Reflections on the Dead

I often think of St. Perpetua's account of praying for her dead brother, Dinocrates, when I reflect on how God can at times give sudden impulses to pray for the dead. St. Perpetua was had been a catechumen in early 3rd century Rome. She was martyred in the Roman circus with St. Felicity and others. Interestingly, her brother, Dinocrates, died a pagan at the young age of seven. In The Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicity, written in approximately 202 AD, we find the account of Perpetua's martyrdom, along with visions she is alledged to have had. The story of these particular visions begins in Chapter 2, paragraph 3 with the first vision, a sad vision of suffering after death. The accounts are better understood in the context of the whole Martyrdom, but for brevity I will only examine the accounts themselves.

After a few days, whilst we were all praying, on a sudden, in the middle of our prayer, there came to me a word, and I named Dinocrates; and I was amazed that that name had never come into my mind until then, and I was grieved as I remembered his misfortune. And I felt myself immediately to be worthy, and to be called on to ask on his behalf. And for him I began earnestly to make supplication, and to cry with groaning to the Lord. Without delay, on that very night, this was shown to me in a vision. I saw Dinocrates going out from a gloomy place, where also there were several others, and he was parched and very thirsty, with a filthy countenance and pallid colour, and the wound on his face which he had when he died. This Dinocrates had been my brother after the flesh, seven years of age who died miserably with disease-his face being so eaten out with cancer, that his death caused repugnance to all men. For him I had made my prayer, and between him and me there was a large interval, so that neither of us could approach to the other. And moreover, in the same place where Dinocrates was, there was a pool full of water, having its brink higher than was the stature of the boy; and Dinocrates raised himself up as if to drink. And I was grieved that, although that pool held water, still, on account of the height to its brink, he could not drink. And I was aroused, and knew that my brother was in suffering. But I trusted that my prayer would bring help to his suffering; and I prayed for him every day until we passed over into the prison of the camp, for we were to fight in the camp-show. ... I made my prayer for my brother day and night...

Perpetua's story continues in paragraph 4 with a second vision, a happy vision of hope and of faithful answer to prayer:

Then, on the day on which we remained in fetters, this was shown to me. I saw that that place which I had formerly observed to be in gloom was now bright; and Dinocrates, with a clean body well clad, was finding refreshment. And where there had been a wound, I saw a scar; and that pool which I had before seen, I saw now with its margin lowered even to the boy's navel. And one drew water from the pool incessantly, and upon its brink was a goblet filled with water; and Dinocrates drew near and began to drink from it, and the goblet did not fail. And when he was satisfied, he went away from the water to play joyously, after the manner of children, and I awoke. Then I understood that he was translated from his suffering.

Now, as with all mystical visions, I don't interpret this story as being part of the fullness of revelation given in Christ, but I refer to it only because it has inspired christians not to forsake the connection between the living and the dead - a familial love that transcends physical life - in spite of the chasm or interval between the two states. This story also represents a little bit of the early church's developing understanding of purification after death. Perhaps it is implied that Dinocrates' suffering is due to the fact that he died a pagan and not a christian, though he was seven years of age, and had not had the opportunity to be baptized. The experience links with Perpetua's own understanding of her impending demise and the suffering that she regularly endured from endless persecution.

I also don't necessarily read this piece as an exact physical description of a place called Purgatory. Though the early christians regularly prayed for their dead and, as I said above, had an understanding of purification after death, at that time, the articulation of the state of translation that later came to be defined as Purgatory was only in its initial stages of development. Rather, as with any vision, I read it as an idea articulated through the use of various images that each contain various meanings. Even if Perpetua saw exactly what she described and believed it, it doesn't necessarily preclude the use of imagery, even in her own personal interpretation of the vision, which is often characteristic of the visions alledged by other saints concerning this and other subjects.

Sts. Perpetua and Felicity, pray for us.