Suppose that, after death, Stalin sees the errors of his ways and desires to come into right relation with God. He must still be punished for his horrendous crimes. Surely justice demands that much. What I fail to grasp, however, is how justice could demand that Stalin be punished everlastingly or eternally (if you care to distinguish eternity from everlastingness) for a finite series of finite crimes.
Thomas Aquinas disagrees:
The magnitude of the punishment matches the magnitude of the sin. Now a sin that is against God is infinite; the higher the person against whom it is committed, the graver the sin—it is more criminal to strike a head of state than a private citizen—and God is of infinite greatness. Therefore an infinite punishment is deserved for a sin committed against Him. (Summa Theologica, Ia2ae. 87, 4.)
Some years back, my friend floated the suggestion that we are in hell right now. This can't be right, for reasons I won't go into. But it is reasonably held that we are right now in purgatory. The case is made brilliantly and with vast erudition by Geddes MacGregor in Reincarnation in Christianity (Quest Books, 1978, see in particular, ch. 10. "Reincarnation as Purgatory.")
As for heaven, my friend asks,
Can a just and benevolent God reward me with eternal happiness just for believing in . . . him? Just as the threatened punishment seems totally disproportionate, so the promised reward seems "too good to be true" . . . .
The question is essentially this: If justice rules out everlasting, 'infinite,' punishment for finite crimes committed by miserably limited humans, does it also rule out everlasting reward for finite good deeds? If the threatened punishment is totally disproportionate, is the promised reward also totally disproportionate?
To sharpen it a bit further, let's translate the interrogative into a declarative: If no everlasting punishment is justified, then no everlasting reward is either. If that is the claim, then I would respond by saying that the Beatific Vision is not a reward for good things we do here below, but the state intended for us all along. It is something like a birthright or an inheritance. One doesn't earn one's inheritance; it is a gift, not a reward. But one can lose it. Similarly with the Beatific Vision. One cannot earn it, and one does not deserve it. But one can lose it.
It is also worth noting that 'totally disproportionate' and 'too good to be true' differ in sense. The visio beata is admittedly totally disproportionate as a reward for the good things that we wretched mortals do, but that is not to say that it is too good to be true. If it is true that our ultimate felicity is participation in the divine life, and true that this participation is open to us, as a real possibility and a divine gift, then that is the way things are. How could it be too good to be true? Whatever good thing exists, precisely because it exists ,cannot be too good to exist.
Concluding Existential-Practical Postscript
What I really want to say to my friend is that, while these philosophical and theological problems are genuine and important, they cannot be resolved on the theoretical plane. In the end, after canvassing all the problems and all the arguments for and against, one simply has to decide what one will believe and how one will live. In the end, the will comes into it. The will must come into it, since nothing in this area can be proven, strictly speaking. The 'presuppers' are out to lunch, to mention one bunch of those who fabricate a fake certainty for themselves to assuage their overwhelming doxastic security needs. And the same goes for the Biblical inerrantists. The will comes into it, as I like to say, because the discursive intellect entangles itself in problems it cannot unravel.
In my own case, I have had enough mystical, religious, aesthetic, moral, and paranormal experiences to convince me to take the Unseen Order with utmost seriousness -- and I do. And so that's the way I live, devoting most of my time to prayer, meditation-contemplation, lectio divina, study of the great classics of philosophy and theology, moderate ascesis, such good works as befit my means and station, and writing philosophy, which I view as itself a spiritual practice. I mean: what could be a better use of a life than to try to ascend to the Absolute by all possible routes? But this won't make any sense to you unless you perceive this world, the Seen Order, to be a vanishing quantity devoid of ultimate reality and value, and our fleeting lives in it unsatisfactory and ultimately meaningless, if they end in annihilation.
So I say to my friend: you are on your own. Going to a church and participating in external rites and rituals won't do you much if any good, nor will confessing your sins to a pedophile priest. (Ex opere operato is on my list of topics to discuss.) There is no need to go outside yourself; truth dwells in the inner man. Noli foras ire, in te ipsum redi. In interiore homine habitat veritas. (Augustine) Review your life and try to recall those moments and those experiences which seemed most revelatory of the Real, and live and then die in accordance with them.
In the face of temptation, ask yourself: How do I want death to find me? In what state? The lures of this world are alluring indeed, and it is well-nigh impossible to resist them, as witness the corruption of (some of) the cardinals who voted on the new pope. You have a sense of the Unseen Order if you sense that temptation ought to be resisted. Whence the bindingness of that Ought? Whence the vocation to a Higher Life? Are they just illusions of brain chemistry? Could be! You decide!
I myself have decided that The Greatest Temptation must be resisted.
One more point about church-going. It may be necessary for those excessively social animals lacking inner directedness, but I'd say that Matthew 6:6 hits the mark: "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." (KJV)
But I don't want to deny that special places, some of them churches, have an aura that aids and may even induce contemplative repose. I recall a time in Venice, Italy when I entered an ancient and nondescript little church and spent a few moments there alone. Upon exiting, I was unusually calm and collected. My girlfriend at the time, noticing the transformation, remarked, "You ought to go to church more often." The following, though AI-generated, is spot on.
Aura of Places
An aura of a place can be described as a distinctive atmosphere or feeling that seems to surround and emanate from it. This term is often used metaphorically to convey the unique quality or vibe that a location gives off. For example, a place might have an aura of mystery, tranquility, or invincibility.
In spiritual contexts, auras are thought to be energy fields surrounding all living and non-living things, including places. These fields can be influenced by the emotions, thoughts, and experiences of those who frequent the location.
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