It was also in this conviction that the positive duty of burying the deceased originated. In order to bring rest to the soul in the subterranean dwelling that fitted its new existence, it was necessary that the body, to which, in some way or another, it still clung, should be covered with earth. The soul, denied a grave, had no dwelling. Drifting about, it sought in vain the desired rest after life’s fitful struggle. Without shelter, without offerings or food, it was condemned to everlasting wandering. Therefore, because the deceased was unhappy, he became ill-natured. He tormented the living; sent them diseases; destroyed their harvests; haunted them in uncanny visions in order to remind them of their duty to bury the body and thereby secure peace for himself.
The old authors give evidence of the degree to which people were vexed by fear that proper ceremonies would not be observed at their burial. It was a constant source of grievous irritation. The fear of death was less prevalent than the fear of being left unburied. Naturally so, for it was a question of eternal happiness. It should therefore not surprise us so much when we see the Athenians execute generals, who, after a naval victory, had neglected to bury the fallen. These generals, disciples of the philosophers of their time, did not believe that the fate of the soul was dependent on that of the body. They had therefore decided not to challenge the tempest for the empty formality of gathering and burying the fallen. But the masses, even in enlightened Athens, still clung to the old conceptions, and accused the generals of godlessness, sentencing them to death. By their victory they had saved Athens, but by their negligence they had brought perdition upon thousands of souls. “These conceptions,” says Fustel de Coulanges, “have governed man and society through many generations, and have been the source from which the larger part of ancient domestic and public institutions were derived.”
But this is not all. The primitive ideas, referred to above, obtain even today among various nations and tribes all over the earth. From the islands in the Pacific Ocean all the way up to the Polar regions we meet with the same creeds among uncivilized peoples, the same or similar manner of burial as among the ancients.
If we were going to illustrate this, the Chinese probably would be the first to attract our attention, not only because of the antiquity of their civilization, but because of their great numbers. As is well known, a third part of the world’s population is Chinese. Most of the characteristic peculiarities of this enormous community must be attributed to their death-cultus.
Every family in China lives in continuous communication with its ancestors, upon whom are bestowed offerings of fruit, grain, rice or vegetables, according to the products of the soil of their home. The soul will lose none of its qualities through the separation from the body. In company with other souls of their kindred it hovers over the family, partakes of their sufferings, rejoices in their happiness. If forgotten, it grows melancholy and ill-natured, it complains in doleful voice and its moans are ominous. Woe unto him who ignores these obligations. The offerings to the souls of his forefathers must not be neglected. Their memory must not be allowed to fade away. But who is going to attend to these sacrifices and memorial observances if the family dies out? Matrimony, therefore, becomes a sacred duty, the foremost of all duties.
To the Chinese mind there is no grievance greater, no punishment more terrible, than expulsion from the family. What would become of a man’s soul if his nearest of kin would curse his memory? To rid himself of such a sickening dream he is ready to sacrifice everything, even life itself. But only when the body is brought to rest in the family grave can the soul enjoy the care of its kindred. It is obvious, then, that emigration is looked upon with great apprehension by the faithful Chinaman. He must either return home during his life or else arrange that his body be brought back if death should overtake him while abroad. We know that the big transoceanic steamship companies faithfully carry out this part of their contracts with those of their Chinese passengers who meet with unexpected death in America.
Similar ideas are to be found among the negroes of Africa and Australia, and among the Indian tribes of America. These also supply their deceased with such tools and provisions as they are supposed to need in another world.
Among the Arctic peoples the same customs and usages prevail. When an Eskimo is about to die, he is dressed in his best clothes and his knees are drawn up under him. The grave is lined inside with moss and a skin, over which stones and peat are spread. If the dead is a man, his boat, weapons and tools are laid beside the grave; if a woman, her knife and sewing utensils; if it is a child, the head of a dog is placed on top of the grave, that the soul of the dog may show the helpless child a road to the second life. If a mother dies while nursing a babe, it is, as a rule, buried alive with her.
In a Samoyede grave, Nordenskold found among other things parts of an iron pot, an ax, a knife, a drill, a bow, a wooden arrow, some copper ornaments, etc. Even rolls of birch bark were found in the coffin, in all probability to be used for making fire in another world. Beside the grave a sleigh was placed upside down, evidently in order to provide a vehicle for the deceased, and we may assume that reindeers were slaughtered at the funeral.
The essential, fundamental thought in this conception which causes the uncultivated peoples in our days to treat their deceased in the same way as the ancients did, is the belief that the body contains something which the soul cannot do without in the future life. Soul and body are and remain a unit even beyond the grave. As death means a violent tearing apart of these two factors, the soul cannot be wholly satisfied without its natural relationship to the body.