he amount of thought people give to what is done with their body after they are dead utterly mystifies me.  Of course, I understand perfectly well the thought of making adequate financial preparations so that one is not a burden to anyone.  But why all the fuss about being buried here or there and in the same burial ground as this or that one, next to this one or that one?  And so forth.  Why is the thought that one shall be buried at such-and-such place next to so-and-so of any comfort whatsoever?  Life is not more or less meaningful or rich or engaging, depending on where one is buried. 

I could not be more indifferent to what happens to my body when I am dead. 

To be sure, I can think of lots of things that should not be done to dead people precisely because this might give rise to disrespect for the living.  An obvious example would be using dead people for food, whether the food is for human beings or animals.  If there is anything we do not on this planet it is people waiting for someone to die so that they can use the dead person’s flesh for food.  This is a practical consideration.

As a matter of fact, however, I am entirely indifferent even to my dead body being fed to animals.  That is, I would not think I have in some way or the other have been wronged if the rats and vultures got to my dead body before the undertaker did.   

Again, I understand memorial series and other public gestures of closure for a person who has died.  I do not want any of that.  However, I fully understand it; and I see nothing at all indefensible about such things—at least not in principle.

By contrast, the agony and thought that people give to what is done with and to their dead body is entirely beyond me.  Why, to hear people go on about how and where they want to be buried, a person who knew nothing about death would think that some sort of preparation for a rendez-vous was at stake. 

Now, I can easily someone saying that my sort of thinking applies only to the non-religious, because no one who truly believed in God would entertain such thoughts.  But why not?  On every reasonable account of resurrection that any religious tradition offers the After Life will not involve our flesh and bones.  Indeed, precisely what we know is that the body decomposes. 

The religious view has it that it is the soul that survives death.  Just what all that means is anyone’s guess.  In any case, it is utterly implausible to think that if there is a soul that survives death, the soul does so in the body that decomposes.  Besides, it seems to me just plain silly to insist that God somehow needs dead bodies to be properly cared for so that eventually God can have access to the soul. 

My thinking about this matter is extremely simplistic.  If there is a God, then God can aptly and ably handle the issue of what happens to my soul, regardless of what happens to my dead body.  And if there is no God, then it simply does not matter what happens to my dead body. 

What about respect for God?  Well, as far as I can see the issue of having respect for God is entirely and completely tied to what I do while alive.  It is preposterous to think that if I lived the most immoral life imaginable, but was particularly attentive to what was done with my dead body, then God would in some way find pleasure in my doing so.  And it is equally preposterous to think that if I lived a most righteous life, but gave no thought to what was done with my dead body, then God would somehow be displeased with me. 

Insofar as I respect God, it is about living a decent and upright life.  Respect for God cannot possibly have anything to do with making sure that I am embalmed in the right way, buried in the right cemetery, and so on. 

A parallel argument applies at the purely human level.  If I have treated you in the right way and have been there for you, surely my not giving a hoot about how you are buried will not detract one iota from the good that I have done for you.  By contrast, if my treatment of you was utterly horrendous, then my being most attentive and sparing no expense in terms what is done with your dead body will not decrease in any way the wrong that I have done to you throughout your life.

It is utterly stupefying to me that human beings can get more worked up over what is done to the dead than over what is done to the living.  Or so it appears. 

Anyone reading this blog-entry who does not know me will almost surely think that I have lived one terribly empty life that has been entirely deranged by bitterness and rage—a life entirely shorn of deep meaningful bonds. 

Alas, I think that I can rightly say that the very opposite is true.  I have been blessed beyond measure to life an extremely rich and meaningful life and to forge bonds of affection that marvelously buoy my very soul.  Indeed, there is much in me that is still child-like in that I still look with great wonderment at so much that goes on around me.  What is more, to so very many, I am so very grateful.  The gratitude lifts my spirit.  I have a steadfast commitment to living well.  Precisely because all these good things hold for my life, it will not matter to me one iota what is done with my body when I take my very last breath.  And that, I expect, will be many years from now.