Crowns of Hope
I have heard some Christians, especially evangelicals and traditionalist catholics, claim that universalism takes the teeth out of Christianity. If universalism is true, they say, why would you care about sin? Why would you care about salvation? Why would you care about truth? Universalism, in this view, means a Christianity you don’t have to care about; after all, nothing bad will happen if you don’t. Universalism, then, is for people too lazy or too timid to take their faith seriously, a creed for people who do not, really, love God with all their heart.
There are various rebuttals I’ve heard to this position from universalists. One of the big ones is that universalists do, after all, believe in Hell, just not a perpetual one. There are still consequences to sin, on Earth and in Hell, and it is still in our best interests both to avoid Hell ourselves and to save others from it. In other words, a lack of infinite punishment does not mean a lack of severe but finite punishment—so universalism still has teeth. I can understand this position, and I think there’s some truth to it. But I also think it’s fundamentally on the wrong track.
The more basic problem with the anti-universalist objection is in equating a reduced anticipation of punishment with a reduction in devotion. But in all my experience, this is not how religious conviction works. Religion is not a kind of metaphysically-instated negative universalism, in which one attempts to optimally avoid negative outcomes as framed by a system of theological beliefs which imply harm and suffering. Rather, theistic religion is a continual binding and re-binding oneself to God, as the object of all one’s hope, the source of all one’s peace, and the perfection of all one’s love. It is not a utilitarian matter, though the experience of tangible deliverance from suffering and bestowal of joy does play a role. True religious faith, as is often said, is a kind of conviction a lot like amorous love, in which a person’s experience of God so enraptures them with beauty that they know they can never again live quite like they lived before. It is the devotion which springs from that experience which causes a person to want to be faithful, to both trust that God will deal lovingly with them and to commit themself to dealing lovingly with God. A convinced and affecting Christianity, then, is not a Christianity with teeth to bite, but a Christianity with lips to kiss, one which inspires an unlimited love for God.
By itself, universalism may not promote this kind of faith. A certain apprehension of Hell is necessary to faith, in the same way that a faithful lover can see that to be unfaithful to their spouse would be both horrible and undesirable. If universalism means not seeing the Hell in our own sins, the Hell we construct in our own hearts when we harden ourselves to God and to one another, then it is not conducive to taking one’s religion seriously. But the reason this approach to universalism is not one of religious conviction is not because it does not consign an adequate number of people to eternal or even temporal punishment. This universalism is lacking in conviction because it does not comprehend the blessedness which it is possible to attain in loving God, and therefore, does not care overmuch about eschewing that love. The corrective here is not a greater sense of terror of eternal torment, but a greater sense of the overwhelming beauty of God.
And here, universalism absolutely serves to promote faith. At its core and taken seriously, the message of universalism is essentially one of extreme and surpassing beauty: that the good shepherd has given his life for his sheep, and has come again, and will not lose even one of his flock. The implications here are enormous. Heaven is eternity, a kind of infinite saturation of existence and essence which radically exceeds even an infinite duration in time. If all people are ultimately bound for Heaven, all people are ultimately one’s siblings in eternity—and therefore, bound for a kind of intimacy and committed love which is vastly beyond what we can hope to imagine in this life. By our own efforts in this life, if we are lucky, we may find a committed partner and committed friends, who we will get to know as well as we can over decades of life. But what God offers is something whose incomprehensible glory we can, by comparison to our lives in this world, begin to intuit. To in the end not only keep all our relationships on Earth, and to deepen those relationships immeasurably, but also to inherit billions of others with infinite time to pursue them is an astonishing prospect. Even more, because these relationships are in eternity and not, strictly speaking, “to come” in time, we on some level already have these relationships through the communion of saints, if we are willing to apprehend them with faith and hope and love. Not only are we given the eternal friendship of God, but also, of all people and all angels.
Opponents to universalism would here object that this is not beautiful, because it discounts justice. If God admits all people to eternity, the horrors of this world go unaddressed, and this universal friendship is nothing to be desired. But in fact, universalism glorifies the justice of God all the more, and gives us more reason to rejoice in the prospect of the Day of Judgement. If eternal and full communion of all people is to be possible, that means that no wound can go undealt with, no atrocity unresolved. The coming Day of Judgement, then, becomes a moment in which the Saviour, the Christ, by the infinite activity and wisdom of God deals justly with all the events of history and all human hardness of heart, and restores it. This justice can only be unmeasurable to us—yet also, like the prospect of the communion of saints, not unintuitive. We already have been given a foretaste of reconciliatory justice in this world, just as we have a foretaste of committed love in this world. Many of us have felt the relief of sincere repentance and have felt the joy of forgiveness, and if we are religious, of the capacity of prayer and grace to soften our hearts to these tasks. We know the bases on which the Day of Judgement builds, and they are beautiful: a justice which brings all things to light, which is tenacious but always merciful, which in the end always restores to life rather than condemning to death. The Day of Judgement simply applies these principles on a scale we cannot imagine, to our wonder and astonishment.
Universal salvation shows us mercy and justice as the perfection of each other, never in contradiction, and leads us to adore and glorify them both. Universal salvation annihilates our lonelinesses, our despairs, and our animosities, and replaces them with a kingdom of love which, no matter how hard we try to quantify it, will always lie beyond our wildest dreams. Universal salvation conquers us, conquers our hearts which compromise with sin, which cry out for mercy and for judgement and do not know how to reconcile the two. It conquers us because it glorifies God, because it beautifies God, and shows that in God we can and should have perfect faith. Does this vision lead to a tepid faith? How could it possibly?
To truly hope with all one’s heart for the salvation of every person can only involve a triumphant faith. To trust that God will perform such a vast and endless work for us is impossible without throwing oneself into the arms of God. And if one has this kind of trust, all the hard commandments of Christ become, as he says, an easy yoke. To not be anxious about tomorrow, to not trouble oneself with vengeance, to give generously, to forgive constantly, to love your neighbour as yourself—if one can believe in universal salvation, one has the requisite faith to see all of these as easy when your helper is God himself. Moreover, universal salvation gives you every incentive to apply yourself enthusiastically to the work of God. Which motivates a person more: to do work which is full of drudgery, or to do work which is beautiful and lovely? What glory is there, then, greater than to do the work of God, which is all all beauty and all loveliness? A God of universal salvation gives us every incentive to put our spirit wholly in his hands, knowing that the end one serves is infinitely glorious, and all along the way one is supported by an infinite glory.
So if devoted Christianity means loving God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your mind, and all your might, universal salvation is a basis for absolute and total devotion. And if devoted Christianity means loving your neighbour as yourself, is there here any less reason for devotion? If all people shall be, in the end, our neighbours in eternity, relationships far greater in importance than anything this life can contain, what limit can there be on the extent to which we love each other? In this first millisecond of our time together, will I begin my relationships in hate and enmity? If I did, even this would be rectified in the Judgement. But how can I bear to hurt my own sibling, the child of my own Father, as close to me as I am to myself? How can I see anyone as my enemy when the love we are destined for is unspeakable? If God has offered me the glory of loving you, will I put it off and deprive myself of joy? I am far too impatient for that—but instead I will give thanks for you, and pray for you, and if I can I will minister to you, as much as I can manage. I know I am a failing creature, and that I stumble and fall. But God, my God, give me the strength to be my brother’s keeper!
All people have begun to seem to me like monarchs, crowned with hope and light. I have even begun to imagine, when I walk down the street, that everyone I see has the halo of a saint, and I rejoice that I am set in such a company, so far beyond what I could possibly deserve. I grin widely and whisper, “Hallelu-Yah, Hallelu-El, Hallelu-Hoo!” in a crowded place, because the brilliance outshines the sun. My own faith is far weaker than I hope it may one day be, and I have to struggle to stay in this state, yet even what little of the gift I have been given astounds me without end. How could I ever have despaired, when the fruit of life is right in front of me, when the victory is so great, and the war has already been won? How could I have missed the purpose of my life? In the words of Burt Bacharach:
There’ll be joy
And there’ll be laughter
Something big is what I’m after now
Yes, it’s what I’m after now
After taking
Take up giving
Something big is what I’m living for
Yes, it’s what I’m living for
Living for
And I mean it. I feel it. The hard-heartedness is melting away, and the people I have at one point scorned, I earnestly await in Heaven. If only I am saved, if I can only manage that, I do not despair that I shall see any of them! People I have known personally: high school bullies, messy ex-friends, staff at the psych ward, the infamous Nick Land. People I haven’t met: Jordan Peterson, J.K. Rowling, Ray Blanchard, Mar Mari Emmanuel. Since I believe that there will come a day when all things will be known, I can write to you here: I am sorry! I love you! No disagreement will ever mean you are not bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my sisters and my brothers. I pray for you, I give thanks for you, I earnestly desire your good. Pray for me, whoever reads this, whether on Earth or with the saints in light. Admit me to your company in eternity, and I will never spurn you there. How much better is it to be saved together than to be damned alone?
It is not so simple in this life. We do not act like siblings to each other, and so it is deferred to another day. We cry out, “Grant us grace, Lord, grant us grace, / for we are sorely sated with scorn” (Psalm 123:3). We cry out, “I am for peace, but when I speak, / they are for war” (Psalm 120:7). And it may well be so. And yet, at the same time, it is so simple in this life, if only we love God and do what we like. The vision is exceedingly beautiful, the love is exceedingly compelling, guiding the footsteps, correcting the heart. And so we have cause to say as well, “I hoped in the Lord, my being hoped, / and for his word I waited” (Psalm 130:5), remembering that the word for “word” can just as well mean kiss. And likewise we have cause to say:
Those who sow in tears
in glad song will reap.
He walks along and weeps,
the bearer of the seed-bag.
He will surely come in with glad song,
bearing his sheaves. (Psalm 126:5–6)
We are the sowers and the reapers, we are the revelers and the weepers, but more than these, we are the harvest reaped. Would you deign, beloved, to be reaped with me?