On Predestination, John Piper, and the New "Calvinists"

Theological Letters

“Rosemary,” a friend of a friend, attended a talk of mine on the history of Predestination in the West. During the Q&A, I made an off-handed comment about John Piper. The comment caught the attention of “Rosemary,” which prompted her to write to me, asking me to further flesh out my thoughts on Piper and the form of “Calvinism” he represents. In this letter, I explain why I see Piper’s popular theology as not only out of line with Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, and Lutheranism, but as divergent from even Reformed norms of the 16th and 17th centuries.

Dear “Rosemary,”

Before I begin, thank you for attending my talk and for your kind remarks.

Now on to your question: It sounds like you do not hold John Piper in high regard. Can you explain why? I admit that I blushed when I first read this question. I pride myself on my objective tone. Students rarely know where I stand on various topics, precisely because I tend to be descriptive, not prescriptive. I apparently slipped out of that tone at the mention of Piper. Yes, you read me correctly. I do not hold Piper in high regard. Before I explain why, allow me two prefatory remarks.

First, I’m a scholar. Many popular authors in theology are not scholars. This is not snobbery; it’s simply a fact of training and pedigree. There are certainly exceptions. I hold C. S. Lewis in very highest esteem. Lewis was a tremendous scholar — the chair of medieval literature at Oxford, in fact. What was so unique about Lewis was that he was a scholar who (a) chose to write for a popular audience, and (b) was capable of conveying difficult ideas in ways that the average person — and even children — can grasp. Very few scholars choose (a), and even fewer are capable of (b). The end result is that most scholars write for other scholars, and those who choose to write for a popular audience often lack scholarly acumen. Hence, what they write, while accessible to the average person, is often riddled with errors — sometime dangerous errors. Piper is not a scholar,¹ and his work is filled with errors, errors that, in my assessment, are sometimes dangerous.

Second, while I am not Reformed, I did my doctorates under the foremost authority in the world on 16th and 17th century Reformed thought, Richard Muller. As a result, I know Reformed theology better than many who self-identify as Reformed, or “Calvinist” (a title that is itself problematic, historically speaking). Reformed thought in the 16th and 17th century was very carefully nuanced, precisely because its proponents understood that the Reformed doctrines — specifically their doctrines on free choice and providence — can very easily slip into dangerous and even blasphemous territory if not properly nuanced. Unfortunately, contemporary “Calvinists” of the stripes of Piper tend to lack such nuance. As a result, their doctrines have waded into the very territory that their predecessors worked so hard to avoid. In this light, I need not assess Piper from an Eastern Orthodox point of view to conclude that his views are problematic. By historically Reformed standards, the same conclusion stands.

I realize that I’m speaking in generalities at this point about errors and dangers, so allow me to transition to specifics. As hinted at above, the most problematic features of Piper’s thought are on matters of free choice and providence, so let’s focus there. The best way to understand what is so problematic is to look at these matters historically. The historical road is a long one, so bear with me.²

Let’s begin with the Eastern Church fathers. If you look at these fathers (and even the Western fathers prior to Augustine), you’ll find that they are strong advocates of free choice. More specifically, they advocate what contemporary philosophers would call libertarian free choice. This very fancy term simply means that when you choose between two things, you could have chosen otherwise. So, if you face a choice between p and q and choose p, your choosing is such that you could have chosen q, all things remaining the same. There is nothing in you or in the circumstance that necessitates you choosing p. To make the matter less abstract, if you face a choice between chicken or steak and you choose chicken, your choosing is such that you could have chosen steak, all things being the same. The reasons the Eastern fathers advocate such freedom are several, but I’ll focus on two that are particularly relevant to your question.

(I) The Eastern fathers presume that moral culpability requires free choice of the kind described above. The point is rather intuitive. We intuitively recognize that in order to be responsible for our wrongdoing, we must (a) know what we ought to do or ought not to do and (b) have the ability to do it or not do it. If either condition is lacking, we are not morally responsible. This is why every child, when caught doing wrong, offers one of two excuses: I didn’t know or I couldn’t help it. And though our adult pleas of innocence sound more sophisticated, at bottom they still amount to I didn’t know or I couldn’t help it. Given this connection between moral responsibility and free choice, the Eastern fathers ask a simple question: Does the Bible ever praise someone for doing right or blame someone for doing wrong? Anyone who has read the Bible knows the answer is Yes, on every single page. The Eastern fathers thus insist that the Bible teaches the free choice of humanity (as well as angels) from start to finish.

(II) The Eastern fathers recognize that if we do not have free choice, then God is the cause of evil. In other words, if Adam and Eve and we are all programmed to behave as we do, then we are not the authors of our deeds; our programmer is. In short, it follows that God is the author of evil. Such a conclusion, according to the Eastern fathers, is not only false but blasphemous. For they insist that God is Good, and this means that he only ever wills good. What such a statement means is rather precise in the Eastern fathers. They do not mean that whatever God happens to do is good simply because God does it — as if God might torture infants for fun and this would be good because God is the one doing it. This way of thinking turns Christianity into a form of devil worship, as Lewis notes. The good of a thing, according to the Eastern fathers, is wrapped up in what the thing is. The good of an eye is to see; the good of an ear is to hear; the good of a stomach is to digest. More to the point, the good of an eye is to see because it is an eye; this good is intrinsic to its nature, not imposed on it arbitrarily from the outside — be it by God or anyone else. The point holds true for every single thing in creation. In the case of humanity, we are icons of God. What this means is that we have a rational spirit, and this highest part of our nature, as highest, rightly governs the lower parts of our nature. The purpose of this icon of God is to ascend to its Archetype (God) in order to partake of divine life and ultimately communicate that life to whole of our nature. What this looks like is first displayed in the resurrected Christ, who united our humanity with divinity and transformed it in the resurrection from the dead. This same transformation is the good of every human person. Hence, when saying that God is Good and thus wills only good, the meaning is neither mysterious nor arbitrary. It means that whatever the good of a thing is God wills it. In the case of humanity, God wills that every person partake of divine life and be transformed by the putting off of corruption for incorruption, becoming a Saint. He wills this for you, for me, for Kelly Clarkson, and for Kim Jong-un. Or to put an even finer point on it, God cannot not will this for every single person. To suggest that God affirmatively wills otherwise — willing sin or death or damnation — is to blaspheme. For this is to suggest that God is not Good.³

Now, as you probably gathered from my talk, a shift occurred in the  West with Augustine. The shift is significant on both points.

Regarding (I), Augustine continues to advocate free choice, contrary to the opinions of some. He insists that it is within our power to steal or not steal, to lie or tell the truth, to commit adultery or remain faithful. However, Augustine introduces the concept of merit and demerit as based on our inner order of loves. Simply because someone obeys the moral law does not mean that his deed is meritorious before God, argues Augustine. Should one shun adultery out of properly ordered loves, loving God above all else, then his deed has merit — as in the case of righteous Joseph. But should he shun adultery out of disordered loves — for example, out of a love of self-preservation — then his deed, though extrinsically moral, lacks merit and is in fact demeritorious before God. With this concept, Augustine introduces a second layer to our free choices: there is the choice itself and its conformity (or lack thereof) to the moral law, but there is also an underlying order of loves that determine its merit (or lack thereof). Amid the Pelagian dispute, Augustine takes the position that the second layer (our order of loves) is outside of our control. Properly ordered loves are only ever a product of divine assistance, or "grace," by which God affects our order of loves, enabling us to performed moral deeds that also reflect rightly ordered loves. This is true, says Augustine, before the Fall for Adam (who had the grace of original righteousness) and after the Fall for us (who receive what Trent would call prevenient grace). Hence, while we have the power of contrary choice in matters of morality, we lack the power of choice in whether our deeds are pleasing to God. Of course, Augustine says that once grace is given to us, we must choose whether to make a right use of it or to cast it off. But it is entirely outside of our control whether God supplies this assistance in the first place.

Regarding (II), Augustine continues to maintain, like the other fathers, that God is Good and thus cannot be the author of evil. However, Augustine places divine “justice” (as the "rendering to each its due," from the definition of the Latin justitia) in competition with divine mercy. Augustine concludes that when a creature sins, justice demands its damnation. While God may show the creature mercy, he need not do so, given the demands of justice. This introduces into Augustine’s understanding of divine providence a type of voluntarism or arbitrariness (from the Latin abitrium, or “choice”). According to Augustine, every human person is born into the world stained with Adam’s guilt, and we heap our own guilt on top of this because we are also born with disordered loves; hence, it is inevitable that our deeds, even when moral, lack merit before God. The result, for Augustine, is that God has no obligation to show mercy to anyone. Should he choose to permit the damnation of all of humanity, this would be just, given our universal guilt, but he is also free to show mercy, even though he is never obligated to do so. This is the competition between justice and mercy I mentioned. We cannot know whether we are objects of divine justice or mercy, nor can we question God’s Goodness in permitting our damnation, since this is what we are owed for our demerits. This is the birth of arbitrary divine providence in which we cannot question evils sent upon us, since we are justly owed all manner of evil, and we should thus marvel and celebrate God’s kindness in showing mercy to any.

Needless to say, the Augustinian shift on these points is enormous. For the Eastern fathers, God has a singular movement toward all creatures. He only ever wills our good; hence, even the evils that befall us are aimed at our salvation.⁴ This cannot be otherwise, given who and what God is. If sin or corruption or death or damnation enter our world, such things enter our world solely because creatures resist God’s goading toward the good, bringing such things upon themselves and the cosmos of which they are part. And understand that when the Eastern fathers say that we bring these things upon ourselves, they do not mean that we bring them upon us by angering God and thus provoking him to send such evils as retribution; they mean that death and corruption are inevitable byproducts of cutting ourselves off from the source of all life and goodness. Corruption comes upon us as a principle of physics (from physis, or the nature of things); for we cannot retreat from the maker of life and expect that life will persist as before. Put in an even stronger manner, not even God can make creatures who are able to live without him. This is a matter of metaphysics, not a matter of divine retribution. But keep in mind that, for the Eastern fathers, even when creatures retreat from God and bring corruption upon themselves, God goes to the greatest possible lengths to do what is necessarily to return creatures to their good — the Incarnation being the clearest demonstration of this fact.

An illustration might help. We might imagine God as a river, moving constantly in one direction (representative of the good), and all creatures are like ships on that river. We are brought into existence by God willing our good (existence, health, proper formation and function). When we cooperate with God, we move toward the good, traveling with the current; when we resist God, we paddle against the current and even do damage to the ship. The variances in the movement of the ships is not due to a difference in the river but due to variances in the ships — their actions and subsequent seaworthiness. Yet, regardless of the motion and state of the ship, the river remains consistent and non-discriminating in its motion, perpetually pulling all ships in the same direction, no matter their resistance.

The Eastern fathers find Pharaoh and Moses to be instructive in illustrating the point. Notice that God’s dealing with these two men is identical in the story. In both cases, God reveals himself, declares who he is, demonstrates the fact by miracles, and makes a demand. In the case of Moses, the result is he flourishes and becomes a prophet and a Saint. In the case of Pharaoh, he hardens and cracks until bringing destruction upon himself.⁵ The Eastern fathers see this pattern captured in the agricultural parables of the New Testament. They point out that if the sun could talk, it could say I cause to grow and flourish and I cause to wither and crack. But the sun would not be saying that it treats the two soils differently. The very same operation to one type of soil is life and to another type of soil is death. And so they interpret God’s words that he has mercy on whom he has mercy and hardens whom he hardens. He is not declaring arbitrary dealings with humanity, such that some he treats with love and others with contempt. God is not a respecter of persons, St. Paul tells us — a guiding principle in Eastern patristic thought. Rather, they see in these words the fact that the very same divine activities that produce a Saint in Moses produce destruction in Pharaoh. One and the same divine act is mercy towards one and wrath towards the other. This is not, however, a variance in God’s disposition toward these men; he wills Sainthood and life for both. Instead, the variance of effect is due to the variance in the quality of soil that Moses and Pharaoh represent.

The Augustinian turn marks a very different picture of divine providence. This alternative picture uses “justice” to say that “anything goes” in God’s dealings with humanity, thereby opening the door to arbitrary dealings with us. For our forefather Adam forfeited any right to divine favor, and we, being born with the stain of his guilt and disordered loves, are also without any claim to divine favor. The thing humanity is owed is damnation. Such a picture vindicates (or is meant to vindicate) God for permitting evil to befall us rather than good, as well as the call us to marvel whenever mercy and goodness is wrought upon us, since we do not deserve it. Such is the Augustinian roots that grow into the many branches of medieval scholasticism and the protestant Reformation. Because you were at my talk, where I went through the various medieval positions,⁶ I’ll skip ahead to the Reformation/post-Reformation positions, as these are most relevant to the question at hand.

The specifics of how Augustine’s theology plays out in protestant thought vary, just as it varied in the medieval era. In Luther and Lutheranism, the position is very similar to Augustine. Human freedom is in bondage to original sin. This does not mean that we have no choice in matters of right in wrong; it simply means that being stained with Adam’s guilt and cut off from the grace that enabled Adam to perform meritorious deeds, even our “good” choices are from disordered loves and without merit before God. Such is the "bondage of the will." As with Augustine, divine justice beckons our damnation and it is only mercy that aids us unto salvation. Such divine assistance cannot be demanded of God nor can it be presumed upon, since God has no obligation to offer it. The main difference between the Lutherans and Augustine is that Augustine maintains that grace enables us to perform meritorious deeds unto salvation (the mainstream Catholic position that Luther opposed), while the Lutherans maintain that grace enables saving faith. Now, as with Augustine, there is still sensitivity to the idea that God is not the author of evil; he only permits it as an act of justice. Hence, when considering predestination, the Lutherans advocate single predestination. What this means is that God does not affirmatively will the damnation of anyone, but he may withhold grace from some, permitting them to receive the just penalty for their guilt (i.e., damnation). Predestination, then, refers to God’s choice to save some, not to his withholding of grace from others.⁷

The position met with ridicule from the Reformed camp. For what is the difference between withholding life-saving medicine from a dying person, ensuring their death, and affirmatively willing that the person die? Nonetheless, the Lutherans thought it was imperative that we never say that God affirmatively wills or approves or desires the damnation of a soul. For to affirmatively will an evil is to ascribe a malevolent will to God. Hence, they advocated a proactive decree of salvation alongside a passive permitting of damnation.

In Reformed theology, however, the doctrine of double predestination emerges. It’s important to note that there are several models of Reformed theology. Historically speaking, Remonstrant theology (or Arminian, as you may know it) was within the confines of Reformed thought prior to the Synod of Dort. The only standard of “Reformed orthodoxy” prior to Dort was the Heidelberg Catechism. Jacob Arminius was able to affirm its teachings from within his system. It was only after Arminius’ teachings became controversial that the Dort constricted the boundary lines of Reformed theology, such that the Remonstrants (or Arminians) were no longer acceptably Reformed.

For our purposes here, there were four relevant Arminian doctrines that post-Dort Reformed theology opposed. To be sure, post-Dort Reformed theology opposed more than just these four Arminian doctrines, but these are most relevant to the question at hand.

(i) As with the Lutherans, Arminius taught single predestination. That is to say, God does not affirmatively will the damnation of anyone. He only ever permits damnation.  

(ii) Arminius taught that predestination is in dialogue with foreknowledge, taking into account our free choices. Hence, whether we make a right use of the grace given us and persevere in that grace is relevant to God’s decree of predestination.

(iii) As you might gather from the previous point, Arminius taught that a person can cast off grace and fall away, ultimately choosing damnation. For this reason, Arminius distinguished the giving of grace from predestination. It is possible that God choose to grant grace to a person, but the person cast off grace, abandoning the faith and choosing damnation. In such a case, the person would not be predestined to salvation, since God permits him to choose damnation. But the person’s ultimate fate does not negate the fact that he genuinely received grace prior to abandoning the faith. Hence, predestination concerns the entire course of the person’s life — the reception of grace and perseverance in it — not the initial giving of grace only. (Note that this position is in keeping with Augustine’s view that predestination concerns not the giving of grace but the person’s right use of it unto the end. Perseverance of the saints did not exist as a doctrine prior to Reformed theology.)

(iv) Arminius advocated a distinction between the antecedent and consequent will of God. The distinction comes from John of Damascus, an Eastern Church father and is really a doctrine of the Eastern Church. The distinction teaches that any good considered in itself God wills proportionately to its goodness, and any evil considered in itself God repels, or wills not, proportionately to its lack of goodness. Hence, we need never ask whether God wills a certain good (he does if it is good) or wills not a certain evil (he wills it not if it is evil). Such is the antecedent will of God. Yet, the goods and evils of our world are part of a complicated network. Sometimes two goods that God wills are incompatible with one another. Or an evil that God wills not may attach itself to a good that God wills. Hence, though God wills something antecedently, he may will it not consequently because of an evil that attaches to it. Or though God may will not a certain evil antecedently, he may permit it consequently because it attaches to a good that he wills.⁸ I realize that this is all very abstract, so I’ll put flesh on it. Here are two examples:

Example 1: Pharaoh is again a helpful illustration. Antecedently, God wills Pharaoh’s good — that is, that he participate in divine life, put off death for life, and be transformed in the putting off of corruption for incorruption. In short, God wills that Pharaoh become a Saint. Yet, Pharaoh is bad soil. Hence, God knows that if he reveals himself to Pharaoh, declares that he is God, demonstrates it by miracles, and demands Pharaoh’s compliance, Pharaoh will harden and crack. Mercy toward Pharaoh requires that God not reveal himself. Pharaoh will still be bad soil, but he will not be culpable for hardening himself toward God if God provides no opportunity for him to do so. However, God also wills mercy toward his people who are enslaved to Pharaoh. In order to liberate them, God must confront Pharaoh. Hence, though God wills mercy toward Pharaoh antecedently, he cannot consequently will mercy toward both Pharaoh and toward his people. These two goods are incompatible. God must choose. Consequently, then, God wills mercy toward his people and permits Pharaoh’s destruction, though he wills it not.⁹

Example 2: Were you to listen in on my family’s evening prayers, you would hear mention in those prayers of a child named Noah. Prior to the conception of my son David, my wife and I had a miscarriage. My wife was later visited in a dream by the child, who introduced himself as Noah. We have continued our prayers for Noah ever since under that name. Now, anyone who has met my son David recognizes that he is pure joy — a true gift to our world. However, David was conceived only one month after Noah miscarried. What this means is that had Noah not miscarried, David would not exist. There arise here three scenarios. Scenario 1: Noah is conceived, carried to term, and David does not exist. Scenario 2: Noah is never conceived, so he is never miscarried, but David is conceived. Scenario 3: Noah is conceived, miscarried, and David is conceived. Now, notice that in scenario 1, the evil of Noah’s miscarriage is avoided, but David does not exist. In scenario 2, the evil of Noah’s miscarriage is avoided, but Noah does not exist. Only in scenario 3 do both David and Noah exist. To will the existence of both Noah and David is to accept the evil that Noah be miscarried. I must admit that though I hate the evil of Noah’s miscarriage, I cannot but approve the existence of both Noah and David. John of Damascus would suggest that this is precisely what God in his providence does all the time. Though he wills not the evil of Noah’s miscarriage, he permits it, willing the good that both Noah and David exist.

Coming back to Arminius, he too advocates the antecedent-consequent will distinction of the East. This distinction he uses in his doctrine of predestination. Not only does Arminius insist that God does not will damnation, he suggests that God’s giving and withholding of grace is reflective of the antecedent-consequent will distinction. Thus, while Arminius grants that God has no obligation to extend grace, as per his Augustinian sensibilities, he appeals to divine Goodness in favor of the view that God desires all to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. As for why this does not come about, the answer is a complex web of human freedom and the basic incompatibilities of certain goods with the prevention of certain evil. In short, for Arminius, God cannot will the freedom of humanity and universal salvation. But we can be assured that God proactively pursues the salvation of all men, even though not all men are saved.

After the Synod of Dort, Reformed theology officially rejected the above doctrines. The results looked roughly as follows:

Against (i), the Reformed advocated double predestination. In other words, God’s decision to withhold grace is a decision to let justice reign. This decision is not passive; it is an active decree of justice. Hence, God affirmatively decrees the salvation of some and the damnation of others. Both decrees are acts of predestination.

Against (ii), the Reformed advocated that the decrees of predestination are not based on foreknowledge of responsiveness to grace or perseverance. Now, within post-Dort Reformed theology, two positions emerge on the matter: infralapsarianism and supralapsarianism. The terms are from the Latin for “fall” (lapsum) and above (supra) or below (infra). The distinction concerned the order of divine decrees in eternity.¹⁰ Specifically, did God decree to permit the Fall of humanity and then decree to save some and damn others, knowing that all would be damnable after the Fall? Or did God decree to save some and damn others and then decree that humanity would fall? The former position (infralapsarian) is softer. It presumes that it is only because humanity is permitted to Fall that our species is entirely damnable, and thus God decrees to save some (mercy) and damn others (justice). The latter position (supralapsarian) is harder. It suggests that God decrees the salvation of some and the damnation of others prior to any permissive decree about the Fall; hence the decree that humanity be permitted to fall is an outgrowth of a prior decree to bring some to blessedness and others to damnation. (Note that Dort officially advocates infralapsarianism, but it permits supralapsarianism.) In either case, though, the post-Dort Reformed insist that the decree to save is prior to and apart from any foreknowledge of whether the person will make a right use of grace or persevere to the end. To the contrary, God’s decrees to give grace and preserve those he has chosen is an outgrowth of his decree to save, not vice versa.

There is no need to say anything more about the post-Dort opposition to (iii) and (iv), since this opposition is summarized in the opposition to (ii). Because Arminius presumes in (iii) that a person can fall away and foreknowledge of this falling away is taken into account in predestination, the post-Dort Reformed cannot affirm the position; predestination is prior to and apart from any foreknowledge of a right use of grace. And, in like manner, because Arminius’ (iv) insists that God never affirmatively wills damnation but only ever permits it, this too is rejected in both the post-Dort advocacy of double predestination and in its insistence that God does not predestine to salvation based on foreknowledge of a right use of grace.

Now, one of these shifts crosses a very serious line, not only by Eastern standards, but even by Augustinian and Lutheran standards. To put it bluntly, the supralapsarian position teaches that God wills evil. For damnation is an evil to the human person: It is the epitome of divergence from our good and proper end. The Augustinian and Lutherans (as well as Remonstrants) understood this, and thus placed the permitting of damnation as something that occurs only after we have made ourselves damnable. By placing predestination unto damnation prior to the permitting of the Fall, the supralapsarians make damnation something that God affirmatively wills and approves. In short, it is the very blasphemy the Eastern fathers opposed, which Augustine opposed, and which Augustinian Catholics and protestants recognized as dangerous. It is also why the majority of post-Dort Reformed thinkers were infralapsarian rather than supralapsarian.

As for the infralapsarian position, the position is generally permissible within an Augustinian framework. It would, of course, be unacceptable by Eastern standards, but it can be defended under Augustinian assumptions. And, like Augustine, the infralapsarians were careful to avoid the claim that God is the author of evil. This care comes through in at least three points in their doctrine:

(A) They insist that God decrees to permit the Fall prior to decreeing to save some and damn others. Hence, God foreknows (and permits) that humanity will make itself damnable; God does not decree to make humanity damnable.

(B) They continue to advocate libertarian free choice. They recognize that Adam must possess such freedom if he is the author of his own sin. If Adam lacks the power of contrary choice, then his maker is to blame for his failings. So, as with (A), care is taken to avoid the claim that God is the author of evil.

(C) They maintain that humanity retains libertarian freedom after the Fall. Now, as with Augustine, such freedom cannot produce salvation. For we are stained with Adam’s guilt and cannot expel it; we act from disordered loves, so we cannot produce meritorious deeds; and even saving faith is beyond our ability to produce. Hence, they can insist that it is within our power to steal or not, to lie or not, to commit adultery or not, while still affirming that it is up to God whether we receive the help needed to be saved. For salvation is a matter of saving faith, not of moral restraint.

To give a sense of just how seriously the Reformed took such nuances, consider Johannes Maccovious, Reformed theologian. He was called in on charges of heresy by the Reformed precisely because they had heard rumors that he was teaching that God is the cause of evil. Maccovious underwent strict cross-examination to confirm he was teaching no such thing. Even the Reformed considered it heresy to teach that God is the cause of evil.

Now, in the 1700s and 1800s, something changed. There arose a new model of free choice known as compatibilism. Popular authors and laity today often misunderstand the position, suggesting that "compatibilism" means that free choice and divine sovereignty are compatible. This is incorrect. Compatibilism teaches that free choice and determinism are compatible.

To explain, determinism teaches that we do not have free choice in the way I described at the beginning of this letter. So, if I choose chicken over steak for dinner, this is because there are conditions at work such that I cannot choose steak. There are various forms of determinism, some having nothing to do with theology. But what makes all these models a form of determinism is that they deny our power of contrary choice. For example, psychological determinism suggests that our psychological makeup is determinative for our choices. Hence, it is because of my psychological makeup that I choose chicken over steak, and I would never choose otherwise, given my psychology. Physical determinism suggests that we are determined by the laws of physics, being nothing more than matter. Thus, it is the mechanics of matter in motion that produce our choices. I choose chicken over steak because the physical laws governing my body and brain move me toward that choice, and this is a one-way street; I cannot resist these physical laws, so they are determinative for my choices. Theological determinism suggests that God determines my choices in advance, and because I cannot resist God, the First Cause of everything, this divine determination is sufficient to bring about my choosing whatever God determines. Hence, I choose chicken over steak because God wills it.¹¹ Regardless of the reasons I am determined, every form of determinism ends at the conclusion that our choices cannot be otherwise because those choices are the product of something outside of our choosing. In short, we do not have libertarian freedom.

Compatibilism is the view that determinism is true, but we can still say that we are free. The position likely sounds like a contradiction: You are not free (as per determinism) but you are free. However, don’t be fooled; the position is simply playing semantics. The compatibilist attempts to make “freedom” compatible with determinism by changing the definition of the word “freedom.” Compatibilists suggest that freedom requires only two things: (a) I perform the act, and (b) I wanted to perform the act (i.e., I was free from coercion). They reject the libertarian requirement that (c) I perform the act in such a way that I could do otherwise, all things remaining the same. In other words, compatibilism denies the traditional (and commonsense) definition of freedom and then says that you are still free because it has redefined the word "freedom." It’s one of the reasons laity and popular authors often get the position wrong. They presume that because the words “free,” “freedom,” “free will,” and so on are still being used by the compatibilist, this means that we have the power of contrary choice; what laity and popular authors often miss is that the word "freedom" is being used in a context in which contrary choice is rejected. Compatibilists are determinists. They deny the power of contrary choice, period.

Compatibilism began to be adopted by certain so-called “Calvinists” in the 1700s and 1800s. Henry Holmes Kames, for example, suggests that all things are physically determined. In other words, all that exists in our cosmos is matter in motion, and the motion of matter is fully determined by the laws of physics. This includes even our choices, which are a product of physical motion in the body and brain. According to Kames, physical determinism, divine decree, and creaturely freedom are perfectly compatible. Now, for Kames, this is because he advocates compatibilism; hence, “freedom” does not indicate contrary choice but simply that we perform deeds that we want to perform without extrinsic coercion. Kames suggests that God creates a physical world with physical laws, and these laws determine all that occurs in our cosmos. God arranges the matter of our world in such a way that it unfolds, historically speaking, how he desires — much like an extraordinarily long string of dominos. We and our decisions are products of this elaborate chain of cause and effect. Hence, our existence and all that we ever choose, as well as our salvation and damnation, are byproducts of this deterministic orchestration. Our choices and our ultimate destiny cannot be otherwise, given the chain of causes. However, having rejected contrary choice as a necessary condition of freedom, Kames claims that we are still “free.” For when we act, we do as we please. Now, to be sure, we have no control over what we please; we cannot desire otherwise; what we desire and what we do is meticulously orchestrated by God, prior to any choices we might make. In short, we are completely determined. But having rejected contrary choice as a condition of freedom, and having defined “free” as self-movement in accord with one's desires, Kames sees no problem is saying we fully determined but free, since we still do whatever we please. In short, Kames is a compatibilist.

I trust it is evident that compatibilism makes God the author of evil. Augustine, the Lutherans, the Remonstrants, and the infralapsarian Reformed all insist that damnation is not something God orchestrates from the start. Rather, having foreknown that humanity will freely Fall, justice beckons our damnation. If God damns a soul, it is an extension of his justice. What is rejected in all of these camps is the idea that God causes the evil that occasions damnation. Yet, in the compatibilism of Kames, God orchestrates evil. He composes the cosmos and more specifically Adam and Eve in such a way that their fall from grace is inevitable. It is not within their control to avoid the Fall, and it is ultimately divine control that engineers the Fall — their respective desires and the sins that proceed from those desires. And the same is true of every evil that occurs after the Fall within our world. Notice that the view also disposes of the post-Fall free choice that Augustine and his Catholic and protestant followers advocated. You’ll recall that even though we do not have freedom to produce salvific deeds on the Augustinian view, we do have free choice about whether to steal or not, lie or not, and so on. Kames does away with even this. Because every event in our cosmos is meticulously orchestrated, should one choose to steal, God orchestrated this; should one choose rape, murder, molest, or perform any other evil, God orchestrated it. Kames would, of course, reply that we did such evils and did them because we desired to do them. But there is no getting around the fact that we wanted to, chose to, and so acted because God meticulously composed us and the cosmos in such a way as to bring about these evils. Such a position is not only blasphemous by Eastern standards but by Augustinian standards — Reformed theology included.

Though many today would be surprised to hear this assessment, given that they presume “Calvinism” is based on compatibilism, the presumption is false. Compatibilism can be demonstrated to be divergent from Reformed theology of the 16th and 17th century. Franciscus Gomarus, who debated Arminius, states plainly in his chapters on free choice that contrary choice is required for freedom. As he points out, even a dog produces acts that he desires. Free choice requires that we are capable of doing otherwise, all things remaining the same.¹² Such a definition of freedom is libertarian and directly opposed to determinism. And Gisbertus Voetius, Gomarus’ pupil, says the very same in his chapters on free choice. Moreover, as shown in the case of Maccovious, the resulting implication that God is the author of evil was not only alien but heretical by Reformed standards. (Richard Muller has done extensive work on this topic, and much of the research coming out of the Netherlands, such as from Van Asselt and Vos, concludes the same.)

Now, what does all of this have to do with Piper? Kames is not the only so-called “Calvinist” to adopt compatibilism and to produce a bastardized version of “Calvinism.” One very famous American writer did the same. His name was Jonathan Edwards. Edwards was an explicit proponent of compatibilism, and the results are very much the same as what we find in Kames. Edwards’ theology is thus at odds with Reformed views of free choice, and carries entailments that even the Reformed would consider to be heretical and blasphemous. The point can be demonstrated by looking at the British reception of Edwards. Some overseas were advocates of Edwards’ theology, while others vehemently opposed it. Yet, whether in favor of it or opposed to it, the one thing that all British writers of his day agree on is that Edwards is not Reformed, precisely because of his compatibilism / determinism. Moreover, it is noteworthy that those who opposed Edwards’ thought in Britain were properly Reformed, while those who defended Edwards were determinists who believed our cosmos is nothing but matter in deterministic motion. In other words, the advocates of Edwards were theological innovators who embraced determinism, contrary to Reformed theology, and their praise of Edwards was that he did the same. Their main critique of Edwards was that he is being dishonest when he claims that he is Reformed in his theology. He should’ve just admitted his innovation.¹³

As I’m sure you know, Piper is a big fan of Edwards. And What Piper calls “Calvinism” is really a rereading of John Calvin through the lens of Jonathan Edwards. The result is something that looks Reformed in a superficial way — advocating TULIP¹⁴ — while gutting from this theology the very nuances that were meant to prevent the blasphemies of Kames and Edwards. Piper does very careless things, such as saying that the Fall of humanity was necessary for God’s glory, and thus ascribes to God its orchestration. Piper seems oblivious to the fact that Reformed scholastics took great pains to differentiate multiple types of necessity in order to avoid undermining human freedom and to avoid making God the author of evil. (Just by way of example, we find page after page in their writings about the "necessity of the consequence" versus the "necessity of the consequent"; the former permits libertarian freedom and is permissible in Reformed thought, while the latter results in determinism and is rejected in Reformed thought.)¹⁵ Yet, because Piper embraces an Edwards-style compatibilism, such nuances tend to fall away from the system, and implications begin to take hold that would be horrifying to the keepers of Reformed theology of the 16th and 17th century.

In sum, Piper’s views are problematic from an Eastern perspective — certainly. But they can also be so labeled by the light of Augustine, medieval Catholicism, Lutheranism, Arminianism, and much of Reformed theology of the 16th and 17th century. This fact should give one very pause before taking Piper’s thought to heart. And yet, he is an extremely popular and influential speaker and writer, having a great deal of sway on thousands upon thousands of well-meaning laity and historically under-informed professors. I personally find this state of affairs unfortunate.

I’m guessing I’ve given you more than you wanted to know. But I hope you find it helpful.

Sincerely,
Dr. Jacobs

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Nathan A. Jacobs, Ph.D.
Scholar in Residence of Philosophy and Religion in the Religion in the Arts in Contemporary Culture Program (RACC)
Vanderbilt University, Divinity School
http://nathanajacobs.com
https://vanderbilt.academia.edu/NathanAJacobs

1. As has been pointed out to me, Piper does in fact hold a doctorate in theology. specializing in New Testament. So his training is scholarly, contrary to what I claim here. For the sake of integrity, I’ve left the error in the sentence.

2. The history here discussed in brief is fleshed out at greater length in my doctoral dissertation, In Defense of Leibniz’s Theodicy, chapter 2. Therein, I highlight evidence that Augustine, the medieval recipients of his thought, and the Reformed scholastics were advocates of libertarian free choice. Only in the 18th century does compatibilism begin to take hold of “Calvinism,” but the view is recognized in its day as innovative.

3. For a treatment of free will in the Eastern Church fathers, see my post On Free Will.

4. Of course, there are plenty of examples of God sending evils — plagues, for example. Certainly, the Eastern fathers do not deny that God sends such evils. However, they see even these as being willed, not for their own sake, but for the sake of goods to which they attach. Hence, even these acts, as interpreted by the Eastern fathers, are redemptive in nature, ultimately aimed at the repentance and salvation of those upon whom they have been sent, akin to the damage one does to a body in surgery when seeking to heal it. Two good sources on how the Eastern fathers read such texts — and indeed insist that they must be read — are Gregory of Nyssa’s Homilies on the Lord’s Prayer, homily 1; and the Philokalia of Origen, specifically the passages on Pharaoh. Lest any look at the appeal to Origen here as irrelevant to the Eastern fathers more broadly, keep in mind that the Philokalia of Origen is edited by Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzus, thus representing approved passages.

5. Worth noting is that even the drowning of Pharaoh is looked at in a redemptive light by many Eastern fathers. Origen — in passages edited and blessed by Basil and Gregory of Nazianzus — hints that Pharaoh’s story does not end at his drowning. How might we interpret this cryptic phrase? Maximus the Confessor offers some assistance. When speaking about the Noahic rebels, Maximus suggests that their drowning was an act of judgment, but the result was that their souls sat in the darkness of Hades, unable to satisfy the passions of the flesh, so that they might repent at the appearance and preaching of Christ. (For more on this, see my post Hell, Hades, and Christ's Descent (Part 1).) In like manner, Pharaoh’s soul was pulled from his body, forcing him to sit in darkness, acutely aware of that fact that he is no god at all, so that he might repent at the preaching of Christ.

6. The medieval reception can be seen in developments around the doctrine of predestination, which, in brief, are as follows. Thomas Aquinas advocates for a single predestination position, which is rather standard in his day. He suggests that, while God is Good and thus wills the good of every creature, as the Eastern fathers suggest, Aquinas draws a distinction between natural goods and goods that are above nature. He suggests that God has no obligation to will goods that are above nature, which opens the door to a selective giving of grace — or single predestination. Predestination, then, refers to the ordering of events in the divine mind that lead a person to eternal life. Reprobation, by contrast, is not an affirmative willing of damnation, but a withholding of grace. The cause of sin is the creature’s own free choice, which in turn leads to the creature’s damnation. Reprobation, in this sense, is not caused by God, but permitted. Bonaventure expands the medieval discussion by introducing distinctions between the eternal purpose, the mediate effect, the meritorious effect, and the ultimate result. The eternal purpose of predestination is God’s Goodness and glory; the mediate effect is infused grace, in the elect, and the hardening of the heart, in the reprobate; the meritorious effect is merit (for the elect) and demerit (for the reprobate; with the ultimate effect of salvation, in the former, and damnation, in the latter). The position avoids Pelagianism by asserting that glory is the result of merits, but the mediate effect of these merits is infused grace; and infused grace has no meritorious cause. God simply gives it out of his Goodness and for his glory. The most significant shift, however, is that, contrary to Lombard, Bonaventure suggests that the withholding of grace has no meritorious cause; it is a sheer act of divine choice. John Duns Scotus introduces a further development with his concept of “instances of nature,” which suggests that, though God is not subject to temporal sequences, there are still logical sequences to the divine decrees — what would give way to discussions about the order of divine decrees. The theory supplied a way of talking about the dynamic interplay between the creaturely condition, divine decrees, and creaturely choice. For example, at Instance of Nature (IN) 1: Peter and Judas are on equal footing, both bound by original sin and incapable of producing meritorious deeds. IN2: God wills to give grace to Peter but not Judas. IN3: Peter makes a right use of grace, producing merits, while Judas makes a wrong use of his free choice, producing demerits. IN4: God rewards Peter with glory and damns Judas. A further nuance we find in Duns Scotus is the distinction between nolo and non-volo, which distinguishes willing not something (an active but negative choice) and not willing (a passive non-choice). The distinction is key to understanding what it means to say that God withholds grace. The withholding is not an affirmative willing to damnation, but a non-choice. Peter Aureol builds on these developments, crafting a theory of general election. He notes that God wills the salvation of all (1 Tim 2:4). But if Duns Scotus is correct and there is no difference between Peter and Judas at IN1, and Bonaventure is correct that there is no meritorious cause for the withholding of grace; and yet God gives grace to Peter but not to Judas, then it follows that God does not will the salvation of all. Because God does will the salvation of all, we must presume instead that God gives grace to both, and what differentiates Peter from Judas in election and reprobation is that Peter makes a right use of grace, while Judas does not. Hence Aureol affirms the theory of instances of nature but suggests a different sequence, namely, that there is no distinction between Peter and Judas (IN1); grace is given to both (IN2); Peter makes a right use of grace, while Judas casts off grace (IN3); Peter attains glory, predestination, while Judas is damned, reprobation (IN4). (The notion that both Peter and Judas receive grace, but one makes a right use, while the other casts it off has precedence in Augustine’s On the Gift of Perseverance.) Gregory of Rimini opposes this theory of general election as Pelagian. In response, he asserts double predestination: Predestination refers to God’s willing to give eternal life, while reprobation refers to God willing to not have mercy (affirmatively). For Gregory, reprobation is in fact the cause of the hardening and sin, unlike in the single predestination views of earlier figures. Comparing these theories to the positions that emerge in the post-Reformation era, we can see that there is nothing new under the sun; the main positions on predestination to follow the Reformation already have precedent amongst the medievals.

7. In this talk of “passing over,” we hear the echoes of the medieval notion that God does not will (passive) to give grace to the reprobate, as opposed to willing not (active) to give grace; hence, he permits the damnation of the reprobate, as opposed to actively willing his damnation.

8. Those familiar with modern philosophy may recognize this distinction as one that appears in Leibniz’s Theodicy. While Leibniz does indeed use the antecedent-consequent-will distinction, he credits John of Damascus and John Chrysostom for the distinction in his Dissertation on Predestination and Grace.

9. On the prospect of post-mortem redemption for Pharaoh, see note 4 above.

10. The notion of a logical, though not temporal, order of divine decrees emerges in the medieval era with John Duns Scotus, who refers to the logical order as “instances of nature.”

11. For a more thorough treatment of the forms of determinism and on compatibilism, see my post On Free Will.

12. I point out that Gomarus debated Arminius because popular discussions today tend to characterize the “Calvinism” vs. “Arminian” dispute as a debate over free will, the Calvinist affirming compatibilism, while the Arminian affirms libertarianism. The fact that Gomarus, and his student, Voetius, affirm libertarian free choice in their chapters on free choice demonstrates that the Remonstrant (or Arminian) dispute was not about free choice per se; it was about the role of free choice in salvation.

13. See Richard 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.

14. TULIP is shorthand for the so-called “five points of Calvins,” which are Total depravity, Unconditional election, Limited atonement, Irresistable grace, and Perseverance of the saints.

15. The necessity of consequence vs. the necessity of consequent goes to a point of logic. When saying that if p then q is necessary, is one saying that the “then” entailment is necessary (necessity of the consequence)? Or is one saying that the resulting “q” is necessary (necessity of the consequent)? For example, “if God foreknows that Adam sins, then necessarily Adam sins.” Is this stating that the infallibility of divine knowledge requires that what God knows necessarily coincides with what is (i.e., Adam sinning), but what is could be otherwise (i.e., Adam could have not sinned)? Or are we saying that because God knows that Adam sins, Adam sins necessarily, being incapable of doing otherwise? The Reformed scholastics affirm the former but deny the latter.