As flies to over ripe fruit, are we to the gods

It’s hard not to become intrigued by league tables. To search amongst those names hoping our alma mater is near the top or wallow in the sanctimoniousness of living in the “cleanest spots” of the world can be addictive. Yet, one of the most tantalising parts of religion is the order and hierarchy for something that should surely be fantastically muddled. Until very recently the Catholics even had a particular spot for babies who haven’t washed their hair before they die. There’s quite a leap of imagination to wonder quite what all these souls would do in Limbo. It’s conveniently named, categorised and even debated, but what does it look like? Thousands of little, podgy, white things dancing along to the Macarena and seeing who can go the lowest under an angel’s staff maybe.

Many a painter has tried to depict Hades, Tartarus, Limbo and the many other stages of bureaucratic religious bumptiousness. Hieronymus Bosch is perhaps the most beguiling of these and defecating coins is probably most people’s idea of heaven rather than hell. But these undeniably beautiful paintings never look like anything other than classical painting with the respective nudity and flowing robes. Surely eternal life would engender more in the way of fashion? And there must be a gym behind each of those skeletal columns to keep everyone so buff.

Yet here we are, worried about being shifted down from Earth to Hades to Tartarus. Or rather hoping that an hour invested now will help us to go from Earth to Purgatory to Heaven. It’s like some kind of celestial property ladder, where a wrong move today can lead to the Dover of the afterlife. So perhaps our fascination with league tables, performance indicators and property is not so new after all. According to the intricately woven web of gods these things have been around since the dawn of time.

Tartarus for now.