The Hour of our Death by Phillipe Aries

I had quite a visceral reaction to the article The Hour of our Death by Phillipe Aries (pages 40-48 of Death, Mourning, and Burial). I suppose its in the nature of reading the opinions of others, especially on a subject both as universal and dividing as death, that one will come across an opinion that one does not side with. Or even vehemently disagrees with. But beyond simply disagreeing with Aries, I actually found myself fairly incited by the method he chooses to present his argument and some of the language he uses in doing so.

I’ll try to explain.                                                                   

There are some aspects of this essay that I did agree with, and in truth when it started I thought very much that I was going to enjoy it. On page 40, when Aries states: “My hypotheses... was that there was a relationship between man’s attitude toward death and his awareness of self, of his degree of existence, or simply of his individuality,” I took that to be a very true statement. It’s become a running theme for me in anthropology that I’ll come across people who can very economically put into words what I already felt to that point. I often think that romanticism about the afterlife or the next life or life after death results from people who are not totally self aware. Not that they’re stupid. I would never presume that. But religion especially, and historically, tends to pray on those who aren’t self aware and who don’t have an introspective view, and for many the rules and traditions regarding life after death stem from religion. The two have become irrevocably linked in many ways, to the point where when I die my mother is often concerned about where they’ll bury me. She thinks they’ll have to bury me in the back yard or something most of the time.

Aries goes on to say that “The ritualization of death is a special aspect of the total strategy of man against nature, a strategy of prohibitions and concessions.” (41). This again rings true. We do try and control death, and will in fact take extreme precautions to deny our decaying bodies to fulfil the very natural role they take in nature. In class I jokingly referenced The Lion King line “When we die, our bodies become the grass and the antelope eat the grass, and so we are all connected in the great circle of life.” And while that is very simplified, it is also a very natural explanation of the way the dead nourish the land and the living. But for us, when we die our bodies are embalmed and sealed inside varnished caskets that prevent and pervert our ability to give back to the land in this way in the name of preservation. I’ve never really understood the theory behind preserving a body in this way. It’s in the ground. Unless you’re planning on digging it up again at some point down the road, what does it matter what kind of shape it’s in? But clearly I am a minority in this method of thinking, although I think that this battle of man against nature Aries suggests does link very well to his earlier hypotheses regarding awareness of self. In my mind, if we were a little more self aware maybe we wouldn’t be fighting nature the way we do, but embracing it. Then again, I can’t really say much. When filling out my organ donor card I said they could take everything except my eyes. Because, I’m not kidding, I thought to myself: “What if heaven does exist and I get there and can’t see?” Which doesn’t make any sort of logical sense. Why would I think it would be like that? Why did I say it was okay to take my lungs without fear that I wouldn’t be able to breathe in heaven, should such a place exist? But in some respects, our thoughts on death are not logical. They’re formed by our culture and our society and our input. A single adult human’s thoughts on death could fill an entire book, they are so varied and complex. The notion of a Grim Reaper can seem silly while at the same time inspiring fear whenever seen. Simple, contradictory facts like that that are all informed by how we’ve lived our lives to that point and the inputs we’ve had to that point. In some small way, reading Aries’s article had influenced my view of death. Even writing this response to it has affected my view of death.

On page 42, Aries states that society permits the dead to return only on certain days set aside by custom. I’d never really thought of it that way before, but it is kind of ludicrous as traditions go. Acknowledging the existence of spirits and afterlife and then exerting control over it on a Gregorian calender is just silly. Much like my irrational belief that I wouldn’t be able to see in heaven, it doesn’t hold up to much logical scrutiny. Yet it holds a place for all of us. There is a fear and a knowledge of the dead that cannot be explained away, and that makes it interesting. Our minds have found a place for death that may not be right or wrong, but is placed there nonetheless.

Page 43 is where Aries really starts to lose me. Bother me, really. “However, the idea of an immortal soul, the seat of individuality, which had long been cultivated in the world of clergymen, gradually spread, from the eleventh to the seventeenth century, until eventually it gained almost universal acceptance. This new eschatology caused the word death to be replaced by trite circumlocutions such as “he gave up the ghost” or “God has his soul.””

Trite? I’m sorry, trite? That’s a little more judgmental than I would have expected. My opinions on my immortal soul and its existence or lack-thereof are my own and nobody else’s, but I would never to presume that the beliefs or practices of another were trite. Especially when dealing with the hour of death, as the quotes “he gave up the ghost” or “God has his soul” indicate (and, to a greater extent, the title of the article itself indicates.) When someone states to me that “God has the soul of my loved one,” that isn’t trite to me. That’s belief. That is the very human ability to believe that a good thing is true despite all evidence to the contrary, and it is something we often need while grieving. In all other times I request the harsh truth of people. In instances of emotional distress however, I will request the comforting lie. But that is anything but trite. That’s compassion and hope and some of the best of humanity. It is anything, sir, but trite.

And then to really put the last nail in his coffin, if you’ll pardon the pun, Aries on page 47: “A small elite of anthropologists, psychologists, and sociologists has been struck by this contradiction.” A small elite. Elite. It’s one thing for your peers to call you elite, it’s quite another for you to call yourself it. This is the height of hubris to me and almost invalidates the rest of the arguments presented. I read this and felt dirty for having shared opinions with Aries at the start of the article. There is a certainness here to the afterlife and a disrespect for the opinions of others that cannot be ignored. And, I’m sorry, but if I wanted to be preached at about the nature of life after death I’d go to church, Aries.

            “Elite.” Good lord.