So, it seems to me, the Christian World of to-day needs a vision along the same line; but larger. They have to take in the millions of un-Christian people in Christian lands, together with the uncounted millions of heathen during all time; and they have to learn that from the divine standpoint not one individual of them all is common or unclean. We believe that every one of them is destined for glory, and honor, and immortality. It may take a long time, and methods which as yet we know nothing of, to work out that glorious issue; but we cannot conceive of anything less as being worthy of eternal wisdom, power, and love.
From this point of view there can be no uncertainty about the end. Whether we think of God as desiring the highest character and happiness of His creatures; or whether we think of the means that Christ has used, and is using, to secure that end; or whether we think of the capacity of man for attaining the highest and the best—we can have no doubt that suffering will ultimately be done away, and that God will be all in all! That is, everything in everybody! Let us try to realize it. It is no mere golden dream.
I heard lately of a boy in Chicago under whose addresses people were being continually converted; and it was said there was nothing peculiar about his addresses but want of grammar. It is thus that God often chooses the weak things of the world to confound the mighty. The mere fact, then, that successful revivalists believed in the old theory of eternal torment, is no proof, nor even an indication, that it is true.
What a recoil we experience now when we read Jonathan Edwards' appalling description of sinners in the hands of an angry God! Even our beloved Spurgeon fell into this most horrible mistake. In all such cases it was logical enough. These men were but honestly following up the necessary result of their creed. Yet it may be well to quote Spurgeon's own words, that we may see what the old doctrine infallibly leads to. He says: "When thou diest, thy soul will be tormented alone. That will be a hell for it. But at the Day of Judgment, thy body will join thy soul, and then thou wilt have twin hells; thy soul sweating drops of blood, and thy body suffused with agony. In fire, exactly like that we have on earth, thy body will lie, asbestos-like, forever consumed, all thy veins roads for the feet of pain to travel on, every nerve a string, on which the devil shall forever play his diabolical tune of hell's unutterable lament."
No doubt such descriptions are awful. But are they not reasonable, if eternal torment is true? It is no use to turn away awe-stricken from such details; they are quite in harmony with the main idea of torment. Get the main idea right, and all such details will disappear. In fact, they have largely disappeared now. Why? Because the main idea is really disbelieved. Yes, disbelieved, though it is confessed. Surely, this disloyalty to what in our inmost souls we believe to be the truth is disloyalty to the Spirit of Truth.
Spurgeon's words are horrible enough; but they are far exceeded by
others. Take the case of the Rev. J. Furniss, in a book of his on the
"Sight of Hell." This author would be fiendish, if he were not silly.
Here are his words:
"Little child, if you go to hell, there will be a devil at your side to strike you. He will go on striking you every minute forever and ever without end. The first stroke will make your body as bad as the body of Job, covered from head to foot with sores and ulcers. The second stroke will make your body twice as bad as the body of Job. The third stroke will make your body three times as bad as the body of Job. The fourth stroke will make your body four times as bad as the body of Job. How, then will your body be, after the devil has been striking it every moment for a hundred millions of years without stopping?
"Perhaps at this moment, seven o'clock in the evening, a child is just going to hell. To-morrow evening at seven o'clock, go and knock at the gates of hell, and ask what the child is doing. The devils will go and look. They will come back again, and say, The child is burning,' Go in a week and ask what the child is doing. You will get the same answer, 'It is burning,' Go in a year and ask. The same answer comes, 'It is burning.' Go in a million years and ask the same question. The answer is just the same, 'It is burning in the fire!'"
This is lurid enough; but is it not logical? It does seem to me that in this as in many other instances there is a great want in the popular imagination. Men will think it reasonable to believe in endless suffering; consider it even a sure sign of orthodoxy; sometimes speak of it glibly; but when the idea is drawn out into detail, they will shrink back from the detail in horror.
The fact is, that the theory does not bear to be presented in detail; when it is, even its supporters are horrified. Yet the most lurid details are strictly logical. For there is no conceivable detail of agony to be compared with that of its eternal duration. The most dreadful suffering that can be imagined pales almost into insignificance compared with the idea of endless—endless—endless duration. Even a mild discomfort, if eternally prolonged, infinitely surpasses in amount the most fearful suffering that has an end. But men will accept the theory of endless suffering almost as a commonplace, yet recoil with horror from any presentation of it in detail.