The Last Things

The Last Things

The Last Things

In the remainder of this concluding chapter, we shall consider aspects of Christian teaching concerning the “last things.” These are an integral aspect of Christian life and faith, and have been the subject of considerable theological speculation, especially in popular preaching and writing.

Hell

Interest in hell reached a climax during the Middle Ages, with artists of the period taking, one assumes, a certain delight in portraying the righteous watching sinners being tormented by burning and other means of torture. Commenting on the enthusiasm with which certain Paris theologians wrote about hell, Erasmus of Rotterdam (1466–1536) remarked that they had evidently been there themselves! The most graphic portrayal of the medieval view of hell is that of Dante, in the first of the three books of his Divine Comedy. Dante portrays hell as nine circles at the center of the earth, within which Satan dwells. On the gate to hell, Dante notices the inscription “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!”

The first circle of hell is populated by those who have died without being baptized, and by virtuous pagans (this circle corresponds to the idea of “limbo” noted earlier; p. 431). Dante declares that it is this circle that was visited by Christ during his “descent into hell” between the time of the crucifixion and the resurrection. There is no torment of any kind in this circle. As Dante advances further into hell, he discovers those who are guilty of increasingly serious sins. The second circle is populated by the lustful, the third by the gluttonous, the fourth by the miserly, and the fifth by the wrathful. These circles, taken together, constitute “upper hell.” At no point does Dante refer to fire in this part of hell. Dante then draws upon Greco-Roman mythology in suggesting that the River Styx divides “upper hell” from “lower hell.” Now we encounter fire for the first time. The sixth circle is populated by heretics, the seventh by the violent, the eighth by fraudsters (including several popes), and the ninth by traitors.

This static medieval view of hell was unquestionably of major influence at the time, and continues to be of importance into the modern period. It may be found clearly stated in Jonathan Edwards's (1703–58) famous sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” preached on July 8, 1741:

It would be dreadful to suffer this fierceness and wrath of Almighty God for one moment; but you must suffer it for all eternity. There will be no end to this exquisite horrible misery. [...] You will know that you must wear out long ages, millions of millions of ages, in wrestling and conflicting with this almighty merciless vengeance.

However, the very idea of hell has been subjected to increasing criticisms, of which the following should be noted:

While answers may be given to these objections, there has been a perceptible loss of interest in the idea of hell in both popular and more academic Christian circles. Evangelistic preaching now seems to concentrate upon the positive affirmation of the love of God, rather than on the negative implications of the rejection of that love. One response to this within evangelical circles has been the development of a doctrine of conditional immortality, to which we may now turn.

Since the early 1980s, a growing internal debate has developed within evangelicalism concerning a network of eschatological issues centering on the issue of immortality. Responding to criticisms of the doctrine of hell made during the modern period, a number of evangelical scholars have developed the doctrine of “conditional immortality.” An example of this may be found in Philip Edgcumbe Hughes's (1915–90) The True Image (1989). Hughes argues that humanity has been created with the potential for immortality:

Immortality or deathlessness is not inherent in the constitution of humanity as a corporeal–spiritual creature; though, formed in the image of God, the potential was there. That potential, which was forfeited through sin, has been restored and actualized through Christ.

Hughes argues that the essence of salvation is the actualization of the potential for immortality, which is conditional upon a response to the gospel. Those who do not respond do not enter into immortality. It therefore follows that no division is necessary between the good and the evil, the believing and the unbelieving, after death. Augustine asserted that “after the resurrection, when the final universal judgment has been completed, there will be two kingdoms, each with its own distinct boundaries, the one Christ's, the other the devil's.” Hughes argues that there will only be one. “When Christ fills all in all [...] how is it conceivable that there can be a section or realm of creation that does not belong to this fullness, and by its very presence contradicts it?”

This trend toward “conditionalism” or “conditional immortality” has met with considerable resistance within evangelicalism, with writers such as James I. Packer (born 1926) opposing it on the grounds of logical inconsistency and a lack of adequate scriptural foundation. It is a debate which is set to continue and perhaps extend further into the Christian community.

Purgatory

One of the major differences between Protestant and Catholic understandings of the “last things” relates to the question of purgatory. Purgatory is perhaps best understood as an intermediate stage in which those who have died in a state of grace are given an opportunity to purge themselves of the guilt of their sins before finally entering heaven. The idea does not have explicit scriptural warrant, although a passage in 2 Maccabees 12: 39–46 (regarded as apocryphal, and hence as lacking in authority, by Protestant writers) speaks of Judas Maccabeus making “propitiation for those who had died, in order that they might be released from their sin.”

The idea was developed during the patristic period. Clement of Alexandria (c.150–c.215) and Origen both taught that those who had died without time to perform works of penance would be “purified through fire” in the next life. The practice of praying for the dead – which became widespread in the eastern church in the first four centuries – exercised a major impact upon theological development and provides an excellent case study of the manner in which liturgy influences theology. What was the point of praying for the dead, it was asked, if those prayers could not alter the state in which they existed? Similar views are found in the writings of Augustine, who taught the need for purification from the sins of the present life before entering the joys of the next.

While the practice of praying for the dead appears to have become well established by the fourth century, the explicit formulation of a notion of “purgatory” seems to date from two centuries later, in the writings of Gregory the Great (c.540–604). In his exposition of Matthew 12: 32, dating from 593 or 594, Gregory picks up the idea of sins which can be forgiven “in the age to come.” He interprets this in terms of a future age in which sins that have not been forgiven on earth may be forgiven subsequently. Note especially the reference to the “purifying fire” (purgatorius ignis), which became incorporated into most medieval accounts of purgatory and from which the term “purgatory” derives:

As for certain lesser faults, we must believe that, before the final judgment, there is a purifying fire, for he who is the truth declares that “whoever utters blasphemy against the Holy Spirit will not be pardoned either in this age, or in the age which is to come” (Matthew 12: 32). From this statement, it is to be understood that certain offences can be forgiven in this age, whereas certain others will be forgiven in the age which is to come.

The theme of a fire which purifies – as opposed to a fire which punishes – was developed further by Catherine of Genoa (1447–1510) in her Treatise on Purgatory, which probably dates from around the year 1490:

Because the souls in purgatory are without the guilt of sin, there is no obstacle between them and God except their pain, which holds them back so that they cannot reach perfection through this instinct. They can also see that this instinct is held back by a need for righteousness. For this reason, a fierce fire comes into being, which is like that of Hell, with the exception of guilt. This is what makes evil the wills of those who are condemned to Hell, on whom God does not bestow his goodness; they therefore remain in their evil wills, and opposed to the will of God.

The idea of purgatory was rejected by the reformers during the sixteenth century. Two major lines of criticism were directed against it. First, it was held to lack any substantial scriptural foundations. Second, it was inconsistent with the doctrine of justification by faith, which declared that an individual could be put “right with God” through faith, thus establishing a relationship which obviated the need for purgatory. Having dispensed with the idea of purgatory, the reformers saw no pressing reason to retain the practice of prayer for the dead, which was henceforth omitted from Protestant liturgies. Both the concept of purgatory and the practice of praying for the dead continue to find acceptance within Catholicism.

The Millennium

The early Christian discussion of heaven tended to focus on a related yet not identical idea – the millennium, or restored earthly kingdom lasting for a period of one thousand years, intervening between the coming of Christ and the establishment of a totally new cosmic order. This idea, which is based partly on a passage in the book of Revelation (20: 2–5), had considerable appeal to early Christian writers. An excellent example is provided by Irenaeus of Lyons (c.130–c.202) in the second century. The idea of a worldly millennium is, for Irenaeus, confirmed by a number of considerations, especially Christ's promise at the Last Supper to drink wine again with his disciples. How can this happen, he asks, if they are disembodied spirits? The reference to the future drinking of wine is a sure indication that there will be a kingdom of God established upon earth before the final judgment. Perhaps the clearest statement of the idea can be found in the writings of Tertullian (c.160–c.220) in the early third century:

For we also hold that a kingdom has been promised to us on earth, but before heaven: but in another state than this, as being after the resurrection. This will last for a thousand years, in a city of God's own making, the Jerusalem which has been brought down from heaven which the Apostle also designates as “our mother from above” (Galatians 4: 26). When he proclaims that “our politeuma” that is, citizenship, “is in heaven” (Philippians 3: 20), he is surely referring to a heavenly city. [...] We affirm that this is the city established by God for the reception of the saints at the resurrection, and for their refreshment with an abundance of all blessings, spiritual blessings to be sure, in compensation for the blessings we have despised or lost in this age. For indeed it is right and worthy of God that his servants should also rejoice in the place where they suffered hardship for his name. This is the purpose of that kingdom, which will last a thousand years, during which period the saints will rise sooner or later, according to their merit. When the resurrection of the saints is completed, the destruction of the world and the conflagration of judgment will be effected; we shall be “changed in a moment” into the angelic substance, by the “putting on of incorruption” (1 Corinthians 15: 52–3), and we shall be transferred to the heavenly kingdom.

For Tertullian, the millennium was to be a period in which the righteous could be compensated for the suffering which they had endured for their faith, before their final transference to heaven itself.

However, opposition to the idea of a millennium began to grow during the third century. For example, Hippolytus of Rome (170–235) argued that the reference to a period of a thousand years should not be understood as a literal prediction of the chronological duration of an earthly kingdom but as an allegorical indication of the grandeur of the heavenly kingdom. As a result, the theme of the resurrection soon came to be of greater importance to patristic writers.

Yet, in more recent years, the concept of the millennium has come to play a major role in popular Protestant theology and preaching. In what follows, we shall outline the three main positions readers are likely to encounter, along with some of their representatives.

Amillennialism

As we noted above, most writers did not regard the millennium as playing a significant role in Christian expectations for the future. This position was typical of Christian thinking for more or less 1,500 years from about 400. With the establishment of a stable Christian region in western Europe and beyond, interest in eschatology generally diminished. Although writers such as Joachim of Fiore occasionally excited interest in the issue, relatively few mainstream theologians engaged with it in any detail. For example, the Protestant Reformation saw surprisingly little discussion of eschatological issues. Hardly any mainstream Protestant reformer wrote a commentary on the book of Revelation. While there are exceptions, the concept of the millennium played virtually no role for most Christian writers.

However, the rise of positions that place considerable emphasis on the importance of the millennium has led to this position being named “amillennial,” to distinguish it from two alternative positions, to which we now turn.

Premillennialism

This viewpoint, which is associated with (but not limited to) dispensationalism, holds that the figure known as “Antichrist” will appear on earth, ushering in a seven-year period of suffering known as “the tribulation.” As noted above, this was the predominant view in the early church up to about 400. On this account of the end-times, this great period of destruction, war, and disaster on earth will be ended by God defeating evil at the battle of Armageddon. After this, Christ will return to earth to rule for a period of a thousand years (the millennium itself), during which the forces of evil will finally be conquered. This is often accompanied by a belief in the “pretribulation rapture,” which holds that Christians will be taken up from earth prior to a time of tribulation and the Second Coming. It is important to appreciate that premillennialism offers a strongly pessimistic view of the world, believing that things are deteriorating on earth and will go on doing so until God brings history to an end. Readers wanting to get a better understanding of this approach are recommended to read the best-selling Left Behind novels, written by Tim LaHaye (born 1926) and Jerry B. Jenkins (born 1949), which reflect this viewpoint.

Postmillennialism

This viewpoint rose to prominence within American Protestantism during the nineteenth century. It holds that the return of Christ will occur at the close of a long period (not necessarily lasting one thousand years) of righteousness and peace, commonly called the millennium. Leading conservative Protestant theologians, such as the Princeton academics Charles Hodge (1797–1878) and Benjamin B. Warfield (1851–1921), took the view that God was bringing about his purposes through steady human progress over evil, gradually leading to a Christianized world. Postmillennialism sees the church as playing a major role in transforming whole social structures before the Second Coming, and endeavoring to bring about a “golden age” of peace and prosperity with great advances in education, the arts, sciences, and medicine. Where premillennialism is generally pessimistic in its outlook, postmillennialism is much more optimistic. Its critics argue that its credibility was severely damaged by the suffering and damage of two world wars, both of which increased the appeal of premillennialism, especially in North America.

Heaven

The Christian conception of heaven is essentially that of the eschatological realization of the presence and power of God, and the final elimination of sin. The most helpful way of considering it is to regard it as a consummation of the Christian doctrine of salvation, in which the presence, penalty, and power of sin have all been finally eliminated and the total presence of God in individuals and the community of faith has been achieved (see pp. 250–1).

It should be noted that the New Testament parables of heaven are strongly communal in nature; for example, heaven is portrayed as a banquet, as a wedding feast, or as a city – the new Jerusalem. Individualist interpretations of heaven or eternal life can also be argued to be inadequate, on account of the Christian understanding of God as Trinity. Eternal life is thus not a projection of an individual human existence but is rather to be seen as sharing, with the redeemed community as a whole, in the community of a loving God.

The term “heaven” is used frequently in the Pauline writings of the New Testament. Although it is natural to think of heaven as a future entity, Paul's thinking appears to embrace both a future reality and a spiritual sphere or realm which coexists with the material world of space and time. Thus “heaven” is referred to both as the future home of the believer (2 Corinthians 5: 1–2; Philippians 3: 20) and as the present dwelling place of Jesus Christ from which he will come in final judgment (Romans 10: 6; 1 Thessalonians 1: 10, 4: 16).

One of Paul's most significant statements concerning heaven focuses on the notion of believers being “citizens of heaven” (Philippians 3: 20) and in some way sharing in the life of heaven in the present. The tension between the “now” and the “not yet” (see pp. 250–1, 270–1) is evident in Paul's statements concerning heaven, making it very difficult to sustain the simple idea of heaven as something which will not come into being until the future, or which cannot be experienced in the present.

Particularly in the Greek-speaking church, speculation focused on the nature of the resurrection body. What kind of body would believers possess when they were finally raised from the dead? The emphasis on the millennium had diverted attention away from this question, in that it had focused on the physical restoration of believers in an earthly realm, in which they retained human bodies. Yet the focus now shifted to the resurrection itself, with Origen soon being established as a leading thinker on this issue.

Origen found himself obliged to defend the doctrine of the resurrection against two rival teachings, each of which seemed to him to be perversions of the Christian faith. On the one hand, some writers had argued that the resurrection was simply a reconstitution of the human body, including all of its physical aspects and functions, on the last day. On the other, Gnostic critics of Christianity argued that anything material was evil, and thus rejected any understanding of the resurrection which included reference to physical elements. For Origen, it was clear that the resurrection body was a purely spiritual entity. Instead of having physical aspects suitable to life on earth, the resurrection body is adapted to the spiritual life of heaven. In part, this reflected his Platonist presuppositions, most notably the Platonic doctrine of the immortality of the soul:

By the command of God the body which was earthly and animal will be replaced by a spiritual body, such as may be able to dwell in heaven; even on those who have been of lower worth, even of contemptible, almost negligible merit, the glory and worth of the body will be bestowed in proportion to the deserts of the life and soul of each.

However, Origen also insisted that the resurrection body possessed the same “form” (Greek: eidos) as the earthly body. The resurrection thus involved a spiritual transformation without loss of individual identity. However, the approach adopted by Origen seemed to many to involve the radical separation of body and soul. This dualism had its origins in Greek philosophy rather than in Scripture.

According to some of his later critics, Origen's Platonism also shows itself in another aspect of his teaching concerning the resurrection body. In the sixth century, the Roman emperor Justinian (483–565; reigned 527–65) criticized Origen for teaching that the resurrection body was spherical. In his dialogue Timaeus, Plato had argued that the sphere was the perfect shape, and it is thus possible that Origen may have included this belief in his teaching. However, there is no explicit mention of this notion in any of Origen's known writings.

This type of approach is found in a modified version in the writings of Methodius of Olympus (died c.311), one of Origen's more severe critics. Methodius argued that Origen could not really speak of “the resurrection of the body,” for the simple reason that it was not the body that was raised but some elusive “form.” In his dialogue with Aglaophon, dating from around 300, Methodius offers another approach, which retains an emphasis on the physical reality of the future resurrection of the body, based on the analogy of the melting down and recasting of a metal statue:

So it seems that it is as if some skilled artificer had made a noble image, cast in gold or other material, which was beautifully proportioned in all its features; then the artificer suddenly notices that the image had been defaced by some envious person, who could not endure its beauty, and so decided to ruin it for the sake of the pointless pleasure of satisfying his jealousy. So the craftsman decides to recast this noble image. Now notice, most wise Aglaophon, that if he wants to ensure that this image, on which he has expended so much effort, care, and work, will be totally free from any defect, he will be obliged to melt it down, and restore it to its former condition. [...] Now it seems to me that God's plan was much the same as this human example. [...] God dissolved humanity once more into its original materials, so that it could be remodeled in such a way that all its defects could be eliminated and disappear. Now the melting down of a statue corresponds to the death and dissolution of the human body, and the remolding of the material to the resurrection after death.

Origen's approach was also criticized by Augustine of Hippo, who interpreted Paul's statements concerning the spiritual nature of the resurrection body in terms of submission to the Spirit, rather than a purely spiritual body.

So what does the resurrection body look like? What will people look like in heaven? If someone dies at the age of 60, will they appear in the streets of the New Jerusalem looking like a 60-year-old? And, if someone dies at the age of 10, will they appear as a child? This issue caused the spilling of much theological ink, especially during the Middle Ages. By the end of the thirteenth century, an emerging consensus can be discerned. As each person reaches their peak of perfection around the age of 30, they will be resurrected as they would have appeared at that time – even if they never lived to reach that age. The New Jerusalem will thus be populated by men and women as they would appear at the age of 30, but with every blemish removed. Since Christ was aged about 30 at the time of his death, this is to be regarded as a perfect age – and is hence the apparent age of those raised to glory in heaven. Peter Lombard (c.1100–60) discusses the matter in a manner typical of his time:

A boy who dies immediately after being born will be resurrected in that form which he would have had if he had lived to the age of thirty years, hindered by no defect of his body. So it can be seen that this substance, which is so small in birth, becomes so great in the resurrection, on account of its being multiplied in itself and of itself. From this, it can be seen that, even if he had lived, the substance would not have come from another source, but would have increased by itself, just as Adam's rib, from which the woman was made, and as the loaves were multiplied in the Gospels.

Honorius of Autun (1080–1154) made much the same point a century later: “All the dead – an infant of one year as much as a man of ninety – will rise with the same age and size as Christ when he rose, namely, thirty years old.”

The great Franciscan theologian Bonaventure of Bagnoregio (c.1217–74) saw this idea as being implied by a passage in the New Testament, which spoke of believers finally attaining a “perfect humanity,” in accordance with the “measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ (Ephesians 4: 13). Bonaventure interpreted this passage as teaching that the physical status of Jesus of Nazareth at the time of his death was normative for the resurrection body. “Perfect grace conforms us to Christ our head, in whom there was [...] perfect age, due stature, and fair appearance.” All physical blemishes and impediments are healed or removed through the resurrection.

Those who died in childhood will be raised by divine power at an age corresponding to that of Christ at his resurrection (although not with exactly the same physical size). The old and emaciated will be restored to what they were at that age. Giants and dwarves will have their proper stature bestowed upon them. And so all shall come forth, whole and perfect, to the perfect humanity, to “the measure of the full stature of Christ” (Ephesians 4: 13).

Subsequent Christian discussion on the resurrection body has attempted to explore the tension between physical and spiritual approaches to the issue. It must be said, however, that the debate is widely regarded as speculative and pointless. Other debates which are also viewed in this light include the question of whether there are relative grades or ranks among those in heaven. The fifth-century writer Theodoret of Cyrrhus (c.393–c.457) argued that, since there were “many rooms in the Father's house” (John 14: 2), it followed that the relative status and privileges of those in heaven were determined by their achievements during their lives. This doctrine of “status by merit” was continued in the writings of Ambrose of Milan and echoed in medieval theology.

At the time of the Reformation this doctrine came into disrepute, partly due to the Protestant dislike of the idea of “merit” in general. However, the notion of various degrees of blessedness seems to have lingered on in the Puritan devotional writings of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Thus, William Fulke (1539–89) recognized a variation in degrees of glory in heaven, but put this down to God's gracious ordering of things rather than any merits on the part of those specially favored:

As the stars differ in glory, not according to their merits, but according to God's gifts in their creation; so the bodies of the saints shall differ in glory, not according to their merits, but according to God's free gift in the resurrection.

One aspect of the Christian expectation of heaven merits especial attention in closing this work: the beatific vision. The Christian is finally granted a full vision of the God who has up to this point been known only in part. This vision of God in the full splendor of the divine majesty has been a constant theme of much Christian theology, especially during the Middle Ages. Dante's Divine Comedy concludes with the poet finally capturing a glimpse of God: “the love which moves the sun and the other stars.” The anticipation of the wonder and glory of this vision was seen as a powerful incentive to keep going in the Christian life. As the English poet John Donne (1572–1631) put it three centuries later: “No man ever saw God and lived. And yet, I shall not live till I see God; and when I have seen him, I shall never die.”

Christian theology can never fully capture that vision of God. But it can at least challenge us to think more deeply about God, and cause us to get excited about its themes. Perhaps it might even whet our appetites for what is yet to come – surely a fitting note on which to end this basic introduction to its themes.

Figure 18.3 Dante and Beatrice gaze on God, as depicted by Gustave Doré (1861).

Source: Photo © Duncan Walker / istockphoto.

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