Assurance Through Action

Because the soul is not only affected by the consideration of religious things, it must be remembered that the mere presence of affections does not prove the presence of true religion. Edwards listed various examples of affections which are neither proof of the presence of true religion nor proof of its absence.

Edwards argued that true religious affections arise only from those influences of the Spirit of God that are saving and not common. In other words, the Holy Spirit’s saving influences are not saving merely because they are to a high degree, but because they are of another kind. Therefore to have true assurance of salvation we must see to it that our affections arise from these influences of the Spirit that only true Christians can experience (for example, love for divine things for their inherent excellency, delight in the loveliness of the moral excellency of divine things, &c.).

The supreme sign, according to Edwards, is seen when gracious and holy affections have their exercise and fruit in Christian practice:

"Assurance is not to be obtained so much by self-examination as by action.... Holy practice is as much the end of all that God does about his saints, as fruit is the end of all the hubandman does about the growth of his field or vineyard."

My main critique of Edwards is that his entire schema gives rise to questions that simply did not seem to occur to Calvin, or more importantly, to Paul (questions like, "How do I know I believe?"). In fact, in my days as an Edwardsian I even began to wonder how Paul could make everything seem so simple.

Edwardsian Anthropology

"The affections," writes Jonathan Edwards, "are no other than the more vigorous and sensible exercises of the inclination and will of the soul.”

Edwards taught that God has endued the soul with two faculties; the first is that by which the soul perceives, discerns, and views things (the understanding), and the second is that by which the soul does not merely perceive things, but is in some way inclined with respect to the things it perceives, either to them, or disinclined from them (the will / heart).

This second exercise of the soul happens in varying degrees:

"It is to be noted that they are these more vigorous and sensible exercises of this faculty that are called affections."

Furthermore, these affections, though they take place in the soul, inevitably effect the body:

"Such seems to be our nature, and such are the laws of the union of soul and body, that there never is in any case whatsoever, any lively and vigorous exercise of the will or inclination of the soul without some effect on the body."

What is interesting to me about Edwards's formulations is that they arose in the context of a two-fold battle that he was fighting against the Awakening's enemies on the one hand, and against its friends on the other (and the case could be made that he was harder on the latter).

To those "enthusiasts" who understood any vigorous display of emotion as evidence of the Spirit's work, Edwards countered that while most emotion is merely common and not spiritual, true and genuine emotion must be the result of some fact, outside of us, that is grasped by the mind. In other words, gaining a fresh understanding of the sufferings of Christ or the eternal hope of the saint not only must precede genuine affection, but must produce it as a matter of course.

It sounds similar to the argument I was making some weeks back that the eschatological always precedes the existential, the historia salutis grounds the ordo salutis, and that "psalms of rememberance" lead to "psalms of trust."

Sure, Edwards gets kooky later in the book, but you have to admit that he does seem to be on to something here....

Jonathan Edwards and the Religious Affections

I entered Westminster Seminary California a pretty devout Edwardsian, and yet as I spent most of the summer of 2002 doing preparatory research for a directed study project with Dr. D.G. Hart on Edwards's versus Calvin's view of assurance (the paper was titled What Hath Geneva to do with Northampton?), my sympathies shifted from the eighteenth- to the sixteenth century, and from Massachusetts to Switzerland.

At present, the main thing I have in common with Jonathan Edwards is that I hate wasting paper....

Still, I have always appreciated his Treatise Concerning Religious Affections. Well, let me clarify that. That last part, you know, the part about how we can only know that we're true believers because we love God for his inherent excellencies, and not because of the benefits we derive from him? Not a huge fan of that part.

But his thesis at the beginning of the book is that true religion largely consists in the realm of the affections, which he defines as "the more vigorous and sensible exercises of the inclination and will of the soul." In other words, an "affection" for Edwards is not saying "OK" when you are asked, "Would you like fries with that?" Rather, an affection occurs when the soul responds vigorously to information received (Think fainting upon learning you've won the lottery).

According to Edwards, things like love for God, hatred of sin, and hope in the fulfillment of divine promises are all affections, and he therefore argues that "as there is no true religion where there is nothing else but affection, so there is no true religion where there is no religious affection."

I plan to interact with Edwards's treatise over the next few posts, but if you have some preliminary thoughts (and I know you do), let's hear 'em....

Spirit, Flesh, and Christian Schizophrenia

The locus classicus of the flesh/Spirit battle is found in Galatians 5:17ff. Before anything is positively said about this passage, we must beware of interpreting this text in the light of our individual experience. Our existential concurrence with the "struggle" we perceive in this verse notwithstanding, it is exegesis, not experience, that must guide our hermeneutics. Gordon Fee writes:

"The flesh-Spirit contrast in Paul never appears in a context in which the issue has to do with 'how to live the Christian life'; rather, it appears in this case in an argument with those who have entered into the new eschatological life of the Spirit, but who are being seduced to return to the old aeon, to live on the basis of Torah observance, which for Paul is finally but another form of life 'according to the flesh' (cf. Gal. 3:3; 5:17-18; Phil. 3:3-6)."

In this semi-eschatological context in which Torah has expired and is no longer operative, Paul argues, the "law of the Spirit of life" is sufficient for holy living. "Flesh" versus "Spirit," therefore, do not refer to an internal/external or spirit/matter dualism, but an eschatological dualism between this age and that which is to come. Michael Horton writes:

"It becomes clear that this two-age model is concerned not with two worlds or realms, but with two ages, one inferior to the other not for any necessary or ontological reasons but for situational and ethical ones.... To be 'in the Spirit' is not to be ontologically spiritual as opposed to physical, but to be 'in Christ' rather than 'in Adam,' to belong 'to the age to come' rather than to 'this present evil age,' to be 'children of the resurrection' of whom Jesus Christ is the 'firstfruits.' The age of the Spirit is not contrasted with that of the flesh, says Ridderbos, 'first and foremost as an individual experience… but as the new way of existence which became present time with the coming of Christ.... This being in the Spirit is not a mystical, but an eschatological, redemptive-historical, category.'"

The crux of Paul’s flesh/Spirit contrast, therefore, is not that there exists within the individual believer an unceasing battle between his good and bad natures (rendering him somewhat of a spiritual schizophrenic), but that the believer, who is pneumatikos (spiritual), is called to live according to his spiritual identity and heavenly citizenship. This is new covenant sanctification, and is given the apostolic designation of "walk[ing] by the Spirit, and [not gratifying] the desires of the flesh" (Gal. 5:16)

On the Ordo- and Historia Salutis

I've noticed that, for some reason, I am more careful and nuanced with my formulations in the "comments" section than I am in my posts proper. For this reason, I want to clarify something.

In the Christian life, the existential and individual experience of the faith is rooted in the eschatological realities of that faith. To put it differently, redemption applied to me (ordo salutis) stems from redemption accomplished outside of me (historia salutis).

So the redemptive-historical shift from worship according to "the old way of the letter" to worship according to "the new way of the Spirit" accounts for the experiential differences between the saint of Romans 7 and the saint of Romans 8. Moreover, the horizontal movement from the old age to the dawning of the new is the background for Paul's dichotomy between the flesh and the Spirit in Galatians 5.

In fact, I am arguing in my current series of sermons on the psalms that it is the psalms of remembrance (like 136) that inevitably lead to psalms of confidence (like 91). So knowing that God "brought Israel out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm" leads the psalmist to say that "he who dwells in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." The historia salutis grounds the ordo salutis, and redemption accomplished always leads to redemption applied.

This is all fine in theory, but it gets tricky when new indicatives make their entrance into the story (like, say, the resurrection of Christ and subsequent gift of the Spirit). When we ignore the ongoing development of God's redemptive plan, we are not only in danger of losing the contours of the biblical landscape, we are also susceptible to an under-realized eschatology that cannot but affect our daily Christian living.

What I'm saying is that both street maps (systematic theology) and topographical maps (biblical theology) are important. We can probably get by with one or the other, but we lose much more than we gain by such neglect.

The Law and the Flesh

According to Paul, the plight of the "wretched man" (Rom. 7:14-25) is said to be coterminous with his living "in the flesh" and serving God "according to the old way of the letter" (7:5-6). Just to make sure you didn't miss that, I'll say it another way: For Paul, living "in the flesh" is connected with life "under the law."

Apparently the NIV is wrong, and being "in the flesh" is not simply acting according to our "sinful natures." Or, just as "under the law" is redemptive-historical rather than existential, so is "in the flesh."

The Hebrew word baśar (flesh) refers to the flesh of bodies (Gen. 2:21, 23). By extension it came to connote humanity, and more specifically, human frailty (Gen. 6:12; Ps. 78:39).

The Pauline appearances of "flesh" (sarx), however, rarely denote flesh in its physical form, but usually carry the extended notion of humanity (hence his use of "Israel" or "Abraham" "according to the flesh," meaning according to human genealogy, I Cor. 10:18; Rom. 4:1). Where Paul’s employment of the flesh/Spirit motif is unique, however, is in its eschatological formulation. For Paul, the work of Christ and the subsequent gift of the Spirit signaled the entrance into this age of the life and dynamic of the age to come. The primary element of heaven is the Spirit, whose proper domain is in glory. Hence the apostle's most commonly used description of holy living as walking "according to the Spirit," or, according to the coming eschatological age. In contrast to this is life lived "according to the flesh," i.e. existence that is in accordance with this present evil age that is passing away. Thus Paul’s use of "flesh" is unique in that it highlights the progression from denoting anthropological creatureliness (humanity) to theological creatureliness (sinful humanity), and finally to eschatological existence (life in keeping with this age).

This means that neither Romans 7:14-25 nor Galatians 5:16-26 are describing a struggle between the "good" and "bad" sides of our personalities. Don't get me wrong, a struggle is surely involved in both passages. The former, however, is between nomos (law) and ego (I), while the latter is between sarx (flesh) and pneuma (Spirit).

And both are eschatological rather than existential.

Was Paul a Carnal Christian?

Countless hours and gallons of ink have been spent discussing the "wretched man" of Romans 7:14-25, the debate often centering on whether Paul is describing a regenerate or an unregenerate man.

The answer is no.

Before we get to my position, though, I will address the more popular view, namely, that Paul is speaking of himself and his own battle with the flesh.

If Paul is describing his own personal experience in Romans 7:14ff, this creates a serious contradiction between his statements in 6:14, 7:14, and 8:7. According to this position, the apostle's conversion (his individual shift from being "under the law" to being "under grace") resulted in "sin… not hav[ing] dominion over [him]." But at the same time that Paul was allegedly free from sin's dominion (6:14) he was "sold as a slave to sin" (7:14). In other words, Paul’s so-called autobiographical account in 7:14ff is a perfect description of the condition that his so-called conversion in 6:14 is supposed to have precluded.

Furthermore, when we compare 7:14 and 8:7, the "autobiographical view" would force us to say that Paul's description of himself as "carnal" in 7:14 demands that he is therefore "hostile to God" and "not in submission to God’s law" (8:7). But this description appears inconsistent with his "delight[ing] in the law of God according to the inward man" spoken of in 7:22. These inconsistencies force us to reject the view that the "wretched man" of Romans 7 describes the normal condition of the believer.

Still, there is obviously some difference between the liberated saint in Romans 6:14 and the shackled man of Romans 7:14-25. What accounts for this contrast? Is the former a "victorious Christian" who has received the second blessing of the Spirit while the latter remains a "carnal Christian"? Is the so-called "saint" of Romans 7 even a Christian at all?

I would argue that answer is found, not surprisingly, in the text itself. The contrast is drawn in 7:6 between the person who serves God according to the old way of the letter (i.e., under the [Mosaic] law), and the person who serves God according to the new way of the Spirit (i.e., under grace [of Christ]). The distinction, then, is redemptive-historical rather than existential in nature (though the latter results from the former). The Old Covenant, therefore, produces bondage, condemnation, and death (as Paul argues in II Cor. 3).

This means that when we recognize ourselves in the carnal man of Romans 7, labelling this type of sanctification the result of "a theology of the cross" as Lutheran theologians are wont to do, we are stopping short of espousing the semi-realized eschatology of the New Covenant.

Law, Grace, and the Dominion of Sin

I have been arguing that the New Covenant gift of the Holy Spirit has concrete ramifications for the believer's sanctification, for the heavenly promise, of which the Spirit is the down payment, is no longer merely a part of the "not yet" of future hope, but in some measure participates in the "already" of our present experience.

Consider Romans 6:14 ("For sin shall no longer have dominion over you, for you are not under the law, but under grace"). The traditional approach to this passage has been to interpret the categories "under the law" and "under grace" existentially, as denoting our pre- and post-conversion situation.

Some problems arise from this view. First, "law" in Paul usually refers not to an abstract a-historical principle, but to the law of Moses in particular. In fact, his other uses of "under the law" (hypo nomon) leave us no other option. When Paul spoke to those Galatians who desired to be "under the law," was he talking to people who longed to be under the condemnation of the law? When for the sake of the Jews Paul became as one "under the law," does this mean he became as one condemned by the general principle of law? When Jesus is said to have been born "under the law," does it mean that he was born under the condemnation of the law? Of course not. "Under the law" means under the jurisdiction of the Mosaic covenant.

Secondly, if "under the law" and "under grace" are existential categories describing one's being either condemned or justified, then Paul's argument is a non-sequitur. Justification does not free a person from the power of sin, it frees him from the guilt of sin.

But if Paul's categories of "under the law" and "under grace" are redemptive-historical rather than existential in nature, then it makes perfect sense that the person living under the jurisdiction of the New Covenant would be less susceptible to the dominion of sin that the Old Covenant saint. After all, we have been indwelt by the Spirit of the risen Christ, whose law sets us free from the law of sin and death.

But don't take my word for it. Paul goes on to give us two vivid examples of what life "under the law" and "under grace" look like.

Just read Romans 7 and 8.

Declaration #8: Perseverance

"The view that some can receive saving benefits of Christ's mediation, such as regeneration and justification, and yet not persevere in those benefits is contrary to the Westminster Standards." So reads the eighth declaration of the PCA's Report on the Federal Vision.

This one's a toughie, especially in the light of passages like Heb. 6:4-6 which list repentance, enlightenment, tasting of the heavenly gift, sharing in the Holy Spirit, and experiencing the power of the age to come as among those blessings that may be a part of the experience of a believer who ends up an apostate.

How do we deal with this? Do we insist that these blessings are common rather than saving, or do we suck it up, admit that they're saving, and resign ourselves to the fact that true believers can be ultimately lost?

Of all the views I've come across, R. Fowler White's is the most intriguing. He argues that these are indeed saving blessings predicated upon apostates, but that these "benefits of Christ's mediation" are attributed to them not because the writer has secret knowledge of God's eternal decree, but because such blessings must be attributed to all within the covenant, even though one's profession may be a false one (something only God knows). He writes:

"On the premise that the faith of their audiences was covenantally credible, the [New Testament] writers ascribed to them all sorts of blessedness.... On the premise that the faith of their audiences was undifferentiated, the writers exhorted their audiences to perseverance (and were covenantally bound to do so)..." (The Auburn Avenue Theology, 213).

Unlike the Federal Visionists, who insist that if these blessings are attributed to an entire church then each and every member must have each and every one, White is arguing that one's covenant membership entitles him to the benefit of the doubt, even if the one to whom such saving blessings are attributed is, from the standpoint of the divine decree, a reprobate.

Thus, we can affirm with our forefathers in the faith that "True believers, by reason of the unchangeable love of God, and his decree and covenant to give them perseverance, [and] their inseparable union with Christ... can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace, but are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation (WLC 79)."

Declaration #7: Union and Salvation

"The view," declares the PCA's Report on the Federal Vision, "that one can be 'united to Christ' and not receive all the benefits of Christ's mediation, including perseverance, in that effectual union is contrary to the Westminster Standards."

Advocates of the Federal Vision argue that the nomenclature of "union with Christ" applies to all who have been baptized with water, and that this "covenantal union" can be lost due to one's failing to abide in the Vine (cf. John 15:6).

The Westminster Standards, on the other hand, teach that union with Christ is a "special benefit" enjoyed by the "members of the invisible church." Further, by this union "the elect... are spiritually and mystically, yet really and inseparably" joined with Christ (WLC 65-66). The "inseparable" nature of this union precludes "true believers" from "totally or finally falling away from a state of grace" (WLC 79). Finally, the various benefits of Christ's mediation, such as "justification, adoption, and sanctification," are given to "the members of the invisible church" as "manifestations of their union with him."

The Standards do not speak of baptism effecting "union with Christ," whether covenantal or saving, but speak instead of this sacrament being a sign and seal of our "ingrafting into Christ" (WCF 28:1; WLC 165; WSC 94), a blessing not necessarily received at the moment of the sacrament's administration (WCF 28:6).

Interestingly, the New Testament does not speak with univocity concerning our union with Christ, but employs a handful of phrases to communicate the doctrine ("in Christ," "in Me," "united with him," &c). This being the case, it makes perfect sense to follow our tradition in employing one phrase to indicate the elect's saving relation to Jesus ("union") and another to speak of the baptized covenant member's association with the visible assembly of saints ("solemn admission," WCF 28:1).

The Federal Vision's insistence upon using the language of "union" to refer to both betrays either an ignorance of, or a stubborn refusal to employ, the tools of systematic theology. Their boast of "using the Bible's terms," therefore, comes at the cost of confusing the saints and robbing them of their assurance.

Declaration #6: The Benefits of Baptism

The sixth declaration of the PCA's Federal Vision Report reads:

"The view that water baptism effects a 'covenantal union' with Christ through which each baptized person receives the saving benefits of Christ's mediation, including regeneration, justification, and sanctification, thus creating a parallel soteriological system to the decretal system of the Westminster Standards, is contrary to the Westminster Standards."

The logic of the Federal Vision runs thus: (1) Baptism places a person in covenant with God; (2) To be in covenant with God entails receiving all the saving blessings of Christ; (3) Therefore all who are baptized partake of all of Christ's saving benefits, which benefits may be forfeited for lack of covenant faithfulness (see Steve Wilkins' essay in The Auburn Avenue Theology, especially pp. 261-63).

When pressed for explanation, Federal Visionists often backpedal: "I do indeed believe that baptism unites the baptized in covenant with Christ.... However, baptism is never efficacious apart from the exercise of saving faith on the part of the recipient" (Wilkins' Response to the PCA's report).

The FV's rationale for attributing saving blessings to those in covenantal union with Christ is that the apostles often refer to their readers as "saints" without qualification, predicating upon them election, justification, and sanctification (cf. I Cor. 6:11).

I must admit, though I have some exegetical difficulties with the FV's approach here, I sympathize with their overall concern. As FV opponent R. Fowler White concedes in his essay:

"On the premise that the faith of their audiences was covenantally credible, the [New Testament] writers ascribed to them all sorts of blessedness.... On the premise that the faith of their audiences was undifferentiated, the writers exhorted their audiences to perseverance (and were covenantally bound to do so)..." (Ibid., 213).

Therefore I hold, in common with the Federal Visionists, a high regard for baptism and some concerns about the perceived low regard for the sacraments in certain Presbyterian circles. I just wish they would qualify their statements about baptism the way the Reformed confessions do.

Distinguishing between the visible- and invisible church would be a good start....

Declaration #5: Union and Imputation

"The view," declares the PCA's Federal Vision Report, "that 'union with Christ' renders imputation redundant because it subsumes all of Christ's benefits (including justification) under this doctrinal heading is contrary to the Westminster Standards."

Some clarification is needed here (as was helpfully pointed out to me by one of my readers): Federal Vision advocate Rich Lusk has clarified his position with respect to union with Christ and the imputation of his righteousness. It is not imputation as such that Lusk argues is made redundant by our union with Christ, but imputation as defined by a "transfer of righteousness" from Jesus' account to ours. Imputation, he argues, is God's "reckoning" (logizomai) of us as righteous based upon the verdict pronounced upon his Son at his resurrection on the third day.

So once again, to the Standards....

Westminster Larger Catechism 65-66 states that union with Christ is a "special benefit" that "the members of the invisible church enjoy," and that this union "really and inseparably" joins the elect believer to his Husband and Head. Furthermore, WLC 69 teaches that our union with Christ is "manifested" by our "partaking of the virtue of his mediation, in [our] justification, adoption, [and] sanctification." And once again, this union is said to be a benefit given to "the members of the invisible church."

Though union is certainly understood by the Reformed tradition to be the rubric under which the various blessings of the covenant of grace come to us, there is no warrant for using union as an excuse to collapse these blessings together, or to allow any one (like sanctification) to swallow another (like justification).

So Lusk's clarification notwithstanding, he and the Federal Vision still fall short of anything resembling an historic, confessional, Reformed position. His concession that Jesus' verdict is ours by virtue of our union with him fails to ultimately comfort, especially when we realize that this union is only retained through our covenant faithfulness, and that the verdict pronounced in the "already" may be changed by the time we reach the "not yet."

Declaration #2: Election

The second declaration of the PCA's Federal Vision Report states:

"The view that an individual is 'elect' by virtue of his membership in the visible church; and that this 'election' includes justification, adoption and sanctification; but that this individual could lose his 'election' if he forsakes the visible church, is contrary to the Westminster Standards."

The view the committee has in mind is represented by PCA pastor Steve Wilkins who, after arguing that all who have been baptized are elect and in covenant with God, writes:

"The elect are those who are faithful in Christ Jesus. If they later reject the Savior, they are no longer elect - they are cut off from the Elect One and thus, lose their elect standing.... All in covenant are given all that is true of Christ. If they persevere in faith to the end, they enjoy these mercies eternally. If they fall away in unbelief, they lose these blessings and receive a greater condemnation than Sodom and Gomorrah" ("Covenant, Baptism, and Salvation" in The Auburn Avenue Theology: Pros and Cons, 261, 263).

To his credit, Wilkins saves us hassle of citing the Westminster Standards for the purpose of comparative analysis by admitting that Federal Visionists, following Scripture, "seem to use the terms 'covenant,' elect,' and 'regeneration' in a different way than the Westminster Confession uses them" (Ibid., 268).

By obliterating the traditional Reformed and confessional distinction between the visible and invisible church, and by allowing covenant to swallow election whole, the Federal Vision fails to provide the (much-needed) antidote to revivalism that they originally sought to give us.

Instead, we are left with an arrangement, begun by baptism and completed by Spirit-wrought covenant faithfulness, according to which we can gain such saving benefits as election, regeneration, and vital union with Christ, only to potentially lose them on the last day.

In short, we are left with an arrangement that, though not completely Pelagian, isn't truly Pauline either.

Assurance in the Ache

We have seen that any genuine claim to assurance of salvation, however small in measure, is impossible without the work of the third Person of the Trinity, whose primary role in the economy of redemption is to “take what is [Christ’s] and declare it to [us],” revealing to us treasure that, without his testimony, “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has entered into the heart of man” (Jn. 16:14-15; I Cor. 2:9).

As the concept of marturia suggests when correctly understood, this assurance results from Spirit-wrought fiducia and Spirit-interpreted self-examination. Insistence upon the latter is no symptom of legalism, however, for the fact that the reflex act often results in crisis rather than complacency is itself evidence of our semi-eschatological conundrum wherein we, along with creation, groan for the full enjoyment of a redemption that we already partly possess (Eph. 1:7, 14). In this very Abba-confession the Scylla of the “already” meets the Caribdis of the “not yet,” for it is due to the present awareness of our sonship that we can call God “Father,” but it is because this adoption has yet to be consummated that this bold affirmation comes in the form of a fervent cry (Rom. 8:15).

There is assurance in this ache, however, for it is the expectant ache of a journeying son dispossessed “but for a moment” (II Cor. 4:17), yet at the same time a prince and heir of a kingdom that boasts “greater riches than the treasures of Egypt” (Heb. 11:26). It is because “assurance is glory in the bud, the suburbs of paradise,” therefore, that the yearning pilgrim can groan in “the hope that this dirge will not last long, but will soon drown in a song not sung in vain.”

The Direct and Reflex Acts of Faith

I have been arguing that the witness of the Spirit is not some form of verbal or propositional testimony by which the Holy Spirit communicates the fact of our adoption, but rather (in keeping with how the NT uses the term martureo), the witness of the Spirit involves an appeal to the evidence of divine handiwork in our lives.

To what, then, does the Spirit appeal to demonstrate our sonship?

The handiwork to which the Holy Spirit points consists of two lines of evidence. The first is the fact that we have exercised faith in Jesus Christ -- which includes the element of fiducia -- and therefore carries with it a degree of certitude and confidence (Rom. 5:1-2). The primary means of the saint's assurance, then, is what Turretin calls "the direct act" of faith -- looking outside of ourselves to Jesus the Savior.

The second line of evidence to which the Spirit points us is the resultant fruit of holiness that always accompanies justification, and has been called "the reflex act" of faith (II Pet. 1:5-8, 11; I John 3:10-15). The duplex beneficium (double benefit) of Christ's work, according to Calvin, is justification and sanctification, and our confessional documents make it clear that the former always produces the latter (Westminster Confession XI.2).

The witness of the Spirit, therefore, is no tertium quid. It is not merely of the "benessence" of faith, reserved for those of God's favorites who have tarried long and struggled hard to attain it. It is, rather, the conditio sine qua non of assurance, for without the testimony of the Holy Spirit we would not only be unable to call Jesus Christ "Lord" (I Cor. 12:3), we would be unable to recognize that we have called him "Lord." Without the testimony of the Holy Spirit we would not only be unable to perform good works, we would be unable to recognize the good works that we do perform.

As Thomas Goodwin has beautifully stated, "[The Spirit] writes first all graces in us, and then teacheth our consciences to read his handwriting, which we could never do without his light."

The Witness and the Whisper

As I mentioned in passing already, the "threefold method" of gaining assurance betrays an anachronistic understanding of the nature of testimony. In modern usage the words "testify" or "witness," perhaps due to their legal connotations, evoke the idea of a case being made via carefully worded argument and verbal appeal.

But the New Testament was not written in English but in Greek, and the word martureo is a lexeme with a slightly different nuance than its equivalent in our own vernacular.

In Hebrews 2:4, for example, we read that "God also bore witness [to the gospel] by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit...." It is not verbal communication of factual data that is in view here, but the appeal to evidence as confirmation of the preached Word. These spiritual phenomena served as witnesses, not through assertion, but through demonstration and proof.

Likewise in Acts 14:3, concerning Paul's and Barnabbas's ministry in Iconium, we read that the Lord "bore witness to the word of his grace, granting signs and wonders to be done by their hands." As with the passage just considered, God’s method of witness-bearing takes an indirect form. He does not verbally communicate—or inwardly suggest—that the ministry of the apostles is indeed divine, but he testifies to its genuineness by means of appeal to evidence and proof.

If we are to follow the analogia fidei, therefore, we must allow the Scripture to define its own terms rather than forcing them into our own preconceived straitjackets. When this is done it becomes evident that the witness of the Holy Spirit is no internal voice, whisper, or suggestion to our minds that we are the children of God. If such were the case the divinely-ordained harmony between Word and Spirit would be disturbed, and a mystical dissonance would result.

Rather, the witness of the Holy Spirit is an appeal, indirectly made, to the evidence of God’s own handiwork in the lives of his children, resulting in a full and well-grounded assurance of salvation.

Agree? Disagree? Why?

Word, Works, and a Tertium Quid?

It is safe to say that a great deal more attention is given to the fact that the Spirit bears witness than to how this witness is borne.

Still, it was customary for Puritan divines such as Thomas Goodwin to speak of the Spirit's testimony—often referred to as the third prong of the "threefold method" for attaining assurance—as being a direct, immediate communication of the fact of our sonship from the heart of God to the heart of man.

The most obvious, but by no means the only, problem with this approach is seen in the fact that if assurance is something that can be gained in small measure without the witness of the Spirit (Rom. 8:15), but in greater measure with it (Rom. 8:16), then what God hath joined, i.e. Word and Spirit, man hath put asunder.

If the witness of the Spirit is, as this paradigm admits, a tertium quid, then the dove has escaped the ark despite our efforts to rein her in. Once this has occurred, the only place she will find to rest her foot will be upon the unmediated experiences with which many have replaced the more sure word of prophecy.

So much for "Credo en spiritum sanctum qui ex patri filioque procedit."

The threefold method, therefore, is flawed for at least two reasons. First, it seems to presuppose an unproven and, as will be demonstrated, untenable definition of the Holy Spirit’s witness, i.e., the communication of factual data concerning the condition of the doubting saint. And secondly, by virtue of its being threefold, it divorces Word from Spirit, making assurance possible by Word alone without the Spirit’s witness, by Spirit alone without the Word’s promise, or by works alone without either.

The Threefold Method of Assurance

"When the Spirit of truth comes," Jesus declared on the eve of his betrayal and arrest, "he will glorify me, for he will take what is mine and declare it to you." The Holy Spirit, then, fulfills his role as Comforter by pointing believers not to himself but to Christ, thereby providing them assurance of salvation.

But how does the Spirit do this?

In no other discussion is the "shy member" of the Trinity's bashfulness as obvious as in that of his role as witness-bearer to our status as adopted sons of God the Father. Many unwittingly assign the Spirit the job of divine whisperer whose greatest function is, in the midst of the believer's quiet time, to say in his still, small voice, "Pssst! You’re elect!"

It is common in Reformed circles to speak of the "threefold method of assurance," referring to the comfort we derive, first, from the divine promises found in Scripture, secondly, from the fruit of sanctification in our lives, and thirdly, through the witness of the Holy Spirit (this method's proponents include Theodore Beza, William Perkins, Willem Teelinck, Thomas Goodwin, John Owen, and Martyn Lloyd-Jones).

What are we to make of this view of assurance? How does the Spirit "bear witness with our spirits that we are children of God"?

Isn't It Ironic (Don'tcha Think)?

Perhaps one of the sternest warnings in all the New Testament is found in Hebrews 6:4-8. I'd like to highlight the most common interpretations of this pasage, and then throw in an interesting take on it and get your thoughts.

One obvious way of tackling this passage involves biting the bullet and admitting that the people in question were once Christians, but that they lost their salvation (a view once associated almost solely with Arminianism, but which has been adopted, in a qualified form, by proponents of the Federal Vision).

The view that most Calvinists espouse is that the blessings mentioned (enlightenment, having tasted of the heavenly gift, having shared in the Holy Spirit, and having tasted the goodness of the Word of God and the powers of the age to come) are common, rather than saving, blessings. In other words, all these things can be said about the hypocrite who, like Judas, progressed quite far in the Christian life but who never truly exercised saving faith.

But a slightly different interpretation has been suggested by R. Fowler White. His position is as follows:

The writer to the Hebrews is attributing actual saving blessings to actual apostates (which is the most natural reading of the passage), blessings that were legitimately ascribed when the apostate initially believed. Although at the end of the day, if the apostate remains in his condition, these blessings would never have been his true possession, we're not at "the end of the day" but in the middle of it. The writer, therefore, was not in a position to know the apostate's heart, only his original profession and his current state. He then takes these into account and employs "reproachful irony" in order to bring out the danger being flirted with (Mark 2:17; Matt. 8:12).

White argues:

"On the premise that the faith of their audiences was covenantally credible, the [New Testament] writers ascribed to them all sorts of blessedness.... On the premise that the faith of their audiences was undifferentiated, the writers exhorted their audiences to perseverance (and were covenantally bound to do so), with promise of everlasting blessedness for perseverance, and warning of everlasting curse for apostasy" (The Auburn Avenue Theology: Pros and Cons, 213, emphasis added).

Thoughts?

Threaten Ye, Threaten Ye My People

In his contribution to The Auburn Avenue Theology: Pros and Cons, PCA pastor Steve Wilkins, writing in defense of the Federal Vision, says of Paul's words in Romans 8:28-34:

"Paul is not stating promises [of divine foreknowledge, predestination, calling, justification, and glorification] that are true only for some unknown group called the 'elect.' ... Rather, he is applying these promises to all members of the Church who have been baptized and united to Christ in his death, burial, and resurrection (Romans 6). Yet, in spite of these clear affirmations of their elect status, Paul does not hesitate to warn them against the possibility of apostasy."

Later in the same essay, Wilkins unpacks the last stament in this way:

"The elect are those who are faithful in Christ Jesus. If they later reject the Savior, they are no longer elect -- they are cut off from the Elect One and thus, lose their elect standing. But their falling away doesn't negate the reality of their standing prior to their apostasy. They were really and truly the elect of God because of their relationship with Christ" (emphasis mine).

My reason for highlighting these passages is to demonstrate what happens when we simply see the Mosaic Covenant as "the gospel before Christ." The precarious status of national Israel as God's elect people, which was contingent upon their keeping of the law, is made to be the normative paradigm for the New Covenant people of God (complete with the threat of disinheritance and forfetiture of adoption).

And if one responds by saying that, since all covenants are "gracious," we should see Moses as pre-Christian gospel, I would ask whether what our Federal Vision brothers are offering is really "grace" at all. When, under the guise of trying to alleviate the doubts of God's people, I am told that if I don't display sufficient covenant faithfulness I will lose the blessings of election and union with Christ, well, the "comfort" of the message is lost on me.