By nature, our souls seek reunion with their origin, the One, neither male nor female, unconscious, no thing, the source of everything. But after death, a return to life is inevitable for most. For the world beguiles with pleasure, even with pain, and how can a soul still obsessed with this world escape its clutches? Such a distracted soul takes a new body for another life. But for the pure soul, death brings escape, the return of the alone to the alone.
No longer a gaggle, the philosophers agreed on this.
Existence was a cycle for the Greeks. There was no beginning. There would be no end. Generation and demise went on and on for most. Only the select few gained exit. And that meant oblivion, personal demise, no longer distinct from God.
How Indian! That’s our association. They too knew the Brahmans, thought them most wise. Plotinus, the Platonist sage, tried to visit them. Apollonius, the Pythagorian, claimed he did. But the cycle was firmly Greek.
It was one philosophical concept not adopted in Christianity. Their god was too personal for that. For them, death was a final end to life here and the beginning of it elsewhere, still yourself, the good, in total bliss with that god, the bad, apart, racked in pain, in a hall of demons.