Death is the greatest mystery of the human condition. Shakespeare called it “the unknown country”, the land from which no man returns. Every culture has faced the problem of death in its own way, and in contemporary Western culture it still remains the ultimate mystery, though shrouded in a polite but ineffectual attempt to ignore it.
But should we be really afraid of death? Since the first man appeared on earth, he would look at the night sky asking himself questions about life, its meaning and what constitutes the universe. That first wondering moment was surely the instant when philosophy was born. It was born together with man and his mind, capable of comprehending and processing more information than any other inhabitant on the planet. We still catch ourselves observing those stars, the wonders of nature, its laws and mysteries, trying to comprehend who we are and what is the” nature of our nature”.
My own belief is that everything started with the sun, or Ra, the major god in ancient Egypt, the creator, the source of all life on this planet. Homo sapiens, thinking man started observing how the day would start and end, how the sun would rise and set. And since those first stirrings of time next to nothing has changed. New life appears like the sun at dawn, it reaches its bloom at the midday and then slowly fades away until this life, devoid of vitality, fades into the complete darkness of the night, in the darkness of the Universe.
It soon became clear that death was an inevitable part of life. It is understood by all humans and yet not fully accepted. We still live as though there is no end, as if death was designed for anyone but us or people we’re close to. Like that first primitive man looking at the bright stars on a cloudless night we still raise our heads to the heavens (note the euphemism/imagery) looking for an answer to the main question – is there anything beyond death? Or better: Is there a life after life?
If we think about death, then the first question that comes into our mind is surely: what is death? And what does it really mean to die? Can our death be described only as the process of decomposition? Can death be only explained as the termination of life? Can we ignore the possibility that a person is more than just a body? Thus we reach one of the most arguable questions of Western philosophy: Is there a soul?
There are two main theories on the existence of the soul. The first one says there is no soul; a person is just a body with a certain array of functions - emotions, creativity and the ability to process information – and all that does not come from the outside, rather than from the inside, from the physical organ of the brain. And when a person dies, his heart stops pumping blood and the blood doesn’t reach the brain, then the “mind” dies together with the body. The brain – they contend - should not be confused with the mind. The human brain is a part of the body that is the house to our “mind” . And while the mind is destroyed by death the brain is still there intact but inert. This is the materialist point of view. It is the view shared and accepted by probably the majority of writers on science and medicine.
Yet mental properties and mental processes are clearly not physical. Just as our internal processes, such as digestion or breathing cannot be considered physical objects. Humans have minds, but it doesn’t follow that minds are genuine persisting objects. Just as humans have minds, they also have personalities, but no one imagines that human personalities are persisting objects, even if they were of the non-physical nature.
Putting aside the soul theory and admitting that human mind is a purely physical object, what role does it play in personal self-identity? This question arises from the confrontation between the body theory and the personality theory. While the body theory argues that if the physical body stays the same, then personhood persists; the personality theory says that it is the human mind that makes us unique. A fascinating test for this theory is the possibility of brain transplant. Would individual personhood subsist in a person with the mind (and therefore personality) of another?
The body can change: a person can lose weight, even have his organs replaced, but such change will not, all things being equal, alter mind properties and functions. Thus the personality theory concludes that the brain is still the key part of the body and is responsible for the uniqueness of each person. The person stays the same even if his set of values or interests may alter throughout life. The enduring personality is the key to personal identity, which can be accepted by both physicalists and dualists.
While materialists believe that life terminates together with the termination of all the vital processes in the body and the separation of the brain and the mind, the dualists believe death to be the moment of separation between the body and the soul. The main difference between the two, then, lies in how they view the “mind”. While materialists believe the mind to be a product of brain activity represented by an array of different functions, the dualists say the mind is essentially the soul, an immaterial object, something that is breathed into the physical body by God. The body is animated by the soul. Christian theologians go further and define the soul as the home of the memory, the intellect and the will.
Free will (our determination and ability to make a certain choice) is one of the strongest arguments for the existence of the soul. The logic to this argument is as follows: all purely physical objects are subject to determinism and nothing subject to determinism has free will. Therefore if we possess the ability of making certain decisions, we are not a purely physical system. Most physicalists challenge dualists by posing another question: what if our thinking that we might have done something differently is only an illusion?
A dilemma automatically arises from the comparison of these two opinions – if the materialists view death as the separation between the brain and the mind doesn’t it mean that the mind is something that comes from the outside “to activate the apparatus” – our body?
This difficulty of understanding the difference between the mind and the soul is highly misleading. I would even dare say that the materialists are contradicting their own theory but not willing to admit it. Official science has not yet proved the existence of the soul. But neither can it demonstrate the soul’s non-existence! The question clearly cannot be framed in scientific terms.
In Western philosophy questions about the soul were formulated and discussed for the first time in the writings of Plato and Aristotle and to some extent arose from the significant developments occurring in the Greek thought in the 6th and 5th centuries BCE. The soul was thought of as the source and bearer of moral qualities such as temperance and justice. It is the soul that is engaged in thinking and planning. However belief in the afterlife in mainstream fifth century BCE Greek culture was weak and unclear. We can clearly see these developments in Plato’s myth Phaedo. “Men find it very hard to believe what you said about the soul. They think that after it has left the body it no longer exists anywhere, but that it is destroyed and dissolved on the day the man dies” (Cebes says at Phaedo).
In his Phaedo Plato describes at length the discussion that took place before Socrates’ death. This myth is not so much the question of the existence of the soul as the question of its immortality. The mere fact of the existence of the soul does not automatically mean that the soul won’t die together with the body. The existence of the soul is taken for granted. Moreover, apart from the question of immortality the Phaedo myth has another argument to consider: does the soul have a certain power and wisdom after the body stops functioning? Socrates answers both questions by saying that not only is the soul immortal but it also contemplates truths even after its separation from the physical body. Another important discussion that Socrates airs in the Phaedo is that of the reincarnation of the soul. Not only is every soul reincarnated over and over again, but he also suggests that his current reincarnation could be his last.
Another of Plato’s myths which bears attention even today is Er (found in Plato’s Republic). The myth is the tale of a warrior, Er, the son of Armenius, by race a Pamphylian. He was slain in battle, and when the corpses were taken up on the 10th day already decayed, his was found intact, and having been brought home, at the moment of his funeral, on the twelfth day as he lay upon the pyre, it revived, and after coming to life related what he had seen in the world beyond. According to the myth, the souls of those judged to have lived justly are sent upwards to heaven to enjoy a beautiful sight for a thousand years. The souls of those who have been unjust, by contrast, go under the earth to be punished.
In Plato’s myths, the soul has an important property – immortality. Plato does not so much discuss the existence of the soul as its immortality.
Thus he proposes an existent and unstated objection about the indestructibility of certain objects, the Platonic forms. The Platonic forms are pure ideas that cannot be physically destroyed. These ideas, as Plato puts it, exist before our birth and after our death. An example of a Platonic form that comes to mind is number, the idea of a number, even in the case of nuclear war will continue its existence and will never disappear or dissolve. The Platonic forms can also represent pure moral ideas, perfect virtues, such as beauty, justice, goodness or health. We do not meet these ideas in the pure form in the empirical world yet somewhere inside our souls we have a clear vision of what they are. Thus, argues Plato, these ideas can be the direct proof of the existence of the soul and its immortality.
In his Republic Plato goes on to argue that the soul has at least three different parts. There is a rational part that is in charge of reasoning; there is a spirited part – the will; and there is a part that has to do with appetite, desires for food, drink and sex.
When the body dies and is separated from the mind, the soul goes to this Plato’s heaven, where it can have more direct contact with these forms. The soul is perfect and immaterial, cannot be destroyed. Plato is clear: in life prepare for death. That’s why Socrates is happy to go to heaven, he is joyful.
Thus Socrates launches his most elaborate and final argument for the immortality of the soul, which concludes that since life belongs to the soul essentially, the soul must be deathless – that is, immortal.
Rene Descartes was a Platonist and a dualist who believed the soul to be located in the centre of the brain, in the so-called pineal gland. This organ often contains calcifications which makes it easily identifiable in X-ray images of the brain. He suggested that nerves were hollow tubes filled with animal spirits. They contained – he posited - small fibres or threads which interact with each other and connect the sense organs with certain small valves of the brain. Thus the stimulated image is projected on the surface of the pineal gland. In his “Treatise of man” he wrote: “My view is that this gland is the principal seat of the soul, and the place in which all our thoughts are formed”. The reason for this belief, as he explained it, was the fact that the pineal gland is the only part of the brain that is not double. We have two eyes, two ears but everything in the brain is united in one part, which Descartes defined as the soul. In “The Passions of the Soul” Descartes determines the soul as “anything in us which we cannot conceive in any way as capable of belonging to a body”. The pineal gland played an important role in Descartes’ account because it was involved in sensation, imagination, memory and the causation of bodily movements.
While Western philosophy still questions the existence and the immortality of the soul, Tibetan culture offers us a unique guide through what we shall define as the afterlife, Bardo Thodol, better known as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”. Unlike the Egyptian book of the dead, Bardo Thodol does not divide men into gods and primitive men but is dedicated to normal people. Bardo Thodol is not a book about the dying ritual but rather a collection of instructions for the dead and the living who throughout their whole life should be preparing themselves for the inevitable. The book of the dead is a guidebook, a manual to prepare for the afterworld, a map to the world of life after life. It is a guidebook to the Bardo world where a soul is meant to stay for 49 days after the death of the body before it is reincarnated. Our present life is important but not as important as the next life.
Bardo Thodol gives some simple yet very profound lessons to everyone who is preparing to die:
1) consider every moment of your life as your last;
2) when a person dies you should chant mantras and thus guide his soul through the Bardos and help him resist the last temptations and find the right path to enlightment;
3) after a person’s death the family members and friends must not mourn his loss but rather stay calm and joyful and try to help his soul through a very difficult path through the Bardos. Mourning for a person who is dead can be highly misleading and even cause a deep depression.
Another important lesson that we grasp in Bardo Thodol teachings is accepting birth and death as something natural and inevitable, something that continuously happens to our souls. Every moment of our lives something is dead and something is born inside us.
Bardo Thodol is not only dedicated to people who are ill or close to death. It is a teaching that must be read during a person’s youth while there are still many years to live. The sooner we start studying “The Book of the Dead”, the sooner we start living according to the laws of the soul, the sooner we realize the true meaning of our lives and accept the inevitability of death. Meditation on the teachings can lead the student to the highest level of spirituality and liberate from all the unnecessary material values that have been imposed throughout life. Bardo Thodol is victory over death.
To the Western world the concept of the soul is, per se, a scary idea. Living in the world of things, we build our lives around things, around material objects, assuming the fact that we have to do something with these objects. Whatever is out of the material world is not to be considered as real. Bardo Thodol teaches us that in everything material depends on the spiritual and not vice versa. Unlike in Western philosophy, where the soul is diminished by material objects and thought to be influenced by things or events happening in life, the wisdom of Bardo Thodol lies in understanding this simple truth: we are not bodies possessing a soul, but rather souls that “rent” a body for a certain period of time and that body should be used and thought of as an instrument of the soul. Therefore death is nothing but a process of the soul’s liberation from the body and all the things that used to surround the person in this life and “enslave” the soul. The theory is that the soul, being a divine particle, is constantly involved in the process of the creation of things and events. In other words, we create our lives, our own universe (something almost incomprehensible for a Western mind).
In his psychological comment on “The Book of the Dead” Carl Gustav Jung meditates on the difficulty of accepting the idea of man as creator of his own life. It is a lot simpler, he says, to look at events and things as being imposed on us, something that is inevitable and meant to happen rather than accept the idea of being completely responsible for one’s own life and seeing oneself as its creator. Jung: “For the Western world the soul is something small, subjective, not worthy of attention, something personal. Therefore the word “soul” is often called and described as “the mind”.
Another argument for the existence of the soul is found in Jung’s teachings – mostly in his idea of the archetypes. According to Jung, archetypes constitute the direct proof of the existence of the soul. The archetypes are those core components that stay the same and do not alter from person to person, same as the bodily organs. Jung calls the archetypes organs of the unconscious soul.
Reports of near-death experiences are not a new phenomenon. A great number of them have been recorded over a period of thousands of years. The ancient religious texts such as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead”, the Bible and the Koran describe experiences of life after death which remarkably resemble modern near-death experiences.
Leaving aside the most obvious example of a NDE described in Plato’s myth “Er”, I want to focus on another remarkable personality mentioned above, Austrian world-renowned psychiatrist Carl Jung, and his own NDE. In 1944 Carl Jung had a heart attack in a hospital in Switzerland which was followed by a near-death experience. His vivid encounter with the light and intensely meaningful insights led Jung to conclude that his experience came from something real and eternal. “This is eternal bliss. This cannot be described; it is far too wonderful”, wrote Jung.
His incredibly accurate view of the Earth from outer space was described about two decades before astronauts in space first saw and filmed and confirmed it. Later Jung recalled the meditating Hindu from his near-death experience “I knew he expected me” and read it as a parable of the archetypal Higher Self, the God-image within. In his memoirs Jung wrote: “I saw blocks of tawny granite, and some of them were hollowed out into temples. My stone was one such gigantic dark block. As I approached the steps leading up to the entrance into the rock, a strange thing happened: I had the feeling that everything was being sloughed away; everything I aimed at or wished for or thought, the whole phantasmagoria of earthly existence, fell away or was stripped from me – an extremely painful process. I consisted of my own history and I felt with great certainty: this is what I am. I am this bundle of what has been and what has been accomplished. This experience gave me a feeling of extreme poverty, but at the same time of great fullness. There was no longer anything I wanted or desired. I existed in an objective form”.
Among Jung’s post-life recollections there was a premonition of his doctor’s death. Jung saw his doctor in his primal form as basileus of Kos (the king). Many times he tried to explain to the doctor that it meant a very high risk to his life. Jung persisted in telling him that he had to watch himself because his life was in jeopardy but the doctor wouldn’t listen. Some days later Jung’s doctor died of septicaemia.
In 1975 an American psychiatrist Raymond Moody published a world bestseller entitled “Life after Life” that shook the foundations of official science. The book represented a summary of his interviews with 150 people who had undergone near-death experiences. The “witnesses of death” for the first time openly shared their stories, while in scientific circles the question of the material nature of the soul was raised once again.
This question has been the main research subject for some of the most prominent minds of the last century, such as Vladimir Bechterev and his granddaughter Natalia Bechtereva and even a group of psychiatrists lead by Carl Jung. Vladimir Bechterev’s thoughts on the immortality of the soul are still of great interest, especially the mystery permeating his most famous words: “There is no death, gentlemen”.
Another worldwide bestseller that deserves our attention is a near death experience narrated by a Harvard neurosurgeon Alexander Eben “A Proof of Heaven”. Eben’s brain was infected with a ferocious E. coli meningitis which almost took his life and plunged him into a week-long coma. The interest of this book is not in the description of the afterlife itself, as the description of it by a scientist. As a sceptical neurosurgeon, Eben can judge both materialistic and the dualist opinions on the question of death. Therefore his story about “magic butterflies and the birds signing in heaven” must count as a significant support to the idea that our life does not end the moment our heart stops pumping blood.
My own near-death experience is a deeply personal recollection that I rarely share with others for the obvious fear of being misunderstood.
When I was 16 years old my grandmother was very sick. That summer she was very unwell. Her illness was eating up a previously energetic and stoic person who in her life had survived more than anyone I have ever met. That August I knew I was seeing her for the last time. She couldn’t leave her bed, her face was growing paler but what impressed me most of all was the look in her eyes. It seemed as though she had absolutely no interest in life and she knew the sufferings would be over very soon. But together with that apparent calm I also noticed an unusual light of wisdom. Her eyes could speak while she could barely open her mouth to say a word. It wasn’t clear to me and I had no explanation for what was happening but I felt that my grandmother was going to die and that she knew it would not be over for her. I had a feeling she was storing her energy for this transition. She would not care for “this” world anymore, her mind was occupied with the preparation for the “after” world.
A few days after our visit while we were in our summer cabin we had an early morning call. The moment the phone rang I already knew. My father was completely distraught even though he had had time ‘to prepare’. But is it possible to be ready for someone’s death? He rushed to help my uncle with the funeral routine. I was left at the summer cabin with my mother and our two cats. That morning right after the phone call I had been feeling strong pains in my stomach. Initially I thought it could be indigestion and I decided to wait. But the pain grew stronger until it became impossible to wait. At night my father returned to take us to the city. My pain was impossible to sustain and I had fever. By midnight the fever was at 41 and I was taken to the hospital, where I was visited by numerous doctors but none of them was completely sure what the problem was. They suggested a laparoscopy. My parents asked them to do whatever was best for me, wondering what kind of procedure could save my life. They asked me what I thought was best to do and the only answer I could give at that moment was “Do whatever you want. You can even kill me. I don’t want to feel this pain anymore”. My body was shivering, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t talk. I was fading.
In the course of the laparoscopy the surgeons found out that I had a devastating intestinal infection that inflamed my lymph system. As we discovered later the infection was passed to me from our cats who had constant contact with mice and rats in the village where our summer cabin was. The infection I had was lethal to humans. I was left in the hospital for more than a week and had a very intense antibiotic treatment.
I have described what happened to my physical body. What happened to my soul during that night was a very different experience. In my vision I was taken to a place full of light and peace. It was a feeling I had never felt before – the feeling of euphoria and pure joy, happiness and fulfilment. I knew it was exactly what I was aiming to obtain in life but somehow I couldn’t. Everything was complete now, all the senses were filled and at the same time it seemed that feelings were absent. I didn’t have any feelings and yet I felt everything, the whole range of emotions. It seemed as if I was at last liberated from all earthly bonds and all my desires and my intentions I had throughout my life were completed.
I find myself in a very difficult position trying to describe what I exactly felt that night. However I realize that it might be impossible to find the right words to describe the place I was taken to. This difficulty is explained by the fact that what I experienced did not belong to “this” world therefore using “earthly” words may not be enough.
If I think of what it felt like I most often think of Plato’s definition of heaven. In his “Phaedo” Plato argues that the soul is rational and can think of pure ideas such as the idea of beauty, goodness, justice or health. Nothing of what we experience in the empirical world is perfectly beautiful but we still can think of the pure ideas, such as perfect justice. However we do have a recollection of what pure ideas are. When we encounter something partially beautiful or just, we feel pure joy at the thought of being close to the perfect form of beauty or justice. These perfect virtues our mind can think of are better known as the platonic forms. At the moment of our physical death when the mind is separated from the body, the soul goes to Plato’s heaven where all the ideas are found in their pure (Platonic) forms. What I experienced in my visions was the euphoric feeling of having reached all the pure forms at once. Nothing bothered me anymore, nothing required my attention. I finally felt what I wanted to feel all my life – I felt complete, content and empty of any desires all at the same time.
In a moment I saw all the 16 years of my life pass before my eyes in an instant. I don’t think it lasted any longer than just an instant but I literally saw everything from the moment of my birth to my most recent recollections. The vision of my past life ended with the sound of the deep masculine voice that was coming in my left ear. The sensation it gave me was almost physical and indescribable. It said “It is too early for you to go. You still haven’t done what you had to do”. Although I couldn’t feel, I knew I was very disappointed because it meant I couldn’t remain in that peaceful place. I had to go back and I struggled with that idea. The moment after I heard the voice, I saw my grandmother who passed away that same day. Her expression was calm. She wasn’t smiling or trying to talk to me. Of all the things I ever saw I shall never forget the expression of her eyes. Her eyes were talking to me but their language would be incomprehensible to any living human. Her eyes were filled with peace and wisdom, the look was somehow very distant. I knew she had to remain in that place and this appearance would be the last time I could see her.
The vision of my grandmother was followed by the vision of my own body seen from the window of the room where I was lying. I saw myself from the distance and felt sucked back in. My vision was over and I had to open my eyes and I instantly thought of people I wanted to see, people who were important.
After my near death experience my life changed drastically. It almost felt as if there were two different persons before and after it. I know I have been given a second chance to complete my mission on earth and every day that passes is a reminder that the end is nearer and I still haven’t done enough. Almost all the time I feel hungry for life, for knowledge. I am hungry to experience and learn new things, anything that I can apply in my life which can be helpful to other people too. I am aware I won’t live forever, but as long as I am alive I must be thankful for this gift and try to make the most of each day.
Regarding life after death we always hear the same words: “Those who are not permanently dead cannot make any judgments or assumptions about death. If no man who was permanently dead comes back to life, how can we know what exactly will happen to us once we die?” It is often said that people who experience near-death experiences may not have died at all or moved “to another land”; perhaps they were standing on the edge but still could have an impression of what death is like. The recollections of near-death experiences may not be seen as a scientific proof for the existence of the soul and its immortality but they do give us a glimpse of something that is beyond our comprehension.
Discussions about the possible life after life are never over and unconsciously I believe we are all striving to gain more knowledge in this field. The “afterlife” already in its name hints at the sense of impossibility in its study by empirical methods; however this doesn’t mean we should not give up trying to glimpse that what is beyond our immediate understanding.
It is the poet rather than the physicist who responds best to that thirst for what lies beyond … “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy” (Hamlet; Shakespeare).
