Photo by Moritz Schumacher on Unsplash
Excruciating Remorse
Rethinking Hell in Relational Terms
From Hell as Eternal Conscious Torment to Hell as
Excruciating Remorse born of Honesty and Empathy
Jay McDaniel
Deconstructing Hell: Open and Relational Responses
to the Doctrine of Eternal Conscious Torment
|
“Deconstructing Hell insightfully shows that the common idea of hell as eternal conscious torment is unbiblical, makes God immoral, and causes trauma in people. This work examines the biblical material, the theology behind hell, the range of alternative views, and, importantly, the serious damage belief in hell has had on people. It shines a bright light on this hideous teaching and will help people move away from a dark, fear-based religion towards the true God who deeply cares for everyone.”
John Sanders, The Openness of God, The God Who Risks) |
Some Process Alternatives to
Eternal Conscious Torment
Hell as Broken Relationships in a world of inter-becoming
Hell as Unbearable Suffering in this life
Hell in the Mind: e.g. depression, mental illness
Hell as the Violence and Chaos of War
Hell as Excruciating Remorse born of Honesty and Empathy. after having caused harm to others
Hell as Unbearable Suffering in this life
Hell in the Mind: e.g. depression, mental illness
Hell as the Violence and Chaos of War
Hell as Excruciating Remorse born of Honesty and Empathy. after having caused harm to others
Exploring the Fifth Option
Hell as Excruciating Remorse
born of Honesty and Empathy
I grew up in a Methodist church where no one spoke of hell. It was never preached by my ministers; never taught in Sunday School classes; and never talked about by my parents. We talked about heaven, but not about hell.
I wish we had more talk of hell. I think it might have made my early childhood faith a little deeper and more connective. Not hell in the sense of eternal conscious torment. That would have been damaging, maybe even hideously so. But hell in the sense of remorse we might feel when we "feel the feelings" of those we have harmed and understand how things felt from their point of view. Call it hell as empathy, or hell as remorse, or hell as remorse born of honesty and empathy. Call it open and relational hell.
It might last a moment, or a day, or a year, or ten thousand years. It might be in this life or the next or both. But it would be purifying and reconciling, healing and whole-making. And it would be shared by God. God, too, would feel the hell I undergo.
I think it might have been good for my parents and peers to talk about this kind of hell, so I understood from a very young age that other people have feelings, too, and that we cannot be separated from them as if we were skin-encased egos, concerned only for our own good.
*
But back to the early years. For me in the younger years, religion was not about fear; it was about love. That was a beautiful part of it. When I was six years old or so, I remember asking my mother who Jesus was, and she said “He is someone who is always holding your hand even when you don’t know it.” This was the biggest and most amazing idea I had ever heard. It still is. It’s the image of a force, a power, a love that is wider than the see and yet close to each of us.
I don't remember anyone saying that God was all-powerful. All I remember is hearing that God is all-loving, a companion to the world. That was enough.
Later in life, I met people whose early experience of religion was a fear of hell. At first I couldn’t understand what they experienced. It was not my experience. But gradually I realized that they had early experiences quite different from my own. I may well have been in a minority. They grew up believing God would send people to a place of “eternal conscious torment" and they were themselves tormented by the idea. Indeed, I have met adults who are still tormented by this idea of hell, even if they don't believe it. I came to understand that the idea could hound them all their lives. Once the idea takes hold, it is hard to discard its influence, even if you reject it.
I now understand why someone like Chad Bahl would edit a book called Deconstructing Hell with the express intent of tracing the history of the idea, showing the damage it has done, and recommending that it be discarded. It is an excellent anthology, and I highly recommend it, not only for people who suffered from the idea of hell as eternal conscious torment but for everybody. John Sanders is right; "it shows that the common idea of hell as eternal conscious torment is unbiblical, makes God immoral, and causes trauma in people. It examines the biblical material, the theology behind hell, the range of alternative views, and, importantly, the serious damage belief in hell has had on people. It shines a bright light on this hideous teaching and will help people move away from a dark, fear-based religion towards the true God who deeply cares for everyone.”
I wish that somewhere in my early life I had been introduced to one of those "alternative views" of which John Sanders speaks, because I think religion becomes too sentimental, too sappy, without a recognition of the consequences of sin. The temptation is to discard the very idea of “hell” because it has been so associated with such torment. And yet there are other ways of understanding hell, not as retributive punishment for not believing the right things or acting in the right ways, but rather as profound and almost excruciating remorse, felt by a person who has harmed others and understands, emotionally as well as intellectually, what he has done.
This remorse is not necessarily inflicted by God, it is inflicted by the person himself or herself, when he awakens to what he has done and, perhaps for the first time in his life, feels internally related to the subject of his harm. And yet we can rightly imagine God as feeling the remorse that the person feels, understanding the hell he or she is going through, and in that way sharing in it. At least this is the case if God is a fellow sufferer who understands. And we can also imagine God providing creative possibilities for the person who is experiencing the excruciating remorse: possibilities for growing beyond the pain in some kind of healing way.
I am not an evangelical Christian. I am a lay associate in an Benedictine community in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and a member of a local Methodist church. But I find something compelling and persuasive, and deeply Christian, in the image of hell described by Sharon Baker Putt below. It helps make sense of the relational part of remorse, the fiery part of God's love, and the centrality of Jesus. It, among many, is one of the powerful essays in Deconstructing Hell.
I wish we had more talk of hell. I think it might have made my early childhood faith a little deeper and more connective. Not hell in the sense of eternal conscious torment. That would have been damaging, maybe even hideously so. But hell in the sense of remorse we might feel when we "feel the feelings" of those we have harmed and understand how things felt from their point of view. Call it hell as empathy, or hell as remorse, or hell as remorse born of honesty and empathy. Call it open and relational hell.
It might last a moment, or a day, or a year, or ten thousand years. It might be in this life or the next or both. But it would be purifying and reconciling, healing and whole-making. And it would be shared by God. God, too, would feel the hell I undergo.
I think it might have been good for my parents and peers to talk about this kind of hell, so I understood from a very young age that other people have feelings, too, and that we cannot be separated from them as if we were skin-encased egos, concerned only for our own good.
*
But back to the early years. For me in the younger years, religion was not about fear; it was about love. That was a beautiful part of it. When I was six years old or so, I remember asking my mother who Jesus was, and she said “He is someone who is always holding your hand even when you don’t know it.” This was the biggest and most amazing idea I had ever heard. It still is. It’s the image of a force, a power, a love that is wider than the see and yet close to each of us.
I don't remember anyone saying that God was all-powerful. All I remember is hearing that God is all-loving, a companion to the world. That was enough.
Later in life, I met people whose early experience of religion was a fear of hell. At first I couldn’t understand what they experienced. It was not my experience. But gradually I realized that they had early experiences quite different from my own. I may well have been in a minority. They grew up believing God would send people to a place of “eternal conscious torment" and they were themselves tormented by the idea. Indeed, I have met adults who are still tormented by this idea of hell, even if they don't believe it. I came to understand that the idea could hound them all their lives. Once the idea takes hold, it is hard to discard its influence, even if you reject it.
I now understand why someone like Chad Bahl would edit a book called Deconstructing Hell with the express intent of tracing the history of the idea, showing the damage it has done, and recommending that it be discarded. It is an excellent anthology, and I highly recommend it, not only for people who suffered from the idea of hell as eternal conscious torment but for everybody. John Sanders is right; "it shows that the common idea of hell as eternal conscious torment is unbiblical, makes God immoral, and causes trauma in people. It examines the biblical material, the theology behind hell, the range of alternative views, and, importantly, the serious damage belief in hell has had on people. It shines a bright light on this hideous teaching and will help people move away from a dark, fear-based religion towards the true God who deeply cares for everyone.”
I wish that somewhere in my early life I had been introduced to one of those "alternative views" of which John Sanders speaks, because I think religion becomes too sentimental, too sappy, without a recognition of the consequences of sin. The temptation is to discard the very idea of “hell” because it has been so associated with such torment. And yet there are other ways of understanding hell, not as retributive punishment for not believing the right things or acting in the right ways, but rather as profound and almost excruciating remorse, felt by a person who has harmed others and understands, emotionally as well as intellectually, what he has done.
This remorse is not necessarily inflicted by God, it is inflicted by the person himself or herself, when he awakens to what he has done and, perhaps for the first time in his life, feels internally related to the subject of his harm. And yet we can rightly imagine God as feeling the remorse that the person feels, understanding the hell he or she is going through, and in that way sharing in it. At least this is the case if God is a fellow sufferer who understands. And we can also imagine God providing creative possibilities for the person who is experiencing the excruciating remorse: possibilities for growing beyond the pain in some kind of healing way.
I am not an evangelical Christian. I am a lay associate in an Benedictine community in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and a member of a local Methodist church. But I find something compelling and persuasive, and deeply Christian, in the image of hell described by Sharon Baker Putt below. It helps make sense of the relational part of remorse, the fiery part of God's love, and the centrality of Jesus. It, among many, is one of the powerful essays in Deconstructing Hell.
excerpts from CHAPTER 5 of Deconstructing Hell
So As Through Fire: Reconciliation through Purification
Sharon Baker Putt
Hell is a hot topic. In fact, around 58 % of Americans believe in hell as a place of eternal torment. So do about 82% of Evangelical Protestants. Personally, I always took it for granted, never questioned its reality, its justice, or its duration. The thought of billions upon billions of people, the majority of all who have ever lived throughout history’s millennia, burning forever and ever in hell, staggered my senses. How many of us have grown up hearing about and believing in the existence of hell, a fiery abyss that eternally burns without destroying, tortures without ceasing, punishes without respite, where the only thing that dies is the hope of release or reconciliation?
Growing up a Baptist, I cannot count the number of times I sat in a pew watching a dark-suited preacher wipe sweat from his brow as he shouted out a good, old-fashioned fire and brimstone sermon. These types of messages have pervaded Christian churches like insidious horror stories, laced with terrifying verbal images that paint portraits of sinners standing before a terrible, large, angry God with a long gray beard sitting upon a great, white throne, pointing a judgmental finger in their direction. Trembling with fear, they await the final pronouncement that ordains where they will spend eternity—in the burning fires of eternal, conscious torment, or in the idyllic paradise of heaven.
Growing up a Baptist, I cannot count the number of times I sat in a pew watching a dark-suited preacher wipe sweat from his brow as he shouted out a good, old-fashioned fire and brimstone sermon. These types of messages have pervaded Christian churches like insidious horror stories, laced with terrifying verbal images that paint portraits of sinners standing before a terrible, large, angry God with a long gray beard sitting upon a great, white throne, pointing a judgmental finger in their direction. Trembling with fear, they await the final pronouncement that ordains where they will spend eternity—in the burning fires of eternal, conscious torment, or in the idyllic paradise of heaven.
Picture a person who has committed much evil in his life, someone who rejected Jesus while living, someone who may have abused a spouse or child, a person who perhaps committed terrible acts of terrorism against innocent people. Imagine a person, any person, who you would like to see get what’s coming to him (or her)—and it’s judgment day.
For the sake of the illustration, let’s call this person, Otto Luck—an international leader who, under the cover of his religion, has pre-empted wars and terrorized nations with his arrogant dominance, leading to the death of thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children. He prepares to go into the presence of God. His attitude smacks of rebellion, anger, and hatred because he knows the time for payback has arrived. He knows that God is going to judge harshly and throw him in eternal torture as punishment and he hates God for it.
For the sake of the illustration, let’s call this person, Otto Luck—an international leader who, under the cover of his religion, has pre-empted wars and terrorized nations with his arrogant dominance, leading to the death of thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children. He prepares to go into the presence of God. His attitude smacks of rebellion, anger, and hatred because he knows the time for payback has arrived. He knows that God is going to judge harshly and throw him in eternal torture as punishment and he hates God for it.
Then he hears a voice from the fire. The voice does not say, “You evil, vile murderer! I am going to get you now. Revenge, punishment, and torture forever and ever!” Instead, he hears God say with sorrow forged from love, “I have loved you with an everlasting love. But look at your life; what have you done?” Totally undone by God’s unorthodox approach, Otto falls to his face, still afraid but with his hatred replaced by remorse.
As his life flashes before his eyes, he sees all the victims, mothers crying for lost sons, children begging for the return of their murdered fathers, the eighteen-year-old boy dying alone, mortally wounded, wanting his mother. Otto hears their screams, sees their bloody, battered bodies, and listens as they cry out for mercy. And he knows he gave none. Yet, here he stands in the fire of God, receiving what he never gave. He looks to his right and sees his victims. Still in the fire, God makes him go to each one and lay his hand upon their hearts. As he does so, he feels all of their pain, all of their disappointments, all of their fear, and knows that he has caused it all. Within the crowd of victims, the last one he has left to touch, he sees Jesus. When he places his hand on Jesus’ heart, he not only feels the pain, sorrow, and the disappointment he has caused him, but he feels the unconditional love that Jesus has for him, Otto.
All the while the fire of God burns, devouring Otto’s wickedness and evil deeds. Lest you think he gets off too easy, this is hell for him. With gnashing teeth, and uncontrollable weeping, his heart breaks, and he cries out in utter remorse, in unmitigated repentance, inconsolably grief stricken, knowing he can never undo the damage he has caused. Seeing his repentance and the unendurable and seemingly unending pain he feels as the fire burns off the chaff of his evil deeds, the victims are vindicated. The one thing victims most often wish for is that their offender feels remorse and knows the terrible pain he has caused them. Otto’s immense remorse and pain at the knowledge of his sin against them, satisfies this need. George MacDonald, one of my favorite theologians, explains the pain of the fire, which I call “hell,” saying that “the fire of God, which is His essential being, His love, His creative power, is a fire unlikely in its earthly symbol in this, that it is only at a distance it burns—that the further from Him, it burns the worse.” The farther a person stands from God in that day the more pain the fire causes as it burns away the impurities. Otto doesn’t get away with murder; he doesn’t get to take a walk without suffering any consequences. He burns in God’s eternal fire. The more he burns the closer he stands to God until finally, he stands close to God, purified, free from sin, and ready to hear God’s next words.
Then Otto hears God say, “I have forgiven you. Will you be reconciled to me and to those you have wronged?” Barely able to answer, Otto nods his head in utter disbelief. Much to his astonishment, God asks his victims to draw near to him and to put their hands on his heart. As they touch him, each one feels Otto’s pain, his fears, his disappointments; they can hear his cries as a child, know his shame as an adult, and they understand who he was as an evil ruler. Themselves forgiven and embraced by the love of God, they extend that same kind of grace to Otto, forgiving him his sins against them. At last, Jesus stands before him, touches Otto’s heart and says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love. Will you enter into my kingdom and be restored to God.” And Otto, fully righteous and free from sin and its effects, of course accepts (wouldn’t any righteous person no longer enslaved to sin choose Christ?). He has been judged by the fire of love; he has walked through the fire of God’s “wrath”; he has been purified by the fire of God’s mercy. He freely chooses to receive the forgiveness, reconciliation, and restoration given to all who walk through the flames, and he enters the kingdom of God, tested by fire, forgiven by grace. And, God has changed his name from Otto Luck to something new, renewed, and transformed (Rev. 2:17; 3:12).
For Otto and for all people, God’s judgment takes the form of inexplicable, extravagant love that brings a person to repentance and into an eternal relationship So As Through Fire: Reconciliation through Purification 79 with the relational God—a God who keeps redemption open for all creation The purification view from this perspective respects human freedom, yet at the same time, sees God’s will to save all people fulfilled (1 Tim. 2:4; 2 Pet. 3:9).
We could actually say with the writer of Philippians that every knee will choose to bow and every tongue will choose to confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. With this alternative view of hell, we maximize the powerful effectiveness of the cross and the power of God to save. Jesus wins the final and absolute victory over evil and death. He breaks the power of sin. He fully, completely, absolutely accomplishes God’s mission to reconcile the world to himself. Glory to God—truly.
As his life flashes before his eyes, he sees all the victims, mothers crying for lost sons, children begging for the return of their murdered fathers, the eighteen-year-old boy dying alone, mortally wounded, wanting his mother. Otto hears their screams, sees their bloody, battered bodies, and listens as they cry out for mercy. And he knows he gave none. Yet, here he stands in the fire of God, receiving what he never gave. He looks to his right and sees his victims. Still in the fire, God makes him go to each one and lay his hand upon their hearts. As he does so, he feels all of their pain, all of their disappointments, all of their fear, and knows that he has caused it all. Within the crowd of victims, the last one he has left to touch, he sees Jesus. When he places his hand on Jesus’ heart, he not only feels the pain, sorrow, and the disappointment he has caused him, but he feels the unconditional love that Jesus has for him, Otto.
All the while the fire of God burns, devouring Otto’s wickedness and evil deeds. Lest you think he gets off too easy, this is hell for him. With gnashing teeth, and uncontrollable weeping, his heart breaks, and he cries out in utter remorse, in unmitigated repentance, inconsolably grief stricken, knowing he can never undo the damage he has caused. Seeing his repentance and the unendurable and seemingly unending pain he feels as the fire burns off the chaff of his evil deeds, the victims are vindicated. The one thing victims most often wish for is that their offender feels remorse and knows the terrible pain he has caused them. Otto’s immense remorse and pain at the knowledge of his sin against them, satisfies this need. George MacDonald, one of my favorite theologians, explains the pain of the fire, which I call “hell,” saying that “the fire of God, which is His essential being, His love, His creative power, is a fire unlikely in its earthly symbol in this, that it is only at a distance it burns—that the further from Him, it burns the worse.” The farther a person stands from God in that day the more pain the fire causes as it burns away the impurities. Otto doesn’t get away with murder; he doesn’t get to take a walk without suffering any consequences. He burns in God’s eternal fire. The more he burns the closer he stands to God until finally, he stands close to God, purified, free from sin, and ready to hear God’s next words.
Then Otto hears God say, “I have forgiven you. Will you be reconciled to me and to those you have wronged?” Barely able to answer, Otto nods his head in utter disbelief. Much to his astonishment, God asks his victims to draw near to him and to put their hands on his heart. As they touch him, each one feels Otto’s pain, his fears, his disappointments; they can hear his cries as a child, know his shame as an adult, and they understand who he was as an evil ruler. Themselves forgiven and embraced by the love of God, they extend that same kind of grace to Otto, forgiving him his sins against them. At last, Jesus stands before him, touches Otto’s heart and says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love. Will you enter into my kingdom and be restored to God.” And Otto, fully righteous and free from sin and its effects, of course accepts (wouldn’t any righteous person no longer enslaved to sin choose Christ?). He has been judged by the fire of love; he has walked through the fire of God’s “wrath”; he has been purified by the fire of God’s mercy. He freely chooses to receive the forgiveness, reconciliation, and restoration given to all who walk through the flames, and he enters the kingdom of God, tested by fire, forgiven by grace. And, God has changed his name from Otto Luck to something new, renewed, and transformed (Rev. 2:17; 3:12).
For Otto and for all people, God’s judgment takes the form of inexplicable, extravagant love that brings a person to repentance and into an eternal relationship So As Through Fire: Reconciliation through Purification 79 with the relational God—a God who keeps redemption open for all creation The purification view from this perspective respects human freedom, yet at the same time, sees God’s will to save all people fulfilled (1 Tim. 2:4; 2 Pet. 3:9).
We could actually say with the writer of Philippians that every knee will choose to bow and every tongue will choose to confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. With this alternative view of hell, we maximize the powerful effectiveness of the cross and the power of God to save. Jesus wins the final and absolute victory over evil and death. He breaks the power of sin. He fully, completely, absolutely accomplishes God’s mission to reconcile the world to himself. Glory to God—truly.
Hell as Empathy
Many years ago the late theologian, Shubert Ogden, suggested that "hell" might be understood as empathy: the kind of empathy amid which we truly feel the feelings of those we have harmed, understanding how they felt as a result of our harmful actions. The hell would be the profound remorse the feeler has in this understanding as well as the desire to make amends if possible. It could be experienced in this life or in a continuing journey after death. And, it would include the harm we cause to other animals and the Earth.
From a process perspective, its medium would be what Whitehead called "hybrid physical prehensions," which are physical feelings of the mental states of others. In principle a person might also feel such "hell" in relation to himself or herself. Understood in this way, hell would not be eternal (everlasting) unless a person willed it to be, and it would not be torment imposed by God; but it would be painful and perhaps purgative. It is imaginable that God might even lure a person into this kind of hell, for the sake of the person's growth and for the sake of others harmed.
From a process perspective, its medium would be what Whitehead called "hybrid physical prehensions," which are physical feelings of the mental states of others. In principle a person might also feel such "hell" in relation to himself or herself. Understood in this way, hell would not be eternal (everlasting) unless a person willed it to be, and it would not be torment imposed by God; but it would be painful and perhaps purgative. It is imaginable that God might even lure a person into this kind of hell, for the sake of the person's growth and for the sake of others harmed.
Hell and Grace
When we awaken to the harm we cause others, such that excruciating remorse emerges in us, emotionally and intellectually, we are in hell - in this life or the next. As a fellow sufferer who understands us, God understands and in some way feels our remorse. It's not that God caused the harm, but that God feels our own remorse for having caused the harm. That's part of the relentless love. And God also lures us toward whatever rehabilitation is possible, albeit a rehabilitation that must pass through hell as empathy, not bypass it. In this sense we must say, not lightly, praise be to hell. Hell is divine grace in its purgative, purifying, healing form.
History of the Idea of Hell
and the Underworld
BBC Podcast
Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss hell and its representation in literature and the visual arts, through the ages from Ancient Egypt to modern Christianity. Why do certain religions have a Satan figure and others don’t? And why did hell shift from the underworld to here on earth in 20th Century representations? A fiery vault beneath the earth or as Sartre put it, other people - it seems our ideas of hell are inevitably shaped by religious and cultural forces. For Homer and Virgil it’s a place you can visit and return from, often a wiser person for it. With Christianity it’s a one way journey and a just punishment for a sinful, unrepentant life. Writers and painters like Dante and Hieronymus Bosch gave free rein to their imaginations, depicting a complex hierarchical world filled with the writhing bodies of tormented sinners. In the 20th century hell can be found on earth in portrayals of war and the Holocaust but also in the mind, particularly in the works of TS Eliot and Primo Levi. So what is the purpose of hell and why is it found mainly in religions concerned with salvation? Why has hell proved so inspirational for artists through the ages, perhaps more so than heaven? And why do some ideas of hell require a Satan figure while others don't?With Martin Palmer, Director of the International Consultancy on Religion, Education and Culture; Margaret Kean, Tutor and Fellow in English at St Hilda’s College, Oxford; Neil MacGregor, Director of the British Museum.