Abstract
The first task in reading any work is to determine its “literary form.” This present work by David Bentley Hart falls firmly in the category of polemic. It is not an academic work in theology. There are no footnotes or a bibliography. None of his opponents, apart from the historical figures of Calvin, Augustine, and perhaps Aquinas, is given a name, merely “a venerable Catholic philosopher”, “certain Thomists of my acquaintance”, or an “evangelical apologist,” and so on. More importantly we never hear from these anonymous opponents in their own voice, only through a jaundiced lens provided by the author. His opponents, labelled “infernalists,” are described as accepting “incoherence as profundity, or moral idiocy as spiritual subtlety” (19); they suffer from chronic “intellectual and moral malformation” (21), or “one or two emotional pathologies” (25). Although he does not want to impugn anyone’s sincerity, they are “deceiving” themselves (29); they employ “cunning and desperate devices” (44); their arguments yield “at best only gibberish, at worst cynical sophistries” (47). I could go on—but perhaps the reader by now has some sense of H.’s polemic stance.
The purpose of this polemic is to convince the reader of H.’s central thesis, that hell, understood as a state of eternal suffering, simply does not exist. He admits that this goal is “presumptuous of me” (31), but is absolutely convinced of the rectitude of his position.
The argument unfolds over seven chapters. The first two set the scene, framing the question and doubting the traditional answers. There are then four meditations: the first spells out an argument on the basis of divine goodness and the moral meaning of creatio ex nihilo; the second examines the scriptural data of the New Testament, drawing on universalist theme in the Pauline letters, and examining the various references to post-mortem punishment in the words of Jesus; the third asks about the nature of personhood as being fundamentally oriented to God and made in the image and likeness of God; and the fourth considers one’s freedom as finite and conditioned by a context beyond our making and hence never deserving of eternal punishment. There is a final chapter of concluding remarks. H. draws extensively from the writings of Gregory of Nyssa as a patristic proponent of his universalist stance; indeed, Gregory is the only theological source (apart from Scripture) who receives more than scant attention.
The target of H.’s polemic appears to be a vision of hell promoted in popular religiosity and some traditions of preaching that is clearly problematic and so makes an easy target. They turn God into an “indefatigably vindictive” (201) and sadistic monster, unworthy of worship. But the polemic nature of the argument also sweeps aside carefully made distinctions and positions, notably those around the problem of evil (e.g., God’s “permissive will”), around questions of the fixity of evil post-mortem (what is the metaphysics of change in a disembodied soul?), and Aquinas’s position of the relationship between the blessed in heaven and the damned. But then none of these are heard in their own voice, only through H.’s thundering dismissal.
Occasionally H. concedes some ground to a possible alternative. “I do in fact believe in hell, though only in the sense of a profound and imprisoning misery that we impose upon ourselves by rejecting the love that alone can set us free” (62). Still, even then God eventually wears down this rejection. And in his final meditation he notes “the argument from free will: that hell exists simply because … there must be some real alternative to God open to that creature’s power of choice,” a position he says is “wrong in every way, but not contemptibly so” (171). So those who hold an alternative position are not completely contemptible.
Some other issues are worth noting. H. builds his position on a Platonic notion of sin as based in ignorance. To choose sin is irrational and hence arises from a lack of knowledge. Remove ignorance and sin becomes impossible. Such a stance makes sin a cognitive issue rather than an issue of willingness versus willfulness. This may explain a lacuna, the question of the fallen angels. Given that their intellects are not clouded in the ways human intellects are clouded, how is their fall even possible? H. does not deny their existence but provides no framework to “explain” their fallenness. Also, H. quotes the universalist text of Philippians 2:9–11, but omits v.12 where Paul talks about working out our salvation in “fear and trembling”—a glaring oversight.
A more major theological concern is the underlying soteriology at work, which is pretty thin. Jesus does not proclaim a message of “it’s all okay, you’re all going to heaven in the end.” His urgent message is “repent, the kingdom of God is at hand.” H. describes the work of Jesus as reorienting “humanity again towards its true goal” (141), but given that this goal is, in H.’s own terms, ineradicably embedded in the human heart, why is this orientation needed? And how is it achieved? What is the role of Jesus’s death and resurrection in this process? And of the church as a community mediating sacramental grace? Perhaps these issues will be explored in some future work.
The book has already become a cause célèbre, with various reviews either promoting or condemning it. It is clearly a controversialist work, and H. has given his critics equal measure in return. Despite this notoriety, this is not a work I would want to use in a course on eschatology. Its polemic nature makes it a poor model for theology students. Opponents are not treated with respect, or their position carefully spelt out, simply dismissed on the authority of the author. Engagement with relevant theological literature is minimal to non-existent. The author is on a mission. Whether it is from God or not remains to be seen.