Remember Death: An Examination of Death, Mourning, and Death Anxiety Within Islam

3.1 The body, soul, and spirit

The human body (badan), whether living or deceased, is subject to inviolability (ḥurmah) and dignity (karāmah) within Islamic law and the importance of upholding these two concepts stems from the belief that humans were made in the likeness of Allāh.^[22] Inviolability and dignity are also demonstrated within narratives pertaining to Prophet Muḥammad, such as one in which the Prophet chastises “a careless grave digger by noting that breaking the bones of the dead is akin to breaking the bones of the living.”^[23] As such, Islamic rituals and rites for the dead express profound attention to the physicality and bodily sensibilities related to death.

In the context of the classical Islamic approach to the complexities of the body, al-Ghazālī argued that the body is composed of mutable matter ruled by the laws of the physical realm it inhabits (i.e. gravity and time). The body encapsulates “the tools of the spirit, which, when put to use, enable it to strike with the hand, to listen with the ear, to see with the eye, and to know the true nature of things with the heart.”^[24] The eyes, ears, and limbs all provide the sensory processing which are indispensable implements that allow for navigation and interaction within the earthly world; however, the body is destructible, whereas the spirit and soul are not.

In the Qur’ān, the term for “spirit” is the masculine singular noun, rūḥ (رُوحُ), meaning “breath” that is used in reference to the revelation of the Qur’ān to the Prophet,^[25] or as the breath of Allāh which created life from a lump of clay.^[26] Similarly, the term for soul, nafs (نَفْس), also connotes “breath” but is a feminine noun used reflexively in relation to the self, or more ambiguously to the “soul”; however, the Qur’ān does not explicitly demonstrate the association of nafs with soul.^[27] As such, classical Muslim scholars contested the differentiation between the soul and the spirit to the body; some scholars decided not to use the two terms interchangeably, opting instead to differentiate between what constitutes nafs and rūḥ.

Implicitly, al-Ghazālī describes the nafs as “the sum of man’s passions, the root of his ‘blameworthy qualities.’”^[28] Furthermore, he states, “by the ‘spirit’ I mean that abstraction through which man apprehends the sciences, and the pains of sorrow as well as the pleasure of happiness.”^[29] In this context, al-Ghazālī may be implying rūḥ, which he associates with the inanimate matter, or the origin of the spirit of Allāh (al-rūḥ al-amīn) as it is referred to in the Qur’ān.^[30] Thus, al-Ghazālī may have subscribed to the common opinion held by other classical scholars^[31] of his time: the soul and spirit are indestructible subtle bodies (jism laṭif) that exist within a destructible material body (badan).^[32]

Though al-Ghazālī made distinctions between the terms, as evident in the statement, “it is man’s soul and spirit that constitute his real nature, which is immortal” (emphasis added),^[33] soul, spirit, and even the heart (qalb) are often used interchangeably within The Remembrance. Additionally, a further characteristic quality of the heart is the intelligence (‘aql) which does not simply denote the ability to acquire knowledge or to collect information, but rather it implies a specific quality that uniquely differs from person to person and is what sets humans apart from animals.^[34] Thus, it is the immaterial and indestructible qualities, distinct from the solely physical components, that not only makes humans so exceptional, but that contributes to the distinctive experience of death.^[35] The event of death allows for the soul, spirit, and heart to disengage completely from the physical constraints of the body and the worldly life and enter the realm of afterlife.^[36]

Although his generous interchangeability of the terms may leave his reader with a rather convoluted and befuddled understanding, there may be an explanation for this. Perhaps one presupposition that can be inferred from al-Ghazālī’s rather vague and inconsistent use of these terminologies is that this is done on purpose. By not providing distinguishing definitions of heart, soul, and spirit, al-Ghazālī may be alluding to the Qur’ānic verse: “And they ask you [O, Muḥammad] about the Spirit.^[37] Say, ‘The Spirit belongs to the domain of my Lord; and you were given only little knowledge’” (Qur’ān 17:85). In The Remembrance, al-Ghazālī states: “[Muḥammad] was not given leave to speak of this more than by saying ‘the spirit is by the command of my Lord’” (emphasis his own).^[38] Imaginably, al-Ghazālī is demonstrating that if Prophet Muḥammad was not given a full description of the nature of the spirit, then it must not be within the realm of human understanding.

Nevertheless, as classical Islam posited that the dead retain awareness within the grave, scholars considered the possibility that some element of the human form remained cognisant. They theorised that at death the soul “does not go anywhere beyond the environs of the corpse; the soul remains with the body for the full timespan (ajal) between death and resurrection.”^[39] Thus, an additional aspect of the experience of death in Islam is the notion that the dead possess an awareness of their condition and physicality which highlights the importance of considerations for their well-being through observances of mourning and memoria.

3.2 The experience of the grave

As descriptive narratives related to the experience of death is a unique feature within Islam, there is little left to the imagination of a Muslim who may ponder what happens when they die. The most illustrative of these narratives are the ones that describe the immediate experience following the burial (dafn). According to al-Ghazālī, the experience of death begins within the grave with the appearance of the death angels: ‘Azrā’il (“The Angel of Death”)^[40] and Munkar and Nakīr.^[41] The intermediate condition of the grave depends on the correct answers given during the interrogation by the angels, Munkar and Nakīr. The angels will ask which God, Prophet, and religion (dīn) the newly departed adheres to. Those who answer correctly – namely, Allāh, Prophet Muḥammad, and Islam – are greeted into blissfully spacious graves that offer a cool breeze and a view of Paradise – the abode that awaits them at the time of the Resurrection. By contrast, individuals who answer incorrectly are tossed into a tight hot grave inhabited by snakes and scorpions and other terrifying creatures, and with no relief from the torments they experience (‘adhāb al-qabr).^[42]

In addition to narratives exemplifying the distinctive Islamic concept of the dead experiencing punishment or reward in the gravely abode, there are also descriptions of the living witnessing the anguishes of the recently departed.^[43] In one account, a man, who after burying his sister, realises he had left an item of his behind in her grave.^[44] The man exhumes his sister’s grave to retrieve the item, but stops to curiously peer into the niche (lahd).^[45] He discovers the niche in flames and radiating a scorching heat. Terrified, the man rushes out of the grave and returns home to inquire about his sister’s behaviour whilst she was alive. After some hesitation, his mother confesses to him that his sister would often neglect her daily prayers, not perform the ritual ablutions carefully, and that she had a habit of eavesdropping on neighbours and sharing what she heard with others.

Though the poignancy of such chilling descriptions of the death experience is not likely to dissipate thanatophobia,^[46] these accounts demonstrate some key arguments presented by TMT. The description of the death angels expresses how supernatural agents “serve as gatekeepers to an afterlife”^[47]; and by reminding individuals of their mortality through the sharing of these accounts, they become “more interested in, and accepting of, supernatural phenomena in general.”^[48] Additionally, for an individual intend on pursuing the attainment of felicity in the afterlife, narratives such as these serve as important reminders of adhering to the tenets of the faith and ensuring the observance of ritual obligations.

3.3 Considerations for the well-being of the dead

Islamic funerary rituals and rites express profound attention to upholding the dignity and welfare of the deceased. Two fundamental rituals that establish this concept are demonstrated in the custom of washing the dead and praying for them after the burial. Washing a corpse is considered an essential task by the Muslim community (farḍ kifāya)^[49] and performed by individuals of the same sex, or those who are either related to the deceased (such as a spouse), or professional washers.^[50] The body is washed an odd number of times^[51] in the direction of Mecca in an isolated room with a sheet covering the private areas (‘awrat) at all times to maintain the privacy and inviolability of the deceased.^[52] After the body has been washed, it is enshrouded and ready for burial. Once the body arrives at the site of burial, the funerary procession partakes in the mandatory funerary prayers (ṣalāt al-janāzah).^[53]

Praying for the deceased is considered an obligation and a morally central part of Islamic funerary practices. These prayers are thought to aid the deceased during the interrogation in the grave by Munkar and Nakīr by reminding the dead of the tenets of their faith.^[54] Indeed, al-Ghazālī particularly emphasises the importance of funerary prayers for their effect on the immediate experience of the grave by citing the following narrative: “It was said by a certain man, ‘A brother of mine once passed away. I saw him in my sleep, and asked, ‘In what state were you upon being lowered onto the grave?’ And he replied, ‘I was approached by someone bearing a brand of fire, and had someone not prayed for me I saw that he would have beaten me with it.’”^[55]

An example of how prayers can influence the experience of the grave is also demonstrated in a narrative describing a group of pious Muslims visiting the Qarāfa^[56] in south-eastern Cairo, Egypt. The pious visitors come across the leg of a dead young man protruding out from his grave. Disturbed by the sight, the visitors quickly buried the protruding leg; however, several days later, the pious visitors came across the grave and once again the leg was seen sticking out. This time, the visitors decided to ask the locals about the young man’s deeds whilst he was alive. According to the local accounts, the young man had kicked his mother once and died without repenting for his sin. Thus, while the pious visitors buried the leg once more, they pleaded with Allāh to “seeking His forgiveness on behalf of the unrepentant son.”^[57]

In addition to accepted practices of mourning and memoria that consider the well-being of the deceased, there are also practices that are contested for the possibility that they are detrimental to the welfare of the dead. These practices include the act of wailing and the construction of tombstones. In its simplest sense, lamentation or wailing (nāḥa) may be understood as a way to manage the trauma or intensity of pain felt at the initial onset of death as mournfully crying out verbalises the agony of separation for both the living and the dead and validates the emotional intensity of the experience.^[58] After the initial emotional outpourings, the mourning may shift to a more narrative expression of grief which includes calling out the name of the deceased; a narration of how the death occurred; expressing feelings of anger or remorse; or speaking directly to the deceased. In this way, the lamentation becomes an act of dialogue between the living and the deceased in that “laments do not so much remember the dead as summon [them] to the presence of the living.”^[59]

And yet, the practice of wailing has been contested for a multitude of reasons. One such argument is that the intense outpouring of emotion affiliated with wailing is unnecessary and torments the deceased because the dead can hear them in the grave.^[60] This presupposition is demonstrated in various ḥadīth, including one in which the Prophet Muḥammad states, “the deceased who is wailed over is tortured for that wailing” (al-Bukhārī 23:50). Another argument against the practice posits that wailing can be interpreted as “an act of complaining against the judgement of God, a manner of rebelling with exasperation against His decree.”^[61] Death is a fate determined by Allāh as He fixes the lifespans (ajal) of all beings; therefore, it should be met with acceptance.^[62] One ḥadīth illustrating this notion describes the death of the son of Abū Ṭalḥa, a companion of the Prophet: while Abū Ṭalḥa was away one day, his son fell sick and died. Abū Ṭalḥa’s wife washed and enshrouded the body of the child and adorned herself for her husband. When Abū Ṭalḥa returned home that evening, he inquired about his son. His wife responded, “The child is quiet and I hope he is in peace,” and the couple spent the night together. The following morning, his wife informed him that his son had died. Abū Ṭalḥa went to offer the morning prayer with the Prophet Muḥammad and told him what had happened. The Prophet blessed Abū Ṭalḥa and his wife for their reaction to their misfortune and said, “May Allāh bless you with good offspring” (al-Bukhārī 23: 41). After this event, Abū Ṭalḥa’s wife bore nine sons. Perhaps the implied message of this ḥadīth is that a calm acceptance of death is preferable and rewarded.

Additionally, the construction of tombstones is also considered detrimental to the well-being of the deceased as it is thought that the additional weight of a tombstone inflicted physical pain on the corpse.^[63] Furthermore, Muslim scholars also argued against the construction of tombstones because not only do ornamentation of tombstones encourage outward vanities, but they may also encourage venerating the dead or idolatry – both of which are serious offences in Islam.^[64] Ideally, the function of tombstones is to mark the location of the dead which discourages individuals from walking or sitting on graves and allows for individuals to find and visit the dead to pray on their behalf.^[65] Additionally, they serve as a reminder that no one, not even the most pious, is spared from death.

5.1 Confronting death anxiety in Islam

The phrase, “Every soul will taste death,” appears upwards to three times within the Qur’ān.^[76] Arguably, this does more than demonstrate that Islam has an exceptional preoccupation with the subject of death; it acts as a reminder that the only certainty of life is that it will end. Not only is this an important underlying fact reiterated throughout The Remembrance, but it also allows for the introductions of parameters for navigating this worldly life to prepare for the next. The core tenet is the understanding that the real world is the world to come (ākhira) – everything else is just a distraction embedded in the material and temporally confined world (dunyā); “People are asleep, and when they die, they awake” (Qur’ān 50:22).^[77] In an effort to better understand how best to prepare for this awakening, al-Ghazālī advocated for traditional practices, such as visiting graves and meditating on death, as a method of recognising the inevitability of death in order to better prepare for the afterlife.

By not remembering their impending mortality and depriving themselves of the pursuit of felicity^[78] in their earthly life, the individual subjects themselves to an eternity of punishments and agonies and is barred from entering the abode of Paradise upon the hour of the Resurrection (al-qiyāma).^[79] Instead, they experience dreadful torments in their graves and are bound for a seven-levelled hell^[80] where the damned drink festering waters and repeatedly vomit pus and blood, all while their skin is continually burned by the scorching winds (Qur’ān 56:42–43; Qur’ān 7:41).^[81]

As far as al-Ghazālī was concerned, “the meaning of death is quite simply the deprivation of man’s property consequent upon his being pitched into another world which does not correspond to this.”^[82] Evidently, al-Ghazālī is revealing a significant observation: with every breath drawn, each individual confronts the inevitable event of death, and yet they seemingly go about their life without giving this fact any attention. He points to earthly attachments and sheer ignorance as to the unmistakable agents that divert the attention of individuals away from the awareness of death.

The problem with attachments is twofold: firstly, attachments distract from remembering the real and inevitable event of death. This attachment manifests when there is a lack of awareness of one’s certain death:

Always does he think that death is ahead of him, but does not reckon upon its befalling him and that before long he will tumble into it. Constantly does he imagine that he will be following funeral cortèges, and never imagines that his own cortège will some day be followed, because witnessing the demise of others is something which is often repeated and has become familiar. But as far as his own death is concerned, he has no experience of it, and cannot imagine that he will experience it, for it has never transpired; and when it does it will never do so again: it will be the first and the final time.^[83]

Death should not just be remembered during a funerary procession or when one visits the graves of the dead, but rather it should be a necessary and almost daily practice for all. Death implies the separation of attachments which can be a painful process if these attachments were the primary concern of the individual whilst they were alive. To avoid the pain and trauma of separating from these attachments, it is best to recognise that attachments will be left behind. Only when death is acknowledged and attachments have been released, the focus shifts from anxiety to anticipating “the only true life, that of the Hereafter.”^[84] In The Remembrance, al-Ghazālī cites the following āṭhār:

Said Ya’lā ibn al-Walīd, “I was walking one day with Abu’l-Dardā, and asked him, ‘What do you like to happen to those you like?’ ‘Death,’ he answered. ‘But if one has not died yet?’ I asked, and he answered, ‘That his progeny and wealth should be scanty. I feel a liking for death because it is liked only by the believer, whom it releases from his imprisonment. And I like one’s progeny and wealth to be scanty because these things are a trial, and can occasion familiarity with this world, and familiarity with that which must one day be left behind is the very extremity of sorrow. All that is other than God, His remembrance, and familiarity with Him must be abandoned upon one’s death.”’^[85]

As this account and other narratives cited throughout The Remembrance demonstrate, recognising death entails recognising the attachments which not only make separating from this life more difficult, but also distract one from the “attainment of otherworldly felicity.”^[86]

5.2 Visiting graves and meditating on death

In addition to demonstrating that mundane and structured day-to-day activities can be used to evoke the practice of remembrance of death,^[87] visiting graves, washing the dead, and praying on their behalf are also suitable practices that evoke the living of the inevitability of death. According to al-Ghazālī, the Prophet Muḥammad particularly encouraged the visitation of graves and other funerary practices: “Visit graves, and you will be reminded of the Afterlife; wash your dead, for truly in the touching of an empty body there is an eloquent lesson; and offer prayers at funerals, that perhaps you may grieve.”^[88] More specifically, al-Ghazālī posited that the best practice is spending time at cemeteries and meditating upon the graves of deceased, pious Muslims.

While they were alive, the pious were examples of virtue and would have been asked to bless and pray for other individuals; therefore, it is believed that in their death they still retain the influence to intercede on behalf of others. This can be demonstrated in reference to the Qarāfa in Egypt. As the Prophet encouraged the practice of visiting graves, visitors of the Cairene cemeteries would congregate to pray for intercession at the tombs or shrines of the pious and the saints.^[89] Additionally, the cemeteries became places of religious education, particularly for Ṣūfīs, who flocked to the shrines of saints to receive education from religious mudarrisūn or shaykhs with the hopes of employment opportunities at the end of their studies. Thus, the Qarāfa not only represented the location in which the physical remains of the dead are interred, but they served as an important place for both the living and the dead; the living benefit from intercessions of the dead, and the dead benefit from the prayers of the living.^[90]

Regularly contemplating death brings to mind mannerisms, deeds, and attachments to the world – superfluous notions that bind to the material world and which must be recognised and overcome in the pursuit of felicity in the afterlife. To demonstrate how contemplating death can be practiced, al-Ghazālī suggests imagining the dead decomposing beneath the ground:

Said ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz^[91] to a man with whom he was sitting, ‘O So-and-so! Tonight I have not slept because of thinking of the grave and its occupant. Truly, if you were to behold a dead man after three days in his grave you would be repelled by his presence even had you been familiar with him for a long while. You would see a house with a changed smell in which vermin move about, and where pus flows, where worms penetrate, and where the shrouds have decayed, where once there was a sweet odour, pure garments and an excellent appearance.’ Then he moaned and fell down in a swoon.^[92]

In imagining their death in this way, the contemplator of these meditations can experience “dhawq (literally ‘tasting’) of death, the result of which would be a decisive reorientation of the moral compass and direction of one’s life.”^[93] To illustrate the effects of tasting one’s death further, al-Ghazālī cites another narrative attributed to ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz, who responds to the reaction of a jurist who was taken aback with his rather macabre contemplation of his death:

‘O So-and-So!’ [the Caliph] said, ‘Could you but see me three days after having been set in my grave, when the pupils of my eyes have come forth and flowed across my cheeks, when my lips have shrivelled back over my teeth, when my mouth has opened and the pus runs out, when my belly is inflated and rises above my chest, when my spine protrudes from my rear, and when the worms, and the pus have emerged from my nostrils; then you would behold something far more remarkable than that which you see now.’^[94]

These inspired descriptions illustrating the liberation from the constraints of the physical abode may also imply that one does not need to wait until physical death to experience this liberation. Contemplating death induces a shift in the existential framework of how death is interpreted.

Frequently contemplating death allows for the death of one’s lower qualities, or carnal soul (fanā’ al-nafs) which leads one towards the acceptance of corporeal death and the subsequent reunion with Allāh. Within Ṣūfīsm, the death of the carnal soul (nafs) implies the destruction of qualities that prevent the possibility for experiencing the spiritual, or mystical union with Allāh, and “the ensuing spiritual resurrection in this life.”^[95] Essentially, the remembrance of death allows for the annihilation of the carnal soul which consequently liberates the individual into a state of surrender^[96] and contentment harbouring no fear of death nor attachments to life.^[97]

There are thorough scholarly works on this concept which verge beyond the scope of this present study; however, it is important to note that voluntary death refers to the experience of the death of the conventional self before dying a natural death. Furthermore, the notion of a radical break from the attachments of the earthly world requires a substantial period of preparation and practice; an approach not likely attainable for even the most devout practitioners, nor is this concept likely useful for individuals nearing the end of their lives.