Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (Caitlin Doughty)
Confession time! I almost left Caitlin Doughty’s book Smoke Gets In Your Eyes off my mortality reading list. From the book cover excerpt I knew she was now a mortician, and that this book explored her first job at a crematory. I figured it would be full of morbid stories (it is), but really could not appreciate how that would provide any meaningful input for me. In my mind I wondered how reading spooky stories about burning corpses could possibly help me overcome my fear of dying. Well, I could not have been more wrong. Goes to show, you don’t know what you don’t know. This book was excellent, informative, hilarious, and incredibly helpful. Caitlin, can we please be friends?
OVERVIEW
Okay so Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (& Other Lessons from the Crematory) is a compilation of the most interesting and morbid stories you’ll ever read, let’s get that right. There’s maggots, molten fat, bone blenders, body froth, and even flesh-eating turtles. There are also terms like “bubblating” which you can’t ever unlearn, and something called “the toss.” THE TOSS. I can’t even prepare you.
Gruesome and fascinating tales aside, underneath is the story of someone who was terrorized by thoughts of death but came out at peace with her mortality. That alone should convince you that Doughty must be on to something important. I see the narrative as:
· For most of human history the realities of death and mortality were inescapable; it simply wasn’t possible to be anything but intimate with death
· Through a series of relatively recent events (like the American Civil War and modern medical advancements), we’ve experienced a cultural shift in our relationship with death. In an unprecedented way, we’re able to outsource our dying (to doctors) and our dead (to morticians)
· This has (unintentionally) culminated in a culture of “death denial.” Death is now pushed to the shadows. We grow up deeply estranged with the realities of death, with decay and decomposition. The crux of Doughty’s hypothesis is that this new cultural reality has manifested an even more anxious terror of our own mortality.
As Doughty puts it, “I went from thinking it was strange that we don’t see dead bodies anymore to believing their absence was a root cause of major problems in the modern world. Corpses keep the living tethered to reality.” And that, I reckon, is why the spooky stories are important. To kick the death taboo, we have to reacquaint ourselves with our “future corpses.” Not that anyone is recommending we rain corpses down from the sky (you get a corpse! and YOU get a corpse!), but rather that we bravely turn toward the realities of death. In these matters, morbid curiosity is encouraged.
WHAT NOW? (actions for mortal atheists)
Get curious about decay
I’ll admit that reading stories about the dead felt like a violation at first. Like the act of my reading was somehow profane. The more I read though, the more I realized that this intense discomfort and guilt was entirely cultural. Nothing could be more natural than decomposition, or the dead. If Doughty is to be believed (and I think she is), then removing the terror of death and decay through education is a key piece to removing the terror of mortality. How do you start? I mean, buy this book and read it! Do it just for the flesh-eating turtles, really.
Think about what you want to happen to your corpse
Doughty makes a strong argument that funeral homes don’t practice embalming because it’s a meaningful ritual, or because it’s necessary, but rather because we’re terrified of decay (there’s more to it than that, but I gather that’s the crux). As someone who’s concerned about the environment, and who also finds the thought of returning my atoms to nature quite comforting, planning for a natural burial does bring me solace. Maybe it will for you too. No chemical preservation for this future corpse.
Find ways to bring death into your life
Why not try meditating in a cemetery? Doughty gives a nod to the Buddhist practice of formally contemplating the various stages of decomposition your corpse will go through. Google “cemetery contemplations” for more info. There’s also the Tibetan Buddhist “nine contemplations of Atisha,” which has you ponder truths like “the human body is fragile and vulnerable,” and “death will come, whether you are prepared or not” (1). Anything that constantly reinforces your awareness of death helps to re-wire your brain, until it’s not so terrifying to think about death and impermanence.
Note: Buddhist practice (especially Tibetan Buddhist practice, I find), often drifts seamlessly into themes of reincarnation and supernatural karma. Be prepared to skip those bits.
Write your own Ars Moriendi
Ars Moriendi, or “The Art of Dying,” were medieval texts that contained instructions for how to die well, or to use Doughty’s phrase, how to achieve a “good death.” Unfortunately, the instructions were for Christians (and also in Latin). Bummer. No matter, you can create your own. Doughty’s Ars Moriendi “[…] includes being prepared to die, with my affairs in order, the good and bad messages delivered that need delivering. The good death means dying while I still have my mind sharp and aware; it also means dying without having to endure large amounts of suffering and pain. The good death means accepting death as inevitable, and not fighting it when the time comes.” What does a good death mean to you?
IN SUM
Is this book entirely secular? Yes
If you had to describe the book in one sentence? Vive la decay! (as Doughty would say)
Who should read this book? All future corpses
When I embarked on this mortality blog I planned to steal only quick glances at death, then sprint away with my knowledge – a little like peeking behind a door just long enough to see what’s there, then slamming it shut before anything can get you. I now appreciate that this is massively part of the problem.
In my chapter one notes I wrote: “Will familiarizing myself with the processing of corpse decay help or not? I can’t say yet.” While reading about decomposition at first was very uncomfortable, the more Doughty talked, the more normal it seemed. Kind of like easing yourself into a lake expecting it to be entirely unbearable, but once you’re in it’s not so bad. I tend to feel most at ease with dying when I’m in nature - looking up at the stars, or alone in the forest. If I really drill down, it’s because in those moments the thought of my atoms returning to the universe is not filled with terror, but peace. Without this book I’m not sure I would have made the connection between this comforting thought and my own required comfort with decay and impermanence. I’m happy to have found that bridge.
REFERENCES