As Glenn notes, the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy is the widely accepted benchmark for what this doctrine entails. Very briefly stated, it affirms that the Bible is without error. That is what “inerrant” means. Glenn singles out the following parts of the Statement for disagreement:

WE AFFIRM that inspiration, though not conferring omniscience, guaranteed true and trustworthy utterance on all matters of which the Biblical authors were moved to speak and write.

WE AFFIRM that Scripture, having been given by divine inspiration, is infallible, so that, far from misleading us, it is true and reliable in all the matters it addresses.

WE AFFIRM that Scripture in its entirety is inerrant, being free from all falsehood, fraud, or deceit.

WE DENY that Biblical infallibility and inerrancy are limited to spiritual, religious, or redemptive themes, exclusive of assertions in the fields of history and science. We further deny that scientific hypotheses about earth history may properly be used to overturn the teaching of Scripture on creation and the flood.

WE AFFIRM that the doctrine of inerrancy has been integral to the Church’s faith throughout its history.

One of the obvious problems with this disagreement is that it severely undermines one’s apologetic with regard to the witness of Scripture. By disagreeing with these statements, Glenn commits himself to admitting that the Bible is not guaranteed true, trustworthy, and reliable; and may be misleading and contain falsehood, fraud, or deceit. That is a difficult situation for a Christian apologist like him to be in.

For my own part, I am an inerrantist, and I find Glenn’s critique of inerrancy shallow and unsophisticated to the point of attacking a strawman. Here’s why.

The Objection Evaluated

Glenn provides the following evidence for discarding inerrancy:

If the texts of the Bible contain not a single error, then two biblical accounts of the same event will agree. They need not cover all the same aspects of the event, but they will agree in the sense that there will not be any conflict between them. Otherwise there is an error present, since two accounts of an event that conflict cannot both be fully correct. However, we know that this is not the case when it comes to the four Gospels. There are some cases where this is fairly obvious. For example, all four Gospels contain sentences attributed to Jesus, but they differ from one Gospel to the next.

What is obvious to anyone with even a little exegetical training is that Glenn is implicitly evaluating the Bible against a modern, scientific or journalistic standard of reporting. It should go without saying, however, that the Bible is an ancient, prescientific compilation. While, in the Modern West, it is considered “inaccurate” or even “dishonest” to quote someone without doing so verbatim, in the ancient Near East no such view existed. On the contrary, it was customary to quote the essence of what a person said, without concerning oneself over the minutiae of the words and sentence structure used. This fact was not lost on the framers of the Chicago Statement, as indicated by Article XIII:

We deny that it is proper to evaluate Scripture according to standards of truth and error that are alien to its usage or purpose. We further deny that inerrancy is negated by Biblical phenomena such as a lack of modern technical precision, irregularities of grammar or spelling, observational descriptions of nature, the reporting of falsehoods, the use of hyperbole and round numbers, the topical arrangement of material, variant selections of material in parallel accounts, or the use of free citations.

Variant Selections & Topical Arrangement

I highlight the latter items—topical arrangement and variant selections—because of additional evidence Glenn moves on to allege against biblical inerrancy. He presents for consideration the differences in who is reported to have visited the tomb on Sunday morning in Matthew 28:1, Mark 16:1, Luke 24:10, and John 20:1–2; concluding, reading all four accounts, could you tell who was there and who was not?

The answer, however is obviously yes. As the ESV Study Bible notes on Luke 24:10, It was Mary … and the other women indicates that at least five women went to the tomb. And of John 20:2, contra Glenn’s claim that according to John 20:1–2, the only woman involved was Mary Magdalene, it observes: The plural we suggests the presence of other women besides Mary. Since Luke 24:10 lists Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them, and Mark 16:1 lists at least one of those women as Salome, it’s trivial to deduce that these were all present—with at least one other, unnamed woman.

The only way in which one can find a difficulty in this passage is to suppose that each of the authors intended to exhaustively list everyone present. Yet even reading modern writing, that’s far from a reasonable or normal assumption. Imagine I were emailing someone to tell him about our going to an apologetics conference. I might say that “Thinking Matters went to the conference”; or, if the person I was telling knew particular people in Thinking Matters, but not others, I might say that “Jason and Stuart and I went to the conference”; or I might just mention Jason if the other people were less important in the telling. None of these even suggest that the rest of Thinking Matters wasn’t present; let alone entail it.

A final evidence alleged against inerrancy is as follows:

Another type of difference between different Gospels is the way that different events are placed in a different order. A well known example is the cleansing of the temple in Jerusalem. In the Synoptic Gospels this event occurs after Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, fairly late in the narrative. In John’s Gospel however, this event occurs in chapter 2, before much else has happened.

But it’s a well-documented fact that adhering to a strict chronological order when reporting is a relatively modern invention. In the ancient Near East, arranging anecdotes by topic or by idea was an extremely common, not to mention effective, story-telling technique. It’s called block logic. It’s not wrong, unless you’re specifically intending to present a chronological description of events. It’s just a different way of recounting things. Someone claiming enough exegetical competence to reject the doctrine of inerrancy should know this.

Standards of Truth

Now, Glenn even acknowledges that standards of truth in the ancient Near East may differ to those in the modern West. Yet in doing so, rather than seriously considering the issue and recognizing the relevant cultural distinctions, he appears to mock the notion:

Maybe you want to rescue it by saying that inerrancy is not only compatible with individual writers using their own style, but it is also compatible with the fact that writers are doing no more than adhering to standards of accuracy that were acceptable in their day, and that is why there are no problems with the existence of conflicting accounts, because the fact is, standards of the day just weren’t very high. But this is inerrancy in name only, and it creates a hilarious spectacle for the sceptics to pour scorn upon. [...] If we qualify inerrancy this much to save it, it becomes a useless idea altogether.

There is simply no way to overstate how theologically inept—not to mention culturally prejudiced—this statement is. It amounts to saying that using the grammatico-historical method of exegesis to determine our doctrine is a hilarious spectacle. It’s akin to saying that all we need are English Bible translations, because qualifying our understanding of Scripture against its sociolinguistic context is to qualify it so much that it becomes useless. It’s to say that putting ourselves into the shoes of the authors and audience of the scriptural autographs is not merely irrelevant, but an exercise in comedy.

What Glenn wants us to believe is that how the original authors and audience of Scripture understood errors merely indicates that their standards were too low. And, if we qualify inerrancy to mean that the Bible is free from error as its original authors and audience understood errors to be, then it’s a “hilarious spectacle” and a “useless idea altogether”. This objection is dead on arrival for two reasons:

Inerrancy is supposed to be defined by Scripture

Firstly, even if standards of truth in biblical times were sub par—tsk, tsk—it remains that the biblical authors wrote in those times. Now, maybe Glenn thinks those scamps should have used modern Western standards of reporting, even though these were totally alien to their culture, where the retelling of stories was a largely verbal affair and the manner of conceptualization was quite different. But the fact remains that they didn’t use our standards. They used their own. Probably because the ignorant peons they were writing to, wretched, barely hominid gimps that they were, expected it.

Thus, taking into account what the Bible itself considers an error when we’re defining inerrancy is not a “qualification”. It is a central tenet of the doctrine. When Scripture attests to its own inerrancy, it does so assuming an ancient Near Eastern concept of truth and error.

Modern journalistic standards are not an objective ideal

Secondly, what justification does Glenn have for taking his view that the “standards of the day just weren’t very high”? High compared to what? It isn’t as if our modern Western conventions for journalism constitute an objective standard against which any kind of story-telling should be judged. They’re not some pinnacle of reporting—a gilt-edged ideal that any writer in any culture should be looking up to and trying to imitate, even if that were possible without the use of technologies unavailable to them. In fact, these standards aren’t even commonly used in Western society.

Does Glenn really believe that the genre of the gospels is functionally identical with modern journalism? Does he seriously believe that using any other story-telling conventions actually amounts to error? If I tell him that “Thinking Matters went to an apologetics conference last month”, and he tells his wife that Bnonn said, “Last month, Thinking Matters went to an apologetics conference,” should we say that his standards of testimony are so low that, in fact, he has reported what I said erroneously? Even in the modern day there is no presumption that we retell the exact words someone used unless we’re doing so in very specific circumstances—such as writing for a newspaper, or using a blockquote tag. Certainly, the advent of copy and paste has made this much easier, and thus raised our expectations. But that hardly implies that reporting the gist, if not the precise words, is a lowlier method, and in fact constitutes error. The only time that would be true is if there is a presumption of a verbatim quote. Unless Glenn has remarkable evidence to the contrary, in the case of Scripture, there is not.

Moreover, even in modern journalistic writing it is never expected that the author report everything, or that he not be selective about the facts he conveys. In fact, basic common sense tells us that every reporter must do these things, because it is inherent to the nature of reporting as a subjective exercise. And this may become more pronounced depending on the kind of story-telling techniques an author is using, and the specific reasons he has for writing. In short, Glenn appears to ignore even the most obvious facts of literary criticism in his efforts to make his case.

Conclusion

Overall, Glenn’s understanding of inerrancy is too inadequate for his critique to gain any actual traction against the doctrine. The fundamental exegetical principles of genre, language, cultural context, and intent are all ignored, meaning that inerrancy itself is essentially ignored, while a strawman is burned in its place. Indeed, it’s as if he’s unaware that inerrancy is an exegetical issue at all. Instead of looking at the scriptural foundation for the doctrine, and the linguistic nuances of the term “error”, he imposes upon Scripture his own arbitrary conventions of reporting, finds it lacking, and then declares that inerrancy must be false. Sadly, the comments on his blog suggest that many other Christians don’t see anything immediately problematic with this approach. Hopefully this article can serve as a corrective.

Related posts:

1. “No one is righteous”…metaphorically speaking

I’m in a discussion with a guy regarding free will, and in our discussion, we’ve come to a point where he is asking how we know when to interpret Scripture literally or figuratively.  The reason he asks is because he utilizes the argument against “no one is good, not even one” as we see unbelievers doing good all the time.  I’ve tried talking with him about God’s standard of Good as compared to man’s standard, but he says that he sees a verse like that as more metaphoric, in that no man is totally good, but that he can choose to still do good things.  He then asks how I know that we are to take the verse talking about earth’s ‘four corners’ as figurative, wanting me to say that I base it on extra biblical evidence, so that he can prove his point that he sees unbelievers doing good things every day, so a verse like found in Romans 3 can’t be literal.

Any help you can give me would be wonderful.  How do I answer this question well?

Bearing in mind that I’m by no means a trained exegete, there seem to be a few ways to address this:

1. There’s a disparity between empirical and moral extra-biblical evidence

On the one hand, as regards interpreting Scripture in light of extra-biblical evidence, there’s an obvious disanalogy between empirical and moral evidence. We can know that the earth is round in a good number of extra-biblical ways, because God has equipped us with faculties to make these sorts of determinations. In one sense, the same is true of moral judgments: God has equipped us with a conscience to tell between good and evil. But there are two major differences which must be noted:

a. Direct disparity

Whereas Scripture’s purpose is very seldom to describe brute empirical facts, it is very often to describe moral facts. Its chief concern is with the relationship between God and man—and the major problem with that relationship is a moral one. So whereas we may have good warrant for treating as metaphorical empirical descriptions which are prima facie not literally true, the same warrant does not exist to treat prima facie false moral descriptions as metaphorical.

b. The implausibility of interpreting Scripture against our moral intuitions

Expanding on (a), it must be noted that Scripture claims our moral intuitions are fundamentally skewed by the fall. It describes man as totally depraved, and his way of judging good as fundamentally wrong. Rather than judging goodness by looking to God, we naturally judge goodness by looking to man. Thus, if we believe Scripture, we should expect that our prima facie moral judgments will be wrong in many instances—especially with regard to morality in respect to God, as opposed to merely in respect to other people. If Scripture is correct, then fallen man only considers this latter “human-human” morality, and ignores that while one may do good to another man, that same act may still be evil as regards God. I would direct your friend to Paul’s direct statement in Romans 14:23 that “whatever does not proceed from faith is sin”. For this reason, our moral intuitions do not provide any kind of extra-biblical support for rejecting the literal truth of Scripture’s moral statements. Quite the opposite is true. If Scripture’s statements are literally true, then our moral judgments are most likely false as regards our goodness with relation to God.

c. Assuming the consequent

Building on (b). your friend is flagrantly begging the question against you. He wants to deny the literal truth of Scripture’s moral statements on the basis of his own moral intuitions. But one of the things that Scripture says about his moral intuitions is that they are incapable of providing a reliable basis for these sorts of judgments—thus, if Scripture is literally true in these matters, his moral intuitions provide no kind of useful extra-biblical data. By insisting that they do, he is therefore assuming the very thing he needs to prove: namely, that Scripture’s moral statements are metaphorical.

2. Moral intuitions are subjective and vary between people

Moreover, I do not share your friend’s moral intuitions. On the contrary, one of the things that makes Scripture so plausible to me is how accurately and unashamedly it describes the moral condition of man. To be sure, as an unbeliever I certainly would have agreed with your friend. I would have rejected Scripture’s moral statements on exactly the same basis: I refused to judge goodness as something in relationship to God, and instead recognized only human-human moral relationships. Thus, I judged most people to be relatively good. However, as a believer who knows that all things are rightly judged in relationship to God, it is impossible for me not to see that “no one does good”, since even great acts of charity and self-sacrifice are driven not by a motivation to honor God, but by a desire to honor man. All the moral actions of any unbeliever—and many of believers as well, since we are by no means perfect yet—are basically idolatrous despite whatever benefit they may have to other people. So I would say that:

a. Judging between conflicting intuitions

Your friend’s entire case seems based on the assumption that his moral intuitions in this matter are correct—yet given that his intuitions are by no means universal, this is a highly tendentious assumption. If someone else, like me, finds Scripture’s moral statements intuitively plausible when taken literally, his whole case is undermined. Why should I accept his intuitions over mine?

b. Judging like an unbeliever rather than a Christian

Given what I’ve said about how unbelievers judge moral issues, your friend’s attitude in general constitutes a Big Red Flag. He is judging moral issues exactly as if he were an unbeliever, rather than as a Christian. Mind you, given that he appears to be at best a semi-Pelagian, that doesn’t come as any great surprise.

3. Exegetical deficiencies

On the other hand, his contention is inept on exegetical grounds as well. A phrase like “the four corners of the earth” is not difficult to see as a figure of speech. However, a phrase like “None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God”—along with the rest of the three chapters Paul dedicates to describing the moral condition of man, and the umpteen passages he draws from in the Old Testament—are plainly not. There is simply no linguistic warrant for taking all of these passages as metaphorical; so if your friend wishes to do so, the burden of proof rests squarely on his shoulders. Whereas Scripture never repeatedly and explicitly claims that the earth has four corners (it does use the expression once or twice, but that is at best an implicit claim), it does repeatedly and explicitly claim that man is totally depraved, morally corrupt, unable to please God, and so on. It states this fact in any number of different ways, from the hand of any number of different prophets. So your friend needs to have an answer to each of those passages.

4. The slippery slope to hell

Your friend’s avenue of argument leaves the way open to deny basically any doctrine that someone finds personally objectionable:

a. Any doctrine can be denied based on some arbitrary intuition

If it’s reasonable to take depravity as metaphorical because a literal view conflicts with one’s moral intuitions, then it is reasonable to take the Trinity as metaphorical because a literal view conflicts with one’s logical intuitions; or it’s reasonable to take hell as metaphorical because a literal view conflicts with one’s emotional intuitions. Perhaps your friend is thinking of adding unitarian universalisism to his Pelagianism?

b. Many doctrines can be denied even on the basis of purely moral intuitions

But even if we arbitrarily confine the argument to moral intuitions, a great deal can still be denied. Many people find the notion of penal substitution morally abhorrent. Even if your friend does not, how does he propose to convince people of the truth that Jesus died for their sins, when their moral intuitions would lead them to believe that, in fact, the crucifixion was a merely metaphorical event? That would certainly be deeply hypocritical. And denying the doctrine of hell on moral grounds is as old as the hills. Not to mention the goodness of God, and/or the unity of Scripture, since YHVH did some pretty unsettling things back in the day when Israel was still in vogue. No doubt examples can be multiplied.

In conclusion

In short, it seems to me that your friend is taking the approach of subjecting Scripture to his own personal opinions, rather than allowing Scripture to stand in judgment over his opinions. That is not Christianity—it is a religion of his own invention; merely inspired by the Bible.

Related posts:

1. A response to Glenn Peoples’s ‘No, I am not an inerrantist’

As a reflection of my view’s ongoing attenuation, I’d like to take a stand against one aspect of Scripturalism—namely, its low view of sense experience. Witness Cheung’s latest:

To illustrate, in John 12:27-30, a noise sounded from heaven. That was the event. Some of those in the crowd thought it had thundered, while others said that an angel had spoken. Perhaps this was so beyond the expectation of some of the people that they could not believe it. The confusion demonstrates that sensations are unreliable, and serves as an inspired example against empiricism. Nevertheless, some of them thought that they heard words, that an angel had spoken.1

Following some discussion, he adds,

For this reason, it is no exaggeration to say that, logically speaking, one cannot be an empiricist and a believer at the same time. This is because the empiricist cannot know anything, and he cannot believe anything. This includes those who claim to hold revelation as the first principle of their worldview, but then insist that the reliability of sensation is the precondition for any access to revelation in the first place. In reality, then, the reliability of sensation is their first principle. Despite their pretensions, they are nothing more than empiricists, because if they make empiricism their starting point, then they can never be anything other than empiricists. Logically, they cannot be Christians, although we can take the route of charity and assume that these people are inconsistent with their own philosophy. Nevertheless, since they seem to insist that they are intellectually competent and thus alert to the implications of their epistemology, this route is chosen by force out of a reluctance to condemn them.

Empiricism is the view that knowledge is mostly, or even exclusively, derived through the senses.2 It’s unclear that Cheung is aware of this, however, since he appears to use the term “empiricist” as a catch-all for anyone who holds to the mere reliability of the senses. This is indirectly corroborated by the fact that there are far more obvious passages of Scripture which disprove empiricism as it is typically conceived—namely Romans 2:15 or Jeremiah 31:33, which state plainly that some knowledge is intrinsic to all people, and that some other knowledge is directly communicated to some people by God, apart from empirical means. It therefore seems safe to assume that Cheung is using the term “empiricism” in a rather more expansive way than is strictly accurate, to refer to anyone who upholds the view that our senses typically yield true beliefs about reality, or even more generally to refer to anyone who upholds the view that our senses are the producers or mediators of beliefs at all.

It will be noted by long time readers that I have no difficulty with labeling certain ostensibly Christian positions as actually non-Christian. But it strikes me as an immense stretch to (I) label John 12:27–30 an “inspired example against empiricism” (bearing in mind how Cheung is using that term), and (II) on that basis, to label anyone as non-Christian who takes the reliability of sense experience as a precondition to knowing God’s public revelation. Let me briefly comment on these two points.

I. What does the passage actually say?

As regards Cheung’s exegesis, there are three plain and insurmountable defects:

a. The conclusion doesn’t follow

Firstly, John does not record enough information to derive Vincent’s conclusion by good and necessary consequence. As he himself admits of the event, “perhaps this was so far beyond the expectation of some of the people that they could not believe it.” But if the cause of their error was plausibly located in their false expectations and presuppositions, so that they just could not believe what their senses were conveying to them, then nothing at all can be conclusively proved about the accuracy of those senses themselves. Perhaps they were entirely reliable, and the people all perceived the event accurately. Or perhaps they weren’t, and the people’s error was caused by faulty perception and/or a faulty interpretation of that perception. But Cheung’s case requires the unreliability of the people’s senses. If there is even a possibility that their senses were reliable, yet that they still misinterpreted the event, then the unreliability of sense perception is not proven. And Cheung himself admits that this is possible—even plausible.

Now, he may argue that whether it is the senses themselves, or people’s interpretation of them, something about sense perception is unreliable. But this would just be back-pedaling. He has claimed this passage as a divinely inspired example against empiricism. Remembering how he uses this word, he’s essentially saying that this passage disproves the view that the senses are in some way producers or mediators of typically true beliefs. It isn’t a question of whether people, having had the initial true belief conveyed to them via their senses, reinterpret that belief to conform to their presuppositions. After all, were that the case Cheung would also have to deny the possibility of a priori knowledge such as that mentioned in Romans 2:15, since people take their true, God-given inherent beliefs and twist them into false ones (see, for example, Romans 1:18ff).

b. Even if the conclusion does follow, it can’t prove Cheung’s point

Secondly, John 12:27–30 is a particular instance of some particular people drawing false conclusions about an extraordinary event. Let’s grant, without justification, that the reason for their error was their faulty senses rather than their faulty presuppositions. How is Cheung going to prove, from the fact that these few people’s senses did not produce or mediate true beliefs about an extraordinary event, that all people’s senses do not produce or mediate true beliefs about ordinary events? To draw that inference, Cheung must reason inductively. That is, he must infer a universal principle from a particular datum. As Cheung himself loves to remind people, “induction is always a formal fallacy”, and “on the basis of induction, one can never establish any proposition, let alone a universal proposition“.3

Thus, even granting Cheung’s unjustified assumption about what the passage is teaching regarding sense perception, there is simply no way for him to take this specific case and form a general principle out of it. He cannot say that since the Bible teaches the unreliability of some people’s senses in this particular case, it therefore teaches that other people’s senses are always or often or sometimes unreliable in other cases.

c. If it can prove Cheung’s point, then it refutes him

Thirdly, if for some reason we are very silly and grant Cheung’s entire case, then it simply destroys itself. How did he come to know what John 12:27–30 says? Was it not by reading the Bible? Yes it certainly was. Is reading an activity which requires the reliability of our perception? Yes it certainly is. Does it entail that the senses produce or mediate true beliefs? Yes it certainly does. It makes not the slightest difference if Cheung holds to some form of occasionalism, where the action of the senses are merely events on the occasion of which God directly communicates knowledge to the mind. The fact remains that there is a direct correlation between what we perceive and what we believe. Cheung, when he perceives the inked glyphs on the page of his Bible, believes that he is perceiving certain letters forming certain words with certain meanings, and not other letters forming other words with other meanings. Since the formation of these beliefs is directly correlated to his senses, it makes not the least amount of difference what precise mechanism of knowledge-formation is under way, since if his senses are in fact consistently unreliable, or inconsistently reliable, or if they do not produce or mediate true beliefs, then he will either be forming consistently unreliable or inconsistently reliable beliefs about what Scripture teaches, or he will not be forming any beliefs at all. In whatever case, he has no reason to think that Scripture says what he thinks it says.

II. Empiricism and Christianity

Cheung claims that holding to the reliability of the senses precludes one holding to the first principle that the Bible is the word of God. He claims that by holding this “empiricist” belief, one is committing oneself to holding it as a first principle. This is plainly absurd. I don’t have to take the reliability of my senses as my foundational presupposition in order to have good reasons for believing it. For example, if my first principle is that the Bible is the word of God, then it follows necessarily that our senses are mediators or producers of consistently (though not necessarily invariably) true beliefs. If they were not, I could not know anything about the Bible, since it is given in a format which requires the reliability of sense perception. Thus, I could not know that the Bible is the word of God, and my first-principle would self-destruct.

Therefore, if it is true that the Bible is the word of God, then our senses are reliable mediators of true beliefs. Conversely, if our senses are not reliable mediators of true beliefs, then it cannot be known that the Bible is the word of God, and so this proposition is self-refuting as a first principle. We require our senses to become aware of the Bible’s contents. This doesn’t commit us to believing, necessarily, that knowledge of its contents is caused by our senses in some way—it doesn’t commit us to any metaphysical theory of knowledge-acquisition. It simply commits us to affirming that the beliefs we form on the occasion of sense experiences are typically accurate. It’s either that, or claim that we all receive special revelation entirely apart from our reading the Bible. But in that case one wonders what the purpose of senses are at all. One wonders, in fact, if the physical world even exists under Cheung’s view.

Thus, despite to Cheung’s assertion, it is plainly moronic4 to view any doctrine affirming the reliability of our senses as un-Christian or anti-Christian. It is irrational and absurd to refer to anyone who upholds that knowledge is gained through perception, and that this is a generally reliable process, as un-Christian. On the contrary, it is those who deny the reliability of the senses who are the ones affirming idiotic,5 un-Christian doctrines.

That said, since Scripture nowhere claims that one’s view of empiricism is vital to faith or salvation, the very notion that, “logically”, such people “cannot be Christians” is pure nonsense. The whole question is moot, and a poor reflection on the one making such a patently legalistic claim. Let Vincent produce his deductions from Scripture before he publicly deplores what are manifestly biblical, rational beliefs.

1. ↑ Vincent Cheung, ‘Light and Darkness’ (http://www.vincentcheung.com/2009/05/12/light-and-darkness/). Similar sorts of statements appear in Scripturalist Sean Gerety’s latest post, ‘Vantilian Shadow Boxing – Round Three’ (http://godshammer.wordpress.com/2009/05/12/vantilian-shadow-boxing-round-three/), but in charity I am picking on the most erudite, well-educated, and philosophically trained Scripturalist I know, rather than the worst. Gerety has already been soundly refuted at Triablogue—see Steve Hays, ‘Shadowboxing with a lepresean’ (http://triablogue.blogspot.com/2009/05/shadowboxing-with-lepresean.html) for the most recent article as of this posting, or refer to the ’scripturalism’ tag for a complete listing of articles in the exchange.
2. ↑ See http://www.answers.com/empiricism for a number of good overviews.
3. ↑ Vincent Cheung, Ultimate Questions (http://www.vincentcheung.com/books/ultimate2004.pdf [PDF]); p 21 (emphasis mine).
4. ↑ That is, unbiblical and stupid. This is a favorite word of Cheung’s, deriving from the Greek word moros, so I trust he will not mind me using it in this way. See Cheung, ‘Professional Morons’ (http://www.vincentcheung.com/other/promorons.pdf) and ‘A Moron By Any Other Name’ (http://www.vincentcheung.com/other/morbyname.pdf).
5. ↑ “A moron by any other name is still an idiot” (‘A Moron By Any Other Name’, p 7).

Related posts:

1. A response to Glenn Peoples’s ‘No, I am not an inerrantist’

Damian over at ‘And Slaters Go Plop’ has recently written on Dogma, arguing against its intellectual legitimacy, and asking how we can avoid it. He says,

By ‘dogmatic’ I am describing an absolutist kind of belief that, if I could summarise in my own words, boils down to the fact that you would really rather hold to what you believe than accept an alternative even if the alternative is true. Dogma is the belief you refuse to interrogate.

Dogma in Christianity

I’d like to note, for the record, that this is not how dogmatism is typically perceived in Christianity. Dogma is a mainstay of biblical Christianity, and where it is rejected the religion crumbles. Dogma is there whenever a doctrine is taken as authoritative, or presupposed as true—such as when we treat the Bible as the word of God. So, for the sake of avoiding confusion, let it be noted that Christians do not define dogma in such a negative way. That is not the primary meaning of the word, as most dictionaries reflect. William Shedd’s Dogmatic Theology, for instance, is a seminal and highly positive dissertation on the theoretical truths of faith concerning God and his works.

Why is dogmatism bad anyway?

As regards this colloquial, negative view of dogmatism, however, some questions need to be asked. Damian seems to be taking absolutism in one’s beliefs as inherently undesirable, assuming we do want truth. But this doesn’t seem a very sustainable attitude if he wishes to be consistent and avoid special pleading.

A dogma, he says, is the belief you refuse to interrogate. But what of beliefs which are not readily interrogatable? Presumably, for instance, we all believe that our sense perception correlates accurately to a real, external world. Is that belief undesirable or unlikely merely because it cannot be readily interrogated? In fact, since we resist attempts to interrogate that belief, and don’t take them seriously, are we acting in a poor or intellectually shoddy manner? It certainly doesn’t seem so. Thus, there look to be at least some beliefs we may hold quite rightly and properly as being basically unquestionable, without shirking our philosophical responsibilities. Why is it, then, that Christians should not take the divine inspiration of Scripture as such a belief? Damian needs to make a better case as regards the negative nature of dogmatism, spell out just when it does and does not apply, and why.

Similarly, what of beliefs which are held on good grounds? Damian presumably thinks he has good grounds for believing that I am a real person and not, say, an advanced computer program writing posts in a convincingly human way. Should he be condemned for resisting the compulsion to interrogate his belief in my existence as a real person on every possible occasion? Were someone to say to him: Your belief in that chap Bnonn Tennant is dogmatic because you refuse to interrogate it! should he jump up in dismay and hire a private detective to find me and stake out my home to verify that, indeed, I am a real person who makes real blog posts? In fact, is he not being entirely rational to refuse to interrogate this belief, in the absence of any good evidence that it is false? If so, why should a Christian be criticized for refusing to interrogate his belief in God, when he has no good reasons to think that it’s false?

Good reasons

And what, indeed, would constitute a good reason for thinking that God doesn’t exist? No doubt Damian believes there are many. But on the other hand, a delusional out-patient from the halfway house down the road might think that there are good reasons for believing I don’t exist and am in fact a complicated artificial intelligence. He could probably find all sorts of evidences which, if looked at the right way and with the right mindset, seem quite compelling; and he might produce all sorts of arguments showing that Damian really has the burden of proof. Should Damian be persuaded—should he even look at these evidences or accept this burden of proof—if he already knows that the fellow is a schizophrenic who reverts to believing that Christian bloggers are really internet-capable AIs whenever he’s off his meds? If not, why should a Christian act differently when he knows from Scripture that atheists are self-deceiving fools who deny the existence of God because of their sin?

The skeptic’s false humility

The last point I’d like to make is as regards Damian’s assertion that if we refuse to honestly put our beliefs to the test then we ought to show a little more humility when telling others what we ‘know’ to be true. As I’ve already suggested above, this is a perfectly silly attitude to knowledge—its implication being that a belief which is not tested cannot constitute knowledge in any proper sense.

Even ignoring his obvious imposition of a scientific method of knowledge-acquisition onto religious or philosophical matters, where it doesn’t belong, is this reasonable? Does Damian need to verify my existence, for example, before he can say that he knows I’m not an artificial intelligence? Is this the way he really operates in terms of making knowledge claims? Or take another example: say he sees an acquaintance, Roger, at the supermarket. He doesn’t speak to Roger for whatever reason, and no one else at the supermarket knows him, so Damian is the only one to recognize him. Say Roger is arrested the next day on some charge. Damian thinks Roger can’t be guilty, because he saw him at the supermarket at the time the crime was committed. Is Damian really going to say that he does not know Roger was there, since he did not (and no longer can) test that belief? Is it reasonable for me to get up before the jury when he is testifying in Roger’s defense, and say that he ought to show a little more humility when telling them that he ‘knows’ Roger is innocent? Or imagine the situation is reversed, and Damian ‘knows’ Roger is guilty on a similar basis. Is this sort of stringent view of things really sensible? How would it cash out in the real world?

Maybe Damian means to confine this constraint on knowledge to religious claims. This seems arbitrary, but it doesn’t get him anything in any case, since Christian beliefs enjoy far better attestation than the trivial amount of support in the example above. In fact, Christians have excellent grounds for saying that they know certain things—so why should they shuffle and slink and pretend false humility, as if they really aren’t certain when they are? A Christian grounds his beliefs in God’s word—does he then need to interrogate these beliefs, or find ways to test them, in order for them to constitute knowledge? Of course not. The plain fact that they are God’s own testimony is all the justification required. Thus, rather than being commendable, this “humility” of which Damian speaks is despicable. Imagine a Christian who knows the gospel witnessing to someone as follows:

I don’t presume to say I know this, but, well, I believe you’re under God’s wrath and liable to judgment if you don’t repent and trust in the work of Jesus. And…well, I don’t know that Jesus really existed…but I’m sure you should believe anyway!

This is certainly an ignoble way of witnessing. If we, in fact, have good reasons for believing the gospel—if we indeed know the gospel to be true—and then do not urgently entreat others to heed it, attempting to persuade them of its truth as well, we aren’t being “humble”. We are being cads. It doesn’t matter if we have tested our knowledge, or if we can defend it against attack. Speaking for myself, I can—but some Christians can’t for whatever reason. That doesn’t invalidate what they know. Christians don’t accept Damian’s views on epistemology, and neither should they.

So let’s not throw around the “dogmatism” charge too hastily. I am proud to be a dogmatic Christian, and I consider my dogmatism an intellectual virtue. Saying that I am dogmatic is essentially the same as saying that I am a presuppositionalist in my Christian philosophy—a position which I’ve defended on many occasions. If Damian or other atheists would like to dogmatically oppose that, let them start by showing that it even makes sense to do so.

The last objection I’ll interact with in this series is the one which tries to show that a universal atonement is really an impotent atonement. In the words of Scobie Smith, people such as myself

clearly cannot say that the satisfaction of Christ secures the salvation of all those for whom it was made [...] The atonement itself does not guarantee the salvation of those for whom it was made [...] All the satisfaction can do is make it possible for God then to choose whom to save and then to secure their salvation by some other means. Moreover, since there is no other satisfaction made to his justice, this other means (eg, irresistible grace) is simply an exercise of God’s sovereign will, not an act stemming from the justice of God (eg, to fulfill the obligation arising from the satisfaction of his justice).1

At first glance, this seems like a good objection. It certainly gave me pause for thought. But upon reflection, it begins to appear rather confused. I think there are at least three obvious difficulties with it:

I. Huh? And, so what?

Firstly, what does it mean to say that the atonement does not guarantee or secure the salvation of all those for whom it was made? These terms are ambiguous. I can, for instance, go to SkyCity Chartwell and secure tickets for myself to see a movie. This guarantees that I will have a seat if I show up and present my ticket. But it doesn’t guarantee that I will show up and present my ticket. So, with that analogy in mind (even if it is a rather pecuniary one), it doesn’t appear that the objection—as stated at least—gains much traction against the universal view, under which Christ purchased movie tickets for everyone, but only the elect bother to show up at the cinema.

In light of this, I think the objection needs to be rephrased. What actually seems to be at issue is whether or not the atonement is a sufficient cause of justification. Under the universal view, of course, it is only a necessary cause—it had to happen in order for anyone to be justified, because it provides the grounds for justification by providing satisfaction to God’s justice. But it does not itself effect that justification, since although the satisfaction was made on the cross, there are still other conditions which must be fulfilled in order for it to be applied to anyone. This seems to be what the particularist is objecting to—yet it’s hard to see why he considers it a problem. It looks rather like he is just begging the question again. There aren’t any clear reasons for rejecting the view that the atonement is a necessary-but-not-sufficient cause of justification—except that it it doesn’t fit into the framework of particular atonement.

II. The alternative is unscriptural…

Secondly, as I’ve covered already in this series, the view that the atonement is, in and of itself, the sufficient cause of justification is highly problematic. If it were the case that the atonement “secured” salvation for the elect in the sense which is apparently intended by this objection—namely, that it satisfied the demands of God’s justice against all the elect, and this satisfaction itself guarantees their salvation—then it follows inevitably that the elect are justified from the cross. Since God’s wrath toward all the elect was appeased in about 29 AD, no elect person after that time could be under his wrath. But we know from Scripture and from experience that, in fact, we are all “children of wrath” (Ephesians 2:3) until we are made a “new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17) by the rebirth in the Spirit. If the particularist is right in his objection, then he has some hard questions to answer regarding the purpose of the rebirth and the ordo salutis.

III. …while the view being objected to is scriptural

Thirdly, on the other side of that coin, the view which the particularist is objecting to is manifestly biblical. Indeed, it is the Reformed view—so he seems to be contradicting himself. Notice how the objection is that, under the universal view, the satisfaction of Christ only makes it possible for God to choose whom to save, and that he then has to secure their salvation by some other means. Well, maybe this is stating the obvious, but…“other means” such as faith? If, in fact, we are “justified by faith” (Romans 5:1), then plainly it is impossible that we are justified by the atonement as the particularist seems to want to say—that is, that the atonement itself is the sufficient cause of our justification. This is why we aren’t justified from the cross—because justification is by faith. (Unless the particularist is suggesting that we are justified twice—and it’s very hard to see what that even means.) Certainly, the atonement is a necessary cause of justification, since it provides the very grounds for satisfying the demands of God’s justice against us. And certainly, even, the work of Christ (whether in the atonement or not) is a necessary cause of our faith also, since Jesus is both its founder and perfecter (Hebrews 12:2). But just as certainly, the particularist cannot turn around and say that what he means is that the atonement must be the sufficient cause of faith, and by this relationship is then also the sufficient cause of justification. Clearly it is not. The atonement does not, in and of itself, bring about faith. Once more, without emotion: the atonement is the grounds for faith and for justification. It is what makes them possible—but it isn’t what makes them actual. It is the indwelling of the Spirit which makes faith actual; and it is faith which makes justification actual.

So this final objection once again highlights why it is so unreasonable to treat the atonement as a simple pecuniary transaction, as the particularist view is wont to do. Rather than gaining any real traction against universal atonement, it tends rather to discredit itself—as has been the case with all the rest of the objections I’ve handled.

To conclude, then, I can find no good reason to believe that the atonement is limited in the sense which most Calvinists today seem to mean. Rather, it is the historical alternative which is both reasonable and scriptural: namely, that Christ, in his death, represented all mankind, satisfying the demands of the law before God, and so made salvation possible for everyone without distinction who might appeal to that atonement—though it is apprehended only by the elect, through faith.

1. ↑ Quoted from an email to the Reformed Baptist Discussion List; for those with member access, see http://rblist.org/archive/msg56767.html.

Perhaps the most common objection to universal atonement is the double jeopardy or double payment argument, which says: if Christ died for everyone without exception, then either (a) everyone is saved, or (b) those in hell pay for sins which were already paid for once on the cross. The former is obviously unbiblical—not everyone will be saved (Matthew 7:13–14)—and the latter is plainly unjust—and shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just (Genesis 18:25)?

In this way, universal redemption seems to be skewered effectively on the horns of a dilemma. This is the same argument I used in my discussion with Darryl Burling when we were thinking about the atonement. The way I formulated it then was as a reductio ad absurdum of the universal view:

1. Christ’s atonement was sufficient to save from all sin (as per universal atonement).
2. Unbelief is a sin (by definition).
3. Therefore, Christ’s atonement was sufficient to save from [all] unbelief.
4. But unbelievers are not saved (standard biblical doctrine).
5. Therefore, Christ’s atonement does not save from [all] unbelief.
6. Therefore, his atonement is not sufficient to save from all sin.

The problem with this line of argumentation, as I acknowledged to Darryl in my followup article ‘Thinking more clearly about the atonement’, is that it presupposes a pecuniary view of the atonement—that is, a view which treats penal substitution as a commercial transaction, as described in part 1 of this series. Aside from the problems with this which I brought up there, there are two obviously fatal defects with presupposing this view for the purpose of disproving a universal atonement:

1. It begs the question against universal atonement, which presupposes not a pecuniary, but a judicial view. By taking the pecuniary view, the double jeopardy argument misrepresents—or at best misunderstands—the view it attempts to refute, and so does not actually interact with it at all.
2. It proves too much, since the implication follows unavoidably that, were the argument to succeed, God’s elect would never have been under his wrath, having been justified from the cross—a view which most particularists reject.

The first premise of the argument is sound, as far as it goes. It could be better phrased to say that Christ’s atonement was sufficient to save all people from all sin—but this is a minor point. Certainly, the view I’m defending has it that the atonement was, and is, sufficient to save from all sin—that is, that its scope includes every person, and every sin of every person. Premises (2)–(4) are also entirely indisputable under the universal view: unbelief is a sin, the atonement covers it, and yet unbelievers aren’t saved. And premise (5) is not in question either—though, to offset confusion, let me admit that I have amended it slightly with the inclusion of the word “all”. I think this more fairly represents the way the particularist would argue (its omission was really an oversight on my part to begin with) because obviously he does believe the atonement covers the unbelief of the elect prior to conversion. This is the very premise which leads inevitably to the conclusion that the elect, in the new era at least, have been saved since the cross—that they were, in fact, never “children of wrath, like the rest of mankind” (Ephesians 2:3).

The double jeopardy argument runs into trouble at (6), however. Notice the obvious non-sequitur. What does the fact that the atonement does not save all people have to do with whether it can not save all people? Plainly, there is a connection in the particularist’s mind—but that connection doesn’t reflect anything in the universal view. It is being unnaturally imposed upon it in order for the argument to work. The universal view admits no such connection, because it does not suppose that specific sins were imputed to Christ at the cross—rather, it recognizes that such a notion leads to real problems, both in terms of the mechanism of federal headship (as noted in part 1), and in the temporal justification of the elect (as noted above). But, as James Anderson once explained to the Reformed Baptist Discussion List,1

the double-jeopardy argument only assumes that for any person S, S’s sins will be atoned for if and only if (i) S’s sins are imputed to Christ and (ii) Christ suffers a punishment for those sins sufficient to fully satisfy the demands of divine justice.

But of course, the universal view rejects (i), denying that imputation occurs in this way at all. For one thing, imputation is not quantitative as the argument assumes. For another, it takes place at the moment of justification—that’s what justification is: the imputation both of our guilt to Christ and his righteousness to us—and not at the cross. As I discussed in part 1, it’s reasonable to think that Christ represented us on the cross in a penal or judicial payment; not in a pecuniary or commercial one.

So I reject the conclusion of the double jeopardy argument as a non-sequitur. It merely presupposes the particularist view of imputation, and tries to tacitly impose this on the universal view. In contrast, if the argument is corrected so that it no longer begs the question, (6) might look something like this:

6. Therefore, the nature of Christ’s atonement is not such that it actually saves all people from sin.

This, of course, says nothing necessarily about the scope of the atonement being limited, and everything possibly about its application being so. Subsequently, since it doesn’t entail a limited scope, it isn’t contradictory with any of the prior premises which have been accepted. Thus, the argument, fairly reworked, does not select for the particularist view: it merely selects for a view wherein the atonement is limited either in scope or in application.

In light of my previous arguments in this series, I think it far more reasonable to take the latter view. In other words, the atonement, in and of itself, does not justify anyone: it only provides the grounds of justification, so that it may then be applied by faith. But this leads into the final objection I’m going to consider: that a universal atonement doesn’t accomplish actual redemption for anyone.

Continued in ‘On the atonement, part 6: universal atonement fails to actually accomplish redemption for anyone’ ⇒

1. ↑ This exchange can be viewed at http://www.rblist.org/archive/msg30814.html and its related posts on the thread, but requires a member login.

Following on from the recent exchange with Ben at Arminian Perspectives, it appears that some people are confused about the distinction I have drawn between saving faith and non-saving belief in Christian doctrines. For example, Ben writes in his latest post, ‘Responding To Dominic’s Second Rebuttal on Regeneration Preceding Faith’,

Well, I am confused again. I guess Dominic is saying that God can turn ones will to believe certain facts about Christianity (the basic truths of the gospel) and yet that belief does not constitute saving faith. So one can believe the gospel message but not have saving faith? Is that correct? Or is Dominic saying one can have knowledge of certain Christian teachings without believing them? To have knowledge of something is not the same as believing it, so I am not sure how this can be what Dominic is saying. And faith is just the noun form of believe (the verb form), so again, I am having trouble grasping the distinction here.

It is true that God can turn one’s will to believe any facts which one is capable of believing. God could turn my will, for example, to believe that cats hate milk. That is a proposition which can be believed. On the other hand, God could not turn my will to believe that cats have both three legs and four legs at the same time and in the same relationship, or that cats indish mero louha. Believing a proposition doesn’t require that the proposition be true; but it does require that it be intelligible.

In this vein, God can certainly turn the will of the natural man to believe that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior. This is a proposition which is intelligible to most people, irrespective of their having the Spirit; it may therefore be apprehended and affirmed by anyone without distinction. However, Scripture teaches that there is a qualitative difference between this belief in the unregenerate sinner and the regenerate believer. The difference is therefore not in what they believe, but perhaps in how they believe it, or why.

This is a fact which can be deduced not only from my exegesis of 1 Corinthians 2, but from the mere existence of professing believers who are “deceiving themselves” (James 1:22ff). This is something Ben himself must acknowledge, even under his own errant theological scheme—it’s therefore unclear to me why he finds it so confusing. Even under his own view, there are people who genuinely believe, yet who are deceiving themselves about their salvation—as I mentioned in my previous article. Unless Ben denies sola gratia and adopts some kind of works-based salvation (which would be at odds with Arminianism), he must agree that the reason for this self-deception is not that these professing believers aren’t doing something they should, but rather because there is something lacking in their belief itself. There is a qualitative distinction between their belief of Christian propositions, and the belief of those propositions held by saved Christians.

Now, the Bible isn’t specific to the nth degree (that I know of) regarding the precise nature of this difference, except inasmuch as it tells us the cause. That cause is the indwelling Spirit, as I’ve explained in the last two posts. Since the Spirit communicates the truth of Christian propositions directly to the mind of the saved believer, the believer’s apprehension and understanding of these truths is grounded in the Spirit’s immutable, objective knowledge of them—and not in the believer’s subjective perceptions. The converse is obviously true for unregenerate believers who ultimately will not be saved. Thus, I would say (without wishing to get more specific) that the distinction between unregenerate belief and regenerate belief is a distinction not in epistemic content (that which is believed), but in epistemic justification (that which grounds the belief and makes it possible). I’d be unwilling to speculate further without good scriptural backing—but that is the conclusion we are inevitably led to by God’s word. It doesn’t seem confusing to me.

In reply to my exposition of the purpose of regeneration in Calvinism—which in turn was a reply to a general question from Ben at Arminian Perspectives—Ben has written ‘Addressing Dominic’s Response to the Purpose of Regeneration in Calvinism’. I encourage you to read it in full to understand the larger context, as I will only quote enough here to provide a platform for response. I also apologize for the brevity of this reply; I am not blessed with as much free time as I used to be.

Ben:

I admit to being confused by this and I certainly disagree with his “definition” of faith (i.e. the simple faith that receives Christ) as requiring the indwelling Spirit. It seems that he is saying that God can turn the will to belief but that belief doesn’t constitute faith. And I am still left to wonder what these “propositions” entail.

That is exactly what I’m saying; and I defended this claim quite adequately. I was also fairly clear that the propositions in question are the propositions of the Christian faith: namely, to start with, that Christ died for our sins; and all the truths which relate to this.

Faith, as pertains to receiving the truth of the gospel and the gift of salvation, is simple trust in the work of Christ, and does not require intimate knowledge of all of the “things of God” (Rom. 4:4, 5)

This is true, but doesn’t speak to whether or not a person can have faith apart from the indwelling Spirit. Nothing in Romans 4 speaks to this question—what is under consideration there is the means of justification, namely through faith in God’s promise. Of course, I affirm that; but it doesn’t speak to the nature of faith (whether for or against my position). It’s hard to see why you would appeal to Romans 4 here; it doesn’t seem to be relevant at all.

Oh! So God can turn the heart to a false faith but not a real faith.

Again, I explained this in my original response. God can turn the heart to either; but man is not capable, in and of himself, of attaining a genuine apprehension of spiritual truths. Therefore, since faith is a genuine apprehension of spiritual truths, a man can only attain faith when indwelt by the Spirit, who communicates those truths to him. Subsequently, without giving his Spirit, God can only turn the heart of man to false faith. True faith necessitates being born again of the Spirit.

If the unregenerate can muster it on their own, then why the need for God to turn the will towards this false faith? How is false faith any different than unbelief?

Re the first question, this seems to be trading on a view of God’s sovereignty which is alien to Calvinism, wherein man’s actions are implicitly autonomous, and God merely directs them. Naturally, reading an Arminian view of action theory into a Calvinist exposition will result in the appearance of incongruity. I need merely point out that, under the Calvinist view, the fact of the unregenerate sinner mustering a false faith is not distinct from the fact of God turning the will of the unregenerate sinner to a false faith. Whatever occurs in reality is instantiated by God; refer to my recent post on this matter: ‘A simple argument for divine determinism’.

Re the second question, its answer should be readily apparent given a moment’s reflection. False faith is a kind of unbelief; but it is an unbelief disguised as belief. Presumably you accept that false faith does exist; it is certainly referred to many times in Scripture. Warnings against false teachers, who are wolves in sheep’s clothing (ie, unbelievers pretending to be believers) are common. And James refers to those who are “hearers only, deceiving themselves” (1:22). Plainly, it is possible to believe—not merely making the pretence of belief—and yet to not be saved.

And is he suggesting that one needs to be “good” before he can believe? So the message of salvation is not for sinners but for those that God has made good enough to receive it by faith? Only the good can receive Christ by faith?

I’m having trouble seeing where I could be even remotely construed as saying this. You will need to explain your reasoning further; suffice to say this representation bears no resemblance to the position I explicated.

Paul is not speaking of understanding the gospel and accepting it (since they are infants in Christ), but the deeper revelations of the Spirit that can be received only by the mature (vss. 6, 7; cf. “solid food” of 3:2).

This isn’t so; you’re relying on a simplistic bifurcation of the passage to come to this conclusion. 1 Corinthians 2 begins with Paul’s recollection of his evangelizing the Corinthian Christians: namely, that he “decided to know nothing among them except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (v 2). The faith of the Corinthians rested not “in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God” (v 5). Now, Paul does go on to speak of wisdom imparted to the mature; but this does not exclude the previous comments regarding the cross itself; rather, it builds on them. Consider verse 12: “we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God.” What is the foremost of the things freely given to us by God—indeed, the very foundation of those things? Surely it is “redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight” (Ephesians 1:7–8). Note also how that passage continues: “making known to us the mystery of his will”. In chapter 2 of Ephesians, during his reiteration of what God has done, Paul refers to this event as how God “made us alive together with Christ” (v 5). All of this describes quite plainly the action taken by God, and excludes human action as the cause of our apprehension of spiritual truth.

In fact, as you yourself note, the structure of Ephesians 1 corresponds well to 1 Corinthians 2: Paul reminds his audience of how they received Christ by the power of the Spirit, and then goes on to speak of the greater wisdom imparted by the Spirit to those mature in the faith. But as you failed to note, in both cases this is not a separate gift to faith, which requires the Spirit where faith does not. It is the same gift, extended: a knowledge which builds upon the initial faith of the believer: the “wisdom of the cross” which can only be understood via the indwelling of the Spirit. 1 Corinthians 1:18 intimates, and 2:14 explicitly says, “The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned.” Now, unless you are going to argue that the message of the cross is not a spiritual truth, a “thing of the Spirit of God”, your objection is baseless—relying as it does on an unnatural bifurcation of the first half of the chapter from the second. Furthermore, I am of course not appealing solely to 1 Corinthians 2 to make my case. This is the passage I chose as best to make my point, because it is lengthy and clear; but as I noted, it’s merely a verbose explanation of John 3:3. Or of 1 Corinthians 12:3—“no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except in the Holy Spirit”. What does faith entail if not the statement that Jesus is Lord? Yet no one can say this except in the Holy Spirit. Just as Jesus himself said to Peter upon his profession of faith: “flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 16:17); and Peter himself acknowledged, saying “he has caused us to be born again” (1 Peter 1:3).

The interpretation Dominic suggests also runs contrary to what Paul says in Galatians 3:3, 5,

I would like to learn just one thing from you: Did you receive the Spirit by observing the law or by believing what you heard? (emphasis mine)

Does God give you His Spirit and work miracles among you because you observe the law, or because you believe what you heard?“(emphasis mine)

You continue to appeal to verses which are not actually dealing with the issue at hand. I think this is telling. Just as with Romans 4, Galatians 3 is concerned with the means of justification—not with the nature of faith, or the ordo salutis. Nothing in Galatians 3 contradicts my position on the nature and prerequisites of faith; nothing in Galatians 3 speaks to the nature and prerequisites of faith. The same is true of your appeal to Ephesians 3:16 and 17.

To summarize, that spiritual rebirth must precede faith is amply evidenced in Scripture. It has always been necessary for faith, as Jesus expected Nicodemus to know (John 3:10)—though under the Old Covenant the Spirit was not given in such measure. The opposite view, that regeneration is the consequence of faith, simply isn’t evidenced at all—you have had to appeal to passages which don’t pertain to regeneration in order to make your case, while ignoring the numerous passages which do. This seems quite decisive to me, and stands in isolation to the other biblical arguments against libertarian action theory—which are themselves equally decisive.

Continued in ‘On the distinction between saving and non-saving faith’ ⇒

The answer to your question isn’t so difficult if you consider what faith is. Faith is not merely an abstract awareness of some or other facts about God and Christ. It is an intimate knowledge about these things, communicated directly by the Spirit. That is Paul’s main point in 1 Corinthians 2, where he ends with that remarkable statement, “But we have the mind of Christ” (v 16b). What does that mean? Why is it that we have—that we need—the mind of Christ? Because “who knows a person’s thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him?” (v 11) And what is it that we know? “A secret and hidden wisdom of God” (v 7) which “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined” (v 9). If the heart of man has not imagined these things, then how can we know about them? Because “these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit” (v 10). We have knowledge of them precisely because we have “the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God.”

This is the mind of Christ; and this is why the natural person, the person who has not received the Spirit of God, “does not accept the things of the Spirit of God”—why they are “folly” to him, and why “he is not able to understand them”: because “they are spiritually discerned” (v 14). If one does not have the Spirit, one cannot understand the things of God, because these things require direct communication by the Spirit to the believer. They are things of God’s own mind, which (whether by his decree or by their very nature) cannot be grasped by anyone not availed of that mind. Thus we must be indwelled by the Spirit, having “the mind of Christ”, in order to understand the spiritual truths which comprise Christianity. Without the mind of Christ, according to Paul, faith is impossible.

Now, certainly God may incline a spiritually dead person to believe certain Christian propositions for a time—but since faith entails a knowledge which can only be communicated by the indwelling Spirit, and can only be understood by someone with that Spirit, it remains that if a person believes Christian propositions like “Christ died for the sins of the world”, yet does not have the Spirit of Christ, then he does not have faith. Since faith, by definition, requires the indwelling of the Spirit, not even God can direct a man to faith without first giving him that Spirit. He can incline an unregenerate heart to believe the propositions which are also believed in faith, certainly—but that belief does not constitute faith. It’s merely an imitation of faith, having no real substance; no real apprehension. It cannot be any more than what that unregenerate heart can muster from its own depths—and there is nothing good, nothing like the intimate knowledge of God required for salvation, down there.

It really goes without saying that this renders Arminianism untenable. In your previous post, ‘The Arminian and Calvinist Ordo Salutis: A Brief Comparative Study’, you listed prevenient grace as the only item prior to faith. In your view, prevenient grace is required for totally depraved man to be able to libertarianly choose to have faith—but only prevenient grace. Then, following logically on from that faith, you would say that the person is then joined with Christ, justified, and only then regenerated. But according to 1 Corinthians 2, prevenient grace would have to entail nothing less than the full indwelling of the Spirit of God in order to make faith possible. Nothing less than that suffices to convince the “natural man” of spiritual truths. Nothing less than the mind of Christ is needed for a person to understand Christianity so as to have faith at all. As John puts it, a man must be reborn of the Spirit before he can “see” the kingdom of God (John 3:3,8).

But this being the case, it is evident that once a man has the mind of Christ, he will be convinced of and understand the truths of Christianity (not in a flash, of course; not all at once—but inevitably). Once a man is reborn of the Spirit, he will see the kingdom of God. So if the Arminian wishes to go so far as to say that prevenient grace does indeed entail the indwelling of the Spirit in some sense, then he goes too far because either prevenient grace is not given to everyone (in which case, it’s hard to see the distinction between Arminianism and Calvinism here); or everyone is a Christian and is saved (which is plainly false on both scriptural and merely empirical grounds). Furthermore, the question remains: what, in your ordo salutus, is regeneration, if prevenient grace is a sufficient condition of saving faith?

The only theological system which accommodates Paul’s teachings regarding the nature and requirements of spiritual belief is Calvinism. Those teachings are accurately reflected in the monogerstic view which Calvinism takes of regeneration, wherein God must sovereingly work by giving his Spirit to those whom he has elected to salvation. He knows who will believe because he knows to whom he will give his Spirit. By contrast, the Arminian scheme renders 1 Corinthians 2 incoherent, since God’s knowledge of whom he will save is based on those people’s own choosing—yet they cannot choose without God first having given them his Spirit.

Continued in ‘The purpose of regeneration revisited’ ⇒

Related posts:

1. Determinism and the authorship of sin in Calvinism and Arminianism

Before evaluating how free will relates to moral responsibility—which is really the crux of the debate as I see it—there are some prior matters which need to be understood. Particularly, the distinction between the two basic views regarding freedom, and the reasons for these distinctions, should be briefly considered.

The freedom relationship

Although it commonly goes unsaid in the context of this issue, freedom is always a relationship. Thus, when we talk about free will, we must be meaning one or both of the following:

1. In our ability to properly choose, we enjoy a freedom to something;
2. in our ability to properly choose,1 we enjoy a freedom from something.

Both the compatibilist and the libertarian agree that both options are true. The libertarian maintains that we have a freedom to choose between two or more actually possible alternatives; ie, that this freedom is from necessity. In other words, for any given choice, we really could choose either alternative a or alternative b. Or, viewed from the other direction, the alternative we choose is not determined inevitably by any prior factors, such that although we seem able to choose b, we can only actually choose a because that’s what’s been predetermined. The freedom to is merely a restatement of the freedom from, and vice versa.

If our choices were inevitably determined, according to the libertarian, then they would not be “ours”. This is because they would actually be just the outcome of these prior factors, rather than a result our own acts of volition. Hence, the libertarian view is called indeterminism. It maintains that a fully determined choice is not a “proper” or “real” choice—all human choices, to be proper human choices, must be free from prior determination. And if a choice is not determined by prior factors, then it is necessarily indeterminate until the moment it is made. In this regard, libertarians consider God’s determinative action to be incompatible with proper human choices, and so they are also called incompatibilists.

Determinists or compatibilists, on the other hand, take the view that a choice may indeed be fully determined by prior factors, and yet be free. This is because they hold that a choice, to be a proper choice, must only be free from coercion—not necessarily free from determination. They agree with libertarians that a choice must be “ours”. They disagree that a choice is not “ours” if it has been determined by prior factors. In fact, a choice is always determined by at least the prior factor of the greatest desire we entertain at the time. This is what, speaking in terms of the causes and effects within our own minds, determines which option out of many we will select.

Thus, compatibilists argue that free will entails merely freedom to choose between apparently possible alternatives; and merely freedom from being forced to pursue one alternative or another—as opposed to being determined to do so. However, because our choices are determined by God prior to our actually making them, we don’t choose between actually possible alternatives. If we choose alternative b, then we always were going to choose b, even though until the moment of choosing we felt like we could have selected a. Our choice was inevitable, on the basis of God’s prior determination. But it was not forced—it was, in fact, still a product of our faculty of will, functioning apart from any coercion. We weren’t made to choose against our will—rather, we chose freely precisely because we chose what we wanted most at that time, and what we wanted most, like all things in creation, was determined in advance by God.

The origins of choices

This highlights the issue which divides libertarians and compatibilists. The libertarian is primarily concerned with showing that our choices are properly ours. The reason he is worried about prior determination is because he rightly wants to uphold the responsibility of man. If a choice has its origin outside a man’s will, then that choice is not ultimately a product of his will, and so it’s hard to see how it can be thought of as being properly his. And if it is not properly his, then how can he be held responsible for it, whether for punishment or reward?

The complicating factor, from the Reformed perspective, is that although this issue is cast in terms of responsibility, it ultimately is a question of sovereignty. The libertarian rightly wishes to uphold man’s responsibility, but in doing so he is making an appeal to man’s sovereignty. If a choice does not find its ultimate origin in man himself, the libertarian says, then the man cannot be held responsible for it. The Calvinist is compelled to disagree. Whether the libertarian means to or not, he is exalting man into the position of God himself by supposing that man can be the ultimate origin of anything. In our fallen state, this is a very natural thing for us to do—which is why, I’d argue, libertarianism is as popular as it is. But for this very reason libertarians ought to be especially careful, when evaluating the issues in this debate, to examine themselves soberly, ensuring that they aren’t holding their position for the wrong reasons.

Contra the libertarian, the compatibilist argues that the pertinent issue is not whether a man’s choice has its ultimate origin in his faculty of will. Rather, it’s whether a man’s choice has its immediate origin there. Naturally, the choice must be made by the man in order for it to be his, and for him to be held responsible for it. If it is made by him, then it has its origin in his faculty of will. That needs to be the immediate cause of the choice; otherwise it is not directly his. But the compatibilist recognizes that causes themselves have causes, and that determinations are themselves determined. Importantly, he finds the conclusion of the argument I gave in part 1 convincing: God is the ultimate cause of all things. This being the case, it is unavoidable that our choices are predetermined, since if God did not determine them they would never obtain. If the libertarian believes that this obviates them as proper choices, so much the worse for that belief. It’s impossible that our choices couldn’t have their ultimate origin in God, and since God holds us responsible for them nonetheless, it is only logical to conclude that the libertarian must be wrong.

Now, I haven’t yet found anyone who could fault the argument in part 1. That’s why I’ve started this series with it. Anyone is welcome to critique it, and I’d be happy to interact with that critique. But I don’t anticipate a refutation, because it’s just a basic stipulation of a consistent application of the Christian view of reality. The remaining parts of this series will all follow on from that argument by showing how libertarianism is inconsistent in some way—either with other propositions it’s supposed to protect, or with itself, or with other basic Christian doctrines. It enjoys strong, face-value intuitive support. But, as I will argue, it enjoys absolutely no strong, in-depth intellectual support.

1. ↑ When I speak of “choice” or “choosing”, I take it as fairly obvious what I mean. However, to avoid any confusion, allow me to quote libertarian Robert Kane’s very adequate definition: “A choice is the formation of an intention or purpose to do something” (Robert Kane, ‘Libertarianism’ in John Martin Fischer et al, Four Views On Free Will (Blackwell 2007), 33.

Continued in ‘On free will, part 3: the grounds for moral responsibility’ ⇒

Related posts:

1. Determinism and the authorship of sin in Calvinism and Arminianism