J. H. Bavinck. The Riddle of Life.Translated by Bert Hielema. Grand Rapids, MI. William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. 2016. Pp. 94. $20.00.

For fallen man, life is a riddle that was, and that is, and that will continue to be. A few brief notes on the history of Western thought demonstrate this point. The self-proclaimed autonomous man of the Enlightenment sought to employ either his reason (rationalism) or his sense experience (empiricism) to interpret a supposedly open, un-interpreted universe that included himself. However, unable to ground the law of cause-and-effect or even the most basic notion of a subject-object correspondence, David Hume buried the autonomous man. On his gravestone he wrote: a relativist, a skeptic, an unsolved riddle.

Eventually a shift occurred. After repeatedly arriving at the absurd and irrational as a conclusion, the absurd instead became a self-given, the assumed starting-point. This was particularly the case for consciousness and existentialist thinkers. For example, Albert Camus, in his work The Myth of Sisyphus, assumes from the outset that the life of man is akin to that of Sisyphus who was condemned to ceaselessly rolling a stone to the top of a mountain, which would only roll back down of its own weight. Yet, Sisyphus is not to be pitied, but imagined to be happy. “Sisyphus is the absurd hero,” writes Camus, “He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing” (The Myth of Sisyphus, 120). From nothing man came, to nothing man is fated, and everything in between is absurd—if only he will embrace this, he will live.

Out of the absurdity that is life or existence, others called forth monstrous beings, like Nietzsche’s Übermensch who would reject the hopes of another world as pitiable escapism, declare the death of God, fully embrace his irrational existence, and forge for himself value and meaning. Thus, the testimony to the futility of fallen thought is manifold: man is no more able to create meaning and purpose than he is able to give life to the dead or call into existence the things that do not exist. Man and his world remain an unsolved riddle, an impenetrable mystery.

Yet, we are not to despair. There is, in fact, a clear way forward as J. H. Bavinck demonstrates in his book The Riddle of Life. In a simple, understandable, and persuasive manner, he presses in to answer the big questions that have riddled life: What do we know? Who are we? Why are we here? Where do we come from? What is our destiny? How should we live? His basic point is that if we begin with the self-attesting man of the Enlightenment, then we are doomed to irrationality and absurdity. But if we begin with the self-attesting Christ of Scripture then and only then can we move forward to find the answers to the mysteries of life.

Accordingly, Bavinck argues for the necessity of a revelatory epistemology, that is, a theory of knowledge that arises from the revelation of God in Scripture. The only silk thread that leads us out of the labyrinth of life is that which God has let down from heaven: his Word. Bavinck writes, “God has spoken. The eternal mystery of the ultimate basis of everything that exists has been revealed. In Jesus Christ the Light has come, the Light that bans all darkness from our hearts and instills in us the unspeakable joy of having found and having been found” (5). Bavinck further clarifies this point by affirming that the only way to arrive at any knowledge is “to believethat we are part of a rational universe,” which can only be maintained if “we confessthat an almighty and all-wise God has created the world and the human race in mutual dependence” (16).

From this revelatory foundation, Bavinck proceeds to answer the mysteries of life in the light of Scripture. For example, in order to answer the question, “Where do we come from?” we must know whether or not God exists. Bavinck lists the various classical proofs for the existence of God that have been given, but concludes that they are “in themselves … not totally convincing” (24). The reason for this is that we are always biased in our conclusions, which means our intellect and logic “cannot possibly be the final arbiter” (25). In contrast, “the Christian faith, realizing this truth, strongly stresses the confession: I believe in God, the Father, creator of heaven and earth. That is not a scientific conclusion, not a well-rounded statement, but it rests on faith in God’s Word. When I, in this world, amidst an untold number of mysteries, ponder the question of ‘Where do I originate?’ I only can trust that the whole of this rational and yet so mysterious universe has been wrought by a superior Reason, by an all-wise Maker who is also our Father” (25).

Another question that Bavinck takes up is: “What is the meaning of life?” His answer opens with a helpful illustration. Imagine you come across the words: the silver moonlight radiated businessmen across the water. The obvious point is that within that sentence “businessmen” has no real meaning. Why? Because it is out of place there and does not fit in. “So when does a word make sense? It makes sense when it can seamlessly melt away in the context, when it fits in the totality. When does the life of a human make sense? It only makes sense when it has harmoniously inserted itself into the greater meaningful totality, when it is part of an overall world concept” (33). Man is not capable of forming the totality for himself because he is finite and limited. Rather, this totality is only found in Jesus Christ who repeatedly has told us that “the ultimate meaning of human life is the kingdom of God. … Measured by that criterion everything makes sense, every human act contains something of value” (34).

In keeping with this revelatory base, Bavinck utilizes the threefold scheme of man found in Scripture. Man is rational, moral, and spiritual, which corresponds to knowledge, righteousness, and holiness as well as his office as prophet, priest, and king (see Heidelberg Catechism Lord’s Day 12). This scheme proves very useful for Bavinck in explaining the full-orbed nature of man’s original design and purpose, the effects of sin on him, the redemption he needs, and the person and work of Jesus Christ.

Bavinck also utilizes this scheme to expose the inadequacy of the other world religions: Buddhism and Islam. Common to both is the belief that deliverance is solely a matter of knowledge, so all that is needed is a prophet. The prophet, whether Buddha or Mohammed, preaches the truth and so offers the possibility of salvation. It then becomes a matter of self-redemption: we must apply the truth to ourselves in order to be saved. The problem is that this does not penetrate to the deepest parts of man. Man’s misery is not singular, but threefold. “We lack the knowledge, the insight into the truth. We also lack the peace, the true justice, the harmonious attitude to God. Finally we also lack the holiness, the will to do good. To be truly free we must surrender the entire structure of our existence: our redemption must be threefold, just as our misery is threefold” (71). Herein is the peculiarity of Christianity. Jesus Christ, the Redeemer, answers to the threefold plight of man. He is the Prophet who reveals true knowledge of God and man, the Priest who offers peace by his sacrifice on the cross, and the King who offers holiness by eradicating the desire for sin and fills us with life eternal. These three benefits are represented in what Jesus calls the “kingdom of God,” which “is composed of all that life contains, the world and all that it is” (80). It is only those who repent and believe who find entrance into this kingdom (83).

The final question that Bavinck asks has to do with the completion of life: “What is behind that strange, mysterious curtain that we usually call death?” (90). The Gospel, according to Bavinck, teaches that all men either face death alone or with Jesus Christ (92). The person who enters death apart from Christ belongs to the kingdom of darkness doomed to eternal destruction. But the person who enters death “in Christ” will have it proved “the great revelation” (93). He explains, “As soon as we see the reflection of God’s presence in the distance, then an infinite joy will be born in us. … With inexpressible rapture I will flee to him and embrace him as my all, as my salvation. And observing him, the pure sight of him and his glory, I will go from joy to greater joy, from light to greater light. In the joyfulness I will then experience lies the hallmark of eternity, because God is eternal” (94).

While the book is to be recommended on the basis of the previous analysis, especially its commitment to a revelatory epistemology, there are still a few areas that warrant critique. First, Bavinck states that the essence of humanity is that they are “children of God” (27). This language, however, does not seem helpful because of the salvific connotations of it in Scripture (e.g., Rom. 8:16-17) and the more clear description found in Genesis of man being made in the “image of God.” It is true that Adam is entitled the “son of God” in Scripture, as well as Israel and David’s kingly sons, but this phrase has covenantal and eschatological implications that Bavinck seems to overlook. Furthermore, it does not allow for the adoption that takes place in Christ, so that those who were once “children of wrath” are made “children of God” (Rom. 8:14-17; Eph. 2:1-10; 2 Pet. 2:14).

Second, Bavinck speaks about the “law of service,” which he observes is evident in the various levels of creation from the inorganic to the organic to humanity, as the fundamental law of creation and the “overarching purpose for every being” (18). Bavinck seems to arrive at this law by way of natural observation and so deviates from the revelatory foundation he argued for earlier. Because of this his conclusion from nature can be labeled naïve since while the creation is seen to serve each other at some level, it is also seen to devour one another at an even higher level. The fact that creation is not in harmony with itself is not self-evident, but only properly understood on the basis of the biblical doctrine of sin. Likewise, the law of service must be drawn from God’s revelation to man. In addition, Bavinck construes this law with a predominately horizontal focus, while the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.

Third, in a couple of places Bavinck seems to deny the historicity of Adam and the fall, though this may not have been his intention. Regarding the former, he writes, “We are Adam … God’s children” (30). This suggests that Adam was a mere symbol of every person, rather than the historical federal head of humanity, in whom all died when he sinned (Rom. 5:12ff.). Regarding the latter, Bavinck says, “The Good News shows us that the history of the world, from its very inception, is dominated by two factors” (88, emphasis mine). The two factors that he identifies are sin and grace. But in Scripture neither sin nor grace (understood redemptively) dominated until the historical fall of man in Genesis 3. Furthermore, Bavinck says that these two factors “will give us some insight into the meaning of the world, and why we are here” (88). On one level this is true, but it is also problematic because it makes the soteriological absolute, rather than the eschatological. Scripture is clear that there is an absolute end posited for humanity and the world beforeand apart fromsin. To this pre-redemptive eschatology is added a soteric force on account of the historical entrance of sin into the world, but this addition does not eclipse or eliminate man’s original destiny, a destiny that is fulfilled in Christ (Ps. 8; Heb. 2:5-9).

Overall, this book would benefit believers by helping them better understand the worldview implications of the doctrines of God, man, sin, and redemption and by equipping them to better share the gospel with their neighbor. It would also be useful to give directly to unbelievers who will find in it a concise and clear commendation of the Christian faith as the only sound and coherent way of viewing oneself and the world. It demonstrates that Christianity is not a conglomerate of abstract propositions designed for esoteric cloud-gazers and irrelevant spiritualists, but draws its life source from the concrete acts and words of God that have entered our world and our history, preeminently in Jesus Christ, who forms its organic center from which the whole world will one day be consummated a new creation.

As we read about in Matthew 3, John the Baptist breathed in an “atmosphere surcharged with the thought of the end.”[1] In his mind his baptism was the final opportunity before “water” would be eschatologically outmoded by “the Holy Spirit and fire.” He thought that the time for repentance would reach its terminus with the appearance of the Christ—then water would be superseded by the Holy Spirit and fire, no longer for repentance but for final salvation and judgment.[2]

Jesus, however, steps onto the scene and rather than enacting a redemptive-historical transition to his eschatological baptism, he comes to be baptized by John. But John protests. Now his protest was not for them to reverse roles as if Jesus was simply to administer John’s own baptism of water. Rather, John believes that it was now time for his baptism to be superseded by the eschatological baptism of Christ.[3] In John’s eyes, the appearance of the Messiah alone was enough to transition redemptive-history into the eschatological era of the Messiah. His protest reveals he was ignorant of what must first be fulfilled in order for this to happen. This confusion over the timing and nature of Christ’s coming will persist with John and his disciples (9:9-13; 11:2-6).

In order to correct John’s redemptive-historical misunderstanding (or mistiming), Jesus responds, “Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness (Ἄφες ἄρτι, οὕτως γὰρ πρέπον ἐστὶνἡμῖν πληρῶσαι πᾶσαν δικαιοσύνην, 3:15). The first clause (“Let is be so now”) affirms that John was correct to expect a redemptive-historical transition, but it was not yet time—more than just the appearance of the Christ was necessary. It was thus fitting for Jesus to be baptized now (ἄρτι) because he and John had not yet fulfilled “all righteousness” (πᾶσαν δικαιοσύνην). If Jesus’ words are responding to this larger redemptive-historical timing issue, then it would seem natural to understand “all righteousness” here as including, but also going beyond his baptism to encompass all that he accomplishes in his life, death and resurrection. For it is only after these accomplishments that the transition John anticipated takes place and Christ commissions his disciples to baptize the nations in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (28:19).[4] Jesus, therefore, does not submit himself to John’s baptist as a mere example to be followed, but to propel redemptive-history forward in himself as the true Israel who repents not for his own sins, but for the sins of his people whom he came to save (1:21).

It is important to keep in mind that John does not administer a different baptism to Jesus; it is still a baptism with water for repentance on account of sin. Already the presence and problem of sin has been elucidated and deliverance from it has been tied to the mission of Jesus, the son of Abraham, the son of David (1:1). In Matt. 1:21 the people are understood not in the abstract, but specifically as those who belong to Jesus (“his people,” τὸν λαὸν αὐτοῦ) and who personally possess their own sins (“their sins,” τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν αὐτῶν). How is someone saved from their sin? Forgiveness (see 9:2, 5, 6; 12:31). And how is someone forgiven? By the poured out blood of Jesus Christ (see 26:28). Therefore, the death of Christ was a necessary redemptive-historical accomplishment for John’s preparatory ministry and the eschatological shift that he anticipated (16:21; 17:22-23; 20:17-19)—much more than the mere appearance of the Messiah was necessary.

In Matt. 3:6 we read of people confessing (ἐξομολογέω) their sins as they are baptized by John. In relation to Christ and his work, sin is forgiven by him and on account of him. In relation to people, sin is confessed. The confession (or repentance) cannot be isolated from its Christological basis, the death and resurrection of Jesus, that makes it effectual for salvation.

But we may be able to say more than this, for Jesus himself undergoes John’s baptism with water for repentance. As the true Israel (cf. 2:15), he makes a true confession of sins, not for his own sins, but vicariously for the sake of his people he came to save. In fulfilling all righteousness, “[Jesus] had no other calling than to comply with the demands that God had imposed on every Israelite. … [So Matthew] brings out Jesus’ solidarity with the human race and, indeed, with sinners.”[5]

[1] Geerhardus Vos, Biblical Theology, 318.

[2] On the Holy Spirit and fire pertaining to salvation and judgment, respectively, see Herman Ridderbos, Matthew, 54. The same juxtaposition can be found in Ezek. 36:26-32; Joel 2:28-31; Zech. 12:9-10.

[3] Herman Ridderbos, Matthew, 57.

[4] It seems this is the same eschatological baptism expected by John, but now expanded to include the Father and the Son, possibly corresponding with the revelation of the Son by the Father and the Father by the Son (so 11:25-27).

[5] Herman Ridderbos, Matthew, 58-59.

True life is the enjoyment of the covenant communion bond in face-to-face fellowship with God in his holy kingdom. This is no invention on man’s part, but the God-given reality from the very beginning (Gen. 1-3). In a previous post we drew this out by considering the garden of God. From this bird’s-eye view we now zoom in to the central feature in the midst of the garden: the tree of life (Gen. 2:9).

We’ll first consider the eschatological import of the tree (as it pointed to an escalated future reality) and then demonstrate how it reveals true life to consist in having God himself as your eschatological reward and kingdom inheritance (Rom. 8:17).

While man possessed life since the beginning when God breathed the breath of life into him and placed him in his garden-kingdom for life-giving fellowship, the tree of life was a symbol or token of a higher form of life that was offered to him.[1] As we noted in our previous post, life was not a fixed or static concept for Adam, but a redemptive-historical one that was to organically progress from its protological beginnings to an eschatological consummation of union and communion with God in perfect fullness and permanency. As Vos puts it, “The universe, as created, was only a beginning, the meaning of which was not perpetuation, but attainment.”[2]

In order to attain this eschatological blessing of escalated life and glory Adam was required to render unto the Lord perfect and personal obedience to his command, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Gen. 2:16-17; WCF 7.2). The protological life of original communion with God in the garden-kingdom was not incorruptible, but corruptible; it was not irrevocable, but susceptible to removal in death. Herman Bavinck captures well the character of this probationary stage that Adam found himself tested in:

Adam … stood at the beginning of his ‘career,’ not at the end. His condition was provisional and temporary and could not remain as it was. It either had to pass on to higher glory or to sin and death. The penalty of transgressing the command was death; the reward for keeping it, by contrast, was life, eternal life. Our common conscience already testifies that in keeping God’s commands there is great reward, and that the violation of these commands brings punishment, and Holy Scripture also expresses this truth over and over. It sums up all the blessedness associated with the doing of God’s commandments in the word “life,” eternal life. Both in the covenant of works and that of grace, Scripture knows but one ideal for a human being, and that is eternal life (Lev. 18:5; Ezek. 20:11; Ps. 9:13; Matt. 19:17; Luke 10:28; Gal. 3:12). Hence, Adam still stood at the beginning. As yet he did not have this reward of eternal life but still had to acquire it; he could still err, sin, fall, and die. His relation to God was such that he could gradually increase in fellowship with God but could also still fall from it.[3]

The possibility of eschatological life (the consummation of the covenant communion bond with God) and death (separation from God) was symbolized in the two trees: (1) the tree of life and (2) the tree of the knowledge of good and evil to which certain death was appended (Gen. 2:17). Here we are first introduced to the polar forces of life and death as the two possible destinies of humanity. This life-death antithesis from here onward will run throughout redemptive-history and the apostle Paul will pick it up with full eschatological might (see Rom. 4:1-25; Rom. 5:1-11).

Life, as the enjoyment of the covenant communion bond, was not to continue in perpetuation, but would either be corrupted in death on account of disobedience or advance to a higher state of life beyond probation on account of obedience.[4] Vos affirms the “disclosure of the principles of a process of probation by which man was to be raised to a state of religion and goodness, higher, by reason of its unchangeableness, than what he already possessed.”[5] The higher state of life consisted of an unchangeable rectitude, being confirmed in holiness forever, and rising beyond the possibility of death in eternal life—all of this was to serve the communion bond with God.

As we have been saying, the tree of life was a sacrament through which God would convey eschatological life that was permanent and forever (Gen. 3:22). It is absolutely crucial to recognize that this promised reward of eternal life is not to be understood at any point apart from God himself, who is the comprehensive source of all life. The tree symbolized his life-giving presence.[6] More pointedly, the reward offered in the tree of life was nothing less than God conferring himself in a consummated communion bond in face-to-face fellowship with a holy people in his holy kingdom. True life, therefore, does not only have its source in God, but also its goal. As Vos puts it, “As it is strongly bound to God in its production, so it has a telic character directing it to God as its solitary goal.”[7] God himself is the eschatological reward of his people (see Gen. 15:1; Ps. 16:5; 119:57; 142:5; Rom. 8:17).

Our analysis thus far confirms the above point. Creaturely life has its archetype, source, and goal in the absolutely personal life of God, so that life can never be conceived of apart from him.[8] It is further confirmed when through a wider canonical lens the location of the tree of life is considered. The Genesis account informs us that it took root “in the midst of the Garden” (Gen. 2:9). In Revelation 2:7, the original tree reemerges in the paradise of God, that is, the restored and consummated kingdom of glory.[9] Then in Revelation 22:1-2 the tree of life is brought into the closest proximity with the throne of God and of the Lamb. It is from the throne that eschatological life is decreed in its consummate fullness, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God” (21:3).

In the same way the tree of life stood in close relationship to God, so the river that flowed out of Eden and divided into four rivers to water the garden (Gen. 2:10-14) will come to be referred to as the streams or waters of life. The waters are said to flow from God’s mountain dwelling place and also from the throne of God in the New Jerusalem with the tree of life on both sides (Rev. 22:1-2). In light of this, Vos’s comment is apt:

It will be observed that here the two symbolisms of the tree of life and the waters of life are interwoven. … The truth is thus clearly set forth that life comes from God, that for man it consists in nearness to God, that is the central concern of God’s fellowship with man to impart this.[10]

Both the tree of life and the waters of life point to the One who is the source and goal of life. The eschatological reward of life promised to Adam was nothing less than God promising to confer himself in a consummate communion bond of face-to-face fellowship to his holy people in his glorious kingdom. This conception of life is inherent to the Genesis account itself and enhanced with the clarifying light of later biblical revelation. So Vos can rightly state about the apostle Paul,

The tree of life and the other tree and the primeval paradise and the fall and death and the expulsion from the garden on account of the sin committed, all these are present in the scriptural narrative, and a single glance at Rom. v is sufficient to convince of the fact, that in the most fundamental manner they support (qua history) the entire eschatology of Paul. And the Apostles’ eyes were centrally focused on life and death in their forever interacting force.[11]

[1] On the nature of symbols and tokens see Vos, Biblical Theology, 27: “It is largely symbolical, that is, not expressed in words so much as in tokens; and these tokens partake of the general character of Biblical symbolism in that, besides being means of instruction, they are also typical, that is, sacramental, prefigurations conveying assurance concerning the future realization of the things symbolized. The symbolism, however, does not lie in the account as a literary form, which would involve denial of the historical reality of the transactions. It is a real symbolism embodied in the actual things.” On the tree of life as a sacrament see Francis Turretin, Institutes of Elenctic Theology, trans. George Musgrave Giger, ed. James T. Dennison, Jr. (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 1992), 1:580-82; Wilhelmus à Brakel, The Christian’s Reasonable Service, vol. 1: God, Man, and Christ, trans. Bartel Elshout, ed. Joel R. Beeke (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 2011), 1:259, 362-63.

[2] Geerhardus Vos, The Eschatology of the Old Testament, ed. James T. Dennison, Jr. (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 2001), 73.

[3] Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, 2:564-65.

[4] Meredith Kline speaks of the tree of life as a symbolic “reproduction of the theophanic Glory-Spirit” and the “sacramental seal of man’s participation in the glory of immortality” (Kingdom Prologue, 93).

[5] Vos, Biblical Theology, 27. See Vos, Eschatology of the Old Testament, 73; Collins, Genesis 1-4, 115.

[6] This point is especially clear with the reemergence of the tree of life in Rev. 2:9 and 22:1-4. See G. K. Beale, The Book of Revelation, NIGTC (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1999), 235.

[7] Vos, Pauline Eschatology, 309. Vos notes an organic consistency in biblical revelation on the concept of life: “What lends confirmation to thus joining the earlier and later is the emphasis placed upon the divine favor as an indispensable concomitant of the eschatological life. The concept of life would never have obtained in the Old Testament its comprehensive and pregnant significance, had it not from the outset been wedded to the profoundly-religious thought of prospering in the favor of God” (307).

[8] Death also can never be conceived of apart from God as it is nothing less than separation from God.

[9] See Kline, Kingdom Prologue, 94.

[10] Vos, Biblical Theology, 28.

[11] Vos, Pauline Eschatology, 304.

The word “life” (ζωή) or “eternal life” (ζωή αἰώνιος) is no general term for Paul to describe all people with beating hearts on earth, but the “most frequent mould into which the content of the coming age is cast” (Vos, The Pauline Eschatology, 303). Eschatology leavens Paul’s conception of “life,” so that the eternal state is a comprehensive realm of life, a realm reigned over in life (Rom. 5:17).

So what led Paul to this eschatological conception of “life”?

According to Vos, Paul drew from “the ancient antithesis in which life stands opposite to death since the very beginnings of the race” (The Pauline Eschatology, 304). In Genesis 2 we are introduced to two trees of destiny in which the polar forces of life and death clash: the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (Gen. 2:9). The consequence for eating of the second tree was certain death (Gen. 2:17).

When the Lord formed man he breathed the breath of life [נִשְׁמַ֣ת חַיִּ֑ים] into him, yet a higher state of life was offered to him sacramentally in the tree of life. This sacrament is properly understood within the context of the covenant of works “wherein life was promised to Adam; and in him to his posterity upon condition of perfect and personal obedience” (WCF 7.2). This future blessedness held out to Adam “emerges as ‘the life’ par excellence” (The Pauline Eschatology, 305).

Adam, however, fails to render unto the Lord perfect and personal obedience and so becomes “incapable of life by that covenant.” Nevertheless, the Lord was pleased to make a second covenant, the covenant of grace “wherein he freely offereth unto sinners life and salvation by Jesus Christ” (WCF 7.3). Notice it is the same eschatological promise of “life” offered in the second covenant as was offered in the first, but now it is offered unto “sinners.” The eschatological aspect of life has always been present from the beginning, but now a new soteriological aspect is required. Because eschatology precedes soteriology

the original goal remains regulative for the redemptive development of eschatology by aiming to rectify the results of sin (remedial) and uphold, in connection with this, the realization of the original goal as that which transcends the state of rectitude (i.e., rising beyond the possibility of death in life eternal) (Vos, The Eschatology of the Old Testament, 74).

The eschatological and the soteriological aspects are both fulfilled in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and enjoyed by all who are united to him by faith in the power of the Holy Spirit.

We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life (Rom. 6:4),

But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom. 6:22-23).

The Pauline conception of life does not belong to those whose existence is wholly caught up in the present age, over which death reigns, but to those who have been raised with Christ and seated with him in the heavenly places. The believer in union with Christ is today in possession of eschatological life. According to the Heidelberg Catechism, one of the benefits of Christ’s resurrection is that “by his power we too are already now resurrected to a new life” (HC 45).

This life is presently hidden with Christ in God, but will one day be manifested in glory when Christ comes again (Col. 3:1-4). “What life is for the hidden side of the eschatological subject, that [glory] is for the outward side in which the higher life comes to revelation” (Vos, The Pauline Eschatology, 314).

So today, as we hold fast to the word of life, we can be sure that not even death can separate us from the love God in Christ Jesus our Lord. “Our death does not pay the debt of our sins. Rather, it puts an end to our sinning and is our entrance into eternal life” (HC 42).

Teaching on the eternal state of the world to come may sound from the outset to be speculative and useless for practical living in the present. How can heavenly contemplation help me raise my children or motivate me at work Monday morning or mend my broken relationship with my brother? Yet, Geerhardus Vos was convinced of the very opposite. In fact, he believed that “it becomes the profoundest and most practical of all thought complexes…” (The Pauline Eschatology, 294). He goes on to give a reason for this statement—which may seem at the moment to be an overstatement, but in reality is actually an understatement—but I think before getting there we need to think over a few things he gleaned from the apostle Paul on the eternal state.

Formal Aspects of the Eternal State: Unending and Imperishable

In the final chapter of The Pauline Eschatology, Vos begins his discussion on the eternal state by discussing its two formal aspects: unendingness and imperishableness (pp. 287-92).

First, Paul characterizes the eternal state, on the one hand, as precluding any time limitation so that it does not consist of a relative duration as is true of the present age. On the other hand, the inhabitants of the coming eternal age are not deified so that they cease to exist in a mode of duration and time ceases to be divided for them into units of past, present, and future. There continues in the supernal sphere the movement of time and duration. We might then speak of the formal aspect of the eternal state as absolute duration. This stands opposed to the relative duration of the present age, which consummates in what Paul terms the “fullness of time” (Gal. 4:4). Vos understands this phrase not to signify “ripeness,” but “the completion of what was ‘time’ and the succession of it by what is different from time through the mission of the Messiah into the world” (289n3). The eternal state will never arrive at a “fullness of time” as it is perpetual and unending duration. Eternity is not pregnant with other eternities.

The second formal aspect pertains to the imperishable nature of the things belonging to the eternal state. “The things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal” (2 Cor. 4:17). While the things of the present age are transitory and corruptible, the things of the eternal state are permanent and incorruptible. Hellenistic thought understood imperishability to be inherent to whatever was invisible. But Paul essentially distinguished himself from this teaching by way of his two-age scheme. For him, imperishability does not pertain to the invisible as such, but to the world to come that is unseen at the present. In Vos’ words, “[H]e has learned to recognize in the things unseen to the present [age] the enduring things of the world to come, a world already in principle present, the contemplation of which can consequently render solace and support in the affliction of the moment” (292). The world to come will not remain unseen forever. Its present invisibility is a matter of the present redemptive-historical situation of God’s people, for today “we pilgrimage through a land of faith, not of sight” (2 Cor. 5:7). So while today the things of the world to come are both invisible and imperishable, when in Christ we enter the eternal state the same things of the world to come will cease to be invisible, but will continue to be imperishable. Paul does not see imperishability and invisibility as requiring each other as was true in Hellenestic thought; the one can cease (invisibility), while the other remains (imperishability).

Substantial Content of the Eternal State: God Himself

We would be deeply mistaken if we thought that it was merely these formal aspects of the eternal state that excited Paul. If this was the case, Paul’s eschatology would be useless, abstract speculation and provide no vital power for the present life. But what stirred Paul’s eschatological longings at their very core and what gave meaning and value to the unendingness and imperishability of the eternal state was nothing less than its central object and substantial content: the Eternal One, God himself (pp. 292-94). The formal aspects of the eternal state were not ultimate in Paul’s thinking; God was. Unendingness and imperishability serve to express the absoluteness of the acme of religion, communion with him.

The present redemptive-historical state does not furnish the believer with a sense of fullness or satisfaction, but with intense longing for God. Our souls long, yes, faint for the courts of the Lord (Ps. 84:2). Because God is eternal

there can be no thorough, no adequate reception of Him into our finite consciousness, unless there by some assurance of the unceasingness of our communion with Him. He is not a God of the dead but of the living. All temporal, partial experience of God inevitably leaves a sense of dissatisfaction behind (293).

The Spirit of Christ bearing witness in our hearts moves us to say, Amen.

But God has been and will forever remain the Eternal One, while we remain finite creatures of temporal duration. We long for the One, and only one, who is eternal, while ourselves existing as the very opposite. How can this problem be met? According to Vos, it is met by

God’s imparting a reflection of his unique eternal existence to our life as creatures, through admitting us into the realm of the aionion [eternal]. In this He not merely confers a boon [something beneficial] upon man, but at the same time provides a true satisfaction for Himself. Although in the abstract being self-sufficient as God, He has freely chosen to carry his concern with us to the extreme of eternal mutually appurtenance of which the creature is capable (293).

Although Vos does not use the term here, he has in mind the covenant relationship that God has freely and voluntarily entered into with his people (see WCF 7.1). At the heart of this covenant is the promise of shared life: I will be your God and you will be my people. So not only are we supremely satisfied in having God as our God, but (and this is an amazing thought!) God is truly satisfied in having us as his people. This mutual satisfaction is realized in a heightened, eschatological sense in the eternal state.

Paul affirms both of these ideas. On the one hand, God is the only immortal Being (1 Tim. 6:16) and, on the other hand, “He has appointed as the eschatological goal of religious fellowship with Himself, among other things, the prize of an incorruption [Rom 2:7], such as is equivalent to eternal life” (293).

Vos, however, does not blur the Creator-creature distinction here as if just as God is eternal, so we become eternal in the exact same way. Note in the above quote that it is an “eternal mutually appurtenance of which the creature is capable.” He goes on to utilize the common theological distinction of an archetype and ectype. He affirms that this attribute of eternality exists in God alone in its archetypical form, but exists in the creature “in an ectypical form.”

For both God and for man more than mere endless existence is meant. It also includes a content commensurable with its eternity. Again, the formal aspects of eternity, unendingness and imperishableness, are not abstractly considered as empty concepts, but serve the concrete objects indwelling eternity. For this reason Paul does not use the empty term “immortality,” but “chooses as a larger, deeper receptacle the term ‘life’” (293). (While Paul says mortality puts on immortality in 1 Cor. 15:53-54, Vos notes “the very form in which this is expressed is such that it could never have been applied to God, who is the Only One who has immortality [1 Tim. 6:16].”)

“Life” is a concrete term that encapsulates the dynamic relationship between the formal aspects (unendingness and imperishableness) and substantial content (God himself) of the eternal state.

The Practicality of the Eternal State

We began with Vos’ statement that teaching on the eternal state is “the profoundest and most practical of all thought complexes.” We can now appreciate the whole sentence:

We find that the [eternity-concept], thus understood, belongs to the acme of religion, serving to express its absoluteness. Eschatology ceases for those who have learned, and in principle experienced this, to be an abstract speculation: it becomes the profoundest and most practical of all thought-complexes because they, like Paul, live and move and have their redemptively-religious treasures in God (294).

For more check out this article on the book of Hebrew’s teaching on the vital connection the believer already has today with the world to come.

The relationship between the kingdom of God and the church, in the words of Geerhardus Vos, is a “delicate and eminently practical question.”[i] In fact, different ecclesiologies have even arisen because of the various ways the church has construed this relationship.[ii] It has implications for the church’s identity and mission (to say the least), which makes it a question well worth wrestling with. Two prominent theologians who have done just this are Herman Ridderbos (1909-2007) and Geerhardus Vos (1862-1949).

Ridderbos and Vos wrote in a theological climate in which liberalism and exclusive (or over-realized) eschatology looked to reduce on opposite ends of the spectrum the wholesome picture the Scriptures provide regarding the relationship between the kingdom and the church in their present and future dimensions.[iii] Vos writes in his article, “The Kingdom of God,”

“Did [Jesus] mean by the kingdom a new state of things suddenly to be realized in external forms … or did He mean by it … a spiritual creation gradually realizing itself in invisible ways? For convenience sake these two conceptions may be distinguished as the eschatological and the spiritual-organic conception. … In modern writings both have in turn been pushed to an extreme in which they become exclusive of the other. The tendency at present … is to make [Jesus’] conception of the kingdom largely eschatological. On the other hand … the opposite tendency appears, viz., to eliminate as much as possible the eschatological elements and ascribe to Him the idea of a kingdom entirely spiritual and internal” (Shorter Writings, 307).

Likewise, Ridderbos observes,

“The liberal theology asserted that, as a visible gathering of believers with a certain amount of organization, the church lay entirely outside the field of Jesus’ vision. Jesus was only supposed to be the prophet of the “inner” religion. … According to [the eschatological] interpretation, it is quite out of the question that Jesus took account of an earthly development in which there would be room for the life of a church and for its organization” (The Coming of the Kingdom, 335-36).

While liberalism sought to remove all future aspects to form an exclusively internal heart religion making the organized church unnecessary, exclusive eschatology sought to relegate the kingdom only to the future without any present intrusion of it so that the church and kingdom are unrelated. In either case, the church lost its identity and mission. In liberalism, the church simply became a sociological phenomenon. In the exclusive eschatology camp, the church became the consequence of the failure of the kingdom to come.[iv] Jesus preached the kingdom, but what came instead was the church.[v]

Ridderbos and Vos sought to set forth mediating positions that properly took into account the present and future dimensions of the kingdom and church by setting them within an already-not yet paradigm. In a previous article we considered Ridderbos’ formulation, so now we turn to the slightly different approach of Vos, primarily found in his excellent book The Teaching of Jesus Concerning the Kingdom of God and the Church.

The Kingdom and the Church Defined

Vos writes, “The church is a form which the kingdom assumes in result of the new stage upon which the messiahship of Jesus enters with his death and resurrection.” Also, he states, “The church is that new congregation taking the place of the old congregation of Israel, which is formed by Jesus as the Messiah and stands under his Messianic rule.”[vi] This congregation could not begin until Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection were accomplished and he was subsequently exalted to the Father’s right hand as the Messiah (cf. Acts 2:36).

Vos, unlike Ridderbos, does not see the element of community as foreign to the definition of the kingdom. He writes, “The kingdom is indeed a community in which men are knit together by the closest of bonds, and especially in connection with our Lord’s teaching on the church this is brought out.”[vii] He clarifies though that the kingdom is not limited to this; in fact, he recognizes that this aspect of the kingdom receives little emphasis in Jesus’ teaching (cf. Matt. 13:24-30, 47-50). He goes as far to say that this aspect “is not ultimate because not the union of men as such, but that in God which produces and underlies it, is the true kingdom-forming principle.”[viii]

The kingdom exists not merely where “God is supreme, for that is true at all times and under all circumstances, but where God supernaturally carries through his supremacy against all opposing powers and brings man to the willing recognition of the same. It is a state of things in which everything converges and tends towards God as the highest good.” Within this sphere of the kingdom is divine power, divine righteousness, and divinely bestowed blessedness. The kingdom reveals itself as power “in the acts by which [it] is established,” as righteousness “in the moral order under which it exists,” and as blessedness “in the spiritual blessings, privileges and delights that are enjoyed in it.”[ix]

The Church and the Keys of the Kingdom in Matthew 16:18-19 and 18:17

Matthew 16:18, according to Vos, deals with the church “for the express purpose of introducing it as something new, of describing its character and defining its relation to the kingdom.” The occasion for this new revelation was Peter’s confession of Jesus being the Christ, which stood in stark contrast to the multitude who abandoned him. “It is this rock-character … that is praised by Jesus, that, when others wavered, he had remained true to his conviction.”[x]

The giving of the keys of the kingdom to Peter, “as the foundation of the church, and therefore to the church,” does not mean that he (or the church) “had been given the power in some way or other to open and shut the gates of the heavenly kingdom.” This interpretation would make the church the gatekeeper of the kingdom. “The binding and loosing do not refer to heaven itself, as if heaven were shut or opened, but refer to certain things lying within the sphere of heaven, and not of heaven alone but of earth likewise.” Vos argues that the keys are not to the outer door, but to the entire house. The church is not here referred to as a gatekeeper, but “the house-steward, and therefore symbolize the administration of the affairs of the house in general.”[xi]

From this relationship, Vos sees the kingdom of heaven “existing, in part at least, on earth.” The keys are of the kingdom of heaven, but they bind and loose on earth. So what Peter “does in the administration of the kingdom here below will be recognized in heaven.”[xii] Vos sees the two statements of Jesus (“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church” [Matt. 16:18] and “I will give you [Peter] the keys of the kingdom of heaven” [Matt. 16:19]) as having the same referent or figure, namely, that of the house. He writes,

First the house is represented as in process of building, Peter as the foundation, then the same house appears completed and Peter as invested with the keys for administering its affairs. It is plainly excluded that the house should mean one thing in the first statement and another in the second. It must be possible, this much we may confidently affirm, to call the church the kingdom.[xiii]

This provides the exegetical ground from which he formulates the relationship between the kingdom and the church as being identical.

The Kingdom and the Church are Identical

Vos argues that Jesus’ view of the kingdom as an organism of men, a church, is found subtly in his earlier teaching. He maintains that “sayings like Matt. 20:25; Mark 9:35; Luke 20:25, at least suggest the idea of the kingdom as a society.” Jesus’ gathering of the disciples, according to Vos, is what the kingdom of God was always intended to be, namely, an aggregate of men. This is supported by the parables of the wheat and the chaff (Matt. 13:24-30, 36-43) and the fishnet (Matt. 13:47-50). “This ‘kingdom of the Son of man’ agrees with the ‘church of Jesus,’ in that both phrases make the kingdom a body of men placed under the Messiah as their ruler.” If such was always the intention of the kingdom, then the church, being external and visible, is clearly an advancement of it since it only previously had been internal and invisible. For this reason, Vos argues that the advance “must be sought in something else than the mere fact of its being a body of disciples.”

He puts forth two points concerning this. First, the Old Testament church that rejected the Messiah must be replaced and “therefore receive some form of external organization.”[xiv] Vos continues,

This [viz., external organization] the kingdom had not hitherto possessed. It had been internal and invisible not merely in its essence, but to this essence there had been lacking the outward embodiment. Jesus now in speaking of the house and the keys of the house, of binding and loosing on earth, and of church discipline, makes provision for this.[xv]

Second, Vos contends, “Our Lord gives to understand that the new stage upon which his Messiahship is now about to enter, will bring to the kingdom a new influx of supernatural power and this makes out of it, not only externally but also internally, that new thing which he calls his church.” Vos looks for support of this claim in Jesus’ words regarding the gates of Hades. He posits that the phrase should be translated: “the gates of Hades shall not surpass it.” He understands the gates of Hades as “a figure for the highest conceivable strength, because no one can break through them.”[xvi] So Jesus is saying that the church’s power will excel even that of the highest conceivable strength. For Vos the church’s strength is owing to its being built upon a rock. This new influx of power is also spoken of the kingdom (cf. Matt. 16:28; 26:64; Mark 9:1; 14:62; Luke 9:27; 22:69), hence the church and kingdom are identical.

The Son of Man Coming in His Kingdom (Matt. 16:27-28)

In fact, Jesus’ words to his disciples are emphatic about this: “The Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done. Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom” (Matt. 16:27-28). The imagery of angels and the glory of the Father denotes power. But in what sense will the kingdom be seen by Jesus’ disciples prior to their death? Vos believes “we can interpret these sayings of the coming of the kingdom in the church.” Jesus’ statement is so emphatic because the power of the Holy Spirit that was at work in the early church anticipates “in some respects the phenomena that will be observed at the end of the world. … The church actually has within herself the powers of the world to come. She is more than the immanent kingdom as it existed before Jesus’ exaltation. She forms an intermediate link between the present life and the life of eternity.”[xvii]

Conclusion

The above analysis leads to this conclusion: “The church is a form which the kingdom assumes in result of the new stage upon which the Messiahship of Jesus enters with his death and resurrection.” Vos takes it further saying, “Jesus plainly leads us to identify the invisible church and the kingdom.” He appeals to John 3:3-5, which explicitly teaches that to be born again is a requirement for anyone who would see or enter into the kingdom. “The kingdom, therefore, as truly as the invisible church is constituted by the regenerate; the regenerate alone experience in themselves its power, cultivate its righteousness, enjoy its blessings.”[xviii]

If the invisible church is equated with the kingdom, then what is the relationship between the visible church and the kingdom? Vos answers, “Our Lord looked upon the visible church as a veritable embodiment of his kingdom. Precisely because the invisible church realizes the kingship of God, the visible church must likewise partake of this character.” The keys of the kingdom bring some sort of visible manifestation to the kingdom. And Jesus by conferring this power acts in the capacity of King over the visible church. Vos further draws the identity of the visible church and the kingdom when he says, “In Matt. 13:41 the kingdom of the Son of Man … is nothing else but the visible church. The visible church is constituted by the enthronement of Christ as the King of glory.” The invisible forces of the kingdom that exist in the invisible sphere “find expression in the kingdom-organism of the visible church.”[xix] In the end, Vos identifies the kingdom with church since for him the church is the externally organized kingdom.

[i] Vos, Geerhardus, The Teaching of Jesus Concerning the Kingdom and the Church. PTR 2:335-336.

[ii] Cf. Morgan, Christopher W., and Robert A. Peterson, The Kingdom of God (Wheaton, Ill: Crossway, 2012), 179.

[iii] For a brief discussion of these two positions Vos and Ridderbos are responding to see Millard Erickson, A Basic Guide to Eschatology, pp. 21-22.

[iv] Ridderbos adds, “The church is then supposed to owe its origin to the fact that those who had been waiting for the coming of the kingdom in vain had no other alternative in the continuation of history than, as Jesus’ disciples, to form an organization” (Ridderbos, The Coming of the Kingdom, 337).

[v] The implications of these two systems of thought are massive since the church in both cases becomes a mere human invention and severed from its relationship to the kingdom.

[vi] Vos, Geerhardus, The Teaching of Jesus Concerning the Kingdom of God and the Church, 79, 85-86.

[vii] The full quote: “We must reject as inadequate the favorite modern explanation that in the figure of the kingdom the point of comparison lies primarily in the mutual association of men so as to form a moral or religious organism. The kingdom is indeed a community in which men are knit together by the closest of bonds, and especially in connection with our Lord’s teaching on the church this is brought out. Taking, however, the kingdom-teaching as a whole this point is but little emphasized, Matt. 13:24-30, 47-50. Besides, this conception is not nearly wide enough to cover all the things predicated of the kingdom in the Gospel, according to which it appears to consist as much in gifts and powers from above as in inter-human relations and activities. Its resemblance to a community offers at least only a partial explanation of its kingdom-character, and so far as this explanation is correct it is not ultimate because not the union of men as such, but that in God which produces and underlies it, is the true kingdom-forming principle” (Vos, The Teaching of Jesus, 49). However, Vos defines the kingdom differently with respect to this community aspect in his review of Das Reich Gottes nach den synoptischen as “a gift of God (not a task, a goal, an ideal or a community); the attitude of man with reference to it is purely receptive, not productive; the kingdom is wrought by God; human activity comes into consideration only in so far as it conditions the reception or loss of the kingdom … the world receives the kingdom in so far as the latter steps forward out of its hidden state and by drawing the world into its sphere becomes manifest; God brings the kingdom, though in Christ, and Christ through the power of God, these two being synonymous” (Vos, Geerhardus, and James T. Dennison, The Letters of Geerhardus Vos, 54). It should be noted that this definition was written in 1900, while the Teaching of Jesus Concerning the Kingdom and the Church was published in 1903.

[viii] Vos, The Teaching of Jesus, 49

[ix] Ibid., 50, 52

[x] Ibid., 78

[xi] Ibid., 80-81

[xii] Ibid., 81

[xiii] Ibid.

[xiv] Ibid., 82-83

[xv] Ibid., 83

[xvi] Ibid.

[xvii] Ibid., 84

[xviii] Ibid., 85-86

[xix] Ibid., 87. Vos is sure to clarify the above conclusion noting that the church is not the only expression of the invisible kingdom. He writes, “Undoubtedly the kingship of God… is intended to pervade and control the whole of human life in all its forms of existence.” The kingdom, then, manifests itself in the various spheres of life (e.g., science; art; family; state; commerce; industry; etc.) when it comes under “the controlling influence of the principle of the divine supremacy and glory.” Jesus looked upon every province of human life as being intended to “form part of God’s kingdom,” though he did not see subjection to the visible church as the way it would be accomplished. For the kingdom to penetrate any sphere of life and manifest itself there, including in the church, the principle of regeneration must be there from which it supernaturally empowers it. “While it is proper to separate between the visible church and such things as the Christian state, Christian art, Christian science, etc., these things, if they truly belong to the kingdom of God, grow up out of the regenerated life of the invisible church” (Vos, The Teaching of Jesus, 87-89).

While ministering at the church in Corinth, Paul resolved to know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified (1 Cor. 2:2). The tactic sounds admirable and rings as worthy of imitation in the ear of the believer, but what exactly did it entail? What does knowledge of Jesus Christ and him crucified encompass? I want us to explore this in the context of 1 Corinthians 1:18-2:16, drawing primarily upon the insights of Herman Ridderbos in Paul: An Outline of His Theology and Richard B. Gaffin, Jr. in “Epistemological Reflections on 1 Corinthians 2:6-16.” This will be the first in a series of articles that will look to explain and apply Paul’s teaching on knowing Jesus Christ within his two-age eschatology.

Two-Age Eschatology, Huh? 

By “two-age eschatology” I simply have in mind Paul’s philosophy of history by which he divides all of history (past, present and future) into two comprehensive ages: (1) the present age and (2) the age to come. This two-age scheme is explicit in Ephesians 1:21 where Paul says Christ has been raised and seated “far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come.” 

Paul is clear throughout his letters that Jesus Christ has inaugurated and already entered into the age to come upon his resurrection from the dead (Rom. 1:3-4). This has a profound impact on believers who are united to Jesus Christ by faith, for it means that “in Christ” we too have already entered the age to come, at least in part (Eph. 2:6; Col. 3:1). It’s for this reason Paul can say that if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17). This is further confirmed by the fact that Christ has poured out the Holy Spirit upon the church. The Spirit properly belongs to the age to come; he is the future breaking into, or better yet, invading, the present age. Vos writes, “The Spirit’s proper sphere is the future aeon; from thence he projects himself into the present, and becomes a prophecy of himself in his eschatological operations” (Pauline Eschatology, 165). This is also brought out when the Spirit is set in opposition to the powers of the present age, such as “the spirit of the world” (1 Cor. 2:12) or “the flesh” (Gal. 5:16ff).

With that said, when we speak about “eschatology” (which literally means, “last things”) we are referring to everything that properly belongs to the future age to come. In other words, if something is “eschatological,” it exists in the age to come. Hence we can speak about the eschatological Spirit, for example. And because the age to come has been inaugurated and we have already entered into it by means of our union with the resurrected Christ, we can also speak of an “inaugurated eschatology.” Much more can be said (and probably should be said) about these things, but hopefully this provides us with some clarity to move forward in our discussion of the knowledge of the eschatological Christ. (For more on this see Geerhardus Vos, The Pauline Eschatology.)

So the question before us in this first article is this: what does knowledge of Jesus Christ and him crucified encompass?

Is Paul Being Reductionistic?

You may have heard these words echoed at a Bible study as a sort of (probably well-meant) excuse to avoid considering difficult passages in Scripture or topics in theology. Someone might say, “It’s not worth wrestling over these obscure issues. We’re overcomplicating things. What really matters is simply knowing Jesus Christ and him crucified.” In this sense, to know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified is to find the lowest common denominator, the minimum that can be understood and agreed upon. According to this application, Paul would’ve reduced the content of his knowledge by knowing nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified.

However, when we consider the context in which Paul writes and his two-age eschatology, which is made explicit in the passage (he mentions the “wisdom of this age” and “rulers of this age” in 2:6), we see that far from being reductionistic, Paul actually has in mind what is all-encompassing and cosmic in scope. We can get at this in two broad steps by first considering the knowledge of Christ within Paul’s two-age eschatology and then bringing the cosmic work of Christ to bear on it.

Knowing Nothing Except Eschatology

Paul says that the wisdom that he imparts is “not a wisdom of this age” (2:6). This implies that the wisdom belongs to another age, that is, the age to come; it is eschatological wisdom (see Gaffin, 21-22). We see further proof that this wisdom is eschatological in that it is imparted by Paul to τοῖς τελείοις, which is unfortunately translated by the ESV and NIV as “the mature.” It instead refers to those who have been “perfected,” not in a moral or ethical sense, but as having come to “participate in the fullness of Christ” (Ridderbos, 271). In other words, it refers to those who have an eschatological existence in Christ, namely, the church (2 Cor. 5:17). It is only to them that this eschatological wisdom is imparted.

What is the content of this eschatological wisdom? Earlier in 1:30 Paul said that Christ Jesus “became to us wisdom from God…” So when Paul goes on to write that he decided to know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified, he is speaking of the eschatological wisdom that belongs to the age to come. Jesus Christ and him crucified is the hidden wisdom of God that has now been revealed.

What becomes evident is that there is a wisdom that belongs to the age to come (received by the Spirit who is from God) and there is a wisdom that belongs to the present age (received from the spirit of the world), and these are in stark opposition to one another. Those who possess the wisdom of the present age, whether Jew or Gentile, find the wisdom of the age to come to be either a stumbling block or folly. (This antithesis of two sets of wisdom/knowledge will be developed in a subsequent article especially as it relates to apologetics, evangelism and the point of contact between the believer and unbeliever.)

In summary, when Paul says that he decided to know nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified, what he means is that he rejected in toto the wisdom of this age and expounded only eschatological wisdom. That he rejected the wisdom of this age is evident when he writes, “I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom” (2:3-4). That he expounded the wisdom of the age to come only is clear by his “demonstration of the Spirit and of power” (2:4)—both of which are eschatological (see Gaffin, Resurrection and Redemption, 68-70). Paul resolved to know nothing except eschatology, that is, the all-encompassing knowledge that belongs to the age to come that has dawned in Christ. This eschatological knowledge is made available to us by the Spirit, who comprehends the thoughts of God, and by our having “the mind of Christ” (2:16).

The Cosmic Nature of “Christ-Eschatology”

Herman Ridderbos speaks of Paul’s eschatology as “Christ-eschatology.” This is helpful for at least two reasons. First, it keeps us from thinking of Paul’s eschatology in isolation from his Christology. Knowledge of Christ is not just a subset or category that makes up part of the eschatological wisdom; no, Christ is the eschatological wisdom of God.

Second, it helps us get at the all-encompassing and cosmic nature of the knowledge of “Jesus Christ and him crucified.” When Paul speaks of Christ “crucified,” we should recognize with Calvin that this is a synecdoche, that is, a part for the whole (see Institutes 2.16.13). It doesn’t exclude his resurrection, but actually entails it, along with the whole redemption complex that constitutes the gospel.

The center of [Paul’s] gospel (“of first importance”) is Christ’s death and resurrection in their significance as the fulfillment of Scripture (1 Cor. 15:3-4), entailing ultimately the soteriological-eschatological renewal of nothing less than the entire creation (Rom. 8:19-22; 2 Cor. 5:17). (Gaffin, 20n11)

Because God has created everything, nothing exists randomly, aimlessly or independently of his plan and goal for it. This means that if we are to know something truly and rightly, then we must see the impress of God’s plan upon it.[1] And what is God’s plan? Paul writes in Colossians 1:16 that it was by Christ “all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him“ (see also Rom. 11:26; 1 Cor. 8:6; Heb. 2:10). Everything exists for Christ. Sin has sought to defy this, but through Christ, God has reconciled “to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross” (Col. 1:19). This reconciliation is nothing less than a new creation (2 Cor. 5:16-19). Here is where we begin to feel the full force of the eschatological impact of knowing nothing except Jesus Christ and him crucified. The death and resurrection of Christ have an all-embracing, cosmic significance that is at the basis of all true knowledge.

Ridderbos puts it this way:

God in Christ has brought to fulfillment and will yet bring to fulfillment his man- and world- and history-encompassing redemptive work in a conclusive way. This all-embracing character of Paul’s eschatology and Christology come to the fore, as we shall see still further, in the epistles to the Ephesians and Colossians. But it forms the great presupposition of all of Paul’s preaching. For the Christ in whose death and resurrection the new aeon [or age] dawns is the Messiah of Israel (Rom. 1:2-4; 9:5), in whom God gathers and saves his people (2 Cor. 6:16ff.), and whom he has exalted and appointed Savior and Kyrios of all things (Phil. 2). … Paul proclaims Christ as the fulfillment of the promise of God to Abraham, as the seed in which all the families of the earth shall be blessed (Gal. 3:8, 16, 29), the eschatological bringer of salvation whose all-embracing significance must be understood in the light of prophecy (Rom. 15:9-12), the fulfillment of God’s redemptive counsel concerning the whole world and its future. (Ridderbos, 49-51)

Conclusion: Rightly Understanding Everything

So what does knowledge of Jesus Christ and him crucified encompass? Everything! There is not an inch of creation that the gospel of Jesus Christ does not have an eschatological impact on; it is as all-encompassing as the new creation and cosmic in its scope. To know Jesus Christ, then, is to know something fundamental about everything. “The saving revelation of God in Christ, taught by the Holy Spirit, is the indispensable key to rightly understanding God himself and, with that understanding, literally everything (panta) in his creation. Right knowledge is saving knowledge. Anything else, every other knowledge, no matter how operationally effective or functionally productive, is essentially misunderstanding” (Gaffin, 30). So then,

Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is folly with God. For it is written, “He catches the wise in their craftiness,” and again, “The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile.” So let no one boast in men. For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future—all are yours, and you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s. (1 Cor. 3:18-23)

[1] Cornelius Van Til writes, “For the Christian system, knowledge consists in understanding the relation of any fact to God as revealed in Scripture. I know a fact truly to the extent that I understand the exact relation such a fact sustains to the plan of God. It is the plan of God that gives any fact meaning in terms of the plan of God. The whole meaning of any fact is exhausted by its position in and relation to the plan of God. This implies that every fact is related to every other fact. God’s plan is a unit. And it is this unity of the plan of God, founded as it is in the very being of God, that gives the unity that we look for between all the finite facts” (A Survey of Christian Epistemology, 6).

Geerhardus Vos speaks of the Christian as “a peculiar chronological phenomenon.”[1] As is often the case with Vos, we need to reflect for a moment on what he means—especially since he’s speaking about us here. The phrase comes in his discussion on the two covenants and two worlds or ages that are spoken of in the letter to the Hebrews. We have the old covenant, which pertains to this present world or age, and the new covenant, which is co-extensive with the new world or age. That each covenant has a corresponding world should raise an important question in ours minds: If I’m a member of the new covenant by Christ’s blood, then which world do I presently live in?

While this might sound like an odd question, the author of the letter provides us with a rather remarkable answer that, if understood and lived out by faith, leads to astronomically practical implications. But first the answer, then the implications.

In Contact with the World to Come

For one, he says Christians are those who “have tasted [aorist tense] … the powers of the age to come” (6:5). He speaks of the “good things to come” (9:11; 10:1) and “the world to come” (2:5), which, while future, are made present realities by the death of Christ. So also we read that believers “have come [perfect tense] to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem” (12:22). Again, this is a present reality. Think also about the well-known opening to the letter (1:1-4) in which there is a redemptive-historical transition into “these last days” because of God’s Son. In terms of both time and place, then, “believers are situated where the eschatological world [that is, the world to come] has its center.” In short, we are “eschatological creatures” (50).[2]

So what can we conclude regarding the present position of the believer according to Hebrews? That we are “in actual contact with the world to come and its blessings.” That is, we “are really in vital connection with the heavenly world” (50). To illustrate: in the same way a headland projects out into the ocean, says Vos, so the heavenly world projects into our lives.

Real, Not Metaphorical, Contact

Take careful note of the words “actual” and “vital.” The author of Hebrews doesn’t speak of a hypothetical or metaphorical connection with the world to come, but one that is real and vital. This distinction is important. It’s here where I’ll sometimes hear well-meaning preachers and teachers fumble the ball. Likely with every good intention, they will encourage people to live as if they belong to the world to come, or as if they are citizens of heaven, or as if they have come to Mount Zion, or as if they have been raised with Christ to new life, etc.

But what does “as if” imply? That it’s not real. But if it’s not real, if there’s no vital, living connection to these things, then what power is available to you to live this way? There isn’t any. There’s nothing to support, sustain, nurture, and grow such a life, except what you already have access to in this present world, which Hebrews makes clear is ineffectual for such a task (9:8-14).

We need to say instead that because we are in real and vital contact with the world to come, the powers of the age to come are really and truly at our disposal so that we can run with endurance the race that is set before us (12:1). For it’s there that our faithful high priest, Jesus Christ, who has passed through the heavens (4:14), forever lives to intercede on our behalf (7:25) and is drawing us after himself (2:10; 12:2) by the new and living way he opened for us (10:20). It’s there we have come to share (6:4) in the very same eternal Spirit by whom Christ offered himself without blemish to God (9:14), namely, the Holy Spirit who bears witness to us (10:15). If we do not have real access to Christ and his Spirit, then every attempt to run our race will be in vain—we’ll get no further than a person tiring himself out on a treadmill.

In fact, all of the exhortations that riddle the letter to the Hebrews can only be obeyed and lived out, if we are in vital connection with the powers of the age to come. In real contact with the world to come,

• we can strive to enter that rest fully and not fall by disobedience like the generation that perished in the wilderness (4:11)
• we can hold fast our confession firmly to the end no matter the opposition arrayed against us (4:14; 10:23)
• we can come boldly and confidently to the throne of grace to find mercy and grace in time of need (4:16)
• we can be imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises (6:12)
• we can draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith (10:22)
• we can stir one another up to good works and love, not neglecting to meet together and encourage one another as we see the Day draw near (10:24-25)
• we can endure hard struggles with joy and acts of compassion, knowing that we have a better possession and an abiding one (10:32-34)
• we can lay aside every weight and sin which clings so closely and run with endurance the race that is set before us (12:1)
• we can embrace discipline for it is God treating us as sons and daughters and it will later yield the peaceful fruit of righteousness (12:7-11)
• we can strive for peace with everyone, and for holiness without which no one will see the Lord (12:14)
• we can be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken and so offer to God acceptable worship with reverence and awe (12:28)

This is only a sampling of the implications that Hebrews draws out for the church on the basis of our real and vital contact with the world to come.

Come, Lord Jesus

When it dawns upon our minds with Spirit-wrought conviction that God’s promises of the world to come have already been realized in part for us, then we should also have an accompanying sense of the nearness of their consummation. Vos was aware of this, and we’ll conclude with his words:

We of the present day, having lost the realism, have also lost the sense of the soonness of its culmination. To be indifferent in regard to the time of its culmination is to commit a chronological sin. The normal Christian state of mind is to pray: “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly” (53).

[1] Geerhardus Vos, The Teaching of the Epistle to the Hebrews (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1956), 51. The rest of the quotes in this post are from this book.

[2] This thought is pervasive (even central according to Vos’ Pauline Eschatology) in Paul’s theology. For example, “Our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ” (Phil. 3:20). We are presently and really citizens of heaven. God “raised us up with [Christ] and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (Eph. 2:6). We are presently and really seated with Christ in the heavenly places. Christ “gave himself for our sins to deliver us from the present evil age” (Gal. 1:4). On this basis, Paul can exhort the church, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Rom. 12:2). In Vos’ words, “Christians should be fashioned according to the world to come” (51).

Episode 38 deals with Jesus’ teachings to his disciples in Matthew 24 and Mark 13 commonly called the Olivet Discourse.

Your hosts, Rob and Bob, following up on their series considering Dispensationalism and jump right into a familiar, but often times misunderstood portion of God’s word.

Why is this passage so important to Dispensationalists? Why is their approach to it inadequate? What is Jesus talking about? Why is the Temple so central to Jesus teaching here? And why would the disciples be concerned about the Temple? Why would the destruction of the Temple be so devastating to the disciples? When would these things take place and how does this affect Christians today? How do Reformed folk understand this passage as a whole?

We will discuss these and other questions today on Theology Simply Profound.

Theology Simply Profound is a podcast of Westminster Presbyterian Church, an Orthodox Presbyterian Church, serving the western suburbs of Chicago, where God powerfully speaks through his means of grace.

Music credit: pamelayork.com. Thank you, Pamela York, for the use of your beautiful jazzy rendition of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” We encourage our listeners to check out her website and consider purchasing some of her music.

Participants: Rob McKenzie, Robert Tarullo

“Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it God rested from all his work that he had done in creation” (Gen. 2:1-3).

In the first six days of creation the Sovereign Lord combatted the primordial chaos and darkness over the earth (Gen. 1:2) by means of divine fiats: “Let there be…” In these six days God worked toward an appointed goal: rest. “On the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done” (2:2). On the seventh day the creation account reaches its climax; it was to this end that God was working toward all along. This then sets the eschatological goal toward which all of creation was to arrive at under Adam’s representative rule as he carried out his dominion mandate (1:28). In other words, the consummation of creation will coincide with the entirety of creation under Adam’s headship entering into God’s rest.

In a previous article I argued that “the garden of Eden was not just some Mesopotamian farmland, but an archetypal sanctuary or a temple-garden.” To develop this further, we recognize that there is an inextricable relationship established in Genesis 1-2 between the temple and rest.[1] G. K. Beale fleshes this out,

Resting is best understood as the enjoyment of a position of sovereign rule in a cosmic temple, after the quelling of chaotic forces. … God has “blessed the seventh day and set it apart” so that his people would commemorate his assumption of kingship and beginning rule over the cosmic temple, which he had created.[2]

Rest will also come to be tethered to other Old Testament realities: the promised land of Canaan, the Davidic dynasty, and the city of Jerusalem.

Adam Called to Imitate God’s Seven-Day Pattern

Adam’s commission in Genesis 1:28 as the image of God clearly involved reflecting God’s activity narrated in Genesis 1 in at least two ways. First, just as God subdued and ruled over the chaos at the inception of creation, so Adam was to subdue and rule over the earth. Second, just as God created and filled the earth, so Adam was to “be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.”[3] Meredith Kline writes,

The imitation-of-God principle was to find embodiment in the overall pattern of the history of man’s kingdom labor in that this history was stamped with and composed of seven-day cycles in which Adam was to imitate the pattern of God’s activities during the creation week.[4]

Geerhardus Vos draws out a complementary insight,

Man is reminded in this way that life is not an aimless existence, that a goal lies beyond. This was true before, and apart from, redemption. The eschatological is an older strand in revelation than the soteric.[5]

This implies that Adam’s work was to culminate in the same activity that God’s activity culminated in, namely, rest. “The principle underlying the Sabbath,” writes Vos, “consists in this, that man must copy God in his course of life. The divine creative work completed itself in six days, whereupon the seventh followed as a day of rest for God.”[6]

Just as God did not enter into perpetual boredom or idleness on the seventh day, the Sabbath

stands for consummation of a work accomplished and the joy and satisfaction attendant upon this. Such was its prototype in God. Mankind must copy this, and that not only in the sequence of daily existence as regards individuals; but in its collective capacity through a large historic movement. For mankind, too, a great task awaits to be accomplished, and at its close beckons a rest of joy and satisfaction that shall copy the rest of God.[7]

It could even be stated more impressively in light of Hebrews 3-4 that not only does man enjoy a copy or shadow of God’s rest, but he comes to enjoy God’s very own rest in Christ.

The rest of God, the consummation of redemption mentioned in Ps 95:11, of which the eventual possession of Canaan was only a shadow or type, and which the New Covenant people of God are presently seeking to enter—this rest is none other than the rest of God at creation. Eschatological redemption-rest is not merely an analogue of God’s creation-rest. … Rather, the writer knows of only one rest, “my rest,” entered by God at creation and by believers at the consummation. [8]

The observance of every seventh day was to recall God’s seventh day of resting, and this observance of every seventh day apparently was to remind humanity of a final, eternal Sabbath rest without morning or evening that would no longer need to be repeated. “That is, the ultimate goal of humanity was to enter into the kind of consummative rest into which God himself had entered (Gen. 2:2).”[9]

God Blessed the Seventh Day

In light of the above discussion, the insights of Gerard Van Groningen in his 3-volume work From Creation to Consummation on Genesis 2:3 are on point. He considers the two actions of God in blessing the seventh day and making it holy. So, first, what is the consequence of God blessing the seventh day?

By blessing the day [God] declared the day was not to be a mere token of work ceased and a time to be idle. Rather, God declared the day to be a time of expectation, of fruitfulness and assurance. The day was to give a grand perspective for the future. The day was to be a time of receiving benefits for life, physically, morally, spiritually, week by week. The day was to give assurance that it was a harbinger for the never-ending day of completion, the day of consummation for the cosmos. Thus, in the term “blessed,” as applied to the seventh day, we are given the great eschatological perspective and the assurance that the eschaton will be realized even as God’s seventh day was a reality after six days of creative activity. There should therefore be no doubt in anyone’s mind and heart that God’s creating work did not have the seventh day as a goal only for himself, nor that the seventh day is to be specifically for people to keep, as indeed they should. But, most important, there should be no doubt about God including the consummation in his overall plan when he planned and actually did his creating work. The eschaton (end) was included in the beginning. Eschatology commenced with creation.[10]

And Made it Holy

Second, what does it mean for the seventh day that God made it holy?

The seventh day as a holy day is a special day. It is not to be considered as any of the other six days of activities devoted to serving and honoring God. The seventh day is special particularly because it is the blessed day. People are commanded to keep this day special (Exod. 20:9-10) so that they can continuously concentrate on the wonderful goal God has determined for his people and the cosmos as a whole. The day is for regaining, if it was dimmed while working, and strengthening the hope for the eschaton.[11]

[1] Note the creation of the tabernacle also culminates in rest (Exod. 31:12-17).

[2] G. K. Beale, New Testament Biblical Theology, 796-97.

[3] Ibid., 776.

[4] Meredith Kline, Kingdom Prologue, 78.

[5] Geerhardus Vos, Biblical Theology, 140.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Gaffin, “A Sabbath Rest Still Awaits the People of God,” in Pressing Toward the Mark, 39.

[9] Beale, New Testament Biblical Theology, 781.

[10] Gerard Van Groningen, From Creation to Consummation, 36.

[11] Ibid., 37.

In episode 33, your hosts Rob and Bob, continue their discussion about Dispensationalism. On this episode we discuss the very important topic of the Rapture.

What is the Rapture? Why is the Rapture so very important to contemporary Dispensationalists? Is the Rapture found in the Bible? If so, why don’t Reformed and Covenantal Christians believe in the Rapture like Dispensationalists? Or do we?

In this longer than typical episode (sorry about that), we’ll discuss these and other related questions in this episode of Theology Simply Profound.

Theology Simply Profound is a podcast of Westminster Presbyterian Church, an Orthodox Presbyterian Church, serving the western suburbs of Chicago, where God powerfully speaks through his means of grace.

Music credit: pamelayork.com. Thank you, Pamela York, for the use of your beautiful jazzy rendition of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” We encourage our listeners to check out her website and consider purchasing some of her music.

Participants: Rob McKenzie, Robert Tarullo

It has been rightly observed by many that there is an eschatology—a goal of higher, escalated life that the creation is to move toward—already in Genesis 1–2. While everything was “very good,” it had not yet been brought to its perfection in consummate glory as it will one day be in the new creation. Geerhardus Vos taps into this vein of thinking in reflection on the apostle Paul’s understanding of the Genesis account:

The tree of life and the other tree and the primeval paradise and the fall and death and the expulsion from the garden on account of the sin committed, all these are present in the scriptural narrative, and a single glance at Rom. v is sufficient to convince of the fact, that in the most fundamental manner they support (qua history) the entire eschatology of Paul. . . . The only reasonable interpretation of the Genesis-account (e mente Pauli) is this, that provision was made and probation was instituted for a still higher state, both ethico-religiously and physically complexioned, than was at that time in the possession of man. In other words the eschatological complex and prospect were there in the purpose of God from the beginning.[1]

The eschatological goal embedded in the creation from the beginning included at least three components: a people in a place under a potentate. In Genesis 1–2 you have Adam with the task to multiply (a people) in the limited locale of the Garden that was to be expanded (a place) under God’s rule (a potentate). While that was very good, the eschatological picture of the perfected creation is found in Revelation 21–22. There you have the bride of Christ ransomed from every nation (a people) in the cosmic expanse of the new heaven and new earth (a place) under God’s uncontested rule (a potentate). This final picture was God’s intended goal from the beginning.

The Old Testament from the beginning has an eschatology and puts the eschatological promise on the broadest racial basis (Genesis 3). It does not first ascend from Israel to the new humanity, but at the very outset takes its point of departure in the race and from this descends to the election of Israel, always keeping the Universalistic goal in clear view.[2]

With that in mind, it’s interesting to reflect on how the Lord achieves that goal through his work in redemptive-history, especially as he aims for this universal consummation through a particular people (Abraham), place (Canaan) and potentate (David).

The eschatological goal for the land (or place) is universal—the whole earth is to be a fit dwelling place for God. However, as we come to the patriarchal epoch beginning with Abraham we will begin to see God aiming for the universal through the particular. The universal land-promise is going to be particularized in Canaan without losing its ultimate trajectory toward the universal. The arrow that God fires at his universal target must first pierce the particular.

The same is true of his other promises of a people and a potentate. The people of God are going to be particularized in Abraham and his descendants even though the Lord is desirous of blessing all the nations (Gen. 22:17–18). And even later we will see God’s universal reign particularized in David’s throne over a limited locale on earth even though the Lord’s ultimate intention is to bring the entire cosmos under the dominion of the king he will appoint (Ps. 2).[3]

We recognize then that God’s plan of redemption has a universal direction and goal. In the Old Testament the particular and universal are not mutually exclusive or contradictory. The movement of God’s purpose always starts with the particular on its way to the universal.

The question then is how does the particular promise reach its universal goal? How is the particular universalized? Answer: the Christ! Take note of this insight from Richard Bauckham,

God’s purposes could not in fact move directly from those he singled out in Old Testament times to the universal goal of his purposes. They had to be focused definitively in one more particular act of singling out an individual: Jesus the Jew from Nazareth. Jesus, in a sense, repeats the particularity of each of the three chosen ones we have studied [Abraham, Israel and David]. He is the descendant of Abraham through whom all the families of the earth will be blessed. He assumes for himself his nation Israel’s own destiny to be a light to all the nations (Luke 2:31–32). He is the new, the ideal, David, the only one truly able to be the human embodiment of God’s rule over all. But when we see Jesus’ particularity in these ways, in the categories established by the Old Testament, then we at once see also his universality… The whole of New Testament thought is unified around the universal relevance of precisely the particular human being Jesus.[4]

God aims for the universal through the particular. The particular was never meant to be an end in itself, but through it God will realize his universal, eschatological purposes. God calls out a single man, Abraham, in order to bless all the nations; he sends him to a single strip of land, Canaan, in order to possess the whole earth (Rom. 4:13)!

[1] Geerhardus Vos, The Pauline Eschatology (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 1994), 304.

[2] Geerhardus Vos, “Heavens, New (And Earth, New),” in The Collected Dictionary Articles of Geerhardus Vos (Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software, 2013).

[3] For a very helpful discussion of this idea of God aiming for the universal through the particular see Richard Bauckham, “From the One to the Many,” in Bible and Mission: Christian Witness in a Postmodern World (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2003), 27–54.

[4] Bauckham, Bible and Mission, 48.

The relationship between nature and grace has been deemed the central thought of the theology of Herman Bavinck (1854–1921). Getting the relationship right is important for a proper understanding of the interaction between the natural and the supernatural, creation and re-creation, the church and the world.

Jan Veenhof, the successor of G.C. Berkouwer at the Free University of Amsterdam, penned a 700-page dissertation entitled Revelatie en Inspiratie that treated Bavinck’s doctrine of revelation. A small section of it has been translated and published in a booklet by Albert M. Wolters entitled Nature and Grace in Herman Bavinck.[1]

Roman Catholicism: Nature/Grace Dualism

Veenhof begins his study by placing Bavinck’s nature/grace formulation within its polemical context against the Roman Catholic viewpoint. Bavinck was keenly aware that the Catholic formulation of the relationship between nature and grace was not a mere peripheral error, but a systemic one.

In the New Testament, the concept “world” has two denotations: (1) the world as fallen under the dominion of sin and (2) the same world as the object of God’s love (Jn. 3:16–17). Bavinck observes that this qualitative opposition was substituted by Catholicism for a quantitative one. He writes,

In Roman Catholicism, “the world” more and more loses the ethical significance that it has in the Scriptures. That which is natural is not sinful [a qualitative opposition], but it is that which constitutionally does not attain the supernatural [a quantitative opposition]. The supernatural is a donum superadditum. … Consequently Christianity and grace, which have entered the world to enable us to attain the supernatural, the visio Dei, do not reform and recreate the existing order, but only complement creation. Christianity transcendently supervenes upon the natural, but does not penetrate and sanctify it. Thereby Roman Catholicism, which calls itself catholic in a preeminent sense, has altered the nature of the catholicity of the New Testament. The catholicity of the Christian principle, which purifies and sanctifies everything, has been replaced by the dualism that puts the supernatural in a separate position alongside, or rather in a transcendent position above the natural. Creation and re-creation remain two independent quantities over against each other.[2]

What you find then in Catholicism is not the annihilation of the natural, but its devaluation. The natural is incomplete in and of itself and needs to be complemented by Christianity and grace to raise it, or better yet consecrate it to a higher order. The opposition then is not between the holy and the unholy, but between the consecrated and the profane. In Bavinck’s words, “It reduces the ethical to the material, and looks upon the natural as something non-divine not because and insofar as it is impure, but because it is incapable of attaining the supernatural. Catholicism makes the cosmos profane.”[3]

Bavinck saw the Reformation as replacing this dualistic world and life view of Catholicism. The Reformers, according to Bavinck,

rediscovered the natural, restored it to its rightful place, and freed it from the Roman Catholic stigma of being profane and unconsecrated. The natural is not something of lesser value and of a lower order, as though it were not susceptible to sanctification and renewal, but rather required only to be bridled and repressed. It is just as divine as the church, though it owes its origin not to recreation but creation, though it is not from the Son but from the Father.

Grace, then, is not a substance to be added to the natural that raises it to a higher supernatural order (a quantitative transformation). Instead, grace liberates man from sin (a qualitative transformation). It is not opposed to the natural, but only to sin. In this way, grace has only become necessary because of sin. It is not necessary absolutely, but only per accidens. In short, the physical opposition of the natural and supernatural in Roman Catholicism is replaced by the Reformers with an ethical opposition of sin and grace.

The recreating power of grace then does not result in a second creation, nor does it add substantially to the already existing natural order; rather, “it is essentially reformation.”[4] Grace reaches as far as curse is found. “Grace is the power of God that liberates mankind from sin also inwardly, in the core of its being, and shall one day present it without spot or wrinkle before God’s face.”[5]

Veenhof’s comment is apt: “Grace militates against sin in the natural, but it does not militate against the natural itself; on the contrary, it restores the natural and brings it to its normal development, i.e., the development intended by God.”[6] In Bavinck’s own words, “Grace does not repress nature, including the reason and understanding of man, but rather raises it up and renews it, and stimulates it to concentrated effort.”[7]

Bavinck was also aware of the lack of harmony amongst Protestants on this topic. He saw Calvin’s position as the most agreeable. He writes, “In the powerful mind of the French Reformer, re-creation is not a system that supplements creation, as in Catholicism, not a religious reformation that leaves creation intact, as in Luther, much less a new creation, as in Anabaptism, but a joyful tiding of the renewal of all creatures.”[8]

For more on the nature/grace dualism in Roman Catholicism see a previous interview with Dr. Lane G. Tipton entitled Nature/Grace Dualism.

The Eschatological Outlook of Bavinck’s Nature/Grace Formulation

While Bavinck’s position could be summarized from the above discussion as “grace restores nature,” it is important to note that he is not advocating mere repristination, that is, the restoration of an original state or condition. In other words, grace does not simply bring us back to the Garden in Bavinck’s thought. While the original order is restored in the sense that sin’s qualitative and ethical influence is expelled, it is not “as though nothing had happened, as though sin had not existed, and the revelation of God’s grace in Christ had never occurred. Christ gives more than sin took away; grace did much more abound.”

“The redemption by grace of created reality, the reformation of nature, is not merely repristination, but raises the natural to a higher level than it originally occupied.”[9] Bavinck understood there to be an eschatology in the Garden before the entrance of sin into the world:

The pre-Fall situation of man, and of the whole earth, was a temporary one, which could not remain as it was. It was of such a nature that it could be raised to a higher glory, but could also, in case of man’s transgression, be made subject to vanity and corruption.[10]

Grace does not restore man to this original, sub-eschatological state of temporariness; rather, grace brings the world to this higher glory. “The fact must not be neglected, however, that this higher glory constitutes the goal to which the earth had been directed from the beginning. Therefore it is certainly not added to the creation as a foreign component.”[11] Bavinck’s formulation that “grace restores nature” understands nature as having imbedded in it an eschatological goal, which grace achieves. For Bavinck understands that grace

does not grant anything beyond what Adam, if he had remained standing, would have acquired in the way of obedience. The covenant of grace differs from the covenant of works in the road, not in its final destination. The same benefits are promised in the covenant of works and freely given in the covenant of grace. Grace restores nature and raises it to its highest fulfillment, but it does not add a new, heterogeneous component to it.

It could be said, then, that in Bavinck’s thought grace restores nature unto its eschatological goal.

For Further Study

For more on the relationship between nature and grace see the 2016 Reformed Forum Regional Theology Conference, God’s Word in Our World: Nature, Grace, and the Foundation of Divine Revelation. The plenary address by Dr. Camden Bucey pertains especially to the above essay: Nature, Grace, and the Eschatology of Salvation.

Notes

[1] Jan Veenhof, Nature and Grace in Herman Bavinck, trans. Albert M. Wolters (Sioux Center, IA: Dordt College Press, 2006). The booklet can be purchased here.

[2] Herman Bavinck, De katholiciteit van christendom en kerk (Kampen, 1888), 19. Quoted by Veenhof, 10-11.

[3] Bavinck, Katholiciteit, 21. Quoted by Veenhof, 11-12.

[4] Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, 3:578.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Veenhof, 18.

[7] Herman Bavinck, De Bazuin XLIX, 43 (October 25, 1901). Quoted by Veenhof, 18-19.

[8] Bavinck, Katholiciteit, 32. Quoted by Veenhof, 15.

[9] Veenhof, 24-25.

[10] Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, 3:182.

[11] Veenhof, 25.