First: some words about these -ology words. ‘Cosmology’, from the Greek word for ‘world’ (kosmos), refers to ideas about the composition, demography, and operation of the universe. Every reader of these words has a cosmology. In this most basic sense, one’s cosmology emerges intuitively through experience and the tutelage of culture and tradition. But in the advanced sense, ‘cosmology’ names philosophical and scientific explorations of the cosmos. ‘Eschatology’, from the Greek word for ‘end’ (eschatos), refers to the ‘last things’ of creation, or ‘the End’. In medieval Latin tradition, such ‘last things’ were named novissima: the superlative ‘newest things’ after which no additional new things would arise. Treatises on ‘the last things’ thus took the title, de novissimis (‘On the Newest Things’). According to the predominant medieval tradition, the novissima were expressly four in number: death, judgement, heaven, and hell. Today scholars use ‘eschatology’ (from the German Eschatologie, in its original vernacular coinage) to talk about any and all matters related to ‘the End’ (Mühling 2015: 3–25). ‘Eschatology’ is an apt word.
Paul is not using mythological categories as figures of speech to contemplate experiences of the human psyche or other abstract moral and cosmic concerns (view 2). When Paul relates his journey to the third heaven—‘whether in the body or out of the body’, he does not know (2 Cor 12:2–4)—he thought he really went ‘up there’, somehow, to a transcendent space adjacent to the earthly domain. Paul’s third heaven is not a metaphor for an alternative ‘dimension of reality’. This does not mean Paul never uses other-worldly apocalyptic categories to describe this-worldly realities, like many biblical prophets (N. T. Wright 2013: 163–77). Nor does it deny that Paul might personalize certain abstractions (like ‘Law’ or ‘Sin’) (see Forbes 2001, 2002). Paul’s cosmological statements must instead be assessed on a caseby-case basis if his total cosmological understanding is to be accurately modelled.
For most ancient cosmological theorists, the universe was rationally and beautifully ordered. Parts were blemished, and parts unruly, but the whole was elegantly arrayed. There were competing theories about the origin and destiny of the world, but widespread was the idea that a divine ‘Intellect’ (Nous) rationally ordered (kosmeō) all creation (Lang 2016b: 77–83, esp. 79–83). Only a divine Mind could establish the interconnected splendour of such exquisite ‘ornaments’ like the sun, moon, and stars. The ancient cosmos was mapped in a number of ways (for efficient summary, Adams 2008; for more detailed study, J. E. Wright 2000; for important ancient analysis, Aristotle, On the Heavens). For some, the earth was flat but circular and surrounded by seas. It floated like wood on water (Aristotle, On the Heavens 294a). For others, the earth was suspended in air and encircled by the vault of the heavens. For others the earth was spherical, with the moon, sun, planets, and stars (perhaps in that order) variously orbiting it in concentric spheres. This heaven is mostly inaccessible to humans, which is why we lack ancient Greek accounts of celestial journeys. There are, however, accounts of visits to the underworld, or Hades, where humans descend upon death. The most famous portrayal of Hades is the expedition of Odysseus in the famed katabasis scene in Book 11 of the Odyssey. As for its location, ‘the house of Hades is beneath the depths of the earth’ (Odyssey 24.204).
The three-tiered structure corresponds broadly to the conventional biblical picture of the world (for nuance, see Noegel 2017). The standard cosmography in the Old Testament distinguishes ‘whatever is in the heavens above, and whatever is in the earth beneath, and whatever is in the waters beneath the earth’ (Exod 20:4; Deut 5:8). The psalmist can sing: ‘If I should ascend to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there’ (Ps 139:8; cf. Job 11:8; Amos 9:2). As described in Gen 1:6–10, the earth is divided from the heavens above by a celestial dome, which holds back the primordial waters of creation. This cosmic ceiling, stretched out like a tent (Ps 104:2; cf. Job 9:8; Isa 44:24), holds back those waters, except when its ‘windows’ are opened (Gen 7:11; Ps 78:23; Isa 24:18) or the sky is torn asunder from the other side (Isa 64:1; Mark 1:10). The earth is envisioned as a building (Job 37:4–7), erected on pillars and surrounded by waters (Ps 136:6). The architecture of the heavens is similarly constructed: ‘you set the beams of your chambers on the waters’ (Ps 104:3; cf. Amos 9:6). The underworld (Sheol) is where the dead go, usually without return (see the challenge to standard assumptions in Levenson 2006: 35–81). In the words of Job, ‘He who goes down to Sheol does not come up’ (7:9). Wisdom of Solomon is equally austere: ‘no one has been known to return from Hades’ (2:1). This is a place of captivity (e.g., 2 Sam 22:6; Ps 18:5; 116:3). The location of Sheol is variously identified as ‘down there’, as in phrases like ‘depths of the pit’ (Ps 88:7) or ‘lowest parts of the earth’ (Ps 63:10; Isa 44:23) and in references to digging to it (Amos 9:2). Sheol is also, like heaven and earth, described in architectural terms, as in repeated references to the ‘gates of Sheol’ (e.g., Isa 38:10) or the ‘gates of death’ (e.g., Job 38:17).
This is all consistent with descriptions of descent to ‘Hades’ and the ‘gates of Hades’ in the New Testament (e.g., Matt 11:23; 16:18). There is actually very little interest in Sheol in the Hebrew Bible (Levenson 2006: 65– 66). But despite the absence of detailed depictions, the general picture of Sheol/Hades is of a dark prison (e.g., Job 10:20–22), or ‘pit of destruction’ (Ps 55:23), interred in the ‘depths of the earth’ (Ps 63:9). Such bleak imagery is also frequently applied to the psychological misery of those still living (e.g., Ps 88:1–7).
The great diversity in ancient Jewish thinking about the celestial topography is perhaps nowhere better observed than in the conflicting ideas about the numbering of the heavens (ouranoi). For many, the celestial heaven seems singular in number (1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, Testament of Abraham). Some rabbinic sources knew of two heavens (Kulik 2019: 254). Paul visited the ‘third heaven’, which he also identifies as ‘paradise’ (2 Cor 12:2–4). Whether there were additional heavens in Paul’s understanding is not certain, but there were others besides Paul who affirmed a three-tiered celestial architecture (Testament of Levi α-recension; Apocalypse of Sedrach; Life of Adam and Eve). Seven heavens seems to have been the most popular configuration (Testament of Levi; Philo; Ascension of Isaiah; Apocalypse of Paul; 2 Enoch [A]; Apocalypse of Abraham; Apocalypse of Moses; and numerous rabbinic traditions). But others insisted on five (3 Baruch), or ten (2 Enoch [J]), or as many as 955 (3 Enoch 48[A]), and other numbers besides (Kulik 2019: 252–64). Two points are essential: (1) The realm above the sky, however many tiers it might have, is the Lord’s domain. When you look up, whatever is above ‘up’, this is where the Lord resides: ‘The heavens above the heavens are the Lord’s’ (Ps 115:16). (2) In this celestial space above the sky, the Lord sits, in his holy temple, on a throne from which he observes humanity (Ps 11:4; 14:2; 32:13; 53:2; 102:19; 103:19): ‘The Lord is in his holy temple; the Lord’s throne is in the heavens. His eyes behold, his eyelids examine, all people’ (Ps 11:4).
According to Eph 1:20–21, ‘God put this power to work in Christ by raising him from the dead and seating him at his right hand in the heavenly places (en tois epouraniois), high above (uperanō) every rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come’ (cf. Eph 1:3; 2:6; 3:10; 6:12). What is certain is that Christ is above them all (cf. Col 3:1–4). This is just a given in Paul’s Jewish cosmology (cf. Rom 10:6; Eph 4:10). Paul also presupposes a threetiered universe. He delineates the three tiers as ‘heavenly, and earthly, and underworldly’ (epouraniōn kai epigeiōn kai kataxthoniōn) (Phil 2:10; cf. Isa 45:23; Rom 14:11; Rev 5:13). The only other potential Pauline information about a subterranean domain comes from Eph 4:9, which refers to Christ’s descent (katabainō) ‘to the lower territory of the earth’ (eis ta katōtera [merē] tēs gēs) (cf. 1 Pet 3:18–20; 4:6). The interpretation of this passage is disputed, but it most likely refers to a visit to the underworld (Bales 2010). What Christ did on this visit, how he got there, and whether its population is embodied or discarnate is indeterminate (cf. Phil 2:10–11).
Perhaps Paul’s three-decker celestial scheme is as follows: The first heaven is the sky; the second is a realm occupied by subordinate divine figures; and the third heaven, above the others, is where God and Christ are enthroned and believers have their future residence (2 Cor 5:1–2).
‘Demons’ (daimones/daimonia) are not always malign figures, just as ‘angels’ (angeloi) are not always innocent. The vocabulary of ‘demon’ is applied to all manner of divine species, but mostly to intermediate deities trafficking between humans and the high gods, conveying things like sacrifices from earth to heaven and oracular communiques from heaven to earth. He describes the ‘race’ (genos) of the daimones as ‘midway (en mesō) between the gods and humanity’. As intermediaries they ‘draw together’ and ‘unite’ humanity and divinity in ‘fellowship’ (koinōnia) (On the Obsolescence of Oracles 415A). Plutarch associates the domain of these celestial beings with the moon, which stands between earth and the stars and sun. Thus daimones are located between mutable humanity and immutable divinity (On the Obsolescence of Oracles 416d–f). Two further observations about ancient thinking follow: (1) ‘Being invisible . . . is not the same as being immaterial’; and (2) ‘Being invisible is also not the same as being a metaphor’ (Smith 2008: 481–482). Tatian (second-century ce) contends that demons do not have flesh, but rather a ‘spiritual structure, like that of fire or air’ (Address to the Greeks 15). Origen (third century ce) explains why demons consume the smoke and blood of sacrifice. This strengthens them, making them all the more powerful. Feeding demons through sacrifice is thus akin to offering sustenance to robbers and murders (Exhortation to Martyrdom 45). The third-century ce pagan philosopher Porphyry also accepts that malevolent demons are especially dependent on the nutrition available in the smoke of sacrifice. This is how their ‘spiritual and corporeal part is fattened’ (On Abstinence from Eating Food from Animals 2.42).
Such demons are also, for Porphyry, unseen and thus pneumatic, but no less present in their shifting, corporeal form: ‘For they are not cloaked with a solid body nor do they all have one shape, but they take many forms . . . sometimes becoming visible, sometimes invisible, and the worse ones change their shape’ (On Abstinence from Eating Food from Animals 2.39). Origen similarly maintains that ‘the appearance or outline of a demon’s body is unlike this thicker, palpable body of ours’. Those who think of demons in terms of ‘incorporeality’ (incorporeum) are simply uninformed. The demonic body is ‘fine and thin like air’ (On First Principles preface 8).
The association of demonic bodies with air is an important one (cf. Eph 2:2). For some, this accounts for their domain in the realm between earth and heaven above. According to Apuleius (124–170 ce) (under Platonic influence), ‘There are certain intermediate divine powers placed between the highest ether and the lowest earth in the region of air (aeris spatio). They carry our desires and good deeds to the gods. The Greeks call them “demons” (daimonas)’ (On the God of Socrates 6.2–3). As Apuleius further explains, it is not the task of the highest gods to trouble themselves with terrestrial affairs. Thus they have the demonic population, ‘who blow about in the regions of the air (in aeris plagis terrae) that border the earth and also touch the sky’ (On the God of Socrates 7.4). Apuleius conjectures that the air, like the earth and sea, must have a class of creatures proper to its nature. After some reasoning, he determines that demons are the beings particular to it (On the God of Socrates 8.4–8). Demons ‘are certainly not terrestrial, since weight would pull them down, but neither are they fiery, since heat would carry them away’ (9.1–2). Demons must then have bodies of an ‘intermediate nature (natura) . . . so that the nature of the region accords with the nature of its inhabitants’ (9.2). As for the ‘texture’ of the demonic body, it is lighter than earthly ones but heavier than ethereal ones: ‘Therefore, demonic bodies have enough weight to keep them from rising to the celestial realm but enough lightness so as not to sink to the lower regions’ (9.2–4). Far more could be said about the bodies of demons.
Even Satan (Satanas), as depicted in the New Testament, is absent from the Old Testament and other pre-Christian Jewish literature. The Hebrew satan is simply an adversary (e.g., 1 Sam 29:4; 2 Sam 19:23; 1 Chron 21:1), though sometimes a celestial adversary in the Lord’s heavenly council (Num 22:22–32; Job 1–2; Zech 3:1–2; cf. 1 Chron 21:1). In none of these cases is such a figure a divine arch-antagonist. Although ‘Satan’ will become the name for such an arch-antagonist in later Jewish texts, other names are used for figures who play such a role in pre-Christian Jewish material, such as Beliar (Jubilees 1.20; T. Reu. 2.2; T. Jud. 25.3; cf. 2 Cor 6:15), Mastema (Jubilees 10.8; 11.4, 10; 17.16; 48.1–15), Azazel (1 Enoch 8:1; 9:6; 10:4, 8; 13:1), and Beelzebul (Mark 3:22). But this confirms the point: There is no consistent or coherent demonology in the biblical and early Jewish data. There is, however, ample evidence of early Jewish interest in a vibrant celestial civilization.
Even Paul’s ‘angels’ (angeloi) are dubious. They might attempt to separate believers from the love of God (Rom 8:38–39). They will be judged by humans (1 Cor 6:3) (on the shared ‘ontological circle’ of angels and humans, see Muehlberger 2015). They are the reason why women must veil themselves in worship (1 Cor 11:10). Satan deviously disguises himself as an ‘angel of light’ (2 Cor 11:14). And Paul was tortured by an ‘angel from Satan’ (angelos satana), ‘a thorn in the flesh’ (2 Cor 12:7). The Galatians are instructed to curse even an ‘angel from heaven’ (angelos ex ouranou) who might proclaim a gospel contrary to his own (Gal 1:8). Believers in Colossae are reproached for their ‘worship of angels’ (thrēskeia tōn angelōn) (Col 2:18). Although much is ambiguous in this passage, it is possible angels abetted this illicit veneration. Whatever the case, even angels from the celestial ‘up there’ may have malign interests in Paul’s angelology. But not all of them, of course. The law was given ‘through angels, in the hand of a mediator’ (Gal 3:19). And angels may be warmly welcomed (Gal 4:14). More importantly, in the parousia, when the Lord is revealed in the sky, he will be ‘with his mighty angels’ (2 Thess 1:7). These angels clearly belong to God’s designs (on angels in the ancient world, see Cline 2011).
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