It’s a gesture, dear, not a recipe.

I’ve been reviewing some ancient and prehistoric religious practices from an archeological perspective with the aid of Professor John Hale of the U. of Louisville. I’m especially struck by beliefs and practices concerning the dead. There are vast amounts of cultural differences, but the concerns are remarkably similar throughout time. Even Neanderthals appeared to mourn their dead and attempted to put their loved ones to rest rather than simply disposing of their lifeless bodies in an unfeeling way.

Many felt they were sending the dead on a journey and buried them with articles they thought they might need in the afterlife, such as the Egyptians. We still do that. Even now, people put things inside the caskets of loved ones. Do we literally believe our loved ones will wake up in another world with that teddy bear or photo? I don’t think so, but it gives us comfort for whatever reason.

Human sacrifice was sometimes involved. That is horrifying, but I guess we don’t like sending the dead into the afterlife alone. It might have been a cultural leap forward when that Chinese emperor was buried with a terracotta army. The emperor wasn’t sent into the great beyond by himself, but the sacrifices were symbolic. They didn’t actually kill an army of men when he died.

The ancient people who built the beautiful city of Petra wanted to celebrate their dead and keep their spirits alive, so beside their tombs, they built dining rooms. Friends and loved ones occasionally shared a meal with their dead. Others placed their dead right under the floors of their homes. Even now people sometimes picnic in cemeteries, and we still memorialize the dead with grave markers and the like, just as the ancients did.

Some were afraid the dead might come back, so they attempted to make it difficult for them to get out of their graves. This fear could be the reason we still bury our dead six feet under. And all of our stories about vampires and zombies stem from this basic fear. We know it’s irrational, but that doesn’t make the fear go away, so we tell scary tales and celebrate Halloween.

Throughout the ages, we have mourned the dead, created rituals to say goodbye, memorialized the dead, attempted to send them into the next world with creature comforts and tokens of our love, attempted to remember them and keep some aspect of their spirit alive, and feared them.

We are a strange species. Maybe our large brains have given us the capacity and the inescapable impulse to contemplate mysteries that can’t be solved. This might lead to practices that are sometimes irrational.  I think even ancient people might have realized burying someone with blankets and food is a little nutty, but they did it anyway. Is it so hard to understand? Is being dogmatically rational always a good thing? Doesn’t our impulse to contemplate the mystery of life lead to creativity and discovery? Isn’t it an indication that we’re aware of and curious about our predicament? Aren’t our rituals and practices rooted in empathy and concern?

Maybe taking such care to bury our dead is crazy. Maybe thinking about where we go after we die and why we came into being in the first place is crazy. Then again, maybe taking care of someone with a broken leg is crazy. If we were a purely intellectual and practical species, maybe we’d pitch our sick and disabled over a cliff so as to get on with the business of saving ourselves.

Nearly all of the practices and beliefs seem bizarre when you’re looking at them as an outsider, but humans keep doing these things no matter where they are or the nature of their culture. It’s part of being human. It’s the ones who concretize the symbolism and try to force others to accept their practices who ruin it for the rest of us.

There’s a great line from the movie Prick Up Your Ears (1987) about the playwright Joe Orton and his lover Kenneth Halliwell. After they died—Kenneth murdered Joe and then committed suicide—they decided to cremate their remains, mix some of their ashes and then scatter the ashes in a picturesque meadow. Joe’s sister was in charge of the mixing. Using a spoon, she scooped out some of the contents from one bag and then the other and added them to a communal can, but suddenly she stopped and said she feared she put in more of Joe than Kenneth. Peggy, Joe’s literary agent, said, “It’s a gesture, dear, not a recipe.”