A dualistic spark at the heart of Zoroastrian tradition set the stage for later ideas of afterlife reward and punishment. Long before many Mediterranean faiths elaborated on paradise and perdition, Zarathustra’s vision painted existence as a cosmic tug-of-war between Ahura Mazda’s life-affirming light and Angra Mainyu’s shadowy chaos.

After death, every soul faces the Chinvat Bridge—think of it as a moral litmus test. A life brimming with good thoughts, words, and deeds turns that narrow crossing into a broad highway toward the “Best Existence,” a blissful realm of light, harmony, and abundance. Stray from the path, and the bridge narrows to a razor’s edge, plunging the soul into “Worst Existence,” a frigid wasteland of regret and torment. This vivid imagery arguably laid groundwork for later Jewish, Christian, and Islamic notions of heaven’s pearly gates and hell’s fiery pits.

Gardens flowing with sweet wine and eternally blooming flowers mirror Zoroastrian paradisal descriptions found in texts like the Bundahishn. Meanwhile, the visceral punishments described in the Drēvō-Kərēt—where demons lash miscreants with serpentine whips—find echoes in medieval European demonology. Even a New York Times opinion piece last year pointed out how Dante’s Inferno may have borrowed the idea of structured circles of torment from Persian accounts circulating during the Crusades.

Today’s interest in ethical dualism—from debates about artificial intelligence’s moral compass to climate activism—still resonates with that ancient Zoroastrian blueprint: life as a battleground where each choice tips the scales. While many faiths have their own spin on eternal reward and retribution, the seed of heaven-and-hell imagery arguably took root in those early Persian teachings, branching out across time and culture with remarkable staying power.