A Short History of Guernsey

This is taken from the Channel Islands Directory, 1981. I have retained the adverts which punctuate the pages.

A Short History of Guernsey

Guernsey, the second largest of the Anglo-Norman or Channel Islands, is situated almost in the centre of the Great Bay of Avranches, that corner of the English Channel embraced by the Cherbourg and Brittany peninsulas. Only 28 miles from Cap Flamanville on the Normandy coast, Guernsey is important as the administrative and communications centre of its Bailiwick which comprises the outlying islands of Alderney, Sark, Herm, Jethou and Brechou.

Guernsey is nearly in the shape of a right angled triangle, about thirty miles around the coast, with an area of 25 square miles; it is noted for the friendliness of its inhabitants, the neatness of its dwellings and the number of its winding, twisting roads. Its population at the 1971 census was 51,351, which is only a comparatively small increase on the figure at the turn of the century.

The earliest inhabitants were men of the later Stone Age and Bronze Age and evidence of what is thought to be their settlements and religious cults are to be found in the numerous dolmens and monoliths dotted over the island, particularly on the west coast and in the low lying areas of L'Ancresse in the north. Numerous objects were unearthed in these graves by F. C. Lukis and T. D. Kendrick.

 

Almost nothing is known of Roman influence on the islands of the Guernsey Bailiwick. Some experts believe that parts of the Jerbourg "lines" were thrown up by Roman galley crews as a fortified shore-base, and Roman coins have also been dug up from the foundations of a building in St. Peter Port. Such coins were the daily currency of the Gallo Romano traders who sailed over from Normandy.

The Roman name for Guernsey was almost certainly `Lisia' (vide transactions of La Societe Guernesaise 1962); it was not Sarnia as is commonly supposed.

In the 6th century St. Sampson, a Breton saint and missionary, came to the island of Lesia, the Lisia of the Antonine Itinerary. In Lesia, it was recorded, he preached to a considerable congrega¬tion. His church was established on the northern tip of the island. A Celtic legend relates that monks who followed St. Sampson set about christianizing the numerous pagan stones-of-worship by im¬printing them with the cross.

By the first half of the 10th century several village settle-ments had been established : at Les Camps, St. Martin's, Val au Bourg, Le Bourg, Forest, Trinity, St. Peter Port, La Fontaine and Anneville in St. Sampson's, and Les Buttes, St. Saviour's. These hamlets were surrounded by corn land and from them and their natural territorial confines have developed five of the island parishes. 

These five parishes, St. Martin, Forest, St. Saviour, St. Peter Port, St. Sampson were in existence in the 9th century A.D. Their inhabitants were Celtic rather than Norman, dark haired rather than blond, short rather than tall, speaking a language akin to Gaelic. At the same time the Northmen or Normans in long ships were attacking Normandy and in 911 A.D. the King of France acceded half of that vast province to Rollo, the leader of the Vikings. Rollo was given the whole of the north shore region of Nenstria, nearest to the islands.

Twenty years later Rollo's son, William Longspear, attacked and conquered Brittany and incorporated the islands of Guernsey, Alderney and Sark into his possessions.

In the second half of the 10th century the remaining Guernsey parishes came into existence so that for administrative purposes the island was divided into ten units each with a douzaine or parish council.

In 1055 William, Duke of Normandy granted by charter to the abbey of Marmontier near Tours six of Guernsey's parish churches: "ecclesia Sancti Petri de Portu, ecclesia Sancti Andee de Patenti Pomerio, ecclesia Sancti Martini de la Berlosa, ecclesia Sancti Marie de Tortevalle, ecclesia Sancti Sampsonis Episcopi, et ecclesia Sancti Trinitatis de Foresta".

 

Probably about the time of the Norman Conquest of England Guernsey became subdivided into manorial feifs. More than one hundred such administrative enclaves are known to have existed and seventy have survived to the present day. Some of the followers of the Counts of Normandy and other influential Norman abbots were rewarded by the grants of fiefs in Guernsey from which they could levy taxes. Each fief had its own Seigneural Court at which rough justice was administered. To this day the Seigneurs of the Fiefs in Guernsey enjoy some special financial privileges so that manorial properties are much sought after by speculators and estate agents.

William the Conqueror defeated the English at Hastings in 1066, and so the Duke of Normandy became King William I of England. But it was Henry I in 1106 who was emphatically the first sovereign of these islands. He had ruled the islands as Compte du Cotentin before he acceded to the throne and he had a personal knowledge of the islands. In 1111 he made a new grant to St. Sampson's church to enlarge the building already erected in 1055. Peace and good government prevailed in Guernsey until the revolt of the Norman barons in 1204.

During the reign of King John in 1204 Guernsey possessed a small garrison. This garrison, under Peter de Preaux, gave help to John in his effort to crush the Baron's rebellion. When John had lost Normandy his Channel Islands were in the hands of a licensed free-booter named Eustace le Moine who had been com¬missioned by the King at Gillingham. This monkish adventurer was unreliable. He was replaced by Philip d'Aubigny, a worthy supporter of King John, and thus the islands were retained for the Crown, and have remained British ever since.

 

Throughout four long centuries the legal disposition of the Channel Islands was in dispute between Britain and France, both countries laying claim to them, and the French made several savage attacks on Guernsey. During the 78 years from 1295 to 1373 the island was attacked eight times. Raiders burned the town of St. Peter Port, its church and houses and standing crops. Enemy oc¬cupation lasted two years on one occasion.

In 1373 Yvan de Galles, a Welsh prince serving under Charles V of France attacked Guernsey with a mixed army of Spaniards and Welsh, landing at Vazon Bay. His army was defeated and he himself drowned while attempting to flee.

There are records of attacks on Guernsey in Henry IV's reign and again in Henry VI's reign a Guernsey naval force was much praised for its skilful attack on a French fleet in which five hundred prisoners were taken.

Two ancient Charters dated 1465 and 1468 bear testimony to the reliability of Guernseymen : "how valiantly, manfully and steadfastly the said peoples and communities of the said islands of Guernsey, Sark and Alderney have stood out for us" wrote the Royal hand at Westminster.

In 1483 a copy of the Papal Bull signed by Pope Sixtus IV was nailed to the doors of Canterbury cathedral and simultaneously affixed to the door of the Church of St. Peter Port, Guernsey. This document declared the Channel Islands neutral and threatened ex-communication on anyone who should violate them.

 

In the year 1564 Queen Elizabeth I transferred Guernsey from the bishopric of Coutances in Normandy to the bishopric of the Protestant See of Winchester and from that time the Roman Catholic Church lost its influence over the island.

Guernsey played a dual role in the Civil War, 1642-1651. Grievances against Charles I who owed a debt of £4,000 to islanders, the tyranny of the Governor, Sir Peter Osborne and the widespread teaching of French Calvinism had the combined effect of forcing the people of Guernsey into the Parliamentarian camp. The members of the States themselves were doubtful about the validity of the Parliamentarian cause. Parliament had sacked the Bailiff, set up a body of 12 commissioners to replace the Royal Court of Guernsey and sent an expedition of 500 Parliamentary soldiers to the island. The Parliamentarians, although not popular with the poorer people, remained in control of Guernsey until the Restoration of Charles II in 1660. Then the prominent men of the island speedily petitioned the King acknowledging their guilt and craving pardon.

 

Throughout the eighteenth century Guernsey was on a war footing, living constantly under fear of invasion. By the end of the century there were in the island sixteen forts of various sizes, fourteen Martello towers, and 58 batteries, but although in 1794 many islanders witnessed Admiral Lord de Saumarez's thrilling naval action off the west coast the French never again made a serious attempt at landing.

The Victorian accession ushered in a period of calm and contentment. Guernsey, which had prospered greatly in the 18th century due to the profits of privateering, became even more prosperous. On Monday, 24th August, 1846, Her Majesty Queen Victoria and Prince Albert visited Guernsey. The Queen was welcomed by the Lieut-Governor, Major General Napier, members of the States of Guernsey, and an "assemblage of some seventy young ladies belonging to the principal families, who were mostly arrayed in white." The Royal Guernsey Militia and the regular garrison, some 2,500 soldiers were on parade. It was a grand occasion, the first time that a reigning sovereign had visited the island since the age of King John. On departure Her Majesty "expressed her entire satisfaction with the arrangements made."

During the First World War, the Royal Guernsey Militia, the island's trained band that traces its history back to the Hundred Years War, was temporarily formed into a light infantry battalion. Men whose ancestors, some claim, saw service with William the Conqueror's knights at Hastings, once again fought for king and country at Ypres, Cambrai and Passchendale.

The Nazi tyrant Adolf Hitler cast his greedy eyes on Guernsey. In June 1940 a small German airborne force captured the island without a shot being fired and for five years the peaceful inhabi¬tants endured the rigours of a hateful occupation. Memories of this nightmare still endure in the minds of those who suffered, but time has healed most of the wounds, and the only visible scars that remain are the towers of steel and concrete around our coasts, monuments to a madman's folly that will stand for a thousand years.

The End.

A Short Story: Have I to die, innocent as I am?

Here is a short story which is a retelling of a bible story of Daniel 13:43 and is also based on a poem of mine. Like my other story, the theme is justice and false witness. But while that was set in a Victorian metropolis, this is set in ancient Israel.

A Short Story: Have I to die, innocent as I am?

The garden behind Susanna’s house was a place of stillness, a place where the air itself seemed to pause in admiration of her gentleness. She walked there often in the heat of the day, seeking shade beneath the old trees whose branches arched like guardians. Her reputation for goodness was known throughout the community, and her kindness had become a kind of shelter for others. Yet it was in this very place of peace that danger crept close.

Two elders of the people, men who were trusted for their wisdom, had allowed desire to twist their hearts. They watched her secretly, each believing himself alone in his longing, until the day they discovered one another’s hidden intent. Shame might have stopped them, but instead they fed each other’s corruption. They waited for a moment when she would be alone, and when it came, they stepped from the shadows with a terrible certainty.

They told her she must lie with them. If she refused, they would accuse her of meeting a young man in secret. Their voices were calm, as if they offered a simple choice, but Susanna felt the world tilt beneath her. She knew the law. She knew the weight of testimony from men of their standing. She knew that innocence alone could not save her. She knew that the testimony of a woman counted for nothing in their society.

She cried out, not in hope of rescue but because truth demanded a voice. Servants came running, startled by her distress, and the elders immediately began their performance. They declared that they had discovered her in adultery. Their words were smooth, their faces grave. The people believed them, for who would doubt such men.

Susanna was brought before the assembly. Her husband stood helpless among the crowd, unable to shield her from the tide of accusation. The elders repeated their story, shaping each detail with the confidence of those who expect to be obeyed. The judges listened, and the verdict seemed inevitable. Susanna lifted her eyes to heaven and whispered, "Have I to die, innocent as I am?". Her voice trembled, yet it carried a strange calm, as if she had already placed her life in the hands of the One who sees all.

She was being led away when a young voice rose above the murmuring crowd. It was Daniel, not yet known as a prophet, but already filled with the Spirit. He cried out that the people were about to shed innocent blood. His certainty startled them. They halted, uneasy, and agreed to hear him.

Daniel asked that the two elders be separated. He questioned each one alone, gently but with piercing clarity. To the first he asked under which tree he had seen the supposed act. The man answered without hesitation. To the second he posed the same question, and the answer was different.

The lie cracked open like a clay pot dropped upon a rock. The crowd gasped. The elders faltered, their confidence dissolving as swiftly as mist in sunlight.

The law they had twisted now turned upon them. Their own false witness condemned them, and they were led away to face the judgment they had intended for Susanna.

Her husband embraced her, trembling with relief, and together they praised the Lord who had heard her cry. Daniel stood nearby, quiet and watchful, as if listening for the next whisper of the Spirit that had spoken through him.

And the garden, once a place of threat, became again a place of peace.

The Sunday Archive: The Pilot, July 1997 - Part 2

The Sunday Archive: The Pilot, July 1997 - Part 2

Christianity and the Arts
By Tony Keogh

ARCHITECTURE

PART IV: The Victorian Church and the Gothic Revival and Modernism

It was in the nineteenth century that one can see the Gothic revival in church architecture and it was not only the external plan of the Gothic church which was copied. The design of the mediaeval craftsmen was slavishly imitated in the detailed decoration of the buildings and, because of this, the work often lacks any vital inspiration. Many architects of the time insisted that to build in the forms of the Middle Ages was a moral duty, and while the architecture of public buildings of that period reflects a number of styles, the majority of churches were deliberate imitations of the mediaeval cathedral and parish church.

The nineteenth century was a time of great flux and upheaval in science but above all in technology. Many new churches were built using new methods and technology; however, such technology was mostly camouflaged under the Gothic image of the church building itself - the Gothic in modern dress. The reasons that Victorian architects wished to return to the Middle Ages were much the same as the fascination which people of the eighteenth century had for the ancient world of Rome and Greece; the people of both ages needed to find some sense of order and stability in a rapidly changing world. For many Victorians, the mediaeval period represented a fixed and structured society. An illustration of this view is in Mrs Alexander's hymn, "All Things Bright and Beautiful." There was a verse in the original version - now happily removed from subsequent versions -which ran, "The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate, God made them high or lowly, And ordered their estate." A fair description of mediaeval society.

It is when we come to the twentieth century that we begin to see a reaction to this view of the church and a, consequential rethinking of the architecture of churches. There have been four basic factors which have combined to give. the present generation a unique opportunity for the building of churches:

1. The destruction which resulted from World War II affected thousands of churches on the continent and in Britain. Many had to be rebuilt.

2. The growth of new towns and housing estates.

3. The development of new techniques of building and the use of new materials.

4. The theological revolution in thinking about the purpose of the church and its worship.

These factors should have guaranteed that our new churches would have an integrity and relevance about them. Broadly speaking, while this may be true of many continental churches, the examples from Britain are very disappointing, with few exceptions. Of the twenty-eight consecrated buildings in this country illustrated in "Sixty Post-War Churches," all but three are based on the normal traditional plan of the Victorian period, with the altar at the far end of the chancel, separated from the congregation by the choir and, sometimes even, a rood screen, with pulpit and lectern standing at either side of the chancel steps -and the font at the west end of the church. These buildings need not appear old-fashioned, for their decoration is contemporary, yet nothing is easier or more irrelevant than to disguise what is basically a nineteenth century building in contemporary fancy dress.

The late George Pace, who was the architect of York Minster and also my home cathedral at Llandaff and the chapel at the theological college I attended, as well as the modern church of St Luke in our last parish, wrote in the "St Martin Review," "Merely having an odd look, being the possessor of a Dreamland lookout tower, having a glass wall that, at a touch, disappears beneath the floor, displaying a mosaic of obscure symbolism constructed of broken bottles, or exhibiting a statue by a name guaranteed to strike terror in the conservative, does not constitute a new approach to church building." 

George Pace's basic philosophy in his buildings was to bring together what the church has always struggled to hold in balance, that is, the ancient and the modern, the sacred and the secular. He achieved this in our previous church of St Luke, by having an overall design reminiscent of an old English tithe barn but built with modern materials. During the week, St Luke's doubled as a hall, catering for the needs of the community with women holding their monthly Fellowship meetings there as well as the Brownies, Cubs and Guides meeting weekly.

Next month, we will look at the ways in which we can hold these tensions of faith in balance in our own churches. It may be difficult to get it right in newly-constructed buildings and it can cause nightmares when the balance has to be reflected in our old established buildings

IN MEMORIAM
THE RIGHT REV FAULKNER ALLISON
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER 1961-74

By Laurence Hibbs

THE death has occurred recently of Sherard Faulkner Allison, Bishop of Winchester 1961-74, at the age of 86.

Faulkner Allison, a clergyman's son, was educated at Dean Close School, Cheltenham, and Jesus College, Cambridge, where he took a double first in Classics.

Ordained in 1931 his early ministry was divided between parish life and Ridley Hall, a theological college in the Evangelical tradition, of which in 1945 he became the Principal. Here his academic skills and strong pastoral instinct proved ideal for training men, many of whom, having served in World War II, were anxious to turn their war-time experience to good purpose in Church of England parishes.

Then, in 1951, he was appointed Bishop of Chelmsford, one of the most demanding of the English Dioceses, and in 1961 he was translated to Winchester.

From my own knowledge of him, and of those with whom I worked at the time, he was a bishop greatly beloved for his wisdom and pastoral gifts. It was said that he seldom forgot a face or a name, and his clergy held him in the highest esteem, knowing that he cared deeply for them and that, in case of need, they had direct access to him. He was greatly loved too by the people in the parishes he visited both on the mainland and in the Channel Islands.

In the wider field, outside the Diocese, he was heavily involved in the Anglican/Methodist re-union scheme of the 1960's, speaking and writing in favour of it. One memorable occasion I remember was the Synod of the Clergy held in Winchester Cathedral to debate the matter.

He was also chairman of several central committees including the Church of England Council for Foreign Relations.

Those of us, both in Jersey and on the mainland, who knew and worked with him will remember Faulkner Allison with deep gratitude and affection, both as a warm and humane person and as a man informed by a deep faith; a true shepherd to the flock of Christ.

 

Media Preview

Michael Lucas of Channel Television outlines the aims and ambitions — and successes — of CTV's approach to religious broadcasting.

UPON REFLECTIONS

CHANNEL TELEVISION is the ITV broadcaster to the Channel Islands. With only 144,000 residents in the Islands, the station is by far the smallest in the net-work. Channel Television has served the Islands for 30 years and on 1st January 1993 began a new ten-year licence period.

Throughout its history religious programming has formed an important part of Channel Television's local output. In essentially conservative Islands, religion remains a vital part of the lives of many in the community. In October 1989 a church census counted 13,000 Channel Islands adults in church, approximately nine per cent of the entire population.

Those who profess a religious persuasion are very largely Christians and apart from a small synagogue and a Jehovah's Witness Kingdom Hall in Jersey, all public places of worship are Christian. The Anglican Church is predominant, but there are also strong Roman Catholic and Free Church communities.

News

Channel Television reflects the above-average interest in religion in its local programmes. This is achieved through day-to-day coverage of religious events in news and news magazine programmes. There is also a short reflective programme every Sunday lunchtime. This usually takes the form of a Gospel-based message designed to be thought-provoking and uplifting.

However, the mainstay of Channel's religious programmes 'is seven half-hours, monthly from October to April each year. The series was relaunched in October 1992 and is now taking the form of discussion programmes.

The discussions have a "religious" issue as their base and Islanders with a particular knowledge or experience are invited to form a four-strong panel. Issues discussed in the present series include the ordination of women, listed buildings, overseas aid, religious education and Sunday trading. The programmes are transmitted in peak-time.

Advisers

Channel Television has always enjoyed the support of its religious advisers who "work" on a voluntary basis for the company as well as attending regular meetings. At least one adviser is attached to each religious programme and their views are also often sought on news items which have a religious significance. Channel Television's advisory panel is six-strong and comprises a representative of the Church of England, the Roman Catholics, and the Free Churches from both the Jersey and the Guernsey Bailiwicks.

Endings

This is a poem about dementia, about my mother, about the curse which removes the persona and leaves just an emptiness. There is still a glimmer of smiles sometimes, some happy moments, but this is trully a grim and terrible way to die.

And yet, as the Methodist Minister Christopher Collins said, I think this true: "When I looked at my own mother, did I see a person whom I still affirmed through my relationship or did I see a non-person? Surely my answer must be that I see a person, because I am still in relationship with her, and nothing can diminish that."

Postmodernity has not shifted the assumption that life was meant to be perfect and thus the biggest problem for religious belief remains the issue of arbitrary suffering. Theological speculation about dementia has been surprisingly sparse. 

For the most part, these people remain in care homes, forgotten by the clergy and congregation who have such busy lives, and if that seems unduly harsh, I am sorry. Collins I think is wholly right when he says: "the church must move beyond the idea that ‘success’ in our relationships is measured by certain signs of recognition and participation."

This is a poem which ends on a very bleak moment. But that is not an ending. It is a challenge.

Endings

When I look into your eyes, tired, sad,
I see all the emptiness, time so bad,
Taking away a sharp clarity of mind,
Leaving just shards. It is so unkind
That all you were just fades away,
As the dusk creeps in after day;
The light fading, the sunset falls,
So that you cannot hear our calls;
Smiling sometimes, but so lost,
This a price sometimes, the cost
Of memory as a mirror fragment:
The broken glass, as you just went,
Away leaving only a pale shadow,
Of who you were, a fading glow,
A shuttering candle in the night,
As you softly vanish from our sight;
And so I ask myself, as time goes by,
And I am honest, and cannot lie,
When I look into your eyes, tired,
Do I see a future, of myself retired?
Reflected in that often vacant face,
Losing all dignity, hope, and grace;
Yet this is for many of us, our fate,
Come the night, come dreaded date,
The limelight, before a curtain call,
The self, diminished, made small,
And just losing the ability to cope:
Into a dark wood, abandon hope;
As we make a journey into death,
Oh cruel world, our final breath.

A Look back at 1985: Nelson's Eye

A seafront restaurant, now closed.

From the Islander, September 1985

Nelson's Eye
Havre des Pas
St Helier

The St Helier end of the East Coast has never been renowned as being a "must" for eating out, but I am happy to say that the new Nelson's Eye has changed all that and put Havre des Pas on the gourmet map.

After various changes of name and ownership, the restaurant was bought by Dutchman Arie Stammes and his wife Sue in May, 1984, and this charming, attractive couple have worked miracles in the short space of twelve months — revamping the kitchen, installing a charcoal grill, etc., and providing an excellent, imaginative menu, plus an attractive wine list.

The wonderfully varied a la carte menu majors in sea food and steaks — there is a fantastic fish soup (really a bouillabaise), a live lobster tank with fresh sea water, and all the steaks are marinated in herbs and oil.

The restaurant itself is quite unique — completely timbered, fes-tooned with ships' lanterns, port and starboard lights and marine accessories, with seating set in booths in polished wood and deep green velvet. The whole atmosphere is "ever so nautical" and from the windows one gazes out to sea across the Three Sisters rocks and the sweep of the bay — when the tide is in there is a distinct feeling actually of being at sea without the dread of being affected by a rough passage! There is also a very authentic ship's bar and tiny disco floor for dancing.

For my meal I chose Gambas Piri Piri as a starter — a South African dish comprising enormous gambas, piping hot in a very spicy sauce, and if, like me, you are partial to anything spicy, I can assure you that you haven't lived until you have tried the Piri Piri sauce! (You can also have a sirloin steak cooked the same way.)

For the main course I decided on the lobster thermidor (one of the specialites de la Maison), which more than lived up to its reputation. With it I drank one of the proprietor's favourites Macon Vire, a light, extremely pleasant white wine from the Chateau de Vire. The whole meal was perfect in every way and chef John Hadley and second chef Michael Le Borne are to be con-gratulated on the extremely high standard.

The restaurant is very convenient for town with lots of parking space in the vicinity — open all year round (excepting mid-January to mid-February) for lunch and dinner (except Tuesdays) with a special Sunday lunch at £5.95 including service charge. They can also cater for (and welcome) private parties for up to 100 people.

So there you have it — yet another extremely good restaurant, with an ambiance all of its own, to add to your list of favourite "eating out" spots.

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Visions of Hell

Visions of Hell

JV [A.A. Milne’s father] believed in a God of love. At one of the schools where he taught early on in his career, the headmaster one Sunday preached a fire-and-brimstone sermon to the boys, warning them that they were destined for an eternity in Hell unless they pulled up their socks and concentrated in class. JV was given permission to preach to the boys the following Sunday and told them there was no such place as Hell and no such thing as Everlasting Fire, but encouraged them to work all the same because work was worthwhile and working hard now meant you wouldn’t have to work so hard later. After delivering his sermon, he offered the headmaster his resignation, but the headmaster wouldn’t have it. JV was too good a teacher to lose. (Giles Brandeth)

“What I am going to say is not a dogma of faith but my own personal view: I like to think of hell as empty; I hope it is,” Pope Francis

It is interesting to survey different approaches to the theology of hell.

 

The older hell fire and brimstone is still around, but more muted and nuances. Back in the 1960s (as a friend told me from experience), some Roman Catholic schools used to terrify young pupils with visions of hell if they were caught in wrongdoing. 

So here is a map of different theologians views on visions of hell.

I would comment that I think the Western view is totally wrong! And yet it is so influential in  paintings, in Dante's Inferno, and in the "Hell Fire" preaching which even permeates some strands of Protestantism. 

Traditional Western View: Eternal Conscious Torment

Whenever I was being raised, Hell was often taught. Hellfire and Brimstone sermons, they used to call them. I used to get scared out of my.......sin.....because I didn’t want to go to hell! I have told you before that I used to pray that we could be in a car crash on the way home after a really good altar call so I could be sure I would get to Heaven. (Robert Cox)

Historically dominant in Western Christianity, this view holds that Hell is a place of eternal, conscious punishment for the unredeemed. Rooted in texts like Matthew 25:46 (“eternal punishment”) and Revelation 14:11 (“the smoke of their torment goes up forever”), it emphasizes divine justice and retribution. 

Augustine and Aquinas shaped this doctrine, stressing the irrevocability of judgment and the moral seriousness of sin. This view is largely absent in Eastern Orthodoxy, which leans toward therapeutic and mystical interpretations of postmortem judgment.

The classic Western tradition-shaped by Augustine, Aquinas, and later Protestant scholastics-takes the “fiery” texts at near‑face value. Passages like Revelation 20:14–15 (“lake of fire”), Matthew 25:41 (“eternal fire prepared for the devil”), and Matthew 8:12 (“outer darkness… wailing and gnashing of teeth”) are read as descriptions of objective, external, divinely imposed punishment. 

Fire is not merely metaphorical but signifies real torment; “cast out” indicates irreversible exclusion; “gnashing of teeth” expresses conscious anguish. This view fits squarely within the Western legal‑forensic imagination: Hell is the just penalty for sin, enacted by God in response to moral rebellion.

The classic Western doctrine-Augustine, Aquinas, the Reformers-stands alone as the full penal model. Here, Hell is God’s active punishment of sin. The fiery imagery (Revelation 20, Matthew 25, Mark 9) is taken as describing a divinely imposed penalty proportionate to moral rebellion. “Wailing and gnashing of teeth” is the anguish of receiving just retribution; “cast out” is God’s judicial exclusion; the “lake of fire” is the arena of divine wrath. 

This is the only view in your set that treats Hell as a sentence rather than a state, and the only one that sees the fire as God’s direct act of justice rather than the soul’s experience of God or the consequences of its own choices.

Glen Scrivener: Christocentric Reframing

Scrivener, an evangelist and Anglican minister, reframes Hell through a relational and Christ-centered lens. He emphasizes that Hell is not merely a place but a trajectory-“the outer darkness” of rejecting God’s love. Drawing on Romans 1 and John 3:19–20, Scrivener sees Hell as the culmination of human autonomy, where people “choose” separation from God. He resists speculative geography and instead focuses on the relational rupture. His approach resonates with Eastern emphases on freedom and love, though his evangelical roots keep him tethered to Western soteriology.

Scrivener affirms the biblical imagery but reframes it relationally. He takes seriously texts like Romans 1 (God “giving them over”), John 3:19–20 (people “loving darkness”), and Jesus’ warnings about “outer darkness” and “wailing and gnashing of teeth.” For him, these images describe the end‑point of a chosen trajectory: fire is the consuming consequence of rejecting divine love; “cast out” is the natural result of refusing communion; “gnashing of teeth” is the bitterness of entrenched self‑will. He does not deny divine judgment, but he interprets the fiery imagery through the lens of human autonomy and Christ’s relational invitation. This places him between traditions: Western in seriousness about judgment, Eastern in seeing Hell as the soul’s posture toward God.

Scrivener takes the warnings seriously and retains the gravity of divine judgement, but he reframes the mechanism. He does not present Hell as God inflicting pain; instead, he emphasises God “giving people over” (Romans 1). The fiery imagery is real, but it describes the relational consequences of rejecting Christ. Scrivener is still more Western than Eastern in tone-he keeps the seriousness of judgement and the finality of exclusion-but he avoids the idea of God actively tormenting. He is the closest of the modern thinkers to the penal model, but still significantly softened.

Tom Wright (N.T. Wright): Eschatological Renewal

“Just as many who were brought up to think of God as a bearded old gentleman sitting on a cloud decided that when they stopped believing in such a being they had therefore stopped believing in God, so many who were taught to think of hell as a literal underground location full of worms and fire…decided that when they stopped believing in that, so they stopped believing in hell. The first group decided that because they couldn’t believe in childish images of God, they must be atheists. The second decided that because they couldn’t believe in childish images of hell, they must be universalists.” (N.T. Wright)

Wright critiques the caricature of Hell as a cosmic torture chamber. He emphasizes the biblical narrative of new creation, arguing that Hell represents exclusion from God’s renewed world. Drawing on passages like Revelation 21–22 and Romans 8, Wright sees judgment as restorative and covenantal. He rejects universalism but also resists eternal torment, suggesting that those who persistently reject God may “cease to exist” (annihilationism). His view blends Western biblical scholarship with Eastern themes of cosmic renewal and divine mercy

Wright reads the fiery texts within the biblical story of new creation. Revelation’s “lake of fire” becomes the symbolic end of all anti‑creation forces; “wailing and gnashing of teeth” marks the tragic collapse of human identity when it refuses God’s kingdom. He draws on passages like Matthew 10:28 (“destroy both soul and body in Gehenna”) and Romans 8 (creation’s renewal) to argue that Hell is the destiny of those who persistently refuse the life of the age to come. Fire is not torture but un‑making. Wright comes closest to annihilationism: the imagery of burning signifies the final dissolution of what refuses God. This aligns partly with Eastern cosmic themes but remains Western in its historical‑critical method.

Wright rejects the penal model outright. For him, Hell is what happens when a human being becomes less and less truly human. The fiery imagery is symbolic of un‑making-the dissolution of identity when it refuses God’s new creation. Matthew 10:28 (“destroy both soul and body in Gehenna”) is central: destruction, not torture. Wright’s God does not punish; God renews creation, and those who refuse that renewal simply cannot participate. This is not penal but ontological. Fire is the collapse of what cannot survive the age to come.

C.S. Lewis: Psychological and Volitional Hell

“There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, in the end, "Thy will be done." All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. Those who knock it is opened.”  C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

Lewis, especially in The Great Divorce and The Problem of Pain, portrays Hell as self-imposed exile. He argues from texts like Luke 16 (the rich man and Lazarus) and Romans 1 that Hell is the natural outcome of a soul turned inward. “The doors of Hell are locked from the inside,” he famously wrote. 

Lewis’s Hell is less about divine punishment and more about the soul’s refusal to be healed. This aligns with Eastern Orthodox views of Hell as a state of being rather than a place, though Lewis remains within Western metaphysical frameworks.

Lewis treats the fiery imagery as profoundly true but not literal. In The Great Divorce and The Problem of Pain, he interprets “fire” as the burning exposure of reality; “outer darkness” as the shrinking of the soul; “gnashing of teeth” as the self‑torment of pride. He draws on Luke 16 (the rich man’s torment), Romans 1, and Jesus’ parables to argue that Hell is the soul’s refusal to be healed. 

Fire is the pain of resisting joy; being “cast out” is self‑exile; “gnashing of teeth” is the clenched jaw of refusal. Lewis is Western in imagination but deeply Eastern in seeing Hell as the soul’s experience of God’s love when it rejects transformation.

John V. Taylor: Missional and Relational Judgment

Taylor, in The Go-Between God and other writings, rarely systematizes Hell but critiques Western dualisms. He emphasizes the Spirit’s presence in all human experience and sees judgment as the unveiling of truth. 

Taylor rarely systematizes Hell, but when he touches on judgment, he reads the fiery texts through the lens of the Spirit’s work of unveiling. Drawing on John 16:8–11 (the Spirit “convicts the world”) and 2 Corinthians 3–5 (the unveiling of truth), he sees fire as the purifying, exposing presence of God. “Cast out” becomes the experience of resisting communion; “wailing and gnashing of teeth” the agony of truth resisted. 

Taylor’s approach is the least punitive: fire is illumination, not retribution. This aligns strongly with Eastern patristic thought-especially St. Isaac the Syrian-where divine fire is the same love experienced differently by the receptive and the resistant.

Taylor is the least penal of all. For him, judgement is the Spirit’s unveiling of truth. Fire is illumination; “cast out” is the experience of resisting communion; “gnashing of teeth” is the agony of truth confronted. There is no sense of God inflicting pain. Taylor’s view is deeply Eastern: Hell is the soul’s experience of divine love when it refuses transformation.

Eastern Orthodox View: Hell as Divine Encounter

St. Isaac the Syrian: “I say that those who are tormented in hell are tormented by the scourge of love. ... It is utterly senseless to believe that the tormentors in hell are greater than the love of Christ” (Ascetical Homilies).

Love will enrobe everything with its sacred Fire which will flow like a river from the throne of God and will irrigate paradise. But this same river of Love — for those who have hate in their hearts — will suffocate and burn. (Alexandre Kalomiros )

In Eastern Orthodoxy, Hell is not primarily a place of external punishment but a state of being in relation to God’s unmediated presence. Drawing from passages like 1 Corinthians 3:13–15 and Hebrews 12:29 (“our God is a consuming fire”), Eastern theologians argue that the same divine light that brings joy to the righteous causes torment to those who reject love. 

Hell is thus the experience of God’s love by those who refuse it-a painful exposure rather than imposed suffering. This view is deeply rooted in patristic sources like St. Isaac the Syrian and St. Gregory of Nyssa, who emphasize healing, purification, and the mystery of divine mercy.

The Eastern tradition rejects the penal model entirely. The Eastern tradition reads the fiery texts through the lens of divine presence rather than divine punishment. Passages like Hebrews 12:29 (“our God is a consuming fire”) and 1 Corinthians 3:13–15 (works tested by fire) are central. 

Fire is God’s unmediated love; the righteous experience it as warmth and light, the resistant as burning. “Cast out” refers to the soul’s inability to bear the divine presence; “gnashing of teeth” is the pain of unhealed passions exposed by truth. Revelation’s “lake of fire” is the final unveiling of God’s glory, not a torture chamber. This view is mystical, therapeutic, and relational-far from the Western penal model.

A Short Story: The Cornerstone

Adapted from my poem based on Deut 4:1

The Cornerstone

The fog that morning was so thick it seemed to press its face against the windows of the Old Bailey, peering in like a curious but unwelcome guest. Inside, the corridors bustled with clerks, barristers, and the faint scent of damp wool. Court No. 7, a chamber of dark wood and darker expectations, was preparing to hear the case of Mr. Bartholomew Cratch, a labourer accused of striking his overseer.

Mr. Cratch sat hunched at the defence table, his cap twisting between his hands. He was a man worn down by life’s long winter, thin, pale, and carrying the look of someone who had never once been given the benefit of the doubt.

His advocate, Miss Eleanor Wick, stood beside him. Though young, she possessed a seriousness that made even seasoned barristers pause. She had been raised in the poorer quarters of London, where she had learned early in an old poem that “justice and mercy form the cornerstone” of any society that hoped to call itself civilised. And she had learned, too, that “a faith in which we may not be alone” was often the only thing that kept the vulnerable from being swallowed by the city’s indifference.

The judge entered, robes sweeping like a shadow across the room. Proceedings began.

The prosecution painted Mr. Cratch as a brute, a man of violent temper. Their witness, a foreman with a polished waistcoat and a polished story, claimed Cratch had struck him in a fit of rage. The gallery murmured. The evidence, though thin, was presented with the confidence of a man accustomed to being believed.

Miss Wick watched carefully. Something in the foreman’s account rang false. His description of the alley, the timing, the lantern light, all felt rehearsed, as though he had practised it before a mirror.

When her turn came, she rose. Her voice was calm, but carried the quiet authority of someone who had seen too much suffering to be easily intimidated.

“My Lord,” she began, “the law is not merely a mechanism for punishment. It is a guide to how we ought to live. And if we are to live rightly, ‘we must be our brother’s keeper.’ We must look after the weak, the downtrodden, and those who have no voice but ours.”

A ripple passed through the courtroom.

She produced a small notebook - her own. Inside were sketches of the alley where the incident had occurred. She had visited it at dawn, when the city was still half‑asleep and honest shadows still fell where they ought.

“The foreman claims he was struck beneath the lamplight,” she said, “yet the lamp nearest the scene has been broken for weeks. The cobbles slope sharply, and the ground was slick with frost. My Lord, the foreman slipped. And Mr. Cratch, far from striking him, attempted to catch him.”

The judge leaned forward. The prosecution faltered. The gallery shifted uneasily.

After a long deliberation, the judge dismissed the charge.

Mr. Cratch let out a breath that sounded like the first warm wind of spring. Tears gathered in his eyes.

“Miss Wick,” he whispered, “I thought no one would believe me.”

She placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“You are not alone,” she said. “Not while the law still remembers its purpose.”

Outside, the fog had begun to lift. The bells of St. Paul’s tolled the hour, and London, grimy, sprawling, and full of contradictions, seemed for a moment to breathe a little easier.

Miss Wick stepped into the street, her gown brushing the cobblestones, and felt the quiet satisfaction that comes when mercy has been allowed to stand beside justice, as it always should.