Heaven and Hell

A History of the Afterlife

Bart D. Ehrman

• Editorial: Simon & Schuster
• Año: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781501136757
• Categoría: Theology & Religion
• Categoría: History of Christianity

A New York Times bestselling historian of early Christianity takes on two of the most gripping questions of human existence: where did the ideas of heaven and hell come from and why do they endure? What happens when we die? A recent Pew Research poll showed that 72% of Americans believe in a literal heaven and 58% believe in a literal hell. Most people who hold these beliefs are Christian and assume they are the age-old teachings of the Bible. But eternal rewards and punishments are found nowhere in the Old Testament and are not what Jesus or his disciples taught.So where did these ideas come from?In this "eloquent understanding of how death is viewed through many spiritual traditions" ( Publishers Weekly, starred review), Bart Ehrman recounts the long history of the afterlife, ranging from The Epic of Gilgamesh up to the writings of Augustine, focusing especially on the teachings of Jesus and his early followers. He discusses ancient guided tours of heaven and hell, in which a living person observes the sublime blessings of heaven for those who are saved and the horrifying torments of hell for those who are damned. Some of these accounts take the form of near death experiences, the oldest on record, with intriguing similarities to those reported today.One of Ehrman's startling conclusions is that there never was a single Greek, Jewish, or Christian understanding of the afterlife, but numerous competing views. Moreover, these views did not come from nowhere; they were intimately connected with the social, cultural, and historical worlds out of which they emerged. Only later, in the early Christian centuries, did they develop into notions of eternal bliss or damnation widely accepted today.In this "elegant history" ( The New Yorker ), Ehrman helps us reflect on where our ideas of the afterlife come from. With his "richly layered-narrative" ( The Boston Globe ) he assures us that even if there may be something to hope for when we die, there certainly is nothing to fear.

CHAPTER ONE Guided Tours of Heaven and Hell

In the winter season of 1886–87 a French archaeological team digging in Akhmim, Egypt, about eighty miles north of Luxor, made one of the most remarkable manuscript discoveries of modern times. The site was a cemetery; the archaeologists were digging in a portion dating to the eighth century CE. In one of the tombs, taken to be that of a Christian monk, they discovered a sixty-six page book, written in Greek and containing a small anthology of texts. One of them was a portion of a Jewish apocryphon known today as 1 Enoch. Another was a previously unknown Gospel that provided an alternative version of Jesus’s trial, death, and resurrection, allegedly written by his closest disciple, Peter. A third was also a book claiming to be by Peter, which in some respects was the most intriguing of all. This was an account, written in the first person, of a guided tour of the afterlife, a detailed description of the torments of sinners in hell, and, in far less detail, the blessings of saints in heaven. It is the earliest Christian forerunner of Dante’s Divine Comedy and the most authoritative such account ever to appear—allegedly authenticated by one of Jesus’s own apostles.

Except no one today thinks Peter actually wrote the book. It was produced by a later Christian who simply wanted his readers to think he was Peter. And why not? What better way to convince them that his descriptions of heaven and hell were bona fide?

Before the text was discovered, scholars had known that some such Apocalypse of Peter once existed in the second Christian century. It is mentioned by church fathers from the period. In fact, in some circles, down to the fourth century, Christian authors considered the book a legitimate part of the New Testament, with church leaders arguing whether it, rather than the Apocalypse of John (the book of Revelation), should be included in the canon. Eventually it lost this battle and then disappeared from sight, until serendipitously uncovered by our French archaeologists.¹

Some years after its discovery, a longer and more detailed version appeared in an ancient Ethiopic translation. Careful analysis has shown that this Ethiopic text provides a more accurate version of the original writing.

The Realms of the Damned and Blessed

The account begins with Jesus seated on the Mount of Olives, speaking to his disciples, who want to know what will happen at the end of the world, a discussion familiar to readers of the New Testament (Matthew 24; Mark 13).² Jesus responds by telling them that false Christs will appear before the end of time, and there will be unimaginable cosmic disasters: cataracts of fire will be let loose, the whole earth will burn, the stars will melt, the heavens will pass away, and the entire creation will dissolve. Only then will Christ come from heaven with his righteous ones and angels. At that point the dead will be raised and all people will face judgment: punishments for sinners and rewards for the righteous, for all eternity.

The account proceeds to describe in graphic and stunning detail the torments awaiting the damned, who are being punished for their most characteristic sin while living, often following the famous “lex talionis” (“the law of retaliation”), in which the punishment is modeled directly on the transgression (an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth). And so those who “blasphemed the way of righteousness”—that is, those who maligned both the ways of God and the saints who tried to practice them—are hanged over “unquenchable fire” by their tongues, the body part most culpable in their sin. Women who plaited their hair, not just to make themselves beautiful but also to seduce men into fornication, are hanged by their necks and hair over the eternal flames. The men they seduced are hanged by their genitals. In their case they make a perpetual lament: “We did not know we should come to everlasting punishments” (ch. 7). Indeed.

Somewhat less expectantly, women who procured abortions are cast into an extremely deep pit up to their necks in excrement and foul substances. Opposite them are their aborted children, who send forth flashes of lightning, piercing the eyes of their mothers who “for fornication’s sake have caused their destruction” (ch. 8). So too, men and women who committed infanticide (i.e., by exposing unwanted children to the elements) are tormented forever while their murdered children look on from a place of delight. The mothers experience a particularly graphic torment: milk flows perpetually from their breasts and congeals; out of the milk come beasts that devour the parents’ flesh (ch. 8).

There are also strictly religious crimes and punishment: Those who persecuted Christians are cast into an area of darkness with half their bodies aflame and worms devouring their entrails (ch. 9). Those who slandered God’s righteousness are placed in eternal darkness, where they have red hot irons continuously thrust into their eyes (ch. 9).

Some of the crimes may not seem worthy of eternal torment to us moderns, but the author is merciless. Those who lent money at interest spend eternity in a pit with filth up to their knees; those who disobeyed their parents are hanged and ceaselessly pecked by flesh-devouring birds; girls who lost their virginity before marriage have their bodies torn to shreds; slaves who disobeyed their masters are forced to gnaw their tongues endlessly.

Altogether there are twenty-one sins and punishments. None of the punishments is reformatory: they are not meant to teach sinners a lesson so they will do better next time. On the contrary, they are all retributive and vindictive. And they will never, ever end.³

It is surprising that such a detailed and graphic description of eternal torment would be accompanied by only a brief and vague description of the blessings of the saints, but such is the case. Possibly eternal joy is not as satisfying to describe as everlasting torture. All we are told is that the elect and righteous come to the glorious Elysian fields, where they are adorned with flowers and rejoice with Christ, given an eternal kingdom where they enjoy good things forever.

We do learn, however, that these righteous—the objects of opposition and persecution in life—have considerable satisfaction in their reversal of fortunes in the life to come, a bit of eternal Schadenfreude, as “they shall see their desires on those who hated them, when [God] punished them and the torment of every one shall be forever according to his works” (ch. 13). Seeing your enemies horribly tortured for eternity is apparently considered one of the greatest joys possible. This may not exactly be consistent with Jesus’s instruction to “love your enemies,” but texts like this regularly suggest that whatever the earthly Jesus may have advised his followers, God himself has other plans. Once a person dies in sin, that is the end: there are no more chances to repent. What awaits is some well-deserved torment for all eternity.

It is not difficult to understand the function of a text such as the Apocalypse of Peter. The author is not interested in providing an objective statement about what actually happens in heaven and hell. He has a set purpose in mind. He wants people to behave in certain ways and he is using his graphic descriptions of eternal torment as a way of convincing them. He is not so much scaring the hell out of people as scaring people out of hell.⁴ And even though his descriptions of paradise are remarkably vague, they contribute to the same end. Which do you, as a reader, want? Do you want to spend eternity hanging by your genitals over eternal flame, standing in a deep pit up to your knees in excrement, having your flesh perpetually shredded into pieces by ravenous birds? Or do you want to luxuriate in a lovely garden with the pleasant smells and cool breezes of eternity wafting over you in the presence of those you love and admire? You get to choose.

Other early Christian texts similarly take up this question with yet other visionary journeys to the worlds beyond. Some of them focus not on the eternal torture of sinners but the fantastic paradise awaiting the saints. Of these, none is more poignant than the dream of a young Roman matron who was on the path to be martyred as a Christian. Her name was Vibia Perpetua and her dream-vision is recorded in a book that claims to contain her own diary.⁵

The Heavenly Vision of Perpetua

The book, called the Passion of Perpetua, was written in Latin and is one of the most moving pieces of early Christian literature, an allegedly firsthand account of time in prison experienced by a Christian awaiting trial and execution. Scholars remain divided on whether the diary is genuine or, more likely, a later literary ploy claiming to be from Perpetua’s own hand.⁶ Whether authentic or not, the account is filled with verisimilitude and provides a unique glance into the hopes, expectations, and, literally, dreams of Christians in a world of animosity, hatred, and persecution.

Perpetua was a twenty-two-year-old recent convert to Christianity—so recent that she was still, at the time of her arrest, receiving basic instruction in her faith prior to baptism. She had also recently given birth, and in the account her child accompanies her to prison, along with a handful of other “catechumens” (converts being instructed in the rudiments of the faith) arrested as Christians in a town in North Africa in 203 CE. In the “diary” Perpetua narrates her encounters with her pagan father, who, to no avail, repeatedly urges her to recant her faith for the sake of her child and family. She provides details of her time in the dark, dank prison. And, most important for our purposes, she narrates several dream-visions that involve life beyond the soon-to-be experienced grave. Her first vision of going to heaven is of particular interest.⁷

One of Perpetua’s two brothers asks her to see if God will reveal to her whether she is actually to be martyred or if, by chance, she will be set free. She prays her request, and in response God provides a detailed vision, striking in its metaphorical images.

Perpetua sees a tall ladder leading up to heaven, so narrow that only one person can climb it at a time. In other words, each person who wants to reach heaven must do so on the basis of her own will and decisions. Groupthink will not get you there. This is no ordinary ladder, however. It is enormously high (as one might expect) and has attached to its sides “all sorts of metal weapons… swords, spears, hooks, daggers, and spikes,” so that, as Perpetua says, “if anyone tried to climb up carelessly or without paying attention, he would be mangled and his flesh would adhere to the weapons.” No one should think the trip to heaven is safe and easy. The path is narrow, frightening, and fraught with danger. One misstep and you will be cut to shreds.

But that is not all. At the foot of the ladder lies an enormous dragon set to terrify and attack anyone who makes an attempt to climb. For readers versed in the Christian tradition, this fierce dragon is no mere beast. In the New Testament, the large serpent-dragon who attacks God’s chosen ones is the devil himself (see Revelation 12:3, 9; 20:2). For Perpetua, the devil is determined to prevent anyone from taking the dangerous path of martyrdom that would lead to heavenly bliss.

Perpetua then sees that one of her Christian companions has already ascended the ladder, a man named Saturus who, in real life, had been providing the converts with their instruction. He too had been arrested, and by reaching heaven he has blazed the way for others. He looks down from the heavenly height and urges Perpetua to come up as well, warning her: “Do not let the dragon bite you.” Perpetua assures him that the dragon “will not harm me in the name of Christ Jesus”—then boldly moves to the first rung of the ladder by stepping on the serpent’s head. The devil holds no terror for her, since she has faith in her savior.

And so she ascends the ladder, avoiding all the threatening metal weapons: the trials and tribulations of this life that might lead one to slip from the faith, the persistent urgings of relatives to recant, the attractions of life that might lull one into apostasy. When she reaches the top, she sees “an immense garden.” In it is a “grey-haired man… in shepherd’s garb,” milking sheep. Perpetua does not identify who this is, but the Christian reader has no difficulty recognizing the “Good Shepherd” as Christ himself. He is “grey-haired” because, as other Christians have said, he is the one who has existed before time, who chose to come into the world to save sinners, “the first and the last, the alpha and the omega” (Revelation 1:8; 22:13).

Around the shepherd are thousands of people clad in white: others of the saved who had already made the heavenly ascent. Christ greets Perpetua and tells her he is glad she has come. He gives her milk in her cupped hands, and she drinks it while all those around her say “Amen.” This seems like a eucharistic meal, but why milk? One might think it is because that is what sheep naturally produce, but there is more to it than that. Milk is the nourishment given to a newborn. Perpetua is now about to be born into eternal life.

She wakes up and tells her brother the news: they will not be released from prison but are to suffer and die, and so find their eternal reward. They will be martyred.

And so it happens. The end of the narrative, allegedly written by a different author in the third person, describes how Perpetua and her fellow Christians refuse to recant and are thrown to the wild beasts in the arena, viciously mauled to their gory deaths.

The Afterlife of Martyrs

The tale of Perpetua is beautiful and moving. At the same time, it has an unintended dark side. Here is a well-educated, cultured, thoughtful young mother who is willing to throw away her life—despite the needs of her child and the love of her family—for the sake of her religious commitment. Those still today who stand within her faith community may see this as a noble and admirable act. But what of those outside? Do we really agree that people who subject themselves to violent and bloody deaths will gain the glories of heaven? What do we think of other people in our own world who are so fervently religious, in one religion or another, that they choose to undergo voluntary martyrdom so they can be rewarded afterward?

What we might think of such people today—in a world where the news is full of them—is much like what ancient non-Christians thought of the voluntary suicides of the Christians. There are no pagan authors from the time who mention Perpetua herself, but there are some who were familiar with followers of Christ like her. The Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius (121–80 CE) maligned Christians who insisted on dying out of obstinacy (Meditations 11.3). And the Latin satirist Lucian of Samosata (120–after 180 CE) spoke of Christians as “wretched people” who “have convinced themselves that they will be immortal and live forever, which leads the majority of them to despise death and willingly give themselves up to it.”⁸

Even if determined religious martyrdoms may seem senseless, reckless, and even damnable to outsiders, one can see how faith in a glorious afterlife—and the belief that suffering will more quickly take you there—might lead some to take the exit sooner rather than later, especially if the rewards will be greater when considerable blood is shed. And apart from the question of what martyrs themselves were actually thinking, it is important to consider the function of the literary descriptions of such acts. As already suggested, Christian visions of the afterlife, both heaven and hell, were meant to provide guidance for how one should live in the here and now: avoiding sin, in the case of the Apocalypse of Peter, and remaining true to one’s religious commitments, in the case of Perpetua.

There are more visions of the afterlife for us to examine. What is striking is that then, as now, some of them come not in dreams but in what are described by their authors as near-death experiences. Of these, none is more intriguing than those set forth in a book written in the late second Christian century, a legendary account of the missionary activities of Jesus’s own twin brother, Judas Thomas.

The Acts of Thomas

To modern readers it may seem peculiar indeed to think that Jesus had a twin brother, but stories of the Son of God’s mortal sibling circulated in parts of the second-century church. We are never told how, exactly, the two could be brothers, let alone twins. Possibly ancient Christians thought that, just as the pagan demigod Hercules was reputed to have a mortal brother, Iphicles (his divinely impregnated mother had been made pregnant as well by her mortal husband), so too did their own divinity, Jesus.

In any event there were numerous stories in circulation about his brother Judas, also called Thomas—a name that actually means twin. The best preserved of these stories gives an extended account of Thomas’s missionary activities. Even today many people think of Thomas as the first to bring the gospel to India. That tradition goes back to the second-century account known as the Acts of Thomas.⁹

The narrative begins after Jesus has been raised from the dead. The twelve disciples are divinely appointed to spread the gospel throughout the known world, and decide how to divide up the territory for their missionary endeavors by drawing lots. The lot for India falls to Judas Thomas, but as it turns out, India is the last place on earth he wants to go. He refuses. But he is resisting God’s will, and so, to provide suitable encouragement...