What God’s Treatment of His Worst Enemy Reveals About His Character

What God’s Treatment of His Worst Enemy Reveals About His Character

There is a question so unsettling that most Christians have never thought to ask it, and so beautiful that once you see the answer, you will never read your Bible the same way again.

The question is this: what does God owe Satan?

The instinctive answer is nothing. Less than nothing. Satan is God’s enemy, the deceiver of nations, the murderer from the beginning. He deserves destruction, and he will receive it. End of discussion.

But that answer, while true, moves too quickly. It skips something the Scriptures take great pains to establish — something that, when you slow down and look at it carefully, turns out to be one of the most staggering testimonies to the character of God in the entire Bible.

To get there, we need to start at the beginning. The real beginning.


God Did Not Create Hell

This is not a controversial statement. It is simply what the Bible says, and it has enormous implications that most teaching never unpacks.

When God completed the work of creation, He surveyed everything He had made and declared it very good (Genesis 1:31). Not good with reservations. Not good pending further development. Very good — wholly, entirely, without exception. There was no death. There were no toxins, no diseases, no predators, no graves. The book of Wisdom, which the Catholic and Orthodox traditions include in their canonical scriptures, states this with stark precision: “God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living. For he created all things that they might exist” (Wisdom 1:13–14).

Read that again. He created all things that they might exist. Not some things. All things. Every creature that breathes — human, animal, angelic — was made with one telos in mind: continued life in the presence of its Creator.

If God did not make death, he did not make the second death either. If he created nothing to die, he created no place for the dead to go. There was no Hades at the beginning, no lake of fire, no Gehenna. These things do not belong to the original creation. They entered the story later, as a consequence — and the Bible is precise about when.

Matthew 25:41 contains one of the most quietly explosive verses in all of Scripture. In the judgment scene, Christ says to those on his left: “Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels.” Note the past tense. The fire was prepared. It did not exist from eternity. It was fashioned at a specific moment, for a specific reason, for specific creatures — after those creatures had made themselves into the thing they became.

This matters enormously. Hell is not part of God’s original design for creation. It is not proof that God is a God of wrath who created some beings for destruction. It is the opposite: it is proof that God created every rational creature — including the one who would become Satan — for life, for fellowship, for glory. Hell exists because some of those creatures made a choice so catastrophic, so irreversible, that a new category of existence had to be fashioned to contain what they had become.


The Potentiality of Evil

But how does this work? If God is omniscient and knew Satan would fall, why create him at all?

The answer the Scriptures give — and it is a philosophically sophisticated one — is that God created all things with potentialities that did not have to be actualized. Good potentialities and their opposites. The ability to love and the ability to refuse love. The capacity for life and, latent within freedom, the possibility of its catastrophic misuse.

Think of it this way. Every human cell contains, within its DNA, the raw biological preconditions that, under the wrong conditions, could become cancerous. The potential is there in the very architecture of life itself. But potential is not destiny. Those preconditions remain inert unless something activates them — a mutation, a toxin, a cascade of failures in the body’s own repair mechanisms. God created the universe teeming with good potentiality — life, beauty, worship, communion — but within the gift of freedom lay the dormant possibility of its opposite. God did not create evil. He created freedom. Evil is what freedom looks like when it turns against the source of its own existence.

When Satan rebelled, and when Adam and Eve followed him into that rebellion, those dormant potentialities were activated. Death entered the world. Hades came into being as the place where disembodied souls await the resurrection. And hell — the lake of fire, the second death — was fashioned from things that already existed, prepared as the place appointed for those who had made themselves fit for nothing else.

God did not create hell. He created the conditions of freedom that made hell a logical necessity given the choices that were freely made. These are not the same thing.


The Indestructible Soul and the Resurrection Body

Before we get to the cosmic scope of the atonement, we need to understand what the Bible actually teaches about death — because the popular understanding is almost entirely wrong.

When you die, your body goes to the dust. This is what the curse promised: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19). But your spirit does not go to the dust, because your spirit did not come from the dust. It came from God.

Genesis 2:7 tells us that God formed man from the dust of the ground and then breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. The body came from the earth. The animating principle — the spirit, the breath of life — came directly from God. Ecclesiastes 12:7 draws the logical conclusion: “The dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.” The body goes where it came from. So does the spirit.

The breath of life is not a metaphor for oxygen. When Christ appeared to his disciples after the resurrection and breathed on them, saying “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:22), he was enacting the same pattern in the new creation that was enacted in the original creation. The breath of God is the Spirit of God. When God breathed into Adam, he was sending forth his Spirit to animate and sustain a new creature. Job understood this perfectly: “The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life” (Job 33:4). These are not two things but one — a Hebrew parallelism in which breath and Spirit are identified.

This is why there is no soul sleep in the Bible. When you die, your body returns to the dust and your soul and spirit return to God who gave them, to be assigned their place of waiting. The souls of the righteous are with Christ (Philippians 1:23). They are alive, conscious, and present with the Lord.

At the final resurrection, Christ will raise all the dead — the righteous and the wicked alike (John 5:28–29, Acts 24:15). The souls that have been in Hades will re-enter their resurrected bodies. Unified body and soul will stand before the judgment seat. The wicked will be cast into the lake of fire as whole persons — body and soul together — which is precisely why Revelation 20:14 can say that death and Hades are thrown into the lake of fire: the grave and the realm of disembodied souls will simply no longer be needed once all the dead are raised and judged.


The Blood That Reaches Heaven Itself

Now we arrive at the theological heart of the matter, and it is here that the Scriptures become almost unbearably majestic.

Paul’s letter to the Colossians contains what scholars believe is an early Christian hymn, and its architecture is breathtaking. In verses 16 and 17, Paul establishes that Christ created all things — everything in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities. Everything. The entire created order, angelic and physical, was made through him and for him, and is held in existence by him moment by moment.

Then, in verse 20, the hymn pivots to the work of redemption — and uses the identical language: “through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.”

The same scope. The same categories. Everything that was created through him is included in the reconciling reach of his death. The cross casts its shadow over the entire cosmos — over everything that Christ made and everything that Christ sustains. His sacrifice is not a local event with limited jurisdiction. It is cosmically sufficient. The blood of the God-Man is of infinite value, and its reconciling power extends to every corner of creation.

The letter to the Hebrews adds a startling dimension to this. After describing how the earthly tabernacle required purification with the blood of animals, the author writes: “But the heavenly things themselves with better sacrifices than these” (Hebrews 9:23). The heavenly sanctuary — the reality of which the earthly tabernacle was only a copy — also required purification. Christ entered heaven itself, not with the blood of bulls and goats, but with his own blood, to present that perfect sacrifice before the Father and to purify what the earthly ritual could only shadow.

Why would the heavenly sanctuary need purification? The author does not say explicitly, and Christian theologians have proposed several answers across the centuries. The most ancient and widespread reading — found in Chrysostom, Peter Lombard, and Cornelius a Lapide — understands the heavenly things as the people of God, the living stones of the heavenly temple, who must be cleansed by Christ’s blood to be presented holy before the Father. Another reading, suggested by the fact that Satan had access to God’s heavenly presence until a definitive moment of expulsion (Revelation 12:7–12, Job 1–2), is that heaven required cleansing from the contamination introduced by that access.

And then there is Revelation 5:9. When the Lamb takes the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fall before him and sing: “Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain and purchased for God with your blood.” The majority of Greek manuscripts — along with the Sinaiticus codex, Jerome’s Latin Vulgate, the Syriac Peshitta, and multiple other ancient versions — include a pronoun at this point: “you have redeemed us to God by your blood.”

The singers are not only humans. The four living creatures are the cherubim of Ezekiel 1 and Isaiah 6 — heavenly spirit beings, not men. And yet they are included in the us. Whether this means that Christ’s blood has a confirming and preserving function for the holy angels — securing them in blessedness so that no second rebellion occurs — or whether it points to something even more mysterious, the text at minimum insists that the blood of Christ has a significance for the heavenly realm that goes beyond anything most Christian preaching has ever explored.


God in Hell. God Over Hell.

One more piece of the picture, and perhaps the most disorienting.

The psalmist writes: “If I ascend to heaven, you are there. If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there” (Psalm 139:8). God is not absent from the realm of the dead. He is not sealed off from hell by his own holiness. He is present there — not as a material body that spatially extends into the location, but as the sustaining, overseeing power without whom nothing could exist anywhere, including in the darkness below.

Revelation 14:10–11 makes this explicit in a way that should stop every reader cold: those who receive the mark of the beast “will be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb.” The Lamb is present in the lake of fire. Not absent, not indifferent, not sealed behind a cosmic partition. Present. This is not a comfortable thought. It is a staggering one, and it demands to be held alongside everything else Scripture says about the love of God and the severity of God.


What God Owes Satan — and What He Gives Him Anyway

Now we can return to our opening question.

Satan will not be saved. He cannot repent. Our Lord himself said of him that “there is no truth in him” and that “when he lies, he speaks out of his own character” (John 8:44) — not out of choice but out of what he has made himself. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states plainly: “It is the irrevocable character of their choice, and not a defect in the infinite divine mercy, that makes the angels’ sin unforgivable.” Aquinas, John of Damascus, and the entire Catholic and Orthodox tradition agree: the angelic will, unlike the human will which is mediated by time, sensation, and the possibility of change, is fixed in its choice by its own metaphysical nature. The fall is to the angels as death is to men. There is no second chance — not because God withholds it, but because the door of the angelic will swings only once.

And yet.

God sustains Satan in existence. God preserves him. God endows him with the abilities and powers he now uses against God. God sends rain on the unjust as well as the just (Matthew 5:45) — and this principle extends to the most unjust being in creation. God permits Satan to enter his heavenly presence in Job 1 and 2, engages him in conversation, and does not consume him. When the demoniacs cried out in Matthew 8:29 — “Have you come here to torment us before the time?” — they revealed something remarkable: they knew there was an appointed time, and they trusted God’s character enough to know that he would not act before it. God’s sworn word of judgment, even to his enemies, is a word they can rely on.

What does this mean? It means that Satan himself — the father of lies, the enemy of God and man — is a walking witness to the faithfulness, patience, and love of God. He knows God cannot lie. He knows God will keep his word. He knows that the God who created him created him in love, that the God who sustains him sustains him with a patience that has no human analogue, and that when the day of his destruction finally comes, he will not be able to say that God did not give him every moment up until that day as an opportunity to be what he was made to be.

He will not take that opportunity. He cannot. He has made himself incapable of it. But the opportunity was there — woven into every moment of his continued existence by the God who created him out of love and who, to this day, has not stopped being that God.

This is the character of our God. Not the character of a tyrant who created some beings for destruction to demonstrate his power. Not the character of a God who takes pleasure in the death of any living thing. The character of a Father who made everything for life, who watched some of his creatures destroy themselves, who fashioned a place of just punishment only after that destruction became irrevocable, and who sent his Son to offer reconciliation to the entire cosmos — including, objectively and cosmically, to the one who hated him most.

Satan will go to the lake of fire. He will go there with the full knowledge that the God who sends him there created him for glory, sustained him in patience, and paid the price of cosmic reconciliation through the blood of his Son — a price Satan refused to claim, and, in the end, could no longer claim, because he had finished the work of making himself into something that could not receive love.

“Yahweh is good to all, and his compassions are over all his works” (Psalm 145:9).

All his works. Including that one.

That is not a soft God. That is not a sentimental God. That is the most terrifying and most beautiful God imaginable — a God so perfectly loving that even his greatest enemy cannot, in the end, accuse him of anything.


All primary source references in this article draw on the Hebrew and Greek texts, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas, and the patristic tradition including John Chrysostom, John of Damascus, and Gregory of Nyssa.


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