Imagining the Afterlife in the Ancient World

Juliette Harrisson, Juliette Harrisson

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781351578394
• Edition: 1
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World History
• Index: History

Human beings have speculated about whether or not there is life after death, and if so, what form that life might take, for centuries. What did people in the ancient world think the next life would hold, and did they imagine there was a chance for a relationship between the living and the dead? How did people in the ancient world keep their dead loved ones alive through memory, and were they afraid the dead might return and haunt the living in another form? What sort of afterlife did the ancient Greeks and Romans imagine for themselves? This volume explores these questions and more.

While individual representations of the afterlife have often been examined, few studies have taken a more general view of ideas about the afterlife circulating in the ancient world. By drawing together current research from international scholars on archaeological evidence for afterlife belief, chiefly from funerary sites, together with studies of works of literature, this volume provides a broader overview of ancient ideas about the afterlife than has so far been available.

Imagining the Afterlife in the Ancient World explores these key questions through a series of wide-ranging studies, taking in ghosts, demons, dreams, cosmology, and the mutilation of corpses along the way, offering a valuable resource to those studying all aspects of death in the ancient world

Part 1
The afterlife at Greek funerary sites

1 Visualizing the afterlife in Classical Athens

Interactions between the living and the dead on white-ground lêkythoi

Molly Evangeline Allen

Before the Classical period, Greek image and text were consistent in their portrayal of the deceased as a passive entity that was at the mercy of the living in gaining passage to the Underworld and, thus, integration into the afterlife. Although the details of the afterlife, as they appear in extant image and text, are hazy, there is an overwhelming sense that one should do everything in their power to help the dead gain access to it. Thus, Patroclus’ shade implores Achilles to think not only of his own sorrow but to turn his attention to quickly preparing his corpse for burial (Iliad, 23.69–92) and Elpenor hastens to meet Odysseus at the outset of his katabasis to beg him to not leave him unburied and unwept (Odyssey, 11.51–78). In each instance, the deceased man has been left in an uncomfortable, liminal stage between life and death due to their not being buried. So integral to being accepted into the Underworld was the proper handling of the corpse and its subsequent burial that the image of an extravagant, well-attended funeral came to symbolize the successful integration of the dead into the afterlife (see below for more on the use of this image in Geometric and Archaic funerary art). A change in popular funerary imagery in Attic vase painting around the first quarter of the 5th century BCE, from focusing on the funeral to focusing on the indefinite upkeep of the grave and the cult of the dead, suggests a growing interest in the ongoing experience and well-being of the deceased. From images that show mourners interacting at the grave, with or without the presence of the dead explicitly depicted, one gets a sense that the Greeks believed themselves capable of affecting the souls beyond the grave. By looking at just a few details of the imagery of white-ground lêkythoi, the favoured funerary vessel of 5th century Athens, we can begin to better understand what the Classical Athenians imagined the afterlife entailed and how it affected their day to day lives.

There is no single source that provides a satisfying description of what one might expect in the Greek afterlife, though it is clear that arriving in Hades/the Underworld was a prerequisite for a restful afterlife. The landscape of the Underworld and the typical activity of the souls within it is briefly alluded to in a handful of Greek texts, most notably the Odyssey (esp. books 10, 11, and 24) and Hesiod’s Theogony (726ff.) but for the most part individuals were left to imagine it in their own way. The Underworld was often described as a shadowy place that was encompassed by Oceanos, intersected by the Styx and a number of other marshy rivers, and shaded by thick groves of dark trees (for sources see Garland, 2001, pp. 49–52, 149–152, and Johnston, 1999, pp. 15–16). Its dark and foreboding physical features befit a place that cannot ever be investigated or understood and that lies deep below the earth’s surface. Since Hades was ultimately impenetrable by the living, with only rare mythological exceptions breaking this rule (e.g. Odysseus, Heracles, and Orpheus), and inescapable by the deceased (ghosts and other haunting souls belong to a category of restless dead, who had not been accepted into the Underworld (cf. Johnston, 1999, pp. 77–79)), it is perhaps no surprise that the ancient Athenians generally avoided portraying its physical aspects. Interest in chthonic geography grew by the end of the 5th century, notably in the work of Euripides, Aristophanes and Plato, but in general, discussions of its landscape were restricted to the initiates of clandestine mystery cults and were not meant for public consumption in vocal, written or visual form. The growing popularity of mystery cults that purported to have inside knowledge about the Underworld points to a growing anxiety and/or interest in the unknown frontier that awaited all Greeks at the moment of their death. Even Heracles, in an apparent attempt to better inform himself about, and protect himself from, unknown dangers of the Underworld, desired to be initiated in the Eleusinian Mysteries before his descent to retrieve the watchdog of Hades, Cerberus, (Apollodorus 2.5.12; Diodorus Siculus 4.25.1; Euripides, Hercules Furens 610-613). Not much is said about how souls were thought to pass their time in eternity, but from what little anecdotal evidence there is, it seems that one might hope to reunite with lost loved ones, tell stories, gossip with friends and family, and engage in pastimes once enjoyed in the living world (Garland, 2001, pp. 66–74).

The primary place in which the details of the Greek Underworld were revealed is through mythological katabases, such as those of Odysseus, Orpheus and Heracles. However, these katabases, as well as other chthonic myths, were rarely depicted in the visual arts, and the relationship between the living and the dead was of more interest to Athenian vase painters than the afterlife per se. Pausanias (10.25–28) attests that Polygnotos’ painting of Odysseus’ katabasis on the walls of the Lesche of the Cnidians in Delphi captured the damp, shadowy ambience of Hades in an apt and admirable manner, consistent with its character in epic poetry. Heracles’ abduction of Cerberus appears in a handful of black- and red-figure vases (e.g. LIMC V, Herakles 2602–2604, 2614) and there is a meager collection of images that portray the punishment of Sisyphus (e.g. LIMC VII, Sisyphos I 6), but there is only one extant vase depiction of Odysseus in the Underworld (ARV² 1045.2, Para 444).¹ In this exceptional vase by the Lycaon Painter (Boston, MFA, 34.79), we find Elpenor emerging from behind rocks and a thicket of reeds. He approaches a contemplative Odysseus who, on the advice of Teiresias, has sacrificed two sheep so that their blood, offered as a libation, will allow souls to speak. Anyone familiar with Odysseus’ katabasis would remember that Elpenor approaches Odysseus at this moment to describe to him the discomfort he is in as a consequence of being left unburied (Odyssey 11.51–78). His plight reminds us of the importance of burial for a restful afterlife.

Despite a general uncertainty about the afterlife in text and image, descriptions of how the soul left the body and began its transition from the world of the living to the world of the dead were fairly prevalent and consistent in epic and mythological narratives. Thus, in Homer (e.g. Iliad 16.453, 856–858 and Odyssey 11. 220–224) we find that when the body relaxes in death, the soul (psychē or eidōlon) is released and awaits the deposition of its corporeal body so that it may enter the afterlife (Sourvinou-Inwood, 1996, pp. 56–60). Though the soul is mobile and lively at the moment that it leaves the body, generally speaking in the world of Homeric epic the dead are witless and incapable of influencing the living (Heath, 2005, p. 380). So, it is not so much fear that compels friends and family to bury the dead but a sense of duty and an earnest desire to send souls to rest. In the visual world, prior to the 5th century BCE the dead are almost always depicted as helpless corpses, which is consistent with the idea that, once dead, a person was entirely at the mercy of the living when it came to their eternal restfulness. A few images of the restless soul of Patroclus accompanying the dragging of Hector’s body are the only noticeable exception to this rule and in this instance, the soul of Patroclus is present and mobile precisely because he has not yet been buried and he has been left to roam aimlessly at the mercy of Achilles’ goodwill (e.g. LIMC III, Automedon 16, 21, 28). Achilles’ delay in burying Patroclus is a significant issue in the narrative of the Iliad and the presence of his soul in these scenes serves to underscore Achilles’ less than heroic tendencies. When the deceased are represented by their corpses in prothesis scenes, this represents a moment at which they have not yet been integrated into the afterlife, but they are well on their way.

The anguish of being left unburied, and hence left in a liminal space between the Upper- and Underworlds, played a central role in a number of ancient Greek myths, which demonstrates the centrality of burial to achieving a happy afterlife. Thus, Patroclus’ shade pleads with Achilles in the Iliad (23.69–76) not to leave him unburied; Antigone stops at nothing, despite Creon’s orders, to provide at least a semblance of burial for her brother, Polynices (Sophocles, Antigone 26–46); and Electra consults with elder mourners about how to properly and effectively honour and appease her recently, but unconventionally, buried father (Aeschylus, Libation Bearers 84–166). While Patroclus’ and Polynices’ plights underline the importance of burial per se, Agamemnon’s fate, being both murdered and buried by a malevolent wife, shows that a soul may not rest easy if their death is violent and/or their burial distorted. Thus it seems that the correlation between proper burial and resting in peace was so strong that the prothesis easily became an intelligible and ideal representation of a happy afterlife.

Since a tradition of a hierarchical afterlife in which the actions of one’s life govern whether they will be punished or rewarded was not prevalent in Greece, one can presume that the dead that are depicted in prothesis scenes are on their way to a neutral, if not happy, afterlife (Garland, 2001, p. 74 and Sourvinou-Inwood, 1996, p. 298). In other words, a typical Athenian did not run the risk of being tortured like the legendarily hubristic Tantalus, Sisyphus or Prometheus. However, by the 5th century BCE, there seems to have been growing anxiety about the influence of the dead and a concern that those who died unnaturally young (aôroi) or were murdered (biathanatoi) or were left unburied (ataphoi) would produce restless souls (Garland, 2001, pp. 77–103 and Johnston, 1999, pp. 71–86). There was not a separate afterlife for individuals in these categories, but their potential to be upset and possibly influence the world of the living provided greater impetus for the living to not only provide fitting burials, but to be vigilant and generous in their continued care for the cult of their deceased family members (see below).

So important was it for an individual to be granted access to the afterlife that it is no surprise that from an early point in time (at least from the 8th century BCE, the date of the earliest extant Greek textual and visual evidence) we find that access to the Underworld is intimately tied to the proper fulfilment of burial rites. Since the actions of the funeral were tailored to guarantee this access, the image of a prothesis was easily equated with acceptance into the Underworld; it was up to individuals, not artists, to imagine and construct the details of the afterlife that followed cremation or interment. By emphasizing the proper and timely carrying out of all prescribed stages of a funeral (kêdeia) as the primary means of gaining access to an afterlife, the onus is placed firmly and deliberately on the living and their care of the corpse. This provided a façade of control over a realm that was inherently uncontrollable. By all accounts, any good Greek took this duty very seriously as both a courtesy and an obligation to the dead and one which they hoped would be returned to them in kind. If a family had the means they might provide a more extravagant affair that would enhance the honour, reputation and memory of an individual, but even the simplest of burials was capable of providing entrance to the afterlife.

Thus, from the late 8th until the early 5th century BCE, the funerary image par excellence was the prothesis, the event during which the recently bathed and dressed corpse was laid out on a bier to be visited and mourned by the bereaved. The prothesis was one of the first subject matters to be illustrated in the earliest narrative scenes of Geometric art and was adapted to adorn the subject fields of Archaic black-figure pinakes and black- and red-figure loutrophoroi, phormiskoi and other vase types found in funerary contexts. Unlike other scenes or subject matters that came and went in and out of fashion or favour in Athenian vase painting, the prothesis scene remained popular for over 200 years. Due to its enduring popularity, its significance in reference to Greek art and Greek burial practices has been the focus of study for many scholars over the years (see esp. Ahlberg, 1971; Boardman, 1955; Oakley, 2004 and Shapiro, 1991). Although the prothesis was only the first of three stages of the funeral, which was followed by the ekphora (transportation of the corpse via processional to the grave) and ultimately the deposition of the body, it came to symbolize the entire ceremony and, by extension, the successful transition of the deceased from the Upper- to the Underworld. At the prothesis, mourners surrounded the corpse to offer final songs and tears and to steal final embraces and last looks at the deceased. Since the prothesis scene takes place prior to burial, it represents a period of time during which the soul has not been fully accepted into the afterlife. Thus, when viewing an image of a prothesis, we are viewing a moment when the greatest concern of the bereaved is how their actions (both preparing the body and lamenting the loss) may affect the ability of the deceased to be fully integrated into the afterlife. There is no explicit visual link to the afterlife, but understanding the significance of the ceremony, we understand that this was likely a concern of the mourners. Most prothesis scenes crowd the narrative space with throngs of mourners, and thus visualize the broad impact that a person’s death has on family and/or community through the quantity of people shown to be affected by their passing. By showing large groups of mourners, an artist could heig...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• List of figures
• List of contributors
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• PART 1 The afterlife at Greek funerary sites
• PART 2 The afterlife at Roman and Etruscan funerary sites
• PART 3 The afterlife in literature
• PART 4 The afterlife in Late Antique tradition
• Index