The Problem of Hell: A Philosophical Anthology 9781317019039, 1317019032

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Dedication
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of Contributors
Introduction
1 Grace, Character Formation, and Predestination unto Glory
2 Is it Possible to Freely Reject God Forever?
3 Annihilationism: A Philosophical Dead End?
4 Compatibilism, “Wantons,” and the Natural Consequence Model of Hell
5 Value, Finality, and Frustration: Problems for Escapism?
6 Hell, Wrath, and the Grace of God
7 Molinism and Hell
8 Hell and Punishment
9 Why I Am Unconvinced by Arguments against the Existence of Hell
10 Hell and Natural Atheology
11 Infernal Voluntarism and “The Courtesy of Deep Heaven”
12 Birth as a Grave Misfortune: The Traditional Doctrine of Hell and Christian Salvific Exclusivism
13 Species of Hell
Index

Citation preview

THE PROBLEM OF HELL

For Mom and Dad

The Problem of Hell A Philosophical Anthology

Edited by JOEL BUENTING University of Alberta, Canada

First published 2010 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Talor & Francis, Joel Buenting and the contributors 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Joel Buenting has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editor of this work. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data The problem of hell : a philosophical anthology. 1. Hell—Christianity. 2. Judgment of God. I. Buenting, Joel. 236.2’5–dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Buenting, Joel, 1977– The problem of hell : a philosophical anthology / Joel Buenting. p. cm. 1. Hell. 2. Future punishment. I. Title. BL545.B84 2009 236’.25—dc22 2009030052 ISBN 9780754667636 (hbk)

Contents

List of Contributors

vii

Introduction

1

1

Grace, Character Formation, and Predestination unto Glory Thomas Talbott

7

2

Is it Possible to Freely Reject God Forever? Raymond J. VanArragon

29

3

Annihilationism: A Philosophical Dead End? Claire Brown and Jerry L. Walls

45

4

Compatibilism, “Wantons,” and the Natural Consequence Model of Hell Justin D. Barnard

65

5

Value, Finality, and Frustration: Problems for Escapism? Andrei A. Buckareff and Allen Plug

77

6

Hell, Wrath, and the Grace of God Stephen T. Davis

91

7

Molinism and Hell Gordon Knight

103

8

Hell and Punishment Stephen Kershnar

115

9

Why I Am Unconvinced by Arguments against the Existence of Hell James Cain

133

10

Hell and Natural Atheology Keith E. Yandell

145

11

Infernal Voluntarism and “The Courtesy of Deep Heaven” Bradley L. Sickler

163

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12

Birth as a Grave Misfortune: The Traditional Doctrine of Hell and Christian Salvific Exclusivism Kenneth Einar Himma

13 Index

Species of Hell John Kronen and Eric Reitan

179 199 219

List of Contributors

Justin D. Barnard is Associate Professor of Philosophy and director of the Carl. F. H. Henry Institute for Intellectual Discipleship at Union University in Jackson, Tennessee. He holds an M.A. and Ph.D. in philosophy from the Florida State University. Claire Brown is a Ph.D. candidate and lecturer in philosophy at the University of Notre Dame. She has research interests in ethics, bioethics, and philosophy of religion. Her dissertation is an attempt to provide an account of supererogation that a virtue ethicist can endorse. Joel Buenting is lecturer of philosophy at the University of Alberta. He has research interests in epistemology and philosophy of religion. He has published on epistemology and is developing a monograph about contrastive knowledge. Andrei A. Buckareff is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Marist College, New York state. He is co-editor with Jesús H. Aguilar of Philosophy of Action: 5 Questions (Copenhagen, 2009) and Causing Human Action: New Perspectives on the Casual Theory of Action (Cambridge, forthcoming 2010). He has published numerous articles on topics in epistemology, philosophy of mind and action, and philosophy of religion. James Cain is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Oklahoma State University. He has written articles in various areas, including philosophy of religion, freedom of will, ethics, and logic. Stephen T. Davis is the Russell K. Pitzer Professor of Philosophy at Claremont McKenna College, California. His degrees are from Whitworth University (B.A.), Princeton Theological Seminary (M.Div.), and the Claremont Graduate University (Ph.D.). He is the author or over 80 scholarly articles and 14 books, including Encountering Evil (Louisville, 2001), Christian Philosophical Theology (New York, 2006), and Disputed Issues (Waco, 2009). Kenneth Einar Himma is an Associate Professor of Philosophy at Seattle Pacific University and formerly taught in the philosophy department, information school, and law school at the University of Washington. He specializes in philosophy of law, information and computer ethics, and philosophy of religion. He has published numerous scholarly articles in legal philosophy, information ethics, applied ethics, and philosophy of religion.

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Stephen Kershnar is a Professor of Philosophy at the State University of New York at Fredonia and an attorney. He focuses on applied ethics and political philosophy. He has written three books: Desert, Retribution, and Torture (Lanham, 2001), Justice for the Past (New York, 2004), and Desert and Virtue: A Theory of Intrinsic Value (Lanham, 2009). Gordon Knight teaches philosophy at Iowa State University. His publications and research interests center on metaphysics and the philosophy of religion. John Kronen received his B.A. from Marquette University in 1985 and his Ph.D. from State University of New York Buffalo in 1990. He has taught philosophy at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota, since 1990. He is the author of several articles on metaphysics and the philosophy of religion, and is the cotranslator, with Jeremiah Reedy, of Suarez’s Metaphysical Disputation XV, On the Formal Cause of Substance, published by Marquette University Press (2000). Allen Plug is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Malone University. His areas of research specialization include epistemology, metaphysics, and philosophy of religion. He has published articles in Religious Studies. Eric Reitan is a Professor of Philosophy at Oklahoma State University. Dr. Reitan has published extensively in the areas of ethics and philosophy of religion, including a number of articles critically assessing the coherence of the Christian doctrine of hell. His book Is God a Delusion? A Reply to Religion’s Cultured Despisers was released in 2008 by Wiley-Blackwell. Brad L. Sickler received his Ph.D. in philosophy from Purdue University after earning a B.S. in physics from the University of Minnesota and an M.A. in philosophy of religion from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He lives in Minnesota with his wife and two children, and teaches philosophy of religion and apologetics at Northwestern College. Thomas Talbott is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy at Willamette University, Salem, Oregon. Dr. Talbott has argued in several places, including “The Doctrine of Everlasting Punishment” (Faith and Philosophy, 1990) and an entry on universalism in The Oxford Handbook of Eschatology (2007), that the traditional understanding of hell is inconsistent with the Christian concept of God. Raymond J. VanArragon is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Bethel University in St. Paul, Minnesota. He has published articles on philosophy of religion and also has interests in epistemology and metaphysics. He is co-editor of Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of Religion (Oxford, 2003).

List of Contributors

ix

Jerry L. Walls is Professor of Philosophy at Asbury Theological Seminary. Dr. Walls is the author of Hell: The Logic of Damnation (Notre Dame, 1992) and Heaven: The Logic Of Eternal Joy (Oxford, 2002) as well as the editor of The Oxford Handbook of Eschatology (2008). He is currently working on a book on purgatory. Keith E. Yandell is the Julius R. Weinberg Professor of Philosophy at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and Adjunct Professor of Philosophy of Religion at Trinity International University TEDS in Deerfield, Illinois. He has authored six books and over 70 articles and book chapters.

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Introduction

The Problem of Hell: A Philosophical Debate focuses on philosophical problems raised by reflection upon the theological doctrine of everlasting punishment. Contributions to this volume concern how a perfectly good God can send a person to hell. Whether it is ever fair or just for God to send a person to hell is one version of the problem of hell. The problem of hell thus poses a challenge for anyone who believes (a) there is life after death and (b) some people suffer for eternity. In framing the problem in terms of fairness and justice, I am following the early work of Marilyn McCord Adams.1 Others frame the problem differently. John Hick, for example, thinks hell is a problem because the existence of sinners in hell is an affront to God’s sovereignty.2 Likewise, hell is a problem for Peter Geach because the existence of sinners in hell permanently mires God’s creation.3 Despite these variations, many commentators identify the suffering of sinners as the core problem. So, for instance, Jonathan Kvanvig thinks hell is a problem because there is no greater purpose or point to suffering in hell. Since a person in hell has no hope of leaving, hell is merely unending pointless misery.4 Others characterize the relationship between hell and suffering by modeling the problem of hell after the logical problem of evil.5 Discussions about the logical problem of evil begin with claims about the goodness and power of God, proceed to a claim about the existence of evil (“suffering”), then conclude with a question about their compatibility. In discussions about hell, one replaces the premise “evil exists” with the premise “there is at least one person suffering in hell for eternity.” Relying on pre-theoretical intuitions about the badness of hell, one then generates a problem by asking, “How is the infinite goodness and mercy of God compatible with a sinner’s infinite punishment and suffering?” It would be fair to say, then, that the “problem of hell” denotes a family of closely related topics that develop when one takes seriously the doctrine of everlasting punishment. Predictably, key disputes about hell concern how best to solve these problems. Some argue that an acceptable doctrine of hell can be preserved despite the reasons 1

Marilyn McCord Adams, “Hell and the God of Justice,” Religious Studies, 11/4 (1975): 433–47. 2 John Hick, Evil and the Love of God (New York, 1966), pp. 377–8. 3 Peter Geach, Providence and Evil (Cambridge, 1977), p. 140. 4 Jonathan Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell (Oxford, 1993), p. 3. 5 See, for example, Andrei Buckareff and Allen Plug, “Escaping Hell: Divine Motivation and the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 41/1 (2005): 39–54; Thomas Talbott, “No Hell,” in Michael L. Peterson and Raymond J. VanArragon (eds.), Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of Religion (Oxford, 2004).

The Problem of Hell

2

we find it objectionable. Others argue for the possibility of post-mortem salvation, whether the opportunity is accepted by hell’s denizens or not. Still others argue that how we conceptualize the notion of personhood, freedom of the will, and divine foreknowledge bears significantly on these issues. Apart from these topics, other contributions to this volume mark out ways in which thinking about hell creates other problems in mainstream Christianity. To begin with, one response to the problem of hell is to argue that hell is empty. This is the universalist response to the problem of hell. Universalists say everyone is eventually reconciled to God in heaven. In the opening chapter of this volume, Thomas Talbott discusses the relationships between universalism and grace. Talbott argues that the notion of grace makes better sense of our choices in the formation of a good character than the libertarian idea that people are responsible for the formation of their own moral characters. This is because our free choices (both good and bad) afford God the opportunity to demonstrate his true character and the true nature of his love. So after criticizing Robert Kane’s idea of a “self-forming” action, Talbott sketches out the ways it makes sense to think about God’s role in response to the decisions we make.6 Talbott thus offers an account of how God actively participates in the moral development of a person such that “a glorious end is ultimately inescapable.” Universalists do not deny a post-mortem existence in a state or place other than heaven, but they do deny any person will be in hell forever. In Chapter 2, Ray VanArragon argues that it is possible for a sinner to remain in hell for eternity. Moreover, God might be justified in allowing this to happen. VanArragon develops this argument by articulating what it means for a person to freely reject God forever. On VanArragon’s view, freely rejecting God amounts to (i) continually acting contrary to God’s will; and (ii) any person acting according to (i) is at least minimally rational and aware of what she is choosing. VanArragon then defends this account against an argument offered by Talbott according to which no one can freely reject God forever.7 An increasingly popular reply to hell is to opt for the annihilation of the damned. “Annihilationism” denotes a family of views according to which God actively destroys (or simply allows) sinners to terminate their existence in hell. According to one version of this view, physical death represents the cessation of conscious life and the termination (or “annihilation”) of existence. According to a second version, sinners experience hell but at some point can terminate their existence and commit “metaphysical suicide.” In the third chapter, Claire Brown and Jerry Walls critically discuss historical and contemporary motivations for annihilationist alternatives to hell. According to what Brown and Walls call the “natural consequence” motivation, considerations about sin and its consequences entail or make probable the annihilation of the damned. A second motivation is that it is preferable to have one’s 6 7

Robert Kane, The Significance of Free Will (London, 1996), p. 72. Thomas Talbott, The Inescapable Love of God (Boca Raton, 1999).

Introduction

3

existence extinguished than to endure conscious eternal suffering. Given that God is a particularly good being concerned with the welfare of the people he creates, God annihilates sinners as a means of preventing their suffering in hell. A third motivation for annihilationist views is that God’s purpose requires the annihilation of the dammed over their continued existence in hell. This is because in the absence of annihilation God’s purpose for humanity is eternally frustrated, and to that extent, defeated. Annihilation is God’s means of achieving divine supremacy. Brown and Walls maintain that each view is philosophically unmotivated. Consequently, a heavy burden of proof remains on those who defend them. A fourth response denies that hell is a problem on the general and thoroughgoing grounds that people are not consigned to hell by God. People are in hell because they have freely chosen it. Michael Murray calls this the “Natural Consequence” model of damnation.8 Together with the “Penalty Model” (the view that punishment amounts to an awareness of loss), the Natural Consequence model has a number of virtues as a response to the problem of hell. Chief among these is that there is no legitimate sense in which God is culpable for the suffering of the damned. People in hell have damned themselves, so to speak. In Chapter 4, Justin Barnard argues that this model suffers a small defect that leaves it open to an important objection. Barnard’s worry is that this model retains its plausibility to the extent that sinners are in hell of their own free will. But after introducing Harry Frankfurt’s influential discussion of free will, Barnard makes the argument that sinners are in hell against their will.9 If so, the Natural Consequence model loses a measure of its plausibility. Barnard then argues that Frankfurt’s notion of a “wanton” provides the conceptual resources necessary to address this worry, thus defending Murray’s proposal and describing hell’s inhabitants. Issuant concepts of hell can be understood as attempts to explain hell by appealing to God’s loving nature. At first blush, attempting to explain hell by appealing to God’s loving nature seems counterintuitive. The issuant rationale is that God’s love for created persons motivates creating a place for people who genuinely do not want communion with him. The most popular contemporary issuant view is represented in Chapter 5, the position Andrei Buckareff and Allen Plug call “escapism”. As Buckareff and Plug articulate it, escapism is the view that (i) hell exists and might be populated for eternity and (ii) if there are people in hell, they can accept God’s grace and leave. One can therefore “escape” hell when ready. Thinking about escapism raises a question about the value of being in hell: given that hell is not conceptualized in retributive terms, is hell a good place for people? Thinking about escapism also raises a question about eschatology: is escapism consistent with the view that heaven and hell represent “finalities”? A third question raised by escapism concerns God’s plan for humanity. Since 8 Michael Murray “Heaven and Hell,” in Michael Murray (ed.), Reason for the Hope Within (Grand Rapids, 1999), pp. 289–317. 9 Harry Frankfurt, “Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person,” The Journal of Philosophy, 68/1 (1971): 5–20.

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The Problem of Hell

escaping hell implies that one can remain in hell, can someone remain in hell forever, thereby frustrating God’s purpose for humanity? Buckareff and Plug discuss these issues in turn, developing their account of escapism. The topic of escaping hell is again brought up in Chapter 6. Here, Stephen Davis discusses escapism with a view towards what type of support might be acquired scripturally. Crucial to Davis’s position is that God’s wrath (his opposition to evil instantiated in human activities) and God’s grace (his willingness to treat us better than we deserve) are not opposing aspects of God’s nature. Davis argues that both aspects are triggered by human disobedience. So after presenting the case that grace allows for possibility of “post-mortem evangelism,” Davis distinguishes his view from universalism, arguing that some will resolutely and continually reject God forever. As indicated, one way to think about the problem of hell is to think about the joint incompatibility of a set of propositions. These propositions include “God is unsurpassibly good and powerful” and “there is at least one person suffering in hell.” Discussions about hell are then motivated by this apparent inconsistency. In Chapter 7, Gordon Knight discusses the connections between hell and the ways it makes sense to think about God’s foreknowledge. Of particular interest to Knight is the Molinist tradition that God possesses “middle knowledge” (knowledge of the counterfactuals of creaturely freedom). If God possesses this type of knowledge, he does not merely know what you will do in the circumstances you are actually in; God knows what you (or anyone else) will do in any possible circumstance. Since God possesses this knowledge prior to creation, God can fine tune the universe to his liking before creation. Given that God cannot control the free choice of the creatures he creates, he can only create worlds with an optimal ratio of the blessed in heaven to the damned in hell. So, after introducing Alvin Plantinga’s application of middle knowledge to the problem of evil, Knight critically discusses William Craig’s application of middle knowledge to the problem of hell.10 Knight argues that in creating people God knows will be damned, God can never be completely exonerated from the moral culpability of damnation. Pre-theoretically at least, hell is closely associated with punishment. In Chapter 8, Stephen Kershnar argues that God would not (and perhaps cannot) send sinners to hell. Kershnar’s argument rests on the premise that if persons go to hell, then God sends them as punishment. But if so, the duration of punishment involved (infinite punishment) must be justified. Kershnar then argues that no person warrants infinite punishment because no person has an infinitely bad character or acts in infinitely blameworthy ways. Since there is no reason for God to override the demands of justice, a perfectly good and just God would not impose such a punishment. The connections between hell and punishment are again taken up in Chapters 9 and 10. In Chapter 9, James Cain proposes a strategy for defending the traditional 10 William Lane Craig, “‘No Other Name’: A Middle Knowledge Perspective on the Exclusivity of Salvation Through Christ,” Faith and Philosophy, 6/2 (1989): 172–87; Alvin Plantinga, The Nature of Necessity (Oxford, 1974).

Introduction

5

doctrine of hell against the types of modifications surveyed so far. The strategy consists of proposing a set of conditions that an acceptable account of hell ought to satisfy. According to Cain, an acceptable doctrine of hell must meet a “grounding condition”: it must be based on revelation (scripture, religious tradition, or a revelatory experience). It must also meet the “consistency condition”: it must not be inconsistent with other claims we have good reason to believe. Finally, an acceptable account of hell must meet the “McTaggart condition”: it must not undermine the trustworthiness of the being that is the source of the revelation concerning hell. Cain then sketches out the ways in which these conditions might be satisfied yet remain reasonably faithful to the traditional doctrine of hell, including the notion that hell is fundamentally a place of retribution. Keith Yandell’s contribution can also be seen as a discussion about punishment. Yandell begins Chapter 10 by noting that one could use premises about hell for an argument that God does not exist. Yandell calls this the “atheological argument”. Part of the reason Yandell rejects this argument is that the existence of God requires the existence of hell. This is because God’s justice requires that unrepentant sinners are punished. Given that punishment does not occur pre-mortem, it must occur post-mortem. Yandell then argues that how we conceptualize the value of persons ought to inform how we think about punishment and how we ought to think about universalist and annihilationist alternatives to hell. Bradley Sickler begins Chapter 11 by articulating the problem of religious diversity in connection to hell. Assuming Christian exclusivism, the doctrine of hell entails the stark conclusion that all non-Christians are hell-bound, so to speak. Sickler’s contribution argues that this conclusion is a non-sequitur. Sickler develops his argument by introducing the theology of C.S. Lewis. Lewis’s position, Sickler argues, provides the framework for viewing Christianity as the consummation of other religions. The rationale is that God has been active among all people at all times, leading them through different religious traditions to see important truths fully revealed in Christianity through the incarnation. Coupled with the Lewisean view that heaven and hell are ultimately places we choose, Christian exclusivism entails that pious non-Christians shall have communion with God. Kenneth Himma begins Chapter 12 by observing that many discussions about hell are motivated by a standard objection. This objection is that nothing a person could do in a finite period of time warrants infinite punishment. For reasons that are obvious, this is sometimes called the “proportionality objection.” The proportionality objection alleges that God treats sinners unjustly if he sends them to hell. But thinking seriously about hell motivates other worries in mainstream Christianity, and Himma’s contribution is to detail one worry in particular. Himma argues that bringing a child into the world when there is a morally significant chance the child will end up in hell conflicts with our moral intuitions and the general Christian view that having children is either a good thing or a moral duty. In the final Chapter of this volume, John Kronen and Eric Reitan offer a taxonomy of “species” of hell—or different versions of the doctrine of hell—with a view towards what reasons God might have to will or allow the suffering of the

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The Problem of Hell

damned. So, after discussing elements any version of hell must satisfy (i.e., the cause of damnation and the types of evils endured by sinners in hell), Kronen and Reitan distinguish six separable views of hell. Kronen and Reitan then argue that the reasons God might will or permit damnation on any such view cannot be reconciled with God’s moral character. Consequently, there is no non-problematic version of the doctrine of hell.

Chapter 1

Grace, Character Formation, and Predestination unto Glory Thomas Talbott

Christians have traditionally held that, because they are saved by grace, they can take no credit for their own salvation, or even for a virtuous character (where such exists). All credit of this kind goes to God. As St. Paul himself put it in his letter to the Ephesians: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this [the faith] is not your own doing; it is the gift of God—not the result of works, so that no one may boast.”1 Indeed, as I interpret him, Paul taught that God’s grace is utterly irresistible in this sense: However free its recipients might be to resist it in certain contexts, or even to resist it for a substantial period of time, they are not free to resist it forever. For the end, at least, is foreordained. In Paul’s own words, “For those God foreknew [that is, loved from the beginning] he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son.”2 But if some end, such as a person’s eventually being conformed to the likeness of God’s Son, is predestined or foreordained, then that end cannot be avoided forever; and even if one should insist, as some have, that such a predestined end rests upon God’s foreknowledge of certain human choices (something that, so far as I can tell, Paul himself never claimed3), this would be of no help to the large number of Christians who believe, as I do not, that divine foreknowledge is itself incompatible with human freedom. In Paul’s scheme of things, moreover, acquiring a good moral character just is conforming to the likeness of God’s Son. So it looks as if a good moral character is, according to Paul, wholly a work of God within and not something for which the morally virtuous are entitled to credit themselves. And perhaps that is why 1

Ephesians 2:8–9. Romans 8:29—New International Version (NIV), my emphasis. 3 Observe that, in the text just quoted, it is persons who are foreknown, not their free choices. Elsewhere Paul used the same term when he wrote: “God has not rejected his people [i.e., the people of Israel] whom he foreknew [i.e., whom he has loved from the beginning]” (Romans 11:2). Here those foreknown are all the people of Israel, including those disobedient ones who had rejected Christ, who had been blinded and hardened (11:7), but who had not stumbled so as to fall (11:11) and whose full inclusion (11:7) would eventually result in the salvation of all Israel (11:26). However disobedient they may have been, “as regards election they are beloved, for the sake of their ancestors; for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (11:28–9). 2

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Paul consistently praised God, not the individuals themselves, for the faithfulness of his Christian co-workers. Now the first thing to observe about this Pauline doctrine of grace is how well it accords with the actual attitudes of the morally virtuous themselves. Are not the most virtuous among us typically the last to credit themselves for their own moral virtues? A loving mother, for example, will not credit herself for the love that controls her, however thankful she may be for the opportunity to care for (or even to sacrifice on behalf of) her children; and a faithful husband, who would never dream of a sexual indiscretion, will not credit himself merely because he wants to maintain, without jeopardizing it, his valued relationship with his wife. Such faithfulness, he may feel, is a product of clear vision, not profound moral effort. And if pressed to explain how they came to be the kind of people they are, those who consistently display the highest moral virtues may point to their own parents who brought them up in a certain way, or to plain good fortune, or (if they are religious) to the grace of God. Even where an intense moral struggle leads to a more virtuous character in the end, as it sometimes does, the strengthened character may not seem to be a product of one’s own moral effort to overcome temptation. To the contrary, it may seem more like the product of a wholly new perspective, such as we sometimes acquire only after experiencing first hand the disastrous consequences of succumbing to temptation in the first place. It is hardly false modesty, then, but instead clear moral vision that prevents the truly virtuous from crediting themselves—that is, from crediting their own free choices and moral efforts—for their own good character. For although the religious expression “There but for the grace of God go I” seems to me quite problematic if taken to imply that some other person is not an object of God’s grace, it nonetheless remains a nice way of affirming that one’s own free choices do not suffice to make one any better, or any more worthy of God’s grace, than anyone else. It is even a way, perhaps, of saying something like the following: “Had I been in Hitler’s shoes, facing his demons, my free choices may not have been any better than his were; and had Hitler benefited from the advantages that I have enjoyed, his free choices may not have been any worse than mine have been.” I do not claim that I (or anyone else) could give a clear and coherent sense to such a remark. But the point, once again, is merely to acknowledge that a good moral character is something for which one should be thankful, not something for which one should try to take credit. For a good character, like salvation itself, ultimately “depends,” according to Paul, “not on human will or exertion, but on God who shows mercy”4 and on the clear moral vision he will eventually impart to all. Accordingly, in this chapter I shall challenge the idea, so widely accepted among libertarians, that free agents “make themselves into the kinds of persons they are”5 and that they are, for this very reason, morally responsible for their own character. Then, after examining (and criticizing) the idea of a “self-forming 4 5

Romans 9:16. See Robert Kane, The Significance of Free Will (London, 1996), p. 72.

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action,” as Robert Kane calls it, I shall argue that St. Paul’s pre-philosophical understanding of God’s all-pervasive grace in fact makes far better sense of the role that our free choices, the bad ones no less than the good ones, play in the formation of a good character. It also helps to clarify how libertarian freedom, indeterminism, and even sheer chance, if you will, could fit into a predestinarian scheme in which a glorious end is ultimately inescapable. Free Choice and Character Formation Many libertarians now concede to the compatibilists, as I believe they should, that an action can be free even when determined by an appropriately formed character, and their intuition seems to be that an agent’s character is appropriately formed only when the agent is at least partly responsible for it. James F. Sennett thus writes as if we sometimes choose our own character: “A character that is libertarian freely chosen is the only kind of character that can determine compatibilist free choices.”6 Laura Ekstrom likewise suggests that our judgment that an action is praiseworthy “may presuppose the idea that the agent’s good character is ultimately of his own making.”7 And Robert Kane explores the idea of a “self-forming action” in great detail and with considerable insight.8 But just what might it mean, in the first place, to say that someone has made, or formed, or produced his or her own character? Robert Kane speaks of certain “voluntary ‘self-creating’ or ‘self-forming’ actions (including refrainings) in the life histories of agents for which the agents are personally responsible.”9 These selfforming actions (or SFAs), says Kane, are “both undetermined … and such that the agents willingly performed them and ‘could have voluntarily (or willingly) done otherwise’.”10 Although undetermined—and, as some might say, self-generated or self-originated—they are also self-forming in the sense that they help to determine or shape the agent’s present motives, purposes, and character traits: “Agents with free will … must be such that they could have done otherwise on some occasions of their life histories with respect to some character- or motive-forming acts by which they make themselves into the kinds of persons they are.”11 Now given my own libertarian proclivities, I have no objection to the idea that a good character is appropriately formed only when an agent’s life history includes some undetermined choices that could have gone the other way. But as soon as we try to puzzle out the precise relationship between these undetermined 6 James F. Sennett, “Is There Freedom in Heaven?” Faith and Philosophy, 16/1 (1999), p. 74. 7 Laura Ekstrom, Free Will: A Philosophical Study (Boulder, 2000), p. 165. 8 See Kane, The Significance of Free Will, Ch. 5. 9 Ibid., p. 75. 10 Ibid. 11 Ibid., p. 72.

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choices in an agent’s life history and the agent’s present moral character, a host of difficulties begin to emerge. The root idea to which Ekstrom and Kane both appeal is that of a partial causal explanation, or a contributing cause—as when, for example, Ekstrom suggests that, if a person S performs a determined action A at a time t, then S is morally responsible for doing A at t only if S’s present character and resulting inability to act otherwise “is causally explicable at least in part [my emphasis] by S’s own act(s) at some time(s) other than t, such that S could have done otherwise at that (those) other time(s).”12 Or, as Kane puts it in one place, a self-forming action must actually make “a difference in what you are (or in the character and motives you now have).”13 So now we must ask: Just what might count as a relevant difference in the present context? Where “UA” is shorthand for “an undetermined action such that the agent who performed it categorically could have done otherwise,” suppose that a woman has only one UA in her life history, namely her decision as a youngster to spend her allowance on swimming lessons rather than on violin lessons. If that single UA partly explains why she later became an expert swimmer, indeed an Olympic champion rather than a concert violinist, and if her swimming expertise partly explains why she found it unthinkable and therefore psychologically impossible to stand by as a child was drowning—why she leapt into a dangerous river in an effort to save the child—then she evidently meets the Ekstrom necessary condition of being morally responsible for a determined action. As we have just described the case, moreover, this single UA buried in the woman’s past made a huge difference to the kind of person she now is, that is, to her present character and to the motives she now has. I doubt, however, that many libertarians would see this difference, however significant it may be in the woman’s life history, as a morally relevant difference. The decision to take swimming lessons presumably had no great moral significance at the time it was made, and, beyond that, it was not the woman’s intention as a young girl to make herself into a crack swimmer or to prepare herself for saving the child later in life; she just enjoyed swimming as a recreation. She nonetheless illustrates how easily one can meet the Ekstrom necessary condition of moral responsibility and how little clarity it provides in the present context. Of course, Ekstrom never intended for anyone to treat her necessary condition as if it were a sufficient condition. But even if we restrict our attention to UAs that express morally significant choices, a serious problem remains. For if we should examine carefully the life history of some virtuous person S, we would likely find, I suspect, that S’s immoral choices had an even greater causal impact upon the development of S’s virtuous character than S’s virtuous choices did. Suppose, by way of illustration, that a young and somewhat irresponsible married man should 12 Ekstrom, Free Will: A Philosophical Study, p. 210. Ekstrom uses the expression “at some time(s) other than t” rather than “at some time(s) prior to t” so as not to exclude by assumption certain time travel cases involving backwards causation. 13 Kane, The Significance of Free Will, p. 72 (his italics).

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succumb to temptation and should fall into a rather frivolous affair; suppose also that his wife should subsequently find out about the affair and should seriously consider divorcing him on account of this and other irresponsible actions on his part; and suppose, finally, that the young man should then come to appreciate what he is about to lose and, terrified by the prospect of losing the wife he genuinely loves, should feel utterly compelled to re-establish a relationship of trust. So once his wife finds out about the affair, it is fully determined, let us suppose, that he will change his wayward ways; never again does he even consider an affair, lest it undermine the very relationship that he now values so highly. If the man’s decision to have an affair qualifies as a UA, then this UA may not only have made a difference, but also a morally significant difference, to the kind of person he eventually becomes. It also seems to qualify as a contributing cause. For had he not made his foolish choice at this precise time and in circumstances where he would eventually be caught, perhaps he would have gone through his entire adult life sneaking around and taking his wife for granted. So do we have here a case where the free decision to act in an unfaithful way and to have an affair helped to shape a more trustworthy and faithful character? And do we also have a case where a man acquires his clear vision and therefore his faithfulness in an appropriate way? I think we do. We are not here talking about a man being “zapped,” to borrow an expression from Michael Murray, and simply being reconstituted with a more virtuous character; we are instead talking about a man experiencing the consequences of his own free decision to act unfaithfully and about how he learns an important lesson in the process. The man also acted freely, or at least so I would argue. For not even a libertarian would deny that a determined action can sometimes be voluntary; and if an action is both voluntary and determined by one’s own fully rational judgment concerning the best thing to do, then it remains a paradigm, so I have argued elsewhere,14 of free action. Its being voluntary rules out what Kane calls “constraining control,” such as being held at gunpoint, and its being determined by one’s own fully rational judgment concerning the best thing to do rules out what Kane calls “nonconstraining control,” such as might be “exemplified by … cases of behavioral conditioning and behind the scenes manipulation.”15 Now some will no doubt find counter-intuitive the idea that our immoral choices are sometimes more helpful than our morally proper choices are in producing a virtuous character. For libertarians almost always seem to adopt, as a kind of unexamined metaphysical assumption, a picture similar to what Kane sketches in the following passage: The probabilities for strong—or weak—willed behavior are often the results of agents’ own past choices and actions, as Aristotle and other thinkers have 14 See Thomas Talbott, “God, Freedom, and Human Agency,” Faith and Philosophy, 26/4 (2009): 376–95. 15 See Kane, The Significance of Free Will, p. 64.

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insisted. Agents can be responsible for building their moral characters over time by their (moral or prudential) choices or actions, and the character building will be reflected by changes in the probabilities for strong- or weak-willed behavior in future situations. Each time the [alcoholic] engineer resists taking a drink in difficult circumstances, he may strengthen his will to resist in the future; and conversely, when he succumbs, his will to resist may lessen (or crumble altogether, as sometimes happens with alcoholics).16

But even if such a picture reflects accurately some of our experience in some contexts—very limited ones, I believe—the way in which UAs in a life history, assuming there are such, affect one’s character and motives may be just the opposite of what Kane has imagined; worse yet, the effect is apt to depend upon intervening factors utterly outside the agent’s control. Kane is right, of course, about the alcoholic engineer, at least partly. One biochemical effect of alcohol on the brain, at least in the case of alcoholics, seems to be that it undermines the will to resist another drink.17 But that is not even close to the whole story. For as an alcoholic friend of mine once pointed out, the longer she stayed off the alcohol, the easier it became during times of stress to deceive herself into believing that this time a couple of drinks would do no harm; so curiously, the longer she resisted the temptation, the stronger her temptation became. Indeed, it was not until she had succumbed to temptation and had binged terribly on a good many occasions that she finally learned to recognize such deception for what it was. So in that sense, her experience was just the opposite of what Kane describes: the more often she successfully resisted temptation, the harder it became to resist such temptation in the future; and the more often she succumbed to it and experienced the destructive consequences of doing so, the easier it became to resist such temptation in the future. So here is an obvious case where some bad choices helped to undermine a bad (or at least a weak) character. Experience also provides examples where freely resisting temptation, particularly in difficult situations, seems to weaken the will over time rather than to strengthen it. I daresay that many men—and this would include some Christian ministers I know—have sincerely (even fervently) resisted sexual temptation for many years, only to succumb to it, finally, in middle age. For it may happen that the harder a man tries, for the most earnest of reasons, to suppress his childish yearnings and unrealistic fantasies, the more intense his temptations become and the more likely he is to succumb to them in an explosion of destructive behavior. Perhaps it would be misleading, however, to describe this as a case where good choices help to undermine a good character. For if we 16

Ibid., p. 180. Nor should one make the mistake of supposing that the effect of alcohol on the alcoholic lasts only for the duration of the high. There are many long-term effects as well, including an ever-increasing craving for the drug and the gradual destruction of the very anti-anxiety centers of the brain upon which the alcohol works to provide temporary relief. 17

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suppose that the described behavior really is destructive and really is the product of childish yearnings and unrealistic fantasies, then it is also, perhaps, the product of deeper character flaws of which the agent is unaware—character flaws that first need to be exposed before they can be dealt with effectively. Is my point, then, merely that the ultimate springs of human action are mysterious and incredibly complex, so that only God could assess moral responsibility with any degree of accuracy? Not at all. My point is that no one has yet given a coherent account of what it might even mean to say that free agents “make themselves into the kinds of persons they are”; at the very least, we need something more than a requirement for a life history to include some UAs. The relevant UAs must also qualify, in Kane’s own words, as “self-forming actions” (SFAs), and this in turn requires that an agent be personally responsible not only for the relevant UAs themselves, but also for the effect that the UAs have, in conjunction with a complex variety of other circumstances, on the agent’s character. But the problem, as Manuel Vargas has recently noted, is that “even freely chosen features of our lives and ourselves can, because of our epistemic limitations, yield unanticipated consequences.”18 One person may lie and cheat in pursuit of wealth and fame, only to discover that the result is emptiness and misery; and the circumstances surrounding this discovery may causally determine (even compel) a life transformation. Another may sincerely cultivate moral integrity and inadvertently produce some of the worst character traits: moral rigidity, selfrighteousness, and a lack of compassion. As Bernard Williams once observed, “One’s history as an agent is a web in which anything that is the product of the will is surrounded and held up and partly formed by things that are not” products of the will.19 Indeed, the assumption that even God could consider how people exercise their libertarian freedom and, on that basis alone, divide them into the good and the bad, or into those who deserve a reward and those who deserve punishment, now seems to me radically confused. Grace Verses Works in Pauline Theology It seems evident that St. Paul was acutely aware of the point just made, which he no doubt believed to have been confirmed in his own experience. For whether or not he actually wrote (in his own hand) the letter known as I Timothy, the self-description attributed to him there—namely, that he had been “the foremost” or “the worst” of sinners20—surely did reflect accurately the converted Paul’s understanding of his former life. He clearly numbered himself, in other words, among those whose sincere efforts at cultivating a more virtuous character had contributed to, or at 18 Manuel Vargas, “The Trouble with Tracing,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy, 29/1 (2005), p. 282. 19 Bernard Williams, Moral Luck (Cambridge, 1981), p. 29. 20 I Timothy 1:15 and 17.

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least had revealed, even deeper character flaws. They had revealed, in particular, the heart of a religious terrorist who was, prior to his conversion on the road to Damascus, “a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence.”21 If his actions were less destructive on the whole than were those of a Hitler or a Stalin, this is only because he did not have twentieth-century technology or the power of a modern state at his fingertips. So no wonder he opposed so adamantly any hint of salvation by good works, which is essentially the idea that, as Laura Ekstrom put it in the above quotation, “the agent’s good character is ultimately of his own making.” Having discovered in his own life how easily moral seriousness and genuine religious fervor can betray one into a pattern of destructive behavior and even into acts of terror,22 he had no confidence in his own ability either to generate moral virtue in himself or to pull himself up by his own bootstraps, so to speak. No less important than the New Testament rejection of the libertarian idea that an “agent’s good character is ultimately of his own making” is the implied diagnosis of where Paul had gone wrong in the past. He went wrong, so we read in the text, precisely because he had “acted ignorantly in unbelief,”23 and this underscores the essential role that ignorance plays in even the worst of sins. Although Christians sometimes seem suspicious of the Socratic idea that the essence of virtue is a certain kind of knowledge, insight, and clarity of vision, we find ample support for such an idea in the Bible itself. Did not Jesus himself declare from the Cross: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing”?24 And we find Peter expressing a similar attitude when he charged an audience with killing “the Author of life.” “I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers.”25 The clear implication here is that those who crucified the Lord had no idea that they were acting wrongly and may even have presumed that they were doing the right thing; in that respect, they were no different from those who drowned Anabaptists in Zurich, or those who burned Servetus at the stake in Geneva, or those who burned young women as witches in Salem, Massachusetts. I do not mean to minimize the evil implicit in such acts of terror; far from it. But those who commit such acts of terror often count themselves among the righteous doing battle against evil, and they are, more often than not, utterly oblivious of their own self-righteous motives and attitudes. More generally, even our everyday sins and indiscretions may express deeply rooted fears, jealousies, animosities, and feelings of personal inadequacy, of which again we may be less than fully

21

I Timothy 1:13a. In general, we Westerners find it relatively easy to appreciate this point when considering certain aspects of the Muslim culture, but we find it much more difficult, it seems, to appreciate the same point with regard to the history of the Christian Church. 23 I Timothy 1:13b. 24 Luke 13:34. Even though this well-known prayer from the Cross does not appear in some of the best manuscripts, it does, I presume, represent a reliable tradition. 25 Acts 3:17. 22

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aware. According to Robert Adams,26 therefore, some of our most important and most pervasive sins are involuntary, because “voluntary consent, as ordinarily understood, implies knowledge.”27 With respect to the sin of ingratitude, for example, Adams concludes that “the search for voluntary actions and omissions by which you may have caused your ingratitude keeps leading to other involuntary sins [or moral weaknesses] that lie behind your voluntary behavior.”28 But that is only half the story. For quite apart from involuntary sins of which we may be unaware, Paul held that we are powerless to prevent ourselves from sinning even in cases where we are able to discern right from wrong. Our earliest moral experience, he contended, arises from an emerging ability to understand the moral law (or moral rules, if you will), and it is from the beginning an experience of the will in bondage to sin. In Paul’s own words, “If it had not been for the law, I would not have known sin … But sin, seizing an opportunity in the commandment … deceived me and through it killed me.”29 He even went on to write: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate … Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me.”30 All of which seems to accord better with the idea that sin is something that happens to us early in life rather than something we do freely from the beginning of our lives. Like death itself, sin here seems more like an enemy from which we need to be rescued than a perfectly free choice for which we deserve some sort of retributive punishment. It is essentially anything in us that alienates us from others and from God, that is, anything in us that undermines our capacity to love perfectly; as such, it is also, according to the Christian faith, the principal source of human misery. Paul thus exclaimed, “Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death [or sin]?”31 Accordingly, in Pauline theology, so I would argue, salvation from sin is not an escape from deserved punishment; nor is it, as some Christians have made it out to be, the removal of an inherited moral taint. It is instead more like being rescued from a kind of slavery or bondage that we are powerless to escape on our own—sort of like being rescued from alcoholism or a drug addiction. For even as an alcoholic might judge it best to refuse another drink and nonetheless find it psychologically impossible to do so, Paul declared himself to be “captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members.” Indeed, for all of his talk about the wrath of God (in the early part of Romans, for example32), Paul did not seem to regard 26

See Robert Adams, “Involuntary Sins,” Philosophical Review, 94/1 (1985): 3–31. Ibid., p. 13. 28 Ibid. 29 Romans 7:7b–8 and 11. 30 Romans 7:15 and 20. 31 Romans 7:24. 32 And, of course, as is made abundantly clear in Romans 11 and elsewhere, Paul understood God’s wrath, his severity towards sin, and even his hardening of a heart as itself an expression of his mercy (or compassion) toward sinners. On this point, see Thomas 27

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sin as essentially a matter of personal guilt at all;33 instead, he held that we are already sinners, already “dead” in our “trespasses and sins,”34 even before our moral consciousness fully emerges, before we become rational enough to qualify as free moral agents, and before we are fully aware of our own selfish motives and destructive desires. This is not to say, of course, that the concept of personal guilt had no role at all to play in Paul’s thinking. But so far as I can tell, not one word in his letters implies that we somehow deserve retributive punishment either for our inherited character weaknesses (and imperfections) or for the initial bondage of our will to sin; neither does anything there so much as hint that, in the words of Jonathan Edwards, we “are ten thousand times more abominable in his [God’s] eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours.”35 It seems to me, at any rate, that Paul’s own writings were remarkably free from such neurotic appeals to fear and guilt. Paul nonetheless offered, I believe, a profound insight into the nature of moral corruption and into the way in which a bad moral character differs from a good one. Like alcoholism and drug addiction, a bad moral character will inevitably enslave a person in one of two ways: Either it will undermine over time one’s power to follow one’s own judgment concerning the best course of action, or it will eventually undermine altogether one’s ability to learn from experience and to make rational judgments concerning the best course of action. I contend that this is just what makes a bad moral character objectively bad: it will tend to undermine over time one’s rational control over one’s own actions. But a good moral character Talbott, “A Pauline Interpretation of Divine Judgment,” in Robin A. Parry and Christopher H. Partridge (eds.), Universal Salvation? The Current Debate (Grand Rapids, 2003), pp. 32–4. 33 As I have written elsewhere: “Both Jesus and Paul consistently rejected as inappropriate the very reactive attitudes upon which so many rest their understanding of moral guilt. Personally, I doubt that the ideas of intrinsic desert and ‘metaphysical guilt’ played a substantial role, if any at all, in their thinking. Yes, Paul explicitly stated in Romans 1:32 that those who commit certain sins are ‘worthy of death,’ and this may initially appear to imply that death is the intrinsically fitting punishment for sin. But the appearance is in fact misleading. For within the context of Pauline theology as a whole, the relationship between sin and death is clearly non-contingent. First, the relevant death, which Paul elsewhere described as ‘the wages’ (or the price) of sin (Rom. 6:23) and also as ‘the end’ of sin (Rom. 6:21), is spiritual death; it is separation from God and from the ultimate source of human happiness. Nor could it have been otherwise, because in sinning one precisely chooses death over life, separation over reconciliation. In Paul’s own words, ‘To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace’ (Romans 8:6). So death, which is the unavoidable consequence of sin, is its intrinsically fitting punishment only in the sense that a painful burn is the intrinsically fitting punishment for intentionally thrusting one’s hand into a fire” (Thomas Talbott, “Why Christians Should Not Be Determinists: Reflections on the Origin of Human Sin”, Faith and Philosophy, 25/3 (2008), pp. 305–6). 34 Ephesians 2:1. 35 See Jonathan Edwards, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” reprinted in Ola Elizabeth Winslow, Jonathan Edwards: Basic Writings (New York, 1966), p. 159.

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is just the opposite. For whereas a bad character leaves the will in bondage, a good character does not; to the contrary, a good character will expand one’s rational control over one’s actions and will therefore liberate the will. That, at least, seems to have been Paul’s view of the matter, and he therefore spoke of salvation as if it were a release from bondage, a means by which our very wills are set “free from the law of sin and death.”36 In any event, we have now identified two reasons why, according to Paul, we are powerless to prevent ourselves from sinning and from falling into error and why we are also powerless to save ourselves once we have fallen into error. First, our most sincere efforts at cultivating moral virtue may inadvertently produce some of the worst character traits, as Paul clearly believed was true of himself, and such efforts will inevitably reveal, in any case, even deeper character weaknesses (or imperfections) in ourselves. For the fact is that we come into this earthly life with many flaws, imperfections, and moral weaknesses of which we may be unaware. And second, the context in which our moral consciousness emerges during our early childhood is one in which our wills are already in bondage to sin. So even when we know what is right and what is wrong, we too often find ourselves unable to avoid “missing the mark” and doing what we know to be wrong. This does not mean, however, that we never act freely and are never morally responsible for any of our actions while the will is still in bondage to sin. An alcoholic, whose will is in bondage to alcohol, may nonetheless make many free choices, such as the decision to seek treatment after a destructive binge, and may be responsible for these choices without being morally responsible for the genetic predisposition to alcoholism. And similarly, those whose wills, according to Christian theology, are in bondage to sin may nonetheless make many free choices (and many good choices born of love for their children, for example) without being morally responsible for having generated their own imperfections and moral weaknesses in the first place. It is just that, without outside help, these imperfections and moral weaknesses will continue to have destructive consequences in their lives. “Felix Culpa” or Creation in Two Stages But why, one may wonder at this point, would God start us out with so many imperfections and moral weaknesses and in a context in which our wills are already in bondage to sin? Why bring us into being as sinners and then go to the trouble of saving us from our sin? Why not simply bypass all the misery and suffering along the way and bring us into being as perfected saints in the first place? The assumption behind such questions is that, if he so desired, God could have created each of us (or perhaps a different set of persons) instantaneously as self-aware, language using, fully rational, and morally mature individuals who are from the beginning perfectly fit for intimacy with God. But why suppose that 36

Romans 8:2.

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to be metaphysically possible at all? For my own part, I seriously doubt that God could have created any persons at all without satisfying certain metaphysically necessary conditions of their coming into being, and the most important of these would be “an initial separation from God,” which I have elsewhere described in the following way: By this admittedly vague expression, I mean to imply, among other things, a severance from God’s direct causal control on the metaphysical level and an experience of frustrated desire and frustrated will—the sort of thing that naturally leads to a sense of estrangement and alienation—on the psychological level. If these should be metaphysically necessary conditions of our creation, then our very creation would virtually guarantee the occurrence of error and misguided choices.37

If God had no choice, provided he wanted to create any persons at all, “but to permit their embryonic minds to emerge and to begin functioning on their own in a context of ambiguity, ignorance, and indeterminism,”38 then the creation of a person is, of necessity, a much more complicated and time-consuming process, even for an omnipotent being, than one might have imagined. And if the required context is one that virtually guarantees erroneous judgments and misguided choices (perhaps even an initial bondage of the will to sin, as Paul understood it), then God faces the following dilemma in creation: Some of the very conditions essential to our emergence as rational individuals distinct from God are themselves obstacles to perfect fellowship (or union) with him, and these cannot be overcome until after we have already emerged as a center of consciousness distinct from God’s own consciousness. Of course, I might be mistaken in my conception of what is, and is not, metaphysically possible in the matter of God’s creating persons distinct from himself. But even if I am mistaken, the process by which we humans in fact emerge in this earthly life and develop into rational agents is indeed both complicated and time-consuming. So if one supposes that God exists at all, then one must also suppose, at the very least, that God had good reasons to permit our embryonic minds to emerge in a context of ambiguity and ignorance. And Paul clearly embraced that idea in any case. For he clearly taught that God employs a twostage process, or two Adams as he calls them, in creating Sons and Daughters. As I have put it elsewhere: The first Adam, according to Paul, “was from the earth, a man of dust” and “became a living being”; the second was not from the earth, but “from heaven” and “became a life-giving spirit” (I Cor. 15:45 & 47). The first Adam thus represents 37 Talbott, “Why Christians Should Not Be Determinists,” p. 307; but see the entire section, pp. 306–10. 38 Ibid.

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the first stage in the creation of God’s children: the emergence of individual human consciousness in a context of ambiguity, illusion, sin, and death; the second Adam, or Jesus Christ, represents the second stage: the divine power that successfully overcomes all sin and death and therefore all separation from God, so that the true Sons and Daughters, or the true creations of God, can emerge.39

Paul also wrote: “it is not the spiritual that is first, but the physical [i.e., that which pertains to our animalistic and sensuous nature], and then the spiritual.”40 And though he nowhere used the language of necessary and sufficient conditions, he seems clearly to have held that the first stage of creation—namely, our emergence from the dust of the earth in a context of ambiguity, illusion, sin, and death—is a necessary condition of the second, wherein God reconciles us to himself and perfects as saints. So interpreted, Paul’s vision of creation also carries an important implication for Alvin Plantinga’s recently formulated Felix Culpa theodicy.41 According to Plantinga, human sinfulness is a “fortunate fault” in the sense that it makes possible the great goods of redemption and atonement; so, because God wanted to actualize a world that includes these great goods, he chose to actualize one that includes human sin, indeed lots of it. For sin is obviously a necessary condition of redemption from sin or of an atonement for it. Plantinga also anticipated the objection, which others have subsequently raised,42 that such a theodicy makes God seem “too much like a father who throws his children into the river so that he can then heroically rescue them, or a doctor who first spreads a horrifying disease so that he can then display enormous virtue in fighting it in heroic disregard of his own safety and fatigue.”43 But if our sinful condition, or even an initial bondage of the will to sin, is an unavoidable consequence of conditions essential to our creation, then our Creator need be nothing like the father or the doctor in the above examples. He is not, first of all, the direct cause of our sin; hence, he is nothing like a father who throws his children into a river or a doctor who spreads a horrifying disease. And if, as I have suggested, conditions that virtually guarantee sin, error, and spiritual death are essential to the emergence of distinct persons, then it seems overwhelmingly probable that any worthwhile world within God’s power to actualize will include these great enemies as well as a rescue of God’s loved ones from them. 39

Thomas Talbott, “Christ Victorious,” in Robin A. Parry and Christopher H. Partridge, Universal Salvation? The Current Debate (Grand Rapids, 2003), p. 18. 40 I Corinthians 15:46. 41 See Alvin Plantinga, “Supralapsarianism, or ‘O Felix Culpa,’” in Peter van Inwagen (ed.), Christian Faith and the Problem of Evil (Grand Rapids, 2004), pp. 1–25. 42 See, for example, William Hasker, The Triumph of God over Evil (Downers Grove, 2008), pp. 167–70 and Marilyn McCord Adams, “Plantinga on ‘Felix Culpa’: Analysis and Critique,” Faith and Philosophy, 25/3 (2008): 123–40. 43 Plantinga, “Supralapsarianism,” pp. 21–2.

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Beyond that, Paul also insisted upon the glorious truth that all of those who participate in the first stage of creation will likewise participate in the second and will thus experience in the end the “towering goods” of redemption and atonement, as Plantinga calls them. Nor do I see how Paul might have expressed himself any more plainly than this: “For God has imprisoned all [humans] in disobedience so that he may be merciful to [them] all.”44 Divine Grace: Its Universal Scope and Unconditional Character All Christians believe in divine grace. Within the Western theological tradition, however, one encounters two “respectably orthodox” traditions that interpret God’s saving grace in two very different ways. According to a long tradition that stretches back through the Protestant Reformers and ultimately has its roots in the thought of St. Augustine—call it the Augustinian tradition—God’s saving grace, though utterly unconditional and irresistible, is nonetheless limited in scope. For although God bestows his grace or special favor on some sinners, he does not bestow it equally upon all of them; in that respect, he is very much, contrary to repeated statements in the New Testament, a “respecter of persons.” But according to a competing theological tradition, sometimes called the Arminian tradition,45 God’s saving grace, though universal in scope, is nonetheless limited in its power and efficacy. For although God at least offers saving grace to all sinners, some will irrationally continue to reject it throughout all of eternity and thereby prevent God from ever achieving a complete victory over sin and death. But neither the Augustinians nor the Arminians, I shall now argue, have properly understood the Pauline doctrine of grace, and it is ironic, perhaps, that both parties are quite correct in their criticisms of each other. The Augustinians are certainly right about this: Our being the object of God’s grace in no way depends, according to Paul, upon anything we have (or have not) done, freely or otherwise; nor is it something we could ever purchase or earn by keeping the moral law or by doing good works. But despite Paul’s explicit statement (quoted above) that God is merciful to all, the Augustinians draw the further inference that God’s grace is utterly gratuitous and supererogatory rather than an essential expression of his own justice or righteousness. The assumption here is that, even as our Creator, God has no intrinsic responsibility for our moral and spiritual welfare. Because our first parents somehow polluted the entire human race, God owes us nothing further; in particular, nothing in his nature—neither his justice, nor his love, nor his mercy—constrains him to extend his grace to a single sinner. As Augustine 44

Romans 11:32. See also I Corinthians 15:22: “for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.” It is clear that Paul’s vision of creation in two stages lies at the very heart of his theology. 45 A tradition named after Jacobus Arminius (1560–1609) for his opposition to the Calvinistic doctrine of predestination and limited election.

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himself put it, “the whole human race was condemned in its apostate head by a divine judgment so just that even if not a single member of the race were ever saved from it, no one could rail against God’s justice.”46 But even if one should accept the dubious supposition here that, as Adam’s descendents, we have all inherited his guilt, why make the further assumption that our inherited guilt relieves God of all responsibility for our moral and spiritual welfare? As James B. Gould points out in a recent paper,47 this further assumption is simply confused. You might as well argue that a child’s disobedience relieves its parents of all responsibility for the child’s future welfare as well—which is absurd. Just as the decision to have a child creates an obligation to promote the child’s welfare, however disobedient the child might happen to become, so God’s decision to create us entails a freely accepted obligation to promote our welfare, however disobedient we might have become. In fact, this is precisely why, according to Paul, we can do nothing to earn God’s grace (or favor): It is already and always present, whether we know it or not, from the very beginning of our earthly lives. We can hardly earn something through good works that will always be present— albeit in different forms, perhaps—regardless of what we do. By way of a reply to this, the Augustinians sometimes argue that it is the very nature of mercy that it must be supererogatory. Insisting that mercy is simply undeserved love (as if it were possible for someone created in God’s image to be undeserving of God’s love), Paul Helm thus writes: What is essential to such love is it could, consistently with all else that God is, be withheld by him. If God cannot but exercise mercy as he cannot but exercise justice then its character as mercy vanishes. If God has to exercise mercy as he has to exercise justice then such “mercy” would not be mercy [i.e., would not be undeserved love] … A justice that could be unilaterally waved would not be justice, and a mercy which could not be unilaterally waved would not be mercy.48

But suppose now that we replace the word “mercy” in this quotation with any one of the following: “beneficence,” “kindness,” “compassion,” or even “pity.” Helm would not, I presume, argue as follows: “If, given his essential attributes, God cannot but exercise beneficence [kindness, compassion, or pity] as he cannot but exercise justice, then its character as beneficence vanishes.” Why is this important? 46 Enchiridion, section 99. For the sake of accuracy, I have altered the position of “not” in Albert C. Outler’s translation, which reads: “not even if a single member of the race were ever saved from it, no one could rail against God’s justice.” See Augustine: Confessions and Enchiridion, Library of Christian Classics, vol. VII (Philadelphia, 1955), pp. 398–9. 47 James B. Gould, “The Grace We Are Owed: Human Rights and Divine Duties,” Faith and Philosophy, 25/3 (2008): 261–75. 48 Paul Helm, “The Logic of Limited Atonement”, Scottish Bulletin of Evangelical Theology, 3 (1985), p. 50.

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The Problem of Hell

Because the central Pauline concept, sometimes translated in our English Bibles with the word “mercy,” is not that of undeserved love at all. It is instead that of beneficence, kindness, compassion, or pity. It has in view not the setting aside of a just punishment, as Helm supposes, but the relief of misery or distress. One could therefore accurately translate a text such as Romans 11:32, which I quoted above, as follows: “For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be beneficent to them all.”49 Accordingly, Helm’s point about “mercy,” however appropriate it may be in his own context, has no relevance, so far as I can tell, either to Paul’s claim that God is beneficent to all or to my own philosophical assumption that this beneficence flows from the inner necessity of God’s own righteousness. Why suppose that a conception of divine mercy, according to which God might not ever be merciful to a single created person, is even relevant to Paul’s own understanding of salvation? In fact, although a doctrine of grace may appear to lie at the heart of Augustinian theology, the appearance is quite illusory. For once you try to combine a doctrine of free and irresistible grace with the Augustinian understanding of limited election—the pernicious idea that God, being limited in compassion, restricts his mercy to a limited elect—the very idea of grace evaporates altogether. Is God being gracious to an elect mother when he makes the baby she loves with all her heart an object of his “sovereign hatred”50 and supposedly does so, as in the case of Esau, even before the child has done anything good or bad? What really lies at the heart of Augustinian theology, I believe, is a logical impossibility: the idea that God could extend his love and compassion to one person even as he withholds it from some of that person’s loved ones. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that most Christian philosophers writing today—Arminians, Catholics, and other freewill theists—rightly reject any hint of limited election and understandably appeal to libertarian freewill in an effort to explain why God’s perfecting love, which he extends equally to all, successfully transforms some sinners but not others. It seems to me, however, that Arminian theology ultimately places a burden upon so-called libertarian freedom that it cannot coherently bear. If we all start out in a context of ambiguity, ignorance, and illusion, then it stands to reason that our salvation from this condition (and that our eventual perfection) would require, as the Christian faith implies, belief of a certain kind, faith, or (as I like to think of it) clarity of vision. And according to Paul in particular, these are gifts from God, the product of his providential control of our lives, rather than cognitive states that we somehow manufacture in ourselves simply by deciding to do so. But despite Paul’s 49 Helm admits that, even on his own view, God could be merciful to all. So one wonders why he cannot take seriously Paul’s explicit statement that God is merciful (or beneficent) to all? 50 According to G.C. Berkouwer, the Dutch Reformed theologian Herman Hoeksema described God’s attitude towards the non-elect as the “sovereign hatred of his good pleasure.” For the quotation from Het Evangelie, see Berkouwer, Divine Election (Grand Rapids, 1960), p. 224.

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clear teaching on this point, Arminian theologians typically speak of our deciding to believe something, as if our religious beliefs were properly under the control of our wills. In rightly opposing the Reformed understanding of limited election, for example, the Arminian theologian Jack Cottrell insists that “every sinner is able to make his own decision of whether to believe or not.”51 So just how are we to understand such frequently encountered religious language? It is utterly non-controversial, I presume, that a very simple empirical belief, such as the belief that fire can burn and cause terrible pain, is not properly a matter of the will at all. Someone might choose to walk near a fire, or to place a hand on a hot coal, or to experiment with fire in some other way, and relevantly similar choices might play an important role in someone’s discovering the true nature of fire. But once the consequences of such choices are experienced, the resulting belief that fire can burn and cause terrible pain is not itself the product of some further choice, much less of some libertarian free choice. For discovering the truth about something is very different from manufacturing a belief in oneself by an act of will—which is not even psychologically possible in many cases. Certainly religious beliefs are typically more complex than simple empirical beliefs, and some of them could, perhaps, involve the will in a host of subtle ways. As religious people typically understand it, moreover, belief in God goes far beyond a mere intellectual assent to the proposition that God exists; it also includes such attitudes as love, trust, and gratitude. So are these properly any more the product of choice or will than simple empirical beliefs are? I doubt it. I learned at a very early age to trust my mother implicitly—not because I decided to trust her, but because I discovered her to be altogether trustworthy. I also learned to love her—not because I decided to love her, but because she first loved me and demonstrated her love in thousands of ways. I have no doubt that certain free choices, if you will, were an important part of the process whereby I discovered my mother’s true character. For I was just as disobedient and snotty at times as any other child and just as rebellious during my teen years as many others are. But the free choices I made, both the good ones and the bad ones, merely provided my parents with additional opportunities to demonstrate their true character, and at no time in my life could I have freely chosen, so I believe, not to love them and at no time could I have freely chosen to separate myself from them altogether. There was simply never any motive to spurn the love of someone who always put my own interests first. And similarly for God, our supremely perfect Mother and Father: We learn to love him because he first loved us and will continue to demonstrate throughout all eternity, if necessary, his faithfulness in meeting our true spiritual needs and in satisfying our heart’s desire in the end. Accordingly, our free choices, whichever way they go, merely provide God with additional opportunities to demonstrate his true character and the true nature of his love for us, even as he continues to shatter our illusions and to correct our erroneous ways of thinking. 51 Jack Cottrell, “The Classical Arminian View of Election”, in Chad Owen Brand (ed.), Perspectives on Election (Nashville, 2006), p. 121.

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The Problem of Hell

So perhaps the sum of the matter is this: In view of his explicit statement that God is merciful to all, Paul would have rejected, it seems, the Augustinian understanding of limited election; and in view of his repeated statement that faith itself is a gift from God, Paul would also have rejected, it seems, the Arminian understanding of conditional election. For in Pauline theology, at least, God’s saving grace is both universal in scope and unconditional in nature. Predestination unto Glory So far, I have challenged the assumption, widely shared by libertarians, that an “agent’s good character is ultimately of his own making.” I have also noted that the most virtuous among us are typically the last to credit themselves and the first to credit good fortune—or perhaps the grace of God, if they are religious—for their own moral virtues; they are wise enough, in other words, not to attribute their moral virtues, whatever these might be, to the virtuous character of certain free choices buried in their causal history. For as St. Paul would be the first to acknowledge, the difference between a Hitler or a Mussolini, on the one hand, and himself, on the other, does not lie in the more virtuous character of his own free choices. But having said that, I also hold that free choice, indeterminism, and even sheer chance have an important role to play both in the emergence of independent rational agents and in the process whereby they are finally reconciled to God. So how do I propose to put all of this together? Four observations will have to suffice for the present. First, a necessary condition of both moral freedom and saving faith is, I presume, a minimal degree of rationality, including an ability to discern reasons for acting, an ability to learn important lessons from experience and from the consequences of one’s actions, and a capacity for moral improvement. Not even God, after all, could reveal himself to a stone, and neither could he both leave a newborn infant in a state of undeveloped rationality and, at the same time, reveal himself to the infant. So in the case of those who fall below the relevant threshold of rationality—small children, the mentally challenged, the severely brain damaged, paranoid schizophrenics, the criminally insane, and the like—the question of how God might honor their free choices or utilize such choices as a means of saving them does not even arise. Neither does the concept of saving faith have a relevant application to them. In no way does this imply, of course, that such individuals are not objects of God’s grace. It is just that God must first permit the newborn infant to develop into a minimally rational agent, either in this life or the next, and must also restore the paranoid schizophrenic to some semblance of rationality before the concept of saving faith can have any relevant application to them. Second, with respect to those who emerge as independent rational agents in a context of ambiguity and ignorance, God can surely correct them and even foreordain a destiny for them without directly controlling their individual choices. God had no need, for example, to control individual human choices, not even

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someone’s decision to experiment with fire, in order to guarantee that the human race would eventually discover the power of fire to burn and to cause pain; he needed only to allow minimally rational people to emerge in an environment in which they would encounter fire with some degree of frequency. God can also employ the consequences of our free choices as a means of revelation, that is, as a means of shattering our illusions and of correcting the false assumptions that underlie our bad choices in particular. If I freely act on the illusion that I have the skill to ski down a treacherous slope, a fall and a broken leg may, quite unexpectedly, shatter that illusion to pieces; and if, because I have misconstrued the conditions of my own happiness, I repeatedly pursue my perceived interests at the expense of others, I may eventually discover, again quite unexpectedly, the error of my ways. Indeed, because their consequences can be so effective in correcting our misguided judgments, our immoral and destructive choices may sometimes, as we have already seen, be more useful to God in transforming us than a more virtuous choice might have been. So, just as a grandmaster in chess need not control, or even predict, the moves of a novice in order to checkmate a novice every time, neither would God be required to control a sinner’s individual choices in order effectively to checkmate the sinner over time and to eliminate every possible motive the sinner might have for rejecting fellowship with God. Third, what is essential to the formation of a good character and to the gift of saving faith is not that a rational agent should choose rightly rather than wrongly, but that the agent should choose freely one way or the other. For God never simply bypasses our own reasoning processes, however fallible and imperfect they may be; neither does he violate our unique personality through manipulation, or by simply implanting beliefs in us, or by artificially reconstituting us. Instead, our own reasoning processes and the choices we make help to determine how God can respond most appropriately, given the lessons we still need to learn, in bringing the second stage of our creation to its glorious completion. Still—and this is my fourth and final point—once we have emerged as individual centers of consciousness and rational agents, God can nonetheless transform our perspective, perhaps even instantaneously, in a perfectly rational way; he need only grant us a direct “face-to-face” encounter with himself, thereby providing compelling evidence for both his existence and the bliss of union with him. By “compelling evidence” I mean (roughly) evidence that both (a) justifies one in believing a given proposition and (b) renders one powerless in the face of this evidence not to believe it. If an alien spaceship should unexpectedly land in full view on the White House lawn, then this would no doubt alter the perspective of many people almost instantaneously and would do so in a perfectly rational way; and similarly, if Saul of Tarsus (or Paul) really did encounter the risen Lord on the road to Damascus, as Christians believe he did, then it is hardly surprising that such an encounter should likewise have altered his anti-Christian perspective in a perfectly rational way. More generally, for any person S who is rational enough to qualify as a free moral agent, if S should have a direct encounter of the relevant kind with God, S would then possess compelling experiential evidence, I suggest,

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The Problem of Hell

for both the existence and the unsurpassable goodness of God.52 And that is why, with respect to anyone who is rational enough to qualify as a free moral agent, God always has a trump card to play, namely the revelation of his own being, that guarantees from the outset his ultimate victory over sin and death. Some will no doubt ask at this point: “Well, if God has such a trump card up his sleeve, so to speak, why not play it sooner rather than later?” But I would ask just the opposite question: “If God has a guarantee of ultimate victory, why not play his trump card later—at the moment of each person’s death, if necessary, or even later than that—rather than sooner?” Why not, in other words, allow the drama of human history to play itself out on its own and in a context where parents have the privilege of raising and caring for their children, where one person’s choices can have a direct bearing upon the temporary welfare of others, where real dangers and real threats to one’s temporary happiness exist to struggle against, and where one’s personal failures and sins give real meaning to repentance, forgiveness, reconciliation, and atonement? Imagine a world without any of this. Imagine first a world with no created order at all, a world consisting of nothing but an eternal Trinity, where the Father’s extravagant artistic skills and creative powers lie eternally dormant and unexercised, where his infinite grace has no role to play, and where his unbounded capacity to perfect the unperfected and to care for the weak and the helpless has no means of expression. Are we to suppose that such a world, even if possible, would be anything like as desirable from God’s perspective as a world like ours in which everyone has a story to tell, indeed lots of stories, but no one is finally excluded from eternal bliss? For my own part, I find such a supposition utterly implausible.53 But now try to imagine a world in which God creates billions upon billions of people over time, not one of whom has a real live story to tell, except this: Once a distinct center of consciousness emerges, it is immediately brought into a mystical union with God where it remains forevermore, sort of like someone experiencing an eternal high, perhaps even quivering forever with intense pleasure, but without anything further to do. In such a static world (without meaningful progress) there would be no adventure, no quest for truth, no new discoveries to be made about the wonders of God’s creation, no moral struggles of any kind to be won, and no need for God to repair or to cancel out the harm we have done either to others or to ourselves. Such a world would not only be very different from the actual world, but would also be, in my opinion, altogether inferior to it as well. For it is simply 52 As Marilyn McCord Adams points out, “What accounts for our refusal, our miscalculations of what might be reasonable to accept is ignorance of a special kind … Not propositional ignorance of what we might read in textbooks. But experiential ignorance of the immeasurable goodness that God is.” See “Plantinga on ‘Felix Culpa’: Analysis and Critique”, Faith and Philosophy, 25/3 (2008), p. 138. 53 I therefore belong to the camp that thinks it necessarily true that God creates additional persons to love and, for all we know, may never stop creating additional persons to love.

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a mistake, as I see it, to view the bliss of union with God as if it were logically separable from the things we do in this earthly life, the things that happen either to us or to our loved ones, and the grace imparted to us over time and in many different contexts. It is no less a mistake to view such bliss as logically separable from the tasks we shall continue to perform as God reveals the riches of his grace through us in future ages (see Ephesians 2:7). Put it this way: As the most creative artist conceivable, God loves a good story, and he has granted each of us the privilege of being a part of many good stories, perhaps even infinitely many of them—stories that will never end but will instead merge gradually into one great ever-expanding story in which, as C.S. Lewis put it at the end of The Last Battle, “every chapter is better than the one before.”

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Chapter 2

Is it Possible to Freely Reject God Forever? Raymond J. VanArragon

Many Christians believe that some people will spend the afterlife in hell, alienated from God forever. This belief is a majority position in the Christian tradition, primarily because it seems to be taught in the Bible and in particular by Jesus himself. But recently among Christians there has been a certain anxiety about the doctrine of hell, an anxiety that has developed in some quarters into outright rebellion. Powerful philosophical and biblical objections have been put forward against the doctrine, claiming that it would be morally unacceptable for God to allow hell to exist and that scriptural passages traditionally cited in support of it can be interpreted differently. Discontent with hell is growing. Despite this, many Christians continue to maintain that the doctrine of hell is defensible. Much of their defense remains biblically based; but for some it is also rooted in the conviction that human beings have freedom, freedom understood in the libertarian sense where to perform a free action requires that it not be caused or determined by anything other than the agent. If human beings are free, so the reasoning goes, then they are able to freely choose to separate themselves from their Creator or perform actions that merit the punishment that hell might include. And it would be fitting, even loving, for God to allow people to make such choices, respecting their autonomy even if they should use it to damn themselves forever. Thus, some defenders of the doctrine of hell suggest, the Bible dictates that some people will be eternally damned, and philosophical reflection on the nature of human freedom gives us a plausible way to fill in the story of how this will happen. But this libertarian gambit has not ended the debate either. For how could anyone really choose to reject God forever? Would not such a person have to be crazy, or desperately misinformed? And would not a loving God actively prevent anyone from doing something so catastrophic? Some opponents of the doctrine of hell argue that the libertarian picture just presented cannot possibly be true, because no one could make the free choices imagined, and God would not let people destroy themselves in that fashion anyway. If this is correct, then that closes the door to one promising defense of this mainstream Christian doctrine— and perhaps the most promising, since hell without libertarian freedom presents philosophical problems that are even more severe. For that reason, in this chapter I want to defend a libertarian conception of hell and damnation from the objections just sketched out. I will argue that it is in fact possible to freely reject God and hence to damn oneself forever. After explaining what it means to freely reject God forever, I will defend the possibility of doing so

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The Problem of Hell

by responding to some arguments against it. As I go along I will also sketch out a proposal for how a person could freely reject God forever and how God could be entirely justified in letting it happen, and even in a sense facilitating it. The reader should be aware that in what follows I will not be assuming a medieval picture of hell, according to which residents there must spend every moment in unspeakable agony.1 To reject God forever and so to spend eternity alienated from God does mean tragic and endless failure to reach the end for which one was created, but that need not imply a state of being akin to living in an eternal torture chamber. Freely Rejecting God Forever Let us begin, then, by considering what it might mean to freely reject God and what it might mean to do so forever. There are numerous things that a person can do that could constitute rejecting God. For instance, he might respond with a firm, “No, thank you” to a clear and explicit invitation from God to follow him and abandon some unhappy way of life. Or he might choose to turn around and head in the other direction in response to a personal welcome from God at the pearly gates, with a good view of what is inside. These are examples of blatant, brazen ways to reject God. But there are also more subtle ones. Deciding to pursue a policy of selfish behavior and to henceforth put oneself ahead of God and all others constitutes rejecting God. Performing some sinful action while being aware that one is displeasing God (or by ignoring God or God’s will) is also a common way of doing so. Indeed, simply performing an action that one knows one should not perform also could be understood as rejecting God, even if the agent has no clear awareness of God or God’s displeasure. Doing so does go against God’s will and command, after all, while also rendering the agent blameworthy and deserving of punishment. In what follows, then, I propose that we understand rejecting God in a very broad sense, so that to reject God means to choose to act in a way that runs contrary to God’s will.2 To freely reject God in this fashion requires more than that, especially since 1 For a discussion of the medieval picture see Kelly James Clark, “God is Great, God is Good: Medieval Conceptions of Divine Goodness and the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 37/1 (2001): 15–31. 2 Readers might object that freely sinning without having any awareness of God should not be called “rejecting God,” and that by defining rejection of God so broadly I am draining the term of any sensible meaning. Please note, in response, that I define the term this broadly for the sake of simplicity, so that I do not need constantly to distinguish in the text between sinning with awareness of God and God’s will and sinning only with awareness of right and wrong. And it is not essential that I distinguish between them because, in my view, persistently sinning in either way can merit equally the consequences that I shall discuss later in the chapter.

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acting freely entails being morally responsible for at least some of the consequences of one’s action. To freely reject God requires a certain degree of rationality and some knowledge and awareness about what one is choosing, what the consequences might be, and what other options there are. Moreover (and here our account of free action becomes explicitly libertarian), there can be nothing that causally determines the choice that one makes, so that one’s free action could not be caused by God, dictated by the laws of physics, or entailed by one’s own psychological states. This last condition is worth some elaboration. It is plausible to think that one cannot freely perform an action that one has absolutely no desire to perform, or freely refrain from an action that one has strong desire to perform and no desire not to. In such cases, one’s action (or failure to act) is psychologically determined and therefore not free. If a choice is to be free, then, the agent must have options and must have some desire for more than one of them, where more than one is such that performing it is consistent with the laws of physics and with God’s causal activity. We should supplement this simple picture of the conditions for free action in two ways. First, a person can be blameworthy for having performed an action when the action itself was not a free one, if his lack of freedom was appropriately linked to his previous free actions. For example, if a person acts non-freely due to ignorance of his options and their consequences, but that ignorance is itself a direct consequence of his past free actions (perhaps he earlier chose not to pay attention when the relevant information was broadcast), then in so far as he is blameworthy for his ignorance he is also responsible for his action. Second, in some cases a person may actually desire only to perform one particular action among the options before him, but it may nonetheless be (or have been) within his power to summon up the desire to perform one of the others. Perhaps this is common when people succumb to sinful temptations: at the moment of acting they lack the desire for anything except for the option they choose, but earlier they did have the freedom to stop and ponder the moral character of that option, and had they freely done so they would have had at least some desire not to sin. In such cases, while the action may not strictly speaking be a free one (given the presence of no countervailing desires), it is nonetheless “close enough” to free for our purposes and definitely an action for which we would be inclined to blame the agent. To sum up, then, to freely reject God is to act in a way that goes against God’s will, where performance of that action is sufficiently rational, sufficiently informed, and not determined by God, nature, or desire. Moreover, given the broad way that we will understand the notion of rejecting God, freely doing so is possible for a person who is of a non-Christian religious persuasion, or is actively ignoring God, or does not even believe that God exists. It is sufficient that the agent has some sense of right and wrong, a sense that matches up at points with what God commands and forbids, and that at a point of matching up the agent freely does what she recognizes is wrong. And if she performs such an action nonfreely but is blameworthy for its non-free character (due to ignorance or a lack of countervailing desires), she may still be blameworthy for performing it and, we should add, for some of its consequences as well.

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The Problem of Hell

Now, what would it be to freely reject God forever? There are two possibilities: first, to do so might involve making one critical free choice (or a finite series of choices); and second, it might involve making an endless series of choices. In the simplest example of the first case, a person could be presented with two options: to forever close the door on God, so that throughout her continued unending existence she will never again get the chance to experience the divine presence, or to refrain from doing that. If she freely chooses the first option and closes the door, then we can properly say that she has freely rejected God forever. Or, in the second case, a person might just continually sin, continually and consistently (and with the required knowledge and awareness) do what is wrong, what in fact goes against God’s will—where this carries on not just for a lifetime, but endlessly. If such a person’s sins are free at least some of the time and there is no point after which none of the person’s sins are free, then we can properly say that she too has freely rejected God forever.3 Is it Possible to Freely Reject God Forever? Is it possible in either of these ways for a person to freely reject God forever? I grant that it is difficult to defend the possibility of the first kind of rejection, where only one free choice (or a finite series) is made. The main obstacle to the freedom of such a choice, as I see it, is ignorance. An appropriate degree of knowledge and awareness is a necessary condition for free choice; but it seems doubtful that anyone who chooses to close the door on God forever will have a sufficient grasp of what she is rejecting, and even more doubtful that she could appropriately comprehend the monumental character of her choice. Indeed, it seems likely that no human being can freely choose something where the consequences extend forever, where the “forever” is part of the content of the choice—simply because none of us can adequately grasp what that would mean. If so, then anyone who chooses something forever is not making a free choice, in so far as she lacks adequate knowledge of what she is choosing. The choice to reject God forever in the first way, then, seems non-free: such an agent could not have the requisite knowledge of what she is choosing. For that reason, in what follows I shall leave this possibility aside. (It is worth noting, however, that even if it may not be possible for a person to make one free choice to reject God forever, it may be possible for her to freely make some choice which has the consequence of rendering her forever unable to freely accept God. For instance, a person may freely choose to perform some evil action; this may be the choice that finally solidifies her character for evil and prevents her from desiring what is good. Such a situation may be similar to that of a drug user who crosses the threshold into uncontrollable addiction. By freely 3 Perhaps we could only say this from an eternal or timeless perspective, since it will never be true, at any point in time, that she has freely rejected God forever (though it may be true that she will).

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choosing to partake of the drug one more time, the addict enslaves himself to it. Presumably he did not choose enslavement; that was an unforeseen consequence of his choice. Still, he could bear some blame for his situation, in so far as he should have known that such a lack of freedom could result from careless drug use, and he should have refrained from starting out on that path in the first place. Similarly, the person who essentially enslaves herself to sin—and even does so permanently—may not have chosen such enslavement, but she may nonetheless bear some blame for her predicament in virtue of the fact that she should have known that by liberally doing what was wrong she was courting catastrophe, and that she simply should have refrained from freely sinning. This possibility too I shall mostly set aside in what follows, though some of the discussion in the next two sections will be relevant to it.) What about the second kind of rejection? Can a person freely sin forever, continually and consistently doing what is wrong? I believe that such a thing is possible, but first I want to defend this possibility indirectly by considering an important argument that it is not. The argument comes courtesy of Thomas Talbott, a prominent contemporary defender of universalism. In arguing that no one can continue rejecting God without end, Talbott says this: Once one has learned, perhaps through bitter experience, that evil is always destructive, always contrary to one’s own interest as well as to the interest of others; and once one sees clearly that God is the ultimate source of human happiness and that rebellion can bring only greater and greater misery into one’s own life as well as into the lives of others, an intelligible motive for such rebellion no longer seems even possible.4

His contention is that any person’s motivation for sinning will eventually be stamped out: sin will bring painful consequences to the sinner (and others) to such a degree that she will be left with absolutely no motive to carry on with it. And since having no motive seems to entail having no desire—having the desire does give one at least the motive of fulfilling it—this would mean that the desire to sin is eliminated, too. And if so, then she can no longer freely sin. The choice to sin under those conditions would be patently irrational. As Talbott says, it would be like a boy who, with no motive for doing so and strong motive not to, continually thrusts his hands into a fire.5 Thus the consequences of sin will eventually make it impossible for the persistent sinner to continue sinning, and she will inevitably and non-freely turn instead to God. Is Talbott correct about this? It seems to me that at least two claims are questionable. First, he claims that evil is always destructive and inevitably brings greater and greater misery into the life of the perpetrator. He is not saying that 4

Thomas Talbott, The Inescapable Love of God (Boca Raton, 1999), p. 186. Ibid., p. 184. See also Talbott’s essay, “Craig on the Possibility of Eternal Damnation,” Religious Studies, 28/4 (1992): 500–502. 5

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evil has these features in virtue of the fact that God actively punishes evildoers. Instead, evil has these features essentially, by its very nature. God does not have to step in and punish the sinner so that doing evil leads to misery; evil does that all by itself. Second, Talbott believes that all persistent sinners will eventually come to recognize that evil is in fact destructive for them, and this recognition will rob them of any motive (any desire) to continue sinning. This recognition too comes along with the very nature of evil—that is the way evil is. Let us consider why both these claims may be mistaken. First, it is doubtful that evil is always destructive for perpetrators in the way that Talbott says it is. It is certainly true that some kinds of evil—some kinds of actions that go against God’s will—seem to bring greater and greater misery into the lives of the perpetrators. The behavior exhibited by drug addicts fits this mold. But there are countless other less dramatic ways one might choose to act that run contrary to God’s will, and it is not obvious that they are all similarly destructive. Think, for instance, of sins involved in mistreating the weak, the disadvantaged, the outsider. This sort of behavior is common, and it does not seem especially destructive to those who participate in it, especially if they are surrounded by people who make them feel loved and valued. Think also of the easily ignored sins involved in spending money on status symbols and luxuries when one could instead use that money to help people who desperately need it. Behavior of that sort is also widespread and yet clearly runs contrary to God’s will.6 And consider finally the sort of negligence Jesus mentions in the famous New Testament passage about the sheep and the goats, where some (the goats) are accused of failing to feed the hungry, give the thirsty something to drink, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit the prisoner.7 Again, these failures are sinful, but it is a bit of a stretch to call them “always destructive, always contrary to one’s own interest” (emphasis added). Many people who engage in them seem well able to carry on even when they have some awareness of the moral status of the choices they are making. (Of course, that does not mean that there is no cost to this sort of sinful living. So-called eudaimonistic moral theories, developed by the ancient Greeks and attractive to many Christians, tell how immoral behavior leads to an impoverished existence and disorder in the soul, and that it prevents people from attaining true happiness and fulfillment. But these costs can be much less noticeable than Talbott suggests.) Second, is Talbott correct that all persistent sinners must eventually recognize the destructive nature of evil in such a way that they are robbed of any desire to continue sinning? Clearly, anyone who rejects Talbott’s first point will also reject this one, since if evil is not necessarily destructive in the way he specified, then it may not be destructive for every persistent sinner and hence some of them may fail to recognize its destructive power. But even if evil is damaging to a person, it 6 Powerful arguments for the immorality of such behavior have been presented, for example, by Peter Unger in his book Living High and Letting Die (New York, 1996). 7 Matthew 25:31–45.

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is not clear that knowledge of this will necessarily drain from persistent evildoers the desire for evil or eliminate their ability to freely choose it. It may be that while they are properly aware of what they know about the consequences of evil it is impossible that the desire to choose it be present; but our freedom clearly extends to what facts we are properly aware of. Many of us know that certain kinds of sins are not really in our best interests, and yet under certain conditions we willfully render ourselves unaware of what we know (or perhaps purposefully subject it to doubt) and choose to perform them anyway. So it is not obvious that full knowledge of the destructive effects of sin (whatever they may be) will of necessity eliminate the freedom to do it. Indeed, knowledge of both the destructive effects of sin and benefits of turning to God may not eliminate the freedom to sin either. Talbott claims that “if God is the ultimate source of human happiness … then anyone in a position to make a fully informed decision [to reject God] would also seem to have the strongest conceivable motive not to reject God,”8 but this too is questionable. Presumably a “strongest conceivable motive” is a motive that demolishes opposing motives, so that if one has such a motive to do A, then one is not able even to awaken a desire to do not-A. And how would being fully informed give one a motive like that? Again, many of us already have a great deal of knowledge about the deleterious effects (to others and ourselves) of sinful behavior and the various goods that come with doing the right thing, and yet we freely sin anyway.9 Would comprehensive knowledge of this sort change things? I do not see why it would have to. Well, why not? The problem, I think, is that mere knowledge is often not sufficient to eliminate or control strong desires. Knowledge of what is good and right often needs a supplement, a boost from experience before we can no longer shrug it off and ignore it when we make decisions. Nearly all of us know that it is dangerous to drink and drive, and yet many people fail to act on this knowledge until something—perhaps a loved one getting injured in an accident with a drunk driver—jolts them and makes the knowledge come alive, so to speak. And it may be the same for the knowledgeable sinner: being fully informed about the consequences of sinful behavior (rejecting God) may provide the “strongest possible motive” to turn around only when the information comes with some sort of powerful and jarring experience. Perhaps a tour through a refugee camp, an encounter with an angel, or some personal tragedy might do the trick. Yet such experiences may not be sufficient either. People who vow off drinking and driving do slip up after all, as thoughts of their loved ones fade from view. Similarly, after 8

Talbott, “Craig on the Possibility of Eternal Damnation,” p. 500. It is actually quite difficult to characterize the epistemic status of our beliefs about the real consequences of sin. Perhaps when we freely choose to sin, we at the same time do not even hold those beliefs, even if we do hold them at other times. Perhaps the beliefs come and go, so to speak. But surely it is the case that if they do come and go, and if when we sin we fail to know that sinning is bad for us (because at the time we do not believe it), that can be our own fault, something for which we are blameworthy. 9

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episodes of violence, abusers often feel so remorseful that the desire to lash out is eliminated in them; but as time passes such desires tend to return. With this in mind, I should think that the only sort of experience that would necessarily and permanently stamp out the desire to sin would have to be both overwhelming and long-lasting. And it is not obvious that having that sort of experience is the inevitable consequence of perpetual sinning. Thus, even if such an experience were effective in permanently turning the sinner around, there is no guarantee that the sinner would encounter it—unless God would of necessity intervene and force such an encounter in order to prevent anyone from freely rejecting him forever. We will consider that possibility in the next section. For now, we should conclude that the arguments we have considered do not establish that it is impossible to freely reject God forever. Persistent sinning need not on its own have such obviously destructive consequences that the sinner loses any desire or motive to carry on doing it. Moreover, the sinner’s being very well and even powerfully informed about what is truly good for her seems consistent with her maintaining (or soon recovering) the desire to sin. And provided she at the same time has some desire to do what is right (to follow God’s will) and the other conditions for free choice are met, in maintaining her desire to sin she maintains the capacity to do so freely. I conclude this section by briefly indicating what it might look like for a person to freely sin, and hence reject God, without end. Many of the ingredients have been implicit in my responses to Talbott. Such a person could live an ordinary life, only one which carries on forever. (Perhaps after earthly death, his existence continues more or less as it had before.) His mental life could be fairly shallow and his memories may not run especially long. His actions could reflect the sort of sinful choices that many of us are prone to, choices where he consistently puts himself ahead of others or does not look outside his own needs, where he fails to feed the hungry, give the thirsty something to drink, clothe the naked, care for the sick, and visit the prisoner. These choices could be rooted in a conscious decision to elevate his own perceived good above the good of others, or they could be less reflective but nonetheless consistent. He does not look to change his lifestyle, or in a heartfelt way to request divine assistance to do so, because his situation does not appear to him to be all that bad overall. Again, in so far as it is obviously possible for a person to manage this throughout his earthly life, it seems possible, under similar conditions at least, for such behavior to carry on indefinitely. Some may object that this picture of the afterlife is overly tame. But remember that my aim is only to defend the thesis that it is possible for a person to freely reject God forever. Perhaps a person could do so in much harsher postmortem conditions, but the possibility is easier to defend on the plausible assumption that postmortem conditions could be similar to ante-mortem ones.10 And it is also 10 Charles Seymour, in his book A Theodicy of Hell (Dordrecht, 2000), adopts what he calls the “freedom view of hell.” On his view, those in hell stay there because they “eternally choose to reject God through their sin” (161). That is consistent with the possibility I am

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important to note that in the picture I am developing, the state of those not saved is monumentally less happy than that of those in heaven, even if they are not aware of this. In what follows I shall fill in this picture somewhat when I first consider whether God should intervene to ensure the person’s salvation and prevent such an unsatisfying existence from continuing, and then return to the concern that the persistent sinner’s actions ultimately would not be free. Must God Intervene to Prevent Unending Rejection? I have suggested that it is possible for a person to freely sin (and hence freely reject God) forever; but would God even let this happen? I want to consider and reject an argument, again from Talbott, that God would of necessity intervene and prevent anyone from doing so; then I shall argue that God could in fact have good reason not to. Talbott’s argument that God must intervene makes use of an analogy. Suppose a loving parent is in a position to prevent her child from committing suicide. To commit suicide is to do oneself irreparable harm (or at least to bring harm on oneself that no human being can repair). For that reason, a parent ought to interfere with her child’s actions, even if doing so means compromising her child’s freedom. Now God is in a similar position with respect to a person who will freely reject him forever. To reject God forever is to do oneself irreparable harm. Therefore, like the parent, God ought to intervene and prevent it, even at the cost of violating the person’s freedom. As Talbott puts it, there are limits to the freedom God can allow a person to have! A loving God should not and would not allow a person to bring upon herself harm that is truly irreparable.11 As compelling as this argument is, it is important to see that it is ineffective against the possibility I am defending. I have not argued that it is possible for a person with one free choice to forever close the door on God. By making a choice like that, a person would indeed be doing herself irreparable harm; and Talbott makes a plausible case that God would not let that happen.12 But I have instead defending. But he also defines hell as “an eternal existence, all of whose moments are on the whole bad” (6)—bad both subjectively, because it feels bad to the person, and objectively, because the person is not achieving happiness of an Aristotelian sort (7). It may be possible under those conditions for the person to freely reject God forever, but that is a more difficult case to make. 11 See Talbott, “The Doctrine of Everlasting Punishment,” Faith and Philosophy, 7/1 (1990): 19–42, pp. 38–9, and The Inescapable Love of God, pp. 189–92. 12 This observation also applies to the possibility, noted in the second section above, of a person performing an action that permanently enslaves him to sin. Such a person would be doing himself irreparable harm, and thus Talbott has provided a good argument for thinking that God would intervene to prevent him from doing this or to ensure that the enslavement is not permanent.

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defended the possibility of a person forever continuing to reject God freely. And a person who does that at no time brings irreparable harm on herself: there will always be a time in the future when she is free to do what is right and thereby turn toward God.13 (There may of course be many moments where she is not free to turn toward God; but there will always be future moments where she is.) So Talbott’s analogy does not apply: it does not give us reason to think that God must dramatically intervene in the life of someone who continually rejects him without ever bringing irreparable harm on herself.14 Let us turn now to reasons God might have to refrain from intervening and actively preventing a person from freely rejecting him forever. One way God might intervene would be to simply eliminate the person’s freedom to sin. God may have some options here too, but before we consider them we should note that eliminating this freedom is not something to be taken lightly. The freedom to sin (or do right), after all, is a valuable thing. Christians have long argued as much, often in response to the problem of evil. There is something deeply significant about being able to choose one’s path and face the appropriate consequences of those choices. Moreover, many contend, freedom makes possible genuine relationships with God and other people. If God were to give people morally significant freedom with the condition that the ability to go wrong would be eliminated if it were persistently used, that would seem to undercut its value. One thinks that God would, other things being equal, be disinclined to forego the goods that come with morally significant freedom, especially against the will of the person who continually and freely chooses to disobey him.15 So, eliminating the persistent sinner’s freedom would in many ways be a bad thing; but how might God do it, anyway? One way might be “internal”: God might manipulate the brain of the sinner and amputate his desire to sin. This could be problematic: not only would it violate the person’s autonomy by eliminating his 13 She also does not at any time “undermine the very possibility of supreme happiness … in everyone else [i.e., her loved ones in heaven] as well” (Talbott, The Inescapable Love of God, p. 189). 14 My description of how a person could freely reject God forever escapes a related objection of Talbott’s. In “Freedom, Damnation, and the Power to Sin with Impunity,” Religious Studies, 37/4 (2001): 417–34, Talbott criticizes those who propose a free-will theodicy of hell but fail to offer a clear explanation of what it might mean to “embrace an eternal destiny freely” (pp. 418–21). I am not defending the possibility that one might embrace an eternal destiny freely—that sounds like making one free choice (or a finite number of free choices) to close the door on God forever. I am defending the possibility that a person might forever continually make choices that run contrary to the ones God wants her to make. Such a person, as I am envisioning her, is not properly described as embracing an eternal destiny; she could instead be mostly living in the moment. 15 We should note the common view that people in heaven do not have the freedom to sin; but their state is due at least partly to their own choices to do what is right, and to their heartfelt decision to ask God for help. For more on this issue, see James F. Sennett, “Is there Freedom in Heaven?” Faith and Philosophy, 16/1 (1999): 69–82.

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freedom without his consent, it is also not obvious that God could do this without significantly damaging the person or causing untoward side effects. Desires, after all, are complex things, deeply intertwined with other features of a person’s psyche, and not easily erased, perhaps even by God. And it is unclear in any case whether such a desire extraction would take, in a person who is not fully on board with the procedure. Rehabilitation programs tend not to work for addicts who are not whole-heartedly committed to their success; perhaps desires eliminated against or independent of an agent’s own will would over time rear their ugly heads again without constant autonomy-depriving attention from God. And of course if those desires return, with them comes the freedom to sin again. Another way that the desire to reject God could be eliminated might be “external”: for example, God could forcefully reveal to the sinner the nature of his own predicament, the consequences of his actions on himself and others, and the merits of a different way of life. As we have said before, it could take a truly spectacular and long-lasting experience of this sort to guarantee elimination of that person’s desire and freedom to sin; anything less than that may leave open the possibility of continued free rejection. And God might be excused for refraining from resorting to such drastic measures in order to rescue a persistent and unrepentant sinner. But it is worth pondering further what character such a revelation must take in order that it might effect the necessary changes in the person receiving it. The persistent sinner we are imagining is one who has followed a policy of selfcentered behavior, putting her own needs first and setting herself above everyone else. It would certainly be unsatisfactory for God to attempt to win her over simply by showing her the glories of heaven and the throne she might sit in there: such a revelation by itself could leave her self-centered inclinations (and her lack of concern for others) intact while merely providing new information on how to fulfill them. That would be like revealing to a greedy thief that he need not engage anymore in petty theft, because he can help himself to all the money in a loaded bank vault that has been opened for him. The thief would find this appealing, but only because it would speak to his over-riding greed. Such a revelation would not change the thief’s fundamental and sinful desires. And what sort of revelation could be guaranteed to do that? Giving the thief insight into the lives of people who are poor but deeply happy and content may be ineffective because the thief just might not see it. He cannot feel their happiness himself, and the notion that their lot is desirable may strike him as bizarre. And of course something similar may be true of the persistent sinner. She may fail to see the appeal of the lives of those who follow God’s will. (The appeal may be clear only to those who do it.) Perhaps such lives would be attractive if her own lifestyle had proven disastrous to her, but as we have seen that is not inevitable. Suffice it to say that these sorts of reflections indicate at the very least that it is not obvious what sort of revelation might be guaranteed to effect the necessary realignment of the persistent sinner’s desires. We have been discussing methods that God might employ to eliminate the sinner’s ability to carry on rejecting God. We should recognize, however, that

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taking such a drastic step need not be God’s only avenue to saving the sinner who would, without intervention, continue freely rejecting him. For surely God could take steps simply to weaken her desire to sin, perhaps by removing some of the ignorance that clouds her decision-making, and in so doing start her on a path that would ultimately lead to the complete transformation of her will and to union with God in heaven. Of course, such steps may prove unsuccessful since they leave the sinner’s freedom intact. Still, I want to conclude this section by arguing that God could be perfectly justified in for the most part letting the sinner be and refraining from forceful interference. The argument I give will also provide one more reason that God might refrain from engaging in the more dramatic, and problematic, interventions just discussed. Now on the face of it, it seems like God would have an over-riding reason to remove the ignorance of the persistent sinner: doing so is necessary for her to have and maintain the ability to choose freely. We said earlier that in order for an act to be free, the agent must have an appropriate degree of knowledge and awareness of what she is choosing, what the options are, and what the consequences are. And our persistent sinner seems to lack this. She continues to choose in a selfcentered fashion, unaware of the joy that she is missing out on and ignorant of the comparative misery of her own lot. Does not her ignorance threaten both her freedom and responsibility for what she does? If so, then one thinks that God ought to intervene and enlighten her. We can begin to see that God need not to do this if we focus a moment on what our sinner does know as she makes her choices. She knows that there are others suffering, that she has the power to help, that it would be morally right or good to do so and wrong to neglect it, and perhaps that God commands that she do so. There are all sorts of variables here: the knowledge may grow dim over time; she may find it easier as she goes along to ignore the plight of others and ignore the commands of God (and ignore that they are God’s commands); her awareness of these alternatives to self-centered behavior may be altogether eliminated as that behavior becomes habitual. (We shall return to the habitual nature of her actions in the next section.) But in any case, what she does know is sufficient to make her sinful choices free, at least some of the time. Free action does not require anything like comprehensive knowledge, after all. It is true, though, that non-culpable ignorance may limit responsibility for some of the consequences of sinful actions. If a person’s failure to know of some terrible consequence does not stem from some previous moral failure of his, then his responsibility for that consequence is reduced should his actions bring it about. But the important point here is that our persistent sinner is blameworthy for her ignorance, and indeed her ignorance may be the significant consequence, to her, of her pattern of sinful behavior. She does not know the satisfaction of a life of service; she does not know the peace that attends such behavior (in the short or long term); she does not know that moral behavior is essential to genuine human flourishing and that in fact her sinful choices harm her in subtle but very real ways—including by extending her ignorance and making her behavioral alternatives less obvious

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to her. (Or if she has some knowledge along these lines, it is easy to ignore come decision time.) And neither does she know, in any compelling way, that the end result of moral living is salvation,16 glorious union with God, and the fulfillment of her deepest desires. But the fact is that she would at least begin to know these things if she were to freely do what is right. She can do that, and indeed she ought to. Thus her ignorance, which clouds her judgment and leaves her in a truly woeful position in comparison with that of the residents of heaven, is a consequence of her own free action and a consequence for which she is blameworthy. For God to allow her ignorance to remain would respect the value of her freedom and the seriousness of her sins, and indeed would serve as an entirely just punishment for those sins. But if so, then God would be justified in failing to remove it. To sum up, it seems that it is not the case that God must intervene to prevent a person from freely rejecting him forever. The choices of the persistent sinner under consideration are not akin to suicide since there is no point at which the person does irreparable harm to herself. Moreover, foolproof measures that God might use to stop the sinner, like elimination of her freedom, are plagued with difficulty. Less drastic measures leave open the possibility of failure, since a person who maintains the freedom to sin can continue to do it. And God may be justified in withholding those measures in any case, since the unrepentant sinner deserves the ignorance in which she wallows, and that ignorance may serve as an appropriate punishment for the sins she continually commits. But Could the Sinner’s Freedom be Maintained? So far I have argued that it is possible to freely reject God forever and that God could have good reason not to intervene and prevent it. In this final section I consider and reject one more reason for thinking that any person’s ability to sin freely must eventually be extinguished. We have seen that Talbott believes that the ability to sin freely could not be maintained because the desire to do so would eventually and necessarily be eliminated when the person realizes that the sin is destroying her. I argued that this is doubtful. What may be of more concern is that the person will become addicted to sin in such a way that she is unable to refrain from committing it. Selfish behavior, turning away from those in need, and being motivated solely by the aim of fulfilling one’s own self-centered desires could become habitual to such a degree that the agent loses any desire to do what is right, with the result that that desire disappears and so does the freedom to act on it. If this result is necessary and inevitable, then it is impossible to freely reject God forever, because at some point the sinner must permanently lose the freedom to turn to God without freely 16 The moral living and its results are not entirely the product of her own power, of course. A full Christian picture of this will appeal to (requested) divine assistance and the work of Christ which makes salvation possible in the first place.

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choosing to lose it. Such a person’s existence would be that of an irredeemable sin-junkie, and even if her subjective state were not one of unrelenting misery and anguish (since that would seem to give her some motivation to search for a different way of living), there would still be a degree of pointlessness to her existence that might make one wonder why God allows it to go on. We should recall first in response to this concern that to freely reject God forever does not require maintaining the ability to sin freely at every moment of one’s existence. It requires only that there be no point after which none of the person’s sins are free; and this is entirely consistent with there being periods of time—even long periods—in which the person is effectively enslaved to sin. And there are also a number of ways that such enslavement might at least temporarily be ended. First, the person might end it herself by mustering up the desire to serve someone other than herself, a desire strong enough that she is capable of acting on it. Of course, if she is always able (that is, free) to muster up such a desire, then her failure to have it initially only eliminated her freedom in a strict sense; throughout her sinning she was still in a state that earlier we called “close enough” to having freedom. But if she does not always have this ability, she may nonetheless have it some of the time; and if she acts on it and generates in herself such a desire, then for that moment anyway she is free, and if she responds again by setting aside that desire and sinning, that sin is a free one. Second, the person might in the ordinary course of things encounter some situation or experience that awakens in her the desire to help, as when one sees on television the plight of the poor and suffering in other parts of the world. It is easy to become deadened to these sorts of experiences because of their commonness (and the ease of changing the channel), but if the desire, however short-lived, is strong enough to motivate action, then the enslavement is temporarily lifted and the person’s subsequent failure to act on it is free. Third, God might intervene, either internally by tinkering with the person’s psyche or externally by placing experiences in her path, to liberate her from her sinful desires, not by eliminating them but by giving her the freedom to act against them. This liberation, like the others, may or may not end up motivating right action—and if it does then in the long run it may lead to the person’s salvation— but the freedom it engenders may help to preserve the point of the person’s continuing existence. And that could give God reason to do it, enabling the sinner to freely reject God forever rather than drift into eternity with her ability to do so completely extinguished. And here we have a way that God could actually facilitate a sinner’s perpetual rejection of him—not a malicious way, but instead a way that enables a person to carry on a meaningful existence—by preserving the freedom and autonomy that could otherwise be eliminated by sin. It would be a terrible thing for a person to

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freely reject God forever, but it could be that only the grace of God stands between that and a fate that would be far worse.17 Conclusion In this chapter I have tried to demonstrate that it is possible to freely reject God forever. To reject God forever is to alienate oneself from God forever, and thus to defend this possibility is to defend the Christian doctrine of eternal hell. As I have said, however, it has been no part of my aim to establish what hell is actually like. Readers who accept the conception of hell sketched here—a hell in which the sinner’s existence is much like an earthly one and the ability to sin freely is partnered with the ability to begin to turn around—may be able to use what I have written as a theodicy, an account of why God in fact allows hell to exist. But many readers will not be satisfied with that conception. For some of them, what I have said might serve as a starting point for an argument that a person could freely reject God forever under much harsher postmortem conditions, or for an argument that a person who does not actually freely reject God forever might nonetheless justifiably be damned. Or, on the other hand, they may conclude that a mere defense of the possibility of freely rejecting God forever is the best we can do, and that much about the doctrine of hell is bound to remain a mystery to us. It is worth turning in this connection to the writings of C.S. Lewis. Readers familiar with them may have noticed that much of what I have said here fits quite well with the account of hell he provides, in particular in his book The Great Divorce.18 That is no accident, since I have often found Lewis’s writings on this subject to be powerful and illuminating. But at the same time, it is important to recall the cautionary words that end the preface to that book, where he says about the fable he has spelled out, “the transmortal conditions are solely an imaginative supposal: they are not even a guess or a speculation at what may actually await us. The last thing I wish is to arouse factual curiosity about the details of the afterworld.”19

17

Indeed God may give freedom to the persistent sinner both to grant continued meaning to her existence and to give her the opportunity to begin the process of turning around and accepting him. (God could withhold this gift for long periods where the person’s ignorance and lack of freedom serve as punishment for sin.) Theists differ on whether God would know how the gift would be used before giving it; suffice it to say, again, that if the gift grants the sinner freedom, the sinner may still freely choose not to use it as God would want her to. 18 New York, 1946. 19 My thanks to my Philosophy Department colleagues at Bethel University, an audience at the Society of Christian Philosophers meeting at Messiah College, Jerry Walls, David Vander Laan, and Kelly Clark for helpful comments on earlier drafts of this chapter.

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Chapter 3

Annihilationism: A Philosophical Dead End? Claire Brown and Jerry L. Walls

While adherents to some religious traditions and most naturalists hold that, after death, all human persons cease to exist, or at the least, that all human persons permanently cease to be conscious,1 the traditional Christian position on death is that it is followed by an afterlife. Disputes about various aspects of this afterlife notwithstanding, the tradition has affirmed at least this: all humans who die will eventually undergo a bodily resurrection, face divine judgment, and thereafter continue forever to have conscious existence. The future of those judged righteous will involve blessed existence in the presence of God, but the unrighteous will exist forever in hell. While the precise nature of hell is contested, the tradition does agree that, at least when compared to the fate of the blessed, hell promises a miserable existence and, in some important sense, separation from God. Let us call this view that some people after death will face continued conscious existence in hell the “doctrine of hell” (DH). While DH is part of traditional Christian teaching on the afterlife, it is not without its detractors, even within Christianity. One way Christians deny DH is by accepting universalism, the view that no one will suffer unending existence in hell because, at least eventually, all persons will repent and be saved. A second way of rejecting DH has been less popular traditionally but is today gaining an increasing number of adherents. This view, typically called “annihilationism,” holds that the unrepentant wicked do not face an eternal lived hell.2 Rather, at some point those who reject God will be annihilated and cease to exist. This position is an attractive

1

On some forms of materialism with respect to the nature of human persons, human persons are identical to their bodies, whether those bodies are living or not. On those views, one does not cease to exist upon death. Rather, one continues to exist as a corpse. Because it is in principle possible for a corpse to be preserved forever thereafter, a materialist of this stripe could allow for the possibility that some people, once they come into existence, exist forever thereafter. At the least, she will say that a great many people continue to exist after their death even though most of them will (after sufficient decay of their bodies) cease to exist. 2 It is also sometimes called “conditionalism” to underscore the view that human beings are not intrinsically immortal. Eternal life is thus a gift of God, and conditional upon our acceptance of it. The term annihilation applies most strictly to the position that souls are naturally immortal, and persist in existence unless something is done to destroy them. See Clark H. Pinnock, “Annihilationism,” in Jerry L. Walls (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Eschatology (Oxford, 2008), p. 462.

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option for those who are troubled by the traditional doctrine of hell, but remain unconvinced by universalism. Whether this annihilation is something that God inflicts on the unjust or whether it is something they do to themselves (whether intentionally or unintentionally) is a point of dispute among annihilationism’s adherents. A likewise disputed point concerns whether the unjust are annihilated immediately upon death or whether, instead, some time passes prior to such annihilation, perhaps during which time they exist in (a non-eternal) hell. Because defenses of annihilationism, unlike defenses of universalism, are relatively recent phenomena, critical assessment of the reasons offered in support of annihilationism are accordingly relatively rare. Most of the literature on this issue, moreover, has focused on issues of biblical interpretation rather than philosophical considerations. In what follows, we aim to help remedy this deficiency by subjecting to critical analysis, and finally rejecting, three broad philosophical motivations that a Christian might have for affirming annihilationism. Motivations of the first sort turn on the notion that non-existence is the natural consequence of sin or rejection of God, so we should not be surprised that annihilation is the fate of the damned. The second and third broad categories of motivations are supposed to succeed if one grants at the outset (perhaps on the basis of scripture or on some other basis) that, when it comes to theories of the afterlife, DH and annihilationism are the only live options. Motivations in the second category appeal to God’s moral perfection, claiming that it is deeply at odds with DH, from which it follows that annihilationism must be true. The third type of motivation is grounded in the conviction that the continued existence of the sinful in hell is incompatible with the final supremacy of Christ. So, if we are committed to the final supremacy of Christ and if the only viable alternative to DH is annihilationism, annihilationism follows. These three types of motivation represent the only philosophical reasons for adopting annihilationism of which we are aware. And the only non-philosophical reasons for adopting annihilationism of which we are aware are rooted in certain (non-traditional) interpretations of scripture. If our arguments are successful, then, until new arguments in favor of annihilationism are developed, the theory should be considered philosophically unmotivated. What is more, until such new arguments for the annihilation of the unsaved are developed, the success of our chapter means that even scripture-based arguments for annihilationism, while not obviously incorrect, nonetheless have a high burden of proof to meet: if the tradition has not licensed the annihilationist interpretations of scripture (as it has not), and if (as our chapter maintains) we lack substantial philosophic reasons independent of scripture for being predisposed to favor those annihilationist interpretations, then we should be quite leery of annihilationist interpretations of scripture. Finally, although we are quite explicitly addressing reasons Christians might seem to have for adopting annihilationism, much that we say could be useful both to adherents of other religions and to some non-religious non-naturalists.

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Natural Consequence Motivations According to what that we will call (broadly) “natural consequence” motivations, certain facts about the essence of sin and its natural consequences either entail or make probable annihilation as the ultimate fate of the wicked. One argument that draws on natural consequence motivations picks up on a traditional conception of sin (or evil) as non-existence. According to certain branches of the Christian philosophical tradition, most famously the Thomistic tradition, evil is not a positive thing that exists but is simply a privation, i.e., a lack, an absence, or non-existence. Evil’s opposite, goodness, is the opposite of such privation, namely, being. The terms “goodness” and “being” are thus materially equivalent. It follows, according to this argument, that if someone becomes increasingly evil, she exists to a less and less degree. So, if she continues on this descent, she will (or at least may) eventually cease to exist at all. Thus non-existence is the fate of the wicked in hell: they become increasingly depraved until they finally become so evil that they become extinct. We shall call this particular argument that trades on natural consequence motivations “the privation argument for annihilationism.”3 Notably, while many have adhered to the traditional conception of goodas-being and evil-as-privation, very few have drawn the conclusion that, if one is sufficiently evil, one will cease to exist. Indeed, in the history of western philosophy, the good-as-being view has been dominant among Christians while seldom leading any who have held this view to infer annihilationism. While this fact should not preclude us from considering whether or not annihilationism is the appropriate conclusion to draw from the view that evil is a privation, it should give us pause before leaping to that conclusion. In short, if we begin to think that the view that evil is a privation entails that some will be so evil as to cease to exist, we should at least ask whether we are misreading the privation view. When we do investigate the view that evil is a privation, we find that, as Aquinas understood it, it does not entail the possibility of the wicked ceasing to exist as a direct result or natural consequence of their own sin. The heart of the doctrine that evil is a privation, for Aquinas, is that “[g]oodness and being are really the same, and differ only in idea.”4 Or, to use Eleonore Stump and Norman Kretzmann’s translation of this line, typically, “the terms ‘being’ and ‘goodness’ are the same in

3

For discussion of the privation argument and some of its close relatives see Jonathan Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell (New York, 1993), pp. 146–7, and Paul J. Griffiths, “SelfAnnihilation or Damnation?: A Disputable Question in Christian Eschatology,” in Paul J. Weithman (ed.), Liberal Faith: Essays in Honor of Phillip Quinn (Notre Dame, 2008), pp. 83–117. What we call “the privation argument” should not be confused with responses to the problem of evil that turn on the claim that evil as such does not exist but is merely a privation. 4 Summa Theologica, trans. the Fathers of the English Dominican Province (London, 1920), PP, Q. 5, A. 1.

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reference, differing only in sense.”5 Armed with this piece of knowledge, we may indeed be tempted to assume that the doctrine implies that those who are evil have less being than those who are not, so that in becoming increasingly evil one runs a genuine risk of losing all of one’s being and thereby ceasing to exist. Crucially, though, when a Thomist says that “being” and “goodness” typically share a referent but not a sense, he means something different than a contemporary analytic philosopher would mean if she were to say the same thing, and this disparity occurs because the medieval conception of being extends beyond the contemporary idea of actual existence.6 In contemporary discussions, “being” is conceived of in a single way: as something that a possible object either has (when it actually exists) or lacks (when it does not actually exist) and that does not come in degrees.7 In Aquinas, however, one can distinguish two conceptions of “being”: absolute existence and existence in a certain respect. Absolute existence is simply the instantiation of a substantial form, and it comes close to our contemporary notion of “being” as actual existence. Conceived of absolutely, being does not come in degrees: it is rather something that all of the objects in the actual world simply possess and must possess if they are to exist. The second way of conceiving of being, as existence in a certain respect, is less familiar to present-day sensibilities. This second sense does not consist in the mere instantiation of a substantial form but in the degree of actualization of that form.8 So, if one of two birds more fully fulfills its potential as a bird than the other does—as might happen if, say, the first bird flies very well but the second has a broken wing and hence only has an unfulfilled potential for flying—the bird that more fully fulfills its potential and hence actualizes its form to a higher degree has more being, conceived of in the second way, than does the injured bird.9 5 Eleonore Stump and Norman Kretzmann, “Being and Goodness,” in Thomas V. Morris (ed.), Divine and Human Action: Essays in the Metaphysics of Theism (New York, 1988), p. 282. 6 Ibid., pp. 282–3. 7 Hence Peter van Inwagen’s insistence on the univocity of “being” and the equivalence of “being” and “existence” in “Meta-Ontology,” Erkenntnis, 48/2 (1998): 235–7. 8 Stump and Kretzmann, “Being and Goodness,” pp. 283–4, 288–9. 9 Compare the absolute existence/existence in a certain respect distinction with a distinction that Derek Parfit makes between two ways of conceiving of the relation, “is a relative of” in “Later Selves and Moral Principles,” in A. Motefiore (ed.), Philosophy and Personal Relations (London, 1973), reprinted in Steven M. Cahn and Joram G. Haber (eds.), 20th Century Ethical Theory (Upper Saddle River, 1995), p. 477. Parfit observes: “We can use the phrase ‘related to’ so that what it means has no degrees; on this use, parents and remote cousins are as much relatives. It is obvious, though, that kinship has degrees. This is shown in the phrase ‘closely related to’: remote cousins are, as relatives, less close. I shall summarize such remarks in the following way. On the above use, the fact of being someone’s relative has in its logic no degrees. But in its nature—what it involves—it does have degrees. So the fact’s logic hides its nature. Hence the triviality of the claim that all our relatives are equally our relatives.” The upshot of the absolute existence/existence in a

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This elaboration on the two ways of conceiving of being helps us to make sense of the claim that being and goodness are (materially) equivalent. If we are conceiving of being in the second way, as degree of actualization of form, then it is easy to see how, for Aquinas, “being” is materially equivalent to “goodness.” A thing’s perfection consists in its fulfillment of its form: the more fully something actualizes its form, the better that thing is. So, if we conceive of “being” as degree of actualization of form, the more being a thing has, the more goodness it has, and vice versa. “Being” and “goodness” will thus have the same referent: degree of actualization of substantial form.10 Notably, though, the fact that “being” and “goodness” are equivalent in this way does not imply that the natural consequence of evil is non-existence. It merely implies that those who are evil do not have full being, that they suffer from some sort of privation and are not fully realizing their potential. As one becomes more and more evil, the lack becomes more and more acute, but (crucially) even though the slide from good to evil results in a decrease in one’s being in a certain respect, we have no reason to suppose that it likewise results in an eradication of the instantiation of one’s substantial form, which is what is required for being conceived of as absolute existence to be lost. Indeed, we know from observation that people (and other creatures) frequently actualize their substantial forms to lesser and lesser degrees without ever ceasing to exist.11 The privation argument for annihilation thus fails because, even granting the long-held view that “being” and “goodness” are materially equivalent, we lack sufficient reason for thinking that being evil, i.e., failing to live up to one’s substantial form/suffering from privations, naturally leads to non-existence, the complete eradication of one’s substantial form, as opposed to a (perhaps ever-increasing) loss in the extent to which one actualizes it.12

certain respect distinction may be that, for Aquinas, the fact of something’s having being has no degrees in its logic but does have degrees in its nature. 10 Stump and Kretzmann, “Being and Goodness,” pp. 282–6. 11 Sometimes creatures even preserve their absolute existence because they fail to live up to their forms. The freeloading wolf that never joins the pack in the hunt fails to fulfill its function in an important way, but doing so may allow it to survive by helping it to avoid some fatal situations. See Rosalind Hursthouse, On Virtue Ethics (Oxford, 1999), p. 196. Conversely, a number of flourishing creatures lose their existence without ever first suffering a decline in being in the second sense. Thus, when a nuclear bomb strikes an area and all of the birds in that area die, even the most flourishing of the birds—i.e., even the birds that have the most being in the second sense—do not first lose some of their being (in the second sense) and then cease to exist. In the case of a nuclear bomb, having so much being does not help to save the flourishing birds; nor does lacking so much being hasten the deaths of the less-flourishing birds. 12 Eleonore Stump gives a reason for thinking that the view that evil is a privation actually detracts from the plausibility of annihilationism: if being and goodness are materially equivalent, then annihilating a creature, which requires “eradicat[ing] being” is a “prima facie evil, which an essentially good God could not do unless there were an

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We can find a different argument for the belief that annihilation (non-existence) is a natural consequence of sin by drawing on Paul Griffiths’s work on the particular ways in which sin corrupts humans.13 Notably, Griffiths does not insist that sin leads to non-existence; he merely says that the idea that it does so lead is worth entertaining.14 Following Augustine, Griffiths holds that because we are created in the image of God, we are essentially beings who reflect that image by having certain capacities—namely, volitional and cognitive capacities. Griffiths also holds that sin corrupts these capacities to such an extent that it is worth asking whether some humans will, in sinning, so corrupt themselves that they lose these capacities altogether. Because human beings have these capacities essentially, to lose them is to cease to exist.15 In such a situation, whatever traces of the (former) humans might remain—perhaps a grumble, a rant, or what Griffiths calls “psychic detritus”—would be just that: traces.16 Despite having some appealing points, this argument, which we will call the “corruption argument,” faces problems if it is thought to provide motivation for the annihilationist picture. Few, if any, Christians will deny that we were created in the image of God or that sin deeply corrupts us even to the point of doing serious damage to our will and cognitive capacities. But drawing the annihilationist conclusion from this is much more controversial. In the first place, despite the fact that most Christians have reason to believe that sin can significantly damage the sinner’s volitional and cognitive abilities, they lack reason to believe that sin destroys those abilities completely, as it seems that it must if a person is completely to cease to bear the image of God. Regarding the will, sin would have to be capable of damaging the will so severely that the person would be incapable of willing ever again. Such a person’s volitional state, then, would have to be worse than even the pre-salvation volitional state of Paul, the “foremost” of sinners who, recall, continued to exist while he was in his sinful state.17 overriding good which justified it,” “Dante’s Hell, Aquinas’s Moral Theory, and the Love of God,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 16/2 (1986): 196. 13 Griffiths, “Self-Annihilation or Damnation?” esp. pp. 89–90. Annihilationist Clark Pinnock anticipates Griffiths’s general idea without ever developing the particulars of how sin corrupts the individual to lead to extinction, calling hell, which Pinnock interprets as annihilation, “a terrifying possibility, the possibility of using our freedom to lose God and destroy ourselves,” “The Conditional View,” in William Crockett (ed.), Four Views on Hell (Grand Rapids, 1992), p. 165. 14 Griffiths, “Self-Annihilation or Damnation?” p. 107. 15 Ibid., pp. 89–90. 16 Ibid., pp. 85, 93, and 116–17 n61, in which Griffiths recalls a passage from C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce (New York, 1946), pp. 20–21. 17 See 1 Timothy 1:15 (RSV). Even if Paul’s claim in this passage is rhetorical, the passage is often taken as implying that no one need fear of being so sinful as to be irredeemable. If God can save Paul, “the chief of sinners,” the reasoning goes, then no sin is so great as to preclude the sinner’s salvation. As long as this implication holds, the fact that Paul, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, called himself the “foremost of sinners” supports the point

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Now, many Christians will admit that sin could so damage a person’s will that, on his own, he could will only evil, but that is very different from saying that such damage renders him unable to will at all. And if he still has some sort of will, even a corrupt one only capable of willing evil, then he still somewhat—albeit quite weakly—reflects the image of God in his volitional capacity. Of course, if sin damages the will to this extent, then it is only by grace that humans can do good. Many Christians will readily admit this, indeed, insist upon it, but this hardly commits them to the claim that anyone born with original sin is not a real human or that Adam and Eve ceased to exist when their wills were bound. The reason they are not so committed is that being capable of willing good on one’s own without grace surely is not essential to human personhood.18 Let us turn now to our cognitive abilities, which present their own distinctive challenge. Here, Christians typically agree that sin compromises our intellectual capacities, blinding us from some truths and diminishing our ability to think clearly. But it is difficult to see how sin should ever bring us to a point at which we do not have any knowledge including, say, knowledge of incorrigible beliefs. We lack an account of how, for instance, sin could render a creature unable to know that she is in pain. Now, perhaps the appropriate response is that merely having any old knowledge (knowledge of one’s own pain, for instance) is not sufficient for reflecting the image of God: to reflect the image of God, one must have certain kinds of knowledge—ethical or theological knowledge, perhaps. The problem with this suggestion is that infants and the severely mentally disabled lack such higher forms of knowledge. Thus, a more plausible suggestion is that, in order to reflect the image of God, one must have a capacity for certain types of knowledge. The capacity suggestion, however, is not without problems. First, some will complain that the capacity distinction is artificial. The worry is not that there is no distinction between, say, knowing something and being capable of knowing it, or willing something and being capable of willing it; surely there is such a distinction. Rather, the problem arises because the capacity suggestion is introduced precisely for the purpose of allowing infants and the severely mentally disabled, but not those who are sufficiently sin-damaged, to reflect the image of God. The suggestion, then, says that infants and the mentally disabled have volitional and cognitive capacities that the sufficiently sin-damaged lack. The obvious rejoinder is to point out that whatever cognitive and volitional capacities infants and the severely mentally disabled have are thin enough that the sin-damaged—even the very-sin-damaged—have those capacities as well. The capacity suggestion also faces a difficulty analogous to the one we saw above in the discussion of volitional capacity. The suggestion works only if sin made here that sin does not utterly destroy the person and all volitional capacity. If sin were to so destroy volitional capacity, then sin could put some beyond the reaches of salvation. 18 Indeed, some will say that avoiding Pelagianism requires admitting that being incapable of willing good on one’s own without grace is essential to non-divine human personhood.

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is capable of completely and irreparably destroying a creature’s capacity to know particular sorts of truths. On such a view, sin is capable not only of leading us to false beliefs, of making us bad thinkers, or even of damaging our cognitive abilities to such an extent that we cannot know God or good without grace; sin must also be capable of damaging us so severely that we lose our epistemic capacities for the relevant knowledge. Moreover, it is not clear that our capacities to will and to know ethical and theological truths are essential to us. Plausibly, the self could, despite losing those capacities, continue to exist. To see the plausibility of this claim, consider a thought experiment. Suppose that Hitler is in a post-mortem place of suffering. Sin has corrupted him severely, so that his volitional and cognitive capacities are deeply damaged. Now suppose that he continues to follow evil. Suppose that, as a result, his volitional and cognitive capacities become as severely and irreparably damaged as possible. What remains is a creature that is unable to will or to know crucial ethical and theological truths. Suppose, however, that this creature that remains is suffering in the same manner that Hitler was. Suppose also that there is an uninterrupted continuity of consciousness between Hitler and this creature. If such were the case, we would be strongly inclined to say that Hitler has survived.19 19 In speaking of unity of consciousness, we are gesturing at what we take to be a very intuitive belief—the belief that there is a close tie between personal survival and consciousness or continuity of consciousness. Versions of this belief show up throughout the history of philosophy. Thus, Augustine reasons that, so long as the mind has memory and expectation, it must have life. “On the Immortality of the Soul,” in George G. Leckie (trans.), Concerning the Teacher and On the Immortality of the Soul (New York, 1938), 3.3– 3.4. Elsewhere Augustine says, “[t]he soul is called immortal, then, because, at least to some extent, it never ceases to live and feel.” See R. W. Dyson (trans.), The City of God Against the Pagans (Cambridge, 1998), sec. 13.1 (emphasis ours). In Aquinas, Summa Theologica, PP, Q. 75, A. 6, reply to objection 3 and PP, Q. 89, A. 1, reply to objection 3, we see the idea that one’s soul, to exist, must always understand, whether by understanding corporeal phantasms when united with the body or by (via divine aid) understanding some other species (post-mortem and pre-resurrection), which is what would allow for consciousness. In the modern period, Locke of course famously tied personal identity to continuity of consciousness. More recently, philosophers—including Christian philosophers—have supposed that personal identity consists in having the same first-person perspective. Consider, for instance, Sydney Shoemaker, “The Unity of Consciousness and Consciousness of Unity,” in Sydney Shoemaker (ed.), The First-Person Perspective and Other Essays (New York, 1996), and Lynne Rudder Baker, Persons and Bodies: A Constitution View (New York, 2000), esp. chapter 3. We should say that Baker’s understanding of the firstperson perspective differs from Shoemaker’s and our own inclinations in that, for Baker, mere animals (dogs, for instance) do not have first-person perspectives. Now, if a person maintains that a deep tie exists between personal survival and continuity of consciousness, that claim certainly needs to be worked out carefully in order to avoid objections. Continuity of consciousness, for instance, if it is said to be necessary for personal identity—and we are not sure that it should be—cannot be seen to require memory of one’s past, for people can certainly survive loss of memory. In addition, as many

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And if Hitler would survive, then either reflecting the image of God is not essential to us or sin is not capable of utterly destroying each of the ways in which we reflect the image of God. The corruption argument thus faces serious problems. It works only if sin is capable of corrupting persons so much that their cognitive and volitional capacities become irreparably damaged to an extreme degree. Furthermore, the argument assumes that a human person would cease to exist were his volitional and cognitive capacities to become so thoroughly damaged, and we have seen reason to think that a person could survive the loss of the relevant capacities simply by maintaining consciousness. Interestingly, both the privation argument for annihilation and the corruption argument face an additional problem. On both of these arguments, over time, a person becomes increasingly evil until, eventually, having reached some threshold, he ceases to exist. If this progression toward non-existence occurs in hell and if hell is (at least partially) a (non-eternal) place of punishment, then we might worry that some in hell, namely, those that are becoming evil at the fastest rates, face better overall fates than those whose progression toward evil/annihilation is slower. The slower one’s descent, the longer one will spend in hell. If one will not go to heaven, then the way to make one’s stay in hell as short as possible is to make oneself as depraved as possible as quickly as possible. We might question, however, whether doing so should enable one to minimize one’s total stay in hell. Motivations Rooted in God’s Moral Perfection A second class of motivations for adopting an annihilationist view involves the worry that God’s moral perfection either requires that the unrepentant face annihilation or, at the least, makes annihilationism more plausible than DH, its most prominent alternative. It is worth noting that the annihilationist who takes the latter route and offers an argument not for annihilationism as such but simply for annihilationism’s superiority over DH cannot rest assured of having offered sufficient motivation for annihilationism unless she also has sufficient reasons (whether based on the divine attributes or on other considerations) for annihilationism’s being preferable to universalism. For now, we will bracket the question of whether the annihilationist can so demonstrate the preferability of annihilationism over universalism and investigate only whether considerations of God’s moral attributes push the plausibility of annihilationism ahead of the plausibility of DH. have pointed out, problems arise if one takes continuity of consciousness to provide a noncircular criterion of personal identity. Nonetheless, we think there is much intuitive support for the idea that continuity of consciousness is (in fact) sufficient for personal identity. And if unity of consciousness is sufficient for personal identity, then, in our example, Hitler survives despite any damage sin exerts on his cognitive and volitional capacities.

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An initial attraction of the annihilationist’s position is that it avoids a problem that DH is said to face with regard to God’s justice. The problem, the thought goes, arises because DH depicts God as condemning people to something that they cannot possibly deserve: everlasting misery and punishment. Such condemnation is thus incompatible with the just nature of a perfectly good God. Annihilationism is an attractive alternative because it seems to avoid the obvious problems posed by DH for God’s perfect goodness since it denies that God condemns anyone to everlasting misery. Upon closer examination, however, it is much more doubtful that annihilationism is the solution that it appears to be. We can see this by getting clearer on why DH is thought to be in conflict with God’s justice. The first (and most popular) reason for thinking this is that humans are finite creatures and hence incapable of doing anything deserving of an infinite punishment. But hell, qua everlasting, constitutes an infinite punishment. So, no human could possibly deserve hell. The second reason commonly given for thinking that no human deserves hell has to do not with hell’s duration but with its nature. No matter how evil a person might be, the worry goes, no one could possibly deserve an existence as miserable and tortured as hell is said to be. Responses to these two objections are well known, and we will not here detail them all.20 What most interests us is that, whether or not these two justice objections are successful against DH, annihilationism fares no better against similar considerations than do at least some of the available versions of DH itself. To see this, recall that the source of the descriptions of the damned facing a punishment that is everlasting (or eternal) is scripture itself, the authority of which is common ground for both sides.21 For those who accept DH, the meaning of these passages is straightforward and obvious, namely, that some people will face an everlasting punishment, and that everlasting punishment is life in hell. The annihilationist interpretation of such passages is less obvious: that interpretation states that the passages in question teach that some people will indeed face an everlasting punishment, but that everlasting punishment is, in fact, annihilation. The punishment of annihilation counts as everlasting not because the recipients will consciously experience it forever but because its consequences, while not

20

A quick look at the most common responses reveals that the following strategies are prevalent: (1) attempting to show that hell, while everlasting, need not be a place of everlasting punishment; (2) attempting to show that hell is a place of everlasting punishment but not a place of infinite punishment; or (3) attempting to show that humans are capable of deserving eternal or infinite punishment. See Richard Swinburne, Responsibility and Atonement (Oxford, 1989), p. 182; James Cain, “On the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 38/3 (2002): 355–62; and especially Charles Seymour, A Theodicy of Hell (Dordrecht, 2000), pp. 37–94. 21 See Matthew 25:46 and 2 Thessalonians 1:9.

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experienced, nonetheless last forever.22 Crucially, then, annihilationists classify (correctly or not) annihilation as everlasting punishment. So, annihaltionists, no less than defenders of DH, hold that some humans will face everlasting punishment, a punishment that is all the more poignant since it involves the loss of the infinite good of eternal life with God. Consequently they are saddled with their own version of the problem that defenders of DH face with respect to the objection that humans, qua finite, could never deserve punishment that, qua everlasting, is infinite. Once this is recognized, part of the initial attraction of annihilationism evaporates into thin air.23 Similar reasoning comes into play when assessing the issue of whether annihilationism dodges the objection (which DH is said to face) that the nature of a lived hell is such that no human being, however depraved, could deserve it. In contemporary discussions, defenders of DH have become increasingly inclined to eschew traditional descriptions of hell-as-torture-chamber (literal fire and 22 See, for instance, what annihilationist Edward Fudge says in his and Robert Peterson’s Two Views of Hell: A Biblical and Theological Dialogue (Downers Grove, 2000), pp. 59–60. In discussing the Thessalonians passage, Fudge uses the translation “eternal” rather than “everlasting,” which allows him to suggest an additional way in which the punishment of annihilation counts as eternal: “it belongs to the age to come and not to the present order of created space and time.” Of course, this suggestion cannot stand on its own (and Fudge does not say that it does): if it stood on its own, to say that God is eternal would only imply that God does not belong to the present order of space and time, and presumably saying that God is eternal implies more than that. 23 Interestingly, annihilationism may actually be in worse shape with regard to the issue of “everlasting punishment” than is DH, and that in two respects. First, defenders of DH who take scripture as claiming that the wicked face unending punishment can say that this punishment is deserved because the sin of the wicked is unending: while in hell the unjust continually sin, at the least by maintaining an unrepentant and defiant attitude. It is only on annihilationism that the sins of the wicked might be finite and hence fail to merit everlasting punishment. This problem is related to the “continuing sin” response to the problem of hell’s justice. For more on that topic see Seymour, A Theodicy of Hell, pp. 81, 84, 161–2; Michael Murray, “Heaven and Hell,” in Michael Murray (ed.), Reason for the Hope Within (Grand Rapids, 1999), pp. 293 and 296; and Kenneth Himma, “Eternally Incorrigible: The Continuing-Sin Response to the Proportionality Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 39/1 (2003): 61–78. A second potential problem for annihilationism is related. It is one that Anselm raises, and it arises even if one does not take scripture to claim that some people will face everlasting punishment. If God were to annihilate the unrepentant, then these people, who will cease to exist while maintaining a contemptuous attitude toward God, will face the same fate as do uncreated souls who are never born. So, says Anselm, “the guiltiest soul would be in the same state as the most guiltless,” which may constitute a violation of justice. Anselm, The Major Works, eds., Brian Davies and G.R. Evans (New York, 1998), p. 76. Seymour discusses Anselm’s position in A Theodicy of Hell, pp. 183–4. Although we hesitate to endorse Anselm’s argument, here, we do hold that Anselm’s point is one worth considering.

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brimstone optional) in favor of more moderate views of the nature of hell. These views may or may not depict hell as involving positive punishment (as opposed to, say, the punishment of separation from the divine life of the Trinity or the self-inflicted punishment that consists in being a person who has certain character defects). On some views, hell is simply the natural outcome of the facts that God takes our choices seriously, that some people continually reject God, and that God will never stop loving even those people by ceasing to offer himself to them. As such, hell is unending for those who continually reject God, but no more can be said about its nature than that those in hell are, in some important way, missing out on God. Other so-called “mild” and “moderate” views of hell are more specific about hell’s nature, but even these more specific views are not in agreement on whether or not, say, all of those in hell experience at least some physical pains. On some of the moderate and mild views, the damned in hell will even experience some (rather twisted) pleasures.24 Mild and moderate views of hell are significant for our purposes because, by providing alternatives to stronger views of hell, they deprive annihilationism of the claim to being the only legitimate afterlife option whose very nature is consistent with what humans, even the most wicked ones, could deserve.25 Mild hell views show us that DH does not, as such, entail that the damned face an eternal torture chamber. If one wants to support the annihilationist view by claiming that humans could deserve annihilation but not hell, one needs to compare annihilation not only to torture-chamber hells but also to mild and moderate hells. If any mild or moderate hells are not obviously worse fates for the wicked than the fate that the annihilationist defends—and we think, at the very least, that we cannot know that the wicked would fare worse on the mildest views than they would on annihilation26—then annihilationism is not the only game in town when the question of a fate that a human could deserve arises. One might here object that mild hell views are too mild, but to such an objection the defender of DH is not without a response. He can point out that either annihilation is likewise too mild or annihilation is not too mild. In the case of the former, annihilationism faces its own problem. In the case of the latter, given that 24 They might, for instance, mimic Mr. Crawley, a character in Anthony Trollope’s The Last Chronicle of Barset, who, finding himself in a decidedly difficult situation, resists help from those who offer it and instead takes positive pleasure in his situation by brooding over the many ways in which he perceives himself to be ill-used. He particularly enjoys this exercise in self-pity because it allows him to bask in the idea that he is a martyr virtuously bearing his cross while the many whom he holds in contempt idly sit by. 25 Recall that, in this section, we are excluding universalism as an option. 26 On this point, we should keep in mind that humans are traditionally poor judges both of what will make them happy and of what will make them miserable. Thus, people routinely assume that wealth brings happiness and disability (blindness, for instance) brings misery when interviews with the wealthy, the non-wealthy, the able-bodied, and those with disabilities often suggest otherwise.

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some views of hell are, as best as we can tell, as mild as annihilation, a fate can be as severe as continued existence in (an at least mild) hell without raising a justice problem. So, at least some (mild) views of hell are available that are not so severe as to fall prey to the justice problem. Thus, annihilationism is not the only way out of the justice problem, and the justice problem does not sufficiently motivate it. Jonathan Kvanvig has offered different reasons for thinking that God’s moral perfection requires the annihilation of the wicked in at least some cases. For Kvanvig, the key is not that no human could deserve an eternal lived hell. Rather, the key is that at least some of the people who find themselves in hell are likely to attempt metaphysical suicide. When these suicide attempts are rational—and Kvanvig argues that there is no in principle reason why at least some of them could not be—God’s moral perfection requires that he respect the choices of the wicked. Not so to respect their choices would be paternalistic on God’s part. Although Kvanvig is unwilling to draw the conclusion that some people will definitively face annihilation, we can draw on Kvanvig’s work to formulate an argument on behalf of the annihilationist for that conclusion. We will call this argument “the rational suicide argument for annihilationism,” and it is as follows: K1. Some of the wicked will attempt post-mortem suicide. K2. In some of the instances in which the wicked so attempt post-mortem suicide, they will be acting rationally. K3. If someone attempts post-mortem suicide and is acting rationally, it would be paternalistic for anyone, including God, to interfere. K4. God would never act in a paternalistic manner. K5. Hence, God would never attempt to interfere with someone attempting post-mortem suicide if that person were acting rationally. (From K3 and K4.) K6. Hence, God will not interfere with some people who will attempt postmortem suicide. (From K2 and K5.) K7. If God does not interfere with a person’s attempted post-mortem suicide, that person will be annihilated. K8. Hence, some people will be annihilated. (From K6 and K7.)27 The conclusion that (at least) some people will be annihilated follows given K1, K2, K3, K4, and K7.28 While we wish to flag the fact that “paternalistic” is a thick (some would say loaded) ethical term that implies impropriety, we readily grant that K4 is true: God is the creator of the cosmos, has a plan for the world, and acts in providential ways, but never does God’s providential activity fall under the rubric 27

See Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell, pp. 139–48. Note that while the rational suicide argument is, as we present it, an argument for annihilationism, it is not an argument for the claim that all of those who never receive salvation will eventually be annihilated, which is what most annihilationists hold. 28

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of paternalism. We have some reservations about K7, but we are willing to table those reservations for the present. The premises that we find most problematic and on which we would like to focus are K1, K2, and K3. At first glance, K1 is an obvious judgment of common sense reflecting on human nature and what life post-mortem sans divine grace would be like. Every year, thousands of people in this world commit suicide. If significant numbers of people in this world are that quick to opt for non-existence, it stands to reason that many in the next will, if deprived of God, opt for the same, given sufficient time. Kvanvig offers an additional reason for thinking that some of the wicked will desire non-existence: their hearts will be hardened, and they will want to reject God forever, even if doing so costs them existence. Since everything that exists depends on God for its existence, those who thus thoroughly reject God come what may are choosing annihilation.29 Despite the plausibility of these claims, however, neither the fact that many people commit suicide while on earth nor the fact, if it is a fact, that some of the damned will likely take themselves to prefer non-existence to existence in a hell-like state30 shows that K1 is true. K1 speaks not of what sorts of situations the damned will prefer but of how they will act. But we simply do not know what sorts of actions are open to people in the next life. People in this world who commit suicide are able to do so due in part to their access to items such as handguns, sleeping pills, and tall bridges. We may well wonder whether there will be afterlife analogues to our instruments of death that will be effective when used on the resurrected bodies of the unjust. If the unjust do not have access to such instruments, it would be surprising if K1 were true. Many of the unsaved may well wish to be annihilated, but if they have no recourse to methods that are perceived to result in non-existence, they will be unlikely to attempt to annihilate themselves, just as even the most adventurous in this world are unlikely to attempt to jump over the planet Jupiter, given that they see no way to do so.31 So, without an argument 29

Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell, pp. 146–7. Walls disputes this point in Hell: The Logic of Damnation (Notre Dame, 1992), p. 137. He contends that the damned may be so attached to their sin and the twisted pleasures of hell that they prefer continued existence in hell to non-existence. 31 We could replace K1 with K1*: “Some of the wicked will want to annihilate themselves.” To make the argument valid, though, we would then have to replace other premises accordingly. Perhaps most significantly, we would have to say that God would be paternalistic were he to fail to grant rational desires for annihilation. Such a claim is implausible. There is nothing paternalistic about a doctor’s refusing to kill someone who wants to be killed, and there is likewise nothing paternalistic about God’s failing to grant a person’s desire for her own annihilation, no matter how rational such a desire may be (assuming that desires are the sorts of things capable of manifesting the property of rationality). No doubt some of the people who commit suicide in this life desire to cease to exist (as do some who do not, for whatever reason, attempt suicide). But even if we grant that some such people are rational, it does not follow that God is paternalistic in not catering to their fancies and annihilating them. 30

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for the claim that those in hell will have access to methods of annihilation—and it is hard to see how such an argument would go—the rational suicide argument fails from its first premise. Now, Kvanvig does suggest a response. To Kvanvig, because God’s sustaining activity is required for existence, to choose to reject God is de facto to choose non-existence, i.e., to attempt post-mortem suicide. Or, at the least, for those who recognize that all creatures are sustained by God, choosing to reject God is choosing non-existence.32 The annihilationist could follow Kvanvig’s lead and say that God’s allowing people in hell a way of committing post-mortem suicide is not a matter of his providing them with the afterlife equivalent of our handgun; it is simply a matter of him allowing them to reject him forever. K1 is thus true, the annihilationist may say, if God gives some of the wicked the opportunity to reject him, and at least some of them, knowing that they cannot exist without God, do so. The problem with this way of supporting K1 is that we still lack reason for thinking that God gives the wicked the opportunity to reject him in the way that the reply specifies. The reply assumes that God, by virtue of allowing his creatures to reject a loving relationship with himself, commits himself to ceasing to sustain those creatures in existence if they come to hate him so much that they do not even want him to sustain them in existence. But God’s allowing people to reject his love by no means commits him to satisfying their every preference, including whims for their own non-existence. In allowing people to reject him, God, to be sure, grants them a remarkable degree of control over the kind and quality of relationship they bear to him. But it is another matter altogether to think he should give his creatures the prerogative to decide whether they shall be related to him at all. God settled that matter when he chose to create us in his image. God did not need our permission (in any sense of “need,” including moral senses) to create us, and he does not need our permission to sustain us in existence. The “freedom” to decide whether or not we exist is simply not a freedom that we have any good reason for believing God ever does or will offer anyone. It is not, after all, as if, say, a genuine love relationship with God is possible only if he allows us to cease to exist at will. Moreover, we do have a reason that God might not want to allow us such a freedom: to ensure one’s own non-existence is to ensure that one will never again have any other freedoms. For the sake of the first-order freedoms, God may not want to allow us the secondorder freedoms. We can put the above point in another way: according to our Kvanvig-inspired defense of K1, some people in the afterlife will effectively say to God, “I’d rather be dead than serve you.” If saying this were, ipso facto, to constitute attempting post-mortem suicide, then the case for K1 would be good. But attempting postmortem suicide, like attempting ordinary suicide, involves more than having certain desires (e.g., the desire to cease existing). And we have no strong reason

32

Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell, pp. 146–7.

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to think God would grant such a wish or set things up in such a way that merely having such a wish guarantees annihilation. Moving on from K1, the rational suicide argument encounters a further difficulty as soon as we consider K2, which endorses the idea that post-mortem suicide can, in some cases, be rational. Kvanvig supports K2 first by drawing an analogy to some cases of suicide in this life. While not all suicide cases are rational, he says, some are. In particular, in cases in which “a person faces a significantly painful and protracted end to his or her life,” suicide can be rational.33 If such cases of suicide are rational in this life, Kvanvig reasons that certain situations in the afterlife can make (post-mortem) suicide (i.e., self-annihilation) rational.34 These certain situations are ones in which the agent rationally views herself as having no tolerable alternatives to suicide. To such an agent, the prospect of continued existence is “insufferable.”35 What impresses us about Kvanvig’s contention about what a case of rational suicide might look like is that, as Kvanvig himself admits, so much depends upon what one means by “rational.” On some conceptions of hell, it is quite obvious that no person will ever be in a post-mortem situation in which suicide is in fact that person’s only tolerable option. Specifically, on so-called second-chance conceptions of hell, the wicked always have the option of repenting and turning to God. If they do so, they will find a life that is not only tolerable; it is supremely blessed! According to Kvanvig’s account of rationality, though, suicide would still be rational on second-chance views if a person in such a situation perceived suicide to be his only tolerable option and if reflection would not change his perception.36 Whether his perception is the result of radically disordered affections and/or a lack of knowledge of his options would not be relevant to the rationality of his action. The notion of rationality with which Kvanvig is working, then, is one on which rationality is determined by the stability of one’s perception of one’s options. But one’s perception of one’s options may be stable even if shaped both by false beliefs about which options are available and by ill-formed affections. On conceptions of rationality that require either full information or well-formed affections, K2 is, if second-chance views are allowed, false. Since we cannot rule out the possibility of second-chance views at the outset (to do so would beg the question against certain versions of DH), K2 is acceptable only if we are using the term “rational” to refer to a weak sort of rationality like Kvanvig’s that is compatible with both ill-formed affections and a lack of full information, including full information about one’s available options. We are willing to grant that one conception of rationality is this weak sort that allows for the truth of K2. We must, however, keep in mind that whatever notion of rationality is at work in K2 must likewise be at work in K3 if the rational 33 34 35 36

Ibid., p. 140. Ibid., pp. 141–7. Ibid., pp. 140–41. Ibid., p. 143.

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suicide argument is to be valid. Recall that K3 says that anyone interfering with rational post-mortem suicide is acting paternalistically, even if God is the one doing the interfering. Significantly, K3 is implausible if we import the weak notion of rationality that we need to make K2 acceptable. In this life, if a person desires things that are deeply antagonistic to her best interests, and if these desires lead her wrongly to perceive upon reflection her own continued existence as intolerable, there is nothing wrong with preventing her from committing suicide and attempting to change her disordered affections. Indeed, if a clinically depressed person thinks about her situation, despairs of her future, continues to despair even after reflection, and attempts suicide, we plausibly have an obligation to interfere with the attempt. By analogy, at the very least, God would not be acting paternalistically if he were to prevent a person from committing post-mortem suicide if that person were exercising only the weak sense of rationality at work in K2 if K2 is true and those in hell always have the option of submitting to God. Motivations Rooted in Divine Supremacy The final motivation for annihilation that we will consider is the view that annihilationism is required if God (perhaps in the person of Christ) is to exercise final authority.37 Like the motivation rooted in God’s justice, this motivation for annihilationism works indirectly, by raising problems for DH that annihilationism does not seem to face. Thus, Clark Pinnock argues for his annihilationist view by insisting that views on which hell is unending imply a metaphysically and theologically problematic cosmic dualism. Without annihilation, says Pinnock, “the disloyal opposition [of the unsaved] would eternally exist alongside God in a corner of unredeemed reality in the new creation.”38 Pinnock thus assumes that defenders of DH are right to say that some people will never submit to God’s authority, but Pinnock adds that this fact implies annihilationism: the only way for God to reign finally supreme, given that some people will never accept his authority, is for those people to cease to exist so that, at some point, no one will be in rebellion against God.39 37

Clark Pinnock, “The Destruction of the Finally Impenitent,” Criswell Theological Review, 4/2 (1990): 243–59. See also Edward Fudge in Fudge and Peterson, Two Views of Hell. John Wenham uses the language of the “final supremacy of Christ” to make this point in “The Case for Conditional Immortality,” in Nigel M. de S. Cameron (ed.), Universalism and the Doctrine of Hell (Grand Rapids, 1992), p. 189. 38 Pinnock, “The Destruction of the Finally Impenitent,” p. 255. Pinnock makes the same point in “The Conditional View,” pp. 154–5. 39 If the issue is not supremacy as such but the Biblical picture of the form such supremacy will take, Pinnock does little to show how a problem arises for DH given the biblical picture. He mentions two biblical passages concerning the end times: 1 Corinthians 15:28, which says that God will be “all in all” and Revelation 21:5, which speaks of God’s

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The weaknesses of the divine supremacy motivation become apparent when we inquire into what makes the rebellion of the unjust problematic. Pinnock never explains this point, and looking carefully at what is involved when a person rebels against God does not help his cause. First, we should note that a person can rebel against God while recognizing God’s authority. Such a person will recognize divine authority but resent it.40 Second, if we then look at why rebellion against God is a bad thing, we will notice that it is bad because (among other reasons) it is ungrateful, it hurts the agent, and it involves severely disordered affections. Yet, for all of that, rebellion as such poses no worrisome challenge to God’s authority. Neither the fact that a particular person resents God’s authority nor the fact that that person will never cease so to resent God’s authority reduces the power that God has over that person, or the actual and legitimate grounds on which that person’s creator may claim authority over that person. To put the point somewhat differently, if the rebellious in hell continually resent God and reject his love, it does not follow that they have defeated either God or his love: they have simply rejected his love in a way that allows God to demonstrate his unending mercy in continuing to offer love to them. At this point, the reader may have noticed a striking similarity between annihilationist claims about the requirements for divine supremacy and Calvinist claims about limited atonement. Both see something problematic in the idea of a God who lavishes love and grace on those who ultimately reject it. For the Calvinist, God’s love is wasted if rejected, whereas for the annihilationist, God’s love (or, worse, God himself) is defeated if rejected.41 To see the profound distortion in these two pictures of rejection of God requires us to take a closer look at the Christian story and what that story teaches us about God and his perfections. Notably, the God of Christianity is decidedly lavish with love. Thus, the Psalmist muses: When I look at thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast established; making “all things new,” “The Destruction of the Finally Impenitent,” p. 255. It is a very strong claim—and one that Pinnock does not defend—that the existence of an everlasting, non-empty hell is incompatible with God’s making all things new and being all in all. Notably, the 1 Corinthians 15:28 discussion of God’s being all in all occurs within a discussion about everything being in subjection under Christ, which appears compatible with the existence of hell so long as Christ is in some way reigning over hell, which would occur if the requirements of divine justice were being satisfied in hell even if those in hell were to resent Christ’s reign. 40 Consider James 2:19: “You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder” (RSV), which suggests that demons recognize who God is but resent it rather than rejoice in it. 41 It is worth noting that universalists advance a similar argument that God is defeated if all are not saved. See Thomas Talbott, “Freedom, Damnation and the Power to Sin with Impunity,” Religious Studies, 37/4 (2001): 432ff. For criticism of Talbott on this point, see Jerry L. Walls, “A Hell of a Choice: Reply to Talbott,” Religious Studies, 40/2 (2004): 214–15.

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what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou dost care for him?42

And Paul tells us that the fact that Christ died for us while we were sinners teaches us about the nature and extent of God’s love.43 The God whose very nature is to pour out extravagant love on even the foremost of sinners is not a God who is in any way threatened or diminished if that love is rejected. So, we should not worry for God’s honor, authority, or supremacy if he continues to pour out love in this way ad infinitum. In any case, if the rebellion of the lost does challenge God’s supremacy, it is a problem that annihilationism does not solve. If annihilationism is true, some people will never repent and submit to God’s authority. According to the divine supremacy motivation, this would be a problem for God’s authority if the people in question were to continue to exist and rebel forever. But why should the mere fact that the people in question cease to exist, without ever submitting to God, solve this supposed problem for divine authority? If, instead of annihilating the people in question, God freely continues to love them, sustain them in existence, and even exercise judgment over them, how is God’s reign any less supreme than it would be if the rebellious were to cease to rebel only by ceasing to exist? When one thinks that, in order to reign supreme, God must annihilate some of his creatures, one’s conception of supremacy has gone terribly wrong. To draw an analogy, suggesting that God can get out of a challenge that the unrepentant pose to divine authority by killing them off is like suggesting that a child can ensure his own “supremacy” over a video game by unplugging the system when he finds himself unable to master some of the levels.44 Unplugging the video game does not solve any problem of supremacy that the game may have posed for the child, and annihilating the wicked does not solve any problem of supremacy that the unrepentant may pose for God.

42

Psalms 8:3–4 (RSV). Romans 5:8 (RSV). 44 Of course, on our view, the analogy is not perfect. The video game, while undefeated, does in some ways preclude the child’s supremacy over it; the same is not true of the unrepentant with regard to God. Unlike the child, God’s goal need not be to “defeat” the unrepentant by ensuring their love of him. In Hell: The Logic of Damnation, Walls says “God’s perfect happiness, like his perfect goodness, does not depend in any way on upon human choice. God views rejection with an attitude of regret because he wants human beings to be happy for their own sake. But he does not need them to be happy for his sake” (p. 109). We might add that God’s supremacy likewise does not depend upon human choice, that he does not need humans to choose him for the sake of his own authority. 43

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Closing Remarks By now it should be clear that the major philosophical arguments for annihilationism do not begin to carry sufficient conviction to motivate adopting that position. Given the fact that annihilationism is a distinct minority position, as well as something of a novelty in theology, its proponents bear a heavy burden of proof. Having formidable philosophical arguments to buttress their minority report in biblical exegesis would go a significant way in reinforcing that exegesis. Unfortunately, it appears that such philosophical arguments are yet to be found. Annihilationism may seem to avoid problems that DH faces with regard to God’s moral perfection and the final supremacy of Christ, but if we recognize the wide variety of views on hell that allow one to endorse DH, it becomes clear that annihilationism is by no means the only way to resolve the problems in question. For any of the problems with respect to divine moral perfection or the final supremacy of Christ that have been raised thus far, there are versions of DH available that are equally satisfactory in addressing them, if not better, than the annihilationist alternative. So, neither motivations rooted in God’s moral perfection nor ones rooted in divine supremacy sufficiently motivate annihilationism. The only other philosophical supports for annihilationism of which we are aware are what we have called natural consequence motivations, which hold that the natural consequences of sin are so destructive that sin in the long run that it eventually results in annihilation. As we have shown, though, these natural consequence motivations fail. The doctrine that sin is a privation, properly understood, does not even suggest that evil is capable of annihilating a person, and we lack reason to believe it ever fully eliminates even what is essential to the agent. Annihilationism is thus philosophically unmotivated and unless powerful new arguments emerge, or annihilationists can convincingly show that the majority report in biblical interpretation has been misguided, their position is at a dead end.

Chapter 4

Compatibilism, “Wantons,” and the Natural Consequence Model of Hell Justin D. Barnard Hell is neither so certain nor so hot as it used to be. (Bertrand Russell)

Engaging in informed speculation about the nature of hell is rather like trying to characterize the experience of being sucked through a wormhole. Both tasks are plagued by two important difficulties. First, and perhaps most importantly, just as we have no first-hand experience of being pulled through a wormhole, no one (at least of whom we can be certain) has ever been to hell and back and lived to tell about it. Quite simply, there is a shortage of eyewitness accounts through which our speculation might be informed. Yet even if we managed to overcome this somewhat daunting obstacle, the further difficulty remains that our conception of the nature of hell, like our conception of traveling through wormholes, is perhaps irreparably tainted by the forces of popular imagination. Just as what we believe about wormholes will forever be influenced by what we have seen on Star Trek, so also what we believe about the nature of hell is inseparably linked to such archetypal sources as Dante’s Inferno or Jonathan Edwards’s “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” Consider just one of many representative samples of Edwards’s depiction of the anguish that awaits unrepentant sinners. Let us consider how great misery would it be to be always burning and roasting in a fire and yet never be able to die, yea, to have the senses preserved in every part of the body in their usual quickness, the feeling not to be at all dulled by the fire: this would be a vastly greater torment than a man to [be] burnt alive, because the fire presently sears his flesh and weakens the life and dulls the sense; but in hell they shall have sense in an exquisite degree, and they shall have it to no other end but to bear torment.1

Undoubtedly, Edwards viewed his remarks as offering an occasion for repentance against the backdrop of theological precision. Yet the ubiquity of such imagery in public discourse since the Great Awakening has resulted in hell’s being a subject for comedy as much as an occasion for fear. One notable example of the former 1 Jonathan Edwards, “The Torments of Hell Are Exceeding Great,” in Kenneth P. Minkema (ed.), The Works of Jonathan Edwards: Sermons and Discourses 1723–1729 (26 vols, New Haven, 1997), vol. 14, p. 311.

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comes in a memorable scene from the sitcom Seinfeld in an episode entitled “The Burning.” In it, Elaine tries to persuade her Christian boyfriend, David Puddy, to steal the morning newspaper from the tenant across the hall. Filled with selfrighteousness, Puddy refuses, piously citing the eighth commandment and insisting that Elaine steal it herself. After all, having already established her eternal destiny earlier in the episode, Puddy blandly remarks to Elaine, “What do you care, you know where you’re going.” At this juncture, Elaine reaches the boiling point in her internal consternation over her impending date with, as Jerry had wryly put it earlier in the episode, “the prince of darkness.” She lashes out at Puddy in a moment of hilarious despair. “David, I’m going to hell! The worst place in the world! With devils and those caves and the ragged clothing! And the heat! My god, the heat! I mean, what do you think about all that?”2 David Puddy responds with a characteristically droll remark filled with irony, “Gonna be rough.”3 While we may chuckle at Elaine’s uncharacteristic catharsis over the state of her soul, there are those for whom the images that inform our imagination of Divine punishment are no laughing matter. This is why, as I said at the outset, informed discussions about the nature of hell are so challenging. On the one hand, there are those who assert, with all seriousness, that the very idea of hell, or least a flaming one, is fundamentally incompatible with a Divine Being whose essence is love or justice. While on the other hand, the objection itself is rooted in a particular conception of the nature of hell that has certainly been influenced to one degree or another by a collective historical imagination about a theoretical entity with which we have no first-hand experience. Thus, one can neither make nor can one make go away the objections about hell’s incompatibility with Divine goodness in the absence of a clear-headed account of what hell is really like. Yet one cannot provide a clear-headed account of what hell is really like because our current conception of hell is so heavily shaped by popular imagination and because we lack an exhaustive and authoritative depiction of hell by which the errors of popular imagination, if any, may be corrected. To the extent that I have accurately characterized the dialectical dilemmas posed by speculative discussions about the nature of hell, one would think it the better part of wisdom to avoid serious inquiry in such matters altogether—heeding the counsel that C.S. Lewis puts in the mouth of George MacDonald, who appears as a character in The Great Divorce, Lewis’s fictional account of heaven and hell, and sternly cautions, “Do not fash yourself with such questions.”4 But ironically, despite the etymology of their titles, contemporary professional philosophers (especially those of the analytic stripe) have long since given up on wisdom as a desideratum. Consequently, the apparent foolishness of attempting to engage in informed speculation about the nature of hell is of no concern to a professional philosopher. After all, as long as the foolishness of the so-called “problem of hell” 2 3 4

“The Burning,” http://www.seinfeldscripts.com/TheBurning.html. Ibid. C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York, 1996), p. 69.

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continues to captivate the moral imaginations of those who, like Elaine, can’t take the heat, fools like me will continue to craft ever-increasingly, finer-spun speculations that help get God out of the kitchen, so to speak. This chapter is my contribution to the latter. The Problem of Hell and the Natural Consequence Model The problem of hell arises in connection with a traditional conception of the nature of hell. In his book, The Problem of Hell, Jonathan Kvanvig characterizes this traditional conception (what he calls “the strong view of hell”) by articulating four theses to which the traditional view is purportedly committed. They are as follows. (H1) The Anti-Universalism Thesis: Some persons are consigned to hell. (H2) The Existence Thesis: Hell is a place where people exist, if they are consigned there. (H3) The No Escape Thesis: There is no possibility of leaving hell and nothing one can do, change, or become in order to get out of hell, once one is consigned there. (H4) The Retribution Thesis: The justification for hell is retributive in nature, hell being constituted to mete out punishment to those whose earthly lives and behavior warrant it.5 To the extent that these four theses jointly capture the essence of a traditional view of hell, one version of the problem of hell, grossly oversimplified, goes something like this. 1. Really nice beings do not consign people to places where they will receive punishment (of a rather nasty sort) forever—without the possibility of parole. 2. God is really (awfully!) nice. 3. Therefore either hell is not real or no one is actually consigned to hell, or at the very least not forever (or just for good measure, there is no God). At its heart, the problem of hell is an attempt to show that the traditional conception of hell, as characterized by Kvanvig’s four theses, ultimately forms an inconsistent set given certain plausible assumptions about the nature of God and how God’s nature might constrain his actions. Thus, the traditional view of hell requires modification or rejection of one or more of its key assumptions.

5

Jonathan Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell (Oxford, 1993), p. 25.

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In an essay entitled “Heaven and Hell,”6 Michael Murray responds to this problem by proposing a model of hell that essentially accepts Kvanvig’s four theses but attempts to avoid the implication of the main argument by suggesting that hell’s punishment is, in effect, self-inflicted. Somewhat crudely, those in hell want to be there or, at the very least, lack the will to leave. Murray’s solution borrows heavily from what he calls a “Natural Consequence” (NC) view of hell. This view is perhaps most succinctly summarized in a famous line from C.S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain, “the doors of hell are locked on the inside.”7 Central to the NC model of hell is a view of human nature and an eschatology that assumes a disjunctive teleology. In the end, human beings either become maximally confirmed in their orientation as lovers-of-self or maximally confirmed in their orientation as lovers-of-God. The latter enjoy heaven; the former occupy hell. The virtue of the NC model is, for Murray, simultaneously its principal vice with respect to Murray’s overall response to the problem of hell. For while perhaps absolving God of the responsibility of “consigning” people to hell, the NC model of hell stands in tension with the retributive dimensions of hell as traditionally conceived—a dimension that Murray accepts in defending what he calls the “Penalty Model” of hell.8 Murray seems aware of the tension and attempts to alleviate it in discussing the sense in which the NC model of hell constitutes “punishment.” Still, Murray’s treatment of this tension does not adequately remove the worry that the hybrid model of hell he defends is ultimately tenable. In this chapter, I hope to make this worry explicit based on Harry Frankfurt’s compatibilist account of free will and subsequently argue that Frankfurt’s concept of a “wanton” provides the resources to respond to the concern, thereby defending Murray’s proposal. Compatibilist Freedom and the Natural Consequence Model As has been noted, one of the key virtues of the NC model of hell is that the denizens of hell are there of their own accord, so to speak. Thus, God’s love or justice is at least apparently absolved in light of the fact that he does not send or consign anyone to hell against their will. Rather, some people choose hell by virtue of choosing self-love over the love of God. The natural consequence of a lifetime (or perhaps eternity) of self-love over the love of God is to become a creature who 6 Michael J. Murray, “Heaven and Hell,” in Michael J. Murray (ed.), Reason for the Hope Within (Grand Rapids, 1999), pp. 287–317. 7 C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York, 2001), p. 130. For an excellent recent discussion of Lewis’s response to the problem of hell, see Matthew Lee, “To Reign in Hell or to Serve in Heaven: C.S. Lewis on the Problem of Hell and Enjoyment of the Good,” in David Baggett, Gary Habermas, and Jerry Walls (eds.), C.S. Lewis as Philosopher: Truth, Goodness and Beauty (Downer’s Grove, 2008), pp. 159–74. For a critique of Lewis’s account see Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell, pp. 120–23. 8 Murray, “Heaven and Hell,” pp. 291–4.

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is maximally fixated in self-love. Thus, hell is chosen because God is ultimately, finally, and irreversibly rejected. As Murray correctly points out, one who adopts this view of hell must conceive of hell’s punitive or retributive dimensions in slightly revised ways. For example, the Bible’s portrayal of hell as being a place of “fire” and torment, of “weeping and gnashing of teeth,” cannot literally be taken to imply that such suffering is being meted out against the wills of hell’s residents. For if it were the case that God was, in fact, imposing punishment in the form of various kinds of suffering on those who were maximally confirmed in their orientation as self-lovers against their wills, then the NC model would lose its appeal as a response to the problem of hell. Perhaps aware of this difficulty, Murray suggests that on the NC model, hell’s punishment consists not in literal fire and brimstone imposed by Divine fiat, but in “an agonizing and conscious awareness of loss”—a loss of the supreme good (i.e., fellowship with God) for which human beings were made. “Thus,” Murray explains, “a deep, eternal regret nags at the person who becomes a lover of self.”9 Murray wonders whether it is plausible to believe that those in hell can simultaneously be conscious of the pain and regret associated with the loss of such a surpassing good and “still never seek reconciliation with God.”10 Murray’s response to this concern is worth quoting at length. Since they are maximally disposed to be self-lovers, i.e., they have become set in their ways, they might intellectually recognize how bad off they are in their condition, but still not desire to change it. NC theorists often liken this state to the state of an unwilling drug addict. The addict recognizes his ruined condition, and wishes that he no longer wanted to take drugs. But nonetheless, he does want to take them and thus continues to do so. Similarly, the one in hell, though recognizing that he would be better off if he loved God, still refuses to do so. And we need not resort to the drastic examples of the unwilling drug addict to illustrate this phenomenon. People who are addicted to smoking, or who simply love foods that are devastating to their health are not situated much differently. They see full well that the behaviors they are engaging in are harmful and destructive for them. They may even wish that they didn’t desire to engage in these behaviors. But they nonetheless do desire to continue to engage in these behaviors.11

On the face of it, Murray’s response to his own query makes good sense. It is at least conceptually coherent to imagine a person who (a) cognitively apprehends the relatively undesirable nature of her present conditions, yet (b) lacks the capacity (i.e., will or desire) to change those conditions. However, Murray’s resolution here leaves his view open to an important objection that undermines the plausibility of the NC 9 10 11

Ibid., p. 300. Ibid. Ibid.

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model as a response to the problem of hell. In short, the NC model of hell retains its plausibility only to the extent that those in hell are not there against their wills, yet Murray’s description of the NC model as a form of eternal punishment makes it appear that those in hell are not there willingly. To see why this is so, we need briefly to consider an influential compatibilist account of free will articulated in Harry Frankfurt’s seminal paper, “Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person.”12 In articulating the notion of freedom of the will, Frankfurt distinguishes between first- and second-order desires. First-order desires are desires whose object is some action. Thus, a first-order desire can be captured by sentences of the form, “S desires to X” where X is some action. Second-order desires are desires whose object is another desire. Beings with the capacity for second-order desires can have desires about their first-order desires. For example, I might have a first-order desire to eat a piece of chocolate cake, accompanied by a second-order desire that my (first-order) desire to eat cake not be effective in compelling the fork toward my mouth (perhaps because I am on a diet). It is this distinction between first- and second-order desires that enables Frankfurt both to define his concept of “the will” and to articulate what constitutes “free will” or to distinguish those cases in which one has acted freely from those in which one has not. Frankfurt defines the will as effective first-order desires, i.e., those desires that actually cause one to act or desires that are the efficient causes of actions.13 Thus, whether the will is free, in Frankfurt’s view, is a function of whether it aligns with what Frankfurt calls a second-order volition. A second-order volition is a specific kind of second-order desire. Specifically, it is a desire to the effect that a specific first-order desire be one’s will (i.e., be effective in causing one to act). Importantly, it is the having of second-order volitions (not merely secondorder desires) that is a necessary condition for being a person and for freedom of the will.14 In those cases in which a person’s second-order volitions are congruent with his effective first-order desires, that individual may be said to have acted freely. By contrast, a person is not free when his effective first-order desires are inconsistent with his second-order volitions. In short, having free will amounts to having the will one wants.15 When applied to Murray’s analysis of the condition of the maximally confirmed self-lover in hell, Frankfurt’s compatibilist account of free will makes the problem evident. Those in hell have first-order desires that are oriented toward self-love. They want to love themselves. And they continue to choose (or to desire) to love self over God. Still, the deep regret and pain that is associated with the overwhelming loss of the supreme good for which they were made produce in them a secondorder volition that is not congruent with their effective first-order desire. They 12 Harry Frankfurt, “Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person,” The Journal of Philosophy, 68/1 (1971): 5–20. 13 Ibid., p. 8. 14 Ibid., pp. 10–11. 15 Ibid., p. 14.

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wish that they did love God. Or, perhaps more to the point, they wish (i.e., desire) that their first-order desire to love self was not effective (i.e., that it was not their will). Consequently, just like the unwilling addicts whose first-order desires to take drugs do not align with their second-order volition (i.e., that their first-order desire to take drugs not be effective), the residents of hell are not there freely since their first-order desire to love self does not align with their second-order volition (i.e., that their first-order desire to love self not be effective). In short, as described by Murray, those in hell—even on the NC model—are there against their wills (or at the very least, they are not there of their own free will). Thus, the NC model loses some measure of plausibility insofar as it appears that those who dwell in hell have been consigned there against their will. At this juncture it is important to delineate a few possible moves generally available to the NC theorist, but unlikely to be embraced by those, like Murray, who wish to retain the traditional punitive nature of hell. First, it is worth noting that what generates this particular problem for Murray is a conception of hell as a place of punishment—minimally, an undesirable state of affairs. For the NC theorist, one way out of this predicament is to adopt a model of hell according to which being maximally confirmed in one’s orientation toward self-love is not an undesirable state of affairs. That is, it is not a state of affairs that would be accompanied by an overwhelming sense of regret and pain for having eternally lost the supreme good. The doors of this hell would be freely locked from the inside because the residents there would have both a first-order desire to love themselves along with a second-order volition that such a first-order desire be effective in moving them to act accordingly. Note, however, that this move is restricted to those willing to concede Kvanvig’s retribution thesis, an option not open to Murray. Alternatively, one might argue that while Murray’s proposal entails that those in hell are ultimately there against their wills, their so being in that condition is a direct (i.e., natural) consequence of a lifetime of decisions, choices, and actions that were themselves free. In other words, a lifetime of decisions, choices, and actions in which they were free to have the will that they wanted resulted in being maximally “set in their ways” such that they are no longer free to have the will they want. As with the previous move, this response to the criticism that I have raised for Murray’s proposal makes good sense in the absence of a punitive conception of hell. As long as the denizens of hell are not psychologically cognizant of the overwhelming loss of the enjoyment of God’s love, it seems consistent with God’s love and justice (assuming that freedom is a sufficiently valuable good) that God would permit such persons to become maximally confirmed in self-love through a lifetime of free decisions, choices, and actions, even if it resulted in the loss of free will for that person. However, since the person we are here envisaging is not cognizant of the fact that she has lost her freedom of will, she effectively has no complaint against God’s love or justice. By contrast, Murray asks us to imagine a person who has lost free will (granted through a series of free decisions, choices, and actions), is aware of having lost free will, and wishes he or she could get it

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back. This exposes Murray’s position to the typical charges advanced against all views of hell that attempt to retain Kvanvig’s retribution thesis—an unsympathetic gloss on which goes something like this: “If God were really as awfully nice (and oh, by the way, super strong) as you say he is, then he would either stave off the maximal confirmation in self-love (and hence, loss of free will) indefinitely or he would reverse the natural consequences at the point where the maximally confirmed self-lover became cognizant of the regret. After all, really nice people do not leave poor souls helplessly floundering in eternal misery once those souls have realized they have made a big mistake.” For now, I will leave aside the question of whether Murray’s view has the resources to respond to this kind of charge. For purposes of this chapter, I will assume that it does not. In light of this assumption, it appears that Murray cannot have his retributive cake and eat it with a natural consequences fork. However, I hope to show that this gustatory quandary is merely apparent, as Frankfurt’s compatibilist account of free will contains the resources to address the criticism that I have raised. Wantons as Occupants of Hell Recall that on Frankfurt’s compatibilist account of free will it is the presence of second-order volitions that constitutes not only a necessary condition for free will, but for personhood as well. Frankfurt muses about the logical possibility of creatures who have second-order desires while lacking second-order volitions. “Such a creature, in my view,” Frankfurt explains, “would not be a person.”16 Frankfurt designates creatures “who have first-order desires but who are not persons because, whether or not they have desires of the second order, they have no second-order volitions” with the term “wantons.”17 The essential characteristic of a wanton is that he does not care about his will. His desires move him to do certain things, without its being true of him either that he wants to moved by those desires or that he prefers to be moved by other desires … Nothing in the concept of a wanton implies that he cannot reason or that he cannot deliberate concerning how to do what he wants to do. What distinguishes the rational wanton from other rational agents is that he is not concerned with the desirability of his desires themselves. He ignores the question of what his will is to be. Not only does he pursue whatever course of action he is most strongly inclined to pursue, but he does not care which of his inclinations is the strongest.18

16 17 18

Ibid., p. 11. Ibid. Ibid.

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In short, a wanton is a creature for whom the very question of free will does not arise. This is because wantons lack the requisite type of second-order desires altogether—namely, that some particular first-order desire of theirs (or another) be effective in moving them to act. My proposal is that Frankfurt’s concept of a wanton can be employed so as to avoid the worry that I have raised for Murray’s hybrid view of hell—a view that attempts to embrace the NC model while retaining the punitive nature of hell. If the occupants of hell are wantons, in Frankfurt’s sense, then there is a sense in which they are there because they have chosen to be. Having lived a lifetime as self-lovers, making decisions, choices, and actions in which they were free to have the will that they wanted, the wantons in hell have, as Murray puts it, become maximally “set in their ways.” However, the sense in which they have become maximally set in their ways does not entail that they are in hell, against their wills. As wantons, these creatures still have first-order desires, and since they are maximally confirmed lovers of self, they persist in their first-order desires to love self for eternity. What they have lost are second-order volitions. They no longer care about which of their first-order desires are effective. Thus, they are neither in hell against their wills, nor are they there freely—at least not after the point where their capacity for second-order volitions is irreparably lost. Still, because they have not lost the capacity for reason, they are in an intellectual position to grasp their status of having eternally lost the supreme good. One might further hypothesize that such an apprehension carries with it the kind of deep regret and pain to which Murray alludes. It is in this sense that hell is punitive. Beyond this, we could even imagine that the denizens of hell experience the deep regret and pain to a degree that it produces in them a first-order desire to leave. However, because they are wantons, they lack a second-order volition to the effect that this first-order desire to leave be effective in moving them away from the love of self and toward the love of God.19 In short, they are ambivalent about their first-order desire to leave. They have it; they recognize they have it; but they do not care whether it moves them in one way or another.20 Still, the proposed amendment to Murray’s position is susceptible to at least one important concern that needs to be addressed. Specifically, the suggestion that the denizens of hell are wantons does not help in defending against the criticism I have raised for Murray if people are made to become wantons against their wills at death. In other words, the NC view which, under the revision I am proposing entails an eventual transition from person to wanton, seems to require something like an, in principle, postmortem opportunity to change. And perhaps more importantly, it requires that the transition from person to wanton occur in keeping with the natural 19

I thank Garrett Pendergraft for pointing this out to me in conversation. Note the difference between the psychological state of a wanton in hell and the psychological state of the person in hell, as originally described by Murray. The latter arguably has second-order volitions (i.e., desires about their first-order desires to leave); the former does not. 20

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consequences of one’s free decisions, choices, and actions rather than by Divine fiat at an arbitrary point in time (e.g., one’s bodily death).21 In response to this concern, it seems perfectly consistent with the revisions I have offered to Murray’s proposal to think that it is neither the case that God brings about the transition from person to wanton in a manner that compromises the unfolding of the natural consequences, nor that death represents the point at which that transition necessarily occurs for human beings. In effect, the proponent of Murray’s view is committed to something like the picture of the afterlife that C.S. Lewis imagines in The Great Divorce. Nothing in my proposed revisions to Murray’s view requires either that damned human beings become wantons at death or that they are made to become wantons by God. Conclusion If both my critical appraisal and friendly amendment of Murray’s hybrid model of hell is correct, it carries with it at least one interesting consequence worth noting in closing. Specifically, if the denizens of hell are all (and perhaps only) wantons, then strictly speaking there are no persons in hell. At a minimum, this entails a slightly new reading of both Kvanvig’s anti-universalism and existence theses, each of which refers to “people.” However, envisioning hell as being populated by wantons does not run counter to the substance of either thesis. The revised theses would go something like this. H1*: The Anti-Universalism Thesis: Some (wantons) creatures that are psychologically continuous with the persons they once were are consigned to hell. H2*: The Existence Thesis: Hell is a place where (wantons) creatures that are psychologically continuous with the persons they once were exist, if they are consigned there. I take it that the principal import of the first two theses in Kvanvig’s traditional conception of hell is the affirmation that hell is a real place (H2*) and it is not empty (H1*). Together with the no escape (H3) and retribution (H4) theses, these first two have the effect of constituting a psychologically undesirable state of affairs. This is part of what gives the traditional view its lack of appeal among revisionists about the nature of hell. My point here is merely that the revision of the first two theses to accommodate my claim that hell is occupied by wantons does not undermine the substance of Kvanvig’s four original theses. Thus, the proponent of Murray’s hybrid model can accept the revised version of Kvanvig’s 21 I am grateful to an anonymous participant at the 2008 Annual Meeting of the Evangelical Philosophical Society for bringing this point to my attention during a presentation of an earlier draft of this chapter.

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theses and still argue that hell’s punishment is not inconsistent with either God’s justice or love because the wantons in hell are there as a result of the natural consequences of a lifetime of decisions, choices, and actions directed toward selflove rather than the love of God.22 The revision of Murray’s proposal that I am suggesting makes sense of something that C.S. Lewis wrote about hell’s occupants in The Problem of Pain. What is cast (or casts itself) into hell is not a man: it is “remains”. To be a complete man means to have the passions obedient to the will and the will offered to God: to have been a man – to be an ex-man or “damned ghost” – would presumably mean to consist of a will utterly centered in its self and passions utterly uncontrolled by the will. It is, of course, impossible to imagine what the consciousness of such a creature – already a loose congeries of mutually antagonistic sins rather than a sinner – would be like.23

To be a wanton in hell is to be the remains of a person. As Lewis points out, it is perhaps impossible for us to imagine what it is like to be a wanton. Still, Frankfurt’s analysis provides some hint. To be a wanton in hell is to be a creature who is cognitively aware of the infinite loss of God’s goodness (and perhaps the pain that attends that loss), but who nonetheless persists in the (first-order) desire to love self, and perhaps most sadly, altogether lacks a (second-order) concern as to whether that (first-order) desire to love self persists in its effectiveness for eternity or not. Thus, the wanton in hell both wants to be there and does not want to be there, does not like it, but at the same time neither wants to want to be there nor wants to not-want to be there. This seems the very essence of damnation.

22

Of course, whether Murray’s proposal succeeds in this larger task is beyond the scope of this chapter. For whatever it is worth, the reader is correct in assuming that my defense of Murray’s proposal reflects an underlying agreement with the substance of Murray’s view as a response to the problem of hell. 23 Lewis, Problem of Pain, p. 128.

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Chapter 5

Value, Finality, and Frustration: Problems for Escapism? Andrei A. Buckareff and Allen Plug

In recent papers, we have focused on the problem of hell from the perspective of Christian theism.1 We have argued for a theory of hell we claimed provides an adequate response to the problem of hell without rejecting hell altogether, thus not amounting to a radical departure from the dominant Christian tradition. We christened our view of hell “escapism.” We defined escapism as the conjunction of the following two claims: 1. Hell exists and might be populated for eternity. 2. If there are any denizens of hell, then at any time they have the ability to accept God’s grace and leave hell and enter heaven.2 Additionally, we specifically endorsed an issuant view of hell, wherein hell is a place that God, out of his love for all of his creatures, has provided for those who do not wish to be in communion with God; as opposed to a retributive view of hell, wherein hell is a place of punishment. In this chapter we wish to extend and clarify escapism further. In particular we will address the following three questions: (1) According to escapism, is hell an unmitigated good thing for those that are in hell? (2) Is escapism consistent with a Christian view of eschatology that requires an element of finality or consummation? (3) Does escapism allow for the possibility that God’s redemptive plans may, ultimately, be frustrated? 1 In Andrei A. Buckareff and Allen Plug, “Escaping Hell: Divine Motivation and the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 41/1 (2005): 39–54; and “Escapism, Religious Luck, and Divine Reasons for Action,” Religious Studies, 45/1 (2009): 63:72. 2 Buckareff and Plug, “Escaping Hell,” p. 46. An additional note on 2: we allow that it might be psychologically challenging for some agents to accept God’s offer if their characters have settled into a position where they will not accept God’s grace. However, according to escapism, God never gives up on any individual. See note 21 in “Escaping Hell” for further clarification on this point.

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We will argue (1) that escapism is not committed to the view that hell is an unqualifiedly good thing; (2) that escapism has the resources to account for the Christian requirement of finality and consummation; and (3) that while it is possible, according to escapism, that God’s redemptive plans may be frustrated, this is in fact an asset of the view and not a liability. We will address each of the questions in turn. But first we will briefly review the original argument for escapism. The argument3 for escapism begins with an assumption regarding divine action: namely, that all of God’s actions are just and loving. We argue that if that is true, then God’s motivation regarding his sotereological activity will be driven by God’s desire for the most just and loving outcome. The most just and loving outcome, we argue, is for everyone to freely choose to be in communion with God. Thus, we argue, we should expect that God would make provisions for people to convert in the eschaton and that the opportunities for persons to convert should not be exhausted by a single post-mortem opportunity. In more detail, the argument is as follows:4 3. All of God’s actions are just and loving 4. If all of God’s actions are just and loving, then no action of God’s is motivated by an unjust or unloving pro-attitude. 5. If no action of God’s is motivated by an unjust or unloving pro-attitude, then God’s soteriological activity is motivated by God’s just and loving pro-attitudes. 6. If God’s soteriological activity is motivated by God’s just and loving proattitudes, then God’s provision for separation from God is motivated by God’s desire for the most just and loving state of affairs to be realized in the eschaton. 7. If God’s provision for separation from Him is motivated by God’s desire for the most just and loving state of affairs to be realized in the eschaton, then God will provide opportunities for people in hell to receive the gift of salvation and such persons can decide to receive the gift. 8. Therefore, God will provide opportunities for people in hell to receive the gift of salvation and such persons can decide to receive the gift. We will now move on to a discussion of escapism and value, finality and divine frustration. We begin with escapism and value.

3 What follows is a brief summary of our theory of hell as outlined on pages 40–42 of “Escaping Hell.” 4 This is the argument that is spread out over pages 42–5 of “Escaping Hell.”

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Escapism and Value It has been suggested that a feature of escapism that distinguishes it from other views of hell is that, on escapism, hell is good for the persons who reside there.5 This is not an objection, per se. It is an observation made by some that is worth addressing. Our own concern is with whether escapism commits one to the claim that hell is good for persons. We believe it does not commit one to such a claim. The motivation that, on escapism, hell is a good comes from the assumption of issuantism built into escapism and the view that those that are in hell are there because that is where they choose to be. Given issuantism, hell is a manifestation of God’s love for His creatures, so those in hell are not being punished according to escapism. Further, given that being in hell is a choice on the part of those who reside in hell, being in hell at the minimum satisfies a desire on the part of those who are there. Indeed, if they were not in hell some desire of theirs would not be fulfilled. While on escapism it is the case that the denizens of hell enjoy positive (quantitative) well-being and so there is a sense in which hell is not bad, we are hesitant to say that hell is good for persons who reside there without qualification. This is the case if for no other reason than there are competing conceptions of good and we are not sure that aggregative theories of good accurately account for all of the possible good-making features of a state of affairs. If they did, then persons in heaven and in hell, since their experiences last for an infinite amount of time, would enjoy the same amount of good since the units of well-being that are aggregated constitute an infinite amount of good. This is the case even if for at any time t the net quantity of well-being a person in heaven enjoys is infinite and the net well-being of a person in hell is +1.6 But even if one’s theory of value is such that one can grant that those in hell enjoy positive well-being (even an infinite amount of well-being), where the good in question is quantifiable, one need not be committed to the claim that hell is unqualifiedly good. The lack of certain qualitative goods may render the overall state of being in hell something bad relative to the good of heaven, or at least not preferable to heaven. Harry Frankfurt’s work on autonomous agency may help us understand the difference between the quality of certain goods. On Frankfurt’s account of autonomous agency, a willing agent is someone who endorses a particular motivational state over other competing motivational states he may have. 7 Such an 5 In correspondence and in a recent paper, Stephen Kershnar suggested this further characteristic of escapism. See Stephen Kershnar, “The Injustice of Hell,” International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 58/2 (2005): 103–23, at p. 19, n5. 6 This is a result we get if appeal is made to Cantorian infinities; but on standard mathematics the result would be that neither sum would be well defined, since infinite numbers and infinitesimals are not recognized for addition and multiplication. 7 See Harry Frankfurt, “Freedom of the will and the concept of a person,” Journal of Philosophy, 68/1 (1971): 5–20.

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agent “wants a certain desire to be his will.”8 Frankfurt calls such desires “secondorder volitions.”9 Such an agent identifies with the desire that is the intentional object of his second-order desire. In later writings, Frankfurt adds that an agent who is fully integrated and autonomous “wholeheartedly” identifies with the relevant psychological items that constitute the person as he truly is or wants to be. Consider a person who believes something wholeheartedly, who is wholehearted in some feeling or attitude, or who intends wholeheartedly to perform a certain action. In what does his wholeheartedness with respect to these psychic elements consist? It consists in his being fully satisfied that they, rather than others that inherently (i.e., non-contingently) conflict with them, should be among the causes and considerations that determine his cognitive, affective, attitudinal, and behavioral processes.10

An unwilling agent has “conflicting first-order desires” and has a second-order volition, wanting a certain desire to be effective; only he finds himself acting on the desire that he does not want to be his will.11 A “wanton,” on the other hand, according to Frankfurt, is someone who finds herself, in effect, carried along by her desires. Such an agent may have second-order desires, but she lacks secondorder volitions. The wanton is unreflective, lacking any concern regarding whether the motivational states that move her to act are the ones she wants to be moved by. Children and non-human animals are characteristically wantons. “They do whatever their impulses move them most insistently to do, without any selfregarding interest in what sort of creature that makes them to be.”12 Compare a willing heroin addict to an unwilling addict and to someone who is more like Harry Frankfurt’s wanton. All of them want to take heroin. The unwilling addict experiences a deep conflict within herself. She is not unlike St. Paul who, in his letter to the Romans (7:14–25), expresses his frustration over failing to act in accordance with the law, which he wants to act on. Paul’s reference to what he wants to do, viz., act in accordance with the law, seems to be like a second-order volition. His actions are obviously motivated, only they are motivated by sinful first-order desires. He does not act in accordance with the law that he delights in within his “inmost self” (Romans 7:22). The unwilling addict, like St. Paul, has a divided self. She does not identify with her desire to take heroin and certainly fails to be wholehearted with respect to her actions when she shoots up. That such a state of affairs is somehow good strains credulity; it is a description that 8

Ibid., p. 10. Ibid., p. 7. 10 Harry Frankfurt, “The Faintest Passion,” Necessity, Volition, and Love (New York, 1999), pp. 95–107, at p. 103. 11 Frankfurt, “Freedom of the will,” p. 12. 12 Harry Frankfurt, “Taking Ourselves Seriously,” Taking Ourselves Seriously and Getting it Right (Stanford, 2006), pp. 1–26, at p. 6. 9

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rightly deserves our disapprobation. Such an agent enjoys little well-being. She is tormented and fragmented. The wanton, unlike the unwilling addict, is not a tormented agent, but she is hardly worth calling an autonomous agent. She does not evaluate her desires and has no concern for what motivational states she acts upon. If we suppose that she is simply driven by her appetites, and if her appetites are always satisfied, there is certainly a sense in which she has a good life. From her standpoint, things could not be better. The quantity of her well-being is higher than that of the unwilling addict. But the overall quantity of well-being she enjoys and the quality of it is certainly lower than that of someone not addicted to heroin. For that matter, it is fair to say that there is something qualitatively better about the life of the unwilling addict. The unwilling addict is a reflective agent. The unwilling addict is akratic, but she is aware of this fact about herself and is not satisfied with this. She recognizes that some states of affairs are better than others for reasons to which the wanton seems wholly unresponsive. Finally, the willing addict prefers to be on heroin, endorsing her desire to take heroin and enjoying the sensation, having a second-order volition to take heroin. Suppose that the willing addict is a successful, productive member of society. She clearly enjoys some positive well-being. But it is only good from her firstpersonal and perhaps a quantitative standpoint. Arguably, the state of being a heroin addict is still bad, although the willing addict is different from the unwilling addict who prefers not to take heroin, yet finds that she acts on her desire to shoot up. Moreover, the willing addict is also a reflective agent. We may even suppose that she wholeheartedly identifies with her first-order desire to take heroin. Her addiction does not compel her to shoot up in the same way it does the unwilling addict. We should say that it may compel her in the same way, but she does not feel bound by such compulsion. The desire to satisfy her desire to be on heroin is like a person with a normal appetite’s desire to satisfy her desire to eat when hungry. While the willing addict enjoys some positive well-being, being an addict is not an overall good state of affairs. There is something qualitatively inferior about being an addict versus not being an addict. Specifically, there is some loss of autonomous control one suffers as a result of an addiction. Withdrawal from heroin is far more stressful and puts more strain on one’s body than, say, withdrawal from eating cheesecake. Furthermore, the destructive effects of the drug taken in the quantities necessary to satisfy the agent’s addiction count against willing addiction being an overall good state of affairs, even if the quantity of well-being does not differ between the willing addict and someone who willfully abstains from heroin use. The lesson of the foregoing summary of Frankfurt’s account of autonomous agency and its application to the case of addiction for the goodness of hell is, we hope, pretty straightforward. On escapism, those in hell are obviously not like the unwilling addict. It would be odd, indeed, for a loving God not to enable the wills of those who do not identify with a desire to be separated from God but have a second-order volition to be with God. Such agents are, as we noted, like St. Paul describes himself. Not to render their second-order volitions effective would be

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out of character for a loving God who extends prevenient grace towards all and redeems those who wish to enter into communion with God. It would be odd if the inhabitants of hell were like the wanton. The wanton is not an autonomous agent. He is unreflective. But it is not inconceivable that inhabitants of hell are like wantons. In fact, if hell is always populated, wantons may populate it. If they only reflected on their desires, over time, they would realize that a more desirable state of affairs awaits those who enter into communion with God. This is not to say, however, that a rational agent would obviously choose communion with God. Otherwise rational agents calculate the costs and benefits of smoking and willfully continue to smoke, wholeheartedly endorsing the desire to smoke. Things could be similar with rational persons who elect never to leave hell. Such persons are like the willing addict. In any case, the object of the willing agent’s desire with which he identifies as his second-order volition and acts upon is at least qualitatively inferior to that of the person who wholeheartedly identifies with a desire to be with God in heaven. If we assume that being with God is qualitatively superior to being separated from God, then the wantons and willing inhabitants of hell take as the intentional object of their desires a state of affairs that is qualitatively inferior to the state of affairs that would be realized by being with God. Things may go well for them by one measure, specifically, if we just aggregate goods, quantifying over units of well-being. But just by failing to be in communion with God, each unit of well-being is qualitatively inferior to what is experienced by those in heaven. This is just like how each unit of well-being enjoyed by an addict high on heroin is qualitatively inferior to each unit of wellbeing enjoyed by someone not addicted to heroin enjoying the same quantity of well-being by engaging in some other activity. For those who are skeptical about such qualitative distinctions between states of affairs, in the case of comparable well-being at an infinite number of temporal locations (e.g., between heaven and hell) one could get the result that heaven is still better. Depending upon how we carve things up, persons in heaven enjoy a greater amount of well-being even if non-aggregative theories of value are false.13 The problems only arise when we expand our view to consider the total wellbeing. Suppose that heaven and hell have the same number of temporal locations. Suppose further that the amount of well-being is finite at each temporal location in each place. The quantity of well-being at each temporal location is greater in heaven than in hell. This assumption is reasonable if for no other reason than heaven is described in Christian tradition as a better place than hell. The problem for escapism comes from aggregating the total well-being in heaven and hell, both having infinite quantities of well-being since there is an infinite number of temporal locations in each. But if we consider a finite subset of temporal locations 13

See Peter Vallentyne and Shelly Kagan, “Infinite value and finitely additive value theory,” Journal of Philosophy, 94/1 (1997): 5–26 for a defense of the claim that where w1 and w2 are two sets of infinite temporal locations with different values at each location, one is better than the other that makes use of comparisons of finite sets of locations in each world.

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and aggregate the well-being, the well-being enjoyed by persons in heaven is greater than those in hell. So for any proper finite subset of temporal locations in heaven and hell, the quantity of well-being enjoyed by a person in heaven is greater than that of a person in hell. The sets of temporal locations in question can be quite large. So long as they are not infinite, the amount of well-being enjoyed by those in heaven is greater than that enjoyed by those in hell. So for any single temporal location or finite set of multiple temporal locations there is a quantitative difference between the well-being enjoyed by persons in heaven versus those in hell. Any putative problems only arise from considering the entire infinite set of temporal locations. While this does matter when quantifying the total well-being of persons in either location, the facts “on the ground,” so to speak, would betray a difference in the amount of well-being enjoyed by persons in each location at any single moment of time. While we have labored the point that escapism does not commit one to the claim that hell is unqualifiedly good, the foregoing problem by itself does not constitute a problem for escapism. Escapism does not commit one to any particular view regarding the goodness of hell beyond that some positive well-being is enjoyed by persons in hell. They have chosen to be there. They have not chosen separation from God exclusively under another description. They may choose hell under another description than choosing separation from God; but they also choose not to be with God. Moreover, escapism’s issuant commitments render hell a place provided by God out of love; it is not a place to exact retribution. These features of escapism allow us to say that being in hell affords some well-being to agents who would reside there. Variations of escapism may deviate from the formulation of the view’s commitments on the goodness of hell offered here. Our goal in this section was simply to argue that one can still explain how hell is bad in some sense vis-à-vis heaven on escapism. We believe this should be apparent at this juncture. Finality and Escapism Many traditional Christian theists regard the finality of hell as central to the concept of hell. Such theists regard the failure of a view of hell to account for its finality to count against it. The idea here, we take it, is that, according to such Christian theists, heaven and hell are final—there is no never-ending revolving door between the two. This idea is expressed in the following quote from Jonathan Kvanvig: Other second chance views claim that consignment to hell cannot be postponed, but that escape from it is not impossible; all that is needed to get out is the same change of heart, mind, and will required in one’s earthly life to be fit for heaven. One difficulty for such a view is theological rather than philosophical, for such views fail to be truly eschatological accounts of heaven and hell. Eschatology is the doctrine of the last things, and one feature of this idea of culmination or consummation is that there is a finality to it. In Christian thought, this idea is

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The Problem of Hell expressed vividly in the idea of a final judgment, and any conception of the afterlife that treats residence in heaven and hell in the geographic way in which we think of residence in, say, Texas or California, simply does not fall into the category of an eschatological doctrine at all. If heaven and hell are conceived of as mere extensions of an earthly life, where people can pack up and move at will, such a conception has more affinity to religious perspectives that espouse endless cycles of rebirth than to religions with a substantive eschatology.14

So, according to Kvanvig, for an eschatological view to count as a Christian eschatological view the view must, at minimum, contain a sense of finality—of consummation. And this finality extends to both heaven and hell. The worry here is that, if this is in fact a requirement of Christianity, then escapism is inconsistent with Christianity. This threatens escapism in two ways. First, escapism claims that those in hell have, at any time, the ability to leave hell and enter into communion with God (i.e. enter heaven). This aspect of escapism seems, at first, to eliminate any possibility of finality or consummation for hell. Second, it is possible that our argument in “Escaping Hell” implies that God also maintains an open door policy with respect to those in heaven. If so, then escapists would also be committed to the view that there is no finality in heaven. We will not address the question of whether Christianity does require the sense of finality that Kvanvig endorses. Rather we will argue that escapism is consistent with the demands for finality that Kvanvig issues above. We will first argue that the considerations that support escapism for hell do not extend to heaven—i.e., escapists need not hold that God maintains an open door policy for heaven. We will then move on to a discussion of finality and hell. We begin then with a discussion of escapism and heaven. Specifically, we will consider whether our argument in “Escaping Hell” implies that God also maintains an open door policy with respect to those in heaven. The idea, we take it, is that heaven and hell are symmetrical. And if God maintains an open door policy with respect to hell, then the same considerations would lead God to maintain an open door policy with respect to heaven. But this, the objection goes, runs counter to a venerable Christian tradition that claims that one cannot lose one’s salvation once in heaven.15 We want to claim that the considerations that lead to escapism do not lead to the position that God maintains an open door policy in heaven. Rather, we claim that those considerations in fact lead to the position that the choice to enter into full communion with God means that one can never choose to leave heaven. We believe that an agent who intends to enter into communion with God must have the character necessary to form such an intention. Such a character change results in a shift in an agent’s motivational states, particularly her preferences, and 14 Jonathan Kvanvig, “Hell,” in Jerry Walls (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Eschatology (New York, 2008), pp. 413–26, at p. 418. 15 Additionally, persons from the Reformed tradition of Christianity may be concerned that it results in a denial of the doctrine of the perseverance of the saints.

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her emotional life. Such a change is necessary for agents to fulfill their purpose as bearers of the imago dei. Regarding the purpose of human agents, in our original paper we cited the answer to the first question of the Westminster Shorter Catechism approvingly, which states that our purpose is “to glorify God and to enjoy him forever.” We expressed agreement with Cornelius Plantinga’s claim that this requires that we share God’s intentions and the purposes they represent. Plantinga writes that, “To enjoy God forever is to cultivate a taste for this project, to become more and more the sort of person for whom eternal life with God would be sheer heaven.”16 The sort of change in an agent that must take effect for her to be one who has cultivated a taste for God’s project and for whom heaven would be eternal life with God is radical, to say the least. Nothing short of either an immediate person-transforming change upon entering heaven or a fair amount of time in purgatory developing a taste for the divine project can bring about the change needed in an agent to be fit for heaven. We take it that whatever the case may be, an agent who has undergone such a transformation would have to be the sort of person for whom any sort of turning from God would be psychologically impossible. So, if escapism is true, then the change necessary for an agent to enter into complete communion with God—i.e., heaven—would be such that it would result in an agent being such that she could never leave heaven. A concern that may emerge at this point may come from those sympathetic to our emphasis on God’s respect for the autonomy of created persons. Autonomy appears to have been tossed out the window in heaven. This is not true. An agent in heaven, in either developing his or her character or submitting to an instant transformation, willingly gives up the ability to choose not to be with God. But such an agent is now an agent who performs what Michael Smith calls “orthonomous actions.”17 An orthonomous action is one that is performed for right reasons—i.e., a right action. We take it that an agent in heaven would be an orthonomous agent. The trade-off in becoming a citizen of heaven is that one becomes someone who always acts for right reasons. There is still an obvious sense in which such an agent is still autonomous. She would be self-governed. Only her behavior is entirely aimed at ends that are consistent with God’s purposes and continued communion with God, the final object of such an agent’s motivational states and actions. Such an agent is not one we expect would be able to simply pack up and move to hell (and maybe back to heaven later); nor would she be capable of becoming someone who is able to move to hell—since in becoming such a person she would have needed to act for wrong reasons, which is now impossible for her.

16 Cornelius Plantinga, Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin (Grand Rapids, 1995), p. 37. 17 Michael Smith, “The Structure of Orthonomy,” in John Hyman and Helen Steward (eds.), Action and Agency (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 165–93.

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Defenders of libertarianism may find orthonomous agency to be inadequate for moral agency.18 But orthonomy is consistent with libertarianism. Specifically, orthonomous agency is consistent with wide source incompatibilism.19 Wide source incompatibilists endorse an actual-sequence theory of moral responsibility for actions that issue from a character for which an agent has ultimate responsibility. So on wide source incompatibilism, an agent is morally responsible for some action A at some time t2 that issues from a character formed at some earlier time t1 as a consequence of performing what Robert Kane calls a “self-forming action” (SFA) at which time libertarian free agency was exercised.20 When the agent performed the SFA, she had alternate possibilities and so could have acted otherwise. An action issuing from the character formed by such an SFA is one that an agent can be morally responsible for on this view. If this view is right, orthonomous agency in heaven is also consistent with source incompatibilism. At the time an agent made the choice to be reconciled with God the agent began forming the character of an orthonomous agent who, when finally in heaven, could never turn from God. Such an agent has chosen to be someone who will eventually act orthonomously. So the argument in “Escaping Hell” does not extend to heaven. We now want to argue that while escapism does claim that those in hell have the ability, at any time, to leave hell and enter heaven, this claim is not inconsistent with the demand of finality. There are two different ways we can understand the finality of hell, as illustrated by the following two claims (a de re modal claim and a de dicto modal claim, respectively): 9. There is some time t, such that, necessarily, all those who are in hell at t will remain in hell for all time. 10. Necessarily, there is some time t, such that, all those who are in hell at t will remain in hell for all time. (9) is inconsistent with escapism. If (9) is true, then there is some moment of time such that from that time forward no one will get out of hell. And it is the case that that moment of time has that property in every possible world.21 So there is a time 18

Stephen Kershnar raised this worry. For a defense of wide source incompatibilism, see Kevin Timpe, “Source Incompatibilism and Its Alternatives,” American Philosophical Quarterly, 44/2 (2007): 143–55. 20 See Robert Kane, The Significance of Free Will (Oxford, 1996). 21 We are assuming a substantival view of time. So moments of time are real entities that would have transworld identity. If we dispense with substantivalism about time, we can simply refer to states of affairs and events as having transworld identity and as indexed to times in those worlds when the proper triggering events that bring about the relevant event or state of affairs under consideration—in our case, the state of affairs that obtains when no one will leave hell. 19

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when, for all those currently in hell, it is no longer possible for them to leave hell and enter into communion with God. And this is inconsistent with escapism. So if (9) is the proper way to understand the finality of hell, then escapism cannot account for the Christian requirement of finality. But (9) is false. (9) places an unjustified limit on God qua creator as characterized by traditional versions of theism. If (9) is true, then there is some time which is necessarily the “last time.” But we take it that it is uncontroversial to claim that God, if He so desired, could extend the time available for those in hell to be reconciled with God. That is, God could choose to have the last time occur sooner or later. Of course, God could declare in advance when that last time will occur. It could occur at the moment God foreknew that everyone in hell has settled on their choice to remain estranged from God and all of those whom God foreknew would decide to be reconciled have left hell (leaving it open as to whether or not hell empties out or fails to lose any of its residents). But if (9) is true, then there is some time which is, necessarily, the last time. This would mean that God would not have been free to declare some other time to be the last time. This, we take it, is too grave a violation of God’s sovereignty to accept for traditional theists. (9) is inconsistent with escapism but, fortunately, is false. (10), however, is true if escapism is true. Recall that we deny that God maintains an open door policy with respect to heaven. Thus, if escapism is true there are only two possible outcomes:22 A. Eventually everyone enters into communion with God (and so leaves hell). B. There are some persons who never enter into communion with God (and so hell is eternally populated). On either possibility there is a time at which all those in hell at that time will remain there for eternity. Thus (10) is true if escapism is true. Suppose possibility (A) holds. Consider the time when the last person leaves hell and is reconciled with God. It is trivially true then that after that time all those in hell will be in hell for all eternity. Similarly with possibility (B), take the time when the last person leaves hell and enters into communion with God. It is true that after that time all those in hell will be in hell eternally. So if escapism is true, then (10) is true. Escapism, then, can account for the traditional Christian demand of finality. 22 It is important to note here that the following only holds with the additional assumption that those in heaven cannot leave and (re)enter hell. Without that additional assumption there would be a third possibility: that there are some individuals who continually leave hell and enter heaven (i.e., enter into communion with God) and then again leave heaven (break the communion with God) and then continue the cycle. On that possibility there is no time such that at that time all those in hell will remain in hell for all eternity. So technically (10) follows from escapism and the assumption that those in heaven cannot leave.

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The above will not satisfy everyone however. While (10) is consistent with escapism it does not obviously capture what Kvanvig and others mean by “finality.” Kvanvig uses the language found in the Christian scriptures when discussing finality. Kvanvig writes, “In Christian thought, this idea is expressed vividly in the idea of a final judgment.”23 We do not pretend to understand perfectly the eschatological language found in the Christian scriptures. The language in the Christian scriptures that refers to the eschaton, beyond the general statements about God’s redemptive intentions, is abstruse at best. If we take some hermeneutical liberties when interpreting what is meant by “final judgment,” we are not doing anything most other non-literalists about hell (including most traditionalists) are not doing. The explanation we provide by understanding finality in terms of (10) allows us to explain how there can be some finality in the eschaton. Granted, the finality, we assume, is not because God made a supralapsarian declaration that at some arbitrary moment of time God’s policy would shift to not allowing persons to be reconciled with God. Rather, if some remain in hell, God foreknows that a time will come after which those in hell will have decisively shut the door on God.24 Of course, some might want to claim that the eschatological language found in Christian scriptures requires an event that marks the final judgment, or the last day. We do not see that this is required; however, escapism is consistent with such a requirement. However, the timing of such an event, according to escapism, would be determined by God’s foreknowledge of when all those who eventually accept God’s grace and enter into communion with him will have done so. So God foreknows when the last person will accept the offer of grace and enter into communion with God. That foreknowledge then allows God to determine the timing of the final event—be it the last day or the final judgment. One might be worried that the above requires an unacceptable loss of divine sovereignty. The worry is as follows. On the above view the timing of the last days is out of God’s control. The timing of such an event is determined not by God, but by those who are in hell. For the end days will not occur until the last person who will accept God’s offer of grace does so accept. The above worry is mistaken. For on escapism the timing of the final event is determined solely by God. While it is true that if escapism is true (and assuming there is some final event), that the final event will not take place until all who will accept God’s offer of grace have done so, that is because that is what God so chooses. God could choose some other time. All that escapism shows is that, assuming a traditional understanding of God’s motivational states, God would not wish to choose any other time—but, presumably, if his desires were different, he 23

Kvanvig, “Hell,” p. 418. Some often cited, popular passages that describe the finality of separation from God include Matthew 25:31–46; Acts 17:31; Romans 2:16; and 2 Thessalonians 1:6–9. 24 Such agents may be the sorts of agents who could fit the description of having finally blasphemed against the Holy Spirit by being completely shut off from divine grace and God’s persuasive activity in their lives (Luke 12:10).

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would choose some other time. So escapism can meet the Christian demand of finality and in so meeting that demand escapism does not unacceptably diminish God’s sovereign control. Escapism and Divine Frustration The last concern comes from the perspective of universalism. One of the motivations Thomas Talbott offers for his sophisticated universalism is that God’s purposes would be frustrated if some persons are not redeemed. This divine purpose issues from God’s being a supremely loving agent who intends to bring it about that all persons are freely reconciled with him.25 If not everyone is saved, then God’s overriding redemptive purpose would be frustrated. But if God’s purposes are frustrated, then God’s sovereignty over the created order seems to be at risk. The problem for escapism, then, is that by leaving it open whether or not all persons will finally be redeemed escapism treats the frustration of God’s redemptive plans as a live possibility in the actual world. We do not believe that escapism treats the frustration of God’s redemptive plan as an actual possibility. We understand God’s soteriological purpose to be to redeem all created persons who are estranged from God. We take it to be the case, however, that God does not merely desire that all persons would be in heaven. Rather, God prefers having all those who prefer to be with God to enjoy the fullness of God’s presence. This requires that God respect their autonomy and not compromise it. The choices of agents may be objectively irrational when you catalog all of their preferences and what is actually in their best interest. But their lack of knowledge of this fact and their failure to love God makes their choice at least subjectively rational. Thomas Talbott suggests that a removal of all the impediments to making an objectively rational, autonomous choice would result in an agent’s choosing communion with God.26 But it is not obvious that such a change can be effected without actually doing violence to the character and will of the agent. Moreover, it assumes that persons would still choose rationally once the change has been effected. At least in the case of humans, our moral psychology is complex and it is difficult to accurately predict how agents will act (whether or not libertarianism or compatibilism is true). We do not doubt that God knows how persons will react. But the scriptural data is opaque enough for us to be comfortable in asserting that we cannot be confident about whether or not all persons will be reconciled with God. In any case, if some persons fail to be reconciled to God, God’s purposes would not be frustrated given that all of those who prefer to be with God enjoy the 25

Thomas Talbott, “No Hell,” in Michael L Peterson and Raymond J. VanArragon (eds.), Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: 2004), pp. 278–87, at pp. 279–81. For a classic statement of Talbott’s version of sophisticated universalism, see his paper, “The doctrine of everlasting punishment,” Faith and Philosophy, 7/1 (1990): 19–42. 26 Talbott, “No Hell,” p. 283.

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fullness of the divine presence, while those who prefer not to be with God remain in hell. If escapism is true, God’s plans have been successfully executed—viz., all who wish to be reconciled with God are finally reconciled with God, but the others know that there is always room at the table. Such a state of affairs strikes us as tenable. In concluding this section, it is worth noting a particular strength of escapism we have noted in our original paper defending escapism. Escapism has the resources built into it to satisfy the universalist, so long as the universalist is not committed to a predestinarian soteriology. We claimed that “a strength of escapism is that universal reconciliation without divine coercion is not merely a logical possibility but may be a likely state of affairs in the eschaton.”27 If we assume that the universalistic passages in the Christian scriptures should be taken at face value, we can hold that it is a contingent fact about the actual world that all of the denizens of hell will actually be reconciled with God after some time. The scriptures report a fact about how things will finally turn out. This approach allows one to make sense of some of the biblical data that counts in favor of universalism. Escapism is still necessarily true; and there are possible worlds where no one in hell is reconciled with God, possible words where only some are, and others where all created persons go to hell. But in the actual world God foreknew that everyone would finally be reconciled with God and so God revealed this fact to humankind in scripture. God does, as a matter of fact, triumph in the end. But it is by persuading and not coercing us. An added bonus of such an approach is that we also get finality in the afterlife. Escapism, of course, does not commit one either way to universalism or its rejection. One can be an escapist and be a universalist. But a commitment to one does not entail commitment to the other. In either case, whether we are universalists or not, escapism has the resources built into it to explain how God’s divine purposes are not frustrated. Conclusion In conclusion, we have tried to extend and clarify the escapist view of hell. In particular, we have argued that escapism is not committed to the view that hell is unqualifiedly good for those in hell; second, that escapism can acceptably account for the Christian demand of eschatological finality; finally we argued that though escapism does allow for the possibility that God’s sotereological plans may be frustrated, this, in fact, counts as a virtue.28

27

Buckareff and Plug, “Escaping Hell,” p. 50. We wish to thank Stephen Kershnar and Michael Murray for their comments on portions of earlier drafts of this chapter. 28

Chapter 6

Hell, Wrath, and the Grace of God Stephen T. Davis The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and wickedness of those who by their wickedness suppress the truth. (Romans 1:18)1 But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved. (Ephesians 2: 4–5)

I The traditional Christian picture of hell is problematical. It is said to be a place of punishment where sinners are sent, against their wills, into eternal fiery torment. Many Christians have rejected the notion and even those who accept it, or parts of it, seem only rarely to want to talk about it. And this is for the obvious reason that the traditional picture seems to many people today to be inconsistent with the claim that God is morally good, perfectly just, and infinitely loving. As a fairly conservative Christian, I believe in the existence of hell, and indeed in its eternity. In the present chapter I want to argue that hell, properly understood, is not only consistent with but is entailed by God’s loving and gracious nature. Part of my argument will involve amending certain aspects of the traditional picture. Naturally, I cannot claim to know that my opinions about hell are true. This chapter simply constitutes my best effort to reach clarity on a dark and difficult theological and philosophical topic.2

1 All biblical quotations in this chapter are taken from the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV). 2 I should note that little in my chapter is original; much of what I say has been said by others. I have been influenced by C.S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain (New York, 1993). And although they would not agree with everything that I have said in this chapter, I would like to express my gratitude to Jonathan Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell (Oxford, 1993) and Jerry L. Walls, Hell: the Logic of Damnation (Notre Dame, 1992).

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II In Christianity, God is indeed said to be loving, gracious, and merciful. But God is also said to be one who judges, punishes, and has wrath. Are these two aspects of God’s nature consistent? Must we choose one or the other? What exactly is God’s wrath? It is simply God’s opposition to, hatred of, and dissatisfaction with human disobedience. What God wants, of course, is obedience to his commands: “I am the Lord your God: sanctify yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy” (Lev. 11:14). Just as most of us resent and regret terrible injustice when we see it, so God, in an infinitely morally superior way, resents and regrets human sinfulness. God’s usual reaction, so it seems, is to punish our disobedience so that we are moved to repent. A morally perfect being like God will hate and oppose evil. And that is what God’s wrath is. Thus Ephesians 5:6: “The wrath of God comes on those who are disobedient.” But then what is God’s grace? It is the willingness on the part of God to treat us better than we deserve. God loves us even though we are unlovable; God accepts us even though we are unacceptable; God forgives us even though we are unforgivable. If God were to treat us as justice strictly demands, we would all be condemned. So God treats us better than justice requires. That is the grace of God. Thus Ephesians 2:8: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Christians are used to the idea that the grace of God is our only hope. We know that we have been systematically disobedient to God and that justice requires our condemnation. So we can only be reconciled to God if God takes the initiative and graciously forgives us. But it is equally true that the wrath of God is our only hope. God’s wrath shows the human race that some acts are morally right and some are morally wrong, that we are obligated to perform the first and eschew the second, and that our acts count, have consequences. If it were not for the wrath of God, we might sink into the pit of moral and religious relativism, which in my opinion is one of the many roads to hell. The wrath of God is what keeps our world, at least most of the time, from deteriorating into something like Hobbes’s state of nature.3 Religious and moral relativism is the view that whatever you think is morally or religiously correct is morally or religiously correct, for you. So as long as you are sincere, it does not matter what you believe or do: it is okay. The wrath of God helps us here. The wrath of God is both a facet and an expression of God’s just and holy nature. Justice is not a temporary whim of God but an eternal necessity, except when God graciously treats us better than justice would demand. God’s justice—so we might say—constitutes the moral equilibrium of the world. Of course Christians know full well that the world, in many ways, is not in moral equilibrium. Like human beings, the world has been corrupted by evil and needs to be redeemed (Rom. 8:18–23). But it is important to note that most human beings, 3 See Chapter 12 of my Christian Philosophical Theology (Oxford, 2006), where I explore these ideas further.

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most of the time, know what is right and what is wrong. And people know that normally there are consequences for wrongdoing; we reap what we sow. We also know that when one person harms another, some sort of apology or reparation should be made. And most people react negatively—with righteous indignation— to egregious wrongdoing or unjust suffering. It is certainly possible for us to imagine worlds—like the one Hobbes described—where these facts do not hold, where there is no or virtually no moral equilibrium. This would be a world in which people do what they want, unencumbered by communal or ethical considerations and in which actions are determined only by considerations of self-interest and power. I am arguing that what keeps us from such a world is the wrath of God. That wrath is revealed in various ways, such as in God’s providential governance of the world, in scripture, and even in the revelation of God’s will in the individual conscience. God’s wrath reminds us that there are morally right actions and morally wrong actions, that that distinction does not crucially depend on what anybody thinks is morally right and morally wrong, and that there are consequences for doing wrong. I do not hold to the view that human sin is infinite in its gravity (whatever “infinite” means here) because it is an affront to an infinite being, God. This argument was once common in Christian theological circles as a way of justifying the traditional picture of hell, especially the eternality (infinite time span) of hell. But I do not see how any human sin can be infinite in any important sense.4 However, sin certainly is a rejection of the sovereignty of an infinitely loving God. Sin is serious; it cannot be just passed over as if it did not really matter. Accordingly, in order to think about God correctly, we need to affirm both God’s wrath and God’s grace. To emphasize the one without the other results in radically misleading and dangerous conceptions of God. Christians do not hold that God does not care about sin, coddles it (so to speak); nor do we hold that God is a maximally severe, unforgiving judge. How then are God’s wrath and grace related? The answer is that both are aspects of God’s nature. But they are not—as is often presupposed—conflicting or opposed attributes. God does not have a split personality; God does not (for example) in the atonement pay off with the loving side of his character a debt incurred against the wrathful side. Love and kindness are intrinsic and essential properties of God (they are essential aspects of God’s inter-Trinitarian relations), while God’s wrath only emerges as a result of human disobedience. But since grace amounts to treating the disobedient better than they deserve, it, too, emerges as a reaction to human sinfulness. Paul argues, in the form of a rhetorical question, that God patiently withholds his wrath against us so that his mercy can be shown: “What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience the objects of wrath that are made for destruction; and what if he has done so in order 4 It is possible to argue that the effects of a given sin might be virtually endless, maybe thus infinite in at least some sense, and thus the sinner might be morally responsible in part for an almost endless train of consequences. But that is another matter.

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to make known the riches of his glory for the objects of mercy?” (Rom. 9:22–3; cf. I Thess. 1:9–10). Indeed, it is precisely because of God’s love and mercy toward human beings that our sinfulness, and the suffering that it produces, can provoke God’s wrath.5 Paul also asks this question: “Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Rom. 2:4). This point at first glance seems odd. We naturally think it is God’s wrath that is meant to produce human repentance. And that notion certainly seems true. But the very fact that Paul insists it is God’s mercy that is designed to do so is significant. It shows that the divine wrath and the divine mercy are not opposed to each other after all. Both aim at the same result, viz. human repentance and divine forgiveness. Indeed, a completely moral person will react positively to right-doing and negatively to wrongdoing. And such a person who is also full of grace will not only react negatively to wrongdoing, but give wrongdoers a chance to receive mercy. Thus God’s wrath and grace are simply two aspects of God’s nature. Along with God’s wrath, God’s justice and grace equally constitute the moral equilibrium of the world. Only if we take God’s righteous judgment of sin seriously can we understand the grace of God. III What is hell like? Naturally, the answer is that I do not know (and hope never to know). Much of what the Bible says about hell is clearly metaphorical or symbolic. For example, the New Testament uses the metaphor of fire to portray the suffering of the denizens of hell. But this does not mean that the damned literally suffer the pain of burns. Indeed, I do not believe that they do. Note that Mark 9:48 describes hell as a place in which “the worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.” Why take the second image literally but not the first? Both metaphors seem to me to point toward the horror and eternality of hell.6 Here is Jesus’ story of the Rich Man and Lazarus: There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried 5 As is argued by Robert Oakes, “The Wrath of God,” in David Shatz (ed.), Philosophy and Faith: A Philosophy of Religion Reader (Boston, 2002), p. 10. 6 Thus John Calvin says, “We may conclude from many passages of Scripture, that [eternal fire] is a metaphorical expression.” John Calvin, Commentary on a Harmony of the Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, trans. William Pringle (Grand Rapids, 1949), cited in William Crockett, “The Metaphorical View,” in William Crockett (ed.), Four Views on Hell (Grand Rapids, 1996), p. 44.

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away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” But Abraham said, “Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.” He said, “Then father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house—for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.” Abraham replied, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.” He said, “No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.” He said to him, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead” (Luke 16:19–31).

This powerful story is sometimes taken to be a literal picture of the afterlife, but that interpretation seems to me incorrect. The story is one of the parables of Jesus; that is, it is a made-up tale with a real life or recognizable setting that is designed to make a religious point. (Nobody thinks the stories of the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son describe real historical events.) Jesus’ parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus may possibly have reflected common ideas of the afterlife in certain firstcentury Jewish circles.7 But it is difficult (at least for me) to believe that heaven and hell, as in the parable, are separated by a “great chasm” which cannot be crossed but across which communication is possible.8 There are, in fact, many metaphors for hell in the New Testament: for example, eternal fire (Matt. 25:41); bottomless pit (Rev. 9:2); outer darkness (Matt. 8:12, Jude 13); place of weeping and gnashing of teeth (Matt. 8:12); place of no rest (Rev. 14:11); place where the last penny must be paid (Matt. 5:26); and place of destruction (Matt. 7:13; II Thess. 1:9). None of them, I believe, is a literal description. In some sense, hell can be spoken of as a place of punishment. It will undoubtedly be experienced by its denizens as punishment. But I deny that hell is primarily an arena of retribution, where God gets even with God’s enemies. The 7 It is at least possible that hell is not the same thing as the Hades that Jesus was speaking about and that the latter was seen as the temporary abode of the dead until the last judgment. But that idea does not seem to me to increase the probability that the parable amounts to a literal picture of the afterlife. 8 There is, however, a great deal that we can learn from this deep parable and one such point is relevant to the present chapter: sin will continue in the afterlife. Notice the rich man’s implicit self-justificatory claim that he was not given enough warning during his lifetime.

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central truth about hell is that it is a place of separation from God. This is not total separation, of course, for that would mean that hell could not exist. Moreover, the biblical tradition affirms that nothing can ever be totally separated from God (Pss. 139:7–12). But hell is separation from God in the sense of being cut off from the source of all love, joy, peace, and light. There is no deep or ultimate joy in hell and I believe its denizens are miserable. To be apart from the source of love, joy, peace, and light, is to live miserably. But why are the damned in hell? As noted, I am not much attracted to the idea of retribution, although there are biblical texts that might be taken to support the idea. To put the point bluntly, I believe they are in hell because they choose to be there. People are not sent to hell, kicking and screaming, against their wills. Unfortunately, some people choose to live their lives apart from God, harden their hearts, and will continue to say no to God after death; some will doubtless do so forever. For such people, the prospect of living in the presence of God will seem worse than living apart from God. Allowing them to live forever in hell is simply God’s continuing to grant them the freedom that they experienced in this life to say yes or no to God. Nevertheless, I suspect the people in hell are deeply remorseful. Can people both freely choose hell over heaven, knowing that they would be unable to endure heaven, but still regret the fact that they cannot happily choose heaven? Yes, I believe that this is quite possible. There are people who can carry a grudge against an enemy for years despite recognizing the fact that it would be better for all concerned if they forgave the enemy and moved on with their lives. Moreover, the evidence that we have from this life is that some people will go on denying God forever. Their hostility will grow; their hearts will grow ever harder. People in hell will surely suffer, but their suffering will be largely self-inflicted. Moreover, I suspect that they will cause each other to suffer; that is, they will inflict pain on others who are within reach. It might be objected that the notion that some people will voluntarily choose hell might make sense initially (i.e., immediately after death) but that the idea that they will do so everlastingly does not. And it is certainly true that heaven will always be the most sensible option. But, again, I hold that people who continue voluntarily to choose hell (even if we grant that they will always be offered the option of repenting and being promoted to hell) will not be sensible. Their hatred of God will have overcome them. Will there be gradations in hell—more suffering for moral monsters and less for more run-of-the-mill sinners? I do not claim to know the answer to that question.9 Doubtless something within us cries out for increased suffering in hell for people like Hitler and Stalin. But people are not in hell, so to speak, for their sins but for their sin. That is, they are in a self-chosen and unrepentant state of separation from God and God’s law. And that will be true of all the denizens of hell.

9

Jesus seems to hint as much in Matthew 11:24.

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Is the existence of hell consistent with the loving and gracious nature of God? Yes, it is. Some Christians try to justify the existence of hell by viewing it as the “natural consequence” of a life of sin. I accept the notion that hell is a natural consequence of a life of rebellion against God (and in that sense, hell is a punishment). But this point does not in itself justify God in condemning people to hell, because it does not justify the divinely ordained laws of natural necessity that make hell sin’s natural consequence. My claim, then, is that the denizens of hell are in hell because they freely choose to be there. That is, they freely choose not to live in the presence of God. If so, then hell is not only an expression of divine justice but of divine love as well. And hell will exist eternally because the hearts of some of the condemned will grow ever and ever harder against God. They will never choose anything other than hell. Do the denizens of hell get a “second chance,” i.e., do they have the opportunity to decide freely to repent and instead choose heaven (and then be transferred to heaven)? I do not know the answer to that question either—nor, in my opinion, does any earthly person. But let me develop a proposal. It is based on three assumptions: (1) the Bible does not tell us everything we might want to know about God, God’s will, and our future state; (2) all people who are saved or reconciled to God are saved or reconciled because of the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Christ (John 14:6); and (3) it would be unjust on the part of God to condemn people to hell because, for reasons beyond their control, they never had faith in Christ. So perhaps there are ways—unknown to us—by which those who die in infancy, or who are mentally impaired, or who live and die in ignorance of Christ can be saved through Christ. In other words, if redemption is to be found only through Christ, and if it is God’s will that everyone be saved (I Timothy 2:4), and if God is both loving and just, then it seems to follow that it must be possible for all people, wherever or whenever they live or however ignorant of Christ they may be, to come to God through Christ. Christian salvation is accordingly universally available. God gives everyone the grace necessary for faith. But in precisely what way is it universally available? Here I offer a proposal (or, better, conjecture)—postmortem evangelism. (This is indeed a conjecture or perhaps merely a hope; it is not a dogma or teaching or even a firm belief of mine.) There is at least some support for the idea in the nearly universal Christian consensus that allowance is made for the salvation of infants who die despite their ignorance of Christ. It is quite true that the two cases—dead infants and unevangelized pagans—are not precisely parallel. But the central point of similarity is that members of both groups die in inculpable ignorance of Christ. And if it is possible for members of one group to be saved, why not members of the other? Does anything in the New Testament support this conjecture? The truth is, not much. But there is, for example, the tradition of the harrowing of hell. It arises from a few texts: Therefore it is said, “When he ascended on high he made captivity itself a captive; he gave gifts to his people.” (When it says, “He ascended,” what does

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The Problem of Hell it mean but that he had also descended into the lower parts of the earth? He who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things.) (Eph. 4:8–10) For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey, when God’s waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were saved through water. (I Pet. 3:18–20) But they [the Gentiles] will give an accounting to him who stands ready to judge the living and the dead. For this is the reason the gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that, though they had been judged in the flesh as everyone is judged, they might live in the spirit as God does. (I Pet. 4:5–6)

Christian tradition has often interpreted these texts (see also Matthew 12:40; Acts 2:24–31; Romans 10:6–8) to mean that after his crucifixion and before his resurrection appearances, Christ descended into Hades in order to rescue the Old Testament or antediluvian righteous, who were unable to ascend into heaven until Christ had done his atoning work. This is doubtless the biblical basis for the assertion in the Apostles’ Creed that Christ “descended into hell.” The New Testament can accordingly be taken at least to suggest the possibility of postmortem salvation. (Notice also Paul’s cryptic but apparently approving comment about baptism for the dead in I Corinthians 15:29.) It seems to have been common teaching in the Christian Church from the time of the Apostolic Fathers onward that Jesus, between his death and resurrection appearances, visited Hades. Hades was the abode of the dead (roughly equivalent to the Old Testament Sheol); by New Testament times it was said to be divided into two sections, the abyss (or Gehenna) for evil people and paradise for the righteous. The Fathers generally held that Christ’s descent into Hades was for the purpose of redeeming righteous people of Old Testament times. And despite the existence of scores of interpretations of the puzzling texts just cited, this still seems a possible exegesis of them. Beginning with Clement of Alexandria (AD ca. 150–ca. 213), several of the Church Fathers (e.g., Gregory of Nazianzus in his Orations, 45.23, and Cyril of Alexandria in his Pascal Homily, 7) argued that the descent into Hades had the effect of rescuing righteous pagans as well—people who lived moral lives according to their lights but never had the opportunity to be exposed to Christian teachings. In Hades, Christ (or, Clement suggested, perhaps the apostles) preached the gospel to them; some accepted it and so were rescued. Clement made this move in part because he was sensitive to the charge that God’s condemnation of ignorant pagans might otherwise be considered unjust. Thus he asked: “Who in his senses can suppose the souls of the righteous and

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those of sinners in the same condemnation, charging Providence with injustice?”10 Speaking of those who die before the incarnation of Christ, he said, “It is not right that these should be condemned without trial, and that those alone who lived after the advent should have the advantage of the divine righteousness.” Clement claimed that the denizens of Hades, both Jews and Gentiles, heard the preaching of the gospel and then either gladly accepted it or else admitted that their punishment was just. Clement suggested two reasons why some of them repented and believed, only the first of which I can endorse. First, he said, God’s punishments are not retributive, but rather are “saving and disciplinary, leading to conversion.” The second, an odd, Platonic argument, is that the disembodied state of the citizens of Hades may have increased their susceptibility to hearing the gospel.11 Most interestingly, Clement suggested that God’s redemptive power can even now recall postmortem souls: “I think it is demonstrated that the God being good, and the Lord powerful, they save with a righteousness and equality which extend to all that turn to Him, whether here or elsewhere. For it is not here alone that the active power of God is beforehand, but it is everywhere and always at work.” But if the gospel was once preached to the dead, maybe this practice continues. If so, perhaps the ignorant receive after death the chance that they never had before to turn in faith to Christ. Perhaps they live in the postmortem (but pre-last judgment) state that Paul seems to speak of in II Corinthians 5:8 (“we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord”) and Philippians 1:23–4 (“I am hard pressed between the two [life and death]. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account”). And in John 5:28–9, Jesus is even reported to have said that the dead will hear the message of the Son of God, and that when they do they will be bodily resurrected—“those who have done good, to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of judgment.”12 As long as it is recognized that these are conjectures or expressions of hope without clear or systematic biblical warrant, we might even suggest that Christ has the power to save human beings wherever they are, even in hell.13 Some, of course, will resist this suggestion. It is one thing—so they might say—to suggest 10

This and subsequent citations from Clement are taken from The Stromata, 6.6. See Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (eds), The Ante-Nicene Fathers (2 vols, Grand Rapids, 1989), vol. 2. pp. 490–92. 11 He said, “Souls, although darkened by passions, when released from their bodies, are able to perceive more clearly, because of their being no longer obstructed by the paltry flesh.” 12 For a good discussion of whether the New Testament texts that I have cited should be interpreted along the lines that I am suggesting, see John Sanders, No Other Name: An Investigation into the Destiny of the Unevalgelized (Grand Rapids, 1992), pp. 207–8. 13 C.S. Lewis seems to suggest as much (in literary form) in The Great Divorce (New York, 1946). This book has been a helpful myth to many Christians, including me.

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that the ignorant after death receive a chance (their first) to respond positively to the gospel, but it is quite another to suggest that those who have been condemned receive other chances to respond positively. But here I have a question: Is it possible that there are persons who would respond positively to God’s love after death even though they have not responded positively to it before death? I believe this is quite possible. Indeed, one reason for this latest conjecture is the observation that some who hear the gospel hear it in such a way that they are psychologically unable to respond positively. Perhaps they heard the gospel for the first time from a scoundrel, or bigot, or fool. Or perhaps religiously skeptical parents or teachers influenced them to reject Christianity. Whatever the reason, I believe it would be unjust of God to condemn those who did indeed hear the good news but were unable to accept it. This is why I suggest, or perhaps hope, that even in hell, people can be rescued. Everyone must have a genuine opportunity to respond positively to God. Speaking about people who commit the unforgivable sin, Jesus said, they “will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come” (Matt. 12:32, emphasis added). This text might well be taken to imply that people who commit lesser sins can be forgiven of them in the age to come. And although precise translation of this next text is difficult, the NRSV renders Hebrews 7:25 as: “Consequently he is able for all time to save those who approach God through him.” Does the expression “for all time” mean that once one is saved one is saved for all time (what Calvinists call eternal security) or does it mean that one can be saved at any time, even after death? If the second, we have here another hint of postmortem evangelism. Finally, note Revelation 21:15, where the city of God is described as follows: “Its gates shall never be shut by day—and there shall be no night there.” IV Jonathan Kvanvig had raised two interesting objections to the kind of view of hell that I am suggesting. Let us consider them.14 Kvanvig’s first point is that choice theories of hell (as opposed to retribution theories), especially when combined with the possibility of postmortem escape to heaven, remove the finality that Christians have always expected of the eschaton. He argues that if a second chance is deserved, it is hard to see why a third would not be deserved, and then a fourth, and so on. There could be, he says, “an infinite sequence of delays of consignment to hell” (if escape to heaven from some sort of purgatory or holding place is contemplated). Or if escape from hell itself is contemplated, an infinite series of delays of permanent consignment to hell is on offer. And so we have an account of hell that is not truly eschatological.

14 They are found in his essay “Hell,” in Jerry Walls (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Eschatology (Oxford, 2008); see especially pp. 418, 421–3.

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Second, Kvanvig argues that what we have here is more akin to reincarnational theories, with their endless cycles of rebirths, than Christian eschatology. Hell is merely an extension of ordinary life in the sense that after death one is still allowed to decide what one’s ultimate fate is to be. Progress and moral development can continue from one life to the next. The second criticism is easier to answer than the first. The only similarity to reincarnation is that on the choice-plus-possible-postmortem-promotion theory, it is possible after death to improve one’s ultimate lot by growing spiritually, repenting, and choosing heaven. But the differences are striking: (1) Nothing like an almost endless cycle of lives, deaths, and rebirths is part of the theory. There are only two lives—ordinary earthly life and postmortem life. There is never any rebirth into a wholly new earthly body. (2) The opportunities for promotion may not be endless—perhaps there is only one per person. Once one has heard and understood the invitation of heaven and turned it down, there are no more opportunities. (3) Most of all, there is no karma doctrine (an inescapable part of standard reincarnational theories). Religions that posit reincarnation almost always claim that one’s salvation or liberation or enlightenment (or whatever term is preferred) is a matter of one’s own effort. What is basically wrong with human beings is ignorance or false consciousness; they need to understand reality correctly; and for most human beings, it takes many, many lives to build up their karma to the point of reaching the desired spiritual end state. In Christian theories, on the other hand, the basic problem is not ignorance but guilt; and no matter how hard we try, we are unable to save ourselves. There is no concept of improving one’s karma; one must simply accept the grace and forgiveness of God. But Kvanvig’s first point is essentially correct. If people can make postmortem decisions that improve their ultimate lot, I accept that the finality of death is not quite the same as it is for those Christians who do not envision the possibility of such decisions. I believe this is, however, more a description of the theory rather than a criticism of it. V In conclusion, let me make some brief remarks about two alternatives to hell that I reject, viz., annihilationism and universalism. Annihilationism is the idea is that instead of sending the reprobate to hell, God permanently destroys them; they no longer exist. And although some biblical texts can be interpreted along those lines (e.g., Matthew 7:13; Romans 9:22; Philippians 1:28, 3:19; II Thessalonians 1:9), I do not think that scripture supports annihilationism. Moreover, the theory makes moral sense only in juxtaposition

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with the traditional view of hell. That is, it does seem better for God to destroy the wicked than subject them to eternal torture. But given the view of hell that I am working with, that point is not nearly so obvious. Would the wicked themselves prefer annihilation to hell? I doubt it. Universalism is the view that if hell exists at all, it is only temporary; in the end all human beings will be with God in heaven. Does the idea of possible postmortem repentance bring in universalism? Definitely not. I have little doubt that some will say No to God eternally (as the Bible predicts), nor do I see any need for a “second chance” for those who have freely and knowingly chosen in this life to live apart from God. Perhaps God never gives up on people, but some folks seem to have hardened their hearts to such a degree that they will never repent and turn to God. For such people, hell as separation from communion with God exists forever, just as it is a reality for them in this life. But perhaps some who die in ignorance of Christ will hear the good news, repent, and be rescued. Perhaps even some denizens of hell will do so too. Again, the key word here is perhaps. There are no grounds to dogmatize here. I do not think we know much about the future life. All that I am certain of is that God’s scheme for the salvation of human beings will turn out to have been both gracious and just, probably in ways that we do not now understand. Let us return to the idea that God’s grace is our only hope. We deserve to be condemned, but out of love for us, God forgives us and saves us. If our salvation is a matter of grace alone, then one implication of that idea is worth noting. The point is this: if hell is inconsistent with God’s love, as universalists always maintain, then our salvation, i.e., our rescue from hell, is no longer a matter of grace. It becomes a matter of our justly being freed from a penalty that we do not truly deserve. So in the end, the argument that hell is inconsistent with God’s love overturns the Christian notion of grace.15

15 I would like to thank Professors James Bradley and Dale Tuggy for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this chapter.

Chapter 7

Molinism and Hell Gordon Knight

At least since the time of the early Church Fathers, there have been universalist Christians who held that all human beings will eventually be redeemed. There have also been those who, while denying universal salvation, nevertheless modify the concept of hell in various ways, either by construing it as a less horrendous separation from God or as simple annihilation. I will not survey each of these options, but rather focus on the traditional concept of hell as a place, or perhaps a state of being, in which the unredeemed undergo extreme and everlasting suffering. Indeed, it is striking how such a ghoulish and surreal conception of the afterlife has been taken for granted in some Christian circles. But ghoulish and surreal it is, and before engaging in a limited evaluation of this doctrine, it might be well to stop and consider the character and extent of the horrors that are thought to constitute the eternal fate of the damned. At least, it would be useful to do this if we could, but I doubt human imagination is sufficient to grasp an eternity of suffering. This, of course, has not stopped preachers from engaging in lurid descriptions. Consider this nugget from Jonathan Edwards: It would be dreadful to suffer this fierceness and wrath for even one moment; but you must suffer it to all eternity: there will be no end to this exquisite, horrible misery: when you look forward, you shall see a long forever a boundless duration before you, which will swallow up your thoughts, and amaze your soul; and you will absolutely despair of ever having any deliverance, any end, any mitigation, any rest at all …1

Even allowing for hyperbole (and it is not clear Edwards intends any hyperbole), the place described by Edwards is a very bad place indeed. But while hell presents a moral problem for all Christians who endorse the doctrine, there are also particular problems that arise depending on how one conceives of God’s relationship to the world. For example, anyone who holds that God predetermines the post-mortem fate of the saved and the lost will have a much more difficult time defending the moral legitimacy of hell than, for example, those

1 Jonathan Edwards, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” in Harold P. Simonson (ed.), Selected Writings of Jonathan Edwards (New York, 1970), p. 112.

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who advocate open theism.2 In this chapter I want to consider how the traditional conception of hell fares if we approach it from the standpoint of a currently popular view of God’s foreknowledge and providence, the Molinist account. Molinism According to many Christians, God is in complete providential control of everything that happens in the world. Such control is understood as absolute, including both deterministic natural phenomena and creaturely choices. Because God has such control, we can be certain that God’s purposes for the world will be fulfilled, not just in general terms, but with respect to each and every detail of the entire history of the universe. This conception of divine providence has been aptly characterized by Thomas Flint: Being omniscient God, God has complete and detailed knowledge of this world—its history, its current state, and its future. Being omnipotent, God has complete and specific control over that world, a world which has developed and will continue to evolve in accord with his sovereign and never-failing will. Being omnibenevolent, God has used his knowledge and power to fashion and execute a plan for his world that manifests his own moral perfection and the inexhaustible love he bears for his creation. According to this traditional picture, then, to see God as provident is to see him as knowingly and lovingly directing each and every event involving each and every creature toward the ends he has ordained for them.3

An immediate worry that comes to mind when we consider this strong view of divine providence is that it seems to conflict with the belief in free will, at least if we understand such freedom in a libertarian, as opposed to compatibilist, sense. By “libertarian freedom,” I mean the sort of freedom that involves not just freedom from external control, but also freedom to control one’s own choices and decisions. While compatibilists have typically held that a person is free if they can act on the basis of their choices without external restraint, libertarians hold that a necessary condition for choice being free is that the choice itself is not completely determined. As the name implies, compatibilists hold a person can be free and yet have their decisions totally determined (be it by God or natural causation), whereas libertarians hold that true freedom requires that one’s choices are themselves undetermined. Given the assumption of libertarian freedom, the problem can be crystallized as this: if God has control over the entire history of the world, including, for example, my decision to drink another cup of coffee right 2 For a discussion of how an open theist may approach the doctrine of hell, see my “Universalism for Open Theists,” Religious Studies, 42/2 (2006): 213–23. 3 Thomas P. Flint, Divine Providence: The Molinist Account (New York, 1998), p. 12.

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now, then it seems it is God, not me, that is really in control of my choice and I am not really free. Some Christians, notably Calvinists, are happy to endorse this consequence of a strong conception of divine providence for free will. But for the majority of Christians such theological determinism is deeply troubling. For one thing, the Calvinist doctrine contains within it the seeds of a devastating argument from evil against the existence of God. For if God is responsible for each of our choices, it follows that God is directly responsible for both the huge number of evil actions that human beings have committed over the years, and, more troubling still, the eternal fate of each creature. While proponents of Calvinistic predestination are happy to defend this consequence of their view of divine sovereignty, many others find the God imagined by such Calvinists a barbaric caricature of the biblical God of love.4 Even if we set aside this theological difficulty, theological determinism shares with its naturalistic cousin the difficulty of seeing how any creature can be really morally responsible for his or her actions. This is not the place to discuss this controversy in detail. In what follows I will simply assume the position that wherever the truth may lie, it cannot be found in theological determinism. Instead I propose to consider in depth one way philosophers have tried to reconcile strong divine providence with libertarian free will. While this approach, known as Molinism, has its roots in the scholastic philosophy of the sixteenth century, it also has many recent defenders. In particular, I will examine whether Molinism provides a conception of divine sovereignty that is morally and logically consistent with the belief that God’s plan includes the eternal suffering of the damned. How is this reconciliation to be accomplished? It is here that Flint and others refer to the distinctive contribution of the sixteenth-century Jesuit theologian, Luis de Molina.5 Molina’s understanding of divine providence is complex, but we may begin to understand his view by means of a contrast with another view of God’s relationship to the total history of the universe, a view we can call simple foreknowledge. According to simple foreknowledge, God, in virtue of being omniscient, has exhaustive knowledge of everything that happens, past, present, and future. My choice to drink another cup of coffee today is, to the mind of God, just as well known as the two cups of coffee I have drunk previously. Thus the simple view of foreknowledge preserves the traditional belief that God has exhaustive knowledge of future events. Nothing is hidden from the mind of God. But on this view God’s knowledge is limited to what will actually occur. God knows what will actually come about in the actual world that God creates. In contrast to this Molina argued that God’s knowledge, prior to creation, is much more extensive. God does not just know what I will, in fact, choose to do; God 4

For a defense of the Calvinist position, see Daniel Strange, “A Calvinist Response to Talbott’s Universalism,” in Robin Parry and Chris Partridge (eds.), Universal Salvation? The Current Debate (Grand Rapids, 2003), pp. 145–68. 5 Luis de Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge, trans. Alfred Freddoso (New York, 2004).

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knows what I would choose to do in any circumstance. Thus, God knows that were I writing a paper in a coffee house (as I am now doing), I would freely choose to drink coffee. He also knows that in other circumstances, circumstances that will not in fact obtain, I would make other choices. In fact God knows what I would choose in any possible circumstance I am placed in. Nor is this knowledge limited to persons that God actually chooses to create. According to Molina, God knows what any possible person would freely choose to do in every possible circumstance in which such a person could be placed. It is clear that from the standpoint of strong divine providence, this Molinist view has several advantages over simple foreknowledge. For while the simple foreknowledge view gives God exhaustive knowledge of how the history of the world will play out, it is unclear how such knowledge gives God any insights that may be useful in providentially governing the world. In brief, God’s knowledge of what will take place happens “too late” for God to do anything about it. Suppose it is part of God’s providential plan that I do not drink coffee this afternoon. If this is so then how does God’s knowledge that I will drink coffee help God fulfill God’s purposes? For if God knows that I will drink coffee, then I will drink coffee. There is nothing God can do about it. Simple foreknowledge, far from giving God resources for controlling how the world will turn out, rather presents God with a fait accompli that God can do nothing about.6 Even if this worry about simple foreknowledge can be countered, it is still clear that Molinism provides God with much greater resources for fine tuning the history of the world. If God knows the counterfactual truth, “were I placed in a coffee house on 5 January 2009, I would choose to drink coffee” as well as all the other counterfactual truths about what I would do in other circumstances, then God can place me in situations that are best suited to fulfill God’s plans. If God wants me to drink coffee, God can place me in a situation in which I would choose to drink coffee. If God does not want me to drink coffee, God can place me in other circumstances in which I do not make that choice. And so on with respect to any decision I, or any other possible creature, may make. On the other hand, God’s knowledge of these socalled “counterfactuals of freedom” limits the sorts of worlds that God can create. For on the Molinist account what a possible creature would freely choose to do is totally independent of God’s will. God knows what I would choose to do, but God cannot change the fact that, in a certain circumstance, I would make a particular choice (assuming God does not violate my freedom). So if God wants me to drink coffee and there are no possible situations in which I would choose to drink coffee, God is out of luck. Likewise, it may be that there is a situation in which I drink coffee, but that this situation includes other factors that are inimical to God’s plan. Maybe the only situation in which I drink coffee is one in which I am also being tortured, for example. In this way counterfactuals of freedom are similar to logically necessary truths. Just as God cannot create a world in which there is a 6 See John Sanders, “Why Simple Foreknowledge Offers No More Providential Control Than the Openness of God,” Faith and Philosophy, 14/1 (1997): 26–40.

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round square, so too God cannot create a world in which I freely drink coffee if the counterfactuals of freedom are such that I never would make such a choice. This is why Molina called knowledge of these counterfactuals “middle knowledge.” Logically speaking, these truths that God knows are known after his knowledge of necessary truths, yet prior to his free knowledge of how the world will actually turn out (this last knowledge is “free” because it depends on God’s free decisions in creation). The Molinist view, if coherent, therefore provides a way of retaining a libertarian theory of the will along with strong divine providence. This is one of the advantages of the theory. Another advantage, first noted by Alvin Plantinga, is that Molinism allows us an elegant defense against the anti-theistic argument from evil. This argument claims that there is logical inconsistency between: (1) God is omnipotent and wholly good; and (2) There is evil. The reasoning is familiar. If God is good God would want to create a world without evil. If God is omnipotent then God is able to create a world without evil. But there is evil, ergo, there is no God. A traditional response to this argument has been to appeal to free will. God cannot be blamed for the evil done by creatures because it is us fallen mortals, not God, who bears the ultimate responsibility for evil. To this defense J.L Mackie has retorted that God, being omnipotent, can create any possible world, including the possible world in which free creatures freely choose not to do evil. But, again, there is evil. So God does not exist.7 It is at this point that Plantinga, who had not yet heard of Molina, invoked a remarkable Molinist-style defense. Very briefly, Plantinga’s approach is to simply point out that if the truth value of counterfactuals of freedom are not dependent on God’ will, there is no way for even an omnipotent God to make a creature freely choose one way or another. The best God can do is place free creatures in circumstances in which their choices will be most conducive to God’s plan. One cannot, in other words, claim that God’s omnipotence and goodness necessitates that God create the best possible world for, on the Molinist account, there are possible worlds that are not feasible for God to create. These are worlds that violate no necessary truths, but which God cannot create because of certain brute truths about the choices free creatures would make. In fact, Plantinga argues it may be that no free creature is such that it will never freely commit a serious moral wrong no matter what situation it is placed in. Thus, the goodness of free will provides the theist with a counter to the anti-theistic claim that evil and God’s existence are logically incompatible.8 7 8

J.L. Mackie, “Evil and Omnipotence,” Mind, 64/244 (1955), p. 200. Alvin Plantinga, The Nature of Necessity (Oxford, 1974), pp. 164–95.

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Hell As we have seen, one prime reason for rejecting the Calvinist conception of providence is that it seems to present an intractable problem of evil. For while one may present a serious moral challenge to any variety of Christianity that allows for hell, the challenge becomes even stronger if the decisions on which God judges creatures are themselves dependent on the will of God. We have also seen that, unlike Calvinism, Molinism provides an apparent way to allow for strong providential control without denying libertarian free will. Molinism has also been thought useful by many in developing ways of countering the atheological argument from evil. Now the question comes: how does Molinism square with what is, for those who endorse it, the most difficult problem of evil, the problem of reconciling the belief in a good and loving God with the eternal suffering of the unredeemed in hell? We can easily see why someone may think Molinism is preferable to Calvinism on this score, for the Molinist explicitly endorses a robust libertarian view of free will. Those who go to hell do so because of their own choices and decisions, not because God has forced them to do so. This is the approach explicitly endorsed by William Lane Craig.9 Craig takes Plantinga’s Molinistic free will defense one step further, arguing that not only finite evil, but also the horrendous suffering of hell can be accounted for in a morally acceptable manner if we accept the Molinist account of providence. To understand Craig’s argument, we need to be clear about the specific moral problem he is concerned with. Craig has no concern for the fate of those who “reject Christ,” for he sees these people as sealing their own fate through their free choices. What concerns Craig are only those who through no fault of their own have never heard the gospel. While Craig allows that some of these individuals may be redeemed through their response to “the light of general revelation” such people are few and far between.10 The problem, as Craig sees it, lies in the belief that there are some true counterfactuals of freedom. Take any individual who has not heard the gospel in his lifetime, call him George. George has not heard the gospel, yet it seems on the face of it possibly true that had he heard it, George would have been redeemed. Yet, Craig insists that unless George is one of the very special people who respond to general revelation, George will be damned, even though he would have been saved if he had heard the gospel message. Here is the “soteriological problem of evil.” A good and loving God would want to save George. An all-powerful God would be able to save George. Yet, by hypothesis, George is damned. In this way either the existence of a good and loving God, or Craig’s strong variety of Christian exclusivism, is called into question.11 9 William Lane Craig, “No Other Name: A Middle Knowledge Perspective on the Exclusivity of Salvation through Christ,” Faith and Philosophy, 6/2 (1989): 172–88. 10 Ibid., p. 176. 11 Unlike some exclusivists, Craig does not seem to allow for the possibility of postmortem salvation. Nor does he allow that some may be saved through Christ “anonymously,”

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It is worthwhile to emphasize that Craig understands this problem in an extremely narrow light. The problem only rises for those who have heard the gospel. He has no concern at all for those who do not agree with the truth of Christianity after having heard of it. For these unbelievers, eternal damnation is only to be expected from a just and holy God. This limited understanding of the scope of the problem has several peculiarities. First, it ignores the apparent fact that there are people who are sincere in their non-belief and also people who are sincere in their commitment to alternative religious traditions. Gandhi, for instance, knew of Christianity but chose to remain committed to Hinduism. For Craig, this is enough to show that Gandhi “rejected” Christ and thus deserves damnation. But in what sense does a sincere Hindu reject Christ? It would seem that in order to reject Christ, one must first believe that there is a Christ (that is, a risen Lord, not merely an historical Jesus). But the most likely explanation of Gandhi and others who reject of Christianity is not that they believe in the cross and resurrection and then deny it. They are not like the demons, who, in the words of James, believe and tremble. They simply do not believe at all. What Gandhi and others do is not reject God or Christ, but reject the truth of the central tenets of Christianity. Perhaps sometimes such nonbelief is a matter of self-deception. One may pridefully reject what one deep down knows to be true. This may be the case sometimes, but it is hardly plausible as a blanket explanation for every case of a person deciding that they do not believe that Christianity is true. Suppose further that a thoughtful Christian is persuaded by an examination of the argument from evil that the Christian God does not exist. We may disagree with the reasoning, but it is hardly plausible that God damns this individual for their thoughtfulness and yet blesses the naïve Christian for whom evil was never seen to be a problem. Or consider the example of the person who hears the genuine gospel from preachers who themselves do not live it, who may even be physically or sexually abusive. It is a logical error to conclude, from the character of the messenger, that the message is wrong. But such a logical lapse is not a moral error, and certainly not the sort of error a loving God could not forgive. To this we may add, in agreement with Marilyn McCord Adams, that concretely lived human life is full of innumerable contingent obstacles and dysfunctions that render human beings incapable of an informed choice that seals our eternal fate.12 But even if Craig is mistaken about the scope of the problem, his solution, if plausible at all, will work for many, if not all, of these cases.13 This solution is that is, without explicit conscious acceptance. 12 Marilyn McCord Adams, “The Problem of Hell: A Problem of Evil for Christians,” in Eleonore Stump (ed.), Reasoned Faith (Ithaca, 1993), p. 313. 13 One might worry about the case of the wavering Christian considering the problem of evil. Is such a person saved if they were a sincere believer, and then later rejected such belief? What if after further reflection they would have returned to the faith? I suppose a Craig-like answer would be that if such a person dies before their faith is revitalized, then God knows they never would return to the Church. But would it not be better, given Craig’s eschatology, for such a person to die before their apostasy?

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to attempt to apply Plantinga’s free will defense to the problem of hell. Recall that Plantinga claimed that counterfactuals of creaturely freedom limited the kind of world that God could create. While there is a logically possible world in which everyone is both free and yet does not sin, these counterfactuals may, for all we know, render such a world not feasible for God. It may even be that there are counterfactuals of freedom that guarantee that whatever free creature God creates, they will inevitably sin; the inevitability here is not of God’s doing. God does not make creatures sin. It is rather a brute fact about the free choices creatures would make. Armed with this Molinist conception of divine providence, Craig argues in a similar vein. Succinctly put, his argument is that it is possible that none of those who do not in their mortal lives hear the gospel would, in any possible circumstance, become converts to Christianity. We cannot blame God for rigging the world so that many do not hear of Christ, because God knows that these people, no matter how much grace is bestowed on them, will never turn to God. Just as Plantinga claimed it possible that all free creatures suffer from transworld depravity (they all would sin in any possible circumstance), so too Craig argues that it is possible that those who never hear the gospel suffer from transworld damnation. And since these lost souls are lost through their free choices and not because of divine decree, God cannot be held morally accountable for their damnation. Craig insists that God loves each individual and wants each to be saved; it just so happens that many of these people that God loves he also knew, from the beginning, would end up in hell.14 The Cannon Fodder View of the Unredeemed The first thing to notice in evaluation of Craig’s position is that the analogy between his approach and that of Plantinga is incomplete. For Plantinga, transworld depravity is a possible feature that all possible free creatures possess. Transworld damnation, on the other hand, is only possessed by the many who through the centuries have never had Christianity explained to them. Those who hear the gospel and respond to it are, obviously, not transworldly damned. Likewise for those few who respond to “general revelation.” Thus while Plantinga can argue that God could not create any world that both has free creatures and also is sinless, it appears this option is not possible for Craig. If God could create a world in which all are saved, why didn’t he? Craig is aware of this difficulty and tries to respond it to it. Craig allows that it is “obvious that, all things being equal, an omnibenevolent God prefers a world in which all persons are saved to a world containing those same persons some of whom are lost.”15 But, Craig insists, all things are not equal. For it may be that in order to receive an “optimal balance” between the saved and lost, God 14 15

Craig, “No Other Name,” p. 176. Ibid., p. 182.

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must create many who are lost. As Craig boldly puts it: “An omnibenevolent God might want as many creatures as possible to share salvation; but given certain true counterfactuals of creaturely freedom, God, in order to have a multitude in heaven, might have to accept a number in hell.”16 Craig’s point is that whether or not a certain person responds to Christ will depend on contingent features of the world that person finds herself in. These features will include facts such as that so and so is or is not a believer in Christianity, and whether he or she has heard of Christ. Thus one cannot legitimately infer from the fact that there are, for example, one billion saved persons in this world along with huge numbers of unredeemed, that God could create a world which contained these redeemed persons alone, without the company of the transworldly damned. As a matter of logic, Craig is surely correct. Just because A is feasible in circumstance B, it does not follow that A is feasible in circumstance C. Furthermore, we may even allow that the claim has certain plausibility in some cases. It may be that only by observing the tragic life of a contemporary that a person can be jarred out of the dogmatic slumber of petty materialism and respond to Christ. But as a general claim about the relationship between saved and lost we must conclude that it is totally implausible. For the vast majority of those who Craig believes to be transworldly damned have, historically, had little contact with those who hear the gospel and have the opportunity to accept or reject it. It is surely natural to suppose that if another person’s life is going to affect my fundamental life choices, I should at least be aware of such persons. Yet throughout much of history, such mutual awareness between would-be Christians and those who have never heard of Christ just did not exist. Craig may reply that there is nevertheless an indirect connection between, for example, the population of China in 300 BCE and later Christian conversions; but without some plausible indication how such a connection can not only exist but also be so significant as to alter substantially the ratio of saved to lost, the claim is incredulous. But there is a deeper problem with Craig’s proposed eschatology. Recall that a chief reason for rejecting theological determinism is that such a belief, when combined with the belief that all are not saved, seriously calls into question the goodness and loving character of God. Craig believes that by affirming the Molinist commitment to libertarian freedom, he is able to avoid this sort of devastating critique. But is this really so? Does the bare allowance of libertarian free will, when coupled with Molinist providence, really reconcile the existence of a good and loving God with the existence of hell? Let us compare the situation as Craig understands it with the analogous position of a theological determinist. The determinist holds that God creates human beings of various sorts and in creating them determines that some will be damned, others redeemed. Prior to the creation of the world, God knows what the end result will be. God knows that many will spend eternity in hell because of God’s decree, and is, nevertheless, happy with this situation. According to Craig’s Molinist alternative God also knows, prior to 16

Ibid.

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creation, that there will be a certain ratio between saved and lost. God knows that in creating many of God’s creatures, he is ensuring that they will spend eternity in hell. True, God does not causally determine the choices that lead to the damnation of these persons. Nevertheless, the counterfactuals of freedom ensure that if these individuals are created, they will be damned. Therefore, merely in the act of creation God is guaranteeing for many of God’s creatures an eternal life that is much worse than never having existed at all. As Craig insists, God engages in elaborate Molinist fine tuning to ensure the best ratio of saved to lost. On this Molinist scheme God does not force anyone’s decision, but this does not prevent God from being utterly manipulative in his attitude towards creation. Let us allow that Bob would freely reject Christ in any possible circumstance. Let us further allow, as Craig insists, that in such rejection, freely made, Bob is responsible for his own fate. Neither of these allowances justify Craig’s claim that a Molinist, damnation-friendly deity can also consistently be viewed as good and loving towards each of God’s creatures. For, while in this example Bob is responsible, so too is God. One does not, in general, lose all responsibility for an action just because it involves another person’s free choice. If I knowingly give the keys of a car to Sally, who happens to be drunk, I share a responsibility in the outcome, even though it was Sally’s free decision to drive while inebriated. Likewise God, in creating persons whom he knows will never accept Christ, shares a responsibility for the resultant suffering in hell. Consider also the strikingly consequentialist character of Craig’s conception of the deity. God willingly creates a certain number of people whom he knows will be damned so that in the end the result would consist in a greater number of damned. How exactly this cost/benefit analysis works in the divine mind is naturally left a little vague. It cannot be just that God aims at the best possible ratio of saved to lost, since Craig allows that it is likely there is some world that God could create which only contains the redeemed. Yet Craig seems willing to admit that there is some sacrifice involved in creating people who will spend eternity in hell. What is important is that on Craig’s view God creates some persons who will be damned solely in order to allow that other people will be saved. For many people this sort of approach to human lives, in which some are sacrificed for the greater good, is unacceptable even in the case of human choices and decisions. It is this sort of attitude towards others, an attitude which sees other rational beings as tools to be used rather than as bearers of intrinsic value, that underlies Kant’s famous moral dictum that we ought to treat others not merely as a means, but also as an end. Yet if we focus simply on the human case, it is not obvious that sometimes we may not have to treat people in just this way. While most of us cringe at the thought of a surgeon who kills one of his patients in order to give organ transplants to five others, those of us who are not pacifists must also allow that sometimes it may be necessary to sacrifice some for the sake of a greater good (e.g. the defeat of Hitler). But even here it is a part of standard just war theory that such “collateral damage” is never to be specifically sought out. One may allow that non-combatants will die, but one cannot pick out specific

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civilians to directly kill as a means for achieving victory. And yet, according to this Molinistic soteriology, this is exactly what God does in creation. In the human case, perhaps such an absolutist conception of the legitimate ends of action is naïve. Maybe there are cases in which it is permissible to directly cause the death of another for the sake of the greater good. But even if we allow for this, it is not clear that such consequentialist justifications transfer over to the divine. If I am in a situation in which I must kill one person to save the lives of 100, there is no way I can prevent the death of at least one person. No matter what I do, a dreadful event will occur. Like many less dramatic cases in human life, I am forced to choose the lesser of two evils. But God, prior to creation, is in a very different situation. God does not simply find himself placed, at no fault of his own, in a situation in which the circumstances demand that some be damned eternally to hell. God specifically chooses to create a world in which there not only is a hell, but one that is full to the brim with suffering people. Craig, to be sure, replies to this that these damned in hell are there through their own free choices. But, again, this does not eliminate the cold and manipulative character that Craig is compelled to impute to the Christian God of love. We may say to a greedy person who loses a fortune to a con artist, that it was their own fault. But this does not exculpate the criminal from responsibility. A factory owner who pays workers less than a living wage is exploitative, even if each of the workers freely chooses to be employed in the factory. When we think through all the cases in which a human being may be morally culpable for using another human being, the vast majority of such cases do not involve violating another person’s free will, but in treating a person’s free choices as a way of satisfying some other end. The crucial ethical insight of Kant is not that it is wrong to make other people do something against their will, but that in our social relations with others we ought to treat them as having value for their own sake, and not merely as instruments to be used for ulterior ends. Even if we allow that we must in some tragic circumstances use another merely as a means because the cost of not doing so is so great, we cannot apply that rationale to God. The moral analog to Craig’s God is not that of a person stuck in a situation in which there are no good options. God, on Craig’s view, intentionally puts himself in such a no-win situation. Nevertheless, one might think it is a mistake to saddle our creator with Kantian moral concerns. God is our creator, and what is wrong for us may not be applicable to the actions of that being whose responsibility involves the entirety of creation. But we do not have to rely on the controversial claim that God is restrained by moral duties to show the incoherence of Craig’s soteriology. For the same point can be made with even more force if we focus not how God ought to act towards us, but on God’s character as a loving God, a God who cares about the world and each of the creatures in it. God’s love is understood to be akin to, yet infinitely greater than, the love human parents have for their children. Furthermore, God’s love is not merely a generalized love for the totality of creation; it is a

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particular love for each individual.17 While one can argue that a general concern for the goodness of creation justifies the creation of many destined to be lost, it is impossible to reconcile this claim with the belief that God loves, individually, each of the people he knows will go to hell. From the standpoint of scripture, divine love is likened to parental love, only greater. Even if we admit that human parental love has limitations, those limitations have little application to the much greater love of God. No marginally decent human parent would ever intentionally conceive a child so that its organs can be used to save the lives of others. To love is to value an individual for their own sake, to wish for the good of that individual. A loving God does not merely aim to create a good world; such a God is in a deep and significant loving relationship with each person, perhaps even each conscious creature, in that world. God does not merely want to make a good world; God desires the good of each person in that world. It may be controversial in particular circumstances what it is that really constitutes my or your good. Certainly each of us can be mistaken about what the good is. But whatever my good may be, an eternal existence consisting primarily of massive and unmitigated suffering, suffering that serves no remedial purpose, is not it. To conclude, while the doctrine of hell is difficult to defend on any view of divine providence, Molinists are especially vulnerable to the charge that their construal of God, if it is not a universalist one, forces upon us a conception of deity as manipulative and unloving towards creatures. While Molinistic helldefenders are right to insist that their view is some improvement over Calvinistic predestination, the insistence on libertarian free will by itself does not remove the clear aura of cold manipulation from their eschatology. The God of the Molinists is indeed one who has great providential control over creation. But far from allowing an escape from the problem of hell, this providential control only makes the problem more intense. God’s fine tuning of creation presents us with the image of a deity who intentionally creates persons who God knows will suffer eternally in hell. This deity is like the general who sends out many of his troops as cannon fodder, as sacrificial casualties in the name of ultimate victory over the enemy. Such a heartless strategy may lead to victory in battle, but it is hardly one befitting the God of overflowing love and perfect goodness.

17 This point about significance of God’s particular love to individuals has been well articulated by Marilyn McCord Adams. See her Horrendous Evils and the Goodness of God (New York, 1999) esp. pp. 17–31.

Chapter 8

Hell and Punishment Stephen Kershnar

In this chapter, I argue that God will not send human beings to hell. My argument is that God would send someone to hell only if justice permits it as a means of punishing them. Justice permits such a punishment only if someone does an infinitely wrong act or has an infinitely bad character. Because human beings do not meet either condition, God will not send them to hell. In the first part of this chapter, I argue that God would not, and perhaps cannot, impose hell on human beings. In the second part, I explore how my argument intersects with different conceptions of hell. Before going to the argument, we need to look at the nature of hell and just punishment. The Nature of Hell This chapter makes the following assumptions about hell. More specifically, it assumes that if hell exists then it has the following features.1 1. Some Inhabitants Thesis: There are some human beings in hell. The purpose of this assumption is to avoid the notion that hell is a location without inhabitants. 2. No Escape Thesis: If a human being enters hell, he cannot leave. The idea here is that once a person goes to hell, he does not leave. Purgatory might be similar to hell in that it involves a period of suffering, but its temporary nature distinguishes it from hell. I leave aside the issue whether hell and purgatory are constituted by psychological conditions (for example, suffering), geographical regions, or something else. 3. Infinite Negative Well-Being Thesis: Hell results in a person having an infinitely negative amount of well-being.2 1 My conditions differ from the strong view of Jonathan Kvanvig because his account does not assume infinite negative suffering and does assume the purpose of hell is punishment. For his account, see Jonathan Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell (Oxford, 1993), 25. 2 This is the view found in such historically significant authors as Augustine, The City of God, trans. John Healey, ed. R. V. G. Tasker (Dutton, 1972), Book 21, ch. 17 and Aquinas, Summa Theologica, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York, 1946). The traditional Christian view of hell is that God punishes some human beings by

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The idea behind this third assumption is that persons’ lives go poorly for each significant period of time in hell and there are an infinite number of such periods. The “significant” locution allows that someone in hell might experience momentary pleasures. Someone’s life goes poorly if it is worse than non-existence. An objector might claim that an individual who does not exist has no level of well-being rather than a zero level, the idea being that a level of well-being is an intrinsic feature of an individual and a thing must exist in order to have an intrinsic property. However, if one thinks that an individual should be rationally indifferent between not existing and having a zero level of well-being, then we can say that the value of non-existence to the individual has a value equivalent to zero. Alternatively, negative well-being might be seen as occurring when the things that make an individual’s life go poorly outweigh the things that make his life go well. I am also assuming here that suffering over time does not approach a limit. For example, assume that well-being is measured in well-being units and that a person’s well-being level for each successive year is as follows: 1, ½, ¼, etc. Here even though the human being’s life goes poorly for each significant period of time and even though there are an infinite number of such periods, he still does not have an infinite negative well-being level because the total amount approaches a limit.3 On some accounts, hell involves an everlasting amount of suffering. Because each additional unit of suffering (for example, -10 well-being units) merely adds a finite number to an already finite amount of suffering, an individual never has an infinitely negative amount of well-being. The assumption here is that the amount of suffering a person has undergone is a cumulative property had at a time and there is no time at which a person has had an infinite amount of it. However, there do seem to be timeless propositions about the future (for example, Jones will suffer each year for an infinite number of years) that entail that persons will receive an infinitely negative amount of well-being, and hell might involve such propositions. In any case, I shall assume this is correct. If not, my arguments can be rephrased in terms of everlasting suffering. Other versions of post-earthly existence involve universalism (everyone eventually goes to heaven), escapism (everyone is able to leave hell), annihilation (God causes persons who do not go to heaven to go out of existence), and the view that hell is a good place (persons’ lives go well in hell, although perhaps not as well as they go in heaven).4 The first one denies the conjunction of the Some sending them to hell. Those sent exist there and cannot leave. Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell, 19, 25. My analysis of hell overlaps with this traditional thesis only in so far as it assumes that human beings exist in hell. 3 This notion is discussed in James Cain, “On the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 38/3 (2002): 355–62; Charles Seymour, “Hell, Justice, and Freedom,” International Journal of Philosophy, 43/2 (1998): 84 n5, citing Thomas Flint. 4 The universalist view can be seen in Thomas Talbott, “The Doctrine of Everlasting Punishment,” Faith and Philosophy, 7/1 (1990): 19–43; Daniel Howard-Snyder, “In

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Inhabitants Thesis and the No Escape Thesis, the second denies the No Escape Thesis, and the third and fourth deny the Infinite Negative Well-Being Thesis. The belief in permanent hell or annihilation and that this is bad for those who go there or are annihilated is part of the Catholic and many Protestant traditions.5 In the King James version, biblical reference to post-earthly existence can be seen in Matthew 13:49-50; 25:41; 25:46. Post-earthly existence is found in three famous creeds: Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian. Mormonism also accepts it. The notion that many will not be saved can be seen in Luke 13:23 and Matthew 7:13-14. In addition, the New Testament appears to refer to hell. For example, there are references to “everlasting destruction” (Thessalonians 1:9), “eternal fire” (Jude 7), “tormented day and night for ever and ever” (Revelation 20:10). Just Punishment Punishment occurs when one person intentionally harms a second because of what the second did.6 Conventional punishment occurs when an authority intentionally harms a second because the second violated a rule. Punishment is just when it satisfies the demands of justice. We now look at the notion of just punishment.

Defense of Naïve Universalism,” Faith and Philosophy, 20/3 (2003): 343–63. For a nice discussion of universalism, see Michael Murray, “Three Versions of Universalism,” Faith and Philosophy, 16/1 (1999): 55–68. The case for annihilation can be seen in Richard Swinburne, Responsibility and Atonement (Oxford, 1989), pp. 180–84; John W. Wenham, “The Case for Conditional Immortality,” in N. Cameron (ed.), Universalism and the Doctrine of Hell (Carlisle, 1992), pp. 161–91; Clark Pinnock, “The Conditional View,” in W. Crocket (ed.), Four Views on Hell (Grand Rapids, 1992), pp. 135–66; John Robinson, In then End, God (New York, 1968); Oscar Cullman, Immortality of the Soul or Resurrection of the Dead? (Epworth, 1958). The notion that inhabitants of hell have a positive level of wellbeing can be seen in Andrei Buckareff and Allen Plug, “Escaping Hell: Divine Motivation and the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 41/1 (2005): 39–54; Andrei Buckareff and Allen Plug, “Escapism, Religious Luck, and Divine Reasons for Action,” Religious Studies, 45/1 (2009): 63–72. 5 For the Catholic tradition, see the Catechism of the Catholic Church (paragraph 1033): We cannot be united with God unless we freely choose to love him. But we cannot love God if we sin gravely against him, against our neighbor or against ourselves: “He who does not love remains in death. Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him.” Our Lord warns us that we shall be separated from him if we fail to meet the serious needs of the poor and the little ones who are his brethren. To die in mortal sin without repenting and accepting God's merciful love means remaining separated from him forever by our own free choice. This state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed is called “hell.” 6 By “harm,” I mean “a setback to an interest.” This notion comes from Joel Feinberg, Harm to Self (Oxford, 1984), ch. 1.

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Feature 1: Right to Punish Consider the following account of just punishment. One person justly punishes a second if and only if the first has a right to punish the second and the punishment severity is no greater than the proportionality ceiling. The idea here is that just punishment is one that respects the rights of the person who is punished. This occurs when punishment is imposed on someone who has no claim against punishment and when the punishment takes place within the boundaries of the right to punish, that is, it does not exceed the justicebased ceiling on punishment severity. A proportionality ceiling is the maximum punishment that justice allows. A just punishment might be less than the ceiling because the person with the right to punish may waive part or all of his right to punish. This is similar to the way in which a person who is owed money may waive part or all of a debt. The notion that a just punishment can only be imposed by the victim or her authorized agent can be seen if we consider punishment in the state of nature.7 In the state of nature if Al savagely beats Betty, then we intuitively think that Betty has a right to punish Al. However, if roving agents have already punished Al for what he did, then Betty loses her right to punish Al, or she has a right to impose a disproportionate punishment. The former is incorrect, because it is hard to see what Betty has done that makes her forfeit or waive her right to punishment. The latter is incorrect because in the absence of such a proportionality constraint, many people could punish Al, resulting in a vastly disproportionate amount of punishment being imposed and this intuitively seems incorrect. Feature 2: Proportionality The second feature focuses on the ceiling on just punishment. A punishment is proportionate to the ground if and only if the severity of the punishment equals the seriousness of the ground. It is this notion that explains why we think that just punishments have a ceiling. For example, we think that a ten-year sentence for stealing a candy bar is too harsh and a $10 fine for a brutal rape is too light. The seriousness of the ground is the

7

The notion that the right to punish is an individual right that must be transferred to others can be seen in Robert Nozick, Anarchy, State, and Utopia (New York, 1974), ch. 3. The underlying idea is that the right to punishment occurs because responsible agents who wrong others forfeit their right against punishment. This forfeiture account can be seen in Vinit Haksar, “Excuses and Voluntary Conduct,” Ethics, 96/2 (1986): 317–29; Alan Goldman, “The Paradox of Punishment,” Philosophy & Public Affairs, 9/1 (1979): 43; A. John Simmons, “Locke and the Right to Punish,” in A. John Simmons, Marshall Cohen, Joshua Cohen, and Charles Beitz (eds.), Punishment (Princeton, 1995), pp. 238–52; Judith Jarvis Thomson, The Realm of Rights (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 365–6.

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product of the agent’s responsibility for an act and, perhaps also, the significance of the right on which the act infringed or was intended to infringe. This account of the seriousness of the ground captures two notions. First, other things being equal, diminished responsibility entails diminished proportionate punishment. For example, provocation, duress, and other responsibilitydiminishing features lessen the punishment that intuitively may be imposed on a wrongdoer. We also think that insanity and infancy completely excuse the actor from punishment. The same is true for ignorance of the relevant facts when the agent is blameless for his ignorance. Second, other things being equal, a person who attempts to infringe on a more significant right should receive greater punishment than one who attempts to infringe on a less significant right. For example, if one person tries to cut up a model’s face and a second tries to steal her car, we intuitively think that justice permits a greater punishment of the first. There is an issue as to whether just punishment is grounded by attempts or outcomes. For simplicity, I shall focus on outcomes, but justice actually focuses on attempts. This can be seen if we consider two doppelgängers (identical persons with identical mental states—specifically motives, intentions, desires, etc.), both of whom attempt to shoot someone. The first succeeds. The second fails due to a defective bullet, which was something that the second could not have predicted. If punishment rests on things for which the agent is responsible and if the doppelgängers are responsible for the same things (same intention, mental act, physical movement, etc.) then punishment cannot track outcome. With these assumptions in mind, let us turn to the argument against hell. God Will Not Send Human Beings to Hell In this part, I provide an argument for the claim that no human beings go to hell, and then defend the premises. (P1) If some human beings go to hell, then God imposes it as punishment. (P2) If God imposes hell as punishment, then justice permits God to impose an infinite punishment on some human beings. (C1) Hence, if some human beings go to hell, then justice permits God to impose an infinite punishment on some human beings. [(P1), (P2)] (P3) Justice does not permit God to impose an infinite punishment on some human beings. (C2) Hence, no human beings go to hell. [(C1), (P3)] The argument probably supports a stronger thesis, namely that God cannot send human beings to hell. The idea here is that a person can do something only if he can choose to do it. A person can choose to do something only if he can be motivated to choose it. If a motivation would conflict with an individual’s essential nature, then it is not one that he can have. Because God is essentially all good, he

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cannot be motivated to choose to do evil things, such as creating hell or sending someone there.8 While I think this argument is sound, I shall focus on the more limited claim that God will not send anyone to hell even if he could do so. Defense of Premise (P1): If some human beings go to hell, then God imposes it as just punishment The idea behind this premise is that if some human beings go to hell, then God imposes a negative choice-consequence (either directly or indirectly). If God imposes a negative choice-consequence, then the consequence is either a disincentive or punishment. Hell is not a disincentive. This is because there is nothing that hell can deter that cannot also be deterred by a finite punishment, albeit, perhaps, a very severe one. One objection here is that God does not impose hell (either directly or indirectly). Rather it is a choice of the persons who choose to separate themselves from God.9 However, God intentionally makes the consequences of the choice harsh and this makes it a punishment. Consider the analogy: Janitor-Punishment. A school principal sets up the punishment for student fighting. If he sets up a system whereby the janitor forcibly sodomizes fighters, then the principal is responsible for the fighters’ suffering even if they have made themselves liable for it.10 Similarly, if God sets up a system where persons suffer greatly for refusing to accept him in their lives, then he punishes them. A second objection is that God imposes hell, but it is a disincentive. A finite disincentive will work as well for morally responsible individuals, and that is who should be the focus here. This is because the value of freedom does not provide a reason for God to avoid interfering with those who are insane or have another responsibility-undermining condition. The only thing that a finite punishment cannot deter is an infinite gain. Outside of heaven, which cannot be achieved through wrongdoing, it is hard to see what infinite gains human beings hope to receive.

8 The notion that God is essentially all good follows from the notion that he is a maximally great being. Maximal greatness is filled out, at least in part, in terms of maximal intrinsic goodness. In addition, God cannot be contingently all good, because then his goodness would depend on external factors or random and arbitrary forces. This dependence is inconsistent with maximal greatness. The above point comes from Stephen Kershnar, “Moral Responsibility in a Maximally Great Being,” Philo, 7/1 (2004): 97–113. 9 The notion that persons choose hell can be seen in C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York, 1946); Jerry Walls, Hell: The Logic of Damnation (South Bend, 1992), esp. p. 13; Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell; Thomas Talbott, “Providence, Freedom, and Human Destiny,” Religious Studies, 26 (1990): 239–41. 10 This example comes from Stephen Kershnar, “The Injustice of Hell,” International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 58/2 (2005): 106.

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A third objection is that in allowing people to go to hell, God refuses to provide them with a benefit rather than harming them. The idea is that hell is the separation from God and with it comes the loss of love (including God’s love), purpose, and community. Because there is no duty to provide such a benefit, those sent to hell have not been unjustly punished. However, if someone can provide a benefit to another and can do so at no cost to himself, failure to do so indicates too little beneficence. Sending persons to heaven is a benefit that God can provide at no cost to himself and hence his failure to do so would indicate too little beneficence, which is impossible in a perfect being. Here is the applicable principle. Beneficent-character principle If someone could provide a benefit to another at no cost to anyone, and without making the world a worse place, then refusal to do so reflects a defect in beneficence. The objector might respond that life in heaven is only possible for a person who willingly wants to join God. Alternatively, he might argue that life there would not be good for someone who does not accept God or some aspect of his love and, perhaps, also morality. The idea here is that a human being who does not warrant heaven would suffer there because he is terribly unsuited to join God. However, in accord with beneficence, God would then provide a life that is as good as possible, or at least one that does not involve negative infinite well-being. If this is not possible, then a beneficent being like God would annihilate someone rather than consign him to hell. Another objector might respond that a person who warrants hell is evil and that making an evil person’s life go well makes the world a worse place.11 An example that illustrates this claim is the common intuition that if Hitler were isolated on a tropical island, the world would be in itself better if he were to suffer rather than flourish, even though his condition would not affect anyone else. One concern here is that it is not clear if everyone who warrants hell is evil. In addition, if a person’s suffering would in itself make the world a better place, the beneficent thing for God to do would be to annihilate him rather than send him to hell. A different objector might claim allowing people who do not warrant heaven to go there would impose a cost on God. Hence, beneficence does not dictate that he send such an individual there. Even if true, a beneficent being would again opt for annihilation.

11 The notion that additional well-being to an evil person makes the world a worse place or at least does not improve it can be seen in Fred Feldman, “Adjusting Utility for Justice: A Consequentialist Reply to the Objection from Justice,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 55/3 (1995): 567–85; Thomas Hurka, “The Common Structure of Virtue and Desert,” Ethics, 112/1 (2001): 6–31; Neil Feit and Stephen Kershnar, “Explaining the Geometry of Desert,” Public Affairs Quarterly, 18/4 (2004): 273–98.

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Defense of Premise (P2): If God imposes hell as just punishment, then justice permits God to impose an infinite punishment on some human beings The idea here is that if there is no consequentialist override, then God acts in accord with justice. Here there is no consequentialist override. A consequentialist override is a reason that trumps other moral reasons and focuses on bringing about the best outcome. If there were a consequentialist override, then God would have the duty to create a maximally great state of affairs, but such a duty would be impossible to satisfy because there is an infinite sequence of increasingly better states of affairs. For example, God could have created a world with 1 happy person, 2 happy people, 3 happy people, etc. Alternatively, God could have created a world in which the people had an average of 1 well-being unit/life, 2 well-being units/ life, 3 well-being units/life, etc. If there is an infinite sequence of increasingly better worlds, then there would never be a consequentialist reason to bring about any one world because this reason would always give God a reason to create a still better world.12 Whether we focus on the total or average amount of well-being, each world is better than the previous one and there is no limit. If God created a world with an infinite amount of good in it, then it is unclear whether subtracting or adding an infinite amount of good (for example, a person in heaven) makes the world have zero value or some other value.13 Again, then, there would be no particular state of affairs that would be maximally good. An objector might claim that there is a consequential override in this context. The maximally great state of affairs is the one with an infinite amount of intrinsic goodness. He might claim that some infinities are better than others. For example, he might claim a life that had the following infinite number of well-being level/ year 2, 2, 2, 2, … is better than this life, 1, 1, 1, 1, …, even though the total amounts are the same. This is also true if we are talking about total well-being/life. One principle that might explain this is the Weak Pareto principle. It states that if each value location has more goodness in one world compared to another, then the first is better.14 On some accounts, a stronger principle is available. On one such principle, one world with infinite value locations can be better than a second with infinite value locations even if the first is not better at every location. The idea is that if relative to one finite subset the first is better, and no matter how that set is 12

I am assuming here that person-affecting principle in which one state of affairs is better than a second only if it makes the persons who exist in both states better off. A nice criticism of this theory can be seen in Gustaf Arrhenius, “The Person-Affecting Restriction, Comparativism, and the Moral Status of Potential People,” Ethical Perspectives, 10/3 (2003): 185–95. Among the problems with such a theory is that it does not satisfy transitivity. 13 There are some infinite sets (power sets) that are larger than other sets if larger is understood in terms of higher cardinality (the number of elements in a set). It is unclear how such sets are relevant to the comparison between infinite sets of objects. 14 This principle comes from Luc Lauwers and Peter Vallentyne, “Infinite Utilitarianism: More is Always Better,” Economics and Philosophy, 20/2 (2004): 307–30.

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finitely expanded the first remains better, then the first is better than the second.15 There still, however, is no limit to goodness because there could be successive additions to the happiness of an infinite population. For example, in the first world, the well-being/life is 8, 8, 8, … After addition it becomes, 9, 9, 9, … Hence, there is no maximally great state of affairs and hence no consequentialist duty for God to override justice. The claim that there is a consequential override can be seen in an argument by William Lane Craig. Craig argues that God must allow some individuals to go to hell in order to make the world a better place.16 He claims that this is because a large number of individuals can go to heaven only if some go to hell. The reason for this is that God has actualized a world in which there is an optimal balance of saved and unsaved individuals. On his account, there are two reasons for this. First, there might be individuals who suffer transworld damnation, that is, they are lost in every world that is feasible to God. They might be lost in every world in which they exist, or every world in which they exist and a large number are saved. Second, they might suffer from contingent damnation. Here who is lost and who is saved varies between possible worlds. On Craig’s account, God has middle knowledge (knowledge of what human beings will choose under different conditions) and hence knows, given what world he actualizes, who will be saved and who will not. Craig’s argument fails. If one individual’s decision were necessarily linked to another, then the linkage would undermine responsibility and hence the basis for sending or allowing someone to go to hell. If instead individuals’ decisions are not so linked, then it is logically possible for everyone to be saved. More specifically, there is a particular possible world that lacks the transworld damned and for which it is true that all of its inhabitants are saved. If such a world is possible and if God has middle knowledge, then he can make such a world actual and thus save everyone. It is hard to see how one would have either more well-being units or higher-order goods by creating a world in which some are damned. One good is higher-order than a second if the first has more moral weight than an equal quantity of the second. Defense of Premise (P3): Justice does not permit God to impose an infinite punishment on some human beings If justice permits God to impose an infinite punishment on some human beings, then human beings warrant an infinite punishment. If human beings warrant an infinite punishment, then either their character or acts warrant it. 15

For defense of these principles, see Lauwers and Vallentyne, “Infinite Utilitarianism: More is Always Better”; Peter Vallentyne and Shelly Kagan, “Infinite Value and Finitely Additive Value Theory,” The Journal of Philosophy, 94/1 (1997): 5–26. 16 See William Lane Craig, “‘No Other Name’: A Middle Knowledge Perspective on the Exclusivity of Salvation Through Christ,” Faith and Philosophy, 6/2 (1989): 172–88.

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Character-Based Punishment A human being’s character does not warrant infinite punishment. The idea here is that punishment tracks desert and desert tracks character. Here is the argument for the notion that desert tracks character. Acts and character are the most plausible grounds of desert because these are the two things for which a person is most responsible. Desert does not track acts. This is because if desert tracks some feature of an act, then it tracks the motive from which the act is done. Because a person’s character is the collection of his mental states and the relations between them, motive is part of that collection. If desert tracks motive and motive is part of character, then it tracks character, or at least part of it. The notion that desert tracks motive can be seen when we consider the following examples. 4. Good motive and right act: Alice tries to save Betty’s life because she loves Betty. 5. Bad motive and right act: Carla tries to save David’s life because she believes that David will kill her ex-husband and Carla wants him dead. 6. Good motive and wrong act: Erica is a surgeon who tries to save Francis’s life through a life-saving operation. Unfortunately, she is relying on another physician’s, Gerry’s, diagnosis and it is incorrect. The combination of incorrect diagnosis and surgery brings about Francis’s death. 7. Bad motive and wrong act: Hank kills Inez because he finds it arousing to watch women die. Our intuitions support the conclusion that negative desert (that is, deserved suffering) tracks the motive from which an act is done and not its deontic status. Positive desert also intuitively seems to track good motives. Because desert tracks the motive from which an act is done rather than the deontic status of the act, the former is what grounds desert. The badness of character is a function (for example, a sum) of the virtue and vice of particular attitudes.17 A human being has an infinitely bad character only if he has an infinite number of mental states or one of his mental states has an infinite intensity or duration. This rests on the following account of goodness of a character: 17

Attitudinal theories of virtue hold that virtue consists in part or whole in having certain attitudes. The notion that it consists in taking a pro-attitude toward the right sort of object can be seen in Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics 1099a7–21, 1104b3–1105a17, 1106b16–23, 1152b5–6, 1172a19–27; G. E. Moore, Principia Ethica (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 208–11, 216–17; W. D. Ross, The Right and the Good (Indianapolis, 1980), p. 160 (one type of virtuous action is action done from a desire to bring about something good); Roderick Chisolm, Brentano and Intrinsic Value (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 62–7; Noah Lemos, Intrinsic Value (Cambridge, 1974), pp. 34–7, 73–7; Robert Nozick, Philosophical Explanations (Cambridge, 1981), pp. 429–33.

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Goodness of character = [(#good mental states)(intensity/good mental state)(duration/good mental state)] − [(#bad mental states)(intensity/bad mental state)(duration/bad mental state)]. If a character is infinitely bad, then a human being has an infinite number of attitudes or some of his attitudes have infinite intensity. Because of human beings’ finite mental capacity, neither is true, at least during earthly life. Remember that on the conventional account of hell, it has to be warranted at the end of earthly life. Hence, bad character does not warrant infinite punishment. An objector might assert that we do have infinite attitudes (for example, 1 is less than 2, 3, 4, …). Even if this is true, it is probably not true of virtuous and vicious attitudes. Even if there were an infinite number of virtuous and vicious attitudes, there would still be a basic virtuous or vicious state that would be the bearer of value.18 For example, the mental state Jones’s pleasure at the thought of Smith’s pleasure would be basic virtue-state; and other states, for example, Jones’s pleasure at the thought of Smith’s pleasure while in Aruba, would have value only in so far as it contained the basic value-state. Even if bad character grounds deserved suffering, it likely does not warrant punishment. After all, we do not normally think that mean-spirited hermits should be punished. In any case, we can sidestep this issue because human beings cannot have bad enough characters to warrant hell. Here is a summary of objections to character-based infinite punishment. 8. No punishment: Even if bad-character grounds deserves suffering, it does not justify punishment. 9. No infinitely bad character: Human beings do not have infinitely bad characters. One additional argument that appears to fit in here is by Thomas Talbott. Talbott argues that the existence of suffering beings in hell prevents the existence of heaven because persons in heaven would feel pain at the thought of the suffering of those in hell.19 This is unclear because it is not clear that one should feel pain at the thought of another receiving his just deserts or punishment; and even if one should, it is not clear that it should prevent the flourishing of those in heaven. When a virtuous soul in heaven realizes the multitude saved and the few damned, it might, for example, reduce his well-being level from +50 well-being units/year to +45 well-being units/year.20 When it comes to virtuous attitudes, pain at the 18

This idea for this point comes from Fred Feldman, “Basic Intrinsic Value,” Philosophical Studies, 99/3 (2000): 319–46. 19 Thomas Talbott, “Providence, Freedom, and Human Destiny,” 239–41. 20 The idea here, that the intensity of a pleasure or pain should be proportionate to the intrinsic goodness or badness of the attitudinal object, can be seen in Thomas Hurka, Virtue, Vice, and Value (Oxford, 2001), ch. 3.

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thought of those suffering in hell should be weighed against the pleasure of the thought of others in heaven. Act-Based Punishment A human being’s acts do not warrant infinite punishment. Just punishment tracks seriousness of wrongdoing and human beings do not perform an infinitely serious wrongdoing or an infinite number of wrongdoings that are in the aggregate infinitely serious.21 Finite acts If human beings’ acts warrant infinite punishment, then either finite or infinite acts do so. In this section, I argue that human beings’ finite acts do not warrant infinite punishment. The first assumption is that finite acts against human beings do not warrant infinite punishment. One reason is that an agent can cause or attempt to cause an infinite loss only if he tries to send someone to hell. This presupposes that hell exists and people get sent there. In the absence of an independent reason for hell to exist, this begs the question. A second reason is that a person can be responsible for a result (for example, Jones going to hell) only if he intends it, that is, only if this is his goal or means. My guess is that it is rare to find someone who intends to bring this about. Even if the agent in question were indifferent about whether he was ending a person’s earthly or eternal life, if he did not intend the latter he still lacks the relevant intention. The second assumption is that finite acts against God do not warrant infinite punishment. God does not have the right to punish. This is because human beings do not victimize him. He might gain the right to punish on behalf of victims if the victims transfer their right to punish to him. This is similar to the way in which, in business, a principal can authorize an agent to act on his behalf. However, a transfer of right requires uptake in order for the right to transfer.22 Uptake is a speech act that constitutes acceptance. For example, a buyer must accept the seller’s offer in order to gain the right to a good. As far as I can tell, many people have not transferred their right to punish to God and even if others have, I see no evidence of his uptake. In addition, if the people who have transferred their right to punish to God are saved, perhaps because they accept God in their lives and act accordingly, then no one who transfers the right to punish suffers an infinite loss. Hence, even if there is transfer and uptake, it must be done on behalf of someone who suffers an infinite loss because he ends up in hell. Depending on what is necessary to be saved, this is an unlikely scenario. 21

The general claim that perfect justice does not allow human beings to suffer an infinite punishment can be seen in Marilyn McCord Adams, “Hell and the God of Justice,” Religious Studies, 11/4 (1975): 433–47. 22 The notion that a right transfer requires uptake can be seen in Judith Jarvis Thomson, The Realm of Rights (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 322–3.

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Human beings might be thought to wrong God because they harm his creations (analogy: property), disobey (analogy: state authority), or are ungrateful (analogy: child and parent). In addition, because his well-being is infinitely important, harming him warrants an infinite punishment. None of these arguments work. First, the analogies do not apply. Humans are not property; otherwise they would lack moral claims. The assumption here is that an individual owns something just in case he is owed all the claims with regard to that thing. Nor do humans owe him obedience if they have not promised it. In general, the greater wisdom of one person does not result in his having authority over slower persons. Nor do persons owe him gratitude if they have not actively accepted his benefits and, even if owed, the duty may be satisfied in other ways. For example, it might be satisfied through charity, prayer, or spreading the word about salvation. If no such duties exist, then human beings rarely wrong God. Second, even if they do wrong God, it is unlikely that they act with the requisite intent. Hence, God rarely, if ever, has a right to punish them. Third, even if a human being wrongs God and even if he has the relevant intent, it is not clear the wrong is infinitely serious. This depends on which of God’s rights human beings infringe or attempt to infringe on. In the absence of such an account, we cannot be confident that the wrong is infinitely serious. One objection is that human beings wrong God when they mistreat his creations. Jonathan Kvanvig discusses the notion that this wrong is similar to one that occurs when a person wrongs a parent by wronging her child. Kvanvig’s idea is that when two people stand in an intimate, immediate, and connected relationship, it is possible to wrong one by wronging the other.23 There are a couple of problems with this objection. One problem is that it is not clear that God stands in an intimate, immediate, and connected relationship with human beings. Kvanvig admits that one does not wrong a parent when he harms her adult child, and the distance between God and a human being appears to be as great as that between a parent and her adult child. Deciding whether God has such a relationship with humans requires a better understanding of intimate, immediate, and connected relationships than we currently have. A second problem is that the basic idea conflicts with what is probably the best view of rights. If one adopts a property-rights theory of moral rights (that is, all rights are property rights), then it is false that one wrongs a parent by wronging her child. On this theory, at least at some point, a child owns herself and no one else owns her. Hence, wronging the child does not infringe on her parent’s right. The property-rights theory asserts that rights are claims to particular things, negative, and do not conflict. This theory coheres nicely with intuitions about the rights to life, liberty, and property.24 It also provides a clean explanation of various political 23

See Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell, pp. 35–40. A clean statement of this theory is set out in Robert Nozick, Anarchy, State, and Utopia. On some interpretations, this theory of rights can also be seen in John Locke’s classic theories of property and government. See John Locke, Two Treatises of Government (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 285–302. 24

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freedoms, such as those concerning religion and speech, and how the state gains authority. If the property-rights model is correct, then one does not wrong a parent by wronging her child, and hence the objection does not get off the ground. Infinite acts If human beings do not do acts that in the aggregate are infinitely serious, then their acts do not add up in such a way as to warrant infinite punishment.25 The notion that human beings do not do acts that in the aggregate are infinitely serious rests on the following assumptions. A human being cannot do an infinite number of acts during his life on earth.26 He might be able to do an infinite number in the afterlife. However, it is not clear what acts he could do that wrong other human beings or God and that are done an infinite number of times. Even if there were some acts that wrong other human beings or God and that could be done an infinite number of times, it is not clear the individual could be responsible for doing them. If human beings do an infinite number of acts and these acts ensure that he goes to or stays in hell, then the refusal to stop doing them reflects a mental defect. Specifically, it reflects a defect in knowledge, desire, or willing. For example, the defect might be ignorance (for example, not knowing to avoid such acts), intrinsically irrational desires (for example, wanting to suffer), or weakness of the will (for example, intending to refrain from such acts, but still doing them). After a while, the persistence of such a defect reflects a loss of moral responsibility, and it is unjust to punish someone under this condition.27 25

The notion that human beings do an infinite number of acts that together warrant hell is discussed in Seymour, “Hell, Justice, and Freedom,” 78–79 and Adams, “Hell and the God of Justice,” 433. Also, the severity of punishment might not be a sum of the seriousness of the wrongdoings that an agent committed (perhaps measured in harm, or well-being setback, units) because cumulative harms to one person might cause greater suffering than the sum of individual harms to different individuals. For example, it is worse for one person to lose all of his teeth than for 32 different people to each lose one tooth. This point and example can be seen in Marilyn McCord Adams, “Divine Justice, Divine Love, and the Life to Come,” Crux, 13/1 (1976–77): 14–16. 26 Note I am assuming that a fine-grained account of acts is false. Such an account asserts that through one intentional bodily movement (for example, moving my finger) I instantiate other properties and thereby do other acts (for example, flipping the switch and scaring a burglar). If such an account were correct, then a person might be able to do an infinite number of acts. For a fine-grained account, see Alvin Goldman, A Theory of Human Action (Englewood Cliffs, 1970), pp. 1–19. For a denial of this account, see G. E. M. Anscombe, Intention (Ithaca, 1958), p. 45; Donald Davidson, “Actions, Reasons, and Causes,” in his Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford, 1980), pp. 4–5. 27 Marilyn McCord Adams makes a different but related point. She argues that human beings have diminished responsibility because of their psychological flaws and as a result it would be cruel to send them to hell. Marilyn McCord Adams, “The Problem of Hell: A Problem of Evil of Christians,” in Eleonore Stump (ed.), A Reasoned Faith (Ithaca, 1993), pp. 313–14. This is particularly true given the large number of psychological traits that are influenced by genetic factors. See, for example, Steven Pinker, The Blank Slate (New

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There is an issue as to whether human beings can ever do an infinite number of acts. Every act they do adds one more to a finite number. If a human being were to count endlessly (0, 1, 2, 3, …), he would never reach infinity.28 Acts seem to work in the same manner. On the other hand, if an individual were to wrong another in every significant finite period (for example, one wrong a year) and he persists for an infinite number of years, then he would perform an infinite number of wrongs. This is true even though there is no time at which he has completed an infinite number of wrongs. If a just punishment can only be imposed at a particular time, then hell is unjust. Also, if a just punishment must follow the act or acts that warrant it, and if hell is warranted by infinite acts, then hell is unjust.29 It is worth remembering here that on the account of hell we are assuming, no one in hell can escape it. Summary of Act-Based Punishment The following chart summarizes the findings about act-based punishment. Number of Acts Finite

Wrongs Human Beings Begs the question: This begs the question in assuming hell exists.

Wrongs God Do not wrong God: Human beings do not wrong God or attempt to do so.

Lack intention: Human beings rarely Do not intentionally wrong God: intend to cause others infinite harm. Even if human beings wrong God, they do not intentionally do so. No right transfer: Some human beings do not transfer their right to punish to God. Those that do, do not suffer an infinite loss.

No infinitely serious wrong: Even if human beings wrong God and do so intentionally, the wrong is not infinitely serious.

No uptake: Even if human beings transfer their right to punish to God, he does not give uptake.

York, 2002), esp. pp. 372–8. Similarly, Thomas Talbott argues that the notion that a fully informed agent might freely choose eternal suffering for himself is incoherent. Talbott, “Providence, Freedom, and Human Destiny,” 228. 28 The notion that infinity cannot be achieved through successive addition can be seen in William Lane Craig, “The Existence of God and the Beginning of the Universe,” Truth: A Journal of Modern Thought, 3/1 (1991): 85–96. 29 For an argument that the act that grounds punishment must precede it, see Saul Smilansky, “The Time to Punish,” Analysis, 54/1 (1994): 50–53.

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No infinite wrongs: Human beings do not infinitely wrong other human beings.

No infinite wrongs: Human beings do not infinitely wrong God.

No responsibility: Even if there are infinite wrongs, the agent is eventually not responsible for doing them.

No responsibility: Even if there are infinite wrongs, the agent is eventually not responsible for doing them.

Infinities: Even if human beings can do an infinite number of wrongs, and this is not clear, there is no time at which hell may be imposed.

Infinities: Even if human beings can do an infinite number of wrongs, and this is not clear, there is no time at which hell may be imposed.

Same as above: There is no right transfer to God or, if there is, he does not give uptake.

Same as above: Human beings do not wrong God or attempt to do so. Even if they do, they do not do so intentionally.

Other Theories of Hell Theory 1: Annihilation Hell does not fare any better if we drop one or more of the assumptions we made about the nature of hell. Consider annihilation. This occurs when, after earthly existence, God causes some human beings to cease to exist. This conflicts with the Infinite Negative Well-Being Thesis (hell results in a person having an infinitely negative amount of well-being). Annihilation is just only if God has a right to punish human beings and, as argued above, he does not. In addition, an individual suffers an infinite loss when he is annihilated rather than sent to heaven. If an infinite punishment of human being is unjust, and for the reason above I think it is, then such a punishment is unjust. A proponent of annihilation might object that it is a natural end to human existence, except when God intervenes to ensure that someone lives on in heaven. This is similar to the way in which a physician who allows a person who is not his patient to die of a curable cancer has not killed her, but merely allowed her to die. The idea, then, is that God would not wrong anyone because no one has a claim against him that she be kept alive for eternity. A response to this objection is that God created persons who have this natural end. He could have created them with a different end because mortality is not essential to free being, good being, or any other type of being he might create. Hence, God would be blameworthy for creating less than optimal beings. However, if there is an infinite sequence of increasingly better beings, this might not indicate a defect in God any more than creating a world with an infinite amount of good signals a defect just because it is always possible for God to tack on more good things. The real problem with this account is that it conflicts with

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the Beneficent-Character Principle. That is, the refusal to benefit someone when it has no cost to the benefactor reflects a defective character, in particular a lack of beneficence. Theories 2 and 3: Escapism and Universalism The escapist theory of hell asserts that everyone is able to leave hell. It denies the No Escape Thesis (if a human enters hell, he cannot leave) and the weaker thesis that some people who enter hell are unable to leave it. Again, there is a concern whether God has the right to punish people. In addition, if people can escape, then the refusal to do so in the long run can only be explained by factors that undermine responsibility. The only reasons an individual would not want to join God over time is his failure to recognize, desire, or will being with God. Such failures over vast stretches of time can only be explained by factors that undermine moral responsibility. Universalism asserts that everyone eventually goes to heaven. It conflicts with the conjunction of the Some Inhabitants Thesis and No Escape Thesis. If it is combined with the notion of purgatory, a temporary period of suffering that occurs before some persons can go to heaven, then it assumes God has the right to punish. In the absence of an assumption about purgatory, it is an appealing theory. Theory 4: Hell is a Good Place A fourth theory is that hell is a good place. It is worse than heaven in that it lacks something that makes individuals’ lives go better, probably a personal relationship with God or something along these lines. The motivation for this theory is that because God is a loving being, he would not want to cause anyone to suffer unnecessarily. This is true whether God does so directly or indirectly. One concern about this theory is that it makes hell look like part of heaven. This issue gets murky in the absence of an account of whether heaven and hell are locations, states of being, or something else. In addition, if persons did not eventually leave hell, this would likely be explained by factors that reflect a lack of responsibility. Again, the idea is that over vast stretches of time, the only reason for an individual to refuse to make his life go better, and do so in a way that connects him to the true and the good, is that he suffers from a defect. This defect might be a problem with his knowledge, motivation, intention, or volition. Any of these defects eventually constitute a responsibility-undermining condition. Here is a summary of the annihilation and alternative theories of hell:

The Problem of Hell

132 Theory Annihilation (God causes persons who do not go to heaven to go out of existence)

Rejected Assumption(s) Infinite Negative WellBeing Thesis

Objections No right to punish: God does not have (or rarely has) a right to punish human beings. No infinite ground: Human beings do not warrant an infinite punishment.

Escapism (Everyone is able to leave hell)

No Escape Thesis

No right to punish: See above. No responsibility: If persons did not escape, this results from factors that undermine responsibility.

Universalism (Everyone eventually goes to heaven)

Conjunction No Escape Thesis Some Inhabitants Thesis

No right to punish: If combined with purgatory, then it assumes God has the right to punish.

Hell is a good place (In hell, persons’ lives go well)

Infinite Negative WellBeing Thesis

No responsibility: If persons did not eventually leave, this results from factors that undermine responsibility thesis Part of heaven: This makes hell look like a sub-optimal part of heaven.

Conclusion In this chapter, I argued that God would not send someone to hell. My argument rests on the claim that if persons go to hell, then God sends them as punishment. If God sends someone to hell as punishment, then an infinite punishment must be just. I then argued that human beings do not warrant an infinite punishment. They do not have an infinitely bad character or do an infinitely blameworthy act or set of acts. I then argued that because there is no reason to override the demands of justice, God would not impose such a punishment. I also briefly argued that he cannot impose such a punishment. Two other theories of post-earthly existence, annihilation and escapism, are also false. Hence, I conclude that God does not send anyone to hell. Now there is some good news.30

30 I am grateful to Andrei Buckareff, Andrew Cullison, Neil Feit, and Dale Tuggy for the extremely helpful comments and criticisms.

Chapter 9

Why I Am Unconvinced by Arguments against the Existence of Hell James Cain

There are a number of very strong philosophical objections to the view that hell exists, and yet I do not find them convincing. I want to try to explain why I am unconvinced. I will begin by considering what I take to be a bad account of hell and use that account to help single out some constraints that must be placed on any reasonably acceptable account. In terms of those constraints I will lay out some of the standard philosophical objections to the existence of hell and then consider whether the objections preclude the development of an acceptable account that incorporates certain standard features of the main traditional view. The features I have in mind include endlessness, punishment, suffering, unhappiness, and misery. Consider the following claim, (C), which many people have believed: (C) An infant who dies unbaptized will experience an endless sequence of days in torment in flames as a form of punishment by God for having died in a state of original sin. The first constraint on acceptable claims about hell is what I will call the grounding condition: any substantive doctrine about hell that asserts its existence or describes the conditions in hell must be appropriately grounded in revelation—either in scripture, religious tradition, or some sort of revelatory experience.1 I cannot attempt here to explicate how the grounding condition may be met, or even how one should decide on which scripture, tradition, or experience may be used to ground beliefs concerning hell. One certainly needs to be careful not to be overly hasty in claiming that a doctrine is grounded in scripture, since scripture (at least if we take the Bible to be suitable scripture) employs exaggeration, analogy, symbolic use of language, and other devices that can make interpretation difficult. So without going into detail I will simply claim that (C) is not properly grounded in scripture and tradition.

1 Of course the non-existence of hell might be taken to follow from arguments against the existence of God. I will not be concerned with such arguments in this chapter.

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The second constraint is the consistency condition.2 If a claim about hell, claim (C) for example, is inconsistent with known facts it must of course be false. Furthermore, if (C) is inconsistent with other claims that we have good reason to believe or if (C) is inconsistent with such claims together with claims that we take to be grounded in scripture, tradition, or experience that will to some extent cast doubt on (C). If the latter claims are better grounded than (C), then (C) will not be a tenable belief. We know that it would be unjust and morally repugnant to punish unbaptized newborn infants as set out in (C). Furthermore the claim that God is just and morally upright is certainly better grounded than (C), so (C) is untenable. The third constraint, which will be called the McTaggart condition (in honor of John McTaggart3), goes as follows: Suppose for the moment that claim (C) was asserted as a part of a revelation put forward by a being powerful enough to make (C) be the case. Only a being who is extremely wicked would treat an unbaptized infant the way that is set out in (C). But we have little reason to trust the word of such a being. So if (C) were part of a “revelation” put forward by one with the power to implement (C), we would have little reason to believe either (C) or the “revelation” containing (C). In general if a purported revelation implies a wicked character on the part of the being who is the source of the revelation, the trustworthiness of the purported revelation is undermined. This seems to me a strong argument. So I hold that the grounding condition, the consistency condition, and the McTaggart condition are all violated by (C). My primary concern, of course, is not with (C) but with whether there might be a substantive doctrine of hell that does not clearly violate any of the three constraints and yet reasonably fulfills the biblical account of hell. I will not argue for the truth of such a doctrine; my purpose is to consider whether all such doctrines must be susceptible to the main standard objections against the existence of hell. What might such a doctrine look like? I will sketch out what I take to be a fairly reasonable version of such a doctrine—call it (D). (D) will then be subjected to some of the standard philosophical objections that are found in the literature. I will lay out (D) as a series of subclaims with comments interspersed. (D1) There will be a final judgment after which every human being will fall into one of two non-empty classes: (1) those that will enjoy an everlasting life of supernatural happiness in which they experience the beatific vision of God; and (2) all others. I will count all those in the second class as being in hell. 2

The grounding and consistency conditions need not be independent in their applications. One may, for example, have to appeal to considerations of consistency in order to determine what claims are grounded in scripture. 3 See John McTaggart, Some Dogmas of Religion (New York, 1968), pp. 215–16 (section 177). See also Peter T. Geach, Providence and Evil (Cambridge, 1977), pp. 134–6.

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Note that I am using the term “hell” broadly here and it is not a matter of definition that all those in hell are miserable. I will leave it an open question whether that is the case, or whether some of hell’s inhabitants, like Virgil and the philosophers in Dante’s Inferno, are not in misery. If there exists a limbo this will count as a part of hell even if those in limbo do not suffer in misery, and even if those in limbo find a sort of happiness suitable to the human nature—though not the supernatural happiness of those in heaven. (D2) Those who are in hell will always remain in hell and will have a conscious existence. (D3) Hell is an arena in which punishment takes place. The punishments found in hell include pains of loss as well as experiential suffering. Many will experience inescapable endless misery there. (D3), as well as (D1), leaves it open whether all in hell suffer punishment and misery. Traditionally punishment in hell is divided into pains of the senses and pains of loss. I will speak of experiential sufferings and sufferings of loss. The former encompasses conscious states of suffering such as physical pain, anguish, boredom, and the like. One may suffer loss without an awareness of the loss. It is even possible to suffer loss without any corresponding experiential suffering; for example a person who is in a vegetative state suffers a great loss but has no experiential suffering. To the extent that one suffers anguish at a loss that will be experiential suffering. I will not assume that all in hell are punished with experiential suffering. So, for example, if the view that unbaptized infants do not go to heaven is correct, then it would seem reasonable to expect, following Aquinas, that they do not suffer pains of the senses or interior anguish as punishment.4 Among those who suffer experientially, the nature and amount of the suffering may differ. If one thought that an unbaptized infant does not experience suffering, it would seem odd to think that one who died as an older child and had only committed minor sins would experience grievous suffering. I will take it that hell does include some who do experience grievous suffering (which may include frustration, regret, and sorrow) but it will be left open just what form this takes. The notion of punishment may be used analogically here; for instance it might be counted as a form of punishment that one who has cultivated vicious character traits has to endure a life in which those traits manifest themselves in characteristic ways—so for example one who cultivates hatred and anger might experience unrelieved rage. (D4) A future of hell and misery is not a mere logical or metaphysical possibility, but a genuine threat for anyone (with one or two possible exception cases) who in this lifetime is capable of fully functioning as a genuine moral agent. 4 See Thomas Aquinas, “Quaestiones disputatae de malo,” trans. Richard Regan, On Evil (Oxford, 2003), q. 5, aa. 2–3.

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I will not be concerned with the question of whether most people—or even a large percentage of people—will suffer hell. But we should not think of hell as reserved just for the likes of Adolph Hitler and Ted Bundy. (The reason that I mention possible exception cases is that I do not want to say that hell was a genuine threat for Jesus and I want to leave to the side the status of Mary.) So far (D) may seem to be an excessively weak doctrine. Most people associate the term “hell” with a condition of inescapable endless misery. I have simply left it an open question whether all who are excluded from heaven endure endless misery. (D3) asserts that some will endure inescapable endless misery. Let us turn now to objections that might be raised against (D). If the New Testament (NT) and mainstream tradition are suitable sources for grounding religious doctrine, then it is hard at least initially to see that the grounding condition could be violated. On a first reading the New Testament certainly seems to endorse the existence of hell. I do not want to state categorically here that the doctrine is grounded in the NT. Determining what claims are grounded in the NT can be a difficult matter. In judging whether a given doctrine is grounded in scripture one may have to consider how it meshes with what else scripture has to say, and to do so one may well need to appeal to considerations of consistency. I will relegate such objections to (D) to our consideration of the consistency condition. It goes beyond the scope of this chapter, however, to deal with the exegesis of scriptural passages—my concern will be with broadly philosophical difficulties. A number of objections might be raised against (D) by appeal to the consistency condition. Some important objections go as follows: (1) Scripture and tradition depict God as just and morally upright. The doctrine of hell contradicts this characterization of God, for the punishment God is said to impose exceeds what justice permits. This is especially the case when the punishment involves unending misery and is thus infinite in magnitude. The finite sins of a person’s lifetime cannot deserve infinite punishment. (2) Scripture and tradition depict God as loving. This is contradicted by the view that God permanently excludes some from full union with him in love. (3) Scripture and tradition depict God as almighty and loving, and as having a plan for the salvation of all, but this is contradicted by the doctrine of hell which implies that the Almighty’s plan of salvation will be frustrated. (4) Scripture and tradition pictures those in heaven as enjoying unadulterated happiness, but the existence of hell precludes this, for those in heaven would either be in ignorance about those in hell (and this ignorance would adulterate their happiness) or their happiness would be marred by their knowledge of the conditions of those in hell.

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The McTaggart condition might also be used to raise objections against the doctrine of hell. Some of these overlap substantially with objections already raised. For example, if the infliction of hell as set out in (D) involves a gross violation of justice as objection (1) claims, then the putative being who is the source of the “revelation” that asserts the existence of hell would have to be wicked and thus not a trustworthy source of revelation. So, according to this objection, doctrine (D) lacks credibility. If objection (1) could be answered then so could this McTaggartstyle objection; thus I will not list it separately. One might anticipate that my response to the line of objection found here and in (1) will focus on the weak characterization of hell to which (D) is committed, and raise the possibility that a hell meeting the conditions of (D) might be possible without a violation of justice. Even if this rejoinder were to succeed, there is another, indirect, version of the McTaggart-style objection that we need to consider. It is directed at those who take the NT to be a fundamental source of revelation grounding (D), and it goes as follows: (5) If one accepts (D) as grounded in the NT, then one will have to recognize that a sterner doctrine of hell is also grounded in the NT; this sterner doctrine holds that an eternity of agony in fire awaits the great masses of humankind. This latter doctrine falls prey to the McTaggart condition, and thus the NT, or at least the parts of the NT that pertain to hell, are disqualified as a source for grounding views on hell. But with this ground removed (D) becomes ungrounded as well. I am inclined to agree with the part of this objection that holds that it would be unjust to inflict on those in hell an infinite future experience of torment in flames.5 So I am inclined to think that the doctrine of hell is only tenable if it does not include such torment. But, as objection (5) suggests, we cannot simply set aside biblical references to hellfire. One answer to this objection is to hold that biblical references to fire are to be taken symbolically and need not imply that people will actually suffer an infinite future experience of being burned. Let us add a new clause to doctrine (D) which makes this explicit: (D5) Humans stand in danger of a kind of suffering in hell that can be aptly symbolized in terms of burning in an unending fire. It would of course be desirable to explain how (D5) could be true without raising a new form of the McTaggart-style objection; viz., if the experience of hell with which we are threatened can be symbolized in this way, would not that show that its infliction is grievously wicked, and thus that it cannot come from a credible source? 5 Here and elsewhere when I speak of suffering pain or torment in fire, I of course mean suffering painful sensation immediately caused by the fire, where the pain is like, or worse than, the pain we normally feel when being burned.

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But, once again, if a satisfactory answer to objection (1) were forthcoming it could be used to answer this objection, and so there is no need to list it separately. Let us now consider whether these sorts of objections can be answered. If (D) is in fact true then perhaps the most satisfactory response would be to give a somewhat full account of the afterlife and show how God’s justice, power, and love is manifest there in a way that avoids the difficulties of the objections. Unfortunately, we do not know in sufficient detail what the afterlife (if it exists) is like and so cannot provide such a response. A poorer, but philosophically legitimate, substitute for such an answer to the objections would be to do the following: first set out a (possibly fictitious) scenario in which a hell exists that satisfies the conditions in (D); and then show that the objections do not apply to the hell in this scenario. If that could be done it would show that the objections are not sufficient in themselves to show that (D) is untenable. A great difficulty confronting this method is that it requires us to make judgments about how God might or might not be able to manifest justice, power, and love in our hypothetical scenario, and it is hard to feel at all confident about our abilities to make such judgments. I am afraid that I must approach the objections in an even less satisfying way. If the objections are sound then they will apply to any description of hell that meets the conditions of (D). I will lay out a scenario which fulfills the conditions set out in (D) and then explain why I am not convinced that the objections apply in this case. In doing so I will thereby offer reasons why I do not find the objections to be decisive refutations of (D). To make my case the scenario meeting condition (D) need not actually be an accurate depiction of hell. I will begin by focusing on objection (1) which deals with justice. I suspect that our intuitions are clearer on this issue than those that pertain to divine love. Objection (1) states that if God were to impose a hell of endless misery on a person then God would act unjustly, for it is wrong to punish a finite sin with infinite misery. A couple of preliminary points about the notion of punishment are in order. I mentioned earlier that though doctrine (D) holds that God punishes people in hell, I am allowing that the notion of punishment may be used analogically. Plato, in the Republic, paints a picture of the unjust soul that has thrown off reason to be ruled by the passions and the spirited part of the soul; the result is a many-headed monster, a chaotic soul out of harmony with itself. The unhappy state of such a soul is not normally thought of as a form of punishment, but by analogy the notion might be applicable. God made us in such a way that a misuse of the will brings with it a disordered state of the soul. That state of the soul can be thought of as a “natural” punishment. If a person suffering such a punishment were immortal, it is not clear that the punishment need be unjust on the part of God, especially if the disorder arises from a state of the will the agent continues to embrace. Suffering the loss of heaven—even if this is an infinite loss—also does not seem to involve an injustice if what one has lost is not something one has a right to in the first place. But what about the experiential suffering that results from suffering this loss? If one feels misery at the (partial or complete) realization of

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one’s losses, that (by analogy) might also be counted as punishment in cases in which one has lost, by immoral action, what one could have had otherwise. Here again it is not clear that the punishment need be unjust. One generally associates hell with the idea of punishments inflicted by God upon the recipient. One way to inflict punishment would be to bring about disagreeable sensations; another would be to intentionally put the recipient into situations that evoke inner states of suffering, for example states of anguish. If objection (1) is correct, this kind of punishment would violate divine justice if the inflicted suffering were endless. But even here I do not think that it would be an obvious violation of justice. If the suffering resulted from the natural punishments mentioned above or it arose as a natural reaction to one’s awareness of loss, then even suffering of infinite duration might not be unfair if it was not wrong to give such a being an immortal life of infinite duration. But perhaps it might be thought that it would be immoral for God to keep a miserable being in existence endlessly, especially if the being had no hope of its misery coming to an end and the being had no desire to continue in existence: one might argue that God should in such a case either have the creature’s existence come to an end or give it a meaningful chance of recovery. For God to do otherwise, one might object, would be to unjustly make the creature experience an infinite amount of suffering for a finite amount of wrong on the creature’s part. But to hold that God is under such an obligation would seem to undermine (D), for according to (D) many in hell will experience inescapable endless misery. If God were required to provide those who desire non-existence an escape (at least through annihilation), then it might seem that God could not ensure that a hell conforming to (D) exists. A lot could be said in response to this objection, but I want to focus on a crucial feature of the objection that needs to be questioned. It is assumed that if God were to inflict endless misery on a creature then God would be inflicting an infinite amount of misery by making the being experience an infinite amount of suffering. This supposition needs to be questioned. I suspect that it may be false.6 To see why I say so it will be helpful to consider a famous thought-experiment that is often used in explaining Einstein’s theory of relativity. We are told to imagine a pair of twin brothers, one of whom takes a voyage in a spaceship while the other stays on earth. From the perspective of the brother on earth, the brother in the spaceship travels at very high speeds, approaching the speed of light before returning to earth. When the space traveler returns he has hardly aged, whereas the brother who stayed behind is many years older. Let us add a little to this story. Suppose that before leaving earth the space traveler experiences a pain of a short duration, for example he stubs his toe and it hurts for one minute as timed by his watch. During his trip he also stubs his toe and feels a pain of equal intensity which also lasts for one minute as timed by his watch. We may even imagine that he would describe the two experiences as involving the same amount of 6 For a more detailed discussion of this point see my “On the Problem of Hell,” Religious Studies, 38/3 (2002): 355–62.

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experiential suffering. However, if these two experiences of the space traveler’s pain were measured by the watch of the brother on earth, we might find that the first experience was clocked at one minute while the second was clocked at one year. We would be wrong to think that the space traveler experienced more suffering the second time he stubbed his toe. Rather we need to measure the amount of experiential suffering that takes place from the point of view of the sufferer. Now consider a further variation on the example. Imagine that the space traveler takes off and continuously accelerates to higher and higher speeds. From the point of view of those on earth he travels in large loops through space; each year (by earth time) his spaceship swings by earth. He does this forever, circling past the earth an infinite number of times, in an unending series of loops. On the first pass he has aged ½ minute since takeoff. On the second pass (now traveling much faster) he has aged an extra ¼ minute; on the third pass, ⅛ minute, and so on—during each year of earth time he only ages one half the amount he aged the year before. Throughout all of infinite (earth) time the space traveler ages just one minute, the sum of ½ + ¼ + ⅛ + ¹/₁₆ + …. To finish out the example, imagine that at takeoff both the space traveler and his earth-bound brother stub their toes and suffer pain of equal intensity for the span of time which continues for the next minute as measured out by their respective watches. That is, the earth-bound brother feels a pain that ends when his watch says that one minute has passed, and the space traveler feels his pain as his watch measures off (what he experiences as) the minute after takeoff. Experientially the brothers suffer the same amount of pain. Clearly the amount suffered is finite since the earth-bound brother’s pain ends one earth minute after takeoff. The space traveler’s pain, though experientially finite, is endless since his watch never reaches the one minute mark. The point of the example is that it seems conceivable that God could impose endless suffering on a person without the experiential amount of suffering being infinite: God could do this by giving the person an endless but experientially finite future. So even if, as objection (1) states, it is unfair to impose infinite punishment on finite sin, it would not follow from that that God could not impose endless suffering, even endless intense suffering. If a finite amount of experiential suffering could be justly inflicted in such a way as to cause misery during the affliction, then it would seem that the same amount could be inflicted in a way that causes misery and yet is endless. I want to explore a bit further the idea of endlessly enduring a finite experience. If there is an afterlife, for all we know there may be modes of consciousness there that are quite different from the way in which we now experience things. Over time our conscious experience in this life consists of a flow or succession of diverse perceptions.7 But on occasion the flow, to some extent at least, seems to stop for a while; we might for example find ourselves focused on a single thought or experience for a short duration of time. Consider the possibility that the afterlife might be experienced by some as having a quality somewhat like a moment in 7

I am using the notion of perception in a broad Humean sense here.

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which we do not feel a flow of perceptions. If such an afterlife were endless one might think that it would nonetheless be experientially infinite—it would just be one infinitely long uniform experience—and if one were experiencing suffering, then over the course of one’s afterlife one would experience infinite suffering if the afterlife were endless. I think that the example with the space traveler raises a difficulty about coming to such a conclusion. Recall that in the example after takeoff the space traveler orbiting the earth has only one minute of experiential time but that time period never comes to an end. Imagine that the space traveler has an experience in which the flow of perceptions seems to have stopped and that this takes place during the last two seconds (as measured by his watch) of the unending minute after takeoff. Here we may have an experiential approximation of what a qualitatively uniform, experientially finite, endless afterlife might be like. Perhaps for some hell may be a sempiternal, finitely experienced moment of loss that stands in a simultaneity relation with the infinite progression of time. There is something especially frightening in these scenarios in which hell is experienced by some people as endless, yet of finite experiential duration. It would seem that a point would be reached at which so little experiential time is left that one would be, so to speak, endlessly at the point of death. If the suffering that took place in that last moment were intense—whether it was, say, pain, remorse, frustration, or a feeling of doom—then it might fittingly be symbolized in terms of being thrown into a fire from which there is no escape, and it might be compared to a living death in which there will be no new future thoughts or acts of will (and no time for repentance). And yet, it would seem that the amount of experiential suffering endured need not be more than one deserves. I have looked at ways in which temporal features of the afterlife might play into our assessment of the objections. I want to briefly consider some other ways existence in hell could differ from our current mode of existence and consider how they too might play into our assessment of the objections. A common way of thinking of hell takes the experience of hell to be, in important ways, a straightforward continuation of our current experience: In hell we might have more intense experiences and perhaps new sensations, but consciousness there is to be understood as basically similar to our current consciousness. When thinking of hell on this view we might imagine that if someone from hell came to us and described it we could grasp the description and get something like a concrete feel for what hell is like. But perhaps that is an unreasonable assumption; perhaps we can at best only get a highly abstract conception of hell. Perhaps descriptions of hell as, for example, being like a furnace are at best figurative attempts to convey an aspect of hell that we are currently unable to grasp in terms of what the experience would be like. This might even be expected if the nature of the afterlife state were dramatically different than that of our present life. Suppose that we tried to give a rough sense of the comparison between our current life and our state in the afterlife in terms of a ratio: our current life is to the afterlife state as X is to Y. How might we fill in X and Y? Think of the following series of comparisons. Our current life (in important relevant respects) is to the afterlife state as:

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the mental life of a five-year-old is to that of an adult; the mental life of an infant is to that of an adult; the mental life of a mouse is to that of an adult human; the mental life of goldfish is to that of an adult human; the mental life of a slug is to that of an adult human. As we move down the list and the comparison becomes more dramatic it becomes plausible that if such a comparison gave us an indication of the difference between our current life and the afterlife, then only a very abstract conception of the future life might be available to us, and it might best be given through figurative language. There might even be a richness and some goodness for (some of) those in hell that is lacking in this life, though there would not be a full supernatural union with God in the beatific vision. And this might even be the case for some who undergo quite significant suffering. Consider too what it might be like if our intellectual powers were far more developed than they currently are. Given the interaction of intellect and will, this could lead to a striking difference in the way the will is exercised. Consider two ways in which we may form intentions with regard to future action. One way is simply to decide to perform a given action (a simple decision). Another is to conditionally decide that if so-and-so occurs then I will do such-and-such (a conditional decision). If the intellect were powerful enough to at once survey all the options which might face one in the future then it might be possible at once to form one’s intentions so thoroughly that the will’s role in deciding future actions would in effect already have been completed; that is, if one’s simple and conditional decisions managed to cover all contingencies, then no new decisions would need to be made in light of future conditions. The dynamics of changing one’s mind and of repentance might be dramatically different in such a scenario. Perhaps in some such scenario escape from suffering through repentance would not be available because the necessary change of mind involved in repentance would not be available. Now it is time to assess: First we need to consider whether a picture of hell can be drawn from our discussion that accommodates the doctrine of hell as set out in (D1)–(D5). Then we need to ask how it stands in light of the five objections presented earlier. On our picture of hell there is a final judgment in which all humans are permanently separated into two classes, those in heaven and those in hell. Those in hell have an endless conscious existence, though it is to be left open whether the conscious existence of some (or all) is of a finite experiential duration. Furthermore it may be the case that some of those in hell, even those who suffer endlessly, have a form of life that is rich in ways that we may currently be unable to comprehend in a way that gives us a concrete feel for their form of existence. Many of those in hell suffer in misery endlessly. This picture of hell would seem to accommodate (D1) and (D2). (D3) says that there is punishment in hell, some of which involves inescapable endless misery; we have seen how this condition can

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be accommodated in a way in which the suffering experienced in the punishment is finite. (D4) says that a future of misery in hell is a genuine threat for humans who in this lifetime are capable of fully functioning as genuine moral agents. One way to accommodate (D4) is to hold that those who are capable of fully functioning as moral agents face the following two dangers: (1) they capable of acting so wickedly that they would justly deserve to have misery imposed on them in a form that is endless, though perhaps experientially finite, and if they do act that wickedly then God might punish them in this way; and (2) they are capable of becoming morally corrupt to such an extent that were they to exist endlessly under certain conditions they would be miserable as a natural consequence of their moral state, and if they become so corrupt God may with justice place them in such an unending state (though perhaps their time there will be experientially finite). We have already addressed (D5), which states that we stand in danger of a kind of suffering in hell that can be aptly symbolized in terms of burning in an unending fire. So we must turn to the objections. The first objection says that the doctrine of hell contradicts the moral uprightness of God since the punishments are infinite and thus unjust because excessive. Once we allow that the experiential suffering may be finite this objection loses much of its force. It is hard to see that the punishments outlined above need be excessive. But perhaps, it may be said, the mere fact that the misery is endless is sufficient to rule it out as unjust. Other things being equal, endless misery does seem worse than misery of the same amount that comes to an end. But I do not see why endlessness need always rule a punishment out as unjust. The second objection says that scripture and tradition depict God as loving and it claims that this contradicts the view that God permanently excludes some from full union with him. This raises difficult issues I cannot pursue here. So I will confine myself to a few remarks. I find it hard to make confident judgments about how a being of such a different nature from us would express its love in the matters before us. If someone asked me to state a priori how an all-perfect, omniscient, almighty, first cause of the universe who is loving might act, I would not be able to say much. After all, who would have expected that a loving God would create a world like this one? There are some things I would say almost a priori about how a loving God would not act; for example, a loving God would not send unbaptized infants to everlasting agony in hellfire. But the problem before us now involves much more subtle issues that make it hard to know what to say. There are issues of freedom of the will, of God’s respect for a sinner’s freedom, of the role of free response in love, and of original sin and grace, to name just a few. This is further complicated by the problem noted above that we do not know what mode of existence awaits those in the afterlife and so it is hard to fathom how God’s love might be expressed towards those who are not in full union with him. One might think that we could turn to revelation to help ground our claims about how a loving God would act in this situation. I find it difficult, however, to see how the NT could provide us strong evidence that God’s loving nature would not permit the existence of hell, when a doctrine of hell seems embedded in the NT. Similar remarks apply to the third objection, which holds that God’s plans for

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salvation would be frustrated if there was a hell. The belief that God has a plan for universal salvation that is incompatible with the existence of hell needs to be grounded in revelation. But if the NT is used as a primary source for grounding this belief, then we are faced with the problem that the doctrine of hell seems embedded in the NT, where God’s plan appears to include the existence of hell.8 The fifth objection has already been considered, so only the fourth remains. The fourth objection states that the existence of hell would preclude the possibility of those in heaven enjoying unadulterated happiness, for those in heaven would either be in ignorance about those in hell (and this ignorance would adulterate their happiness) or their happiness would be marred by their knowledge of the conditions of hell. This objection may seem to depend solely on familiar facts of human psychology. But of course it really goes far beyond such facts. We should expect the mental life of those in full union with God in heaven to be quite different from ours now. Those in heaven may, for instance, know those in hell with a thoroughness that far surpasses our current knowledge of ourselves. And they may have a God-like respect for the free will of others, a God-like sense of justice, and a God-like love of others. Perhaps under those conditions they may be at peace with the fate of those in hell. So I remain unconvinced by the objections to the existence of hell, though I do not pretend to have complete answers to them. To me the possibility of hell, and of permanent separation from full union with God, remains a genuine worry.9

8 But I do not want to press the issue, as I claim no special expertise in biblical scholarship. Furthermore, as William Wainwright has pointed out to me, just as I treat the notion of hellfire symbolically, it is open to those who reject hell to interpret biblical references to hell symbolically (e.g., an annihilationist might treat reference to endless punishment as a symbol for permanent loss of God). A full discussion of these issues is beyond the purview of this chapter. 9 I wish to thank William Wainwright for his insightful comments on an earlier version of this chapter.

Chapter 10

Hell and Natural Atheology

1

Keith E. Yandell

Preface In the academy, belief in hell seems rather rare. In many seminaries and churches, the same is true. The closest that many in the academy will come to tolerating a discussion of hell is that it may allow the question to be raised whether religious monotheism requires that hell exist. Within many seminaries and churches, it is assumed that if there is a good and loving God, there is no hell. Questioning that assumption may be a quite unpopular activity. Whether or not this is so, I do question that assumption. My manner of doing so comes by way of considering an argument against the existence of God. My purpose does not include giving an exegetical study of what either the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, or the New Testament, says about hell. Others, better equipped than I to take on the task, have done this.2 My focus is on the question as to whether those who believe in God can, without inconsistency, also believe in hell—a question which some have explicitly, and many implicitly,3 answered in the negative. A brief word should be said about how “God” and “hell” are to be understood here. By “God” I mean “that omnipotent, omniscient, just and loving being who created, sustains, and providentially governs the world.” While each property that God has, according to this concept, could itself be a subject of considerable attention, I will assume here that the concepts of these properties are clear enough 1

Natural atheology includes attempts to prove that God does not exist by beginning with some phenomenon generally admitted to exist and claiming that this phenomenon would not exist if God existed. It also includes endeavors to show that the concept of God is logically inconsistent or that religious monotheism is contradictory in some fashion. The present instance of natural atheology endeavors to show that religious monotheistic beliefs are logically incompatible, and that neither of the incompatible beliefs can be properly abandoned by religious monotheists. 2 Compare, for example, David Powys, ‘Hell’: A Hard Look at a Hard Question (Carlisle, 1997); Philip S. Johnston, Shades of Sheol: Death and Afterlife in the Old Testament (Downer’s Grove, 2002); W.G.T. Shedd, The Doctrine of Endless Punishment (Edinburgh, 1990); Robert A. Patterson. Hell on Fire (Philadelphia, 1995). Powys has an extensive bibliography. 3 At least, I suspect, this is true of many of those theists who have simply not spoken about the topic in their sermons, writings, and teaching. Neglect is not the same as denial. But denial is often the explanation of neglect.

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to bear the weight of the present discussion.4 By “hell” I mean “that condition in which God determines that a created person who has sinned, but not repented of her sins and asked for forgiveness, and whose sins are thus unforgiven, receives just recompense for her sins, including her sin of not having repented and asked for forgiveness.” Here, too, I assume that the relevant concepts are sufficiently clear for present purposes. What I will be asking here is whether God (a being of whom the relevant above description is true) and hell (a condition of which the relevant above description is true) are related in such a way that “God exists and hell exists” can express a true proposition. In a word, is the proposition expressed by this sentence self-contradictory? The essay that follows has four sections. The first considers a bit of natural atheology—an argument against the existence of God—in this case an objection centrally focused on the idea of there being a hell. The second section offers a brief review of some of the salient history of Christian views concerning hell, making no pretense of being either exhaustive or original. A third section considers a little of the conceptual neighborhood in which the views presented in section two make their homes. A final section considers the relevance of the content of section three to the bit of atheology with which we began, and subjects that atheology to analysis. Section 1: Hell and Atheology That an omnicompetent loving God would allow hell to exist is simply unthinkable—involves a logical inconsistency—is not a new idea. It is a central part of what motivates universalism, the view that all will be saved. It is also salient to the rationale for annihilationism, the idea that the unredeemed cease to exist. Here, I want to consider a specific version of an argument that there is the aforementioned inconsistency. Here is the bit of natural atheology in question, in briefest version. 1. 2. 3. 4.

4

Either hell exists or it does not [necessary truth]. If hell exists, then God does not exist. If hell does not exist, then God does not exist. God does not exist [from 1–3].

I should mention that God is omnipotent—by way of a beginning of an analysis— does not entail If a proposition P is necessarily false, then God can make P true or If “God makes P true” is necessarily false, then God can make P true. There is no such thing as making a necessary falsehood true, so God not being able to do “that” is not a matter of God not being able to do “something.”

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Premise 1 is a necessary truth. The argument is valid,5 thus if the premises are true, so is the conclusion. Things are easy this far. But why accept premises 2 and 3? In each case, consider a sub-proof. An argument for 2 goes as follows. Argument for premise 2: (1) Hell exists (assumption for conditional proof); (N1) Necessarily, if hell exists, then God created persons such that their existence overall is so undesirable that it is a bad thing for them that they exist; (N2) Necessarily, if God created persons, none would be such that their existence is so undesirable that it is a bad thing for them that they exist; (2) God created persons such that their existence overall is so undesirable that it is a bad thing for them that they exist [from 1 and N1]; (3) God did not create persons [from 2 and N2]; (N3) Necessarily, if hell exists, then there are persons; (4) There are persons [from 1 and N3]; (5) Persons were not created by God [from 3 and 4]; (N4) Necessarily, if God exists (and given that there are persons), then persons were created by God; (6) God does not exist [from 4 and 5]; (7) If hell exists, then God does not exist [1–6, close conditional proof]. An argument for premise 3 goes as follows. (1*) Hell does not exist (assumption for conditional proof); (2*) There are unrepentant sinners (sinners who never repent of their sins before they die) [empirical fact];6 (N5) If there are unrepentant sinners, then if a just God exists, God will require that justice be done regarding them; (3*) If a just God exists, God will require that justice is done regarding unrepentant sinners [from 2* and N5]; (4*) If justice is done regarding unrepentant sinners, it occurs post-mortem (and thus there is hell) [justice is not done pre-mortem: empirical fact—so if it is done, it is done post-mortem]; (5*) If there are unrepentant sinners, then if a just God exists, then there is hell [from 3* and 4*]; (6*) If a just God exists, then there is hell [from 2* and 5*]; (7*) A just God does not exist [from 1* and 6*]; (8*) If hell does not exist, a just God does not exist [close conditional proof, 1*–7*]; (N6) If a just God does not exist, God does not exist; (9*) If hell does not exist, then God does not exist [from 8 and N6]. If this line of reasoning is correct, then any variety of theism that includes or entails the view that hell does not exist (and admits that there are sinners who die unrepentant) is logically inconsistent. One obvious objection comes from annihilationsim, the view that unrepentant sinners are annihilated. On this view, hell does not exist, but God does exist. A reply to the objection is also at hand. It is that an omnicompetent, loving God would not create persons whose continued existence is worse for them than their ceasing to exist would be. If persons are of the high worth that theism ascribes to them—made in the image of God—then God will not create them knowing that they will have to be destroyed. There is a response to this, namely that future-tense statements (or at least those concerning the free actions of creatures) have no truth value now; they are neither true nor false until the action occurs. This being so, it is 5 6

Being of the form: p or not-p; if p then q; if not-p then q; therefore q. Strictly, it is something that the theist will grant to be an empirical fact.

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logically impossible for God to know the truth about such matters, there being no such truth (beforehand) to be known. This is the position that Open Theists take. Since I take future-tense statements, even those about the free actions of persons, to have truth value, I will not pursue this perspective. The sort of claims specified can be viewed in different ways. One could simply press the point that the doctrines of God and hell are logically incompatible, period, thus contending that orthodox Christian theology, by virtue of embracing both doctrines, has a built-in contradiction. One could argue that a just God will create hell, given the conditions that prevail in the world (a host of unrepentant sinners), but a loving God would not create persons that he knew would be unrepentant sinners. One could argue that a God who was loving would find some way or other to bring any person to freely accept His grace. All of these views have been offered and will be briefly discussed later. But the distinctive character of the present argument is its opening premise and its claim to deduce that God does not exist from that premise plus the two others given, and its claim that the deduction in question contains only necessary truths and propositions accepted as part of religious monotheism, some of which are (with the qualification noted) empirical facts. We now have at least the gist of the bit of natural atheology to be considered here. It is time to consider some historical views concerning the nature of hell. Section 2: A Brief Historical Sketch Annihilationism Arnobius, while not one of the greatest thinkers of the Church, rejected the Platonic doctrine of the natural immortality of the soul and the (widely accepted) Christian doctrine of immortality by grace. Concerning the lost and their being consigned to hell, he writes: They are cast in, and being annihilated, pass away vainly in everlasting destruction … this is man’s real death, this which leaves nothing behind. For that which is seen by the eyes is a separation of soul from body, not the last evil—annihilation: this, I say, is man’s real death, when souls which know not God shall be consumed in long-protracted torment with raging fire7

Here, then, is an early statement of annihilationism: the soul lasts long enough to receive its just punishment, and then is destroyed.

7 The Seven Books of Arnobius Adversus Gentes, trans. Hamilton Bryce and Hugh Campbell (Edinburgh, 1871), vol. 19, pp. 79–81: 2:14.

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Universalism Origen, an early universalist, tells us that God: So … enters “like the fire of a smelting furnace” to mold the rational nature which has been filled by the lead of evil and other impure substances which adulterate the soul’s golden or silver nature, so to speak … since he makes the evil which has penetrated the whole soul to disappear.8

God is a consuming fire in the sense that God refines the soul and makes it fit for heaven, prepared for its new and far better environment. He reads the consuming fire as purifying. Origen also appeals to what he finds an attractive line of reasoning, saying: For the end is always like the beginning; as therefore there is one end of all things, so we must understand that there is one beginning of all things, and as there is one end of many things, so from one beginning arise many differences and varieties, which in their turn are restored, through God’s goodness, through their subjection to Christ and their unity with the Holy Spirit, to one end, which is like their beginning.9

While the force of the reasoning is not exactly overwhelming, this gives us one universalist perspective. Unending Retribution Tertullian, remarking on Matthew 10:28, says: If, therefore, any one shall violently suppose that the destruction of the soul and flesh in hell amounts to a final annihilation of the two substances [body and soul] and not to their penal treatment (as if they were to be consumed, not punished) let him recollect that the fire of hell is eternal—expressly announced as an everlasting penalty; and let him then admit that it is from this circumstance that this never-ending “killing” is more formidable then merely human murder, which is merely temporal.10

Augustine agrees:

8

Origen, Contra Celsus, trans. Henry Chadwick (Cambridge, 1965), pp. 191–2;

4:13. 9

Ibid., p. 53; 6:2. The Ante-Nicene Fathers, eds Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (Grand Rapids, 1973), 3:570. 10

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what God said though the mouth of his prophet, about the eternal punishment of the damned, will come true; it will most certainly come true that “their worm will never die and their fire will never go out”11

He adds his own line of reasoning concerning Matthew 25:41 and Revelation 20:10: “Eternal” in the first passage is expressed in the second by “for ever and ever,” and those words have only one meaning in Scriptural usage: the exclusion of a temporal end. And this is why there cannot conceivably be found any reason better founded or more evident for the fixed and immutable conviction of true religion that the Devil and his angels will never attain to justification and to life of the saints. There can be, I say, no stronger reason than this: that the Scriptures, which never deceive, say that God has not spared them.12

We have, then, significant support for the view that hell is endless. While no review will be complete, it seems appropriate to add some Reformation perspectives. Luther, commenting on Psalm 21, offers this view: The fiery oven is ignited merely by the unbearable appearance of God, and endures forever. For the Day of Judgment will not last for a moment only, but will stand in throughout eternity and thereafter never come to an end. Constantly the damned will be judged, constantly they will suffer pain, and constantly they will be a fiery oven, that is, they will be tortured within by supreme distress and tribulation.13

Here eternal punishment is asserted but literal interpretation rejected. Calvin too regards the language of fire and worm as figurative. Now, because no description can deal adequately with the gravity of God’s vengeance against the wicked, their torments and tortures are figuratively expressed to us by physical things, that is, by darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth, unquenchable fire, an undying worm gnawing at the heart. By such expressions the Holy Spirit certainly intended to confound our senses with dread.14

11

Augustine, The City of God, ed. David Knowles (Harmondsworth, 1972), p. 988;

21.12. 12

Ibid., p. 1001; 2.23. Edwin M. Plass, What Luther Says, 2 vols (St. Louis, 1959), vol. 2, p. 628. 14 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Ford Lewis Battles and ed. John T. McNeill (Philadelphia, 1960), vol. 20, p. 1008; 3.25.22. 13

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The “Temporal Sin Does Not Deserve Endless Punishment” Objection To the standard objection that no sin can deserve infinite (unending) punishment Aquinas replies: The magnitude of the punishment matches the magnitude of the sin … Now a sin that is against God is infinite; the higher the person against whom it is committed, the graver the sin—it is more criminal to strike a head of state than a private citizen—and God is of infinite greatness. Therefore an infinite punishment is deserved for a sin committed against him.15

It is by no means clear that striking the head of a king or president is “more criminal” (as opposed to more likely to be punished)—at least, that morally it is worse. Further, since any sin is “against God,” it follows that any sin deserves infinite punishment. Augustine has his own reply: Now the reason why eternal punishment appears harsh and unjust to human sensibilities, is that in the feeble condition of those sensibilities under their condition of mortality man lacks the sensibility of the highest and purest wisdom, the sense which should enable him to feel the gravity of the wickedness in the first act of disobedience.16

On Augustine’s view, our sense of the seriousness of sin is profoundly inadequate and thus we find its appropriate punishment excessive. Their replies, of course, are complementary rather that competitive. There is another reply that is complementary to the other two. It is suggested by Luther: Since God is a just Judge we must love and laud His justice and thus rejoice in God even when He miserably destroys the wicked in body and soul; for in all this His high and inexpressible justice shines forth. And so even hell, no less than heaven, is full of God and the highest Good. For the justice of God is God Himself; and God is the highest Good.17

The state of affairs of deserved punishment being received is itself a good state of affairs, and thus one that God properly institutes. This comment directly concerns whether a good God could allow hell; the reply is that God’s love is a holy love, not a “love” that ignores sin, and a holy God will require retribution unless forgiveness

15 Thomas Aquinas, On the Truth of the Catholic Faith, Summa Contra Gentiles, trans. Vernon Burke (Garden City, 1956), p. 216; 144.8. 16 Augustine, City of God, pp. 977, 983; 21:7, 9. 17 Plass, What Luther Says, vol. 2, p. 627.

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is sought. But, in combination with the other two points just mentioned, it provides a significant supplement. There is at least one more (again complementary) reason. Suppose someone clings fiercely to the illusion that his life, rather than being a gift from God, simply naturally arose. It is his to do with as he pleases, no matter what that may be. He may so commit himself to the principle “I am my own” that worship of God ceases to be an option. He may, so to say, reaffirm himself in rejection of grace again and again. In that case, the sin is one of total rejection of anything short of, or higher than, a self-direction that knows no accepted constraint. At the best, it knows no gratitude to God for the gift of life. Here, if (libertarian) freedom is essential to agency, and being an agent is of great worth even if that agency is badly misused, continued presence “in” hell may indeed be the best that God can do for him, it being the best that he will allow to be done. It seems quite possible to hold that the perpetually unrepentant sinner who has, in Kant’s terms, made the principle of evil (self-love unconstrained by love for others and for God) the ground of his choices and behavior, and who receives in his own person the just desert of his choices, yet receive the best that he will allow God to give.18 At this point, we have a brief survey of some theistic views regarding hell— one on which there is no such “place” because the unredeemed are annihilated; one on which there is no such “place” because all are redeemed; and one on which hell is retributive and endless. Section 3: Some Alternatives Developed Population There are various views regarding various things about hell. One concerns the number of its inhabitants, more carefully as to the percentage of candidates who will be “there.” The candidates are human beings and, often, (fallen) angels. There is little basis for percentage estimates regarding the latter class, but there are people who at least take it that we have strong basis for percentage estimates regarding the former. While the estimates or predictions are not precise—say, 90 percent of the humans who ever exist—the percentage is often taken to be high. Such terms as “most” or “many” come into play. If the alternatives are hell and heaven, the view is that, at least concerning humans, the candidates will be quite a lot less represented within the pearly gates than they will be represented in the fiery pit. If it is sufficient for going to hell that one not have specifically responded 18

Those who deny libertarian freedom may want to appeal to an alleged responsibility that attaches to compatibilist freedom, or simply embrace an incompatibilist determinist view and appeal to God’s being able to do as God likes. I will let compatibilists, and incompatibilist determininsts, develop their own lines of reasoning.

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favorably to the Christian Gospel, then the sheer fact that more have not heard than have heard it substantiates this broad estimate. Of course many who have heard the Gospel message have not favorably responded to it—they have not believed it and trusted God on its basis. They have heard, but hearing has not saved them. So, along with those who have not heard, they also populate hell. On this view, there is a hell and it is well filled. On this view, one can, without inconsistency, hold that even though for the person who is “in” hell, it would be better that she be annihilated than that she linger on in hell, it is better that she be in hell receiving the just punishment she is receiving. It is also possible, without inconsistency, to hold that, even for the person in hell, on the whole it is better still that he exist even there than that he be annihilated. Here, the issue has to do with the kinds and greatness of worth a person has, and how bad hell is. It makes sense, then, to describe these views of hell in the following terms. On the former account, hell is populated because there are persons who deserve the punishment being there involves (actually, is), and their desert never ends; perhaps they continue to sin even in hell. Contrary to a common assumption, then, one who holds this view need not hold that the sins of this lifetime are ever enough to justify unending retributive punishment beyond the separation from God that hell’s occupants have chosen, but continued sin justifies continued retribution. This view we will call the “extrinsic view” of hell: the person in hell may be such that it would be better for him that he be annihilated, but that the state of affairs of his getting his just deserts has a positive worth that trumps the negative worth that attaches to the person being annihilated and so not getting his just deserts as well as his having a life that would be better for him to have than not to have. The contrasting view we can call the “intrinsic view,” which holds that the positive worth of the person’s existing, even in hell is great enough to make it a bad thing that he not exist at all. Monotheistic Denials of Hell There are two varieties of religious monotheism on which no one is in hell. One is universalism, the view that, in the long run, God sees to it that everyone is saved and goes to heaven. A loving and omnipotent God will let no one perish. The other is annihilationism, the view that those who do not go to heaven simply cease to exist. Here, too, the idea is that a loving and omnipotent God will let no one be in hell. It adds that being in hell is worse than not existing—any rational and relevantly informed human who made a really defensible judgment would prefer obliteration to occupancy in hell. On these accounts, there is—at least in effect—no hell. “Hell” presumably refers to what would be a miserable condition, but to a condition under which no one exists. It is not logically inconsistent for a universalist not to think that being in hell would be a worse fate than non-existence. For an annihilationist, it will be inconsistent to hold that continuing to exist would be better than non-existence (or perhaps even tied in badness) when compared to existing in hell.

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One could, of course, hold that a person in hell lasts only so long as it takes for her just deserts to have been meted out, and then she is annihilated, or that, once they are all meted out, she goes to heaven. Then there is the notion of purgatory as a sort of finishing school for those who will move on to heaven when they are ready. But I do not think that considering this further fine-tuning will materially aid us in our reflections. Among these views, there is agreement that being in hell is not desirable. Quite the contrary—it is very bad indeed. But that leaves open the question as to what, in the broadest terms, makes it so bad. Very roughly: is it what those in hell could have had but lack, or what they do have (or both) that makes hell so unattractive? These questions are relevant to a discussion of which of the alternatives we have canvassed is most defensible. In particular, they are relevant to the question as to whether God can be loving and omnipotent and permit hell. A doctrine of hell will contain at least these elements: (i) an account of the nature of hell—what is true of May if May is “in” hell?; (ii) who, if anyone, is “there?”; (iii) if there are people there, why are they there? Loss, Retribution, and Literal Interpretation A traditional view of hell sees it in terms of loss and retribution—loss of everlasting life with God and believers, retribution for sins committed. The latter is typically taken to involve severe suffering—perpetual pain and agony. It is hard not to believe that some considerable degree of satisfaction is taken in detailing the misery of the lost. What Scripture says on the topic is expounded and expanded far beyond anything sheer exegesis would allow. The Scriptural “where the worm turneth not and the fire is not quenched” becomes a lurid picture of unending torture. While “the worm” is sometimes taken to refer to literal worms eating everlasting bodies, the reference is sometimes construed non-literally, as we saw in Calvin and Luther. Consider also, this passage from Matthew Henry’s Concise Commentary: It is repeatedly said of the wicked, Their worm dieth not, as well as, The fire is never quenched. Doubtless, remorse of conscience and keen self reflection are this never dying worm. Surely it is beyond compare better to undergo all possible pain, hardship, and self denial here, and to be happy for ever hereafter, than to enjoy all kinds of worldly pleasure for a season, and to be miserable for ever. Like the sacrifices, we must be salted with salt; our corrupt affections must be subdued and mortified by the Holy Spirit. Those that have the salt of grace, must show they have a living principle of grace in their hearts, which works out corrupt dispositions in the soul that would offend God, or our own consciences.19 19 Matthew Henry, Matthew Henry’s Concise Commentary on the Whole Bible, 9 vols (Chicago, 1981), vol. 9, pp. 41–50.

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It is possible to view hell without more to retribution than loss. This is, in effect, the treatment that hell receives in The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, in which the lost can take a bus to the outskirts of heaven but go back to their dreary lives where, among other things, there are learned disquisitions on the possibilities of post-mortem life, should there be such a thing, and the goal of living is always to search but never find (that would be too definite). Here, people are allowed to confirm themselves in errant ways, receiving in themselves the recompense for their folly. Living without God and pursuing their own interests in their own manner is punishment enough. The retribution, then, is the loss, neither more nor less. The reference to unquenched fire and undying worm is a warning stated in vivid but hyperbolic terms. Hell is to be as much avoided in the next life as is consuming fire in this. There is no need to detail how hot the fire will be. On the loss = retribution account, it is far less clear that a good and loving God would not allow hell, at least so long as it was better for the person to exist rather than not, her being in hell. If her being “there” is the result of a firm free choice she has made—her being there arises from her own doings in a condition in which she carries on her own projects, becoming ever more confirmed in her life without God—God has “given her up” in the light (or the darkness) of her convictions. She follows a path of her own choosing, and is left to do so. Two Perspectives on Hell Two rather different views of hell go as follows. 1. Hell is the place chosen by God for those who are not among the elect, the elect being those whom God decided, before creation, would be in heaven. Sometimes the distinction is made between double election (God chose exactly who would be in heaven, and who would be in hell) and single election (God only chose exactly who would be in heaven). Either way, however, the result is the same. Suppose there are 100 people—50 whose last names begin with “A” and 50 whose last names begin with “B”—clinging to parts that are all that remains of their ship. Another ship comes along whose captain decides to rescue all the Apeople and does not decide to save any of the B-people. Thus the As are on board the ship as it leaves the Bs to their unhappy fate. When the As object to the Bs being left in the water—there was room for them on the ship as well—the captain replies that he did not decide not to save the Bs, but rather just did not decide to do so. After all, he did not have to rescue any, and it was gracious of him to do what he did. Since, he says, it would not have been wrong of him to rescue none, it was not wrong (and so not unjust) for him to rescue only some. It may be added that while the saved are trophies of God’s love, the lost are trophies of God’s holy wrath. Along with this line there typically goes the view that those in hell deserve to be there even though they were chosen, before creation, to go to hell. This often is defended in terms of what philosophers call compatibilist freedom, where one is free to perform an action at a time if one did perform it at that time, wanted to do so, and did so because of what one wanted, it mattering not at all if one could

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have not wanted or could have quelled the desire and refrained from the action. Put very roughly, so long as the causal chain that leads to the action runs through one’s consciousness in the did/wanted to do/did due to the want manner, one is free with regard to what one did. Thus, we are told, Jim can be guilty of murder, and properly held responsible for murder, even though the causal chain leading to the murdering began just after creation and inevitably led to the murderous action. The did/wanted to do/did due to the want provides a barrier to the responsibility going back in the causal chain to God, or indeed beyond Jim. We can call this view, put in terms of either single or double election, the election view of hell. God graciously saves the chosen, and either chooses who will be lost or just does not choose to save them (a distinction whose worth escapes me). 2. Hell is the “place” where people are who have freely rejected God’s grace— have not responded, or have responded poorly, to the religious knowledge provided them. They are “there” due to their own choices, or their own neglect to choose. After all, the results of one’s ignoring, and those of one’s rejecting, an offer are identical so far as accepting the offer goes; neither way does one accept. The final section develops the second alternative. Section 4: Atheology Revisited It is time to return to the argument with which we began. The argument was valid, and the first premise was a necessary truth. So if premises 2 and 3 are true, then the conclusion is true. For each premise, there was a sub-proof—an argument, distinct from the original but in its support. The sub-proof for premise 2 contains four propositions said to be necessary truths: (N1) Necessarily, if hell exists, then God created persons such that their existence overall is so undesirable that it is a bad thing for them that they exist. (N2) Necessarily, if God created persons, none would be such that their existence is so undesirable that it is a bad thing for them that they exist. (N3) Necessarily, if hell exists, then there are persons. (N4) Necessarily, if God exists (and given that there are persons), then persons were created by God. One premise—that hell exists—is assumed for a conditional proof. The strategy of a conditional proof is to assume some proposition p and to show that, given p, you can validly traverse true premises until you reach proposition q. Then you close the argument with a statement of what you (claim to) have proved, namely, If p then q. This “dismisses the assumption.” The other premises follow from preceding steps in the argument, and so need not be considered separately. The question here is: Are (N1) through (N4) necessary truths? Each must be true in order for the sub-proof to succeed. (N3) and (N4) are safe ground for the critic. Given that, if

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hell exists, a condition exists in which there are persons in a highly unsatisfactory state, (N3) is indeed a necessary truth. (N4) is at least typically held by religious monotheists, who take it that everything that exists, but might not have existed, is created, and sustained in existence, by God. So the critic can appeal to (N4) as typically granted by theists. We are left with (N1) and (N2). (N1) says that any person who is in hell would have a life that it would be better for her not to have—a life such that having it is so bad that, if she were fully relevantly informed, fully clear-headed, and fully rational, she would choose that it (and hence she) cease. It would be better for her that her continued existence end. (N2) says that if God exists, God will not create any person whose life is so unbearable that it would be better for her that she be annihilated than that she continue. Both claims will be disputed. One can say that the state of affairs of, say, Tom’s receiving the just deserts of his sins trumps it being better for Tom that he be annihilated. The former has positive worth that justifies the claim that, overall, things are better if the former state of affairs obtains, and the latter does not, rather than the reverse. If this is true, then perhaps God can create someone whose existence God knows will be so bad that it would become better for him to be annihilated than for him to live on. On balance, on this view, this might well be the right choice. Alternatively, perhaps God does not know the future—perhaps statements that are tensed to the future have no truth value, since what will make them true or false has not yet arrived. So God might create unfortunate Tom and not know that Tom will be unfortunate. Perhaps God would not have created Tom had God known, but God did not know. No doubt there are other replies, but these will have to suffice here. Neither response convinces me. I can explain why by sketching a view that there is not space to fully develop, much less defend. According to religious monotheism in the Semitic tradition, God created Tom in God’s image. According to Christianity, God paid humanity the ultimate compliment of becoming incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. One philosophical manner of expressing at least something very like this is to say that persons have dignity rather than price. At least part of loving someone in friendship, let alone agape, is respecting this dignity.20 A concrete consequence of our having this status is that if a parent loses a chair or a parrot, it is possible to replace it with another. If it is your fault, an apology and a replacement chair or parrot is appropriate. If a parent loses a child due to your actions, an apology and a replacement child is not appropriate. Here, “equals for equals” does not make things right. Persons have intrinsic worth; buying you a new one when you accidentally kill the original is simply a new immoral action. Another concrete consequence is that even if Tom is a rotten fellow, it is not right 20

That Paul in Romans says that we have no business in judging our Maker does not entail that God does not love those made in God’s image in a way that includes recognition of the intrinsic dignity—dignity based on the nature of persons, the imago dei—given to created persons. Unfortunately, this distinction seems not often made.

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that he be taken out to the forest and recreationally hunted. Even rotten Tom cannot rightly be only used for the pleasure, or even the benefit, of others. It seems to me proper to distinguish between two sorts of worth or value that attach to persons. One is metaphysical worth. The environmental movement has reintroduced the idea of such worth into our thought. Their claim is that the spotted owl, and the virgin forest, has this feature: it is good that they exist. Thus it is intrinsically wrong to wantonly destroy them. The movement does not typically rest on the claim that spotted owls have the moral law written on their hearts. Nonetheless they claim that it is wrong to get rid of the spotted owl. Sometimes the curious view is held that it is the species that has intrinsic worth, but not any member thereof, but we need not get into that here. I take that any value “the species” has is entirely vested in the actual owls, and I grant them natural value. Natural value is non-moral worth—metaphysical worth. A person has very considerable metaphysical value in virtue of being a person. The other relevant sort of worth is moral. In contrast to metaphysical, this worth is not “built into” a person by being created. It develops over time and is a function of a person’s choices and actions. There is no guarantee that a person having metaphysical value will come to have great moral worth—become a really good person. There is a deep connection between metaphysical and moral worth. Coming to have (positive or negative) moral worth is constituted by developing into maturity the nature one has as a person. The Ten Commandments are not rules set down arbitrarily by a cosmic policeman out to give tickets. They are guidelines for a life that is fully human. What matters most morally is the sort of person one becomes, the goal being to use those capacities that make one distinctively human in such a way that one flourishes as a person. This requires intentionally helping others to flourish and treating them with the dignity their nature justifies. So acting toward other persons is a great deal of what loving God includes.21 This sketch gives the barest outline of a perspective on the value of persons. Even so, it raises a relevant question: What happens if we include a person’s metaphysical worth into our consideration of whether being in hell might not still be better for the person so “located” than not existing at all? There are two aspects of hell according to traditional doctrine. One concerns loss—the person in hell lacks a right relation to God, the forgiveness of sins, the new life of the redeemed. She is cut off from anything like the flourishing she might have had. The other is retribution. Spurning mercy, she gets justice. In a word, she both gets what she deserves, and lacks what grace offers. The depth and breadth of the loss is sufficient to justify the (to put it mildly) strong warnings concerning hell that one finds in Christian Scripture. But there is also talk of retribution. One biblical suggestion as to what this might include is Paul’s bleak description of the unrepentant living “life without God, in the world” and in which God has “given them up to their own desires.” At least part of the retribution is that God gives them what they want, 21 The remarks here are not intended to cover the whole scope of flourishing as person—of realizing the potential that is in the imago dei.

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thereby allowing tragic self-harm. George McDonald’s sentiments in C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce are apt: The principle of hell is “I am my own” and “hell is the best God can do for those who allow God to do no more.”22 This prospect of being left to one’s own resources and devices is enough to justify the Scriptural language without there being literal fires burning, and undying worms eating, the citizen of hell. Ironically, protests that God allowing hell would be wicked gain in apparent plausibility where greater worth is ascribed to persons. The higher the being, the worse his fall. But the higher the worth of a being, the worse his annihilation. The higher the being, the worse her being allowed to come as close to destroying herself as she can. Hence the higher the being, the more appropriate that he be in hell, given the alternatives. A high view of persons then, given unrepentant sinners, argues not against hell, but for it. It is time to turn to the sub-proof for premise 3. Here, I believe, things are more promising. The sub-proof for premise 3 also contains putative necessary truths: (N5) If a just God exists, God will require that justice is done regarding unrepentant sinners. (N6) If a just God does not exist, then God does not exist. The remaining premises are an assumption for a conditional proof (and so is “dismissed”), a couple of “empirical facts” that theists typically will grant, and premises that follow from other premises and so need not be considered separately. (N6) says that being just is an essential property of God; no being lacking it can be God. (N5) offers one consequence of God’s being just. Both seem correct. Suppose that it will be the consequence of divine justice that any unrepentant sinners receive justice. Then, given that there are unrepentant sinners, it does follow that there is a hell in the sense defined earlier. What its intensity and duration will be does not follow from the sub-proof for premise 3, but there is no reason why it should. Assuming that God does not just “let the unrepentant sinner off scot-free”—that doing so is neither just nor loving—the sub-proof for premise 3 seems sound and valid. It is a successful argument. This, of course, is little comfort for the critic if premise 2 is unfounded. There are, then, such considerations as these: 1. There is great positive worth in being a person. 2. There is great positive worth in being a “realized” person—loving God, and others as oneself. 3. One cannot have any of the latter worth without having the former. 4. One can have the former worth while having very little of the latter. 5. Having little of the latter worth does not cancel out the former worth.

22

C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York, 1973), p. 75.

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These claims are relevant to our fundamental question as follows: A. Given 1, it is possible that a person have little by way of “realization” as a person, due to his own choices and actions, and yet it be better, for intrinsic reasons, that he continue to exist rather than being annihilated—better for him. B. Given 1, it is possible that a person in hell who has significant “realization” has more worth, so there are more grounds, for intrinsic reasons, that she exist rather than being annihilated—better for her. If persons have dignity rather than price in virtue of being created in the image of God, A and B make basic points. Persons are not merely to be used, even for the sake of other persons. This is why A and B are central to reflecting about hell. They raise questions about whether the state of affairs being a person receiving just deserts can trump its being better for a person himself that he continue to exist rather than to be annihilated. In fact, they deny this. That the worth of persons be preserved puts a constraint on what the nature of retribution can be and how much of it can be exacted, at any given time and over time. (The “at any given time” constraint is perhaps relevant to the “no everlasting punishment” objection.) Points A and B are easily overlooked in discussions of hell, but seem to me to be of central importance, for both theological and philosophical reasons. Presumably “realization” comes in degrees over a large range that is difficult to measure. The degree of “realization” a person has with regard to one area or use of capacity can differ greatly from what he has with regard to another. Much “realization” seems to be available, given common grace. What degree and sort might be consistent with the loss, and\or the retribution, involved in hell may well be beyond our ability to say. The point is that, whatever the degree of it that someone possesses combines with his metaphysical worth in terms of how good his life can be. But that an omnipotent, just, and loving God render even life in hell something that is good enough for annihilation not to be better does not seem to me implausible. This is compatible with the loss being enormous and the retribution being strong. Things go at least one cut deeper. There would be no value in being a “realized” person were there no value in being a person. The perfect realization of a worthless thing is worthless. The point is not simply that if a person did not exist, she could not be a “realized” person—there would be no “she.” The point is also that were there not worth in being a person, there would be none in being a “realized” person.23 The suggested constraints on what the nature of hell can be that have been considered here leave room for what we might call a “very substantive view” of hell. There are limits to what even a holy and just love, or a holy and loving justice, 23 The concern here is only with intrinsic worth, since the worth of persons is not merely extrinsic.

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or a just and loving holiness, can do. But that seems to me exactly what one should expect. It does follow from our considerations that if one could prove that there is no hell, and that there are unrepentant sinners24 who deserve retribution and do not get it in this lifetime, one would have an argument of some force against the existence of God. This should be a sobering consideration for annihilationists. We have argued that far from there being a hell, understood along the lines that are outlined here—a hell that is worthy of the name—being incompatible with the existence of a good, just, and loving God, it (given the presence of unrepentant sinners) is required by there being just such a God. Divine love will not be soft and flabby, but serious and demanding. The dignity of persons, and the nature of a holy God, requires nothing less.

24 More carefully, unrepentant wicked people—there are sinners only if there is a God to sin against.

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Chapter 11

Infernal Voluntarism and “The Courtesy of Deep Heaven” Bradley L. Sickler

The halcyon days of hell are over. Once enormously popular, the idea of an eternal burning inferno for the damned is no longer vogue; it has been passed by in favor of a kinder, gentler way of thinking about divine justice. Given the present paucity of fire and brimstone sermons, and given the increasing religious diversity in our culture, it is considered impolite and boorish to raise the question, “Who—if anyone—is going to hell?” One of the biggest challenges raised by religious diversity pertains to heaven, hell, and the possibility of salvation outside Christianity. Infernal Voluntarism and Universalism The traditional Christian view,1 as we may call it, is that hell will be occupied by all and only those who do not consciously repent of their sins and confess Jesus Christ as Lord (ignoring for now the troublesome cases of infants, mental incompetents, and the like). It is relatively easy, both socially and psychologically, to discuss hell for non-Christians when those non-Christians are thousands of miles removed. It is much more difficult when those non-Christians are one’s neighbors, friends, and students. That is the challenge raised by religious diversity for the traditional doctrine of hell: should we endorse a blanket condemnation of all those who do not claim to follow Jesus Christ, even though they are people of great piety, dedication, and sincerity within their own religions? The traditional view seems to offer an unambiguous “yes” to this question. But, the objection goes, through no fault of their own, many pious people cannot fulfill the necessary conditions for entering into heaven because they have never heard or truly understood the Gospel. But would God not be very unfair to condemn people for failing to perform an impossible task? Many who have never heard or understood the Gospel are, by all accounts, as pious and righteous as Cornelius. Why should they be condemned because of an historical peculiarity that isolated them from effectively receiving the Good News?

1

I write as a Christian and deal with the topic of hell from a Christian perspective.

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Currently, a popular rival to the traditional view of hell is universalism, which seems to offer a preferable position regarding hell and the fate of non-Christians. According to universalism, the fate of every human soul is to be with God in Paradise forever. There will be no lake of fire—at least, not permanently. It is fitting that God be ascribed as much love and grace as possible, and universalism trades on that by saying God will generously withhold his hand of judgment in order to enjoy fellowship with all of his children eternally. The appeal universalism holds is understandable. It is frequently claimed that a good and loving God would not throw anyone into hell, especially those who never had a chance to respond to the Gospel in the first place. But notice that the traditional view and the universalist view share a common but, I argue, false assumption. Each of them presumes that no one would choose to go to hell and everyone would choose to go to heaven. The assumption is this: people in hell are there against their will. But what if the occupants of hell are not thrown there by God, but, as it were, they freely jump? That view, which I will elaborate on in this chapter, can be called “infernal voluntarism” (IV). Instead of assuming that everyone will want to be in heaven, IV takes the position that there are very many people who would sacrifice the joys of a life lived in submission to God in exchange for something else. Odd as it may sound, IV acknowledges that there is something that people may prefer over true flourishing and happiness—namely, rebellion. If the infernal voluntarist’s position is right, then hell is chosen by its occupants, not foisted on them against their will. Conversely, heaven would be entered by choice too: no one who seriously desires heaven will be denied it. As we shall see, a corollary to at least one famous infernal voluntarist’s position is that Christ has made the way to heaven, and it is only through him that anyone enters—but that does not entail that conscious belief in the person and work of Jesus Christ is a necessary condition for being saved by and through him. The challenge raised by religious diversity is multifaceted. The question we asked earlier was, “Who is going to hell?” It is deeply troubling to many contemporary Christians to answer, “Everyone who is not a Christian.” After all, St. Paul seemed to find some religious common ground with the worshippers in Athens, despite their complete lack of knowledge regarding Jesus Christ. God, it seems, had given the Greeks enough revelation of himself to pave the way for the Gospel; other biblical passages may indicate that God has done so with everyone. The relevant problem raised by pluralism here is this: anyone who believes heaven is only accessible to those who have heard and responded to the Gospel of Jesus Christ must also believe that untold millions—even billions—of people will die without even a chance at salvation. But notice again what gives the objection force to begin with: the underlying assumption that people in hell would want heaven if only God would let them have it. Yet we must pay attention to eschatology a little more closely. According to Christianity, heaven is not just a place of happiness, but happiness centered on submission to God in Jesus Christ. If we abandon the assumption that everyone

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wants that sort of happiness, universalism becomes not only unnecessary but downright unappealing. Why should we want everyone to be in heaven if some people want to live apart from God? Is it true that everyone desires what is objectively best for them over everything else? Suppose that people are capable of desiring self-governance above true flourishing under God. If they are, we should be cautious about assuming that everyone would choose heaven over hell if they had the chance. The infernal voluntarist argues that, contrary to first impressions, universalism is not a generous orthodoxy but a frightening usurpation of the freedom and dignity God grants even to his enemies. To force someone to live in heaven—or even to force them to want to live in heaven—may be as grievous as denying heaven to someone who longed for it. The apparent appeal of universalism is the promise that everyone will get what they want in the end. That is a premise that infernal voluntarists can agree with. The disagreement comes over the proposition that everyone really wants heaven. So, universalism may offer a deceptive hope. It may be that we should not want everyone to be in heaven, because some people do not want that for themselves and would resist it even though their rebellion costs them their ultimate happiness.2 The driving principle of IV is that both heaven and hell are selected by their occupants. What, then, is left of the challenge from religious diversity? That challenge was that God unfairly locks righteous people out of heaven who would otherwise choose to be there, throwing them instead into hell against their wishes. But God, as we touched on briefly, seems to have been at work among all the peoples of the world since the beginning. He seems to have given everyone, even the most remote tribes, enough light to see that he exists, and to see (however dimly) the sort of life he calls them to. What they have is short of the full revelation of God in Jesus Christ, but it is enough to make an informed choice between living with God or apart from him. Understanding heaven and hell in this way—as places we ultimately choose for ourselves—could open the doors of Paradise to nonChristians, as long as everlasting life in submission to God in Jesus Christ is what they really want. It vitiates the challenge from religious pluralism by showing that no one gets unfairly thrown into hell when heaven is their true desire. In so doing, it also diminishes the appeal of universalism, which rests on the questionable assumption that what we will all really want is to live with God forever. The most influential proponent of infernal voluntarism is almost certainly C.S. Lewis. His views can be summed up neatly in his claim that, “All find what they truly seek.”3 In that vein, we will turn to him for an elaboration on the views discussed above. Lewis believed that admission to heaven depended almost totally on the volition of the one admitted; his view of hell was that people who occupied it did so because they chose to. The objective here is not to defend Lewis, but to 2 Should we at least want everyone to want salvation? Perhaps. But such an end could only come about through divine coercion of a variety so strong that no incompatibilist about freedom could accept it. 3 The full quotation, from The Last Battle (New York, 2000), follows below.

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stroll through his writings to piece together an argument for IV that he, as IV’s most prominent advocate, would accept. Thus, this part of our mission is primarily one of exploration and reconnaissance, though we will apply his writings to the broader discussion of IV, pluralism, and universalism in the final section of this chapter. The philosophically interesting material in defense of IV has to be cobbled together from disparate parts of Lewis’s corpus, making this equally a mission of reconstruction. Lewis quite intentionally couched much of his theology and philosophy in the language of fiction and allegory, thinking those modes of presentation would impact both the intellectual and affective aspects of his readers. While those genres serve his purpose, and imitate the pattern he saw in the Bible of presenting truth through story, they also serve to obscure some of the reasons he had for the views so presented. Thankfully there are, in addition to the fictional elements, claims he makes in his non-fiction work that can be illuminating here too. I will draw on Lewis’s writings of both styles as the investigation proceeds. Religion, Myth, and Reality It has often been the case that Christians want to draw a sharp and absolute distinction between Christianity and all other religions. Clearly Christianity has at least one individuating characteristic; all religions necessarily do. But the amount of overlap that paganism, Hinduism, Native American religions, Islam, Christianity, and many other religions have is what is in question. Some people have insisted that Christianity is thoroughly unlike every other religion. Lewis demurs. Before proceeding, we should pause to think a bit about what is meant by “religion.” Unless we answer this question first, we cannot understand the way in which Lewis thinks that God has been speaking his truths to humans across all cultures and times. And unless we understand that universal revelation of God through the various stories and traditions of all religions, we cannot understand how Lewis can get IV off the ground. It is only in the context of understanding what lies at the heart of all religions that we can understand how everyone— Christian and pagan alike—can be in a position to make an informed decision about, to put it crudely, which side they are on. Lewis does not take the popular line that religion is whatever deals with God and immortality. Instead, he says, “The essence of religion … is the thirst for an end higher than natural ends; the finite self’s desire for, and acquiescence in, and self-rejection in favour of, an object wholly good and wholly good for it.”4 This essence is expressed primarily in terms of the “numinous” and the “ethical.” Lewis claims that every religion has numinous and ethical traits; that is what ties them together, and those elements make them congruent with what Lewis saw as the full revelation of God in the person of Jesus Christ. To be more specific, religions 4 C.S. Lewis, “Religion Without Dogma?” in Walter Hooper (ed.), God in the Dock (Grand Rapids, 2001), p. 131.

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display a certain pattern of what Lewis happily describes as divine revelation. In the early stages, there is a feeling of awe inspired by something recognized as being beyond nature and oneself. This is the first or numinous stage. Christians understand the numinous as the triune God of the Bible; but the numinous does not need to be understood by religious devotees as a single being, or indeed, even as something personal. Following the numinous stage comes the second stage, in which awareness arises that one has transgressed a moral law. An encounter with the numinous breeds the feeling that one is simply not morally up to snuff. This feeling comes from the perceived holiness of the numinous, and the recognition that humans are decidedly unholy in virtue of having broken the moral law. That leads to the third stage: seeing that the numinous itself is the wellspring of the moral law. Thus far, Lewis thinks, nearly all religions basically agree, and all those religions are basically right: the numinous exists, humanity is guilty of violating the moral code, and the moral code humanity has universally violated finds its source in the numinous itself. According to Lewis, there is a fourth stage that only one religion has entered, however: in the last stage of religious development, a man is born and “claims to be the Numinous.”5 This, of course, is the stage uniquely entered by Christianity. But it is important to see that there is a very substantial core of agreement between Christianity and other religions in the marketplace. Lewis would fervently reject any religious taxonomy that classified two immiscible kinds of religion—Christianity and everything else. Christianity is not the antithesis of all other religions: it is their fulfillment. In Lewis’s science fiction book Perelandra, the character Dr. Ransom visits the sinless planet Venus shortly after the advent of its human-like inhabitants. While there, he observes things that are uncannily like the things told of in our myths and legends. Ransom wakes at one point from a deep sleep and describes a scene that made him think he was still dreaming. He opened his eyes and saw a strange heraldically coloured tree loaded with yellow fruits and silver leaves. Round the base of the indigo stem was coiled a small dragon covered with scales of red gold. He recognized the garden of the Hesperides at once … He remembered how in the very different world called Malacandra—that cold, archaic world, as it now seemed to him—he had met the original of the Cyclops, a giant in a cave and a shepherd. Were all things which appear as mythology on earth scattered through other worlds as realities?6

Later, after seeing what appear to be mermaids and mermen, we are told “he remembered his old suspicion that what was myth in one world might always be fact in some other.”7 5 6 7

C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York, 1986), p. 23. C.S. Lewis, Perelandra (New York, 2003), p. 45. Ibid., p. 88.

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It was Lewis’s view that these ancient fables were not mere chimeras. They spoke of something lurking beneath the common consciousness of humanity; something that was a whisper of what was to come; something that God planted deep in the hopes, dreams, and fears of all people everywhere. So the mythical elements in other religions should not, as has too often been the case, be dismissed by Christians as either demonically deranged fancy or the products of human imagination only. They should be seen as vehicles of revelation, tenuous but tendentious. Lewis says plainly, I believe that in the huge mass of mythology which has come down to us a good many different sources are mixed—true history, allegory, ritual, the human delight in story—telling, etc. But among these sources I include the supernatural … If my religion is erroneous then occurrences of similar motifs in pagan stories are, of course, instances of the same, or a similar error. But if my religion is true, then these stories may well be a preparatio evangelica, a divine hinting in poetic and ritual form at the central truth which was later focused and (so to speak) historicized in the Incarnation … My conversion, very largely, depended on recognizing Christianity as the completion, the actualization, the entelechy, of something that had never been wholly absent from the mind of man8

And later, [Religious] traditions conflict, yet the longer and more sympathetically we study them the more we become aware of a common element in many of them: the theme of sacrifice, of mystical communion through shed blood, of death and rebirth, of redemption, is too clear to escape notice … Rather in that tradition which is at once more completely ethical and most transcends mere ethics—in which the old themes of sacrifice and rebirth recur in a form which transcends, though it no longer revolts, our conscience and our reason—we may still most reasonably believe that we have the consummation of all religion, the fullest message of the wholly other, the living creator, who, if He is at all, must be the God not only of the philosophers, but of mystics and savages, not only of the head and heart, but also of the primitive emotions and the spiritual heights beyond all emotion. We may still reasonably attach ourselves to the Church, to the only concrete organization which has preserved down to this present time the core of all the messages, pagan and pre-pagan, that have ever come from beyond the world9

Lewis clearly believed that there was much of value in religious traditions outside Christianity, and that God had very assuredly been revealing divine truth through them. 8 9

Lewis, “Religion Without Dogma?” p. 132. Ibid., p. 144.

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The “Frighteningly Unfair” Hypothesis So let us return to the theme of infernal voluntarism, armed with Lewis’s premise that God has been active among all people at all times, leading them through all the various religious traditions to see important truths fully and finally revealed to the Church. We just saw that, for Lewis, the work of Jesus Christ focuses and fulfills something that has “never been wholly absent from the mind of man.” But it does more than that too. It digs the channel into which the meritorious aspects of all religious tributaries will be redirected; where all true acts of worship offered to the numinous, even though he be obscured and misunderstood, are credited as proper acts of fealty to the One True God. Suppose that infernal voluntarism is true and that hell is only occupied by people who choose to be there. This obviously implies that no one in hell would choose to be in heaven if they were allowed. From this it follows that if some pagan worshiper is so constituted that she would choose to live under the benevolent rule of Jesus Christ if given the chance, then she is not going to choose hell. But if hell is only occupied by those who choose it, and she would not choose to live apart from God, then she simply cannot go to hell if IV is right. Keeping in mind that hell and heaven are the only two eschatological options, then if she would not choose hell she must join the happy throngs of like-minded worshipers who choose heaven. So if everyone who dwells in hell chooses to be there and is there as a result of their will to rebel, then everyone—unevangelized pagan or not—will dwell in heaven if they so choose. This is the importance of Lewis’s position. He recognizes that the doctrine of infernal voluntarism leads to the conclusion that all people can go to heaven if they want to, irrespective of their ignorance of Jesus Christ on earth. Because of this, he is strongly inclined to believe that God has been revealing himself universally so that people can have the foundation they need to make that fateful choice. In The Last Battle, the final installment of Lewis’s Narnia series, we read of the soldier Emeth. Emeth was a Calormene warrior who had worshiped the deplorable god Tash all of his life, but had done so with honorable love and righteous devotion. Tash is waiting on the other side of a magical portal into which all the Calormenes are being compelled by the victorious Narnians, and Tash devours the Calormene soldiers as they pass through. Tash was a disgusting demon, but Emeth had rendered praiseworthy acts of service unto him in response to his inward, divinely inspired convictions. Emeth is surprised, however, to pass through the door and find not Tash, but Aslan—who, surely, needs no introduction—waiting on the other side. This surprised both him and the Narnians in Aslan’s land, but Emeth explains it as follows. Upon seeing Aslan, The Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of Thine but the servant Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou has done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reason of my great desire for

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wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him, for I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore, if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then though he says the name of Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves … But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.10

All good acts and pure motivations are, on Lewis’s view, properly offered as worship to the One True God. As St. John says, “Everyone who loves is born of God.” Despite the fact that his Calormene countrymen worshiped Tash in despicable ways, Emeth knew that such worship was unseemly for the numinous. The point must be clear here: it is most emphatically not that there is no ultimate difference between religions, as John Hick and other pluralists would say; it is not that Tash was just another name for the One True God; all religions are not equally veracious. But it is possible on Lewis’s telling to worship God without knowing it—even in such a state that one would positively deny it if asked. In an interview, Lewis was asked, “Supposing a factory worker asked you: ‘How can I find God?’ How would you reply? … [Answer:] People will find God if they consciously seek from Him the right attitude towards all unpleasant things.”11 Lewis did not believe that explicit knowledge of and belief in Jesus Christ is a necessary condition for finding God. Just as Emeth found Aslan even though he thought he was following Tash—and, indeed, would have denied in his ignorance that he was really searching for Aslan—Lewis believes Christ will be found by many who do not know it is him they are after. “All find what they truly seek.” Lewis would say that the general revelation of God in the myths and precepts of other religions is one of the ways that Christ has, as it were, been preached to all nations already. He says that any other view amounts to the claim that some have been abandoned by God, wandering around in the dark, waiting and yearning for some shred of knowledge of him and his ways but not receiving it. But God has never abandoned anyone. In one of his letters to Malcolm on prayer, Lewis says that God has been governing by providence the path of each and every human soul.

10

Lewis, The Last Battle, pp. 161–5. C.S. Lewis, “Answers to Questions on Christianity,” in Walter Hooper (ed.), God in the Dock (Grand Rapids, 2001), p. 50. 11

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It is an old and pious saying that Christ died not only for Man but for each man, just as much as if each had been the only man there was. Can I not believe the same of [Providence]—which, as spread out in time, we call destiny or history? It is for the sake of each human soul. Each is an end.12

In The Great Divorce, the narrator’s guide in the in-between land says, “All moments that have been or shall be were, or are, present in the moment of His descending. There is no spirit in prison to Whom He did not preach.”13 There are, in a very robust sense, no “unevangelized” people—God has already and always ministered to each of them; he has preached to all the “spirits in prison.” “Christianity,” Lewis says, “is primarily the fulfillment of the Jewish religion, but also the fulfillment of what was vaguely hinted in all the religions at their best. What was vaguely seen in them all comes into focus in Christianity—just as God Himself comes into focus by becoming a Man.”14 It is because God has already been showing himself through all the religions—not just Christianity—that he can apportion to himself the fitting acts of service and piety that are offered therein, for they are in response to that true revelation of the One True God that God has presented and preserved within those religions. Lewis says, “There are people in other religions who are being led by God’s secret influence to concentrate on those parts of their religion which are in agreement with Christianity, and who thus belong to Christ without knowing it.”15 For Lewis, it would be an injustice for God to operate any other way. God has made himself manifest in all religions (though obviously to varying degrees and only completely in Christianity) because it would be a moral failing not to. Lewis says, Is it not frighteningly unfair that this new life should be confined to people who have heard of Christ and been able to believe in Him? … We do know that no man can be saved except through Christ; we do not know that only those who know Him can be saved through Him.16

Here, then, is Lewis’s “frighteningly unfair” hypothesis: God will only save those who have explicit knowledge of Jesus Christ. Lewis says that the fair hypothesis, on the other hand, is that salvation is possible—always through Christ, it must be emphatically noted—even for those who are adherents of other religions besides Christianity. So God will take as unto himself the worship offered to others, as long as that worship is in response to the true revelation he has given of himself. Christ has, in a meaningful sense, been preached to all men already, though not 12 13 14 15 16

C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm (New York, 1992), p. 55. C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York, 1979), p. 124. Lewis, “Answers to Questions on Christianity,” p. 54. C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York, 1984), p. 64. Ibid., p. 217.

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always under his true name. Thus, for Lewis, whoever is saved is saved through Christ, but the name of Jesus may not be known to the recipient of salvation. For God to do anything else would be unfair and out of keeping with his love and providence, which he extends not just to mankind, but to each and every man. The Disjunction The purpose of all these ruminations about the degree of divine revelation outside Christianity is to guide our thoughts about the final state of our souls. In his prolonged struggle against the tempter in Perelandra, to his utter horror Ransom sees the devil smile. The sight was so miserable that he nearly fainted from despair. He says, “And though there seemed to be, and indeed were, a thousand roads by which a man could walk through the world, there was not a single one which did not lead sooner or later either to the Beatific or the Miserific Vision.”17 Here, then, is the exhaustive disjunction: the final destination of every soul is either heaven or hell. That much, at least, is thoroughly unremarkable to Christians and many other religious adherents. It is a tenet of orthodox Christian theology that heaven and hell are real, that they are the only two ultimate options, and that both will be populated. Thus far, as I said, there is nothing remarkable here. But in keeping with infernal voluntarism it would be more accurate, per Lewis’s treatment, to speak not of people being thrown into hell, but of them jumping into hell. Jonathan Edwards (no infernal voluntarist, certainly), in his famous Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, says that those who will inhabit hell are liable to fall of themselves, without being thrown down by the hand of another; as he that stands or walks on slippery ground needs nothing but his own weight to cast him down. [The] reason why they are not fallen already, and do not fall now, is only that God’s appointed time is not come. For it is said, that when that due time, or appointed time comes, their foot shall slide. Then they shall be left to fall, as they are inclined by their own weight. God will not hold them up in these slippery places any longer, but will let them go18

It is critical to Lewis’s soteriology that hell is a place people choose to go. In The Great Divorce, George MacDonald, the author’s guide to heaven, tells him, “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done’, and those to whom God says, in the end, ‘Thy will be done’ … Without that self-choice there could be no Hell.”19 Those who go to hell get exactly what 17

Lewis, Perelandra, p. 111. Jonathan Edwards, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” in John E. Smith (ed.), A Jonathan Edwards Reader (New Haven, 1995), p. 89. 19 Lewis, The Great Divorce, p. 72. 18

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they want. They are not coerced or forced, but act by their own wills. No one is outwardly compelled to hell: they take for themselves the judge’s judgment willingly. I have sometimes responded to the unruly behavior of my children by sending them to their rooms, which always leads to weeping and the gnashing of teeth. When given the opportunity to either repent or continue their incarceration, though, my children will often choose to obstinately resist penitence. They will say they want to come out, and I believe them. But they would prefer to remain where they do not want to be if it means they can persist in their rebellion. So it is with hell according to infernal voluntarism. In The Problem of Pain, Lewis says, “I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful rebels to the end; that the doors of hell are locked on the inside.”20 But how could anyone choose such a thing? How could anyone want to be separated from a divine being considered by all major religious accounts to be the ultimate in Love and Beauty and Goodness? To Lewis, as to any Christian, this choice must have seemed nearly incomprehensible. After all, the greatest hope of a Christian is to one day be united with the numinous, to “see him face to face.”21 But it is not so for everyone, Lewis claims. Again in The Great Divorce, the narrator asks MacDonald to explain the puzzling fact that people would exchange happiness for misery. What do they choose, these souls who go back [to hell]? … And how can they choose it? “Milton was right,” said my Teacher. “The choice of every lost soul can be expressed in the words ‘Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven’. There is always something they prefer to joy—that is, to reality.22

In a letter to his brother in 1940, Lewis wrote, “I begin to suspect that the world is divided not only into the happy and the unhappy, but into those who like happiness and those who, odd as it seems, really don’t.”23 Those who go to hell go because they choose it. Likewise, those who go to heaven get their choice too. While standing near the omnibus that is shuttling people back and forth between heaven and hell, the narrator of The Great Divorce asks what happens to the “poor Ghosts who never get into the omnibus at all?” The answer is, “Everyone who wishes it does. Never fear … No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened.”24 Here we have again the refrain that, to repeat what Emeth said above, “All find what they truly seek.” Anyone who wants heaven shall have it. Anyone who wants hell shall have it. But to all, God grants what they seek to find. 20 21 22 23 24

Lewis, The Problem of Pain, Ch. 13. I Corinthians 13:12. Lewis, The Great Divorce, p. 69. Walter Hooper, C.S. Lewis: A Companion and Guide (New York, 1996), p. 281. Lewis, The Great Divorce, pp. 72–3.

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So while he never makes all of his reasons for holding infernal voluntarism explicit, Lewis offers us some premises that might be used to reconstruct an argument for IV that he would approve of. At the heart of Lewis’s argument is the conviction that God is fair. Because of his fairness, God would not treat people differently simply because of historical and geographical accidents outside their control. Presumably this notion of fairness is a special application of the principle that God loves humanity, and not just humanity in the abstract. God loves every individual human. Divine love is not dependent on our merit, but flows from God equably and universally. It is not that we first loved him, as St. John points out, but that he first loved us—all of us, regardless of our status as sinners (a status that we all share). Lewis says that God has universally revealed himself through the myths told by people of nearly every tradition. This is a result of his fairness to all people. Lewis sees in the stories of humanity several common themes that are anticipations of the Christian story, which completes those shadowy and incomplete tales. Fairness explains this because God was not willing to leave anyone without a significant understanding of the truth about spiritual matters, because he treats all people equally. Lewis would likely see the commonality of the first three steps in religious progress mentioned above as further evidence for his doctrine of God’s fairness. This universal self-revelation also allows God to deal with us based on our response to him without showing favoritism. No one will be thrown into hell involuntarily, nor will anyone enter heaven involuntarily—both destinations are freely chosen by their inhabitants and no one will be denied what they ultimately desire. God will honor our decision either way. Lewis says, “Any man may choose eternal death. Those who choose it will have it.”25 Everyone—both Christian and pagan—has enough of God’s revelation to make an informed decision about their final destiny, and God will honor their choice. Such are the contours of Lewis’s argument for infernal voluntarism. Objections to Infernal Voluntarism (IV) As attractive as infernal voluntarism may be to some, and despite the persuasive power of Lewis’s defense, it is not without challenges. In the final section of this chapter we will consider three of the more powerful objections to IV. The first objection to IV is that it fails to capture the picture of hell offered in the Bible by denying that God actively judges human sin and punishes it accordingly. The voluntarism element would seem to deny any role for God as judge. What about the passages where Jesus says that the unsaved “will be thrown into outer darkness”?26 Or when he will say “depart from me—I never knew you”

25 26

Ibid., p. 124. Matthew 8:11.

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to people pleading for mercy?27 If God is storing up his wrath for the final Day of Judgment, when the sheep are separated from the goats and the wretched are cast out of God’s presence forever, then IV misrepresents these events by saying that God does not judge us, but rather simply stands aside and lets us judge ourselves. Naturally anyone interested in an orthodox Christian understanding of hell cannot neglect the important role given to God as judge. It is essential to Christianity to acknowledge that God has been offended by our sin, and that we have stirred up his wrath through our rebellion. Lewis agreed with all of this too—it was common to all religions to say this much in the first three stages outlined above. But this objection seems to presume that having us choose our destination is incompatible with God exercising judgment over his creation. That is, the objector assumes that S is separated from God in hell as a result of S’s choice and God separates the righteous from the wicked in the Final Judgment cannot both be true. But why not? Consider again the parallel case of a rebellious child whose behavior calls for discipline from a loving parent. Suppose, for instance, that a little girl has taken her younger brother’s toy after pushing him to the ground (for some of us this merely calls for recollection, not imagination). The girl is instructed by her father to return the toy and apologize to her brother. She refuses. The father warns her that failure to comply with his commands will result in something unpleasant for her: she will be confined to her room until she stops resisting and apologizes for her wrongs. She makes it clear that she does not want to be sent to her room, but she makes it equally clear that she is unwilling to repent. The father puts her in her room and closes the door. There is much wailing as the girl “receives in herself the due penalty for her sins,” but she persists in her refusal to avail herself of the one way out—repentance and compliance with the will of her father.28 She chooses rebellion and misery over submission and peace. Is it not true in this scenario that (i) the father has judged and disciplined the girl, and (ii) she has chosen to be confined to her room rather than to enjoy the blessings of liberty? And so it seems that something similar might be said about those who have chosen to live in hell. It is true that they have been judged by God, and equally true that they are only in hell because they choose to be. We often have conflicting desires, but the will can only choose one thing. In the case of the rebel who chooses hell, her desire for happiness conflicts with her desire for self-rule. Her will has chosen the latter over the former. The second objection to IV grows out of this response to the first, claiming that we have described something that could not really take place. According to this objection, no one could make an informed decision to live apart from God. The case of the young girl is not a good example, the objection might go, because the girl will eventually choose to comply. Surely she would not choose to stay in her room forever, especially if the father continued to woo her unto repentance as 27 28

Ibid., 7:23. Romans 1:27.

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any loving parent would. In the same way, the objector claims that no soul could choose hell for very long, seeing what misery it entails and the bliss available in heaven. When stripped of distraction and encountered face-to-face with God, the argument goes, God’s goodness will overcome the rebel and they will want to embrace their true Father. Along these lines, Thomas Talbott has argued that no one could make a fully informed, free choice to live a life of continued rebellion and rejection of God’s salvation. Talbott suggests that all cases of rejecting God, and therefore the summum bonum or Highest Good, are cases of choosing in ignorance.29 Nobody who is properly informed could freely choose to reject God. But since we will all ultimately be properly informed through a combination of beholding God and being relentlessly pursued by him in love, it is inconceivable that anyone would stay in hell. But however appealing this objection might be, Christianity in particular provides us with clear counterexamples. We are given at least two examples of agents who lived in sinless perfection in the very presence of God, enjoying his company and favor without impairment. They were fully informed, having beheld God directly, and they were fully aware of God’s loving character. In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve walked with God in perfect peace. Nevertheless, despite lacking sufficient rational reason for doing so, both of them chose rebellion over conformity to God’s will, thereby choosing to be banished from God’s side. And an even clearer violation of Talbott’s position can be seen in the case of the chief of all rebels: Satan himself. Before anyone had sinned, and absent any external source of temptation (as Adam and Eve had through the serpent), Lucifer—a being endowed with even greater power, knowledge, and wisdom than humans—quite freely chose to reject God in favor of self-governance. It is hard to imagine a clearer refutation of the argument that a rational being could not make a free choice to permanently turn from God and to persist in that rebellion. And even if one supposes that the stories of Satan and Eden are mythical (and I do not), it seems abundantly clear that they are meant to underscore the propensity we have to go against our best interest, choosing sin and self over God. In the Platonic dialogue Protagoras, Socrates argues that no one knowingly chooses a lesser good over a greater good, or an evil over a good. Early in Church history, however, Augustine goes to great lengths in the Confessions to show that an incident in his life was a clear case of choosing an evil over a good. To while away the hours, a young (pre-conversion) Augustine and his chums raided a neighbor’s pear tree. Listen to him tell the story. There was a pear tree close to our own vineyard, heavily laden with fruit, which was not tempting either for its color or for its flavor. Late one night—having 29 In addition to his chapter in this volume, see his “The Doctrine of Everlasting Punishment,” Faith and Philosophy, 7/1 (1990): 19–42; “Providence, Freedom, and Human Destiny,” Religious Studies, 26/2 (1990): 227–45.

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prolonged our games in the streets until then, as our bad habit was—a group of young scoundrels, and I among them, went to shake and rob this tree. We carried off a huge load of pears, not to eat ourselves, but to dump out to the hogs, after barely tasting some of them ourselves. Doing this pleased us all the more because it was forbidden. Such was my heart, O God, such was my heart—which thou didst pity even in that bottomless pit. Behold, now let my heart confess to thee what it was seeking there, when I was being gratuitously wanton, having no inducement to evil but the evil itself. It was foul, and I loved it. I loved my own undoing. I loved my error—not that for which I erred but the error itself. A depraved soul, falling away from security in thee to destruction in itself, seeking nothing from the shameful deed but shame itself.30

In this passage and in what follows, Augustine makes it clear that he is rejecting the Socratic claim revived by Talbott: he chose evil freely, knowingly opting for the lesser good. He was “being gratuitously wanton, having no inducement to evil but the evil itself.” In light of these counterexamples, it is hard to see how traditional Christianity can deny the possibility of free and informed rebellion as argued for by infernal voluntarists. It is just simply not true that no one could persist in freely and knowingly rejecting God. But the infernal voluntarist is not out of the woods yet. The final objection to IV we will consider is that God would be unjust in allowing a person to permanently persist in a choice so obviously self-destructive. One might grant that it is possible for a person to choose evil, given the discussion above, but that a good and omnipotent God would not allow a person he loved to actually carry out their chosen course of action. Returning to the analogy of the willful child, no loving parent would let their child persist in a course of self-destruction even if the child were free and fully informed. If God truly loves someone and wants their good, how could he allow them to choose destruction? One proposal is that God could, and should, override our free will when it comes to rejecting him. Free will is a good thing, but it is not so good that God could never justifiably override it when it is in our best interest. A parent might respect a child’s freedom, but not to the point of letting him play in the knife drawer or gun rack. For his own good, the child will be restrained and his choices will not be honored. Any loving parent will do this with some regularity. But it seems that this objection might oversimplify our situation. What would it look like for God to “override our freedom” when it comes to choosing to submit to him? This would be no mere tweaking of our preferences, like changing a person’s favorite ice cream from strawberry to chocolate. No, the way we choose to respond to God is at the very heart of our personalities, and to change it would be to change something essential to our selfhood, not something merely accidental or peripheral. That is, it seems unlikely that God could turn us from rebels to lovers without fundamentally altering who we are and making us into new creations. 30

St. Augustine, Confessions, trans. Albert C. Outler (Philadelphia, 1955), p. 128.

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In some sense this is Christian teaching for what happens at salvation, but nonCalvinists insist that it is our submission to God that precedes and prompts God’s initiation of the “new birth.” If there is any choice I must be allowed to make freely, it is how I respond to God. God could not override our freedom in this essential area, contradicting our will rather than responding to it, without in some sense destroying us and replacing us with someone else. But then it is not I who gets saved—I am done away with and some doppelgänger takes my place. Conclusion In a pluralistic age like ours, the question of hell has taken on a new face. Instead of speculating about the fate of far-off pagans, today’s western Christians have to deal with the presence of many competing religions in the marketplace of ideas. As a response, some have opted for a universal view of salvation, according to which Christianity has no special place and all people will ultimately be saved. Others have maintained the traditional Christian teaching on hell and insisted that explicitly acknowledging Jesus Christ as necessary to be saved, and everyone who does not do so will be condemned—despite their longing for heaven. Infernal voluntarism responds to these positions by affirming the reality of hell, but rejecting the assumption that those who are consigned there will be going against their will. By doing so, IV undercuts the appeal of universalism, which seems to presume that everyone will want to live with God. It also diminishes what may appear as the unnecessarily harsh exclusivity and vindictiveness of Christianity by affirming that God has been working to reveal himself in all religions, and that the choice of our eternal destiny ultimately rests with us. God will honor our choice, whether it is to follow him or to persist in rejecting him. To pave the road to heaven through the work of Jesus Christ, but to leave the choice of whether to take that road or venture out on our own—this is what Lewis calls “the courtesy of Deep Heaven.”

Chapter 12

Birth as a Grave Misfortune: The Traditional Doctrine of Hell and Christian Salvific Exclusivism Kenneth Einar Himma

Although the traditional doctrine of hell is a subject of much philosophical debate, the debates fail to capture the range of issues that arise for this perplexing and disturbing fundament of mainstream Christianity. Most of the focus is on the socalled “proportionality problem,” which is concerned with the issue of whether and how finite beings can be deserving of eternal punishment. But the doctrine of hell, especially in conjunction with Christian exclusivism, raises many other issues. In this chapter, I would like to discuss what I take to be a novel issue regarding the morality of having a child if there is a morally significant chance that his or her ultimate fate will be eternal suffering in hell. It is typically thought obvious by Christians and non-Christians alike that, as a general matter, it is morally permissible for two married parents to have children. Indeed, many persons go further than that, viewing the having of a child as both morally good and as a moral right (in the sense that it is wrong for others, including the state, to interfere with their doing so). Many Christians, however, take the position that it is a moral duty to have children, basing this view on Genesis 1:28, which states that “God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.” Although some denominations take this, falsely I think, to imply a ban on contraception, many Christians believe it imputes a positive duty on married couples to attempt to have some children during their marriage, if possible. On this view, it is morally wrong for two married persons who can have children to deliberately attempt to avoid doing so for the entire duration of their marriage. In this chapter, I wish to argue from the standpoint of ordinary moral intuitions that if Christian exclusivism and the traditional doctrine of hell are true, then this view is mistaken. In particular, I argue that it is morally wrong, given these traditional Christian doctrines, to bring a child in the world when the odds that he or she will spend an eternal afterlife suffering the torments of hell are as significantly high as they would be if these two doctrines are true. For example, only one-third of the world’s 6 billion people claim to be Christians, consigning the other twothirds immediately to hell for eternity. Notwithstanding the command of Genesis 1:28, it is intuitively wrong—and gravely so—to bring a child into this world facing such high odds of a terrible fate if these traditional doctrines are true.

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In effect, the argument is against these traditional doctrines, which have seemed to me difficult to reconcile with God’s moral perfection and omnibenevolence.1 It seems clear to me that it is not, other things being equal, morally wrong to have children and that a morally perfect God would want for us to have children (at least up to a point). Although I think that exclusivism and that the idea that hell involves an eternity of torment unmatched by anything we could experience on earth should both be rejected, only one of these claims needs to be rejected to block the implication that having children is morally wrong. Since the conclusion is so counterintuitive, I think it important for the reader to keep in mind that it is not a claim that I believe is true, and attempt only to show it is implied by certain doctrines of Christianity in an attempt to show at least one of those doctrines should be rejected. Having Children as Moral Good It is initially tempting to think that bringing new human life into existence is an unqualified moral good no matter whose point of view one takes. First, it is good from the standpoint of the parents when they want a child and have a new baby. Although I am not a parent, I am an uncle and have had my life enriched by my two nieces, Angela and Maria, in ways I could never have predicted. The love I feel for them, and the joy that accompanies this is utterly unprecedented in my life. While I remain deeply in love with my wife after 14 years of marriage, my love for her remains self-regarding and hence conditional in a way that my love for my nieces is not. Infidelity on my wife’s part would, I suspect, end our relationship and at least constitute the beginning of the end of my love for her. But I have a hard time imagining what my nieces could do that would end my love for them; I would love and support them even if they did something bad enough to merit a prison sentence. I have experienced many kinds of love, but the love that a parent feels toward her child must, if my experience is any indication, be something especially intense—and hence as great a moral good as any emotion could be. Second, bringing a child into the world is considered good from the standpoint of the child, who did not exist until the pregnancy as a conscious subject of a life that has its shares of ups and downs but is on the whole a good one. The goods that make life worth living—love, sex, art, philosophy, food, friendship, the beauty of nature, comedy, music, dancing—arguably (for most of us in the affluent world, anyway) outweigh the sufferings that occasionally afflict us all (sadness, anger, sickness, being victimized by a moral wrong, fear of death). This is why we commonly think of being alive as a wonderful gift and hence of new life as the recipient of such a gift, and hence as a great moral good.

1 See Kenneth Einar Himma, “Finding a High Road: The Moral Case for Salvific Pluralism,” International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, 52/1 (2002): 1–33.

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These are not uncommon views. I think it is safe to hypothesize that most people, Christians and non-Christians alike, regard news of a new child, other things being equal, as being an unqualified moral good. There is nothing more joyous than the occasion of a new human life in the world—or so goes the common intuition. Having a child is an important moral good. The view that having children is a great moral good also has Scriptural support. Psalm 127:3, for example, states that “children are a gift of the Lord.” It is true, of course, that gift-giving need not result in moral good, or even be considered a moral good: if the content of the gift is immoral (e.g., a free subscription to a pornographic magazine) or the motives improper (e.g., a desire to manipulate another person by creating a feeling of indebtedness), then it is reasonable to think that the gift neither results in nor constitutes a moral good. But a gift from the Lord is surely a moral good, if anything is. Accordingly, Christians have another reason, beyond widely shared intuitions or reactions, to think of new human life as a great moral good. Having Children as Moral Duty Some Christians take a somewhat stronger position. The birth to married parents of a new child is not only wonderful news; it is also the satisfaction of a moral duty. There are a number of Scriptural verses that seem to suggest this. Genesis 1:28 states “And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.” Genesis 9:7 repeats this injunction to Noah after the flood subsides: “And you, be ye fruitful, and multiply; bring forth abundantly in the earth, and multiply therein.” According to 1 Timothy 5:14, “So I counsel younger widows to marry, to have children, to manage their homes and to give the enemy no opportunity for slander.” Many, but not all, Christians interpret these verses as implying that we have a moral duty to have children when we are married and able to do so. Some Christians take this duty as being both absolute and a part of a larger argument against contraception.2 Consider the following words from a Christian website: The very first recorded words of the Creator to the man and woman he had made in his image were, Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it (Gen. 1:28). This precept was repeated after the flood to Noah and his sons: As for you, be fruitful and increase in number; multiply on the earth and increase upon it (9:7). God’s plan is that married couples multiply descendants to fill the whole earth … When and if the earth ever actually becomes full, we can trust God to deal with the situation his own way. Our job is to obey his commands … Having a number of children is the normal fruit of marriage, and it is God’s will 2 The other argument is that contraception interferes and changes the character of an act that God intended to result in procreation.

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The Problem of Hell for marriage … It seems to this writer that God’s Word is very clear. Christians should not partake of the world’s birth-control mindset. They should embrace God’s plan for marriage, including the procreative purpose of sex, and joyfully accept as blessings all the children that God sends them. Further, they should develop the long range vision that sees children as the means to advance the kingdom of Christ and defeat his enemies. The more children he gives, the better. They know that God is a loving Father who will provide for every child of his.3

The idea here is that it is God’s will that all married persons have children, regardless of whether the earth seems overpopulated to us, and presumably regardless of the health or quality of life into which the child is born. Other Christians take the position that married persons have a duty to have children, but this duty is not unlimited. Many Christians believe that we have a duty to have at least one but no more than two children, believing that the world is in danger of being overpopulated and hence of threatening many elements of God’s creation by polluting the environment and threatening ecosystems in a variety of ways. Some Christians share with a number of atheist philosophers the view that it is wrong to bring a child into the world if one knows that child’s life will be short and painful. Either way, for these Christians, married persons have a duty, under these verses in Scripture, to have some children if they have reason to think these children will be born healthy. Having children, on this view, satisfies this duty—as long as it does not exceed any moral limit on the number of children one should have. Not all Christians take this strong position. Some ordinary Christians interpret Genesis 1:28 as asserting no more than just that children in a sacramental marriage are a blessing, instead of the stronger claim that having children in a sacramental marriage (even up to some limit) is a moral duty. According to Raymond C. Van Leeuwen: Many [Christians] … argue on the basis of the created order (sometimes called natural law) and Scripture that God has actually commanded married people to have children … God does not command humans to be fruitful. Rather, he himself will bless his creatures and see to it that they are fruitful. He has provided for this by making us male and female, by investing our humanness with sexual desire and love, and by ordaining marriage as the place for, among other things, joyful lovemaking. Marriage is also the God-given matrix from which family naturally springs, the place where children may be born and reared with love and wisdom, “in the fear of the Lord.” … If Genesis 1:28 were a “command” that applied to every individual, then Paul would have been disobedient in his apostolic singleness.4 3 “Being Fruitful: A Biblical View of Birth Control,” Life and Liberty Ministries, 8 January 2005; available at http://www.lifeandlibertyministries.com/archives/000172.php. 4 Raymond C. Van Leeuwen, “Be Fruitful and Multiply,” Christianity Today, 12 November 2001; available at http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2001/november12/4.58.html.

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This presumably common view among many Christians expresses the view that, while not a duty, having children is a blessing and hence a moral good from the standpoint of Christian ethics. A Blessing to Whom? It appears, from the last section, that the view of having children that can most accurately be attributed to the largest number of Christians is this: having children is a blessing. And it is blessing to both parents and newborn children for all the reasons described above: parents get the joy associated with child-rearing, while newborn children get the blessing of a sentient life with access to the goods that make life so worth living. At least part of this view, on closer look, seems problematic. Certainly, the ultimate motivation for most parents—and the one of which they are most aware— for having children is not to benefit the children who will come into existence; it is reasonable to hypothesize that the motivation for having children is generally self-regarding. Parents want children for a variety of reasons—most of which have to do with certain desires having to do with lifestyle. And it is not implausible to think such self-regarding and God-regarding motivations, such as the desire to do God’s will, are the only coherent motivations. As David Benatar explains: Children cannot be brought into existence for their own sakes. People have children for other reasons, most of which serve their own interests. Parents satisfy biological desires to procreate. They find fulfillment in nurturing and raising children. Children are often an insurance policy for old age. Progeny provide parents with some form of immortality, through the genetic material, values, and ideas that parents pass on to their children and which survive in their children and grandchildren after the parents themselves are dead. These are all good reasons for people to want to have children.5

The first sentence states a problem without explaining it; the problem here, on Benatar’s view, is that the absence of a benefit is not a moral evil, but the absence of harm is always a moral good. The idea that one can benefit a child by bringing it into existence presupposes that the absence of a benefit is a moral evil that is eliminated by bringing into existence a child who will somehow be benefited. Indeed, Benatar defends a stronger, somewhat counterintuitive, claim that it is always better not to have been brought into existence than to be brought into existence. On his view, there is a decisive asymmetry in comparing harms and benefits when it comes to comparing them as they affect existent individuals and 5 David Benatar, “Why It Is Better Never to Come into Existence,” in David Benatar (ed.), Life Death, and Meaning (Oxford, 2004), p. 164.

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non-existent but possible individuals. As Benatar points out, everyone suffers in life: for example, old age, disease, fear of death, dying, and loss of companionship are events causing suffering that befall all of us; there is simply no escaping suffering. For an existent individual x, pleasure is always a moral good, while suffering is always a moral bad. If x does not exist, then the absence of suffering x would have experienced is always a moral good, but the absence of pleasure x would have experienced is not a moral bad. He offers a number of intuitive reasons for this latter judgment. First, people rarely have as a primary or even secondary motivation a desire to benefit the child who has not yet been conceived. In contrast, it is not unusual for people who decide not to have a child to do so on the basis of medical information that indicates a high probability that they would have a child with a serious medical condition that would cause the child great suffering. Second, we might regret having brought a suffering child into the world. But if we regret not having had a happy child, it will not be for the sake of the child; rather, it will be for the sake of interests we have in raising a child that went unsatisfied. As he puts the matter: Bringing people into existence as well as failing to bring people into existence can be regretted. However, only bringing people into existence can be regretted for the sake of the person whose existence was contingent on our decision. One might grieve about not having had children, but not because the children which one could have had have been deprived of existence. Remorse about not having children is remorse for ourselves, sorrow about having missed child-bearing and child-rearing experiences. However, we do regret having brought into existence a child with an unhappy life, and we regret it for the child’s sake, even if also for our sakes. The reason we do not lament our failure to bring somebody into existence is because absent pleasures are not bad.6

“Absent pleasures are not,” as he puts it, “bad,” while actual suffering is bad. Third, I submit that it helps to explain why the problem of evil has the emotional and intellectual force it has for people who take it seriously. Consider, perhaps, the most famous passage from The Brothers Karamazov known for raising the problem of evil in the most poignant terms ever expressed. Ivan, an irreligious man, challenges his brother Alyosha, a monk, with a famous question: “Tell me yourself, I challenge you—answer. Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at last, but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature—that baby beating its breast with its fist, for instance—and to found that edifice on its unavenged tears, would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell the truth.” 6

Benatar, “Why it is Better Never to Come into Existence,” 157–8.

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“No, I wouldn’t consent,” said Alyosha softly.7

The point here is that Alyosha’s answer conveys the moral force of the problem of evil precisely because of the asymmetry between the absence of pleasure and the absence of pain. Alyosha declines to bring a world into existence in which an infant suffers such torments, despite the loss of all of the pleasures that would also be lost, precisely because the absence of pain is regarded as a moral good even if the absence of pain is explained by there being no sentient creatures capable of experiencing pain, while the absence of pleasure is not regarded as a moral bad. Of course, a contestable judgment is being made here about how to weigh the moral goods and evils, and one might reasonably take issue with the idea that the absence of the infant’s suffering has so much weight in the deliberation. But it should be clear that the asymmetry Benatar describes is playing a role in Alyosha’s thinking—and that the asymmetry is both plausible and properly considered in such deliberations. Benatar seems correct about this—even if he is incorrect in thinking that it implies or even supports the admittedly counterintuitive claim that it is better for everyone not to have been born. The cases mentioned above, if (as seems plausible) not enough to support his claim that it is always better not to have been born than to have been born, do a fine job of explaining a variety of widely shared judgments that seem to lack an adequate alternative explanation. Of course, not everyone will accept Benatar’s view or the supporting examples given above. Utilitarians are committed to regarding acts that culminate in the creation of pleasure as a moral good and acts that culminate in the absence of pleasure as a moral evil. Since pleasure and pain are two ends of the same scale, and increasing pleasure is a moral good and decreasing pleasure and increasing pain a moral evil, they are committed to denying Benatar’s views and the supporting examples. Christians, of course, cannot accept an act utilitarian theory of morality for a number of reasons. Most important among them is that act utilitarianism is vulnerable to refutation by what are regarded as counterexamples among both Christians and many non-Christians. It simply cannot be right, from the standpoint of Christian ethics, to kill an innocent person simply because it maximally increases pleasure in the relevant community. Intriguingly, Benatar does not draw a conclusion I will draw later in this chapter on the assumption certain traditional Christian doctrines about hell and the conditions for salvation are true. In particular, he does not draw the conclusion that having children is wrong. Although he thinks the considerations adduced above show that there cannot be a moral duty to have children, he thinks that having children can be morally justified if one has adequate reason to believe that the benefits to the child will outweigh the harms: 7 Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, trans. C. Garnett (New York, 1955), Book V, Chapter 4.

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Because most people who live comfortable lives are happy to have come into existence, prospective parents of such people are justified in assuming that, if they have children, their children too will feel this way. Given that it is not possible to obtain consent from people prior to their existence to bring them into existence, this presumption might play a key role in a justification for having children.8

Still, he concludes that it is always better not to exist than to be brought into existence even if we can sometimes justify imposing the harm of being brought into existence on someone. While I accept the asymmetry that exists between the absence of a harm and the absence of a benefit and will rely on this below, I do not accept Benatar’s view that, bracketing the concerns I raise arising from certain Christian doctrines, it is always better not to have been brought into existence. If, from a purely secular perspective, a person has a sufficiently good life, I see no reason to think that it is for that person worse to have been brought into existence than not to have been brought into existence. From a purely secular standpoint, Benatar simply cannot validly infer that it is necessarily better not to have been brought into existence from the claim that being created involves a harm and the asymmetry between absence of benefits and absence of suffering. He needs much more to make that inference. However, once you bring Christian exclusivism, the traditional doctrine of hell, and some contestable views about what constitutes authentic Christian faith into the picture, there is enough to make that inference based on what Benatar seems to have gotten right. Indeed, I will go even further below, arguing that the harm caused to every child by having been brought into existence is, assuming certain traditional doctrines of Christianity are true, sufficiently great in most, if not all, cases to entail that it is morally wrong to have children—notwithstanding the Scriptural passages to the contrary—in order to show that either Christian exclusivism or the traditional doctrine of hell should be abandoned or modified. In other words, I assume, without argument, that the claim that it is nearly always morally wrong to have children is inconsistent with doctrines more fundamental to Christianity, including the doctrine that God is all-loving, than either the exclusivist doctrine or the traditional doctrine of hell. Again, it bears emphasizing that my point here is not that I really believe it is wrong to have children from the standpoint of Christianity; it is to use this view as a reductio against at least one of the two doctrines that help to imply this counterintuitive result—Christian exclusivism and certain elements of the traditional doctrine of hell, namely that hell is a non-empty place of eternal torment unmatched in severity to any suffering we can experience on earth.

8

Benatar, “Why It Is Better Never to Come into Existence,” pp. 164–5.

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Some Exceptional Cases Both of the two positions discussed in the first two sections rest on a certain conception of the moral quality of the act of procreation—in particular as being either a morally good act or a morally neutral act, but never morally wrongful. As Seana Shiffrin elegantly points out, this view cannot be justified, as procreation is, as a matter of nomological necessity, a morally hazardous act. Since she explains the point far more eloquently than I could, I let her speak for herself on this score: I suggest a different moral perspective toward routine procreation, what I will call the “equivocal view.” The view regards procreation as an intrinsically and not just epistemically hard case … that ineliminably involves serious moral hazards … Even though procreators may benefit progeny by creating them, they also impose substantial burdens on them. By being caused to exist as persons, children are forced to assume moral agency, to face various demanding and sometimes wrenching moral questions, and to discharge taxing moral duties. They must endure the fairly substantial amount of pain, suffering, disability, significant disappointment, distress, and significant loss that occur within the typical life. They must face and undergo the fear and harm of death. Finally they must bear the results of imposed risks that their lives may go terribly wrong in a variety of ways … all … without the child’s consent … Hence, procreation is a morally hazardous activity because in all cases it imposes significant risks and burdens upon the children who result. The imposition of significant burdens and risks is not a feature of exceptional or aberrant procreation, but of all procreation.9

I doubt that most people will agree that all procreation is morally hazardous or that being brought into existence is, as Benatar believes, necessarily a morally significant harm; after all, many of us live lives that are quite happy on the whole, and procreation in cases where one has adequate reason to believe this is the case, according to this intuition, is morally innocuous at worst and morally good at best. I am not entirely sure this position is right. Although I would characterize my life as being on the whole a “happy” one, I must confess that the grind of earning a living and the increasing fear of my own mortality and what my ultimate fate might be frequently tempt me with the thought that I might have been better off never having been born. This is a thought that occurred to me during rough periods in my youth as well, but growing older and facing the challenges that go with growing older elicits that thought far more frequently in me—despite the fact that, on the whole, I am enjoying my life greatly. Had I not been born, it is true that I would not have experienced the goods that make life worth living; it is also true I would not have experienced the suffering I have. Sometimes (but not always)—and notice 9 Seana Shiffrin, “Wrongful Life, Procreative Responsibility, and the Significance of Harm,” Legal Theory, 5/2 (1999): 117–48, at 136–7.

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this is a point different from the one made by Benatar—the latter seems to me to outweigh the former. Although the former more frequently outweigh the latter, the frequency of the thought that sufferings outweigh the benefits and that I would have been better off not having been born is enough to convince me, at least, of the intuitive plausibility of Shiffrin’s view that all procreation is morally hazardous. The same is true for another view I think is not uncommon, at least among people of this generation. Sometimes I just look at the state of the world and am overwhelmed by the problems: crime, environmental degradation, a consumerism that seems almost malignant in its passion, global poverty and the comparative indifference of the affluent, wars being fought everywhere, and (in the case of the U.S.) a national debt that has to be serviced no matter what. Despite my great love for my nieces, I especially fear for the next and coming generations who face unprecedented problems. This generation of 18-year-olds, for example, is the first in U.S. history that is expected to have a shorter life span and be economically worse off than its predecessor. My thought in response to this when deliberating about having a child is this: “Is this a world I really want to bring a child into?” Of course, one might think these latter thoughts are unique to my generation, but I doubt this. This is just a gesture in the direction of an argument—and not an argument that can do much work—but I imagine life has been pretty tough for all preceding generations, even those that had the most reason for optimism. Crime has always been with us. Up until quite recently, people needed to perform even in the wealthiest nations very hard physical and menial labor just to survive— and sometimes needed the help of their children to do so, long before they were physically or mentally mature enough to do so without harm to themselves. The disincentives were all there, whether noticed or not, but the incentives to have children in conditions of lesser affluence have been stronger: people had to have children to provide for their own economic security, especially during times of infirmity that prevented sufficient productive activity to meet one’s basic needs. In any event, nothing in the argument I want to make here really turns on these intuitions. Shiffrin’s position that all procreation is morally hazardous and hence problematic to some extent might very well overstate things a bit as far as ordinary intuition is concerned, but what is important for our purposes is this: she surely captures a widely shared view that what she calls “exceptional” or “aberrant” procreation is morally hazardous. Although most people regard the arrival of new child as a moral good, this is not always true. There are a number of situations in which we may judge the act of bringing a new life into the world, or specifically, the procreative act itself, as being wrong. Consider, for starters, a couple who decides to conceive a child knowing there is a high probability that the child will be born with a terrible condition that will result in a short and terribly painful life—pain that is so bad that the child cannot even be picked up without exacerbating it. Assume also that this same couple would face a morally insignificant risk of giving birth to a child with this condition if the couple simply delays conception by a few years. Whether or not the child is born with the condition (but especially if he or she is), it is quite

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plausible to think (and nearly everyone I asked about this case took this position even while exhibiting sympathy for the parents) the parents committed a moral wrong—and one against the child—if they elected not to delay conception. As Richard Brandt observes in a case where the probability of conceiving a child with such a condition is temporary: Obviously, we think it would be outrageous morally for the mother not to delay. Of course, if she delays, she will not have the same child as the one she would have had if she had not delayed; but we do not think we need worry about any rights of the child she might have had, in view of the fact that the later-conceived child will have a better life.10

Brandt incorrectly thinks this judgment is grounded in a moral judgment that is broad enough to support euthanizing such infants without their consent. This intuitive reaction to the thought experiment is quite common: it would be wrong not to delay conception if doing so would result in a normal child—and people think the act of procreation is a wrong under these circumstances that ultimately results in a wrong against the child even though the child does not exist prior to the act of conception. As far as I can tell in talking to a small sample, the intuition extends to cases where there is a permanently high probability that conception will result in a child with such a condition. Even when they have no reason to think they will conceive a child with a terminal painful condition, parents who do so usually feel tremendous guilt and remorse—as if they had done something wrong. Similarly, people utterly desperate to have a child will regard information that there is a high probability that they will conceive a child with a terminal painful condition as a good reason not to have a child— not just for their sake as a matter of prudential rationality, but for the sake of the child who would be born as a matter of morality. If there are people who think it morally permissible all things considered to have a child who is likely to be born with such a condition, they surely recognize that the fact that the terrible quality of this child’s life is at least a prima facie moral reason to abstain from conception. Here the intuition might not be quite as strong because the mother and father may feel that they have some sort of right to procreate that might partly counterbalance the wrong that is done by conceiving a newborn with such a condition in cases where they know the probability of doing so is high. If so, they misunderstand what it means to have a moral right to procreate. The idea that one has a right to procreate, if correct, is consistent with the idea that procreating under certain circumstances is wrong. As odd as it may seem, we have a moral right to commit some moral wrongs; in other words, it would be wrong for anyone to coercively interfere with our commission of a morally wrongful act in order to prevent or 10 Richard Brandt, “Defective Newborns and the Morality of Termination,” in John Arthur (ed.), Morality and Moral Controversies, 7th edn (Upper Saddle River, 2004), p. 232.

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punish it. Thus, for example, it seems clear that it would be wrong for the state to criminalize an ordinary unilateral lie that is not likely to induce harmful behavior on the part of the victim—unlike fraud and commercial deception where untruths are used to induce consumers to make purchases they would otherwise not make. In any case, the intuition is common here that such parents have a moral duty to abstain from conception and that this duty is owed to any future children they might have with the condition. One might reasonably think that the parents would be committing a wrong against the child even if the child were born without the predicted condition. Reckless or negligent risk-creation is itself considered a wrong. For example, we consider driving while under the influence of an intoxicant a moral wrong regardless of whether anyone is hurt precisely because such behavior results in wrongful risk-creation. If I am driving on the same road as the intoxicated driver, my risk of death or grievous bodily injury is increased to a morally significant extent. Thus, the driver’s behavior is wrongful regardless of whether this risk is realized. Again, here, the wrong would be the procreative act and the wrong would be committed against the child. Indeed, driving while intoxicated is prosecuted, like all crimes, by the state, instead of citizens, because it is regarded as a breach of the peace and hence a wrong against the community regardless of whether the driver has an accident or otherwise physically injures someone. Creation of a substantial risk of harm to innocent persons without adequate justification is generally considered, by itself, a moral wrong to all those persons subject to the risk. In the case of a driving while intoxicated (DWI), this includes not only everyone who is on the road at the same time, but everyone who might have been there. At this point, a couple of objections may occur to the reader. The first objection is that it is simply not possible to assert that an act is morally wrong based on a probability of risk-creation of a significant harm that is less than 1. But this is inconsistent with intuitions that are widely shared in our culture. Driving under the influence is morally wrong because there is a morally significant probability that it will result in significant harm to others; indeed, it is for this reason that it is legitimately criminalized. Acts that are highly likely to result in risk-creation of significant harms to other people that cannot be justified by some more important moral benefit are typically characterized as morally wrong and often, in consequence of the probable harm, justifiably criminalized. Indeed, it may well be that the threshold probability level for wrongful riskcreation might be much lower than one might initially think. In the state of Washington, one can be arrested for driving with a blood alcohol level of .08—and presumably legitimately so in virtue of its wrongful risk-creation. But it is not at all clear how high the probability of an accident is when one of the drivers has a blood alcohol level of .08. While the probability of an accident increases as blood alcohol level increases, it is just not clear within a certain range of blood alcohol levels beginning with .08 exactly what the probability is that the driver’s intoxication will cause an accident. Driving while under the influence is probably much more common

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than anyone is comfortable believing; however, accidents involving drunk drivers are comparatively rare—and usually involve much higher blood alcohol levels. The second objection is that a procreative act simply could not be a wrong against a person who is not yet existing, the underlying intuition being we cannot wrong presently non-existent but future persons; but there are a number of cases in which we seem to have a contrary intuition. Environmentalists frequently argue— and not counterintuitively—that we owe future generations an obligation to protect the environment; if so, then present acts that pollute the environment now wrong those persons, even though they do not presently exist. Similarly, Joel Feinberg argues that if a time bomb is placed in a kindergarten that is guaranteed to go off seven years later at a time when all the children are present is a wrong—and one that is committed against the children even though they do not exist at the time the bomb is activated.11 Indeed, one might think that these acts violate the child’s right to life even though they do not exist prior to the existence of the child. As Seana Shriffin explains, “Our moral duties emanate from the force these future rights exert on us now, not from any right predicated to be held by nonexistent persons.”12 Indeed, it is worth noting that wrongful life that occurs in cases of what Shiffrin has termed exceptional or aberrant cases of wrongful procreation is legally actionable in a few states. These suits are comparatively unusual, but they are filed in cases where a child with a severe disability seeks damages from parents who conceived and gave birth to her knowing of the risks. The suits have sometimes succeeded and sometimes not, but the underlying rationale is that parents who know that procreation runs a significant risk of resulting in a child with special disabilities or a painful condition but engage in procreative activity that proximately results in such a child are engaging in behavior that is sufficiently wrongful from a moral point of view to be justifiably actionable in tort. Accordingly, while law and morality are conceptually distinct, the underlying rationale for liability in wrongful life lawsuits is that engaging in procreative activity under these conditions is (1) morally wrongful behavior that (2) foreseeably and (3) proximately causes significant harm to another person. Of course, legislators and judges are not morally infallible, but these cases when they occur do not precipitate the kind of moral outrage that occurred when McDonald’s was ordered to pay $3 million to a woman who suffered burns after spilling hot coffee that she held between her legs while driving. This suggests that the wrongful life cases are in line with widely shared moral views. These are not the only cases in which the birth of a new child is regarded as potentially morally problematic and, indeed, possibly the violation of a moral duty. Here is an example interesting for its complexity. We tend to regard news of a pregnancy in an unmarried woman who is too young to have a child as morally problematic for a number of reasons. Christians believe it wrong to engage in 11 12

138.

Joel Feinberg, Harm to Others (Oxford, 1987), p. 97. Shiffrin, “Wrongful Life, Procreative Responsibility, and the Significance of Harm,”

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sexual relations outside of marriage; however, even liberal atheists hold that men and women should not become sexually active until they reach a certain level of maturity and should take certain precautions to prevent pregnancy if they do become sexually active before they can provide support for a child. These, of course, are moral judgments that some moral obligation has been violated—although, apart from God, it is not entirely clear to whom these obligations might be owed. But this much also seems clear: we intuitively believe that the child has been wronged for a number of reasons. First, it is highly likely that a young unmarried woman is unable to provide adequate care for the child—both in terms of what material resources a child needs to thrive and in terms of what kind of guidance and care a child needs. Young unmarried women simply lack many of the kinds of resources needed to be good parents who can prepare a child for a happy life. Second, even if a young mother does what is in the best interest of the child by giving her up for adoption, that child will eventually become aware of that fact and have to come to terms with it, which can be a very difficult matter requiring the help of professional counseling. Either way, the judgment is that the young man’s and young woman’s irresponsible sexual behavior culminated in a harm to a child who should not, as a moral matter, have been conceived. Here, again, a moral wrong seems to have been done to the child by having brought her into the world. This is clearly a case in which, as Shiffrin might put it, procreation is a morally hazardous act. Many of us in affluent nations with comparatively low birth rates that can be sustained given the amount of material resources immediately at our disposal tend to regard new births in countries that cannot support a larger population as potentially being problematic. I say “potentially” here because this case involves factors that complicate the judgment. For example, a woman might not have the requisite knowledge of alternatives, like contraception or (if she is really undereducated) abstinence. But where she has such knowledge and knows that she and her mate, if there is one, cannot support that child, subjecting him or her to a high probability of malnutrition and its attendant health problems, which can ultimately lead to death, many of us share the intuition that a wrong has been committed and that wrong has been committed against the child who has to face burdens that he or she ought not to have faced because he or she ought not to have been conceived. Procreation here, as in the other cases, seems to have resulted in a moral wrong against the child. Capturing these widely shared views is a general principle defining any moral obligations we might have regarding procreation where morally hazardous procreation results in a wrong against the child. This principle is vague and can roughly be stated as follows: New Life Principle (NLP): It is morally impermissible to bring a new child into the world when there is a sufficiently high probability when doing so will create a substantial risk that the child will invariably suffer severe harm as a direct consequence of being born.

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Something akin to NLP is both intuitively plausible and explains our intuitions that a child has been wronged by being brought into the world in each of the cases above. Of course, this principle is vague in three important respects that reflect some vagueness with respect to the cases in which it applies. The first source of vagueness occurs with the term “sufficient” in “sufficiently high probability.” It is simply not possible to quantify exactly where the line is between a probability of risk-creation that is sufficiently high and one that is not. I would be surprised if anyone had reliable statistics with respect to the probability that driving under the influence of an intoxicant might result in a harm; after all, many DWIs are missed by police who simply cannot be everywhere at the same time. The second source of vagueness is with the term “substantial.” It is probably not possible to quantify this notion by drawing a line between what counts as a probability constituting a substantial risk and what does not. For example, it seems to me that even a probability of .5 that a child will be born with a condition that will kill him or her within a short and extremely painful period of time when his or her pain cannot be alleviated in any way constitutes a substantial risk—one that is, from a moral standpoint, unacceptable to take. But I suspect at least some people would disagree on this case. The third source occurs with the term “severe.” Exactly what counts as a severe harm is just not clear. Suppose we know to a moral certainty that conception will result in a child with such severe cognitive disabilities that he or she will never be able to learn much more than the rudiments of a language and will never be able to learn even the most basic arithmetic. For my part, I do not know whether this constitutes a sufficiently severe harm that would require parents to abstain from conceiving, and I suspect intuitions among ordinary folk and perhaps even among Christians will cover the entire spectrum. The same is likely true for severe cases of Down’s syndrome or cerebral palsy. As far as I am concerned, I do not have sufficient confidence about my intuitions in any of these cases to be able to state NLP with more precision than is stated above. Even so, such vagueness is not sufficiently problematic to warrant rejecting it. After all, many moral principles that seem uncontroversial have areas of vagueness. Certainly, most people would agree that the state should criminalize any wrongful act that results in severe harm to others—“severe” having the same vagueness here that it does in NLP. As for the term “substantial risk,” we criminalize driving under the influence of an intoxicant precisely because it creates a substantial risk of harm to others. Many states have arrived, perhaps somewhat arbitrarily, at a threshold number measuring the amount of alcohol in the bloodstream that triggers automatic liability; however, it is just not clear what the odds are, as a general matter, that driving with an amount of alcohol in one’s system that meets, but does not exceed, the threshold triggering liability will culminate in an accident harming other persons. The moral life is difficult precisely because we have to try to rely on principles that we are all too often unable to state with ideal precision.

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A Sufficiently High Probability of a Substantial Risk of Severe and Eternal Harm In this section, I assume that certain traditional doctrines of Christianity are true. First, I assume that Christian inclusivism is false: that is, I assume that it is a necessary, although not sufficient, condition for salvation that one believe that the core doctrines of Christianity are true. I say here that it is not a sufficient condition because I assume that more than propositional belief is required. At the very least, a personal relationship with Jesus requires that we express genuine remorse for our sins and ask forgiveness for them. A genuinely saving faith simply cannot involve mere propositional belief without any change in one’s dispositions to act or one’s attitudes toward one’s wrongful acts. Second, I assume that the traditional doctrine of hell is true. In particular, I assume that universalism is false and that there are people in hell for eternity suffering torment unmatched in severity to anything they could possibly experience in this world. Putting these two doctrines together, I assume that the fate of people who lack authentic Christian faith—however this turns out to be defined beyond its being a necessary condition for salvation that one believe Christianity’s core doctrines as summarized in one of the creeds—is eternal torment in hell. It should be clear that not only is eternal torment in hell a “severe harm” if anything is a severe harm, but also the most severe harm any human being can face. One necessary condition for the application on NLP is satisfied. Now if Christian inclusivism is false, then anyone lacking authentic Christian faith will inevitably suffer eternal torment in hell. I think it is fair to characterize the inevitability of such a fate as a “substantial risk of a severe harm.” In terms of probability, there is no possibility a person can escape such a fate if Christian inclusivism is false and the traditional doctrine of hell is true. I cannot think of a more substantial risk than one that is realized as a matter of logical or metaphysical necessity. Two conditions for the application of NLP are satisfied. The third is also satisfied for much of the world’s population if not for all of it. Consider, first, that only 2 billion of the world’s population claim to be Christian at least in the minimal sense of believing that the core doctrines are true. The remaining more than 4 billion people would deny at least one of these claims. Jews and Muslims would, for example, deny that Jesus is Lord and Savior; in addition, Jews would deny that Jesus is the Messiah. Buddhists and many Hindus would deny not only the first of these claims, but even that God is a personal being. And, of course, there is a growing number of agnostics and atheists around the world— many of whom are quite ethically conscientious. If Christian inclusivism is false and the traditional doctrine of hell is true, the probability that any child brought into the world, calculated from a global perspective, will suffer the most severe harm imaginable is greater than 2 in 3. Although it is, of course, not clear where exactly to draw the line between a sufficiently high probability of risk creation and one that is not sufficiently high to trigger application of NLP, ordinary intuitions and practices suggest 2 in 3 is clearly high enough; after all, it would be very

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surprising if the risk of harm caused by an accident instigated by someone driving under the influence is anywhere near that high. Considered from the standpoint of a global perspective, NLP implies it is wrong to have children. Nevertheless, one might think this is simply not the right way to apply NLP. The reasoning here is that the probability of authentic Christian faith differs from one geographical location to the next. Although it is prohibitively low in the Middle East, it is comparatively high in the United States. Indeed, the most reliable sociology we have on the issue is that the very best predictor of a child’s religious beliefs and her ethical commitments towards those beliefs are those of her parents (which, of course, creates other problems by introducing salvific luck into the picture since one does not choose one’s parents).13 This should not be thought either surprising or limited to children in the U.S. Parents undoubtedly play a profound role in determining early on which among contestable views will form part of a person’s views about the world. Social psychologists have found a strong statistical correlation between a parent’s views on religious and moral matters and those that the child will come to embrace. So strong are these correlations that Michael Argyle and Benjamin Beit-Hallahmi conclude that “[t]here can be no doubt that the attitudes of parents are among the most important factors in the formation of religious attitudes.”14 There is, of course, nothing particularly controversial or mysterious about any of this. As C. Daniel Batson points out, “[since p]arents are a major source of social rewards and punishments … the child experiences strong pressure to conform to their wishes.”15 Given a child’s strong desire to please her parents, it is quite natural that parents exercise a strong influence on the development of a child’s moral and religious views. Indeed, the assumption that parents exercise a profound and lasting influence on a child’s moral and religious beliefs is at the foundation of most, if not all, mainstream normative views on rearing children. Anyone who takes the time to try to bring a child up to love God or to respect morality must believe that her efforts will have more than a transient influence on the child’s views and personality.16 13 See Christian Smith and Melinda Denton, Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Life of American Teenagers (Oxford, 2005). 14 Argyle and Beit-Hallahmi, The Social Psychology of Religion (London, 1975), p. 30. The interested reader is invited to consult Chapter 3 of this volume for a useful survey of the relevant statistical evidence. It is worth noting, however, that the evidence tracks only parent and child Christian affiliation. 15 C. Daniel Batson, Patricia Schoenrade, and W. Larry Ventis, Religion and the Individual: A Social-Psychological Perspective (Oxford, 1993), p. 43. 16 This is not, of course, to say that parental efforts “cause” the child’s beliefs—at least, not in any sense that is obviously inconsistent with free will. It should be clear that the claim that parents can exercise a lasting influence on a child’s development does not entail accepting a deterministic view of human behavior. This important point should be kept in mind for the remainder of the chapter.

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Of course, the correlation is not perfect. Parents are not, as one might expect, the only persons to have an impact on a child’s views. Other groups also exercise profound social influence on the development of a child’s views. As the child grows older, the influence of peers and teachers becomes increasingly important relative to that of parents. In discussing the formation of religious views, for example, Raymond F. Paloutzian observes: During childhood, two main factors, family and church, work to mold the child in varying degrees toward (or against, in the case of a nonreligious family) religion. During adolescence, on the other hand, new social factors enter the picture … The first new influence is peers. Although peers influence younger children, they are an especially potent influence during adolescence … The second critical influence is school.17

Peer and teacher influence, of course, can cut both ways: it can either reinforce or challenge what parents have taught. For this reason, there is no guarantee that early parental training will have the desired long-term impact on the child’s views; widespread exposure to contrary influences can help to facilitate a person’s rejection of her parents’ religious or moral views. But, either way, it is clear that belief formation and maintenance is subject to ongoing social pressure throughout the maturation of the child. What this fact buys us, if it is a fact, is still not satisfactory. It implies that we should calculate probabilities by region in applying NLP. This would appear to entail that the probability that someone who is brought into the world in fundamentalist Islamic communities will acquire authentic Christian faith is so low that NLP implies it is morally wrong for parents in this region to have children. On the traditional views about inclusivism and hell, this, to put it bluntly, amounts to saying fundamentalist Muslims have a moral duty, albeit one of which they are unaware, to allow themselves to become extinct. Perhaps some Christians are comfortable with this conclusion; I certainly am not—and am beginning to see such implications as entailing that at least one of the two traditional doctrines that, together with NLP, have such counterintuitive results ought to be rejected. But any optimism that these facts will show that, under NLP, it is morally permissible, at the very least, for the 2 billion people characterizing themselves as Christian to have children is premature. The problem here consists precisely in the fact that belief that the core doctrines of Christianity are true is necessary but not sufficient for authentic Christian faith. There are two related epistemic problems here that get in the way of our being able to apply NLP to these cases. First, it is just not clear how many of these 17

Raymond F. Paloutzian, Invitation to the Psychology of Religion, 2nd edn (Boston, 1996), p. 126. I choose a textbook to underscore the uncontroversial nature of the claims being made. See also Argyle and Beit-Hallahmi, The Social Psychology of Religion, pp. 33–46, for a discussion of the relevant empirical evidence.

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2 billion people in the world who claim to be Christian in virtue of having the requisite beliefs have a saving authentic Christian faith. Many Christian students with whom I have spoken are tempted to put the percentage of nominal Christians who are authentic Christians at a surprisingly low .2 (or 1 in 5). If they are correct, then it would appear that NLP applies, as a general matter, to Christians as well as non-Christians. Even if the number were 1 in 2, I would be tempted to think that the application of NLP has the same result: a .5 risk of eternal suffering is an unacceptably high risk for any person to be subjected to without their consent. Of course, if the more optimistic number is correct, there is a 1 in 2 chance that they experience eternal bliss. But here is where what David Benatar calls the asymmetry problem plays an important role. The avoidance of suffering—even if it is avoided because the possible being who would have experienced it does not exist—is considered a moral good. In contrast, pleasure that does not occur because of the non-existence of the possible being who would have experienced it is not considered a moral bad. NLP implicitly reflects the asymmetry problem in comparing pleasures and pains that do not occur because the possible being who would experience them does not exist. Second, and related to the first problem, it is simply not possible to be epistemically justified with respect to any theory of what constitutes authentic saving Christian faith. There is a striking range of disagreement on this issue, which should be enough to show that we do not have enough information on the question that would clearly show which view is correct, and hence that no one is epistemically justified in whatever view they take on the issue (and I say this with great reluctance believing some doctrines of easy salvation seem obviously inconsistent with Jesus’ words in the Gospels). Some Christians believe that all that is needed is remorse for one’s sin and a prayer asking for forgiveness. Others, like myself, believe that a more demanding standard defines authentic Christian faith: on this standard, which most nominal Christians would fail, one would have to make a good faith effort to love one’s neighbors as one loves oneself, which requires a great deal by way of personal sacrifice. In particular, it requires that spending of discretionary income on luxury goods be diverted to saving lives in the developing world where malnutrition and AIDS are pandemic. On no plausible interpretation of this imperative can someone who spends $30 on a shirt they do not need when that money can be used to sustain the life of a child in absolute poverty for a month be plausibly characterized as loving that child as herself. After all, the child’s life is at stake, while nothing more important than the affluent person’s fashionability is at stake. And there are presumably a wide range of beliefs on this issue in between these two extremes. The problem here is that we lack sufficient information to determine what counts as authentic saving faith and so we cannot even begin to estimate the most relevant probability in applying NLP. Moral concern dictates that, under conditions where we lack such important information, we guard against the most catastrophic of outcomes—which, of course, would be eternal torment in hell. Even where nominal Christians are concerned, it appears that it is morally wrong to have

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children not because the conditions of NLP are clearly satisfied, but because we are not in any epistemic position to determine whether they are—and are morally required to adopt a more conservative strategy in protecting the interests of potential future beings. And this we Christians can do only by refraining from bringing new life into the world. It appears that, given ordinary intuitions about morality and the exclusivist doctrine and the traditional doctrine of hell, we Christians, like Muslims, should allow ourselves to become extinct because what we believe constitutes authentic saving Christian faith is the most reliable predictor of what our children believe—and none of us are epistemically justified in our views about this. No one can give an argument that successfully refutes any of the mainstream views in play. That is why disagreement continues on this issue. Conclusions The reader might be relieved to know that I do not believe that it is morally wrong, as a general matter, for anyone to bring children in the world—unless we are in danger of overpopulation, or the mother is young and cannot provide for the child, or the child has a substantial risk of some severe disease or disability. But I do believe that NLP and the requirement that we adopt a conservative strategy for protecting people against catastrophic results are, for the most part, correct statements of moral principles. Since I believe these two principles, together with Christian exclusivism and the traditional doctrine of hell, entail that it is morally wrong for anyone to have children, I believe that either Christian exclusivism or the traditional doctrine of hell (or both) should be rejected as core doctrines of Christianity in favor of views that seem far more consistent with God’s moral perfection and omnibenevolence. It seems morally arbitrary that what explains why God shows mercy to an ethical devout Christian with eternal bliss and condemns an equally ethical devout Muslim to eternal torment is that the former has the correct view about God’s nature and the latter has an incorrect view (i.e., the disagreement about the Trinitarian nature of God is, after all, just a disagreement about God’s nature). If Christian exclusivism, the traditional doctrine of hell, and ordinary moral intuitions imply that it is always morally wrong to have children, then one of these views should be rejected. Of course, one can always bite the bullet and give up the ordinary moral intuitions that are captured in NLP, but the more reasonable response, I think, is to give up one of the other views, which, quite honestly, cause so many philosophical problems that they seem far less reliable than the intuitions expressed in NLP. But I cannot even begin to defend that point here.

Chapter 13

Species of Hell John Kronen and Eric Reitan

In recent years, numerous scholars have challenged the rationality of the traditional Christian doctrine of hell (DH)—by which we mean the doctrine that some created persons will endure eternal suffering in alienation from God, or damnation. Critics of DH typically argue that, assuming the broad framework of Christian doctrine, God would have no reasons compatible with His moral character (what we will call “God-justifying reasons”) for permitting anyone to suffer eternally.1 Defenders of DH, by contrast, think there may be such reasons.2 These debates are complicated by the fact that, historically, DH has been explicated in different ways. More significantly, DH admits of variations that may have bearing on whether there could be God-justifying reasons for permitting or bringing about damnation, and if so, what those reasons might be. Our main purpose in this chapter is to offer a “taxonomy” of species of DH, distinguished in terms of what kind of answer they provide to two questions: First, what is the

1

For examples of articles developing this line of argument in various ways, see Eric Reitan, “A Guarantee of Universal Salvation?,” Faith and Philosophy, 24/4 (2007): 413–32; John Kronen and Eric Reitan, “Talbott’s Universalism, Divine Justice, and the Atonement,” Religious Studies, 40/3 (2004): 249–68; Eric Reitan, “Eternal Damnation and Blessed Ignorance: Is the Damnation of Some Compatible with the Salvation of Any?,” Religious Studies, 38/4 (2002): 429–50; Thomas Talbott, “Three Pictures of God in Western Theology,” Faith and Philosophy, 12/1 (1995): 79–94; Marilyn McCord Adams, “The Problem of Hell: A Problem of Evil for Christians,” in Eleanor Stump (ed.), Reasoned Faith (Ithaca, 1993), pp. 301–27; Thomas Talbott, “Providence, Freedom, and Human Destiny,” Religious Studies, 26/2 (1990): 227–45; Thomas Talbott, “The Doctrine of Everlasting Punishment,” Faith and Philosophy, 7/1 (1990): 19–42; and John Kronen, “The Idea of Hell and the Classical Doctrine of God,” The Modern Schoolman, 77/1 (1999): 13–34. 2 Book-length defenses of the doctrine include Charles Seymour, A Theodicy of Hell (Dordrecht, 2000); Jonathan L. Kvanvig, The Problem of Hell (Oxford, 1993); and Jerry L. Walls, Hell: The Logic of Damnation (Notre Dame, 1992). Philosophical articles include William Lane Craig, “Talbott’s Universalism,” Religious Studies, 27/3 (1991): 297–308; William Lane Craig, “‘No Other Name’: A Middle Knowledge Perspective on the Exclusivity of Salvation Through Christ,” Faith and Philosophy, 6/2 (1989): 172–8; Eleanor Stump, “Dante’s Hell, Aquinas’s Moral Theory, and the Love of God,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 16/2 (1986): 181–98; Richard Swinburne, “A Theodicy of Heaven and Hell,” in Alfred J. Freddoso (ed.), The Existence and Nature of God (Notre Dame, 1983), pp. 37–54.

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nature of the evils endured by the damned? Second, what is the impelling cause of damnation?3 These questions help to distinguish species of DH in a manner relevant for determining what God-justifying reasons, if any, there might be for damnation. Hence, once we have identified species of DH in these terms, we will be positioned to determine the kinds of God-justifying reasons that God would need to have in order to justify each species. In each case, we will briefly argue that there is a prima facie basis for thinking either that the identified reasons are ultimately not God-justifying (they cannot be reconciled with God’s moral character) or that, while they are motives God could have, they are not ones that would motivate Him to permit damnation. These will be only sketches, because our purpose here is not to provide an exhaustive case against DH but to identify hurdles that defenders of any version of DH will need to overcome. Our conclusion will be that, at least from a philosophical standpoint, the burden of proof rests with those who think there is some species of DH Christians should embrace. God-Justifying Reasons for Damnation It is usually agreed in current debates that the Christian God would prevent damnation in the absence of God-justifying reasons not to. Put more precisely, the assumption is that God’s moral character is such that He possesses a prima facie compelling motive to save from damnation any created person that He can save. This assumption is plausible under a broadly Christian understanding of God, insofar as it seems to follow from the doctrine that God is love—usually taken to imply that God loves all created persons. Such love would seem to entail that God has at least some motive to save the damned if He can, since the damned are created persons and hence objects of divine love, since His love for them would lead God to desire their welfare, and since damnation is clearly contrary to their welfare.4 3

In most contemporary discussions of the doctrine of eternal hell, two broad species are generally acknowledged: those according to which the sufferings of hell are imposed by God as a punishment for sin, and those according to which the sufferings of hell are a consequence of the damned’s free decision to reject God and His offer of salvation. Thus, for example, Kvanvig argues for the replacement of the “Retribution Thesis” (which he identifies with the classical “strong” view of hell) with what he calls the “Self-Determination Thesis”—according to which the damned are in hell “because of their determination to avoid the company of the redeemed and the God who redeems” (Kvanvig, Problem of Hell, p. 158). While we do not reject this distinction (it being the central difference in relation to the question of damnation’s cause), our aim in this chapter is to offer a more nuanced taxonomy, in part by focusing on different views concerning the suffering of the damned. 4 Both Kvanvig and Walls begin their arguments for the possibility of hell from the assumption that God is perfectly good, and they both construe this to mean that, in Kvanvig’s words, “God’s fundamental attitude towards human beings is one of love”

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Obviously, one God-justifying reason for His failure to save all might be that it is simply not in His power to do so. Since God cannot be obligated to do what He cannot do, His failure to save the damned would then be justified. More commonly, however, a God-justifying reason for permitting damnation posits some kind of clash between God’s prima facie motive to save all and other motives which, if acted on, would preclude Him from doing so, and holds that it is more consistent with God’s moral character to act on the latter motive(s) than the former. In classical theological terms, it is God’s antecedent will to save all but not His consequent will.5 In speaking here of God’s motives consistent with His moral character, rather than about God’s duties, we are acknowledging that some thinkers believe God has no duties—God, as the ultimate authority, has the right to do as He pleases. While we do not accept this view ourselves, we do not want to exclude it in advance. But even those who, like Marilyn McCord Adams, believe that God has no duties, nevertheless believe that God has a definite moral character and that there are some actions which it would be incompatible with that character for God to perform (e.g, acts of arbitrary torture).6 Our own view is that God has a duty to refrain from arbitrary torture, and that God in fact refrains because His moral perfection will not permit Him to violate a duty. But even those who find the language of duty inappropriate with respect to God would typically admit that God’s moral character precludes arbitrary torture. And to admit this is to accept that moral character influences, often decisively, what one does or does not do. In other words, one’s moral character gives rise to motives for action, the totality of which excludes some actions, permits others, and necessitates still others. To say that one’s motives exclude or necessitate certain actions is to say there is a kind of contradiction between possessing a certain motive-set and behaving in certain ways. The sense of “contradiction” at work here is difficult to spell out precisely but seems an inescapable feature of our ordinary thinking about psychology and behavior.

(Kvanvig, Problem of Hell, p. 119). Both admit that this fundamental attitude implies that God, in Walls’s words, “wants all persons to accept salvation” (Walls, Logic of Damnation, p. 84). Their views here are fairly typical, at least of the current discussion, and they imply that, at least prima facie, God would save anyone He could save. 5 On this distinction, see Leibniz, “A Vindication of God’s Justice,” paragraphs 24–6, which can be found in Monadology and Other Philosophical Essays, trans. Paul Schrecker and Anne Martin Schrecker (Indianapolis, 1965), pp. 118–19. Leibniz notes here that he is using the notions of God’s antecedent and consequent will much in the way that Scotus and Aquinas did. 6 Marilyn McCord Adams maintains, in the spirit of Anselm and Duns Scotus, that God has no obligations with respect to creatures (Adams, “The Problem of Hell,” p. 308), but she also maintains that there are things God would not do to creatures because it would be cruel—and God, in her view of His moral character, is not cruel (ibid., p. 311).

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But even if it is difficult to precisely characterize the sense in which behavior can contradict motives, we can say a bit more about what a motive is, and what it means to say that the totality of one’s motives excludes or necessitates some actions. By a “motive,” we mean, roughly, either a reason for action that is taken to be a good one by the agent (whether it is or not), or a desire for an anticipated end of the act. Each disjunct identifies a distinct species of motive, what we might call intellectual and affective respectively. These may interact in various ways. I might desire an end and judge its attainment a good reason to act—in which case my intellectual and affective motives reinforce one another. Alternatively, I might desire an end which I judge neither worthy nor unworthy of pursuit on any grounds distinct from the mere fact of my desire—in which case my affective motive is independent of but compatible with my intellectual motives. Finally, I might desire that which, in my judgment, I have good reasons to avoid, in which case my intellectual and affective motives conflict. In the case of God, there will presumably not be cases of the final sort, since moral perfection precludes such clashes.7 But conflicts among intellectual motives may be possible, at least on the assumption that some such motives are merely prima facie ones, in the sense that they would be operative—that is, they would inspire actions of the relevant kind—only in the absence of other motives that override or defeat them. The idea here is that God may possess hierarchically ordered intellectual motives, with lower-order motives generating action only when they do not conflict with higher-order ones.8 Given the assumption that God is both morally perfect and all-knowing, we can conclude that all such hierarchical orderings in God’s motivational structure are the ideal ones—that is, they fully reflect God’s judgment about what is best, and God’s judgment about what is best is impeccable. At least in the case of God, then, the totality of God’s motives would necessitate (or exclude) an action A just in case God possesses at least one undefeated motive to do (not do) A. Such a motive would have to be either (a) an intellectual one 7 It is an interesting question, one we will not explore here, whether God could just so happen to desire certain things which there are no reasons not to desire but also no reasons to desire (apart from the mere fact that one does desire them). In other words, we will not here explore whether God might have affective motives that are not in some sense an outflow of divine intellectual motives. All we need note here is that, if there are such motives, they will not conflict with the totality of God’s intellectual motives for action. 8 For several classical articulations of this idea, see Heinrich Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology of the Evangelical Lutheran Church (Minneapolis, 1960), pp. 282–3. Especially useful is the quotation from Hollaz, p. 283. It should be noted that while the distinction between God’s antecedent and consequent will characterizes much medieval, as well as classical Lutheran theology, the theological determinism of the Calvinists rendered the distinction virtually impossible for them to make and seemed to drive them, logically if not admittedly, to the conclusion that God wills sin, not per se, but in order to manifest the glory of His justice and mercy. See Heinrich Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics: Set Out and Illustrated from the Sources, trans. G. T. Thomson (Grand Rapids, 1978), pp. 90–92, 143–9.

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which is such that there is no other intellectual motive that both conflicts with it and has a higher place in the hierarchical ordering of God’s intellectual motives, or (b) an affective motive which does not conflict with any intellectual motives. God’s motive for saving each creature that can be saved would seem to us to be an intellectual one, insofar as each creature has intrinsic value, and insofar as damnation amounts to a vitiation of this value. If we are right about this, then we can see in general terms what a Godjustifying reason for permitting a creature’s damnation would look like. Assuming that God’s moral character implies a prima facie intellectual motive for saving each creature (a prima facie saving motive), a God-justifying reason not to do so would be some other intellectual motive that conflicts with the prima facie saving motive and has a higher place in God’s motivational structure. In short, a Godjustifying reason not to save all would be a reason for action that entails not saving all and which God judges to be not merely a good reason to act, but a better one than God’s reasons for saving all. So far, we have expressed all of these ideas in terms that explicitly avoid the contestable assumption that God has duties. But while we have done so in this section, we find it stylistically clumsy to continue doing so. And we believe that nothing of substance hinges on the decision, for ease of expression, to speak instead in terms of God’s actual and prima facie duties. And so we will do so when it is stylistically clumsy to do otherwise, and we simply invite those who are so inclined theologically to make the following translations: “God has a duty (that is, an actual duty) to do (not do) X” can be taken to mean “X is necessitated (excluded) by the totality of motives generated by God’s moral character”; “God has a prima facie duty to do (not do) X” can be taken to mean “God has a prima facie intellectual motive for doing (not doing) X, which is such that God would do (not do) X in the absence of any higher motives that defeat the prima facie motive.” With these introductory ideas in place, we are in a position to offer our taxonomy of DH species. A Generic Definition of the Doctrine of Hell (DH) In order to situate the species of DH, we need a definition of DH as a genus. Such a definition can be simply laid out as follows: Every doctrine of hell holds that some created persons, while preserved forever in being, will never be saved.9 This general account needs clarification. First, we need some notion of what the Christian faith means by “salvation.” That salvation involves perfect and 9

The clause, “while preserved forever in being,” is introduced into this general account of DH to exclude the doctrine of annihilation (DA) from its scope. DA holds that some persons will be utterly and irretrievably destroyed—and hence, a fortiori, will never be saved. Both DH and DA may be viewed as versions of the broader doctrine of limited salvation (DLS).

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unending bliss is generally agreed, but to define salvation as eternal bliss is far too superficial. In light of both Scripture and tradition, it should be clear that the primary element in salvation is the clear or direct ongoing experience of the divine essence—in other words, the beatific vision.10 Bliss is one consequence of experiencing the beatific vision, but not the only one. Moral sanctification—the purging of all sinful dispositions—is at least as significant.11 This final point deserves some attention. For Christianity, God is taken to be the highest good. This is a claim about what is objectively valuable, and as such imposes an obligation on our subjective values: if we fail to value God above all things, our subjective values are defective—and our moral character is more broadly compromised.12 When we fail to order our values appropriately, we inevitably fail to behave in ways that display appropriate respect for the inherent worth of things. Rational creatures are thus fully moral only when they make God the object of their highest devotion—in other words, only when they love God above all else. Loving God above all else completes the moral nature of rational creatures. By clinging to God—the sovereign good—and loving Him because of His perfection, creatures are perfected in both intellect and will, so that all their inclinations and actions are in accord with right reason. But this kind of rightly ordered love of God can only be fully achieved by a direct vision of the divine essence. Thus, Melanchthon asserts that although the law points out what God is like, such righteousness cannot be in anyone unless God himself dwells in him and gives him his light and glory. Thus the law is entirely fulfilled in us only in eternal life, in eternal righteousness, when we have eternal joy in God, and God has become all in all.13

In sum, salvation in the Christian tradition means a spiritual union with God that brings about both eternal moral perfection and perfect happiness. With this notion of salvation in mind, it should be clear what it means to say that some created persons are never saved. It means that some are never granted the beatific vision, which is the only thing that will fully complete them as rational creatures. Their intellects are thus eternally darkened by false notions of what is true and good, leading to disordered desires that overvalue some things and undervalue others.

10 See, for example, Aquinas, Summa theologica, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York, 1946), I-II, q. 3, art. 8. 11 On this point see St. Augustine, The City of God, trans. John Healey, ed. R.V.G. Tasker (Dutton, 1972), Book 22, chapter 30; Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology, p. 661, especially the excerpt from Hollaz; Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, p. 707. 12 Cf. Augustine, City of God, Book 14, chapters 3–6; Philip Melanchthon, Loci communes¸ 1555, Locus VI, translated as On Christian Doctrine¸ Clyde Manschreck (Grand Rapids, 1965), pp. 75–7. 13 Melanchthon, Loci communes, Locus VI, p. 76.

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Not only will they never love God with their whole hearts, they will never properly love their neighbors or themselves. The tradition has referred to this disorder in the desires as “concupiscence,” as a selfishness that seeks above all else the gratification of carnal desires.14 But, in a sense, this selfishness manifests a lack of self-love. As Aristotle would put it, those who are good love what is best for themselves, namely virtue, while the wicked reject virtue (which is to their soul what health is to their body), preferring instead such lower goods as fame, wealth, power, sensual pleasure, self-righteousness, etc. The wicked thus eschew, in favor of lower goods, the very thing their souls need in order to be healthy. All species of DH agree, then, that the essence of hell is the eternal privation of the beatific vision and the consequent sickness of the soul. But some species of DH hold that hell is also characterized by further ills of body and/or soul. Among the ills of the soul that have been historically listed are such things as never-ending pangs of conscience, hatred of God (all the more intense because the damned know that such hatred is unmerited), continual frustration at the inability to satisfy perverse desires, etc.15 Among the ills of the body (also called external pains) have been listed torment at the hands of other fallen creatures (particularly devils), never-ending burning produced by an infernal fire, etc.16 But, though some versions of DH list these as punishments which accompany damnation, not all do, and the core of DH in all its forms can thus be taken to consist in the everlasting deprivation of the beatific vision and the unending moral and spiritual vitiation which necessarily attends it. The Nature of the Sufferings of Hell Species of DH can be distinguished according to at least two parameters: the nature of the sufferings of the damned (NH), and the cause of damnation (CH). We begin with NH. Here, there are two general possibilities: 14 See, for example, Augustine, City of God, Book 14, chapters 2–9; Aquinas, Summa theologica, I-II, q. 82, art. 3; Melanchthon, Loci communes, Locus VI, pp. 75–6. It should be noted that when the Christian tradition speaks of “carnal desires” it does not mean to solely refer to the excessive love of sensual pleasures, but rather to any excessive devotion to any created thing, the most subtle of which appears in the devotion of the Pharisee to his own self-righteousness. For particularly incisive and beautiful statements of this point see Hans Martensen’s classic Christian Ethics, trans. C. Spence (Edinburgh, 1871), pp. 102–8, and Luther’s celebrated commentary on the first commandment in his Large Catechism. 15 See Aquinas, Summa theologica, Suppl. q. 98; and the passage from Gerhard’s Loci theologicci in Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology, pp. 634–5. 16 See Augustine, City of God, Book 21, chapter 9; Aquinas, Summa theologica, Suppl. q. 97; the catena of quotes from the older Lutheran divines in Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology, pp. 658–9; and the older Reformed divines in Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 710–11.

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NH1 The evils suffered by the damned include not only the privation of the beatific vision and whatever positive evils result necessarily from that privation, but also certain other positive evils that do not so result (hereafter ancillary evils). NH2 The evils suffered by the damned do not include any evils other than the privation of the beatific vision and whatever positive evils result necessarily from that privation. NH1 holds that the damned suffer not only the deprivation of the beatific vision, but also certain further evils that are not a necessary result of such deprivation. In order to understand this doctrine better, we need to remember that Christians have historically believed that the life and welfare of any creature is constituted by God’s presence to that creature. Since the time of St. Augustine, the biblical notion that death is a punishment for sin has been interpreted to mean that sinners, by turning from God, cut off the “spiritual light” they need in order to flourish.17 In being deprived of this light, their intellects are darkened, not only in the sense that they do not know certain things they ought to, but in the positive sense of falling into error concerning what is true and right. Furthermore, as already noted, in being deprived of the light of God, they come to love some things more than they ought (especially themselves and carnal goods), and other things less than they ought (especially God and their neighbors).18 But the positive evils humans suffer from as a result of losing the light of God may not be limited to evils of the soul. According to some thinkers, they also include evils of the body. The idea is that since the soul itself is weakened by being deprived of the light of God, it experiences a diminution of all of its vital powers. There results from this all sorts of illness and, finally, physical death.19 Whatever one takes to be the positive evils that result necessarily from privation of the beatific vision, the more important question is whether the sufferings of hell are limited to such evils or also include ancillary evils. It is how one answers this question that establishes a more important distinction among species of DH, and hence serves as the basis for our distinction between NH1 and NH2. As such, it is important to think about which evils are really ancillary to the loss of the beatific vision, and which are really essential. To make this determination, we think it 17

See Augustine, City of God, Book 13, chapters 13–15, and Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology, pp. 237–8 (esp. the passage from Hollaz). 18 On this matter see Isaak Dorner’s magisterial discussion of sin, supported by numerous biblical references, in volume 2, Part II of his great A System of Christian Doctrine, trans. A. Cave and J. S. Banks (Edinburgh, 1885), no. 73, pp. 313–24. As with all the greatest Christian divines, Dorner emphasizes that the worst of moral evils is “spiritual arrogance, the conceit of self-righteousness,” which shuts the self off from loving communion with God and neighbor. Cf. Augustine, City of God, Book 14, chapter 3. 19 See Augustine, City of God, Book 13, chapter 15; Schmid, The Doctrinal Theology, p. 238.

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helpful to make a further distinction between what we will call “objective” and “experiential” evils. By an objective evil, we mean an evil whose reality does not depend on the awareness of the subject afflicted by it. Cancer that has yet to be discovered or to manifest overt symptoms is nevertheless an affliction of the body, and is an objective evil in our sense. A sinful disposition remains a part of a person’s character, and hence is an objective evil, even while the person is asleep and is not actively experiencing the urgings of that disposition or its implications. It surely remains an evil even though the person is ignorant of its intrinsic wickedness and hence lacks the experience of being afflicted by sin. With most objective evils of this sort, it is possible for the subject to become conscious of these evils as evils: to experience them actively for what they are. When this happens, the conscious experience of the objective evils becomes an additional evil that afflicts the subject, insofar as awareness of one’s own sinful nature or knowledge of a deadly cancer generates an intrinsically undesirable conscious state. This is what we have in mind when we speak of experiential evils. They are, in the simplest terms, pains. Broadly speaking, experiential evil is equivalent to actual conscious suffering. Physical pain is an immediate experience of an objective evil of the body, although it is not necessarily mediated by a conscious awareness of the nature of the objective evil and its significance. Such awareness, if the cause of the physical pain is a degenerative illness, might well generate a further psychological pain to supplement the merely physical. But both pains are experiential evils. Morphine might eliminate, for a time, the physical pain, but not the underlying objective evil that is its cause. Unconsciousness might remove the psychological distress, but not the disease. The point of drawing this distinction is simply this: while someone might well hold that privation of the beatific vision necessarily generates objective evils, it is harder to maintain that it necessarily generates experiential evils. Conscious awareness does not seem to be a necessary concomitant of being denied the beatific vision. Hence, while alienation from God may well give rise to objective evils that afflict the soul and even the body, it does not necessarily give rise to suffering. The kinds of conscious suffering that are generated by an awareness of being deprived of the beatific vision, or by an awareness of the various positive evils that immediately result from being so deprived, are ancillary. They are not necessary concomitants of being denied the beatific vision, for the simple reason that those denied the beatific vision need not be conscious at all. What this means is that those who ascribe to NH2, and who therefore deny that the damned are subjected to ancillary evils, must thereby deny that the damned are afflicted by any experiential evils, that is, by any evils that are constituted at least in part by conscious awareness. They must hold, in other words, either that the damned are plunged into a state of everlasting unconsciousness or, if they are conscious, that none of their conscious states will in any way add to the evils that they suffer from (e.g. they will have no awareness of being separated from God, if such awareness causes them pain; they will not be tormented by grief for their past

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sins, at least if such torment is properly conceived as an evil in light of the fact that it cannot lead to repentance). Adherents to NH1, on the other hand, hold that the damned do suffer ancillary evils—most significantly, the experiential evils that we call pain or suffering. But the pains in question here need not go beyond what immediately accompanies a conscious awareness of the privation of the beatific vision and its attendant objective evils. That is, the ancillary evils affirmed in NH1 might well be limited to the evils that result from a conscious awareness of those evils that are not ancillary. In other words, the ancillary evils affirmed in NH1 need not be taken to include pains inflicted by God for retributive reasons. But, then again, they might. And these alternatives are significant. Hence, we need to draw a further distinction between two different sub-species of NH1, as follows: NH1a The evils suffered by the damned include not only the privation of the beatific vision and whatever positive evils necessarily result from that, but also certain ancillary evils that are inflicted by God as retribution for sin. NH1b The evils suffered by the damned include not only the privation of the beatific vision and whatever positive evils necessarily result from that, but also certain ancillary evils that, while willed or permitted by God, are not inflicted as retribution for sin. NH1a holds that the ancillary evils of damnation have their ultimate cause in the retributive justice of God. According to this species of NH1, God wills that the damned suffer certain ancillary evils because it is intrinsically fitting that the unregenerate should suffer in such a way. NH1b, on the other hand, does not commit itself to any particular motive God might have for willing or allowing the damned to suffer from ancillary evils; it simply denies that He positively wills such pains for retributive reasons. We suspect that in most cases, allegiance to NH1b would entail the view that the ancillary evils suffered by the damned are limited to the suffering that comes from consciously experiencing those evils that are not ancillary. This is because, once retributive motives are taken off the table, it is hard to imagine what else might motivate God to allow or inflict evils beyond this. Conscious awareness of the objective evils one is subject to might be justified, however, on the grounds that awareness of the truth is better in itself than the lack of such awareness. The Causes of Damnation To fully characterize a species of hell, it is not enough to identify the nature of the suffering endured by the damned. It is also necessary to offer an account of why they suffer damnation at all. Put in simple terms, one needs an account of the causes of damnation (CH). But when we refer to the causes of damnation, we are

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not concerned with describing mechanistic forces or laws of the sort that scientists might offer as causal explanations of empirical events. Rather, we are interested in agent-oriented causes. It is generally agreed in the Christian tradition that either the damned suffer their fate because of what they choose (and God merely permits them to endure the consequences of their choices), or the damned suffer their fate because of what God chooses (perhaps in response to choices made by the damned). It is also possible, of course, that the sufferings of hell result from some combination of the two. Focus on such agent-based causes makes sense if our interest is in identifying the God-justifying reasons for damnation. Such God-justifying reasons will take one of two forms: (a) they will give an account of why God cannot save the damned; or (b) they will give an account of why God decides not to save the damned even though it is in His power to do so (that is, why God either wills or permits their damnation). Both of these alternatives, as we shall see, must presuppose that damnation hinges up the choices of agents: either the damned are responsible for their fate through their own choices, or God is responsible for their fate through His choices, or some combination of the two. That this is so is clearest in the case of (b), in which case the free choices of God will have to be viewed as playing the decisive role. But a little reflection will show that, in the case of (a), we must assume that the decisive impelling cause of damnation lies in the free choices of the damned. Since Christianity affirms that some persons are saved and that the damned are not different in their fundamental nature from the saved, the view that God cannot save them will not be explicable by reference to a difference in their nature. And so where else could the relevant difference lie, except in the will of the damned? In other words, if God cannot save the damned, it will be because the damned make choices which somehow take them out of the class of those God is capable of saving. The most obvious candidate for such a choice is the decision to reject God, in the sense of refusing to willingly experience the beatific vision. But given God’s presumed omnipotence, to say that God cannot save those who make such a choice is coherent only if the experience of the beatific vision is taken to involve the free participation of the creature in some essential way. Perhaps “the beatific vision” describes a relational state involving God and the creature, and perhaps the creature’s contribution to the relation can only exist through an exercise of libertarian freedom which God cannot bring about even in Plantinga’s weak sense. If so, then God would be incapable of saving those who willfully reject Him. This, then, would serve as His God-justifying reason for not acting on His prima facie motive to save all. Notice also, however, that even in the case of (a) there is something God actively does that contributes to the condition of the damned: He preserves them in being. On orthodox Christian assumptions, everything that exists does so by virtue of being sustained in existence by God. If God ceases at any moment to sustain something in

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existence, it ceases to exist.20 And so, even in the case of (a), God could presumably bring about the non-existence of the damned (and thereby “spare” them the evils of hell) even if it is not in God’s power to save the damned in the sense of bringing them into communion with the divine. And so God still contributes actively to the state of damnation, and there will be an impelling cause of God’s decision to preserve the damned in being. Most likely, this cause would be that, given their essential nature as creatures of God, the being of the damned retains positive value, and God has a disposition to preserve whatever has positive value (even if that means that the damned will endure subjective suffering as a result). In case (b), the assumption is that God can save the damned but chooses not to. But since God has a prima facie intellectual motive to save all, the damnation of some must be explained by the presence of a higher motive which conflicts with this prima facie saving motive, and thus defeats it. This higher motive would have to be intellectual (not merely affective) in keeping with God’s moral character. In the simpler language of duties, it would have to be an overriding duty which defeats God’s prima facie reasons for saving all. Put simply, option (b) implies that, in order to save all, God would have to do something that it is impermissible for God to do. This moral impediment to saving all could manifest either at the level of means or at the level of ends. In the first case, God would not have any reasons not to pursue the salvation of each created person, but He would find that sometimes the actions He would need to perform in order to save a creature would be morally impermissible ones. In this case, the moral impediment would manifest at the level of means. Alternatively, however, God might have duties which preclude Him from even pursuing the salvation of some creatures. That is, it would be wrong, all things considered, to seek their salvation (despite His prima facie intellectual reason to do so), even were there morally permissible means of doing so. Consider the following analogy. Suppose I have good prima facie reasons to financially support my son through college, that is, to bring it about that my son gets to go to college without having to work full time in order to pay for it himself. But suppose the only way I could do this would be by stealing money. In this case, there would be a moral impediment at the level of means. But suppose that my son has proven to be irresponsible with the use of opportunities given him by others, and displays responsibility only when the opportunity is made available through his own efforts. In that case, I may have compelling moral reasons not to bring it about that my son gets to go to college without having to work for it. Were my son’s character different in important ways, my prima facie reasons for bringing about this state might be decisive (he would be able to focus more fully on his studies and pursue more extracurricular educational opportunities). But, given his character, it would be wrong for me to pursue this end even if I could do so without

20 See Aquinas, Summa theologica, 1, q. 104, art. 1; Melanchthon, Loci communes, Locus III, p. 41.

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stealing money (or doing something else impermissible). In this case, we have a moral impediment at the level of ends. If God were morally barred from saving the damned at the level of means, the most likely reason would be because, with respect to at least some of the damned, saving them would require action that failed to show proper respect or love for them. But, clearly, saving them would contribute to their welfare, and so saving them would never display a lack of concern for their welfare. So in what would the lack of respect lie? The common answer is that it would display a lack of respect for freedom or autonomy. In other words, were God barred from saving the damned at the level of means, it would be because He could only save them by violating their free choices or autonomy in morally impermissible ways. While God could save the damned, and while God could respect the autonomy of the damned, He could not do both—and respect for the latter is a more pressing obligation than respect for the former. In other words, if God is morally barred from saving the damned at the level of means, we find ourselves with a theory about the cause of damnation very similar to what we encounter in the case in which God is taken to be unable to save some: In both cases, the free rejection of God by the damned takes them out of the pool of creatures that God can legitimately save. Either He cannot save them at all, or He cannot save them in a manner that is morally legitimate. In either case, it makes sense to say that it is the damned’s free choices that put them in hell—and God is simply left with no legitimate choice but to let them suffer. In the case in which God fails to save the damned because He no longer wills their salvation as an end, the situation is different. In this case, if God willed the salvation of the damned, He would have available to Him a means of saving them that, in itself, was not morally objectionable. What most directly keeps God from saving the damned under this view, then, is His own rejection of them, in the sense that He simply does not will (all things considered) that they be saved. While their rejection of Him may be what motivates God to reject them—while their rejection of Him may constitute either a morally good or morally compelling reason for Him to reject them—God’s rejection of the unregenerate is the more immediate cause of damnation. It is one thing to say that, because the damned reject God, God’s hands are tied and He cannot save them even though He still desires their salvation. In such a case, God is not willing their damnation. He certainly is not inflicting their damnation on them. They are damned, we might say, by what they will, not by what God wills—even if God wills His own obedience to certain moral principles which so happen to preclude Him from performing acts that might have saved these damned souls. In the latter case, however, God’s will intervenes in a more direct way between what the damned will and their state of damnation, even if (as may be the case) what motivates God to will that the damned not be saved is the fact that they freely rejected God.

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But it should also be noted that something other than the sinner’s rejection of God may be what motivates God to reject the damned. Consider the Calvinist view that God rejects some of those determined by their fallen natures to reject Him, and saves others, so as to manifest the glory of His justice and mercy.21 For all these reasons, we think it is most helpful to distinguish the causes of hell according to the following alternatives: CH1 The damned freely reject God, and although God never stops willing their salvation as an end, He cannot save them either because (a) it is logically impossible for Him to do so or (b) all of the logically possible means of securing their salvation are morally impermissible. CH2 If God willed the salvation of the damned as an end, it would be logically possible for Him to achieve this end through means that were morally permissible; but He does not will their salvation as an end, either for (a) morally good but not compelling reasons or (b) morally compelling reasons. Several observations should be made about this division. First, there are really four alternative accounts of the causes of damnation laid out here. However, the first two accounts and the last two are so closely connected that they can and will be typically dealt with together. As such, we find the present division particularly suitable. Second, it is possible to imagine a hybrid theory of DH according to which both the end of saving the damned and the available means were morally objectionable. To our knowledge no one has embraced such a view, but more importantly, the existence of such a hybrid view does not much influence the critical assessment of DH. If neither CH1 nor CH2 is defensible, then a hybrid will not be either. And if one of these alternatives is defensible, then a hybrid will be defensible a fortiori. For the purposes of philosophical assessment, then, this hybrid is superfluous. Finally, we should say a few words about the distinction between CH2a and CH2b. While both stress that God does not will the salvation of the damned as an end—and it is this fact, rather than any inability to achieve that end, that stays God’s hand—the nature of God’s motive in each case is different. In the case of CH2b, the motive is a morally compelling one: if God saved the damned, He would be achieving an immoral end. Put another way, His moral character compels Him to reject the sinner despite the suffering that thereby results. In CH2a, however, the causes for God’s refusing to grant salvation to the damned must be conceived in terms of motives upon which He might act but need not. Under this view, then, God would be doing nothing strictly wrong or impermissible if He did, in fact, save all. Universal salvation would be perfectly compatible with the demands of justice or any other moral standards employed to judge the fittingness of that end. But even so, God does not will this end. While God does have reasons for rejecting 21

See Heppe, Reformed Dogmatics, pp. 165, 187.

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the damned, these reasons do not compel Him to act, and He would be perfectly just and moral were He to save all. This view, while it strikes us as very puzzling, seems to be the view of Aquinas, which is the main reason we include it here. Put in terms of God’s intellectual motives, we might articulate CH2a in the following terms: while God has a prima facie reason to save all, He also possesses God-justifying reasons against saving all. But these latter reasons are neither more compelling nor less compelling than His reasons for saving all. So God is free to act on them or not. In effect, the totality of motives consistent with God’s moral character is such that they neither necessitate nor preclude saving all. And God just so happens to decide to act on those reasons which dictate against saving all. The most common reason why, historically, it has been thought that God would cease to will the salvation of the damned as an end is this: the damned deserve the evils of hell as a matter of retributive justice. On this view, God does not merely have a prima facie motive to see that the demands of retributive justice are met, but His motive to this effect is as pressing (CH2a) or more pressing (CH2b) in the hierarchy of divine motives than whatever prima facie reasons God has for willing the salvation of His creatures. So, while God would will the salvation of the damned were it not for the fact that they do not deserve to be saved (but do deserve to suffer the punishments of hell); given what they deserve He ceases to will their salvation—either because it would conflict with His perfect moral character to do otherwise (CH2b), or because it is consistent with His moral character to go either way, and He just so happens to choose to cease willing their salvation (CH2a). Complete Species of DH We now need to say something about the ways in which the species of NH are logically related to the species of CH. Any complete theological defense of DH must spell out both the nature of the sufferings of the damned and the causes of it, and so must combine some species of NH with some species of CH.22 Hence, any complete account of DH would involve the conjunction of both these elements. First, NH2 can be combined with any form of CH to compose a complete doctrine of hell. Even if God is morally required to reject the damned (CH2b) on 22

One might hold that this does not apply to a purely scriptural defense of DH. For it might seem that, based on Scripture, one might simply hold that some will forever suffer eternal torment without spelling out the precise nature of that torment or even giving a complete account of the causes of damnation. However, it seems that anyone who bases their belief in DH on Scripture must hold that the forma of damnation at least includes separation from God and that its causes must have something to do with creaturely sin and divine justice. No Christian theologian who has treated these matters has held otherwise. For this reason alone it seems that even a purely scriptural doctrine of hell will involve embracing, at a minimum, NH1, even if it prescinds from embracing any form of CH.

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account of justice, justice might demand nothing more than the infliction of those evils which naturally flow from being deprived of the beatific vision. In fact, one might hold that God’s willingness to forever deprive a rational creature of the vision of Himself, on account of the creature’s sin, is a very harsh punishment indeed. But if NH2 is compatible with CH2b, then it is a fortiori compatible with CH2a (according to which there are morally good but not compelling reasons why God does not save the damned). This is so because, if God is not morally required to punish the damned at all, it is hardly plausible to think the punishments cannot be merely privative. But then it also seems that NH2 is compatible with CH1, which holds that, although God may wish to save the damned, He cannot do so for logical or moral reasons. NH1a and b are also compatible with every form of CH. It might at first appear, however, as if NH1a is not compatible with CH1. If God wills the salvation of the damned but is barred from realizing this end by the creature’s rejection of Him, it may seem that He would not then will on the damned evils which are not a necessary result of their rejection of Him (especially if we suppose that the reason God continues to will the salvation of the damned is because He continues to love them despite their rejection of Him). Nevertheless, some have held that, though God does continually desire to save the damned, He nevertheless continues to inflict certain pains on them out of retributive justice, pains which are not a necessary result of their alienation from Him.23 In short, while He desires their salvation and would save them if He could do so in a morally permissible way, He also desires that retributive justice be done—and so, insofar as the damned are deserving of additional pains beyond the merely privative, He inflicts them. If NH1a can be combined with CH1, then it seems it can be combined with CH2. After all, if it is possible for God, even though He loves the damned and desires their salvation, to will on them suffering that does them no good, then it seems a fortiori conceivable that He could will such suffering were He to no longer will their salvation. If God, on account of the wickedness of the damned, no longer desires for them the only thing that will make them happy and morally good, it is easy to suppose He might also be willing to inflict further pains on them as punishment for sin. Finally, if NH1a can be combined with either CH1 or CH2 it seems clear that NH1b can. First, if NH2 could be held to be consistent with CH2, it also seems that NH1b could be for similar reasons. NH1b also seems to be compatible with CH1. One might hold, for instance, that the only way to shield the damned from 23 Isaak Dorner seems to have taught that this is at least a possible state for some created beings, since he held, first, that human freedom makes it impossible even for God to ensure universal salvation (A System of Christian Doctrine, trans. Alfred Cave and J. S. Banks (4 vols, Edinbugh, 1880), vol. 4, Part II, no. 154, pp. 420–28); second, that the wicked deserve to suffer what we have called experiential evils (vol. 3, Part II, no. 88, pp. 120–32); and third, that it would not be fitting of God to apply the merits of Christ to those who have no living faith in Christ (vol. 4, Part II, no. 132, pp. 215–17).

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any actual pain would be for God to actively cast them into a state of perpetual sleep, or to cause them to be forever deluded about their unhappy state. But these things might be thought to be inconsistent with either the love or respect God has for them as rational beings. So it seems that someone who holds to CH1 could very easily endorse NH1b, even if she denies that God inflicts any pains on the damned out of retributive justice. In sum, six complete versions of DH emerge from the foregoing analysis: (DH1) The conjunction of NH1a and CH2; (DH2) The conjunction of NH1b and CH2; (DH3) The conjunction of NH2 and CH2; (DH4) The conjunction of NH1a and CH1; (DH5) The conjunction of NH1b and CH1; (DH6) The conjunction of NH2 and CH1. DH1 is the doctrine of hell most commonly embraced in the popular imagination: God not only casts the unregenerate from His presence, but also heaps torments upon them for all eternity. DH1, DH2, and DH3 together constitute variants of what can be called the “classical” doctrine of hell—that is, the version of DH most commonly expressed in medieval Catholic and early Protestant theology. What all variants of the classical doctrine have in common is their insistence on CH2—that is, on the view that God does not will the salvation of the damned as an end, such that even if there were a morally permissible means of saving them, God would continue to damn them. DH5 and DH6 have emerged as the most popular contemporary expressions of DH among more learned theologians and philosophers, and might be dubbed variants of the “liberal” doctrine of hell. What each has in common is a rejection of the idea that retributive motives play any role in God’s failure to save the damned. What the damned suffer, they suffer because their own free choices bring about consequences that God cannot negate, or cannot negate without doing something morally wrong. DH4, which might be called the “retributive” doctrine of hell, amounts to a via media between the classical and the liberal versions. On this view, the damned do not suffer their fate because God has ceased to will their salvation. He still does so but, given their rejection of Him, has no (legitimate) means of saving them. However, on this view the unregenerate deserve to suffer not merely the privative pains that accompany being denied the beatific vision, but also certain additional pains. Were God able to save them, they would cease to be unregenerate and would no longer deserve these afflictions. But, insofar as God cannot save them, they continue to be unregenerate in ways that invite a retributive response. And so, while perhaps anguished by His inability to save them, God nevertheless heaps upon them additional retributive afflictions.

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Challenges Faced by the Various Versions of DH While the most significant problems for any species of DH arise in relation to the causes of hell, there are some interesting concerns that arise when we reflect on the nature of the suffering endured by the damned. These are worth reflecting on before turning to the deeper difficulties. We start with those species of DH that endorse NH2—in other words, DH3 and DH6, both of which deny that the damned endure any ancillary evils, that is, any evils beyond those that necessarily accompany being deprived of the beatific vision. As we already noted, those deprived of the beatific vision need not be conscious—and so the evils of damnation that require consciousness are all ancillary. It follows that DH3 and DH6 must deny that the damned have any conscious experience of the evils they are subject to, and so must deny that the damned suffer. If this is right, we might well ask whether DH3 and DH6 are really species of DH at all, insofar as suffering is typically understood as an integral part of damnation. Perhaps DH3 and DH6 describe a kind of via media between the doctrine of hell as ordinarily conceived and some doctrine of annihilation. But even if we set this worry aside, we still confront additional worries. First, since consciousness seems to be essential to our nature as rational beings (we cannot exercise any of our intellectual or spiritual powers in its absence), perpetual unconsciousness would be a decisive vitiation of that nature. And so it seems as if the loss of consciousness needed to prevent active suffering would itself be an evil, an objective one. But it does not seem to be the kind of evil that would result necessarily from being deprived of the beatific vision. Hence, it is an objective evil that God would presumably have to inflict on the damned, perhaps out of a motive of mercy. If this is right, then God might be seen as having to choose among ancillary evils: He must either permit suffering that is not strictly necessary, or inflict oblivion. If this is right, then no species of DH that included NH2 would be possible at all, since whatever God did, the damned would endure one kind of ancillary evil or another. The only way to avoid this outcome, it seems, would be for the defender of DH3 or DH6 to make the case that perpetual unconsciousness would be a necessary consequence of being cut off from the beatific vision, and hence would not be an ancillary evil after all. Whatever we think of this issue, there is another that is at least as important. As we have already seen, being deprived of the beatific vision entails being cut off from a clear understanding of the objective order of values, resulting in disordered desires that overvalue some things and undervalue others. Put more simply, damnation confirms the damned in moral degeneracy for eternity. And this will be true even if they are put into a state of perpetual unconsciousness. They may be sleeping villains, but they remain, in character and disposition, villainous. In short, even if suffering is not a necessary consequence of losing the beatific vision, perpetual moral degeneracy is.

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And if it is true given NH2 that the damned are forever mired in wickedness, it is true a fortiori for all species of DH. And so, this fact highlights a global feature of DH: for every species of DH, one of the evils that necessarily accompanies damnation is eternal moral degeneracy. What is troubling here is that this degeneracy is not the rationale for damnation—that is, it is not some fact about the creature which justifies God in either permitting or bringing about their damnation. Rather, it is an effect of being deprived of the beatific vision. God either cannot or will not provide what amounts to a necessary condition for overcoming wickedness. In short, any version of DH seems to commit one to the view that God is either defeated by sin or complicit in its perpetuation. Defenders of DH need to face these worries head-on if they want to reconcile the doctrine of hell with the Christian idea of a sovereign God who loves all creatures and hates sin. This line of thinking is most readily explicated in connection with difficulties that arise from alternative proposed causes for damnation—an issue we turn to now. Proponents of CH1 and CH2 face different sorts of challenges. Those who defend a version of DH that falls under CH2 must maintain that, despite God’s love for every sinner, there are moral considerations that would inspire God not to will the salvation of at least some of His creatures. But insofar as love for creatures involves, at least prima facie, willing what is best for them, it is hard to see what moral considerations could motivate a God whose fundamental moral characteristic is love to consign some sinners to eternal misery. Defenders of CH2 therefore face the challenge of offering an account of such considerations. The magnitude of this challenge, it seems to us, is routinely overlooked by defenders of CH2. But the challenge is clearly enormous. Defenders of CH2 must overcome the prima facie absurdity of the following conjunction: God loves every one of His creatures with a profound and unwavering benevolence and He wills upon some of these creatures whom He loves the very worst kind of evil conceivable; and He wills that they suffer it for all eternity, even though it cannot possibly do them any good at all, since it never culminates in anything other than more of the same. Defenders of a version of DH falling under CH1 face different challenges. Because they hold that damnation originates in the creature’s own free rejection of God, they must accept two claims: first, that some creatures freely reject God forever; and second, that God cannot—either logically or morally—overcome this free rejection of Him (despite an infinite time frame in which to work on overcoming their intransigence). That someone created in the divine image, and hence naturally ordered towards the good, should eternally reject God, the perfect good, strikes us as prima facie unlikely, especially if God has not given up on the creature and continues unremittingly to seek the creature’s repentance. Furthermore, that an omnipotent and omniscient God should eternally fail to find a morally legitimate way to transform an unwilling creature’s heart strikes us as prima facie dubious.

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But the problem runs deeper, as can been seen when we focus on the fact that a necessary feature of every species of DH is that the damned are eternally confirmed in moral degeneracy. This is troubling in its own right, but it becomes even more troubling when combined with CH1. CH1 entails that, in God’s war against sin, in the souls of the damned God confronts ultimate defeat. Despite all of His infinite resources, despite infinite time in which to work, despite His perfect knowledge of every nuance of the souls of the damned, despite His unrelenting love, His efforts will be for naught. At least in some human souls, sin will prove more powerful than God. This seems an unavoidable implication of any of the “liberal” versions of DH, and it is an implication that should give every defender of DH pause. In fact, it strikes us as verging on blasphemy. And this may be a main reason why the classical doctrine of hell has not entirely gone away despite its drawbacks. If God’s salvific aims simply do not include the damned, then we are not driven to the unsettling conclusion that God’s aims are, in some human souls, ultimately defeated. In the various forms of the classical version of DH, the eternal alienation of the damned is directly intended by God, and so cannot be viewed as God’s failure or defeat. On this view, God prevails over sin in different ways: in the saved, through their attainment of blessedness, which includes sanctification; in the damned, through punitive expulsion from the goods of heaven. But this way of thinking obscures deep problems that, once again, become evident when we recall that being confirmed in wickedness is a necessary consequence (perhaps the only necessary one) of being deprived of the beatific vision. On the classical doctrine of hell, the damned are punished for their wickedness at least in part by being confirmed in wickedness for eternity. To see the full magnitude of the difficulty here, it may help to reflect for a moment on exactly what is so bad about sin. Sin at its heart is a failure to value things according to their objective degree of value. It is a failure to appropriately express, in actions and dispositions, due reverence for the inherent worth of things. The most significant element of sin, on classical theology, is the failure to do this with respect to God. God has infinite inherent worth, and thus ought to be valued above all things. To fail to do so is an objective affront to the divine majesty, akin to the sociopath’s failure to properly value his victim but magnified in severity by the infinite worthiness of God. According to the classical doctrine of hell, God responds to this infinite affront against His dignity by deliberately acting to ensure that this affront to His dignity continues for all eternity. While He could stop it from continuing, He chooses instead to make sure that this most intolerable of all evils persists forever in the souls of the damned by deliberately withholding the necessary condition for bringing it to an end. And so the defender of any form of the classical version of DH must explain why it would be a demand of justice to bring it about that a criminal never stop committing his crime. We, at least, cannot conceive of any coherent conception of justice under which this would make any sense at all.

Index

a fortiori 212, 214, 214, 217 a priori 143 absence 183, 184, 185, 186, 197 actions 9, 24, 30, 31, 36, 70, 71, 74, 92, 112, 113, 155–6, 158 in afterlife 58 complexity of 13 and desert 124 determined 10, 11 finite 126–8 future 142 of God 201, 202, 210, 212, 213 infinite 128–9 morally hazardous 187ff. motives for 201–2 non-free 31, 33 right 85, 93 and risk-creation 190 undetermined 9, 10, 11, 13 unwilling 80 voluntary 11, 80 warranting infinite punishment 123, 126–30 wrong 93; see also divine action; free action; good actions; self-forming action Acts, Book of 98 actual-sequence theory 86 actualization 48, 49, 123 Adam 18, 19, 21, 51, 176 Adams, Marilyn McCord 1, 109, 201 Adams, Robert 15 adults 142 affections 60, 62 affective motives 202, 203 afterlife 1, 36, 45, 116, 155, 179 account of 138 in Bible 117 experience of 140–41, 142 free choice in 96, 97

suicide in 58 theories of 46; see also eternal life; heaven; hell agency 79, 81, 86, 152, 187 agents 8, 9, 10, 13, 24, 118, 119, 176 autonomous 79–81, 89 and causes of damnation 209 free choice of 25, 40, 209 freely rejecting God 30–2ff. and heaven 84, 85 intentions of 84 motives of 202 own behaviour of 14 reflective 81 unwilling 80; see also free agents; moral agents; rational agents agony 154 alcoholics 12, 15, 16, 17 alienation 15, 18, 29, 30, 42, 207 allegory 166, 168 ambiguity 18, 19, 22, 24 ambivalence 73, 75 analogies 127, 133, 135, 138, 139, 175, 177 ancillary evils 206, 207, 208, 216 angels 152 anger 135, 180 anguish 135, 139 animals 80 annhilation 2–3, 5, 46, 47, 121, 139, 152, 153, 157, 159 and divine supremacy 61–3, 64 and eternal punishment 54–5ff., 130, 132 mildness of 56–7 rates of 53; see also annihilationism annihilationism 101–2, 116, 117, 146, 147, 148, 161, 216 defences of 45, 46, 47ff., 53ff., 61ff. and denial of hell 153–4

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disputes about 46 and doctrine of hell 53–6ff., 64 and God’s moral perfection 54, 57–8, 64 and natural consequence motivations 47–52, 64 objections to 49ff., 54–5ff., 64 privation argument for 47–8, 53 rational suicide argument for 57–61 and scripture 46 antecedent will 201 anti-universalism thesis 67, 74 Apostolic Fathers 98 appetites 81 Aquinas 47, 48, 49, 135, 151, 213 Argyle, Michael and Beit-Hallahmi, Benjamin 195 Aristotle 11, 205 Arminian tradition 20, 22–3, 24 Arnobius 148 assumptions 11, 13, 17, 20, 21, 24, 36, 67, 78, 79, 82, 87n., 97, 115ff., 126ff., 145, 147, 153, 159, 185, 200, 202, 210; see also false assumptions assymetry 183, 185, 186, 197 atheists 182, 194 atheology 5, 146–8, 156–61 atonement 19, 20, 26 limited 62 attitudes 14, 23, 124, 125, 195 infinite 125 vicious 124, 125 virtuous 124, 125 Augustine, St 149–50, 151, 176–7, 206 on divine grace 20–21, 22 authority 54, 62, 127, 128 autonomy 42, 79, 85, 89, 211 awareness 31, 32, 40, 69, 75, 80, 81, 111, 135 of suffering 207–8 awe 167 bad character 16, 17 finite 124–5 infinite 115 bad choices 12, 24 bad motives 124

badness 83, 115, 154, 156, 157, 184; see also bad character; evil; moral bad; sin; wickedness Barnard, Justin 3 Batson, C. Daniel 195 beatific vision 134, 142, 172, 204 privation of 204, 205, 206, 207, 214, 215, 216 consequences of 217, 218 rejection of 209 beginning 149 behaviour 11, 14, 15, 34, 40, 85, 201–2 being 130 and existence 48, 49, 209–10 and goodness 47–9, 130 medieval concept 47, 48–9 modern concept 48 Beit- Hllahmi, Benjamin see Argyle, Michael and Beit-Hallahmi, Benjamin beliefs 51, 52, 60, 133, 145, 164, 170, 194, 197, 198 formation of 195–6; see also religious beliefs beneficence 21, 22, 121 Beneficent-Character Principle 121, 131 benefits 35, 121, 131, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188 absence of 186 Benatar, David 183–4, 185–6, 188, 197 Bible 29, 46, 69, 94, 96, 97, 101, 117, 133, 134, 158, 166; see also New Testament; Old Testament; scripture birth 179–98 blessing of 183 as moral duty 179, 181–3, 185, 190 as moral good 179, 180–81, 187 as moral hazard 187, 188, 191, 192–3 as moral right 189 as moral wrong 182, 185, 186, 188–93, 195, 196, 198 motives for 183, 184, 188 and severe risk of eternal harm 195 blame 30, 31, 33, 40, 41 bliss 25, 26, 27, 176, 197, 198, 204 body 99, 101, 149, 205, 206, 207 bondage 16, 17, 18

Index boredom 135 brain-damaged people 24 Brandt, Richard 189 Brown, Claire 2, 3 Buckareff, Andrei 3, 4 Buddhists 194 burden of proof 46, 200 burdens 187 Cain, James 4–5 Calvin 150 Calvinism 62, 100, 105, 108, 212 cancer 207 capacities 50–52, 69 Catholicism 22, 117, 215 causal chain 156 causes 10, 19, 31, 112, 207 agent-oriented 209 contributing 10, 11 of damnation 200, 208–13ff. problems of 216ff. chance 9, 24, 100 change 69, 73, 84–5, 89, 142, 177, 194 character 124–6 flaws 13, 14, 17, 131 traits 135; see also moral character children 5, 8, 10, 17, 21, 22, 24, 26, 37, 63, 80, 113, 127, 128, 135, 157, 175, 177, 183, 191 as moral agents 187 in poverty 197 religious beliefs of 195–6, 198 suffering of 179, 184–5, 188–9ff. wrongs against 192–3; see also birth; parents choices 2, 3, 5, 7, 18, 23, 68, 74, 82, 101, 111, 112, 119, 120, 152, 157, 158, 175 by agents 209 consequences of 32–4, 71 by damned 209, 211, 212 determination of 104–5 by God 113, 155, 209, 210, 211, 216 God’s knowledge of 105–6 of heaven 164, 165, 169, 173 of hell 79, 96, 97, 169 of non-existence 59 number of 32

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to leave heaven 84, 85 to leave hell 86 of rejecting God 29, 32ff., 173 theories 100; see also free choices; free will Christ 7, 14, 29, 46, 63, 64, 94, 95, 97, 98, 99, 136, 157, 169, 170, 174, 194, 197 belief in 163, 164 rejection of 109 and unforgivable sin 100 Christianity 5, 15, 45, 47, 62, 98, 101, 157, 164, 176, 194, 209 and escapism 77, 83, 84 and finality 88, 89 and other religions 166–8, 171; see also Christians; doctrines; exclusivism, Christian Christians 5, 8, 12, 15, 29, 46, 50, 51, 92, 93, 111, 185, 194, 196–7 and belief in hell 145 and marriage 182 nominal 197; see also faith circumstances 106, 107 city of God 100 Clement of Alexandria 98–9 cognitive abilities 51, 53, 69 comedy 65–6 communion with God 82, 85, 87 compassion 21, 22 compatibilism 9, 72, 104 and freedom 155 compliance 175 conception, act of 189; see also birth concupiscence 205 conditional election 24 conditional proof 147, 156, 159 conditions 5, 10, 31; see also necessary condition; sufficient condition conscience 93, 205 consciousness 18, 19, 25, 45, 52, 53, 69, 135, 140, 141, 155, 207, 208, 216; see also moral consciousness consequences 11, 12, 13, 24, 25, 31, 32–5, 38, 92, 93, 120, 204 everlasting 54–5, 217 of freely rejecting God forever 32

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of loss of beatific vision 217, 218; see also natural consequence model consequent will 201 consequentialist override 122, 123 consistency 5, 88, 91, 146 as grounding condition 134, 136 consummation 77, 78, 83–9 and heaven 83, 84–6 and hell 77, 78, 83, 86–9 context 12, 17, 18, 24, 26 contingency 90, 111, 123, 142 contraception 179, 181, 192 contradictions 136, 137, 143, 148 control 11, 12, 23, 59, 81, 104–5 conversion 111 Corinthians 98, 99 corruption 92, 143 argument 50, 53 Cottrell, Jack 23 counterexamples 176, 185 counterfactuals 4, 106–7, 108, 110, 111, 112 Craig, William 4, 108–13, 123 criticism of 111–12 creation 4, 17–20, 26, 59, 107, 111, 112, 130, 147, 155, 156 and existence 156, 157 good of 114 necessary conditions of 18, 19 two-stage 18–20 creatures 49, 59, 74, 75, 107, 110–11, 206, 209 redeemed 111, 112, 123 unredeemed 111, 112, 123; see also persons; wantons creeds 117 crime 188, 190, 193 Cyril of Alexandria 98 damnation 4, 6, 29, 75, 112, 155, 199 causes of 200, 208–13ff. problems with 216–18 evils of 206–8 God justifying reasons for 200–203 prevention of 200ff. transworld 110, 111, 123 damned 46, 111, 123 choices of 209, 211, 212

confirmed in moral degeneracy 216–17, 218 God’s rejection of 211, 212, 213ff. will of 209; see also sufferings of the damned Dante 65, 135 Davis, Stephen 4 Day of Judgement see Last Judgement de facto 59 dead, the 98, 99 death 2, 15, 19, 45, 46, 74, 98, 99, 100, 130, 141, 187, 206 deception 12 decisions 71, 74, 104, 123, 142, 175 conditional 142 by God 209 deduction 148 defect 121, 128, 130, 131 degree 48, 49 denizens ( of hell) 71, 79, 95, 96, 135ff., 142–4, 152–3 free choice of 77, 97, 172–3; see also damned; sinners deontic status 124 depression 61 desert 124, 125, 151, 153, 157, 158, 160, 213 negative 124 positive 124 desires 16, 31, 59, 69, 79–80, 158, 183 to be in hell 79 defective 128 disordered 204–5, 216 elimination of 39, 41 ends of 202 first-order 70, 71, 72, 73, 75, 80 for heaven 165 and knowledge 35 second-order 70, 72, 73, 75, 80 to sin 33, 34, 35, 39, 40 weakening of 40 destiny 24 destructive behaviour 12, 13, 14, 25, 33–4, 81 determinism 104–5, 111 difference 10 morally significant 11 dignity 157, 160, 218

Index disability 187, 191, 193, 198 disabled children 188–9, 191, 193 disagreements 165, 197, 198 discovery 23, 26, 27 disease 207 disincentive 120 disobedience 4, 21, 92, 93, 127, 151 disordered soul 138 divine action 78, 155 divine attributes 53 divine essence 204; see also beatific vision divine foreknowledge 2, 12, 14, 17, 88, 104, 105, 106 divine frustration 18, 77, 78, 89–90, 136, 144, 217, 218 divine intervention 37–41 divine judgement 45; see also God’s justice; judgement divine providence 170, 171 strong view of 104, 105–6, 107, 108 divine supremacy 61–3, 64 doctrine of hell (DH) 1–2, 67, 133, 163, 179, 180, 186, 194 and annihilationism 53–6ff., 61, 64 constraints on 133–4ff. defence of 29, 43, 151–2, 159, 161, 213, 218 generic definition 203–5 and God’s justice 54–5, 57 and God’s moral perfection 53–63 objections to 1, 29, 45–6, 54ff., 67ff., 136, 137–8ff., 143–4, 153–4, 196, 198, 199, 200, 216ff. solutions to 2–6 species of 199–200, 206, 213–18; see also God justifying reasons; hell; problem of hell doctrines 134, 148, 179, 180, 185, 186, 194, 196, 197, 198 Dostoevsky 184–5 double election 155 driving while intoxicated 190–91, 193 drug addicts 15, 16, 34, 39, 80–81 choice of 32–3, 69 unwilling 80 willing 81, 82 dualism, cosmic 61 duration 125, 141

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infinite 124, 139 duties 113, 122, 123, 127, 191 of God 201, 203, 210 to have children 179, 181–3, 185, 190 earthly life 17, 18, 24, 27, 36, 83, 84, 101, 125, 126, 140, 141, 142, 152 Edwards, Jonathan 16, 65, 103, 172 Ekstrom, Laura 9, 10, 14 elect 155 empirical beliefs 23 emptiness 2, 74 encounter 25 end 7, 9, 30, 85, 130, 149, 166 ends 112, 113, 202, 210–11, 212, 215 enemies 96 enslavement 33, 42 environment 158, 188, 191 Ephesians 7, 27, 91, 92, 98 epistemic problems 13, 35n., 52, 187, 196, 197, 198 error 17, 18, 19, 23, 25, 109, 168, 177, 206 escapism 3–4, 67, 74, 77–90, 100, 115, 116, 117, 139, 142 and Christian finality 77, 78, 83–9 defence of 77, 78, 90 and God’s plans 89–90 and heaven 83, 84–6 and hell as a good 77, 78, 79–83 objections to 83, 84, 87, 89 and punishment 129, 131, 132 and universalism 89, 90 eschatology 3, 68, 77, 84, 87, 88, 111, 164 denial of 100 eschaton 78, 88, 90 eternal damnation 29, 109 eternal life 36, 55, 85, 112, 126, 134, 165, 204 eternal punishment 1, 2, 54–5, 136, 149–50, 197 defence of 151–2 eternity 1, 2, 3, 77, 87, 94, 96, 97, 102, 115, 116, 133 meaning of 150 of moral degeneracy 216–17, 218 rejection of God for 32–7, 100 salvation for 100

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ethics 166, 167, 168, 183, 185; see also morality eudaimonism 34 euthanasia 189 Eve 176 everlasting punishment see eternal punishment evidence 25 evil 4, 32, 51, 92, 121, 149, 152, 206–8 anti-theistic argument from 105, 107, 108 choice of 176–7 consequences of 33–5, 47 damage by 52 degrees of 48, 49, 53 existence of 1 inflicted by God 139, 140, 208, 216 kinds of 34 nature of 34, 49 problem of 1, 4, 38, 108, 184; see also ancillary evils; experiential evils; objective evils; positive evils evil action 32 exaggeration 133 exception cases 135, 136 exclusivism, Christian 15, 108, 109, 178, 179, 180, 186 problems of 196, 198 existence 5, 25, 29, 58, 67, 116, 125, 141, 146–7, 156, 183–4 absolute 48, 49 and being 48, 49, 209–10 in a certain respect 48 of God 105, 107, 146, 147, 156ff. in hell 153; see also hell, existence of Existence Thesis 67, 74 experience 11, 12, 15, 16, 23, 24, 25, 33, 35, 36, 39, 42, 65, 66, 207 of divine essence 204 of eternal suffering 135, 138, 139 finite 140, 141, 143 as grounding condition 133, 134 of hell 141–2 infinite 141 of misery 139–40 experiential evils 207, 208 ex-persons 75 ‘extrinsic view’ 153

facts 47, 111, 134, 147, 148, 159 failure 30 faith 7, 22, 24 authentic Christian 186, 194, 195, 197–8 false assumptions 25, 164 false beliefs 52, 60 false consciousness 101 families 196 fantasies 12, 13 fathers 175–6; see also parents fears 14, 16 Feinberg, Joel 191 figurative language 94, 141, 142, 150 finality 77, 78ff., 100, 101; see also consummation finite actions 126–9 finite creatures 54, 55 finite experience 141, 143 finite punishment 120 finite series 32 finite sin 138 finite suffering 116, 140, 143 fire 55, 65, 69, 94, 117, 133, 137, 149, 159, 163, 205 as metaphor 150, 155 symbolism of 137, 141, 143 Flint, Thomas 104, 105 flourishing 158 foolishness 66 forgiveness 26, 94, 96, 100, 146, 151 form 48, 49 Frankfurt, Harry 3, 68, 70, 72–3, 75, 79–80, 81 free action 11, 29, 31, 40, 41 concept of 70; see also free choices free agents 8, 13, 16, 29 free choices 8, 9, 17, 23, 24, 25, 96, 97, 112, 113, 155, 156, 164, 173, 174 and character formation 9–13, 25 conditions of 104 of damned 211, 215 endless series of 32, 33 and God’s actions 78, 209 and inevitability of sin 110 necessary condition of 32 number of 32

Index and rejection of God 29–30ff., 36, 37–8, 41ff., 176 removal of 38–9; see also infernal voluntarism free will 2, 3, 22, 23, 29, 70, 104–5, 107, 108, 110, 143, 144 loss of 71, 72 necessary condition of 72 override of 177; see also free action; free choices freedom 7, 13, 22, 29, 32, 42, 120, 128, 152, 177, 178, 211 counterfactuals of 108, 110, 111, 112 first-order 59 and ignorance 40, 41 morally significant 38 second-order 59 to sin 38, 143 weak sense 209; see also free action; free choices; free will; libertarianism frustration see divine frustration future 7, 97, 105, 116, 140, 142, 157 persons 191, 198 statements about 147–8, 157 Gandhi 109 Geach, Peter 1 Genesis 179, 181, 182 Gentiles 98, 99 geography 115, 195, 196 gift 7, 78, 92, 152, 180, 181 global perspective 194–5, 217 God 13, 24, 26, 30, 182, 198 actions of 201, 202, 210, 212, 213 affront to 218 attributes of 93, 94, 145 choices by 113, 155, 209, 210, 211, 216 creation of persons by 17–20 culpability of 3, 4 decisions of 209 defeat of 62, 210, 217, 218 duties of 201, 203, 210 and evils 208, 216 fairness of 174 foreknowledge of see divine foreknowledge

225

free decisions of 107 goodness of 1, 3, 54, 57–8, 67, 107, 111, 151 hatred of 205 intervention of 37–41, 42 meaning of 145, 146 moral character of 2, 6, 200, 201, 210, 212, 213 moral perfection of 46, 54, 57–8, 64 motivation of 78, 88, 120, 200, 201–3, 208, 211, 212, 216; see also Godjustifying reasons nature of 62–3, 67, 93, 94, 119, 134, 136 and non-Christians 170, 171 punishment inflicted by 139, 208, 216 purposes of 3, 4, 85, 89, 104, 106, 218 rebellion against 62, 63 rejection of damned by 211, 212, 213ff., 217–18 responsibility of 20, 21, 105, 112, 156 right to punish 118, 126, 131 and sin 217, 218 and time limits 87 unable to save damned 209, 210, 211, 212 unable to send persons to hell 119ff. will of 2, 30, 31, 34, 108, 201, 209, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217 wronging of 127, 129; see also God, existence of; God’s justice; God’s love; image of God; rejection of God; separation from God; union with God; wrath of God God, existence of 5, 25, 146, 147, 156, 157 arguments against 105, 107, 145, 146, 147, 148, 159, 161 God justifying reasons 199, 200–203, 208, 209ff., 213ff. God’s justice 54–5, 57, 78, 97, 115ff., 134, 138, 148, 159 contradiction of 136, 137, 143 and eternal punishment 151 and grace 92 and unrepentant sinners 147 God’s love 3, 59, 62, 63, 68, 71, 91, 92, 93, 102, 108, 111, 113–14, 121, 138, 155, 174

226

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contradiction of 136, 138–9, 143, 148, 186, 211 and damnation 200ff., 215, 217 and God’s actions 78 defeat of 62 and hell 77, 79, 97, 151 post-mortem response to 100 God’s plans 77, 78, 89–90, 136, 144 defeat of 218 good 3, 4, 19, 35, 36, 38, 51, 69, 130, 151, 184, 2004 aggregative theory 79, 82–3 of creation 114 greater 176 of having children 179, 180–81, 187 and hell 77, 78, 79–83, 116, 131, 132 lesser 176 of persons 114 qualitative 79–80, 82 quantitative 79, 81, 122–3; see also supreme good good actions 202 good character 9, 11, 12, 16–17, 24, 25, 125 source of 14 good choices 12, 17 good motives 124, 202 good works 14, 20, 21 goodness 107, 176 and being 47–9; see also good; good character gospel 98, 99, 100, 153 ignorance of 108–9, 163 Gould, James B. 21 grace 2, 3, 4, 51, 82, 88, 102, 143 definition of 92 and justice 92 and libertarianism 102 limits on 20, 23 and mercy 21–2 and non-believers 97 operation of 24–7 resistance to 7 traditions 20–24 and wrath 93, 94 gratitude 23, 127 Great Divorce, The (Lewis) 43, 66, 74, 155, 159, 171, 172, 173

greater good 112, 113 Gregory of Nazianzus 98 grounding condition 5, 118, 119, 133, 134, 136 guilt 16, 21, 101, 189 Hades 98, 99 happiness 33, 35, 37, 39, 134, 187, 204 Christian view of 164 in heaven 135, 136, 144 in hell 135 rejection of 135; see also beatific vision harms 93, 127, 186 absence of 183, 186 and having children 185, 187, 192–5 and risk-creation 190 severe 193, 194ff. harrowing of hell 97–8 hatred 96, 135, 205 hearts 96, 97, 102 heaven 3, 4, 37, 39, 66, 79, 120, 121, 123, 130, 131, 155 choice of 164, 165, 169, 173 consummation of 83, 84–6 existence of 125 happiness in 135, 136, 144 and hell, 111, 123, 125, 132, 136, 144 rejection of 96 transfer to 97 well-being in 82 Hebrews, book of 100 hell badness of 154 ‘being in’ 153, 154, 158 belief in 145 choice of 79, 96, 97, 164, 169, 172–3, 175; see also infernal voluntarism delays in consignment to 100 deserving of 54, 55, 56 duration of 53, 54, 93 emptiness of 2 eternity of 93, 94, 97, 102, 134 experience of 141–2 finality of 77, 78, 83, 86–9 as genuine threat 135, 136, 143 good of 77, 78, 79–83, 116, 131, 132, 151

Index gradations of 96 and heaven 111, 112, 123, 125 hybrid view of 73, 74 imposition of 115, 119, 120 inhabitants of 152–3 life in 157 meaning of 146 mild views of 55, 56 nature of 54, 55–6, 65–6, 94–6, 115– 17, 133, 135, 138, 141, 154, 160 opportunities in 78 reasons for 43, 151–2159 strong doctrine of 137 versions of 5–6, 136, 137 weak doctrine of 136, 137; see also doctrine of hell (DH); hell, existence of; problem of hell; sufferings of the damned hell, existence of 3, 5, 29, 74, 77, 97, 125, 126, 129, 133–44, 146, 147, 156 in New Testament 136, 137, 143–4 objections to 133, 134, 137–8ff., 143–4, 148 Helm, Paul 21–2 Henry, Matthew 154 Hick, John 11, 170 hierarchy (of motives) 202, 203, 213 higher-order goods 123 higher-order motives 202 Himma, Kenneth 5 Hinduism 109, 166, 194 history 104, 105, 106, 148–52, 168, 171 Hitler 8, 14, 24, 52–3, 96, 112, 121, 136 Hobbes, Thomas 92, 93 holiness 151, 160, 161, 167 hope 92, 102 horrors 94, 103 human beings 51, 54, 74, 115, 127, 134, 142, 152, 167 infinity of acts 129 punishment of 119ff. purpose of 85 sacrifice of 112–13 saved and unsaved 111, 112, 123; see also creatures; persons human nature 68, 92 hybrid theory 212

227

ignorance 14, 18, 22, 24, 31, 97, 101, 102, 108–9, 110, 111, 128, 176, 207 and freedom 40, 41 and punishment 119 removal of 40 of those in heaven 136, 144 illness 188, 205, 206, 207 illusion 19, 22, 23, 25 image of God 51, 53, 59, 85, 147, 157, 160 imagery 65, 66 imagination 65, 66, 168, 215 immoral behaviour 34, 35, 139 immoral choices 10, 12 beneficial effects of 11, 25; see also bad character; bad choices imposition 69 incarnation 5 inclusivism 194 incompatibilism wide-source 86 inconsistency 67, 86, 102, 107, 134 logical 146, 147, 148, 153 indeterminism 9, 18, 24 individuals 24, 93, 114, 116, 123 existent 183 possible 184; see also creatures; persons infants 51, 97, 119, 142 suffering of 184–5, 188–9 unbaptized 133, 134, 135, 143 inference 186 infernal voluntarism 164, 165–6, 169–74, 178 objections to 174–8 infinite acts 128–9 infinite attitudes 125 infinite gain 120 infinite intensity 124, 125 infinite loss 126, 130, 138 infinity 4, 93, 115, 116, 122, 129, 130 finite experience of 140–41 of punishment 54, 55, 121, 123–4, 126–30, 136, 138, 139 character-based 124–5 of well-being 79 information 60, 175, 176, 197 ingratitude 15 injustice 5, 97, 98, 99, 130, 138, 139

228

The Problem of Hell

insanity 119, 120 instantiation 48, 49 intellect 142, 204, 206, 216 intellectual motives 202–3, 210, 213 higher-order 202, 210 lower-order 202 intensity 124, 125, 139 intentions 80, 82, 84, 85, 126, 129, 142 defect in 131 interference 57 interpretation 46, 54, 133 intervention 36, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 130, 211 intrinsic property 116 intrinsic value 203 ‘intrinsic view’ 153 intuitions 124, 127, 179, 184, 188, 189, 190, 192, 193, 198 ipso facto 59 irreparable harm 37, 38, 41 issuantism 3, 77, 79, 83 Jews 99, 171, 194 John 97, 99 joy 40, 96, 173, 180, 183, 204 judgement 84, 91, 92, 94, 174, 175, 202; see also Last Judgement just war theory 112 justice 1, 4, 5, 21, 57, 71, 147, 157, 159, 160, 212, 214, 218 and infinite punishment 115, 117–19ff., 132, 136, 138–9, 143 post-mortem 147 retributive 213, 214 violation of 136, 137; see also God’s justice Kane Robert 2, 9, 10, 11–12, 86 Kant 112, 113, 152 karma 101 Kershnar, Stephen 4 kindness 21, 22, 93, 94 Knight, Gordon 4 knowledge 4, 14, 15, 31, 32, 35, 40, 41, 123, 143, 144, 176, 192 defect in 128, 131 God’s 104, 105, 157 kinds of 51–2

Kretzmann, Norman 47 Kronen, John 5, 6 Kvanvig, Jonathan 1, 57–61, 67, 68, 71, 74–5, 83–4, 88, 100–101, 127, 200n. language 88, 133, 150 Last Battle, The (Lewis) 169–70 Last Judgement 88, 134, 142, 150, 175 law 191; see also moral law Lazarus 94–5 learning 11, 25, 33 Leibniz 201n. Lewis, C. S. 5, 27, 43, 66, 68, 74, 75, 155, 159, 165–6, 178 and infernal voluntarism 164, 169, 172–4 and religion 166–8ff. liability 193 libertarianism 2, 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 22, 29, 31, 86, 209, 215, 218 defence of 29 and grace 102 and Molinism 104, 107, 108, 111 lies 190 life 36, 39, 40, 96, 99, 101, 109, 125, 141, 142, 153, 181, 183, 206 gift of 152, 180 in hell 112, 139, 155, 157 sufferings of 187–8; see also afterlife; earthly life; eternal life life after death see afterlife life histories 9, 12, 13 light 206 limbo 135 limitations 20, 23, 37, 62, 86, 114, 160 on suffering 116 limited election 20, 22, 24 locations 82, 131 logic 27, 90, 106, 107, 109, 111, 123, 146, 147, 148, 153, 194, 212, 214 loss 49, 70, 71, 72, 135, 154–5, 158, 160, 187, 206 awareness of 3, 69, 75, 135 of consciousness 216 eternal 205 misery of 138–9; see also infinite loss

Index love 2, 3, 8, 15, 20, 21, 23, 59, 62, 83, 152, 157, 160, 180 absence of 205 and free will 23 of God 204 parental 114 undeserved 22; see also God’s love; self-love lower-order motives 202 Lucifer 176 Luke 95, 117 Luther 150, 151 Mackie, J. L. 107 ‘McTargett condition’ 5, 134, 137 manipulation 11, 25, 38, 112, 113, 114, 181 Mark 94 marriage 179, 181–2 Matthew 95, 98, 100, 101, 117, 149, 150 meaning 26, 42 means 112, 113, 126, 210, 211, 212, 215 Melanchthon 204 mental defect 128 mental life 142, 144 mental states 124, 125 mentally ill people 24, 51, 97 mercy 20, 21–2, 62, 92, 216 and God’s wrath 93–4 metaphor 94, 95, 150 metaphysical necessity 194 metaphysical suicide 57–61 metaphysical worth 158, 160 metaphysics 11, 18, 61 Middle East 195 middle knowledge 4, 107, 123 misery 33, 34, 40, 45, 54, 96, 103, 154 choice of 173, 175 as constraint 133 degrees of 135, 136, 143 endless 138, 139, 142, 143 and loss 138–9 modal claims 86 de dicto 86 de re 86 Molina, Luis de 105, 106 Molinism 4, 104–14 advantages of 106, 107

229

and counterfactuals 106–7, 108, 110, 111, 112 criticism of 104–5, 114 defence of 108 and God’s knowledge 105–6 and libertarianism 104, 107, 108 saved and lost souls 111–12 and suffering 108 moments 26, 31, 38, 42, 83, 86, 87, 88, 116, 140, 141, 171, 209 monotheism 145, 148, 157 and denial of hell 153–4 moral agents 16, 85, 86, 135, 143 children as 187 moral bad 184, 185, 186, 197 moral character 2, 6, 7, 56, 201, 204, 210 and change 84–5 formation of 9–13 and infinite punishment 124–6 Paul on 13–15, 16 responsibility for 8 moral choices 2, 3, 5, 8, 32 moral consciousness 17, 31 moral corruption 16 moral degeneracy, eternal 216–17, 218 moral development 101 moral duties 5, 187, 191 moral equilibrium 92, 93, 94 moral error 109 moral experience 15 moral good 180–81, 183, 184, 185, 188, 197, 212 moral hazards 187–8ff., 192 moral impediment 210, 211 moral improvement 24 moral law 15, 20, 80, 158, 167 moral perfection 53–63, 92, 201, 202 moral principles 193, 198, 211 moral reasons 122, 210, 212 moral responsibility 8, 10, 13, 31, 86, 105, 120, 124 loss of 128 moral rights 127, 189 moral sanctification 204 moral struggle 8, 26 moral vision 8, 11, 14, 22 moral worth 158

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The Problem of Hell

morality 92, 94, 98, 182, 191, 195, 197, 198, 204, 212 Mormonism 117 mothers 8, 189 unmarried 191–2 motivations 2–3, 9, 10, 14, 35, 42, 78, 79, 84, 119–20, 131, 181, 183, 201–3 and actions 201–2 and annihilationism 46ff., 53ff. and desert 124 and desires 80–81 and divine supremacy 61–3 and God’s moral perfection 53–63, 202, 203, 213 hierarchy of 202–3 ‘natural consequence’ 2, 3, 47–52, 64 ‘penalty model’ 3 and retribution 208, 215 to sin 33, 34; see also affective motives; bad motives; good motives; intellectual motives Murray, Michael 3, 11, 68, 69–72, 73, 74 Muslims 194, 196, 198 mystery 43 myths 167–8, 170, 174, 176 natural consequence model 2, 3, 47–52, 64, 68–72, 97 naturalism 45, 151 nature 92, 118, 158 necessary condition 10, 18, 19, 32, 72, 164, 170, 194, 196 necessary truths 90, 106, 107, 147, 148, 156, 157, 159 necessity 22, 35, 36, 92, 97, 187, 194 negative choice-consequence 120 New Life Principle (NLP) 192–3, 194ff., 198 New Testament 14, 20, 34, 94, 95, 97–8, 101, 117 and hell 136, 137, 143–4 No-Escape Thesis 67, 74, 115, 117, 131, 132 non-belief 109, 111 non-Christians 5, 31, 46, 97, 98, 108–9, 111, 163, 185, 194, 196, 198 and God 170, 171 and universalism 164

non-existence 46, 47, 49, 53, 58, 116, 139, 146, 147, 158, 197, 210 non-existent persons 183, 184, 185, 186 wrongs against 191 non-sequitur 5 numinous, the 166, 167, 169, 170 obedience 92, 127, 211 object 70, 80, 82, 204 objective evils 207, 208, 216 objective value 204 obligation 21, 61, 139, 192 oblivion 216; see also annhilation Old Testament 98 omnipotence 104, 107, 143, 145, 209, 217 omniscience 104, 105, 143, 145, 217 open door policy 84, 87 Open Theists 148 options 31, 32, 38, 39, 60, 96, 110, 113, 142 Origen 149 original sin 133, 143 orthonomous actions 85–6 others 26, 34, 40, 96, 112, 113, 125, 152, 158 wronging of 127 outcomes 78, 87, 119, 122, 197, 216 overpopulation 182, 198 pagans 97, 98, 166, 168, 169; see also nonChristians pains 51, 69, 70, 71, 73, 96, 125, 135, 154, 184–5, 187, 188, 205, 214 absence of 185, 197 amount of 139–40 and conscious suffering 207 of unregenerate 215 Paloutzian, Raymond F. 196 parables 95 paradise 98, 165 parents 37, 113, 114, 127, 128, 157, 175–6, 177, 179, 180, 183, 186, 189, 191, 192 religious beliefs of 195, 196 passions 75, 138 paternalism 57, 58, 61 Paul, St 24, 25, 63, 93, 94, 98, 99, 158, 164 on creation 17–20

Index on grace 7–8, 9, 20, 24–7 on involuntary sin 15–17 and mercy 22 on moral character 13–15, 16 as sinner 13–14, 17 unwilling actions of 80 ‘penalty model’ 3 perceptions 60, 140–41 Perelandra (Lewis) 167, 172 perfection 49, 198, 201, 202, 204 personhood 2, 51, 72 persons 11, 13, 39, 45, 49, 80, 85, 200 creation of 17–18, 147 and evils 207–8 existence of 147, 156 good of 114 in hell 74, 75, 115, 153 non-existent 183ff., 191 realized 158, 159, 160 survival of 52–3 value of 5, 157, 158 and wantons 73–4 worth of 157–60; see also creatures; human beings persuasion 90 Peter 14, 98 Philippians 99, 101 philosophers 66, 135, 176, 182, 215 philosophy 22, 29, 46, 47, 48, 133, 134, 136, 138, 157, 160, 166, 198, 200, 212 physical nature 19 Pinnock, Clark 61, 62 pity 21, 22 place 74, 82, 83, 84, 103, 152 Plantinga, Alvin 4, 19, 20, 85, 107, 110, 209 Plato 99, 138, 148, 176 pleasure 116, 126, 184, 185 absence of 184, 185, 197 Plug, Allen 3, 4 pluralism see religious diversity; see also non-Christians population 82, 87, 152–3 positive evils 206, 207, 208 possibilities 110, 184, 212 possible circumstances 106 possible persons 191, 198

231

possible worlds 86, 90, 107, 110, 112, 122, 123 post-mortem conditions 36 post-mortem evangelism 4, 97, 98, 100 post-mortem justice 147 post-mortem punishment 5 post-mortem salvation 2, 12, 98, 99–100 post-mortem suicide 57–61 poverty 197 power 1, 62, 93, 138, 201 prayer 170, 197 predestination 7, 9, 24, 105 predetermination 103, 104 preferences 84, 89, 177 pregnancy outside marriage 191–2 premises 11, 14, 58, 59, 119ff.,147, 148, 156, 159, 165 preservation 209, 210 prima facie 189, 200, 201, 202, 203, 209, 210, 213, 217 principles 122, 192, 193 privation 47, 53, 64, 204, 205, 214, 215, 216 probability 190, 192, 193, 194ff. problem of hell 1–2, 3, 4, 6, 67, 68, 69, 70, 77, 91, 103, 110, 114; see also doctrine of hell (DH) Problem of Pain, The (Lewis) 173 procreation see birth progress, moral 26 property rights 127, 128 proportionality 5, 118–19, 179 propositions 25, 116, 146, 148, 156, 165 inconsistency of 4 Protestantism 20, 23, 117, 150 providence 104, 108, 114; see also divine providence Psalms 62, 150, 181 psychology 18, 23, 31, 71, 74, 80, 85, 89, 100, 115, 201, 207 punishment 3, 4–5, 15, 16, 29, 30, 71, 73, 91, 95, 97, 174, 206 as constraint 133 degrees of 56, 135 deserved 15, 41, 68, 124 duration of 4, 53 eternal 150, 160, 205 finite 120

232

The Problem of Hell

infinite 54, 67, 119, 122, 136, 151 and moral character 124–6 inflicted by God 139 and justice 115, 117–19ff., 132, 136, 138–9, 143 ceiling of 118–19 justification of 92 as loss of God 69, 70 notion of 138 right to 118, 126, 131, 132 self-inflicted 68, 69ff. severity of 118, 119 undeserved 54, 55, 136, 151 unjust 130, 136, 143 purgatory 85, 100, 115, 131, 154 purposes 9, 85, 89, 104, 106, 218 qualitative good 79–80, 82 quantitative good 79, 81, 82, 83, 122 question-begging 126, 129 rational agents 18, 24, 25, 72, 82, 89 rational creatures 204, 215, 216 rational suicide argument 59, 60 rationality 2, 11, 16, 17, 18, 24, 31 and earthly suicide 60, 61 notions of 60–61 and post-mortem suicide 57–8, 60 weak form 60, 61 ratios 112 reason 138 reasons 122, 134, 151, 152, 160, 184, 199ff. compelling 212, 214 logical 212, 214 morally good 212, 214 prima facie 189, 202, 210, 213; see also God justifying reasons; moral reasons rebellion 62, 63, 164, 173, 175, 176, 177 reconciliation 26, 69, 89, 90, 92 redemption 19, 20, 77, 111 post-mortem 99; see also divine frustration reductio 186 reflection 39, 60, 61, 81, 82, 154 regret 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 96, 135, 184 reincarnation 101

Reitan, Eric 5, 6 rejection of God 2, 4, 29–30ff., 152, 156 by the damned 209, 211–12, 214 problems of 217–18 choice of 30, 176–7 and Christ 99–100 forever 32–7, 56, 96, 97, 102 forms of 30–31 freely rejecting God 30–32ff. God’s facilitation of 42 God’s refusal of 37–41 and God’s supremacy 62–3 and non-Christians 109 and non-existence 59 and self-love 69 relationships 11, 38, 59, 114, 127, 194, 209 relativism 92 religions 109, 166–8, 171 common elements 168, 174 religious beliefs 23, 195–6 religious diversity 109 problem of 5, 163, 164–5 remorse 189, 194, 197 reparation 93 repentance 26, 45, 94, 97, 102, 142, 146, 163 refusal of 175 resistance 7, 12, 165, 173, 175 respect 211, 215 responsibility 9, 10, 20, 21, 105, 112, 123, 130, 132, 156 diminishing factors 119, 128 resurrection 45, 99 retribution 5, 15, 16, 67, 74, 83, 95, 96, 99, 149–50, 151, 158 and ancillary evils 208 doctrine 215 and justice 213, 214 and loss 154, 155 and worth of persons 160 Retribution Thesis 67, 71, 72, 74 revelation 5, 39, 90, 93, 133, 134, 137, 143, 167 general 108, 170 and myth 168 Revelation, Book of 100, 117, 150 right 31, 35, 38, 85, 92, 93, 94 right acts 124

Index righteous people 98, 204 righteousness evil effects of 14, 17 rights 118, 119, 126, 127–8, 189 future 191 of God 127 risk 187, 195 creation 190, 194ff. of severe harm 193, 194–8 substantial 193 Romans 15, 22, 80, 91, 92, 94, 98, 101 sacrament 182 sacrifice 112, 197 saints 19 salvation 14, 15, 17, 22, 41, 84, 89, 155 of all 210, 213 chances of 99–100 conditions of 194, 196 easy 197 and God’s will 212, 213 meaning of 203–4 and non-Christians 171–2 opportunities for 78 post-mortem 2, 98, 99–100 and punishment 99 and will of the damned 209, 211, 212 sanctification 204, 218 Satan 176 saved creatures 111, 112, 123, 126, 209, 218 schizophrenics 24 schools 196 scripture 4, 5, 29, 54, 88, 90, 93, 154, 158 and children 181–2 as grounding condition 133, 134, 136, 143; see also Bible; New Testament second-chance concepts 60, 97, 100, 102 secular viewpoint 186 Seinfeld 66 self 52, 166, 177 divided 80 self-awareness 82 self-destruction 177 self-forming action 9, 10, 13, 86 self-governance 176 self-interest 93, 155, 159, 183

233

selfishness 16, 30, 39, 40, 41, 205 self-love 68–9, 70, 71, 72, 73, 75, 152, 206 lack of 205 self-righteousness 14, 66 Sennett, James F. 9 senses 135 separation from God 18, 45, 121 awareness of 207 eternal 102 and God’s plan 78 meaning of 96 sexual relations 192 sexual temptation 12 Shiffrin, Seana 187–8, 191, 192 Sickler, Bradley 5 ‘significant’ 116, 119 sin 16, 18, 19, 34–6, 47, 97, 146, 151, 153 addiction to 41 awareness of 207 destructive effects of 51, 52 endless 32, 33 enslavement to 33, 42 God’s reaction to 92, 217 and ignorance 14 infinite 93 involuntary 15–17 motives to 33, 34 nature of 218 and rejection of God 30, 32ff., 41ff., 100 unforgivable 100 victory of 218; see also bondage; evil; sinners sincerity 92, 109 single election 155 sinners 1, 13, 16, 20, 23, 33–4, 98, 99, 102, 205, 212 attitudes 33–6 free choice of 2, 3, 215 freedom of 38 ignorance of 40–41 persistent 34, 36, 39, 41, 52, 147, 152, 153, 177 suffering of 1, 3, 206 unrepentant 5, 45, 152, 158, 159 will of 69, 70; see also damned; sin Smith, Michael 85 sociology 195

234

The Problem of Hell

Socrates 14, 176, 177 Some Inhabitants Thesis 115, 117, 131, 132 sorrow 135, 184 soul 138, 148, 149, 172, 205, 206 sovereignty 1, 87, 88 space traveler 139–40, 141 spiritual welfare 20, 21 spirituality 19 state 190, 193 state authority 127, 128 statements 147–8, 157 states of affairs 71, 74, 78, 80, 81, 82, 122, 123, 125, 151, 153, 157, 160 states of being 131 statistics 195 stories 26, 27, 95, 166, 168, 174 strong view 67 strong-willed behaviour 11, 12 Stump, Eleonore 47 subject 207 subjective value 204 submission 164 sub-proof 147, 156, 159 substantial form 48, 49 suffering 1, 3, 52, 103, 114, 125, 126, 154, 184, 186, 187–8 absence of 184, 185 amount of 139–40 avoidance of 197 awareness of 207–8 of children 179, 184ff. ; see also birth conscious 207, 208 as constraint 133 deserved 124, 125 eternal 116, 135, 140, 197 experiential 135, 138, 139–40, 207, 208 finite 116, 140, 143 infinite 139 inflicted by God 139, 140, 208 limits on 116 and Molinism 108 and procreation 187 self-inflicted 96 unjust 139; see also punishment; sufferings of the damned sufferings of the damned 205–8, 213–18

ancillary evils of 206, 207, 208, 216 doubts about 216 permitted by God 209, 216 positive evils of 206, 207, 208 and privation of beatific vision 206, 207 sufficient condition 10, 19, 31, 194, 196 sufficient probability 193 suicide 41, 60, 61; see also metaphysical suicide supererogation 20, 21 supernatural 168 supreme good 70, 73 survival 52–3 symbolism 133, 137, 141, 143 symmetry 84 Talbott, Thomas 2, 33–5, 36, 37, 38, 41, 89, 125, 176, 177 teleology 68 temporal locations 82 temptation 8, 12, 31 terrorism, religious 14 Tertullian 149 theodicy 19, 43 theism 86, 107, 147 theologians 215 theology 160, 201, 218 Thessalonians 94, 95, 101, 117 Thomism 47, 48 thought-experiment 139 time 18, 38, 42, 46, 53, 82, 83, 86, 87, 116, 129, 131, 140, 141, 160 ‘last’ 87, 88 I Timothy 13, 97, 181 torment 65, 69, 95, 117, 133, 137, 150, 179, 180, 186, 194, 197, 205, 207, 208, 215 torture 30, 55, 56, 150, 154, 184, 201 traditional concepts 103 traditions 20, 45, 47, 109, 117, 133, 134, 136 tragedy 30, 113, 159 transfer 126, 129 transformation 13, 25, 40, 85 transition 73, 74 transworld damnation 110, 111, 123 transworld depravity 110

Index

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trust 11, 23 trustworthiness 5, 134 truth 52, 90, 106, 107, 147, 157, 168, 194, 196, 208

second-order 70, 71, 72, 73, 80, 81, 82; see also infernal voluntarism; will volitional capacities 53 voluntary actions 11

unbelievers 109 unconsciousness 207, 216 unfaithful behaviour 11 union with God 18, 25, 26, 27, 40, 41, 136, 142, 143, 144, 204 United States 188, 195 universalism 2, 4, 5, 33, 45, 46, 53, 97, 102, 116, 146, 149, 153, 170, 194, 210, 213 defect of 165 and divine frustration 89, 144 and escapism 89, 90 and non-Christians 164 and punishment 131, 132 universe 4, 104, 105 unloving actions 78 unregenerate sinners 215 uptake 126, 129 utilitarianism 185

Walls, Jerry 2, 3, 200n. wantons 3, 72–5, 80, 81, 82 and persons 73–4 Weak Pareto principle 122 weakness 17 weak-willed behaviour 11, 12, 69, 128 wealth 197 welfare 200, 206, 211 well-being 127 in hell 79, 121 infinitely negative 115–16, 117, 130, 132 levels of 116 quantity of 82, 83, 122–3, 125 of wantons 81 wicked being 134, 137 wickedness 91, 151, 207, 214 confirmed in 217, 218; see also bad character; moral bad will 12, 13, 17, 23, 38, 39, 69–70, 72, 75, 79, 80, 173, 204 against people’s 69, 70, 71, 73, 91, 96, 164, 178 antecedent 201 concept of 70 consequent 201 damage to 51 of damned 209 defect in 128, 138 and future actions 142 lack of 69; see also infernal voluntarism Williams, Bernard 13 wisdom 66, 127, 151, 170, 176, 182 women, unmarried 191–2 works 7; see also actions; good works world 92, 93, 103, 104, 106, 107, 114, 121, 188; see also possible worlds worm 94, 150, 154, 155, 159 worth 153, 204, 218 higher 159 intrinsic 157, 160 metaphysical 158, 160

vagueness 193 value 13, 38, 116, 203, 210, 218 and escapism, 79–83 of freedom 41, 120 intrinsic 112, 113 objective 204, 216 of persons 5, 114 subjective 204; see also values value theories 79, 82 values 125, 158, 160, 183, 204, 216 location of 82, 122 VanArragon, Ray 2 Vargas, Manuel 13 via media 215, 216 vice 124, 125, 135 victims 118, 126, 190, 218 violence 14 virtue 14, 24, 124, 125, 205 virtuous persons 7, 8, 11; see also good character; moral character vision 204; see also beatific vision volition 131, 165

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The Problem of Hell

moral 158 non-moral 158 positive 153, 157, 159 wrath of God 4, 91, 92, 155, 175 and grace 93, 94 and mercy 93–4 purpose of 92, 93 wrong 31, 32, 92, 93, 94, 107, 127, 128

acts 124, 189, 190, 192, 193 to have children 186, 188–93, 195, 196, 198 infinite 115, 128, 129, 130 wrongful life lawsuits 191 Yandell, Keith 5