Are there smells in heaven?

The other day as I was reading the results of a study where people ate less when the aroma of what they were eating was pumped into the room for longer and higher levels of intensity, the odd thought of “I wonder if there are smells in heaven” popped into my brain. And then I wondered why I had never wondered about that before.

So, in the one version of heaven – you know the one where I’m tall and willowy, catching up with my grandmother while petting my cat – we’re in a newly mown meadow drinking freshly brewed coffee with a chocolate factory nearby, behind the lilies of the valley pasture that is walled with lemon trees. There’s also the scenario where our spirits are all in the same place but we each smell only things we love and there are no allergies or scents that will trigger a migraine.

What we hear about heaven both as we are growing up and even as adults can be pretty vague. Streets paved with gold, mansions over the hilltops, treasures, angels, choirs, harps, clouds, pearly gates. Many people do not like uncertainty or too much room for interpretation, so they may take comfort in those literal images and the feelings that they generate.

I know many do not believe in an afterlife. To them, this world, this existence is all there is. Some days I can understand that because this world, this existence, each day is what we all have. My problem is that most days collectively we are screwing this world and our existence on it up so badly that I have to believe there is redemption and accountability somehow, somewhere. Evil perpetrators must be forced to stand in the middle of the worst garbage dump imaginable with whatever smells they hated in this lifetime wafting by for all of eternity.


The images and emotions that I like best are in C.S. Lewis’ The Last Battle, the final book in the Narnia series. Lucy, one of the heroines, picks a handful of wild violets. She tries to convince some stubborn characters that they are not seeing things that are there, but when she puts the bouquet under their noses, they accuse her of sticking filthy stable-litter in their faces.


Does that mean it’s all a matter of perspective or intent? Could be. Lewis is a master at metaphors and these stories end in a place where the children begin new adventures that are just a continuation of the ones they have been on throughout the seven books. I like that idea, the idea that we simply continue on the adventure. That means eons of eucalyptus and wild violets.
Marilyn