Sarcophagus

The term "sarcophagus" derives from the Greek "sarx" (flesh) and "phagein" (to eat). Ancient Greeks believed a specific limestone found in Assos, Lycia, possessed properties that rapidly decomposed the body within, hence its etymological association with consumption.

A stone tomb, a receptacle for the dead; sarc= flesh, and phaip in=io eat. Lapis assiiis, the stone of which the sarcophagi were made, is found in Lycia, and has the property of consuming the bodies in a very few weeks. In Egypt sarcophagi were made of various other stones, of black basalt, red granite, alabaster and other materials, as they served only as outward receptacles for the wooden cofTins containing the mummies. The epitaphs on some of them are as remarkable as they are highly ethical, and no Chri.stian could wish for anything better. One epitaph, dating thousands of years before the GLOSSAJtY 271 year one of our modern era. reads: — "I have given water to him who was thirsty and elotliing to him who was naked. 1 have done harm to no man." Another: "I have done actions desired by men and those wliich are commanded by the gods". The beauty of some of these tombs may be judged by the alaba.ster sarcopliagus of Oimenephthah I., at Sir John Soane's Museum, Lincoln's Inn. "It was cut out of a single block of fine alabaster stone, and is 9 ft. 4 in. long, by 22 to 24 in. in width, and 27 to 32 in. in height. . . . Engraved dots, etc., outside were once filled with blue copper to rt-pn'sent the heavens. To attempt a description of the wonderful figures inside and out is beyond the scope of this work. Much of our knowledge of the mythology of the people i>; derived from this precious monument, with its hundreds of figures to illustrate the la.st judgment, and the life beyond the grave. Gods, men. serpents, symbolical animals and plants arc tliere most beautifully carved. ■ (Fumral Rites of the Egyptians.)

The sarcophagus, a word that conjures images of ancient burial rites and the stark finality of death, carries within its very etymology a startling implication: the "flesh-eating" stone. This ancient belief, that the material of the coffin itself could hasten the body's dissolution, transforms the tomb from a passive receptacle into an active agent of transformation. It speaks to a worldview, prevalent in many esoteric traditions, where the physical body is not an immutable entity but a temporary form subject to the universal laws of decay and renewal.

Mircea Eliade, in his seminal works on the history of religions, often highlighted the symbolic significance of death and rebirth rituals across cultures. The sarcophagus, in this context, becomes a potent symbol of the initiatory death, a necessary descent into the underworld or the dissolution of the old self. The process described by Blavatsky, where the stone itself consumes the body, resonates with alchemical concepts of putrefaction (putrefactio), the first stage of the Great Work, where matter is broken down to its essential elements before being recombined. This is not a morbid fascination with death, but a recognition of its vital role in the cycle of existence.

The epitaphs Blavatsky cites—"I have given water to him who was thirsty and clothing to him who was naked. I have done harm to no man"—speak to a profound ethical dimension tied to the physical form's eventual return to the earth. They suggest that the life lived within the sarcophagus, the corporeal shell, is what truly endures in memory and consequence. The beauty of the alabaster sarcophagus of Oimenephthah I., described as cut from a single block, further emphasizes the artistry and reverence afforded to these vessels, not just as places of rest, but as monumental statements about the life that preceded its containment.

In the Hermetic tradition, the sarcophagus can be seen as a microcosm of the Great Work itself: the containment and transformation of base matter. The physical body, like the stone, is a substance that must be understood, worked with, and ultimately transcended. It is a vessel that holds the divine spark, and its dissolution is not an end, but a release. The sarcophagus, therefore, becomes a powerful symbol of the liminal space between the material and the spiritual, a threshold where the corporeal is shed to allow for the emergence of the incorporeal. The contemplation of such ancient symbols invites us to consider the transient nature of our own physical forms and the enduring significance of our actions.