Clark Rainey

An introduction to the topic and why it matters

If it is true, as Helmut Schöeck indicates, that the social problem of envy is nowhere unrecognized, and if awareness of envy is more pervasive than such concepts as justice or even the idea of love, then the question remains: given the seeming omnipresence of envy, why aren’t its effects just as widespread and equally devastating across cultures?  To understand the extent to which the effects of envy are restrained or kindled, one must answer fundamental questions at the worldview level. What accounts for the material, personal, and social distinctions between men? Given that personal and material inequalities really do exist, one must also ask: what is the nature of social change? Answers to these questions will determine the extent to which envy is legitimized. This is how Schöeck formulates the basic question:

“How is it that so basic, universal, and intensely emotional a constituent of the human psyche as envy—and the fear of envy, or at least the constant awareness of it—can lead to such different social consequences in various cultures?” (p. 10A)

Attempts to deal with the existence of envy cannot be disconnected from a theory of change. Any given worldview must deal with the nature of change; it is inescapable.

Aristotle contended that social change comes through education. Fundamentally, a man never acts against what he knows is correct. This is exemplified in the modern penal system: the criminal is to be rehabilitated through education.

Marx said that capitalist society was built on expropriation, and that lasting social change was the product of revolution.

Hegel taught that social change was the product of material forces.

Thomas Hobbes proposed that the original state of nature must be rejected and overcome by a centralized state before lasting social change could take place.

John Locke proposed that the morality of the state of nature must be embraced before lasting social change would occur.

Hinduism sees change as ultimately illusory. All is maya.

Thermodynamics teaches that all change moves from lower entropy to higher entropy. Any appearance of an increase in order is really only the transformation of lower-entropy energy into energy possessing higher entropy. Every thought you think and every action you take—even if it appears to produce order—is ultimately nothing more than a whimsical way of producing the heat death of the universe.

Beliefs regarding the nature of social change are deeply connected to the existence of envy.

ENVY DEFINED

1. Envy as a targeted emotion

From the beginning, Schöeck ascribes envy as a targeted emotion. Envy does not exist in isolation; rather, he sees it as something that only takes place within social existence.

Although “envy” exists in our language as an abstract noun and is used as such in literature, there is, strictly speaking, no such thing as envy… Envy is more comparable with “being afraid”; we envy something or someone in the same way that we are afraid of something or someone. Envy is a directed emotion: without a target, without a victim, it cannot occur. (p. 10)

The Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics (1912) defines envy as follows:

“Envy is an emotion that is essentially both selfish and malevolent. It is aimed at persons, and implies dislike of one who possesses what the envious man himself covets or desires, and a wish to harm him. Graspingness for self and ill-will lie at the basis of it. There is in it also a consciousness of inferiority to the person envied, and a chafing under the consciousness.” (p. 20)

To illustrate the targeted nature of envy, Schöeck reminds the reader of target-less emotions that we can imagine being displayed on a canvas with relative ease. Consider the examples he gives: emotions such as joy and fear. Each of these emotions appears as self-contained, emanating from the individual, not essentially requiring social relation to be expressed. The opposite is the case for envy. It is far more difficult to create a painting that captures the emotion of envy. To the extent that such an emotion can be successfully displayed, it cannot be disconnected from “a social situation, or symbols whose connection with envy is common knowledge to everyone within the particular culture.” (p. 11)

2. Envy as impotence

Envy is the product of a feeling of impotence. Jealousy is void of such impotence, for there are paths of action by which the jealous man may come to possess the objects of his desire. However, impotence prevents the envious man from taking such action.

“Impotence… inhibits the striving after a possession that belongs to another. The tension between such striving and such impotence only leads to envy.” (p. 23)

Here it is helpful to draw out distinctions and contrasts with the concept of conflict. Schöeck never disconnects envy from impotence. Maintaining this connection, he makes an effort to describe conflict as containing a sense of equality between those involved. In this sense, conflict possesses a rivalrous characteristic that envy, almost by definition, could never contain.

“If I seek to define all hostility between men as conflict, I presuppose a concrete relationship, a mutual awareness, a preying on one another, etc. But the envious man can, in fact, sabotage the object of his envy when the latter has no idea of his existence…” (p. 111)

“Conflict is overt behavior and social action.” (p. 112)

“Conflict between two parties does not require that one feel impotence; indeed, neither party thinks himself inferior to the other.” (p. 113)

“But if I speak of envy I must assume that one of the two opponents realizes the fact of his inferiority in the situation, education, possessions, or reputation.” (p. 111)

“In contrast to jealousy, what is often particularly irritating to the envious man, and conducive to greater envy, is his inability to provoke open conflict with the object of his envy.” (p. 112)

(Dostoyevsky’s Notes from Underground, provides a memorable example of how an envious man is incapable of open conflict with the object of his envy.)

3. Envy as distinct from jealousy

Keeping in mind the essential presence of impotence within the envious man, it becomes clear that jealousy is something altogether different from envy.

The evil eye of the envious man assumes no right to the attributes or possessions of his targeted victim. He works to keep his envy hidden from the victim and others. Not only does the envier claim no moral right to the objects of his envy, but he cannot even imagine that such attributes or possessions could be enjoyed by him. They may even be seen by him as too burdensome and requiring too much effort to be worth actually possessing, though this realization does not restrain his envy.

On the other hand, even in defeat, the jealous man “is not inferior in relation to the asset under contention as, by definition, the envious man is.” (p. 17A) Here I understand Schöeck to be saying that the jealous man, even through defeat, maintains his moral right to the possession in dispute. The jealous man is characterized by moral right, not impotence.

It may not be intuitive, but here Schöeck’s use of the term jealousy entails a notion of property rights. The principal definition of jealousy, as he sees it, is “…the passionate endeavor to keep something that is one’s own by right.” (p. 18)

Schoeck sets the two emotions of jealousy and envy against one another as opposing forces. There is such opposition that:

“Envy… cannot assert itself simultaneously with jealousy in the same person, since the latter emotion presupposes a certain right.” (p. 118)

Unlike jealousy, there is a great deal of shame associated with envy—almost definitionally—for if impotence is an essential feature of envy, then shame would seem to be its effect.

Whereas the jealous man strives to defend what he believes to be rightfully his own, the envious man, in certain circumstances, does not even want to have the coveted asset, nor could he enjoy it, but would find it unbearable that another should do so:

“He becomes ill with annoyance over someone else’s private yacht although he has never wished to board a ship in his life.” (p. 116)

Given that jealousy is viewed as a defense of rightful possessions, whether relational or material, it makes sense that jealousy is more open and compatible with conflict. Schoeck writes:

“Jealousy differs from envy in being infinitely more spiteful, as well as more impassioned and less restrained. Jealousy arises out of an opinion as to what is one’s due; it is not purely a sense of inferiority, as is envy.” (p. 21)

Another feature that distinguishes jealousy from envy is the attitude toward the object and the person in possession of that object:

“…the decisive difference is evident: jealousy is only directed against a definite transfer of coveted assets or their removal elsewhere, never against the asset as such. Envy very often denies the asset itself.” (p. 19)

Envy goes beyond jealousy; it cannot be satiated by the possessions of another. The envious man may never imagine a way in which he could obtain the object of his envy. Rather:

“He would like to see the other person robbed, dispossessed, stripped, humiliated, or hurt, but he practically never conjures up a detailed mental picture of how a transfer of the other’s possessions to himself might occur.” (p. 8)

A desire for the possessions of others is not enough to create envy. Desire alone does not rule out means of achieving such desired ends. However, such means are closed to the envious man by his own felt impotence in achieving them:

“Mere displeasure at the fact that another possesses the thing which I covet does not constitute envy… Only when the attempt to obtain it by these means has failed, giving rise to the consciousness of impotence, does envy arise.” (p. 24)

4. Two-group versus three-group

Another distinction between jealousy and envy is that envy involves two, while jealousy involves at least three.

“…let me discriminate my meaning of the terms jealousy and envy, which are often tossed around as synonyms. There is a fundamental difference in the felt components of envy and jealousy; and there is also a fundamental difference in the interpersonal situation in which the processes occur, for envy occurs in a two-group… while jealousy always appears in a relationship involving a group of three or more.” (p. 88)

Envy occurs only in a two-group. This becomes clearer once we realize that the subject is not envious of another’s possession in itself, apart from the fact that the other man possesses it. His envy is directed at the person for possessing that thing.

For example, if a nice watch owned by another man raises the envier’s ire, his envy is aroused only by the fact that someone else possesses a nice watch. The object of the watch is never separated from the fact that someone owns it. In this sense, the watch never becomes the “third group,” as it does under jealousy.

In a jealous relationship, the thing under contention has value apart from the rival’s possession of it. The jealous man strives to transfer the target of his jealousy into his own possession. In this sense, it is a three-group: two rivals plus one possession under contention. Unlike jealousy, envy is didactic; it is object-indifferent.

5. Envy as a worldview

Envy is not an object of the senses; rather, it functions as the lens of a worldview through which one interprets experience. The envious man sees reality through the grid of envy. In this sense, a man’s envy becomes impossible to assuage; even kindness itself is reinterpreted through this bitter principle.

“Envy as such no more exists in a concrete sense than do grief, desire, joy, anxiety, and fear. It consists, rather, of a set of psychological and physiological processes occurring in the individual.” (p. 11)

“…Envy is emphatically an act of perception… there are no objective criteria for what it is that stimulates envy… Anyone who has a propensity for envy… will always manage to find enviable qualities or possessions in others to arouse his envy.” (p. 25)

“…in common experience the envious man always manages so to alter his perspective as to make the man he envies appear to have no merit.” (p. 104)

“Once the process of envying has begun, the envious man so distorts the reality he experiences… that he never lacks reason for envy.” (p. 125)

THE SOCIAL PROBLEM OF ENVY

The development of civilization requires cooperation and production. To pass beyond the subsistence world of the hunter-gatherer requires capital accumulation. Such savings allow for the development of longer-term production processes that yield greater efficiency. A stockpile of goods—more than is immediately necessary—allows for the creation of equipment and more productive processes.

Secondly, such development of capital assumes a belief about the future: namely, that it is possible to create a future better than the current state of affairs. If envy is given social legitimacy, one’s view of the future must become one of sheer indifference. Hope for prosperity leaves one open to the plunder of the evil eye. It becomes better to avoid the envy of others; it is no longer worth the risk of being marginalized.

“The future, the only field where the fruits of any development are to be reaped… is precisely this… impeded by the ever-present fear that basically everyone… is potentially envious…” (p. 57)

When envy is given social legitimacy, the most basic resource—time itself—is under attack. Any belief in the responsibility of man to “redeem the time” will struggle to survive in a world governed by envy.

The idea of universal human rights has some difficulties, perhaps the most interesting of which is the question of just how universal these rights are. If they are universal human rights, then they must extend to the entire class of humans regardless of age. The idea of natural rights, in a Rothbardian sense, is based upon man being a rational animal—an animal capable of petitioning for the rights of his humanity.

The question I am asking is this: if these rights belong to humans universally, then why are children allowed to be treated as the property of parents? Using rights as a means for sorting aggression from defensive action, it seems to me that it would not be hard to make a case that a parent violates a child’s rights in all sorts of ways. Put differently, if a parent treated an adult in the same way that he treats his child, then certainly there would be legal charges made against that parent—and, in line with this theory, we may rightly say so. However, given the universality of these rights, how can we account for the relationship of the parent toward the child without accusing the parent of aggression?

One attempt was given by Benjamin Tucker. He believed that the child was very much the property of the parent. The ownership of the parent over the child was so extensive that, should the parent cast the child into the fire, it would be wrong for anyone to restrain him from doing so. While Tucker’s commitment to biting the bullet of his presuppositions is noteworthy, he undermines the notion of universal human rights—or, at the very least, restricts the class of humans in a way that excludes children from that class. Neither of these is a good option.

The difficulty of children, and when—or even how—they obtain rights, may seem trivial, but it is a fundamental problem facing philosophers and the Church.

Many in the Church have answered the question of children’s rights in a way similar to Tucker. The rights of children are said to be non-existent from birth and sacrament. Rather, it is argued that as the child grows into mental maturity, his rationality increases to the point where he becomes an intellectual animal capable of petitioning for and expressing the rights of his nature. Outside of the ability of expression, no rights are to be afforded to the child. On this worldview, the rights and responsibilities of man are determined by the expression of the individual.

Enlightenment-style rationalism has, in large part, won the day by fundamentally altering the Christian understanding of sacramental theology. Rights from birth have been replaced with rights from reason. The sacrament of baptism is a new birth—a regeneration, an ingrafting—the point at which one receives a new family and a new Father. With this new birth come new rights and responsibilities. The modern evangelical position on baptism is effectively this: it is a sacrament made effective through the human power of cognition, and until the rights of baptism are clearly petitioned for by the recipient, we cannot hope to know what their rights actually are. Until that point, we cannot know what our proper relationship with them really is. Like the rationalists searching for universal rights, they see children as only “potentially” rights-bearing men.

The rights of sainthood are not essentially established by human rationality, and should our minds be dimmed by age, we are not thereby cut off from union with Christ. The rational expression of such rights is not essential to the possession of those rights. Sacraments are given to the weak. If rationality is the primary qualification, the weakest family members become excluded from the table. Much like Tucker’s position, the children are thrown into the fire by their parents, and no one can stop them.

The following are personal notes from my study of John Calvin’s Institutes.

Disagreements over the meaning and nature of baptism go round and round, while an essential underlying conflict goes unaddressed. If this conflict remains unaccounted for, then meaningful progress in the understanding of baptism cannot be made. The hidden conflict is over ecclesiology. The groundwork must be laid for understanding and contrasting the different views of the church and its function as the representative authority of Christ in history. John Calvin promoted a bold view of the church—a view that was neither tentative nor wavering. Calvin was committed to the idea of the church being Christ’s representative on earth. This high view of the function of the church underpins his theology as a whole, but it is especially useful to understand it in connection with his view of the sacraments.

The conflict over the power of the sacraments stems from a disagreement over ecclesiology. Here’s how I see the conflict playing out in a practical way: a low view of the church necessitates a low view of the sacraments; the two are different sides of the same coin. Even if there is an agreement that baptism really does place one into the church, it isn’t clear that such a result is an improvement over the original state of affairs. Given a low view of the church, being brought into the church isn’t seen as a birth of any kind. And as far as nourishment goes—well, perhaps it is found in the church, but not in such a way that precludes it from being commonly and independently found outside of the church. This sort of direct relationship is often sought through nature, the real cathedral of the free soul. The sacrament of baptism becomes a moot point for the Baptist type, as the church is hardly distinguishable from the individual.

Contrast this understanding with Calvin’s position that baptism is the entrance to the church, by which men become heirs of the kingdom of God. To be engrafted into the body of Christ is the same as having our sins forgiven. Seeing that the church gives birth to and sustains new life, baptism is a powerful means of grace given to the children of God. For Calvin, being brought into the church isn’t superfluous; it is directly connected to regeneration, which Calvin equates with repentance and the forgiveness of sins.

“…revolt from the church is denial of God and Christ. Wherefore there is the more necessity to beware of a dissent so iniquitous; for seeing by it we aim, as far as in us lies, at the destruction of God’s truth, we deserve to be crushed by the full thunder of his anger. No crime can be imagined more atrocious than that of sacrilegiously and perfidiously violating the sacred marriage which the only begotten Son of God has condescended to contract with us.” — p. 679B

The role of the church is such that it is irreplaceable; it is structured by the Lord to be His representative. The church isn’t an appendix. Rather, Calvin writes that

“…there is no other bond by which the saints can be kept together than by uniting with one consent to observe the order which God has appointed in his church for learning and making progress.” — p. 676B

“…beyond the pale of the church no forgiveness of sins, no salvation, can be hoped for…” — p. 674G

Far from being superfluous, Calvin indicates that through the church men enter into new life. He writes,

“…there is no other means of entering into life unless she conceive us in the womb and give us birth…”

The role of the church isn’t limited to the entrance into new life, as this life must also be cared for and brought to maturity. Calvin uses the word “nourishment” to describe the care that is found in the church. It isn’t as if this nourishment can be found outside of the church; to seek for it outside of the church is lethal. Calvin uses strong language when he warns that

“the abandonment of the church is always fatal.” — p. 674C

This role of producing maturity—which could conceivably be done in an instant—was instead given as a responsibility of the historical church:

“We see that God, who might perfect his people in a moment, chooses not to bring them to manhood in any other way than by the education of the church.” — p. 674D

If sin halts and reverses the process of maturity, it is certainly understandable how Calvin could so strongly connect this function of creating mature men to the church alone.

“Wherefore, if we would not maliciously obscure the kindness of God, let us present to him our infants, to whom he has assigned a place among his friends and family—that is, the members of the church.” — p. 892

“For, just as circumcision, which was a kind of badge to the Jews, assuring them that they were adopted as the people and family of God, was their first entrance into the church—while they, in their turn, professed their allegiance to God—so now we are initiated by baptism, so as to be enrolled among his people, and at the same time swear unto his name. Hence it is incontrovertible that baptism has been substituted for circumcision and performs the same office.” — p. 874F

Calvin goes on to say that baptism opens access to the church. Through admission into the church one becomes heir to the kingdom of heaven:

“…why should they be denied the sign by which access, as it were, is opened to the church, that being admitted into it they may be enrolled among the heirs of the heavenly kingdom?” p. 876A

“Hence let us surely hold that if we are admitted and engrafted into the body of the church, the forgiveness of sins has been bestowed, and is daily bestowed on us, in divine liberality, through the intervention of Christ’s merits and the sanctification of the Spirit.” p. 685C

“Let those then who embrace the promise of mercy to their children consider it as their duty to offer them to the church… seeing with the bodily eye the covenant of the Lord engraved on the bodies of their children.” —p. 877C

Baptism engrafts one into the church. The degree to which one sees this as being significant depends upon his understanding of the nature of the historical representation of Christ on earth. If representation is only legitimate at the individual level, then no significance can be placed upon being engrafted into the church.

The following question and answers, produced from Calvin’s catechism, are listed in no certain order. 

Master:  If it is true that the sacraments were instituted by God to be helps to our necessity, is it not arrogance for any one to hold that he can dispense with them as unnecessary?

Scholar:  It certainly is; and hence, if any one of his own accord, abstains from the use of them, as if he had no need of them, he contemns Christ, spurns his grace, and quenches the Spirit.

Master:  How, then, and when does the effect follow the use of the sacraments?

Scholar:  When we receive them in faith, seeking Christ alone and his grace in them.

Master:  Seeing that faith is requisite for the use of them, how do you say that they are given us to confirm our faith, to make us more certain of the promises of God?

Scholar:  It is by no means sufficient that faith is once begun in us.  It must be nourished continually, and increase more and more every day.  To nourish, strengthen, and advance it, the Lord instituted the sacraments.  This indeed Paul intimates, when he says that they have the effect of sealing the promises of God. (Rom. iv. 11.)

Master:  But do you attribute nothing more to the water that that it is a figure of ablution?

Scholar:  I understand it to be a figure, but still so that the reality is annexed to it; for God does not disappoint us when he promises us his gifts.  Accordingly, it is certain that both pardon of sins and newness of life are offered to us in baptism, and received by us.

Master:  On what terms then are children to be baptized?

Scholar:  To attest that they are heirs of the blessing promised to the seed of believers, and enable them to receive and produce the fruit of their Baptism, on acknowledging its reality after they have grown up.

CALVIN ON THE SACRAMENTS

(The following are notes from my reading of The Institutes Book 4 chapter 15. Some earlier material is quoted to help form my understanding of chapter 15. Page numbers are listed for my own reference. I am using the 2008 edition translated by Henry Beveridge.)

Christ became man that we may become sons of God, these sons of God are brothers with Christ. We must be engrafted into Christ that God may be our father. This union between Christ and man is an important thread that runs throughout Calvin’s thought. Calvin never denied the requirement of faith for this union, “the intervention of faith [is] necessary to our being spiritually engrafted into Christ.” (306A) While, at the very same time, Calvin could comfortably claim that the sacrament of baptism engrafts the recipient into Christ (877C). He names this as the particular benefit of baptism, “Baptism is the initiatory sign by which we are admitted to the fellowship of the church, that being engrafted into Christ we may be accounted children of God.” (859A)

Only upon the presuppositions of the modern evangelical type should we assume that there is any conflict between saying that “faith engrafts one into Christ” and saying that “baptism engrafts one into Christ.” Such a segregated view requires that sacraments become a work completed by man, as it assumes a total separation between faith and sacrament. The result of this position is the belief that correct participation in the sacrament (ordinances) serves to justify the authenticity of a person’s prior faith. Faith is completely separated from the sacraments.

Conversely Calvin sees a fundamental connection between sacraments and faith. The Holy Spirit works through the seal of the sacraments, faith is the work of the Spirit. The testimony of the Spirit is, “engraved on our hearts by way of seal, and thus seals the cleansing and sacrifice of Christ.” (349D)

There are three witnesses on earth, “…water blood, and Spirit…” (349D) these three agree in one.

HOW DOES CALVIN DEFINE SACRAMENTS

1.) General Definition of Sacrament

Calvin offers up several definitions of sacrament. In its most general form Calvin sees a sacrament as, “generally all the signs which God ever commanded men to use, that he might make them sure and confident of the truth of his promises.” (852C)

Calvin lists many signs throughout the Scriptures which he takes to be sacraments, but he wants to deal with specifically the ordinary sacraments of the church, which Calvin sees as two, baptism and the supper. (854B)

2.) Sacraments as Physical

More specifically Calvin defines a sacrament as something which is external, something physical, by which men are graciously sealed in assurance of the Father’s love.

He writes that it is “…an external sign, by which the Lord seals on our conscience his promise of good-will toward us, in order to sustain the weakness of our faith.” 843B

Calvin approves of the definition given by Augustine who declared a sacrament to be, “a visible sign of a sacred thing, or a visible form of an invisible grace…” 843C

Calvin calls sacraments “earthly elements.” (844C) He goes on to favorably quote Chrysostom who says that God “delivers spiritual things under visible things visible.” (844E)

Calvin affirms the view of Augustine. Augustine called the sacraments the promises of God in “graphic bodily form…” (845E)

3.) Sacraments as Ceremony

The sacraments of the church are now ceremonies. It is by sacramental ceremony that believers are united together into a common faith. (853D)

Through sacramental ceremony, “…God enters into covenant with us…” and “… there promises to cover and efface any guilt and penalty which we may have incurred by transgression, and reconciles us to himself in his only begotten Son…” (853E)

“…sacraments are ceremonies, by which God is pleased to train his people…” (853F)

The sacramental signs, Calvin says, can also rightly be called ceremony. “… if you prefer it the signs here employed are ceremonies.” 853D

If the signs can be rightly called ceremonies, let’s apply the term to this passage from Calvin. “God therefore, truly performs whatever he promises and figures by signs [ceremony]; nor are the signs [ceremonies] without effect, for they prove that he is their true and faithful author.” 852E

4.) Sacraments as Memorial

Our assurance is based on the belief that God sees the covenant signs. The remembrance is not tied up in the mind of the recipient, but rather God is reminded. A memorial is not dependent on man, a memorial is for God. When God remembers the covenant he acts. The Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden and the rainbow after the flood, both of these Calvin considers a form of sacrament. Both are physical signs by which God assures his people. Calvin seems to emphasize that it is man who must be reminded. But the idea of a memorial must go further than the mind of man, if it is to be of any comfort at all, man must know that God remembers his covenant. It isn’t enough that man knows, he must be assured that God, who is a covenant-keeping God, remembers and acts to uphold the promises. Even in the account of the rainbow, God declares that when “I [God] see it, I [God] will Remember.” Physical things became memorial sacraments by the word of God. “… when they were inscribed with the word of God, a new form was given to them: they began to be what they previously were not.” (852E)

5.) Role of Recipient

From the outset, it is of use to point to Calvin’s understanding of the role that the recipient of a sacrament has. The role of the recipient is passive. To consider that the partaker has an active role is, for Calvin, simply “trifling talk.” It is further, “repugnant to the very nature of sacraments, which God appointed in order that believers, who are void and in want of all good, might bring nothing of their own, but simply beg. Hence it follows, that in receiving them they do nothing which deserves praise, and that in this action (which in respect of them is merely passive) no work can be ascribed to them.” (857C)

WHAT DO SACRAMENTS DO?

1.) Genuinely Offer Christ to the Recipient.

The sacraments like the gospel, offer Christ to its recipients. “…let it be a fixed point that the office of the sacraments differs not from the word of God; and this is to hold forth and offer Christ to us, and, in him, the treasures of heavenly grace.” (851D)

“no divine promise has ever been offered to man except in Christ, and that hence when they remind us of any divine promise, they must of necessity exhibit Christ.” (854-B2)

2.) Impart the Holy Spirit.

God works through the means of the sacraments to confer upon his people the gift of the Holy Spirit.

“The Holy Spirit, whom the sacraments do not bring promiscuously to all, but whom the Lord specially confers on his people… and causes them to bear fruit.” (852B)

3.) Establish Faith

Calvin is very careful to say that the sacraments are only effectual through the power of the Spirit. “It is the work of the Holy Spirit to commence, maintain and establish faith…” (847C) Having said this, Calvin seems comfortable saying that the sacraments establish faith. While he could’ve chosen to say that the sacraments only increase an already existing faith, he writes that faith is established and increased by them. He writes, “… our Lord has instituted them for the express purpose of helping to establish and increase our faith.” 847B This argument is not contradictory as Calvin himself points out that, “…the sacraments duly perform their office when accompanied by the Spirit…“ (847B)

Calvin’s distinction between the external element and the power of the Holy Spirit in no way hinders a belief in sacramental efficacy. Rather, this distinction properly grounds sacramental efficacy in the work of the Spirit, through the means of the elements.

To further illustrate, we should ask the question, how does the Spirit ordinarily accomplish the establishment of faith? Calvin says that the testimony of the Spirit “is engraved on our hearts by way of seal, and thus seals the cleansing and sacrifice of Christ.” page 349D. Through the sacraments the sacrifice of Christ is sealed to the recipient.

The Spirit works faith in the heart of man, the Spirit works through sacramental seals. Empty seals are meaningless, an impersonal seal must also be considered meaningless. Seals are active and applied to a particular person. Said another way, something specific is being sealed to someone in particular. Faith and seals (assurance) are two facets of the same thing. Calvin’s view of the sacraments cannot be separated from his understanding of faith.

CALVIN SEES FAITH AS INSEPARABLE FROM ASSURANCE

Calvin gives a systematic treatment of theology, on this point he does not lose sight of the whole. It’s helpful to understand this point while reading The Institutes.

Calvin says that it isn’t enough that men view God as the only being worthy of worship. But men must practice true piety which includes full assurance of God as their loving father that genuinely loves and cares for them. Calvin holds that faith isn’t void of knowledge, but rather he defines faith in terms of knowledge.

“Faith consists in the knowledge of God and Christ…” (356B)

“…faith, is, for good reason, occasionally termed in the Scripture understanding (Col 2:2); and knowledge…” (365A)

The content of this knowledge must include the knowledge of God as a paternal father. This is most foundational to Calvin’s conception of faith. Faith is knowledge, but not all knowledge is faith. For Calvin faith is defined by the content of that knowledge, which must include the knowledge of God as a merciful father. God must not only be recognized a true judge, but man must know that he intends good for them. This knowledge of grace is what the sacraments seal upon the hearts of men.

“For, until men feel that they owe everything to God, that they are cherished by his paternal care, and that he is the author of all their blessings, so that naught is to be looked for away from him, they will never submit to him in voluntary obedience; no, unless they place their entire happiness in him, they will never yield up their whole selves to him in truth and sincerity.” (7C)

“Both word and sacraments, therefore, confirm our faith, bringing under view the kind intention of our heavenly Father, in the knowledge of which the whole assurance of our faith depends, and by which its strength is increased; and the Spirit also confirms our faith when by engraving that assurance on our minds, he renders it [FAITH] effectual.” (848A)

The ordinary assurance of our faith depends on the sacraments. Without assurance, what is faith? The Spirit works through the sacraments to engrave that assurance upon our hearts.

“For we are allured to seek God when told that our safety is treasured up in him; and we are confirmed in this when he declares that he studies and takes an interest in our welfare. Hence there is need of the gracious promise, in which he testifies that he is a propitious Father; since there is no other way in which we can approach to him, the promise being the only thing on which the heart of man can recline. For this reason, the two things, mercy and truth, are uniformly conjoined in the Psalms as having a mutual connection with each other. For it were of no avail to us to know that God is true, did He not in mercy allure us to himself; nor could we of ourselves embrace this mercy did He not in mercy allure us to himself…” page 359E

It is only with the affirmation of assurance that we have faith, this assurance is given to us by the Holy Spirit. A seal of assurance is engraved upon the heart, so when Calvin refers to the sacraments as a seal and as assurance, this is no light matter. Faith requires assurance, there can be no possibility of faith without it. They are two facets of the same thing.

“We shall now have a full definition of faith if we say that it is a firm and sure knowledge of the divine favor toward us, founded on the truth of a free promise in Christ, and revealed to our minds, and sealed on our hearts, by the Holy Spirit.” page 360A

“the elect alone have that full assurance which is extolled by Paul, and by which they are enabled to cry, Abba, Father.” page 362B

“…faith is not true unless it enables us to appear calmly in the presence of God. Such boldness springs only from confidence in the divine favor and salvation. So true is this, that the term faith is often used as equivalent to confidence.” page 365B

“…he only is a true believer, who, firmly persuaded that God is reconciled, and is a kind Father to him, hopes everything from his kindness, who, trusting to the promises of the divine favor, with undoubting confidence anticipates salvation; as the apostle shows in these words, ‘We are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning of our confidence steadfast unto the end’ (Heb 3:14).” page 366A

“Wherefore, faith apprehending the love of God has the promise both of the present and the future life, and ample security for all blessings.” page 373

Closing Notes

After trying to understand Calvin’s position on the role of the sacraments, I think the following quote offers a real insight into his position. Calvin says that the testimony of the Holy Spirit is “…engraved on our hearts by way of seal, and thus seals the cleansing and sacrifice of Christ.” (349D)

I think that it is significant that he chose the term “engrave.” As far as historical covenant signs go, the idea of engraving, or cutting is fundamental to the Jewish identity. From this section alone, I’m not certain that what I am going to say can be absolutely proven. However, it seems that baptism isn’t totally disconnected from the cutting, or engraving, of circumcision. Such an engraving is one which leaves a permanent mark. This mark identified the members of the Jewish community, but there was also a requirement for a circumcision of the heart. If it isn’t intentional, it is very strange that Calvin would speak about the Holy Spirit engraving, or cutting, its testimony onto the heart of man. It seems more likely that Calvin used the language of engraving to tie the sacrament of baptism to the thing which circumcision pointed to. Through baptism the Holy Spirit engraves its testimony onto the heart of man, is this different from the circumcision of the heart?

The Last Supper, like most meals in our lives, was preceded by many other meals. While it may be useful to think of it in terms of its newness, it’s also helpful to emphasize its continuity with other meals. I’m not sure that it’s helpful to consider the meal in isolation from every other meal that Christ shared with the disciples during his historical ministry.

That being said, we may begin to search for answers to a few basic questions: “What was the significance of eating a meal with others? What was the significance of blessing the food prior to partaking? And what happens when we say amen?”

Joachim Jeremias’ book, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, is helpful in this area. The Last Supper, he writes, should be seen “as one of a long series of daily meals they had shared together. For the oriental, every table fellowship is a guarantee of peace, of trust, of brotherhood. Table fellowship is a fellowship of life. [And] table fellowship with Jesus is more.” —Page 204

The significance of table fellowship as a real offering of peace is revealed by the anger of the Pharisees—they understood, much more than we do, the implications of sharing a meal. There is still a limited, almost unconscious, understanding of the significance of table fellowship in our modern culture; one just has to seek it out with a little imagination. Today, when two parties have a dispute, as they seek to work toward a resolution, we describe this as the act of “coming to the table.” In a conversation—especially a difficult one that may involve potential humiliation—one may suggest that we just “put it all on the table.” The phrase “putting it all on the table” suggests a real openness and connection between the speakers. Finally, our modern culture still knows what it means for something to be “off the table.” No longer is there a possibility of reconciliation or even discussion once something is said to be “off the table.” While this understanding is somewhat buried in our own culture, it wasn’t so for Jesus’ contemporaries. Such understanding regarding the significance of meals served around a table was much closer to firsthand—not something that would’ve needed to be dredged up after hours of contemplation.

“The oriental, to whom symbolic action means more than it does to us, would immediately understand the acceptance of the outcasts into table fellowship with Jesus as an offer of salvation to guilty sinners and as the assurance of forgiveness. Hence the passionate objections of the Pharisees (Luke 15:2: ‘This man receives sinners and eats with them’; Mark 2:15–17; Matt. 11:19) who held that the pious could have table fellowship only with the righteous.” —Page 204

As the daily series of regular meals continued throughout Christ’s life, it may be that it took on an eschatological role of sorts. They began to symbolize something that was coming to be fulfilled in Jesus’ ministry. Joachim Jeremias points to the confession of Peter as being a turning point of sorts.

Here is Peter’s confession, found in Matthew 16:13–19:

“When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?

And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.

He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?

And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.

And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

Peter is blessed, and the promise was made: “I will build my church,” and “I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven.” Christ seems to be making a promise that will take place in the future by using the words, “I will.” Another promise is made when Christ declares that “the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” The church is going to be built up, and Peter is central to this promise.

After this, Jeremias suggests:

“The regular table fellowship with Jesus must have assumed an entirely new meaning for the disciples after Peter’s confession at Caesarea Philippi. From this time onward every meal with Jesus was for his followers a symbol, a pre-presentation, indeed an actual anticipation of the meal of the consummation. … After Peter’s confession, every act of eating and drinking with the master is table fellowship of the redeemed community with the redeemer, a wedding feast, a pledge of the share in the meal of consummation.” —Page 205

Even for common meals, there was an understanding that the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine made one a participant in the prior blessing.

“… a common meal binds the table companions into a table fellowship. This table fellowship is religious, and therein rests its obligations. … Above all, the Passover table fellowship is religious; this is seen most clearly in the fact that the membership of every haburah had to be determined before the lamb was killed and its blood sprinkled on the altar of burnt offerings. At every common meal, the constitution of the table fellowship is accomplished by the rite of the breaking of bread.

The breaking of bread is l’atto di comunione. When at the daily meal the paterfamilias recites the blessing over the bread—which the members of the household make their own by the ‘Amen’—and breaks it and hands a piece to each member to eat, the meaning of the action is that each of the members is made a recipient of the blessing by this eating; the common ‘Amen’ and the common eating of the bread of benediction unite the members into a table fellowship.

The same is true of the ‘cup of blessing,’ which is the cup of wine over which grace has been spoken, when it is in circulation among the members: drinking from it mediates a share in the blessing. This, it must be remembered, is true of every meal and was therefore a familiar and self-evident idea to the disciples.” —Page 233

This familiar understanding of the binding nature of table fellowship is helpful when considering the Last Supper from the disciples’ point of view. The meal was done in such a way that it was implausible that the disciples would have doubted that something was being conveyed and sealed in their eating of the meal. Not only did Jesus bless the bread and the wine, but he added words…

“…which referred the broken bread and the red wine to his atoning death for ‘many.’ When immediately afterwards he gives this same bread and wine to his disciples to eat and drink, the meaning is that by eating and drinking he gives them a share in the atoning power of his death.” —Page 233

“The intention was to make clear to the disciples their participation in the gift. The eating of the bread and the drinking from the cup that had been blessed is meant to give them not only a share in the blessing pronounced by Jesus as the paterfamilias but also, beyond that, a share in the redemptive work of Jesus as the savior. … A greater gift than a share in the redeeming power of his death Jesus could not give.” —Page 236

While the idea that eating actually imparts gifts is somewhat removed from our thinking, Jeremias points out that this understanding runs through the fabric of Scripture. Almost as a side note, he comments that the conversation between Jesus and the Canaanite woman in Mark 7:24–30 is best understood in this light. He writes:

“I am indebted to my colleague Rudolf Hermann for pointing out to me that even the story of the Canaanite woman becomes fully understandable in this connection: Jesus’ saying about the bread which is meant for the children and not for the dogs refers to the eschatological meal, and the great faith of the woman consists in this, that, by her word about the crumbs which are eaten by the dogs, she acknowledges Jesus as the giver of the bread of life.” —Page 234

Basic to the understanding of a covenant meal is real participation. Jeremias writes:

“There is, furthermore, the cultic aspect to be considered: ‘Behold Israel after the flesh: have not they which eat the sacrifices communion with the altar?’ (1 Cor. 10:18), says Paul; and the subsequent verses show that he intends to say that the eating of the sacrificial meat brings the priests and participants in sacrificial meals into a very close relationship to God.

Especially instructive is a passage which positively ascribes an atoning effect to the cultic meal: ‘Where (is it said) that the eating of the sacred sacrifices brings atonement to Israel? The Scripture teaches: “And He (Yahweh) hath given it (the sin-offering) to you to bear the iniquity of the congregation, to make atonement for them before the Lord”’ (Lev. 10:17). How so? The priests eat, and for the masters (who provide the sacrifice), atonement is made.”

In closing, the Last Supper had table fellowship in common with the previous meals—a genuine offer of peace was present. However, Christ’s words of institution make it clear that much more than a general peace was being offered. A specific share in the redemptive work was to be given. If Jeremias is correct, there is a ready association between eating and participation. To separate the two requires an unnatural assessment of the contemporary culture. The Last Supper may be viewed as an inheritance meal; participation in the blessing was through the eating.

“So then we must ever come to this point, that the Sacraments are effectual and that they are not trifling signs that vanish away in the air, but that the truth is always matched with them, because God who is faithful shows that he has not ordained anything in vain.  And that is the reason why in Baptism we truly receive the forgiveness of sins, we are washed and cleansed with the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, we are renewed by the operation of his Holy Spirit.  And how so?  Does a little water have such power when it is cast upon the head of a child? No.  But because it is the will of our Lord Jesus Christ that the water should be a visible sign of his blood and of the Holy Spirit.  Therefore baptism has that power and whatsoever is there set forth to the eye is forth accomplished in very deed.” — John Calvin, Sermons on Deuteronomy

There’s an inconsistency between the soteriology and the ordinances of the Reformed Baptist Church; if applied completely, this dualism drives wedge through the heart of Reformed Theology.  The ordinance of baptism is completely disconnected from salvation.  Sovereignty is located only in God’s purpose to save individuals, meanwhile this same sovereignty is walled off from giving real grace through the sacraments.   Put another way, God’s prerogative reigns in the act salvation, but authority in realm of the sacraments is reserved for the rule of the individual intellect.  This dualism is the struggle between the primacy of God and the primacy of the individual.  Such dualism attempts to retain both the reality of the covenant and an Enlightenment understanding of contract.  These two will not mix.  Sovereignty is never divided.  To be clear, it seems to me that the Reformed Baptists are influenced by a covenantal type of soteriology, then attempt to restrict the idea of the covenant and it’s implications to the particularized sphere of personal salvation.  Failing to allow covenantal thinking to influence their understanding of the sacraments, contract theory is left to bear the burden of imparting power to the sacraments.   The battle is over the means of the sovereign application of grace.  Is this sovereignty only internal and immediate, or is there real power in the external covenant seals?

Contract assumes a sort of equality between the parties involved, such equality does not allow for the imposition of a contract.  Imposition negates the very consent required to facilitate the contract—the binding authority of the contract assumes this consent.  Consent is often expressed by the signatures from the parties involved, often signing onto the contract itself.  This paperwork shows the terms of the agreement, while the signatures document the consent and cognition of the signers. 

Contracts are only between individuals.  If someone points out that there are times when an agent signs a contract on behalf of a non-present member, it must be answered that the authority wielded by the agent was made legitimate only by a previous contractual agreement.  An agreement between that agent and the person he now represents.  As far as I can see, personal consent has been the foundation of contracts.

Let me now describe my understanding of biblical covenants by commenting on one of it’s characteristics that I find interesting.  This one characteristic is diametrically opposed to the notion of contract listed above.  This one example should suffice to make the claims of compatibility between contract and covenant theology seem dubious at best.

The one observation is this, covenants are never made between individuals.  You may say, “but what about the covenant made between Jonathan and David?”

To this it must be pointed out, after the death of Jonathan the covenant continued, it is shown to be continuous by the fact that David sought out the House of Jonathan so that he could honor the covenant.  He did this by showing mercy to those whom Jonathan represented.  It may be better stated that the binding nature of covenants always extends beyond the men that act to cut the covenant.  The stipulations of the covenant are applicable to those who are physically present and to those who are representatively present.  In biblical covenants, a great deal of weight is placed on the representative position of the father.  For example, the House of Jonathan is spoken of as a real entity, a whole that can be represented by an individual father, a man named Jonathan.  This idea of a legitimate representative carries weight from the father downward, from the original covenant representative into the future.  The Western notion of the primacy of individual turns this example onto it’s head, establishing legitimacy by directing the consent of the sons backwards in time to the commitments of the fathers.  Think of the attempts to legitimate the acts of the American signers of the Constitution.  Outside of covenantal thinking, the actions of the signers were open to critiques from the anarchists as going beyond the limits of consent.  Lysander Spooner attacked the authority of the American State as being based upon agreements which were made prior to the lifetime of any man now supposedly bound by that document.  Against this type of argument arose the notion of tacit consent, which seeks to make the commitments of the Founders binding upon modern men.  Current day consent must be found somewhere, even if tacitly.  Previous representation is legitimate only insofar as consent is now present. 

If covenants are never made between individuals, it seems to follow that covenantal responsibilities will fall upon men regardless of their choice and outside of their consent.  An example of a covenant binding sons who never consented is found in 2 Samuel chapter 21.  A 3 year famine comes upon the land of Israel. David asks, why is this famine upon the land?  God replies that it is a curse upon the bloody house of Saul.  Specifically the famine arose as punishment for Saul’s slaughter of the Gibeonites.

This famine was God’s recognition and upholding of the sanctions imposed by a covenant made between the people of Israel and the people of Gibeon.  Joshua chapter 9 lays out that story.  As the Israelites were conquering the land of promise; they were deceived by the men of Gibeon into making a covenant.  This covenant ensured that that Gibeon wasn’t destroyed in the conquest.  Joshua made a league with them, only later to discover that these men weren’t from far off lands, but rather they inhabited the Promised Land which Joshua was supposed to conquer.  Despite the deceit, the covenant was upheld.  The men of Israel did not destroy the Gibeonites, because of the oath which they swore to them before the Lord.   This covenantal oath bound not only those originally present, but the ethical stipulations bound the House of Israel and the House of the Gibeonites.  This was the covenant that Saul violated when he slaughtered the Gibeonites.  Interestingly enough, the punishment for this covenantal breach fell upon “seven men of his [Saul’s] sons.”  No doubt these men had never given their individual consent to the league with the Gibeonites, nevertheless the covenant required their lives, indeed the Lord required their lives.  The punishment upon the House of Saul wasn’t done in secret, the passage says that the sons of Saul were turned over to the Giebeonites and that they were hanged before the Lord. 

In the act of salvation, a picture of the sovereign imposition of grace is embraced by Reformed Baptist.  However, their position limits the sovereign act of God to the salvation of a particular individual.   All of this happens prior to consent; the person is being acted upon.  This must be prior to consent, as consent prior to the sovereign imposition grace would be impossible given the moral bondage of the will.  All of this is turned upside down in Baptist sacramentolgy, where baptism does not engraft anyone into Christ, rather it becomes an ordinance that one does only after he proves a rational understanding of what it is that he’s doing.  No longer suitable as the seal of salvation and no longer a real means of real grace, it becomes an act of obedience.  This is the shift from sacrament to ordinance.  The emphasis is changed from recipient to actor, from passive to active.  Hence nothing is really delivered through the sacraments, apart from the power of the human disposition; a disposition which is now charged with the task of filling the sacraments with meaning.  Thus the holy claim of Christ—by the washing of water—is superseded by the mental capabilities of a man acting out his personal profession through the ordinance of baptism.  This personal profession begins and ends with the individual.  A strictly personal salvation that is the antitheses of a covenant

 If the house is held responsible prior to consent, which is essentially what the household baptism position says,  then personal freedom was violated.  And from the Baptist position, this personal liberty must be maintained in order to give meaning to the sacraments.  This order, like the flow of authority from father to son, is reversed, the consent of the son now gives legitimacy to prior agents.  And these agents aren’t even to be considered effective until the consent of the son is given.  Water baptism becomes separated from the actions of the Spirit, relegated to the position of an insipid visual aid.  In an attempt to preserve meaning, baptism is linked to the cognition of the individual.  What the individual holds to be intellectually true becomes paramount, rather than the grace that is actually conferred in the sacrament.   Think the right things, mentally assent to the right things, then one may become a candidate for baptism.  This notion is a 180 degree turn from the soteriological position of salvation by grace alone.  

In the study of logic there is a fallacy called equivocation.  The following story is one of my favorite examples to demonstrate this fallacy.  In 1952, from the floor of the Mississippi State Legislature, State Representative Noah Sweat defended his position on the prohibition of alcohol.  As an aside, the sheer length of the first two sentences contained in Sweat’s speech are as impressive as any I’ve seen, a real tour de force of the King’s English.  At any rate, his speech begins,

“If when you say whiskey you mean the devil’s brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it. . . But, if when you say whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman’s step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life’s great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirm; to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.  This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.”

THE NATURE OF HISTORY 

Awareness of equivocation is always relevant to the debate over eschatology in general and to the nature of social change in particular.  For example, the amillennial position often looks to the past and sees that progress and decline are cyclical by the very nature of human history.  These ups and downs reveal the fundamental pattern of history.  

Discussions— regarding the possibility of meaningful social change in history— rarely arise without mention of the People of Israel during the time of the Judges.  They point to Old Testament cycles that feature the sparks of cultural blessings, which are then predictably rolled back through corruption and sin.  This cycle is seen as the fundamental fixture of history.  They then say that the future, in this respect, will be much like the past.  The cycle is repetitive, repentance followed by blessings which are never culturally lasting.  Society eventually falls into the same sinful position that it previously occupied.  This cycle will continue until the end of time,  progress is transient and will be swallowed up by a culture of sin.   Before this debate can move forward in any sort of meaningful way, we must come to terms with what exactly is being meant by the use of the word “cyclical.” If by cyclical, it is intended to mean that past obedience does not negate the real possibility of future apostasy, then I agree.  But if by cyclical, a disconnection between these various so-called cycles is intended, then I disagree.  

 Even if a pattern of cycles was firmly established, it still remains to be proven that the patterns are ethically disconnected from the next “repeating” pattern.  Indeed Covenant Theology seems antithetical to a belief in pure repetition.  And the historical development of the gospel, through revelation in time, dispels this notion all together.  To whom much is given much will be required.  If this is true, then each “cycle” reveals the blessing, or the wrath of God in history.  By this revelation of authority God upholds the covenant, for this revelation man is held responsible.  With historical sanctions comes a greater responsibility for obedience, after all God has made a judgment that further reveals himself.  A judgment of which we are not free to be ambivalent.  Historical judgments are connected to God’s authority.   If each “cycle” reveals God,  then progressively more and more must be required of man.

From the perspective of the individual,  judgment for sin is dispensed to differing degrees. Some shall be beaten with many stripes, while others shall be beaten with few.  It seems to me that there is a connection between knowledge and punishment.  For example, a baptized man’s sin is different, in some respects, than the sin of an unbaptized man.  The baptized man has been shown real grace, requiring a higher degree of responsibility.  He now sins against that grace and risks the real possibility of apostasy.  To this, the degree of his punishment would be worse than that of an unbaptized man.  On the individual level this seems to make some sense, personal responsibility exists because all men are without excuse.  I’ve yet to hear anyone say that the nature of the Christian life is inherently cyclical.  The Christian position should be that each moment of life is ethically connected to the next; life isn’t a series of ethically disconnected cycles. My question then is this, if there are ethical connections between the moments of an individual’s life, are there not also ethical connections between the moments of a culture’s life?  Whenever history is seen as mere repeating cycles, this ethical connection between time and culture is destroyed.  Repetition entails the idea of sameness, but progressive revelation and common grace given to man never allow him to sin in the same way twice.  Cycles of sin are never the same, the increase of historical revelation makes responsibility and punishment progressive.  In Matthew chapter 11 Jesus rebuked Capernaum saying “thou. . . which art exalted unto heaven, shall be brought down to hell: for if the mighty works, which have been done in thee, had been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day. . . it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom in the day of judgments, than for thee.”  Responsibility is connected to revelation; and time cannot be separated from revelation. More time equals more responsibility.

TIME IS NOT NEUTRAL 

A cyclical view of history assumes that time is ethically neutral.  But the Christian perspective must be that time itself is a gift of God.  And for this time, man is held responsible.  If time were neutral, it may be more plausible to accept a cyclical view of history.  As this view assumes that time is disconnected from ethical responsibility, in a way that allows man to sin in the same way day by day, or cycle after cycle.  But the reverse is true, more time equals more responsibility.  While man’s actions in time are often emphasized as being the primary ethical aspect of history, this overlooks the reality of time itself being ethical in some sense.  While it’s impossible to actualize, imagine that a man could exist without acting, this man still exists in time and is held responsible for that gift of time, which in itself reveals God.  Time is revelational, not ethically neutral, it binds together the particular events of history.   A Christian theory of history must be that time is linear.  A created beginning and progression through time towards a created end. 

Chapter One 

The Genesis account of creation is pregnant with the language of imagery; language which is very visual in its style.  There’s the face of the deep, the face of the earth, the face of the ground, there’s light and darkness, waters that seperate, a sun that rules, moving creatures, things that creep, and then there’s man – the image of God.  The creation narrative is more than a mental proposition to which men give rational assent, but rather these images are corporeal testaments to the character of God.  To live in God’s created world is to live in the reality of symbols.  For example, what is really real about a rainbow?  What is the most real thing about it? Is it the things that we can empirically study?  Perhaps what’s most real are things like the refraction of light, the weight of the water molecules, or even the temperature of those water molecules in which the rainbow consists. While each of these things may very well be useful, it must be realized that everything regarding the physical world that should be said hasn’t been — even if every empirical observation has been fully exhausted.  The Greek notion of the eternal nature of matter relegates the possibility of symbolic interpretation to a position of being arbitrary at best.  If Genesis chapter one is true then this cannot be the case.  Jordan quotes from Romans 1, “For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse.” The problem isn’t that the world no longer symbolizes God, but rather our sight must be restored, in order that we see creation through new eyes.

Can a symbolic view of the world be sustained outside of a Biblical worldview?  What are the conditions which must be true in order for symbolism to have any relevance? 

Jordan begins by stating his presupposition, “in the beginning God created the heavens and the Earth.”  This starting point gives a foundation capable of sustaining a world of meaning.  Beginning with this point, It must be that every symbol is a created symbol.  Understood in light of creation, symbolism can no longer be seen as arbitrary, or as  being subjectively imposed by the mind of man.  

It seems to me that Jordan’s first principles closely align with the epistemological position taken by Cornelius Van Til.  Van Til held that every fact is a created fact; these facts are never separated from interpretation.  As the sovereign, God has both created and given interpretation for every fact; man is then responsible to think God’s thoughts after him in obedience. Denying God out the outset is destructive to the knowing process. Knowledge is tied to covenantal faithfulness; as the God of the covenant he speaks first.  Knowledge is understanding that God has indeed spoken, we then answer in obedience. Knowledge is like the back and forth of the liturgy, when God speaks we respond by saying amen.   

This position is directly opposed by the empirical approach which seeks to prove the reality of facts while denying the context of creation. In this perverse liturgy it’s man that speaks first, by attempting to bind together the particulars of experience prior to acknowledging that God has spoken.

This is a self conscious separation between covenantal faithfulness and knowledge.  Man becomes the ultimate context which produces factuality.  This stance destroys any linkage between facts and creation; the replacement connection becomes the mind of man.  The human mind takes on the task of preserving the link between symbol and reality.

Symbols aren’t grounded in the act of man imposing rational connectivity on the world.  Symbols are destroyed when they are taken out of the condition of creation.  To say that symbolism is subjective is to reject that idea that creation reflects its maker. 

Men cannot move from symbol to God; this puts the symbolic in the position of being ultimate.  Such ultimacy cannot maintain the very condition which is required for symbolism to function.  The condition must be one of unity.  Man must move from God to symbol, as creation is the fabric in which symbolism operates.  Starting with God as ultimate, each act is related.  Behind the diversity is the unity of the Creator.

The first section of chapter one contrasts man, as originally created, with post fall man.  

Calvin writes, “Since our fall from life unto death, all knowledge of God the Creator. . . would be useless, were it not followed up by faith, holding forth God to us as a Father in Christ.  The natural course undoubtedly was, that the fabric of the world should be a school in which we might learn piety, and from it pass to eternal life and perfect felicity.“

All of this is to say, that the content of natural revelation is different before and after the fall of man.  

Calvin continues, “But after looking at the perfection beheld wherever we turn our eye, above and below, we are met by the divine malediction, which while it involves innocent creatures in our fault, of necessity fills our own souls with despair. . . we cannot, from a mere survey of the world, infer that he is a Father.  Conscience urging us within, and showing that sin is a just ground for our being forsaken, will not allow us to think that God accounts or treats us as sons.”

Here are some thoughts on revelation, pre and post fall.  To try to get at the topic, I am looking to my notes from Cornelius Van Til’s book Common Grace.  Van Til’s understanding of this topic I found helpful, as he works out the significance of the fall and its impact on general revelation. 

Man was created in the image of God, Calvin distinguishes between the broad and the narrow sense of being an image bearer.  This is a needed distinction, as there are passages which seem to indicate that man is no longer the image of God, then there are other passages which state that man still is the image of Gad.   Rushdoony gives a good definition, “the narrow sense. . . applies to the true knowledge, true righteousness, and true holiness which man possessed when created by God.  The fall destroyed this image, whereas the image in its broader sense, man’s rationality and morality, his intellectual and emotional life, remain still in God’s image, but with limitations.”

Man, as originally created, was positively righteous.  What does this mean for the content of general revelation?  The Spirit’s testimony to man, regarding the truth of general revelation, revealed through conscience, included favor and acceptance of man in general.  The content of this revelation was void of condemnation.  In the original state, man could look to general revelation and rightly know that God was a Father as Calvin puts it. 

This is no longer the case, why not? To answer this question, we must see how the relationship between God and man has changed in history.  The Calvinist position, treats the fall as a devastating historical tragedy, dealing a death blow to mankind.  Thus the fall was a real fall from life unto death.  Originally, man related to God in upright righteousness, man now relates to God as a sinner that actively suppresses the truth of God.  With a change in relationship comes a change in revelation.  No longer can the content of natural revelation contain favor towards man in general.  Now such natural revelation reveals wrath toward man in general.  

Calvin’s point, in the first quote listed above, is an important one, as man is no longer fit to follow general revelation towards piety.  This general revelation, which promised “eternal life and felicity,” no longer reveals favor, rather it reveals condemnation towards man in general.  The state of the rebellion is made clear upon the realization that we are creatures created by God, placed is his universe and governed by his laws.  Each of these things reveal something about the Creator, thus the rebellion isn’t passive, man in general actively corrupts the knowledge of God and his world.  This treatment, of the character of man before and after the fall, is helpful when trying to understand how the content of general revelation changed in history.

When Adam looked at the world, he looked at it through the eyes of faith, this after all is a requirement of righteousness.  Fallen man looks at the world through the grid of autonomy, lacking any faith in Christ. The necessity of faith is shown by Calvin when he writes that general revelation is a,  “magnificent theatre of heaven and earth replenished with numberless wonders, the wise contemplation of which should have enabled us to know God. . . It is certain that after the fall of our first parent, no knowledge of God without a Mediator was effectual to salvation.”

The fall from life unto death, wasn’t a fall from positive righteousness into a state of neutrality.   Else it couldn’t be said that natural revelation reveals wrath in general.  The content of such revelation would be undecided, to reflect man’s undecided nature.