Mourning without Myths – A Humanist Way to Grieve

Grief is universal, but the way we mourn is shaped by stories – stories about what happens after death, about where our loved ones go, and about how we should feel. For much of human history, these stories have been religious. They’ve promised heaven or reincarnation, reunion or divine design. But what happens when you don’t believe in any of that?

For the growing number of people who identify as nonreligious, secular, or spiritual-but-not-religious, grieving often means navigating loss without the comfort of traditional myths. It’s not that grief hits us harder; it’s that the frameworks society offers are often steeped in belief systems we don’t hold. Expressions like “they’re in a better place” or “God needed another angel” can feel hollow or even alienating. As a result, many secular mourners are left feeling emotionally adrift, unsure how to mourn truthfully, and in desperate need of rituals that resonate with their values.

This article explores what it means to grieve without illusions, and how humanists and others are crafting rituals, spaces, and language that reflect a commitment to honesty, connection, and compassion even in the face of profound loss.

The Silence Around Secular Grief

Despite the rise in religious disaffiliation, conversations around grief remain largely framed by religious traditions. According to Pew Research Center, roughly three in ten U.S. adults now identify as religiously unaffiliated. Among younger generations, that number is even higher. And yet, when someone dies, the cultural reflex is still to fall back on religious tropes.

Rachel, a 34-year-old atheist in Chicago, lost her father in 2022. “At the funeral, everyone kept saying he was watching over us,” she recalls. “I know they meant well, but it didn’t feel real to me. I just wanted someone to acknowledge that he was gone and that it hurt.”

Rachel’s experience is not unique. Many secular mourners report feeling isolated not just by their grief, but by the way others respond to it. Without the language of angels or afterlives, some well-meaning friends don’t know what to say. Others avoid the topic altogether.

“There’s an assumption that without belief, grief must be bleak,” says Dr. Sarah Townsend, a psychologist who studies secular coping mechanisms. “But in reality, many secular people find comfort in clarity, presence, and memory. The problem isn’t the lack of belief, it’s the lack of public support and understanding for nonreligious grief.”

Making Meaning Without Metaphysics

Grief forces us to confront the most existential of questions: What is a life? What remains after death? For humanists, the answers lie not in divine design but in relationships, values, and the tangible legacy a person leaves behind.

“We believe meaning is made, not given,” says Roy Speckhardt, former Executive Director of the American Humanist Association. “So in death, as in life, we look for meaning in how someone lived, what they loved, and how they touched others.”

This perspective is echoed in the rise of humanist funerals—ceremonies that center on the deceased’s life and values rather than religious doctrine. Humanist celebrants work with families to craft personalized services that reflect the individual’s personality, achievements, and relationships.

“It’s about honoring the person, not prescribing a cosmic narrative,” says Amy Boyle, a certified humanist celebrant in Oregon. “There’s no pretending they’re in heaven if that’s not what the family believes. Instead, we focus on who they were, what they gave, and how we carry them forward.”

These services are often rich with music, stories, and communal reflection. And for many, they feel more honest and more healing than traditional rites.

Gathering Without God

In recent years, secular mourning spaces have expanded beyond the funeral. Death cafés, for example, are informal gatherings where people come together to talk openly about death, dying, and loss without any religious agenda. Founded in 2011 in the UK, the Death Café movement now spans dozens of countries and attracts participants of all belief systems.

“Talking about death helps us live more fully,” says Jon Underwood, the late founder of the movement. “And it helps us support each other through grief.”

Similarly, secular grief circles and nonreligious bereavement groups are cropping up in community centers and online platforms. Organizations like Grief Beyond Belief offer peer-to-peer support for atheists and agnostics processing loss without supernatural beliefs.

Megan, who joined a secular grief group after losing her partner to cancer, found the experience transformative. “I didn’t have to censor myself or pretend to believe something I didn’t. I could say, ‘He’s gone, and I miss him,’ and everyone got it.”

Facing Mortality With Eyes Open

Some argue that for humanists, grief is not a deficit, but a moral opportunity. Without promises of eternal reward or reunion, the finality of death can sharpen our sense of what matters and deepen our gratitude for the time we have.

“In some ways, grief without illusion is more painful,” says Dr. Townsend. “But it can also be more profound. It invites us to face reality as it is and to cherish our connections while they last.”

This ethos is embodied in secular memorial practices that focus on presence and memory. Instead of lighting candles for a soul, mourners might share favorite recipes, plant a tree, or create memory books. Some write letters to the deceased, while others gather for story-sharing nights that celebrate a loved one’s quirks and passions.

Art, too, plays a crucial role. Visual artists, musicians, and poets have long explored themes of death and mourning in ways that transcend belief. For secular communities, this creative language offers both catharsis and connection. Works like Philip Larkin’s poem “Aubade” or the music of Sufjan Stevens’ “Carrie & Lowell” resonate not because they offer comfort, but because they offer truth.

The Need for Myth-Free Mourning

Despite these evolving practices, a cultural gap remains. Most public discourse around death still assumes a religious frame, and nonreligious grief is rarely represented in media or rituals.

“There’s a real need for new language and space,” says Boyle. “We need poems, songs, and eulogies that speak to secular experience. We need to normalize saying, ‘They are gone, and I loved them deeply.’ That’s enough.”

Humanist organizations are beginning to respond to this need. The American Humanist Association and Humanists UK offer resources for secular funerals and grief support. Online platforms like The Secular Buddhist, Free Inquiry, and The Humanist continue to publish essays that explore death without dogma.

But the movement is still young, and many grievers remain without community. This makes the creation of secular mourning spaces not just a personal project but a cultural one.

Reimagining Rituals: Building New Traditions from the Ground Up

In the absence of inherited religious customs, many secular mourners find themselves inventing new rituals or borrowing and reshaping existing ones to reflect their values.

“There’s no template,” says Javier, a secular celebrant based in New Mexico. “So we’re building traditions as we go. Some are spontaneous, others are deliberate. What they all share is intentionality.”

For example, instead of a formal wake, one family organized a potluck at their loved one’s favorite hiking spot. Guests wore flannel shirts, played folk music, and took turns reading excerpts from the deceased’s journals. Another person hosted a memory-building night where everyone contributed photos, anecdotes, and mementos into a communal “legacy box.”

“It felt more like a celebration than a ceremony,” says Nina, whose atheist mother requested a party instead of a funeral. “We toasted her with her favorite wine and laughed about all the ridiculous things she used to say. I didn’t feel the need to ‘send her off’ she was already part of us.”

Some secular mourners borrow aesthetic elements from religious rituals like lighting candles or gathering in circles but strip them of theological meaning. Others gravitate toward nature-based symbolism: scattering ashes in a forest, holding ceremonies at sunrise, or marking anniversaries with a hike or planting.

These gestures may seem small, but they serve a crucial function: they help make loss visible. In a society where mourning is often rushed or privatized, these secular rituals offer space for reflection and recognition without asking participants to subscribe to supernatural beliefs.

Grief in a Digital Age: The Rise of Online Memorials

As our lives move increasingly online, so too does our grief. Digital memorials have emerged as a powerful and often secular way to remember loved ones.

Websites like ForeverMissed, GatheringUs, and even Facebook’s memorialized profiles allow people to share stories, post photos, and send condolences regardless of location. For those without access to physical community, these digital spaces can be lifelines.

“There’s something comforting about being able to revisit memories whenever I want,” says Isaac, who lost his sister during the COVID-19 pandemic. “Her page is like a living archive. People still post updates about how they’re remembering her.”

These digital spaces often lack overt religious framing, making them inclusive for mourners of all beliefs. Some even host virtual memorial services, offering chat-based eulogies, video tributes, and live streamed ceremonies that reflect a more global, pluralistic approach to mourning.

While digital memorials can’t replace physical presence, they can offer a sense of continuity and community, especially for secular individuals seeking nontraditional outlets for grief.

A Humanist Goodbye

Grief changes us. It breaks and reshapes us, not through any divine intervention, but through the human processes of remembering, crying, and eventually, carrying on.

For those who mourn without myths, the path can be lonely. But it can also be honest. It can be rooted in what we know to be true: that life is finite, that love is real, and that meaning is something we make together.

Perhaps the most powerful words we can offer each other in grief are not “they’re in a better place,” but “I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

As we continue to forge new ways of mourning, let us do so with clarity and compassion with rituals that reflect our values, language that respects our truths, and communities that embrace sorrow without shame.

Because grief, like love, needs no god to be sacred.