The Day After Death; Or, Our Future Life According to Science (New Edition) — Inside the Classic
Edition facts
The Day After Death; Or, Our Future Life According to Science (New Edition) — Inside the Classic can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 84,113 words, 6 hr 6 min estimated reading time, and 10 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 24.3 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Cosmology,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
This was the process by which the entire carcasses of the mammoths, or extinct elephants, which belonged to the quaternity period, were preserved. In 1802 a perfectly preserved carcass of this gigantic pachyderm was found on the bank of the Lena, a river which runs into the Arctic Sea, after traversing a portion of the Asiatic continent in the vicinity of the North Pole. The frozen earth and the ice which covers the banks of the river into which the mammoth had plunged, had so effectually preserved it from putrefaction, that the flesh of the huge creature, dead for more than a hundred thousand years, made a feast for the fishermen of that desert place. In northern countries, if one would preserve the body of a man, it could be effectually done by simply keeping it constantly wrapped in ice.
When the body of a man, or of an animal, is exposed to the combined influences of air, of water, and of a moderately high temperature, it undergoes a series of chemical decompositions, whose final term is its transformation into carbonic acid gas, and some compounds, gaseous or solid, which represent the less advanced products of destruction. Gases of various kinds, carbonic acid, hydrosulphuric, and ammoniac, and the vapour of water, spread themselves through the atmosphere, or dissolve into the humidity of the soil. At a later stage these compounds, thus dissolved into the water which bathes the earth, are absorbed by the little roots of the plants which live on it, and aid in their nutrition and development. As for the gas, it begins by spreading through the air; and then falling to the earth again dissolved in the rainwater, it also equally supplies the needs of vegetable life. The ammoniac and carbonic acid in the water which penetrates the soil, is absorbed by the roots, introduced into the tubes of the plants, and supplies them with nourishment.
Thus, the matter which forms the bodies of men and animals is not destroyed; it only changes its form, and under its new conditions it aids in the composition of fresh organic substances.
In all this the human body does but obey the common laws of nature. That which it undergoes, every organized substance, vegetable or animal, exposed to the combined influences of air, water, and temperature, equally undergoes. A piece of cotton or woollen stuff, a grain of wheat, a fruit--they all ferment, and reduce themselves to new products, exactly as our bodies do. The cere cloth which enfolds a corpse is destroyed by precisely the same process which destroys the corpse.
But, if the material substance which forms man's body does but transform itself, journeying through the globe, passing from animals to plants and from plants to animals; it is quite otherwise with life. Life is a force. Like the other forces, heat, light, and electricity, it is born, and it transmits itself; it has a beginning and an end. Like light, heat, and electricity--the physical agents which make us comprehend life, and which have certainly the same essence and the same origin--life has its producing causes, and its causes of destruction. It cannot rekindle itself when it has been extinguished; it cannot re-commence its course when its fatal term has arrived. Life cannot perpetuate itself; it is a simple condition of bodies, a fugitive and precarious condition, subject to countless influences, accidents, and chances.
The life is therefore greatly inferior in importance to the soul, which is indestructible and immortal. The soul is the essential element in all nature. It has active and positive qualities in all respects where the two other elements, the body and the life, have only negative qualities. Whilst the body dissociates itself and disappears, while the life becomes annihilated, the soul can neither disappear nor become annihilated.
We have seen what becomes of a man's body after his death, and also of his life; let us now examine into the condition of his soul.
No philosopher, no learned man, none of those who know the immensity of the universe and the eternity of the ages, can admit that our existence on the earth is a definite thing,--that human life has no link with anything above or beyond itself. Man dies at thirty, or twenty years old; he may live only a few months, or a few minutes. The average length of life, according to Duvilard's tables, is twenty-eight years. At present it is thirty-three. One fourth of mankind die before their seventh year, and one half do not outlive their seventeenth. Those who survive this time enjoy a privilege which is denied to the rest of the human race.[2]
Louis Figuier opens The Day After Death with a bold thesis: man is the result of a triple alliance of body, soul, and life. The table of contents immediately signals a structured inquiry into what becomes of each component after death, moving from the earthly to the solar. Figuier does not merely speculate; he attempts to ground his claims in the science of his day, citing naturalists like Geoffrey St. Hilaire and Moquin Tandon. The reader is thus introduced to a work that promises to reconcile spiritual destiny with empirical observation, a project that unfolds through chapters on re-incarnation, the attributes of superhuman beings, and the physical description of the Sun.
A Scientific Framework for the Afterlife
Figuier’s method is to treat the afterlife as a subject for scientific inquiry. He draws analogies between plant and animal pathology to argue for continuity across kingdoms, stating that “a plant which passes too quickly and too often from intense cold to extreme heat, soon becomes ill, and necessarily perishes, like an animal.” This comparison serves a larger purpose: to erode the boundary between organic and spiritual life. By demonstrating that plants exhibit health, sickness, and even monstrosities—teratology applies to both kingdoms—Figuier builds a case for a universal life force that transcends death. The reader should note how he uses 19th-century biology as a scaffold for metaphysical claims, a strategy that gives his argument a veneer of objectivity.
The Plant as a Feeling Being
In a striking passage, Figuier asks, “How can we admit that the being in which such changes take place, can be merely the passive subject of them, that it experiences neither pain nor pleasure?” He is referring to plants, which he argues can feel. This claim is central to his broader cosmology: if plants possess sensation, then the soul is not exclusive to humans. The excerpt details how plants suffer from diseases, old age, and death, mirroring animal life. Figuier even notes that “voluntary motion” can no longer serve as a distinguishing characteristic, citing the fly-catching plant and the oscillating plant. For the first-time reader, this section reveals Figuier’s willingness to challenge established scientific categories, preparing the ground for his later arguments about animal souls and re-incarnation.
From Earthly Biology to Celestial Hierarchy
The table of contents outlines a progression from earthly life to the Sun as the “definitive sojourn of souls.” Chapters on the physical description of the Sun and its inhabitants as “purely spiritual beings” indicate that Figuier’s science extends to astronomy. He proposes that solar rays are “emanations from spiritual beings,” a theory meant to explain the continuity of solar radiation—a problem he claims physicists cannot solve. This move from biology to astrophysics is characteristic of Figuier’s ambition: he synthesizes disparate fields into a unified narrative of the soul’s journey. Readers should watch how he uses the Sun not merely as a symbol but as a concrete location, described with astronomical plates and physical details, grounding his spiritual hierarchy in observable phenomena.
Re-incarnation and the Fate of Perverse Souls
Figuier addresses the moral dimension of his system in chapters on re-incarnation. He posits that perverse souls undergo re-incarnations, while children who die in infancy follow a different path. This introduces a hierarchical afterlife where progress is possible. The excerpts do not detail the criteria for perversity or the mechanics of re-incarnation, but the structure suggests a cosmic justice system. The reader should note that Figuier’s framework is inclusive: animals and even plants participate in this migration of souls. The chapter on “What is the Animal?” and “What is the Plant?” are thus not digressions but essential components of his argument. For a first reading, these sections clarify that Figuier’s afterlife is not anthropocentric but encompasses all living beings in a grand celestial economy.
Figuier’s work is best approached as a systematic treatise rather than a devotional text. The reader should track how each chapter builds on the previous, using scientific examples to support metaphysical conclusions. Pay attention to the footnotes and references to contemporary scientists, as they reveal the intellectual context of the 1904 edition. The astronomical plates, though not reproduced here, are integral to his argument about the Sun. Approach the text with an openness to 19th-century speculative science, and you will find a coherent, if unconventional, vision of the afterlife.
Figuier’s souls, climbing from leaf to star, always struck me as patient tenants of an endless house. There is a stubborn, quiet reverence in that cosmology—a dignity in gradual ascent. I find the same unhurried seriousness in Nietzsche and Art — Text and Context, which treats creation not as a burst, but as a long, deliberate dwelling within form. Both whisper of eternity’s slow work. Odd, how they share that hush.
There are no reviews for this eBook.
How did this book work for you?
Your answers remain private and are stored only in this browser.