Is there Beauty in Death? (Explanation)
“There is beauty in death,” my good friend Emma remarked as we hiked by the ocean. “Uhh what?” I dumbfoundedly asked. Emma is a psychiatrist in Segovia, Spain and is fascinated by the human mind. For fun, as a graduate student she had the possibility of digging up cadavers to study skulls. Unfortunately, her town would not approve of the project, but it is still a dream for her to one day complete. As she explained the story with enthusiasm, I was disgusted and horrified- death has always scared me. Even as a Christian, I shiver as I think of the inevitable day when worms will eat my delicate skin and tendons. How could something so terrifying and gross be beautiful?
In October of 2022, I had the rare opportunity to explore Spain on Day of the Saints. In my Spanish classes growing up, I learned about Día de los Muertos, Day of the Dead. In Mexico and other Latin American countries, this is a time of celebration. If you have seen Disney’s Coco, then you have almost a perfect picture of the celebrations. However, Spain celebrates this holiday in an entirely different manner. Día de los Santos is a somber time; we honor the dead and decorate cemeteries. Rather than a time to party, it is a time to remember the past and think of the day that will soon come to us all.
The first instance of this I witnessed was in a Catholic church in Madrid. In Spanish churches, it is common for church members to be buried in the floor of the church, or have their vaults in the walls. As I admired the architecture, I saw the beautiful vases of flowers people placed over their loved ones’ graves. As I sat in the pew, I was at first warmed by the fact people remember their loved ones. Despite their physical presence no longer being here, the memories stay- and people want to cling to those times. It is reassuring to know people care. Yet, on the other hand, I was terrified. I thought to myself, I am sitting above dead bodies right now… ahhhh!!! One of these days, I will be in the ground. My name will be on a headstone.
As I internally panicked, I prayed and remained on that wooden pew for a long time. I was overwhelmed by the reality of death- it could happen at any moment. Why was I here? Will people remember me? Will anyone care? What if I lose someone I love? I then texted some friends and family members that I loved them and was thankful to have them in my life. I needed them to know I valued their lives and hoped they loved me- death felt all too real in that moment.
The next day, I explored a cemetery in Segovia. As I walked around, I gazed at the beauty and wholesomeness of people placing flowers near the cemeteries. It warmed my heart to observe how determined the Spaniards were to ensure their loved ones were not forgotten about. Despite this beauty, I could not help but feel consumed by fear. As I stared at all of the graves, I saw plates with names on them, but no death date. Yep, people already had their final resting place picked. How were people not disturbed by gazing upon their own grave?
As I internally freaked out by the morbid reality, I was surprised by the reaction of the elderly ladies I passed. Many, who were advanced in years, showed no sign of fear. They were happy, smiles brightening their wrinkled faces. Why? Perhaps they know something I fail to recognize/see…
Another frightening realization hit: not every grave had a flower. There were forgotten ones. Some, either babies or of the poor, simply had rocks or a stone cross to mark their burial place. Others, wealthier individuals, occupied massive vaults. Yet, no matter how big or small the graves were, both kinds were missing flowers. Maybe it looks like money matters in the end, but the reality is it does not. One day, whether a month, century, or millenia after our deaths, we too will be left without flowers.
The message of Ecclesiastes resonates in the graveyard: “This is an evil in all that is done under the sun, that the same event happens to all” (Ecc. 9:3, ESV). Which event is Solomon referring to here? Death. We all suffer the same fate, no matter what or how much we own, we all die. What comes of death? “For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing, and they have no more reward, for the memory of them is forgotten. Their love and their hate and their envy have already perished, and forever they have no more share in all that is done under the sun” (Ecc. 9:5-6). Once we leave this world, we are no longer a part of it. In fact, we have no say over our bodies. In countries like Spain, individuals and their families can only lease vaults. So what happens when your family stops paying? The government moves your corpse to “common grounds.”*
Is there meaning to anything then? For even throughout history, there is nothing new under the sun. As Solomon argues in chapter one of Ecclesiastes, “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, ‘See, this is new?’ It has been already in the ages before us” (Ecc. 1:9-10). To sound even more optimistic, in verse eleven he claims, “There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after. Everything has already been done under the sun.”
I think about how we will be remembered. Most Americans have the “American Dream” instilled in them when they are young. “You can do anything you set your mind to,” “Leave a legacy,” they say. Yet, we will all eventually become dust. Dust that is forgotten about. As I roamed the church and cemeteries, there were gravestones without flowers. Someone forgot about them. There will come a time no one will remember us.
So, with this Nietzsche message of nothing mattering, how can I claim death is beautiful? It took me a year to figure that out, but this past August, I finally saw what my Spanish friend saw. For the entire month of August, I lived in Edinburgh, Scotland. In the heart of the city sits a rare find: a popular cemetery. Greyfriars Kirkyard is home of Greyfriars’s Bobby (I encourage you to read of this dog’s incredible loyalty) and is the possible inspiration for J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter character names. As I wandered, I could not help but feel peace. The yard felt calm, almost serene- I often visited here to relax and journal. For something based on gloominess, it was oddly very comforting.
Death in this graveyard somehow portrayed the powerful capacity of love. Headstones from the 1800s expressed such deep devotion, even to child corpses just mere months old. Some of the examples include:
-A reverend “departed this life”
-A child “fell asleep”
-For a thirteen-year-old daughter:
“This stone is erected in affectionate remembrance of a beloved child, by her parents, whose feelings of regret for her loss are heightened, by the recollection of her amiable and endearing conduct during life.”
A lovely Australian couple I met a few weeks ago also pointed this out. Mark, a high school teacher, recently visited Greyfriars Kirkyard and experienced a similar reaction to seeing the headstones. He was also captivated by the thorough, charming language engraved on each stone. People wanted the meaning of their loved ones to show; they invested in words so anyone who would pass could catch a glimpse of the one who left.
As my travel year concluded with the second trip to Scotland, I could not help but reflect on Emma’s points. Death really is beautiful. For a short time, whether eight months or eighty-five years, God allows us to live on this planet. We come in helpless, die helpless, and then replenish the Earth. There are two ways we can take the Ecclesiastical message of everything being the same under the sun. We can either choose to accept this and therefore do nothing- live simple, wasted lives. Or, we can take this message and rejoice in being a part of it. There have always been heroes, parents, friends- maybe we are insignificant, but we can feel significant. We can utilize our resources in this life to the maximum, and when it is our time to leave, rejoice in replenishing the world for the next version of us. Connect to the past, present, and future- we are insignificant in essence, but that does not mean we have to live insignificantly. If we live to impact each life we touch- actually impact and pour into, I think that is what we were created to do. God puts people in our lives, and He takes them. He puts us here, and He takes us. We must live beautifully, and then others will live beautifully from us.
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*https://www.legalitas.com/actualidad/leyes-de-cementerios-cenizas-exhumaciones-y-entierros
The website’s sections, “¿Los derechos en el cementerio tienen fecha de caducidad?” (Do the rights of the cemetery have an expiration date?) and “¿Qué pasa si no se paga el derecho de ocupación de una tumba o un nicho?” (What happens if the payment for the rights to occupy the cemetery/tomb/niche stop?) explain this law/situation.. Here is my English translation for the latter section: The right of burial has an expiration date. A niche, for example, has a ten year validity period. After that period, the family of the deceased have to renew the payment. In case of failing to do so, the corpse will be removed. In many cases, this happens due to either the neglect of the families or economic reasons.