The Book of the Dead assumed many forms. It occurs primarily on papyri, but it is found as well on tomb walls, coffins, scarabs, funerary stelae, and other objects. Perhaps the best-known Book is the famous papyrus that was inscribed for a certain Ani, "the Accounts-Scribe of the Divine Offerings of all the Gods," and his wife Tutu. This profusely and beautifully illustrated scroll was made during the early Ramesside period (c. 1300 B.C.E.) in Ani's home town, the southern religious capital at Thebes, modern Luxor. It was purchased there by its curator, E. A. Wallis Budge, in 1888 for the British Museum where it is displayed today. Extending more than seventy-five feet, it is one of the best examples of the Book papyri of the New Kingdom and Ramesside periods. Ironically, for all its splendor, this scroll was actually a template papyrus roughly akin to a modern preprinted lease or standard will, with Ani's name and titles being inserted into the appropriate blank spaces at the last minute. Ani, or his survivors, purchased what was deemed appropriate (and what they could afford) from a funerary workshop for his safe journey into the next world; then the sheets with those relevant spells were pasted together to form the final product.

The Book of the Dead represents the acme of the illustrated book in ancient Egypt. The text itself represents a continuation of an ancient tradition of afterworld guides that began with the royal Pyramid Texts in the Old Kingdom and continued with the more "democratized" Coffin Texts for wealthy individuals of the Middle Kingdom. These, in turn, provided the material on which many chapters of the Book of the Dead were based. This pattern of rewriting old religious texts and adopting them to new beliefs was to continue after the Book throughout pharaonic history. At no time did any group of texts become canonical in the sense of having a definitive text or a fixed sequence and number of chapters. The first spells that can be definitely associated with the Book of the Dead began appearing in the late Middle Kingdom, but it was not really until the Eighteenth Dynasty (c. 1500 B.C.E.) that this new work became the standard afterlife text for the Egyptian elite. In order to enhance its appeal to the conservative religious sense of Egyptians, the Book of the Dead preserves many archaisms in script, vocabulary, and dialect. The main innovations of the Book of the Dead were that nearly every spell was accompanied by a vignette—an illustration—and that the work, designed for the relatively cheap medium of papyrus, was affordable for a much wider audience of Egyptians.

Probably only a miniscule percentage of Egyptians had the means to include a Book papyrus among their burial equipment. In fact, because the Book describes a lavish funeral, an elaborate, well-outfitted tomb, and other expensive burial equipment, some scholars have surmised that these scrolls were partially intended to provide by magic various things that the average Egyptian official could not afford.

All Egyptian religious texts such as the Book were fundamentally collections compiled from several different sources or local traditions, so that the final versions often contained contradictory concepts and statements, occasionally within the same spell or sentence. Consequently, for modern readers, many of whom have been influenced by the uncompromising strictures of monotheism, reading the Book often evokes confusion, even shock. In the profoundly polytheistic environment of Egyptian religion, however, there was never was a need to reconcile differences or to compel uniformity; one should more properly speak of Egyptian religions in the plural rather than the singular. Yet, despite this seeming lack of consistency, the fundamental concepts concerning life after death remained essentially stable.

Above all, the Egyptians had an essentially optimistic conception of the afterlife. For them death may have been inevitable, but it was survivable. However, unlike the modern view of death as the great leveler that reduces all humanity to the same status before the deity, a profound class-consciousness permeated the Egyptian view of the next world. Earthly status was transferable into the world beyond. The chief objective of their vast

Departed souls make an offering to Horus in this illustration from the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Such images have become more widely known than the text itself.

CORBIS

mortuary culture was not only to ensure survival after death but to preserve one's earthly station, presumably as a member of the elite. Therein lay the elaborate nature of Egyptian tombs and burials, which were intended to provide the deceased with a comfortable material existence in the next world, an existence that would in part be an idyllic version of earthly life, an Egyptian Elysian Fields. Egypt, the land of the living, was well ordered and governed under the principle of Ma'at, that is, roughly (rightful) order or universal guidance. Maat prevailed in the coherent, cosmic universe.

Consequently, travel through the world beyond the grave meant that the deceased would have to confront irrational, chaotic forces. The Book of the Dead joins together two views of the afterlife— a chthonic underworld where Osiris, a deity who had died and been resurrected, presided and a stellar-solar realm where the blessed dead eventually hoped for an eternal celestial existence in the company of the sun god Ra. Once one entered the next world in the West or traveled with the god Ra below the horizon into the netherworld, one encountered the forces of primordial chaos and irrationality prevailed. Magical spells such as those in the Book of the Dead were considered the appropriate means for protecting the traveling soul against these dangers.

The key afterlife trial that everyone faced took the form of a judgment of one's soul on a set of scales like those the Egyptians used in their earthly existence. After the deceased had ritualistically denied a list of forty-two misdeeds, the so-called negative confession—his or her heart was put on one scale-pan, while a feather symbolizing the principle of Ma'at was placed on the other. According to this beautiful metaphor, one's heart had to be as light as a feather in relation to sin. Thereafter, one was deemed "true-of-voice" and worthy of an eternal existence. Despite this, dangers remained. The chief purpose of the Book of the Dead was to guide the deceased through those afterlife perils; one might draw an analogy with a traveler's guide to a foreign land. The Book provides for many eventualities yet not all of these would arise, nor was it expected that the various dangers would occur according to the sequence in which they appear on any given scroll.

 The chief objective of their vast mortuary culture was not only to ensure survival after death but to preserve one's earthly station, presumably as a member of the elite. Therein lay the elaborate nature of Egyptian tombs and burials, which were intended to provide the deceased with a comfortable material existence in the next world, an existence that would in part be an idyllic version of earthly life, an Egyptian Elysian Fields. Egypt, the land of the living, was well ordered and governed under the principle of Ma'at, that is, roughly (rightful) order or universal guidance. Maat prevailed in the coherent, cosmic universe.

Consequently, travel through the world beyond the grave meant that the deceased would have to confront irrational, chaotic forces. The Book of the Dead joins together two views of the afterlife— a chthonic underworld where Osiris, a deity who had died and been resurrected, presided and a stellar-solar realm where the blessed dead eventually hoped for an eternal celestial existence in the company of the sun god Ra. Once one entered the next world in the West or traveled with the god Ra below the horizon into the netherworld, one encountered the forces of primordial chaos and irrationality prevailed. Magical spells such as those in the Book of the Dead were considered the appropriate means for protecting the traveling soul against these dangers.

The key afterlife trial that everyone faced took the form of a judgment of one's soul on a set of scales like those the Egyptians used in their earthly existence. After the deceased had ritualistically denied a list of forty-two misdeeds, the so-called negative confession—his or her heart was put on one scale-pan, while a feather symbolizing the principle of Ma'at was placed on the other. According to this beautiful metaphor, one's heart had to be as light as a feather in relation to sin. Thereafter, one was deemed "true-of-voice" and worthy of an eternal existence. Despite this, dangers remained. The chief purpose of the Book of the Dead was to guide the deceased through those afterlife perils; one might draw an analogy with a traveler's guide to a foreign land. The Book provides for many eventualities yet not all of these would arise, nor was it expected that the various dangers would occur according to the sequence in which they appear on any given scroll.

INCAN RELIGION

Like many ancient Andean people before them, the Incas viewed death in two ways. One was biological death, when the body ceased functionally and was cremated, buried, or mummified. The other was social death, when certain privileged individuals remained active in the minds, souls, and daily lives of the living until they were forgotten or replaced by other prominent figures. Some ancestors were never forgotten, however. They were considered heroic figures who gave the Inca their identity. Their corpses were mummified, revered, and saved as sacred objects. Ancestor veneration frightened the Spanish crown and clergy, who destroyed the burial chambers, or huacas, of these corpses in an attempt to undermine the ancestral foundation of the Incan empire.

The ancient Inca Empire developed in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries C.E. and spanned more than 2,000 miles from Ecuador to Chile at the time of the Spanish arrival in 1515. Hereditary lords ruled the empire. The basic social unit of the Inca was the ayllu, a collective of kinsmen who cooperated in the management of land and camelid herds. Common ancestors gave ayllus their ethnic identity. Ruling over the local ayllus were karacas. Lords and karacas claimed close kinship ties with important deities and ancestors and acted as intermediaries between heaven and the earth, interceding with the supernatural forces on behalf of their subjects' well being. The countryside was viewed as being alive with supernatural forces, solar deities, and ancestral figures. Even today the indigenous Quechua and Aymara people of the Andes see the land animated with these figures.

The Incas believed they were the children of the sun, Inti. The exaltation of Inti was basic to the creation of an imperial cult. Inti became the deified royal progenitor, and his role as dynastic ancestor is described by early Spanish scholars. In each imperial city a temple to Inti was built and served by special priests.

Both in Cuzco, the capital of the empire, and the surrounding countryside, numerous sanctuaries and huacas were situated on ceques, or imaginary lines. Ceques were divided into four sections, or quarters, as defined by the principal roads radiating from the Temple of the Sun in Cuzco in the direction of the four quarters of the Inca Empire. The ceques played an important part in the calendrical system and in Inca religion in general, including child sacrifice.

In the mid-1500s, the Spanish scholar Bernardo Cobo reported that after the Incas conquered a town or province they would divide the cultivated land into three parts: the first for the state religion and temples, the second for the Inca ruler himself, and the remaining third for the community itself. Temple lands were often used to cultivate corn, whose religious significance was important, and possibly other products required for ceremonial purposes, as well as provide food for the priests of powerful deities.

Inca rulers were extremely powerful and revered by most followers. Veneration of the rulers did not end with their death; they were mummified and displayed during special public rituals so their legends would be retained as a living presence. Their mummies were served by panacas, royal descendants of the dead lord endowed with great wealth. The panacas' role was to conserve the dead ruler's mummy and to immortalize his life and achievements with the help of chants and rituals performed on ceremonial occasions in the presence of the succeeding lord and the mummies of other dead Inca lords. These rites were passed on from generation to generation. Placed in the temporary tombs of the lord's were llama and women sculpted in gold, as well as different kinds of golden vessels, exquisite textiles, and other fine objects. Royal members of the lord's court and local karacas were not mummified but placed in elaborate tombs with lavish offerings. Most commoners were buried in simple surroundings.

 

Death and Islam

Death is a question of ultimate concern for every human being, and Islam has a very vivid portrayal of the stages of death and the afterlife. Death is likened to sleep in Islam; interestingly, sleep in Arabic is called "the little brother of death." The Prophet spoke often of death, and the Quran is filled with warnings of the dangers of ignoring one's mortality and of not preparing for death before it is too late. In one poignant passage, the Quran reads,

And spend something (in charity) out of the substance which We have bestowed on you before death should come to any of you and he should say, "O my Lord! Why didst Thou not give me respite for a little while? I should then have given (largely) in charity, and I should have been one of the doers of good." But to no soul will Allah grant respite when the time appointed (for it) has come; and Allah is well-acquainted with (all) that ye do. (Quran, pp. 1473–1474)

Hence, the world is seen as an opportunity to cultivate for the hereafter, and time is seen as capital that human beings either invest wisely or squander, only to find themselves bankrupt in the next life. Muhammad said, "One of you says, 'My wealth! My wealth!' Indeed, have any of you anything other than your food that you eat and consume, your clothes that you wear out, and your wealth that you give in charity which thus increases in return in the next world?"

The idea of mentioning death and reflecting on death is very important in a Muslim's daily life, and attending any Muslim's funeral, whether known or not, is highly encouraged; for such attendance, one is rewarded greatly by God. Muhammad advised, "Make much mention of the destroyer of delights," which is death. He also said, "Introduce into your gatherings some mention of death to keep things in perspective." This is not seen as a morbid exercise, and Muslims surprisingly accept death, resigned to what is called "one's appointed time" (ajal). Like the telemere in biology that dictates how many times a cell may regenerate before dying, an individual's appointed term, according to Islam, is inescapable and fated. When a Muslim survives a near-death experience, such as a serious car accident, an operation, or an illness, he or she will often remark, "My appointed time did not come yet."

After Death

Once a Muslim dies, the people left behind must prepare the body by washing, perfuming, and shrouding it. The funeral prayer is then performed, and the deceased is buried in a graveyard without a coffin, simply laid in the earth and covered. A person, usually a relative, informs the deceased of what is happening, as Muslims believe that the deceased can hear and understand what is being said. Muslims believe the dead person is not always aware of the transition, and so the one giving instructions informs the deceased that he or she has died, is being laid in the grave, and that two angels known as Munkar and Nakir will soon come into the grave to ask three questions. To the first question, "Who is your Lord?," the deceased is instructed to reply, "Allah." In answer to the second question, "Who is your Prophet?," the deceased should say, "Muhammad," and the correct response to the third question, "What is your religion?," is "Islam." If the individual passes this first phase of the afterlife, the experience of the grave is pleasant, and he or she is given glimpses of the pleasures of paradise. If however, the deceased does not pass this phase, then the grave is the first stage of chastisement.

After this, the soul sleeps and does not awake until a blast from an angel at God's command. According to Islamic tradition, this blast signals the end of the world and kills any remaining souls on the earth. It is followed by a second blast that causes all of the souls to be resurrected. At this point, humanity is raised up and assembled on a plain. The Quran states, "On that day We shall leave them to surge like waves on one another; the trumpet will be blown, and We shall collect them all together" (Quran, p. 735). From there, humanity will beg each of the prophets to intercede for them and hasten the Day of Judgment because the waiting is so terrible, but the prophets will refuse. Finally, all of humanity goes to the Prophet Muhammad. He will agree to intercede for them and ask that the Judgment commence. This intercession is granted to him alone. Then, each soul is judged based upon its beliefs and actions, which are weighed in the scales of divine justice. At this point, the two guardian angels assigned to all people throughout their adult lives will testify for or against them. According to the Quran, the limbs of each person will testify, and the earth herself is resurrected and bears witness against those who caused her harm. Next, a person will be given a book either in the right or left hand. For those given a book in the right hand, they pass the Judgment and are given the grace of God. For those given a book in their left hand, they fail the Judgment and are condemned to hell. However, at this point, prophets and other righteous people are allowed to intercede for their relatives, followers, or friends among the condemned, and their intercession is accepted.

Once the Day of Judgment is over, humanity proceeds to a bridge known as the sirat, which crosses over hell. The saved cross it safely to the other side and are greeted by their respective prophets. The Muslims who make it safely across are greeted by Muhammad, who will take them to a great pool and give them a drink that will quench their thirst forever. The condemned fall into hell. The Quran states that some will only spend a brief time there, while others, the unrepenting and idolatrous ingrates, are condemned forever. Muslims see death as a transition to the other side. Islam is seen as the vehicle that will take one safely there. It is only in paradise that the believer finds ultimate peace and happiness.

The following is from the Encyclopedia of Death and Dying (deathreference.com)

Bahá'í Beliefs on Death and Dying

The Bahá'í faith posits three layers of existence: the concealed secret of the Divine Oneness; the intermediary world of spiritual reality; and the world of physical realty ("the world of possibility"). It rejects the notion—common to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—that life in this physical world is a mere preparation for an eternal life to come after death. The Bahá'í faith regards the whole idea of Heaven and Hell as allegorical rather than real. Bahá'ís believe that human life moves between the two interwoven poles of the physical and the spiritual. The only difference is that the world of physical existence has the dimension of temporality whereas the world of spiritual existence is eternal. Although one's physical life is not directly preparatory for a purely spiritual afterlife, the two are interrelated, the current course of life can influence its subsequent course. Death does not mean movement into another life, but continuation of this life. It is simply another category or stage of existence. The best that a person can do in this world, therefore, is to achieve spiritual growth, in both this and the coming life.

Death is regarded as the mere shedding of the physical frame while the indestructible soul lives on. Because the soul is the sum total of the personality and the physical body is pure matter with no real identity, the person, having left his material side behind, remains the same person, and he continues the life he conducted in the physical world. His heaven therefore is the continuation of the noble side of his earthly life, whereas hell would be the continuation of an ignoble life on earth. Freed from the bonds of earthly life, the soul is able to come nearer to God in the "Kingdom of Bahá." Hence the challenge of life in this world continues in the next, with the challenge eased because of the freedom from physical urges and imperatives.

Although death causes distress and pain to the friends and relatives of the deceased, it should be regarded as nothing more than a stage of life. Like birth, it comes on suddenly and opens a door to new and more abundant life. Death and birth follow each other in the movement from stage to stage and are symbolized some in other religions by the well-known ceremonies of the "rites of passage." In this way real physical death is also considered as a stage followed by birth into an invisible but no less real world.

Because the body is the temple of the soul, it must be treated with respect; therefore, cremation is forbidden in the Bahá'í faith, and the body must be laid to rest in the ground and pass through the natural process of decomposition. Moreover, the body must be treated with utmost care and cannot be removed a distance of more than an hour's journey from the place of death. The body must be wrapped in a shroud of silk or cotton and on its finger should be placed a ring bearing the inscription "I came forth from God and return unto Him, detached from all save Him, holding fast to His Name, the Merciful the Compassionate." The coffin should be made from crystal, stone, or hardwood, and a special prayer for the dead must be said before interment.

In its particular respect for the body of the dead, the Bahá'í faith shares the same values of Judaism and Islam, and was no doubt influenced by the attitude of Islam, its mother religion.

Buddhism and Death and Dying

Robert Thurman's text leads to a consideration of the relationship of Buddhism to modern clinical medical ethics and attitudes to death and dying in particular as well as to the pastoral care of the terminally ill. The Swiss-born psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross interviewed over 200 dying patients better to understand the psychological aspects of dying. She illustrates five stages that people go through when they know they are going to die. The stages include denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. While a sequential order is implied, the manner is which a person comes to terms with impending death does not necessarily follow the order of the stages. Some of these phases are temporary; others will be with that person until death. The stages will exist at different times and can co-exist within each other. Denial and feelings of isolation are usually short lived. Isolation is related to the emotional support one receives. If a person feels alone and helpless he or she is more likely to isolate. During the anger stage, it is important to be very patient with the dying individual, who acts in apparent anger because of an inability to accept the reality of the diagnosis. Bargaining describes the period in which the ill person tries to bargain with doctors, family, clergy, or God to "buy more time."

When the denial, anger, and bargaining come to an end—and if the ill person continues to live— depression typically arises. Kübler-Ross talks about two forms of depression (reactive and preparatory). Reactive depression comes about from past losses, guilt, hopelessness, and shame. Preparatory depression is associated with impending loss. Most ill persons feel guilty for departing from family or friends, so require reassurance that life will change in the absence of the dead person but will nevertheless continue. The acceptance stage is a product of tiredness and numbness after the various preceding stages with their struggles. The model has been criticized and may not be applicable to the majority who die in old age, where a terminal diagnosis may be more acceptable to the individual. Many of the aged have experienced a gradual diminution of health and abilities that predates any knowledge of impending death. Such a diagnosis may be better accepted by the elderly both because of gradual infirmity and because approaching death is not viewed as a "surprise," but rather as part of a long and total life experience. For all the caveats, there are important resonances between the Kübler-Ross model and the stages of liberation in the bardo experience described above.

Julia Ching writes that "the central Mahayan insight, that Nirvana is to be found in the samsara, that is, in this life and this world, has made the religion more acceptable to the Chinese and Japanese" (Ching 1989, p. 217). She questions the content of Buddhist belief in East Asia: ". . . it appears that many Chinese, Japanese, and Korean Buddhists are less than clear about their belief in the cycle of rebirth. Their accounts of samsara include the presupposition of a wandering soul, which is not in accord with strict Buddhist teaching, and they tend to perceive life in linear terms. Besides, they frequently equate Nirvana with the Pure Land [named after Sukhavati, a Sanskrit word representing an ideal Buddhist paradise this side of Nirvana, believed to be presided over by the Buddha Amitabha, the Buddha of infinite life and light], and the Buddhas with the bodhisattvas" (1989, p. 220).

Ch'an and Zen, the respective Chinese and Japanese transliterations of the Sankrit word for meditation (dyhana) are a distinctively East Asian development of the Mahayana tradition. Zen teaches that ultimate reality or emptiness (sunya), sometimes called "Buddha-nature," is, as described by Ching, "inexpressible in words or concepts and is apprehended only by direct intuition, outside of conscious thought. Such direct intuition requires discipline and training, but is also characterized by freedom and spontaneity" (Ching 1989, p. 211). Japanese Buddhism, she contends, "is so closely associated with the memory of the dead and the ancestral cult that the family shrines dedicated to the ancestors, and still occupying a place of honor in homes, are popularly called the Butsudan, literally 'the Buddhist altars.' . . . It has been the custom in modern Japan to have Shinto weddings . . . but to turn to Buddhism in times of bereavement and for funeral services" (Ching 1989, p. 219).

The tradition of death poems in Zen accounts for one way in which the Japanese regard Buddhism as a funerary religion. Minamoto Yorimasa (1104–1180 C.E.), lamented that "Like a rotten log / half buried in the ground— / my life, which / has not flowered, comes / to this sad end" (Hoffman 1986, p. 48). Shiaku Nyûdo (d. 1333) justified an act of suicide with the words: "Holding forth this sword / I cut vacuity in twain; / In the midst of the great fire, / a stream of refreshing breeze!" (Suzuki 1959, p. 84). At what would be considered the relatively youthful age of fifty-four, Ota Dokan (1432–1486) clearly considered himself in decline already by the time of death: "Had I not known / that I was dead / already / I would have mourned / my loss of life" (Hoffman 1986, p. 52). For Ôuchi Yoshitaka (1507–1551) it was the extraordinary event that was significant: "Both the victor / and the vanquished are / but drops of dew, / but bolts of lightning—thus should we view the world" (1986, p. 53). The same image of dew, this time reinforced by dreams, was paramount for Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536–1598): "My life / came like dew / disappears like dew. / All of Naniwa / is dream after dream" (Berry 1982, p. 235). Forty-nine years had passed as a dream for Uesugi Kenshin (1530–1578): "Even a life-long prosperity is but one cup of sake; /A life of forty-nine years is passed in a dream / I know not what life is, nor death. Year in year out—all but a dream. / Both Heaven and Hell are left behind; / I stand in the moonlit dawn, / Free from clouds of attachment" (Suzuki 1959, p. 82). The mists that cloud the mind were swept away at death for Hôjô Ujimasa (1538–1590): "Autumn wind of eve, / blow away the clouds that mass / over the moon's pure light / and the mists that cloud our mind, / do thou sweep away as well. / Now we disappear, / well, what must we think of it? / From the sky we came. / Now we may go back again. / That's at least one point of view" (Sadler 1978, pp. 160–161).

The death poems exemplify both the "eternal loneliness" that is found at the heart of Zen and the search for a new viewpoint, a new way of looking at life and things generally, or a version of enlightenment (satori in Japanese; wu in Chinese). Daisetz Suzuki writes: ". . . there is no Zen without satori, which is indeed the alpha and omega of Zen Buddhism"; it is defined as "an intuitive looking into the nature of things in contradistinction to the analytical or logical understanding of it." This can only be gained "through our once personally experiencing it" (1963, pp. 153, 154).