Paul Kurtz is the editor in chief of Free Inquiry, a professor emeritus of philosophy at the State University of New York at Buffalo, and the chair of the Center for Inquiry.
I believe deeply and passionately in acknowledging and celebrating the seasons of life—births, graduations, marriages, civil unions, anniversaries, retirements, and deaths—and, on special occasions, participating in rites of passage to commemorate them. I enjoy welcoming celebrations for a new baby and its happy parents and marriage ceremonies, at which I often choke up because they can be so beautiful. I have also adored the graduations of my children and grandchildren. And I have attended dozens of retirement parties. One colleague at Trinity College, where I taught many years ago, told those present at his party that, if he had known that he was so appreciated, he would never have resigned! These events can be entirely secular and conducted without any religious trappings.
I especially believe that it is important that we commemorate the deaths of persons we have known and come together at a funeral or memorial service to lend support to grieving relatives and friends. Dying is the natural end of living. Sometimes, it is totally unexpected, premature, tragic, full of suffering. For some, it can be a process experienced with sorrow yet with quiet dignity.
The passages of life denote a change of status, a significant turning point. For unbelievers, death means final closure without illusion. It is also appropriate that a society mourns the deaths of its heroes and heroines, such as Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King in the United States, or the renowned nineteenth-century author Victor Hugo, whose passing was marked with a magnificent procession in Paris. Many humanist philosophers, among them John Dewey and Sidney Hook, have been honored after their deaths with significant public events.
Perhaps everyone deserves some recognition at death by the community of which he or she was a part. Over the years, I have participated in or officiated at several dozen funeral services for secular humanists and freethinkers. Some of these centered on a public viewing of the body at a funeral home followed by burial at a cemetery. These invariably were occasions of sadness and grief, but also of some consolation and reconciliation, particularly for relatives and friends who had not seen each other for some time. (In my view, adults should leave instructions concerning the disposition of their bodies.)
Many secular humanists prefer that their bodies be cremated, and they may leave instructions for the disposition of the cremains: burial, placement in an urn, or scattering. This may be carried out in private or at a memorial service conducted by family members and friends beforehand or several weeks later. The interval between cremation and the service permits loved ones and friends some time to accept the reality of death and to reflect on the life of the deceased. In creating the memorial ceremony, family or friends may call on the help of secular-humanist officiants (eupraxsophers), or they may choose to write their own ceremony, often incorporating appropriate poetry and musical selections. Those attending humanist celebrations of the deceased’s life are usually encouraged to come forth and share their reminiscences.
There are often poignant stories told, some with humor, evoking laughter and tears, as relatives and friends recall the colorful, idiosyncratic foibles of the person. Virtually all secular humanists I have known who have participated in such humanist ceremonies have found them meaningful, for they eschew ancient prayers invoking a god they do not believe in or promising false hopes of salvation. Secular-humanist ceremonies contrast with somber, traditional religious funerals, overlain by lamentation and superstition, many black-dressed mourners fearing death as they contemplate the unknown.
Secular humanists have some existential understanding of the finite character of human existence, an awareness that life itself, however fleeting, is intrinsically good. They believe that shared love and affection can be ennobling and nourishing.
As a secular humanist, I cannot imagine not gathering with loved ones and relatives, colleagues and friends, at those times. Like veryone else, nonbelievers must confront death; and they, too, need a support system to bolster their despair. The empathy and compassion of one’s community can provide emotional replenishment for those who grieve. I recognize that some freethinkers are adamantly opposed to any such ceremony; they may be embittered by the hypocrisy of traditional religious services they consider no longer credible or relevant. These individuals have, of course, every right not to take part, and also to leave explicit instructions that they wish no public ceremony at graveside or memorial service after burial to occur. But, on my view, this attitude of defiance does not resonate with those who welcome some dramatic public ceremony to ease their aching hearts. In any case, many (or most) secular humanists feel a need to participate in secular rites of passage and, indeed, humanist communities worldwide have sponsored such practices, as has the Council for Secular Humanism.
I find this approach eminently worthwhile, for it provides those who knew the deceased an opportunity to pause in the rushing of their lives, to take notice of the impact that the person had upon them. Grieving is a private experience. However, to share one’s grief with others may enable one to better endure. Each person who has died is unique and has a special place in the memories of those who knew, loved, or, perhaps, feared or hated the deceased. A secular-humanist ceremony is nonreligious and human; it encourages a form of emotional catharsis. In my view, for a person to die unrecognized is a disservice to the memory of the deceased, a betrayal of his or her moral legacy or life’s work. Thus, I personally believe that human beings should commemorate the death of a wife or husband, a parent or a child, a colleague or a friend, whether the deceased was a celebrity or unacclaimed, a teacher or a homemaker, an office clerk or a gardener, a monarch or a president, a poet or a scientist. Every person has dignity and value, and, as such, his or her death is a loss that should not pass unnoticed.
The secular-humanist movement provides models for alternative, nonreligious, moral-aesthetic rites of passage. In the rest of this essay, I wish to recount some of the ceremonies and celebrations in which I have participated.
Sarah Kurtz (1903–1998)
My mother, Sarah, died at the age of ninety-five, having lived a full if quiet life, first in New Jersey and New York, then, during her last few years, at a retirement village in Florida. She was born in Waterbury, Connecticut; her parents moved to Newark, New Jersey, when she was a young girl. She married my father when she was only seventeen and a half years old.
My mother was an avid reader of Free Inquiry—no doubt because I am the editor—and she became a secular humanist. Humanism, she said, meant that we should help one another and do good whenever we could. She loved to play mahjong and to dance. (I took her to a dance hall when she was ninety-four, and we had a great time.) She was very active; like me, she needed only five or six hours of sleep a night. She complained about the dwindling population of men at the retirement village. She died after a brief illness, fortunately without much pain or suffering.
Sarah was buried in the family plot in a remote town in New Jersey, the last of the line. (My father’s family numbered seven brothers and one sister, plus six spouses.) I officiated at the funeral, which had no religious theme. Virtually everyone present was nonreligious, though my mother’s brother-in-law, my Uncle Henry, spontaneously recited a prayer. I recounted the key points of my mother’s life and read some poetry and a selection from Robert Ingersoll. I then invited anyone who cared to do so to come forward and speak from the heart. It was touching to see Mom’s children, grandchildren, nephews and nieces reminisce about how she would hug and kiss them whenever she saw them, and how much they appreciated her wisdom and concern.
My motto has always been “A family that hugs together stays together!” After the funeral, we assembled for brunch at a nearby hotel. We again embraced each other and relived our shared experiences. It was a joyful encounter, though bittersweet, as I contemplated that my extended family, which once numbered more than one hundred people, is rapidly disappearing.
Months later, we held another celebration at the Center for Inquiry in Amherst, New York, with a small gathering of family and friends who could not be at the funeral. At this celebration, we planted a Norway spruce tree as a symbolic gesture of our love for her life and the need for new growth.
Doris Doyle (1926–2000)
An especially eloquent and moving memorial service in which I took part was that for Doris Doyle. Since 1971, Doris had been an editor at Prometheus Books and later became the managing editor of the Skeptical Inquirer. Doris contracted Lou Gehrig’s disease (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), a terrible affliction, which caused her to become almost totally paralyzed; she spent several months on a respirator. This was a terrifying experience for her, for her husband Rodger, and for her family. Whenever there was a power outage, she was in danger of dying; a backup system needed to be ever-ready. Doris was a top-notch editor and extremely conscientious. We could always count on her to give us an honest opinion and without blandishment. She was a wonderful person of great charm and character.
As she had suffered a tragic and undeserved death, her family chose to have her cremated quietly, without public ceremony. Doris’s colleagues at the Center for Inquiry decided to honor her, so, three months later, we held an outdoor memorial celebration of her life, to which her husband and children were invited. It was an open-ended celebration, with various people reading poetry and reminiscing about her. It left a glowing feeling for those who knew and cherished her. Her family and colleagues were grateful for the tributes. The Doyles were unbelievers, yet we all believed that it was inspiring to proclaim our affection and admiration for a noble woman. We planted a second Norway spruce tree at the entrance to the Center for Inquiry, so that we would remember her as we entered and left the Center. We now have a growing number of trees in what we have dubbed our Garden of Tranquility.
Ernest H. Polak (1921–2006)
I also participated in a unique memorial celebration for Ernest H. Polak. Ernie, a long-standing friend and confidant whom I had known for more than forty years, died of colon cancer. He was interested in defending science, and, indeed, he was an enthusiastic supporter of scientific research at several universities throughout the world. Having been in the fragrance and flavor business earlier in his career, his specialty as a chemist was to investigate the olfactory sense—studying how receptors in nasal passages transmit their messages to the brain, resulting in the experience of particular qualities that give rise to our consciousness of pleasurable fragrances. This was an intriguing problem whose roots extended to classical philosophy, one he thought could be solved by scientific research.
Ernie Polak was disturbed by antiscientific attitudes, including those of believers in the paranormal and religion, and he wished to support education. He endowed the Polak Education Fund of the Center for Inquiry/Institute.
Mr. Polak was originally from Holland; his wife, Ghislaine, from Belgium. The couple maintained three residences—in Paris, in Sheffield, England (where they attended the Shakespeare theater festival each year), and in Tucson, Arizona. World travelers, the Polaks had visited so many places—they had dived off the coral reefs in Australia, explored distant villages in Africa, and climbed mountain peaks across the globe. They were connoisseurs of fine art, fine cuisine, and wine. In every sense of the word, they were truly citoyens du monde. The memorial service was held in the Polaks’ Tucson home and attended by family and friends. The living room overlooked a splendid vista of mountains and valleys, framed by desert cacti. I delivered one of three eulogies that evening, describing Ernie as a humanist and freethinker who had no illusions about an afterlife:
Death opens no new doors to a world beyond. . . . It is the end of the person’s consciousness. . . . Something survives, however, that which . . . a person has given to others. This remains indelibly etched in our memories. These include Ernie’s affection, love, and friendship for those he knew. His creative accomplishments and dedication to scientific research. His cultivation of aesthetic appreciation and beauty. His wide interests and travels throughout the world. His quiet satisfactions and even joyful exuberance.
Now that the journey is over, we see that it was, alas, all too brief, yet of momentous significance while it lasted. And those who knew him will always cherish the memories of an exemplary life. Ernie was a man who displayed keen intelligence and wisdom, nobility, and elegance. It is with great sadness for us that he has departed. Thus we have gathered this evening to celebrate his life.
At the conclusion of this part of the ceremony, the members of Ernie’s family—his wife, son, sister, and niece—carried the urn containing his ashes outside. They scattered the ashes in the exotic desert garden of cacti, bramble, and yucca that surrounded the home. Soon, the breathtaking vault of stars began to appear in the night sky, amplifying our feelings of awe and grandeur regarding the magnificent beauty of the vast universe of which we are all part. We understood all too well that “From stardust we came, and to stardust we shall return.” The molecules that make up our bodies will be returned to the planet Earth and will be assumed into new arrangements of matter throughout future time.
Vern L. Bullough (1928–2006)
I leave for last a description of the service for my dear friend and colleague Vern Bullough (taken from the booklet Memorial Celebration of the Life of Vern Bullough). The ceremony was held at the Center for Inquiry/West in Los Angeles in November 2006. Almost two hundred people attended. Other eulogies were delivered by fellow researcher and occasional coauthor James Brundage, librarian Susan Curzon, housing activist Wade Rice, nursing educator Sharon Valente, sexologist Clyde M. Davis, civil libertarian Ramona Ripston, GLBT movement historian C. Todd White, and Vern’s partner, Gwen Brewer. We gather today to celebrate the life of Vern Bullough, an extraordinary person whom we knew and loved. We wish to honor his memory and to cherish what he meant to the lives of so many in the world, far and wide.
On behalf of his companion, Gwen Brewer, and his children and relatives, may we welcome you to this celebration. This is a humanist event. . . . Vern was an unbeliever in the myths of salvation. Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, he and his wife, Bonnie, abandoned the faith of their forbears. But he was an affirmative believer in the good life in this world, and in the need to do what we can to improve and enhance life for ourselves and our brother and sister human beings everywhere. He was dedicated to extending the quality of life in service to others. . . .
When, a few weeks before Vern’s death, Gwen Brewer told me that Vern wished me to officiate at his memorial service, I asked him about it—he said, yes, that he would. This transpired on a Center for Inquiry Alaskan cruise, a last voyage Vern had insisted on making in spite of the fact that he was dying. I replied, “I would be honored to officiate, but I had hoped that you would officiate at mine,” since he was younger than I. Vern smiled wryly. Ah, death is the equalizer. We are never too young to die. It is the ultimate leveler of presidents and monarchs, carpenters and nurses, ordinary women and men.
Vern was a secular humanist. The point is, in the existential confrontation of our demise, the humanist option is to live life fully and richly as a free person. Each individual’s life is a work of art, and each career unique; and we are responsible for who and what we will become. What a splendid life Vern had lived. He was a Leonardo man of enormous talent and creativity, having achieved, not in one profession, but many: history, sexology, nursing, humanism, and more. His scholarship and research were known on the frontiers of knowledge in diverse fields. He was the author or editor of more than fifty books and hundreds of articles; and he lectured worldwide. Permit me to extol his humanism. He stands forth as one of the greatest humanists of the twentieth century that America has produced. He is an heroic role model of someone who did not believe in God, yet was good and practiced virtue. He was also a humanist activist dedicated to so many beloved causes. He defended individual autonomy: euthanasia, abortion, gender equality, sexual freedom, treating every person’s right to choose. He insisted on tolerance for the diversity of lifestyles. . . .
He was a defender of liberal causes: minority rights, civil liberties, interracial adoption (he adopted three children besides his own, well before most people in society), nursing—he spent much personal effort in helping those suffering from pain. Vern was devoted to international peace; and he was one of the preeminent advocates of the rights of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgendered persons. . . .
An unpretentious, quiet man, he lived a life of moral excellence—a man of knowledge and understanding, empathy and wit.
What a privilege to have known Vern. How sad that he is no longer with us.
He died as a stoic, with no illusions of immortality. He was determined to live to the fullest, working creatively to the last days. He died as a freethinker.
May I ask everyone to stand up and hug the person next to you as a tribute to the memory of Vern.
And now please take your glass of wine or water and toast Vern Bullough, as we hear “When the Saints Go Marching In,” the New Orleans jazz piece selected by Vern Bullough. And so we bid adieu to a great person.
CFI SUMMIT
OCTOBER 24-27 2013
TACOMA, WASHINGTON
Joint Conference of the Council for Secular Humanism, Center for Inquiry, and Committee for Skeptical Inquiry
The transnational secular humanist magazine
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