grave goods)? And who is buried next to whom? These are some of the questions that provide the scaffolding on which we recreate burial rituals of the past. 

Most archaeologists contend that intentional burial implies some form of ceremony. This is a logical assumption, especially when there are associated grave goods, the body has been treated or manipulated in some manner, and there are obvious patterns to the interments.

Interment, however, doesn’t necessarily require ceremony, ritual, or even a belief in an afterlife. At its most basic, it’s an economical means of disposing of a smelly corpse.

But as our brains evolved and our cortexes expanded, our cognition developed beyond mere self-awareness. With abstract thought came the ability to imagine, ponder, and reflect. Our large brains enabled us to see beyond the here and now and ask questions. Who are we? Where did we come from? And what happens to us when we die?

These questions needed answers. With imagination came the ability to conjure explanations for what we experience in life and what we just might experience in death.

I believe the concept of an afterlife began as a simple explanation for that most vexing of questions: where do we go when we die?

If you’ve ever watched someone die, you can’t help but wonder what is happening to them as they move through the process. I’m not talking about the physiology of death: the cessation of pulse, circulation, and breath.

I’m talking about the more ephemeral aspects of a person. Their personality, their joys, their sorrows; everything that made that person who they were in life. Where does that go? Most people refuse to accept that the attributes that make each of us unique are simply based on the wiring of our brains, and when the wires stop transmitting, the person ceases to exist. Which may explain the concept of the soul.

Many religions treat death as a journey - to another place, another realm, sometimes even to a new and better life (depending on how well you behaved in the last one). And once people started viewing death as a journey, the next logical step was to prepare the deceased for the trip. Thus, adorning the body, gathering belongings, providing food, and in extreme cases, sacrificing individuals to accompany the dead to the other side.

Of course if you’re an atheist like me, dead is dead. End of story. (I hope I’m right: I would hate to come back as a dung beetle.)

So I attend funerals not for their spiritual or religious meaning, but with the curiosity of an anthropologist. But I also attend so that I can grieve and say goodbye, which is really what funerals are all about.

Even us nonbelievers appreciate a good sendoff.

Here's an intense read on the subject of mortuary analysis co-edited by one of the founders of American bioarchaeology, Jane Buikstra.