Two philosophical reference works provide direct examples of the classificatory usage I had in mind. The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry “Hell” says that, in philosophy and theology, the word “hell,” in its most general sense, refers to “some kind of bad post-mortem state.” Under the heading “The Nature of Hell,” it then discusses the Traditional View, Annihilationism, the Free Will View, and Universalism under separate subheadings.

The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry “Heaven and Hell in Christian Thought” states that permanent separation from God is “equally consistent with many different conceptions of hell,” and gives everlasting torment and annihilation among its examples.

The second edition of Four Views on Hell (Zondervan, ed. Sprinkle) likewise treats Eternal Conscious Torment, Annihilationism (Conditional Immortality), Universalism (Ultimate Reconciliation), and Purgatory as its four views.

These examples do not establish that this usage is universal, dominant, or specifically Catholic. Nor do they establish how the word is ordinarily understood in everyday speech. They establish only that, in at least some philosophical and theological literature, sharply different accounts of final judgment are classified together under the heading of hell.

That is all I am claiming here about the classificatory usage. I suggest that we leave the terminological question there.

>> That’s news to me. Several years ago I saw a rather fundamentalist Christian defending annihilation. All of the other fundamentalist Christians considered him an egregious heretic. But I only have a passing awareness of fundamentalist perspectives. Perhaps annihilation is much more widely accepted as fitting the definition of Hell among fundamentalists or other denominations? Porphyry knows the Roman Catholic doctrinal tradition better than me, maybe he can enlighten me.

I think there is historical attestation of using 'hell' to mean any post-mortem state that does not include the vision of God.

This is how the "harrowing of hell" gets explained. Christ didn't go into a state of eternal conscious torment when he descended to hell (as the Apostles' Creed says he did), and those he led back were in hell only in the attenuated sense of being temporarily blocked from the vision of God (i.e., they were in the libus patrum; this is also attested in the traditional teaching that Jesus "opened the gates of hell"). 

Similarly, in traditional Catholic teaching there are only two final states for man: heaven and hell. And "hell," so taken, would include the limbus infantum, where there is no positive torment but only natural happiness. 

We also see the idea in Dante's first circle of hell; a place without positive punishment for virtuous pagans who can't be admitted to heaven. 

That said I think it is a very broad reading of the term. The vast majority of the time people talk about hell, in my experience, they mean eternal conscious torment. And I'm not aware, off hand, of "hell" being used historically to refer to annihilation--It might be there historically, but certainly not in the orthodoxy Catholic tradition. 

Well that certainly was not my intent as should have been clear from the following: (...)

Tjalling:

I did not take it that way, Robert. I meant only that the terminological issue and the substantive issue are separate.

As for the philosophical usage, either I am mistaken, or the question may require a somewhat larger breakfast table.

To be continued ...

Tjalling said
What remains after the correction
Robert, your experience is clear. In the theological tradition in which you were trained, hell did not function as an umbrella term including purgatory or annihilation. That alone is sufficient reason for me not to use it as though it were an agreed technical umbrella term.
I can show that, in Protestant circles in which I was formed, the wider question of final judgment was discussed under that heading [hell as an umbrella term that included Purgatory & Annihilation]. The same is true of some usage in philosophy. I understand that you want to be very precise and that you weigh my words carefully. If those points remain important to you, I am willing to address them separately.

Yes, I am always eager to learn more about this kind of thing. Thank you.

But they are not necessary to the argument I want to make, and I do not want a further terminological dispute to obscure it. ... a substantive question remains that cannot be made to disappear by a dictionary definition of hell

Well that certainly was not my intent as should have been clear from the following:

"I won’t have time to address your more substantive concerns for a while. I have Belgians friends coming to stay here for the night and have a lot to do to get ready for them. One of them has a doctorate in Philosophy so I may ask him to better educate me about the more broadly inclusive use of the term “Hell” in philosophical discussions."

By the way, I did ask my philosopher friend about this point over breakfast this morning. He too has no recollection of a philosophical use of the term "Hell" as an umbrella term that included Purgatory & Annihilation

But a substantive question remains that cannot be made to disappear by a dictionary definition of hell:

To be continued ...

"I’m not that special"
Are you unique?

"Future bliss does not undo present suffering"
Makes sense.
What happens tomorrow can't change what happened yesterday.

"It sure as hell doesn’t compensate for it"
If something is "sure as hell," how sure is it?
In your view, is there an afterlife, and if so, do some people experience a hellish environment in their afterlife?

"Unless of course like Job you’re satisfied with new children, new wealth, new lands to replace the old"
Reference that he was "satisfied with new children, new wealth, new lands to replace the old"?

Robert, your experience is clear. In the theological tradition in which you were trained, hell did not function as an umbrella term including purgatory or annihilation. That alone is sufficient reason for me not to use it as though it were an agreed technical umbrella term.

I can show that, in Protestant circles in which I was formed, the wider question of final judgment was discussed under that heading. The same is true of some usage in philosophy. I understand that you want to be very precise and that you weigh my words carefully. If those points remain important to you, I am willing to address them separately. But they are not necessary to the argument I want to make, and I do not want a further terminological dispute to obscure it. I will therefore not use hell as a technical umbrella term here.

What follows is not a defense of my original claim that Bart failed to mark his personal judgments. He did mark them, and I corrected that claim.

But a substantive question remains that cannot be made to disappear by a dictionary definition of hell: what did Bart’s historical argument establish, and what conclusion were his listeners finally invited to take away?

==========

My central concern is this: the rhetorical scope of the conclusion is broader than the evidential scope of the historical argument. Bart’s historical case removes eternal conscious torment from the teaching of the historical Jesus, but his conclusion, from “God is in the end merciful” to “in the end What Have We to Fear?”, invites a wider reassurance. Yet the historical Jesus as Bart reconstructs him still warns of exclusion, destruction, “the worst outcome you can possibly imagine,” and “a horrible death in fire.”

I will call this an inferential slide. I do not mean the familiar slippery-slope fallacy. I mean a smooth movement in which the authority of a narrower historical conclusion can be carried into a broader philosophical or existential reassurance without the additional argument becoming equally visible.

==========

The way Bart formally introduced the course matters: “What the Hell? Jesus’ teachings on the afterlife.”

The listener is therefore promised more than an account of the historical development of one later doctrine. The course is framed as an account of what Jesus taught about the afterlife.

Bart also defines his primary subject clearly: “What we think of hell, if we think of hell as eternal conscious torment, where souls go to this realm where they are tortured forever, that idea … is not in the Hebrew Bible at all, and it’s not what Jesus taught.”

Bart’s primary historical claim is therefore clear: eternal conscious torment was not the teaching of the historical Jesus.

The question is what remains once eternal conscious torment has been excluded from Jesus’ teaching, and whether the concluding reassurance is as carefully limited as the historical case itself.

==========

Bart’s own reconstruction leaves something extraordinarily severe in place. When he turns specifically to what he believes Jesus taught about the fate of those excluded from God’s Kingdom, he says that Jesus warned of:

“the worst outcome you can possibly imagine”;

people who are “really upset they’re not allowed into God’s kingdom” and are then destroyed;

people who “cease to exist” and are “burned to nothing”;

“If you’re not on God’s side, you’re destroyed”;

and “a horrible death in fire” after which they are “never brought back.”

These formulations have now been checked directly against the audio.

Bart also speaks of exclusion from the Kingdom, darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth, destruction at God’s judgment, eternal punishment because it is never reversed, and never returning to life to enjoy God’s Kingdom.

His summary is unambiguous: “He himself believed in eternal annihilation, not eternal torment.”

This is not Dante’s Inferno. It is not eternal conscious torture. But it is hardly nothing to fear: Bart himself calls it “the worst outcome you can possibly imagine.”

==========

Near the end, Bart describes the growing interest in universalism as “a hopeful sign” and says:

“I think that God is in the end merciful.”

The concluding slide then reads, exactly:

IN THE END
What Have We to Fear?

The phrase “in the end” appears in both places, and that matters. The course was introduced as Jesus’ teachings on the afterlife. It has moved from the rejection of eternal conscious torment, through the judgment and irreversible destruction Bart attributes to Jesus, to universalism, “God is in the end merciful,” and finally, “in the end What Have We to Fear?”

Bart then says that understanding where the idea of hell came from can mitigate fear. He concludes:

“If you just use your reason enough, you realize this isn’t the original form of Christianity. And you probably realize it really doesn’t make sense. It almost certainly is not true.”

Every part of this closing passage has now been checked directly against the audio.

I am not claiming that Bart explicitly argues: Jesus did not teach eternal conscious torment; therefore universalism is true. He does not formulate that syllogism. But the broader movement is nevertheless present in the structure and cadence of the webinar, and it is one that a listener can reasonably hear.

The rhetorical scope of the conclusion is broader than the evidential scope of the historical argument.

==========

My strongest point here does not depend on a dictionary definition of merciful. It depends on the pragmatic meaning the word acquires in this particular closing passage.

Surrounded by universalism, punishment, penalty, fear, and the slide in the end What Have We to Fear?, “God is in the end merciful” is naturally heard as more than a statement that God has compassionate feelings. It suggests that, in the end, mercy has the final word.

That creates a dilemma.

If irreversible destruction, described as being “burned to nothing,” suffering “a horrible death in fire,” and being “never brought back,” is compatible with God’s final mercy, then something terrible remains to be feared, and the appeal to mercy does not by itself support universalism.

If final mercy excludes irreversible destruction, then the reassurance depends on a further judgment: that the destruction Bart attributes to the historical Jesus will not in fact occur.

Bart is entitled to hold that judgment. But it requires an additional philosophical or theological argument. The historical case that Jesus taught annihilation rather than eternal torment does not itself provide one.

==========

The appeal to reason is therefore important. The objection is not that Bart reasons or invites others to reason. The difficulty is that he associates sufficient use of the listener’s reason with a probable outcome matching his own further judgment:

“If you just use your reason enough…”
“You probably realize…”

A listener unable to assess every historical, exegetical and philosophical step independently may defer to an amiable, eloquent and highly respected scholar. Another may wonder whether failure to reach the conclusion shows that he has not used his reason enough.

The issue is therefore not only what a listener could isolate as the strict logical conclusion after careful analysis. It is also what the webinar as a whole was likely to leave as its practical and existential takeaway.

The audience Q&A record shows that broader inferences were genuinely available. Listeners asked:

“If there is no hell doesn’t that negate the significance of the cross? Also what happens to the need for salvation?”

“If he is not saving me from hell, what am I missing?”

Another thanked Bart for emphasizing “that this fear of hell is unfounded.”

These questions did not create my concern, prove causation, or show superficial listening. They show that the movement was available. No speaker controls every inference, but an expert addressing a general audience whose backgrounds he cannot know bears a responsibility to guard against foreseeable and avoidable inferential slides beyond what the evidence establishes.

==========

So what do I fear?

As a Christian, I fear that Jesus’ warnings may be real. I also fear that imprecise argument can blur the distinction between rejecting eternal conscious torment and rejecting judgment itself, while the importance of the matter could hardly be greater.

What is ultimately at stake for me is the listener’s anchor, especially the anchor of a listener who may not be able, in real time, to keep historical reconstruction, personal judgment, and broader implication sharply distinguished.

I am not arguing that a religious or naturalistic anchor should be protected against evidence. Evidence may require us to reconsider even our deepest convictions. But the responsibility runs in both directions: an anchor should not be loosened by imprecision or by an inference the evidence has not earned, but neither should it be held in place by fear, coercion, or claims the evidence cannot support.

An anchor deserves careful handling, even when it belongs to someone else’s boat.

Nor do I want to return to fire-and-brimstone preaching, to believers being made afraid that they are unworthy of God’s grace, or to centuries in which hell was used as a whip over human consciences. We need not choose between a divine torture chamber and a world in which judgment, salvation, the cross, and the fate of human beings no longer matter.

Eternal conscious torment has been removed from the teaching of the historical Jesus. But the historical Jesus as Bart reconstructs him still leaves “the worst outcome you can possibly imagine” in place.

I do not see gratitude to Bart and concern for his listeners as competing obligations. Taking his work seriously includes examining critically what an audience may reasonably take from it.

No one owes me agreement or a response, and I am not asking anyone to choose between loyalty to Bart and engagement with my argument. Individual details may of course be challenged, and where correction is needed I will accept it. I hope only that disagreement over a secondary point will not displace the central question.

==========

My central question remains:

How is a listener expected to keep the final reassurance strictly limited to eternal conscious torment when the closing sequence has moved through universalism, “God is in the end merciful,” and “in the end What Have We to Fear?”, while the historical Jesus as Bart reconstructs him still leaves “the worst outcome you can possibly imagine” in place?

Crucially, establishing this standpoint is not an attempt to relativize human suffering or historical pain. On the contrary, compassion itself is a matter of perspective. Compassion requires a stable, unwavering vantage point from which to perceive, honor, and respond to trauma. When systems distort our shared frameworks to enforce violence, they do not just alter concepts—they alter our capacity for empathy by breaking our perspective. To fight for a true, uncompromised baseline of understanding is to restore the precise perspective from which genuine compassion becomes possible.

My point is pretty straightforward.  Future bliss does not undo present suffering.   It sure as hell doesn't compensate for it. Unless of course like Job you're satisfied with new children, new wealth, new lands to replace the old.

Daniel Hallock, _Six Months to Live: Learning from a Young Man with Cancer_ (2015)

“I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone else’s.
If I could choose not to have cancer, and continue my life as it was, I wouldn’t do it.”
– Matt Gauger.

The cults of Isis and Serapis are more literary.

We have:

• hymns,
• aretalogies (accounts of the goddess's powers),
• temple inscriptions,
• dedications,
• and later philosophical interpretations.

= = = =

Steefen:

Resolved: The authentic Pauline letters and the final version of the authentic Pauline letters were NOT completed before the Gospel of Mark or Marcion's proto-Luke.

So I think you've identified a legitimate historical issue. The question is not whether Roman religious elites were capable of discussing religious literature—they certainly were. The question is whether there is positive evidence that they engaged with the Pauline letters in the first century.

At present, there is no direct external evidence demonstrating that they did. Historians who defend a first-century Pauline corpus generally argue from the cumulative internal, textual, and manuscript evidence rather than from documented first-century readers outside the Christian movement. Those who advocate later dates regard the lack of early external attestation as more significant.

If educated religious and civic elites paid attention to new religious movements, why is there so little external evidence for Paul's letters before the mid-second century?