CHAPTER VIII

GREEK AND ROMAN VIEWS OF A FUTURE LIFE

ONCE more acknowledging indebtedness to the splendid work of Dr. Alger, from which we have already quoted freely, we again present our readers with a fine descriptive passage from “A Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life,” (pages 175-6), as it serves our purpose so exactly at this particular juncture in our progressive narrative. “The disembodied soul, as conceived by the Greeks, and after them by the Romans, is material, but of so thin a contexture that it cannot be felt with the hands. It is exhaled with the dying breath, or issues through a warrior's wounds. The owner passes through its uninjured form as through the air. It is to the body what a dream is to waking existence. Retaining the shape, lineaments and motion the man had in life, it is immediately recognized upon appearing. It quits the body with much reluctance, leaving that warm and vigorous investiture for a chill and forceless existence. It glides along without noise and very swiftly, like a shadow. It is unable to enter the lower kingdom and be at peace until its deserted body has been buried with the sacred rites; meanwhile, naked and sad, it flits restlessly about the gates, uttering doleful moans.”

Unsatisfactory though such a picture unquestionably is, if we apply it to all humanity, it certainly is not without an element of truth if we restrict its application to those who, while on earth, have failed to pay any adequate attention to the supersensuous demands of life.

The Greeks and Romans, as peoples, were during a considerable portion of their externally prosperous history devoted far more to sensuous than to spiritual ideals; consequently the highly gifted seers and seeresses among them, of whom there were many, soon came to perceive that the state of the soul, immediately following physical dissolution, was not extremely enjoyable in a majority of instances, though hopeless misery was no part of the Greek or Roman creed. The importance of burial rites was purposely exaggerated by an ambitious priesthood and various orders of tradespeople, who to this very day, almost all over the earth, profit greatly, not only financially but in the sense of upholding the dignity of their respective offices by the superstitious regard almost universally entertained for funeral services and their elaborate collaterals. There is, without doubt, even some spiritual foundation for funeral and memorial rites, and we would be far from discouraging them totally; at the same time it is clear to see that all unnecessary expenditure upon orgies for the departed is a waste of means and effort, and it also tends to encourage necromantic beliefs and practices in place of aiding us to outgrow our slavish dependence upon external forms to help us in seasons of extremity.

Such mighty minds as Socrates, Plato, and a few other superb philosophers, entertained almost nothing of the popular belief, and one of the chief causes which led to the condemnation to death of the highly honorable Socrates by Athenian judges was the fearless outspokenness with which he inveighed against the slavish devotion to externals which prevailed in his day, even as it prevails in ours to an extent which is almost incredible.

The Greek Mysteries were (and are) sublime beyond compare, but their magnificent symbolism was often shrouded in pitiable superstition before the gaze of the multitude. The splendid dramas in which were enacted the story of the descent of spirit into matter, its gradual ascent through matter to a higher self-conscious immortal life than it had previously enjoyed, and its final participation in the bliss and glory of life celestial, were regarded by many only as religious spectacles, like the famous Passion Play in Bavaria, which has drawn enormous crowds to the celebrated village of Ober Ammergau whenever it has been presented.

The people at large, in all centuries and through all ages, have seen the shell but have not even imagined the kernel within, and when true philosophers (lovers of wisdom) have determined to penetrate to the core of symbolism and unveil a mystery they have been greeted with execration and doomed to execution by a fanatical mob prompted by a corrupted priesthood. A few faithful disciples have, however, always gathered about them, and these have preserved, even though but imperfectly, for future generations the mighty saving truths which the world’s greatest thinkers have, at the peril of their earthly all, uncompromisingly enunciated. Some of the early Greek authors described the universe in highly fantastic language and gave to the world descriptions of the unseen spheres of spirit which are to-day generally regarded as merely fanciful speculations. Imaginary though the bulk of these undoubtedly are, there is much in them which repays attention as they are a strange combination of the results of genuine seership and the workings of undisciplined imagination. Though many of the joyless scenes depicted by early Greek rhapsodists as belonging to the world of departed souls would be sad indeed to contemplate were they presented as enduring conditions, we must not forget that the doctrine of reincarnation prevailed in ancient Greece among those who could see little brightness ahead of any one in the "land of shades," thus, while they did not expect much joy or sunshine in the unseen realms, they looked forward to a glad return to earth provided the life previously lived merited so felicitous a consequence as another earthly existence superior to the former.

Modern Theosophy teaches many doctrines which are as near of kin to early Greek as to Hindu concepts, even when leaders in the Theosophical Society draw their teachings avowedly from Hindu sources and freely decorate their speech with Sanskrit words and phrases. This is not difficult to explain when we have once grasped the idea of a universal doctrine and symbolism which runs through all ancient and modern creeds and rituals. We must not forget that when dealing with views of the future life entertained by Greeks of old, we are more often presented with poetical rhapsodies than with anything claiming to be a recital of unembellished fact, and this is precisely the case with Christian legends also. We turn to Virgil and to Homer to study classic views and to Dante and Milton to grasp the ideas of Christians of a later age. In both instances we must make allowance for "poetic license" and not take too literally much that may have originally been intended as an allegory. Allegorical teaching is not properly fictitious, it is illustrative, representative, dramatic in form, and intended to present vivid tableaux by means of which the picture-loving multitude may be led to embrace certain moral truths which they might not so readily heed were they presented without theatrical accompaniments.

That the Greeks expected to recognize their friends in the spirit-spheres is evident from the words of Sophocles who reports the last words of Antigone: “Departing I strongly cherish the hope that I shall be fondly welcomed by my father, my mother, and my brother.” Plato, in common with others among the greatest of Greek philosophers, endorses the Socratic doctrine, which is noble, rational and true, that one who has lived an upright life on earth has no need to fear death or aught that lies beyond it. This ancient philosophic doctrine has found its way into modern religious poetry, as witness a beautiful and highly optimistic hymn found in Unitarian and other rational, though spiritually minded, hymnals:

“Fear ends with death, beyond it
I nothing see but God.”

Extravagant though such a sentiment may be if we seek to apply it universally,—and a sternly just spiritual philosophy may insist upon modifying it,—it is immeasurably superior to the awful reasonless outcries of the bigots and fanatics who “preach into hell” all who have not accepted their creed, or who may have wandered from the path which they in their impudence and arrogance have declared to be the only road to heaven.

Hades, or the underworld of the Greeks, was not a state or place of banishment because of sin or in consequence of any broken law in the plan of the universe; it was merely a state into which all must pass after they had completed their term of physical existence upon the surface of the earth, if their souls were too feeble to climb to Olympus and dwell among divinities. But we must not be unmindful of the important part played by the irrepressible idea of retribution for all righteousness and for all iniquity which is formed in the very essence of human nature, and which blossomed forth in Greece in a contrasting Elysium and Tartarus, the former being the blissful abode of the righteous, the latter a penal settlement for the ungodly.

The distribution of poetic justice as set forth in the Plays sometimes borders on the ludicrous and reminds us of burlesque, precisely as we can scarcely avoid laughter when remembering some of the fantastic mediæval means employed to teach moral lessons and lead the illiterate to forsake their vices and pursue a path of virtue. As accommodations to an undeveloped mental condition on the part of the “vulgar” these representations may be pardonable, but we must seek far beyond them to discover the higher ideas of the learned æsthetic Greeks, whose extreme culture is to this day universally acknowledged. There can be little doubt that the gods and goddesses of Greece and Rome were glorified heroes and heroines who had been, to use a Christian phrase, “canonized as saints” and afterwards promoted to the rank of deities, though there is also a decidedly astronomical element in all mythology.

Ignatius Donelly, in his interesting book “Atlantis,” declares that the Greek divinities were founded upon the rulers of Poseidon, that latest fragment of a once enormous island-continent over which the Atlantic waters for many millenniums have rolled. Be this as it may, mythology distinctly reveals to us a popular belief in communion with individual beings who had once lived on earth, and who still retained the distinctive features of their respective individualities, but as astronomical elements are found in every theological and theosophical system, we find the names of the different planets given to divinities and attributes ascribed to them not unlike those which modern astrologers assign to Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Mars and Mercury when they engage in casting and reading horoscopes. Turning to Ovid, we find him summing up the cream of Greek and Roman thought concerning the hereafter in the following illuminating words, which clearly show that differing planes of existence were acknowledged and that the fate of the lower was not ever confounded with the destiny of the higher.

"Terra tegit carnem; tumulum circumvolat umbra;
Oreus habet manes; spiritus astra petit."

A free translation of which may read,

Earth hides the flesh; the shade flits round the tomb;
The image is received by the underworld; the spirit seeks the stars.

Euripides declares that each element in man seeks affinity with its own; thus comes the saying, "the body to the ground; the spirit to the ether." Sublime indeed are many classic accounts of the promotion of ennobled souls to rank among the gods in the Elysium. As human souls still retain distinctive individuality, they were portrayed as exercising sway over the destinies of earth, and this rational faith undoubtedly was shared by all among the truly enlightened philosophers, seers and sages of antiquity. Plotinus has told us that "Whoever has wisdom and true virtue in soul differs but little from superior beings, in this alone being inferior to them—that he is in body." Such an one dying may therefore say with Empedocles, “Farewell! A god immortal now am I.” Vespasian in his expiring moments said, “I shall soon be a god.” These and many more expressions of similar character easily culled from the riches of the classic treasure house, must prove beyond dispute that the pure, upright and valorous of earth had no doubt as to their reception among divinities when they had finished their earthly course and passed on to their inevitable reward.

Among devoted friends between whom the bond of friendship has been extremely strong, though one has been manifestly intellectually and morally the superior of the other, fears have been expressed lest the apotheosis of the heroic one should completely banish him from the society of his less-developed comrade who could not be transported to the “Blessed Isles.” In many such instances a hero is said to have voluntarily foregone his beatification that he might still remain united with the companion to whom he was devotedly attached. In esoteric confraternities where the Mysteries of Eleusis are fully understood, the praise of this voluntary self-immolation for the sake of another is highly extolled and the declaration is made that whosoever makes this voluntary sacrifice is not only not deprived of his own merited exaltation, but is enabled to so minister from the Elysium to his friend for whom he wished to sacrifice his own promotion that his friend is soon redeemed from the land of shades and entitled to join him in the bliss of Paradise.

Though the barbaric notion is not absent from classic literature that Elysian rewards are bestowed arbitrarily by gods upon their favorites, this crude and decidedly unjust opinion must not be taken as other than a corruption of the classic faith, and it was always discountenanced, and often vehemently inveighed against, by moral teachers who unanimously insisted that all happiness and glory in the hereafter resulted solely from virtuous life. Seneca satirized in the most biting language what he considered a demoralizing doctrine and travestied the supposed deification in the future life of those who were not worthy of such distinction, even going so far as to sarcastically describe the reception of Claudius among celestial “pumpkins.” Pindar, the glorious Theban lyrist, takes cheerful views of the state of the departed in general, though he never fails to draw a sharp and equitable line of demarcation between the righteous and the insincere after their exit from mortal bodies. In the various dialogues of Plato many different doctrines are reviewed, but we may reasonably believe that the teachings of his illustrious preceptor, Socrates, were those which he really accepted and transmitted to the world.

It cannot be disputed that Plato has expressed a firm religious and philosophical faith in the immortality of the soul, his thoughts, indeed, were constantly directed to this transcendent theme, and such pure meditations had a great effect upon his wise and useful life. Plato's faith rested not alone or chiefly upon traditional doctrines but upon metaphysical reasonings, in which he took elaborate delight. The sincerity of his reasoning is self-evident as he always seeks to draw practical inferences which tend to ennoble conduct and lead his pupils to live more sanely and seriously than though they had been bereft of their counselor's sage precepts. Plato's philosophy is at times obscure but it is always moral and his teachings concerning reëmbodiment are fully up to the standard of many modern Theosophical deliverances. The soul is always essentially pure, only its vesture can be soiled or muddy. The physical body is sometimes alluded to as a prison-house and the whole material world to a place of humiliation, which is in direct contrast with the materialistic theory, very prevalent in Plato’s day, that this external world is the place of joy and blessedness and the state beyond death a dreary unlighted wilderness in which the waning shades of the departed gradually lose all consciousness and eventually pass into extinction.

The immense variety of views entertained by ancient Greeks and Romans were no more numerous and conflicting than those put forward at the present time, for this enlightened twentieth century, with all its boasted culture and refinement, has not outgrown materialism on the one hand or ecclesiastical fanaticism on the other, though both are surely and rapidly declining. Present day spiritual revelations do not serve entirely to dispel confusion, indeed they sometimes seem to add to it, though to the really thoughtful examiner of the many diverse communications alleged to proceed from “departed spirits” the conflict of statement is only superficially apparent.

We cannot presume that all who pass from earth to spirit-life are equally enlightened or that all share identical experiences, nor can we suppose that messages from spirit-spheres are always accurately transmitted or correctly interpreted. Now, as in days of old, there must be an immense amount of difference in the condition of souls who have “crossed the border” even as there is practically incalculable difference between one state of humanity and another here on earth. Again and yet again are we compelled to reiterate the just and solemn truth that dropping a physical body does not transform a character, and no belief in vicarious atonement can produce results in the hereafter which it certainly does not produce on earth.

Stern yet loving is the decree of Deity made manifest in all worlds equally. As the individual sows so must the individual reap. It is a matter of small moment whether we agree or not as to the means whereby the law of equity is universally fulfilled, but to acknowledge that law and trust undoubtingly in its universal fulfilment is to equip ourselves with a moral philosophy which will stand the test of every assault that can ever be made upon it.

How far Plato in the “Phædo” has given us an all-satisfying philosophy of life we leave our readers to decide among themselves by supplementing these meditations of our own with a portion of one of the finest dialogues which the famous Grecian sage has transmitted to posterity.

Socrates is preparing to quaff the hemlock and in view of an almost immediately impending change of state, from earth to spirit life, discourses thus among his friends who have remained faithful to their teacher to the last, despite every calumny and every blast of persecution.

“Answer me, then,” he said, “what that is which, when it is in the body, the body will be alive?”

“Soul,” he replied.

“Is not this, then, always the case?”

“How should it not be?” said he.

“Does the soul, then, always bring life to whatever it occupies?”

“It does indeed,” he replied.

“Whether, then, is there anything contrary to life or not?”

“There is,” he replied.

“What?” “ Death.”

“ The soul, then, will never admit the contrary of that which it brings with it, as has been already allowed?”

“ Most assuredly,” replied Cebes.

“ What, then? How do we denominate that which does not admit the idea of the even?”

“ Uneven,” he replied.

“ And that which does not admit the just, nor the musical?”

“ Unmusical,” he said, “ and unjust.”

“ Be it so. But what do we call that which does not admit death?”

“ Immortal,” he replied.

“ Therefore, does not the soul admit death?”

“ No.”

“ Is the soul, then, immortal?”

“ Immortal.”

“ Be it so,” he said. “ Shall we say, then, that this has been now demonstrated? or how think you?”

“ Most completely, Socrates.”

“ What, then,” said he, “ Cebes, if it were necessary for the uneven to be imperishable, would the number three be otherwise than imperishable?”

“ How should it not?”

“ If, therefore, it were also necessary that what is without heat should be imperishable, when any one should introduce heat to snow, would not the snow withdraw itself, safe and unmelted? For it would not perish; nor yet would it stay and admit the heat.”

“ You say truly,” he replied.

“ In like manner, I think, if that which is insusceptible of cold were imperishable, that when anything cold approached the fire, it would neither be extinguished nor perish, but would depart quite safe."

" Of necessity," he said.

"Must we not, then, of necessity," he continued, " speak thus of that which is immortal? if that which is immortal is imperishable, it is impossible for the soul to perish, when death approaches it. For, from what has been said already, it will not admit death, nor will ever be dead; just as we said that three will never be even, nor, again, will the odd; nor will fire be cold, nor yet the heat that is in fire. But some one may say, what hinders, though the odd can never become even by the approach of the even, as we have allowed, yet, when the odd is destroyed, that the even should succeed in its place? We could not contend with him who should make this objection that it is not destroyed, for the uneven is not imperishable; since, if this were granted us, we might easily have contended that, on the approach of the even, the odd and the three depart; and we might have contended in the same way with respect to fire, heat, and the rest, might we not?"

" Certainly."

"Wherefore, with respect to the immortal, if we have allowed that it is imperishable, the soul, in addition to its being immortal, must also be imperishable; if not, there will be need of other arguments."

"But there is no need," he said, "so far as that is concerned; for scarcely could anything not admit of corruption, if that which is immortal and eternal is liable to it."

"The deity, indeed, I think," said Socrates, "and the idea itself of life, and if anything else is immortal, must be allowed by all beings to be incapable of dissolution." “By Jupiter!” he replied, “by all men, indeed, and still more, as I think, by the gods.”

“Since, then, that which is immortal is also incorruptible, can the soul, since it is immortal, be anything else than imperishable?”

“It must, of necessity, be so.”

“When, therefore, death approaches a man, the mortal part of him, as it appears, dies, but the immortal part departs safe and uncorrupted, having withdrawn itself from death?”

“It appears so.”

“The soul, therefore,” he said, “Cebes, is most certainly immortal and imperishable, and our souls will really exist in Hades.”

“Therefore, Socrates,” he said, “I have nothing further to say against this, nor any reason for doubting your arguments. But if Simmias here, or any one else, has anything to say, it were well for him not to be silent; for I know not to what other opportunity beyond the present any one can defer it, who wishes either to speak or hear about these things.”

“But, indeed,” said Simmias, “neither have I any reason to doubt what has been urged; yet, from the magnitude of the subject discussed, and from my low opinion of human weakness, I am compelled still to retain a doubt within myself with respect to what has been said.”

“Not only so, Simmias,” said Socrates, “but you say this well; and, moreover, the first hypotheses, even though they are credible to you, should nevertheless be examined more carefully; and if you should investigate them sufficiently, I think you will follow my reasoning as far as it is possible for man to do so; and if this very point becomes clear, you will inquire no further.”

“You speak truly,” he said.

“But it is right, my friends,” he said, “that we should consider this—that if the soul is immortal, it requires our care not only for the present time, which we call life, but for all time; and the danger would now appear to be dreadful if one should neglect it. For if death were a deliverance from everything, it would be a great gain for the wicked, when they die, to be delivered at the same time from the body, and from their vices together with the soul; but now, since it appears to be immortal, it can have no other refuge from evils, nor safety, except by becoming as good and wise as possible. For the soul goes to Hades possessing nothing else than its discipline and education, which are said to be of the greatest advantage or detriment to the dead, on the very beginning of his journey thither. For, thus, it is said that each person’s demon who was assigned to him while living, when he dies conducts him to some place, where they that are assembled together must receive sentence, and then proceed to Hades with that guide who has been ordered to conduct them from hence thither. But there having received their deserts, and having remained the appointed time, another guide brings them back hither again, after many and long revolutions of time. The journey, then, is not such as the Telephus of Æschylus describes it; for he says that a simple path leads to Hades; but it appears to me to be neither simple nor one, for there would be no need of guides, nor could any one ever miss the way, if there were but one. But now it appears to have many divisions and windings; and this I conjecture from our religious and funeral rites.¹ The well-ordered and wise soul, then, both follows, and is not ignorant of its present condition; but that which through passion clings to the body, as I said before, having longingly fluttered about it for a long time, and about its visible place,² after vehement resistance and great suffering, is forcibly and with great difficulty led away by its appointed demon. And when it arrives at the place where the others are, impure and having done any such thing as the committal of unrighteous murders or other similar actions, which are kindred to these, and are the deeds of kindred souls, every one shuns it and turns away from it, and will be neither its fellow-traveler nor guide; but it wanders about, oppressed with every kind of helplessness, until certain periods have elapsed; and when these are completed, it is carried, of necessity, to an abode suitable to it. But the soul which has passed through life with purity and moderation, having obtained the gods for its fellow-travelers and guides, settles each in the place suited to it."

The foregoing extracts are taken verbatim from a literal translation of Plato's "Phædo" made by Henry Cary, M. A., Worcester College, Oxford, England, and contained in a very convenient edition of ancient masterpieces entitled "Pocket Literal Translations of the Classics" issued by David McKay, Publisher, Philadelphia.