Heidegger and a Hippo Walk Through Those Pearly Gates Read online

  As for the New Testament, the old-schoolers emphasize Jesus’ and Paul’s more prescriptive sayings—for example, nix to divorce—while the liberals point to the fact that both Jesus and Paul seem to be way more interested in the spirit of the law than in its letter. For example, when a first-century lawyer wants to know the way to eternal life, Jesus tells him to love God with all his heart and soul and mind and strength, and to love his neighbor as himself.8 No no-nos here.

  To top it off, Jesus says elsewhere that we shouldn’t be judging anybody else anyway. What? No prohibition of gay marriage? Don’t you know anything about “Christian lifestyle,” Jesus?

  To understand the importance of the spirit vs. the letter of the law, check this woman out for attitude:

  The police are called to an apartment, and when they get there, they find a dead body and a woman standing over it holding a bloody 5 iron.The detective says, “Lady, is that your husband?”

  She says, “Yeah.”

  The detective says,“Did you hit him with that golf club?” She says, “Yes, I did.”

  The detective says,“How many times did you hit him?”

  She says, “I don’t know . . . five, six, maybe seven times . . . just put me down for a five.”

  Although Paul sometimes tends to be a tough cookie, he tells us that eternal life is available as a gift, of all things. There’s no way we can earn it! So much for admissions criteria.

  Nonetheless, Christian denominations often talk as if there’s a divine report card and only some of us make the dean’s list. And many Christians believe that Saint Peter—the gatekeeper at the Pearly Gates—has been deputized to enforce the entrance policy and, like a doorman at a trendy club, engages the applicant in some edgy Q&A:

  A man dies and goes to the Judgment. Saint Peter meets him at the Gates and says, “Before you meet with God, I thought I should tell you—we’ve looked at your life, and you really didn’t do anything particularly good or bad.We’re not sure what to do with you. Can you tell us anything you did that can help us make our decision?”

  The applicant thinks a moment and replies,“Yeah, once I was driving along and came upon a woman who was being harassed by a group of bikers. So I pulled over, got out my tire iron, and went up to the leader of the bikers. He was a big, muscular, hairy guy with tattoos all over his body and a ring through his nose. Well, I tore out his nose ring and told him he and his gang had better stop bothering the woman or they would have to deal with me!”

  “I’m impressed,” Saint Peter responds. “When did this happen?”

  “About two minutes ago.”

  As it turns out, Saint Peter’s in-depth interview technique yields critical admissions data:

  It got crowded in Heaven, so Saint Peter decided to accept only people who’d had a really bad day on the day they died. On the first morning of the new policy, Saint Peter said to the first man in line, “Tell me about the day you died.”

  The man said,“Oh, it was awful. I was sure my wife was having an affair, so I came home early from work to catch her in the act. I searched all over the apartment and couldn’t find her lover anywhere. So finally I went out on the balcony, where I found this man hanging over the edge by his fingertips. So I went inside, got a hammer, and started hitting his hands. He fell, but landed in some bushes and survived. So I went inside, picked up the refrigerator, and pushed it out over the balcony. It crushed him, but the strain of hefting the fridge gave me a heart attack and I died.”

  Saint Peter couldn’t deny this was an awful day and that it was a crime of passion, so he let the man enter Heaven. He then asked the next man in line about the day he died.

  “Well, sir, it was terrible. I was doing aerobics on the balcony of my apartment when I slipped over the edge. I managed to grab the balcony of the apartment below me but then some maniac came out and started pounding my fingers with a hammer! I fell, but I landed in some bushes and lived! But then this guy came out again and dropped a refrigerator on me! That did it!”

  Saint Peter chuckled a bit, and let him into Heaven. “Tell me about the day you died,” he said to the third man.

  “Okay, picture this. I’m naked, hiding in a refrigerator . . .”

  NE’ER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET

  Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.

  —Mark Twain

  Concepts of Heaven and Hell are determined not only by religious sect, but also by secular culture.

  Take the case of André, a resident of Heaven, who asked to visit his old friend, Pierre, in Hell. His wish was granted, and Satan himself led André to his friend’s private suite.

  There Pierre was, seated in a loveseat with a gorgeous naked woman on his lap, a tray of hors d’oeuvres on the table next to him, and a champagne flute in his hand. André couldn’t believe his eyes. “This is Hell?” he exclaimed.

  “But yes,” Pierre sighed.“The woman, she is my first wife.The cheese is from Belgium. And this ‘champagne’—what can I say?—it is not even real, it’s from California!”

  Hey, you say, where does the picture of Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates come from? In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says he is giving Peter the “keys of the kingdom of heaven.” He apparently means that Peter has a central role in ushering in the new era, which may seem a little vaguer than list-checking at the entrance to a gated community, but that’s where we get St. Pete qua doorman. In the Book of Revelation, one of the details of John’s visions of the New Jerusalem is that it had twelve gates and each gate “was a single pearl.” Put it all together and whaddya got? Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

  YOUR HEAVEN OR MINE?

  One criterion to bear in mind when choosing a religion is where its particular afterlife is being held. Consider Pure Land Buddhism. Based on the belief that in our degenerate Age of Dharma Decline it is too difficult for most of us to reach the void of Nirvana through meditation alone, Pure Land Buddhism offers visions of celestial Buddha lands we can reach by devotion to Amitabha Buddha. At the end of life, when we pass over to these exquisite lands, we will find it much easier to attain Nirvana there.

  In the “Sutra of Visualization” the Buddha tells us how to attain a vision of the Buddha lands. In a trance, we can visualize the giant trees adorned with blossoms and leaves made of seven kinds of jewels. Those made of lapis lazuli emit a golden light; the rock crystal blossoms, a crimson light; the emerald-colored leaves, a sapphire light; the sapphire-colored leaves, a pearl-green light. It’s like being sentenced to prism. Nets of pearls cover the trees. Between the nets are five billion flower palaces, and within each flower palace are celestial children who wear ornaments of the five billion wish-fulfilling jewels. (Steven Spielberg couldn’t do it justice. “We ran the five billion flower palaces by Production, Steve. Sorry, you’re going to have to live with thirty flower palaces.”)

  Muslim Paradise is equally exotic. According to the Koran, those who reach it will “recline on jeweled couches face to face, and there shall wait on them immortal youths with bowls and ewers and a cup of purest wine (that will neither pain their heads nor take away their reason); with fruits of their own choice and flesh of fowls that they relish. And theirs shall be the dark-eyed nymphs, chaste as hidden pearls: a reward for their deeds. . . . We created the nymphs and made them virgins, loving companions for those on the right hand. . . .”9

  The famous seventy-two virgins are not mentioned in the Koran, and their provenance is long and very complicated. According to one compilation of hadith (Islamic traditions), the story was told by one man who got it from another man who got it from a third man who heard Muhammad say, “The smallest reward for the people of Heaven is an abode where there are eighty thousand servants and seventy-two virgins.” 10 Muslim clerics call this chain of transmission “weak,” so we wouldn’t bet the farm on there being exactly seventy-two, Daryl. Besides, maybe it’s because we’re on Social Security, but seventy-two virgins seems a bit excessive to us. Now
the eighty thousand servants, that’s a different matter.

  Unsurprisingly, the vision of Heaven passed down by a religious tradition often turns out to reflect the general spirit of that tradition. In Hinduism, for example, none of the many layers of their multitiered Heaven is “Paradise.” The many tiers are only increasingly refined levels of purgatory we pass through as determined by our karma—on our way to the real goal, the transcendence of all existence.

  Confucius, by contrast, refused to speculate about Heaven altogether, though he accepted it as the abode of the venerable ancestors. Otherwise, he thought Heaven was a distraction from his practical ethic of right relationships.

  But our favorite vision of a Heaven that reflects the spirit of its religious tradition is the Norse mythology surrounding Valhalla, the palace of slain warriors, where the roof is made of gold shields. The departed warriors feast every day on the flesh of a wild boar and drink liquor from the teat of a goat. Their principal pastime is clobbering each other. Kind of like celestial Ultimate Fighting.

  WALL-TO-WALL CLOUDS VS. WALL-TO-WALL GREENERY

  Thank heaven for artists. Or to put it another way, thank artists for Heaven. It was the guys in smocks who gave us the Heaven we know—the one replete with terrific production values.

  Much of our current imagery of Heaven came to us by way of late Middle Ages and Renaissance paintings. Consider an early-sixteenth-century painting, The Holy Trinity Enthroned, by an artist who is known only by his patron name, Master of James IV of Scotland (MJ4 to his rapper friends). Here we see some of Heaven’s enduring hallmarks. Heaven is suspended in the sky above the clouds, which means it’s up, a direction that depends on where on the globe you’re standing (unless you happen to be a Flat Earthist). Clouds have always figured prominently in many concepts of Heaven: sometimes we’re high above them, but most often they’re the wispy ground we walk upon. Furthermore, the furnishings, such as they are, are depicted in this painting in muted, super-pastel tones. Primary colors are definitely too garish for Heaven. And finally, for just a touch more color, we see hints of rainbows floating around MJ4’s Divines. There appear to be no rainy days in Heaven, but rainbows aplenty.

  Or take a look at The Burial of the Count of Orgaz from the Greek-born late-sixteenth-century painter Doménikos Theotokópoulos. (In his adopted home of Spain he opted for the nickname El Greco, because he thought it was easier to spell.) We see that not only has the paleness of Heaven faded to near-transparent whiteness, but two more of Heaven’s persisting features appear: wardrobe-wise, togas or white choir robes are definitely in. (Heaven is an equal-opportunity community—universal togas and choir robes, like school uniforms, keep the rich from lording it over the riffraff.) Halos and wings appear to be optional for the hoi polloi. Finally, the airspace is heavily populated with gravity-defying adorables, cherubs and winged angels. As these darlings multiply in paintings throughout the Renaissance, golden lyres and harps become accessories de la mode. Along with the harps, here and there we start to see depictions of the heavenly choir, or at least of the soprano section.

  Many art historians consider depictions of the Garden of Eden—i.e., heaven on earth—as a clue to the landscape of Heaven. It’s Heaven once removed, but nonetheless easier to wrap our earthbound senses around. Take the Garden as rendered by fifteenth-century Nederlandish painter Hieronymus Bosch. (Born Jeroen Anthonissen van Aken, he changed his name because he thought Hieronymus was harder to spell.) In the left-hand panel of his famous triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights, a panel that is alternately called “Paradise” or “The Garden of Eden,” H.B. contributes some topical features of this version of Heaven: it’s rural, lush, and teeming with lovable, people-friendly critters—the Peaceable Kingdom with lots of low-hanging, fiber-rich fruit. Reminds us of a story:

  Al and Betty were eighty-three years old and had been married for sixty years. Though far from rich, they managed to get by through watching their pennies.They were both in very good health, largely due to Betty’s insistence on a healthful diet.

  On their way to their sixty-fifth high school reunion their plane crashed, sending them off to Heaven. At the Pearly Gates Saint Peter escorted them to a beautiful mansion furnished in gold and fine silks, with a fully stocked kitchen and a waterfall in the master bath. A maid could be seen hanging their favorite clothes in the closet. They gasped in astonishment when Saint Peter said, “Welcome to Heaven.This will be your home now. It is your reward.”

  Al looked out the window and saw a championship golf course, more beautiful than any he had ever seen. Saint Peter led them to the clubhouse, where they saw the lavish buffet lunch, with every imaginable delicacy laid out before them, from lobster thermidor to filet mignon to creamy desserts. Al glanced nervously at Betty, then turned to their host. “Where are the low-fat and low-cholesterol foods?” he asked.

  “That’s the best part,” Saint Peter replied. “You can eat as much as you like of whatever you like, and you will never get fat or sick.This is Heaven!”

  “No testing my blood sugar or blood pressure?” Al persisted.

  “Never again,” said St. Pete. “All you do here is enjoy yourself.”

  Al glared at Betty and groaned, “You and your stupid oat bran! We could have been here ten years ago!”

  Starting with these basics, Bible illustrations, magazine ads, children’s books, cartoons, and films filled in much of the rest of Heaven’s imagery.

  HEAVEN FOR BEGINNERS

  Children’s books that describe Heaven continue to proliferate faster than, say, micro-breweries. Recently, Maria Shriver (a.k.a. Mrs. Terminator) came out with What’s Heaven?, a Q&A between a mother and daughter after the little girl’s grand-mother dies. When the girl asks why she can’t see Heaven, Mom replies with philosophical sophistication, “Heaven isn’t a place you can see. It’s somewhere you believe in.”

  But our favorite Heaven in a kids’ book is Cynthia Rylant’s Dog Heaven. Dead doggies don’t need wings because they’d rather run, and God, pictured as an old farmer with a white mustache and a goofy hat, wants doggies to do what comes naturally. This Heaven is decidedly Eden-like, filled with lakes and geese and angel children to play with. Most importantly, if you are a dog, Heaven is filled with artisanal dog biscuits shaped like kitty-cats, squirrels, and ham sandwiches. Woof!

  Judging by Bible illustrations, Heaven’s denizens are perpetually contented-looking to a point just short of smug. They tend to gather and lounge in small groups, favoring the shade of feathery-leafed trees. God himself, often accompanied by an entourage of saints, makes occasional appearances.

  “You faked your death once before—

  how do I know you’re not faking it now?”

  “I guess this is as good as it gets.”

  He wears a toga like everyone else, but his is, well, more flowy, not that anyone is complaining.

  Heaven is one of the most popular locales for cartoons, right up there with desert islands and psychiatrists’ offices. In most of them, the action takes place at the Pearly Gates with gags about entrance policies.

  (Incidentally, cartoonists heavily favor “cloud” Heaven over “mountain greenery” Heaven, possibly because they usually work in black-and-white.)

  Once inside the gates, we get a droll comedy of manners: here we are in the Great Beyond, but we’re still basically human with all our earthly foibles, neuroses, and banality.

  Not to be a downer, but the cartoon of card-playing Heaven has brought up a perennial worry of ours: Is eternity—even in Heaven—likely to bring on that old ennui? Consider Gil, an inveterate fisherman.

  Gil is casting his line along a beautiful stream when he snags a gorgeous twenty-pound salmon. But just as he is hauling it in, he has a massive heart attack.

  When he comes to consciousness, he sees that he is lying beside an even more beautiful stream and that it is teeming with salmon. Next to him is a state-of-the-art rod and reel. He grabs it and casts his line. Bingo! Gil immediately catch
es a spectacular thirty-five-pound salmon and reels it in. He feels terrific. He casts again, and once again he instantly snags a fantastic fish. On and on he goes, the glorious fish lying in a long row on the bank behind him.

  But as the afternoon wears on, Gil realizes that he is no longer fishing with his usual enthusiasm. In fact, he’s starting to feel bored.

  Just then, he sees another man walking along the stream bank toward him. “So, this is Heaven,” Gil calls to the other man.

  “You think so?” comes the reply.

  HEAVEN FOR REEL

  It was the Hereafter via the movies that gave Heaven its juiciest details. Consider the silent 1926 black-and-white German classic Faust. Although the film doesn’t focus on day-to-day Heaven, its image of Faust sailing through the space-time continuum with the devil at his side offers a glimpse of Heaven’s landscape: bright rays of light piercing the mist and classical Greek edifices apparently abandoned before they were completely built. Much of the imagery is derived from sourpuss artists like Dürer and Bruegel, so Faust’s Heaven looks murky and mysterious as hell, not a real happy place to spend eternity.

  Mist became a must in later films. In the 1941 comedy Here Comes Mr. Jordan, we see what became known in Hollywood special effects departments as “dry ice” Heaven—wall-to-wall wispy, smoky, cloudy stuff the departed can walk on.