Saturday, August 23, 2025

Gordon H. Clark on Emotion: A Rationalist Critique in Light of Scripture, Psychology, and Physiology

Introduction

Gordon H. Clark (1902–1985), philosopher, theologian, and controversial figure within American Reformed thought, developed one of the most rigorously rationalist systems of Christian philosophy in the twentieth century. His epistemology, centered on the conviction that truth is propositional and logic the very structure of God’s thought, shaped his anthropology in profound ways. According to Clark, the essential faculties of man are intellect and will, while emotions are not only unnecessary but positively the product of the Fall.

This paper examines Clark’s suspicion—even hatred—of emotion, especially as expressed in his writings and lectures, and evaluates it against the biblical record of Christ’s emotional life. It argues that Clark’s framework fails both biblically and philosophically, and offers instead a definition of emotion that sees it as the physiological and psychological response of embodied rational beings. Drawing on scientific research into the health effects of emotion, as well as theological reflection on the incarnation, the essay concludes that emotions are not irrational addenda but integral to the imago Dei.

Clark’s Hatred of Emotion

Clark’s antipathy toward emotion was not casual but deeply principled. In Faith and Saving Faith, he wrote:

“God has no emotions, and his image, man, in his unfallen state, may have been analyzed into intellect and will, knowledge and righteousness. Emotion and disease came in with the Fall.”(1)

This statement is not an isolated remark but represents his consistent position. In a lecture delivered at the Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, Mississippi, 1976), Clark defined emotion as follows:

“I should offer perhaps not a complete definition, but at least an element of the definition. An emotion seems to me to be a sudden upheaval, disturbance in our ordinary calm state of mind. And I don’t see that this is part of the image of God, I think this is part of original sin.”(2)

For Clark, then, emotions are irrational upheavals. They disturb the rational calm of the mind and therefore cannot belong to the imago Dei. In Religion, Reason, and Revelation, he warns that “religious experience without rational content is not Christianity but mysticism.”(3) The implication is clear: to elevate emotion in religion is to abandon truth for irrationality.

In this light, Clark redefines the theological virtues. Love is a volitional commitment to obey God’s commands, not a feeling. Faith is intellectual assent to revealed propositions, not trust in the sense of subjective confidence. Hope is an expectation grounded in logic, not an emotional state of optimism.

The Christological Problem: “Jesus Wept”

This rationalist anthropology collides with the New Testament portrayal of Christ. John 11:35, the shortest verse in Scripture, simply states: “Jesus wept.” For Clark’s framework, this is problematic. If emotions are products of the Fall, how can the sinless Son of God exhibit them?

Nor is this an isolated case. The Gospels consistently portray Christ as moved by compassion (Mark 6:34), angered by hardness of heart (Mark 3:5), sorrowful to the point of death (Matt. 26:38), and even “troubled in spirit” (John 13:21). These are not signs of fallenness but of true humanity. To deny this is to risk a docetic Christology in which Jesus appears human but lacks genuine human affectivity.

Theologically, Christ’s emotions reveal that emotion is not inherently irrational or sinful. His grief at Lazarus’s tomb was rational: He knew death’s reality, chose to identify with His friends’ sorrow, and His body responded with tears. Far from undermining His perfection, these responses manifest the integrity of His incarnate humanity.

Rethinking Emotion: Intellect, Will, and Body

Clark’s error lies in treating emotions as irrational, disconnected faculties. A more adequate definition recognizes that emotions are physiological and psychological responses to intellectual judgments and volitional acts.

Fear arises when the intellect perceives danger and the will directs toward self-preservation.
Grief results when the intellect acknowledges loss and the will accepts its reality.
Joy emerges when the intellect perceives the good and the will embraces it.

In this model, emotions are not irrational intrusions but the embodied consequences of intellect and will. They may be subconscious, but they remain tethered to rational cognition. Clark’s dichotomy—intellect and will versus irrational emotion—is a false one.

The Physiological Dimension of Emotion

Modern science underscores the embodied nature of emotion. Tears, for example, are not irrational eruptions but complex physiological products. Research has shown that emotional tears contain stress hormones and natural painkillers such as leucine enkephalin, which are absent in basal tears (the tears that keep the eye lubricated).(4) William Frey’s pioneering studies in the 1980s demonstrated that crying helps expel toxins and reduces stress.

Similarly, psychosomatic medicine has shown that emotions directly impact physical health. Chronic stress and anxiety elevate cortisol and adrenaline, leading to hypertension, cardiovascular disease, and weakened immune response.(5) Conversely, positive emotions such as joy and gratitude promote healing by lowering stress hormones and boosting immune function.(6) In extreme cases, negative emotions can even cause death: “broken heart syndrome” (stress-induced cardiomyopathy) occurs when emotional trauma triggers lethal cardiac failure.

This evidence highlights the deep unity of spirit and body. Emotional states arise from rational perceptions and volitional stances but manifest physiologically. To deny their place in human nature, as Clark did, is to sever the unity of the human person.

Psychological Insight: Wayne Dyer

Wayne Dyer, in Your Erroneous Zones, observed that “Your emotions are the result of your thinking; if you control your thoughts, you control your feelings.”(7) Dyer, though not writing as a Christian theologian, captures an important truth: emotions are not independent forces but the product of intellectual frameworks. Even subconscious feelings are traceable to patterns of thought.

This insight aligns with biblical teaching. Proverbs 23:7 affirms, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.” Here, the heart includes thought, will, and feeling. Emotions flow from cognition and volition. They are not irrational disruptions but rationally grounded expressions of the whole person.

The Spirit–Body Connection

The physiological evidence demonstrates the profound unity of man as body and soul. Emotions bridge the spiritual and physical aspects of human existence. The tears of Jesus exemplify this: a physical manifestation of a rational, volitional, and spiritual reality.

In theological terms, the imago Dei includes not only intellect and will but the capacity for ordered emotion. The Fall did not create emotions but disordered them, turning fear into terror, love into lust, and grief into despair. Redemption in Christ does not abolish emotion but reorders it, directing it toward its proper ends: grief over sin, joy in salvation, compassion for suffering.

Conclusion

Gordon Clark’s rejection of emotion as part of the imago Dei reflects his zeal for rational clarity but ultimately truncates the biblical picture of man. By treating emotions as irrational upheavals, he ignored their rootedness in intellect and will, their physiological basis, and their theological role in Christ’s incarnate life. Scripture, psychology, and physiology converge to show that emotions are essential to human nature. Jesus’ tears at Lazarus’s tomb are not evidence of fallenness but of the perfection of His humanity.

Clark’s rationalism rightly warned against sentimentality and mysticism, but in dismissing emotion altogether, he separated what God has joined: the rational spirit and the responsive body. A more holistic anthropology recognizes emotion as a rationally grounded, bodily mediated, spiritually significant aspect of man. Far from irrational intrusions, emotions are indispensable expressions of intellect and will in the embodied life of redeemed humanity.

Notes

Gordon H. Clark, Faith and Saving Faith (Jefferson, MD: Trinity Foundation, 1990), 116.
Gordon H. Clark, “Questions and Answers,” audio recording, Winter Theological Institute, Reformed Theological Seminary, Jackson, MS, Feb. 2–4, 1976.
Gordon H. Clark, Religion, Reason, and Revelation (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1961), 127.
William H. Frey II, Crying: The Mystery of Tears (Minneapolis: Winston Press, 1985), 54–57.
Bruce S. McEwen, “Protective and Damaging Effects of Stress Mediators,” New England Journal of Medicine 338, no. 3 (1998): 171–79.
Sheldon Cohen and Denise Janicki-Deverts, “Stress, Social Support, and Resilience: Health Implications,” Current Opinion in Psychology 5 (2015): 77–82.
Wayne W. Dyer, Your Erroneous Zones (New York: Avon Books, 1976), 54.

Gordon H. Clark on the Adequacy of Language for Divine Revelation: A Critical Comparison with Cornelius Van Til

Introduction

A central question in twentieth-century Reformed epistemology is whether human language is adequate to convey divine revelation. Gordon H. Clark and Cornelius Van Til, though sharing a commitment to Calvinism and biblical inerrancy, sharply disagreed on this issue. Clark defended the univocal adequacy of human language for revelation, while Van Til insisted that all human knowledge of God is analogical and paradoxical. This essay argues that Clark’s defense of univocal truth preserves the intelligibility of revelation, while Van Til’s analogical theory collapses into equivocation by denying any univocal point of contact between divine and human knowledge.

Clark’s View: Univocal Language and Propositional Revelation

For Clark, divine revelation must be propositional if it is to communicate truth. Since only propositions can be true or false, the words of Scripture must carry the same meaning for man as for God. This does not mean man knows exhaustively, but it does mean that what he knows is identical in content, if not in scope, with what God knows. Clark writes: “If God has spoken in Scripture, then there are truths in the Bible; and if there are truths in the Bible, they are truths for God as well as for man.”^1

Thus, Clark’s view is univocal: revelation communicates truths that are the same in meaning for both God and man, though known by God exhaustively and by man finitely. Without such univocity, revelation would fail to reveal anything.

Van Til’s View: Analogy and Apparent Contradiction

Van Til rejected univocality, insisting that all human knowledge of God is analogical. In his formulation, God’s knowledge is "qualitatively different" from man’s; no proposition can be identical in content for both. “Our knowledge is analogical,” Van Til argued, “because God’s knowledge is original and ours derivative.”^2

This led Van Til to embrace "apparent contradictions" as a hallmark of Scripture. Doctrines such as divine sovereignty and human responsibility, or the Trinity, are for him irreducibly paradoxical: “All teaching of Scripture is apparently contradictory.”^3 Human reason cannot reconcile these tensions, and to attempt to do so is to subordinate revelation to logic.

Yet Van Til’s denial of any univocal element makes his “analogy” functionally equivocal. If every divine proposition differs qualitatively from its human correlate, then words such as “love” or “justice” mean one thing to God and another to man, leaving revelation unintelligible.

The Problem of Analogy Without Univocity: An Illustration

The crucial flaw in Van Til’s position becomes clear when one considers the nature of analogy itself. An analogy, properly understood, requires some point of univocal overlap between the image and the original. For example, a model of an automobile, an airplane, or a ship is not the same as the full-sized object it represents. The model differs in scale, material, and use. Yet the model remains a true model precisely because there is something univocal—such as shape, proportion, or structure—that corresponds to the real thing. Without this univocal element, the model would not be a representation at all but merely an unrelated object.

By contrast, Van Til’s definition of analogy explicitly denies any univocal content between divine and human knowledge. If God’s truth and man’s apprehension of it never coincide at even a single point, then man’s concepts of God are not genuinely analogous but wholly equivocal. The words of Scripture would then function like a model of a ship that bears no resemblance to an actual ship—at which point the term “model” becomes meaningless. In denying univocality, Van Til’s “analogy” ceases to be analogy and reduces itself to equivocation.

Clark repeatedly pressed this objection, warning that unless one affirms at least one shared proposition between God’s knowledge and man’s, theology collapses into skepticism. “If God’s knowledge and man’s knowledge do not coincide in at least one proposition,” Clark argued, “then man knows nothing at all.”^4

The Medieval Categories: Univocal, Equivocal, and Analogical Language

The debate between Clark and Van Til can be clarified by recalling the medieval distinctions between univocal, equivocal, and analogical predication, especially as formulated by Thomas Aquinas.

Univocal terms are those that carry the same meaning across different applications. For example, “man” applied to Socrates and to Plato means identically “a rational animal.”
Equivocal terms are those that share only a sound but not a meaning, such as the word “bat” (the animal) and “bat” (the object used in baseball). Here there is no overlap of meaning at all.
Analogical terms are those that do not carry an identical meaning, yet share a univocal element. For Aquinas, words like “healthy” are applied to a body and to food: the meanings differ, but the univocal element of “causing or possessing health” makes the predication intelligible. Likewise, when we say “God is good” and “man is good,” there is not identical goodness, but there is a shared univocal core of “perfection according to nature.”^5

Clark’s account of revelation is more closely aligned with univocal predication: biblical propositions mean for us what they mean for God, though not exhaustively. Van Til, however, by denying any univocal content, strips analogy of its very essence. His “analogy” functions as pure equivocation, since it denies a shared meaning between God’s thoughts and human words. By contrast, both Aquinas and Clark insist that analogy without a univocal core collapses into unintelligibility.

Thus, Clark can be seen not as a rationalist, but as standing closer to the classical Christian tradition of affirming that divine revelation is meaningful precisely because it is at least partially univocal.

Clark’s Critique of Apparent Contradiction

Clark further criticized Van Til’s appeal to “apparent contradictions.” For Clark, the law of non-contradiction is not a mere human convention but a reflection of God’s own rational nature. To posit contradictions in revelation is to impugn the coherence of God’s mind. Clark warned that if Scripture teaches contradictions, even if only “apparent,” theology collapses into irrationalism. “The Bible,” he insisted, “is the mind of God communicated to man in logical, intelligible form.”^6 To speak otherwise is to deny the very possibility of theology.

Evaluation

The Clark–Van Til debate reveals two divergent strategies for reconciling divine transcendence with human knowledge. Van Til’s analogical view, while intending to protect God’s incomprehensibility, erodes the intelligibility of revelation by stripping analogy of any univocal content. His position thus amounts to equivocation: biblical propositions say one thing to God and another to man. Clark, by contrast, secured the possibility of revelation by affirming that some truths are univocally shared, even though finite creatures never comprehend God exhaustively.

Conclusion

The adequacy of language for revelation hinges upon the presence of univocity within divine-human communication. True analogy presupposes a univocal element; without it, analogy devolves into equivocation. By denying any univocal overlap, Van Til undermined the clarity of revelation and left theology in paradox and contradiction. Clark, however, preserved the rationality and intelligibility of revelation by affirming that when God speaks in Scripture, His words mean for us precisely what they mean for Him. In this respect, Clark’s position stands not in isolation but in continuity with the classical Christian conviction that God has made Himself known in words that truly reveal His mind.

Notes

Gordon H. Clark, Religion, Reason, and Revelation (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1961), 47.
Cornelius Van Til, Introduction to Systematic Theology (Phillipsburg: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1974), 229.
Cornelius Van Til, The Defense of the Faith, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1963), 44.
Gordon H. Clark, “The Bible as Truth,” in The Philosophy of Gordon H. Clark, ed. Ronald Nash (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1968), 45.
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I.13.5–6.
Clark, Religion, Reason, and Revelation, 28–29.

Saturday, August 16, 2025

The Two Types of Theodicy: Augustinian and Irenaean, and the Universalist Synthesis

Introduction

Christian theology has generally approached the problem of evil along two distinct lines. The Augustinian theodicy looks backward, locating the source of evil in the misuse of free will and explaining it as a privation of the good. By contrast, the Irenaean theodicy looks forward, interpreting evil as a necessary stage in the moral and spiritual development of humanity, a crucible for growth and eventual restoration. These two models—backward-looking and forward-looking—frame most later theological responses.

When examined through this lens, Augustine exemplifies the backward-looking approach, Calvin embodies a forward-looking providential approach closer to Irenaeus, and Jonathan Edwards radicalizes Calvin’s position by grounding evil itself in God’s eternal plan for the manifestation of His glory. This essay will explore their contributions and argue that universalism uniquely resolves the limitations of these “limitarian” theodicies by combining Augustine’s doctrine of privation with the restorative, developmental trajectory of Irenaeus.

I. Augustine: Evil as Privation and Backward Fall

Augustine (354–430) developed his theodicy in opposition to Manichaeism. Evil, he argued, is not a positive substance but a privation (privatio boni) of the good. In Confessions he writes:

“For evil has no positive nature; but the loss of good has received the name ‘evil.’”¹

In the Enchiridion he elaborates:

“For what is that which we call evil but the absence of good? In the bodies of animals, disease and wounds mean nothing but the absence of health… In the mind, when it departs from the light of wisdom, this is called vice… And thus it is that evil is nothing else than the privation of good.”²

For Augustine, evil originates in the misuse of creaturely freedom—the fall of angels and of humanity. This is a backward-looking theodicy, locating the tragedy of evil in a primal lapse. Evil is not part of God’s design but an accident permitted for the sake of freedom.

It is noteworthy that Augustine, influenced by Platonism, once entertained the idea of the soul’s preexistence. In On Free Choice of the Will he recalls:

“I myself once believed that souls sinned in another life, and for that reason were cast into bodies as into prisons.”³

Though later rejected, this speculation reveals the Platonic undertone of Augustine’s theodicy: evil as decline, descent, or turning away from the Good.

II. Calvin: Evil as Providential Instrumentality

John Calvin (1509–1564), inheriting Augustinian concerns, nonetheless represents a decisive move toward an Irenaean-style, forward-looking theodicy. For Calvin, evil is not accidental but woven into God’s decree, serving His higher purposes. In the Institutes he insists:

“Men do nothing save at the secret instigation of God, and do not discuss and deliberate on anything but what he has previously decreed with himself, and brings to pass by his secret direction.”⁴

Moreover, he asserts:

“The wicked are not only impelled by the hand of God, but are also compelled to obey it… whatever they have done, they have been the instruments of God’s will, and most admirably serve his righteous decree.”⁵

Evil thus becomes an instrument within providence. Pharaoh’s hardening, Judas’ betrayal, and Christ’s crucifixion are not deviations but the very means by which God’s glory is displayed. In this respect, Calvin is ironically closer to Irenaeus than to Augustine: evil is purposeful, not merely parasitic, a stage in the unfolding plan of redemption.

III. Edwards: Evil as the Stage for Divine Glory

Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758), the great American Calvinist, radicalized this forward-looking view. In Freedom of the Will he denied libertarian freedom and asserted divine determinism:

“God decrees all things, even all sins… God decreed every action of men, yea, every action of every man, and every circumstance of every action.”⁶

Evil, then, is not only foreseen but foreordained for a higher end. In History of the Work of Redemption, Edwards interprets the whole sweep of history as a unified divine plan, where even Satan’s rebellion serves God’s glory:

“Satan, in tempting man to sin, did that which was exceeding contrary to God; yet by it he did but fulfill God’s purpose, the purpose of the glory of his wisdom, holiness, power and grace.”⁷

This is consistent with his treatise The End for Which God Created the World:

“It is a proper and excellent thing for infinite glory to shine forth… Thus it is necessary, that God’s awful majesty, his authority and dreadful greatness, justice, and holiness should be manifested.”⁸

For Edwards, evil is indispensable: without it, God’s justice, mercy, and power could not be revealed. This is a theodicy not of privation but of instrumentality and necessity, aligning him strongly with the Irenaean forward-looking tradition, though in a distinctly Calvinist idiom.

IV. The Universalist Synthesis: Privation and Restoration

Each theodicy, however, suffers from limitations when held in isolation. Augustine’s backward-looking account preserves God’s innocence but risks rendering evil an inexplicable accident. Calvin and Edwards make evil meaningful but at the cost of divine complicity and a limited redemption in which countless creatures are eternally damned.

Universalism offers a synthesis that resolves these tensions.

From Augustine it adopts the recognition that evil is a privation, a tragic misuse of freedom, even conceivably a fall of preexistent souls. Evil is real and parasitic, not a positive creation.
From Irenaeus (and Calvin and Edwards) it takes the forward-looking vision of evil as the crucible of development and the means by which God’s glory is displayed. Suffering, temptation, and even sin are folded into God’s redemptive plan.
But beyond Calvin and Edwards, universalism rejects the limitation of redemption to the elect. The forward motion of history aims not at partial triumph but at the restoration of all things (Acts 3:21). God’s justice and mercy shine most brightly not in eternal division but in universal reconciliation: “that God may be all in all” (1 Cor 15:28).

Thus, universalism unites the Augustinian privation theodicy with the Irenaean restorative theodicy, showing evil to be both a fall from good and a stage toward the greater good of restoration.

Conclusion

There are essentially two paths of Christian theodicy: the Augustinian, which looks backward to the privation of good through free will, and the Irenaean, which looks forward to the divine purpose in suffering and evil. Augustine, Calvin, and Edwards illustrate these models in different ways: Augustine stressing the fall, Calvin stressing providential instrumentality, and Edwards highlighting evil as necessary for the manifestation of God’s glory. But only a universalist synthesis fully resolves their limitations, holding together Augustine’s account of evil as privation with Irenaeus’ vision of evil as restorative and developmental. In this way, evil is not an eternal blemish or selective tragedy but the crucible of God’s wisdom, ultimately transfigured in the universal restoration of all creation.

Footnotes

Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), III.7.12. ↩
Augustine, Enchiridion on Faith, Hope, and Love, trans. J.F. Shaw, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, vol. 3 (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1887), ch. 11. ↩
Augustine, On Free Choice of the Will (De Libero Arbitrio), trans. Thomas Williams (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993), III.20. ↩
John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Henry Beveridge (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2008), I.xviii.1. ↩
Calvin, Institutes, I.xviii.2. ↩
Jonathan Edwards, Freedom of the Will, in The Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 1, ed. Paul Ramsey (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1957), Part IV, Sec. IX. ↩
Jonathan Edwards, The History of the Work of Redemption, in The Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 9, ed. John F. Wilson (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), Part I, Period I, sec. 2. ↩
Jonathan Edwards, The End for Which God Created the World, in The Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 8, ed. Paul Ramsey (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), ch. 1. ↩

Sunday, August 10, 2025

Zwingli’s View on Plato and the Ancients

1. Zwingli’s View on Plato and the Ancients

In works like his Exposition of the Christian Faith (Fidei Ratio, 1530), Zwingli argued that God’s grace is not limited to people who lived after Christ’s coming or who heard the Gospel explicitly. He believed that God could illuminate pagans inwardly by His Spirit, enabling them to know Him in some measure.

Zwingli cited figures such as Plato, Socrates, Seneca, and even Hercules as examples of those who might have had a genuine knowledge of God, albeit imperfect, and so might be included among the redeemed.

2. What Zwingli Saw in Plato

Philosophical Monotheism – Plato’s Form of the Good sounded to Zwingli like a philosophical glimpse of the one true God.

Moral Idealism – Plato’s emphasis on the pursuit of virtue and justice resonated with biblical moral teaching.

Transcendence of the Material – The doctrine of eternal, perfect Forms aligned (in Zwingli’s eyes) with the Christian belief in an unchanging, perfect divine reality.

Demiurge as Creator – In the Timaeus, the Demiurge ordering the cosmos according to eternal models looked like a prefiguration of the Logos (Christ) creating according to the Father’s will.

3. Why This Led Zwingli to Hope for Plato’s Salvation

Zwingli saw in Plato not merely a clever philosopher, but someone who seemed to have perceived eternal truths about God’s nature and creation—truths that Christianity later revealed in full.

If those truths were glimpsed because God had granted him a measure of spiritual light, then Plato could be among those saved through Christ’s work, even without explicit knowledge of the historical Jesus.

This ties into Zwingli’s broader doctrine that salvation was possible for those who had faith in God according to the light given them—something he thought was evident in Plato.

4. The Key Point

Zwingli admired Plato’s philosophical grasp of eternal realities (Forms, Good, ordered cosmos) and saw them as echoes of divine truth. He took them as evidence that God could work savingly in people outside Israel and the visible Church, anticipating the fuller revelation in Christ.

_____________________

Zwingli’s Hope for the Salvation of Pagans

Ulrich Zwingli—Swiss Reformer, humanist, and theologian—held a notably restorative view that God’s grace could extend beyond the visible Church, encompassing even virtuous pagans who never explicitly knew Christ. Rooted in his deep admiration for classical antiquity and his conviction in the sovereignty of God’s election, Zwingli envisaged a merciful scope of salvation broad enough to embrace figures such as Socrates and Plato.

1. God’s Sovereign Grace Beyond the Visible Church

Zwingli held that salvation is determined by God’s sovereign grace, not confined to those who have heard the Gospel or been baptized. He emphasized that God “is not bound to any visible means,” asserting the possibility that God could operate savingly through the Holy Spirit outside conventional sacraments and institutional channels

2. Admiration for Classical Virtue and “Unconscious Christians”

In Zwingli’s eschatological outlook—particularly in his Exposition of the Christian Faith (“Fidei Ratio”, 1530) and related writings—he expresses hope that those he terms “unconscious Christians” may be granted the grace of salvation:

He expected to meet in heaven … Socrates, Plato, Pindar, Aristides, Numa, Cato, Scipio; yea, even such mythical characters as Hercules and Theseus—“there is no good and holy man, no faithful soul, from the beginning to the end of the world, that shall not see God in his glory.”

This sweeping inclusion reflects Zwingli’s conviction that virtue and the pursuit of truth—even outside knowledge of Christ—could be the result of divine illumination.

3. Philosophical Contemplation as a Sign of Grace

Zwingli’s humanism and reverence for Platonic thought lie behind his suggestion that pre-Christian contemplation of eternal truths might represent a form of grace. While he never explicitly states “Plato was saved,” his inclusion of Plato among those he hoped to see in glory strongly implies this possibility—based on immoral virtue, moral insight, and perhaps even a kind of implicit faith in the true God.

4. Theological Rationale: Election and Mystery

Zwingli did not question the necessity of Christ for salvation—he firmly affirmed that “Christ is the only wisdom, righteousness, redemption, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world”—yet he acknowledged the mystery of how Christ may be revealed to those outside the preaching of the Gospel. Ultimately:

“We have no right to set boundaries to the infinite wisdom and love of God.”

In his, he surmised that perhaps God, in His sovereign election and providential care, could apply Christ’s redemptive work to those outside the visible fold.

Zwingli’s reflections on the possible salvation of Plato are rooted in his belief in God’s boundless mercy, the efficacy of grace beyond formal means, and the value of human virtue and philosophical insight that point toward divine truth. While he never offers doctrinal certainty, his inclusion of Plato (and other classical figures) in hope for glory represents a striking and humane strain in Reformation theology.

While Zwingli never explicitly taught full-blown universalism in the Origenist or modern sense, some of his statements about the wideness of God’s mercy sound close enough that later theologians have wondered whether they point in that direction.

1. Zwingli’s “Fidei Ratio” and the Scope of Salvation

In his Expositio fidei christianae (Fidei Ratio, 1530), written for Charles V, Zwingli made his most sweeping statements. The most famous passage is:

“I believe, therefore, that all who ever have lived, who have walked according to the light of nature, as they call it, and have not rejected the grace of God, will be partakers of this redemption.

So, too, I hold that all the holy, faithful, and God-fearing men who have existed since the beginning of the world to the end — from Adam to the last man — will be in heaven with God; among whom I count not only the patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, but also Socrates, Aristides, Antigonus, Numa, Camillus, the Catos, the Scipios, and those who have lived among the Germans, the Spaniards, the French, the Italians, and the Swiss.” (Fidei Ratio, in Opera, vol. 3, p. 239; Schaff, History of the Christian Church, vol. 8, p. 415)

While this is not technically “all humanity,” it is extremely inclusive — embracing righteous pagans of every nation and era.

2. Theological Premises that Edge Toward Universalism

Several principles in Zwingli’s theology could be expanded into a universalist conclusion, even if he stopped short:

Christ as the universal redeemer — Zwingli taught that Christ’s atonement is “for the sins of the whole world,” not just the elect known to the Church.

God’s freedom in applying grace — He insisted God is not bound to the preached Gospel or the sacraments to save.

The “unconscious Christian” idea — He recognized genuine faith in God, even without explicit knowledge of Christ, as salvific.

Election and divine sovereignty — Since God elects without external constraints, He could (in theory) choose all.

3. Statements Suggestive of a Nearly-Universal Horizon

In his commentary on 1 Timothy 2:4, Zwingli wrote:

“The mercy of God is so great and so abundant that no one, unless he himself be unwilling, is excluded from it.” (Zwingli, Annotationes in Novum Testamentum, on 1 Tim. 2:4)

This statement is conditional (“unless unwilling”), but if combined with the belief that many — even most — are willing when illumined by God’s Spirit, it comes close to a universalist trajectory.

4. Why Zwingli Stopped Short of Universalism

He maintained a clear distinction between those who respond to God’s light and those who reject it.

He believed in judgment for the obstinate and unrepentant.

His vision was “wider than most Reformers” but still discriminating between saved and lost.

Zwingli never directly taught that all will be saved, but his inclusive vision — in which righteous pagans, Old Testament saints, and believers across the world and history are redeemed — rests on principles that, if consistently extended, could support a universalist conclusion. His emphasis on God’s unbounded mercy, Christ’s universal atonement, and the reality of salvation beyond the Church makes him one of the most “universalist-leaning” figures among the Magisterial Reformers.

Where Zwingli Overlaps with Origen, Gregory, and Evangelical Universalists

Belief that Christ’s work has universal scope.

Recognition of salvation beyond the visible Church.

Openness to post-mortem salvation.

View of God’s mercy as wider than most contemporaries.

Where Zwingli Diverges

Zwingli never asserts that all will be saved — only that all who respond to God’s light will be.

Maintains eternal loss as a real possibility for the obstinate.

Does not develop a systematic doctrine of restorative punishment as Origen and Gregory do.

Conclusion:

Zwingli is not a universalist in the strict sense, but he stands closer to Origen and Gregory of Nyssa than to most other Reformers. His theology is an inclusive particularism — salvation is through Christ alone, but Christ may save far more people (across all times and cultures) than the visible Church recognizes. The conceptual jump from Zwingli’s inclusivism to Gregory’s universalism is small enough that later interpreters could see him as a “near-universalist.”

Saturday, August 9, 2025

From Shadow to Substance: How Dispensationalism and Other Futurist Eschatologies Misapply Hermeneutics by Ignoring Typology

I. Introduction

A foundational principle of biblical interpretation is that God orders history so that earlier events, persons, and institutions prefigure and anticipate greater spiritual realities fulfilled in Christ. This is the essence of biblical typology: the Old Covenant and its historical events are “copies and shadows” (Heb. 8:5; 10:1) of the eternal and spiritual realities that find their consummation in the New Covenant. The Apostle Paul articulates this principle when he interprets the Exodus generation typologically (1 Cor. 10:1–11) and declares that “whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction” (Rom. 15:4).

Dispensationalism and other futurist eschatologies often fail to grasp—or consciously set aside—this hermeneutical principle. By treating Old Testament prophecies and covenantal structures as though their “literal” fulfillment must occur in a future, geopolitical scenario, they reverse the trajectory of redemptive history. Instead of moving from shadow to substance, they re-impose the shadow upon the substance, re-materializing what the New Testament interprets as spiritually fulfilled in Christ.

II. The Biblical Trajectory: From Historical Type to Spiritual Fulfillment

A. The Typological Method of the New Testament

The New Testament writers consistently interpret Old Testament realities as types that reach their fullness in Christ. For example:

The land promise to Abraham (Gen. 12:7) is broadened in Paul’s interpretation to mean the inheritance of the whole world (Rom. 4:13).
The temple is fulfilled in Christ’s body (John 2:19–21) and in the church as God’s dwelling place (Eph. 2:21–22).
The sacrificial system culminates in Christ’s once-for-all sacrifice (Heb. 10:1–14).

This hermeneutic assumes that historical events were divinely designed to prefigure greater realities—not to be repeated in a literalistic, future re-enactment, but to be fulfilled in Christ and His kingdom.

B. The Warning of Hebrews

The Epistle to the Hebrews warns against clinging to old covenantal structures once the reality has come: “In speaking of a new covenant, he makes the first one obsolete” (Heb. 8:13). The shadow has served its purpose; to return to it is to regress spiritually. Dispensationalism, however, often envisions a future restoration of the very shadows—such as a reinstituted temple and sacrificial system in a millennial age—thus reversing the forward-moving direction of redemptive history.

John Owen noted this problem in his commentary on Hebrews:

“To reinstate the ordinances of the old covenant is to set up again that which God hath destroyed, and to build again that which God hath cast down.”¹

III. How Dispensationalism and Futurism Misapply Hermeneutics

A. Literalism Detached from Typology

Dispensational hermeneutics often asserts that prophecy must be fulfilled “literally” in the same historical-national form in which it was given. This approach ignores the divinely intended typological escalation, in which the form is transformed into a greater reality in Christ.

For example, prophecies about Zion, Jerusalem, and the temple are applied to a future physical city and sanctuary, rather than understood in light of the New Testament’s application of these terms to Christ and His church (Gal. 4:26; Heb. 12:22; Rev. 21:2). Paul is explicit that “no matter how many promises God has made, they are ‘Yes’ in Christ” (2 Cor. 1:20).

B. Re-Materializing the Shadows

By envisioning a future age in which Old Testament institutions are restored, futurist systems inadvertently re-materialize what the New Testament has fulfilled in substance. The notion of a millennial temple with animal sacrifices stands in tension with Hebrews’ assertion that the old order has been “set aside because it was weak and useless” (Heb. 7:18).

As Geerhardus Vos explains:

“To bring back the shadows after the substance has come is a denial, in effect, that the substance has truly come.”²

C. Comparative Table: Apostolic Typology vs. Futurist Literalism

Biblical Theme / Prophecy	Apostolic (Typological) Hermeneutic	Dispensational / Futurist Hermeneutic
Land Promise to Abraham (Gen. 12:7; 15:18)	Fulfilled in Christ as inheritance of “the whole world” (Rom. 4:13). Land becomes a type of the new creation (Heb. 11:10, 16; 2 Pet. 3:13).	Awaiting a future, literal possession of Canaan by national Israel during the millennium.
Jerusalem / Zion (Isa. 2:2–4; Ps. 48)	Interpreted spiritually as “the heavenly Jerusalem” and the church (Gal. 4:26; Heb. 12:22; Rev. 21:2).	Awaiting restoration of earthly Jerusalem as the center of millennial government and worship.
Temple (2 Sam. 7; Ezek. 40–48)	Fulfilled in Christ’s body (John 2:19–21) and the church as God’s dwelling (1 Cor. 3:16–17; Eph. 2:21–22).	Awaiting future literal temple in Jerusalem with renewed priesthood and sacrifices.
Sacrificial System (Lev. 1–7)	Fulfilled in Christ’s once-for-all sacrifice (Heb. 9:11–14; 10:1–14).	Animal sacrifices to be restored in a future millennium as memorial offerings.
Davidic Kingship (2 Sam. 7:12–16)	Fulfilled in Christ’s resurrection and exaltation to God’s right hand (Acts 2:30–36; Rev. 3:21).	Christ’s reign delayed until a future earthly throne in Jerusalem during the millennium.
Kingdom of God (Dan. 2; Matt. 4:17)	Already inaugurated in Christ’s ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension (Matt. 12:28; Col. 1:13). Consummated at His return.	Kingdom postponed; full reign to be established only in a future millennial age.
Israel (Ex. 19:5–6; Hos. 1:10)	Reconstituted in Christ as Jew and Gentile believers together in one body (Eph. 2:11–22; Gal. 3:28–29).	Israel and church remain distinct; prophetic promises to Israel apply only to ethnic/national Israel.

IV. The Loss of the Heavenly Perspective

Paul in 1 Corinthians 15 and the author of Hebrews both insist that ultimate reality is not found in the temporal, material realm but in the higher spiritual order. This is not to reject creation but to recognize its provisional and preparatory role.

By focusing on future earthly fulfillments—political sovereignty in the land of Canaan, a literal temple in Jerusalem, and reestablished ceremonial law—futurist systems effectively confuse the shadow for the reality, much like Plato’s prisoners in the cave mistaking shadows for the objects themselves.

In both cases, the failure lies in not turning toward the higher light—toward the heavenly Jerusalem, the eternal inheritance, and the consummated kingdom already inaugurated in Christ’s resurrection and exaltation.

V. Conclusion

The principle of historical typology is not an optional interpretive tool but a hermeneutical necessity given by the apostles themselves. To ignore it, as in much of Dispensationalism and other futurist eschatologies, is to misread the Old Testament, reversing the trajectory from shadow to substance and from earthly to heavenly.

The apostolic witness teaches that the realities once foreshadowed in Israel’s history are now present in Christ and His kingdom, and will be consummated in the new creation—not in a return to old forms, but in the unveiling of the eternal realities they prefigured. Any eschatology that looks back to the shadows rather than forward to the fullness in Christ risks leading the church back into the cave of appearances, rather than out into the light of the eternal day.

Footnotes

John Owen, An Exposition of the Epistle to the Hebrews, vol. 5 (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1991), 94. ↩
Geerhardus Vos, The Pauline Eschatology (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 1979), 77. ↩

Shadows of the Eternal: God’s Use of History to Prefigure Spiritual Realities

I. Introduction

The biblical narrative consistently presents God’s dealings with humanity as unfolding not merely through abstract propositions but through concrete historical events and persons. These events often possess a typological quality—that is, they are divinely intended to point beyond themselves to higher spiritual realities. This theological principle is grounded in the conviction that history is under the providential ordering of God, who intends temporal events to serve as anticipations of eternal truths.

The Apostle Paul articulates this conviction most explicitly in 1 Corinthians 15, where he contrasts the perishable and the imperishable, the natural body and the spiritual body, concluding that “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Cor. 15:50, ESV). Likewise, the Epistle to the Hebrews repeatedly affirms that the institutions of the Old Covenant were “copies and shadows” of heavenly things (Heb. 8:5; 10:1).

This conception bears a striking philosophical parallel to Plato’s Allegory of the Cave (Republic 514a–520a), wherein visible, temporal objects are likened to shadows that derive their reality from higher, unseen forms. Yet while the similarity is instructive, the biblical model is theologically distinct, grounding the ascent from shadow to substance not in autonomous philosophical reasoning but in divine self-revelation in Christ.

II. Typology and the Providential Structure of History

A. The Nature of Typology

Typology, in biblical theology, refers to the interpretive framework whereby persons, events, and institutions in earlier redemptive history are understood to foreshadow and prefigure greater realities to come. The “type” (typos) is a historical reality, but its significance is fully grasped only in light of the “antitype” (antitypon)—its fulfillment in Christ and the eschatological kingdom of God.¹

The Exodus Passover, for example, functioned as a historical deliverance from Egyptian bondage, yet the New Testament interprets it as pointing forward to Christ, “our Passover” who has been sacrificed (1 Cor. 5:7). King David’s reign provided a historical center for Israel’s monarchy but also served as a prophetic anticipation of the eternal reign of the Messiah, the greater “Son of David” (Luke 1:32–33).

This typological framework presupposes a theological ontology in which temporal realities are derivative—their full meaning lies in their participation in, and reference to, eternal truths. Augustine summarized the hermeneutical principle in the dictum: Novum Testamentum in Vetere latet, Vetus Testamentum in Novo patet (“The New is in the Old concealed; the Old is in the New revealed”).²

B. The Epistle to the Hebrews: Copies and Shadows

Hebrews grounds its typology in the heavenly archetype: “They serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly things” (Heb. 8:5). This echoes Exodus 25:40, where God commands Moses to construct the tabernacle “according to the pattern shown you on the mountain.” The Levitical system, therefore, is not ultimate reality but a provisional reflection of the eternal order.

The author further insists that the Law “has but a shadow of the good things to come instead of the true form of these realities” (Heb. 10:1). The Greek skia (shadow) conveys both the insubstantial nature of the earthly forms and their revelatory role—they are visible outlines that imply an invisible substance (sōma). Thomas Aquinas observed that “the Old Law is called a shadow because it signified things to come, yet did not contain them” (Summa Theologiae I-II, q. 107, a. 2).³

C. Paul’s Eschatological Contrast in 1 Corinthians 15

Paul develops an eschatological ontology in 1 Corinthians 15, distinguishing the psychikon sōma (“natural body”) from the pneumatikon sōma (“spiritual body”) and declaring that “the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable” (1 Cor. 15:53). His agricultural metaphor—“what you sow does not come to life unless it dies” (v. 36)—underscores the provisional and anticipatory role of present material existence.

This is not Gnostic rejection of the material but an affirmation of its transformation into a higher mode of existence. Calvin notes, “The body which we now bear is the seed, not the final plant; it is fitted for this life, not the life to come” (Commentary on 1 Corinthians 15:36).⁴

III. Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and the Biblical Vision

Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, found in Republic VII (514a–520a), describes prisoners chained so as to face a wall, perceiving only shadows cast by objects behind them. Mistaking shadows for reality, they live in ignorance until one is freed and comes to behold the true world illuminated by the sun, the ultimate source of truth and being.

The biblical vision shares several points of analogy with this Platonic image:

Shadow and Archetype – In both, what is first perceived are shadows, derivative from higher realities.
Ascent to Reality – Both require a movement from appearance to reality, from the transient to the eternal.
Illumination – In Plato, the ascent is enabled by the light of the sun, symbolizing the Form of the Good; in Scripture, it is enabled by the light of Christ, “the true light that gives light to everyone” (John 1:9).

However, the ontological frameworks diverge. In Plato, the Forms are eternal, impersonal, and accessible to the philosopher through dialectic. In the biblical vision, the eternal realities are personal and covenantal, revealed not through autonomous speculation but through God’s acts in history. As Karl Barth emphasizes, “Revelation does not arise from man’s ascent to God, but from God’s descent to man.”⁵

IV. Theological Implications

The convergence of typology and the cave analogy points toward a theological realism in which temporal history has meaning only as it participates in and prefigures the eternal. The created order, while good, is not self-explanatory; it is a sacramental sign pointing beyond itself to the fullness of God’s kingdom.

The church fathers frequently employed Platonic categories to articulate this truth while correcting their deficiencies. Gregory of Nyssa, for instance, described the Christian life as an “unending ascent” toward God, in which the soul moves from the shadow of earthly realities to the infinite brightness of divine glory.⁶

V. Conclusion

God’s providential ordering of history ensures that temporal realities—events, persons, and institutions—serve as prefigurations of eternal truths. The pattern affirmed in 1 Corinthians 15 and Hebrews presents earthly life as a shadow of heavenly reality, a truth that resonates with Plato’s vision of shadows in the cave. Yet the biblical model is distinct: it affirms creation’s goodness, sees history as purposeful under God’s governance, and grounds the ascent to reality in divine revelation, not human discovery.

The Christian’s hope, therefore, is not merely to escape the cave of appearances but to see the true light in the face of Jesus Christ (2 Cor. 4:6), in whom shadow and substance meet, and through whom the temporal is taken up into the eternal.

References

If you’d like, I can also create a comparative table of “Biblical Typology vs. Plato’s Cave” to visually illustrate the parallels and distinctions—something that works well for lecture notes or inclusion in a book appendix. That would make this piece even more pedagogically strong. Would you like me to prepare that next?

Leonhard Goppelt, Typos: The Typological Interpretation of the Old Testament in the New (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 17–19. ↩
Augustine, Quaestiones in Heptateuchum 2.73. ↩
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I-II, q. 107, a. 2. ↩
John Calvin, Commentaries on the Epistles of Paul to the Corinthians, trans. John Pringle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1948), 2:53–54. ↩
Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, I/1, trans. G.W. Bromiley (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1936), 295. ↩
Gregory of Nyssa, Life of Moses, trans. Abraham J. Malherbe and Everett Ferguson (New York: Paulist Press, 1978), II.239–242. ↩