In Greek and Roman mythology, Elysium was the place of rest for the dead who were blessed by the gods. It was also known as the Elysian Fields or the Elysian Plain. Originally only heroes whom the gods had made immortal went to Elysium.

The fantasy developed a more proximate appeal by overcoming the prerequisite of death.

The Elysian Fields were, according to Homer, located on the western edge of the Earth by the stream of Okeanos. In the time of the Greek poet Hesiod, Elysium would also be known as the “Fortunate Isles”, or the “Isles (or Islands) of the Blessed”, located in the western ocean at the end of the earth. The Isles of the Blessed would be reduced to a single island by the Theban poet Pindar, describing it as having shady parks, with residents indulging in athletic and musical pastimes.

The Elysian advantage continued however to be the preserve of the fortunate including in particular those who were by some standard blessed (a feature inviting a moral code for determination). By contrast there has in more recent times, perhaps from the beginning of the Industrial Age (comparable only to humanity’s adoption of agriculture with respect to material advancement), grown a view that anything is possible for anyone with the gumption. On a more philosophic level I suspect there is no one who hasn’t felt the sting of recognition that comes with acknowledgement of the truth that life is what you make of it.

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.”  Dr. Seuss

No doubt you too know people who live in grand homes or who fly in private planes and drive fast cars; people who lunch in swanky hotels overlooking picturesque views; who have ventured abroad on many occasions; and who appear by necessity to cavort with a select and similar crowd. For those people often the image of happiness and pleasure is – at least from the outside looking in – an incalculable fortuity, perhaps even a birthright aligned with prerogative and primogeniture. But adjoining that visionary and distracted view of life is a far less theoretical record of existence. Within the scope of my own limited acquaintance for example I know those same people have died at an early age; others have suffered the loss of immediate family for no apparent medical reason other than bad luck; and one who became psychotic as a young man; others, alcoholic and desperate as a result.

Elysium, otherwise known as the Elysian Fields or Elysian Plains, is a conception of the afterlife that developed over time and was maintained by some Greek religious and philosophical sects and cults. It was initially separated from the Greek underworld – the realm of Hades. Only mortals related to the gods and other heroes could be admitted past the river Styx. Later, the conception of who could enter was expanded to include those chosen by the gods, the righteous, and the heroic. They would remain at the Elysian Fields after death, to live a blessed and happy afterlife, and indulge in whatever enjoyment they had enjoyed in life.

The term and concept of Elysium has had influence in modern popular culture; references to Elysium can be found in literature, art, film and music. Examples include the New Orleans neighbourhood of Elysian Fields in Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire as the déclassé purgatory where Blanche Dubois lives with Stanley and Stella Kowalski.

Unquestionably the jump from Greek mythology to modern day reality requires an intellectual extension in spite of the patent truth that no one is spared disappointment in life. We often much prefer to recognize the myth of life’s alleged fortunes. It is impossible to invoke a spirited perception of the world in others if the inclination is not there. For my part I consider that I have been granted inexpressible luck notwithstanding any other interpretation of whatever misfortune may have befallen me. It is my privilege to recite that “Life owes me nothing!”, a proclamation I adopt as evidence of my affection for the oft-times hidden drama and beauty of life. As I spend the remainder of my time in my armchair looking back upon the people and events who and which have coloured my life, I am astounded foremost by the critical clarity of it all, the distinctness with which they are rendered upon the tableau before my eyes.