The Severity of Hell: A Philosophical Perspective

I have heard it said that few persons 'like' hell. All other things being equal, they would prefer a world in which hell (or something like it) did not exist than a world in which it (or something like it) did exist. Indeed, I have even heard it said that, even when hell is a morally obligatory[1] state-of-affairs, they dislike it. I have sympathy for the former position, although not as much for the latter. It seems to me that, if the existence of hell is morally obligatory and we believe it is obligatory, then if we should (morally speaking) 'like' when moral obligations are accomplished, then we should (morally speaking) 'like' when the existence of a morally obligatory hell is accomplished, or brought about.[2]

What is the traditional Christian view of hell, and what are its origins? It is right to point out that some doctrine of a bad side of the afterlife is espoused by Old Testament writers in various passages. However, these passages are, in my view, relatively unclear as to the nature and purpose of hell, and it seems that the clearest and most prominent passages on hell are in the New Testament accounts. In the Gospel of Matthew (13:41-32), Jesus speaks of 'The Son of Man' and what he will do:

The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil. They will throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Also in Matthew, Jesus claims that hell will be a place of "outer darkness" (Matt. 8:12, 22:13, 25:30). Saint John, in the Book of Revelation, indicates that those present in hell "shall be tortured with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and of the Lamb" (Rev. 14:10). Even more frighteningly, "the smoke of their torment ascends up forever and ever: and they have no rest day or night" (Rev. 14:11).

Christian creeds are also relevant to historic Christian teachings on the doctrine of hell. Some of the earliest creeds don't say much about the doctrine. For example, the Apostles' Creed merely claims that "Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord," "descended into hell" and "will return again to judge the living and the dead." This suggests that a positive teaching of hell existed in some form during the early church. The Quicumque Vult, or Athanasian Creed, teaches that "unless a person keeps [the Catholic faith] whole and entire, he will undoubtedly be lost forever." It also claims that Christ "descended into hell," "shall come to judge the living and the dead," that everyone will "give an account of their own deeds," and that "those who have done evil will go into the everlasting fire."

These doctrines have been challenged on moral grounds for a very long time. One common criticism is that the punishment experienced by the damned is disproportional to the crimes they committed. David Lewis, former professor of philosophy at Princeton University, defends this view:

Although those who elaborate the orthodox account are sometimes concerned with the fit between crime and punishment, there is no possibility of a genuine balance. For the punishment of the damned is infinitely disproportionate to their crimes. Even the worst of this-worldly offenders is only capable of inflicting a finite amount of suffering. However many times that offender endures the exact agony he caused, there will still be an infinite number of repetitions to come.[3]

Lewis goes on to argue that it is morally impermissible for us to admire people (like Christians) who approve of such torture. In a similar vein, Bertrand Russell, in his book Why I am Not a Christian, explained that he admired Christ's moral teachings but that, in the end, "There is one very serious defect to my mind in Christ's moral character, and that is that He believed in hell. I do not myself feel that anyone who is really profoundly humane can believe in everlasting punishment."[4] These passages are indicative of a larger community of thought that sees traditional views of hell as morally heinous.

Not surprisingly, Christians have attempted to make plausible responses to objections like these. I won't bother mentioning all of the responses that have been made to the objections, but I will (briefly) mention one. I have heard some people claim that hell is a place where the redeemed are almost happy[5], and that hell is not so bad as defenders of eternal conscious torment claim. I more or less agree with David Lewis[6], who offers the following argument:

(P1) Either the metaphor for eternal, conscious torment punishment (in the NT texts) is very similar to eternal, conscious torment, or it isn't.

(P2) If the metaphor for eternal, conscious torment (in the NT texts) is very similar to eternal conscious torment, then the move from 'literal' to 'metaphor' makes no moral difference.

(P3) If the metaphor for eternal, conscious torment (in the NT texts) isn't very similar to eternal, conscious torment, then language of Scripture (in the NT texts) is severely and objectionably misleading.

(C1) Therefore, either the move from 'literal' to 'metaphor' makes no moral difference or the language of Scripture is severely and objectionably misleading.

It would be rather objectionable, I think, if the New Testament language about hell, which certainly seems to indicate eternal, conscious torment, actually indicated something far less severe, perhaps like watching a Tom Berenger[7] movie or breaking a nail. Of course, I am open to being corrected on this matter. Perhaps this objection assumes (wrongly) that the New Testament texts can accurately be read apart from their historical and cultural contexts. "If we were first-century Jews," I can imagine it being argued, "we wouldn't interpret the texts in this way. We would know that the language is an exaggeration of what hell is going to be like." But I see no reason to believe that hell was not seen as severe by first-century Jews. Indeed, I would be extremely surprised to learn that Jewish culture at any time prior to the contemporary scene thought of hell as anything less than horribly bad, (in part) given how many times they condemned their worst enemies to hell. (Surely they weren't wishing their worst enemies only quasi-evils.)

I will shortly offer an account of how traditional Christian views of hell can be morally justified. However, before I offer my account, I think it would be helpful to have in mind exactly what traditional Christian views of hell amount to. I will offer a concise articulation of those views:

H is the traditional Christian view of hell = def. H is a place and/or psychological state wherein those who have freely rejected God are subjected to a continually 'bad' state of affairs, such that for any experience e had by some damned person S at some time t, e is bad for S at t.

What does it mean for an experience to be 'bad' for someone? Let us say that some experience e is bad for someone S at t if and only if e is incompatible with the well-being[8] of S at t. (Here's a more negative way of saying this: Some experience e is bad for someone S at t if and only if the failure of e's occurrence would have been compatible with the well-being of S at t.) To say that something is 'incompatible' with the well-being of S (I'll continue to use 'S' as an easy shorthand) is to say, roughly, (1) that S has certain characteristics such that are essential to S's physiological and psychological health, the accomplishment of S's (other) higher-order interests (like a state of general comfort, metaphysical freedom, etc.); and (2) that it is logically possible for there to exist features of reality that detract from S's well-being in the aforementioned senses. In other words, something is incompatible with S's well-being if and only if that something detracts from those features which are essential to S's well-being.

Central to the morally justifying view of hell that I will articulate and defend is the notion that those who persist in evil prevent themselves from being in a good state, a state of eternal beatitude with God. They do, in a word, keep themselves in a place and/or state that is bad for them. I will conclude by considering an objection.

I begin with some observations by Saint Augustine of Hippo. According to Augustine, evil is merely privatio boni, or 'privation of good':

And in the universe, even that which is called evil, when it is regulated and put in its own place, only enhances our admiration of the good; for we enjoy and value the good more when we compare it with the evil. For the Almighty God, who, as even the heathen acknowledge, has supreme power over all things, being Himself supremely good, would never permit the existence of anything evil among His works, if He were not so omnipotent and good that He can bring good even out of evil. For what is that which we call evil but the absence of good? In the bodies of animals, disease and wounds mean nothing but the absence of health; for when a cure is effected, that does not mean that the evils which were present—namely, the diseases and wounds—go away from the body and dwell elsewhere: they altogether cease to exist; for the wound or disease is not a substance, but a defect in the fleshly substance,—the flesh itself being a substance, and therefore something good, of which those evils—that is, privations of the good which we call health—are accidents. Just in the same way, what are called vices in the soul are nothing but privations of natural good. And when they are cured, they are not transferred elsewhere: when they cease to exist in the healthy soul, they cannot exist anywhere else.[9]

Is Augustine right about any of this? His view is sometimes criticized for overlooking neutral actions, states of affairs, characters, and so on. He seems to presume that necessarily, something is either good or it is evil. But some things are clearly neutral (absent extremely special circumstances): for example, the action whereby I moved my pen two inches to my left. Perhaps there is a genuine distinction between being morally good and being morally neutral. On this interpretation of Augustine, it might seem his view is incorrect. (In a moment, I will contend otherwise.) But suppose we were to interpret Augustine as saying necessarily, something is either morally permissible (okay to do) or it is morally impermissible (not okay to do). This is a necessary truth, since there is no third option and one of the options must be true. If we interpret Augustine in this way, then the example of moving my pen two inches to my left is not a counterexample to Augustine's views. That action is morally permissible; there is nothing wrong with doing it. It therefore falls into one of the categories of Augustine's disjunction (i.e., it is permissible) and is therefore not an exception to Augustine's disjunction.[10]


No doubt some will argue that this contorts the saint's meaning. For it makes little sense to speak of something other than actions being 'permissible' (is free will permissible? Is a box permissible?), yet Augustine is speaking about far more things than actions. He is speaking about each and every thing in existence. I question the initial premise: namely, that it makes little sense to speak of something other than actions being permissible. Of course, it makes little sense to say "free will is permissible," or "a box is permissible," but it makes perfect sense to say that "having or using free will is permissible," or "being or using a box is permissible." But let's suppose that this talk is meaningless. What follows from that? The answer, it seems to me, is 'not much.' For we might then return to our talk of the various things in existence of being necessarily good or bad. What is necessary[11] here is to make conceptual room for 'neutral things,' like neutral actions, neutral characters, and so on. A simple and plausible way to accomplish this is by defining 'good' as 'that which fails to include anything evil.' As a corollary, we might define 'evil' as 'that which fails to include anything good.' Having defined good and evil in these ways, we're ready to endorse the following definitions of good (G) and evil (E):

(G) Something X is morally good (permissible) if and only if X fails to include any evil-making or evil-sustaining features

(E) Something Y is morally evil (impermissible) if and only if Y fails to include any good-making or good-sustaining features

These definitions are broad, and I have not specified what qualify as 'evil-making' or 'good-making' features. Ordinarily, we consider pain, coercion, poverty, and harmful intentions as evil-making features: their presence in a given action, agent, or state of affairs contributes or maintains (partially or wholly) to the badness of that action, agent, or state of affairs. On the other hand, we consider pleasure, autonomy, affluence (at least minimally construed), and helpful intentions as good-making features: their presence in a given action, agent, or state of affairs contributes or maintains (partially or wholly) the goodness of that action, agent, or state of affairs. I think these judgments are more-or-less correct. Something similar can be said of 'evil-sustaining' and 'good-sustaining' features, except in the case of 'sustaining,' evil and good are not produced but rather upheld. Consider a corrupt political system where ethnic minorities are not allowed to vote. The politicians don't continue to make laws to this effect, and neither do they campaign for it, publicly or privately. Rather, they allow it to remain a law. Their actions (or inactions, perhaps) are therefore evil-sustaining actions: they keep evil around.

Within orthodox Christian thought, there have been two predominant, logically compatible understandings of hell. The first is that hell is punitive. Because human persons commit sinful acts and (in many cases) develop sinful dispositions, or sinful characters, they are punished in the afterlife. Various passages seem to support this view strongly (e.g., Rev. 14:10-11, 20:13-15, 21:8; Matt. 8:12, 25:46). However, hell is also viewed as chosen. According to this view, those in hell are those who rejected God's ways and instead chose the way of evil. They desire eternal separation from God and from God's ways. Out of respect for their freedom, God gives them this eternal separation. As philosopher Jerry Walls, citing Lewis, puts the matter, "[T]here is good reason to believe that [God] will continue to respect that freedom. Even if this means that hell is forever."[12]


I affirm both understandings. However, for the remainder of this post, I will focus on the second understanding, which (I hope) will be greatly helpful in providing a plausible explanation for how the severity of hell might be justified. I will offer an argument to the conclusion that, given the existence of human (libertarian) freedom, hell must be significantly evil in order for that (libertarian) freedom to maintain moral significance.

My argument concerns a certain condition for morally significant freedom (henceforth MSF). I take this condition to be necessary in the sense that anyone who acted freely in the absence of this condition would lack MSF. However, it is also my belief that this condition constitutes, at the very least, an optimal condition for MSF, and that is sufficient for my argument to work well. What is the necessary or optimal condition I have in mind? Let us say that someone is significantly free if and only if the consequences of the choices of the individual are permitted to occur. Suppose my mother tells me that I am significantly free when it comes to my college choices; yet, when I select any given college, she blocks my efforts. I apply to a given college, and she intercepts my application and burns it. I am accepted to a college of my choice, and she hides my acceptance letter. I choose to take certain classes, and she brings me home from college so that I cannot participate in those classes. In these cases, I think it is clear that I have freedom, but not MSF. I lack MSF precisely because what I freely choose is withheld from me; I make free decisions, and the consequences I expected and accepted do not obtain. Put another way, I am robbed of MSF because my free decision to do A has the same results as if I were to freely decide to do not-A. In both cases, the consequences of A-ing do not occur. I act freely, and nothing I chose to happen occurs.

The same condition applies to our relationship with God. If human persons have MSF with respect to their eternal destiny - with respect to the option to love God freely or fail to love God freely - then the consequences of their choices must obtain. Thus, if I have MSF and use it to reject God freely, then the consequences of my choice must occur. If God prevented me from experiencing eternity apart from Her, then my free decision to reject God would lack moral significance, akin to when a mother 'allows' her son to make college decisions and then prevents her son's decisions from 'going through.' Freely rejecting God with MSF entails that the consequences of one's decision actually obtain. A free rejection of God, as I understand it, is a decision to reject God's being and ways, to reject what is good (permissible) and cling to what is evil (impermissible), and so on. It is, in effect, to choose one sort of lifestyle over another: a lifestyle of evil over a lifestyle of good.

To make this more explicit, consider two scenarios. In both cases, I am asked to make a free decision whether to love my mother, live according to her rules/guidelines. In both cases, I decline to do this; I make a free decision to refrain from loving my mother, to refrain from living according to her rules/guidelines. Suppose, in the first scenario, my choice makes no real difference. She still acts the same way towards me. She still treats me as if I freely decided to love her and live according to her rules/guidelines. In the second scenario, my mother lets me go my own way to some degree, but also prints and posts numerous posterboards of her rules throughout my room, brings individuals into my life who try to influence me to love my mother and live according to her rules/guidelines, and (despite my choice to live in a different environment - an environment where love of my mother is absent; where a lifestyle of following her rules/guidelines is absent) creates and/or maintains an environment where there is love for her and her ways. I think it is clear that, in both cases, I lack MSF. Again, I lack MSF because my free decisions are void of any significant consequence. Despite rejecting my mother and her ways, I am nonetheless exposed to an environment in which my mother perpetually attempts to bring me back into the fold. I simply cannot escape (or, at any rate, have not escaped) the 'Mother Love' environment.

These observations, in conjunction with a basic observation about divine omnipotence, should make clear why hell needs to be significantly evil if it is to be the consequence of the human persons who exercise MSF. To say that a given being G is omnipotent is to say that anything logically possible can be brought about by G. This entails that, for any contingent set of circumstances C (e.g., someone freely rejecting God), C occurs if and only if G permits C. Since God is omnipotent, it follows that there is no contingent event or set of circumstances in the universe that occurs (or can occur) without Her permission. Take some contingent good x that occurs in some set of circumstances C. Given divine omnipotence, x occurs in C if and only if G permits x in C. Nearly all of the goods that occur in the world are contingent in this way: It was within God's power to decline permitting them. If God decided to do so, She could remove all of the contingent goods throughout the universe in a moment. These facts entail that, for any contingent good that exists in hell, that good exists only because God permits it to exist.

The Scriptures portray God as the source of everything good. Saint James declares, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights" (1:17). The psalmist declares to God, "'You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing'" (16:2). Given omnipotence, any contingent good that occurs must be permitted by God. What's more, the Scriptures portray God as being capable of withdrawing Her moral influence: God allows people to go their own way (Rom. 1:24-32; Gen. 6:3; Psa. 27:9, 89:46). Indeed, the prophet Hosea gives God's warning to the nations, claiming, "'Woe to them when I depart from them" (9:12)! Since God is capable of withdrawing various goods in the world, it follows that the existence of those goods was not metaphysically necessary (i.e., those goods were contingent). In order to leave Her creatures significantly free, God must (either necessarily, or for optimal conditions for MSF) withdraw Her influence for those who freely reject Her, since permitting hell (on the whole) to be a 'God-fearing' or 'God-promoting' place would (necessarily or at least probably, given the nature of MSF) undermine the significance of the decisions of human persons who chose a life independent of God. This is where Saint Augustine's thoughts are relevant: By removing (most if not all of) Her moral influence in hell, God effectively makes it the case that any events that occur in hell lack goodness (permissibility), and are therefore evil (impermissible). Indeed, given that God must (in order to maintain MSF for the insubordinate) refrain from permitting hardly any (contingent) goods at all, the events that occur in hell are very likely evil. What's more, given that there will be many events in hell - many thoughts, many words, many feelings, etc. - and given that the overwhelming majority of those events will be evil (impermissible), hell is overwhelmingly likely to be an extremely bad place or state.

Here's the idea in a nutshell: If God is going to leave the damned with their MSF, then God must withdraw all or most of Her moral influence. If God withdraws all or most of Her moral influence, then there are zero or at least very few (contingent) goods that occur for the damned. If there are zero or at least very few (contingent) goods that occur for the damned, then if there are many events surrounding the damned (thoughts, actions, feelings, etc.), then those events are necessarily or overwhelmingly likely to be evil (impermissible). And that's bad, probably extremely bad, for the damned.

I would now like to consider an objection that I have heard many times over, mostly in conversation with others. The account I have offered has a (seemingly) implausible consequence: namely, that people freely choose to experience a hellish or severely tortuous state of affairs. It is highly doubtful that many people desire a tortuous state of affairs, and even more doubtful that very many persons prefer an utterly evil state of affairs. After all, hardly anyone likes experiencing pain, much less torture, much less torture for eternity; and hardly anyone likes evil, or evil on the whole, or a state of affairs characterized by utter and complete evil.

My initial response is that my account has no such implication. I have said nothing about whether anyone, much less a whole lot of someones, actually opt for hell. All I have claimed is that a severe view of hell would be morally justified if it were brought about in response to the free choices of human persons in the way described above. But this isn't a particularly helpful response, for the objector might simply rephrase and say, "I know that your account doesn't itself have this implausible implication; however, your account in conjunction with the auxiliary premise that most human persons go to hell has this implausible implication."

I am unsure whether I accept the auxiliary premise that most human persons go to hell. But let's suppose I did. Is there anything to be said in response to the objector? My response is that anyone who freely rejects God necessarily rejects God's moral influence. Perhaps they don't mean to do this. Perhaps they think that the Christian God is evil and adopt moral perspectives contrary to those of the Christian God (e.g., perhaps they believe that child sacrifice is morally permissible), perspectives they believe are in fact good. On a objective level, they are mistaken; they have (mistakenly) rejected God and Her ways, and thus (mistakenly) rejected what is good (permissible). Assuming that the mistake is non-culpable (i.e., they aren't guilty for making the mistake; it was, rather, an accident of sorts), then those who make the mistakes do not incur subjective guilt. Nevertheless, they are objectively guilty and are therefore subject to the objective consequences of the moral law, although it is likely (in my own view) that an omnibenevolent God would afford them another opportunity to decide freely whether to love Her.[13]

But this answer will not satisfy everyone. Some will argue that there is no such thing as "objective guilt." What does "objective guilt" even mean? An initially plausible interpretation is that "objective guilt" means "being the performer of some free but evil action." But in the absence of "subjective guilt," the performer of the free but  evil action did not know that the action she freely performed was evil, so it seems misleading to say that the agent in question is guilty in any sense that justifies punishment, of which H is a most severe instance. I am tempted to reply that H is no instance of punishment; H is merely the metaphysical consequence of having MSF and freely rejecting God. I resist this temptation because it is insufficient; it does something for my case, but not enough to save it from the objection. For although it might be true that H is not a punishment, H is a place that is the metaphysical consequence of freely rejecting God with MSF. But anyone who performs some objectively evil action A, yet does so without knowing that A is evil, has not knowingly chosen A. Assuming this ignorance is something for which the agent is non-culpable, we have strong reason to suppose that the agent in question did not mean to choose anything like H.

So, is there another response available? I suspect there are several. I will briefly mention two. The first response is this: Scripture suggests that a significant number of human persons will experience H, and that is a strong reason to believe that the objection is mistaken; that, in fact, many people do opt for H. I have argued elsewhere[14] that this sort of response can be, and often is, epistemically justified. But although this shows us that we are (or can be) justified in rejecting the objection, it fails to provide us with a theory of how so many persons freely opt for H. 

This brings me to my second response, which provides us with at least some explanation for how so many people could, and do, freely opt for H. It seems to me that many people genuinely despise the Christian concept of God. They find certain activities of God - perhaps God's willingness to permit particular evils, or God's decision to "hide" Herself, or God's exercise of Her retributive justice, or whatever - to be morally distasteful. To be fair, this is understandable to a certain degree. It is controversial whether these activities are morally permissible. (I have doubted whether retributive justice is permissible.) But I have heard plenty of people say, quite genuinely, and no doubt many other people have claimed this as well, that they would rather opt for H even if they were wrong. In other words, even if God's "controversial" activities did turn out to be permissible, they would nevertheless despise those activities.[15] In a word, they would persist in the way things seem to them rather than submit themselves to the conclusion that their preferences are immoral and that God is good and should be worshiped. It is harder to conceive of a better interpretation for the verse that reads, "There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death" (Prov. 14:12).[16]

This (tentatively) concludes my moral defense of H, the traditional Christian conception of hell. To wrap up: I have offered reasons to believe that the high price of morally significant (libertarian) freedom requires, either necessarily or for optimal conditions, a severe shortage of contingent goods. The auxiliary premises are these: There will be plenty of events in hell (emotions, thoughts, actions, etc.) and any event that lacks goodness (permissibility) is evil (impermissible). I think each of these premises is plausible, although each premise is certainly open to attack. But as it stands, a strong prima facie case has been offered for the conclusion that the severity of H is morally justifiable, and likely morally justified.

_____________

[1] Something X is morally obligatory if and only if the state-of-affairs in which not-X is the case would be impermissible to permit and/or bring about. The reader can take this to be a necessary and sufficient condition.

[2] I have some qualms about the former position, as well. In that case, people are simply wishing that something isn't obligatory - e.g., punishment of some sort. But that is just to prefer a moral order different than the one we currently have, which is (in my view) to fail to have the morally appropriate attitude toward the existing moral order. Child abuse is wrong, but suppose someone were to say, "I wish there wasn't an obligation to refrain from abusing children." We would, I think, find it morally distasteful that someone opposes the existing moral order in this way.

[3] Lewis, David. "Divine Evil," in Louise B. Antony (ed.) Philosophers Without Gods: Meditations on Atheism and the Secular Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 2007, p.232.

[4] Russell, Bertrand. Why I am Not a Christian and Other Essays on Religion and Related Subjects (New York, NY: Simon and Schuster, Inc.), 1957. I do not have exact page numbers right now, but the essay can be found on pages 3-23. Also, you can find much of the essay here: http://users.drew.edu/~jlenz/whynot.html, including the section I reference, which is under "The Moral Problem."

[5] C.S. Lewis seems to hold a view similar to this. See his The Great Divorce (New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishing, Inc.), 2001.

[6] In "Divine Evil," p.233. Of course, I don't mean to suggest that Lewis' argument in the paper is successful in showing that it is morally impermissible to be or admire a Christian, or that his atheism is correct, or that the traditional orthodox conception of hell is morally impermissible. In fact, I think he is wrong on all of these accounts. But I nevertheless agree with David Lewis, and thus disagree with C.S. Lewis, that hell is indeed seriously painful for the damned, and that serious moral problems arise if we interpret the 'hell passages' as being extreme metaphors for a far less severe state of affairs.
[7] Perhaps this example works against my case, since it's doubtful that there exists a worse evil than a Tom Berenger film.
[8] I want to construe 'well-being' broadly to include those things which are necessary for S's survival, the accomplishment of S's higher-order interests, general comfort, and so on.
[9] Augustine. "XI: What Is Called Evil in the Universe Is But an Absence of God," in The Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love (Regnery Publishing), 1996, pp.11-12.
[10] A disjunction is a claim that 'disjoins' two competing alternatives in the following way: Either X or not-X. It is a way of saying that these are the only two options possible, they are incompatible (usually logically, but sometimes probabilistically), and therefore only one of them is true.
[11] At least for the purposes of discussion. I don't see why anyone should believe that there are amoral actions, characters, objects, and so on. Presumably, to say that something is amoral is to say that it is neither good nor bad; it has no moral status whatsoever. But this seems to entail that it is neither an 'okay' thing to do/be, nor a 'not-okay' thing to do/be, which is incoherent.
[12] Walls, Jerry. "Eternal Hell and the Christian Concept of God," in Michael J. Peterson and Raymond J. VanArragon (eds.) Contemporary Debates in Philosophy of Religion (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing), p.278.
[13] It might be argued that the possibility of repentance is impossible for reasons similar to the ones I have offered (i.e., morally significant freedom). This would certainly be true if the existence of morally significant freedom for the unrepentant entailed the absence of any good, which would (I think) include the possibility for repentance. But I do not presently subscribe to this view.
[14] In "Evidentialism and Biblical Reliability," unpublished. I have posted it on this blog.
[15] No doubt some will try to explain this away, perhaps by claiming that those who say this are merely expressing their incredulity that certain divine actions are permissible (e.g., "I wouldn't worship God even if this were permissible" really means "There's no way I could come to believe that these things are permissible, so I can't worship God"). This seems merely to reiterate my earlier concern - i.e., that this constitutes an unwillingness to be morally corrected. Of course, our moral intuitions carry epistemic weight and we should not lightly disregard them. But there are some evidences, such as divine testimony, such that it would become epistemically unjustified for us to trust our moral intuitions over the outweighing evidence.

Perhaps an analogy will help. I have a very strong intuition that "2+2=4" is true and could not fail to be true (i.e., it is a necessary truth). But my intuitions carry less epistemic weight than the testimony of an expert mathematician, such that if the mathematician claimed that "2+2=4" was false or only contingently true, I would be epistemically unjustified in continuing to hold my belief that "2+2 =4 is true." The same is true of moral beliefs. It is possible for there to be outweighing evidence that contradicts our present moral beliefs, such that we would no longer be epistemically justified in holding our present moral beliefs.


A second problem with this way of "explaining away" the testimonies of others is that plenty of people seem to mean exactly what they say. Sometimes, we recognize that what must be done or can be done, morally speaking, is distasteful to us. We would rather it not have to be done; we would rather it not be permissible. If it turned out to be the case, for example, that it was permissible for my mother to read my diary, I would find it very difficult to like the fact that it was permissible for her to do so. Indeed, I might nevertheless lose respect for my mother despite the fact that I have no good moral reason to lose respect for her. But this is a flaw in me, not in the moral order or in my mother; I am the one who isn't quite in line with the moral order. As I said, I believe people frequently adopt this stance: They refuse to worship God even when (whether merely hypothetically or actually) they realize that God should be worshiped.
[16] But as I said, one need not accept the auxiliary premise that requires this defense in the first place. One can maintain that there aren't very many persons who freely accept H.

"Two (or more) Kinds of Scripture Scholarship"

[By posting the following link(s), I by no means am endorsing the content of the link(s).]

Here's an essay by Alvin Plantinga, former John A. O'Brien professor of philosophy at Notre Dame. He argues that the ordinary Christian can be warranted (or justified, or rational) in affirming the authority of Scripture despite historical and higher biblical criticism. Plantinga's a sharp guy, and his defense of biblical authority (from a philosophical angle) is well worth serious consideration.

The full essay can be found here: 

http://philosophy.nd.edu/people/all/profiles/plantinga-alvin/documents/KindsofScriptureScholarship.pdf

Enjoy.

Pope John Paul II: "Fides et Ratio"

[Disclaimer: By posting the following link(s), I am by no means endorsing the content(s) of the link(s).]

The late Pope John Paul II wrote a papal encyclical in 1998 entitled "Fides et Ratio," or "Faith and Reason." In this encyclical, the former pope articulates how he understands Christian philosophy, and how he thinks philosophy in general should proceed.

http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_15101998_fides-et-ratio_en.html

Marilyn McCord Adams, the Church, and the LGBTQ community

[Disclaimer: By posting the following link(s), I do not mean to endorse the contents of the link(s).]

In these links, Christian philosopher and theologian Marilyn McCord Adams (Regius Professor of Divinity, Oxford University) presents her analysis as to why many contemporary Christians see LGBTQ[1] lifestyles and orientations. She begins by asking the following question:

How does religion that sets out to serve what is good: to help people grow in the knowledge of God and love God and neighbor - how does biblical religion that sees every human being as created in God's image - come to sponsor what liberals regard as obvious human rights violations? How do its promoters, brilliant in mind and zealous of heart, come to feel confident and comfortable in reasoning in these ways?

 Her answer? "They get there by four simple, but probably unconscious, easy steps." What do we make of Adams' "diagnosis"?

Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMXRQXAFUV0
Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTuY10YHQh4&feature=related

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[1] Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered/transsexual, and queer.

A Brief Defense of Philip Quinn

[Disclaimer: By discussing the work of Philip Quinn, I am not suggesting that I agree with his views, although what I claim to be true in this essay is representative of my own view(s).]

Philip Quinn, now deceased, but former John A. O'Brien professor of philosophy at Notre Dame, has argued in favor of the moral example theory of the Christian atonement. In a paper entitled "Abelard on Atonement: 'Nothing Unintelligible, Arbitrary, Illogical, or Immoral About It"[1], Quinn argues that Christ's moral example should be seen as (at least) the primary theme in the Christian atonement. Roughly, the moral example theory claims that Christ's self-sacrificial life and death were for the purpose of loving the world intensely, for continuing to love even during persecution. This love toward us motivates us to love God in a self-sacrificial way, presenting our bodies as a living sacrifice before God (Romans 12:1). As Saint John rightly points out, "We love Him because He first loved us" (1 John 4:19, emphasis mine). As Quinn puts it:

My suggestion is that what Abelard has to contribute to our thinking about the Atonement is the idea that divine love, made manifest throughout the life of Christ but especially in his suffering and dying, has the power to transform human sinners, if they cooperate, in ways that fit them for everlasting life in intimate union with God.[2]

Quinn by no means argues that the moral example theory should be seen as the one and only theme in the Christian atonement. Indeed, he argues that Peter Abelard's defense of the moral example theory is (and was intended by Abelard to be) compatible with multiple themes of the atonement, including penal substitution. As he says,

I do not claim that the motif of transformative divine love is the only idea that can help us appreciate the Atonement. I am attracted to the view that the Atonement is a mystery not to be fully fathomed by human understanding but best grasped in terms of a plurality of metaphors and models.[3]

But Quinn, as I said, does argue that the moral example theory is central to the Christian doctrine of the atonement, and that the moral example theory better explains Christ's life and death than some other theories of the atonement (e.g., satisfaction theories).

Toward the end of his essay, Quinn considers an objection to the view he has defended:

It might be objected that it is empirically implausible to suppose that the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth have had such an influence on subsequent history. If he had never lived, the human condition would now not be much different from what it actually is because other inspiring examples of love would have had approximately the same good effects.[4]

The objection is this: The moral example theory fails to make sense of Christ as the unique path of salvation for human beings, since we likely would have been transformed through following the example of others (e.g., Mother Theresa) if Christ had never lived. Quinn offers this retort:

My response to this objection is skeptical. According to another scenario, the human condition would now be very much worse than it actually is if Jesus had never lived because fallen human nature would have been progressively enfeebled by an increasing burden of sin. I doubt that empirical information about the actual course of history by itself supports the counterfactual that underlies the objection rather than the rival counterfactual that I have set forth.[5]

Thus, according to Quinn, there are two competing counterfactuals here. The first is his, and the second underlies the objection:

(CF1) If Christ became incarnate, suffered and died, the human race would be far better off from the standpoint of salvific moral transformation than if He had not.

(CF2) If Christ had failed to become incarnate, suffer and die, the human race would be roughly the same as it is today, from the standpoint of salvific moral transformation.

I am much more confident than Quinn appears to be when it comes to the competition between CF1 (Quinn's counterfactual) and CF2 (the objection's underlying counterfactual). Quinn claims that he is 'skeptical' as to whether the rival counterfactual is more plausible than his own. I think it's far more plausible to suppose that CF1 is true than that CF2 is true.[6] To see why, consider the following counterfactuals:

(CF3) If Christ had failed to become incarnate, suffer and die, then most of the human race would have failed to be inspired by His example to become incarnate, suffer and die.

(CF4) If Christ had failed to become incarnate, suffer and die, then there would have been an equal or superior moral example such that the human race would have been roughly the same as it is today, from the standpoint of salvific moral transformation.

I think we CF3 is quite plausible, unless it's more plausible to suppose that the story would have been concocted from thin air (and it isn't by any stretch) and would have, despite being false, inspired a huge percentage of the human race to live rightly before God. To see how this counterfactual supports CF1, consider that many human persons, including me, have been so inspired by the life of Jesus Christ. He has been, for us, the most compelling example of love. It is very likely the case that we would lack this inspiration if Christ had never become incarnate, suffered and died.[7] But because of the enormous influence Christ's example has had in our lives, and because we would be utterly without it in the world in which Christ doesn't become incarnate, suffers and dies, we very likely would be less transformed in that world than we are in this world (where Christ becomes incarnate, suffers and dies). Consequently, it is plausible to affirm CF3, which supports CF1.

What of CF4? Frankly, we have no good reason to believe that other moral examples would have 'popped up' if Christ had not, would have had roughly the same influence on us if Christ had not, etc. Why suppose there would have been a (roughly) equally compelling moral example? The example of Mother Theresa will not work, since even her life was transformed primarily by the incarnation, suffering and death of Jesus Christ. (And I don't see why I should believe that she would have been just as inspired, or more inspired, by someone else.)

So, in a nutshell, we have strong reasons to affirm CF3, which supports CF1, and no good reason to affirm CF4, which CF2 needs to be plausibly affirmed. Thus, CF1 is significantly more plausible than CF2, for it just so happens that many human lives (I smile to think how many) have been transformed by the example of Christ, and we would very likely lack that Christocentric transformation if there were no Christ. (Consider: Would you be transformed by the example of Princess Diana of Wales if there were no Princess Diana of Wales? I hardly think so.) And there is no reason to suppose that there would have been someone who would have transformed us just as much if Christ had not come. I therefore conclude that Quinn's counterfactual is more plausible than the rival counterfactual he concocts. If the moral example theory has difficulty making sense of the uniqueness of Christ for salvation, then, it will be on other grounds.

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[1] Quinn, Philip. "Abelard on Atonement: 'Nothing Unintelligible, Arbitrary, Illogical, or Immoral About It,'" in Michael Rea (ed.) Oxford Readings in Philosophical Theology: Volume I: Trinity, Incarnation, and Atonement (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 2009, pp.348-364.

[2] Ibid, p.360.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid, p.362.

[5] Ibid, pp.362-363.
[6] I believe there are true and false counterfactuals and that they can be known, both as probabilities and certainties. But here, one need only agree that it is possible for counterfactual truths to be known as probabilities, which nearly everyone grants. For readers who are interested in a fuller defense of the truth status of counterfactual conditionals, see David Lewis' Counterfactuals (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell Publishers Inc.), 1973. For a defense of counterfactuals as a particular theory of providence, see the following books and essays: Thomas Flint, Divine Providence: The Molinist Account (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press), 2006; Thomas Flint, "Divine Providence," in Thomas P. Flint and Michael Rea (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 2009, pp.262-285; Luis de Molina, On Divine Foreknowledge: Part IV of the Concordia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press), 1988, edited with an introduction by Alfred J. Freddoso; William Lane Craig, "The Middle-Knowledge View," in James K. Beilby and Paul R. Eddy, Divine Foreknowledge: Four Views (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press), 2001, pp.119-143.

[7] Of course, I do not mean to suggest that we would not have been inspired at all. Moral examples like the Buddha and Princess Diana would likely still have inspired us. But insofar as Christ has been, for many of us, the supreme moral example, and insofar as Christ's example has had primary or supreme sway over our moral transformation, we would very likely be significantly worse off, or significantly less transformed, if He had not become incarnate, suffered and died.

Alvin Plantinga on the soul

[Disclaimer: By posting the following link(s), I do not mean to endorse the contents of the link(s).]

Alvin Plantinga, former John A. O'Brien professor of philosophy at Notre Dame, explains why he believes that human persons are metaphysically distinct from their bodies. Here is a link to a video of his defense: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekWgk1jKShI&feature=related.

Basically, his argument runs as follows:

(P1) If I can conceive of myself existing independently of my body, then I have the property possibly exists apart from my body, but my body (obviously) does not have that property.

(P2) If I have the property possibly exists apart from my body, but my body (obviously) does not have that property, then I am metaphysically distinct from my body.

(C1) Therefore, if I can conceive of myself existing independently of my body, then I am metaphysically distinct from my body.

In defense of P1, Plantinga offers the simple claim that he can conceive of himself existing independently of his  body. He offers the somewhat odd thought experiment wherein he awakens to discover that he is a beetle. But elsewhere[1], he offers a clearer thought experiment. He imagines that his body is going to undergo an extremely rapid atomic replacement: Every atom in his body will be removed and instantly replaced, all within a very short period of time. He then asks whether he could exist throughout that process, concluding that (it seems) he could. But then he continues to exist even while his body, which is rapidly being replaced one atom at a time (or even every atom at once), does not. Thus, it seems that he could continue to exist even while his body does not.

There is, perhaps, a more commonly accepted instance of this. I continue to exist even though my body continues to change. I constantly lose hair, skin, and all of my atoms are replaced over time by new atoms. In a very real sense, then, I lose my old body, or I 'switch' bodies. (My body now is not, in its atomic makeup, the same body that I had when I was 5.) But this suggests that my personal identity doesn't essentially depend on the existence of any body I have, for I can and constantly do 'lose' my old body, or 'switch' bodies. This should be fairly simple to grasp.

Plantinga defends P2 by appealing to Leibniz' Law, which is as follows:

X is identical to Y if and only if, for every property X has, Y has that property, and for every property Y has, X has that property.

There's a simpler way to say this: Something is identical to something else only if they share every property - i.e., they're completely the same. But since I have properties my body doesn't (as seen in P1), then my body and I don't share every property. If we don't share every property, then we aren't identical. If we aren't identical, then we're distinct. This is the conclusion, C1.

Descartes held something similar to this view. One problem that these accounts face is that they seem to have problems explaining how immaterial things, like souls, can cause things to happen in a material world. Plantinga argues that this really isn't a problem for the orthodox Christian: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJBjI1UYwpQ&feature=related. After all, all orthodox Christians accept the view that Two Persons of the Trinity (i.e., the Father and the Spirit) don't have material parts, yet they cause things to happen in the world. Because this actually happens, it follows that it can happen.[2] This isn't so much an explanation as it is a defense of the possibility of immaterial souls acting in and on the material world. But Plantinga also considers some explanations, such as occasionalism.

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[1] Plantinga, Alvin. "Materialism and Christian Belief," in Peter van Inwagen and Dean Zimmerman (eds.) Persons: Human and Divine (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 2007, pp.99-141.

[2] Everything that actually happens must be capable of happening. The alternative is to suggest that certain things happen, but it isn't logically possible for them to happen. But if it's not logically possible for them to happen, then they don't happen.

"A Simple Argument for Universalism": some brief thoughts

[Disclaimer: By discussing and linking Thomas Talbott's website and some of its contents, I am not endorsing Thomas Talbott's views or anyone else's views expressed therein.]

Thomas Talbott is professor emeritus at Willamette University. He has a website (see http://www.willamette.edu/~ttalbott/theol.html), and on that website is a link entitled "A Simple Argument for Universalism" (see http://www.willamette.edu/~ttalbott/theol.html). Talbott's argument is short, but I want to spend some time reconstructing it for purposes of clarity. So, let's walk through the argument.

Talbott begins by saying this:

Suppose that Christ commanded that we love our enemies and love our neighbor even as we love ourselves because such love is an essential condition of blessedness or supreme happiness.  If this is true, as I believe it is, then God could not possibly bring blessedness to one person without also bringing it to all.

This is a sort of introduction to the general conclusion of Talbott's argument. It helps us see where he's going (i.e., universalism) and how he's going to get there (i.e., by showing that "such love is an essential condition of blessedness or supreme happiness"). Nothing in Talbott's argument claims that God will bring about blessedness or supreme happiness to anyone. He merely is claiming that God can't do this for anyone if God doesn't do it for everyone, because making someone blessed or supremely happy logically requires that everyone else be blessed or supremely happy, too.

Talbott uses his daughter as an example. He writes:

If I truly love my daughter even as I love myself, then her interests and my own are so tightly interwoven as to be logically inseparable: any good that befalls her is then a good that befalls me, and any evil that befalls her is likewise an evil that befalls me.

Here, we have Talbott's first premise. Although he is speaking of his daughter, it's clear that he thinks this is true for any two (or more) individuals who love one another in this way. If we put the premise in more general terms, it would look something like this:

(P1) If A loves B as A loves herself, then A's interests are logically inseparable from B's interests.

Talbott then claims:

I could never be happy, for example, knowing that my daughter is suffering or in a miserable condition--unless, of course, I could somehow believe that all will be well for her in the end. But if I cannot believe this, if I were to believe instead that she had been lost to me forever--even if I were to believe that, by her own will, she had made herself intolerably evil--my own happiness could never be complete. For I would always know what could have been, and I would always experience this as a terrible tragedy and an unacceptable loss, one for which no compensation is even conceivable. 

 I take Talbott to be making a second premise: namely,

(P2) If A's interests are logically inseparable from B's interests, then if B's interests are unaccomplished, then A's interests are unaccomplished.

From P1 and P2, it logically follows that

(C1) If A loves B as A loves herself, then if B's interests are unaccomplished, then A's interests are unaccomplished.

What's more, Talbott claims that if B goes to hell, then B's 'interests' are not accomplished. It's not hard to see why: It's in B's best interest to avoid hell, since hell is decisively not in B's best interest (indeed, it's rather antithetical to it). Hence:

(P3) If A goes to heaven and B goes to hell, then B's 'interests' are not accomplished.

From C1 and P3, it immediately follows that

(C2) If A goes to heaven and B goes to hell, then A's interests are unaccomplished.

When Talbott claims that "A's interests are unaccomplished," he is, of course, suggesting that A cannot experience supreme happiness (or whatever) given the evils that have befallen B (i.e., the evils of hell). Here's another way of putting the argument:

(P1*) A's interests are accomplished if and only if B's interests are accomplished. 

(P2*) If B goes to hell, then B's interests are unaccomplished. 

(C1*) Therefore, If B goes to hell, then A's interests are unaccomplished. [From P1 and P2]

This is a very interesting argument, and (admittedly) it's not initially clear what (if anything) is plausible to deny. However, after careful reflection, I think we can identify several problems with Talbott's arguments, ones that show that his argument ultimately fails. I'll be reflecting on the premises of the more complicated argument reconstruction.

I'll begin with P3. Is it true that, "If A goes to heaven and B goes to hell, then B's interests are not accomplished"? I will grant that hell is bad for B in a sense: it harms him. But B (presumably) has more interests than whether or not he is harmed. For example, B probably cares a great deal that he has free will and that his free choices be respected (in general, allowed to happen). Thus, if B freely decides to reject God forever, then B cares that his choice to reject God forever is respected (in this case, allowed to happen). If all that's correct, then the state of affairs B goes to hell is, in some sense, an accomplishment of B's interests: He got what he wanted, and it was significant. Obviously, this doesn't entail that A would be happy; after all, many of B's other interests (in self-preservation, for example) would be frustrated. However, A can be happy for B in some sense: A can be happy that B's freedom was respected, that he was free to choose his own stance before God. So, let's make the following observation: A can be happy for B in some sense while at the same time being unhappy for B in some other sense. Another way of phrasing this that is closer to Talbott's wording is this: A can have some of her interests accomplished along with B while at the same time have some of her interests unaccomplished along with B.

Another observation needs to be made. I have a lot of interests: self-preservation, the preservation of the people I love, having my free choices respected, having Chipotle for dinner, etc. Some are more important than others. For example, my interest in having my free choices respected is more important to me than having Chipotle for dinner. If God came to a friend of mine and said, "Would you rather I respect Blake's free choices, or would you rather I give him Chipotle for dinner?" I hope my friend would rather my free choices be respected. It's simply more important, 'objectively' and to me, that my free choices be respected than that I have Chipotle for dinner. Presumably, my friend who loves me as he loves himself weighs my interests in this way, just as he does his own. If that's so, then if my friend had to choose between two alternatives - my greater desire to spurn (what I believe to be) an evil God, and my lesser desire to experience supreme happiness - he should, even on Talbott's account, opt for my greater desire to be fulfilled. If he didn't, he (probably) wouldn't be loving me as he loves himself, since he (probably) loves himself by making sure his higher-order interests (like the survival of his wife) are accomplished long before his lower-order interests are accomplished (like reading The Wall Street Journal).[1] Thus, A should (even given Talbott's "do unto others" view of love) prioritize my higher-order interests over my lower-order interests.

To recap: (1) A can have some of her interests accomplished along with B while at the same time have some of her interests unaccomplished along with B; (2) A should (even given Talbott's "do unto others" view of love) prioritize my higher-order interests over my lower-order interests. But if these things are true, as I believe they are, then Talbott is wrong about two things. First, A should be happier if B goes to hell than if B goes to heaven, since B's higher-order desire was to go to hell (or, more specifically, to reject God and spend eternity apart from God, which just is hell). Second, B would have his interests best accomplished if he went to hell, since rejecting God (and the hell it entails) is a higher-order interest for B and experiencing supreme happiness is (at least comparatively) a lower-order interest for B.[2] Talbott could reply that this changes nothing, since it's still the case that A couldn't be supremely happy if B wasn't supremely happy. But this overlooks the important fact that, in some cases, it seems (if B's freedom is to be preserved, or unless God changes B's mind[3]) that B very probably can't be supremely happy. For he must either consent to love God, Whom he hates, or experience hell, which is bad for him (as even I admit).

But still, Talbott would be right: A could not experience supreme happiness unless B did, too. I have not given sufficient reason to undermine Talbott's claim that A could not be supremely happy in the the greatest (broad) logically possible sense.[4] However, let me ask this: Do we have compelling reason to believe that heaven will be, for its inhabitants, the greatest (broadly speaking) logically possible experience of happiness?[5] I don't see that we do. It will certainly be a very great place, a place of significant happiness. Indeed, I think it's plausible that we will be at least somewhat happy that our loved ones had their free choices respected by God, although I am not sure how happy we will be.[6]

Is there any reason to help explain how we even could be very happy with some of our loved ones in hell? It might be asked of me and the account I have thus far provided: If God really could create two worlds - one in which everyone accepts Him, but their happiness is less-than-maximal because many were forced to accept Him; and the other in which some accept Him and others reject Him, and the overall happiness is around the same level - why didn't God pick the former world? At least then everyone would be saved. I will offer an initial sketch of an answer.

The Christian Church has long held that God is a supremely good and loving being, and that being in His presence is the greatest experience anyone will ever have (if indeed they have it). It's plausible that we would be far happier if God showed us His love and goodness than if He didn't. I have known some people whose parents, although deeply loving people, were hardly adept at showing their love. They failed to attend dance recitals, birthday parties, graduations, pageants, and other important events. Their children would have very likely been much happier, it would likely have been better 'all around,' if the parents had displayed their love more accurately. The same can be said of other attributes: wisdom, knowledge, creativity, and even justice. A world in which those attributes are more clearly displayed (and exercised) is, all other things being equal, better than a world in which those attributes aren't as clearly displayed (or exercised). I think the redeemed would experience greater happiness if God performed 100 magnificantly creative acts than if He performed, say, only 2. And I think the redeemed would experience greater happiness if God performed 1,000 loving acts toward developmentally disabled individuals than if He performed, say, 3 or 4.

(In fact, assuming you love your parents and want them present, which would make you feel more loved? Which state of affairs would you prefer? The one in which your parents (by analogy) come to every birthday party, every graduation, etc., or the one in which your parents are hardly ever there? I would find it severely dubious if you preferred the latter.)

Let's talk about justice. Suppose two persons (perhaps persons you know and love) commit very serious offenses, like rape. Suppose you flip back and forth between channels to view their day in court. Both claim that they would rape again and that they would oppose a system where rape was not tolerated. One is pardoned by the judge and released back into society, and the other is locked away. In which case is justice more clearly done? It seems to me that it is more clearly done in the latter case, since it seems the criminal should pay for his crime. (Moreover, it seems that justice is simply not done in the former case.) Suppose the same is true of hell[7]: God's justice is more clearly displayed in a world in which free creatures sin (severely) and are punished than in a world in which they don't and/or are not. I am not suggesting that justice cannot occur or be displayed in a world in which people do not sin, or a world in which they do but aren't punished. I claim only that it is clearer, indeed far clearer, that God is just in a world where sinners are punished. And perhaps this is such a great good that it outweighs, or at least makes significantly better, the sadness we might experience at the loss of our loved ones.

Admittedly, our intuitions flare up when we think of traditional Christian views of hell: places of severe punishment with fire and flesh-eating worms. I think those views are defensible (although I don't endorse a literal perspective on the biblical language for hell, as I view the language as metaphorical.[8]) , and perhaps in time I will provide my defense. But one need not accept such a strong doctrine of hell.[9]

I commend this proposal to other Christian thinkers. In the meantime, this is my view of hell and this is my (less than thorough) response to Thomas Talbott's "A Simple Argument for Universalism."

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[1] If he doesn't prioritize in this way - if he doesn't value and attempt to preserve his wife's survival over reading The Wall Street Journal - then there is a severe defect in his love. I am sure Talbott would agree.

[2] Perhaps no one does or even could value things in this way, or perhaps just not freely. I think that's false, though: I think some people really would rather reject God than submit themselves to Him and His kingdom. From the standpoint of some unbelievers, God really does look evil, much like a murderer who desires your allegiance after slaughtering your children. I fully understand how and why, given that (misguided) perspective, an unbeliever could and would rather spend eternity apart from God. Indeed, given that perspective, wouldn't we all?

[3] A prospect I'm a bit more optimistic about, but that's another story.

[4] Then again, it might be argued that Talbott's criteria shows how it ends up being contingently necessary for at least some persons in heaven to lack supreme happiness. As far as the damned are concerned, God could save them only by imparting the 'right' degree of information to them (and even then, for at least some persons, it is doubtful they would repent even then) or by overriding their freedom. Neither prospect seems particularly hopeful.
[5] Talbott must stick with broad logical possibility, for if he limits 'supreme happiness' to contingent logical possibility  (i.e., all the happiness God can bring about given certain contingent things that have happened), then his argument fails. Because then God could bring about the greatest possible contingent happiness for the inhabitants of heaven; it would just be short of everything it could otherwise be, broadly speaking, because of the loved ones in hell.

[6] I am happy, for example, when physicians respect my friends' choice to die, perhaps by signing a DNR ("Do Not Resuscitate") order. Indeed, I am sad that they are dying; I wish it wasn't that way. Assuming it's against their best interest, I always wish (and should wish) that they chose differently. But I am still happy they were free and that they were respected by others. Yet, despite all this, I am not happy when my friend freely decides to impale himself. Indeed, I would stop him, and it's hard to imagine being at all happy about the attempt at impalement. Yet, it's very hard to make decisions of this sort, I think, for in principle it seems to permit a very heavy-handed paternalism. If we won't permit people to make bad decisions, even seriously bad decisions, how can we leave them free? Indeed, how can we leave them significantly free?

[7] I believe that God has experienced something quite similar to rape, both in Jesus's murder and in the historical defiling of the Temple.

[8] See William V. Crockett, "The Metaphorical View," in William Crockett and Stanley Gundry (eds.) Four Views on Hell (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan), 1996, pp.43-76, for a defense of the view that the language about hell in the Christian Scriptures is metaphorical.

[9] C.S. Lewis is said to offer such a view. See his The Great Divorce (New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.), 2001.