Temporary Faith is Real Faith

Recently someone asked me what I make of Francis Turretin’s comments on temporary faith in his Institutes of Elenctic Theology. This post contains my response. I should note that it’s not intended as a detailed interaction with Turretin, and that lots of what I say is said better in Peter Leithart’s unmissably good The Baptized Body.

I appreciate lots of Turretin’s Institutes, and when viewed in the terms he states the issue, I agree with lots that he says about the distinction between temporary and saving faith, and agree that there is an ontological distinction between the two. Surely, when viewed in toto, for example, they are different in respect of God’s eternal decree, in respect of the hearts of the people involved (some good soil, some stony ground), and in respect of duration.

However, as valuable as Turretin’s scholastic distinctions are, I’m sometimes left with the impression that what I’m looking at is somewhat akin to two butterflies, pinned side by side in a display cabinet. That’s great as far as it goes, and enables one to observe the overall differences, and to make important contrasts and comparisons. But I don’t think it exhausts what one can say. Faith isn’t quite like that: it’s not something one can abstract from time, before dissecting it to give an encyclopaedic definition. By it’s nature, faith is embedded in a narrative and relational context. So, I think Turretin’s account needs enriching by taking into account a narrative and relational ontology of human being and action. I don’t think this contradicts, or undermines the more global, atemporal account that Turretin offers, but I do think it nuances it, so that we end up with slightly different, and more biblical, conclusions regarding temporary faith, and what it is that temporary believers enjoy within the covenant.

What we need is a way of preserving our right attachment to God’s complete sovereignty in salvation, and in particular a doctrine of the preservation of the saints which flows from unconditional election, whilst at the same time doing justice to the biblical language of the privileges enjoyed by those who ‘believe’ for a while, but eventually fall away (however we cash out what ‘believe’ means in that sentence).

It may be helpful quickly to summarize something of the biblical testimony regarding what apostates lose. Without hedging, the Bible says of apostates that

- Some receive the word with joy and believe for a time (Luke 8.13)
- They are branches in the Vine, Jesus (John 15.2, 6)
- They are baptized into the Greater Moses (1 Cor 10.2)
- They drink of Christ (1 Cor 10.4)
- They have been enlightened (Heb 6.4)
- They taste the heavenly gift, the word of the God, and the powers of the age to come (Heb 6.4f)
- The are partakers of the Spirit (Heb 6.4)
- They are sanctified by the blood of the covenant (Heb 10.29)
- They escape the defilements of the world (2 Pet 2.20)
- They know the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ (2 Pet 2.20)
- The know the way of righteousness (2 Pet 2.21).

Now, how do we account for this? To say that ‘temporary’ faith is ontologically distinct from ‘saving’ faith, that it is therefore merely external, and that the benefits that in receives within the covenant are merely external, falls short of the repeated testimony of the Scriptures. So, what are we to say? As I said, I think we need to supplement an analysis like Turretin’s with a narrative and relational ontology.

By a narrative ontology, I mean something like, I am the sum of my life lived so far, so that who I am, the real me, is revealed by my actions (and, to myself at least, my attitudes, thoughts, desires) over time, and my full personal identity is only completed at death, and only becomes fully apparent on the Last Day. My life is a story, which only reaches its denouement, and so reveals its full narrative arc, at death. (Even this is inadequate, because it fails to take into account my continuing, temporal existence in Christ in the intermediate state and the New Creation, but it’s enough to be going along with.)

This narrative ontology fits well with that fact that I will be judged according to deeds done in the body; I am not judged simply for who I am at the ‘time-slice of my death, but on the basis of the entire story of my life up to death. It also accords with a doctrine of divine simplicity: God is simple, therefore he is his own existence, he possesses all that he is fully, unchangeably, and eternally. I am not simple, and so my existence, my being, is ‘spread out’ as it were over time. And so, the fulness of my identity can only be reckoned by summing the entire narrative of my life.

By a relational ontology, I mean that I am who I am because of the relationships I sustain to others, most significantly to God as his image-bearer, and to Christ, as I am found in him, but also, to others: my parents, wife, children, the church I serve, etc. These are not extrinsic to me; rather these relationships constitute my identity. This should be obvious from the doctrine of the Trinity. What is it that distinguishes the Father as a Person, what gives him his personal identity? Clearly not any of his attributes, as he shares these fully with the Son and the Spirit. Rather, the Father is eternally Father precisely because he eternally begets his Son. His Personal identity is found in the relationship he sustains to the Son, and their Spirit. Analogously, this is therefore true for me as his image-bearer.

Applying this ontology to faith, first of all faith is a relational disposition: trust, or dependence on someone or something. In Refomation categories, adult faith consists of notitia, assensus and fiducia. (I wonder if it’s better to say that faith is fiducia, which, in adults, depends on a rightly formed notitia and assensus, but that’s another matter: the three are clearly bound together in any genuine adult faith). Thus, faith is, of course, not a substance, which we can abstract and analyse, rather it is a relational disposition; in Christian terms, it is a relational disposition of a Spirit-produced, wholehearted trust in God on the basis of, and in response to, his promises.

But, as with any relationship (with the exception of the intra-Trinitarian relationships), this works itself out in time. My relational disposition may well, indeed, does, change over time. Historic Reformed theology takes account of this when it speaks of faith growing and maturing. What it is less good at, at least on some accounts, is taking account of the fact that relationships can sour, that what was once a genuine filial trust can fade, and even disappear.

So, for the sake of example, take two citizens of Rome in the first century, neighbours, named Alexander and Brutus. Both are born into pagan families. Both hear the gospel when a mutual friend becomes a Christian. And as they hear the Word of Christ from this friend, both receive it with joy, believe, and are baptised into Christ. They do this together, on a day we’ll call time T. They are now both branches in the Vine. At the Lord’s Table they eat in faith, and partake of Christ. The Spirit enlightens them. They taste together the powers of the age to come. They have escaped the defilements of their former life in paganism. They know their Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

And yet, as time progresses, an interesting thing happens. These two neighbours mature as Christians in different ways, and at different rates. In fact, at a later date (we’ll call it time T +3) Alexander’s faith is blossoming. He is, by the Spirit, putting sin to death, he is full of love for the brothers, joyful in the Lord, steadfast in the face of opposition and persecution from his family. In contrast, Brutus, who is also facing opposition, harbours bitterness and resentment in his heart, he is cool and distant with the brethren, and secretly he wonders whether he wasn’t better off in his former pagan life.

But time goes on, until, at T + 6, Brutus has been deeply convicted of his ingratitude and bitterness, and has repented. In a remarkable way the Spirit transforms him, and everyone is commenting on his new, cheerful demeanor, his seemingly inexhaustible desire to serve. Brutus himself is filled with joy, and with a love for Christ he never thought possible. Meanwhile, Alexander’s love for Christ has cooled. Now it is he who is casting longing glances over his shoulder at his former pagan life, particularly at his many and varied sexual conquests. Until, at T + 7, Alexander finally abandons the faith, and returns to his former pagan ways. He is excommunicated, and dies unrepentant, whilst Brutus continues to grow, eventually dying a martyr’s death in the arena, bearing joyful testimony, even in death, to the Lord who bought him.

Now, if a friendly systematic theologian had been around at the time, and had been granted the miraculous ability to see into Alexander and Brutus’s hearts, what would he have seen? Had he seen them at T + 3, he would have seen that Alexander’s faith was genuine; indeed, it was stronger and more mature than Brutus’s. But, at T + 7, he would have seen that Brutus had a true, growing faith, whilst Alexander had no faith at all.

Thus, although, by the end of his life, we can see that Alexander’s faith was merely a temporary faith, there is no reason, it seems to me, to deny its reality and depth earlier in his life history. I think this offers a richer, and more biblical account of temporary faith. And, having said all this, one can then step back and say, ‘And if we compare Alexander and Brutus’s faith in their entirety, we can make these distinctions and contrasts between the two’ in something like the way Turretin does.

This doesn’t smuggle in Arminianism, because, as I’ve indicated in some earlier comments to the earlier post, the ultimate reason Alexander falls, and Brutus perseveres, is God’s eternal and immutable election and reprobation. And, given my strong Reformed (biblical!) doctrine of providence, I insist that God ordains every stage along the way: he ordains both ends and means. Did God eternally decree that Alexander would perish and that Brutus would be saved for all eternity? Yes. But what about the way in which they made it to their final destination? Did God (eternally) decree that A and B would be born in a pagan household? Yes. Did he decree that they would hear the gospel on the same day? Yes. Did he decree that they would believe? Yes. Did he decree the time that they would believe? Yes. Did he decree that Alexander’s faith would flourish for a while? Yes. Did he decree that it would then wane? Yes. Did he decree that Alexander would eventually turn back to idolatry and immorality? Yes. Was this in order that his good purposes in election and reprobation would stand? Yes! So, why did Alexander believe only for a while, and why did Brutus believe with a persevering faith? Because God decreed that they would. Before either were born, or had done anything good or bad, God decreed their ultimate destinies, and every step along the path.