Over on Parableman, Jeremy Pierce argues against the thesis that Muslims worship a different God than Christians. He presents a fairly strong case, but I'm not convinced. The George Bush clone is presented as an example of someone who can successfully refer to the current president even while denying an essential property (his origins). I see it as an illustration that ideas about the history of a referent do not carry as much weight as ideas about that referent's current state. So, the fact that Muslim ideas about the history of Allah coincide in many respects with Christian ideas about the history of God is not enough to override their denial of what God essentially is right now (and eternally); i.e., a triune being.
If the coincidence of ideas about referents were sufficient to make them numerically identical, then Paul's rebuke in II Corinthians 11:4 wouldn't make much sense: “For if someone comes and proclaims another Jesus than the one we proclaimed, or if you receive a different spirit from the one you received, or if you accept a different gospel from the one you accepted, you put up with it readily enough” (ESV). If this other Jesus had beeen presented as completely different, then there wouldn't be a problem. It is a problem because there is enough similarity between this Jesus and Christ to fool the Corinthians. They do not think that they're dealing with a second Jesus, but with the same Jesus that Paul had proclaimed. The apostle is using this opportunity to disabuse them of the notion. The differences between Christ and the Jesus they are now putting up with are enough to constitute different referents, the intentions of the Corinthians notwithstanding.
There is a valid distinction between worshipping a false god and the false worship of the true God. This, at least in Reformed theology, is the distinction between the first and second commandments. The incident with the golden calf while Moses was on Sinai is an example of violating the second. The idol itself was nothing, but they were (falsely) worshipping the true God. Even so, idols representing false gods are also nothing. Paul says as much in I Corinthians 8 when talking about eating food that just happened to be offered to idols. In chapter 10, he is considering actual participation in the offering. He encourages the Corinthians to flee idolatry, explaining in vs. 19 and 20, “What do I imply then? That food offered to idols is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, I imply that what pagans sacrifice they offer to demons and not to God. I do not want you to be participants with demons.” Even though he maintains his position that the idol itself is nothing, he also claims that there is a very real and personal presence behind behind each one. Consequently, while there may be Christians who agree with Jeremy's assessment of their argument that, by denying the Trinity, Muslims “must be talking about a different (and non-existent) being,” I contend that there is good reason to drop the parenthetical “non-existent.” Just as, per his first commenter, it changes everything in his argument if God doesn't actually exist, the same is true if Allah is an extant created being.
Concerning the point that, in claiming that a denial of the Trinity constitutes a denial of the true God, we would have to say the same thing of the Jews, I agree. While I do maintain that the minimal standards for belief in God can change with added revelation, I wouldn't argue that, when Jesus came, “the Jews suddenly were worshiping some fictional being.” Rather, it would seem that the first advent of Christ exposed the presence of those Jews who weren't worshipping the true God at all, even though they were worshipping something. The fact that there were also Jews who were worshipping the true God falsely does not rule out a tertium quid. Moreover, taking it even further, there is no reason to believe that, within the visible church today, all three possibilities don't exist.
Even though it’s been over a year since I last posted anything on this particular thread, I had no intention of dropping it altogether. This post will be a response to comments made by Andrew over here. It may be easier to follow this post by using those comments as a reference. As with the previous posts, it will be addressed directly to him.
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God’s Love and Election
We agree that God does not elect everybody. The question is - on what basis does he elect one person over another? Since the act of election is discriminating, the motivation must also discriminate. God’s love will only fit this criterion if it is does not have every person for its object. You can’t have it both ways. If love is the determining factor in election, and if God loves everyone, then everyone is elect. My own position is that God elects those whom he loves and that he does not love everybody. I have also stated that if God does love everyone, then something else must be the motivating factor in election. Just what that might be, I don’t know. To the question of the extent of God’s love, you have responded that God’s love is his most fundamental motivation; in fact, “so fundamental that God can be spoken of as being love.” Since John states in so many words that God is love, I cannot deny the premise; nevertheless, your conclusions do not necessarily follow. It isn’t that a God who is love must indiscriminately love everything and everyone, but that those whom he does love receive all of the benefits of that divine love. As I have indicated, though, I am willing to concede that God’s love could be universal; however, if it is, then there must be something else that determines who he elects. This something else is, from what I can tell, unknown to us. Your appeal to John 15:15 to argue against the possibility of unknowns when it comes to what God is doing or his motivations asks far more of this verse than it was meant to give. Reaching that stage in redemptive history where we can know what God is doing does not mean that we will ever know why he does it. To then say that we know that God always acts in love begs the question. It may be true, but it does not account for why he elects some people and not others. Even if you can make the case that we can know why God does everything he does, you will need to come up with a better reason for particular election than universal love.
Relationship of Persons
I appreciate the distinction that you draw between persons who share the same nature and persons with different natures. When two persons share the same nature, it is not an option for one not to love the other even though the love between them is freely given. To whatever extent a person has a different nature than God, his disposition to love God will be different. That is to say, man is capable of either loving or not loving God. This does not mean, however, that a human person has all options open all the time. Human nature is malleable. The regenerating work of the Holy Spirit effectually disposes a person toward loving God. This love is genuine even though a person so disposed cannot refuse to love God. Okay, he may temporarily fall into sin; however, the general trend will be toward loving God and, once he is in heaven, the ability to sin will be gone. The genuineness of human love for God is found in the source of that love, which is God. It is not found in the fact that, in this life, that love may be impure. The fact that we do not always love God as we ought does nothing to validate that love.
Adam’s Fall
I have no argument against the idea that the Fall was driven by a misguided desire for God or that Adam chose a lesser good. But then, neither of these is an argument against my own position that Adam also chose to disobey an explicit commandment of God. You admit that choosing a lesser good is not necessarily a sin. Can you provide examples where it is a sin (chosen at the expense of the greater good) and a revealed commandment of God has not been broken? With any other tree in the garden, Adam could have eaten because he had an immediate perception that it would be good. Each case would have been a lesser good than communion with God himself; however, in no case would this have been sin. The sin is not found in the fact that there is a distinction between a lesser and a greater good but in whether or not God has declared something that is otherwise good to be off limits.
Love and the Atonement
I seem to have gone too far in connecting your statement to Abelard’s view of the atonement. Not that this may not be your view, but that I can’t assume this from the statement that the work of the cross was to restore the bond of love between God and man. I do disagree with Catholic theology in calling Adam’s original state “original grace.” As I understand it, grace is not mere goodness but is limited to soteriology and only given to undeserving sinners. Even if grace is defined as a good that is not due, I don’t believe that it would apply to Adam before the fall. Being created in the image of God is not synonymous with the indwelling of the Spirit. Nevertheless, by creating man in his own image, God created him with a telos of union with himself. This union was something that man had to merit and this would only be possible with the indwelling of the Spirit. The giving of the Spirit to unfallen man was not optional on God’s part but was the only just thing to do if the end for which man was created was not to be a mockery. Once man had been given a fair chance, then the Spirit could be justly taken away when he failed. Our indwelling by the Spirit, our continued indwelling by the Spirit even when we have sinned is a matter of grace and is based upon the work of Christ and the promise of God. Christ’s work does create a bond of love between God and man. I don’t know that it merely restores it. Inasmuch as I can accept your distinction between love as a matter of affection and as a state of being, I argue that the state of being is a goal that will only be achieved in the resurrection. It is that for which Adam was made, not something that he already had.
Choice Between Eternal Truth and Immediate Perception of the Good
You explain that, in heaven, there will be no more differentiation between these. Choosing the immediate just is choosing the eternal. I will accept this only if the apparent lack of difference is due to a change in our perception; i.e., that there will be something about us such that our immediate perceptions of the good are always a clear vision of the eternal truth of the good. Our ability to remain sinless in heaven cannot be because God relaxes his standards, nor can it be a lack of opportunity. The ultimate goal of salvation must involve a change in us.
The End of Human Nature
I will agree that teleology should govern a given nature; I’m not so sure that it actually does. People have within their natures the capacity to desire God. It is also possible for human nature to become so disordered that a person is repulsed by God. Your statement that “a man will gladly embrace that which by nature beckons him to God, but he will be repulsed by that which by nature separates him from God” sounds reasonable, but it doesn’t fit the Scriptural evidence. Consider John 3:19- “And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their deeds were evil.” Somehow, I have a hard time thinking of the love of darkness as following one’s immediate perception of the good.
You draw a distinction between Adam’s human nature before the Fall and that of Christ: the first was incomplete and still disordered whereas the latter was fully formed. This would explain why Adam was vulnerable to temptation whereas Christ was not. The problem, though, is that it violates the principle of “that which is not assumed is not healed.” As I understand it, the capacity to fall into disorder or to be immune from disorder is, itself, a part of a given nature. The former is the state of human nature before the resurrection and the latter that of human nature afterwards. In the incarnation, Christ took on human nature as it exists so that we could be changed with him in the resurrection. I have no problem attributing the lack of actual corruption in Christ’s human nature, and thus the lack of sin as to his person, to an even greater measure of the Holy Spirit than Adam had, if this is even necessary. The difference here is extrinsic to the nature itself. I do have problems accepting an intrinsic difference. I agree that we will be made perfect like Christ is perfect, but I believe that Christ himself had to be made perfect as to his human nature. He was not formed that way from the beginning.
The Sacrifice of the Mass
The idea that Christ is resacrificed in the mass is not some Protestant conspiracy to make Catholics look bad. It comes straight out of the twenty-second session of the Council of Trent. In Catholic theology, the cross is the one bloody sacrifice of Christ, but it is not the only sacrifice of Christ. “That same Christ is contained and immolated in an unbloody manner, who once offered Himself in a bloody manner on the altar of the cross...For the victim is one and the same, the same now offering by the ministry of the priests, who then offered Himself on the cross, the manner alone of offering being different” (Chapter 2). You are correct that Christ is not crucified again, but this is technicality. Crucifixion is a bloody sacrifice, which Trent rejects other than the one time historical event. It does not, however, reject the notion that the same Christ who was crucified is immolated, i.e., sacrificed again and again in an unbloody manner in the mass. The mass is, as you say, “the re-presentation of the one sacrifice of the cross;” however, the means of this re-presentation is through another sacrifice of the same victim. See chapter 1- “– that He might leave, to His own beloved Spouse the Church, a visible sacrifice, such as the nature of man requires, whereby that bloody sacrifice, once to be accomplished on the cross, might be represented...” It is not enough in the Tridentine conception of the mass “merely that His one offering (Himself, body, soul, and Divinity) be forever present with us.” This is an accurate account of Transubstantiation or what the elements actually are despite appearances. The doctrine of the sacrifice of the mass is not, however, solely about what the elements are, but about what is done to them. Christ is not merely present in the mass, he is also sacrificed in it. For those who claim that the mass does not constitute an actual sacrifice, Canon I offers the following- “If any one saith, that in the mass a true and proper sacrifice is not offered to God; or, that to be offered is nothing else but that Christ is given us to eat; let him be anathema.” Another anathema, from Canon III, is pronounced on those who say “that the sacrifice of the mass is only a sacrifice of praise and of thanksgiving; or, that it is a bare commemoration of the sacrifice consummated upon the cross, but not a propitiatory sacrifice.”
Deliberation and Willing
Inasmuch as deliberation is an act, then yes, it also follows the stronger inclination of the will; namely, the inclination to deliberate as opposed to not deliberate. Deliberation is a means whereby we are able to regulate the strength of those inclinations that are the subject of the deliberation, so I don’t follow how deliberation would throw our wills into chaos. Regulation and chaos are not the same thing. The will is a faculty that only follows its strongest inclination; however, this does not mean that the person is a slave to his own will, as though external forces were inclining the will and the person was just along for the ride. The will is always strictly determined by the person; consequently, there can be no libertarian free will. There is, however, free agency insofar as the person is at liberty to do as he pleases. What a person may be pleased to do or is able to do will be limited by his nature.
Corporate Unity and Individual Responsibility
I claimed that it is naive to think that there have never been any cases where a church has been in error. And you wonder why. I am operating under the assumption that denominations are manifestations of the true universal church. That “particular churches, which are members thereof, are more or less pure” and that “the purest churches under heaven are subject both to mixture and error; and some have so degenerated, as to become no churches of Christ, but synagogues of Satan.” The universal or catholic church is infallible in the sense that “there shall always be a church on earth, to worship God according to his will.” This does not mean, however, that any particular visible manifestation of the church will be free from error. If denominations are true manifestations of the one true church, and if they disagree on certain points, then it would be naive to think that more than one contrary position could be right.
You write, “Insofar as the Catholic Church has spoken definitively on any given issue, it has never erred.” Since I am a Protestant, I hope you will understand if I don’t take this statement at face value. Still, I do appreciate the logic behind the statement. If the church is a divine institution, then it needs an inerrant authority. We both believe the Scriptures to be an error free authority. And I believe that we both see the need for their to be certain people who, in a properly defined situation, speak with unerring authority. The difference is that you believe this to be an ongoing reality whereas I believe that this was no longer necessary after the generation in which Christ finally became incarnate.
A list of Protestant disagreements with Rome probably won’t change your mind. I do wonder, though, how a church that does not err when it speaks definitively is capable of changing its mind on such matters. An example that immediately comes to mind, since I was just referencing it, is the Council of Trent, which contains numerous anathemas pronounced on those who hold to several points of Protestant doctrine. On the other hand, Vatican II recognizes both the work of the Holy Spirit and the presence of saving grace within Protestantism. First, Rome was synonymous with the universal church such that there was no de facto loss of unity. Protestants left the church altogether; therefore, how could there be disunity within the body? But now, even though Rome considers herself the one true church and best expression of the Christian faith, the legitimacy of other churches as being part of the body of Christ is recognized. Consequently, a loss of unity has been recognized and a move toward ecumenicity has been initiated. How is such a major shift in attitude and perspective possible for a church that does not err when it speaks definitively? Or were the Tridentine anathemas merely gentle suggestions? Unless the Catholic church wants to escape into some Orwellian fantasy in which the way it is now is the way that it has always been, then one of these perspectives is in error.
You write that the question of personal responsibility or corporate unity is not needed so long as you and other members of the Body perform their task well. This is obviously true. I only object to the notion that the condition will always be met. As to your statement “that personal responsibility is derivative of corporate responsibility,” I agree. If, however, a particular instantiation of the visible church persists in either doctrinal or moral corruption, it is no evidence of corporate responsibility to remain loyal to it. This is not an argument for individualism or against the necessity of a visible church; for the visible church is the kingdom of Christ, the ministry of Word and Sacrament is entrusted to it, and, outside of it, there is no ordinary possibility of salvation. Still, it is possible for a particular church to become so corrupt that remaining a part of it constitutes disloyalty to those visible churches, past and present, which are and have been faithful to the core of Christian belief.
If you object to the vacant reasons that Protestants have for flitting around from church to church, then we have no disagreement. More likely, though, the objection is to the Protestant Reformation itself. A discussion of this point, based on the premise that the Catholic church had done nothing worthy of protest and was not in error, would be fruitful. The same cannot be the case if objections to Reformed theology carry no more substance than the mantra that Catholic doctrine and practice is, by definition, free of error.
Summa as Revelation
Both the Scripture and the Summa (as well as other ecclesiastical writings) have this in common: they were written for the church by men who are in the church. Nevertheless, being produced by the church, even if there is common purpose with that of Scripture, is not enough to classify something as revelation. The human authors of Scripture were inspired by the Holy Spirit in such a way that he, too, is the author of Scripture. This point is essential to revelation and is not something that can be said of the Summa. It is not a proper use of the word “revelation” that it be defined according to content. It is possible for non-inspired writings to be about Christ; it is not possible that these writings be revelation. Even more than subject matter, revelation is defined by its divine source. It is the Word of God. You have already admitted that the Summa has things that are not true. This is not something that is possible for God’s Word, which is both true and inerrant in all that it intends to teach. I will entertain the idea that the Summa can be classified along with Scripture as an important church document, but I will not classify them both as revelation, which is nothing more nor less than the infallible Word of God.
History and Allegory
It’s not so much that history is being used to interpret Scripture but that Scripture is understood to be an accurate documentation of history. Your appeal to the Jesus Seminar to show “an example of a bad construction arising from historical interpretation” does not work. Not that it isn’t a bad construction, but that it has nothing to do with historical interpretation. The Jesus Seminar is based on the denial that Scripture is history. Consequently, we must look elsewhere to find out what really happened.
I have no objection to figurative interpretation provided that this is not set in opposition to reading Scripture as history. Both symbols and metaphors take the following form: x represents y. In both cases, x must be something that is naturally perceived and understood; consequently, there is no requirement that either one be couched in fictional terms. Take, for example, the Exodus. This is a figurative passage, a metaphor for the redemption that Christ ultimately provides for his people through his death and resurrection. Even so, it still happened. Or take the records of the resurrection itself. These are not symbols nor are they metaphors but are straightforward accounts of that which is physical, corporeal, and human. And it’s about as superior as revelation gets. Allegory has a place is the interpretation of some Scripture, but never when it goes against or makes irrelevant an understanding of Scripture as history.
Andrew's last comment was over here on 3/30/200 and I have finally managed to answer. As with previous entries, I will continue to respond directly to Andrew. Consequently, any other readers may find it easier to reference his last comment for context.
You are correct to note that "if the end result of the emphasis is not insignificant, then neither is the beginning emphasis." But this is true in general. If we get down to the specifics of this case, which is the difference between the doctrines of soteriology in Protestantism and Catholicism, the end result is significant. It matters whether we rely on God alone or God and ourselves for our salvation. Demonstrating points of agreement, and there are many, is not going to take away or make irrelevant the points of disagreement.
You write, "...unless you can find a reason to say that God has chosen one particular people over another because of His love for all people, your assertion that He has done such a thing is shaky." My reason is that Scripture teaches it. This is the whole doctrine of election. Aside from particularity being implied in the very concept of choice, we can read that God chooses Israel over all the other nations, that he chooses Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau, etc. Read Paul's discussion of the latter example in Romans 9. He presents God's choice of Jacob over Esau as unconditioned. "...though they were not yet born and had done nothing either good or bad--in order that God's purpose of election might continue, not because of works but because of his call--she [Rebecca] was told,'The older will serve the younger.' As it is written, 'Jacob I loved,but Esau I hated'" (vs.11-13). It is tempting to argue that both this passage and that to which it refers (Malachi 1:2,3) are only talking about national election. Malachi, for instance, is talking about God's choice of the nation of Israel over that of the Edomites. Even Paul speaks of Israel as a nation. This section of Romans concerns God removing his exlusive focus from Israel and placing it on the whole world. But if he can do this, then what about the promises made to Israel? Paul says that "it is not the children of the flesh who are children of God, but the children of the promise are counted as offspring" (v. 8). And lest we think that the children of promise are descendents of Isaac as opposed to Ishmael, he makes a further distinction between the children of Isaac. If Isaac is called the son of promise, but not all of his descendents are chosen; if Paul can say, "For not all who are descended from Israel [an alternate name for Jacob] belong to Israel" (v.6); then we must consider the possibility that Isaac is not the ultimate son of promise. Rather, the promise made concerning Isaac is a revelation of greater things. The son of promise is Christ and the true Israel consists of all those who are in him. The eternal promise is not made to those who are physical descendents of Jacob, but to all those who are in Christ, no matter what there physical ancestry. God's choice of Israel as a nation is perfectly compatible with his choice of individuals to be included among the children of promise. Paul narrows the scope down to individual election when he speaks of Pharaoh. He concludes, "So then he has mercy on whomever he wills, and he hardens whomever he wills." That God chooses one particular people over another, or even particular individuals over others shouldn't really be a matter of debate. Scripture says that he does. As to the thesis that God loves all people (and, from your argument, I take it that you mean everybody), this doesn't quite fit in with his opinion of Esau. There's nothing wrong with equating election with love, I just dispute your claim that God's love is universal. And it is not an adulteration of God's love to deny that he must love each and every individual. On the contrary, I would see the adulteration of love in the idea that an omnipotent God must love people in such a limited way. In the Calvinistic understanding, when God loves someone, he does everything that is both necessary and sufficient to secure his salvation.
The particularity of the people of God is very much willed by God. When God takes a people unto himself this is just what he is doing. He takes them from the sinful mass in order to dwell with them in eternity. On the view that you have presented, he doesn't really take a people so much as settling with what he can get. You also seem to be confusing the general call with the special call. The case of Christ before his accusers is an example of the former. They have all of the faculties necessary to repent. Nobody is stopping them. The only reason they do not is because they do not want to repent. Ultimately, in the case of those who refuse it, this general call serves to augment their guilt. Furthermore, if there were only a general call, then no one would want to repent, or, if they did want to, they would quickly change their minds after seeing what such repentance entailed. Monergism should never be confused with easy-believism. Those who refuse to cooperate with God in the work of sanctification evidence that fact that they were never saved. The special call is that spoken of in Romans 8:30. Those who are called include those who have been predestined. All who are called will be both justified and glorified. The special call takes place at the point of regeneration. This is the moment of irresistible grace when the Holy Spirit brings us to life by having united us with Christ in his resurrection.
On the subject of intratrinitarian relationships, there is a significant difference between these and those between humans and God. But there is also a significant similarity; namely, that these are both relationships among persons. If we make God so different as to exlcude this point of commonality, we risk losing any meaning at all when speaking of him in personal terms. You have managed to explain why the Son could not have rejected the Father's love; however, this does not address the question, "Is the Son's reciprocation of the Father's love only genuine if he could have rejected it?" Either the Son's love is not genuine, or it stands as a counter-example to the idea that genuine love is predicated on the possibility of rejection. It may be the case that people can reject God's love and that those who do not have genuinely accepted it. However, it does not follow that the genuine nature of this acceptance is predicated on the ability to have rejected it. And, if this is the case, then, although it is evident that some can reject and others can accept, we need to consider whether or not there are factors such that any given individual who accepted could only have accepted (or vice versa). This, in Reformed doctrine, would be a matter of irresistible grace. It's not a matter that anyone accepts against his will, but that, in regeneration, thee will is so disposed as to accept.
Paul does not speak of a division of the will that is proper to the nature of the human person. Instead, this division is proper only to those who have been regenerated and who are in the process of being sanctified. The battle between the flesh and the spirit is more properly understood as between the flesh and the Spirit. It is a matter of the Holy Spirit gradually molding our desires to match God's. And, as long as we are on this earth, with this human nature, it is also a matter of resisitng what the Spirit wants. I won't deny that such a division of the will can exist within an individual. However, it should be clear that "will" is in reference to conflicting desires and not to the faculty of willing or to the exercise thereof.
I have been speaking of man willing according to his strongest want, desire, or inclination. Some of this may be ambiguous, since, as you have shown, words such as "desire" can have other meanings. For now, then, let me narrow my terminology down to "inclination." This way, it will be possible to discuss your thoughts on desire without getting too confused. I plan on dealing more with the topic of inclination in my next post, which will be a response to Chris, so I will limit my comments here. Regarding your example, though, I do mean to say that a man's strongest inclination may be for chocolate cake one moment and for a glass of water the next. This is pretty much why when he is sitting in front of a piece of cake and a glass of water that he either takes a bite of cake or drink of water. He consistently acts according to his strongest inclination at the moment. These are the normal choices. His strongest inclination could also lead him to not eat the cake or drink the water, or it might even lead him to mix the cake with the water. Either way, he will have followed the strongest inclination when presented with the choice of what to do with the cake and water. None of this conflicts with his strongest desire being neither cake nor water. But now, I must consider what you have identified as man's strongest desire.
The first answer to the WSC states, "Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever." This refers to the intent for which man was created and to the fulfillment of that intent in heaven. This an altogether different thing from the proposition that it is within human nature as such to desire God. Contrary to your claims, I would argue that such an underlying desire does not exist unless God specifically creates it in an individual by means of regeneration. In his indictment of humanity, wherein he sets up the necessity of redemption for every individual, Paul states that "no one seeks after God" (Romans 3:11). Adam's sin is not a case of choosing "according to his immediate perception of the Good rather than according to the eternal Truth of the Good." It wasn't a case of the lesser of two goods. Adam's choice was not merely to eat of the fruit of a particular tree, it was to disobey the commandment of God. This was not a case of seeking union with God in a misguided way. The fall is not just a matter of man falling into confusion and breaking the bond of love. Consequently, the atonement is not just a matter of restoring the bond of love and taking away the confusion. Your statement, "God restored the bond of love between Himself and man in Christ (this, in my opinion, is the whole of the work of the Cross)," is very much in keeping with Catholic theology; especially with Abelard's conception of the atonement. The chief efficacy of Christ's passion is found in its ability to stir us to love God. When we see the cross, we see how much God loves us. Consequently, we are able to focus on something that can lead us past our confusion and allow us to demonstrate our love for God. [For those who have seen it, Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" is a prime example of Abelardian theology.] But this whole concept of the atonement begs the question. For while it is true that the atonement demonstrates God's love, we need to ask why and how this is the case. What is it about God killing his own Son, or, if you prefer weaker terms, allowing his son to be killed, that demonstrates his love? I won't argue that the cross does not demonstrate God's love, especially in light of John 3:16. I do want to know why it is that God's love had to be demonstrated in just this way. If it were only a matter of providing a focal point to excite our own love for God, there are surely less drastic options. And here is where the idea of a the substitutionary atonement comes in. When Adam fell, we fell in him. We were all declared guilty and were all deserving of death. In the atonement, Christ dies in our place. Because he has died, we will never die. He pays the price for sin and, having done so, is declared, not just "not guilty, " but "righteous." All those for whom he died, or better, who were crucified with him, are also justified (i.e., declared righteous). Having been justified, we are not merely restored to the same place that Adam was in where we can break the bond of love again. While it is true that we can continue to sin while we remain in this life, it is not the case that the bond of love is ours to break. Christ has purchased our inheritance for us, which was not true of Adam's original state. Although he enjoyed the presence of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit was not with him as an earnest of his inheritance, as he is with us. When we sin, the Spirit does not leave us but continues to sanctify us.
You have attributed Adam's sin to choosing "according to his immediate perception of the Good rather than according to the eternal Truth of the Good." But you go on to say, "In the end, we will see God face to face, and the choice between God and our immediate pleasures will be obliterated because the immediate pleasure will be the vision of God." If this is so, then how is our behavior in heaven any different from choosing according to our immediate perception of the good? My point is not to say that this is right or wrong, only that, ultimately, it cannot be where Adam went wrong. He disobeyed an explicit command of God. There was no immediate perception of any good. Adam is not a figure to be pitied. And then there is your explanation of man's current condition even after the death of Christ.
In the meantime, for man to respond to God’s self-giving with self-giving, he must often refuse the immediate manifestation of his natural desire because it is conditioned by concupiscence and the habits of sin. He must live according to God’s desire rather than merely according to his own. If he does not do so, he breaks the bond of love once again by refusing to give himself over to the Beloved’s will.
And so on, and so on. Adam falls and breaks the bond of love. Christ suffers on the cross thereby allowing us to respond and restore this bond. If we do not continue to live according to God's desire the cycle starts again. We break the bond of love- our own private fall, as it were. The solution is the same. Well, almost. This time, instead of the historical sacrifice on the cross, Christ is resacrificed over and over in the mass. The sacraments, especially this one, become a means whereby we are enabled to restore the bond of love that our sinful behavior has broken. Until we do it again.
At this point, you write:
This, it seems to me, is why Reformed theology must say that man’s nature was changed by the Fall. Otherwise, total depravity and irresistible grace don’t make sense. Speech about forensic declarations only makes sense if you are speaking figuratively about natures and intrinsic ontological relationships. Otherwise, you fall into speaking of God as if He were dealing with legal fictions instead of with created reality.
I will combine a response to this with what you wrote in your email. [For the sake of any other readers, Andrew had written the following]:
It seems like you are raising "forensic declaration" to a metaphysical status, which throws me completely, and then you speak of human nature changing, which, in the Catholic view, is impossible. A change of human nature is equivalent to God changing His mind. Please clarify, then, what you mean by "human nature," "forensic declaration," and so on, because you obviously don't mean what Catholics mean.
First, human nature and its change. This is not a change of human nature (although, I might have used that pronoun), but a change in human nature. That is, our nature does not change into something else. We remain human throughout eternity. This change occurs at the resurrection. Paul describes it in I Corinthians 15:51-53, "Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality." Once this change occurs, the possibility of sin will no longer be in our nature, for death will have lost its sting. As to man's nature being changed by the fall, this is where I disagree with Reformed theology. I find no reason to believe that there was such a change (or, if this change did occur, I will have to insist that the human nature Christ took on is that of man after the fall and not before; otherwise, we are not healed). I think a lot of resistance to the idea that the nature that man has now is the same that he had before the fall is due to the notion that whatever God creates must be pristine and perfect. Why? God can create in this way and has done so in the creation of that realm in which he lives and to which we are destined. But he has also created an entire realm that awaits perfection. Notice the very first description of the earth after we find out that God created it. "The earth was without form and void." And now, consider that man was a product of the earth. The promise of the resurrection, that man will one day be imperishable and immortal, is not a promise to restore him to past glory, but to give him that for which he had always been intended. God meant for man to be both immortal and imperishable; however, he did not create him in this condition. Such a reward would have to be merited. It was to have been given to Adam and to his posterity upon his justification. Had Adam obeyed God, he would have been declared righteous and would have received the promised reward- eternal life. Instead, Christ obeyed God and he received the promised reward. Upon being declared righteous, he was raised from the dead and was made both immortal and imperishable. Both our regeneration and our future bodily resurrection are conditioned upon our union with Christ in his death and resurrection.
On the issue of forensic declarations, considering the way in which many Protestants speak of them, Catholics are well within their rights to label them as "legal fictions." It's as though God just decides to declare something without any basis in fact or reality. But if he can do this, why not just make the declaration without the bother of being crucified? Forensic declarations are not figurative language nor do they have any metaphsyical status. They are legal judgments. If I commit a crime, I cannot be sentenced until a verdict has been rendered. There is a difference between the polutution of sin and our standing before the law of God. It is necessary that we be both cleansed and justified. Redemption involves real ontological relationships. We are actually placed into union with Christ. This is not nominal. We are crucified and raised together with him. None of this constitutes a forensic declaration. It is, rather, the basis in reality whereby God's forensic declarations can be made. A judge must never clear those who have actually committed the crime. This is no less true of God. His verdicts must be according to justice; they must be true. There would be no more justice in God imputing Christ's rigtheousness to me and my unrighteousness to Christ than there would be for some earthly judge to decide that you were guilty of my crimes. A legal fiction, if that's what imputation and justification are, is an injustice of the worst sort. It doesn't work that way, though. The righteousness of Christ is imputed to us only because it actually belongs to us by virtue of our union with him. Our justification is declared on the basis that, in Christ, we have already paid the full penalty of sin. Having so justified us, a just God cannot reverse this declaration, for it is not fictional. As you indicated earlier, it is unthinkable that God would change his mind. Justification is not just an indicator of our current status, but is a preview of the final judgment. Everyone will pay the penalty for sin. If not with Christ on the cross, then it will be paid in an eternal hell.
I would agree that miracles "are not properly called revelation in isolation from a subjective apprehension of that which is revealed." The same would go for any thing that purports to be revelation. That which it reveals must be subjectively apprehended. The question, though, is whether this subjective apprehension always takes place at the same time that the miracle is witnessed. How many people witnessed the miracles of the feedings of the 5000 and the 4000? And how many of them even came close to understanding what Christ had revealed until he explained it to them in John 6? The Pharisees witnessed the healing of the blind man in John 9 (if not the event itself, then the results were obvious to them); however, they could not understand anything that this miracle had revealed because they themselves were blind. Revelation is not merely telling us something we didn't know before. Just as not all those who witnessed the miracles of Christ apprehend what these miracles revealed, even so, not all those who find out that these miracles happened through reading Scripture have apprehended what these miracles reveal. As you wrote, miracles are mediums of revelation and not revelation proper. Thus, merely finding out from one medium of revelation (Scripture) about another medium of revelation (miracles) does not guarantee that we will apprehend the revelation itself. This requires the work of the Holy Spirit and, without it, we are like the Pharisees who were as blind spiritually as the man born blind had been physically.
Thanks for clearing up the point about not trying to get rid of those events that make revelation actual. The way you were putting things was confusing and sounded like you were advocating some sort of neo-orthodoxy. I wanted to be sure so that I wouldn't waist any time responding to something you weren't saying. On the matter of classifying the Summa Theologica as revelation according to intension, you're economy of qualities and attributes is leading to an overly liberal idea of just what revelation is. The only attribute you have listed is "a manifestation of the life of the Church." Since both the Summa and Scripture have this in common, then both must be a revelation of Christ. But this does not follow unless, according to extension, "a manifestation of the life of the Church," is revelation. This has not been established; instead, the relationship of revelation to a manifestation of the church's life is one of species to genus. I could, following a similar method of reasoning, conclude that I am a frog, since both frogs and myself are manifestations of biological life. Fortunately, froghood does not exhaust what it means to possess biological life.
One quality that would separate the Summa from revelation according to intension is found in your discussion of the Bereans. We do not have the option to consider rejecting Paul's message. Insofar as it has been inscripturated, it has already been verified as the Word of God and we must accept it as we would any other part of Scripture. We can consider rejecting and even flat out reject a number of things that Thomas has to say. You wrote, "The Scriptures differ from the Summa Theologica in that they more perfectly manifest the essence of revelation..." But this should have hinted at another quality of revelation. When God reveals, he does so inerrantly. Unless you are willing to predicate this of the Summa, then it should not be classified as revelation. And if you're not, then I compelled to wonder just where Scripture's more perfect manifestation of the essence of revelation lies. On the specific matter of considering a rejection of what Paul or any other biblical writer has recorded in Scripture, this should not be confused with considering a rejection of any given interpretation of Scripture. For instance, the issue of women's ordination is not even a matter of improper Scriptural exegesis, for Paul's opinion on the matter is clear. Very little interpretive ability is required. Instead, people have just decided that Paul is a product of his backward times and should be ignored on this topic. But there are also times when Scripture is improperly exegeted, even by those invested with authority in the church to teach it. We should never be passive recipients of biblical teaching but should always compare what has been taught with our study of Scripture. Ideally, this would lead to a deeper understanding and agreement with the teaching received. But it is also possible that something won't add up, in which case we may both consider rejecting and actually reject it. It is one thing to give a church the benifit of the doubt in what it teaches and to accept it even if we don't quite understand it all. It is another not to question or even reject the doctrinal discrepancies that we are able to see.
I will have to disagree with the identification of the grammatical/historical method as another form of allegory. You write that "the historical method depends upon hearsay and the fallible accounts of men." While it is true that we can make use of extra-biblical historical records to help us understand Scripture, the historical method does not depend on these. Rather, the idea is that the Bible itself, especially in its historical narratives, is an accurate record of history. All other biblical genres are predicated on the fact that the historical events recorded actually happened. For example, the didactic writings of Paul, in which he is defining Christian doctrine, would have little authority if the historical events of Christ's salvific work had not taken place. The Psalms are not just expressions of general human emotion, but they find their specific context in the history of Israel (or, even more specifically in most cases, in that of David), which history is a revelation of Christ. The Law is not just an expression of timeless moral principles, but is given to a particular people at a particular point in their history. It is given to the nation of Israel after they have been redeemed from slavery in Egypt. Any revelatory value that the Law has must be considered against this background. On a related point going back to your description of history as "hearsay and the fallible accounts of men," read chapter 28, "To what extent history is an aid," of Augustine's On Christian Doctrine. I think you will find that his view of profane history is not quite as pessimistic. On the matter of "metaphysical truths which are everywhere and always available," is this only what you believe Origen to be doing or do you advocate basing biblical interpretation on these yourself? If so, what are these truths? This would help to know how further to respond to your comments on allegory and interpretation.
As you present it, the Assumption of Mary is based upon her Immaculate Conception. Mary was born without sin; consequently, she did not have to wait until the resurrection to achieve bodily union with God, since the resurrection purifies us of our sins, which Mary did not have. The argument seems to be valid, but what about the premises? First, Mary "was clearly sinless because Christ did not inherit original sin." But this is not so clear. 1) There is the problem of infinite regress. Why didn't Mary's parents have to be sinless in order for her not to be sinless? 2) One view within the church has been that sin is inherited through the father. If so, then the Virgin Birth would prevent Christ from inheriting original sin. 3) Original sin is not inherited at all. It has nothing to do with the personal pollution of sin but is, rather, a guilty verdict pronounced on everyone for the sin of Adam. In this case, original sin does not bypass Christ since he must be declared guilty in order that his death might be just. Unless 1) is answered and 2) and 3) are discounted, then there is no point in seeing whether Mary's sinlessness implies her Assumption.
When discussing specific instances of prayer or prayer in general, you still maintain that Scripture is not a prerequisite. However, you are not consistent as to why this is the case. In the first case, it is because the person praying does not need to have read Scripture in order to pray. In the second, it is because Scripture is not in the definition of prayer. But your argument does not follow. Finding one way in which two things are not related does not indicated that there are no ways in which they are related. This would be like me making the claim that my cousin and I are not related because I am not her nephew. Scripture's function as a prerequisite for the church's life, including prayer, does not require that each individual therein read Scripture for himself. It is sufficient that the church teach its members to pray and that this teaching is either explicitly taught in Scripture or that it can bederived as a matter of good and necessary consequence. As to Enoch and Noah living before Scripture, this begs the question of a point that we have been discussing. Scripture's ability to be a prerequisite for the church's life comes from its status as revelation. Before Scripture was completed there were other forms of revelation. This is no longer the case. Finally, to say that Scripture is not a prerequisite of something in the church's life because it is not in the definition of that thing is to seriously limit its role, if not to deny altogether that it can be a prerequisite for anything in the church's life. I suppose an exception could be made for preaching. But if you're going to deny Scripture's function as a prerequisite to the church's life, then you need to do so in the manner that I have been using the concept; otherwise, we're talking about two different things. Here, then, is what I mean in making this claim: Everything that a church teaches its members to believe or practice must be explicitly taught in Scripture or derived therefrom by good and necessary consequence. Prayer falls under this category.
If it is true, as you have written, that Scripture does not "teach individual responsibility at the expense of corporate unity," then one of three other propositions must also be true. 1) It does teach corporate unity at the expense of individual responsibility; 2) it is not a matter of individual responsibility to oppose heresy- we should ultimately tolerate it; 3) there have never been any cases where a church has been in error and so any reason for making such a choice doesn't exist. You've already agreed to the opposite of option 1, and option 3 is just naive, which leaves option 2. If unbroken communion must be maintained even at the expense of tolerating heresy, then, what distinguishes the church from an inescapable social club? If the goal is unity at all costs, then doctrine, except for the one that teaches this goal, cannot have any ultimate meaning. As it is not a uniquely Christian thing to form groups, the church canno tbe defined on the basis of unity alone. You also seem to be confusing breaking away from a particular congregation or denomination from breaking away from the body of Christ altogether. Leaving one church is not the same thing as not belonging to any church.
This post continues the conversation with Andrew from here and responds to his comments of 3/24/05 and 3/25/05.
I think you have captured a key difference between Reformed and Catholic views of salvation: that between actual and potential grace. The fact that the Catholic system does have a "moment of monergistic action" does make it non-Pelagian, but, to the extent that the grace of salvation must be made actual through a synergistic process, it is still salvation by works. In both views, sanctification is necessary to salvation, yet not in the same way. For one, it is a necessary cause; for the other, it is a necessary effect. Without sanctification, salvation either will not be the case, or it never was the case.
You are probably correct in saying that "the difference between the Catholic view and the Reformed view stems from a difference of emphasis concerning the nature of God's salvific will." Nevertheless, the difference should be measured by the end result, not by the seemingly insignificant matter of emphasis at the beginning. In the one case, God takes a people to himself; in the other, he wants to give himself to human beings. It isn't an either/or case though, at least on the Reformed side. Not only does God take a people to himself, but he also desires to give himself to that people. Your contention that God's self-giving should be open-ended assumes a view of the will that does not necessarily follow. "If human beings may reject God, then someone who does not reject HIm is reponding to God in kind." Now, apply this logic to intratrintitarian relationships. Is the Son's reciprocation of the Father's love only genuine if he could have rejected it?
I accept the notion that those who do not reject God respond to him in kind and that "God's self-giving inspires a reciprocal self-giving." But this inspiration is efficacious. All those to whom God has given himself will respond in kind. None of this is predicated on the possibility of rejection but upon the free desire of the regenerate. If it is the case with human beings that those to whom God has shown initial grace are able to reject him, then the deciding factor in their salvation, no matter how much God may work with them, must be found in their own efforts to give themselves to God.
On the matter of "desire as a force exerted upon the desiring by the thing desired," as a reason for the Catholic tradition to find the Reformed view unacceptable, this goes against the Reformed doctrine of unconditional election. God chooses a particular people to be his own, but the conditions of that choice are not to be found in the ones chosen. As to what did make God choose certain people over others, we leave these to his own secret counsel. What God has not chosen to reveal, we may not investigate.
While it was a good thing for the Berean Jews to not try to kill Paul, this is not the reason given for saying that they were more noble than those in Thessalonica. It was that "they received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so." This is about more than human decency; it has to do with the proper handling of God's word. Furthermore, the Jews had no more of an option of rejecting Paul's message than we do. They were not members of a completely separate covenant that might serve as a fallback position. Any rejection of the NC would indicate that they had never really understood or accepted the substance of the old. They too would have been heretics for thinking that Scripture contradicted Paul. Paul's message was the intended conclusion of the Old Testament. That it is a responsible thing to check teaching against Scripture does not mean that any opinion is valid. Part of Scriptural study involves double-checking the NT against the OT. This is not to look for contradictions, for we know that the Holy Spirit cannot contradict himself. It is rather to understand how Scripture interprets itself. When it comes to those who are teachers in the church, we should still double-check their teaching against the whole of Scripture. Unlike Paul, however, they may be wrong, either by way of honest mistake or by outright deception.
When a teacher in the church substantially disagrees with our own interpretation of Scripture, we are not to accept his teaching passively. Nor do we just assume that we're right. There is a process whereby we may request an explanation. Hopefully, the matter can end here, since, in the normal course of things, one would expect the teacher to know more than the one who is taught. If not, the matter can be taken to a higher authority. In Presbyterian polity this can go from the session to presbytery and, finally, to general assembly. It may be that the teacher is found to be in error. If not, and if the individual cannot in all good conscience say that the disagreement is a minor thing, then he should find another church. Individualism is wrong, but Scripture does not teach corporate unity at the expense of individual responsibility. In the end, the individual will be just as condemned if he leaves the true church as he will be if he remains in a false one. Either way, he answers to God.
On the matter of Scriptural inference for the Assumption of Mary, I'd like more detail than the statement that it has been done. And thoroughly Scripture-peppered writings do not count. Quoting Scripture is not the same as exegeting it. I do have a definite idea on how to infer something from Scripture, but this is hardly a problem, unless you're of the opinion that anything goes (of course, you might agree as to the definiteness of the idea but disagree as to its content). I do reject allegorical and mystical interpretations as they are commonly understood because these do little more than to impose a meaning on to the text. They are examples of eisegesis. I accept the historical-grammatical method. As to grammar, this means nothing more than a noun is noun, a verb a verb, and so on. We should understand Scripture as ordinary speech. The historical part means that, as much as possible, we should try to see it through the eyes of the original audience. An example of this happened in my change of view about infant baptism. I was raised a Baptist with the belief that, since Scripture does not specifically say, "Baptize babies," then it shouldn't be done. But I was interpreting the silence of Scripture from my own unaffected perspective. What if I were a first century Jew? In Peter's sermon at Pentecost, he says, "Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you and for your children and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself." Peter is speaking in terms of covenant signs to a Jewish audience, who would naturally apply the covenant sign to their children. In this case, we can infer the validity of infant baptism from the fact that a prohibition is not articulated.
Scripture should be interpreted literally. This can be taken in more than one way. It does not mean, as many fundamentalists suppose, that we must interpret it in a wooden fashion such that every thing means exactly what it says unless such an interpretation is impossible. Rather, it means that we interpret Scripture according to its various literary genres. I also assume the unity of Scripture. It is authored by the Holy Spirit and will not contradict itself. Scripture is always about Christ. Whenever I approach any passage of Scripture, my first question is, "How does this portray Christ?" To this end, the way in which the NT authors interpret the OT has been very helpful. I see their method as a pattern to be followed, not as an exception to the rule. Take Matthew's application of Hosea 11:1 to Christ. On a surface reading, the verse implies nothing of the kind. It is an historical reference to the Exodus. But Hosea's meaning goes deeper than the surface. Both he and Matthew are tapping into the revelation found in the history of Israel. This is a matter of typology. The history of Israel was intended to typify the life of Christ. The life of Christ recapitulates the history of Israel. Matthew is able to apply this bit of history to Christ, not because it made for a nice analogy and he could, therefore, take it out of context, but because he was keeping it in context. The history of Israel, which is the bulk of the OT, is a revelation of Christ. Paul assumes the same thing when, in Galatians 4, he speaks of Abraham's sons in terms of an allegory. Yes, it is the same word that, normally, I don't like. Yet, Paul is not imposing an interpretation onto what Moses wrote. He is interpreting the history of Israel as the history of Christ. In this case, he adds another layer by interpreting the life of Abraham as a foreshadowing of the history of Israel and, by extension, of Christ. If you're interested in how I have expanded on this premise, then you may want to go to the Theology category and read the posts on the life of Abraham.
You are right about my disagreement over what constitutes "the whole history of orthodox thought." The phrase begs the question, especially when I had asked, "What out of all that happens within the visible church constitutes a legitimate element of the Church's life?" That is, unless you mean to answer, "Everything." However, I do not subscribe to the theory that whatever the visible church has done must be right, for, as Luther pointed out, it has often contradicted itself. Looking to such things as the Councils, liturgy, and Thomas' Summa are good, but they must also be evaluated in the light of Scripture. As to the Summa Theologica, I would not put it in the same set as Scripture, which is the inspired and infallible Word of God. There are several points in the Summa with which I disagree, but, even if this weren't the case, it is still just the words of a man. That being said, I can see the value in using it as a secondary standard, much like my own church uses the Westminster Standards. Such standards, although the basis for a common interpretation of Scripture, are also subject to Scripture. The Confession has, on occassion, been amended when further study found it to be out of line with Scripture. Legitimate elements in the life of the church are determined by considering them in the light of Scripture. If they do not pass this test, they are not valid as elements in the church's life.
Prayer is not going to work as an example of something in the church's life for which Scripture is not a prerequisite. We learn about prayer through Scripture. Even if the immediate source of our information is, say, our parents, the ultimate source of this information is still Scripture. Does anything else come to mind?
You write that the historical reality at Cana "is properly speaking revelation, but that it is no more truly a revelation than the revelation that occurs when you read the account." I won't argue. It is not my intent to set the historical event in opposition to Scripture so that we can only choose one of them. I do disagree on what constitutes objective and subjective revelation. That Christ is the object of revelation is not the same thing as saying that he is objective revelation. For that matter, Christ is also the subject of revelation, insofar as he is the one who reveals. This does not mean that he is subjective revelation. Objective revelation is found both in the historical events and in their inscripturation. This is where God speaks. Subjective revelation is found in the individual's apprehension of objective revelation, whether this be as an eyewitness to the original event or by hearing Scripture.
The people who witnessed the miracle at Christ saw Christ in the event of the miracle, not only in the fact that he was the one standing there performing the miracle. In the same way, other miracles not performed by Christ also serve to reveal Christ, both in the original event and in their record in Scripture. Your argument that miracles are not properly called revelation does follow from the premise of Christ performing a miracle without witnesses. However, though it may be valid, we cannot conclude that it is true unless you can verify the premise. When has a miracle ever been performed without witnesses? I would argue just the opposite point: because miracles are a form of revelation, they always have witnesses.
Is Scripture true because it allows us to aprehend the eternal reality of Christ? Or does this truth also imply that when it describes an historical event that this event must have actually happened? Does it matter for the function of the Scriptural narrative of the miracle at Cana as revelation whether it really took place or not? Would Scripture reveal Christ just as well and just as truthfully if it turned out to be an ahistorical myth?
This post continues a conversation with Andrew down here. It is in response to his comment of 3/21/05, which you may want to read in order to better follow this one.
I recognize that those who reject sola scriptura posit the existence of a larger fabric of life that can be contained in the propositions of Scripture. As stated, I would agree with this. The point of contention is whether anything within the Church's life that is able to be described in propositional form is legitimate if such propositions are not directly from or necessary inferences of Scripture. Sola scriptura is not about limiting life, denying Church authority, or about replacing Christ as the proper foundation of the Church's life. It is about making Scripture the sole and final rule of faith and practice. The function of Scripture within the Church is to express what may or may not be believed or practiced. The "may" by statement or inference and the "may not" by statement against, inference from statements against, or lack of statements or inferences for. You claim that the function of Scripture "is not to be the prerequisite of the other parts of the Church’s life." In order that I can know just what you mean by this, would you provide some examples of the Church's life for which Scripture is not a prerequisite?
The statement, "We cannot read Scripture accurately or faithfully unless we accept every element of the Church’s life along with it," begs the question, "What out of all that happens within the visible church constitutes a legitimate element of the Church's life?" Other than that, I agree. You illustrate the problem yourself by speaking of both Catholics and Orthodox rejecting sola scriptura. But they differ on the specifics of their faith and practice. Where these differences occur, which, if any, is an example of ecclesiastical life? As to their objection to holding "Scripture up as an independent standard by which to judge the life of the Church," if this is the case, then they are objecting to a phantom, at least as far as the Reformed understanding of the term ( I realize that many Protestant individuals hold to this kind of view- I have no intention of defending them).
I'm having trouble making sense of the this statement, "An orthodox Catholic may very well argue that Scripture is formally sufficient – i.e. that every true doctrine is contained within or implied by the Scriptures, but the Catholics and Orthodox reject the idea that Scripture is actually sufficient." All that is meant by Scripture being sufficient is that every true doctrine is contained within or implied by it. As to an orthodox Catholic believing this, consider the doctrine of the Assumption of Mary. Try inferring that one from Scripture. They do reject the idea that Scripture has all the answers. As to checking up on what the Church is teaching by going to the back of the book, that's one of reasons we have Scripture. As I noted in one of my earlier responses to Clifton on this topic, the Bereans are commended for double checking Paul against Scripture (Acts 17:11).
The purpose of revelation goes beyond communication. Revelation exists either for the salvation of those who accept it or for the greater condemnation of those who reject it. Revelation itself is effectual toward salvation. It is not about believing and apprehending a story. Revelation is the intersection of heaven into earth, culminating in the incarnation. Subjective apprehension is important, but it means nothing apart from the objective communication by means of certain events in history. Christ reveals nothing to the other persons of the Trinity. Revelation is a one way communication from heaven to earth.
"It is not the historical reality of Cana which is finally significant, but the eternal reality of Christ’s Being." This one's going to need some explaining. When you say "finally significant," are you saying this because you believe that the only sensible way to speak of revelation is "that which is being revealed (Christ) and the subjective apprehension of that which is being revealed"? This would mean that the historical reality of Cana is significant in its own right (it had to happen in order for the written revelation to be true and significant) but that, properly speaking, it is not revelation. In this case, we'd still have more to discuss since I am putting the focus of revelation on objective historical events. Nevertheless, your position would still be within the bounds of orthodoxy. Or, are you saying that the only finally significant thing is the subjective apprehension of the eternal reality of Christ's being? In this case, the written account is so sufficient in revealing Christ that the connection of the narrative to historical reality is irrelevant. Maybe it did happen, maybe it didn't. Either way, the eternal Christ has been revealed to me just as well. In this case, my objection will have to be a lot stronger. But I won't make any objection unless I have reason to believe you actually meant this.
I won't object to saying that my apprehension of Christ is in the reading and not in the event itself. That is, as long as "apprehension" implies no more than cognitive knowledge. I will object if you mean that such apprehension is sufficient to my union with Christ. The incarnation, wherein Christ takes on the same human nature that we have, is essential to our salvation. Furthermore, the incarnation is the revelation of Christ. The incarnate Christ, his person and work, are the final events of revelation. He is that to which the OT always pointed. He is the one who, coming into the world, brings salvation. The incarnate Christ is the whole reason for revelation and, ultimately, he is the revelation itself. Whenever I or anyone else apprehends Christ through reading Scripture, this must be understood of Christ incarnate. His identity as the eternal Word may anticipate his revelatory status through the incarnation, it may even make prophetic revelation of his salvific work possible. However, unless it is predicated on the incarnation , revelation is meaningless, if not impossible. The subjective apprehension of Christ cannot be of anything other that what was objectivley revealed in history and then recorded in Scripture.
The events of Christ's life do reveal more than was available at his nativity. It's not that the whole Christ wasn't born, but that the whole Christ can never be revealed. We do not possess such a capacity to comprehend him. The revelation of Christ does not come all at once. It is his person and work. The latter, by definition, must take place over a process of time. Revelation is necessary to salvation. No separation can be made between the salvific acts of Christ and the revelation of Christ. Consequently, if revelation is complete at the nativity, then so is redemption. Further redemptive events are superfluous. As far as our salvation goes, Herod could have had his way and that would be that. We could still be saved. Christ's post-nativity life and work is a great deal more than adding to our maturity and vision of Christ. It is about what Christ had to do for our redemption.
I offered the illustration of distinguishing between the functions of integrated canine body parts to show that different things having different functions does not destroy the overall unity. Sanctification and justification are both aspects of salvation, both are made possible by the work of Christ; however, in their own right, they do not perform the same function. They are necessary for the function of the larger whole. Your own counter-example of a partly grown partly embryonic dog is, indeed, a monstrosity; however, you have not shown how it is connected to the views that I have presented. The question of whether sanctification and justification are separate or distinct needs to be answered as a matter of perspective. If it is monergistic vs. synergistic works, then they are separate. If it is things that happen to the believer because of the death and resurrection of Christ, then they are distinct. If it is things that cannot fail to be true of saved people, then they are distinct. If it is things that contribute to my status as being saved, then they are separate. There are two ways in which sanctification can be used, positional and progressive. So far, this discussion has been about the latter. Justification is a legal verdict. It is a declaration based on my positional sanctification in Christ. Positional sanctification is a monergistic work whereby I am set apart into Christ. Consequently, when he is declared righteous, I am declared righteous in him. Progressive sanctification is the work of the Holy Spirit whereby I am caused to conform in this life to my position in Christ. This conformity involves my own works and is, therefore, synergistic. Progressive sanctification is the evidence of positional sanctification. Lack of progressive sanctification does not mean that my position has changed again , but that I was never in Christ.
It may be the case that "any given moment stands in the same relation to the eternal as any other moment." However, we are not considering these matters from the perspective of eternity, but from our own. While there is temporal simultaneity between the state of justification and the state of being sanctified, there must be a temporally sequential relationship between the verdict of justification and the process of sanctification. In the same way, living in jail may be simultaneous with the state of having been found guilty, but the verdict itself was a one time declaration. Both justification and sanctification result from the grace of God, but the question of whether this is manifest as a declaration or a process is not one of origin but of specific intent and function.
Within the current posts on Scripture and Tradition, I brought up cessationism in the context of I Corinthians 13. You may read those posts to see how it fit into the argument. This post is about a distinct but related question. I was asked whether or not "cessationists believe that miracles also ceased after the Apostolic era." My answer was as follows:
The cessation of miracles does not imply the active withdrawel of God. Rather, the miracles existed to reveal even greater works. Instead of diseases being healed, sin is cured; instead of dead bodies coming to life, there is the eternal regeneration of salvation. Furthermore, Calvinist cessasionists recognize that God is just as active and just as necessary for his works of providence as he is for the so called super-natural acts. The universe is not some deist wind up toy, but God controls it all. He is no more or less involved in a miracle than he is in the normal course of nature. God is just as much as here as he always has been. Once Christ has come and once we have the completed Scripture to tell us this, we no longer need any miracles to confirm God's presence.
This was followed by two more questions, which I shall attempt to answer, "Where is the Scripture to support this assumption? And do you not think that the Holy Spirit dwelling inside a believer is miraculous?"
The scriputural support is found in a survey of the miracles themselves. The premise to be defended is that miracles serve to authenticate the messenger/message as being from God. Some preliminary clarification is in order. There is no claim here that miracles are a theistic proof. One must already believe in God and believe that he can both communicate and perform miracles. Otherwise, even if the event itself is acknowledged, it will be regarded as a freak natural occurence with no real connection to any message.
Exodus 4:1-9: Moses is concerned that the elders of Israel will not believe that the LORD had appeared; that is, they wouldn't believe that the message he had been instructed to give them was actually from God. God gives Moses a series of three miracles to perform in order to convince them: his staff turning into a snake, his hand turning leprous and then being healed, and water from the Nile turning into blood.
Exodus 10:1,2: The ongoing series of plagues, along with Pharaoh's reaction at the hand of God, were so that Moses and his descendants (and, by implication, Israel throughout her generations) would know that God is the LORD. The purpose of the plagues is not, as generally thought, to convince Pharaoh to let Israel go (although, ulitmately, they do have this effect). If it were, then God is not being very efficient; he keeps defeating this purpose by hardening Pharaoh's heart. Instead, he is using this series of miracles, up to and including the crossing of the Red Sea, as the paradigm redemptive event of the OT. Israel would be able to look back on it and see that he was the LORD. Israel acknowledges who God is and a relationship is established. This, in turn, forms the basis on which God gives them the Ten Commandments. God prefaces them with, "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery." Beyond this, the Exodus event, including its non-miraculous elements, reveals our redemption in Christ. He is our Passover (I Corinthians 5:7), the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). Note, however, that even this non-miraculous element is rooted in a miraculous event: the tenth plague. The plagues did serve a secondary function of getting Israel out of Egypt. But God could just as easily have done this through other means, the most obvious of which is not hardening Pharaoh's heart. "Let my people go." "OK."
Deuteronomy 8:3: The manna was given so that they might know that "man does not live by bread alone, but lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. The giving of manna over forty years was miraculous. It's immediate effect was to feed the people. But this was not its primary purpose. This was to teach them absolute trust in God's Word. The same God who was providing for them in this way was also beginning to give them revelation. As to feeding them, God could just as easily have arranged circumstances so that the miracle was not needed. Look at how he feeds everyone else with non-miraculous means.
I Kings 17:24: After Elijah has raised the widow's son from the dead, she says, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth." The miracle has served to authenticate both the messenger and his message as being from God. It did serve a secondary function of giving the widow back her son. However, if the whole point was that the widow have a living son, God could have prevented his death. Furthermore, the miracle was not performed on some general principle that resurrections are always the most desirable thing. In Luke 4:25-27, Jesus points out that there were lots of widows in Israel, but Elijah was only sent to the widow of Zarephath. There were plenty of lepers, but Elisha only healed Naman. A miracle is a sign. What that sign consists of is secondary to its intended function.
I Kings 18:24-40: This a contest between the prophets of Baal and Elijah to determine whose God is the true God. When Elijah prays, he asks God to perform the miracle in order that people might know that the LORD is God. This prayer is answered. The people see the miracle and confess that the LORD is God. Elijah is confirmed as the messenger of God and the people accept and obey his next message, "Seize the prophets of Baal; let not one of them escape."
Matthew 11:2-4: John the Baptist is in prison and starts to doubt whether Jesus is the Christ so he sends some disciples to ask him. Jesus does not just say, "Yes." Instead, he tells the disciples to report the miracles that they have seen and heard. Jesus' status as being from God is confirmed by his miracles.
Luke 5:17-26: A paralyzed man is lowered through a roof so that Jesus can heal him. Instead, Jesus says, "Man, your sins are forgiven you." The Pharisees question his authority to do this and then Jesus heals the man in order to demonstrate that authority.
Acts 3,4: The healing of a lame man is used as an occassion for Peter to preach. Many people who hear, believe. The rulers question by whose authority Peter has healed the man and he gives the credit to Jesus and uses this as another occassion to present the gospel. They can't say anything in opposition because the healed man is standing right there in front of them.
Hebrews 2:3-4: This is not about a specific historical event but describes how the message of salvation had been confirmed. It is declared by the Lord and then attested to others, including the author of Hebrews, by those who heard him. The historical context is first generation believers telling second generation believers, not second to third, or third to fourth. Along with this attestation, "God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will.
In each of these cases, the miracle serves to authenticate the message/messenger. But there is another side. Once the message has been delivered and authenticated, it is sufficient. No further signs are needed and requesting further miraculous signs for this pupose is an indication of wickedness.
Mark 8:11-13: Jesus has just fed the 4000 with seven loaves of bread and the Pharisess want him to show them a sign from heaven. Jesus denies the request.
Luke 11:14-32: Jesus has just cast a demon out of a mute man. Once again, the Pharisees want a sign from heaven. Jesus calls them an evil generation and refuses to give them a sign other than that of Jonah. The result of this sign will be to condemn them.
Luke 16:19-31: Whether this is a parable or Jesus is relating a real event, he states what would be the case. The rich man dies and ends up in Hades. He begs Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers so that they will not end up where he is. Abraham says, "If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead." This was the Scripture of the time and sufficient for the immediate purpose of keeping one out of Hades. No miracle was going to make anyone believe what had already been revealed in the Word of God. On the other hand, for those who already believed what God had revealed up until then, miracles would function to confirm new revelation. But the miracle did not automatically justify anything the miracle worker might say. The new revelation must be consistent with what had already been revealed. In Deuteronomy 13: 1-5, Moses condemns any prophets who might come along and work convincing signs and wonders, but then say, "Follow other gods." In such a case, God is testing his people to see if they will follow his commandments.
Hopefully, what I have shown is that miracles serve the consistent function of authenticiating new revelation and that they are no longer needed for revelation already confirmed. These miracles serve the same function even once the revelation has been recorded as Scripture. Recall that the miraculous events of the Exodus were done so that future generations of Israel would know who God is. To be sure, this information would be passed on orally, but it was also inscripturated in the same generation in which it happened. The miracle would serve the same authenticating purpose for those who read about it rather than seeing it. The same goes for the other miracles of Scripture. They are interwoven into the fabric of history in such a way that the historical record itself must be accepted or rejected along with the miracles.
I have not included all the miracles of Scripture, many of which do not state that they exist for this particular purpose. This is, however, no indication that such is not the case. Furthermore, their very presence in the fabric of biblical history serves to authenticate its divine message. But, if anyone disagrees, they are available for use as counterexamples. Also, while I may have shown that authenticating a message is one purpose of miracles, some might argue that I have not demonstrated it to be the only purpose. And this is true. They all had secondary purposes: getting Israel out of Egypt, feeding them, bringing back the dead, healing people. However, in each of these cases, this secondary function is the miracle. To continue them gives the sign more importance than the thing signified.
The continuation of miracles when they no longer serve the function of authenticating new revelation turns the miracle into something of a divine stopgap measure. They fix various problems that may crop up in the world. But this is where God's providence enters. Oftentimes, when a miracle was required, he had set up the circumstances in such a way that it would be required.
John 9: The disciples already know that a certain man's blindness is providential, but they assume the wrong reasons. Jesus says that it happened "that the works of God might be displayed in him." He then restores his sight. Grasp what he is saying here. God, in his providence, had this man be born blind so that, years later, Jesus could perform a miracle. In keeping with the main thesis, the miracle confirms Jesus as a messenger from God to the healed man, who says, "If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." When Jesus asks the man if he believes in the Son of Man, he answers, "Who is he that I may believe?" He believes what Jesus tells him, that he himself is the Son of Man. As with many miracles, not only does this miracle confirm a divine messenger, it serves as a message. This time, it was to reveal the blindness of the Pharisees.
John 11: In this account, Jesus is the one who exercises divine providence. After hearing that Lazarus is sick, he waits two days before going to him. It is quite possible that Lazarus had already died, since he had been dead four days when Jesus finally arrived. Jesus, however, is setting himself up as being in control of the entire situation, as he very well was. He tells his disciples that he is glad that he was not there when Lazarus died, so that they might believe. Just before performing the miracle, he prays that the people standing around may believe that God had sent him. They do. The miracle has authenticated the messenger.
In all cases in which miracles were perfomed, God could have arranged matters so that they would not have been required. As noted earlier, the need itself, death, leprosy, whatever, did not, in itself, constitute sufficient reason for a miracle. Nor does it now. God is quite able to prevent what he wants to prevent or to cause helaing to come by means within the parameters of everyday providence.
One might argue that miracles demonstrate divine compassion or pity. And so they do. But this is not reason enough to keep them around. God is quite capable of being compassionate through other means. Not the least of these is for the Church to actively care for those in need. We may wish that we could say some magic words and cure people instantly, but this would be too easy. Love is most evidentally shown when people don't fix that easily.
There are probably other reasons for performing miracles that I am not thinking of right now. Nevertheless, I highly suspect that all of them could be fulfilled as a matter of providence. I welcome any scriptural defense of the necessity of current miracles, but, unless this happens, I see no justification for their continued existence. One objection, which would not be answerable by matters of providence, would be that new revelation has not ceased, in which case, all that precedes has begged the question. In response to this, I would say that the telos of revelation is Christ. All Scripture points to Christ. If there is still revelation, then produce an example that compares in glory to Scripture. There is also the prohibition against adding to Scripture in Revelation, the implication being that nothing new will be given to add.
I have been assuming throughout that, if the Bible does not reveal something as necessary, it has not revealed it at all. There is no chapter and verse for this, but then, sola scriptura was never meant to exclude common sense. Miracles are not necessary outside of confirming new revelation. Everything that they would otherwise do can be taken care of by means of divine providence. To claim that they still exist is to claim that they necessarily exist (or it is to claim that God is capricious). Unless it can be shown that Scripture supports their current necessity, then such a doctrine is advanced in addition to Scripture. The burden of proof is on the non-cessationists to support the continuation of miracles.
I believe that the cessation of miracles can be safely deduced from their function as described in Scripture. What clinches it for me is the passage that started this, I Corinthians 13, in which a sample of miraculous gifts are said to come to an end after that which is complete has come. Considering the function of miracles in authenticating new revelation, it makes sense to say that that which is complete refers to the completion of revelation. This completion has made obsolete all miracles, for which those mentioned in I Corinthians are a representative sample.
Now to the second question- do I not think that the Holy Spirit dwelling inside a believer is miraculous? Here's what I do think. It can only be accomplished by the immediate work of God. There are no secondary created causes for the indwelling of the Spirit. It is extraordinary in that it goes far beyond the common grace given to non-believers. It involves regeneration and salvation; as such, it is among those things greater than miracles to which the miracles pointed, especially miracles of resurrection.
But, is it a miracle? No, it is not. The indwelling of the Holy Spirit does not serve to authenticate new revelation. Furthermore, even when there was new revelation to be authenticated, it could not have served this function. The indwelling of the Spirit is an inner reality. It may produce results in the life of the believer, but these results cannot be distinguished, by those looking on, from general good behavior. Signs, by their very nature, must be external; otherswise, no one sees them.
Having stated the cessationist position, I will not object too strongly to anyone who wants to use the term "miracle" for something broader than "an external work, contrary to nature, that authenticates new revelation." This could include the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, extraordinary answers to prayer; I'll even broaden acceptable definitions to include those who want to call life a miracle. However, the expanded definition should not be used to slip in those kinds of contrary-to-nature miracles that are recorded in Scripture. These need to be defended on the basis of Scripture and not by means of verbal equivocation.
Perhaps the intent is being lost on me due to my own emphasis on the matter, but it looks like the views presented here come dangerously close to the view that baptism saves ex opere operato rather than its saving efficacy being a means of grace. Neither one of these is the current Protestant add-on, but they do differ significantly from each other. A key point, under the second heading, says, "The scriptural writers clearly talk about baptism as being the moment when we receive the forgiveness of sins promised to us by the Gospel." However, such a tie to a moment in time cannot be derived from any of the texts provided ( nor, I would argue, from any text at all.)
The WCF XXVIII.6 maintains the real efficacy of baptism apart from any specified time, "The efficacy of baptism is not tied to that moment of time wherein it is administered; yet notwithstanding, by the right use of this ordinance, the grace promised is not only offered, but really exhibited and conferred, by the Holy Ghost, to such (whether of age or infants) as that grace belongeth unto, according to the counsel of God's own will, in his appointed time."
Keeping this in mind would have avoided the answer to this question:
"Q: So do you mean that I wasn’t saved when I prayed that prayer?
A: You certainly weren’t joined with the body of Christ, cleansed of your sins, and filled with the Holy Spirit then."
I'm not that a big fan of the sinner's prayer; however, to the extent that it is calling upon the name of the Lord, it is evidence of faith. The implication here is that faith routinely occurs without being joined to the body of Christ, being cleansed of one's sins, or being filled with the Holy Spirit. I don't buy it. All of these must occur in the presence of faith because faith is always preceded by regeneration. What does regeneration have to do with it? To see, consider two things:
1) WCF XXVII.1 calls sacraments "holy signs and seals." I don't believe that this is a just a hendiadys; rather, it anticipates section 2, "There is in every sacrament a spiritual relation, or sacramental union, between the sign and the thing signified: whence it comes to pass, that the names and effects of the one are attributed to the other." A sacrament, then, is composed of two parts- the sign and the thing signified.
2) The fourth point of Calvinism; namely, Irresistible Grace. [I will make the connection.] Many people ae familiar with Ephesians 2:8, "For by grace you have been saved through faith." But what about its context? Backing up to 1:19, 20 and 2:5,6, it becomes apparent that this grace is equated with our being raised up with Christ. In the first passage, Paul wants the Ephesians to know "what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places..." There is a power that raises Christ from the dead. This translation (ESV), as do many others that I checked, obscures the meaning by inserting a comma after "believe." However, the idea, which will be born out in the second passage, is that the same power that raised Christ from the dead causes us to believe.
In the next passage, we are being raised with Christ. Note, though, how Paul breaks the flow of the passage to insert a familiar phrase, "[God,] even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ-by grace you have been saved-and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus..." What is being raised up together with Christ if not regeneration? In context, then, the grace by which we are saved goes far beyond a mere description of God's goodness or kindness toward us. This grace is the power of resurrection. It is that which brings us alive with Christ and places us in heaven.
Bearing this in mind, consider the passages in which baptism unites us to Christ in his death and resurrection (Romans 6:3,4; Colossians 2:12) and note the relationship: Whereas baptism is the sign, regeneration is the thing signified. To forget this distinction is to confuse the means of grace with the grace itself. The one is more basic than the other. In a sense, all who are regenerated have been baptized into Christ. Which is not to suggest that water baptism is just a sign, such that it may be neglected with impunity by those who evidence faith. It is still that true means of grace whereby saving faith is made possible. Don't get hung up on the timing. It is no less difficult to believe that God can grant salvation before baptism than it is to believe that he granted salvation to the OT saints before the work of Christ. God is not trapped in a bottle waiting for us to say, "When." Even more so, just as God can show his grace when he pleases, he may also show it if he pleases. WCF XXVIII.5, "Although it be a great sin to contemn or neglect this ordinance, yet grace and salvation are not so inseparably annexed unto it, as that no person can be regenerated or saved without it; or, that all that are baptized are undoubtedly regenerated."
Not only is baptism not necessarily tied to the moment of forgiveness, it is not necessarily tied to forgiveness at all. Otherwise, all who receive the sign of baptism would be saved and those who are saved could lose their salvation. Peter offers this perspective in I Peter 3:21, where he says, "Baptism, which corresponds to this, now saves you." He is not making the blanket statement that baptism, considered in itself, is a salvific act. The emphasis is not so much on save as it is on you (Peter is speaking to the elect [1:1]). The end of the verse indicates that baptism saves through the resurrection of Christ, which fits in with what we've already seen. The interesting part is the previous verse, which presents what saving baptism through the resurrection of Christ is being compared to; namely, the flood and Noah's ark, which "was being prepared, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were brought safely through the water." Salvation is not proper to baptism itself, for baptism is the water ordeal. It is the flood that destroyed the ancient world. It is also that which threatens those in the ark, but through which both they and the ark are safely carried. Only those who are in the ark came out of the flood alive.
Baptism is that which leads to the final sancitification of the Bride. It is union with Christ. It is unthinkable that, after such a consummation, this Groom could grant, much less desire, a bill of divorcement. We must conclude then, that not all baptism is baptism into Christ. Neither, however, is it just an empty sign. Baptism brings one into a covenantal relationship with God, which relationship is not necessarily synonymous to union with Christ. Just as with the elect, the curses of the covenant are truly threatened and the blessings given, so with the others in the covenant, the blessings are truly offered and the curses executed. Consider what the sign of the covenant is. It is being cut off; it is passing through the waters of judgment; it is the cross. The covenant demands that all go through this ordeal. Only those who are in Christ come out their baptism alive.
Here is yet another response from the same thread as my previous post. This time, it addresses a comment made by The Dane, who wrote:
Does the normative tithe predate the Law? I'm not sure how. Yes, Abraham tithes once in his life, but it's a bit more complicated than just a tenth of income since he gives not out of what is his, but out of the loot from the conquered kings - and he gives the whole other 90% to those from who it was stolen in the first place. That's a good, well, hundred percent, minus what his men had already eaten and what went as share to his allies. And we've got to note, that this Abrahamic tithe was nowhere in Scripture commanded.
You mention that "several things in the OT are no longer required; however, this is not due to a lifting of requirement as such, but to the nature of the thing abrogated." Of course, everything intrinsic to the Law alone is abrogated - as Christ, while not destroying the Law, certainly fulfilled it. Therefore, the Mosaic Law is only pedagogical at this point in redemptive history. To better understand my view of the Mosaic Covenant, please refer to here.
Although this post should be able to stand on its own, you may want to read the comments leading up to it.
I was only alluding to Abraham as a counterexample to the idea that the tithe is no longer required simply because it was proper to the Law. It was not my intent to justify a theology of the tithe on a story about what Abraham just happened to do one day. Having said this, I do not think it is correct to say that, since the Abrahamic tithe was nowhere in Scripture commanded, it cannot, therefore, inform our theology. This is an argument from silence and, to me, just a bit thin. The fact that no such command is explicitly recorded is no evidence that no such command existed. If we consider the Abrahamic narrative in conjunction with the rest of scriptural teaching on the subject, then it is legitimate to assume either an explicit command or an implicit obligation. The rest of scriptural teaching is not that on the tithe per se, but on the support of ministers and the ministry. Anything from the Mosaic tithe being instituted for the support of the Levites, to Paul's teaching. He writes in I Corinthians 9:13,14, "Do you not know that those who are employed in the temple service get their food from the temple, and those who serve at the altar share in the sacrificial offerings? In the same way, the Lord commanded that those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the gospel." I do not take Paul as saying that Christ commanded something similar to these temple regulations (although he may have); rather, the point is that the regulations for the support of those who minister in the temple constitute the command of Christ concerning those who are ministers of the gospel. If we go back to the institution of Mosaic law, not all of it is a new thing. We know, from the existence of Melchizedec, that there was a priest of God (if not priests) before Moses. The obligation to ministerial support is not limited to the explicit commands concerning the Levites, but is implicit in the existence of ministers of Christ.
There is a deeper point that can be obscured in a theology of tithing. The support of Christ's ministers is more than a practically good thing. This is not just another instantiatian of the principle that workers are worth their wages. Tithing is not just a necessity to keep the ministry intact- God could have used other means. The tithe is an act of worship. In tithing, we acknowledge and worship Christ, who has commissioned both his ministers and their work. Our obligation is to worship Christ when and wherever he is revealed. Such is the case in the existence of the ministry. [I have dealt more with this, at least as it relates to Abraham, here.]
When writing of the "nature of the thing abrogated," I meant more by "nature" than being intrinsic to the Law alone. I see little difference between this and the notion that, since Christ has fulfilled the law, we are free from requirements. Christ did fulfill the law, all of it; yet, I would argue (and am doing so in the comment thread here) that "fulfill" does not equal "make null and void." The Decalogue has been fulfilled in Christ; nonetheless, it still presents a required standard for covenant, even NC, living. Where a command is abrogated upon being fulfilled, it is not because fulfillment causes indiscriminate cessation. Instead, this cessation of ceremonial law is built into its revelatory function. The ceremonial laws, as does all of scripture, reveal Christ. This is true, not only of their existence in history, but, even more of their removal. When the ceremonial laws cease, when the temple veil is ripped in two, it isn't just "good riddance to a contract now we're free from its terms." These laws, as intended, existed not as taskmasters but as promises of grace. The moral law, standing alone, reveals our condemnation. The ceremonial law was a revelation of forgiveness. The sudden vacuum caused by its removal could be traumatic, especially to those who were looking to that law in itself. Instead, the abrogation of the ceremonial law stands as its final and fullest revelation of Christ. "Behold the Lamb of God, the eternal priest who now has taken away our sins once and for all." Before I could be convinced that the tithe is no longer required under the NC, I would have to be shown how its cessation reveals Christ (if at all) more than its continuation does.
In response to an observed inconsistency between Baptist views of tithing and baptism, I had written, "In defense of the Baptists, giving is plainly evident in the NT without recourse to the OT. Having seen it in the NT, it is then possible to go to the OT and learn more about it. Infant baptism is not plainly evident in the NT unless one approaches it through the OT. The problem is not in an arbitrary inconsistency, but in the idea that the NT can stand on its own when it comes to any given doctrine. The whole of scripture needs to be considered for every doctrine, not just those that are obvious." Whereupon I have been asked to explain the hermenuetic "if it's not mentioned in the NT then it doesn't cross over." I assume that this means it doesn't cross over from the OT.
When it comes to infant baptism, many Baptists might object to the notion that they are not allowing something to cross over. This kind of baptism is not explicitly mentioned in any testament. But in this case, it isn't the narrower point of baptizing infants, but that of applying the covenant sign to infants. The NT has no explicit command to apply the sign of the covenant to infants. So then, why this reluctance to look to the OT? Essentially, there is a default position that the old covenant and thus the OT is abrogated as any kind of a normative standard unless there is good reason to make an exception. This is just a restatement of the basic hermeneutic, though. Why hold to this position?
I suggest that it is the result of falling head long into a ditch. An ugly ditch, as Gotthold Lessing described his maxim: "Accidental truths of history can never become the proof of necessary truths of reason." A necessary truth of reason is a timeless and universal moral principle. It is something that all thinking people, in all times and places, know is right. There is no need to hear a story about it or to know that someone else did it; it's just reasonable that it's the right thing to do. This consensus crosses all cultural and religious barriers. Truths of reason are the way things should be. Truths of history, on the other hand, are the way things have actually been. Because they are accidental, they could just as well have been otherwise. Consequently, it is not possible to look at a truth of history and say that things should have been this way. You can't get an 'ought' from an 'is,' or, in this case, from a 'was.' Accidental truths cannot prove necessary truths, nor, for that matter, do necessary truths require any proof.
Now, apply this to the present example. A covenant, along with its sign, is not a necessary truth of reason. It is not the case that people across all cultures and religions think that it's just not right to lack such a thing. Some cultures have had covenant signs, many more have not. Israel just happened to have one. But this is an accidental truth of history at a specific time and place. The fact that it was this way provides no imperative for what ought to be done. When it comes to the parameters of the NT covenant sign, we must be informed by what the NT says to do and not by the historical features of another covenant.
Another side of this same hermeneutic is seen in the linked article on tithing. The historical connection between the old covenant and the new covenant is broken. What happened to be true under the OC is not binding on us now. But then the article quotes from both testaments in order to present its position on giving. These are prefaced with, "Note however, that while tithing is no longer required, giving is still a principle of God." What's going on here? The scriptural texts are not being used as the binding Word of God. Instead, being charitable, i.e., giving as "a principle of God," is recognized as a timeless moral principle. The force of the argument lies here and not in the particular texts gleaned to illustrated a preconceived idea. Yet, if this is the case, if the principle is timeless, why use scripture at all? Any illustration will do.
Now, it is not always the case, especially among those who believe in the inspiration of scripture, that the Bible entire is reduced to illustrations of moral principles. God does issue commands that are not timeless truths of reason. Lessing's ditch is far too ugly, and so it's been landscaped. The covenant life of ancient Israel can never be the proof of the commands of the NT. However, this brings us back to the point that something must either be mentioned in the NT, or be a necessary truth of reason. And so the OT is used, but not under its own authority. Instead, it provides the material for Sunday School stories/Aesop's fables. The same thing seeps over into NT historical narrative.
I also would argue that this approach is behind the almost universal fascination within the evangelical church with exemplaristic preaching. Read the biblical narrative and then subject it to practical application. That is, determine which necessary truth has been illustrated by the text and then explain how to put this imperative of reason into practice. Why bother with the first step then? Perhaps as a psychological preparation for the second. But if this is the case, why not expand the repertoire? It wouldn't even have to be historically accurate. Just make it up. The same Bible stories again and again do get awfully boring.
In the end, a hermeneutic that assumes the existence of Lessing's ditch leaves us with no way to defend the existence of a unique and uniquely relevant revelation from God. And it is no wonder. It isn't just that Lessing is mistaken about the relationship between these two truths. Rather, if the triune God of the covenant exists, then there are no accidental truths of history and there are no necessary truths of reason. He is the sovereign Lord of history who reveals his truth by means of that history to whomever he will. Not only is the ditch a figment of the collective evangelical imagination, so is the surrounding territory.
The following constitutes my attempt to deal with this: I'd really be interested in reading an explanation of the "Free-Will Defense of God" that more than one Presbyterian has insisted upon. I mean, you know the question's out there: How can it be the case that humans have the ability to choose right or wrong AND that the Church is the predetermined vessel of Glory since before Creation?. I don't so much offer a direct explanation of the free-will defense as I try to explain the different ideas of what the will is and why the free will defense cannot consistently be held by Presbyterians.
Monothelitism is the doctrine that the incarnate Christ has a single will, much like any other person. It was condemned as heresy at Constantinople III, the sixth ecumenical council. Monothelitism was consistent with monophysitism, which is the doctrine that the incarnate Christ had only one nature, the human and divine having been somehow merged. The council declared that since Christ was one person in two natures, he therefore had two wills. These wills were always in perfect harmony; nevertherless, they had to be distinguished. The point to note here is what is assumed of the will on both sides. The will is a faculty of the nature.
Now, jump ahead to current discussions on the freedom of the will and, more often than not, the will is equated with the self. The implication is a readoption of monothelitism. There is no longer a conscious claim that Christ has only one nature. Supposedly, the will is something that the person of Christ does. Stop just a minute, though. What do you think a nature is? If the Logos chooses, then it follows that it is in his nature to choose. And, if both natures of the incarnate Logos are to remain intact, then each must retain its own faculty of willing. Free-will, as it is popularly understood among most Christians, is incompatible with the church's rejection of monthelitism. This view of the will is characterized by indeterminacy; i.e., the will cannot be truly free unless its actions are not determined by anything outside of itself. At the moment of decision, I must have the equal ability to choose a or non-a. This kind of free-will is seen as necessary to the existence of moral beings. An action is not truly moral, they say, unless it is free. An automaton cannot be praised or blamed for what it does because it had to do it.
But there are problems with this view of free-will greater than anything it claims to solve. If the will of a moral being must be characterized by indeterminacy, then what prevents the possibility of evil at any point in eternity? The Church could not be a predetermined vessel of Glory. Maybe in the sense of God's wishful thinking, but not in much else. Also, God is a moral being. What prevents arbitrary evil decisions on his part? One might argue that whatever he does is good by virtue of the fact that he does it. But this is hardly comforting. I, for one, do not relish the thought of standing before the judgment seat of Christ only to see him in hysterical laughter saying, "I lied" The idea is repugnant; however, we cannot eliminate it by defining the will in such a way that God cannot be free.
The Reformed/Augustinian view is compatibilism. [I have also discussed it here.] Moral beings are free to do whatever they want, but this freedom is compatible with the sovereignty of God. Although the Reformed (including the WCF IX) call this free-will, it is better understood as "free moral agency." The key is this: the will of the moral agent is not indeterminately free, but the moral agent is free to do whatever he wants. The will is not to be equated with the self, but is a faculty of the nature. Our choices are always determined by our strongest moral inclinations. God is absolutely free but he can only act in a perfectly righteous manner because he is holy. When we have been completely redeemed, we will be even more free than we are now. Free to always do what is right.
All of which leads to my baffllement at Presbyterians adopting the Free-will defence (FWD) of God. [The FWD needs to be distinguished from a free-will theodicy. The former defends God's existence, the latter defends his righteousness.] The classic objection had been, "How can an all good and all powerful God allow evil? If evil exists, then God is not all powerful or he is not all good." The next step, of course, was that, since God is defined as all powerful and all good, and since there is evil, then God must not exist. There never really has been a satisfactory rational answer to this. Until the FWD. After all, everyone agrees that free-will is a good thing and that God would have to voluntarily limit himself in order to allow it to operate.
Assuming that this view of free-will is correct, this works as a defense (note: a defense of the existence of God is not to be confused with a proof or argument for the existence of God). The problem is this: since the wrong view of the will has been assumed, then the wrong God has been defended. It is not the case that there exists a God who created moral beings capable of indeterminate choice. Instead, the Reformed claim is that God created moral beings who always act according to their natures. This claim fails to answer the classic objection to God's existence and cannot stand as a defense of that existence. Under the FWD, God's creation of moral beings necessitates the possibility of evil. This is not the case if complatibilism is true. There is, from our perspective, no defensible reason why God could not have created all moral beings impeccable, as he did with the unfallen angels.
This was written in response to a comment the Dane made over here. The topic was Plantinga's criticism of classical foundationalism. The question was, "Well, taking Plantinga's criticism of foundationalism to his own thoughts, how can belief in God (or in his actions) be properly basic - since so many vary on whether God exists or not?"
Plantinga's critique of classical foundationalism (CF) for "its excessive exclusion and its self-referential incoherence" cannot be applied to his idea that belief in God is properly basic. According to CF, a belief, in order to constitute knowledge, must either be properly basic or based on propositional reasoning from a properly basic foundation. There is nothing wrong with the idea that certain known things follow this paradigm: foundational propositions + reason = knowledge. The weakness of CF is found in its self imposed limitations. A properly basic belief in CF must either be self-evident for me or immediately about my experience (Warrant and Proper Function p.182). A properly basic belief of the second kind says nothing about the external world. Therefore, the proposition "I see a black dog" is not properly basic. The properely basic belief in this case is, "I am being appeared to both blackly and dogly." It is only through a relatively complex reasoning process that I can be justified in saying that my experience results from the existence of a black dog external to my own mind. The self-referential incoherence of CF comes in the fact that the belief "a properly basic belief must either be self-evident for me or immediately about my experience" is itself neither self-evident for me nor immediately about my experience; nor does it have such a belief as a premise.
By accepting the idea of properly basic beliefs, Plantinga demonstrates that he is a foundationalist. He rejects the other two options, which are 1) Dismissing altogether the possibility of epistemology and, consequently, ability to know the truth. This is repugnant to Christian claims, especially Reformed claims, that knowledge is possible. 2) Coherentism. According to a popular misunderstanding of this system (unfortunately, even by some who hold to it), coherentism is a big epistemic circle. Belief A is based on belief A(1), which is based on A(2), and so on to A(n), which is based on A. Warrant for belief is being transferred all over the place, but there is no accounting for how the warrant got there. Transfer does not equal creation. A more likely coherentism does not claim that warrant is created in the process of transfer, but that the fact of systemic coherence itself constitutes warrant. Plantinga disproves this view by his telling of the Epistemically Inflexible Climber. Briefly, a climber scales a mountian and sits on a ledge. He forms certain beliefs about his situation. He is sitting on a mountain, wearing red shoes, the sun is shining, an eagle is circling below, etc. All of these beliefs are coherent- they do not contradict one another. Suddenly, a rare burst of solar energy damages a part of his brain causing his latest beliefs to become fixed. Even when his friend manages to get him down the mountain and takes him to the opera in an attempt to cure him, he still believes that he is on a mountain, in red shoes, watching an eagle, etc. His beliefs are just as coherent as they were before, but they hardly match the reality of his present situation.
Coherentism is fine as far as it goes- we want our beliefs to match up with each other. But there needs to be something more. This can only be found in some form of foundationalism. Certain beliefs need to be properly basic, not in the limited sense of CF, but in the sense that they have an immediate correspondence to external reality. A properly basic belief does not need to rely on any self-evident propositions, nor any propositions at all, for that matter. I would be warranted in my belief that I see a black dog simply by virtue of the fact that I see a black dog. There is no need to go through a reasoning process in order to be justified in concluding that there really is a black dog. I am warranted in believing that there is a black dog on the basis of seeing a black dog provided that two things are true; 1) there really is a black dog and 2) my senses and mental faculties are functioning within normal parameters. However, and this is a key difference between CF and this broader variety, I don't have to form any beliefs at all about these conditions for knowledge in order for warrant to obtain. Whereas CF is a form of internalist epistemology, in which I am constantly asking, "how do I know that I know?" this other foundationalism is an externalist epistemology. It seeks, not to eliminate all doubt as in the Cartesian model, but only to explain the mechanism of knowledge. It assumes the existence of a creator. [This is not to say that belief in God is necessary in order for knoweldge to be warranted, only his actual existence.] We are placed in a world of external objects and are given both mental faculties and sensory abilities designed to give us knowledge of the existence of these objects. The difference lies in a paradigm of faith as opposed to one of doubt.
There is over on truthbecomeslies an effort to answer objections to paedobaptism by appealing to the nature of the church. If I follow the argument, the first two options represent possible credobaptist views and the third that of the paedobaptists. Within the credobaptist options, the first is what the church would look like if they were consistent with this doctrine. Only baptized believers would participate in the life of the church. The first option is desribed as "reasonable" and "consistent;" however, in a subsequent examination of the premises behind this option, it is revealed to be a reductio ad absurdam. From the premise that the great Commission does not explicitly mention covenants or the Kingdom of God, but just says, "Go. Train people," Scott concludes that Jesus wanted the "monasticizing of the Earth." Everyone needs to quit their job and become a preacher just like Jesus' disciples did. He has a valid point against a lot of credobaptist hermeneutics. The second option presents what credobaptist churches actually do look like. Unbaptized children are not members; however, they participate in all aspects of membership except for communion. Scott writes, "Not only is this completely unhinted at in Scripture, but it is an unfair practice to the children." Children are either in the covenant or they are not and they shouldn't be left wondering which it is.
I appreciate the idea of arguing the proper recipients of baptism from the nature of the church rather than from specific prooftexts, but I don't believe that option 2 succeeds. The implied concept of the covenant seems to me to be bit one dimensional, as though there were an exact correspondence between it and the church as a visible institution. But the covenant is deeper than that. Ultimately, the covenant is made with Christ. The elect are his eternal inheritance. While it is appropriate on one level to speak of baptized church membership as being in the covenant, this should not be confused with being in Christ. Baptism is a form of water ordeal that destroys all who pass through it. Only for those who pass through it in faith is it a means of grace. This faith unites them with Christ is his baptism on the cross and subsequent resurrection. All who are baptized are members of the covenant in the sense of being obligated to its terms and are promised blessings for keeping them and curses for breaking them. Still , there is a sense in which the visible church is not the covenant itself but reveals the covenant. The promises are made to Christ and the grace exihibited to us is that he has fulfilled all of the covenantal obligations.
If there are different dimensions within the covenant, may the church determine who is where? It can- this is what happens in the extreme end of church discipline. Someone within the church is judged to have been without faith and is excommunicated. But this does not mean that he has been expelled from the covenant. Instead, excommunication means that, barring repentance, he is going to be meeting the terms of his baptism all by himself. The set of those qualified for covenant membership in the visible church is larger than and contains the set of those qualified to take communion. The first requires baptism; the second requires faith. Which brings up the issue of paedocommunion. Scott also alluded to this in option 2. The question here is not whether faith is a requirement, but whether the church can assume faith in its immature members. Does it allow all to participate unless they fall away, or should it require sufficient maturity to make and understand a profession of faith? Historically, the Reformed position opts for making them wait (see WLC 177 -"only to such as are of years and ability to examine themselves"). This position does not deny that children are in the covenant, nor does it deny the possibility that they have true faith. It only claims that communion is reserved for those whom the church has judged, not assumed, to have true faith. It recognizes that there are different levels to the covenant.
Credobaptists argue that the physical covenant of OT Israel is fulfilled in those who have faith. Consequently, although the sign of circumcision was given after physical birth, the sign of baptism should only be given after spiritual birth. The argument is valid in that the conclusion follows from the premises. Nor does this view of the covenant contradict the value of the visible church as a place to train up one's unbaptized children in the Lord. Baptist theolgy does not recognize baptism as a sacrament. It is done in obedience to the command of Christ but is not a means of grace. [I'm speaking from having grown up as a dispensational baptist; please correct me if this is not the case for Reformed Baptists.] In holding to this view, Baptists are in error; however, they are not heterodox. This is not a matter of knowing the truth and rejecting it, but of being honestly mistaken in what scripture teaches. Baptism is a means of grace, whether anyone thinks so or not (unless paedobaptists would like to argue that infants have an opinion on the matter). And, to state the obvious, Baptists do get baptized. Furthermore, their children are a part of the covenant just as much as those of paedobaptists. This is not to deny the nature of baptism, not to say that it is a matter of indifference for those who know better. Baptism is a means of grace, but it is neither inseparable from grace nor is its efficacy "tied to that moment of time wherein it is administered" (see WCF XXVIII.5,6).
Baptists may have the wrong view of baptism and, for that matter, the covenant as a whole. Nevertheless, they are following scripture when they bring up their children in the Lord. This includes disciplining them toward righteous living, prayer, knowledge of the Scripture, and participation in worship. That the parents themselves may not rightly understand the doctrine of baptism is no justification otherwise to shirk their duty. Children need to be evangelized. Disciplining them in these various activities is how this is accomplished.
Over the past several days, there has been a discussion at Out of Egypt on why Reformed Christology is heretical. As it turns out, the argument is about the heretical nature of Nestorianism. What, you may ask, does this have to do with Reformed Christology? Nothing, other than the fact that Josh S has asserted that Reformed Christology = Nestorianism. His claim in support of this is that “‘nature’ is defined by Reformed dogmaticians and the WCF in such a way as to be equivalent with the Chalcedonian term ‘hypostasis’”. This claim, as I hope to demonstrate, is indefensible. His argument is, therefore, nothing more than a straw man.
It may help to consider Chalcedon in the context of its time and of other Christological controversies. Arius believed that the Logos was the first and most exalted creature. He was not co-eternal with the Father. Consequently, he was not consubstantial (homoousios) with the Father since the Father’s substance is, by definition, eternal. Arius refused to say that Christ was “homoousios,” that is, of one or the same substance with the Father; hence, this word’s inclusion in the Nicene Creed. But it wasn’t an easy decision. Earlier, the same word had fallen out of favor within orthodox Christianity. It had been the word of choice for, among other heresies, Modalism. The Modalists argued that God was only one person who would manifest himself in various modes. To say that the Son was “homoousios” with the Father meant that they were numerically the same person. Orthodoxy responded by claiming that the Logos was “homoiousios” with the Father; that is, he was of like or similar substance, and therefore, a different person. But then, Arius liked “homoiousios” because it could imply “heteroousios,”-of a different substance. Not only was the Son a different person from the Father; he was of a different substance altogether and, therefore, a different being. He was not actually God. After weighing the options, the church decided that it had to return to “homoousios.”
The next word is “hypostasis.” This is a compound word comprising “hypo” -“under,” and “stasis” -“existence.” It means “existing under.” Under what? For this, go back to your Aristotelian philosophy (all those who were in Metaphysics with me, think of “Fluffy”). Aristotle distinguished between “substance” and “accidents.” These were not the vehicular or bone-breaking kinds of accidents. Rather, they were those appearances or attributes that were not essential to the thing itself, which was the “substance.” Thus, if we disinvest Fluffy of his tail, Fluffy is still a cat. The “substance” exists under the “accidents.” “Substance,” incidentally, is the literal English translation of “hypostasis” by way of the Latin “substantia.” “Sub” -“hypo,” and “stantia” -“stasis.”
Nevertheless, the church was not succumbing to Greek philosophy, even if it was using Greek terminology. Whereas “substance” and “accidents” was the distinction between the essential and the non-essential, this was not the difference implied in the ecclesiastical use of “hypostasis.” The hypostasis was the person as distinguished, but not separated, from his essential attributes. The person exists under the attributes. His existence supports the attributes. The attributes exist within the person and define what or who the person is. Still, the word did not always support this technical distinction. It was often used to mean the person/essential attributes combination. And then the definition was further flipped around so that “hypostasis” did not refer to the subject of the essential attributes, but to the essential attributes themselves. It became synonymous with “ousia” (found in the word “homoousios). Both the Latin “substantia” and the English “substance” are closer in meaning to “ousia” than to “hypostasis” in its technical meaning of “that which exists under.” But, in the Greek of the time, “ousia” and “hypostasis” were being used interchangeably. God was both three hypostases and one hypostasis. The meaning was determined from the context.
The classic orthodox formulation of the trinity was first articulated by Tertullian. He said that God was three in “persona” and one in “substantia.” After the Nicene Creed, the Cappadocians, in order to protect the word “homoousios” from a modalistic interpretation, presented a similar formula. God was three in “hypostases” and one in “ousia.” Actually, this, and not Tertullian’s was the original orthodox formulation. When the Cappadocians said “ousia,” they meant the essence, that which was essential, or the being of God. But this is not what Tertullian had in mind. Not to say that he would not have affirmed what the Cappadocians meant; he was just dealing with a different issue. Tertullian first articulates this formula in “Against Praxeas.” Praxeas was a Monarchial Modalist. He believed that God was a monarch. Since “monarch” meant “one ruler,” only one person could be ruling. Consequently, God was only one person. Tertullian used “substantia” in a sense closer to the Biblical usage of “ousia,” which, there, means “property,” “money,” or “wealth.” He used it to indicate God’s monarchy: that over which he ruled. And then he looked at Praxeas and said, “Co-regents.” Technically, Tertullian’s formulation did not guard against Arianism; but then, he lived before Arius.
The Greeks, upon hearing Tertullian’s formula translated, didn’t like it. They had no problem with translating “substantia,” but they didn’t take Tertullian’s meaning. The problem came when they translated “persona.” The English translation “person” has the same connotation as the Latin. However, the Greek translation “prosopon” carries the additional meaning of a mask. The Greeks thought that Tertullian was a modalist. The misunderstanding worked both ways. Years later, when the Cappadocians would claim that God was three in “hypostases,” the Latins would translate this into “substantia” and think they were advocating Arianism. The Definition of Chalcedon would recognize this problem when it used both “prosopon” and “hypostasis” to describe the unity of Christ. Christ does not have a “prosopon” and a “hypostasis.” This double terminology denotes the same thing- the Logos, who is the subject of the hypostatic or personal union of two natures.
This debate that led to Chalcedon came about between two traditions in the Greek church: the Antiochene and the Alexandrian. Both sides spoke of the “nature” or “physis” of Christ. The Antiochene emphasized two natures, and the Alexandrian, one. Upon becoming the bishop of Constantinople, Nestorius discovered a controversy between those who thought Mary should be called “theotokos” -Mother of God, or “anthropotokos” -Mother of man. He tried a compromise: she should be called “kristotokos” -Mother of Christ. It didn’t work. It looked to his opponents as though “Christ” were just a name for the sum of two natures. And if just a name, then Mary can’t be its mother. But Nestorius was not advocating simple linguistic addition of natures. He believed that there really was a oneness that existed within the person of Jesus. But he could never adequately identify what that was. Eventually, he had become convinced of the anti-theotokos side of the argument. His chief reason was fear that the Arians would latch onto this word to argue that a god who could be born could not be the true God. Nestorius was also jealous to maintain the integrity of the natures. If the two natures were to be so merged, then Christ’s nature was necessarily something else, but it was neither human nor divine. His insistence on avoiding any hint of such a merging at all costs made it nearly impossible to express his belief in the actual unity within Christ. Complicating matters was the fact that his chief opponent, Cyril, Bishop of Alexandria, had a different concept of “nature.”
Cyril thought of nature in terms of the active and living subject. It was sort of like the broader definition of “hypostasis:” the person along with all of his attributes, whether these were human or divine or both. There was no confusion of these attributes: Cyril still believed in the full deity and the full humanity of Christ. Nevertheless, his emphasis when using the term “nature” was on the dynamic person. Where Nestorius had failed, Cyril was brilliant in expressing the unity of Christ. But he couldn’t express the full humanity or deity of Christ as well as Nestorius. When Cyril heard that Nestorius was preaching against the term “theotokos,” he was incensed. This term had long been accepted in the Alexandrian tradition, which focused on Christ as a person. If Mary was not the Mother of God, it stood to reason that Jesus was not God. Cyril decided to take action. In 431, he had Nestorius brought to the Council of Ephesus where he was condemned. [Wrongly, I believe. Although there would be plenty of real Nestorians in the Nestorian church, Nestorius was not one of them.]
The Nestorian formula that Josh mentioned -one person, two natures, two hypostases- came from Narses, the first major theologian of the Nestorian church. The Nestorian church had moved East into the Persian Empire; consequently, their language was neither Greek nor Latin, but Syriac. Nature -“kyane” and hypostases -“knume” would be understood the same way that they are in Chalcedon. Each hypostasis would be a person, or an ego. One would possess a nature that was homoousios with the Father, the other a nature that was homoousios with humanity. Remember that, in this definition, although the Greek “prosopon” is used, its identification with “hypostasis” would preclude the Greek concept of a mask and give it the same meaning as the Latin “persona.” Likewise, the inclusion of the Latin for “person,” even if in Greek translation, precludes the idea that the hypostasis is the same as the nature. Christ is one person in two natures. However, in the Nestorian formulation so far, Christ is two persons each with its own nature. The overemphasis on separating the attributes must lead to this conclusion. Nevertheless, they still need a unifying principle. This is found in the word “parsufa,” which is equivalent to the Greek “prosopon.” Since that aspect of the word which means “person” or “hypostasis” is already taken in “knume,” the word “parsufa” refers to a mask or the appearance of a person. The unifying principle in classic Nestorianism is that Christ looks like a single person. Reformed Christology is not identical to this formula.
Eutyches was a disciple of Cyril who carried his belief in one nature even further. He had maintained Cyril’s Monophysitism, but not his orthodoxy. He did not define nature according to Cyril’s idea of a dynamic subject. Instead, he defined it as that set of attributes belonging to a person. Consequently, by merging them, he did precisely what Nestorius had feared. Christ was now neither human nor divine. In 448, Flavian condemned him in Constantinople for not claiming that Christ was homoousios with humanity. And then there was war. The next year, Dioscorus, the bishop of Alexandria held a synod at Ephesus in which he endorsed Eutychus and deposed Flavian. Flavian appealed to Leo, bishop of Rome. Leo then sends a letter to Flavian in which he denounces both Nestorius and Eutyches while endorsing Antiochene Christology. In 451, the Council of Chalcedon meets, affirms Leo’s letter, and draws up its definition.
Josh explains that, “in Reformed dogmatics, each of the two natures in Christ does things, effectually making the natures into hypostases.” He then lists various claims by Beza, Hodge, Calvin, and Zwingli. Because he has given no more precise a reference than the authors’ names, it is not practicable to double check his facts. Nevertheless, for the sake of argument, I will accept his representations as accurate. Does it follow from the statements that one of Christ’s natures does something while another does not, that ‘nature’ is being defined as a Chalcedonian ‘hypostasis’? Not unless the question is asked with prejudice. All of these men are Reformed and, therefore, would claim to affirm what Chalcedon means. It is inappropriate, on a surface reading of their claims for the natures of Christ, to accuse them of Nestorianism. Poor choice of words? Perhaps. But, in the absence of a significantly larger investigation into their thought, not heresy. On a related note, Josh’s statement, “In Reformed practice, what has always mattered is agreement on the words alone,” is both patently false and slanderous. Make up your mind: you cannot judged the intent of Reformed people based on what we say while, at the same, you assert that we do not intend what we say (which is an altogether different proposition from intending what we say but not being terribly cogent in how it is said).
It is not always possible to derive a Reformed definition of ‘nature’ from particular statements. However, in the case of the WCF, nature is defined in such as way as to be equivalent with the Chalcedonian term ‘nature.’ Here it is in the definition of Chalcedon:
“One and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, made known in two natures [which exist] without confusion, without change, without division, without separation; the difference of the natures having been in no wise taken away by reason of the union, but rather the properties of each being preserved, and [both] concurring into one Person and one hypostasis.”
And the WCF VIII.2:
“So that the two whole, perfect, and distinct natures, the Godhead and the manhood, were inseparably joined together in one person, without conversion, composition, or confusion.”
So where is the idea coming from that when the Westminster divines write ‘nature’ they mean ‘hypostasis’? Josh elucidates, “But the Westminster Confession explicitly says otherwise-that Scripture often refers to one nature when it means the other.” Here, in the WCF VIII.7, is what it actually says:
“…by reason of the unity of the person, that which is proper to one nature, is sometimes in Scripture attributed to the person denominated by the other nature.”
The reference in Scripture is to the one person, not to one nature when the other is meant. The example given in the confession is Acts 20:28, in which we read that God has purchased the church with his own blood. The WCF is not saying, “When Luke wrote that Jesus’ divine nature has blood, he really meant that his human nature has blood.” It is the person, not the divine nature, who is called God; that is, in this case, the person of Christ has been denominated by his divine nature. It is the person, not the human nature, who bleeds. The same person who is called by his divine nature is said to do something that is only possible on account of his human nature.
Josh persists further in this fallacy when he writes, “Somehow the self-identity of the Logos is possessed by Jesus Christ apart from the divine attributes (destroying the simplicity of God.)” Later, he expresses the same thought, “In major Reformed dogmatics, the human Jesus possesses the Person of the Logos completely apart from any of his attributes, which is unthinkable in a truly enhypostasizing christology.” In the first case, Josh objects to the separation of the self-identity of the Logos from his attributes on the grounds that this destroys the simplicity of God. In the second, he objects that if the human Jesus does not possess the Person as well as the divine attributes of the Logos, then there has been no true enhypostatization. Both of these miss the point. In neither case is Josh particularly concerned that the Person of the Logos is the object possessed rather than the subject possessing. Reformed dogmatics does not divide the Logos from his divine attributes. Rather, it affirms that because the Logos has been in eternal possession of the divine nature, he has likewise been inseparable from the corresponding divine attributes. And, now that the Logos has become incarnate, he also possesses a human nature, along with its full complement of human attributes. One and the same person possesses two inseparable, yet distinct natures. Inseparable from one another because they are inseparable from the person that supports them; distinct from one another because the person would be neither God nor man if they were merged.
The Definition of Chalcedon had to be precise. I’ve already mentioned that “hypostasis” and “prosopon” both refer to the unifying subject, or the person, which is the Logos. “Nature” was reserved for the substance or the essential attributes of the person. Two natures were affirmed, the one homoousios with the Father, the other with humanity. Theotokos was affirmed; however, it was carefully qualified. Note the precision with which it is applied to Mary. It is in respect to Christ’s manhood. Mary is not the mother of the divine nature. She is the mother of the Logos who, as to his divinity existed from eternity, but whose humanity derives its existence from Mary. Just as the WCF would later affirm, the person, not a mere linguistic concept, has been called God according to his divine nature and has been described according to his human nature. Chalcedon does not refer to one nature when it means the other. Mary is the mother of the person. Mary is a woman: she is anthropotokos. Mary is the mother of the person. The person is the Christ: Mary is kristotokos. Mary is the mother of the person. The person is God: Mary is theotokos.
The incarnate second person of the Trinity, along with the Father and the Holy Spirit are worthy of all praise. I worship the Son because he is God and because he has taken on a human nature for my salvation. I will not worship a human nature, nor will I worship a divine nature. I worship Jesus Christ, theanthropos.
After writing the post entitled, "Covenantal Calvinism," I was asked just how this Calvinism was covenantal. I gave a short answer, which was, "the surety of God's grace towards his elect is based on our union with Christ, our Covenant head." But this answer is deficient in that it assumes an audience familiar with Covenant theology. Aaron, my interrogator, had disclaimed such knowledge. So now, I'd like to provide a context for this answer by attempting to explain the basics of Covenant theology. Rather than starting directly with the confession or scripture, I'd like to take a slightly more subjective approach.
My own introduction to Covenant theology came by way of contrast to Dispensationalism. I grew up both as a dispensationalist and a Calvinist. Because I never really studied either one of them, I was able to hold to both without any tension. The stage was set to notice a conflict after we moved to Washington state and joined a nearby church. I was sitting in the 9th grade Sunday School class when the teacher made the statement that God does not choose who he wants to be saved. Heads were nodding as though this were perfectly obvious. I disagreed, but never said anything. Instead, I embarked on a thorough study of Calvinism. The intent was to either confirm myself in this belief or abandon it. I am, too this day, a staunch five-pointer.
At the same time that I was disagreeing with this church's Arminian stance, I was soaking in it's dispensational teaching. The most fundamental teaching of dispensationalism is that God has two distinct peoples: the nation of Israel and the church. The church age, in fact, exists as a parenthesis within God's dealings with Israel. The church is a mystery that was never foretold in the OT. God turned away from Israel after they rejected their Messiah. However, after the rapture of the church, he will once again turn his attention to Israel. This will occur in two stages: a seven year tribulation and a thousand year reign. During this time, all of the promises made to Israel in scripture will be literally fulfilled.
All of this made sense. And then the pastor preached that the various dispensations entailed different means of salvation. The biggest contrast was between the dispensation of law and the dispensation of grace. Israelites under the Mosaic law were saved by works; furthermore, if they failed to live up to the terms, they could lose their salvation. In the church age, salvation is all of grace. Works are not required. It's not even necessary to repent. Just pray the prayer and you're eternally secure. As a Calvinist, I could not agree with either one of these. Still, I attributed it to a fluke in the pastor's theology. I was later to learn that, though in the minority, he was being consistent with classic dispensationalism.
This much is sufficient to provide the needed contrast between the two sytems, so I'm going to skip over the intervening years to the time that I joined the OPC. Whereas Dispensationalism believes that Israel and the church are distinct entities, Covenant theology believes that the church is the fulfillment of Israel. Dispensationalism had drawn a distinction between works and grace. This was valid, but, historically, they drew the line several thousand years too late. In the WCF chapter VII, Of God's Covenant with Man, this covenant is divided into two parts: works and grace. The covenant of works was made with Adam. After Adam breaks it, God enters into a covenant of grace with those who have been "ordained unto eternal life." This covenant of grace covers everything after the fall. The confession affirms a single covenant of grace "differently administered in the time of law, and in the time of the gospel." In keeping with Paul's teaching in I Corinthians 15:22, "For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive," each covenant, works and grace, has a Federal head (from the Latin foedus- "covenant").
It should also be noted that "works" and "grace" have different referents. "Works" refers to the activity of the Federal head. Had Adam been obedient, all those represented by him in his Federal headship would have been rewarded with eternal life. While this exhibits the goodness of God and represents a large measure of condescension on his part, it has nothing to do with grace. Grace is always presented as the goodness of God toward sinners. The covenant of grace is then the goodness of God shown towards some of those who had sinned in Adam. He did this by providing them with a second Adam, that is, Christ. Yet, while grace is truly exhibited to us, our Federal head must merit salvation for us.
Now that I had given up Dispensationalism, there was no longer any conflict with being a Calvinist. Covenant theology was compatible with Calvinism. Not only this, but both were taught in the WCF. But compatiblity wasn't enough. I wanted to know why the confession taught both of these. Was it just an accident or is there a deeper connection? The answer is definitely in the second option. The focal point is Christ as he fulfills his role as the last Adam. When commenting on the Covenant made with Abraham and his seed, Paul makes an unusual linguistic point. He claims, "Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his seed. It does not say, 'And to seeds,' referring to many, but referring to one, 'And to your seed,' who is Christ" (Galatians 3:16). Unusual because even the original context compells one to understand 'seed' in a collective sense. Paul is making a theological point. The promises given to Abraham were not made with his physical descendants. Nor, for that matter, were they made with spiritual descendants considered in themselves. The Covenant was made with Christ. Only insofar as the spiritual descendants of Abraham are in union with Christ does the Covenant apply to them.
Paul is even more explicit about the unity of Israel and the church in Ephesians 2:13-16. He is speaking of the inclusion of the Gentiles into the commonwealth of Israel:
"But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility."
The passage should probably be read in its larger context, at least vs. 11-22. Note what happens here. God is in covenant with the nation of Israel and the Gentiles are left out. Then Christ comes. But, unlike the teaching of the dispensationalists, he doesn't make a separate deal with them. Rather, he makes them fellow citizens with the Israelites. And it isn't merely the sovereign decree of God declaring that we shall now get along. The reconciliation occurrs within and by means of the flesh of Christ. Both Gentiles and Israelites are then reconciled to God through the cross in the body of Christ. The church, or the body of Christ, is the fulfilment of Israel. But Paul does not stop at teaching that Israelites and Gentiles have been reconciled to God by means of a divinely ordained institution. This would be Covenant theology, but only at its most rudimentary level.
The reason that the church, which comprises both Jew and Gentile, can be designated 'the body of Christ' is that we are united to the flesh of Christ. By virtue of his union with us, Christ becomes totally depraved and must endure the punishment of the cross. Christ is the elect one of God. Because we are in union with him, we are elect. Notice the difference here in emphasis between Calvinism considered in abstraction and considered as part of the covenant. "Unconditional election" was Dort's response to the idea that God elects us on the basis of a foreseen faith. There is no reason within ourselves that God has decided to place us into union with Christ. Dort is correct, as far as it goes. However, the biblical doctrine of election is not concerned with the secret decree of God. It is concerned with Christ and, in this sense, our election is very conditional. We are elect because Christ is elect.
By enduring the wrath of God on the cross for what has become his own depravity, Christ makes atonement for his own sin. Our sins are atoned only because we are in union with Christ. Again, the doctrine of limited atonement is not derived from the decree of God (although he certainly did decree the extent thereof); it is limited to all of those who are reconciled to God in the body of Christ on the cross. Atonement for my sin requires union with Christ. Union with Christ guarantees the atonement of my sin. Because Christ has paid the full penalty of his sin, he is declared righteous. Death can no longer hold him and he is compelled to life. Even so, the same Holy Spirit that sovereignly brings Christ back to life works the same life in us. It is not possible that those who are in union with Christ should remain forever dead. One by one, we are are regenerated in a glorious display of irresistible grace.
Finally, we persevere because Christ persevered. He kept perfectly the law of God. Just as our depravity is imputed to his account and paid for in his death, his righteousness is imputed to us. Yet, much more than a forensic declaration of rightoeusness or a moral example for us to follow, we persevere because the Son of God became incarnate in human flesh. When Christ lived on the Earth, we lived the life of the righteous one. Christ now relives his life in us. We cannot finally fall but will one day be glorified in our flesh as he is glorified in his.
The connection of Calvinism to the covenant goes beyond the mere fact that Christ takes on the office of the second Adam. It depends on the fact of our union with Christ. If it were strictly a matter of forensic decrees, then the Angel of the Lord could have filled the role. However, a Christophany will not do. The Son of God must take on the nature of the first Adam; he must become incarnate. In John 17:21, Jesus prays concerning those who will believe, "that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me." The prayer of Christ is that believers will ultimately be united with God himself. The elect are thereby given a double surety of God's grace. Not only are we in union with Christ by virtue of Christ's human nature, but, in Christ, we are destined to be in union with God by virtue of Christ's divine nature.
I am a Calvinist, but I do not subscribe to the five points known under the acronym TULIP as the foundation, much less the extent, of this doctrine. TULIP, which stands for Total depravity, Unconditional election, Limited atonement, Irresistible grace, and Perseverance of the saints, was never intended as the foundation of any theological system. That it has become so is an accident of history.
In the Remonstrance of 1610, followers of Jacob Arminius drew up a list of five differences that they had with Reformed theology. It is important to note that this came from within the Reformed church in the Netherlands; these were not just a bunch of outsiders. They argued for election based on foreseen faith, universal atonement, partial depravity, and resistible grace. They still had not decided whether someone could lose his salvation. In 1618-19, the Synod of Dort met and refuted all five of these points in the Canons of Dort. These refutations form the basis of TULIP. For all the good that these Canons have done, they have had the negative consequence that Calvinism, in the eyes of many, has been reduced to these points. The system often exists in abstraction from the rest of one’s doctrinal beliefs. As originally conceived, these points were among the organic outworkings of Reformed theology. They were not supposed to stand on their own.
To understand Calvinism, it is necessary to back up further into history and ask, “Why the Reformation?” The Reformation primarily came about as a protest against the Roman Catholic system of works based salvation. The immediate catalyst was Luther’s objection to the sale of indulgences. An indulgence was a means to buy the souls of loved ones out of purgatory. The reason for purgatory was to purge away the venial sins of all those who had died without performing the proper penance. Penance, in turn, exists because of the Catholic doctrine of justification. Catholics get their doctrine from the Latin word justifacare, which means, “to make righteous.” However, the Latin misrepresents the Greek and Hebrew words, both of which are forensic terms meaning, “to declare righteous.” In Catholic theology, original righteousness is infused into someone through the sacrament of baptism. This person is justified at that point because he really is righteous. However, the justification only lasts as long as the actual righteousness. Once the person sins, he is no longer justified. Both the Eucharist and the works of penance are required to restore justification. Catholics believe that the death of Christ is necessary for salvation. It is the basis for God’s grace. Humanity was radically corrupted in the fall. On their own, they can do nothing to merit salvation. However, the grace of God makes their good works worthy. The grace is offered to all who partake of the sacraments. Salvation is only assured to those who actually perform the works.
Catholics believe in the necessity of Christ, grace, and faith to salvation. The Reformers disputed their lack of the word “alone.” Salvation was sola fide, sola gratia, and soli Christo. There was no room for congruous merit or works of any kind as the basis for salvation. Essential to the Catholic doctrine is a form of semi-Pelagianism. Man is only partially depraved and only in need of divine grace to assist him in his good works. This grace can be resisted. However, if the Reformers are right and works form absolutely no basis for salvation, then salvation is completely the work of God. Man is spiritually dead until God makes a unilateral decision to regenerate him. Right here are the doctrines of total depravity and irresistible grace. When the Remonstrants declared their belief in partial depravity and resistible grace, the Synod of Dort understood this to be a return to the roots of Catholicism and condemned these views as heresy. Both of these doctrines imply a works based salvation. The Reformation emphatically denies this. On the negative basis that salvation is not of works, all of the other doctrines in Reformed theology fall into place.
Yet, we cannot base an entire theology on a negative basis. If it is the case that salvation is not based in part on our own works, then it must also be the case that salvation is based wholly on the finished work of Christ. Justification is not the temporary infusion of righteousness, but the eternal imputation of righteousness. The righteousness of Christ, which is the result of his active and passive obedience, is credited to our account. Catholics call this a ‘legal fiction.” God declares us righteous when it isn’t actually the case. They would be right if the transaction were strictly forensic. However, this declaration is made on the basis of the Holy Spirit bringing me into living union with the incarnate Son of God. I have been crucified with Christ, I have risen with Christ, I am seated in the heavens with Christ, and when he returns, I shall be glorified with him.
I am among those who, through no merit of our own, have been elected in Christ Jesus and are now destined to live in eternal union with him. Consequently, the Father has set his love upon us because he so fully loves the Son. This, our union with Christ, and not some logical consideration of an abstracted system, is the basis of my Calvinism. When I consider the love of the Christ, I am dumbfounded. My only response is to fall before the holy and triune God in an inadequate display of worship.
“If you, O LORD, should mark iniquities, O LORD, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.”
Psalm 130:3,4
The defense of a theological system must be consistent with that system. It is the goal of Presuppositional Apologetics to provide a defense consistent with the Reformed Faith. Recognizing that, just as the Reformed Faith starts with God, so must a consistent apologetic, Presuppositionalism takes as its starting point the Ontological Trinity. Yet, it does so with no attempt to understand and declare this Trinity within a covenantal context. Reformed Theology is, at its heart, covenant theology. Consequently, all of its doctrinal claims should be understood in a covenantal context. But Presuppositionalism assumes that the Ontological Trinity stands above the covenant. As a result, this apologetic fails as a consistent defense of the Reformed Faith;- it does not define its own starting point within the thoroughly covenantal context of Reformed Theology.
It is not my intent to argue against Presuppositionalism. Instead, I would like to see if it can be given a more consistent starting point. This will require establishing the extent of the covenantal context. Reformed doctrine is currently a minority consensus within Christian thought. Within the arena of broad evangelicalism, many do not even believe in the validity of the covenant for the church. I cannot address this segment of Christendom but must confine my thoughts only to those of a Reformed persuasion. At a minimum, Reformed theology begins with the conviction that the covenant defines the church. This is most readily seen in the initiatory sacrament of baptism.
Nevertheless, if the covenantal context is limited to the church; if those who are outside of the church do not also exist within the context of the covenant, then this context would provide no meaningful point of contact. Without this point of contact, apologetics would be impossible. The question now concerns the nature of covenant theology. Just how covenantal is it? To find out, we need to press backward out of the Covenant of Grace. We need to see the covenant as it existed before the creation of Adam and his inauguration as the Federal Head of the Covenant of Works. It is necessary to consider the pre-temporal Intratrinitarian Covenant, which is often termed, “The Covenant of Redemption.”
The common conception of this covenant goes along with its popular name. It is limited to the redemption of God’s elect and the role that each person in the Trinity would play to secure this redemption. There is support for this in John 17. Jesus says that he is only praying for those whom God has given him. He is not praying for the world. However, in this particular prayer, Christ is fulfilling the office of a priest. But what of the equally covenantal office of a king? The second Psalm identifies the Son, that is, Christ, as a king. He is told to ask God, and the nations will be given to him as an inheritance. Note carefully what he does with them- he dashes them to pieces with a rod of iron. This is a promise made by the Father to the Son; a promise that, I believe, is a part of the Intratrinitarian Covenant. It is not the purpose of this covenant to give only the elect to Christ, but to give everyone to Christ. The covenant extends beyond the church. It is as comprehensive as whoever and whatever, by right, belongs to Christ.
The Intratrinitarian Covenant was forged in eternity. Creation, far from being a neutral template upon which the covenant was superimposed, was the first step in carrying out the terms of the Intratrinitarian Covenant. It is, therefore, reflective of that Covenant. In his Images of the Spirit, Meredith G. Kline identifies a model for the creation. He finds it in Genesis 1:2 where the Spirit of God is hovering over the face of the waters. This presence of the Spirit is actually, according to Kline, a manifestation of the Glory-cloud: the same cloud that led Israel through the wilderness. This cloud, in turn, is the visible representation of a greater reality. Hidden within it is the throne room of God with the angelic host in attendance. This throne room is itself a created reality; however, because it is permeated by the Holy Spirit, it is permanent and unshakeable.
The Spirit infused throne room, serving as a model for this level of creation, has a covenantal structure. To see this, consider that a covenant is, in its most basic form, promises and obligations carried out within an authority structure. From a throne room, God is declaring his intentions and then fulfilling everything that he has said. If the model for creation is covenantal in nature, then the covenant provides the context for the creation. Nothing exists as a meaningless fact prior to the imposition of a subjective interpretive grid. Instead, all things are created into a previously existing interpretation. The Intratrinitarian Covenant, in order that it might be fulfilled, has been extended beyond the confines of the Trinity. Consequently, if there is to be any true knowledge, it must be considered within the context of this covenant.
In keeping with the necessity of a covenantal context for any true knowledge, special revelation is also given in the form of a covenant. We again turn to Kline. In The Structure of Biblical Authority, he argues that the Bible consists of two canons, each of which is an expanded form of the ancient Suzerain-vassal treaty. He makes the case that the various literary genres of scripture correspond to the different sections of this treaty type. The most prominent sections are the historical prologue, the obligations, and the promise of blessing or curse connected to those obligations. Contained within these treaties were all the conditions of a covenant. It is important to note that the biblical concept of the covenant is not modeled after the treaties of ancient cultures. Rather, God superintended history in such a way that these treaties would reflect his own covenant. The covenant is the means whereby the activity and Word of God are made intelligible to us.
I need to return to my original contention that the Ontological Trinity is not an adequate starting point for a defense of the faith. Consider Van Til’s reasons for stating otherwise. He claims that we must presuppose the Ontological Trinity in order to make any fact intelligible. Or, as he would phrase it, the Ontological Trinity “is the presupposition of all possible predication.” He starts from what he calls “the whole problem of philosophy,” which is, “the relation of unity to diversity.” This is otherwise known as the problem of the one and the many. The basis for predication must correspond to both of these poles. This means that, within this basis, unity and diversity must be equally ultimate. Van Til finds this equal ultimacy in the Ontological Trinity.
Note that there is nothing covenantal in this paradigm. Rather, the basis for predication is philosophical. But, what is the connection between explaining the whole problem of philosophy and defending covenant theology? If we have not really given an answer for the hope that lies within us, does it really matter that we have solved the world’s philosophical problems?
Apologetics must be consistent with Reformed Theology; consequently, it must faithfully declare the covenant as the only way to begin with God. Van Til is correct to think of apologetics in terms of the presupposition for any true knowledge. There first must be a sufficient basis for any predication before we can hope to understand the Gospel. Van Til goes straight to the Ontological Trinity to provide the basis for such predication. I agree, but only if the Ontological Trinity is understood in terms of the covenant. And here is where a major objection to my position comes in. The covenant can only describe the activity of God, not the being of God. We can think of the Economic Trinity in covenantal terms because this term describes the function of each person of the Trinity as God performs the work of redemption. But, the Ontological Trinity, which speaks of God’s essence, is, by definition, outside of the covenant.
This non-covenantal definition of the Ontological Trinity requires a view in which the members of that trinity are equal as to their person. The personal hierarchy within the Economic Trinity is then seen as arising from the will of God. It is, in a sense, arbitrary. There is, in this view, an admirable attempt to stay away from heresies; the chief of which, in regards to the Trinity, has been some form of subordinationism. However, subordinationism involves the claim that the substance and, consequently, the deity of the various persons are different from one another. Yet, no such claim need be connected with the belief in a hierarchy of persons within the Ontological Trinity. And this belief is orthodox. Consider the mode of existence of each person within the Trinity as described in the Athanasian Creed:
"The Father was neither made nor created nor begotten from anyone.
The Son was neither made nor created;
He was begotten from the Father alone.
The Holy Spirit was neither made nor created nor begotten;
He proceeds from the Father and the Son."
The covenant is intimately tied, not only to the activity of the Trinity, but also to its existence. The authority structure necessary to the Intratrinitarian Covenant is found in the Ontological Trinity. The activity of promise and obligation within that structure is found in the Economic Trinity. The Ontological Trinity, the Economic Trinity, and the Intratrinitarian Covenant are co-extensive. The Intratrinitarian Covenant does not come into existence as a result of the Trinity, having decided to redeem the elect, now determining which person gets to perform what task. We need to push the concept of the covenant further back, not merely into the will of God, but into the nature of God. When we strip this covenant of anything contingent, that is, anything relating to the created order; when we consider it as it exists purely within the Trinity, then we see it for what it is. The covenant, that is, covenantal being and activity, is an attribute of the triune God. The communication of this attribute in fashioning Adam as a self-consciously covenantal being constitutes his creation in the Image of God.
If apologetics is to be consistent with Reformed Theology, it must be self-consciously covenantal. But, what does this mean for the actual performance of the apologetical task? In order for the content of our theology to be understood and defended, it must be presented in a covenantal context. To see how this is done, consider the manner in which God has revealed the covenant. In both creation and Scripture, the covenantal context is given simultaneously with the specific content. The explanation and defense of the faith should be no different. Content and context are inseparable.
Although a consistently Reformed defense of the faith requires a covenantal context, this context can only be communicated by means of the Reformed Faith itself. A faithfully Reformed presentation of the Gospel is, at one and the same time, a presentation of its covenantal context. The order of presentation is not a point of indifference. The defense of the faith cannot occur any earlier than the declaration of that faith. The Gospel is its own apologetic.
The power of a thoroughly Reformed apologetic is not found in the brilliance of its argument, but in its connection with the ministry of the Holy Spirit as he works through the proclamation of the Word. Apart from the ministry of the Holy Spirit, the covenant is lifeless and without power to provide the context for anything. Consider again the Glory Cloud as the covenantal model for creation. It is infused with the Holy Spirit. This same Spirit communicates the covenant into the creation. Special Revelation, covenantal in structure, is authored by the Spirit. The preaching of this revelation is turned into a means of grace by the Spirit. The Spirit applies it to those who hear it. The presentation of the Reformed Gospel is made acceptable to the minds of those who hear it only by the active work of the Spirit in applying it to them. The Spirit fulfills his covenantal role in Redemptive History by acting within the context of the covenant as it is faithfully declared.
This started out as a response to a comment over on Nowheresville, USA (from a post on 9/25). It had been suggested that "all of scripture preaches the gospel." I agree with this. This was countered by the example of 1 Chonicles 2. An unsaved person, hearing this chapter preached, would not be able to get the gospel out of it and be saved. I disagree. The following comment first defends the notion that all scripture preaches the gospel by distinguishing between views of how a person is saved. I then offer a way in which the gospel can be seen in I Chronicles 2. Should you choose to continue, you may decide for yourself how far off the mark it is....
I am convinced that the faithful preaching of 1 Chronicles 2 can be an effectual means towards the conversion of the unsaved. Faith comes by hearing the preached word. It is not, as so many in the evangelical world would have it, the result of mental agreement to a series of propositions. As though the Holy Spirit had to await a decision. Before I get chastised for not promoting God's simple plan of salvation, please know that I am not rejecting the teaching of such passages as Romans 10:9-13.
At issue is a consistently Reformed view of how the Holy Spirit brings about salvation. That this is, by far, the minority view has been exacerbated by the fact that many otherwise Reformed Christians have bought into the majority. This view is familiar enough. Tell the unbeliever that he's a sinner, that Jesus died for his sins and then rose again, and now, all he has to do is believe this (look to Jesus, ask Jesus into his heart, pray the sinners prayer, etc.) and he will be saved. Don't get me wrong: many an unbeliever has come to salvation by hearing this account. But it wasn't because Christ is any more the subject of Romans 10 than he is of, say, Numbers 5.
This is what makes faithful preaching, on whatever passage, an effectual means of salvation: all scripture points to the person and work of Christ. It is the job of the preacher to bring this out. Genesis 12 is not a morality tale on lying; 1 Samuel 17 is not about overcoming personal obstacles; Nehemiah is not about leadership principles. These are all about Christ and should be preached in such a way that he is the focus. I do not deny that this can be exceedingly difficult. Hence the need for well-trained ministers.
Romans 10, and passages like it, make such great salvation chapters for the average believer to use because Christ is so obvious in them. Gradually, however, the content of the gospel has been confined to this kind of passage (the Romans road, a few spatterings in John and Revelation, and a couple of places in Isaiah). Consequently, the rest of the Bible is reduced to the status of a practical living manual. And so, the all too common Sunday sermon- Aesop's fables are retold with the names and places changed followed by an unnatural segue into an invitation where the gospel can be presented. And that invitation is important. Heads bowed, eyes closed, hands raised, one more verse. Anything to get them down that aisle, because, if they leave without making a decision, they may never come back and get another opportunity.
So what of the aforementioned consistently Reformed view of salvation? It will depend upon an affirmation of the following sequence: Regeneration precedes faith. This regeneration is nothing less than the supernatural work of the Holy Spirit. In most cases, he uses the instrumentality of the preached word. In his own time, the Holy Spirit will use the preaching of the word to bring one of his elect to life. Having this life, the elect person will believe the content of the preached word. He will desire more of it and will return, thereby growing in the knowledge of Christ. And if he dies before ever getting to the part where Jesus died and rose again, he will still be saved.
Salvation is not to be reduced to believing these pertinent facts about Jesus and then saying a prayer to that effect. It is rather the case that the regenerate person will believe whatever truth he is told about Christ. A regenerate person cannot deny the death and resurrection of Christ, nor his full deity, dual nature, etc. Yet, it is not the case that this person will have heard all of these doctrines at the moment of his regeneration. If he sits under the preaching of the word long enough, he will; for it is the pastor's responsibility to preach the whole counsel of God.
But what, specifically, about 1 Chronicles 2? First, approach it knowing that it is about Christ. Next, put it in context. How does it fit into those chapters immediately surrounding it? into the book (which, despite the division, consists of both 1 and 2 Chronicles)? into the OT? into the Bible as a whole? What are the main themes in these contexts? Or, what are the Christological themes? What is the literary structure? What kind of typology is there? Does the NT intepret any of these?
1 Chronicles 2 lies within the immediate context of the first ten chapters, all of which are genealogies. These are arranged in a chiastic structure that emphasizes the tribe of Levi and the priesthood in chapter 6. All of who are associated with the temple. Chapter 2 narrows right down to the sons of Judah and then to the family of David. Then it appears to get out of order. But this is a deliberate literary device to draw attention to key persons and themes. It starts out with Caleb's line and only gets as far as Bezalel, the grandson of Hur. Then we back up to Hezron and go through some more of his descendents only to end up back at Caleb and then to Hur. Then we note that Hur has more sons than the one mentioned when we saw him last.
Hur is an important anchor. His genealogy last ended with Bezalel. This is the same Bezalel from Exodus 31 who fashioned much of the tabernacle. Note the implicit connection to the temple (cf. ch. 6). However, this is only a minor point here. In the immediate context, the main point is the Davidic dynasty, which is introduced in the first genealogy of chapter 2. When it is mentioned again, it takes up chapter 3. It is emphasized by the use of an inclusio, that is, a set of literary markers that act as bookends. In this case, these are a reference to Hur. Different sections of the genalogies are set off by the combination, "The sons of x....these were the sons of x." [2:25,33; 2:42,50] The same thing happens with the rest of Hur's genalogy (not counting Uri and Bezalel). 2:50-"The sons of Hur the firstborn of Ephrathah" 4:4--"These were the sons of Hur, the firstborn of Ephrathah, the father of Bethlehem." And right in the middle of Hur's genealogy is the Davidic dynasty. David is not one of his descendents. This unusual placement is a way of saying, "This is important."
Notice something else that the author has done. In 2:19, we are told that Hur's mother is "Ephrath." But in the subsequent bookends, this is changed to "Ephrathah." And in 4:4, the city of Bethlehem is mentioned (this is a city, as are several of the names. "Father" should be understood as "ruler" or "founder"). In a section dealing with the clans of Judah, the line of David has been set apart by mention of the terms "Bethlehem" and "Ephrathah." This is not coincidence. Chronicles is a post-exilic book whose audience would have been aware of Micah 5:2-"But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are too little to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days."
The main themes of the book have already been identified in the genealogies. The primary theme is the temple. The remaining narrative sections of Chronicles are divided up into units. Most of these are structured so as to point to the temple. The book ends with the decree of Cyrus to rebuild the temple, which, years earlier, had been destroyed. And now, let the NT interpret this final image- "Destroy this temple and I will raise it up." Chronicles is a theology of the temple written for the encouragement of those post-exilic Jews who had gone back to rebuild it.
But alongside the theme of the temple is that of the Davidic dynasty. These are interwoven in the Davidic Covenant recorded in I Chronicles 17. There, David wanted to build a house, or a temple, for the Lord. The Lord refuses, saying that David's son will do it instead. But he makes this promise in v. 10-"Moreover, I declare to you that the Lord will build you a house." David's son would be confirmed in this house forever and his throne would be established forever.
Both the temple house and the Davidic house are themes that find their fulfillment in Christ. Both are introduced in 1 Chronicles 2. When considered in its overall context, the gospel is in this text.
In the so far ongoing epistemology comments, Abraham was mentioned in regard to his sacrifice of Isaac. This reminded me of the paper that I wrote for Dr. Davis' Epistemology class, in which I refer to Abraham (albeit a different incident). I'm not sure that it has much to do with what's being said; I only put it here because I happened to think about it. I've made some minor stylistic changes and have also incorporated the footnotes into the main text, both references and comments. Other than that, it is substantially the same. Since writing it, I have continued to study the implications of the covenants. Consequently, I don't know that I would have written it the same way now or that I would still defend every point. As many who have taken Dr. Davis will know, non-Philosopophy majors, or those doubling in something else, were required to focus their papers on the other major. I had to write something relating Epistemology to Biblical Studies. The title should explain enough to determine if you want to continue reading or just go on to your next scheduled blog.
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It is a peculiar feature of the Christian life that, as our satisfaction with the things of God increases, so does our desire for them. The more we mature in our knowledge of God, the more ignorant we realize we are. This principle can be seen in Genesis 15. In this chapter, God appears to Abraham and assures him that his offspring will be as the stars in the heavens. It is recorded in vs. 6 (NIV) that "Abraham believed the LORD, and he credited it to him as righteousness." It is important to note here that this is the passage that Paul quotes to indicate that Abraham had saving faith. One would think that no further assurances would be necessary. But then a surprising thing happens. God goes on to tell Abraham that he will take possession of the land that he is in, whereupon Abraham asks, "How can I know that I will gain possession of it?" If Abraham already had faith in what God had said, and that a saving faith, then why this request for further assurance?
It would be a mistake to conclude that Abraham only had faith in the part about descendants but not about possession of the land. These are not two separate promises but aspects of the same promise. This promise is first given in Genesis 12:1-3— The LORD had said to Abram, "Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you."
This is the Covenant promise, which is mentioned in the New Testament as "the promise." Paul refers to it in Galatians 3:29-If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise.
In his sermon at Pentecost, Peter connects this promise with the sacrament of baptism. Acts 2:38,39- "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call."
So then, back to the original question. Why the necessity to be more sure of what one already believes? Geerhardus Vos observes the following concerning this account of Abraham:
Faith and a desire for faith frequently go hand in hand. The reason is that through faith we lay hold upon God, and in grasping the infinite object, the utter inadequacy of each single act of approbation immediately reveals itself in the very act. It is the same in the Gospel:
'Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief [Mark 9.24] (Biblical Theology, p.83).
The important thing to notice now is the manner in which God answers Abraham. He does so through sacramental means. Because a sacrament is used to answer a request for increased assurance, I would like to argue that it is a function of sacraments to ground our faith and, in so doing, to act as a source of warrant for our knowledge of the truths of that faith. This is accomplished in two ways. First, as signs, the sacraments, just like the Scriptures, are examples of special revelation. Second, as seals, they confirm what has already been promised. Finally, I would like to suggest a way in which people come to know that the sacraments mean something to them.
In his chapter entitled The Content of Pre-Redemptive Special Revelation, Vos argues for special revelation that is not the same as God's Word:
Everything connected with this disclosure is exceedingly primitive. It is largely symbolical, that is, not expressed in words so much as in tokens; and these tokens partake of the general character of Biblical symbolism in that, besides being means of instruction, they are also typical, that is, sacramental, prefigurations conveying assurance concerning the future realization of the things symbolized. The symbolism, however, does not lie in the account as a literary form, which would involve denial of the historical reality of the transactions. It is a real symbolism embodied in actual things (BT, p.27).
Three things should be readily noticed here: l) Sacraments are Symbols, 2) they convey assurance of the things symbolized, and 3) the symbolism is found in the actual things, not in the account of these things. This last point is important if the sacraments are not going to be a superfluous addendum to scripture.
There were, according to Vos, three sacraments (or sacramental Symbols) before the fall. The tree of life, symbolizing the principle of life; the tree of knowledge of good and evil, symbolizing the principle of probation; and the serpent, symbolizing the principle of temptation and sin.
It is important to note that none of these are sacramental to us. For us, there is no distinction between the Symbols and their record in scripture. However, to Adam and Eve, the people alive at that period of history in which they were given, these were sacraments. In much the same way, circumcision and the Passover are not, in their particular historical forms, sacramental to us. We come to know what they meant to God's people in a certain historical epoch by reading their account in scripture. The sacramental significance was to those who were circumcised and to those who partook of the Passover.
Why is this important? Because if the sacramental significance of a thing is found only in its account rather than in its necessary tie to an historical epoch, the sacraments that have been given to the people in that epoch become superfluous. Both sacraments and scripture are special revelation. As the revelation of God is either fulfilled or added onto verbally, the sacraments of prior epochs become obsolete. Newer revelation conveys the same thing. Circumcision and the Passover were both fulfilled in the revelation of Christ. We are now living in the period of God's final revelation, in which he has spoken unto us by his Son. However, because we are also living before the consummation of all things, we too have been provided with sacraments.
Baptism and Communion are the sacraments given to us at this time in history. As such, it must be assumed that they convey a special meaning to us that cannot be gleaned through scripture alone. If this were not the case, then, just as we can sufficiently understand the sacraments of the past by reading about them, so too could we understand those of the present simply by reading about them. Why actually partake of the Lord's Supper when doing so is no more advantageous than hearing a biblical explanation of it?
The sacraments of a given period in history are special revelation to the people therein. Because we can assume that special revelation comes from God and that whatever God reveals is true, we can be warranted in the knowledge that this provides us.
A second way in which the sacraments warrant knowledge is by confirming to us what God has already revealed in his Word. Calvin has the following to say in his Institutes of the Christian Religion IV. 14.5:
Nor are those to be listened to who oppose this view with a more subtle than solid dilemma. They argue thus: We either know that the word of God which precedes the sacrament is the true will of God, or we do not know it. If we know it, we learn nothing new from the sacrament which succeeds. If we do not know it, we cannot learn it from the sacrament, whose whole efficacy depends on the word. Our brief reply is:
The seals which are affixed to diplomas, and other public deeds, are nothing considered in themselves, and would be affixed to no purpose if nothing was written on the parchment, and yet this does not prevent them from sealing and confirming when they are appended to writings. It cannot be alleged that this comparison is a recent fiction of our own, since Paul himself used it, terming circumcision a seal, (Rom. 4: 11,) where he expressly maintains that the circumcision of Abraham was not for justifications but was an attestation to the covenant, by the faith of which he had been previously justified. And how, pray, can any one be greatly offended when we teach that the promise is sealed by the sacrament, since it is plain, from the promises themselves, that one promise confirms another?
We can see this confirmation of a promise by going back to Genesis 15. After
believing the promise made to him by God, Abraham, in asking God how he can know, is essentially asking God to ratify what he has promised. What God does has a two-fold significance. It is in keeping with the contemporary covenant ratification practices of the time: covenants in that day are typically cut. And it sacramentally symbolizes God's final ratification of this covenant, which is his own death.
Whereas, in order to give greater assurance that we intend to keep our word, we might affix our signature to it, the process was different in Abraham's day. The covenant in question was that between a superior and an inferior. Essentially, the superior would make certain promises to the inferior, such as protection from enemies, in exchange for obedience to a list of conditions. Since both parties had obligations, both typically ratified the covenant. The bodies of various animals were cut in two while both sides involved in the covenant walked between them. The idea being that, if any one of them broke the terms of the covenant, they would become like those animals. This time it was different. After Abraham had cut the animals in half, he fell into a deep sleep. God then walked between the pieces alone, signifying that he alone would bear the covenant curse no matter who broke it. This is the unconditional covenant; the covenant of grace.
We know through God's Word, and Abraham knew both sacramentally and through God's Word, that what God said was sure. Hebrews 6:17-19— Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
We are still left with the conditional covenant; that of works. This is most clearly seen in the subsequent if/then propositions that God makes to his people, most, if not all, of which are contained in the Law. But it is not as if the Law was arbitrarily added. God wasn't going back on his word. The covenant curse under which God placed himself makes no sense apart from the Law. The covenant of works came first. This was the covenant symbolized to Adam in pre-redemptive special revelation. Meredith Kline observes that, "Coherence can be achieved in Covenant Theology only by the Subordination of grace to law" (By Oath Consigned, p.35).
Because a covenant rests upon the word of God, who cannot lie, he was not at liberty to throw out the covenant of works in favor of a new improved version. This should provide a measure of comfort to those who realize that his character also prevents him from discarding the covenant of grace.
Because the covenant of grace did not replace that of works but was concurrent, another sacramental sign was given in Genesis 17. That circumcision is primarily symbolic of the covenant of works can be seen in the penalty for not being circumcised: being cut off from his people for breaking the covenant.
In the years since the first advent of Christ, baptism has replaced circumcision as the sign of the covenant. But this should not be taken to mean that somehow grace has been given the primacy over works. Far from being benign, baptism finds its roots in ancient water ordeals:
Illustrative is the case dealt with in the second law of Hammurapi's Code. The accused was required to cast himself into the river. The word used for river in this law is preceded by the determinative for deity. The concept was, therefore, that the accused was casting himself into the hands of the divine judge who would declare the verdict. Emergence from the divine waters of ordeal would signify vindication: "If the River shows that man to be innocent and he comes forth safe," he shall dispossess his false accuser and the latter shall be put to death. But, "if the River overpowers him, his accuser shall take possession of his estate" (BOC, p. 55).
John the Baptist was the last of the Old Testament prophets. The Messiah was
about to come in judgment upon his people unless they kept the terms of the covenant. John's "baptism was not an ordinance to be observed by Israel in their generations but a special sign for that terminal generation epitomizing the particular crises in covenant history represented by John as messenger of the Lord's Ultimatum" (BOC, p. 61). The baptism of John was sacramental within a particular historical epoch.
It is significant that "the passing of Jesus through the divine judgment in the water rite in the Jordan meant to John's baptism what the passing of Yahweh through the curse of the knife rite of Genesis 15 meant to Abraham's circumcision" (BOC, p. 61). This is how the covenants of works and of grace are harmonized. God takes upon himself the penalty due us when the covenant of works was broken. In so doing, he enters into a covenant of grace with his people. Again, Kline, "In each case the divine action constituted an invitation to all recipients of these covenant signs of consecration to identify themselves by faith with the Lord himself in their passage through the ordeal."
Although Christian baptism is not identical to that ofJ ohn, it does derive much of its significance from it. The sacrament of baptism, as did that of circumcision, conveys a two-fold message. For those who are covenant breakers, it is the assurance that they will one day be cut off though the judgment of God. To those who in faith have been identified with Christ, it is the assurance that Christ has kept the covenant for them.
It has not been within the scope of this paper to deal very much with the sacrament of communion. I do, however, believe it to carry the same kind of covenanantal significance. Jesus did call it the New Covenant in his blood and Paul speaks of eating and drinking damnation to ourselves. As it has been seen, the sacraments convey warrant for belief both in their functions as signs and as seals. However, both ways beg the question of subjectivity. For the former, how do we know that God is actually the one behind the special revelation? For the latter, how do we distinguish genuine faith from a subjective feeling of identification with Christ? The answer, I believe, is found in the fact that the Holy Spirit gives us the ability to perceive the things of God, as though we had a spiritual sense.
If we believe that man is not just physical, that he has a spiritual nature;
if we believe that spiritual beings, such as angels, have the capacity to sense the world around them; then it shouldn't be a stretch to believe that God can create in our spiritual natures the ability to perceive spiritual truths. Calvin says in the Institutes IV. 14.9:
But suppose it is true that what sight does in our eyes for seeing light, and what hearing does in our ears for perceiving a voice, are analogous to the work of the Holy Spirit in our hearts, which is to conceive, sustain, nourish, and establish faith. Then both of these things follow: the sacraments profit not a whit without the power of the Holy Spirit, and nothing prevents them from strengthening and enlarging faith in hearts already taught by that Schoolmaster. There is only this difference: that our ears and eyes have naturally received the faculty of hearing and seeing; but Christ does the same thing in our hearts by special grace beyond the measure of nature.
That the sacraments are a means of grace is seen to be all the more true. The Holy Spirit uses both the sacraments and the sacramental aspect of preaching to effect our regeneration. It is in this regeneration that he gives us the eyes and ears of faith. Our faith then perceives what is revealed through the sacraments and grows thereby. Belief in the things of God is not the result of a rationalistic process. It comes about simply by perceiving what God has placed in front of us. Belief is no more a work than is seeing or hearing our natural world. But it only comes to those to whom God has given eyes to see and ears to hear.
Anyone who kept up with the Wittenburg Door at Covenant while I was there may recognize this; it will be new to everyone else. I wrote it shortly after 9/11/2001 in the context of a discussion over whether we could view the attack on the Twin Towers as the judgment of God. Some people were saying absolutely not while others thought that God's judgment was obvious. I got the impression that they might have been talking around each other. It is not a rare practice among fundamentalist types to identify a specific catastrophe as God's judgment upon a specific sin. I've actually heard it preached that such and such a storm, explosion, social problem, or whatever was the result of anything from legalized abortion and tolerance of homosexuals to taking prayer out of the public schools and the appearance of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show to the translation of the wicked NIV. However, as far as I could tell, no one in the discussion at Covenant was claiming anything like this. I wrote this post, originally entitled, "Reading Job," in an attempt to draw a distinction between this kind of ignorance and a legitimate recognition of God's judgment. Because it was written with the assumption that the readers could easily reference previous posts on the subject, I have changed parts of it to make it stand better on its own.
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Shortly after the events of 9/11, there was much talk about the role of God in major displays of evil. Is there a free will defense; God allowing evil to happen so as not to violate our autonomy? A viable defense in some parts of Christendom, perhaps, but not among those who claim to be Reformed. There remains the necessity, in all of our thoughts about God, not to compromise his sovereignty. Many Christians have looked at past calamities and jumped to the conclusion that, obviously, God is judging group A for sin B. The result being that they are able to rest comfortably in their own righteousness. Lack of judgment implies lack of sin. The same attitude is found in the pages of scripture. Take the disciples in their inquiry concerning the man born blind, "Who sinned, this man or his parents?" Jesus responded, "Neither." This should not be taken as any indication that the man or his parents were free from sin. The same thing applies when we read the book of Job: we should not see his description as blameless and upright as any indication that he was free from original sin and, therefore, immune from the condemnation of God. If we keep in mind Job's original sin and God's right to judge original sin, this will go a long way towards understanding how God could maintain his justice in the midst of Job's afflictions.
Job's friends made the same mistake that the disciples made and that many people today make. They assumed that Job must have committed something particularly atrocious in order to deserve what was happening to him. They assured him that, if he would just turn from these wicked deeds, God would relent. The principle behind this is often true; however, they absolutized it. By doing this, God was turned into nothing more than a genie. God condemns Job's friends; nevertheless, it wasn't because they assumed that Job's afflictions were the result of God's judgment. The problem came in the specifics of their assumption. God's stated reason for condemning them was that they had not spoken of him what was right (42:7).
If it is wrong to say that particular event A is God's judgment for particular sins B, isn't this in part because it is wrong to presume to know the mind of God when he has not revealed his specific intent? [There may be just such a correlation, but we have no way or right to point it out.] I find it hard to disagree. Yet, at the same time, I do not find warrant for retreating into the idea that all of God's works are mysterious to the degree that we can say nothing about them. It is correct to say that the ways of God remain hidden unless he chooses to make them the subject of revelation. It is not appropriate, however, to suggest that events occurring after the completion of the canon and, therefore, after the end of revelation, cannot themselves be the subjects of revelation. Once God has revealed how and when he acts among men, we can assume that he is unchangeable in this regard. We know of the efficacy of the prayers of the righteous because God reveals this in scripture. But we are not confined to attributing to God only the answers to those prayers for which we specifically see examples in scripture. We need not wonder if the answers to our prayers were actually just coincidence. But this assurance is only possible because of the revelation of God. In the same way, many historical events in the Bible are interpreted for us as acts of God's judgment. There is no reason to suppose that the same assumption cannot be made of historical events not recorded in scripture. What we are barred from assuming is who is being judged and why, specifically, it is happening. This would be a presumptuous intrusion into the mind of God. On the other hand, to claim that we cannot say whether or not present day calamities are the judgment of God is equally presumptuous in its willful ignorance of previous revelation.
God did condemn Job's three friends, but this wasn't because they had assumed that Job's afflictions were the result of the judgment of God. This assumption, in itself, was correct. Elihu also presupposed God's judgment, yet he was not condemned. The difference was not in assuming the fact of judgment. It was that Elihu preserved God's sovereignty and holiness when the three friends had not. Elihu understood the sovereign right of God in exercising judgment. This is because he believed in total depravity and original sin and, with this, the necessary idea that all men are already deserving of God's judgment. He expressed this idea in Job 34:23,24, "God has no need to examine men further, that they should come before him for judgment. Without inquiry he shatters the mighty and sets up others in their place." If our paradigm is an assumption of the basic goodness of mankind, we become incredulous at the idea that God's judgment could actually be behind the world's catastrophes. However, if we adopt a view of man's guilt before a holy God, there is no problem in interpreting tragedy as the judgment of God. The wonder comes when we also recognize the intermittent periods of relative peace as the undeserved mercy of God.
The question now is one of relevance. How does knowing that God performs his judgment in historical events rise above the level of academic philosophizing? Precisely in this: that in both mercy and judgment the message is repentance. Note Paul's comments in Romans 2:1-5, "You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. Now we know that God's judgment against those who do such things is based on truth. So when you, a mere man, pass judgment on them and yet do the same things, do you think you will escape God's judgment? Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you toward repentance? But because of your stubbornness and your unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath against yourself for the day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed."
Paul speaks of a 'day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed.' This is a reference to the Day of the Lord, which is the culmination of history. It is a day in which both the justice and mercy of God will be revealed in their full glory, when the sheep will be separated from the goats, the righteous brought into the presence of the Lord, and the wicked consigned to hell. This Day is a major theme of scripture, especially of prophecy. From it flow all of God's acts in history, both cursing and blessing. The love of God for his church is not adequately comprehended unless it is placed in contrast to his hatred for his enemies. When we see God's kindness, tolerance, and patience we also see that these presuppose his right to judge and we are lead toward repentance. It also works the other way.
Luke 13:1-5 records the following incident, "Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish." Jesus is correcting the already mentioned assumption that those who are suffering tragedy must be under God's judgment because of some especially heinous sin. But notice that he is not correcting the idea that such events are indeed the judgment of God. They are not the final judgment of God: there is no reason to believe that all who died in them were eternally lost. They do, however, find their source in this final judgment and, in so doing, cry out for our repentance lest we too should perish. And just as it should not be thought that those on whom the tower fell had not repented, even so it should not be thought that repentance will save us from falling towers. Such an attitude may lead to a faulty conception of repentance. Repentance does indeed start when we stop and think of our own sins, but it also goes far beyond that. It is the forsaking of evil and following after the righteous law of God. This is only possible when we are granted faith to believe the gospel of redemption and judgment. Redemption of God's church at the price of the judgment of his Son.
This began as response to the first entry in Credo Ut Intelligam but it just kept getting longer, so I brought it over here. The question was, "Do we need an epistemology?" I only deal with one aspect of that post; nevertheless, it's probably best to read it first.
The situation of the child whose mother loves him is not all that clear to me. A pre-Gettier epistemologist may have argued that the child only has a true belief; he is incapable of knowledge as such precisely because he does not know what knowledge is. Now that this is no longer considered to be the case, it does not clearly follow that "a child may know that his mother loves him without knowing what knowledge is."
There are at least three options. The first would agree with the original conclusion that the child is capable of nothing more than true belief. Not, however, because he doesn't know what knowledge is, which he still doesn't, but because there is no proof that knowledge as such even exists.
The next two options may be expressed by the statement that has been given: a child does not need to know what knowledge is in order to know that his mother loves him. The first of these would deny the necessity of epistemology without also denying the existence of knowledge. But this would be a mere assertion. When this is weighed against the first option of the three, there is really no good reason to prefer it. We may want to adopt it because the thought that knowledge does not exist could be psychologically intolerable. Still, psychological intolerability does imply logical impossibility. It may actually be the case that knowledge does not exist. And we would never know it. Indeed, between the two already mentioned options, the first appears to be the more likely, since, not making any positive assertions about knowledge, there is no need to account for a sufficient cause to knowledge. The second option does make such a positive assertion, and, therefore, does need to provide a sufficient cause for its assertion (it only needs to do this because the first option exists); however, it does not.
The third option is that while the child does not need to know what knowledge is to know that his mother loves him, there is, nevertheless, an account for the child's knowledge. That is, the child's condition does not negate the existence of epistemology. Still, to say that there is an account for the child's knowledge means nothing if no one is able to provide that account. Epistemology, while it may exist, is moot and the third option is no less of an assertion than the second.
Before answering the question of whether a child may know about his mother's love regardless of his knowledge of knowledge, it is necessary to determine whether or not knowledge is possible. Neither of the three options will help us here since they each must presuppose one or the other answer to this question. At this point, we'll engage in some Christian cheating and turn to special revelation. The Bible claims the existence of knowledge; consequently, the first option is no longer available.
We must now determine whether an account for knowledge is sufficient to account for the specific knowledge that the child's mother loves him. Either way, the second option is out. If the answer is yes, then the second option cannot be distinguished from the third option. If it is no, then the second option must give way to the third option. In the case of the child, there is no compelling reason to decide. Even if it were determined that the second option is invalid and that there is an account, which can be provided, for the specific knowledge of his mother's love, would it really be necessary to provide this account? It's not as though anyone is challenging the child.
At this point, the illustration of mother and child becomes inadequate. When talking about the child's knowledge of his mother's love, it really doesn't matter if there is an epistemology or not. But is this illustration exhaustive? Could there be cases for which knowledge is possible, for which there is an account for the specific knowledge of that case, and for which it is necessary to provide that account? I believe that there are and I would identify at least one of them as a contextual point to this whole conversation: doctrinal disputes within the church (the possibility that the Van Til/Clark debates may have risen to nothing higher than philosophical disputes does not negate the point).
I should clarify that the necessity to provide an account for true belief is not so that this belief will qualify as knowledge. If this were the case, then we would have to say that an account must also be given for the child's belief that his mother loves him. The need to provide this account is only necessary to the defense of an already extant knowledge. The necessity for this defense arises because of what could be at stake.
Some doctrinal errors are damnable heresies. If the church is to make an authoritative pronouncement on these matters, as it has done in the past, then certain conditions must be true. 1) There must exist the ability for knowledge in general. 2) There must be an account for the specific knowledge in question. 3) This account must actually be provided. If it is not, then doctrinal differences become matters of opinion. Who's to say then whether the church councils were right and whether the subsequent Creeds based upon these decisions are all that reliable?
Of course, the non-believer may argue that, because Christian doctrine is a priori irrelevant, then the existence of epistemology has not been demonstrated. Were this the case, I would agree. I have already argued that the answer to the question of the possibility of knowledge as such can only be found through revelation. The non-believer has no basis for believing in epistemology. However, since I do hold to the Creeds, I must conclude that just as faith in divine revelation is necessary to an epistemological foundation, an epistemological foundation is necessary to Creedal Christianity.
What are the standards for humility in the face of martyrdom? I recently had the chance to reread the St. Crispin’s day speech from King Henry V. Ever since first running across this play, I have become increasingly impressed with Shakespeare’s portrayal of Henry as a Christ figure. In this speech, Henry encourages his men with the honor that will be theirs for fighting in the upcoming battle. The battle is not to be fought by just anyone. Henry makes it clear that he does not want to be in the company of those who have no stomach for this sort of thing. He will, in fact, give such men safe passage home. The honor is to go only to those who have joined together in a fellowship of death. Death, however, is not the point. There is no desire here on the king’s part to end his existence. He covets honor and will share it with all those who are united with him. Henry declares all those who shed their blood with him to be his brothers. Yet, this doesn’t mean stoic resignation. This shedding of blood serves as the basis for the relationship; by serving as a purification, or, in more theological terms, a blood atonement, it becomes a bond of eternal reconciliation between Henry and the vilest of men. “This day,” he declares, “shall gentle his condition.” The St. Crispin’s day speech is not about death. It is an affirmation of life and, by showing how this band of brothers will be remembered until the end of the world, of resurrection.
It is a popular conception of salvation that Christ died so that we would not have to. Not to diminish the doctrine of vicarious atonement, but this is not the whole story. Paul does say that he lives “by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” But this is not life that has escaped death; it is life that has gone through death. Paul begins this passage by saying, “I have been crucified with Christ.” Christ died, not that we might avoid death, but that, dying with him, we might also be raised with him into eternal life. Paul’s doctrine of his union with the sufferings of Christ did not stop at the forensic aspects of the crucifixion. He identified his whole life with that of Christ. It was his desire to know Christ-“the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings.” He even wanted those in the church to join with him in this privilege. Two things had been granted to them: to believe on Christ and to suffer. This was not suffering for its own sake, but for the sake of Christ. It would result in everyone attaining the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Paul was so taken up with his identification with Christ that he now wanted what Christ had earned, both for himself and for other believers. But this was far from impudence on his part. More than anything, the apostle was overwhelmed with a sense of godly covetousness.
Death is vicious. Christ has tamed it. A necessity of the curse becomes a portal to glory. In the opening chapters of Genesis, two genealogies are recorded in close proximity. One is a simple list from Cain to Lamech. The other records the progression of the covenant line. With one notable exception, this genealogy bears a consistent refrain absent in the first: “and he died.” The story of Enoch is miraculous, yet, it does not distinguish itself by showing how unfortunate the other people in his family line were. It is, rather, a sign pointing to their ultimate end. These were the people of the Lord; consequently, he regarded their deaths as something precious. The consistent refrain is not evidence of God’s displeasure; it is a badge of honor. Not death in itself: anyone can die. The honor belongs to all whose lives have testified of Christ and to no one else. As Henry said, “We would not die in that man’s company that fears his fellowship to die with us.”
All of this by way of background. I had been thinking along these lines when I ran across this response by Josiah in which, based on the fact that the groups with which we associate ourselves are relatively insignificant in the larger scheme of the world, he makes a plea for humility when it comes to knowledge claims. There very well may be objective truth, but how can we know that we have it? In many cases, he’s right. We should, perhaps, question our sense of omniscience and take other people’s views into consideration. Yet, as appropriate as his argument may have been in its original context (I do not wish to address this), my recent thoughts alerted me to a glaring exception. He spoke of our slice of the church and, yes, I do admit that, at times, we can get a bit carried away with our denominational distinctives. But how do our common confessions speak of the church? We believe in the holy catholic church. This is a catholicity that extends, not only to the elect who have yet to pass through death for themselves, but to the elect of all time.
As is always the case in literature, the analogy breaks down at some point. Henry speaks of his band of brothers as “we few, we happy few.” Not so with the fellowship of the redeemed. We are part of a multitude without number whose significance is eternal. Still, we have no chance of fully grasping the magnitude of our situation until Christ returns or until we can be counted among those of whom it is written “and he died.” If we have trouble comprehending our own significance, how much less must the world see it? We do need to act with extreme humility. So I return to my original question. What are the standards for humility in the face of martyrdom?
I have chosen to qualify the question in this manner because it is our status as martyrs that identifies us as a part of the catholic church. Not that our deaths will always be the direct result of our testimony for Christ, but because they will always attest to the fact that we have been crucified with Christ. Remember the gifts of Christ. Belief and suffering go hand in hand. But what if we are called upon to die for our faith? Martyrs, in this restricted sense of the word, are almost always executed because it is understood that they are making a knowledge claim. They refuse to recant the knowledge that is theirs due to the revelation of Christ. In the last book written before his own execution, Paul asserts, “I know whom I have believed.” This is certainly a knowledge claim and it was spoken in humility; however, it was not the kind humility that questioned the possibility of his knowledge. It was humility before his Lord. Such knowledge had been revealed to him; he dare not pretend ignorance.
Paul knew that he was part of something much larger than himself. Not only in the hours before his death, but throughout his life as a convert he attested to this fact. He was a martyr all along. The same must be true of us. As Christians, we can never let the rest of the world think that we regard our faith as anything less than gospel truth. If we do, we might find ourselves to have been excluded from the fellowship. The king will give us safe passage home and enter into his honor without us.
This was originally supposed to join all the other comments under Josiah’s Mel Gibson post, but I figured it would end up being unshort enough to put over here.
First, to Bill: Josiah’s explanation of the passage “to the Jews first” was not primarily meant to explain the extent of the term “Greeks.” Yes, we are all in agreement that “Greeks” equals the rest of the world. The extreme bit of exegesis comes in assuming that Paul’s description of his own ministry should serve as a paradigm for our understanding of the role of the Bible today, as though Jews were currently in some privileged position to receive its message first. The church is built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets; consequently, apostolic practice is not always an example to be emulated but is often a foundation upon which to build. Paul’s ministry reflected the historic progression of God’s people from the particular nation of Israel to the universal church. He lived in a period of transition when there still existed those Jews who, although not Christians, were still saved. They believed the OT prophecies of the coming Messiah. All Paul had to do was tell them about the existence of Jesus and that he was, in fact, this Messiah. Only after Paul had fulfilled his duty toward the believing remnant of Israel could he then go about the task of bringing the gospel to the Gentiles.
I, too, share many of your concerns about the Roman Catholic Church; however, I would like to limit these to the points under dispute in the Protestant Reformation. Your contention that “the Catholics rarely use the Bible for the basis of anything they do” is a demonstrably untrue generalization. The problem within Catholicism comes, not from their lack of regard for scripture, but from their equal, if not greater, regard for their own tradition. I am not denouncing tradition as such. Tradition, as Nick as pointed out, is authoritative. But this is only true insofar as its source is authoritative. Paul commands the Thessalonians to withdraw themselves from every brother who does not walk “after the tradition, which he received from us.” Again, he is not using himself as an example whereby future leaders in the church may now develop their own traditions to be followed. He is claiming the unique right of the Apostles to establish the traditional foundation for the church. This tradition is nothing more nor less than their practice and teaching, which has been recorded in scripture.
We are agreed on the possibility of knowing what the Bible means. Still, I disagree with your individualistic approach (either that, or I am not clear on your position). Your rhetorical question on how we come to know this, “From a professor at a Christian institution/university or by the Holy Spirit?” evidences a false dichotomy. The Holy Spirit illuminates scripture through the ministry of the church. This means Apostolic Tradition, which is reflected in Ecumenical Creeds and Councils, Confessions of Faith, the counsel of elders, or the sermons of a pastor. If a professor at a Christian University, or any one else for that matter, is in line with that teaching, then they are also included among the instruments that the Holy Spirit uses to explain his word. You may have been including some or all of these under the Holy Spirit, but, if you meant to suggest that the Holy Spirit shows you things apart from these means, well, no he doesn’t. I do not deny the Holy Spirit’s raw ability in this matter, since this is pretty much what he did for the Apostles and Prophets. However, the revealed nature and function of the Church precludes any possibility that he would continue to act in such a manner. There is no need to rebuild the foundation.
Josiah, you may be right that we should be able to learn from the Baptist tradition despite the fact that many within it, having missed the point of the gospel, are ungracious and unloving. But this does not translate into doing the same thing for the Roman Catholic Church. The difference is this: the Baptists that you encountered were largely influenced by a sociological phenomenon intersecting their religious tradition. The Baptist religion, considered in itself, is faithful to the gospel. The Catholic religion is not. The Council of Trent, insofar as it codified Rome's disagreement with the Reformers, essentially defined the gospel out of existence.
As to your charge that Baptists weren’t around during the Reformation, some may not agree. Modern day Baptists do not claim a single heritage. Some claim to be descendents of the Anabaptists, who were around at the time. This is especially prevalent among a group that denies the existence of the universal church. They are known as the Landmark Baptists, or “Baptist Briders” (I was a member of two of these churches and once held to the position). Basically, Baptists are not viewed as Protestants because, supposedly, they never broke away from the Catholic Church. Instead, these Baptists trace an unbroken lineage back to John the Baptist (yes, Jesus had to be baptized into his own church). Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists, Anglicans- your average paedobaptists, are seen as wimpy Catholics.
While I think I agree with the spirit of what you’re saying about treating other Christian religious viewpoints with humility, I’m not sure if I like the way it’s coming across. It sounds like, “Sure, Biblical truth is important, but, since no one can nail down just what that truth is, we should all be humble about each other’s points of view and learn from them.” Biblical truth was intended to be understood. We can and should know it well enough to recognize error. The exercise of humility would then come in how we deal with that error. Like I said, we are probably in agreement, but, having been one, I can say that the way you are making your point is playing right into the dispensational Baptists’ hands. Their literal interpretation of scripture is characterized by a Euclidian precision. And, as you may guess, anyone following this hermeneutical principle would not see any validity in the distinction between Biblical truth and the subjective understanding of that truth.