I once read an article about one of the most remarkable men of the 20th Century. He was King Sobhuza II, Lion of Swaziland. In 1898 he was anointed future King at the age of 4 months. In 1921, he ascended the throne and for 61 years he ruled his people shrewdly and well. In his lifetime he had some 100 wives and 600 children, a record unsurpassed as far as one can discover in the annals of human stamina and productivity. His biography, properly researched and written, would make a book of infinite interest and instruction.
How King Sobhuza died struck me particularly. In the middle of a State Council he suddenly waved everyone out of the chamber except for his Health Minister. “I am going”, he said to the Minister, a Dr. Hand. Puzzled Dr. Hand replied: “Where are you going?” But the Lion of Swaziland made no response – he only gave a little smile and a wave of farewell and then he died.
I suppose the simple answer to the question the doctor put to the King – “Where are you going?” – might have been given by describing the mountain cave near the Lobama royal palace where all the Kings of Swaziland are buried. It is a lovely place, set amidst green majestic mountains known as Sheba’s Breasts. It sounds as a good a place as any to go forever. But, really, a deeper question hung in the air as King Sobhuza gave his little smile and waved farewell and did not answer. Where, indeed, was he going? Where do all men go?
It is one of the great mysteries. What happens when a man dies? Does he simply disappear forever or does some immortal shred of him remain intact somehow, somewhere, for some inscrutable reason? Since human thought was first recorded the wisest men have tried to give an answer. Their answers range from plain conviction that nothing survives death to the triumphant certainty that all men will rise again body and soul in glorious resurrection – either cold dust forever or eternally transfigured spirit.
In the gulf that separates the dusty from the glorious answer a myriad of suggestions contend. Some are extremely simplistic, teaching that man when he dies will either burn in torment or enjoy the perfumed sweets of Paradise, depending on his behaviour here on earth. Many believe, with much more sophistication, that the soul is on a long journey from death to death to final reabsorption in the Godhead. There are a hundred variations of this theme of serial reincarnation. Death succeeds death as the soul gradually matures, through many ups and downs, towards a final identity with the One.
I find it just about possible to conceive of existence after death in some form of disembodied intellect or spirit, even though it does seem very strange that so little hard evidence of such phenomena has accumulated over all the ages of man’s odyssey. After all, on the face of it, if something does survive after death, ghosts should be as common as gravestones. Even so, it does seem possible that one day the preservation of the mind or soul or spirit in man after the body dies and rots will be proved. What I find much more inaccessible to the understanding is the concept of the immortal body. Whatever one thinks about soul or spirit it seems better to imagine the body after death as white ash on the wind rather than as one day staging some sort of spectacular encore.
Christian teaching on the body’s resurrection has always given me trouble. Consider, for instance, one or two practical problems. Our physical tissues are continually renewing themselves, so a huge quantity of matter will have passed through our bodies in a lifetime. How much of this is going to be resurrected? If God raises the whole lot we shall be grotesquely overweight in heaven. St Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas both solemnly considered this problem. The aspect that most worried St. Augustine relates to our hair and fingernails which are constantly being trimmed in life and which if restored to us in bulk would give us a most peculiar appearance. After some consideration St. Augustine decided that God will resurrect hair and nail clippings but instead of attaching them to their former positions will use them as padding to fill parts of our bodies which could benefit from a little bit more.
Another problem is at what age will people be resurrected? Would parents who have lost newborn children be confronted at Resurrection by strapping, grown-up strangers addressing them as Mum and Dad? St. Thomas decided this puzzle by declaring that we shall all he resurrected at the age of 30 since this represents the perfection of physical growth. Those who die before 30 will be credited with the necessary seniority.
I confess, I am a little skeptical about most versions of life after death, especially those literally painted pictures of the molten lakes of hell and perfume falling from the air in Paradise. On the other hand, one must be very careful not to forego any options as one approaches an event as momentous as death. Remember the story of Machiavelli. As he lay dying, a cardinal urged him time and time again to renounce the devil – to which Machiavelli replied: “Your Eminence, now is not the time to make enemies”.
In the end what is one to say without seeming either too sentimental or too cynical? I think again of King Sobhuza, Lion of Swaziland, as he rests in his cave set in the green hillside between Sheba’s lovely breasts, and I hear him whisper a last prayer that any man can say – making no judgement, but acknowledging god and asking one last favour.
“Oh Lord of wine and water
fire and snow
purifier and destroyer of all my days
grant me this
that when I die
it will be under my own sky
and that you will give me
your good peace.”
