The Souls of the Saints Unstained by Sin

Sometimes mistaken to be Plutarch himself,
the above is a statue of an unknown philosopher or priest (ca. 270 BC)
Photo taken by Max Lee © 2014 Museum of Delphi

Sometimes an ancient text does not have any direct literary (intertextual) parallels with the New Testament, and such is really the case for the passage from Plutarch's On the Delays of Divine Vengeance (De sera 565B-D), about which I wrote in my last post (here). Nevertheless, there are broad conceptual interactions between the symbolism of the soul stained by vice in Plutarch's account and the (deutero-)Pauline text of Ephesians 5:25b-27. Here are some thoughts.

• For in the world below, vice puts forth colors (ἐκεῖ γὰρ ἡ κακία... τὰς χρόας ἀναδίδωσιν), as the soul is altered by the passions (τῆς τε ψυχῆς τρεπομένης ὑπὸ τῶν παθῶν) and alters the body in turn (καὶ τρεπούσης τὸ σῶμα), while here [=subluminary regions], the goal of purification (καθαρμοῦ) and punitary justice is reached when the passions are purged away (ἐκλεανθέντων) and the soul becomes luminous in consequence and uniform in color (τὴν ψυχὴν αὐγοειδῆ καὶ σύγχρουν γίνεσθαι - Plutarch, De sera 565C)

• Eph 5:25b-27: ... Christ loved the church and gave himself up on her behalf in order to sanctify her, by  purifying her in the washing of water by the word (ἵνα αὐτὴν ἁγιάσῃ καθαρίσας τῷ λουτρῷ τοῦ ὕδατος ἐν ῥήματι), with the result that He might present to himself the church in glory who has no stain or wrinkle or anything of the kind (ἔνδοξον τὴν ἐκκλησίαν, μὴ ἔχουσαν σπίλον ἢ ῥυτίδα ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων), but is instead holy and unblemished (ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα ᾖ ἁγία καὶ ἄμωμος). 

In the texts above, I tried to color code the conceptual ties (the lexemes are not the same though arguably they belong to the same semantic and cognitive domains) between Plutarch's and Paul's discourse as follows: 

1. how vice alters/stains the soul is shown in red
2. how the soul/church is purified and cleansed of vice/sin is shown in blue
3. the purified soul/church symbolized as a kind of illuminescence is shown in orange

First the conceptual similarities: Both accounts speak to the reality that vicious or immoral action color/tarnish the soul. While there is nothing like Plutarch's multi-colored correlation of specific vices to a particular color, Paul nevertheless employs the metaphor of staining (σπίλον) to describe the effect of sin and like Plutarch likens moral transformation to a kind of purgation or cleansing of sin/error, though Paul does use a different set of lexemes (ἁγιάσῃ καθαρίσας τῷ λουτρῷ) to describe the process known as sanctification. The purified person is depicted in the language of illuminescence (αὐγοειδῆ) for Plutarch, and glorification for Paul (ἔνδοξον).
   However, beyond these broad strokes is a striking difference. The (religious) purging of vice, for Plutarch, does not happen while a person is alive. It takes place in the afterlife, as a disembodied soul, and only through a series of punishments by divine judges to purge wickedness by beating the evil out of a person. But Paul's gospel talks about the work of Christ, whose sacrifice and blood atonement, makes the cleansing of sin, evil, and vice an inaugurated reality now, in the present, which culminates in its fullest expression at a future resurrection. The reversal of sin's corrupting effect, though not complete until Christ's return, is nevertheless experienced immediately in the life of church as a condition made possible by atoning death of God's Son. And Christ did it out of love for the church. The purging of evil is not torturous punishment from the gods, but a gift of redemption by the One who gave himself up for us. 

Plutarch on the Soul Scarred by Many Colors

I've been reading through Plutarch's treatise De sera numinis vindicta (= On the Delays of Divine Vengeance) which features the character Thespesius experiencing an out-of-body vision. 
   Thespesius narrαtes how the rational part of his soul walks through the subluminary regions of the (Platonic) cosmos and encounters several disembodied souls in the afterlife who are awaiting a kind of purification before they can escape the lower regions towards a higher level of existence, although some souls regress, sink down, and get reincarnated as animals (Plutarch, De sera 563D-568A). 
   Though a person might be able to conceal his passions and vices from others while alive and embodied, the disembodied soul is completely exposed for its true condition. If a person somehow committed wrongs and was never brought to justice in the earthly life, there is a reckoning after death. Thespesius so explains: 

• But whoever comes here from the world below unpunished and unpurged, is seized by (the goddess) Justice (ἡ Δίκη), with the soul exposed and naked, having nothing by which to sink out of sight, or hide, or cover one's shame.... The scars and welts left by the different passions are more persistent in some, less so in others. Observe - he said - the mixture and diversity of colors in the souls (χρώματα τῶν ψυχῶν; 565B) * 

Apparently, according to this myth recorded by Plutarch, souls are scarred by the passions and vices (οὐλαὶ δὲ καὶ μώλωπες ἐπὶ τῶν παθῶν) and the scars/welts show up as various colors depending on the type of passion or vice that a person committed. Plutarch gives quite an extensive list in 565C on the correlation of a soul's color with the corresponding vice:  

• So if the soul is a dirty brown (τὸ ὄρφνινος καὶ ῥυπαρόν) color, this stain is caused by greed (πλεονεξία)
• A fiery-red (τὸ αἱμωπὸν καὶ διάπυρον) comes from savagery and bitterness (ὡμότητος καὶ πικρίας)
• A blue-grey (τὸ γλαύκινον) signals some kind of incontinence in pleasure (ἀκρασία τις περὶ ἡδονάς)
• A green (τὸ ἰῶδες) is from spite with a begrudging envy (κακόνοια μετὰ φθόνου)

Plutarch further describes how the souls are punished with pains and torments far beyond any physical whipping. However, the result of such chastisement is the purification or purging of the soul of all vice and passion so that eventually "the soul becomes luminous in consequence and uniform in color (τὴν ψυχὴν αὐγοειδῆ καὶ σύγχρουν γίνεσθαι)" (565D). 

Temple of Apollo at Delphi where Plutarch (ca. 40-120 AD) was a priest
Photo by Max Lee © 2014 Delphi

   There are so many fascinating observations that can be made from this passage. For one thing, again, the idea that the afterlife was a place where final justice was exercised is illustrated by the scene where the goddess Δίκη seizes souls and punishes them according to what their scars reveal about past crimes, vices, and passions. When Justice puts the souls on trial, they stand naked and exposed, unable to hide the scars left by their passions.
   Secondly, moral and immoral action shapes who we are and what we become. They leave a scar or welt on our souls. Almost like an ancient version of the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890), Plutarch's narrative tells the tale of souls who are seen for what they really are. Forgive the pun, but their 'true colors' are shown in all their drab, dirty, ugly hues. We might undergo the illusion that pursuing vice has no effect on us as Dorian Gray thought, but as soon as the veil is uncovered, behind the curtain lies a vivid portrait of how greed, violent savagery, wanton pursuit of pleasure, and bitter spite has scarred our inner selves.
   Third, purity or perfection is symbolized as luminescence. It is such an interesting scene that the soul, once colored with vices, could through divine discipline be purged of evil and shine forth like the sun.
   I'm not sure if this text finds any parallels in Paul's thought or other NT texts. I just enjoyed reading this narrative for its own end. Give me a week and I'll post on any intertextual connections the Plutarch passage might have with the Pauline corpus. In the meanwhile, guard your soul and don't color it with vice. Peace!

* The Greek text and English translation (with some modifications) comes from Philip De Lacy and Benedict Einarson, Plutarch: Moralia (vol. 7; LCL; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1959), 281. 

The Irritating Bite vs. the Sting Which Kills

It's been hard to blog with the start-of-the-semester madness, but finally, I can get back to my previous post on Philodemus' treatise On Death (Book IV). 
   There I wrote about how the Epicurean sage manages grief and fear by cutting out from a person's natural aversion to death whatever wrong ideas or superstitions he or she has attached to it. Philodemus is especially critical of associating with death the idea of divine judgment according to the myths of his day (κατὰ τοὺς μύθους); he would not be very receptive to the idea of that we are all assigned a place in Hades (πρὸς τὸν ἀποδεδειγμένον αὐτοῖς καθ' Ἅιδου χῶρον) in the afterlife where furies torture the wicked (IV.27.8-14; Henry ed.). Thus, Epicurean philosophical therapy is the process of rationally dispelling such myths concerning death, with the result that the great pain (μεγάλην... λύπην; 25.11-12) fueled by false ideas is reduced to a natural bite or sting (φυσικὸς ὁ δηγμός; 25.36). 
   Apparently, this remainder which is left over, the natural bite, after myths and superstitions have been cut out, is actually useful for the philosopher. For one thing, it humanizes the Epicurean since it is unnatural for a person to feel nothing when one's loved ones have passed away (you can see Philodemus taking a jab here against the Stoics who argued that the sage is "apathetic" to grief). A natural aversion to death (= death's bite) can also encourage a person to live well and wisely in the present (37.12-38.25; see Armstrong, 45-49*), much in the same way natural anger without false ideas about vengeance helps a person to seek justice for wrongs done (cf. Philodemus, On Anger, col. 67). 

Silver Tetradrachm (Greek: τετράδραχμον) coin from Ephesus
featuring a bee and stag (ca. 390-130 BC)
image credit: coinquest.com

So the key to Epicurean therapy is reducing great pain to a manageable, useful, and natural bite. Death is nothing but an irritating sting or bite that should not be feared. 
    But Paul's understanding of personified Death (θάνατε) and its sting (τὸ κέντρον) is that the latter is no small bite or peck like that of a mosquito. Rather, like some ancient species of wasps, bees, and scorpions of Paul's day, a sting can kill you (1 Cor 15:54-55; cf. Aristophanes, Wasps 403-407). There is a double entendre here. Paul's use of κέντρον refers to both the torturing device of personified Death (click here for details) and also the (insect's) sting which kills and ends life. In contrast to the Epicureans, Paul does not think the reality of divine judgment and justice is a false myth but part of the eschatological reality which frames the gospel of Jesus Christ. There is a divine law to which all must answer. While Paul's vision of the afterlife is nothing like Virgil's description of Hades (Aeneid, Book 6), he nevertheless does not discount the idea that God does exact justice for all humanity at the resurrection of the dead. Nor does Paul think any rationalization process could ever remove the agony which death brings. 
   Instead, the only solution is to remove the sting altogether. Death has no power over Christian believers because God will raise them up on the day of Jesus' return. Why settle for a bite, when God, through Christ, has conquered death's crippling effect on human life once and for all?! 

* See David Armstrong, "All Things to All Men: Philodemus' Model of Therapy and the Audience of De Morte," in Philodemus and the New Testament World (NovTSup 111; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 15-54. 

The Sting of Death according to Paul

In a previous post on common popular fears surrounding the afterlife (here), I commented on Virgil's depiction of Hades in the Aeneid and showed pictorially one anonymous artist's rendition of the three judges of Hades (Rhadamanthus, Midos, and Aeacus) preserved on an Apulian red-figure volute κρατήρ (= a wine diluter; ca. 330-32o BC). There we read a graphic description from Virgil, and we saw a graphic picture from the "Underworld Painter," of how the warden of hell, Rhadamanthus, ordered a fury to whip and torture those souls guilty of heinous crimes in their earthly life. This image of divine judgment and justice in the afterlife is an important point of cultural and religious engagement for understanding Paul's triumphant discourse in 1 Cor 15:55-57: 

• Where, O Death (θάνατε), is your victory (τὸ νῖκος)? Where, O Death, is your sting (κέντρον)? 56 The sting of death (τὸ κέντρον τοῦ θανάτου) is sin (ἁμαρτία), and the power of sin (ἡ δύναμις τῆς ἁμαρτίας ) is the law (ὁ νόμος). But thanks be to God who gives to us victory through Jesus Christ our Lord!

This is a very packed set of verses. What does Paul mean by the sting of death? The Greek word for "sting" is κέντρον and can mean something like a venomous sting of a bee, wasp, or scorpion. But it can also refer to a sharp object or goad used to spur horses, oxen, or other beasts of burden. A photo of a κέντρον held in the hand of the charioteer is shown below and circled in yellow: 

Chariot Racing from a 510 BC Attic Hydria
The κέντρον or horse's goad (circled in yellow)
image credit: wikipedia commons

The κέντρον, as early as Herodotus (Histories 3.130), was also used to torture prisoners of war and criminals. It was a torturing device used punish the wicked (cf. Aristophanes, Wasps 403-407).
    In the mythic world of the Aeneid, it was the furies who held whips, goads, and other weapons to torture and punish wrong-doers. But in 1 Cor 15:55, Death itself holds the κέντρον. The vocative θάνατε personifies Death, and Paul taunts Death as the last enemy. Or, as Garland puts it, "does Paul picture death wielding a goad in its hand to rule over humans and torture them?" (Garland, 1Cor, p. 745). Is Death a military general, believing it has victory (τὸ νῖκος) at hand (because of Adam's fall), but only to find its victory stripped away, disarmed of its ability to torture and goad humanity any more, because of Christ's death and resurrection? Here is my interpretative translation of 1 Cor 15:55-57 once more:

• Where, O Death, you last of the apocalyptic superpowers, is your victory? You were robbed of your victory by Christ's death and resurrection. Where, O Death, is your ability to torture and punish humanity? Where is your sting? 56 It used to be that Sin could torture, goad, and punish humanity as Death's ally. Sin is the sting which culminates in death. The Law gave sin its power and authority to accuse humanity for failing to observe the commandments. 57 But not any more! Thanks be to God who through the cross and resurrection of Christ removes the sting from death by providing forgiveness for sin and vindicates believers at the resurrection by overcoming their death with new life. 

Christ's resurrection is Paul's historical anchor and theological point of assurance that the triple threat of Death, Sin, and the Law (when it empowers sin to accuse) has been neutralized forever. Christ snatches victory from Death and hands victory instead to God's people. Where is your (σου) victory, O Death? I'll tell you where it went, says Paul. God gave it to us (ἡμῖν) through Jesus Christ our Lord. Wow! Can I get an "Amen!" from the congregation out there?!
   In my next post, I will compare the Philodemus text on the "sting" and "bite" of death with Paul's reference to death's goad here in 1 Cor 15. While it is possible that the lexemes τὸ νύττεσθαι and δηγμὸν used by Philodemus are synonymous with the way Paul employs the word κέντρον, there are also very clear differences. But for now, we can simply all be challenged by Paul's taunt against stingless Death and his unwavering confidence in what God had done through Christ. 

Wake Up O Sleeper!

In my previous post on the grave reliefs depicting the agony of separation between the deceased and surviving family (here), I shared how many people in the Greco-Roman world grieved over the prospect of never seeing their loved ones ever again. In contrast to their grief and pain, Apostle Paul puts forth the hope of every Christian believer: 

• 13 But we do not want for you to be ignorant, brothers and sisters, concerning those who are sleeping (περὶ τῶν κοιμωμένων), so that you will not grieve as the rest (of the world) do, who have no hope. 14 For if we believe that Christ died and was raised, and in the same way, God, through Jesus, will also bring with him (σὺν αὐτῷ) the ones who have fallen asleep (τοὺς κοιμηθέντας).... 17 Then we who remain living will be snatched up together with them (ἅμα σὺν αὐτοῖς) in the clouds for a meeting with the Lord in the air (1 Thess 4:13-14, 17)

There are many exegetical points to unpack in this short set of verses, but let me focus on just two related themes. The first is the metaphor which Paul uses for the believers who have died: i.e., they are sleeping (κοιμωμένων). For Paul, Easter Sunday means that Jesus conquered death's grip on our world. In the same way that God raised Jesus from the dead, Paul encourages the Thessalonian church that God will raise believers who have died to new life. Death is not final separation, but a temporary or interim state like sleep. God will raise Christ followers on the day of the resurrection. With a command-cry (ἐν κελεύσματι; v. 14), God will give this word to the dead: "Rise!" Or in the words of Eph. 5:14: "Wake up, O Sleeper! Rise from the dead and Christ will epiphany before you!" Christ will return to awaken those who have fallen asleep by the power of his word. 

   The Christian hope has always been that life, really living, does not end at the grave. Death is just a momentary interruption like a person taking a long nap. God will raise us up with a command of his word, and we will not only be united with Christ forever (σὺν αὐτῷ) but we will be united with each other (ἅμα σὺν αὐτοῖς). The resurrection is a reunion of Christian believers where we meet again with those whom we have left behind and those who have moved on ahead of us. It gives us hope that beyond the grave, believers in Christ have an eternity to catch up with one another in the life to come.

6th century AD Inscription
ΚΟΙΜΗΤΗΡΙΟΝ... ΑΙΓΙΑΡΙΟΥ (highlighted in blue)
 "The sleeping place... of a goatherder"
Photo by Max Lee ©  2014 Corinth Museum

In the above inscription, one of a few dozen that can be found in the Museum at Corinth, Greece, we have an example of a Christian grave marker. But instead of the word "tomb" or "memorial" (μνημεῖον), the term ΚΟΙΜΗΤΗΡΙΟΝ (κοιμητήριον) or "sleeping room" is used. By the 4-6th century AD, Christian believers wrote on their tombstones that the grave is but a sleep room, a temporary resting place, for those who have died in Christ and have the hope we will not only be reunited with Christ but with loved ones who have also believed.

   Eventually, the idiom of "sleeping place" (κοιμητήριον) will make it into the Byzantine Greek lexicon under the alternative spelling (κυμητήριον) and mean "burial place" or "tomb" as the following inscription shows: 

6th century AD inscription with the Byzantine spelling
ΚΥΜΗΤΗΡΙΟΝ (derived from κοιμητήριον) which means "burial place"
Photo by Max Lee ©  2014 Corinth Museum

   This past weekend, three generations of my family met together in Chicago: the grandparents, my younger brother, myself and our spouses, and my teenage sons and middle school nieces. As we get older, life can leave us with many regrets. But as Christian believers, we all have the hope that not only will the Lord make all that is wrong and crooked right at the resurrection, but we can all celebrate what God has done together and spend eternity catching up on time missed with one another and those we love. Maranatha!

Postscript 08/09/14: Exegetical Exercise: 1) Read the above post. 2) Go to the Bible dictionaries/encyclopedias in the reference section of the university library and learn more about the resurrection of the dead and how this doctrine is different from Greco-Roman ideas about the immortality of the soul. 3) Interpret 1 Thess. 4:13-18 drawing insight from your background study. In other words: how does understanding that the resurrection means more than resuscitation but an different state of bodily existence help you understand Paul’s message of hope in 1 Thess. 4:13-18? What happens to the soul in the interim period between the (physical) death (of the body) and the resurrection of believers at Christ’s return? 4) Be sure to consult at least one academic commentary on your biblical text from the reference section. 

Minor Correction 08/16/14: I'm going to add a clarifying point. With the Christian grave inscriptions above (ca. 6-7th centuries AD), probably the semantic shift from the definition of κοιμητήριον as "sleeping room" to the meaning "burial place" had already taken place. You actually see both words κοιμητήριον (Koine spelling) and κυμητήριον (Byzantine spelling) used on a number of inscriptions from this time period (good examples are found at the Museum in Corinth, Greece). I'm not exactly sure when the semantic shift took place but we know that by Byzantine times, κοιμητήριον had come to mean "burial place" and its Koine definition of "sleeping place," along with its use by Christians on grave markers, was earlier. This note does not change any of the points I make above but simply clarifies the time stamp when the definition of "burial place" for κοιμητήριον enters into the Byzantine lexicon. MJL

Philodemus on Removing the Sting and Bite of Death

I'm posting a bit later than I had planned. The family and I went out of town over the weekend to show our support to my youngest son as he competed at a major chess tournament. It was a nice diversion for us, though he did not do as well as we had hoped (our delusions of grandeur were crushed after the 1st round!), but back to the subject on hand. 

   Now that I have mapped out a range of mainstream beliefs, fears, and superstitions surrounding the afterlife in the Greco-Roman world (here), this would be a good place to introduce what some of the popular philosophers of Paul's day had to say about conquering our fear of death. The Epicureans, by far, had the boldest of claims. In Key Doctrines 2, Epicurus makes a statement which will become epigrammatic for generations to come among his followers: 

• Death can do nothing to us (ὁ θανατος οὐδεν πρὸς ἡμᾶς), for a dissolved thing cannot sense anything, and anything which cannot sense also cannot do anything to us. 

The Epicureans believed in a material soul and that the soul could not survive long without the body. At death, the soul seeps out of the pores of the body and dissolves into nothingness as the body, too, dissolves when it decays in the grave (Philodemus, On Death IV, 8.7-29).* There is no eternal afterlife, and there is nothing to fear after death because we simply cease to exist. There is neither pain or pleasure, but a just a gentle release from life. So death is nothing to be afraid of. 
   But what about before death? Is not most of our anxiety about death experienced when we start to think about what we might lose at death, or when death is near and we are about to step over the edge of life with our last breath? 
   A Greco-Roman Epicurean by the name of Philodemus (ca. 110-40 B.C.), whose works were carbonized and preserved following the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in A.D. 79 at an ancient library in Herculaneum, Italy, devoted an entire treatise (of which we only have Book 4) on how to die well and without fear of what might happen afterwards.

Click here for an affordable paperback edition
* Excerpts taken from this edition by W. Benjamin Henry

Philodemus explains, for example, that "it is natural for such a person to be stung" (διότι φυσικὸν μὲν τὸ νύττεσθαι τὸν τοιοῦτον) by death (On Death IV, 16.5-7), and death has "a most natural bite"(φυσικώτατον δηγμὸν) that produces tears even in the most sensible person (25.7-13).* But what turns a natural reaction to death into an unmanageable great sorrow (μεγάλην... λύπην; 25.11-12)* is the attachment of untrue, false, superstitious, and unwarranted ideas to the natural impulse.
   So much of the Epicurean program for soul-therapy (a term popularized by Nussbaum's study on ancient philosophy entitled The Therapy of Desire) for mastering fear and other emotions (like anger or lust) involves cutting off the false or empty opinions (δοξῶν) we attach to a natural impulse (τὴν φυσικὴν ὁρμήν; 16.4-8).* 
   Philodemus gives us several examples. The cure for fearing that my sudden death will leave behind my wife and children in dire straits is to recognize the false opinion that their livelihood depends on my continued existence and to provide for them a competent patron or guardian who will care for them if I were to die suddenly (25.2-36). 
   Or, a beginning student of philosophy who dies before she can reach perfection need not be pained by the wrong idea that all her time studying philosophy was wasted but take comfort that her efforts towards perfection could leave behind an inspiring example for others (17.32-18.14).
   Philodemus goes on to give many more examples, but they all have a common theme: a person removes the fear of death by dissociating from it the wrong beliefs or ideas which fuel our deepest anxieties. This therapeutic program was, for the philosopher, the best way to die well and die with courage.
   Now as a historian, I pass no judgment on Epicurean teachings. Philodemus (and fellow Greco-Roman Epicurean philosophers like Lucretius and Diogenes of Oenoanda) provided a rational way of dealing with the pathos associate with death. Certainly there is truth to the proposition that human beings often attach to natural reactions all sorts of unreasonable, far-fetched, and even complicated "what if" scenarios that only function to fuel our stress. 
   However, existentially and personally, I cannot help but feel the Epicurean program for soul-therapy is still poor medicine. Am I really OK if my life is cut short and ceases to exist before I could finish my studies? You mean I dragged my poor wife and kids through the vicissitudes of a Ph.D. program and died suddenly before I could graduate with my degree?! (I actually had a near-death experience on the Pasadena highway on the way to the Fuller Theological Seminary campus to turn in my finished dissertation!... but that's a different story for another day).
   What if I did not plan for my sudden death? What happens to my wife and kids after I'm gone? Philodemus' advice only seems to work if you take the time to plan out and anticipate your death. It feels like an ancient form of buying life insurance. Yes, you'll be dead but at least your family will be taken care of. Hmmm... is this enough?
   Next post: Paul. Let's see what the apostle to the Thessalonians and Corinthians has to say on the subject of death and its sting.

Popular Fear and Dread of the Afterlife

Apulian red-figure volute κρατήρ by"Underworld Painter" (330-320 BC)

Photo from Staatliche Antikensammlungen Museum, Munich, Germany
Image credit: http://www.vroma.org/images/mcmanus_images/

Before I can post on philosophical criticisms lodged against fearing death, I need to outline what those fears were. As illustrated in the last post, the Attic grave reliefs showed how people feared the finality of separation which death brought. Death meant we never saw our loved ones again. In Apuleius' The Golden Ass, the young woman Psyche is warned: 

• Poor girl, why do you seek to put an end to yourself?... Once your spirit is torn asunder from your body, you will certainly plummet to the depths of Tartarus without the possibility of a return journey (VI.17; Eng. trans. modified from López-Ruiz, p. 531)* 

But there were other reasons to fear death. The most widespread fear was the torture and punishment which awaited those who commit crimes and harmed others. Justice and judgment was something which awaited all. 

Close-up of the same Apulian κρατήρ highlighting the 3 judges of Hades:
Rhadamanthus, Minos, and Aeacus
image credit: http://www.vroma.org/images/mcmanus_images/

Virgil, in the Aeneid (Bk VI), describes this hell-bent punishment when he chronicles the journey of Aeneas through the underworld. Aeneas meets one of the Furies in Hades who explained to him "how the gods punish wrongs" and "took him through the whole [punishment] system" (line 565). The fury explains: 

• This is hell's toughest regime: Rhadamanthus, its warden from Knossos, punishes, hears accusations of treachery, forces confession.... Vengeance is swift on the guilty: Tisiphone [another fury], armed with her lashes, leaps up to whip them herself, thrusts her left hand, teeming with angry snakes, at their faces, then calls in her armies of merciless sisters (lines 566-72; Eng. trans. from López-Ruiz, p. 516) *

Close-up of the Apulian κρατήρ highlighting a fury whipping the soul of Sisyphus
image credit: http://www.vroma.org/images/mcmanus_images/

Scary! Who wants to be whipped and beatened by an angry demi-goddess forever and ever?!
   There was also the danger of losing oneself. The mystery cults tried to offer some guidance on how not to forget one's past life when entering the afterlife. One of the most terrifying experiences was the loss of memory in Hades. Lose your memory, you lose yourself. The mystery cults claimed to offer the wisdom to guide the soul so this would not happen. 
   In the Golden Tablets (from Hipponium, No. 2, lines 1-14), an Orphic oracle advises: 

• When you are about to die, (going) to the well-built house of Hades, to the right there is a spring, and next to it stands a white cypress. Going down there, the souls of the dead refresh themselves. Don't come close to this spring, not even near it! But further ahead you will find cold water pouring forth from the Lake of Memory... drink from the Lake of Memory... (Eng. trans. from López-Ruiz, p. 491) *

Apparently there were two bodies of water in the underworld. One causes you to forget who you are, everything about yourself, and your past earthly life (avoid this one!), and the other allows one to restore or keep one's memory (drink here!). Orphism and the Greek mystery cults claimed to provide the wisdom and guidance to choose the latter, not the former. Whether their claims are true or not (and I suspect it's not!), the point is that the loss of self was something terrifying.
   Death's sting was the terror brought on by eternal punishment, the final separation from loved ones, and the loss of self. No wonder the average ancient citizen of the wider Mediterranean world thought the afterlife was nothing to look forward to. Philodemus and other philosophers, however, will try to mitigate popular fear. In the next post, we'll see what kind of hope they offered, and then after that, we'll turn to Paul and the funeral inscriptions of some early Christians from the 1st four centuries AD.

* Here's a great resource from which I drew my English translation of several Greek/Latin texts: Carolina López-Ruiz, ed. and trans. Gods, Heroes and Monsters: A Sourcebook of Greek, Roman, and Near Eastern Myths in Translation (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2014).

Death's Despair and Despondency

The post on writing well was a fun literary get-away, but my "official" July kickstarter is on everyone's not-so-favorite but inescapable subject: death. I'm reading Philodemus' On Death (Book 4) and so the subject has been on my mind, especially the theme of how a person can manage grief well.

• When we finish (our earthly lives), we will have many good people be grief-stricken (λυπησομένους τε πολλοὺς καὶ ἀγαθοὺς ἕξομεν τελευτησαντες -- Philodemus, On Death IV.21.12-13) * 

   One of the most moving set of reliefs that I saw at the Athens Museum was a section devoted to ancient views of the afterlife and the sheer despair surrounding the untimely death of a loved one. The following set of photos taken from these funeral reliefs revolve around the theme of how death separates a person from family and friends. 

A baby reaching desperately for his mother Phylonoe
the latter of whom died during childbirth (ca. 4th cent. BC)
Photo taken by Max Lee © 2014 Athens Museum

In this first photo, notice how the surviving baby (center) desperately stretches out his hand for his mother who recently died (right), most likely during childbirth. The mother's name ΦΥΛΟΝΟΗ (transliterated Phylonoe) was etched in an epigram carved above in the epistyle (unshown). Another woman (left), possibly a relative, holds back the baby. It is a vivid portrait of how final death is, and how permanent the separation between the deceased and those who live on. Hopelessness reigns.
   Here is another photo, but this time it is a young man saying goodbye to his deceased elderly father ΠΑΝΑΙΤΙΟΣ (transliterated Panaitios): 

A young man bids farewell to his deceased father Panaitios (ca. 4th cent. BC)
Photo taken by Max Lee © 2014 Athens Museum

Notice the same theme of reaching out to one's beloved with outstretched hands is repeated here. The son, a soldier, is saying his goodbye to the father who likely died when the son went off to war. Sadly the father never experienced his son's homecoming or heard of his exploits on the battlefield.
   Finally, in this last photo (note: there were many more at the museum but these three were the only photos I took.... should have taken more!), we get an image of the afterlife:

The god Hermes (center) leads a deceased daughter Myrrhine (right) to Hades
with her father and relatives (left) looking onward helplessly (ca. 420-10 BC)
Photo taken by Max Lee © 2014 Athens Museum

This engravement was found on a column, and features the god Hermes Psychopompos leading a deceased daughter to Hades. In this photo, you can see the name of the young woman clearly to the right above her head: ΜΥΡΡΙΝΗ (transliterated as Myrrhine). Members of the funeral entourage are to the left of the representation and feature the father and relatives trying to save their daughter. However, Hermes intervenes, grabs the young lady's hand, and there is simply no way for the family to stop Myrrhine's journey to the afterlife. Everyone is helpless in the face of death. Hermes' central and dramatic presence highlights the inevitable descent of Myrrhine to Hades and the helplessness of the family to stop it.
   In the next couple of posts, I will explore ancient views of death and how those in the world of Paul managed their grief. Philosophers such as Philodemus try to lessen death's sting or bite by reason, but we shall see that for the most part, wisdom is poor medicine for the despair and despondency of death. Paul's gospel, however, offers deliverance and hope. 

* Greek text from taken from Philodemus, On Death (ed. by W. Benjamin Henry; SBLWGRW 29), p. 48; Eng. trans., however, is my own.