A Fate Worse Than Death?

In Plato's Laws, the punishment for husbands killing wives and vice versa is permanent exile from their homeland. Fratricide, Matricide, and Patricide receive the death penalty. From a modern vantage point it would seem that exile is the lesser sentence, but for those in the dialogue, it is much worse. Part of the reason is likely due to certain beliefs about the afterlife--that a murdered soul will continue to inhabit the land where he dies, and thus torment the soul of his murderer. Thus, an exile that dies outside of its homeland must wander not only in life but also in death--permanently separated from the soil from everything that mores his identity and purpose--homeland, people, ancestors, progeny.

In this observation the punishment of exile seems much closer to the Christian idea of eternal damnation--the torment of being forever exiled from the God who gives identity and purpose to all that He has made. To be exiled in the second death is indeed a fate worse than death itself. The immortal soul destined to wander without identity or purpose seems torment enough--to be left alone, entirely alone, knowing that you abandoned your only hope of restoration would be a torment akin to a lake of fire for the soul.

The Measure of Man

The pursuit of human excellence is the original and loftiest pursuit ever undertaken by man. It drove Adam to rebel, Achilles to fight, Plato to contemplate the verities, and the Son of God to take up human flesh.

There have been a multitude of pathways toward perfection pursued by men. They are as so many facets of a diamond, splintering light into an array of colors, now dazzling, now captivating, now titillating the spirited part of the human soul to renew its own efforts to exceed its capacities and become, well, Divine.

In Greece, men became gods by physical and mental prowess, exhibited through fearless acts of courage in battle, ingenuity in labor, craftiness in speech, shrewdness in policy, wit in the company of friends and ecstasy in the embrace of a lover. Rome was an homage to Greece, which was itself a variation on a theme by the cultures of the Ancient Near East, with their exhibitions of violence and sexual manipulation of the gods.

The measure of man was manifest in his power to accomplish whatsoever he willed, and to will nothing less than what excelled the capacities of all other men. This spirit endures today in every corner of Western Culture. Man wants to show his worth through the domination of every undertaking. Is it any wonder that video games captivate the imaginations of youth, who lack the means to ascend, but are overflowing with the passion to do so? Video games allow one to taste the superhuman qualities by means of simulation, at once satisfying the passion, but at the same time stultifying power to ascend in the natural world. So too many of the musical and theatrical choices available play into the same passion, and resort to the same means of simulation to achieve the temporary fix. Music that highlights ecstatic and erotic love, wealth and fame beyond measure, domination through expressions of anger, domination, or control are available at a hand's random snatch from the shelves. Movies portray sex that evokes cries of ecstasy, or limitless cognitive prowess available upon instantaneous conjuring, or physical capacities to endure pain or overcome obstacles that are by implication superhuman, or even explicitly so. Even outside the acknowledged realms of simulation, where "reality" is supposed to take place, a simulacra of superhuman images predominates. The television personality with the perfect complexion, quickest wit, or most incisive analysis must also appear as natural and unscripted as possible. Celebrities from all areas of life, whether sports, business, entertainment, religion, what have you are portrayed in glorious perfection until a relatively minor and all-too-human flaw or mistake becomes the fodder for pretenders to the throne to devour in all the splendor of unmitigated envy.

Protagoras is credited with saying that of all things the measure is man. From one vantage point, the empirical one at least, this is true. Man does measure all things--evaluating them scrupulously or unscrupulously. The other things in the world do not measure. But taken in another way, Protagoras' claim is patently false. Man is not the standard by which man measures. If this were so, perfection, superhuman qualities, the qualities of divinity, would not be that by which man measures--for they are not what man is, at least not by the same empirical test that acknowledges man as that thing that measures all things. No, man measures himself against his idea of God, and insofar as man's position toward the One True God is rebellious, he cannot accept the One True God as the One by which to measure himself. Rather, he must judge by the false image, the idol, the supplanter god who serves as the placeholder for the Triune God. No Christian who has a modicum of Biblical knowledge could deny the pervasiveness of idolatry, nor fail to acknowledge it as an exchange of Truth for Lies.

And yet.

And yet Christians more often than not measure by the measurements of pagan and infidel idolaters. Christians measure one another by the topics of the classical encomium:

What is the greatness of your race?
What is the greatness of your country?
What is the greatness of your ancestors?
What is the greatness of your parents?
What is the greatness of your intellectual education?
What is the greatness of your training in skills?
What is the greatness of your cultural knowledge?
What is the greatness of your mind?
What is the greatness of your body?
What is the greatness of your fortune?
How do you compare to the greatness of others?

One can craft the pretense that such measurements are simply instrumental--one is not judging anyone's "true worth" by such standards, after all. But I remain skeptical. I don't see alternative measurements very often, unless it is something like, "judge not, lest you be judged," which sounds more like a defense against one's own failings being declared than it does a plea for an alternative measure of excellence.

If not these things, then, what is the measure of man?

When one considers the life of Christ, by what measure will His life be discovered as the most excellent of all, the one that displays humanity at its most excellent? He was not from a great race, country, ancestors, or parents. Though few would argue against his capacity for knowledge, skill, and cultural awareness, no one could seriously maintain that he exhibit any of those to the highest degree during his lifetime. Nor did his mind, body, or fortunes seem altogether more excellent than all other men. He does not compare well, and even the long train of unfaithful admirers of Jesus cherry pick ideas of his that could have and may have originated before him or gained more potent expression after him.

With what measure, then? Consider the negative. At what point did Christ endure, undergo, take up what no man before, or after him, could? It is not hard to conceive that another man might be wounded more grievously than Christ, and remain courageous and stalwart. It is not hard to conceive that another man might be scorned more than Christ was, and come through undaunted. It is not hard to conceive that another man might be more honored than Christ was in his life, and remain remarkably humble.

What then? What did Christ undergo than no man could before him, or after? The just penalty for the sins of the world. Consider what it must have taken for a man to endure the unmitigated wrath of God poured out for every offense, and to do so without guilt or cause for condemnation. The ultimate humiliation, the ultimate denial of one's human excellence. Surely this was something Christ endure that no man before or after him could.

Even so, the negative construction beckons the question: if it was by enduring the wrath of God that Christ exceeded all other men, what was it that enabled Him to endure, the positive quality that was able to overcome? If wrath is an outpouring of hatred, the rejection of worth or value or excellence; then would not love be that which would need to be greater in order to endure? This seems most fitting. Only the man who was most beloved by God (the Being excelling all others in Love) could endure the greatest measure of wrath. Christ, the Son of God, was so loved by God that He could not only endure the shame and injustice of the world, but also willingly take upon Himself their due penalty for their transgressions, the wrath of God.

The most astounding aspect of it all is that in being the man most beloved by God, Christ was also the man most capable of loving, and so poured out his love upon men, that they too could become the most beloved of God--the very means by which human excellence reached its apex; the very means by which the human is made partaker of Divinity, of Divine Love.

The measure of a man's greatness is in how much he is loved. Those who are beloved of God are the men who are the greatest, who are granted participation in the divine nature. Those who pour out the greatest love toward others reveal themselves to be those who partake most fully in the divine nature, for their capacity to love is proportionate to the measure of love they receive from the Father. No greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends.

Augustine on Calamity and Contentment

Chapter 8.—Of the Advantages and Disadvantages Which Often Indiscriminately Accrue to Good and Wicked Men.

Will some one say, Why, then, was this divine compassion extended even to the ungodly and ungrateful? Why, but because it was the mercy of Him who daily “maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.” For though some of these men, taking thought of this, repent of their wickedness and reform, some, as the apostle says, “despising the riches of His goodness and long-suffering, after their hardness and impenitent heart, treasure up unto themselves wrath against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who will render to every man according to his deeds:” nevertheless does the patience of God still invite the wicked to repentance, even as the scourge of God educates the good to patience. And so, too, does the mercy of God embrace the good that it may cherish them, as the severity of God arrests the wicked to punish them. To the divine providence it has seemed good to prepare in the world to come for the righteous good things, which the unrighteous shall not enjoy; and for the wicked evil things, by which the good shall not be tormented. But as for the good things of this life, and its ills, God has willed that these should be common to both; that we might not too eagerly covet the things which wicked men are seen equally to enjoy, nor shrink with an unseemly fear from the ills which even good men often suffer.

There is, too, a very great difference in the purpose served both by those events which we call adverse and those called prosperous. For the good man is neither uplifted with the good things of time, nor broken by its ills; but the wicked man, because he is corrupted by this world’s happiness, feels himself punished by its unhappiness.

Yet often, even in the present distribution of temporal things, does God plainly evince His own interference. For if every sin were now visited with manifest punishment, nothing would seem to be reserved for the final judgment; on the other hand, if no sin received now a plainly divine punishment, it would be concluded that there is no divine providence at all. And so of the good things of this life: if God did not by a very visible liberality confer these on some of those persons who ask for them, we should say that these good things were not at His disposal; and if He gave them to all who sought them, we should suppose that such were the only rewards of His service; and such a service would make us not godly, but greedy rather, and covetous.

Wherefore, though good and bad men suffer alike, we must not suppose that there is no difference between the men themselves, because there is no difference in what they both suffer. For even in the likeness of the sufferings, there remains an unlikeness in the sufferers; and though exposed to the same anguish, virtue and vice are not the same thing. For as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly, and chaff to smoke; and under the same flail the straw is beaten small, while the grain is cleansed; and as the lees are not mixed with the oil, though squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so the same violence of affliction proves, purges, clarifies the good, but damns, ruins, exterminates the wicked. And thus it is that in the same affliction the wicked detest God and blaspheme, while the good pray and praise. So material a difference does it make, not what ills are suffered, but what kind of man suffers them. For, stirred up with the same movement, mud exhales a horrible stench, and ointment emits a fragrant odor.


 Chapter 9.—Of the Reasons for Administering Correction to Bad and Good Together.

What, then, have the Christians suffered in that calamitous period, which would not profit every one who duly and faithfully considered the following circumstances?

 First of all, they must humbly consider those very sins which have provoked God to fill the world with such terrible disasters; for although they be far from the excesses of wicked, immoral, and ungodly men, yet they do not judge themselves so clean removed from all faults as to be too good to suffer for these even temporal ills. For every man, however laudably he lives, yet yields in some points to the lust of the flesh. Though he do not fall into gross enormity of wickedness, and abandoned viciousness, and abominable profanity, yet he slips into some sins, either rarely or so much the more frequently as the sins seem of less account. But not to mention this, where can we readily find a man who holds in fit and just estimation those persons on account of whose revolting pride, luxury, and avarice, and cursed iniquities and impiety, God now smites the earth as His predictions threatened? Where is the man who lives with them in the style in which it becomes us to live with them?

For often we wickedly blind ourselves to the occasions of teaching and admonishing them, sometimes even of reprimanding and chiding them, either because we shrink from the labor or are ashamed to offend them, or because we fear to lose good friendships, lest this should stand in the way of our advancement, or injure us in some worldly matter, which either our covetous disposition desires to obtain, or our weakness shrinks from losing. So that, although the conduct of wicked men is distasteful to the good, and therefore they do not fall with them into that damnation which in the next life awaits such persons, yet, because they spare their damnable sins through fear, therefore, even though their own sins be slight and venial, they are justly scourged with the wicked in this world, though in eternity they quite escape punishment. Justly, when God afflicts them in common with the wicked, do they find this life bitter, through love of whose sweetness they declined to be bitter to these sinners.

If any one forbears to reprove and find fault with those who are doing wrong, because he seeks a more seasonable opportunity, or because he fears they may be made worse by his rebuke, or that other weak persons may be disheartened from endeavoring to lead a good and pious life, and may be driven from the faith; this man’s omission seems to be occasioned not by covetousness, but by a charitable consideration. But what is blame-worthy is, that they who themselves revolt from the conduct of the wicked, and live in quite another fashion, yet spare those faults in other men which they ought to reprehend and wean them from; and spare them because they fear to give offence, lest they should injure their interests in those things which good men may innocently and legitimately use,—though they use them more greedily than becomes persons who are strangers in this world, and profess the hope of a heavenly country.

For not only the weaker brethren who enjoy married life, and have children (or desire to have them), and own houses and establishments, whom the apostle addresses in the churches, warning and instructing them how they should live, both the wives with their husbands, and the husbands with their wives, the children with their parents, and parents with their children, and servants with their masters, and masters with their servants,—not only do these weaker brethren gladly obtain and grudgingly lose many earthly and temporal things on account of which they dare not offend men whose polluted and wicked life greatly displeases them; but those also who live at a higher level, who are not entangled in the meshes of married life, but use meagre food and raiment, do often take thought of their own safety and good name, and abstain from finding fault with the wicked, because they fear their wiles and violence. And although they do not fear them to such an extent as to be drawn to the commission of like iniquities, nay, not by any threats or violence soever; yet those very deeds which they refuse to share in the commission of they often decline to find fault with, when possibly they might by finding fault prevent their commission. They abstain from interference, because they fear that, if it fail of good effect, their own safety or reputation may be damaged or destroyed; not because they see that their preservation and good name are needful, that they may be able to influence those who need their instruction, but rather because they weakly relish the flattery and respect of men, and fear the judgments of the people, and the pain or death of the body; that is to say, their non-intervention is the result of selfishness, and not of love.

Accordingly this seems to me to be one principal reason why the good are chastised along with the wicked, when God is pleased to visit with temporal punishments the profligate manners of a community. They are punished together, not because they have spent an equally corrupt life, but because the good as well as the wicked, though not equally with them, love this present life; while they ought to hold it cheap, that the wicked, being admonished and reformed by their example, might lay hold of life eternal. And if they will not be the companions of the good in seeking life everlasting, they should be loved as enemies, and be dealt with patiently. For so long as they live, it remains uncertain whether they may not come to a better mind.

These selfish persons have more cause to fear than those to whom it was said through the prophet, “He is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the watchman’s hand.” For watchmen or overseers of the people are appointed in churches, that they may unsparingly rebuke sin. Nor is that man guiltless of the sin we speak of, who, though he be not a watchman, yet sees in the conduct of those with whom the relationships of this life bring him into contact, many things that should be blamed, and yet overlooks them, fearing to give offence, and lose such worldly blessings as may legitimately be desired, but which he too eagerly grasps. Then, lastly, there is another reason why the good are afflicted with temporal calamities—the reason which Job’s case exemplifies: that the human spirit may be proved, and that it may be manifested with what fortitude of pious trust, and with how unmercenary a love, it cleaves to God.

~City of God Book I, Chapter 8 and 9

Satan and Immanuel

There is a reason why Satan is named Satan. The word means "accuser, adversary, opposer, obstructor, " in Hebrew. He opposed God in Heaven. He opposed God's first man and woman in the Garden. He opposed Job in the book bearing that name.

There is an "opposing" reason why the Son of God is named Immanuel in His incarnation. The word means "God with us," but the connotation is more than just that of presence. It includes and perhaps emphasizes a union by steadfast faithfulness and support. Isaiah 8:10 brings out this emphasis well: "Take counsel together, but it will come to nothing; speak a word, but it will not stand, for God is with us" (ESV). The counsel or word that will not stand is that of opposition, the plans laid for the destruction or conquest of God's people. But these plans are thwarted because "God is with us," that is, God is for us.

The importance of Jesus Christ as our Immanuel is that it is by His accomplished and continuing work that the accusations and opposition of Satan are nullified; made of no effect. Manifest though the schemes and suggestions of Satan and his minions may be, great though his power and influence may be (or have been), it is incomparable to the God of the Universe who is with us and for us.

If we imagined Satan as the prosecution's key witness (as when God, the judge of all the heavens and earth, says, "consider my servant Job" to Satan) we could also imagine God the son as the key witness in our defense (as when Job's self-defense seems hopeless and he cries, "I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth," Job 19:25). The Lord God of Truth, the Logos of God, the Wisdom and Power of God stands between the judge and the accused and pleads His own righteousness in their stead: for He is God with us, Immanuel. Therefore James can say, "But he gives more grace. Therefore it says, “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you" (James 4:6-7). With the judge appeased and satisfied in his justice He no longer stands in judgment, but has declared righteousness for our account and can no longer take account of Satan's accusations. His testimony is out of order. His claims have no claim upon those in Immanuel's hands.

Therefore the believer must, as James says, submit himself to the judge, who is now no longer judge, but Father, by virtue  of the sonship conferred upon those claimed by the Son, as joint heirs. The voice of God no longer condemns, but disciplines. He no longer stores up wrath, but pours out mercy. He no longer sits upon the bench to execute vengeance on us, but draws us up onto his knee to train us in His grace. Where before we feared God and despaired of His wrath, now we fear God and marvel of His love, for,

"By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." (1 John 4:13-18 ESV)

And if God loves us, Satan's hate is of no effect. Neither can sin have any power over us that we cannot defeat,

"For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome. For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith. Who is it that overcomes the world except the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?" (1 John 5:3-5 ESV)

The believer in Christ need not bear any accusation, however many reproaches he must endure, for the love of God is for him, to grow him up into perfection through however many trials and falls and redirections may be required. Let no son of God fear the reproach of God or of a brother or of an unbeliever, for they are all the gentle hand of the Father to bring him up into the image of the Son by the power of the Holy Spirit.

When words fail

In times of grief and loss I often feel, as I assume many others do, at a loss for words. Part of the feeling stems from the underlying desire to say something helpful, something that will ease the hurt, and to not say something that worsens the pain, increases the difficulty, or offends those whom we wish to care for.

There is a dilemma, a two-fold problem, because one doesn't want to try to speak so "profoundly" as to be vacuous, nor does one want to speak so "simply" as to be trite. One can say too much in saying too little, and say too little in a flood of words. Nor is it best to simply say "what is on one's heart," since grief and loss often cause a myriad of emotions, not all of which ought to receive expression, least of all to those who are closest to the pain. None of us want to be like Job's "friends."

It is a somewhat better approach to think about what you would want to hear if you were closest to the pain. As a Christian, I would want to hear most from God, and so what would be more appropriate than verses that speak of God's faithfulness, the pain experienced by His people, or by Himself, and other words that God has revealed to us of Himself and of ourselves, which we find in the Scriptures. Of course some thought should be put into the selection or selections of Scripture. (If one were consoling an unbeliever, then one's choice of Scripture would need a separate kind of scrutiny.)

I would also want to hear from those who love me. It is a tendency of some to avoid people who are grieving. Sometimes the motive for doing so is obviously selfish; to avoid any of the discomfort of being close to loss and pain. Sometimes the motive is less obviously selfish; to avoid out of fear of doing something to make things worse. A helpful analogy here is to consider a bruised plant. A bruised plant is in a precarious situation. If it is handled too roughly, it may break. If it is handled not at all, it may wither, or break from lack of support, or both. A bruised plant needs attention, it needs care, but it requires a wise hand. The point is that the more love one has for the plant, the more necessary it is to attend to it, since love is itself a governor of the type of care that acts wisely. It must also be said that such love isn't an emotion (though emotions may attend it), but a manner of relationship with consequent volitions. Moreover, the plant needs most of all the care of the one who has provided the most love already, that is, the one who has poured out his effort to cultivate the plant. The proportion to which you have loved the persons closest to the pain of loss and grief is the proportion to which you have been equipped to speak words of comfort with wisdom.

I would also want to hear from those with whom my life is shared. One of the difficulties of coping with loss and grief is that it is with us wherever we are, including the workplace, the church, and other venues where our lives take place. Presumably there will be some in these venues who love me, and thus fall into the previous consideration. However, there are also the many acquaintances with whom we have frequent contact, but little by way of a loving relationship. It is important that these acquaintances don't draw themselves further away from those in grief, since the experience of grief is alienating in and of itself. To compound the alienation would only worsen the impact, I should think. However, I would think that an increased amount of intimacy should be avoided, on the basis of wisdom. Again, a bruised plant is vulnerable, and the acquaintance will be far less capable of providing wise care where those closer to those grieving can offer their love. I suppose I would want acquaintances to remain such, offering their condolences and continuing to treat me as an acquaintance without ignoring the fact that my life has been radically altered. I suppose I would also want  a loved one to run "interference" for me by proactively seeking to communicate with acquaintances to let them know in what ways they can offer support and sympathy, so as to keep me from being inundated with attention, which can be wearying (at least for someone like me).

If you have other suggestions, or think mine could stand improvement, please leave a message. There is no better time to do so than there is right now.

The Answers for Suffering and Evil

Many folks find the topic of evil and suffering something rather taboo to discuss in terms of answers. Suffering and evil have no answers, it is said. Or, if answers are given, they are expressed tentatively, with approbation, and with the pious sounding absence of the definite article ("an answer" or "some answers").

Thankfully, there are still men who speak with conviction born of the Spirit of God and borne upon the sound doctrine of Scripture. I recently discovered a short book by John Currid, a professor of Old Testament at Reformed Theological Seminary (I believe he is now at the Charlotte campus).

The book is broken into ten chapters divided into four major sections. The divisions are as follows:

Part I: God and Calamity
1 Suffering and the Sovereignty of God
2 Suffering and the Character of God

Part II: Why Do Christians Suffer? The Benefits of Affliction
3 Solace in God
4 Discipline
5 Conforming to the Image of Christ
6 Perseverance of the Saints

Part III: Why Do Unbelievers Suffer?
7 Suffering as Forewarning
8 Suffering as Condemnation

Part IV: Attitudes in Suffering: Encouragement for Believers
9 The Cross Comes Before the Crown
10 Conclusion: A Question of Prosperity

All in all the book is a wonderful theological primer on the subject of suffering and evil, providing sound systematic treatment drawn from faithful exposition of key texts, and including a healthy (i.e. not gluttonous, but neither impoverished) dose of confessions, historical examples, and poignant anecdotes.

Part I deals primarily with Theodicy, or the vindication of God's justice, goodness, and power. Currid affirms God's sovereignty to the full while preserving the unity of His will. Although he uses the unfortunate use of God's "permissive will," his affirmations do not create the contradictions that so often result from this use. God's "permissive will," is not passive, affirms Currid (then why use language of permission, which naturally entail passivity?). Currid affirms secondary causation, God's decretive determination of all things, and the distinction between God's treatment of believers and unbelievers with regard to suffering and calamity (i.e. God uses suffering and calamity for different purposes, which Currid fleshes out in the later parts). Although Currid does not provide the desired demonstrations for these affirmations, the affirmations remains a breath of fresh air.

Part II considers the various reasons why God brings suffering and calamity upon the Christian. The first chapter under this section aims to prove that suffering leads us into greater fellowship with God. First, it does so by giving us greater impetus to pray. Lax in our comforts, God grace is revealed in our suffering when afflictions drive us to pray more frequently and more fervently to Him, leaning upon His Sovereignty as we ought to in any circumstance. Second, afflictions drive us to doubt confidence in ourselves, which subsequently drives us back to our source of knowledge and true comfort, the Word of God. Third, affliction drives out the love of the world from our hearts in order that God may be more firmly rooted therein. Fourth, afflictions humble us by revealing our weakness and utter dependence upon God's grace.

The second chapter under part II considers sufferings as a measure of discipline. Sufferings for the believer at the hand of God are not condemnatory, but are born from God's love for us. As children, we often walk as children, in the foolishness of our ignorance and careless desires. Afflictions remove the childishness from our hearts (often because it drives us into the activities and results of the last chapter discussed). Discipline also refines our souls. Like soldiers who are made strong by physical hardships in the work of warfare, so the Christian is made strong in the forge of suffering. God also uses suffering as preparation for later tasks He has in store for us. As Moses became a lowly shepherd for forty years (shepherds were despised by the Egyptians) from his former state of comfort in order to be God's instrument in leading Israel out of Egypt, so too God uses afflictions in our lives to prepare us for the work of restoration in the lives of others, for the glory of God and the expansion of His kingdom. Affliction also disciplines us in knowledge, for we are instructed by God's Word as we turn to it for answers and support. Currid also discusses the means by which God disciplines His people by looking at Habakkuk.

The third chapter under part II considers the work of suffering in conforming us into the image of Christ. Currid affirms the truth that Christ suffered, details the nature and scope of Christ's suffering, the purpose of Christ's suffering, and the reasons why Christians must follow in Christ's suffering. My focus on the chapter is brief, not for lack of substance, but rather because it is better read entire than summarized here.

The fourth chapter under part II looks at perseverance as a reason for Christian suffering. It matures our faith through its disciplining effects. It proves our faith as it separates us from the world and delivers us into glory. It witnesses to the truth of the Gospel of God as a display of its power to uphold us in our affliction. It confounds the wisdom of the world by its supernatural power and effect upon the believer who overcomes. It improves our efforts for Christ and His kingdom through the removal of remaining sin that would lead us toward self-reliance. It is training for glory because it instructs us to look for our heavenly home, which is greater than this earthly one. It serves to magnify God's promise to preserve His people through every manner of trial and adversity. It serves the glory of God in all these ways, which affirms our chief end.

Part III includes two chapters on why unbelievers suffer. The first discusses how suffering leads sinners into repentance and into great workers in God's kingdom. It focuses upon several historical examples, including John Newton, Robert Murray McCheyne, the Plague of 1665, and the thief on the cross next to Jesus. The second discusses the suffering of unbelievers unto their temporal and final condemnation under the wrath of God. Against the realities of temporal and eternal wrath, Currid asserts the only answer to suffering and evil is the grace of God revealed in His only son, the God-Man Christ Jesus. It is by His work that one may be made right with God; it is by His death that our dead spirit is made alive; it is by His resurrection that we are assured that we too shall have eternal life in the presence of God without sin, shame, or shuddering.

Part IV also includes two chapters. The first is a veritable homily on the necessity and expectation of suffering that believers must apprehend and embrace. Currid focuses primarily upon Foxe's Book of Martyrs and Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. The last chapter handles the problem of prosperity, that is, why do the wicked prosper? He provides brief commentary on Psalm 73 and Ecclesiastes 6-7, both of which provide ample answer to the so-called problem: from the end of things all the answers to our problems are solved in the glorious wisdom of God's determination. We must therefore trust in God, and be cautious in how we judge the circumstances surrounding us. It is not always true that the righteous prosper and the wicked suffer. It is always true that in the end the righteous shall be blessed and the wicked shall be condemned. We cannot judge a life by its present condition, but only by its completed course. Many an apparent believer has been revealed a blasphemer (consider Judas), and many a blasphemer has become a mouthpiece for God's glory (consider Paul). Can we judge with certainty what any man shall end up? But woe to we who fail to judge the present condition of men's confession and comportment.

Currid's book is better than Carson's book (another book on suffering I've reviewed, in part, on this blog), How Long, O Lord? both in its brevity, its perspicuity, and its theological precision. Both are worthy for your personal library.

D.A. Carson and Compatibilism

I was not hoping for another chance to respond to Carson in the hope that he would put aside things he was having trouble understanding and stick to things he knew well. Unfortunately, in the following chapter he continues in unhelpful confusion.

The chapter is entitle, "The Mystery of Providence."

Carson frames the chapter with a quote by Richard Veith about the risks of trying to reconcile God's complete Sovereignty with the existence of evil, and the moral responsibility of humanity. Carson then introduces a definition of Compatibilism:

The Bible as a whole, and sometimes in specific texts, presupposes or teaches that both of the following propositions are true:

1. God is absolutely sovereign, but his sovereignty never functions in such a way that human responsibility is curtailed, minimized, or mitigated.
2. Human beings are morally responsible creatures--they significantly chose, rebel, obey, believe, defy, make decisions, and so forth, and they are rightly held accountable for such actions; but this characteristic never functions so as to make God absolutely contingent.

So far so good. Carson is then careful to articulate that this definition is derived from a thorough examination of Scripture rather than haphazardly imposed upon it, and he provides a good summary of verses that demonstrate both propositions. It is truly here that Carson is in his element of strength. He finishes with the most important place in Scripture, which is the sacrificial death of Christ and draws out the very important point that Christ's atoning work only makes sense when both propositions are confirmed true.

Confusions occur when Carson attempts to explain how the propositions are compatible. Let's see what he says.

1. Most people who call themselves compatibilists are not so brash as to claim that they can tell you exactly how the two propositions I set forth in the last section fit together. All they claim is that, if the terms are defined carefully enough, it is possible to show that there is no necessary contradiction between them. In other words, it is possible to outline some of the "unknowns" that are involved, and show that these "unknowns" allow for both propositions to be true. But precisely because there are large "unknowns" at stake, we cannot show how the two propositions cohere.

Carson is certainly right that a great many Christian believe both propositions without possessing the ability to demonstrate their validity. One is not required to be able to demonstrate how something is true in order to believe in its truth, although the truth is more clear when it has been demonstrated. If Carson would have left it at that, there would be no reason to quibble. Yet he goes on:

I think this analysis is correct. But what it means is that I am still going to be left with mysteries when I am finished. All that I hope to achieve is to locate those mysteries more precisely, and to show that they are big enough to allow me to claim that when the Bible assumes compatibilism it is not adopting nonsensical positions.

It isn't altogether clear how Carson is using the term "mystery" here, or throughout the chapter, but it is certain that he is not using it in the sense in which Paul does: a truth that had been kept hidden, but is now revealed. For Carson, this mystery remains mysterious. Yet he also claims that his efforts will show that the mysteries are "big enough" to resolve us from contradiction when we assert both propositions. This is a strange claim to make. It would seem that Carson had before argued that we are "allowed" to state both because the Bible assumed both--and this would be enough for us to believe. In convincing others, however, one must do more than present something mysterious, for what is mysterious may be dismissed as easily as it is embraced. If one is to defend Scripture against claims that it is contradictory, one must demonstrate how they propositions resolve logically, not mysteriously--for the claim is against the logic of Scripture. In other words, when the logic of Scripture is impugned, a logical response is required. If it were argued that Scripture reveals that God is fully comprehended, then we may respond that there is yet mystery in our ignorance of God's being. A proper reply to any argument is addressed on the grounds where it is made. So while Carson's appeal to mystery is inadequate, perhaps he will yet say something logical in response to the dilemma.

Here is what he offers next:

2. If compatibilism is true and if God is good--all of which the Bible affirms--then it must be the case that God stands behind good and evil in somewhat different ways; that is, he stands behind good and evil asymmetrically. To put it bluntly, God stands behind evil in such a way that not even evil takes place outside the bounds of his sovereignty, yt the evil is not morally chargeable to him: it is always chargeable to secondary agents, to secondary causes. On the other hand, God stands behind good in such a way that it not only takes place within the bounds of his sovereignty, but it is always chargeable to him, and only derivatively to secondary agents.
In other words, if I sin, I cannot possibly do so outside of the bounds of God's sovereignty (or the many texts already cited have no meaning), but I alone am responsible for that sin--or perhaps I and those who tempted me, led me astray, and the like. God is not to be blamed. But if I do good, it is God working in me both to will and to act according to his good pleasure. God's grace has been manifest in my case, and he is to be praised.
If this sounds just a bit too convenient for God, my initial response (though there is more to be said) is that according to the Bible this is the only God there is. There is no other.

Here is an argument that can be made useful. What Carson is saying in gentle language can be said in a more acute way: God is the ultimate as well as the indirect cause of evil; God is also the ultimate as well as direct cause of good. What Carson has done here is state in a term (asymmetrical) what the verses he has given have stated. God is the cause of evil and good ultimately--there is symmetry in God's Sovereignty because nothing happens apart from His will. God is not the cause of evil directly, but God is the cause of good directly--when evil occurs, God is not the primary actor willing it so, but He is the ultimate actor who directs evil according to His own good ends. God is both the primary and ultimate actor for good because of the sinful nature of humanity resulting from the Fall. Adam was innocent, but sinned, thereby plunging his posterity into evil--defined as rebellion against God. Because by nature we are rebellious, any good (defined as works done by faith in God, as opposed to rebellion against Him) must come first from God toward us. Here is the asymmetry. The answer for why God has chosen to accomplish things in this way is likewise simply stated, however easily rejected: His manifested glory demands it. This is to say that teleology reveals God's purpose because it is God's final purpose. When we begin to think teleologically with the Word of God as our guide, we begin to think God's thoughts after him. What Carson has indicated in seed, we have now grown to something fuller.

From this point Carson enters into a discussion of human moral responsibility and freedom. He does a nice job of disposing of the definition of freedom as libertarian freedom, or "absolute power to the contrary" as he calls it. He does less well in defining freedom as voluntarism: "that is, we do what we want to do, and that is why we are held accountable for what we do." The missing element is the notion of strongest desire, which elucidates the point that our choices are determined by our strongest desire, and not simply according to bare desires or wants. For the common response to voluntarism as Carson defines it is, "well I could want something else, indeed I often want separate things at the same time." Yet with competing wants, it is always the strongest desire that is accomplished, and for which we are held accountable.

Carson rightly introduces the Fall of humanity and gives the positive statement that "real freedom is freedom to obey God without restraint or reserve." Although this sounds eloquent, it might have been better to say that real freedom is being constrained by the desires of God rather than the desires of our flesh. For we are always constrained (one cannot serve two masters, but one must serve a master).

Carson then introduces the personhood of God as the important factor in understanding human responsibility. Because God is a person who has dictated a manner of proper relationship, we are inevitably bound to this relationship in such a way that we remain faithful or break fellowship with infidelity to the expectations God has set. Carson seems to wish avoiding the fallacious assumption that Sovereignty implies some sort of deistic god who controls all things at a distance, impersonally. Of course, much Biblical evidence supports God's immanence as well as His transcendence. Carson is even more concerned about the tendency to understand God's being in the finite categories of space and time. He again uses the poor term "sequence" to describe time. But at any rate Carson arrives at the two "poles" of God's relationship to humanity: He is transcendent (Carson's, "sovereign") and immanent (Carson's, "personal").

It is unfortunate that Carson would use the term personal to describe God's immanence, since God's personhood is not strictly confined to his relationship to humanity, but exists as part of His Being within the Godhead. Indeed, God's immanence can be understood as a necessary implication of His divine nature: because it is God's nature to commune with Himself, it is also in His nature to commune with His creatures. Recognizing the construction in this way dissolves the tendency to assume that personhood is a specifically human trait, but shows that our nature as persons in relationship is predicated upon God's nature as a Person in relationship. Thus our attention is turned to understand God's person in order to understand ourselves, rather than looking to ourselves to understand God's person.

And here is where I think Carson misses the point, for it is here that he reintroduces his rejection of impassibility. Here is what he says:

The problem of compatibilism, then, is tied to the fact that the God who discloses himself in the Bible and supremely in the person of his Son is himself both transcendent and personal, and not less than both. We have pursued the lines of thought that suggest themselves from the Bible's straightforward adoption of compatibilism, and find they lead to the nature of God.
It should now be a little clearer why, in chapter 10 of this book, I was unwilling to endorse the doctrine of the so-called impassibility of God--at least as it is usually taught. That doctrine is too tied to just one side of the biblical evidence. But that does not mean that the other side--that stresses God's suffering, his love, his responding--is any more reliable if it is abstracted from the complementary pole of God's transcendence.

God's personhood and His transcendence are not properly opposites. God disposes himself to himself in love, joy, peace, accord, etc. Aspects of suffering, "response" and the like occur in God's immanence with His creation. But these attributes are predicated of God's simple Being, and not upon what we experience as physical creatures. Carson's earlier confusion in the term "emotion," shows that he is considering God's Being according to a finite category rather than an infinite and spiritual one, i.e. affections. Emotions are "feelings" and feelings arise from the sensations we experience in our physical bodies and in relation to the external and physical world. God has not a body and nothing exists external to Him in such a way as to change His state of Being. Our state of being is changed according to our bodies and our environment. We may feel depressed as a result of deficiencies in the hormones that regulate our bodies. We may feel anxious when our bodies are threatened with harm. God does not experience such emotions. Affections, on the other hand, are dispositions that are related to knowledge and will. God knows all and wills all, therefore He disposes Himself in love to those He knows according to His willing favor. He disposes Himself in displeasure toward sinful behavior, and this displeasure is disposed in correcting love for His children and condemning wrath for those God has willingly disfavored. Such dispositions are predicated upon God's Being and His Willing, and not upon a response to stimuli, to human behavior, or to acts in space and time.

Carson reveals his ignorance on such matters of systematic theology:

It appears, then, that the problems involved in holding to the truth of both of the propositions that constitute compatibilism are profoundly tied to the very nature of God himself. Ironically, this provides us with a way forward. We are reasonably well placed to isolate some of the things we do not know about God; that is, we see that the Bible describes God as both transcendent and personal, and in part we justify this strange pairing because we can identify some of the things we do not know about him. But some of these things that we do not know about God turn out to be facets of ignorance that make it reasonable to hold that both propositions of compatibilism are also true, even though we do not see how they can be true.
Examples may help. The God of the Bible created all things; he lives above or outside time and space as we know them. He is transcendent. But that means I do not really understand his relationship to time and space. I see that he has revealed himself to human being in time and space, but I don't have a clue how he manages it, or how it looks to him. I cannot be certain, for instance, whether he experiences sequence. If he does, it cannot be exactly the way I do, for my notion of sequence is bound by the categories of space and time.

And he continues a bit further with such ignorant examples. How is it that ignorance can constitute a reasonable ground for belief? Certainly Carson misses the blunder of this sort of argument. The Christian who accepts the propositions of compatibilism, as well as the examples of God's relationship to time and space while not being constrained by time and space does not accept them on the basis of the ignorance in the ability to demonstrate their truth. Rather, the Christian accepts the propositions as true based upon the prior acceptance of the proposition that what Scripture says is true. The acceptance is not, therefore, grounded in ignorance, but in a prior trust in God's Word, despite the ignorance of how to demonstrate the relationship of subsequent propositions. Let it never be said that our acceptance of any doctrine be based in ignorance. To construct belief on the basis of what we do not know about God is pure folly. To admit that such a process is reasonable is no less so.

Carson concludes the section with two rather telling admissions, "I see that he presents himself as personal, but I have no idea how a personal God can also be transcendent," and "So I am driven to see not only that compatibilism is itself taught in the Bible, but that it is tied to the very nature of God; and on the other hand, I am driven to see that my ignorance about many aspects of God's nature is precisely the same ignorance that instructs me not to follow the whims of many contemporary philosophers and deny that compatibilism is possible." Would that Carson would concede his ignorance and affirm his trust in Scripture without affirming his trust in his ignorance. Ignorance, if it instructs us at all, instructs us to trust simply in God's Word and be silent or to strive to turn ignorance into knowledge by prayerful submission to God's illumination and a more careful examination of the propositions--perhaps even consulting many fine Christian theologians who have systematically dealt with the issue already!

The next section deals with three objections to compatibilism: libertarian free will, mutual annihilation of the propositions, and the imposition of alternative philosophical grids. He does a good job again of defeating libertarian free will.

He very briefly states that Howard Marshall and Grant Osborne annihilate both propositions by simply juxtaposed without presupposing compatibilism. There is no demonstration of why such a simple juxtaposition is unwarranted since Carson himself is begging the question that the Biblical writers are affirming compatibilism rather than simply juxtaposing different propositions about God. I'm not saying we should not presuppose compatibilism, but only that doing so requires more argument than he provides here against those who simply juxtapose the propositions. Carson's own inductive analysis can as easily prove juxtaposition rather than compatibilism upon separate presuppositions. The difference is that Carson will not abandon logic for irrationality as those who simply juxtapose the passages do. Carson is not to be faulted for preferring logic to irrationality, but he is to be faulted for not pointing out the necessity of logic for the presupposition of compatibilism and the refutation of irrational juxtaposition. Carson is correct in his conclusions, but inadequate in his defense.

The last objection is the hasty imposition of alternative "grids" to explain the problem. Carson is an exegetical man, so he prefers an inductive approach to Scripture as his starting point. Well and good. But He must recognize that an inductive approach to reconciling determinism and responsibility does not enter without presuppositions. Even apart from these prior considerations, how is it that he will define when enough induction has been done to arrive at the proper account? Without sensitivity to these matters, Carson is in deeper waters than he may suspect. As it is, Carson's critiques to this objection firmly rely upon his presupposing compatibilism, which his inductive study elucidates according to this premise, but does not prove apart from it. It is not long before Carson begins to descend from the comfortable surface of garnering Biblical passages to discussion matters of philosophical importance:

In fact, biblical theologians have long noted that when the Bible says God will something or wants something, the language is used in different ways. God sometimes wills something in a sense no different from decree, from efficient accomplishment. The texts previously cited provide many examples: what God wills in heaven and on earth takes place, and he works everything in conformity with the purpose of his will. On the other hand, the Bible can speak of what God wills (1 Thess. 4:3), but it does not take many powers of observation to note that this cannot be a reference to God's efficient decretal will. Still other passages speak of God's permission, as, for instance, when God grants Satan permission to afflict Job. Similarly, God gives sinners over to their evil ways (Rom. 1:24, 26, 28); in this sense God doe not willingly afflict his people (Lam. 3:33): that is, he permits it, but it is not his desire.. [emphasis mine]

Can God will one thing and at the same time, in the same manner, will its opposite? Surely this is a contradiction. Yet this is what Carson affirms. God's decretal will assures that whatever comes to pass, comes to pass according to God's decree. Yet, when God's decree is that His people are afflicted (Lam. 3:33), it is not truly what God wills. He wills it to occur (decree), but He also does not will it to occur (permit). Now how is it that what God "permits" is contrary to what God "wills"? Rather than resolving the contradiction (which results from an equivocation in the term "will"), Carson appeals to the mystery of God's transcendence and personhood:

At the risk of simplification, it appears that when the Bible speaks of God's will in an efficient or decretal fashion, that use of language belongs to the assumption that God is transcendent and sovereign; when the Bible speaks of God's will as his desire, quite possibly unfulfilled desire[!!!], that use of language belongs to the assumption that God is a person who interacts with other persons. To appeal to such usage to deny that God is sovereign is as irresponsible as it is to appeal to the first usage to deny that God is personal.

How is it that a Sovereign God, whose will cannot be thwarted, has his will thwarted (unfulfilled desire) then? Carson's ignorance cannot instruct him in a reasonable manner to answer this very real dilemma. He can only chastise those who would try to resolve the contradiction by appealing to one proposition over the other. Surely we do not wish to be reductive, but neither should we wish to accuse God of contradiction, which is precisely what we do when we affirm that God decrees (e.g. sin) what He does not will (e.g. sin). The equivocation in the term "will" is what must be addressed, but Carson misses this necessity entirely. Rather, he tries to resort to his earlier distinction of asymmetry:

Similarly, when the Bible speaks of God's permission of evil, there is still no escape from his sovereignty. A sovereign and omniscient God who knows that, if he permits such and such an evil to occur it will surely occur, and then goes ahead and grants the permission, is surely decreeing the evil. But the language of permission is retained because it is part of the biblical pattern of insisting that God stands behind good and evil asymmetrically (in the sense already defined). He can never be credited with evil; he is always to be credited with good. He permits evil to occur; the biblical writers would not similarly say that he simply permits good to occur! So even though permission in the hands of a transcendent and omniscient God can scarcely be different from decree, the use of such language is part and parcel of the insistence that God is not merely transcendent, but that he is also personal and entirely good. That God's permission of evil does not in any way allow evil to escape the outermost bounds of God's sovereignty is presupposed when we are told, for instance, that the Lord persuades the false prophet what to say (Ezek. 14:9), or that his wrath incites David to sin by taking a census (2 Sam. 24:1). When the Chronicler describes the same incident and ascribes the effective temptation to Satan (1 Chron. 21:1), this is not in contradiction of the passage in 2 Samuel (for biblical writers, including the Chronicler, are far too committed to compatibilism to allow such a view), but in complementary explanation. One can say that God sends the strong delusion, or one can say that Satan is the great deceiver: it depends on whether the sovereign transcendence of God is in view, or his use of secondary agents.

Now lest it be said that I have nothing positive to say about Carson, let me affirm where he is worthy. The strain in this passage is primarily the very positive desire of Carson to preserve the absolute nature of God's decree. This is to be commended! Similarly commendable is Carson's strong affirmation that 2 Sam. 24:1 and Chron. 21:1 are looking from separate vantages rather than contradicting each other. He is precisely correct in viewing the former as looking to God's decree and the latter as looking to God's secondary means of accomplishing the decree. The moral responsibility falls upon the proximate actors: Satan who temps and David who succumbs to temptation. Let no man say that God has tempted him when he is moved to sin by his own desires. Where Carson blunders is not in what he tries to defend, but in his accomplishment of the defense.

First of all, the Bible sometimes uses the "language of permission," but it sometimes uses the language of determination, as in the 2 Sam. 24:1 when God "incites" David to take the census. The issue is not with the language, but with its meaning. To draw a distinction between what God decrees and what God permits is confusing rather than helpful. Carson tries to attach it to his "definition" of asymmetry, but this will not do. First of all, Carson's "definition" is better labeled a description, for he does no develop it beyond what he already asserted according to compatibilism: God is not directly (morally) responsible for evil, but He is directly responsible for good. Such is not a definition, but a description of what the Bible declares to be so. If the language of permission speaks to something, it is not speaking to God's personal nature in distinction from his sovereignty. What it may indicate is the truth that God is not directly responsible for evil, but it hardly explains how this is so.

What Carson is missing is the necessary disambiguation in the term "will." God's will is simple and singular: God wills all that comes to pass, and all that comes to pass does so according to His will. Within God's decree He has also given commands, which are binding upon His creatures. Had it been God's decree that His creatures obey His commands, surely they would have, but as it is, God has NOT desired His creatures to obey His commands, in order that their disobedience would result in His glory: His glory by redeeming a people from their sin in Christ, thereby displaying His mercy, grace, and love; and His glory by condemning a people in their sin, thereby displaying His justice, righteousness, and holiness. God's commands do not represent what He wills to occur, but provides a measure against which human action is to be judged. That He gives a standard logically entails but one desire: God desired to give a standard. That God intended to provide this standard does not entail that He desired it to be kept by all, or indeed be kept by any (apart from Christ). The teleology of God's will reveals the intention of the commands. This is why teleological thinking is so vital to understanding what is God's will, for God determines the end from the beginning. This means that in order to understand what God is doing, we must look to the end and understand all that comes to pass accordingly.

Carson concludes the chapter by appealing once again to the necessity of preserving the mystery of compatibilism as revealed by Scripture. But is there really something "mysterious" about God's decree as it relates to His commands when viewed according to His final purpose and the true nature of ultimate and proximate causes? Surely there is a measure of difficult thinking that is required to distinguish how the propositions of Scripture that appear to contradict are in fact reconciled. But difficult thinking is not mysterious, however rare it may be in our present age. On this note I am compelled to label one final criticism against Carson in this chapter, based upon what he says here:

3. The mystery of providence defies our attempt to tame it by reason. I do not mean it is illogical; I mean that we do not know enough to be able to unpack it and domesticate it. Perhaps we may guage how content we areto live with our limitations by assessing whether we are comfortable in joining the biblical writers in utterances that mock our frankly idolatrous devotion to our own capacity to understand. Are we embarrassed, for instance, by the prophetic rebuke to the clay that wants to tell the potter how to set about his work (Isa. 29:16; 45:9)? Is our conception of God big enough to allow us to read "The Lord works out everything to its proper end--even the wicked for a day of disaster" (Prov. 16:4) without secretly wishing the text could be excised from the Bible?

I believe I understand Carson's intention here, which is to chastise those who would try to make the Bible fit into their own autonomous reason. But Carson is overstating the case against reason, for God surely intends for us to understand what He has revealed, and if He has revealed that He decrees all things, including sin, and is not guilty of sin Himself, then we can understand not only that this is not a contradiction, but why it is not a contradiction--that is, we can understand how to demonstrate its logical coherence. Far from bucking against our Creator, the desire to find coherence for what Scripture reveals is a worthy and in many cases necessary endeavor for the believer.

D.A. Carson and Impassibility

It has been awhile since I've posted, so instead of continuing to review what I haven't been reading (Rushdoony), I'll review something I am reading presently.

I'm now two thirds of the way through Carson's book on the problem of suffering and evil, How Long, O Lord?. So far it has been a very insightful, pastoral, and well stated message.

Unfortunately, the chapter I just read contains a very atrocious denial and God's impassibility. Despite a familiarity with the arguments for impassibility, Carson provides a very sloppy rebuttal, which results not only in a denial of impassibility, but a confusion in language that fails to distinguish affection from emotion. I'll provide his statements and my critique.

The section of the chapter is entitled, "The Cross Reveals the Kind of God We Trust" and it begins with the following definition and outline of the doctrine of impassibility:

[Impassibility] means, in its weaker form, that God cannot suffer; in its stronger from, three aspects of divine passibility were frequently denied to God in the past: "(1) external passibility or the capacity to be acted upon from without, (2) internal passibility or the capacity for changing the emotions from within, and (3) sensational passiblity or the liability to feelings of pleasure and pain caused by the action of another being" [cited from The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church]

Carson then provides a list of passages that seem to contradict the doctrine of impassibility. He then gives three arguments offered by proponents of the view to respond to these verses:

First, they insist that these expressions are anthropomorphisms, that is, figures of speech that talk about God as if he were a human being. For example, when the Bible says that God lays bare his arm, it does not mean that God has a literal, physical arm. The expression is an anthropomorphism. It means something like "God rolled up his sleeves and set to work," that is, God displayed his power in some way.
Second, they argue that since God created everything, he stands outside of time. Therefore he must be above time. Since all our notions of change are bound up with changes across time, we must assume that God, in his own timeless eternity, is himself impassible. The reason the Bible speaks to us as if he were passible is that it is trying to reveal what God is like to us who are locked in time, and it must therefore use our categories.
Third, as far as the emotions of Jesus are concerned, these theologians regularly assign them to the human nature of Jesus, but deny that they pertain to his divine nature.

There is problem here. Carson resorts to a metaphor to describe God's relationship to time: God stands "outside" of time or "above" time. This is confusing, nor is it precisely what impassibility implies. Time is an aspect of Creation, therefore time exists within the mind of God as an attribute of the Created world, whether this be part of the natural order or simply part of the creaturely experience of existence. Time is therefore encompassed by God in a way that could be describe as "outside," but would precisely mean "outside the bounds of," or better yet, "not subject to duration." It is correct then to affirm that the Bible expresses God in the language of duration because that is how we experience existence.

However, Carson does not find it adequate to consider anthropomorphisms--God speaking in ways we can readily understand--as explanatory of such passages in support of impassibility. It is here where he makes the significant blunders:

With all due respect to the many fine theologians who uphold this line of reasoning, I sharply disagree. The God who is left seems too much like Buddha (though of course these theologians intend no such similarity): impassibility is seeping over into impassiveness.

This is a poor analogy, based upon a confusion between the will and the emotions. God's will is affective, that is, it distinguishes valuation among His created order. God places His love on one person and places His wrath upon another. God's determinative will not only effects all things, but has determined God's affections for all things--His will not only accomplishes, but distinguishes objects of favor and disfavor. God's care for His own is based in His will, not in "emotions," which Carson is careless to leave undefined here and a bit further along.

He continues:

Moveover, it will not do to hide behind the relationship between time and eternity, for the very good reason that we know almost nothing about it. We scarcely know what time is; we certainly do not know what the relationship between time and eternity is. Is it so very obvious that there is no sequence in eternity? Granted that sequence, if there is such, must look very different to an eternal being than to us, does it follow that there is no such notion? Does it appear to God as if Christ is eternally coming, eternally dying, eternally rising, eternally recurring? Moreover, if the sufferings of Jesus Christ are somehow restricted to his human nature, are we not in danger of constructing (dare I say it?) almost a schizophrenic Christ? I know that one form of conservative theology likes to go through the Gospels and assign this little bit to Jesus' human nature and that little bit to Jesus' divine nature, but I am persuaded that a much more profound christological integration is possible.

There are multiple problems in this paragraph. First, Carson says we know so little about time and its relation to eternity that it is foolish to assert that eternity has no sequence. There are two errors here. One, Carson's ignorance of time and its relation to eternity does not mean it cannot be adequately explained. Second, the doctrine of impassibility does not deny sequence in eternity. Carson is therefore committing two fallacies: the first is an argument from ignorance, and the second is a straw man. The sequence of eternity is logical sequence. In the same way that two and three follow one in an eternal sequence of numbers, so too the thoughts of God proceed in an unending sequence that has no duration. It is not true that impassibility denies sequence. I have already stated how time relates to eternity in that time is an aspect of Creation that defines the experience of existence by its creatures. The sequences we experience are durative because we have a beginning. God's eternal Being as no duration for there was no time at which He began to Be. Since He has always been as He is, how can He change in His Being (internal impassibility), which is what would be necessary if God had emotions (which are defined according to a change in mood, mind, or state of being)? As to Carson's rhetorical questions, he does not appear to have any better understanding of eternity than he does of time. Clearly the thoughts of Christ's coming, dying, rising, and returning are eternal in the mind of God. But Christ's actions in His human nature are durative, and therefore occur terminally rather than eternally. Christ died once for all, which is one temporal act that is in God's mind eternally and determinately. Finally, Carson applies a guilt-by-association unwittingly by comparing the doctrine of impassibility to the attempts of some to identify specific events of Christ's ministry that are described in terms of his divine or human nature. But Carson, like every other theologian, has to answer such questions unrelated to the question of impassibility. How is it that Christ retained all of His divine nature and could yet say that He Himself did not know the hour at which the Son of Man would return? (Matt. 24:36, Mark 13:32). The distinctions between time and eternity and between Christ's divine and human nature are not empty arguments behind which theologians "hide," but are substantive explanations that reconcile God's Being with His Creation and Purposes in History.

Let's continue to examine Carson's claims, for he continues:

The methodological problem with the argument for divine impassibility is that it selects certain text of Scripture, namely those that insist on God's sovereignty and changelessness, constructs a theological grid on the basis of those selected texts, and then uses this grid to filter out all other texts, in particular those that speak of God's emotions. These latter texts, nicely filtered out, are then labeled "anthropomorphisms" and are written off. But if they are anthropomorphisms, why were they selected? They are figures of speech, but figures of speech that refer to something. To what? Why were they selected? Granted that neither God's emotions nor his sovereignty looks exactly like what we mean by emotions and sovereignty, nevertheless biblical writers chose terms to make us think of God as not only absolutely sovereign, but also as a personal, emotional, responding, interacting God.

It is strange that Carson would find problems in the method employed by theologians who arrive at impassibility. It is the same method employed by all systematic theologians who attempt to arrive at logical precision and to reconcile passages of Scripture that appear to contradict upon superficial reading. Carson appears to be using his own presupposition about God's emotions to criticize the fact that others have arrived at opposing conclusions in their analysis of the textual evidence. But Carson faces the same dilemma, for he must reconcile the passages concerning God's changelessness and sovereignty with the passages that speak of his emotions. He does not offer any argument supporting the problems faced by his own view. In fact, in the following paragraph he refutes those who have taken his position to its logical conclusion and argued for a finite, ever-changing God. Carson no doubt opts for a middle ground, and proposes to deal with the arguments in the next chapter, so I'll reserve some criticism on this point. However, the issue is not one of methodology, but of logical precision.

The bigger problem is that Carson acts as if theologians assume that nothing exists behind the use of anthropomorphisms. But an explanation has been given: they speak of God's determinate will in ways that resemble how human experience existence. Theologians who support impassibility also recognize that God is relationally mutable in regard to His creatures because they are mutable. The Biblical language reflects God's various relations to His creatures without attributing any change to God's Being or Nature. Carson's ignorance as to these distinctions makes his arguments quite silly when they are brought to bear. Carson simply does not understand the doctrine of impassibility well enough to refute it, and resorts to attacking a poorly constructed straw man.

In the end, Carson tries to preserve what is necessary to preserve from the doctrine of impassibility (God's Sovereignty and unchanging nature), while retaining his belief that God has emotions. This contradiction rests upon a confusion between emotions and affections that Carson does not appear to be aware of:

My sole point at the moment is simple. The biblical evidence, in both Testaments, pictures God as a being who can suffer. Doubtless God's suffering is not exactly like ours; doubtless metaphors litter the descriptions. But they are not metaphors that refer to nothing, that are suggestive of nothing. They are metaphors that refer to God and are suggestive of his profound emotional life and his distinctly personal relationships with his people. If the term "impassible" is to be preserved--and I think it can be--then one must use it to affirm that God is never controlled or overturned by his emotions. We human beings speak of "falling in love" and "exploding in anger" or simply "losing it." God never "loses it." What he does--whether in righteous wrath or in tender love--he does out of the constancy of all his perfections. In that sense, I think, we may usefully speak of God being "impassible." But never should we succumb to the view that God is exclusively cerebral, utterly without emotions.

It is odd that Carson assumes that impassibility offers nothing by way of explanation for passages referring to anthropomorphisms and yet fails to realize that his construction offers what is so vague as to be as good as nothing. God feels, but not like us. God suffers, but not like us. Metaphors are necessary, but they refer to God's emotions (whatever they may really be like) and God relationship to his people (even though it is much different from our relationships to one another). If Carson has trouble explaining God's eternity and relation to time, what hope does he have of explaining God's emotion in relation to ours, which are so vastly different?

Secondly, and important for the criticism offered here is that Carson's "reconciliation" of impassibility is nothing but a vague and confused appeal to the relational mutability that theologians of impassibility recognize. God's relation to His creatures changes according to their change: when they sin, His anger is upon them; when they obey, His pleasure is upon them. God's nature changes not at all in such human change. Rather, God's affections, which are set according to His divine nature and Being, are manifest in His relationships to us as we live and act in history. Because God has determined the beginning from the end He does not change in His Being when His anger or pleasure is manifest in Creation to His creatures. Rather, we experience the logical implication of God's eternal relationship to sin and obedience. The language of Scripture communicates God's relationship in metaphors of mutable attributions because we are thereby concerned to change ourselves in relation to God's pleasure or displeasure. But to assume that God's Being is altered, which is what emotions are by definition--alterations in one's state of being--then we contradict those passages that speak of God's unchangeable being.

Carson's problems with impassibility would be solved if he considered them more fully and more carefully. His glosses on time and eternity and Christ's divine and human nature are only compounded by his inability to distinguish emotions from affections.