Rejoicing at those in Hell?

It doesn’t sound very Christian. We’re supposed to be compassionate and love our enemies. We can’t possibly be happy about hell, can we? Surely we should not rejoice at the eternal conscious torment of others, right? Yet notable Christians throughout church history have done exactly that.

1. “How vast a spectacle then bursts upon the eye! What there excites my admiration? what my derision? Which sight gives me joy? which rouses me to exultation?--as I see so many illustrious monarchs, whose reception into the heavens was publicly announced, groaning now in the lowest darkness with great Jove himself” (Tertullian, “On the Spectacles”).
2. “Wherefore in order that the happiness of the saints may be more delightful to them and that they may render more copious thanks to God for it, they are allowed to see perfectly the sufferings of the damned” (Thomas Aquinas, “Summa Theologica”).
3. “When they shall see how miserable others of their fellow-creatures are, who were naturally in the same circumstances with themselves; when they shall see the smoke of their torment, and the raging of the flames of their burning, and hear their dolorous shrieks and cries, and consider that they in the meantime are in the most blissful state, and shall surely be in it to all eternity; how will they rejoice!” (Jonathan Edwards, “The Wrath of Almighty God”).
4. “What bliss will fill the ransomed souls / When they in glory dwell / To see the sinner as he rolls / In quenchless flames of hell” (Isaac Watts, “O For a Thousand Tongues”).

What’s their deal? How can they rejoice at the sufferings of others? Is this something Christians should do? In the new creation, will glorified Christians derive satisfaction or joy from the eternal conscious torment of their former neighbors on earth?

I think the answer is yes. When you think about it, the existence of hell initially seems to pose a problem for Christians. How can we enjoy eternity with God when we know that others are suffering in hell? Even the faintest awareness that a friend or family member is under judgment seems like it would corrupt the saints’ eternal life.

There are really only a few possibilities. Either there’s no one in hell, the saints are unaware of those in hell, or the saints’ knowledge of hell does nothing to sully the bliss of eternal life (and may even amplify it). I’m not going to humor the notion that no one is in hell, nor do I think I need to. And the idea that God would erase any knowledge of hell from our memories seems rather out of character. This leaves one possibility — the saints will know about those suffering in hell, but that knowledge will not bother them.

C.S. Lewis addresses this idea in “The Great Divorce.” At one point, the narrator turns to his guide and says, “I hardly know, Sir. What some people say on Earth is that the final loss of one soul gives the lie to all the joy of those who are saved.” His guide responds:

“That sounds very merciful: but see what lurks behind it . . . The demand of the loveless and the self-imprisoned that they should be allowed to blackmail the universe: that till they consent to be happy (on their own terms) no one else shall taste joy: that theirs should be the final power; that Hell should be able to veto Heaven . . . Either the day must come when joy prevails and all the makers of misery are no longer able to infect it: or else for ever and ever the makers of misery can destroy in others the happiness they reject for themselves” (Lewis, “The Great Divorce,” 135-36).

If the knowledge of souls in hell causes some sorrow or pain among the saints, then one soul’s rejection of God could withhold fullness of joy from those in God’s presence. If the loveless and self-imprisoned possess the ability to infect joy for eternity, the makers of misery themselves become “the tyrant of the universe.” That is all backwards. Good will triumph over evil. Joy will triumph over pity. End of story. Unless hell should be able veto heaven, the reality of hell can do nothing to adulterate the eternal pleasures at the right hand of God.

But Tertullian, Aquinas, Edwards, and Watt took it further. They seemed to revel in the reality of hell. Should we join them? I cautiously think we should, for at least two reasons. First, as both Aquinas and Edwards state, knowledge of hell inspires the saints to “render more copious thanks to God.” Hell is a powerful reminder that “there but for the grace of God go I.” When we see the misery of those “who were naturally in the same circumstances” as us, how can we not rejoice in the wondrous love that saved us from the same fate?

Second, we can rejoice at God’s vindication. We can rejoice at the execution of his justice. We can rejoice at the triumph of his goodness. Vengeance is God’s, and if he wants it, we should rejoice when he gets it. God has “endured from sinners such hostility against himself” for ages (Hebrews 12:30). He has “endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction” (Romans 9:22). So when God exercises his role as King and Judge by finally destroying those vessels, we can rejoice at the triumphant return of the King.

To close, I should clarify two things. One, this kind of rejoicing is unequivocally not boasting. It requires some discernment to recognize this, but it must never look like boasting. For “what do you have that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if you did not receive it?” (1 Corinthians 4:7). Instead, it should look like praising God for his might, glory, justice, mercy, grace, and goodness (we can call it rejoicing, because for the Christian, there’s no form of rejoicing that isn’t really just praise).

Two, just because joy triumphs over pity, that doesn’t mean pity will be extinguished. We can continue to feel pity for the sinners as they roll in quenchless flames of hell, but the pity will lose its sting. C.S. Lewis addressed this. When the narrator asked, "But dare one say — it is horrible to say — that Pity must ever die?”, the guide responds:

Ye must distinguish. The action of Pity will live for ever: but the passion of Pity will not. The passion of Pity, the Pity we merely suffer, the ache that draws men to concede what should not be conceded and to flatter when they should speak truth, the pity that has cheated many a woman out of her virginity and many a statesman out of his honesty—that will die. It was used as a weapon by bad men against good ones: their weapon will be broken” (Lewis, “The Great Divorce,” 136).