The general matrix of medieval misogyny was based on women’s corporeal and moral inferiority as opposed to men, and found its ultimate biblical justification in the second version of the Creation (Genesis 2:18–23).1 After shaping [formavit] Adam from the slime of earth, God constructs [aedificavit] Eve from Adam’s rib, and she becomes bone of his bones, flesh of his flesh. Despite the existence of the first version (Genesis 1:27), where God creates [creavit] man and woman at the same time and to his image, the second version will position the female from the beginning as a bodily derivate of the male. This inferiority acquires further moral dimension with the Fall (Genesis 3:1–7): the serpent approaches Eve, who will eat from the forbidden fruit and give it to Adam. The female is the one who is responsible for the hardships and sufferings of earthly existence, because of her proneness to transgression and deceit. The widespread dissemination of this second version to all strata of society continued to maintain and reinforce negative stereotypical attitudes toward women in the Middle Ages and beyond.

Focusing on select examples of monumental art and manuscript illumination, this chapter examines key iconographic themes, visual strategies, and changes in artistic representations of heaven and hell in the Romanesque and gothic periods.In particular, it investigates how medieval artists and their patrons drew variously on scripture, theology, and exegesis to craft images of the afterlife that functioned complexly within the specific historical, cultural, and social contexts in which they were created.Emphasis also lies on the ways that these visual representations of heaven and hell, though often rooted in textual sources, constituted a distinct form of speculation on the afterlife.Seen both individually and together, the works discussed here reveal the central and enduring contribution of art in shaping medieval conceptions of the hereafter.

The writings of John Chrysostom reveal a great interest in the emotion of fear and a deep appreciation for its utility in the service of ethical formation. He understood that through fear people could be restrained from doing wrong and goaded into doing right, and, to these ends, he favoured and promoted the telling of frightening stories. He also believed that a lively sense of fear could promote compassion for the misfortunes of others and strengthen group solidarity. But, above all, Chrysostom exploited the ‘deliberative aspect’ of fear: its ability to trigger reflection on the value of threatened goods and the proximity of apparent danger. By inciting fear, he called into question the value of material goods and drove home belief in the reality and immanence of the Last Judgement. Fear, in his writings, has thus not only a repressive, but also a creative – even imaginative – aspect.

Athanasios Semoglou examines the role of sponsorship and its influence on the iconographical depiction in Byzantine (Greek) Macedonia, arguing that donors affect the use and character of the monument chosen as their burial place. Semoglou vividly demonstrates the connection between the iconography of Hell and the hopes of the faithful for eternal life, which consists a strong motivation for donors to commission images of the Last Judgement. According to the author, the influence of sponsorship on the iconography of Hell can be detected in the illustration of parable of the Rich Man and the Poor Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31), the earliest example of which is found in the Church of Saint Stephen in Kastoria, dated to the end of the 9th or the beginning of the 10th century. Furthermore, the author asserts that during the middle Byzantine period two major changes occurred that led to the articulation of the dipole between sin/punishment and virtue/reward, the first being the consolidation of the Last Judgement in the narthex and the second its vertical alignment, both dominant characteristics in its later representations.

Dionysios Stathakopoulos’ chapter is divided in two parts. In the first he presents the textual sources that have had a seminal influence on the establishment of a visual vocabulary of transgressions that appear in depictions of Hell in monumental painting. He focuses on the development of ideas of punishment in the afterlife, tracing their origins from the Old and the New Testament and apocryphal texts to late Byzantine theology, which were popular in shaping ideas on punishment. Since, however, they do not always assist our understanding of the iconography of Hell, as this also reflects the social preoccupations of the community that commissioned the cycles, Stathakopoulos, in the second part of his chapter, turns to Joseph Bryennios (born around 1350), who recorded a vivid depiction of his experiences during his appointment on Crete, in an attempt to look into the contemporary society that commissioned the Cretan Hell cycles that lie at the heart of this publication.

Rembrandt Duits focuses on the Western aspect of Italo-Byzantine cultural and artistic interaction and thus expands the geographical setting of the Cretan representations of Hell. His chapter presents a new perspective on the origins of certain elements in the Cretan images of Hell, which he points out have parallels in Western – particularly Italian - art. He draws on a representative sample of 25 per cent of all the Cretan wall paintings showing Hell that appear to deviate from pre-established Byzantine traditions. The geographical dispersion and chronological range of the sample mean that this iconographic divergence cannot be explained as the impact of a single Cretan master or a local ‘school’. Duits draws our attention to iconographic elements that suggest an interaction of Cretan and Italian artists, such as devils pulling souls by ropes or chains, frontally rendered processions of sinners, the double-headed Dragon of the Depths, the structure of Hell, and inscriptions that identify certain sinners. He argues that while there are no clear formal derivations of Western art in Cretan Hell scenes, there is nonetheless a strong suggestion that Cretan painters were aware of certain trends in the Italian rendition of Hell.

Athanasios Semoglou examines the role of sponsorship and its influence on the iconographical depiction in Byzantine (Greek) Macedonia, arguing that donors affect the use and character of the monument chosen as their burial place. Semoglou vividly demonstrates the connection between the iconography of Hell and the hopes of the faithful for eternal life, which consists a strong motivation for donors to commission images of the Last Judgement. According to the author, the influence of sponsorship on the iconography of Hell can be detected in the illustration of parable of the Rich Man and the Poor Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31), the earliest example of which is found in the Church of Saint Stephen in Kastoria, dated to the end of the 9th or the beginning of the 10th century. Furthermore, the author asserts that during the middle Byzantine period two major changes occurred that led to the articulation of the dipole between sin/punishment and virtue/reward, the first being the consolidation of the Last Judgement in the narthex and the second its vertical alignment, both dominant characteristics in its later representations.

Annemarie Weyl Carr examines the shifting imagery of post-mortem punishment in twenty-two depictions of the Last Judgment on Cyprus. The earliest versions, dating from the 12th through mid-14th century, cover three-dimensional, vaulted interiors. Centred on Christ, with degrees of punition arranged around him to contrast with either one another or beatitude, they present punishment as a range of conditions, not a place. The next group, dating from the mid-14th through the 15th century, are organised bilaterally around the scale of judgment, thus creating a clear differentiation between redemption and condemnation. Condemnation, however, remains chaotic, a state of being cast out, not a destination to which one goes. The final images, dating from the late 15th and16th centuries, occupy a single surface each. The Last Judgment may hover as a prophetic future, engulf as a wrap-around panorama, or spread in a landscape, but in each case, the events of punishment are in some way accorded a defined place. Thus, the Cypriot churches show a growing tendency to attribute spatial qualities to Hell. This space, however, embracing the whole of morality from sin and death through resurrection and judgement to damnation, has little in common with the Hell of western European art.

Rembrandt Duits focuses on the Western aspect of Italo-Byzantine cultural and artistic interaction and thus expands the geographical setting of the Cretan representations of Hell. His chapter presents a new perspective on the origins of certain elements in the Cretan images of Hell, which he points out have parallels in Western – particularly Italian - art. He draws on a representative sample of 25 per cent of all the Cretan wall paintings showing Hell that appear to deviate from pre-established Byzantine traditions. The geographical dispersion and chronological range of the sample mean that this iconographic divergence cannot be explained as the impact of a single Cretan master or a local ‘school’. Duits draws our attention to iconographic elements that suggest an interaction of Cretan and Italian artists, such as devils pulling souls by ropes or chains, frontally rendered processions of sinners, the double-headed Dragon of the Depths, the structure of Hell, and inscriptions that identify certain sinners. He argues that while there are no clear formal derivations of Western art in Cretan Hell scenes, there is nonetheless a strong suggestion that Cretan painters were aware of certain trends in the Italian rendition of Hell.

Dionysios Stathakopoulos’ chapter is divided in two parts. In the first he presents the textual sources that have had a seminal influence on the establishment of a visual vocabulary of transgressions that appear in depictions of Hell in monumental painting. He focuses on the development of ideas of punishment in the afterlife, tracing their origins from the Old and the New Testament and apocryphal texts to late Byzantine theology, which were popular in shaping ideas on punishment. Since, however, they do not always assist our understanding of the iconography of Hell, as this also reflects the social preoccupations of the community that commissioned the cycles, Stathakopoulos, in the second part of his chapter, turns to Joseph Bryennios (born around 1350), who recorded a vivid depiction of his experiences during his appointment on Crete, in an attempt to look into the contemporary society that commissioned the Cretan Hell cycles that lie at the heart of this publication.

Annemarie Weyl Carr examines the shifting imagery of post-mortem punishment in twenty-two depictions of the Last Judgment on Cyprus. The earliest versions, dating from the 12th through mid-14th century, cover three-dimensional, vaulted interiors. Centred on Christ, with degrees of punition arranged around him to contrast with either one another or beatitude, they present punishment as a range of conditions, not a place. The next group, dating from the mid-14th through the 15th century, are organised bilaterally around the scale of judgment, thus creating a clear differentiation between redemption and condemnation. Condemnation, however, remains chaotic, a state of being cast out, not a destination to which one goes. The final images, dating from the late 15th and16th centuries, occupy a single surface each. The Last Judgment may hover as a prophetic future, engulf as a wrap-around panorama, or spread in a landscape, but in each case, the events of punishment are in some way accorded a defined place. Thus, the Cypriot churches show a growing tendency to attribute spatial qualities to Hell. This space, however, embracing the whole of morality from sin and death through resurrection and judgement to damnation, has little in common with the Hell of western European art.