WILL THE KNOWLEDGE THAT SOME OF OUR OWN ARE LOST, MAR OUR HAPPINESS
IN HEAVEN?
This is a difficult question to answer satisfactorily, on account of
our instinctive feelings of natural affection, which arise, and, like
a mist, obscure our judgment. Nevertheless, the difficulty is much
lessened, and even entirely removed from some minds, at hast, by the
following considerations.
1. Our happiness, even in this world, does not depend on the
happiness of those who are bound to us by the ties of kindred or of
friendship. This is especially the case when their unhappiness
proceeds from their own misdeeds. In such a case, we even inflict the
punishment ourselves, and feel satisfied to see them suffer according
to their deserts. Thus a father banishes from the paternal roof a son
or a daughter who has committed a deed that has brought disgrace upon
the family. And what is more, the whole family ratify the terrible
sentence. The presence and happiness of that brother or sister is no
longer necessary for their own happiness. Again, a husband banishes
from his presence an unfaithful wife, whom he had formerly loved as
his own life. While she was pure, it seemed to him that he could
never be happy without her; and now her society has become a positive
hinderance to his happiness. Therefore she must go and live alone in
her disgrace. It is a just punishment for her infidelity.
If such is the case in this world, why not in heaven? Those of our
own who die in sin appear before God in disgrace. He disowns them as
unworthy children, or as unfaithful spouses, and as such He banishes
them from the kingdom of glory; and we shall undoubtedly ratify the
just sentence. Nor will their wretchedness, which is the work of
their own hands, disturb our peace or mar our happiness.
2. In heaven, we shall be like God, because we shall see Him as he
is. This moral transformation, as we have already seen, is the work
of the Beatific Vision. By that glorious vision, and consequent union
with God, we shall participate in all the attributes of God which are
communicable to a rational nature. One of these attributes is
justice--that is, the power of judging as God does, without passion,
prejudice, or any of those motives which, in this world, render our
judgments rash, unjust, or partial. Not only shall we be clothed with
the power of judging justly, but with it we shall have a desire that
every one be rewarded or punished according to his works; and we
shall rest perfectly satisfied to see the just sentence carried into
effect.
Even now we possess that attribute, as well as others which make us
the living images of the Most High. But it is far from being perfect,
because our feelings, private interests, and passions warp our
judgments, and even reverse them after we have pronounced a just
sentence. Suppose, for instance, you hear of a man who has committed
a premeditated murder. You are horrified at the atrocious deed, and
without a moment's hesitation you pronounce in your heart that man's
sentence. Your judgment is that he must die on the scaffold, or, at
least, that he be deprived of liberty and condemned to hard labor for
the remainder of his days. But you have scarcely pronounced this just
sentence when you discover that the murderer is your own father! What
a change this one circumstance will bring about in your judgment! If
you are of an affectionate nature, you will do all in your power to
find circumstances that may lessen or palliate his guilt; and perhaps
you may even succeed in making him appear, in your eyes, wholly
innocent; and thus your first judgment is entirely reversed. What is
it that has thus changed your first judgment? Is it your deep sense
of justice? Not at all. Your instinctive feelings of love have
blinded you, and made it impossible for you to judge his case fairly,
and on its own merits.
But, again, if you are not of an affectionate nature, you may be so
transported with rage at your father's crime, that you can find no
punishment severe enough for him. And why so? Because you see
yourself and your family forever disgraced. You feel your cheek
burning with shame, and, in your desire for revenge, you heap
maledictions upon your unfortunate father's head. Here, again, your
judgment is wrong, because it is dictated by an unmanly desire of
revenge. So, in either case, you are unable to judge fairly, and to
pronounce a just sentence, simply because the criminal is your own
father.
Now, it is very certain that none of these prejudices or passions,
which now so much interfere with our judgments, will follow us into
heaven. There, clothed with the justice and sanctity of God himself,
we shall judge as He does, without passion or prejudice. And the fact
that the criminal is our own father, or mother, or other loved one,
will neither influence nor reverse our judgments. I do not mean to
say that we shall actually sit in judgment and pronounce the sentence
of condemnation against our own kindred; but I do mean that, seeing
the justice and fairness of God's judgments, we shall readily
acquiesce therein, and ratify them, and rest satisfied to see all
suffer according to their deserts.
3. A third consideration is taken from the nature of love. When love
for any one has taken full possession of our soul, it so completely
changes our whole moral nature into the person beloved, that we
forget our own private interests, and embrace his cause, his
interests, as if they were our own. Henceforth, our will is so
absorbed by his, that we seem no longer to possess any will of our
own.
Holy Scripture gives us a striking instance of this transforming
power of love, in the friendship of Jonathan for David. According to
the forcible expression of Holy Writ: "The soul of Jonathan was knit
with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul."*
David had slain the famous Goliath, and when the Jewish army was
returning home in triumph, the women sang: "Saul slew his thousand,
and David his ten thousand." King Saul was filled with anger and envy
on hearing David praised more than himself; and, from that day, he
hated him, and did all in his power to destroy him. His son Jonathan,
who loved David as his own soul, left nothing undone to save his
friend. He watched everything his father said or did, discovered all
his plans against David, and then would go into the forest, at his
own peril, and warn his friend of approaching danger. He did more: he
forgot, or gave up all his own private interests, and embraced those
of David. For, being the son of a king, he had the presumptive right
to succeed his father upon the throne; but, instead of himself, he
wanted David to reign in his father's place. He did even more: he
embraced a line of conduct entirely opposed to the temporal interests
of his own father, and he thus materially aided in placing David upon
the throne of Israel.
* 1 Kings xviii.
This is a striking instance of the wonderful transforming power of
love. Now, if human love has such a power in this world, what shall
we say of the power of divine love in heaven! There we shall see God
as He is, and that vision will kindle in us a love far greater than
ever we had, or could have, for any one in this world. We shall,
therefore, spontaneously espouse God's cause, and embrace his
interests. We shall love all that He loves, and we shall find it
impossible to love them whom he does not and cannot love. Hence, we
shall never love Lucifer, nor any of those fallen spirits who sided
with him in his rebellion against God, and became demons on that
account. Nor shall we ever love any of those who lived a bad life,
stubbornly persisted in their sins, and died at enmity with God. They
have, by their own act, excommunicated themselves, as it were, from
the heart of God. They have, consequently, made it impossible for Him
ever to love them. They have also made it impossible for us to love
them, even were they father, mother, or any one else that was dear to
us in this world. If we can no longer love them, we shall certainly
not lose a single degree of our happiness on finding that they are
not in heaven.
4. The fourth and last consideration I place before you is, that if
the salvation of all their own were necessary for the happiness of
the blessed, it might follow that very few, if any, could be happy in
heaven. For it may be that there are only very few, if any, among the
blessed, who see every member of their family, all their relatives
and friends, around them in the abode of bliss. It would follow, too,
that even the angels are unhappy; for, before the rebellion of
Lucifer and his accomplices, they certainly loved each other, and
probably with more perfection and intensity than we ever loved any
one in this world. And now they see a vast multitude of their former
friends and associates in endless misery. Are they unhappy on that
account? Certainly not. It is evident, then, that if we once admit
that the salvation of our own is necessary for our individual
happiness, we find ourselves compelled to admit also that heaven is a
place of sadness and mourning, since there are many there who are not
surrounded by those whom they loved in this world. The absurdity
which necessarily follows from such an admission is, by itself, a
sufficient answer to the difficulty.
Once more: Remember that, in heaven, we shall be like God, because
we shall see Him as he is. We shall, therefore, be like God in
beatitude. Now, is God made unhappy because some of His creatures
have refused him obedience and love, and have, in consequence, lost
themselves forever? Certainly not. And did He ever love those same
creatures as much as we love father, or mother, brother, sister, or
friend? Certainly He did. His love for them was so great, that ours,
however pure and ardent, sinks into insignificance when compared to
His. Did we ever offer ourselves to suffer every imaginable indignity
and torture for our kindred? Did we ever offer even to die a most
shameful and cruel death for them? We never did; and if we had even
attempted it, we should have found our puny and imperfect love unable
to carry us through the terrible sacrifice.
God alone is capable of so great a love. He assumed our nature, and
in it He suffered more than human mind can conceive. Look at Him in
the garden, oppressed and overpowered with an agony of sorrow. Follow
Him through the different stages of his bitter passion. Contemplate
that cruel scourging, the crowning with thorns, the filthy spittle
which covers His sacred face, and the other insults and indignities
heaped upon him. Follow Him to Mount Calvary; see Him there nailed
upon an infamous gibbet, suffering every torture of mind and body to
his very last breath. And why did He undergo all this? Because He
loved us. And now, are all they, whom He loved so well, and for whom
he suffered so much, around the throne of his glory in heaven? They
certainly are not. Are even all they, who were his special friends in
this world, around him in heaven? Surely we have every reason to fear
that one of them at least, Judas the traitor, is not there. And is
Jesus unhappy because they are not all there? Certainly not. If,
then, His happiness is not marred by the loss of those whom he loved
so much, neither shall ours be, if we find that some of our own are
lost. We shall be like him in beatitude, because we shall see him as
he is.
In the mean time, do all in your power to instil principles of virtue
into your children, if you are a parent; into your pupils, if you are
a teacher, or clothed in any other way with authority over your
fellow-creatures. See that none of them be lost through your own
fault. For if there is one thing above all others difficult to
understand, it is how fathers and mothers can be happy in heaven,
when they see their own children lost through their own negligence,
or bad example? Again, how can teachers, guardians, and pastors of
souls be happy in heaven, when they see those committed to their care
ruined forever, through their negligence? Again, how can those men be
happy who have seduced others from the path of virtue, by immoral
discourses, bad books, and evil actions? These certainly are hard
things to understand; and still we must believe that all they who
enter heaven are happy. We must believe, moreover, that careless, and
even bad parents, negligent teachers, seducers of the innocent, and
writers of bad books, will eventually be admitted into heaven, if
they die truly repentant. We must believe, moreover, that all such
persons will be happy in heaven, no matter how many they have ruined,
for the simple reason that no unhappiness can ever find its way into
the abode of bliss.