Classical theism and divine simplicity

    In the last post, we looked at one aspect of classical theism (divine timelessness) that’s been rejected by many non-classical theists in the modern era. I gave several reasons to believe in divine timelessness and showed that it could be conceived in a way that’s logically coherent. In this post, we’ll take a look at another controversial aspect of classical theism, the doctrine of divine simplicity, which is the claim that God has no physical or metaphysical parts. If God is simple, then he’s identical to everything that’s intrinsic to him, including his action and all his properties. Why do classical theists believe such a strange doctrine, and is it even logically coherent?

Defining Divine Simplicity

     First, let’s define and disambiguate several different understandings of divine simplicity (based on O’Connor 2023). The weakest version of divine simplicity (WDS) says that God has no physical parts, but makes no commitments about his metaphysical parts. Virtually all philosophical theists agree with this thesis, with the exception of pantheists. The strongest version of divine simplicity (SDS) says that God has no metaphysical parts whatsoever, so that he’s really identical to everything intrinsic to him. This view was held by classical theists like Anselm, Aquinas, Maimonides, and Ibn Sina (Avicenna). In between these two views is Duns Scotus’ claim that God has metaphysical parts, but they are inseparable so that we can’t really distinguish them; let’s call this inseparability divine simplicity (IDS). Here, I’ll be defending the SDS view.

    Furthermore, a few notes about mereology (the metaphysics of parts). A proper part refers to a part that isn’t identical to the whole, and an improper part refers to a ‘part’ that is identical to the whole. So my heart and lungs are proper parts of myself, and (if improper parthood is a coherent concept) I am an improper part of myself. SDS denies that God has proper parts, but God can have improper parts that we may be able to conceptually distinguish. So even though God is really identical to his omnipotence and his omniscience (according to SDS), we can distinguish between God’s omnipotence and his omniscience insofar as we creatures imperfectly mimic God in different ways that we call ‘power’ and ‘knowledge’ (cf. Aquinas, ST 1.13.4).

Arguments for Divine Simplicity

    The primary motivation for divine simplicity is that it seems to follow from God being the first cause of all other things, which is central to classical theists’ natural theology. This doesn’t merely mean that God is first in time, so that he set everything in motion and then stepped aside (like in deism), but that he’s the most foundational reality which explains everything apart from himself; nothing is more fundamental than him. Most philosophical theists would agree with this concept of God (and it follows from perfect being theology – a being that explains all else is more perfect than one that only explains some other things), but disagree on what it entails.

    If God is indeed the most fundamental reality, this seems to entail that he has no proper parts. Every physical composite depends on the existence of its proper parts at least to some extent – animals depend on the existence of their organs, organs depend on the existence of cells, cells on molecules, molecules on atoms, atoms on fundamental particles. If we’re realists about metaphysical parts, then metaphysical composites also depend on their proper parts – Aristotelian material substances depend on their form and matter; electrons depend on the existence of the property of negative charge; and so on. But God doesn’t depend on anything that isn’t himself; he is self-sufficient. Therefore he has no proper parts. We can formalize this argument as follows:

1. Every composite depends on its proper parts. (premise)

2.  No composite is identical to any of its proper parts. (definition)

3. God does not depend on anything that is not identical to himself. (premise)

4. Therefore, God is not composite. (from 1-3)

An objector may deny premise 1, but it’s difficult to see how this could be the case. It seems true by definition that a composite depends on its parts; even if it doesn’t depend on these parts exactly (for example, I could have a different kidney than I do), it depends on the existence of some parts, otherwise it wouldn’t be a composite. An objector may also modify premise 3 to say that God doesn’t depend on anything outside of himself, so that he could depend on parts intrinsic to him. But this seems to save God’s compositeness at the expense of admitting a more fundamental reality than God himself (namely, God’s parts), which abandons God’s self-sufficiency and first-causeness.

    Finally, an objector to SDS could admit the truth of all the premises while still holding WDS rather than SDS, by being an anti-realist about metaphysical parts. If there’s no such thing as properties, then of course God doesn’t depend on his properties, so we can just say God has no physical parts and be done with it. But in addition to the high theoretical cost of this view, it’s unclear what advantages it has over SDS. After all, if there are no properties, then the apparently diverse properties of things are just different ways of conceiving one and the same reality – but that’s exactly what SDS proponents say about God’s apparently diverse properties!

    Here’s another argument that supports SDS over WDS and IDS. Even if we grant that God could have proper parts, what explains why he has these proper parts and not others? If God’s properties are entities not identical to him, then it seems metaphysically possible for them to be combined in different ways. There could be a being that’s omnipotent but not loving, or omniscient but not immutable, and so on. We’re left with a sort of ‘Build-a-God’ station, and no solid reason why some properties are essential to God and not others. We can formalize this argument as follows:

5. God’s essential properties are proper parts of him. (premise for reductio ad absurdum)

6. For every composite, there is an explanation why it has these proper parts and not others. (Principle of Sufficient Reason)

7. There is an explanation why God has these essential properties and not others. (from 5-6)

8. Nothing can explain its own essential properties. (premise)

9. No essential properties can explain themselves. (premise)

10. Nothing outside of God can explain his essential properties. (premise)

11. There is and is not an explanation why God has these essential properties and not others. (from 7-10)

This argument is deductively valid, and if the premises are true, it shows that God’s essential properties being proper parts leads to a contradiction. Few philosophical theists will want to deny premise 6 (a version of the Principle of Sufficient Reason), and it seems intuitively true; otherwise God’s attributes will be unexplained by God or anything else. Premises 8-10 also appear intuitively true to me. Nothing can explain its own essential attributes (premise 8), because then it would be explanatorily prior to itself, which is impossible. It also seems intuitive that circular explanation is impossible, so the set of God’s essential properties can’t explain itself (premise 9). And premise 10 can only be denied at the expense of denying God’s self-sufficiency.

    Finally, one last argument moves from the doctrine of creation ex nihilo to SDS (Juliano 2019). According to the traditional doctrine, God created all things without relying on anything apart from himself. But if God has proper parts that aren’t identical to him, then he must rely on something that isn’t himself (namely, his parts) in order to create. This argument can be formalized as follows:

12. If God’s creative action depends on something that is not identical to himself, then he cannot create ex nihilo. (premise)

13. If God has proper parts, then his creative action depends on his proper parts. (premise)

14. No composite is identical to any of its proper parts. (definition)

15. God does create ex nihilo. (premise)

16. Therefore, God has no proper parts. (from 12-15)

The same argument holds for the heterodox view of creation ex Deo (out of God), which also holds that the only prerequisite for creation is God himself. Most philosophical theists won’t want to deny premises 12 and 15, so an objector will likely attack premise 13. But this premise is just as intuitive as premise 1 (“Every composite depends on its proper parts”), and can even be seen as an extension of that premise, insofar as a thing’s action depends on its existence.

    We’ve now seen a few arguments that provide us with good (but defeasible) reasons to believe that SDS is true, that is, that God has no metaphysical proper parts and is identical to everything intrinsic to himself. There are even more arguments that I didn’t have the space to present here. For example, Aquinas’ argument in De Ente et Essentia moves from the distinction between essence (what something is) and existence (that something is) to show that God’s essence is identical to his act of existence (Kerr 2014; Koons 2023). If this is correct, then God’s essence is simple, because existence itself is absolutely simple and fundamental. However, if SDS is logically incoherent, as many analytic theologians today claim, then we must have gone wrong somewhere. Is it coherent to say that God is simple?

The Coherence of Divine Simplicity

Objection #1: SDS makes God a property

    The most common objection that is raised against SDS is that it makes God identical to a property, but properties are merely abstract (not causally effective), whereas God is concrete (causally effective), and so SDS must be false. However, this assumes a metaphysical framework that most classical theists wouldn’t accept. Classical theists tend to be Aristotelians, who agree (contrary to Platonism) that properties considered in the abstract are abstract (such as redness), but believe that properties of things are concrete (such as this pillow’s redness).

    Indeed, it doesn’t make much sense to me to say that every property is abstract. If this pillow’s redness is abstract (not causally effective), then how is it that we can detect its redness? Perhaps you will object that redness is reducible to interactions between particles, and a pillow’s redness simply refers to the wavelength of the photons that it emits. But you can substitute redness for your favorite fundamental property. Surely this photon’s wavelength is something detectable, and therefore concrete, as is this electron’s negative charge. And if properties of things are concrete, then it no longer seems quite so incoherent to say that God is identical to God’s omnipotence (for example).

    Another model of SDS, which doesn’t rely on controversial Aristotelian metaphysics, is “Divine Truthmaker Simplicity” (DTS), which is defended by Jeffrey Brower (2008) and Tim Pawl (2019). This model relies on truthmaker theory, which is the view that when we refer to a thing’s property (F-ness), we’re actually talking about the truthmaker in virtue of which that thing is F. So this pillow’s redness actually refers to the wavelengths of the photons it emits. In this case, God is identical to his properties because he’s the one truthmaker for all of them. God is identical to his omnipotence because he’s the very thing in virtue of which he is omnipotent. In my opinion, DTS is inferior to the Aristotelian view, but it’s probably more palatable to modern analytic philosophers.

Objection #2: A simple God can’t be creator

    A second objection to SDS is that if God is simple, he can’t be our creator or redeemer. After all, if God is identical to his properties, he must be identical to his properties of being creator and being redeemer. But God is self-sufficient, not depending on anything apart from himself, so his very being can’t depend on creation or redemption. Furthermore, God could have chosen not to create, so his property of being creator is contingent, and if he’s identical to it he must also be contingent. This absurd conclusion shows that God can’t be simple.

    The solution provided by Aquinas and other classical theists is controversial: that God isn’t really related to us. To be clear, this doesn’t mean that God isn’t our creator and redeemer, or that he doesn’t love us. In Aquinas’ metaphysics, a real relation refers to a relation that causally affects both relata, whereas a relation of reason is a relation that does not affect either relatum, and a mixed relation is a relation that affects one relatum but not the other. For example, when I learn a fact about Thomas Aquinas, that creates a relation between me and Aquinas, but one that only causally affects me and not Aquinas. God creating and redeeming us intrinsically affects us, but not him, so it’s a mixed relation. Thus, when we call God “creator” and “redeemer,” this describes a relation between us and God, but not something intrinsic to God, so his properties of being creator and being redeemer are not intrinsic to him and therefore not identical to him (ST 1.13.7).

    We can translate this into modern analytic philosophy using the language of Cambridge properties. A Cambridge property is an extrinsic property that doesn’t refer to an intrinsic fact about a thing. So my property of being taller than Abby is a Cambridge property, because if Abby were to grow taller than me, this property would change without anything intrinsic to me changing. God’s properties of being creator and being redeemer are Cambridge properties, since they describe a change in us and not in God. Divine simplicity doesn’t require God to be identical to his Cambridge properties, so the second challenge to SDS fails.

Objection #3: A simple God can’t have many ideas

    A third objection against SDS is based on God’s ideas. In order to intentionally create a universe with multiple, composite things, he must have multiple ideas in his mind (e.g., the idea of me and of you). But if ideas are real things that are intrinsic to a mind, and God is identical to everything intrinsic to him, it seems that he could only have one idea. This objection, like the previous one, was already known to Aquinas (ST 1.15.2). Importantly, this isn’t about God’s knowledge of creation (see below), but about his ideas which are logically prior to creation.

    There are a few responses that can help the SDS proponent here. First, God’s ideas might not be propositional (e.g., thoughts like x is possible and y is possible) but rather experiential, in an analogous way to our raw sensory data (Panchuk 2021). Second, as Aquinas argued, God’s essential act of knowing is knowing his own essence. Since God’s essence is existence itself, unlimited perfection, by knowing his essence he knows all the ways that his essence can be imperfectly imitated, and thus knows all possible things. Finally, though God’s ideas have multiple objects, he can know them all by a single mode/act of knowing, which for Aquinas is his act of knowing his own essence. (Think of many lines that all originate at a single, simple geometrical point.) This model shows that it’s possible for a simple God to have many ideas, although it’s of course impossible for mere creatures to fully understand God’s thoughts.

    This model can also help us to understand how it’s possible for God to know things about creation. We know due to divine simplicity that God’s knowledge isn’t propositional, but rather experiential, which is both richer and more direct than propositional knowledge. Furthermore, if God is simple, his intellect is really the same as his will, which means that he knows that things are true by willing them to be true. He doesn’t merely create and then wait to see what happens, as if he were causally affected by creation, but he knows by creating. Thus, he knows me as intimately as I know myself (or even moreso), inasmuch as he actively wills all of my conscious states. God’s knowledge is more, not less, perfect than ours because of his simplicity and impassibility (Dolezal 2023).

Objection #4: SDS contradicts divine freedom

    One last common objection is that SDS leads to modal collapse. If God’s action is identical to God, and God is necessary, then it seems that he couldn’t do otherwise than create this world exactly as it is, so everything necessarily exists as it does. The standard response, made by Aquinas and others, is that creation is a Cambridge relation of God (see above), so a difference in creation doesn’t make a difference intrinsic to God. (Per Aristotelian metaphysics, the change brought about by an action is in the patient and not the agent, so an agent can produce different effects without changing intrinsically.) The objector, however, can respond that this moves the issue back further: If a change in creation doesn’t reflect a change in God, how is it that he can intentionally will this creation and not another?

    A possible answer is that God’s act of willing/creating the world, unlike our acts of willing, is direct and immediate (not mediated by anything intrinsic to God) so it’s fully extrinsic to him. As long as God has reasons to create or not create, his creation of the world is indeterministic but not an unexplained brute fact. Another response is to point out that this is a problem for every theist – how to derive contingent reality from a necessary God – and it’s only a matter of whether we say this indeterminism is intrinsic to God or (as SDS proponents claim) extrinsic to him. If we accept libertarian free will as a possibility, then humans can also intentionally bring about different effects without any intrinsic difference (Shields 2024).

    From a different perspective, an SDS proponent might simply accept that creation really is necessary, while still being wholly dependent on God for its existence. God’s act of creation would still be free in the compatibilist sense, since his action isn’t constrained by anything apart from him. This move is especially open to Reformed and Islamic theologians who already hold to compatibilist rather than libertarian free will (Andani and College 2022; Pedersen and Lilley 2022). Thus, divine simplicity doesn’t challenge divine freedom. However, a theologian’s answer to this objection depends on if they hold a libertarian or a compatibilist view of free will; either way, it’s possible for God’s act of creation to be free in their preferred sense.

Conclusion

     In this post, I provided a handful of arguments for the strong doctrine of divine simplicity and gave answers to the four common objections made against this doctrine. Does this have any application to our devotion and spiritual life? I think it does, and not only because thinking philosophically about God is part of loving him with all our mind (Mark 12:29). First, it helps us to see just how transcendent God really is compared to us. We can’t possibly understand his experiences and thoughts (Job 26:14; Isa. 55:8-9; Rom. 11:33-34); at best, we can come up with highly imprecise models of divine cognition that are merely analogous to our cognition. God’s simplicity also gives us a philosophical foundation to believe that there aren’t conflicting tendencies in him, so that (for example) his love and wrath are somehow ‘balanced’ against one another. Everything that God is, he is so fully, as the apostle John wrote, “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5).

Classical theism and divine timelessness

    Recently I’ve been doing some research into the topics of metaphysics and classical theism. Classical theism is the traditional view of God that has been held by most philosophical theists from Aristotle and the Neoplatonists until the modern era, shared by Jews (e.g., Maimonides), Christians (e.g., Augustine, Anselm, and Aquinas) and Muslims (e.g., Ibn Sina [Avicenna]). According to this view, God is the ultimate source and explanation of all things, who exists perfectly a se (self-sufficient), simple (without parts), immutable (without change), and timeless. Of these claims, one of the most difficult to explain is divine timelessness. In this post, I’ll present a few arguments to motivate belief in divine timelessness and show that it can be logically coherent.

Defining Divine Timelessness

    First, we should define divine timelessness so that we know what this claim entails. All theists agree that God is “eternal,” but disagree on what this exactly means. On the view of divine sempiternalism (DS), or divine temporality, God undergoes temporal succession and exists at all times; he existed infinitely into the past and will exist infinitely into the future. On the view of divine timelessness (DT), God exists at no time, but is outside the time stream of creation; he does not undergo temporal succession in his life or experiences. On the view of divine relative timelessness (DRT), God exists outside the time stream of creation and at no time relative to creation, but does undergo temporal succession in his own separate time stream. On William Lane Craig’s view (WLC), God exists timelessly sans creation, but when he creates the universe he joins its time stream and becomes temporal. Any argument for DT should show it to be superior to the other three possible views.

Arguments for Divine Timelessness

    The first and most obvious argument for DT is the fact that temporal succession appears to be a feature internal to creation, and so God must not essentially have this feature. But if God doesn’t essentially have temporal succession, then he can never undergo temporal succession, because that would mean he goes from not having an accidental feature (temporal succession) to having that feature, which itself implies temporal succession. We can formalize the argument as follows:

1. God undergoes temporal succession. (premise for reductio ad absurdum)

2. If God undergoes temporal succession, then temporal succession is either an essential or accidental attribute of God. (Law of Excluded Middle)

3. Temporal succession is not an essential attribute of God. (premise)

4. Therefore, temporal succession is an accident of God. (from 1-3)

5. If temporal succession is an accident of God, then something explains why God undergoes temporal succession. (Principle of Sufficient Reason)

6. Only God can explain why God does or does not have an accident. (premise)

7. Therefore, God explains why God undergoes temporal succession. (from 4-6)

8. If God explains why God undergoes temporal succession, then God goes from not undergoing temporal succession at logical moment m1 to undergoing temporal succession at m2. (premise)

9. If something goes from not having an accident at m1 to having an accident at m2, then it undergoes temporal succession from m1 to m2. (premise)

10. Therefore, God does and does not undergo temporal succession at m1. (from 7-9)

This reductio ad absurdum is logically valid, and so if the premises are true, it shows that God undergoing temporal succession entails a contradiction. Premises 8 and 9 appear self-explanatory to me (I spoke of logical, rather than temporal, moments to avoid baking a temporal conclusion into the premises); premise 6 follows from God’s self-sufficiency, which no theist denies; most philosophical theists will also not want to deny the Principle of Sufficient Reason (premise 5), without which God’s temporality would simply be a brute fact that can’t be explained by God’s nature or anything else!

    Therefore, I anticipate that an objector would want to attack premise 3, that God is not essentially temporal. It could be argued that while physical time is internal to creation, metaphysical time (the mere fact of temporal succession and duration) is essential to God’s nature. This objection seems reasonable. Still, the above argument seems decisive against the WLC view, that God is timeless apart from creation and temporal with creation, as that would entail that God is both temporal and atemporal at m1.

    Other arguments, however, work against the DS and DRT views. If temporal succession is an essential attribute of God, then he existed infinitely into the past, meaning that he traversed an actually infinite number of moments to get to this one. However, it’s impossible to traverse an actually infinite number of moments. Further, (assuming that creation had a beginning in time) if God was temporal prior to creation, then he must have had a reason for creating at the time that he did, lest the time of creation simply be a brute fact. But if God existed at an infinite number of moments prior to creation, then he would have no reason to create at t+n rather than t. Therefore, this leads to another contradiction.

    With regard to the first of these arguments, an objector would likely want to attack the premise that it’s impossible to traverse an actually infinite number of moments. However, many philosophical arguments support the impossibility of an actual infinite in time, such as the Grim Reaper paradox. Even if it’s possible for an actual infinite to exist, it’s a mathematical truth that an actual infinite can’t be completed by successive addition, which seems to make it impossible to traverse an actual infinite. As for the second of these arguments, most philosophical theists (once again) won’t want to deny the Principle of Sufficient Reason that there can be no contingent brute facts. Instead, the most likely premise to attack is that creation had a beginning in time. This objection may be logically possible, but how many theists will want to deny that there was a beginning to creation?

    These arguments taken together, if they’re sound, lead to the conclusion that DS, DRT, and WLC are false, and that DT is true. Another argument (from perfect being theology) can be given in support of the claim that God doesn’t undergo temporal succession. It seems that a being that knows all things directly would be more perfect than a being that knows only some things directly. However, any being that undergoes temporal succession would only know its past indirectly (mediated through memory). Thus, if God is the most perfect being, he doesn’t undergo temporal succession. We can formalize the argument as follows:

11. A knower that knows all things directly is more perfect than a knower that knows some things only indirectly. (premise)

12. Any knower that undergoes temporal succession knows its past only indirectly. (premise)

13. Therefore, a temporal knower is less perfect than an atemporal knower. (from 11-12)

14. God is the most perfect possible knower. (premise)

15. Therefore, God is an atemporal knower. (from 13-14)

Premise 12 appears self-explanatory to me; and no theist would want to deny premise 14, because that would mean there could be a more perfect being than God. Therefore, an objector would likely want to attack premise 11, perhaps by asserting that God’s memory is perfect and just as good as direct knowing (as William Lane Craig argues). However, no matter how perfect the temporal God’s knowledge of the past is, it’s still mediated by his memory, and therefore less perfect than direct knowing. (Admittedly, this response involves the premise that memory is inherently less perfect than direct knowing, which may not be intuitive to everyone.)

    The last argument is, I believe, the strongest argument for divine timelessness, but it presupposes a metaphysical framework that not every theist will agree with. This is a modern version of the “unmoved mover” argument that classical theists like Aristotle and Aquinas used to prove God’s existence. Within Aristotelian metaphysics, all change is a movement from potentiality to actuality, and must be caused by something that is already actual. But this means that only simultaneous causation is possible in time: something that was actual in the past (but is merely potential now) can’t actualize anything else now. But if this is true, then what can explain the flow of time? Even an infinite chain of causes at the present moment can’t move time, because nothing that is actual now can actualize a potential at a moment in the future. We’re left with a collection of moments that are totally causally disconnected from each other, with nothing to explain why one leads to another. There must be something entirely outside the flow of time that causes the flow of time: an unmoved mover.

    This argument was modernized by Rob Koons (2023) and can be formulated as follows:

16. Change is the movement from potentiality to actuality. (premise)

17. A potential can only be actualized at a time by something that is actual at the same time and in the same way or by something that is actual and atemporal. (premise)

18. Therefore, nothing that is actual at t0 can actualize a potential at t1. (from 16-17)

19. Therefore, nothing at t0 can explain the actuality of anything at t1. (from 18)

20. There are actual things at both t0 and t1. (premise)

21. If there are contingent actual things at t1, something explains the actuality of the things at t1. (Principle of Sufficient Reason)

22. Therefore, something explains the actuality of the things at t1. (from 20-21)

23. Therefore, the actuality of the things at t1 is explained by something that is actual and atemporal. (from 17-22)

No one will want to deny premise 20, that things exist at different times; and most philosophical theists won’t want to deny the Principle of Sufficient Reason. The most easily attacked premises will be 16 and 17, which are basic tenets of the Aristotelian metaphysical framework. I can’t fully defend this framework here, but suffice it to say that the metaphysics of actuality and potentiality are necessary for the existence of change, so an objector will only be able to deny them at the expense of denying that change happens. (For an elaboration, see Edward Feser’s book Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction.)

    This set of arguments provides us with good (but defeasible) reasons to accept DT, the claim that God doesn’t undergo any temporal succession. It appears that saying God undergoes temporal succession leads to contradiction (if it’s not essential to him), or to several paradoxes about actual infinities (if it’s essential to him). Furthermore, because God is the most perfect possible being, he must know the past directly, which means he can’t be temporal. Finally, in order to explain the flow of time, there must be something entirely atemporal that creates the flow of time. It’s also worth noting that other classical attributes of God (pure actuality, simplicity, immutability) entail timelessness, though this won’t be convincing to non-classical theists. But is DT even coherent? What does it mean for God to be timeless?

The Coherence of Divine Timelessness

    How we conceive of divine timelessness depends on how we conceive of time itself. For the most part, the debate over the nature of time is divided between presentism (the view that the present moment has some kind of ontological priority) and eternalism (the view that past, present, and future moments all equally exist). The arguments above don’t depend on one of these views being true (actually, the last argument uses eternalist language – that things exist “at both t0 and t1” – but this could be reformulated in a presentist way).

    I’m a presentist, because if all moments of time exist equally (on an ontological par) then it’s very difficult to explain the passage of time and the existence of change. However, eternalism has grown in popularity over the 20th century, largely due to the theory of special relativity, which shows that there are no physical facts about the world that can determine an absolute temporal frame of reference. Presentism requires that there is a real present moment, and so events can be absolutely simultaneous, which seems to conflict with special relativity. There’s been a lot of back-and-forth debate about this, but the basic presentist response is that even if there’s no such thing as absolute physical simultaneity, there is absolute metaphysical simultaneity which can be known (not by physical facts but) by analysis of change and the passage of time (Kidd 2021). I will grant that eternalism may be correct, but my conception of DT will likely be different from an eternalist’s.

    At first glance, presentism may seem incompatible with DT. If the present moment is all that exists, how can God know everything – or even exist – without undergoing temporal succession? The solution is to reformulate presentism so that it doesn’t say that the present moment is all that exists, but merely that a present moment is all that exists. There could then be two time streams that both exist without being temporally related, so that each moment in one time stream exists alongside every moment in the other, even though within each time stream, its present is all that exists. If the first time stream is only a single moment long, so that nothing in it undergoes temporal succession but it exists alongside every moment in the second time stream, then we have a model for presentist divine timelessness. The early Christian scholastic Boethius referred to this as God’s “eternal present” (cf. Aquinas, ST 1.14.13).

Figure 2 from Page (2023).
A representation of the relationship between two non-temporally-related time streams, one without temporal succession and one with it. “existsU1” and “existsU2” refer to existence within the first and second time streams, respectively, and “EXISTS” refers to existence alongside a time stream.

    This model doesn’t show what God’s timeless life is like, but it does show that divine timelessness is conceivable and possible. We can use the model to answer several objections against DT. First, there’s the worry that if God is timeless, he can’t know what’s happening now – e.g., that it’s now 9:34 PM – since his knowledge doesn’t change with the passage of time; and if God doesn’t know what’s happening now, then he’s not omniscient. But this misunderstands DT. From God’s perspective, all moments in this time stream exist equally alongside him, and for him it’s false that it’s now 9:34 PM. It doesn’t challenge God’s omniscience if he fails to know a falsehood. However, he does know tenseless facts (such as the fact that I write this paragraph at 9:34 PM) without damaging his timelessness.

    Another objection to DT is that the effects of God’s action change over time – he goes from parting the Red Sea to not parting the Red Sea, and from not creating me to creating me – therefore God himself must undergo temporal succession. But once again, this misunderstands DT; because God isn’t temporally related to this time stream, his action can have different effects at different times without God himself undergoing change. A related concern is that if the effect of God’s timeless action is simultaneous with t0 and also simultaneous with t1 (as we have to say if God sustains the universe at all times), then t0 must be simultaneous with t1 (by the transitivity of simultaneity), which means that all times collapse into the same moment (clearly false). But God’s action isn’t temporally related to this time stream, so the action itself isn’t simultaneous with (or before, or after) any moment in our time, even though the effects of his single action are.

    Brian Leftow (2018) points out that these objections to DT presuppose a principle that he calls Time’s Way: the assumption that the way things are in time must be the way they are for God. Things happen now for us, so they must also happen now for God. The effects of God’s action change over time, so God’s action itself must change over time. But Time’s Way is precisely what DT rejects, so the conclusion against DT is baked into these objections from the start.

    There is one substantive objection to DT that doesn’t rely on Time’s Way, and that’s the argument that God can’t be personal if he’s timeless. The things we associate with personality seem to require temporal succession: people have changing states of consciousness; people form intentions and then act on them; people form relationships with other people over time. Even though Time’s Way isn’t part of this objection, a similar assumption looms in this argument, namely that God must be personal in the same way that we’re personal. Classical theists deny that “personal” is a univocal term that implies the same thing in all cases; it applies to God analogically, and in a more perfect way than in us. God knows and wills all things in a single, perfect act, so his personality doesn’t need temporal succession.

Conclusion

    In this post, I’ve given several reasons to believe that God is timeless, provided a model that shows this to be conceivable and possible, and answered a few objections to this view. But what does this mean for us in practical terms? First, pursuing knowledge about God is part of loving him with all our mind (Mark 12:28-30). Therefore, to think philosophically about God isn’t pointless or mere idle speculation as some people suggest. Second, this doctrine helps us to understand God’s transcendence and immanence (e.g., Acts 17:24-27; Eph. 4:6), since he exists outside of time but produces effects within time. Finally, knowing that God is timeless gives us a solid philosophical foundation for accepting that his plan and character toward us will not change (Num. 23:19; 1 Sam. 15:29; Ps. 33:11; 102:25-27; Mal. 3:6; Heb. 6:16-18; Jas. 1:17), and for prioritizing those passages over the ones that seem to describe God changing his mind (e.g., Gen. 6:6; Exod. 32:14; 2 Sam. 24:16; Jer. 18:8; Jon. 3:10).

The coming wrath: Son of Man's vindication (part 3 of 3)

Part 2: Jesus’ warnings

    In this series of posts, we’ve been looking at the coming judgment that Jesus warned about throughout his ministry. First, we looked at Jesus’ overall ministry in its historical context, and saw he was preaching that the climax of Israel’s story, the “kingdom of God,” was arriving in and through his actions, in a way different than most second-Temple Jews were expecting. Next, we looked at his warnings of judgment, and saw that he believed Israel would face death at the hands of her enemies, with the destruction of Jerusalem and any other city that failed to listen, if she didn’t change her ways — specifically, if she didn’t return to her vocation of being a light to the gentiles (Gen. 12:3; 22:18). In this post, we’ll see how Jesus was vindicated in his predictions when Jerusalem fell in AD 70.

    The coming of the son of man

    In his ministry, Jesus made several predictions about the ‘coming of the son of man’ (Matt. 10:23; Mk. 8:38/Matt. 16:27-28/Lk. 9:26-27; Lk. 12:40; 17:30; 18:8; Mk. 13:26/Matt. 24:30/Lk. 21:27; Matt. 24:37, 44; 25:31; Mk. 14:62/Matt. 26:64/Lk. 22:67-69). Specifically, he said that it would happen before some of his disciples died, before their generation passed away, and that the Sanhedrin would see it happen. But what exactly is the ‘coming of the son of man’?

    To understand this, we have to go back to Daniel’s vision of the four beasts and “one like a son of man” (Dan. 7:2-27). He sees four beasts rise out of the sea, the fourth of which is executed by the heavenly court, after which

[there was] one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven, and he came to the Ancient of Days and was brought before him. To him was given dominion and glory and a kingdom, and all peoples, nations, and languages were serving him. His dominion is perpetual and will not pass away, and his kingdom will not be destroyed. (7:13-14)

When the vision is interpreted for Daniel, he’s told that the four beasts represent “four kings,” while the one like a son of man is the “saints of the Most High” who will “receive the kingdom” forever (7:17-18). “Son of man” is an idiom that refers to a human being. [1] Thus, in this vision, God’s people are represented as a human, as opposed to the wicked kingdoms which are represented as beasts. Daniel asks about the fourth beast, and is told that this will be a “fourth kingdom” which will severely oppress God’s people. But after its dominion is taken away,

the kingdom, dominion, and greatness of all the kingdoms under the whole heaven will be given to the people, the saints of the Most High; their kingdom will be a perpetual kingdom, and all dominions will serve and obey them. (7:27) [2]

    Thus, in Daniel, the ‘coming of the son of man’ doesn’t refer to a human being actually descending from heaven to earth. The “one like a son of man” is no more an actual human being than the “four beasts” are actually animals; moreover, the direction of his “coming” is to God in heaven, rather than from heaven to earth. This is symbolic language for the vindication of God’s people over their enemy, and the arrival of God’s kingdom.

    Some scholars propose that in the second-Temple period, the “son of man” began to be seen as an actual heavenly being who would come to earth. This is based on a single text that refers to the Messiah as “that son of man” (1 Enoch 46:1). However, the same text uses “son of man” simply to mean ‘human being,’ not as a specific title (1 En. 39:1, 5; 42:2). After an extensive study of “son of man” in second-Temple literature, Bauckham concludes, “no Messianic figure, even those whose portrayal relied most heavily on Daniel 7:13-14, was ever called ‘the Son of Man’ [as a title]”. [3]

    Jesus used the phrase “son of man” to refer to himself in the synoptic gospels, but most likely as a self-referential term rather than an actual title (such as in Ezekiel). We should only see an allusion to Daniel when he speaks of the ‘coming of the son of man,’ such as in his declaration to the Sanhedrin:

Again the high priest asked him, “Are you the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One?” Jesus said, “I am, and you will see the son of man sitting at the right hand of the Power and coming with the clouds of heaven.” (Mk. 14:61-62)

This is a clear allusion to both Dan. 7:13 and Ps. 110:1 (“YHWH said to my lord, ‘Sit at my right hand’”). Jesus is identifying himself, the true representative of God’s people, with the “son of man.” Implicitly, he’s also identifying the high priest and Sanhedrin, who are prosecuting him, with the “fourth beast,” the eschatological enemy of God’s people. [4] With this implication in mind, the Sanhedrin’s extreme reaction and immediate decision to execute him is unsurprising (Mk. 14:63-64/Matt. 26:65-66). He’s saying that they must be destroyed for God’s kingdom to arrive.

    The Olivet discourse

    Jesus’ longest judgment warning is the Olivet discourse (Mk. 13/Matt. 24-25/Lk. 21), which comes after his proclamation of destruction over Jerusalem (Matt. 23:37-39/Lk. 13:34-35). He tells his disciples that the entire second Temple complex will be destroyed, and not one stone will be left on another (Mk. 13:1-2/Matt. 24:1-2/Lk. 21:5-6). This prompts his disciples to ask, “When will these things happen, and what is the sign when they are about to happen? [Matt: ‘the sign of your coming and the end of the age?’]” (Mk. 13:3-4/Matt. 24:3/Lk. 21:7)

    Because in Matthew’s account, the disciples ask about “your coming and the end of the age,” it’s often taken as a question about the (yet unfulfilled) end of the world and Jesus’ return to earth. However, in the other synoptic accounts, the disciples only ask about the destruction of the Temple. This means that, for Matthew, “your coming and the end of the age” must be the same as the Temple’s destruction. Indeed, the disciples didn’t understand that Jesus would die, be raised, and ascend to heaven until it happened (Matt. 16:21-22; Lk. 24:18-27). What they meant by “your coming,” therefore, must not be Jesus’ return from heaven (which they didn’t yet know about), but the same as the ‘coming of the son of man.’

    Likewise, the “end of the age” refers to Israel’s judgment in Matthew’s gospel. [5] The “end of the age” is when a judgment will take place, when those who appear to be God’s children (but are not) will be taken out of his kingdom (13:24-30, 36-43, 47-50). This can only refer to the judgment on false Israel, when the kingdom would be taken away from them (8:11-12; 21:43). The “furnace of fire” (13:42, 50) is a symbol in the Hebrew prophets for Israel’s judgment and exile (Deut. 4:20; 1 Kgs. 8:51; Isa. 48:10; Jer. 11:4; Ezek. 22:19-22).

    Jesus starts by answering the disciples’ second question about the sign that would precede the Temple’s destruction. There will be false messiahs, wars and insurrections, famines, earthquakes, and various signs, but none of these are the sign of the end (Mk. 13:5-8/Matt. 24:4-8/Lk. 21:8-11). At the same time, the disciples will themselves be persecuted, but may endure, and will spread the good news of God’s kingdom through the whole world (Mk. 13:9-13/Matt. 24:9-14/Lk. 21:12-19). But the sign that will precede the end is the “desolating sacrilege,” when Jerusalem is surrounded by armies; then those in Judea must flee, and Jerusalem will be destroyed (Mk. 13:14-23/Matt. 24:15-28/Lk. 21:20-24). [6]

     When this happens, there will be great signs in the heavens (Mk. 13:24-25/Matt. 24:29/Lk. 21:25-26), which in the Hebrew prophets always symbolize the fall of a nation, especially apostate Israel. [7] Then the ‘coming of the son of man,’ the vindication of God’s true people, will take place, and their exile will be over (Mk. 13:26-27/Matt. 24:30-31/Lk. 21:27-28).

    These events are often equated with Jesus’ future return to earth, but there’s no indication that the topic has changed away from Jerusalem’s fall and the Temple’s destruction. His response to the disciples’ first question, about when these things will take place, removes all doubt: these things will happen before their generation passes away (Mk. 13:28-31/Matt. 24:32-35/Lk. 21:29-33). But the exact day and hour can’t be known, not even by Jesus himself, so they must be ready lest they be caught unaware (Mk. 13:32-37/Matt. 24:36-44/Lk. 21:34-36).

    Matthew’s account continues with several parables about remaining alert. Those who don’t stay alert will be punished with “the hypocrites” (24:45-51), who are Israel’s false religious leaders (6:2, 5, 16; 15:7; 23:13, 14, 15, 23, 25, 27, 29). The door will be shut to them (25:1-13), and they’ll be thrown into “outer darkness” (25:14-30). The same will happen to those Israelites who seek to lord over the gentiles and don’t recognize that many gentiles will enter God’s kingdom (Matt. 8:10-12; cf. Lk. 13:23-30). This still deals with the judgment about to come upon apostate Israel for her failure to be the light of the world.

    Matthew ends his version of the Olivet discourse with a narrative (not a ‘parable’) about judgment. The subject hasn’t changed; it’s still about the ‘coming of the son of man’ (25:31). Jesus uses the analogy of a shepherd separating his flock in order to cull the male baby goats (25:32-33); a similar analogy was used in the Hebrew prophets to describe the judgment of Israel and its apostate leaders (Ezek. 34:11-22; Zech. 10:2-3). Those who treated his family well, that is, God’s true people (Matt. 12:46-50), will enter God’s kingdom and the “life of the age” (25:34-40, 46); those who mistreated his family will enter the “fire of the age” and “punishment of the age” (25:41-46).

    The judgment in view at the end of the Olivet discourse, in Matt. 25:31-46, is still a concrete, historical one. The word aiōnios here doesn’t mean “eternal,” as it’s so often mistranslated, but refers to the coming aiōn, the messianic age. [8] When that age came, God’s true people would find life in it, but those who mistreated them would find only punishment.

    The vindication of Jesus the Messiah

    As we’ve seen, all of Jesus’ warnings about judgment, including his teachings about the ‘coming of the son of man,’ had a very concrete meaning. He was warning about what would happen to Israel if she failed to recognize that God’s kingdom had come and to finally fulfill her vocation as the light of the world. He also saw himself as being especially this ‘son of man,’ as the true representative of God’s true people; when the time came for his “fourth beast,” Israel’s apostate leaders, to be destroyed, he would be glorified and receive his kingdom.

    In fact, within forty years of his death, all this happened just as he’d predicted. Because most in Israel continued to see the gentiles as enemies, failing to fulfill their vocation as the light to the gentiles, they remained on a collision course with Rome. Josephus, the Jewish historian of the late first century AD, tells us that false prophets leading Israel into insurrection multiplied over the next few decades (Antiquities 18.4.1; 20.5.1; 8.5-6). They became especially a problem during the war of AD 66-70 itself (Wars 4.9.3ff; 6.5.2) — just as Jesus had warned (Mk. 13:5-7, 21-23/Matt. 24:4-6, 23-28/Lk. 21:8-9).

    When the Roman armies surrounded Jerusalem in November AD 66, and left just as suddenly and unexpectedly (Josephus, Wars 2.19.4-6), this gave the believers living there a short window to escape (Wars 2.20.1; Eusebius, Eccl. Hist. 3.5.3; Epiphanius, Pan. 29.7.8) in accordance with Jesus’ command (Mk. 13:14-18/Matt. 24:15-20/Lk. 20:20-21). The war that followed was certainly deserving of Jesus’ hyperbolic language (Mk. 13:19-20/Matt. 24:21-22/Lk. 21:22-24). Indeed, Josephus used similar language (Wars 5.10.5; 13.6).

    Most importantly, though, the destruction of Jerusalem showed that Jesus’ message was indeed true. The war and defeat of Jerusalem proved that their view of God’s kingdom was the wrong one, which led to destruction — it put them on an inevitable collision course with Rome, which they would just as inevitably lose. Jesus’ view of God’s kingdom was the correct one, and his way would have led to life for Israel, and did for those in Israel who believed in him and escaped destruction. This effectively reversed the Sanhedrin’s verdict of Jesus, showing him to be a true prophet and the Messiah.

    The early Christians saw Jerusalem’s fall as significant in a second way. They viewed the earthly Jerusalem and the Temple as symbols of the old covenant, and believed that while the new covenant had already been inaugurated, it would not come in full until those earthly shadows (which had already been rendered obsolete) were destroyed (Gal. 4:21-31; Heb. 8:13; 9:8-10; 10:8-9). Once they had been set aside, then the heavenly Jerusalem, the new covenant, could come in full (Heb. 12:18-24; Rev. 18:20-19:8; 21-22). After Jerusalem’s fall, early Christians saw this climactic event as proof of their correctness over ‘Judaism’ (Ep. Barn. 16:1-10; Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 53).

    In summary, the siege and fall of Jerusalem in AD 70 was a very significant event for early Christianity in light of Jesus’ ministry. This event proved that God’s kingdom had indeed come as Jesus had said, and not as Israel had been expecting; it also proved that the old covenant had been rendered obsolete, and the new covenant had come in full. The significance of AD 70 still resounds today, vindicating Jesus over the many other false messiahs and prophets who have claimed to bring God’s kingdom.

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[1] Num. 23:19; Job 16:21; 25:6; 35:8; Ps. 8:4; 80:17; 144:3; 146:3; Isa. 51:12; 56:2; Jer. 49:18, 33; 50:40; 51:43; Ezek., too many refs to cite; Dan. 8:17.

[2] The pronoun at the end of 7:27 is masculine singular (leh), and is often taken to refer to the Most High himself (“all dominions will serve and obey him”). However, in light of the interpretation found in 7:18, the pronoun is most naturally taken to refer back to “the people” (am), which is also masculine singular. See John J. Collins, Daniel (Minneapolis, MI: Fortress Press, 1994), 322.

[3] Richard Bauckham, “Son of Man” vol. 1: Early Jewish Literature (Grand Rapids, MI: 2023), 375.

[4] N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 261.

[5] Other New Testament writers appear to have held the same view of the “end of the age.” Paul said that it was “the rulers of this age” who crucified Jesus, and they were already passing away (1 Cor. 2:6-8); in fact, he was living already at “the ends of the ages” (1 Cor. 10:11). The Hebraist also said that Jesus was sacrificed once-for-all at “the end of the ages” (Heb. 9:26).

[6] Many scholars argue that this ‘prediction’ must be dependent on historical accounts of Jerusalem’s fall, and must not have actually been spoken by Jesus. However, there are at least two specific textual allusions to Antiochus IV and the Maccabean revolt — the “desolating sacrilege” and the command to “flee to the hills” and leave everything behind (Mk. 13:14/Matt. 24:15-16/Lk. 21:21; cf. 1 Macc. 1:54; 2:27-28) — which don’t precisely match the historical events of AD 70. This indicates that Jesus’ predictions are being deliberately modeled on Israel’s past, rather than being force-fit by the evangelists to fit the historical reality of AD 70. See N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 176-179.

[7] Isa. 13:9-19; 24:4-21; 34:1-5; Jer. 4:16-26; Ezek. 32:2-8; Joel 2:10, 30-32; cf. 2 Sam. 22:8-18/Ps. 18:7-17; 4 Ezra 5:1-10.

[8] Ilaria Ramelli and David Konstan, Terms for Eternity: Aiônios and Aïdios in Classical and Christian Texts, (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2013).

The coming wrath: Jesus' warnings (part 2 of 3)

Part 1: God’s kingdom at hand

    In the last post, we looked at Jesus’ ministry in its historical context. Other second-Temple Jews were expecting God’s kingdom to be accompanied by the destruction of the gentiles, and perhaps purification of the Temple cult. Instead, Jesus preached that Israel had failed her vocation as a light to the gentiles, and must learn to make peace with her enemies. This was the only way that led to life, and the path that many in Israel were following would lead to “destruction” (Matt. 7:13-14). But what was the “destruction” that Jesus said would come on them if they failed to change their ways?

    “Unless you repent, you all will likewise perish”

    The nature of this destruction is hinted at in one of Jesus’ sayings recorded in the gospel of Luke (13:1-5). Here, he speaks to some people who bring news of a monstrous act at the hands of the Roman governor:

At that time, some people there were telling him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. He answered them, “Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans because they suffered these things? No, I tell you! Unless you repent, you all will likewise perish. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower in Siloam fell and killed them, do you think they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you! Unless you repent, you all will likewise perish.”

Jesus says that the people of Israel, unless they repent, will face the same destruction as those who were recently killed in Galilee and Jerusalem — killed by Roman leaders, crushed by falling buildings. The “repentance” and “destruction” that he speaks of here aren’t individual acts, as the verbs (metanoēte and apoleisthe) are both plural; unless Israel collectively changes her ways, she will face this destruction.

    In the Hebrew prophets, the collective “repentance” or “returning” of Israel was associated with her return from exile. [1] The same is true of the “forgiveness of sins,” which was a collective act associated with the end of exile. [2] When Peter said that Jesus was exalted “to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins” (Ac. 5:31), this is precisely what the people listening would have been thinking of. When Jesus said that people would “perish” if they failed to “repent,” he was saying that it was time for Israel to change her ways to receive her promised restoration; those who failed to do so wouldn’t be restored with God’s people.

    This saying comes toward the end of a long discourse about judgment. [3] Jesus says “this generation” will be condemned “at the judgment” by the queen of the South and the people of Nineveh (11:29-32). He condemns the Pharisees for their hypocrisy, and says that “this generation” will be held responsible for the blood of all the prophets (11:37-52). They should fear the one who can cast them into Gehenna, if they deny him or blaspheme the holy spirit (12:4-10). They shouldn’t worry about land or any other earthly possessions — even though the Land was a central part of first-century belief about God’s kingdom! — but should trust that God will take care of everything (12:13-34).

    They should stay ready for the ‘coming of the son of man’ (12:35-48). Hypocrites fail to recognize the signs of the time; they must reconcile with their accusers, lest they be thrown into prison (12:54-59). If they don’t change their ways, they will be destroyed by Roman governors and falling buildings (13:1-5). If their fig tree fails to bear fruit this year, it will be cut down (13:6-9). If they desire to be “first,” and fail to recognize that many gentiles will enter God’s kingdom, they will be “last” (13:22-30). Finally, Jesus tells them outright: if Jerusalem fails to recognize that he is “the one who comes in the name of the Lord,” the city and its Temple will be destroyed (13:33-35).

    Another Lukan passage (19:41-44) also gives details about this destruction:

Now as he drew near and saw the city [of Jerusalem], he wept over it, saying, “If only you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. For days will come on you when your enemies cast up ramparts around you, and surround you and close you in on every side. They will demolish you, and your children within you, and will not leave within you one stone on top of another, because you did not recognize the time of your visitation.”

Once again, we see that Jesus believed Jerusalem would be destroyed by its enemies because they failed to know “the things that make for peace.” Because many of the people of Israel didn’t listen to him — they focused on earthly things (Lk. 12:13-34), failed to reconcile with their gentile accusers (12:57-59), failed to realize that many gentiles would enter God’s kingdom (13:6-9, 22-30), and failed to recognize him as the Messiah (13:34-35) — their beloved city would fall.

    But this judgment wouldn’t only affect Jerusalem. Jesus told his disciples that any city which rejected them, and failed to listen to his message, would be worse off even than the land of Sodom “on the day of judgment” (Matt. 10:14-15/Lk. 10:10-12). This was true of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, which “because they did not repent” would be worse off than Tyre, Sidon, and Sodom (Matt. 11:20-24). [4] We shouldn’t imagine that Jesus is talking about a post-mortem ‘day of judgment’ to decide which people go to ‘heaven’ or ‘hell.’ He has in mind a very concrete, historical danger, which will come upon cities rather than individuals — Jerusalem and any other city that fails to heed his message of peace.

    The end of the Temple cult

    The synoptic gospels record several sayings of Jesus about the destruction of the Temple (Mk. 13:1-2/Matt. 24:1-2/Lk. 21:5-6; Mk. 14:58/Matt. 26:61). These sayings are often rejected as ahistorical by scholars, thought to have been retroactively placed in Jesus’ mouth after the actual destruction of the Temple in AD 70. However, as we saw earlier, it wasn’t unusual for second-Temple Jews to believe that the Temple cult had to be overthrown and cleansed (CD 5.6-7; 7.9-21; 19.33-20.13; 1 Enoch 89:65-77). Jesus just took this one step further, since he believed that forgiveness of sins and righteousness were available outside of the Temple cult altogether (Mk. 2:3-12/Matt. 9:2-8/Lk. 5:18-26; Mk. 12:28-34).

    One of Jesus’ actions which is widely accepted by scholars as historical is the cleansing of the Temple when he entered Jerusalem (Mk. 11:15-18/Matt. 21:12-15/Lk. 19:45-47). Let’s look at this event:

When they entered Jerusalem, he came into the Temple and began to drive out those who were selling and buying in the Temple. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the chairs of those selling doves, and would not allow anyone to carry anything through the Temple. He began teaching and saying, “Is it not written, ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations?’ But you have made it ‘a den of robbers’!” (Mk. 11:15-17)

    There are a few details here that may be lost on modern readers. First, by not allowing anyone to carry anything unclean through the Temple, Jesus was fulfilling a prophetic condition for the coming of God’s kingdom (according to Zech. 14:9, 21). [5] Second, the term “robbers” (lestai), in first-century Judaism, referred not to swindlers but to nationalistic revolutionaries like the Zealots (as can be seen throughout the writings of Josephus). These nationalists exclude the gentiles from worshipping in the Temple, thus preventing it from becoming “a house of prayer for all nations” as God desires (Isa. 56:6-7). Third, when Jeremiah referred to the Temple as “a den of robbers,” he wasn’t saying that it merely needed to be cleansed, but that it had to be destroyed (Jer. 7:11-14).

    Thus, Jesus’ critique of the Temple is similar to his critique of the rest of Israel — they’ve excluded the gentiles from the promises, thus failing their vocation to be the light of the world. For this reason, the whole Temple cult is fit to be destroyed again, just as it was in Jeremiah’s day. There’s no reason why the historical Jesus couldn’t have predicted the destruction of the Temple, since it fits very well with the rest of his ministry and his other judgment warnings.

    Cast into the Valley of Hinnom

    Several times in his ministry, Jesus is said to have warned his audience about being “cast into Gehenna” (Matt. 5:22, 29-30; 10:28/Lk. 12:4-5; Mk. 9:43-48/Matt. 18:8-9; 23:33). “Gehenna” is typically translated as “hell,” as though Jesus were warning about something that might happen to someone after death. This ignores the contextual implications of his warnings.

    “Gehenna” technically refers to a physical location, the Valley of Hinnom near Jerusalem, where child sacrifices took place in ancient times (Josh. 15:8; 18:16; 2 Kgs. 23:10; 2 Chron. 28:3; 33:6; Neh. 11:30; Jer. 32:35). Jeremiah associated this valley with the siege of Jerusalem, saying that Jerusalem would become as defiled as the valley (Jer. 7:30-34; 19:2-15). Jesus made the same association, when he said that “the judgment of Gehenna” would come upon “this generation,” and Jerusalem and its Temple would be desolated (Matt. 23:33-38).

    Gehenna was associated with post-mortem punishment in later texts (4 Ezra 7.26-36; Sybilline Oracles 4.176-191), and perhaps some pre-70 texts as well (1 Enoch 27:1-2; 53:1-6). However, prior to AD 70, the name “Gehenna” wasn’t used to denote the valley of judgment, and it’s unclear how widespread this tradition was. It’s much more likely that Jesus intended to refer to the more deeply-rooted tradition, from Jeremiah, in which Gehenna was associated with the siege and fall of Jerusalem — especially since he appears to have made this connection himself (Matt. 23:33-38).

    Jesus also used an Isaianic text about undying worms and unquenched fire (Isa. 66:24) to talk about the judgment of Gehenna (Mk. 9:43-48; cf. Matt. 3:12; 18:8-9; 25:41). Elsewhere in the Hebrew prophets, unquenched fire was used not to denote individual post-mortem punishment, but the corporate judgment of nations (Jer. 4:4; 7:20; 17:27; 21:10-12; Ezek. 20:47-48; Amos 5:5-6); this association continued into the second-Temple period (Jud. 16:17; but cf. Sir. 7:17 Gk). Therefore, Jesus wasn’t referring to a punishment of ‘hell’ for individuals, but the corporate punishment of Israel if she failed to heed his warnings. Israel would be destroyed “body and soul” in Gehenna, as Isaiah had predicted long ago for Assyria (Matt. 10:28/Lk. 12:4-5; cf. Isa. 10:18; 30:31-33).

    In summary, Jesus’ judgment warnings in the synoptic gospels aren’t about what happens to people after they die (whether they go to ‘heaven’ or ‘hell’), nor are they about a far-off future judgment (at the Second Coming or afterward). His warnings had a concrete, historical importance for first-century Israel. Jesus was bringing the true kingdom of God, and if Israel failed to change her ways and fulfill her vocation as the light of the world, she would die at the hands of her enemies. In the next post, we’ll see how Jesus was vindicated in his predictions.

Part 3: son of man’s vindication

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[1] Deut. 30:2, 8; Isa. 44:22; 45:22; 46:8; 55:7; Jer. 3:10, 12, 14, 22; 4:1; 15:19; 24:7; Ezek. 14:6; 18:30, 32; Hos. 3:5; 14:1-2; Joel 2:12-13; cf. Bar. 2:32-34; Tob. 13:5-6; Ps. Sol. 18:4-7; Jub. 1:14-22; 23:26; Philo, Praem. 162-172.

[2] Isa. 40:1-2; 43:25-44:2; 53:11-54:10; Jer. 31:31-34; 33:4-11; Lam. 4:22; Ezek. 36:24-26, 33; 37:21-23; Dan. 9:16-19; Ez. 9:6-15; Neh. 9:6-37; cf. Bar. 1:15-3:8; 1QS 11.11-14.

[3] Luke draws together several disparate ‘judgment’ sayings of Jesus here into a single discourse (cf. Matt. 5:25-26; 6:19-23, 25-34; 7:13-14, 21-23; 8:11-12; 10:28-36; 12:22-45; 13:31-33; 16:1-6; 23:13-39; 24:42-51). His purpose isn’t to give a historically precise account of how and when Jesus said these things, but to thematically bring together most of his warnings to his contemporary generation.

[4] From a critical perspective, these sayings are almost certainly true to the historical Jesus, because these three cities weren’t especially destroyed by the Romans. In fact, we only have a record of Bethsaida being destroyed (Josephus, Wars 4.7.6). There would be no reason for the early church to ‘invent’ an apparently unfulfilled judgment saying.

[5] Cecil Roth, “The Cleansing of the Temple and Zechariah XIV 21,” Novum Testamentum 4, no. 3 (Oct 1960): 174-181.

The coming wrath: God's kingdom at hand (part 1 of 3)

Now when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming to his baptism, [John the baptist] said, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” (Matt. 3:7/Lk. 3:7)

    When Jesus began his ministry, his cousin John had already started preaching about a coming judgment, saying that it would be brought about by the one coming after him (Matt. 3:7-12/Lk. 3:7-17). The theme of judgment continued to resonate throughout Jesus’ teachings, as recorded in the synoptic gospels, well after John’s death. But what exactly is the “day of judgment” that Jesus spoke of (Matt. 10:15; 11:22, 24; 12:36)? Does it, as many Christians assume, refer to what happens when people die and go either to ‘hell’ or ‘heaven’? Does it refer to a historical event? Is it something that will happen when Jesus returns to earth? In this series of posts, we’ll look at Jesus’ ministry in its historical context to see what he and his listeners, as second-Temple Jews, would have understood by this.

    The hope of Israel

    What did second-Temple Jews in Jesus’ day expect to happen? Their hope could be summed up in a single phrase: “the kingdom of God.” From the earliest period of Israel’s history, the Jewish prophets looked forward to a future when Jerusalem would become the foremost city, a light to the many nations who would come there to follow God (Isa. 2:2-4; Joel 3:16-21; Mic. 4:1-4; Zeph. 3:12-20; cf. Hab. 2:14).

    When the Israelites were exiled from their land, they maintained this expectation (Isa. 42:1-4; 49:5-6; 60:8-16; 62:1-7; 65:18-25; 66:10-23; Jer. 3:14-18; Ezek. 17:22-24; Zech. 8:11-23; 14:8-21), and added to it a new one. God’s covenant with David wouldn’t be forsaken; he would set as king over Israel a descendant of David to rule forever (Ps. 89:19-51; Isa. 42:6; 49:8; 55:3-5; Jer. 23:5-6; 30:8-9; 33:14-16; Ezek. 21:25-27; 34:20-31; 37:24-28; Amos 9:11-15; cf. Hos. 3:4-5). This would, in other words, be a restoration of “the kingdom of YHWH in the hands of the descendants of David” (2 Chron. 13:4-8; cf. Exod. 19:5; Ps. 114:2; 1 Chron. 17:7-14; 28:5; 29:23).

    This expectation, in the passages cited above, is usually associated with the coming of the gentiles to worship God. It’s also frequently couched in ‘kingdom of God’ language. “In that day,” says Zechariah, “YHWH will become king over the whole earth” (14:9). YHWH is his people’s king, therefore he will reign and save them (Isa. 33:22; 43:14-15; 44:2-6; 52:7; Ezek. 20:33-44; Obad. 21; Mic. 2:12-13; Zeph. 3:14-15).

    But even after Israel returned from exile, the problem remained — many of God’s people continued to be rebellious, the gentiles failed to recognize YHWH’s supremacy, and Israel was ruled by pagans rather than her Davidic king! For these reasons, most Israelites continued to see the exile as ongoing and the ‘kingdom of God’ as still future. [1] Daniel demonstrates this re-framing of the issue: Israel would be ruled by a succession of pagan empires before she would be vindicated in her God’s kingdom (Dan. 2:37-45; 7:17-27), and her exile would be extended from seventy years to seventy times seven! (9:24-27) God’s people would also go through a period of severe tribulation before vindication (11:29-12:4).

    Later Jewish writings take various positions on the issue of ‘God’s kingdom.’ The Wisdom of Jesus ben Sirach took the position that God’s kingdom had come, exemplified in the wise reign of his high priest Simon ben Onias (50:1-24). This was quickly disproven when the succession of high priests was ended by Antiochus IV’s oppression of the Jews in 167-4 BC. 1 Maccabees claimed that it came with the rise of the Hasmonean dynasty of priest-kings (14:4-14), which was also disproven when Rome conquered them in 63 BC and the Herodians took their place.

    The view that God’s kingdom had already come was mostly confined to the priestly elite which later became the Sadducees; the common people of Israel knew the situation was much worse than it may have seemed to their rulers. The Essenes, whose writings are preserved in the Dead Sea Scrolls, undertook a serious critique of Jerusalem’s present rulers which presented them as Israel’s true enemy. They looked forward to the future establishment of God’s kingdom and the restoration of the Davidic monarchy (e.g., 4Q174 1.10-19). They, with other second-Temple Jews, thought that the current priestly-Temple system was utterly corrupt and would be overthrown (CD 5.6-7; 7.9-21; 19.33-20.13; 1 Enoch 89:65-77).

    Among those Jews who believed in a future kingdom (the Pharisees, Essenes, and ‘people of the land’ or commoners), the biblical hope of salvation for the gentiles was replaced by the expectation that God would utterly destroy the gentiles (e.g., Ps. Sol. 17:21-32; 1QSb 5.23-293; Wis. 3:7-8; 5:17-6:5; 4 Ezra 13:3-11, 25-38). This was unfortunate, but understandable in light of their persecution by several pagan empires. According to Josephus, it was this expectation that led them to revolt against Rome in AD 66 (Wars 6.5.4).

    First-century Jews, therefore, looked forward to the establishment of the ‘kingdom of God,’ the restoration of God’s people, which would be marked by: (1) the defeat of Israel’s enemies (seen as the gentiles); (2) the purification of the Temple cult (if it was corrupt); (3) the restoration of the Davidic monarchy; and (4) the establishment of Jerusalem as the foremost city in the world.

    The focus of Jesus’ ministry

    Onto this scene of fervent Jewish expectation bursts Jesus, proclaiming from the very beginning of his ministry, “The time has been fulfilled! God’s kingdom is at hand!” (Mk. 1:15/Matt. 4:17) The message that he preached was said to be “the good news of God’s kingdom” (Matt. 4:23; 9:35; 10:7; 24:14; Mk. 1:15; Lk. 4:43; 8:1; 16:16; cf. Ac. 8:12). God’s kingdom would come soon, even before some of Jesus’ disciples died (Mk. 9:1/Matt. 16:28/Lk. 9:27). Indeed, it was already coming through his work in healing people and defeating demons (Matt. 12:28/Lk. 11:20).

    Any second-Temple Jew would have known what this meant, whether or not they agreed: God was about to bring about the promised restoration of his people. To the common people of Israel, it was a message of hope; to the Pharisees, who expected a very different kind of kingdom, a challenge; to the complacent priestly elite, a dangerous threat.

    But the kingdom that Jesus preached was different from what most second-Temple Jews, especially the Pharisees, were expecting. They thought that Israel’s true enemy was the gentiles, thus rejecting their role, which went all the way back to Abraham (Gen. 12:3; 22:18), to act as a light to the gentiles — the very reason that Israel was chosen was to restore the whole world to God! Jesus returned to this vocation; he said that “many” gentiles would enter God’s kingdom, and those Jews who rejected this would themselves be thrown out! (Matt. 8:11-12/Lk. 13:23-30) They sought to be first in God’s kingdom, so they would instead become last (Mk. 9:33-35; 10:30/Matt. 19:30; 20:1-16; Lk. 13:23-30).

    Jesus himself healed several gentiles during his ministry, even helping a Roman centurion (Matt. 8:5-13/Lk. 7:2-10; Mk. 7:24-30/Matt. 15:21-28; cf. 15:29-31). This would have been strange and threatening to many first-century Jews, especially the hard-line Shammaite Pharisees who taught that gentiles must be resisted at all costs. But Jesus diagnosed the problem differently from them: Israel’s enemy was “the evil one” and his forces, who had already infiltrated Israel and sowed bad seeds, including the Pharisees themselves! (Mk. 3:22-30/Matt. 12:24-45/Lk. 11:15-26; Matt. 13:24-30, 36-43; cf. Lk. 13:16) The true enemy, therefore, was Israel’s corrupt leaders, who (rather than the pagans) had become the “fourth beast” to Jesus’ “son of man” (Matt. 21:42-45/Lk. 20:17-19; 26:62-66/Mk. 14:60-64/Lk. 22:66-71; cf. Dan. 2:44-45; 7:7-18, 23-27).

    How would this enemy, “the evil one,” be defeated? Not by military revolution, but paradoxically by Jesus’ own death (Mk. 10:38-40, 45/Matt. 20:28; Mk. 12:1-12/Matt. 21:33-45/Lk. 20:9-19). There was a strand in second-Temple Judaism which held that the suffering and death of righteous martyrs could take on Israel’s own eschatological suffering, thereby acting as “a ransom for the sin of our nation” (4 Macc. 17:20-22; cf. 6:27-29; 9:23-24; 18:3-4; 2 Macc. 7:36-38; 1QS 8.1-4). It could be argued that Jesus saw his own death in these terms. [2] Taking on Israel’s suffering and death at the hands of her enemies, he died for her sin, and by extension, the sins of the whole world to which Israel was supposed to be a light (cf. John 11:51-52; 1 John 2:2).

    What about the Temple? Whereas the Pharisees tolerated the Temple cult, and the Essenes believed that it needed to be cleansed, Jesus thought it had to be destroyed completely and rebuilt (Mk. 13:1-2/Matt. 24:1-2/Lk. 21:5-6; Mk. 14:58/Matt. 26:61). He symbolically acted out the destruction of the Temple, while quoting a prophecy of Jeremiah about its destruction (Mk. 11:15-18/Matt. 21:12-15/Lk. 19:45-47; cf. Jer. 7:11-14). According to a saying in John’s gospel, the Temple to be rebuilt would be Jesus’ own body (John 2:18-21). Forgiveness of sins was now available outside of the Temple cult, through Jesus himself, which was blasphemy to the priestly elite and Pharisees (Mk. 2:3-12/Matt. 9:2-8/Lk. 5:18-26). For Jesus, loving God and neighbor is far more important than the Temple cult (Mk. 12:28-34).

    Did Jesus succeed in bringing about his paradoxical kingdom of God? According to the early church, he did, and they re-defined God’s kingdom around him. Jesus, the Davidic king, had been enthroned not in Jerusalem but in heaven (Ac. 2:29-36; 5:30-31; 7:55-56; 13:32-33; 15:14-18; 17:7; Eph. 1:20-23; Phil. 3:20; Col. 3:1; Heb. 1:3; 8:1-2; 10:12-13; Rev. 2:26-28; 3:21). Jerusalem had indeed become the foremost city, not the earthly Jerusalem, but the heavenly city (Gal. 4:21-31; Heb. 12:18-24; Rev. 21-22). The Temple was also re-defined around the community of believers in Jesus (Eph. 2:19-22; 1 Pet. 2:4-6).

    Paul also cited many Scriptures to show that the climax of Israel’s story had come through Jesus, most clearly in his second letter to the Corinthians. The covenant of Moses had been replaced by the promised “new covenant,” which was to be given at the end of exile (2 Cor. 3:4-11; cf. Jer. 31:31-40). The “day of salvation” when Israel would be restored from exile was “now” (2 Cor. 6:2; cf. Isa. 49:8-12). Many prophecies about the restoration of Israel after exile are applied to present believers in Jesus (2 Cor. 6:16-18; cf. Lev. 26:11-13; Isa. 43:5-6; 52:4-11; Jer. 32:37-40; Ezek. 20:40-42; 37:24-28).

    The sermon on the mount

    When we place Jesus’ ministry in its historical context, we see that he believed the eschatological restoration of Israel, “the kingdom of God,” was coming in and through his ministry. Let’s try to interpret a specific passage, the sermon on the mount (Matt. 5-7), using this framework. [3] Jesus begins his sermon by reiterating that God’s kingdom is present; but it belongs to the poor in spirit and the persecuted (5:3, 10). The restoration of Israel will belong to the meek, merciful, and peacemakers (5:5-9), not those who vengefully seek to fight the gentiles.

    The people of Israel were meant to be “the salt of the earth,” “the light of the world,” but if they refuse this vocation, they’ll be cast out and trampled (5:13-14). They must let their light shine, rather than keeping it hidden as they’ve been doing (5:15-16). This isn’t an abandonment of Israel’s promises, of the law and the prophets, but their fulfillment (5:17-20).

    The law says not to murder, but they must not even be angry; Israel must reconcile with her accuser lest she be cast into Gehenna, into prison! (5:21-26) Not only must they not commit adultery, but they must not even desire someone’s wife, even their divorced wife, lest they be thrown into Gehenna (5:27-32). They must not take any oaths at all (5:33-37). They must not resist evil; if a Roman soldier forces them to carry his armor for one mile, they should go another mile! (5:38-42) They must love their enemy and pray for their persecutors, as their heavenly father does (5:43-48). This whole section is a re-interpretation of the law, which challenges the then-prevailing view that Israel has to fight her gentile enemies to bring in the kingdom of God.

    Unlike “the hypocrites” (the Pharisees and priestly elite, per Matt. 23), they should treat God as their father. They shouldn’t give alms, pray, and fast in public, but should do so in private where only their father, God, can see them (6:1-18). Moreover, they should forgive those who harm them, instead of taking vengeance, lest God not forgive them (6:12, 14-15). They shouldn’t focus on earthly treasures (6:19-24), nor should they worry about physical possessions (6:25-34). Once again, this is an implicit critique of the then-current view of God’s kingdom, which was centered around taking vengeance on the gentiles to gain the earthly treasures of land and wealth.

    Jesus continues that those who judge others will themselves be judged (7:1-6). Instead, they need only to ask their father and it will be given to them; why would their heavenly father be less gracious than a human father? (7:7-11) The law and prophets can be summed up in a single commandment: to do to others what you would want them to do to you (7:12). Few will follow this narrow path to life, and many will instead take a broader path to destruction (7:13-14). False prophets who lead Israel astray will be known by the result of their movement (7:15-20). Even some who call Jesus “lord, lord” won’t enter God’s kingdom if they fail to do his will (7:21-23). Those who listen to Jesus’ words will be secure, but if they fail to listen, they will fall greatly (7:24-27).

    The entire sermon on the mount fits very well into Jesus’ message of paradoxical kingdom. It can be boiled down into a single statement: Israel has failed her vocation to be the light of the world, and they must learn to desire peace, love their gentile enemies, and treat God as their father if they want to live; every other way leads to destruction. But what exactly is the “destruction” that Jesus believed was about to come upon Israel if she failed to repent? We’ll examine this in the next post.

Part 2: Jesus’ warnings

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[1] For a more detailed analysis of this view, from various perspectives, see Exile: A Conversation With N. T. Wright, ed. James M. Scott (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2017).

[2] N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (London: SPCK, 1996), 284-302; for Paul, see Jarvis L. Williams, Maccabean Martyr Traditions in Paul's Theology of Atonement (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2010).

[3] N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 147-149.

A response to N. T. Wright on universalism (part 3 of 3)

Part 2: N. T. Wright on Pauline universalist texts

The same is true, finally, of the various Johannine passages (John 10:16, 12:32, 1 John 2:2, etc.) sometimes quoted as universalistic. In many the context indicates that the meaning is similar to Paul’s: the gospel is not for Jews only, but for Gentiles also (cf., eg., 12:32 in the context of 12:20ff.). In addition, some of the starkest of the Johannine judgment-sayings are found, as we saw earlier, right beside the richest promises of salvation for those who believe (John 3:14–17, 18–21). Again the position is quite clear: God in His great love has made one way of salvation for all men without exception. Those who refuse this way have no alternative left to them. And accepting the way of salvation, for John as for Paul, is bound up with faith in Jesus Christ.

    I agree with Wright that John 10:16 isn’t universalist on its own; nor, for that matter, are John 12:32 and 1 John 2:2. They must be taken in the larger context of John’s writings. John says that God desires every person to be saved through belief in Jesus (John 1:7, 9; 17:2-3), and that he’ll persist until this is fulfilled (6:37-40, 44-45). God desires to save, and Jesus died on behalf of, the entire kosmos, “world” (John 1:29; 3:16-17; 4:42; 6:33, 51; 8:12; 12:46-47; 17:21-25; 1 John 2:2; 4:14), which always refers to the stubbornly unbelieving mass (John 1:10; 3:19; 7:7; 8:23; 9:39; 12:31; 14:17, 19, 27, 30-31; 15:18-19; 16:8-11, 20, 33; 17:6-18, 25; 18:36; 1 John 2:15-17; 3:1, 13, 17; 4:4-5; 5:4-5, 19).

    Those who don’t have faith in Jesus are now under the condemnation of “darkness” and “death”; judgment isn’t merely relegated to the future (John 3:18-21, 36; 5:22-24; 12:25, 31; 1 John 2:9-11; 3:14). This isn’t hopeless, because we were once under the same judgment! (John 5:24; 12:46; 1 John 2:9; 3:14) Indeed, the purpose of God’s judgment is that all people give him and his Son honor, and all are drawn to Jesus (John 5:22-23; 12:31-32). To give an example: the Pharisees will die by their sins, but will one day recognize that Jesus is who he claimed to be (John 8:24, 28). There will be a future judgment on “the last day,” when everyone is raised (John 6:39-40, 44; 11:24), but the result of this judgment will be “life of the Age” for those who now reject Jesus (12:46-50; cf. 17:2-3).

    If Revelation was written by the same John, this too shows restoration after judgment. The “rulers of the land”, who stubbornly resisted Jesus’ rule even unto death at his hands (Rev. 1:5; 6:15; 17:2; 18:3, 9; 19:19-21), are afterward seen entering New Jerusalem, where salvation is available to those outside (21:24; 22:2, 14-15). Indeed, the depiction of judgment and (eventual) restoration in John’s writings is wholly universalist. If Wright stopped assuming that any reference to God’s judgment must be hopeless, he would see this too.

Before moving on to a positive conclusion, we need a short excursus. There are some passages in the New Testament—I think particularly of Acts 10:2, 4, 27, 30–35 and (on some interpretations) Romans 2:12–16—which seem to allow for the fact that some people are saved without actually hearing and confessing the name of Jesus Christ, since in this life they had, as it were, possessed a Christ-shaped faith. They had been genuinely dissatisfied with their surrounding religion and humbly seeking to serve God in prayer and good works as best they knew how. As I have argued elsewhere, I believe that Scripture leaves this possibility open while giving us no encouragement to think that the category of people involved will be large. There are no promises of salvation for those who neither believe nor are baptized.

    Perhaps surprisingly, I’m more strict than Wright on this issue. Justification (membership in the covenant community) only belongs to those with faith in Jesus the Messiah; that much is clear all throughout Paul’s writings. In Acts 10, the holy spirit only falls on Cornelius and his household after they hear and believe the word about Jesus. Romans 2:12-16 must be read in the whole context of Paul’s argument in Rom. 1-3, which is to establish the guilt of every person and the one way of salvation, faith in and of Jesus. I’m unsure what a ‘Messiah- shaped faith’ without knowledge of the Messiah, Jesus, would look like.

    This might seem harsh, even arbitrary — what about people who never even heard the name of Jesus, or people who die too young to grasp the message about him? If we remove the assumption that those who die in unbelief are punished hopelessly, then this no longer seems so harsh. It’s somewhat ironic that Wright, despite his warnings against the pluralists’ rejection of one way of salvation, ends up positing another way of salvation in order to make his view of punishment seem more palatable.

I want now to conclude by pointing up another, and more biblical, ‘universalism’. This is the doctrine, which is in fact totally opposed to the usual ‘universalism’, that there is one God and one way of salvation for all, Jesus Christ. This is, of course, assumed and referred to all through the NT. Acts 4:12 (‘no other name … in which we must be saved’) is perhaps its classic expression: compare John 10:10, 14:6, Romans 10:12–13, and many other passages.

    Of course, I have no quarrel with this, other than Wright’s claim that the idea of one God and one Messiah is somehow opposed to universal salvation. He can’t totally be faulted for this, since this article was written before ‘biblical universalism’ really grew in popularity. It’s a shame that he hasn’t published any updated arguments against universalism, which might better address my own beliefs.

We may trace the different biblical elements of this ‘universalism’ as follows. It begins with God’s promise to Abraham, that in him all the nations of the earth would be blessed. God has chosen to save the world through Abraham’s family, and supremely (of course) in the true seed of Abraham, Jesus Christ (see Galatians 3 and Romans 4). For Paul, the cardinal sin of the Jews was that national pride and ‘boasting’ which turned the vocation of being a light to the Gentiles into a racial privilege. This universal promise is based on the fact that God is one, as was (and is) confessed daily by the pious Jew in the ‘Shema’ (Rom. 3:29–30: cf. Deut. 6:4ff.). Thus, any suggestion that there is more than one way of salvation is not merely an attack on the uniqueness of Jesus Christ (as we see, for example, in the work of John Hick), but also contains the implication that there is more than one God.

    I agree wholeheartedly.

The universal promise is fulfilled, not in Israel according to the flesh (because of her national pride and consequent failure to accept her suffering Messiah) but in her anointed representative, Jesus. In His death and resurrection He put to death ‘fleshly’ Israel and brought her to life again as a worldwide community. This is why the resurrection and the Gentile mission are so intimately connected. Over against the Jewish exclusivism attacked in Romans 2:17ff, stands the Christian assurance of Romans 5:1–11: we (the worldwide, believing, missionary church) boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have received the reconciliation.

    Amen, and thanks be to God!

Biblical ‘universalism’, therefore, consists in this, that in Christ God has revealed the one way of salvation for all men alike, irrespective of race, sex, colour or status. This biblical ‘universalism’ (unlike the other sort) gives the strongest motives for evangelism, namely, the love of God and of men. (This itself is evidence that we are thinking biblically here.) This view specifically excludes the other sort of ‘universalism’, because scripture and experience alike tell us that many do miss the one way of salvation which God has provided. This is a sad fact, and the present writer in no ways enjoys recording it, any more than Paul in Romans 9–11 looked with pleasure on his kinsmen’s fate. Yet it cannot be ignored if we wish either to remain true to scripture or really to love our fellow men. If the house is on fire, the most loving thing to do is to raise the alarm.

    ‘Biblical universalism’ consists in the fact, not only that God has provided a single way of salvation for everybody, but that this salvation will ultimately be effective for all people. The motive for evangelism is that, as John says, those who separate themselves from the Light and the Life condemn themselves to darkness and death; this is a state that we should want everyone to escape as soon as possible. No threat of hopeless punishment is necessary for evangelism, despite what some non-universalists claim.

    Wright brings up an interesting point with Romans 9-11, though not what he intended. At the beginning of this passage, Paul is in deep despair over his brethren’s refusal to have faith in their Messiah (9:1-5); at the end, he praises God, “to whom are all things”, for his wisdom (11:33-36), and he quotes Isaiah 40, a passage that originally dealt with the restoration of punished, rebel Israel. What could’ve caused this change of heart? Maybe he recognized that “all Israel will be saved” (Rom. 11:26)?

I frequently meet people who tell me that they are ‘universalists’ in the usual sense while in no way thinking the Bible supports their view. This position is perfectly clear: I simply disagree with its view of scripture, of God and of Christ. What is not even clear is the position of the person who maintains that universalism finds support in the Bible. It might be more comfortable if it did: but we are in this business to discover truth.

    Like Wright, I strongly disagree with the basic assumptions of pluralistic universalists — that the Scriptures don’t form a coherent story, and that there’s more than one possible way of salvation. But the position of ‘biblical universalists’ is absolutely clear: God will never abandon trying to save certain people, but he’ll persist until all people are restored through the one way of salvation (Jesus the Messiah) that he’s provided. Wright may disagree with this, but he hasn’t provided any good reasons to do so; none of the passages he’s appealed to say anything about hopeless punishment, because the Bible itself says nothing about hopeless punishment! To the contrary, the eschatology of the apostles is absolutely triumphant: not that God will hopelessly destroy his enemies, thus ensuring that they never submit to him, but that he’ll persist until every enemy truly submits to him and is restored!