[This article is adapted from a devotional presented at the General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists World Headquarters in Silver Spring, Maryland, August 25, 2026.]

The great controversy is premised on a question about God's character.¹ Is He just? Is He loving? Is His government established upon voluntary love, or merely required compliance?

Consider any war between two sides. Two nations. Two armies. Both are looking for the same thing: an edge, the one advantage that decides the outcome. It may be technological, or numerical, or a matter of air superiority. It may be tactical—a more experienced general who reads the field better than his counterpart.

Yet there is a subversion far more devastating than any achieved by open conflict. It occurs when ground is gained not by overcoming the enemy, but by operating under the opposing side’s own banner. No superior firepower is required when the adversary accomplishes the work from within the ranks of the faithful. It is worth considering whether one of Satan’s most effective tactics has been relying not on secular critics outside the faith, but on Christians themselves—acting in good conscience yet operating under a portrait of God that misrepresents Him.²

This dynamic has recurred across Christian history. While skeptics and secular critics have challenged faith for centuries, the impression many form of God can, at times, owe less to external opposition than to the conduct of those who profess His name. During the medieval era, for example, the church’s alignment with civil power—expressed through inquisitions, the suppression of dissent, and wars waged in Christ’s name—left a legacy that continues to color the way Christianity is perceived.³

The Foundation of Religious Liberty

If one were to devise a strategy to foster widespread skepticism, what concept of God would be most effective? A recent lesson in the collegiate quarterly inVerse raises a question along these lines and provides an insightful entry point into the great controversy as a dispute over God’s character, misrepresented across centuries and into the present.

The lesson points to the doctrine of eternal torment:

Imagine an eternal hell, where flames engulf the damned, searing flesh that never burns . . . and where screams of agony echo endlessly in the darkness. . . . How could a loving, merciful Creator condemn His creation to such a fate? The cruelty of the doctrine of eternal torment seems to shatter the very foundation of God’s character . . . a God who is just, loving, and merciful.⁴

Ellen G. White makes a similar observation in The Great Controversy:

How repugnant to every emotion of love and mercy, and even to our sense of justice, is the doctrine that the wicked dead are tormented with fire and brimstone in an eternally burning hell; that for the sins of a brief earthly life they are to suffer torture as long as God shall live. . . . It is beyond the power of the human mind to estimate the evil which has been wrought by [this] heresy. . . . When we consider in what false colors Satan has painted the character of God, can we wonder that our merciful Creator is feared, dreaded, and even hated? The appalling views of God which have spread over the world from the teachings of the pulpit have made thousands, yes, millions, of skeptics and infidels.⁵

 How, then, is skepticism generated? The formula is to render God repulsive—to depict Him as arbitrary, terrifying, or morally severe. How one pictures God bears directly on how one relates to Him. It shapes the motives for accepting Him and the impetus for serving Him. And since God seeks an unforced response of love rather than coerced obedience (Josh 24:15; Deut 30:19; Rev 3:20; 22:17), a portrait that renders Him terrifying undermines the very allegiance He invites. Few will love a God they believe to be cruel.⁶

Historically, the doctrine of eternal torment has functioned as precisely such a distortion. Like an abused creature recoiling from an outstretched hand, a mind conditioned to view God through the lens of arbitrary severity can instinctively react with defensive hostility. When this distorted portrait takes root first, it can close the heart before the gospel is fully heard, leading some to turn away from God before ever giving Him a fair hearing.

A Second False Portrait⁷

Yet eternal torment is not the sole distortion of God’s character. A second false portrait is emerging today—more subtle, rapidly gaining ground, and with potentially the same chilling effect on faith.

Were those who profess the name of Christ to turn to state power to enforce religious conformity, a similar formula would be at work. Law can produce the appearance of faith. It can secure attendance, profession, and outward observance, because these are acts the state is competent to require and verify. It cannot reach the assent of the will, which lies beyond the capacity of any statute. The distinction is not incidental. What legal coercion secures, it achieves by constraining the freedom to choose otherwise—the unforced choice that authentic faith requires. A profession extracted under duress reflects the severity of the penalty, not the conviction of the soul. The result is a population that looksChristian, which is fundamentally different from a population that is Christian. It tells a watching world that God seizes by force what He has only ever sought freely.⁸

At a deeper level, these two distortions share a common underlying logic. The doctrine of eternal hellfire, as traditionally depicted, presents a stark ultimatum: comply or face endless punishment. Political coercion projects a parallel demand: comply or face civil penalty, silencing, or marginalization. One projects divine retribution into the age to come; the second inflicts state penalty in the present. The mechanisms differ, but the impression conveyed to a watching world can end up looking distressingly similar: a deity whose authority rests on leverage rather than love.

The danger of this second portrait can be harder to discern because of its immediate appeal, especially amid perceived moral decline. It promises to stabilize society, curb immorality, advance Christianity, and restore a nation’s spiritual heritage. Such aspirations are understandable. To be clear, opposing religious coercion is not a call to abandon public morality or civil law. Government has a legitimate role in preventing harm and maintaining civil order (Rom 13:1–5), prohibiting theft, violence, and fraud. The boundary is crossed when civil law steps beyond preserving public order to enforce acts of devotion or religious observance. And because invoking state power for righteous ends can appear so noble, the misrepresentation of God embedded within religious enforcement is easily overlooked. What it conveys is a God who governs by compulsion rather than consent—an impression especially troubling to those who perceive Christianity primarily through its historical or political footprint.

Consider what a searching observer beholds when state authority is enlisted for faith. In some contexts, statutes explicitly restrict how minority traditions may worship. In others, legal frameworks quietly disadvantage minority believers in employment, education, or public life. And in still others, social and legal pressures make religious dissent costly enough that conformity becomes the path of least resistance.

Wherever state power enforces religious devotion, the faith invoked is placed on trial. Observers evaluate not merely the regime, but the character of the god in whose name it claims to act. If eternal fear has driven millions into skepticism, political coercion threatens to alienate millions more.

What We See in the World Today

This is not a theoretical concern. I recently returned from an interdisciplinary conference in Asia—a secular gathering of scholars, legal experts, and policy specialists examining religious freedom in the region—where similar patterns surfaced across a variety of national contexts.⁹ Participants detailed the rise of religious extremism, the instrumentalization of faith for political ends, an erosion of civic trust, and the shrinking of the moderate middle. Many highlighted the acceleration of religious nationalism, wherein states increasingly define their national identity through a dominant faith.

A crucial distinction must be drawn here. A society may possess a deeply rooted religious heritage while leaving freedom of conscience unmolested; conversely, an explicitly secular state may bear down heavily on people of faith. What is in view here is narrower than national identity yet broader than any single ideology: structural arrangements in which the machinery of the state is turned directly toward belief itself—favoring, mandating, or suppressing religious observance. Across diverse regions, the consequences remain strikingly consistent: institutional discrimination against religious minorities, restrictions on worship, and the proliferation of anti-conversion laws.

Such dynamics do not emerge in a vacuum. Movements of this kind tend to gather momentum where a community perceives its identity to be threatened—whether by rapid social change, economic strain, or the fear that an inherited way of life is being displaced. The underlying anxieties are often genuine.^10[ What concerns me here, however, is not the grievance itself, but the coercive response it generates—and what that response ultimately communicates about the god invoked to support it.

One conversation brought this trajectory into sharp focus. I met a legal scholar and religious freedom advocate from a region where this pattern is advancing and religious minorities are being steadily squeezed out. She described the systematic pressure unfolding in her country as minority institutions closed—hospitals, schools, and houses of worship. Seventh-day Adventists are experiencing these constraints as well and, in her assessment, if current trends persist, few institutions outside the dominant faith will remain.

In that setting, the majority religion is not Christianity—a fact that underscores a critical lesson: if coercion exercised outside the Christian tradition alienates minds and distorts truth, how much more tragic is it when Christians adopt those very methods in Christ’s name? When believers enlist state power to compel conformity, the God being misrepresented is our own.

Whether this protective space is contracting globally, and at what rate, remains an empirical question beyond the scope of this article. What is clear, however, is how Seventh-day Adventists have historically understood their responsibility toward it. The church has long viewed the defense of religious liberty not as a matter of institutional self-interest, but as a core theological calling. What we defend is not merely our own access, but the moral conditions under which any conscience can genuinely act. That includes consciences that will never share our convictions—the neighbor who finds our message unpersuasive, the authorities who view our presence with suspicion, or the individual who hears us out and still chooses to say no. A freedom defended only when it serves one’s own community is not a principle; it is merely self-interest. We are called to safeguard the freedom to accept the gospel, to embrace another faith, or to profess no faith at all.

His Character Is to Be Made Known

The core issue, then, is not fundamentally a legal one. Constitutions and statutes can safeguard the civil space in which faith is chosen, but they cannot reshape what an individual has come to believe about God.

This is why religious liberty, for Seventh-day Adventists, is a theological commitment prior to being a legal strategy. A God who desires unforced love rather than mere compliance must leave the freedom of response genuinely open. Everything flows from this conviction: why the church has advocated for freedom of conscience from its inception, and why we labor to establish it where it is absent and preserve it where it remains.

To be sure, this work is frequently entrusted to attorneys and advocates relying on arguments framed in constitutional and statutory law. That work is indispensable, and nothing here is intended to diminish its necessity. Yet focusing exclusively on legal mechanisms risks reversing the true order of priority. Civil law secures the space; what makes that space worth defending is what we understand about God and His character. As coercive pressures mount—particularly from within professing Christianity itself—effective advocacy will increasingly depend on believers who grasp why the freedom to reject God matters deeply to God Himself.

Writing of the spiritual conditions preceding Christ’s return, Ellen G. White describes both the prevailing darkness in the world and the specific calling of those who represent Him:

It is the darkness of misapprehension of God that is enshrouding the world. Men are losing their knowledge of His character. It has been misunderstood and misinterpreted. At this time a message from God is to be proclaimed, a message illuminating in its influence and saving in its power. His character is to be made known. . . . There is nothing that Christ desires so much as agents who will represent to the world His Spirit and character. There is nothing that the world needs so much as the manifestation through humanity of the Saviour’s love.^11[

Notice what is requested here. It is not fundamentally an apology for divine authority, a display of power, or a warning regarding the consequences of refusal, but agents who embody His character. The remedy she identifies for a world enshrouded in misapprehension is not raw argument. It is people.

Consequently, this work cannot be confined to legal scholars or those with standing before courts and legislatures.The vast majority of people will never encounter formal religious liberty advocacy. They will simply encounter individual believers—in a workplace, a neighborhood, or a quiet conversation across ideological divides. The portrait of God that ultimately reaches them is the one conveyed in those everyday interactions.

Herein lies the ultimate rationale for defending freedom of conscience: safeguarding a person’s right to say no to God is what preserves the moral integrity and authenticity of their yes. Love that cannot be freely withheld ceases to be love. God recognizes no allegiance secured through fear, coercion, or civil leverage.

The transformative power of this perspective is not merely theoretical; its impact often becomes clear when individuals encounter it for the first time. Not long ago, I engaged in conversation with a musician and scholar who writes for a European electronic band while pursuing a second doctorate in philosophy and theology. Our discussion turned to the biblical framework of religious liberty.

I noted that for the Christian, religious freedom is not primarily a political concession, but a direct implication of the character of God. Because God is love, He desires to be received and served exclusively on that basis—not out of fear, under coercion, or by institutional mandate. The insight resonated with him. He immediately requested reading recommendations to explore the theological foundation further. For Adventists, this paradigm can seem familiar and settled; yet to someone encountering it anew, grounding human liberty in the non-coercive nature of God proves profound.

Too often, religious freedom is articulated in purely legal terms—appearing to other faith communities as self-preservation, and to secular observers as a demand for special privilege. Rooting freedom in the divine character elevates the entire discourse, revealing a Creator who seeks only voluntary devotion and rendering any resort to Christian coercion a profound self-contradiction.

The Greater Challenge

Secularism, religious apathy, and a general skepticism toward traditional faith are among the challenges most frequently raised when Christians contemplate the future of mission. These are formidable headwinds, and their gravity should not be minimized. Pressures on religious expression are genuinely felt—whether regarding free speech, rights of conscience, or institutional autonomy. When believers look toward legal mechanisms for protection, it is often out of a sincere desire to safeguard liberties they see slipping away.          

Yet the more consequential difficulty may lie closer to home. Coercion in matters of faith runs counter to how God has always worked, regardless of who employs it. But the issue takes on a far darker dimension when those who claim to represent Him take it up—when Christians enlist civil authority to enforce religious conformity—because the method itself is then attributed to God. This brings us back to our starting point: the most damaging misrepresentation of God may come not from those who oppose Him, but from those who bear His name.

One may love God, desire a more virtuous society, and conclude that the most direct way to protect what is good is to require it. But as noted earlier, the nature of the requirement makes all the difference. While civil statutes legitimately address public harms—such as theft, violence, and fraud—laws that mandate religious devotion attempt to compel what lies beyond the competence of any statute: the genuine assent of the heart. Where civil power is used to enforce worship in Christ’s name, it is God Himself whose character bears the misrepresentation.

Seventh-day Adventists have long interpreted both history and Scripture through this theological lens. We recognize this dynamic in the centuries when the medieval church wielded the civil sword, and our reading of apocalyptic prophecy—specifically Revelation 13—prepares us for its end-time resurgence. Scripture indicates that the final conflict over conscience will not stem primarily from overt secularism, but from a coalition of religious entities enlisting state power to enforce worship under the banner of civic and moral renewal.¹²

Four Points for Consideration

First, we are called to reclaim religious liberty as a fundamental article of faith. Religious freedom is not merely a civic value we share with society, nor is it a pragmatic strategy for protecting our own institutions. It is a direct implication of the character of God. The freedom to accept or refuse Him is the divine condition under which genuine love becomes possible. Everything we do in the public square must flow from our conviction regarding His non-coercive nature.

Second, we must recognize that the most subtle threat to the gospel often arises from within Christendom itself. When believers attempt to preserve Christian influence or restore moral order through civil mandates and state power, they undermine the very faith they seek to advance. We must remain vigilant against the temptation to achieve spiritual ends through coercive means, understanding that where civil authority enforces devotion in Christ’s name, it is God’s character that bears the misrepresentation.

Third, we must weigh the evangelistic cost of our representation. As Ellen G. White observed regarding traditional depictions of eternal torment, misrepresenting God’s character has driven millions into skepticism—and political coercion threatens to do the very same. Both distortions operate on a shared coercive logic: comply or suffer. How we represent God profoundly shapes whether a searching world will give the gospel an honest hearing or recoil from a deity depicted as arbitrary and forceful.

Fourth, we are called to be active agents who defend conscience for all people. Adventists must be among the first to uphold freedom of conscience unconditionally—whether for fellow Christians, members of other faith communities, or those who profess no faith at all. Defending another person’s right to say no to God is not a compromise of our faith; it is the ultimate affirmation of it. It demonstrates to a watching world that our Creator reigns by voluntary love, never by force.

The portrait of God held by the world has been forming across centuries, and it continues to be drawn today. Adventists carry a solemn responsibility in how that portrait takes shape. In the end, defending another person’s freedom to say no to God may well be the clearest sermon we ever preach—especially to a world evaluating Christ primarily by what they observe in us.