Law and Gospel Distinction in Early Church

During the Reformation, Luther and Melanchthon first called the distinction between Law and Gospel by another title: “the Law and the Promises.” Recognizing and distinguishing these two teachings of God is at the essence of reading and applying the Bible in the Reformation but notable examples of the distinction appear in early Christianity, too.

Tertullian writes in Against Marcion:

“‘the New Testament’ will appertain to none other than Him who promised it—if not “its letter, yet its spirit;” and herein will lie its newness. Indeed, He who had engraved its letter in stones is the same as He who had said of its spirit, “I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh.” Even if “the letter killeth, yet the Spirit giveth life;” and both belong to Him who says: “I kill, and I make alive; I wound, and I heal.” We have already made good the Creator’s claim to this twofold character of judgment and goodness—“killing in the letter” through the law, and “quickening in the Spirit” through the Gospel. Now these attributes, however different they be, cannot possibly make two gods; for they have already (in the prevenient dispensation of the Old Testament) been found to meet in One.” (ANF 3:452–53)

Tyconius writes in The Book of Rules:

The [Gospel’s] promise is distinct from the Law; and since they are different, they cannot be mixed. (under Rule III)

John Chrysostum writes in a sermon on 2 Corinthians 3:

In the Law, he that hath sin is punished; here, he that hath sins cometh and is baptized and is made righteous, and being made righteous, he liveth, being delivered from the death of sin. The Law, if it lay hold on a murderer, putteth him to death; the Gospel, if it lay hold on a murderer, enlighteneth, and giveth him life. (NPNF1 12:307)

Augustine writes in On the Spirit and the Letter:

His words are, “The righteousness of God is manifested:” [Romans 3:21] . . . This is witnessed by the law and the prophets; in other words, the law and the prophets each afford it testimony. The law, indeed, by issuing its commands and threats, and by justifying no man, sufficiently shows that it is by God’s gift, through the help of the Spirit, that a man is justified; and the prophets, because it was what they predicted that Christ at His coming accomplished. (NPNF1 5:88–89)

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Faith Seeking Understanding. Anselm. Luther

Over the centuries members of the Christian Church have struggled to understand and apply the relationship between faith and reason. For example, many Scholastic theologians during the Middle Ages taught that faith and reason were fully compatible. Luther and other Reformers argued that reason always went too far in trying to resolve the tensions that arise between faith and reason.

Reason usually does not want to follow faith but ends up having faith in itself—a form of idolatry. When this happens, reason stops being reasonable and becomes doubt and skepticism. As a philosophy, skepticism has been very attractive to some thinkers over the centuries (e.g., Cynics, Cartesians) but most people have never broadly embraced skepticism as a philosophy of life. Why? They sense that there’s something impossible and unreasonable about living in constant doubt. As I pointed out earlier, trust—faith—is not a luxury or a delusion. We are born dependent on others. We are born requiring trust in order to survive. We are designed to live by faith and by reason. Casting aside one or the other leads to disaster.

The motto of St. Anselm (c 1033–1109), “Faith seeking understanding,” provided a helpful warning to the early scholastic thinkers. It reminded them and us to live by faith and exercise reason with due humility. A famous saying of Martin Luther (1483–1546) builds on these important themes. When confronted by a council at Worms, Germany, and asked to recant of his teachings, Luther is reported to have said:

Unless I can be instructed and convinced with evidence from the Holy Scriptures or with open, clear, and distinct grounds and reasoning—and my conscience is captive to the Word of God—then I cannot and will not recant, because it is neither wise nor safe to act against conscience. Here I stand. I can do no other. God’s help me! Amen.

Martin Luther supported the use of what we call sound reasoning but emphasized the Holy Scriptures, the Word of God, as the basis for faith and our relationship to God and His creation. So, we approach the Holy Scripture and life with our reason serving—not ruling—our faith so that we might believe and understanding. God help us! Amen.

Medieval

Joseph Campbell. Masks of God. Theology and Modern Psychology

Joseph Campbell’s popular book, Masks of God: Primitive Mythology proposes to explain from purely natural human development why people are religious. Campbell argues that all the essential ideas for the existence of God and His activity as Creator emerge during the psychological development of small children. Since children are able to come up with these ideas on their own, Campbell thinks they should be regarded as common results of imagination. Such “myths,” as he calls them, are rooted in human psychology, not reality.

Campbell develops his argument from dialogues with children, where children offer their explanations about where things come from. He presents numerous anecdotes of children telling stories or explaining things in ways very similar to those found in religion.

This methodology is flawed because the children interviewed were likely raised in religious households. They are growing up amid these ideas already. Also, stories read or told to children also propose many of the ideas that Campbell presents as products of the children’s minds. In other words, his sample is badly biased. To get a pure sample, one would have to isolate children from parents and culture and let them grow up wild. Even then, an interview process could taint the sample by leading questions (presuming wild children could understand your language). Most of the examples provided by Campbell actually come from an earlier psychologist, Piaget, who conducted his studies c. 100 years ago. Campbell’s argument, which seems reasonable at first, proves to be very bad “science” and logic.

People are naturally religious, as illustrated in earlier posts, because of the way God made people and not because an accident of human psychology.

Acts 17:22–31; Romans 1:18–23

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No Atheism. Martin Luther. Reformation Theology

In Martin Luther’s Large Catechism appears an argument demonstrating that everyone is religious whether they intend to be or not. Luther writes:

“What does it mean to have a god? Or, what is God? Answer: A god means that from which we are to expect all good and in which we are to take refuge in al distress. So, to have a God is nothing other than trusting and believing Him with the heart. I have often said that the confidence and faith of the heart alone make both God and an idol. If your faith and trust is right, then your god is also true. On the other hand, if your trust is false and wrong, then you do not have the true God. For these two belong together, faith and God [Hebrews 11:6]. Now, I say that whatever you set your heart on and put your trust in is truly your god.” (Large Catechism I 1—3)

So where ever we place our highest trust, that becomes the object of our religion, our faith. If an Indian in the Amazon forest trusts his totem animal for help and security, then that is the basis of his religion. If a radical environmentalist places his trust in nature, then nature is his god, the object of his devotion. If an ingenious philosopher denies that there is a god but places his trust in the state (as happened under communism), then the state has become his god.

You have a god. Everyone does. So the question becomes: Is your god the true God?

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Religion Comes Naturally to Us. Lactantius

Religion, worldview, philosophy (or whatever you want to call it) is a fact of being human. As thinking beings, we can’t stop thinking about how we should live and how we relate to one another. Religion flows naturally from who we are. We are not just religious because our parents or guardians have told us to be so. We are instinctively religious and this instinct is reinforced by those around us from cradle to grave but also from within. Consider: an animal might go forth and survive without parents or guardians but a human child cannot. A child is cast from its mother’s womb where its existence depends upon the moral judgments of others.

You are here, reading this page, because someone—at least one person—said “Yes” to your existence and affirmed your life. That “Yes” was affirmed daily in the nurture you received, which kept you going until you could survive on your own. But “Yes” is only half the story. At some point your parents or guardians also said “No” to you. Even if your parents or guardians were mute, they pulled you back from danger and limited what you could do.

As a father I recall changing diapers and guiding little hands away from the mess I was cleaning up. I can recall saying “No” to my child as I did so, and my wife has memories of doing the same thing (she also recalls saying “No” to the children while breast feeding since hard biting and scratching start pretty early). With word and motion we placed limits on our children. We drew boundaries for their sake and for ours as we willed them to live. (Read Genesis 2:15–17; Ezekiel 16:1–7.) Saying “Yes” meant that we would naturally say “No,” lest our children harm themselves or become so offensive that we could not embrace and care for them without harming ourselves. The legal aspect of religion is ever there. Universally, one of the first words children master is “No.” From the beginning of their lives, their thoughts divide into Yes and No, affirmation and denial, boundaries of right and wrong, of good and evil. So religion is among the first things we learn about. But I would also contend that the root of religion is instinctive. As reasoning beings, we make choices and our brains are hardwired to do so.

Lactantius comments on instinct and wisdom in “On the Workmanship of God” (ch 3).

“[Philosophers] complain that man is born in a more feeble and frail condition than that in which the other animals are born: for that these, as soon as they are produced from the womb, immediately raise themselves on their feet, and express their joy by running to and fro, and are at once fit for enduring the air, inasmuch as they have come forth to the light protected by natural coverings; but man, on the contrary, being naked and defenceless, is cast forth, and driven, as it were, from a shipwreck, to the miseries of this life; who is neither able to move himself from the place where he has been born, nor to seek the nourishment of milk, nor to endure the injury of time. Therefore they say that Nature is not the mother of the human race, but a stepmother, who has dealt so liberally with the dumb creation, but has so produced man, that, without resources, and without strength, and destitute of all aid, he can do nothing else than give tokens of the state of his frailty by wailing and lamentations. . . . What more can men do? unless it be this only, that they do not drive away their young when grown up, but retain them bound by perpetual relationship and the bond of affection. . . . I ask, therefore, from those who prefer the condition of the beasts to their own, what they would choose if God should give them the choice: would they prefer the wisdom of man together with his weakness, or the strength of the beasts together with their nature?” (ANF 7:283–84)

Notes: Historians of language/linguistics have noticed that expressions for “mother” and “father” almost universally occur with “m” sounds (e.g., “mamma”) or “b/p/d” sounds (e.g., “papa” or “dada”). This is seen in both ancient literature and in modern languages. This likely demonstrates two important things: (1) human languages are related to one another historically (linguists search for a “proto-language” and find many basic words commonly occurring across the major language families), and (2) children are making these sounds at about the same time their brains are forming words and mastering the basics of language (if you watch babies closely, they naturally make certain sounds at certain ages, gradually expanding their abilities as they learn to control their mouths; I first considered this in 2007 when my youngest was still mastering the “th” sound, which is tougher than “m” or “goo goo,” as we like to describe baby talk). The complexity of human language and communication is one of those important features of being human. Though other creatures communicate and some even have basic elements of what we call “language,” communication is one way that humans really distinguish themselves. This has to do with our highly social nature. We depend on one another from birth and must communicate our thoughts, yes and no being among the earliest and most important distinctions in verbal communication. Just as parenting and language are universal to humanity, religion is right there with us because affirmation and moral distinctions are of the essence of being human.

Early Church

Lactantius (c. 240–c. 320) on Religion

Our English word “religion” is odd and a bit mysterious. It comes from a Latin word that means “to tie, bind, or connect” (Lat ligo, ligare). The “re-” part means “again,” to retie something. But to tie what? The early Christian writer Lactantius suggested this:

We are created on this condition, that we pay just and due obedience to God who created us, that we should know and follow Him alone. We are bound and tied to God by this chain of piety; from which religion itself received its name. . . . We have said that the name of religion is derived from the bond of piety, because God has tied man to Himself, and bound him by piety; for we must serve Him as a master, and be obedient to Him as a father. (The Divine Institutes, ANF 7:131)

Whether this is what the ancient Romans intended when they began to use the word “religion” is hard to say. (E.g., could binding of sacrifices be in view, or some other ritual action? No one knows). In any case, Lactantius gives us an important insight to religion: the bond between the divine and the human, which is for our good. A bond that, when broken, must be renewed.

God cares for us like a father. That is His bond. And with religious hearts we say, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15).

Early Church