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.

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’ ⇒

Related posts:

1. The term “catholic” in the Nicene Creed

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’ ⇒

Previously, I concluded that a particular atonement makes it impossible for any given person—even if he’s elect—to trust the promise of salvation. If you were paying attention, you’d have noticed that as well as making a sincere, universal gospel call impossible, this has a much more serious and direct consequence: namely, the impossibility of Christian faith. In order to draw this implication out, I really only need to define what faith is, since the argument I made in part 2 does the rest of the work for me.

Faith defined

Hebrews tells us that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (11:1) It further observes that faith was both authored and perfected by Jesus himself (12:2)—in other words, he is the exemplar of Christian faith. And I’ve argued in the past that the assurance and conviction which sets the benchmark for our own, being grounded in his perfect communion with the Godhead, was without even a glimmer of uncertainty, wishful thinking, doubt, or unbelief. Therefore, it necessarily follows that faith, at least in its paradigm form, is a justified and true belief.1

More particularly, it is a justified and true belief of God’s favor toward the believer. Thus, since this favor is availed to us by the atonement, the object of faith is the person and work of Jesus Christ. Or we could say that the object of faith is the promise of salvation through that work. In either case, in order for faith to be faith, a believer needs to have a justified and true belief that the work and the promise are actually availed to him. When I speak about a belief being justified here, I mean simply that a person has a good and right reason for holding it.

The problem should immediately be obvious. Just as this work and promise, under a particular atonement, can only be extended sincerely to those actually covered by it, so belief in the work and the promise is only justified in the case of those covered by it. That is, the work and the promise can only be extended to, and believed by, the elect. But how are we to know who the elect are? How, in fact, are the elect themselves to know who they are, that they might have the requisite justification for believing the promise or trusting the work? So it is that a particular atonement, in the absence of any information as to its specific recipients, makes it impossible not only for the work or promise of salvation to be extended to, but also believed by, anyone. Even if some person hears it, he does not know that he is elect, and so he has no justification, no reason, for believing that it’s for him.

A possible answer examined

Now, a particularist may reject my epistemically stringent definition of faith in the hopes of side-stepping this problem. I think he should at least show why the definition is wrong, aside from because it makes his commitment to particular atonement impossible—but if he does reject my view, then he may say that faith is only an internal assurance or conviction of God’s favor toward me which comes by way of the indwelling Spirit. Thus, an external assurance in reference to the atonement, in the form of the knowledge that it can cover me is unnecessary; because I have an internal assurance given by the Spirit, in the form of the knowledge that it does apply to me.

Of course, I agree that the Spirit does lend such assurance. However, notice that my objection has not actually been refuted. The particularist may side-step the difficulty by diluting his definition of faith, but he can’t actually remove it. Subsequently, he is left with a very weak notion of faith indeed. Under it, he believes that God’s favor is availed to him not because he knows that the atonement was made for everyone including him, but merely because—despite it being made only for a chosen few—he experiences certain inward perceptions which convince him that it extends to him.

This seems to me an essentially impotent position. Faith which is not grounded in an external and objective knowledge that Christ atoned for my sins; but rather in an internal and subjective perception that he did so, is not actually faith at all. Faith which is not rooted in the infallible promise that the cross-work extends to me, made by God himself in Scripture; but rather on my own, fallible perception that it does, is as fickle and unreliable as I am. Scripture doesn’t have a directory of the elect tucked away at the back where I can look myself up and make sure I’m actually in there. So, while under a universal view my faith is as sure as the word of God, under a particular view my faith is only as sure as my inward conviction.

This in turn leads invariably into a violation of sola fide. If my faith is only as strong as my own internal perception of God’s favor towards me, rather than the external certainty of that favor grounded in Christ’s work, then my assurance of salvation is derived ultimately from my own spiritual life. When I feel I’m doing well, I feel God’s favor towards me. But if I feel spiritually depressed or weak, if I am failing to overcome sin, if I think I am backsliding, then my assurance is undermined and damaged and potentially even removed entirely. The less confident I feel about myself, the less confident I feel that God really has availed salvation to me. Indeed, knowing how deceitful and wicked my heart is, I ultimately have no assurance at all. If my faith is based on me, then it isn’t faith. It’s more akin to wishful thinking. Maybe God loves me and Christ died for me. But maybe not. Sometimes I feel that way. Sometimes I don’t.

In this way, then, particular atonement utterly undermines Christian faith and the assurance of our salvation.

An objection anticipated

I expect some particularists, at this point if not before, would say that I’m hugely misrepresenting their view. They’d say that their faith is not based on some burning in the bosom; some subjective sensation of their own salvation. Rather, “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved”, and they have called on the name of the Lord. Their doing so is evidence that the atonement extends to them. In other words, they merely recognize that the promise of salvation is conditional:

1. If you believe, then you will be saved.
2. You believe.
3. Therefore, you will be saved.

A parallel argument can then be constructed:

4. If you will be saved, the atonement extends to you.
5. You will be saved (from (iii)).
6. Therefore, the atonement extends to you.

But I think it goes without saying that the particularist is playing a bit of a game here. The first premise is conveniently incomplete. “If you believe, then you will be saved”—but believe what? Obviously “the promise”. But that either refers to the very statement at hand, or to the promise that salvation is availed to him. It can’t be the former, namely that “if you believe you will be saved”, because that leads to a vicious infinite regress: if you believe that if you believe you will be saved; if you believe that if you believe that if you believe you will be saved; and so on. But it can’t be the latter either, since that would run afoul of the argument I’ve already given in part 2, and briefly reiterated here, which establishes the impossibility of believing the promise without prior knowledge that you’re elect.

Thus, I believe my objections all succeed: particular atonement is incompatible with federal headship and forensic imputation; it makes a universal gospel call impossible and impugns God’s justice and truthfulness; and ultimately—pressed consistently—it reduces Christian faith and assurance to wishful thinking. Does this mean that the universal view is correct? It certainly seems to imply it; but there are some objections against that view which must be considered on their own merits. The next three parts of this series will therefore attend to that task.

Continued in ‘On the atonement, part 4: God’s desires frustrated?’ ⇒

1. Dominic Bnonn Tennant, The Wisdom Of God; p 140.

One day, Juan is walking down the street when he meets a Protestant handing out tracts. They get to talking, and Juan is surprised to learn that the Protestant thinks that Catholics aren’t saved. Juan tries to reassure the fellow that Catholics are Christians too—in fact, they are the true Christians who submit to the true Church of Christ. Protestants, to be honest, are the ones who are at a great disadvantage, having neither doctrinal purity nor the pure sacraments; especially the sacrificial Eucharist.

To Juan’s surprise, though, the Protestant rebuffs him. “We can’t both be Christians,” he says. “If what I believe is true, then we’re saved by faith alone, and your gospel of faith and works is no gospel at all. But if what you believe is true, then Pope Boniface VIII was correct when he infallibly said that that no one at all can be saved without being in subjection to the Roman Pontiff. As for your Eucharist, the doctrine of transubstantiation is, quite frankly, an abomination. How can a piece of bread literally become Jesus’s body, to be physically eaten by an entire congregation?”

Juan goes away bemused. He has talked often with his priest, and they’ve discussed Protestantism a few times. The Catholic Church is the one true Church instituted by Christ—so Protestants are missing out on a lot by failing to submit to it. They’re deprived of much true doctrine, and of the proper means of grace in the sacraments. A Protestant communion service is deeply impoverished compared to a Catholic Eucharistic mass. But Protestants still sincerely believe that Jesus is the Son of God who died for their sins; they’re still Christians—and anyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved. In fact, even Muslims can be saved, or pagans in unevangelized countries, as long as they do their best to seek God with what little light of natural revelation they have.

As for the Eucharist being an abomination—well, you’d expect that from a Protestant! Jesus’s words were spirit and life; how could someone who hadn’t received these through the wonderful gift of the Eucharist understand them?

Thinking about it on his way home, Juan becomes more confident. Sure, that Protestant had rattled him a bit, but what could he know about Catholic teachings, after all? Juan determines to prove him wrong. When he gets home, he fires up his computer and does a search on Pope Boniface VIII. Soon he finds what the Protestant chap looks to have been referring to: a document called Unam Sanctam. By most accounts not an infallible declaration…except for the last line. It reads:

we declare, we proclaim, we define that it is absolutely necessary for salvation that every human creature be subject to the Roman Pontiff.

Juan stares at this sentence for a long time. It’s hard to imagine a plainer, more explicit, more all-encompassing or hard-nosed statement about salvation. For every human creature, it is absolutely necessary to be subject to the Roman Pontiff in order to obtain salvation. There’s no room for wiggling. It’s not most human creatures; not a bit necessary; not sort of subject. This is in infallible and exclusive statement about how salvation may be appropriated, and it clearly says that no one who is not subject to the Pope can be saved. Was his priest wrong? If Boniface VIII was really speaking infallibly, then Muslims cannot be saved; ignorant pagans cannot be saved; Protestants who reject the authority of Rome cannot be saved (though of course, this statement was made in the 1300s, well before the Reformation). From the looks of things, even Eastern Orthodox Christians can’t be saved—and that can’t be right!

Juan decides to research the matter more deeply. He wants to familiarize himself with all the important Catholic pronouncements in this area, so he looks further afield. He finds that Boniface VIII was by no means aberrant in his conclusions; he seemed to have been reflecting a well-established, historical teaching. Pope Innocent III before him, at the Fourth Lateran Council, had said that “there is but one universal Church of the faithful, outside of which no one at all can be saved”; and Eugene IV, after him, had declared most magnificently in Cantate Domino that

The most Holy Roman Church firmly believes, professes, and preaches that none of those existing outside the Catholic Church, not only pagans, but also Jews and heretics and schismatics, can have a share in life eternal; but that they will go into the eternal fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels, unless before death they are joined with Her; and that so important is the unity of this ecclesiastical body that only those remaining within this unity can profit by the sacraments of the Church unto salvation, and they alone can receive an eternal recompense for their fasts, their almsgiving, their other works of Christian piety and the duties of a Christian soldier. No one, let his almsgiving be as great as it may, no one, even if he pour out his blood for the Name of Christ, can be saved, unless he remain within the bosom and the unity of the Catholic Church.

Not Jews? Then certainly not Muslims, Juan muses. Not schismatics? Then certainly not Eastern Orthodox Christians. Not heretics? Then certainly not Protestants. And not pagans? Then certainly not the unevangelized. That doesn’t line up with what he has been told at all. But the further he digs, the more statements like this he finds. From Clement of Rome to Augustine to Gregory the Great, and afterwards to Trent, then into the nineteenth century (with Pius IX being particularly vocal about the matter), there is an unbroken tradition of teaching: extra Ecclesiam nulla salus—outside of the church there is no salvation! This is Church Tradition. His priest must have been wrong. That Protestant chap was right. The Catholic Church really does teach that only Catholics can be saved.

Juan is prepared to accept this. The Church is infallible; his priest is not. Perhaps he made a mistake. Certainly there isn’t any doubt about the clarity or pedigree of this tradition. He makes a mental note to mention this to his priest the next time they meet; he should know about his mistake.

By this stage Juan has gotten up to the major statements of the twentieth century, and is reading through the principal documents of Vatican II. (He’s a quick reader.) Scanning through Lumen Gentium, his eye catches a statement that just flabbergasts him:

the plan of salvation also includes those who acknowledge the Creator. In the first place amongst these there are the Mohamedans, who, professing to hold the faith of Abraham, along with us adore the one and merciful God, who on the last day will judge mankind. [...] Those also can attain to salvation who through no fault of their own do not know the Gospel of Christ or His Church, yet sincerely seek God and moved by grace strive by their deeds to do His will as it is known to them through the dictates of conscience.

He re-reads this three or four times, but the words don’t change. How can this be? As the Protestant fellow had said, Unam Sanctam, and the whole Catholic Tradition, clearly teaches that no one outside the Catholic Church, no one who does not submit to Rome, can be saved. But Lumen Gentium is saying that not only does a person not have to submit to Rome; not only does he not have to be a Christian by any standard; not only does he not have to claim the same religion as Abraham regardless of how wrong and heretical he is; in fact, he can be a rank pagan and be saved! Either the Church was wrong until Vatican II, which of course it wasn’t…or Vatican II was wrong. They can’t both be right.

Juan is confused, and he decides to sleep on it. The next morning he re-reads Unam Sanctam and Lumen Gentium, hoping that with a fresh start and a fresh eye, he will gain a fresh perspective. Perhaps these two documents really can be reconciled easily. Perhaps he just missed something obvious last night. He was pretty tired after all that reading.

Sadly, the two declarations remain steadfastly opposed. So Juan prints them out, re-reads them over lunch, and then hurries down to his church, conveniently situated a block over. His priest (with whom, of course, he is in frequent consultation so as to avoid error, and so as to submit himself to the proper authority delegated by the Magisterium) ushers him into his office. He’s anxious to help Juan with whatever theological question has arisen this time.

Juan explains his problem. Church Tradition says one thing up until 1964…then it completely changes its mind and contradicts itself!

His priest reads over the pertinent statements which Juan has printed out. He’s read them before, of course, but he wants to refresh his memory. After a moment’s thought, he assures Juan that Vatican II was not in error; that Lumen Gentium and Unam Sanctam are both teaching the truth. Rome has never contradicted itself, and neither has God’s plan of salvation changed in the past six centuries. The problem is not with the documents, but with Juan’s understanding. He rifles through some files, and pulls out a dog-eared collection of papers, stapled together at one corner. “This is Dominus Iesus,” he says, “which clarifies what is meant in Lumen Gentium.” He hands it to Juan, tapping his finger against a section of text marked with a yellow highlighter:

Salvation in Christ is accessible by virtue of a grace which, while having a mysterious relationship to the Church, does not make them formally part of the Church, but enlightens them in a way which is accommodated to their spiritual and material situation.

“In other words, salvation is only ever found within the Catholic Church—but that doesn’t mean that everyone who’s saved is visibly or explicitly part of the Church. You can be an implicit member.”

Juan needs to think this over. He thanks his priest, but he goes away still deeply troubled. He knows what Unam Sanctam says. He knows that it’s absolutely necessary for salvation that every human creature be subject to the Roman Pontiff. He can’t understand how a Protestant who explicitly rejects the authority of the Roman Pontiff, and who willingly refuses to be in subjection to him, can be “implicitly” in such subjection all the same. It doesn’t make the least bit of sense. He can understand, perhaps, how someone who doesn’t know about the Pontiff could implicitly be subject to Rome by joining himself to the body of Christ through earnestly seeking God. If such a person did come to learn about Catholicism, he would willingly and gladly subject himself explicitly. But in the case of Protestants and Muslims and Eastern Orthodox and whatnot, they explicitly refuse to be in subjection. So it’s a contradiction in terms to say that they are implicitly subject.

More importantly, Cantate Domino specifically named pagans and schismatics and heretics and Jews as being outside of the Church, and unable to receive salvation. Even if implicit membership is all that’s needed for salvation, all these people are unequivocally said to be unsaved; so they must be excluded from any kind of membership. But that plainly contradicts Lumen Gentium as read through the lens of Dominus Iesus. The answer his priest had given him seemed promising at first, but as he thinks about it on his way home, it becomes increasingly obvious that it isn’t an answer at all. It isn’t possible to reconcile all these declarations.

Juan spends a lot of time researching this. He learns that some Catholics, called Sedevacantists, reject Vatican II because it has contradicted prior teaching. He can sympathize. But Sedevacantists aren’t infallible; and Rome is. So they must have misinterpreted either Vatican II, or the earlier Tradition, or both. He can’t take the word of schismatics over the word of the Magisterium. In fact, he muses, Sedevacantists have done exactly what Protestants do, by exercising their private judgment instead of submitting to Rome. They have presumed to take upon themselves the authority of interpreting Rome’s teachings and deciding what they must mean, instead of letting Rome speak for itself. That’s ironically anti-Catholic, he thinks. He isn’t going to make that mistake.

But then what is he to do? He can’t see a way to reconcile his understanding of the various teaching documents. But he recognizes that he’s fallible; and that he must be understanding them wrongly if they appear to contradict each other. The plain meaning of Lumen Gentium is that non-Catholics can be saved. The plain meaning of Unam Sanctam is that they can’t. But…on what authority is he to decide which interpretation he’s mucked up? He knows that he must have misunderstood at least one of them. Or maybe both. How can he be sure?

After much consideration, Juan is forced to conclude that he simply isn’t able to discern the real meaning of the Church’s teaching documents in this matter. This at least is comforting in its consistency, since the Bible (the “original teaching document”) also plainly appears to teach in Romans that “no one seeks after God; no not one”. But obviously the implication of Lumen Gentium is that some people do sincerely seek after God. This apparent discrepancy just reinforces Juan’s conclusion that Catholic laypeople are not gifted with the ability to discern the real meaning in either Scripture or the Church’s later teaching documents. They just aren’t qualified. They lack some special knowledge which is needed to put everything together. To the layman, the meaning of the words in one document appears to contradict the meaning of the words in another; and the meaning of the words in a third, which are supposed to reconcile the two, don’t make any sense. So to know what Catholicism teaches, he really can’t consult its teaching documents. He has to ask his priest, who can explain them to him. After all, he has received the sacrament of ordination; he has special grace granted for his special office. Surely that explains why things are clearer to him.

Juan has to conclude that Catholic laymen simply do not have the special grace which must be required to fit everything together. Some kind of cypher is needed; a cypher which only the Roman Magisterium, in its priests and bishops and archbishops and, finally, the pope, has access to.

But why would the Magisterium encode their teaching documents in this way, he wonders. After all, they aren’t teaching documents at all if it isn’t possible to learn anything from them. He can’t answer that question, but then it isn’t his place to question the Infallible Church of Christ any more than it’s his place to question Christ himself. So he forces himself to be content with putting down his books, and working with the small doctrinal snippets that he gets from the pulpit every day in Mass (he goes every day because he needs all the grace he can get, and he’s hoping to store up some merit for himself by taking communion more frequently than other Catholics). He knows the major doctrines that he has to believe to be saved. He knows about praying to saints, and about how Mary’s body did not perish, and about transubstantiation, for example. He doesn’t really know anything about his faith except that which can be summarized in brief statements like “Mary was assumed bodily into heaven” or “the host turns into the real body of Christ”. But that seems to be how it must be for the laity, since further doctrinal knowledge is impossible; so he accepts it.

But then he’s pondering these doctrinal soundbites one night, in the hope of at least being a good Catholic by understanding the doctrines which he has been told about; and he starts to see some real problems. He’s meant to believe that, at the consecration, the host turns literally into the body of Christ. Each host miraculously becomes the true body of Jesus himself. This is integral to his faith. If he doesn’t believe this, he isn’t a Catholic. But what does it mean to believe this? He knows that Catholics believe the words, in a semantic sense; they affirm that the proposition “The host becomes the real body of Christ” is true. But that might be no different, he realizes, from affirming that “The law of noncontradiction is false”. Saying it, and saying it’s true, doesn’t actually mean that it’s possible, or that it’s possible to actually believe. It doesn’t mean that it can be true. It just means that someone affirming the proposition doesn’t really understand its content; he just believes its content is true. So if the content is unintelligible or unbelievable, that person isn’t really affirming anything of import whatsoever. He’s just making a fool of himself.

Juan ponders the meaning of the proposition “The host becomes the real body of Christ”. He reads the available literature (though of course it is either not infallible, or not possible to be understood by a layman since he doesn’t have the Magisterial Cypher). He finds that the doctrine of transubstantiation teaches that the secondary properties of the host (being the appearance of bread of a certain size, shape, taste, etc) remain, but the primary properties (that of being bread) are replaced with the real body of Christ. Put another way, the primary properties of the real body of Christ take on the secondary properties of the host. So there is no connection between the essence of the host, following transubstantiation, and its sensible properties. The essence is actually Jesus’ body; not the host at all. Some kind of illusion is going on. Once it’s consecrated, the host’s secondary properties don’t identify its primary properties at all.

More importantly, its primary properties are the real body of Christ. The host is actually the body of Christ. But Juan has a pretty good familiarity with human bodies, and he knows that they are a certain size and constitution; they are a bit under 2 meters tall, comprised of skin and hair and bones and organs and lots of icky stuff that it’s hard to see being particularly beneficial to eat. Yet apparently this is precisely what he is eating. How is this possible, he wonders. Can it be that a man can swallow whole another man? Clearly not. (He is reminded of Nicodemus’ jejune question, “Can a man go back into his mother to be born a second time?” It creates an uneasy feeling in his tummy.) Yet this is what transubstantiation teaches: that swallowing the host is an illusion, and that what is actually happening is that he is swallowing Jesus himself. Brain, blood, heart, icky genitalia and intestines and things…so, in essence—even if not in appearance—he is doing something which is actually physically impossible; not to mention kind of wrong. It isn’t as if Christ is somehow “processed”, like an Essence of Jesus patty. It’s not as if he’s eating just a part of his savior. It’s his whole body. Not only is this physically impossible, but in essence he is actually engaging in cannibalism; it’s just concealed by the illusion of the host.

Other difficult questions arise. When a hundred hosts are consecrated, is each one a separate Jesus? Does that mean that there is no longer a Trinity, but a God comprised of a Father, a Holy Spirit, and a hundred Sons? How can Jesus have a hundred bodies but still be one person? That seems to violate the law of identity. And how can each host be a living Jesus? Does Jesus watch as he is ingested, and goes through the digestive tract of every Catholic who receives him at communion? That’s really unsettling. And if he watches, what eyes does he use, since he appears to be a host? Or maybe he isn’t alive in the hosts; but then, what’s the point of eating a dead Jesus body? Isn’t the importance of the Eucharist in the receiving of the living Savior?

At this stage Juan doesn’t know what to think. It’s obviously better not to even contemplate those doctrines he has been told about by his priest. Not only can he not understand the Catholic teaching documents, but he can’t understand Catholic doctrine in general! He can’t actually believe transubstantiation once he’s considered it carefully, because to believe something requires it be able to be stated in a sensible way that can be grasped by the mind. But it’s not possible to grasp transubstantiation with the mind, because its claims are self-contradictory. One human body can’t wholly contain another; that is just a constraint of the material universe. No doubt God could have created the universe so that matter can occupy the same space as other matter simultaneously; but he didn’t. It’s possible to believe in miracles where natural laws are suspended, but not in miracles where the very properties of the physical universe are contradicted. And not only this, but the whole thing is just grossing him out.

So he can’t believe the pithy soundbite of transubstantiation in any meaningful sense because he can’t interpret it in a non-ridiculous way. Neither can he do any study as an amateur theologian, because he can’t interpret the teaching documents of the Church in a non-ridiculous way; they seem to contradict each other and cannot be reconciled, but he is assured that they do not. He must be missing some kind of cypher which is needed to decode the apparent meaning of the words and reveal their real meaning. So what is he left with? To be a Catholic and be saved he has to at least believe in transubstantiation. He can’t believe it in a considered, propositional sense; so he is left with simply saying that he believes the words “the host becomes the real body of Christ”, and hoping to God that there is some rational, non-ridiculous meaning behind them. He doesn’t know what they mean; he just trusts that there is a meaning. So he is forced into a mindless, meaningless affirmation of doctrinal statements.

By this stage he’s too afraid to even try to interpret what the bodily assumption of Mary is, or any of the other myriad doctrines of which he is vaguely aware. He just mouths the words and takes communion and goes to confession and hopes that by doing so he is somehow saved. In truth, he doesn’t believe anything meaningfully; but he is comforted by some discussions with friends of his in the parish. One of them tells him, “we are not saved by intelligence, but by faith”. Juan supposes this could be right. He doesn’t understand the doctrines, but he has faith that they must be true. If there is any real understanding to be had, it is apparently only accessible to a select few authoritative Catholics. The laity rely on faith: they do what they are told they must do to be saved. Another friend tells him, “salvation requires obedience, not understanding.” That sounds right. The laity are saved by performing certain rituals. They trust in the rituals, and in the authority which instituted them. That’s the extent of their Christian faith.

That must be right. That’s how Roman Catholicism has always been. Peasants can’t be expected to have spiritual insight; they are just simple sheep. They need to be shepherded; told what to do. These things don’t change just because social standards and education have. Juan may work in IT, but to Rome he is still a peasant.

Related posts:

1. The term “catholic” in the Nicene Creed

I. The nature and extent of the atonement

But the greatest objection to Arminianism is a logical one. If, as Arminians say, Jesus died for the sin of everyone, then surely one of those sins was unbelief [...] If Jesus did pay the price for every sin of every man, including unbelief, why does God still choose to punish those who do not accept him by excluding them from his presence for eternity? [...] The logical flow of Arminianism then, seems to be towards Universalism.

A robust response to this, albeit one I’d make from a Reformed rather than an Arminian perspective, would be either (i) that Jesus’ atonement was not pecuniary, so it was not like a financial transaction with a 1-1 correspondence of sins committed to sins atoned for; or (ii) that it was only representatively pecuniary, so that although it was like a financial transaction, it was a representative transaction which can be applied to anyone without an actual 1-1 correspondence of sins. I myself hold to one of these positions (I’m still working out which one). My basic reasoning is as follows:

If the atonement was fully pecuniary, then a universal atonement would either entail universal salvation, or a double payment for sin (Jesus paid for the sins of those who go to hell, and they themselves pay for those sins). Universal salvation is flagrantly heretical and mitigates the whole point of the gospel, and double payment is fragrantly unjust and historically has been rejected because “shall not the judge of all the earth do what is right?” So I conclude either that the atonement was made specifically for the elect alone, or it was not pecuniary; and I think the biblical data favors a universal intent in the atonement, even though the elect are specifically in view. That is, I hold to the historical Reformed view that the atonement was sufficient for all, but efficient only for the elect. I think this is the more reasonable view, as opposed to a totally limited atonement, because:

If the atonement was not even sufficient for everyone, then God’s contingent intention that everyone should be saved is not reflected in the sacrifice he made in Jesus. That is, God the Father desires all people to be saved, but particularly the elect (because his desire for all is contingent on his larger desire to glorify his wrath and justice through the reprobation of some); God the Holy Spirit convicts all people of sin, but particularly calls the elect; therefore, it is incongruent that God the Son would not die for all, though particularly for the elect.

Further, if the atonement was not sufficient for all, then the grounds for preaching the gospel to everyone without exception, either as a command or as an invitation, are removed. That is, the gospel call has no ontological referent for the non-elect. It is inviting and commanding them to believe in something which does not exist for them. This makes God both insincere (in regards to the invitation) and unjust (in regards to holding the non-elect responsible for their rejection of the gospel as a command).

Lastly, this being the case, a totally limited atonement would also remove the objective grounds for Christian faith (epistemically speaking; not ontologically). That is, if the atonement was sufficient only to save the elect, I would need assurance that I am elect in order to appropriate the promise of salvation. Obviously, any such assurance will be subjective and fickle, and so I will have no sure grounds believing that the atonement was sufficient to save me. However, if it was sufficient for all, then I have objective grounds for laying hold of the promise, because I know that it is sufficient to save everyone without exception.

The atonement is one of the most difficult and complicated doctrines in Christianity, and I think it’s badly neglected by most Christians. A careful dissection of the logic behind it really takes apart a lot of popular but ill-conceived Christian positions. But it bears a lot of thinking about—my own thinking is still jejune, and I expect I will develop these ideas much further—and possibly change them—as I spend more time in study. In that vein, I’ll soon be posting a fairly lengthy series examining limited atonement in some detail.

II. Total depravity and the nature of faith

But does that depravity extend to not being able to simply say “Yes, thank you”, to God. I know you will say it does; and this is the point I’m struggling with. I’m not sure that it does. I’m open to being convinced though (so bring on the John Piper), because I’m not convinced that prevenient grace is a satisfactory answer [...] That’s why I realate God’ election closely to his foreknowledge. If he knows who will say “yes”, perhaps that is why they are the Elect?

Let me offer one passage which I think speaks to this question in a way which is fairly clear—John 6:44: “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him. And I will raise him up on the last day.” For a detailed examination of this passage, I recommend Brian Bosse, ‘A Logical Analysis – John 6:44′ (PDF); but notice briefly that:

1. No one can come to Christ unless the Father draws that person.
2. The person drawn by the Father will be raised up by Christ on the last day.

From this we can infer:

3. Everyone drawn by the Father will come to Christ and be raised up on the last day.

Let’s formulate an argument based on this to test the idea that God elects people based on foreseen faith in response to prevenient grace:

3. Everyone drawn by the Father will come to Christ and be raised up on the last day.
4. Prevenient grace is the means by which the Father draws people to Christ, ex hypothesi.
5. Prevenient grace, by definition, is extended to everyone without exception.
6. Therefore, everyone without exception is drawn to Christ and raised up on the last day.
7. But this is universalism, which is false.
8. Therefore, prevenient grace is not the means by which the Father draws people to Christ.

Now, in response to this you could argue that God foresees who will accept prevenient grace and who will not, and then only extends it to those who will. But then I would ask:

a. Where in Scripture is this taught? It seems highly speculative, and an unnecessary convolution around the simpler doctrine that God elects based on his own will rather than ours (see for example John 1:13 or James 1:18 or 1 Peter 1:3—notice who is active in all these; and compare with John 6:63).

Moreover, is it not evident in 1 Corinthians 2 that the very reason we believe in Christ is because we have the Spirit of God? “For who knows a person’s thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. Now 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”, whereas “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.” (vv 11-12,14). Is Paul’s argument not as follows:

9. The gospel is one of the things of God.
10. No one understands the things of God except the Spirit of God.
11. Christians have received the Spirit of God.
12. Therefore, Christians can understand the gospel.
13. Conversely, the natural man has not received the Spirit of God.
14. Therefore, the natural man cannot understand the gospel, and thinks it is folly.

Believing in Christ, having faith, appropriating God’s promise and receiving the gift of salvation—these are only possible once we already have the Spirit of God in us because they entail knowing and understanding the things of God. Paul’s argument is precisely that our faith is after and because of the Spirit already indwelling us. By necessary consequence, then, the Spirit cannot indwell us after and because of our faith. Put in more succinct theological terms, 1 Corinthians 2 teaches plainly that regeneration, of necessity, precedes faith. I imagine you’ll agree that we can’t regenerate ourselves; we could not take the Spirit even if we wanted to; which as sinners we don’t. Thus, God is necessarily the one who is active in first bringing about faith; it could not happen if it were up to us. And, therefore, God must of necessity be the one who chooses the elect, solely based on his own will; not anything within them. And is this not what Jesus tells Nicodemus when he says, “unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God”? Not that one can’t get into the kingdom of God without being born again—but that one can’t even see it.

b. How is it possible to reconcile God’s passive response to our own choosing with the definition of the word “elect”? As a verb, it means “to select by vote for an office, position, or membership” (Merriam-Webster). What does it mean for God to “elect” us if, in fact, we are the ones doing the “voting”? Why would the Bible refer to God’s act of election if, in fact, the vote was not his?

c. Based on what actual reality is God foreseeing who will accept prevenient grace, and who will not? Knowledge must have an ontological referent. But if God does not actually (ie, in reality) offer prevenient grace to all people, how does he know who will and will not receive it? There are probably various answers to this question; but the only unproblematic ones I can see would remove libertarian free will from the equation. For example, if God knows who will receive prevenient grace because he knows of some inherent difference between those who do, and those who don’t, then that inherent difference was itself placed there by God, since he created all people. But if that is so, then libertarian free will is obviated, since those who choose to reject grace do so because of something within them over which they have no control.

You might say God “just knows” because he is God; but then you have the problem of having no ontological referent—which I think is significant. But even if you can overcome that, there still seems to be the issue of God’s foreknowledge declaring an inevitable outcome, which appears to violate libertarian freedom anyway, since by definition such libertarianism precludes inevitability.

III. God’s sovereignty and relationship to sin

Does the idea that God is the agent which causes EVERYTHING to happen common in most Calvinist thought? It wasn’t in Erickson’s. Does this imply that God causes sin to happen too?

I take a very high view of God’s sovereignty, based on the (I think very severe) philosophical problems which result from a lower one. This view is not shared by all Calvinists, and certainly there is a spectrum of thought in Reformed theology over the precise nature of God’s causative agency. My position is fairly mainstream except for the fact that I’m not reduced to a shriveled shell of my former reasoning self when someone says, “Your view makes God the author of sin!” Provided that by “author” he means “ultimate cause” or something similar, I feel compelled by Scripture and sound reason to agree. I think Christians are phobic about this very, very ambiguous phrase, and go to great lengths to deny some patently biblical truths so as to “get God off the hook” for something that he himself claims responsibility for in his word.

My view is that God does not cause all things in the sense that we tend to think of cause and effect. That is, he is not the immediate or physical cause of things in the way that I am the immediate or physical cause of a door moving when I push it, or the keys on my keyboard depressing when I hit them. But he is the cause of those causes—the cause behind the causes. If he really does uphold the universe by the word of his power (Hebrews 1:3), and if he really is before all things, and if in him all things really do hold together (Colossians 1:17), then he must be the remote cause of all things inasmuch as nothing can happen without him actively bringing it about. Since all of creation is directly contingent upon him, every action or event or change in creation must also be contingent upon him, and so nothing could occur without his actively willing it and causing it. In my view, denying this collapses immediately into a kind of deism, which is both philosophically and biblically problematic.

Does this mean that God causes sin to happen? Is God the “author” of sin? What does Scripture say?

• “Then the LORD said to Moses, “Go in to Pharaoh, for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his servants, that I may show these signs of mine among them.” (Exodus 10:1)
• “But Sihon the king of Heshbon would not let us pass by him, for the LORD your God hardened his spirit and made his heart obstinate, that he might give him into your hand, as he is this day.” (Deuteronomy 2:30)
• “For it was the LORD’s doing to harden their hearts that they should come against Israel in battle, in order that they should be devoted to destruction and should receive no mercy but be destroyed, just as the LORD commanded Moses.” (Joshua 11:20)
• “And God sent an evil spirit between Abimelech and the leaders of Shechem, and the leaders of Shechem dealt treacherously with Abimelech.” (Judges 9:23)
• “Thus says the LORD, ‘Behold, I will raise up evil against you out of your own house. And I will take your wives before your eyes and give them to your neighbor, and he shall lie with your wives in the sight of this sun. For you did it secretly, but I will do this thing before all Israel and before the sun.’” (2 Samuel 12:11-12)
• “Again the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel, and he incited David against them, saying, ‘Go, number Israel and Judah.’” (2 Samuel 24:1)
• “And the LORD said to him, ‘By what means?’ And he said, ‘I will go out, and will be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets.’ And he said, ‘You are to entice him, and you shall succeed; go out and do so.’” (1 Kings 22:22)
• “With him are strength and sound wisdom; the deceived and the deceiver are his.” (Job 12:16)
• “The plans of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the LORD.” (Proverbs 16:1) “But no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.” (James 3:8)
• “The king’s heart is a stream of water in the hand of the LORD; he turns it wherever he will.” (Proverbs 21:1)
• “I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create evil, I am the LORD, who does all these things.” (Isaiah 45:7)
• “O LORD, why do you make us wander from your ways and harden our heart, so that we fear you not? Return for the sake of your servants, the tribes of your heritage.” (Isaiah 63:17)
• “I know, O LORD, that the way of man is not in himself, that it is not in man who walks to direct his steps.” (Jeremiah 10:23)
• “And if the prophet is deceived and speaks a word, I, the LORD, have deceived that prophet, and I will stretch out my hand against him and will destroy him from the midst of my people Israel.” (Ezekiel 14:9)
• “Who has spoken and it came to pass, unless the Lord has commanded it? Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that good and bad come?” (Lamentations 3:37-38)
• “Is a trumpet blown in a city, and the people are not afraid? Does disaster come to a city, unless the LORD has done it?” (Amos 3:6)
• “He has blinded their eyes and hardened their heart, lest they see with their eyes, and understand with their heart, and turn, and I would heal them.” (John 12:40)
• “This Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men.” (Acts 2:23)
• “But what God foretold by the mouth of all the prophets, that his Christ would suffer, he thus fulfilled.” (Acts 3:18)
• “For truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place.” (Acts 4:27-28)
• “So then he has mercy on whomever he wills, and he hardens whomever he wills.” (Romans 9:18)
• “In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will” (Ephesians 1:11)
• “For it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” (Philippians 2:13)
• “Therefore God sends them a strong delusion, so that they may believe what is false” (2 Thessalonians 2:11)
• For God has put it into their hearts to carry out his purpose by being of one mind and handing over their royal power to the beast, until the words of God are fulfilled.” (Revelation 17:17)

As you can see, God is indeed sovereign over sin, and brings about whatsoever comes to pass. If this makes him the author of sin, then it is God himself who has taken that title upon himself by declaring as much in Scripture. I personally think that “author” is a valid way of describing God’s relationship to sin, since just as a human author may have his characters commit evil without himself being evil, so God, the author of all creation, may have his creatures commit evil without himself being evil. However, if by “author” one intends to mean “enactor”, as if God himself sins, then obviously that must be denied as blasphemy and nonsense.

Hopefully I’ve addressed all your major questions here. I imagine in doing so I will have raised a number more, and I’m very happy to continue this dialog.

Regards,
Bnonn

Although I gave consideration, in part 4, to the place of works in salvation, there are a number of items which still bear discussion if I am to complete the examination of this topic. Of particular importance is a treatment of the comments which James makes about the place of works, because these are so commonly pitted against the statements Paul makes.

Now, if Scripture is clear about anything, it is clear that works cannot contribute to our justification—that is, applying the term justification in the precise way that theologians today do: works cannot contribute to our righteousness before God. This is because all our own righteousness is like a filthy menstrual rag in God’s eyes (Is 64:6)—it is so entirely polluted by sin that it is worthless. This is no less true after we have faith than before; in fact, it is only if we do have faith that it applies in a meaningful sense at all. Before faith we could do nothing to please God, regardless of how righteous it seemed to us or others, because whatever does not proceed from faith is in fact sin (Heb 11:6; Rom 14:23). It is therefore utterly impossible to have any righteousness in God’s eyes whatsoever apart from faith. The only righteousness the unbeliever can attain is self-righteousness. As I said in ‘The Means Of Salvation’ (part 3 of my series ‘On Strawmen’), anything a non-believer does, no matter how it may benefit others, is sin; because every action of his is done in defiance to God. Though he may recognize the law of God written on his heart, he does not honor its author. This law therefore condemns him, even though he follows it. It is only humanistic thinking which judges the moral value of a man’s actions by how those actions affect other humans.

This brings us back to the very point at hand: Scripture’s clear teaching that our works cannot and do not contribute to our righteousness before God. We are justified by Christ’s righteousness imputed to us—we do not need to add to this through our own efforts, for it is sufficient; and neither can we, for we are impotent:

For by works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight, since through the law comes knowledge of sin (Rom 3:20).

For we hold that one is justified by faith apart from works of the law (Rom 3:28).

Yet we know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ, so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified (Gal 2:16).

Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for “The righteous shall live by faith.” (Gal 3:11).

I encourage you to read Romans 3, and Galatians 2-3, to understand the full context of these passages, and to see for yourself that I am using them correctly. I say this particularly because the challenge will be made, by Catholics and other false believers, as well as perhaps by misguided but genuine Christians, that this teaching is directly contradicted by James:

You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone (James 2:24).

If understanding context is vital, then it is particularly so in the case of this verse. As it stands, removed from its larger setting, it seems quite clear; and if it is clear, it is clearly in contradiction to everything I have stated so far about the nature of justification. So let me recall to your mind what I said earlier in this series about the sometimes ambiguous way in which certain words are used in Scripture. Their meanings are not necessarily consistent, even when used by the same writer. Just as in English, Greek words can have a wide semantic range, and the precise meaning must be determined from the context in which it is used. People, for some reason, often treat this elementary fact of exegesis with suspicion; as if, when I affirm it, I am trying to make an excuse, or justify interpreting a word as meaning one thing in one place, and another thing in another place. This is particularly common among unbelievers; which is to be expected. Since they are already biased toward a simple-minded and ignorant reading of Scripture, any attempt to treat it as one would a normal text written in a normal language—where nuances of meaning are typical and interpretation depends on the context—is treated as “mental gymnastics” and “twisting” and “stretching” the text, and all sorts of other absurd and emotionally loaded terms.

In the case of James 2:24, we must then firstly ask if James is addressing the same topic that Paul is in the previously-quoted verses. Now perhaps confusion is possible here, because if we say that the topic is the mechanism of being counted righteous before God, then it seems as if James and Paul are discussing exactly the same subject. But that is not really the case, because Paul is specifically talking about being counted righteous by faith as opposed to being counted righteous by following the law; while James is talking about being counted righteous by saving faith, as opposed to being counted righteous by mere belief. In other words, although the topic is, broadly speaking, justification, the specific question being addressed is entirely different.

Paul is concerned with demonstrating that it is impossible for us to do anything which will make us righteous in God’s sight. About this fact James surely is in agreement, for he says in 2:10, “whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it.” This is why his readers, Jews, are not to act as if they were any longer under the law—because, being reconciled to God, they are now under the “law of liberty” (v 12), which is what actually leads him into his discussion about works being necessary, along with faith. But does this not sound exactly like Paul? “You also have died to the law through the body of Christ, so that you may belong to another, to him who has been raised from the dead, in order that we may bear fruit for God” (Rom 7:4). What are the fruit we are to bear? They are good works.

Similarly, Paul’s discourse regarding love in 1 Corinthians 13 places a clear emphasis on works—on the sorts of fruits of the Spirit which we know Christians exhibit (in greater or lesser quantities). Paul says that love is greater than faith. Is he therefore saying that love justifies us before God? Of course not; I have shown that he is clear that we are justified by faith. But what kind of faith? Will a faith without love justify us? Would such a faith in fact be the kind of which he speaks when he says that “no one is justified before God by the law, for ‘The righteous shall live by faith’”? Does not living by faith imply action of some kind?

By asking these sorts of questions, we move from the topic which Paul generally discusses, as in Galatians, of faith versus law; to the topic which James is discussing, of saving faith versus the faith that even demons have. It is evident that this is indeed his topic, because he starts by saying, “What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? [...] faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (v 14, 17). Something which is often overlooked in the question, “can that faith save him?” is that it presupposes that salvation is by faith. James is not here saying that faith is insufficient for salvation; he is saying that faith has two kinds: the “living” faith which saves, and the “dead” faith which does not. How do we know if we have living faith? If we have a faith which produces works. Dead faith does not produce works.

The key passage to examine when trying to understand James is in verses 21-24:

Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered up his son Isaac on the altar? You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by his works; and the Scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness”—and he was called a friend of God. You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone.

The passage starts and ends with statements that a person is justified by works as well as by faith. These statements act as parentheses around the text inside—they lead in, and they lead out again. So in order to understand what James means by these parenthetical statements, we must refer to the enclosed text.

Firstly, we note that James states that Abraham’s faith was active along with his works and was completed by them. The implication to be drawn from this is twofold: that the works alone would have been insufficient to credit righteousness; and that the works were a result of faith—they “completed” the faith.

Secondly, we find that this combination of faith and works; of works completing faith; fulfills the Scripture which says “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness”. In other words,

faith + works = believing God = justification

What James is doing is identifying that to “believe God” in a way that God will count as righteousness (ie, in a way which justifies us) involves more than merely having faith in the sense that some of his readers obviously are claiming (vv 18 and 20). This sort of faith, the sort of faith which hyper-Calvinists rely upon—even the demons have that! So rather than contradicting the doctrine of justification by faith alone, James is in fact explaining its meaning, and showing that we are counted righteous by a functional faith; not what might today be called “mere intellectual assent”. Now, genuine intellectual assent is faith, but a genuine intellectual assent would produce works, because works of course are directed by the mind, and only a mind genuinely in assent to the gospel will produce works. It is certainly possible to assent to the proposition that Jesus is Lord; but that is not the same as assenting to obey him and trust him, as the gospel requires.

It may seem strange to us, in a culture which is characterized in large part by its tendency to define and to categorize, that James speaks of faith and works together in this way to refer to genuine belief. Indeed, it is likely that many well-meaning Christians will read everything I have read, and say, “But Bnonn, whatever way you try to explain it, James still says that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone!” We can dispense with the latter part of the objection simply by pointing out that “faith alone” here is faith with works; and then show that the former part relies on an artificial distinction which we raise because we treat even inviolably linked things as being separate unto themselves.

What I mean is, we treat faith as belief, and works as actions. We recognize that works are intrinsic to real faith, but we break the two apart because we see a distinction between them; and, since it is faith which justifies, and works are separate from faith, we then say that works do not justify. But this is not the way the Jews thought. As much as we tend to separate and categorize, they tended to treat things holistically: a way of thinking referred to as the Semitic Totality Concept. We see this reflected in the way that man himself is thought of in the Bible. Sometimes we find that man has a soul (an immaterial mind), as in Genesis 35:18; sometimes we find that man is a soul, as in Psalm 7:2. Since the soul and body are so intrinsically linked, such that there is no complete person without both, there is no error to the Jewish way of thinking in equivocating in this manner. Similarly, James, writing to a Jewish audience, sees no error in equivocating between works and belief: separating these two things, which together make up saving faith—and then saying that works justify just as belief justifies. However, his doing so is made a little confusing by the fact that he uses the term faith to refer merely to the belief aspect of saving faith; yet in speaking of Abraham, he uses the term belief to refer to saving faith itself. So we must be careful, as we read his epistle, to keep track of his meaning by extension, rather than intention. In other words, we must recognize that what he means by faith and belief can change depending on the setting in which he uses these words. Their meaning is not fixed within them, but without.

Simply put, then, James neither contradicts Paul or the rest of Scripture regarding the nature of faith; nor does he teach that works contribute to our redemption and standing before God. Although at a glance it is easy to construe this from his epistle, a comparison to the rest of Scripture, and a careful consideration of his words and reasoning, show otherwise. It remains that Christians, those elected by God, are those people who believe the word of God, trusting purely in the work of Christ revealed therein for their salvation, and producing good works in love, in accordance with their faith.

So far I have concentrated only on the object of faith, in the sense of in whom it is placed. However, faith itself has a nature which is some things, and is not other things. It is a belief of a certain kind. If the kind of belief is not that described in the Bible, then it is not saving faith; and the person holding it is not a Christian.

The Nature Of Salvation

As I have discussed in part 2 of this series, faith is a gift of God given to those whom he chose from eternity to be his people. It is a knowledge of God imparted by the Spirit to the mind of the believer (see chapter 4 of The Wisdom Of God), which renews and enlightens the mind (Rom 12:2; Eph 1:18), transforming us into a new creation (2 Cor 5:17). This creation is a creation of God: a spiritually alive saint made from a spiritually dead sinner (Eph 2:5). It is not a creation of man; man has no part in the process except to receive salvation, and neither could he, for who could take the mind of Christ (1 Cor 2:14-16)? No, it must be given; it cannot be produced in the natural man by his own power (Rom 8:7-8). Justification is a one-time and permanent action of God; followed by sanctification, which is a continual process of action by us; leading to a final terminus of perfection and fellowship with God in the resurrection.

Free will in salvation

A belief in free will, then, implicitly contradicts at least some of this biblical truth. However, as with the issue of God’s sovereignty (of which this matter really is a subset), there is a difference between those who apply the doctrine of free will consistently to all of soteriology; and those who believe it a priori and then attempt to fit it into the biblical model. In other words, there are those who believe in free will and attempt to make it fit into the Bible; and there are those who believe in free will, and attempt to make the Bible fit into it.

Arminians seem to fit the former category. They believe a priori that faith must ultimately be up to man. Man, enabled by God’s grace, freely decides to believe, or to not believe. Thus, although they attempt to affirm the gospel truth that salvation is all of grace, their presupposition about free will entails that salvation is ultimately of man. God does not elect actively, and call irresistibly; rather, he elects reactively, and calls passively. So they make election mean its opposite, and affirm that salvation can be lost or regained. They do this not because they believe in a gospel of works, but because they are trying to fit free will into the gospel of grace. Of course, free will has utterly no place in the gospel of grace, and so whatever they do necessarily distorts it. Nonetheless, they do attempt to affirm that it is the gospel of grace, and so deny that works are necessary to salvation. Unfortunately, by making man the final arbiter of salvation, works-based salvation is the logical consequence of their position. Faith itself becomes a work which must be performed in order to achieve salvation—rather than something which is given for our salvation.

Arminianism is therefore a serious error. It changes the nature of salvation itself, despite attempting to still affirm the biblical teaching that it is all of God. What individual Arminians believe must, I suppose, differ between them, since their position is so confused that it is hard to see where they can affirm either the Scriptures, or their belief in free will. The one logically contradicts the other; so either they must not believe properly in free will, or they must not believe properly the gospel itself. The former position is just confused and unfortunate; but the latter is certainly very dangerous because it makes salvation something that we do, by making faith itself something that we do. But we are not justified by works, whatever they may be; and anyone who teaches or believes otherwise is accursed (Gal 1:6-9, 2:15-16).

Arminianism, though, is probably the least serious of the errors which result from a doctrine of free will. It blurs the distinction between justification and sanctification by making faith, at least theoretically, a human action which must be constantly maintained. But of course, practically speaking, though faith is given by God, it is still a belief which we have, and in which we must continue if we are indeed saved at all. And we can all agree that genuine faith produces works (James 2:17)—so in this sense Arminians have the right idea in emphasizing human effort: their practical emphasis on perseverence in faith is sound, though their understanding of that faith is broken. This is in contrast to some Calvinists, whose understanding of the God-given nature of faith is sound, but who think that, since salvation is all of God, they don’t need to do anything at all! It is easy to downplay the importance of sanctification when it is correctly separated from initial justification—but, as I have discussed before, to suppose that our actions are unimportant simply because salvation is of faith alone is extremely stupid. A theology which makes sanctification unnecessary in salvation is just as broken as a theology which makes sanctification necessary to salvation. Our works cannot contribute to our redemption, for that has been achieved once for all by Christ, and if you believe otherwise you are not a Christian—but you can be certain, also, that a Calvinist who manifests no works at all is by no means a Christian either, for “you will recognize them by their fruits” (Matt 7:16).

Sanctification and justification

Jesus says, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you” (John 15:16). This single passage corrects first the Arminians, and then the hyper-Calvinists. We must be chosen and appointed before we can bear fruit—and once we are chosen and appointed we are justified, so our fruit can by no means contribute to our redemption. For we have died to the law through the body of Christ, so that we may belong to another, to him who has been raised from the dead, in order that we may bear fruit for God (Rom 7:4). That is, by faith we have died to the law, and this was necessary before we could bear good fruits, for whatever does not proceed from faith is sin (Rom 14:23). Since we are dead to the law, our fruits are not works counted to us as righteousness (for by works of the law shall no one be justified (Rom 3:20, Gal 2:16)), but are rather the exemplars of our faith, prepared for us beforehand by God himself, that we should walk in them (Eph 2:10). Like our salvation, even our sanctification is not ours, for our fruits (though we perform them) are given to us freely as a gift, for “now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 6:23). If salvation is a free gift of God, then it is most certainly not earned by our own efforts—as Ephesians says again, by grace we have been saved through faith; and this is not our own doing: it is the gift of God (Eph 2:8).

Had we no works, we would have no faith—and since salvation is by faith, we could not be saved. But to ask whether our works are necessary to our salvation is to get the question the wrong way around. Rather, is our salvation necessary to our works? Yes it is. Are our works then necessary to our salvation? Not causally necessary—they do not contribute to the redemptive work of Christ which we have purchased by faith. But incidentally necessary, yes. One does not occur without the other. Salvation is always by faith, and faith is always accompanied by works. But only the most confused or stupid mind could suppose that since faith causes salvation, and faith causes works, it therefore follows that works cause salvation! Such a person would have his notions of causality all messed about.

So sanctification is not what makes us right with God: it is what proceeds from already being right with God: that is, of being considered by him as having paid the penalty of sin, and taken on the sinless nature of Christ, by faith (Rom 5:1). This faith is given by God himself; holiness is what proceeds from it and demonstrates that it has taken place. Arminians risk their salvation by denying the former; hyper-Calvinists risk their salvation by denying the latter.

Justification and sacramentism

There is a third position, however, which we must consider as we ask the question: who are the Christians? In fact, we must especially consider this position due to the extraordinarily claims that its chief representative, the Roman Catholic Church, makes about that very question. For it purports to be the one and only true Christian church, containing the fullness of all Christian doctrine. While it no longer denies that Protestants may be saved, it does affirm that they don’t possess either a pure or complete Christian theology—so, by consequence, Protestants cannot be pure and complete Christians. How congruent is this with biblical teaching?

Since Catholicism says that sanctification is justification, and that without works of the law it is impossible to be saved, the short answer is that it is utterly incongruent with biblical teaching—

Are the sacraments necessary for salvation? According to the way God has willed that we be saved the sacraments are necessary for salvation (John Hardon, The Question and Answer Catholic Catechism, question 1119 (ISBN-10 0385136641)).

Now, the Catholic doctrine of justification is really very complicated, and I have no desire to misrepresent it through over-simplification. However, this quote does sum it up in a manner approved by the Vatican (John Hardon was very influential in the codification of the current Catechism of the Catholic Church). Regardless of what we consider the sacraments to be, they obviously are not faith, but constitute works of one sort or another. The sacrament of reconciliation, for example, is supposed to return one to a state of grace following sin, and includes a penance which must be performed in order for that state of grace to be effected. Thus, the atonement of Christ is not the exclusive cause of our redemption, since we must supplement that work by our own works of atonement. In other words, the sacraments are a form of law which must be followed in order to effect salvation. Consider the words of the Council of Trent:

If anyone says that the sacraments of the New Law are not necessary for salvation but are superfluous, and that without them or without the desire of them men obtain from God through faith alone the grace of justification, though all are not necessary for each one, let him be anathema (The Council of Trent, Session VII, ‘Canons On The Sacraments In General’, Canon 4).

It’s helpful that the Council of Trent chose the phrase “New Law”, since it explicitly acknowledges that the sacraments are indeed actions conducted in accordance to a law—a definition which is logically necessary, but might be contested by someone trying to defend Catholic doctrine. The reason it’s likely to be contested should be obvious: as I have already discussed, the word law has specific import in Scripture. The epistle to the Galatians was written explicitly to correct that church from straying into a doctrine of justification through the law, rather than justification through faith. Paul writes—

I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel—not that there is another one, but there are some who trouble you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed. As we have said before, so now I say again: If anyone is preaching to you a gospel contrary to the one you received, let him be accursed. We know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ, so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified. For if justification were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose. O foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you? It was before your eyes that Jesus Christ was publicly portrayed as crucified. Let me ask you only this: Did you receive the Spirit by works of the law or by hearing with faith? Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh? (Galatians 1:6-9, 2:16,21, 3:1-3).

Paul takes pains in these passages, and throughout Galatians, to prove that the Christian gospel is a gospel of justification by faith—any gospel which attempts to add works of the law to faith as necessary for salvation undoes the sufficiency of Christ’s work, and is indeed no gospel at all. In it there is no salvation. Unequivocally, those who propagate, and those who believe such gospels are accursed. The Greek word is anathema, which is left untranslated in Young’s, and is dynamically rendered eternally condemned in the NIV. We can safely say that this is the same meaning intended in the Council of Trent’s decrees: that anyone who disagrees is to be cast out from the body of Christ, excommunicated (Strong’s), doomed to destruction, and devoted to the direst of woes (Crosswalk).

This is the word of Scripture: that anyone who believes that faith is not sufficient to justify us is eternally condemned. Put another way, anyone who believes that law is necessary to salvation is accursed. He is an unbeliever. If you believe Galatians, you should consider the decree of Trent no less than satanic; conversely, to believe Trent is no less than to deny the purpose of Christ’s sacrifice and to consign yourself to hell. Thus, Trent makes all true Christians anathema from the Catholic Church; and Galatians makes all true Catholics anathema from the church of Christ.

The exclusivity of the gospel

If this seems extreme, if my use of the word satanic disturbs you, then ask yourself very carefully: who do you believe? It is only human to wish that salvation can be found within the Roman Catholic Church, and to regard Catholics as our brothers, misguided as they may be—as so aptly evidenced by the convention of Protestants and Catholics in 1994, Evangelicals and Catholics Together. But if the Bible is indeed the word of Christ (if it is not then, Catholic or Protestant, it makes no difference—all is lost), then the gospel of Christ which it contains is indeed a gospel of justification by faith, apart from works. The Roman Catholic gospel is a gospel of justification by faith in conjunction with works—without their sacraments the Church contends that no one can be saved. That is the clear teaching of Trent. Of course, how to interpret Trent is an ongoing debate of some consequence among Catholic theologians, and just goes to demonstrate the epistemological absurdity of the Catholic position—yet without fundamentally altering the meanings of the words used, there is no way to misconstrue what is written. It is a false gospel, and no gospel at all.

Since whoever is not with Christ is against him (Matt 12:30); since even Peter was called Satan for disagreeing with his Lord (Matt 16:23); then in what way is the Catholic gospel any less satanic than the gospel of Islam or Mormonism? In what way is it better than Buddhism or Wicca? And in what way can we expect that anyone who truly believes it can be saved? No, a Catholic is not a Christian; Catholicism, in fact, like these others, is another religion entirely.

Now that I have taken this stand, and have condemned many people who well-meaning but foolish Christians would like to call our brothers, you will say to me that I have been reading too many intolerant, fundamentalist writers—writers who wish to offer no place of salvation for those who disagree with their particular doctrines. You are right. I have been reading the writings of these sorts of people. The works of Luke and Paul in particular I had to pore over in preparation for this study, to answer my question: who are the Christians? The works of James and John also I had to read. And Jude, Matthew, and Mark. Let us not forget Moses either. Obviously Catholic doctrine was included in my reading; and Matt Slick just made my list by happenstance. Vincent Cheung, who you may have been wishing to blame, said only this to me:

Scripture defines certain doctrines on which salvation hinge. To reject these doctrines would exclude a person from the faith. Justification by (faith in) Christ alone is one example. According to Galatians, God will send a person to hell who teaches or believes something other than this doctrine. This means, for example, any “Catholic” who really believes like a Catholic will be sent to hell.

Although anyone knows that I trust Vincent and am generally in agreement with him, I didn’t want to take his word for it. Indeed, it was in seeking to discern whether or not he was right—and I had a certain personal bias toward his error, since my family is Catholic—that I came to write this series in the first place.

It seems incredible to the human mind that so many who profess the name of Christ could be, in reality, unbelievers; not saved at all, but damned to hell. But does not history repeat itself? Consider the Jews around the time of Christ, whose leaders, though they claimed divine authority, had mishandled and ultimately lost the gospel so completely that Jesus had the following sorts of things to say to them:

Why do you break the commandment of God for the sake of your tradition? For the sake of your tradition you have made void the word of God. You hypocrites! Well did Isaiah prophesy of you, when he said: ‘This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’ Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you shut the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. For you neither enter yourselves nor allow those who would enter to go in. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you travel across sea and land to make a single proselyte, and when he becomes a proselyte, you make him twice as much a child of hell as yourselves (Matt 15:3,6-9; 23:13-15).

And did Jesus not indeed prophesy that few would find salvation, though many would claim his name and its power?

Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few. Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ (Matthew 7:13-15,21-23).

So even those who do mighty works in the name of Christ must be tested. We should not be surprised if we find that they are not of God at all. God, in his purposes, has caused weeds to grow up with his crop; to reveal unbelief and falsehood and sin in every way, and to condemn it—perhaps particularly in those who taint the gospel with human sovereignty, and thus have no gospel at all.

Continued in part 5 »

What I mean is, if salvation is through Christian faith, and if faith is a true belief, then it is obvious that belief in falsehood does not constitute faith, and therefore does not lead to salvation. Anyone who does not believe the true gospel cannot be saved, because he does not have Christian faith. Yet, there are certainly many people who are not believers of the gospel, but nonetheless call themselves Christians. Although this can at times be obvious, very often a believer may be justifiably confused as to whether someone’s profession is genuine or not. I myself have many times felt uncertain as to the faith of a professed Christian, and so I have undertaken to write this series as a study on the topic.

It is important to note, at the beginning, the dangers inherent to this subject. On the one hand, there is the possibility of unwarranted legalism, or even cultish insistence on belief in non-critical doctrines. On the other, there is the equally undesirable situation of an unjustified liberalism in doctrine, or even the acceptance of cults and the ultimate denial of the exclusivity of the gospel. Although I will, as always, take a strong stand on certain issues which are permitted by Scripture—such as on Catholic doctrine, which I imagine will make me unpopular—I must be clear that wisdom and charity should always be exercised whenever we evaluate someone’s profession of faith. This doesn’t mean we should be hobbled by doubt, and thus prevented from speaking the truth. On the contrary, I am writing this series with the intent of mitigating doubt, and thus encouraging faithful witness and accurately-directed teaching. Nonetheless we are to exercise discernment, so that we may be sure that when we answer for our own words on the final day, we do not stand condemned.

Defining Christianity

One of the largest difficulties we face in the modern day is in convincing people of what the term Christian means—in even the most general sense. This is because it is used extremely fluidly by many people, to mean anything from someone who entertains a casual belief in God, to someone who understands and accepts and lives by the belief that in Christ alone salvation is found. This fluidity is much to the detriment of the witness and the work of those who are genuine believers. Since the term “Christian” is used so very loosely, most people do not realize that a great many persons or organizations which go under this banner are not in fact believers of the gospel. Equally, most people are therefore ignorant of the exclusivity of this gospel—and of its actual content. In the mind of the layman, Christianity may merely imply a general assent to some vaguely religious propositions—or worse, it may imply simply a history, such as when someone speaks of a “Christian nation”, or of “being a Christian”—meaning that, at some point in the past, Christian doctrine has influenced his development.

Indeed, most Western countries, such as New Zealand, were founded in large part by missionaries; and so they have a significant Christian heritage. Because of this, a large percentage of their populations have been raised with “Christian values”: that is, views of morality which have been passed down from generation to generation, the origins of which can be found in the Bible. In addition to this, a certain tradition or habit of going to church on special occasions has been maintained—and, so it is thought, anyone who goes to church (even if not very often) is certainly a Christian. Over two million people in New Zealand—about 50%—name themselves as Christians (Statistics New Zealand, ‘Census snapshot: cultural diversity‘). Yet only 15% of our population attends church on a regular basis (Massey News, ‘Tracking the trends of church-goers’).

But a little consideration must show that it is the Bible which defines Christianity. This has always been so, because the Bible alone has constituted the sole Scripture of the Christian religion since its inception. Although there are questions of canon which should be understood, it is nonetheless safe to say that it is the Bible which is the basis for all Christian doctrine. It is in the Bible that Christ is revealed, and where the truth about him is detailed and explained. Christianity is defined by the Bible, and is derived from it. Any tradition which purports to establish Christian doctrine also claims its authority in the Bible, and so ultimately it is the Bible itself which is the sole standard against which all questions of the Christian religion are tested. Therefore, it should be evident that anyone who claims to be a Christian is in fact claiming to be a believer of the Bible.

Thus, about 50% of New Zealanders claim to be Bible-believers (whether they realize it or not). But Scripture says that we know we have come to know Christ—that is, that we are Christians—if we keep his commandments. “Whoever says ‘I know him’ but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him” (1 John 2:4). Assuming that most professing Christians in New Zealand are in a position to obey the commandment of Hebrews 10:25, and not neglect meeting together in worship, it stands to reason then that at least 35% of those who call themselves Christians are liars. This should by no means shock us, for Jesus was clear that not everyone who says “Lord, Lord!” will enter the kingdom of heaven—but only the one who does his Father’s will (Matt 7:21).

The Authority Of Scripture

To profess oneself as a Christian, but reject belief in the Bible, is self-refuting, since what a Christian is is established by the Bible. It is really a contradiction in terms to call oneself a Christian but to deny the authority of Scripture, since it is Scripture itself which defines everything which a Christian believes. Without the Bible, there would be no Christianity. To call oneself a Christian while denying the authority of the Bible is to deny the source by which the word Christian can mean anything—and thus it is self-refuting.

To not believe that the Bible is scripture (that is, that it is sacred and authoritative), is not merely to disbelieve a central doctrine of Christianity. It is to disbelieve Christianity itself. It is not merely a doctrine of Christianity that the Bible is the word of God—it is Christianity. Even ignoring epistemological issues for now, it must be obvious that, if someone is to profess to be a Christian, he must at least claim assent to some part of the Bible. If he believed that the whole Bible was false, his claim would be ludicrous.

However, if he believes only part of the Bible while rejecting other parts, he is not treating the Bible as the authoritative source of the Christian religion, but rather is merely using it as the basis for inventing his own religion. The authority of this religion is not Scripture, but his own opinion. What is accepted from the Bible, and what is rejected, is quite arbitrary. So his religion may have similarities to Christianity, but it will not be Christianity.

Indeed, this is quite a popular thing—to label oneself a Christian because one follows Christ’s teachings, while denouncing a full and uncompromised belief in the Bible. For example, I know a young woman named Sylvia who is a pro-homosexuality feminist, and who has expressed to me her heartfelt desire for and belief in the eventual eradication of the distinction between genders. At the same time, she claims to be a Christian, because she believes that Christ was a wonderful moral teacher who did many great things. No doubt she is not really familiar with Christ at all, for as C S Lewis said, our Lord did not leave open this avenue of discipleship. Either he really is who he claimed to be—God made man—or he is a lunatic or a liar. If he is a lunatic or a liar, it is absurd to ascribe to him the sort of greatness that demands discipleship. If he is God, then it is absurd to claim to follow his teachings if one disagrees with a good half or more of what he taught!

Of course, it is perfectly acceptable to define a Christian as someone who follows Christ’s teachings—for, after all, any Christian obviously does. However, since all of Christ’s teachings are consistent, and since they in turn are merely a part of the larger work which is the Bible itself, which foreshadows and explicates these teachings, to accept his teachings necessitates accepting all of the Bible as a whole. Christ himself unequivocally declared that all of Scripture is authoritative and immutable, and that although he fulfilled this Scripture, he by no means abolished it (Matt 5:17-19). It is notable that this proclamation sits directly in the middle of the passage most lauded by those who deny both the authority of the Old Testament, and the fact of Christ’s divinity: the sermon on the mount.

The authority of Scripture is therefore central to following Christ—to being a Christian. Anyone who denies that the Bible is authoritative is by definition not a Christian. And anyone who affirms the authority of the Bible must then believe what it says about itself as regards that authority: which is that it is “breathed out by God” (Greek: theopneustos), as I have previously discussed in chapter 3 of The Wisdom Of God. If Scripture really is God-breathed, then it is without error or falsehood, for God himself does nor err or lie. Thus, although it is an under-emphasized doctrine, the infallibility and inerrancy of Scripture is central to Christianity.

However, it does not necessarily follow that a lack of belief in inerrancy equates to apostasy. One may be ignorant of this doctrine, or not have sufficiently considered it to recognize its importance or the necessary truth about it. This ought not to be the case, for it is quite simple and obviously critical; but, given the state of Christian pedagogy, we should not be surprised if we encounter believers who are not educated regarding the nature of Scripture. We cannot unequivocally declare someone an unbeliever merely because he lacks a positive belief in the infallibility of the Bible.

We can and should, on the other hand, regard someone as an unbeliever if he is in full possession of the facts and reasoning regarding the nature of the Bible, but rejects its infallibility anyway. If, in the face of the sort of reasoning above, he continues to deny the authority—and thus not merely the authority, but the God-breathed status—of Scripture, then he is an unbeliever. He does not believe the Bible, and so he is not a Christian. To believe the Bible is to believe its testimony about itself; it is not to pick and choose the parts which are convenient, and discard the rest. By what authority could he do such a thing? So, a positive disbelief regarding scriptural inerrancy certainly is grounds for us to consider someone an apostate and an unbeliever. Were he truly born of the Spirit, he would have God’s law written on his heart (Jer 31:33), and thus would affirm and receive the implanted word (James 1:21). To refuse to believe the Bible or assent to its complete authority is to refuse to believe God and assent to the authority of Christ, and thus to expose oneself as an unbeliever. But God’s sheep hear and know his voice in a manner which the Bible compares to the perfect relationship of knowledge between Jesus and the Father (John 10:14-15). A man cannot be one of Christ’s sheep, yet not hear his voice and follow him. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing (Matt 7:15). But a mere lack of belief in the authority and centrality of Scripture, while serious, is not sufficient to condemn—teaching and correction, rather than reproof and rebuke, are warranted.

The Centrality Of Faith

Most genuine Christians don’t think of adherence to scriptural infallibility as being terribly important when addressing the question, who are the Christians? Although they would recognize that the sort of “Christ-follower” mentioned above is not really a Christian, they would identify the reason as a lack of faith, rather than a lack of belief in Scripture. But such a distinction cannot really be made, as if faith and belief in Scripture are separate. This is not a coherent idea. Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of Christ (Rom 10:17). It is the gospel which is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes (Rom 1:16)—so a disbelief in the God-breathed nature of the Bible is one and the same with a disbelief of God: which, by definition, is the very opposite of faith. I have talked, in chapter 4 of The Wisdom Of God, about faith being a justified belief in Scriptural propositions—so it should be evident how one’s belief of Scripture is one and the same with one’s faith in Christ.

This does not mean, though, that a belief in the Bible as the inerrant word of God must chronologically precede a belief in Christ. Indeed, since faith is a gift of God, and its object is in Christ, it is both possible and likely that faith in Christ will eventuate before an assent to the God-breathed nature of Scripture. For example, one may be brought to faith merely by examining the New Testament writings as historically interesting documents—belief in Jesus would then come before belief in the inspired nature of Scripture. It is certainly possible to believe something on the strength of historical testimony, without believing that testimony to be the word of God himself. However, once faith in Christ eventuates, faith in his word follows by logical necessity. One cannot believe in Christ while disbelieving his word; and so anyone who professes faith in Christ, who has sufficiently examined the doctrine of scriptural inerrancy, but then has rejected it, cannot be thought to have a genuine faith at all.

Continued in part 2 »