The Modern Cult of Life and the Taboo of Death
I’ve entitled this piece, “The Cult of Life” as a contrast with ancient Malta which had a “Cult of Death”.
Malta’s Cult of Death
This is important because the “Cult of Death” was an extreme. As Malta suffered environmental degradation in ancient times, most particularly in drought and a diminished water supply, the people turned inward towards their ancestors, and a “Death Cult” which not only revered the dead, but increasingly built more elaborate architecture became a way of ignoring the issues of their present, leading to a virtual extinction of that population.
Pollen records and soil studies reveal that during the final centuries of the temple period, the islands suffered severe progressive deforestation and catastrophic soil erosion. This ecological strain culminated around 2500 BC during a broader Mediterranean climatic downturn which brought severe, prolonged drought. As crops failed, water supplies dwindled, and infant mortality spiked, the Temple People did not pivot to new agricultural techniques or seek outward migration. Instead, they doubled down on their monumental religion.
Building more elaborate tombs and temples offered a false sense of control over an uncontrollable environment. The architecture of death became an expensive, resource-heavy shield used to ignore the structural rot of the present
Ancient Malta handled the fear of environmental collapse by pretending the dead could fix it, but our society handles the fear of death by pretending it isn't happening. For me, at my age, I see death looming, and every year extra is a gift. But for many, death is something blocked off, kept at bay, and life is for the moment, and the moment alone.
People Die Elsewhere
And Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas
Well, Billie Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits please
There's five more acres in the lower forty I got to plow
And Mama said it was shame about Billie Joe, anyhow
Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge
And now Billie Joe MacAllister's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge
(Ode to Billie Joe, song by Bobbie Gentry)
Sociologists and anthropologists often refer to the change which I have witnessed in my own lifetime as the "medicalisation and sanitization of death."
Here I want to explore how this has come about, and how it has completely transformed our relationship with dying, moving us from communal grieving to automated administration.
Historically, death was domestic. People died at home, and the "parlour" or living room was literally where the corpse was laid out for the community to visit (before the funeral industry rebranded these spaces as "funeral parlours").
Even now, with funeral parlours, there is an opportunity to visit an open coffin, though few do it. I have only ever done so once, when my beloved partner Annie died suddenly, and I wished to see her dead body one last time before her cremation. I had seen her dead before, on a bed in the hospital. I was profoundly affected by grief, and that is why I did so. But when my father died, I felt no such impulse, and yet I also wanted to write a tribute for the service which also mourned and grieved.
But for the most part, the dead that we know are elderly. The explosion of care homes and specialized hospital wards has in some ways privatized the end of life. We can visit, some do, some do not. They fear seeing in the dementia or the other signs of age and decay, their own future selves reflected back.
So death in such circumstances has becomes professionalized, clinical event managed by doctors and nurses, rather than a domestic event managed by family. By removing the dying from the household, society successfully managed to look away.
The Rise of "Direct Cremation" and Unattended Funerals
I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings (yeah, yeah)
I have no rival, no man can be my equal
Take me to the future of your world
(Queen, Princes of the Universe)
The "simple cremation" or direct cremation represents the ultimate optimization of this sanitization. Popularized significantly in recent years (and accelerated by the pandemic), direct cremation involves collecting the deceased, cremating them without a viewing or service, and returning the ashes in a box.
While financially efficient and low-stress, it strips away the collective "speed bump" that a funeral forces upon a community. Without a service, there is no designated time or place where people must stop their routines, stand in a room together, and confront the fact that someone is gone. Instead the advertisements promote using the money in a more beneficial way – have a party!
It reduces the messy, emotional climax of a human life to a logistical transaction. The ashes can be interned later, and a service or sorts can take place when that occurs. But internments are usually private family occasions, rather than collective mourning of a funeral. This is not mentioned in the advertisement, which concentrates more on how the money can be better spent having that party!
Traditional funerals are not just for the immediate family; they are a public acknowledgement of a loss. They draw in extended family, neighbours, old colleagues, and friends who also need to process the death. When the initial event is entirely private and unattended, that collective space for shared grief vanishes.
The promise of a future party sounds appealing in an advert, but when the time comes, families are often still deep in raw grief. Organising an upbeat event can feel emotionally jarring or overwhelming. Consequently, many of these promised celebrations simply never happen, leaving a lingering sense of unaddressed closure.
Direct cremation works perfectly for families who actively want to separate the disposition of the body from the memorialisation. However, when it is chosen purely based on clever corporate marketing or a desire to keep things "tidy," the emotional cost to those left behind can be heavy. Grief is messy, and centuries of human history show that communal rituals exist precisely because we need them to navigate that emotional climax.
The Secularization of Language and Platitudes
I'll fly a star ship across the universe divide
And when I reach the other side
I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain
And I'll be back again and again and again
And again and again and again
(Highwayman, written by Jimmy Webb)
When traditional religious frameworks fell away, they took with them a vocabulary that, whatever one’s beliefs, was built to handle immense weight. Words like sin, redemption, mourning, dust to dust, and the soul had gravity.
Today’s secular, humanist approach often insists on a "celebration of life" rather than a funeral. While celebrating a life is beautiful, doing so exclusively can aggressively crowd out room for active, heavy grief.
The language of death is also sanitised. Platitudes replace the strong words of faith. We have phrases such as "they live on in our memories," "they are stargazing now," or "they’ve gained their wings". These act as linguistic shock absorbers. They buffer us against the stark, cold reality of absolute absence. They transform a physical, permanent loss into a soft, psychological sentiment.
The Fear of the "Messy"
I’ve entitled this piece, “The Cult of Life” as a contrast with ancient Malta which had a “Cult of Death”.
Malta’s Cult of Death
This is important because the “Cult of Death” was an extreme. As Malta suffered environmental degradation in ancient times, most particularly in drought and a diminished water supply, the people turned inward towards their ancestors, and a “Death Cult” which not only revered the dead, but increasingly built more elaborate architecture became a way of ignoring the issues of their present, leading to a virtual extinction of that population.
Pollen records and soil studies reveal that during the final centuries of the temple period, the islands suffered severe progressive deforestation and catastrophic soil erosion. This ecological strain culminated around 2500 BC during a broader Mediterranean climatic downturn which brought severe, prolonged drought. As crops failed, water supplies dwindled, and infant mortality spiked, the Temple People did not pivot to new agricultural techniques or seek outward migration. Instead, they doubled down on their monumental religion.
Building more elaborate tombs and temples offered a false sense of control over an uncontrollable environment. The architecture of death became an expensive, resource-heavy shield used to ignore the structural rot of the present
Ancient Malta handled the fear of environmental collapse by pretending the dead could fix it, but our society handles the fear of death by pretending it isn't happening. For me, at my age, I see death looming, and every year extra is a gift. But for many, death is something blocked off, kept at bay, and life is for the moment, and the moment alone.
People Die Elsewhere
And Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas
Well, Billie Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits please
There's five more acres in the lower forty I got to plow
And Mama said it was shame about Billie Joe, anyhow
Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge
And now Billie Joe MacAllister's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge
(Ode to Billie Joe, song by Bobbie Gentry)
Sociologists and anthropologists often refer to the change which I have witnessed in my own lifetime as the "medicalisation and sanitization of death."
Here I want to explore how this has come about, and how it has completely transformed our relationship with dying, moving us from communal grieving to automated administration.
Historically, death was domestic. People died at home, and the "parlour" or living room was literally where the corpse was laid out for the community to visit (before the funeral industry rebranded these spaces as "funeral parlours").
Even now, with funeral parlours, there is an opportunity to visit an open coffin, though few do it. I have only ever done so once, when my beloved partner Annie died suddenly, and I wished to see her dead body one last time before her cremation. I had seen her dead before, on a bed in the hospital. I was profoundly affected by grief, and that is why I did so. But when my father died, I felt no such impulse, and yet I also wanted to write a tribute for the service which also mourned and grieved.
But for the most part, the dead that we know are elderly. The explosion of care homes and specialized hospital wards has in some ways privatized the end of life. We can visit, some do, some do not. They fear seeing in the dementia or the other signs of age and decay, their own future selves reflected back.
So death in such circumstances has becomes professionalized, clinical event managed by doctors and nurses, rather than a domestic event managed by family. By removing the dying from the household, society successfully managed to look away.
The Rise of "Direct Cremation" and Unattended Funerals
I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings (yeah, yeah)
I have no rival, no man can be my equal
Take me to the future of your world
(Queen, Princes of the Universe)
The "simple cremation" or direct cremation represents the ultimate optimization of this sanitization. Popularized significantly in recent years (and accelerated by the pandemic), direct cremation involves collecting the deceased, cremating them without a viewing or service, and returning the ashes in a box.
While financially efficient and low-stress, it strips away the collective "speed bump" that a funeral forces upon a community. Without a service, there is no designated time or place where people must stop their routines, stand in a room together, and confront the fact that someone is gone. Instead the advertisements promote using the money in a more beneficial way – have a party!
It reduces the messy, emotional climax of a human life to a logistical transaction. The ashes can be interned later, and a service or sorts can take place when that occurs. But internments are usually private family occasions, rather than collective mourning of a funeral. This is not mentioned in the advertisement, which concentrates more on how the money can be better spent having that party!
Traditional funerals are not just for the immediate family; they are a public acknowledgement of a loss. They draw in extended family, neighbours, old colleagues, and friends who also need to process the death. When the initial event is entirely private and unattended, that collective space for shared grief vanishes.
The promise of a future party sounds appealing in an advert, but when the time comes, families are often still deep in raw grief. Organising an upbeat event can feel emotionally jarring or overwhelming. Consequently, many of these promised celebrations simply never happen, leaving a lingering sense of unaddressed closure.
Direct cremation works perfectly for families who actively want to separate the disposition of the body from the memorialisation. However, when it is chosen purely based on clever corporate marketing or a desire to keep things "tidy," the emotional cost to those left behind can be heavy. Grief is messy, and centuries of human history show that communal rituals exist precisely because we need them to navigate that emotional climax.
The Secularization of Language and Platitudes
I'll fly a star ship across the universe divide
And when I reach the other side
I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain
And I'll be back again and again and again
And again and again and again
(Highwayman, written by Jimmy Webb)
When traditional religious frameworks fell away, they took with them a vocabulary that, whatever one’s beliefs, was built to handle immense weight. Words like sin, redemption, mourning, dust to dust, and the soul had gravity.
Today’s secular, humanist approach often insists on a "celebration of life" rather than a funeral. While celebrating a life is beautiful, doing so exclusively can aggressively crowd out room for active, heavy grief.
The language of death is also sanitised. Platitudes replace the strong words of faith. We have phrases such as "they live on in our memories," "they are stargazing now," or "they’ve gained their wings". These act as linguistic shock absorbers. They buffer us against the stark, cold reality of absolute absence. They transform a physical, permanent loss into a soft, psychological sentiment.
The Fear of the "Messy"
Miss Marple: She wanted a normal woman's life. She wanted reality. You returned her to fairyland...
Miss Bradbury-Scott: ...and now...
Miss Marple: And now? She's safe now from any unsuitable princes. Sleeping Beauty Lies in the ruins... ...and flowers grow round her.
Miss Bradbury-Scott: Yes...yes.
Miss Marple: No, Miss Bradbury-Scott, she's a rotted corpse and there is no one to kiss her awake.
Miss Bradbury-Scott: ...and now...
Miss Marple: And now? She's safe now from any unsuitable princes. Sleeping Beauty Lies in the ruins... ...and flowers grow round her.
Miss Bradbury-Scott: Yes...yes.
Miss Marple: No, Miss Bradbury-Scott, she's a rotted corpse and there is no one to kiss her awake.
(Agatha Christie, Nemesis)
We live in an era obsessed with wellness, optimization, and life extension. In a culture that treats aging as a disease to be cured and bodies as biological machines to be optimized, death represents the ultimate systemic failure. Because we cannot optimize it, we hide it. The open coffin, the vigil, the viewing of the body are all part of the ritual of death which these forced people to look at a corpse and realize that they, too, are biological and temporary.
By removing the body entirely from the modern grieving process, we have managed to turn death into an abstract concept rather than a physical reality.
Hiding the body allows a wellness-obsessed society to maintain its delusion of control. If we don’t have to look at the physical failure of our biological optimization, we can pretend that death is something we can outmaneuver, delay indefinitely, or manage quietly without disrupting the machinery of daily life.
By choosing total convenience and "no fuss," we aren't just saving money or avoiding logistical hassle; we are actively shielding ourselves from the very thing that gives life its urgency and gravity: its absolute transience.
We live in an era obsessed with wellness, optimization, and life extension. In a culture that treats aging as a disease to be cured and bodies as biological machines to be optimized, death represents the ultimate systemic failure. Because we cannot optimize it, we hide it. The open coffin, the vigil, the viewing of the body are all part of the ritual of death which these forced people to look at a corpse and realize that they, too, are biological and temporary.
By removing the body entirely from the modern grieving process, we have managed to turn death into an abstract concept rather than a physical reality.
Hiding the body allows a wellness-obsessed society to maintain its delusion of control. If we don’t have to look at the physical failure of our biological optimization, we can pretend that death is something we can outmaneuver, delay indefinitely, or manage quietly without disrupting the machinery of daily life.
By choosing total convenience and "no fuss," we aren't just saving money or avoiding logistical hassle; we are actively shielding ourselves from the very thing that gives life its urgency and gravity: its absolute transience.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away.
Change and decay in all around I see.
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
(Abide with Me, Hymn, Henry Lyte)
earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away.
Change and decay in all around I see.
O thou who changest not, abide with me.
(Abide with Me, Hymn, Henry Lyte)
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