Article
Comment
Death & life
4 min read

There’s fear or fascination as cultures confront death

If Western society discussed death more openly, would Halloween’s appeal hold such sway?

Rahil is a former Hindu monk, and author of Found By Love. He is a Tutor and Speaker at the Oxford Centre for Christian Apologetics.

A bronze statue of a resting angel sits atop a low stone grave.
A grave in a Dresden cemetery.
Veit Hammer on Unsplash.

Watching Christians jump and sing “death is defeated” was a strange experience.  

As a new believer in Christianity from a Hindu background, I was struck by how Christians approached death. While I had seen reincarnation as a path to heaven, I couldn’t understand why the church either hesitated to talk about death or celebrated it so intensely. Why were Christians sometimes dancing and other times, silent about death?  

During my early years in Christ if ever the topic of death arose from the fun times I was having with Christian friends it was almost always met with a dead silence - excuse the pun. On one occasion, the husband of a close friend in our small church community had passed away due to cancer. I was one of the first to make a call to his widowed wife. When my friends heard that I had done this the response was unusual, “well done Rahil!” “That’s so good Rahil.” Strange. I was sensitive over the phone, but it wasn’t that hard. Then I asked the others if they were going to make a call and the response was equally peculiar, “erm, I can’t” or “I just can’t do that... ” Puzzling.  

Recently, I came across the GodPod podcast, which shed some light for me on this hesitation. In an interview with Dr Lydia Dugdale about her book The Lost Art of Dying, a surprising statistic caught my attention: “In the 18th century, one-third of church sermons were about death and eternity.” I had to play that line back multiple times. In contrast, today’s sermons often focus on personal purpose, calling, or spiritual gifts. All important, but are we missing a vital balance—one eye on eternity, the other on our present lives?  

Why didn’t the British or ‘international’ media film the funerals taking place in Britain? Why hesitate with death at home and yet have a somewhat fascination with it in the East? 

This avoidance of death became even more apparent during the Covid pandemic. When the Delta strain hit India in 2021 it caused a massive widespread devastation and death. The funeral pyres were filling the sacred river banks up and down the country. At one point there was no more wood left to burn the bodies. It had run out! Urban crematoriums were overrun and so people left their deceased loved ones to simply float down the nearest river in the hope that the next life would be easier.  

I followed the detailed footage of the funeral pyres and bodies choking various holy rivers. It was meticulously covered by the western media. Even PM Boris Johnson at the time cancelled his trip to India because the Covid death crisis was “out of control.” It’s Interesting how the western media flippantly assumed that death could be controlled. And then an eminent academic in India wrote a remarkable article for Project Syndicate. Brahma Chellaney’s opening paragraph was,

“When reporting on any mass tragedy, a basic rule of journalism is to be sensitive to the victims and those who are grieving. Western media, which double as the international media, usually observe this rule at home but discard it when reporting on disasters in non-Western societies.”  

The author’s accurate observation demanded my attention. Why didn’t the British or ‘international’ media film the funerals taking place in Britain? Why hesitate with death at home and yet have a somewhat fascination with it in the East? Although Chellaney uses the concept of ‘grieving’ for his argument, there really isn’t such a spiritual concept across Indic faiths as Christianity knows of it. Of course, there is sadness and loss but grieving in the deep spiritual sense, not really. Is that why the Western media found it easier to cover death in the East? Because the secular (although Christian) West knows of the concept of grief so well at home? Or is it because the West do actually want to confront death without hiding and when they see other cultures do it so openly (and a tad bit casually) they are drawn to it? As morbid as it sounds (and I’ll do the British thing and apologise here) there might actually be a healthy interest with the way certain cultures embrace death that the west is seeking to find an expression for.  

Brahmar Mukherji chaired the Department of Biostatistics at Michigan University. In an interview with the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace in 2021 she stated that India as a society sees death differently which is why the death toll along with so many other complex and practical issues was so high in that nation during Covid. They embrace it more easily. I am not promoting reckless behaviour around rules. One can’t play with a rattlesnake and then call it faith. My hope is that the reader finds hope when confronting death with a Christian lens. Why have themes of Euthanasia and Assisted Dying become such a big thing in the West and not in the East?  

Which brings me to Halloween. It’s a leap, I know, but think about it: if Western societies and churches discussed death and eternity more openly, would Halloween’s macabre appeal hold such sway? Dressing up as a ghoul or a skeleton seems to be a playful, yet safe way to confront our fear of death—something we’re eager to do from behind a mask. That lighthearted, but jarring moment in the Barbie film comes to mind: “Do you guys ever think about dying?” Maybe that’s the real question we should be asking ourselves. Not just on Halloween, but frequently. How do we truly confront death—with fear, with fascination, or with the hope of something beyond? 

Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Death & life
Suffering
5 min read

Why end of life agony is not a good reason to allow death on demand

Assisted dying and the unintended consequences of compassion.

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

A open hand hold a pill.
Towfiqu Barbhuiya on Unsplash.

Those advocating Assisted Dying really have only one strong argument on their side – the argument from compassion. People who have seen relatives dying in extreme pain and discomfort understandably want to avoid that scenario. Surely the best way is to allow assisted dying as an early way out for such people to avoid the agony that such a death involves?  

Now it’s a powerful argument. To be honest I can’t say what I would feel if I faced such a death, or if I had to watch a loved one go through such an ordeal. All the same, there are good reasons to hold back from legalising assisted dying even in the face of distress at the prospect of enduring or having to watch a painful and agonising death.  

In any legislation, you have to bear in mind unintended consequences. A law may benefit one particular group, but have knock-on effects for another group, or wider social implications that are profoundly harmful. Few laws benefit everyone, so lawmakers have to make difficult decisions balancing the rights and benefits of different groups of people. 

It feels odd to be citing percentages and numbers faced with something so elemental and personal and death and suffering, but it is estimated that around two per cent of us will die in extreme pain and discomfort. Add in the 'safeguards' this bill proposes (a person must be suffering from a terminal disease with fewer than six months to live, capable of making such a decision, with two doctors and a judge to approve it) and the number of people this directly affects becomes really quite small. Much as we all sympathise and feel the force of stories of agonising suffering - and of course, every individual matters - to put it bluntly, is it right to entertain the knock-on effects on other groups in society and to make such a fundamental shift in our moral landscape, for the sake of the small number of us who will face this dreadful prospect? Reading the personal stories of those who have endured extreme pain as they approached death, or those who have to watch over ones do so is heart-rending - yet are they enough on their own to sanction a change to the law? 

Much has been made of the subtle pressure put upon elderly or disabled people to end it all, to stop being a burden on others. I have argued elsewhere on Seen and Unseen that that numerous elderly people will feel a moral obligation to safeguard the family inheritance by choosing an early death rather than spend the family fortune on end of life care, or turning their kids into carers for their elderly parents. Individual choice for those who face end of life pain unintentionally  lands an unenviable and unfair choice on many more vulnerable people in our society. Giles Fraser describes the indirect pressure well: 

“You can say “think of the children” with the tiniest inflection of the voice, make the subtlest of reference to money worries. We communicate with each other, often most powerfully, through almost imperceptible gestures of body language and facial expression. No legal safeguard on earth can detect such subliminal messaging.” 

There is also plenty of testimony that suggests that even with constant pain, life is still worth living. Michelle Anna-Moffatt writes movingly  of her brush with assisted suicide and why she pulled back from it, despite living life in constant pain.  

Once we have blurred the line between a carer offering a drink to relieve thirst and effectively killing them, a moral line has been crossed that should make us shudder. 

Despite the safeguards mentioned above, the move towards death on the NHS is bound to lead to a slippery slope – extending the right to die to wider groups with lesser obvious needs. As I wrote in The Times recently, given the grounds on which the case for change is being made – the priority of individual choice – there are no logical grounds for denying the right to die of anyone who chooses that option, regardless of their reasons. If a teenager going through a bout of depression, or a homeless person who cannot see a way out of their situation chooses to end it all, and their choice is absolute, on what grounds could we stop them? Once we have based our ethics on this territory, the slippery slope is not just likely, it is inevitable.  

Then there is the radical shift to our moral landscape. A disabled campaigner argues that asking for someone to help her to die “is no different for me than asking my caregiver to help me on the toilet, or to give me a shower, or a drink, or to help me to eat.” Sorry - but it is different, and we know it. Once we have blurred the line between a carer offering a drink to relieve thirst and effectively killing them, a moral line has been crossed that should make us shudder.  

In Canada, many doctors refuse, or don’t have time to administer the fatal dose so companies have sprung up, offering ‘medical professionals’ to come round with the syringe to finish you off. In other words, companies make money out of killing people. It is the commodification of death. When we have got to that point, you know we have wandered from the path somewhere.  

You would have to be stony-hearted indeed not to feel the force of the argument to avoid pain-filled deaths. Yet is a change to benefit such people worth the radical shift of moral value, the knock-on effects on vulnerable people who will come under pressure to die before their time, the move towards death on demand?  

Surely there are better ways to approach this? Doctors can decide to cease treatment to enable a natural death to take its course, or increase painkillers that will may hasten death - that is humane and falls on the right side of the line of treatment as it is done primarily to relieve pain, not to kill. Christian faith does not argue that life is to be preserved at any cost – our belief in martyrdom gives the lie to that. More importantly, a renewed effort to invest in palliative care and improved anaesthetics will surely reduce such deaths in the longer term. These approaches are surely much wiser and less impactful on the large numbers of vulnerable people in our society than the drastic step of legalising killing on the NHS.