A Brief History of Predestination (3 of 4)
Theological Letters
A friend, “Moses,” reached out to me in search of a “pithy” explanation of how the Eastern Church fathers understand predestination. I provided an answer that was relatively brief but not quite pithy. I, then, decided to follow that reply with a more thorough treatment of the topic. In a word, I offered a brief history of the doctrine of predestination in the Christian East and West. My first post looked at the Latin views prior to Augustine as well as the Augustinian shift. My second covered the medieval developments in the wake of Augustine. Today, I will look at the Reformation disputes that followed, and part 4 will explore how the Christian East contrasts with this Latin history. Once I’ve posted all three, I’ll supply my not-so-pithy explanation that occasioned this history.
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Dear “Moses” continued —
Reformation and Post-Reformation Views on Predestination
When surveying Reformation and post-Reformation views on predestination, we see there’s nothing new under the sun. Gregory of Rimini’s double predestination is an early version of the Reformed (or “Calvinist”) position.1 Peter Aureol offers a theory of general election not unlike the Remonstrant (or Arminian) view. The single predestination of the Lutherans is in keeping with early scholastics, such as Thomas Aquinas. Even the protestant discussion about the order of divine decrees (e.g., Does God foreknow the Fall and then elect to salvation or elect and then decree the Fall?) finds precedent in John Duns Scotus’ “instances of nature.” As for the Roman Catholic position in the counter-Reformation, the Council of Trent reiterates the essential components of Augustine’s post-Pelagius views.
The most significant shift in the Reformation and post-Reformation (hereafter “RPR”) is not about predestination but about the nature of grace and salvation, the very debate that sparked the Reformation. So let’s begin there.
A rather common simplification of the divide between protestants and Roman Catholics is that the former believe a person is saved by grace through faith while the latter believes a person is saved by works. Contrary to this caricature, both parties believe a person is saved by grace alone.
As we saw in post-Pelagius Augustine, man unaided by grace is incapable of performing deeds pleasing to God. This is true of Adam before the Fall and of his progeny after. Such is the nature-grace divide. Only with divine aid, or “grace,” can man perform deeds that are salvific in effect. Adam was given such grace from the start, but having fallen from grace, he and his progeny are stained with guilt and bear disordered loves that taint every deed with sin. Fallen man, therefore, sins by necessity. Whatever the outward character of his deeds, lawful or unlawful, the inner character is sinful and has no merit before God. Guilt is washed away in baptism — and subsequently in reconciliation (or confession). As for the creature’s spiritual impotence, God must reorder the creature’s inner loves if he is to perform salvific deeds. Such grace, if given, does not override the will but enables the creature to act meritoriously. Yet, the choice of whether to do so falls to the creature. When a person cooperates with grace, he produces merits toward his salvation. — In the medieval period, the notion of indulgences also emerged, whereby the surplus of merits produced by the Saints can be imputed to the sinner as well. — In this view, is the person saved by works or by grace? In keeping with Augustine, they are saved by grace. For they could not produce merits without divine aid. Hence, if the redeemed are rewarded for grace-infused deeds, God merely rewards what he put into them in the first place. Yes, good works are required for salvation. But such works are only possible because of the grace at work within the sinner. Such was the Roman Catholic position in the RPR disputes.
The protestant shift retained the infrastructure of medieval Roman Catholicism. The majority of Reformers retained the nature-grace divide; affirmed original sin, with both inherited guilt and the will’s inability to perform deeds pleasing to God; retained the notion of merits and demerits and their relevance to salvation and damnation; and even accepted the medieval notion that merits and demerits are transferable from one person to another. The shift concerned whose merits garner salvation. Rather than suggesting that grace enables the Fallen creature to perform salvific deeds, the Reformers argued that the work of the Holy Spirit in conversion enables a person to place their faith in Christ. The result of such faith is that believer’s demerits are imputed to Christ and paid for by his crucifixion, and Christ’s merits are imputed to the believer, making him righteous before God. Yes, the believer undergoes a process of change for the better, but sin continues to taint all of his deeds; thus he contributes nothing to his salvation, since he cannot produce merits even with the help of grace. So the case goes, the believer is saved by grace (here read as undeserved favor from imputed merits) through faith (as opposed to grace-infused deeds) alone.
Both parties, then, agree on the nature-grace divide, the post-Fall condition, the inability of the Fallen creature to remedy his condition, the need for grace to open the door to salvation, and that salvation is attributable to grace alone. The dispute concerns whether grace enables the will to perform meritorious deeds or whether it enables faith in Christ which results in the acquisition of foreign merits.
Despite this shift, the protestant discussion of predestination is largely a continuation of the medieval discussion. The RPR writers continue to dispute single predestination, double predestination, and general election, along with various sub-topics, such as whether God’s will to save all requires that he give grace to all, whether general election ascribes too much control to the will and wades into semi-Pelagianism, whether foreknowledge of future choices plays a part in God’s choosing and rejecting, and how the answers to such questions plays out in the order of divine decrees in eternity.
The evolution of Reformed thought offers a useful microcosm for the protestant discussion more generally. So let’s begin there.
Today, Reformed theology is often referred to as “Calvinism,” named, of course, for John Calvin (1509 - 1564 AD). Calvinism is notorious for its “five points,” encapsulated by the acronym TULIP — Total Depravity, Unconditional Election, Limited Atonement, Irresistable Grace, and Perseverance of the Saints. While the acronym is not Calvin’s own, it offers a broadly accurate synopsis of his theology.2
Total depravity is merely a recapitulation of original sin and the anti-Pelagian sentiments we have already discussed ad nauseam. Fallen man enters the world with disordered loves that taint his every deed. Hence, even when his outward deeds accord with the law, the inner character of the act is sinful. The doctrine does not claim that every person is as bad as he could be. Clearly, even Fallen man exercises self-restraint. But it is to say that sin pollutes the whole of his actions, making it impossible for him to produce merits pleasing to God. Such is the reason he needs grace to be saved.
Unconditional election, likewise, is a reiteration of the anti-Pelagian commitments of Augustine, Lombard, Hales, et al. That is, should God choose to extend grace to Fallen man, he does so, not on the basis of prior merits, but because God is merciful. Nothing about the creature compels God to elect or predestine him to salvation. Here, Calvin rejects not only the idea that a creature could merit election by good works but also that the creature might earn it by a natural disposition to believe. In other words, nothing about the creature factors into God’s choice to save. All are equally damnable before God, and if God elects to save, this is not because of the creature. God’s Goodness, mercy, and glory alone impel him to save.
Limited atonement is the view that Christ dies only for the elect.3 This is one of the more innovative doctrines in the RPR discussion. But the view is a logical extension of the Protestant embrace of penal substitution, another medieval doctrine alien to the Church fathers.4 The position holds that the demerits of sinners were imputed to Christ on the cross, and he was punished on behalf of sinners in order that sinful man might by forgiven and loosed from punishment. Hence, just as Christ’s merits are imputed to the believer, so the believer’s demerits were imputed to Christ on the cross, securing his absolution. Naturally, if one takes this position and believes that Christ successfully paid for the sins of humanity, then it follows that all should be saved. For the sins of all have been paid in full. Recognizing the implication for universal salvation, limited atonement suggests that Christ dies for the elect, securing their salvation, but not the salvation of the reprobate.
Irresistible grace suggests that the workings of grace are monergistic, not synergistic. In other words, the work of the Holy Spirit in conversion is one-way. The Spirit moves to convert and succeeds; no cooperation on the part of the creature is needed. The point is a natural extension of unconditional election. If election is not based on anything about the creature, including whether or not he will resist grace, then it follows that those God chooses, he converts. To suggest otherwise — that a creature might resist the Spirit — is to open the door to the idea that the elect are chosen on the basis of their cooperation, which Calvin sees as semi-Pelagian — that is, the elect are deserving of election because of their cooperation while the reprobate is unworthy due to his resistance. The insistence that nothing in the creature factors into God’s election requires that the creature does not contribute to his conversion.
Perseverance of the Saints is the doctrine that those God has chosen to save will persevere to the end. Today, there is a popular misconception about the doctrine. Many presume the doctrine means that the elect cannot fall away. The point is reflected in how some contemporary systematicians, such as Wayne Grudem, address New Testament passages about the dangers of falling away from the faith. For example, “By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain” (1 Cor 15:2). Such passages create a prime facie problem for the doctrine of perseverance, as Paul states plainly that his hearers have believed but could fall away, making their present faith worthless. Many contemporary “Calvinists” answer such passages by suggesting that the conditional applies to Paul’s presumption that his hearers are saved. In other words, Paul is not suggesting that a true believer could fall away and be damned. Rather, Paul is acknowledging that we cannot know who truly believes. Hence, the conditional is about his first claim — that you are saved. If you fall away, your apparent belief was something short of saving faith.5 This contemporary solution diverges from Calvin’s view. Calvin insists that even the elect can fall away; nothing about their conversion makes this impossible. Hence, Paul offers a true conditional: If you fall away, you’ll be damned. But Calvin believes that God, in his providence, never allows his elect to fall away permanently. God always fulfills his purpose in election, ensuring that those he predestined endure and are saved. In fact, Calvin suggests that warning passages, such as this, are part of the instrumental means by which God keeps his elect in the faith, instilling in them fear about apostasy so that they do not become complacent.6
Calvin’s position is plainly a brand of double predestination, not unlike what we find in Gregory of Rimini. Of course, Calvin harbors idiosyncrasies, such as his understanding of salvation and atonement, but like Gregory, his anti-Pelagian commitments drive him to a double-predestination conclusion: Before the foundations of the world, God predestines some to salvation and others to damnation, and his providential care of history reflects these eternal decrees.
Now, the common caricature today is that predestination disputes divide along “Calvinist” and “Arminian” lines — the former being named for Calvin and the latter for Jacob Arminius (1560 - 1609 AD). But this is an over simplification.
Early Reformed thought did not treat Calvin as a litmus test for “Reformed orthodoxy.” The litmus test was, instead, the Heidelberg Catechism. And this catechism did not require the five points that would come to be associated with Calvin’s thought. In other words, early Reformed thought had a much broader fence around it, and this fence was broad enough to include Arminius.
Arminius was a Dutch Reformed minister who held views very different from those of Calvin. He advocated a theory of general election, not unlike that of Peter Aureol: Desiring all to be saved, God gives grace to all, but because the creature’s freedom remains in conversion, it falls to the creature whether to cooperate with or cast off grace. Of course, as a protestant Arminius believed that cooperation and resistance concerns faith in Christ, not the production of meritorious deeds. But like Aureol, Arminius believes the creature’s choices are factored into God’s election. God foreknows who will cooperate and who will resist, and such foreknowledge is woven into his eternal decrees of predestination and reprobation. The result is single, not double, predestination: Those who are foreknown to cooperate with God to the end are predestined to be saved while those who resist him to the end are permitted to be damned, though God wills their salvation.
Notice that Calvin places predestination prior to the orchestration of providence. Because election is unconditional, having nothing to do with the choices of the creature, the selection of the saved and the damned makes no reference to the events of history. History is worked out to reflect predestination, not vice versa. Arminius, by contrast, takes the opposite stance: predestination and reprobation are products of the providential orchestration of history. Much like in Augustine, God works out his providential decrees in dialogue with creaturely choices, choices that factor into whether a creature is saved or damned.
The point is critical. Questions about predestination often presume that predestination means a sorting of the saved and the damned without reference to the workings of history. Such is the view of Calvin and some medievals, but not all take this position. We can see the importance of the point thusly. Consider the question, Might the elect fall away? Calvin would, of course, answer No. For the elect are elected to salvation, so God orchestrates this outcome. Yet, for Augustine, who identifies predestination as the outcome of providential history, the question is incoherent. The elect are not those who receive grace but those who make a right use of grace to the end. Hence, the question is asking, Might someone who makes a right use of grace to the end (i.e., the elect) not make it to the end?
In short, Calvin and Arminius illustrate a critical fork in the road in the discussion. Is predestination a sorting of the saved and the damned that becomes the basis for God’s orchestration of history? Or is the giving of grace reflective of God’s desire to save all while creaturely cooperation or resistance determines who, in God’s foreknowledge, is predestined and who is reprobate? Calvin takes the former position while Arminius takes the latter.
Critical to Arminius’ general election are two elements, one innovative and the other traditional. The traditional element is the distinction between God’s antecedent and consequent will. We discussed this distinction in the prior section when talking about Aquinas, who takes the concept from John of Damascus.7 Arminius’ use is the same as Aquinas’. As explained in the prior section,
The distinction … suggests that God wills every good, considered in itself, and repels every evil, considered in itself. Such is the antecedent will of God. Yet, our world is complex. So there are times when God must forego a good that he wills and permit an evil that he wills not. For example, it is good that man lives and an evil that he dies. But if a murderer is a danger to society, threatening to bring about a great many deaths, it is better that he die. In the same way, it is good that man is saved and an evil that he is damned. Hence, God wills that all are saved (antecedently), but his providential dealings with man often lead him to permit damnation (consequently).8
What Arminius adds to this claim is Molinism, a late medieval theory of divine knowledge named for the Spanish Jesuit, Luis de Molina (1535 - 1600 AD). The theory informs how some, including Arminius, understand the relationship between divine providence and creaturely freedom.9 To explain, I’ll quote my forthcoming Leibniz book:
Molinism is famous for its advocacy of “middle knowledge” (scientia media), a knowledge of hypothetical futures. The view is so named because it proposes a “middle” between God’s necessary knowledge and his free knowledge.
By way of background, scholastics before Molina … suggest that God has two types of knowledge. Necessary knowledge is about necessary truths, the sorts of truths that not even God can make otherwise. Here we find math and logic, as well as definitional truths, such as the will is self-determining. Free knowledge, by contrast, concerns contingent truths that depend on the will of God. If, for example, God determines to make a world that includes a first man named Adam who resides in a place called Eden, then this future truth is freely known by God.
Molinism posits a third type of knowledge — middle knowledge. The “middle” is between necessary and free knowledge…. Molinism posits something in between — hypothetical truths about what would be if. According to Molinism, the balance between freedom and providence is found in these hypotheticals. God is provident over the future, but providence chooses from foreknown hypotheticals about creaturely choices.10
This late-scholastic theory offers a way of explaining how God can orchestrate in advance the events of history to best reflect his will. Antecedently, God wills to save all. God explores various hypothetical futurities to determine what would be if. Within these hypotheticals, God sees the results of the interplay between his decrees and creaturely freedom, including salvation and damnation. Although God wills to save all, such an outcome may not appear amongst the various hypothetical futurities. Consequently, then, God selects the hypothetical future that best reflects his will. By willing that hypothetical into existence, God predestines those to salvation who make a right use of grace within that world and permits the damnation of those who resist to the end, despite God antecedently willing their salvation.
Now, as noted above, Arminius’ views were compatible with the Heidelberg Catechism, and thus his views were acceptably Reformed by the standards of his day. Over time, however, the Arminian (or Remonstrant) doctrines came under suspicion. Like Gregory of Rimini’s suspicions of Peter Aureol, many Reformed wondered if the Arminian view ascribes too much to the freedom of man and thus wades into waters of semi-Pelagianism. The suspicion ultimately led to the Synod of Dort, held after Arminius death (1618 - 1619 AD). The synod contracted the boundaries of Reformed thought to exclude Arminianism, siding with a position reflective of a “five-point Calvinism.”
Now, there still remained a question amongst the post-Dort Reformed. Does God predestine the salvation of some and the damnation of others and then decree the Fall? Or does God permit the Fall and then rescue some by predestination while passing over the rest and decreeing their damnation?
This dispute concerns the “order of decrees.” You’ll recall that John Duns Scotus introduced a theory of “instances of nature,” according to which there is a logical order to God’s decrees. Such is the dispute, Which does God decree first, predestination or the Fall? The two positions are called infralapsarianism and supralapsarianism. The terms pair the Latin for “fall” (lapsum) with either “above” (supra) or “below” (infra). The supralapsarian suggests that God predestines and then decrees the Fall. The infralapsarian takes a softer view, fearing that the supra view makes God the author of evil. According to infralapsarianism, God permits the Fall, and then, recognizing that all will be damned unless he intervenes, God rescues some, predestining their salvation, but not all. Though some supralapsarians suspected their infra counterparts of a tacit Arminianism, both positions were deemed acceptably Reformed, and the synod itself took the infralapsarian position.
Although the foregoing surveys only the Reformed, this spectrum encapsulates the spectrum of positions amongst RPR protestants more generally.
The Anglicans, too, embraced a Reformed stance on predestination. In fact, the Anglicans sent delegates to participate in the Synod of Dort. Noteworthy is that these same delegates showed a fair bit of apprehension about the decision of the synod. The reason was simple. The Anglicans practice infant baptism and believe that it effectively regenerates the child, but they also know that not all baptized infants persevere in the faith. How, then, can the Anglicans affirm Perseverance of the Saints? Despite this quandary, they ultimately signed onto the Reformed view, and this commitment is reflected in The Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion.
As for the Lutherans, their stance is less systematic than their fellow protestants. The Lutherans plainly affirm original sin, accepting both inherited guilt and the bondage of the will. The former is remedied by baptism — which is why Lutherans are emphatic about baptizing infants lest they die prematurely and be damned. The latter is remedied by grace, which produces saving faith. Such faith results in one’s demerits being imputed to Christ while Christ’s merits (or righteousness) is imputed to the believer. The Lutherans reject double predestination in favor of single predestination, insisting that God wills all to be saved. God predestines some to salvation while reprobation is permitted, not decreed. The latter point met with mockery from the Reformed, since what is the difference between withholding life-saving medicine from a dying person and affirmatively willing his death? Yet, like the early fathers and Augustine, the Lutherans insisted that God is not the author of evil and, therefore, cannot affirmatively will damnation. As for whether the elect persevere, on the one hand, the Lutherans affirm that those God predestines persevere. On the other hand, they admit that some taste of grace and fall away. Such commitments led many to suspect Lutherans of a tacit Arminianism. And the fact that certain famous Lutherans, such as G. W. Leibniz, appeared to embrace Molinism only reinforced that suspicion.11
As for the Roman Catholic response to the RPR disputes, the Council of Trent (1545-63 AD) offers a nice synopsis. As I’m sure you know, Trent was part of the counter-Reformation efforts of the Roman Catholic Church. The council does not endorse any particular model of predestination. What it does offer is a recapitulation of the Augustinian commitments that framed the medieval disputes.
Trent reaffirms the doctrine of original sin, reiterating that Adam’s progeny have a share in his guilt and are born into this world with inverted loves (5.2-5). Fallen man is unable to correct this inward disposition, produce merits, or expel Adams guilt by any natural effort of his own (6.1). Such impotence can only be remedied by prevenient grace. Such grace is never granted due to prior merits, since Fallen man has none of his own. But once given, the grace-infused man is capable of making a right use of grace, thereby producing merits, or of casting off grace (6.5). The casting off of grace occurs if one commits a mortal sin (6.15).
The council also goes on to reject things that it presumes are being claimed by protestants within the predestination dispute — specifically those of a Calvinist bent. No one should presume, says Trent, that he is predestined or think his perseverance in grace is assured (6.12-3). Here, Trent plainly rejects Perseverance of the Saints, presuming that certainty about one’s election and assurance of perseverance naturally follow from the doctrine. Trent goes on to suggest that free choice is not a figment of the imagination (6.16.V). Again, Trent presumes that Calvinism, with its doctrines of Irresistible Grace and Perseverance of the Saints, undermines free choice, turning it into a mere illusion. In response, Trent reiterates the point that the will is preserved in conversion and the convert must cooperate with grace (6.7.IV).
In sum, Trent reiterates the Augustinian commitments that set the stage for the medieval discussion. Though the council does not establish a specific model of predestination, its targeting of protestant double predestination shows a favoring of softer, more synergistic positions, like those of Augustine, Aquinas, or Peter Aureol.
Before closing out this history of the Western discussion, I should offer a word about a peculiar shift in the 1700s and 1800s. During this time, there arose a new model of free choice known as “compatibilism.” Many today presume that compatibilism means that predestination and human freedom are somehow compatible. However, this is not what the word means. Compatibilism suggests that free choice and determinism are compatible. Allow me to quote a prior letter on free will to explain:
Determinism is the view that, for everything that happens, there are conditions such that nothing else could happen. Notice that determinism is not a position on free will per se. Determinism is a position on the happenings of our world generally: all that occurs in our world is such that, for whatever reason, it could not be otherwise. […] Applied to free will, determinism is the belief that there are conditions that precede our choices that are sufficient to determine those choices. Thus, our choices are products of these prior conditions and could not be otherwise. […]
Incompatibilism is the view that free will and determinism are incompatible. That is to say, if determinism is true, then free will is false. If free will is true, then determinism is false. Notice that incompatibilism does not mean that you believe in free will. It simply means that you believe free will cannot be reconciled with determinism. For this reason, there are two types of incompatibilists, one who affirms free will and denies determinism and the other who affirms determinism and denies free will. I’ll begin with the latter.
Hard determinism accepts the incompatibility of determinism and free will. As for which it believes is true, the title tells all — it affirms determinism and rejects free will. […]
Libertarianism takes the opposite stance. Advocates of libertarian free will are incompatibilists who agree that free will and determinism are incompatible. But rather than affirming determinism, the libertarian affirms free will.
The telltale sign of libertarianism is what has been called the Principle of Alternative Possibilities (or PAP). This principle identifies the central libertarian assumption, namely, that a free act is one that entails alternative possibilities or could have been otherwise. Determinism is clearly incompatible with PAP. For the defining feature of determinism is its claim that things are such that they could not be otherwise. Hence, the libertarian concludes that one must choose between free will and determinism, and he chooses the former, arguing that our choices are of such a kind that satisfy PAP. […]
With this, we arrive at the position known as compatibilism. Before offering a proper definition of compatibilism, allow me to say what it is not.
Compatibilism is not the view that free will and “divine sovereignty” (defined as God is the First Cause of all things, including our choices) are compatible. Nor is it the view that free will and predestination are compatible. Unfortunately, many evangelicals hear the term compatibilism and presume that it is suggesting one or both of these theological claims. But that is not what the term compatibilism means.
Compatibilism is the view that free will and determinism are compatible. Now, this may sound strange, given that determinism denies that things could be otherwise and the commonsense understanding of free will is that our choices could be otherwise. This, however, is where compatibilism works its magic. Compatibilism denies that free will requires PAP, and thus redefines free will as any choice made in accord with one’s desires without coercion. So long as these conditions are met, it doesn’t matter whether the choice could be otherwise.
A thought experiment might help. Let us say, for example, that physical determinism is true. Everything is one big, unbroken chain of matter in motion, wholly determined by physical laws, like an infinitely long chain of dominoes. This means that Jane, too, is nothing more than matter in motion; all of her desires are just physical events within this chain; and all of her choices are, likewise, just physical events within this chain. If, then, Jane faces a choice between p and q, and if she finds herself desiring p, and if this desire results in her choosing p, then all of this — her existence, her desires, and her choice — are mere products of the chain of material causes. Neither her existence nor her desires nor her choice could be otherwise, since they are fully determined by prior physical events. If true, is Jane’s choosing of p free?
According to a libertarian (and the commonsense understanding of free will), the answer is no, since Jane has no control over either her desires or her choice and thus could never choose otherwise (i.e., the choice fails to satisfy PAP). Compatibilism “solves” this problem by removing PAP from the definition of free will. Since Jane desired p, and Jane chose p, and no one put a gun to Jane’s head to coerce p, Jane’s choice is free. Presto chango, free will (redefined) and determinism are compatible.
Candidly, compatibilism is notoriously misleading, which is why you get individuals claiming that they are compatibilists who are not in fact compatibilists. Many people presume that the compatibilist accepts the commonsense view of free will (our choices could be otherwise) but also accepts “the mystery” that divine decrees or predestination are somehow compatible with this type of freedom. This is not what the compatibilist claims.
The compatibilist denies the commonsense understanding of free will and embraces determinism. Period. The compatibilist simply changes the definition of “free will” to exclude contrary choice, and then says that determinism and free will are compatible. Most folks don’t get that. It would be like saying square is compatible with triangle if we redefine square to mean a three-sided geometric shape. Well, sure, but that’s not what we were asking.12
Compatibilism is a Modern invention. The Latin tradition, from the early Latin fathers to Augustine and on through the medieval scholastics, were advocates of libertarian free choice.13 And this commitment to libertarian freedom persisted even amongst the post-Dort Reformed. However, in the 1700s and 1800s, something shifted in the Modern debate about free choice. You can read about the shift in detail in my Leibniz book, but suffice it to say for our purposes that the more nuanced models of libertarian freedom were eclipsed by strange new dichotomies that made compatibilism an appealing alternative.14 As a result, certain so-called “Calvinists” paired five-point “Calvinism” with a compatibilistic determinism.
Henry Holmes Kames, for example, suggests that all things are physically determined. Our world is nothing but matter in motion, fully determined by the laws of physics. As for our choices, these too are products of physical laws at work in our body and brain — a view known as “physical determinism.” According to Kames, physical determinism, God’s decrees, and creaturely freedom are perfectly compatible. Why? Because Kames advocates compatibilism. “Freedom” does not mean the power of contrary choice but deeds performed without coercion.
Kames suggests that God creates a physical world with physical laws, and these laws determine all that occurs in our world, our choices included. God arranges matter in such a way that it unfolds according to his will, like an extraordinarily long string of dominos. We and our choices are mere products of this elaborate chain of causes, as is our salvation or damnation. Our choices and destiny cannot be otherwise, given the nexus of causes in which we find ourselves. But Kames sees no problem with this conclusion. For having rejected contrary choice as a condition of freedom, Kames can say we are “free” because we do as we please.15
Many today presume that such a position is standard amongst “Calvinists.” I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard that Calvinism rejects freedom in favor of determinism. This misconception became ubiquitous thanks to the popularization of one now-famous American “Calvinist,” namely, Jonathan Edwards.
Like Kames, Edwards is a compatibilist. With the popularization of his thought, many today read Calvin through an Edwardsian lens, presuming that Calvinism is inherently deterministic. Historically speaking, however, this is not true.
Consider, for example, Franciscus Gomarus (1563 - 1641 AD), a Reformed theologian who strictly opposed the teachings of Arminius and is an example par excellence of Reformed orthodoxy. Gomarus states plainly in his chapters on free choice that contrary choice is required for freedom. As he points out, even a dog acts without coercion. Free choice requires that we are capable of doing otherwise, all things including our knowledge of the choice remaining the same. Such a definition of freedom is overtly libertarian.16 The point is not unique to Gomarus. Gisbertus Voetius (1589 - 1676 AD) says the same in his chapters on free choice.17 We can also see the point in the life of Johannes Maccovius (1588 - 1644 AD), who was made to defend himself on charges that he taught that God is the author of evil. The examination demonstrates that the Reformed considered it heresy to teach such things.18
Yes, the Reformed believed the will was impotent to make salvific choices. But the Reformed insisted that the will had libertarian capacities within the natural sphere.
That Edwards diverges from these norms can be seen in the British reception of Edwards, as Richard Muller points out.19 Some overseas were fans of Edwards while others opposed him. Yet, whether in favor of or opposed to Edwards, the one thing that all British writers agreed on is that Edwards is not Reformed, precisely because of his compatibilism. Equally noteworthy is who in this discussion favors Edwards. Notably, his fans include British materialist-determinists, such as Joseph Priestly, who reject traditional Christianity. In other words, determinists innovators approved of Edwards while the traditionally Reformed opposed his thought.
Now, despite the fact that the determinism of Edwards, Kames, Hobbes, et al. is an innovation, it nonetheless has entered the discussion. Hence, I include it as part of our brief history.
So with that, we reach the end of the Western Latin discussion. And this brings us to your real question: How do these views contrast with the Christian East? Without further ado, let’s find out.
To be continued in Part 4.
I place “Calvinist” in scare quotes because, despite the ubiquity of this title today, the term is a bit anachronistic. Not only did the early Reformed not use this title, but it also suggests an inflated importance to John Calvin, as if he were the basis for and standard of Reformed orthodoxy. He was not. The only early standard of Reformed orthodoxy was the Heidelberg Catechism. Amidst the Remonstrant (or Arminian) controversy, the Synod of Dort established additional boundary lines for Reformed norms. As for figures of great importance in shaping Reformed orthodoxy, the most significant figures are the 16th and 17th century Reformed scholastics, such as Franciscus Gomarus, Gisbertus Voetius, et al., not Calvin. All of this has been thoroughly established in Richard Muller’s scholarship. However, the popular evangelical “Calvinist” movement of today, popularized by authors such as John Piper and systematicians such as Wayne Grudem, tend to give little attention to the Reformed scholastics and instead draw heavily on Jonathan Edwards and John Calvin read through an Edwardsian lens, which yields an idiosyncratically American “Calvinism” often at odds with Reformed orthodoxy of the 16th and 17th century. I will flesh out the point below, but for an extensive discussion of this contemporary movement, see my letter, “On Predestination, John Piper, and the New ‘Calvinists’.”
Calvin’s theology is systematically laid bare in his Institutes, but his writings are vast, including his 22 volume biblical commentary, numerous homilies, and other smaller writings.
Perhaps the most lengthy treatise on this is John Owen’s work The Death of Death in the Death of Christ.
Anselm lays bare this theory in his treatise Cur Deus homo. Patristic theories of atonement before Anselm took on various forms. The ransom or fish hook theory was quite common in the early fathers. In Gregory of Nyssa’s Catechetica magna, for example, Christ is veiled in flesh and his identity is hidden from the Devil, but as Christ works miracles and shows signs of his true self, the Devil is enticed, like a fish to a hook. He cannot resist his chance to try and kill the Son of God, not knowing that doing so will undo his power. Augustine offers an alternative version in De trinitate. He suggests that God is the mediator of life while Satan is the mediator of death. Satan justly mediates death to Fallen man, but he oversteps his bounds in mediating death to Christ. In doing so, he oversteps his station and loses his claim to mediate death. Hence, Christ is now free to mediate life to whomever he pleases. A second perspective follows the common Eastern patristic view that the Son of God enters to creation in order to heal it. By taking on our nature, he heals it; by entering the waters, he makes them holy, and so on. In accord with this line of thinking, by descending into Hades, the realm of the dead, Christ disperses its darkness and floods Hades with light and life, transforming it and liberating those held within (see my letter, “Hell, Hades, and Christ’s Descent (1 of 2)”). This second perspective is intimately tied to the fish hook theory. For Gregory’s fish hook theory presumes that the death of Christ undoes Satan’s power. How? By taking Christ into the realm of the dead, Christ binds the strong man (Satan) and looses the captives. We also find the view that Christ’s crucifixion marked a definitive step in the remaking of humanity. Maximus the Confessor in particular suggests that the crucifixion marks the definitive defeat of the passions in Christ’s remaking of man, as the flesh cries out — as in Gethsemane — to avoid death. But by submitting to death on a cross at the will of God, Christ restores the proper order of our nature, the will fully submissive to God and the flesh with its passions subordinate thereto.
See Wayne Grudem’s Systematic Theology.
On this point, see my letter: “Calvin on Apostasy and Temporary Faith (1 of 3)” and “Calvin on Apostasy and Temporary Faith (2 of 3).” The third installment on this letter is still forthcoming. Note that not all contemporary Calvinists accept Grudem’s approach. Millard Erickson, for example, advocates a position closer to Calvin’s in his Christian Theology.
See John of Damascus, De fide orthodoxa, 2.29 (PG 94:963a-70b). Though John of Damascus coins the term, antecedent and consequent will, the concept predates him. See, e.g., John Chrysostom, Homiliae XXIV in Epistolam ad Ephesios (PG 62:1016). I discuss this distinction at length in several places, including: Why Would God Make the Damned?, To a Woman Who Lost Several Children, and Leibniz, Classical theism, and the Problem of Evil, chapter 5.
Taken from the prior post, “A Brief History of Predestination (2 of 4).”
See, e.g., Luis de Molina, Concordai liberi arbitrii cum gratiae donis, Divina praescientia, providential, praedestinatione et reprobation, ad nonnullos primae partis D. Thomae articulos (Lisbon: Antonium Riberium, 1588), Pt. IV, q14 a13 d48-9. The view also appears in other Spanish Jesuits, such as Francisco Suárez. See Francisco Suárez, De divina gratia, in Opera Omnia, 21 vols., ed. Carolo Berton (Paris: Vivès, 1861), prologue 2, c 7 n1 p24.
Nathan Jacobs, Leibniz, Classical Theism, and the Problem of Evil: Why Classical Theism Must Affirm That Our World is the Best of All Possible Worlds (Routledge, forthcoming), chapter 4.
I say Leibniz appears to embrace Molinism because I do not think Leibniz is in fact a Molinist. On this point, see my forthcoming book, Leibniz, Classical Theism, and the Problem of Evil, chapter 4.
Taken from my letter, “On Free Will.”
Ubiquitous amongst the Church fathers is the claim that moral culpability requires the power of contrary choice. See, e.g., Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses, 4.37.6; Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem, II.6; Clement of Alexandria, Stromata, 17; Origen, De principiis, 3.1; Justin Martyr, Apologia prima pro Christianis, 43-4 (PG 6:391c-96c); Gregory of Nyssa, Oratio catechetica magna, 31; John of Damascus, De fide orthodoxa, 2.24. On the commitment to libertarian freedom in the Augustinian tradition generally, see my dissertation: In Defense of Leibniz’s Theodicy, ch. 2, §§1-2.
See, e.g., Lord Henry Home Kames, Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural Religion (London: J. Bell and J. Murray, 1779), 171-72.
See the second definition of a “free act” in Gomarus, Disputatio theologica de libero arbitrio.
Gisbertus Voetius and Engelbertus Beeckman, Disputatio philosophico-theologica, continens quaestiones duas, de Distinctione Attributorum divinorum, & Libertate Voluntatis (Utrecht: Joannes à Waesberge, 1652), 1-3
For a brief treatment of such proofs, see my dissertation: In Defense of Leibniz’s theodicy, ch. 2, §1.3.
Richard A. Muller, “Jonathan Edwards and the Absence of Free Choice: A Parting Ways in the Reformed Tradition,” Jonathan Edwards Studies 1, no. 1 (2011): 3-22.
Coming out of a reformed background, these posts have been immensely helpful. When will part 4 come out?