Thoughts On My Death

It may be natural, if not natural then at least typical, when someone close to us or important to us passes away we consider our own mortality. I had that experience just recently when I learned of the death of The Reverend Monsignor James Ribble. Knowing something about him, I’m quite sure he would have always favored being called “Monsignor”; and I mean no disrespect at all, but I will refer to him in this essay from here forward as Father Ribble. I do this only because when I knew him best, he had not yet attained the distinction of Monsignor. So before I launch in to thoughts of my own death let me tell you something about Father Ribble and why he was an important figure in my life.

As I have written in other essays on this blog, I came from a devoutly Catholic Italian family. I attended Mass every Sunday and observed all the Holy Days. We belonged to a small Parish that was formed to accommodate the Italian immigrants in my small home town, primarily because the Irish Catholics from the big Parish wouldn’t allow the Italians in. (Not exactly an example of Christian Charity.) Nonetheless the intimacy of the small parish meant that the Priests could know the parishioners well. Priests were often guests in our homes and were treated with great respect and over-the-top courtesy. It was an honor to have a priest come to your home for a meal or a visit. As part of the Catholic upbringing, my sister and I attended Catholic school as well. I have to say that my elementary school performance was far from stellar. Then it was grades one through eight- then four years of high school. After eight years of “David is not performing up to his potential” my prospects in high school didn’t look so good. Here’s where Father Ribble came in.

In the fall of 1968 the Bishop assigned Father Ribble to be Principal of our High School. I was entering as a freshman. He had just come from a very successful stint as Rector at a high school seminary, where for the first time in their history the Seminary had become fully accredited. He did the same in the two years he was at our school. You might say he was a “fixer”. He was the one they sent in to turn things around and get schools on the right path. He also was keenly interested in having successful debate teams- because speech and debate was his thing. In every academic assignment up to then he had built very good debate teams that competed successfully at high levels. He had an undeniably successful method of recruiting. As incoming underclassmen we could choose debate or choir- and choir was not presented as a desirable option, making the choice a little easier.  Once he had a large crop of unsuspecting freshmen, he added hand-picked upper classmen and began culling the group for those he felt had potential in debate and speech. I was among the ones he picked to form the team. I must admit it was nice to finally escape the curse of the nuns who didn’t hold out much hope for my success, and told my parents their best course was to “pray for David”.  This was a turning point in my school life and my entire life to follow.

Debate team members worked with him personally and got to know Father Ribble on a very different level than any of the other students. Our school was small so most of us engaged in a number of activities. I played football, some basketball and track. But the lasting skills from high school came from my association with Father Ribble. He was the single most influential teacher and the most important influence in my life, outside of family.

 I got involved in student government during his time at our school and I often found myself in his office to discuss this matter or that, in addition the time he worked with all of us honing our debate skills. He had gotten to know my parents because he took an interest in my family; and he drove us to all to Debate tournaments on the weekends, dropping us off at our homes at the end of a day of travel, sometimes coming in to visit my folks. None of the lessons I learned from Father Ribble were religious lessons, oddly enough. Instead, what I learned from him was his sophisticated, charismatic method for dealing with a world that demanded excellence of thought, logic, and communication. He was not at all the pious, impoverished, humble padre’. He was physically big and rather handsome- an imposing man. He came from a wealthy family and he believed that in order to be good, you had to look good too. He tended to have the finest things, many of which were, no-doubt supplied by his very well-to-do parents. For instance, he owned a luxury Oldsmobile Toronado, the first production automobile with front-wheel drive. When he became Principal the first thing he did was repaint and renovate the school building. He always referred to the school building itself as “the plant” and often mentioned that its appearance was important even to a school system that was supported by parish donations and often cash-strapped. I’m told later in life as Rector at the Cathedral, if he did not find the flower gardens around the Cathedral to his liking, or up to his standards, he would have them torn out completely and done again. He took flying lessons and got his pilot’s license in 1969. The man never used a phone book. I often would marvel at his habit of calling  “Information” to get every number he needed. If it was there- he used it and could not be bothered to waste time doing anything mundane himself, even looking up a phone number.  In the last part of his life he traveled the world in his own unique bigger-than-life manner, I’m sure. He made tremendous contributions at every station in his life.

The great impact on my life came from his insistence that we master a subject, practice it with precision, always- always argue with impeccable reasoning and logic, and use our best voice to be persuasive in our presentation- that's Debate. In addition to instilling these intellectual values, he was also by far the best public speaker I have ever heard in any arena. Although he was only at our school for two years he completed the turn-around the place needed, then went on to earn his Ph.D. in Speech and Communication. Our lives intersected with his for some years after as we stayed in touch- he even conducted the funeral Mass for my parents.

Upon hearing of his death, I reflected on the influence he had on me, and probably on many others as well. Given that he was a Priest, it could be assumed that some aspects of religion crept into that part of me he influenced. But it did not. So, as one person’s death tends to remind us of our own inescapable death, I sometimes take the time to prepare my thoughts for my death, using many of the intellectual tools he provided us with.

For religious people (particularly Judeo-Christians and Muslims) death has a whole different meaning than it does for someone like me. For them, death is a gateway to another existence which is real for them because their faith tells them it exists. I am atheist. (Note: I use that word as an adjective, not a noun. Because to say I am “an” atheist is to put me in a group that defines me, like religious groups tend to define their members.) Because of how I think about the world, I don’t live my life thinking there is another life to follow this one. The way we think about life informs the way we think about death. It is ironic that many of my thoughts about life and death were influenced by a man whose entire adult life was devoted to religion- a state of thinking, acting, and being I do not accept or practice. But it was his insistence upon reason and logic that led me to this way of thinking, and eventually to the notions I hold now. Please don’t think I “blame” a priest for my atheism. I don’t. Even to suggest that a life lived without religion is a reason for “blame” at all would not be correct for me. I have come to this way of thinking very happily. It is almost inconceivable for religious folk to think that a life devoid of a “God” can be a happy one. They tend to believe their own religious notions so strongly that they think someone who has no religion suffers a deficit or a missing ingredient to be regretted throughout life. It is not that way at all.

For me and many more who think similarly to me (and this number is growing very fast world-wide) we tend to enjoy our life quite a bit, knowing that this is the only life we have. In some ways it is both a relief not to worry about the eternal damnation taught to me in my youth, or wonder about the eternal rewards religion mysteriously promises; and gives me reasons to live a good and happy life with the only life I’ll have. Therefore thoughts about my death are tranquil and peaceful to me. It is not a doorway to struggle through- it is the simple and logical end to an existence much cherished while I had it.

I try to put my existence into a perspective that says life occurs through a random set of events that took place on this planet, and I’m just fortunate to have mine. I know from scientific evidence that the world has been here for billions of years and that my species is a very recent development in a continuum of life that has seen countless species come and go. That is not a belief system- it is literally true, and sometimes religion has a hard time reconciling that truth. That knowledge tells me I need to cherish the life I have and not fear the end of it, because I know that my death is a natural result of life, as it has been for every other living thing on this planet. Science also tells us just how fragile life can be, and that are many variables which come into play in determining how long each of us has to enjoy it. I don’t see any evidence of a grand plan here where some are “chosen” to live or die, be sick or be healed by an unseen all-powerful being. To my way of thinking, using the logic and reason I was taught, that is a view of life that makes no sense and can be kind of terrifying when you think about it.  I find great peace in my own view of life that tells me my death is inevitable and natural- not a punishment or reward with more punishment or reward to follow in an eternal plain that somehow exists beyond the physical plain of the universe. In that sense, I’ll be OK with my death.

None of this is meant to insult or denigrate those who hold genuine religious beliefs, and despite the stereotype that people who think as I do are out to convince others to join their “Godless ways”; this just concerns my way of thinking about life and death. In fact, others who think as I do rarely promote their ideas to others and understand the need for tolerance for all kinds of different thoughts on these matters. They are also some of the most giving and generous of those I know. They do good towards others not because they are motivated by eternal rewards or punishment, but because they see good works and caring as a responsibility towards their fellow human beings; that is, it is the way our species survives best. Science tells us that we, as an organism on this earth, will eventually succumb to the failing of our bodies. That is my fate, as it is for all of us.

Father Ribble got me to church one more time this week when I attended his Funeral Mass along with a packed Cathedral full of devout Catholics and nearly every other priest in the region- most of whom were touched by his life as I was. I was there to honor this man of great intellect and accomplishment- and even to recognize the good he had done for the church. In a very personal way I appreciate that his life and his death have reminded me to reflect on my own life and my own death to come. I will cling to life and enjoy it to the fullest for as long as I can- as I know he did. But as I move towards my inevitable death I will do so knowing that my accomplishments are reflected in the family I have, and leave this one life being content with what I have done and those who have cared for me.

Thanks for looking in.