Yes, We Still Believe Sola Scriptura—A Response to Dr. Sam Waldron

Yes, We Still Believe Sola Scriptura—A Response to Dr. Sam Waldron

by | Apr 15, 2022 | Confessionalism

That those who hold to classical theism and the originalist intent of the Reformed confessions have embraced the antonym of sola Scriptura is not only baseless, but it also appears to be what might be aptly called a red herring. 

What is a “red herring”? 

A “red herring” is a distracting argument, retort, or allegation intended to take attention away from the relevant issues. The most relevant “red herring,” for our purposes, is the allegation that those brothers imbibing classical theism have begun to compromise on the doctrine of sola Scriptura. Expressing his concern in a recent article, Dr. Sam Waldron writes, “With such clear and crucial scriptural truth and confessional affirmation before us, it is nothing less than shocking to be confronted in recent years with assertions by Reformed men that (seem to me) directly undermine the truth of the supremacy and sufficiency of sola scriptura.”

Waldron offers what we might call circumstantial “proof” for this alleged slippery slope. That is to say, no one currently on the front lines propagating classical theism has directly called into question the doctrine of sola Scriptura. And, for what it’s worth, those same individuals are currently trying to prevent the drastic revision of Reformation and post-Reformation doctrine.

The doctrinal landscape doesn’t look too good. On the one hand, Waldron and others are criticizing confessional Reformed Baptists for neglecting sola Scriptura, a reformational doctrine no doubt. On the other hand, these same confessional Reformed Baptists (currently under the gun) are actively promoting and defending reformational doctrines, beginning with the doctrine of God—the causal foundation of sola Scriptura in the first place!

As Bertrand Russel would say in his debate with Frederick Copleston, “We are at an impasse!”

Two arms of Reformedom—classical trinitarianism and sola Scriptura—are at apparent odds with one another. But how is this so? Either the side alleging compromise regarding sola Scriptura has gotten its definition wrong, or every framer of every Reformed confession of the 17th century had no idea what sola Scriptura meant. I would imagine the former would be off-limits to interlocutors like Waldron, leaving only the latter. But is it really the case that the confessional framers were wrong about sola Scriptura? It’s possible. But are we even equipped to make that kind of a judgment call? And how egotistically bloated are we if we bow out our chest, thump it a few times while saying, “Of course we are!” Our friends don’t appear to go there, not presently at least. Although, increasingly I think they’re becoming flirtatious with that idea (cf. words on Waldron’s closing toward the end of this article).

Given what I’ve expressed above, I will make the assumption throughout this article that we all agree with the confessional doctrine of Scripture as stated in places like the Second London Confession (1677/89), 1.1.

Why I am Concerned

After asserting his alignment with the confessional doctrine of Scripture, Waldron begins giving reasons for his “concerns” in the form of five un-sourced statements. Why they are un-sourced, I’m not entirely sure. One would think if the subject-matter were so “concerning,” the vulnerable would need to know what to look out for and from which direction it may be coming. Instead, Waldron offers five statements of what amounts to hearsay. Thankfully, for the readers of this article, some friends of mine have gathered citations for two of the statements. I will include those citations when I come to them.

First Troubling Statement

The first statement says, “Semper Reformanda … does not mean changing doctrine, but it means applying the doctrine to our lives. It is a clarion call to a vital experiential understanding of the truth in the lives of Christ’s sheep. So it’s not changing our doctrine, but applying the doctrine that we already know to be biblical.” Waldron is quick to call foul, writing, “it seems to me, whatever semper reformanda originally meant, we must embrace the notion that our confessions are subject to being reformed on the basis of sola scriptura.” One has to wonder, however: If we were to engage in revising our confessions, would it truly be on the basis of Scripture, or would it be on the basis of our interpretation of Scripture?

I’m not sure about you, but I live over three-hundred years into Enlightenment history. I have picked up bad habits from the teachers of my culture, my society, my educational system, and even my own parents (and they from theirs, and so on). It’s a perennial, generational issue because since at least the 17th century, the culture has been soaked in a thousand different idealisms all vying for first place.

We are, to some degree, an intellectual product of the circumstances in which we live. Thankfully, in order to transcend our immediate milieu, we have things like formal logic useful for analysis of the present, but we also have history, in which we explore the what and the why of yesteryear. Maybe earlier ages had lesser intellectual and societal baggage than we do. Scripture itself testifies to the wisdom of looking back to older generations when it says, “Do not remove the ancient landmark Which your fathers have set” (Prov. 22:28). YHWH, in Jeremiah 6:16, says, “Ask for the old paths, where the good way is, And walk in it.”

It would be naive, if not arrogant (or both), to suggest we have the individualistic wherewithal to approach revision of the confessions when we ourselves, as Particular Baptists, have barely scratched the surface in our understanding of the background behind the confessional language in the first place. The current debate demonstrates this to be the case. Therefore, we ought to beware, lest we, rather than Scripture, are the ones doing the revising.

Second Troubling Statement

The second statement is from an article posted on The London Lyceum in review of Jeffrey Johnson’s recent book, The Failure of Natural Theology. It reads—

2LCF 1.1 confesses the following: “The Holy Scripture is the only sufficient, certain, and infallible rule of all saving knowledge, faith, and obedience…” Notice what Scripture is sufficient for. Is it everything? No. It is not sufficient for changing the oil on my truck. It is not sufficient for installing a new hard drive in my computer. It is sufficient for saving knowledge, faith, and obedience. Everything necessary for the Christian life is found in the Bible. But not every detail of the faith is there.

For Waldron, this statement appears mostly correct, except for the last line, “But not every detail of the faith is there.” Waldron rebuts with the confessional language which, in context, reads, “The Holy Scripture is the only sufficient, certain, and infallible rule of all saving knowledge, faith, and obedience…” But Waldron actually changes the sense of this statement by summarizing it as, “Scripture is the only rule for faith.” This is not what the Confession says. 

The Confession states that the Scripture is the only sufficient, certain, and infallible rule of all saving knowledge, faith, and obedience…” Scripture is the only sufficient rule for faith, but it is not the only informant of our faith, which is what the guys over at The London Lyceum seem to mean. Jordan Steffaniak, the author of the statement in question, goes on to write, “This does not mean we need things outside of Scripture for ‘saving knowledge, faith, and obedience…’ But if we want to both know and enjoy God to the maximum degree, we ought to utilize all the means God has given us in his good creation.”

Certainly the heavens informed David’s faith, “The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament shows His handiwork” (Ps. 19:1). And Paul explicitly tells us that God has given us (both unbelievers and believers) a witness through providence, “in that He did good, gave us rain from heaven and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness” (Acts 14:17). These texts assume a circumstance that preceded the texts themselves, namely, the witness of God through nature accessible to all men. The book of Scripture does not change, add, or annul, but assumes, that which may be gleaned through the book of nature. Thus, there doesn’t appear to be legitimate concern here. And, there is no departure from the confessional doctrine of Scripture.

Third Troubling Statement

The third statement is from Matthew Barrett’s recent book, Simply Trinity, pp. 65-66. Bear in mind that Barrett clearly says things like, “the Nicene Creed is not a dead letter; rather, it carries authority to this day. No, it is not on par with Scripture; it is not a source of divine revelation (p. 65).” Yet, this is never mentioned in Waldron’s representation. What Waldron does quote is partly from the book-proper, but mostly from a side-note on the synchronic definition of the term heresy (how it has been understood in its classical setting). The whole of the quote reads—

To depart from the creed is to depart from scriptural teaching itself. … Heresy is a belief that contradicts, denies, or undermines a doctrine that an ecumenical church council has declared biblical and essential to Christianity. What makes heresy so subtle and dangerous? It is nurtured within the church and is wrapped within Christian vocabulary. Its representatives even quote the Bible. It often presents itself as the whole truth when it is a half-truth.

Why Waldron selected these two parts to go together in his representation of Barrett’s words is a mystery. He certainly did not represent the author well. Barrett clearly says, “since [the Nicene Creed] conforms to Scripture, it is to be adhered to, confessed, and celebrated in the church to this day. To depart from the creed is to depart from scriptural teaching itself.”

In other words, Barrett is clearly setting forth what everyone ought to agree with. When someone or something speaks the Word of God clearly and accurately, it also does so authoritatively (to the extent it gets it right). If the Nicene Creed is in line with the biblical data, then it carries authority. It is, to use the older language, not the norming norm (Scripture), but the normed norm. The creeds are designed to norm us, though they themselves are normed by a higher standard, the Scripture. So, again, there is nothing of concern here. There is nothing that suggests a departure from an orthodox understanding of Scripture.

Fourth Troubling Statement

The fourth statement comes from a friend of Waldron’s after having a conversation with some fellow Reformed brethren. I am going to refrain from commenting on this particular statement since it is said to have come from what appears to have been a private conversation. I do not want to speculate on meaning, intention, etc.

Fifth Troubling Statement

Waldron summarizes this last statement as, “Thomas Aquinas held to sola Scriptura.” Since this article comes with virtually no source material cited, I cannot determine whether this is something truly being stated and seriously defended. But suffice it to say this concern of Waldron’s illustrates the difficulty of summarizing an entire doctrine of Scripture with the moniker sola Scriptura. 

Sola Scriptura is a statement designed to affirm the preeminence of Scripture’s authority over other authorities, because it comes from God, “The authority of the Holy Scripture, for which it ought to be believed, dependeth not upon the testimony of any man or church, but wholly upon God (who is truth itself), the author thereof; therefore it is to be received because it is the Word of God” (2LBCF, 1.4).

If this is all we mean by sola Scriptura, then Thomas Aquinas believed sola Scriptura. If, however, we mean more than the above statement on primary authority, then, well, Thomas most likely did not believe in sola Scriptura. For example, in the Summa Theologiae, he makes this statement about unwritten apostolic teaching—

The Apostles, led by the inward instinct of the Holy Spirit, handed down to the churches certain instructions which they did not put in writing, but which have been ordained, in accordance with the observance of the Church as practiced by the faithful as time went on. Wherefore the Apostle says (2 Thess 2:14): Stand fast; and hold the traditions which you have learned, whether by word—that is by word of mouth—or by our epistle—that is by word put into writing. Among these traditions is the worship of Christ’s image. Wherefore it is said that Blessed Luke painted the image of Christ, which is in Rome (ST, III. Q. 25, A. 3).

Would we disagree with this? Of course. In our estimation, oral tradition is neither a parallel nor a coequal source of authority alongside Scripture. To be fair, however, a parallel source of divinely inspired, but unwritten, instruction did not feature in Thomas’ work to the extent one might expect. Nevertheless, no one wants to argue Thomas held to sola Scriptura in the broadest sense of that term. But did he believe Scripture was the chief authority and source of the chief science (sacred theology)? Yes he did. Furthermore, in other places, he appears to make the “doctors of the church” subordinate to Scripture, “Nevertheless, sacred doctrine makes use of these authorities as extrinsic and probable arguments; but properly uses the authority of the canonical Scriptures as an incontrovertible proof, and the authority of the doctors of the Church as one that may properly be used, yet merely as probable” (ST, Q. 1, A. 8, C. 3).

Waldron further complains that in his Commentary on the Gospel of John, Thomas says, “The reason is that only canonical Scripture is a measure of faith.” This is certainly not a statement implying some belief in sola Scriptura, Waldron retorts. He writes, “First, the contrast Thomas is drawing in context is between canonical Scripture and non-canonical writings. He is not contrasting Scripture with the oral traditions of the church.” In the actual context, there is nothing necessitating this observation. It appears to be conjecture. He further says, “Second, he does not say that the canonical Scripture is the measure of faith, but ‘a measure of faith.’ The author of the article on this site makes this point clearly.” Since Thomas, Waldron thinks, does not say “the measure of faith,” but, “a measure of faith,” he cannot possibly hold to sola Scriptura.

However, we have to remember something: Thomas wrote in Latin. In Latin, there are no articles, e.g. “the” or “a.” Articles have to be added into the English translation. In fact, my translation has Thomas writing, “The reason for this is that only the canonical Scriptures are the standard of faith.”

One Last Issue

Waldron converses at length in an effort to repel allegations of biblicism apparently launched in his direction. I will not cover this conversation here. What I would like to do at this point is look at his closing words. He ends his article by asking the question, “Did the Development of Doctrine Cease in the 17th Century?” In this section, he affirms his love for the high Reformed and Puritan theologians of the 17th century, and then adds—

But I cannot accept the view that the development of doctrine ceased in the 17th century. This really seems to be the perspective of some. The New Testament teaches that the organic development of Christ’s church continues throughout this age and only ceases when the church is finally built and Christ returns. This infers the development of doctrine throughout this age.

Jude 3 says, “Beloved, while I was very diligent to write to you concerning our common salvation, I found it necessary to write to you exhorting you to contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints.” Doctrine itself does not develop. It is what it is, as God revealed it. Is there work that goes into properly understanding this doctrine? Yes. This is why we should make a distinction between doctrine in itself (in se) as an object of human knowledge, and doctrine as it exists—to a greater or lesser degree—in the mind of the knowing subject (in subiecto). Does our understanding grow over the years? Yes, it most certainly does—and I think this is what Waldron is getting at.

However, we must keep in view what that means. This is our understanding. Are we ready to assert our understanding over and against those who have gone before us? To answer this question, we have to take a humble posture and ask, “Are we even equipped to take up such a task?” The answer would unequivocally be, “No!” We have not properly understood the doctrine of the confessions up to this point in a way that would allow us to fruitfully disagree with them. Less than 30 years ago, the majority of American Christians were Arminians, and they didn’t even know it. We are seriously behind! 

Further, we most certainly have not even begun to grasp the hermeneutical methodology that led to the framers’ dogmatic reflections. Once we can confidently say we’ve penciled all this through, we can assert our objections and make revisions. My suspicion, however, is that we are nowhere near capable of performing this task with any shred of humility or skill.

In the 17th century, Cartesian rationalism dawned. In the 18th century, idealism dawned in the face of skepticism. In the 19th century, fideism and biblicism served as the reactionary fruit of the first two centuries. The 20th century gave us the industrial revolution, the sexual revolution, an expansion of the governmental educational system—the likes of which the world has never seen—and the rapid influence of feminism. Not only this, but from the 19th century onward, concomitant with fideism as its opposite, higher criticism took textual interpretation by storm. Nicene (partitive) exegesis was largely lost, the sensus plenoir entirely disrupted, and we can go ahead and forget about the anologia fide. We are dealing with a plethora of influences, each competing for maximal pressure in terms of our understanding of life’s greatest questions.

How can we seriously look back to our forefathers, who did not have (by the way) this same intellectual baggage, and presume to revise their work? We are not ready, beloved! Waldron cites the developments in eschatology since the 17th century. Supposedly, we have made strides since then. I do not believe this is the case. There is more divisiveness and confusion concerning eschatology than there ever was in the pre-modern and early modern eras. Eschatology, in fact, appeared much more cogent, generally, in the first five centuries of the church’s history than it does now.

Waldron ends by saying, “We must not assume the perfection and finality of the High Reformed construction of doctrine. They did not assume it. We should not either. All of our development of doctrine is subject to the lord and master, sola scriptura!” Ironically, however, Waldron would have to assume his own finality or primacy if he were to revise the confessional dogmas, and that goes for anyone who would enter upon that humbling task. Likewise, to cut the creeds and confessions from any definition of orthodoxy turns orthodoxy into nothing more than a was nose. Every man, it seems, gets to define both orthodoxy and heresy without any reference to guiding traditionary influences. But this does nothing more than transfer the powers of the magisterium from the Vatican to the study desk. Universal popery and individual popery function on the same fundamental principles. Thankfully, a confessional understanding and placement of tradition helps us to avoid either of these extremes.

Whatever happened to our humble admission that the men who went before us knew better than us? Why do we now turn a suspicious eye toward our forefathers? Have we really become skeptics? Confessional agnostics? Is that how we read our fathers in the faith, with skepticism rather than optimistic trust in Christ—that He indeed was building His church then as He is now? And should we not work within that apparatus instead of doubting everything that precedes us?

I will end with a quote by Matthew Barrett, who eloquently summarizes the issue here and provides a succinct solution: “Our default instinct should not be a hermeneutic of suspicion but a hermeneutic of trust, one that breeds humility, an eagerness to sit as a pupil at the feet of orthodoxy rather than stand over it as its lord” (Simply Trinity, p. 66).

When Scripture Becomes A Wax Nose

When Scripture Becomes A Wax Nose

by | Apr 6, 2022 | Biblical Theology, Confessionalism, Hermeneutics, Philosophy

With the contemporary skeptical approach to natural theology has come an influx of Trinitarian and Christological errors. Why is this? Probably because a rejection of the natural truths God reveals about Himself through nature will inevitably lead to a rejection of those same truths even as they come through Scripture—or at least there will be a drastic reinterpretation of them. Immutability, simplicity, self-existence—all three may be known about God through natural revelation. This is what Thomas demonstrates in his Summa Theologiae, and it is what was understood to be the case in the first generation Reformers onward (cf. John Calvin’s Institutes, Book I).

What happens when the data of natural revelation falls by the wayside? The same data perfectly and perspicuously presented in the Scriptures is interpreted on the supposition of some other metaphysical or epistemological standard (admittedly or not). This other standard is what fills the vacuum left by the first principles given through nature. We are then left with the problem of biblicism. But with biblicism, one is not allowed to carry a natural understanding of God into the interpretive task in any measure. Scripture becomes the soul witness to immutability, simplicity, and self-existence. This is not in itself a problem, since Scripture ought to be received because it is from God—the highest Authority. But when the individual Bible-reader rejects the testimony of nature, Scripture becomes a wax nose formable to whatever philosophy he uncritically and unwittingly imbibes.

When Turretin says that natural theology functions as “a subjective condition in man for the admission of the light of grace because God does not appeal to brutes and stocks, but to rational creatures,”[1] he means that man, as imago Dei, possesses a natural intellect providentially direct by God to appropriate Scriptural data. God’s Scriptural appeal is made to rational creatures. And when, by grace, a rational creature is made to accept and trust in the truth of Scripture, his rational appetites are not extinguished but improved. 

Biblicism rejects the reality of the light of reason before and after regeneration. It’s not that the biblicist doesn’t use the light of reason; it’s that he uses it unacknowledged. And rather than critically examine his own philosophical assumptions using the light of reason, keeping the good ones while exiling the bad ones, he refuses to acknowledge he has any philosophical assumptions at all even though he does. This unexamined life then leads to an always-shifting understanding of biblical meaning. 

If a person’s philosophical assumptions change, so will their interpretational approach to Scripture. Just observe the historical-causal connection between the Enlightenment of the 18th century and the church’s interpretational method before and after that period of time. Or, if you like, look at the theological changes that took place from the pre-modern era into the modern era. If philosophical assumptions are never given a voice, they’ll always be changing. A person can only consciously hold their position in place if they are conscious of it.

There is no approaching Scripture as a tabula rasa (blank slate), even after regeneration. A person is going to approach Scripture with some kind of a philosophical precommitment. Classical theism offers a transparent, commonsensical philosophy. Simply put, the light of nature prepares for the introduction of the light of Scripture. The light of nature informs our understanding of Scripture, and Scripture turns us back to nature so that we can understand it to a greater and more perfect extent. And thus, the classical theist may employ natural theology in service to specially revealed theology derived from the Scriptures. Those who reject classical theism cannot see how natural theology may be used in service to supernatural theology.

As a result, they not only remain happily ignorant of the sophisticated expression of the faith, found in the terminology of the creeds and confessions, they actively combat it. It is one thing to remain in ignorance, it is quite another to be confronted with further truths and react by recalcitrantly rejecting those truths. While one may permissibly be ignorant of the more articulate expression of the Christian faith, they do not have permission to reject that articulate expression of the Christian faith should it be true.

Resources:

[1] Turretin, Francis, Institutes of Elenctic Theology, Vol. I, (Phillipsburg: P & R Publishing, 1992), 10.

A Note on Political Theology

A Note on Political Theology

by | Jan 26, 2022 | Biblical Theology, Confessionalism

The Noahic Covenant remains because no place in Holy Scripture abrogates it. On the contrary, it assumes its continuance in places like Romans 13. It’s institution is neither causal nor characteristic of the domain of darkness (1 Jn. 1:5). But neither is it’s administration granted to the Redemptive Kingdom (kingdom of God). This is because the sword is instituted in the Noahic Covenant, and this is nowhere said to be a power of grace and faith but of nature and law.

The civil sphere is of the Noahic administration (or civil/common kingdom), and a necessary part of creation (Cf. Gen. 9). It may contextualize the Redemptive kingdom (the kingdom of God is in the world, not of the world), but its ordinances do not belong to the Redemptive kingdom. Romans 13 gives the “sword” to civil government, “Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God (v. 1).” At no point does Scripture grant the powers of the sword to the kingdom of God.

So, there is a domain of darkness (principalities, powers, etc). But distinctly, there are two kingdoms both of which are afflicted by that same domain and influenced by it in different ways, yet neither are ever defeated—the common/civil kingdom being upheld by common grace, and the Redemptive kingdom through special grace.

The common kingdom is the Noahic institution and administration which remains until the consummation and judgment. The Redemptive kingdom is the New Covenant and all which comes through it. The domain of darkness is the realm of the devil and his demons who were defeated by Christ and have been immutably sentenced to eternal damnation. This realm affects both the common and the Redemptive kingdoms at present, yet the common kingdom remains good in itself, and the Redemptive kingdom remains good in itself. And the domain of darkness will be finally extinguished upon the consummation.

Natural Theology in the Puritan, Thomas Watson

Natural Theology in the Puritan, Thomas Watson

by | Oct 16, 2021 | Confessionalism, Historical Theology, Philosophy

Thomas’ five ways are well known. But fewer know that another Thomas had even more.

Thomas Watson was born in England in 1620. Cambridge-trained (Emmanuel College), he eventually became the vicar of St. Stephen’s Walbrook. But he was a nonconformist and was eventually ejected from licensure around 1660. He would be reinstated in the 1670s before retiring, probably in the early 1680s just before his death in 1686. 

He was beautifully eloquent. Not only was he theologically surpassing, but his literary skill hardly found a match. My wife and I have a running jest that he was the “theologian of breasts.” Not for any perverted reason, but because he always seems to find a place to work in the nurturing Spirit of God through that particular analogy. God’s grace, abundance, benevolence, and love are often the targets of his bosom analogies. To give you an idea, he says, “Mercy pleases him. It is delightful to the mother, says Chrysostom, to have her breasts drawn; so it is to God to have the breasts of his mercy drawn (Works, Loc. 1964).”

Thomas Watson’s Natural Theology

He is an easy and wondrous author to read. But his theological skill and precision continue to be seen, even through the flowers and vines of his gentle ink-strokes. Located in ch. 2 of his Body of Divinity, Watson takes to developing seven ways through which we might come to a knowledge of God. They are—

  • By the book of nature
  • By His works
  • Conscience
  • Consent of the nations
  • Prophecy
  • His power and sovereignty
  • The devils

By the book of nature, Watson intends the engraving of God’s law upon the hearts of men (Rom. 2). “The notion of a Deity is engraven on man’s heart; it is demonstrable by the light of nature.” But by God’s “works” Watson intends the world surrounding the rational person. “We will begin,” he says, “with the creation of the glorious fabric of heaven and earth. Sure there must be some architect or first cause. The world could not make itself. Who could hang the earth on nothing but the great God (Loc. 913)?” And, “The wise government of all things evinces there is a God… Providence is the queen and governess of the world.” Toward the end of the section, he says, “Understanding, Will, Affections are a glass of the Trinity, as Plato speaks. The matter of the soul is spiritual, it is a divine spark lighted from heaven; and being spiritual, is immortal, as Scaliger notes; anima non senescit; ‘the soul does not wax old,’ it lives for ever (Loc. 939).”

By way of proof through the conscience, he writes, “Conscience is a witness of a Deity. If there were no Bible to tell us there is a God, yet conscience might.” And, “it is observable, the nearer the wicked approach to death, the more they are terrified.” The nations also consent to the existence of God, he says, “by the universal vote and suffrage of all men (Loc. 952).” This is notable, seeing how Watson was a nonconformist. Through prophecy, God is proved, “He who can foretell things which shall surely come to pass is the true God… God himself uses this argument to prove he is the true God, and that all the gods of the heathen are fictions and nullities. Isa 41:23.” The sixth line of proof is God’s power and sovereignty. “He who can work, and none can hinder, is the true God… he acts according to his pleasure, he doth what he will (Loc. 965).”

Finally, Watson presents an argument for God from the existence of devils. “There are devils, therefore there is a God.” And, “Socrates, a heathen, when accused at his death, confessed, that, as he thought there was a malus genius, an evil spirit, so he thought there was a good spirit.” These are precious arguments for the existence of God because, though we may think little of them today, they evince a period in time when the supernatural world was taken for granted, even by the heathen, and not suppressed by rationalism, idealism, and materialism. I think it is time we stop granting the latter in favor of the former.

Conclusion

In the whirlwind of recent discussion, I thought it would be calming to sit down with an old, yet familiar voice. Watson has been my friend. I know him, though he may not know me. He has been helpful to me as friends usually are. Agree or disagree, one has to at least ask the question, “Why did he think like this, and why was he not out of league with the rest of his peers?” Such questions, I’ve found, are humbling when answered. We may relegate his time and intellectual milieu to an irrelevant, bygone era. But is that the case? I do not think it is. I think they knew something we’ve allowed to slip away under pressure from the world. And I think that something is worth rekindling, keeping, and defending.

What Fired Nurses & Theological Neocons Have in Common

What Fired Nurses & Theological Neocons Have in Common

by | Oct 7, 2021 | Confessionalism, Philosophy, Politics, Practical Theology

COVID is real. Overcrowded hospitals are real. The situation is so overwhelming, in fact, hospitals have—that’s right—decided to fire in-demand medical staff for refusing to take the crack-pot-sponsored COVID vaccine. There’s nothing that sends the message of distress quite like eliminating the solution to the alleged problem—nurses. But hospitals aren’t the only ones fulfilling their own doom-and-gloom prophecy. Modern theological conservatives are doing the very same thing.

The Flawed Battle Cry

“Put away disputes about your confessional doctrinal distinctives. The enemy is at the door!”

Such is the clarion call of the anti-social justice warriors who, rightly, decry things like intersectionality, critical race theory, and standpoint epistemology. I count myself among them, and would fight tooth-and-nail alongside them. However, to fight theological liberalism by adopting the very tactic which characterizes theological liberalism—unity above doctrinal distinctiveness—is to fight fire with, well… fire. But this has been the nagging habit of 20th to 21st century fundamentalism. Fundamentalism has an uncanny ability to cede ground to the enemy by actually adopting the enemy’s terms in order to fight the enemy. Or, by running away from the enemy hoping the evasive maneuvering will forgo coming back to bite them—another less-known tactic of the left (think firing nurses in spite of the available evidence).

Putting away doctrinal distinctives does, admittedly, seem like a more expedient solution. If theological conservatives are so encumbered by the weight of a nuanced theology proper, ecclesiology, or baptism, they’ll be slow to the punch. Because of this, all the extra baggage of Christianity that slows them down needs to be moved aside so they can conquer this monstrous foe.

But, I have to ask, When this common foe is conquered (and it will be), what then? Say the neocons defeat this common enemy, and the collective thinking shifts within the next three years, but they’ve lost the doctrine of the unity of God, the Trinity, the church, sacramentology; what, at that point, was all the fighting for? How could unity continue to exist post-victory if the defeated foe was the only thing functionally giving rise to unity?

What if the neocons are in the midst of a doctrinal pandemic, and this is the moment where they choose to retain or fire their nurses? What if the enemy was borne from the very tactic they’re using to fight it in the first place? The Baptist Faith and Message (2000)(henceforth, BFM, 2000) is, after all, the document which has allowed heretical anthropology, like critical race theory, to echo through the halls of SBC seminaries across the country. And what is the modus operandi of the BFM, 2000? Inclusivity. Put away the doctrinal nuance in order to encourage unity on the “essentials.” This has, of course, resulted in the allowance not only for Arminianism, but also for the denial of original sin.

A Way to Keep the Nurses While Fighting the Virus (A No-Brainer)

The illusion of victory is strong. And sometimes it comes in the form of long-term integrity exchanged for present unity; the former being a virtue which, if lost, results in the automatic defeat of any church, denomination, or association. So, instead of sacrificing integrity upon the altar of having-the-biggest-team, I propose a very simple solution: fight over the doctrine of God. And when you’ve won that battle, fight over church polity. Once that is resolved, fight over baptism, (and marshal as many memes as possible in doing so). The team you have left is the dream team, capable of surviving anything (and is most likely going to be your local church).

“But, but, then we will lose the battle against critical theory!”

Uhm, no. You will cease addressing critical theory on the critical theorist’s terms. And if this bothers you, you probably have not yet sent your drone up for a more comprehensive view of the battlefield. The battlefield is complicated, but there are three main groups: people who know what they’re talking about and hate Jesus (the deceivers), people who love Jesus but are currently deceived by the deceivers (the ignorant), and people who know what the deceivers are pushing and oppose it with every ounce of their being (the educated).

The educated only need to persuade one (not both) of the other demographics. The deceivers are the debate opponent, which means their minds aren’t the ones to be changed The ignorant are the audience, and thus, their minds are the ones for which conservative Christians must fight. To further expound, the ignorant, in this case, are usually the people in the pew. Imagine, then, all those “ignorant,” pew-sitting people having a pastor who they see bypassing the doctrine of God, ecclesiology, baptism, etc., in order to fight a common cause. Short of eliciting the response, “This guy’s a coward,” it may engender a feeling among them that those doctrines are practically powerless in the current battle.

Is this the message the new conservatives want to send laity? Do they really mean to say that doctrines which once earned faithful Christians poverty, imprisonment, and a burning stake are powerless in some modern battle the victory of which could have been won by a single 17th century boy’s school? Give me a break! It stands to reason that if the orthodox are taken up with wholesome matters, they will not be taken up by anything else. If we all loved good doctrine as much as we love bashing the next critical theorist, critical theory wouldn’t even be a threat. Why? Because the robust confessional doctrine—from the nature of God to the nature of man to the nature of last things—would be in constant view. If this had been the church’s posture yesterday, critical theory would not be a problem today.

Conclusion

Just like our hospitals should drown any pestilence in the expertise of nurses, the church should be drowning stupid ideas in a pool of high-octane theology. Instead, we’re pouring the gas out before we get to the burn site. By the time we show up, there’s no fuel for the fire. Setting doctrine aside to fight a common enemy is no different than emptying the magazines just before a firefight. Theologians and laity alike surrender the very ammunition needed to win. Instead, I propose Christians adopt a confession from a careful, studious and prayerful inquiry leading to genuine conviction—this all being done within the context of a local church. Then… fight for that confession in as much as you believe it represents the biblical teaching of those various theological areas.

This is not only one way to fight the onslaught of liberalism and critical theory. It is the only way. “The entirety of Your word is truth, And every one of Your righteous judgments endures forever (Ps. 119:160).”

The Failure of ‘The Failure of Natural Theology’—A Review (Chs. 7-9)

The Failure of ‘The Failure of Natural Theology’—A Review (Chs. 7-9)

by | Sep 23, 2021 | Biblical Theology, Christology, Confessionalism, Philosophy, Systematic Theology

God sees all other things in continual motion under his feet, like water passing away and no more seen; while he remains fixed and immovable… the centre is never moved… it remains immovable in the midst of the circle; “There is no variableness nor shadow of turning with him” (James i. 17).

~ Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God, vol. 1, (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1979), 316-17.

I only wish to observe… that this method of investigating the divine perfections, by tracing the lineaments of his countenance as shadowed forth in the firmament and on the earth, is common both to those within and to those without the pale of the church.

~ John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 2008), 20.

In the previous two installments, we looked at chs. 1-6, collectively. We have, thus far, seen Johnson reject natural theology. We have seen him claim that God is not actus purus. We have seen him introduce motion to within the Godhead. Along with this, we have seen him misrepresent fellow authors, such as R. C. Sproul and even Thomas Aquinas himself. In this final part, we will see Dr. Johnson continue in all the above; but this time, be on the look-out for specific denials of immutability (though he claims he affirms it), a reaffirmation of Kanitan idealism, in principle, and, most nauseatingly, the location of individual consciousness to within each divine Person (cf. the latter portion of this article). The Father’s consciousness is distinguished from the Son’s, and so on… The book ends in a cataclysmic mingling of analogical and univocal predication, which I will attempt to untangle, at least in part.

By the time I reached the end of this book, I simply didn’t see any God left. All that remained was creature. Such is the end of theistic personalism and/or process theism.

Nevertheless, without any further ado—

The Problems of Divine Immobility

Again, tracing Aquinas’ alleged theological and philosophical errors to Aristotle (the boogeyman), Johnson writes, “because of his commitment to the metaphysics of Aristotle, Aquinas added an attribute to God’s nature that is not revealed in the Scriptures—divine immobility (FNT, 136).” This, of course, is a negative development in the eyes of Johnson. But would Scripture agree? Surely not. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning (Jas. 1:17).” The term for “variation” signifies only mutability, which Johnson claims to deny. How he mutability in God whilst affirming motion in God is yet beyond me, and is never meaningfully explained in his book. However, the second word, “turning,” refers to the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, characterized precisely by motion. There would be no reason to use these terms together unless one were trying to emphasize a particular way in which God does not change, i.e. through movement or motion, as all other contingency does.

Though Johnson wants to argue against the notion of nature giving us any sure knowledge of the transcendent God-realm, James sure seems to think it does when he uses a cosmological term in order to illustrate the nature of God—analogically of course (we’ll get there). Johnson says, “not only is the concept of divine immobility not compatible with apologetics, it is also incompatible with theology (FNT, 136. Emphasis added).” Yet, he never explains this statement in light of some of the most relevant biblical data we have on the subject. So much, it seems, for the centrality of special revelation. If Scripture occupies such an exclusive spot in theological science, one would think a person who’s entire business it is to defend such a notion—whilst tearing down the opposite opinion—would practice what he “preaches.” As it is, all I see in Jeff’s work is philosophical conjecture, the very enemy he set out to destroy in the first place.

He goes on, “The Bible does not teach divine immovability… [God] didn’t come into existence or need any external power to actualize any passive potency within him. God is God (FNT, 137).” Yet, God did need motion, in order to create according to Johnson, “Because he is not stuck in a motionless state, creation does not have to be necessary or eternal. The self-moving God is free to create, govern, and relate without altering his simple essence in the process (FNT, 163).” Either motion and God are one and the same, or motion is a part in God, a part that is not identified with God, yet nevertheless required by God if He is to bring about a new world. Purely and simply, Johnson has just introduced contingency, or dependence into the divine essence. If motion is God, there is no place for immutability. But if it is a part of God, it follows God depends upon it to do what He does.

Quoting from Herman Bavinck, Johnson tries to further bolster his point, “Immutability… should not be confused with monotonous sameness or rigid immobility (FNT, 137).” This, Johnson believes, aligns his position with historical Reformed orthodoxy. But let’s hold Johnson to his own standard and see if he uses Bavinck in context. Bavinck says—

Scripture necessarily speaks of God in anthropomorphic language. Yet, however anthropomorphic its language, it at the same time prohibits us from positing any change in God himself [ad intra]. There is change around, about, and outside of him, and there is change in people’s relations to him, but there is no change in God himself. In fact, God’s incomprehensible greatness and, by implication, the glory of the Christian confession are precisely that God, through immutable in himself, can call mutable creatures into being (Reformed Dogmatics, vol. 2, 158).

The problem, however, is that Johnson doesn’t believe that an unchanging God ad intra can affect change in creatures. God must be able to move in order to create or change His creation. Lest there be any confusion, Bavinck strengthens his claim on the next page—

We should not picture God as putting himself in any relation to any creature of his as though it could even in any way exist without him. Rather, he himself puts all things in those relations to himself, which he eternally and immutably wills—precisely in the way in which and at the time at which these relations occur Dogmatics, vol. 2, 159).

The misrepresentation of Bavinck on this point is monumental, but it does not stop with him. He misrepresents William Perkins, the father of puritanism, as well. He says, “And Puritan William Perkins identified the life of God as that ‘by which the Divine nature is in perpetual action, living, and moving in itself (FNT, 138).’” But here, Perkins only alludes to the emperichoresis spoken of by Turretin and others. It teaches a mutual and eternal indwelling of the divine relations, one into the other. But this is not to be confused with the perichoretic theology of the Celts, for example. Perkins is not alluding to an intra-Trinitarian movement, per se, nor ad intra, but God as actus purus, or pure actuality (which Perkins, no doubt, affirms). And thus, his mention of motion, in light of what he says immediately thereafter, must be seen as an improper allusion to God as life in contrast to death (“movement” poetically indicating life rather than the contradiction thereof).

Perkins, for example, says in an earlier part of the same volume, “The simpleness of His nature is that by which He is void of all logical relation in arguments. He has not in Him subject or adjunct (Works, vol. 6, 12).” This denies real predication in God, something Johnson denies by applying motion to the divine essence. Perkins says in the same place, “Hence it is manifest that to have life and to be life, to be in light and to be light in God are all one. Neither is God subject to generality or speciality, whole or parts, matter or that which is made of matter… Therefore, whatever is in God is His essence; and all that He is, He is by essence.” Quoting Augustine, he says, “In God… to be and to be just or mighty are all one; but in the mind of man, it is not all one to be and to be mighty or just. For the mind may be destitute of these virtues and yet be a mind.” He concludes, “Hence it is manifest that the nature of God is immutable and spiritual (Works, vol. 6, 13).”

Quite to the contrary does Johnson state, “without differentiation within God, there is no real possibility for God to subsist in three differentiated and distinct persons. In other words, if there is no ad intra differentiation in God, there is no Trinity (FNT, 138).” Richard Muller, however, sets the historical and theological picture aright when he says:

Since the existence of God is identical with the divine essence, Keckermann continues, it must be fundamental rule of trinitarian doctrine that the mode or manner (modus) of God’s existence does not differ from the mode of His essence. It is not as if there can be diverse “things” in God—rather the divine modi existential must be God himself (PRRD, vol. 4, 208).

Turretin writes, “the singular numerical essence is communicated to the three persons not as a species to individuals or a second substance to the first (because it is singular and undivided), nor as a whole to its parts (since it is infinite and impartable); but as a singular nature to its own act of being (suppositis) in which it takes on various modes of subsisting (Institutes, vol. 1, 265).” Neither Perkins, Turretin, Keckermann, or Muller permitted what Johnson called “differentiation” in God, ad intra. This is an entirely a-historical and heterodoxical assertion.

Before he closes this chapter, he returns once more to the alleged war between philosophy and revelation, “This means that neither man, by the use of philosophy, nor God, by means of revelation, can penetrate the transcendental wall that separates God from man (FNT, 147).” Aside from the idealism assumed in this statement, which is not Christian by any stretch of the imagination, one could ask, “But, does one’s hermeneutical philosophy determine what one thinks about the Bible?” If so, then it would seem that the hard and fast separation between philosophy and theology is unwarranted. There are, most certainly, hermeneutical principles not taught in the Scripture which must nevertheless be assumed in order to interpret the Scripture aright, e.g. the laws of logic and even the existence of God (Heb. 11:6).

Alluding to what he will say in ch. 9, Johnson critically summarizes Aquinas, “God may be able to communicate, but his communication is restricted to the use of earthly symbols and physical metaphors… Man’s relationship with God cannot be with the real God that remains locked behind the transcendental wall (FNT, 148).” Note, Johnson never defines what the term real means when he speaks of real knowledge or real relationship, even though this realness characterizes what Johnson thinks is a defeater for Thomas’ view.

The Necessity of the Trinity

Aside from Van Til’s doctrine of equal ultimacy, which I will not get into here, and following some neat biographical facts about Thomas, Johnson begins quoting Dr. Craig Carter. In an effort to make Carter appear as if he rejected any inkling of relatability from creature to Creator, Johnson writes, “a God without differentiation is a non-Trinitarian God who cannot create, communicate, or relate. Craig Carter, for instance, denied God’s relatability (FNT, 156).” He then quotes Carter, saying, “The false gods are relational because they are creatures; Yahweh is not relational because he is not a creature. Therefore, to worship a relational god is to worship the creature rather than the Creator, which is Paul’s definition of idolatry in Romans 1:22 (FNT, 156-157).”

Carter, however, explains himself quite thoroughly in the interview from which Johnson quotes—

Nicene Trinitarian theology, however, sees the relationality of God to be wholly internal to the simple, perfect, eternal being of God. The only distinction we can identify between the Father, Son and Spirit are the relations of origin: generation and spiration. These relations of origin are eternal and unchanging, and they are part of God’s own being, not ways by which he relates to creation. The missions of the Son and Spirit into the world must not be confused with the processions, which are internal to God (Credo Magazine, vol. 10, Issue 2).

Carter obviously does not deny all creaturely relation to God, as Johnson intimates. Instead, he denies reciprocal relationality between Creator and creature. The creature, in verbal form, relates to God, though God has not undergone change in order to relate to creature. He says in the same place:

The missions indeed involve a relation between God and the world but not in a two-way fashion such that God is changed by the world. As Augustine put it, when God becomes our refuge (Ps. 90:1), the change is a result of our faith. By placing our faith in God, he becomes our refuge, but not because God has changed but because we have changed.

Johnson, while “critically” interacting with Carter, never actually gives Carter the light of day. No matter the fact Carter is only restating what men such as Stephen Charnock have already said, that God, as “the center is never moved… remains immovable in the midst of the circle (Existence, vol. 2, 317).”

Johnson goes on to misuse Turretin as well. He says, “Francis Turretin said there is a clear distinction between the one essence of God and the three persons of God (FNT, 159).” Johnson is here trying to historically vindicate his doctrine of ad intra differentiation. But he is never transparent about Turretin’s intention. “The former,” he quotes Turretin, “is absolute, the latter are relative.” If he were to have proceeded in his study of Turretin, he would have understood Turretin was not speaking ad intra. Turretin says, “but eminently and analogically, all imperfection being removed. Thus the person may be said to differ from the essence not really (realiter), i.e., essentially (essentialiter) as thing and thing, but modally (modaliter)—as a mode from the thing (modus a re) (Institutes, vol. 1, 278).” Turretin further says:

Here we do not have a thing and a thing, but a thing and the modes of the thing by which it is not compounded but distinguished. Again, composition belongs to those things which are related to each other as power and act (which cannot be granted here). Nor can the term composition be applied to God without implying imperfection.

Peter van Mastricht writes, “A twofold difference occurs. The first difference is that through which a person differs from the essence: certainly not a real difference, in which they differ as one thing and another thing (Theoretical-Practical Theology, vol. 2, 503).” From an historical vantage point, then, Johnson’s ad intra differentiation falls flat. From a philosophical or logical one, it is altogether absurd and even forbidden by a comprehensive meaning of Scripture.

Johnson, within the next couple pages, quips, “A system that prioritizes unity tends to end up with a supreme principle of unity that contains no diversity (FNT, 161).” Interestingly, he doesn’t make the opposite charge, that of placing too high a price on plurality, to any similar extent. The fruit of this has been Johnson’s 200-page book, supposedly intended to refute Thomas’ natural theology, but which actually slices God into too many parts to count. By the end, it leaves one wondering, “Where, exactly, is the unity part (Deut. 6:4)?”

He affirms simplicity, but he goes on to differentiate, realiter, between the essence and Persons. Yet, the Persons are still all God. But, if each Person is fully God, and there are real differentiations in God, where is the unity? The divine essence and the Father, for example, are really different. Where, then, is the unity? It’s been entirely swallowed up in Johnson’s ax-grinding.

Johnson, returning to motion, says, “God is not dependent on anything outside himself (FNT, 163).” But the integrity or consistency of this statement in relation to the whole book is tested by the question, “What, then, is the motion in God?” Is it God Himself, in which immutability would be entirely exiled from the equation (because, principle of identity)? Or, is it a part of God that is not God per se, which nevertheless moves God? If so, then God does indeed need something that is not Himself, i.e. motion. Johnson may want to answer, “Ah, but the motion is in God!” But if something is in God, it must either be God, or it must be something not-God, “outside” of God, geographical imaginations notwithstanding (I can’t believe I even feel the need to say this).

Because God is in motion, so thinks Johnson, He is, “free to create, govern, and relate without altering his simple essence in the process.” This statement is never explained. He further says, “God does not have to take on new properties to create; he simply had everything he needed within his immutable, eternal, and triune nature to freely act in time and space (FNT, 163).” Yet, if God acts in time, He must change since time is but a measurement of alteration, variation, motion, and change in general. Johnson clearly thinks God needs motion in order to create, “For once God creates and relates, he then ceases to be the unmoved mover (FNT, 169).”

As I hope you, the judicious reader, have discerned—Johnson’s rejection of natural theology and accompanying conflation of ontology with epistemology has accounted for his sour doctrine of God. He says, “Science is impossible to carry out without presupposing the existence of logic, mathematics, and ethics. Thus, without the right transcendental conception of God, knowledge (all knowledge) is impossible (FNT, 170).” Our knowledge not only grants an epistemological context for further knowledge, e.g. of first principles, it must be correct if knowledge is to exist (be possible) whatsoever. This has led Johnson to affirm immediate natural revelation. God has to be the first thing known in order for anything else to be known at all. But this raises another problem. How is God really the first thing known if it’s revelation we know and not God Himself? In other words, there is still a medium between God Himself and our knowledge of Him, i.e. revelation. 

Johnson could claim the revelation is God Himself, but that would tend to identify creation with the divine essence, i.e. pantheism. And it would also imply a Cartesian-like doctrine of God, that He is pure thought. Or, Johnson could (rightly) admit revelation is not the divine essence per se, but a created disclosure of the divine essence. But this would, of course, negatively impact his doctrine of immediacy.

Analogical Language

This final chapter helps to explain much of Johnson’s earlier confusion. He either does not understand analogical language, or he is intentionally redefining it. He most certainly revises Thomas without warrant, “when Aquinas said all knowledge of God is analogical, he meant that all knowledge of God is metaphorical… (FNT, 177).” Here he never cites Aquinas in attempting to justify this claim. Metaphor is non-literal predication of something. An example might be, “There is a snake in the grass.” This expression usually refers to foul play afoot, a turncoat or some such. But a turncoat is not a literal snake (unless they’re Satan). This is a figure of speech. The snake is metaphorical. But Thomas affirms literal, and thus non-metaphorical, language about God. He expressly says, “Therefore not all names are applied to God in a metaphorical sense, but there are some which are said of Him in their literal sense (ST, I, Q. 13, Art. 3).” He goes on to write:

According to the preceding article, our knowledge of God is derived from the perfections which flow from Him to creatures, which perfections are in God in a more eminent way than in creatures. Now our intellect apprehends them as they are in creatures, and as it apprehends them it signifies them by names. Therefore as to the names applied to God–viz. the perfections which they signify, such as goodness, life and the like, and their mode of signification. As regards what is signified by these names, they belong properly to God, and more properly than they belong to creatures, and are applied primarily to Him. But as regards their mode of signification, they do not properly and strictly apply to God; for their mode of signification applies to creatures.

Johnson has, therefore, blatantly misrepresented Thomas—as he has with other authors. He doesn’t interact with Thomas at all on this point. There are two reasons Johnson believes Thomas thought all analogical predication concerning God was metaphorical—

Reason one: “Thomas believed an infinite chasm separates us from God. Because there is no probation or gradation between the finite and the infinite, our communication of God, from Aquinas’s perspective, is at best metaphorical, if not altogether mystical (FNT, 177).” Yet, as we’ve seen, Thomas expressly denies all language about God is metaphorical. Moreover, Does it seem as if Johnson implies infinity infinitely surpassing the finite is false? The reader can decide.

Reason two: Johnson thinks Thomas thought, “all knowledge of God is metaphorical… because God has no direct access to us (FNT, 177).” What does it mean for God to have direct access to His creatures? I assume Johnson would say, “It means God reveals Himself immediately to all men.” I would then ask the question I asked earlier, “What is the difference between God on the one hand and revelation on the other?” If revelation is not God, but creature, it continues to be the case that God does not have direct access to creatures in terms of “immediate knowledge,” since knowledge is mediated through revelation and not comprehensive of God ad intra.

He concludes, “for these two reasons, what Aquinas means by analogical language is really metaphorical or symbolical language. But this has its consequence—it not only destroys any real knowledge of God but it destroys any real covenantal relationship with God (FNT, 179).” First, I want to examine what Thomas believed about analogy. Second, I want to connect this language to the incarnation of Christ.

First, for Thomas, analogy is not equivalent to metaphor. Thomas develops his doctrine of analogy beginning with the genus of likeness. He distinguished between three species of likeness: equal likeness, imperfect likeness, and analogical likeness. Equal likeness refers to two things that are, for example, equally white in color. Imperfect likeness refers to two things that are similar, as two white objects, while one is perhaps more vividly white than the other. And analogical likeness refers to two things bearing similarity, not equally noror imperfectly (as if differing on a scale), but generically. For example, existence is common to all. But whereas God has existence of Himself versus creatures participating in existence, Creator and creature share existence, but not according to the formality of a genus. God is not located within a genus, creatures are (ST, I, Q. 4, Art. 3). Thus, there is something like existence in God though it surpasses our mental capacity to define it univocally because, again, God is not in a genus among other genera, distinguished by traits, properties, parts, factors, etc.

In trying to explain his version of analogy, Johnson says that any two analogically related things must have a point of real similarity. He never defines real in this context. I can only guess he meant a “point of identity,” as his comparison shows: “For example,” he says, “oranges and apples are different but similar—they are analogous. They are analogous in that they are different types of fruit, but they are both round pieces of fruit. The real point of similarity is that the word round and the word fruit carry the same meaning for both oranges and apples (FNT, 182).” But what Johnson just described is univocal, not analogical predication. This is because apples and oranges are in the same genus (fruit), and they bear a likeness of equality (roundness). This is definitionally univocal, not analogical. Johnson not only thinks creatures are like God, but also that God is like creatures. I reply, then, with Thomas, “Although it may be admitted that creatures are in some sort like God, it must nowise be admitted that God is like creatures.”

My point is not to write an essay on Thomas’ philosophy of language, but to show to what extent Johnson neglected meaningful interaction with Thomas on this point. It also illustrates Johnson’s implicit assumption that God is just a bigger, better creature, belonging to within a genus like humans.

While much more could be explored and discussed in relation to this chapter, I must end by looking at perhaps one of the most important—and most dangerous—statements in the whole book. Under the heading, “The Trinity Is the Reason God is Immanent and Relational,” Johnson says:

Thomas’s understanding of the Trinity does not allow for the Father, the Son, or the Holy Spirit to have their own distinct self-awareness. And without each of the three persons being self-aware, there can be no communication or interaction (FNT, 185).

How this does not end Johnson in tritheism, I do not know. What would the ontological difference be between Jeff’s conception of the Trinity on the one hand, and tritheism on the other? But there is yet a further implication, that being upon the incarnation of the Son of God. If self-consciousness is a property of the Person, as Johnson thinks of it, i.e. “their own distinct self-awareness,” then one should ask, “How could Jesus have a human consciousness?”

Remember, the incarnation does not posit two Persons in Christ (Nestorianism), but two natures united in the Person of Christ. Christ’s human traits all accrue to that human nature, such as a human mind or soul, and a human body. This means Christ, in His human nature, has a human intellect, will, consciousness, etc. But when Johnson makes consciousness a property of the Person, it is no longer a property of nature. This means Christ’s human nature would not be furnished with human consciousness. It would need to be personal in order for that to be the case, lending credence to some form of Nestorianism, or two-Person Christology.

This is a sad state of affairs indeed.

Conclusion

This project has essentially been one of reviewing an unreviewable book.

On the one hand, it is unreviewable because it would really require me or someone else to write another book just to correct Johnson’s errors. Yet, on the other hand, since this book is written at a more popular level, I felt the need to address the more serious and obvious issues. From blatant misrepresentation to unorthodox views on theology proper, brother Johnson, I hope, will be encouraged to rethink much of what he has written. I do pray there are people in his life that will respond to this volume with much love and a willingness to clearly address many of these things to him stoma pros stoma (2 Jn. 12).

Moreover, I want my readers to understand that I had no intention of “stirring the pot.” And, had it not been for its more popular appeal, I would not have been so anxious to review this unreviewable book. However, I could only think of my own congregation. Whether they will study these reviews at length is beside the point. I only wanted to have some developed response prepared for when these errors Johnson currently promotes come knocking on the doors of my church. This project, chiefly, aimed at protecting my particular flock. If it can be of use to other pastors and congregations, thanks be to God.

Semper Reformanda.