Many people imagine the Egyptian funerary scene of the weighing of the heart and accompanying declarations of innocence as the quintessential Egyptian belief concerning the afterlife. Yet those specific vignettes only arise in the Book of the Dead (BOTD), during the New Kingdom period. We do see the concept of judgement arising much earlier in the Middle Kingdom Coffin Texts, where moon the God Khonsu roasts the hearts of the morally unworthy. In the BOTD, this task falls to the monster Ammit, who devours the hearts of the dead who failed to live up to the principles of Ma’at.
That those outside of Ma’at could not be with the Gods was acknowledged on earth by attention to ritual purification before entering into the inner areas of the temple. Both temple preparation and embalming rites include the washing and censing of the person, and a declaration made by them (or on their behalf) that they were now free of a list of wrongful deeds. The texts make it clear the procedure was effective: the dead are always seen entering the abode of the Gods. The Negative Confessions of Spell 125 in fact bear a striking resemblance to those of the temples, and many pertain to not harming offerings or temple property. So it may be that these attestations started off as another way to ensure the purity of the deceased by replicating the priestly preparations. Spell 30 of the BOTD also pleads with the heart to not betray its owner, further ensuring that the dead would pass muster.
Stephen Quirke notes that the BOTD, while desirable, was not necessary for a deceased person to have on their way to the afterlife*. Certainly, it was seen mainly in the tombs of the wealthy, but prayers of workmen from Deir el Medina include requests that the Gods grant them a good afterlife as well. Although not everyone had a BOTD in their coffin, everyone was assumed to go through the Duat on their way to the Field of Reeds, and a dead person would at likely least have been washed with water and fumigated with incense for basic purification.
So what happened to those who didn’t pass judgement? The dead person would be trapped in the Duat, which was the underworld they had to traverse on their way to the final judgement. Perhaps he became one of the spirits who accosted the dead on their journey, or who guarded the gates. I’ve also heard the theory that one was simply annihilated. If someone could not afford funeral texts, could they also avoid having their heart devoured? We can’t ask any ancient Egyptians personally what they thought, assuming opinions didn’t vary (which they always do).
An argument in favor of universal salvation (or justification, in Egyptian parlance) is their absence would cause their loved ones or friends in the afterlife to miss them, thus making the abode of paradise non-paradisical. On the other hand, if Ma’at is truth itself, anything outside of truth cannot exist, so a heart (the conscience, emotions and mind in Egyptian taxonomy) outside of Ma’at cannot enter into the presence of the Gods. And what good is a judgement if you are going to pass it anyway? Finally, the agency of the dead person is also relevant: in some schemes of universal salvation, those who do not reach the final paradise are prevented by their own unwillingness to acknowledge their shortcomings, making damnation a conscious choice rather than imposed from without.
One possibility is that people really can fail judgement and become Duat denizens, perhaps like in the movie Beetlejuice where people who commit suicide become civil servants in the afterlife. Perhaps those in the Field of Reeds would be able to visit. If someone stopped caring about their condemned love ones due to being with the Gods, that hardly seems to be commensurate with Ma’at in the first place. This is the non-universalist interpretation.
Another theory is the Duat itself has a purificatory nature, especially given it seems to have the literary qualities of a hero’s journey or initiation of various ordeals and passwords. The trek through the underworld, with the Gods as your guides and helpers, is what allows all people to achieve justification. The underworld is a liminal transition to the latent being of the abode of the Gods. There’s no description as to how long such a journey was expected to take, so perhaps one’s own ethical nature would dictate how long it took them to pass through all the challenges. But eventually you would be able to enter the hall of judgement with your heart secured, and Ammit is forever hangry. This is univeralism that still accounts for responsibility, and is my preferred interpretation.
A third option is to just omit the threat of a devoured heart altogether. Although the BOTD remained a common funerary text until the Roman period, the New Kingdom and Late Period were its heyday: during the Ptolemaic era the Book of Breathings started to become the primary ritual document. The Book of Breathings itself is much, much shorter, with the attestation to the judges of righteousness comprising of ten or so declarations rather than 42, with some of them being positive claims of charity. Even more significant, the Book of Breathings (at least to my knowledge) omits any depiction or mention of Ammit and the devouring of the heart. Nor does such a threat occur on the hypocephalus papyrus rounds placed under the head of the mummy during this time. A truncated Book of Breathings means that it would have been accessible to more customers. This is the most universalist option, where we all make it across the finish line.
Given the history of Jewish and Christian ideas of the afterlife (from simply being buried in the ground of Sheol, universal salvation, to the introduction of purgatory), it’s not out of bounds to speculate on what the Egyptian afterlife concepts meant in practice.
* Attar, Rob (2015) “Guidebook to the Afterlife, BBC History Magazine, The Story of the Ancient World, pg. 32.