My testimony of coming to faith in Christ is a bit confusing. Unlike many of the people who influenced me spiritually during my adolescence, I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty when I “got saved.” Like many of my peers, I’ve had countless conversion moments. I’ve walked the aisle plenty of times. I’ve said the sinner’s prayer more than a few times. I’ve rededicated my life to the Lord again and again. I’ve been baptized twice. You get it. If there was one certainty in my Christian experience, it was that I had no certainty about my Christian experience.
As I look back on where I was and the context in which I grew up, I’ve become increasingly convinced that I was surrounded by a functional theology of free will. What I mean is that while there was plenty of lip service paid to a theology of grace alone, at the end of the day, grace only got you so far.
As I said in my last article, the confusion around free will does not usually arise from debating whether it exists—most people can be convinced that it’s a fiction—but from considering its implications. If my will is bound, how do I make sense of “my choice,” “my prayer,” or “my dedication”?
Growing up, in the practical outworking of the Christian life, there was always something left for me to do: a prayer to pray, a decision to make, fruit to display, or sincerity to prove. The theology of “It is finished” was replaced—or at least overshadowed—by the practice of “Do more, try harder.” The impression I was left with was that if I was going to be saved, I had to do my part. And though nobody said it out loud, the assumption was that I had to exercise my free will to do the impossible—to save my own soul. Yes, Jesus did most of the work, but it was up to me to finish it. This is free will theology.
Humanism Is Rooted in a Lack of Assurance
I didn’t read Martin Luther’s The Bondage of the Will until much later in my spiritual journey. But when I finally did, my heart was instantly stirred, because someone was finally putting words to my frustrated questions about the theology I grew up with.
Like when Luther asked Erasmus: “If ‘free will’ merits a tiny bit, and grace the rest, why does ‘free will’ receive the total reward?”1
Exactly! How does the effort of our so-called “free will” continue to receive most of the credit functionally if we truly believe, theologically, that Christ’s work counts for—at least—the vast majority of our salvation? As I studied the debate between Luther and Erasmus, I began to see that Luther was using his arguments on the bound will to press Erasmus toward a clearer doctrine of assurance rooted in the Gospel and the Scriptures. In other words, this is not just a theological question. It’s a functional question—a pastoral question.
Let’s start with the fact that Desiderius Erasmus was a Renaissance humanist. From the outset, Erasmus was predisposed to skepticism and speculation. Academically, this was fashionable in his day. With humanism’s emphasis on human agency, practical piety, philological rigor, and moderation, he naturally leaned toward an optimistic view of human responsibility. He also downplayed the certainty of Scripture’s assertions.
Luther once quipped, “…in your view, it is no matter what any man believes anywhere, if only the peace of the world is preserved”.2 Erasmus argued that Scripture was not overly clear about whether or not our will is bound and that it would be best not to speculate or make dogmatic assertions. “God gives us commands, and we should obey. I can obey; therefore, I must have free will,” reasoned Erasmus.
Luther saw the deep problem with this. He argued that Scripture was clear—and that through the plain reading of the text, it offered assurance through faith in Christ. Scripture, he insisted, clearly revealed the saving work of Jesus—from His incarnation to His atonement, resurrection, and ascension—and that this revelation killed two birds with one stone:
1. If Jesus had to come and die for us, then it is clear that we cannot save ourselves, and our wills are therefore bound.
2. If Jesus did come and die for us as the Scriptures reveal, then our assurance is forever settled in Him.
Luther couldn’t comprehend how Erasmus could be content to live without salvific assurance when Scripture was so clear—especially about both assurance and humanity’s lack of free will:
“I certainly grant that many passages in the Scriptures are obscure and hard to elucidate, but that is due, not to the exalted nature of their subject, but to our own linguistic and grammatical ignorance; and it does not in any way prevent our knowing all the contents of Scripture. For what solemn truth can the Scripture still be concealing, now that the seals are broken, the stone rolled away from the door of the tomb, and the greatest of all mysteries brought to light—that Christ, God’s Son, became man, that God is three and one, that Christ suffered for us, and will reign forever? Are not these things known, and sung in our streets? Take Christ from the Scriptures—and what more will you find in them? You see, then, that the entire content of the Scriptures has now been brought to light, even though some passages which contain unknown words remain obscure.”3
With a Free Will, There Is No Assurance
Ultimately, Erasmus’s assumption of free will left space for a constant lack of assurance—and it always does. The possibility of free will inevitably leads to judgment and guilt. When assurance is rooted in our performance, our determination, our commitment, or our piety, uncertainty will always follow. The doubts of salvation “in our hands” always drown out God’s promise of assurance in Christ.
We all feel what Luther felt when he considered the possibility of free will:
“For my own part, I frankly confess that even if it were possible, I should not wish to have free-will given to me… Not only because, in the face of so many dangers and adversities, and so many assaults from devils, I should be unable to stand firm and keep hold of it… but because, even if there were no dangers, adversities, or devils, I should still be forced to labor under perpetual uncertainty… For even if I lived and worked to eternity, my conscience would never be assured and certain how much it ought to do to satisfy God… as I myself learned to my bitter cost through so many years of battling.”4
The Absence of Free Will Grounds Our Assurance in Christ
In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul presents the case that God’s justification of sinners happens by means of a one-sided declaration. God freely justifies sinners on account of His own will, which is motivated by mercy. This has been God’s will from the very beginning:
“For he says to Moses, ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.’ So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy.”
Romans 9:15-16
Salvation is in no way contingent upon the supposed free will of humanity. There is no contribution to justification on account of human agency. It depends entirely on God’s will of mercy.
In other words, ”free will merits nothing, and God’s will receives all of the reward.” A true theology of “grace alone” is rooted in the fact that God has given His reward to us in the person and work of Christ. Our assurance has been taken out of our hands and placed firmly into His.
The height of the Christian experience is realizing that your salvation has nothing to do with your experience. It has everything to do with Christ’s. It was God who exercised His free will to do the impossible—to save your soul.
Free will is bad news. But the Good News is announced in accordance with God’s will in Christ as He said from the cross, “It is finished.”
1. Martin Luther, The Bondage of the Will, trans. J. I. Packer and O. R. Johnston (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1996), 237.
2. Ibid, 13.
3. Ibid, 71.
4. Ibid, 313–14.