Why I Want to Be Buried on the Moon

Bury Me on the Moon—Preferably on the Far Side

By Rick N. Tumlinson

I want to be buried on the moon.

Why? I am one of Apollo’s Children, part of the generation that grew up watching as NASA’s Apollo astronauts made the giant leap for all humankind with their epochal lunar footfalls. I’ve spent most of my life working on this new incredible phase of human history, our breakout into space, always with the moon in mind as a destination. I led return-to-the-moon petition drives in the 1980s, helped start the first mission to look for lunar water in the 1990s and have assisted in laying the groundwork for multiple civil and commercial lunar exploration initiatives.

Some of my reasons are admittedly selfish. I think of my daughter and any of my descendants, who, from anywhere on Earth, could always look up at that island in the sky and know I’m there.

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But I also want to do this for all the countless others who share my dream of opening space.

Death rituals are some of humanity’s most important traditions. Choosing a final resting place is often one of the last acts of personal agency in your life. And we usually honor these choices as such. For example, so long as it doesn’t impact public safety, having some or all of one’s ashes scattered in the ocean or some other place of great personal meaning is a respected practice. Recently, the space firm Celestis has expanded to include placing small symbolic amounts of human ashes on the moon as a beautiful way of honoring one’s deceased ancestors.

Yet there are those with other equally valid traditions who feel the moon should be off-limits to dreamers like me. Some Native Americans, such as those of the Navajo Nation, hold the Earth-facing side of the moon, as well as the other planets and even the stars, as not just lights in the night sky but as sacred objects of spiritual significance essential to their cosmology and ceremonies. The night sky spoke to their ancestors, and the moon’s movements and phases were an important source of wisdom and guidance.

Such deeply spiritual traditions typically consider proposals for lunar burial as pollution of this important object by crass commercial interests. Then again, anyone honoring the dearly departed with some form of extraterrestrial interment—via commercial services or otherwise—see such acts as deeply spiritual, too.

We should weigh history while pondering these two contrasting perspectives. It must be noted that while calling out a private company for placing tiny capsules of human ashes aboard exploration vehicles already flying to the moon, those protesting the idea largely ignore 65 years of lunar littering via government spacecraft from the U.S., Russia and the former U.S.S.R., as well as from India, Japan and China.

The current challenges being made against the placement of small amounts of ashes on the moon raise the question: Is it what people do on the moon that critics find so upsetting, or who is doing it? Is this perhaps less about time-honored traditions and more about the current stereotype of American space entrepreneurs plundering and pillaging space? To this I would add a follow-up question: Why is it considered normal for private firms like funeral homes to manage funeral services on Earth, but not in space? Might it be that the opposition is motivated by fear of what is to come, and the perceived need to take a stand against citizen-led lunar development?

This all being said, I get it. In the past, confronted with new frontiers, be it “empty” lands, or places already home to others, those with the power to do so have simply charged forward, taking whatever they wanted and shattering the ecosystems and societies they were invading.

Now, as we open what my mentor Gerard K. O’Neill called the “High Frontier” of space, we have the chance to do things differently, showing consideration for the traditions of those we represent as human pioneers and respect for the new places we will go. Perhaps we can evolve this disagreement about a few ashes into a more unifying conversation that transforms how we take our next small steps into the great beyond.

Whether my final resting place is or is not on the moon is of minor importance given what else is at stake, a macro-issue we must deal with right now, lest we make mistakes we will never be able to correct. Fortunately, the nature of the moon itself offers a solution. It twirls on its axis once for each orbit it makes of our world, meaning it always turns the same face—its “near” side—toward Earth. Its other hemisphere is invisible from our planet, creating an opportunity for both sides in this argument to get their way.

Thus I suggest a compromise for the ages that allows us to develop and build communities and preserve the essential nature of the moon as it will be seen by all Earth’s people for all time to come. The provisional name I’ve given this initiative is the “Luna Bella Protocols.” Its final form will be determined in years to come, but as the nickname suggests, the goal is to keep our moon as beautiful as it is today—forever.

I propose that we all agree to ban all permanent lunar development that is visible with the naked eye from Earth. Be it a strip mine gashing the eye of the “man in the moon,” a scar on an ear of the “lunar rabbit,” or a hole in the gown of the “goddess of the moon,” it is not our generation’s place to condemn all future generations to bear witness to our lack of compassion and frankly, good taste. We don’t need to change the moon’s familiar face—so why not agree to leave it unmarred by any obvious act of humanity, forevermore? Meanwhile, we can let our lunar dreams come into full bloom on the far side, never to be directly seen by wandering eyes here on Earth. There’s plenty to go around, so to speak.

Let the forces of cultural and natural preservation join with those expanding civilization to forge a pact encompassing all we do out there, for the visible benefit of everyone down here.

As to my burial plans? They can wait for now. We’ve got too much to do.

This is an opinion and analysis article, and the views expressed by the author or authors are not necessarily those of Scientific American.